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sansaorgana · 8 months ago

Text

— THE FAVOURITE

PAIRING — Na-Baron Feyd-Rautha Harkonnen x fem!Reader

SUMMARY — As Feyd-Rautha's favourite concubine, your position is threatened after his affair with Lady Margot.

REQUEST — (1)

AUTHOR’S NOTE — Once again I couldn't help myself and created some twisted & toxic dynamic between Feyd and The Reader full of mind games and scheming lol 😏 Thank you @little-diable for "letting me" to write this story. 🌹 I reached out to her after getting this request since she has a similar (and amazing) fanfic – "Guilt".

WARNINGS — Reader is some sort of a slave/servant, harm to Lady Margot and her child mentioned, mentions of sexual activities including non/dub-con (no actual smut)

WORD COUNT — 3,520

ENGLISH IS MY SECOND LANGUAGE.

THE FAVOURITE

Being Feyd-Rautha’s favourite concubine made your position on Giedi Prime secure. Coming from nothing and having no drop of noble blood flowing in your veins, you ended up with a luxurious bedroom and your own team of servants. Baron Harkonnen allowed this arrangement only because of the little agreement between you and him – you were to spy on his nephew and your servants were doing the job when you personally could not. The stench of schemes and lies surrounded the fortress like a thick fog.

So, when your lover didn’t come to you after his own birthday party – even though you were waiting for him all dressed up and prepared – you wanted to know why. Your servants came back to you quickly, bringing you the news of Feyd-Rautha spending the night in a guest wing. In the bedroom of Lady Margot Fenring, to be exact. A known Bene Gesserit sister.

Concubines had no right to be jealous. They knew their place. Noblemen couldn’t marry a random woman they favoured just because of some sort of affection or sentiment. They had to keep their options open in case a political union would be proposed. And apart from that, noblemen had their responsibilities when it came to the Bene Gesserit order and their own plans and schemes. You knew enough to have a feeling what Lady Margot wanted from Feyd-Rautha Harkonnen. To secure his bloodline.

Concubines didn’t exist to secure bloodlines – unless the circumstances were desperate. But usually, concubines existed to bear bastards.

You tore your dress off of your body, removed the jewellery and let it fall down on the cold, black marble as it shattered. The servants watched with terror in their eyes as tiny pieces of gemstones scattered all over the floor. You told them all to leave but they were petrified. So you yelled, you gave an order. And only when you were left alone, you allowed yourself to lay on your bed and cry.

You had sacrificed nearly everything to be in this position. Losing the title of Feyd-Rautha’s favourite concubine meant death to you. You knew what he was doing to the toys he was getting bored of. In fact, you often encouraged those acts. Now, you had to face a threat of becoming the next tossed aside pet.

You were finishing your breakfast when Feyd entered your chambers without a word or a knock upon the doors. He was the only person allowed such entrance and all your servants stiffened at the sight of him, bowing their heads and taking a few steps back. You decided to ignore him as you were sipping on your beverage and staring at the large painting on the wall in front of you. It was a landscape from your homeplanet. Or rather, how it had used to look like before The Harkonnen invasion and occupation.

As a little girl, you had been taken with others to Giedi Prime and forced to become a servant. Your hair had been shaved, the back of your neck tattooed with a Harkonnen sigil like you were a slave. Slaves died like flies on this court. Befriending the young na-baron had been your only chance of survival. And once you both had been old enough, the friendship developed into a romance. But sometimes, when you were forgetting yourself – too drunk on your own influence these days – you would touch the back of your neck and trace the tattooed mark. You had long hair again, covering it from the world. But you knew it was there. You were only a servant that had been promoted because of a spoiled boy’s whim.

“I have news for you, pet,” Feyd-Rautha stood above you with a proud smirk, showing off his black teeth.

You continued to ignore him and it made the smile turn into a frown.

“What is it?” He asked but you still refused to lay your eyes on him.

“I know where you were last night,” you finally decided to address the matter as you lazily leaned back on the chair and looked up at his face. He snorted at you.

“Not the first time I spent a night with another woman. Having a title of my favourite whore means that you are one of many – not the only one,” he reminded you and your jaw clenched at his choice of words.

“Not every night is your birthday. And not every woman is a Bene Gesserit witch,” you stood up angrily. “And I am not a whore.”

“Concubine is only a nicer way to put it but you’re big enough to handle the truth, pet,” Feyd was angered, you could sense that. But he was still amused by your little tantrum.

“Leave us,” you ordered to the servants and they bowed down before walking out of the chambers as fast as possible.

“What do you expect me to say? That I’m sorry?” Feyd’s voice was full of contempt as he observed your pacing around with squinted eyes. “I am not tied to you by any word nor oath.”

“What did she want?” You asked him and he shut his mouth. “She wanted to secure the bloodline, did she not?”

Feyd did not say anything and that was an answer for you. You nodded and walked away to stand by the window and gaze upon the cityscape of Giedi Prime.

“I didn’t have a choice. And I probably will never even see that child. They mean nothing to me and will never be recognised as my heir. What does it matter to you?” Feyd tried to explain himself awkwardly as he sat by the table and put his feet up on the surface in a careless manner.

“Did she use The Voice on you?” You turned around to look at him with a furrowed brow.

“Yes,” Feyd nodded, looking away. “Does it change anything?”

“It changes everything to me,” you approached him to stand behind and put your hands on his tense shoulders. “They keep using you. Your uncle all this time, now her. And you just shake it off and pretend it’s no big deal but it is, Feyd-Rautha. Have you ever been able to make your own decision? Even choosing me as your favourite had to be accepted by The Baron.”

“Don’t pretend to suddenly care about me,” Feyd barked at you. “You’re spying on me for him.”

“Because I have to,” you whispered.

“And I have to do some things, too, which makes us fair,” he shrugged his arms and you let your hands fall to your sides again. You watched him reach for an orange as he began to peel it slowly in silence.

He was right but it was not enough for you to know that he was right. You were still raging inside; filled with jealousy and betrayal even though you had no right to feel these things. Swiftly, you reached out for a short knife that Feyd always carried by his waist. He was so relaxed and trustful around you that his reflexes didn’t catch on your actions.

You pressed the tip of the blade to the back of his neck, the exact same spot where your tattoo was.

“I wish I could mark you as my own, too,” you whispered and he only chuckled, not fearing the knife at all.

“Do it then, pet. If that brings you relief, that is,” he dared you. “The pain will be welcomed.”

“I can’t do it,” your hand shivered as you lowered it.

“Then don’t threaten me with empty promises,” Feyd barked as he turned around rapidly and grabbed your wrist. He twisted it painfully, making you drop the knife as you hissed out of pain. “I don’t belong to you,” he reminded, his voice cold and sharp. You winced at the pain shooting up your arm but refused to show weakness.

“And I don't belong to you either,” you shot back, your voice trembling with anger and hurt you had been suppressing. “If I am to live here my whole life like a slave, kill me then.”

For a moment, you just stood there, staring at each other with hatred and passion as the tension crackled between you two like electricity. Finally, Feyd released your wrist with a dismissive shove, his expression hardening into a mask of indifference.

"Fine," he spat. "I am to inherit Arrakis and you are not coming with me. Stay here and rot, find yourself a new Master or leave, I do not care," he informed you and left your chambers just like that.

You were still standing there, petrified, as you blinked a few times before the meaning of his words made sense to you. He was abandoning you… but you couldn’t blame him. You showed weakness of your jealousy and that was something concubines were not supposed to do. Instead of playing your cards right, you snapped. And now there was no turning back from that mistake.

Your privileges were not gone overnight but everyone could see that something was wrong. While Feyd-Rautha was preparing to leave for Arrakis, you were not preparing at all. Your servants were nervous since their position depended on your own. And you were trying to work on a plan to be back in your lover’s good favours.

But The Baron was quicker than that. He requested your presence a few days before his nephew’s departure. You expected a punishment but, surprisingly, he was not as angry as you thought him to be.

“You lost the grip,” he informed you in his raspy voice, taking a puff of his pipe.

“I am sorry, my Lord,” you bowed down, nervously; humiliated.

“I should get rid of you. I’ve heard my nephew granted you freedom but we both know you have nowhere to go anyway,” The Baron pointed out and you swallowed thickly at his words.

“If I was only given one more chance…” You dared to look up.

“That is what I want to grant you,” he nodded as your eyes widened. Baron Harkonnen was not known for being generous or forgiving. “You see, on Arrakis I will need a spy next to Feyd-Rautha. Someone I trust. And you… We’ve worked for quite a long time now. You have never disappointed me nor showed any sign of disloyalty towards me. Looking for someone new, especially for such an important task… It would not be advised. I need you on Arrakis with Feyd-Rautha,” The Baron pointed his chubby hand at you.

“I understand, my Lord. But… He does not want me there. Not as his concubine at least,” you looked down, ashamed that you had to admit it out loud.

“That boy will soon start missing you. But we can’t wait until then,” The Baron agreed. “Since he has carelessly given you freedom already and you’re no longer a servant, I can promote you, child,” The Baron hummed to himself as you tilted your head out of curiosity – Feyd-Rautha’s habit you had picked up from him a long time ago.

Because your whole life had been about being his companion. It was about mimicking his behaviour and learning how to make him happy. Now, when he was somehow gone from your daily life routine, it felt oddly empty and pointless. It was painful to realise that Feyd-Rautha was your reason to live and your position as his concubine defined not only your position on Giedi Prime but also your whole life and personality.

“You will be sent to Arrakis as The Fremen Expert,” The Baron informed you and you couldn’t help letting out a little laugh.

“The Fremen Expert, my Lord? I do know nothing of them and their customs,” you reminded him.

“And we do not care about them nor their customs. We want nothing but annihilation of their race. But what we also want… What we need… Is your presence on Arrakis. Feyd-Rautha will be informed that you must take part in every council, in every meeting; making decisions alongside his generals,” The Baron whispered and you straightened yourself, suddenly feeling a bolt of electricity going through your veins. From feeling like a beaten dog, you began to feel confidence and pride in your new role, even if the title was made up for The Baron’s scheming plan.

“Yes, my Lord,” you bowed down with all respect.

“Now, go, prepare yourself for the trip,” he dismissed you and you turned around to walk away with your head held high.

Feyd-Rautha kept avoiding you but those few times you saw him in the corridor, he was giving you hateful looks. He had to be not very pleased with his uncle’s decision. You gained the courage to finally talk to him in private when you were on the ship to Arrakis, locked together in space with nowhere to run. Forced to spend time together since the ship was not as huge as the Giedi Prime fortress.

You chose the nighttime for this. In the evenings he was more vulnerable – you had learnt that over the years spent by his side. You entered his room on the ship without any guard stopping you as they knew your role in this mission. The Baron had given them direct orders to never stop you when you were about to spy on the na-baron.

Feyd was not in the room yet, so you waited, sitting on the armchair and nervously playing with the rings on your fingers.

“What are you doing here?” You finally heard his raspy voice after the doors opened. Feyd walked inside, visibly irritated at the sight of you. “Congratulations, you’re a full-time spy now. What a promotion,” he sneered. “Still his puppet.”

“And you’re not? His puppet?” You sneered back. “How does it feel to not be able to get rid of your own concubine just because The Baron does not approve? I told you. You can’t even choose the whores for yourselves,” you stood up to approach him but he walked away.

“You’ve sealed your fate, pet. Once I become The Baron myself, I am going to kill you,” he ignored your presence and began undressing to change into his nighttime attire. As if you were only an air in the room but it also meant that he still felt comfortable around you and allowed himself to be vulnerable enough to step out of his armour and expose. He trusted you, still.

“It’s not like I’m that valuable to your uncle. If you killed me now, he would be frustrated. But he wouldn’t even punish you for that,” you shrugged your arms. “So why won’t you kill me now?” You teased as you raised your eyebrow at him.

“Come here,” Feyd ordered as he sat on the edge of his bed.

You walked up to him, a little scared of what was inside his head at that moment but you tried not to show it. You had mastered the act of not showing fear around him already. He hated cowardice and vulnerability only inspired him to be even more cruel.

“Since I can’t get rid of you, there’s still use of you, is it not?” He smirked as he looked up at you. “Please me, pet,” he ordered.

“I am no longer your concubine,” you pointed out, trying to keep a poker face on and a straight back. The truth was, you missed him. You missed his touch, you missed the intimacy, you missed how safe you felt with his arms around you. You missed the nights when he would fall asleep in your bed. But you couldn’t fall back so easily. He liked to chase, he liked to play. And you had gotten the title of his favourite because you knew how to provide it. “You dismissed me. I am The Fremen Expert now,” you added and he laughed contemptuously.

“The Fremen Expert, and what is that exactly, my little one?” He teased, pulling you closer by your waist. “And what do you know of these savages? You’ve been trained in different arts.”

“What sort of arts, na-baron?” You asked, placing your fingers on his muscular shoulders to keep steady on your feet.

“Pleasure,” he sat you down on his lap and you joined your hands together behind his neck. “I missed your cunt,” he whispered into your ear, his fingers pulled on the fabric of your dress around your hips, exposing your thighs.

“You forget yourself, my Lord,” you teased with a smirk as he looked up, questioningly. “You see, in your anger, you set me free. You released me and I am no longer your servant. I am my own person now,” you reminded him.

“I am still your lord na-baron,” he reminded you. “And I shall do as I please with you.”

“But having me back in your bed will cost you. I am not free of charge anymore,” you stopped his hands and watched his expression carefully. His jaw clenched and his gaze hardened with anger and curiosity.

“What do you want?” He asked harshly.

“Depends on how much you are willing to pay to feel my sweet cunt again,” you tilted your head.

You knew that it was just a game and he knew it, too. Because he didn’t need your permission. Feyd-Rautha didn’t care if you were his servant or a free woman now. He didn’t care if you gave him your permission or not. He was free to take what he wanted. Because that was his nature and that was the harsh reality of The Harkonnens.

“You want money?” Feyd could not hide the sheer disappointment in his voice. He had thought better of you. But you only laughed at his accusation.

You needed to take a deep breath in to say out loud what you wanted. It required lots of bravery for a woman in your position to say.

“I want to bear your heir,” you told him.

“Impossible,” Feyd pushed you aside on the mattress as he moved away from you. “Is it part of his plan?”

“He doesn’t know. He would kill me if he knew,” you assured him, truthfully. “He wants you for Princess Irulan, I think.”

“He mentioned to me he would make me an Emperor. But he didn’t mention how. I don’t think I have to marry her. We are strong enough to just take the throne with force,” Feyd told you. “I don't want her. But you cannot bear me heirs. Only bastards. Is that what you want? To push out my bastards?” He asked as he hovered over you to intimidate you, looking intensely into your eyes.

“Bastards, then. Let it be,” you nodded, swallowing thickly, confusing him. “I’d rather give you bastards and live on crumbs than to be dismissed like in the past few weeks.”

Suddenly, his face softened, confusing you as much as you were confusing him. Feyd caressed your cheek with gentleness that was unusual for him.

“Do you know why you are my favourite?” He asked in a whisper.

“Because I know how to play the way you like it,” you answered.

“No,” he shook his head. “Because you actually like me.”

You didn’t know what to say to this confession. It caught you off guard, surely. And Feyd leaning in to place a kiss upon your lips – a soft, delicate kiss that you had only shared a few times before – that only intensified the feeling of confusion.

“It’s cute to see you jealous, pet,” he breathed out after breaking the unusual kiss. “I swore to myself a long time ago I would never marry even if he forced me to. And my only heirs will be the bastards you bear me.”

You felt warmth in your cheeks at his words. Realising that what you had been asking for did not have to be said out loud. For him it had been obvious for a long time. It was the only way for Feyd-Rautha and you were a fool to ever feel jealous.

“All you have to do,” he added in a mysterious whisper, leaning in to steal another kiss, “is to help me with bringing him down.”

“You fool,” you giggled and cupped his face delicately, confusing him. “It has always been my plan,” you assured him. “And once I have the power of The Emperor’s Concubine, I will hunt down the Bene Gesserit witch and her spawn for I am the only one who shall bear your bastards.”

“You were such an innocent child when you came to Giedi Prime,” Feyd sighed but not without an excited sparkle in his cold eyes. “And look what a monster I have made of you, pet.”

You chuckled at that, relieved to have him back and much more than that – already planning out a future that was even more promising than in your most secret daydreams.

“You taught me well, Master,” you only said and pulled him back down. “But next time you put a child in another woman, I’ll make sure you won’t be able to father any more,” you threatened sweetly before a passionate kiss.

MASTERLIST

#feyd rautha x reader #feyd rautha harkonnen x reader #austin butler x reader #lilysfiction

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amirasainz · 4 months ago

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Hi literally get so excited when you update! Can you write one where charles x alexandra x reader where charles and alex are away for an event and forget that it's the reader birthday ans only remember when someone tells them birthday it and they try and make it up to her.

Hi loves. I hope you enjoy this little piece. Let me know what you think. Comments are always apreciated!I'm sorry,but the Sydney Sweeny picture was perfect, so I had to include it😉

Also, question (and please answer me that in the comments), does anyone read what I write before the story? Like the little message here? I'm just curious❤️

Enjoy reading and send me requests!!❤️

-XoXo

The Birthday disaster

You couldn’t believe it. They weren’t here. They didn’t call, text, or even send you a freaking letter. Your own boyfriend and girlfriend forgot your birthday. And not just any birthday, it was your 21 birthday. Instead of celebrating with Alex, Charles, and all of your friends in a vibrant club, you were sitting on the balcony of your apartment. Despite the cold wind hitting your bare skin mercilessly, thanks to the cute short dress you wore today, you couldn’t bring yourself to walk back inside.

Of course, your friends tried to get you to come out with them to celebrate your birthday properly. But it just hurt too much, and to be honest, your mind was too tired and sad for any kind of festivity.

When Charles and Alex first informed you about the event hosted by one of Alex’s friends, they eagerly asked you to join them. Unfortunately, your job didn’t allow you to tag along, which both of them understood. However, they promised you that they would return today at around 5 o’clock. To be honest, you thought they had something special planned for your birthday. But last night, at around 11 pm, you received a text from Alex, informing you that they would be staying longer in Venice, where the event was held.

At first, you thought this was some kind of joke. Maybe they wanted you to think that they weren’t able to celebrate with you, only to surprise you with a birthday party. But sadly, when you woke up this morning, nothing happened. Throughout the day, there was complete silence between you and them.

Your group of friends, who had been with you a few hours ago to at least celebrate your birthday a little bit, tried to convince you to go out and party with them. Before you could agree, you got a notification from Instagram. You were tagged quite often in a post showing Alex and Charles at the event. They looked so happy and carefree, making you feel even more numb.

Despite their best efforts, your friends left after half an hour, after you reassured them with phrases like “Yes, I will take care of myself,” “Yes, I will call you if I need anything,” and “No, you don’t have to worry about me. I’m completely fine.” They knew you were anything but fine; however, they also knew that you needed to be alone right now.

So here you are, sitting alone in the cold with your only companions being the vodka bottle you brought with you and the relentless wind hitting your skin. “Happy fucking 21st birthday to me, I guess,” you muttered to yourself, staring out at the sea.

“Oh my god, Lisa. You truly outdid yourself,” complimented Alex, her friend. And it was true. The event was filled with beautiful flowers and lights, giving the room a fairy-like appearance. The soft glow of the lights reflected off the petals, creating a magical ambiance that made everyone feel like they had stepped into an enchanted garden. Charles, who stood next to his girlfriend, only brought her closer to him and said, “Yeah, I have to agree. I’m 100% sure YN would have loved it.” “You are so right, love. I wish she was here with us,” agreed Alex, her voice tinged with a hint of sadness.

“Wait, I’m confused. So there is nothing wrong between you guys and YN?” asked Lisa, her brow furrowed in confusion. Alex and Charles shared a look with each other, both of them equally puzzled. “No, why would there be anything wrong with us?” Alex replied, her tone defensive. “Oh, I just thought you had a fight and this is the reason why you are here and not with YN today. But I must have been wrong…” Linda’s voice trailed off, her cheeks flushing with embarrassment. She shared a look with her partner Mary, both of them realizing the gravity of the situation.

“Wait, stop. Pause. Why would we be with YN tonight? You invited us to your event and we are here. I don’t get what’s going on right now,” said Alex, her frustration mounting. It felt like Mary and Lisa knew something she and Charles didn’t. Mary, who was now also becoming more annoyed with how the two of them acted before them, didn’t take any nonsense from Alex.

Without hesitation, she looked straight into Alex’s eyes and told her with an ice-cold voice, “Well, we weren’t expecting you to show up today because we thought that you would be busy celebrating YN’s 21 birthday today. But from the looks of it, it seems like you forgot your own girlfriend’s birthday. So don’t talk to us with that rude tone of yours. At least we remember each other’s birthdays.” With that, Mary took Lisa by the hand and left, leaving Alex and Charles standing there in stunned silence.

Alex and Charles were left behind, both staring at the space where the couple used to be a few seconds ago. Both of them felt a wave of guilt and shame wash over them. How could they forget their own girlfriend’s birthday? Turning on their phones, they saw the flood of messages they had received from not only their fans but also their friends, YN’s friends, and their families. Each message was a painful reminder of their oversight.

“We messed up so badly,” muttered Charles, looking at Alex with a pained expression. The woman could only nod, still speechless. Charles took her arm and gently but firmly led her out of the room. “We have to go to her. ASAP,” Alex told Charles, who was already a step ahead of her and had their jackets in hand. With that, the couple left the event, both feeling a deep sense of remorse. How could they forget their girl’s birthday?

As they hurried to their car, Alex’s mind raced with thoughts of how to make it up to YN. She knew it would take more than just an apology to mend the hurt they had caused. Charles, too, was lost in his thoughts, thinking of ways to show YN how much she meant to them. They both knew that they had a lot of making up to do, but they were determined to do whatever it took to make things right.

At around 1 am, the couple finally arrived home. The ride back had been silent, the air in the car feeling oppressively thick, making it hard to breathe. They parked their car in the garage and, without hesitation, jumped out of the vehicle, racing towards the elevator. The few minutes it took to reach their front door felt like an eternity, each second stretching painfully.

When they entered the apartment, everything was shrouded in darkness. A figure sat on the balcony, barely visible in the dim light. Charles immediately sat next to YN, while Alex kneeled in front of her. YN didn’t even look at them before taking a gulp from the nearly empty bottle of vodka. “Hey love, I think you’ve had enough for tonight,” whispered Charles, gently trying to take the bottle away from the now 21-year-old girl.

YN shook her head, her voice trembling as she reminded them, “No. NO, you do not get to tell me what I can and cannot do. Not after you forgot about me.” “Baby, we didn’t forget about you,” Alex tried, her eyes already filling with tears. YN only laughed, her own tears streaming down her face. “No, Alexandra. You do not get to tell me that after you forgot my birthday, and you certainly don’t get to cry.” “Ok, let’s all calm down,” Charles attempted again, his voice soothing but firm.

“No Charles! I don’t want to calm down. You both forgot about me. You two promised me that something like this would never happen to us. You promised me that you would always love me. You promised me that the age gap didn’t bother you when we started dating when I was 19. But look at us. You already broke one of your promises. How can I be sure that you won’t break another one?” With that, YN broke down in tears. Her whole body shook with the force of her sobs, her head held in her hands.

Charles and Alex immediately moved to comfort her. “YN, breath. We are so freaking sorry. I guarantee you, we didn’t mean for something like this to happen. We were all so busy with our jobs and social lives that we didn’t mean to forget something so important,” Charles began, his voice filled with regret.

Alex took YN’s head into her hands, gently wiping away her tears. “We love you more than anything in this world. You are our air and our heart. And we will apologize for the rest of our lives if we have to,” she said, her voice breaking with emotion. YN only whispered, “I love you guys too.” Alex didn't hesitate before kissing her girlfriend. after a moment the they pulled apart.

Charles turned her face towards him, speaking softly, “And we didn’t lie when we told you the age gap didn’t bother us. And we certainly didn’t lie when we promised you that we would always love you, ok?” After YN nodded, Letting Charles also kiss her. This kiss was filled with as much love as Alex, just a bit more urgently but still gentle. After their kiss, the three of them cuddled close to each other, finding solace in their shared warmth.

It would take some time before everything was alright between the three of them again. But for now, sitting together and watching the city lights flicker in the distance was the perfect way to start healing.

#formula 1 #formula 1 x reader #charles leclerc x reader #charles leclerc x alexandra saint mleux x reader #charles leclerc #charles leclerc x female reader #charles leclerc x you #charles leclerc x female oc #-XoXo #xoxo babygirl 💋

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ssa-dado · 2 months ago

Text

8.01 - Anaisthēsía

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

masterlist

Are you alright?

Were there any complications?

Is something wrong?

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

His stomach dropped.

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

It happened so fast, too fast.

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

He was useless.

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

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

That was his fault.

He shifted nervously, his hands fidgeting in his lap.

Was he standing too close?

Was he in your space?

Was his presence somehow making things worse?

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

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

Did you need water?

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

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

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

For a few seconds, he’d lost you.

No pulse, no breath.

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

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

He was supposed to keep you safe.

He was supposed to be enough.

What kind of partner leaves their partner dying?

If only he’d been faster, more decisive.

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

What if you had been a second too far gone?

What if he had been a second too slow?

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

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

What?

He swore his heart dropped into his stomach.

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

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

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

Hotch.

Just five letters, simple.

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

Hotch.

Just Hotch.

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

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

Nice? Him – nice?!

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

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

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

Oh, you don’t remember.

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

You weren’t mad at him.

At least not in the way he’d thought.

It wasn’t his fault, not really.

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

Now it made sense.

He could finally breathe.

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

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

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

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

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

What?

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

It wasn’t you, it was the anesthesia.

This softness wasn’t true to you.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Or maybe you could.

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

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

His chest tightened just thinking about it.

He couldn’t still think about it.

He had to push it away. He had to.

You were here now.

You were awake.

You were alive.

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

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

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

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

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

But in that moment, it felt right.

He just wanted to see you smile.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

What was happening?

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

You didn’t answer.

Not right away, at least.

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

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

Still nothing.

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

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

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

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

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

What?

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

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

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

Like that was enough of an explanation.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

It wasn’t just surprising, it was disarming.

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

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

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

Oh, you sly Hegelian charmer.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

How could he say no to you?

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

It was the drug, not you.

You weren’t really fond of him.

Control, Aaron, control.

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

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

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

Because it would be impossible to let it go.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

What?!

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

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

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

Hotch froze, your words landing like a sucker punch.

His mind reeled.

Was your memory beginning to return?

Were pieces of you slipping back into place?

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Hotch blinked, unsure how to respond.

Colleagues?

Friends?

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

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

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

Partners, in every unspoken sense of the word.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

But even as he spoke, something in him shifted.

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

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

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

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

If this was enough.

Or if it was too much.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

If only you had been awake as well…

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

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

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

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

And then came the realization.

Your head was on his shoulder.

Your hand was intertwined with his.

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

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

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

Welcome back, Philosopher.

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

Comfortable?

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

Comfortable?

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Exactly what he hoped for.

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

Your jaw dropped.

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

Where was all your philosophy now?

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Since when did he know about Socratic dialectics?

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

---

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

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

#aaron hotchner #hotch #hotch x reader #criminal minds #aaron hotchner x reader #aaron hotch x reader #criminal minds x reader

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solar4seekstron · 1 month ago

Text

New Beginnings: Old Yet New

IDW!MTMTE!Drift/Deadlock x Cybertronian!GN!Reader x IDW!MTMTE!Ratchet Part One

Solars Indie Series

Part Two, Part Three, Part Four, Part Five

Introduction Indie Series

Content: SFW, Deadlock and Reader were together, but then he dipped. Ratchet an Drift are together. But Ratchet wants that reader booty to now lol. Lore is changed a lot sorry.

TW/Tags: Angst, Lots of angst, sparkling is so god damn cute, Ratchet wants that reader booty near the end, wholesome moments including sparkling, sparkling with a fever, more angst.

You were Deadlocks Conjunx once. You both becoming one after both joining the Decepticons. Him being the very bot who won your spark when so many couldn’t.

Something most would've expected anyway thanks to the swords and both similar combat skills. It wasn’t always easy though. Him being in an aggressive mood most times. There was a point where you didn’t believe in the cause as much.

But stayed for Deadlock. After speaking to him of his current views.

And so as time went by. You and Deadlcok continued to be used to fight in many missions and execute bots for Lord Megatron.

Something you didn’t enjoy as much as Deadlock did.

On one special night you went to one of your available doctors. Having felt sick for days and so on.

Deadlock was busy with a mission. And….well.

You were with sparkling. This could be bad for not only you. But for Deadlock as well with his status. Usually when Cons have sparklings they can leave but can’t be protected.

As you made it to your shared berth room you grew ever so nervous. Sitting on the berth.

Waiting for him to return. But you’d then notice a data pad with his writing on it. You picked it up. And soon was hit with tears falling down your cheeks as you read.

“My dearest. My Sweetspark. I’m sorry….I know you have your opinions and thought of the clash of bots and cons. But I couldn’t bring myself to come to you with this choice. I was a terrible partner. And I only hope you will find another who can treat you better then I ever could…..Best of wishes…….Deadlock.”

”………………………………………………ah crap.”

———————————————————————————

A couple years went by since then. You left the decepticons after breaking the bond between you both. To live in the city with neutrals. You and your sparkling. Who was born a few months after Deadlocks leave. Were accepted in and from then on you were able to live a safe life with your little one.

You named him Rubble. He looked like the perfect mix of you and Deadlock.

Eventually you were able to join a crew during the war at the time. The Autobots who accepted you. Allowing you to take your sparkling with them and promise to protect him.

Your sparkling grew a little. Being very small. Defiantly from you.

One day, time after the war ended. You and your sparkling were asked to join the Autobots by an old friend of your. Cyclonus. You and him were close. And he loved your sparkling Rubble.

Already wanting to teach him how to use swords when he was old enough to crawl and hold things in his small cervos.

You agreed to join knowing your sparkling will probably be the safest sparkling there.

And so you came along. Staying close to Cyclonus.

Luckily being a big and scary bot no one dared to come near you and your little one. Your sparkling in your arms. At times reaching for your helm as his other cervo clawed at the top of your chest.

Letting out small coos as you gently shhhd him.

Rubble getting happy whenever he sees Cyclonus standing there. Rodimus would start his speech with two bots next to him. Speaking about his plan of the lost light and the future path for them since the end of the war.

You could swear the white bot on his right looked familiar. But you weren’t sure. So you just ignored the feeling. When boarding onto the ship you were greeted by Skids.

He was polite. Charming. And he honestly just wanted to meet the little one and ask where the Sire was. You were walking around to your room next to Cyclonus. You both chatted and got along. Having some things in common with each other. And so you both walked together and talked.

Little Rubble in your arms slowly falling asleep with his helm rested against the top of your chest.

You didn’t notice hw you two past three certain bots going over some news and messages from Optimus prime. As they past.

The white bot was the one to notice you. You didn’t change your look much and he also took note that you had a sparkling in your arms.

He couldn’t build up the courage to stop you until he got a comm from Ratchet…His Conjunx.

After a few days you descided to see Serve. He already knew you have a sparkling and always made sure there was energon goo enough for you to drink. But nothing strong. Since you don’t have a babysitter. You had to take your sparkling with you everywhere.

That didn’t stop the stares and small flirts by some mechs and even femmes.

Something you didn’t understand very well. And so you sat at the bar with your sparkling on your lap as he nibbled on his cervo. He would reach for you and Swerve every now and then.

Swerve at times smiling at finding little ways like doing tricks with the drinks to make him laugh.

He is pretty good at that. The others seem to enjoy hearing your sparkling laugh as Rubble placed his small cervo on the table. Standing on your lap as your cervo gently held and rested on his small belly. The other holding your drink.

You didn’t pay much mind as a mech sat next to you. It was that white one again.

Swerve already knew to give him the drink he wanted and went to serve others drinks as you and the bot were alone. Rubble kept gently slamming his tiny cervos on the counter.

Drift looked at you as you drank and watched the Cybertron news. Your frame and paint still the same as ever.

You had an autobot logo on your chest and shoulders now. You had that damn same warm smile and bright yellow optics. Your sparkling having the same optics as he had a large grin on his dermas. You’d let out a few chuckles because of your sparkling.

”Is Uncle Swerve making jokes little one?” He cooed as he looked back at you then back at Swerve.

Drift also noticed you still have your swords. Just brighter now then when he left. He’s sure you still didn’t recognize him. He honestly wasn’t that sure why he came her. He just knows he must talk to you. And so with a gulp. He spoke.

”Hey….Y/N.” His voice catching you off guard.

No it can’t be. Your helm slowly turned towards him as Rubble did the same as he let out a small sound. Looking at the bot as drift looked at him as well.

“Do I know you?” He let out a soft chuckle as your cervo gently pressed Rubble a bit closer to your chest. Your optics narrowed as drift turned his frame a bit to face you as he tried to find his words.

”I’d…sure hope so. It’s…it’s me. Deadlock.” Your optics widened a bit as you stared at him. He can tell you didn’t know what to say.

Rubble looking at you then him as he sat down on you lap. His little cervos gently holding your larger one.

Drift finally spoke after a moment of silence. “Is he….”

You soon had a small frown. Your optic ridges a little furrowed as you stared at him and tried to not break the cup in your cervo.

You then drink the last of your energon and sets it down. Standing up as you pick your sparkling up to have him against your chest. Soon out of your seat and walking out of the bar. No one seems to notice. Even as Drift chases after you.

“Y/N Wait.”

As you walked down the hall Drift continued to come for you. “Please. Look I’m sorry I never should’ve left. I should’ve came to you as we promised and-“

You were fast to turn around making him stop. Both cervo holding Rubble so he wont look back and stays close to your chest as he cooed for you.

“I don’t need your empty apology Deadlock. What I need if you to stay away from me and my sparkling!”

Drift was panicking. You’re finally here and this could be his only chance. “He’s mine. Isn’t he?….Please I just wish to know.”

You stay still for a moment. Your back toawrds him as your sparkling looks up at you.

He gently cooed at you and reached up at you. You swear he’s trying to tell you something. And so you turned to almost face him. He can tell you’re holding in tears as Rubble looked at him as well.

Unsure as Rubbles cervos gripped at your top chest.

”Yes. He’s yours. Was a month pregnent with him when you chose to leave us.”

Drift stood there in silence for a moment longer. His sparkling. The same sparkling that was just staring at him. Probably not realizing who he was. And what his sire has done years before his birth. All the bad an horrible things he did…

Drift slowly then spoke. “Can I-“

”No.” You said firmly. Turning away as you return to your habsuit. Rubble looking over your shoulder as he stared at Drift.

Drift trying to not cry as he stood there.

After a few months, you have gone on a few dates with Skids. Cyclonus being nice enough to watch Rubble as you went to the other side of the ship. Eventually you both realized it was a small fling in a way. The emotions there then gone.

But you both remained friends and he always loved seeing Rubble when you would cross paths.

Drift stayed away. Understanding his boundaries. ratchet was well aware of who you were and Drift sure got a scolding.

———————————————————————————

One day as you slept on your berth. Rubble next to you in your arms as you both were sound asleep. That is until your sparkling stared to cough. You woke up when you felt a small cervo on your cheek.

His large yellow optics looking down at you as he had a frown. “Hey. What’s the matter my little one.”

He gently patted at his own chest and keeps coughing. He seemed to try too not cry as he stared at you. You soon sat up and gently held him as you got off the berth. He was burning up and kept trying to not cry.

“It’s alright my little one. Lets get you checked out.” You’d then transform around him.

He was in the passenger seat as he couldn’t stop crying. You drove in the middle of the night. There being only guards who all knew you. Sparkling of course. You drove as fast as you could to the med bay.

Rubble keeps crying as you tried to calm him down.

“I know you’re hurting my little one. Hang in there and stay strong for me. Can you do that for carrier sweetspark?”

You can hear him gently trying to hold in a sniffle. His cheeks puffed up as he try’s to not cry but his tears won’t stop falling down. You panick. “No no little one it’s ok to let it out. You’re already being so strong!”

He’d continued to cry as you got closer. Luckily the best medic was pulling an old nighter in the med bay.

You rushed in speaking as you transformed and held Rubble. He continues to cry which annoys Ratchet a little, causing him to turn around. “Please I don’t know if my Sparkling has a high fever or something!”

Ratchet looked at Rubble. Rubble having tears in his optics as he tries to hold back from crying. Ratchet just sighed as he gently took him.

“Alright you little sparkling you don’t have to hold back just to impress me.”

He gently held him in his arm as his other cervo rests on Rubbles chest. Rubble gently grabbing his digits having a firm grip. You stand there with cervos together worried as Ratchet feels his spark beat and all. Then felt his forhelm. Rubble still grabbing at that as well.

”He defiantly has a high fever. He’ll have to just try sleeping and give him some medican. He wont like it but it’ll help. Would you mind sitting?”

You’d nod and sit at the patience spot. He gently sets Rubble on his lap.

Rubble turned his frame so his side is facing you. Gently grabbing your arm as he keeps trying to hold in his tears.

Ratchet then grabs a medican to help with heavy fever and colds. “He wont like it but it’ll help him sooner then most would think.”

He presents you with it. You gently took it and looked at it. Rubble of course curious tried reaching for it as he cooed. Still crying. Still sniffling as tears come down his cheeks.

”Thank you Dr. Ratchet.”

”You both take care now.” You’d nod and walk out with Rubble. He watched you as the door then closes behind you. Ratchet stood there for a moment in silence.

”…………….Damn.” Ratchet said with a blush.

———————————————————————————

“Come on Rubble you have to take your medican. It’ll make the fever go away.”

Rubble only made more baby noises as you try to put the spoon of medican in his mouth. His cervo pushing at yours as he turns his helm away.

“mmmmBA!!” He keeps crying since his fever was still high.

You both were in your berth room. Trying to get him from crying was the hardest part. You’re sure your neighbors aren’t too happy.

You’d then hear a knock on the door. You’d then look back at Rubble who looked at you. “Stay here you little gremlin.” He smiled even through his tears as he watch you leave.

You click the button to open the door and it was Ratchet. He had a small smile on his dermas. “How’s fever sparkling doing?”

”I’m sorry. I know he can be loud when he wants to be.”

”BA!” Rubble yelled. You’re guessing his way of saying hey in baby language as he sat on the bed.

”Would you mind me giving it a try?” You let out a soft sigh and nodded. Stepping out of his way so he walks in. Closing the door behind him once he was fully in.

Rubble continues to cry as Ratchet sat next to him on the berth.

A few minutes went by. Ratchet spoke to Rubble. Not sure if Rubble understood him but his large optics just stared up at him like as if he’s his sire.

You watched the two. Rubble slowly stopped crying and Ratchet was able to get Rubble to take the medican before Rubble realized it. Instantly closing his mouth once he tasted it. Struggling to swallow.

Eventually he does as ratchet comforted him.

Rubble saying BLA many times. “Wow you actually got him to take it.” Ratchet just chuckled as he got off the berth. Rubbing laying back as ratchet makes his way to you. His cervos on his hips.

“That should help him. Um do you mind if I ask you something?”

”Of course not. What’s your question?” he seemed a bit nervous as he trys to speak.

“Well would you like to um hang out at times with me and my partner. I don’t have a shift in a couple days.” You were taken aback but let out a soft chuckle. “I’d love to.”

Ratchet let out a chuckle before speaking once more. “At 4. In a couple days I’ll come by.” He said with a smile as he looked down at you. You’d nod as he then walks out to the hall. The door closing behind him.

You’d look over at Rubble. Who was fast asleep. His little cervos and arms over his belly. You’d then walk over, gently holding the side of his helm as his dermas have a small smile. Leaning into your cervo.

Thank primus he was born healthy. Although it’s awkward for you being on the same ship with his Sire.

But as long as your sparkling can grow with the ones closest around him. You know you can handle anything. So now it’s time to get to know some new bots! Rubble needs a Sire figure after all.

And your carrier instincts are telling you to not disappoint!

Hey guys! Sorry this one took all day I could not for the life of me figure out the ending. So sorry that it’s a the weakest part of the story. I was gonna do a full fic but I realized there’s more depth so I’ll make a part 2.

I hope you guys liked this one it was going to be just Drift but honestly looking at that medic booty by “total accident” I swear guys. I have to add Ratchet but also being for angst too. I swear I’ll make a scene of reader kicking aft at some point in part 2. Might get spicy a few times.

Am I good at doing sparkling scenes? I hope they came out good and still enjoyable. As always I hope you guys enjoyed this and a repost is always appreciated. I hope you all have a good rest of your day and see y’all in the next one!

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kisseobie · 7 months ago

Note

OH AND-idk if you’ve received a request abt this before but I’ll take my chance, piwon with an s/o who has nipples or a tongue piercing 🤭

- 🪼 anon

p1harmony with a s/o who has specific piercings

pairings: ot6 p1harmony x reader

genre: nsfw (mdni)

a/n: hii 🪼 anon! thank u so much for this request.. i have always wanted these types of piercings so this was fun to think abt :P i hope it’s okay that i included more than just the piercings u mentioned, i wanted some variety and couldn’t help myself lol

*ੈ keeho

kyo would beggggg you to get a clit piercing. kind of alludes to how hot it would be but he’s mostly just teasing—he doesn’t mind if you shoot down his jokes about it because at the end of the day it’s your body. when you do surprise him with one, probably getting it done when he’s touring so it has some time to heal, he’s dropping to his knees quicker than he’s ever done before, ready to eat you whole and gauge what reactions the heightened sensitivity from the jewel will get out of you. i can see him kissing your clit, right atop the pretty piercing, then replacing his lips with his tongue… would make a “v” shape with his fingers on your cunt just to spread you out so he can fully devour the view. taps the tip of his cock against the stud, and gets addicted to the mix of pain and pleasure when it slightly sinks into the slit of his cockhead .. buys you jewelry every now and then and makes you model it for him… yum

*ੈ theo

taeyang might be a mood maker, but he’s still very shy in nature, so i don’t think he’d ever express his desires for your nipples to be pierced directly to you, but he’s definitely fantasized about it. he might have drunkenly mentioned his little fantasy to one of his members late at night, when he’s assumed you’ve passed out on his thigh, when in reality, you were fully awake… if you surprise him in the future by flashing him, he’s immediately grabbing you by the waist with a crazed look in his eyes. lovesss pinching your buds and sucking at them whilst making eye contact with you, in fact i don’t think there’s anything he loves more. if you mix and match the color of your nipple jewelry with your lingerie sets, trust and believe he’s fucking your boobs and spilling all over them :P oh and he loves helping you switch and pick out your jewelry .. praises you all the time with words like “got your tits all dolled up for me, angel? you’re driving me crazy.”

*ੈ jiung

i’ve mentioned before that this man is a sucker for blowjobs, and if you get a tongue piercing and give him head? he’s losing his fucking mind.. would get all rough with it, standing up and slapping his cockhead against your tongue—decorated with a little bud of metal that he oh so adores. jiung would whine out from the added stimulation of your tongue piercing, especially when it would drag over the prominent vein etched on his shaft. would have you on your knees with your tongue stuck out as he fucks into his fist, making sure that when he comes, he paints your tongue, and your little stud, white :3 he’s soooo nasty with it… would probably think about getting a tongue piercing as well, especially after feeling how yours feels against his dick.. i feel like ji is such an experimentalist so he’d wanna know how a tongue piercing would make you feel … woah guys jiung tongue piercing WHEN?

*ੈ intak

intak is a simple man at heart, so he doesn’t need you to have any fancy piercings for him to get riled up. just a typical nostril hoop or loaded ears are enough for him to feel like the luckiest man on earth.. is always telling you how badass you are, it’s actually very endearing. ooh but if you do want to catch him completely off guard .. getting his name tattooed in traditional cursive lettering, with a single dermal stud on the “i” in his name, would bring a possessive side out of intak like you’ve never seen before. he’d probably spend many mornings admiring your piercings whilst watch you sleep, would definitely kiss the jewelry and help you clean the pierced skin with saline solution. doesn’t particularly want piercings of his own, but he’d buy those fake ones, matching yours just to surprise you one day (he’d be giggling because he thought he looked ridiculous, but would be pleasantly surprised of you pounced on him and found the potential piercings sexy) :D

*ੈ soul

any dermal or facial piercings would fuck shota up for sure. back dermals or angel bites, he doesn’t really care exactly what you opt to get.. he just loves to see his girlfriend pierced up tbh. imagining you with back dermals though.. i think soulie would be so amazed at how brave you would be to get them, as they are known as being pretty painful piercings. would accompany you to your appointment and hold your hand so sweetly throughout the entire process, and then he’d take you home and fuck you from the back so he’d have the perfect view of the new jewelry. once you’re all healed up, he’s definitely making excuses to cum on your back when you in fact know he’s just obsessed with coming on top of the studs <33 and if you have facial piercings? he’s kissing them as he pounds into your heat, making out with you impossibly close and hissing at the way the jewelry pokes at his soft skin. like jiung, he might even try to get matching piercings with you :3

*ੈ jongseob

get your belly button pierced and jongseob is fucking you into next week. his emo self would be so stoked if his girlfriend decided to get her belly button pierced. loves you and your crop tops already, but he doesn’t realize until you’ve been pierced just how much he loves the sight of your tummy out and about, especially now that it’s been decorated with a little pink heart charm. finds it so cute and so sexy, would definitely pull you into him and wrap his hands around your waist, thumbs etching little circles into your skin and getting dangerously close to the piercing.. oh and i can’t write jongseob without mentioning his love for photography. can you imagine getting your button pierced and seobie taking polaroid pictures of you on his bed, topless and only wearing some skimpy panties.. ugh and he loves looking at how ur tummy bulges when he’s fucking into you, the piercing being the cherry on top.. oh i’m gonna faint

taglist: @woozixo @hearts4chanhee @kyokopi @astro-doll-the-star @soobiary @kyaaramello @t3ssamoodboard @angelcbf @idontknow-1s-world @vivienne-sim @elissasimp @imjustayapper @ihatewreckingballmains @sosaverse @seobing @www90kitsch @khfviq @barbiekh86t @bbyjjunie @taeyangi @fullsunstrawberry @jihnyah @intheemptymirror @watamotee33 @dreamer1299 @jixnnsie @wonootnoot @yukx-x047 @sundancearchives @chuuswifereal @seisyiss @fishsquishh @sunnyyangie @asianpenguin04

ੈ ₊ ° .

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enha-roza · 3 months ago

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HYUNG LINE LOVE LANGUAGES

hyung line x 8thmember!oc

warnings : kissing, oral, cockwarming, nicknames (princess, doll, pretty, baby )

wc : 1.2k

Heeseung : Physical Touch Heeseung loves physical touch. Always has his hands on Roza in one way or another. Hands on her waist, resting on her thighs, arm around her shoulder. He just enjoys being right next to her. Even subconsciously drifting to stand next to her, hands instinctively wrapping around her waist. It all came naturally to him.

“And here is Roza, she is getting her makeup done!” Heeseung said, pointing the camera at her through the mirror. “Hello Engene! Do I look pretty?” she joked. “Of course you do!” Roza stood up, her makeup done. “Ahhh, I'm so nervous, I don't know why.” “Roza always gets nervous… but she always does well anyway.” Heeseung said to the camera, arm wrapping around Roza’s shoulder. “You think… my mind gets the best of me, i always freak myself out.” she giggled. “You'll do fine, you always do!” He said leaving a peck on her cheek. “Yah, my makeup!” Roza looked in the mirror at a faint lip mark on her cheek. Heeseung’s arms came around her, head resting on her shoulder and he filmed her trying to remove the lip mark. “It's pretty…” “shut up..” she whispered shyly.

18+ Heeseung was eating Roza out when he felt her hand reaching out for him. His fingers intertwined with Roza’s as she arched her back, Heeseung’s mouth leaving her a moaning mess. Slowly he left kisses over body and hickeys on her neck. “You can’t leave hickeys!” “I don't care if our fans see… you look so pretty.” Heeseung ran his hands over Roza’s waist as he slid between her tight walls. Soothing Roza with kisses to her neck and jaw. “Love having you in my arms.” He moaned as he continued to please his baby, hands wrapping around her neck. He watched as her eyes rolled back into her head. “God look at you. So weak at my touch.”

✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ:* ✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ:* ✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ:* ✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ:* ✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ:* ✧

Jay : Acts of Service There's nothing more Jay loves than doing things for the people he cares about. Obviously Roza included. Jay’s favorite thing to do for Roza is cook. He enjoys making her favorite meals and making sure she's well fed. Due to their busy schedule Roza often forgot to eat and Jay made it his job to make sure she had eaten.

The members had just gotten back from tour and Roza was resting in her room. “Are you hungry?” Jay poked his head into her room. “Kinda… are you gonna cook something?” “yeah, what do you want?” “I don't know… anything, I'm just hungry.” Jay laughed as he grabbed Roza’s hands bringing her to the kitchen. “Also I got you a gift…” Jay pulled a small box out of his pocket handing it to Roza. “what! Omg jay you didn't have too!” Roza immediately recognized what it was. A bracelet she had been looking at while shopping a couple of weeks ago. “I saw you looking at it…” He said shyly, getting out food to cook. “Jay, that's so sweet…” Jay looked over and saw Roza looking at the bracelet gloomy. “Are you crying?” “no…” “come here.” Jay pulled Roza into him. “You deserve it, silly.” “thank you Oppa.”

18+ Jay was sitting on his bed scrolling through his phone when Roza came in and sat on his lap. “Hey pretty, what's up?” Jay’s hand came up to caress her face. “need you…” Roza said so quietly Jay wasn't sure if he heard her correctly. “You need me? You're gonna have to be a more specific doll.” He watched her slowly build up the courage. “Was trying to get off by myself but i couldn't… I need your help.” His heart swelled at her as she spoke softly. “Yeah, need Oppa’s help… poor baby couldn’t get herself off.” He smirked as he laid her down on his bed, ready and willing to put his hands and mouth to good use. Willing to do anything for her.

✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ:* ✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ:* ✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ:* ✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ:* ✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ:* ✧

Jake : Words of Affirmation Jake was a sweetheart. He is always complimenting the members and giving them praise any chance he can get. Jake especially likes complimenting Roza. he likes seeing how shy she gets. Whether he’s commenting on her skill, beauty or even her laugh. Jake always finds a way to put a blush on Roza’s cheeks.

The members were taking concept photos for their upcoming album where Jake, Roza and Niki were paired up to take some unit photos. “Wahh, you look so pretty…” Jake stood blankly watching Roza as she walked up to him. “You think?” “Yeah, I think you're the prettiest girl in the world.” Roza turned away shyly at Jake's complement. “Noona’s shy!” Niki shouted as he laughed at Roza. “Shut up Niki!” Roza said. “Don't act shy, love. You really are the prettiest.” Niki makes gagging sounds at Jake's sappy flirting. “Hyung, can't you be normal?” “This is normal for me, I'm always complimenting my pretty girl." “Oh god.” Niki said for a last time before walking away.

18+ Jake loved when Roza pleased him so naturally he made sure she knew how well she was making him feel. “Mmm, there we go baby. Doing so good for me” He moaned as his hand tangled in her head, her lips wrapped around his cock. “Keep going, so close…” Jake looked down, eyes meeting Roza’s watery ones. “Look at you, doing the most to please me… ahhhh, you look so pretty.” Even with how busy she was, Jake noticed her cheek blushing. “You like that… like me complimenting how pretty you are with your mouth stuffed full. Of course you do.” He smirked. He knew Roza loved receiving compliments just as much as he loved giving them.

✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ:* ✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ:* ✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ:* ✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ:* ✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ:* ✧

Sunghoon : Quality Time Sunghoon likes being in Roza’s presence. He enjoyed being her roommate on tour, seatmate on planes or long car rides. He liked doing almost anything, as long as he was with her. Even when no words were being exchanged, he liked just being around her. Sunghoon most enjoyed laying next to Roza while she slept. Just watching her and listening to her small breaths made his heart warm.

Roza climbed into Sunghoon’s bed ready to watch a movie together. Sunghoon immediately noticed how tired she was, eyes droopy and small yawns passing through her lips. “If you're tired go to sleep, i don't wanna keep you up” He said, smile widening just looking at her. “But I feel bad. I promised we would watch a movie…” “it's okay, i don't mind! I'd rather you sleep anyway.” Roza nodded as she snuggled into the blankets and very quickly dozed off. Sunghoon admired her as she slept. He continued to scroll on his phone before heading to sleep himself. Happy to sleep with Roza next to him.

18+ Sunghoon had just gotten out of the shower when he entered his Room, finding Roza snuggled into his bed. “Hey baby, what are you doing?” “missed you, wanna sleep here… is that okay?” “Of course you can.” He soon joined her, bringing her in closer by the waist. Soon Roza fell asleep and Sunghoon could feel himself getting hard as she unconsciously pressed into him. “Baby… wake up.” He whispered as Roza slowly woke up. “Need to be in you baby…” his voice raspy as he slid Roza’s sleep shorts to the side, before pushing his hard cock into her. Roza whined at the stretch. “It's okay baby, go back to sleep” Sunghoon caressed her sides as she quickly went back to dreamland. Sunghoon himself, now satisfied, also ready to sleep.

a/n : hehehehehe

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miniversse · 5 months ago

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⭑ “i like it” ⭑

⭑ seungmin x female reader

⭑ content includes: non-idol reader, non-idol seungmin, mentions of drinking, unprotected sex, fingering, toxic relationship, fwb relationship, established relationship, cursing, reference to skz lyrics

⭑ note: i’ve missed you guys loadsss! this is really rough work so please make me aware of any mistakes so i can go over them. happy reading loves

⭑ minors dni

⭑————————————————————⭑

you’re on your third glass of wine while he scrolls through his phone carelessly. burning holes into his head with your stares wasn’t giving him the signal, but he would take another sip and finally look at you.

“what’s wrong?”

you turn your head to the side, swirling and swishing the wine in your glass to stop you from speaking recklessly.

“i think it’s time we address some things” you spoke dryly, rubbing your thighs to keep them warm. his cold and careless demeanor made your skin boil, and it was time you let it cool down.

he plants an annoying smile across his face, placing a hand above yours and arching his body in.

“tell me pretty girl, what’s up?” his voice was so elegant and melodic and it bothered you so much because his voice will never be yours, his smile will never be yours and his presence will never be yours.

“we… aren’t on the same page…” you trail off. “and i know i promised you that wouldn’t happen, but i can’t control my feelings”

he scoffs, bringing his hand back to his own thighs. “y/n, i thought i made this very fucking clear. we are fuck buddies. nothing more, nothing less” his strong emphasis on the words “fuck buddies” made your heart ache, and a lump to catch in your throat.

“but seungmin-“

“no y/n, no. i couldn’t have made myself clearer in the first day we met.”

and there it was, the cold tear dropped on your thigh and trailed down your skin, cooling the burning sensation in your body.

“what if we try! just… please try to see me as something more for once.”

he scoffs again, biting his lip in frustration. “like i fucking said: i like that i love you, but i don’t wanna fucking love” he grabs his jacket from the chair, pacing to your front door while you try to grab at his wrist, your vision blurry from the streaming tears.

you manage to get ahold of him before he slams the door, but he turns you in a swift move, slamming you against the wall and pushing your wrist until your bracelet was deep into your skin.

“fucking slut, you heard me the first time.” he takes your lips in, kissing you aggressively and sloppily. his teeth would take in your lower lip, biting at it until you couldn’t feel it no more. his parting lips leave you empty, and his fingers wrapping around your neck drove you insane.

“you aren’t mine. you’ll never be mine. you’re a fucking slut and that’s all”

amidst your weeps, you pull him closer, placing softer more intimate kisses, struggling to come to the fact that seungmin… is just a fuck buddy. he melts in your touch, his fingers digging deep into your waist while the cold wind from the open door graces your skin.

“please, fuck me before you go” you beg, crying harder at every touch he exchanges with you.

you’re back in the bedroom, back in his touch, back to seeing him bare, back to hearing his sweet voice and guilty confessions.

“you’re so fucking good for me, i want you” he groans while he fills you up, wrapping an arm around your shoulders to hold you up. he thrusts into you slowly, memorizing every way your body reacted.

“take me” you pant, “i’m all yours” you were molded for eachother; made to fit like pieces in a puzzle.

“no. fuck no.” he slurs denials while biting at your neck, slowly picking up the pace until your tits are bouncing in-front of him, driving him crazy.

“i’m good for you baby, please” your cries turn into moans as you feel every vein on his dick moving on your walls. never had anyone made you feel this way, and he knows that too. sticking two fingers into your drooling mouth, he pushes them deep inside of you, curling them at every right spot and letting out of you gruesome groans.

“mmh, let your mouth move pretty girl”

you obliged, willing to do anything just to be with him. with every time he pounded into you faster, his groans got louder and your whines got pitchier. his fingers pushed into you recklessly until you were slouched over him, waiting for him to fill you up and leak down your thighs. the same thighs that your tears leaked off of.

his lips were occupied between your legs, trialing hot kisses from your knees to your folds, switching to his tongue to eat you out and leave your legs shaking. his tongue twisted in and out of you, flicking your clit and hitting every spot that made you moan. you would cum in an instant, falling weak to his touch while he licks you clean, moving back up to kiss you and swirl your flavor into your mouth.

but then you would both lie naked in bed, taking drags from a shared cigarette all in silence. something in the air would never be addressed, it just lingered endlessly. he moves closer, tucking strands of frizzy hair behind your ear that he would suck at gently, leaving butterflies in your stomach.

“this is it. i like it this way”

and that’s how the night would end with him. cold and empty on the sheets that his smell still lingered on.

⭑ TAG LIST

@captainchrisstan @all4minnie @rylea08 @strayywayy @katsukis1wife @kayleefriedchicken

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getitoutofmymindwrites · 11 months ago

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Petrichor. | joel miller x f!reader, 4.1k

Summary: You underestimate yourself but Joel doesn't like what's his to be degrated. Unless, he's the one doing it. He makes sure you know your place.

Warnings: 18+ MDNI, allusion to suicidal thoughts BUT it's a misunderstanding, low self esteem!reader, established relationship, unspecified age gap (make it you own😏), dom!Joel, sub!reader, dd/lg vibes, pet names(darlin', baby, sweetheart, little girl, good girl), degradation kink, praise kink, size kink, daddy kink, oral m!receiving, masturbation f!receiving, dacryphilia, pussy slapping (quite a few), deepthroating, facial, cum eating, aftercare, as always let me know if I missed anything!

A/N: First of all, thank you for your love on my little drabble Take me, I didn't expect it at all and I'm so glad you liked it, it really means the world! 🙈 Now, for this fella here, I swear to god it was supposed to be a drabble, I even named its draft as such, because I'm so decisive and steady.😂 I don’t know what happened, it started as a pwp but of course I had to go and pepper it with some feelings.🙄 And then @iamasaddie had a smut fic prompt including “Baby, you know, Daddy only hurts you because you look so pretty when you cry.” line and it fitted so damn well, like Joel's cock fits in reader's pussy, so there's that. 🥵🥵

P.S.: I hate summaries, I hate them, I wish someone else would write them for me. Ok, I love you all, let me know what you think!

Song on repeat: The kooks - Sway

Divider by @saradika-graphics

Maybe this is your favorite sound in the world, you think as you hear the rain drops hit the -floor to ceiling- windows of your loft.

Your mind wanders to your childhood memories searching for confirmation. And you think that, yes, this is it. So, it makes perfect sense that your favorite scent is that of the soaked soil after raining. Petrichor. You smile softly to yourself.

He seems to notice that. But then, he always does.

He’s on his side facing you, all 5’11” of his magnificent naked body laying on your bed, his head resting on the pillow. One hand under your neck, as you lay flat on your back, the other reaching for your jawline, turning you to face him instead of the window.

You turn to him, gladly, because this, this is your favorite sight in the world. Him. The soft glow from the lights outside is the only source of illumination and he couldn’t be more beautiful than right now. He makes your heart ache instantly. His calm and safe presence in your life is such a juxtaposition to the shadows of your past, it brings a lump in your throat. You swallow it down.

“Why the smile, baby?” he speaks carefully, like he feels the antithesis of the emotions inside you right now. And there it is, at last. This is the answer you’re looking for. This, this is your favorite sound in the world. His voice.

Your palm lands on the hand petting your cheek. “No reason,” you smile to him, “just feeling content.”

“Are you, though?” he insists after a minute, “feeling content?”

“I-, yeah, of course I do, you know that.”

“Do I?”

“I hope you do. You know what you mean to me, what your presence in my life means to me, right?” your voice is lightly wavering, the lump in your throat lurking still. “And- and I’m so happy with my job and my new place and everyth-”

“Why did you choose this place?”

“You don’t like it?”

“I didn’t say that. From all the places we’ve seen, why this? I saw in your eyes it did something to you.” And if you ever entertained the idea that maybe some things get past him, you do not anymore. You can’t hide from him. And you find that, oddly, liberating.

“Because it’s everything I'm not; I wanted to challenge myself.”

He’s curious now. After all these bits and pieces over these past few months you’re giving him something more. He knows there’s more. “How so?”

“It’s just-”, you roll your eyes in frustration, trying to compare a space to a person, “so open, so bare, no hiding spaces, you know, open floor and everything, I remember when I first walked in it made me feel uneasy, insecure, intimidated. So I rented it.”, you shrug like it was the most natural thing in the world.

“Why would you feel all that?”

He raises his head supporting it on his palm as he studies your profile from his side, seeing your struggle, the waterline of your eyes glassing over, the vein on your forehead bulging. There’s so much you want to tell him, confide in him, confess to him, but you don’t know where to begin. How to sum all this shit up.

“I just- I have lived my life without actually living. I just- existed. I compromised, backed down, let myself be led by people who were supposed to be my family and now-” your lips are trembling and you bite your bottom lip to stop it, your throat is closing, you feel this ache, this burning sensation inside of it, like acid through your veins, making you unable to breathe, let alone speak. Your face turns pinkish, the tears threatening to spill now, the sob ready to explode deep from your chest.

“-I just hate myself-” you mouth through an inaudible cry, still deprived of air in your lungs that they feel like they’re gonna collapse.

His legs straddle yours in a moment of panic, his eyes wide, his pupils blown, his body stiff, ready to engage in some kind of fight. He’s leaning above you, his long torso shadows over you, his huge hand cupping the back of your neck and pulls you in a sitting position underneath him. Your hands grab his forearms in confusion. It -he- makes you feel so tiny, which you are compare to him, but even more so, now that his knees are pressing down on the sides of your hips, holding his weight above your lap so he won’t completely crush you, making your body sink deeper into the mattress and suddenly you’re so small, so insignificant, so unnoticed to the rest of the room, of the apartment, of the world. Except from him. His eyes, raging fires, burning yours as they search for meaning, answers, reassurance. His fist is closing and tugging harshly at the hairs on the back of your neck, demanding all of your attention. The tears run freely down your cheeks now on their own volition, years of restrain and pain unleashed in a blink of an eye.

“Tell me I don’t need to fuckin’ worry about you.” he demands in a harsh tone, his expression painted with anger, desperation, agony.

You open your mouth to respond, but you are at loss for words, your thoughts hazy and confused.

“Tell me!” his voice high and urgent, now mirroring his expression, almost breaking.

And you get it now, you really do. The smell of fear, the fear of loss, the loss of existence.

Your eyes widen, your lips trembling again, “No, no!”, you shake your head violently, his grip on your scalp tightening more, in warning. His expression is torn, like the two faces of Janus, his jaw clenched in disbelief, but his eyes pained, begging, pleading for trust.

Your hands fly around his middle, squeezing him, your fingernails nearly tearing his flesh, “I swear Joel, no, that was not what I meant!” you’re desperate now, how could he think that, doesn’t he know what he means to you?

He doesn’t budge, he doesn’t move a muscle, his eyes keep scanning, keep searching. You try to rest your forehead to his stomach now, how massive he is above you and he allows it. His fist unclench from your hair, cupping your neck again tenderly, his mouth kissing the top of your head. Your arms hug him tighter now, pressing your face to his sweaty skin, inhaling his scent, grounding you, your fingers caressing his broad back up and down. “I swear, I swear.” you keep muttering on his skin, your nose deeply pressed against his firm chest now, barely breathing.

He moves both his hands to the sides of your neck, simply holding you and tilting your head up to look at him. He bends forward to touch your lips with his in a soft kiss, just flesh touching flesh. His forehead resting on yours, he sighs deeply, letting all the weight of the world go through his nostrils. “Don’t you ever-”

“I’m sorry Joel, I’m so sorry, that’s not what I meant, I promise.” you apologize, pressing your chin to his skin, looking up at him. But his eyes are still searching, not letting this one go.

“I’m just pissed it took me so long to wake up. I’m scared I fucked my life up. I’m scared I missed my chance. I’m scared-” you shake your head slowly in disappointment as you try to explain and Joel keeps his eyes on you, waiting. He nods, he’s listening, he’s here. He’s got you. “I’m scared I’m so broken; there’s nothing left of me to be loved.” you hide your face back to his chest again.

He holds you tight, whispering at the crown of your head, “There’s so much left my darlin’, so much left. And I’m here to pick each and every piece of you up and mend it back together.” And you know he is. You just don’t know if you’re worth the trouble.

Suddently your senses are so overloaded, you just need something to ground you. Hard. His natural musk mixed with sweat and sex from earlier that night hits your nostrils, his soft now cock practically under your nose, on your lap. And there is another answer for you. This, this is your favorite scent in the world. His scent.

You inhale deeply, your forehead pressing on his skin, feeling the sparse hair of his chest and the steady beating of his heart. “I need you Joel.”

He tugs your hair gently to raise your head and looks at you. Really looks at you.

“What do you need, sweetheart?”, he moves his hands cupping your cheeks softly.

“I need you to punish me.” you plead with your eyes closed, embarrassment creeping in.

His breath is hitching in his throat, his eyes darken immediately, “Yeah?”

“Yeah..”

“Use your manners then and ask for it, properly.”

“Please sir, I need you to take control, put me in my place.” you feel your skin shiver, your core warming up again.

He just stares at you, making your heart flutter.

You can feel him hardening, his heavy cock brushing against your stomach. You go to palm him, stroke him to his full potential but he grabs your hand and swats it away.

“You're asking for two different things sweetheart and that tells me you're in a delicate headspace. So, I am taking control from you and I am not going to punish you.” he settles.

“But I wa-”

He raises his brows “Are you sure you want to finish that sentence, little girl?” and that effectively shuts you up and turns you on. He doesn’t speak again, he doesn’t say anything else, he just puts his hand on your throat, resting it there for a second, observing you and then he’s guiding you down on your back.

He straddles you higher, on your chest, now hard in all his glory. He’s a sight to behold. Naturally imposing, no pretenses, it’s just who he is. From his gaze to the sound of his voice and from the broadness of his shoulders to the thickness of his thighs, he’s all man.

You must look awestruck because he smirks softly. You open your mouth to -actually you don’t know what you want to ask, he just caught you off guard, but he beats you to it, explaining the situation clearly.

“When you disrespect yourself, you disrespect me and I will not have that. I will not, under any circumstances tolerate that kind of behavior. Do you understand that?”

You just lay there, mouth agape, eyes confused.

He slaps your cheek not hard enough to leave a mark but enough to sting a bit, to snap you out of your trance.

“Do you understand?”

“Yes.”

“Yes, what?”

“Yes, sir.”

“Good girl. So..” he brushes his thumb over your lips, pushing it in slowly, pressing down your tongue, “I’m gonna fuck some manners into that mouth, baby.” Oh, shit. “From now on, when you’re chocking on your tears, it’s gonna be because of me ramming my cock down your throat like it deserves.”

Your breath hitches at his vulgarity, your pupils are blown wide and your slick is running down your ass cheeks now. You suck around his thumb, your thighs pressing together in need of some friction.

“You like that, you little whore?”, he removes his thumb allowing you to respond.

You don't know where you find the nerve but, “I thought you said no disrespect.” you blurt out, you can’t help it, you want to rile him up.

“Oh, she speaks now!”, he raises his eyebrows in amusement. Or in a challenge, you’re not totally sure if you want to find out.

He breaths a laugh, shaking his head in a mockingly condencending way, “I don’t think you understand your place here little girl, so let me break it to you.”

His eyes are glazed over, some sort of wickedness mirroring in them. “Only I get to call you names. No one else. No one. Do you know why that is?” He leans in and looks above your head, a sign that he’s expecting an answer.

“Nnn- no.”

“Manners.”, he shakes your head, your jaw grabbed between his fingers.

“No, sir.”

He’s nodding his head slowly. “That’s because only daddy knows what you need.” You know there's more coming, so you stay silent.

“So, when I say you’re a whore, what do you say?”

“Yes, sir.”

“And when I say you’re my good girl, what do you say?”

“Yes, sir.”

“And when I say you’re gonna take whatever the fuck I give you, what do you say?”

“Thank you, daddy.”

“Damn right.”, his cock twitches in front of you.

“Please, daddy.” You start whining and squirming underneath him, all needy and wet.

Yes, this is right. He is right. This is how you need it. This is how it should be. If your throat’s gonna hurt and burn and swell it’s gonna be from the invasion of Joel’s cock and not from the insecurities caused from your past.

“Please..” you keep whining.

“Manners, ‘mnot gonna ask again.”, he demands sternly. “And quit your whining, it won't get you anywhere good; got it?”

“Please, sir, let me touch you, pretty please.” you try with a steadier voice.

“Now, now, that’s a good girl right there, hm?” that seems to satisfy him. “Ok, baby, go on.”

Your trembling hands roam slowly all over his chest, then his stomach and the swell of his belly, moving all the way down to his thighs and finally up to the v of where they meet with his pelvis, massaging, caressing and squeezing him softly, circling your fingers around the base of his thick cock.

You're threading them through his pubic hair, your thumbs caressing lightly under him, on his scrotum. He inhales sharply, shivers raising the hairs on his forearms. You press his waist down on you more, resting his weight on you, his warm balls touching your sternum, his hands flat on his thighs.

Joel's eyes are trained on your face, studying you, recognizing the same want, the same desire and thirst that he feels, as you worship him. You raise your head trapping his cockhead under your chin, giving hot, open mouthed kisses to his base and his veiny shaft like you would make out with his mouth. You let him slide to the side of your face, his precum painting your cheek as you bring his cock above you, kissing and licking his underside, lightly sucking his protruding vein.

His eyes darken, enough of your teasin’. He fists his cock, stroking it slowly once, twice, his thumb pressing it down to guide it into your salivating mouth. He swipes his tip across your lips, smearing his precum all over them.

“What do you do if you want me to stop?”, he checks with you.

“Joel..” you drag the vowels of his name on your tongue.

“Show. Me.”, he demands, so you move your hand to his thigh and you tap three times.

“Good. Now, open.”

You just want to consume him, suck his soul out of his perfect slit. So, you obey, sticking your tongue out. He taps his wide head on your wet muscle one, two, three times and then he invades you, moving his hips forward.

There’s something so undeniably erotic about the movement of his pelvis, like a statement, I choose to give and you accept to take, a balancing of the dynamic between you; you could watch him thrust into you forever.

You take him in as far as you can manage without chocking. The feel of every vein and ridge filling your mouth, dragging on your tongue, is driving you crazy.

You hollow your cheeks and start bobbing your head back and forth in rhythm with his thrusts, while your tongue swirls over his delicious pink head, so soft and velvet, your cunt clenches at the memory of it stretching your tight cunt.

You exhale loudly through your nose, and you’re in a frenzy now, you can’t keep a pace or build him slowly up as you’d normally do. You need him now, all of him, as fast and hard as you can, or you’re gonna die, you think. Your eyes roll back and you’re moaning so loud, Joel feels the vibrations from tip to base.

“F-fuck”, he’s taken aback from your fervor, his jaw slack and his brows pinched together from the intensity of your pace.

“Mnot gonnghhhh-”, he groans deeply, every thought of dominance long gone when you’re giving him head like this. Normally, he’d punish you for attempting to take more than he offers, but your neediness is overwhelming. His breathing is faster, louder, in an effort to level himself. His hands fly to your head, like he would hold to your hips if he was fucking you from behind. He’s taking control now for both of your sake.

His fists tighten on your head, keeping you steady and compliant, his little rug-doll, like you’d go anywhere anyway. He’s all the way in now, your nose brushing his pubic hair, his scent driving you wild. He’s fucking himself into your tight throat harder and harder, the noises from your choking on his massive length and the drooling around your mouth might embarrassed you in another life, but not in this one, not now, not with him.

You take everything because he’s everything. Nothing else exists beyond him. He blinks; you see, he moves; you shift, he laughs; you bloom, he breathes; you live.

You don’t even think of your pleasure until he palms your cunt with one hand and your juices cover his fingers. He slows his pace, thrusting into your mouth almost sensually.

“Sucking daddy’s cock made you this wet, sweetheart?”

He starts to rub your swollen clit up and down, knowing how much more intense the sensation is for you this way. You’re already so close, you can feel your lower belly tense with a familiar warmth. You moan around his cock while you begin to grind your hips against his deftly fingers. You should know better.

He slaps your pussy, the wet sound of his palm on your soaked folds making you feral. “Mmmmm” you groan, arching your back unsuccessfully under that mountain of a man above you, rolling your eyes back, your hips never stoping their movement. You're so far gone, it should be embarrassing.

He slaps you again, harder this time and then a third time in quick succession. The impact with your clit sends waves of arousal all over your body, your cunt gushing your slick all over the sheets now.

Your body tenses, your hands squeeze his ass so hard, little moon-shaped indentations mark his skin and your legs are trembling. Tears start running from your eyes to your temples from the intensity of the act.

“You’re a wild little thing, aren't you?”, still slow-fucking your face, his middle and ring finger tapping quickly on your swollen bundle of nerves. “Playing coy and innocent until my cock’s in your mouth, only to come on my palm, hm?” And then he slaps your mound again.

“Mmmmm” you moan desperately, your face contorted in pleasure, tears pooling in your ears, your whole body covered in a thin sheen of sweat. You feel him twitching in your mouth while you swallow around him. He’s hard and hot inside you and that makes you drool even more as you suck him off with everything you got. Your neck hurts, your jaw hurts, your lips are stretched to their limit, but you’re not stopping for a second.

You start to whimper and his hand leaves your hair to thumb your tears, bringing it to his mouth. You watch him trapping his digit between his plush lips and sucking on it, tasting your saltiness and everything feels so intimate, sobs start shaking your chest, making it almost impossible to breathe.

You try to push him away to breathe but Joel keeps fucking your mouth. “You know what to do if you want me to stop.”

You keep struggling to breathe but you are not going to tap his thigh.

Joel doesn’t stop, either. “You either tap, or you fuckin’ take it.”, he warns, but you shake your head in denial. “Then I guess you can take it, little girl.”, he concludes while he watches you still struggling and sobbing.

“Baby, you know, Daddy only hurts you because you look so pretty when you cry.” he says softly and you squeeze your eyes shut in an effort to calm yourself, more tears spilling out, nodding at the best of your ability.

“That’s how you gonna come for me”. You didn’t expect that.

You’re not sure you can do it and your body stiffens. It hurts good, what he's doing, leaving you panting and wanting, but you fear it's not enough to make you come. He can read that on you and he feels your hesitation.

He moves his thumb to your cheekbone, caressing it gently. Then he moves it lower, to the corner of your outstretched mouth, feeling himself sliding in and out of you. “Fuck, baby, you take me so good. You’re doin’ so good for me,” he’s panting and you know he’s holding himself back, “your mouth was made for daddy’s cock. Just let go baby, don't fight it, ok? I got you, you’re gonna be ok.”

He starts fucking your mouth roughly now, his heavy balls slapping on your wet chin, the sounds echoing in the room nearly pornographic. His hand resumes rubbing your clit in tight circles now, building you up, then tapping it a few times to bring you close and then slapping it once to bring you back from the edge, before he starts all over again.

Circling. Tapping. Slapping.

The bastard is fucking edging you.

He did exactly what you asked of him. He took control, left no room for thoughts, for decisions, for questioning. You just lay there and you take it.

“Daddy needs you to come, right fuckin’ now darlin’; be my good girl and give me what’s mine.” he commands and you obey, because there is no other way.

Your orgasm is explosive, your cunt spasming violently, your eyes rolling into your head, Joel’s pulling back his cock from your open mouth to let you breathe properly but you’re holding your breath in. “Theeere she is, there she fuckin' is..”he smirks in satisfaction, his fingers keep circling your overstimulated clit to prolong your high while he jerks himself fast above your lips.

You exhale loudly when you remember you need to breathe, the air is coming out of your lungs forcefully, hitting Joel’s tip and he comes instantly, thick ropes of milky cum painting your cheeks, nose and lips, running down to your jaw and neck. There’s so much of it, its warmth on your sweaty skin making your pussy keep clenching.

All because of that gorgeous man above you. Because it’s a part of him and he’s gifting it to you.

Joel brings his hand from between your legs to the side of your head, steadying himself, leaning above you, his head resting low between his shoulders, his breathing erratic and loud. His eyes are closed shut, his face wrecked, his muscles still convulsing from his intense orgasm.

Please, open them, let me look at you and he does open them, making you realize you said it out loud. His gaze is one of adoration and something else you don’t dare acknowledge. The edges of his mouth are curled up in a soft smirk.

His fingers caress your face, gathering his seed from your skin and feeding it to your starved mouth. You suck around his thick fingers, your tongue swiping everything clean. He places a soft kiss on your lips tasting himself on you, before he stands to fetch a warm washcloth from the bathroom to clean you up.

You close your eyes and just lay there, still, utterly content and satisfied, lighter than ever. In peace. You feel the mattress dip under his weight again and him gently cleaning your face and neck, then between your legs, discarding the cloth on the hardwood floor when he’s done and laying on top of you, peppering soft kisses all over your face.

“Good?” he whispers against your lips.

“Yes, thank you daddy”. You bring your hands on the sides of his head, kissing the space between his earlobe and jaw, then his jawline, his bottom lip, the edge of his mouth, the apple of his cheek as he smiles, the tip of his nose.

It’s how you know to say thank you, I care about you, too; I love you.

For now.

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