#barely but hey the file exists and there’s words on it

[darkimaginativeplace]

Update: I’m doing it

What if I wrote a human AU fic where Sukuna tries to bang Toji to cope with his crush on Megumi. What then?

[awordsmith]

omitted thoughts 𝜗𝜚 s.r

۶ৎ in which the tension between you and Spencer at work is almost too much to bare; lingering eyes and longing needs that are ignorant to the people around you, but all too easily perceived by the other.

who? spencer x bau!reader  when? s8  category: smut  content warnings: (maeve plotline does not exist, emily is still with the bau) munch spencer, tension here–tension there–tension everywhere, thorough foreplay (as in practically the entire fic), sexual acts, not too explicit, no dom/sub really mentioned–though spencer is a little more confident, proofed! reid with pleasure...  word count: 11.4k a/n: munch spencer as per requested by an anon!! this one has been in my filing cabinet for a while, so i'm glad i've finally gotten to write it out... also, new format–hey! okay i'll stop rambling... enjoy!!

There is a moment in every person’s life when they just know something sinister is about to unfold. That feeling found its way to you the exact moment the mixup with the rooms happened. It was bound to occur, it wasn’t like it was inevitable–you of all people were accustomed. Though, to be particularly truthful, it wasn’t the mixup that strangled your thoughts, no, it wasn’t as trivial as that.

What had your heart racing–your mind running–was that you were paired with Spencer. You should have said something. You were sure Emily would switch with you in a heartbeat–she and Spencer got along well enough, that it wouldn’t be a favor at all. However, even with this knowledge, you kept your mouth shut.

It was something in your gut, something in the darkest parts of your mind that swayed the moral, logical side.

It was late and the dimly lit hall only had so much life. You noted the old, peeling, pee-colored wallpaper; red flowers straying to and fro–if you tried hard enough, you could almost picture how it must have looked like in its prime.

Spencer made no effort to talk and for this you were grateful. You hadn’t had the chance to get too close to him in the few months you’ve been with the team. You were new, but not unaccustomed–you had been transferred almost six months ago with the help of thorough recommendations and pure skill–though you never pulled rank.

Hotch seemed a nice enough dad-boss, Rossi gave the impression of a comedic uncle most of the time, Morgan took his role as the older brother, Emily and JJ were great mentors and you were thrilled to be working alongside them, and you found Penelope to be a strong aunt-like figure. Spencer, though, you weren’t too sure where he fell in the categories you had enlisted just yet. 

He was a great mystery, one you were keen to unravel little by little.

“Do you have a preferred side?” Spencer asked after completing a skim with his bedbug flashlight.

“No,” you glanced around the room, two queen beds sat adjacent to each other only separated by a mediocre bedside table. A home phone sat close to the bed nearest the door and a lamp sat closest to the bed nearest the AC and window. The old, red velvet curtains were pulled back in what you thought was meant to be a kind gesture. Nevertheless, for an unknown reason, it left a bad taste in your mouth. “But, I do think we should close those,” you sighed, setting your duffle bag in the only chair in the room.

Spencer set his things on the bed near the window. You began untying the curtain closest to the bathroom. A shiver crawled up your spine as the air around you grew dry, you were seriously hoping for hot water. You meant to throw Spencer a hopeful glance, praying he’d let you take a shower first–but your eyes caught his hands instead. He was working his sleeves back, unbuttoning them as quickly as he could.

His sweater vest had been discarded and now lay in a bunched-up pile near his suitcase. You found yourself tracking his every move. He didn’t take notice of your stare until after he’d untied the curtain and met it with the one you had undid. You swiftly averted your eyes and swallowed, finding your throat had gone dry.

You cleared your throat and pushed your hair away, giving Spencer nothing but back, “If it’s alright with you, I’d like to shower first.”

Seconds ticked by and he said nothing, only when you heard a bed squeak did you turn back around. Spencer took up a space at the head of his bed, watching you with a look you were sure you’d never seen cross his face, it was almost smug, but not in the normal sense of the word–as indescribable as it was, it didn’t make you uncomfortable. You weren’t too sure what it made you feel.

“Is–is that a yes?” Your face felt hot, and you wanted to slap your hands to it, knowing it’d cool down somewhat, but you forced your hands to remain at your side.

“Yeah, sure,” he quipped, his voice the complete opposite of what his eyes conveyed.

You nodded and hurried over to your bag, leaving it at the foot of your bed when heading into the bathroom, which is where you found it upon exiting. 

Spencer had pulled pajamas out, they were neatly folded beside him. “I’d wait a little before showering,” you frowned, “sorry, I must have been in there for ages,” your mouth lilted in a slight smile as you tucked a lock of hair behind your ear and took up residence near the bedside table, “next time, just to tell me I’m taking too long, I won’t mind.”

He chuckled and you grinned, elated you finally were able to ease the unnecessary tension that had come over the two of you during your staring contest in the moments right before your shower.

“Seriously?” He sounded mirthful and when you looked up his eyes caught yours, your heart studded and you found your cheeks heating up again. He had an eyebrow raised slightly and the small smile that accompanied his expression gave off the impression he was teasing, “You’d be fine with me just walking into the bathroom while you’re in the shower?”

Your eyebrows scrunched together in slight confusion and you couldn’t help the awkward smile that wouldn’t leave your mouth, “I was just joking, Spencer, but–if I am taking too long you can bang on or yell through the door.

He nodded, looking away, “I–I know, I was just messing with you.”

“Oh, please,” you snorted and rolled your eyes, trying to crush the way your thoughts raced at the way you absolutely would not give a half a damn if he did. You pressed your hand to your cheeks for a few seconds before continuing to move things out of your bag, you were thinking about how to arrange them in the large chifforobe directly across from your bed. Did Spencer hav–you gasped and dropped an article of clothing as if it had burned you.

“That was not–” you scorned yourself, that was completely inappropriate. You blinked over a few times, thinking it would make the image disappear well from your mind, but it only served to intensify the phantasmagoria.

“Hey, are you okay?” Spencer was at your side after three blinks. Your eyes widened as he reached for your hands that were opening and closing, trying to grasp any control over yourself. 

You stood abruptly, unable to be in any sort of vicinity he was near. “I’m fine–I just, I remembered, I forgot something in the lobby. It must have fallen.” You shrugged, forcing a horrid excuse for a smile onto your lips. You left the room, heading straight for the elevator. You needed the cold-biting air of December to slap some sense into you, it was almost January, thus winter should have been approaching its peak right about now.

You have never–okay, yes, you’ve had small torrent thoughts of coworkers in somewhat unprofessional manners, but none had ever been so vivid–not like the one you had just then. As the elevator opened, you tried assembling the course of thoughts that had led up to the–the Spencer one.

It only took a few minutes for you to understand thinking about it was useless. There was no coherent explanation for the thought you had, no indication of any type of build-up that might have prepared you for the fabrication. 

“His eyes,” you heard yourself murmur as the elevator let you off onto the first floor. You ignored the receptionist whom you recognized from only a few hours ago. The glass door was as easily pushed open as it was to pull; the biting air hit your face and you sighed, relief allowing you to breathe once more.

His sleeves were rolled up, your arms laced around his neck as you pulled him against your flushed, exposed skin. You were nearly naked and all but begging him. You had it. His attention. Every single piece of it.

And you were relishing it as he fucked you against that damned chifforobe.

You were startled by the discovery of Spencer’s presence as he pushed open one of the glass doors of the hotel. The carpark was desolate save for the two of you and you felt more vulnerable than you had felt in the daydream.

“Hey,” Spencer lifted his hand slightly, sticking it back in his pocket right after as if he’d cringed at himself.

“Oh, hi,” you pressed your lips into a thin smile, squeezing your eyes so as not to give away the fact that you did not want him to be there.

“You–kind of ran off, I just wanted to make sure you were alright…” his eyes traced up and down your body as if in search of something. A slight smirk grazed his lips, but it was quickly replaced with a frown that felt a little too compelled, “did you find what you were looking for?”

“Nope,” you squeaked, rocking back and forth on your heels. You squeezed your hands together behind your back like you were in prayer or giving thanks, “sorry for bringing you out here, I thought I lost something important and overreacted.”

He didn’t acknowledge your answer immediately, though he did step forward and when he took another step forward, you were inclined to take a step back because you thought the proximity might prompt you to do or say something you definitely shouldn’t be doing or saying with a coworker. He raised his hand to your face, the back of his hand rested on one of your cheeks, your eyes shut on impact, your hands separated and were not fisted.

Your eyes opened when a few low chuckles escaped Spencer’s mouth, he huffed out a few more before pulling his hand back and using it to cover his mouth…watching you. His eyes held that same smug amusement that you’re sure you’ve never seen before this night.

You met his stare, noting that with the coverage of his hand, his expression was just a bit easier to read. Your lips settled into a thin line as you concluded he was messing with you. You cast an unbothered expression over your face, though you felt anything but. “I think the water should be hot enough now.”

Disregarding the moral obligation of waiting for a response, you headed for the hotel’s entrance.

The elevator ride-up wasn’t as tense as you would have thought it to be. You could feel a calm rest over each other’s company. It was almost like a mutual understanding that did not need voicing. Back in the hotel room, Spencer headed into the bathroom without a word, again, you found yourself grateful he decided to spare you.

Even so, you did find it just a bit peculiar because Spencer had never before taken on any particular interest in you, sure you shared conversations–that was to be expected though, as you worked with him. You shared meals and nights out, though only when it was a group thing.

To be sure he drew your curiosity, but you never once thought about indulging in your secret desire because it just never seemed right. This mixup had felt like a gift from God when it was first introduced, because now–you had thought–we’ll be forced to be around each other, no doubt we’ll grow somewhat accustomed to each other’s habits. 

Perhaps the thought was a bit excessive, but it was simply the truth to you. How else were you to casually approach Dr. Spencer Reid? The youngest to be scouted in his field?

Well, you now thought grimly, scratch all that, he’s just a genius with an ego.

You approached the chifforobe hesitantly, then hastily sorted your clothing in a few drawers and on a few hangers that were already there. As you set your duffle bag at the bottom of the large space, you heard the shower squeak off and Spencer called your name.

You rolled your eyes but walked toward the bathroom, calling from your side of the closed door, “what?” 

“I,” his voice cut off and just when you thought you had waited long enough, the bathroom door swung open halfway and Spencer leaned out. 

The first thing you noticed–though unintentionally–was the steam that hit you in the face. You squinted and waved a hand before you, “Jeez, Spencer.”

His face–his hair was wet and water dripped down his head–looked a bit painted, “I left my towel in my bag, get it for me?” 

He sounded genuinely displeased at the situation, which is why you huffed and replied, “Fine.”

“Thank you,” he yelled, shutting the door again. You ignored the flip your stomach did and shivered. 

He had left his suitcase open, his things in a bit of disarray across the bed. You wavered only a moment before letting your hands fly up and down his things. His towel was quite easily discovered, though your eyes lingered on the rest of his things.

You stood and headed back toward the bathroom, knocking. Spencer appeared instantly, a smile spreading to his face. The steam had cooled somewhat, but the bathroom–you could tell–was still very much sauna-like. “Thank you.”

“You said that already.”

He raised a brow, his smile quirking, “thank you, again.”

He stole the towel and shut the door, leaving you standing there. You felt impulsive and thought there would be no way you could get through this entire trip by sharing a room with him. And yet, it was your job, and it would no doubt be questioned, you’d probably–by accident–allude to something that did not occur, and you’d both be in trouble for something so ridiculous: it shouldn’t even be a thought that crossed your mind when you looked at your coworker and yet–the bathroom door opened and Spencer walked out in only a towel–it did.

“What do you think you're doing?” You called from your bed, standing.

“It’s too moist in there, I won’t dry.” He replied as if it were a fact and not an atrocity.

“Yeah–but–” you bit your lip, eyes tracking up and down his torso, something you should most unquestionably not be doing.

He was bent over his things on the bed near the window, you turned your gaze on the floor when his eyes flickered to yours. “But what?” He paused, probably noting your expression, your pursed lips, and your unstill gaze. “I mean, if it makes you uncomfortable I can go back in. I don’t want to–I’m sorry.” You swore you could hear a lilt in his voice when he began, but it quickly turned into something more…appropriate–like he just realized the embarrassment of what he was doing. He gathered his clothes again and headed for the bathroom, returning a few minutes later in damp garments.

And though his frown said ‘I’m sorry,’ his eyes said, ‘I’m going to give you hell’. And hell it was. For the rest of the trip, you could swear Spencer did…things purposefully. Such as lifting his shirt slightly to wipe his face when he got out of the shower, turning his neck just barely so that your gaze would catch on the exposed collarbone. You swore up and down that these were being done on purpose just to make you squirm because–because–well you didn’t really know why Spencer was doing all that. 

But you knew it was for you, that was about the only thing you knew to be fact. Your nose scrunched as you recalled the looks he’d given you after every purposeful act–in such a way that it seemed like he wanted to see your reaction–as if he gets off on it.

The jet ride home was no exception to Spencer’s antics, but by this time you had decided for yourself you’d had enough of falling victim to him. You concluded that there could only be one reason Spencer was acting the way he was: because he was attracted to you. You didn’t know why–hell you couldn’t even explain why you were attracted to him in that way–but it piqued your curiosity. If he had the ability to get you to react in such distinct and significant ways, what power did you have over him? That was the dispute you set out to ascertain.

At first, it was harmless, quiet jokes told only loud enough for the two of you to hear. When the jet landed again, you ran a hand through your hair and threw your head back, as if trying to stretch. Your eyes popped open just a few minutes later to find Spencer’s eyes eating up everything from your neck to your collarbone. When he met your eyes, they weren’t amused but rather accusing. He had fallen into your trap and he had just now realised. Some genius, you found yourself regarding him with an internal snort.

“We get the day off tomorrow, right?” Emily’s tone was mirthful, full of sarcasm.

“Yeah, right.” Morgan groaned.

Hotch grimaced, “See you all tomorrow.”

“At nine?” Rossi sounded hopeful.

Your boss sighed, eyes: rolling, but a smile etching itself onto his face, “At nine.”

Small victories, a sigh escaped you under your breath, small victories.

You headed for your car, rummaging through your purse for your keys. A presence loomed over you and you froze, Spencer’s hand lightly pressed against your back as he leaned over you and tilted his head downward, “See you tomorrow —…”

Your breath caught and you tried to swallow, but your mouth was dry. Was this real? Was this not the nerdy little geek you were told you’d be working with? The guy who kept getting kidnapped? The one who could barely hold a gun four years into working in the BAU?

He walked away, down the row of cars, looking for the one he owned.

Despite yourself, your lips curled into a sinful grin. You already loved this game. 

The next morning, you caught Spencer stepping into the elevator, “hold the door!” You threw your hand out, as you rushed your footsteps.

The elevator wasn’t crowded, but there were five others you did not know, and they were all men, so naturally you moved closer to Spencer. It wasn’t on purpose, but nor was it an accident, more of an instinct. His presence gave you peace of mind as you calmed yourself down.

“Rough morning?” He asked, appearing nonchalant.

You looked up at him as he took a sip of his coffee. The elevator came to a halt and two people shuffled into the elevator after three others left. Your floor was approaching and you felt easier–especially with the extra space–but when you stepped away, a hand caught your waist.

You followed the arm all the way to Spencer’s gaze, the expression there looked to be a mix of contemplation and confusion. His hand dropped when the elevator dinged and the doors opened. He was the first to step out of the elevator, you were the fourth.

Penelope found you on her way to the roundtable, stating the others were already there. You followed her and took the only available seat in between Morgan and JJ. Spencer sat right across from you, between Emily and Rossi. When you caught his eyes, his head tilted slightly and a small smirk danced across his lips in the bright light. 

Your eyes rolled and you shifted one leg over the other under the table. 

Penelope read off the new case and while many questions were thrown out, you and Spencer kept playing the game of ‘who could make who more embarrassed’; though you both were incredibly refined at your job and were able to keep it from the insight of the others.

Hotch stood and said, “jet’s up in 15,” before rushing out of the room.

You stood as well, needing to collect all the things you might have left on your desk and turn in your report to Hotch you forgot. Rossi had followed your boss–it was probably something about Strauss, it always was whenever they acted like that. Emily, Morgan, and Penelope were having a conversation while JJ said something to Spencer and began a small exchanges. Your eyes were laser focused on her, you felt a sort of conviction fall over you. You didn’t think you were jealous, no–it was anything like that because you knew Spencer was only trying to get under your skin. Instead, you felt a sense of thrill and couldn’t help the smirk that edged its way onto your face as you floated right past them without batting an eye.

You heard his chair squeak as he leaned back, eyes trailing your figure as you exited the roundtable room. Upon approaching your desk you smacked your hands to your cheeks, helping them cool off while ignoring the chatter of the office. You searched your bag a bit until you found the documents you had been looking for.

You froze, you could feel his stare, but when you glanced around, you couldn’t find him anywhere. Your eyes narrowed as you sifted through each and every face, there–in the breakroom behind the glass… Spencer had one hand in his pocket and one holding a mug of coffee, his eyes anything but innocent. He mouthed something, but only when you noted the absense of your other team members were you able to put together his words. We’re leaving.

You met each other in the stairwell of the rooftop, you ignored the simmering in your chest as he veered over you and pushed open the door. He smelled good– god he smelled good. You forced yourself not the make it obvious you were trying to drink in and savor his scent when he let out a shuddering breath. Your eyes popped open–which is when you realized you had shut them. What is wrong with me? You allowed your eyes to track up his face, starting from his shoulders.

He was so close you could see him swallow, his Adam's apple bobbing as he stared you donw, mouth slightly ajar. His eyes were hazy and he wasn’t staring at you, but your throat. It was only for a few seconds, but it felt like hours. When he found your gaze again his jaw yet and he pulled himself together. His eyes were no longer dangerous, but they still set some kind of fear in you.

“We should go,” you murmured.

He didn’t respond until you began moving. He called your name only once, but when you looked back, a grin–small, but fucking there–destroyed his firm calmness from only moments ago, and replaced it with egotistical destruction.

There were so much said in that single expression and yet nothing at all that would have been picked up by a team of profilers, let alone a stranger–it was as if this look was designed specifically for you–designed just to become your undoing. You fucking hated Spencer Reid and his big ass ego, but you wanted him–by all hell you wanted him.

Though you’d soon find that wanting him was nothing compared to needing him.

The rest of the case came and went in a similar manner you had dreamt about the night before. You and Spencer shared lingering looks, murmured things in front of the team that, though made sense in the moment, his the underlying meaning only the two of you could pick up. You honestly found it surprising no one had caught on to what was transpiring between you and Spencer, although to be perfectly honest, you, yourself, had no idea what was transpiring between you and Spencer.

You didn’t seek each other out, but whenever you were together–alone or with others–there was this spark of craving you couldn’t quite explain out loud, and even when you thought about it, you didn’t know the right term for it other than a game. What else could it be? You couldn’t relly put togehter the events that had started it, but you knew it began sometimes on the 3-day case–maybe even that first night in the hotel. A shiver crawled up your spine, you watched Spencer out of the corner of your eye, reading. He could normally be found in the front of the jet, lying down and napping or reading.

When you were alone, all your thoughts revolved if not around the case at hand, Spencer. You didn’t want to compare it to an obsession, because what it really was was a little less of that and a little more of a desire to learn him. His body, his mind, his cravings and and fantasies. It was everything you had never felt and it scared you. There was no logical explanation to Spencer being the onset to these emotions, and yet if you’d never met Spencer, who was to say these feelings would have ever been unleashed?

It was late, but you were glad you were going to get to sleep in your bed two nights in a row. It felt like a blessing from the heavens, but then your realzied you’d have to see Spencer again tomorrow and go through the fervency all over again. Now, it felt more like irony.

Weeks of the same longing, the same wandering eyes, the same muttered whispers, the same damn game. Though you’d gotten used to your little gambit of brash actions, you weren’t tired in the least. It was–as sad as you had to admit–the most fun you’d ever had with a person.

It was fun until it became real. The team hadn’t caught on, but that was particularly due to the fact your efforts always occurred out of pure chance. You never made it obvious and he was especially good at hiding his feats, it seemed to you he was consistently able to accomplish his devious acts right under the nose of his superiors. 

You reasoned that it was perhaps because none of them would ever suspect him of any of the things he was taking up in his pastime. Not even yourself would have guessed he was like this if he hadn’t shown you, or if you hadn’t noticed the way his eyes always seemed to look the opposite of whatever his face was saying in the moment.

Despite all of this, however, you hadn’t touched–at all, no brush of the hands, no accidental shoulder bumping, nor anything on purpose; not since he’d grabbed your waist in the elevator that first day back at Quantico. The contemplation in his eyes then occurred to you at night. You tried to make out what it meant–to him at least, but never could. It was one of those thoughts that kept you up, staring at the ceiling, hoping exhaustion would so its job and prevent the misery that inveitable came without it.

Tonight, though, you didn’t know how you were going to fare against pretending to be with him. It was for the case–you kept reminding yourself as you changed into a little black dress. Everyone looked good in black, it was a color that also hid a person well enough in a club–perfect for an undercover agent.

The decision to have you go in with Spencer instead of JJ was his idea. Of course it was his. He’d proposed the switchup at the roundtable meeting that morning–and as soon as he had, you’d jolted in your seat. He’d continued talking, glancing at you now and then as if he’d actually believed the difference between you and JJ would matter.

Regardless, because you were closer in age–by only a few years, you’d wanted to remind everyone–it’d be more believable that you were together, he’d also dropped an “it’d be more comfortable that way”, which swayed Morgan and Emily, JJ kept silent during the entire tirade–though not angry, was incredibly, almost blatantly long. 

You couldn’t tell what she was thinking, but at the time you weren’t too much focussed on her, the looming fact that you’d have to touch him in ways you’d only thought about touching him to do your job? It terrified you. Not because you were afraid of acting out your fantasy–but because you weren’t sure if you could control yourself enoug to where it was just acting.

You slipped the dainty dress on and hid your gun and badge in your boots. You let your natural hair fall loose, but kept a hair tie on your wrist. Stepping out of the only bathroom in the police station you were currently residing in, holding your work clothes against your chest , you noted the imminent stares. Instinctively using your clothing to cover your thighs as you met the others in the front. Spencer kept his eyes in check–smart boy, you bit back a smirk–but the rest of the team complimented you, Hotch and Rossi having almost completely different ways of doing so, you snorted at the contrast. 

Spencer took the driver seat of a vehicle you were borrowing, the dark of a December night threatening to conceal the thing entirely. You gazed out the window, “they’re following us right?”

“Everyone will be outside and prepared.”

“I can’t believe this,” you sighed, throwing your head back.

“The fact that we’re going undercover or the fact that you have to wear that piece of cloth?” Spencer asked, though his manner was light, there was a rough undertone that heated your insides.

“I was wondering when you were going to bring it up,” you sighed carelessly, waving a hand, “I just thought you hadn’t noticed.”

“Everyone noticed.” The mask of his facade was slowly slipping away, revealing a much colder side to Spencer–one you had the pleasure of seeing more and more of the past three weeks than in all of the six months you’d been in the BAU.

“Yeah,” you smooth down the dress, “I wouldn’t normally wear this type of thing out unless I was looking to bring someone home.”

“Oh really?” You could practically hear his eyebrows raise. “You never wear things like that when we go out for drinks.”

“Precisely my point,” you quipped.

Spencer pulled into the club’s parkinglot. It took you less than five minutes to get inside. At first, you were sitting at the bar, but then, Spencer, with the earpiece attached to him, relayed the message from Hotch. Penelope had given everyone access to the inside of the club, they were watching you two through the cameras. You forced yourself not to glance at them–even the tiniest slipup could reveal you to the unsub, and you wanted them to target, not avoid you.

“They want us to dance.” Spencer sighed loud enough to where you could hear it over the noise.

“Right,” you rolled your eyes, because that’s exactly how the unsubs target their victims–didn’t we go over this in the profile? Your smile tightened as you spun and headed for the floor, crowded by so many–oh that’s not hygienic.

“Yeah, okay, maybe we skip this part,” Spencer grimaced from his palace beside you.

“You think?” You raised an unimpressed brow at the blurred figures in front of you.

He murmured something Hotch and they went back and forth a little, though you couldn’t hear exactly what was said, Spencer’s face of triumph was all you needed to breathe a sigh of relief.

You found yourselves hiding in the corner at the back, there weren’t many people crowding around you which made you perfect for the unsubs, though the appearance of them at this club tonight was purely based on instinct, gut feelings, and careful, calculated guessing, there was still a chance they wouldn’t show themselves.

You didn’t mean for it to happen like this, you were doing everything in your power to stay composed and in control, but some part of you–the defiant, terrible side of you–wanted so badly to see his reaction when you touched him.

His frame leaned over you, holding you against the probably dirty wall, the sensual music that played a heavy beat around you felt like an instigator. Sweat slipped down his neck and it drew your attention, all of a sudden Spencer tensed, then he relaxed slightly but it felt forced, “They have eyes on the unsubs.”

“How many,” You compelled your eyes to stay on his though they wanted to scour the area around you and find just exactly who he was talking about–which would be idiotic, of course.

“That’s right,” he swallowed–ignoring your question, your eyes caught his throat bobbing–he noticed. “Keep your eyes on me,” you nodded at his words, feeling your throat drying as you neglected the need to trace his collarbone with both your fingers and gaze.

His hair was a mess of damp curls and his face was barely visible in the bright, flashing lights, but you had a job to do–and yet here you were, gripping the collar of his shirt, brushing back the hair that fell in his face as he looked at you with those eyes.

“I’m going to kiss you,” he said, “but if you aren’t up for this just tell me now.” His voice lilted at a challenge, but you heard the mumble ordered in the earpiece–by hell he could yank you hair almost completely out and you wouldn’t give a damn.

You held his regard with one of your own, eyes narrowed, “Just do it.”

And he did. But he also didn’t. His smirk narrowed ere leaning in. He gripped your face with an elephants strength and a swan’s gracefulness. You closed your eyes, waiting for his lips, but he swerved at the last moment and kissed the skin below your ear. He trailed a few kisses down your neck but stayed close to your hearing range, evidently, he was teasing–you wanted to scoff but couldn’t find it in you to make him stop.

“How’s this?” He murmured.

“You’re an ass,” you replied huffed, trying to mask a groan.

He grinned against your neck, “I know.”

The club case was the reason you and Spencer now ensured you were always together. From then on, you seemed to not want to be anywhere else the other wasn’t–or rather, you felt more comfortable with each other and couldn’t bring yourselves to leave the other alone.

Not that either of you minded and you still did your jobs perfectly fine–though there was more intensity when the other was in any sort of danger, it only propelled the one that wasn’t to learn how to do their job quicker. It was both a fast track to understanding how to adapt to constant situations that warped your idea of what was really going on. When he got something wrong–which was rare but not absolute. After about a month of this, you were starting to question what you were to him–what he was to you.

Though you still weren’t sure how to properly ask that question. You hadn’t slept together, though you thought about it all the time you weren’t at work…and perhaps sometimes when you were… Those thoughts slipped through on occasion–but it wasn't anything that hadn’t been transpiring before the club case.

It was as if the ‘who can make the other person more embarrassed’ game had been turned into the ‘what can I do to make you squirm this time’ game. Like the rules of the game had somehow intensified and touching was now allowed and despite all of the things that ensued upon the new rule instatement, you still had not taken it further than work.

It kept you up most nights, and you wondered when this cycle of what are we would end–if it would take one of you getting into a relationship–though you were sure Spencer didn’t have to worry about you in that department–and although you hated it, the fact was that Spencer was the only one you could think about. It was as if the man had ruined sex for you altogether. 

You fucking hated Spencer Reid–and that fucking chifforobe. 

Your heart dropped in your chest. You refused to give Spencer the satisfaction of looking over at him–though he seemed just as surprised as you. At this point anything could happen–and by anything you mean anything. Because anything would be better than having to share a room with him again. You were so tired you could barely recall what that even meant.

But then again, a small part of you whispered, this could be your chance. My chance? You scoffed, my chance at what? Making a fool of myself? Because confronting him means admitting I can’t stop–thinking about him. And that, to you, would feel like admitting defeat. It’d feel like losing the game–oh and you really felt like you were winning! Winning at what again? God, you needed sleep.

“Are you planning on getting in the shower first?,” he asked as soon as you were behind the door, away from prying ears and nosy coworkers.

You let out a heavy sigh and held your arms up to stretch, yawning–“honestly, I might just head to bed, it’s late and I could really use the sleep.”

“Have you not been able to sleep at night?” He set his things on the bed near the window as you claimed the one near the door.

“You have no idea,” you murmured, although a bit more to yourself than to him.

“Do you know why?” He seemed genuinely curious–but as you faced him, all you could think was, if only you knew.

“Nope,” you popped the ‘p’ and grimaced as you laid your back against the bed, arms spread like a starfish, your duffle bag discarded near your feet at the end of the bed.

You felt Spencer watching you, but for the first time in a while, you couldn’t bring yourself to care. You quite literally had been running on nothing but coffee for the past day and a half–and you were in desperate need of some sleep–especially if you wanted to be at your best tomorrow.

“Here,” you hadn't heard Spencer approach you–you blamed his Hotch training. You cracked open an eye as he pushed you on your side. Your back burned at where he’d touched you, but it was quickly overshadowed when you heard him yank the bedspread down as hard as he could. “Come, on,” he huffed, pulling your shoes off and setting them beside your bag.

You forced yourself under the cover and snuggled, “the light?” you grumbled.

“First, your blazer,” he held out a hand. You whined but made quick work of ridding yourself of the fabric. “You sure you don’t want to change into something more comfortable–”

“Spencer.” You warned.

“Yeah, I hear you,” he reached for the lamp atop the bedside table–smaller than the one from the last hotel room you’d shared–the chifforobe near the window was smaller as well. He hummed as the thoughts faded in and passed through his mind.

Spencer found himself forgetting everything else as he sat in the bed opposite yours and leaned his arms on his thighs, watching you. A few minutes passed, but only when a knock sounded on the door did he realize he maybe shouldn’t be watching his coworker like a creep. Though, you weren’t really a coworker, were you?

Well–he meant you were–but you were also more than that, though he didn’t exactly know if your relationship had a name, he knew that it entailed things normal coworkers did not have. He knew what he wanted–but to outright say it felt like disrupting the sort of balance you’d gotten accustomed to–as if going out and actually attempting to take what he wanted would break the trance that had set over the two of you–it’d be throwing all the rule’s to the game away, and then what did either of you have left? Rules were important, if not necessary. He couldn’t chance it–not yet at least.

“Hey, oh,” Morgan tried looking around the room.

Spencer felt his eyes roll as he stepped into the hall and shut the door slightly behind him, careful not to shut it completely as he didn’t have the key card and he didn’t want to wake you up. “Yes?”

Morgan nodded behind him, “she’s asleep?”

“She’s really tired,” Spencer affirmed.

“Right,” his eyes fell back on Spencer, and for a second, he thought Morgan might be analyzing his form.

“Was there something you needed?” Spencer pressed, eager to head back into the room, unpack his suitcase, and head to bed himself.

“Ah, no, we were just going to order food–but I guess you don’t want anything either?”

“Uh, no, but thanks for asking.”

“Uh-huh,” Morgan once again glanced behind Spencer, whose irritation at the suspicion was steadily increasing.

“She’d not dead,” Spencer stated, though he meant it as a joke it came out rather harsh.

“Alright, pretty boy, I didn’t say she was.” Morgan chuckled, patting Spencer on the shoulder, “See you tomorrow.”

Spencer made quick work of unloading his things, he thought about getting in the shower but feared it’d wake you. Instead, he debated on whether or not he should leave your things in you bag or do you a favor and put them away. He didn’t want you to consider him a snoop, especially with how you’d been looking at each other the past few weeks–and that undercover case.

His heartbeat picked up, and he couldn't stop thinking about it–it was the thing he fell asleep to at night; it was gradually eating away at him, and he couldn’t deny the way his body tensed whenever he recalled the image of you under the flashing array of lights–how you’d looked so…submissive.

He hastily shoved that thought to the furthest corner he could find in his mind and headed for your bag. He didn’t want to be brash with the way he put your clothing away, but he also didn’t you to wake up while he was holding your underwear–then he’d truly feel like a creep. 

He was halfway done when you mumbled something; he froze and he could feel the thump of his heart in his chest. Though it was still winter, he’d begun to sweat and had set his glasses aside because they kept sliding off the bridge of his nose. He’d been wearing them more often than not for the past few months as he’d found them to be a particular fascination of yours. It was now that he squinted and moved his hand around for them.

His footsteps carried him quietly across the room, near your bedside. “—?” He whispered and when you failed to respond, lifted a tentative hand to your cheek–though just before the pads of his fingertips met your skin, you mumbled something again–and this time, he could hear it. He fisted his hand and used the bedside table to hold himself up, and although he couldn’t see them, he knew his hands were turning white with how hard he was squeezing them.

Again. He wanted to hear it again–his prayers were answered as you shifted slightly, tugging the cover up to your neck. Skimming down your person, he bit his fist and tried to calm himself down. Again. He needed to sit down, but he couldn’t bring himself to move. He felt it twitch–he needed to walk away right now. And he did, but instead of picking up where he’d left off with your clothing, he headed for the bathroom, not bothering to turn the light on as he shut himself in complete darkness.

Images of you, your stolen glances, and desperate touches filled his mind. He was particularly focused on the tired way you slurred his name in your sleep. He wondered what kind of dreams you were having, what you were picturing as you said his name like that. He muffled his groans as he stroked himself, using his fist to bite back anything that might escape the small confines of the washroom. His thoughts of you were possibly the only thing he allowed himself to go to extensive lengths with. His mouth watered at the mere concept of you and your twisting legs. He’d done this a considerable amount of times before–but this was the first time you were so close– a hairsbreadth away.

It felt both right and wrong, and yet the lines began fading into oblivion as he came closer to climax.

He whimpered into his hand just as he came. It was odd, he didn’t too much feel like a creep after he cleaned himself up, but upon washing his hands profusely and returning to put your garments away, he was once more–afraid of what you’d think if you caught him messing with your things.

Although a part of him felt it might have been because he wanted you to find him in that state, he tried rationalizing–but the more he thought about it–even as he now rested his head against a pillow–the more he found that ‘might’ to be absolute truth. 

You woke up to the smell of coffee. You stretched, yawned, and pried your eyes open. Rolling onto your side, you found Spencer devouring a book, his glasses at the tip of his nose. You smiled, thinking you were dreaming–but then his eyes shifted over to yours and your smile fell, you quickly understood this Spencer was real–oh no–your cheeks burned from last night's delusions. “Good morning,” he smiled. You groaned and sat up, your hands finding your cheeks, “what time is it?”

“It’s around six, you have,” he checked his watch, “an hour and thirty minutes, Hotch wants us ready before eight.”

You huffed and threw yourself back against the pillows. New Years had come and gone and you hadn't even celebrated...though, your mind with all the ways you could make up for it–you shook the thoughts away, now was not the time.

Five minutes later you were searching for your clothing, but your bag was practically empty, “did you move my things?”

Spencer choked on his coffee, “ah–yeah,” he motioned toward the chifforobe. You glared at it as he said, “It’s small, so some of our things are mixed, but you should be able to find whatever you’re looking for easily.”

“Thank you” You appreciated his simple act of affection, it made your chest ache.

“Yeah, sure.” Despite going back to reading his book, Spencer snuck small glimpses of you from the corners of his eyes.

As the hot water ran down your back, you found yourself thinking of Spencer, just a few feet away, you were practically naked and he could walk in at any moment, you felt an ache between your thighs, but you shrugged it off–or at least you tried to.

You hadn’t had sex since that incident with Spencer a few weeks ago. You tried–by all God did you try–but you just couldn’t It led to a few arguments with the guys you’d taken home–and your credit, you did feel just a little bad. All the same, you simply couldn’t seem to get him out of your mind. It was like he was mocking or watching you every time you attempted it–he was that tiny, little voice in the back of your head feigning disappointment, saying you wouldn’t purge the sexual frustration unless it were him. Though you were a saint at keeping it hidden, your agitation only built.

The day was more or less: “Spencer, what do you see?” from Hotch and “—, if you were the unsub…” from Morgan. Penelope was on call a few times and you were so close, but it had grown late and you needed sufficient unwinding. After a group dinner in the hotel lobby that primarily consisted of takeout and the small meal provided by the hotel staff, you headed up to your room. Spencer stayed to grab one last cup of coffee before the staff closed the mailroom for good. Thus, with your alone time, you decided to wash off all the griminess of the day.

You were drying yourself with a towel when you heard him enter, “I’m almost done,” you shouted, “I think there’s still some hot water left.”

His lack of response piqued your curiosity. You threw your clothing on once you were mostly just damp and yanked the door open. You were pulling your hair back into a ponytail when he looked up. He’d just set his cup of coffee on the table near the lamp, which now that you noticed, was the only light that lit up the room, he had turned the big llight off.

“You okay?” You rubbed your face, dropping your hands to your side right after, “did you hear me?”

“No, sorry,” he frowned, “I wasn’t paying attention.” He stood.

“Oh, I just said–if you wanted to get in, there’s still hot water left.” You thrust a your thumb behind you.

“Ah, thanks.” You nodded and pursed your lips. “So, what book were you reading this morning?” You took up the spot Spencer had just abandoned.

He turned and watched you–filling the area. He caught the way your legs pressed together as you crossed them to sit more comfortably against the pillows, attention to the book he’d been reading that morning.

“I’m going to get in the shower,” he cursed himself as he felt desire pool in his throat. He wondered what it’d be like to kiss you, to touch you–to taste you. His mouth watered at the prospect and he felt himself harden just like the night before. His shower was quick as the water had gotten cold and had quickly ruined his mood.

“You lied to be,” he glared at you from the threshold of the bathroom door.

You bit your lip, but still, a smile graced your mouth, “sorry, I thought it would last.” He shook his wet hair around around, mimicking the actions a puppy would.

“What?” His eyes widened slightly and his eyebrows raised, “what did you call me?”

A hand flew to your mouth, your own surprise showing, “I–” of bloody course, you said it out loud.

He stepped forward, dropping his towel on the bed, “say it again.” It was odd, the way he said it–like it was both a question and a demand–or rather, a demand he questioned your willingness to obey.

“…puppy?” you tried laughing it off, “Sorry, it just came out–I didn’t mean t–”

“Didn’t you, though?” Came a mirthful reply. Spencer stepped forward, towering over you as he leaned down, bringing his face near yours, one hand on the bed near your hips, the other on the bedside table. “Is that what you’ve thought of me this entire time?”

And what the hell were you supposed to say to that? Game on is what Spencer saw in your eyes as you set the book on the table, your hand purposely roaming over his as you pulled it back. “No,” you stated, a nonchalant expression crossing your features as your eyes turned away from his, the move calculated, “only sometimes.”

Spencer didn’t think the table would be able to withstand him much longer, but it did as he thought of ways he might proceed. Eventually, he let go and instead wrapped his firm fingers around your nape, forcing your attention to his. “And do you think that now?”

He watched a Chesire grin take its place upon your mouth. “If I said yes, would that anger you, Dr. Reid?” The mocking was unnecessary, but it sure as hell was a lot more fun than if you simply addressed him as ‘Spencer’ or ‘Reid’.

The parental-like tone you took up furthered his new-growing erection. His hair still dripped with water and as a water droplet streaked down his face, you lifted your hand to wipe it with your thumb. His hand let your your neck go to snatch your wrist–God you wanted him so badly. This witty banter–you were already starting to find–just wasn’t enough anymore.

Your eyes reapproached his, they seemed to meet with the same level of desire, completely forgetting that there was a serial killer on the loose, your eyes dipped to his lips only once before you leaned forward–but while you did he pushed you back, your back hitting the bedframe and just as you caught your breath, you found yourself being deprived of air once more.

Spencer was hungry, he tasted like coffee and something minty. Your hands tangled through his hair and while he suffocated you in the only way you’d ever want to be suffocated, you tugged. It barely stopped him the first time, but the second and third had his eyes rolling.

When they found you again, noting the playful glint in your eyes, he vowed he would go as far as you’d let him tonight–and perhaps the night after that, he hadn’t quite thought it through, and at this time, he neither had the strength nor the want to do so. 

He began tugging at your t-shirt, but you grabbed his hand, “ah-ah,” you clicked your tongue, “you have to earn that.” 

He paused and took a step back, watching you now, your knees digging into the softness of the mattress; your mouth darkened with the visceral kisses he’d forced on you. Your eyes sparked with something he knew he’d never be able to find in any other woman. His lips quirked, his eyes were hooded, and his voice thick when he asked, “What do I have to do?”

The need in his voice was enough to shed you of your clothing right then and there, but it seemed you had a lot more self-control than he did in the moment. You tugged your hair out of the loosened, droopy ponytail it had fallen into and brushed it back, smoothing it out to appear just how you wanted it to. You felt his eyes on you, patient, but every second he was, was a second his lust grew, and the moment you gave him the okay–well, he honestly couldn’t say just what he’d be capable of.

“You seem agitated, Spencer,” you pouted, shifting so that your legs fell in front of you over the edge of the bed. His eyes tracked your movements as he used your bed’s bedpost to steady himself, “just how many times have you pictured me like this?”

“I could ask you the same thing,” came his frivolity response. To be frank, he knew the exact answer to your question, but the first thing that flew into his head and out of his mouth was–to be sure–an edging reply. He watched how you interpreted it.

In a moment of unconsciousness, you glanced at the chifforobe across from you. Spencer caught that shit.

“Oh?” He raised a brow, finding the confidence to step forward.

“Don’t get any ideas, Reid.” You warned, but he could see the arguments going on between your eyes.

“No, see: I think it’s your idea.” He corrected, a deep, rumble of a laugh fell from his throat, “So, what exactly did you picture me doing with this thing.” He snorted and walked over to it, running a hand along the cupboard. You bit your lit, your dreams coming into clear view as if they were a film playing in front of you.

“Spencer,” you stood both embarrassed and a little annoyed. 

You marched over to it at placed a hand on his shoulder–but then you were against the doors of the small chifforobe and Spencer was whispering just above your ear, “Was this it? Your sick fantasies of me? Did they include me having you against a wardrobe?”

Your breath caught and you wanted to hide your face because there was no doubt he’d be able to see the truth without you having to voice any sort of answer–but the jerk had his hand cupped around your jaw, and his grip was unimaginably strong for–well, him.

He smiled and tilted his head–and God only knew what that did to your resolve. Your knees weakened and you found yourself whimpering. “So, I guess that’s a yes.” You found just enough strength to narrow your eyes and look somewhat pissed. He nodded, “the shirt,” he tugged at the bottom.

You bit back a repost as he dropped his hands and stepped away, though he kept his distance close enough to where you felt his presence even after you’d lifted your shirt and he was out of sight. His eyes didn’t leave yours, you admired his stoicism; you’d already proved you weren’t any match when your eyes traced every line anytime you saw a sliver of his stomach, hips, neck, or forearms–okay maybe you had a bit of an obsession, but could it honestly be considered that when the look he was giving you screamed ‘wolf in sheep's clothing’? 

“What other things have you thought up in that horny brain of yours, I wonder,” he spoke almost to himself, but his ever-focused gaze told you he was quite literally asking.

“That’s not how the game works,” a cheeky grin reformed your scowl.

“Right,” he paused, turning his eyes to the ceiling for effect, “remind me?”

Your eyes roved from one eye to the other, and back again, searching for any hint of hesitation, “this foreplay is kind of starting to get old.”

“Yes, I can agree–” you cut him off midsentence with a ravenous kiss. You could swear you bit him more than once, but he wasn’t complaining. Your head lulled to the side as he trailed kisses up and down your neck, finding a spot he particularly liked just below your ear.

Your hands twisted in his hair, yanking, tugging, and pulling–whatever got the most responses from him, you were doing. You threw his shirt to the side and pushed him toward the bed. He braced himself using his arms, though they were swiftly in motion again, wrapping around your waist as you stepped between his legs. “What do you want?” You asked, attempting to catch your breath.

He laughed, but when he realized you were serious he almost snorted, “What do I–what do I want?”

“It’s a simple question,” you shrugged, “what do you want from me?”

Now–now his eyes dipped, “I want a lot of things.”

You bit back another grin. Somehow in the few minutes, you’d been running around the room talking about how horny you both were, you’d ended up on the bed, your head behind a pillow. Spencer was between your legs, mouth-watering. He’s waited so long, he honestly didn’t think this foretold moment would ever actually occur, but God, was he glad he’d been wrong. Heavy, sinful eyes skimmed your lower body as he fumbled with the top of your shorts. His hands were warm despite the dreary weather outside, likely due to his recent shower. They pressed into your thighs as he brought his face just above your lower stomach, his name fell from your mouth in a whine, leading him to push aside the cover of your shorts. He drug a few fingers over your center.

Your moans sliced through the rough tension that had fallen over the hotel room. “What?” His snort was low and sloppy, “Oh, is–,” one of his fingers gently slid over you and your eyes shut, “–is this what you want?” His eyes traced the arch of your neck that was most exposed, the one lined with the red marks he’d left. The twitching beneath his sweatpants pulled a groan from his lips.

He swirled his finger around, feeling your wetness was more than inviting. “Spencer,” you cried, eyes flying open at the loss of contact. 

“Be still,” he said, his voice wavering as he tugged everything off and discarded them on the floor. You watched him watch you–it wasn’t until you noted the way his eyes narrowed that you understood he was outlining your form–so that he could vividly paint it in his mind for a later purpose.

“I asked first,” you frowned up at him.

“You’re right,” he sighed, “here: let me show you what I want.”

Your breath caught as he lowered himself, his face coming right up to you, and with the way he was drooling at the sight, you could tell he’d been thinking about this for a while–it made you wonder if his desire had begun a lot sooner than yours had.

His mouth was warm, his tongue stroked up and down as far as they could go, and even when you thought he’d reached that point, he proved you wrong. Your hands knotted in his hair as you guided his head. His mouth was warm as he lapped up everything. You tried keeping your moan to a minimum, but when he stopped, your eyes popped open–had you done something wrong? But no, he was looking up at you with those desperate, puppy-like eyes, “please,” his whisper was grating, “I want to hear you.”

You swallowed, the ache building in you, “if that’s what you want,” you nodded.

And a few moments later, you were calling out his name in a way you’d never called anyone name. This was so new, you’d never had a guy worship you like this and you couldn’t fathom the fact that Spencer wanted to do it for your pleasure as well as his own.

You tried to hold it in, but your body had been desolate of attention for so long that you just couldn’t anymore. You could hear him slurp, and God did it do something to your brain chemistry– He considered you with clouded eyes. “Are you okay?” He frowned, pushing his body over yours.

Without giving him time to settle, you yanked his jaw toward your face with firm hands, he tasted like you and smelled of his shampoo–and yet, there was still the unknown Spencer scent that seemed only his skin could produce. You lined his jaw with kisses, your heart pounding in your chest with every new groan that escaped him.

My turn,” you huffed, definitely the cause of the lopsided grin that spread across his mouth. Though his hair was a mousy brown, in the dim yellow lamplight, it was as dark as the wood that made up the vintage furniture. It looked windswept or like he had just woken up–and perhaps he had. It was no longer a deniable fact that he’d never feel this good with anyone else, and he didn’t know how long this relationship with you would last, so he would milk everything he could out of it–and in exchange, surrender everything he had of himself.

It was only a few seconds later that you had him on his back, hands roving up and down his chest. You rubbed yourself against him, eliciting sweet sounds from his throat and friction from where you were just barely connected. You made sure to hold his gaze as you slid onto him. His jaw tightened and you could feel relief leave him as his chest fell. You tightened around him, trying to get used to him, you had to pause for a second–you couldn’t believe you were doing this–and in a moment of incompetence, you laughed.

“Sorry,” you lowered your chest onto his and began chuckling into his neck, “it’s just–what would the other think if they knew?”

Spencer pushed your shoulder away and held you above him, “I guess it’s a good thing they don’t, right?”

You nodded, but a small part of you wondered about what that meant for the after. Spencer groaned as you sat back up, you started slowly, hissing as you let him fill you. Spencer gave out his fair share of whimpers, but you wanted more, you wanted to make him cry.

You gripped his hair with one hand and the pillow beside him with another, you rolled your hips and wiggled every time you sat back down. Squeezing your thighs seemed to make him shudder the most, and when you added sucking to the mix, you knew you had him. 

“There it is,” your grin was devilish as you swiped at his cheek. He opened his eyes just in time to see you licking his tears off your thumb.

“I might ask what we are now,” you huffed a laugh as Spencer shut the bathroom door. He had been a complete gentleman about everything, cleaning you, massaging your shoulders. You’d never had such an experience, you’d never thought there could be more to having sex if you only had the right partner; now that you did, there was…but you were unsure about yourself.

You found your mind questioning all you knew about Spencer and what this all meant to you. You had asked him what he wanted from you, but did you even know what you wanted from him? Before, the question might have thrown you off–though Spencer had asked it, you weren’t taking him all too seriously. Now that you had more time to contemplate your roving thoughts, you knew the answer as if it had been written in your DNA.

Spencer’s eyebrows furrowed as he sat beside you, you were facing the window and the chifforobe.

“Well, what else would we be?” He paused, almost hesitatingly. You jerked your head toward his, eyes searching, and as the seconds of silence ticked by, he seemed to fade more and more into himself. When he turned his head and averted his eyes, saying, “I mean–if that’s not what you want–” you cut him off.

“No, I just–” you stopped yourself, unsure of how to explain the complications running through your mind, “I’m just not exactly sure what that means…”

A heavy sigh escaped his lips. You opened your mouth to clarify–probably more than necessary–but your words caught in your throat as Spencer stood and lowered to his knees in front of you. He was between your thighs, but there was nothing sexual about it–if anything it felt like the complete opposite kind of intimacy you had grown accustomed to with him.

His hands reached for yours, pulling them into your lap. He looked up at you with possibly the one look Spencer Reid had never given anyone. His eyes couldn’t decide which one of yours to focus on for the longest time, but when he did, his tone was guttural and almost choking, trusting. 

“The more time I spend with you, the more I feel I’ve always known you. These past few weeks–they weren’t the beginning for me.” Your mouth suddenly went dry, though you still tried to swallow. “I–I honestly don’t know when it started, but the more I felt drawn to you, the more I forced myself away. It–I don’t–I didn’t think I deserved to feel that way–I guess…”

You waited a few moments to ensure he was finished, your mind ran to look for the best possible response–but given the one-in-a-million situation you were in, your mind went blank. Instead, you rambled the first words that rolled into your mind just as you whispered the last, “I want you in every way, Spencer. It’s like–like you’ve bewitched me–”

“...body and soul,” he finished, “it’s…Jane Austen–sorry.” He cringed.

You threw your head back and laughed, then huffed, wiping a few tears from your eyes, “No, oh, no don’t worry. See this is why I love you,” Your heart came to an abrupt halt, and you felt as if you were dead, “no–I mean, I don’t–I mean, I–well, I do, but I mean–”

“It’s okay,” you followed his face as he stood and leaned down, his palm brushing across your face as he tucked a lock of hair behind your ear and leaned forward, “It’s okay, know what you meant,” the end of his sentence was muffled by another kiss.

“So, do you think they’ve caught on yet?” JJ asked, taking a sip of her coffee.

“Uhh, I’d say probably not.” Emily nodded.

“Would you like the share with the class?” Morgan raised a brow.

“Oh, I know this one,” Penelope hand shot up, her jewelry clinking against one another, “because — and Reid still think we don’t know.”

“I mean how could we not, though?” JJ huffed a laugh, setting her mug on the table in front of her.

“Know what?” Rossi smacked his lips, startling the group of four.

“Know…the complexities of…nail polish?” Penelope tried and failed to save the group.

All four members winced as Hotch appeared seemingly out of thin air and stated, “they think we don’t know about Spencer and —.” “What?” Rossi shook his head, following Hotch, “how could we not know? They’re so obvious.”

a/n: sorry for the wait, but i do proofread my fics because i just can't stand things not being as good as they could be–i'm a bit of a perfectionist lol irregardless, happy late new year !!

@darkmatilda @theylovemelody

[capquinn]

i can’t stop thinking of taking care of quinn after a game 🥹 he’s so tired and sleepy, all his limbs are sore so you offer to wash his hair in the shower and it’s so calm and domestic.

i desperately need to leave so many kisses on his beautiful face 😔

You’re waiting just outside the dressing room, off to the side where it’s quieter, away from the echo of voices and the hum of disappointed fans slowly filing out of the arena. The air still buzzes with the energy of the game, but it’s tinged with a heaviness — the weight of a hard loss on home ice, the kind that lingers.

When Quinn finally steps out, he looks worn, his shoulders rounded, his hair damp from a post-game rinse, and there’s a look in his eyes that shows he’s replaying every shift in his mind. The usual spark in his eyes is dimmed, replaced by something tired, a mix of frustration and exhaustion. But then he spots you, and a small, almost grateful smile pulls at the corners of his mouth. He doesn’t say a word, just closes the space between you, slipping into your arms and melting against you in a way that’s rare, like he’s finally letting himself breathe.

He lets out a long sigh, his hands settling on your waist, pulling you close. The tension seems to ease just a little, the world around you fading as he leans his forehead to your shoulder, taking a moment just to exist here, with you, away from the weight of the game.

“Hey,” you whisper, your hands moving gently over his back, each touch slow and steady, like you’re drawing out the tension with every pass. After a few moments, you murmur, “want me to drive us home tonight?”

Quinn lets out a soft chuckle, shaking his head as he pulls back slightly to look at you. “I’m okay,” he replies, his voice low and steady, but you catch the tired glint in his eyes.

“As long as you’re sure,” you smile, brushing a loose strand of hair from his forehead.

With a gentle squeeze of your hand, he tugs you towards the exit, falling into an easy rhythm beside you. His arm slips around your shoulders, drawing you close, and you lean into him as you make your way through the quiet hallways and out to the car, his fingers tracing light, absent patterns on your shoulder as you walk.

The drive back is quiet, the streets dim and familiar. At a red light, he reaches for your hand, giving it another squeeze before settling it on the console, where you gently rub your thumb over his knuckles. He doesn’t say much, but every now and then, he glances over, and you catch the soft smile he gives you, the one that says thank you without needing the words.

As soon as you’re home, Quinn barely manages to kick off his shoes before he’s pulling you in close again, his hand slipping around to the small of your back, head tucked on your shoulder with eyes closed for a moment, just breathing you in.

“You’re really wiped, huh?” you say softly, fingers lightly scratching at the base of his neck.

“Yeah,” he murmurs, lips grazing your shoulder, “just one of those nights.”

You smile and take a step back, slipping your hands under his blazer to slide it off his shoulders.

“Alright, let’s get you sorted,” you say, pressing a light kiss to his collarbone as you unbutton his shirt.

He hums in appreciation, the familiar rhythm between you both easing the edges of his exhaustion.

"Shower?" you murmur, your voice soft, already drifting down the hall toward the bathroom.

Quinn's nod is slow, almost lazy, as he tips his head back against the door frame, watching you with a half-lidded gaze as you slide out of your jacket.

He takes his time following, each step weighted, and by the time he joins you, the bathroom is filled with a gentle haze of steam, the air warm and inviting, ready to offer him a respite.

You’re already under the warm stream, your head tilting slightly as the water cascades down, welcoming the steam as it swirls around you. When you see him approach, you shift over a little, making space for him to join you, and he steps in slowly, eyes already closing as the water pours over his head.

Once he’s settled under the stream, you gently close the distance between you, stepping in close until your chest is flush against his back. Your hands come up to settle around his torso, holding him loosely, a silent reassurance that you’re here for him.

For a moment, he just breathes, taking in the warmth of the water and the quiet, steady support of your presence behind him. There’s no need for words as he lets his shoulders drop, leaning back into you, letting himself relax, if only for a while.

With a gentle touch, you reach for the shampoo, lathering it in your hands before threading your fingers through his hair, careful and soothing. You work in slow circles, letting the suds build, your fingers tracing paths over his scalp, easing out the tension he holds there. Each movement is deliberate, unhurried, as if your hands could wash away every bit of disappointment weighing him down.

He lets out a quiet sigh, leaning a little more into you, his posture softening as your hands move gently through his hair, each touch a small gesture of care.

It’s an unspoken language between you — the way you know he doesn’t want to talk about it just yet, doesn’t want to break the silence with words. Instead, he leans into your touch, lets himself be cared for, lets the day dissolve under the warmth of the water and your hands.

You guide him to tilt his head under the stream, rinsing away the shampoo, and your fingers comb carefully through his hair, making sure every last bit is gone. He opens his eyes briefly, glancing sideways at you with a soft, grateful look that says more than words ever could.

Reaching for the body wash, you work up a lather in your hands before beginning to massage his shoulders, moving down his arms, his back, over his hips… the soap slipping over his skin as you press gently, releasing the tension that still lingers. His breathing slows, his chest expanding with each deep breath as he lets himself sink into the feeling of your hands easing away the last of his strain.

As you both step out of the shower, wrapped in the warmth and lingering steam, you grab a towel and hand it to him, then reach for one yourself. You catch his eye, and he gives you that tired look, the one that says all he wants is to be close to you.

Smiling softly, you step closer, your hands gently framing his face as you press a kiss to his jaw, then his cheek, and finally to the corner of his mouth, each touch soft and grounding.

His eyes flutter closed, and he leans into each kiss, a small, tired smile tugging at his lips. He lets out a slow sigh, his shoulders relaxing as he opens his eyes again, a hint of warmth returning to his gaze.

“Thanks,” he murmurs, voice low and softened by exhaustion.

He leans in, his face close to yours again, and then his mouth brushes against yours, warm and unhurried, a touch that lingers. His hand comes up to cradle your cheek, steadying himself in the closeness, his breath mingling with yours savouring the quiet connection.

You just smile, resting your hand over his before leading him out to get dressed.

Once you’re both in cozy clothes, you settle on the sofa, flicking on the TV to something low and soft — a random movie just for the background. Quinn sinks down between your legs, resting his head in your lap, a small, tired smile crossing his face as he looks up at you.

Your fingers find their way back into his hair, carding through the damp strands, and he closes his eyes for a moment, letting out a long breath. The weight of the night still lingers, but here, in this quiet space, it feels a little lighter.

After a while, you notice that he’s been staring at the ceiling, biting his cheek just like he always does when he’s overthinking. His hand rests on your knee, fingers tapping absentmindedly, the weight of tonight’s loss still weighing on his shoulders.

“Hey,” you say softly, brushing your fingers a little more deliberately through his hair. “Keep staring like that, and you’re going to burn a hole in the ceiling.”

A small, reluctant smile tugs at his lips, but he doesn’t meet your eyes, his gaze still distant. “Just… thinking,” he mutters.

You tilt your head, keeping your tone light but gentle. “Dangerous territory,” you tease, your fingers tracing soft circles along his temple. “Wanna talk about it?” you ask quietly, leaving him with the choice to open up if he wants to.

He lets out a long sigh, his hand squeezing your knee slightly as he finally speaks. “It’s… I don’t know. I know it’s just one game, but when you’re the one who’s supposed to set the example, it feels like…” He trails off, searching for the right words. “It feels like I let them down. Like I should’ve done more. I keep replaying it, you know?”

You offer him a soft smile, your hands smoothing down over his chest, tracing slow, gentle lines along the fabric of his shirt. You keep the motion steady, one hand resting lightly over his heart, the other moving in a calming rhythm across his collarbone and down to his chest, settling there as he continues to talk.

“I mean, I know it’s a team loss,” he says, his voice a little lower, a little rougher. “But as captain, it… It’s on me to make sure we don’t fall apart out there, to keep everyone together. And tonight…” He sighs again, biting his cheek. “I don’t know. Maybe I’m just… maybe I’m taking it too personally.”

You just keep running your fingers through his hair, letting him get it all out. The movie plays softly in the background, forgotten as he lets out everything he’s been holding back, every bit of frustration and self-doubt he’s been carrying since the buzzer.

And then he finally falls quiet, a little sheepish as he realizes he’s been rambling.

Quinn looks up at you, a slight, embarrassed smile on his face. “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to go on like that.”

You shake your head, smiling softly. “Nothing to apologise for.” Your fingers brush through his hair again, reassuring and gentle. “You know I’m always here for you.”

He chuckles, a bit self-conscious, before bringing your hand to his mouth and pressing a soft kiss to your palm. “You’re too good to me,” he murmurs, his voice warm and grateful.

You give his hand a squeeze. “Someone’s got to be.”

⋆⋅☆⋅⋆

requests are open - let’s daydream!

[marvelwitchergilmore]

Together

Summary: Aaron Hotchner x Fe!Reader -> The team knows something is up between yourself and Hotch, except Rossi seems to be the only one to put the pieces together.

Disclaimer: Descriptions of sick. Fluff. Jack and Haley don't exist in this fic. Happy ending. Not Proof Read.

The whole team knew something was up. They just didn’t know what. 

Usually, you were normal with everyone. Chatty. Smiley. Professional. Maybe a little blunt every now and again. 

But not this time. 

For the last week you had been…cold. Well, not with them, at least. 

But with Hotch? You had been as cold as ice. 

But no-one could pin why. 

Even if it had just been small things, like the feeling in the meeting room in the morning when it just seemed to be the two of you, or the small looks you both gave each other – which had started out as awkward, but then quickly turned to shame and clear annoyance, the latter being much more clear on your end. It was definitely clear now. 

From the beginning of the case, you had been quick to change subjects. Always staying on the case, which was normal. But not your abruptness to do so. And when Hotch tried to pull you aside as the others made their way to the main doors, you brushed him off. 

Hotch was someone you never brushed off. Not until recently. 

And when you all landed in Seattle, Hotch was assigning teams for who was driving. But before he could place you with himself, JJ and Morgan, you pushed past him. 

“I’m going with Rossi.”

And Hotch didn’t say a word. 

Instead, he watched you walk away with your go bag, throwing it into the trunk with Dave. He gave his orders to Prentiss on what would happen and she updated you in the car. 

However, forty five minutes into a ninety minute drive, Emily’s voice started to make you feel dizzy. Then the heat in the car felt like it was blasting. So you rolled down the window. But that didn’t help. 

“Garcia said she’s already sent over some case files- Hey, you okay?”

From the backseat, Emily leaned forward to get a better look at you. 

“I’m fine.”

But five minutes later, you changed your mind. 

“Pull over.”

“What?”

“Pull over, I think I’m gonna be sick.”

“Okay, okay. Just hold on.”

The car had barely been put into park by the time you threw the door open, tore your seatbelt away and ran out. 

Less than ten feet from the open car door, the last three drinks and meal you ate came straight back up and soaked into the dry grass. 

You heard a second car pull up behind and then heard Morgan and Hotch’s voice. Dave had already reached you, placing a hand on your back before pulling your hair back. 

“Okay, take it easy. Are you okay?”

You could only hum before throwing up once more. He rubbed circles on your back for a moment before you finally finished throwing up and wiped your mouth with the back of your hand. 

“Is she okay? Y/n, are you-”

“I’m fine!” You called out, a little harsher than you had intended. 

Holding out a hand, Rossi signalled for Hotch to stop and stay where he was with the others. 

“She’s okay, she just needs a minute. Emily, do we have water in the car?”

“Yep, here.”

Making her way over, Emily poured some water onto a tissue before handing it to you. You wiped down your mouth and your hand before being handed the bottle by Dave. 

“Small sips, okay? Are you sure you’re okay?”

You nodded, your back still to the rest of the team. “I just need a minute.”

“Aaron, we’ll meet you there.”

It took him a minute before he moved back to the car, but Hotch eventually nodded, calling out they’d see them at the precinct. 

“Do you know what it could be?” Emily asked. 

“Probably just some bad sushi.”

Emily nodded before getting back into the car. 

“Are you sure that’s all it is?” Rossi asked once she was out of earshot. 

And for a moment, you paused. 

“Let’s just get going.”

Things only seemed to get worse from there. 

You managed to hide it as best as you could from the rest of the team, but every hour you had spent a good ten minutes in the bathroom throwing your guts up. 

A couple of officers did question where you had been when they couldn’t find you but hadn’t seen you leave the building. One mention of Aunt Flow and they didn’t ask again. 

Your coldness with Hotch didn’t ease, either. It just seemed to become more frigid. And everyone saw it. 

By the third day in Seattle, Prentiss and Morgan had questioned you on it in the break room. 

“Yeah, what do you have against Hotch all of a sudden? What, one week away from us and you’ve suddenly made an agenda against him?”

“Because I love you, I’m going to ask this only once. Please don’t ask about Hotch.”

Morgan and Prentiss looked between each other, slightly worriedly, but both silently agreed to drop it. 

“But you will sort it out?”

You bit the inside of your cheek. “I don’t know.”

A few hours later, you were coming back out of the bathroom when Rossi seemed to jump out at you. 

“Jeez. Rossi. Give a girl some warning next time.”

Dave smiled. “Sorry, didn’t mean to scare you.”

“Have we caught a break?”

“No, but I need to talk to you.”

“What about?”

“About the fact you’re running to the bathroom every hour to throw up.”

“Like I said, it was probably just some bad food. I’ll be okay.”

Only, as you started walking away, Rossi asked you a question. 

“What happened between you and Hotch?”

“Nothing.” You answered, your back still to him. 

“Really? Because I wouldn’t call it nothing. I’d call it strange.”

“Rossi, I’ve asked Morgan and Prentiss-”

“I know, and I heard. But, to be frank, I think you’re lying and you’re too scared to tell anyone.”

“Tell anyone what?”

But rather than voice it, Rossi just gave you a look. It took you a moment before you cracked a little. 

“Rossi…”

“You don’t have to tell me how or what happened, but I’m asking, just find out the truth. You don’t have to tell anyone. But I think the sooner you do it, the better it will be.”

“We’re in the middle of a case.”

Rossi shrugged, “Morgan and JJ are on their way back. Reid’s got it handled here. We’ll pick up some coffee on the way back as a cover. Let’s just go now.”

You seemed to hesitate, and Rossi could see it. 

“Please, for my sanity's sake?”

“Okay.”

Twenty minutes later, you found a pharmacy and picked up a box. 

“Can you wait outside the door for me?”

“Of course.”

And he did. 

Once you paid for the box, the cashier directed you to a bathroom in the back. Except, long after the two minutes were up, you still hadn’t come out. So, Rossi knocked on the door. 

You swung it open and he jumped back a little. 

“I can’t look at it.”

“Well, you’re gonna have to at some point.”

“I’ve wiped it down and it’s got a cap but…can you look? I’m too scared.”

Rossi could see the fear in your eyes. Oh, how two little lines could instil so much fear into people who dealt with crime every day. 

Handing the package to Rossi, he turned it around and pulled it out of the packet. 

“I believe congratulations are in order.”

Turning it around so you could see, you took it back into your grasp as you pushed one hand through your hair. 

“Oh, my god.”

“I think you and Hotch need to have a conversation.”

“Please don’t tell anyone.”

Rossi smiled, holding your hand which he could feel shaking. “You have my word.”

Somehow, back in the precinct, you managed to keep your cool. You’d brought back coffee for the team and, despite the fact you caught Hotch watching you from his seat, noticing your shaking hand, you pulled it back and found a spare pen from JJ’s notepad and spun it over and over in your fingers. 

Thankfully, due to the “food poisoning”, you had been kept out of the field when it came to finding the unsub. However, this just gave you a very large sense of dread. You watched them all run out of the door, Rossi placing a hand on your arm talking directly to you. 

“I’ll look out for him.” He told you before the others could hear him. 

“Thank you.”

Possibly carrying Hotch’s child made watching him and the team run out of the door, without you, made that sense of dread practically triple. Especially considering no-one other than Rossi knew the truth, or at least a part of it, about yourself and Aaron. 

Thankfully, no-one got hurt and the unsub was apprehended in time before he could hurt anyone else. They all came back with looks of relief and tiredness when you saw them, but there was a barely visible look of confusion and perhaps, hopefulness, on Hotch’s face when your scowl at him didn’t seem so cold. 

On the plane ride back, you were quiet. Everyone was, but there was just an air about you that told those paying attention to you that you were in your own world. 

Of course, Rossi knew why. 

But it was tearing at Hotch why he didn’t. 

Pulling back into the office, Penelope greeted you all by the elevator, hugging you all. And handing you some dry crackers and a bottle of water. 

“Thanks, Garcia.”

As everyone said their goodnights, you watched as Hotch walked directly through the bullpen and towards his office. 

“I think there are a couple of things you and he need to talk about.”

You nodded, with a light smile. “You’re right.”

Rossi kissed you cheek before saying goodnight and saluting you before the elevator doors closed. You did a small one back before turning your gaze back to the dim lights coming from Hotch’s office. 

However, first, you ran to the bathroom. 

Sitting at his desk, Hotch was halfway finished with the last of his reports when a knock came to his door. 

Looking up from his desk, there was a slight look on his face that told you he wasn’t expecting you. And you couldn’t be surprised. You’d barely been able to look him in the eye for the last month and a half, and you’d been nothing but cold and if a little harsh with him for the last couple of weeks. 

“Is everything okay?”

“Can we talk?”

Hotch nodded. “Come on in.”

You nodded back, entering, but closing the door behind you. Which made Hotch stand. 

“Is everything-”

“I’m pregnant.”

A silence settled over the room that you were expecting, but still shocked you. And every possible emotion, some you couldn’t even name, passed over his face before he was forced to sit down. 

“Oh.”

“Can I sit?”

He nodded, quickly signalling for you to do so. And so you did. 

“What did…How- When did you find out?”

“Sometime in the last twenty four hours.” You answered which confused Hotch, which you could understand. It was a vague explanation. “It’s all been kind of a blur.”

He nodded, understanding what you meant. 

“Does anyone…know?”

You nodded. “Rossi.”

“Dave knows?”

“He seemed to know before I did…kinda.”

“What does that mean?”

“I guess I had a feeling when I got carsick, but denial carried me through.”

“Does anyone else know?”

You shook your head. “No. Oh, and, um, I-I took another test to be sure. H-here.”

With a lot of nerves and a lot of awkward courage, you passed the second test across the desk to Hotch who took it in his hands and looked at it. 

Two bright pink lines. 

Positive test. 

“Just so I’m…clear. You are telling me because I’m…”

“The father?” you questioned. “Yes. There wasn’t anyone before or after you for it to be someone else.”

Hotch nodded. “Okay.”

You both sat in silence for a while, taking in what had just happened. 

“I, well, I haven’t been to see a doctor yet so I can’t know for certain but these tests are usually pretty accurate.”

Hotch could only nod. 

“You’re free to make any decision you wish,” Hotch assured you. “I’ll support you either way.”

You nodded in a small thank you. “Honestly, I don’t know what I’m going to do. With our line of work, it gives you the handbook over why you shouldn’t have children. But, if I do decide to do this…I’m prepared to do this on my own. If I am going to do it, I’d prefer to have you in their life.” 

Your hand absentmindedly touched your stomach and you looked down to it for a moment. 

“But, I’m prepared to do it on my own.”

Hotch took in everything you said and nodded. “Like I said, I’ll support any decision you make but if you do decide to have our child…” 

Those two words settled over the both of you. 

Our Child. 

Our Child. 

Our Child.

“One thing you don’t have to worry about is doing it alone. I want to be a part of their life. And whatever support you need, I’ll try and help with.”

You nodded before looking back down to your stomach. 

Once again, a silence settled over the both of you and it was like he could hear your brain going into overload with information and feelings. But just as he was about to call your name, you looked up. 

Tears were being held tight behind your eyes, but a few words and they were ready to fall free. 

“I’m…I’m scared, Aaron.”

It didn’t take him a second thought before he stood up and met you where you were sitting. As he got around his desk, you stood and he embraced you tightly. 

He swallowed thickly, nodding and placing a quick kiss to your hair. “It’ll be okay.”

A week later, the team had taken notice of the change between yourself and Hotch. It was no longer cold, but it wasn’t what it was. It was something…uneasy. You had both clearly had a tough talk and were on rocky shores, but you were both finding a way to make it work. 

It was also a week later that you had made your decision. 

You were going to have a baby. 

A lot of different scenarios passed through your mind when you thought about what you were going to do. It would be hard, of course. It would be difficult to work the cases you do and not feel a little more emotionally involved. But you also couldn’t help but think that maybe this was a blessing in disguise. 

A part of you had wanted children for a long time, but the thought of actually having them was slipping further and further away the more you worked. 

And, despite you feeling selfish, you wanted a baby. You wanted to see a child, your child,  grow up and have a life of their own. You wanted to make the memories you had as a kid, but with them. 

You knew it would be difficult to do so when you joined the Academy, but part of you always wanted a home filled with the sound of laughter and joy. 

And maybe this was your only chance. 

And in all honesty, Aaron had similar feelings. 

It would be hard, sure. But he also wanted this in his life. He wanted a child. He wanted you in his life, however that would be. 

Of course, neither of you had seen this coming when you had run into each other at the Inn you had found. A halfway stop to your actual destination. Only, rather than continuing on your separate journeys for your week’s vacation time, you both found yourselves unable to leave the small town and the safe walls of the local Inn. 

It was that part of the story the team would forever speculate on once they found out you were pregnant and it was, in fact, Hotch’s baby. 

That was a piece of information they clued together themselves when Hotch called them in for an early meeting, but had confirmation on just a few moments later.

“So, what’s happening here?”

“Are you together?”

“We’re…still figuring that out.” Hotch answered, looking at you.

Neither of you had exactly had the conversation over what you were. Were you a couple? Were you friends? Were you co-workers? Were you just co-workers having a baby together?

HR weren’t exactly happy about the get-together but so long as the relationship wasn’t going to break any codes of conduct within the field, you were both still free to keep working. And more importantly, working together. 

However, over the next nine months, certain things seemed to blur. 

Aaron came with you to every doctor’s appointment, never missing one. When you had both first heard your baby’s heartbeat, you had clutched onto his hand and not let go. And when the sound got clearer, he pulled you a little closer, rubbing your arm and kissing your hand. 

It was a little odd, feeling the baby kick for the first time whilst being stood outside of a crime scene. 

Morgan had been with you at the time, quickly calling for Hotch when your posture and face changed from quizzical to concerned. Only, by the time Aaron had reached you both, you laughed and told them what was happening. 

Morgan then called JJ over as you guided Aaron’s hand to your stomach. And you both shared an intimate moment, just looking at one another, feeling your unborn baby kick at your stomach for the first time. 

JJ was able to confirm what was going on and both herself and Morgan congratulated you before you all remembered where you were and got back to work.

The cold glares you had given Hotch in the weeks leading up to you finding out had disappeared completely after the hug you shared in his office when you told him. And by the time you were entering your second trimester, they had turned into something similar to what they were before everything had changed. 

You had both become friends. 

He had also relaxed a little more around you, which allowed him space to take in what was actually happening. So, when your cravings started kicking in, he would hand you snacks throughout the days. You wouldn’t even know what you wanted at the time and he just…seemed to know. 

And at some point between him attending doctors appointments, helping you with your pregnancy cravings and reading to your belly, you had both begun to live together. 

It made sense, at least for the first couple of weeks after the birth and partly during the pregnancy. If you went into labour, it would be safer if someone was with you. And, it meant he was there when, in the middle of the night, you woke up with braxton hicks and panicked a little before getting checked out at the hospital, just in case. 

Also, small touches began. 

From you holding his hand against your stomach when your baby kicked, to his fingers tracing yours whilst they held that position. Then, in break rooms. They were quick, but light kisses would be pressed to your head or cheek whenever he handed you something. He was always close to you, barely leaving your side when in the field. His hand, always at the small of your back when leading you somewhere. And in the early hours of the morning, his arms would be across you as you both lay in bed, holding you close against his chest. 

Until, finally, one night whilst lay in bed, you asked a question. 

Both facing each other, despite your eyes being closed, Aaron traced repeated patterns from pushing your hair back to trailing his fingers down your arm to find your hand, rubbing soft circles with his thumb. 

Both of you should be fast asleep, yet you weren’t. 

“Aaron?”

“Hmm?”

“What are we doing?”

“Sleeping.”

You laughed a little. “No we’re not.”

“I’m sleep talking.”

“Aaron, I’m being serious.”

With a small laugh, Aaron sighed. “Okay, what is it?”

He finally opened his eyes and so did you.

“What are we doing? About us, I mean. We’re having a baby together, but we’re not together together. We work together, but we also live together. What happens after the first couple of months? Do we…what do we do?”

“I suppose we just have to take each day as it comes and see what happens.”

“I can live with that.”

“Or…”

“Oh, no.” 

Aaron laughed a little and shook his head, bringing his hand back to your face and brushing the hair from it. 

“Or,” he repeated, “we treat this for what it really is.”

“I don’t…” you shook your head. 

“I know I don’t regret what happened that week away. Even more so now, but before…before we both found out. I still didn’t regret it. I don’t. We say we live together out of convenience, but I know, at least for me, it’s something more. Now, if for you it’s still out of convenience and bonding for our child, then we can have this conversation when the time comes. But, you should know my feelings for you run deeper than just you being my co-worker and the mother of our child. Do you…could you see yourself…feeling the same?”

The silence that came over both of you for a moment made Aaron worry. Maybe he had gotten it wrong in his head. Maybe you didn’t feel the same. Maybe you were just caught up in the emotions of carrying his child and, since you were in it together, some form of feelings, similar to that of his, were getting blurry. 

But then you blinked. 

And a light smile graced across your face. 

“I do.”

Your voice was barely above a whisper. But still, your words echoed louder and louder around his head. 

“You…you do?”

You nodded. “I do.”

Aaron took a moment, before leaning in and pressing a kiss to your lips. It was like your first, all over again. Except, this time, rather than a little fear being behind it, considering at the time you were both still co-workers just on vacation, there was nothing but…

Relief. 

More specifically, relief for love. 

For months you’d both been avoiding the biggest barrier between both of you. Too scared and too fearful that the answer to each question would be some variant of “No.” 

And now…

Finally the answer was yes. 

Yes to love. 

Together.

Yes to a life.

Together. 

Yes to a family. 

Together.

[enemiestolovershoe]

Subtle's Overrated Part 2

Noah Sebastian x bsf!dierkes!reader

Part 1

Summary: Y/N and Noah navigate their growing connection during the tour, balancing passion, privacy, and the playful chaos of their close-knit bandmates.

Words: 4k

Warnings: SMUT 18+, unprotected p in v (wrap it up pls), oral receiving (f and m), use of y/n, language, teasing, suggestive themes, getting 'caught', lmk if i missed something

Disclaimer: While the characters in this story are inspired by real people, the events and interactions are purely fictional and not reflective of reality.

It had been two weeks since you and Noah officially got together, and things had somehow only gotten more intense. The teasing from the band had reached an all-time high, but you couldn’t find it in yourself to care. You and Noah were practically inseparable now, a fact that Matt and Folio had coined as being “superglued together.”

“You two are like one of those old-school cartoons where the characters’ hands get stuck together with glue,” Folio said one afternoon, smirking as he leaned back on the bus couch. “I’m just waiting for the part where you try to pull away and end up with your faces stuck together.”

“Very original, Folio,” Noah said dryly, though he didn’t move from his spot beside you, his arm draped over your shoulders as you leaned into him.

“Hey, I call it like I see it,” Folio said, grinning.

Jolly walked in, holding a soda can, and immediately jumped into the conversation. “Calling it ‘superglued’ might actually be an understatement. They’re practically one person at this point.”

“Jealous?” you shot back, earning a round of laughter from the group.

Despite all the teasing, you and Noah had your moments, though not without their share of interruptions. The bus wasn’t exactly known for privacy, a lesson you’d learned the hard way more than once.

Flashback: The Couch Incident

It had been late at night, and most of the band had either passed out or holed up in their bunks. You and Noah had decided to take advantage of the quiet, slipping into the living room section of the bus for some alone time.

You had straddled him, your lips locked in a heated kiss, his hands running up and down your sides. The world outside the bus ceased to exist as his mouth moved against yours, and you’d let your guard down completely.

That is, until the door swung open.

“Yo, anyone up for Mario Kart?” Nicholas Ruffilo’s voice boomed as he barged in, Jolly trailing behind him.

The two of them froze mid-step, their eyes widening as they took in the scene.

“Uh…” Ruffilo started, clearly unsure whether to laugh or apologize.

Jolly, ever the calm one, raised an eyebrow. “Well, this is awkward.”

You scrambled off Noah’s lap, clutching your shirt to your chest in a feeble attempt to preserve some dignity. Noah groaned, his head falling back against the couch.

“Ever heard of knocking?” he muttered.

“We didn’t think we needed to,” Ruffilo said, smirking now. “Apparently, we do.”

Since then, you and Noah had been trying to pick your moments more carefully, though it hadn’t exactly worked out as planned.

Flashback: The Greenroom 

It was the third show of the week, and you’d barely had any alone time with Noah. The greenroom seemed like a safe bet—everyone else was busy getting ready or dealing with soundcheck.

You’d pinned him against the couch, your lips traveling along his jawline as his hands gripped your hips. His low groan sent shivers down your spine, and you were just about to palm him through his jeans when—

“Hey, has anyone seen—oh, come on!”

Matt’s voice rang out, followed immediately by Folio, Nicholas, and Jolly filing into the room. They all stopped short, collectively groaning in mock disgust.

“Seriously?” Matt said, his arms crossed.

“I thought we agreed the greenroom was a neutral zone,” Folio added, though he didn’t seem particularly surprised.

You scrambled off Noah once again, glaring at the group. “Do none of you knock?”

“Not when we don’t think we need to!” Matt retorted, throwing his hands in the air.

“Alright, that’s it,” Noah said, standing and brushing off his jeans. “We’re getting a lock for every door on this tour.”

The interruptions had become something of a running joke, but they’d also solidified one thing in your mind: you weren’t going to let anything happen until you had real privacy—preferably in a hotel, where no one could barge in unannounced.

“You’re thinking about it, aren’t you?” Noah’s voice pulled you out of your thoughts.

You glanced at him, his expression amused as he sat beside you on the tour bus couch. “Thinking about what?”

“Every time we’ve been interrupted,” he said with a knowing smirk.

You rolled your eyes but couldn’t help smiling. “How could I not? It’s like they have some kind of radar.”

“No kidding,” he muttered. “But hey, next week we’re staying in hotels for a few nights.”

Your heart skipped a beat at the implication, but before you could respond, Matt’s voice rang out from the front of the bus.

“Alright, lovebirds, let’s go! Soundcheck time!”

You sighed, shooting Noah an apologetic look. “Duty calls.”

He leaned in, pressing a quick kiss to your temple. “We’ll pick this up later.”

With a grin, you followed him off the bus, already anticipating whatever chaos the day would bring.

The Toronto skyline loomed in the distance, and you couldn’t help but feel a wave of relief. After days of being cooped up on the tour bus and countless interruptions, the idea of staying in a proper hotel felt like heaven. This stop was a multi-day event, and you’d made it abundantly clear to Matt that this time, privacy was non-negotiable.

“Alright,” Matt said as the bus rolled into the hotel parking lot. “We’ve got the rooms sorted. Two doubles for the guys, and one for me.”

“And one for me and Noah,” you interjected, arms crossed as you stood in front of your brother.

Matt’s eyebrows lifted in faux surprise. “Oh? Why do you need your own room?”

You rolled your eyes, already sensing where this was going. “You know exactly why.”

“Do I?” he said, his voice dripping with mock innocence. “Just seems like an odd request, that’s all.”

“Matt,” Noah groaned, stepping up beside you, clearly already exasperated. “Man, stop being a cockblock already. It fucking hurts.”

Matt smirked, pulling a room key card from behind his back and holding it just out of your reach. “You mean like this?”

You glared at him, but Noah was quicker, snatching the card from his hand with an annoyed grunt. “Thanks, Dad.”

“Have fun, lovebirds,” Matt called after you both as you headed for the hotel entrance, his grin practically splitting his face.

The memory of his smirk stayed with you as you and Noah made your way to your room, but the moment the door clicked shut behind you, all thoughts of Matt or the band vanished. Noah turned to you, his eyes dark with something you couldn’t quite describe but definitely felt in the air between you.

“We’re finally alone,” he murmured, stepping closer.

You couldn’t help but laugh, though your voice came out a little breathless. “It’s been days. Weeks. It feels like years.”

His hands found your waist, pulling you flush against him. “You’re telling me,” he said, his lips brushing against yours.

Before you could respond, he kissed you, and any coherent thought flew out of your head. His lips were firm and demanding, his hands roaming up your back as yours tangled in his hair. The tension that had been building between you two for days finally found its outlet, and it was electric.

Flashback: The Bus Incident

A few nights earlier, after a show, the two of you had rushed back to the bus, desperate for some alone time while the rest of the band went out for drinks. The bus was dark, quiet, and it felt like the perfect opportunity.

You’d barely made it to the couch when Noah pressed you against it, his lips trailing down your neck as his hands slid under your shirt. Your breath came out in soft gasps, your body arching into his touch.

And then, the bus door opened.

“I’m too tired for the bar,” Matt said, stepping inside and flipping the light on. He froze when he saw the two of you tangled together, blinking in surprise before bursting out laughing. “Oh, come on! Can’t I leave you two alone for five minutes?”

“Matt!” you groaned, scrambling off Noah.

“Really?” Noah muttered, his head dropping back against the couch in defeat.

Flashback: The Salt Lake City Studio Incident

You’d managed to convince Matt to book a hotel in Salt Lake City, thinking you’d finally have some privacy. What you hadn’t realized was that Matt had booked a studio apartment for the entire band—and himself.

You and Noah had shared a tiny corner of the room, and every time you thought you might sneak a moment alone, someone was always there.

“Who books a studio apartment for six people?” you’d hissed at Matt as you passed him in the kitchen.

He smirked, clearly enjoying your frustration. “Hey, it’s cozy.”

“Cozy?” Noah had said from the couch, his voice filled with irritation. “We can’t even breathe without someone hearing it.”

Those moments felt like a cruel joke now, but here, in this hotel room in Toronto, it was just the two of you. No interruptions, no teasing bandmates, no cockblocking brothers—just you and Noah, finally free to be together.

He broke the kiss, his forehead resting against yours as he caught his breath. “Worth the wait,” he murmured, his voice low and filled with meaning.

You smiled, your hands resting on his chest. “We’ve only just started.”

Noah smiled against your lips before pulling back just enough to look into your eyes. His gaze was intense, filled with hunger and adoration as he leaned in to capture your lips in another kiss—this one deeper, more urgent. His hands found your waist, guiding you back until the back of your knees hit the bed. You stumbled slightly, falling back onto the mattress with a soft laugh.

He followed immediately, pinning you beneath him as his weight settled on top of you. The two of you couldn’t help but giggle, the sound breaking through the tension for a moment.

“You’re dangerous, you know that?” you teased, your hands coming up to cup his face.

“Dangerous?” he repeated with a smirk, his thumb brushing along your cheekbone. “Says the girl who’s been driving me insane for weeks.”

You grinned, leaning up just enough to press a kiss to the tip of his nose. “I love you,” you murmured softly, your eyes locking onto his.

The smirk softened into something more tender, his lips quirking up into a small smile. “I love you too,” he said, his voice just as quiet, before leaning down to kiss you again.

His lips moved against yours with a slow intensity, the kind that made your whole body hum with anticipation. You felt his hand drift down to the hem of your shirt, his fingers brushing your skin lightly as he paused.

“Can I take this off?” he asked, his voice low and filled with both need and care.

You nodded quickly, your own hands moving to help him as you pulled the shirt over your head and tossed it aside. Noah’s lips found their way to your neck almost immediately, leaving a trail of soft, warm kisses down to your collarbone.

“You’re so beautiful,” he murmured against your skin, his voice sending shivers down your spine.

His kisses continued downward, his lips grazing over the swell of your breast before he pressed a lingering, wet kiss there. You let out a soft gasp, threading your fingers through his hair as he moved lower, stopping briefly to kiss your belly before his mouth hovered over your shorts.

Noah rested his head there for a moment, looking up at you with a playful smirk. “You know,” he began, his tone teasing, “I’ve thought about this exact moment way more than I probably should’ve.”

You couldn’t help but laugh softly, your hands brushing through his hair. “And how does it compare?” you asked, matching his teasing tone.

“Better,” he said, his smirk growing as his eyes sparkled with mischief. “But it’d be even better if these weren’t in the way.” He tugged gently at the waistband of your shorts. “Can I take them off, baby?”

“Please,” you whispered, your voice filled with a mix of nervousness and excitement.

He didn’t hesitate, pulling your shorts down in one smooth motion, leaving your panties in place. His hands brushed along your thighs as he slid back up to you, his lips finding yours once again in a deep, lingering kiss.

“You wear too much,” you murmured against his lips, tugging lightly at the fabric of his shirt.

Noah pulled back with a chuckle, the corners of his lips twitching up into a smirk. “Better get rid of it then, huh?” he said, sitting up just enough to tug his shirt over his head and toss it aside.

Your eyes roamed over his toned chest, and you couldn’t help but grin. “Much better,” you said, your voice teasing but full of appreciation.

“Glad you approve, princess,” he replied with a playful wink before leaning back down to kiss you again.

As his hands slid up your back, his fingers found the clasp of your bra. He hesitated for a moment, his eyes meeting yours as if silently asking for permission.

You nodded, your breath catching as he unhooked it with practiced ease. Slowly, you slid the straps down your shoulders, letting the fabric fall away to expose yourself to him for the first time.

Noah’s breath hitched slightly, his eyes widening as he took you in. “You’re perfect,” he whispered, his voice filled with awe.

Heat rushed to your cheeks at his words, but the way he looked at you made you feel anything but shy. “You’re not so bad yourself,” you said with a small smile, your hands brushing along his chest as he leaned down to kiss you again.

Noah’s lips began their journey down your body once more, leaving soft, deliberate kisses that made your skin tingle. When he reached your chest, he paused, his warm mouth enveloping your nipple while his other hand massaged the opposite breast with care. The contrast of his lips and his hands sent waves of pleasure coursing through you, and a breathtaking moan escaped your lips.

Hearing your reaction, Noah smirked against your skin, clearly satisfied with the effect he was having on you. His kisses trailed lower, his lips and tongue mapping out every inch of you as he went. When he reached the hem of your panties, he stopped, his warm breath ghosting over the thin fabric.

Without warning, his hand cupped your covered core, applying just enough pressure to make you gasp. The teasing look in his eyes as he glanced up at you was enough to make your heart race. Taking the hint, you lifted your hips slightly, hooking your thumbs into the waistband of your panties and sliding them off.

The moment you were bare, Noah wasted no time. His mouth descended on your core, his tongue working magic as he explored every sensitive spot. Your back arched off the bed as a moan spilled from your lips, your hands gripping the sheets for support.

His tongue moved with purpose, drawing out gasps and whimpers as he worked. After a moment, he slid two fingers inside you, the sensation making you cry out. His movements were precise, his mouth and fingers working in tandem to push you closer to the edge.

It didn’t take long before the tension coiled tightly in your belly snapped, a wave of pleasure crashing over you. Your body trembled as you came undone, your cries filling the room as Noah held you steady, guiding you through the high.

When you finally came down, your breath was ragged, your body flushed and buzzing with aftershocks. Noah pressed a soft kiss to your inner thigh, looking up at you with a proud, mischievous smile.

“You’re incredible,” he murmured, his voice low and full of admiration.

You pulled Noah up by the shoulders, your lips capturing his in a heated kiss. The moment your tongue slid against his, he froze for a brief second, clearly caught off guard. Most of his past partners had refused this kind of intimacy, but you didn’t hesitate. Instead, you deepened the kiss, your taste still lingering on his lips.

“Damn,” Noah murmured when you pulled back slightly, his voice low and almost disbelieving. “You’re full of surprises, princess.”

You smirked, brushing your nose against his. “You like that?”

“Like it?” he said with a breathless chuckle. “You’re gonna ruin me.”

Your lips met again, tongues tangling in a battle for dominance. In the heat of the kiss, your hands moved with purpose, sliding down his chest and expertly undoing the button of his shorts. Noah groaned into your mouth as your hand slipped beneath the waistband, brushing against him.

“Shit,” he hissed, his head tilting back slightly. Not wanting to waste time, he kicked off his shorts and boxers in one smooth motion, leaving him completely bare in front of you.

Now both naked, you kneeled together on the bed, your hands exploring his tattooed chest. “You’re unreal, you know that?” you said softly, your fingers tracing the ink along his torso.

“Me?” Noah laughed breathlessly, his hands gliding over your hips. “Look at you.”

Instead of replying, you leaned in to kiss him again, trailing your lips down his chest. Your kisses became slower, more deliberate as you moved lower, worshiping every inch of him. When you reached his length, you paused, glancing up at him with a questioning look.

His breathing hitched, and he nodded quickly. “Go ahead, baby,” he said, his voice strained.

You wrapped your hand around him first, stroking him slowly before taking him into your mouth. The reaction was immediate—Noah’s head fell back, and a low, guttural groan escaped his lips.

“Holy shit,” he muttered, his hand tangling in your hair.

You worked him with confidence, your tongue and lips driving him closer and closer to the edge. His breathing grew heavier, his hips starting to move slightly in time with your motions.

“Fuck, princess,” he groaned, his voice shaking. “I’m so close.”

You hummed around him in response, which only made him gasp louder. But then his grip on your hair tightened slightly, pulling you back gently.

“No, you need to stop,” he said, his chest rising and falling rapidly. “I want to cum inside you.”

Reluctantly, you released him, a long string of saliva still connecting you as you sat back. The sight made Noah groan again, his eyes darkening with desire.

“Come here,” he murmured, pulling you into another searing kiss.

As his lips moved against yours, he guided you down onto the mattress. His hand slipped between your thighs, his fingers brushing against your slick heat. You gasped at the contact, your hips arching instinctively toward him.

“You’re so ready for me,” he whispered, his voice full of awe as he lined himself up at your entrance. He paused, his gaze meeting yours. “You sure about this?”

“I’m sure,” you replied softly, your hands cupping his face. “I love you, Noah.”

His expression softened for a moment before he leaned down to kiss you deeply. “I love you too, princess,” he said against your lips, and with that, he pushed into you slowly.

The stretch was overwhelming at first, but the way he held you—his forehead pressed to yours, his hands cradling your hips—made it feel perfect.

The room filled with a symphony of groans and moans as he moved, your bodies finding a rhythm together. Every thrust sent waves of pleasure through you, pulling you closer to the edge once again.

“You feel so good,” Noah rasped, his voice strained as he buried his face in your neck.

“So do you,” you gasped, your nails digging into his shoulders.

It didn’t take long for the pleasure to build to an unbearable peak. Your body tensed as you cried out his name, your release washing over you in waves. Noah wasn’t far behind, his hips stuttering as he groaned loudly, spilling into you.

Both of you lay there for a moment, panting heavily as you came down from the high. Noah stayed above you, his forehead pressed to yours as he caught his breath.

“Damn,” he finally said with a soft laugh, brushing a strand of hair out of your face. “That was... everything.”

You smiled up at him, your fingers tracing lazy patterns along his back. “Worth the wait?”

“More than worth it,” he said, leaning down to kiss you again.

“Don’t move, princess,” Noah said softly, pressing a kiss to your forehead before he stood and disappeared into the bathroom.

You lay there, your body still tingling, as you watched him return moments later with a warm, damp towel. Gently, he cleaned you up, his touch tender and caring. When he finished, he tossed the towel toward the bathroom door without a second thought and crawled back into bed beside you.

He pulled the blankets over both of you and immediately wrapped you in his arms, your head resting against his chest. His fingers traced lazy circles on your shoulder, and you felt completely at ease.

“I don’t think I’ve ever felt like this before,” you murmured after a moment.

“Like what?” he asked, his voice low and soothing.

“Safe. Loved. Like everything is exactly how it’s supposed to be,” you admitted, your fingers toying with one of the tattoos on his chest.

Noah’s hand stilled for a moment before he tipped your chin up to meet his gaze. “That’s because it is,” he said simply.“You’re everything, Y/N. I don’t know how I didn’t see it sooner, but now that I do? I’m not letting go.”

You smiled, leaning up to kiss him softly. “You’re stuck with me, Noah Sebastian. Better get used to it.”

“Already am,” he teased, grinning against your lips.

The two of you talked for a while longer, sharing stories from the past and dreams for the future. The conversation eventually slowed, and you reached for your phone while Noah grabbed his from the nightstand.

The moment you unlocked your screen, you froze, your heart sinking. There was a message from Matt, and as you opened it, your jaw dropped.

Matt: Okay, if I had known you’d get that fucking loud, I wouldn’t have taken the room next to yours. I never want to hear those noises from my sister again. #traumatized

Your face burned with embarrassment as you stared at the text. “Oh my god,” you whispered.

At the same time, Noah let out a low groan, his phone lighting up with a message. He glanced at it, and then his head fell back against the headboard with a mix of amusement and exasperation.

“Folio,” he muttered, turning the screen toward you.

Folio: Dude, WTF. Are you murdering her?!

You and Noah locked eyes, both of you holding up your phones to show each other the messages.

“Oh my god,” you gasped, burying your face in your hands. “I can never leave this room again. Never.”

Noah laughed, pulling your hands away from your face. “Come on, princess, it’s not that bad.”

“Not that bad?!” you squeaked. “My brother heard us, Noah! He’s scarred for life! And Folio? Oh my god, I’m never going to live this down.”

He chuckled, leaning down to kiss the tip of your nose. “Fuck them, princess. Now everyone knows you’re mine.”

You groaned, burying your face in his chest. “You’re enjoying this way too much.”

“Maybe a little,” he admitted, running his fingers through your hair. “But seriously, let them tease. They’ll get over it eventually.”

You sighed dramatically, but his calm reassurance did help ease the embarrassment a little. “Fine. But if Matt brings this up, I’m denying everything.”

“Good luck with that,” Noah said with a laugh, pulling you closer. “Matt doesn’t let anything go.”

You groaned again, but Noah’s arms around you made you feel a little more confident. Maybe, just maybe, you’d survive the teasing. Eventually.

Taglist: @courta13

[suzukiblu]

excerpt from the one where Tim Drake goes to an alternate reality and decides to get his other self laid via the local Kon's bisexual awakening:

"Hey, remember when you saved my life earlier?" Tim asks. 

"Yeah, kinda," Kon replies in amusement. "Seeing as it was about two point five seconds after you rigged the evil alien robot army to self-destruct and helped save our entire literal reality's life, so I was definitely paying attention." 

"Flatterer," Tim says with a smirk even as he waves him off. The self-destruct function wasn't even that hard to hack, comparatively. That time he'd downloaded Lex Luthor's active IP files from his personal office while the asshole had been on his damn computer–now that'd been tricky. Interdimensional alien invaders barely compare. And the Brainiac incident still gives him stress migraines when he thinks about it for too long. 

Metropolis sucks and Tim frankly has no idea how his own Kon can stand the place.

But like, getting off-topic here. 

"Well, I was gonna say you should let me pay you back for that," he continues. "But since you bring it up I'll also accept a show of gratitude on behalf of your reality, whichever gets you off harder.” 

Kon laughs, because he is apparently adorable enough to have assumed that was a joke. Precious little moron, Tim thinks fondly. 

"You know, you're a lot less uptight than our version of you is," Kon says, grinning down at Tim before flashing Tim's other self a smirk. "No offense, Rob. Dude's clearly just doing more yoga than you or something. Maybe drinking more tea? Taking the occasional bubble bath?" 

"Silly me, if only I'd invested in more bath bombs in my life," Tim's other self says dryly. 

"It's probably my sex life, actually," Tim himself puts in with an easy shrug. Turns out when you stop pretending you don't have a ridiculously high libido and actually just indulge the thing, a lot of life's little annoyances become a lot easier to handle. Go figure. "Plus my boyfriend Bernard is really great, just his entire existence does wonders for my mood in general and he also makes me eat real food on occasion and monitors my caffeine intake much more reliably than I'm capable of doing on my own. The man is a living antidepressant and I don't even mean that in a fucked-up way, he's just that good." 

"Boyfriend?" Kon blinks at him, then puts on another grin. It takes, Tim cannot help but notice, exactly two beats longer than his real grin would've. "Ohhhhh, okay, so the problem is just that you're not getting laid hard enough?" 

"It is not," Tim's other self says dubiously, watching Kon just a little bit warily and obviously worried about his potential reaction to the word "boyfriend". Well, Tim never claimed to be emotionally intelligent about Kon, so no surprise his other self is also a dumbass there. 

"It kinda is, actually," he tells his other self. "I was tracking my cortisol levels the last time I went on a solo away mission and let's just say they were . . . concerning? Like really concerning. Like by the time I got back I was kiiiiind of convinced I was going to need to go on anti-anxiety meds again. But then I jumped my Kon in the Titans Tower med bay instead and that pretty much solved the problem." 

Kon . . . pauses, sort of. Tilts his head. Tim's other self looks a lot warier.

"'Jumped'," Kon repeats carefully. "Like . . . what, you dragged him to the gym to spar or something?" 

"Like I blew his back out so hard that when he came his TTK fritzed out and disassembled my recovery bed," Tim clarifies helpfully. "It really helped with the cortisol levels issue." 

Kon blinks. Tim's other self looks pained, but also desperately envious. Tim would also be desperately envious if their situations were reversed and so does not blame him for said envy in the slightest. 

"I thought you said you had a boyfriend?" Kon says after a moment, sounding a little odd in a very telling way. Or at least very telling to Tim, anyway. 

As is the way that he's not looking at Tim's other self at all anymore. 

"Open relationship," Tim says. "Also Bernard thinks you're stupidly hot and really likes hearing about the kind of stuff you let me do to you. I've actually been debating inviting you over for his birthday so he can watch us live for once but I haven't asked you yet." 

"What, so your Kon is the side chick?" Kon jokes, awkwardly putting on another just barely belated grin. 

"More like my kept boy, functionally speaking, but he's having a 'weird about commitment' phase right now so I've just been making a lot of sugar baby jokes to soften him up," Tim replies with a shrug. It's only sort of been working, but it has been working, and he's willing to take his time on it. It's not fair to expect Kon to only be easy, after all. "Long-term goal is to marry Bernard and ideally get Kon to 'live-in boyfriend' status somewhere in there, but that would also require him not being weird about commitment and also figuring out how well he and Bernard get along in the same space, so we'll just have to see how that one goes." 

"Uh," Kon says. "Why?" 

"Because you are incredibly important to me and also look like a very horny Renaissance sculptor made you out of calacatta marble," Tim tells him matter-of-factly, gesturing meaningfully at him. "Frankly it's criminal that you ever put clothes on."

[actual-changeling]

Hey, have you ever thought about the fact that Scully's birthday was the day before they started their undercover case in Arcadia? She states the date as the 24th of February at the beginning of the recording—her birthday is on the 23rd.

Because I thought about it, at length, and now I can't stop.

Everything was far from okay at that point, but after thinking that the one when she was dying of cancer would be her last, you can't tell me that Mulder forgot.

He remembered, maybe he'd already gotten her a gift weeks or even months ago, and he had been looking forward to seeing her reaction. To giving her something that might seem silly on the surface yet holds a deeper meaning only the two of them understand.

He's not going to give it to her now.

In part, he's scared she'll get overwhelmed and retreat even further from him; the space is already nauseatingly wide. Then there's the guilt, the self-loathing, the constant "does she want me to acknowledge her birthday?"

Does she? Does she want him to put just how personal their relationship is on the table, wrapped in paper and a bow, and apologise until his voice dies?

If it ends badly, they'll be stuck in the murderous suburbs playing house for god knows how long, and he doesn't want to do that to either of them. They can fix this, he knows hopes they can, and he'll go at whatever pace she decides.

Despite deciding to keep the gift for now, he carries it with him to work that day—just in case. Just to feel the weight of it in his pocket as he watches her live, breathe, exist.

Neither of them broaches the topic the entire morning, and they work like they've done for the last couple of weeks. Silently, a little awkwardly, and with the unsaid surrounding them, it almost becomes hard to breathe at times.

Still, Mulder wants to say something, if only to show her that he remembered, that he values her, and their relationship. That he was wrong, and it is personal.

At some point, they're collecting files to take to Arcadia with them, and she passes by him (not as close as she used to). Mulder gently reaches out and stops her by touching her shoulder, swallowing heavily when she flinches before freezing on the spot.

Scully is scared, tired, lonely, and she wishes things weren't the way they are. Sometimes she can barely remember how good they were together, how good it felt to be around him, with him, touching him. He's touching her now, and it burns like frostbitten skin being exposed to even just a flicker of warmth. She's been staring at his last birthday gift more than she should, tracing the words with her fingertips and trying to remember the way he smiled at her.

Mulder slowly squeezes her arm, lingering because, for once, she allows him to, and quietly says, "I didn't forget."

Then he lets her go.

Scully can't look at him for the rest of the day.

[hotchfiles]

ˏˋ°•*⁀➷ ❝ the most dangerous thing is to love ❞ ─ a darling, in any life blurb

pairing: aaron hotchner x reader. summary: the red thread between two people destined to be together may stretch and tangle, but those ties will never break. or: you almost lose him over the most silly of insecurities. content warnings: i'm thinking none. you can tell me otherwise though. word count: 500+

Aaron hasn't been the same the past week, you knew there was a problem and he wasn’t speaking on it, that couldn't be good, he was never the type to shy away from saying what bothered him, especially to you. You knew each other too long, from too way back to keep secrets. 

He's at your couch, sweats, t-shirt, socks. It's Friday night but there are still files on your coffee table he’s looking over. Everything about it is completely ordinary, domestic. But he's too silent, too absorbed in his own mind. Not once did he glance over to you like he usually does, a reassuring smile telling you he enjoyed the quietness. 

You leave the papers you're grading at the desk, going to him ready to get answers, even if you didn't enjoy what they could be, you can see the surprise on his face as you kneed in front of him, taking his hands on yours as you searched for his eyes. “Hey, what's wrong?”

He has that look on his face like he's about to lose something and he's trying to hold on to it as much as he can and that doesn't help your nerves in the slightest. Aaron pulls you up with ease, getting you to sit on the coffee table filled with papers so you can talk face to face. 

"You've managed to avoid meeting Jack more than once now and that worries me." Oh. You open your mouth countless times trying to come up with some sort of excuse that didn't actually exist, eyes blinking so fast you couldn't hide how nervous and surprised you were. "I—I love you and I want you, us. I want a family for him, for Jack. He's front and center always and—" 

Interrupting him with your index finger was your way to show him he didn't need to make his case on this. That was the first time he told you he loved you and it felt like a goodbye and it was your fault for being… Silly.

"I'm too scared he’ll hate me." Your voice is nothing but a whisper, children were never part of your life, you were an only child and then a driven working woman, the friends you had who became moms would soon have conflicting schedules and fall out of touch. If Jack hated your guts you and Aaron could never work it out. 

The relief he feels is so loud he actually has to sigh before chuckling and pulling you in to his lap, hugging you so tight you can barely breath. "He's not going to. I promise you, he's the sweetest kid, really.”

You nod furiously, ready to make things right, "we could go back to your place tomorrow? Go to the movies, maybe?"

"Anything you want, honey."

"I love you too, by the way." It isn't ideal, and it wasn't the most romantic way to declare it. But in a way you always loved each other and you both always knew it.

"Oh good, I was sweating for a minute here."

[divine-misfortune]

Mushy May, day 6. "You're blushing"

Rating: M

Pairing: Swiss/Dewdrop

Words: 1,155

Summary: A morning like any other, and Swiss just really loves Dew.

Contains: Nothing explicit - just Dew getting sorta turned on. Swiss being gross and lovely dovey.

As always 1000 smooches to @forlorn-crows for all of this <333

Pay no attention to what date anything is posted on anymore

Behind him the bathroom door creaked. Nudged open by a bleary eyed, disheveled multi ghoul. None of his locs remained contained within the elastic Swiss had drawn them into the night before, all in varying states of untamed with minds of their own. He shuffled his way towards the shower, mouth falling open to reveal oversized fangs as he yawned, idly scratching at his bare stomach. 

Dew watched the way he moved, practically on autopilot in the still foggy edges of the mirror. Still yet to even acknowledge his existence in the room at all, likely because his eyes were barely open enough to see what was in front of him, and Dew didn't have the heart - or the balls to break him from his sleepy stupor. Swiss was, for all intents and purposes, a bear in the morning. Waking him was treacherous. But also he looked kinda cute when he was tired like this. A dangerous teddy bear. 

His eyebrows raised minutely as he caught a glimpse of the deep red welts raked down Swiss’ back when Swiss bent at the waist to fuss with the old stubborn faucet. He winced sympathetically and glanced down at his hand, mentally noting to file down his claws at some point lest he maul another poor unsuspecting victim. Swiss hardly seemed bothered by the battle scars as he braced his hands on his lower back to stretch. Dew tipped his head, morning routine momentarily forgotten when Swiss let out a low half purr-half groan of satisfaction. The sound itself was innocent in nature but still managed to kickstart something hot in his gut but the sway of his tail and the second full bodied yawn of the morning did something far worse to Dew. Warmth deep in the confines of his ribs and an unwilling curl to his lips, Dew exhaled fondly. Endeared and amused by the sheer act of being him. 

The small space grew warmer as the shower began to heat up, trickling water white noise as Swiss puttered back and forth aimlessly gathering his things with a practiced ease. 

Dew remembered a time where Swiss shifted uncomfortably at the prospect of moving some of his things into Dew's bathroom - afraid of intruding, of taking up space in places he claimed weren't his but Dew had laughed at his initial nervousness. Places that weren't his, as if he didn't wake up in Dew's bed most mornings, as if his sheets didn't carry the rich smokey scent of the multi ghoul even in his absence. That bed was Swiss’ as much as it was his. Arguing his point with Dew was a waste of breath, he'd already emptied out the drawer for his things long before the conversation happened. Now Swiss rummaged through the bathroom like it had always been his. 

“Hey cinder…” 

Swiss sagged against him abruptly and Dew braced himself against the counter to keep himself upright, only hissing a little when Swiss laughed. His voice was low and rusted, husked by sleep but tinged sweet. Perching his chin on his shoulder he fixed him a smile in their reflection, lazy but entirely genuine, before slotting himself properly against his back. He'd finally blinked the sleep from his eyes despite his lids sitting heavy, rings of gold peeking out from under dark lashes.

“Hey yourself,” he hummed and continued working his fingers through the ends of his damp hair. “Didn't think you'd be up for a bit - don't tell me I somehow managed to wake you.” 

“Oh nothin’ wakes me darling.” Strong arms snuck around his narrow waist and Swiss turned to tuck his face into his hair. Dew bit his lip, admiring the way his embrace just seemed to envelop him. Sure, he was small but Swiss always managed to make him feel it and it made his stomach do flips. “You smell good.” 

“You're gonna tangle my hair again,” Dew hissed half heartedly and he opted to hold him tighter. A subtle reminder that the multi ghoul could keep him however he liked. Part of Dew hoped he did just that.  

“Oh don't be such a priss, that's Rain's job” he snorted and pressed a chaste kiss to his bare shoulder. Careful to avoid the sore imprints of teeth leading down his neck like a true gentleman. “Just wanna hold my baby a little, can't really deny me that now can you?”

Dumbfounded, Dew once again paused in the motion. Fingers still tangled in his hair, he knit his brow. The action of embracing him, the pet name - not to mention the casual ‘my’ prefixed to it, he felt hit brain skitter to a halt. Swiss laughed again, not necessarily at him though. An amused exhale too close to his skin that makes him shudder. 

“Your baby?” He repeats with reluctance, heart rate picking up speed with each suspicious syllable. The smile he's met with is too much teeth, like Swiss might just eat him alive but not to revel in his agony. Like he might devour him to savor him in entirety, an act of reverence as opposed to violence. 

“My baby.” 

An involuntarily whine rose in his throat, eyes flitting away as to not watch the pink color his cheeks. Swiss was certainly watching.

“What's wrong?” He squeezed his middle and nosed lightly against his pulsepoint, likely feeling the way it stuttered. 

“You're being weird” Dew's voice went soft as little kisses were pressed to the hinge of his jaw. The heat in his belly was undeniable now but he still tried to distract himself, washing his hands in icy water. 

“And you're cute when you're all bashful like this, sweetheart.” Another kiss followed by a playful nip, the faintest catch of teeth against already bruised skin. Dew's eyes nearly fluttered. “You like it, know you do, love when I'm sweet on you like this.” 

Mouth opening to protest, Dew’s brain struggled to provide the words and he was left standing there stammering while Swiss continued to lightly bite and kiss along the column of his throat. He was turning to putty, dick beginning to twitch with interest. Every sappy, tooth-rotting whisper close to his ear aided it in fattening up much to his humiliation. The fire ghoul screwed his eyes shut when Swiss hummed curiously, mortified when his palm pressed to the front of his boxers. Dew whined again, distress and need mixed into one desperate sound. 

“You're blushing, beautiful…Prettiest shade of pink, wonder if it will be just as red when I get my hands on it.” 

“Fucking hells, you're gonna kill me,” he warbled and grabbed his wrist, unsure if he wanted to add to the pressure against him or pull him away. 

“Just love you baby, let me love you.”

Dew swallowed and cracked an eye open to take in the sight of them. He almost wanted to commit it to memory. 

“Y-Yeah, okay…Love you too.” 

[chattaboochel]

Fluid Hearts | Chapter 1

My Ego Awakens

Warnings: Swearing, Angst, smut (eventually) , harem x afabOC.

Words: 5.4k

Tags (Open): @hellothere9597

“Anri, come look at this”, Anri wasn’t expecting Ego of all people wanting to show her something out of his own volition.

“What is it- who’s this?”, Ego had already started playing footage from which he collected earlier. “A diamond in the rough.”

Anri watches as the video displays a black and blue haired soccer player, their physical build didn’t look too much out of the ordinary, noting their pierced ears and a nasty looking scar that cut directly into their brow.

“Why are you-” Anri stops her self as she watches the mystery player being to display exceptional abilities on the soccer field, the woman specifically observing how they moved their body and utilised it to their advantage. Each of their movements were fluid, graceful, but strong and controlled. “Incredible. Those plays, their form! Wow!”

“Potential that is wasted within that mediocre team.” Ego gruffly states, his hands in front of him as he tosses Anri the players file.

“Hisaya Sora, only 17 and already so talented-“

“Hisaya Kazumas youngest daughter.”

Anri knew that name, having to brush up on many different star athletes for this job. “Kazumas child? No wonder they’re so- wait… daughter?”

“It took you that long to figure it out?”

“What- I didn’t even think-“

“That’s because you have the brain of a simpleton Anri.”

“Ugh you’re impossible. Where did you even get this footage anyway.”

Ego barely acknowledges Anri, still going over Soras impressive performance in the video, especially when she seemlessly steals the ball off a mid fielder , her form sliding to the ground in one movement and she gets herself back up in the next moment. “Her coach Tak- whatever his name is , records each of her games , apparently she watches each video to asses her skills.”

“And he just gave it to you?”

“With some incentive.”

“Jeez…”, She sweat drops, the less she knew the better. “but this kid is certainly something-“

“I want a Bluelock invitation sent to her, today.”

“What?”, she gasps, pausing the video to look at the unphased Ego. “I agree this girl is talented but with all due respect , the program is for us to create the next male striker. She can’t participate, it would be a breach of the rules.”

“This is why our country has never excelled within the bracket, we follow the rules, procedures. How can we expect to dominate the other teams if we just stick to what we know? Where’s the risk that brings the highest of all rewards.”

“But sir, the board surely will not approve-“

“I believe an exception can be made.”

~

“Hey sis I’m home!”

Sora kicked open open the door with an exhausted sigh, trudging through her shared apartment. She lazily chucked her sports bag across from her with thunk.

“Yiri!!! Where are-”

Hisaya Yiri, Soras older sister and current guardian. Yiri made her living writing short stories for a nearby library so most of her time is spent fussing over her stories in her work tablet.

Yiri stumbles out the kitchen with a huff, her long black hair tied loosely in a low pony, “You know using the door knob instead of kicking the door open is just as effect- and for the last time don’t just leave your bag there!”

“What’s wrong with there?”

Yiri scowls, adjusting her glasses before crossing her arms. “Does this look like your bedroom?”

“No I’m not blind sis, it’s the living room.”, she brushes her off, flopping onto one of the couches. “Exactly, therefore your bag should maybe go , oh I don’t know, in your room?”

“Yeah probably.” Sora moves her hand around , looking for the remote of their tv but finding something else instead. “Hey isn’t this your tablet? That’s not in ,you know, your room?”

Sora smirked as she held up her sisters work device that she just saved from the dark casims that existed between her couch. Yiri mumbled something under her breath, hiding her embarrassment. “You- ugh, you get this one and only this one okay.”

“Yeah I know.” Sora hands over Yiris prized tablet before she popped a blood vessel, trying not to enjoy her sisters frustration too much.

“I hate you.”

“Yeah yeah”, Sora laughs and wraps her arm around her sister, giving her a brief side hug before resuming her position on the couch.

Yiri softly smiled at her, no matter how much Sora aggravated her to no end, she loved her. “Oh ! A letter came for you in the mail, I left it up in your room. Now go wash up before dinner, you fucking reek.”

“Oh thanks. It’s not like I didn’t just come from a game.” Sora pretends she doesn’t she the way Yiris face contorts at the mention of soccer, choosing to roll her eyes as she starts rushing up the stairs.

“Sora.”

“What?”

Yiri groans, pointing to the discarded bag. “Forgetting something?”

~

Sora had been staring at the letter for 20 minuets, having to re read each sentence over and over again to make sure she hadn’t gone mad.

The Japanese Football Union.

‘You’ve been selected to become a certified athlete.’

She couldn’t believe it, that she had been sought out for her skills. Her hands flick through not one but two letters.

Dear Hisaya Sora.

As you can no doubt see you have been selected to take place in a very special program that I am heading myself.

This program will finally create a team worthy of entering and destroying the competition at the World Cup.

I sent you this invitation despite the fact you are one of the opposite sex, your potential is wasted in that team you play in and if you’re not completely idiotic you can too.

I’m taking a chance on you brat, don’t squander it.

Ego Jinpachi.

‘This would make everything worth it, everything dad drilled into me, every day in moms studio. It wouldn’t be for nothing.’

Fire lit within Soras heart, excitement and nervousness ignited with her body. Whoever Jinpachi was she promised that she would not squander this chance.

She just had to somehow break it to her sister…

~

Yiri didn’t come to see her off that morning, Soras older sister had a pension for the dramatics. Last nights argument made that clear.

‘I see him every time you play Sora! I just can’t support this! I won’t!’

‘You hate our father more than your care about your own sister!’

But she wouldn’t allow her sister to get in the way of this dream, in that fact maybe she was more like her father than she thought.

~

Sora wasn’t one for formal wear but it sure beat wearing a dumbass skirt. she did somewhat stick to her uniform by wearing the dress shirt and pants but forgoes the blazer to dawn her favourite black zip up hoodie.

She choose to keep her hood up , force of habit, tucking her hands into her jacket pocket as she rounded the corner of a building. She catches a look at two figures talking by the Japanese Football union sign.

‘That’s the one.’

Sora observes the two boys in particular, chatting with some familiarity but she deduced there wasn’t much of a sense of comraderie between the two. Aqqaintances at best.

“If we were on the same team you’d hit some amazing passes to me I’m sure.”

“O-Oh! Thank you.” The boy blushes at the compliment from the bright eyed boy. ‘His words are so condescending, like he can’t do more than pass to him…’ Sora frowned at the blonde kid, throwing her hood back as she walked toward them.

“Guessing you two got the letter right?”

The boys perk up at her voice, darting surprised looks at Sora as she leant against the wall beside the door of the building. “Uh hi!”

“Hey there, you too huh?”, Sora nods at the blonde, waiting for the other boy to calm down from his shock so could form a sentence. “Y-Yeah kinda crazy right?”, the black haired boy responds, nervously scratching the back of his head.

“Tell me about it. You mind me third wheeling with you guys?”

“Hey the more the merrier right? Im Kira Ryosuke. That’s Yoichi Isagi.”

“Hey.” He says with a little wave.

‘Hm cute.’ Sora looks at Isagi with a newfound interest as her fingers fiddle her piercings.

“Hisaya Sora but just call me Sora.”

Isagi takes in Soras appreance, short dark and rich black hair, the ends faded into a bright fluorescent blue, matching their clear crystal eyes. Her ears were decorated with black lined studs and rings, he wondered if Sora actually kept them in while they played soccer.

He noticed a particularly mean looking scar that was carved into their eyebrow, ending just atop Soras eye.

She could feel Isagi looking at her most prominent scar, she could always tell when someone was, she swallows an uncomfortable breath , looking away whilst clearing her throat .

‘Hisaya Sora, where have I heard that name before? Hisaya…… Hisaya….’ Isagi contemplates before it suddenly dawns on him, his mind replaying the days when he was a kid, watching the great legends of his favourite sport. ‘Hisaya Kazuma! Japans star player of the 90’s but that would mean this guy is his son.’

“Wait, that would make you related to Hisaya Kazuma! ”, Kira couldn’t contain his excitement, to think someone of Sora Hisayas class would be in a program with him, he thought it was an honour. “No way, You’re his son!”

Hisaya only nods in acknowledgment, her face stoic at this continued talk of her now deceased father. Isagis eyes seem to pick up on that, even though he’d love to grill the child of the great Kazuma Hisaya, one of his favourite athletes, he chose not to.

Sora appreciated Isagis tact, something Kira seemed to lack.

“He was incredible, no one could top him on the field but you already know that! You must be a prodigal son”

‘Hisayas son’

Thats what he was right? for some reason that didn’t feel right to Isagi. But what else could he be?

“Good thing my sister didn’t hear you say that. Now let’s go already, no one’s becoming a certified athlete by standing out here, freezing our asses off.”

“Shall we?” Kira extends his arm in an attempt to be curtious , Sora had to contain her eye roll .

‘Maybe I’m looking too far into it’, Isagi puts away his thoughts for now, following Kira and Hisaya toward the building. “Yes, please.”

“Oh c’mon, we don’t have to be all weird and formal with each other. I’m glad we met.”

Isagis cheeks lightly flush. “Me too.. and you as well Hisaya!”

“It’s Sora dimwit”, she flicks his forehead playfully with a giggle, Isagi gasps and rubbing his head with a shy grin. “R-Right!”

~

“They really grabbed anyone with a pulse for this.” The room was packed with people and they possibly had the weirdest haircuts Sora had ever seen, and here she thought she may have stood out.

“Yeah, I see some I recognise too.” Kira points out the few he knew, though Sora found herself not paying much mind to him. Kira’s presence was slowly starting to irk the girl, his impression outside was less than stellar.

‘Couldn’t hurt the scout out the competition I guess’ She recognised a few players, some she’d seen at school when they would visit for games, others she’d only seen online watching other tournaments but she couldn’t put names to the faces. They were a pain to remember.

‘Heh I sound like-’ She spots both a white head of hair and a purple one off in the distance. ‘Ha! Speak of the devil’ Sora wouldn’t mistake Seishiro Nagi and Mikage Reo for anyone else.

After all , she and Reo were childhood friends, curtesy of their mothers. She met Nagi in highschool and the three of them were inseparable. You’d never see one without the other two far behind.

After Soras father died, Yiri made the executive decision to move away so that meant transferring schools. Sora begged her sister to stay but her sister refused to budge, and there wasn’t much she could do against her legal guardian as a minor.

That didn’t stop her from keeping in contact with the two of them.

‘I should’ve figured those two would get an invite’, She thought with a quick laugh, ready to walk over to the duo before a voice cuts in.

“And test, test. Congratulations and welcome diamonds in the rough.” A spotlight shines on the stage ahead, revealing a man with black rimed glasses and a bowl cut to match. “You are the under 18 strikers who have been chosen by my arbitrary advice and decision making. And I am Jinpachi Ego, I am the man who was hired to ensure Japan’s victory at the World Cup.”

‘So this is Ego.’ His mannerisms in the letter fit him perfectly.

“Who is he? Do you guys know him?”, Isagi shakes his head. “No clue. What about you Sora?”

“Only know the name.” It wasn’t a lie but she figured telling the two that she had been specifically scouted by Jinpachi wouldn’t do her any favours.

“Japan needs one thing and that’s the birth of a revolutionary striker. I’ll be running a few experiments to figure out which one of you 300 is capable of becoming the single best striker of the world.”

“Here at this facility, Bluelock”, the screen behind Ego changes, warping into the insides of the facility Jinpachi had just mentioned. “Starting today, you will all live there together and undergo the specialised training that I have devised. You won’t be allowed to go home and your previous soccer careers will be but a mere memory.”

“But I promise you this, if you fight hard enough, if you become the last man standing out of the 300 candidates then you be the best striker in the world.”

Sora crossed her arms in silence, noting the varied groups of nervous men in the room while she was completely calm, was enough for her to smirk ever so slightly.

“Hey, uh, excuse me? Sorry but I can’t agree to these conditions.”, Soras brows perk up at Kira, Ego himself was glaring down at the young boy. “All of us have teams that we’ve given our loyalty too and some of us have nationals coming up and you want me to abandon my team for what huh?”

Echos of other likeminded idiots sound out from the room, aggreeing with Mr bright eyes. Sora scoffed, leaning her arm on Isagis shoulder, lowering her voice so only he could hear. “Hey Isagi, is your friend always such a Boy Scout?”

“What? I-I guess?”, the heat of her breath on his his ear nearly made him topple over, the blush returning to his cheeks. “To be honest I don’t actually know him that well.”

“Figures.” She hummed in his ear, founding his shoulder rather comfy.

“Lock off! If anyone wants to leave them go! Are your perspectives really that limited? You’d rather return to high schools backwater competitions than be the worlds best striker?!”

“The future of Japan is in your hands? It’s enough to make a man weep”, Sora could’ve sworn she saw the man twitch before redirecting himself to the centre of the stage. “But let me ask you this. What is soccer? Is it about 11 players working together? The bonds that you forge? Sacrifice? Fighting for your team mates? That kind of thinking is why this countries game as remained weak!”

“Soccer is about scoring more goals than your opponent does”. Soras heart thumps louder, “Whoever scores the most is the best, end of story. If you just want a fun game with your pals then lock off.”

“This guy is crazy”, Isagi muttered into Soras ear, who contained a giggle, his breath tickling her skin. “But he’s passionate at least, unlike some of the others”, Sora detached herself from Isagi to point at Kira as he continued to make a fool out of himself.

“Those players are my heros!! Now take it back!”

This sent Ego down a spiral, the screen flashing between 3 of the greatest players throughout the world. “And of course Kazuma Hisaya said it himself. Forget the others on your team, in the end it’s you who gets them to victory.”

Soras fists clenched at the blown out picture of her father in his glory days, even back then he didn’t care about anything else other than himself.

Isagi said nothing but put his hand on her shoulder. “Real hero my father was huh.” She muttered angrilly, thinking that she was starting to sound like her sister. Isagi beginning to understand why the girl insisted on being called Sora over her last name.

“You can’t be Japan’s greatest striker without first being the biggest egoist.”, Isagis grip on Soras shoulder tightened, feeling something with him stir. Sora felt it too.

‘His words, could they be true? Is that why I havnt progressed any further than just nationals?’ Soras heart thudded in her chest again, harder and louder.

“Now pass through and be transformed, discard comman sense and remember when you’re out on the field you’re a star.”

“Nothing should bring your more joy than your own goals”, Soras breath hitched, remembering each time she has scored a goal, how her body felt like it was on fire. Opposed to when ever she had to give up the ball for a team mate to score, she would be cold, something in her would thrash in her against it, wanting to push onward, to Make…. The …. Shot.

But she wouldn’t, her coach would say it was greedy to go out on her own and not rely on her team mates so she would play along, and pass.

‘Is that what I was doing? Stamping out my own ego for others?‘

“Live only for that glorious moment and if you can’t… then you’re no striker at all!”

Isagi ran head first, eyes blazing with a new fond determination. ‘I am a striker!’

Sora laughs , her tongue glides over her teeth before sprinting off after Isagi, her pronounced canines on show.

The commotion behind her didn’t matter, for she would become one of the greatest strikers in Japan no… the world!

Maybe for the first time in her life, she choose to give in to her ego and she had never felt more free.

~

‘Man this suit is fucking skin tight, and the binder doesn’t help at all.’

Sora hand goes to her now compressed chest under suit, feeling the fabric that bound her breast down to appear flat chested.

She knew she’d have to go through with this when she came here, she only wished the damn thing wasn’t so uncomfortable.

Luckily she wasn’t gifted with the most voluptuous breasts but without the binder, it definitely would’ve been obvious that Sora was in fact a woman.

Her fingers play at the collar of her the top, taking a quick glance at her arm to see the numbers 292 and the letter Z under it plastered on the fabric.

‘Must be our ranks, at least I’m not all the way at the bottom’,

Readjusting her clothes in her arms before she passed a door with the letter Z printed on it in blue, with her hands full she used her leg to kick it open.

‘Can already hear Yiri in my ear for that one’ she thought with a sad sigh, already missing her dotting big sister, even after their argument.

“Hey is that you Sora?”

“Isagi!”, Yoichis face let Sora forget about her home life for a moment as she jogged over, happy to see someone she was familiar with. “Looks like we’re stuck with eachother a bit longer huh?” She raises her hand up and Isagi laughs, smiling gratefully as his hand clasps over hers. “Yeah guess so.”

“Hope you two havnt forgotten about me.”

“Oh hey Kira.” Sora just couldn’t place why Kira irked her so much but she knew that her good mood already started to sour with Mr Boy Scout in the same room. “I’m glad you two are here, I know someone at least.”

Isagi nods. “You read my mind haha ah!-“ a shirt comes flying into Isagis face. “Didn’t see you there”, Sora sees the perpetrator, though the guy is hard to miss with his height, insanely muscular build and with hair as bright as a sunset. “My bad.”

“It was just an accident, I hope-” Isagi goes to give the shirt back, not noticing the sleeping soul on the ground. “Hey Isagi? you might wanna look down.”

“Sora what are you- huh?” He jumps away with start, finally noticing the guy passed out on the floor.

“Hey~ stop hogging the ball and pass it to me”,

‘He’s even dreaming about Soccer’, Sora tilted her head in wonder, going as far as to kneel down and touch the bob cut boys cheek with her finger.

Poke, poke.

Still asleep. ‘Man he’s like Nagi when he’s sleeping. Adorable like him too.’

“Uh Sora? Arent you supposed to have changed in here?” Kira asks the girl who’s still watching the sleepy boy on the ground. “Changed on my way here, figured it would be faster.”

“You changed out in the hall? Where there’s cameras? ”, the orange boy asked this time, staring at Sora as if she had 3 heads. “Is that a problem buff boy?”

“Jeez, you have no shame.”, turning around with his back facing her. “Not really no.” Sora , without taking her eyes off whoever the sleeping boy was, tossed her clothes behind her, hearing the fabric hit the orange boys toned back. He glared at Sora but she was still occupied with the sleeping boy, still poking him to see if she could wake him up.

Begrudgingly he picked up Soras clothes, tossing them in a locker as he clearly wasn��t going to. ‘What a child’ he thought with scoff.

“Hey!! You’re Ryonoske Kira!!!! Wow I can���t believe it.” Kira shyly shakes the bold boy hand who looks at him with stars in his eyes. “Y-Yeah it is.”

“Oh look another boy to join the Kira kiss ass club.” Sora chirps out, not caring that Kira threw her a dejected look her way. The bald boy didn’t seem to take it as insult as he looks at both Isagi and Sora with a goofy smile, waving his hand. “Nice to meet you! I’m Gurimu Igarashi!”

“Yeah, hey.”

“Yo.” Sora gave a little salute with her hand, half listening about how apparently Igarashi is a monk or from a family of them. The only thing Sora found interest in was the numbers on his his shirt sleeve.

300. Rock bottom.

‘I shouldn’t have to worry about him then’

“Are you finished changing? My little diamonds in the rough.” Close to the ceiling was a giant TV, Egos face now plastered on it, looking over everyone in the room. “Think of the players you’re sharing this place your roommates and also your rivals.”

Ego continues to explain the ranking system, Isagi now begins to notice that he is unfortunately ranked at 299.

‘I’m the second worst player here?!’ Isagi dispaurs, more so when sees that even Sora is sitting at a higher rank than he is.

“The top 5 will get to play in a special game six months from now. These athletes will be registered as forwards at the U20 World Cup.”

Gasps go around the room, that opportunity is a dream for each of these players.

‘Where’s the catch?’ Sora brought her hand to chin, suspecting something else at play, nothing like this is ever given out for free.

“Additionally those here who loose at Bluelock, firefight the right to ever represent Japan.”

“That would be the catch.” Sora not bothering to keep that one to herself, listening to Ego prattle on, before a cunning look emerges from his eyes.

“Let’s play a game of tag shall we?”

A ball drops down landing a few feet awat from Isagi. “You have 136 seconds, whoever is struck by the ball is ‘it’ whoever is ‘it’ when time runs out will be locked off.”

‘So don’t be caught it last, noted.’

“Also. No using your hands~”

The screen flashes away as the game begins, the system deeming Igarashi Gurimu as the first one to be it.

“What? This isn’t how you play soccer”, some boy remarks in the room, Sora found herself eye rolling at the level of idiocy.

‘There’s factors of soccer here, but this game isn’t about that. He’s testing our egos.’

“I gotta be it first because I’m ranked the lowest?” The boy monk grumbles, resting his foot on the ball. “Alright let’s do this! No hard feelings anyone!”

More protests, Sora shook her head, stretching out her arms and legs. “Just play the game.” Most of the boys looked at her with shock, partially thinking how insane this girl was.

“If I’m kicked out I’ll be a monk for the rest of my life!” That’s all it took for the boy to start sprinting, dribbling the ball on his feet as the group dispirsts.

Sora separates from Isagi, instead finding herself behind Igarashi, figuring the monk would go after players closer to his own rank. “Sorry Isagi!”

‘Figures’ He shoots the ball but Isagi and the others with him manage to dodge, the ball rebounding off the white wall back to him.

“He’s not going to get anywhere unless he actually starts using his head.” Sora mutters to herself but not expecting the boy beside her her would hear and let alone recognise her.

“Sora? The hell are doing here?”

She turned to see her classmate of all people, Hyoma Chigiri, a flabbergasted look on his face. Now there’s a surprise that’s for sure.

“Hey Chigiri”, she winks, sticking her tongue out cheekily as he continues to look at her , baffled. “But how are you-“

With everyone distracted, Sora sprinted over to him, pressing her finger to his lips. “Talk after kay? Better survive the next minute or so Princess.”

His face flushed slightly but he nods, knowing he’ll get his explanation afterwards.

Sora decides to run back to Isagis side, hearing Kira ramble about how ridiculous the current setup is. “Sora!”

She waves quickly at Isagi before smacking the back of her hand on Kira’s chest. “Quit the preaching and focus. You really wanna find out what happens if you end up loosing?”

Kira didn’t expect Sora to lecture him so harshly but she didn’t give him a moment longer, turning her keen eye on Igarshi fumbling around the room, failing to hit anyone.

“I can’t hit anyone!”, he sees the boy from before still sleeping and it seemed finally he caught a break. “It’s a cheap shot but so what. You’re it!”

Hisaya watched as the bob cut leaps up into a handstand, kicking Igarshi in the face and away from him, blood flying from his nose. “Hey! That’s a foul! If this was a real game you would be red carded-“

“He said only hand balls were against the rules didn’t he?” He rubs his eyes, still somewhat half asleep. “Good morning.”

Isagi watched the encounter too. ‘Man what’s with this guy?’

He turned to Sora to gauge her opinion on him but he saw her smile, his eyes glinting with intrigue. ‘Whatever it is , has caught Soras interest big time.’

“Hey. I’m not a fan of playing dirty alright. I want a clean game.”, the brute from before clasps his hand on bob cuts shoulder, glaring down at him.

“Aye, aye Mr strait laced.”

Sora jogged over in front of ‘mr strait laced’, hands on hips. “Maybe you should be lecturing that one-“

Unbenoyst to the others, Igarshi took advantage of the distraction aiming his shoot at Sora who had turned her back on him. He had this in the bag, he knew it. ‘He so thin, getting him should be a piece of cake!’

The ball flew , seeming like it would hit Sora right on but the room goes out in gasps as they see the girl throw her head back as her body falling into a back bend. The ball barely missed her, instead hitting the boy behind her square in the face.

“Woah…”

“How the fuck did he do that?”

Kira awed beside Isagi, who nodded too, witnessing Soras impressive control of their body had him too in awestruck. ‘I’ve never seen anything like that before! Kazuma was known for his more brute type of playing style so there’s no way Sora learned that from his dad.’

“Left yourself open! Amen”, monk boy pretends that was his plan was to hit ‘ Kunigami’ in the first place, his confidence needed a severe reality check Sora thought.

With only a minuet left, Kunigami Rensuke had been declared ‘it’. “You bastard! I’m going to destroy you!!!!!”

He wastes so time to take his shot, unsurprisingly Igarshi sticks to his dirty tactics and holds Isagi in front of him, blocking his body as Kunigami shot reigns in, slamming into Isagis stomach so hard it sent him backwards to the ground.

“Sorry, wrong person…”

Sora winced, seeing Isagi almost choke on his spit. “You alright Isagi?!”, he pants, looking up at the clock, he only had 59 seconds to hit someone. ‘Things can’t end here, I won’t let them’

He kicks the ball, failing to hit anyone head on as the time continued to tick against him. “C’mon Isagi….”

Bob cut hears Soras quiet encouragements for Isagi, an idea coming to mind. He throws himself on Kunigamis back, giggling as he uses his limbs to hold him in places just as Isagi was chasing after Igarshi.

“Come on! Nows your chance! Wouldn’t want Blueberry’s cheers to wasted would you?”

‘Blueberry?’ Both Isagi and Sora thought simultaneously. ‘Is he supposed to be referring to me?’ She deadpans at Bachira who only grinned.

‘Wait, Sora was cheering for me?’ He looks at him and Sora shyly smiles, blushing slightly.

The moment is broken by Kunigami throwing Bachira off his back, crashing down onto Igarshi. Sora whistles. “Damn he’s strong.”

“Well that hurt hehe”, he said as if he hadn’t gotten hurt at all, still smiling as he found this whole situation amusing.

“Quit laughing and G-get off me!”, Igarshi goes to stand but his leg shakes, his hand going to his leg as he feels pain circling around his ankle. “Sprained it… w-wait. Time out.”

Everyone in the room knew he was done for, Isagi would take the shot and the time would finish with Igarshi as the one it and first one to leave.

“Isagi!!”, Kira yells out from his safe spot. “Hit him now! Take the shot!” Sora scoffed, ‘So much for that idealism. What a phoney.”

25 seconds remained and Isagi had yet to make the shot, Igarshi scrambling to get away from him. “Hey… hold on. Stay back I mean it! I don’t want to go out like this! It isn’t fair!”

Isagi looked at him as if he was prey, ready to be devoured after a long chase, the sweat dripped from his body.

‘If I shoot then this guys soccer career is over. No this is about survival, that’s how blue lock works. Making my dream come true means destroying someone else’s, no other way around it!’

20 seconds and time was in a stand still, Sora too was starting yo get nervous. ‘What is he doing ? Won’t he make the shot?’

“Thats not right… in order to change, I need to be something I’m not. I came here to turn things around. To become the best in the world!”

‘Unless I beat someone stronger than me, that won’t happen!’

She could see it, swirling in his eyes , like a flame burning within him. ‘He won’t settle for mediocrity…Heh, now we’re talking Isagi!’

Sora chuckled, watching Isagi turn away, facing the sleep boy who now pointed at him, matching Soras grin. “I like you. You’re right, you wanna beat someone?”

He steals the ball straight out from Isagi, the screen changing to show the name Meguru Bachira, rank 290. “Then it should be the strongest player.”

“W-What? Me!”

Bachira chuckled darkly, watching Kira try to escape him but he wouldn’t let him. “Hey blueberry! You want in on this too right?”

Sora gasps slightly, no realising she had followed Bachira closely after he stole the ball, but her excitement took over her suprise. She doesn’t say a word, only winks at him, speeding ahead as Bachira dribbled onward, keeping Kira’s attention on him.

Bachira sees Sora reach the wall, shooting the ball at Kira who he knew would dodge. Sora uses the wall as leverage and kicks off it, her body turning just as her mother taught her and her foot reaches the ball, sending it back to Bachira.

He sees the ball fly over him, he manipulates his body down like before, making sure his foot hits the ball back toward Isagi who Kira had foolishly ran towards.

Mere seconds remained but that was enough time for Isagi to kick the ball once more, and it hit its mark, flying into Kira’s face, marking him as the last one to be ‘it’ just as the time runs out.

Masterlist | 0.5 | 01 | 02 | 03 |

[the-broken-pen]

“Don’t die.”

The sidekick’s hands pressed into the hero’s wound, and the hero blinked dizzily.

“What?”

“I said, don’t die.”

“I’m sorry, wait, who are you?”

The sidekick’s gaze had an intensity the hero didn’t know existed. Then, they grinned, and it was like sunshine.

“Your new sidekick. And I can’t be your sidekick if you have the audacity to die on my very first day, so don’t die.”

The hero blinked once more.

“Nice to meet you?”

“I’ll say nice to meet you when you stop bleeding out.”

—————————

“Don’t die,” the sidekick reminded the hero, half laughing, half serious.

The hero rolled their eyes with affection.

“Have I ever?”

—————————

“Don’t die.”

The hero glanced up.

“Relax, it’s just a graze. No bullet holes, see?”

They held their arms away from their body, twisting to show the lack of harm.

The sidekick sighed with something close to relief.

—————————

“Don’t-“

“Die, yes, I know,” the hero finished. The sidekick’s eyes narrowed.

The hero’s heart twisted.

“I won’t, I promise.”

The sidekick nodded, once.

—————————

“Don’t die.”

The hero sneezed, eyes bleary.

“It’s just a cold.”

“Yeah, and people die from those.”

The hero laughed, voice nasally.

“The agency would be thrilled to have cause of death ‘common cold’ written in my file, I’m sure of it.”

The sidekick threw a pillow at them, and brought them soup.

—————————

“Be careful, okay?”

The hero snapped their head up.

The sidekick blinked at the sudden movement, mouth still half open.

“What?”

The sidekick cleared their throat.

“I said be careful,” they gestured awkwardly with one hand. “It’s Supervillain. They don’t pull punches.”

The hero’s mouth was dry.

“Right. Yes.”

They strapped their last piece of gear on, and turned to leave.

“Oh, and hero,” the sidekick tried for nonchalance, smiling slightly. “Don’t die.”

The hero smiled back.

—————————

“You idiot,” the hero hissed, hands frantic. They didn’t know where to press, which wound to try and stop first. The sidekick coughed weakly.

“I had it handled,” the hero’s voice broke.

The sidekick managed a pained wheeze that might have been a laugh.

“Mhm. Yeah.”

“It’s Supervillain, why—“ the hero tipped their head upwards, tears slipping from their eyes.

The sidekick whimpered, slightly. “You could have gotten hurt.”

The hero pressed their hands onto the chest wound.

“And you getting hurt is okay?”

The sidekick didn’t answer. When the hero looked up, their eyes were closed.

“Hey, no no nonono don’t do this to me, sidekick, hey,” the hero scrambled, fingers slick with blood, heart pounding. “Don’t die.”

A curse, an oath, a command, a prayer.

Don’t die.

The sidekick, just barely, smiled, tugging the hero down to whisper into their ear. Just two words. The two words.

The hero sobbed, shaking their head, pushing back to find a pulse—

And found the silence of a waiting grave.

—————————

“Don’t die,” the hero said to themselves quietly, pressing a piece of gauze to their side.

The medic watched them intently, eyes soft, but didn’t say anything.

They knew. The whole goddamn base knew.

And that was the only thing that would come out of the hero’s mouth.

“Don’t. Die.”

The medic’s mouth pressed into a thin line, eyes watering, and they vanished out the door.

The hero realized, then, that their cheeks were wet.

Two words.

An oath. A prayer. A command.

“Don’t die,” They whispered, and for a moment, just a moment, they could pretend it was sidekick saying it.

The very first words they had said to the hero.

And their very last ones, too, pained hushed whispers in the hero’s ear, a final breath.

“Don’t die.”

The hero started sobbing, then.

And they didn’t stop.

Don’t.

Die

[shadowsxgwynriel]

Mistaken Identity

Day 1: Meet Cute 🥰 @sjmromanceweek

Gwyn tries to help Nesta breakup with a clingy guy, but Gwyn accidentally dumps the wrong man.

Ship: Gwyn and Azriel 💕

Word Count: 1,822

Read on AO3

“So, let me get this straight,” Gwyn said. “You want me to go and dump some guy for you? One that I haven’t even met or knew you were dating?”

“Pretty much,” Nesta confirmed.

“And why can’t you do it?”

“I tried!” Nesta insisted. “But Dave keeps crying and hyperventilating every time I mention the word breakup. One time, he even got on the ground and begged me not to leave him. In public. Do you know how many people were staring at me like I was a heartless bitch?”

Gwyn winced in sympathy.

“And when I tried to text him that we were over, he just ignored it! I don’t know what else to do. We’ve only been dating for two weeks, so I don’t know why he’s acting like this. I mean, most of the time I forgot he even existed!”

Well that explained why Gwyn had never heard of him until now.

”Maybe he’ll miss the sex?”

“Ha! We haven’t even had sex!”

Gwyn frowned. “Really? What about other things?”

She snorted. “We barely even kissed. It’s like I’m a toy that he wants to look at, but doesn’t want to play with.”

“What happened to your no relationship rule?”

“He put me on the spot. I said yes without thinking. But he’s not . . . he’s just not my type.” Gwyn had a feeling that she was about to say he wasn’t Cassian. She wondered how long Nesta would deny her feelings for him. “I really want to be single again, so will you help me out? Please?”

“Fine,” Gwyn said with a sigh. “I’ll breakup with him for you.”

~~~

Gwyn looked around at all of the cubicles. She normally wouldn’t show up at anyone’s place of work, but she figured that he couldn’t possibly make a scene around his colleagues.

“Excuse me, could you tell me where Dave’s desk is?” Gwyn asked a balding man.

He looked away from his computer with a tired face, reminding Gwyn of a zombie. His eyes squinted as if he wasn’t used to human interactions. “Who?”

“Uh, Dave?” She didn’t know his last name, but surely he had to know who he was, right? There couldn’t be that many people who worked in the building with the name Dave.

“Oh. Him. His desk is right next to the water cooler.” Without another word, he went back to typing on his computer.

Okay then.

She found the water cooler and came to a halt. That’s because the man standing at the desk was absolutely stunning.

He was wearing an all black suit and had his dark hair slicked back, though a few strands were out of place, like maybe he had a habit of running his hand through it. His face was polished and classically beautiful, and he had golden-brown skin with piercing hazel eyes. No man had the right to be that perfect.

What was she doing? She was here to dump him for Nesta, not ogle him.

He was busy looking over a file of some kind, so he hadn’t noticed her yet. Gwyn took a deep breath to steel herself, then she approached him.

Though she almost reached his shoulders, she still had to tilt her head just to look up at him. Gwyn tried not to blush as he gazed down at her. She tried even harder not to wonder if he liked what he saw—coppery-brown hair, big teal eyes, freckles. It shouldn’t matter to her what he thought.

“Hey, so, I’m very sorry to be the one to tell you this, but . . . Nesta doesn’t want to be with you anymore,” Gwyn told him in a kind yet strong voice.

He opened his mouth to say something, but she held up a hand and shushed him. His eyebrows shot up in surprise, like this was the first time anyone had ever silenced him.

“No, no. There’s no need for you to speak, Dave.“ She placed her hand on his muscular arm—and okay, maybe her touch lingered for longer than necessary. “It’s best if you don’t try to contact Nesta anymore. In fact, it’s probably better if you just delete her number.”

His lips twitched and Gwyn figured it was time to leave. She didn’t want to risk him causing a scene.

“I’m sorry that things didn’t work out between the two of you, but I’m sure that you’ll find someone who is perfect for you.” She gave him a sympathetic smile before turning to leave.

That hadn’t been so bad. It was actually pretty easy.

Gwyn stepped into the elevator and pressed the button for the lobby. The doors were in the process of closing when a hand suddenly stopped them. Her eyes widened when Dave joined her inside the elevator.

It was just the two of them, so admittedly she was a little concerned.

Gwyn cleared her throat. “If you try anything, just know that I have a black belt in karate.” That was a lie, of course, but she didn’t have to know karate to kick him in the balls.

He ignored her and reached out to press the emergency stop button. Her jaw dropped. There was no way he actually just did that. Just how crazy was this Dave guy?

“Are you serious?” Gwyn questioned him. “You and Nesta went out for two weeks! Don’t you think you’re overreacting? I mean, why can’t you just get broken up with like a normal person?”

“I think there’s been some confusion,” he said, leaning against the wall like he wasn’t completely batshit. Also, how dare he have a deep and sexy voice when he was holding her hostage?

“And what confusion would that be?”

“I’m not Dave.”

Gwyn laughed nervously. “What? Of course you are . . .”

“Afraid not.”

“But you were at his desk!”

“I was looking something over.” She recalled that he had been looking at a file when she approached him.

“So then . . .” Gwyn was almost scared to ask. “Who are you?”

The man—not Dave—smirked. “Azriel. And you are?”

“Gwyneth,” she mumbled. “Look, I’m sorry about, you know, mistaking you for someone else.” She bit her bottom lip nervously. “Um, can you start the elevator now?”

He eyed her long enough for her cheeks to heat. She had to fight the urge to squirm under his keen gaze.

Finally, he nodded. “Sure,” he said, restarting the elevator.

She frowned as something occurred to her. “Aren’t you worried you’ll get in trouble?”

Azriel outright laughed. “I don’t think I’ll have anything to worry about.”

Cocky bastard.

But as it turned out, he was right. Nobody said anything to him when the doors opened, despite the long line of people waiting to get on the elevator.

“There’s Dave over there,” Azriel told her, pointing at a man who just entered the building.

Gwyn squinted. Dave wasn’t Nesta’s type at all. She was honestly surprised that he even managed to get a date in the first place. It wasn’t that he was unattractive, but he just looked so mundane.

“Great, guess I can dump him after all.”

She left Azriel standing there and caught up to Dave as he was signing in at the desk.

“Dave?” Gwyn asked. She would double check, just to be sure this time.

“Yes?” he said cautiously. “Do I know you?”

“Not really. I’m a friend of Nesta’s.”

His eyes brightened. “I can’t believe I actually get to meet one of Nesta’s friends.”

“Yeah, just listen,” Gwyn said. Unfortunately for Dave, she had used all of her patience on the accidental breakup with Azriel. “Nesta doesn’t want to see you anymore.”

His face dropped. “Wh-what? But she can’t! We were just starting to become a serious couple!”

Okay, so clearly this guy was delusional. And he was starting to draw attention to them.

“Mr. Winston, if a woman sends her friend to breakup with you, then shouldn’t that tell you something?“ Azriel interjected.

Gwyn jumped. She was too busy dealing with Dave, that she hadn’t even realized he had followed her.

Dave paled, and started to fidget nervously. “S-sir!”

“Sir?” Gwyn whispered in confusion.

But Azriel had heard her. He smiled at her. “Did I perhaps forget to mention that I was the CEO?”

She stared at him in disbelief, mouth agape. “CEO?”

He nodded, amusement clear in his eyes. Well, she was glad that he seemed to find levity in the whole situation, because she was completely embarrassed.

“Why are you still here?” Azriel asked.

Her cheeks heated. “I-“

“Not you, Gwyneth. I meant you, Mr. Winston. Why are you still here when you should be upstairs working?”

“Oh, yes, of course. I’ll go right away, sir!” Dave started to rush off.

“Oh, and Mr. Winston?” Azriel called, stopping him. “Don’t contact this Nesta woman again. She’s obviously not interested, so leave her alone. Do you understand?” His tone was full of authority, making her shiver at the sound of it.

Dave turned bright red. “I-I understand. I won’t contact her anymore.”

“Good. You can go now,” Azriel told him, and Dave took off like the floor was on fire.

While he wasn’t looking, Gwyn slowly inched her way to the main door.

“Leaving so soon, Gwyneth?”

She sighed, figuring that maybe he wanted another apology. “Just Gwyn is fine. And once again, I’m really sorry for earlier.”

“I like Gwyneth. It’s a beautiful name,” Azriel said.

“Uh, thanks.”

“Can I walk you to your car?”

“I don’t have a car.”

He frowned. “Then how did you get here?“

“I took the bus.”

Azriel looked at his watch. “I have a meeting in thirty minutes. I’ll have my driver take you home.”

“Thank you, but that’s really not necessary.”

“Okay, I’ll admit that my intentions are purely selfish.”

Gwyn raised an eyebrow. “How’s that?”

“I want to take you out on a date,” he informed her causally. “And in order to do that, I need to make sure that you get home safely.”

Wait a second. “Did you just say you want to take me out on a date?”

“I did.”

“But why?”

Azriel smiled. “What can I say? You had me hooked from the moment you opened your mouth.”

Gwyn couldn’t help but return the smile. “Well . . . I guess maybe it would be nice to get a ride home. If you’re sure it won’t be too much trouble?”

“Of course not. And how about that date?”

This wasn’t how Gwyn pictured her day going, but she certainly wasn’t about to complain. Nor was she going to turn down a date with a very attractive man.

“Does tomorrow work for you?” she asked him.

“Just one sec.” Azriel pulled out his phone and typed something, presumably a text or email. “My schedule just cleared up,” he told her.

“Then, I guess I’ll see you tomorrow.”

His eyes gleamed with something that made her pulse race. “I look forward to tomorrow, Gwyneth.”

[powdermelonkeg]

You wanna rant?

YES

So my computer's charger was on the way out. Combination of the charger itself breaking and the port for it losing grip.

Okay, fine. It's got a USB-C. I can charge with that. Internet says my laptop model supports USB-C charging.

Bought a USB-C charger.

Plugged it in.

Didn't work. Off-brand, the on-brand one was $15 more expensive, the gamble didn't pay off.

Low on money, but have enough to order another (not USB-C) charger. So I figure "fine, I'll return it, get my $40something dollars back, that way it's still like I only bought one charger, even if it falls out."

Was told by Amazon that they'd charge it to my debit card. The one they literally have on file.

Returned the USB-C charger.

"Your refund is being processed! It will take between 3-5 business days."

"Refund issued! $43.09 issued on Jun 30, 2023"

Saturday. Sunday. Monday comes around, no money. That's fine, it's only been one business day, I usually get my rent money on the 6th.

Tuesday's a holiday.

Wednesday, Thursday. Okay, we've hit 3 business days. I'll get it soon, right?

Friday, nothing. It's now the 7th.

"Check the status of my refund."

Chatbot. Prompt list. I can deal with that. "I haven't gotten my refund yet."

"Please wait 3-5 business days for your refund after your return is processed." Only option is "Okay, thanks!" Option closes window.

I do not want to thank Amazon. I want an option for "this was not helpful, let me talk to a human." There are no humans on the Amazon website.

Saturday, Sunday.

Hi! It's now Monday. It has been 11 days since I returned my item. I message my bank; "hey, is my return on hold? If so, can you tell me when it'll be released? Thanks."

Two answers. Thankfully from humans.

"We don't hold returns/refunds, sorry. Check with Amazon?"

"Amazon refunds things through gift cards, we don't have it."

What.jpg

Rush to Amazon website.

"Return received on: Jul 8, 2023"

Scour the website for half an hour because NOTHING except "buy now" is intuitive.

Hey??? I did not agree to this??? Give me back my money???

There is apparently a very convoluted way to get your money back from Amazon. From what I understand, you transfer a gift card to Amazon Pay, then verify yourself through Amazon Pay, then transfer it from there to a bank.

The online articles say to do it through the app.

I download the app. I follow the instructions.

The dropdown option mentioned does not exist.

Back to square one. I do more research on desktop.

Problem 1. There is no button for transferring funds to Amazon Pay from Amazon. I have searched. The site is as bare-bones minimalist as it gets.

Problem 2. "Can I withdraw from my Amazon Pay?" "Yes! Click this link to learn more." The link leads to a FAQ page instead of an actual help article. The word "withdraw" is nowhere in the entire wall of text. I have to comb through it manually. There is no withdrawal help.

Problem 3. Verifying yourself enough to transfer to a bank account involves pictures of cards I do not have, tying a selfie to my account, and having a video chat with a live agent.

I would rather eat cement.

$43.09 gift card balance.

"Would you like a week-long free trial of Prime?"

Closes laptop. Forcefully.

[transfloridaresources]

Hey, I just wanted to tell you thank you so much for making this blog. It means more than I could possibly tell you to see support that isn't just "move out", because so many of us just simply can't, or even if we can we don't want to. I shouldn't be expected to uproot my entire life because of other people's bigotry.

Things are getting worse here, and I'm scared. My mom told the doctor that my period was normal last time we went to the doctor, and refused to elaborate. She said that she didn't want specific information about my cycle on file, in case I went on puberty blockers for any reason. My school canceled the Scholastic book fair, because it's a charter school and they were scared of getting on DeSantis' radar. There's uncertainty over if we'll have a psychology course back by the time I reach the age to take it.

Even on a less political front, gay and trans are making a massive resurgence in terms used for bullying. I'm clinging on to my silly little microlabels like a lifeline, because even though it hurts to know that nobody outside of our community is going to know about them, at least that means they aren't going to be slung back in my face like a bullet.

It's really scary, and seeing how people are actually making efforts to combat this means more than you could ever know. It gives me hope that I can stick it out, and make my state a place where the kids younger than me can grow up safely and happily. Seeing adults openly wearing pride pins even in the midst of everything makes me feel safer with them than can be put into words. I hope that by the time I'm an adult and have control over my own life I can be that person for someone, but I also really hope I can help make it a world where that's not needed. And seeing that there's people here that care about us gives me hope that we can accomplish that.

Much love, a queer kid living in central Florida <3

Hello there, wonderful anon & thank you so much for reaching out 🫂💖 It is so meaningful to hear things like this and I'm so grateful that you took the time to write this message. I know so much seems bleak rn, but your message made me think about the world I grew up in when I was a kid / teen. I didn't even really know trans people existed. Queer people barely existed, either. There was no mainstream celebrity for any of those identities and social media didn't exist. I know it feels absolutely terrifying to see this happening now and wondering where you'll go and what life you'll have, but trust me - we'll always be here. We're targeted so much now because people are afraid of change and because these systems of oppression need a constant mark to aim hatred at in order to function. But we're louder than ever now and there's people like you who exist now who are aware of our existences and aware of themselves more than we ever used to have. That's powerful. That gives me hope for the future. YOU give me hope for the future. I look at you the same as you look at us who are older and you inspire me as well. I know this is painful and I know you're scared but know that you're not alone and you never will be. Remember that even if certain laws are passed and attempts to silence information and truth occur - there are still always ways to access that information and keep it alive. These TFR accounts look to BIPOC lives because those are the groups already living under so much oppression who can teach the most about persistence and resilience. Read about other social movements, look to past leaders, look to current events like the people in Gaza right now. Even through tragedy, the spirit of resilience remains. It's still possible to find happiness and fulfillment and build a life somehow. We are not at the mercy of any of this, we just need to learn how to best adapt & keep moving. It's not easy and it's not fair but it is doable. You will have a beautiful life and trans people will always exist. We are still thriving here. Florida (& the south in general) will always have a strong LGBT community no matter what. Let me drop a few links for you or anyone who might need them. CampOUT Florida is a week long summer camp in July for LGBT youth, located around Ocala. Queer Expression St. Pete finally got a permanent home & routinely offers a safe space for LGBT families & youth, especially. If you are struggling and need someone to talk to, Trans Lifeline and Thrive Lifeline both offer peer to peer support (meaning anyone on the other side is also LGBT and/or other identities as well) & also will not involve police / involuntary psych holds. They have a variety of options to communicate with them for support & Thrive even has a trans discord server for anyone 16+! We are also working on a discord server for trans Floridians, which should be available soon, and will have a dedicated channel for teens only (with support as needed from queer & trans adult moderators from a variety of racial backgrounds & who have professional experience working with children / youth). These are just a few things that exist as well. More and more are out there and will also soon be created in the face of increasing pressure on our community. We keep us safe 💖 You are loved, you have value, you have community, you have family, you have a future!

[tehri]

Hey. So. Are you a university student or suchlike? Are you working on your bachelor's/master's/PhD? Are you prone to procrastinating on working on those?

Here, come closer. No, I'm serious, come closer.

Look. I'm taking you back in time to before the summer break/before whatever lengthy break you are on, and I'm going to explain something to you.

No, don't try to wriggle away right now, this is important. I am holding your wrist in an iron grip, and I am not releasing you until I've said what needs to be said. Stop crying, stop begging me to bring you back to your own time, and please ask past you to stop screaming in terror about seeing your future self, because this is for the sake of both of you (and me).

Do not say that you're going to work on that project over the break.

Don't look away from me! I'm not-so-gently grabbing your chin and forcing you to make eyecontact, so stop that shifty behaviour. Do not- No, I'm serious, stop it. Do not say you're going to work on that project over the break.

I know, it seems real logical, it seems perfect. You have a lot of time on your hands, you know you can get it done. There's just so much time, you know? So much time to put into this, to really get some work done, to really make progress.

Don't you see? You have already failed.

You claim you have gotten a lot of work done? How fortunate that I have your computer right here, I can just check the file and compare to your past self's file. Oh, wow, do you see that?

You have written 500 words. Over the course of 3 months. When you were convinced that you were going to finish the entire theoretical background for this project over the break.

I'm not-so-gently grabbing your collar with both hands to shake you now. Do you see what you have done?

You had so much time, so your brain told you that there's no need to panic. You have one week until courses start up again, you're going to have to see your tutor again soon. And you aren't done with even half of what you said you would do over the break. You aren't done with even 30% of it. No, not even 25%, don't you try to argue with me.

You procrastinated. You fool, you believed you had the self-discipline and control to do this. But you regularly leave essays and other works until you have very literally one week or less to get them done. You already failed.

I am dragging you back to your own time now and plunking you down in your chair in front of your computer, and I am telling you in a voice shaking with barely held back fury at my own fucking stupidity and naivety that no greater fool exists in this world. I am telling you - myself - that not doing anything for 3 months and then panicking and writing 500 words before getting a headache from having to word things in an academic manner is the Way Of Fools.

You are shyly mumbling about how you finished a really big project in a week by panic-writing, and I must laugh. Oh, I must give air to this hysterical laugh bubbling up inside me, this laugh of despair and of understanding. It is not the same. You know that it is not the same.

Do not say that you are going to work on your bachelor's/master's/PhD over the break and that you are going to get so much work done. Do not make any promises whatsoever about how much work will get done, for we both know that you are a pathological liar when it comes to your self-discipline and your ability to convince your brain that you absolutely do have to get this work done until it is already time to panic.

Do not do this to yourself.

[passerine-writes]

Silent Sparks - Volt 52

Warnings: Nightmares and shit Word count: 2900

Notes: Italics - Tsukare signing Bold italics - Family member/friend signing 'Italics with apostrophes' - Thoughts

Masterlist

Volt 51 | Volt 53

In the four days since Fumikoto came to visit, my anger has slowly been stewing. I was pissed all around and all of my family members could see it. I barely slept anymore, every night I was either too stressed about it to try, or I woke up screaming from my brain attacking me in my subconscious.

It was only a matter of time before the dam broke, so I went to U.A.

Specifically, for the back corner of the sensory room.

Understandably, my parents were hesitant about allowing me to go, but with Shiroka's sentencing about to happen and the high security of the school, they allowed it. I only wore a simple long sleeve shirt and joggers, spare clothes, deodorant, travel shampoo and body wash in my duffel bag along with a few other necessities. The sensory room was empty, as I anticipated.

I sat my stuff down and took the time to set things up. Double checking the hold on the punching bag, taking off my shirt since I was bound to work up a sweat and meticulously wrapping my hands, the possibility of gloves completely foregone.

I put on a classic rock playlist, the beat filling the room and my head as I blasted it. I took a deep breath and readied myself, taking my stance in front of the punching bag before finally letting some of the anger out safely. Every punch, jab and kick at the inanimate object being fueled more and more by rage.

'Stupid fucking Shiroka.'

'Full of fucking bullshit.'

'You care so much, huh?'

'Yeah cause you cared until you broke my bones.'

'Until I disagreed.'

'Now Fumikoto wants a relationship with me.'

'Acting like she knows me so well because she read my damn file.'

Every comment she made about me looking like Shikadai, how I act like Shikadai, I have Shikadai's heart. My grandparents. Like I should even care. All they would've had to do is dig deep enough on the internet, look up the sports festival, anything, and they could've contacted us. I'm not obligated to reach out when I didn't know they existed.

I kept picturing members of the league and my birth mother, angry at what they did. Angry at myself for not being smarter about it. For not watching my back better. For simply being alive.

My hands grew sore at the repeated, harsh strikes I gave the punching bag. I ignored it, reveling in the ability to finally feel something other than ire.

"What'd that bag do to you, hot stuff?" I flinched a little at the sudden appearance of a very familiar and comforting voice and saw Denki leaned against the wall. His arms crossed over his chest and a classic smirk on his face, honey colored irises roaming up and down my shirtless torso. I walked over and paused my music, taking a moment to adjust to the volume change.

"Sorry, I didn't hear you come in." I mumbled out and took a seat on the bench, gingerly taking off the wrappings.

"Don't sweat it. How long have you been going at the punching bag?" He asked lightly, clearly not knowing how to approach the conversation. I checked my phone and my eyes went wide at the time.

"Almost forty minutes apparently." I mused before turning back to him. "So what are you doing here?"

"Me? I needed outta the house so I told my parents I was coming here for tutoring, I just wanted to chill in here though. What're you doing here? I thought you'd be on super strict lockdown." I let out a soft laugh and nodded.

"I am, my Pops dropped me off and my Dad is picking me up later. UA is known for its safety so I was able to come here." He made an 'oh' face and nodded.

"Serious talk? I'm really glad you're okay." He said as he walked a little closer to me.

"Me too." I whispered as he got closer, my head dipping towards the floor to prevent my face from getting any redder.

"Hey." He whispered and I hesitantly looked up at him, his smile falling as my body flinched while his hand came up to cup my face. His hands moved slower, and I let out a soft breath when his warm hands touched my skin, a thumb rubbing at one of my cheekbones. "Have you been sleeping at all?" His eyes scanned over my face and mine flittered across his, bouncing between his eyes.

"Yeah?" I cursed myself for letting it come out as a question rather than a statement.

"Onryo." He said in such a soft voice I almost thought I imagined it.

"I've been sleeping." I whispered, trying not to let me emotions get the best of me.

"Not enough."

"Look, I- I'm fine. I have issues sleeping sometimes, it's nothing out of the ordinary." I tried to mediate, not wanting him to worry over something so fickle.

"Not for this long. Maybe a day or two, but not for as long as this has been going on. How much sleep have you been getting?"

"I got like, two or three hours last night. I'm sleeping, I'm fine, you don't have to worry about me." My words were rushed.

"Do you want to talk about what happened yet?" I knew he had good intentions, truly, I knew that deep down, but after everything, I couldn't tell him.

"Nothing happened. I- I have to go shower." He sighed but leaned down and placed a kiss on my forehead before stepping back and giving me space to stand up and leave. But I couldn't find it in myself to. "It's not that I don't want to tell you, like, specifically. I don't want to talk about it in general, the only reason my family even knows is because they were listening while I gave my official statement to the police. The only other person who knows everything is Bakugou, and that's because he had to sit there and watch everything." My jaw clenched and I looked off to the side, trying to steady my thoughts before I spiraled.

"Okay. I won't push then. So go take a shower, and after we can relax." I nodded and took my leave.

The hot water of the shower felt nice, it loosened my tense muscles a little and gave me something else to feel. The heat of it distracting me for a few minutes from the weight of the world. I got out sooner then I would've wanted to, knowing Denki was waiting for me to be done. So I dried off and put on a different pair of joggers and a loose fit t-shirt. Denks sat in a giant bean bag in the corner, a few blankets and fidget toys set to the side with his laptop resting on his thighs. He pat the spot beside him and I slowly made my way over and sat down. The shifting of the bean bag smushed our bodies tightly together but I ignored the racing beat of my heart.

"Figured we could put on a movie, anything you wanna watch?" I chewed on my bottom lip in thought.

"I don't know, what streaming platform do you want to use? I can log in to basically any of them." He got a cheesy smirk on his face as he looked down at me.

"Is that your way of telling me we can Netflix and Chill?" I lightly hit him on the arm while laughing a little.

"Get your head outta the gutter, Denks. Netflix is off the table now." He groaned and threw his head back jokingly.

"What kind of movies do you even like?"

"I like just about anything." He huffed and tapped his finger on his chin before lighting up and asking me to log in to Hulu.

"There's this really great comedy that I think you'll like if you wanna watch it!" He looked like an excited puppy wagging its tail, so I nodded my head and let him put it on.

As much as I wanted to stay awake, after half an hour, my eyes wouldn't let me.

3rd Person POV

Kaminari felt a sudden drop in weight on his shoulder, he pulled out his phone to use his camera to check and saw that Onryo was asleep on his shoulder. He turned down the volume on his laptop and extended his arm, taking a picture of him and a sleeping Onryo. One hand tucked up in front of him, resting delicately on Denki's pectoral, a mess of topaz curls shielding most of his face.

Tsukababes Pokémon

From Pikachu: 1 image attachment

From Pikachu: Guess who fell asleep on me :)

From Espeon: How did you manage that?

From Scraggy: Has our amigo not been sleeping?

From Boldore: He looks so relaxed

From Venomoth: Awwww!! So cute!

From Rayquaza: Wait, seriously, how did you get him to sleep???

From Pikachu: We're sitting in a bean bag, watching a movie and next thing I know he's asleep

From Espeon: I'll have to try and convince our parents to let you come over at some point before we're in the dorms.

From Rayquaza: Magic man

From Scraggy: So he hasn't been sleeping?

From Rayquaza: Hitoshi?

From Espeon: Izuku?

From Scraggy: Denki?

From Pikachu: I'm not saying anything

From Pikachu: 1 video attachment

From Pikachu: This is what I found as soon as I walked into the sensory room though

From Boldore: DAMNNNNN BROS GOT MUSCLES

From Scraggy: Amarillo?

From Espeon: Not quite a code yellow. He's letting his emotions out in a healthy way.

From Scraggy: Ah, okay, I think I get it now

From Rayquaza: Code yellows are scary

From Boldore: I think the closest I've seen something to code yellow is at the sports festival

From Espeon: Ah, yeah, that was a code yellow.

From Scraggy: What happened?

From Venomoth: C'mon fill us in!

From Espeon: Kirishima and I had to pull Onryo and Bakugou away from each before it got physical.

From Boldore: Yeah, I talked to Tsukabro after and calmed him down

From Venomoth: It's so weird thinking of Tsukababes punching someone! He's baby!

From Espeon: That sentence made me violently uncomfortable.

From Rayquaza: Onryo knows how to throw a punch! Him and I have trained a lot! Hitoshi too!

Kaminari put his phone away and turned his focus back to the movie and picked up a fidget cube. He got through the rest of it and half of a second one before the door slammed open. He looked over his crushes head to see the boys Dad standing there in slight disarray that was quickly covered with confusion. He paused the movie and waved cheekily at his homeroom teacher, hoping to mask his bubbling fear.

"Is Onryo okay?" Aizawa asked behind his scarf. "Is he.. sleeping?" Denki nodded softly, careful not the disturb Onryo.

"Yeah. He fell asleep almost two hours ago." Aizawa stared at his youngest child in shock and curtly nodded. Regardless of how disgruntled he was at seeing Onryo cuddling into a loud blonds side, he was pleased to know Kaminari somehow managed to get him to sleep a bit. "Mr. Aizawa?"

"Yes, Kaminari?" The blond paused and stared deeply at the floor for a short while.

"Will he be okay?" One single question managed to catch the sleepy homeroom teacher off guard, not realizing until now just how much Kaminari really cared about his son and his wellbeing.

"He will be. However it's going to take time. Tell him to text me when he wakes up so we can head home." Kaminari nodded and tugged his lip between his teeth, the door shutting quietly as his homeroom teacher left.

He got through another twenty or so minutes of the movie before Onryo bolted up hyperventilating, hot tears streaming down his cheeks as he looked around the room in a panic.

"Onryo, hey, hey breathe. Breathe. You're okay. You're alright. Just breathe." The ginger haired boy aggressively wiped his eyes, not wanting his crush to see him crying. "You're okay, it was just a nightmare." Denki continued, hoping to comfort him somehow and that's when the lightbulb turned on his head.

'He isn't sleeping because he's been getting nightmares. That's gotta be it.' The blond thought to himself, but he didn't bother voicing it. He said he wouldn't push and he meant it.

"Sorry." Tsukare squeaked out as he finally got his breathing under control. "Sorry about that." Denki slowly reached his hand out and rested it on the others knee.

"You don't have to apologize for things out of your control." He said slowly while looking into Onryo's hazel eyes. "Do you want a hug?" He gave Tsukare time to think and process, not wanting him to feel rushed or obligated.

"Not right now, but thank you." Denki nodded and slowly removed his hand.

"Any time. Your dad popped in a little bit ago. He didn't seem too happy about us cuddling." That got Onryo to laugh. "He told me to tell you to text him when you wake up so that you can head home soon." Onryo sniffled once more and nodded, raking a hand through his curls.

He grabbed his phone and took note of the large sum of texts in the group chat. He didn't bother responding but still read through the conversation, planning on replying later. He took priority in texting his Dad first, receiving a response immediately stating he was on his way to the sensory room.

He stood up and helped Denki up as well, reminding the boy to log out of his Hulu account for now before packing his duffel bag and putting blankets and fidgets back in their designated spots. Aizawa walked in and took one look at his son and already knew, but he asked anyways.

Nightmare?

Yeah.

Let's head home.

"Bye Denks, I'll talk to you later." He said softly, the two waving farewell as Onryo left to go home.

"That's the second time I've walked in to see you laying on him. I'm not a fan of that, however he does care. I'll give him that much." Aizawa drawled as they drove home, finally opening that can of worms.

"Dad, you're just upset that he's a loud blond. If it were Kirishima you'd be less fazed by it and tell me the same thing you told Toshi." Onryo retorted with dry sarcasm. "He was just being nice and put on a movie to help me relax, when he got there I was going at the punching bag. I ended up falling asleep and he just let me." His Dad hummed, glancing at him before touching a deeper topic.

"Fumikoto reached out again today. She wants to know if you've thought about meeting more of your biological family." Onryo sighed and was two seconds away from taking out his hearing aids and looking out the window to avoid this. Everyday since she showed up, she had been texting at least one of his parents asking how he was, if he was okay, if she could visit, if he wanted to visit, if he wanted to meet 'his family', as she insisted on calling them. "We can always get another restraining order." His son huffed out a small laugh.

"Don't think it would stick. Or it would just be a dragged out court case. I just, I don't want to be rude to her or anything but I need her to stop for a bit and just let me breathe. Up until last month, I thought my only blood relative was Shiroka and I was perfectly fine with that. Then I found out my sperm donor is still alive, which I was fine with. Now come to find out Shiroka's parents, her sister and her sisters husband plus if they have any kids? If Shikadai's parents are still around and if he has other kids? It took almost sixteen years before any of them decided to reach out in some shape or form. It took until I had a family, that I'm happy with and safe with and that I love, for them to decide they wanted to reach out. I know you and Pops want at least one of us to have grandparents of some kind, and I'm not mad about that. But it's fucking bullshit. Out of all the times, they wait until after I- after what happened in Kamino. Do they not realize that they're just adding more stress? They could've reached out earlier, even a few months earlier and I wouldn't be as aggravated. But sure, wait until after the media tries to put heroes in a negative spotlight to decide it's worth reaching out." Aizawa listened intently as Tsukare got more and more worked up, taking high note at his aversion language on the Kamino incident.

"You're allowed to be mad and frustrated. Maybe one day we can figure out why they waited until recently. If you'd like, Sunshine and I can tell them to lay off on the pressure until you say you want to meet them." Tsukare nodded and let out a stressed sigh at everything.