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georgiapeach30513 · 3 days

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How I'm Looking At You, Part 5

Summary: It's just you and Ari

Pairings: Ari Levinson X Reader

Rating: explicit

Warnings: explicit language, explicit sexual content, teasing, dirty talk, oral sex (F receiving), fingering, dry humping, videoing, masturbating (M) in front of another, breeding kink, cum play, 18+ ONLY

Word Count: 4K

Series Masterlist

You peek over your shoulder, smiling at the giant man that continues to get closer, and taking only one tiny step at a time, to your backside. You’d nearly finished the dishes from breakfast, and the giant form of Ari is stalking towards you. Always. Like a shadow that you didn’t want to get rid of. A playful hunt for his prey. Your talk with him was much needed, and even though there’s a paranoia of someone finding out and this blowing up in your face, you’re enjoying this time.

It’s lighthearted, just like the books say it should be. Well, depending on which type of book you’re reading, but you’ve almost guessed which ones are a bit more dark. Yes, you do judge a book by its cover, but only because there is usually a difference. Not always, but the darker themed stories always had a particular look about them.

You didn’t hate those stories, but they didn’t fit Ari. You liked stories that you could see Ari in. Sometimes he was a hockey player with his fast talking mouth. Sometimes he was a cowboy; sweating and showing off his work made muscles. Other times he was a teacher, and you really liked him being a teacher. Letting him explore your body, and teach you all the ways to sin. It was close to real life.

You finish the last dish right before Ari crowds your body with his own. His heated breath is on your neck, causing your feet to spread apart. His mouth presses up against your heated column, and he chuckles. Giving a nip at your neck before pressing his pelvis into your ass. It’s cruel the images and thoughts that you have running through your mind. You feel him, but not enough at the same time.

Your imagination is running rampant with all the ways he could have you. “Uh uh,” he tsks, rolling his hips into yours, and you mewl out his name, “Don’t go in your head, stay right here with me at this moment. Tell me what you’re thinking.”

That is what you want to do, but he makes it so damn hard, and he’s so hard, pressing into you. And he’s clouding your vision, and your judgment. He rolls his hips into you again, and your knuckles lighten with how hard you’re clinging to the sink. “A-a-are you going to inspect me again?”

“Is that what you’d like?”

“Uh huh,” you want so much more than that. You want to feel him on the inside. You want him crawling into your being, and truly claim you. Ari kisses his way down your body. Starting to sink down to his knees, and he grabs the hem of your dress. Inching higher up your body. Exposing more of your tender flesh.

“My my, this is a pretty pair of panties you have on,” you were a bit bold when you walked up to your room. The lingerie is sheer, and show everything. “And you’re so wet, Darling,” your slick has stained a darkened spot right at the gusset of your panties, and he spreads to your thighs. “I think you’re very frustrated, can I help you with that?”

“Yes, please,” you whisper, unable to raise your voice higher than that. He slowly pulls the fabric down your thighs, stopping at your feet, and he gives them a little tap, and you step out of the underwear. Peering behind you when Ari stuffs them into his pocket.

“I’ll save this for later,” he smirks up at you before looking at your drenched folds. Ari’s tongue flicks over your velvety lips, moaning at the taste of you before he slaps a hand on each cheek, and pulls you apart at the seam. He gawks at your delectable body. Ready to devour you. “Have you had anything inside of you?”

“No. I’m scared.”

“Can I try?” You nod your head, whispering please, and his index finger immediately starts its exploration. He runs the digit up and down your split, gathering up your arousal. Teasing at your entrance before playing with your clit. His mouth hangs open in awe as he fondles you, and then he rubs over your entrance.

Adding enough pressure that a tiny bit pushes through, and you want more. You back your ass up towards him, pushing more of his meaty finger inside of you, and Ari gives a swift bite on your cheek, “You’re impatient today. I’m not working in the field. And I told the idiots to go buy some much needed seeds. Apparently I’ve run out. And right now, I really want to play.”

“And I — I need friction,” he rolls his eyes, looking up at you expectantly, “That’s what the books say.”

“You read trash, you know that?” You push your butt back towards him again, and feel his finger slightly breach through your walls, and a pornographic moan wails out of your lips, “You are a filthy girl. How does this feel?” He sinks his finger fully in. Circling his finger inside of you, and watching your body accommodate him. Your pussy stretches around him, begging for another finger. Holding himself there, while you try and regulate yourself. “Is it that good that you can’t speak?”

You aren’t sure what it is. You just know that even one measly finger has receptors flaring up throughout your body, and you can’t make sense of time. The only thing you recognize is Ari. He is both the beginning and the end.

He plunges himself in and out of you, smiling as your body starts to rock with his rhythm. Pulling his finger fully out, before sliding another with it. “Oh, you look so pretty taking me like this. Stretched out and full.”

You preen at his words. Cheeks heating up from embarrassment and pleasure. Everything is fire as he works your body. Diving in and out of your wetness, and he sticks his tongue out, cleaning your skin of the excess honey. Moaning just as much as you are. His hips buck, mimicking your own movements.

“It’s like you were made for me,” Ari’s thumb starts to circle your clit, and he removes his tongue from you to watch how much your virgin pussy is stretched over his thick fingers. He feels everything. Can feel your walls caving in as he takes you to the edge of pleasure. Damn, you were a minx begging to get out. You were too perfect for this world. Even for him.

“Darling, you’re almost there. Will you let go for me? You’re doing such a beautiful job,” whimpering his name, he drives harder, “There ya go. You’re doing so well. Let go, baby. Just let go,” his words are shattering everything inside you. The buildup isn’t slow it is a crash into whatever sin wagon he is taking you on. “Fuck yeah. Yeah, you’re coating me with your cream. Oh god, this is beautiful.”

His fingers slow, coaxing you through your high, and you look over your shoulders, “Before you take it out, can you show me?” His eye lifts up, and his finger wiggles inside of you. “I mean with your phone.”

“Do I have to delete the picture after?”

“No. I just want to see it. Can…you can video it,” it’s doubly forbidden because there’s not supposed to be photos or videos of you. But the idea of being able to watch Ari from multiple angles, see yourself take him, makes you weak in the knees.

Ari gulps as he reaches for his phone. His fingers press down on it before you feel him push and pull out of you. Hearing the squelching sounds of your pussy before he removes his fingers. Stretching you wide open for the camera, and then zones in on your exposed hole. He clicks on his phone again before he leans forward, sucking and licking around your pussy. Cleaning you up in his way.

“I don’t think you know what you do to me.”

“Can you show me?” He leans back, gazing up at you with such a fascination that it makes you squirm. The intensity in his gaze makes you feel weak in the knees. “I’ve shown you what you do to me,” garnering as much confidence as you can muster, you let your dress fall back down, and turn around. Leaning back on the counter, you look down at Ari. “Ari, you’re not talking. Can I see you? See how you — no, what you do when you think of me like this?”

“You want to see me fuck myself?” You nod enthusiastically. Imagining all the ways that Ari compared to the men in the books, but also how it worked. You’ve never seen a naked man before. Can only imagine what lurks below his swollen pants. “What do the books tell you about that?”

“That,” you inhale deeply, blowing the cold air out. A slow flush of heat runs up your body, and settles in your cheeks where they light on fire. “That you, um — you fist your throbbing cock. I’ve never seen a cock.”

“If I show you, you have to promise to put these panties back on,” you didn’t quite understand. He took them off of you to keep, and now he’s wanting to put them back on you after he’s finished. You don’t want to think too much because there’s an ache inside of you to see him.

“Get on your knees,” you fall to your knees immediately, while he gracefully gets to his feet. Towering over you, and palming his crotch. “All the doors are locked, and the curtains are closed.”

“I don’t care,” at this moment you didn’t. You just want to see Ari’s vulnerability like he’s yours. Your eyes roll up to gaze at him, and his jaw tenses. His Adam’s apple quivers, and with trembling hands he slowly undoes his button. The two of you keep your eyes locked on one another, and you can’t help but wiggle around with anticipation. You are finally going to see what lies beneath his clothes

His fingers grip the zipper, and pull it down ever so slowly. “Darling, you ready to see what you do to me?”

“Yes, sir,” a shiver runs up Ari’s spine, and he plunges his hand into his underwear, and brings out a behemoth of a cock. His hands fall to his sides, and he lets you look at him in all his glory. A steel rod covered in the most beautiful silky skin. Pearls of precum glitter the crown, and you see his heartbeat pulsing in a vein that you very much want to trace with your tongue.

“Can I touch you?”

“You can if you use your mouth. But this is about showing you how I get off when I think about you,” lifting up to your knees, you stand face to face with his beautiful member. Inhaling his aroma while you inspect him before touching him. “Look up at me when you touch me.”

There’s something primal in his voice. The rawness, and yet the almost childish way that he asks you to look up at him empowers you. Inching closer you look up at him through your lashes. Flicking down to his aching cock. You pucker your lips, and glance back up at him. You’re so close, and going even slower. Slower. Until your lips whisper against his mushroom head, and his essence explodes on your tongue.

Your breathing becomes erratic, but you collect yourself enough to flatten out your tongue, and lick his split clean. Moaning at his musk, while his legs tremble. “Ari, I think you should show me how you fuck your fist.”

His movements are harsh as he reaches into his pocket, and pulls out your panties. Leaning forward, he reaches under your dress, and swipes the sheer fabric through your drenched cunt. Soaking the panties in your slick before he wraps it around his cock.

His fist tightens, and he gives his cock a hard pull. Panting as he pumps himself over and over. Keeping his eyes on you. “I’ll never get my fist as tight as you. I can almost feel your walls gripping me so tight. Your juices leaking out around us, while you make the prettiest sounds. No one will ever be closer to you than in those moments. I will be inside of you. Loving every inch and every curve of your body. You’re going to feel me for days. And your cunt will be molded to me. Your body will beg for me, and my body will never get enough of you.”

His hips thrust forward, mimicking the ways he wants to fuck you, “You like that? You like imagining how I’m going to feel stretching out that beautiful pussy? How my tongue is going to paint your body, and I’m going to fill you,” his words clip off immediately. You pout up at him, but he shakes his head. Denying you what you desperately crave.

“I want to know how your cum feels inside me though,” he moans. Eyes rolling in the back of his head before he looks back down at you. “I do. I want to know what it feels like to feel you for the rest of the day.”

“You really are a filthy dirty girl, huh?” He watches. Waits. And you wiggle around. Smiling because he really was talking to you like they do in the books. “You wanna be my little slut?”

“Yes,” his breathing deepens. Every exhale is a growl more than breath, “Yes, please. Sir,” you look down at his length wrapped in your panties. Staring as his balls tighten, and the most beautiful cry of your name echoes into the room. He maneuvers the panties over his tip, and he nearly howls. Heart beating in his chest as he stills his moments.

“Did you come?” You scoot closer to him. Observing his cock, and glancing up at him. Smiling and nodding his head. “Can I see?” His breath huffs out as he opens up your panties, and you peer at the thick creamy essence of Ari. “Can I touch it?”

“You’re going to. Give me a minute.”

“Can I taste it?” He squeaks as he exhales, shaking his head no. “That’s not fair! You get to taste me.”

“Darling, stand up,” keeping your eyes on him, you get to your feet. And he opens up the soiled panties. Holding them out for you. “Step in.”

“They’re dirty.”

“And you’re going to get to feel my cum pressed up against your delicious cunt for the rest of the day,” the hesitation isn’t because you don’t want to feel him. It’s because it is so salacious and wrong, but it’s your little secret. You could go home with your panties soaked with Ari. Nobody would ever know that you have him right at your pussy. That you made him come so hard. You earned his cum.

You stand there staring at the panties, and your mouth turns devilish as you put one foot in. Stepping into the other side. You pull your dress high, letting Ari fully see you pussy as he pulls his mess up your body. His cums touches your heated skin, and you sigh. Whimpering and rolling your hips at the feeling of him. And Ari taps on your pussy twice.

“There’s a good girl. The panties are perfect to see me smeared all over your skin,” he holds up his phone, snapping a photo of your creamy mound, and he holds the contraption up to show you. “You look pretty like this.”

“How would I look if you were leaking out of me?”

“Even better.”

“What about,” you gulp, knowing you could be taking things too far. There’s a power in your words. And yet, it’s something you feel in your core. A desire that’s so deep that you can’t even explain. “How would I look if you really claimed me?”

“How so?” He calmly asks, reaching for you, he pulls you closer to him, and you lift his hand up, placing it on your belly.

“How would I look if I was swollen from your seed?” He growls. A deep rumble moves up his chest, and his fingers pulse on your stomach, “Do you want to fuck a baby in me? Let me walk around always full of you, and everyone would know that you fuck me like your personal breeding slut?”

His pupils blow wide. Black pools replacing the most perfect beautiful cerulean. Ari’s lids close slightly, staying half mast. His fingers tremble on your body, “Have you fuck me so deep that you start growing in me?”

“You can’t say things like that,” he struggles to get out. The timbre of his voice an octave higher. Your hand roams down his front, and you cup his hardening cock. “Darling.”

“Why not?”

Ari spins you around, and pins you to his front. Rocking his hips forward into your ass once, and his mouth attaches to your neck. The heated breath from his mouth sending chills throughout your body, “Because, I want to bend you over that fucking table, and breed you like you’re my personal whore. Fuck you so deep that my seed grows inside of you. Have you walking around all innocent, while you have a secret, and it’s that I’m growing in your belly.”

“I want you to,” your voice chokes out. You tug and pull at his hands and arms. Trying to force his touch where you want it. “Ari, use my body. It’s yours. Fuck your baby in me!”

“My god,” walking you forward, Ari inches you to the counter, slamming you down onto the wood. And his hips buck into your backside. Hunching into your body like a teenage boy with no self control, “You can’t say things like that to me.”

“Why? Ari, I want you to!”

“Because I’ve never made love to you. I’m not going to use you for breeding. I want to. My god, I want to see your belly swelling, and know it was me that did that. I want everyone in this fucking town to see you happy, and glowing. I want to be the one that gives you all your firsts, and take you to heavens you have never been to. But you don’t need that right away. Your books are such glorious beautiful trash, but for the sake of my fucking sanity, quit talking like that.”

“Will you fuck a baby in me one day?” He pistons his hip bones into you harshly. An infuriating way to mimic fucking when you just want him in you.

“Darling,” he’s so rough as he pretends to rut into you. Pinning your hands onto the counter. Controlling you in ways that you don’t fully understand, but you want to go to whatever sweet sin he’s taking you to, “I will fuck as many babies in that pretty pussy as you’ll let me. I will own your body, your pleasure, and every one of your disgusting thoughts.”

One more hard push forward, and warmth invades your backside, and you moan at the feeling of his warm cum sullying your dress. If everyone wanted to call you the town dump and a whore, they could. As long as you are Ari’s whore. “But let me first take you on a date or maybe teach you how to kiss. Sex is clouding your brain because you’re so uptight.”

“Then just fuck me,” your words are teasing, but you’re serious. “If you just fuck me then I can focus on everything else.”

“You’re so needy.”

“Fuck me!”

“Not yet, sweetheart,” his lips leave a gentle kiss behind your ear before he stands up. Popping his neck while he checks out his spunk soaking your cotton dress. “You’re beyond frustrated. Why don’t you grind yourself on the arm of my chair? Let me sit on the couch while you give that pussy some much needed friction that you keep talking about.”

“Are you making fun of me?” Spinning around you glare up at him, and he just smirks. of course he’s making fun of you. He’s experienced, and you’re a sniveling child begging for his cock, and he won’t give it to you.

“You’re a grown adult acting like a child because I won’t sink my cock into,” it isn’t fair! The women in the books got the guy so quick. You just want to feel him. “It’s adorable, and I understand your frustrations. There are times I look at you, and just want to swipe everything off the table into the floor, slam you on that wood, and spread your legs while I rail into you. But you’re not ready.”

“How come you’re the only one that gets to decide?”

“Because all you’re focusing on is sex. I’m trying to be an adult because I know that you’re spiraling. I understand it. And I will let you be that way, but know that I am making a hard — very hard. I just came twice, and that’s not easy to do. And I haven’t even been inside of you. You seriously can’t understand what you do to me,” his resolve is failing. If you continue to talk to him like that, he will have his way with you. He’d lick up every tear that spilled out of your beautiful eyes if he had to.

“In time,” your eyes fall to his chest. Staring at a patch of hair that is peeking out of the top. “Would you be willing to do some of the things to me that’s in the books?”

“Like what?” You piqued his interest. His body is practically vibrating with giddiness.

“You said sit on the couch, while I grind on you,” there’s certain things in particular you like in the books. You can’t explain it. Possibly because of your upbringing and the fear and punishment you feel when you’ve done something wrong. You like the bit of humiliation. With boundaries.

“Can — can I be naked?” Ari bites his tongue, groaning again. “I’ve never had someone suck my — my titties. A-a-a-and I want you clothed. And talking dirty to me.”

Your curiosity and willingness to try the things you’ve read about astounds him. It’s like you were this perfect woman that was plucked out of the sky and placed right on his lap. Amazing. Just amazing how filthy you are, and yet there’s an innocence because you don’t understand. From what Ari has gathered, sex is vanilla here. But you want to be naked, while you make yourself get off. You want him to suck your tits. All while you straddle and ride him. Ruining his pants with your juices.

“I like it when you talk dirty to me because I know when we’re not in this space that you would never do that. James told me what you said to Jacob,” his fucking name was James? Just James? “Thank you. I’ll be your darling out there, as long as in here I’m your whore,” the shame of it turned you on. You aren’t even going to try and make sense out of it. You just want Ari to own your body. You want him to destroy it. Use it. Do whatever he wants to do as long as it’s him.

“And I’d like to make us a picnic, and we have our first date by the river. Okay?” His mouth turns up into the most beautiful smile you’ve ever seen, and he nods his head.

“How does my cum feel on your pussy?”

“I think it’d feel better in my pussy,” without another word, you turn towards the stairs. You would like a nap, and to read a bit more from a particular book. You didn’t care what Ari said, you want him to fuck you, and fill you up. You’d already made up your mind about this life. And it wasn’t worth living if Ari couldn’t be inside you.

Masterlist

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#How I'm Looking At You #ari levinson #ari levinson x reader #ari levinson x fem!reader #ari levinson x female reader #ari levinson x y/n #ari levinson x you #ari levinson smut #ari levinson fic #ari levinson fics #ari levinson fanfic #ari levinson fanfics #ari levinson fanfiction #red sea diving resort #chris evans #chris evans character

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zay-sturns · 1 day

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COLD AIR, chris sturniolo

disclaimer angst (unresolved), breaking up, mentions of insecurities, lowercase intentional (lmk if i missed anything)

wc 1.5k ྀི z's note first fic ever so this may be terrible but i'd love some constructive critisism

your thoughts raced as you sat on the edge of the bed, fingers nervously twisting the hem of your white pajama top. the dim ceiling lights cast a soft glow around the room, but it felt stifling, only intensifying the weight of every insecurity you carried.

for the past few weeks, chris had been acting a bit distant—nothing too obvious, but enough for you to notice. his responses dryer, his attention span shorter and his laughter short lived, and though you told yourself it was probably because of his work stress or lack of sleep, it didn't stop your whirling insecurities. you couldn’t help but feel like maybe it had something to do with you, maybe you just weren’t enough.

your mind wandered, and as it often did, landed on naiyah, chris's previous girlfriend. how she was the opposite of you—outgoing, confident and full of life. the way chris had described his past moments with her made her seem that she was someone so unforgettable, and here you were, nervy, reserved, and constantly overthinking everything. you were so completely different that the comparison hurt to make, but was one you couldn’t stop making no matter how much you tried. you knew it wasn’t rational, but it was hard not to feel like you were living in the girls shadow, especially when chris seemed so far away lately. you couldn’t help but wonder if part of him missed the ease and energy his vibrant ex-girlfriend would bring to his life, something you struggled to offer through the course of your relationship.

as doubts gnawed at your mind, you became unaware of how tense you had grown, your shoulders hunched and your breathing shallow. but chris noticed. he had been watching you carefully from across the room for minutes now, sensing the shift in your mood even with no words exchanged between the two of you. he put down his phone and quietly walked toward the bed, sitting himself beside you, the mattress dipping under his weight. he turned his body toward yours, grabbing the hand you had rested on your thigh and entwining your fingers in a warm and reassuring manner as his eyes searched yours in attempt to decipher what was going through your head.

he didn’t ask what was wrong right away, instead he simply studied you, his brow furrowed with subtle hints of concern . "hey," he finally spoke, his voice cutting through the uncomfortable silence like the effect of a gentle nudge, tearing you from your thoughts. he took note of the uncertainty in your eyes and the way your teeth gnawed at your bottom lip relentlessly as you returned your gaze, "what's up?" he asked, searching your distant expression for answers. the old you would find this so attentive of him, but as time went on, you felt like chris found the constant checking up on you a chore, like it was protocol to reach out and bluntly ask how you were doing when you weren’t grinning from eye to eye.

you hesitated, unsure how to explain what you were feeling. you didn’t want to sound unreasonable, but the thoughts had been weighing on you for so long. finally, you took a deep breath, your voice barely above a whisper. “do you ever wish things were—different?”

chris’s brows raised subtly, his grip on your hand tightening slightly. “what's that supposed t' mean?” he asked, his voice husky from exhaustion, yet patient, as if he already knew where this was headed.

you glanced down at your lap, avoiding his gaze as the words poured out. “i dunno... i feel like i’m not enough for you sometimes, like i’m just here filling space. and you've been so distant lately, and maybe it’s because you miss naiyah - that you’re not happy with me.”

chris exhaled slowly, as if weighing his next words carefully. his fingers tightened around yours, and you felt the slight tremor in his grip, one he was probably unaware of. “no… no, that’s not it,” he said, the words tumbling out a bit too quickly, like he was trying to convince himself as much as you. “ ‘m jus’ tired. works been up my ass lately, y’know?”

you studied his face, the lines of fatigue surrounding his eyes, the slight furrow of his brow as he spoke, but there was something else—something you couldn’t quite place. his explanation felt hollow, rehearsed. it didn’t match the way he was looking at you, with a mixture of guilt and confusion flickering in his eyes.

“but it’s more than that, isn’t it?” you pressed gently, your voice barely louder than a whisper. you weren’t asking to start a fight—you just needed the truth. “it feels like you’re pulling away from me, from us”

chris hesitated, his thumb absentmindedly brushing across your knuckles. “it’s not like that,” he started, avoiding your gaze as his eyes dropped to the floor. “i mean, naiyah… yeah, she was different. but that was a long time ago. we’re different.”

the mention of her name, spoken so casually, caused your heart to skip a beat. it was the first time he’d brought her up in months. his tone was reassuring, but the fact that she’d slipped into the conversation at all made something twist uncomfortably in your chest.

you searched his face, hoping to find a glimmer of reassurance, but instead, there was uncertainty in his eyes—like he was realizing something about himself in real-time. he shook his head, as if trying to clear his thoughts, and smiled weakly, but even the smile felt forced, like it didn’t belong there, like it only felt right being reciprocated with naiyah.

“look,” he continued, his voice softer, almost pleading now. “i don’t miss her, okay? i don’t. i’m with you because i want to be with you.”

something in his voice faltered when he spoke, and the way he hesitated—it was all you needed to hear. he definitely had a way with words, but they didn’t feel true. it wasn’t that he was lying on purpose; it was more that he was lying to himself.

you sighed, the heaviness in your chest making it harder to breathe. you wanted to believe him so badly, wanted to believe that this was just a phase, let him reassure you and spend the night cuddling and exchanging sweet words. but deep down, you couldn’t ignore the feeling that had been gnawing at you for weeks—that you weren’t the one he truly loved, and maybe you never had been.

you took a deep breath in an attempt to gather some strength before you spoke, your voice trembling slightly. “i think you’re trying so hard to convince yourself that this is what you want. but it’s not, is it?”

chris froze, his breath catching in his throat. for a moment, neither of you said anything, the silence between you growing thicker, more suffocating. he swallowed hard, his eyes darting to yours as if searching for an answer, but he didn’t speak. and that silence, that pause—it said everything.

you pulled your hand away gently, the warmth of his touch lingering as you drew your knees to your chest. “it’s okay,” you whispered, your voice breaking slightly. “you don’t have to pretend. i think… we both know this isn’t right anymore.”.

chris opened his mouth to protest, to reach for you again, but the words caught in his throat. his expression softened, pain flashing across his face as he processed what you were saying, what he had been trying to deny for so long. he let his hand fall to his lap, defeated.

“i’m sorry,” he finally whispered, his voice hoarse. “i never meant for this to happen. i thought i could—” he stopped himself, choking on the words, but you knew what he was going to say. ‘i thought i could move on’ you sniffled. “it’s okay,” you repeated, trying to convince yourself as much as him. “it’s better this way. for both of us.”

there was a long pause as the weight of your words settled between you. chris looked away, his jaw clenched, his hands balled into fists, not in anger—just regret. you both knew this was the right decision, but it didn’t make the pain any less real.

finally, chris nodded, his voice barely audible as he said, “yeah… i guess so.”

the room felt unbearably quiet after that. neither of you moved, as if you were both afraid that getting up would make it real. but deep down, you knew this was the moment. this was the end.

when you finally rose from the bed, your body felt heavy, as if your heart was dragging you down with each step toward the door. chris didn’t follow. he stayed seated, his head bowed, and you wondered if he felt the same emptiness that crept into your own chest—the hollow space where your love for him once lived and still will, no matter how hard you'll try to ignore it.

you grabbed your bag, pausing at the doorway, your back still to him. you waited for a word, a plea, something. but there was only silence, weighing heavier than any goodbye could. it wasn’t relief that washed over you as you turned the knob to the front door and dragged yourself outside, but a deep, aching void. the cool night air hit your skin, but it did little to soothe the gaping wound in your heart.

as you walked away from his home, you felt the hole in your heart expand, the emptiness overwhelming, and it took everything in you not to turn back.

#꒰ zay sturns꒱#chris sturniolo #christopher sturniolo #chris sturniolo angst #chris sturniolo fluff #christopher sturniolo angst #christopher sturniolo fluff #chris sturniolo fanfic #christopher sturniolo fanfic #sturniolo triplets #sturniolo triplet fanfic

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faeriekit · 2 days

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Health and Hybrids (XXIX)👽👻💚

[I can't remember the original prompt posters for the life of me but here's a mashup between a cryptid!Danny, presumed-alien!Danny, dp x dc, and the prompt made the one body horror meat grinder fic.]

🖤Chapter navigation can be found here🖤 Click to browse previous updates.

💚 Ao3 Is here for all parts 💚 (now featuring mediocre mouseover translations, only available on a computer)

Where we last left off... Danny can't sleep alone! Wonder Woman gets angry! Batman gets yoinked like a sad cat! Informational breakthroughs are made!

Trigger warnings for this story: body horror | gore | post-dissection fic | dehumanization (probably) | my nonexistent attempts at following DC canon. On with the show.

💚👻👽👻💚

Danny is in a different medical room than usual.

There are five white boards.

His hands are shaking.

Danny doesn’t want to talk about what happened to him, but this isn’t talking. It’s just Danny, a bunch of white boards, Diana, a blonde doctor woman he doesn’t know, and that one kid’s stinky cat dad.

Danny draws.

He draws The Box. He doesn’t know how big it was in reality, but he remembers it being cramped, and dark, and hungry. He was always hungry. He draws a granola bar and uses a red marker to strike through it a half-dozen times to really emphasize how much nothing there was to work with.

It feels bad to put a marker-drawn Danny in the box.

Marker-Danny looks scared. He looks sad.

Danny hands that board to the blonde doctor without looking at it.

Danny draws a bunch of gloved hands with scalpels and forceps and beakers and tubes, but to be honest, he was so out of his mind by that point he doesn’t actually remember a lot of it. He remembers being tied down, and he remembers scream—

...But he mostly remembers the visuals of hands in a bright spectator spotlight above, a dozen gleaming instruments poking inside him to see what of him was ecto-based and what wasn’t.

They always acted like Danny didn’t know what he was made of. Danny’s wondered if it was true ever since, and sometimes the thought pulses in his skin like a bad bruise.

There’s almost no detail in that drawing. It's only hands. It's only tools. Danny hands the board off without looking, again.

Danny draws Operative O, with his stupid chin and his stupid suit and his stupid earpiece and his stupid gun. He tries to get all the details from memory, but honestly, who cares if the guy’s lapels look right or whatever. He wipes the G I W initials off the man’s breast pocket before anyone can see the detail, and keeps his little black boots and sunglasses, and…yeah. Pretty much all of their stupid agents look like that.

He adds on a number of skulls and angry faces to that drawing before handing the board over.

He draws the Fenton Ghost Assault Vehicle as he mostly remembers it—and Danny remembers turning on at least some of the equipment as he tried to flee the building, leaving the hard steel shell of the GAV as scuffed and miserable as he’d found it abandoned in that garage but bristling with weapons. His parents are—they’d been so good at cramming weapons into every possible nook and cranny. Whatever engineers the GIW had been able to hire to dismantle it had never had a chance. The thing had been locked onto Fenton DNA, and Fenton DNA alone.

Danny isn’t sure where the GAV is now, but he remembers turning the rockets on. Maybe he’d…maybe he’d landed on the moon…in the Fentonmobile?

He still isn’t super clear on how he’d gotten here, or what of the truck’s defenses he’d gotten up and running on his way out.

But he remembers a clear line of sight down the barrel of Dad’s newest—and last—blaster he’d ever made, the hands on it a stranger's.

Danny remembers his flesh and ecto sizzling as his face bubbled off.

…Danny remembers his first driving lessons in the GAV with Mom in the passenger seat, encouraging him to brake carefully at stop signs if there were police at the corner. They went out for burgers after each driving session, since she knew it would make him happy to have something different for dinner. Danny remembers all the road trips they’d gone on to go visit Aunt Alicia, half-camping in the woods on her property while Dad taught Jazz and Danny how to fish.

He hands off the whiteboard, but he already knows what he wants to use the last one for.

Mom and Dad and Jazz stand around the intact GAV and smile, frozen in a dry-erase marker wave to a Danny that isn’t there.

Danny’s here now. In a chair. In space.

…With strangers.

When Danny doesn’t immediately offer the board to the blonde doctor like she expects, she only takes a picture of it for further discussion.

Danny is very, very careful not to smudge any of his family's faces or their suits or Jazz's dark sweater as Diana wheels him back to his cot in the medical wing.

He misses them.

He doesn’t know if they’re capable of missing him, wherever they are, but he misses them.

#second half of that writing binge from the other. week. recently. Whenever it was #Everyone clap for Black Canary; she's about to figure out how to provide therapy with zero shared languages or translators lol #okay now envision like a team of several colorfully dressed adults scrutinizing horrible child's drawings from Danny's shaky hands #health and hybrids #dp x dc #danny phantom #dcu crossover #dpxdc #dcxdp #tw medical #tw gore #tw body horror

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siscon-stsg · 2 days

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Offering anon here. I'm giving myself an official name, which is brainfucker (or motherfucker, iykyk) anon.

First of all I'm so glad you enjoyed it ahhhh <3

Second of all it's my pleasure too!! No way I'll do this shit anywhere else 😞

Some rambles about the Y!Little Brother!Satoru with Older Sister!Reader who was the previous strongest.

I imagine reader to be around 9 years older than Satoru.

You had a VERY harsh upbringing. I'm talking Zen'in level abuse. You were forced into the role at such a young age, having no friends whatsoever. But unlike Satoru, you were given nothing.

The only thing they had was the title.

So imagine how you felt when Satoru came into the picture. Oh the rage you felt, pure unadulterated hatred.

The abuse you received, all the harsh Trainings didn't stop. Oh no, they only got worse. And all you could do was blame Satoru.

You escaped moved out the first chance they got.

Okay, let's go back a little bit. What was Satoru's point of view? Well, at first he wanted his sisters love. He looked up to her, she was the strongest! He wanted to learn from her. But they didn't reciprocate. They shunned him, avoided him.

At a later age, maybe ~7 he didn't really care. The clan told him she was worthless, no longer the strongest. It worked. Temporarily

All is fine for you. You became just another sorcerer, living her life fighting curses and going to crappy bakeries, but you were content with that.

At that point in time, so around the time Satoru is in Jujutsu High, he doesn't remember ever having a sister. Everything goes just as it did before. He dies, revives, Geto defects, Shoko is left alone, he becomes a teacher.

And here, when he's a teacher, shit goes down. Because guess what? You landed a job in the Kyoto school. And really, you never expected your kin to become a teacher in the twin school.

So imagine your surprise when you see him at the goodwill event. It didn't take a second for you to recognise him, for your body to go rigid.

Unfortunately for you, he notices it. He's confused—who are you? He's never seen you before, so why are you so familiar? What a pain, he'll have to ask Utahime later.

He strikes a conversation with you, which you're less than thrilled about. You're even meaner that Utahime! How could that be? What did he do to you?

He asks Uta the first chance he gets (he almost got a beating!) and fuck is she appalled. How dare he not know about the previous strongest?! His sister no less!

He's stunned.

Sister?

How could that be? He didn't have a sister. And then he remembers, his little self vying for her attention.

For your attention.

You think you're safe. He didn't seem to recognise you, thank god. You already made it a point in your mind to quit the first chance you get. Run off and work in some random cafe or anything. Luck is not on your side, because Satoru won't let you go.

He goes for a conversation again, except this time it's going to be very different.

"Heeey sis'!" He grinned, leaning down to meet your eyes. He reaches up to uncover his own pair(s). "Long time no see, aye? My wittwe big strong sis'!" The way he said it was so condescending. And fuck, you punched him.

He faltered. You... punched him. You penetrated his infinity. That— oh. Fuck, he was hard. Something snapped this moment. You were meant to be.

But you didn't seem to share his sentiment. Well, no matter. No one is going to miss you anywag, and he was the strongest. (Don't worry, you're right behind him!)

So he... borrows you. Coddling you, cheering you up for not being the strongest! "Aww, it's okay baby! You're my strongest, my big, adorable sis'! You don't actually hate me, do you? You're just envious of your little brother! But it's okay! I love you!"

Good luck.

It's not the actual short fic, more so of a ramble about what's to come. I'm currently rotting in school, so that's an interesting place to write this in. No wonder I already failed one year with more on the way ><

Also I had another epiphany!

Mother-father-something (Yandere, but that's my default) Kenjaku with daughter reader who's their greatest creation! Their sweet little trophy. So much better than their failures of siblings (His words not mine!)

WAAAAAHHH FRIENDDDDD!! i already gushed a lil bit in DMs about this nyehehehehe...BUT!

HELLOOO piercing the infinity???!¡? OF COURSE satoru's masochistic ass would be into that safsadsadsadsa. oh god oh god oh god.

this has some potential for some heavy infantilization...like, he's coddling you after all the shit the others put you through! you look so stressed, big sis, let him help turn that frown upside down! :)

but also he'd be soooo needy. he needs your approval so bad, you see? :( he lost you once, you left him behind once, and he's not letting you do that again. never. you're gonna be together no matter what it takes.

you're his little pillow at night, you act like a partner more than a sibling. but at the same time you're the strongest, right? so you can handle a little bit of roughing up here and there! deffo doesn't get off to being punched by you when you try to escape...

(also i am always blessed by kenny ideas oomph finally, some good fucking food. being kenjaku's favorite is probably just as bad, if not worse, than being his most hated ayyy i love that brain so bad)

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lemoncrushh · 2 days

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You're Never This Quiet

Summary: Harry has been quiet all evening and you wonder why.

Warnings: none

Word Count: 1330

A/N: From my 2016 collection, based on a prompt given. Fluffy reader fic with a little bit of trepidation in the beginning.

You and Harry had been dating for two years. Actually, by this point, to say you were "dating" sounded a little silly and juvenile. You were in love. Simple as that. The way he treated you was the way you wanted to be treated, and you gave it back to him tenfold. Sure, it wasn't always easy. You'd had a few bumps in the road, some twists and turns. But to look back at your time together made you burst with pride. Nowadays, any celebrity romance that lasted more than a few months was not only shocking but commendable.

Tonight, you and Harry had gone to a party in Malibu. It was a casual affair on the beach, and like at most parties, you mingled with others throughout the evening, some people you knew, some you were meeting for the first time, but you always managed to circle back to each other. Harry would pull you close, kissing the top of your head before returning to his previous conversation, or perhaps walk with you to a nearby bar to get a refill on drinks.

This time, however, you noticed something different about him. Harry was never really one to stand still, always fidgeting if he wasn't chatting or telling a silly joke. Even if he was being affectionate with you, he wouldn't be serious for long before doing something like tickling you or commenting to others about how great you are. Tonight, he wasn't doing any of those things. Tonight, he was almost...quiet.

You watched him from across the room as he sat in the middle of a semi-circle sofa. For once he wasn't the center of attention. He sipped on his drink and nodded a few times, but you barely even saw his mouth move. A couple times you even saw him rub one of his palms down the leg of his jeans before switching his glass to his other hand and repeating. It was a little disconcerting to be honest, and you felt your stomach tighten. Someone said something to you, but you barely heard. Instead, you smiled politely and excused yourself.

"Hey," you whispered in his ear from behind the couch.

Harry nearly jumped up from his seat before turning to look at you.

"Oh, hey," he grinned when he realized it was you. "Come 'ere."

He gestured with his hand for you to sit next to him. You walked around the sofa and squeezed in. He gently took your hand and threaded his fingers through yours, making you feel a little more at ease. But you were still a little concerned.

"You okay?" you asked.

Harry nodded, giving your hand a little squeeze. But the fact that he swallowed hard was not lost on you. You knew something was up.

You continued sitting with him until his glass was empty and he set it down on the coffee table in front you. When he sat back and ran a hand through his hair, he leaned toward you to whisper.

"Wanna go for a walk?"

"Sure," you nodded apprehensively.

You knew your eyes had to be big as saucers and your heart was just about beating out of your chest as you followed him outside to the large deck. The summer wind hit you in the face, the temperature warm even in the late hour.

Heading toward the edge of the deck, you were surprised when Harry took the stairs and stopped at the bottom one.

"We're going on the beach?" you questioned as you saw him take off his shoes.

"Yeah," he replied, trying to roll up his jeans. "Although I probably shouldn't have worn these."

You giggled lightly, feeling odd that this was the first sign of humor he'd shown all night. You slipped off your own shoes, grateful to be wearing a sundress, and took his awaiting hand before stepping out onto the warm sand.

You cringed slightly at the sensation of sand between your toes. You waited for Harry to say something, expecting to hear his usual comedic comments, but still he remained silent. As you got closer to the ocean and the sand became more compact, you gingerly swung your connected hands between you, hoping to lighten the mood. When Harry looked at you and smiled, you felt your heart flutter.

"I love you," you declared bravely. It was something you said regularly now, but somehow his reserved personality tonight made you a little afraid to say it out loud.

"I love you, too," he echoed.

If Harry heard the loud breath you exhaled, he didn't acknowledge it. You continued to walk together in silence, sans for the crashing waves and the wind in your ears. Finally, you couldn't take it any longer.

"Is something wrong, Harry?" you inquired.

"No...why?"

"You've been pretty quiet this evening," you commented.

There was a slight pause before Harry said, "I have?"

You stopped walking then, releasing your hand from his.

"You're never this quiet, what's wrong?"

Harry turned to look at you, a mixture of worry and confusion on his face.

"Nothing's wrong," he blinked.

"Yes there is," you nearly choked. "C'mon, Harry. We've been together for two years. I know you. Something's up."

Harry bowed his head and ran his hand over his face.

"Yeah, it has been two years," he agreed.

You narrowed your eyes, now confused yourself, and also more worried than ever. Your stomach was now doing somersaults, and you swallowed and wrapped your arms around your middle to try to settle it.

"I...uh...was..." Harry took a deep breath, "trying to decide the right time to do this."

"To do what?"

You watched as Harry shoved a hand in his pocket and pulled something out, though you couldn't quite see what it was. But when he knelt down in front of you in the sand, taking your hand in his, you had to cover your mouth with the other to block the scream that was rising in your throat.

"[Y/N]," he said loud and clear, "I'm sorry I've been such a dope today."

He chuckled lightly, shaking his head.

"I'm so fucking nervous," he muttered before clearing his throat. "My love, will you marry me?"

That was when you saw the ring in his other hand as he held it up. It glistened in the moonlight, reflecting the colors of the night sky and the water.

"Harry!" you barely got out as the tears were already welling up in your eyes. "Oh my God!"

"Is that a yes?" he asked.

You half laughed, half cried. "Oh my God, yes!"

Harry grinned as he swiftly slid the ring onto your finger, giving it a kiss. Then he stood up, taking your face in his hands and kissing your lips.

"I'll make you so happy," he promised, his eyes twinkling.

"I know, baby," you nodded. "You already do."

He kissed you again, this time deeper and longer. Your fingers tangled in the back of his hair as you tried to get as close to him as possible.

"I love you so much," you murmured against his mouth.

After holding each other for a while, and much more kissing, you both decided to ditch the rest of the party. Instead, you continued to walk down the beach, hand in hand, as a newly engaged couple. The idea made you giddy when you thought of it.

When Harry suggested you walk up the beach and sit down for a while, you eagerly agreed. He put his arm around you, and you leaned into him, draping your arm around his bent knee.

"Sorry about your jeans," you said as you felt the wetness from the sand.

"What?" he wondered before realizing what you were talking about. "Oh," he laughed. "It was totally worth it."

You smiled as he nuzzled your neck.

"I'm sorry I was being so quiet," he added.

"It's okay," you assured him. "That was totally worth it, too."

MASTERLIST | KO-FI | FEEDBACK

#harry styles #harry styles fanfiction #harry styles fan fiction #harry styles fanfic #harry styles fan fic #harry styles fic #harry styles one shot #harry styles x reader #harry styles x y/n #harry styles x yn #harry styles x you #harry styles fluff #harry styles blurb #harry styles concept #harry styles imagine #harry styles writing #reader fic

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doctorwhoandfairytaillover · 2 days

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Loving Arms (4)

Summary: The children of Viserys I from his wife Alicent Hightower had always been lacking in affection from their parents. They simply didn't realize how much until their widowed aunt was brought into their lives. (AU where Alicent has an older sister and her kids get the love that they deserve, takes place some time after the Driftmark event)

Part IV: Changes must be made

|| Loving Arms Masterlist ||

A/N: There were so many ways that I wanted this chapter to go, but I think this was as good as I was going to get it. Please leave a comment and let me know what y'all thought. 😊

BTW: I have tagged everyone that asked, but some weren't working for some reason

For quite some time, Aegon was used to being harshly woken in the morning and dragged to different lessons or things that he absolutely despised attending because it was the expectation. Curtains would be pulled open quickly, further bothering his morning as light would seep into his eyes and making his head pound with pulsing pain from drinking quite a bit the night before.

His mother, grandfather, or perhaps the septa would harshly pull him from his bed, tell him off for his previous behavior and that he was shaming not just himself, but his family by his actions. It was all things that he had heard and experienced more times than he could count.

A routine that he had lived for so many years that he had lost track at what point did it begin.

So it was certainly a complete shock to wake up slowly one morning, the soft feeling of someone playing with his hair was what had stirred his sleep addled mind. His room was still fairly dark, the curtains had not been drawn and there were no servants or other attendants milling about his room. His bleary eyes slowly focused in to see that his lovely muña was the only one in the room.

"Did you sleep well, sweet boy?" she asked softly while combing her fingers through his hair. "I figured that we might try a different way of going about your morning since I heard that you imbibed quite a bit."

She sat on the edge of his bed and had such a tender look of affection as she stared at him that it overwhelmed Aegon to see it. Instead of answering, he hid his face in her skirts and gripped the fabric of her dress between his hands. Kneading the material in his hands and whimpering softly.

There was no reproach from his sweet muña and she shushed him softly, petting his tangled locks.

"Oh Aegon," she whispered. "I am sure that your head hurts, but we must start the day. There is quite a bit that must be done."

He snuggled into her lap and peeked an eye to look at her, "Must I?"

She laughed gently, "Yes, you must."

She turned to the side table by his bed and carefully picked up the teapot that was placed there by the servants to pour some tea into his teacup. "Here, sit up a little."

Begrudgingly Aegon sat up against the headboard of his bed and pushed back his hair away from his face, rubbing at his eyes in exhaustion.

"I made sure to add a bit of honey to your tea this time," she smiled. "I thought a bit of sweetness would be a nice way to start the day before we break fast."

"Thank you," he whispered. He took his light purple teacup with gentle care and blew softly on the steaming liquid, humming in delight when he managed a small sip. "It tastes better, thank you muña."

"You are welcome," she said as she picked up her own teacup and drank her tea silently beside him.

It was quiet.

Aegon wasn't used to soft mornings like this one.

To hear the distant clatter of life outside the walls of the Keep.

The gentle birdsong as they also greeted a new day.

The quiet hums of his muña, whose smile hadn't left despite the fact that he wasn't even ready for his lessons.

Even with his hesitance to become too comfortable, Aegon hoped that he could more mornings like this one.

"Muña?" he called out softly. "It is not that I don't appreciate this change of pace, but what stirred all of this?"

"I heard amongst the grapevine that your mornings were quite the chaotic events" she said gently. "That it was quite the spectacle to be present when the eldest prince was put in his place or so I had heard."

His face burned in shame and he looked at the dregs left at the bottom of his cup. Because even though he appeared aloof and uncaring to others, it was humiliating to go through it.

He just didn't know how to change what he was doing, when every day felt like a burden.

When his limbs felt like lead, his head would hurt from all the letters that would swim on the page, and as if his heart would pound out of his chest as nothing that his tutors said made any sense to him.

"It seemed to me," she said quietly and carefully lifted his chin to look her in the eye. "It seemed that everyone around you had failed to help you. Or was I mistaken?"

Tears pooled in his lavender eyes and shook his head, swallowing the lump that was stuck in his throat.

"I know there will be quite a bit of backlash, but I have relieved all of your current tutors from service and have sent word to a few that we will see if they fare any better" she said. "Would that be alright with you? Trying things a little differently?"

He quickly but carefully set his teacup beside him, practically leaping into her lap and wrapped his arms around her tightly. His sobs wracked his body and made it difficult to speak.

"H - how? H - how is it that y - you can s - see ME?!" he cried. "H - how? When my own m -mother cannot?"

She only held him tighter and rubbed his back softly, "Because I know what it is like to go through life never being seen by those we cry out to the most."

He could only cry.

And she held him in her arms for quite some time, letting him cry even when his nose ran and stained her dress. It took a long time until his breaths merely shuddered as the last of his tears dried and he let himself be held.

Slowly he sat up and wiped at his nose, "I think that I would like a bath now."

"I will have someone come up and draw the water for you," she said wiping his stray tears away. "I have someone that I need to speak with soon, go and look for your siblings. Spend some time together, I have made the arrangements so that you are not interrupted."

With that she leisurely stood up and brushed her skirts from any wrinkles. He sat back on his bed and watched her.

"Where will you be going, muña? May we come along?"

"No Aegon, it is probably best that you and your siblings not come with me today. I do not think it would be appropriate for you all to witness me stir up more trouble than is necessary."

"Trouble?" he tilted his head confused.

"Heaps of trouble and hopefully I will not need any help getting out of it" she laughed. "But knowing my big mouth, there will be times that I cross the line."

"I don't know if I like where this will go" he said. "Please take care, muña."

"I will do my best, Aegon" she said. "But do not worry and I will be back as soon as I am able."

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

"My lady, I must tell you once again that the King does not wish to have any visitors at this time," the guard said with his gaze forward.

"And I will tell YOU again Ser, that if you do not tell the King that I wish to speak to him about an urgent matter, that you are stripped of your post and tongue" she smiled.

The guard trembled in his place but remained firm in keeping his gaze forward.

"My lady, please -"

"What seems to be going on here?"

Their gazes darted to King Viserys standing by his partially opened door, he looked between them expectantly.

"Good brother, how lovely to see you" she said with a saccharine smile. "I was telling this kind ser that I needed a word with you, but it seems that you were preocuppied."

"Nonsense, I have time to speak with my good sister. Come in (Y/N), don't dawdle by the door."

Walking by the guard, she curtsied sarcastically and followed Viserys into the room, only to stand by the door itself as her gaze looked over the massively detailed city that he was constructing.

"This is.... quite the project that you have here, Viserys."

"I have been making it for a long time, I would hope that it looks impressive for all the effort that I put into it" he chuckled, while working on another portion of the city. "But tell me, what brought you here that needed you to threaten that poor young man?"

"I will be blunt Viserys, were you in a drunken stupor when you agreed that Aegon and Halaena should be married? This kingdom follows the faith of the Seven and despite the brutish ways of your ancestors, they should not be married."

His expression hardened and he stopped what he was doing.

"Your Father and Alicent made quite a few points and I saw no harm in them," he said. "If you have any qualms bring it up to either of them."

"But you are King," she stated. "A decision like this cannot be made without your say, so yes there is a few things that you could do to make sure that this marriage doesn't happen."

"We must all do things that are our duty even if we are not fond of them, I am sure that with time they will find it agreeable" he waved it off.

"And you are the speaker of such things?" she scoffed. "Here you hide away from your own children and wife, it is hypocritical to say that they will one day find it agreeable when you can't stand to be in their presence."

"That isn't true!"

"Then explain it to me Viserys! You say that we must all do things that we are not fond of and because of duty, but those children are suffering because of it!" she yelled. "You wanted an heir! Now you have plenty and cannot even spare them a moment of your time or care!"

"My children want for nothing! They are princes and princess of this realm, they have never gone hungry and more things than they could ever want!" he argued. "In time they will learn to grin and bear it, because there are others that would love to be in their place!"

"With parents like theirs, it is punishment enough!"

"Silence! You have said enough!"

"No Viserys, I haven't!" she rushed forward and stood toe to toe with the man. "If I must forfeit my life here, I will do all in my power to ensure that those children have someone fight on their behalf!"

Viserys was practically shaking in anger, but her eyes had a look in them that made the man turn away. "See yourself out, (Y/N)."

"No."

He looked at her in disbelief, "No?"

"No" she echoed. "Until you concede, I will not."

"I am King, I could have you thrown in a cell for this insolence!"

"All I see is a weak man, there is no King here."

It was unnerving how she stared at him, Viserys was used to grown men trembling at his word and groveling for forgiveness at his feet. People pleading that he would find mercy in his heart for them and not following through with his threats.

Yet his good sister refused to back down

His legs shook as he sat down and tried to keep his gaze on her.

"What would you have me do? I have already agreed."

"Allow me to find good matches for the children and that I may have say in what must be done for them" she said simply.

"That is asking for too much, (Y/N)."

"Oh it is merely the start, Viserys."

"What else is there?" he asked.

"We will have many more things to discuss," she smiled. "I hope you are comfortable because changes must be made."

#x reader #x reader insert #house of the dragon x reader #x aunt reader #aegon x reader #aemond x reader #platonic #helaena x reader #loving arms series #aegon ii fanfic #viserys x reader #halaena fanfic #aemond fanfiction

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wundrousarts · 18 hours

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With Mogtober around the corner, I wanted to share:

If you want to do more prompts, such as tackle a 31-prompt list for the whole month, or just don’t like the prompts and want to do other ones, I have this spreadsheet that I usually pull the prompt lists from if you want ideas. Or, if you’ve had any Nevermoor ideas for things floating around in your head that you’ve been meaning to get to, you can also just take Mogtober as an opportunity to do that. The main goal is always just to have fun!!

#nevermoor #mogtober #the google sheet may need to be updated slightly but I’m not near a computer to do that for a few days #I haven’t touched it since last year #apologies to anyone that may have wanted a 31 list again but it prob would have been similar to previous years. but you can make your own!#half of it is literally just without silverborn out I feel like I’ve exhausted a lot of prompt ideas and did not have the energy #to make a regular 31 prompt list lol #the curating one is fun but if people want I might bring back the 31 prompt list in addition again. LMK.#someday could be fun to make a singular nevermoor idea generator for fic writers and artists year round. but might require finagling #<- just looked up the word to make sure I was spelling it right and I think the way I’ve grown up using it different lol #any questions comments or concerns I’ll answer in like two or three days. I’m currently not in a place with much wifi or service lol

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shouts-into-the-void · 11 hours

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Just read screenshots of the Aaron extra chapter and I have so many thoughts, so here they are:

It's always so funny to me to be reminded of the fact that the animosity between Aaron and Neil is mostly one-sided. Like, Neil finds Aaron frustrating, but all the antagonistic stuff he does to him is ultimately in service of helping him in some way and while he's angry when Aaron provokes him, he otherwise regards him with disinterest and even expresses the desire to see what he's like when he's relaxed and enjoying himself during the party with the Vixens. Meanwhile Aaron just really hates that man.

I really appreciated Nora using this chapter to clear up some of the gripes a lot of the fandom has had with Aaron's character in the past and confirm that Aaron's comments to Nicky have to do with his cousin making graphic and unwanted sexual advances on their teammates, and his accusations towards Neil were from a place of concern for his brother. I also liked that it was pointed out that of course he would have at least some internalized homophobia due to being raised by religious zealots in a conservative area, but is unlearning it due to Nicky.

On a similar note, I'm glad that we were provided the context that Nicky's inappropriate behavior is a defense mechanism to weed out people who might hurt him rather than legitimate advances, because I think the fandom tends to forget that he is also a character with extreme trauma written outside of the "perfect victim" stereotype. His actions aren't okay, but the entire point is that they are the result of what he's had to endure just like every other member of the team

The implication that Andrew specifically signed with the Foxes so Aaron could go to college

Aaron and Andrew have the same nervous habit of picking at loose thread

It causes me physical pain to see Andrew clearly trying to open up to Aaron about his self-harm, but because his way of communicating is less straightforward (he doesn't lie, but he because he stuggles to confront and be open with his emotions, he presents the truth in flowery, vague language) and because the two dont really know or understand each other, Aaron can't fully grasp the implications of what he's saying

On the subject of things that cause me physical pain: baby Aaron telling his mom that he wanted to be a neurosurgeon like the people on TV and her laughing and saying he'd never make anything of himself. Fuck Tilda Minyard, all my homies hate Tilda.

Andrew is so uncomfortable, someone Get Him Out of There.

Going off that and his nervous habits (that Aaron mentions he did often enough to be noticable as a habit premedication), I am highkey wondering if the reason Sober Andrew doesn't talk to anyone outside Neil is because he's just. Socially Awkward.

We get a little bit of insight into Andrew's "misogyny" (I personally think distrusting certain people as a result of extreme personal trauma is a little bit different than just being sexist, in the same way women distrusting men because they're used to being harassed and belittled isn't misandry, but that's up to your personal opinion) and that his distain for Katelyn comes from the fact that he thinks she's stringing Aaron along and will turn out to be awful like his previous girlfriends (there's also a notable implication that Aaron has the same self-destructive tendencies as Andrew, and may be why he went out of his way to get him into college and on the straight-and-narrow) also see that this extends to Bee as well despite their close relationship, with him being so afraid that she'd reject him for being gay that he can't even look at her while talking about Neil, probably made worse by the fact that she's a maternal figure for him, which is where this trauma response originates.

Aaron is the only person on the team who's aware that Andrew hasn't slept with Neil, and the only one to grasp the significance of the fact that they've gotten close to that point already despite Andrew's trauma, outside of Renee

It was overall really interesting to see inside Aaron's head (I actually wouldn't mind a book from his perspective, he has a similar way of thinking to Neil but much more grounded) and to see Andrew through the lense of someone who just views him as Just A Guy

#obligatory disclaimer that these are my OPINIONS #im not going to tolerate anyone being rude or hateful #aaron minyard #andrew minyard #aftg #aftg extra chapters #all for the game #all for the game extra chapters

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ssa-dado · 9 hours

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13 - Soulmates

Aaron Hotchner x bau!fem!reader Genre: fluff Summary: Reid and Morgan attend your lecture, curious about your mysterious connection to Hotch, and are quickly outplayed by your keen instincts. During the lecture, you seamlessly blend psychological concepts with philosophical insights, leaving them impressed. Afterward, Hotch, unaware of your return, is stunned when he finally sees you, the bond between you two immediately apparent. The team watches in awe as you and Hotch exchange playful banter, the deep connection between you two undeniable. Warnings: CM-style graphic case descriptions, Reid and Morgan being oblivious Word Count: 10k Dado's Corner: Try not to say mommy challenge. You will all miserably fail. Y/N is a savage, I love her, the more confident version of her is so fun to write.

previous chapter ; masterlist

Later that day, Morgan and Reid found themselves seated in the middle of a packed lecture hall at the Academy. It wasn’t exactly protocol for the two of them to be there -especially not together - but the team had orchestrated this “mission” carefully: it was a case file day, which meant there was a low chance of being called out, but leaving the bullpen entirely would have raised suspicion. Especially if they wanted to keep their operation secret from Hotch and Gideon, both clueless of what was about to unfold.

The mystery surrounding you - why Hotch never had spoken about you - had quickly become a quiet fascination within the team, escalating over the course of just a few hours. It wasn’t just curiosity about a former colleague; there was an unspoken sense that your departure had left an impact that went far beyond a routine job change. Intrigued by the potential layers to the situation, the team knew they needed to investigate, and they chose Reid and Morgan as the perfect pair for this undercover operation.

Reid’s youth and sharp intellect made him blend in effortlessly with the students, but it was his deep academic curiosity that truly set him apart. In preparation for the lecture, Reid had spent the afternoon poring over all of your published work, and he quickly became captivated by your ability to seamlessly interlace psychology, culture, and philosophy in ways few could manage. The depth of your insights, the connections you drew between human behavior and broader cultural forces, sparked something in him - a rare sense of admiration.

For Reid, this mission wasn’t just about gathering intelligence; it was an opportunity to engage with a mind he respected. Your ideas, complex yet accessible, offered an intellectual challenge he was eager to dive into. He wanted to hear your thoughts firsthand, not just to uncover the truth about your past with Hotch, but because he truly respected the brilliance of your work.

Morgan, on the other hand, had entirely different motivations for being there. His cop’s instinct told him something wasn’t adding up, and that gnawing curiosity wouldn’t let him rest. A particular photo he’d seen back in Garcia’s lair - of you and Hotch, caught in a candid moment of shared laughter - had stuck with him ever since.

Hotch didn’t laugh like that anymore.

There was something about you that had unlocked a side of their otherwise stoic unit chief, a version of Hotch that Morgan had never seen before, and it bothered him. That rare glimpse of joy on his boss’s face hinted at a deeper story, one that Hotch had kept carefully hidden. Morgan was determined to figure out what had really happened between you two, to uncover why Hotch never spoke of you and why your departure still seemed to hang in the air like unfinished business.

Unlike Reid, who could slip into the crowd with his youthful look and scholarly demeanor, Morgan stood out. His broad shoulders and confident stance made him look more like a security detail than a student. His sharp gaze constantly swept the room, not in casual curiosity, but in the way of someone who was trained to assess for threats, even in the seemingly safe confines of a lecture hall. Morgan wasn’t here to blend in; he was here to find answers.

“Man, these kids are young,” Morgan muttered under his breath, taking in the sea of eager, fresh faces around them.

Reid, already scribbling notes, glanced up with a slight smirk. “It’s the Academy. They’re supposed to be young. You’ll survive.”

Morgan rolled his eyes but didn’t reply, his thoughts still caught between the mission at hand and the uneasy feeling he couldn’t shake. There was something more in the air, something heavier than just academic interest.

“Just remember,” Morgan whispered, leaning closer to Reid, “we’re not here for the lesson. We’re here to figure out what Hotch isn’t telling us.”

Reid glanced up, clearly torn between his genuine academic excitement and the need to stick to the plan. “I can do both, you know.”

Morgan smirked. “Sure you can, kid. Just don’t get lost in the lecture.”

Just then, the door at the front of the lecture hall swung open, and you walked in with an air of quiet confidence that silenced the room instantly. The soft shuffle of papers and whispered conversations died down as you made your way to the podium, a stack of notes in hand. Reid and Morgan immediately locked onto you, and though Reid had never met you in person, he instantly recognized you from the photo Garcia had shown them earlier.

You looked strikingly similar to how you had in that picture: poised, elegant, with that same calm authority that demanded attention without effort. But now, in this academic environment, there was a subtle difference. Reid noted how much more relaxed you seemed, despite the structured setting. There was a lightness to you, as if shedding the rigid confines of the BAU had allowed you to embrace something more natural, more authentic.

Your hair, worn in its natural texture, was a stark contrast to the sleek, pin-straight style you had sported back when you were chasing down criminals. It made you seem more yourself, more at ease, as though time had allowed you to settle into a version of you that didn’t need to conform to the high-pressure world of profiling. And yet, despite these differences, Reid could see the parts of you that hadn’t changed at all.

You still wore your signature all-black suit, sharply tailored and immaculate. The only splash of color was your light blue shirt, buttoned all the way to the top but hidden beneath a fitted black vest. It was a subtle uniform, one that spoke of your meticulous attention to detail, just as Reid had expected from the person whose work he had admired.

As you set your notes down on the podium, there was no need to ask for the students' attention. Your presence alone commanded it, radiating a quiet authority that both Reid and Morgan could feel from across the room.

Morgan leaned back in his chair, his sharp eyes studying you intently. The way you moved, the way you carried yourself, it was almost uncanny. You had the same presence as Hotch, the same quiet yet commanding energy that made people listen before you even spoke. The way you walked to the podium, the slight tilt of your head as you scanned the room, the controlled yet effortless manner in which you handled your materials, it was all too familiar.

Morgan couldn’t shake the feeling that it didn’t make sense to him how you could still carry such a striking similarity to Hotch after all these years. You had only worked together for three years, and it had been six since you’d last seen each other, yet those brief moments watching you confirmed that there was an unspoken bond, a shared approach to leadership and presence that ran far deeper than the passage of time could diminish.

What stood out to him even more was how mature you seemed, not just in your authority but in the quiet confidence you exuded. You were four years younger than him, only five older than Reid, but there was something about the way you carried yourself that made you feel more seasoned, like you’d lived a life beyond your years. And yet, your warmth was undeniable. Your smile was far more approachable than Hotch’s, inviting curiosity and dialogue, yet it carried the same weight of experience and intellect.

What truly set you apart, though, was the care you showed to the students. Even though this was just a guest lecture, and you had no prior connection to any of them, there was a gentleness in the way you treated them, as if each one mattered individually. Rather than pointing out sections of a textbook or directing them to impersonal reading assignments, you handed out your very own notes. Pages written in your careful, flowing handwriting, offering glimpses into your thought process. The act of giving them your personal materials made everyone in the room feel seen and taken care of, as if they were receiving something more than just information, they were receiving a piece of you.

As you approached Reid and Morgan’s row, handing out the notes, your instincts kicked in almost instantly. Something in their body language - Morgan's guarded posture, the way Reid’s eyes darted over every detail - gave them away. They weren’t students, not with that level of awareness. Your instincts, finely honed from years in the field, told you immediately they were agents, not here for the lecture but for something more. You paused for only a fraction of a second as you handed Reid his copy, then Morgan’s, but in that brief exchange, everything clicked into place.

You knew exactly who they were, they weren’t just agents.

They were Hotch’s agents.

Even without having seen their pictures, Hotch’s letters over the years had painted such vivid portraits of his team that recognition came as naturally as breathing. Reid’s intense curiosity, the way his mind seemed to be running a mile a minute as he absorbed every detail of the room, was exactly as Hotch had described. And Morgan - sharp, ever-watchful, his presence commanding without a word - fit the description perfectly. Hotch had done more than just mention them; he'd crafted a detailed profile of each one, and in that moment, you were impressed by how well his words had aligned with reality.

But despite recognizing them, you gave nothing away. No raised brow, no startled reaction - just a slight, knowing smile tugging at the corner of your lips as you handed them their notes with the same care and warmth you extended to the rest of the class. It was as if, in that brief moment, you acknowledged the deeper connection between all of you but chose to let it remain unspoken, just as you had done with so many things in your life.

You decided you would let them continue their undercover game, but in your mind, you were already several steps ahead. You knew their plan. You understood the intrigue. And while you didn’t mind playing along for now, you knew this encounter would unfold on your terms, not theirs.

Reid’s eyes lingered on the notes you handed him, immediately captivated by the intricate, handwritten connections sprawling across the page. The blue ink, fluid and purposeful, revealed a map of your mind - each word carefully placed to weave together psychological phenomena, historical events, and philosophical insights with stunning clarity. The structure, the flow, the careful attention to detail - it was all there.

Morgan’s attention, however, was pulled elsewhere. As you handed him his notes, he caught the glint of something he hadn’t expected. The engagement ring. His eyes locked on it for a moment longer than they should have, the band gleaming on your left hand as you moved past him. There it was, a piece of the puzzle he hadn’t accounted for. Whoever you were now, you weren’t just Hotch’s former partner. You had a life, a future, and someone waiting for you.

Morgan glanced over at Reid, whose eyes were still glued to your notes, clearly fascinated by the web of ideas you had laid out. But when Reid noticed Morgan’s gaze, the flicker of recognition passed between them. The mission just got a lot more complicated.

As you moved back to the podium and began your lecture, Morgan couldn’t help but continue noticing the subtle echoes of Hotch’s body language. The way you paused before speaking, the careful consideration in your words, it was all too familiar. Reid, ever the observer of patterns, was clearly noticing it too. The way you stood at the podium, hands placed just so, the deliberate pacing as you spoke. It was eerily reminiscent of Hotch, and yet there was something different. Where Hotch exuded strict efficiency, you brought warmth, a sense of curiosity that made people lean in, eager to hear more.

“I came here today because they told me to discuss the phenomenon of folie à deux,” you began, your voice calm yet authoritative, “and its implications not just in psychology but in philosophy and culture.”

The room stilled as you spoke, your presence effortlessly commanding attention. Morgan and Reid exchanged a quick glance, fully engaged now in the way you were weaving complex psychological concepts with larger, philosophical questions. There was something magnetic about the way you approached the topic, pulling in the room with every word.

“Folie à deux is a rare psychological phenomenon,” you continued, “where two or more individuals, typically in a close relationship, share the same delusion. It’s often seen in couples, siblings, or very close friends. The dominant partner transmits their delusion to the other, creating a shared reality.”

You paused, letting the weight of the concept settle over the room. “This raises profound philosophical questions. Take Kant’s idea, for instance. He believed that we don’t perceive the world as it truly is, but instead, we experience the world through the lens of our minds. In other words, our reality is shaped by how our minds organize and interpret what we see, hear, and feel.”

You let that thought settle before continuing. “Now, if two people share the same delusion, for them, that becomes their reality. Even though it's false to us, it’s their truth, because their minds are filtering and organizing information to fit that shared belief. In Kant’s terms, it challenges the very idea of ‘objective reality’ - because what we think is real might just be how we’re perceiving it, not how it actually exists outside of our minds.”

You smiled warmly at the class. “So, in a way, our subjective experiences - what we believe, what we feel - shape the world we live in. And when two people share the same distorted view, that shared perception becomes their reality, no matter how far it drifts from the truth.”

Reid leaned forward, his pen flying across the page as he absorbed every word. He was captivated, not just by the subject matter, but by the way you framed it, how you elevated the psychological disorder into a philosophical discussion about the nature of truth and perception. You made complex ideas seem simple yet profound, interconnecting psychology and philosophy into one seamless, thought-provoking narrative.

Morgan, though less academically driven, found himself equally drawn in. The way you spoke made even the most abstract concepts accessible, your words carrying weight not just in their content but in how you delivered them, with a clarity that left no room for misunderstanding, yet a depth that left room for reflection.

You began to explain a specific case you had worked on during your time at the BAU, a case that had stayed with you due to its sheer brutality and the disturbing dynamic between the killers. “I worked on a case a few years ago involving a series of brutal murders. The victims were found hanging from the ceilings of abandoned warehouses, their bodies mutilated in ways that suggested not just violence, but performance.”

The room grew eerily still as you spoke, your voice taking on a darker tone. “The killers were a couple, completely lost in their shared delusion. They believed that by killing their victims in such a specific, ritualistic manner, they were cementing their bond, as if the act of murder itself was an expression of their twisted love.”

You paced slowly across the front of the room, your words heavy with implication, and the students hung on every word. “The crime scenes were brutal, but what stood out most were the patterns - blood splattered in what appeared to be a deliberate, almost choreographed way. It wasn’t random violence; it was as if they were performing a ritual.”

Reid’s pen scratched furiously against his notebook, his brows furrowed in concentration as he tried to capture every detail. Morgan, meanwhile, glanced around the room, feeling the palpable tension you were building with your story.

“The first victim, a 21-year-old student, was found suspended from the ceiling of a derelict warehouse. Her body had been methodically sliced, the cuts precise, deep, but not immediately fatal. The killers had taken their time, savoring each wound, letting her bleed out slowly. The scene was a nightmare: blood splattered everywhere, but not haphazardly. It seemed purposeful, like an abstract painting.”

You paused, gauging the room’s reactions. The students sat frozen, entranced, and even Reid, who had seen his share of brutal cases, seemed visibly affected.

“The second victim, a 36-year-old plumber, was found in a nearly identical state in another warehouse. Another body, another grotesque dance of violence. His blood, like the first victim’s, had been splattered across the room in swirling patterns, as if the killers were moving in deliberate, controlled steps. It was clear this wasn’t about the victims themselves, but about the act. They weren’t just killing, they were performing.”

You nodded at the young woman’s question, already anticipating the curiosity it sparked. “At first glance, the victims appeared unconnected - different ages, different backgrounds. But the killers didn’t choose them at random. The victims were symbolic, representations of the killers’ own internal dynamics. One victim reflected the youth and innocence of one partner, while the other embodied the experience, the world-weariness, of the other. In a twisted sense, they weren’t killing strangers - they were killing versions of themselves, surrogates, to solidify their bond through these acts.”

Reid’s hand shot up, his mind clearly racing with the case details. “Did your team profile them as a couple right away?”

You nodded, already expecting Reid’s instinctive question. “Yes, very early on, we suspected it was a folie à deux. The crime scenes told us as much. The way the blood was deliberately splattered, almost choreographed, was a shared act of performance. The footprints intertwined, moving in tandem, telling a story of two people completely absorbed in their collective delusion. It was clear that this wasn’t just violence, it was ritual, a form of communication between them.”

Here, you paused, adding a layer of deeper reflection. “Philosophically, it raises an interesting point about identity and connection. In cases like this, the delusion becomes more than just shared, it defines them. Think of Hegel’s concept of the dialectic. Two opposing forces interact, shaping and defining each other through their opposition. These killers were engaged in that process, only instead of a philosophical exchange of ideas, their connection was expressed through violence. They became more themselves through their shared acts, solidifying their identities through the bond of their crimes.”

Morgan shifted in his seat, slightly unsettled by the complexity of the killers' psychology and the patience it must have taken to unravel their twisted connection. He didn’t often think of criminals in such philosophical terms, he saw them through the lens of the law, of right and wrong.

“And then,” you said, your voice growing quieter, more deliberate, “there was the dance.”

The air in the room grew heavier, as if everyone collectively held their breath. “Each crime scene had one distinctive feature,” you continued, “the footprints left in the blood. They weren’t random or chaotic - they moved in deliberate loops and turns, forming a grotesque choreography. This was no ordinary crime - it was ritualistic, deeply personal. The killers were reliving a significant moment between them, reenacting their bond through this macabre dance.”

You paused, letting the students absorb the gravity of what you were saying. “And here’s where we dive deeper - into the philosophy of ritual. Durkheim talks about how rituals are essential to the creation of social bonds, how shared rituals bring people closer, giving them a sense of identity and belonging. For these two, the act of murder became their ritual. It was how they maintained their connection, how they affirmed to each other that their shared reality - their delusion - was true. The blood on the floor wasn’t just evidence. It was a testament to their bond, a mark of their unity.”

You let the silence hang, watching as the weight of those words sank in. Reid was furiously scribbling notes, his brows furrowed in concentration, clearly processing the philosophical layers you were laying down. Morgan, on the other hand, glanced around the room, sensing the discomfort among the students, while he himself struggled to imagine how such a deep connection could manifest in something so horrific.

A student’s hand shot up from the middle of the room. “How did you catch them?”

You paused for a moment, a faint smile tugging at the corners of your lips, holding back the laughter threatening to escape at the memory. “It wasn’t easy,” you began, your voice steady and measured. “My partner and I had to go undercover to a dance event where we suspected the unsubs would be. We spent an entire night - and the following day -perfecting a slow dance routine just to blend in, hoping to draw them out.”

There was a ripple of interest across the room, but Morgan and Reid exchanged a glance that held more weight than simple curiosity. Morgan’s brow furrowed, his lips quirking in disbelief. He leaned toward Reid, whispering, “Hotch? Dancing?”

Reid, always serious, blinked in surprise, his pen frozen mid-air. “Hotch? Dancing?” he echoed, as if the concept itself was too far-fetched to be real.

Morgan’s disbelief quickly morphed into amusement. He leaned back in his chair, eyes gleaming mischievously as he pulled out his phone, keeping it low under the desk. Without missing a beat, he sent a quick message to Garcia.

To Garcia:

Find footage of Hotch dancing. ASAP.

You caught the exchange from the corner of your eye, and the flash of recognition in your gaze wasn’t lost on either of them. You knew what they were up to. You’d seen it before - agents who thought they could outmaneuver you. It didn’t bother you. In fact, a touch of mischief tugged at your own lips as you pressed on with the story.

“We had to immerse ourselves completely in the role,” you continued smoothly, not missing a beat. “Everything had to be perfect - our interactions with the other dancers, the timing of our steps. We had to give the appearance of just being another couple enjoying the evening.”

You paused, letting your words settle in, and your eyes - sharp and assessing - swept over the room, briefly lingering on Reid and Morgan. They thought they were here undercover, sizing you up, but you were already several steps ahead.

“As you can imagine,” you said, your tone casual but laced with intent, “undercover work is about blending in. It’s about becoming invisible until you’re ready to act. One of the worst things you can do is stand out before you have what you need.”

Morgan’s posture stiffened. He exchanged a subtle glance with Reid, who was still scribbling furiously, caught up in the lesson. But Morgan, with his instincts sharpened by years in the field, noticed the change in your tone. Reid, still oblivious, looked up, blinking in confusion as he tried to catch the thread.

“For example,” you continued, now pacing ever so slightly in front of the room, “if you’re attending a lecture and trying to blend in, you wouldn’t want to sit right in the middle, where everyone can see you. You’d want to sit somewhere unobtrusive - close enough to observe, but not so obvious that you stand out.”

Reid’s pen stilled. He blinked rapidly, glancing down at his notes as if unsure how to respond. Morgan, on the other hand, shifted in his seat, straightening up. He could feel the eyes of the room on them now. This wasn’t just a lecture anymore. You had them in your sights.

“And of course,” you added, with a sly smile barely visible at the corners of your lips, “you’d want to keep steady eye contact with the people you’re observing. Avoiding eye contact is a classic tell that you’re hiding something.”

Reid’s head snapped up, wide-eyed, and he finally caught on. His gaze flicked nervously between you and Morgan, his face flushing a deep shade of red. Morgan, meanwhile, smirked, the game now fully exposed. He chuckled under his breath, turning to Reid with a playful glint in his eye.

“I think we’ve been made,” Morgan whispered, leaning closer.

Reid’s response came in a low mutter, “I think she’s profiling us.”

You didn’t miss the exchange, though you pretended not to hear. The game was laid bare, and now it was time to pull back the curtain. “The key to any good undercover operation,” you continued, eyes still fixed on them even as you addressed the entire class, “is to stay in character, no matter what happens. And when someone mentions having to learn a choreographed number to catch unsubs, you definitely don’t text your technical analyst to hunt down footage because the man in question happens to be your emotionless, overworked Unit Chief.”

Both Morgan and Reid’s jaws dropped, their reactions a perfect mirror of disbelief and embarrassment. Reid blushed furiously, stammering as he attempted to regain his composure. Morgan bit back laughter, his shoulders shaking as he slid his phone into his pocket. You were right, of course. There was no getting around it, they’d been caught red-handed.

Garcia, no doubt, would be on the receiving end of Morgan’s follow-up text telling her to drop the hunt for footage.

You let the silence linger for a beat, allowing the full weight of the moment to sink in. The rest of the class sat transfixed, watching what they believed was just a masterclass in teaching. Little did they know the game of cat-and-mouse unfolding between you and the two agents in the back.

You took a breath, your voice resuming its measured cadence. “Undercover work,” you continued, “is about subtleties. It’s about knowing how to blend in, how to observe without drawing attention. It’s about choosing the right moment to act and making sure you’re invisible until the exact second you need to be seen.”

Your gaze lingered on Reid and Morgan just a moment longer, a soft smile tugging at your lips. They thought they were here to gather information on you, to figure out who you were and why Hotch had never spoken of you. But in reality, they had only gotten a taste of your true skill, the ability to read people long before they ever realized they were being seen.

Reid, his face still flushed with embarrassment, leaned over to Morgan. “She just pulled a Hotch on us.”

Morgan grinned, shaking his head in admiration. “She’s good. Really good. No wonder Hotch never talks about her… he’s probably still recovering.”

The tension in the room eased, but you knew that whatever questions Morgan and Reid had come with were far from answered. They had expected to size you up, maybe catch you off guard, but instead, you’d turned the tables on them.

You continued with your lecture, now fully in control of the room. “And that’s what we did with the case,” you concluded. “We chose the right moment, and when we did, we caught them in their own delusion, wrapped in their performance. They never saw it coming.”

Reid’s pen resumed its frantic scribbling, while Morgan, arms crossed, watched you with a new sense of respect. Whatever answers they sought, they knew now that you wouldn’t be easy to read. And that was exactly how you liked it.

You finished your lecture smoothly, returning to the details of the case and the eventual capture of the unsubs, weaving in philosophical insights about reality, perception, and the power of shared beliefs. But throughout it all, you never lost that air of quiet confidence, knowing you had just outplayed two of the best profilers in the FBI.

As the lecture came to a close and students began to file out of the room, Morgan and Reid remained in their seats, waiting for the others to leave. When the room had finally emptied, you approached them with a knowing smile tugging at your lips.

“Well,” you began, your tone light but teasing, “I hope you two learned something.”

Reid blushed deeply, looking down at his notebook as if it could somehow shield him from the embarrassment. Morgan, on the other hand, held out his hand with a wide grin, unfazed by the fact that they had been caught. “I’ll give it to you - you got us. I haven’t been outplayed like that in a long time.”

You laughed softly, shaking his hand. “I recognized you both the moment I walked in, Hotch talks about his team all the time. But I appreciate the effort, you blended in better than most.”

Reid finally found his voice, still fidgeting with his satchel as if to ground himself. “I-I just wanted to say I’ve read your work on geographical profiling. It’s... groundbreaking.” His voice held genuine admiration, the kind that went beyond the mission they were on.

Your warm smile softened further, and you nodded appreciatively. “Thank you, Dr. Reid. That means a lot, especially coming from you.” You could see the boyish pride flash across his face at the compliment.

Morgan, ever the protector, chuckled and nudged Reid with his elbow. “See? You two are cut from the same cloth. A couple of geniuses.”

You turned to Morgan, raising a brow with amusement. “And you’re Derek Morgan, the infamous charmer. Hotch warned me about you.”

Morgan smirked, flashing a look of mock offense. “Warned you, huh? Well, I’m flattered, but he probably undersold me.” His teasing grin was infectious, but beneath the bravado, you could see the respect he held for you.

You shook your head, still laughing. “He’s actually spoken about your loyalty more than anything else. I can see why.”

Morgan, momentarily caught off guard by the sincerity in your words, gave a small nod of appreciation. Then, ever the flirt, he added with a playful glint in his eye, “Now I get why Hotch never talks about you. You’ve probably got him all figured out.”

The smile faltered for just a moment, a soft wave of nostalgia passing over you. “Hotch is... the best partner I’ve ever had,” you said quietly, your tone laced with something deeper. “And a good friend.”

Before the conversation could turn more personal, the door creaked open, and all three of you turned toward the sound of footsteps. Both Morgan and Reid stiffened, instinctively straightening in their seats. You followed their gaze toward the door, where none other than Jason Gideon appeared. His familiar, warm presence filled the room immediately, his keen eyes scanning the scene before him.

Gideon’s gaze first landed on Reid and Morgan, a flicker of surprise crossing his face before a knowing look settled in. He shook his head slightly, clearly imagining how Hotch would react when he found out his agents had gone rogue for this unsanctioned mission. But then his eyes found you, and his expression softened into something else - pride.

“Y/N,” he said, his voice carrying the weight of all the years and experiences you’d shared. “Who would have thought? Not even a decade ago, you were sitting in these very desks, and now you’re traveling the world, revolutionizing our entire approach to behavioral analysis. You’ve become a legend.”

His words, spoken with genuine pride, struck something deep within you. Despite yourself, a wave of emotion surged in your chest, and for a moment, you were the young student again, sitting across from him in that same room. You stepped forward and embraced him, the gesture spontaneous but full of meaning. The hug was brief but genuine, and you pulled back slightly, your eyes glistening with unshed tears.

“Thank you, Gideon,” you murmured, your voice thick with emotion you hadn’t expected. “I owe all of this to you. I still feel like I’m only scratching the surface compared to what you’ve accomplished.”

He stepped back, his hands gently resting on your shoulders as he met your eyes. His gaze was as steady as ever, filled with a deep affection and respect. “You’ve done more than you realize,” he said quietly. “You’ve surpassed every expectation I had, but I always knew you would. From the moment you walked into the BAU, I knew you were going to change everything.”

A smile tugged at the corners of your mouth as you shook your head slightly, trying to brush off the weight of his praise. “Well, I’ve certainly made a few changes.”

Gideon’s eyes sparkled with nostalgia as he looked at you. “You’ve changed too,” he said softly, his voice brimming with fondness. “No more straight hair.” He smiled, clearly remembering the younger version of you who had tried so hard to project confidence. “You used to work so hard to make sure no one underestimated you.”

You laughed, though the sound was a little choked with the emotions you were trying to keep in check. “I stopped worrying about that a long time ago,” you admitted, feeling the gravity of your journey settle in your chest. “Letting people underestimate you can be a real advantage.”

Gideon chuckled, nodding as if he had always known you’d figure that out on your own. “I always knew you would,” he said with quiet pride. “You’ve grown into yourself. More than that, you’ve become someone people look up to.”

You grinned, blinking away the tears that threatened to fall. “And you haven’t changed a bit,” you teased, though your voice betrayed the depth of the connection you still felt with him.

Gideon’s smile was soft, the wrinkles around his eyes deepening as he took in the sight of you. “I have,” he said, his voice gentle but knowing. “But that’s how it’s supposed to be. Time changes us all, but I’m proud of you, Y/N. Truly.”

The moment felt heavy with unspoken words, the bond between you and your mentor palpable. Reid and Morgan, watching from the side, felt the significance of it. Reid, always the observer, took mental note of the exchange, while Morgan could see how deeply you and Gideon were connected.

Gideon looked around the room, then turned back to you with a small, knowing smile. “It’s good to have you back,” he said, his voice softer, full of the warmth that only a mentor could offer. "Why don’t you come with me to the BAU? I know Hotch would want to see you.” His tone softened further, the words deliberate, as if he sensed the emotional weight they carried. “You’re not an ocean away anymore. You’re just a moment away.”

The mention of Hotch’s name sent a wave of emotions crashing over you. Your heart skipped a beat, your breath catching in your chest as the reality of it settled.

Six years.

Six long years since you’d last stood face to face with him, since you’d held his gaze and heard the familiar, steady tone of his voice. The prospect of seeing him again stirred something deep inside you - not just nostalgia, but the weight of everything you’d shared. You’d still felt the connection in every letter exchanged over the years, every small piece of your old selves that you shared across time zones.

But letters were safe, written words couldn’t fully capture the presence Hotch carried, the way he could fill a room with just his silence, how his quiet, intense gaze could ground you when everything else was chaotic. That was what you missed most: the steady, unspoken understanding that had defined your partnership.

You tried to steady yourself, but the memories came rushing back: the late nights in his office, where neither of you needed to speak to understand one another. The silent communication born out of years of working cases together, where you could anticipate his thoughts, his moves, before a word was uttered. He had been more than just a partner in the field - he had been your anchor in the storm of the BAU, a constant presence that you trusted with your life.

And in that trust, without even realizing it at the time, you had also given him your heart.

But time had changed things. In the six years since you left, you had found love with Peter, now your fiancé, someone who brought light and stability into your life in ways you hadn’t thought possible after the intensity of working at the BAU. Peter had followed you to Europe, and together you had built a new chapter - one full of love, shared adventures, and a future that felt secure. Meanwhile, Hotch had built his own family, raising Jack and finding his happiness with Haley.

Both of you had moved forward, creating lives apart from each other, but the bond you shared, that deep-rooted partnership, had never faded.

It had evolved. What once might have been an unspoken attraction had transformed into something deeper – the most profound friendship built on mutual respect and care for each other. Hotch had been there for you in ways no one else had, and even though life had taken you on different paths, that connection would always be there. He was still your partner, and you knew that no matter what, you would always have care for each other.

Gideon, ever perceptive, seemed to sense the emotions you were bottling up. He turned toward Morgan and Reid, who were standing awkwardly at the back, clearly feeling guilty for sneaking into your class during work hours.

“I think the two of you owe Y/N a proper introduction to the team,” Gideon said, his voice carrying that familiar mentor-like authority, though there was a teasing note beneath it. He knew exactly what he was doing—giving you a little more time to gather your thoughts.

Morgan, for once, looked slightly unnerved, and Reid fidgeted with his bag, clearly realizing that their undercover mission might get them into more trouble than they had anticipated. The thought of Hotch finding out they’d been snooping on his old partner without permission seemed to hit them both at the same time.

“Yeah, uh… about that,” Morgan began, rubbing the back of his neck with a sheepish grin. “Hotch is not gonna be happy when he finds out we snuck out to come here.”

Reid nodded fervently, his fingers tapping nervously against his satchel. “If he finds out,” he muttered, clearly hoping that somehow Hotch wouldn’t discover their little operation.

You couldn’t help but smile at the two of them, their dynamic so familiar, reminiscent of how you and Hotch used to move in sync. It was strange, seeing this new generation of agents, people who had become extensions of the world you had left behind. But even in that strangeness, there was a comfort, a sense of continuity.

The BAU had changed, but the bond between partners, the loyalty, was still the same.

The thought of seeing Hotch again made your breath catch in your throat. Six years was a long time, but the way your heart quickened at the idea of hearing his voice, standing in front of him, told you that the connection between you two hadn’t faded. You had built a life with Peter, and Hotch had built his family, yet there was still something between you that transcended time and distance. It wasn’t romantic, not anymore, but it was profound. He was still everything that mattered.

You swallowed hard, pushing aside the rush of emotions as you nodded, a soft, almost tentative smile tugging at your lips. “I’d love to.”

Morgan, catching the momentary hesitation in your voice, smirked, his profiling instincts kicking in immediately. “You didn’t tell Hotch you were coming back, did you?”

You grinned, a flicker of mischief lighting your eyes. “Of course not. I wanted to catch him off guard. I think you know better than I do how much he hates surprises.”

Reid blinked, clearly taken aback by the casual ease with which you spoke about Hotch. “You planned to surprise him… just to annoy him?”

Your smile widened, the playfulness evident. “Exactly. What kind of friend would I be if I didn’t?”

Morgan chuckled, shaking his head in amusement. “Man, Hotch is in for a rude awakening. I almost feel sorry for him.”

“Almost,” you teased, your eyes sparkling with mischief. “But let’s be honest, you’re just as curious to see his reaction as I am.”

The elevator ride up to the BAU felt like an eternity. Every passing floor seemed to stretch time longer, and the soft ding of each level only heightened your anticipation. Gideon stood beside you, calm and composed as always, offering a reassuring presence without a word. Reid and Morgan’s casual chatter about the last case floated around you, but their words didn’t register.

Your mind was consumed by a thousand different thoughts, scenarios of how this reunion might go, and the heart-pounding reality that, in just a few moments, you would see him again.

Would Hotch be angry? Would he be surprised? Or had too much time passed for him to feel anything at all?

When the elevator doors finally slid open onto the familiar floor of the BAU, your breath caught in your throat. The bullpen, once your daily world, hummed with activity. Agents moved briskly between desks, their voices blending with the ringing phones and the hum of printers.

Everything looked so familiar and yet subtly different. More desks, new faces, an expanded workspace. But it wasn’t the changes that struck you - it was the energy, the same sense of family that had always made this place feel like home.

Your eyes wandered, scanning the room until they landed on two desks right in the center of the bullpen, still facing each other after all these years.

Your desk and Hotch’s - just as they’d been before.

A memory stirred, flooding you with images of late nights ande early mornings spent side by side, the sound of rustling papers and quiet conversations exchanged in the dim glow of desk lamps. The thought of those quiet moments made your heart ache with a bittersweet familiarity.

Suddenly, a voice snapped you out of your thoughts.

“Oh my God,” JJ gasped, her eyes wide with shock as she spotted you from across the room. She walked quickly toward you, her excitement barely contained. “You’re the profiler Hotch never talks about, aren’t you?”. You chuckled softly, shaking your head. “So I’ve heard.”

Before you could say more, the blur of pink and sparkles that was Penelope Garcia appeared at your side, practically bouncing on her toes with enthusiasm. “You’re *real*!” she squealed. “Twenty-six languages, three master’s degrees… you’re like a myth come to life!”

Her joy was infectious, and you couldn’t help but laugh, the warmth of it spreading through your chest. “It’s twenty-eight now,” you corrected with a grin. “But who’s counting?”

Garcia gasped dramatically, her eyes wide in amazement. “Twenty-eight?! Oh, honey, we have so much to talk about!”

Prentiss approached next, arms crossed but a warm smile on her face. “Well, well,” she said, appraising you with a glint of admiration. “Didn’t think I’d ever meet the one who kept Hotch on his toes all those years. Welcome back.”

You smiled back at her, feeling the weight of the years melt away as these new members of the team welcomed you with such ease. It was as if no time had passed at all, yet everything had changed. Each word, each gesture reminded you of the family you had left behind. And as you stood there, catching up with them, you realized how much you had missed this.

But even as they asked about your time in Europe, about the classes you’d taught and the cases you’d worked on, your gaze kept drifting upward, toward the glass-walled office above the bullpen. And there he was.

Aaron Hotchner, sitting at his desk, oblivious to the commotion below. His head was down, focused intently on the file in front of him, his expression as serious and stoic as ever. Your heart clenched painfully at the sight of him.

He looked the same, almost unchanged from the day you left - strong, composed, but with a heaviness in his posture that hadn’t been there before, as if the weight of the years had settled on his shoulders.

You barely registered the questions from the team as your eyes locked onto him. It was as if the world had narrowed down to just the sight of him, and suddenly, all the anticipation, all the nervous energy that had been building inside you, rushed to the surface.

Just then, as if sensing the weight of your stare, Hotch lifted his head. His eyes scanned the bullpen, narrowing slightly as he noticed the entire team gathered in one spot. His brow furrowed in confusion as he stood from his desk, closing the file in front of him. But from where he stood, he couldn’t see you yet. You were still hidden among the team, your presence shielded by the circle of agents eagerly chatting around you.

With his familiar, quiet precision, Hotch began descending the stairs. Each step echoed in your chest, your heartbeat quickening with every moment that brought him closer. The room seemed to fall silent, your attention fixed on the sound of his approaching footsteps. You hadn’t heard his voice in six long years, and now, in just a moment, you would.

“What’s going on here?” Hotch’s deep, steady voice cut through the air, commanding attention as it always had.

Everything inside you stilled.

The team parted slightly, giving Hotch a clear view of the person they’d all been gathered around. And when his gaze finally fell on you, the air seemed to shift - heavy with the weight of unspoken words, shared history, and all the time that had passed.

Hotch’s usually composed expression faltered for just a split second. His eyes widened ever so slightly, the surprise flickering across his face before he quickly regained his composure.

But you saw it, the momentary break, the shock of seeing you standing there, as real and unexpected as a ghost from the past.

He stopped mid-step, his breath catching as his gaze locked with yours.

The bullpen fell silent around you, the rest of the team fading into the background as you stood there, face-to-face with the man you hadn’t seen in six years. The man who had been more than just your partner, the man who had been your anchor, your confidant, your best friend.

For a moment, neither of you moved. Neither of you spoke. It was as if time had stopped, and all the years, all the distance, dissolved in that single moment.Then his eyes found you. For a moment, he didn’t move. His expression froze, shock rippling across his normally stoic features. His mouth parted slightly as though he was about to say something but couldn’t find the words.

Hotch stood there, frozen for what felt like an eternity, his sharp eyes locked onto yours. The bullpen, the agents, the noise - it all faded into the background, leaving only the two of you suspended in the heavy silence of six years apart.

Your heart raced as you took him in, noting every detail. He looked the same, and yet different. His hair had a touch more gray, the lines around his eyes slightly deeper, but his presence - strong, steady, and commanding - was unchanged. But there was something else too, something that only you could sense. A heaviness in his eyes, the kind that spoke of burdens carried silently, of long nights and sleepless hours. It hit you like a wave: time hadn’t been kind to him, but it hadn’t eroded that fundamental part of him either.

"Aaron" you finally breathed, breaking the silence between you, your voice softer than you had intended.

His name hung in the air, delicate, almost tentative. The warmth in your tone - familiar, tender - made something flicker in his expression, something that went beyond surprise. His mouth twitched, like he was trying to speak but couldn’t quite find the words. He took a slow step forward, his movements careful, measured.

“Partner...” he said at last, his deep voice rougher than you remembered, as though your name had been lodged somewhere in his chest for too long.

Without thinking, you rushed toward him, your legs moving on instinct alone. And as you closed the distance, he did the same, meeting you halfway. The second your arms wrapped around him, it was like the dam broke. His grip on you was tight, desperate, as if he was afraid you might vanish if he let go. And for the first time in years, you felt truly home.

He buried his face in your shoulder, and for a moment, neither of you spoke. The years apart, the distance, the longing, it all disappeared in that one embrace. His breath was warm against your hair, and when he finally pulled back just enough to look at you, his eyes were filled with a depth of emotion that you had never seen in him before.

It was a mixture of disbelief, relief, and something far more profound, an unspoken bond that transcended words. His usually stoic, unreadable face had softened into something vulnerable, raw. He looked at you like he was seeing a ghost, like he was trying to convince himself that you were real, that this wasn’t some dream he might wake from.

“I… I didn’t think I’d ever see you again,” Hotch whispered, his voice thick with emotion. The disbelief in his tone almost broke you.

Your own breath trembled as you smiled up at him, blinking back the tears that were threatening to fall. “Surprise.”

His hand tightened slightly on your arm as though grounding himself in the moment, ensuring you weren’t about to disappear. He let out a soft, almost incredulous laugh, a sound you hadn’t heard from him in so long. His gaze swept over your face, memorizing every detail as if he was afraid this might be the last time.

“What are you doing here?” he asked, his voice low, full of the weight of the years between you.

You glanced at the team, a playful smile tugging at your lips. “Well, I heard there was a class that needed a guest lecturer. Thought I’d pop in, see how the new generation of agents is shaping up.” You took a step closer, your voice growing more serious. “It’s good to see you, Aaron.”

His lips parted, but before he could speak, you caught the flicker of emotion that passed through his eyes. It was subtle, almost imperceptible, but you saw it.

“I didn’t know you were coming,” he said quietly, his gaze searching yours. “You really didn’t warn anyone.”

You shrugged, a soft smile tugging at your lips. “I wanted to catch you off guard. Thought I’d remind you what it’s like not to be in control of everything for once.”

A small smile played on Hotch’s lips, and for a brief second, you saw a flash of the old Aaron, the man you had spent countless nights with, the one who could let his guard down when it was just the two of you.

The team, meanwhile, stood frozen in stunned silence. Morgan, who was rarely lost for words, finally found his voice, though it came out as more of a disbelieving mutter. “Did - did Hotch just chuckled? Like, a real laugh?”

Garcia, standing beside him, clutched her chest dramatically. “Not just a laugh, Derek. He’s smiling - with teeth! This is… I mean, someone pinch me, because this is a miracle!”

Reid blinked rapidly, looking as though he had just witnessed a phenomenon that defied all logic. “I’ve never seen him like this,” he whispered, his eyes wide as he tried to process what he was seeing. “This is… wow.”

Prentiss, who had been quietly observing from the sidelines, finally stepped forward with a small, teasing grin. “Well, Hotch, it’s nice to see you actually have emotions.”

You chuckled at that, turning to face the team, but Hotch’s hand never left your arm, as if he still wasn’t ready to let go. There was a softness in his expression that lingered, something none of them had ever seen before. His usual composure was cracked, but in a way that made him more human, more real.

Gideon, never one to let anything slide, reported the undercover mission of the two agents to Hotch with a sly smile. “It seems someone else was very eager to see her.”

Hotch's expression instantly shifted back to the familiar frown you remembered all too well, the one that usually followed when he was about to reprimand someone. His stern gaze turned toward Reid and Morgan, and he wasted no time. “Morgan, Reid, we’ll talk about this in my office in ten minutes. What on earth were you thinking?”

Morgan scratched the back of his neck, offering a sheepish grin, clearly bracing for the scolding. “She outplayed us, Hotch. We tried to sneak in, but she caught us the moment she walked into the room.”

Before Hotch could dive deeper into his reprimand, you stepped forward, raising a hand to intervene with a teasing smile. “Oh, come on, Unit Chief. Don’t be too hard on them. I just embarrassed them in front of my entire class. Give them a break, would you?”

The team chuckled quietly, sensing the playful tension between you and Hotch. He looked at you, his frown softening just slightly, though he kept his stern tone. “I hope this bravado isn’t something I’ll have to address again.”

You met his gaze, a playful challenge in your eyes as you raised an eyebrow. “It’s always a pleasure keeping up with your humor, Hotch.”

For a split second, the corner of Hotch's mouth twitched as if fighting back a smile, but he quickly composed himself. “We’ll see about that,” he said, his voice carrying the hint of affection he couldn’t quite hide.

“Hotch, you have a lot of explaining to do,” JJ said, stepping forward with a wide smile. “I mean, Hotch has never said a word about you. It’s like you’re this mystery we’ve all been trying to solve.”

You shook your head with a playful smirk, glancing up at Hotch. “Is that so? You’ve been keeping secrets? Well, don’t be mad if I’m the one pulling surprises, then”

Hotch’s gaze flickered to his team briefly, but then his attention returned to you. His eyes softened at the sight of your playful smirk. “I should’ve known you’d find a way to keep me on my toes. You haven’t changed.”

"Neither have you," you teased, though your eyes reflected something deeper, more sincere. "Except maybe a little grayer around the edges."

Hotch let out a brief soft chuckle, running a hand through his raven hair, and for a second, you caught that familiar crease between his brows - the one that appeared when he was genuinely trying to figure out if you were serious. “Yeah, well… the job does that.”

"Oh, not just your hair," you said, your tone playfully mischievous. His expression was puzzled, and the fact that he wasn’t catching on immediately made it even sweeter to make fun of him. You leaned in slightly, narrowing your eyes as if studying him closely. Then, with the precision of a detective pointing out evidence, you motioned toward his face. "Partner, you have a white eyelash - here, left eye."

Hotch blinked, genuinely surprised. He clearly hadn’t noticed it before, and his reaction was one of almost childlike disbelief. “A white eyelash? I didn’t even know that was possible.”

You couldn’t help but laugh softly, shaking your head. "You’re getting older, partner. It happens to the best of us."

There was a moment of stunned silence in the bullpen as Hotch - stoic, serious Hotch -stood there with the faintest ghost of a smile on his lips. And then, in the most unexpected twist of events, he actually laughed, the kind of sound that was so rare it felt almost sacred. The sound of it sent a ripple through the bullpen, where agents who were usually laser-focused on their tasks couldn’t help but turn their heads in disbelief.

Garcia, who had been standing nearby, looked like she might faint. Her hands fluttered toward her heart as if she couldn’t physically take much more. “Am I hearing things?” she whispered, her voice barely above a squeak.

Morgan, standing next to Reid, leaned in, eyes wide in astonishment. “Is this actually happening?” he whispered, glancing around as if waiting for the universe to correct itself. "Did she just-"

"Yes," Reid responded before Morgan could finish, his voice full of fascination, almost as if he were observing a rare natural phenomenon. "She did."

Hotch raised an eyebrow at you, amused by how easily you’d disarmed him in front of his own team. “A white eyelash, huh? You’ve been away for six years and the first thing you do is point out my aging process?”

You grinned. “Someone has to keep you humble.”

His eyes softened as he looked at you, and for a moment, the noise of the bullpen seemed to fade into the background. “I see you haven’t lost your touch either.”

“Neither have you," you said, more seriously now. "You’re still the same Hotch I knew, grayer hair and rogue eyelashes included."

The air between you settled into something familiar and comfortable, the kind of ease that comes with a partnership that ran deeper than time or distance. The team exchanged glances, clearly picking up on the history, the quiet connection between the two of you that they hadn’t been privy to before now.

Garcia looked like she might faint, her hands fluttering toward her heart as if she couldn’t take much more. Morgan leaned in toward Reid, whispering in disbelief, “Is this actually happening?”

Reid nodded slowly, still trying to process it all. “It’s happening,” he said, his voice filled with awe. “It’s really happening.”

Prentiss couldn’t help but laugh at their reactions. “I’ve never seen anything like this. Hotch is human after all.”

Hotch shot her a mock-glare, though there was no real bite to it. He was still too caught up in the moment, the reality of your return sinking in. “Watch it, Prentiss,” he warned, though his tone was light. He glanced back at you, his eyes softening again. “It’s good to have you back.”

Your heart clenched at the warmth in his voice, and for a moment, the years of separation seemed to melt away. “It’s good to be back,” you whispered, feeling the weight of the emotion behind those words.

As you and Hotch stood side by side, the team watched in stunned silence, the banter between you two flowing so naturally, as if no time had passed at all. The bond between you and Hotch was palpable, and though the team had only just met you, they could sense that this was something rare. This was more than friendship, more than partnership, it was a connection forged through years of trust, loyalty, and something even deeper.

JJ, sensing the depth of the moment, exchanged a glance with Morgan and quietly asked, “So… what were they, really?”

Morgan, still in awe of the connection between you and Hotch, could only shrug. “I don’t know, but whatever it is… it’s real.”

Gideon, who had been watching the entire interaction with quiet satisfaction, stepped forward, his gaze flickering between you and Hotch with a knowing smile.

“Soulmates,” he said simply, the word carrying a depth of meaning that everyone felt but couldn’t quite explain.

The bullpen fell silent again, the word hanging in the air like a truth that had finally been spoken aloud.

Soulmates.

Soulmates in the way that two people could understand each other so completely, so thoroughly, that it transcended words. You and Hotch had always been that for each other: partners, confidants, the steady presence in each other’s lives no matter how far apart you were.

You looked up at Hotch, your heart full, and smiled. “I guess we never really lost each other, did we?”

Hotch’s eyes softened as he looked down at you, his hand resting lightly on your shoulder. “No,” he said quietly, the weight of the years in his voice. “We never did.”

And with that, everything felt right again.

The BAU was a family. And now, it felt like it was whole again.

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

72 notes · View notes

mehiwilldoitlater · 17 hours

Note

Okay you cannot give me possible Macaque vs the destined one without giving me some more! It wasn't enough! Loved it though. So I make m6 very first request to you.

Can I request Reader trying to identify Macaque from The Destined One?

Love your work

- Phoenixeclipse-lmkau 🩷

The blade sunked so deep in his abdomen and with such force that it not only went through but also pierced the stone behind him.

A sudden cry of pain came to him, stuck between the body weight of his opponent and the rock, and only when he tried to break free from them did he feel this burning sensation. Another scream came out of him, more powerful than before, and just when he tried to move away from the blade, the same blade turned red, with the smell of burnt flesh and hair almost making him throw up.

The Macaque just smiled, satisfied with his work. He looked at the scene, ciceling the destined one, admiring how his plan slowly was taking form. The blood from the previous attack stood out on his white mane, and his gloden eyes gleam of pure malevolent enjoyment when he saw the other simian trying again to break free, only to meet more pain.

"I chopped it down myself, I'm proud to say. Won't you think, brother?" He snarled at the last word, meeting the furious eyes of the Destined one.

How ironic to be raised both with the same intent, only to reveal the true identity of one another. And how incredibly satisfying to outdone what the first Macaque ever did.

"You...fucking ba-"

"Ah, ah, ah, I would control my words! Especially if I were in your position." He smiled, moving again the magic blade, causing another scream of agony.

"Why are you doing this?!"

"Why? It's not obvious?! To finally take what's mine! You did a good job, brother, really you did, but... well, let's just say that I need to remove you from the picture."

How could he not see it?! The fighting, those strange new abilities, his strange behavior—he was what was left of the Macaque!

But...Wukong killed him, right?! He was able to do it with Buddha's help! How was he able to come back?!

"I'll take the relics that you had gained, then find the ones that are still missing, take their power, and BOM! A new sage! ...this time me, of course!" He laughed; he must have felt so satisfied with how the situation was turning. The determined one was LIVID; he tried and tried again to get free only to feel that pain every time!

"You...won't! You can't find...the relics! Only the destined one AND the Bián huá have this ability!"

"Don't you think I wouldn't think of that?" He smiled again, looking at him, leaning against the rock. Instantly, the monkey understood what the Macaque Plan was going, and suddenly he started to struggle against the magic blade, trying to ignore the constant pain.

"NO! Don't you dare; don't you freaking dare! You won't lay a finger on her!"

"Yeah, and who's going to stop me, huh? I already take care of that old pig, and this thing here is made specifically to hold you in place."

The destined one, the One that was closer than ever before to awaken the Great Sage, was enraged because His precious Biá huá was alone and ready to be stolen. That was too good to be true!

"Aaah came on, don't take It too bad! I'm releasing you from this stress! You should thank me! ... Or you angry for something else?"

Yuán Fèn started to snarl so hard that his own teeth were cutting his cheeks from inside. His wound was getting worse for the continuous reopening from the metal and the burn. His eyes were glowing from his rage and fear of what could happen to you with the macaque.

His counterpart, on the other hand, was having the time of his life, but he had work to do...

"Don't worry, brother," he said menacingly, passing his hand in front of his face, taking the same exact look as the monkey. "She won't notice the difference."

And so he took his time, laughing on the way out, while the Destined One was screaming in rage.

///

He was surely taking his time, which was strange... Yuán Fèn never took too long for a solo scouting, especially when you both were in some desolated place like that forest.

Even Bajie hasn't returned yet. You started to get worried; they should have been back hours ago.

You were just packing your staff, ready to search for them, when the rustles of the leaves and a well-known tail calmed you down.

"Oh boy...you gave me a heart attack!"

The monkey in front of you smirked, coming down from the branch that was supporting him.

"Did I scare you? My bad..."

He leans himself on the tree, his eyes fixed at you. It was easy; he had done it countless times; the only difference was that everything Bián huá before you was completely useless. You were the real real there.

"Off, scare me! Of course! I Just...." You noticed the way that he was looking at you. It was different, from his usual way at least. "Do I...have something on my face?"

"Nah, just admiring the view."

You felt uncomfortable. You never felt uncomfortable, especially around him. Since when his eyes made you so nervous, aside from some really emotional situations? Maybe it was just you... Yeah probably!

"Sure..."

He chuckled. Were you always like this with the other monkey? Ah, it didn't surprise him that he felt hard. You were ready to be eaten...

"So! Ready to go?"

"Uh?"

"Silly One...the mission! We must go, remember?"

"But...Bajie isn't coming back. We can't just leave."

"Ah, I'm sure he's fine! Maybe he's even closer to the relic than us!"

Why did he say something like that? He and Bajie had left together; if Bajie had decided to head on, he would have said that, and why did you feel that way?

You felt something—a strange sensation. The first time you met Yuán Fèn back at the mountain, you felt like you were pulled to him; now you feel like...repulsed. You didn't feel safe...

Why were you acting in that way?

He noticed your reaction, finding you so helpless and adorable. You were so unsure... did you feel something was off? Oh gods, he hoped not; he really didn't want to get RID of such a potential one. He got closer, taking advantage of your confused state, giving you a small buffet on your cheek.

You jumped by this sudden action, gasping for the sudden move. He chuckled, putting his arm around your shoulder and literally dragging you away from the meadow.

"Came on, don't tell me that you don't trust me!"

"N-no no! I would never!"

"Then, let's go! The road is long and the day short!"

He hummed, a satisfied grin on his face, while you were fighting the urge to show him off of you and try to find Bajie by yourself. Instead, you gently lowered your head on his chest. He smiled, and his sharp nails started to scratch your head, caressing your hair.

"Don't be afraid; I'll protect you, remember?"

But you didn't care; you were listening, and something was absolutely wrong.

A few hours passed, and all this time you were obeying him, following him wherever he meant to go. You didn't know where you two were going; you didn't care what really motivated you to understand.

Around, Yuán Fèn had always shown a silly side, an easy one, but it was different from this one. He knew how to separate seriousness from sillyness, and he had always this secure aura around him that made him him. Now he was...content? No, satisfied. He never looked like this, not even after he found one relic or some will; he had shown some excitement, but that face...it was his, and yet not.

But how? You did question him from time to time, and he seemed to know everything you knew!

"You okay down there?"

He takes you back to him, looking at you from behind his shoulder. Another strange thing, since he would have never left you behind without knowing that you were all right.

"Yes...yes, I was just..." You looked around, noticing then a brownish object at the base of a tree. "...Purple Lingzhi."

"Um? come again?" He stopped, looking at you, raising an eyebrow. You gulped, pointing at the small cluster of mushrooms.

"Well, Chen Loong, ask us to find us some! Remember?"

He stayed silent, actually noticing the mushroom that was groowing a few feet away. He chukled, waving his hand like to apologize for the forgetfulness.

"Ah, my bad, my bad. I almost forgot!" He laughed, then started to pick the mushroom while you were reaching for that big fallen branch that you spotted a few feet away.

The Zodiac universe was ablesis, no enemies, an easy way to obtain medicines...and completely hidden from every kind of eye. Last time Loong Chen had lamented that if you two brought more Purple Lingzhi to him, we would just get sick, and you and the monkey just laughed, thinking of getting nausea from that mushroom. Yuán Fèn should have known that because he was there.

That was the confirmation to your suspect: that monkey wasn't your monkey.

Slowly, you approached the impostor with the branch high in the air, ready to strike, but when your makeshift weapon fell on his head, the only thing that met was his iron grip on the wooden surface, which was cracking under the pressure. Hi sighed, slowly turning around to meet your terrified gaze with his own bored one.

"Really? It was going so well." He passed a hand in his hair, scratching his fur without thinking about your struggle to free the branch. "Okay...remember that all of this...it's your own fault."

You didn't have enough time to question; the branch was ripped from your own grip and smashed on your head. Before everything became silent, you saw his brown fur turning white and two gleamy eyes burning holes in your head.

///

Once you woke up, you found yourself with your head hurting so much that you wanted to throw up. When you tried to touch your head, you found yourself incapacitated by some ropes that circled your torso and bound your wrists together. Even breathing was hard when you had a muzzle in your mouth, stopping you to scream or talk correctly.

Pinicking, you tried to move, but your injured head stinged you and forced you to stop after a few attempts. You started to panic more when you heard footsteps coming from behind the tree where you were lying.

In front of you was a monkey, you guessed, but he was different. His fur was so white that it made him look more like a ghost; his long tail moved like a snake here and there. His piercing yellow eyes looked at you more like a nuisance than a captive that could suffer from a head trauma.

"I almost thought that I killed you. Well, better for me, it would be such a bother to wait for another Bián huá!"

He laughed it off, shrugging off the idea that he could have killed you. He tried to touch your face again, but you moved aside, disgusted. He seemed bored; he sat kneeled down in front of you, opting for a more civil way to discuss. As much as tied you up after knocking you down could be referred to as civil.

"Okay, listen up," he got closer. "I want to be nice and forgive you for your stunt. There, let's start from the beginning: I'm Liu'er Mihou! I was... well technically, I'm still the Six-Eared Macaque, just...a little broken!"

Your eyes widened after this information. No, he couldn't be! He was dead! Everybody knew that! Sun Wukong had killed him! But....broken?

"Lemme guess, I should be dead, uh? Well, I was... in some way...Wukong too, right? But here we are!" He laughed again; to him, it was just a normal conversation, like talking with a guest.

"Okay, let's talk business. As I said, I'm a little broken, but I can fix myself... but I need something that you and your friend have found."

He wanted the relic...but why?! You knew that could make someone stronger, but...

Wait...they said that the Macaque and Wukong were the reflections of each other...so if the relics were supposed to bring back the great sage...what could have happened if they were used for his shadow?

The thought made you shiver, and he saw it. You were intelligent; he liked that.

"So, you connected the dots, uh? ...good! Now we can tal-AHG!"

When his hand removed the muzzle, you took your chance to bite his hand so hard to draw some blood that you spilled immediately. He massaged his hand, acting more like he was bite by some mosquito, refusing to take you seriously again... In that moment, you felt the sharp sensation of his claw scoarching your face when his hand smacked you. The pain was so hard that you almost lost your breath, and the strength made you fall on your side, only to rise again when his hand grasped your jaw so hard that you felt your skull crush under it.

"You...have some guts; I like it...but I really don't want to rip off your jaw. So... I'll give one last chance. Help me or-"

"FUCK YOU, YOU PSYCHOPATH!"

This time, his eyes were beyond the simple annoyance. He had enough, and you didn't need to walk to come with him. Like before, you didn't even see the blow; you just heard the crack and the pain of your leg, now broken in two. Your scream was immediately strung in your mouth by his hand; he was far too annoyed by your antics, and he didn't have the intention to hear your cries either.

"See? All your fault. I don't have time for this, so..." Suddnely, he grabbed you by your hair, ignoring your cries and your lament, and your broken leg contorted in a sick angle.

"STOP! Let Me Go! PLEASE, YOU'RE HURTING ME!"

"Don't you dare complain; it's all your fault, you know? And please stop screaming; no one is coming to save you."

Suddenly, a rumble emerged from the depths of the forest, alongside a pair of red eyes and a giant mass of mussels and bristles black and strong as iron. The macaque had to lose the grip on your hair to not get invested by the fury of the boar, while the animal was able to grab you by the collar and start running faster than before.

"YOU DAMN PIG!"

You looked at that scary creature, realizing that you were never happier to see him than before. The voice of the macaque keeps echoing in the door, laughing.

"RUN AS MUCH AS YOU WANT DARLING; YOU WON'T ESCAPE ME FOR LONG!"

///

You gulped the wine in huge, big gulps, most likely to let the pain finally leave your body. Breaking up your leg was a kind of pain, but putting it together was the worst! Bajie massaged your shoulder, finishing to clean up your cheek.

"Easy, easy. You'll be able to walk for now."

You took a big breath only when you felt your leg stopping hurting. The blood started to flow again, causing a huge tingling, but it was better than before at least. You were lucky that Bajie was able to come in time; you were too afraid to think of what could have happened if you stayed longer with that monster.

"There...forgive me, Y/n I...UGH! I fell for his trap! ...I let him make this to you, and...hold on, where's the kid?!"

"I-I don't... I don't know." He helped you stand up, supporting you with his rifle. "I fear... I fear he had fallen too in one of his traps!"

"Damn, we can't stay here for too long. We must go before that...thing found us again!... What happened anyway?! Why did he attack you like this?!"

"I find out about his true identity..."

"YOU DID-" He almost dropped you but caught you immediately. "How?!"

"...promise to not freak out?"

"Hard to do, I'll try..."

"I felt it... I don't know how, but I did it! ....Am I crazy?"

At first, the pig seemed shocked... then started to laugh—a soft and kind laugh.

"No! No child! I think...you're a miracle! Back in the day, me and old Wukong needed the Buddha himself to find the truth about his true identity—and you just know! AH"

He patted your back gently and kindly. Your bond was able to defeat an ancient creature like the six-eared macaque—that was new!

"Now...we must move. Let's put that connection of yours to the test to find where that impostor had hidden the destiny done!"

And so he took his beast form, allowing you to take a seat on his back. You held on to his fur, hoping to be in time.

@sun-jglim @crimsonflameproxy @everlastingmoonlightsworld @biankanoir

@miraclecherryblossomsblog @certifiedsimpinggalore @sleepingdramaqueen @cromboloni @masksandfeathers

@cinnamonroll-anon @justrandomlypassing @cute-angi @luckyangelballoon @dressycobra7

@naarra @virtualexpertanchor @phoenixeclipse-lmkau @szynkaaa @kirax-the-lazy-girl

@sleepydang @weaverworks @kishimiest @marcu-bug @thepoweroffiction

@riolu4 @angryvampire @s0rr3l @rootin-tootin-morgan @lightlumi

@cleverfeststarlight @anfie01 @tunadunanana @jeminiikrystal

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foxtrot91 · 12 hours

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brave

It’s been six months since Buck and Tommy had their first disastrous date, and it’s not a coincidence that Buck chose Micelli’s for their date tonight. The last week has been rough for them both, and Buck thinks that maybe revisiting where they started could do them both some good. It’s a reminder, if nothing else, that they weathered one storm and they can weather this one too.

It had started with an offhand comment, and before either of them knew it, it had snowballed into their first actual fight. Buck has had arguments with girlfriends before, but something about this one felt different, it felt real, like the stakes were somehow higher than they were in his previous relationships. Eventually, when it was clear that they weren’t getting anywhere, Buck had taken off and found himself at Eddie’s with a pack of beer and a bag of Eddie’s favourite Doritos.

“I just don’t get what his problem is,” Buck says, and then cracks open a bottle. “It’s like he saw the-the lease renewal papers he just – he just…”

“Just?” Eddie prompts, stuffing his face with chips. Buck decides against telling him about the crumbs and Dorito dust stuck in his moustache, figuring he’ll discover it eventually and in the meantime, Buck can quietly laugh about it without Eddie knowing. He deserves some form of entertainment after the night he’s had.

“He asked me to move in with him,” Buck grumbles before grabbing his own handful of chips just to have something to do with his hands. He ignores the way Eddie’s eyes go wide at the admission. “It was out of nowhere a-and I don’t know what to do with that, Eddie. I-I panicked and I said some things I probably shouldn’t have… and then I took off.”

“If you’re not ready to move in with him then just say that,” Eddie says, as if it was that simple. It wasn’t that simple, was the thing, and Buck doesn’t know how to articulate that to his best friend, let alone to Tommy. Buck must take too long to respond because when Eddie continues, he’s looking at Buck with a thoughtful, borderline suspicious expression. “Unless… you’re not-not ready?”

Tapping his knuckles on the wood of Eddie’s table, Buck looks everywhere but Eddie as he gathers his thoughts.

“I-I shouldn’t be ready, right? I mean, we’ve only been together for six months, that’s way too soon.”

“So, it’s not that you’re not ready, but that you think that you shouldn’t be ready?” Buck nods, feeling a little helpless as Eddie looks at him like he’s an idiot, and Buck sighs in frustration. “Okay, I don’t get it. What is this about? Because if you’re ready, and Tommy’s ready, then I’m not sure I see the what the problem is.”

“I just-it just…” Buck pauses, forcing himself to take a breath before continuing. “It came out of nowhere and it just seemed so sudden and I…”

It doesn’t matter that he can’t seem to get the words out, because Eddie has a look of understanding dawning on his face as if he’s suddenly just realized what this is about and Buck lets out a sigh of relief. He can always trust Eddie to understand what’s going on with Buck, if no one else.

“Taylor,” Eddie says, before taking a long draw from his beer.

“Taylor,” Buck repeats in agreement. When Tommy had asked if he’d like to move in, Buck had felt a sudden rush of excitement and he’d almost, almost agreed without thinking. But that excitement had quickly changed into the sharp sting of anxiety as he’d thought about how quickly he and Taylor had jumped into that milestone, and then how quickly it had all fallen apart. Standing there, looking at Tommy, he hadn’t been able to stop worrying that they had an expiration date, and that this move would be the first step towards the end just like it had been with Taylor.

“Listen,” Eddie starts, and Buck knows that tone, it’s the same tone he used when telling Buck not to give up on something before he’d even known what it was before encouraging him to call Tommy. “You and Tommy are not you and Taylor, not even close. And if you’re really not ready for that step then that’s okay, and you need to tell Tommy that. I’m sure he’d understand. But if you are, and you’re just not letting yourself because of a previous bad experience then you need to figure out how to let that go before it hurts something that could be really good for you.”

He’s right, and Buck knows he’s right. He and Tommy have been doing so well together and Buck hates to admit that there’s been this part of him all along that’s just been waiting for the other shoe to drop, for Tommy to come to the decision that maybe they’re just better off as friends. “You don’t think it’s too soon?” Buck asks quietly into his drink.

“I think that what’s too soon for some people is just right for others, and only you and Tommy get to decide what’s right for the two of you.” He’s speaking from experience, and Buck experiences a sudden pang of guilt at the reminder of Marisol and what led to Eddie blowing up his life.

Agreeing to give it some more thought, Buck decides to change the topic as a bit of sadness creeps over Eddie’s face. Without another word, Buck moves their location to the living room and puts on one of the telenovelas Eddie likes, and they both settle in for the night.

Eventually, Buck and Tommy had spoken, and had agreed to table talks of moving in together for the time being. Tommy hadn’t understood why Buck had reacted the way he had, and Buck wasn’t sure how to explain that thoughts of moving in together exhilarated and terrified him at the same time. He especially didn’t know how to explain that it’s thoughts of his ex-girlfriend that have him feeling so anxious.

But now that some distance has been put between the fight, and Buck’s had some time to think things through, he knows what he wants. And while things still weren’t quite back to normal between them, Tommy having pulled back slightly since the argument, they’re still them and Buck wants to celebrate that.

“Brings back memories,” Tommy quips once they’re settled into their table. When Buck made the reservation, he’d specifically requested this table, wanting to recreate their original date as much as possible. Hopefully with a much different ending this time.

“Yeah, uh, that’s why I chose it, actually.” Buck feels his face heat slightly at the admission as he glances up at Tommy. He hates that Tommy still looks a little guarded around him, hopes that he can erase that look with what he plans to say. “I thought maybe we could, I-I don’t know, paint over the old memories with new ones?”

That gets him a fond smile before Tommy looks down at the menu, shaking his head before he looks back up. “You’re adorable,” he says, voice soft and fond and Evan feels himself relax slightly at the glimpse of warmth there.

“You said that last time.”

“I meant it then, too.” Another smile, and Buck feels himself melt a little more.

The waiter appears then, and they put in their orders. Instead of sharing a pizza this time they order individually; Buck orders himself the gnocchi, and Tommy choosing the Chicken Parmigiana. Conversation is light as they wait for their food, Bobby is finally back in the captain’s seat which means that Buck is happy to talk about the goings on at the 118 and Tommy is always happy to listen. Tommy tells him about his last shift in turn, about the helicopter rescue of the missing hiker that could’ve gone wrong but didn’t thanks to Tommy and Lucy’s quick thinking, and for the first time since their fight, Buck feel sat peace.

This is what he wants, he thinks as their food arrives, him and Tommy. Whether they’re at a fancy restaurant or lazing about on Tommy’s couch, Tommy is where he feels content and happiest. There’s only two other people who’ve ever made him feel truly at ease and one of them is his sister, and the other is Eddie, and that he gets to count Tommy among that group fills him with so much warmth Buck thinks he could burst with it.

Only you and Tommy get to decide what’s right.

Eddie’s words come back to him as silence settles over the table while they dig into their food. He’s right, six months, twelve months, whatever, they’re all just arbitrary numbers and Buck is tired of letting his past dictate what feels right, right now. They’re nearly finished their meals when Buck sets down his fork with a soft clink, deciding it’s now or never.

“Tommy I uh, I wanted to-”

“—Wait, let… let me go first Evan,” Tommy says, cutting Buck off. “Look, last week I put you on the spot and that wasn’t right.”

“No, Tommy, I-”

Tommy raises a hand, as though silently asking Buck to let him finish and Buck’s mouth snaps closed. “It wasn’t fair to you, is what I’m trying to say, and neither was my reaction when you weren’t ready for that conversation.” He lets out a weary sigh and Buck wants nothing more than to reach across the table and pull him in for a tight hug, but he can tell Tommy has more he wants to say and thinks that maybe he wasn’t the only one who has been stewing on the events of last week. “When I saw that your lease renewal was coming up I just – I knew that I didn’t want to have to wait another year for you to move in with me. I got ahead of myself, and when you didn’t seem on board, I let myself get in my head about it, and I took it out on you and I shouldn’t have.” Tommy pauses there and takes a sip of his wine before continuing. “You’re incredible, Evan, and I think I just got so caught up in how quickly we’ve tackled every other stage of this relationship that I assumed this would be the same, but it’s okay if it’s not. I love you, and you needing more time before we consider that step doesn’t change that, okay?”

Once finished, Tommy reaches across the table to cover Buck’s hand in his own and Buck feels himself let out a long, steady breath. There’s so many different things flying through his head that he struggles to grasp onto one coherent thought. Eventually, he’s able to settle on the one that matters most, which is that he loves this man, quickly followed by the fact that he’d almost said yes that night, before he’d let his fear get the better of him.

“I didn’t renew my lease,” Buck blurts out, knowing that he should’ve started with literally anything else but that’s what came out and he can’t exactly take it back now.

“Evan,” Tommy says, eyes wide, and a memory of Tommy saying his name in that exact same tone flashes through Buck’s memory, only that time they’d been outside and Buck had gotten Tommy’s coffee order wrong.

“I um, I wanted to say yes, when you asked,” Buck starts, picking up the fork that he’d previously put down and fiddling with it as nervous energy rushes through him. “I was going to, a-and then, well, I got in my head a little too? The last person I moved in with, it um, it fell apart, and we’d moved in sort of early in the relationship and I just… I got scared.” He’s talking to his plate now, face heating as he feels Tommy’s hand squeeze over his. “I love you,” he says, turning his hand palm up underneath Tommy’s and squeezing back. “I loved her too, o-or I thought I did, at least, and it still fell apart. I just didn’t want that to happen with you.”

“Evan,” Tommy says again, slightly breathy as he looks at Buck with a warmth that Buck sometimes thinks is reserved just for him.

“But I-I realized that I can’t let that stop me from having what I want now, and what I want, Tommy, is to be with you.”

“Evan, are you sure?” Tommy asks, sounding a little disbelieving, and Buck can’t exactly blame him after the abrupt one-eighty he’s done.

“Yes, I am, i-if the offer is still on the table.” He really hopes it is because he wasn’t lying about choosing not to renew his lease. He could probably talk to the landlord if needed, they have a good relationship, and Buck is sure he’d prefer to keep things as is over having to search for a new tenant. But still, he’s really hoping he won’t need to do that.

“Of course it’s still on the table,” Tommy says emphatically, looking a little dazed.

Before Buck can answer they’re interrupted by their waiter checking in on them and offering dessert. Neither of them has to think very long about it before they’re ordering a slice of carrot cake to share. He feels giddy as they exchange excited glances over their shared cake.

“So, about my couch…” Buck says when they’re about halfway through their cake, trailing off as he lets the sentence hang there. They’d been discussing the finer points of Buck moving in with Tommy but had yet to address furniture.

“I seem to recall you making a big deal in the past about my couch being your favourite,” Tommy responds with a grin. “But-” he interrupts Buck before he can retort, holding up a hand, “as you already know, I have been working on finishing the basement. If you bring your set over, then that just means we won’t need to buy new furniture. Win-win.”

“I like the way you think,” Buck agrees. Grinning, Buck takes another bite of cake, not missing the way Tommy eyes his mouth as he slides the spoon out from between his lips.

Tommy takes a bite of his own, and then gives a mournful look to the near empty plate. “We should have ordered two slices,” he says with a mournful sigh.

Laughing, Buck pushes the plate towards Tommy, offering him the last of it. “We could always just order another to go,” he suggests. “There was an apple spice cake that sounded really good.”

Tommy seems to seriously consider it as he savours the last bite of their shared carrot cake before he shakes his head and looks up at Buck. “Mm, no, I think I’m going to be hungry for something else when we get home.”

Buck feels his breath hitch at the low tone coupled with the sudden heat of Tommy’s gaze. And well, Buck can definitely get on board with that, is always up for it the second Tommy so much as looks in his direction. But still- “Tommy Kinard? Turning down cake? It’s like I don’t even know you,” he teases, unable to help himself.

“Baby,” he says, voice husky as he leans forward over the table, “I think you’ve misunderstood. No one said anything about turning down cake. I’ve just decided I want an entirely different variety… one not offered on restaurant menus.” He gives Buck a wink before he sits back and flags down their waiter for their check and Buck… Buck thinks he’s going to have trouble walking out of this restaurant without embarrassing himself. Tommy eyes him as he pays the bill, the corner of his mouth lifting in a smug smirk as he stands from his seat. “You coming, babe?”

Not yet, he thinks, but definitely later. “I um, yeah, yes,” he says before clumsily getting out of his seat, hip knocking into the sharp corner of the table. Tommy’s laugh fills the space between them and Buck wishes he could bottle it because it’s quickly becoming his favourite sound.

As they leave the restaurant he looks over at Tommy, who’s grinning back at him and has the realization that he gets to have this. The laughter and the belonging and the bone deep love that he feels, he gets to have it, it’s his to keep if he’s brave enough to take it.

Standing next to Tommy, it’s easy to feel brave.

Link

#bucktommy #tevan #kinkley #fox writes #unbeta'd #just a quick little fic i wrote tonight #based on info we've gotten from interviews

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soaplickerrr · 2 days

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Accidentally Coincidental

CHAPTER 8 (click pictures for better quality)

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a/n: updates will be slow, i'm working on a pretty long fic on my side blog.

pairing: Idol!Kim Seungmin x Fem! CollegeStudent!Reader

genre: contemporary romance

SMAU

synopsis: Y/N, a regular college student accidentally texts Seungmin, a star in the K-pop group Stray Kids while trying to text her Ex, Soonyoung to come pick up his things, leading to an unexpected connection that blossoms into a heartfelt romance.

ignore time stamps, dates (other than the ones mentioned during texting) and typos

THERES A WRITTEN PART, DO NOT JUST SCROLL THROUGH THE PICS!!

The sun had set hours ago, casting a dim, cozy glow in your room as you sat on your bed, laptop abandoned at your side. You had tried to focus on the fact that you got your dream job, but your mind kept drifting back to your conversation with Sky. The more you talked to him, the more you found yourself drawn into this strange, thrilling connection. He was funny, thoughtful, and had this mysterious charm that made you feel like you’d known him forever, even though you had no idea who he really was.

Then, earlier today, that text, the one that had sent your heart into overdrive.

You could still see his words replaying in your head: “Idk, if you’re still willing to and I quote ‘smooch my stupid face’?” It was such a bold move, the kind of flirty banter that made your stomach do flips. But there was something deeper beneath the surface, a connection you couldn't quite put your finger on. This wasn’t just a passing conversation with some random guy online. It felt… real.

It was ridiculous, wasn’t it? To feel this much for someone you hadn’t even met in real life. You didn’t even know his real name, hadn’t even seen his face, just “Sky,” the alias he had been using since the day you accidentally texted him. You wondered if he ever thought about revealing who he really was, or if this whole anonymous thing was part of the game for him.

You leaned back against the pillows, fingers hovering over your phone screen, unsure of how to respond. Flirting didn’t come naturally to you, especially not with someone who had been a complete stranger just weeks ago. But the way he talked to you, the way he made you feel seen… it was different. And it was starting to make you question whether maybe this was something more.

You pulled your knees to your chest, typing out several responses, then deleting each one. A sigh left your lips as you glanced out the window. Was this even a good idea? Would things change if you flirted back? Would it push him away or bring him closer?

Finally, after wrestling with your nerves, you decided to throw caution to the wind. You typed, then hit send before you could second-guess yourself again.

–––

As soon as the message was sent, you felt your heartbeat quicken. There was no going back now. You had officially taken the first step into flirting territory—something you hadn’t done in what felt like forever. A part of you was terrified that he’d take it the wrong way or that it would make things awkward. But another part of you—the part that had grown fond of him—was excited to see what he’d say.

Your phone buzzed a few seconds later.

Your breath caught in your throat. Easily solved? What did he mean by that? Was he just playing along, or was there something more to this? The curiosity gnawed at you, a mix of excitement and anxiety bubbling in your chest.

You bit your lip, trying to stay calm as another message popped up.

Your fingers froze over the screen. He wanted to meet? The idea made your head spin. You had joked around with him for weeks, talking about everything from music to your career, from random life thoughts to deep late-night conversations. And now, he wanted to take it a step further—to actually meet in person.

Your mind raced with possibilities. Who was he, really? What if he was someone you knew? What if this whole thing was a mistake? But then again… what if it wasn’t? What if meeting him in real life was the next step in turning this strange, serendipitous connection into something real?

Before you could type a response, another message lit up your screen.

Your stomach did a flip as you read the words. He was teasing you again, but this time, it felt bolder. And that winking emoji? Your cheeks flushed. There was something so playfully confident about the way he texted. You couldn’t help but laugh, even as your pulse quickened with nervous energy.

You typed and sent.

The message hovered on your screen for a moment. Subtle, right? It was just enough to flirt back without going overboard. You hoped it came across as smooth, even though you were anything but calm right now.

Your phone buzzed almost immediately with his reply.

You exhaled slowly, staring at the screen. The conversation was veering into territory you hadn’t expected, but it was exhilarating. A small smile tugged at the corners of your mouth as you typed back.

There it was. The elephant in the room. You had been dancing around the mystery of his identity for weeks, but this time, it felt like the right moment to bring it up. You needed to know. How could you feel this way about someone you hadn’t even seen? There was something thrilling about the unknown, but you couldn't deny the pull of curiosity anymore.

Your phone buzzed again.

Your heart pounded in your chest. This was it—the moment you had been waiting for. Part of you wanted to scream "Yes!" but another part of you hesitated. What if knowing changed everything? What if this connection you had was better left as a beautiful mystery?

You hesitated, fingers trembling over the keyboard as you typed your next message.

Thus chapter feels a little corny..

TAGLIST - CLOSED - if your name is in pink, I couldn't tag you

@disasterousdangerousbi @akitfffr @alexateurmom @jeonginplsholdmyhand @sunarins-whore @feelikecinderella @minniesuperversee @istglevi-gotmesimping @dreamerwasfound @whiteghostt @your-favorite-pirate @pnutbutter-n-j-elyy @chuuyaobsessed @ihrtlix @onlyhyunjin @jisuperboard @dazzlingjade @sellomaybe @lixiesbrownies333 @kkamismom12 @iatemycatfreckles @puppyminnnie @imperfectlyperfectprincess1 @ayyonoona @missvanjii @jc003 @dontwannaexsist @everglowdaisies

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lefteagleblizzard · 3 days

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𝔉𝔦𝔩𝔩𝔦𝔫𝔤 𝔱𝔥𝔢 𝔳𝔬𝔦𝔡

Mike Schmidt X male reader

For this I combined both a suggestion that I received and a request from two really nice person on tumblr.

-“Reader moving in with Mike, this contains Mike bridal carrying reader”

-“If you're willing. I was wondering about a baby making one? I know medically men can't get pregnant but that doesn't stop Mike from filling him up whenever he wants. We hardly see Male Reader and their family. Maybe they're at a gathering and his family is warm and welcoming towards Mike and Abby which is a complete contrast to his aunt. Male Reader is holding a baby from one of his cousins and Mike sees this and starts to think and even fantasize what their baby would look like and it just sets him off.”

Tags: Part 6 of this miniseries of Mike Schmidt x male reader. Age-gap (5 years) between you and Mike. Male reader. He/him pronouns used towards the reader. Reader moving in with Mike. Fluff. Reader holding a baby. Smut at the end. Top Mike. Bottom reader. Reader being called “good boy”. Breeding kink. Handjob (M receiving). Anal sex. NO male pregnancy.

If you have an idea for a possible next part let me know, please. I love reading other people’s ideas and suggestions <3

Words count: 7000

Can also be found on wattpad and ao3

Part 1-part 2-part 3-part 4-part 5

The day had finally come. After everything the two of you had been through, you were moving in with Mike Schmidt. It felt surreal, and your heart raced at the thought of starting this new chapter together.

You stand at the doorstep of Mike's house, a series of boxes piled up around you, some heavy with your belongings, others light but carrying significant memories.

Mike stands next to you, hands stuffed into his pockets as he shifts his weight slightly, his gaze flicking toward you every few moments. He's always been quiet, never the type to rush into anything without thinking it through, and now is no different.

His posture might seem relaxed, but you know him well enough by now to see the subtle signs of his own nerves: the slight furrow in his brow, the way his lips press into a thin line, and the tension that hums through his body like a drawn bowstring.

"You ready for this?" he asks after a long moment, his voice low, almost cautious, as if he's unsure whether you'll change your mind.

You hesitate for a fraction of a second, but then you nod, giving him a small smile. "Yeah. I am."

But there's a tremor in your voice that betrays your nerves.

Mike picks up on your hesitation, and for a brief moment, he looks concerned. His hand reaches out and gently rests on your shoulder, his thumb brushing against your skin in a reassuring gesture. "Hey," he murmurs softly, "we don't have to do this if you're not sure. You don't have to rush into anything."

You shake your head, quickly dismissing the thought. "No, I want this, Mike. I want to be here... with you."

Mike's gaze softens, the hint of a smile tugging at the corner of his lips. There's a vulnerability in his eyes that makes your heart ache. A part of him that's afraid you might still change your mind, that you'll decide this life with him is too complicated.

The weight of the decision you made pressed down a little harder than you had expected.

A life with Mike, with Abby, with all the struggles and responsibilities that come with it.

"It's just... new, I guess. Feels different now" you admitted, trying to shrug it off.

Before you can say anything else, Mike steps closer, wrapping his arms around you and lifting you effortlessly off the ground. You yelp in surprise, your arms instinctively wrapping around his neck as he pulls you against his chest.

Though his previous jobs were short-lived, they left him with a physique that spoke volumes.

"Mike!" you protest, though there's no real objection in your voice. Your heart pounds in your chest, not just from the surprise of being lifted but from the way he's holding you, cradling you as if you're something precious.

He chuckles softly, his breath warm against your ear. "What? You're moving in with me. Gotta make it memorable, right?" He looks down at you, his expression playful but tender.

"Mike, you're going to destroy your back doing this," you laugh, playfully pushing against his chest. "I still need you fully intact, you know?"

He grins down at you, his eyes tired but full of that familiar teasing light. "Oh, is that so?" His voice is laced with amusement, and he shifts his grip on you, making sure you're comfortable in his arms.

"Yeah," you nod, biting back another laugh. "Who's going to deal with all the paperwork for Abby? I don't think I'm qualified."

Mike chuckles, glancing briefly toward the door before meeting your eyes again. "Well, good thing you're already taking care of me, huh?" His voice drops into a playful tone, his gaze warm yet sharp with affection.

The front door creaks open as Mike pushes it with his foot, stepping inside with you still in his arms.

You've been here so many times, but now the context is different.

Now, it's your space too.

The house smells like it always does. Coffee, faint traces of Abby's art supplies, and something distinctly Mike.

"I thought I'd show you around the place. You know, just in case you've forgotten where everything is."

You couldn't help but laugh, shaking your head at his ridiculousness. "I think I can remember, thanks."

"Too late," he replied, carrying you through the front hallway. "This tour is mandatory."

He walked slowly, allowing you to enjoy the feeling of being held so close, the feeling of his chest rising and falling steadily beneath you.

"So, this is where we'll spend most of our time when Abby's not commanding our attention," he said, his voice rich with amusement. "TV, couch... you know, in case you forgot.

"I didn't forget," you said, rolling your eyes, but a smile tugged at your lips.

He carried you past the kitchen. "And here's where you'll be the head chef."

"Head chef? Me?" You raised an eyebrow. "Pretty sure you're the one who does most of the cooking."

"Guess that's my way of saying I expect a few dinners from you every now and then."

The tour continued, with Mike stopping by random objects to remind you of things you didn't need reminding of. He was clearly enjoying himself.

As Mike carried you towards Abby's room, you could hear the soft hum of a pencil scratching against paper. He paused at the door, glancing down at you. "Ready to say hi?"

You nodded, feeling your heart swell as he opened the door. Inside, Abby sat at her little desk, surrounded by her favorite crayons and paper, deeply engrossed in one of her many creative projects.

When she noticed you both, she glanced up and froze for a moment, her eyes wide in mock horror. She quickly put down her crayon and scrunched up her nose.

"Ew!" she exclaimed, giggling. "Why are you carrying him like that, Mike?"

"Because he's moving in, and I'm giving him the royal treatment," Mike said, grinning.

Abby dramatically rolled her eyes, though the grin on her face betrayed her. "Gross," she teased, but you could see the amusement in her eyes, happy to see her brother smiling. "Are you gonna carry him everywhere now?"

"Maybe," Mike replied. "Depends on how much he likes it."

Abby went back to her drawing, still muttering playful disgust under her breath. "I don't get why grown-ups have to be so weird," she said, shaking her head like she was far wiser than her age.

Mike carried you effortlessly down the hallway, until he stopped at the familiar doorway that led to his bedroom—your bedroom now. His grip on you tightened just a bit, the playful smile never leaving his face as he nudged the door open with his foot.

Mike took a slow, exaggerated step into the room, still carrying you, his voice low and teasing. "And here we are... your new bedroom," he said, his grin widening as he glanced down at you. "What do you think? Fancy enough for you?"

You couldn't help but laugh softly, your head resting against his chest as you took in the space. It wasn't grand or overly elaborate, but it was Mike's room, the place you'd shared countless quiet moments together, and now it was yours too.

"Not too shabby." you teased back, though your heart swelled at the thought of this being your shared space.

Mike's lips quivered in a small, knowing smile, and he glanced toward the bed, his gaze lingering there for just a moment before returning to meet yours. He finally settled you down on your feet, but his hands lingered on your waist, keeping you close.

"Now that you're living here," he said, his voice low, almost a murmur, "there's a lot more we can do... together."

The way he said it sent a shiver down your spine. There was no mistaking the hint in his voice. You swallowed, feeling the flush of warmth creeping up your neck, but Mike didn't stop there.

He shifted closer, his body pressing lightly against yours, his hand sliding up from your waist to rest against your lower back, pulling you just a little closer, enough to feel the solid warmth of him. "Like..." he continued, his voice dropping an octave as he tilted his head slightly, "all those nights where you had to go back to your dorm. We won't have to do that anymore."

His thumb rubbed slow, teasing circles against your back, his breath warm against your cheek as he leaned in closer. "You'll be here, with me. In our bed. Every night."

The way he said it wasn't just about comfort, it was laced with desire, with a promise of something more.

"And that means," he continued, his lips brushing lightly against your ear now, "there's no reason to rush things anymore, is there?" His tone was teasing, but there was a clear, intimate edge to it. "No more sneaking around, trying to find time between your classes and Abby's naps. We can take our time... really take our time."

You shuddered slightly at his words, feeling your breath hitch in your throat as he pressed his body even closer to yours, the warmth of him wrapping around you.

Mike smirked, clearly noticing the effect he was having on you. "We'll have the whole night to ourselves," he murmured, his voice dropping even lower, rougher.

His fingers trailing along your spine, leaving a tingling sensation in their wake as they made their way up to your neck, cupping the back of your head. He leaned in closer, his lips ghosting over the sensitive skin of your neck, sending a jolt of heat through you. "I could take my time with you. No rushing... just you and me.”

"But if it's too much for you," he said, pulling back just slightly so he could meet your eyes, a teasing glint in his gaze, "I could sleep on the couch."

You rolled your eyes, trying to shake off the heat that was pooling in your stomach.

"Mike," you started, trying to sound exasperated, but your voice came out softer than you intended.

His grin widened, clearly pleased with your reaction. "I'm serious," he said, his tone light. "If you're not ready to share the bed, I could crash on the couch. No big deal."

You laughed softly, remembering the last time he had fallen asleep on the couch while waiting for you to visit with his mouth wide open, completely knocked out.

"You probably wouldn't mind it," you teased, your cheeks still warm from his earlier words. "Considering how peaceful you looked the last time I found you there"

His face turned a slight shade of pink, and he groaned, rubbing the back of his neck. "Oh, God, you remember that?"

You laughed, nodding. "Yeah, I remember. I didn't have the heart to wake you up... until Abby started laughing and pointing at you."

He let out a chuckle, shaking his head at the memory. "She still teases me about that."

You grinned, leaning into him a little more. "I'm just saying, you seemed pretty comfortable."

He chuckled, his hands slipping down to rest on your hips again, pulling you flush against him. "Maybe," he said, his voice low, "but I'd much rather be comfortable here." He glanced toward the bed again, his meaning unmistakable. "With you."

Your heart skipped a beat, and the room suddenly felt smaller, more intimate. There was no more sneaking around, no more stolen moments. This was real, and it was yours.

The weight of your decision settling comfortably in your chest. Mike gives you a quick peck on the lips before the two of you start to haul the remaining boxes inside.

The evening light filters dimly through the thin curtains in Mike's room as you continue to unpack your last things, methodically folding your clothes and placing them in neat piles.

The scent of Mike's cologne lingers in the air. Every drawer you open, every corner you claim for your belongings feels like a small step toward the life you're building together.

As you place a few small keepsakes on the windowsill, trying to find just the right spot for each one, something outside catches your ear.

At first, it's just a low murmur, the sound of voices carried on the breeze, but then the tone shifts, and suddenly the voices grow louder. You pause, your hand hovering over the sill, curiosity getting the best of you.

An argument between two people

The words are indistinct at first, but there's no mistaking the sharp edges in the voices.

Before you even think about it, you find yourself crouching by the window, gently pulling the edge of the curtain aside just enough to peek through. The sliver of space allows you a glimpse of the scene outside.

Two neighbors, standing in their driveway, are engaged in what looks like a full-on shouting match. One of them, a man, is gesturing wildly, his hands flailing in the air as he yells something you can't quite make out.

The other, a woman, stands with her arms crossed, her posture rigid, and you can practically feel the tension between them, even from inside the house.

You bite your lip, trying to stifle the laugh bubbling up inside you.

This is better than reality TV.

You lean in a little closer, your breath catching as you strain to hear what they're saying.

The woman's voice comes through, shrill and unmistakably furious.

You can barely suppress the grin spreading across your face as you watch the man throw his hands up in exasperation, his voice rising to match hers.

He fires back with the same tone of the woman, telling her that he’s busy with work to deal with her constant complaining.

You snicker quietly, shaking your head in disbelief. You hunch down even lower, trying to keep yourself hidden while also desperately wanting to see how this all plays out.

The woman doesn't back down. She takes a step toward the man, her face red with anger as she yells back at him.

It's like they don't care who's listening, and you're absolutely living for it.

You didn't expect to get neighborhood gossip on your first day living here, but this? This is better than anything you could've imagined.

Her voice cuts through the evening air again, sharper than before, complaining about how he didn’t care about this family.

This poor guy, you think to yourself, imagining the years of pent-up frustration between these two. You can't help but feel a little bad for the man.

Just as you're about to settle in for more, something behind you shifts, a faint sound that barely registers.

But you're too engrossed in the scene outside to pay it any attention.

Standing in the doorway, Mike freezes for a moment, his eyes drawn to you. More specifically, his gaze locks onto your body, hunched down and perfectly arched as you peer through the small gap in the curtains. The way you're crouching, your hips tilted back, your jeans hugging every curve perfectly.

Damn. The sight of you like this is doing things to him. His eyes linger for a second longer than they should, taking in every detail.

He takes a few quiet steps forward until he is behind you, moving carefully to avoid making any noise.

Just as you're leaning in for more, your face practically pressed against the glass, you hear a soft creak behind you.

The curtains are yanked wide open instantly. Blinding light floods the room, and in a split second, your cover is completely blown.

Startled, you let out a yelp and immediately drop to the floor, sprawling out with a thud as you scramble to hide yourself.

"Mike!" you hiss, half-laughing and half-panicking as you clutch at the floor, trying to make yourself as invisible as possible. You can feel your face burning with embarrassment, but the ridiculousness of the situation only makes you laugh harder.

"What the hell?"

Mike's laughter fills the room, rich and amused as he stands over you. "You're unbelievable," he says, shaking his head, his voice filled with teasing affection. "Spying on the neighbors already? You've barely been here an hour."

You push yourself up slightly, still on the floor, and glare at him through your laughter. "I wasn't spying!" you protest, though the grin on your face makes it impossible to take yourself seriously. "It's not my fault they're having a full-on soap opera out there"

"I don't know what you were more focused on, what was happening outside or the fact that you were putting on a hell of a show for me." he says, his voice teasing as he raises an eyebrow

You blink, momentarily caught off guard by his words. "What are you-" But then it hits you, and your face flushes an even deeper shade of red. "Oh my God, Mike!" you exclaim, your embarrassment mixing with laughter as you finally push yourself up from the floor.

"Hey, I'm just saying. You were in a very... interesting position there."

You shake your head, still grinning as you playfully shove him in the chest. "You're terrible.”

"Am I?" Mike grins back, not the least bit apologetic. "You're the one spying on the neighbors."

"I wasn't spying!" you say again, though you can't help but smile at how ridiculous the whole thing is, taking a seat on the bed as you tried to control your laughter. "It’s like... catching up. I need to know what's going on. Gotta stay informed now that I live here again"

Mike chuckles and shakes his head, dropping down to sit next to you on the bed. "Well, if you're gonna live here, you'll definitely get to know the neighbors. Just maybe not like that."

You rest your head against his shoulder, feeling the warmth of his body against yours as the two of you fall together on his bed—now your bed—and lay there, staring at the poster about Nebraska that he had.

"I think I'm going to like it here."

Mike presses a kiss to your forehead at hearing this.

The afternoon sun hung low in the sky, casting a warm, golden light over the yard as you stood by the garbage bins, carefully arranging the last of the empty cardboard boxes.

You wiped a bit of sweat from your forehead, feeling the heat from the long day of activity weighing on you. Moving in had been more exhausting than you expected, especially with all the little details like fitting things into their places, deciding what should stay and what could be packed away for later.

Behind you, Mike was bringing out the last of the boxes, his sleeves rolled up and his hair slightly disheveled from the day's work. You didn't notice him at first, too busy focusing on fitting the flattened boxes together to make room in the bin.

But Mike noticed you, how you looked, standing there with your shirt clinging to your back, sweat running in small rivulets down your neck. He couldn't help but steal a few glances, his eyes drawn to the way the muscles in your arms flexed as you worked, the way your hair stuck messily to your forehead.

You looked good. More than good, really, and he felt that familiar warmth stir in his chest.

You were still focused on arranging the boxes, trying to make sure they fit just right. "I swear these things multiply," you muttered under your breath, unaware that Mike had been watching you for the past few moments.

He stepped closer, his gaze flicking from the pile of boxes to the sheen of sweat on your skin, unable to stop himself from appreciating how effortlessly attractive you looked.

"You need a hand with that?" he asked, his tone low and casual.

You turned your head slightly, offering him a small grin. "Yeah, if you're done staring”

He chuckled, stepping closer until he was right behind you. "Can't help it," he murmured, the warmth of his breath brushing against your ear. "You're kinda distracting like this."

You laughed softly, shaking your head as you finished the task at hand. "Just trying to make sure we don't drown in empty boxes."

Mike took that as his moment. His arms wrapped around your waist, pulling you gently against his chest. He buried his face in the crook of your neck, his lips pressing soft kisses to your damp skin.

You laughed softly, the feeling of his scruffy chin against your neck tickling you.

"Mike," you chuckled, tilting your head to the side to give him better access. "I'm all sweaty."

"Don't care," he murmured between kisses, his voice low and slightly rough.

You leaned back into him, letting his arms tighten around your waist. You could feel the warmth of his breath on your skin, and it made your heart race in the best way. Turning around in his grip, you wrapped your arms around his neck, gazing at him with a teasing smile.

"You're making it hard to finish," you said in a half-hearted protest. He kissed the side of your neck, soft and lingering, his stubble tickling your skin in the best way as you tilted your head to give him more access.

Mike chuckled, his lips brushing against your cheek as he kissed his way up to the corner of your jaw. "You've worked hard enough for one day," he said, his voice low and affectionate. "Let me distract you a little."

Your fingers idly playing with the hair at the nape of his neck, "I was thinking of heading over to say hi to my parents real quick. They know I moved in today, and I figured I should check in."

Mike's expression shifted, a mix of curiosity and interest. "You want company?" he asked, his tone genuine, like he didn't want to seem disinterested in your personal life. "I mean, it could be a good chance for Abby to meet some new people."

You blinked in surprise, not expecting the offer but appreciating it all the same. It was a thoughtful gesture, one that made you realize how much Mike cared about making this work. Not just between the two of you, but for Abby as well.

You smiled brightly and nodded.

"Yeah," you said, your voice soft but filled with excitement. "Yeah, I'd love that. I think they'd love to meet you both."

A small, affectionate smile tugged at the corner of Mike's lips as he pulled you a little closer, his forehead resting gently against yours. "Let's go, then," he said.

The drive to your parents' house was short, and before you knew it, you were pulling into the familiar driveway, Abby chattering excitedly in the back seat about meeting new friends. You smiled at her enthusiasm, glancing over at Mike as he parked the car, his expression relaxed but with a hint of nerves that only you could really see.

As you stepped out of the car, the familiar scent of home hit you. You hadn't been home in a little while, and the sight of your parents' house and the distant sound of kids running and having fun brought back a flood of memories

"Ready?" you asked, glancing over at Mike as he unbuckled Abby from her car seat.

He gave you a small, reassuring smile. "Yeah. Let's do this."

As you walked up the driveway with Abby skipping excitedly beside you, the front door opened to reveal your parents standing on the porch, their faces lit up with wide smiles.

Your mom was the first to rush forward, pulling you into a warm hug and exclaiming how great you looked.

You laughed, feeling a little flustered but happy to be there, and mentioned that you had just moved in today with Mike’s help.

Mike, who had been standing a few steps behind, smiled and nodded as your parents turned their attention to him. Your dad extended a hand, which Mike shook warmly, acknowledging that they had heard a lot about him.

Mike responded with a smile, his hand resting lightly on Abby’s shoulder

Your mom’s eyes softened as she glanced down at Abby, crouching slightly to be on her level. She gently introduced herself to Abby, who grinned shyly and hid behind Mike’s leg for a moment before peeking out to say a small but happy greeting. She reached out her hand, inviting everyone inside and mentioning that there were some snacks waiting.

Abby's eyes lit up, and she nodded eagerly, following your mom into the house, Mike and your dad exchanging small talk as they trailed behind.

You felt a sense of warmth flood your chest.

This was good.

This was the kind of welcome you'd hoped for.

Your parents' warmth and acceptance made you feel relieved, and you could see Mike visibly relax as they welcomed him and Abby with open arms.

Inside, the sounds of laughter and conversations from your relatives floated through the air as you made your way into the living room while you hugged all of them one by one.

You found yourself with Mike and your parents soon, the conversation flowing easily as they asked about your move and how things were going between the two of you.

Things went downhill, however, when they started to give advice for your relationship based on their own experiences.

You grimaced, already feeling the heat rising to your face. "Dad, come on," you mumbled, glancing sideways at Mike, who looked slightly amused but remained silent, one arm around your waist and the other hand tucked into his pocket.

But your father continued, undeterred by your embarrassment. Living together is a big step, and it was important for them that you communicate, keep each other in mind and, of course, take care of each other.

You rolled your eyes, trying to hide your discomfort, but it was no use. You could already feel your face heating up as the conversation took a turn for the worse.

The last thing you expected, to your horror, was your father leaning in closer, as if sharing some grand secret. He reminded you, with an air of solemnity, that even though pregnancy wasn’t a concern, protection was still something to think about. The embarrassment washed over you, making you wish the ground would swallow you whole.

"Dad!" you groaned, feeling a wave of mortification wash over you. You buried your face in Mike’s neck, not daring to look at your parents at that moment.

Mike's body shook with laughter beside you, the deep rumble of his chuckles making your face burn even hotter.

He wasn't helping, not in the slightest.

His arm around your waist tightened, pulling you closer, while his other hand stayed casually tucked in his pocket. You could feel his chest vibrating as he laughed, clearly entertained by your parents' well-meaning but mortifying advice.

"Hey, they're just looking out for you," Mike teased, his voice filled with amusement as he tilted his head slightly to brush his lips against your temple. "Can't fault them for that." you could still hear the quiet laughter in his voice as he spoke.

You groaned again as Mike's words only seemed to encourage your parents. "Mike," you muttered, your voice barely above a whisper, "you're not supposed to encourage them."

Your parents, oblivious to your discomfort, or maybe just enjoying it a little too much, laughed along with Mike.

It was clear that your family adored Mike, and the warmth of the moment settled deep in your chest, filling you with a sense of comfort.

The conversation eventually shifted to other topics, but the lingering embarrassment stayed with you for a while. Mike kept his arm around you the entire time, occasionally squeezing your waist or brushing his fingers against your side in a subtle show of comfort.

Later, you wandered over to where Abby was. She was bonding with the other kids while one of your cousins, who was sitting on the couch with her baby in her arms, was keeping an eye on them. She smiled at you when she saw you coming, a tired but happy expression on her face.

"Hey," she said, "do you mind holding him for a minute while I make something to eat for him?"

You blinked, surprised but happy to oblige. "Sure, I'd love to."

As she handed the baby over to you, you felt the warm weight of his little body in your arms. He was tiny, soft, and so incredibly fragile-looking, with big, wide eyes that sparkled with curiosity.

You instinctively began to sway back and forth, cradling him close. The soft sounds of his little gurgles made you smile, and you couldn’t help but marvel at how perfect he was. His skin was so smooth and his hair, though sparse, was as soft as down feathers.

“Hey there,” you cooed softly, your voice barely above a whisper as you ran your thumb gently over his chubby cheek.

He turned his head towards your touch, his big eyes locking onto yours with intensity.

The baby cooed softly, his little mouth forming an 'O' shape as he gurgled in delight. His chubby cheeks were slightly flushed, and his toothless grin made your heart swell with warmth. You couldn't resist running your thumb across his round face, gently tracing the soft skin of his cheek, marveling at how perfect he was. His little nose scrunched up in response to your touch, and he let out a tiny giggle, his toothless smile growing even wider.

"Hey, little guy," you whispered, your voice soft as you bounced him slightly in your arms. The baby responded with another gurgle, his fingers clenching and unclenching as he latched onto your shirt with surprising strength for someone so small. His eyes, bright and full of wonder, locked onto yours, and you couldn't help but feel a connection.

You rocked him gently, cradling him closer to your chest, and as you did, he let out a contented sigh, nestling into the crook of your arm as though he had found the safest place in the world. His small, soft fingers wrapped around one of yours.

The warmth of his tiny body against yours made you feel protective.

You continued to sway, humming a soft tune that seemed to calm him even more. His eyelids grew heavy, and you watched as he fought to keep them open, his curiosity battling with the need for sleep.

“You’re so adorable,” you whispered, leaning down to press a gentle kiss on his forehead.

Across the room, Mike watched you with a kind of quiet intensity, his attention fully on you. The sight of you holding the baby, the way you cradled him so carefully, the soft expression on your face...

It hit something deep inside him.

Mike's heart thudded heavily in his chest, and before he could stop himself, his mind began to wander. He pictures you holding your baby—his baby. The thought sends a wave of emotion crashing through him, and he can't help but let his mind run wild.

What would your child together look like? Would they have your eyes? His dark hair? He pictured it so clearly: you, standing in your shared home, holding a child that was the perfect blend of both of you. Maybe with your eyes and his smile, or your laugh and his nose. He swallows hard, the fantasy setting him off in a way he hadn't expected.

You remain blissfully unaware, still cuddling the baby, gently bouncing him as he giggles in your arms. But Mike can't look away. He's utterly captivated by the sight of you, by the thought of what could be. He's head over heels for you, and in this moment, watching you hold that baby, he knows without a doubt that he wants to share a future with you.

The thought of you being filled with his baby, of sharing that kind of deep, intimate connection, lingers in his mind. The impossibility of it makes the longing more potent. And even though it can't happen, it doesn't stop the primal instinct inside him from craving that kind of closeness with you.

He imagines being with you, pressing himself against you, of filling you up until you were full of him, of having that closeness over and over again.

Those nights where he held you tight, feeling the warmth of your body beneath him, knowing that you're his. There's a primal satisfaction in the act itself, in knowing that you want it just as much as he does.

Mike swallowed hard, trying to rein in the wave of desire that washed over him.

Later, when your cousin returned to take the baby, Mike found his way over to you, slipping an arm around your waist as he pulled you close. His touch was warm, possessive, and there was something in the way he held you that made you look at him, curious.

You leaned into him without a second thought, resting your head against his shoulder.

"You good?" you asked, glancing up at him with a small, curious smile as you noticed the slight tension in his body.

Mike met your gaze and he smiled, a slow, affectionate smile that made your heart skip a beat.

"Yeah," he said quietly, his voice rougher than usual. "Just... thinking."

The rest of the evening passed in a blur, but Mike never strayed far from you, his hand always resting on your lower back, his touch more possessive than usual. And though you didn't fully understand what was going on in his head, you were just glad to have him here with you.

The drive home had been quiet, peaceful even, with Abby fast asleep in the backseat, exhausted from the day. You and Mike didn't need to fill the silence with words; the weight of everything that had happened at your family's gathering hung comfortably between you, a shared understanding of how significant the day had been.

When you got back to Mike's house, Abby barely stirred as Mike carried her upstairs to bed, whispering soft reassurances as he tucked her in. You watched from the doorway, feeling the tightness in your chest. The good kind, the kind that only swelled when you saw how gently Mike cared for his sister.

By the time Mike came back downstairs, the tiredness from the day had settled into your bones, the heat of it still lingering on your skin. "I'm going to take a quick shower before bed," you said, running a hand through your hair. "Still feeling a bit gross from earlier."

Mike smiled, his eyes warm and soft as he brushed his hand lightly against your back. "Go ahead," he said, his voice low and affectionate.

The door clicked softly behind you as you stepped into the bathroom, the sound of the water starting to run filling the space around you. The warm spray of the shower enveloped you almost immediately, steam rising quickly, soothing the ache in your muscles from the long day.

You closed your eyes, letting the water cascade over you, washing away the exhaustion, leaving behind only a sense of deep contentment.

Your mind wandered back to the gathering, the easy laughter of your family, the warmth of the day, and how Mike had fit so perfectly into all of it. The memory of him standing beside you, holding you close as your parents offered their well-meaning advice, made you smile. You could still feel the pressure of his arm around your waist, the reassuring squeeze he'd given you as he'd chuckled at your embarrassment.

You hadn't expected it to feel so natural, but it had. Being with Mike, living with him, sharing these moments together, it was everything you hadn't known you'd needed.

The water did wonders for your tired muscles. Your skin still feels tender and fresh as the droplets trail down your back, and a light mist still hangs in the bathroom air.

Wrapping a towel securely around your waist, you glance down at your bare feet as you mentally kick yourself for forgetting to grab clothes. You check Abby's door, finding it firmly closed, and silently thank your lucky stars before you sneak into Mike's room.

You had expected to find Mike waiting for you, but the room is quiet, dim, and still. You shuffle quietly, hoping not to disturb Abby or alert Mike that you're padding around in nothing but a towel. Your mind is already preoccupied with finding your clothes, wondering where you stuffed them after the chaos of moving in.

You drop to your knees, carefully shifting through a half-unpacked box, fingers grazing over familiar fabric, but nothing quite what you're looking for.

You don't hear Mike step into the room behind you and before you know it, his hands reach out and grips your shoulders. He pulls you back gently, catching you off-guard as he hauls you from your crouched position to your feet, your back meeting his chest.

"You know," Mike murmurs into your ear, his breath brushing against your neck, "I'm starting to think this is going to be a thing. Every time I walk into a room, I find you bent down, doing something."

You laugh softly, your heart fluttering at the feeling of his hands on you, but you don't pull away. "I was just looking for something to wear," you reply, leaning back to rest against him. "You'd be amazed how great it feels to finally take a shower without a line of impatient people waiting outside the door."

Mike hums in response, his grip on your waist tightening slightly, his thumb brushing lazily over the towel where it's wrapped around you. "Yeah? Sounds like you're really settling in."

You nod, smiling to yourself. "Yeah, Feels nice to have some space that's just ours."

Mike's chest swells with warmth at your words. For so long, Mike has been stuck in survival mode. Working hard to care for Abby, fighting his aunt, dealing with everything that life throws at him.

But now, here you are, someone who's not just a temporary fixture but a permanent part of his world. Someone who's making this house feel like a home.

"Next time you take a shower," he murmurs, his voice soft but suggestive, "maybe I'll join you... you know, to save on water bills."

You roll your eyes, laughing softly, but there's a flutter of excitement beneath your breath. You know what he means, the playful tone in his voice impossible to miss. "Very responsible of you," you say, turning in his grip so that you're facing him now, your hands resting lightly against his chest.

Mike smirks, his gaze dipping down to the towel still clinging loosely around your hips. "You need help finding something to wear?" he teases, though his eyes are filled with something darker, something more primal.

You blush slightly under his gaze, but you play along, your fingers idly tracing patterns on his chest. "Actually, yeah," you say, your voice soft and playful. "Do you have any idea where I put my comfortable clothes?"

Mike shrugs, his grin widening. "I dunno... but I'm not complaining if you don't find them."

You turn to face him fully, your cheeks heating up at his words. "Oh really?" you ask, trying to match his playful tone. "You'd be okay with that?"

Your heart races in your chest as you bite your lip, your fingers tugging at the knot holding your towel in place. Mike's eyes follow the movement, and when the towel falls away, pooling at your feet, you hear him let out a quiet, surprised laugh, the sound filled with admiration and a hint of disbelief.

His hands immediately finding your bare skin, tracing the familiar lines of your body as if he's memorizing you all over again. His fingers are gentle but firm and, at first, everything was innocent enough.

Just the two of you staring at each others in a loving gaze. Quiet conversations about the day, the warmth of his body against your skin.

Mike's hands moved casually at first.

He started off slow, his hands sliding over your back, his fingers grazing the lines of your muscles. His hands became more deliberate, more confident, as they moved down your sides, feeling the heat of your skin under his fingertips.

His lips graze the side of your neck, leaving a trail of warmth in their wake, and you can feel the heat of his body pressed against yours.

You steady yourself against the cold wall, the surface cool beneath your hands, while his lips continue their path along your neck, pressing soft, lingering kisses against the sensitive skin.

His hand moves almost unconsciously, tracing the line of your waist before resting against your bare skin. His thumb moves in slow, lazy circles, the motion intimate but unhurried. He leans down slightly, his lips brushing against your ear.

"You look so good like this," he murmured, his voice low and rough, filled with a quiet intensity. "My sweet boy..."

The words sent a surge of heat through your body, and you couldn't hold back the soft moan that escaped your lips. You leaned into him, your head resting against his shoulder as his hands explored your body, tracing slow, deliberate lines down your chest and stomach. The sensation was overwhelming, and you felt yourself growing harder under his touch.

His hands eventually drifted lower, and you gasped softly as he wrapped one hand around your growing erection. He stroked you slowly at first, his grip firm, his breath hot against your neck. Each stroke sent waves of pleasure through your body, your legs threatening to give out under the intensity of it all.

"Mike..." you gasped, your voice trembling as his pace quickened slightly

He loves seeing you like this, completely undone by his touch, by the connection between you.

You're perfect. You're everything he never thought he'd have, everything he didn't even realize he wanted until now. And as he strokes you, bringing you closer and closer to the edge, all he can think about is how much he wants to thank you for being here, for being his.

The kiss that follows is soft at first, innocent. Just the two of you sharing the warmth of each other's presence.

His need for you is growing with every passing second. His tongue slips into your mouth, teasing and exploring.

He's still fully clothed, the hardness in his jeans rubbing against your bare skin. His hands squeeze your ass, pulling you closer as he grinds his hips against you, a grunt rumbling from the back of his throat. The tiredness from the long day adds a roughness to his movements.

His thoughts, though, are anything but tired. They're racing, filled with images of you from earlier today, holding that baby in your arms, cradling him so gently, so perfectly. He can't stop thinking about it, about how natural you looked, how soft and loving you were.

The image of you with his child has been stuck in his mind all day, and he can't shake it. The thought of leaving a part of himself inside you has been driving him wild ever since.

His hands slid deeper, his fingers brushing against your entrance, making you shudder in response. He teased you, his breath hot against your ear as he pressed a little harder, pushing just enough to make you gasp and buck against him. "You want this, don't you?" he whispered, his voice low and full of need. "Tell me you want me."

You could only manage a shaky nod, your breath catching in your throat as his fingers moved in slow, torturous circles.

Then, he turned you around so that you were facing him.

His lips crashed into yours with a hunger that left you dizzy, his hands gripping your butt with enough force to leave marks.

The kiss was desperate, full of raw need and passion, and you could feel the tension in his body as he pressed himself against you. His fingers dug into your skin as he deepened the kiss, his tongue exploring your mouth and you found yourself melting into him, your hands tangling in his hair as you pulled him closer.

He pulls you to the bed, unable to wait any longer. He doesn't even bother undressing, too desperate to feel you, to be inside you

Mike's breathing grows heavier, his lips grazing your ear as he whispers something low and unintelligible. His hands slide lower still, resting on your thighs before he gently urges you to widen your stance. You comply without hesitation, knowing exactly where this is going, and the anticipation coils tighter inside you, your heart pounding in your chest.

His fingers slip between your legs, moving slowly at first, easing you into the sensation. Each stroke is careful, deliberate, as if he's savoring every second, drawing out the pleasure with practiced ease.

You took a right hold of the sheets to brace yourself as his fingers work deeper, prepping you with a slow, steady rhythm. His other hand slides up your back, caressing your skin as he presses closer, his breath warm against your neck as he leans in.

Mike's fingers move with increasing confidence, the steady pressure and rhythm sending jolts of pleasure through your entire body as his fingers stretch and prepare you, ensuring you're ready for what's to come.

He took his time, making sure you were comfortable, that you were ready, before he added a second finger, then a third, each one stretching you further.

You could feel every nerve in your body alight with pleasure.

His lips move to your neck, kissing and biting softly as he preps you with care. His mind is a whirlwind of thoughts. He pictures you in his bed every night, in his arms every morning.

"Mike," you whisper, your voice breathless, filled with need. "Please...I want to feel you now."

Mike let out a low, approving growl, clearly pleased by your words. The sight of you, flushed and wanting, drives him wild, and he can't hold back any longer.

His hands fly quickly to unzip his jeans and free himself, the head of his length nudging at your entrance. His hands grip your hips tightly, holding you steady as he pushes forward, sinking into you inch by inch. The sensation is overwhelming, your body stretching to accommodate him as he fills you completely. The pressure is intense, but there's a delicious heat that spreads through you, making you gasp as he bottoms out inside you.

Mike groans softly, his forehead resting against the back of your neck as he stills for a moment, letting you adjust to the feeling of him. His mind flooded with thoughts of how perfect this is, how perfect you are.

Slowly, Mike begins to move, his thrusts deep and steady, each one sending waves of pleasure through your body. You can feel the tension coiling tight in your core, your body responding to him with an urgency that makes your mind go blank. All you can focus on is the sensation of him moving inside you, the way his hands hold you, the way his breath sounds as he presses himself deeper into you.

As he began to pick up the pace, his thrusts becoming more urgent, more desperate.

His breath came in ragged gasps as he buried himself inside you, again and again, each movement sending waves of pleasure crashing through you. His lips found yours once more, kissing you hungrily as his pace quickened, the desperation in his movements unmistakable.

You moaned into his mouth, the sound muffled by the intensity of the kiss, your body arching into his as the pleasure built to an almost unbearable level.

His hands slid up your sides, his fingers digging into your skin as he pushed deeper, his body moving with a rhythm that left you breathless.

The sound of skin against skin fills the room, mingling with your quiet gasps and his low groans. The heat is unbearable now, the need to claim you overwhelming every other thought in his mind.

And then, finally, he feels it. The tension snapping, the pleasure cresting as he reaches his release. His hands grip your hips tightly as he thrusts into you one last time, burying himself deep inside you as he spills himself into you, the sensation making his whole body tremble.

As the pleasure slowly ebbs away, Mike's grip on you softens, his breath still coming in heavy pants as he pulls you back against him. He presses soft kisses on your collarbone, his hands tracing gentle patterns on your skin as he holds you close.

You're his partner, his home, his future.

Note: If you liked this story please leave a comment, I love reading them <3.

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