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amhrosina · 2 years ago

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Be My Baby

Summary: Frank takes you on a weekend trip to his cabin after you have a rough week at work. Your first stop? The enormous bathtub with enough room for soooo many activities.

Pairing: Frank Castle x fem!Reader Word Count: 2.8k

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a/n: hello! i'm back! my personal life is still a wreck but i missed writing for frank. this is probably the most self indulgent fic i've ever written lol it is quite literally the most ooey-gooey romantic plot before the softest smut imaginable. what can i say? i'm a hoe for soft frank. enjoy & thank you to the nonnie that requested something similar to this!

warnings: softest smut imaginable, fluff to the max, 'i'm an asshole to everyone except you' trope, a teensy little bit of crybaby reader if you squint, frank would burn the world for reader, reader is sOoOoO in love with frank (who isn't??), they're both a little wrapped up in each other's world and don't give a shit about what's happening outside of them type of vibes, pet names, etc.

From what you had seen, Frank’s cabin was cozy and warm, but since your arrival half an hour ago, you’d only had the luxury of soaking in the tub while Frank took care of unloading the car. He’d insisted on doing it alone, claiming his girl shouldn’t have to lift a finger for anything, and honestly after the week you’d had, you were temporarily glad he was as stubborn as a mule. You were sure that sentiment would fade the next time you were feeling bratty, but for now, you tried your best to relax and forget what an awful week it had been at work.

The heat of the bath water sent a wave of goosebumps down your spine, enticing a low groan from your lips. Sinking further into the water, you realized just how big the tub was. It stretched at least six feet across and was almost deep enough to stand, clearly a custom made feature of the cabin. You supposed Frank probably needs the room, being as large a man as he is. Still, it felt like you were in a luxurious hot tub, rather than a regular bathtub.

“There’s a button to turn on the jets if you want ‘em.”

Frank’s gentle voice carried across the bathroom, startling you from your relaxed state. You hadn’t even heard him come in. You turned, eyeing his powerful figure as he made his way toward you and sat on the edge of the tub. It was easy to get lost in the way he moved, and you tried your best to not stare at the muscles straining against the black longsleeve he was wearing.

“You okay?” He asked, reaching out to softly run his knuckles along the curve of your damp cheek. He was always gentle with you, but the desire to take care of you was even more present in his eyes than usual. It really had been a shitty week.

“This place is amazing.” You said in awe, turning your face away to hide your grin. His hand, already knowing what you were trying to do, softly gripped your jaw and turned it back to face him.

“You barely saw the place.” He chuckled.

“Whose fault is that?” You raised an eyebrow at him and sat up, fully exposing your bare chest to him. His eyes briefly flicked down to your nipples, hardening as the cool air touched them, before returning his gaze upwards. “Get in. There’s plenty of room for both of us.”

He nodded and stood, but began walking in the opposite direction of the bath. You furrowed your brow, watching him tug his shirt off and throw it on the counter. When he saw your expression, he grinned.

“Hang on. I brought something for you.”

“What do you mean?” You called after him, but he was already moving again.

He disappeared through the doorway, generating even more confusion, before returning with an assembly of things tucked under his arms. You watched as he worked his way around the room, placing various objects here and there until finally he flicked off the lights and turned to face you again.

The room was now aglow with flickering candle light, coating Frank’s looming figure in a warm haze. He’d gone for mostly unscented, knowing how strong smells could give you headaches, but had left in a few lavender candles because he knew how much it relaxed you. He also managed to sneak an entire bottle of champagne into the car without you noticing, of which he was pouring into two flutes. You blinked back tears as he handed you your glass, unable to express how warm your chest felt at the effort he was putting in to make you feel better.

“Frank.” You murmured, smiling bashfully, “This is the nicest thing anyone’s ever done for me.”

“‘s what you deserve.” He shrugged, stepping out of the rest of his clothes.

He sank into the tub next to you, tugging your body against his in a swift motion. He sat with his back against the edge, allowing you to easily settle your knees on either side of his thighs, facing him in the dim room. You sat just a little taller than him at this angle - chest pressed against his warm skin, arms resting on his broad shoulders - and God, he looked divine. The drive had taken a few hours, just long enough for the stubble to return to his cheeks after this morning’s shave, giving him a rugged look that you thought was just so handsome. You were unable to resist the temptation of running your nails over it in a soft scratch, eliciting a groan from deep in Frank’s chest. The rumble reverberated through your chest as you pressed yourself fully against him, seeking more of his affection. He tugged your head down onto his shoulder and began running his fingers along the base of your neck in a soothing pattern.

“You never answered my question earlier.” He murmured, resting his jaw against your head. “You okay, sweet girl?”

You sighed, sucking your bottom lip between your teeth for a moment as you mulled over your feelings. You were a sensitive soul to begin with, and your boss had been on edge all morning when he finally snapped at you for something you had no control over, which ultimately had you tearing up for the rest of the day. When you’d walked through the door crying, Frank’s eyes flashed violently between anger at your boss and sympathy for you. The sympathy had won, and now you were in a beautiful cabin in upstate New York, wrapped in his strong arms. Still, you weren’t sure how you were going to deal with your boss’ temper when you returned to work on Monday.

“I don’t know,” you finally replied, shrugging, “Can you ask me again later?”

You felt his cheeks widen into a small grin. He nodded, pressing a kiss to your temple.

“Don’t think I won’t.” He teased, calling you on your avoidant tendencies before you could even notice them yourself.

“How long have you had this place?” You wondered, nuzzling into his heated skin.

“I bought it a few months after Maria and the kids.” He said softly, almost whispering when he had to relay his wife’s name aloud. “Thought maybe I was done with the city. Change can be good, ya’ know?”

“But you came back.” You lifted your head from his shoulder so you could look him in the eyes.

“But I came back.” He parroted, nodding. “And then I met you.”

“And you stayed.” You finished for him.

“Of course I stayed. Couldn’t leave you behind, sweet girl. ‘ve been sweet on you since the day I met you.”

This was true. From the moment you’d met, he’d been nothing but gentle and kind toward you. You had no idea, of course, that this type of behavior was incredibly far away from Frank Castle’s usual attitude until you’d met Matt Murdock, who was so shocked at Frank’s subdued personality and general softness around you that Frank had to physically close Matt’s gaping jaw for him.

“But you never sold the place?” You questioned.

“I figured we might need somewhere to run away to every once in a while. Are you mad that I didn’t tell you about it before today? I wanted it to be a surprise.”

For a moment, he looked genuinely worried that he might’ve upset you.

“How could I be mad when I’m sitting in this enormous tub, surrounded by candles and champagne, pressed up against the man of my dreams?”

He smiled then, and you could tell it was a genuine smile because of the way his cheeks dimpled at the corner of his laugh lines. It was an award winning smile, you thought. You gently set the empty champagne glasses on the edge of the tub before cupping his cheeks in your hands.

“My Frankie,” you mumbled, running your thumbs across his cheekbones, “What would I do without you?”

You really hadn’t meant to say that out loud, but every time you looked at him, you felt yourself being pulled closer and closer to him. His compassion and kindness toward you, even after everything he’d been through, was something you couldn’t avoid leaning into. All your life you’d been taking care of others, and finally, here was someone begging to take care of you.

“You don’t have to worry about that, okay? ’m here to stay.” He mumbled, bringing the pads of your fingertips to his lips for individual, soft kisses. “I love you, and ‘m gonna take care of you forever.”

Tears welled in your eyes as an overwhelming rush of emotion passed over you. In your arms was a man that should’ve been bitter and angry at the world around him. He had earned the right to become spiteful and hardened, and no one could fault him for that. And yet - and yet - in your arms was a man that loved you with his entire being. Who understood you at your core, saw the dark parts of you, and loved those parts even more. Who was soft for no one but you. Who you loved, too.

A tear slid down your cheek as you kissed him, long and slow and sensual because you wanted nothing more than to wrap yourself around him and never let go. He smiled into the kiss, cradling your head with his beautiful, calloused hands. It wasn’t enough. You needed his gentle touch everywhere. Pressing yourself against him, you felt yourself sliding along his achingly hard cock, raising the already warm temperature in the room to searing. Heat pulsed between your legs, begging to be touched.

“My pretty girl,” he mumbled against your lips, kissing the corner of your mouth before following the curve of your jawline to your neck, “My pretty, sensitive girl.”

The praise made your head swim. You rocked your hips again, sliding along his length until you were hovering directly over him, waiting for the go ahead to sink down. He grunted, pressing open mouthed kisses up your throat before coaxing your hips lower and lower. You gasped when he finally pushed into you, and Frank took the opportunity to lick the inside of your gaping mouth as he did so. You shuttered against him, wanting everything he had to offer and more.

“P-please, Frankie.” You murmured, arching your back as he bucked his hips upwards.

“Please what, sweetheart?” He breathed, wrapping one of his enormous hands around the back of your head, forcing you to look down at him as you rode him. His other arm was wrapped around your torso, tugging your hips forward and back to stimulate your clit against the base of his cock. It was such an erotic way to be held that you couldn’t stop the tears from flowing down your cheeks. He leaned his head against your forehead and kissed the tears that made their way down your flushed skin. “Tell me, sweet girl.”

“I l-love you.” You purred, stuttering as he made his way down your body, kissing everywhere he could reach. When he got to your pebbled nipples, you sucked in a sharp breath. He knew exactly how to get you off, and he was staring right at them.

“I love you too, pretty girl.” He grinned and pressed a chaste kiss to each of your nipples, eliciting a pornographic moan from deep in your chest.

He continued to push and pull your hips in a steady rhythm, grinding your clit against his pelvis as you bounced up and down his length. Slowly, in a teasing manner that had a new wave of fresh, needy tears streaming down your cheeks, he leaned forward and circled his tongue around the sensitive nub. You whined with impatience as he pulled away, only to offer the same kitten lick to your other breast. You knew he would take care of you like he always did, but his teasing was making your entire body tremble with anticipation.

“I know, I know,” he cooed, kissing the valley between your breasts, “‘t’s okay, baby. Be patient. I’ll take care of you.”

You nodded, squeezing your eyes shut as you let out a mewl. You felt the hand Frank had been using to hold your head steady loosen its grip, and suddenly, he was softly wiping the tears away from under your eyes with his thumbs.

“You’re doing so good for me, bunny.” He murmured, and you very nearly came at the pet name he loved to praise you with. “‘m gonna make you feel real good, okay?”

“Please,” you begged, digging your fingers into his shoulders, “Need you.”

That was all it took for Frank to finally snap. In one swift motion, he wrapped his lips around your breast and began to run his tongue across your sensitive nipple. His hand traveled from cradling your cheek to rubbing small, sloppy circles around your pulsing clit. You keened, overcome with so much pleasure that you felt your entire body trembling against Frank’s.

The bathroom was big enough for your soft moans to echo, and other than the sloshing of the bath water, that was the sound Frank heard as you came apart on top of him. Your head was spinning as the heat in your gut finally found its release, uncoiling in waves of overwhelming pleasure that sent you reeling.

“That’s it,” he breathed, “Just like that, pretty girl. You’re so good for me, baby.”

His fingers hadn’t stopped circling your clit. You were quickly growing overstimulated and conflicted, wanting nothing more than to keep riding him while also needing to get away from his dexterous and sinful fingers. He watched you for a moment, in awe - the way your lips parted every time a moan slipped out of your mouth, the heaving of your chest as your heart rate tried and failed to return to normal, the intense trembling of your limbs every time he circled your clit. He wasn’t worthy. He knew that. He didn’t care. He’d take care of you for as long as you’d let him, and he’d enjoy every second of it.

“F-Frankie,” you stuttered in between heaving breaths, “I can’t- I’m- It’s sensitive.”

“Shh, sh, sh, sh, I know, baby. I know,” he cooed, pressing soft kisses to your collarbone and up your neck, “Can you give me one more, bunny? Be good and give me one more.”

You shuttered against him, resting your forehead against his and breathing out a sultry whine. He continued his onslaught of kisses along your jawline, following the upward curve of your chin until his lips were on yours again. His agile tongue swept into your mouth mid-moan, sending heat into your already molten core.

“Wanna feel you come around me again, baby.” He groaned and tightened his hold around your torso, sweeping his tongue along your bottom lip before capturing your mouth in his again.

He had brought you to the brink again already. You squeezed around him, earning a rare groan from Frank. The usually stoic and quiet man let out another sinful moan when you arched your back and squeezed again. He was as close as you were to the edge, and God, the tension was palpable.

Finally, in a moment of pure bliss, he nipped at your bottom lip and let out a soft, barely there whimper, which sent you careening off the edge and into oblivion. You could feel yourself clenching around him as you came, but your head had been sent straight to a euphoric haze. Your heart thundered in your chest as Frank wrapped his arms around your torso and held you tight against his chest, coming inside your sensitive, throbbing pussy.

You’d both worked yourselves into a haze, high off each other’s touch. The comedown was gentle and warm - soft caresses of each other’s skin, chaste kisses pressed to collarbones and fingertips, thundering heartbeats slowing in unison. The bath water was surprisingly still warm, and you couldn’t help but nuzzle into Frank’s chest with languorous, droopy eyes.

“You okay?” He asked, running his fingers up the length of your spine.

You nodded into his chest, sighing. “I’m perfect.”

“‘m glad.” He responded, kissing your forehead lightly. “‘m sorry you had such a rough week.”

“I’m not.” You giggled, glancing around at the luxurious bathtub you were in. “This place is like a dream.”

He held you tighter against him, resting his chin on your head before responding.

“You don’t know the half of it, pretty girl.”

Tag List:

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mosswiind · 2 months ago

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neve gallus isn't actually a mean lady

Heavy spoilers ahead, tread carefully if you do not want to see spoilers for Dragon Age: The Veilguard, specifically related to Neve Gallus and Lucanis Dellamorte.

Neve Gallus isn’t actually a mean lady.

Since the release of the game, it has become clear that most people have chosen to save Treviso, under the logic that there is no army or meaningful defense against a dragon. This is a fair decision. What is unfair is choosing Treviso because “Minrathous should be able to defend itself against a dragon.”

The dragon attack was never the main event with Minrathous.

It was always a Venatori takeover. This isn’t even metagaming, this is literally text presented when Neve and Lucanis are making their cases for their respective cities.

If you save Minrathous, Treviso is blighted. The Crows lose a number of key people. The market is a field hospital full of civilians with the blight. The fallout is awful. There are many, many casualties on your conscience.

If you save Treviso, Minrathous does not fall. The city is not top-down blighted. Infrastructure still functions in some places.

However, the Shadow Dragons are demolished, the sitting Archon is killed, and the well-established large Venatori presence results in hundreds of literally visible civilian corpses. There are cartloads of bodies on every corner. There are gallows erected in every neighbourhood. The number of slaver cages grows exponentially. The Viper, one of the primary symbols of hope in Dock Town, is blighted.

There is blood everywhere. Blood that is on your hands for making the choice to save Treviso.

The point of this decision is that there is no good or obvious option. Both options are devastating, especially for the companions impacted, who are both hometown heroes. Both are understandably very upset that the team they are a part of prioritized the other.

Most people choose to save Treviso. Most people have only seen Neve upset.

Neve is, understandably, a very guarded person. She has been a solo private investigator for most of her career. She lives alone in her little Dock Town apartment. She has contacts, sure, and some friends, but due to her line of work, connections are a liability that cannot go deeper than professionalism without putting people in harm’s way.

She has always, and will always, put Dock Town first, a priority that does not change based on Rook’s relationship to her. She does this because the Templar order, the Magisterium, and infrastructure of Minrathous have made it abundantly clear that they do not care about her impoverished hometown, or any of the people in it.

She is upset with you because you followed the same logical flow chart as all of the other people who should have helped.

I would be fucked up about it, too.

And after all of that, Neve is still open to repairing the relationship and tentatively exploring a romance with Rook.

Lucanis, on the other hand, is gregarious, charming, funny, and while he is a wildly different character to Zevran, for many people he seems to scratch a similar itch - a hot Antivan man who wants to hang out with you. He has strong feelings about making sure everyone is fed and cared for. He is a supportive friend. He looks out for the other members of the team. He is an objectively good man, and makes it obvious, especially if you already dig his vibe.

But, and this is a huge but, in the wake of a Minrathous prioritization, Lucanis disappears for the same amount of time.

His return is triggered by the same quest.

His comments about not being chosen are the same amount of venomous and sad.

He believes he is unable to count on Rook and the team until a similar point in the story. The second he arrives back in the Lighthouse, it becomes clear that he is no longer open to even considering a romance with Rook.

Neve feels like she is the only person looking out for the Minrathous underclasses, because based on the text, that is almost true. There are the Shadows (her affiliates), and the Threads (her contacts), and one Templar who isn’t in the Shadows (shoutout to Templar Rana). It is made clear by the text.

If you choose to support the poor and enslaved population of Dock Town, Neve still has to do damage control, just like Lucanis does. She checks in with unhoused civilians and provides instructions for those who are unsafe to connect with the Shadows.

A Neve who is not hardened by Rook’s calls is kind, sweet. She goes on a mission to track down the unpublished sequel to Bellara’s favourite serial. She then successfully tracks it down, and delivers it, complete with the author’s artistic renderings of several characters. She helps Taash with their gender identity, supporting them and providing them with other safe people to talk to about it. She and Davrin make plans to set up shop together, to solve more problems. She is brusque but professional about Emmrich’s necromancy, but also gives Manfred a nickname. She regularly gets chastised by Davrin for giving Assan too many treats.

She’s self-proclaimedly not a lover of animals besides cats, but if you pet a cat while on her personal quests, she approves. She also explains that she probably would love animals more, but if they’re “larger than a cat, they’re probably demonic.”

If romanced, Neve expresses genuine fear that Rook will get hurt. She is concerned for her heart, but not because she doesn’t love Rook. She is not afraid that Rook will leave her. She is afraid that proximity to her will get Rook killed.

Neve is, contrary to apparently popular belief, a nice fucking lady.

All of this is to say that there is an obvious, glaring difference between Neve and Lucanis, and I don’t know if you can play spot-the-difference between them, but Neve is a brown woman, and Lucanis is a white/white-adjacent man. It probably isn’t conscious on most peoples’ parts, but the Dragon Age fandom has a long history of deprioritizing women, especially women of colour, in their cast lineups. Off the top of my head, see Vivienne, Isabela, and Josephine.

I have seen Neve called a bitch, a whiner, a baby, an asshole, for being justifiably upset that her city is in the exact state she told y’all it would be, in favour of “the obvious choice,” Treviso.

The response from the community has been “but obviously Minrathous could defend against a dragon.”

Yes! You’re right! It can! As I said earlier! But not quickly or effectively enough to prevent any public emergency level confusion that can be taken advantage of! Which was literally always the point!

You can pick Treviso for whatever reason you like. Being a Crow, loving Teia and Viago, loving the Venice vacation vibe, wanting the cuntiest casual clothing, preferring Lucanis. I don’t actually care what you do.

But please, please, please, shut the entire fuck up about Neve being the only complainer in the party.

She’s just doing what she’s always done. She’s the hero Dock Town has, will always have, and the hero Dock Town deserves.

#veilguard #datv #datv spoilers #neve gallus #neve gallus is a nice lady actually #dragon age lucanis #lucanis dellamorte #dragon age neve #mossthoughts

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kiwriteswords · 18 days ago

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Could we see reader who hasn’t really dated or is very inexperienced begin to date Hotch? Maybe non bay? I loved sweet beginnings and how trader was so taken back by hotchs romance. I want more of that vibes please!

Touch Me Like Nobody Else Does [Aaron Hotchner x Female Reader]

Masterlist || Ao3||Word Count: 12k|| AN: I really REALLY enjoyed writing this--so much, that I completely blew off my lunch break today to write this and stayed up until 3 am last night, lol.

Tags/Warnings: mdni, nsfw, fade-to-black smut, inexperienced reader, slow burn, meet cute, shy reader, non bau reader, age gap of 20 years, reader is shorter than Hotch, fluff, smut, reassuring Hotch, praising Hotch, Hotch calls reader "sweetheart", Jack is in this story, mentions of Haley's passing, confident but inexperienced reader, chivalry isn't dead.

Summary: In a serendipitous series of encounters at a local grocery store, you, inexperienced in dating, find yourself drawn into a deepening relationship with Aaron Hotchner, a man whose past shadows his present. As your connection evolves from chance meetings to a profound bond, you must navigate the complexities of his world while also dealing with your own inexperience.

Every Wednesday--schedule permitting, Aaron Hotchner frequented the same grocery store in his quiet neighborhood. The ritual, embedded in the monotony of his demanding job, brought him a semblance of normalcy. He could stroll through each aisle and shut his brain off while just focusing on the list of items he needed to pick up for him and Jack.

But on this particular Wednesday, the routine was altered by a serendipitous collision.

As Hotch reached for his usual brand of coffee on the top shelf, a gentle bump startled him. Turning, he saw you—standing with a look of mild embarrassment, your hand frozen in mid-air, inches from his coffee choice.

“I’m so sorry, I didn’t see you there,” you said, cheeks coloring slightly.

“It’s alright,” Hotch replied, a small, unexpected smile crossing his features. “Seems we have the same taste in coffee.”

You laughed, a sound that seemed to linger pleasantly in the air between the aisles. “I guess so. It’s the best one, isn’t it?”

He nodded, handing you the can you’d both reached for. “It is. You have good taste.”

“Thank you,” you murmured, taking the coffee with a shy smile.

The encounter, brief as it was, left a lingering impression on Hotch as he watched you navigate away with your shopping cart. There was something distinctly intriguing about the way your eyes sparkled with unspoken thoughts.

The following week, the grocery store’s fluorescent lights once again cast their glow on another chance meeting. Hotch found you in the cereal aisle this time, your fingers brushing over the boxes as if each held a story you wished to uncover.

“You again,” he noted, his tone carrying a hint of amusement. He reached for a colorful box of what was probably all sugar, per Jack’s request.

You glanced up, surprise flickering across your face before it settled into a warm, inviting smile. “Seems like fate has a sense of humor,” you joked.

“Or a very specific shopping schedule,” Hotch countered, stepping closer to help you retrieve a box of granola from a high shelf.

“Thanks,” you said, your gaze lingering on his for a moment longer than necessary. “I guess I’m still figuring out the best times to avoid the crowds.”

“If it helps, Wednesday evenings seem to work well,” he shared, his voice softening.

“Maybe I’ll take that as a professional tip,” you replied, a playful edge to your words.

As weeks turned into a month, these accidental meetings transformed into a series of eagerly anticipated encounters. Each conversation revealed layers to your character—your earnestness and a latent curiosity that matched his own.

The profiler in him also noted your shopping cart. The basket filled with a variety of foods, a treat or two thrown in there as well. It mirrored his own choices.

One chilly evening, as autumn leaves painted the ground in hues of fire and gold, Aaron Hotchner spotted you outside the grocery store, struggling with a few too many bags. His steps were measured as he approached, a gentle offering in his voice. “Let me help you with those,” he suggested, his hands reaching out to ease the burden from your arms.

“Oh, you don’t have to, but thank you,” you replied, your voice a mix of gratitude and relief. Your fingers brushed against his, a subtle spark hidden in the fleeting touch.

As he walked you to your car, the crisp air seemed to thicken with unspoken words hanging between you. Hotch wasn’t a believer in fate, but he did feel there was a reason beyone his knowledge he kept running into you and it intrigued him.

You fumbled slightly with the keys, a nervous energy emanating from your gestures. Hotch noticed the way your hands shook just a little, the way your breath caught as you tried to focus on anything but the intensity of the moment.

He set the bags down next to your car, his gaze softening. "You seem a bit flustered," he observed quietly, trying to read your expression under the pale glow of the streetlights.

You chuckled, smoothing a stray lock of hair behind your ear. "I guess I'm just not used to running into someone as often as I run into you here," you admitted, your eyes meeting his with a playful challenge.

“There’s something about fate, isn’t there?” Hotch mused, a smile tugging at the corners of his mouth. “It seems to have its own ideas about who we should meet.”

Your laughter mingled with the evening air, a sound that seemed to linger pleasantly. “Maybe it does. And maybe I’m starting to think it might be right.”

He took a moment to look at you, really look at you, noticing the way the light danced in your eyes. He was normally not this forward, but he realized by your trembling hands and overall nervousness, he would need to make the first move, if he read his cards right.

"Would you like to meet for coffee sometime? Away from these chance encounters and somewhere we can talk without a shopping list?"

The suggestion seemed to brighten your expression even more. "I'd like that," you said, your voice carrying a hint of excitement. "It’d be nice to talk without wondering if I forgot to pick up milk."

As he watched you drive away that night after exchanging information, the warmth of your smile lingering in his mind, Aaron Hotchner felt an undeniable spark—a connection that, while unexpected, promised new beginnings. In the quiet solace of his car, he allowed himself a moment to savor the unexpected joy of this burgeoning connection, looking forward to the conversation that would unfold over coffee, under less fluorescent lights.

The first coffee date unfolded on a Saturday morning, the cafe a cozy alcove tucked between the bustling streets of their neighborhood. Hotch arrived early, his demeanor calm yet expectant, as he secured a corner table that offered both privacy and a view of the autumn-stripped trees outside.

When you arrived, there was a hesitant grace in your steps, a visible pause as you spotted him, and a smile that slowly overtook your initial reserve. You looked genuinely happy to see him, your eyes lighting up in a way that spoke of both nerves and excitement.

“Hi, Aaron,” you greeted, your voice carrying a melody of anticipation, as you took the seat opposite him.

“Hello,” he responded, observing the way you neatly arranged your coat and purse beside you, movements precise and considered. It genuinely piqued his interest how you could be so confident, so put together--while also seemingly so nervous and unsure.

As the conversation began to weave between the hum of other patrons and the clink of coffee cups, Hotch noticed the careful way you chose your words, as if each one were being weighed for its worth. You asked thoughtful questions, genuinely interested in his answers, but often diverted the conversation from yourself when it veered too close to personal.

Throughout the conversation, Hotch learned about your career in marketing at a bustling agency downtown. The passion you exhibited when discussing your projects was contagious, and he found himself intrigued by the enthusiasm that lit up your eyes. It wasn’t just small talk; it was a glimpse into your world, which was vibrant and full of ambition.

Though he couldn’t avoid noting the age difference between you two—nearly two decades—it didn't seem to phase you in the slightest. Your ease and confidence in engaging with him bridged any gap that the years might have imposed. For Hotch, trained to observe and analyze, the lack of concern you showed about the age difference only deepened his interest. You were refreshingly unconcerned with numbers, focused instead on the substance of your interactions.

This approach resonated with him. Despite the initial reservations he might have had, Hotch found that the more he learned about you, the more the age gap seemed inconsequential. Your curiosity about his life, your shared laughter over coffee, and the way your eyes met his with an unflinching openness—all these elements wove together into a compelling tapestry that made the numbers fade into the background.

In you, Hotch saw not the years that separated you but the possibilities that lay ahead. This unexpected connection, fueled by mutual interest and undeniable chemistry, was too significant to be overshadowed by mere numbers.

When he complimented you on your dress, a simple yet elegant choice that complemented the season, your cheeks tinged with a soft blush. “Thank you, I wasn’t sure if it was too much,” you admitted, tucking a strand of hair behind your ear—a gesture he was coming to recognize as a sign of your uncertainty.

“It’s perfect,” he assured you, his voice steady and reassuring. He noted then how your smile seemed to linger longer, a little more confident.

Coffee gave way to a walk through the nearby park, where the ground was a landscape of gold and red leaves. You walked slightly apart, respecting a mutual but unspoken boundary of personal space. Hotch observed the way your hands occasionally brushed against yours when your steps would sync for a moment, before you subtly pulled away, as if unsure of the contact.

“You know,” he started, breaking a comfortable silence, “it’s okay to just be yourself around me. You don’t have to be perfect.”

You glanced at him, a flicker of surprise in your expression. “I guess I’m just not used to this… to someone noticing,” you confessed, your voice a whisper against the crisp air.

“There’s a first time for everything,” Hotch said softly, offering a gentle smile that seemed to ease some of your tension. “And I’m glad I get to be a part of this with you.”

As leaves crunched underfoot, you gradually moved closer to him, your previous hesitation melting into a quiet comfort. Hotch welcomed the change, sensing the trust you were beginning to place in him.

It was during these simple moments—your laughter at his anecdotes from the BAU, your attentive silence when he spoke of his son, Jack—that Hotch realized the depth of your inexperience was matched only by your sincerity. And in this burgeoning connection, he found an unexpected kinship—a shared understanding that sometimes, the heart finds what it seeks in the most unanticipated encounters.

Over the next several weeks, the initial threads of attraction wove into a tapestry rich with shared moments and quiet discoveries. Each date that followed seemed to gently peel back a layer of your mutual reserve, revealing more of the profound connection that neither of you could deny.

On a cool evening, Hotch took you to a quaint Italian restaurant known for its secluded ambiance. He noticed how your eyes widened slightly at the sight of the candlelit table, the soft music in the background creating a perfect setting for intimate conversation. You seemed momentarily awestruck, a reaction he found endearing and telling of your inexperience with such deliberately romantic settings.

“You look beautiful tonight,” Hotch commented as he pulled out your chair, a gesture that made you pause with a soft 'thank you,' your voice barely above a whisper.

Throughout the evening, he was acutely aware of the careful way you placed your napkin on your lap, the glances at the array of silverware, and how you delicately navigated the menu suggestions he offered. It was these little nuances—your hesitant acceptance of his hand across the table, the way your smile slowly spread when he toasted to "new experiences"—that told him how new this all was to you.

On another crisp evening, as you walked together under the starlit sky, a conversation unfolded—a delicate dance of appreciation and hesitance. Hotch had noticed your lingering glances at the bouquet of flowers he’d brought you, a mix of admiration and something akin to concern.

“You really don’t have to keep doing this,” you began, breaking the comfortable silence between you. “The flowers, the dinners... it’s all so much.”

Hotch stopped walking, turning to face you under the glow of a street lamp. His expression was serious yet gentle. “But I want to,” he assured you. “It’s how I show I care. It’s not about obligation—it’s about expressing what I feel, in the way I know best.”

You looked up at him, the soft light casting shadows that played across your features, deepening the earnestness in your eyes. “It’s just... I’m not used to this. No one has ever...” Your voice trailed off, not from uncertainty but from the uncharted emotional territory you were navigating.

He stepped closer, his presence reassuring. “I know it’s new to you,” he said softly. “And that’s okay. But allow me to do these things for you. Not because you need them, but because I need to show you how much you mean to me. It’s not just about romance—it’s about respect, about cherishing the person you are.”

There was a moment of silence as you absorbed his words, the night air filled with the distant sound of the city. “I’m afraid I might get too used to it,” you admitted, a small smile breaking through your initial reservations.

“That’s the plan,” Hotch replied with a soft chuckle, his eyes crinkling at the corners in a genuine smile. “To get you used to being treated the way you deserve.”

You nodded slowly, leaning into him slightly, the barrier of unfamiliarity crumbling just a bit more. “Okay, Aaron. I... I trust you,” you said, your voice a whisper of surrender to the new experiences he was gently guiding you through.

Hotch’s response was a simple nod, his arm wrapping around your shoulders as you resumed walking. The city around you faded into a backdrop, a mere stage for a connection that was slowly, but surely, deepening with each shared moment and each tender gesture.

Each date was a step further into the uncharted waters of your burgeoning relationship. Hotch, being a man of tradition, felt a deep-seated desire to revive the art of classic courtship. He sent you flowers before each date, not merely as a gesture but as a symbol—a recognition of the budding something special between you. He took note of your favorite foods, your preferred genres of movies, and even the way you liked your coffee, memorizing the details like lines of an important case.

During an evening that carried the crisp edge of early winter, Aaron Hotchner and you found yourselves meandering through the quiet halls of a local art exhibit. The soft lighting and the hushed voices around you created an intimate atmosphere, echoing the growing closeness between the two of you. As you leaned lightly against his arm, your fingers brushing his, Hotch could sense your growing comfort. Yet, there remained a delicate trace of uncertainty in your gestures, a subtle reminder of your inexperience in navigating the tender dynamics of romantic intimacy.

As you paused before a particularly striking painting, your gaze absorbed in the colors and forms, Hotch watched you with a mixture of admiration and burgeoning affection. You shared your thoughts on the artwork—insightful yet tinged with shyness—that revealed a depth and sensitivity he found increasingly compelling.

"It’s beautiful," you murmured, "the way the artist uses light to express emotion. It’s almost like... like you can feel the warmth of the sun just by looking at it."

"Yes, it does," Hotch agreed, his voice low, his proximity closing in the space between you. "Art has a way of reaching into our souls, doesn't it? Drawing out things we sometimes struggle to express."

You turned towards him, your eyes meeting his, holding a spark that neither the art nor the soft gallery lights could rival. "I think that's why I like it here so much," you confessed. "It feels safe to feel things deeply."

The vulnerability in your admission, coupled with the earnest look in your eyes, stirred something profound within Hotch. He realized then how much he wanted to be a part of those unspoken depths, to explore the breadth of experiences that made you, you.

Encouraged by your closeness and emboldened by the evening’s serene beauty, Hotch found the moment he had been intuitively waiting for. "There’s something else I’ve been wanting to express," he said, his voice barely more than a whisper as he stepped closer.

Your breath caught slightly, anticipation mingling with a trace of nervous energy. Yet, you stood your ground, your eyes locked on his, a silent nod giving him the permission he sought.

Gently, Hotch cupped your face in his hands, his touch light yet filled with intent. He watched your eyes flutter closed, a sign of trust that fueled his own confidence. Then, carefully diminishing the last threads of distance between you, he kissed you.

The kiss was tender, a soft press of lips that spoke of respect and a burgeoning desire. It was an exploration, a question posed in the silent language of touches. You responded with an innocence edged with a burgeoning confidence, your hands tentatively reaching up to touch his wrists, holding onto him, into the moment.

As you both pulled away, the world seemed to resume around you, the sounds of the gallery flooding back as if someone had turned up the volume. Hotch looked at you, a gentle inquiry in his gaze, ensuring the step he had taken was right.

Your smile, shy yet radiant, was all the answer he needed. In that smile, Hotch saw not just your response to the kiss but a doorway to deeper connection—a promise of many more moments filled with discovery and shared warmth. Despite your inexperience, there was an undeniable rightness in the way you fit into his life, filling spaces he hadn’t known were empty.

As autumn bled into the year, Aaron Hotchner and you found rhythms of familiarity, the initial cautious steps of your courtship giving way to a more assured dance. Despite seeing each other regularly, the intimacy of a shared night had not yet unfolded. Hotch, ever the gentleman, respected the pace you set, knowing the depth of trust such a step required from you. He was patient, understanding that the connection they were nurturing was something profound, deserving of time and care.

One evening, as Hotch planned, brought you both to a jazz club where the dim lighting and the intimate clinking of glasses painted the perfect backdrop for an evening designed to draw you closer. Conversation flowed with an ease born of growing comfort and shared smiles, yet there was an undercurrent of anticipation, a silent acknowledgment of the evolving intimacy between you.

When a slow, soulful melody began to play, Hotch extended his hand, inviting you to join him on the dance floor. There was a brief hesitation, a visible flicker of apprehension in your eyes, before your hand slipped into his. It was a testament to your growing trust, a step further into the vulnerability of this new emotional landscape.

On the dance floor, your touch was tentative at first, as if the closeness summoned both yearning and a faint trace of fear. But as Hotch led, gentle and assured, you followed, gradually relaxing, your movements syncing with the languid music. Eventually, your head came to rest against his chest, a subtle surrender to the rhythm and to him. Hotch felt the shift, a melting of barriers that warmed him more than the music itself.

As the song waned, he leaned down, his voice barely above the music, "Are you alright?"

You nodded against him, your voice a soft murmur that vibrated through him. "Yes, this is... it’s really nice."

He smiled, his hand tightening slightly around yours, a silent promise of his protection and patience. "I'm here, I’m not going anywhere," he assured you, his voice a blend of tenderness and strength.

The moment was a delicate one, laden with unspoken promises and the electric thrill of potential. The night deepened around you, the music a rich blanket that seemed to weave itself into the very fabric of their burgeoning relationship.

As they stepped off the dance floor, the connection between you both was palpable, charged with the promise of shared tomorrows. Hotch felt the undeniable chemistry in every touch, every glance, each shared breath. He knew, with a growing certainty, that the slow build of their relationship was crafting a foundation strong and deep-rooted in mutual respect and an undeniable pull toward each other that neither could, nor wanted to, ignore.

Each gesture, each date, was a chapter in the evolving story of 'us'. Hotch knew the age difference might raise eyebrows, but in his view, the ways of old—courtesy, respect, and the slow dance of courtship—were timeless, meant to be upheld, especially when the heart found a genuine connection.

And in you, with your fresh eyes and tentative steps into romance, Hotch found not just a partner to protect but someone to cherish, to guide through the dance of affection and tenderness that life had, until now, kept just out of your reach. Each meeting, each shared laughter, only solidified his belief that despite the odds, the chemistry between you was undeniable—and deeply right.

As they stepped off the dance floor, the warm glow of the jazz club enveloping you, Aaron Hotchner sensed a subtle shift in your demeanor. The usual light in your eyes was clouded slightly by hesitation, a sign he had come to recognize as you wrestling with something unsaid. His protective instincts mingled with deep affection as he guided you to a quieter corner of the club, away from the lingering notes of the last song.

"You seem like you want to ask me something," Hotch said gently, his voice a grounding force amid the soft buzz of the club. His eyes searched yours, encouraging openness without pushing too hard.

You bit your lip, a nervous gesture that tugged at his heartstrings. "It's just... I sometimes feel like I'm under my own microscope," you confessed, your words tumbling out in a rush. "I overthink everything because I've never done this before. I wish I could just turn my brain off and just be, especially with you."

Hotch reached for your hands, holding them in his with a reassuring pressure. "Let's try that, then. Just be here with me, no pressure, no expectations. Can you try that for me?" His tone was soft yet earnest, hoping to ease the burden of self-scrutiny you carried.

You nodded, a fragile smile breaking through your apprehension. "I can try. Aaron, would you... would you like to come back to my apartment?" The invitation was hesitant, but your eyes held a hopeful spark.

Hotch felt a surprise ripple through him, but it quickly gave way to warmth. He was touched by your trust and moved by your courage to step beyond your comfort zone. "I'd like that very much," he responded, his voice steady, conveying both his respect for your pace and his readiness to follow your lead.

As you led the way out of the club, the cool night air seemed to buoy your spirits, lending you a newfound confidence. Hotch admired the way the city lights played across your features, casting you in a glow that seemed to mirror the burgeoning feelings he harbored for you.

The walk to your apartment was filled with an easy silence, comfortable and unforced. It was a silence that spoke of understanding and mutual respect, qualities that had become the foundation of whatever was blossoming between you two.

Once inside, you seemed to hesitate momentarily, the reality of the moment settling in. Hotch noticed the slight tremor in your hands as you hung up your coat. Stepping closer, he lifted your chin gently, guiding you to meet his gaze. "Remember, we're just being," he reminded you softly, his thumb caressing your cheek in a soothing motion.

The simplicity of his reassurance seemed to ease your nerves, and a genuine smile spread across your face. "Just being," you repeated, and in that repetition, there was a release of some of the tension you had been carrying.

That night, in the quiet sanctity of your apartment, with the city humming softly outside, Hotch and you found a new level of closeness. It was not just the physical proximity but an emotional connection that deepened with each gentle touch and shared silence.

In the sanctuary you offered, Hotch felt honored to witness the layers of your vulnerability and strength, each one unfolding naturally, beautifully, right before his eyes.

Hotch’s observant eyes quickly taking in the surroundings that so clearly reflected your personality. The space was tastefully decorated, with vibrant plants dotting the corners and art prints that mirrored those you had admired earlier at the exhibit. Each detail seemed to tell a story, a quiet testament to your life and preferences.

Hotch noticed how the books on your shelf ranged from classic literature to modern marketing texts, suggesting a blend of deep thought and professional ambition. Small, framed photos of friends and family adorned another corner, hinting at a rich personal life, grounded in relationships that mattered deeply to you. It was these glimpses that gave him a fuller picture of who you were outside the moments shared together.

As you offered him a comfortable seat on the couch, Hotch could sense a mix of pride and vulnerability in your actions. It was as if you were opening up a private part of your world to him, and he recognized the significance of the gesture.

"I want you to feel free to share what you want here," Hotch said sincerely, his gaze meeting yours to emphasize his intent. "I’m not going anywhere, and there isn’t anything you could do or say to scare me off."

You nodded, a look of relief crossing your features, but there was a hesitance still lingering. Hotch decided it was time to address it directly. "What are you so afraid of?" he asked gently, his voice low and encouraging.

The question seemed to weigh heavily on you for a moment before you exhaled softly, the breath carrying with it the weight of unspoken fears. "I’ve never dated anyone before," you confessed, your voice barely above a whisper. "I’ve never had a boyfriend before this... before you."

As you spoke, a blush crept up your cheeks, and you paused, suddenly realizing the implication of your words. Hotch caught your embarrassment and quickly reassured you, his tone warm and understanding. "Don’t be embarrassed," he urged softly. "And I’m sorry for not making it clearer before, but the term 'boyfriend' feels so much younger than I am." He smiled gently, a hint of amusement in his eyes. "But I most certainly want to be that for you, if you’ll have me."

Your eyes lifted to meet his, surprise and joy mingling in your expression. "I would like that," you said, the tension easing from your shoulders as you spoke.

Settled on your couch, the soft glow of the lamp casting a warm light around the room, Aaron Hotchner watched as another layer of hesitation seemed to cloud your features. He had come to recognize these moments—when you were teetering on the edge of sharing something significant. His presence, calm and reassuring, was meant to be a safe harbor for your thoughts.

"What’s on your mind?" he prompted gently, noticing how your fingers twisted together in your lap—a sign of your inner turmoil.

You hesitated, taking a deep breath before meeting his gaze with a newfound determination. "I want to be with you, Aaron," you started, your voice steady despite the obvious nerves. "I mean, I want to... have sex with you. But I have no idea how to initiate that."

Hotch felt a jolt of surprise at your boldness, though it was tempered with a deep respect for your honesty. He took a moment to compose himself, not just to temper his own reactions but to ensure he approached your admission with the sensitivity it deserved. He was a man, undeniably drawn to you in every possible way, yet he knew the weight of what you were proposing, especially given your limited experience.

"I want that too," he finally said, his voice low and earnest. "Very much." He paused, searching your face for any sign of discomfort. "Have you... is this your first time?" The question was delicate, his concern genuine, as he navigated the dual feelings of honor at being your chosen partner and the protective instinct that flared at the thought of anyone else having been with you.

You shook your head slightly a soft laugh appearing on your lips, a shadow passing over your features. "No, it’s not my first time," you admitted, and he felt a silent relief mixed with an unexpected twinge of something else—possessiveness, perhaps, or a protective anger toward anyone who might have hurt you. "I’ve done it once before, but it wasn’t good. I felt... rotten afterward."

The raw honesty of your words struck him deeply. Hotch moved closer, his expression softening as he reached out to gently touch your arm, offering comfort. "I’m really sorry to hear that," he said sincerely. "I want you to know, with me, it will be different. You are in control, and we will go only as far as you want, at a pace you are comfortable with."

Your eyes searched his, looking for the certainty and safety that had drawn you to him from the start. Finding it, you nodded, a tentative smile breaking through. "I trust you, Aaron," you whispered, leaning into the comfort of his touch.

Hotch’s heart swelled with a mix of emotions—care, desire, protectiveness. "Whenever you’re ready," he assured you, his tone a mix of promise and reassurance. "And we’ll make sure it’s a good experience, one that feels right for both of us."

The conversation marked a pivotal moment in your relationship, deepening the trust and intimacy between you. For Hotch, it reaffirmed his commitment to cherish and protect you, to guide you through the complexities of intimacy with the respect and affection you deserved.

The conversation gently shifting to lighter topics, but the understanding between you remained profound—a silent acknowledgment of the steps you were ready to take together.

As the evening deepened, a soft jazz record spun quietly in the background of your apartment, casting a mellow sound that filled the space with a warm, inviting ambiance. Your taste in music, literature, and films surprised Hotch. They were much more akin to someone beyond your years--often beyond his years as well.

Hotch observed you from where he sat on the couch, a half-smile on his face as he watched you move about the room, adjusting a pillow here, straightening a stack of books there—nervous energy channeled into tidying. But then, with a decisive pause, you turned to face him, your eyes holding a flicker of resolve that hadn't been there before.

"You know," you began, crossing the room toward where Hotch was seated, your voice steady but softer than usual, "I really meant what I said earlier, about... wanting to be with you."

Hotch's eyes followed your approach, noting the slight tremble in your hands that misrepresented your confident stride. He stood to meet you halfway, his height towering gently as he looked down into your eyes, searching for any sign of hesitation. Finding none, only a quiet determination, he nodded. "I remember," he replied simply, his voice low and encouraging.

Taking a deep breath, you reached out and tentatively placed a hand on his chest, feeling the steady beat of his heart under your palm. "And I... I'd like that to be tonight, if you're still okay with that," you added, your gaze lifting to meet his.

The sincerity and quiet courage in your voice stirred something deep within Hotch. He covered your hand with his, pressing it gently against him to affirm his consent and support. "I'm more than okay with that," he assured you, his other hand reaching up to gently brush a strand of hair from your face. "We'll take this at your pace."

Encouraged, you stood on your tiptoes, bridging the gap between your heights, and pressed a tentative kiss to his lips. It was a soft, searching contact, seeking reassurance and connection. Hotch responded with equal gentleness, his lips moving against yours in a slow, respectful rhythm that allowed you the space to explore and deepen the kiss at your own initiative.

As the kiss grew more confident, your hands moved from his chest to loop around his neck, pulling him closer. Hotch's arms encircled your waist, drawing you into a firm yet careful embrace. The physical closeness brought a new layer of intimacy to the moment, and you both paused to catch your breath, foreheads resting together.

"Are you sure?" Hotch whispered, his breath warm against your skin, his hands steady and supportive at your back.

"Yes," you breathed out, your voice a mix of nervous excitement and resolve. "So sure."

With a nod of understanding, Hotch allowed you to lead him back towards the bedroom, each step measured and unhurried. He was acutely aware of the trust you were placing in him, and he was determined to honor it with every gentle touch and whispered reassurance.

The soft light casting gentle shadows around you, Hotch watched as you took a moment to steady yourself. Then, with a deep, shared breath, you both crossed the final threshold into intimacy, guided by mutual respect and a profound connection that promised to deepen with each passing moment.

Aaron Hotchner felt every subtle shift of the air as you moved slightly ahead of him, your steps hesitant yet filled with an intent that mirrored the pounding of his own heart.

As you reached the edge of your bed, you turned to face him, the light casting shadows across your features that highlighted the mix of anticipation and vulnerability in your eyes. Hotch, ever observant, noted the way your hands fidgeted slightly, betraying a nervous energy that belied the confident steps you had taken just moments before.

"It's okay," Hotch murmured, his voice a soothing baritone that seemed to resonate gently in the quiet room. He stepped closer, reducing the space between you, his hands rising to cup your face gently. "We can take this as slow as you need."

Your eyes searched his, finding reassurance in his steady gaze, and a tentative smile tugged at the corners of your lips. "Thank you, Aaron," you whispered, the gratitude in your voice laced with an emotion deeper than the words themselves conveyed.

Hotch responded with a soft smile of his own, leaning in to press a tender kiss to your forehead—a gesture of affection and protection. Then, giving you the space to lead, he watched as you took a deep breath and reached out to him. Your hands, no longer trembling, found the hem of his shirt, and with a look that sought silent permission—which Hotch granted with a nod—you slowly lifted it over his head.

The act, simple yet laden with significance, marked a crossing into intimacy that Hotch handled with all the care and reverence it deserved. As the fabric parted from skin, it was as though barriers too were being shed, leaving a raw, beautiful honesty between you.

With the shirt discarded, Hotch gently took the lead, his hands guiding yours to the buttons of his shirt you wore. Each button undone was a mutual assent, a step deeper into vulnerability and trust. The cool air of the room brushed against your skin as the material parted, and Hotch's hands paused at your waist, giving you a moment to adjust to the new closeness.

"Are you still okay?" he asked, his voice barely above a whisper, laden with concern and an unspoken promise to halt at any sign of discomfort.

"Yes," you breathed out, more sure than before, emboldened by his respect and your own burgeoning desire. "Please, keep going."

Encouraged by your words, Hotch's touch became more assured, tracing the lines of your arms as he helped you out of the shirt. His fingers brushed against your skin, each touch a word in the silent language of care they were writing together.

He never thought he’d get back here--never thought he’d be so lucky to have a second chance.

In the shared quiet of your bedroom, with only the soft rustle of fabric and the steady, calming beat of two hearts synchronizing, a dance of mutual exploration unfolded. Each movement, each touch, was a discovery—a learning of boundaries, preferences, and the profound connection that pulsed vibrant and alive between you.

As the layers of fabric fell away, leaving vulnerability in their wake, Hotch felt a deep reverence for the trust you placed in him. The room was filled with the quiet symphony of their mutual breathing, punctuated by the soft sounds of fabric whispering to the floor. With every careful, considered touch, Hotch felt the gravity of your inexperience, sensed the weight of each movement, and honored it with his own measured responses.

Hotch was acutely aware of the significance of this moment for you. Each caress, each lingering touch was designed not only to explore but to reassure—to communicate that you were cherished, respected, and deeply cared for.

His hands, steady and warm, traced the lines of your back, feeling the tension ease under his fingers. He could sense the leap of your heart, could almost hear the thrum of your pulse quickening with a blend of nervousness and excitement. Hotch’s own heart mirrored your tempo, a reflection of his own deep feelings and the earnest desire to ensure this experience was as beautiful and profound for you as the emotional connection they had nurtured together.

"Tell me what you need," he murmured, his lips close to your ear, his breath a soft echo in the quiet room. It was a question loaded with the promise of patience and the willingness to listen, to adapt, to ensure your comfort at every step.

You responded with a slight, almost shy nod, your voice a whisper that matched the tender atmosphere. "Just... stay close," you said, your hands finding his, seeking the reassurance of his grip. "Like this, just like this."

Hotch nodded, his eyes locking with yours in the dim light, a silent vow reflected back at you. He stayed close, his body aligned with yours, a steady presence that you could lean into and draw strength from.

The exploration continued, each touch a dialogue, each sigh a verse in the unfolding story of your closeness.

Hotch was mindful, always, of your responses—the quick catch of breath, the soft sigh of contentment, the way your eyes fluttered closed in trust and surrender. These signs guided him, a map written in the language of touch and silent communion. He was a quick study, also, being with the same woman for over twenty years, he knew a thing or two about this subject.

Through careful, attentive touches, he discovered what elicited those soft, breathy moans that he knew he would never forget—the sounds that resonated deeply within him, stirring a blend of profound affection and desire. Each sound was a note in the symphony of their intimacy, a melody that he would carry in the quiet recesses of his heart.

You were eager to please, your movements and responses guided by an earnest desire to explore this new dimension of their relationship. Hotch could feel your eagerness, could see it in the way your eyes searched his for approval and reassurance.

"You're doing wonderfully," Hotch whispered, his voice low and filled with warmth. The praise was not merely spoken; it was felt, communicated through every gentle touch and affirming look. He could see the way your eyes lit up at his words, a spark of joy mingling with relief fluttering across your features.

The way you responded to him, each movement and breath a testament to your trust and openness, resonated deeply within him. "You have no idea how good this feels," he continued, his hands guiding yours, encouraging each tentative exploration with a steady presence. "Not just what you’re doing, but knowing it’s you with me here."

His words were carefully chosen, aimed to reinforce the deep emotional landscape that underpinned the physical sensations. It was essential to him that you understood how profoundly he was affected by your presence, that it was not merely the act itself but the entirety of who you were that brought him such profound satisfaction.

And yet, little did you know, it took so little to please him when it came from you. The mere fact that it was you who was there with him, open and trusting, was more than enough to fulfill him.

In these moments, Hotch learned not just what you liked, but what you truly enjoyed—a discovery that felt both profound and sacred. He savored the honesty of your reactions, the unguarded way you shared yourself with him. Each revelation, whether a gasp of surprise at a new sensation or a sigh of contentment, was a treasure he stored away, a testament to the depth of the bond they were forging.

As the night wore on, the world outside their window forgotten, Hotch marveled at the deepening connection between you both.

The way you responded to him, the way your body arched towards his touch, spoke of a trust and a bond that went beyond the physical. It was as if each layer of vulnerability you revealed knitted you closer together, weaving a fabric of intimacy that was unique to the two of you.

When the dawn began to paint the sky with its first light, Hotch lay beside you, watching the rise and fall of your chest as you slept peacefully. In these quiet hours, he reflected on the journey they had embarked upon together. The intimacy they had shared was not just a physical union but an emotional, soul-deep connection that promised so much more.

The knowledge of what you truly liked, the memory of your soft moans, and the realization of how eager you were to please—these were not just moments of pleasure, but profound insights into the beautiful, complex person you were. And Hotch, ever the protector and now the partner, felt an overwhelming gratitude for the trust you placed in him, and a resolute commitment to be there for you, in all the ways that mattered.

As dawn cast a gentle light through the curtains of your bedroom, Aaron Hotchner lay quietly beside you, his gaze fixed tenderly on your form as you slowly awakened. The soft rays illuminated your features, highlighting the flush of your cheeks and the peaceful rise and fall of your breathing. He observed the flicker of consciousness return to your eyes, watched as awareness spread across your face, and sensed the slight tenseness that accompanied your realization of his watchful, affectionate eyes on your unclothed form.

A hint of shyness crept into your expression, a stark contrast to the openness you shared the night before. Sensing your self-consciousness, Hotch allowed a soft, teasing tone to warm his morning greeting, aiming to ease the tension he perceived.

"Don't get shy with me now, sweetheart," he said, his voice low and slightly playful, the corners of his mouth lifting in a gentle smile.

The term of endearment, new yet fitting, seemed to deepen the blush that already tinted your cheeks. You turned to face him, your eyes wide with a mix of surprise and something else—perhaps pleasure. Hotch's use of "sweetheart" hung softly in the air between you, a tender label that was both an assertion of affection and a bridge across the morning's shyness.

Seeing your reaction, Hotch's smile broadened slightly, but he also felt a pulse of concern—wanting to ensure his words had been well received.

"Do you not like that?" he asked gently, his head tilting to catch your gaze more fully, seeking to understand your feelings.

Quickly, you shook your head, the sheets rustling softly around you as you moved. "No, I like it," you assured him earnestly, your voice carrying a warmth that eased any lingering doubt in his mind. "I’ve never been called that before. It makes me feel... good." Your admission, simple yet profound, reflected the depth of your emerging emotions, revealing how such small intimacies were new territories being explored and cherished.

Hotch's eyes softened further, a profound tenderness settling in his features as he absorbed your words. The significance of the term—sweetheart—gained a new weight, symbolizing not just affection but a recognition of the intimacy and closeness that had flourished between you.

"I’m glad," he murmured, reaching out to brush a strand of hair from your face, his touch as reverent as it was affectionate. "You deserve to feel nothing less than cherished."

In the quiet morning light, with the world outside still blurred by the early mist, Hotch felt a renewed sense of connection to you. Each shy smile, each hesitant yet trusting exchange, wove a stronger bond between you. Here, in the soft dawn of a new beginning, the previous night's vulnerabilities transformed into the day's strengths, each moment building on the last, each term of endearment a step deeper into the heart of what was swiftly becoming a profound and beautiful relationship.

The morning that continued was a blend of lingering sensations and the crisp return to reality as Aaron Hotchner made his way into the bustling environment of the FBI headquarters. The events of the previous night, filled with tender discoveries and shared warmth, were still vivid in his mind as he navigated through the familiar corridors toward his office. He was adjusting his collar, trying discreetly to ensure that no visible marks were showing, when Emily Prentiss caught him halfway down the hall.

"Hold it, Hotch!" Emily called out, a teasing smirk playing on her lips as she approached him with a purposeful stride. "You have a hickey," she announced with a mix of amusement and mock accusation.

Hotch, caught off-guard, touched his neck almost reflexively, a slight flush coloring his cheeks. "I do not," he countered smoothly, though his voice carried a hint of uncertainty as he felt the area she pointed out.

Emily laughed, pointing more directly now. "Oh, but you do. Right there, peeking from your collar." Her eyes twinkled with mischief, clearly enjoying the moment.

Memories from the previous night flashed through Hotch's mind—your growing confidence, the softness of your touch turning more daring as the night progressed. He remembered how your actions, once hesitant, had grown bolder, culminating in the passion that must have left the mark he was now accused of carrying.

Trying to maintain his composure, Hotch adjusted his collar once more, a futile attempt to cover the evidence. "It's nothing," he insisted, brushing past Emily toward the sanctuary of his office. He knew well the buzz this would stir among the team, especially once Emily shared her discovery.

As he closed his office door behind him, the slight smirk on Emily's face lingered in his mind. Hotch couldn't help but feel a twinge of pride mixed with embarrassment—after all, it wasn't just any mark; it was a token of the new intimacy and connection he had found with you.

Deciding to embrace the lighter side of the situation, he took out his phone and composed a message to you, his fingers typing with a smile.

"Good morning, sweetheart. I haven’t been able to stop thinking about last night, or you. Also, thanks for leaving your mark on me—I’m trying to keep it under wraps here, but it seems I’ve been caught. Can’t wait to see you again."

He sent the message, the formality of his FBI role momentarily replaced by the warm, personal connection he now shared with you. Almost immediately, his phone buzzed with your reply, bringing an even deeper smile to his face.

"Oh no, I’m so sorry! I got carried away, didn’t I? I’m glad you enjoyed last night, though. I can’t stop thinking about it either..."

Hotch chuckled softly, the bashfulness and charm of your message warming him from within. It was these moments—these little exchanges—that continued to build the bridge between their worlds, a bridge that he treasured deeply.

Adjusting his collar one last time, Hotch settled into his day, the challenges of law enforcement ahead yet sweetened by the personal joy he now carried within him. Your presence in his life, marked subtly by the hickey hidden under his collar, was a secret badge of honor he wore with an inward, contented grin.

Later that day, as Aaron Hotchner navigated through the paperwork and case files that demanded his attention, he felt the presence of someone lingering near his office door. Looking up, he saw David Rossi, leaning casually against the frame with an all-too-familiar inquisitive look in his eyes.

“Got a minute, Hotch?” Rossi asked, his voice carrying a hint of mischief that only piqued as he stepped inside the office.

Hotch sighed lightly, already anticipating the direction of the conversation. “Sure, Dave, what’s on your mind?”

Rossi walked in, closing the door behind him with a soft click. “I’m just curious about the lucky lady who’s got you coming into work marked up like a teenager,” he teased, taking a seat across from Hotch.

Hotch pinched the bridge of his nose, a resigned smile tugging at the corners of his mouth. “I was going to keep it more private, at least for a while,” he admitted, the reality that the team would inevitably find out now fully realized.

Rossi chuckled, his eyes twinkling with camaraderie and a bit of brotherly concern. “Too late for that, my friend. Penelope’s already done her digging. Showed us a photo of her.” He paused, watching Hotch closely. “She seems… vibrant. And quite a bit younger than you, huh?”

Hotch couldn’t suppress the slight flush of embarrassment mixed with pride. “Yes, she’s younger,” he confirmed, his voice steady despite the personal nature of the discussion. “She’s wonderful, Dave. Genuine, kind, and yes, younger, but I feel... rejuvenated, I suppose.”

Rossi’s laughter filled the room, easing any lingering tension. “Rejuvenated, he says. That’s one way to put it.” His tone shifted slightly, the humor mingling with sincerity. “It’s good for you, Hotch. After everything, you deserve a bit of happiness. Just don’t forget to bring her around sometime. We’re all dying to meet the woman who’s captured our fearless leader’s heart.”

Hotch smiled, the warmth of Rossi’s words reinforcing the acceptance he hoped for from his team. “I’ll think about it, Dave. It’s still new, and I want to make sure it’s right before making introductions.”

Rossi stood, heading toward the door but not without throwing a final quip over his shoulder. “Just remember, Hotch, the clock’s ticking. We’re not getting any younger, and you’ve snagged yourself someone who probably runs circles around you.”

“Only metaphorically, I assure you,” Hotch retorted, the banter a comfortable, familiar exchange between old friends.

As Rossi left with a chuckle, Hotch leaned back in his chair, the interactions with his team leaving him somewhere between frustration and enlightenment. The dynamic of the BAU was such that nothing stayed private for long, but perhaps in this case, it wasn’t such a bad thing. His team’s curiosity, albeit invasive at times, came from a place of genuine care and support. Adjusting his collar once more, Hotch settled back into his work, a small smile playing on his lips as he thought of you, his newfound reason for joy.

The rhythm of the latest case had Aaron Hotchner more bound up than usual, with long days bleeding into longer nights, each hour stretching thin as the team chased down leads and suspects.

Despite the consuming nature of his work, a part of his mind remained tethered to you, his thoughts wandering to your last night together and the silence that had followed. As the days passed without a word from you, his concern deepened, shadowed by the worry that perhaps he had misread the signals or assumed too much about the bond he felt was forming between you.

During a briefing, Hotch found himself checking his phone again—a habit that had not gone unnoticed. JJ caught his eye, her expression a mix of concern and gentle teasing. "Expecting an important call, Hotch?" she asked, an eyebrow raised in playful inquiry.

He pocketed the device, offering a tight smile that didn't reach his eyes. "Just keeping tabs on things," he replied, though his vague response fooled neither JJ nor himself.

That evening, back in the solitude of his hotel room, the quiet felt more oppressive than calming, each tick of the clock a reminder of the growing distance he felt from you. Resolved not to let the situation fester with assumptions, he dialed your number, the weight of his phone heavy in his hand.

When you answered, your voice brought an immediate relief, but it was tinged with a hesitation that prompted him to cut straight to the heart of his fears. "Is something wrong?" Hotch asked, his voice low and filled with a palpable concern. "If you're regretting our night together, it's okay, but I need to know."

There was a brief pause before you responded, your words slow as if weighing each one. "No, it's not that," you assured him. "I just... I'm inexperienced, and I didn't want to come off as the nagging, clingy girlfriend. I didn't want to bother you."

Hotch felt a pang of understanding mixed with a slight reprimand towards himself for not making his feelings clearer from the start. "You could never nag or be a bother," he said earnestly. "I want you to cling. I’ve been missing you."

His admission hung in the air, a bridge stretched out over the miles that separated you. After a moment of silence, filled only with the faint buzz of the line, Hotch's voice softened further. "Sweetheart, are you still with me?"

Your response was a breath, almost lost in the connection. "I'm sorry, I'm just taking all of this in. I miss you too," you admitted, and there was a warmth in your tone that made his heart swell. "Hearing that you miss me makes me feel so good. I never thought I'd get this."

The simplicity and sincerity of your words struck a chord in him. Hotch found himself reflecting on his past, on the loss and the loneliness that had once defined his days. "The feeling is mutual," he confessed. "You’ve brought something into my life I didn’t dare to expect again."

In the quiet of his hotel room, with the night pressing against the windows, Aaron Hotchner felt a profound shift. The connection between you and him, built on shared moments and the tender exchange of fears and hopes, was something deeply real—something worth every effort to preserve and nurture, despite the chaos of their daily lives. As he set the phone down, a sense of peace settled over him, the kind that only comes when two hearts find a way to beat in tandem, even across the distance.

From that heartfelt conversation onward, the dynamic between you and Aaron Hotchner transformed, becoming a constant stream of communication that threaded through the remainder of his case. Each text you sent, each call you made at the end of the day, wove deeper layers of connection and comfort into the fabric of his daily routine, which had often felt isolating given the demanding nature of his work.

One evening, after a particularly grueling day of interviews and dead ends, Hotch felt his phone vibrate with an incoming message. It was from you—a selfie, your smile bright and genuine as you held up a large mug of coffee, your shared favorite…the one that brought you together at the grocery store.

The image was a simple one, but it radiated warmth and a comforting normalcy. Your eyes sparkled with unspoken words, a silent message of support and affection that transcended the physical distance between you.

Hotch couldn’t help but smile, the stress of the day momentarily lifted by your thoughtfulness. He studied the photo, noting the way the light played across your features, the casual fall of your hair, and the cozy environment that spoke of a peaceful moment during your day. It was these glimpses into your daily life that he cherished, reminders of the vibrant, real person who had quickly become so significant to him.

Tapping out a response, Hotch’s fingers moved with a certainty driven by his emotions. “Thank you for this, sweetheart,” he wrote. “It’s the highlight of my day. Please keep sharing these moments with me. They mean more than you might realize.”

As the case progressed, with its usual ups and downs, the constant communication with you became something of a lifeline for him. Each message, each snapshot of your day, helped to ground him, to remind him of the life that awaited him beyond the paperwork and the critical decisions. Your willingness to reach out, to keep the connection alive and thriving, was a gift that Hotch did not take for granted.

Your conversations grew richer, filled with the mundane details of daily life and the deeper revelations that came with growing trust. Hotch found himself sharing more too, opening up about the challenges of his days, the small victories, and the moments that made him think of you. It was a mutual exchange, a give and take that balanced the scales of their relationship with equal parts affection and understanding.

In the quiet of his hotel room, as he prepared to finally head home after the case was closed, Hotch looked back on the past days with a reflective appreciation. The case had been tough, but the evolving relationship with you, punctuated by daily messages and endearing selfies, had added a layer of joy to his life that had been absent for too long.

As he packed his bags, ready to return to a routine that now included you at its heart, Hotch felt a profound sense of anticipation. The case had been solved, but a new chapter in his life was just beginning—a chapter that promised as much warmth and connection as the smile in the photo he had saved to his phone, a permanent reminder of the sweetness and light you brought into his world.

Returning home, Hotch found himself immediately swept into the world of his son, Jack, who had been patiently waiting for his father's return. Although eager to reconnect with you, Hotch knew that his first responsibility was to his son, especially after such a prolonged absence. Understanding the situation, you gave him the space he needed, focusing on preparing for an upcoming marketing conference.

One quiet evening, after dinner and a movie that Jack had picked out, Hotch found the perfect moment to broach a subject that had been on his mind throughout his recent work travels. They were sitting on the couch, Jack's head resting against his arm, the room filled with the soft glow of the lamp and the comforting silence that followed their laughter from the movie.

"Jack, there’s something I’ve been wanting to talk to you about," Hotch began, his voice gentle, ensuring it carried the weight of his words thoughtfully.

Jack looked up, his expression open and attentive, a look of curiosity spreading across his features. "What is it, Dad?"

Hotch took a deep breath, his heart filled with a mix of anticipation and hope. "It’s about someone very special that I’ve met recently. She’s become very important to me." Hotch paused, gauging Jack’s reaction to these initial words.

Jack’s brow furrowed slightly, then relaxed as he processed the information. "Is she your girlfriend?" he asked, his voice carrying a blend of childish simplicity and earnest inquisitiveness.

"Yes, she is," Hotch replied, smiling at Jack’s directness. "And she’s really wonderful, Jack. I was thinking, maybe you’d like to meet her soon? I think you’d like her a lot."

Jack seemed to consider this for a moment, then nodded, a small smile playing on his lips. "Is she nice?" he asked, his criteria for approval clear.

"Very nice," Hotch assured him, his heart warming at the simplicity of Jack's priorities. "She’s kind, she’s funny, and she makes me very happy."

"Okay," Jack said, his agreement coming easily, much to Hotch's relief. "Can we go to the park or something when I meet her? Maybe have a picnic?"

"That sounds like a great idea," Hotch agreed, grateful for Jack's receptiveness and the ease with which he seemed to accept the news. "We’ll plan something fun."

As Jack yawned and snuggled closer to his father, Hotch felt a profound sense of gratitude for the open-hearted way his son approached the world. Turning his thoughts briefly to you, he felt a surge of affection and a quiet thrill at the thought of intertwining his worlds. He planned to text you later that evening, sharing Jack’s positive reaction and perhaps arranging that picnic Jack had proposed.

The day you met Jack was as picture-perfect as Hotch had hoped. On a rare warm day the three of you spent an afternoon at the park, bundled up under the tentative warmth of late winter sun, with a picnic spread that included all of Jack's favorite foods. Hotch watched, a soft smile playing on his lips, as you and Jack tossed a frisbee, laughter ringing through the air. It was clear from the way Jack clung to your hand as you walked back to the car that you had won his heart as thoroughly as you had won Hotch's. From then on, Jack often asked when you'd be joining them again, his acceptance both a relief and a joy to Hotch.

As winter melted into spring, the relationship between Aaron Hotchner and you blossomed with the season. The transition was marked by significant milestones and quiet moments alike, each one building upon the last, deepening the connection that had sparked during the colder months.

With you, every date, every encounter seemed to bring a new "first": the first time you cooked dinner together, managing somehow to turn spaghetti into a gourmet meal; the first time you danced in your living room to no music at all, just the rhythm of your own laughter; the first work event where Hotch insisted he joined you. Each of these moments was a step deeper into the life you were crafting together.

As the days grew longer, so too did your confidence in your relationship. Hotch noticed the subtle changes: the way your smile reached your eyes a little faster, how your hand found his in a crowd without hesitation, the ease with which you spoke of future plans, weaving him into the fabric of your visions as if it were the most natural thing in the world.

Despite the growing security in your relationship with Hotch and Jack, the prospect of meeting his team—a group of people who were not just colleagues but family to Hotch—loomed large in your thoughts. You expressed your nervousness one evening, tucked away in the corner of a cozy cafe, your hands wrapped around a cup of tea for comfort.

"I'm just worried they won’t think I’m... enough," you confessed, your voice a whisper against the clatter of the cafe.

Hotch reached across the table, his fingers gently lifting your chin so you would meet his eyes. "Sweetheart, you are more than enough," he reassured you firmly, his gaze intense and sincere. "They’re going to love you because I love you, and because you are incredible, not just to me, but in your own right."

In the quiet intimacy of the cafe, as Aaron Hotchner uttered the words, "I love you," the atmosphere seemed to shift subtly, the world pausing for a heartbeat. His declaration, spoken so naturally in reassurance and affection, hung between you—a confession made all the more profound because it slipped out unplanned, unguarded.

As he watched your reaction, he saw the surprise that flitted across your features, your eyes widening as the magnitude of his words settled in. For a moment, Hotch felt a twinge of uncertainty—had he spoken too soon?

However, your initial shock quickly gave way to a deeper, radiant sort of joy. The smile that spread across your face was slow but unmistakable, lighting up your eyes and reflecting a mix of love and awe. "Aaron," you breathed, your voice thick with emotion, "you love me?"

Hotch felt a smile tugging at his own lips, his heart swelling in his chest at the sight of your happiness. "Yes, I do," he affirmed, more confidently now. He realized that saying it aloud, here with you, felt right—it felt true. "I didn’t plan to say it just now, but it’s the truth. I love you, and I have for some time."

Your hands reached across the table, finding his, a tangible connection that grounded the moment. "I love you too," you replied, the words seeming to fill the space with warmth and light. "Hearing you say that—it just makes everything feel so real."

Hotch squeezed your hands gently, a contented sigh escaping him. He was a man accustomed to control, to keeping his emotions tightly reined in, but with you, it felt natural to let those walls down. The love he felt for you was something powerful and deep, stirring parts of him he’d thought long dormant.

As the cafe continued to buzz around you, the world moving forward, the moment of your mutual confession felt like a sanctuary, a quiet space carved out of time where only the two of you existed. "It is real," Hotch affirmed, his voice soft but filled with conviction. "You’ve changed my world, and there’s nothing I want more than to keep building this life with you."

As spring unfurled its vibrant hues across the city, both you and Aaron Hotchner found yourselves drawn away from home by professional commitments—yours to a marketing conference and his to a case that coincidentally placed him in the same distant city. When Hotch discovered the serendipitous overlap, a plan began to form in his mind, a surprise that he hoped would light up your day as much as it did his.

Arranging to finish his day's obligations with the BAU team a bit earlier, Hotch made his way to your hotel. The thought of seeing your reaction kept a subtle smile playing at the corners of his lips as he approached your room. After a quick knock, the door swung open, and there you stood, momentarily taken aback but swiftly melting into a radiant smile upon seeing him.

"Aaron!" you exclaimed, surprise giving way to delight. "What are you doing here?"

"I was in town for a case," he explained, stepping inside as you beckoned him eagerly. "I couldn't pass up the chance to see you."

The joy in your expression warmed him more than the spring sun could, and in that instant, he knew he'd made the right call. After a few moments of catching up, he ventured further with his plan. "I have another surprise for you," he started, watching your curiosity pique. "How about dinner tonight with the team? They're all eager to meet you."

You paused, the initial surge of happiness tempering slightly into apprehension. Meeting Hotch's colleagues, the famed BAU team, was a significant step—one you hadn't anticipated taking quite so suddenly. Sensing your hesitation, Hotch gently added, "They're really looking forward to meeting you, sweetheart. But no pressure, we can do this at your pace."

Your eyes searched his, finding reassurance in his steady gaze. "Okay, let's do it," you decided, your voice steady with newfound resolve, bolstered by his support.

That evening, as you walked into the restaurant with Hotch's hand resting lightly on your back, a buzz of conversation and laughter greeted you, emanating from the table where the BAU team had gathered. Derek Morgan rose first, his demeanor open and friendly as he approached.

“Hey there! You must be the famous lady,” Derek said with a grin, shaking your hand with a firm, welcoming grip. “We’ve heard a lot of good things about you.”

David Rossi followed with his characteristic charm, raising his glass slightly in a toast as he nodded toward you. “Welcome, it’s a pleasure to finally meet you,” he said, his voice smooth and inviting.

Spencer Reid, slightly awkward but visibly interested, extended his hand next. “Hi, um, it’s really nice to meet you. Hotch talks about you a lot,” he admitted, pushing his glasses up his nose nervously.

Emily Prentiss’s smile was both warm and mischievous. “Don’t worry, only good things,” she chimed in, her eyes twinkling. “We’re really excited you could join us tonight.”

JJ, ever the empathetic soul, gave you a gentle hug. “We’re just like a family here, and anyone important to Hotch is important to us,” she said softly, making you feel truly part of the group.

As everyone settled back into their seats, the conversation flowed easily. You found yourself between Hotch and Spencer, who was more than eager to dive into an elaborate explanation about the historical origins of a case study he’d been reading.

“So, essentially, the behavioral patterns can be traced back to—” Spencer began, only to be interrupted by Derek’s good-natured groan.

“Reid, man, save it for the office. Let’s keep it light, yeah?” Derek teased, eliciting a round of laughter from the table.

You laughed, glancing at Hotch, who was watching you with a soft smile. “You fit right in,” he whispered to you, squeezing your hand under the table.

Derek, not one to miss a beat, caught the exchange and winked. “Look at Hotch, all romantic and stuff. We never get to see this side of him.”

Rossi joined in, his voice playful, “It’s good for him. Keeps him young.”

Hotch rolled his eyes but his smile remained, his gaze fixed on you with unmistakable affection. “I’m just glad she agreed to come tonight,” he said, his voice carrying a tone of deep gratitude.

As the evening progressed, the team shared funny anecdotes from past cases, carefully skirting around the more gruesome details, focusing instead on the mishaps and lighter moments. Emily recounted a tale involving a mistaken identity and a runaway suspect in a mascot costume, which had you laughing until tears formed in your eyes.

“You see, Hotch had to tackle the mascot, and when the head came off, it was the mayor’s nephew!” Emily concluded, as the table erupted in laughter.

The warmth and laughter of the evening did much to make you feel at ease, the initial apprehension you felt about meeting Hotch's team dissipating like mist. As dinner wound down, Hotch leaned closer, his voice for your ears only. “Thank you for being here tonight, sweetheart. It means a lot to me.”

Your response was a soft smile, your hand tightening on his. “I wouldn’t have missed it. Thank you for inviting me.”

As you both stood to leave, the farewells were warm and genuine, each team member making you promise to join them again soon. Walking out into the cool evening air, Hotch’s arm around your shoulders, you felt a sense of belonging and acceptance that was both new and deeply comforting. Tonight hadn’t just been about meeting his colleagues; it had been about joining a part of his life, a part that was important to him. And as you looked up at him, the city lights reflecting in his eyes, you knew this was just the beginning of many shared moments and memories.

As you entered the elegantly appointed lobby of your hotel, Hotch couldn’t help but comment on the plush surroundings with a gentle tease, “Looks like marketing agencies know how to treat their people right.”

You chuckled, leading him to the elevator with a playful nudge. “Maybe the bureau could take a few pointers,” you suggested, sparking a shared smile that lingered as you ascended to your floor.

Once inside your room, the reality of the beautiful evening began to sink in. The room was spacious and warmly lit, the city lights casting a soft glow through the floor-to-ceiling windows. Hotch watched as you slipped off your shoes and curled up on the plush sofa, a content sigh escaping you. Joining you, he felt an overwhelming sense of peace and gratitude.

“The team really liked you, you know,” Hotch said, his voice low and filled with pride. “They’ve never been so unanimously approving before.”

You looked up at him, your eyes soft. “I loved meeting them. They made me feel so welcome,” you admitted, your gratitude evident. “Thank you for making tonight happen. It was perfect.”

As you leaned into him, Hotch wrapped an arm around your shoulders, pulling you closer. The feeling of your body against his, the scent of your hair, and the warmth of your presence filled him with a deep, resonant joy. Sitting there, with the night sky stretched out before you both and the quiet hum of the city below, Hotch allowed himself a moment to reflect on everything that had brought you both to this point.

“You know,” he began thoughtfully, his gaze fixed on the twinkling lights outside, “there’s something incredibly refreshing about being with you. Your perspective, your innocence—it’s brought out a side of me I thought was long gone. I’m... I’m really grateful for that.”

You turned to look at him, your expression tender. “I feel the same, Aaron. You make everything seem exciting and new, like there’s a world of possibilities I never knew about.”

In that quiet hotel room, a soft melody playing from the small radio on the bedside table, Hotch felt the weight of his usual responsibilities lighten. Here with you, the complexities of his job, the burdens of his past, seemed distant and manageable. Your innocence, far from being a naiveté, was a lens through which the world could be seen afresh, vibrant and hopeful.

So much of his life, the goodness in people had been tainted from his line of work and all he had been through. There was a clarity in being in your presence.

He kissed the top of your head, a silent expression of his feelings. “I’m looking forward to exploring all those possibilities with you, sweetheart,” he murmured.

Your smile in response was all the confirmation he needed. The evening might have ended, but their journey together was just beginning, each new day promising more laughter, understanding, and shared growth. As Hotch held you close, the city’s pulse below you a faint echo to their own heartbeats, he knew that this—this right here with you—was exactly where he was meant to be.

Tag List: @zaddyhotch @estragos @todorokishoe24 @looking1016 @khxna @rousethemouse @averyhotchner @reidfile @bernelflo @lover-of-books-and-tea @frickin-bats @sleepysongbirdsings @justyourusualash @person-005 @iyskgd @hiireadstuff @kcch-ns @alexxavicry

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whoreforsexymen · 19 days ago

Note

anything with jayce. I am a slut for jayce. this feels like a confessional.

Time Is A Thief | Jayce Talis

Pairings: Ruined!Jayce x Fem!Reader

Pronouns: She/Her, Female Anatomical Descriptions. Mainly written in 3rd person, no use of "you".

Rating: NSFW, 18+, MDNI! I am NOT responsible for your media consumption.

Word Count: 5.7k

Tags: Minor angst, desperation, reuniting with a lost love, smut, penetrative sex, impatient sex, riding. (MINIMAL DIALOGUE)

Summary: Jayce has been lost to the inevitable future. Driven mad by solitude, when he finally returns home, he's set on tracking down and killing Viktor. Although, he has a personal mission to find the love he lost along the way.

Notes: EEEEEEEEEKKKk! This isn't the greatest smut I've ever written, but I couldn't tarnish the romanticism of the reunion. The smut isn't super good, but I did my best to match the rest of the vibe. Hope yall enjoy <3!! More to come soon!

also, side note, there is a CRITICAL LACK of Ruined!Jayce fics. Okay?! (In Thanos Voice: Fine. I'll do it myself.)

Light.

That was all.

A brilliance so fierce it consumed all thought, leaving nothing to the imagination.

He saw everything, yet nothing at all— no trace of form or substance, only the infinite expanse of void surrounding him.

No shadow, no contour, no shape. Just emptiness. An emptiness that somehow felt full.

A paradox of being— broken, yet whole; whole, yet hollow; dead, yet alive.

Nothing made sense. Only the pulse of the moment, the light’s unyielding blaze.

The pulse of time, space, and life itself thrummed through his soul, weaving their rhythm into the very essence of his being.

Until, without warning, the vast illumination crumbled, and the world, in all its painful clarity, returned.

The light had vanished, leaving him adrift in the emptiness, only to be reclaimed by the stark hues of ordinary life. Colors surged around him—muted greys, whispers of teal, and pale pinks flooding his vision. It was almost more than he could bear.

Amidst the radiance that pierced his very essence, he was lifted—suspended in a weightless embrace, held aloft by the luminous threads of the light that had so utterly captivated him.

But reality struck like a tempest, a sudden jolt searing through him. A sharp pang tore into his senses as he plummeted, his knee barely finding time to thrust forward, instinctively breaking his fall.

He collided with the cold metal floor, the impact swift and steadfast. His knee bore the brunt of the descent, while his staff—his once-revered hammer—absorbed the weight of his shifting reality, grounding him in the unforgiving present.

The weight of the world bore down upon him, relentless and unyielding, its merciless humility a torment that carved into his flesh, stripping meat from bone. It gnawed at the core of his being, unraveling even the grey matter of his mind, piece by excruciating piece.

He could not cry out, for to do so would be in vain—a hollow echo swallowed by the abyss, silenced before it could ever bloom into sound.

He felt fragile, yet a fire smoldered deep within, winding through the quiet valleys of life that endured, unfazed. He held fast to a personal code, a mission etched in the essence of all that is veiled and sacred, shaped by the silent will of esoteric truths, runes, and the like.

There were no gods, no masters to answer to. Only his own will, and his own duties to uphold.

He couldn’t afford to fail.

He wouldn’t fail.

Not when the weight of existence itself teetered on the fragile edge between destiny and the mark he left upon it, shaping the very course of life’s unfolding.

A mission of great magnitude. Yet a plague lingered within him.

A plague of thought—relentless and gnawing. Thoughts that haunted him throughout the endless stretches of time, as he wandered the desolate wastelands of mankind’s “evolution”. They had once been his salvation, a lifeline entwined with his thirst for reckoning, feeding his drive with a dark, bloodied purpose. Yet a purpose of passion—all the same.

A passion that had once burned with fierce strength. The strength he had once known now seemed but a feeble echo, a mere shadow of the deeper meaning he had since uncovered in every word, every breath, every fleeting moment.

Images of the past, which, candidly, were the present once more, often danced in his mind, tangled in the waves of anguish that blurred the boundaries of time—and the futility of man’s existence.

Images of a certain face.

The face of a woman he had once known. Once loved. Once yearned for.

A woman who may very well have faded from existence in the time he had been lost, cast adrift in realms where he had borne the hammer of atonement for his actions in this present-day "past life."

Gods, how long had he been gone?

He had atoned for his sins enough, pleading to return to the very moment he had been torn from—plucked away from the threads of life as though he were no more than a fruiting blossom on a tree, ripe for harvest.

If he had learned anything in his time cast away, it was that mages were as unpredictable as they were dangerous—venomous, cruel, and unafraid. All-knowing, they played with the fabric of time and space, indifferent to the chaos they wrought.

He was certain he had been atomized, deconstructed, and reconstructed within the timeline he once called his own. But how far into the present, past, or future he had been thrust into remained the looming unknown.

His mission—-to reap the soul of a man he once knew.

A man that had unlocked a potential known only to him—an unlimited power that defied understanding. The two of them may very well have transcended the boundaries of time, simultaneously outliving all those they had once known, leaving only echoes of ghosts behind.

That was a question that could not remain unanswered: who—-or what—-remained of the life he once knew? What remained in the space between all that was known, and what was yet to be discovered?

Despite the vengeful conquest that fueled every pulse of his lifeblood, he carried a personal objective—one that took precedence above all else, overshadowing every other need and duty.

He must find her.

With a body and soul that ached, cried, and surged with pain at the slightest movement, Jayce clutched his faithful hammer, the staff his only anchor in this fractured moment. He grasped it with a ferocity born of desperation, driven by an insatiable need to find the one who held his heart.

He dragged himself from the earth, his bones threatening to crumble beneath the weight of every strained muscle. In the depths of his agony, he found the strength to cry out—anguish, pain, and longing intertwining in a sound that tore through the stillness.

There was no time to waste. Time was as fleeting as the many fragile faces of morality he had been shown. He pressed on, choosing to ignore the pain that gnawed at his body, for the agony in his heart burned far fiercer, driving him forward with a greater urgency.

As he forced one foot in front of the other, a faint clarity began to seep through the fog of his pain. He recognized this place—what felt like a lifetime ago, perhaps it truly was.

It was the very place he had been banished from on that fateful day, the boundaries of reality itself stripped away, peeling from his existence like old paint from a forgotten wall.

The base of the Hexgate. Miles upon miles beneath the surface, deep within the heart of the underground. So close to The Fissures that the scent of The Grey seeped through, oozing like sludge, despite the sanctity of the Hextech walls.

Yes, he knew exactly where he was—and where he had to go. Where he needed to go.

After what seemed like hours of agony, though only mere minutes in the grand scope of reality, he emerged.

The raw sunlight of the outside world felt foreign, a pale imitation of the light he’d known within the anomaly that had consumed him. It didn’t faze him in the slightest. Yet, he clung to the shadows, weighed down by the urgency of his mission, unwilling to risk crossing paths with anyone but the council he sought.

He tried to summon her face in his mind, though it danced just beyond his reach, a fading wisp of memory. The delicate details slipped like grains of sand through his fingers, leaving behind only fragments, delicate shards of a once-vivid whole. Longing was a poor name for the ache that ate away at his very being.

It wasn’t just the endless minutes, hours, or even years spent alone, adrift in the quiet expanse of time. It was the storm within his mind, the weight of the universe’s secrets pressing upon him, unraveling his memories until her face—so familiar, so beloved—was little more than a whisper, lost to the void.

How could he ever forget her face?

His grip on the hammer tightened, the weight of it suspended in the air, but he refused to rely on it. His impatience burned, driving him forward without its support.

This was his final reckoning. To bear the strain of his body, the pain of his journey, as penance for allowing his mind to forsake the thought of her.

He trudged through the shadows, a silent specter unnoticed by the lurking eyes around him, his resolve unwavering as he pressed forward, determined to reach the only place where he could search for her presence.

Every so often, ripples of time—glitches in the fabric of his mind—tore through him, sending his thoughts into chaos. They were like jolts of electricity, moments when his current self clashed with the future he had lived, battling with the past in a present that no longer belonged to him. It was no wonder such disruptions occurred, for he was living a time that had already become the past, thrown back into the present, where time itself seemed to be an elusive spectacle.

Deeming the horrors he endured—atrocious—barely scratched the surface of what he had encountered in his time away. Physically, he had survived—scraping by in the darkness of caverns, feeding on small creatures that crossed his path, and lighting fires from their bones to keep the cold at bay. It was a hell no mortal could comprehend. Physically surviving, yet endlessly lost in the mental labyrinth of unanswered questions, shattered dreams, and sudden epiphanies.

Tampering with the very energy that shaped rock from stardust, and blood from matter—the vital core of life itself. He was beyond foolish to have once believed he could wield such power in the name of humankind’s technological progress. How naïve he had been, to think that a mere mortal could control forces unknown to their kind, and expect no consequence.

This was his consequence. To have forgotten the blissfully ignorant construct of time. To have forgotten what joyfulness truly was. To have forgotten love in its entirety—who to love, how to love, and who had once loved him.

To know nothing but pain. Nothing but sorrow. Nothing but the lingering ache of ignorance lost, the fleeting happiness once found in the mere desire to uncover the answers he now possessed. He sought answers, and answers were what he got. But within those answers lay a terror unlike any other—a terror born of witnessing what could have been, what did happen, and what will inevitably unfold from his actions.

Jayce felt the weight of this burden crashing down around him, tightening around his throat like an enraged serpent. Breathing itself had become as foreign as the sunlight. He choked out, unable to cry out in pain as another ripple in the fabric of time surged through him, seemingly splitting his head in two. He screamed, yet no sound escaped him once more.

He had no time for this. No time for anything. Time was both nonexistent and forever slipping away—a paradox in its purest form.

He pressed on, driven by an iron will to reach his destination before his earthly body could endure another ounce of pain or suffering. Minutes passed, though they felt more like hours—an eternity in the spaces between each breath.

He could feel the coiled serpent around his neck loosening as the sight of a still, all-too-familiar building came into view. Jayce was breathing heavily now—panting, gasping, his shoulders rising and falling with the weight of exhaustion, a feeling he had come to know too well.

Jayce gripped his trusted hammer tightly, positioning the handle and aiming it at the solid door ahead. With a swift pull of the long metal release bar, the hum of his hextech beam sliced through the air, the door offering no resistance as it imploded.

Jayce pushed through without hesitation or abandon, stumbling through the opening he had created, breathing hard all the while. His gaze settled on the familiar surroundings. He remembered this place. Her home. His home. Their home.

He hurled his hammer aside, the hefty weapon crashing into a nearby coffee table. The sharp crack of the wood splintering beneath the weight of the metal rang through the space, a loud echo sure to stir anyone in the house—if the blast of the door hadn’t already.

Jayce didn’t pause. He doubled down, picking up speed as he raced through the lower level of the house, frantic, desperate to find her. Room to room he searched, the pain in his leg screaming in protest, but he didn’t stop.

Yet, she was nowhere to be found. Jayce cursed loudly, slamming his fist into a nearby wall, the house shaking under the force of his strike.

She wasn’t here. Where else could she be?

His anger grew as he moved, a hurricane of frustration until he reached the base of the staircase. Once more, his fist collided with the wall, a primal curse escaping his lips—anger, guilt, and confusion tumbling out in the heat of the moment.

"FUCK!" he shouted, pounding his fist repeatedly into the wall, leaving a substantial dent in its wake.

His rage was all-consuming, blinding, and relentless as he acknowledged the thick layers of dust that caked the railing of the staircase before him.

Has he really been gone that long?

He could feel the weight of his grief, the tears gathering in his eyes, threatening to fall, tracing the sharp curve of his cheekbones.

Yet another grim reality came crashing down upon him—the unbearable truth that he had, indeed, outlived the one radiant beacon of his desires, the singular flame that had given his life meaning. The knife of guilt plunged itself deeper into his chest as he realized he could no longer even summon her name, lost amid the swarm of revelations and horrors that had become his affliction.

But then, a faint sound—something delicate, breathy, and quiet—caught his attention.

Jayce had been the loudest force in the house, but his ears were tuned to the silence that followed him, alert to anything out of place.

A gasp. A small one. Almost imperceptible.

His head snapped up, his gaze sharp, seeking the source of the sound. His eyes scanned each step, weaving between the banisters of the staircase until they found the outline of a face—half of it, barely visible from behind the uppermost curve of the staircase. The spaces between the columns made it difficult to catch a clear view, but he could see just enough.

Jayce stood rooted to the spot, the air thick with disbelief. He couldn’t trust his eyes—not after all he’d endured, not after the nightmares that had taunted him for so long. But there she was, standing at the top of the staircase. Her outline blurred and shimmering, as if she were a mirage conjured from his aching, fragmented mind.

She didn’t move. She couldn’t. Her fingers gripped the banister, knuckles white, as if it was the only thing keeping her tethered to this moment. Her eyes locked on his, wide and unblinking, and the emotion within them struck him like a blow. Shock. Pain. Recognition. A mirror of his own soul laid bare.

Slowly, cautiously, she began to descend, each step hesitant as though the floor beneath her might give way.

Jayce couldn’t breathe. The sight of her stole whatever remnants of air remained in his lungs. He wanted to call out to her, to say her name, but the word escaped him, lost somewhere deep in the fractures of his memory. His hands trembled at his sides, and his knees threatened to buckle.

When she reached the bottom, she paused, so close he could feel the faint warmth of her presence. Her lips parted as though to speak, but no words came. Instead, her hand rose, trembling, hovering near his face. Her fingers grazed the roughness of his beard—unfamiliar, foreign to the Jayce she had once known. Her gaze searched his, desperate for something familiar beneath the layers of torment etched into his features. Her touch was a question, a plea, a prayer.

“Is it really you?” she whispered, her voice barely audible, trembling far worse than her hand.

Her words, her cadence, the very sound of the way she construed her syllables together stirred something deep within him.

It started faint, a flicker in the void of his memory. A flash of light in the darkness, a melody half-remembered. Her laughter, her smile, her voice—it came rushing back, filling the empty, aching spaces in his mind. He remembered the way her eyes sparkled when she teased him, the warmth of her hand in his, the softness of her lips when they whispered promises meant to last forever. He remembered late nights in their home, her humming a tune he could never place, and the way she fit perfectly against his side, as though they had been made for each other.

And then her name emerged, clear and resounding, breaking through the haze like sunlight piercing storm clouds. It struck him with staggering force, his breath hitching in his chest.

“____...” he whispered, her name trembling on his lips. It felt strange and familiar all at once, like a language he had known in another life. The syllables tasted of longing, regret, and an aching love that had never truly left him. Her name wasn’t just a word; it was an invocation, a tether to everything he had been and everything he had lost.

She gasped, her hand freezing on his face as the sound of her name from his lips shattered something inside her. Her tears fell faster, her face crumbling under the weight of his voice, the voice she had feared she might never hear again.

“It’s me,” she choked out, her voice breaking, thick with disbelief and raw emotion. “It’s me, baby. It’s me.”

Jayce said nothing more. He couldn’t. The dam within him had broken, and there was no holding back the flood of emotions that consumed him. He reached for her, his hands trembling as they gripped her shoulders, desperate to anchor himself to her presence. The sound of her name reverberated in his mind, in his heart, and in his very soul.

Like clockwork, instinct overcame him, and he pulled her into his arms. His hand slid up, fingers weaving into the familiar softness of her hair, cradling the back of her head as though afraid she might disappear if he let go. The other wrapped firmly around her waist, his trembling grip binding her to him, locking her in place against his chest as if he could shield her from every cruel force in the universe.

They stood there, unmoving, a living sculpture of sorrow and relief intertwined. Their shared sobs filled the air, broken and uneven, their abdomens convulsing in an imperfect rhythm, a pattern dictated by the sheer weight of their emotions.

Her arms shot up, wrapping tightly around his neck, clinging to him with a fierceness that rivaled the serpent from earlier. But this was no constriction of malice—this was desperation, a refusal to let go, an embrace steeped in the agony of their time apart and the fragile hope of this reunion.

She buried her face into the curve of his shoulder, her tears soaking into the rough fabric of his battered coat. Jayce pressed his face into her hair, inhaling the faint trace of a scent he thought he’d never experience again. It was real—she was real. And so was he. Together, they formed an unyielding testament to survival, to love found again in the wreckage of time and pain.

The world around them faded into silence, the echoes of shattered furniture and crumbling walls irrelevant. There was nothing else—just the two of them, locked in a moment that transcended everything else.

In that embrace, time ceased to exist. There was no past, no future, only the moment—the aching, beautiful reunion of two souls who had endured the unendurable, and somehow found their way back to each other.

For the first time in what didn’t merely feel like an eternity—but what, for him, truly was an eternity—Jayce allowed himself to breathe. The unrelenting grip of despair that had clung to him for so long loosened its hold, and he surrendered to the fragile, radiant possibility of solace.

He melted into her touch, the warmth of her embrace dissolving the armor of anguish he had worn for so long. The waves of hope, love, and longing coursed through him like a rising tide, washing over his battered soul, cleansing him of every hardship and sin that had clung to him.

Each tear that fell from his eyes felt like a release, a quiet surrender to the overwhelming truth that she was here, alive, and within his grasp. For the first time in a recent lifetime of torment, Jayce felt the faint glimmer of what it meant to be whole again. In her arms, he rediscovered the segments of himself he thought had been lost forever. He pulled his face from the crook of her neck, craning up ever so slightly to meet her gaze from the step above him.

In the raw, aching silence of the eye contact, he kissed her.

It was not a kiss of restraint, not the gentle touch of lovers reunited after a brief absence. No, this was a kiss of desperate need, of a hunger so deep it could never be satisfied with mere words. His lips crashed against hers with an intensity borne of years of pain, the searing heat of their touch shattering any trace of distance that had ever existed between them. The world spun around them, time itself seemed to hesitate, unsure if it dared to move forward while these two souls collided, intertwining in a dance they had been separated from for far too long.

His hands cradled her face, as if he could memorize every curve, every contour of her like the final piece of a shattered puzzle. His thumb traced the delicate line of her jaw, brushing away tears that mingled with his own, but the salt of them only added to the kiss. Her hands clung to his shoulders, pulling him in, urging him closer, as if she, too, feared he might disappear into the ether if she didn't hold him tight enough.

Her lips were as soft as he remembered, and yet, they were so much more now. They spoke a language only the broken could understand—tender, yearning, seeking. His own lips moved over hers with an urgency that spoke of things unspoken, of years lost and never returned, of the agony of not knowing if the person before him had ever truly existed outside of memory. But here she was, warm in his arms, and the kiss deepened, no longer a question but an answer—a promise, a return to everything they had lost, and everything they could still become.

His hands roamed over her back, as if trying to remember every inch of her, as if the very touch of her skin reminded him more of everything he had witnessed than the sheer fact that it was something he had only just been through. It reminded him of everything he had suffered—just to be here, in this moment. He kissed her with the weight of all that and more, as if their love had never left him, even in the darkest hours. He kissed her like she was the last obstacle in the way of sanity in a world that had spun too far out of control. And when they finally pulled apart, breathless and trembling, the air between them was thick with the unspoken realization that the past—no matter how broken—was never truly lost.

And for the first time in forever, Jayce allowed himself to believe in miracles.

“I thought I’d lost you,” he whispered, his voice raw and shaky against her lips, his fingers tightening in her hair, though never enough to hurt.

“I thought you’d never come back,” she replied, her voice trembling with an aching yearning. She pulled her arms from around his neck, her hands grabbing the collar of his shirt, pulling him even closer, as if their bodies could merge into one.

Jayce huffed against her lips, their breaths tangled together, hearts racing. Their lips met again, moving together with an urgency, a desperate rhythm of grinding, sliding—like they were both trying to consume the other, as if time itself could be stolen through every kiss.

There were no more words to be spoken, no explanations needed at this time. Everything that needed to be said would happen outside of this moment, beyond the confines of the here and now. In this space, within the familiar walls of their home, the only thing left to do was to cherish, savor, and surrender to the love that had been lost and now found.

They moved as if guided by an unspoken understanding, her legs instinctively wrapping around his waist as his hands rose to cradle the curve of her body. His fingers traced the soft, bare skin of her thighs, caressing gently before gripping her firmly, as if to reassure himself she was truly there.

With a quiet, unrelenting need, he pressed her back into the wall—the same one he had pummeled with his fist mere moments ago. The contrast of his previous rage and the tender, consuming embrace was stark, as the heat between them grew, their bodies aligning in need.

Neither of them had the patience for anything more than the raw, burning need to be together again. Clothes were discarded in hurried motions, a belt undone with an urgency that mirrored the storm raging between them.

As if their bodies had always been the missing pieces of a puzzle, they came together without thought, fitting perfectly in a way only years of passion and love could understand. It was a reunion, not just of flesh, but of something deeper—an unspoken connection that had always waited beneath the surface, now finally able to breach it.

Jayce groaned out, sinking his cock down to the hilt inside her. His belt hung loosely, the buckle clinking faintly, like a soft chime in the quiet chaos of their reunion. His hips shifted with a subtle sway, his body still aching, but driven by the shared overwhelming need.

One hand braced against the wall, fingers tracing the jagged divot he had created earlier, finding an oddly fitting purchase there. The other hand cupped the side of her face, pulling her closer, his lips leaving a trail of fiery kisses across her cheek, down the curve of her neck, and grazing the exposed sliver of skin on her collarbone just beneath the neckline of her shirt. Every touch was a silent gospel, a desperate reaffirmation that she was truly there.

He grunted, huffing out as his cock twitched amongst the walls of her cunt, her slick coating every shred of skin he buried between them.

She cried out, the tears of her passion and devastation still streaming down her face as she moaned against his shoulder, hands still gripping for dear life at his shirt.

Jayce couldn’t do anything but move—move against her, move within her, as if each shift and press was an unspoken promise. He needed her to feel the weight of everything that had passed between them, the years apart, the torment, the longing. His body spoke in the language of devotion, an unyielding motion that expressed what words could not. He wanted her to feel everything—the regret, the pain, the aching desire to make her understand that he had never meant to leave her. Every movement was a plea for redemption, an effort to show her that his absence had never been by choice, and that now, with her in his arms, he would never leave again.

Not until every moment with her had been relived in full, paid in full—a debt he had accumulated, whether or not it had ever been his intention.

Furthermore, not until the day he was laid to rest.

With the very weight of his intended unspoken purpose, he did as he needed. He began moving against her, driving his cock further into her before pulling his hips back with great resistance. Oh, how he had dreamed of staying there, deep within her, until their bodies became one. A dream he could fulfill one day, but not this day. No.

He had to do what he must. The new mission that called to him. Repentance for his guilt.

He bore down, removing the hand from her face, exchanging a greeting with her hip as he used both it and the anchor on the wall to aid the snapping of his hips into hers. Her legs coiled ever stronger around his waist as he moved, hazy spots clouding her vision as he drove the head of his cock deep into a spot she knew he remembered just where to find.

He continued, the duet of their sounds merging into a symphony that reverberated through the hollow structure of the house.

He knew he couldn’t stop, couldn't dare break his stride, but the weight of his earthly injury proved too great a challenge. His knee, the very one that had borne the brunt of the fall into the caverns that had held him captive for so long, began to give way.

A hiss escaped him as his knee buckled, sending him crashing into the wall, taking her down with him. He fumbled in frustration, angry that this obstacle had to arise now. She cupped his face gently, pulling him out of the haze of passion for a moment. Her eyes were full of forgiveness, understanding, and love.

With a soft kiss—chaste yet filled with tenderness—she slowly pushed him away. Breathless, her chest rising and falling in rhythm with his, she guided him gently toward the staircase. She eased him down to the step she had just occupied, his rear meeting the step with an awkward thud as he struggled to use his knee. She almost laughed at the flustered look on his face.

There he sat, cock out, needy as ever, glistening with the physical proof of her desires, gazing up at her like a man who had been lost in a storm for years—and in her presence, found the calm, the shelter, the promise of everything he had ever longed for.

She was never able, in all the years spent with him, to deny the way he looked at her—with nothing more than pure adoration, as if his gaze alone could encompass the depth of every sweltering emotion he had ever felt, each one overflowing like a tide too vast to hold back.

It sent lightning bolting through her veins as she lifted the hem of her dress by the waistline, clearing it from her shins as she moved them on either side of his thighs. In a quick movement, she descended into his lap, sinking back down onto his cock like a glass slipper to a foot–the kind you read about in fairytales.

Jayce’s eyes refused to close, despite the overwhelming pleasure that urged them to surrender. He couldn’t bear to look away—not when he had once forgotten her face, a face he could never fathom losing from his memory again. He would spend an eternity gazing at it, tracing every curve, every expression, if it meant he’d never risk forgetting again.

She cooed softly, a hum deep in her chest as she stilled atop him. Without warning, she braced herself with her hands on his shoulders and began to move. Her knees ground harshly against the wooden step beneath them, the sting sharp but dismissed as something fleeting, unworthy of attention in this sacred moment.

Jayce’s hands found their way to her hips, guiding and assisting her as she moved, his good knee pressing up into her, adding to the rhythm as she rolled her hips down into his lap.

He stared up at her, almost in awe, desperate to say something—anything—that might amplify the intensity of the moment. She could see the storm of thoughts behind his eyes, and with a gentle shake of her head, she silenced him, her gesture a tender "not now."

Jayce nodded, his mouth sealing shut once more as he pulled her down, their lips reconnecting in a fierce kiss. Their tongues danced together, reacquainting themselves, as the tension they both craved began to stir deep within them, rising like a wave that would soon crash.

She could tell by the way his breath quickened, and the way he gripped at her hips—attempting to pull her harder and faster against him, that he was close.

She could feel her own impending orgasm approaching faster than she cared to admit. After several more seconds, she came undone, the walls of her cunt spasming and twitching against his cock as they tightened around him.

Jayce groaned out with the unholiest of moans as he could no longer stifle his own orgasm. He came hard, slamming her hips into his lap one final time as the streams and strokes of his cum lathered her internal walls.

And just like that, as if the very fabric of time were being stitched back together, the rift felt whole again. The weight of everything that had been forced upon him, every choice he had made, and the heavy burden of his mission’s fate, all dissipated into nothingness. In that fleeting moment, the past and future aligned, and the crushing pressure of it all faded into serenity.

The two people, united by more than sweat and tears, felt a deep harmony between them, as if everything in the world had realigned. In that moment, it was as though the universe itself had whispered that all was right. Together, they could face the trials of the new day, conquer every obstacle that came their way, and overcome every hardship as one.

With the shifting weight of time that had passed, and the uncertain future that lay ahead—yet one that felt equally decided—there remained an essence of calm, unburdened by fear. In that moment, both past and future were held in a quiet certainty, as if all things had already been set in motion, and nothing could sway them from their course.

There was no challenge too great, no burden too heavy, for they were stronger together than they could ever be apart.

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dpspcehntr · 2 months ago

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Hello 🤗 I have a question that has crossed my mind from time to time and I would like your (and maybe your followers) opinion on this, if you don't mind.

Thinking realistically, rather than with a romantic notion, do you think the LaDs men have had much, if any, sexual experience that hasn't been with MC?

Would God of the Tides have concubines brought to him, or gone on dates as a land lubber? Or do you think his bond with MC would prevent him from 'engaging' with anyone else?

Did Xavier date anyone before MC joined the guardians (I don't know the name I forget lol)?

I don't know anything about Sylus

Would Zayne have had a prom date or a girlfriend before he met with the current timeline MC? I know he says we are his only experience, but does that include just kissing someone?

I’M SO GLAD YOU ASKED!! One, I have also been rotating this around in my brain for quite some time and how I feel very lightly colors how I write for them! I haven't read much (if any at all) of the myths so I will just be looking at the present. I love thinking about this cause tbh sometimes the characterizations in game are not as full as I would like. I won’t keep this long but if you want more detail I’m happy to add to this post! Anyway! Here are my thoughts!

Rafayel is literally the reason I had this thought in the first place. I thought it was so silly to think that he as a rich artsy boy had never ONCE hooked up with someone. He absolutely is a FUCKBOY! I will hear nothing else about it. I can't image he's not when so much of his overall characterization just oozes that kind of energy for me. My exception to this is that I don't think he enjoyed himself very much. Used sex kind of like a numbing thing cause he felt the void of your absence hard. He's not like a community dick kind of fuckboy but he has definitely been passed around a few times, if not as a professional then in art school.

Xavier is another one who I feel has some experience before (re)meeting MC. His experience is alot more clumsy and unsure compared to Rafayel. More of a situation like 'I want to be ready when I find her so I'm going to try it with someone else to be good at it. There may only be one person he's had sex with before MC and it was so bad she just had to leave. When that failed he just turned to erotica and p*rn to fill in the gaps. Eventually getting used to using his own imagination and getting off when needed. So when the time comes he's very prepared and VERY horny.

Sylus is a bit of a hard one because yes absolutely he is having sex with people before meeting MC. His overall vibe very much eludes to the fact that he has lived a life and I'm sure that is included. I don't think he's slinging it out to anyone who asks but he has been in some kind of relationship before. If anything we can say he is very comfortable having sex and has had sex before meeting MC. I have some more thoughts on this but I will keep it there for now!

Zayne from what I know has said that he isn't experienced and we are his first and I believe that. He very much gives full focus on the task at hand kind of man. Definitely not in high school but in med school I image him having a non serious fling with someone just to say he tried. They broke up soon after and he just never tried again until he and MC reconnected. That being said, he is a bit of a perv and has ALOT of pent up energy so once they start they literally don't stop. Like a weekend stuck in an endless loop of sleep, eat, fuck until he's at work desperate for you once again. The problem for him is learning how to control himself now that has MC.

My ask box is open for further conversations on this cause I genuinely love talking about this! Lets keep the conversation going!

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afurtivecake · 3 months ago

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You know what my actual favourite Andrew Minyard line in the whole series is? It's not his sentimental lines like, "...from now until May you are still Neil Josten...". It's not even the best love confession in all of literature line, "Doesn't mean I wouldn't blow you." It's when he says "I'm not as smart as I thought I was."

That one line tells you so much about Andrew's character. That's the line that spells out for the reader that Andrew is smarter than he chooses to let on. That's the line that shows you just highly Andrew thinks of his own intelligence and how much he's been relying on it to survive and to keep his promises.

Consider that up until that point Andrew has presented himself with nothing less than the domineering kind of toughness you'd expect to see in a prison scene in a movie. He openly talks about breaking Neil, threatens multiple people with knives and makes everyone work around him. His "tough guy around town" persona and his ability to inflict violence is clearly something he prizes. AND YET. The first time he admits to any kind of dissatisfaction with himself, it's about his intelligence.

That is the point where the reader realizes that Andrew, in his own mind, is an intellectual. He doesn't actually pride himself on being the toughest guy in the room. He's aware that he's all of 5-feet-nothing and he knows at any given moment there's likely to be someone bigger and stronger than he is. What he's counting on in any given situation is being the smartest guy in the room. Fix any issues before they worsen, anticipate and eliminate any threats before they surface, think his way out of any problem that comes up. His intelligence is what he relies on to keep his promises.

That's the moment Andrew realizes that he's been letting his feelings get the better of his logic. He clocks Neil as dangerous from day one. But he's been telling himself that he's letting Neil stay for Kevin's sake or at least just until he can definitively prove Neil is dangerous. But the real reason he let Neil stay and get away with all his sketchy behaviour is because he let the fact that he likes Neil as a person, overcome his logic.

It makes you think, OH, THAT'S WHY Andrew was so interested in Neil in the first place. For someone who prides himself on his intelligence and KNOWS that no one else can match his smarts, Neil figuring out his twin switcheroo trick is the same as Neil throwing down the gauntlet and challenging him to a battle of wits. Andrew keeps trying to trip Neil up and Neil keeps batting his attempts aside and Andrew ends up helplessly charmed by Neil. Because Andrew LIKES that Neil is able to outsmart him sometimes, that Neil is his intellectual equal. And somewhere along the way, he's let himself forget that he "knows better" than to get emotionally attached, than to let someone else best him at his best quality- than to act like every other idiot in love that he's ever met.

You then realize that Andrew hasn't once thought of himself as brawny jock. That off-putting delinquent/school-shooter vibe and "psycho" reputation is a carefully calculated form of self-defense. It's self-defense in the literal sense of scaring off people who might want to fuck with him, but perhaps also in the sense of protecting himself from being seen. It makes sense, right? If people were to actually try to get to know him with an open mind, they'd soon discover that he IS difficult to get along with in ways they thought they could handle, but can't. Better to act the volatile asshole than suffer the disappointment of people changing how they treat him. And in the unlikely case that people find out that he isn't as tough as he presents himself, they might pity him. And that would be even worse. Much better to be as un-fuck-with-able as possible.

First time reading the book, I was taken in by Andrew's jock-ish façade. But the moment he admitted maybe he ought to be disappointed in himself for not being as smart as he thought he was, I had to set the book down and rethink every assumption I had made about Andrew as a character. The timing of that revelation is so perfect, because it happens just before the Thanksgiving mess. And so as the reader, you're suddenly coming to terms with the fact that Andrew is so much more vulnerable than he's ever portrayed himself to be at the same time that Andrew is being hit with probably one of the worst moments in his life. Like, that absolutely TOOK ME OUT. Which is why, that's one of the best lines in the whole series to me.

#this line is a HUGE part of the reason this series had such a big impact on me #andrew's character is just so well-written and the reveals about his character are so impeccably well-timed #andrew minyard #aftg

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xiao-come-home · 9 months ago

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I love reading your random Boothill thoughts 🥲. Especially the one where he is a dad. Do you think he is a girl dad or boy dad?

Ahhh thank you! Ik you sent it before his story was leaked but man was this spot on 🫠 here’s some dad!boothill hc with reader because im starving

Warning: mentions of pregnant reader and all that jazz, SPOILERS FOR BOOTHILLS STORY.

I FELT IN MY BONES he was a girl dad before it was revealed to be canon! Boothill gives so much girl dad vibes it’s immaculate. He’d love to pick out pink clothes for his daughter, pink shoes, ponies and other plushies! Or rather, he loved.

That’s until you happened to get pregnant shortly before he left for his surgery. He came back a few weeks later with his new body, but no one was home. A small gift bag sat on the table, waiting for him; Boothill opened the bag and grabbed a piece of long paper, a black and white picture. A small bean present in the middle; the back of the picture held a tiny caption, that read: “I’m only a few weeks old. I can’t wait to meet you, daddy.”

Even though the wound was still fresh and open, since not long has passed since the incident on his planet - Boothill began to feel bitter determination to give his baby the best life they could ever have; this time, a life that wouldn’t see its end so fast.

Boothill is very interested in your pregnancy! He’s sometimes unable to go to every appointment (whether be it the ipc who are hunting him, or the opposite), but he knows he can’t mess it up. Not again. He’s always holding your hand when you have an ultrasound scan, glaring at the doctor and making sure they don’t hurt you or the baby, and giving your tummy so. many. kisses. He assists you in the bath, just talking to you can keeping you company, since water, cords and a pregnant human aren’t a good combo. He wants you to tell him everything.

That’s when you finally tell Boothill that you’ll have a baby girl - his mechanic heart shatters and swells with love at the same time; it’s such a strange feeling, that makes the cowboy feel a little guilty. Both of you fall silent, until Boothill makes a move and closes the distance between you, smiling sadly at you and softly caressing your stomach with his hand, “I’ll treasure her forever.”

There are days when Boothill truly feels like the hole in his heart cannot be healed after your first daughter, but he knows she’d love to have a little sister. Yet he’s here, now a cyborg and the only memory of her is just one, lonely picture. He makes sure to never let her existence fade away by telling your round tummy that he’ll love them both until the end.

On a happier note, Boothill is just. Such a good dad, but also a chaotic one sometimes, especially if your daughter inherits her dad’s personality. They’re doing everything together - if she wants to have her hair braided, he does so, and lets her braid his (even if his hair gets so tangled at first, to the point he has to cut it 😭), good god! He loves her so much and always hugs her so tightly when she runs up to him after she notices her dad is back home.

Boothill just loves hearing her little giggles and always makes her laugh! Sometimes he tickles her so much she throws her plushies at him.

Boothill wants all her milestones to be forever preserved. He has tons of pictures of her, a few photo albums - it’s never enough. He’s so proud when she says her first word, when she takes her first steps by herself, her first drawing for him (even if she drew it on the fridge with a black marker), her first birthday. He wants to give her everything she could ever have.

Boothill might've cried the night when his little baby drew him a family portrait - with you, herself, her daddy and older sister. He's injected in her every possible good memory about her, and she never fails to appreciate her older sister even if she isn't there, knowing her dad still loves her just as much.

When Boothill’s little princess cancels the weekly tea party he’s always attended, it’s HIM who feels sad about and pouty about it.

Boothill buys his daughter tons of different hats! They’re always carefully picked and he makes sure she likes them waiting for her approval, but most of the time she wants to just wear his. She doesn’t care she’s drowning in it, it’s the best because it’s Boothill’s hat.

Even though Boothill never mentioned her anything about playing guitar, one day she started to play him a tiny bit of song she learned at school - although clumsily and due to stress, Boothill listened to her and threw her in the air in happiness when she finished - he knew it was your job and couldn’t be more thankful. Once again, he made yet another guitar in his life - this time to finally listen to his little one’s music and teach her many, many other songs they’d later play and sing together.

Oh god, when Boothill’s daughter announced her “boyfriend” she met at daycare, he just stared at her with wide eyes. This is also an instance where he cried that night and you had to calm him down. Later on he insisted to be the one to take her to daycare, and gently threatened the said toddler, “look, stinker. Don’t ya dare GET NEAR ma lil’ angel, or else.” This was his last visit without your supervision. And also, your daughter just laughed at him and left… so yeah, plan failed successfully, I guess?

Mandatory naps with daddy after daycare. Well, Boothill only pretends to sleep when she looks at him - but once she falls asleep on his chest, he looks at her with so much love, gently resting on his chest and stroking her hair, that was just like his and adoring her tiny face, that he thought was the most perfect mix of you and him. Boothill shushes you with his finger quietly, when you ungraciously enter your home. A content smile appears on his lips when you give him and your daughter an apologetic kiss on their foreheads, still hearing her snoozing tenderly.

#honkai star rail #hsr x reader #honkai star rail x reader #boothill #boothill hsr #boothill x reader #.anon thirst

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diazsdimples · 4 months ago

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Congratulations on 1K 🥳 ❤️

Hope all goes well with the surgery 🫶

I'm going to request:

Bucktommy small fic: Buck or Tommy (you pick!) finds a ring box hidden in a drawer

Bucktommy text chain: flirty vibes!

MWAH!

Ahhh thank you!! Finally getting around to answering this!! Your text chains will be in a separate post 😊 I hope you enjoy!!

Little black box (Teen, 2.2k | Bucktommy)

Tommy isn't meant to see it.

Not now, at least. Not like this.

He should see it for the first time as Evan slowly gets down on one knee, producing it from his jacket pocket. It should be a surprise that fills his stomach with helium, making him feel light and as though he could float away if it weren’t for the strength of Evan’s presence beside him, keeping him forever grounded.

Instead, he just feels cold, his throat tightening as he looks down at the small, velvet box. It’s so innocent, resting between Evan’s underwear as though it’s been there for months, comfortable in its space. And it might have been, for all he knows. Tommy’s eyes sting as he pushes back the thought that he might never have known, had it not been for the skill and quick thinking of the paramedics.

His hands are shaking, he realises, as he covers the box once again, hiding it with the briefs that had once been shielding it from the world – from Tommy’s knowledge. Admittedly it’s one of the most obvious hiding places ever, easily discoverable should Tommy ever rifle through Evan’s old socks, but he’s never had any need to do that.

Until now.

Swallowing down the rapidly rising lump in his throat, Tommy picks out a couple of pairs of briefs before selecting a pair of soft sweatpants and an oversized t-shirt of his that he knows Evan loves. With a heavy sigh, Tommy drops to the side of their bed and his head hangs. A lone tear escapes from the corner of his eye, making a silent track down the side of his nose before dripping off the end. It falls onto the duvet cover, a small splotch of wet right next to the rose petaled pattern.

Evan’s blood is still under his fingernails, staining the tips of his fingers like rust on steel. He’d scrubbed them in the hospital as his breaths came hard and fast, his heart feeling as though it could explode from his chest. He’d scrubbed and scrubbed and scrubbed until he bled himself. Eddie had come in behind him, taking the soap from his hands and had guided him from the bathroom.

“Go home,” he’d said, peering into Tommy’s weary face. “Get some rest. I’ll call you when he’s awake.”

Maddie had driven him home. She’d offered to stay but he’d declined, saying Evan would need her more, that she should be there when he woke up. After she’d left, he’d clutched Evan’s pillow and cried himself dry until he finally passed out.

Sleep had been fitful as images of the accident flashed behind Tommy’s eyes. He’d woken with a start, gasping for breath as his phone buzzed beside him, the lockscreen of Evan’s smiling face an ever-present reminder of what he’d almost lost.

Tommy lets out a low groan, pressing the heels of his hands into his eyes, as if that’ll erase the image of Evan’s hair, usually blond and curled, now russet and matted with blood. He shakes his head in an attempt to clear it and pulls the clothes into a neat pile beside him, ready to fold into a bag when he leaves.

He should shower. He can smell the lingering scent of hospital and the metallic twang of blood clinging to his clothes. There's a red blossom at the hem of his shirt from where he'd cradled Evan's head in his lap as they'd waited for the paramedics. With a weary sigh, Tommy pulls off his shirt and kicks off his jeans, throwing them into the hamper. He can sort them when they're home.

He showers quickly and efficiently, scrubbing every inch of his body until he feels raw, but finally free from the tarnish of Evan’s blood. Hair still wet and curling at the tips, Tommy places Evan’s clothes carefully in the backpack, along with a charger, a book, and a collection of snacks.

The drive to the hospital seems to stretch, as though Chronos himself is tugging on the threads of time, stretching out every tortuous minute where Tommy isn’t by Evan’s side. He thinks about the box, about the accident, about the events leading up to it, trying to unpack it all, to find an instance where he could take the blame. Somehow, it would be easier that way.

Maddie’s waiting outside Evan’s room. There are dark circles around her eyes and her nose is red, as though she’s been crying. Eddie and Christopher are gone, though this doesn’t surprise Tommy. They’d had a long day, and the teenager was bound to be tiring out.

“How is he?” Tommy asks. His voice sounds rough, like someone’s taken to his vocal cords with sandpaper.

“Awake. Sore,” Maddie replies. She looks at Tommy softly, her hand coming up to cradle his still-shaking fingers, steadying him. “He’s been asking for you. Go.”

She nudges him gently towards the door and he goes, drawn always to Evan like a moth to a flame.

The door creaks as he opens it and Evan looks up, roused by the noise. Tommy’s heart stutters as he takes in his boyfriend’s appearance. He looks so small in the hospital bed, his chest covered in wires from the EKG leads. His head is bandaged, hiding the wide gash from Tommy’s view. Evans eyes fill with tears and he reaches out, his fingers trembling faintly.

“Tommy,” he croaks, and Tommy’s knees almost give out with relief. Evan is okay, he’s alive and he’s breathing. He isn’t bleeding anymore, his life force safely contained behind a row of stitches, some surgical glue, and a layer of fabric. He looks better than Tommy expected – maybe a little groggy, but there’s life in those eyes. And he wants his boyfriend.

Tommy crosses the room in two quick strides and drops the backpack beside the bed before sinking to his knees. His arms wrap around Evan’s shoulders, drawing him against his chest and he breathes in the coppery tang of the blood still in Evan’s hair.

“Hey, hey sweetheart it’s okay,” Tommy soothes, kissing Evan’s forehead. “I’ve got you. I’m here.”

Evan takes in a deep, shuddering breath. His firsts curl in Tommy’s jumper, clutching onto him as though he expects Tommy to disappear. Tommy knows the feeling.

“You weren’t here when I woke up.”

Tommy’s heart shatters into a million pieces and he pulls Evan tighter. He’ll never let go, never let Evan out of his sight again.

“I know, I’m sorry baby. I had to go home for a bit, I think Eddie was ready to chloroform me to make me rest.” Tommy chuckles quietly at the memory, and tears prick in his eyes as the pain of having to leave washes over him again. He pulls away, swiping his fist over his cheek.

“A-are you okay?” Evan asks, his hand coming up to cup Tommy’s cheek, as though Tommy’s the one that’s just been through a terrifying, life-threatening accident, not him.

“I should be asking you that, look at you,” Tommy laughs wetly, kissing Evan’s palm. He runs his hand over the rough bandage on his forehead, the fabric catching on small nicks in his skin. Evan’s eyes flutter shut, and he leans into Tommy’s touch. “Hey, I got you some clean clothes, if you wanted to get into something more comfy.”

Evan’s face lights up as Tommy reaches beside him and pulls the backpack up onto the bed.

“God yes, these hospital gowns are awful. Thank you, baby.” Evan grins as he pulls the backpack towards him and begins pawing through its contents. He kisses Tommy sweetly as he pulls out the snacks and the charger, placing the items on the small table beside his bed. The clothes come next – first the hoodie, then the sweatpants, and then finally, his boxers. Evan’s smile falters as he lifts them up, his brow furrowing as he slowly puts two and two together.

He licks his lips before speaking. “Where – uh – where did you get these from.”

Tommy could lie. He could say they they’re his, that he wasn’t thinking when he got them. Evan would laugh, probably say something flirty if he wasn’t so tired, and that would be it. He wouldn’t have to know and Tommy could live with the weight of his discovery on his own.

He can’t do that, though.

“Your underwear drawer,” Tommy eventually answers. His mouth feels dry as he braces himself for Evan’s reaction.

The blood drains from Evan’s face, leaving him waxy and pinched. “Does that mean – did you see…?”

He trails off, unable to finish his sentence, but he doesn’t have to. He never has to, when it comes to Tommy.

“Yeah,” Tommy replies softly. He takes Evan’s hand, running his thumb over his knuckles.

Evan settles back against his pillows, unable to meet Tommy’s eyes. “Oh.”

His face is etched with worry and Tommy can practically see the thoughts swirling through his brain. The brain that Tommy loves so much, that’s made Evan the man he is, so readily able to twist Evan’s thoughts and fears until he crumbles from them.

Tommy won’t allow that.

“Hey,” he says quietly, cupping Evan’s cheek. “It doesn’t change anything, Evan.”

Evan’s eyes meet his, and Tommy can see the panic behind the beautiful blue irises. He hurries to amend his statement, shuffling closer to Evan so he can rest their foreheads together, careful to avoid the bruises beneath the bandage. “Not unless you want it to.”

“W-what do you mean?” Evan asks. His voice is small, and Tommy feels a wetness against his fingertips. He wipes it away, smearing the tear against Evan’s cheek, and brushes the lightest of kisses against his lips.

He hasn’t been sure how he was going to reassure Evan about it, but the words flow easily from him now.

“I don’t mind that I found it. Nothing has been ruined for me, because I know that’s what you’re thinking right now.” The guilty flash of Evan’s eyes confirm his suspicions. “You could have proposed to me while we were 10,000 feet in the air with the helicopter spiralling out of control, and I would have said yes. You could have taken me to watch the whales, and you got down on one knee as their flukes crested a wave, and I would have said yes. You could have asked me while we were crusty and hungover and puking our brains out and I would have said yes.”

Tommy kisses Evan’s cheek, his nose, between his eyebrows, before finally pressing a kiss to his lips. He tastes salty, from blood or tears Tommy doesn’t know, and he doesn’t care. “Baby, you have to know you’re it for me,” he whispers.

Evan shudders against him, his breath hot on Tommy's lips. His hands reach out to grasp Tommy's wrist, his grip firm, stopping Tommy from pulling away. Not that he wants to.

“I know I’ve got a pretty bad concussion, but can we just ignore that for two seconds?” he asks. Tommy’s brow furrows in confusion – it wasn’t at all the response he expected. He moves backwards, giving Evan some space, gauging his expression.

“Okay?”

Evan winces a little as he moves forward, and he takes Tommy’s hands in his, his fingers rubbing at the webbing between Tommy’s thumb and forefinger. He looks beautiful, even with the slowly blackening eye and the small tuft of curls sticking up from beneath his bandage. Tommy finds himself marvelling at how lucky he is, as he does at least once a day.

“I am a little sad you found it,” Evan admits, ducking his head and looking up at Tommy through his lashes. “I’d planned a whole day – we were going to go to the Getty on our anniversary and I was going to take you into the garden and propose to you there, not where there were too many people, but so that we could see the city. Our home.”

“Evan I -”

“Let me finish,” Evan replies, flicking Tommy’s nose with a grin. Tommy does as he’s told, shutting his mouth with a snap.

Evan takes a steadying breath before continuing. “But. After today, the accident, and all those beautiful things you said to me, I think I’ve realised that there’s no point in waiting. It doesn’t matter how I ask, right? As long as it’s you and me together.”

He leans forwards again, his mouth ghosting over Tommy’s in the softest brush of a kiss.

“So, Thomas William Kinard, will you marry me?”

It’s like he’d used up all his words in reassuring Evan, because suddenly his response is stuck in his throat. Tommy looks around them, at the basin in the corner, the small table on which lies Evan’s belongings, the monitor attached to the wall that’s recorded the spike in Evan’s heart rate. He looks at Evan, battered and bruised and looking altogether worse for wear, skin the same colour as the sheets in which he’s wrapped, but alive, breathing, and asking Tommy to marry him. Nothing he could say would ever feel like enough to express his love for this man. In the end, his answer is simple, as though he’s been waiting his whole life to say it. And maybe, in some ways, he has.

“Yes, Evan, I will marry you.”

#james writes #bucktommy #tommy kinard #evan buckley #tw: blood #tw: injury #HAPPY ENDING I PROMISE #bucktommy fic #thank you for the prompt!!!#911 abc #911 fic #911 bucktommy #911

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thebenjiblackwoodexpress · 6 months ago

Text

Love is like the rose thorn

𝔗𝔥𝔞𝔫𝔨𝔣𝔲𝔩 𝔶𝔬𝔲 𝔡𝔬𝔫’𝔱 𝔰𝔢𝔫𝔡 𝔰𝔬𝔪𝔢𝔬𝔫𝔢 𝔱𝔬 𝔨𝔦𝔩𝔩 𝔪𝔢 ℑ 𝔩𝔬𝔳𝔢 𝔶𝔬𝔲, ℑ’𝔪 𝔰𝔬𝔯𝔯𝔶

Description: The last thing Y/N expected after quite literally falling down the rabbit hole was to wake up in a world where dragons and knights exist. Throw in an incorrigible but undeniably handsome boy called Benjicot Blackwood who won't stop following Y/N around and we have ourselves a regular ol' fairytale.

Disclaimer: Victoria here to interrupt my regularly scheduled Aeron Bracken content with a Benjicot oneshot. This doesn't have any connection with Elizabeth's masterpiece The Blackwood Knight but is an attempt to fulfill a request from @ithilwen-blackwood for a modern reader finding themselves in Westeros. I'm sorry it doesn't match the request exactly as the reader isn't a dragon rider in this.

Loosely based on Beauty & The Beast. There's now a companion Cinderella retelling for Aeron Bracken called Star Crossed

Warnings: swearing, threat of violence, female reader, world jumping reader, Frenemies to lovers vibes, lengthy (I got carried away whoops), Beauty & The Beast vibes.

Y/N woke with a jolt. Dazed, her eyes frantically tried to take in her surroundings. She was disturbed to find she was not in her own bed, but lying on the cold hard ground with ferns lightly tickling her face. She seemed to have fallen asleep in the middle of nowhere, not recognising any land marks, just the vast expanse of green fields, rocky paths and off in the distance the treeline of nearby woodland. She remembered she'd been hiking and come across a strange arch covered in interweaving vines and blood red roses so dark they were almost black. She had felt inexplicably drawn to the arch that seemed to crackle with magic. But she knew that was ridiculous, there was no such thing. And yet she found herself walking towards it as if pulled by some invisible force until she stepped through it...and was met with darkness.

Y/N was pulled back to the present by an intense feeling of panic. None of this made any sense. Nonetheless her survival instincts had kicked in and she knew she couldn't just linger out in the open, she had to find help. So she started forward, opting to avoid the eery treeline of the woods, hoping that she'd eventually come across some semblance of civilisation, even better someone who could help her make sense of what had happened to her.

Y/N felt like she'd been walking for hours, perhaps she had, her bones wearied with exertion. A shining ray of hope came in the form of a beautiful man sat atop a precarious pile of stones. He struck a princely figure, dressed in clothes that looked straight out of a medieval fair, a fake sword hanging from a belt at his hips. His soft brown hair, lanky limbs, and dimples gave him a boyish charm. But his broad shoulders were suggestive of a strong build and the small scar on his nose gave her the impression he'd once broken it, perhaps in a fight. Eyes suddenly snapping to hers, his features rearranged themselves into a cocky smirk and she suddenly felt quite strongly that the man in front of her was quietly dangerous.

Unfolding himself from his slouched position, almost that of a beleaguered sentry, he jauntily approached her. Although he did stay at a respectful distance of a few paces. "Good day my lady, I have not seen you around these parts before. And I admit I do not recognise the colours of your house. From where do you hail?" Y/N found herself scoffing at his roguish tone and bizarre speech pattern. "From where do I hail? Are you heading to an expo or something. What's with the cosplay and fake sword?" The man's handsome features pulled into a slight frown of confusion. It lasted a mere moment before his eyes were oncemore alight with a mischievous glimmer that Y/N found equal parts frightening and exciting.

"Do you jest my lady? I bear the sigil and colours of House Blackwood as is my prerogrative as Lord of Raventree Hall." He bowed his head to her, a hand to his heart. Y/n had to admire his commitment to his costume but it was starting to grate on her nerves that he seemed to talk in riddles when she was desperate for answers. "Right, sure you are. Could you please point me in the direction of the nearest town?" Y/n asked awkwardly, hoping to try her luck with someone not dressed like a knight. "You do not know where you are my lady?"

"Not exactly. Not at all if I'm being honest. I sort of just walked through an arch and woke up in a field and here I am. Where exactly is here?" The man's eyebrows shot up in surprise, and Y/N detected a trace of concern as his eyes appeared to soften. "You tell a strange tale my lady, and I should be pleased to assist you in any way I can. We are in the heart of the Riverlands, in Blackwood land." Y/N felt a fresh surge of panic rise up within her chest as she struggled to understand any of the unfamiliar words the man in front of her had just laced together. Had she somehow time travelled and that was the cause of their mutual confusion? Trying to maintain a semblance of calm she took a deepth breath through her nose. "Can you tell me what the year is?"

The man's lips turned up in an amused smile. "This close to the borders of Bracken land it depends who you ask. In the eyes of House Blackwood it is the first year of the reign of the true Queen Rhaenyra Targaryen, the 129th year after Aegon the conqueror's conquest." Y/N let out a high pitched squeek, the panic that had settled uncomfortably in her stomach finally bubbling up to breaking point as she began to realise she may be farther from home than she'd first realised. The young man seemed positively alarmed at her outburst, his eyes widening as she started taking small steps away from him all the while trying to regulate her frantic breathing. His brow furrowing, he started to close the small distance between them, a placating hand outstretched as if he expected her to run from him.

"My lady, I can see that you are distressed. If I have done or said something to alarm you, I assure you it was not my intention." Y/N told herself to snap out of it. This was likely all some big misunderstanding. That or the stricken looking man in front of her was toying with her. The idea that he would do such a thing when she was so clearly lost, confused, and vulnerable incensed her. Glaring at him she wordlessly turned on her heels to walk away from him at break neck speed. Hearing footsteps she glanced behind her to see him following at a distance. "Are you following me?" "Yes" He said simply as if it was perfectly obvious that he should. "Brazen bastard" she mumbled, unfortunately not low enough for him to miss. A look of surprise as he registered her insult quickly shifted to one of bemusement before Y/N could even begin to worry about him reacting badly. "That may be, but I'd rather not see you walk into a den of savages. And that is the direction you're going in."

Y/n was quite frankly sick of his cryptic messages at this point. Stopping in her tracks to face him, the young man immediately halted, mirroring her movements. She fixed him with a stern glare. "I don't know what you're playing at but it isn't funny. I have no idea what you're talking about. And I'm not a lady so you can drop the act."

Turning so quickly she was sure her hair must have whipped him in the face she continued on the path she'd chosen. If he wanted to drop mysterious messages of foreboding without telling her anything concrete she'd just as well ignore him. That turned out to be difficult as he resumed following her wordlessly. Y/N broke the silence a while later. "Why are you still following me? I thought you said I was going the wrong way. Headed towards savages as you put it?" Seemingly delighted that she'd finally looked at him and was willingly speaking to him he shot her a dazzling smile that almost softened her resolve to be irritated with him. "To protect you of course. I am a knight and you are a lady in distress. The course you set is a dangerous one but if you choose to walk it then I shall walk it with you." His smile did not match the promise of life-threatening danger he was suggesting.

"I can take care of myself and since I can't understand half of what you're saying I'm not sure I really believe you." His smile growing wider, the young man took a couple of steps towards Y/N to close the distance between between them before gently taking her hand and planting a kiss to her knuckles. "I don't doubt it fair lady, you seem seem have a will of steel but I'd rather not risk your safety if its all the same to you." Momentarily at a loss for words at his actions, Y/N quickly quashed the traitorous fluttering of her heart and cleared her throat as she pulled her hands from his and attempted to put him down gently. "That's quite enough of that. Look, I appreciate your concern... " she stopped realising she didn't know his name and looked up at him questioning. "Benjicot Blackwood. Might I Iearn the name of the fair lady in return?" Ignoring his question, Y/N went on "but there's really no need to worry. I'll be just fine on my own."

Once again Y/N turned from him and continued to walk towards whatever mythical danger the man had portended. When she didn't hear his footfalls following her immediately a smile of self-satisfaction ghosted onto her face before she realised she was almost dissapointed. That was until she heard them at a farther distance this time. Glancing behind her but this time not stopping she shouted back to him. "Are you still following me" He had to shout too for her to hear him though there was mirth in his tone "yes my lady, you still seem dead set on barrelling head first into danger. And you have not yet given me your name" he responded playfully. Y/N groaned audibly "Why can't you go bother some other poor girl and leave me alone?" Y/N fumed to hear him laugh. "Because then, fair one, I might actually have to bother, as you say, ladies who like my company. And where would be the fun in that when I have you to shout at me?"

Y/n gaped at him in disbelief, this man could not be serious. Shaking her head at him, she decided to just go back to ignoring him. Perhaps he'd get bored of following her or, if she was really lucky, fall into a ditch. They walked a little while longer before an arm suddenly shot out around her waist, the young man having hastened his steps to step in front of her. "A step further and we're in Bracken territory. I beseech you to turn back with me. I will take you to my halls and we can discuss your predicament further." Y/N felt a growing sense of fear at Benjicot's seriousness.

Perhaps she'd been too quick to write his warnings off. No sooner had she thought this than she heard approaching footsteps and spotted four other men dressed just like him, except for the golden colour of their cloaks where his was a deep red. She didn't like the angry looks on their faces and was ashamed to find herself cowering slightly. Taking in her fright the young man shot around and positioned himself more fully in front of her, arm lightly outstretched behind him as if to shield her.

"Get back from the border Blackwood, you're in breech of the assize."

"Fuck the assize. This is Blackwood land and you know it." Y/N didn't have a clue what the two men were arguing about as insults flew back and forth, but her ears perked up as the man closest to her red knight levied the next one at her. "Take her with you. Is she fucking stupid, or is she so bold to think she can waltz around wherever she likes? Typical Blackwood bitch." The Lord of Raventree as he'd called himself earlier snarled out a reply, stepping forward to shove the golden Knight harshly in the chest. "You craven bastard. You dare insult a lady under my protection?" Y/N should have been panicking at the impending threat of violence, but her anger at the man's insults, so blatantly laced with misogyny, rose up so fiercely that she heard her own voice among the din before she could stop it. "Don't you dare call me a bitch. Do you kiss your mother with that mouth? I don't know anything about an assize or why you're so obsessed with rocks and not crossing them but you can't just go around calling people names. Have some respect."

Seemingly stunned into silence, perhaps not expecting her to challenge him so brazenly, the golden Knight just stared at her in stony silence for a few moments before ignoring her entirely and turning back to her red knight. "Control your woman Blackwood." Through gritted teeth, Benjicot bit back "Speak another word about the lady and there will be violence." The golden Knight drew his sword, pointing directly at her red knight's chest. Ok, so not a fake sword then. Surprising her by laughing tauntingly, Benjicot walked right up to the tip of the sword. "You wouldn't dare." Y/N told herself she shouldn't find his passionate defence of her attractive, but in the current circumstances she felt she could be forgiven for being irrational. "Come on, just leave it" one of the other golden knights piped up. After a tense few moments the golden cloaked man lowered his sword and and stalked away, followed by his friends.

Shoulders tense, her defender did not turn his back to the knights until they were out of sight before turning around to look at her, eyes immediately softening from the aggressive glare he'd just been fronting. "Are you alright my lady? I had hoped to avoid such an interaction." Y/N flip flopped between finding his evident concern sweet and being irritated that he seemed to think this was her fault for not listening to him. "You think I'm to blame then? You're the one who kept dropping veiled hints about my impending doom and refusing to clarify what you meant!" Y/N could not for the life of her understand why the infuriating man in front of her was smiling at her. "Why are you smiling at me? Do you enjoy fighting with me?" "You mistake me my lady. I am merely gratified to know that you are well enough to shout at me. I was concerned that you would be shaken and frightened."

When Y/N didn't respond, mouth opening and closing trying to find a response, Benjicot assumed that she must be in some state of shock after all. "Please allow me to take you to Raventree. It would go against my conscience to leave a lady wandering about the riverlands alone when you seem so confused." With that he held his arm out for her to take, an antiquated gesture that seemed to confirm to Y/N she was really not in kansas anymore. Weighing her options, she considered that Benjicot Blackwood had teased her and followed her, but he had not harmed her and had in fact protected her when he could have walked away. Making her decision, she lightly placed her arm on his. "My name is Y/N." Benjicot grinned at her as if she had given him a star rather than her name, placing his other hand atop hers as it rested on his arm and began directing them in the opposite direction "a beautiful name for a beautiful lady." Blushing fiercely with embarrassment, Y/N squeeked out a "Thank you."

Benjicot must have been chasing Y/N around the Riverlands for quite some time, as it took them at least an hour to reach the impressive fortress he called Raventree Hall.

Once she'd gotten over the initial shock of realising she had in fact jumped from her world into another, Y/N actually found herself settling in to life in Westeros. It had taken some convincing for Benjicot to believe her story and stop assuming she was mildly insane, but he had all the while insisted she stay with him in Raventree Hall, gifting her with her own room and beautiful gowns in the colours of House Blackwood. She'd only had her hiking gear on when she was unceremoniously plucked from her world into his, and she sought to avoid similar looks of curiosity to the one he'd shot her when they first met. Y/N grew to love Raventree and the people who lived there.

Benjicot had practically forced his friendship open her and as incorrigible and cocky as he could be, encouraging a healthy back and forth banter between them at all times, she could not be anything but grateful for it. Each day he would show her something new, always hoping to amuse her, whether it be a new room to explore in his ancestral halls, a book he thought she might like, or the rose garden tucked away in the grounds, which had become her favourite haunt.

The roses reminded Y/N of Beauty and the Beast, her favourite fairytale from back home which Benjicot had made her tell at least a hundred times, listening just as attentively, a hand cupping his chin and eyes never leaving hers each time. She supposed that her own situation did somewhat resemble her favourite tale, down to her very own castle and beast. Benjicot had always been a gentleman with her, but she had heard the stories of Bloody Ben whispered by his servants and seen first hand his willingness to resort to violence to protect her when they first met.

More often than not it was Benjicot, or Benji as he seemed to insist only she call him, who came to her, always seeking out her opinions. But today it was Y/N seeking him out. She'd been growing more and more homesick of late and wanted to be with the one person she felt could truly understand, eventually finding him in the armoury, wielding his sword in different formations. Hoping to sneak up on him, and having taken fencing lessons herself back in her own world, she quietly tiptoed over to the swords. Grabbing the lightest one she could she walked soundlessly back over to him before he suddenly turned and clashed his sword against hers. "Sorry Y/N but you should know that I'd recognise your footfalls anywhere and you're not as quiet as you think."

"Rude" she huffed back, sliding her sword down his and shoving him away from her. He grinned at the challenge. "You didn't mention you'd handled a sword before." "Only a little."

He parried a fresh blow from her, easily blocking the next.

"I can see that" He teased, earning a snarl from her though it did not have any true aggression behind it. He continued to block her blows, but seemed reluctant to attack and she used this reticence against him to lunge and place her sword close enough to his neck to refute any delusions he had about her lack of skill. But he was prepared for this and swung his sword upwards to block her again, before taking hold of her waist and spinning her around, her back hitting his chest. His sword hand wove around around her shoulders, as he kept the blade at a distance from her body, while Benji gently trailed his other hand down the side of her bodice, his touch feather light and searing all at once. He leant down to whisper in her ear "You left yourself open here when you lunged."

Y/N had always found Benjicot attractive, even when he teased and irritated her, but she'd tried to quash any romantic feelings for him so as not to ruin their friendship. But his closeness to her now, her body pressed against his, was intoxicating and she struggled to think coherently. Suddenly releasing her, Benjicot smiled widely and bowed. "I shall see you later my lady, I am off to attend to my duties." Throwing his sword carelessly over his shoulder, he turned and exited the armoury, leaving Y/N to stew over the unwelcome feelings their impromptu sword fight had brought to the fore.

Later that night, Y/n could not help the wave of sadness that threatened to crush her under the weight of it from sending her into a spiral of homesickness. Soft sniffles and sobs echoed about the room as she tried to square the new life she now loved with her feelings of guilt over leaving her family behind. The rattling of her bedroom door knob sent her flying from her bed in alarm as she quickly grabbed a small blade form the wooden desk and hurried to conceal herself behind the door. As the intruder entered she wildly swung around to jab the point of her dagger into their ribcage. The intruder stiffened and she looked up to se that it was just Benji, whose brow was quirked up in amusement. How could he act so nonchalant about her nearly spearing him like a fish?

"What's so funny? I nearly gutted you!"

"With a letter opener?" She looked down to find that what she'd thought was a dagger was indeed just a letter opener, not likely to do much damage. She forced out a laugh that ended up sounding much more like a sob, and Benji's face immediately fell once he took in her tearstained appearance fully. Y/N couldn't bear his look of concern, certain it would just make her cry harder and so she broke the silence. "What brings you to my room at this time of night anyway to give me the opportunity to spear you in the first place?" She'd hoped to diffuse the tension and make him laugh but his expression remained just as serious, eyes filled with worry. "I heard you crying."

"Oh." He had come to check that she was OK. His gentle concern for her sent forth a fresh wave of tears and when Benji opened his arms to her she immediately fell into them, her forehead hitting his chest as his hand came up to stroke her hair in a comforting gesture. "What ails you my lady. Whatever you need I will see it done."

His kindness only made her crying worse and he kissed her sweetly on the crown of her head, rubbing soothing circles along her spine. "I miss my family and my home." Benji stiffened as if he were expecting a blow but he let her continue. "And mostly I feel guilty that I'm not sure I even want to go home. Truthfully I love Raventree and your friendship has meant everything to me."

Benji took hold of Y/N's elbows and lightly pushed her away from his chest so he could look into her eyes. "It gladdens my heart to hear that you feel this way about my home. I should like you to consider it your home too. You will always have a place here with me." Kissing her forehead tenderly, he held Y/N's head against his heart again as if she were made of glass or something truly precious to him he was scared to break. Little did she know how true this was.

Weeks later, Y/N found that her homesickness had begun to dissipate to a dull ache. But her feelings for Benji had grown and spread like the vines of the rose bushes she loved so much, wild and uncontainable. It was difficult to even be in his presence without wanting him to touch her and hold her as he had the night he'd found her crying.

Sitting with her in what he'd come to refer to as her rose garden, he kept shooting furtive glances at her as she read from a tome on his house history. "Why are you staring at me?" "I'm not?" "Try that again without the question mark"

Benjicot surprised her, shifting in his spot next to her to turn to her fully, their knees touching, before taking both of her hands in his. "I have not been able to look away from you for more than a few moments ever since I first laid eyes on you. I must admit that I am desperately in love with you and wondered if, by some chance of fate, you might feel the same way?"

Y/N's jaw fell open in shock. " You love me?"

He squeezed her hands "most ardently."

Her mind spinning, she threw caution to the wind and flung her arms around Benji's shoulders to kiss him. He reacted instantly, pulling her as close towards him as possible until she was in his lap, his hands grasping at her hips to pull her closer still as if he couldn't believe she was real.

Breaking the kiss for oxygen, Benji began to trail a line of kisses down Y/N's neck, leaving her breathless, one hand pressing her back closer to him. "I wish you to be my wife, to become the Lady of Raventree Hall and House Blackwood."

Butterflies erupted in her stomach.

"Future Lady Blackwood am I?"

"Should you permit it, I will protect you, cherish you, and love you for the remainder of my days or for as long as you will allow. I humbly offer myself to you as your husband, with all the love I possess for you."

"And what if I disagree with you and challenge you. What if we argue constantly?"

"We do not argue my love, you scold me and I listen" He shot back with a playful grin.

"And if I decide to change all the tapestries pink?"

Benji sighed, tilting his head to her eye level so she could read the sincerity in his eyes.

"I want all of you, including your thoughts and opinions. They're what made me fall in love with you. I want you to share them with me even if they challenge mine, especially then, even when I hold you in my arms. As to the tapestries, I'm rather partial to my house colours but I would try to bear the change if it would please you."

Y/N giggled at that before planting a tender kiss to his lips. "Then I consent to be be your wife and Lady. You can't take it back though. You're stuck with me now."

Benji pressed their foreheads together, cupping the sides of her face to brush her lips with his. "And how grateful I am for it." He spoke against them before pressing his lips to hers in a kiss he hoped expressed his undying devotion to his lady.

A face I'd go to war for. The title is based on the line 'love is like the wild rose-briar' from an Emily Bronte poem I love called Love and Friendship.

#house of the dragon #house of the dragon x reader #benjicot blackwood #davos blackwood #benjicot blackwood x reader #house blackwood #benjicot blackwood oneshot #benjicot blackwood imagine

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