#don’t want anyone to think I’ve stolen it

[bloodhoundsandplagues]

Throwback to my old tumblr where I posted a Nikolai lantsov fic (it was third person fem reader bcs I just changed my OC’s name to y/n and posted it) and it got 800something notes. And I deleted that whole blog because a friend came across it and I worried she’d know it was me

Anyways what if I reposted that fic but edited nd stuff or would that look too suspicious 😭

[hoshifighting]

      jeonghan + anonymous sex

— where you discover that behind the scary mask, who's eating you out, is your professor, mr. yoon.

WARNINGS: +18, smut, oral, halloween party setting, penetrative sex, oral [f. rec], dirty talk, edging, taboo, fingering.

KINKTOBER MASTERLIST

halloween at uni was always a wild time—like, the one night when everyone just let loose and acted like idiots without any shame. it was a free pass to look either insanely sexy or terrifying as hell, and you’d seen both ends of that spectrum in past years. mostly, you loved it ‘cause it was kinda like a game of guess-who after the party, everyone spending the week after trying to figure out who was who under those masks. and that’s why the costumes just got more and more wild. anonymity? sign you up.

you and jewie, your ride-or-die dormmate, had done the whole horror bit every year, rocking the most messed up, bloodied-up outfits you could think of. but this year you both decided to go full-on sexy for once. jewie was rocking this short-ass witch outfit, all black and lace and pointy hat, and you—well, you were killing it (pun intended) in your killer bunny getup. thigh-high lacy white socks that clung to your skin, corset cinching you in, and this creepy-ass bunny mask that made you look both cute and dangerous. not to mention, the whole mask thing meant anything could go down and nobody would know.

“yo, you really gonna leave a note in his locker?” jewie whispered, eyes sparkling as the two of you snuck into the staff wing, the sound of your heels echoing off the empty halls.

“hell yeah, i’ve been crushing on prof yoon since he walked into his first lecture looking like a whole-ass snack,” you hissed back, your heart racing.

she let out a cackle, almost too loud. “he’s gonna die when he sees it. also, maybe don't bend over like that unless you want your ass out for the world to see.”

you shot her a look over your shoulder, half squinting through your mask. “fuck you, i’m not gonna walk like i’ve got a stick up my ass.”

“babe, that’s your job,” she teased, slapping your ass as you fumbled with the lock on the door. she was always like that—pushy, teasing, but down for whatever dumb thing you suggested, no questions asked.

finally, you managed to crack open the door to prof yoon’s locker, and the nervous excitement flared up all over again. “i’m doin’ it,” you muttered, mostly to yourself, as you slid the note into his stuff. just a stupid little flirty note. something anonymous and mysterious. if he recognized your handwriting? well, oops. that’s a future problem.

jewie watched, leaning against the doorframe, eyes flicking between you and the locker. “if he likes it, we might need to sneak you back in here to leave more. like a killer bunny pen pal situation.”

you laughed under your breath, shaking your head. “he’s not that dumb, but if he was, i’d consider it.”

you straightened up, adjusting your mask before looking back at jewie. the whole night felt like some weird fever dream—maybe it was the booze from earlier or just the high of running around campus dressed like this, but you felt unstoppable.

“okay, let’s get outta here before we get caught,” jewie said, pushing herself off the wall. “i swear if we see anyone, i’m pretending i don’t know you.”

“bitch, please, you’d totally rat me out,” you shot back, nudging her as the two of you slipped out of the staff room, adrenaline still pumping.

you took a long sip from your pouch, the cheap booze hitting just right as you swayed along with jewie to the beat. then, mid-spin, you spotted something—or rather, someone—that made you freeze in place, your lips still wrapped around the straw.

“i can’t fucking believe it,” you muttered, pulling the straw out and sulking like a kid who just had their candy stolen.

jewie gave you a sideways glance, eyebrows raised. “what’s got your panties in a twist now?”

you nodded toward the door, where another killer bunny had just strutted in, looking way too damn good for your liking. “look at that,” you said, gesturing with your drink. “bunny? okay, fine. but killer too? are you shitting me? what’re the odds?”

you huffed, feeling your vibe slightly killed by the sight of the other guy wearing basically the same damn thing as you—except he had this slutty, fitted black suit, and his mask was just as creepy as yours, that luscious black hair peeking out from behind it.

“wow,” jewie scoffed, following your gaze. “you’re really pressed about another killer bunny? seriously? it's halloween, dude, chill. everyone’s doubling up.”

“easy for you to say,” you muttered, still eyeing the guy. “you're not the only slutty witch in the room.”

she rolled her eyes, snorting. “uh, excuse me? i've seen, like, five other witches tonight, and one of them even had a broom—a broom, y/n. i just accepted it. it’s halloween.”

it was halloween, and sure, half the campus was probably dressed as witches, zombies, or sexy cops. but still, the nerve of this guy, strutting in like he invented the killer bunny look.

“and, you know what? my panties are in a twist, actually,” you shot back, glaring at jewie, who just gave you an unimpressed look. “like, literal twist. feels like they’re strangling me.”

she burst out laughing, clutching her stomach. “oh my god, you’re such a mess. there’s a whole locker room situation going on if you wanna fix it. no one’s gonna be in there anyway..”

“the locker room?” you hummed, considering it for a second. “yeah, might as well. better than walking around with my ass in knots.”

you slipped away from the party, the beat of the music fading as you made your way down the empty hallway, heels clacking against the floor. it was eerily quiet outside the main campus area, the darkness swallowing up the noise from the party like you were walking into another world. halfway there, though, you swore you heard something. footsteps, maybe? you glanced back over your shoulder, but the hallway was just as empty as before. shrugging it off, you kept walking.

then again—footsteps.

you whipped around, heart starting to race a bit. nothing. nobody. great, you thought. either you’re paranoid or some dude in a clown costume’s gonna jump out at you any second.

you sped up, practically rushing into the locker room, slamming the door behind you like that would keep the creepy vibes out. with a sigh, you lifted your skirt and fixed the tangled mess of fabric underneath. “goddamn,” you muttered, whistling in relief as the tension eased up. “finally.”

you made your way to the mirror, fluffing up your hair, adjusting your bunny ears, trying to look like you hadn’t just freaked yourself out. but then you heard it again—footsteps. this time, not so distant. real close.

before you could even react, the door creaked open, and there he was. the other killer bunny. strolling in like he owned the place, chill as could be, like it wasn’t the feminine locker room he’d just waltzed into.

“you’ve gotta be kidding me,” you muttered under your breath, shooting him a glare through the mirror. “stole my idea and my spot?”

he snorted, leaning against the sink with his back turned to the mirror, eyes just fixed forward, hands shoved casually in his pockets. “stole your idea? babe, i’ve been rockin’ this for ages.”

“you saw it from me!” you shot back, turning around to face him, pointing at him accusingly. “i should sue for copyright or some shit.”

he let out a low chuckle, tilting his head slightly like he was amused by your little outburst. “you can have the bunny part. i’ll keep the killer part.”

“real original,” you scoffed, turning back to the mirror, fixing a stray curl in your hair. “and what’re you even doing in the locker room? you lost or just stupid?”

“neither,” he said simply, his voice way too smug for someone who looked like he just broke into the wrong locker room. “it was either this, or i piss in a bush somewhere. decided to be classy tonight.”

you rolled your eyes but couldn’t help the slight smirk pulling at your lips. “yeah, real classy, creeping around the women’s locker room.”

he leaned closer, still not turning to look in the mirror. “who says i’m creeping? maybe you just walked into my locker room.”

“oh, so now it’s your locker room too? boy, you’re bold.”

“what can i say? bunny privileges,” he said, shrugging like it was the most normal thing in the world.

you shook your head, turning to look at him fully now, sizing him up. he was tall, broad, the slutty suit clinging to him just right, his posture relaxed like he didn’t have a care in the world. and that hair, black and messy behind his mask—well, you’d give him one thing. he wore the costume well. too well.

“you know,” you said, leaning back against the sink next to him, crossing your arms. “if you’re tryna intimidate me, it’s not working. you’re just another bunny.”

he chuckled again, that low, almost lazy sound that somehow made your skin tingle. “maybe i’m not tryna intimidate you. maybe i’m just waiting for you to admit i look better.”

you scoffed, pushing off the sink and standing up straight, close enough now that you could smell the faint cologne clinging to him. it was… annoyingly nice. “please, i wouldn’t give you that satisfaction even if you paid me.”

“we’ll... see about that?” he murmured, finally turning to face you, his body looming over yours. his mask obscured most of his face, but his eyes locked onto yours, like he could see right through the sass.

and there it was. that thing on your lower stomach that snuck up on you out of nowhere. “you really think you can handle me, bunny?” you teased.

he didn’t flinch. his lips twitched into a grin under the mask.

“handle you?” he echoed, his voice dropping an octave. “baby, i’m just getting started.”

you raised an eyebrow, leaning in just a little closer, testing him, seeing how far you could push. “then show me what you got.”

his hand was on you in a second, pulling you toward him with a firm grip on your waist, his breath hot through the mask. and suddenly, the empty locker room didn’t feel so empty anymore. his other hand slid down, grazing your thigh before hiking your skirt up. “you sure you wanna play this game?” he cooed, lips brushing the shell of your ear.

you let out a breathy laugh, your hands fisting into the fabric of his suit. “you started it.”

“yeah?” his grip tightened, pulling you flush against him, your bodies fitting together too perfectly. “then let me finish it.”

he leaned in for the kiss, but both of you realized, almost at the same time, that the stupid mask was in the way. your lips collided with the hard plastic, and for a second, it was awkward as hell—until you both burst into laughter. “yeah, that’s not gonna work,” you muttered, shaking your head.

“guess we’ll just have to improvise,” he murmured back, and before you knew it, he had spun you around, pressing your hips firmly against the cold sink. the chill of the ceramic made you gasp, but it was nothing compared to the way his fingers slid under the elastic of your garter, pulling it away from your skin before letting it snap back on ur skin.

“fuck,” you hissed, as the sting amde your pussy drool. he was watching you through that damn mask, his fingers traced the hem of your skirt before he flipped it over your lower back, exposing the white lacy set you’d chosen to match the whole killer bunny thing.

“fuckin’ cute,” he growled as he took in the sight of your barely-there panties and thigh-highs. “you really wore this for halloween? shit’s a fuckin’ joke,”

the degradation in his tone made your cheeks burn, you bit down on your lip, trying to keep your composure, he noticed everything.

“what’s the matter?” he asked, mock concern as his hands skimmed over your thighs, squeezing just hard enough to make you gasp again. “you like being called cute while i fuck you up?”

you didn’t even have time to respond before his fingers hooked into the waistband of your panties, dragging them down painfully slow, the lace barely clinging to your hips before he let them drop to your ankles. you kicked them off instinctively, your breath hitching when you saw him bend down slightly, he picked them up off the floor, turning the flimsy lace in his fingers for a second before shoving them deep into his pocket.

“gonna keep these,” he muttered, half to himself, half to you. standing up straight again. his hands, slid up your legs, spreading them just a bit more. the rough pads of his fingers brushed against the inside of your thighs, teasing you, waiting for you to beg, or break.

and god, you were close to breaking already.

one hand held your waist firmly in place, pressing you harder against the sink, while the other slipped between your legs, his fingers sliding against your wetness with an agonizing slowness.

“oh.. all soaked already?” he muttered, like he knew exactly how ruined you were just from his touch. “and we haven’t even started. you’ve been thinking about this? about me bending you over, fingers deep in this pretty little pussy?”

you couldn’t help the whimper that escaped you as his middle and ring fingers dipped inside, your pussy swallow him immediately, even when the skin burns a little with the stretch. his long fingers immediately finding that sweet, squishy spot, for a moment, resting the fingers there.

he kept the pads of his fingers facing down, rubbing slow, tight circles against that sensitive spot, making you clench around him. you've never been stimulated like this, it looked so different and knowing for a college boy. the sensation was enough to make your knees weak, but his grip on your hips kept you steady, held in place as he worked you open.

he leaned down, the mask still in place, but you could feel the heat of him behind you. “you hear that? hear how fucking wet you are? all for me, huh?”

you did, in fact, it echoed in the empty locker room, as you try to be quiet. but you moaned in response, your head falling forward, resting on your arms as you tried to catch your breath. every stroke of his fingers had your pussy tightening, thighs shaking, and you were half-sure you’d collapse if it weren’t for the him keeping you upright.

his other hand moving up your back just enough so he could press his lips against your bare shoulder. you felt him lift the mask just slightly, and then his mouth was on you, kissing, biting, his teeth grazing your skin in a manner that had you arching into him.

“fuck, you taste so good,” he muttered. “so sweet. but i bet you taste even better down here.”

you groaned in frustration when you realized he was still wearing that damn mask, completely blocking the possibility of him going down on you. he noticed the way you moaned extra loud, probably because you’d been imagining it—his mouth between your legs, tasting how worked up you were.

he cooed, amused by your reaction, shaking his head like you were some kind of innocent mess. “fuck baby, i’d love to, but this mask is getting in the way. you know that.” his voice was so casual, like it wasn’t a big deal at all, like it wasn’t torture for you. and god, that whimper that left your throat? pathetic. even you knew it. you rolled your hips on his fingers, desperate for something, anything to replace what you couldn’t have right now. the wet, slick sound of his fingers working into you echoed around the room, filling the space with a vulgar kind of music that had him biting his lip, watching you fall apart over nothing.

“oh, you really want it bad, huh?” he laughed, and you whined again, the sound so embarrassingly needy that it should’ve made you blush. but instead, it only made you more desperate. his teasing was too much.

“fuck,” you muttered, half-begging, and he pulled back a bit, thinking for a second before a playful smirk took over his lips.

“let’s play a game then,” he offered, your brows furrowed in confusion, but the second he leaned in, lips brushing your ear, you felt your whole body heat up in response. “we take the masks off. but,” he paused, his fingers still torturing you, making your hips twitch every time he pressed just right. “we keep our eyes closed. i’ll eat you out, i’ll do anything you want, but no peeking.”

you hummed at the idea, already thinking of how good it would feel to have him without the barrier of those stupid masks. but before you could even respond, he tilted his head, adding with a teasing lilt, “but first... i gotta fuck you. because you’re so fucking tight, so fucking pretty squirming around my fingers like this.” his voice softened into something almost sweet, like he was praising you, and the way he cooed when you shyly squirmed against his hand, embarrassed by his words, had your body tightening in response. “such a good girl for me, aren’t you?”

you were nodding before you even realized, the words barely out of your mouth before you agreed to it. the mask was yanked off, tossed to the side, and you felt him pull away slightly. you didn’t dare look back at him, though—you kept your promise, eyes shut tight, chest rising and falling rapidly.

you felt him shift behind you, the rustle of fabric as he undid his pants filling the locker room with a sharp, exciting edge. his fingers left you with a wet pop, and the sound made you shiver. god, you could still hear it—how soaked you were, how turned on he’d made you. your body reacted to the absence of his touch with a small gasp, but the moment you felt his warm breath near your ear again, your nerves melted away.

“don’t open your eyes,” he warned in that same serious tone, even though you could practically hear the smile on his face. you nodded, swallowing hard, trying to keep still. his fingers returned, now gripping your hips firmly, and you couldn’t help but arch into him, needing more.

“good girl,” he murmured, guiding you to bend further over the sink. your chest pressed against the cold surface, your eyes squeezed shut, but you could feel everything. you were painfully aware of how exposed you were to him, the skirt flipped up, your wetness on full display.

the blunt head of his cock nudged at your entrance, slick and heavy, and you braced yourself, but he didn’t push in. instead, he slid it up, dragging it along your folds, teasing your clit and the leaking hole. the sensation had your toes curling, and you couldn’t stop yourself from asking, “you just gonna rub it?”

he chuckled darkly, pressing the tip against your entrance again but not entering. “thought i’d take my time, make you beg a little more.”

you groaned, squirming under him, your hips moving on their own as you chased the penetration. you could feel him smiling behind you, still teasing, but his hand was firm on your hips, holding you steady as he slowly dragged his cock up and down, brushing against your clit every time. it was maddening, the way he was holding back, making you wait, making you ache for him.

“you want it that bad, hm?” he asked, and before you could even answer, he pushed in, sliding into you with a slick, deep thrust that knocked the breath out of your lungs as you watch pitch black. “fuck, there it is.”

you moaned, the sudden fullness overwhelming, your fingers gripping the edge of the sink as he held you in place, his cock buried deep inside. he didn’t move at first, just let you adjust to the stretch, but his hands were still moving—one sliding up your back, the other gripping your ass, squeezing hard as he groaned low in his throat.

“ah!–don' squeeze me like that,” he muttered, his voice strained as he began to move, his hips grinding into yours rolling the dick in and out of you. “taking me so well... pretty pussy devouring my cock.”

you whimpered at his praise, your body trembling with every slow stroke. he wasn’t holding back anymore, his pace picking up, his hand slipped down between your legs, his fingers finding your clit, rubbing light, quick circles that had you moaning loudly.

the thing was;

his eyes had been wide open the whole time.

he was practically glowing with the fact that you hadn’t recognized him at all. he knew it was you from the second you stepped into the party, making him choke on his own spit, all dressed up in that killer bunny costume, and it made him feel like he was holding onto the biggest secret ever. you had no idea who you were fucking, and that made everything ten times hotter.

as you leaned over the sink, he got a perfect view of your face blushing beneath your expertly done makeup, all those little details you’d spent hours perfecting. the way the light caught the shimmer on your cheeks, the dark eyeliner framing your eyes just right—it was beautiful. even though you planned on hiding your face with that mask for the entire night.

he pretended to keep his eyes closed, even though he could barely contain his excitement. “i hope you don't open your eyes hm? you wouldn't want to lose me eating you out, right?” he’d said with a smirk, watching as you nodded obediently. you were so good at this—everything about you, from the way you shifted on the sink to the way you were biting your lip in need, made him ache to see your true reaction when you finally figured it out.

he could feel your nervous energy as you followed his lead, trusting him completely. it was almost comical how easy it was to manipulate the situation, how horny you were, and he couldn’t help but chuckle quietly to himself.

“you’ve got no idea how fucking cute you moan,” he murmured, leaning closer, his breath ghosting over your ear as he continued to thrust into you. the way you squirmed made him even harder, and he could feel his own arousal rising at the thought of keeping this secret just a little longer.

“shut up,” you whined, clearly flustered by his words, and he couldn’t help but laugh softly. god, you were adorable. he kept it playful, teasing you even more as he leaned down to press his lips against your shoulder, kissing a line up your neck as he continued to roll his hips into you. “just focus on how good you feel.”

every thrust sent a quiver through you, and he could feel you responding to him, getting wetter with every move. you were lost in it, and he was completely taken by the way your body reacted to his touch. he loved how your sounds filled the space, how you couldn’t help but moan louder and louder as he picked up the pace, fucking you deeper.

“tell me how good it feels.”

“so good, you feel so good—your cock—s'big!” you breathed, and he reveled in the power he had over you. he could see the way your body squirmed beneath him, anguished for more, and it only pushed him to keep going.

“that’s right, keep saying it,” he encouraged, his fingers curling around your waist, pulling you back against him as he hit that sweet spot inside you. “i want to hear everything, since i cant see it.”

he could feel you tightening around him, your that sweet release pulsing, and just when you were about to hit that peak, he pulled out, leaving you gasping “what the fuck?!” you cried, your voice high-pitched with desperation, eyes still closed. he couldn’t help but chuckle at your frustration, knowing just how good you felt, but wanting to keep you on that brink a little longer.

“patience, bunny,” he teased, leaning in closer, his breath warm against your ear. “you’ll get what you want.”

with that, he pushed back into you, driving deep and hard, and the sound of your moan filled the locker room. “yes! please!” you begged, fingers digging into the sink as you rocked back against him.

but again, right when you were so close, he slipped out. “no, no, don’t do that!” you whined, the desperation in your voice making him grin. “i was so close!”

“i won’t let you cum on my cock,” he said, a teasing grin playing on his lips as he watched your expression crumble. your face fell against your arms in defeat, sulking like a petulant child. “why?” you whined, the sulk evident in your voice, and he couldn’t help but scoff at how adorable you looked, all flustered and desperate.

just then, his hand tangled in your hair, tugging enough to make you almost open your eyes. the sudden pressure made a strangled moan escape your throat, and he loved it.

he slowly turned you around, guiding you to sit on the cold sink. you cursed under your breath, your legs instinctively spreading wide as you positioned yourself for him.

“this is so unfair, i cant see you...” you muttered, feeling the heat rise to your cheeks as you thought about how you couldn’t see what he was doing. you could hear the sound of your breath quickening as he dropped to his knees in front of you, the idea of him between your legs making you almost cum on spot.

“you don’t need to see it, babe,” he said, all sultry. fuck you needed to know who he was, and with that, you could feel him get closer, his breath hot against your pussy, making you squirm.

“you’re such an ass for doing this to me,” you groaned, but deep down, you were practically begging for it, and you knew it. he laughed softly, the sound thundering in his chest as he spread your legs wider, giving himself a perfect view of your pussy, the folds puffy, and flushed, dripping beautifully.

a sudden creak from somewhere down the hallway snapped you out of the fog of pleasure, and, instinctively, you opened your eyes. it took a second to adjust, to blink away the haze clouding your vision, but then you looked down—straight at him.

and—

mr. yoon?

“shh,” he whispered, a finger pressed to his own lips, a hint of a smirk twitching as he maintained eye contact with you, even as his head dipped between your legs. you wanted to pull back, to process that your professor was there, settled on his knees in front of you in a locked room, but his mouth had already found your clit.

“oh my god,” you moan, in disbelief, in pure ecstasy. he starts sucking your clit with so hard that makes you dizzy, and your back arches instinctively, the sensations overwhelming. your mind races, but the sight of him—mr. yoon, your strict, no-nonsense professor—eating you out is enough to push you right back over the edge.

you bite your lip to stifle your cries, but it’s no use. the combination of the taboo and the sucking sends you spiraling into the orgasm, and you can feel yourself clenching around his tongue as you cum in his mouth, a whimper escaping your lips.

“holy—” you breathe, panting as he pulls away, licking his lips like he’s savoring the taste of you.

he raises up to kiss you, but you back away instinctively, the shock paralyzing you.

“wait, you didn’t like that it was… me?” he asks, worry flashing across his eyes.

your mind is racing. so he was the one fucking you? after the letter—oh my god. “i… i didn’t know it was you!” you manage to stammer.

he licks his cum-covered lips, that sly grin still in place. he steps back slightly, still unsure of what to say. “so… you liked it, then?”

“well, yeah, but—” you start, but the words fail you. how do you even explain this? how do you tell your professor that he just made you come like that, and it was one of the best experiences of your life?

you catch his gaze, and for the first time, there’s a flicker of worry in mr. yoon’s eyes. he's probably already imagining that expulsion letter or the scandal that’d blow up his career.

“relax,” you murmur, smirking as he watches you. “i’m not about to go blabbing to the dean or anything.” he quirks a skeptical brow, clearly not convinced yet, and you give him a playful shrug. “but only if… you get on your knees again and show me just how much you wanna keep me quiet.”

the corner of his mouth lifts. “oh, is that right?” he murmurs, and before you know it, he’s stepping forward, hands sliding around your waist as he leans down, lips ghosting over the shell of your ear.

“guess i’ll have to make sure you’re too busy to even think about talking,” he whispers.

[...]

monday rolls around, and it’s like the entire campus is still buzzing about the halloween party. people are dissecting every detail, trying to figure out who was behind which mask. you’re sitting at your desk, pretending to read the same damn paragraph for the fifth time, but let’s be real—there’s only one thing on your mind: mr. yoon’s dick.

jeonghan’s up at the front, leaning against his desk, teaching as if nothing happened, and you can barely keep a straight face. every time you glance up, you can’t help but picture the way he looked at you, the feel of his hands, his mouth… yeah, not the kind of thoughts you should be having in the middle of class.

the bell finally rings, snapping you out of it as everyone starts packing up. your friend pauses by the door, waiting, but just as you’re about to leave, mr. yoon clears his throat.

“y/n,” he says, there’s that hint of something under it, something only you would catch. “stay a moment, would you?”

you wave your friend off, muttering something about catching up later. she glances between the two of you and, of course, shoots you a knowing smile before shutting the door on her way out. it’s just you and jeonghan now, the room empty and quiet, his gaze pinned on you.

he raises an eyebrow, and his eyes flick towards the closed door. “should i be worried about that smile she gave you?” he asks, a smirk tugging at the corner of his mouth.

you blink, caught off guard. “no! no one knows about… us,” you insist, a bit too quickly.

he scoffs, giving you this look like he’s amused but skeptical. “oh, i know that,” he says smoothly, but then he taps his finger on his desk. “but she definitely knows… about this.”

with a dramatic flourish, he slides open a drawer and pulls out the letter. your stomach drops as he lays it out on his desk for you to see, the unmistakable swoop of your handwriting there in all its glory, complete with little heart and butterfly stickers surrounding a mortifyingly filthy sentence.

“wanna feel your cock hitting the deepest part of my pussy until i can’t even remember my name.”

you freeze, face heating up instantly. oh, god. did you really write that?

he chuckles softly, watching you squirm as you avoid his gaze, suddenly very interested in the stack of textbooks on his desk. you press your lips together, practically biting down to keep from making any sound, because your brain is malfunctioning.

“so,” he murmurs, “did you really mean every word?”

[moonlightwritingf1]

Unspoken Desires | LN4

🌙 summary ━━━━━━━ Lando and Y/N have been dating for a few weeks but haven't been intimate yet. As they're getting ready to go out one night, Lando suddenly confesses his intense desire.

🌙 pairing ━━━━━━━ Lando Norris x she!reader

🌙 word count ━━━━━━━ 3.1k

🌙 warnings ━━━━━━━ +18, sexual content

"I’ve never wanted to fuck someone as badly as I want to fuck you right now," Lando said, his voice low and rough, cutting through the silence like a knife. His words hit her like a punch to the gut, leaving her breathless and hot all over.

She glanced up at him, her heart racing, and saw the intensity in his eyes—a raw, unfiltered need that made her own body respond in kind. He wasn’t hiding it, not even trying to play it cool. The way he looked at her, it was like he was seeing straight through to her core, like he knew exactly how much she wanted this too. And maybe he did. Maybe he’d been picking up on the little cues, the way her breath hitched when he got too close, the way her thighs pressed together when he leaned in to kiss her neck.

He had always been good at reading her.

---

It started about three weeks ago, during one of those late-night encounters that seemed harmless at first but quickly spiraled into something much more. They had been hanging out at his place, just talking, laughing, the kind of easy chemistry that makes time disappear. But then his hand brushed against hers, just a fleeting touch, and suddenly the air between them felt charged, electric.

"What are we doing?" she asked, unable to keep the nervous edge out of her voice.

Lando had leaned back in his chair, studying her for a long moment before answering. "I don’t know," he admitted, his tone measured but his eyes telling a different story. There was something there, something simmering just below the surface, and it wasn’t hard to guess what it was. Desire. Pure, unadulterated desire.

And yet, neither of them made a move. Not then, anyway. Instead, they fell into a rhythm, a dance that involved lingering glances, stolen touches, and endless teasing. It was intoxicating, thrilling, and frustrating all at once. Every time they got close, something held them back—a fear of ruining what they had, perhaps, or maybe just the uncertainty of where things were headed.

But tonight? Tonight feelt different.

---

The two of them were standing by the door, coats draped over their arms, ready to head out for the night. Or at least, she had been ready. Now, with Lando’s words still ringing in her ears, she could barely think straight. Her pulse pounded in her temples, and her skin felt overly sensitive, like it was buzzing with anticipation.

"Lando," she managed to say, her voice trembling slightly. "What… what are you saying?"

He stepped closer, crowding her space until there was only an inch or two between them. His hands found her hips, fingers gripping lightly but firmly, anchoring her in place. "I’m saying," he murmured, his lips brushing against her ear, "that I want you. Like I’ve never wanted anyone else. And yeah, maybe we’d only been dating a few weeks, but fuck it. I don’t care about playing it cool anymore."

His confession sent a shiver down her spine, and she felt her resolve starting to crumble. He wanted her. No games, no pretense—just raw, undeniable desire. It was overwhelming, but in the best possible way.

"Are you serious?" she asked, her voice barely above a whisper.

Lando pulled back just enough to meet her gaze, his expression fierce and unapologetic. "Dead serious."

The weight of his words settled over her, heavy and irresistible. She could feel the heat radiating off his body, smell the faint scent of his cologne mingling with whatever he had for dinner earlier. It was intoxicating, drawing her in like a moth to a flame. And honestly? She didn’t want to resist.

"Then what are we waiting for?" she challenged, lifting her chin slightly.

A slow, wicked grin spread across his face, and for a moment, he didn’t say anything. Then, without warning, he grabbed her wrist and yanked her toward him, pressing his lips to hers in a kiss that was equal parts demanding and desperate.

Her bag slipped from her shoulder, hitting the floor with a dull thud as her free hand clutched at his shirt, pulling him closer. His tongue swept into her mouth, urgent and insistent, and she could taste the sharpness of his mint gum, mingled with a hint of something darker, wilder.

Lando’s hand slid up her side, tracing the curve of her waist until his fingers dipped beneath the hem of her top, brushing against the warm expanse of her skin. A soft gasp escaped her lips, and he took the opportunity to deepen the kiss, devouring her mouth like he couldn’t get enough of her.

"God, you feel so fucking good," he muttered against her lips, his voice rough and strained.

She tugged on the collar of his shirt, urging him closer, and he responded by lifting her effortlessly, setting her down on the nearby table. Her legs instinctively wrapped around his waist, pulling him flush against her. The sudden intimacy of the position made her breath hitch, and she could feel the evidence of his arousal pressing against her center, a delicious reminder of just how badly he wanted her.

"You feel so good," he murmured against her mouth, his voice low and gravelly, almost possessive. His fingers traced the curve of her hip, skimming over the fabric of her jeans before dipping beneath the hem. The touch was electric, sending shivers down her spine. "I can’t stop thinking about how perfect you are."

Perfect. The word made her heart stutter. She was far from perfect, but in this moment, with Lando looking at her like she was the only thing that existed, it didn’t seem to matter. His green/blue eyes bore into hers, stripping away any doubt, any insecurity. All she could see was the intensity in his gaze, the way it flickered with need.

"Lando���" she breathed, her voice shaky. Her hands found his shoulders, gripping him tightly as if he might disappear if she let go.

He responded by pressing her harder against the table, his hips aligning with hers. The friction sent a jolt of pleasure through her, unrelenting and undeniable. His lips left hers, trailing down her jawline, nipping at the sensitive skin just below her ear. "Tell me you want this," he whispered, his breath hot against her skin. "Tell me you want me."

Want. The word hung heavy in the air, a demand disguised as a plea. She did want him. God, she did. But there was still a part of her holding back, questioning whether this was what she really wanted or if it was just the heat of the moment talking. Lando seemed to sense her hesitation because he pulled back slightly, his eyes searching hers for an answer.

"I want you," she said, her voice steady despite the storm raging inside her. "I’d never wanted anyone like this before, but..."

"What’s wrong?" he asked, his voice softer now, almost vulnerable. It was such a stark contrast to the dominance she had felt moments ago that it caught her off guard. "Do you not feel it too?"

She shook her head quickly, feeling guilty for making him question himself. "No, it’s not that. I do feel it. I just—" She paused, unsure of how to explain the tangle of emotions swirling inside her.  "I’ve never been this close to someone before. Not like this."

His expression softened, the corners of his mouth lifting into a small, reassuring smile. "I have," he admitted, his voice steady. "But none of it ever felt like this. This is different. It’s real, y/n. Can’t you feel it?"

She nodded, unable to deny the truth in his words. There was something different about this, something that felt raw and unfiltered. It wasn’t just about the physical attraction—though that was undeniable—it was about the connection, the way their hearts seemed to beat in sync.

"Then stop overthinking," Lando said, his tone playful but firm. "Just feel."

And with that, he kissed her again, deeper this time. His tongue parted her lips, exploring every inch of her mouth with an urgency that left no room for doubt. One hand traveled up her side, slipping beneath her shirt to press against the bare skin of her lower back. The other slid around to the front, palming her breast through her bra.

The sensation was overwhelming, her body arching involuntarily into his touch. A moan escaped her lips, swallowed by his as he continued to kiss her with a fervor that set her blood ablaze. The world around them faded away, leaving only the two of them in that moment, lost in each other.

"You’re so beautiful," Lando breathed, his voice ragged. His thumb brushed over her nipple, already hard with arousal, and she gasped against his mouth. "Every part of you."

His words sent a thrill of pleasure through her, her mind spinning with the implications. She’d never felt this desired, this wanted. And it was intoxicating. “Lando…” she whispered, her voice barely above a murmur. “Don’t stop.”

His response was immediate. He broke the kiss, pulling back just enough to meet her eyes. “I won’t,” he promised, his voice thick with intent. “Not unless you tell me to.”

The weight of his words settled over her, leaving no room for uncertainty. This was happening. Right here, right now, with Lando looking at her like she was everything he’d ever wanted. She nodded, her decision made without a single doubt.

“Then don’t,” she said, her voice steady despite the pounding of her heart. “Take me.”

His pupils dilated at her words, the hunger in his eyes unmistakable. Without another word, he reached for the button of her jeans, his movements quick but careful. The sound of the zipper sliding down echoed in the quiet space, a reminder of the intimacy unfolding between them.

“Spread your legs for me,” he commanded, his voice deep and gravelly. The tone sent a shiver down her spine, the mix of dominance and tenderness overwhelming.

She obeyed, shifting her hips until her legs were parted, allowing him access. His hands moved with purpose, slipping beneath the elastic of her panties to gently cup her warmth. The contact was sudden, his fingers brushing against her clit with a precision that made her gasp.

“You’re so wet for me,” he murmured, his voice laced with satisfaction. “Did you know that?”

She shook her head, too overwhelmed to speak. All she could do was watch as he dipped a finger inside her, his touch sending shockwaves through her body. The sensation was unlike anything she’d ever felt, the way he filled her completely, tilting his finger just right to stroke her walls.

“So tight,” he groaned, his voice strained. “God, I can’t wait to be inside you.”

His words ignited a fire within her, her hips bucking against his hand as she chased the pleasure. Lando obliged, adding a second finger and curling them in just the right way to make her knees tremble.

“Fuck, Lando…” she moaned, her voice breaking. “Please…”

“Please what?” he growled, his eyes dark with desire. “Tell me what you want.”

She opened her mouth to respond, but the words caught in her throat. How could she even begin to articulate the craving building inside her, the desperate need to have him fully, completely?

Before she could form the words, Lando took matters into his own hands—literally. He withdrew his fingers, replacing them with his tongue. The sensation was overwhelming, the warmth and pressure of his mouth sending her spiraling into sensory overload.

“Oh my god…” she gasped, her hands flying to his hair as she tried to anchor herself. Lando didn’t hesitate, his tongue flicking against her clit with relentless precision. Every movement was deliberate, calculated to bring her closer to the edge.

“You taste so fucking good,” he muttered, his voice muffled against her core. “I can’t get enough of you.”

His dirty talk only added fuel to the fire, her hips rocking against his face as she struggled to hold on. But Lando wasn’t done yet. He pulled back, positioning himself between her legs before guiding his cock to her entrance.

“Ready?” he asked, his voice trembling with restraint. His eyes met hers, and for a moment, it was just the two of them, locked in a silent exchange of trust and desire.

She nodded, biting her lip to keep from begging. “Yes. Please.”

With one swift motion, he pushed inside her, filling her completely. The sensation was almost too much, her body stretching to accommodate him. She gasped, her nails digging into his shoulders as she adjusted to the feeling.

“Fuck, you’re so tight,” Lando whispered, his forehead resting against hers. “I don’t think I’ll last.”

But then he started to move, slow and steady at first, giving her time to adjust. Each thrust was measured, his hips meeting hers with a rhythm that sent sparks of pleasure shooting through her veins.

“Lando,” she moaned, unable to hold back any longer. “Harder. Please.”

He listened, picking up the pace until the sound of their bodies connecting filled the air. The pleasure built with every thrust, consuming them both until all that was left was the raw, primal need to reach the peak together.

“Come for me,” Lando growled, his voice commanding. “Let me feel you come apart.”

He didn’t stop moving, not even for a second. His arms tightened around her as he carried her down the hallway, her legs still wrapped securely around his waist, his cock still buried deep inside her. Her breath hitched with every step, the sensation of him twitching within her only heightening the anticipation that built with each passing moment.

“You feel so good,” Lando murmured into her ear, his voice low and gravelly, sending shivers down her spine. He nuzzled her neck, peppering soft kisses along her skin, making her shudder. “I can’t wait to have you like this, completely at my mercy.”

Mercy. The word sent a rush of heat through her body, pooling between her legs. She bit her lip, trying to steady her breathing, but it was no use. She was already lost in the haze of desire that Lando had created.

He kicked open the door to his bedroom with one swift motion, and then he was laying her down on the bed, his weight pressing her into the mattress. His hands were everywhere—in her hair, on her hips, sliding up her thighs—as if he couldn’t get enough of her. And maybe he couldn’t. She certainly couldn’t get enough of him.

“Lando,” she whispered, her voice trembling with need. “Please,  move… don’t make me wait.”

His lips curved into a wicked smile, and he leaned down to kiss her again, deep and possessive, his tongue dominating hers. He pulled back just enough to look into her eyes, those piercing green/blue  eyes that seemed to see straight through to her soul. “I won’t,” he said, his voice a promise. “Not tonight. Not ever.”

Before she could respond, he spread her legs apart, repositioning himself between them. He looked down at her, his gaze intense, almost primal. “Are you sure?” he asked, though his tone suggested he already knew the answer.

She nodded, unable to speak, her heart pounding in her chest. Yes, she thought. Always yes.

With one quick, deliberate motion, he made an in-and-out motion and sank into her again, filling her completely. She gasped, her body arching up to meet his, desperate for more. His name escaped her lips in a breathless moan, and he groaned in response, his forehead resting against hers.

“Fuck, y/n,” he muttered, his voice ragged. “You feel so damn good.”

He began to move, slow and steady at first, giving her body time to adjust again. His thrusts were measured, deliberate, each one hitting her in just the right spot. She clutched at his shoulders, digging her nails into his skin, as wave after wave of pleasure crashed over her.

“Lando,” she cried out, her voice breaking. “Please… harder.”

He listened, picking up the pace until the room was filled with the sound of their bodies coming together. His thrusts grew deeper, harder, each one sending jolts of electricity through her veins. She could feel the orgasm building inside her, closer and closer, threatening to consume her.

“Come for me,” Lando demanded, his voice commanding. “Let me feel you come apart.”

His words pushed her over the edge, and she did exactly as he said. Her body convulsed around him, her walls clenching tight as the orgasm ripped through her. She screamed his name, lost in the throes of pleasure, as he continued to thrust into her, chasing his own release.

“I’m close,” he gritted out, his voice strained. “God, I’m so close.”

She reached up to touch him, her fingers brushing against his chest, feeling the rapid beat of his heart beneath her palm. “Don’t stop,”she breathed, her voice barely audible. 

He didn’t. With one final, powerful thrust, he came. He let out a guttural growl, his body going rigid as he spilled inside her, his warmth mingling with hers.

For a few moments, neither of them moved, caught in the aftermath of what had just happened. Lando collapsed onto the bed beside her, pulling her into his arms. She lay there, her heart still racing, her body buzzing with the remnants of pleasure.

“That was…” she trailed off, unable to find the words to describe what had just happened.

“Incredible,” Lando finished for her, his voice soft but filled with conviction. He kissed her forehead, then her cheek, before finally capturing her lips in a gentle, lingering kiss. “And it’s only the beginning.”

She smiled against his lips, feeling a sense of contentment wash over her. But before she could fully bask in the moment, Lando pulled away slightly, his eyes twinkling with mischief.

“Ready for round two?” he asked, his voice teasing.

As the night drew to a close, Lando and Y/N lay tangled in the sheets, breathless and content. Lando's fingers traced small circles on her skin, a soft and soothing contrast to the intensity of earlier. His lips pressed a gentle kiss to her temple, and she smiled, feeling completely at ease in his embrace.

"You know," Lando murmured, his voice playful yet tender, "I think we just set a new standard for our dates."

She laughed softly, turning to meet his gaze. "Is that so?" she teased, her fingers gently caressing his chest.

"Yeah," he grinned, his eyes sparkling. "But no pressure. I think we can take it slow from here on out... unless you're ready to break some more records."

She chuckled, snuggling closer, feeling his warmth surrounding her. "Maybe we should just enjoy the moment, Lando."

He nodded, his expression softening as he held her tighter. "You're right. This... us... it feels real. And that's all that matters."

She rested her head on his chest, listening to the steady beat of his heart. Just the quiet, simple certainty that something beautiful had begun between the two of them.

[piastrisun]

the one with the new year’s kiss.

pairings: lando norris + fem fewtrell reader.

summary: after ten months of secretly dating, you and lando find yourselves longing for a simple new year’s kiss but needing a little help to take the risk and make it happen.

genre: fluff.⠀word count: 1.2k.⠀ warning: none.

notes: little scrap inspired by monica and chandler. also, first one shot of the year!!! i hope you enjoy it and i wish you all the best. <3

the room buzzes with excitement as the countdown to midnight approaches. the annual new year’s eve party hosted by your friend group is in full swing, laughter and chatter weaving through the room like confetti in the air. you’re perched near the drinks table, trying to appear as casual as possible, though your heart races every time your eyes dart to lando. he’s across the room, chatting with a group of friends, his smile easy and his laugh infectious. it’s a sight you’ve admired countless times over the past ten months. but tonight, there’s an ache in your chest because, while everyone else sees him as just another friend in the group, to you, he’s so much more.

dating in secret has been both thrilling and exhausting. the stolen moments, quiet conversations, and late-night drives have kept your relationship alive and safe from prying eyes. but here, at this party, you have to act like you’re just another face in the crowd. the longing to kiss him at midnight grows stronger with every glance, but the fear of being caught feels just as heavy.

earlier in the night, keegan caught you sneaking looks at lando. you pulled him aside into the kitchen, your voice quiet and tinged with frustration. “i just want to kiss him at midnight,” you confessed, leaning against the counter. “for once, i want to feel normal, like we don’t have to hide.”

keegan studies you, his brow lifting as a knowing smile spreads across his face. “you really like him, don’t you?”

you nod, feeling your cheeks warm. “i do. but we can’t let max or anyone else find out. you know how he is about me and his friends.”

keegan crosses his arms, considering your words. after a moment, his grin widens. “alright, i’ve got an idea. just trust me, okay?”

“what are you planning?” you ask, your voice sharp with suspicion as you cross your arms. your eyes narrow, scanning his face for any trace of his usual mischief.

he grins, the kind of grin that’s both infuriating and impossible to ignore. “you’ll see,” he says, his tone teasingly cryptic. his eyes glint with something that makes your heart skip—a mix of confidence and playfulness you’ve seen too many times before.

before you can press him further, he winks, a quick, knowing flick of his eyelid that leaves you bristling with curiosity. then, as if on cue, he steps backward into the crowd, melting seamlessly into the hum of the party, leaving you standing there, a mix of intrigue and exasperation swirling inside you.

now, as the minutes tick closer to midnight, your eyes find lando across the room. there’s a flicker of something unspoken in his gaze—a quiet question that mirrors your own longing. it’s a moment you’ve shared countless times in secret, but tonight, it feels heavier. tonight, you both want more.

keegan sidles up to you, a mischievous smile tugging at his lips. “i’ve got this all worked out,” he whispers, leaning close so no one overhears. you can feel the warmth of his breath against your ear. “when the countdown hits, everyone’s going to kiss whoever they’ve been paired with. and guess what? i made sure it’s you and lando.”

your breath catches, and you glance at him in surprise. “keegan, are you serious? what if max—”

“relax,” he interrupts, his tone reassuring. “max is fine with it. he thinks i’m just saving his little sister from kissing some random stranger. besides, it’s new year’s—nobody’s going to question it.”

you glance toward max, your older brother, who is deep in conversation with a few friends. keegan claps a hand on your shoulder. “trust me,” he says with a wink before disappearing back into the crowd.

you glance over at max, who’s laughing with a group of friends, completely unaware. relief mixes with nerves as you turn back to keegan. “you’re sure this will work?”

“positive,” he says with a confident nod. “just enjoy it. you deserve this.”

the minutes tick down, and you feel the anticipation building like a wave ready to crest. the room fills with voices shouting the countdown: “ten! nine!” your stomach twists into knots as lando weaves through the crowd, his eyes locking with yours now.

“seven! six!”

“hey,” he says, stopping in front of you just as the voices drop to “five! four!” his voice is low, a little unsure, but the soft curve of his smile reassures you.

“hey,” you manage to reply, your voice almost drowned out by the cheers as the room erupts in celebration. around you, people kiss their partners, the air filling with laughter and clinking glasses.

when he reaches you, his smile is soft but uncertain, like he’s afraid of overstepping. “keegan’s idea?” he asks, his voice low enough that only you can hear.

you nod, a shy smile tugging at your lips, your heart fluttering in your chest. “yeah. are you okay with this?” the question hangs in the air, tentative, yet filled with quiet anticipation.

his eyes search yours, soft but sure, as he steps closer. “more than okay,” he says, his voice warm and steady, like a promise. there’s a pause, just long enough for the unspoken words to settle between you.

“three! two!”

his hand brushes against yours, the touch sending a jolt of warmth up your arm. “we don’t have to if you’re not comfortable,” he murmurs, he says, his voice barely above a whisper, but his eyes—those warm, familiar eyes—search yours, offering you the choice.

you shake your head, a shy smile tugging at your lips. “no,” you whisper, shaking your head as your heart pounds. “it’s okay, i want to.”

“happy new year!” the room erupts in cheers, but the noise fades as he cups your cheek gently, his thumb brushing against your skin as he leans in. the moment stretches, your heart pounding in your chest, until his lips finally meet yours. it’s soft and sweet, the kind of kiss that speaks of every secret glance, every stolen moment over the past ten months. for a moment, it’s just the two of you. the secret glances, the stolen moments, the quiet confessions—it’s all there, wrapped up in this single, perfect kiss.

when you pull back, your cheeks are warm, your breath a little unsteady. “happy new year, love” he murmurs, his forehead resting lightly against yours.

“happy new year,” you reply, unable to stop the smile spreading across your face.

from the corner of your eye, you catch keegan giving you a sly thumbs-up, his grin wide with satisfaction. max, thankfully, seems none the wiser, too busy cheering with the others. you glance back at lando, his eyes still locked on you, and in this moment, it feels like the rest of the world has fallen away.

lando’s hand slips from your cheek to rest lightly on your waist, pulling you in a little closer. there’s a quiet intensity between you now, a shared understanding that this moment is more than just a kiss at midnight. you feel a weight lift off your chest—the secret you’ve been holding for so long now feels just a little lighter.

“i can’t believe we just did that,” you whisper, your voice soft, but your heart racing.

lando chuckles, his nose brushing gently against yours as he lets out a breath. “you’re telling me. i thought for sure keegan was going to screw it up somehow.”

you laugh softly, the sound warm between you. “i never would’ve guessed he’d pull this off.”

lando’s smile deepens, but there’s something different in it now—something a little more vulnerable, a little more real. “he knows what’s important.” he pauses, his hand still on your waist as his thumb draws slow, soothing circles on your skin. “and he knows we’re more than just friends, doesn’t he?”

you nod slowly, your heart swelling as the realization hits you in full force. “yeah. he’s known for a while now.”

lando’s gaze softens, and his thumb stills against your skin. “good,” he murmurs, voice low and steady. “because i don’t think i can hide this from anyone else for much longer.”

©⠀piastrisun original work. please don’t translate, claim or repost any of my writing, 25’.

[driverlando]

✧.* SECRETLY YOURS

synopsis - you sneak around with Oscar, your brothers best friend.

before you continue: this is a Norris!reader fic and is smutty so mdni. if you enjoyed pls reblog and give me a follow :)

The thrill of sneaking around with Oscar Piastri was as intoxicating as the man himself.

He was always so composed and reserved in public, but behind closed doors, he was a force to be reckoned with. You had known Oscar for a while through your brother, Lando, and the bond you had formed with the Australian driver was unlike anything you had ever experienced.

Your secret relationship had been a whirlwind of stolen glances, hidden touches, and whispered promises. The paddock had become your playground, each secluded corner a potential rendezvous spot. The adrenaline of keeping your relationship under wraps only added to the excitement, and you found yourself constantly yearning for those private moments with Oscar.

It was late one night after a long day of practice sessions and meetings. The paddock was quiet, most people having retired to their hotel rooms. You and Oscar had managed to slip away unnoticed, making your way to a secluded area behind the garages. The air was thick with tension and anticipation, your heart pounding in your chest as you followed Oscar into the shadows.

Oscar glanced around to make sure you were alone before pulling you into his arms. The kiss he pressed to your lips was urgent and demanding, his hands roaming over your body with a possessiveness that left you breathless.

“Are you sure no one saw us?” you whispered, your voice trembling with excitement.

Oscar smirked, his eyes dark with desire. “Positive,” he replied, his voice a low growl. “Now, let’s make the most of our time.”

He backed you against the wall, his hands gripping your waist as he captured your lips in another searing kiss. The thrill of being caught only heightened your arousal, and you melted into his touch, your hands tangling in his hair.

Oscar’s lips trailed down your neck, leaving a path of fire in their wake. His hands moved to your hips, lifting you slightly as he pressed himself against you. The feel of his arousal against your thigh sent a shiver of anticipation through you, and you moaned softly, your body arching into his touch.

“I’ve been thinking about this all day,” he murmured against your skin, his voice filled with raw desire. “Thinking about you.”

“Me too,” you gasped, your fingers digging into his shoulders. “I need you, Oscar.”

He groaned at your words, his hands moving to unzip your pants with practiced ease. He pushed them down your hips, followed quickly by your underwear. The cool air against your skin was a stark contrast to the heat of Oscar’s touch, and you shivered in anticipation.

Oscar knelt before you, his eyes locked onto yours as he spread your legs. The intensity of his gaze made your breath hitch, and you felt a rush of arousal flood through you. He leaned in, his lips brushing against your inner thigh, teasing you with the promise of what was to come.

“Keep quiet,” he murmured, his voice a husky command. “We don’t want anyone to hear.”

You nodded, biting your lip to stifle a moan as he pressed a kiss to your core. The first touch of his tongue sent a jolt of pleasure through you, and you had to clamp a hand over your mouth to keep from crying out. Oscar’s hands gripped your thighs, holding you in place as he worked you over with a skill that left you breathless.

The sensation was overwhelming, and you found yourself struggling to keep quiet as Oscar’s tongue drove you to the edge. He moved with purpose, his every touch designed to bring you pleasure. The tension in your body coiled tighter and tighter, and you knew it wouldn’t be long before you unraveled completely.

“Oscar,” you gasped, your voice a desperate plea. “Please, I’m so close.”

Oscar looked up at you, his eyes dark with satisfaction. “Not yet,” he said, his voice firm. “I want to hear you beg.”

You whimpered, the need in your body almost too much to bear. “Please,” you whispered, your voice trembling with desire. “Please, I need to come.”

A satisfied smile curved his lips, and he redoubled his efforts, his tongue and fingers driving you to the brink of pleasure. The tension in your body snapped, and you came with a shuddering gasp, your body convulsing with the force of your orgasm.

But Oscar didn’t stop. He continued his relentless assault, pushing you into a state of overstimulation that left you writhing against the wall. The pleasure was almost too intense, your body trembling with the aftershocks of your climax.

“Hold on,” Oscar commanded, his voice a dark caress. “We’re not done yet.”

He stood, his hands moving to unbuckle his pants with a speed that made your head spin. He freed himself, the sight of his arousal sending another wave of desire through you. He turned you around, pressing your hands against the wall as he positioned himself behind you.

“Hold on tight,” he murmured, his voice thick with anticipation.

You nodded, your breath coming in ragged gasps as he entered you with a powerful thrust. The sensation was overwhelming, and you moaned softly, your fingers gripping the wall for support.

Oscar set a brutal pace, his hands gripping your hips as he drove into you with a mix of passion and control. The intensity of his movements left you breathless, the pleasure building with each powerful thrust.

“God, you feel so good,” he groaned, his voice a rough whisper. “So perfect.”

You could only moan in response, the pleasure too intense to form coherent words. Oscar’s hands moved to grip your thighs, lifting you slightly to deepen the angle. The new position sent you spiraling closer to the edge, and you knew it wouldn’t be long before you came again.

“Oscar, I’m going to—”

“Do it,” he commanded, his voice a dark growl. “Come for me.”

His words sent you over the edge, your body convulsing with the force of your climax. Oscar followed you, his own release a shuddering exhalation as he buried himself in you.

For a moment, the only sound was your ragged breathing, the aftershocks of pleasure still coursing through your bodies. Oscar pressed a soft kiss to your shoulder, his touch tender and reassuring.

“We should get back,” he murmured, his voice a soft promise. “Before anyone notices we’re gone.”

You nodded, still trying to catch your breath. “Yeah, we should.”

Oscar helped you dress, his touch gentle and affectionate. The adrenaline of the moment slowly gave way to a sense of calm and contentment, and you knew that this was just the beginning of something incredible.

As you slipped back into the paddock, the thrill of your secret still fresh in your mind, you couldn’t help but smile.

[saetoru]

✩ ‧₊˚ ✩ FIRST KISS — GOJO SATORU.

contents. fluff + mutual pining if you squint, it’s literally just you being satoru’s first kiss <3, he’s just a loser boy beneath all his facades !!

it’s summer the first time you kiss satoru. his lips taste like the lingering sweetness of kikufuku. the cicadas are calling, and the sun finds every crevice of your skin to hug.

it’s hot outside—but you don’t mind the heat so much when it’s the fan of satoru’s breath against your skin. you can feel his hands tremble as they finds your hips. hesitant, you note as he pauses a moment before finally letting them rest against you.

“you’re eager, sweetheart,” he hums—because satoru, even dazed from the taste of you, is still persistently himself. large hands are gently cradling the curves of your waist—he’s warm there too, where he holds you and pulls you closer to his chest. he grins when you press a kiss to his jaw, rubbing circles into your hip with his thumb.

“it doesn’t feel like you’re kissing me while held at gunpoint either, gojo,” you roll your eyes. your hand cups his face, thumb tracing over the swell of his cheek gently.

gojo—his lips, rosy and just a bit swollen, pout at the use of his surname. surely, now that you’ve stolen the innocence of his lips, you can spare him a bit more than that. surely, the intimacy of his given name doesn’t outweigh the intimacy of exchanging breath.

satoru—he imagines the way the name would sound from you, carefully whispered like a secret. everything you do is careful, he’s noticed, everything about you is thoughtful and soft.

more than anything, you’re careful in the way you touch him. you’re delicate in the way you let yourself explore his skin, like he’s fragile and easy to hurt. like all he’s ever known is pain. it’s ironic—someone like satoru should know very little about pain, should never feel the devastating blows at its hands when infinity leaves more than enough room for him to remain untouched.

but you’re funny like that; take him by surprise as you carve out the slant of his cheekbone with your thumb slowly enough that you might almost think your touch is enough to slice the skin.

it’s nice, he thinks distantly, being handled with care is nice. it’s not something this world affords so easily.

“this your first kiss?” he asks shamelessly, throwing you that lopsided grin of his.

am i your first? is what he means to ask. what he wants to ask. what he aches to ask.

is he your first? or are you only his? has anyone else tasted the strawberry of your chapstick? was it a different flavor before it was ever strawberry? satoru hopes he’s the only one to ever explore the flavors your lips might come in—maybe you’ll try cherry next. he’d like that.

“it’s certainly your first kiss,” you giggle, thumb moving down to trace his bottom lip, “i can feel you trembling, y’know.”

not many people catch gojo satoru embarrassed—you do, though. that enough should make you feel like god, perhaps. who else is powerful enough to feel the strongest quake? who else feels the quivers of his hands and the uncertain hesitance under his touch?

no one but you—and you’d like to keep it that way.

his face flushes a little, against his control. even gojo satoru is not above the rush of blood rising to his cheeks, even he cannot stop the hue of color that paints across his face. he’s human, after all—and he deserves to be treated as such: with the fragility of being human.

“no it’s not,” he scoffs, “i’ve kissed plenty.”

“yeah?” you chuckle, admiring the rosiness of his flesh, “name one person.”

“i don’t recall anyone’s name,” he shrugs, hands still making sure to keep you painfully close. if you pull away, satoru thinks he might die—thinks he might never recover from the aftershocks of such devastation. “no one was ever worthwhile enough to remember.”

he’s too much sometimes—but never less than enough. you snort, huffing out a small laugh that rings in his ears and makes him gulp.

perfect—you sound and look and feel and taste perfect. gojo satoru is the strongest, but is he deserving of the one thing this earth has that’s devoid of flaws? he’s not so sure. but he can try to be worthy, and perhaps that’s enough.

“well, then tell me, gojo,” you murmur, gently slipping the bandages from his forehead to fall to his neck. he’s only recently left the sunglasses behind—you like him better this way. you can see the outline of his features better, even if you do miss his eyes.

“hm?” he quirks a brow, breath almost hitching when his eyes meet yours—since when have you looked at him like that? since when have your pupils housed so much affection for him? have you always done so, and he’s never noticed?

it would be a crime to not have noticed before this, he thinks, a cruel and terrible reality of missing every soft and affectionate gaze.

“will i be long forgotten after this kiss? or has this one finally caught your attention?”

there is no prior kiss to compare yours to—but there never needs to be one after, either. this is the best kiss he’ll ever have, the only kiss he wants to have. no one will ever feel like you, he’s sure of it. no one will ever make him feel what you do, and even infinity is something that cannot protect him from the risks.

but satoru is not scared, not of you—and never with you.

so he grins, tapping his chin in thought as he hums, “give me another, and i’ll decide.”

you scoff in disbelief—amused, if anything, before shaking your head. he can’t help the chuckle that escapes him.

“you never change, gojo,” you say fondly, “do you know that?”

“say satoru,” he says quietly. it’s almost a plead—it sounds like a plead.

you smile. it’s an innocent little thing, untouched by the cruelties of life—or maybe it has, and you still find a reason to stay pure. maybe it’s the latter, he realizes, maybe you’re just resilient enough to remain unwavering in the way you love so unapologetically.

“come here, satoru,” you whisper, gently pulling his face closer as you hold his cheeks.

desperately, he needs to taste his name rolling off your tongue—so he comes closer, bridging the gap and kissing you again. and again—and he can’t find it in him to stop.

the same day satoru has his first kiss, you call him by his first name. it’s summer. the flowers smell sweet as the cicadas call, and you put the sun’s heat to shame.

he’ll always stay warm wrapped in you.

tbh this was supposed to be y’all fucking for the first time but then it just turned into this. alas, we prevail

[ponderingmoonlight]

Hello!! I hope you’re doing amazing!!! I really like your megumi works, so id like to request a fic where him and the reader have a very under cover secret relationship and yuji,nobara and gojo try to figure out why fushiguros been acting so weird. I’d love to see it! And more megumi works 🙏🏽. It’s just a request it’s totally okay if you don’t want to!! Hope you have an amazing week!! 💗💗

Okay, I probably never laughed this much while writing a fic lmao, this right here is ridiculous y'all

Keeping your relationship with Megumi a secret until you can't anymore

Pairing: Megumi x fem!reader; pure comedy friendship with Nobara and Yuji lol

Word Count: 3k

Synopsis: Megumi Fushiguro’s secret relationship with you has been going smoothly—until his friends start noticing his odd behavior. Yuji and Nobara grow suspicious, launching a hilariously relentless mission to uncover what he’s hiding, while Gojo sits back, amused by the chaos. Will the two of you finally confess?

Warnings: y'all, I almost died writing this hilarious piece of work lmao, I never praise my own work but that bonus has me rolling, if you're looking for a bandage for your broken heart there it is, fluff fluff fluff

Please let me know what you think! If this does well, I might write some more about the chaotic trio lol

You never thought keeping a secret would be this much fun.

Your relationship with Megumi started quietly, just like most things with him. There was no grand confession, no dramatic kiss in the rain. It was slow, understated, like the way shadows stretch out under the setting sun. You had been drawn into his orbit naturally, like you’d been waiting for it to happen all along.

Still, it wasn’t exactly planned. One moment you were sitting next to each other in silence, and the next you were sitting a little too close. Your fingers brushed. His eyes lingered. The air between you became charged with unspoken things, and soon enough, stolen moments were the only thing keeping you sane. The decision to keep it quiet came easily: neither of you had any desire to deal with the chaos that would break out if anyone found out. And besides, it was kind of thrilling.

But now it’s starting to get tricky.

It’s a normal Wednesday when the subtle shift in the atmosphere begins. Megumi is acting just a little too normal - stiffer, as if he’s hyper-aware of everything. He’s not good at this, at pretending everything is fine when there’s something simmering underneath. And unfortunately, it doesn’t take long for his odd behavior to catch some unwanted attention.

“Hey, Megumi,” Yuji calls from across the room, his eyes squinting suspiciously.

“You’re acting weird. Are you okay?”

Megumi doesn’t even flinch, though his eyes are literally glued to the ground.

“I’m fine.”

That’s it. Flat, simple, closed. He’s good at short answers. It should be enough. It’s not.

Yuji leans over the back of the couch, brow furrowed in confusion.

“No, you’re definitely acting off. You haven’t been sarcastic all morning. And usually by now, you’ve threatened to hit me at least twice.”

Megumi sighs, fingers twitching in his lap, the only outward sign of his discomfort.

“I’m fine, Yuji. Maybe you’re just imagining things.”

Yuji is definitely not convinced. He glances at Nobara, who’s lounging nearby with her arms crossed, already suspicious. She had been eyeing Megumi the second he walked in, catching onto his strange energy faster than Yuji had.

“Yeah, I’ve noticed it too,” she adds, voice sharp.

“Something’s up. You’ve been... I don’t know, distracted?”

“Seriously, I’m—” Megumi starts, but Nobara cuts him off, grinning.

“You’re not hiding anything from us, are you, Fushiguro?” Her eyes gleam with mischief, and you can tell she’s just playing around.

For now.

“Oh, I think I know it!”, Yuji suddenly announces with his arms stretched in the air.

“Do you really, idiot?”, Nobara remarks.

You almost lose your cool, cold sweat dripping down your neck while waiting for Yuji’s next words. He didn’t catch it, did he? Not when you’ve been carefully avoiding being too close to Megumi while they’re around since you first joined Jujutsu High. He simply can’t know it-

Megumi’s eyes flick to you, a barely noticeable glance paired with his reddened cheeks, but it’s enough. Too much. Your heart skips in your chest, and you quickly look away, hoping no one else caught it. But then-

“Oh.” Yuji’s eyes widen in realization, a slow grin spreading across his face.

“Oh, I get it now.”

Megumi’s spine visibly stiffens.

“No, you don’t.”

But it’s too late. Yuji has already decided he’s figured it out.

“You’ve got a crush on someone, don’t you?” Yuji practically shouts, leaning forward in his seat with excitement.

“That’s why you’ve been all weird lately!”

Nobara sits up, clearly intrigued by this new development. “Wait, what? Megumi has a crush?”

“I do not,” Megumi says, but he’s starting to lose his calm now.

You can tell by the way his hand runs through his hair a little too harshly, as if he’s trying to ground himself.

You bite back a smile. Megumi can be as composed as he wants, but when it comes to things like this, he’s terrible at hiding it.

“You’re totally lying,” Nobara declares, standing up and crossing the room to get a better look at him.

“Who is it? Do we know them?”

Megumi groans, pressing his fingers to his temples as if he’s already getting a headache. You’re trying hard not to laugh because if you do, they’ll turn their attention to you. You’ve been careful this whole time to stay out of the line of fire, just a silent observer to this chaos.

But you know it’s only a matter of time.

“I’m not lying,” Megumi grumbles, clearly regretting every decision that led him to this point. “There’s no one.”

It’s almost convincing. Almost.

Yuji leans back, a teasing glint in his eyes.

“Nah, you’re definitely lying. You’re terrible at it. You get all tense, like right now.”

“I’m always tense,” Megumi shoots back.

“True,” Nobara agrees,

“but this is different. You’re acting sketchy.”

Megumi shoots her a flat look, but Nobara only smirks back. She’s having way too much fun with this.

“Is it the one we’ve met at that pizza place yesterday, the one with a big ass and those nice hair?”, Yuji shouts into the conversation.

“The girl from yesterday?”, you repeat before you can stop yourself, arms crossing in front of your tightening chest.

“You guys are gross.”

Megumi’s gaze meets yours, panic shimmering underneath the surface while he fumbles with his own hands.

“What? No! It’s not that one!”

“Oh, not that one, huh? Who is it, then?”

“Fine,” Megumi says, standing abruptly.

“I’m going for a walk.”

Before they can say another word, he stalks out of the room, leaving you alone with Yuji and Nobara. You let out a quiet breath of relief, grateful they didn’t notice you.

Yuji turns to Nobara, eyes wide.

“This is huge. Megumi’s got a crush.”

Nobara hums thoughtfully, rubbing her chin.

“He’s never shown any interest in anyone before. It must be serious.”

“I wonder who it is,” Yuji muses, glancing around the room as if expecting the answer to jump out at him.

Your pulse quickens. If you stay here any longer, you’re going to blow your cover.

“I’m gonna grab some water,” you announce quickly, standing up.

You manage to make it halfway to the kitchen before Nobara’s voice calls after you, filled with sudden realization.

“Wait a minute. You were with him all morning, weren’t you?”

You freeze, your heart pounding in your chest.

“Weren’t you two on a mission yesterday?” Yuji adds, piecing it together far too quickly for your liking.

“And last weekend, too?”

Panic rises in your throat, but you manage to keep your expression neutral when you turn back to face them.

“We’ve just been on a few missions together. That’s all” you say, voice steady.

Nobara narrows her eyes, scrutinizing you.

“Uh-huh. And you didn’t notice him acting weird?”

“Not really. Maybe he’s just worn-out” you lie, doing your best to stay calm.

Yuji tilts his head, still unconvinced but willing to drop it for now.

“Yeah, maybe.”

But Nobara isn’t so easily swayed.

“You sure? Because you’re looking a little-”

“Nobara,” you interrupt,

“you’re overthinking it.”

For a moment, there’s silence. Then, with a final hum of suspicion, she shrugs and lets it go.

But just as you think you’re in the clear, a new voice cuts through the tension.

“Well, well, what do we have here?”

Gojo saunters in, sunglasses perched lazily on his nose, a knowing smirk already playing on his lips. He must have been eavesdropping because he’s grinning like he’s just hit the jackpot.

“Don’t tell me you’re trying to figure out what’s up with Megumi,” he notes, voice dripping with amusement.

“That kid’s an enigma even to himself.”

Yuji perks up at the sight of Gojo, excited to rope someone else into their investigation.

“We think he’s got a crush.”

Gojo pauses, grin widening.

 “Oh, is that so?”

You stand frozen in place as Gojo’s eyes slowly slide over to you, lingering for a beat too long. He knows. You don’t know how he knows, but he knows. He’s always been good at reading between the lines, picking up on things that most people miss. Megumi that traitor, did he really leave you all alone with these two and now even Gojo?

His smirk deepens.

“Well, well, well,” he drawls, leaning casually against the wall, clearly enjoying this far too much.

“I wonder who it could be.”

You’re going to kill Megumi. You’re both dead. This is it. The end of your secret.

But before Gojo can say anything else, Megumi walks back into the room, his expression darkening as he notices Gojo’s presence.

“What are you doing here?” Megumi asks, his voice flat.

“Oh, just catching up with the kids. They were telling me about your little crush” Gojo replies innocently.

Megumi’s eyes dart between you, Yuji, Nobara, and Gojo, clearly calculating his next move.

“There’s no crush,” he replies, exasperation creeping into his voice again.

“Yuji’s just being an idiot.”

“Hey!” Yuji protests, but Megumi ignores him.

Gojo chuckles, pushing off the wall with an exaggerated stretch.

“Well, I think I’ll let you all handle this. Good luck with the investigation.”

He winks in your direction before sauntering out of the room, leaving you tense and trying to avoid Megumi’s gaze.

Yuji and Nobara are still watching him, and you can tell they’re not going to let this go anytime soon.

“So,” Nobara says, crossing her arms. “Are you going to tell us who it is, or are we going to have to follow you around until we figure it out?”

Megumi pinches the bridge of his nose, clearly fed up. “There’s no one.”

“You’re such a bad liar,” Yuji mutters, shaking his head.

Megumi’s about to respond, but then his phone buzzes in his pocket. He pulls it out, glances at the screen, and his expression softens for just a split second before he tucks it away again.

You know who it is. He knows you know.

You’re barely holding back your laughter at this point, trying to keep a straight face. You can feel the heat rising to your cheeks, and you have to look away before anyone else notices.

But Megumi, in his ever-stubborn way, is still trying to salvage this mess.

“I’m going for another walk,” he announces abruptly, clearly done with this interrogation.

“Uh-huh,” Nobara calls after him, grinning like a cat who just caught a mouse.

“Sure, go clear your head, lover boy.”

You can’t help but chuckle quietly as Megumi shoots you a helpless look before heading out the door.

As soon as he’s gone, Yuji leans over to Nobara, whispering loudly.

“Do you think he’s texting his crush?”

Nobara grins, leaning back in her chair.

“Definitely.”

You bite your lip, doing your best to keep your composure while peeking at your phone.

Sorry for the mess. Meet me later in my dorm?

This is going to get much harder to hide.

Later that night, when you and Megumi finally have a moment to yourselves at his dorm, he sighs heavily, dropping down onto the couch beside you. He looks exhausted, and not just from the missions. The day’s events have clearly taken their toll.

“This is getting ridiculous,” he mutters, rubbing his temples.

You smile softly, leaning into his side.

“It’s kind of your fault, you know.”

Megumi groans.

“I know.”

There’s a moment of silence as you both sit there, the weight of your secret relationship pressing down on you. But it’s not a bad weight. It’s more like a blanket, warm and comforting, something shared between the two of you. Something that’s just yours.

Still, you can’t help but tease him.

“You’re really bad at lying.”

Megumi turns his head to look at you, a small, exasperated smile pulling at his lips.

“Shut up.”

You laugh quietly, resting your head on his shoulder, feeling the tension melt away as his hand finds yours, fingers intertwining. For now, it’s just the two of you, and that’s all that matters.

“Maybe we should tell them,” you suggest softly, half-joking.

Megumi’s body stiffens for a second, but then he relaxes, a soft hum escaping his throat.

“Maybe,” he murmurs, voice low.

“But not yet.”

You smile, content with the secrecy for now. It’s your little world, and as chaotic as it is, it’s yours to navigate together.

And for now, that’s enough.

Bonus:

The decision to finally tell them wasn’t exactly well-planned. In fact, it wasn’t planned at all.

It happened after another long day of training. Yuji had been particularly insufferable, constantly pestering Megumi about his “mystery crush,” while Nobara was fuming over how Megumi wouldn’t let her in on the secret.

You and Megumi exchanged looks all day, the unspoken question hanging between you both: Should we just tell them?

By the time the sun set and everyone was lounging in the common area, the atmosphere was thick with anticipation. Nobara was pacing the room, practically radiating with frustration, while Yuji sat on the edge of the couch, watching Megumi like a hawk.

You were sitting next to Megumi, trying not to laugh at the sheer ridiculousness of the situation. You hadn’t expected the pressure to mount like this. They’d been relentless for days now.

“Okay, I’m done!”

Nobara throws her hands in the air, eyes narrowing at Megumi.

“I can’t take it anymore! You have to tell us. Who is it?”

Yuji nods rapidly, his eyes wide and pleading.

“Please, man, just tell us! The suspense is killing me.”

Megumi lets out a long, exasperated sigh. He’s been handling this for a week now, and it’s clearly taken its toll. He shoots you a quick, sideways glance, silently asking for your input.

You shrug with a small smile, mouthing.

“Your call.”

With another sigh, Megumi straightens up and clears his throat.

“Fine,” he says, his voice firm.

“I’ll tell you.”

Both Nobara and Yuji freeze, their eyes going wide with excitement.

“Finally!” Nobara yells, nearly vibrating with impatience.

“Okay, okay. Who is it? Is it someone we know?” Yuji questions, leaning in closer.

Megumi looks at you again, and you give him a reassuring nod.

Then, with a small smirk tugging at his lips, Megumi casually slips his hand into yours, right there in front of them.

At first, there’s silence. Complete, deafening silence.

Yuji’s mouth falls open, eyes flicking between your joined hands and your faces, his brain clearly short-circuiting.

Nobara, on the other hand, just stares. Blinks. Then her hands slowly rise to cover her mouth, her eyes growing impossibly wide.

“Wait—” Yuji finally speaks, voice squeaking a little.

“YOU—YOU AND—”

Megumi sighs.

“Yeah. Me and (y/n). We’ve been dating for a while now.”

That’s when all hell breaks loose.

“WHAT?!” Yuji practically screams, jumping up from the couch and pointing at your intertwined hands like they’re some sort of mythical creature.

“NO WAY! This whole time? You guys were dating this whole time?!”

Nobara just starts shrieking incoherently. It’s a mix of disbelief and outrage, her voice a high-pitched wail as she dramatically collapses onto the couch like she’s been personally betrayed.

“YOU HID THIS FROM US?!” she yells, clutching a pillow like it’s the only thing keeping her grounded.

“HOW COULD YOU?! I THOUGHT WE WERE FRIENDS!”

You burst out laughing, unable to keep it in any longer. Megumi pinches the bridge of his nose, clearly regretting every choice that led to this moment.

Yuji is pacing now, running his hands through his hair, still trying to process everything.

“How did I not see it? I mean, I thought you had a crush, but I didn’t think it was… this!” he gestures wildly between the two of you, eyes wide with disbelief.

“Oh my God!” Nobara yells again, standing up suddenly.

“This is insane! You’ve been sneaking around this whole time? That’s it. I demand details! Right now. How long has this been going on?”

“Yeah!” Yuji chimes in, pointing accusingly at Megumi.

“How did you manage to keep this a secret from me of all people?”

You laugh again, raising your hands in surrender.

“Okay, okay, calm down! It’s been a few months. We just didn’t want to make a big deal out of it.”

“A few months?” Nobara shrieks, grabbing Yuji’s arm like she needs to hold onto something before she passes out.

“That’s practically a year in relationship time! How did you keep this from us? I’m so offended right now.”

“I knew you were acting weird!” Yuji exclaims, throwing his hands in the air.

“All those times you disappeared, Megumi! I knew something was up!”

Megumi groans, running a hand through his hair.

“You guys are overreacting.”

“Overreacting? This is the most exciting thing that’s happened all year and you hid it from us! You’re for the streets, Fushiguro!” Nobara echoes, voice high-pitched with disbelief.

Yuji nods, agreeing way too quickly.

“Yeah, we need details. Dates, first kiss, how did it start, everything.”

Before you can answer, a familiar voice interrupts the chaos.

“Oh, you guys are just figuring this out now?”

You all turn to see Gojo leaning casually against the doorway, a smug grin plastered on his face, arms crossed like he’s been watching this unfold for a while.

“What?” Nobara screeches again.

“YOU KNEW?!”

Gojo shrugs like it’s no big deal.

“Obviously. It wasn’t exactly hard to figure out.”

Yuji’s jaw drops to the floor.

“You didn’t tell us?”

Gojo tilts his head, grinning.

“And ruin the fun of watching you two idiots freak out? Why would I do that?”

Nobara looks like she’s about to combust.

“So, you just let us suffer, while you were sitting there knowing the whole time?!”

Gojo shrugs again, completely unbothered.

“You’re welcome.”

Yuji groans, dramatically flopping onto the couch beside Nobara.

“I can’t believe this. I feel so betrayed.”

Nobara crosses her arms, huffing.

“Yeah, same. This is worse than the time Yuji ate my fries.”

“Hey, that was an accident!” Yuji protests.

Nobara glares at him.

“It was not an accident.”

Tags:

@arehzhera @ploylulla @tzubaki @beatrexworld @kenstarsworld

@hellkaiserinphoenix  @lauv4chuuya @sindela @kayleegomez @sunshine7queen

@magalimachete @gatitam @idontknow1123 @creative1writings @sanicsmut 

@mynahx3 @sad-darksoul @chilichopsticks @hellkaiserinphoenix @chuyasthighs0

@ynackerman9499 @keepghostly  @froufrousnowman @tomiokathedepresso @gojosrealwife 

@coffeeluvr96 @mahi-tamashi @weebotaku21 @chaoticwinnercupcake @lees-chaotic-brain 

@risuola  @sugurulefttesticle @wordskeeper @baku2345 @polarbvnny

@ruixrei @bam-bam-bam-bame-blog @lavenderdrxp @localhehecat @alicerhr

@sugu-love @belovedvamp @wifenanami @chilichopsticks @dlwlrmas-world

@oikawarz @darkstarlight82 @satoreo @kentocalls @cheesemachine44

@ryva @kenjakusconcubine @baku2345 @komelrebi-san @deezy12299

@okay-it-is-ivy @paridoliaaa @cupcaketeddybehr @ryumurin

[targaryenluvs]

— photograph

pairings: luke castellan x hades!daughter!reader

summary: as much as you loved luke, you were beginning to believe he’d rather keep you a secret than love you in the open.

warnings: angst babyyy, arguments, jealousy, selfishness, insecurity, manipulation, violence, fights, makeups, makeouts, tension

a/n: based on this request - you guys i’m currently reading the books bc i’ve never and i only grew up on the movies lol i will be more accurate soon i hope! i’m not the best an angst bare with me. this can also fit photograph!! hope you liked it anon!!!

your relationship with luke was amazing.

you’d never dated anyone before, but you weren’t sure how you could ever move on from him. he was nothing short of a gentleman as well as your bestfriend. he confided in you, as you did him, you held eachother and loved eachother. the only problem was that it wasn’t open. being two of the most well-known people at the camp, luke expressed his desire to you to have something to himself, you, to himself.

and at first you didn’t mind.

you loved sneaking away with him late at night, longing stares from across the room, and stolen moments whenever available. no one found out, and he wanted to keep it that way.

of course there were moments where the two of you messed up. accidentally wearing his shirt, the longer length drawing some stares but you’d brush them off, no one exactly was going to call out the daughter of hades. where your hair didn’t exactly cover all of the marks he’d left the night before, his hands were in your hair, his clothes were in your sheets.

and the two of you were always able to keep it hidden.

until you didn’t want to anymore.

you wanted to love him in the open, show everyone just how much you loved luke castellan. you’d bring it up to him when you spent time together, the idea of letting everyone know was foreign and unnecessary in his eyes, but it was all you wanted. just to be able to show how happy you are with him and so neither of you will get asked out anymore. but his kisses on your neck and trailing hands seemed to draw you away from the thought.

you kept telling yourself you were fine with it.

but a girl can only hold on so long, you were done with it, with him. it broke your heart, even thinking of not being with him anymore but you’d rather be free and sad then unknown and happy. the two of you were sat together, stargazing in the forest, your own hide out, deep in the woods, a clearing for the two of you.

he seemed so happy, with you. the whole night he chatted away with you, holding your hand, kissing you, hugging you. you loved him so much, he was your other half, your luke. you felt as if you’d implode. your heart clenched at the idea of being away from him. you knew you couldn’t live like this, “luke?” he turned your way, still smiling, “what’s up babe?” his smile dropped at the sight of your teary eyes and trembling lips, “hey, hey what’s wrong?”

you swallowed, “i— i can’t do this anymore, i can’t be a secret. i hate having your nights and being ignored in your mornings, i hate looking at all the girls fawn over you, knowing your mine. i hate not being able to tell you how i feel during the day, not being able to walk up to you and hug or kiss you. i hate it, and i hate myself for hating it. i just want to be with you.” luke’s eyes were glistening, his hand resting on your cheek, “don’t do this, please. you agreed to this, to our relationship. please don’t ask for more, isn’t this enough? am i not enough?”

he held your hand, pressing it to his chest. you could feel his heartbeat, the rhythm you listened to most nights, lulling you to sleep. you could see the gorgeous face you adored, and listened to the heavy breathing of the man you loved. your smile ignited a flicker of hope in his heart, “no, it’s not. i don’t want to be a secret. i want to be able to tell everyone how much you mean to me, i want you to tell everyone what i mean to you. to be able to talk about our future and our life, plan out the biggest of adventures and our wildest dreams. i can’t do that with someone who’d rather love me in the dark of night than the light of day.”

and with that, luke’s heart was beating faster, a tear falling down and his relationship with you in pieces. all he could do was watch you walk away, a part of him with you. he wanted to get up and chase you, tell you how much he truly loved you, but he sat and stared.

the next few weeks were miserable for both of you. sleepless nights, missing the other, no one to stare at anymore, no one to pass love notes to, no one.

luke had the attention of the entire camp, everyone but the person he wanted.

you had the love of everyone but him.

you tried your best to hide it, the pain in your chest, the tears you’d rid your body of at night, the bracelets and necklaces you hid at the bottom of your jewellery box. trying to eradicate any memory of luke castellan from your eye and life.

whereas luke found himself seeking you out. the horrible drawing youd made of him, the beaded bracelet with your nickname for him on it, the chapstick you left behind and your favourite shirt of his. it still smelled like your own perfume. his favourite photograph of the two of you, a polaroid, you kissing his cheek, with both of your matching necklaces on display.

luke seemed fine to everyone else, of course he did. why would he be any different? whereas you were less chatty, energy drained, and happiness gone. no one seemed to ask, too scared of the reply.

three months, without him.

it still hurt, seeing him. but day after day, it tended to get easier to get up. your friends were your saviours, and strength. they could infer the reason behind your sadness, but they didn’t push you. everyday became a routine, get up, get ready, eat, get through the day and relax at night. you thought you were doing better, until you saw him. happy and uncaring.

and all of a sudden you were back where you started. you were so tired of feeling unwanted, always getting frustrated when you cried, you were crying over someone who couldn’t care less.

so when one of the hermes boys approached you with a smile and a drink offering at a secret party in the woods, you were more than willing to take it. he was nice, and funny, and into you. whilst you laughed away with him, occasionally drinking and eating, luke was across the campfire from you, grip tightening on his cup. all the voices around him were muffled, he couldn’t care about their conversations when the girl he loved was right there.

it was one thing for someone to approach you but from his own cabin? it felt as if the guy was trying to piss him off, and he couldn’t stand for that. luke was trying his hardest to hold himself back, but then the guys hand was on your waist and the cup in his hand was crushed within an inch of its life.

suddenly, luke appeared out of nowhere, his eyes burning with jealousy. unable to control his emotions, he confronted the guy. “what the hell do you think you’re doing?” luke sneered as the boy, derek, looked at him confused, “what’re you talking about luke?” luke scoffed, his patience was wearing thin, and the stupid look on derek’s face looked so punchable, so that’s what he did.

the situation escalated quickly, and before you knew it, a full-blown fight broke out between luke and the derek. as chaos erupted around you, you began to realize the depth of luke's feelings. you knew him better than anyone around, you saw the pain in his eyes, hiding behind the rage. luke wasn’t overtly violent in his daily life, let alone starting a fight, all for you.

derek was holding on for sure, a few hits in but again, no one was really a match for luke. the crowd around you had grown, chanting and cheering mixed in with laughter. “luke! luke let him go.” you shouted at him, but it wasn’t really any use, you implored his cabin mates to pull him away, and after a few seconds of contemplating they agreed. derek scrambled away, running with a few friends, whether to chiron or the cabins, as long as it wasn’t near you, luke was happy.

you stormed over to luke, clutching him by his shirt, “let’s. talk.” a plethora of ‘ooh’s’ rung out as luke shrugged off all the hands holding him back.

you’d found a quiet spot to talk, and with tears streaming down your faces, you talked. for the first time in three months, you held a conversation. it obviously wasn’t breezy, yelling and shouting, shoves from you, a slap or two. “you ignore me for three months, and then you beat the shit out of a guy just because he talked to me? what the hell is wrong with you? you were completely fine after we broke up, why did you do that?”

luke took a step closer, “you thought i was fine? i was anything but, every single night, all i wanted was you. you drive me insane, do you get that? not having you, not being able to hold you, to be with you.” his hand held your waist tightly, pulling you into him.

you were looking up at him, nose to nose, heaving chests and an unbelievable amount of tension in the air. “to kiss you.” he whispered, before kissing your neck. your hand tangled itself in his curls as his hand tightened around your waist, the other holding the back of your neck. the two of you ended up pushed against a tree, roaming hands and messy kisses.

“does this mean you’ll take me back?” luke whispered, forehead against yours, “are you willing to go public?”

he smiled, “for you? anything.”

[grimmsbride]

would you be willing to write for daisuke and a chubby fem reader... can be fluff or nsfw hcs idc either way I love he sm and your writing for him is perfect 😭😭😭 if not feel free to ignore :) have a great day !!

FOR HER [ daisuke x chubby!reader | hcs ]

fluff & nsfw headcanons surrounding daisuke and his lovely, chubby lover

tags / mentions of soft dom & sub daisuke | fluff mostly | ooc characters | reader is depicted as chubby & adoring stretch marks | jimmy being a piece of shit | daisuke being insensitive like once | etc.

notes / when ever i write i always try to depict reader as chubby it warms my little heart. & i’m so happy you requested this- i’ve been trying to avoid headcanons but this ask was too good to pass up! & i’m so happy i got a request! ty sm anon <3 as always please excuse any typos or grammar mistakes i’m low-key half awake

FLUFF

- First off I firmly believe Daisuke is fluid in what he likes, which also means the size of his partner. I genuinely think he wouldn’t care how “big or small” they are, as personality is something he’s after.

- But your beautiful appearance was of course a plus.

- You were an intern under Anya, meaning you frequently came into contact with Daisuke. Whether it be him lightly injuring himself or you conducting an evaluation ( under the guidance of your mentor ) the two of you have grown to get along, your age & mutual interests being a factor.

- Slowly though, that affection grows romantic as time passed. I mean, Daisuke’s a young adult trapped on a ship with a beautiful woman his age— how could he not fall for her?

- It doesn’t help he’s obvious as hell to the other crew mates. Always staring at you or after you, quick to greet you each morning, glancing at you when a joke is passed just to hear your sweet laughter. Daisuke is enthralled and it’s not surprise to anyone — except you.

- Maybe you’re naive, maybe focused on your tasks? Maybe you just failed to notice. Either way, you were a little more than clueless to his lingering feelings.

- Even when he’s sharing his stolen sweetener, allowing you to play on his game boy, or even being rather touchy — hugs & accidental grazes — you’re truly lost to what he wants.

- Only when Daisuke accidentally lets out a “God, I’m in love with you..” when you beat a level on his game did you catch a single clue.

- From then on the two of you begin your relationship, Daisuke all to eager show his love for you. Always close to you, checking in on you when he can, even sharing food when he realizes you hadn’t had a break — he’s a doting partner no matter what.

- Daisuke also likes to give you that gaudy shirt he wears when he can, feeling just a tad bit a pride when you wear his clothes — even if it’s a little tight, he doesn’t care.

- Though once Jimmy does make the off chance about you “stretching out the boy’s clothes” which makes you a little reluctant to wear them again.

- Daisuke is quick to shut that down though, declaring even if you purposely ripped it to shreds he truly wouldn’t care— a shirt really means nothing compared to you.

- From that point on Daisuke makes it a habit to compliment you, your size, everything. He doesn’t care, but realizing you do fuels such behavior. At times his compliments are questionable but his loving face surely makes up for it.

- “You’re so big and perfect, [Name].”

- “Daisuke… [sigh].. thank you.”

- After work and showering Daisuke always makes his way to your room to cuddle, alternating between little spoon and big spoon. When he’s big spoon he’s usually closest to the door, tugging you right against his chest and laying his face into your neck. He likes to whisper tiny thoughts he has or even a simply “I love you” once in a while. Sometimes you have to tell him to quiet down from how sleepy you’re getting.

- If you’re big spoon Daisuke’s face is definitely in your chest. Like.. right against it, arms wrapped around your waist so you don’t move. Sometimes you complain; scared he can’t breathe, but he’s quick to shake his head— basically declaring he’s fine.

- During that though, Daisuke may just shake his head a little too much— which causes you to playfully flick him for the perverted behavior.

NSFW

- Covering yourself up won’t really fly with Daisuke as his hands are everywhere. Grabbing your thighs, breasts, stomach, anywhere and everywhere— he isn’t turned off in the slightest by the extra meat or marks lining your hips. He quite likes tracing them with his thumbs whenever he’s deep inside you, pressing into the indents whenever he’s close.

- Daisuke isn’t the best with words but if he notices you are insecure, he is happy to reassure that you are perfect to him through actions.

- A not so secret, dirty secret; he would probably want you to smother him. Like, full weight on his face with him eating you out. Is it logical? No, but when it comes to you — in a sexual setting — the man is thinking with his dick rather than his mind.

- “Su.. I’m going to squash you.”

- Daisuke is shaking his head rapidly in response, on his knees in front of you and practically pleading.

- “Please, please! Even if I die it’s the best way to go!” Or some nonsense like that. With more coaxing you eventually give in, of course making him promise he’ll deliver two firm pats to your thigh if it’s too much.

- Having you above him, smothered in your wetness, plump ass on his chest— well.. he’s coming untouched. Hands gripping your hips so fucking tightly he’s leaving his own marks, moaning right into your cunt, whilst his hips are left to hump the air.

- And if you praise him? Oh his eyes are rolling back, completely drunk going as far as whimpering right into your sex

- Even when you’re finished the man doesn’t let you up until he’s satisfied, which isn’t until you’re practically whining for overstimulation. But once he’s done you’re quickly hopping off him, assuring he’s fine and not in pain.

- Sure, Daisuke’s neck hurts just a little back — which he blames on work when questioned by Anya — but like he said, it was totally worth it.

- Moving on, between Daisuke being able to lift himself in the vent ( and through it while injured ) + being on the baseball team, I like to think he’s strong in his own right. Not ridiculously strong, but strong enough.

- And by that I mean he’s not at all phased with moving you how he wishes. He’s gentle yet firm, pressing you into positions, turning you into others— when you let him take the lead he takes care of you, making you forget your size entirely.

- Daisuke also seems like the type to purposely grow stronger just to ease your worries — which to him are silly —.

- Speaking of positions, Daisuke purposely doesn’t do doggy unless it’s a quickie— simply because watching you from behind like that; ass and thighs rippling with each thrust, he’s coming in seconds. He’s always embarrassed and you have the tendency to tease him about it, much to his dismay.

- Lastly if you’re a particularly dominant person he’s all for it. Yes, let him lean back into your soft body whilst you jerk him off— he’s palpable and completely yours to play with.

- The man especially likes wrapping his lips around your nipple while you jerk him, followed by your soft words. Ranging between praises and teasing remarks; Daisuke is coming in seconds.

- Or having you ride him is even better, seeing you in all your glory like that is enough to push him over the edge.

- Truthfully though Daisuke seems like the type to handle a chubby partner in more ways then one.

[litfiction]

oneshot stolen charger 🪫

pairing — paige bueckers x fem!reader

content & warnings — "arguing because paige stole your charger" , only playful arguing!

word count: 1k , notes @ the end (something fun!)

“Has anyone seen my charger?” You walked into your living room where some of your and Paige’s friends were gathered. Most people shook their heads no, some replying out loud. You sighed. Your phone was down to 5% and starting to lag.

You had felt around for it on your bed when the 20% battery warning popped up in the middle of watching your show but left it when you couldn’t find it. 20% was okay for now. When you got the 10% warning you felt around more thoroughly, even checking under your bed thinking maybe it had fallen when you moved around to get comfortable.

Unsurprisingly, it wasn’t there. Frustration started to set in when you searched all over your room to no avail, your phone battery quickly draining to 8%.

It wasn’t on your nightstand, it hadn’t been plugged into the outlet at your desk. You vividly remember taking it back to your room after charging your phone in the bathroom to let it play your music while you showered earlier.

After going out to your dorm’s common area you searched the outlets behind couches and through the clutter on the kitchen counters which showed no results. Literally where could it possibly be?

It’s not like your charger has legs and skedaddled off when you needed it.

Or maybe it’s just really good at hide and seek because now your phone was at 3% and you still have no clue where your damn charger could be. You’ve looked in all the obvious places.

Well, maybe except for one.

You quickly pace towards Paige’s door, leaning close to it to hear what she was doing inside before knocking. “Come in,” the blonde’s voice came a moment later.

You opened the door to see KK and Jana scrolling on KK’s phone. Your figure had appeared in the background and they had seen this, gesturing you over to show you off to the live.

“Hey girl! The live wants to see you,” KK smiled brightly. You momentarily forget about the search for your runaway phone charger to greet the people on KK’s live.

You squeeze between KK and Jana so that you’re all in frame before waving and saying hi quickly before turning to the girls on your sides to ask them if they’ve seen your charger.

Jana shakes her head no, followed by KK’s “Negative”.

“Seriously? I’ve been looking for like 10 minutes!” You sigh, exasperatedly.

The people in the live chat laughing at your frustration, some empathizing with your pain. You looked down and your phone was down to 1%. It was a losing battle and you’d just let it die at this point.

Doesn’t mean you don’t still need your charger.

You stand up straight from your bent position between Jana and KK, your face being cropped out of frame. Your head swivels to look at Paige and ask her if she’s seen the cord.

She’s sitting up on her bed, legs stretched out with one crossed over the other, her back against the wall. She wasn’t paying attention, her eyes glued to her phone, occasionally laughing quietly at something funny she happens to see while scrolling.

Your eyes meet her figure before flicking to what’s in her hand. Her phone, on charge, using your charger. The very thing you’ve been looking for for almost 15 minutes by this point.

“Paige!” You demand. She looks up from her phone to look at you, her expression calm but confused. “Yes?” She responds obliviously. “You stole my charger!”

She looks back down and then drags her gaze back up to you with a sheepish smile. “Give it back!” You demand again, putting your hand out for her to return your charger. She shakes her head immediately. “No! I’m using it now!” Paige retorts. You groan, “You always do this! You always steal my stuff and then refuse to give it back to me when I ask for it back!”

“Ok first of all, you didn’t ask, you demanded. Second, you can’t just wait until I’m done using it?” She questions you like she’s the one in the right. You glare at her. “I demanded it because you stole it, and no, I can’t wait this time because my phone is dead and I just wanna watch my show!”

By this point, KK and Jana (and even some people in the living room) aren’t paying attention to what they’re doing. Even the live was invested in this argument. KK was quietly snickering while Jana just watched this unfold.

“C’monnnn,” Paige whined. “Just give me 5 more minutes!”

You shook your head adamantly. “No Paige, I need my charger now.”

“How did you even get it? I had it in my room. And why? You have your own charger, Paige, do you not?” You deadpanned.

Paige just shrugs at you. “Aubrey needed a charger so I offered her mine but then I needed to charge but Aubrey wasn’t at a good enough percentage so I took yours. I just grabbed it from your nightstand while you were in the bathroom.”

You roll your eyes. Of course she had. “Ok well, time’s up! Hand it over.” She makes puppy dog eyes at you, making you roll your eyes at her again. “That hasn’t worked for you before, it won’t work now.”

She leans her head back against the wall and sighs before unplugging the base of your charger from her wall and crawling on her bed towards where you stood at the edge of it to place the cord in your outstretched hand.

You shoot her a sarcastic smile before thanking her and walking back out to your bedroom. Finally, you can watch your show in peace.

You enter your room and head to your closet to grab your favorite sweater.

But when you open your closet doors expecting to see the fluffy bundle sitting in an organizer just at eye level, it wasn’t there.

Then you register what Paige had been lounging in.

You were too busy to notice it hanging off her shoulders. You throw your head back exasperatedly then yell towards her door. And you swear you hear her snicker with KK.

🔖 — i feel somewhat ashamed that this is the longest work i have on here.. also hi again! i haven't written in a bit because i haven't had any ideas :( my requests are open if anyone wants to send something in! anyway, this is day one of something i've decided to try! for july i'm gonna pick a prompt from a list i have and write something based on that! i didn't take the list from anywhere i just made it myself. i wanted to do this to just write more and push myself to write stuff with creative freedom since a lot of prompts are quite vague. but yeah! that's my update, sorry this so long oops. hope this was entertaining to some degree, thank you for reading!!

[kiwriteswords]

It's a Wonderful Life

“You’ve really had a wonderful life; don’t you see what a mistake it would be to throw it all away?” It’s a Wonderful Life, 1946.

Pairing: Aaron Hotchner x Female Reader||Word Count: 16k

Tags/Warnings: canon-typical themes, angst, fluff, implied age-gap, Christmas, fade to black smut, mentions of Spencer and Sean's addiction, alluding to depression, hurt/comfort, proposal, happy ending, parallels to the movie It's a Wonderful Life (1946).

Sypnosis: Aaron Hotchner is given a profound glimpse into two alternate realities: one of love, family, and warmth with you by his side, and another of cold emptiness without you—forcing him to confront what truly makes life worth living and to fight for the future he never thought he could have.

The cold December air nipped at Aaron Hotchner’s face as he drove home in silence, his mind tangled in a storm of emotions. The Christmas lights twinkling from houses along the way blurred in his vision, unacknowledged. His hands gripped the steering wheel, tighter than they needed to be, the faint tremble in them betraying the turmoil he rarely allowed himself to feel.

It had started with a conversation over dinner, but it had ended in the first real fight the two of you had ever had.

Hotch leaned back in his chair earlier that evening; his suit jacket hung neatly over the back. You had joined him in the small nook of his office, where the two of you often had late-night dinners during busy weeks. The meal was simple, but it was warm and comforting, much like your presence had been since the moment you entered his life.

"I was offered a new position today," you had started, your voice tentative yet steady.

That alone had caught his attention. He set his fork down, eyes narrowing slightly in curiosity. "What kind of position?"

Your hands toyed with the edge of your napkin, betraying the nerves you were trying to suppress. "It's more administrative. I'd stay with the Bureau, but it’s a stable office job—better hours, better pay."

He froze. "You’d leave the BAU?"

The words came out sharper than he intended. His voice edged with disbelief and something deeper—something darker. The possibility of you leaving felt like the ground shifting beneath him and his control over the situation slipping through his fingers.

Your expression tightened, and you met his eyes with quiet resolve. "I’ve been thinking about the future, Aaron," you replied softly.

The future. The word hung in the air like a challenge, forcing him to confront the pieces of himself he kept buried. He leaned forward, his posture tense. "The future? This has always been your dream. You worked harder than anyone to get here. You’re one of the best agents I’ve ever seen—"

"I know." You cut him off gently, but your voice cracked. "And I’ve loved every second of it. But…"

"But what?"

You drew in a deep breath, the kind that signaled you were about to say something that might break you both. "I want a family, Aaron. I want marriage, a home, children. And with this job—our job—I don’t see how that’s possible. Time isn’t slowing down. I can’t keep pretending I don’t want those things."

His frown deepened, and an old, familiar fear crept into the back of his mind. He was losing control of the conversation—of the life he’d carefully pieced together after everything had fallen apart.

"We’re happy now, aren’t we?" he asked, his voice low but tinged with desperation. "What we have works."

You stared at him, hurt flickering across your face. "Maybe it works for you. But I can’t put my life on hold forever, hoping you’ll decide you’re ready for more."

The words struck him like a blow. He could see the pain in your expression, but all he could feel was confusion—and fear. His mind raced, spiraling into the memories he tried to avoid: Haley’s voice, full of hope and love, as she’d begged him to leave the BAU. Her laughter, distant now, overshadowed by the gunshot that had stolen her from him. The hollow ache of watching Jack’s childhood unfold in glimpses, between cases and fleeting moments of normalcy.

"Marriage? Kids?" he asked, his voice growing strained. "You know what happened last time. You’ve seen what this job does to families."

"And I know you’ve never let yourself believe that it could be different," you said, your voice rising slightly though it remained gentle, imploring. "I’ve been patient, Aaron. I’ve waited because I know how much you’ve been through, but I need to know if you see a future with me that includes those things. Because I do. I love you, and I love Jack, but this… this isn’t enough for me anymore."

Your confession shattered something inside him. He stood abruptly, pacing the room as he ran a hand over his face. "This isn’t just about me," he muttered. "The BAU… it’s who I am. It’s what I know."

The unspoken words clung to the air between you: It’s what I’m good at. The only thing I’m good at.

"And what am I to you?" you asked, your voice breaking now, laced with a pain that cut deeper than he could bear.

He stopped in his tracks, staring at you. "You’re everything to me," he said, quieter now, his tone weighted with sincerity.

"Then why does it feel like I’m the one compromising everything for us?"

The silence that followed was unbearable. Hotch’s heart hammered in his chest as he tried to form a response, but the words wouldn’t come. He had spent years convincing himself that sacrifice was inevitable, that his happiness would always come second to his duty. But now, standing before you, he was forced to confront the truth: he was afraid. Afraid to hope for more. Afraid to let himself believe that he could have the life you wanted without losing it all again.

Finally, you stood. "Maybe we need some time to figure this out," you said, the sadness in your voice like a knife.

He didn’t stop you as you grabbed your coat, nor did he stop himself from walking out shortly after.

As he drove aimlessly through the city, the weight of your words bore down on him. You’re everything to me. But was it enough? Could it be enough when he couldn’t see a way forward that didn’t end in failure?

He wasn’t sure. And that terrified him more than anything.

Now, as he pulled into his driveway, the emptiness of his home struck him in a way it hadn’t in years. Jack was with Jessica tonight, and the quiet was suffocating.

Hotch sank onto the couch, staring blankly at the darkened Christmas tree in the corner of the room. He thought about you—your laughter, the way your presence filled the spaces in his life he didn’t even realize were empty until you came along. He thought about how you made him feel younger, how you reminded him there was still a world outside of the job. And yet, he thought about the BAU—the cases, the purpose, the duty he had given everything to uphold.

The weight of Haley’s memory pressed down on him, the scars of his past bleeding into the uncertainty of his future. He had chosen the job before, and it had cost him everything. Now, he was faced with a similar crossroads, and he wasn’t sure if he could make a different choice.

You wanted more—deserved more—and he wasn’t sure if he could give it to you. The fear of failing again loomed large, and the thought of bringing another child into his chaotic world felt reckless.

But the thought of losing you?

That was unbearable.

Hotch leaned forward, resting his head in his hands. He wasn’t sure how to reconcile the life he had built with the life you wanted to build together. All he knew was that the person who had softened his edges, who had reminded him of life beyond his office, was slipping away.

Hotch sat alone in the quiet of his living room, the twinkling lights of the Christmas tree casting faint reflections on the window. His hands were clasped together, resting against his chin, as his gaze drifted to the photograph of Haley on the mantle. She was smiling—bright and full of life—in a way that felt like a distant memory.

"I don’t know what to do, Haley," he said, his voice low and gravelly, barely louder than a whisper. "If you can hear me… if you’re listening, I could really use a sign right now."

He waited, his heart heavy. There was no reply, of course. No flicker of the lights, no ghostly whisper. Just silence.

He huffed a bitter laugh and leaned back, dragging a hand down his face. "I don’t even know why I’m doing this," he muttered. "Talking to the air like it’s going to fix anything."

The quiet apartment seemed to mock him. Frustration bubbled to the surface. He stood abruptly, pacing in front of the mantle. "I’m trying here, Haley. But it’s… it’s hard. She wants things I’m not sure I can give her. Marriage, kids—a life I failed at before. And I’m scared. Scared of failing her like I failed you."

His voice cracked on the last word, and he stopped, gripping the back of the couch tightly. His head bowed, the weight of everything pressing down on him.

Still, there was no answer.

"Of course," he muttered to himself. "What was I expecting? Some magical solution?"

Resigned, Hotch made his way to bed, his mind a whirlwind of unresolved thoughts. He climbed under the covers…alone, the ache of the empty space beside him sharp and unyielding.

When Hotch woke, he was immediately aware that something was… off.

The bed was softer, warmer. And the room smelled different—clean and faintly floral. His eyes fluttered open, and he blinked, trying to make sense of his surroundings.

The room was beautiful. Cozy. The walls were painted a soft, calming color, adorned with family photos. The curtains were pulled back just enough for the morning sunlight to stream in. And beside him, nestled under the covers, was you.

Your hair was splayed out across the pillow, and your face was serene, framed by the soft glow of the light. You looked peaceful, utterly at ease, and Hotch’s breath caught in his throat.

He frowned. He hadn’t gone to bed with you—hadn’t even spoken to you since the fight.

Before Hotch could fully process what was happening, a burst of energy erupted into the room, breaking through his daze like a ray of sunlight piercing a cloudy sky.

"Daddy!"

The high-pitched, joyful voice startled him. A little girl—no older than six—bounded into the room with the kind of uninhibited enthusiasm that only a child could muster. Her curls bounced as she launched herself onto the bed, landing directly in his lap with a squeal of delight.

"Merry Christmas Eve!" she exclaimed, her bright eyes—so familiar and yet so new—peering up at him with unfiltered adoration.

Hotch froze. His breath caught in his throat as he stared at her, unable to reconcile what he was seeing. Her wide eyes mirrored his own, and her smile, so radiant and full of life, was unmistakably yours. She was a perfect blend of both of you, a living, breathing embodiment of the life he never dared to hope for.

"Daddy! It’s Christmas Eve, and you promised we’d bake cookies today!"

Her small hands tugged at his arm insistently, her excitement infectious despite the whirlwind of confusion clouding his mind.

"Daddy!" she repeated, her impatience tugging at his heart in a way that left him reeling.

Your soft, melodic laugh broke through his haze. "Give Daddy a second, sweetheart," you said, your voice warm and filled with the kind of love that always managed to center him. Propped up on one elbow, your face was still groggy with sleep, but your amusement at the scene before you was unmistakable.

Hotch’s gaze shifted to you, his heart lurching at the sight of the simple diamond ring on your finger, its match glinting on his own hand. His mind raced, trying to make sense of this impossibly vivid moment. This wasn’t his life—or at least, it hadn’t been the night before.

Yet here you were, here she was. A family.

"Daddy!" the little girl exclaimed again, her insistence pulling him back into the moment.

"I—uh, of course," he stammered, his voice unsteady as he tried to process the surreal joy of her presence.

You reached over, placing a gentle hand on her back. "Why don’t you go see if Jack is downstairs yet, and we’ll be down in a minute?"

She squealed in excitement, her tiny feet thudding against the floor as she dashed out of the room. The door clicked shut behind her, leaving a stillness in her absence that felt almost deafening.

Hotch stared after her, his heart pounding in his chest. His thoughts were a chaotic mix of amazement and disbelief. He had spent years learning to compartmentalize, to push through even the most harrowing moments with unwavering focus. But this? This left him utterly unmoored.

"You okay?" Your voice broke through the silence, soft and grounding.

Hotch turned to you, his throat dry. "Yeah," he said hoarsely, though the word felt like a lie. "I’m… fine."

You studied him with that quiet understanding that always managed to disarm him, your eyes searching his as though you could see right through to the heart of his turmoil. Before you could press further, he swung his legs over the side of the bed, his movements abrupt.

"I just need a minute," he muttered, making his way to the bathroom.

Inside, he closed the door and leaned heavily against the sink, gripping its edge as though it might steady him. His reflection stared back at him, his face etched with the weariness of someone who had seen too much and felt too deeply.

Turning on the faucet, he splashed his face with cold water, the sharp chill cutting through the fog in his mind. He couldn’t shake the image of her—the little girl with her bouncing curls and infectious grin. His daughter. The thought felt foreign and overwhelming, yet undeniably right.

He had never imagined himself as a father again. After Haley, after everything, the idea had seemed impossibly distant. He knew too much about the weight a father carried in a daughter’s life—the psychology of those relationships, the influence he would have on her sense of self-worth, her view of the world. The responsibility of it loomed large, and yet…

Yet, in those few fleeting moments, he had felt something blooming inside him—something warm and tender and wholly unexpected. A fierce, overwhelming love that took root so quickly it left him breathless.

Hotch closed his eyes, his hands gripping the edge of the sink. The thought of this little girl, of being her father, filled him with a sense of wonder he hadn’t felt in years. She was so full of life, so utterly unguarded in her joy. And you—somehow, you had become the cornerstone of it all, the thread that tied this family together.

The possibility of this life—of mornings like this, of laughter and love and everything he had told himself he didn’t deserve—was almost too much to bear.

He took a deep breath, the cool air filling his lungs as he straightened. This wasn’t his reality—or at least, not the one he had known. But it was real enough to feel, to touch, to hope for. And as he stepped back into the room where you waited, he found himself wanting nothing more than to hold on to it for as long as he could.

The day began in earnest after breakfast, your daughter bounding into the living room, her tiny feet thudding excitedly against the wooden floor. "Daddy, we have to finish the tree!" she declared, her enthusiasm boundless.

Hotch found himself kneeling beside her at the tree, helping her carefully hang ornaments on the lower branches. She held out a fragile glass snowflake, her small hands trembling with excitement. "Like this, Daddy?"

"Just like that," Hotch said, his voice gentler than he expected. He steadied her hands, ensuring the ornament found its place without mishap. His heart clenched with an emotion so fierce it almost overwhelmed him. He barely knew this little girl—this version of her—but he loved her as though he had always known her, as though she had always been his.

Jack entered the room, taller and older than Hotch’s mind could quite reconcile. He carried the star meant for the top of the tree, a symbol of the role he now seemed to embody—a young man on the cusp of a bright future.

In this reality, all of Hotch’s doubts and fears of how Haley’s death, his job, Jack’s childhood would affect his outcome in life had disappeared. 

"Careful with the star," you called from the kitchen, a knowing smile playing on your lips as you watched Jack move with ease and confidence. The two of you had always gotten along so well, but this dynamic…this closeness was different. New. 

Jack smirked. "Relax, Mom," he teased, his tone playful yet affectionate.

Hotch froze. Mom.

Jack had said it so casually, as though you had always been that to him. Hotch’s gaze flicked to you, and his chest tightened. The idea of you as a mother to Jack—offering him the kind of love, guidance, and support that Haley once had—hit him harder than he could have imagined.

Hotch stood back, his arms crossed, as he watched Jack balance on a stepstool to place the star.

"See, Dad? No big deal," Jack said, stepping down with a grin that mirrored the boy Hotch remembered but now carried the self-assuredness of a man.

The word "Dad" hit Hotch with equal force. Jack had always called him Dad, but now it felt… different. He was no longer the boy who had once clung to him for reassurance; he was a young man with dreams and a future Hotch hadn’t fully prepared himself to see.

Hotch swallowed hard as Jack turned and lifted his sister to place the final ornament. She squealed with joy, her arms wrapping around Jack’s neck as he set her back down. Hotch’s heart swelled with pride and something deeper—a realization of what this life meant for Jack.

Hotch stood with Jack on the porch, the crisp winter air biting at his skin, but he barely noticed. His hands worked mechanically, stringing lights along the railing, yet his focus was entirely on his son. Jack, taller and more self-assured than the boy he remembered, moved with an ease that struck Hotch as both familiar and achingly new.

Nearby, your daughter’s laughter rang out as she shaped clumsy snowballs, her giggles carrying over the yard like music. She was so full of life, so utterly free in her joy, and the sound of it tugged at something deep inside him.

"Jack," Hotch began, his voice low and hesitant. He wasn’t sure how to ask what he needed to know without giving himself away. "How’s school going?"

Jack paused, glancing at him with a small flicker of surprise. "Georgetown’s great, Dad," he said, his tone casual but tinged with pride. "Finals were rough, but it’s worth it. You’ve been saying since I was a kid that law school’s no walk in the park."

Hotch blinked, his throat tightening. Georgetown. Jack had done it. All the potential he had seen in his son as a boy had bloomed into reality. The weight of pride and relief settled heavily on his chest, threatening to overwhelm him.

"Mom helped with the personal statement, you know," Jack continued, adjusting a strand of lights with practiced ease. "She said it reminded her of one of your old cases."

Hotch’s hands stilled. "She did?"

Jack shrugged, his face lighting with a fond smile. "Yeah. She always gets me. You do too, of course, but… having her around has been good for both of us."

Hotch swallowed hard, his mind spinning. Mom. Jack said it so naturally, so easily, as though you had always been a part of their lives. The realization hit him with the force of a tidal wave.

Your presence, your influence—it was everywhere. In Jack’s confidence, in his steady demeanor, in the way he spoke about his future with such quiet determination. You had become part of the fabric of their lives in a way Hotch hadn’t fully appreciated until now.

"She always gets me." Jack’s words echoed in his mind, and with them came a flood of memories that felt almost like his own: you helping Jack with late-night study sessions, your hand on his shoulder as you reassured him before a big exam, the quiet way you encouraged him to dream bigger than he ever thought possible.

Hotch felt a sharp pang of shame for the doubts he’d harbored. He had spent so much of his life fearing he wouldn’t be enough for Jack, that his own failings would cast too long a shadow for his son to grow beyond. But here, in this version of reality, Jack was thriving—and it was clear that you had been an integral part of that.

"You know," Jack said, breaking the silence as he stepped back to admire their work, "she always says the same thing when I get stressed about school. ‘You’ve got this, Jack. Your dad taught you to handle anything.’" He glanced at Hotch, his expression earnest. "She believes in you a lot. So do I."

Hotch’s breath caught, the raw emotion of Jack’s words threatening to undo him. For years, he had carried the fear of failing his son, of not giving him the stability he deserved. But here, Jack was telling him—showing him—that those fears had no place in this life.

The weight of Jack’s confidence in him pressed down like a warm, grounding force. And more than that, the knowledge of your role in this, the way you had seamlessly woven yourself into their family and filled gaps he hadn’t even realized were there, left him in awe.

Hotch’s gaze drifted to the yard, where your daughter was now attempting to build a snowman, her tiny hands patting at the uneven mounds of snow. She glanced up at them and waved, her wide smile so radiant that it nearly took his breath away.

He turned back to Jack, his voice quieter now. "Having her around has been good for both of us," he echoed, the words thick with meaning.

Jack nodded, a grin tugging at his lips. "Yeah. She’s kind of the best, huh?"

Hotch let out a small, breathless laugh, his chest swelling with a combination of love, gratitude, and amazement. "She is," he agreed softly.

For the first time in years—maybe ever—Hotch let himself feel the full weight of his happiness. It was raw and visceral, a sense of completeness that filled every corner of his being. He had spent so much of his life bracing for loss, for failure, that he had almost forgotten what it felt like to simply be.

But here, on this porch, with Jack by his side and your laughter mingling with your daughter’s in the background, Hotch let himself believe in this life. He let himself marvel at the way you had become the glue holding them together, the way your love had transformed not just him but Jack, too.

Later inside, the house buzzed with quiet warmth, the kind of comfort that came from a life well-lived together. Hotch sat at the kitchen table, your daughter perched on her knees beside him as she smeared icing onto a gingerbread man. Her fingers were sticky with red and green frosting, and there were sprinkles everywhere—on the table, in her hair, and even on the floor.

"You’re doing great," Hotch said softly, his voice tinged with admiration.

She beamed up at him, her wide grin lighting up her entire face. "Thanks, Daddy!"

The word still struck him like a blow, even after hearing it several times that day. It wasn’t just the title—it was the way she said it, so full of trust and adoration, as though he had always been her safe place.

Her eyes, so much like his own, gleamed with pride as she held up the gingerbread man. "Look! He’s wearing a bow tie like Uncle Spencer!"

Hotch’s lips twitched into a rare smile, his heart aching at the love and joy this little girl brought into his life. He hadn’t gone to bed knowing her, and hadn’t prepared for the tidal wave of love and fierce protectiveness that now surged through him. The thought of her not existing in his old reality, of never hearing her laugh or seeing her mischievous grin, was unthinkable.

From across the room, you glanced over, wiping your hands on a dishtowel as you moved toward the table. "Looks like you two are making quite the mess," you teased gently, your voice warm and full of affection.

Hotch looked up, meeting your eyes. The soft smile you gave him sent an unexpected wave of emotion coursing through him. You leaned over, brushing your fingers lightly across his shoulder before pressing a kiss to the top of your daughter’s head.

"You’re going to need a bath after this," you told her, laughing softly as you ruffled her hair; it was dark like his.

"Mommy, I’m not that messy," she protested, though her giggles gave her away.

Hotch’s throat tightened. You moved through this life with such ease, your presence a calming force that seemed to anchor not only him but also Jack and your daughter. He could see the impact you had on Jack—a confidence and sense of belonging that had been missing in his early years after Haley’s death. And now, with this little girl, you had created something Hotch had never thought possible: a family that felt whole.

As you turned back toward the stove, you spoke casually over your shoulder. "The team is still planning to come by the day after Christmas. Emily was saying she’s bringing a new board game for everyone to play."

The mention of the team grounded Hotch further, the realization settling in that this life wasn’t an abandonment of his work. It wasn’t a replacement—it was an enhancement. The BAU was still intact, still part of who he was, but it wasn’t all of him anymore. He had a life here, too.

"Emily’s going to lose," Jack chimed in from the doorway, leaning casually against the frame with a mug of hot cocoa.

"She always does," you teased, grinning as you poured another cup. "And Spencer’s going to keep track of every rule she bends."

Hotch let out a quiet laugh, the first real laugh he’d felt in days. He could picture it—the team gathered around the living room, bickering over rules and strategies while your daughter insisted on being on Uncle Derek’s team because "he’s the strongest."

You crossed the room and placed a hand on Hotch’s shoulder as you set a fresh mug of cocoa in front of him. "You’re quiet," you observed, your tone soft and knowing.

He looked up at you, his eyes searching yours. He didn’t know how to put into words the storm of emotions inside him—the love he felt for you, the overwhelming awe at the life you’d built together, the sharp ache of fear at the thought of losing it all.

You seemed to sense it, your hand squeezing his shoulder gently before you kissed his temple. "You’re allowed to be happy, Aaron," you whispered, your voice so soft it was almost inaudible.

As the evening wound down, Hotch found himself alone with you in the living room. Jack had disappeared with your daughter to wrap last-minute gifts. The two of you sat side by side on the couch, the lights from the Christmas tree casting a warm glow around the room.

Looking around the house all day, the walls and surfaces filled with framed photographs. It warmed him to see a photo staring back at him of Haley--her spirit still alive in this universe. Then, beside it, a photo of his family here with Jess. How, somehow, in this reality, they seemed to make it all work. 

"You make it look easy," Hotch said quietly, breaking the silence.

You tilted your head, looking at him curiously. "What do you mean?"

"All of it," he said, gesturing vaguely. "The kids, the house, the balance."

Your smile was soft but tinged with understanding. "It’s not always easy, Aaron. But it’s worth it."

He nodded, his gaze dropping to his hands. The band shone with more than just light, but meaning on his finger. He wanted to say more, to tell you how much this life meant to him, even if he wasn’t entirely sure it was real. Instead, he reached over, taking your hand in his.

You squeezed his hand gently, leaning your head against his shoulder. "You’ve always been worth it, too," you said softly, your voice full of conviction.

That evening, after you had tucked your daughter into bed, Hotch lingered in the doorway of her room, unable to pull himself away. The soft glow of a nightlight illuminated her tiny face, peaceful in sleep. She was curled up beneath a blanket decorated with snowflakes, her little hand clutching a well-loved teddy bear that looked as though it had seen countless adventures.

Hotch’s chest tightened as he watched her breathe, the steady rise and fall of her chest oddly grounding. He was overwhelmed by how much love he felt for her—a little girl who hadn’t existed in the life he remembered but now felt as though she had always been a part of him.

How could he reconcile the intensity of these emotions? Hours ago, he hadn’t even known she existed. Now, the thought of waking up to a reality where she wasn’t here left him hollow.

"You okay?"

Your voice broke through his thoughts, soft and soothing as always. He turned, finding you standing in the doorway, your expression filled with quiet concern. You looked at him the way you always did—with that gentle understanding that both disarmed and anchored him.

He nodded, though his voice came out thick and unsteady. "She’s incredible."

You smiled, stepping closer until you were beside him. Your arms wrapped around him, pulling him into your warmth. "She adores you, Aaron," you said quietly. "You’re a wonderful father."

Hotch closed his eyes as your words settled over him. He wanted to believe them, wanted to hold on to the life he was seeing now, but his mind was a storm of doubt.

"I don’t feel like one," he admitted, his voice barely above a whisper.

You pulled back slightly to look at him, your expression soft but resolute. "You are," you said firmly. "You’re everything she needs. You always have been."

Hotch swallowed hard, his emotions threatening to overwhelm him. He thought about Jack—how he had failed to give him the kind of stability he’d needed after Haley’s death. Jack had grown up too fast, forced to carry burdens no child should bear. But in this reality, things were different. You had been here, filling the gaps he couldn’t.

And this little girl… she had been given a life Jack never got.

"I don’t know how to do this," he said, his voice cracking. "I didn’t know how to do it with Jack, and I still don’t. What if I fail her?"

"You won’t," you said softly, your hand resting against his chest. "You’ve already given her more than you realize. You’re here, Aaron. That’s what matters."

He looked at you then, his heart aching with a mix of love and fear. You were his anchor, the person who had somehow made all of this possible. And as much as he wanted to let himself believe in this life, a small voice in the back of his mind kept whispering doubts.

"I don’t deserve this," he said finally, his voice raw.

You shook your head, stepping closer to cradle his face in your hands. "Aaron, you deserve every bit of happiness this world has to offer," you said, your voice trembling slightly. "And so does Jack, and so does she. We deserve you."

Your words hit him like a tidal wave, washing over the walls he had built to protect himself. He wanted to believe you, to believe that this life was real and that he was capable of keeping it.

As he held you tightly, he let himself imagine it—really imagine it. Waking up every morning in this house, hearing the sound of your laughter and your daughter’s giggles. Seeing Jack come home for the holidays, confident and thriving. Sharing in the messy, imperfect beauty of this life you had built together.

It was everything he hadn’t let himself hope for.

But with that hope came fear. What if it wasn’t real? What if he woke up tomorrow and it was gone?

Or worse—what if it was real, and he chose wrong?

You rested your head against his chest, your presence calming the storm inside him. "It’s okay to be scared," you murmured. "But we’ll figure it out. We always do.."

He closed his eyes, letting your words sink in. For the first time, he allowed himself to believe that this life—the one he had thought was impossible—wasn’t just a dream.

It was a choice.

And it was his to make.

Hotch tightened his arms around you, his hands instinctively finding the curve of your back, the warmth of your body grounding him in a way he hadn’t felt in years. You fit perfectly against him, as though you were made to be there. For the first time in what felt like forever, his mind wasn’t spinning with doubts or contingencies—just the steady thrum of your heartbeat against his chest and the soft rise and fall of your breath.

He let his eyes wander around the room, taking in the snapshots of the life he’d been too afraid to let himself imagine. A small, messy art project on the table in the corner. Your daughter’s drawings, taped proudly to the fridge. A framed photo of Jack, smiling wide in a Georgetown sweatshirt, arm slung around his little sister. This wasn’t just a house—it was a home, filled with love and joy and the kind of peace he’d convinced himself he didn’t deserve.

When he looked back down at you, his heart swelled with an emotion so overwhelming it almost frightened him. Your face was serene, your eyes soft as they met his, full of trust and a quiet knowing. You had always seen him—the man beneath the armor, the one who had carried so much and still kept moving forward. But now, he saw you too, in all your brilliance. The way you had carved a space for yourself in his heart and Jack’s life. The way you had somehow taken all his jagged edges and made them something beautiful.

"You amaze me," he whispered, his voice barely audible.

Your lips curved into a gentle smile. "Do I?"

He nodded, brushing a strand of hair from your face, his thumb lingering on your cheek. "Every day. In ways I don’t think I’ll ever be able to put into words."

Your hand came up to rest over his, your touch light but steady. "You don’t have to," you murmured. "I feel it."

Hotch swallowed hard, his chest tightening. He felt the words bubbling up—words he hadn’t let himself say, even in the quiet of his own mind. I don’t deserve you. But for the first time, he didn’t want to give them power. Instead, he let the overwhelming gratitude he felt take their place.

He leaned down, pressing his lips to yours in a kiss that started soft but quickly deepened. It wasn’t hurried or desperate but filled with purpose—an unspoken promise, an acknowledgment of everything you’d built together and everything still to come. His hand slid to the small of your back, pulling you closer, while your fingers tangled in his hair, anchoring him to you.

When the kiss broke, his forehead rested against yours, both of you breathless but smiling. The room felt warmer, more alive, and he knew it wasn’t just the glow of the fireplace or the soft hum of Christmas lights.

"Come with me," you whispered, your voice like a melody, and he followed without hesitation, your hand warm in his.

The soft light of the bedroom welcomed you both, and the moment shifted, taking on a deeper intimacy. Hotch watched as you turned to face him, your gaze steady and open, your lips slightly parted. His heart pounded as though it were the first time he had ever seen you, the first time he’d ever dared to imagine this life.

"You’re incredible," he murmured, his voice rough with emotion.

You smiled, stepping closer, your hands finding his chest, smoothing over the fabric of his shirt before slipping beneath it. "So are you," you replied, your tone teasing but filled with sincerity.

His hands found your waist, and he let himself marvel at the way you leaned into him, so effortlessly trusting, so fully his. Slowly, gently, he guided you to the bed, his movements unhurried, savoring every second. He wanted to memorize this—to commit every look, every touch, every sigh to memory.

When you were finally lying beside him, the world outside seemed to fade away. The only thing that mattered was you—your warmth, your laughter, the way you whispered his name like it was both a promise and a prayer.

The moments that followed were a blur of soft touches and quiet gasps, of whispered words and stolen glances. It wasn’t just about the passion—though that was undeniable—it was about the connection, the unspoken understanding that this was where he was meant to be. With you.

As the night deepened, you rested against him, your fingers lazily tracing patterns on his chest. He stared at the ceiling, his mind replaying the day’s events, the stark contrast of the alternate realities he’d glimpsed.

He pressed a kiss to your hair, the scent of you filling his senses. "Thank you," he whispered.

"For what?" you asked, your voice thick with contentment.

"For this," he said simply, his hand resting over yours. "For being everything I didn’t know I needed."

You lifted your head to look at him, your smile soft but knowing. "I love you, Aaron."

He closed his eyes, letting the words wash over him, before opening them again and meeting your gaze. "I love you too," he said, his voice steady but full of emotion.

As sleep began to claim you both, Hotch let himself drift, the sound of your steady breathing lulling him. For the first time in years—maybe ever—he felt truly at peace. And for the first time, he let himself believe that this life, this love, wasn’t just a dream.

It was his reality. And he would do whatever it took to hold onto it.

Hotch woke with a start, his breath catching in his throat as he sat up abruptly. The soft warmth of the bed, the cozy house, the sound of your laughter—all of it was gone. The room was cold and dark, the bed empty--his sparsely decorated apartment feeling emptier than ever.

His head spun as he tried to reconcile the vivid life he had just experienced with the stark reality before him. Was it a dream? A vision? His heart ached with the loss of it already, the memory of your touch, your voice, your presence slipping through his fingers like sand.

The shrill ring of his phone broke the silence, and he reached for it on instinct.

"Derek?" His voice was groggy, but the name left his lips with a hope he couldn’t quite place. Maybe Derek could make some sense of this. 

"Hotch," Derek’s tone was clipped, almost irritated. "You coming in or what?"

Hotch frowned, glancing at the clock. It was Christmas Eve…again, yet there was no warmth or camaraderie in Derek’s voice. "I’ll be there soon," Hotch replied, the unease in his chest growing.

He hung up and stood, pausing by Jack’s room as he passed. Pushing the door open, he found his son—a young man now, just like in the other reality—but the scene before him was starkly different.

Jack was sprawled across the bed, his room messy and cluttered with discarded clothes and fast food containers. The blinds were drawn, and the air was stale. Hotch’s chest tightened as he took it in.

"Jack?" he said softly, stepping inside.

Jack stirred but didn’t wake, his face a reflection of someone weighed down by something invisible but heavy. Hotch’s heart sank. This wasn’t the confident, thriving young man from the other reality. This Jack seemed lost, unmoored, and aimless.

The sight of him broke something in Hotch. He thought of the pride he’d felt watching Jack lift his sister to place the star on the Christmas tree, the warmth of Jack calling you "Mom." That version of his son had been supported, loved, and encouraged.

But this Jack had none of that.

Hotch arrived at the BAU with a growing sense of dread. The bullpen was unusually quiet, the festive atmosphere of the season nowhere to be found. The team sat at their desks, their expressions strained and tired.

Derek was pacing near his desk, his jaw tight. Emily and JJ were in a heated discussion across the room, their voices low but tense. Penelope’s office was empty. Rossi sat at a desk, rubbing his temples as though trying to stave off a headache. The energy was fractured, the harmony that had once defined their team completely absent.

Hotch scanned the room, his heart sinking further when he didn’t see you.

"Where’s Y/N?" he asked, his voice betraying the urgency he felt.

Derek looked at him sharply. "Y/N?" he repeated, as though the name itself was foreign. "You’re really asking that? Are you okay, man?" Derek asked, but less of a caring way and more of a what the actual fuck, way. 

Hotch frowned, confused by the response. He didn’t push, instead retreating to his office.

Later, as the team gathered for an impromptu briefing, the team’s comments throughout were surprising for him to hear. The complaints of spending the holiday together weighed heavily on Hotch with guilt. It did suck when they had to spend time away from their loved ones, but usually, they toughed it out--now, it felt like an inconvenience to be together. 

During a break in the briefing, Rossi, uncharacteristically frustrated, spoke up. "Hotch, any idea what Jack’s plans are? I heard he got fired from that last job."

Hotch stiffened, his jaw clenching. "He’s… figuring things out," he said curtly, though the words felt hollow even as they left his mouth.

"Like Sean, huh?" Rossi muttered under his breath, the sting of the comparison sharp and deliberate. His tone carried an edge of judgment—something uncharacteristic for Rossi and yet cuttingly clear now.

The words hit Hotch like a blow to the chest. His jaw tightened as he fought to keep his composure, but the comparison to his younger brother twisted in his gut. Rossi's words echoed the fear he had buried deep inside for years: that Jack would follow the same troubled path Sean had.

Hotch said nothing, his mind racing. Jack had always been a bright, curious boy, full of potential. But in this reality, all of that seemed to have withered away. The son he had once seen as a reflection of his hopes and dreams was now a reflection of his deepest fears.

Without you—without the love, warmth, and stability you had brought into their lives—Jack was floundering. Hotch’s mind raced with fragments of information he’d tried to ignore or rationalize: Jack had dropped out of college after struggling to keep up with coursework, citing stress and disinterest. A string of failed relationships followed, each one leaving Jack more withdrawn and disillusioned. And then there were the whispers Hotch had overheard about Jack spending nights out at bars, drinking heavily, maybe dabbling in something stronger.

The thought alone made Hotch’s stomach churn. Jack had avoided talking to him about any of it, brushing off questions or deflecting with sarcasm. The distance between them felt like a canyon, wide and impossible to bridge.

Hotch thought of Sean, of all the ways he had failed his younger brother, and the memories burned like acid. Sean’s struggles with addiction, his inability to find direction, his resentment toward Hotch for being the "golden child"—all of it had haunted him for years. And now, seeing the same patterns emerging in Jack, he felt paralyzed.

His worst nightmare was coming true.

Rossi’s voice snapped him back to the moment. "You’ve gotta do something, Aaron," he said, his frustration simmering just below the surface. "Before it’s too late."

Hotch looked at Rossi, his expression carefully blank, but inside he was panicking. What could he do? Jack wouldn’t listen to him now—he was too angry, too bitter. And in truth, Hotch couldn’t blame him. In this cold, fractured reality, he had been too consumed by work, too emotionally unavailable, too afraid of repeating his past mistakes to see how much Jack needed him.

"Thanks for the insight, Dave," Hotch said tersely, his tone dismissive. But as he turned back to the case file in front of him, his hands trembled.

He had failed his son.

The thought burrowed into his mind, heavy and unrelenting. Jack was slipping further away, and Hotch didn’t know how to reach him. His choices had created this reality, this version of their lives where Jack was lost, where he had no anchor, no role model, no sense of security. Without you, the person who had brought balance and warmth to their family, Hotch couldn’t even begin to imagine how to fix it.

Later, alone in his office, Hotch sat staring at the framed photo of Jack as a young boy—his bright smile, his mischievous eyes. He had once believed Jack’s future was limitless, that he could be anything he wanted to be. But now, that future felt precarious, teetering on the edge of a cliff.

It wasn’t just the loss of Jack’s potential that gutted him—it was the loss of connection, of trust, of love. Jack didn’t look up to him anymore. He didn’t confide in him or seek his advice. And Hotch had no one to blame but himself.

He closed his eyes, leaning back in his chair as the weight of it all pressed down on him. He had been so focused on protecting Jack from the pain of his own failures—his divorce from Haley, the trauma of losing her, the grueling demands of the BAU—that he had failed to see how his fear had driven a wedge between them.

Jack didn’t need perfection. He needed a father who was present, who cared, who listened. And in this reality, Hotch hadn’t been that father.

The sharp pang of guilt twisted in his chest as he thought of you. In the "better" reality, you had been the glue that held their family together. Your warmth and insight had softened his edges, and your unwavering belief in Jack had given the boy the confidence to thrive. But here, without you, everything had unraveled.

Hotch buried his face in his hands, his mind a chaotic swirl of guilt, regret, and desperation. How had he let it come to this? How had he become the father he had always feared he would be—the one who failed to protect his child, to guide him, to give him a sense of purpose?

The answer was painfully clear: he had pushed away the one person who could have helped him build something better. And now, without you, his life was as cold and hollow as the winter wind outside.

And Jack? Jack was paying the price.

Hotch sat in the silence of his office, the weight of his choices crushing him. He had lost you. He was losing Jack. And for the first time in years, he didn’t know if he could find a way back.

As the day dragged on, Hotch found himself alone with Spencer. The younger man’s nervous energy was a welcome distraction, but Hotch’s mind kept circling back to you.

"Spencer," Hotch said abruptly, breaking the silence. "How’s Y/N?"

Spencer froze, his eyes wide with shock. "Why are you asking about her?"

Hotch frowned, the unease in his chest growing. Spencer's voice had almost a protectiveness, cluing Hotch into the fact that he really hurt you. 

"Just… curious."

Spencer hesitated before answering. "Y/N left the Bureau years ago, Hotch. After… after you two split."

Hotch’s breath hitched. "She left?"

Spencer nodded, his tone cautious, looking at Hotch a little confused. "It was bad. For both of you. She took some lower-paying office job, and last I heard, she cut contact with the team completely."

Hotch’s heart sank. He couldn’t imagine you—so full of life and passion—confined to a life that stifled you. He couldn’t imagine you not talking to Emily, Penelope, or JJ. He couldn’t imagine you blowing off your conversations with Spencer, Derek, or Rossi. 

"And you," Spencer continued hesitantly, "haven’t been the same since after she left years ago. You shut everyone out. Even Jack."

Hotch stared at him, the words hitting like a physical blow. The reality he was seeing now was starkly clear. Without you, everything fell apart.

As the day wore on, Hotch couldn’t shake the ache in his chest. He thought of you constantly—the warmth of your smile, the sound of your laughter, the way you had brought balance to his life. 

The case, too overwhelming to solve for the BAU, a defeat Hotch was not used to facing. By the casualness in his team members, apparently, this was the norm for the last few years. The BAU had lost all credibility. Penelope, having left the unit shortly after you, he found in the system, citing differences as her reasoning. 

Throughout conversations, he learned that the job had put a major strain on JJ’s marriage. She and Will are currently separated. Rossi is weathered and aged, threatening to leave almost every day. Derek was not the pillar of strength he once was. Spencer struggled with staying sober without the stability of the team and purpose here. Emily was bitter and callous. And you…far from here. 

This life—cold, strained, and broken—was unbearable. Jack resented him. The team resented him. And he resented himself.

As night fell, Hotch sat alone in his office, staring at the small, untouched Christmas tree in the corner. He thought of you and the life he could have had—the little girl with his eyes and your smile—the family he had let slip away.

Breaking from the defeated BAU, Hotch did some investigating into where you currently lived. All he could think about on the way over is that a messy day like today, the only thing he could think that would make him feel better was you. 

By the time Hotch reached your apartment, the December air had turned bitterly cold, but he barely noticed. His mind was a whirlwind of thoughts, each one colliding with the next. The memory of Spencer’s words—of how devastated you had been after the breakup—clawed at his chest. He couldn’t fathom it, couldn’t reconcile the image of you as you had been—vibrant, loving, full of life—with the bleak picture Spencer had painted.

He hesitated at your door, his breath visible in the icy air. From outside, he could see faint light through the curtains, but no Christmas decorations adorned the windows, and no festive wreath hung on the door. It was jarringly unlike you.

For a moment, he considered leaving. But the thought of not knowing—of letting this version of reality remain unexamined—pushed him to knock.

The door opened slowly, and there you stood.

Hotch’s breath caught. You looked so different from the woman he remembered. The light in your eyes was gone, replaced by something hardened and distant. Your face was drawn, your expression wary.

Your eyes widened slightly when you saw him, but whatever flicker of emotion appeared was quickly replaced by a cold, guarded look.

"What are you doing here?" you asked, your voice sharp and brittle.

Hotch hesitated, his throat dry. "I… wanted to see you."

"Why?" you snapped, your tone cutting through him like a knife. "Haven’t you done enough?"

The words hit him hard, but he forced himself to stay calm. "I know it’s Christmas Eve, and I don’t want to disturb you. I just…" He trailed off, unsure how to explain what he was doing there when he barely understood it himself.

Your laugh was bitter, devoid of the warmth he remembered. "You’ve already ruined it, Aaron. It’s been years. Just say what you came to say and leave."

His chest tightened as he took in the room behind you. The apartment was bare, no sign of the festive spirit you used to pour into your home. The absence of it felt like a glaring void, an unspoken testament to the way your life had changed.

"Y/N…" he began softly, but you cut him off.

"Don’t," you said sharply, stepping back and crossing your arms as though physically shielding yourself from him. "After everything you said the last time we spoke, you have no right to be here."

Hotch swallowed hard, shame washing over him. "What did I say?"

Your expression darkened, pain flickering across your face. "You really don’t remember, do you?"

He shook his head, and the movement seemed to snap something in you.

"You told me I was asking too much," you said, your voice trembling with anger and hurt. "You said I was selfish for wanting a life you couldn’t give me. That I didn’t understand what it meant to love someone like you."

Hotch flinched, the weight of your words landing heavily on his chest. He could hear the pain in your voice, see it in the way your shoulders tensed and your hands clenched.

"And then you left," you continued, your voice rising. "You didn’t even give me a chance to fight for us. You just decided it was over and walked away."

Hotch opened his mouth to speak, but you weren’t finished.

"You broke me, Aaron," you said, tears welling in your eyes. "I’ve spent years trying to put myself back together, and now you show up here--on Christmas Eve, nonetheless, like none of it ever happened?"

"I didn’t mean to hurt you," he said quietly, his voice thick with regret.

"But you did!" you snapped, the tears spilling over now. "And you don’t get to come here and pretend to care now. You don’t get to ruin this for me, too."

Hotch stepped back, his heart pounding. The raw pain on your face was unbearable, and he hated himself for being the cause of it. He had always prided himself on protecting the people he cared about, but in this reality, he had done the exact opposite.

"I’m sorry," he said softly, his voice barely audible.

You shook your head, tears streaming down your face. "Just go, Aaron. Please. I don’t want to see you ever again."

The finality in your voice was like a dagger to his heart, but he nodded, knowing he had no right to stay.

As he walked away, the cold biting at his skin, Hotch felt the full weight of this reality settle over him. Without you, his life was fractured, unbalanced, and cold. Jack was lost, the team was falling apart, and he was a hollow version of himself.

But worse than any of that was the knowledge that he had done this to you—that his choices had robbed you of the light and joy that had once defined you.

And as he stepped into the night, the memory of your daughter—the little girl who didn’t exist in this reality—flashed through his mind. Her laugh, her smile, the way she had looked at him with so much love and trust.

He couldn’t choose this.

He wouldn’t choose this.

Hotch returned to his dim apartment, the silence pressing against him like a suffocating shroud. The small Christmas tree in the corner stood dark and undecorated, a glaring reminder of how hollow this reality was. Here, there were no lively photos of the team, his family…even photos of Haley were gone. It was impersonal and cold. He instinctively glanced at Jack’s room, but it was empty.

"Jack?" he called, his voice echoing in the stillness. No response.

Hotch pulled out his phone, dialing his son. The line rang for an agonizingly long moment before Jack answered, his voice sharp and irritated.

"What?" Jack snapped.

Hotch inhaled deeply, trying to keep his frustration in check. "Where are you? It’s Christmas Eve, Jack."

"I’m out," Jack replied curtly.

"You’re out? It’s late, and it’s Christmas Eve. You should be home."

Jack let out a bitter laugh. "Home? What home, Dad? The one where you bark orders and don’t listen? The one where I’m just a failure in your eyes?" Jack scoffed, “You spent the last five Christmasses working anyways, all of the sudden you’re looking for me?” 

"Jack," Hotch said, his voice firm, though his heart ached at the accusation. "You’re not a failure. But you need to take responsibility for your actions. I’ve been trying to help you—"

"Help me?" Jack interrupted, his tone venomous. "You’ve done nothing but push me away. You didn’t even notice when I needed you."

"Jack, listen to me—"

"No, you listen," Jack snapped. "I don’t need this right now. Just… don’t bother calling again."

The line went dead.

Hotch stood frozen, the phone still pressed to his ear as the dial tone hummed in his ear. Jack’s words stung, but what hurt more was the truth behind them. In this reality, he hadn’t been there for his son. He hadn’t given Jack the support he needed, the stability he deserved.

Hotch set the phone down slowly, his chest tight. The memory of Jack in the other reality—thriving, confident, and happy—burned in his mind. This version of his son, lost and angry, was a painful reminder of everything he had lost.

He moved to the couch, sitting heavily as his thoughts spiraled. The day had been a relentless barrage of heartbreak, from the fractured BAU to the devastating encounter with you. Now, even his relationship with Jack was slipping through his fingers.

Hotch closed his eyes and whispered, "Haley."

He hadn’t called her name in years, not like this. Not with desperation lacing his voice. "I don’t know if you can hear me," he said, his voice low and trembling. "But I need… something. A sign. Anything."

The room remained silent, the emptiness almost mocking.

Hotch exhaled shakily and rose, his body heavy with exhaustion. He climbed into bed, staring at the ceiling as the events of the day replayed in his mind. The image of your face, twisted with pain and anger, was the last thing he saw before he drifted into a restless sleep.

He woke Christmas morning to the same cold, empty apartment. For a moment, he hoped—prayed—that the nightmare of the previous day had been just that. But as he looked around, reality settled over him like a weight he couldn’t shake.

Jack’s door was still open, and the room was still empty. The small tree remained dark and lifeless.

Hotch felt panic rising in his chest. He reached for his phone again, dialing Jack. It went straight to voicemail. He tried Spencer next, but the call rang out unanswered.

The hours crawled by as Hotch moved through the day in a haze. He paced the apartment, his mind racing with thoughts of the life he had glimpsed—your laughter, the warmth of the home you had built together, the joy in your daughter’s eyes.

By mid-afternoon, he couldn’t take it anymore. He sat down on the edge of his bed, his hands trembling as he clasped them together.

"Haley," he said again, his voice breaking. "Please. I don’t know what to do."

The room felt impossibly silent, but he pressed on, his words spilling out like a dam breaking. "I thought I was doing the right thing. I thought… I thought I couldn’t handle it—marriage, kids, everything. But I was wrong. I was so wrong."

He dragged a hand through his hair, his chest heaving with the weight of his emotions. "I need her, Haley. She makes everything better—me, Jack, the team… she makes life better. And now she’s gone, and Jack’s gone, and everything is falling apart."

His voice cracked as he whispered, "Please let me go back. Let me make a different choice. I’ll do anything. Just… let me go back."

The tears came then, unbidden and unstoppable, as he buried his face in his hands. For years, he had carried his pain silently, locking it away where no one could see. But now, it overwhelmed him, spilling out in the form of desperate, broken pleas to a woman who could no longer answer him.

As the day wore on, the weight of the world pressed heavier on Aaron Hotchner’s shoulders. The image of you—the way your eyes had brimmed with pain when you saw him—haunted him. The memory of Jack’s angry words burned like a brand.

And through it all, he clung to one hope: that somehow, he would wake up to a chance to make it right. To choose you. To choose the life he now knew he couldn’t live without.

The knock at the door startled Hotch from his restless thoughts. He stood slowly, brushing a hand through his disheveled hair before crossing the room. When he opened the door, Jess stood there, bundled against the cold, holding a casserole dish wrapped in foil.

"Jess," he said, his voice tinged with surprise.

"Merry Christmas," she said, stepping inside without waiting for an invitation. She moved past him, her presence filling the otherwise empty apartment.

"You didn’t have to come," he said, watching as she set the casserole down on the counter.

She looked back at him, her expression soft but knowing. "I figured you wouldn’t have much of a Christmas meal planned."

He wanted to argue, but the truth of her statement stung too much. "Thank you," he said quietly, the words feeling hollow in the vast emptiness of his apartment.

Jess turned to him, studying his face for a long moment. "What’s wrong, Aaron?"

He hesitated, his instinct to guard his emotions kicking in. But the weight of the past day—the haunting reality of what his life had become—pressed down on him, and the words slipped out before he could stop them.

"I don’t know where I went wrong," he said, his voice heavy with regret. "I’ve been thinking about… everything. About Jack, the team, Y/N… and I just—" He stopped, his hands balling into fists at his sides. "I couldn’t let myself want it. A life with her. Marriage. More kids. I told myself it was better this way, safer. But it wasn’t."

Jess tilted her head, her eyes filled with quiet understanding. "Aaron, what makes you think you couldn’t have had those things?"

He laughed bitterly, the sound harsh in the quiet room. "Because I wasn’t enough, Jess. I couldn’t make it work with Haley. You sure as hell saw that first-hand. I couldn’t be the father Jack needed me to be. And with Y/N… I couldn’t even let myself try."

Jess’s expression softened, but there was steel beneath her empathy. "Aaron, you’re not the same man you were when you were with Haley. You’ve grown. You’ve learned. And you don’t give yourself nearly enough credit for that."

Hotch shook his head, the self-loathing bubbling to the surface. "But it wasn’t enough. Jack’s lost, the team’s falling apart, and Y/N..." His voice broke. "I hurt her, Jess. I pushed her away because I was too scared to let myself believe I could be good enough for her."

Jess stepped closer, her voice firm but gentle. "Aaron, let me ask you something. Do you remember what it was like when Y/N was around? How Jack was with her?"

He blinked, surprised by the question. "What do you mean?"

"I mean," Jess said, her tone softening, "I’ve never seen Jack as happy as he was when Y/N was in his life. He opened up more. He smiled more. He trusted more. And you…" She paused, giving him a knowing look. "You were lighter with her, Aaron. I’ve known you for years, and even with Haley, I don’t think I ever saw you as carefree as you were with Y/N."

Hotch swallowed hard, her words stirring memories he’d tried to bury. Nights spent laughing over takeout, Jack tugging Y/N’s hand to show her his latest drawing, the quiet moments of comfort and understanding that had made his world feel less heavy.

"She brought something into your life that you didn’t even realize you needed," Jess continued. "She brought balance. Joy. And Jack? He thrived because of her. Not just because she cared about him but because she loved you. And he saw that."

Hotch looked away, his chest tightening. "I failed her, Jess. I failed both of them. I couldn’t let myself hope for something more because I was too afraid of losing it."

Jess sighed, her tone taking on a sharper edge. "Aaron, do you think Y/N didn’t know what she was getting into when she chose you? She knew your past, your fears, your baggage—and she still chose you. She didn’t need you to be perfect. She needed you to let her in."

He shook his head, his voice barely audible. "She deserved better."

"She deserved love," Jess countered, her voice steady. "And you had it to give, Aaron. You still do."

Hotch felt tears prick at the corners of his eyes but blinked them back, the weight of her words pressing down on him. "I don’t know if I can fix it," he admitted, his voice trembling. "Jack… he’s slipping away, and Y/N… I don’t even know if she’d want me back after everything I’ve done."

Jess placed a hand on his arm, grounding him. "Aaron, you’re not the man you think you are. You’re not some cold, unfeeling workaholic who’s incapable of love. You’re a man who’s been hurt, who’s been scared, but who still shows up for the people he cares about. You’ve made mistakes, sure, but that doesn’t erase the good you’ve done."

He looked at her, his expression raw. "What if I could go back? What if I could choose differently?"

Jess tilted her head, her gaze steady. "Then what would you do?"

Hotch didn’t hesitate this time. "I’d choose her. I’d choose Jack. I’d choose… all of it. The mess, the risk, the uncertainty. I’d take it all because life without it… without her… it’s unbearable."

Jess smiled faintly, her hand squeezing his arm. "Then maybe it’s not too late."

Her words hung in the air, a quiet challenge that made his chest tighten. For the first time in years, he felt a flicker of hope—a small, fragile spark that whispered of the possibility of something more.

"You’ve always had a way of making things right when it mattered most, Aaron," Jess said, her voice softer now. "And if anyone can do it again, it’s you."

As Jess turned to leave, the warmth of her presence lingering in the room, Hotch found himself holding onto that spark with everything he had. For Jack. For Y/N. For the life he’d almost let slip away.

Hotch woke with a sharp intake of breath, his heart racing as though he’d been running. The room was warm, filled with the soft light of morning creeping through the curtains. He sat up abruptly, his eyes darting around. The cold, lifeless apartment from the nightmare reality was gone.

This was his room. His reality.

He threw off the covers and swung his legs over the side of the bed, barely able to contain the flood of relief coursing through him. It was Christmas Eve again—he was back.

Hotch ran a hand over his face, trying to steady himself. The vivid memories of what he had seen—Jack’s messy, unmotivated life, the disjointed team, your pain—lingered like ghosts. But so, too, did the warmth of the life he could have with you: the laughter, the home, the little girl with your smile.

He wasn’t going to waste this chance.

Hotch padded down the hall, pausing outside Jack’s room. Pushing the door open quietly, he found his son still tucked under the blankets, his face peaceful in sleep. Jack as young as he remembered leaving him before being faced with those polarizing realities. 

"Jack," Hotch said softly, leaning down to ruffle his hair.

Jack stirred, blinking groggily. "Dad?"

"It’s Christmas Eve," Hotch said, his voice unusually warm and full of excitement.

Jack sat up slowly, rubbing his eyes. "Already?"

Hotch chuckled. "Already." He hesitated for a moment before sitting on the edge of the bed. "Hey, I was thinking… what would you say to inviting Y/N over tonight?"

Jack’s face lit up instantly, all traces of sleep vanishing. "Really? She’s coming over?"

"If she’s free," Hotch said, his heart swelling at Jack’s enthusiasm.

Jack grinned, his excitement contagious. "I like when she’s here. She’s really nice. And funny."

Hotch’s chest tightened. The innocence in Jack’s words—the simple, childlike joy of wanting you around—was a reminder of just how much you had already become a part of their lives, even if Hotch hadn’t let himself fully realize it before.

Jack tilted his head, his expression suddenly thoughtful. "Do you think Santa can bring her presents here too?"

Hotch smiled, his heart aching with affection for his son. "I think that can be arranged."

Jack nodded, satisfied. Then, after a moment, he looked at Hotch with wide, curious eyes. "Do you think she could come over more? Like, all the time?"

The question hung in the air, and Hotch felt his pulse quicken. He hadn’t planned to bring this up—not yet—but the moment felt too perfect to let slip away.

"What would you think," Hotch began carefully, "if Y/N became… a bigger part of our family?"

Jack frowned, clearly trying to process the question. "Like… she’d come over every day?"

"Something like that," Hotch said, his voice soft.

Jack’s face brightened again, a wide smile spreading across his face. "That’d be awesome! She makes you smile more."

Hotch felt a lump rise in his throat, his son’s simple observation cutting straight to his heart. "She makes me happy," he admitted, his voice steady but full of emotion.

"Then you should tell her," Jack said confidently, his innocence making the words feel like undeniable truth.

Hotch chuckled, leaning over to kiss the top of Jack’s head. "You’re a smart kid, you know that?"

Jack grinned. "I know."

As Hotch stood, his heart felt lighter than it had in years. He wasn’t going to waste this second chance. He was going to make the call, invite you over, and start building the life he now knew he wanted more than anything.

The life he couldn’t wait to share with you.

The familiar hum of the bullpen greeted Hotch as he stepped into the BAU office, his mind steady and clear in a way it hadn’t been in a long time. The vivid memories of his nightmare reality lingered, but they had only sharpened his resolve. He wasn’t going to let this life—the people who mattered most—slip through his fingers.

The team was scattered about, their chatter softer than usual with the holidays approaching. Hotch spotted Penelope first, her bright cardigan and infectious energy standing out even amidst the quiet hum of activity. She was leaning over Spencer’s desk, gesturing animatedly as Spencer nodded, his brow furrowed in focus.

Derek was nearby, arms crossed, wearing a knowing smirk as he watched the two of them.

"Hey, boss man," Derek called out as Hotch approached. "What brings you in on Christmas Eve? Thought you’d be at home, sipping hot cocoa with Jack."

Hotch smiled faintly, something he didn’t do nearly enough. "Jack’s with Jess for the afternoon. I wanted to check in."

Penelope looked up, her face lighting up when she saw him. "You’re here! Is there a case? Please tell me there’s not a case. I swear, if you’re here to ruin Christmas, I’ll…" She paused, narrowing her eyes. "I’ll do something very un-holiday-spirited."

Hotch raised a hand, the corners of his mouth twitching with amusement. "No cases. I’m here to promise that we’re shutting everything down for the rest of the week. No emergencies, no files—nothing. Go home, spend time with your families, and regroup. There will always be people to save, but we can’t help them if we don’t take care of ourselves first."

The room went quiet as his words sank in. Penelope’s eyes widened, her face softening with gratitude. "Did you just… tell us to go home and take care of ourselves? Who are you, and what have you done with Aaron Hotchner?"

Spencer smiled faintly, glancing at Derek, who gave a low whistle. "Man, it’s about time. Thanks, Hotch."

Before Hotch could reply, Penelope stepped forward and hugged him tightly, catching him off guard. "I don’t know what inspired this, but I’m so grateful. Thank you, sir."

Hotch hesitated for a moment before patting her shoulder gently. "You’ve earned it, all of you."

As Penelope pulled back, Derek crossed his arms, tilting his head. "So, Hotch," he said, his tone teasing, "what’d you get Y/N for Christmas? I know you’ve got something good planned."

Hotch’s lips quirked in a rare moment of playfulness. "You’ll have to wait and see, Morgan."

Derek chuckled. "Fair enough. But if you need any tips, you know where to find me."

Hotch shook his head, amused, before glancing around. "Where is Y/N?" he asked, trying to keep his tone casual.

Spencer gestured toward Hotch’s office. "She said she’d be waiting for you in there."

Hotch’s heart skipped a beat, the thought of seeing you stirring something warm and steady within him. Without another word, he turned and headed for his office, the memories of the past days pushing him forward.

He couldn’t wait to see you, to start making things right, to build the life he knew he wanted—with you by his side.

Hotch ascended the stairs to his office with a purposeful stride, his heart pounding harder with each step. The memories of their fight haunted him, but they also fueled him. He wouldn’t waste another moment. This was his chance to make things right, to choose you, to choose them.

When he reached his office, he pushed the door open quickly, almost bursting through it in his haste.

You were standing by the couch by the window, your posture calm but reserved, a soft smile playing on your lips as you looked up at him. Too calm, he thought. He could see the quiet hurt lingering behind your gentle demeanor, the way you were preparing yourself to make sacrifices—again—for him. For them.

It was so you, and it broke his heart.

"Aaron," you began, your voice steady but careful. "I’ve been thinking about us. About everything."

He crossed the room in an instant, his determination cutting through the air. Before you could say another word, he reached you, cupping your face in his hands with a kind of tenderness that caught you off guard.

And then he kissed you.

It wasn’t a gentle, cautious kiss. It was deep, consuming, and filled with all the emotion he had bottled up for too long. It was an apology, a promise, a plea for you to feel everything he couldn’t quite put into words yet.

You gasped softly against his lips, surprised, but you melted into him almost immediately, your hands finding their way to his chest. When he pulled back, both of you were breathless, your wide eyes searching his for answers.

"Don’t talk," he said, his voice low and firm but so full of emotion it nearly cracked. "Please. Not yet."

You blinked, stunned into silence.

"I’m sorry," he continued, his thumb brushing gently along your cheek. "I’m so sorry for everything I said. For not seeing what was right in front of me. For not choosing you when I should have."

You opened your mouth to respond, but he shook his head slightly, stopping you.

"Tonight," he said, his voice softening, "we’ll talk. I’ll say everything I should have said before, and I’ll listen to you the way I should have. But right now, I need you to do something for me."

Your brow furrowed slightly, confusion flickering across your face. "What is it?"

Hotch’s lips quirked into a faint smile. "Go tell the director you’re taking the role."

Your eyes widened. "Aaron, I—"

"Don’t argue," he said gently but firmly. "This is what you want. And you’re not giving it up for me. Not this time."

Your hand covered his, resting on your cheek, and he felt the warmth of your skin beneath his palm. "Are you sure?" you whispered, your voice trembling slightly.

"I’ve never been more sure of anything," he said, his voice steady. "We’ll make this work. I’ll make this work. You deserve this, and I’m not going to stand in your way. Not anymore."

Tears welled in your eyes, but the smile that broke across your face was radiant. "I love you," you said softly.

Hotch leaned in, pressing his forehead against yours. "I love you, too," he whispered, his voice full of quiet conviction.

He pulled back just enough to look into your eyes, his own reflecting the resolve he felt deep in his heart. "Go tell them," he said. "And then come back to me."

You nodded, your smile widening as you stood, your steps lighter than they had been in days.

As you left the office, Hotch watched you go, his chest tight with a mixture of love and determination. This was the life he wanted—the life he was going to fight for. And this time, he wouldn’t let anything get in the way.

Later, Hotch leaned against the counter in his kitchen; the phone pressed to his ear as he listened to your soft, melodic voice on the other end. It had been a whirlwind of a day, but as soon as the office had emptied out for the holidays, his thoughts had turned to you.

"Spend Christmas Eve and Day with us," he said, the words steady but laced with an unusual vulnerability. He wasn’t used to asking for things—not like this—but he wanted you there. Needed you there.

There was a pause, and he could almost hear the wheels turning in your mind. "Are you sure, Aaron? I don’t want to intrude—"

"You’re not intruding," he interrupted gently. "Jack and I want you here. I want you here."

The hesitation in your voice melted, replaced by a quiet warmth. "Okay," you said softly. "I’d love to."

As he hung up, Hotch let out a breath he hadn’t realized he was holding. For the past few Christmases, you had always been part of the day—but always slipped out before nighttime on Christmas Eve. You had insisted on leaving early, not wanting to intrude on the traditions he and Jack had shared since Haley’s passing.

But this year, he wanted you to stay. To be part of everything.

Hotch thought back to the Christmases you’d spent together as a couple, moments that had somehow always felt brighter because of you. Whether it was the way you’d join Jack in decorating cookies—laughing as he piled on too many sprinkles—or the small, thoughtful gifts you’d slip under the tree for both of them, your presence had become the quiet heartbeat of the holiday.

He smiled faintly at the memory of last Christmas when you’d handed Jack a small, carefully wrapped package. Inside was a book he’d mentioned only once in passing during a conversation Hotch himself had almost forgotten. Jack’s face had lit up with pure joy, and Hotch had been struck by your attentiveness—not just to Jack’s words, but to the things that mattered most to him.

You didn’t just listen—you understood.

But then, as bedtime approached, you’d always reach for your coat, pressing a soft kiss to Hotch’s cheek before leaving.

"This is your time with Jack," you’d say, your smile warm but knowing. "I don’t want to take that from you."

It had been so thoughtful, so perfectly you. And every year, Hotch let you go, telling himself it was the right thing to do. But this year, everything felt different.

This year, he couldn’t imagine the night without you.

Before heading to pick Jack up from Jess’s, Hotch made a quiet but resolute decision. He took a detour, parking outside a small jewelry store adorned with festive lights. The shop was bustling with last-minute shoppers, the air thick with anticipation and cheer.

As he stepped inside, he felt an unusual sense of calm wash over him. This wasn’t a frantic, spur-of-the-moment decision. It was something he’d been carrying in his heart for far longer than he’d realized.

While waiting for the jeweler’s attention, his mind wandered to all the moments that had brought him here—not just the life they’d built together, but the stark contrast of the two alternate realities he’d seen.

He thought of the warm, bustling home from the first dream—the little girl with your smile and his eyes, Jack’s confidence and joy, the harmony of a life shared with you. That vision had awakened something in him: hope. It was everything he hadn’t let himself believe he could have but now knew he wanted more than anything.

Then, the second reality—the cold, fractured life without you—rushed back into his mind like a knife twisting in his chest. Jack had been lost, unmotivated, mirroring the mistakes Hotch had always feared for him. The BAU had been broken, and he had been a hollow version of himself, unable to connect, unable to truly live.

The thought of facing that kind of pain again was unbearable.

But it was more than that. It wasn’t just about avoiding regret or fear of what could go wrong. It was about embracing what was right in front of him—the way you fit so perfectly into his life and Jack’s, not as a replacement but as someone who made them whole in a way he hadn’t thought possible.

He thought of the first time Jack had asked if you could come to his school play, the innocent joy in his voice as he said, "It’s more fun when she’s there." He thought of the quiet nights when your hand had instinctively reached for his, grounding him when the weight of the job became too much. He thought of your laugh—the way it softened the hardest of days, the way it had a way of filling the cracks he hadn’t even known were there.

"She’s always been the one," he murmured under his breath, the realization landing softly but powerfully.

The jeweler’s voice broke through his thoughts. "How can I help you?"

Hotch met her gaze, a rare but genuine smile pulling at his lips. "I need something special," he said, his voice steady and certain. "For someone who means everything to me."

As he browsed, each piece felt like a step closer to a promise he’d been too afraid to make until now. By the time he left the store, the small box tucked securely in his pocket, he felt a weight lift from his shoulders.

This wasn’t about a grand gesture or a sudden realization—it was the culmination of everything he’d known deep down, even when he couldn’t admit it.

You were the one. For him, for Jack, for the life he wanted to build.

And this Christmas, he was ready to take the first step toward forever.

The apartment was alive in a way it had never been on Christmas Eve. The faint strains of a classic holiday tune floated through the air, mingling with the warm glow of twinkling lights from the tree. A Christmas movie played softly on the television, its cheerful narration adding to the cozy atmosphere. The scent of dinner lingered in the room, mingling with the faint pine of the tree.

Hotch sat on the couch, his gaze drifting to you and Jack, who were laughing together over something you’d said. The sound of Jack’s laughter—light, unguarded, happy—was the greatest gift Hotch could have asked for.

You caught his eye and smiled, a soft, knowing look that told him you were as content as he was in this moment. There would be time for the two of you to talk later, once Jack was off to bed, filled with anticipation for Santa’s arrival. For now, though, this was perfect.

As the evening wound down, you leaned over to grab a small, carefully wrapped package from your bag. "Jack," you said, your voice warm, "I have something for you to open tonight. I thought it might be nice to add to your Christmas Eve tradition."

Jack’s eyes lit up, his excitement palpable as he took the gift. "Really?"

"Really," you said with a grin.

Jack tore into the wrapping paper, revealing a small but beautifully crafted ornament. It was shaped like a book, gilded in silver, with his name inscribed on the cover. His eyes widened, his fingers tracing the delicate engraving.

"It’s for the tree," you explained gently. "Something just for you. I thought you might like to have your own ornament to put up every year."

Jack looked up at you, his expression a mixture of awe and appreciation. "This is… really cool," he said, his voice quiet but full of sincerity.

Then, after a moment, he added, "You always think of the best stuff. Thanks for being here. I hope you’re always here."

Hotch’s chest tightened as he watched the exchange, the simplicity of Jack’s words carrying a weight that made his throat ache.

"Thank you, Jack," you said softly, your voice trembling slightly as you smiled at him.

Jack rose, holding the ornament delicately as he approached the tree. He carefully hung it on a branch near the top, stepping back to admire his work.

Hotch’s hand moved almost unconsciously, reaching for yours. As soon as his fingers brushed against your palm, you intertwined them with a gentle squeeze.

The touch grounded him, but it also brought with it a flood of emotion. For a brief moment, he was back in that alternate reality—decorating the tree with you, an older Jack, and your daughter. He could almost hear her laughter, see her small hands reaching for ornaments as you steadied her.

The memory of that life, so vivid and so possible, filled him with a quiet, overwhelming certainty.

You glanced at him, your expression softening as you squeezed his hand again, a silent reassurance that you were here, now, and ready for whatever came next.

Hotch didn’t say anything. He didn’t need to. This moment—this warmth, this love—was everything he needed to know that he was on the right path.

The night had begun to wind down, the once-bustling apartment now quieter, filled with the warm glow of twinkling lights and the soft hum of contentment. After leaving out milk and cookies for Santa, Jack had dashed to his room, his excitement bubbling over as he prepared for bed.

Hotch followed, glancing over his shoulder at you. "We’ll be out in a bit," he said gently.

You nodded with a soft smile. "Take your time," you replied, moving toward the living room to give them their privacy.

In Jack’s room, Hotch helped him settle under the covers, pulling the blankets snugly around him. The boy’s face was lit with anticipation, his cheeks slightly flushed from the excitement of the evening.

"Okay," Hotch said, sitting on the edge of the bed. "What’s the request for tonight?"

Jack grinned. "The Night Before Christmas. It has to be that one tonight, right?"

Hotch smiled, reaching for the well-worn book on Jack’s nightstand. "Good choice."

As he opened the cover, Jack’s eyes darted to the door. "Wait!"

Hotch paused, frowning slightly. "What’s wrong?"

"Can Y/N come in too?" Jack asked, his voice filled with earnestness. "I want her to hear it too."

Hotch’s chest tightened, a wave of warmth spreading through him at Jack’s request. He reached out to ruffle his son’s hair. "Of course," he said, his voice soft.

He called your name, and you peeked into the room, a questioning look on your face.

"Jack wants you to join us," Hotch explained, his tone gentle but encouraging.

Your brows lifted in surprise, but the warmth in your smile was immediate. "Are you sure?"

"Very sure," Hotch said, gesturing for you to come in.

You stepped inside hesitantly, but Jack’s enthusiastic patting of the bed beside him quickly put you at ease. You sat down, and Jack scooted closer to make room, his small hand tugging at the blanket to share with you.

Hotch’s heart swelled as he watched the two of you. You were a natural fit here, as though you’d always been part of this family.

He began to read, his deep voice steady and calm as he brought the familiar words to life.

"'Twas the night before Christmas, when all through the house…"

Jack listened intently, his head leaning lightly against your arm. Every so often, Hotch glanced up, catching the serene expression on your face as you followed along. Your hand rested lightly on Jack’s back, your presence grounding him in a way that felt perfectly natural.

As the story progressed, Hotch’s voice softened, the intimacy of the moment wrapping around the three of you like a warm blanket. He couldn’t remember the last time he’d felt so at peace—so connected.

When he reached the final line, "'Happy Christmas to all, and to all a good night,'" Jack let out a soft sigh of contentment.

"That was perfect," Jack murmured, his voice thick with sleep.

Hotch set the book aside, leaning down to press a kiss to Jack’s forehead. "Goodnight, buddy," he said softly.

Jack blinked up at both of you, his small hand reaching out to take yours and Hotch’s at the same time. "I’m glad you’re here," he said to you, his voice barely above a whisper.

You smiled, your eyes glistening with emotion. "Me too, Jack."

Hotch’s chest tightened, the weight of the moment nearly overwhelming. He squeezed Jack’s hand, his gaze flicking to you. The tenderness in your eyes was everything he hadn’t let himself believe he could have, and now that it was here, he knew he would do anything to keep it.

As Jack’s eyes drifted shut, you and Hotch exchanged a quiet, knowing look, the unspoken promise between you as strong as the love filling the room.

This was family. And it was perfect.

After tucking Jack in and ensuring his dreams of Santa were safe and secure, you and Hotch returned to the quiet living room. The faint glow of the Christmas tree lights reflected off the window, casting the room in a soft, magical warmth.

You sat beside him on the couch, your presence calming and steady. For a moment, neither of you spoke, the unspoken weight of everything left unsaid lingering in the air.

Then, softly, you broke the silence. "Aaron," you said, your voice careful but earnest, "are you ready to talk? Not just about the job but… about everything."

He turned to you, his heart clenching at the concern in your eyes.

"I never wanted to pressure you," you continued, your hands folded nervously in your lap. "I don’t want you to feel like you have to make a decision just because of me. I would never want you to want something you’ll regret or resent… or not want altogether."

Hotch’s throat tightened as he listened to you. Your words were so you—selfless, thoughtful, and so in tune with his feelings that it made his chest ache.

He reached for your hands, covering them with his. "This isn’t pressure," he said, his voice firm but filled with emotion. "It’s clarity. This is everything. You’re everything."

Your brows furrowed slightly in confusion, and he took a steadying breath. "I’ve been too blind to see it. Too afraid to let myself hope for more, to believe I could have this—us. But I know now."

His voice grew quieter, a tremor betraying the emotion behind his words. "I’ve seen what life could be like without you, and I can’t… I won’t go back to that. You’ve given me and Jack so much—more than I even realized until now. I can’t imagine a life without you in it."

You tilted your head, your soft smile returning. "What’s gotten into you?" you asked, your tone light but filled with love.

Hotch chuckled softly, his grip on your hands tightening slightly. "Let’s just say I had some time to think. And I’ve realized… I’ve been so afraid of failing you that I didn’t see what was right in front of me. I was scared I’d ruin this, ruin us. That I couldn’t live up to what you deserved."

Your eyes softened, and you shifted closer. "Aaron," you said, your voice steady and filled with quiet conviction, "you could never fail me. Not once. You’ve shown me more love and care than I ever thought possible. You’ve already given me so much."

Hotch’s heart swelled at your words, and for a moment, he simply looked at you, his mind flashing to the alternate reality he had glimpsed. The memory of your laughter, your daughter’s joy, Jack’s success, and the harmony of a life shared with you filled his mind.

He reached into his pocket, his fingers brushing against the small box he had been carrying all day. When he looked at you again, his resolve was clear.

"You deserve something grand," he said softly, his voice trembling slightly. "A big moment, a big gesture. But I can’t think of a better time to start forever than right now."

Your eyes widened as he slipped from the couch to one knee, the movement fluid and filled with purpose. He opened the box, revealing the delicate, sparkling ring inside.

"Y/N," he began, his voice steady despite the emotion coursing through him, "you are the best part of my life. You’ve brought light to places I thought would stay dark forever. You’ve made me believe in love, in family, in a future I didn’t think I could have. And I don’t want to spend another day without knowing you’ll be by my side."

Tears welled in your eyes as you listened, your hand flying to your mouth.

"You’ve already shown me what it means to love someone with your whole heart," he continued. "And I want to spend the rest of my life doing the same for you. For Jack. For the life I know we can build together."

Hotch’s voice softened, the faintest crack breaking through his calm exterior. "I’m not afraid anymore, because I know now. You’re it for me, Y/N. Will you marry me?"

For a moment, you were silent, your emotions catching up with you. Then you nodded, your tears spilling over as you whispered, "Yes. Of course, yes."

Hotch let out a breath he hadn’t realized he was holding, slipping the ring onto your finger with trembling hands. You pulled him to his feet, your arms wrapping around his neck as you kissed him, the world falling away in that moment.

When you finally pulled back, your forehead rested against his, and you smiled through your tears. "I love you," you said softly.

Hotch smiled, the weight of his fears finally lifting. "I love you too," he replied, his voice filled with quiet certainty.

This was the beginning of the life he had seen in his dreams. And this time, he wasn’t letting it slip away.

The house was quiet now, save for the faint hum of the Christmas tree lights and the soft rhythm of your breathing as you rested your head against Hotch’s shoulder. Jack had been tucked in long ago, dreaming of Santa and the treasures Christmas morning would bring. But Hotch’s mind was far from sleep.

He gazed down at you, his fiancée now, the weight of the ring on your finger feeling almost as tangible as the warmth of your hand in his. He hadn’t thought it possible to feel this complete, this content. Yet here he was, in the glow of the holidays, with you beside him and the promise of forever ahead.

It was as if the universe had given him a glimpse into the consequences of his choices; in those alternate realities he’d seen, the message had been clear: the choices we make ripple outward, shaping not only our own lives but the lives of everyone we touch.

He thought of the cold, lonely life he had witnessed without you. Jack, floundering without direction. The team, fractured and disjointed. Himself, hollow and lost.

And then, the other life—the one with the warmth of a shared home, your laughter filling the rooms, Jack thriving with confidence, and the little girl with your smile and his eyes.

It was all so vivid still, a testament to what could have been—but also what could still be.

"You’re quiet," you murmured, lifting your head to look at him. Your smile was soft and understanding, as always.

Hotch shook his head, a small, rueful smile tugging at his lips. "Just thinking about how lucky I am," he said, his voice steady but full of emotion.

You tilted your head, a playful glint in your eyes. "Lucky? You did all the work tonight."

He chuckled, his arm tightening around you. "It’s more than that," he said softly. "I’ve spent so much time thinking I had to do everything alone—that I couldn’t let anyone else in because it was safer that way. But I was wrong."

You rested your hand on his chest, your touch grounding him. "You’re not alone anymore, Aaron," you said gently. "You never have to be again."

That moment he understood that his life, messy and imperfect as it was, was wonderful because of the people who shared it with him.

"I almost didn’t see it," Hotch admitted, his voice quieter now. "How much you mean to me. To Jack. How much better everything is with you in it."

Your smile softened, your hand brushing lightly against his cheek. "You’ve always had it in you," you said. "To love, to build something beautiful. You just needed time to see it."

Hotch let out a breath, his chest filling with gratitude. 

No man is a failure who has love.

And he had that now—in abundance.

As the Christmas tree lights flickered softly, casting shadows across the room, Hotch leaned down to kiss you gently, his heart full in a way it hadn’t been in years.

This was his life. Messy, imperfect, but so profoundly his.

And for the first time, he truly believed that it was wonderful.

Tag List:

@zaddyhotch

@estragos

@todorokishoe24

@looking1016

@khxna

@rousethemouse

@averyhotchner

@reidfile

@bernelflo

@lover-of-books-and-tea

@frickin-bats

@sleepysongbirdsings

@justyourusualash

[lotsofmilfs]

Shades Of Cool Part 1

Pairing : Agatha Harkness x Fem!Reader

Summary : You and Agatha were close in Salem, but things happen of course, and now you’re reunited due to the Witches Road

Word Count : 7kish

Authors Notes : I took creative liberties with the road !!! but i’m hoping you still like !

Warnings : Angst, Brief mention of suicide, longing, i think that’s it.

You were in Agatha’s trial on the witches road, you had on the same outfit as her, only it was a pink jersey, instead of the purple. Your hair was down instead of up in the hairstyle that Agatha was wearing, and your knee high socks were white with two purple stripes at the top. You don’t even know how you got here, but that was just how strong Billy was. Summoning you for a trial you had no idea you were taking place in.

You’d met Agatha during the Salem Era, both of you young, and close. You hated your own parents, and when Agatha told you about her mother, you planned to run away together. Things never worked out that way though, the closer you got with Agatha, you wanted to bond with her.

Bonding was something ancient, bringing together two witches. It would open their souls, their minds, and their hearts to one another. Agatha was petrified of being that open with someone, the vulnerability was just too much, and even though it hurt, she left you the next day after you poured your heart out, asking for her to break the barrier and become one.

Now it’s been centuries, and you freeze as you stop messing with the game in front of you, hearing a collection of voices from your right.

“Who’s trial is this?” Jen asks as they all look around

“Agatha’s.” Rio smirks. That name. You’ve not heard that name in so long it brings a flush to your cheeks, and your face lifts up, your side profile now visible to the group.

Agatha freezes when she sees your face, she’d remember it anywhere, she had dreams about it. She doesn’t say anything, she couldn’t. How were you even here? She… Thought maybe you’d died years ago. You never approached anyone about the road, and so she assumed.. She looks at you different then when she seen Rio again, there’s no anger or malice in her gaze. Just a deep set of longing. Her feet carry her involuntarily towards you and she breathes out.

“Darling.”

Your head snaps toward the voice, sharp and familiar, dripping with a need that makes your stomach twist in ways you wish it wouldn’t. “Agatha,” you say, her name cutting through the charged silence like a blade. It comes out too soft for your liking, so you harden your voice. “Didn’t expect to see you here.”

Her lips twitch, almost a smile, but not quite. There’s something in her eyes that makes it clear you’re not the only one thrown off balance. “The feeling’s mutual, darling,” she says, her tone breezy, almost mocking, but there’s a crack in the façade. She’s staring at you like she’s seen a ghost.

Maybe she has.

You’ve got centuries of practice keeping your emotions in check, but something about the way she’s looking at you, the way her breath catches for just a moment, has your carefully maintained armour slipping. You clench your fists to stop them from shaking.

“What have you done now Agatha? Have you stolen someone’s broomstick?”

Her smirk comes back, sharp and self-assured, like she’s trying to regain the upper hand. “If only it were that simple,” she says lightly, but there’s a tension in her jaw. “Let’s just say I’ve been accused of... dabbling.”

“Dabbling?” you echo, incredulous. “That’s likely one way to put it.”

“Careful,” she says, her voice dropping into something silkier, more dangerous. “You might hurt my feelings.”

Your laugh comes out more bitter than you intend. “Oh, I’m sure they’re well-protected under all that... dabbling.”

The others in the group exchange uneasy glances. Rio, ever the instigator, pipes up again, clearly loving the drama. “So... you two know each other?”

Neither of you answers, too locked in a silent, electric standoff. It’s Agatha who finally breaks the moment, turning to address the group, her voice dripping with the kind of theatrical charm only she can pull off. “Let’s just say we have history.” Her eyes flick back to you, and her tone turns pointed. “Though some of us are better at leaving the past where it belongs.”

Your lips part, sharp words ready to fire back, but you stop yourself. This isn’t the time, and you won’t let her get the better of you. Not again.

Instead, you tilt your head, levelling her with a look. “So, this trial. What’s the serious charge? Not just the accusations.”

Agatha hesitates, just for a moment. “They think I stole something.” Her tone is measured, but there’s a flicker of guilt—or defiance, maybe—in her eyes. “Power. Something I didn’t earn.”

You cross your arms. “And did you?”

Her jaw tightens, and for a second, she looks like she might actually tell you the truth. Then she shrugs, her smirk slipping back into place. “Does it matter?”

“It does if you want to walk out of here alive.”

The air between you is thick with unspoken history, the weight of centuries hanging over every word. Agatha steps closer, lowering her voice so only you can hear. “You’ve always been good at seeing through me, haven’t you?”

You swallow hard, hating the way her words make your chest tighten. “Don’t flatter yourself,” you say, stepping back just enough to reestablish your ground. “I just know your type.”

She chuckles, soft and low. “Oh, sweetheart. You’ve always known me. That’s what made you dangerous.”

Her words hit a nerve, and you hate that she knows it. She’s always been good at that—finding your cracks and slipping through them like smoke. But this time, you won’t let her.

Before you can respond, Rio claps their hands, breaking the tension. “This is all very riveting, but shouldn’t we, I don’t know, do something? Trials, consequences, accusations—ringing any bells?”

Agatha’s gaze snaps to Rio, her smile vanishing in an instant. “Stay out of it,” she says sharply, her voice like ice.

But as much as you want to stay angry, to keep your walls firmly in place, there’s something in her eyes when she looks back at you—a flicker of vulnerability, of something real—that shakes you.

“Why am I here, Agatha?” you ask quietly.

She hesitates, her confidence faltering for just a moment. “I didn’t bring you here,” she says. “But... maybe the road thought I needed a reminder.”

“A reminder of what?”

Her gaze softens, and for a second, it’s like you’re back in Salem, two young witches on the brink of something extraordinary. She opens her mouth, but the words don’t come.

Instead, she steps back, her expression hardening again. “You’ll see soon enough,” she says, her tone deliberately flippant. “Just try not to get in my way, darling.”

You narrow your eyes, but there’s no time to respond.

The ground beneath your feet rumbles—a low, ominous vibration that sends chills up your spine. The witches’ road is alive, its energies twisting and pulling, urging the trial forward. Around you, the air grows thick with power, sharp and unrelenting, and the others in the group exchange uneasy glances.

Agatha stands still, her gaze fixed on you, as though the trial itself is secondary to the unfinished business crackling between you. But her expression hardens when the light around you shifts—a brilliant blue glow forming a circle in the center of the road.

"Right on cue," Agatha mutters under her breath. She turns to the group, her sharp tone carrying authority, even here. "Stay behind me. All of you."

"Why would we do that?" Rio asks with a smirk, stepping closer to the circle. "You’re the one on trial, remember?"

Before Agatha can snap back, the blue glow bursts upward, spiralling into a towering column of light. From its core, shapes begin to emerge—silhouettes, shifting and indistinct at first, but then solidifying into forms you recognise all too well. Witches, cloaked and severe, their eyes glowing with unnatural light. The Coven.

“Agatha Harkness,” one of them speaks, their voice cold and resonant. “You stand accused of theft, treachery, and the violation of sacred laws.”

Agatha lifts her chin, the picture of defiance, but you catch the way her fingers twitch at her sides, the slight clenching of her jaw. “Well, don’t hold back,” she says, her voice dripping with sarcasm. “Tell me how you really feel.”

The Coven doesn’t react, their collective gaze shifting past her—to you. The intensity of their focus sends a shiver through you, but you don’t flinch. You know better than to show weakness here.

“Who dares to stand beside the accused?” another witch asks, their glowing eyes narrowing.

“She doesn’t belong here,” Agatha says quickly, stepping in front of you. “This trial has nothing to do with her.”

“Is that so?” The lead witch tilts her head, studying you with unnerving precision. “And yet, the road brought her here. Why?”

You meet the witch’s gaze, refusing to let the weight of her scrutiny drag you down. “I’d like to know that myself,” you say coolly. “But whatever this is, I’m not here to play spectator.”

Agatha casts you a sharp look, her eyes flashing with something between irritation and concern. “You don’t know what you’re talking about,” she hisses.

“Then enlighten me,” you snap back, your patience wearing thin. “Or is keeping secrets still your favourite game?”

“Enough,” the lead witch commands, her voice cutting through the tension. The others fall silent, their glowing eyes shifting back to Agatha. “The accused will answer for her actions.”

“Gladly,” Agatha says, folding her arms. “But let’s be clear—I didn’t steal anything. I earned that power.”

The lead witch’s gaze sharpens. “You twisted ancient magic for your own gain, defied the natural order, and corrupted forces beyond your comprehension. Not to mention murdered hundreds. You are a danger to all witches.”

“Funny,” Agatha retorts, her voice venomous. “I seem to recall you trying to kill me for simply being too powerful. Guess some things never change.”

The Coven bristles, their forms glowing brighter, but before they can respond, the road itself shifts again. The ground beneath you ripples, and for a moment, you’re weightless—floating in the charged air. When you land, the circle of light has expanded, now encompassing you, Agatha, and the Coven.

You glare at her, your frustration boiling over. “What exactly did you do, Agatha?”

Her eyes flicker to you, something almost apologetic flashing across her face before she buries it under her usual mask. “It’s complicated.”

“It always is with you,” you bite back.

Agatha opens her mouth to respond, but the lead witch cuts her off. “The accused is bound to the truth. Let us see if her lies can survive the light.”

At her words, the blue glow intensifies, and the trial begins in earnest. The road reacts violently, pulling memories and illusions from the air—scenes of Agatha’s past swirling like a storm around you. Her betrayal of the Salem Coven. Her hunger for forbidden power. Her darkest moments laid bare.

But then the images shift—scenes you recognise. A younger Agatha, laughing beside you in the moonlight. The two of you whispering secrets, planning your escape. The night she left you, her face a mask of regret as she vanished into the darkness.

Your breath catches, and Agatha’s head snaps toward you, her expression unreadable.

The Coven doesn’t miss the exchange. “Ah,” the lead witch says, a cruel smile curling her lips. “Perhaps the accused’s greatest crime is not against magic, but against the heart.”

Agatha’s face hardens, but there’s a flicker of vulnerability in her eyes as she turns to you. “Don’t let them twist this,” she says, her voice low and urgent. “You know me better than anyone.”

You take a step closer, your anger warring with the pull of old, buried feelings. “Do I? Because the Agatha I knew wouldn’t have dragged me into her mess.”

“I didn’t!” she snaps, the crack in her composure widening. “But if I had... maybe I should’ve. Maybe you’re the only one who can—” She cuts herself off, looking away.

The Coven watches, their glowing eyes unrelenting. “Speak your truth, Agatha Harkness,” the lead witch commands. “If you can.”

You don’t know what’s worse—the thought that she’s hiding something from you, or the thought that she’s telling the truth and you’re still tied to her, even now. Either way, you’re not letting this end without answers.

“Start talking,” you say, your voice sharp but steady. “Because if you want me to trust you, Agatha, you’d better earn it.”

Agatha remains silent, though her eyes are pleading. The road trembles beneath you, the Coven's chanting growing louder, more insistent. The blue light twists and contorts, creating shadows that dance around you and Agatha. You’re too close to her now, her presence almost overwhelming in its familiarity. After all this time, she’s still the same—still sharp, guarded, impossible. And yet, beneath it all, she’s still her

You steal a glance at her, and for a moment, you see a crack in her defenses. The weight of the trial, the memories, the raw, unspoken tension between you—it’s all there, etched across her face. But she’s too proud to acknowledge it, even now.

“You’re scared,” you say, your voice low enough that only she can hear.

Agatha’s gaze snaps to yours, her eyes narrowing. “Of them?” she asks, gesturing toward the Coven with a sardonic smirk. “Please.”

You hold her gaze, refusing to let her deflect. “Not of them. Of me. Of us.”

Her smirk falters, just for a moment, and you know you’ve hit a nerve. She takes a step back, but you follow, unwilling to let her retreat this time.

“I’m not scared,” she says, but her voice lacks its usual bite.

“Liar,” you counter, your tone soft but unrelenting. “You’ve always been terrified of letting anyone in. Of letting me in.”

Agatha opens her mouth to respond, but the Coven’s chanting suddenly shifts, the words growing sharper, more pointed. The blue light swirls between the two of you, pulling at the air, at your magic, at your connection . The Coven has sensed it—the bond that could’ve been, the bond you once wanted more than anything.

“You thought about it,” you say, stepping closer. “All those years ago. You wanted it, too.”

“Stop,” she snaps, her voice cracking slightly, her control slipping.

“You left because you couldn’t handle it,” you press on. “Because you were too afraid to open yourself up. To share everything—your power, your heart, your soul.”

“I said stop,” she hisses, but she doesn’t move away.

The blue light flares between you, the energy shifting, bending, until it forms a thread, a thin, shimmering line connecting the two of you. The sight of it makes your breath catch in your throat. It’s the bond, raw and unfinished, still lingering after all this time.

Agatha stares at it, her face pale, her usual confidence nowhere to be found. “It’s not real,” she says, her voice almost desperate. “It’s just the trial, just a trick.”

“You don’t believe that,” you say quietly.

The thread pulses, glowing brighter, and you can feel it now- the pull of her soul, of her essence, intertwining with your own. It’s intoxicating and terrifying all at once, and you can see the same war playing out in Agatha’s eyes.

The Coven speaks again, their voices cold and cutting. “The bond remains unfinished. A betrayal of magic, a betrayal of trust. It is a wound that festers, unresolved.”

Agatha clenches her fists, her gaze snapping to the lead witch. “This has nothing to do with them,” she says, her voice shaking with anger. “You’re trying to twist this into something it’s not.”

The lead witch tilts her head, her glowing eyes boring into Agatha. “The trial reveals truth. Nothing more, nothing less.” Her gaze shifts to you, and her next words are deliberate, cruel. “Perhaps the accused should explain why she ran. Why she rejected the bond when it was freely offered.”

Agatha flinches, and you feel the thread between you tremble. For a moment, you think she’s going to lash out, to fight, but instead, she turns to you, her expression raw and unguarded in a way you’ve never seen before.

“I didn’t run because I didn’t want it,” she says, her voice barely above a whisper. “I ran because I wanted it too much.”

Her words hit you like a tidal wave, and for a moment, you can’t breathe.

“I knew what bonding meant,” she continues, her eyes locking onto yours. “It would’ve made us... tied in ways I couldn’t undo. And I couldn’t let myself—” She cuts herself off, shaking her head. “I thought I was protecting you. Protecting-“ she cuts herself off and then, “But maybe... maybe I was just protecting myself.”

The thread glows brighter, the magic between you surging, and you can feel it now—her fear, her regret, her longing. It’s all there, laid bare, and for the first time, you see her for who she truly is.

“You didn’t need to protect me,” you say, your voice steady. “I was ready, Agatha. I’ve always been ready. But you never gave us a chance.”

Her lips part, but before she can respond, the Coven’s chanting rises to a fever pitch. The thread between you stretches and trembles, the energy reaching a breaking point.

“You must choose,” the lead witch says, her voice cutting through the chaos. “Complete the bond, or sever it forever. There is no more middle ground.”

Agatha’s eyes widen, panic flashing across her face. She looks at you, her composure crumbling, and for the first time, she seems truly vulnerable.

“Don’t let them force this,” she says, her voice trembling. “Not like this.”

The glow of the thread between you pulses, trembling like a fragile lifeline. The Coven’s chanting grows louder, demanding resolution, pushing you both to a precipice. Agatha’s eyes dart between the shimmering connection and your face. You can see the fear in her eyes, the weight of her indecision pressing down like a storm.

“Choose, Agatha Harkness,” the lead witch demands. “Complete the bond, or sever it forever.”

Agatha’s hand hovers over yours, trembling. The vulnerability on her face is something you’ve never seen before, and it twists something deep inside you. For a moment, you think she might do it—reach out and let the bond fully take hold. But then her jaw sets, her gaze hardening.

“No,” she says sharply, yanking her hand back. The thread snaps violently, the energy spiralling outward like a scream. The sudden emptiness is immediate and gut-wrenching, leaving you gasping as if something vital has been ripped away.

Agatha steps back, her face pale, her hands clenched into fists. “I can’t,” she whispers, her voice brittle. “I won’t.”

The lead witch smiles coldly. “So be it.”

The thread between you vanishes, and the road trembles again, this time more violently. The energy shifts, the air growing heavy with the finality of her decision. You feel the hollow space where the bond once was, an ache that settles deep in your chest. It’s unbearable, and when you meet Agatha’s eyes, you see that she feels it too.

Her face twists with something you’ve rarely seen from her: regret.

“Wait,” she breathes, but the Coven’s chanting drowns her out. The blue light around you sharpens, cutting like a blade, and you can feel the road enforcing her choice, solidifying the severance.

“Agatha,” you say, your voice raw, stepping toward her. “Don’t do this. Don’t—”

“I already have,” she interrupts, her voice breaking as she turns away from you. “It’s done.”

But even as she says it, her steps falter. Her hand rises to her chest, where the bond once pulsed with life. Her expression crumples, the emptiness hitting her like a physical blow. She gasps, clutching at the air as if she could pull it back, undo the severance.

The lead witch tilts her head, her voice cutting like a knife. “Feeling the emptiness already, Agatha Harkness? Such is the price of fear.”

Agatha spins back to face them, her mask of confidence shattering completely. “Bring it back,” she says, her voice hoarse. “I’ll do it. I’ll—”

“Impossible,” the lead witch says coolly. “You made your choice.”

“No!” Agatha snaps, desperation lacing her words. She looks at you, her eyes wide and pleading. “I—I didn’t mean it. I can fix it. Just—” She turns back to the Coven. “Just let me fix it.”

The lead witch’s gaze is unforgiving. “The road answers only once. To sever a bond is to sever it forever. That is the law.”

Agatha shakes her head violently. “No. That’s not—no!” Her voice cracks, and for a moment, she looks like she might collapse under the weight of her mistake.

You step forward, your own pain mingling with hers. “There has to be a way,” you say, your voice steady despite the ache in your chest. “You can’t leave it like this.”

The Coven is silent for a long moment, their glowing eyes unreadable. Finally, the lead witch speaks. “There is one way, but it requires both souls to agree. And the cost will not be light.”

Agatha’s gaze snaps to you, her eyes searching yours. For the first time, there’s no deflection, no bravado just raw, unfiltered need. “Please,” she says, her voice barely above a whisper. “Please.”

You take a breath, the pain of the severed bond still fresh and raw. You should walk away. You should let her feel the consequences of her choice. But you can’t. You’ve never been able to. And now hearing her beg? You fear you’d do anything she asked.

“Fine,” you say, stepping forward. “What do we have to do?”

The lead witch smiles faintly, as if this is what she wanted all along. “Rekindling a severed bond requires sacrifice. Magic, power... a piece of the soul itself. Are you willing?”

You don’t hesitate. “Yes.”

Agatha looks at you, her eyes filled with both gratitude and guilt. “You shouldn’t have to do this,” she says softly. “Not after what I—”

“Then don’t make me regret it,” you interrupt, your voice firm.

She swallows hard, nodding. “I won’t.”

The Coven begins chanting again, the air growing thick with magic. The blue light spirals around you and Agatha, pulling you closer together. This time, the bond doesn’t form gently—it crashes into you, fierce and unrelenting, flooding every part of you with her essence. You feel her fear, her regret, her longing—all of it laid bare. And she feels you, your unwavering determination, your pain, your love.

The connection is deeper than it was before, forged not just from desire but from sacrifice. When the light fades, you’re left standing face to face, your souls intertwined in a way that can never be undone.

Agatha exhales shakily, as if the bond settling between you is more weight than she expected. Her gaze flickers over your face, searching for something—maybe forgiveness, maybe reassurance. You give her neither, not yet. She’s made too many mistakes for things to be that simple. But you can’t deny the way the bond thrums, anchoring you to her in a way that’s both exhilarating and terrifying.

The road quakes beneath you again, the energy of the trial still humming in the air. The Coven watches silently, their glowing eyes unreadable, as if they’re waiting for the next move.

Agatha takes a tentative step closer, her voice low. “How does it feel?” she asks, her words almost hesitant. “Having me in your head again.”

You let the question hang for a moment, savouring the way it makes her squirm. “Heavy,” you finally say, your tone sharper than you intended. “But that’s no surprise, is it? You’ve always been a lot to handle.”

Her lips quirk into a faint smirk, the familiar spark of defiance flaring in her eyes. “And yet, here you are. Handling me.”

You roll your eyes, but you don’t move away. The bond hums in agreement, pulling you closer even as you try to keep your distance. “Don’t push your luck, Agatha,” you warn. “This doesn’t mean I’ve forgiven you.”

Her smirk fades, replaced by something quieter, more vulnerable. “I know,” she says softly. “But it’s a start.”

Before you can respond, the lead witch steps forward, her presence as cold and imposing as ever. “The bond is reforged,” she announces, her voice echoing through the space. “But it does not absolve you, Agatha Harkness. This trial is far from over.”

Agatha straightens, her bravado snapping back into place like armour. “Of course it isn’t,” she says, her tone laced with sarcasm. “Wouldn’t want to make things too easy.”

The lead witch doesn’t react to the quip, her gaze sharp and unyielding. “The bond may strengthen you, but it also binds you. Your fates are now intertwined. Should one of you fall, the other will follow.”

You glance at Agatha, and for the first time, you see genuine fear flicker across her face. “What does that mean?” you ask, your voice steady but firm.

“It means,” the lead witch says, “that the bond is both your greatest power and your greatest vulnerability. Use it wisely—or perish together.”

The words hang heavy in the air, and you feel the weight of them settle into your chest. Agatha glances at you, and you can tell she’s thinking the same thing: what have we just done?

“Fine,” Agatha says finally, her voice tight. “What’s next? Another test? Another round of judgment?”

The lead witch’s lips curl into a faint smile, but there’s no warmth in it. “You think this is a game, Harkness. But the road has already given you its answer. The only question now is whether you’re strong enough to face what comes next.”

The ground beneath you shifts again, and you feel the magic of the road pulling you deeper into its grip. Agatha reaches for you instinctively, her hand brushing against yours. The bond flares at the contact, filling you with a rush of her emotions.

Fear. Regret. Determination. And something else, buried deep, that feels almost like hope.

One again the road surges to life around you, swallowing the quiet moment between you and Agatha. The blue glow deepens, swirling with flecks of violet and gold, and the air feels like it’s being pulled apart. You grip her hand tighter, instinctively bracing yourself, and she doesn’t pull away.

The lead witch raises a hand, silencing the murmuring Coven. Her gaze fixes on the two of you like a blade about to strike. “The reforged bond is only the beginning. What lies ahead will test the strength of your connection—and the truth of your intentions.”

Agatha scoffs, though the sound is weaker than usual. “Another vague warning? How original.”

The lead witch’s smile is razor-thin. “The road reveals what is hidden. It will force you to confront the past you thought buried—and the consequences of choices you’ve both made.”

You glance at Agatha, whose jaw tightens. She’s always been so good at hiding what she’s feeling, but the bond makes that impossible for her now, you wonder if she knew that.

Before you can press her, the ground beneath you crumbles. The Coven’s chanting rises into a deafening crescendo as the two of you are plunged into a swirling abyss of light and shadow. Xx

When the world solidifies again, you’re standing in a dimly lit forest. The air is heavy with the scent of earth and moss, and the moon hangs low in the sky, casting everything in an eerie silver light. The road is gone, as is the Coven. It’s just you and Agatha now.

You turn to her, your heart still racing. “Where are we?”

Agatha looks around, her expression unreadable. “This… this is Salem,” she says quietly. “But not the Salem we knew. It’s different.”

The forest feels alive, the trees whispering secrets you can’t quite make out. The bond hums in your chest, tugging at something deeper, and you know without needing to ask: this place isn’t real. It’s a manifestation. A memory.

“Why would the road bring us here?” you ask, though the answer is already forming in the back of your mind.

Agatha’s lips press into a thin line. “Because it’s cruel,” she mutters. “And it knows where to hurt.”

A sound echoes through the forest—laughter, high and clear, cutting through the silence like a blade. Your stomach twists as you recognise it.

It’s her.

Your younger self steps into the clearing, a vision pulled straight from your memories. She’s vibrant, her eyes bright with hope, her laughter filling the air. And beside her, laughing just as freely, is Agatha.

The sight punches the air from your lungs. You can feel the echoes of that time through the bond—the joy, the connection, the longing that neither of you dared to name.

Agatha stares at the scene, her face pale. “Why are they showing us this?” she whispers.

“You know why,” you say, your voice low. “Because this is where it all started.”

The memory shifts, darkening at the edges. The laughter fades, replaced by tense whispers. The younger version of you steps closer to Agatha, her expression vulnerable, open.

“I don’t want to run,” your younger self says, her voice trembling. “I want to stay. I want to bond with you, Agatha. I—”

“Stop,” the real Agatha mutters, her voice tight.

But the memory plays on. Younger Agatha’s face twists, fear flashing in her eyes. She steps back, shaking her head. “No,” she says, her voice sharp and final. “We can’t. I won’t.”

“Why?” your younger self pleads.

“Because you deserve better than me!” Memory Agatha snaps, her voice cracking, before you hear her internal voice, one that’s truly broken and screaming out in fear “Because I’ll ruin you. Don’t you see that? I ruin everything I touch.”

The words hit like a physical blow, and you see the real Agatha flinch beside you. The memory fades, leaving the clearing silent once more.

You turn to her, your chest tight with emotion. “That’s why you left?” you ask, your voice raw. “Because you thought you’d ruin me?”

Agatha doesn’t meet your eyes. “It doesn’t matter,” she says quietly. “I did ruin you, didn’t I? I left, and you—”

“Don’t,” you interrupt, your voice sharper than you intended. “Don’t turn this into a pity party, Agatha. You don’t get to decide what I deserved. That was my choice to make.”

Her head snaps up, her eyes flashing with something between anger and pain. “And look where your choice got us,” she spits. “Centuries apart, and now we’re tied together because of this damned road. Is that what you wanted? To be stuck with me forever?”

The bond flares at her words, the tension between you sparking like a live wire. You take a step closer, your voice steady but furious. “What I wanted,” you say, “was for you to trust me. To trust that we could’ve been something more. But you ran because you were too scared to face that.”

Agatha glares at you, but her shoulders sag, the fight draining out of her. “You think I don’t regret it?” she says, her voice breaking. “I’ve regretted it every single day. But I thought... I thought it was better this way. Safer. For both of us.”

“Safer?” you echo bitterly. “Do I look like someone who needed to be saved from you?”

The air between you crackles with magic, the bond pulling tighter as your emotions clash and collide. You can feel her guilt, her longing, her fear—and beneath it all, her love. It’s raw and messy and imperfect, but it’s there, undeniable.

You’re about to say something before the forest grows darker, shadows stretching long and deep as the memory shifts again. You brace yourself, but nothing could prepare you for what the road dredges up next.

The scene crystallises around you: a small, dimly lit room with a single cracked mirror leaning against the wall. The air feels stifling, heavy with pain and desperation. It’s familiar—achingly so. This is where you went the night after Agatha left.

Agatha stands frozen beside you, her breath catching as she takes in the sight of you from centuries ago. Your younger self sits hunched on the floor, trembling, clutching a flickering ball of magic in your hands. The light glows faintly pink, pulsing in time with your heartbeat, but it’s unstable, wavering with every shaky breath you take.

“No,” Agatha whispers, stepping toward the memory as if she can change it. “No, no, no—what are you doing?”

But the memory unfolds without mercy.

Your younger self mutters under her breath, an incantation so jagged and broken it sounds like a dirge. The magic in your hands sparks violently, surging outward before collapsing back in on itself.

“Take it away,” your memory-self says, her voice cracking. “Take it all away. I don’t want it anymore.”

You remember the feeling all too well—the suffocating pain, the emptiness that threatened to swallow you whole. The bond you’d started to forge with Agatha had been severed, but not cleanly. It had left jagged edges, a wound that pulsed with every beat of your heart. You’d thought if you could rid yourself of your magic, you’d be free of her—free of the ache she left behind.

“Stop,” Agatha says aloud, her voice trembling. She reaches for the image of you, but her hand passes through it like smoke. She turns to you, her eyes wide and desperate. “Why didn’t you tell me? Why didn’t you—”

“Because you weren’t there,”, the hurt in your voice cutting through the air like a blade. “You left, Agatha. I was alone.”

The younger you falters, tears streaming down her face. “I can’t do this,” she sobs, gripping the magic tighter. “I can’t feel her anymore. I can’t—”

The incantation grows louder, your magic swirling around you like a storm. It’s unstable, laced with anger and grief, threatening to implode. And for a moment, it feels like it will work—like you’ll succeed in ripping away the part of you that still clings to her.

But the spell breaks, shattering like glass, and the magic snaps back into you with a force that knocks your younger self to the ground. You cry out, curling into yourself as the bond—though faint and fractured—reasserts itself. It’s agony, the connection too stubborn to let go completely, no matter how much you tried to destroy it.

The memory fades, leaving the clearing eerily silent. Agatha stands rooted in place, her face pale and stricken. You can feel the weight of her guilt through the bond, heavier than ever, pressing into you like a physical thing.

“You tried to... take your magic away?” she asks, her voice barely above a whisper. “Because of me?”

“Yes,” you say, your tone flat. “And I failed. Just like I failed to let you go.”

Her lips part, but no words come out. She looks at you like she’s seeing you for the first time, the full scope of what she did to you finally crashing down on her. “I didn’t know,” she says weakly. “I didn’t—”

“Of course you didn’t,” you cut her off. “You ran, Agatha. You made your choice, and you didn’t look back.”

Her shoulders slump, her walls crumbling entirely. “I thought I was protecting you,” she says, her voice trembling. “I thought... if I stayed, I’d only hurt you more.”

“Well, congratulations,” you say bitterly. “You hurt me anyway.”

The bond flares between you, sharp and raw with the weight of her regret and your lingering anger. Agatha flinches, her hand rising to her chest as if she can feel the ache directly.

“I was a coward,” she admits, her voice breaking. “I was so afraid of what the bond meant—what it would do to me. To us. I thought if I left, it would be easier for both of us.” She meets your eyes, and for once, there’s no deflection, no sarcasm. Just honesty. “I didn’t know it would be worse.”

You take a shaky breath, the pain of the memory still fresh. “I didn’t want it to hurt anymore,” you say quietly. “But it never stopped. Not for centuries.”

Agatha steps closer, her hand hovering near yours. “I don’t know how to make it right,” she says, her voice soft and unsteady. “But if you’ll let me, I’ll try. I’ll spend the rest of eternity trying.”

You study her face, the vulnerability in her expression. The bond hums between you, not as sharp as before, but still raw and unsteady. You don’t trust her—not completely. But for the first time in centuries, you feel something else beneath the anger: the faintest flicker of hope.

“Don’t make promises you can’t keep,” you say, your voice softer than before.

Agatha’s lips quirk into a faint, rueful smile. “I won’t,” she says. “Not this time.”

You take a deep breath, and you nod as you both start to walk, looking away from her, your eyes taking in the trees around you both, the silence that is only broken by crickets and your feet on fallen leaves every now and again.

The mist clings to you both like a second skin as the silence stretches, weighted and tense. The bond hums faintly between you, but there’s a strange hollowness to it, a missing note that makes your chest ache. It takes you a while to place it, but the realisation creeps up on you slowly, like a shadow in the corner of your mind.

You glance at Agatha. She’s walking beside you, her shoulders squared in that way that screams she’s unbreakable a lie she’s always told herself. But there’s something missing. Something that isn’t just her sharp-edged confidence.

You stop walking. “Agatha,” you say, your voice cautious but firm. “Your magic.”

She freezes, her back going rigid. Slowly, she turns to face you, her expression carefully neutral, but the bond betrays her. You feel her shame and frustration ripple through it, sharp and unsteady.

“What about it?” she asks, her voice brittle.

“It’s not there,” you say, your tone softer now. “Not the way it used to be. What happened to it?”

She looks away, her jaw clenching. “It’s not important.”

“It is to me,” you counter, stepping closer. “You’ve been hiding this from me, Agatha. Why? What happened?”

Her silence stretches too long, and for a moment, you think she won’t answer. Then, finally, she exhales sharply, her eyes dark with something raw and vulnerable.

“Wanda happened,” she says bitterly. “Westview, she stripped me of everything. My magic, my power—she left me with nothing but a body and a few clever words.”

Your heart stutters. “She took everything?”

“Yes,” Agatha snaps, her voice laced with frustration. “I can’t even light a damn candle without the bond. Do you have any idea how humiliating it is to be this?” She gestures at herself angrily. “This hollow shell of what I used to be?”

Her words hang between you, her anger bleeding into the bond. But underneath it, you feel the deeper truth: the helplessness, the fear, the grief of losing something so integral to who she is.

“Agatha,” you start, but she cuts you off, her voice sharp and bitter.

“Don’t,” she says. “Don’t give me some speech about how I’m more than my magic or how I’ll be fine. You don’t understand what it’s like—how empty it feels.”

Your chest tightens, the weight of her pain pressing against you through the bond. And suddenly, you do understand. The absence of her magic isn’t just a loss of power—it’s a loss of self, a wound that’s been festering since Westview.

“I wasn’t going to say that,” you say quietly. “But you’re right. I don’t understand what it’s like to lose magic. I don’t understand how it feels for you. But I can feel it, Agatha. Through the bond. And it hurts.”

Her eyes snap to yours, her expression faltering.

“I feel the emptiness, the hollowness,” you continue. “And I don’t want to feel it anymore. I don’t want you to feel it anymore.”

Her laugh is short and bitter. “Well, unless you’re planning on storming Westview I don’t see what you can do about it.”

You hesitate, the reckless idea forming in your mind. The bond between you hums faintly, and you realise there might be a way to fix this—or at least try.

“I can’t get Wanda to undo it,” you say slowly. “But I can give you something else. My magic.”

Agatha freezes, her expression unreadable. “What?”

“You heard me,” you say. “I can share my magic with you. Just enough to—”

“No,” she says sharply, taking a step back. “Absolutely not. That’s reckless and stupid, even for you.”

“You need magic to be whole again, Agatha,” you argue. “And we have the bond. It’s not just a connection—it’s a tether. If anyone can do this, it’s us.”

“You don’t know that,” she snaps, her voice trembling. “You could hurt yourself. Or me. Or worse, you could sever the bond completely. Have you thought about that?”

“I have,” you say, your voice steady. “And after realising what you’re feeling through our bond I’m willing to take that risk.”

Her anger falters, replaced by something softer—something closer to fear. “Why?” she asks, her voice quieter now. “Why would you do that for me?”

You step closer, your gaze locking with hers. “Because I feel you, Agatha. I’ve felt you for centuries, even when I didn’t want to. And I can’t stand feeling you like this anymore. I can’t stand seeing you like this.”

Her eyes shine with unshed tears, and for a moment, she looks like she might argue again. But then she nods, her hands trembling at her sides.

“Fine,” she whispers. “But if this goes wrong we’re both dead…”

“It won’t,” you say firmly. “Trust me.”

You reach for her hand, your fingers brushing hers lightly. The bond flares at the contact, and Agatha inhales sharply, her magic—or what’s left of it—stirring faintly in response.

You close your eyes, focusing on the bond and the magic coursing through you. You channel it carefully, letting it flow toward her like a steady stream. It’s not painless—the act feels like giving away pieces of yourself, leaving raw edges behind. But through the bond, you feel her presence grow stronger, her magic flickering to life like an ember reignited.

Agatha gasps softly, her grip on your hand tightening as the magic flows between you. When you finally stop, your knees feel weak, and the bond hums with a new warmth—a sense of balance that wasn’t there before.

You open your eyes to find her staring at you, her expression unreadable.

“How do you feel?” you ask, your voice barely above a whisper.

She hesitates, then says, “Stronger.”

A faint smile tugs at her lips, and before you can react, she steps closer, her cheek brushing against yours. The touch is soft, fleeting, but it sends a warmth through the bond that makes your breath catch. Her hand cups the back of your head and her other hand holds your lower back.

“Thank you,” she whispers, her voice thick with emotion.

You wrap your arms around her, exhaustion tugging at you. “Don’t make me regret it.”

She pulls back just enough to meet your eyes, her gaze steady. “I won’t.”

[meazalykov]

the past does not exist

lena oberdorf x interviewer!reader

summary: after a year, the both of you came to accept that you cannot change the past.

it was a job you loved—interviewing the best and brightest in women’s football, seeing the beauty and heartbreak of the sport that brought you so much love.. love for someone who never made it professionally. 

you had a thing for drawing out stories no one else could, peeling back the layers of the players' lives beyond the pitch.

it wasn’t just about asking the right questions; it was about knowing how to listen, being caring, and respect. through this job, you were able to make friends with many of the footballers.

you weren't a gossip interviewer, you knew what to post and when to keep your mouth closed and mind your business. mainly sticking to growth stories, interviews about games itself, and tactical commentary. the players respected you as much as you respected them.

when you stayed in wolfsburg during the 2023 champions league final, the town seemed excited for the team that shined throughout the season. the final was in eindhoven, but wolfsburg fans decked out in green and white as they prepared to cheer on their team against barcelona in the dutch city. 

for you, it was another opportunity to dig deeper into the lives of players, and the wolfsburg squad was nothing short of intriguing. to you, lena oberdorf stood out among them. she is a tough midfielder whose intensity on the pitch was matched only by her charm off it.

your first interview with lena was.. interesting to say the least. she leaned back in her chair, arms crossed casually, a mischievous glint in her eye as she teased you about the list of questions you had prepared. 

“come on, these can’t be all you’ve got!! be nosey for once,” she’d said, a grin tugging at the corner of her lips.

you laughed, adjusting your recorder on the table. 

“trust me, oberdorf, i’ve got plenty more where that came from.”

“good,” she said, leaning forward slightly. 

“i wouldn’t want this to be boring.”

what followed was a conversation that felt less like an interview and more like a sparring match. she was sharp, witty, and unapologetically confident. you couldn’t help but be drawn to her energy. over the next few days, lena sought you out whenever she could—whether it was a casual chat after training or a quiet drink in the team’s hotel bar. 

it was there, amid the low hum of conversation and the clinking of glasses, that your connection deepened.

one night, as the team celebrated their victory in the semifinals, lena pulled you aside. her usually playful demeanor was replaced by something softer, more vulnerable. 

“y/n.. i don’t know what it is about you,” she admitted, her voice low enough that only you could hear. 

“but i can’t stop thinking about you. you’re so beautiful, and i can’t stop hearing your voice. is that weird to say? i am not sure, but please tell me that this is not one sided..”

it didn’t take long for your professional boundaries to blur. you spent nights tangled in lena’s sheets, stolen moments in hotel rooms where the world outside ceased to exist. 

it wasn’t love, not at all, but it was something raw and undeniable. 

wolfsburg lost the champions league final, which sucked horribly. that means that you had your next job to do– the 2023 women's world cup. you were in australia, assigned to be following the uswnt as they sought to defend their title. 

that means that you couldn’t be with lena or germany. it sucked, but you and lena kept contact. until, germany’s shocking elimination in the group stage. it was a blow to lena and her teammates. 

when you texted her to check in, she didn’t respond. calls went unanswered, messages left on read. 

you understood that lena was hurting. the weight of expectations, the sting of disappointment, it was a lot for anyone to bear. however, her silence cut deep. you wanted to be there for her, to comfort her, but your job demanded your attention elsewhere. 

as much as it pained you, you told yourself to let it go. lena owed you nothing. you weren’t hers, and she wasn’t yours.

still, it hurt.

months passed, and you threw yourself into your work. you interviewed aitana bonmati after her world cup final heroics, sat down with leah williamson to talk about england’s near chance at winning it all, and made a documentary on the rise of young stars like lauren james, salma paralluelo, and trinity rodman. 

lena became a ghost in your life—a memory you tried not to revisit, though it lingered at the edges of your thoughts.

then, over a year later, the news broke: lena oberdorf is leaving wolfsburg for bayern. the transfer sent shockwaves through the football world, and as one of the leading journalists in women’s football, it was your job to cover it. 

except your coworker, matt, stepped in before you could even begin.

“i’ve got this one,” matt said casually, leaning against your desk. 

you looked up from your laptop, frowning.

“since when do you cover transfers? you only do injury status stuff..”

he shrugged. 

“since i know this one’s a little... complicated for you.”

“complicated?” you repeated, your tone sharper than you intended. 

matt raised an eyebrow, unbothered by your reaction. 

“look, everyone knows that you and oberdorf had... something. i’m just trying to make it easier for you.”

“i don’t need you to make it easier for me,” you snapped, though the tightening in your chest betrayed you. 

“i can handle it.”

“y/n,” judah, matt’s husband and your other coworker, spoke up, his voice softer. 

“you don’t have to prove anything. let matt take this one.”

you wanted to argue, to insist that you were fine, but the truth was, the thought of facing lena again—even from a professional distance—made your stomach churn. 

you hated that she still had this power over you, that the mere mention of her name could unravel the carefully constructed walls you’d built around yourself.

“fine,” you muttered, closing your laptop with more force than necessary. 

matt gave you a reassuring smile. “i’ll handle it, don’t worry.”

as he walked away, you leaned back in your chair, exhaling slowly. you told yourself it didn’t matter. lena was just another player, another story. you’d moved on. 

except, deep down, you knew that wasn’t entirely true.

paris had this summer’s energy with the olympics. the streets were alive with fans draped in flags from all over the world, and you were in your element, weaving through the chaos to chase stories that mattered. 

the united states had just played germany in the group stage, a tense match that ended in a 4-1 victory for the americans. the post-match adrenaline was palpable, and you had just wrapped up an interview with sophia smith. 

it was nice seeing one of your favorites again, sophia’s grin mirrored your own as she walked off toward her teammates to the dressing room, the tension of the match now replaced by joy.

you adjusted your microphone to turn it off. you turned to walk away, preparing to call it a day when you nearly collided with lea schüller. 

the blonde woman’s presence was commanding, her expression soft yet serious. you’ve interviewed her a long time ago while she still played for essen, but now she’s grown up. 

“oh, lea,” you said, recovering quickly. professionalism kicked in as you gestured toward the camera crew that was starting to pack up. 

“did you want to do a quick interview too? i can call them back.”

“no,” lea said quickly, shaking her head. her tone caught you off guard—there was a weight to it, something unsaid pressing at the edges. 

“i don’t want the cameras.”

your brow furrowed as you lowered your microphone and put it away in your bag. 

“are you okay? i mean, this is about the olympics, right? you should be focusing on that.”

“i am,” lea said, her voice steady but her gaze unwavering. 

“but this isn’t about the olympics. not entirely.”

you tilted your head, curiosity prickling at your skin. 

“then what is it about?”

lea hesitated, glancing around as if to make sure no one was listening. 

“can we just talk? no microphones, no cameras. just you and me.”

you hesitated. as much as you respected lea, this wasn’t normal protocol. the look in her eyes—earnest and almost pleading—nudged you to agree. 

“okay,” you said softly. 

“what’s on your mind?”

lea exhaled, the tension in her shoulders easing slightly. she stepped closer, lowering her voice. 

“i’m here to apologize. not for myself—but for obi.”

your heart skipped a beat at the mention of her name. you hadn’t spoken about obi in months, hadn’t even allowed yourself to think about her for fear of reopening old wounds. 

here it was, her name hanging in the air between you and lea like a ghost.

“apologize?” you echoed, keeping your tone neutral. 

“for what?”

lea shifted on her feet, clearly uncomfortable. “i know about you and lena. about... what you had.” she paused, watching your expression carefully. 

“she’s really sorry for how things ended. or—how they didn’t end, i guess. for ghosting you.”

you swallowed hard, your throat suddenly dry. 

“she told you about us?”

“she did, but honestly she didn’t have to,” lea said gently. 

“i’m her best friend. i noticed how different she was after you two stopped seeing eachother. she’s not great at dealing with her emotions, and back then...” lea trailed off, sighing. 

“she was going through a lot. losing the champions league final with wolfsburg hit her hard. then germany getting knocked out of the world cup? it was too much. and she didn’t know how to handle it. she shut everyone out, including you. shit, it took me a few weeks to get to her again.”

you wanted to look away, to shield yourself from the vulnerability of the moment, but lea’s gaze held you in place. the blonde’s words twisted something deep inside you—part anger, part sadness, part longing. 

“i get that she was struggling,” you said finally, your voice steadier than you felt. 

“but she could’ve said something. anything. instead, she just... disappeared.”

“i know,” lea said quickly. “and i’m not trying to make excuses for her. she knows she messed up. that’s why she asked me to talk to you since she can’t be here.”

you blinked, the weight of her words settling over you. 

“she asked you?”

lea nodded. 

“she wants you to know she’s sorry. she didn’t mean to hurt you but she also knows that an apology coming from me isn’t enough.”

you folded your arms across your chest, the defense mechanism almost automatic. “it’s not,” you admitted. 

“if she wants to apologize, she should tell me herself.”

lea’s expression softened, and she gave a small nod. 

“i understand and i think she does too, but she’s scared, y/n. scared you’ll never forgive her.”

you took a deep breath, willing yourself to stay composed. 

“i’m not saying i wouldn’t. but it has to come from her. not you.”

lea studied you for a moment, then offered a small smile. 

“honestly, you’re a good person, y/n. she doesn’t deserve you, but if she gets the chance to explain herself, i think you’ll see she’s been trying to be better.”

you didn’t respond right away. part of you wanted to dismiss the entire conversation, to pretend it didn’t matter anymore. the truth was, it did. lena still mattered, no matter how much you tried to convince yourself otherwise.

“thank you, lea,” you said finally, your voice quiet. 

“for telling me.”

lea smiled again, this time with a hint of relief. 

“of course. and for what it’s worth, i think she’ll reach out. she just needs to find the courage.”

as she walked away, you stood there, the noise of the olympic village fading into the background. you weren’t sure how to feel… relieved? angry? hopeful? 

it started innocently enough—moments stolen between interviews and training sessions, quiet conversations that lingered long after they ended. obi was magnetic by a vulnerability she rarely showed to anyoen except for you. 

she made you laugh when you least expected it. over time, those stolen moments grew into something deeper. the teasing smiles turned into lingering glances, and the casual touches—her hand brushing yours, her knee pressed against yours under the table—became harder to ignore. 

usually, you were able to keep your professionalism for footballers, but lena made you feel ways that you didn’t feel for a very long time until that spring of 2023.

for lena, you were different. she had always been wary of letting anyone get too close, but with you, it felt effortless. you asked about her family, her dreams, the books she read when she needed to escape the noise of the world. however, you asked because you wanted to know– not because you needed something new to write about for an article. 

obi, in turn, wanted to know everything about you—your favorite coffee order, the places you dreamed of visiting, the stories you carried behind your composed demeanor as an interviewer. it scared her how much she wanted to know, how much she wanted to keep you close.

the nights you spent together weren’t just about the sex, though that was undeniable. it was about the quiet moments after, when lena would trace lazy circles on your skin as you talked about nothing and everything. 

it was in the way she’d insist on walking you back to your room, even when it was out of her way, or how she’d send you random texts during the day—pictures of the sky, a meme she thought you’d find funny, a simple compliment. 

it wasn’t just hooking up, not to either of you, even if neither of you said the words out loud.

the semifinal was here a week after lea and you talked. the united states against germany, again. 

you adjusted the strap of your bag, walking alongside matt and judah as you made your way to the front-row seats reserved for the media.

matt was mid-story, animatedly describing america’s pre-match routine as he holds judah’s hand. you’re set to interview lindsey horan after the match. your media company is collaborating with the united states to put out a documentary if the united states win the olympics. a contrast to being eliminated from the world cup a year before. 

matt was talking when suddenly stopped in his tracks. his hand reached out to grab your arm, his eyes wide. “y/n,” he said, his voice dropping in volume.

“don’t freak out, but... is that who I think it is?”

you followed his gaze, and the world seemed to tilt for a moment. lena. sitting in the crowd just a few rows behind where your seats were, her presence as sharp and overwhelming as a gust of icy wind. 

she was next to lea, who was also sidelined due to injury, both of them out of action yet here to support their team. lena’s leg was propped slightly to accommodate the brace on her knee—a harsh reminder of her recent acl surgery. 

your breath caught in your throat as her eyes locked onto yours. there was a softness in her gaze, an unreadable mix of intrigue and something else that made your chest ache. she smiled lightly, not quite coy but just enough to make you feel unsteady. 

beside her, lea glanced your way and offered a small, sympathetic smile that only twisted the knot forming in your stomach. 

“shit,” you murmured under your breath, quickly looking away and focusing on the crowd in front of you. your heart raced, a thrum so loud you were sure matt and judah could hear it. 

“are you okay?” matt asked, his tone cautious, concerned. 

“fine,” you said quickly, your voice tight. 

“just wasn’t expecting—her.”

“do you want to switch seats?” judah offered, ever the considerate one.

“no,” you said, shaking your head even as your hands trembled slightly. 

“it’s fine. i’ll deal with it.”

it didn’t feel fine. it felt like your chest was caving in, the air around you charged with tension. lena wasn’t supposed to be here. she was supposed to be in germany, recovering. why was she here, in france, sitting just a few rows behind you? 

you made your way to your seat, determined to ignore the weight of her presence. matt and judah settled on the left side of you, chatting about the potential lineup changes for both teams. its 0-0 in the 40th minute and its clear that both teams might need changes. you nodded along absently, your thoughts spinning in a dozen directions. you glanced at the pitch, and latched onto lindsey horan’s familiar figure. you reminded yourself that you were here for a reason. lindsey. you had a job to do.

it was impossible to shake the sensation that someone is looking at you. it crawled along your skin, pulling your attention until you couldn’t resist. you turned your head slightly, your gaze flicking over your shoulder—and there she was.

lena.

she wasn’t watching the game. the german’s eyes were on you, unflinching and intent, as if she were trying to read your every move. obi’s expression wasn’t smug or teasing; it was quieter than that, almost searching. 

beside her, lea was fully immersed in the match, cheering loudly as the germans pushed forward. however, lena’s focus was solely on you.

your stomach flipped, and you whipped your head back around, your pulse thundering in your ears. you clenched your hands into fists in your lap, willing yourself to calm down. the last thing you needed was to let lena see how much she still affected you. 

“she’s looking at you, isn’t she?” judah’s leaned in, his voice feminine but low enough that only you could hear.

you didn’t trust yourself to speak, so you just nodded slightly. judah sighed, his tone softening. 

“forget that she’s even there.”

easy for him to say. judah didn’t have the weight of months of unspoken words and unresolved feelings sitting just four rows behind him. of course he didn’t, neither judah or matt understood lesbian relationships.. or situationships. the married couple didn’t have to confront the ache of seeing someone who had disappeared from their lives without explanation.

you tried to watch the game and it worked for a while. as the minutes ticked by, you couldn’t help but wonder if this moment, this game, this crowd, was lena’s way of trying to find her way back into your life.

it was. 

the americans kicked out germany to secure their place in the gold or silver medal match as germany will fight spain for the bronze medal. you finished your interview with lindsey in record time. it helped that she was a close friend, making the questions flow naturally. 

after the camera crew packed up and moved away, lindsey squeezed your shoulder affectionately. 

“good luck with... whatever’s on your mind,” she said, her knowing smile hinting that she’d picked up on your unease before and after the interview. before you could respond, she jogged off to join her celebrating teammates, leaving you standing alone at the edge of the media zone.

then, you saw her.

lena was on crutches, moving slowly through the thinning crowd. the brace on her leg was unmistakable, but it was her eyes that made your chest tighten. she was looking right at you, determined, like she’d already decided this conversation was going to happen whether you wanted it to or not. 

you froze. part of you wanted to turn and walk away before she reached you. however, your feet could not move. your pulse quickened as she stopped in front of you, her presence commanding despite the vulnerability of her injury. 

“hi,” she said softly, her voice carrying an unfamiliar mix of nervousness and resolve.

you nodded, keeping your tone professional. 

“hi, lena. how’s the leg?”

her lips curved into a small smile, though it didn’t quite reach her eyes. 

“it’s... getting there. rehab’s gonna be tough, but i’m managing.” 

you nodded again, the words sticking in your throat. 

“that’s good. um, do you want to—”

“no,” lena interrupted, her voice firm but not unkind. 

“don’t do that, y/n. don’t skip around what happened. we can’t just act like it didn’t exist.”

you blinked, caught off guard by her directness. 

“lena, i don’t think—”

“please,” she cut in, her tone softening as she adjusted her crutches to steady herself. 

“let me talk.”

you swallowed hard, nodding. she took a deep breath, her gaze unwavering as she began.

“i messed up,” she said, her voice low but steady.

“last summer... after the champions league final and the world cup, i was in a bad place. i felt like i’d failed at everything that mattered—my team, my country, my family, and you.” she paused, her brows knitting together. 

“i was embarrassed. i didn’t know how to face you because i thought you deserved better than the mess i was. so, i ran and that was the worst thing i could’ve done.”

obi’s words hit you like a wave, stirring up emotions you’d worked hard to bury. you opened your mouth to speak, but lena pressed on.

“i thought i needed space,” she continued. “and maybe i did, but i didn’t realize what i was losing until it was too late. until you were gone. and i’ve missed you, y/n. every day. not just what we had, but you. your laugh, the way you understood me even when i couldn’t find the words.” she paused, her voice catching. 

“i haven’t forgotten about you. not for one day.”

you looked away, trying to steady your breathing. “lena,” you began, your voice shaky. 

“do you have any idea how much that hurt? you just... disappeared. no explanation, no goodbye. i thought—i thought i didn’t matter to you.”

“you mattered,” she said quickly, her voice firm. 

“you still matter. i know i hurt you, and i’ll never forgive myself for that. but i’m here now, and i’m asking... can we start over? i have so much time on my hands now with this injury. time to make it right, if you’ll let me.”

you hesitated, the weight of her words settling over you. “maybe you should focus on your recovery,” you said finally, your tone careful. “that’s what’s most important right now.”

lena nodded, her expression serious. 

“i am. my therapist said part of my recovery is being honest with myself though and the truth is, i want you back in my life. not just as something casual. i want us to be official, when the time is right.”

obi’s words hung in the air, and for a moment, neither of you spoke. then, you nodded slowly. 

“i’ll be in munich when bayern plays their first champions league match,” you said, your voice barely above a whisper. 

“we’ll see where things stand then.”

lena’s face broke into a smile—genuine, relieved, and filled with something you hadn’t seen in her for a long time: hope. “okay,” she said softly. “okay.”

she stepped closer, leaning down slightly despite the crutches to pull you into a hug. her arms wrapped around you tightly, and you felt her press a small, lingering kiss to the side of your head. it was grounding, familiar in a way that made your chest ache.

as she pulled back, she met your eyes again. “you can stay at my place in munich anytime,” she offered, her tone light but sincere. 

you gave her a small smile. 

“okay.”

just like that, the past felt smaller, less significant. the past did not exist anymore, since the future was all you and obi have. 

masterlist

[nightmare-niko]

Welcome Home [Childhoodbestfriend!Coryo x reader]

Warnings: TBOSAS spoilers, angst, two idiots in love, too cute for your own good tbh, no use of Y/n

A/n: Im still getting back in the swing of fanfic writing but if you have any other characters from The Hunger Games universe you want me to write for just lmk!!!!

Copying or translating my writing is not allowed. If you see my work on another site it is stolen. Reblogs are appreciated and encouraged.

Childhoodbestfriend!coryo who searches for your face in the crowded train station, and when he finally sees you, his knees almost gave in.

The two of you didn’t leave off on the best of terms (he blew you off the second he met Lucy Gray) and Coriolanus didn’t think you’d show up to welcome him home.

But there you were.

There in the crowd you stood, nervously playing with the end of your hair just like you always did. You looked through the sea of faces for your best friend, at first you couldn’t see him. Perhaps you missed him? Surely not… But then, there he was. Coriolanus Snow, Your Coryo.

Before you could register what was happening you were barreling towards him. Engulfing him in a bone crushing hug that he doesn’t hesitate to return.

“Oh Coryo!” You exclaim, pulling back from the hug to get a better look at him. “Oh my goodness! Your hair! What did they do to your hair? You’re bald!” You rub your hands in his head, savoring the strange new sensation.

He laughs gently, taking your wrists in his hands and holding them close. “I am not bald! it’ll grow back before you even realize, a swear.” He pauses for a moment, staring deeply into your eyes. “I’ve missed you.”

“I’ve missed you more than you can know, Coryo”

“I’m sure i missed you more,” he paused again. “Where’s Tigris?”

“Don’t worry, she’s at work, she wishes she could be here but you know how her boss is.” Coryo hums in acknowledgment, “and I talked to grandma’am earlier today and she gave me strict instructions to keep you away from your house tonight.” You take his hand and start walking your way through the platform.

“What? Why?” The grip on your hand tight, as if he’s scared to lose you.

“Oh she wouldn’t tell me, she knew I was just gonna end up telling you anyway.” Your arms brush together as you walk, to anyone else, the two of you look like the loveliest couple. “But that just means you get to spend your first day back your favorite person!”

“I wouldn’t have it any other way~”

•

“Are you sure your parents are going to be okay with me staying over?" Your parents were never the biggest fan of Coriolanus Snow, they werent fans of the Snow family at all, and when they saw him on to with that District girl they deemed him no good.

"Oh they moved out, I have the place all to myself,” as you approach us your penthouse door you pat at your pockets for the key. "I Prepared the spare room for you for. When you come over, even though you always insist on taking up my whole bed...”

"Your bed is just the most comfortable bed, ever." He raises his hands in defeate. "Your bed is big enough for the both of us."

“It’s only big enough when you sleep normally which you never do. Ever,” the two of laugh as you enter your home.

When he walks through the door of your lavish capitol penthouse, he couldn’t stop himself from crying. The house didnt look the same from when he was last here. When he was last in your penthouse, it was right after his and Clemensia Dovecoats run in with Dr. Gaul. The once colourless decor of your house was now full of life, full of you.

As the tears fell down his pale check, you turned back to look at him. You were at his side in a second, "Coryo, what’s wrong?" You wipe his tears away with the cuff of your Sleeve.

"Nothing - It's nothing really, I just missed this, You." His voice just above a whisper.

“I missed you too, more than you can know.” You smush his cheeks in between your hand.

He swats your hand away, “I’m not a kid anymore, you can’t treat me like it,” a light pink flush blooms on his ears.

“Oh nonsense! I’m your best friend, and I’m older than you so I’ll always treat you like a kid!”

“You can’t treat me like a kid when I’m president,” he jokes through quiet sobs.

"I’m never going to stop, Coryo, I’m your best friend, it’s my job to annoy you," You run your fingers through his hair.

"You’re never annoying...”

As the two of you make your way into your room. It was the same as he remembered.

"It's the same," he points out.

"What is?" you question,

"The room, you didnt change it...”

"Why would I change it? I love my room, and when my parents moved away and left me the house, I figured: Why not just make the whole place my own?"

You take off your sweater and shoes before climbing into your bed. Your eyes follow Coryo as he walks around your room, making himself at home. After taking off his shoes he joins you on your bed, tackling you in a hug, knocking you over.

“Woah!”

You wrap your arms around his broad shoulders, basking in his warmth. Neither of you feel the need to say anything. Sure you were curious about his time away, but you knew Coryo was tired and all you wanted was for him to be comfortable.

Oh how you’ve missed this.

Tag list: @nallasstuff @chmpgneprblem

(If you wanna be tagged when I post hunger games stuff just lmk and I’ll add u to a tag list!!!)

[thatnonameuser]

abt ur yandere twst au; do darlings get kidnapped for ransom? For example: would people kidnap Leona’s darling in order to get ransom (they’d be killed instead)?

Want a rich yandere to freak the fuck out the moment they realise their darling is missing and give you more money than you know what to do with, which is actually a bluff, because you’re actually going to die from extensive torture once their darling is safe? Kidnap their darling, your wallet and grave will thank you.

But yes, it does happen. Which is why wealthy yanderes take very severe precautions.

I’ve mentioned before that Kalim’s father has taken some very morally black methods to protect his darling and his kids from kidnappers. (here if you’re interested). But if a darling is kidnapped for ransom and their lives are threatened, the kidnapper better have the entire universe on their side because they’re as good as dead.

Yanderes don’t mess around. They’ll pay whatever fee they have to, nothing is too high. But as soon as the darling’s safe, the yandere will stain their hands in blood. 

So at the trade off for the darling, expect that once you’re back in their arms, the kidnapper is dead. Deader than dead, not even a shred remains. If the yandere doesn’t kill them, then they hire assassins. If they do kill them, then it’s just that much worse for the kidnapper. They’re not getting out of this alive.

Also because I’m feeling nice. Enjoy some semi-imagines with the rich boys of TWST having MC get kidnapped and their reaction to it.

Leona Kingscholar

Pissed. Very pissed. He may not be king but that doesn’t excuse the guards not doing their god damn jobs and keeping you safe. (He will be more angry if he finds out that Falena’s wife didn’t get kidnapped and you did, just throwing gasoline onto the fire.) And to make matters worse, they’re threatening to kill you. Well, they’re fucking dead.

Leona may be angry but he’s still smart. He isn’t risking letting anything happen to you, so he’ll play along until he can guarantee that you’re safe before killing whoever had the balls to kidnap you. And since he’s a prince, he can bend the law to get you back. The beastman’s coming for you himself, and he’ll turn anyone that threatens you to grains of sand under his palm. 

After he gets you back, he’s not going to let you out of his sight. And if he has to, he’s always going to be nearby. His rage hasn’t calmed down at all either. Plain and simple, you’re his and anyone that gets in the way of that deserves a slow death, and the fact that he nearly lost you is weighing on him. 

Before getting you back - Furious, ready to kill and reduce whoever's stolen you to sand.

After getting you back - Still angry, you're not leaving his sight or going near anyone that's not him.

Kalim Al-Asim

Sunshine boy’s panicking. Like completely panicking. He’s been kidnapped before and (while that’s a can of worms for another day), you haven’t gone through something so scary before. To him, he thinks that  you must be so terrified, surrounded by strangers that want to hurt you for something as shallow as money.

So after Jamil calms him down enough to think rationally, he begs for his help to save you. After all, you’re in terrible danger and he’s ready to throw as much money as he has to save you if need be but he doesn’t want to risk them trying again in the future. Plus he’s the hair of the Asim family, he might get kidnapped or killed too and then who will protect you.

So sending assassins is to foil their operation, and bring you home is the best bet. And they’re the best money can buy.

You’ll probably be a little shaken when you come home, and a little bit of kidnapper blood might be on your skin, but it's nothing a nice bath and a fest won't cure. Just expect to constantly be followed around by a team of at least six bodyguards. Or maybe Najma. Just know that Kalim is considering taking after dear old dad.

Before getting you back - Kalim's worried to death about not seeing you again. Or you getting hurt. 

After getting you back - He's gone over-protective not allowing you to ever go missing or get hurt ever again. He'll take the morally gray way out if he needs to, but he can’t bear to risk losing you.

Vil Schoenheit

If he gets stress wrinkles because of this, he’ll make sure that the kidnappers suffer even more. Vil’s used to threats of kidnapping, the fact the imbeciles actually went through with it is brave. Incredibly stupid, but brave. Regardless, he’s losing his mind with worry and anger. His fans are deranged, he’s worried for your safety. 

To Vil’s benefit, he has Rook. And Rook’s UM is basically goated when it comes to locating someone not meant to be found. So obviously, Rook goes to get you with orders from Vil to bring your kidnappers back with you for him to deal with. 

Vil will do his best to keep this crisis away from the media. He doesn’t need for you to be mobbed by the press, so expect a delightful trip to an isolated, relaxing and aesthetically pleasing vacation somewhere in the Shaftlands to protect you. But that relaxing little trip, is also so he can torture those imbeciles for the rest of their miserable little lives. He may not like portraying a villain but he’ll be one if he’s pushed. Besides, Rook will happily take care of the bodies. 

He’ll calm down after you’re out of harm's way, but anticipate that he won't ever let you out in public without him or someone he trusts with you.

Before getting you back - Pissed with a poker face. He’s worried for your well-being, and if a hair is harmed on your head, he’ll snap.

After getting you back - He’ll calm down, but he’ll start to be very protective. Don’t ask him about the screams you might hear in the basement of where you’re staying when he’s not with you, it’s nothing important.

Neige LeBlanche

One of the prices of fame. Neige is horrified that someone would try to take you to take advantage of him. Honestly, he would have rather been the one whose life was held on the line than have you brought into the mess. Neige has never been more scared in his entire life.

Obviously, he’ll get you back. Hand off the money and everything, but he’s not happy about those ‘villains’ going unpunished for scaring you like that. As soon as he’s sure that you’ll be safe and sound. He’ll go to the press to tell his heartbreaking story.

So que the imminent waterworks to the paparazzi. After all, he knows they’ll be immediately moved. Neige’s most precious one, his darling, had their life threatened and he was terrified that he wouldn’t get you back before it’s too late. 

His fans do the rest. 

On the impromptu vacation Neige took you on to help you recover from the experience, (or more specifically, the trip to a very isolated location where you both can be alone with no kidnappers in sight) Neige will receive some ‘fan mail’ with the remains of the perpetrators. He won’t show you though, you’ve been through so much recently. 

Before getting you back - He's so scared for you. You're his princess he can't bear to lose you for even a second. So having you gone is a nightmare.

After getting you back - Relieved. He's so happy to have you back. You're never leaving his side again. He's a little peeved that someone tried to disrupt your happily ever after, but they’re no longer breathing so who cares. 

Idia Shroud

Panic attack. Instant Panic attack, Ortho better have Baymax functions because he’s gonna pass out in panic. How the hell did this even happen?! He has drones following you constantly! 

After he has his panic attack, he’s burning red in anger. How dare they?! How fucking dare they?! He’s putting all his energy into figuring out every last thing about your kidnappers’ lives. He’ll find you, obviously. And then he’ll send S.T.Y.X after them to return you home while he ruins their entire lives. Then he'll kill those noobs so that he sends a message.

As soon as you’re back, he’s a sobbing wreck. He’s already lost Ortho, he can’t lose you too. You won’t be leaving his room while he has his pity party. And you probably shouldn’t because it’ll just make him feel even worse. Comfort him a bit, will ya?

Before getting you back - A whirlwind of panic and anger. He’s in doxxing mode, man. Your kidnappers better be prepared to suffer for a while, before he gets merciful and kills them.

After getting you back - Tears, so many tears. And he’ll be a koala with how clingy he’ll be. 

Malleus Draconia

Whichever kidnapper thought this was a good idea needs to get their brain checked because it’s currently missing. The exact second Malleus realizes the danger you’re in, he’s turning into a dragon to find and save you and then kill the kidnappers in a raging inferno. Forget stopping to plan or temporarily co-operating, the man’s gone to find you before the ransom letter hits the floor. (Sure there’s the threat of iron, but he doesn’t care you’re in danger.)

In a word, he’s furious. In a lot of words, he’s so angry that a category five hurricane has started outside to reflect his rage. If even a hair is missing from your head, he’s probably going to lose it. Gotta love that he’s enchanted all your jewelry to serve as tracking devices. Because he’s there in under an hour, burning your kidnappers to death till nothing remains. After that, it’s back home to put you into a tower so heavily fortified and reinforced that a fly couldn’t accidentally get through the door. 

Once you’re safe, the sadness kicks in. He can’t bear to lose you ever. So the fact that he let his guard down enough to nearly let you be killed is breaking him. His entire purpose is to protect and love you, and he’s failed in that, so please do your best to reassure him that you’re not going to leave him, he’s had a hard ten minutes. 

Oh, but don’t expect to go outside for the next year though once you do. He’s not exactly under the impression that you won’t be taken from him again. So he’s going to be even more clingy and protective.

Before getting you back - Angry, infuriated, vengeful. He's killing someone today and it's going to be one or all of your kidnappers. 

After getting you back - Sad dragon hours. He's craving reassurance and your love to make himself feel better. Give him cuddles, please.

[dovesdreaming]

Beyond the scrubs

Summary: Alex karev is dating an attending (reader) in secret until he can’t take the hiding anymore.

A/n: I’ve forgot to say on my other posts but thank you for 300 followers (now more) <3

Request

Masterlist

Warnings: talk of injuries

-

It started as a fling-no promises, no complications, just a way to blow off steam during the long, grueling hours at Seattle Grace. Alex Karev wasn’t the type to settle down, and you weren’t the type to let yourself get caught up in messy entanglements. You were both driven, ambitious, and in control. At least, that’s what you told yourselves. The on-call room was your safe haven, the place where you could steal moments together, away from prying eyes and the judgmental whispers that filled the hospital corridors. Late at night, when the rest of the world was sleeping, you’d find each other in the dimly lit room, the only sounds being the hum of the air conditioning and the soft rustling of scrubs.

“Hey, you” you whispered as you slipped into the room, your heart racing in a way it hadn’t in years. Alex was already there, leaning against the wall with that familiar smirk that always made your stomach flutter. “Hey yourself” he replied, his voice low and teasing. “Long night?”. “Isn’t it always?” You sighed, walking over to him. The stress of the day seemed to melt away the moment you were in his arms, your bodies fitting together perfectly. You kissed, slowly at first, savoring the few minutes you had together. It wasn’t just about the physical connection, though that was part of it. There was something more between you both, something unspoken that neither of you were ready to admit.

As you pulled away, you looked into Alex’s eyes, seeing a vulnerability there that he rarely showed. “We need to be careful” you said, your voice tinged with concern. “If anyone finds out…” “I know” Alex cut you off, his tone more serious now. “But I don’t want to stop”. “Neither do I” you admitted, your resolve wavering. “But we both know how it’ll look. I’m an attending, and you’re… well, you”. “Thanks for the vote of confidence, Doctor”. Alex quipped, his smirk returning, but there was a tension in his jaw that you didn’t miss. Your expression softened, reaching up to brush a strand of hair from his forehead. “You’re a damn good doctor, Alex. One of the best. But people talk, and the last thing I want is for anyone to think you’re getting special treatment because of… this”.

Alex’s eyes darkened, and for a moment, you thought you’d pushed too far. But then he leaned in, pressing a kiss to your forehead. “I don’t give a damn what anyone thinks. I know I’ve earned my place here. And so do you”. His words sent a warmth through you and you found herself smiling despite the situation. “You’re right” you said softly. “We’ll just have to be smart about it”. “Yeah, smart” Alex echoed, though there was something in his tone that made you wonder if he was already planning on breaking that rule.

As the weeks went by, you managed to keep your relationship under wraps. You were careful. No stolen glances during rounds, no lingering touches in the halls. But there were moments when the facade almost slipped, when Alex’s hand would brush against yours, or when you would catch yourself watching him a little too intently as he worked.

It was during a particularly stressful day in the ER that you had your first real scare. A trauma case had come in, a young boy, barely ten, with a gunshot wound to the chest. It was all hands on deck, and the pressure was palpable as the team worked to stabilize him. Alex was in the thick of it, his hands steady as he assisted Dr. Bailey with the surgery. You watched from the sidelines, your heart in her throat as you fought to save the boy’s life. When it was finally over, and the boy was stable, the tension broke like a dam, relief flooding the room. “Good work, Karev” Bailey said gruffly, her way of acknowledging a job well done. Alex nodded, pulling off his gloves and letting out a breath he didn’t know he’d been holding. As he turned to leave, he caught your eye. For a split second, the world seemed to narrow down to just the two of you, the intensity of the moment pulling them together like a magnet. Without thinking, Alex reached out, his hand brushing against yours in a gesture that was too familiar, too intimate for the public setting. Your heart skipped a beat, and you quickly pulled away, your eyes darting around to see if anyone had noticed. Dr. Bailey’s sharp gaze was on you both, and you felt a pang of panic. But before she could say anything, Bailey turned away, muttering something about paperwork and leaving the room.

“Close call” Alex murmured as you walked out of the OR, his voice laced with a mix of relief and amusement. “Too close” you replied, your pulse still racing. “We have to be more careful, Alex. If Bailey had said something..” “But she didn’t,” Alex interrupted, his expression serious. “Look, I get it. We have to keep this quiet. But I’m not going to act like I don’t care about you. Not in here” he gestured to the hallway around them, “and not out there”. You wanted to argue, to tell him that you had to keep your distance, but the look in his eyes stopped you. There was a determination there, a certainty that you couldn’t deny. So instead, you nodded, letting yourself believe, just for a moment, that everything would be okay.

It was a few weeks later when everything came to a head. You’d been playing the game for so long, sneaking around, keeping your relationship hidden, that it was starting to wear on both of you. Alex was growing more frustrated, his usual bravado masking the tension that simmered beneath the surface. You too were feeling the strain, the constant fear of being discovered gnawing at your nerves. The final straw came during a particularly hectic day in the clinic. Alex had been working nonstop, dealing with a never ending stream of patients, and you could see the exhaustion in his eyes. You wanted to reach out, to offer him a moment of comfort, but there were too many eyes, too many people who could see.

And then it happened.

One of the other attendings, Dr. Stevens, made a comment, a casual remark about how Alex was getting all the best cases, how he always seemed to be in the right place at the right time. It was said in jest, but the implication was clear: favoritism. You felt your stomach drop, the color draining from your face as the words hung in the air. You waited for Alex to brush it off, to let it slide like he usually did. But instead, he snapped.

“Maybe I get the best cases because I’m a damn good doctor” Alex retorted, his voice cutting through the room like a knife. “Or is that too hard for you to believe?”. The room went silent, the tension thick enough to choke on. You could see the shock on everyone’s faces, the way they exchanged glances, as if suddenly realizing there was more going on than they’d thought. Dr. Stevens opened his mouth to respond, but Alex didn’t give him the chance. “You know what? Screw this. Yeah, I’m seeing Dr. Y/L/N We’ve been together for a while now. And it’s got nothing to do with my work. So if anyone’s got a problem with that, say it now”.

Your heart stopped, your mind racing as you processed what he’d just done. Alex had just blown your cover, exposed your relationship to the entire room. But as you looked at him, standing there with that defiant look in his eyes, you realised something. You didn’t care. You weren’t ashamed of what you had, and you weren’t going to let anyone make you feel like you should be. Taking a deep breath, you stepped forward, your voice steady as you spoke. “Alex is right. Our relationship is personal, and it has no bearing on the work we do here. If anyone has a problem with that, you can take it up with me.”

There was a murmur of surprise, but no one challenged you. Dr. Stevens, for his part, looked chastened, muttering an apology under his breath. As the room slowly returned to its usual hum of activity, Alex turned to you, a small smile tugging at the corner of his mouth. “You sure about this?” he asked, his voice softer now. “Yeah” you replied, feeling a weight lift off your shoulders. “I’m sure”.

And just like that, the secret was out. It wasn’t easy, and there were still challenges to face. Whispers in the halls, disapproving looks from some of your colleagues but you faced it together, no longer hiding, no longer pretending. Because in the end, it wasn’t about what anyone else thought. It was about the connection you shared, the trust you had in each other. And that was something worth owning, something worth fighting for.

-

Thank you for reading <3