#he is just more serious and calm usually so i wonder about him

[urdreamydoodles]

Hi!!!

May I request something a little angsty to sweet?? 😈

An X-men x teen!reader with that one trope where it’s like:

“You’re not my dad/mom!”

“I know that, do you?”

With characters: Scott Summers, Logan Howlett, Storm, Beast, Magneto, and gambit

X-Men x Teen!Reader

You tell them that they are not your dad/mom during an argument

In the heat of the argument, the words slip out—sharp, hurtful. Their faces fall, stunned and wounded, but there’s a quiet pain in your own heart too, because you know the truth. Later, in the stillness, you find yourself beside them, whispering apologies, and they hold you as if to say: family isn’t only blood, it’s chosen.

Characters: Logan Howlett, Remy LeBeau, Kurt Wagner, Scott Summers, Jean Grey, Ororo Munroe, Charles Xavier, Erik Lehnsherr, Hank McCoy, Wanda Maximoff, Pietro Maximoff & Wade Wilson

Ooh, you little evil spawn... I love this prompt, and I hope I have reached your expectations <3

Logan Howlett aka. Wolverine

- Logan’s temper is legendary, but he’s always managed to keep it in check around you, knowing you need stability. However, the moment you shout “You’re not my dad!” during a heated argument, he feels a pang of anger and hurt. He’s spent years looking after you, guiding you in his gruff way, and in that second, it stings. Without missing a beat, he snaps back, “I know that, kid. Do you?”

- There’s a cold silence afterward, and Logan storms off, muttering under his breath. He knows he’s not technically your father, but you’re family to him. As he sits alone, drinking and stewing over the argument, he wonders if maybe he’s failed you somehow. He thinks back to the times he’d pulled you out of trouble or taught you some hard-won survival lessons, realizing just how deeply he cares.

- That night, the silence weighs heavy, and you feel a growing sense of regret. Logan has been the one constant in your life, a steady (if rough) presence who’s always had your back. You think about all the times he’s risked himself for you, the moments he’s tried to be there in his quiet, sometimes awkward way. It dawns on you that, without Logan, your life would be far lonelier—and that he truly has become a father figure.

- The next morning, Logan’s in the kitchen, frying eggs and bacon, trying to act like everything’s normal. When you finally muster up the courage to apologize, he doesn’t make it easy. He just grunts, flipping the eggs with a rough edge to his voice, not looking up. But he listens. After you tell him how much he means to you, he lets out a long sigh, and with a gruff but softer voice, he tells you, “Kid, you drive me crazy, but you’re family. You know that?”

- Later, you notice Logan starts going a little easier on you, keeping the snark to a minimum and checking in a bit more often. The bond between you grows even stronger, and while he’ll never be openly affectionate, you sense the quiet pride he has in you. If anyone tries to mess with you, Logan’s first in line to make sure they regret it.

- From then on, whenever you call him “Logan” instead of “Dad,” he just smirks and raises an eyebrow, as if daring you to say what you really feel. In his own way, he’s let you know that titles don’t matter—he’ll always be there, watching your back like only a true family member would.

Remy LeBeau aka. Gambit

- Remy isn’t exactly the “strict parent” type, so when you start an argument with him, you’re used to his laid-back attitude. But this time, he gets serious, which shocks you enough to yell, “You’re not my dad!” Remy’s face goes still for a moment, then he raises an eyebrow with his usual calm demeanor, saying softly, “I know, cher. Do you?”

- Remy’s response hangs in the air, and he turns on his heel, leaving you to stew in the aftermath. You’re left alone, staring after him and feeling a pang of guilt. Remy has always treated you like family, his warmth and charm making you feel safe and wanted. You remember the countless times he’s been there for you, offering wisdom and laughter, even when you’ve messed up.

- That night, you can’t shake the look on his face—calm, yes, but with a hint of sadness. Remy’s always seemed so self-assured, but in that moment, it felt like he genuinely wondered if he’d overstepped. You begin to realize just how much he’s done to make you feel like you belong, without ever asking anything in return.

- The next day, you find Remy in the Danger Room, practicing. Nervously, you walk up to him and mumble an apology, explaining that you didn’t mean what you said. He turns to you, an understanding smile softening his gaze. “S’alright, kiddo. I know you got fire in you. Just remember—blood don’t make family.”

- After that, Remy’s even more of a constant presence, always ready to talk, laugh, or lend a hand. He starts making a point to remind you of your strengths, pushing you to see the best in yourself. Whenever he sees you slipping into self-doubt, he’ll casually throw in a story of one of his own mistakes, just to remind you that he’s been there too—and that he’ll always be there for you.

- Over time, you come to see Remy not just as a mentor, but as family, someone who chose to be in your life. He might not have the official title of “dad,” but there’s no question about the bond between you two. Remy’s heart is as big as his charm, and he’s shown you that family is something you build, piece by piece.

Kurt Wagner aka. Nightcrawler

- Kurt’s patience seems endless, so when you yell, “You’re not my dad!” in the heat of an argument, the words shock you as much as they shock him. He’s silent for a moment, then replies gently, “I know, but are you sure?” He’s hurt but gives you a sad, understanding look before stepping away, giving you space to cool off.

- Afterward, the guilt eats away at you. Kurt has been nothing but kind and supportive, teaching you about acceptance and resilience, even when things are tough. His faith and positivity have been a guiding light in your life, and the thought of hurting him like this twists at your heart.

- You remember moments when he went out of his way to include you, especially when you felt like an outsider among mutants. Kurt has always been there, understanding what it’s like to be different and offering comfort when you needed it most. It hits you that, despite not being your biological father, he’s filled that role with all the love and patience he has.

- The next day, you find Kurt alone in the library, reading. You approach him, nervous but sincere, and apologize for what you said. He listens quietly, and when you’re done, he gives you a warm smile, saying, “It’s alright, mein freund. I will always be here, no matter what.” His forgiveness is immediate, his kindness knowing no limits.

- After that, Kurt becomes even more of a confidant, someone you know you can turn to for wisdom and understanding. He makes a point of reminding you that love is a choice, and he’s chosen you as family. Whenever you’re down, he’ll tell you stories of his own struggles, showing you that strength comes from within, even when life gets hard.

- The bond between you two only deepens, and Kurt’s gentle presence is something you come to cherish. He may not be your dad by blood, but he’s family through and through. Kurt’s unwavering faith in you becomes a source of comfort, a reminder that you’re never truly alone as long as he’s around.

Scott Summers aka. Cyclops

- Scott is used to being responsible and disciplined, so when you snap, “You’re not my dad!” during a heated disagreement, he doesn’t take it lightly. He stands there, tense and quiet, then responds, “I know. But do you?” before walking away, clearly hurt but too proud to let it show.

- That night, you can’t stop replaying the argument in your head. Scott may be strict, but he’s always had your best interests at heart. He’s spent countless hours training and guiding you, doing everything in his power to prepare you for the dangers of the world. As you think back, you start to feel the weight of what you said, realizing how much you’ve taken him for granted.

- You begin to understand that, in his own quiet way, Scott has been a father figure to you, even if he doesn’t say it outright. Every stern lecture, every training session—it was his way of protecting you, showing he cared. The guilt eats at you, and you know you need to make things right.

- The next morning, you approach him in the War Room, nervous but determined. You tell him how much his guidance means to you, how you didn’t mean what you said. Scott listens carefully, his expression softening as he nods. “We’re a team, and that means we’re family,” he says firmly. “I’m here for you, always.”

- From then on, Scott’s support becomes even more evident. He may not be the most openly affectionate, but he makes it clear that he’s in your corner, no matter what. He starts opening up to you more, sharing his own struggles with responsibility, letting you see the weight he carries as a leader and mentor.

- Over time, you come to appreciate Scott’s steady presence, realizing how lucky you are to have him as a father figure. He may be tough, but his loyalty is unwavering, and he’ll always have your back. In Scott, you find a kind of steadfast strength that reminds you every day that family isn’t defined by blood—it’s built on respect, care, and unwavering support.

Jean Grey aka. Marvel Girl / Phoenix

- Jean’s kindness is boundless, so when you shout, “You’re not my mom!” during an argument, her expression drops, a mix of shock and sadness. She takes a deep breath, her voice calm but strained, and says, “I know, but I care about you just the same. Do you know that?” With that, she steps back, giving you space to cool down, but the sadness in her eyes lingers.

- In the quiet that follows, you feel a pang of regret. Jean has always been there for you, her gentle support unwavering, guiding you with both warmth and patience. You remember the countless times she’s been there to comfort you, a soothing presence who never hesitated to make you feel loved. The memory of her expression, the way her shoulders slumped, makes you feel worse.

- That night, you find yourself replaying the argument over and over. You begin to realize how much Jean’s presence has shaped your life, that she’s been more than just a mentor or friend—she’s been like a mother, even if neither of you ever said it out loud. Each memory fills you with gratitude and a growing need to make things right.

- The next day, you find Jean in the garden, tending to the flowers with her usual care. Tentatively, you approach her, stumbling over an apology. She listens, her eyes soft as she pulls you into a gentle embrace. “It’s okay,” she murmurs. “I know these things aren’t easy. I’m here for you, no matter what.” Her forgiveness is instant, her hug comforting, as if she understands all you can’t say.

- After that, Jean becomes even more of a mother figure, offering a patient ear and a shoulder to lean on whenever you need. Her kindness is a quiet strength that you come to lean on more and more. You notice she checks in on you more often, making sure you know she’s there, even when words don’t need to be said.

- Over time, you come to cherish her presence even more, recognizing her as your found family. With Jean, you feel safe, loved, and valued, and her quiet guidance reminds you every day that family doesn’t have to be by blood. It’s in the love you choose to share, and Jean’s love is as steady as the rising sun.

Ororo Munroe aka. Storm

- Ororo’s calm strength is like a force of nature, but when you yell, “You’re not my mom!” it’s as if a storm has passed through her eyes. She doesn’t lash out, doesn’t even raise her voice, but she looks at you with a steady gaze and says, “I know that, little one. Do you?” Her words are gentle but piercing, and she leaves you to ponder them.

- That night, as the weight of your words sinks in, guilt gnaws at you. Ororo has always treated you with kindness and respect, guiding you through life’s challenges with wisdom and care. She’s been your rock, the person who’s grounded you, and you feel ashamed for taking her love and protection for granted.

- You think back to all the moments Ororo has been there for you: teaching you about the world, sharing her culture, and encouraging you to be true to yourself. You realize that she’s been more than a mentor—she’s been family. Her quiet strength and unwavering love have been like the rain, nourishing you and helping you grow.

- The next day, you find Ororo on the rooftop, gazing at the horizon. Gathering your courage, you apologize, explaining how much she means to you. She listens, her gaze as steady and calm as ever, before she gently places a hand on your shoulder. “I forgive you,” she says with a small smile. “Family isn’t always about blood. It’s about the bonds we choose.” Her words bring you a comfort you hadn’t realized you needed.

- After that, Ororo takes on an even more motherly role, gently guiding you and always offering wisdom when you need it most. You start spending more time together, finding solace in her presence and strength in her words. She reminds you of your own resilience, always making you feel capable and valued.

- Ororo’s love becomes a source of strength, and you come to see her as family in the truest sense. Her support is unwavering, her guidance is steady, and with her, you find the sense of belonging and family you never realized you craved. She’s a mother figure, not by title but by choice, and her love fills a space in your heart you hadn’t known was empty.

Charles Xavier aka. Professor X

- Charles rarely shows disappointment, but when you yell, “You’re not my dad!” during an argument, there’s a flash of hurt in his eyes. He looks at you thoughtfully, his calm, composed demeanor intact, and simply says, “I know that, but are you sure?” before quietly excusing himself. His voice is soft, but the weight of his words lingers.

- As the reality of your words hits you, a wave of guilt follows. Charles has dedicated himself to making you feel safe, offering guidance, structure, and endless patience. He’s been more than just a mentor—he’s been a father figure, the one who’s always there to listen and guide you without judgment.

- You begin to reflect on all the small gestures he’s made to show he cares, from teaching you with kindness to offering you advice when life felt overwhelming. Charles has seen potential in you from the start, treating you with respect and compassion, and the thought of hurting him leaves a knot in your chest.

- The next day, you approach his study, nervous but determined to apologize. Charles listens, his usual calm presence enveloping you in a sense of safety. He smiles gently, nodding as you express your regrets, and simply says, “I understand, and I forgive you.” His forgiveness feels like a weight lifted, and he reminds you that love and family are choices, not just obligations.

- After that, you feel even closer to Charles, and he continues to be your steadfast supporter. He encourages you to pursue your strengths, guiding you with wisdom and patience, and you start to see him as a father figure you can truly depend on. His calm understanding becomes a source of comfort, a reminder that family can be chosen and built on mutual respect.

- Charles’s influence becomes a grounding force in your life, his guidance always there to lift you up. With him, you find a sense of belonging and love that goes beyond mere words. He may not be your biological father, but he’s family in every way that matters, and his unwavering belief in you becomes a constant source of strength.

Erik Lehnsherr aka. Magneto

- Erik is not known for his patience, so when you yell, “You’re not my dad!” it’s like a slap to the face. His eyes harden, his voice cold as he responds, “I know, but perhaps you don’t.” With that, he turns away, his pride wounded but his expression betraying a flicker of sadness. For Erik, family is sacred, and your words cut deep.

- That night, guilt starts to creep in. Erik has been harsh, yes, but he’s always shown you the value of strength, resilience, and conviction. He’s taught you to be bold, to stand up for yourself, and though his methods are tough, he’s been there for you in ways that no one else has. You begin to realize how much you owe to his guidance.

- Memories flood back of times when Erik’s fierce loyalty protected you, his dedication ensuring you never felt alone. He’s been like a father to you, albeit a strict one, and as the guilt weighs on you, you see that his rough edges have been his way of showing love, even if he doesn’t say it outright.

- The next day, you approach him with an apology, your voice shaky but sincere. Erik listens, his piercing gaze softened by something like understanding. He accepts your apology, and in his own stern way, he reminds you that strength is born of struggle. His words are harsh, but his forgiveness is there, hidden beneath his rough demeanor.

- From that moment on, Erik’s presence becomes even more of a steady force in your life. He challenges you to be your best, pushing you to embrace your potential, and though he rarely shows open affection, his actions speak louder than words. He’ll protect you fiercely, his bond with you deepening as he takes on the role of a mentor and protector.

- Erik’s influence makes you feel strong and capable, and while he’s a difficult figure to love, you know that he’s chosen you as family. His pride and determination inspire you to believe in yourself, and even if he’ll never say it directly, his loyalty is proof that you’re family to him, forged through fire and unbreakable.

Hank McCoy aka. Beast

- Hank is rarely one to raise his voice, but when you blurt out, “You’re not my dad!” in the heat of an argument, he freezes. For a moment, he’s quiet, his face clouded with hurt before he gives you a calm but serious look. “I’m aware of that. But I’ve always tried to be here for you, haven’t I?” His voice is gentle, yet his words sting in a way you hadn’t anticipated. Without another word, he leaves, giving you the space you both clearly need.

- As you cool down from the argument, guilt quickly sets in. Hank has been nothing but patient and caring, always offering you understanding and support when you needed it most. His gentle presence has been a source of comfort, and the memory of the sadness in his eyes makes you realize how deeply you’ve hurt him.

- Reflecting on all the times Hank has been there for you, you remember how he would stay up late to help you with your studies, his voice soft and encouraging as he shared his vast knowledge. His kindness was never forced; he genuinely cared, and you start to see that he’s been like a father figure all along, even if neither of you ever put a name to it.

- The next day, you find Hank in the lab, engrossed in his work as usual. Hesitantly, you apologize, struggling to find the right words. Hank stops what he’s doing, looking at you with that familiar, gentle expression. “I appreciate your apology,” he says, his tone warm and forgiving. He doesn’t need to say much to make you feel better; his soft smile is enough to lift the weight from your shoulders.

- After that, Hank is still there for you, but the bond between you feels stronger. He seems to make an effort to check in on you more often, even gently guiding you through life’s challenges with his usual wisdom and warmth. You realize how much you’ve come to rely on him as a steady presence in your life.

- Hank’s compassion and patience become pillars of support as you grow, and he becomes more than just a mentor—he’s family. His encouragement and gentle guidance make you feel valued, and you start to understand that family isn’t just about blood; it’s about those who choose to stand by you, even when things get tough. With Hank, you’ve found a father figure in the truest sense.

Wanda Maximoff aka. The Scarlet Witch

- When you yell, “You’re not my mom!” in a heated moment, Wanda’s eyes flash with pain. She takes a deep breath, her voice steady but laced with hurt as she responds, “I know I’m not. But I’ve always tried to be there for you, haven’t I?” Her voice is soft, a mix of sadness and disappointment that lingers in the air as she turns away, giving you the space you clearly need.

- Guilt settles over you like a weight as you recall everything Wanda has done for you. She’s been a constant source of love and protection, going out of her way to create a safe space for you in a chaotic world. Her kindness has been unwavering, and the memory of her hurt expression leaves you feeling remorseful.

- You begin to remember all the times Wanda has comforted you, her gentle presence like a soothing balm when the world felt overwhelming. She’s always known what to say, her intuition guiding her as she wrapped you in warmth and reassurance. You realize how much her presence means to you, that she’s been a mother figure even if you never said it.

- The next day, you approach Wanda, the words of an apology on your lips. She listens, her eyes softening as you explain how sorry you are. She pulls you into a gentle hug, murmuring, “It’s okay. I understand.” Her forgiveness is immediate, her embrace warm and reassuring, and you feel the weight of your guilt lift as you lean into her.

- After that, Wanda continues to be there for you, her love as constant and unwavering as ever. She’s more protective, always ensuring you know you’re loved and valued. Her presence feels like home, a reminder that family is more than just titles; it’s the bond you share and the love that endures even through difficult moments.

- Over time, Wanda becomes even more of a mother figure, her guidance and love anchoring you as you grow. With her, you find a sense of belonging, a family built on mutual care and understanding. Wanda’s love becomes a source of strength, and you come to see her as family in the truest sense.

Pietro Maximoff aka. Quicksilver

- Pietro has always been quick to defend you, so when you shout, “You’re not my dad!” during an argument, his face falls, his usual bravado replaced by a flicker of hurt. He hesitates, then responds with a hint of vulnerability, “I know I’m not. But I care about you, and that’s not going to change.” He doesn’t say much more, leaving with a hint of frustration and sadness.

- Your heart aches almost immediately after the words leave your mouth. Pietro has always been a constant in your life, fiercely protective and ready to do anything to keep you safe. His loyalty has been unwavering, and the memory of his hurt expression weighs on you, leaving you feeling guilty.

- As the regret settles in, you begin to think back to all the moments Pietro has been there for you, his fast-paced life slowing down whenever you needed him. His protectiveness might come off as overbearing, but it’s always been rooted in love. You realize how much you mean to him, that he’s been like a father figure, even if neither of you put it into words.

- The next day, you find him in the training room, going through a series of drills. Nervously, you approach him with an apology. Pietro pauses, listening intently, and his usual cocky grin returns as he wraps an arm around your shoulder, saying, “Don’t worry, kid. Family fights sometimes.” His words are light, but there’s a warmth in his tone that makes you feel forgiven.

- From then on, Pietro is still as protective as ever, though he seems to make an extra effort to remind you that he’s there for you. He includes you in his adventures, always finding ways to bring laughter and excitement into your life. His loyalty is fierce, and you find comfort in the way he’s chosen to stand by you.

- Pietro’s support becomes a source of strength, and over time, you come to see him as family. He’s there for you in ways that matter, his love loud and unfiltered. With him, you’ve found a father figure who’s more than willing to face the world at your side, his loyalty a constant reminder that family is chosen as much as it is given.

Wade Wilson aka. Deadpool

- Wade’s never been the most conventional parental figure, but when you snap, “You’re not my dad!” he goes silent. It’s rare to see him at a loss for words, but the hurt that flickers across his face is hard to miss. After a pause, he says, “Hey, I know that, but... I kinda thought we had something here, y’know?” He tries to play it off, but the sadness in his voice lingers as he gives you space.

- Almost immediately, regret starts to settle in. Wade has been your protector, your friend, and even if he’s unconventional, he’s always made sure you’re safe. He’s taught you to laugh, to find humor even in dark situations, and the thought of hurting him leaves a bitter taste in your mouth.

- You think back to all the times Wade has made you feel cared for, his offbeat sense of humor a constant source of comfort. He’s been like a father in his own chaotic way, always finding unique ways to show he cares. The memory of his hurt expression haunts you, and you feel a strong need to make things right.

- Finding Wade isn’t hard; he’s at the usual hangout, cracking jokes to mask whatever he’s feeling. You approach him, offering an apology, and he listens, his face breaking into a goofy grin. “Oh, kid, you can’t get rid of me that easy!” he teases, pulling you into a bear hug that’s both ridiculous and comforting.

- After that, Wade goes back to being his usual chaotic self, but he’s even more protective, throwing around jokes about being your “self-appointed, totally unofficial, slightly psychotic dad.” His antics make you laugh, and you come to appreciate his unique way of showing love, realizing he’s been there for you all along.

- Wade’s love may be unorthodox, but it’s real, and over time, you come to see him as family. He’s the loud, unpredictable presence you didn’t know you needed, his humor and loyalty bringing you a sense of belonging. With Wade, you’ve found a father figure who’ll stand by you, his love chaotic and unconditional in every way that matters.

[blackenedsnow]

Ooo I have another fun idea! How about a friends with benefits relationship with Beetlejuice which ends up turning into genuine romance?

Like they literally met because Beetlejuice tried marrying them to get free, which doesn't work, and he ends up continuing to seek the reader out because they interest him and they go along with his shenanigans

During all those years they've known each other they've ended up being very close friends and roommates of sorts (who have absolutely slept with each other multiple times and will continue to do so) but they also unconsciously tend to act like an actual, loving couple

Anyone mistakes them for being a couple? Neither or them correct or deny that claim and just go along with it

Then Beetlejuice ends up realizing that he's deeply in love with them and he genuinely wants to marry them, not just to be free anymore

Sorry for rambling, this is how I write my oc's relationship with him and it's so much fun to write :3

dead serious

WARNING: None

PAIRING: Beetlejuice x Reader

NOTE: I love this idea SO much! Thank you for sending this request, and I hope you enjoy! Please feel free to drop more ideas like this anytime—I'd love to bring them to life. <3

SUMMARY: Beetlejuice thought it was just a bit of fun—until one day, he realizes he’s dead serious about you.

It all started with Beetlejuice trying to marry you.

The memory was a bit of a haze, him in that ridiculous striped tux, a minister who’d looked like he’d stepped out of a Halloween party, and a whole lot of confusion. Of course, the whole “marriage for freedom” thing didn’t work out, and somewhere between you foiling his plan and that wicked glint in his eye, Beetlejuice decided you were worth sticking around for.

Over the years, you two had… an arrangement. It was strange, fun, sometimes loud, and weirdly comfortable. You became roommates of sorts, though he tended to crash wherever suited his mood—on the couch, on the floor, in random places all over your home. You’d gone from reluctantly amused by him to genuinely fond of him. The playful insults, the late nights, the times you both ended up in each other’s arms—it all somehow just worked.

And despite both of you calling it “friends with benefits”, anyone who saw you two together assumed you were a couple. You two acted the part without even realizing it: hanging off each other, teasing, little gestures that were oddly affectionate. Beetlejuice’s arm often found its way around your shoulders, or you’d catch him leaning into your space with that wolfish grin of his, not minding any extra closeness.

Every time someone would go, “Oh, so you two are together?” Beetlejuice would just flash his sharp grin and shrug, “They just can’t get enough of me.” And you? You’d just roll your eyes and play along, half-laughing, “Someone’s gotta put up with him, right?”

But then one day, Beetlejuice started realizing that his feelings were a little too real. Maybe it was the time you calmed him down after he’d picked a fight with some Neitherworld spirits, gently telling him to stop being such an idiot as he just grinned at you, too close for comfort. Or maybe it was the time he woke up, half-sprawled across your lap, and you’d fallen asleep right beside him, looking peaceful in a way that made something in his long-dead heart flicker.

But the moment that hit him hardest was the time a stranger came up and assumed you were married.

“Oh, how long have you two been together?” they asked, clearly mistaking the two of you as something much more than a casual fling. Beetlejuice looked at you, wondering if you’d laugh it off as usual, but instead, you just shrugged with a grin, “Feels like forever, doesn’t it, Beej?”

“Yeah,” he murmured, caught off guard by the sudden warmth he felt in his chest. “Forever and then some.”

That was the beginning of the end—he couldn’t deny it anymore. He didn’t just want to mess around, have his fun, or even just be free from the Neitherworld. He wanted you. He wanted to be the one who could make you laugh, who you’d come home to, who you’d stick around for.

You two were in your usual rhythm when it happened. You were in the kitchen, cooking up something simple, and he was leaning against the counter, watching you with a smirk.

“Ya know,” he said, “you’re real cute when you’re domestic.”

You raised an eyebrow, flipping something in the pan. “Thanks, I guess? You’ve seen me make breakfast, like, a hundred times.”

“Yeah, but it’s still cute,” he said, brushing it off like it was no big deal. He got that look in his eye, though—the one that said he was winding up for something.

As you turned to grab something from the fridge, you felt him sidle up behind you. His hands rested on either side of you, and he dipped his head down, voice going surprisingly soft.

“I think I’m in love with you.”

You froze. For a moment, you thought maybe he was joking, this was so random, but something in his tone was different, almost… vulnerable.

“Uh,” you said, turning around to face him, a smile tugging at the corner of your lips, “are you serious?”

He gave a sheepish grin, scratching the back of his head. “As serious as I get, babe! Which, y’know, is pretty serious.” There was a nervous glint in his eye, something real.

You stared at him, feeling a rush of emotions you hadn’t fully let yourself consider before. He was looking at you like he’d just discovered something precious.

“You mean it?” you asked, still not entirely believing it.

He groaned, rolling his eyes. “Yeah, yeah, mushy stuff. I mean it, alright? I’m not saying it just to, y’know…” He shrugged, looking off to the side, “get outta the Neitherworld or whatever. I just… want to.”

A warmth spread in your chest. “Well, I… I love you too.”

His eyes lit up, and his grin widened until it looked like it would split his face. “See? We’re a match made in—well, not heaven, but close enough!”

You chuckled, rolling your eyes. “How romantic.”

“Oh, you love it,” he said, pulling you into a kiss that was surprisingly soft, lingering in a way that felt different from all the other times. When you broke apart, he looked at you with a glimmer of something new, something genuine. But still... ew.

“Say, what d’you think about actually making it official?” he asked, voice a little gruffer than usual. “I know the whole marriage thing didn’t pan out last time, but what if we tried again? For real.”

You blinked, taking a moment to process. “You’re not just doing this to get out of—”

“Nah,” he interrupted, waving a hand dismissively. “I mean, yeah, I’d love to get free of the Neitherworld for good, but that’s not why I’m asking now. I’m askin’ ’cause… well, it’s you.”

A lump formed in your throat, and you nodded. “Alright. Let’s do it.”

[mikumadds]

i think kim kitsuragi deserves a kiss from a doggie

(other versions under the cut!!)

original version & sparkly version

[sushiyuzu]

cute yapper

warning: fluff + comfort — soft!sylus admiring you while you yap. like, a lot 🗣🤍

a/n: tysm for the cute request, dear anon! i apologize if it’s short for you but i hope you like it as much as i do <3

anon’s request / link: click here

you’re talking, and, well, it’s a lot.

words just keep coming out, one after another, and you can’t help it. you’re talking about everything—how your day went, a cute cat you saw on the way here, some new recipe you want to try, or that funny story from when you were little. it all feels so exciting to you, like you just have to tell someone.

and, of course, that someone is sylus.

he’s sitting there with his usual calm, cool look, his red eyes watching you. he doesn’t say much, just a soft nod here and there, maybe a small smile if you’re lucky.

it’s hard to tell sometimes if he’s really listening or if he’s just being polite. he’s so quiet, and it makes you wonder if you’re being too much, if he’s just letting you talk because he doesn’t want to be rude.

you pause for a moment, glancing at him. he’s looking at you, but his face doesn’t give much away. that only makes you more nervous. “...and, well, maybe i’m just boring you,” you mumble, voice getting softer as you look down at your hands. “sorry, i guess i’ve just been talking too much...”

you stop talking completely, a little embarrassed now. your fingers fidget with the hem of your shirt, and the silence between you feels heavy, like maybe he’s relieved you finally stopped.

then, after a moment, he moves closer, and you can feel his warmth next to you. his voice is low, soft, and it catches you off guard. “why did you stop?”

you look up, eyes wide, surprised by the question. “oh... um, i just thought maybe you weren’t really listening. i didn’t want to bother you.”

he lets out a small chuckle, like he finds something you said a little funny but in a nice way. “i was listening,” he says, his tone serious but also gentle. “i was listening to every word.”

you can’t help but blink in surprise. “really? but... i thought...”

he reaches over, his fingers brushing a strand of hair out of your face and tucking it behind your ear. his touch is soft, and you can feel a warmth spreading across your cheeks. “yes, really,” he murmurs. “i think it’s cute. you’re just so... so pretty when you talk. your face lights up, and your eyes sparkle. i could listen to you talk all day.”

he says it so calmly, like it’s the most obvious thing in the world, but his gaze is warm and deep, like he means every word. you feel your heart start to race, a mix of joy and shyness making you fidget in your seat.

“so... you really don’t mind? you actually like it?” you ask, just to be sure, your voice coming out a little softer than before.

he nods, and his hand moves to rest on yours, his thumb gently tracing small circles on the back of your hand. “of course i like it. i love it, actually. you’re so full of life when you talk about the things you care about. it’s... beautiful.”

oh, the man that you are.

his words make your cheeks feel even warmer, and you feel a shy smile tugging at your lips. you take a deep breath, feeling a rush of happiness that’s hard to put into words. “thank you, sylus,” you whisper, your heart feeling full.

and then, before you know it, you’re talking again. your words are coming out even faster, even happier than before. you tell him all the little details, even the silliest ones that you used to hold back. it’s like a flood of everything you’ve wanted to share, and for the first time, you don’t worry about holding back.

sylus just watches you, his eyes soft and his expression calm, but there’s a gentle smile on his lips, and he’s nodding along, letting you know he’s right there with you. every now and then, he’ll lean closer, his hand still warm on yours, or he’ll give a soft chuckle when you say something funny. it’s like he’s completely focused on you, and only you.

then, as you keep talking, he leans forward even more, so close that you can feel his breath on your shoulder. before you can even process it, he presses a gentle peck there, playful but soft, then followed by a slow, open-mouth warm kiss. the sensation sends a small shiver through you, and you pause, surprised.

you feel his arms slide around you, holding you close as he murmurs, “don’t stop, okay? keep talking. i love hearing your voice.”

you nod, feeling a mix of excitement and comfort as you settle into his hold. you keep talking, feeling safe, warm, and wanted. for the first time, you don’t feel like you’re too much, or that your words are a burden. instead, you feel like every word matters, like every story you share with him is special, and he’s there to hear it all.

and you absolutely love him for that.

always.

[syluslnd]

Hi! Sorry if this is a long request but I remember very early on Sylus saying that he gets easily bored when things aren't exciting and it's mentioned in 1 of his character notes. I was wondering if I can please request a HC were the reader and Sylus are in a relationship but the reader thinks they are just fwb because they remember Sylus saying he gets bored easily, meanwhile Sylus thinks they're in a committed relationship and gets confused when he over hears the reader (maybe talking to her friend?) Saying how she wishes she sometimes had a boyfriend so they could do all the "normal couple things" and he confronts her about it? Thank you!

Sylus claiming you as his

You sat on the edge of the bed, your phone pressed to your ear, your voice soft as you talked to your friend. Sylus was across the room, looking relaxed as he read something on his datapad, seemingly disinterested in your conversation. But that couldn't be further from the truth.

"I just wish I had a boyfriend" you said, a sigh escaping your lips. "Someone to do, you know, couple stuff with. Like dates, going out... all those normal things."

You didn't notice the way Sylus's fingers tightened around the edge of the datapad or the way his sharp gaze flicked toward you at that exact moment. But in the next heartbeat before you could react he was beside you ripping the phone from your grasp with a speed that left you breathless.

"What the hell did you just say sweetie?" His voice was low but there was an edge to it-one that sent a shiver down your spine.

"Sylus, what-" you began but he cut you off, pressing the phone to his chest as he glared down at you, eyes darkening.

"You wish you had a boyfriend?" He repeated your words with a scoff, his brow furrowed. "What do you think this is? Some kind of joke?"

You blinked up at him, heart stuttering. "I thought we weren't... I mean, I didn't think we were actually-"

"Not actually what kitten?" he interrupted, voice rising just slightly. His usual calm, teasing demeanor was gone, replaced by something hard, intense and almost... hurt. "You thought this was some casual thing? Some fling?"

Your mouth opened, but nothing came out.

In truth, you had no idea how to answer that.

You'd convinced yourself that Sylus would get bored, that this was all temporary and that treating it like anything more would only end in heartbreak.

His lips curled into a tight, humorless smile.

"Sweetie” he said, voice dripping with disbelief “I don't know what kind of 'fling' you think this is but I sure as hell didn't sign up for that."

The tension in the room was suffocating, the air thick with unspoken emotions. You bit your lip, trying to gather your thoughts. "You said... you get bored easily” you murmured, your voice barely audible. "I thought... maybe you'd get bored of me too."

For a moment, Sylus said nothing, just stared at you like he was trying to process what you'd just confessed. Then, without warning, a low, incredulous laugh bubbled up from his throat.

"Bored? Kitten, are you serious right now?"

Before you could respond, Sylus closed the distance between you, his hands finding your waist as he yanked you closer, his lips brushing the shell of your ear. "You think I'd be spending all my time with you, putting up with all your little antics, if I wasn't serious?"

Your breath hitched as his fingers dug into your skin just enough to make you squirm.

He was mad, no doubt about it but there was something else underneath that anger-something possessive, something that sent heat coursing through your veins.

"You don't need a boyfriend" he murmured, his lips trailing down the side of your neck, his breath warm against your skin. "You already have one."

Your heart stuttered at his words and you felt him smirk against your throat as he started to press slow, deliberate kisses there. "But if you really need proof.."

He bit down gently on your skin, pulling a gasp from your lips as he sucked hard enough to leave a mark—a claim. "I'll remind you."

Your pulse quickened, your hands instinctively gripping his shoulders as he worked his way along your neck, leaving a trail of hickies in his wake. "S-Sylus..." you breathed but the word came out shaky, almost desperate.

"What?" he teased, lips brushing against your collarbone now. "Isn't this what couples do? A normal boyfriend would mark what's his, wouldn't he?"

He tugged at the collar of your blouse, undoing the buttons one by one, his hands moving with practiced ease. Your heart raced, anticipation building as your skin was exposed to the cool air. Sylus's fingers skimmed over the bare skin of your chest, making you shiver, his touch sending a wave of heat through your entire body.

"Sylus" you tried again, your voice coming out in a mix of breathlessness and embarrassment. "This—this isn't..."

"Not couple enough for you?" he finished for you, voice teasing now, the anger from earlier fading into something playful, dangerous. "Because I can keep going, kitten. I can show you just how committed I am."

He kissed you again, harder this time, his tongue tracing the marks he'd left behind and you whimpered softly, your body arching into him as his hands slipped under your blouse. He grinned against your skin, his fingers tracing patterns down your spine as he leaned into you.

"You don't need to look anywhere else” he whispered, voice dark and possessive.

"Because you're already mine. Understand?"

His lips met yours then a kiss that was rough and consuming, filled with all the emotions he hadn't spoken aloud and in that moment, with his body pressing you into the bed and his hands exploring every inch of your skin, you knew one thing for certain:

You'd never been more his than you were right now.

[hoshifighting]

when you start to ignore them — seventeen as your crush

hyung line / maknae line

minghao’s not dumb—he felt it when things shifted. the way you suddenly stopped giving him those small gifts, the attention, the lingering gazes when he caught your eye. he didn’t know why, but he knew something had changed. he never mentioned it, though. minghao’s never been one to chase attention, but yours? yeah, he got used to it. maybe too used to it. the weird part is, he started to crush on you too. he’d look forward to your little gifts, the way you’d brighten up around him. he thought he’d play it cool, but now? now he feels like he’s the one waiting.

one afternoon, after another day of you barely acknowledging him, he corners you. his voice is calm, but there’s something sharp beneath the surface. “did something happen between us?” you blink at him, caught off guard by the sudden confrontation. “no… why?”

he tilts his head, eyes narrowing. “you stopped talking to me. stopped giving me attention.” his lips curl into a smirk, but it doesn’t reach his eyes. “i thought you liked me.” the words hang in the air, and for a second, you swear you see a flicker of irritation in his eyes. “or was that just for fun?”

mingyu’s used to girls crushing on him. he’s tall, handsome, and charming without even trying, so it never surprises him when people start showing him attention. he thought you were just like everyone else at first—another person fawning over him. but then, you stopped. and fuck, that’s when he realized it was different.

he never thought much of it before, but when your gifts stopped showing up, when you stopped hanging around him, it hit him hard. he didn’t expect to miss it, didn’t expect to miss you. but here he is, sitting in the practice room, scrolling through his phone, wondering why you’re suddenly ignoring him. “hey,” he catches you outside the dorms one evening, rubbing the back of his neck awkwardly. “you’ve been… quiet.”

you raise an eyebrow. “quiet?”

he nods, swallowing. “yeah. you used to, y’know, be around more.” he glances away, almost embarrassed. “i kinda miss it.” there’s a pause, and when you don’t respond right away, mingyu’s chest tightens. “did i do something wrong? or… were you just over it?” his voice is softer than usual, less cocky, and it makes you realize how much he actually liked having you around. maybe more than he let on.

seokmin doesn’t take it well. when you stop giving him attention, he feels it immediately. it’s like a cloud settles over him, and he doesn’t know how to shake it.

he tries to laugh it off at first. “oh, what did I do now y/n-nie?” he jokes, flashing you one of his signature grins. but when you don’t laugh, when you just shrug and walk away, his smile falters. it eats at him for daysssss!! he hates it. hates how much he’s thinking about you, about the way you’ve been avoiding him. he misses your presence, your gifts, your attention.

finally, he can’t take it anymore. one night, after practice, he pulls you aside, his expression serious for once. “why are you ignoring me?”

“i’m not—”

“you are,” he cuts you off, his voice a little sharper than usual. “you used to care, you used to… i don’t know, you used to make me feel special. now it’s like i don’t even exist to you.” his voice cracks.

“what the hell ive done?! or are you just tired of me?”

seungkwan’s first instinct is to make you jealous. when he realizes you’ve stopped giving him attention, stopped following him around, his pride takes a hit. so, he starts flirting with others more openly, trying to get a reaction out of you.

but it doesn’t work. you don’t even seem to care, and that only makes him more frustrated. after a week of his failed attempts, he finally gives up and decides to confront you. “what’s going on?” he asks one day, crossing his arms over his chest, clearly annoyed. “you’ve been ignoring me, and it’s pissing me off.”

you raise an eyebrow, not really in the mood for his theatrics. “pissing you off?” he huffs, rolling his eyes. “yeah. you used to be all over me, and now… nothing. did you find someone else or something?”

there’s a pause, and for the first time, seungkwan’s usual confidence wavers. “i don’t like it,” he admits quietly, his voice softer now. “i miss you.” it’s a rare moment of openness from him, and you can tell he means it.

“can we… can we go back to how things were?”

vernon doesn’t say anything for a while. he notices when you stop hanging around him, but he’s not the type to make a big deal out of it. he figures you’re just busy, or maybe you’ve lost interest, and he tells himself it’s fine. but deep down he knows its not.

after a few days of silence, vernon starts to feel restless. he misses the small things—the way you’d smile at him, the way you’d always bring him snacks, when you click your fingers on his face when he zooms out or laugh at his dumb jokes. without you around, everything feels off. he catches you one day after class, his hands shoved in his pockets as he looks at you. “sup’, you good?”

“yeah, why?”

he shrugs, glancing away. “just… you’ve been kinda distant.” he pauses, trying to find the right words. “i don’t like it. actually, i like having you around...” his voice is quiet, almost shy, and it takes you a second to realize he’s being serious. “i mean, i get it if you’re over it or whatever, but…” he trails off, rubbing the back of his neck. “i really miss you. that’s all.”

chan’s reaction is instantaneous. the moment you stop giving him attention, he starts giving it right back. it’s like he can’t stand the idea of losing your presence, so he tries to fill the gap himself.

suddenly, he’s the one following you around, offering you snacks, little gifts, even bubblegum. “here, thought you might like this,” he says with a grin, holding out a pack of your favorite candy.

“uh, thanks…”

he smiles, but there’s a hint of nervousness in his eyes. “you’ve been kinda quiet lately. figured i’d return the favor, y’know?” he keeps it up for days, going out of his way to get your attention, to make you smile. and when you finally ask him why he’s doing it, he just shrugs, his usual confidence slipping a bit.

“i missed you,” he admits softly, his eyes dropping to the floor. “you used to do all this for me, and i didn’t realize how much i liked it until you stopped.” there’s a beat of silence before he looks up at you again, his voice quieter now. “i guess… i just wanted to remind you that i care too.”

[hairmetal666]

Steve has done interviews before. Like, a lot of interviews. YouTube, podcasts, print, TV stuff. Not as a brag, or anything, just. He's been an influencer for a long time, for better or worse, and it's part of the deal.

Usually, he's comfortable in front of the camera. Usually, he's poised and well-spoken. But today, this time, sweat pools under his arms and beads along his hairline, the lights beating down on him in a harsh glare.

"Steve Harrington," Murray Bauman crosses his legs, smiles big for the cameras. "It's been a while."

He smiles too, tries to seem like he's not about to have a panic attack. "I've been a little busy."

Murray laughs and it's then that Steve understands how screwed he really is. Murray's show, it's all glitz and glamour on the surface; mixed drinks and hijinks until the celebrity guests lose their inhibitions, admitting things they probably wanted to keep secret.

It's just that, before, Steve didn't have any salacious rumors to worry about, and now--

"You've had a rough year, Steve, yeah?"

"Not my best, for sure." He leans back, tries to seem calm, unbothered.

"I was sorry to hear about your divorce. I think that announcement really took a lot of people by surprise."

His hands clench, but he manages not to shift or bounce his leg. "Thanks for, uh. Yeah. We were also sorry it didn't work out."

Murray nods, face full of sympathy. "You and Nancy, you'd been together since high school? That's almost--what? 15 years?"

"It's--" he clears his throat. "About that long." Steve takes a sip of the drink next to him, an apple martini that's both too sweet and too strong.

"Am I right to assume that you didn't see it coming?"

And isn't that a question? Sure, now in hindsight, he can see the fractures that lead to the end, but six months ago did he--it's all so--what if all along--

"All marriages have rough patches," is what he says. "We just couldn't come out of ours as a couple."

"Do you know what I've found really remarkable about this phase of your life? The content and tone of your videos in the midst of the maelstrom of rumors and gossip didn't change at all. 'Your kids' as you call them, are still as bright and vibrant as ever. You're laughing, dancing, cooking, having a great time."

"I needed that--that normalcy you know? And the kids, they're such an important part of my life, having them around helped."

"Including Nancy's brother, Mike?"

Steve laughs and it's not fake. "Totally including Mike. My relationship with Nancy has nothing to do with my relationship with him."

"He's kind of an antagonist--would you say?--in your videos, though."

"We have conflict sometimes, but it's never serious. We know how to play it up for laughs."

"So, nothing's changed between you?"

"Not at all."

"The cheating rumors." Murray's smile is soft, but all the air still leaves the room.

"What about them?" It's more combative than he means, but--

"Did Nancy cheat on you with Jonathan Byers?"

He swallows and it hurts. She did cheat, is the thing. It's not public information, still only speculation, but--

"You can't believe everything you read, Murray."

"So, she didn't cheat?" There's a glow to Murray's eyes that tells Steve he already knows the answer.

"Like, I said before, marriages are hard. We spent a lot of time apart because of our jobs. It took a toll."

"And she was traveling with Jonathan, yes? He's been her photographer for the past decade, from what I understand."

"They were co-workers, but we're all close. And those rumors didn't help our relationship, for sure. It's--not easy to hear that a bunch of people think your wife and close friend may be having an affair, that people 'ship' them. Even when it's not true, it creates--"

"Tension? Distrust?"

"Both, probably." He takes another drink as he nods. "After a while you do start to wonder if there's truth to it, and you're too ignorant or too--too trusting to see it."

"And it eroded the relationship."

"It certainly didn't help." He takes another drink.

"And how about your relationship with Jonathan's brother, Will. Has that been impacted?"

"Of course not. Never. Whatever happens between Nancy, Jonathan, and I, it has nothing to do with the kids. They know that.

"You talked about it."

"Yes. Extensively."

"I know there's often speculation on the relationship you have with them; if you're really close or it's all for the cameras."

"Murray." He leans forward. "We've talked about this before. I met Dustin through Mike, and the whole group followed. I've known them all since they were 8 years old. They're--I mean, not to be cliche, but they're my family." He sips the last bit of martini.

"And where does Eddie Munson fit into that family?"

The question shouldn't be a surprise, but he almost does a spit take, has to fight to keep it together.

"Eddie?"

"Yes." Murray's smile is chilling. "Your close friend Eddie Munson. Musician. Plays Dungeons and Dragons on YouTube. You made out with him in a music video. Ringing any bells?"

"I'm familiar with Eddie," his grin is rigid. "I don't know what that has to do with my marriage ending."

"Well, the rumors weren't all about Nancy, were they?"

"Eddie and I have--we became mutuals online years and years ago. I used one of his songs in a video and the kids are obsessed with his dnd stuff, so. We've become close."

"Friends?"

"Isn't that implied?"

"After that music video, I don't think so."

Steve rolls his eyes, lets the irritation show for the first time. "He asked me to be in his video. There's nothing scandalous about it."

"What's your relationship with Eddie right now?"

"Like I said, friends."

"Do you want it to be more than that?"

"Eddie's really important to me."

"Is that all?"

"Not really sure what you want me to say here, Murray."

"You were married to a woman for years, but now there are questions about your sexuality."

He grits his teeth. "My sexuality isn't anyone's business aside my own. People can say shit on Twitter all they want, that doesn't mean they know me. But--the end of my marriage--it definitely gave me the space for self-discovery, I guess? In a way I hadn't had before."

"And is Eddie a part of that self-discovery?"

"Yeah, as one of my closest friends, he is."

"Do you have feelings for him?"

"That's--that's not--I'm going through a divorce. My focus isn't on starting another relationship right now."

"You, famously, tattooed your initials on the inside of his thigh during an Instagram live. That's pretty intimate."

"We were just having a little fun."

"Huh. That seems like more than 'a little fun' to me. So, how's Eddie doing with the increased attention?"

It takes Steve a second to track the change of subject, mind still stuck on the tattoo, on how the ink had looked on Eddie's pale skin.

"It's hard." Steve eventually answers. "Of course he enjoys bringing his music and dnd to a wider audience, but the focus on his personal life is--it's a lot."

"Well, he should have thought about before letting you tattoo him for your 850,000 followers. Does he want a relationship with you?"

His throat is dry, burning, he wishes he had more martini. He wishes he'd never taken a sip. "You'd have to ask him. I'm just taking it day by day, you know? That's what I need right now."

"We're getting to the end of our time, but you know I have to ask. Your best friend, Robin Buckley, she very famously unfollowed both Nancy and Jonathan on all social media when news broke about your divorce. Can you tell us why she unfollowed them?"

"I have no control over Robin's accounts. I didn't even know she followed Jonathan ever, and she and Nancy have a relationship outside of me, you know? I can't say what happened between them."

"She's been in your videos with Eddie. She like him?"

"Very much. It's kind of annoying actually. They keep ganging up on me."

"Much to everyone's delight, I'm sure. So, what can we expect from the newly single Steve Harrington?"

"There are a couple things in the works, but only time will tell."

---

He walks through his front door an hour later, and Eddie's sitting on the couch, playing a soft melody on an acoustic guitar. He stops when he sees Steve, setting the guitar aside, and standing.

"How'd it go, baby?" He asks. His soft smile is so beautiful, Steve gets a lump in his throat.

"As expected." He crosses the space between them, lets Eddie pull him close.

"He ask about us?" Eddie's breath tickles his ear.

"Of course."

"And you--"

"I want--it should be just for us. We should be able to announce when we're ready. Not when Murray-fucking-Bauman asks."

Eddie kisses him, then, sweet and slow, making him lose his breath.

"Whenever you're ready, I'll be right by your side."

"You sure? All my mess--"

"Is mine too. Afraid you're stuck with me for the long haul, Steve Harrington."

[easy-there-leftovers]

A Question Unasked

Written with season 1 Spencer in mind

Summary: In which your ambitious, workaholic nature makes Spencer wonder if you've got a crush on Hotch. This slight hitch in his plan causes him to miss a few signs.

[A/N]: Can be seen as a filler from Spencer's perspective of certain scenarios from "Mixed Messages" and a prequel to "As Cool As I Think I Am", but can also just be a standalone

Pairing: Spencer Reid x fem! (mentored by Hotch!) reader | cw: slight spoilers for s1e04, allusion to inappropriate workplace dynamics (it's not true, relax lol), slight description of canon-typical violence, mildly inaccurate timeframe | word count: 4k

Spencer looks up from his endless stacks of files on his desk to look at the girl on the other side of his desk. Only a single carpeted walkway really separating them.

He could easily just get up and walk right to her. Ask the burning question that's been on his mind since the Arizona case, but he can't.

Why is that?

He's been your friend for a while, and he's known you for a while longer.

With his eidetic memory, he remembers so clearly when you first started working together. He remembers your starched blazer and pressed blouse, a stark contrast to his swimming-in-sweaters look, and how that alone let anyone know that you were serious about uniform and protocol.

You were, without a shadow of a doubt, one of the prettiest girls he had ever seen, and a fresh graduate just like him.

You were smart, beautiful, and started working at the BAU as early as he did.

And because you were new and young, one of the senior agents had been assigned to supervise your progress. So much like how he was mentored by Gideon, you had been mentored by the unit chief himself; Aaron Hotchner.

He'd like to think that he learned a lot from Gideon. He wasn't the type to hold his hand throughout a case, which he is thankful for, but he had been there to encourage him to think more outside the box. To let his mind be more flexible and creative. To see things from every conceivable angle. Leaving no stone unturned.

He supposed you learned a lot from Hotch as well. With your calm exterior, polite demeanor, and calculating mind that occasionally colored your less polite vocabulary-- He didn't know what Aaron must've been like in his junior years, but he supposed that having you as his colleague was essentially the same experience.

What he does know, however, is how close you are to your boss. Or is it your work?

Either way, you being glued to your work almost always meant that you were glued to him by proxy. You two being the first ones in and the last ones out showed that you spent three-percent more of your time with each other than the rest of the team, and two-percent more than with him.

Granted that had changed as of late, but still!

That didn't leave him a lot of time to ask you if---

"Dr. Reid, if you keep staring at me, I don't think you'll be able to finish your action reports on time." You had said without lifting your eyes from your folder.

Having been caught, he cleared his throat with a small 'sorry,' and directed his head back down to his still endless stack of files. The action earning a couple of chuckles from the bullpen where the rest of your colleagues had certainly seen, or at least heard, the exchange.

Not long after however, he saw Hotch from the corner of his eye lean over the railing outside his office. Calling for you both to meet him inside with his usual stern expression.

Spencer noticed how you got up, eyes still zeroed in on one of your files, and continued on your way up and into the unit chief's open door.

A clear sign that you had been invited there often enough that you didn't need to see where you were going.

You expected it.

He sighs and makes his way into the office as well. Dreading what the meeting could even be for, though he's confident he hasn't done anything wrong.

***

"As you might have noticed in our previous cases, I've paired you two to work on the more analytical aspects of it together. With these changes, we've been able to work twice as fast, and we’re thankful for the help."

Whatever Spencer had been expecting, it was not this. His raised eyebrows evidently agreed with him.

It wasn't everyday that Hotch complimented someone like this, much less in the proper environment. And if your respectful posture, but shining eyes in slight pride were anything to go off of, this was something new for you too.

As he was about to voice his thoughts, you had spoken up.

"Sir, Dr. Reid's knowledge in a wide array of subjects has certainly helped with our investigations. Though I'm afraid I haven't done much aside from ensuring it's accuracy and-"

"No! I mean--," He looked to see you already looking at him in slight confusion before continuing.

"She's been a huge help so far and has allowed me to exchange ideas with her to build a more accurate profile. Not to mention that her ability to mediate between departments has been beneficial to gaining access to pertinent information! So I think she's done plenty for the investigations as well." His voice dwindles as he realizes he's rambling on praises and he suddenly feels warm under the scrutiny of both his boss and his colleague.

He just didn't want anyone thinking you weren't doing anything by being humble. Especially since you're both so young.

Thankfully, it's Hotch who speaks up again after a beat.

"So what I'm hearing is that you're both satisfied with this arrangement?"

You both nod carefully and he smiles a small smile at that.

"Then we'll be carrying on with this pairing into the foreseeable future. Should there be any concerns about this arrangement, see to it that it goes through me. We can't afford to lose either of you." He says it with a finality that prompts both Spencer and you to leave with a nod, but the thought is instantly corrected when he speaks again.

"Oh and agent?" He looks only at you, but Spencer looks back as well out of instinct. "A private word, if you please."

Spencer sees you nod without a second thought and he takes it as his cue to hurriedly leave.

***

It hasn't been that long, Spencer argues with himself, since he left the unit chief's office. The blinds aren't drawn, he would know since he'd been looking at them periodically, so he also knows that nothing untoward is happening.

Yet something is bothering him about it.

From his position on his desk, he can see you and Hotch discussing something on his table very seriously, but he also sees how your eyes rarely leave the face of your superior. He can't quite see your expression due to the distance and the light, but he has this sinking feeling that it's a lot like the one from earlier.

He scoffs at the thought. If he wasn't thinking so rationally, he would've thought-

"Does she like Hotch?"

"Who likes Hotch?"

The new voice makes him whip his head back so fast to see Morgan with a confused face. Upon further examination, he sees him holding something that was definitely supposed to be flicked at him if he hadn't been caught so off guard.

He internally debates to voice his opinion, but he does anyway.

"Do you think that she likes Hotch?" He gestures with his eyes to their supervisor's office.

"You're asking me if I think 'little miss perfect' has a crush on a man that's hitched?" Derek echoes back with the use of your nickname. One that he coined as a playful jab at your no-frills behavior.

Spencer cringes when he hears it back though. He didn't ask this to get you in trouble, but it might come across that way now.

"Who has a crush on married man?" Elle joins in, and he only shrinks into his seat more.

"I'm not asking if she has a crush on him! I just want to know if she might like him and--what it is that she likes about him..."

The two exchange looks before looking back at him. Fully knowing that that's not the reason why he's asking, but they humor him anyway.

"Reid, what makes you think she likes him and not literally anyone else?"

"Well. there's her preference for prolonged eye-contact, a common indicator of interest for one. Her being in constant proximity to him, a sign that shows comfort in certain contexts, and then there's the amount of time they spend together."

The last one might be a bit of a reach, considering how you all work in the same area, but at this point he just wanted someone to tell him that he was either absolutely right, or crazy.

"Kid, that's crazy."

Duly noted.

"I'll say.” Elle chuckles out her response. “I haven't thought about it all, but those signs don't really mean anything. It just sounds like she has a habit of looking at whoever's talking to her." She notes, sharing her experience of being on the receiving end of your rather intense gaze.

His other friend adds onto that.

"And the whole closeness thing? You've seen her, she's like a computer with the way she works. She's a workaholic. And Hotch is another. It's just math, Reid."

Spencer furrows his eyes at the man's statement but before he can ask further, he sees you coming out of the office and staring at the small crowd that has now formed at his desk.

"Is something going on here?" You ask with tense brows. Eyes flickering to and fro.

He couldn't really think of something on the spot, but thankfully Derek had one at the ready. "Was just caught trying add my stack on to pretty boy's plate."

He sees you let out a small 'hm,' and you eventually turn your back to them to reach your desk.

He sighs in relief as he feels a firm pat on his back from Morgan.

"Next time, try looking at what she does when you're the one talking." He says before leaving to go to his own desk as well.

Spencer doesn't know what good that would do, especially now that he's worried one of his colleagues have caught wind of him liking you, but he at least takes note of it.

--------

He does not, in fact, take note of it until very later.

The team had been called to San Diego to deal with someone they had been calling, "The Tommy Killer." An unsub that had a preference for gluing his victims' eyes open.

As they were reviewing the scene in the jet, they had noticed a few stanzas of a literary work had been left behind at the scene.

"It's a ballad from the late 1600s. A Dialogue Betwixt Death and a Lady." Spencer had mentioned from where he stood.

"A 17th Century ballad?" Morgan had asked him incredulously from his seat, but it’s you who answers.

"One where a woman tries to bribe Death with all that she has in exchange for a little more time to live. Naturally, he doesn't allow it. Claiming that she was undeserving of an exception that even kings were denied of."

Spencer looks up from his own copy to see you still looking at your own from beside Hotch. With your brows furrowing in thought, he almost sees the actual gears in your brain turning.

"So what, are we looking at a literature professor of some kind?" Elle asks which immediately perks him right up.

"Well, actually anyone with access to the internet today. You should see what comes up when you type in the word, "Death" into a search engine." He laughed absentmindedly.

"Reid, no wonder you can't get a date."

Morgan's words made him frown, but he brushes it off.

Hotch, as previously discussed, then called on for the both of you to look deeper into the messages. To see if there was anything new that could be inferred.

He nods at him, and looks up. Expecting you to still be looking at Hotch as well.

Instead, your eyes meet his, but you quickly look back onto your file.

Reid thinks it's just a coincidence.

***

"Creepy, huh?" JJ had asked you two as she approached where transcripts of the written messages were tacked onto a board.

Spencer had been focusing so hard that he was caught off gaurd by her sudden appearance. Fully expecting the area to just be for you and him so he told her what first came to mind.

"Actually, conversations between Death and his victims was a fairly popular literary and artistic theme throughout the Renaissance."

Though perhaps the delivery wasn't as as good as he thought it was as JJ only stared back at him with an unreadable expression.

He thought it was interesting, really, but he supposed his slight stutter and breathy laugh at the end must have distracted her from his point.

He turned to look at you for help, but you too had been focusing on the messages and wouldn't be available to do that. So he just agreed with JJ’s sentiment, which seemed to be enough for her to leave.

He sighed out in relief.

"The lady never answers. Have you noticed it yet, Dr. Reid?" You turn to him as you ask.

He immediately refocuses on to the case and tries his best to reply after his prior blunder. "Oh uh-- Right, the dialogue in the ballad seems to be fractured. Well, it's more of a monologue than a dialogue seeing that there is no exchange of information."

A small smile graces your lips at that, and you gesture with a nod to go report your findings.

"So it is. Let's get going."

He follows you to where Hotch and Elle were discussing the sexual aspect of the crime and sees you take your place next to your mentor. The same position you were in when he was blowing out his birthday candles, as he also inserts himself into the discussion.

"Sir, we believe what the unsub has written at the scenes are most of the first three verses of the same ballad." You deliver, prompting your mentor to raise his brow at that.

"Most of?"

"Yeah, it's only one side of the conversation." Spencer adds. "There's no betwixt." He takes pride in your shared effort, which makes itself known by the smile that adorns his face.

Unfortunately, his satisfaction, isn't met with a positive reaction either as he sees Elle desperately trying not to make eye-contact, and your supervisor staring at him very pointedly.

He's thankful though at the little chuckle that you quickly try to hide behind a cough and a cover of your mouth to appear more professional. Quickly looking down at the ground.

He's happy that at least someone thought his joke was well-placed.

He continues to explain your theory about how the Lady in the narrative never answers, and that's enough for both Hotch and Elle to at least think about it.

Their attention is quickly stolen away however at an incoming call about a failed attempt nearby the precinct.

Quickly excusing themselves to get onto the scene as soon as possible, you see them call Gideon on their way out. Watching them as they leave the department doors.

But Spencer keeps his eyes on you as the thought just dawns on him.

You were the first one on the team to laugh at his jokes.

***

The more cases he works for the BAU, the more he realizes how much of his work isn't theoretical anymore. He feels it in the weariness in his eyes, the weight on his chest, and the shake of his hands.

Or maybe the shake is from the cold.

After all, he had dressed for the warm, California air. So now that he was in the cool, air-conditioned jet, he was seriously regretting not packing a sweater, at the very least.

He makes his way to the back of the aircraft after another successful investigation, and that's where sees you.

You had opted to shed your typically structured blazer on the seat beside you, leaving you in a softer blouse, both in color and form, that made everyone around you know that you were officially off duty.

It's a nice look on you, he thinks. A slight departure from your usually stern and hardened exterior. He wouldn't mind seeing a more relaxed version of you every once in a while.

A version of you that looked more your age and not constantly under the pressure of doing well.

He momentarily wonders if that's part of your mentor's influence as well.

He freezes a bit, as if catching himself in some depraved daydream, and takes a few steps back to return to the more vacant areas of the craft.

Before he can get any further though, you see him and beckon for him to come over with a tired wave of your hand.

"How's the flight treating you, Dr. Reid?" You ask, drowsiness lacing your tone as he sits on the seat opposite of you.

"Oh, it's the same as always, I guess. A little colder than usual, but that's to be expected. By the way, we’re actually lucky that we haven't experienced some semblance of turbulence yet on our flights, considering that the likelihood of it has increased by seventeen-percent in the last decade."

You laugh at that. "You really know just what to say, huh?"

He doesn't see it as funny as you do, so it seems. "I'm sorry. I didn't mean to scare you or--" "There's no need to apologize, sir. I find everything you have to say interesting, whether you mean it to or not."

He stays silent at that, suddenly nervous, and tries to make himself comfortable. He does so in the hopes that he can finally steel himself to ask you that question.

He talked to Elle earlier when they were waiting for the unsub's call. Asked her if she thought it was weird that he knew what he knew, and if it had anything to do with his inability to get a date. She had reasoned with him that it was because he didn't ask, but it couldn't be that simple, could it?

He mulls it over in his head before sighing. Opting to give up and just wait for a more opportune time.

Besides, jury’s still out that you could very well be pining over his boss.

The action, however, seems to remind you of something.

"Before I forget," You look into your baggage, rummaging around before finally finding what it was you were looking for.

You ask him to close his eyes, which he obediently does, and you place a thick rectangular box into his awaiting lap.

The sudden shift in weight causes his eyes to open, and he is certainly surprised to see what was on there.

"What is this?"

"It's your birthday. There wasn't a good time to give it to you, so might as well."

He takes the box into his hands and shakes it a little.

From the sound alone, or near lack thereof, there could be a multitude of things inside it. He looks at you questioningly and you only smile and gesture for him to open it.

He takes his time in doing so, and he doesn't know how or why, but he finds your reactions to his movements much more amusing than whatever could be in the box. As if you were more excited for him.

He finally peers into the now open box to see some sort of purple cloth. A ribbon of geometric designs cutting through its middle and he stares at it in wonder.

"It's a scarf!"

You smile at him, and he was thankful that the rest of the team were either asleep or just not paying attention as it allowed the both of you to savor the moment with at least some semblance of privacy.

"I've noticed that you had a tendency to wear a lot of layers. I wasn't sure if it was because you were cold, or you just liked dressing that way, so I made an educated guess and got you something practical."

And just like that, he's over the moon.

He immediately goes to put it on with a wide smile, paying no mind that it paired so badly with the short sleeves of his button up.

Not that he would know, nor care.

And just when he had been feeling cold earlier too! "Thank you so much. This means a lot to me, especially since you don't usually give gifts."

You shake your head. "I don't, but it's not everyday one spends their twenty-fourth at the BAU."

He continues to observe the cloth that now hung around him. Smoothing his hands over it as he does with an expression unreadable to you.

You worry a bit and hurriedly mention, "I'm sorry if it isn't your color. I see purple show up on your mismatched socks more than any other color, so I just assumed. If it's any consolation, purple is a great color to contrast the warmer hues in brown eyes?"

He flushes at your admission, but matches your urgency to set you straight. "No! Please, I actually really like it-- It's beautiful."

You breathe out a sigh in relief and nod slowly at that.

"Speaking of the color, did you know the origin of purple dye is actually quite fascinating?" His voice filled with enthusiasm. With his eyes, bright, and filled with a child-like fascination that makes your chest feel warm at the sight.

"Historically, purple dye was incredibly rare and valuable, which is why it became associated with royalty and nobility. The earliest known purple dye, known as Tyrian purple, was produced by the ancient Phoenicians around 1200 BC. It was derived from the secretions of a particular type of sea snail, the bolinus brandaris, found in the Mediterranean Sea."

He paused for a moment, wondering if he was boring you, but sees that you're still very much paying attention to him.

"The process to obtain this dye was incredibly labor-intensive and complex. It required thousands of these sea snails to produce just a small amount of dye. The snails would then be collected and left to decompose in large vats. After several days, a gland from the snail was extracted and crushed to produce a purple mucus. This mucus would then be exposed to sunlight, undergoing a chemical reaction that transformed it into the deep, rich purple dye we commonly associate with our modern day equivalent."

As he kept going, he suddenly remembered what Morgan had told him all those weeks ago.

"Next time, try looking at what she does when you're the one talking."

So he does just that.

He observes the way that your shoulders are more relaxed, how your eyes never stray from him, and how the small upturned curve of your lip makes itself known as you rest your cheek onto your propped up fist.

How he has your undivided attention and yet you don't even look the least bit bored of what he has to say. Only silently appreciating and subtly nodding along with the slow blink of your eyelids.

All clear signs of unguarded comfort, and or interest, in his presence.

Had you really been looking at him like that all this time?

Now the idea of you liking your boss seems silly. Especially when you’re looking at him the way he imagines himself looking at you.

"I did know that, actually, Dr. Reid. At the time, Tyrian purple wasn't only desirable for its rarity, people said it was also incredibly lightfast. That it was resistant to fading under the sun and the weather. Not to mention all that hard work that just to get a single gram of it. Then again, modern studies do claim that its lightfastness was, in fact, not an accurate feature as it's color diminished when it was exposed to light and UV radiation."

You laughed a little again, as if remembering some anecdote, and that sound was steadily becoming one of his favorite sounds. Following only after your speaking voice.

"Fortunately for you, doctor, I could only afford a synthetically purple-dyed scarf. Though that means that you won't ever have to worry about it fading under the sun."

Hands up in faux surrender, you give him a tired smile that he returns with one of his own.

A calming silence enveloped the both of you as you continue to bask in each other's presence.

At some point you doze off, draping your blazer on top of yourself to shield yourself from the cold, and that's when he starts considering Elle's words again.

"Do you ever ask anyone out?"

"No,"

"That's why you can't get a date."

He nods to himself, and reclines a little more into his seat. Snuggling into his new scarf that still has the faintest smell of you.

Maybe he will ask you out on a a date later.

_____________________________

Like my work? Consider tipping me!!

[mehiwilldoitlater]

When you were taken by your original world and sent into some kind of ancient China, full of demons and monsters, you weren't exactly sure why you were supposed to assist the "Destined one." Damn, you didn't even know how this.

When you find out that this destiny one was some kind of successor of Sun Wukong, saying that you were surprised was a joke.

His eyes scrutinized you; they were dark with a tint of gold when the light stricked them. He silently circled you, creating some distance between you, himself, and the other monkeys, curious about the mortals that presented themselves on their mountain.

Every time you tried to keep some distance, he was ready to close it enough to never leave his sight. What a strange situation, and what strange creature was sent to him just at the dawn of his journey.

The stories portrayed Wukong, as the name says, as a monkey kind of guy: cheerful, ready to make some jokes, who liked to make fun of people and laugh. And yet, the destined one was nothing like this trope.

He was composed, serious, and always straight forward. It was like he decided to expel every fun side from him in order to fulfill his duty.

Despite that, he showed more side to you: he was caring, trying to understand your confusion and fear while in a new world, always remembering to keep your peace while walking to make sure that you didn't get lost around. He was your protector, always ready to strike at every danger, and a good friend in the moment of agony.

"I'm sorry. I shouldn't cry for these things, but... I'm sorry, so sorry."

You missed home. You never could believe yourself, but you missed your monothone and unsavory life. You missed waking up, going to walk, listening to endless hours of your boss rumbling—you missed even the crappy food of the cafeteria!

Everything seems so far away, without hope of reaching it. And you felt like trash because he was the one that was there to listen. You felt ashame, ashame of the fact that you were there complaining about what you lost while he was there fighting for both of you. You tried to cover your eyes, holding your breath to calm down, but nothing worked at all.

A stream of tears keeps on crashing down, hiccups escaping your lungs without stop.

Then, you felt his arms—two pairs of strong and soft arms, protecting your now vulnerable state from everything and everyone. His tail followed his gesture, keeping you in place and warm—so warm.

"Please." His high peech voice is now reduced to a whisper. "Don't hold it. Don't hold the pain. I can't see you like this. Please, whatever cloud your heart, speak to me."

Soon, you both became inseparable. You followed him like a shadow, carrying pills and balms, making plans with him for your next move. Damn, even Bajie couldn't believe his eyes when he saw you behind the monkey, a little afraid of the newcomer of the group.

You weren't anymore just some random mortal the Destined one had found and kept at his tail; now you were the Destined done caompanion and trusted friend. His journey became your journey, and his task your task. You both became bound by a silent vow.

"Say...why don't you choose a name? A real one this time."

"I never thought about it." He started to play with a leaf fallen from the nearby tree, thinking about your new idea.

You reached his side, holding his hand in yours, caressing the black claws on it. Once those scared you, now you wonder if a nice manicure could make them look prettier than now.

"Well, you can't let me call you Destined One or Monkey forever! You need a proper name! Something nice! ...umm...how about... Yuánfèn?"

"Um? Since when can you name people here?"

"Well," you continued, "it's destiny in Chinese, no? Like..fate!"

He looked at you, then laughed between his teeth a little. "There's no difference in how they usually call me then!"

"Yes, but...this is how I call you! So is different!"

Soon, you start to not miss home that much. You start to hope to be closer to him—to not go back. You hope that, after your honeymoon, you can stay together and that, despite all, there can be a happy ending for both of you. And silently, in his head, he hoped that too.

"May i?"

He gave you his silent consent, allowing you to caress his cheek with your so small fingers. Your lips met his own, your gesture so timid and gentle that you ask yourself if it's still a small image in your mind instead of something that you're actually doing now. He hasn't moved an inch; confusion starts to come to him and yourself, to the point that you need to stop. Now you just feel ashamed; you felt that you crossed a line, and now you don't even know if you can even go back.

"I'm sorry if I made you uncomfortable."

A small shush from him, his finger holding your chin and guiding you against him. This time, he's trying to mimic your gesture, a blush forming from his face to the visible part of his ears. His kiss is trembling but fierce. He waited long enough to see your still puzzled face.

"I...may don't get how you did it...Can you show me...again, please?"

You don't need to let him ask again; soon your lips smash together again, showing him exactly what's happening.

Your fate is sealed with that kiss, and there's no force on heaven and earth to undo it.

@sun-jglim

[tbaluver]

hi!! i was wondering if i could ask for some angst with all the guys ٩(◕‿◕｡)۶

smthing like mc (gender neutral if possible!) going to a mission and not coming back and the guys' reactions to that ?

ty in advance (≧▽≦)

When You Don't Come Back From Your Mission- The Love And DeepSpace Men

parings in order: Xavier x Reader, Zayne x Reader, Rafayel x Reader, Sylus x Reader genre: angst no comfort a/n: hi anonnie! i hope this was okay and that you enjoy ! i'll post a part where mc/ reader comes back from the mission after a long time and maybe that would be a comfort part of this angst reaction (๑>؂•̀๑) i know a couple people from my inbox have requested me to write something about that and i'll get it out soon it's just sitting on my drafts but it'll be out so so soon ദ്ദി ༎ຶ‿༎ຶ ) sorry lovelies i just get distracted a lot any likes and reblogs are always appreciated! enjoy!

⋆｡‧˚ʚ♡ɞ˚‧｡⋆

Xavier:

You and Xavier weren’t assigned to this mission, which was a bummer given how often you two have been always paired for similar tasks. Your extensive training together, countless sparring sessions, and numerous times you two have spent together have created a deep bond and sense of confidence in each other’s skills. Although it was unusual to not be paired in a mission, you both trusted in your abilities and didn’t think much of it.

As he returned from picking up snacks at the convenience store, he walked into the Hunter’s Association office and was struck by the sense of panic that had been overtaken in the room. The frantic energy was evident as he overheard that your team has not given any responses or updates regarding your location. The news hit him like a jolt, nearly causing him to drop the snacks he was holding.

His gentle demeanor shifted to one of deep concern. The usual calmness in his eyes was replaced by a serious and troubled look. His universe felt like it had dimmed, knowing that the brightest star was missing from his grasp.

He demanded immediate access to the latest mission’s location, coordinates, or any relevant information. He insisted that he would take charge of the situation himself and offer no objects as they recognized the intensity in his voice.

He internally blamed himself for not coming sooner. Every path he takes as he travels to find you, only fuels the sense of urgency and concern to find your and ensure your safety.

Zayne:

Zayne has always trusted in your abilities and knew what you were capable of. Each mission, he knew you could handle it with ease and he had faith that you would come back. As always, before he left he would always remind you, “Stay safe and don’t do anything reckless. I don’t want to see you back in my office with another injury.”

Normally, your absences were brief and he would patiently wait for your return, eager to hear the absurd stories of your missions, but this time something felt different. Something he couldn’t quite place. The days dragged on longer than usual and the silence from you was unsettling.

He tried to distract himself with paperwork and tending to patience but his anxiety gnawed at him, thinking of what had happened to you. A mission shouldn’t take this long, especially for someone as skilled as you. 

Every day he would send a text and sometimes they were random. Sometimes they were filled with encouragement or updates about small things in his life, in hopes to get a response from you. However, each message he sent was always left unanswered which fueled his growing concern. He began to doubt if you were ignoring him or if something far worse had happened.

Unable to contain his worry any longer, he drove to your house and knocked on your door unannounced. The minutes stretched into an agonizing wait and when there was no response. His heart that had been warmed by your presence has now gripped by icy fear.

Each day he has desperately waited for any responses and any updates from the Hunter’s Association about your well-being. The longer he had to wait, the more he was determined to join the battlefield himself in desperation to find you again.

Rafayel:

Ever since you departed on your mission, he would be counting the seconds, minutes, and days until your return. It’s something he would usually do when you leave for a mission. Time passed by slowly in your absence and he tried to distract himself by visiting the beach or working on new sketches, hoping to find a spark of inspiration for his next piece. Yet, inspiration was difficult when his greatest muse was missing for a few days

A few days. What began to be a few days stretched into a week and more. His concern grew as your silence and absence in his life persisted. Normally, you would have responded to any of his texts or calls even amid the chaos of your missions. But now, this mission was different. His phone never lit up from any notifications from you and your absence gnawed at him.

His distress was evident. His meticulously groomed appearance had unraveled. His hair was disheveled and his outfits mismatched. The studio that was usually a bright haven of creativity had become a reflection of his inner turmoil. The room was shrouded in shadows, and canvases were marred with erratic splashes of paint and frustrated strokes.

'Missing you comes in waves and tonight I am drowning.'

He was spiraling and grew relentless, digging up any lead and rumor of information about your mission. Whatever happened to you, someone was going to pay. He doesn’t care if the bounty on his head catches up to him. He’ll try to find you no matter what, even if it takes him another 800 years.

Sylus:

He knew you were a skilled Hunter so initially he dismissed your absence as just another routine mission. He assumed he would see you again soon in a couple of days and began making plans for the two of you to relax and enjoy when you returned.

However as days turned into a week without any responses to his text or voice messages, his calm demeanor began to crumble. Your status on DeepSpace hadn’t been updated since the last time you had talked and it never showed that you read his messages. His unease deepened when Mephisto reported that he had been unable to locate you.

The growing anxiety and frustrations were impossible for him to contain. He had tried to rush to the location of your mission only to find no trace of you there. His office became a battleground of his conflicted emotions. He cursed himself for being so careless about you.

Luke and Kieran could only witness the storm of anger and worry from a distance. They dared not to approach him during the moments of his intense agitation. They understand as they miss you as well but they could only wish they could do so much to help find you.

He figures he has to take matters into his own hands no matter the cost. Your little Hunter’s Association could only do so much but many do not understand how much power, influence, and resources Sylus has at his disposal. He doesn’t care if he has to get his hands dirty, he will have to do anything to find his little dove back in his arms again.

[kiwriteswords]

Professional Distractions

AN: Alright, here's the winner from the poll!! It's funny; I wrote a multi-chapter years ago about Hotch x Secretary Reader, so this brought back some memories!

Other Writing | Ao3

Pairing: Aaron Hotchner x Secretary!Female!Reader

Word Count: 8.9k

Rating: Everyone!

Tags/TW:  canon-typical themes, fluff, flirting

Summary: Aaron Hotchner thrives on control, order, and precision in both his work and personal life. But when a new secretary is assigned to his team, Hotch finds himself facing a different kind of challenge. Confident, witty, and effortlessly intriguing, she quickly becomes a presence he can't ignore. As their professional boundaries blur, Hotch is forced to confront feelings he never expected, and the calm, controlled world he's built begins to shift in unexpected ways.

Aaron Hotchner had never been one for frivolities in the office. Efficiency was his religion, order his creed. So, when Erin Strauss approached him with the idea that the BAU needed a secretary—he needed a secretary—he balked.

"I don’t need one," Hotch had said firmly, standing tall with that no-nonsense posture of his. “It’s a waste of resources.”

But Strauss was unmoved. "It’s already done, Aaron. She’ll start on Monday."

He felt like he'd lost before the battle had even begun. Hotch couldn't shake the sense that this was an unnecessary addition to his already perfectly functioning team. But Strauss was Strauss, and her word was law.

The team gathered in the bullpen that morning, curious about the new hire. Hotch had informed them earlier, his tone curt and business-like as usual. “She’s just here for administrative support,” he had said. “Nothing more.”

Morgan, leaning back in his chair, raised an eyebrow. "Bet she's someone Strauss sent to keep an eye on us," he joked.

JJ chuckled, but there was an undercurrent of anticipation among the team. New faces were always a point of interest, even in the most serious environments like the BAU.

The elevator doors slid open, and you stepped out, heels clicking softly on the floor. The conversations in the bullpen gradually quieted as you made your way towards Hotch’s office with a steady, assured walk.

You didn’t have the overt sex appeal of someone trying too hard. Instead, it was the way you carried yourself—your professional yet perfectly tailored outfit, your calm but confident posture, and the intelligent glint in your eyes—that caught their attention. Your aura spoke of someone who knew how to command a room, someone sharp, witty, and perhaps even a little mysterious.

"She’s... something," Morgan muttered under his breath, watching you with a grin.

"Wonder if she can keep up with Hotch," Garcia added with a playful smirk.

You reached Hotch’s office, giving the door a polite knock before stepping just inside. The faintest hint of a smile touched your lips, like you already knew what to expect.

"Mr. Hotchner?" Your voice was calm, professional, yet laced with just enough warmth to make him look up from his work.

He glanced up briefly, bracing himself for whatever distraction this was. "Hotch is fine," he replied, already setting his focus back on the file in front of him.

"Hotch, then," you echoed smoothly. The quickness of your response wasn’t flirtatious—it was simply sharp, quick-witted. You stepped fully into the office, no hesitation in your movements, and he took a second to measure you, noting that nothing about your manner felt frivolous.

"Y/N, your new secretary. But you probably already knew that," you said, standing with a straight posture, your gaze lingering just long enough to create the smallest tension in the air.

He nodded, clearly already trying to return his attention to the work on his desk. "Yes. Welcome."

You smirked slightly, sensing his resistance. "I’m here to make your life easier, Hotch. You’ll see."

It wasn’t a flirtatious comment, not in the usual sense. It was matter-of-fact, confident, and entirely unbothered by his lack of warmth. You weren’t intimidated, and that threw him off just enough to pause.

She doesn’t back down, Hotch thought, his fingers tightening just slightly on the papers in his hands. Most people hesitated, unsure of how to navigate his cool demeanor, but not you. You took it in stride, as if his distance wasn’t something to be overcome but just another part of him to understand. He wasn’t used to that.

There was a part of him that appreciated your confidence, your ability to handle things without needing constant direction. But there was also the part of him that felt something else—a pull, an attraction that was more than professional admiration. He couldn’t afford to entertain it, not here. Not with everything that was at stake. Yet, the more you settled into your role, the more difficult it became to ignore that nagging awareness of you, the way you never seemed rattled, no matter how he tried to maintain distance.

He was used to people being intimidated by him, especially new hires. But you? You weren’t phased in the least. Instead, there was a kind of ease about you that made him a little uneasy, though he’d never admit it.

With that, you left his office, and for the first time in a long while, Hotch found himself momentarily distracted, wondering just what kind of dynamic you were going to bring to his carefully controlled environment. 

Aaron Hotchner liked things a certain way. He wasn’t unreasonable, but he valued precision and efficiency, especially in his professional life. His office was always meticulously organized, his schedule tightly managed, and his expectations of those who worked with him were crystal clear. So when Erin Strauss had informed him that you—his new secretary—would be joining the BAU, he had been prepared to explain exactly how he liked things done.

Except, you were already a step ahead of him. And that both intrigued and unsettled him.

Hotch stood behind his desk, hands resting on the back of his chair as you entered his office with a fresh stack of files. You were calm, collected, and that faint smile you always wore, the one that hinted at a quiet confidence, made him pause.

“I thought we could go over a few things,” he said, his voice steady and professional. “Just to make sure we’re on the same page about how I like things done.”

You raised an eyebrow, a teasing glint in your eyes as you placed the files on his desk with an air of someone who already knew exactly what he was going to say.

“Sure thing, Hotch. Lay it on me,” you said, leaning against the edge of his desk, clearly at ease.

Hotch hesitated for a moment, his eyes narrowing slightly as he studied you. He wasn’t used to this—someone who wasn’t fazed by his usual no-nonsense approach, someone who seemed completely comfortable in his presence. But he pressed on, his tone measured.

“I like everything to be organized by priority,” he began, his fingers tapping lightly on the desk. “Urgent case files go on the top left, and any paperwork requiring signatures should be grouped together. My schedule needs to be updated daily, and—”

Before he could finish, you cut in smoothly, nodding as if you were already familiar with every word. “Urgent on the top left, signatures grouped. Got it. And don’t worry, I’ve been updating your schedule daily since Monday. You’ve got a meeting with Strauss tomorrow at 10 a.m., by the way.”

Hotch blinked, caught off guard. “You’ve already... updated the schedule?”

You nodded, not missing a beat. “Of course. And I took the liberty of sorting through the files on your desk this morning. The reports you requested from Garcia are already at the top. You’ll find a few case notes under them that I flagged as potential priorities.”

For a moment, Hotch didn’t respond, his usual calm composure faltering just slightly as he processed what you’d said. He wasn’t used to someone anticipating his needs like this, certainly not after just a few days of working together. And while he was impressed—very impressed—he wasn’t quite ready to admit it.

“Efficient,” he finally said, his voice careful, but you could tell he was weighing his words. “More than I expected.”

You grinned, tilting your head slightly. “What, did you expect me to be a disaster?”

“Not at all,” he replied quickly, but you caught the smallest hint of a smile on his face, which only fueled your amusement.

“Well, I hate to disappoint,” you teased, stepping back from his desk, “but I tend to be pretty good at what I do. You’re just going to have to get used to it.”

Hotch’s eyes met yours, and for a moment, he felt that same unsettling sensation he had the first time you’d walked into his office—like you already knew him better than you should. And that both fascinated and unnerved him.

“I suppose I will,” he said quietly, his tone measured but with an undeniable undercurrent of admiration.

You smirked, sensing you had him right where you wanted him. “Don’t worry, Hotch. You’ll thank me eventually.”

He raised an eyebrow, his expression returning to that familiar composed exterior, but you could see the faintest flicker of something behind his eyes—something that told you he wasn’t as unaffected as he liked to appear.

“You seem very sure of yourself,” he remarked, folding his arms across his chest.

You grinned. “Confidence is key, right? Besides, I have a feeling I’ll be a good fit here.”

Hotch didn’t respond right away, his gaze still lingering on you as if trying to figure you out. You weren’t like anyone else he’d worked with before. There was something about your calm confidence, the way you seemed to know exactly how to push just the right buttons without overstepping. It was... refreshing. Though he’d never say that out loud.

Finally, he gave a small nod. “We’ll see,” he said, his voice softer now, almost thoughtful.

You chuckled, turning to leave his office. “Oh, I’m sure we will.”

As the day progressed, Hotch found himself more impressed with you than he cared to admit. Every task he’d mentioned—every detail, every instruction—you had already taken care of. Without being told. It wasn’t just your efficiency that caught his attention; it was the way you seemed to anticipate his needs, the way you handled everything with ease.

And the teasing? He found himself... enjoying it. More than he expected. You weren’t afraid to poke at him, to challenge him in small, subtle ways that made him pause and reevaluate the dynamics between you.

By the end of the day, as you prepared to leave, Hotch caught you on your way out, standing by his office door.

“Y/N,” he called, stopping you in your tracks.

You turned to face him, that same playful smile tugging at your lips. “What’s up, Hotch? Need something else done?”

He paused, then shook his head slightly, a rare smile threatening to surface. “No. Just... good work today.”

You raised an eyebrow, feigning surprise. “Was that a compliment? From you?”

He chuckled softly under his breath. “Don’t let it go to your head.”

You grinned, your eyes sparkling with amusement. “Too late.”

As you turned to leave, Hotch couldn’t help but watch you go, still wondering how you had managed to slip past his defenses so effortlessly. You were different from anyone he had worked with before—confident, witty, and always one step ahead.

And though he wasn’t quite ready to admit it, Hotch knew he was impressed by you. More than he would ever let on.

Sitting back at his desk, Hotch allowed himself a rare moment of reflection. You’d been right: you had gotten under his skin. Not in a way that made him uncomfortable, but in a way that made him want to see where this new dynamic would lead. There was something about you that he couldn’t quite figure out—and maybe, for the first time in a long time, he was okay with that.

He glanced at the perfectly sorted stack of files on his desk and let out a soft sigh, knowing that working with you was going to be anything but predictable.

And for once, he didn’t mind that at all.

It didn’t take long for the team to notice the shift in the air. You were a natural conversationalist, quick on your feet with comebacks that were witty but never overtly crossed the line. Your presence was felt in the small ways—how you remembered little details about each of them, how you had a knack for lightening tense moments without being overbearing.

"I like her," Morgan said one afternoon after you had walked past, easily sliding a stack of paperwork into Hotch’s office without batting an eye.

Even Reid found himself smiling more when you were around, though you were relentless in teasing him, asking if his hair always did “that thing” on its own or if he had a special routine for it.

"She’s sharp," Reid added, intrigued by how quickly you seemed to pick up on the rhythms of the team.

"Too sharp, if you ask me," Garcia quipped, though her grin suggested she approved."She's like… intimidatingly hot," Garcia added, wide-eyed. "And those jokes? Even I blush."

JJ raised an eyebrow. "You think Hotch is... okay with her?"

Morgan laughed. "Oh, he’s pretending to be annoyed, but I bet he’s secretly amused."

And that was exactly the case. As much as Hotch tried to resist it, he found himself surprised by how often you caught him off-guard with your clever remarks. He wasn’t used to someone challenging him—not like this, in such subtle, intelligent ways.

But Hotch? He remained a fortress. He didn’t engage in your flirtation, not at first. He was polite, distant, keeping things strictly business even when you blatantly teased him about how serious he was.

“Do you ever smile?” you asked one afternoon, leaning over his desk again in that same casual-yet-familiar way.

“On occasion,” he responded coolly.

“Hmm. I’ll make it my mission to see that someday.”

He said nothing, though the corner of his mouth twitched—just a bit.

It was during a late-night case review when you knocked on his door and stepped inside, holding a cup of coffee. "I figured you could use this," you said, setting it down with a small smile.

“Thank you,” he said, eyes narrowing as he assessed you, trying to figure out what your game was.

“Careful,” you said, your tone light but teasing, “I might make you smile if you’re not too careful.”

For a second, his lips twitched, but he caught himself just in time. “I doubt that.”

“I love a challenge,” you responded without missing a beat, walking back to your desk with a slight grin.

And despite himself, Hotch found that he didn’t entirely mind the challenge either.

After a particularly long and grueling case, the team decided to go out for drinks to unwind. You, of course, joined without hesitation, slipping seamlessly into their social dynamic just as you had into their professional one.

As the drinks flowed, the conversation turned to you. Morgan, ever the instigator, leaned forward with a grin. "So, Y/N," he started, "you’ve been working with Hotch for a while now. What’s your take on him?"

You smirked, taking a sip of your drink before responding. "Hotch? He’s… everything."

The table quieted, and a few eyebrows shot up.

"Everything?" JJ asked, a smile tugging at her lips. "Care to elaborate?"

You shrugged, your tone playful but sincere. "I mean, he’s intelligent, strong, capable… and really attractive."

Garcia let out a small gasp, her eyes widening. "Wait—Hotch? You’re into Hotch?"

"How could I not be?" you laughed, setting your glass down with a casual ease. "He’s literally my dream man. Hot, smart, and way more fascinating than most people give him credit for."

Rossi, who had been quietly nursing his drink, raised an eyebrow. "Dream man, huh? I didn’t see that coming."

Morgan leaned back, clearly enjoying this turn of events. "You’ve got it bad, girl."

You smirked at him, completely unbothered by their teasing. "I’m just honest."

Emily, intrigued by your boldness, laughed. "I gotta admit, I didn’t peg you for a Hotch fan either."

"Oh my God," Garcia whispered dramatically, eyes wide. "Does Hotch even know?"

You rolled your eyes with a grin. "I mean, he will."

The table erupted into laughter, the team clearly amused by your boldness. Morgan, however, wasn’t done teasing. "You’re telling me if Hotch were sitting right here, you’d tell him to his face?"

Without missing a beat, you raised an eyebrow. "Absolutely."

And as if the universe had a sense of humor, Hotch, who had been at the bar talking to the bartender, chose that exact moment to return, taking a seat next to you.

"Tell me what to my face?" he asked, his voice low and curious as he glanced around the table.

You didn’t even blink. Turning to him, you smiled. "That I think you’re the hottest, smartest man in the room."

The entire table fell into a stunned silence. Even Morgan, who had been leading the teasing, looked impressed. 

Hotch, however, raised an eyebrow, clearly caught off guard. He wasn’t used to being the subject of such straightforward comments, especially not in front of the entire team. There was a beat of silence, and in that moment, Hotch felt the weight of their eyes on him. Normally, he would brush off a comment like this, keep things professional, deflect the attention. But something about the way you said it—so casual, so unapologetic—left him uncharacteristically rattled.

She can’t be serious, he thought, though there was no mistaking the sincerity in your tone. For the briefest second, his mind raced—how could someone as confident, as intelligent, as you be interested in him? He was used to being admired for his work ethic, his leadership, but this was something different. Something personal.

The idea of being seen in that way, especially by you, was both unexpected and, if he were honest with himself, a little thrilling. But he couldn’t afford to let it show. Not here. Not in front of the team. So he did what he always did—he kept his face neutral, his words careful, even as his heart beat just a little faster than before.

"You’re serious?" he asked, his tone careful, as though he were waiting for the punchline.

You smiled, unwavering. "Very."

There was a beat of silence, the tension palpable, but not uncomfortable. Finally, Hotch’s lips curved into the slightest of smiles, something rare for him. "I see."

Morgan burst into laughter, clapping his hands together. "Well, damn, Hotch! I think she’s got you beat."

Garcia, still wide-eyed, leaned forward, her voice a loud whisper. "Do you like… like him?"

You turned to her, grin still intact. "Yes, Penelope, I do. I have good taste."

Hotch sat quietly beside you, a bit overwhelmed but also… intrigued. You weren’t like anyone he’d ever worked with before. You were confident, intelligent, and you clearly didn’t care about anyone’s opinions. You liked him, and you weren’t afraid to say it. 

Reid changed the subject, without even realizing so, but Hotch’s mind was still on your comments. 

Finally, he cleared his throat. "I think it’s time I head out," he said, standing and adjusting his suit jacket. His eyes lingered on you for just a moment longer than necessary. "Goodnight, everyone."

As Hotch walked away, the table erupted into more laughter, but you sat back, utterly unphased. You knew it wasn’t over. Not by a long shot.

The next day, Garcia wasted no time in rushing into Hotch’s office with her usual enthusiasm.

"Hotch, I can’t believe you just walked away last night!" she exclaimed, eyes wide with disbelief.

Hotch looked up from his paperwork, raising an eyebrow. "Walked away from what, exactly?"

Garcia huffed, placing her hands on her hips, her bright and colorful outfit a stark contrast to Hotch’s meticulously organized office. “Oh, don’t play dumb, Hotch. You know exactly what I’m talking about.”

Hotch leaned back in his chair, his expression unchanging but his curiosity piqued. “Enlighten me.”

Garcia dramatically threw herself into one of the chairs in front of his desk, eyes wide and voice a conspiratorial whisper. “Y/N! Last night! She said you’re the hottest, smartest man in the room, and you just walked away like it was nothing! Do you realize how monumental that was?”

Hotch fought back the smallest of smiles, keeping his voice even. “I recall the conversation. I didn’t think it required a response in front of the team.”

Garcia stared at him, dumbfounded. “Aaron. You have to be kidding me. Do you know how many women would say something like that to your face? And in front of everyone? She practically handed you the keys to a brand new chapter of life, and you walked away!”

Hotch let out a slow breath, shaking his head slightly. “It’s not that simple, Garcia.”

“Oh, but it is that simple!” she shot back, leaning forward. “I’ve seen a lot of things in my time here, but never in a million years would I have thought someone would be so bold with you—and that you’d find it amusing! You didn’t even try to hide it.”

Hotch paused, letting her words sink in. Garcia was right, in a way. You were different. You didn’t play the games others did, and your boldness wasn’t born of carelessness—it was confidence, intelligence. And that intrigued him more than he had admitted, even to himself.

Still, he shook his head. “We work together, Garcia. I can’t cross that line.”

Garcia rolled her eyes. “Please. If there’s anyone who could handle both a professional and personal relationship, it’s you two. You’re like... two perfectly matched puzzle pieces, and I never say that about people who work here.”

Hotch glanced at the door for a moment, thinking. He’d be lying if he said he hadn’t replayed the conversation from last night in his head. The way you had so confidently and calmly told him exactly what you thought—right in front of the entire team. It had thrown him off, but in a good way. A way he wasn’t entirely used to.

“I’ll handle it,” he said after a long pause, looking back at Garcia.

Her eyes lit up. “Handle it? Do you mean like actually do something about it? Because if you don’t, she will! I mean, the girl literally told you she thinks you’re the best man in the room. Hotch, you have to act!”

He gave her a look. “I said I’ll handle it.”

Garcia stood, grinning as she made her way to the door. “You better, or I’ll handle it for you. And trust me, you don’t want that.”

As she left, Hotch allowed himself a moment to sit back and think. Garcia wasn’t wrong. If he didn’t make a move, you likely would. And the more he thought about it, the more he realized he didn’t mind that idea. Maybe, for once, it wouldn’t be such a bad thing to let someone else take the lead.

You were at your desk, typing away when Hotch’s office door opened. You glanced up to find him standing there; his usual composed expression softened just a fraction.

“Y/N, do you have a minute?” he asked, his voice steady.

“Of course,” you replied, standing up and following him into his office, your curiosity piqued by the sudden request.

He closed the door behind you, the soft click of the latch making the room feel smaller, more intimate. You raised an eyebrow, folding your arms casually as you stood in front of his desk.

“What’s up, Hotch?” you asked, your tone light but aware that something was brewing beneath the surface.

He didn’t immediately sit down, instead remaining on his feet as he faced you. “About last night—”

You smirked, cutting him off. “You mean the part where I told you you’re the hottest, smartest man in the room?”

Hotch’s lips twitched, the smallest hint of amusement flashing across his face. “That part, yes.”

You tilted your head, waiting for him to continue.

“I wanted to make sure you understand that... while I appreciate your honesty, there are boundaries we need to maintain at work,” he said, his tone even but not dismissive.

Your smirk softened into a more thoughtful expression. “I’m aware. But if I remember correctly, I wasn’t exactly talking at work.”

He paused, clearly considering your point. “That’s true,” he conceded.

“Hotch,” you began, stepping a little closer, your voice lowering just a fraction, “I’m not here to make your life more complicated. But I’m not one to pretend either. You’re smart, and I know you’ve noticed the way we work together, the way we... get along.”

He didn’t respond right away, his dark eyes studying you intently. You had always been direct, and it was something he respected, but now, standing so close, it was more than just a professional admiration. It was something deeper, something that had been brewing for weeks, if not longer.

“I have,” he admitted, his voice softer now, almost contemplative.

“So what are you going to do about it?” you asked, your tone teasing, but there was an underlying sincerity in your question.

Hotch took a deep breath, his eyes still locked on yours. For a moment, the air between you seemed to thicken, the unspoken tension finally surfacing.

“I’ll figure something out,” he said, his tone more gentle than you had ever heard from him before.

You smiled, stepping back just enough to give him space. “I’ll be waiting.”

With that, you turned and left his office, leaving Hotch standing there, wondering just when he had started to consider the possibility of more.

The days after your conversation with Hotch carried on much like before: cases, paperwork, and the steady hum of the BAU. But now, there was an unmistakable tension between you and Hotch, a thread pulling tighter with each passing day. It wasn’t uncomfortable; in fact, it was almost... fun.

You enjoyed testing the limits of his calm exterior, watching for the slightest crack in his composed demeanor. Though Hotch stayed focused, that flicker of amusement in his eyes gave him away.

The rest of the team noticed, too, particularly Morgan and Garcia. Morgan would occasionally shoot Hotch a sly look, silently encouraging him to do something about the growing tension. Garcia, meanwhile, gave you conspiratorial smiles, her curiosity clearly piqued by whatever she suspected was brewing between the two of you.

One afternoon, you couldn’t help yourself. You wandered into Hotch’s office under the guise of bringing him some updated case files. You knocked lightly, then stepped inside before he could respond, a habit you’d developed over the past few weeks.

Hotch barely looked up from his paperwork as you entered, his brow furrowed in concentration. 

“Y/N,” he acknowledged, his tone calm but not dismissive. 

He knew it wasn’t just the paperwork that had him distracted—it was you. You’d been working at the BAU for a short time, but you had already managed to throw him off his usual rhythm. He wasn’t used to this—feeling something more than just professional respect for someone in the office. It unsettled him.

He told himself that it wasn’t anything serious, that he could keep it under control, but whenever you were in the room, there was an awareness that lingered—something beyond the simple back-and-forth of a working relationship. He glanced up briefly, bracing himself for the easy confidence in your expression that always made him feel like you saw more than you let on.

“What do you need?” he asked, trying to keep his focus steady. He couldn’t afford distractions. Not now.

“Oh, nothing urgent,” you said, your voice light as you placed the files on the corner of his desk. “Just thought you might like a little company. You’ve been holed up in here for hours. Starting to wonder if you’re avoiding me.”

He glanced up, his dark eyes meeting yours briefly before returning to the document in front of him. “I’m not avoiding you,” he said evenly. “Just busy.”

“Mm-hmm,” you hummed, stepping closer, leaning against his desk. “You say that, but I’m starting to think you’re avoiding me because I might be distracting you. Don’t worry, Hotch, I won’t take it personally.”

His eyes flicked up to yours again, this time lingering a little longer. “You’re not distracting me,” he replied, but there was the faintest trace of amusement in his voice.

You raised an eyebrow, clearly not buying it. “You sure? I mean, I wouldn’t blame you if I was. It’s kind of my specialty.”

Hotch set his pen down, finally leaning back in his chair, giving you his full attention. “Your specialty?” he asked, a hint of curiosity creeping into his voice. “And what exactly does that entail?”

You smiled, leaning in just slightly. “I’m good at getting under people’s skin... in a good way.”

His lips twitched, the barest hint of a smile threatening to appear. “I’m not so easily rattled,” he said, his tone challenging.

“Oh, I don’t know about that,” you replied, your voice soft but teasing. “I’ve noticed that you seem a little... different lately. Less of that ‘stoic FBI boss’ thing you’ve got going on. Could be me, though.” You tilted your head, eyes gleaming with mischief.

Hotch didn’t respond right away, his gaze steady, his expression unreadable. But you could see the faintest crack in his armor—just enough to know you were getting to him.

“I think you overestimate your influence,” he said finally, though the amusement in his tone betrayed him.

You smiled wider, clearly enjoying the challenge. “Maybe. Or maybe you’re just underestimating how much fun I’m having seeing if I can make you crack.”

Hotch leaned forward, resting his elbows on his desk, his eyes locked on yours with that intense focus he was known for. “You think I’m going to crack?”

You shrugged, unphased by his scrutiny. “Everyone has a breaking point, Hotch. Even you.”

He didn’t answer, but the way his eyes held yours for just a second too long told you everything you needed to know. You were getting to him, whether he wanted to admit it or not.

Before the silence could stretch too far, you stood up straight, backing away just a little. “I’ll let you get back to your very important paperwork. Wouldn’t want to be the one responsible for you losing focus,” you said with a smirk.

“Appreciated,” Hotch replied, his voice low and controlled, but there was a new glint in his eyes. “I’m sure I can handle it.”

You gave him a playful wink before turning on your heel and walking out, leaving him sitting there, slightly amused but clearly rattled—just as you intended.

The tension between you and Hotch continued to simmer, but now, it was more playful than before. You took every opportunity to poke at him, using your wit and quick remarks to see how far you could push before he finally let something slip.

One day, you were both in the conference room, going over some reports. The rest of the team was out in the bullpen, busy with their own tasks, but you and Hotch were alone.

“Looks like we’ve got a lot of paperwork to get through,” you said, flipping through a stack of files. “You really should invest in a better system. Maybe hire a secretary... oh wait, that’s me.”

Hotch glanced at you, his expression neutral, though you could see the faintest glint of humor in his eyes. “You’re doing a fine job. No need to hire anyone else.”

You smirked. “Fine job, huh? Just fine?”

He didn’t bite, instead focusing on the papers in front of him. “You’re very efficient.”

You leaned a little closer, lowering your voice just slightly. “Efficient? That’s the best you’ve got? I’ve been called a lot of things in my time, but efficient doesn’t exactly scream ‘compliment.’”

Hotch finally looked up, raising an eyebrow. “What would you prefer?”

You tapped your chin thoughtfully, pretending to consider the question. “Oh, I don’t know. Maybe something a little more... creative? Stunning? Irreplaceable?”

His lips quirked in what could have been a smile. “I’ll keep that in mind.”

Satisfied with your small victory, you leaned back, crossing your arms with a satisfied grin. “Good. I’d hate for you to hold back on my account.”

Before Hotch could respond, Morgan walked into the room, interrupting the moment. “Hey, Hotch, we’ve got a lead on the case. You ready?”

Hotch stood up, giving you one last glance before nodding. “Let’s go.”

You watched as they left, that familiar flutter in your stomach returning. You’d been teasing him relentlessly, but the way Hotch handled it only made you more intrigued. He never gave too much away, but there were moments, small cracks in his usual control, that told you you were getting under his skin in the best possible way.

By the time Friday rolled around, the team decided to go out for drinks again, needing a break from the stress of the week. You joined them, of course, slipping into your usual spot at the bar. As always, the conversation flowed easily, the team laughing and unwinding together.

But you couldn’t help but notice Hotch, sitting across from you, his attention shifting your way every so often. He wasn’t as reserved as he’d been in the past, and you found yourself wondering just how much further you could push him.

“You’ve been quiet tonight, Hotch,” you said, leaning forward slightly. “Something on your mind?”

He glanced at you, a small, unreadable smile on his lips. “Just thinking.”

“About me, maybe?” you teased, your voice light but with an edge of curiosity.

Hotch’s eyes met yours, and for a brief moment, something flickered in his gaze—something you couldn’t quite read. But instead of answering, he just took a sip of his drink, letting the silence linger.

“Careful, Hotch,” you said with a smirk. “You’re starting to look like you’re actually enjoying yourself.”

His lips quirked again, but this time, he didn’t deny it. “Maybe I am.”

Your heart skipped a beat, but you didn’t let it show. Instead, you leaned back in your chair, satisfied that you had gotten another small victory. This was becoming a game—one you were both enjoying far more than you’d anticipated.

And you had a feeling that sooner or later, Hotch was going to make his move.

The conversation shifted as drinks were passed around, laughter bubbling up among the team. You found yourself in easy conversation with Morgan and Prentiss, but every now and then, your eyes would drift back to Hotch, catching him watching you in those quiet moments between interactions.

It wasn’t long before Garcia, after a few drinks, leaned over the table toward you with a wide grin.

“Okay, Y/N, let’s get back to the real topic,” she began, her eyes sparkling with mischief. “What’s your move with Hotch?”

You raised an eyebrow, amused by her boldness. “My move?” you asked, though you already knew where she was going.

Emily grinned, leaning in as well. “Oh, come on, you basically laid it all out there last time we went out. Now the question is, what happens next?”

You laughed, feeling the team’s eyes on you, and shrugged, completely at ease. “I think we’ll let Hotch decide that,” you said, glancing at him from across the table.

Morgan smirked. “You’re telling me you’re just gonna wait for Hotch to make the move? You know he’s not exactly the type to—”

“To what?” Hotch interrupted, his voice calm but with a hint of amusement as he joined the conversation, eyes now fully on you.

Morgan chuckled. “I was just saying that you’re not exactly the type to, you know, make a move in these situations.”

The table erupted in quiet laughter, everyone clearly enjoying the banter. But Hotch, ever composed, leaned back in his seat and looked at you, his expression soft but serious.

“Maybe I surprise people sometimes,” Hotch said, his voice low enough that only you could hear it over the chatter.

Your eyes locked with his, and for a moment, the world around you seemed to fade. You could tell there was something unspoken in his words, something that hinted at more than just a challenge. Your heart raced, but you kept your composure, offering him a small, knowing smile.

Before anyone could say more, Hotch stood up, drawing the attention of the team. “I think it’s time I head out,” he said, his gaze briefly lingering on you.

Morgan raised his glass. “Always leaving early, boss man.”

Hotch gave him a small, amused nod before glancing back at you. “Y/N, do you mind giving me a ride back to the office? I left my car there.”

There was no hesitation in your response. “Sure.”

The team exchanged knowing glances as you both said your goodbyes, and once outside the bar, the cool evening air hit your skin, but the tension between you and Hotch kept the night warm. The car ride back to the office was filled with comfortable silence, the kind that spoke more than words ever could.

You pulled up to the BAU parking lot, the building mostly dark except for the faint glow of a few security lights. Hotch turned to you as you cut the engine, his eyes reflecting the low light.

“Thank you,” he said quietly, his voice softer than usual.

“No problem,” you replied, sensing that something more was on the tip of his tongue.

For a moment, neither of you moved, the air between you thick with the unresolved tension from weeks of lingering looks and quiet conversations. Finally, Hotch broke the silence, his voice steady but laced with something deeper.

“Y/N, about everything you’ve said—about me,” he began, his eyes holding yours. “I didn’t respond the way I should have before. I wasn’t sure how to navigate it, but... I haven’t stopped thinking about it.”

You tilted your head, intrigued but calm. “And now?”

Hotch paused, taking a deep breath before continuing. “Now, I think I’ve decided.”

Your heart skipped a beat as he leaned in just slightly, his gaze never wavering from yours. “I’ve spent a long time keeping things... separate,” he said, his voice lower, more intimate. “But I don’t want to ignore what’s in front of me anymore.”

You smiled, feeling the weight of his words sink in. “So you’re saying you do make the move sometimes?”

A rare smile tugged at the corner of his lips. “Maybe I just needed the right person to make me want to.”

And with that, Hotch closed the small gap between you, his hand reaching out to lightly brush your arm. It wasn’t rushed, wasn’t impulsive. It was deliberate, intentional, and filled with the promise of something more. When his lips finally met yours, it was soft but firm, like everything you had been waiting for had just clicked into place.

Pulling back just slightly, he looked at you, the usual intensity in his eyes now tempered with something new. “Dinner next week?”

You grinned. “I’ll be waiting.”

And as he stepped out of the car, you couldn’t help but feel that the boundaries between you had finally shifted in the best possible way.

Hotch had always been the kind of man who liked things done a certain way—organized, thoughtful, and maybe a bit old-fashioned. So, when he offered to pick you up for your date, you couldn’t help but tease him a little.

“I could’ve driven myself, you know,” you said with a playful smile as you slipped into the passenger seat of his black SUV.

Hotch, ever composed, shot you a small glance. “I like to do things properly.”

You raised an eyebrow, amused. “Properly? What, are you going to ask my father for permission, too?”

He smirked—just the barest hint of amusement playing at his lips. “I considered it.”

You let out a laugh, settling into the seat. “Old-fashioned, huh? I didn’t peg you as the type, Hotch.”

“I don’t think there’s anything wrong with a little tradition,” he replied, his eyes focused on the road, though you could see a glint of humor in them.

You leaned back in your seat, your voice teasing. “No complaints from me. But don’t expect me to be swooning over your chivalry.”

He chuckled under his breath, surprising you. It wasn’t often you heard him laugh, and when it did happen, it was always low, quiet—like a secret only a few were privileged to hear.

“Noted,” he said simply, but you could tell he wasn’t entirely unamused by your teasing. And that made you all the more curious to see how far you could push him tonight.

Dinner was a surprising success. You’d expected Hotch to be his usual composed self, always in control of the situation, but as the evening progressed, you realized there was more to him than the stoic leader you were used to seeing at work. He wasn’t exactly playful, but there was a dry wit to him, a subtle humor that came out when he was relaxed. And tonight, for the first time, you saw that side of him more clearly.

“Admit it,” you said, leaning forward slightly as the waiter refilled your wine glasses. “You’ve been looking forward to this.”

Hotch tilted his head, his eyes meeting yours. “I won’t deny that.”

He surprised himself with the honesty of his response. Normally, he wouldn’t have indulged in something so personal, especially not during a conversation with a colleague. But this wasn’t the office. Here, under the dim lights of the restaurant, it was different. He was different.

He watched as you smirked, your chin resting in your hand, completely at ease. You had this way of disarming him with a simple look, a shift in your tone that made him feel more like a person and less like the always-in-control Unit Chief he was used to being. It was unsettling how quickly you’d managed to make him lower his guard, even for a moment.

How long has it been since I’ve felt like this? The thought crept up on him, unbidden. He couldn’t even remember the last time someone made him forget about the weight of his responsibilities, even if just for an evening. There was something easy about being around you, something he hadn’t expected but found himself wanting more of, even if he couldn’t quite admit it to himself yet.

You smirked, resting your chin in your hand. “See, you can be fun.”

“I’m not as rigid as you think,” he replied, a faint smile tugging at the corners of his mouth.

“Oh, I know,” you teased. “You’re just selective about when you let it show.”

He didn’t answer right away, his gaze steady and thoughtful, and for a moment, you felt the familiar tension between you—the same pull that had been simmering beneath the surface for weeks. But just as you opened your mouth to speak again, Hotch’s phone buzzed on the table.

The moment the sound broke through, you both knew what it meant. A case.

As you laughed together over the last few sips of wine, the soft clinking of glasses and the gentle hum of conversation around you made the world feel smaller, more intimate. Hotch’s eyes lingered on you a little longer, and you could sense that rare ease in his posture, a subtle but meaningful shift away from the controlled, composed man you were used to seeing in the office.

But then, his phone buzzed against the table, shattering the moment like a pebble hitting calm water. Hotch’s hand paused before picking it up, his gaze briefly flickering with something close to regret. He already knew what it was. So did you.

As he glanced at the screen, you saw the professional mask slip back into place, the rare vulnerability gone in an instant. His shoulders straightened, his jaw set, and that familiar intensity returned. 

"It’s from Garcia," he said quietly, the warmth from moments before replaced by the familiar seriousness of a case.

For a second, he didn’t say anything further, his eyes resting on the screen as if weighing the decision to cut the evening short. His lips pressed into a thin line, betraying the disappointment he wouldn’t voice. Finally, he glanced up at you, offering an apologetic smile that didn’t quite reach his eyes. 

"I’m sorry," he said, his voice quieter now, as if reluctant to pull himself away from the moment.

You leaned back in your chair, letting out a soft sigh. "Comes with the territory, right?" you replied, understanding but equally disappointed.

By the time the two of you arrived at the BAU, the rest of the team was already gathered in the bullpen, their eyes immediately locking onto you and Hotch as you walked in together. You were still dressed in your dinner attire, and Hotch, though composed, looked far more relaxed than he usually did when coming into the office. It didn’t take a genius to figure out what was going on.

Morgan, always quick to jump on any chance for teasing, grinned widely the moment you entered. “Well, well, well,” he said, leaning back in his chair with his arms crossed. “What have we here?”

Garcia, who had been standing by her computer, gasped dramatically. “No way! You two were on a date?!” she exclaimed, her eyes darting between you and Hotch like she’d just uncovered the juiciest gossip.

Reid, looking slightly bewildered but intrigued, glanced at Hotch. “Really?”

You, completely unbothered by the attention, flashed a smile as you walked over to the table, pulling your jacket off and tossing it over a chair. “Surprised? I thought you all were more observant than that.”

Morgan laughed, clearly enjoying the moment. “We had our suspicions. But I gotta say, seeing Hotch in date mode? Didn’t think it was possible.”

Emily, who had been watching with a sly smile, leaned in. “How’s he doing? All proper and stiff like usual?”

You grinned at Hotch, who was standing behind you, his expression calm but not quite unreadable. “Oh, he’s very proper,” you said, your voice laced with playful sarcasm. “He even picked me up. Very chivalrous.”

The team burst into laughter at that, and even Hotch, though stoic, didn’t seem fazed by the teasing. If anything, there was a trace of amusement in his eyes as he stood there, clearly aware that he was the center of the joke.

Garcia leaned forward, her eyes widening with curiosity. “Wait, hold on. Hotch on a date? This is... rare,” she said, her tone full of intrigue but tempered with playful restraint. “I mean, I’ve heard of such things, but to witness it—wow.”

Hotch shook his head slightly, though the corner of his mouth tugged upward. “It’s not as monumental as you’re making it sound,” he said with a small, almost sheepish smile, something barely noticeable but present.

You laughed, leaning against the table. “Sorry, Hotch. I think you’re stuck with this one for a while.”

Morgan grinned, nodding in agreement. “Yeah, I don’t think she’s going to let you off the hook that easily. But I’ve got to say,” he added, glancing between you and Hotch, “I haven’t seen the man this... relaxed in a long time.”

Garcia smiled softly, her usual energy settling into something more genuine. “It suits you, Hotch,” she said with a wink, but there was warmth in her words, not just her usual excitement.

You shot Hotch a quick look, a playful grin tugging at your lips. “See? I told you I was good at getting under people’s skin.”

Hotch gave you a sideways glance, but the hint of a smile on his face didn’t go unnoticed by the rest of the team. “So I’ve noticed.”

Despite the teasing, the team eventually settled into their professional rhythm, focusing on the case at hand. Hotch shifted back into his role as Unit Chief seamlessly—his tone authoritative, his posture all business. But even as he directed the team, catching glimpses of you across the room, there was something new in the air between you, something that didn’t quite fit within the professional boundaries you’d both carefully maintained up until now.

Every now and then, you’d catch him glancing your way, his expression softening for just a moment before he returned to the task at hand. It didn’t go unnoticed by you. In fact, you could feel it—the subtle pull between you two, something the team had picked up on too.

You weren’t embarrassed about how the night had unfolded. Not even a little. You’d owned your feelings, and seeing Hotch standing there, the team playfully ribbing you both, only made you more certain of what was between you. If anything, it was fun. It felt natural. But as the case wore on and the work consumed everyone, the playful teasing fell away, leaving just you and Hotch standing side by side, reviewing files as you discussed the finer points of the profile.

At some point, Hotch’s shoulder brushed against yours, and it sent a spark through you—small but undeniable. The room was buzzing with the usual energy of the BAU at work, but between you and Hotch, there was a quiet that felt intimate, even in the middle of the chaos.

“You okay with how that all played out?” you asked quietly, keeping your voice low enough that only he could hear.

Hotch’s eyes met yours, his expression unreadable for a brief moment before he nodded. “It’s fine.”

You hesitated, sensing there was more beneath his calm exterior. Leaning in just a little, you lowered your voice even more, pushing a little, like you always did with him. “You sure? You’re not embarrassed?”

Hotch turned to face you more fully, his dark eyes steady as they met yours again. “Not at all,” he said, his voice soft but sure.

You studied him for a second, feeling that familiar spark of curiosity. “I can be a lot sometimes,” you admitted, your tone lighter now but with a genuine edge. “I know I get under your skin. And I’ve noticed you try to keep things professional, but... am I too much for you?”

His brow furrowed slightly as if the thought hadn’t even crossed his mind. He stepped just a fraction closer, his tone serious but gentle. “You’re not too much,” he said quietly, his eyes searching yours. “It’s not that. I’m just... not used to it.”

You raised an eyebrow, feeling a little bold. “Not used to what? Someone poking at your stoic FBI boss exterior?”

He let out a low chuckle, the sound almost surprising. “That, yes. But it’s more than that,” he said, his gaze softening as he spoke. “I’m not used to someone like you. Confident, brazen, and... beautiful.”

Your heart skipped a beat at his words. Coming from Aaron Hotchner, they felt weightier than any compliment you’d ever received before. “You really think I’m all that?” you teased, though your voice was softer now, the playfulness balanced by something more vulnerable.

Hotch gave you a small smile, the kind that was so rare for him but meant so much. “I do.”

For a moment, you didn’t speak. You just stood there, his words hanging between you, the tension both professional and personal at once. You’d been used to teasing him, pushing his buttons, testing the boundaries. But this? This was different. This was real.

“Good,” you said finally, a smirk tugging at your lips as you regained your playful tone. “Because I plan on teasing you about this for weeks.”

Hotch shook his head, amused. “I wouldn’t expect anything less.”

You were about to respond when Morgan walked past, flashing a grin. “Are you two done having your little moment? We’ve got a case to solve.”

Hotch straightened, his professional demeanor snapping back into place, though you could still see the warmth in his eyes when he glanced at you. “Let’s get back to work.”

But even as you returned to the task at hand, there was no mistaking that something had shifted between you. The teasing, the banter, the sparks you’d been playing with for weeks—all of it had led to this. And you knew, even as you both focused on the case, that the connection between you wasn’t something that would just go away.

As the night stretched on, you worked side by side, the teasing and laughter from earlier fading into the background. But every now and then, when the room was quieter and the rest of the team was occupied, Hotch would glance at you again, and in those moments, you saw it—the acknowledgment of what was growing between you.

This wasn’t just another playful exchange, another round of banter. This was real. And as much as Hotch was still the consummate professional, always in control, you could tell he wasn’t uncomfortable or embarrassed. Not by you, not by what was happening. He was simply adjusting, learning how to navigate something new.

When the case was finally wrapped up, and everyone began to head home, you found yourself standing in the BAU’s dimly lit office with Hotch once again. The others had gone, leaving just the two of you alone in the quiet.

“Well,” you said, folding your arms with a grin, “we never got to finish that date.”

Hotch, still composed, gave you a small smile. “I’ll make it up to you.”

You tilted your head, teasing. “You better. I don’t usually let guys off the hook that easily.”

He chuckled softly, the sound making your heart skip again. “I’m not letting myself off the hook.”

You took a step closer, your voice lowering just slightly. “Good. Because I don’t plan on letting you go that easy either.”

For a moment, neither of you spoke, the weight of the night hanging in the air. And then, in a gesture that felt natural, Hotch reached out, his hand brushing yours before gently intertwining his fingers with yours.

“I’ll pick you up again tomorrow,” he said quietly, his eyes warm.

You smiled, giving his hand a light squeeze.“Old-fashioned, I remember.”

He smiled back, his tone soft but full of promise. “I think it’s growing on you.”

And with that, you both turned to leave, the knowledge that this—whatever it was—was just beginning.

Tag List:

@zaddyhotch @estragos @todorokishoe24 @khxna @rousethemouse

[theemporium]

[4.1k] as it would turn out, you were serious about your offer. and luke was serious about accepting. it was just going to take a while for his body to remember that this was a glorified business deal between friends and nothing more. and he was definitely okay with that. (smut)

series masterlist

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Stupidly, Luke didn’t think you were actually serious. 

In his head, the whole thing felt like a fever dream, starting from the moment he spilled his drink all over you leading to the moment you blatantly asked him if he wanted you to take his virginity. It felt like one of those weird dreams that made you wake up confused and bleary and unsure what year it even was, one of those dreams that linger in the back of your head for a few days before you eventually forgot about it.

Luke would have bet money on the whole thing being a weird dream that was haunting him if it weren’t for the fact he woke up one morning, a few days  after the party, with a message from you on his screen. 

cherry🍒: on a scale from one to ten, how likely are you to spill your drink on me again?

cherry🍒: also my place or yours? 

He stared at the messages for an embarrassingly long time, like he was staring at the proof the whole thing wasn’t some messed up dream in his head. Luke had spent the better part of the summer wondering what would have happened if he had asked for your number that night like Jack always teased him about, and now he wasn’t quite sure what to do with himself with it being a reality. 

hockey boy: i cannot promise anything 

hockey boy: you are welcome to come to my place but jack will probably be here so…

hockey boy: he’s nosy 

hockey boy: and annoying 

Luke frowned at himself, finger hovering over the messages like he would have a chance to delete them before you saw them, all one after the other like he was twelve and didn’t care about double texting. Or quadruple texting. But before he could even try to hide his own embarrassment, you were typing again.

cherry🍒: my place it is then

cherry🍒: see you at seven ;)

He also didn’t care to admit how long he stared at that message before he dragged himself out of bed, trying to ignore the odd buzz itching under his skin. It wasn’t even nine in the morning and his head was already spinning.

Luke was thankful enough that it was still preseason, that there wasn’t a game he had to prepare for because he wasn’t even sure he could concentrate on anything but your messages. He had noted Jack giving him odd looks whilst they both got ready for training, giving him more space than usual as they moved around the flat (which was odd considering Jack was usually glued to his side and pissing him off whenever he got the chance). 

However, the overbearing older brother role didn’t completely disappear. 

“Are you sure you’re okay?” 

“Yes, Jack.”

“You’re not sick or anything?”

“I’m literally fine.” 

“Because we can tell the trainers—”

“Oh my god, dude,” Luke groaned, sinking further into the passenger seat as he shot his brother a look. “I’m fine. Calm down. You sound like Quinn.” 

“Sorry for caring,” Jack retorted, his fingers tightening on the wheel before his shoulders sagged. “I’m your older brother and it’s your first year in the NHL. I just wanna make sure you’re doing alright, okay? The last thing I want is you having a shit rookie year.”

But the rest went unsaid. I don’t want you having a shit rookie year like I did.

Luke softened a little. “M’fine, promise. I’ll let you know when I need my big brother, okay?” 

Jack sighed, a small smile on his face. “Okay.”

“Now, can you please shut up so I can sleep until we reach the rink?” 

Jack snorted in response. 

Though the conversation seemed to settle the worries his older brother had, Luke knew the other boys on the team were giving him the same looks of concern. It wasn’t as though he was playing badly, it was just very clear to everyone on the team—players, coaches and trainers alike—that Luke was distracted. 

He had half the decency to be a little embarrassed when he overheard Jack reassure a few trainers that it was just rookie nerves. 

But he felt restless, like he couldn’t quite keep still or focus on one thing. He felt like there was a buzz resonating through his bones, making him painfully aware of his plans later tonight. It was like an anxiety settled at the pit of his stomach, constant and foreboding and eating away at him as the minutes slowly dragged on through the day. 

It was horrible and exhilirating in the weirdest possible way.

Luke had managed to make it through the rest of training, managed to avoid any stern talkings from the coach but unable to avoid the one from Nico in the locker room. It was sweet and awkward all at once, especially when the rest of the team were clearly listening in to make sure one of the new rookies were doing fine. The Devils were like a family and usually he would appreciate it. 

However, he wasn’t exactly going to dive into the fact he was unfocused because a pretty girl offered to take his virginity to his captain or the rest of the team. He didn’t even want to imagine how that would have played out. 

But it was sweet to know the team had his back, that they saw him as his own person rather than just Jack’s little brother who was tagging along.

…

Luke was relieved when you had mentioned him coming over to your place for your meeting later that day. Yet, what he failed to take into consideration was the fact his brother would still be a nosy shit on his whereabouts. 

“Where the fuck are you going?” 

Luke froze, keys gripped in his one hand and his phone in the other with your address already typed into Google Maps. He cleared his throat, trying to ignore his pounding heart as he turned to Jack with a (hopefully) nonchalant look on his face.

“Just going to hang out with some friends,” he replied vaguely with a shrug of his shoulders.

Jack paused, the spoonful of rice hovering just above his plate as he narrowed his eyes at Luke. “Is Nico hosting some rookie thing or something?”

“Uh no,” Luke cleared his throat.

Jack frowned. “Is there a team thing happening tonight that I forgot?” 

“No, uh,” Luke shuffled awkwardly, feeling like an interrogation spotlight was shining on him. “It’s nothing with the team.”

Jack raised his brows. “But you don’t have other friends outside the team.” 

Luke frowned. “Yes, I do.”

“No, you don’t,” Jack retorted. “Unless you’re a part of a book club or something.” 

He shot his brother a confused look. “Why would that be the only reason I have friends outside of the team?”

“I don’t know, college and shit,” Jack answered like that explained something.

“You’re such a weirdo,” Luke grumbled before he turned on his heel, making his way towards the door again. 

“Are you at least gonna tell me when you’ll be back?” Jack called out to him, a hint of older brother overbearingness in his voice. 

“Not sure.” 

“I—” He heard Jack shuffle to stand up, his dinner now abandoned on the coffee table as he made his way over to Luke. The look of concern from earlier that morning was back on his face. “What dodgy shit are you up to that you can’t just tell me?” 

“Jack,” Luke groaned, his voice tilting towards whiny as he let out a huff of annoyance. “I’m just going out to see a friend. Nothing dodgy, I promise.”

Jack didn’t say anything at first, just letting a slow smile spread across his face.

He frowned. “What?” 

“Friend, singular,” Jack pointed out before he let out a bark of laughter, playfully punching his little brother’s arm. “Aw, little Lukey is sneaking out to hook up with a girl!”

His cheeks burned. “Shut up.”

“Fucking finally, I thought you were going celibate for your rookie year or something!” Jack continued to tease him. “Who is it? Do I know her? Oh my god, is it the girl from the party? Do you have a secret girlfriend?”

“I am leaving now!” Luke shoved him away, making a beeline for the door as Jack continued to cackle behind him. 

“Do I need to give you a curfew?” 

“Fuck off!” 

He could still hear Jack laughing when he slammed the door shut behind him.

His body felt like it was on autopilot once he got behind the wheel. He followed the instructions spoken through his GPS, kept his concentration on the road—on the journey—rather than the destination. He tried to pretend like he was just going to hang out at a friend’s, that he was back in Michigan going to one of his teammate’s houses he didn’t live with. 

It was fine. 

Everything was fine.

Except for the fact that once he reached your door, closed fist hovering over the wood, he felt like his body was buzzing too fast to keep up with and all the pent up anxiety over the day was about to make him explode. 

He didn’t even realise he had knocked until the door swung open and you stood on the other side, grinning at him like it was a normal Sunday evening. You were dressed cosy, casual even. Just a pair of leggings, a baggy shirt and some fluffy socks that had—ironically enough—cherries printed on them.

“You’re early,” you noted. 

Luke’s stomach dropped a little. “Oh shit, I’m sorry—”

“I like my men eager, you’re fine,” you said as you waved him off, unaware of the fact your words just made his body feel like it was on fire for a whole other reason as you grabbed his hand and dragged him inside. 

His eyes wandered over your apartment, taking in the small knick knacks that decorated the place. It was smaller than his and Jack’s apartment, but it felt more homely. His place had a habit of looking a little clinical, like a showroom they had moved into rather than an actual home. But between training and travelling and not really caring, neither he nor Jack had bothered to change it. 

But, looking around at the small details of your apartment as you led him towards your living room couch, Luke found it endearing that he could see small insights into your personality.

“You still like Coke, right?” 

His eyes snapped back to you, a light blush on his cheeks when he found you staring at him with intent. “Uh yeah, Coke is good.” 

He settled down on the seat, awkwardly perched on the edge whilst you curled up in the sport next to him with your feet tucked underneath him. He tried to swallow the ball in the back of his throat, eyes wandering over the room once again before they landed back on you. 

“Your place is really nice—”

“Tell me about hockey.” 

Luke blinked. And then blinked one more time before he remembered to speak.

“What?”

“Tell me about hockey,” you repeated. 

“You want to know about hockey?” He questioned, his brows furrowed together and suddenly the panic he felt moments ago was overwhelmed by his confusion. 

“Well, no, I don’t really know anything about it,” you admitted with a shrug. “But you’re so tense over there like you’re about to enter the Hunger Games or something, I thought talking about something you enjoy would help you relax.” 

Something in his chest stirred at your confession. “Oh.” 

“Just relax,” you said as you lightly pushed him back until he was no longer sat on the edge of the couch. However, Luke’s body didn’t seem to catch the hint, something that was very clear with how tense he still looked sitting next to you. “We aren’t going to do anything tonight,” you assured him, your hand dropping to his forearm to give it a small squeeze. 

He didn’t know if he was relieved or disappointed. “We aren’t?”

You shook your head, a soft but cheeky smile on your lips. “You need to build up your confidence a little, to really feel comfortable with everything. There’s more to sex than just sleeping with someone.”

He blinked. “There is?”

“Yes,” you laughed, but it wasn’t directed at him. He didn’t feel dumb for asking you questions. “So just take a breath and relax. Now, hockey—what’s the big deal?” 

Luke couldn’t help but snort. “The big deal?”

“Yeah, why do you like it?” You asked. “I mean, you love it enough to make it your job.” 

Luke smiled and there was something less heavy in his laugh—but hockey always tended to have that power over him. He knew hockey. He lived for hockey. It was as calming as it was exhilarating. It was what his whole world revolved around since the day he was born. 

“I come from a big hockey family,” Luke told you. “I could skate before I could properly walk, to be honest. It’s just something that’s always…been there. I couldn’t imagine my life without it.” 

“Do you enjoy it?” 

Luke raised his brows in surprise. “No, I just do it to torture myself.”

“Okay, smart-ass,” you rolled your eyes at the boy, and he tried not to think about how endearing the action was. “I mean, you said it’s been in your life forever. Do you enjoy it or is it just familiar?”

There wasn’t even a moment of hesitation before he answered.

“I love it,” he replied honestly, sinking a little further into the couch as he turned his head to look at you. “It was always there but I also always sought it out, you know? I wanted hockey as much as hockey wanted me.” 

“Lucky thing you were good enough to go pro, huh?” You remarked, a teasing glint in your words. 

Luke’s lips twitched upwards. “Yeah, lucky me.”

“So, do you, like, fight people and shit?” 

He snorted, the noise a little surprising but welcomed nonetheless. “Yeah, sometimes.” 

“Damn, the two hockey videos I watched before you came weren’t lying then,” you mused. 

And, fuck, his chest was doing that funny-tightening thing again. 

“You watched some videos before I came?”

“Colour me curious,” you answered with a casual shrug of your shoulders.

He swallowed. “Did you like what you saw?” 

Your lips pulled upwards into a smirk. “Flirting with me now, Hughes?” 

In an instant, Luke’s cheeks instantly burned a red shade with a mix of embarrassment and self-consciousness washing over him. “I’m sorry about that—”

“I never said I didn’t like it,” you interrupted, watching as his eyes widened a little in surprise. But the colour remained on his cheeks. It was cute, if you were being honest with yourself.

“Oh?”

“You’re not a shy guy, Luke, I’ve seen the way you are on the ice. You just need to bring that confidence off the ice too,” you told him, shuffling a little closer to him until your knee was almost brushing his thigh. “Think of this…what we are doing…as your training.” 

“My training?” 

“Mhm,” you nodded as your palm landed on his thigh, right above his knee. He was so painfully aware of your hand, of the way your touch felt like it was burning through the fabric of his sweatpants to touch his skin. “Gonna help you go pro.” 

His eyes darted down to your hand before it snapped back to your face. “Cherry—” 

“Can I kiss you?” 

He blinked. “You’re asking me?” 

“It’s sexy to ask,” you told him, your thumb lightly rubbing a small line just above his knee. You shifted a bit closer, watching the way his eyelids fluttered slightly. “Consent is really, really sexy.” 

“Really sexy,” he repeated, eyes locked in on your lips. 

“Can I kiss you?” You asked again, squeezing his leg a little to emphasise your need for him to verbally answer. 

“Yeah,” he managed to mutter out, a slight crack in his voice but you didn’t seem to care as you closed the distance between you.

Your palm was soft and warm against his cheek, guiding his head until you pressed your lips against his. It was a soft kiss, almost sweet in a way. And maybe something about the tenderness of it all washed away the unease in his chest, that lingering anxiety that he had been smothered in since he woke up. It was like the kiss washed away the lingering concerns in his head, the ones that told him this was some twisted dream or malicious ploy.

You just wanted to help, you wanted him relaxed when he was with you. 

And Luke had half the mind to trust you would do just that after the initial kiss. 

Your thumb slightly swept along the high of his cheekbone, soft and reassuring as he sunk further into the kiss. He seemed happy to let you take control, to let you decide how fast or passionate it was. He seemed happy to just follow. 

“Better than hockey training?” You murmured against his lips between kisses, the light smacking noises a vague echo in his ear but he didn’t even have it in him to be embarrassed.

“Mhm,” he hummed as he ducked his head back down, eager to press his lips against yours again. 

“Impatient,” you teased but didn’t hesitate to kiss him back. “Feeling confident already, Hughes?” 

Luke could feel your smile against his lips. “Maybe.” 

“Good,” you stated simply and before he got the chance to realise what you were doing, before his brain had even fully processed you had asked him a question, your leg was thrown over his body and you were straddling his lap.

Luke pulled back a little, looking up at you with his cheeks flushed. “Oh.” 

“Remember, this is just your training,” you reassured the boy, though it was hard for him to focus on the words coming out of your mouth when your lips were red and kiss-swollen and probably a mirror image of his own. “Just practise, yeah?”

“Just practise,” he confirmed with a nod. 

“So practise,” you told him as you reached for his hands where they awkwardly hung at his side. You gripped his wrists, giving them a small squeeze before you rested them on your waist.

He swallowed. “Oh.” 

You raised your brows. “This good?” 

“Mhm,” he nodded.

“Luke,” you prompted until his glossy eyes found yours. “We can stop any time you want. Just say the word, okay?” 

“I don’t wanna stop,” he reassured you, his hands giving a testing squeeze on your waist. “Not right now, at least. Promise.” 

And when you smiled at him, he could have sworn his heart was about to beat right out of his chest. 

His chest was thudding with each racing beat, blood roaring in his ears and butterflies exploding in his fucking chest when you leaned down to kiss him again. It’s like his brain was locked in on you at this very moment, not a care or concept for the world beyond this apartment. It was just about you, you, you.

And then your hands were pushing through his hair, fingers tangled in his curls as you tugged his head back until the column of his neck was exposed to you. 

Luke was almost embarrassed of the whimpering noise that left his lips when you tugged on his curls, a dull but desirable pain coursing through his whole body before your lips explored his neck. His breathing was heavy, borderline panting as your teeth scraped along the sensitive spot just below his ear. And, fuck, he felt like his whole body was on fire. 

“Hmmm, pretty noises,” you murmured against his neck, wet and sloppy open-mouthed kisses pressed against his skin as his body squirmed beneath you. “You gonna keep making them for me, baby?”

He nodded.

“Yeah?” You nipped his skin lightly, almost teasingly, as his hips bucked up on instinct. “Keep moaning f’me, baby, let’s see what you like.”

His grip on your waist only tightened as you continued to explore his body, as you tried to find the spots that had him whining and panting beneath you. And just when Luke thought he had a hold on himself, when he could handle the way your hands felt in his hair and your lips on his neck, your hips slowly rolled down against his and he could feel a rush of pleasure race down his spine.

“Fuck, fuck, fuck,” he choked out between broken moans, head thrown back against the back of the couch and eyes clenched shut. “Please. More.”

“You want more?” Your warm breath fanned against his cheek as you lifted your head, hooded eyes watching the way his face scrunched up in pleasure as you continued to rock against him. “Keep making those pretty noises, baby.” 

The whimper he let out made his cheeks and neck burn bright red. 

“Look at you,” you mused, the bulge in his sweatpants pressed against you as you continued to grind down on his lap. “Doing so well for me, telling me what you want.”

And it was too much. 

The constant stream of praise leaving your lips, the way your face was inches away from him—even if his eyes were shut—with your breath hot against his cheek. The way your hips rocked against his hard cock, the way it was straining beneath the boxers he was wearing. The way your fingers gave another experimental tug on his curls and he saw white. 

His grip on your waist was almost bruising with how tight it was, the way he held onto you as his hips bucked to meet your thrusts, the way your name left his lips on a loop as a hot flush of pleasure washed over his body, as you guided him through it. 

And once his brain had caught up—once he was sure his heart wasn’t going to jump out of his chest—he was painfully aware of the sticky mess in his sweatpants. 

“Oh my god,” he muttered, his whole body burning with embarrassment as he looked up at you. “I am so sorry—” 

“For what?” 

“I—” His eyes fell shut, his body wanting nothing more than to curl in on himself. “I’m sorry, that was embarrassing.” 

You frowned. “What was? The fact you came?” 

His stomach twisted a little.

“Luke,” you murmured, and he could feel your hands cupping his warm cheeks but he didn’t have the courage to open his eyes just yet. “If I didn’t want you to come, I wouldn’t have been grinding on your dick like that.” 

He finally looked at you, but the hot shame remained. “You didn’t even…” 

“Get off?” You supplied and he looked sheepish as he nodded. “I can still enjoy something and find it hot without getting off, Hughes.”

His brows furrowed together. “I thought the whole point was that you were teaching me how to make you feel good. For womankind.” 

You snorted, grinning down at the boy. “That doesn’t mean you can’t get off too.”

Luke’s lips parted with a silent ‘oh’.

“I’ll grab you some sweatpants to change into,” you told him as you shifted off his lap, looking down at his flushed cheeks and dazed eyes. “You’re a good student, Hughes.”

He raised his brows. “Yeah?” 

“Yeah,” you grinned back at him, and his chest did that funny thing again. “And I wasn’t lying. You make pretty noises. I like my boys vocal.” 

And Luke was thankful you disappeared down the corridor after that, saving him from even attempting to come up with a response. 

And he was shocked that once he cleaned up as best he could in your bathroom, you patted the spot next to you on the couch and told him to choose a movie whilst you ordered in some food. 

It was almost laughable to think about how anxious he had been all day, only to lead up to him sharing a pizza with you with some old Jim Carey comedy playing in the background like you two really were just friends. Like you were just hanging out and enjoying each other’s company. Like you hadn’t just made him come in his pants like he was some wound up teenage boy. 

It made his head spin, in a good way. 

And when he was dragging his feet through the front door of his apartment a little after midnight, there was a voice in the back of his head that was telling him this was risky, that he shouldn’t have felt so giddy or jovial after he had seen you. 

You were just training him, helping him. You were just his friend. 

But, for right now, Luke was happy to ignore the logical voice in the back of his head and instead focus on the fact that maybe—just fucking maybe—you were right and this whole virginity thing was far more bigged up in his head than he realised. 

You were his friend. And he knew you were just his friend. 

Who cares if his body took a little longer to remember than his brain did?

.

[itneverendshere]

I love bartender!reader!!!!!! She seems so sweet and collected...but I was wondering if she's got a little fire in her? Maybe they're at a party together and she gets jealous......which is new because she's usually the calm one out of her and rafe. Hope you're doing great <3

loved writing this bc you're so right!!! it's just so not like her to lose her temper over trivial things but oh🫣 hope you're doing just a great as well💖

i'm usually so unproblematic - r.c

pairing: rafe x pogue!reader (bartender!reader universe) warnings: allusions to smut but no actual smut.

You’re sitting in Rafe’s truck, staring out at the huge house in front of you, stomach in knots. It’s a mansion, more like.

Kook house. Kook party. Rich people everywhere. You can already hear the distant thrum of music, even from inside the car, bass-heavy, vibrating through the seats.

You chew your bottom lip and glance over at Rafe. He’s calm, casually messing with the radio, probably about to put on those trashy songs he loves that you absolutely hate but pretend to like because you love him.

It's insane how easy it is for him to just... be cool about this. But you?

You’re not so sure.

"This was a bad idea," you mumble, half-joking but also half-serious.

Rafe turns to you, one eyebrow raised, lips pulling into a crooked smile. “Nervous?”

You give him a look. “Obviously. I’m not...I don’t do these things. I don’t know these people.”

You’ve been with Rafe for almost a year now, give or take. Said your I love yous, met each other’s families. Hell, you’ve spent more time at Tannyhill than at your own place lately, and you’ve grown used to Rafe’s kook side. His friends, though? These parties? A whole other beast.

“I already met Topper. Isn’t that enough?”

He laughs under his breath, reaching over to take your hand. “You’ll be fine. It’s Kelce, and a few other people. No big deal.”

No big deal, you think. Easy for him to say when he’s been around these people his whole life. For you, being a pogue, working extra shifts at the country club just to pay rent… yeah, this is a little different.

“I know, I know. I’ll be fine. It’s just— I’m out of my element.”

He squeezes your hand. “Hey. You’re with me. That’s all that matters.” 

You’re with Rafe. The Rafe who loves you, who can’t keep his hands off you even when you’re just watching movies. The Rafe who gets jealous over dumb things, like if you laugh too hard at one of JJ’s jokes, even though he’s just your seventeen-year-old neighbor. The Rafe who texts you goodnight, even when you’re in the same room, because he’s a sap and you secretly love it.

“Alright, let’s go,” you agree, trying to hype yourself up.

Rafe smiles, and then he’s out of the truck, jogging over to your side to open the door for you, like a perfect gentleman. You roll your eyes but step out, the night air brushing your bare shoulders. You weren’t sure how to dress for this party, so you chose to wear something…safe. A pretty red top you only used on special occasions and your best demim skirt. It wasn’t exactly kook material but at least you weren’t in your worn-out shorts and usual crop top or in your work uniform.

The moment you walk inside, though, it’s like stepping into a different world. The house is packed. People everywhere, laughing, drinking, hanging by the pool. Everything’s pristine and polished, and you feel their eyes on you the second you walk in.

Rafe wraps an arm around your waist, pulling you close. “Want a drink?” he asks, leaning down so you can hear him over the music.

You nod, trying not to let the fact that people are definitely staring at you freak you out. You’re not a Kook. You’re his girl, though, and you know how much that pisses some of them off.

A few minutes later, you’ve got a drink in hand, and Kelce’s talking your ear off about something you don’t really understand. Golf. You smile and nod along, doing your best to keep up, but the truth is, you’re not listening. You’re too busy watching the crowd, still feeling like you don’t fit in. Like you never really will.

That’s when you notice her. Tall. Pretty, in that rich, polished way that’s almost too perfect. And she’s glaring. Right. At. You.

Your stomach drops, and you tear your eyes away, sipping your drink to cover the dread that suddenly hits you. You don’t know who she is, but she’s been staring at you since you walked in, and it’s starting to mess with your head. Was there something on your face? Had you met before at the club? Maybe she didn't like your drinks.

“Baby, you okay?” Rafe’s voice snaps you out of your thoughts, his hand resting on the small of your back.

“Yeah, fine,” you lie, forcing a smile. He frowns slightly but doesn’t push it. Kelce’s still talking, oblivious.

You try to ignore it, but as the night goes on, she keeps popping up. Always staring. Always with that look crazied in her eyes. Like she could kill you. You’ve had a couple drinks by now, and your nerves are turning into a kind of irritation.

Finally, you excuse yourself to the bathroom, needing a break from the overwhelming feeling of being watched. You lock the door behind you, exhaling slowly as you stare at your reflection. Were you seeing things? Overreacting? Surely, Rafe or Kelce would’ve noticed as well, right? Or maybe they were used to this. 

I’m just overthinking it, you tell yourself. I’m fine. She’s just..

But when you open the door to leave, she’s there. Leaning against the wall, arms crossed, staring at you with that same stupid look, like you personally offended her by daring to exist. 

“Can I help you?” you blurt out before you can stop yourself.

She doesn’t smile. Doesn’t even flinch. Just tilts her head, giving you the most disgusted once-over you’ve ever seen in your life. “You’re Rafe’s new thing, huh?”

What? You’ve had just enough to drink that your filter is basically nonexistent now. You blink, confusion killing the buzz in your head. “Sorry, do I know you?”

“No,” she says, her voice dripping with disdain. “But I know you.”

You laugh awkwardly, nothing about this is funny. “Okay? So what’s your problem?”

Her eyes narrow, lips tinted pink curling. Oh, she’s mad now. She steps up closer to you, practically chest-to-chest. “My problem is that I don’t get why someone like you is with Rafe. He used to have a certain standard.”

Oh.

You almost laugh again because...wow. Really? That’s what this is about? “Okay, Regina George,” you mutter under your breath. You’re not in the mood for this. You tilt your head, giving her your best innocent smile.  “And who are you?”

“Sophie. I dated Rafe for two years, before you, obviously,” she says, like that’s supposed to mean something. You didn’t know him back then, you hadn’t even spoken a word to him. "Guess he didn’t mention me."

His ex. Of course. Of course she’s his ex. 

You snort before you can stop yourself. "Nope, pretty sure he forgot to bring you up.”

You feel a little sting of jealousy in your chest, but you try to swallow it down. You’re not about to let this girl get under your skin. You’re better than that. You didn’t know him, it’s fine.

 “I’m not really interested in whatever this is.” You move to step around her, but she blocks your path.

“Just a word of advice,” she grits out, like you’ve personally offended her, “He’s not the kind of guy who sticks around for long. Especially not with girls like you.”

That does it. The alcohol, the nerves, the whole night—you’re seconds away from losing it. “What the hell is your problem?” you snap, your hands curling into fists at your sides.

“Dirty pogues who think—”

"Okay. I’m not gonna play whatever this is with you," you interrupt her, gesturing between the two of you, stepping forward so you’re toe-to-toe with her now. "If he wanted to be with a walking Vineyard Vines ad, he would be. But he’s not. He’s with me."

“You really think you’re different?” she spits, voice laced with venom. "Like you're special?"

Your laugh comes out sharp, more of a bark. “If you were so special, you wouldn’t be here, playing guard dog outside the bathroom. Move."

“Or what?” she challenges, her lips curling in that same superior smirk that makes your blood boil. “What are you gonna do, pogue?”

That’s it. You feel the fire flare up in your chest. Screw this girl. Your hands ball into fists, and you’re half a second from knocking that smug look right off her face when Topper steps in.

"Whoa, whoa, whoa, let’s not turn this into Jerry Springer, alright?" He holds up his hands like he’s breaking up a fight at a middle school dance. You’re staring daggers at Sophie, and she’s glaring right back, but his hands are still up, a peacekeeper grin plastered across his face as he looks between the two of you. “Let’s not do this,” his eyes landing on Sophie. “C’mon, Soph, no need for the drama, yeah?”

She scoffs, crossing her arms and stepping back with an exaggerated roll of her eyes. “Whatever, Topper.

He watches her go before turning back to you, eyebrows raised. “You good?”

You nod, still fuming, but grateful he stepped in when he did. "Yeah. Thanks."

You let him take you away because if he doesn’t, you're going to follow her and throw a drink in her face or do something worse. You feel like you could punch her right in her perfect, stuck-up face. 

He leads you back to where Rafe is, and you’re too upset to even look at him. His hands are on you the second you’re close, pulling you to him like he can tell something’s off. "Baby," his lips brush against your temple. "What’s wrong? You look like you’re ready to kill someone."

You don’t answer. You can’t. Not without completely blowing up.

Rafe’s brow furrows, his eyes darting between you and Topper. “What the hell happened?” he asks again, more forceful this time.

Topper gives him a look but doesn’t say anything, just shrugs. “Nothing, man. Just some girl drama. Don’t worry about it.”

Girl drama your ass.

He turns to you, and suddenly, he’s all over you, his hands on your waist, the other settling on the back of your head, “Baby, talk to me. What’s going on?”

You pull away, shaking your head, still too mad to speak.

He follows, his hands reaching for yours. “Hey, c’mon.”

Finally, you look at him. Really look at him. And the second you see his face, that stupid, worried puppy-dog expression, the anger starts to melt away.

“I’m mad,” you admit, “I got jealous. Your ex’s a bitch.”

Rafe blinks, and then, to your surprise, he laughs. A real, genuine laugh. You glare at him. “It’s not funny!”

“No, no, it’s not,” he says, quickly sobering, though there’s still a stupid smirk at his lips. “I just, I’ve never seen you jealous before.”

You cross your arms, still pouting. “I’m serious, Rafe. She was awful.”

He wraps his arms around you, pulling you close. “I don’t care about her. At all. I care about you.”

You roll your eyes, but your heart is softening. “She said you wouldn’t stick around.”

Rafe’s smile fades, and he pulls back just enough to look you in the eyes. “That’s bullshit. You know that, right?”

"She’s a psycho.”

Rafe’s expression changes, his frown deepening. "Sophie?"

"Yeah," you snap, because you hate the sound of her name coming out of his lips, "Sophie. Called me a dirty pogue, which—real original.”

“She what?” Rafe’s jaw tightens, and for a second, you see a flash of that old Rafe—the one who’d get into fights at the drop of a hat. "I’ll handle it.”

You’ve seen it before—his protective streak, the one that could turn dangerous if he wasn’t careful. Part of you loves it, the way he’d go to war for you without even blinking. But another part of you hates that you have so much power over him.

But right now, you’re still too mad to care about him handling anything. You push past him, heading for the exit, needing air, needing space. Everything inside you is on fire, and all you can think is that you need to get out. Anything but this house full of people who make you feel like you’re just dirt. People like her. You can’t stop hearing her nasal voice in your head, those snide comments digging into you like little needles, bringing up that same old insecurity.

“Baby, hold on,” His voice is behind you, and his hand is instantly catching yours, tugging you back before you can make it to the door.

You spin around, already ready to snap, but then you see his face—eyes wide, brow furrowed like he’s genuinely freaked out that you’re upset. “Don’t listen to her, she’s full of shit.”

You stare at him, your chest tight and aching, because yeah, you know she’s full of it, but it still got to you. It still hurt. “It just…” You swallow hard, trying to find the right words, even though everything feels like a mess. “It got in my head, Rafe. Like, I hate that she said that. I’m so sick of people looking at me like I don’t belong just because I’m not—”

He cuts you off, stepping closer, and before you can even finish the thought, he's dragging you into him. “You belong with me. That’s all that matters.”

You let out a breath, but you’re still worked up, “But it’s like—I don’t need some stuck-up kook girl who thinks she’s better than me telling me I don’t fit in. I know I’m not like them, but she said it like I wasn’t good enough for you. Like I’m just some—”

Rafe’s lips are on yours before you can finish. He only pecks you, but it’s enough to shut you up, to make your brain go silent for a second. “Stop,” his voice is almost pleading. “Stop thinking like that. I love you, okay? I don’t care what anyone else says.”

You blink up at him, you want to stay mad, but also want to let it go because he’s right here, so close, and he’s got that look on his face that makes your heart flip. “You don’t get it.”

He pulls you closer, hands gripping your hips like he can’t stand to have any space between you. “Then tell me,” he murmurs, pressing another kiss to your lips. “Tell me why you’re letting her get in your head.”

You huff, but the fight in you is starting to die out. “Because she made me feel like I’m less.”

He tilts your head back just enough to look at you, “That’s bullshit,” his fingers are gentle as they trail up your jaw, his thumb brushing over your cheek. “I’m not going anywhere.”

You feel a little stupid for letting that girl get to you in the first place. But damn it, you’ve heard it before—from other people, from yourself—that nagging voice that says you’re not enough.

“I know.” you mumble though you’re still a little embarrassed.

Rafe smiles then, that sweet smile he only ever gives you, and he presses his lips to your forehead. “Good,” he says, tugging you even closer, like he’s trying to wrap himself around you. “Because I’m obsessed with you, and I don’t care what her or anyone else says.”

You let out a shaky laugh, finally letting yourself relax in his arms. “You’re obsessed with me?” you tease, tilting your head to meet his eyes.

“Hell yeah,” he grins, his hands sliding up your back, one hand slipping down to squeeze your ass, his thumb sliding just under the hem of your skirt. “I can’t keep my hands off you. You know that. It’s becoming a real problem.”

You roll your eyes, trying to play it cool, but you don’t stop the giggle from bubbling out. The way he’s looking at you right now, like he can’t even think straight because you’re standing in front of him—it drives you up the walls. Then he leans down and kisses you again, and this time it’s not...casual. His lips move against yours like he’s trying to take every thought in your head, and it’s working. Your hands slide up, wrapping around his neck as his tongue brushes against yours. You don’t think you’ll ever get used to this. 

He grips you harder, lips moving to brush against your ear, “You’re mine, baby and I’m not fucking going anywhere.”

That hits you, hard, like a truth he always reassures you off but still feels brand new when he does say it. Everything that pissed you off, all the crap Sophie said, it doesn’t matter anymore. 

“Stop making me horny,” You whine out, tugging at his shirt and pulling him closer. You can feel his grin against your skin as he leans in, biting your lip playfully before kissing you again, you know he’s enjoying teasing you. His hand slides down to grab a handful of your ass again, making you gasp against his mouth, and you feel him smirk.

“I like you horny.”

You’re in the middle of this stupid party, surrounded by people who probably hate you for breathing, but all you can think about is how much you want him right now. His lips move over yours like he’s trying to claim you, and you’re more than happy to let him. It’s messy, all tongues and spit, but you don’t care. You love how rough and needy he is, how he groans into your mouth like he’s been dying to kiss you all night. It’s the kind of kiss that leaves you dizzy, the room spinning, and you’re not sure if it’s the alcohol or him—or both.

You tug at his shirt, frustrated with how much fabric is in the way, and he chuckles against your mouth, biting down on your bottom lip just hard enough to make you gasp. His hands slide down up to your neck, tightening just enough around your throat, and you let out a soft whimper into his mouth, making him grin.

“You're just so—” his lips brush over your cheek, then down to your bottom lip, kissing and biting just hard enough to make you squirm, "Beautiful, aren't you?"

You’re normally not one for pda, not at all. The idea of people watching, of eyes on you while you're with someone, always made your skin crawl. But when Rafe kisses you like this? When he’s got his hands on you? God, your brain just goes dumb, and every ounce of self-consciousness fizzes out. It's embarrassing, almost. All you can think about is the way he’s making you feel, the way he’s holding you against him, leaving you breathless and wanting more. You’re so not this person, not the girl who makes out with her boyfriend in the middle of a crowded room.

But with Rafe? You can’t even think straight. 

His hands slide under your skirt for the millionth time, blunt fingernails gripping your plushy thighs, and you nearly whine, “Rafe,” you breathe, trying to pull away long enough to think properly, but he just kisses you harder, more insistent. “Baby, stop,” you manage to whisper, though you don’t mean it at all.

He pulls back just enough to look at you, his eyes all dark, his breath hot against your lips. “You want me to stop?” he teases, his hands still tight on your hips, his fingers digging into your skin in a way that makes your knees go weak.

You shake your head, biting your lip, and his grin widens. “Didn’t think so,” he murmurs before leaning in to kiss you again, like he can’t help himself, and honestly? Neither can you. You’re so turned on, it’s ridiculous. 

“I—fuck,” you pant, trying to get the words out between kisses, but he’s relentless, pressing you back against a wall, his lips latching on to your neck, sucking a bruise into your skin “Baby, please—”

He groans against your neck, one hand sliding up under your top, fingers brushing the bare skin of your waist, and you swear you’re about to lose it. “Please what, hmm?”

You bite your lip, trying to stay composed, but you’re way past that now. All you can think about is how much you need him. Right now. Anywhere but here.

“Take me to the truck,” you nearly beg him, just loud enough for him to hear, but you know he catches it because he pulls back just enough to look at you, pupils blown wide.

He smirks, running his thumb over your bottom lip, teasing. “Yeah? You need me that bad?”

You nod, not even caring how desperate you sound. “Please.” Your voice cracks a little on the last word, but you don’t care anymore.

You need him, and you need him now.

ˏˋ°•*⁀➷ˏˋ°•*⁀➷ˏˋ°•*⁀➷ˏˋ°•*⁀➷ˏˋ°•*⁀➷ˏˋ°•*⁀➷ˏˋ°•*⁀➷ˏˋ°•*⁀

Forty minute later, the air inside the truck reeks of sex.

You’re breathless, flushed all over, and your legs feel like jelly. Rafe’s next to you, grinning like an idiot already fixing his jeans like he’s not still catching his breath. It’s written all over you—the tousled hair, the smudged lipstick, the way your top is barely hanging on properly as you try to straighten it out, the stickiness you can still feel between your legs, on your panties.

You feel filthy.

You bite back a smile as you adjust your skirt, your body still recovering from the way he had your face pressed against the seat.  

“Shit,” you breathe out, trying to get it together, your fingers fumbling to fix your bra strap, “I feel like my makeup’s a mess.”

He just chuckles, leaning back in his seat with that cocky look that made you want to jump him in the first place, “You look perfect,” he says, eyeing you up and down like he’s ready to go another round.

You roll your eyes but can’t help the heat that rises to your cheeks. “Yeah, well, you look like you just ran a marathon.”

He laughs, reaching over to pull you close, his lips pecking your hair, “Worth it.”

You’re just about to leave the truck when the door opens, and as you both step out, you catch sight of Sophie and her friends walking past. Perfect timing. Of course.

She’s glaring—hard—and her friends are snickering, whispering to each other like they’ve just seen something they shouldn't. Sophie’s nose wrinkles as her gaze flicks between you and Rafe, her expression twisting into disgust like you’re both some kind of wild animals who just rolled around in the mud.

But you? You feel smug.

You meet her stare for a second too long, the corner of your mouth lifting in the tiniest, most satisfied smirk. You know she knows exactly what just happened in that truck, and it’s killing her. She’s practically seething, her friends muttering furiously under their breath as they walk by, noses in the air.

Rafe doesn’t even glances their way—his fingers hook into one of the belt loops of your skirt, tugging you back to him with just enough force to make you stumble slightly into his built chest, like it’s the most natural thing in the world. And it is.

“Thirty more minutes,” he murmurs against your cheek, planting a kiss there, casual but so possessive, his lips lingering just long enough to make your stomach shake with butterflies again, "And I'm taking you home."

And that’s what makes it even sweeter.

[queenofwands89]

Revelations

Jake ‘Hangman’ Seresin x Fem!Pilot!reader

Summary: Y/N overhears Jake's heartfelt confession about liking someone and dares to hope it's her. But when she sees him with another girl, intrigue and uncertainty swirl. Is she the one he truly desires, or has she misread the signs?

Word count: 3,010

Warnings: Angst, Misunderstanding, reader jumping to conclusions, eavesdropping, other character plotting against Jake and y/n, tears, sad, fluff, confessions.

Notes: This is somewhat of a continuation of this fic, but you don't have to read it because I intended it to be a standalone. Didn't have time to proof read so sorry for any typos. I hope you enjoy byeeee 💜

Your friends had been relentless in their teasing about Jake having a crush on you. At first, you laughed it off, finding it impossible to believe that Jake Seresin, the eternally confident and suave pilot, could be interested in you. But as time passed, you started noticing small gestures and moments that made you question your initial disbelief.

Jake had always been kind to you, but recently his kindness seemed to extend beyond common politeness. He remembered the tiniest details you shared in passing—how you liked your coffee, your favorite authors, even the specific way you styled your hair on a bad day. He was quick to offer help, whether you needed an extra hand with a task or just someone to talk to. The way he looked at you, with an intense and sometimes tender gaze, made your heart flutter against your will.

Despite these signs, you remained conflicted. The thought of Jake possibly liking you brought as much fear as it did excitement. What if your friends were just teasing for fun? What if Jake’s actions were merely those of a considerate friend? The fear of misinterpreting his actions and making a fool of yourself loomed large in your mind. You began to feel like you were walking a tightrope, delicately balanced between hope and skepticism.

One afternoon, you were walking past the common room at the base when you heard familiar voices—Rooster, Javy, and Jake—engaged in what seemed like a serious conversation. Curiosity and a bit of anxiety gripped you as you recognized Jake's voice among them. You slowed your pace, your heart thudding in your chest, and edged closer to the door.

“I just don’t know how to tell her,” Jake admitted, his voice carrying a vulnerability that you had never associated with him before. You could sense the frustration and hesitation in his words, the struggle of a man who was usually so self-assured finding himself in unfamiliar emotional territory.

Your heart raced. “Could they be talking about me?” you wondered, your breath catching in your throat. The possibility sent a thrilling yet terrifying jolt through your system. You pressed yourself against the wall, straining to hear more, each beat of your heart echoing in your ears.

“But you’ve got to tell her, man,” Rooster encouraged, his tone filled with genuine support. “She deserves to know.” The sincerity in Rooster’s voice struck a chord, amplifying the gravity of Jake’s confession.

“But what if she doesn’t feel the same way?” Jake's voice, usually so cocky and assured, wavered with uncertainty. “What if I ruin everything?”

A pause followed, the silence heavy with the weight of Jake’s fears.

“She won’t.” It was Javy who spoke next, his voice calm and reassuring. “You’ve got to trust yourself. And trust her. She’s not just anyone; she’s special.”

You felt your pulse quicken, a mix of hope and anxiety swirling within you. Could it really be true? Was Jake talking about you? The words from Rooster and Javy seemed to point in that direction, but the fear of jumping to conclusions held you back.

“I know she is,” Jake replied softly, almost to himself. “That’s what makes it so damn hard.”

The vulnerability in Jake’s voice replayed in your mind, planting even more seeds of doubt and hope. The need to discern reality from your friends' teasing and your own fears had never felt more urgent.

Before you could eavesdrop any further, Natasha's voice echoed from down the hall, calling your name. Panic surged through you like an electric shock. Instinctively, you quickly moved away from the doorway, your heart pounding and thoughts racing. As you walked towards her, trying to act casual, you couldn't shake the question that now consumed your mind: Who was Jake talking about?

"Hey," Natasha greeted you with a curious look, her eyebrows knitting together slightly. "What were you doing back there?"

You hesitated for a moment, glancing back toward the room where Jake and the others were talking. Finally, you confessed, “I overheard Jake talking with Rooster and Javy. He was talking about liking someone but didn’t say who.”

A knowing smile crept onto Nat’s face as her curiosity morphed into something more mischievous. “Why are you so worried about Jake liking someone?”

Your cheeks flushed crimson. "I-I don't know. I guess... I guess I just wondered if he was talking about me," you stammered, hardly believing the words were coming out of your mouth.

Nat's eyes widened in realization, her smile broadening into a grin that practically split her face. “Oh my god, you like Jake!”

“No, I—” you started, but Nat cut you off, clearly reveling in this revelation.

“Everyone’s been saying he has a crush on you,” she continued enthusiastically. “Jake's always sweet to you. I'm pretty sure he was talking about you. You should tell him how you feel.”

Your mind raced back to countless little moments that suddenly took on new significance: the way Jake’s eyes lingered on you during group meetings, the playful banter that always seemed to hold a deeper meaning, the subtle ways he tried to be there for you without making it obvious.

“I don’t know, Nat,” you replied, faltering. The fear of being wrong and the risk of vulnerability loomed large in your thoughts.

Natasha placed a reassuring hand on your shoulder, her grip firm. “Listen to me, Y/N,” she said earnestly. “You deserve to be happy. And what’s the worst that could happen? If he wasn’t talking about you, then it’s his loss. But if he was… think about what you could be missing out on. Just tell him how you feel.”

You took a deep breath, trying to steady your swirling emotions. The blend of hope and fear still churned in your chest, but Nat's encouragement gave you the courage to consider a possibility you had been afraid to fully acknowledge.

“Thanks, Nat,” you said quietly, giving her a small, grateful smile. She grinned back, her eyes twinkling with excitement. Without missing a beat, she added, “You should tell him tonight at The Hard Deck. The atmosphere is relaxed, and you can catch him in a good mood. Plus, it's a place where everyone feels a bit more confident.”

You nodded, the idea settling comfortably in your mind. The Hard Deck, with its familiar ambiance and sense of camaraderie, seemed like the perfect place. “Yeah, you’re right," you agreed, feeling emboldened by the plan.

Nat’s grin widened. “Great! Then it’s settled. Go get ready, and don’t worry—I’ll make sure he doesn’t disappear before you get there.”

With newfound resolve, you turned back toward the hallway, your heart still pounding but now with a touch of exhilaration. Tonight at The Hard Deck, you would take the leap and tell Jake how you really felt.

.   ݁ ˖ ࣪ . ⋆ * .♡ *:･ﾟ.   ݁ ˖ ࣪ . ⋆ * .♡ *:･ﾟ.   ݁ ˖ ࣪ .

Bolstered by Nat’s reassurance, you decided to muster all the courage you had and took a chance. You spent the rest of the afternoon overthinking every scenario, planning out how you would approach Jake and what you would say. The anticipation tied your stomach into tight, nervous knots, but Nat’s words of encouragement echoed in your mind, giving you the strength to push forward.

That evening, you arrived at The Hard Deck, the familiar scents of sea air and salt mingling with the sounds of laughter and clinking glasses. The warm glow of string lights cast a welcoming ambiance over the buzzing crowd of friends and fellow pilots. You scanned the room, your eyes searching for Jake.

There he was, leaning casually against the bar, seemingly in his element. His smile was bright, his laughter infectious as he chatted with a few squad members. Your heart pounded in your chest as you took a deep breath, walking purposefully towards him, each step fueled by the hope of finally expressing your feelings.

But as you closed the distance, your heart nearly stopped at the sight unfolding before you. A blonde girl, stunning and radiant, approached Jake with an ease that spoke of intimacy and familiarity. She smiled up at him, her eyes twinkling with affection. Without hesitation, she wrapped her arms around him, pulling him into a tight hug. Your breath hitched painfully in your throat as you watched her lean in and kiss his cheek, her lips lingering as Jake's arm encircled her waist.

Your world tilted on its axis, the scene playing out like a cruel dream. Every piece of hope you had built up shattered, splintering into a million jagged fragments. The voices around you faded into indistinct murmurs, the vibrant atmosphere of The Hard Deck suddenly feeling cold and isolating.

Swallowing hard, tears threatened to spill as you silently concluded that the conversation you had overheard was about this blonde girl. The connection and affection between them were undeniable, making your earlier hopes feel foolish and naïve.

Crying on the inside, you turned on your heel, each step away from Jake feeling like wading through thick, relentless waves. You slipped out of The Hard Deck, the door closing behind you with an unsettling finality. Your chest ached with unspoken words and unfulfilled dreams, your heart heavy beneath the weight of unreturned feelings.

.   ݁ ˖ ࣪ . ⋆ * .♡ *:･ﾟ.   ݁ ˖ ࣪ . ⋆ * .♡ *:･ﾟ.   ݁ ˖ ࣪ .

In the coming weeks, you found yourself avoiding Jake entirely. Whenever his name came up or plans were made that involved him, you made excuses, retreating into a quieter, more isolated version of yourself. Each glimpse of him became a painful reminder of what had been and what could never be, the gap between you widening into an unbridgeable chasm.

Though Nat and other friends noticed, you didn't feel ready to explain. The feelings were still too raw, so you chose to keep them to yourself and carried on as best as you could. You knew deep down that Jake liking someone else doesn’t make him a bad person because he has every right to be with who he wants to be. You had no right to be mad; you were not upset with him, just heartbroken. And that heartache was enough to make you withdraw, even from those closest to you.

The day of Bob’s party arrived, a day you'd been both anticipating and dreading. Just the night before, Rooster had casually mentioned that Jake wouldn't be attending. A mix of relief and disappointment had washed over you—relief for avoiding the emotional turmoil, and disappointment because, as much as you wished otherwise, you still deeply cared for Jake.

As you entered the bustling party, your mind was a whirlwind of thoughts. The loud music, laughter, and upbeat conversations seemed distant as you struggled to enjoy yourself. You chatted with a guy near the drinks table in an attempt to distract yourself, but your eyes kept searching the crowd for a familiar face that wasn't supposed to be there.

Then, as if mocking the emotional preparation you'd done, there he was. Jake, with his striking build and effortlessly commanding presence, stood across the room. A pang of shock struck you, and for a moment, you were frozen. How could he be here? Rooster had clearly said he wouldn't be! You quickly decided to play it cool, hoping he hadn't noticed your initial reaction.

You re-engaged in your conversation, attempting to laugh here and there, but your thoughts were distracted. Your gaze involuntarily kept flitting over to Jake's direction, drawn by an invisible thread. When Jake caught sight of you talking with someone else, his expression darkened with displeasure. He started moving towards you with determined steps, each stride amplifying the wave of unease that settled in your stomach. Your heart rate quickened, and you struggled to maintain your composure as he approached.

“Can we talk in private?” he asked, his tone leaving no room for objections.

“No, Jake, not now,” you tried to brush him off, your voice shaking slightly. But Jake was insistent, tugging you gently yet firmly to the other side of the room.

“Why have you been avoiding me?” he demanded, frustration evident in his voice. The intensity of his gaze was almost too much to bear.

You tried to keep your voice steady. “It doesn’t matter, Jake. Let it go.”

But Jake wouldn't back down. Your voices rose, drawing the attention of everyone at the party. You felt tears welling up, the emotional pressure becoming unbearable. Turning on your heel, you fled to the basement, hoping to find a moment's peace. Jake, however, was right behind you.

“Y/N, please,” Jake pleaded as he finally caught up to you. “What’s wrong?”

“Please just stop! Jake, I don’t want to talk about it,” you said, running your fingers through your hair in frustration.

Before Jake could respond, the door to the basement swung shut with a loud click. You both turned, realizing in horror that it had locked from the other side. Jake tried the doorknob several times, each attempt becoming more forceful and desperate, but it wouldn't budge.

"Great," Jake muttered, running a hand through his hair. "We’re stuck."

You sighed, leaning against the wall. "Just perfect," you said sarcastically.

Jake approached you slowly. “Maybe this is a sign,” he said softly. “We need to talk this out, Y/N.”

Communicating in the dim basement light, you braced yourself for whatever was to come next.

Jake's voice finally broke through the silence. "Please, tell me what I did wrong. I've been unraveling without you."

His words shattered your heart into countless fragments. As you truly gazed at him, the toll of your silence became evident—dark circles lingered under his eyes, his complexion wan and weary.

Heart racing as you paused in uncertainty. You bit your lip, fighting the urge to turn and face him. For a moment, the words seemed trapped in your throat, but Jake's worried eyes spurred you on. Taking a deep, shuddering breath, you finally turned to him, voice trembling with emotion. "I... I've been avoiding you because I overheard you talking with Rooster and Javy about liking someone, and I thought it was about me. But when I saw you with that blonde girl at the bar, I felt so stupid. It was clear to me then that you were talking about her."

Jake's expression shifted from confusion to shock. “You overheard our conversation? And what girl are you talking about?”

Your frustration spilled over, tears threatening to fall. “I don’t even know! There was a girl at the bar a few weeks ago who hugged you and kissed your cheek. I thought... never mind, it’s irrelevant. You have every right to date whoever you want. It’s none of my business, and I have no right to feel upset or betrayed, and I—”

“Wait, Y/N, hold on,” Jake interrupted, his tone urgent and pained. “That conversation was about you. The girl you saw? She’s my sister. I can’t believe you thought... Y/N, you mean the world to me.”

Confusion mingled with hope. "What do you mean? You were actually talking about me?"

Jake nodded earnestly, stepping closer. "Yes, Y/N, every word was about you. I've wanted to tell you how I feel for so long, but I was terrified because the bond we share is so precious to me. I couldn't bear the thought of losing it. When I was talking to Rooster and Javy, I was trying to find the courage to be honest about my feelings for you. And that girl you saw at the bar? That's my sister. She came to town for a visit, and I wanted her to meet the most important person in my life—you. I can't stand the thought of you feeling hurt because of a misunderstanding. You have no idea how much you mean to me. Seeing you with your beautiful smile, hearing your laughter, it's the highlight of my day. I cherish every moment we spend together. Y/N, you are my best friend, but you're also the one who makes my heart race. My feelings for you have only grown stronger over time, and I can't keep them hidden any longer. You are my everything, and I just want us to build something even more beautiful together."

A mixture of relief and happiness washed over you, your eyes welling up. “Oh, Jake, I’ve felt the same way for so long. I didn’t know how to tell you either. Seeing you with someone else just crushed me... I’m so sorry I acted like that.”

Jake chuckled softly, the sound filled with affection. “It’s alright, Y/N. I get it. But you don’t have to worry about anyone else. It’s always been you.”

Your heart swelled with emotion as you looked into Jake’s eyes. “I should have talked to you instead of hiding away. I’m so embarrassed. I’m really sorry for everything.”

He grinned, wiping a tear from your cheek. “Well, we do make a good drama for the team, don’t we?”

You laughed, the sound breaking the tension. “Yeah, I guess we do.”

Jake gently cupped your face, his thumb brushing away the last of your tears. “How about we stop the drama here and start something real instead?”

With your heart full of joy, you nodded, and he leaned in, pressing his lips to yours in a tender, heartfelt kiss. The moment was perfect, everything you had dreamed of and more.

As you pulled apart, breathless and smiling, a loud cheer broke through the silence.

Turning, you saw Rooster, Natasha, Javy, Bob, Reuben, and Mickey clapping and cheering enthusiastically.

“Way to go, Jake!” Rooster called out, grinning widely.

“Finally!” Nat added, her arms raised in celebration.

Javy winked at you and said, “Took you two long enough!”

Bob, Reuben, and Mickey clapped and cheered, their smiles wide with happiness.

Rooster gave Jake a playful punch on the arm. “Good thing I thought to lock you two down here in the basement. You needed this talk.”

You and Jake exchanged a look, laughing together for the first time in what felt like ages. With your friends' cheers still ringing in your ears, you knew this was the start of something beautiful and true.

-

Tag: @bella-the-proud-fangirl

[ja3yun]

I was wondering if I could make a small request? I've been thinking of making out with sunghoon. Like his lips are so perfect for kissing and biting/nibbling, and I can't help but think about straddling his lap and making out softly and then intensely and becoming so aroused from that. I don't know if you can work with that or add anything to make it better, but I need it, please. If not, I'm sorry to bother you.

warnings: suggestive, kissing obvs, slight biting

w.c: 1.1k

a/n: hope you like it babe! i hope it's what you wanted. i wrote this during my lunch break so it might be a bit messy, sorry.

----------

Opening your bedroom door, you see your boyfriend sprawled across the bed, his back against the headboard as he scrolls through his phone, waiting for you.

Leaning against the doorframe, you allow yourself a moment to drink in the sight before you. His eyes, half-closed in a relaxed expression, seem to hold a thousand unspoken promises. Every line of his face is softened, a striking contrast to the usual meticulous façade he presents to the world.

The dampness of his hair creates a delicate halo around his head, catching the light in such a way that makes him look both tender and enchanting. He always looked the most beautiful like this, barefaced, his natural charm shining through

You feel a warmth spreading through you, an appreciation for the rare beauty before you. And you get to call him yours.

Your gaze drifts to his lips, which look velvety smooth and inviting. The natural plump, pink pillows stand out against his skin, and you can't help but be mesmerised by their softness. The way they part slightly as he breathes, the delicate curve of his smile, all combine to create a sight that is utterly captivating.

Slowly, you push off from the doorframe and make your way towards him. His eyes meet yours, a small smile playing on his lips as he watches you approach. “I thought you drowned in there,” he jokes, locking his phone and giving you his full attention.

You climb onto the bed, crawling over to straddle his lap, feeling the warmth of his body against yours. His hands find your waist, steadying you as you settle in. You lean in closer, breathing in the clean, fresh scent of him, and feel a sense of contentment wash over you.

“I just took a really long shower today,” you sigh, tone slightly deflated.

The shift in your demeanour doesn’t go unnoticed by your boyfriend, who crunches his thick eyebrows as his expression paints a worried look. “Hey, what’s wrong? Did something happen?” he asks softly, his voice full of genuine concern. His gaze never wavers from yours, and in that moment, you feel the full depth of his care and attention.

You shake your head slightly, trying to dispel the lingering feelings of weariness. “Nothing serious, just a bit tired,” you admit, resting your forehead against his. His presence, so calming and reassuring, begins to lift the weight from your shoulders. Your hands splay over his chest as you feel his taut muscles under your fingertips.

He gently tilts your chin up with his pointer finger, his lips brushing yours in a tender kiss that seems to communicate all the love and understanding words could never fully capture.

Sunghoon’s lips are soft and inviting, their texture silky smooth against your own. As the kiss begins, it’s gentle and exploratory, each movement delicate and thoughtful. You can feel the subtle brush of his skin against yours, a light caress that sends shivers down your spine. His lips move slowly, moulding with yours like he was tailor made for you. You can taste the faint hint of mint on his breath, mingling with his own flavour.

As the kiss deepens, his lips press more firmly against yours, their warmth spreading through you like a soothing balm. His hands tighten slightly on your waist, pulling you closer, his fingertips tracing small, comforting circles on your skin. You can feel the gentle pressure of his mouth as he tilts his head, adjusting the angle to better align with yours. The sensation is electrifying, every touch a promise of more to come.

With each meld of your lips, his teeth nibble at your lips, dragging them and as he looks at you with a lust filled gaze before licking the slight wounds, giving you the perfect balance of pleasure and care.

Your own hands move up to his shoulders, fingers curling into the fabric of his t-shirt as you lose yourself in the kiss. His lips part slightly, inviting you to further the connection, and you respond eagerly. The kiss becomes more fervent, a passionate dance of tongues and lips that leaves you breathless. Each movement is infused with a sense of urgency and longing, the soft sound of your breaths mingling in the quiet room.

His hips buck up into you instinctively, making you gasp in arousal, allowing Sunghoon to explore your mouth deeper, his wet muscle marking it’s territory everywhere it can reach.

The sensation of his tongue gliding against yours is both tender and intoxicating, a blend of sweetness and pure desire. You meet his movements with equal enthusiasm, your tongues entwining in a sensual rhythm that heightens the need between you. Each caress of his tongue sends a thrill through your body, the taste of him filling your senses.

Kissing Sunghoon is like nothing you could ever put into words, it’s passionate, raw, loving, and lustful. He knows by your earlier statement that you need to just lose yourself in his touch, give your mind a rest and breathe in his adoration.

Pulling back, you catch the air back in your lungs, chest heaving against his. But Sunghoon doesn’t rest, instead he attached his swollen lips to your cheek, nose, forehead, jaw, and neck, peppering loving kisses all over you.

“I’ll kiss away the tiredness for you,” he smirks, portraying his desire, yet his eyes are soft and brimming with affection as they meet yours.

You smile, feeling the warmth of his affection with each gentle kiss. His lips linger on your skin, their touch both soothing and electrifying. Each kiss seems to chase away the remnants of weariness, replaced by a burgeoning sense of joy and contentment. The tender graze of his lips against your neck sends a delightful shiver down your spine, making your heart swell with a deep, comforting love.

As he continues his tender ministrations, you can’t help but laugh softly, the sound of relief and happiness. “You’re going to spoil me with all these kisses,” you tease, running your fingers through his damp hair.

He chuckles, his breath warm against your skin. “If that’s what it takes to see you smile, I’ll keep going,” he replies, his voice laced with sincerity and a hint of mischief.

“Then, yes, keep kissing me, please,” you pout your lips out, patiently awaiting him to envelop yours once again. The lightheartedness in your voice makes Sunghoon’s heart flutter with glee, your body a tiny bit more energised and hopeful than before.

“Anything you want, baby,” he pecks your lips in quick bursts, the sound of smooches and your heartbeats echoing the room.

A sly grin etches on your face. “Anything?” You wiggle your eyebrows and Sunghoon gets your insinuation instantly and grips your hips roughly, moving your hips against his growing erection. A moan slips past your lips as your eyes close, enjoying the feeling of his lips on your neck and bulge running effortlessly over your clit.

“I think anything is reasonable.”

[ninyard]

I just saw a post wondering what Andrew and Neil’s first proper argument is, and naturally I have to offer this:

Andrew and Neil don’t fight. They’ll ignore each other if they’re pissed off - but never for more than a few hours, or maybe until one of them has slept it off and decide it’s not worth it (usually Andrew). They’ll have tiffs but never over anything serious.

Except for in the months coming up to Andrew’s graduation. That is when I believe Andrew and Neil have their first real argument.

Andrew gets officially signed to his pro team around abouts the February of that year. It’s in a state further away that Neil expected, and since they found out, Neil keeps catching Andrew looking at apartments or researching the state and the team. He’s happy for him, of course he is, but he can’t quite identify what this feeling in his stomach is every time Andrew brings it up. The little fights that last longer than their usually bickering start not long after; Neil getting more pissed off by the little things Andrew does, Andrew having off-days with Neil more and more often, each of them asking for their own space because they know if they stay around each other they’re going to start a fight. It’s gradual in a way that they don’t realise for a little while that it’s getting worse, until just after the championship finals, and the season is officially over, when three days have passed without them talking for not much of a reason at all. Neil used his finals as an excuse, but Andrew didn’t have any good reason. After those three days, they’re finally alone in their dorm for whatever reason, and maybe Andrew has started packing or he’s just got some sort of welcome package from the team: everything explodes. Andrew tries to kiss Neil, and something feels wrong, and when Neil asks what the fuck is going on, all hell breaks loose.

Andrew doesn’t yell, of course he doesn’t, but he’s venomous. He’s asking Neil why he’s acting as if the world is going to end just because he’s graduating, he’s angry at him for becoming so dependent on his presence, he’s angry at himself for feeling like he’s found a future in Neil when this was never the plan. He was supposed to be nothing. A casual fuck, with an end date and no feelings but fuck if he can’t live his life without him now. Neil yells, because he does, and he’s angry that Andrew still seems so unsure about what they are, how comfortable they were, but suddenly things are different, and it feels like he doesn’t care. He’s angry at himself for building his life around Andrew, but he’s the only reason why Neil Josten exists. Andrew reminds him of that, and it makes everything worse.

It goes on for far too long, quickly becoming meaningless and just an excuse for either of them to vent out the frustration they’ve been keeping inside for months.

“You know that I won’t overstep your boundaries,” Neil points a finger at him. “So in your head it’s okay to treat me like shit and ignore me because you know that I will give you that space.”

He doesn’t even really think that, but every little thing, every little excuse is multiplied by a thousand when he feels this red hot rage. He hates the things that come out of his mouth, but Andrew gives it back, and his insistent refusal to back down just further butts their heads together and infuriates them both.

“I won’t chase after you because you’ve decided to allow me distance,” Andrew says, calm and ice cold. “You can’t invent boundaries for me and then be upset that they exist.”

Lows blows after low blows, unfair quips and insults from both sides, slamming of drawers and doors and throwing of things; they have never, ever fought like this before. It’s over everything and nothing at the same time. Andrew knew it was only a matter of time before campus security was called, but when he tried to tell Neil to calm down and lower his voice, it only made things worse.

They’ve been unkind and awful with each other for about an hour when Neil finds himself starting to get so furiously angry thats he’s upset, that he can feel himself being needlessly nasty with Andrew. For the first time ever he feels the tilt. He feels their foundations getting rocked, a crack in the base of the pyramid of their relationship that gives him the feeling that this might not last forever. He leaves their dorm with a slam of the door, and goes for a run. He hasn’t done that in a while, a run from his feelings, running from his problems and responsibilities. He’s not sure how long it’s been before he finds himself too far away from campus, because he just ran in a straight line.

When he checks his phone he realises he’s over an hour walk away from their dorms. He almost calls Matt, and hesitates over Coach’s phone number, but instead he clicks Andrew’s name. It’s only ringing for two rings before the ringing ends and there’s a quiet hiss at the other end of the line. Neil double checks that he’s answered, because Andrew hasn’t said anything, and brings the phone back to his ear.

“Can you come pick me up?” His breathing is heavy, all of his anger drained out through his feet with every single step that he took to get further away from their dorm.

“Where are you?” Andrew is quick to respond, and Neil can hear him already picking up his keys.

Neil tells him the name of some bar that he can see, and Andrew hangs up almost instantly afterwards. Neil starts to put his phone away, used to the abrupt endings of phone calls, but wishing he would say something more. He puts his phone away and wonders why Andrew can’t just give him something. He’s not looking for a Love you! Bye! But maybe just an answer that let him know he was listening. but then it starts to ring again, and it’s Andrew, and Neil doesn’t say anything when he answers.

“I’m leaving now,” Andrew says. There’s something in his voice. “I’ll be there in about twenty minutes.”

“Okay,” Neil responds. “Thank you.”

Andrew hums in acknowledgment, but this time he doesn’t hang up immediately. He hesitates, but he’s somewhere outside now.

“I will always pick you up.” He says after a while, after he’s shut his car door and the engine has rumbled to life, and maybe it sounds like I love you, I care about you, I need you. Maybe it sounds like I need you to know that i can’t lose this.

“I know,” Neil says, and it sounds like I can’t do this without you. “Thank you.”

Andrew waits a second or two then before hanging up, and Neil waits for him by the curb. Andrew is there quicker than twenty minutes later. Neither of them say anything as Neil slips into the passenger seat, and neither of them say anything as they pull away. Neither of them say anything until Andrew has switched the engine off, and the car is sitting in its parking spot. They look at each other then, and maybe then they understand what’s happening.

“I’m not above telling you that I don’t want to leave here,” leave you. “But this was always a certainty. You’ve had plenty of time to prepare.”

“I thought that I had,” Neil tells him.

It’s the truth, in some way. He realises then that all of these little fights, and growing agitation, and this almost primal urge to push Andrew away was how he’d prepared. He’s been trying his hardest to soften the blow that it would have on him, and if he pushed him away first, then it wouldn’t hurt when he inevitably pushed him back or let him go. Only, that was never going to happen, and that’s what made it worse - nothing could happen to them now that would not bring them back to each other. So when Neil pushed and pushed and pushed and Andrew was constantly hitting a wall instead of a door, all they were doing was filling the room with resentment.

They sit in the car then and talk about the reality: Andrew was moving away in just a few weeks, moving further away than they’d ever been apart. The truth was that regardless of whether or not Neil decides to spend the summer with him, August would come, and Neil would go back to PSU, and Andrew would stay wherever it was that he was staying. They’d been fighting more in a subconscious test with each other, to see if one of them were going to give up, to see it this was the thing that would finally tear them apart. They talk about that, too, as difficult as it is for Andrew to be honest about that kind of thing. Neil asks him if he thinks it would be better for them to break up, to give each other space, to let Andrew flourish on his new team and meet new people and grow into himself as a professional exy player. It’s the first time either of them have acknowledged the possibility out loud with each other, and it destroys Neil to ask it, and it destroys Andrew to hear it.

Andrew thinks about how Exy was supposed to be the deal with Kevin: how he was supposed to come off his meds, and Kevin would give him purpose, and he would find something to live for in the sport that would not love him back. Instead he gave him Neil. That was his something to live for, and while he’d started to learn how to live for himself, and he would eventually survive without him, he didn’t want to. He couldn’t. He would sooner give it all up just to keep him, and Neil knew that was the truth.

Neil thinks about how Neil was supposed to be temporary. Now it was the future, it was Andrew, it was a long and successful life. Neil Josten did not have an expiry date anymore. He could have things that were his own, things to keep, things to live for.

They knew it wouldn’t be easy, but as the evening went on, and they stay in that car and talk about the future, they’d truly come to the understanding that neither of them can lose each other. They will always be half of one another, and no amount of distance can change that. It’s hard conversation after hard conversation, and it’s emotional in the way that Andrew and Neil get emotional. All the fighting ends up being a catalyst for possibly the most personal, deep, intimate discussion they’ve ever had. There’s lots of silences and voices that threaten to raise but stay low. There’s a lot of questions, and answers, and questions without answers, too. Buts it’s needed. Andrew could not leave PSU without them having this conversation. If he had, I think they would’ve struggled a whole lot more with the distance, and the conversations they would have afterwards would’ve been far more difficult.

Ultimately that’s where they end the conversation sometime past midnight - with a semi newfound understanding of where they stand with each other, what they are, what the future means for them. It’s a fight that needed to happen, and in their own ways they apologise for the things that they said. Maybe they don’t say sorry, they just say everything is going to be okay, and distance will not be the thing that ruins this.

I don’t know. I really do think it’s a fight that’s needs to happen. I think it’s a terrible, angry, nasty argument, and they both feel awful about the things they said and did, but it had to happen. Yeah, could it have been communicated with words? Sure. But Andrew had to understand how afraid Neil was of losing him, he had to understand what Neil was doing to protect himself from it. And Neil had to understand that Andrew was always, always willing to fight for him, but he couldn’t do that if Neil wasn’t willing to see that he would.