#he wants his memory and his life to be dedicated to happiness; not grief. that's all

[rose-from-ashes]

I find it funny how some people dislike Haurchefant for saying "a smile better suits a hero", and some people love him for it. I think it's interesting, and I kinda wanna talk about it. Spoiler alert, this is a Haurchefant positive post! If you don't like Haurchefant, please, don't interact with this post, I don't want to debate, if I wanted to debate, I'd have said this in reply to a Haurchefant negative post. This isn't vagueing anyone either, I've seen multiple people. People who don't like it tend to not like it because they read it as entitlement. Because they think he feels entitled to our joy. But that's not how I read it at all.

Firstly, there's an important context here of Haurchefant's character. He first became significant when helping us find the Enterprise, and from there disappeared for a time before coming in clutch after the bloody banquet. Both times, we come battered and broken, not in the height of our glory, but in our pitfalls, and both times, he hoists us up with his actions without a single complaint, and in the case of the second, not even an expectation of aid in return.

But we're not the only people he helps. For instance, he aids lord Francel and the frontier at Revenant's Toll, and in the latter case doesn't even speak to the people there, just sends aid. This shows that he is a kind, generous person- it's not an obsession with us or an expectation of our gratitude, it's just because he likes to help.

When he comforts Alphinaud after the banquet, he doesn't tell him to smile or tell him to get up. No, he asks if he's going to stop there, and says he suspects his friends will help reforge his spirit- no demand, just assessing his emotional state and suggesting who he should turn to for support.

Leading up to his death, Haurchefant expresses faith and care for us, standing with us even in the face of accusations of heresy and treason. His wish, his dream, is established- he aspires to be the sort of knight that is noble and strong, that helps people. And he sees us as a hero. By helping us he is helping everyone. He comes to care for us on a personal level, to have faith that should something happen to him, his sacrifice will be worth it because he helped a hero.

When it does happen, his first concern is whether we're hurt. It's when we start to cry that he registers that he needs to help us one last time, and tries to comfort us. "Do not look at me so," he tells us, reaffirming that he is okay with what is happening, that he will rest easy, "a smile better suits a hero." A reminder of what we mean to him, and what he died for. He wants us to be happy because he is kind, because we have so much to be happy for, because we're a hero and we've done incredible things, and he has faith we will continue to do so. It's not entitlement to our joy or even our heroism. It's just faith and warmth. That's why I love him.

[austinbutlerslovers]

Benny Cross: The Bikeriders Fantasy

Label Mature 18+

Chapter 1 Handsome Stranger 🔗 Chapter 2 🔗 Chapter 3 🔗 Chapter 4

Summary Heading out late to help spot a friend for cash at a local bar leads you into a den of wolves. Bikers frequent the place intimating you and sexually harassing you as you try to enjoy the evening with you friend. As she gets your drinks leaving you momentarily alone you become so frightened you want to cut the night short and leave. That is until you see the most attractive man you’ve ever laid eyes on in your life. Benny, the handsome alluring biker that takes your breath away. The night is filled with wild twists and turns as you navigate your newfound feelings for this attractive stranger in your contrasting worlds.

10k word count

♠️ Passionate Smut ♠️ Slow burn • savior/hero complex•independent female•propositioned by Benny •Benny claiming you•Benny wants to be yours •stimulating make outs• nipple play• oral fem • fingering fem• body worship•extreme orgasms •missionary• raw• creampie • after care

📖 Proofreader @purejasmine 🫦 Smut Consultant @burnthheparaphilia 💭 Plot Consultant @austinbutlerfly

Heavily Based on The Bikeriders Movie 🏍️ Inspo: anonymous requests combined 🏍️ •Benny strong silent type •Benny a wanderer/ nomad -reader stable home •Benny submissive to reader •Benny love obsessed w reader •Benny being nurtured/cared for by reader •Recreate meeting Benny + smut •Benny as a gentle/passionate lover *more requests in upcoming chapters*

Handsome Stranger

It is late night and you are at home, alone in the house willed to you by your parents. There is an eerie silence as you do the dishes only hearing the splash of water and the clunk of the plates submerge in the water and hit the basin.

The house is a large two story brick and mortar in the suburbs of Forest Glen, Chicago surrounded by a lush green lawn that you played on as a child. You grew up your entire life here, each room filled with memories of laughter and warmth.

It was a happy home, filled with the smell of your mother’s cooking at supper and the sounds of your father’s music playing softly in his office in the evening as he worked.

Your parents worked hard to create a nurturing environment, and their love was evident in every room of the house.

The day they’re perished was the day your world stopped. You quit your job at the local bookstore and began relying heavily on your friends for emotional support during your time of grief

The house, once a place of joy, became a silent reminder of your loss.

Your parents, both hardworking upper middle class, were dedicated to ensuring your future was secure. Setting up a trust fund and a life insurance policy.

As their only child, you inherited everything after their passing: the family house filled with memories, the cars they had carefully maintained, and your dad’s rental property in the next town over.

With your father being the former Director of Operationsfor Ford Motors and your mother being an accountant they had always prioritized your well being, wanting to provide you with a solid foundation for a successful and stable life.

No longer having their reliable guidance and without needing to work, you found solace in reading books about franchising and exploring potential business ventures, like owning several local laundromats in town, something your father had always wanted to do.

The idea of managing a business intrigued you, offering a sense of purpose and structure in your otherwise free and unoccupied life.

However, your friends, seeing you single and often too invested in your books, worried about your sanity and social well being. They frequently pulled you out to mingle, encouraging you to enjoy yourself and meet new people.

They wanted you to remember that there was more to life than just moping alone with your inherited wealth, they wanted your to find happiness and fulfillment with a husband.

Though you had dated a few men in town, they couldn’t get over the fact that you wouldn’t submit to traditional gender roles. Having your own finances allowed you to readily dismiss them at the first signs of male authority, decideding quickly you would no longer submit to any man.

The times were changing during the late ‘60s, and women were prevalently rebelling against domestication becoming in charge of their own lives. This cultural shift resonated deeply within you, sparking a fierce independence.

As you place a dish in the drying rack, your phone rings in the kitchen. You pull the receiver and press it to your ear and shoulder as you answer. It’s one of your close friends Donna in distress, you can barely hear her above the loud music playing in the background of her location.

“Hey, I’m so sorry to bother you so late. You know I wouldn’t unless I really needed to, but I’m at a bar and I’m short on cash. It’s about five bus stops from your place. Can you come spot me? Maybe have a beer with me? I can pay you back with my check on the first.”

You smile, your friends constantly ask to borrow money here and there, and you are never one to deny them. You understand how hard it is to work nonstop only to have spare change for fun. You balance the phone on your shoulder, the cord stretching across the kitchen as you place the last dish in the drying rack.

“Of course, don’t worry about it,” you say warmly. “I’ll be there in a bit. Which bar are you at?”

She gives you the name and address and you quickly jot it down on a notepad by the phone. It’s in seedier area of town but your friend has always had a knack for finding the hippest places around, so you think nothing of it deciding to join her.

“You can hold off on the beer. I think I’ll have a pop though,” you correct her. Your friend laughs.

“Not at this bar, dress up. The guys are having a meeting here tonight.” she informs you.

“Sure, alright, I’ll dress up,” you say, not entirely sure what she means by the guys meeting up but assuming it’s the usual locals.

You hang up, a small smile playing on your lips. Helping out your friends always brings you a sense of fulfillment. You pull on a lilac colored sleeveless form hugging top with white jeans and platform sandals. Nothing too fancy, but it would definitely draw the male gaze. You check your reflection, admiring your attractive features as you brush your hair, letting it cascade over your shoulders in soft waves.

You pull out a wand of mascara, carefully applying the dark, thick formula to your lashes, enhancing the depth and allure of your eyes then framing them with eyeliner. Next, you glide a rich shade of red lipstick across your full lips, the color making them look even more inviting. You then take a brush and apply a touch of rouge to your cheeks, blending it in for a natural, rosy glow.

Satisfied with your appearance, you give yourself one last approving look turning to check your form in the mirror. You would never head out this late for your safety, but because the bar is nearby and you are meeting a friend, you grab your purse and head out into the midsummer night of Ohio.

The air is warm and filled with the sounds of crickets. The sky is clear, stars twinkling above as you make your way to the bus stop. The bus is still running, and you hop on, finding a seat near the back. The city lights blur past the window as you ride through the familiar streets, your mind wandering to the night’s possibilities. You exit the bus a few stops later, the bar just a short walk away.

The brick building is lit up, neon signs flickering, casting a colorful glow on the sidewalk. You can hear the faint sound of music and conversation from inside. Tons of motorcycles are lined up out front, their chrome accents glinting under the streetlights. The air is filled with the mingled scents of cigarettes and gasoline. The atmosphere is charged, alive with the energy of the night

You take a deep breath and step through the door, scanning the loud crowded bar for your friend. The atmosphere hits you immediately this is not the usual crowd. The bar is filled with rough looking bikers, their leather jackets adorned with patches and insignias. Their faces are rugged, some sporting thick beards and tattoos snaking up their arms and necks. It feels as if the room falls silent for a moment as you walk in, all eyes turned to you, scrutinizing you with a mix of curiosity and predatory interest.

You feel their stares, some of the men openly leering.

“You need a man?” one of them calls out, his voice ripping with insinuation just above the music.

Another smirks and gives you a once over, “Looking for some fun tonight?”

Your heart begins to race, worry creeping in, it’s as if they can sense your unease, like predators sensing prey. You scan the room desperately, searching for your friend. Finally, you spot her waving at you from a corner table, looking both relieved and slightly apologetic.

You make your way through the crowd, the bikers parting reluctantly. Some of them brush against you, while others continue to watch you, their gazes and unwanted touches making your skin prickle.

You reach your friend Donna’s table and slide into the seat next to her, trying to steady your nerves. She is sitting across from a biker who is nursing a beer, his rugged appearance adding to the intimidating atmosphere.

“Hey,” she says softly, clearly aware of the tension in the bar. “Thanks for coming. I’m really sorry about this. I didn’t realize you were gonna dress up this nice…that’s gonna make things a bit more… interesting for you tonight.” She reveals with a grin.

“It’s okay,” you reply, forcing a smile. “Let’s just get you sorted and I’ll head out of here.”

“You should stay a while. These guys are something else,” Donna says as you hand her the money she needs. “You’re the best,” she adds, smiling as she counts it but you can’t help but feel the weight of the bikers’ stares.

This night has turned into something far different than what you expected, and you can’t shake the feeling of being a rabbit in a den of wolves.

The biker across from Donna leans forward, a smirk playing on his lips. “Name’s Cockroach,” he introduces himself, his voice cheerful and welcoming.

You give him a wary eye, trying to gauge his intentions. “Nice to meet you,” you manage, your voice steady despite the unease swirling inside of you.

Cockroach’s eyes flicker with amusement as he looks you over, clearly enjoying your discomfort. “Don’t worry, we don’t bite… much,” he says with a chuckle, his gaze never leaving yours.

Two more bikers approach. One is wearing only a vest, his bare chest exposed, while the wears a heavily stained t-shirt. They both look drunk, their eyes bloodshot and their steps unsteady. They reek of stale beer and cigarettes, clinging to each other as they sway slightly, propping each other up.

“Hey, you-as wants-ta go home with me?” The one in the vest slurs to you, his words barely coherent.

“What about me you wanna live with me? The other chimes in with a grin before taking another swig of his beer. He leans in too close, the overpowering stench of alcohol heavy on his breath

You slightly recoil at their statements, trying to keep your composure.

“No thank you, I’ve got a date. I’ve gotta be home by midnight,” you quickly lie, feeling extremely uneasy and not wanting to engage with either of them.

Cockroach lets out a hearty laugh, the sound rough and loud. “You hear that, boys? Cinderella’s got a date and she’s gotta be home by midnight or else she’ll turn into a pumpkin!” The group erupts into laughter, the sound echoing through the bar.

Cockroach gets up and slaps the shoulders of the two bikers and they wrap their arms around each other as they head to the bar. You watch as they stumble away, their laughter still ringing in your ears.

You look around and begin to notice several of the bikers gathering together, casting glances your way and sharing whispers with one another. Already on edge, you lean towards Donna to warn her. “Look at them, it’s like they’re planning something over there.” You say trying to keep your voice steady but your panic is evident.

She shrugs it off. “Don’t worry about them,” she says trying to reassure you.

“I gotta go,” you say abruptly, the unease becoming too much.

Donna laughs. “Just sit tight. I’ll go get you a drink,” she says and stands up.

You watch her walk away, completely at ease among the bikers, she moves with a casual confidence, even giving a friendly pat on the back to one of the bikers as she passes by. It’s clear she feels comfortable in this environment, blending seamlessly with the rough crowd.

Feeling even more exposed now that you’re alone, the atmosphere feels thicker, the air heavy with the scent of beer, smoke, and something else you can’t quite place.

You glance around nervously, noticing the bikers’ eyes still lingering on you, their whispers becoming more apparent.

You can see them watching you now, their gazes more intense and predatory, their eyes following your every move, making your skin prickle with unease.

You quickly stand, clutching your purse, scanning the bar for your friend to head out to leave, and that’s when you see him the most physically stunning man you ever laid eyes on.

He is at the pool table, standing stoically with his hands resting on the edge. His broad shoulders and muscular frame are hard to miss, accentuated by a sleeveless black shirt. His presence commands the room, and despite the rough crowd around him, he stands out with an air of calm authority.

For a moment, everything else fades away. Your heart pounds in your chest, a mix of excitement and nervousness flooding your senses. You watch him, mesmerized by his effortless confidence and the magnetism.

He gazes down, seemingly lost in thought, and when he looks up, you get a full view of his handsome face in every detail. His piercing blue eyes that look like they could see right through you, a head of thick tousled sandy brown hair, a rugged goatee surrounding his full enticing lips, and a strong, chiseled jaw . You feel a thrill shoot right through you, his looks take your breath away.

His eyes slowly lock onto yours, and it’s as if he can sense every bit of your attraction for him. His gaze intensifies, showing a clear desire for you in return. He straightens up, revealing his towering height and makes his way over to you with determination in his stride.

Your heart pounds in your chest, and you feel a rush of excitement and nervousness as you sit back down, almost in a daze, watching the confident way he approaches your table.

He turns the chair across from you around backwards and slowly sits revealing every detail of his chiseled muscular arms as he casually rests them on the edge.

“I’m Benny,” he says, his voice soft and rich like honey.

Your voice comes out weaker than you intend as you respond, “hello…”

He stares at you intensely and though you try to meet his gaze, your eyes keep wandering down to his chiseled muscular arms and back up to the handsome features of his face.

He studies every detail of you in return his blue eyes slowly trailing over your body. His eyes tracing the line of your neck, lingering on the delicate skin there, before moving to your full, red lips. He continues up to your eyes, his stare deep and inviting, never breaking contact in a testament to his desire for you.

The intensity of his gaze makes your skin begin to tingle and your heart race. You’ve never been stared at in such a way. Despite your nervousness, you find that you like his unwavering attention, it makes you feel desired and alive in a way you’ve never felt before.

Summoning all of your courage, you finally regain the ability to speak.

“What are we doing here, just shooting the breeze?” you ask, trying to sound casual but failing miserably. Your voice wavering, betraying the nervous excitement inside of you.

Benny’s smile widens, a beautiful smile that captivates you entirely. “I guess so,” he answers, his eyes never leaving yours.

When Benny doesn’t continue the conversation, a thick silence settles between you two. His eyes gaze into yours with an unspoken longing that makes your heart race and the intensity of the moment becomes overwhelming.

“Benny… I’ve gotta go home,” you relent, watching as his demeanor changes.

“Oh…okay” Benny responds the sadness flickering in his beautiful eyes, his deep voice tinged with disappointment.

His gaze lingers a moment longer before he lifts his hands in a gesture of surrender.

“Alright,” he says, a knowing smile on his lips, his voice still that soft, intoxicating murmur. “You gotta go,” he echos.

When he rises from the chair and walks away, your heart is pounding as your eyes follow his every move. You know you won’t forget your encounter with Benny anytime soon.

Just as Benny leaves, another biker sits down in front of you, taking his place. His presence is commanding and intense, exuding seniority.

His appearance is cleaner than the others; his black hair is slicked back neatly, and his stern face exudes authority. He wears a neat black button up tee with white etching along the seams, giving him a polished yet intimidating look. His sharp eyes, slightly narrowed, survey you with a calculating gaze.

“I’m already spoken for,” you announce,knowing in your heart you are already drawn to Benny.

The biker gives you a knowing look. “Don’t worry,” he says with casual confidence.

“Don’t worry about what?” you shoot back, wanting to deter any of his advances.

“I’m Johnny, the president of this club,” he says beaming with pride before continuing. “The guys, they just want t’have some fun. But I’m not gonna let nothing happen to ya,” he says with a twinkle of mischief in his eye.

“What’s was going to happen to me?” you ask, your voice tinged with concern.

Johnny leans back, his eyes steady on yours. “Nothin’,” he reassures you but his eyes shift.

As he studies your demeanor you realize it must be very late and excuse yourself.

“It was nice to meet you, Johnny, but I’ve really gotta go,” you say politely , and look around the bar for Donna to say your goodbyes. When you are unable to find her a slight panic sets in, and Johnny watches as you hurriedly leave the table the rise in your nerves evident.

Leaving is more difficult than coming in. More bikers have come to the bar, making you have to weave through the crowd. You are groped several times, slapping a hand or two away on your way out as they yell sexually suggestive advances.

“Hey, sweetheart, where you going in such a hurry?” one calls out, his eyes raking over you.

“Don’t be shy, honey, come sit on my lap,” another one jeers, reaching out to grab your wrist.

“Why leave so soon? The night’s just getting started,” a third biker says, his hand grazing your lower back.

“Let me show you a real good time,” one whispers in your ear, making your skin crawl.

You push through the throng of men, your heart pounding and your breath coming in short, panicked bursts. As you finally make it to the door, the catcalls and whistles follow you out into the night.

You don’t stop moving until you are a safe distance across the street at the bus stop. You look down at your white pants, now covered in their dirty black handprints,

“Disgusting!” you scoff, trying in vain to wipe the grit of their handprints off.

The bus is taking longer than usual, and you feel an uneasiness settle in. The street lamps and the distant sounds from the bar offer some comfort, but you can’t shake the feeling that something isn’t right.

That’s when you see Benny leaving the bar, his calm commanding presence exuding an aura of confidence. He focuses on lighting his cigarette as he walks, moving with a fluid grace that makes you stall, looking at him in admiration.

His leather biker jacket accentuates his strong shoulders, and his jeans highlight his confident stride. As he lights the cigarette, smoke billows from his mouth. He walks to his bike a short distance in front of you, seemingly unaware of your presence.

He swings his leg over his bike and kick starts it, taking a pull of his cigarette before looking over his shoulder at you, revealing that he knew you were there the entire time. You smile, but it quickly fades as your eyes are drawn the group of loud bikers leaving the bar. They immediately see you standing alone at the bus stop.

That’s when it hits you, and fear rushes in. The bus isn’t coming anymore; it’s too late.

“Oh no,” you mutter, walking quickly down the pavement. But they bound toward you, surrounding you almost instantly, pressing you around you and jeering as you walk.

“Where do you think you’re going, sweetheart?” one of them sneers, his breath reeking of alcohol.

“Come on, darling, don’t be shy,” another says, his hand reaching out to touch your hair.

You slap his hand away, your heart racing with fear. “Alright alright !” you respond to knock their lewd advances, but your voice wavers, betraying your terror.

The night air feels suffocating with their laughter echoing in your ears.

Just as your situation seems dire, you catch a glimpse of Benny on his bike, watching the scene unfold, the cigarette hanging from his lips.

His eyes lock onto yours, and he gestures for you to come to him. Summoning all your courage, you push through the men, ignoring their jeers and grabs, and rush towards Benny. You climb onto the back of his motorcycle and hug onto him tightly as if your life depends on it.

Benny flicks his cigarette away, the ember glowing briefly before fading into the night. The bikers begin hollering and shouting.

“Looks like Benny’s got himself a prize!” one yells, his voice ripping above the others.

“Yeah Benny! Take her! Take her!” another yells as they begin to holler and cheer. The rest of the bikers and their ladies spill out of the closing bar and into the street, joining in, their voices rising in the night air with whistling and hollering.

Benny’s demeanor remains calm and composed, but you can feel the tension in his muscles as he revs the engine. The powerful roar of the motorcycle drowns out the bikers’ voices, but you can still hear their laughter and shouts in the background. Benny’s hand reaches back to gently squeeze your arm, reassuring you.

“Hold on tight,” he says, his voice steady and firm.

You cling to him even tighter, pressing your face against his back, the leather of his jacket cool against your cheek.

Benny kicks the bike into gear and peels out onto the street, leaving the jeering crowd behind.

You’ve never been on a bike before and find it exhilarating as the wind rushes past you as the motorcycle accelerates, making the street lights blur into streaks of light.

With each passing second, the distance between you and the bar grows, the noise of the bikers fading into the night. Benny maneuvers the bike with skill and precision, navigating the streets effortlessly. You begin to relax slightly, the fear slowly ebbing away, replaced by a sense of safety and gratitude.

After a few minutes, Benny slows down and turns onto a quieter street. He eventually stops the bike in front of another bar, this one open later into the night. The neon sign casts a warm glow on the pavement, inviting you inside. He turns off the engine and looks back at you, his intense eyes filled with concern.

“You okay?” he asks, his voice softer now.

You nod, “Yes, thank you. I don’t know what I would have done if you hadn’t been there.”

Benny helps you off the bike and stands by your side, his presence comforting.

“Do you want a drink?” he asks, his voice calm and reassuring.

You nod again, feeling a wave of relief. “Yes, that would be nice.”

He leads you into the bar, the dim lighting and the low hum of conversation providing a stark contrast to the dark, tense night you’ve just escaped.

The air is filled with the scent of beer and the soft strains of blues music playing on the jukebox. You follow Benny to a booth in a quieter corner, feeling a mix of relief and gratitude for your unexpected savior.

As you sit down, Benny signals the bartender for a couple of drinks. He sits across from you, his gaze steady and reassuring. “You’re safe here,” he says, his voice calm. “Just take a moment to breathe.”

You nod, taking a deep breath and trying to steady your nerves. The warmth and relative quiet of the bar help you start to relax, the events of the night slowly fading into the background as you focus on the present, feeling grateful for Benny’s timely intervention.

The bartender brings over two cold beers, placing them on the table. Benny takes a sip, then looks at you with a smoldering gaze.

“Those guys back there, they’re my crew,” he says casually. “and you’re the most beautiful woman they’ve ever laid eyes on.” He admits.

You blush, feeling both flattered and a bit wary. “Well, they have an interesting way of showing it,” you reply, your voice tinged with sarcasm.

Benny chuckles softly. “Yeah, they’re rough around the edges, but they know not to mess with someone I’m looking out for.”

You take a sip of your beer, feeling the cold liquid soothe your nerves. “Thanks for that. I was really scared back there.”

Benny’s expression softens. “You don’t have to thank me.“

You both sit in silence for moment until you come up with a question you’ve been curious about.

“What’s it like being a biker?” You ask.

Benny leans back, considering your question. “It’s freedom,” he says, his voice thoughtful. “No schedules, no bosses. Just the open road and my bike. I go where I want, when I want. There’s nothing like it.”

“Where do you live?” you ask.

Benny smiles, a hint of mystery in his eyes. “Wherever the road takes me,” he replies. “I’ve got places I crash, friends’ houses, motels, sometimes just under the stars. Home is the ride.”

“What about you?” he asks, looking you over with curiosity in his eyes.

“I’m from Forest Glen,” you admit with a bit of hesitation.

“Fancy,” he says, lifting his eyebrows with a grin.

The heat rises to your face as your cheeks blush, feeling self conscious from his correct assumption.

“Well, your life sounds very entertaining, Benny,” you admit, taking in his rugged charm, admiring his sense of freedom and independence.

Benny’s eyes soften as he looks at you. “It can be. But it’s not for everyone. It’s rough and unpredictable. You have to be ready for anything.”

You nod, taking another sip of your beer. The differences between your structured life and his free spirited existence fascinates to you, drawing you even deeper into irresistible allure.

You share two more beers together, talking about your vastly contrasting interests. You, fascinated by his wild, unpredictable life, while he listens intently as you describe the comforts of home, your love for quiet evenings with a good book and the security of a routine. Hours go by, the conversation flowing easily between you two, until you glance at the clock above the bar seeing its 4am.

“Oh wow, Benny, we’ve been out all night. I didn’t even notice the time until now.”

He glances at you with a hint of reluctance, “You gotta go?” he asks not wanting the night to end.

You nod reluctantly. “Yeah, it’s really late Benny.”

“Let’s get you home, then,” he says, standing up and signaling the bartender. He pays for the drinks, and you follow him out of the bar, feeling a mix of contentment and excitement.

Outside, the night air is cool and refreshing, as Benny leads you to his bike. He stands next to it for a moment, adjusting his gloves and giving the machine a once over. With a swift, practiced motion, he swings his leg over the seat and settles in.

He grips the kick starter firmly, and gives it a powerful thrust. The engine roars to life, the sound reverberating through the quiet night. Satisfied, he looks over to you and extends his hand, helping you climb onto the back. “Hold on to me,” he says gently.

This time, as you wrap your arms around him you let your hands wander down, marveling at the strength and solidity of his body as you hold his waist. As the engine roars to life you imagine that he’s yours and that this connection between you is something real and lasting.

You press close against his back, feeling the warmth and firmness of him. The vibrations from the engine travel through you, heightening your senses. Soon you’re off, the streets blurring past as Benny navigates the quiet roads to your home. The city lights twinkle above, as the wind rushes past you, carrying a newfound sense of excitement for Benny.

The ride is exhilarating, the powerful machine beneath you and the feeling of Benny’s solid form in front of you providing comfort. The journey is smooth, and you feel safe, trusting Benny completely as he takes you home.

Eventually, he slows down, pulling up in front of your house. He cuts the engine, and the sudden silence is almost startling. You reluctantly let go, dismounting from the bike.

“Thank you, Benny. For everything,” you say, looking to him.

He smiles, his eyes warm and genuine.

You linger for a moment, neither of you wanting the night to end. Finally, you turn to head inside, but before you go, you look back at him one last time.

“Maybe we can do this again sometime?” you suggest, feeling a bit bold.

“I’d like that,” he replies, his smile widening.

With that, you head inside, a sense of warmth and excitement building within you. Once in doors you watch from the window as Benny starts his bike and rides off into the night, the sound of the engine fading into the distance. As you lock the front door you realize that tonight was the beginning of something new and unexpected in your life.

Do You Want Me?

Just as you hang your purse on the entry rack you hear the familiar sound of Bennys bike retuning. The loud rumbling suddenly cutting off.

You pull back the curtain of the front door window and notice he’s parked himself across the street. Confused you watch him pull off his riding gloves and dismount from his bike, taking a carton of cigarettes out with his lighter sparking one up, sitting calmly against his bike to smoke it.

You assume he’s waiting for someone and head upstairs. Once in your bedroom you click on the lamp and begin to unwind from the night. You take off your platform sandals one at a time, placing them in the shoe rack, feeling relief as your feet touch the cool floor.

You remove your crop top, letting it fall to the floor, then shimmy out of your white jeans, revealing your panties and bra. With a quick motion, you slip off your bra and step out of your panties, placing all the items in the hamper.

You turn on the shower, waiting for the water to warm up, then step inside. The hot water cascades over your body, washing away the stress and grime of the evening. You let the water soothe your muscles, closing your eyes and taking a few deep breaths.

After a moment, you step out of the shower, wrapping yourself in a soft towel. You brush your teeth, the minty freshness a stark contrast to the taste of beer lingering from the bar.

Feeling refreshed, you slip into a comfortable nightgown and lie down in your soft bed. You can’t help but replay the night’s events in your mind, especially the moments with Benny. His charm and protective nature leaving a lasting impression on you.

Suddenly you sit up, curiosity getting the better of you and walk over to your bedroom window pulling the curtain aside, half-expecting to see an empty street. To your surprise, Benny is still there, leaning casually against his bike, his gaze fixed on your house.

“He’s still here?” you whisper to yourself, a mix of surprise and confusion flooding your thoughts. “What is he waiting for?”

You watch him for a moment, feeling a mix of curiosity and excitement. His presence outside your home feels both unexpected and oddly reassuring. You look at the clock on your dresser seeing it’s 5: 50 am and wonder why he hasn’t left yet and what he could be thinking.

Unable to resist, you throw on a robe and quietly make your way downstairs. The cool night air greets you as you open the front door and step outside. Benny looks up, his eyes locking onto yours, and a small, knowing smile spreads across his lips.

“Benny, what are you still doing here, are you guarding my house all night?” You tease and he chuckles before pulling a drag from his cigarette.

“I guess so,” he says, smiling as he exhales. His smile is so beautiful that it makes your heart skip a beat.

“Do… you have some place your supposed to be?” you ask, curiosity mingling with the undeniable attraction you feel toward him.

“Not till later,” he responds casually, his eyes locking onto yours with an intensity that makes you smile.

The first light of dawn begins to creep over the horizon, casting a soft glow over the street.

“The sun’s coming up, Benny,” you observe and he glances over, squinting as he takes in the view of the rising sun.

“How about I make you breakfast?” you suggest with a grin.

Benny looks back at you, his eyes meeting yours as his smile widens. “I’d like that,” he says.

He stands and flicks his cigarette as he approaches your house, and you watch his confident stride as he stretches his arms relieving his sore muscles from sitting on his bike for so long.

He stops just in front of you, his presence commanding yet comforting. He looks you in the eyes, a hint of something playful in his gaze.

“You want to go to a meeting with me today?” he asks.

Surprised, you blink. “A meeting? What kind of meeting?”

“It’s just something with my club,” he says, his tone casual but inviting. “Thought you might like to see what it’s all about.”

You feel a surge of excitement at the prospect of experiencing his biker lifestyle firsthand. Your earlier interest in him only intensifies. “I’d like that, Benny,” you say with a grin,

“Good,” he says, a genuine smile spreading across his face.

You invite Benny inside just as the sun starts filling your kitchen with early morning light. Benny looks around your place, impressed, his fingers trailing along the countertop in the kitchen, taking in the affluent atmosphere.

“You’ve got a great setup here,” he remarks, his eyes wandering over the well kept place.

“Thanks,” you say, grinning as you gather the items to make him breakfast. “It’s been a lot of work to keep it this way, but it’s worth it,” you admit.

“Well, you’re doing a great job,” he murmurs, his eyes wandering over the curves of your body, knowing you’re too focused on your tasks to notice his provocative gaze.

You smile from his remark as you start your routine, putting on a kettle of water for tea and beginning to make scrambled eggs.

You crack two more for Benny and retrieve the bacon from the fridge setting it in the second skillet, the sizzle filling the kitchen with a the delicious aroma. Grabbing a loaf of bread, you pop a few slices into the toaster to make him a full meal.

As you move around the kitchen, Benny rests back against a counter, admiring you work. His presence is both comforting and intriguing. You can feel his eyes following your every movement, adding a layer of warmth to the room.

The eggs fluff up nicely in the pan, as the smell of bacon wafts through the air

You look back at him and see he has a grin on his face clearly enjoying being made a hot meal.

“Go in the dining room Benny and I’ll bring your plate when it’s ready,” you say sweetly and he shyly smiles happy to do as he’s told.

The kettle whistles, and you pour the hot water into a set of cups, letting the tea bags steep. The toast pops up, and you butter the slices, placing them on a plate alongside the bacon and eggs. You bring everything to the table, and set his plate down in in front of him arranging everything with care.

He looks up at you with admiration in his eyes, and you respond with a warm smile. His gaze then shifts to the food you’ve prepared, his expression softens with deep gratitude as he takes in the sight of the meal you made for him.

You step away momentarily to bring the tea cups, carefully placing one beside him and then setting yours down next to your plate.

He waits for you to sit across from him and, only after you take your first bite of food, does he begin eating. His fork scrapes the plate several times as he hungrily eats.

“This is one of the best meals I’ve had in a long time,” he compliments, and you smile, watching him continue to enjoy each bite.

You begin to study him closely noticing he must be starving and tired. His scent is heavily tinged with cigarettes, his hands are calloused, his fingernails are covered in grit and his sandy brown hair is heavy with oil.

Noticing his rugged appearance, you suddenly realize that Benny doesn’t have a place to call home, a place to be cared for and comforted and your heartstrings tug for him.

“Benny “ you ask softly watching him eat his last bites of foods. “Would you like to shower here? Maybe have a rest on the sofa before we go to this meeting of yours ?” you offer gently.

Benny looks up from his empty plate, a mix of gratitude and surprise in his eyes. “That would be great actually,” he admits, his voice softening.

You smile warmly, feeling a sense of satisfaction being able to care for him.

You clear the table and he takes his jacket off draping it over his chair, revealing the definition of his strong, muscular arms in his sleeveless shirt.

Seeing him getting comfortable sets you at ease, and you smile as you make your way over to him. “Will you follow me upstairs so I can show you to the shower, Benny?” you ask, and he slowly grins, his face lighting up in the way that sends a warmth through you.

“Yea I’ll follow you” he says his voice carrying a mix of gratitude and anticipation.

He follows you up the stairs, his heavy footsteps behind yours, and you lead him down the hallway, your own footsteps echoing softly in the quiet house.

Stopping at the linen closet, you pull out a fresh set of towels and hand them to him. He takes a moment, bringing the soft fabric to his face and inhaling the scent, appreciating the clean, comforting smell of fresh laundry.

You pull a toothbrush and a bar of soap from the closet, placing them on top of the towels as he lowers them slightly.

“The bathroom is just on the left,” you say, pointing the way. “I’ll be in my room tidying up and getting ready. If you need anything, just knock.”

“Thank you,” he says, his eyes meeting yours with a sincerity that makes your heart flutter. “I really appreciate this.”

You smile, touched by his appreciation. “It’s no problem at all, you’re my guest.”

He glances down, then back up at you, his eyes softening. “You really didn’t have to any of this.”

“I wanted to Benny” you reply softly.

You give him a reassuring smile, and he returns it with a grateful look before heading to the bathroom and closing the door behind him.

You head to your bedroom and close the door. Hearing the shower start you feel a sense of contentment wash over you, knowing you’re able to care for him.

You tidy up your room and begin to get dressed, choosing a loose fitting shirt and denim jeans, assuming you’re going to be with the same rowdy group of bikers he was with yesterday. Before you put your socks and shoes on there is a knock at your door.

You open it to find Benny standing in the hallway, half naked, wearing only the towel. His well defined physique catches you off guard, and your breath hitches at the sight of his muscular body.

His defined abs glisten, and his broad chest rises and falls with each breath, his hand gripping the towel beneath the deep v-line of his waist. He looks refreshed and more relaxed. His hair, now clean and slightly damp, falls in soft waves around his face that radiates with a newfound vitality. You momentarily lose your voice, captivated by how attractive he looks.

“What would you like me to do with my clothing?” he asks gently, helping you refocus.

“Y-you can bring them to me, Benny,” you say,still in shock at the perfection of his body. He collects his clothing and brings the pile to you. Quickly grabbing a hamper, you place his clothing inside.

“Let’s go down and get these washed for you,” you announce, trying to focus on the task at hand.

“Thank you,” he says smiling again, and as you walk downstairs, he follows you. Still in the towel, holding it at his waist. As you reach the base of the stairs, you can’t help but look back and notice how the towel clings to his muscular form, each step emphasizing every contour of his physique.

You sigh dreamily and gesture him toward the living room. “Why don’t you relax on the sofa while I head to the laundry room,” you offer.

Benny nods, and you watch as he enters the living room looking the place over. He sits down on the sofa, adjusting his towel before resting back, his muscular arms outstretched against the plush cushions, enjoying the comfort.

“Do you need anything?” you ask kindly, wanting to ensure he’s comfortable.

“No, this is perfect,” he says, giving you a grateful smile.

You nod and head to the laundry room, feeling a sense of satisfaction being able to help him. As you start the washer, you can’t help but think about how different your lives are and yet how connected you feel to him in this moment.

As you pour the detegent in, the morning sun filters through the windows, casting a warm glow over the room and it dawns on you, you’re falling deeply for Benny.

When you head back to the living room, you find him studying a framed picture of your family on the mantle. “These your folks?” he asks.

“Yes,” you answer slowly.

“Where do they live?” he asks.

“They passed away Benny,” you say, your voice somber. His face falls in shock, realizing his mistake.

“I-I’m so sorry,” he stammers.

“It��s alright. It’s been some time, but I do miss them terribly,” you admit, your voice softer.

His eyes gloss over with sadness for you. “I didn’t mean to bring up painful memories,” he says gently.

“Benny it’s fine, I’ll be alright .” you say with a reassuring smile.

He looks around at the living room, taking in his surroundings.

“You live by yourself in this big house?” he asks, his eyes scanning the place, noting the quietness.

You nod. “Yes, it’s just me now. It’s a lot of space for one person, but it’s home,” you say, offering a small smile.

He takes a deep breath, his gaze returning to yours, filled with a mix of admiration and concern. “It must get lonely sometimes,” he says softly.

“It does,” you admit, and then you fall silent, lost in thought realizing that you’ve willingly let Benny—a man you just met tonight— into your home and now he’s standing in your living room, nearly naked, wrapped in a towel.

The reality of the situation hits you hard and you are surprised by your own actions, you would never willingly allow a handsome stranger into your home, let alone someone you barely know, but with Benny somehow its different.

His presence reassures you. The way he looks at you with genuine care and concern, the kindness in his eyes, his gentle yet commanding demeanor, all make you feel safe with him in a way you have never felt before.

He captivates you with his powerful presence, a mix of beauty and raw strength exuding a sense of protection and confidence that is impossible to ignore. As you watch him, standing nearly naked in your living room, you can’t help but feel a surge of admiration and desire.

You look at his perfect body again, your gaze lingering on his broad, chiseled chest, his heavily defined muscular arms, and finally settling on his ridged abs, each one perfectly sculpted, narrowing down to his sculpted waist. His entire body exudes strength. The sight of him standing in your living room takes your breath away.

The truth of your motives comes to the surface as your eyes linger on him longer than you intended and you feel a surge warmth spread through you, a magnetic pull that makes it hard to look away anymore . Feeling a mixture of desire and curiosity that you’ve never felt before you begin to realize you invited him in to do more than just to care for him.

Benny catches your lingering stare, his eyes meeting yours with a knowing look. A small smile plays at the corners of his lips, and you can see the spark of desire in his eyes as he takes a step closing the distance between you.

“What do we do while we wait for the laundry?” he asks, his voice low and sultry. Your heart flutters, finding it hard to concentrate on anything other than the desire building between the two of you.

“I-I hadn’t thought about that,” you admit, your voice trembling slightly.

As he steps closer you instinctively move back, bumping into the bookshelf behind you. The sudden movement causes a book to tumble off the shelf and hit the floor with a soft thud.

He kneels down to pick it up, and you catch a glimpse of his cock, sending a thrill straight through you. It is long and thick, the biggest you’ve ever seen, stretching impressively down his thigh. Utterly impressed you quickly cover your mouth.

He doesn’t take notice and reads the title of the book he’s picked up.

“Business Franchising,” he says, grinning as he stands. “Is this yours ?” He asks and you slowly nod, slightly trembling unable to form words from what you just witnessed.

“You’re smart .” He confirms looking into your eyes with a satisfied grin.

His muscular arm extends to push the fallen book back into the slot next to your head and his closeness is intoxicating. He sees your hesitation, your head lowered as you avoid looking at him in such close proximity.

He doesn’t back down, instead, he gently tilts your chin up with his fingers, guiding your eyes to meet his. His gaze is intense and unwavering, filled with an unspoken understanding and desire. As you stare into his eyes, he searches deeply into yours, making it impossible to look away.

“I never thanked you properly,” he says softly, his eyes darkening with a mix of gratitude and longing.

The heat radiating from his body and the scent of him, fresh from the shower, fills your senses. He’s intoxicating to you, and the longer you stare into his beautiful, mesmerizing blue eyes, the more your heart races in anticipation.

“I’ll make it up to you,” he promises, his voice deep and filled with emotion. The intensity of his gaze is magnetic, drawing you in completely and his breath mingles with yours, warm and inviting as his lips move closer.

The world around you falls away as his full lips slowly brush against yours and you feel the spark ignite between you, a deep and passionate connection that sends waves of heat through your body. He kisses you slowly and deliberately savoring every moment of his lips on yours with an unspoken desire.

His hand gently cups your jaw and his fingers trace the contours of your face as you feel the warmth of his palm against your skin.

His other large hand grasps your waist pulling you flush against him making you feel as if your heart will explode from the overwhelming mix of emotions.

Bennys lips move against yours slowly devouring you as you lose yourself in the sensation, feeling an incredible sense of connection to him. His kiss is filled with a longing and desire that promises so much more.

Feeling a firmness press against your thigh, you break the kiss, peering down to see his substantial erection hard against you. Looking back into his eyes you see his intent.

“Benny,” you shakily whisper, your voice trembling with the intensity of the moment. “We should take it slow,” you manage to say, but as the words leave your mouth, he stares at your lips with a fierce longing before looking back into your eyes. His breaths are heavy and uneven, his desire for you is intense, as if he’s fighting to hold himself back but wanting to give you more.

You slowly place your hand on his chest, trying to calm him, but his eyes search yours, filled with lust his need is evident and the intensity of the moment is fierce as you fight your reservations.

Quickly, you turn from his grasp and walk to the kitchen, creating a distance between you to force the thought of stripping the towel off of him from your mind. You want to date Benny properly, not get swept away in a moment of passion.

“I want you,” Benny admits following you closely.

“You make me feel differently than anyone ever has,” he reveals, not even giving you a moment to cool down.

“When I’m with you, it’s like everything else fades away and I’ve never felt this way before.” He confesses.

Your mind is overwhelmed with desire for him as you listen to his words, your eyes looking around the kitchen, frantically searching for anything you can do to preoccupy yourself.

“I can’t stop thinking about you,” he says closer, his voice filled with emotion. “I’ve never wanted anyone so much.”

You reach the sink and grip the edge, feeling Benny’s presence behind you, and he presses himself against you, his strong arms encircling you, trapping you between him and the counter. The firmness of his hard body pushing against yours makes a gasp of pleasure escape your lips, and he gently turns you around to face him, his eyes searching yours.

His eyes fall to your lips, then lift back to meet your gaze. “I need you,” he confesses, his voice soft and genuine, filled with a depth of longing and desire that takes your breath away.

Your heart pounds in your chest as you process his words. The desperation in his eyes, the way he stands so close, everything about him in this moment is charged with a raw sexual energy and without a second thought, you reach up and kiss him, your lips meeting his in a rush of heat and need.

His body responds immediately, his large hands gripping around your waist, pulling you closer and deepening the kiss. His lips meld with yours full of passion as all the pent up tension between you two finally falls away.

“I’ve wanted this,” he murmurs against your lips, his voice a mix of gratitude and desire. “Since I first… laid eyes on you.” He admits between kisses.

You nod, breathless, your hands exploring his muscular chest.

“..Yes….Benny ” you pant, feeling his strong arms envelop you knowing that this moment, this connection, is something you both desperately need.

He kisses you deeply, tilting his head and roughly capturing your mouth, his strong hands wandering down your back making you feel cherished in his arms.

Each caress and press of his lips deepens your connection flooding you with emotions you’ve never felt before.

His towel falls away, and you feel his hard length press against you making you softly moan.

He pulls his lips from yours and kisses down your neck, holding you firmly yet tenderly as you tilt your head back, giving him better access to your throat.

“How do you want me?” he whispers against your skin, his voice thick with desire as he continues his trail of soft kisses. Your heart pounds with longing and nervous anticipation.

“..Benny,” you say, breathing heavily, feeling the hardness of his full erection pressing against you.

“W-we should wait,” you gasp.

He leans back to look at you, his eyes filled with a serious depth of devotion. “I want you,” he says with unwavering conviction, “and I want to be yours.”

The sincerity in his eyes melts away your reservations. “I want you too, Benny,” you whisper, your voice trembling with anticipation.

His hands travel up tenderly pushing under your top and pulling it over your head before he discards it to the floor.

“You’re beautiful,” he smiles, his eyes lingering on the sight of you undressed for the first time. His large hands cup your full breasts with reverence, sending waves of pleasure through your body.

“I can’t believe I get to touch you like this,” he whispers, his voice filled with awe.

His lips brush over your sensitive skin, kissing your soft nipples making you ache with desire. His tongue slips out, gently flicking and swirling around the buds until they are hard and sensitive.

Then, his mouth descends, lavishing attention on them and you gasp as he alternates between each breast, sucking and kissing gently, his hand continuing to caress and knead the other. His rough touch contrasting perfectly with the softness of his mouth.

When he pulls back, his eyes lock onto yours with an intensity that makes your heart race. His hands holding your waist as he slowly lowers down on his knees in front of you, making your breath hitch.

His hands slide up your thighs unbuttoning your jeans and pulling them all the way down, the cool air contrasting sharply with the heat of your skin

His lips trail soft tantalizing kisses up your thigh.

“I want to taste you,” he murmurs against your skin stopping shy of your panties. He slowly pushes his hand between your legs feeling you already soaked through for him and hums in satisfaction.

“Benny.. I haven’t done anything like this before …” you pant growing more overwhelmed by the second knowing he’s going to perform oral on you.

“I’ll go slow“ he promises and delicately slides your panties off, trailing kisses down your navel to your wet heat.

“I want to please every part of you,” he vows, his voice deep and filled with satisfaction as his hands grip your hips, holding you steady. “I want to make you feel things you’ve never felt before,” he whispers, his breath warm against your skin as his mouth descends.

The first touch of his wet tongue against your clit sends waves of pleasure coursing through your body as you gasp.

“Oh god, Benny!” you cry out, the softness of his mouth latching sending jolts of pleasure directly to your core. His warm slick tongue begins to lick expertly, exploring every inch of your folds as his facial hair grazes against your thighs making you clench. You look down at him, your breaths hitching as you watch him devour you with an intensity that leaves you trembling.

“F-feels so good Benny” you whisper, your voice shaking with pleasure.

His tongue explores deeper into your folds, and you moan desperately, tangling your fingers in his hair, pulling him closer. The new experience is overwhelming, the sensation heightening to a level you’ve never known.

His tongue flicks circles of precision on every stroke sending waves of pleasure through your body unraveling you under his skilled touch.

He laps at your clit, alternating between gentle licks and firm flicks, driving you insane with lust. His eyes, dark with hunger, suddenly lock onto yours, and the sight of him dedicated to giving you such pleasure makes you tremble, becoming completely undone.

His hands grip your hips tighter, anchoring you in place as his tongue delves deeper, tasting you, exploring your inner walls. You can feel the vibrations of his satisfied hums against your most intimate parts as his facial hair brushes roughly against you. The intensity of the moment takes your breath away, and you begin moaning uncontrollably, surrendering completely to the ecstasy he’s giving you.

He brings his hand from your hip, slipping one long, thick finger inside of you. Feeling the roughness of his fingertip against your soft sensitive inner walls makes you clench as an intense moan to escape your lips.

Chills cover the expanse of your body as his tongue and lips, swirl and flick against your clit with precise timing as his finger slips in and out of your sensitive inner walls.

“Benny…please…Benny“ you moan incoherently losing control of your mind, the arousal completely taking over as you lose yourself to him.

He adds a second finger inside of you and the stretch is deliciously overwhelming, your walls contract around his fingers as they move in and out with a steady rhythm. He curls his fingers inside you, hitting a perfect spot that makes you gasp and arch your back.

“Benny oh god! ” you cry out your hands trembling as you grip his hair painfully. He moans loudly against your folds and you savor the vibration of his voice sending a jolt straight through your core.

You begin to high-pitch moan, your breaths coming in ragged gasps as your orgasm builds.

His tongue licks broad strokes and quick flicks against your clit while he fingers you making you see stars.

“Benny your… gonna…make me come like this” you relent your thighs trembling as you try to endure every powerful sensation.

Your walls rhythmically contract around his thrusting fingers and the pleasure becomes too much to bear. You let out a desperate cry, your hips bucking softly against his mouth as your orgasm crashes over you. You moan, your voice trembling in ecstasy,

“Benny you made me come!” you cry out as waves of pleasure ripple through your body, leaving you light-headed and breathless, your heart pounding in your chest.

He continues to gently lick your clit, deliberately slowing the movements of his fingers inside of you, drawing out every last bit of your pleasure until finally, you collapse back, catching your breath as your body tingles with the aftershocks of your intense release.

You pant, staring down at him in awe as he slides his fingers from you and into his mouth, tasting your wetness. He smiles and the sight of him savoring you sends a shiver through your body.

“Benny you’re incredible,” you say in astonishment.

He rises and stands to look at you, his eyes dark with desire. “I’ve never wanted anyone as much as I want you,” he confesses his voice thick with emotion as his hand trails along your waist. “I will do everything to satisfy you” he murmurs, his gaze locked onto yours with an intense longing to please.

You feel warmth spread across your body at his words. “Take me the bedroom,” you say breathless, eager to see more of what he can do. You want him to take all the time in the world on you, feeling every part of you. His intense gaze remains locked on yours as he smiles at your request taking your hand and guiding you to the staircase.

As you walk up the stairs, you continue to steal glances at him. His strong, chiseled physique is mesmerizing, every muscle perfectly sculpted and radiating raw strength. The sight of his impressive erect cock heightens your anticipation even more.

His hand remains intertwined with yours, the roughness of his calloused fingers a stark contrast to the tender way he holds you.

Entering your bedroom, the morning light filters softly through the curtains, casting a warm, golden glow over the room. Benny closes the door behind you, and you can feel the charged atmosphere enveloping you both. He turns to you, his eyes filled with an intensity that makes your heart race.

He leans in, capturing your lips with his, as his hands begin to explore your body. You feel his warmth, the firmness of his muscles pressing against you, as he gently guides you toward the bed. He lays you down carefully, his touch both tender and possessive.

Benny’s lips trail down your neck, planting soft kisses along your collarbone and further down to your chest. His hands caress your sides, memorizing every curve your body. The feeling of his touch, combined with the lingering sensations from your previous climax, sends shivers of pleasure coursing through you.

He takes his time, his lips and hands worshiping your body as if it were sacred. You feel his breath against your skin, the warmth of his kisses, and the gentle firm pressure of his hands. Your mind is clouded with desire, every touch and caress heightening your need for him.

Benny grabs your hips, pulling you to him with a roughness that sends a thrill through you.

As he finally positions himself over you, his eyes meet yours, and you see a mixture of lust and something deeper, a connection that transcends words.

He looks over your body, his gaze lingering on your curves, taking in every detail with a mix of admiration and desire until there is a moment of pause, a flicker of uncertainty in his eyes.

“My condoms are in my bike,” he realizes, his voice thick with need and before he can move to retrieve them you gently touch his wrist.

“I’m on Enovid,” you smile softly.

He blinks, confusion flickering across his face. “What’s envoid?”

“It’s a pill, I can’t get pregnant,” you explain

“Not ever?” he says and you smile gently as you see the initial panic in his eyes. You reach up, touching his face tenderly.

“If I stop taking it, I can easily become pregnant Benny.”

His eyes widen in realization. “I can�� come in you?”

“Yes, Benny,” you affirm, your voice low and sultry, your eyes showing a dark seduction that makes his breath catch.

He stares at you in astonishment.

“This will be my first time… without a condom,” he confesses, a slight vulnerability in his eyes that makes your heart swell.

You smile reassuringly, caressing his cheek. “It’s okay, Benny. I trust you.”

His expression softens, and he leans down to kiss you deeply, his lips pressing against yours with a newfound intensity.

He positions himself at your entrance and the anticipation is almost unbearable. You can feel the heat of his body, the weight of him above you, and the hardness of his cock poised to enter you.

Slowly, he pushes in and you moan feeling every inch of him, the feel of his cock is intense as he deeply stretches you full of him.

He feels your tight walls taking him in, the sensation is a blend of pleasure and intimacy, he’s never experienced before making his breath hitch.

“You feel…. -So …good,” he groans, his voice filled with pleasure and awe as his eyes close immediately. His brows furrow in concentration as he savors the feeling of your slick, tight walls surrounding him. Every inch of him feels alive, every nerve ending tingling with the raw, powerful sensation of being inside you.

The warmth of his body against yours, the rhythm of his breathing, and the way he opens his eyes looking Into yours all combine to create a profoundly intimate moment.

He begins moving with slow measured thrusts, savoring the feeling of being inside you without any barriers

“Benny you’re …so deep” you gasp your voice trembling with pleasure feeling every inch of his hard cock thrust into you completely.

Benny’s eyes lock onto yours, his expression filled with raw desire and tenderness.

“I want you to feel all of me,” he breathes, his voice thick with emotion.

You moan from his words, the connection between you deepening with each thrust as he picks up the pace, his cock sliding in powerfully driving into you with a rhythm that leaves you breathless. His eyes never leave yours and you can see the raw emotion in his gaze.

“Am I making you feel good?” he rasps, his voice filled with a mix of desire and tenderness.

“Yes Benny, yes,” you moan, your voice trembling with pleasure.

His eyes darken with passion as he breathes, his movements becoming more intense.

“I’ve never felt anything like this,” he confesses. “I can’t get enough” he rasps. The warmth of your slick, walls grip his cock tightly, the skin to skin sensation, sending intense waves of pleasure through his entire being.

“Am I yours?” he questions, thrusting harder,“Do you want me?” he asks, his eyes desperately searching yours as you get lost in the overwhelming sensation of his large cock driving deep into your tight walls.

“Yes, Benny yes!,” you cry out, your body arching against his. “I’m yours, I want you!” you moan, clenching around him, the pleasure intensifying with every thrust of his large cock.

“I’m yours then,” he pants as he continues to thrust into you, his pace quickening the sensation of his size is like nothing you’ve ever experienced before.

Without a condom, your wet walls glide against him and he can feel every pulse, every contraction, the raw intimacy of it almost too much to bear.

The connection feels so intense and primal he drives faster, thrusting harder, and pushing deeper, each motion fueled by the exquisite pleasure coursing through him.

His hips begin softly clapping against yours as he grunts thrusting into you at a forceful pace driving you both toward a powerful climax.

“I can’t hold back,” he groans, his voice raw with need. “You feel too good, I’m losing control,” he admits .

“Benny, come in me” you desperately moan, your body arching against his.

He responds with a deep, primal groan, his thrusts becoming urgent and powerful, each stroke pushing you closer to the edge.

“…-I want to feel you come around me first ” he breathes and brings his large hands to your waist pulling you forcefully to meet against his thrusting cock. You cling to him, your nails digging into his back leaving marks as you ride the waves of ecstasy, your bodies moving in perfect harmony.

“Yes Benny, yes… oh my god, yes!,” you cry out, your voice filled with raw pleasure as he roughly thrusts into you satisfying the tightness of your core. You begin gasping, your walls contracting around him as you orgasm.

His eyes squeeze shut from the sensation of your fluttering walls and he surrenders to the overwhelming pleasure.

His cock pulses hard inside of you, his hips stuttering as he loses control. Finally both reaching the peak your loud cries mingle together as you come simultaneously, the climax sweeping through you like a tidal wave.

He releases his cum deep inside of you, his desperate cries rattling your brain as you rhythmically contract around him, absorbing each other’s pleasure. The orgasm is like nothing you’ve ever experienced before, a wave of pure ecstasy that leaves you breathless.

He slowly collapses onto you, his breathing ragged, his heart pounding against your chest. He holds you tightly in his arms, basking in the afterglow of your shared passion, knowing that this moment has forged an unbreakable bond between you.

As the waves of pleasure subside, his hand gently caresses your shoulder as you both catch your breath. His face resting in the nook of your neck as his body grows heavy.

“I don’t want this to end,” he murmurs against your skin, his voice filled with a mix of satisfaction and reluctance. “I’ve never felt anything like this and I want to stay like this forever.”

You stroke his hair gently smiling, feeling the warmth of his breath against your neck. “I don’t want it to end either, Benny,” you whisper back, your voice tender and filled with emotion.

He smiles at your words and reluctantly sits up sliding his large cock back until the heavy tip slips out of your entrance leaving you momentarily empty. He rests his head against your chest, his breathing gradually slowing as he tries to hold onto the connection you’ve just shared.

You continue to stroke his hair affectionately, your fingers weaving through the soft strands, watching his eyes grow heavy as he tries to fight the comforts of sleep.

“It’s alright, Benny,” you soothe him softly. “Just rest now.”

His eyes slowly flutter closed, and you feel his body relax completely against yours as he drifts into a deep sleep. You watch him for a moment, as you hold him in your arms. His face soft and serene, the warmth of his body, the rise and fall of his chest, and the scent of his him all combine to create a profound sense of connection with him.

Continuing to stroke his hair you feel a deep attachment to Benny, realizing he has become so much than you ever expected. The rhythm of his steady breathing lulls you, and your eyes grow heavy, surrendering to the pull of rest. The last thing you feel is the comforting presence of Benny in your arms, as you drift into a deep and satisfying sleep.

🏍️ To be Continued 🏍️

🔗 Benny Cross Part 2: The Vandals 🏍️

Benny brings you to a Vandals biker meeting and introduces you to his club members and their old ladies. Everyone is surprised by your contrasting natures and pokes fun at Benny for dating a ‘fancy girl’.

They privately cast bets on how quickly you’ll use him for a thrill and ditch him once the fun’s over. Little do they know you both are in it for keeps.

You find out more about his rough biker lifestyle and his club leader, Johnny, who has Benny at his beck and call.

🏍️ Benny Cross Tag List 🏍️ @finley-08 @ashleybutler-26 @ifuckindontknow @landlockedmermaid77 @jvanilly @oceanablue @12joeywheelerfangirl @autumnleaves1991-blog @presley1992 @rose-deathman 🏷️ Always Tags Me List 💌 @burnthheparaphilia @purejasmine @lindszeppelin @abswifey @faegoddessog @obsessedvibee @austiebuttbutt @jessica987 @oh-my-front-door @slowsweetlove @hardcoredisneynerd @magicovento @thegabbyh @fallofthedamned @buckysteveloki-me @bucking-mustangs-with-wings @shegatsby @darlingisntit @unicoreads @lovereadingfanfic @elvismylove04 @denised916 @thatoneweirdgirl17 @shockercoco @minispice-1 @meetmeatyourworst @rougegenshin @avidreader73 @jkdaddy01 @xxmandaveexx @mamawiggers1980 @imjustheretoreadsmuthaha @majestyjade @pearlparty @depressedfairie

[ssa-dado]

17 - My Decline

Aaron Hotchner x fem!bau!reader Genre: slow burn, fluff, platonic only for the two of them Summary: You return to the BAU after receiving a call from Erin Strauss, informing you of Hotch's suspension and offering you the role of Unit Chief for two weeks. Despite your initial hesitation, you accept. Visiting Aaron Hotchner later, you share a heartfelt conversation, reflecting on your past, and the complexity of balancing personal life and work. As your first case unfolds, you call him after a long night, easing the tension with humor and familiarity. Warnings: Grief, abuse of power, blackmail, Strauss being Strauss Word Count: 9.8k - my fault - I love when they tease each other Dado's Corner: Thank you for sticking with me through that last chapter! Initially, I’d planned to cover the events of 3x2 as well, but as I wrote, I realized that would mean adding another 15k words. I already have a cute scene written where Y/N interacts with the team as Unit Chief on their first case. Would you be interested in reading that in the next chapter, or are you happy with the temporary version of Y/N as Unit Chief with the final scene I included in this part? My inbox, DMs, and comments are open for your thoughts!

masterlist

Every time you returned to Riverhead, it was as though the town held its breath, waiting to pull you back into shadows you had tried so hard to leave behind. Work seemed to find you here with an unyielding persistence, like a ghostly echo refusing to fade.

You’d joke about it sometimes, saying it was your father’s ghost that stirred things up. It was easier to pin it on him than to admit the truth: that you still had never truly left your work behind, not fully.

And perhaps, in some way, he hadn’t either. He’d been a man devoted to his work, and maybe, in the quiet corners of this town, traces of that dedication lingered, like invisible threads stretching from one part of your life to another, reeling you back in whenever you drifted too far.

Today, though, you had hoped for silence, a chance to let the quiet wash over you, to absorb the memories without interruption, like a sponge soaking up all the forgotten echoes of the past. Today, you wanted to sit with the pain, to breathe it in, to feel every bit of it as a way of holding onto something long gone.

Walking in the cemetery felt like slipping back in time, as though you were stepping into a version of yourself you barely recognized. The years had dulled some things but never fully erased them; grief had etched itself into your bones, a quiet companion you’d come to carry with you everywhere.

Grief, in its own way, had become a fragile thread tying you to the memories you didn’t want to lose. Sometimes, you even found yourself grateful for the pain - it was a reminder, the only way of still keeping him close. It was the proof that he had once been here, that his absence now carried meaning.

Just then, your phone buzzed, a shrill interruption that broke through the delicate quiet you’d wrapped around yourself, shattering the stillness you had hoped to preserve.

Of course. The irony wasn’t lost on you.

“Agent Y/L/N?” The voice on the other end was cool and composed, edged with authority. “This is Erin Strauss, Section Chief of the Behavioral Analysis Unit. I believe you’re familiar with me.”

You took a steadying breath, straightening your posture instinctively, though the name on the other end of the line tightened something inside you that you had been trying to keep buried. “Yes, Agent Strauss,” you replied, keeping your tone polite, neutral, though the tension was harder to mask than you’d hoped. “It’s a pleasure to finally speak with you.”

But the truth was, the only reason you knew of Erin Strauss was because of the last person you wanted to think of here, in this place where memory was still raw and sacred.

His name rose, unbidden, lingering at the edges of your thoughts like a half-remembered melody.

“Likewise,” she replied, her voice a cold, clinical blade, slicing through the air. There was no pretense of warmth, no room for pleasantries. “I’ll get straight to the point. I trust you’re aware that Agent Hotchner has been suspended pending further investigation into his conduct.”

Agent Hotchner.

Suspended.

The silence that followed was thick, heavy, as if the air itself had turned to lead, pressing down on you. You wanted to ask what had happened, to reach out and tear the answers from her, but you stopped yourself, knew you had no right to know.

Not anymore.

You pressed your fingers to the bridge of your nose, fighting for composure, feeling that old, raw fury clawing its way to the surface. How was it that he could still do this to you? How could he, after all these months, still find his way into the cracks of your life, seeping through like some lingering ghost that refused to be exorcised?

You had thought - foolishly, naively - that you’d finally carved out a life beyond his reach, a place where he could no longer haunt you. And yet here he was, even now, his presence clinging to you, seeping back into your world as if he had never left, pulling you back into a storm you had fought so hard to leave behind.

“I wasn’t aware of it. Not at all,” you replied, keeping your tone even, a carefully crafted mask of neutrality.

But there it was, that flicker of concern, betraying you in ways you thought you’d buried. Even over the line, you could sense Strauss dissecting it, reading into the silence, filing it away as if she could pull apart your thoughts by their lingering echoes.

“Well, he has,” Strauss continued, her voice precise and clinical “Which brings me to the reason I’m calling. I’m offering you the position of Unit Chief for the next two weeks during Agent Hotchner’s suspension. Your experience in behavioral analysis, particularly your work across Europe, has been… noteworthy. I’m sure your unique perspective will be useful to the team during this transitional period.”

There was no warmth in her tone, no real admiration behind the compliment. It was as if she were reciting a list of credentials from a file, rehearsed and impersonal, a courtesy she barely found necessary.

“You’ve clearly kept your skills sharp,” Strauss went on, her voice smooth but with an undercurrent that hinted at a carefully concealed disdain. “Your approach to teaching behavioral analysis is, admittedly, unconventional, but I can appreciate the results. And, of course, I already have proof that you’re capable of handling this role. Your assistance on that active case a few months ago was… impressive, given the circumstances.”

Her voice took on a faint edge, an almost imperceptible shift in tone. “Yes, your input was quite thorough, handling an active case remotely while simultaneously using it as material in your class. Creative, to say the least. Though I imagine that level of multitasking might have had something to do with the procedural lapses that Agent Hotchner is now being scrutinized for.” She let the words linger, a barely disguised dig cloaked in the form of praise.

A surge of guilt twisted in your chest, the memory of that case coming back with a painful clarity. You’d offered to take on the paperwork, had insisted on it, hoping to shield Aaron from the potential fallout.

But of course, he hadn’t let you.

Always so determined to take the brunt, even when he hadn’t put a foot wrong, as if it was some kind of penance he couldn’t quite absolve himself from - he always did that.

Always insisting on being the shield for his team, stepping in to shoulder the blame even when the choices hadn’t been his. It was as though he’d internalized everyone else’s missteps, using them as a way to reinforce some twisted version of leadership, one that blurred the line between loyalty and martyrdom. You’d wanted him to let you handle it, to let you bear the consequences of your own decisions, but he had blocked you at every turn, unwilling to cede even a fraction of control.

Strauss continued, her voice almost syrupy, a layer of falseness woven into her words. “Your ability to work under pressure is something I can certainly appreciate, and I imagine your insight could be… helpful, given the current state of the BAU. This is an opportunity for you to step into a role that aligns perfectly with the skill set you’ve cultivated over the years. After all, that case demonstrated a particular tenacity I’m sure will be invaluable to the team in Agent Hotchner’s absence.”

It was a backhanded compliment, laced with subtle reminders of the position she held over both of you, a demonstration of her power to pull strings and twist the narrative to suit her ends.

She was offering you the role, but not out of genuine respect for your abilities. No, it was simply another move in the game she was playing, a way to manipulate and control the situation, to remind you - and perhaps more importantly, Aaron - that she held the reins, that she could dangle your career, your reputation, like a puppet on a string.

You could feel the trap closing, the subtle manipulation laced within her words. “Agent Strauss, I appreciate the offer,” you replied, choosing a measured tone, “I’m not sure I’m the right fit for the role, especially given that I’ve been out of the field for quite some time. I left the BAU to focus on teaching, as you know. I’m committed to that position now.”

Strauss let out a small, humorless laugh. “That’s precisely why this opportunity is so valuable,” she said, her voice softening with a feigned empathy. “It allows you to step back into the role temporarily, to reconnect with the work you once dedicated yourself to. After all, you spent three years working side by side with Agent Hotchner - 1998 to 2001, wasn’t it? You were twenty-one when you joined. Such dedication at a young age.”

Strauss's words were carefully chosen, her quiet, almost predatory curiosity about your connection with Aaron cutting deeper than you’d expected. It was as though she was testing the boundaries, probing to see how far she could push, each glance sharpened with intention. Her gaze lingered, calculating, always one step ahead, watching every flicker of your reaction, waiting to see what she could draw out and use against you.

“Yes, that’s correct,” you replied cautiously, forcing yourself to keep your tone steady. “We worked together closely during that time.”

“And more closely than most, from what I understand,” Strauss continued, the hint of amusement in her voice unmistakable. “You were quite the team, both in and out of the office. But I find it curious - since you two were such… close friends, I would have expected you to check in on him after all this time. Nearly a year without any contact, if I’m not mistaken? Exactly since that case you had assisted on”

The words hit you like a cold shock, igniting a wave of disgust that you could barely contain. It wasn’t just the invasion of privacy, it was the realization that she had stooped to such unethical tactics. The complete disregard for boundaries, the way she sifted through your personal history as if it were nothing more than a tool for manipulation, made your stomach twist. Your grip tightened around the phone, fingers trembling slightly as you forced yourself to maintain a calm facade, the resentment simmering just below the surface.

“Agent Strauss,” you began, letting a hint of disappointment seep into your voice, as though you were quietly dismayed that she would resort to such tactics. “I’m not entirely sure what you’re implying,” you continued, your tone sharp, “but if you’re asking me to take this position, I’ll need the terms in writing. That is protocol, after all, isn’t it?” You paused just long enough for the question to linger, then pressed on, unwavering. “I expect the details of my transfer and my return to the academy to be formally documented, and I want confirmation that my role at the BAU will be temporary - two weeks, no more, no less.”

A silence stretched between you, taut and heavy, and you could almost feel Strauss weighing your response. Finally, she spoke, her tone hardening. “You’re in no position to negotiate, Agent Y/L/N. This isn’t an offer, it’s an assignment. However, I’ll ensure that the necessary paperwork is sent to you. But let me be perfectly clear, if you’re thinking of refusing, you’d do well to remember that Agent Hotchner’s conduct is under investigation. The future of the BAU depends on a leader who follows the rules.”

Taking a steadying breath, you kept your tone cool, sharp, refusing to let her see the turmoil beneath the surface. “And I’d remind you, Agent Strauss, that if Agent Hotchner’s conduct is under investigation for not following protocol, then my transfer should be treated with the same level of rigor. I expect everything in writing - documented, as per procedure - before I set foot in the BAU. If you’re going to ask me to take on this role, then we’ll do so by the book.”

“Very well,” Strauss replied after a pause, her voice clipped, devoid of any warmth. “You’ll receive the documentation by the end of the day. I trust you’ll be prepared to begin on Monday.” Her words were a sharp dismissal, and before you could respond, the call ended abruptly, leaving you standing there in the cold, the silence almost jarring after her precise, clinical tone.

You turned back to your father’s grave, inhaling deeply, trying to ground yourself in the familiar stillness of this place. For a moment, you let the tension drain away, focusing instead on the steady rhythm of your breath, allowing a semblance of peace to return.

You cast a wry smile at the gravestone, brushing a leaf off its weathered surface. “Why don’t you ever send me calls from people who want to give me a pay raise?” you asked softly, almost imagining his laughter in response. “It’s still related to work, isn’t it?” You chuckled, the sound hollow, an echo lost in the quiet cemetery.

You had hoped, just this once, for a reprieve. Some distance, however brief, from the ghosts of your past life. But once again, work found you here, relentlessly shadowing you as if you’d never truly left it behind.

As you cleared away the dried flowers, a glint of something unusual caught your eye, half-buried in the vase at the base of the grave. Curious, you reached down, brushing off the dust until your fingers closed around a small, familiar object. The shape, the intricate details etched into the tiny replica—it took only a moment for you to recognize it.

The Guggenheim Museum.

You knew, without a doubt, who had placed it here.

Aaron.

A wave of emotion washed over you, and you felt a knot tighten in your throat, the weight of unspoken memories pressing down. He’d never mentioned it, never let on that he came here. But this small, quiet gesture, left behind in honor of your father, told you more than words ever could.

Eight years had passed, yet here it was - a piece of your history together.

Standing here now, holding that miniature Guggenheim, the memories rose up like a wave, crashing over you with a force that left you breathless. You’d spent months convincing yourself that you’d moved on, that you’d left him behind, that the distance you’d put between yourself and those memories was enough to protect you. But the ache was still there, raw and present, an undeniable reminder of what you’d shared.

You drew a shaky breath, closing your eyes as a single tear slipped down your cheek. You hadn’t realized, until now, just how much you had missed him - missed this, the quiet way you understood each other, even in silence.

And as you stood here, you felt something shift, a sense of clarity settling over you like the first light of dawn.

Perhaps it wasn’t the work itself that kept finding you every time you returned to Riverhead, but something else entirely - a reminder of the people who had mattered most, a call to reconcile the pieces of your life that you had so carefully separated.

You didn’t just want Aaron back in your life.

You needed him.

---

Standing outside Aaron’s door, you felt your stomach twist with nervous energy, a knot of tension growing tighter with each passing second. It had taken you over half an hour of pacing through his neighborhood, rehearsing what you would say, before you finally summoned the courage to knock.

You hadn’t called ahead. You hadn’t given him - or anyone - any warning of your visit. The thought of Strauss or someone else tracking the call, or even knowing about this meeting, felt too invasive. This needed to stay between you and Aaron.

The last time you had spoken, everything had fallen apart, like the carefully laid foundations of something important crumbling under the weight of words left unspoken for too long. But today, you needed to clear the air, no matter how painful it might be.

The door opened, and there he was.

Aaron’s eyes widened in brief surprise, his expression quickly shifting into something familiar, something that made your heart ache. You noticed immediately: his hair was cut shorter than usual, almost military in its precision, making him look even more distant. His demeanor was as calm as ever, but there was something about his appearance that hinted at the toll these past weeks had taken on him.

Without a word, he stepped aside, his gesture inviting you in with a quiet familiarity that felt both comforting and strangely tense. You brushed past him, acutely aware of the brief closeness, and the soft click of the door closing seemed almost jarring in the silence that followed. The weight of Strauss’s demands hung between you like an uninvited specter, casting a shadow over the space as you both stood there, each waiting for the other to break the silence.

The tension lingered in the space between you, an almost tangible weight pressing down on each moment of silence. Months had stretched out between you since you’d last stood like this, face to face, and with every glance, every slight shift, you could feel the weight of all the unsaid words hanging in the air. Aaron seemed to feel it too, the way his stance was just a little too stiff, his posture as guarded as his gaze, flickering between anticipation and a quiet wariness, like he was bracing for the inevitable.

“I was about to call you,” Aaron said, his voice cutting through the silence. He didn’t waste time on small talk, didn’t ask why you were here. He simply turned toward the kitchen, reaching for the coffee pot. His movements were fluid, practiced, like this was something you had done a hundred times before.

You watched him for a moment, noticing how the shorter cut of his hair emphasized the sharp angles of his face and the intensity of his gaze. The look suited him in some ways, but there was something about it that felt deliberate - an attempt to regain control, to impose order on his life, especially now that the one thing that had always grounded him had been taken away.

A part of you couldn’t help but miss the way his hair used to fall loosely over his forehead, softer and more human, a subtle reminder of the man who existed outside of his role at the BAU. That version of Aaron – your best friend - seemed farther away now, replaced by someone more rigid, more distanced. He looked like a soldier who had been stripped of his command, and the realization twisted something deep inside you.

You knew he’d been telling people he was grateful for the time with Haley and Jack, and you didn’t doubt that he was. But there was a hollowness in his eyes, a quiet exhaustion that revealed the toll this suspension was taking on him. Without the job, without the structure and purpose that had defined him for so long, he seemed lost, adrift.

You couldn’t help but feel a surge of sympathy for him: this man who had poured so much of himself into his work, only to find himself unmoored, stripped of the very thing that had kept him grounded.

Aaron poured two cups, sliding one across the counter toward you, and for a moment, his eyes met yours, holding your gaze. There was something so automatic about it, as though he remembered the rhythm you used to share and couldn’t help but fall back into it. You wrapped your hands around the warm cup, letting the heat seep into your fingers as you searched for the right words, feeling a sudden need to clarify, to explain.

“I didn’t know you’d heard already,” you murmured, feeling a bit vulnerable, holding the cup like it was an anchor. “Strauss didn’t exactly give me much of a choice.”

He nodded, leaning back against the counter as he studied you, his eyes sharp but gentle. “Garcia mentioned the transfer papers Strauss put in. She told me you’d be taking over for a couple of weeks,” he said, his tone even, measured. “I figured it wasn’t something you’d decided on your own.”

You took a steadying breath, your gaze dropping to the coffee, swirling the liquid in small circles as you spoke. “I need you to know that I never wanted this,” you said, feeling the need to rush through the words, to get them out. “I didn’t ask for this job. I never wanted to take over, not like this. The last thing I want is for you to think I’m some kind of… hypocrite. I said no before, and now here I am, back where I didn’t even want to be.”

Aaron’s eyes softened, and he set his coffee down on the counter, stepping closer, his posture relaxed but attentive. “You don’t have to explain,” he said gently, his voice steady but kind. “I know this wasn’t your choice. Strauss is playing her games, and you’re just caught in the middle.” He paused, his expression softening as he added, “And I never thought you were a hypocrite. I get it," he said, his voice filled with understanding. "Peter wants you to have a life that allows you to be home, to have stability. I understand that more than you know."

He paused, his eyes searching yours, and for a moment, you could see past the exhaustion, past the weight of everything he had been carrying. There was compassion there, a deep empathy that caught you off guard. “You were trying to build something stable, something you could control. That’s not wrong. But Strauss... she doesn’t leave much room for other people’s choices.”

You let out a shaky breath, there was something so grounding in his words, like he could see past everything you were struggling to say, like he understood it all without you needing to explain.

He hesitated, weighing his words carefully before continuing, his tone soft but sure. “I know you didn’t want this job. I know you didn’t ask for it. But, Y/N, you’re more ready for it than you realize.”

 “Aaron, I haven’t been in the field for seven years.” your voice barely above a whisper. “The team… they respect you, Aaron. I’ve seen it. They trust you in a way I don’t think I can live up to.”

His eyes met yours, warm and steady, a quiet assurance radiating from him as he took a step closer. “You’ve been leading for years, Y/N,” he said, his voice steady and comforting. “Just in a different way. I’ve seen your students around you, the way they look up to you. This isn’t that different. You have that same ability, and they’ll see it, just like your students have.” He paused, and the intensity in his gaze deepened, a softness to his expression that made your heart ache. “They’ll trust you because you’ve earned it, Y/N. You’ve always been a natural leader. You’re stronger than you think.”

You felt a flicker of doubt, but his words gave you something to hold onto, a thread of belief that, maybe, you could do this. You gave a small, tentative smile, your voice barely audible. “I hope you’re right, Aaron.”

He held your gaze for a long moment, a warmth in his eyes you hadn’t seen in ages. Then, with a small smile, he softened, almost teasingly, “I’m always right, you know.” But the lightness in his tone faded, replaced by something deeper, more vulnerable. “And I know you’ll do this well. Better than anyone else could. I wouldn’t be saying it if I didn’t believe it.”

Aaron paused, his expression turning wistful. “You were there for me when I needed someone to remind me of who I was. You’ve done that for everyone around you, always giving so much of yourself. That’s why I trust you with this. I trust you to lead them. Because I know that no matter what, you’ll always find a way to lift people up when they need it most. You did that for me more times than I can count, and you’re going to do it for them.”

A lump formed in your throat, emotion thickening your voice as you replied, “Thank you, Aaron.” The words felt inadequate, a mere echo of the gratitude swelling inside you, but they were all you could manage. Still, the enormity of the role - of stepping into his shoes, even temporarily - was almost overwhelming. The silence between you thickened as you gathered the courage to say the next thing weighing heavily on your mind.

Although his eyes flicked down briefly to your left hand, noticing what wasn’t there. The engagement ring. You saw his gaze, the way he hesitated, the slight furrow of his brow as he registered the absence of the ring. But he didn’t ask. He didn’t push. You noticed, tucking your hand into your lap with a quiet smile.

“You were right about the ring,” you said softly. “It was uncomfortable. So now… I wear it as a necklace.” You pulled the delicate chain from under your collar, the engagement ring hanging there like an afterthought, catching the light. His eyes lingered on it, the slightest tension in his jaw, but he nodded, a silent acknowledgment of what he’d told you all those months ago.

He looked back up, meeting your gaze with a hint of vulnerability you hadn’t seen in years. His voice was gentle when he spoke. “I’m sorry, you know. For everything that happened that night. I shouldn’t have pushed you the way I did. I just…” He trailed off, searching for the right words. “I didn’t know how else to say it.”

You offered him a sad smile. “I’m sorry, too. You were right about a lot of things. I just… wasn’t ready to accept them back then.” You sighed, the weight of your words settling between you. “I shouldn’t have let you walk away like that. Not without trying to make things right.”

He looked at you, his own smile mirroring yours, touched with a sadness that spoke of all the unspoken moments between you. “How did Peter take it?” he asked, his voice gentle, carefully treading into territory he knew was delicate.

You sighed, feeling the tension knotting in your chest again. “Not well,” you admitted, your voice quiet, strained. “We argued… a lot. He wants stability, a family, and I tried to explain that going back to the BAU was only temporary, that it was just for two weeks. But then he just - he snapped. He said I didn’t love him, that I’d never done enough to build a life with him. He’s never been like that before, Aaron. I’ve never seen that side of him.”

Your voice wavered as you continued, the pain of the argument spilling out. “I don’t know how he still doesn’t see everything I’ve given up for him. I left Europe, I left the life I was just starting to love because I thought it was what he wanted, and still… I’m never enough. I can never be enough.”

Aaron’s eyes softened as he listened, his brow furrowed in quiet concern. He stepped a little closer, but didn’t push, didn’t ask for more than you were willing to give. Instead, he let a few seconds of silence settle between you, his gaze steady and full of a quiet understanding.

“You are enough, Y/N,” he said softly, his voice filled with a tenderness that caught you off guard. There was no hesitation in his voice, no doubt. He spoke like it was a truth he'd always known, something he needed you to believe. “I’ve always thought so,” Aaron added quietly, his eyes never leaving yours, the depth of his sincerity almost too much to bear.

You held his gaze, searching for something you hadn’t known you’d been looking for. His words lingered, quiet and sincere, slipping into the hidden spaces within you where you’d kept so much of this buried. You took a breath, reaching into your cardigan pocket, your fingers brushing against the small object you’d carried all the way from Riverhead. With a steady breath, you pulled it out and set it gently on the counter, your hand lingering on the tiny replica for just a moment before withdrawing.

Aaron’s eyes fell to the miniature, widening as he recognized it. When he looked back up, his face softened, surprise mingling with a depth of emotion that you hadn’t expected to see. For a second, he was motionless, the realization settling over him, raw and unguarded.

“Thank you,” you whispered, the words breaking through the silence, fragile but laced with all the meaning you couldn’t put into words. “Thank you for paying your respects to my father. You didn’t have to… you never even met him. But it means more to me than you know.”

He opened his mouth to reply, but for a moment, nothing came out. His eyes shimmered with unshed tears, and he glanced down, swallowing hard as he brushed a hand quickly across his face. When he finally spoke, his voice trembled, thick with the weight of everything he had never said. “I didn’t think you’d ever find it. Or if you did, I never thought you’d bring it up.”

Aaron's words barely rose above a whisper, yet they weighed heavy in the air between you. "But it felt right. Like the only way I could… honor him, even in some small way. He meant the world to you, and I - I needed to acknowledge that. It was that case, you know? When we stayed awake all night in that library… it’s when I realized that I wanted you in my life. It was my promise to always be there by your side, because he couldn’t anymore. That’s why I left it there.”

His words lingered in the air, wrapping around you like tendrils of unspoken emotion, thick and charged. And before you had a chance to gather a response, Aaron stepped forward, reaching out with a suddenness that took your breath away. In an instant, he pulled you into a tight embrace, his arms enveloping you with a tenderness you hadn’t expected, a tenderness that felt as real and grounding as the earth beneath your feet.

It was rare, this openness from him. All the few times you’d hugged before, it had always been you - arms outstretched, drawing him into a space he hadn’t often allowed himself. But now, it was his embrace wrapping around you, holding on like he was silently declaring something he hadn’t yet found the words for.

You could feel the solid strength of his chest against you, steady and warm, and for a moment, you let yourself fall into the closeness, let your chin rest just above his shoulder as you exhaled, melting into the comfort of him.

His hand found its way to the back of your neck, gentle yet firm, grounding you further. He held you as if he were memorizing the feel of you, as if he needed this connection as much as you did. And in that closeness, your senses were awash with the scent of him, a quiet, earthy warmth that rose around you.

Together, your scents created something unexpected, like stumbling upon a rose bush hidden deep within a dense forest, the fresh bloom intertwining with the quiet strength of the woods around it. The combined warmth was heady, almost tangible, filling the air with a fragrance that felt at once familiar and new, as though it had always been waiting to be discovered.

“I’ve missed you,” Aaron whispered, his breath warm against your ear, sending a gentle shiver through you - not from the chill, but from the tenderness wrapped around his words. His voice held a softness that cracked open something deep inside, making you feel, perhaps for the first time, the full weight of the time and distance that had stood between you. It was as if, in that quiet admission, all the years apart came rushing back, each one settling around you, filling the space with an undeniable, aching presence.

You closed your eyes, letting yourself sink further into the warmth of his embrace, tightening your hold on him as though anchoring yourself to this moment,

To him.

“I’ve missed you too,” you murmured, the words catching slightly in your throat.

For a while, neither of you moved.

You simply held on, breathing in the mingling scents, letting the silence settle around you like a blanket, thick and comforting. It felt like you were standing outside of time, wrapped up in the solace of his arms, the weight of the months and unspoken words slipping away.

His hand traced slow, steady patterns across your back, the rhythmic motion grounding you in a way that made you feel like you had finally come home. There was no rush, no urgency - only the quiet presence of the two of you, finding a calm within each other that neither of you had felt in so long.

Eventually, he pulled back just enough to look down at you, his hands lingering on your shoulders, his eyes soft and searching. His gaze held yours, steady and tender, like he was trying to etch this moment into memory. There was an understanding there, a quiet reassurance that reached places you’d hidden away, his eyes filled with a warmth that made you feel safe, seen, and understood.

You didn’t need words to fill the space between you, because everything you’d been longing to say had already been spoken, carried in the warmth of his arms, in the softness of his gaze.

“Actually, I have something else to ask you, I have a deal for you” he began, his voice carrying a warmth that made your chest tighten. He gave a small, tentative smile, and you could tell by the way he looked at you that this was important.

You raised an eyebrow, your curiosity piqued. “Another deal? You know, the last one didn’t exactly end well,” you teased, trying to lighten the moment, though your heart raced a little at what he might say next.

Aaron’s chuckle was rich and warm, filling the space between you and wrapping around you like a familiar blanket. “Well, that’s because you made the deal,” he replied, eyes twinkling with just a touch of mischief. “This time, it’s my turn.”

You raised an eyebrow, crossing your arms as you met his gaze, feigning a look of skepticism. “Oh, is it?” you asked, tilting your head slightly, a playful smile dancing on your lips. “Go ahead, Hotchner. Let’s hear this all-important deal of yours.”

He leaned forward, his expression shifting to something a little more serious. “I have this… arrangement with the team,” he started, his tone quieter. “After each case, I fill in some of their reports - the less critical stuff, like case summaries, time logs, expense forms. That way, they can focus on the work that really matters, and when they get back, they’re not bogged down by paperwork.”

You felt a surge of warmth blossom in your chest, and your heart swelled as you listened. It was so undeniably Aaron, always thinking of others, taking on the less glamorous parts of the job so his team wouldn’t have to. “You’re incredible, you know that?” you said softly, the admiration in your voice clear. “All these little things you do for them… they have no idea, do they?”

He shrugged, giving you a small, modest smile. “They don’t need to know. They’re busy enough as it is,” he replied, his voice steady. “But with me gone, I need someone I trust to handle it. Just for these two weeks. I’d ask that you keep it between us, though,” he added, a glimmer of amusement in his eyes. “The last thing I want is for them to realize those reports even exist. They’re the kind of forms that can eat up hours, and I don’t want anyone else spending their time on them.”

You nodded, understanding both the significance of the task and the trust he was placing in you. “Of course, I’ll do it,” you replied without hesitation. “You don’t have to offer me anything in return, Aaron. I’d be happy to help you with this.”

But he shook his head, a playful smile tugging at the corners of his mouth. “No, I don’t think you understand. I’m asking you to do something major,” he teased, his voice lightening as he leaned back, crossing his arms. “I know how it feels to come back after a rough case, only to stay even later to handle things that technically aren’t your responsibility. So, let’s make this interesting.”

“Oh?” You raised an eyebrow, mirroring his stance, a smile beginning to form as you sensed where he was headed.

“Yes, here’s the deal,” he replied, his eyes gleaming with a familiar spark. “If you agree to handle these reports in absolute secrecy, and you pull it off without the team ever suspecting a thing, I’ll owe you a favor. You get one pass, redeemable whenever you want… and I’ll play something for you. On the guitar.”

You blinked, a warm smile spreading across your face as his words sank in. Memories of your first case together surfaced, and you were suddenly back on that train, laughing as he’d reluctantly admitted he could play. You’d been curious then, teasing him, trying to get him to prove it. But he’d kept that part of himself hidden, reluctant to share it. And now, all these years later, he was finally willing to let you in.

“You’re serious?” you asked softly, your smile widening as you searched his face for confirmation. “You’d actually let me hear you play?”

He nodded, his expression earnest, a gentle warmth in his gaze that made your heart flutter. “Yes. Just this once.”

You laughed, shaking your head, the warmth in your chest growing. “Aaron, I would’ve done this even without the offer. You didn’t need to put anything on the line. But now that you’ve offered… I’m holding you to it,” you replied, your tone both lighthearted and sincere.

He smiled, and you saw the corners of his eyes crinkle as he extended his hand, his voice taking on a formal tone. “Deal,” he said, as if it were a high-stakes negotiation.

You squeezed his hand gently, savoring the warmth and solidity of his grasp, letting the moment stretch a little longer than necessary. “You know, lawyers… always making deals,” you quipped, a mischievous sparkle in your eyes.

He chuckled softly, his hand still warm in yours. “We just like to cover our bases,” he replied, a playful tone weaving through his words. His gaze softened as he added, “Besides, I had to make it worth your while. You’ll understand after you get through a few of those reports. And if you ever need anything, you know I’m only one call away.”

You let out a small laugh, a mischievous glint in your eyes as you replied, “Oh, I’m sure I’ll manage. You, on the other hand, should try enjoying this break. Spend some time with Haley and Jack; you’ve earned it, and they’ll love having you around more.” Your tone grew softer, more sincere. “I know how hard it is for you to let go, even for a little while. But you deserve this, Aaron. And I promise, everything’s going to be fine.”

He looked down, a hint of a smile lingering on his lips, but you could see the tension in his eyes, the weight he carried so silently. You held his gaze, your tone shifting back to seriousness as you continued, “The investigation will be over before you know it. They’ll see the truth of how much you care about your team and the dedication you put into your work. You’re the best person for this job, Aaron. Nobody else could lead the team the way you do. Two weeks will fly by, and when it’s over, everything will be back to normal.”

You paused, a small grin breaking through the seriousness as you added, “Though I can’t promise the team won’t be quoting Plato and Nietzsche by the time you come back. They might even learn a thing or two about Socrates if they’re lucky.”

He let out a laugh, the tension in his shoulders easing as he shook his head, mock exasperation coloring his expression. “Oh, great. Because that’s exactly what they need - an impromptu Philosophy 101 seminar in the middle of a case. I can already imagine the look on Morgan’s face when he tries to decipher why you’re discussing the allegory of the cave while tracking a suspect.”

“Well, consider it an upgrade,” you replied, matching his tone, “just expanding the minds of tomorrow, one Socratic method at a time. Plus, if anything, they’ll come to appreciate your much more straightforward, no-nonsense approach even more.”

He let out a sigh, feigning defeat. “Touché,” he replied, chuckling, then gave you a teasing look. “Just don’t go turning the team into a bunch of philosophical skeptics, alright? I think I’d prefer them grounded in reality.”

You grinned, unable to hold back a laugh. “You have my word,” you replied, though a mischievous glint lingered in your eyes. “No deep-dive existential debates while they’re on the clock… well, unless it’s really necessary.”

He chuckled softly, but there was a warmth in his gaze that lingered. “Thank you,” he said after a moment, his voice quiet but full of something deeper, a sincere gratitude that reached beyond words. “For the reassurance. I don’t know how you do it, but you always seem to know exactly what to say.”

You felt a gentle tug in your chest, a familiar sense of understanding between you that had always been there, even through the silences and the distance. “I guess it’s part of the job,” you teased lightly, your smile softening. “Reading people.”

Aaron raised an eyebrow, smirking as he shook his head. “Don’t go thinking you’ve got me all figured out now,” he replied, the hint of challenge in his voice playful but with an undeniable warmth behind it.

“Oh, I already have,” you shot back, a spark of playful defiance in your tone, though your eyes stayed warm and full of affection. “And don’t lie to my face, Aaron, saying you can’t read me like an open book. We both know you can.”

His smirk turned softer, his eyes softening as he looked at you. “Let’s not go there,” he said gently, the edge of a smile still tugging at his lips. Then, his voice dropped to something more serious, more intimate, as he added, “Just... take care of them. And of yourself, alright?”

His words held more than just the usual weight of concern; there was something else there, a quiet plea, a tenderness that went beyond the job. You nodded, feeling your heart swell in your chest as the moment stretched between you, full of unspoken things, and yet, for once, you didn’t need words to fill the space.

“I will,” you promised, your voice soft but full of certainty. “And Aaron... take care of yourself, too. You’ve been carrying a lot for a long time.”

His gaze met yours, full of unspoken understanding. He nodded, his eyes holding yours for just a moment longer before he finally said, “I will.”

---

It was just after 5 a.m. in Newport, and the town lay cloaked in a thick layer of early morning fog, everything still and untouched by the first light. You were perched on the edge of your hotel bed, mind racing despite the weight of exhaustion pressing down on you, every muscle still tense from your very first day as Unit Chief.

You hadn’t been in the room more than half an hour, but the adrenaline still pulsed faintly in your veins, keeping sleep at bay. Without thinking too much about it, you reached for your phone, scrolling to Aaron’s number. You knew he was awake - 8 a.m. in D.C. was a sure bet that he’d already be up, probably with a cup of coffee in hand, well into his morning routine.

You dialed his number, the soft ring cutting through the silence of your dim room. There was a flicker of hesitation as you listened to the tone. Maybe it wasn’t a good idea to call him, maybe he wouldn’t want to hear about this. But then, on the third ring, his familiar voice answered, warm and steady, as if he’d been expecting you.

“Hey,” he said, his voice carrying that calm, reassuring tone that had always grounded you. “Shouldn’t you be sleeping by now?”

You let out a soft, tired laugh, leaning back against the cool headboard, the weight of the day pressing against your chest. “You sound way too rested for me to take that seriously,” you teased, a smirk tugging at the corner of your mouth.

He chuckled, the sound low and comforting. “That’s because I am. I take it you’ve been up all night?”

“Yeah,” you admitted with a sigh, the fatigue settling deeper into your bones. “Barely just got in. The team isn’t too thrilled about the all-nighter either.”

There was a brief pause on the other end, then Aaron’s voice softened, concern threading through. “That sounds rough, especially for your first case as Unit Chief. How’s the team holding up?”

You let out a small, weary laugh, running a hand through your hair in an attempt to ease the exhaustion that clung to every muscle. “They’re managing… but they’ve been finding ways to keep themselves entertained, despite the long hours. Apparently, it’s become a bit of a game for them to list all the ways you and I are, apparently, identical.”

Aaron chuckled softly, and you could practically hear the small, amused smile tugging at his lips. “Oh? I can’t imagine what they’ve come up with.”

You shook your head, a grin creeping up despite the exhaustion. “Neither can I, honestly. But they seem to think the list is long. According to them, we’ve both got the same head tilt when we’re staring at a board for too long. They swear it’s ‘uncanny’ as Prentiss eloquently said.”

“Clearly, they’re imagining things,” he replied, his tone light but still carrying a touch of disbelief. “But I’m pretty sure I picked up that head tilt from you, though. I didn’t do that before we started working together, but if I do it, it’s definitely different from yours. No way they’re the same.”

You raised an eyebrow, chuckling softly, finding comfort in the easy back-and-forth. “Right, so any similarities we have are because you’ve been subconsciously imitating me? Oh, and they also pointed out that we both cross our arms the same way when we’re staring at the whiteboard. That one really got them going.”

“Now that can’t be true,” Aaron shot back, though you could hear the playful disbelief in his voice. “I’ve been crossing my arms like that since law school. That’s my signature move, you know.”

“Oh, no,” you said, the grin widening on your face. “I’ll have you know I was crossing my arms long before you ever knew me. If anything, you’re the one who picked it up from me. I don’t remember you doing it back when we were first working together.”

He scoffed, though the smile behind his words was unmistakable. “So now we’re claiming that all our mannerisms are one-sided? Right, of course, it’s me copying you, not the other way around.”

You laughed, shaking your head as you stretched out on the bed, feeling the tension begin to slip away. “Well, maybe we’re more alike than we think,” you teased lightly. “Apparently, that’s the team’s conclusion. They even said we tilt our heads the same way when we’re deep in thought.”

He chuckled again, the sound warm and rich. “They’re reaching now. But you should count yourself lucky, though—at least they didn’t say you have the same stare as me.”

You let out a mock sigh of relief, your voice tinged with amusement. “Oh, thank God. If they said that, I’d have to be concerned. Your stare is… terrifying, to say the least. If I ever start channeling that, then we’re in real trouble.”

Aaron laughed softly. “Well, as long as you’re not giving them my patented death stare, I think you’re safe.”

“Honestly, though,” you continued, still smiling, “as long as they didn’t say I had the same look as you, I’ll let it slide. We’re allowed to have a few shared habits, right? It’s bound to happen after all these years.”

“Shared habits,” Aaron repeated, his tone mock-serious now. “Alright, I’ll let them have that one. But I’m still holding onto the fact that the move of crossing the arms is mine.”

You couldn’t help but laugh, your chest lighter than it had been all day. “Sure, Aaron. You keep telling yourself that.”

“But if they think we’re so alike, then I’m guessing you haven’t bored them with your philosophy speeches yet.”  he replied, the warmth in his voice unmistakable.

You laughed, the sound surprising you with how much lighter you felt already. “Oh, no. I’ve been ‘holding back’ - mostly because someone,” you said, your tone laced with mock offense, “strongly suggested I avoid doing so.”

Aaron chuckled, his laugh rich and deep, filling the quiet space of your room. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

“Oh, really?” you said, arching an eyebrow even though he couldn’t see it. “Because if I remember correctly, someone told me, and I quote, ‘Because that’s exactly what they need - an impromptu Philosophy 101 seminar in the middle of a case. I can already imagine Morgan’s face when you start discussing the Allegory of the Cave while tracking a suspect.’”

He laughed again, the sound so genuine that it warmed you. “Well, I stand by that. Could you imagine the looks on their faces?”

“I think they’d survive,” you teased. “But for the record, I have been holding back - thanks to your recommendation, of course.”

“Oh, I’m sure they appreciate that,” he said, still chuckling. “And for what it’s worth, you’re doing great. I know it’s not easy stepping into this role, especially with a tough case like this right off the bat.”

“Thanks,” you replied softly, letting the warmth of his words sink in, a soothing balm against the exhaustion that clung to your bones. “I really appreciate that. Oh—wait till you hear this; it’ll boost your ego even more. They’ve already given me a nickname, and I think you’re going to get a kick out of it.”

Aaron’s interest was immediate, his tone curious. “Oh? I’m all ears. What’s the nickname?”

You grinned, settling back against the pillows, feeling the slightest bit of amusement cut through the haze of fatigue. “It started with Morgan calling me ‘Teacher,’ which, okay, I get. But by the end of the day, Reid had taken it upon himself to shorten it to ‘Teach.’”

There was a beat of silence before Aaron let out a soft chuckle, the sound low and warm. “Teach, huh? Seems familiar. Five letters, ends in ‘ch’... I see where they’re going with this.”

“Exactly!” you said with a laugh. “It’s like they’re trying to turn me into your clone or something. The moment they found out I was your partner not even a year ago, it was like my identity didn’t even matter. Just ‘Hotch’s partner.’ No individuality whatsoever! All these years, and you never even mentioned me. No wonder they’re treating me like some kind of Hotchner 2.0.”

He chuckled, a little sheepish but amused. “I’ll admit, I’m not big on personal stories with the team. But to be fair, I never thought you’d cross paths with them.”

You smirked, unable to let it go. “If you’d just mentioned me once or twice, they might’ve seen me as an actual person in my own right. Now, I’m ‘Teach,’ forever cemented as the philosophical shadow of Aaron Hotchner.”

“Well, to be fair, you are the Unit Chief now,” he replied, a lightness dancing in his tone. “But hey, that’s not so bad, right? They just see a lot of me in you, which I think is a compliment. You’re still very much yourself, even if they try to categorize you the way they do me.”

“Compliment?” you shot back, feigning offense. “If you want to talk about personal identity, I could launch into a full-blown lecture on the philosophical implications of maintaining one’s unique self in a world that constantly tries to define you, pigeonhole you…” You let the teasing note linger in your voice, leaning right into it.

He let out a loud, exaggerated groan, clearly amused. “Oh, here we go. I knew I walked right into this one.”

“Hey, you brought it up!” you grinned, unable to resist. “Don’t blame me if I start diving into existentialism and the whole ‘self versus society’ thing. I mean, we could be talking Kierkegaard, Sartre…”

Aaron sighed dramatically, but you could hear the affection in his voice, the smile you couldn’t see but could feel through the phone. “And here I thought I was safe from Philosophy 101 tonight.”

“Oh, you’re never safe,” you replied, putting on a mock-serious tone. “Not when you’re the one who kept me a secret for all these years, only to have me emerge as your apparent philosophical twin. Just younger, wittier, and of course, way more intelligent and let’s be honest – more pleasant to talk to. It’s almost poetic, honestly, if you think about it.”

He chuckled, a warm, soft sound that made you smile. “Alright, alright, I’ll take the blame. Though I’d argue I kept you a secret for your own protection.”

“Oh, how noble of you,” you teased, feeling the last bits of tension from the day melting away. You settled back into the bed, glancing at the nightstand where you’d stashed your current read.

He shifted gears then, his voice lightening even more. “So, what’s your reading material tonight? I know you’ve got a book with you. You always do.”

You smiled at the shared tradition between you, that small moment of normalcy amidst the chaos of your jobs. “Oh, I’m reading something fascinating tonight. Surprisingly slim, but technically part of a series.”

He paused for a moment, clearly thinking it over. “Slim and part of a series… Is it one of your philosophy books?”

You laughed, shaking your head even though he couldn’t see you. “Nope, not quite.”

“Then I’m stumped,” he said, sounding genuinely curious. “What is it?”

“Oh, you know, just a real page-turner. Beige cover, simple font, title reads ‘Federal Bureau of Investigation,’ and the author is none other than the illustrious U.S. Department of Justice.” You paused, letting your voice grow overly dramatic. “It’s riveting, Aaron. Really, you’d love it.”

Aaron laughed, a warm, full sound that managed to fill the quiet, early-morning stillness of your hotel room. It was one of those rare laughs that made you feel like you could reach out and touch the warmth in his voice. “You’re reading case files before bed now? Really?”

“Guilty, your honor,” you sighed, letting out an exaggerated breath. “I think it’s fair to say I’m fully immersed in the BAU lifestyle now. Case files as bedtime stories, an absolute treat, right?”

“If you’ve given up your novels for those,” he replied, amusement dancing through his tone, “then I’m genuinely concerned. That’s how you know it’s serious. But… while we’re talking about serious matters,” he continued, a note of curiosity creeping in, “how’s it feel having a whole hotel room to yourself for once? I imagine it’s quite the change from sharing a room with me on those long cases. I bet you’re enjoying the freedom.”

You grinned, settling further back against the pillows, feeling the tension of the day begin to melt away. “Oh, it’s luxurious,” you replied, letting your voice take on a light, teasing quality. “No one rustling around at two in the morning, no one’s phone alarm blaring at ungodly hours, no ‘I need to finish one last report’ moments. I’m living the high life here. All the peace and quiet I could ever dream of.”

“Luxury, huh?” he asked, his voice filled with playful skepticism. “If it’s so wonderful, then why’d you call me?”

You rolled your eyes, your grin widening. “Clearly, I’m still in ‘debrief mode’ and needed someone to unload all these heavy philosophical musings on. And since you’re the lucky recipient, I hope you’re ready for it.” You paused, feigning a haughty sigh. “But honestly, if you’re just going to tease me, I could always hang up, let you get back to whatever it is you do at 8 a.m. And I could probably get some extra sleep, for once.”

Aaron’s laughter softened, settling into something more tender. “No, no, don’t hang up. I’m glad you called, really,” he replied, his tone warm. “Although, I’d feel guilty if you didn’t get some rest. So,” he added, his voice carrying that familiar, gentle authority, “don’t keep me up too long, alright? You should get some sleep too.”

“Sleep?” you repeated, pretending to be horrified. “Who needs it? If I’ve survived this long without it, I’m practically invincible now.”

He chuckled, the sound low and comforting. “Well, invincible or not, try to get at least a few hours. For me, if nothing else. Deal?”

“Fine, fine, deal,” you said, a hint of affection lacing your tone. “Only because you asked so nicely.” Settling deeper into the bed, you felt a little of the day’s weight start to ease. Talking with him, even over the phone, brought a sense of calm that grounded you, and you realized just how much you’d missed the familiarity of it.

“Good,” he replied softly, then, with a teasing edge, he continued, “As you get back to your… gripping reading material, do you want to talk about the case? Or is it still too classified to discuss?”

You laughed, shaking your head, fully aware of how he loved to poke fun at Strauss’s emphasis on protocol. “Well, this case is still ongoing, and we are dealing with classified information here…” you said, adopting a mock-serious tone. “But maybe I could bend the rules just a bit. I could tell you about my very first day, the momentous occasion of ‘Teach’s debut’.”

“Oh, please do,” he replied, clearly amused. “And tell me, is my office still intact? Or have you scattered it with sticky notes and red string?”

“Don’t tempt me, but no, I’ve preserved your precious workspace.” you replied with a chuckle, picturing his face as he visualized the mess you could create. “It all started when…”

---

taglist: @beata1108 ; @cuddleprofiler ; @c-losur3 ; @fangirlunknown ; @kyrathekiller ; @lostinwonderland314 ; @mxblobby ; @prettybaby-reid ; @reidfile ; @royalestrellas ; @ssa-callahan ; @todorokishoe24

[mapoeggplant]

no home and the acceptance of grief and loneliness

one of the things i liked most about the writing and development of the story of no home is how different arcs (or chapters) deal with different types of loss and how the character were able to get in touch with this lonely feeling and accept it in order to finally move on. in this analysis, i would like to comment on three characters: marie, haejoon and eunyung.

(spoilers ahead)

Marie 

in marie's case, the feeling of loss has been there since she was young, when her mother left. in order to try to control the feeling of grief over the sudden loss of a motherly figure, marie begins to try to "take" her place, doing everything she can to take care of the house, her father and her brother, often putting her own desires aside in order to accommodate them.

the lack of her mother and the fear of abandonment make her dedicate herself more and more to being a support for her family and tries at all costs to prove that she is well and happy, afraid of being abandoned again. setting the table to wait for them while her sits alone represents, to me, this waiting that she constantly puts herself in to please everyone around her. marie even puts up with all the physical aggression from her brother and her father's neglect, with a gigantic fear of being the reason for her family to fall apart, following in her mother's footsteps in one way or another.

marie lies to herself that life at home is not that bad and often softens her brother's aggression, but she still does everything she can to have her own freedom. moving to the dormitory is the first big step for her to finally be able to break free from this loneliness and seek comfort in her own interests and well-being. but even so, she is afraid to put into words the reason why she wants to move, only being able to admit it much later in a conversation with her aunt.

marie's loneliness is still seen throughout some chapters, especially when she tries, in a somewhat aggressive way, to save minju from falling into the same situation she found herself in, since she knows what it's like to feel alone and carry such a huge burden at home. however, the more we see her open up to the characters and get more and more involved with the journalism club, we can find in between the lines a new comfort that she feels when she returns home, having finally come to terms with herself and her own person, thus understanding her belonging within the home and in the group of friends.

Eunyung

eunyung is an enigmatic character full of secrets from the beginning, but i really enjoy seeing how his loneliness unfolds throughout the story and how we follow his change side by side with the revelation of his past.

i think it's obvious when i say that eunyung's mourning comes from his family issues, especially his relationship with his father and all the abuse he suffered at his hands. all the times he ran away from home, all the times he tried to find comfort in unreliable friendships or even his way of seeking his own strength in fights with other people reflect his desire to be seen and understood, especially since he can't find this comfort and reassurance at home. in his constant escapes, eunyung is not only looking for an ideal place to hide from his parents, but also for family comfort, for someone to acknowledge how hard he's trying, for a bond to be created with people who will be able to overcome all the loneliness and mourning he feels for the loss of family affection.

the way in which the father is always presented as a shadow reflects a lot on the emptiness he feels every time he returns home or revisits his memories of the past. the father no longer has a human appearance and becomes represented by the fear that eunyung feels and the emptiness he brings into his life. he is not a person, but rather a feeling, a lack, a mourning.

when he finally manages to see his father as a person and understands that he is much smaller and weaker than he remembered, eunyung begins to understand that much of his pain comes exactly from this erasure that he himself had in his parents' lives and they in his. he begins to see his father as someone of flesh and blood only when he, at the same time, begins to find comfort in the dormitory or in the new friendships he has been making throughout the story.

no longer seeing this black mass of fear is not just because eunyung finally got tired of not fighting back or a representation of him finding his own voice, but also thanks to the fact that he finally begins to understand that he does have a place in the world and deserves to start dreaming of a better future. he is no longer alone and understands that he no longer needs the family support that he so desperately needed: now, the blood ties are those that he will build and pursue himself, made up of people who he knows care about him and who he feels reciprocal affection for.

of course, this change is not obvious from the beginning and there is a long way to go between finally seeing his father and finding his freedom. eunyung's trauma is much more deep-rooted than he believes it to be, but finding his home has brought him enough comfort and foundation to accept this grief and understand that, in order to move forward, he does not need this constant memory that is only there to hurt and deceive him. detaching yourself from your parents is not about accepting your loneliness, but rather embracing it and finding a way to live with it until it dissolves into the past.

Haejoon:

i think that when it comes to haejoon, his grief becomes even clearer and more obvious, since his entire arc, from beginning to end, is about him learning to live with the absence of his mother and the grief that never goes away.

it is very difficult to define what grief is exactly and whether or not we are able to “overcome” it. grief is a complex feeling with many layers and different types of understanding, so it is very wrong for anyone to want to define someone else’s pain with their own believes. for me, grief is a feeling that never goes away, you just learn to live with it and come to peace with yourself at a certain point. that said, i believe that this is literally haejoon’s final arc, especially when he “meets” his mother again.

haejoon finds himself alone in the world and has to, for the first time, learn how to live with this loneliness. and this lesson doesn't come only with everyday life and the memories that come and go, but also with your self-discovery, opening up to new friendships and gradually connecting with your family and their secrets. learning to live with grief isn't just about acceptance, but also about knowing how to move forward and find people who help you discover happiness in this new life and this new phase.

the final scene of haejoon saying goodbye to his mother shows the evolution he has undergone. his mother, who was always such a gentle and loving person before, begins to become more aggressive and assertive, trying to trap him with her. i don't believe that this is a new vision that haejoon has of his mother, but rather a way that his inner self has found to make him finally come into direct contact with this loneliness and grief and face them. accepting this new life and this new found happiness is something very difficult for anyone who goes through grief. accepting that you can be happy again even without the person you love in your life is almost like saying goodbye and abandoning all the good memories you had with them. and haejoon is incredibly afraid of forgetting his mother, of losing her, of never being able to see her again. therefore, creating a more persuasive mother in his subconscious forces him to understand that he can enjoy and celebrate this new phase of his life without ever losing the connection with his mother. little by little, he recovers the good times he had with his friends and his new life, and being trapped inside a bubble of sadness no longer makes sense to him. his mother is no longer just a painful memory, but rather the strength that allows him to move forward.

it is very beautiful to see the moment when haejoon says goodbye to his mother and returns to his normal routine, ready to start college. we get to see a much more mature and self-confident boy, who has not only finally accepted all his flaws and qualities, but has also managed to understand that grief and longing are things that never go away, you just find a way to live better with both. honoring his mother means continuing to live as long as he can and being happy in the way he wants. honoring the memories of the mother he loved so much means remembering all her kindness and continuing to share with the people he loves all the affection his mother once shared with him.

thank you for reading 💛

[who-can-touch-my-boob]

<- Sanemi simp posts masterlist

Imagine Sanemi somehow accidentally ends up at a kindergarten. He doesn’t know how, but now he’s completely surrounded by children between the age of two to five-year-olds.

How he ended up there isn’t important.

What’s important is how he just immediately softened in their presence (despite being known to be a guy with a short temper, barks at everyone and looks scary). Because once those big-eyed, curious and innocent faces looked up at him, he just melts.

He swore he hated it, that the children were annoying and asked too many question. Yet, he always took some time off his day to visit them. With the blessing of the teachers, he took a small group of the oldest children with him to hunt for some beetles.

Sanemi would never for the life of him ever admit it out loud, but being surrounded by the kids just filled him with contentment he hadn’t felt in a long time. Especially when one of the shy ones who’d been hesitant at first to approach him, carefully wrap their tiny hand around his finger.

He kept visiting the kindergarten (and donated all his fortune to the school to keep it maintained and bought whatever needed). No one in the Demon Slayer corps knew about this life of his, he kept it well hidden just like he wanted to and preferred. It was his own happy place, where he could be himself and forget about the grief and anger inside him.

The children reminded him painfully a lot of this younger siblings and instead of being Demon Slayer, “Hashira” or “Shinazugawa”, he gets to be “big brother Sanemi” again. (You have no idea how fucking proud he was when he got the nickname, he’d been smiling to himself the rest of the day).

Once the war was over and the demons all gone along with his last family, Sanemi decided to dedicate his remaining years to the kindergarten. He didn’t care about being paid or anything — because he knew he didn’t have much time left and he told them that he wanted to give everything to expand it, turning it into a school and make room for more children and to employ good teachers.

To him being able to be with the children, helping them and seeing how much they love him. Really, really love him. He’s the one who taught them some cool fighting moves (for self-defense only of course), making ohagi with them and creating the enormous beetle-farm in the schoolyard.

Unbeknownst to Sanemi, but after his passing, the school built a memorial for him. Before Sanemi died he didn’t think anyone would hold a funeral to him or mourn his death, but if only he could see all those teary eyed and ugly sobbing faces of the children, preteens and teenagers who adored him…and the teachers, he’d realise how wrong he’d been.

The small kindergarten Sanemi had first stumbled into for reasons unknown had been small with only a few children. However all his donations and charity turned it into a wonderful place for children to attend and learn.

Because even if Sanemi grew up poor and could barely read, he was a firm believer in education for everyone no matter where they come from. So on top of not only helping the school expand and paying for all resources, he made sure that no child had to pay a dime.

Years after years pass, but the memorial built in honour of Sanemi Shinazugawa still stands proudly in the school yard. Younger generations that never met him, would be told about how they’re able to go to school thanks to him.

And as for Sanemi…

Let’s just say he had been welcomed with open arms in the afterlife by his family.

[agendabymooner]

of long lines and names || cl16 fic

charles leclerc x ofc (hearth sister!ofc)

Summary: Aimee Yael and Charles Leclerc are too young to have five kids under six, but those boys became the life and memories that the couple wanted to keep forever. OR a series of scenarios during Aimee’s pregnancies that Charles remembered the most.

Content warning: Pregnancies with twins/five kids, dad!Charles and the grid uncles, based on Charles’ long name, a crying Charles, mentions of Anthoine Hubert, Niki Lauda, Jules Bianchi and the Leclerc dad (nothing too graphic nor personal, mostly based on their names only), loss/grief, Toto being a d-bag for a moment, possible use of explicit language, family-centric/dad!Charles-centric content, mentions of other Hearth sisters children (Lewis Hamilton and Max Verstappen)

Note: This will be a flop but I love these fictional Hearth-Leclerc kids. I love all of their kids! In fact, I have a series of spreadsheets dedicated to the Hearth sisters, and other characters and the names of their babies. Enjoy xx

masterlist

2024 — Hervé Louis Sebastien René Mathieu and Jules Lorenzo Blaise Pascal Timothé Leclerc

Aimee Yael Edmunson (Hearth) had never been stressed before. She had no reason to be. As a woman from a wealthy family — the granddaughter of Scottish billionaires and a daughter of an FIA executive — she had no reason to stress over the little things that were in the area of her control. Like her half-sisters, she had the money and intelligence to handle things well.

All except for the two little things in her womb that were continuously developing as the fourth month of her pregnancy went on. It was hard to hide it from everyone if you were to ask her. She had already spoken to her mother about carrying this amount of children in one go— Amara Louise Edmunson had only given birth to one child, and it was her. Nobody knew the struggle, but her mother had comforted her as much as she could. 

Aimee was calm despite the disaster that happened to be an unplanned pregnancy, her rational mind thinking that she shouldn’t be in some form of distress or discomfort to avoid any complications in her body. 

Her boyfriend, Charles Leclerc, thought otherwise.

When her body hit the ninth-week mark, there was already a tiny bump that someone might have seen as bloated. A natural one, no? But Charles was known to overthink things, and when he somehow got his prediction right, he had never cried so hard about having not only one— but two kids. He cried as if he was the one with the uncontrollable hormones. Aimee watched him cry empathetically, feeling grateful that she didn’t have this much anxiety that could risk her health and her babies. Still, she wondered if the tears he shredded were tears of joy or something else. 

Charles said he was happy, but at the same time, he thought of how their families would react— minus Pascale, Blanche and Amara.

When her body hit the seventeenth-week mark, they couldn’t hide it from their families any longer, hosting a dinner at their home in Monaco where Aimee did all of the cooking. Everything she made were cravings that became stronger as her first few weeks of pregnancy went on—rice, pasta and somehow a good selection of desserts and pastries that Charles ordered before the dinner. 

Welcoming each family member into the house wasn’t the most significant part of the dinner. The maternal figures of Charles and Aimee’s lives — Pascale, Amara and Blanche Ford — were on standby just in case someone decided to act differently towards the two. 

Stevie and Lewis Hamilton were clearly (too obviously) shocked at the protrusion in Aimee’s stomach but hadn’t made any comment on it for a while. They merely spoke about their daughter Lottie, who would cuddle with Roscoe whenever her little crawling body approached him. They were talking about their child, all while their eyes peered down on Aimee’s growing body. 

Sylvie and her fiancé Max Verstappen were surprised. Still, the model had managed to pass off her shock as excitement over the invitation to the couple’s new home before she tried to maneuver through the huge bump in the road— or rather, in Aimee’s body. Max tried asking Pascale and Amara about it by mouthing, “Is she actually?” only to receive a glare from them. Blanche scolded him quietly to keep it shut while she served him a drink. 

Charles dreaded inviting his brothers into his new home because they always picked their timing. When Arthur and Lorenzo Leclerc saw Aimee’s bulging figure, they immediately turned away and snorted aloud. Charles wasn’t this anxious about anything as exciting as this, but Arthur’s offhanded comment, “I’ll be attending your funeral when Toto finds out,” definitely had him recoiling. Pascale had to smack both her other children for scaring Charles off. Aimee nearly cried on the spot when Arthur made the joke, to which Charles returned to his composure and glared at his youngest brother for making her feel so shitty. 

The mentioned man and his wife were met at the front by the three maternal figures. Toto Wolff wasn’t typically this intimidated. He was usually level-headed, but how they stared at him while they welcomed the couple left him asking what was happening. Tilly seemed to sense some sort of protectiveness towards whatever it was, and when she had gotten a glimpse of it, her eyes sparkled at the sight of Charles’ hand over her little sister’s stomach. She wordlessly grinned before tugging her husband down on a seat right across the two. 

Toto couldn’t say a word if he were being truthful. The moment his eyes settled on the bulging stomach, his glare toward the Monegasque driver hardened. This was Toto’s nightmare, but it wasn’t as if he could just say that in front of the most overprotective women to have existed. So he threatened Charles wordlessly, passing words back and forth with other people while he glared at the Ferrari driver whenever he piped up. 

“So…” Toto started after finishing what seemed to be his second wine of the night. “Aimee, you’re pregnant. How long?” 

“Uh,” Aimee shifted uncomfortably, scared even to look Toto in the eyes. “Seven- seventeen weeks.”

“She’s seventeen weeks and four days—“ Charles was thrilled. He was. But the stare that Toto gave him immediately had his mouth shut as he looked back and only settled to hold his girlfriend’s hands underneath the table. “Four days,” he murmured to himself. 

“So explain how,” Lorenzo started but had given up halfway through, gesturing at Aimee’s stomach, “how has she grown this much if she’s only that much?”

“Yeah, about that,” Charles’ grin widened continuously as he announced, “We’re having twins.”

Aimee and Charles’ siblings were cheering for the couple as a series of hollering escaped their mouths. Pascale, Blanche and Amara were grinning from ear to ear while Toto… he was a man that was hard to please.

“Two?” Toto uttered, already pouring himself another glass of cabernet sauvignon. “And you two are… getting married?”

“What?” Arthur blurted out with an incredulous look, shooting in Toto’s direction. Sylvie and Stevie looked at each other, asking themselves, ‘what the fuck is he on?’ 

“Uh no,” Charles nervously laughed, but no one seemed to understand the memo when Toto glared at him as the Monegasque muttered, “but I suppose this is a wrong answer to say aloud.” 

“We’re not going to get hitched,” Aimee laughed in confusion, “why do we have to?”

“Because you’re pregnant?”

“Do we have to get married?” Aimee looked at Tilly for some help.

Tilly, sensing the discomfort from the pregnant woman, reached to pinch her husband in his side, eliciting a groan from him as she glared, “No, you don’t have to.” 

“Yeah, you don’t,” Sylvie glared at Toto. “Tils and Toto didn’t get married until Tia came along.” 

“So, you’re just going to be waiting for the fourth child to be out until you marry?” Arthur asked bluntly, leaving him to cower when Stevie, Lorenzo and Sylvie shot him a look of annoyance. “Oh mon dieu, je pose juste une question.” Oh my god, I’m just asking a question. 

Toto wasn’t sold at the thought of his youngest in-law being pregnant with another driver’s children. He’d seen Stevie get married off to his own driver, Lewis, and it still never sat right with him to witness them being married or having a family with some men. Charles could agree on the same thing, because if his hypothetical daughter was to be courted and even have a boyfriend he wasn’t sure how he would act either. 

He didn’t think that he would have the same problem with vice versa until he found out that Aimee was carrying two boys. He wondered how to prevent them from having girlfriends or boyfriends at an early age because he was certain that Aimee would just play mother of the groom on the pretend wedding that the boys would have at a young age. 

But his worries withered away when he held Hervé and Jules for the first time. He could still remember realizing how strong they were from the grip they had on his fingers. He could still remember the sight of Aimee crying after she introduced them to their father— not wanting to see Charles cry again due to the tribute that she had given to Charles’ family that passed years ago.

Perhaps it was a good idea that she did the crying this time; she deserved it after watching him have a breakdown over the little things that he didn’t need to worry about — and Charles needed to have the backbone for thinking himself as a shitty father for his unborn children. 

“What’re their names?” Esteban almost laughed after seeing Charles stare at Pierre mindlessly. It really wasn’t a good idea for Gasly to have Charles repeat the babies’ names all over again especially when the Monegasque was way too tired for his friends’ bullshit.

Mick kicked Pierre lightly with a hush, rocking the baby in his arms as he quietly asked, “Do you not listen or do you just live to piss your best friend off?”

Charles glared at Pierre, whose smile stood out as he giggled. Scoffing quietly, Charles gestured to the boy in his arm, “Jules Lorenzo Blaise Pascal Timothé.”

Then he nudged his head at Mick’s direction before he introduced the other twin, “and the boy in Mick’s hold is Hervé Louis Sebastien René Mathieu.”

“Sorry, I didn’t listen, Shal can you—“ 

“Oh my fucking god. Shut the fuck up, Pierre.”

“I’m kidding,” Pierre snorted as he quietly cackled. “What do you call them though?” 

2026 — Sacha Niki Pierre Philippe Leclerc

Torger Wolff promised that he wasn’t going to squash Charles Leclerc’s head until it popped once that Hervé and Jules Leclerc were born. 

He loved his nephews after all and spoiled them as much as their Uncle Toto could. He made sure the boys had their bunk beds prepared at the Wolff home in Monaco or England just in case they came for a sleepover with his son Adelmo and his niece Lottie Hamilton — who were just about the same age as the twins. He spoiled them equally. 

But god, was he ever ready to get rid of their Da the moment he received a text from the Monegasque with the words, “She’s pregnant.” 

“Morning, Sainz, is your stupid teammate in the office?” Toto didn’t even listen to the Spanish man’s answer as he continued to make his way to Fred Vasseur’s in-site office at the Scuderia Ferrari area. “Charles Leclerc! I’ve warned you once—“

The Ferrari team principal turned to look at the entryway of his office with a scowl, crossing his arms in annoyance. Toto wasn’t even in his team’s area and he was still acting like he shouldn’t have to knock at the damn door. The man that he was addressing, however, was teary eyed when he turned to look at Toto. 

“Is this your third or fourth?” Toto asked, still glaring at the Monegasque. 

“Third,” Charles wanted to smile but the last thing he wanted to do was die in this damn motorhome. In the hands of Toto Wolff, of all people.

“And no ring?” Toto then found him holding whatever in his hand, peering down as his mouth opened slightly. 

In Charles’ hand was a gold ring, ruby sitting on top of it as he clutched on it tightly. It wasn’t just a gold ring. From what Toto had learned, it was Aimee’s grandmother’s engagement ring. 

“I was— proposing to her—“ Charles sobbed quietly, a smile now resting on his face as he begged himself not to ugly cry in front of the Mercedes team principal. “Then she said Herb and J were going to be big brothers. I was on my knees, Toto! I promise! I want to propose first but she just spewed that— oh god, I have three children now.” It didn’t even dawn on him that he was about to have three under five until he cut himself off. 

Then he was just crying hysterically in the middle of the office with Carlos barging in frantically. “What the hell, Charles?! Are you okay?” 

Toto smiled proudly at the Monegasque driver, clapping him on the back before he shrugged at Carlos Sainz and Fred. “Don’t worry about him,” Toto replied quietly to the other men, “he’s having his third child, that's all.”

Carlos and Fred were confused and scared. They weren’t sure if it was because of Charles’ breakdown on the floor of the Ferrari team principal’s office or if it was because of Toto’s calm demeanour. But regardless, if Toto said not to worry, then so be it. 

Baby Boy Leclerc was written on his little hospital bassinet. But Toto got the first glimpse of his birth certificate. 

Sacha Niki Pierre Philippe Leclerc.

Toto had no reason to be upset. He wasn’t. He was just as equally as annoyed at himself when he realized how overprotective he was when it came to Aimee - who, as of this point, had already given birth to her third baby. He had no reason to be protective especially when she was doing a damn good job at protecting her two children. Now, he had the chance to witness her protect Sacha — the boy that they named after Niki Lauda, who happened to be close to the Hearth sisters before he passed. 

Like Tilly’s second pregnancy, Aimee and Charles welcomed their son to the world with wedding bands in their fingers. Pierre almost had a stroke watching Charles boast about his wife and their third son— but the final nail in the coffin had something to do with Sacha Leclerc having Pierre as a namesake. It wasn’t everyday Pierre got to pass out over such a small thing— but to be a namesake and named the godfather of the child? Yeah, Pierre Gasly would boast about him too. 

Arriving back home was easy. However, according to the Leclerc children’s grid uncles, writing down the boy’s name into the banner (which said, “Welcome Baby Sacha Niki Pierre Phi—(with a gap) lippe”) was quite complicated. They had done a good job with the twins’ welcome banner two years ago, but according to them their handwriting got too sloppy. 

Lando groaned quietly, “Don’t give them such a long name next time. Look at Max! His name is just Max.” 

Max Verstappen reached for a balloon on the floor before hitting Lando with it, “It’s a Leclerc thing to give them six names, of course they have to have the long name.”

“Oi, don’t make fun of my name,” Charles called out from the kitchen, pouring his two boys some glasses of apple juice the toddlers babbled in protest against their Uncle Max’s response. “Even H and J aren’t happy with what you said. You’re not being kind to your own nephews the more you make fun of me.” 

Pierre chuckled, sitting next to Aimee as she fed Sacha. The Frenchman said, “I’m so convinced that those two are Charles’ minis.” 

“They are becoming more like their Da as days go on,” Aimee pulled her tank top’s strap back on and began to burp Sacha. “I’m so outnumbered as of this point.”

“Baby PJ’s going to be like his Oncle Pierre, I can tell you that much,” Pierre smugly said, reaching out to caress Sacha’s cheek as he said, “I’ll be his big mentor and I’ll make sure his Da doesn’t have much influence on him.”

“His name is Sacha, Pierre,” Aimee rolled her eyes. Pierre, from the moment he was told of Sacha’s full name, had decided that the baby’s nickname was PJ — or Pierre Junior. He hadn’t even held the baby yet when he walked in the room but he had already staked his claim and declared Sacha as a Mini Pierre. “And you said the same thing to Herb and Jules when you met them, look how they turned out. They’re so much like Charles.”

“We all have our trials and errors,” Pierre mumbled, “and you know what they say— third times a charm. Maybe PJ will be the same.”

2029 — Anthoine Charles Elio Perceval and Alain Marc Léonard Arthur Leclerc

“You have quite some swimmers,” Pierre cackled hysterically, slapping Charles in the chest as he tried to get his shit together instead of laughing at the fact that his best friend has five children under seven. He really couldn’t when he had to remind himself that Aimee had given birth to another set of twins just a day ago. 

Charles began to curse at him in French, already exasperated after the long night that Aimee had. She had a labour that lasted longer than the previous pregnancies that she went through and it annoyed her more than it made things painful. Charles’ five year olds and his three year old son were fussing about not being around their mother for longer than two minutes and were already on the way to the hospital with their Mamé Pascale and Mamma Blanche, eager to meet their little brothers. 

Pierre, Max, Lewis, and Mick were all standing in front of the glass window of the hospital nursery with Charles, eyes all trained on the twin boys that slept peacefully alongside other infants. Charles never wondered, but he was always surprised that Aimee was this strong to even give birth to five of their children— fuck that, she had given birth to five of his boys. He couldn’t even find himself to swear to his best friend when he was too busy loving the shit out of his newborn sons. His boys. 

On the men’s left was Anthoine Charles Elio Perceval, whose personality was already showing by the way his resting face wrinkles to a scowl. Pierre couldn’t afford to cry over the tribute to their friend who passed years ago that all he did was laugh at his best friend’s experiences in fatherhood. He could just cry later on, the Frenchman told himself while he continued to pester Charles about his five sons. 

Next to Anthoine’s bassinet was Alain Marc Léonard Arthur, whose soft smile had the men outside the nursery melting as he cooed softly and shifted around. Charles and the others could tell that out of the two of them, Alain would be the one to stop the Ferrari driver from ripping his hair out.

Anthoine would most likely give Charles a run for his money and raise hell with Hervé and Jules. 

Alain would be the one to be as angelic as PJ — whose nickname stuck after Pierre continued to visit the boys every other week — and his mother Aimee, whose youthful glow remained despite entering her motherhood five years ago. Aimee wasn’t that outnumbered after all.

Max scoffed next to Pierre, “You wouldn’t be saying that if you hadn’t known anything about protection.”

“I’ve had practices,” Pierre winked at Max, making the Dutchman grimace. “Just no luck yet. It’s not as if I’m shaming Charles for it.”

“Five kids are better than none,” Lewis shrugged, still looking at the twins on the other side of the window. “How you’ve done it— fuckin’ beats me— but I sure as hell am jealous.”

“Never hurts to try for one more,” Charles chuckled. “You really think Lottie and Leland would be satisfied to have each other? It doesn’t really make a good playhouse squad.”

Lewis huffed, “They’ve already got your boys, Adelmo and Max’s Millie. I don’t think Steve would appreciate having to push out one more.”

“What about you, Max?” Mick joked before nudging the Dutchman with a smirk. “Opting for one more?” 

“I’ve got a girl,” Max deadpanned, “and I’ve another one on the way. I’m not the kind to be greedy but I think Millia and Lila would make good big sisters to a little brother, don’t you think?”

“Are you two settling for the little girl’s name then?” Pierre asked. “Lila?” 

“Poor Sylvie doesn’t even have a child named after her,” Mick laughed. 

“She named our daughter Emilia,” Max defended himself, “I didn’t ask her to name the girl Emilia. She just said it’s too damn pretty.”

“Besides, Max isn’t really known for giving things good names,” Lewis teased. “Last I checked he wanted to call Emilia ‘Jane’.” 

“Fuck off, Sylvie loves Jane Austen,” Max scoffed, shoving Lewis slightly when the British man laughed. “Besides, her name would have been Blue or something.”

“All jokes aside,” Lewis paused before clapping Charles on the back. “I’m pumped to see your bunch hanging out with their cousins. It’s been a while, hasn’t it?”

“Four months,” Max murmured. “It’s been four months for all of us.”

“I know,” Charles rolled his eyes. “H and Jules are looking forward to the Australian GP— they’ve been wanting to wreak havoc in the paddock since Abu Dhabi.”

“Those kids of yours need to lose that energy,” Pierre chuckled. “Have you ever taken them for a walk?” 

“I always take them out for a walk,” Charles muttered. They just have a bad habit of running away from their Da. All the freaking time.

Speaking of.

“Da!” 

“Look at those little devils go,” Pierre and the other men turned to the direction of the sound of running feet, hoisting little PJ up in his arms while the eldest Leclerc children ran towards their father, who had immediately lifted them up and pressed a kiss on their cheeks. 

“Where are they? Where are they?” Hervé and Jules tried to keep their voices down, as they were told by their Mamé before they entered the hospital— begging their dad to show them the newborn babies as he pointed through the window.

“Oncle P,” Sacha reached for his godfather’s scruffy face as he murmured, “où est Maman?” Where’s mom? 

“Elle dort comme un bébé,” She’s sleeping like a baby. Pierre whispered to the boy, now pointing to the babies as he continued, “Like your little brothers.”

“Mm? Mais il ne dort pas,” But he’s not sleeping. Sacha pointed at the baby to the right. “He’s no sleeping?”

“He looks like you, Da. Look,” Jules pointed and said in awe while grinned at his father. “And he does too!” 

“He’s like me and Jules!” Hervé exclaimed in amusement. “They look the same, Da!” 

“Yes they do,” Charles grinned, “because they’re like you two. Twins!” 

“How come I don’t have twin?” Sacha asked, slumping against his Oncle Pierre. Max and Lewis turned to the boy and offered him a soft smile. 

Mick then reached out, “It’s better that you don’t,” he joked, “you’re one of a kind, little PJ.” 

“But he won’t have any driving partner for Ferrari?” Hervé protested in annoyance. Charles laughed at this. His sons were born to be Ferrari drivers, said once by Sebastian Vettel. They were born to a Ferrari driving father and a mother who worked for McLaren. Even the amount of papaya outfit never stopped the Leclerc children from aspiring to become the Prancing Horse’s next generation of drivers. 

All but one. Sacha turned to look at his eldest brothers and said, “Me and L’land are driving for Mercedes!” 

“No! You’re driving for ‘Rari, ‘member, PJ?” 

“Mummy said I can drive for anyone,” Sacha pulled himself away from Pierre’s chest for a second to cross his arms, pouting at his eldest brothers. “I wan’ drive for ‘Cedes!” 

Lewis looked at Charles with approval all over his face, obviously cocky at the statement made by the three year old.

“You don’t want to drive for Alpine like your Oncle P?” Pierre asked, goading his godson into joining his team.

“Hm, maybe! But I wanna be like Uncle Lew and Da!” 

“Mon chou, you are like Da,” Charles grinned widely. “You and your brothers are mini Charles.” 

Seeing his sons now — the two that he held in his arms, the toddler that Pierre had on his own pair and the other two that were just born yesterday — had him thinking about the importance of their names and their existence. Charles didn’t seem to think of himself as someone so sentimental, but his life with Aimee seemed to change his viewpoint. He valued his family more than he did before. 

He didn’t care much about carrying the family name as long as he could remember where his sons’ names came from. 

If his eldest asked, he was more than willing to tell them a story about how Hervé and Jules got their names from their late grandpa and uncle. If PJ asked, then Charles and Aimee would sit him down to tell the boy about Aimee’s Uncle Niki and great grandfather Philip Hearth. And someday when his youngest grew curious, he’d tell them all about Charles’ good friend Anthoine and a French driving legend named Alain Prost. 

He’d sit them all down to let them know about the people that he and Aimee loved and how they loved to keep their memories alive through the boys. 

But for now, Charles Leclerc was quite content with nurturing his boys with his wife. He was only looking forward to caring for Aimee Leclerc and their children. Then maybe someday, the Leclerc bunch would grow to care for their mother too.

[flamingpudding]

Lost in memories

A/N: personally I am currently hating myself and the writer part of my brain for this. This idea got stuck in my head after I read a couple of amnesiac Danny fics and prompts. I needed to get it out of my head because it occupied to much free estate and distracted me from other things. So with all ideas that bother me like this I write it out. Also I have no idea if I will continue on this or if I will leave it like this that depends on how much free estate it continues to occupies in my head. But here a warning. It's Angsty (?), but if I continue this it will probably be Angst with a happy ending.

Things were good. Danny was happy. After having lost everything before and after many struggles he was happy again, having gained a second family. They weren't replacing his previous family but they helped him fill the emptiness that nearly tore him apart before. They helped him over his grief and hurt as well as protected him from himself and others.

He had more brothers and sisters than before, he even was a big brother now. There was a father figure now also, one that was at least somewhat better at parenting that his father was before but well not perfect with still a bunch of faults Jazz would have loved to analyse. And a grandfather that made the best cookies he had ever eaten before. Best of all they had accepted him the way he was too, even his ghostlyness.

It was also an added bonus that his new family put in the effort to help him have a better schedule and a more regulated life. It came in handy when your entire new family was in the vigilante business and had experience in managing and balancing it. With them he was truly feeling safe and happy now and wished for it to last for as long as possible.

To the Waynes Danny was the baby of the family. Sure he wasn't the youngest, that was still Damian. But Danny was the most open about his feelings and his show of affection from the moment they had saved him and managed to keep him. Alfred wasn't even sure if it was Bruce that had initiated the adoption or if it were the children that did it. After all Jason had stated his brotherly claim on Danny first before Dick AND Damian fought him over it, leaving an opening for Tim and Duke whisking in by having shared interests only for Cass beat them all by gaining his trust first and giving her the favorite sibling spot.

Eitherway Danny had wormed his way into the Wayne family after all the initial struggles and trust issues and became the perfect addition. His way of openly showing how much he loved and cared about his new family quickly stirred the protectiveness the entire bat clan had over him. He might be not as innocent as he appears but to them Danny was the baby.

That was why they were in a close to panic state now.

There had been an oversight on their part. They thought that after dealing with the Anti-Ecto Acts and the disbanding of the Government branch dedicated to hunt beings like Danny that he would be save with them. That there was no danger to him anymore. That he could be free now and do what he wanted, be it a vigilante or life a semi normal life. Sure they knew about the small reminds of these people but, the bats had made sure they never would get even remotely close to Danny.

Jason especially had enjoyed hunting these guys.

Yet somehow a small group of them had managed to evade their attention. They had napped Danny from them. Tim and their ghost boy had been out on a coffee-run they had been discussing on of their latest invention they were working on together. Something that was going to emulate Danny's ice to make it easier to catch certain rogues. Tim had left Danny's side only shortly to get their coffee order but that little time frame had been enough.

At first Tim had thought that his little brother was pulling one of his vanishing pranks on him again. But when Danny didn't reappear no matter how long Tim waited or how much he looked for him, he had grown more and more worried. To the point that he messaged the group chat, alerting all their other siblings.

From there they quickly figured out thanks to the surveillance cameras that Danny got abducted. The fact that the group that took him used tech that Danny personally had shown to them before was the glaring fact that a leftover group was the culprit.

Of course they had instantly gone to rescue their brother. They hadn't forgotten the horrors they had seen before when they had disbanded the original government branch. Even Dick came from Bludhaven to help, knowing the seriousness of the situation.

Yet when they finally got to Danny, it made them feel like they had been too late. Unconscious and a lot of green red blood and wounds placed right where years old scarring was. It had driven Jason into a green haze, something that hadn't happened since Danny had joined the family.

Right now Danny laid unconscious in the medbay. Jason and Cass were with him. The second eldest Wayne had refused to leave Danny's side ever since they had recovered him. Tim wasn't too far away from there either, guilt making him unable to leave. Duke was the one staying next to him for comfort. Damian was pacing by the Batcomputer with Dick trying to help their youngest calming down while Bruce was working on finding if there was anything more they might have overlooked.

A crash in the medbay caused everything to stop. There was only one second of stillness before shouting resounded from there. Making them all rush towards it. But that was what appeared to make the situation worse.

The moment they burst through the door of the medbay they found their brother hovering near the ceiling, staring at them all wide eyed. One hand was clutching the area around his stomach, no doubt having reopened the wounds Alfred had stitched up with that special thread that was only used for Danny, while his other hand was outstretched towards them with a green glow.

"Danny calm down! You're safe!" They heard Dick shout as he tried to get closer but stopped when Jason held an arm out to stop them from getting closer, shaking his head as he glared. It wasn't a glare directed at them but something was clearly making him angry. That was when Damian noticed it, Danny had flinched back at Dick's shout.

He flinched back, from them, looking every bit like he was about to run away.

That was when the rest of them finally saw how Danny watched them with eyes blown wide and filled with fear and panic. But worst of all there was no recognition in his eyes. He looked like one of those affected by fear gas, even though that stuff didn't even work on Danny. He wasn't in a rational state of mind.

"Danny?" Tim carefully asked, he didn't step closer. Doing that right now would most likely trigger their brother even more, he remembered all too well how flighty Danny had been with them in the beginning. He exchanged side glances with his siblings. They needed to calm Danny down before he ripped open even more wounds. They could already see green red stains showing through the shirt Alfred had dressed him in earlier.

"Who…" Danny's voice was barely hearable, cracking even. There was a glass of water by the bedside table prepared for this. But there was no way they could get Danny to drink it right now.

"Who are you people?"

It wasn't often that one simple question could cause so much heartbreak at once. But if your loving brother that has known you for a little over a year or two, the one family member that showed you openly affection and constantly reminded you how much he cared and had come to love you, says it then there was no other way to avoid the pain it caused. None of them showed it but they all felt it the moment Danny finished his sentence.

All the bat siblings had one collective thought as Damian clicked his tongue in an especially frustrated and annoyed way.

I am going to murder these Guy's in White.

[bestfriendhelp]

Hello Everyone,

To those who may not know me or who Ezzideen is:

I am Boshra, and I’ve known Ezzideen for what feels like a lifetime. He’s one of the most selfless souls I’ve ever met, always putting others before himself, no matter the cost.

During med school, when anxiety would grip me before exams, Ezzideen was always there, sitting with me through those long, nerve-wracking nights. He never left my side, waiting for me until the very last moment when I would walk out of the exam room. His support was unwavering.

Last October, Ezzideen finally achieved his dream and graduated from med school. It was a moment that should have been filled with joy and celebration. Five days later, he returned to Gaza after 10 years to be with his family and share in that happiness.

But what was meant to be a celebration turned into a nightmare. He lost most of his family in the blink of an eye. The pain and grief he carries are unimaginable.

Ezzideen is not just a number, and no one in Gaza is just a number. Each one of them has a story, a heart that beats with dreams, love, and memories.

I am here, doing everything I can to help Ezzideen and the few remaining members of his family survive this war. I want to see them safe, and I want to see them free from the constant fear that now surrounds them.

The funds we are raising are keeping them going day by day, and we are also trying to collect enough to help them cross the Rafah border when the time comes.

I can’t do this alone. I need your help. Please, help me show Ezzideen how much his presence in my life means to me, and how much we can all come together to make a difference, even in the darkest of times.

@el-shab-hussein / @gaza-evacuation-funds / @nabulsi / @sar-soor / @soon-palestine / @sayruq / @kyra45-helping-others / @cagandante-communistoide / @magnus-rhymes-with-swagness / @northgazaupdates2 / @taviamoth / @a-shade-of-blue / @paper-mario-wiki

[lesbenson]

liv brain, eo, and season 25. titled “fade in 2 u” in my drafts. enjoy if you want to!

It’s with tears in her eyes and his necklace between her fingers that Olivia says this last goodbye. Private, silent, prayer. A promise to try, to stay, with no mention of when he’ll come back around to her. Blinds drawn and door locked, it feels a little like she’s pressing on a bruise. It’s almost enough to distract from the soreness in her hip, until she moves or breathes or thinks about the look on Elliot’s face when he said he thought he lost her. She felt like she was lying to him, saying she couldn’t imagine what it brought up. But he can still surprise her, stalking like a fawn and murmuring about this precious life.

She hates them both, most days. And then she doesn’t know where to put that hate when he’s in her space, calling her sweet names and speaking soft over gifts in little boxes. Trading her for a gift box just to take the pressure off, holding the ornament close to his chest like it’s worth the same as this compass.


“I’ll treasure it.”

He leaves the little wooden E on the edge of her desk. Like her own small treasure, she sweeps it quickly into the top drawer.

Not that it matters, now, but Olivia had no intention of falling in love with Elliot when they were partners. She had no intention of forgiving him if he ever came back, and she cannot begin to voice it, but still, somewhere small and warm and quiet she knows she forgave him a long time ago. As much as she could, anyway. It’s patience, or empathy, or loyalty, if anyone cared to ask. Really, she just never stopped caring for him. She never could. For the years Elliot was gone, she could pretend not to understand him, his betrayal, but even that denial was self-indulgent. Olivia understands why he ran, what scares her still is that he could do it again.

She always thought his dedication was genuine, even in the moments his anger seemed to erupt far beyond him. His family was charming, but distant. Unfamiliar, so unenviable. She didn’t know that a decade later she would be fucking wrecked not to be having his kids. Another decade and she would have to face his youngest son, with eyes even bigger and darker than her own, another strange and mocking mirror of her grief. She sometimes thinks of it as her slight payback for Noah having Elliot’s same crystal eyes; the first thing she noticed about Elliot when they met and her second favorite feature.

The real favorite is his smile, his mouth, the way he grins when he’s trying to be charming. In their first month as partners she made a joke about it, and he looked so happy to be seen through. Like nobody had observed him so closely in a while. He gave her a different smile, and for years she found herself trying to spark it again. Elliot had flashed his baby blues at her then, too. They still make her melt, and he knows, and it is mortifying.

They looked so bright and soft and green, holding back tears in her office. He was still the one leaving.

Olivia had bit her tongue. Don’t go? Don’t go. You would never go if I asked you to stay. You don’t actually want to leave me. You don’t actually want to leave. You don’t actually want me.

Elliot tells her to find happiness, to let his compass lead her, as he is halfway out the door again. She thinks of little badges and magnets being pulled apart. The last time he sent her chasing happiness so he could slip away. Mostly, she wonders when he will see the dilemma.

He called her partner on his way out, and there was that smile again. Jackass.

Elliot’s necklace is warm by the time it slides against her chest, the heat of her hand boring into it. She pulls her thick hair out from under the chain and swallows hard at the intrusion of a memory - his hands so gentle as he had untangled her hair, the big plastic clip knocking against a wall she tried to lean on in an urgent care waiting room. The blood was minimal and the nurses were moving fast, but every time there was a moment of stillness Elliot had found a way to rest a hand on her leg, squeeze her shoulder. If she thinks too long about him cooing in her ear and brushing the hair out of her face, she might split her side open entirely.

——

Her ache for him works in a strange sort of reverse this time. For the first couple of weeks without him, she’s mostly numb — sad in the way she’s learned to live with, a little sensitive in her suspension between longing and remembering. Elliot is gone again. Soon she will have worked alone longer than they were partners, ten years since sergeant. Ten years in her office, reshaping herself inside those walls. She always wanted to be unrecognizable to Elliot if she saw him again. He never acted like she was, even when Olivia felt like she deserved to be a stranger to him.

When a full month goes by with no news, she finds herself furiously wiping tears in the produce aisle. She nicks her leg shaving and swears at a volume she doesn’t even recognize. She feels unsteady. Untethered. Four more weeks and she puts a photo of them on her desk, in a little collage mat that’s mostly occupied by Noah, and she starts using a hand soap in her bathroom that she thinks smells a little like his cologne. Nothing is quite enough.

There are moments of rest, somewhere in August. When Noah goes back to school she can really fall back into her rhythms, letting cases blend the days together while the weather changes.

She wore the compass all summer, gold and shimmering against the soft tan of her chest, and she wonders still what made him pick the little pink stones. If he knew they would start to look exactly like the blush that used to run across his high cheekbones, the rough inside of his hands. She wonders if he’s close enough to see the same trees changing, far enough to feel the cold already.

Olivia secretly looks forward to the winter, the sharp feeling of the air and the way the sky matches the concrete, sun shining through clouds and reflecting off of big glass buildings. The streets are still busy, but the people move faster. The holidays are always strange for her, suppressing guilt she feels for every dinner that didn’t happen. Seated protective and close to Noah at the McCann’s, she is hit with a pang of sadness for the celebrations she won’t have with Simon, with her mother. Grateful for her baby, for her safety, for her job, for her sanity. No new year’s resolutions, just a tiny feeling blooming in her chest. Something like anticipation.

—-

When Maddie Flynn disappears, Olivia knows she has lost a piece of herself within the case before their first day of searching is over. She is exercising all of her strength trying to stay upright, the plummeting in her stomach never ever reaching an end.

She tells people it was a bad instinct, that she should have known better. What scares her more, so much more, is to think that she did. Too distracted, too tired, too disoriented. Traffic was thick and her eyes had not adjusted to the sunlight and Noah was asking her so many questions and she just could not focus on what she saw. She will turn it over in her mind for weeks after it starts, what it means for her, after all of these years, not to act on it. How little the rest of it matters now that she has let a girl go, how nothing saved changes what’s been lost. She thinks of stupid Elliot, breaking things just to tell her they can be fixed, breaking the moment just to make her smile. She hears Fin tell Velasco to shut his mouth and do what he’s told, “If this girl doesn’t come home, Liv is never gonna forgive herself.” She thinks he doesn’t know how right he is.

She makes it through her whole apartment, her and Noah’s goodnights, and the majority of her nighttime routine before she just lets it go. Hot tears fill her eyes and before she can get her breathing under control, she collapses on the edge of her bed, quietly inhaling through her cries. Blonde, 5’5, 15 years old. Energy drink van, front seat, Lincoln tunnel. Clutching her stomach, she chokes on a few hard inhales as she tries to steady, her head pounding. Maddie’s name floats around the room on a soft voice, something like a prayer that feels more like a plea.

The exhaustion is bottomless, lately. She misses being angry all the time. On edge. Passionate. She goes for long stretches not feeling like someone who cares about anything by the time she gets in bed, or she feels this, this searing pain. Olivia thinks of Muncy, of Kat, when she curls under her sheets and wonders what will finally make it all feel like enough. When she joined SVU she still felt like she had something to prove, something to fix. She can’t even access that sense of hope sometimes, often wonders if that’s what the feeling really was.

Olivia lies silent, eyes open in her dark room. The vibrating chirps of her phone startle her, but not nearly as much as the name flashing across the screen.

Elliot Stabler and the same picture as her desk, the only one they have taken since he’s been back (his sweet mother, with both of them halfway out the door, had just told them she wanted one and sentiment caught her by surprise. They both told Bernie it was okay, really, Olivia trying to hide and Elliot giving her an out. She shushed them both and they laughed quietly to each other, their faces inches apart when he bowed his head in defeat. He threw a big arm over her shoulders and squeezed, and her annoyance with him had evaporated with the briefest thought of teenagers on prom night).

She watches his name inch across her screen, flicking off the sound instead of ending the call. She can’t pick up, not with her breathing so ragged. Her hands are shaking, still, and this isn’t how she wants it to be for them. She isn’t prepared to talk to him or lie to him or for whatever he might be asking of her in the middle of the night. Then it hits her, and she feels like an asshole for the delay, but he could be in danger. He almost always is, in a way. She would have to run to him, or else just tell him she’s a lousy hero.

Thinking first that wallowing won’t save Maddie Flynn, then that Elliot would probably call his team in a real crisis, she lets the phone drop from her hands to her lap. The vibrating stops a few seconds later, the eventual buzz of a voicemail breaking the silence she was holding for another call.

Olivia rubs both hands over her face, sighing before hitting play on his message.

Hey Liv. It’s me. I just got back.

An old case of ours.

Maybe I just wanted to hear your voice.

Call me.

The comfort she finds in the smallest of Elliot’s mannerisms still surprises her, but she finds her heart fluttering just hearing his voice, the deep breaths while he chooses his words. She misses him so much of the time she almost can’t keep track of everything she misses about him, until moments like this. Moments when he seems so real and so close it feels like no time has passed, or like it didn’t pass with the two of them sliced in half. Olivia does resent him for it, what he can get away with just by still being this man that she loves, that she trusts. Her partner, exactly how she remembers him.

Part of her, the larger part, wants to call him back. Ask about his case, pick a fight, tell him to come over. She wants to know how he’s been, needs to know if he has any bruises, wants to hear about all of the things that make him think of her.

She wants him to help her find her missing girl. She can’t call him, she realizes, if not for that. She could, maybe, throw him into the case and he might tread lightly enough for it to work, but with the way her head is pounding right now she just can’t imagine keeping it together in front of him. And she wants to, wants to be strong and sturdy and ready, when she sees him again.

She doesn’t get much sleep, but she plays his voicemail a few more times.

—-

She actually doesn’t sleep most nights, for weeks on end. On a foggy morning run she finds herself chasing a green van, hearing Maddie’s name ripping from her throat. The guy calls her crazy, and she thinks about chasing him onto the highway. She almost grabs the arm of a girl walking out of Noah’s dance studio, long blonde hair and a baby blue hoodie making her jump before she catches herself.

Olivia has never been able to name the feeling of the city when she knows a child is missing inside it. It’s not just haunting, or vigilance, it’s a distortion. She sees Maddie everywhere because she is looking for her everywhere. She is so afraid of making the same mistake that she is suspicious of everyone. She’s distracted by the ever-changing scenes of the city, convinced everything will become the one thing she missed. Fin tells her, or she tells him what she knows he sees, that she has not been herself since Maddie was taken.

She can’t be, is the thing. She can feel this phantom ache, Maddie’s grip on her from God knows how far. Like she’s been ripped apart, a piece of her still tethered as it is taken away. The guilt is eating her alive, everyday, and when Eileen Flynn calls her from the hospital Olivia can barely breathe. She has to try to explain it, in the EMDR suite, what the sight of Peter’s belt in Maddie’s closet still does to her.

Olivia keeps trying to get around it, anything that she has to preface with “there was a case- a guy, ten years ago,” she would rather just not get into. She remembers the instinct to drop her necklace in the trunk of a car, and she already misses the feel of Maddie’s plastic beads on her wrist.

She never pictured a treatment she’d be more nauseous during than her first few weeks with Lindstrom, but when she walks out into the night after these sessions she still feels a little off balance. She tries to just trust it will help, which is harder than trusting herself to go — a small but welcome change.

—-

Curry tells her, first thing in the morning. They took Stabler’s badge. He hit a kid, or he hurt a kid, or they think he tried to kill a guy. Suspended, second time in four years. It’s not looking good for him, when and if he gets back to his desk.

Olivia knows him, knows Elliot is either tearing his place apart from agitation or physically beating himself up for whatever it is he did to hurt that boy. She simply tells Curry to keep her updated, if she can, and she manages not to ask if they need someone to vouch for him at his next hearing. She types and deletes the same message maybe ten times throughout the day. “Dinner soon? I think we have a lot to talk about.”

She feels worse for not calling him back now than she had to begin with. Ignoring him is as much a retaliation as it is another wound to salt, always making herself that much more miserable to teach Elliot a lesson about leaving. It’s sick, is what it is, and now a teenage boy is in the hospital and a teenage girl is still missing. She calls him that night while staking out Noah’s room from the kitchen, trying to ground herself with his presence without waking him. The call goes straight to voicemail and she hangs up.

She dreams of him in the passenger seat, younger and stubbly and deathly serious. She’s flying down the road, she doesn’t know which one, or what hour it is. Everything is orange and bright and hot and he’s giving her directions, clear and sure. She’s closing in on a van, neon green with skulls and Elliot has a big hand flat on the dash, loudly egging her on. The sun isn’t moving up or down the horizon but closer to them, the road seemingly widening so Olivia can circle the van, tire-to-tire with the front wheels. Still speeding in perfect tandem, both drivers face each other. Maddie grips the wheel, her hair whipping around her face, her eyes wild. Olivia screams her name, and Maddie looks back at the road. She feels cold, so cold, and the sky is getting redder as the metal of her side mirror screeches against the van’s. She tries again, the wail echoing, and when Maddie turns back to her there are bloody tear streaks on her cheeks. Olivia tries to scream, cut short by Elliot grabbing the wheel, jerking it hard and sending them spinning in front of the van. She wakes up panting, the sun barely starting to split between her blinds.

She at least waits for Noah to finish his breakfast before calling Elliot again, knowing if he is adhering to his suspension he should answer the landline. When that goes to voicemail she takes it a little harder.

“Call me back. I’m here.” It’s the kind of thing they used to say to each other constantly, and she wonders if the meaning ever changes. I need to be with you through this to know how you are. I know how you’re feeling more than anyone else in the world. You’re the only one that feels it this much too. I’m here. We don’t have to talk. I don’t want to talk. I want to hear you. See you. They also both used to be able to take a missed call on the chin, but it’s become a bit of a sore spot for her.

—-

Another dream, a waking one. Maddie’s voice, ringing in a dark, mildewy cabin. Her small frame in the center of the room, all of her wrapped in Olivia’s arms. Her hair is wrong and she looks sickly, terrified, but those are the eyes that glanced at Olivia from the front of an energy drink van. She’s certain of it, and Maddie holds onto her like she is too.

—-

It’s a chance thing, or more bad timing, when Olivia halfway hears from him again. She’s in the shower when he calls, and so she opens her phone to another voicemail. Laying out clothes and badges for commencement, she plays it on speaker.

His voice stops her in her tracks. It’s raspy, like he’s been up, or yelling, or crying. His words, too, make her freeze.

“Hey, hon. I uh- listen, I’m sorry I didn’t get back to you. It’s- um- it’s not exactly something I can- you know. I don’t wanna do it over the phone. I’m around though if you think, if you ever want to- to talk. I wanna see you. Call me if you can, Liv. bye.”

Her eyes dart unfocused over her dresser, her mind racing for a second before it slows again, stuck on hon, like the bastard was really going to call her his honey before he caught himself. Except it didn’t sound like he stopped himself. It sounded like he meant to say it, and maybe then he panicked, but something in his subconscious has resorted to pet names for her. The thought alone makes her weak.

Her finger hovers over his number, playing the voicemail back instead of returning the call. She watches her own face in the mirror, dark features softened and then tensed as he rambles. Olivia knows she’s going to have to call him again, that she might even keep calling until he answers. She pulls her damp hair around her neck and starts a loose braid.

—-

In the earliest days of sun and spring, Maddie turns sixteen. The celebration is sweet, if not a little too bright, a performance of levity for her, for her parents, for Olivia. Still, when she lays the golden chain over Eileen’s shoulders, she feels like she has given over something with an honest kind of power in it. She half expects to literally walk in the opposite direction of her car when she leaves the party. She finds herself driving back to the precinct.

—-

Olivia tries not to let on, how her heart skips a beat when she hears him pick up the phone. Elliot has his fun, taking his first opening for a joke before falling quiet at the tender change in her voice. She scrapes a nail over her thigh, feels the rough weave of denim as she speaks. She has so much she wants to say, but it only comes out in pieces and Elliot, somehow (she knows how), doesn’t ever need her to fill in the gaps.

“I knew you’d understand.”

“Oh, I understand. You lost the necklace and now you’re buying time.”

It makes her laugh, and she hopes she isn’t blushing but Christ, she misses him and her cheeks hurt. This time last year he was tossing a paper bag on her desk with that same necklace in it. Not long before that he had held her in his arms three different times on the same case. When he had hugged her goodbye she almost kissed him.

She told Carisi’s cousin the “L” stood for love. That she hadn’t found it yet. Maddie went missing that same day, and now Olivia’s compass hangs around Eileen’s neck. She thinks of healing properties, placebos, and time. She thinks of being guided to Maddie, of the lost girls she has pulled from the darkness this year, of becoming the needle in the pendant, moving with the heart of the wearer. She thinks she is telling him the truth, that it helped, or that she’s getting there.

She really does want the necklace back, eventually. She already misses the weight of it, habitually running a thumb over her (now bare) collarbone a few times in the past hour. Right now, though, Olivia thinks Eileen needs it more. Thinks she can find it by herself, or already has. Happiness, love, truth, steady ground. Just for a second, maybe, until things change again.

Right now, though. She’s got him on the phone and Elliot is laughing too, under his breath, at his own quip or her reaction and she knows exactly what his face looks like right now, does not try to stop herself from picturing his smile.

“I pawned it.” That earns her a nice scratchy laugh.

—-

Maddie Flynn doesn’t go to sleepaway camp that summer, but she learns how to drive and is coming back around to the idea of college outside the city. She sticks to EMDR treatment, but she changes doctors twice before she gets settled. She’s growing her hair long and piercing her ears behind her parents’ back. She doesn’t wake up screaming as much anymore, and she finishes all her meals.

Olivia learns all of this over coffee with Eileen, gently holding her arm as she promises over and over again that it is getting better, that Maddie will be at peace again one day, that all they can do right now is love her patiently. Eileen keeps smiling like she doesn’t quite believe her, but Olivia sees so much less panic in her eyes now.

Right before they part ways, Eileen gives her a crushing hug, launching into her like a kid.

“Keep looking,” she murmurs, quickly clasping the compass necklace behind Olivia’s head, “Look for love everywhere. Dig to the center of the earth, if you can.”

Olivia smiles at her, eyes crinkling under the late July sun. “I will.”

—-

One text, while she’s waiting for her car to cool off.

What are you doing tomorrow night?

His response is immediate, two messages in a row.

Hope I’m cooking you dinner.

Gonna try to earn my necklace cash back.

—-

It’s enough time to primp and preen and work herself up so much she won’t want to go at all. It’s short enough notice that they can both only panic so much. It’s a late dinner, her request, his pleasure, and while she gets ready very fast, she still needed an extra built-in hour to sit on her couch and breathe. Early that morning, Olivia had taken Noah upstate. She tapped her foot through lunch with the McCanns and lied every time they asked about her.

Olivia has wondered about this ridiculous idea of dressing up for Elliot, and where her brain knows he can’t be surprised by anything she does, she still wants him to be. Just a little bit. It’s been a long year. He has stared at her like a small dog when she was wearing t-shirts and suits that didn’t fit, pajamas, dresses meant for someone other than him. She wants to hold his gaze.

She had laid out a deep cherry red sweater and loose jeans. She stares at them now, standing by the foot of her bed with clenched fists at her hips.

It’s only dinner. It’s Elliot. They’re not very likely to leave his apartment.

Olivia turns back to her closet and grabs at a soft, plum-colored dress. She inspects the fabric for only a second before pulling the dress over her head, stretching it around her hips, her thighs. It’s fitted at her chest and falls loose and long over her legs. She cranes her neck and checks for lines, obvious straps or pieces of lace peeking through. She smooths her hands over the dress one more time, and finally settles on it with a slow exhale. She forces herself to do her fastest makeup, brushes and curls the thick strands of hair that fall around her cheekbones, her jawline. She doesn’t think very hard about jewelry, popping in wide gold hoops and recentering the singular necklace.

—-

She leaves ten minutes later than she should, and it relaxes her up until she starts closing in on his apartment. The traffic is reasonable, but she impatiently taps her wheel through it all the same.

Halfway up the stairs to his loft and Olivia remembers he gave her a key. He put it on her kitchen counter on his way out and didn’t say anything about it, just held her gaze for as long as she’d let him. The message was clear - it was there with or without a spare key - trust me, come home to me, be safe with me. And she wanted to, but she couldn’t, then.

Now, she stands right outside his door, lets her breathing even out for a moment, shifting her weight from heel to toe. When she knocks, it’s the quiet one they used to do at the precinct, and she thinks of skittish animals for a second. She’s about to lunge and press his buzzer when she hears clicking in his locks.

Elliot opens the door and just looks at her for a long time, his smile so soft, before he whispers a simple “Hi.”

She breathes out “Hey,” and neither of them move.

She looks him up and down and he lets her, and he looks good, looks like himself in a fading green t-shirt and slate gray sweatpants. She hopes he ate enough while he was under. He looks like he’s been sleeping, a lot, and she hopes that’s a good thing too. He waits for her move to push the door open a little more and she brushes against him on purpose when she walks into his apartment. She kicks her shoes off silently, unceremoniously as he locks the door behind them, and when she turns over her shoulder to peek at him again it doesn’t feel like he’s too close. It should, because she can feel her dress swishing and hitting him, but she lingers still. When Olivia faces him, he extends a hand to take her purse, nonreactive to the weight of it in his fingers. He places it on the bench in the hall, still staring at her. She lets him wrap a hand around her wrist and guide her towards his kitchen, his other hand resting on her waist in a way that makes her heart hammer.

She leans across his island, and Elliot slides her a glass of water that was already on the counter. He smiles shyly and pours himself a new one.

When he finally settles on the opposite side, he’s bent practically in half leaning towards her. He looks nervous, now.

“Wanted to see you when I got back but I- I needed to make sure my head was on straight. I was actually gonna bring you a coffee some-“

“Elliot.” She catches his eyes long enough for his shoulders to relax. He breathes in, slowly, and nods. And waits.

“It’s- I’m just glad you’re back.”

“Yeah,” he nods, “me too.” He flicks his chin up the slightest bit, “you’re wearing it.”

She almost laughs, biting back a grin as her hand flies up to touch it, feel it’s weight on her chest. “Everyday. You knew I would.”

His face softens, and instead of responding he just walks around the counter, hovering close to her.

“I mean you got it back.”

Olivia does laugh, then, “I mean, I couldn’t wait forever.”

Elliot makes a little sound at the back of his throat, but he doesn’t say anything. He’s close enough again that she can look up and tell when he last shaved, can smell his soap and his breath and his sweat.

She takes a breath in, cutting off sharply when he reaches up to touch the pendant. A light brush of his fingertip, then the slightest pressure of his thumb over the face of the compass.

The back of Elliot’s hand is brushing, resting on Olivia’s chest and when he captures the necklace between the pads of his fingers she only wants to let him pull her in. He raises the pendant between them, the chain catching on the fine hairs at the back of her neck, and as she leans in he presses the side of the compass to his lips.

When he lowers it again, Olivia covers his hand with hers and flattens it over the compass at her neck. They hold each other there for what feels like forever. Elliot’s eyes are still that light shining blue, pupils massive and dark.

His lips are soft against hers when she tilts her head. She lets all of the air out of her lungs in the second he kisses her back, and she regains it with a gasp when his mouth moves against hers. Elliot’s hot palm stays on her chest, but now his other hand cups the back of her head, fingers tenderly threading in her hair and she would never let anyone hold her like this but Elliot’s hand is right over her thumping heart, and when she grabs his forearm he groans a little. He breaks away only to say her name, voice breaking, and Olivia strokes his cheeks, his jaw, patient and soft as ever.

He’s got thick fingers wrapped behind her neck, whispering Liv. Liv. Liv. His lips on hers, on her cheeks, her nose, her temple. She’s lost in it so completely, for a second she thinks she could cry at the warmth of him. Olivia grabs his arms again, one hand digging into his shoulder, and kisses Elliot until she knows they’re both dizzy.

His cheeks are a dark red now, and it still sounds impossible for him to get his breathing under control when he drops his hands to her hips.

“I fucking missed you so much, Liv, I-“ he’s kissing her again, teeth scraping over the side of her neck for just a second before he realizes, seemingly, that he can’t say any of it like this.

Elliot falls back a bit, but his nose against hers suddenly feels like the closest they have ever been. “I love you, you know I love you.”

She bites her lip, nodding vigorously, wordlessly. Olivia does know this, has almost always known this, has certainly heard him say it before. Here, though, she can take it, hold it close to her ribs and feel it settle.

She blinks away another rush of tears, smiling with her lips pressed tight together. “You’re just- you’re really gonna have to say it a lot, you know.” She wants so badly to laugh at all of this, but she still swallows hard at the look on Elliot’s face.

“Yeah, yeah, I know. I mean I want to. I-” he stops himself with a tiny shake of his head, just murmuring as he presses his cheek against hers, “I love you, Liv, I love you.”

—-

Elliot had pulled a huge pan of vegetables and an equally huge skillet of mac and cheese with bacon out of his oven about 30 seconds before Olivia had sweetly dragged him to bed by the strings on his pants, promising to inhale his carefully crafted meal later.

Hours later, she pulls on those pants and a big gray zip-up to sink into his couch and eat their reheated dinner, resting her legs on Elliot’s lap and thinking briefly about takeout and all-nighters.

“What are you smiling about?” He rests a hand on her leg, lightly stroking with his thumb.

“You already know.” Olivia raises one eyebrow at him, grin never fading.

“Yeah,” Elliot smiles wide, “yeah, I guess I do.”

—-

if you read all of this, thank you for reading.

[legitalicat]

Out of Time

Chapter 2 - "Through the Gardens"

AN: Thank you all so much for the love on chapter 1! It truly was unexpected but I'm so grateful. I hope as the story continues, the love for it does as well! This dedication has been removed.

If you love this header go check out zaldritzosrose for more amazing work! She is tagged on the series masterlist and on my welcome post!

Find the series Master list here!

Summary: From her room, through the gardens, to the Dragon Pit, their route was always the same. Aemond and Y/N walked that path so much when they were younger it was a wonderful there wasn't a permanent foot path burnt into the earth. Between two dragons, everything burns with a deep intensity.

TW: mentions of being forcefully drugged/intoxicated, talks of injury, near palpable grief, reader is AFAB, romantic/sexual tension, first person POV, Aemond giving Ser Erryk the biggest crisis of his life for approximately five seconds

Pairings: Aemond Targaryen x Velaryon!Reader, talks of Jacaerys Velaryon x Velaryon!Reader, ghost of a thought of Aegon Targaryen ii x Velaryon!Reader.

Word Count: 2.8 k

The Grand Maester and his younger assistant both seemed relieved with what they found. They said my ribs were cracked but were mostly healed at this point. My lip would heal in a few days. There was no evidence of my captors violating me, which caused mother to let out a sigh of relief. I had at one point had a broken wrist but it had been long since healed. The rest of the bruises and any cuts were superficial, the more extreme wounds now being pink scars.

“And her memory?” she asked the men.

“It is highly possible she was kept drunk or under some form of intoxication these last years. If that is the case, she may regain memories but I do not feel comfortable guaranteeing such a thing,” the Grand Maester said to her. I appreciated his honesty as I imagined sitting in his seat, telling the Queen the opposite of what she would want to hear.

When she dismissed them, we sat in front of my fireplace together. There were so many things I wanted to convey, but my brain couldn’t form the words. There was nothing adequate I could say or do to ease her mind, so I just sat with her in silence and watched the flames dance.

The flames seemed redder than normal with a slight shimmer to them. It was something I was certain I had never seen before but the shimmer mesmerized me. In my mind I could see it, having captured the flames in a small vial. There was a glow to the vial as the red shimmery substance flowed along every part of the glass. I imagined it tasting smoky but comfortable and pleasant, leaving me feeling warm as I drift to sleep.

I couldn’t tell you where these thoughts were coming from. All I knew is it felt simultaneously too real to just be my imagination and too ridiculous to be real.

“I think grandsire’s crown suits you,” I commented, smiling over at her. She had been so concerned over her place for years that actually seeing her with the golden crown resting on her head granted me a happiness I had never expected.

She smiled back at me. “It weighs heavily on my head at times,” she told me honestly. “Yet I am grateful it came as it was supposed to.”

Mother didn’t have to explain to me further what she meant. Though I had doubted Aegon’s desire to take the Throne, Otto Hightower was a conniving man. It would’ve been far too easy for him to succeed if Alicent hadn’t put a stop to his plans. I imagine he had planned for Aegon to wear the Conqueror’s Crown, to make people think he was more deserving.

Imagining Aegon adorning the Conqueror’s Crown caused my cheeks to heat up. He was very handsome and always had been. When I was little, I thought Aegon hung the moon and stars, and I followed him around like a lovesick puppy dog. Before I had more of an understanding of what Jace and I were, before Aemond made it clear how he wanted me, I thought Aegon was my future. In fact, he almost was.

I distinctly remember my mother approaching me before she had Joffrey. Jace and I were only seven and were becoming increasingly aware of our place in the world. One of us would be heir once she took the Throne, a decision she allowed us to make. She told me she wanted to suggest a marriage between Aegon and I if I were okay with it, which even at seven I knew would be best for our family. It was a no brainer for me. Even so, it did not come to fruition as Alicent adamantly refused.

“I think I shall go see Vhaela,” I told her, standing slowly. As long as I moved slowly, my ribs did not hurt so much.

“I have assigned Ser Erryk to watch over you, he shall accompany you,” she told me, standing herself.

Just as I was about to protest, I bit my lip and held my tongue when I saw her face. Fear could be seen on her every feature. I wondered if she now felt uneasy as I would be out of her sight for the first time all afternoon. Could she be worried I would disappear again?

“Okay, mama,” I said with a small smile. I hugged her as tightly as I could, wishing I could fix all the holes in her heart my disappearance caused.

After a moment, I pulled away and gave her a small smile before leaving my room. I nodded to Ser Erryk in a greeting as I shut the door behind me.

“Good afternoon, princess,” he said as he smiled. “Where would you like to go?”

I was about to tell him my desired destination when a voice called out to me. I turned to see Aemond quickly approaching which caused my heart to rapidly beat.

He was as perfect as he had always been. His silver hair went to his mid back just as it had for years. He wore a black leather doublet with long sleeves and matching pants with black boots. He wore his eye patch over his left eye, despite how much I had always wished he would allow himself to wander free without it. He looked simple and elegant without being boring.

“Princess,” he said as he slowed to a stop in front of me.

“Prince Aemond,” I said to him, giving him a slight nod of my head. Desperately I tried to steady my heart and slow my mind.

Jace never made me so nervous. I knew him the way one knows their favorite book. Every thought, feeling, or action could be anticipated. With Aemond, I never actually had any idea of what he could possibly be thinking. He kept his feelings and thoughts close to him, not wanting anyone to know him ever.

In fact, it wasn’t until he kissed me the first time that I ever understood his words of marrying me were rooted in feelings for me. I could remember it as clear as though it happened mere hours ago. The way I was sitting in the window of the library, reading the personal journals of Rhaenys Targaryen, when he approached me with a singular red tulip in hand. The way he looked at me as he presented it, telling me it was the only flower worthy of my beauty. What I remembered most was the way his lips felt on mine, the way it made the world go quiet if only for a moment and caused my pulse to somehow quicken yet disappear all at once.

He smiled brightly at me. It was unusual for him to smile but it was a sight that always made my heart try to beat out of my chest. It was something he had always saved only for me. When we were children, when Aegon, Jace, and Luke separated themselves from us because we did not yet have dragons, he gave me sanctuary. He made me feel better than anyone else could.

“Did you find comfort in your bath, byka zaldrīzes?” he asked me, taking my hand in his and pressing it to his lips.

“I did, issa mīsio,” I told him trying to hide my smile.

My protector. It is what I have called him for as long as I could remember. He earned the nickname when I was four and he removed a spider from my room. Luke had alwayss believed that it was something I should’ve reserved only for Jace. Yet he never understood that while Jace would fight for me, Aemond would kill for me.

“Leave us,” he instructed Ser Erryk.

“But the Queen-“ my guard said quickly. He was rather panicked at the idea of leaving me against my mother’s wishes.

“Should understand there is nobody better suited to keep the Princess safe than I am,” Aemond said firmly.

The demanding tone to his voice left no room for further debate. He had always made sure that those around us knew that everyone in the world was insignificant when compared to him in regards to keeping me safe. It didn’t matter if it was his mother, the guards, or even the Gods themselves. He would strike down anyone or anything that dared to threaten me.

I could see that there was an internal debate in his head. Which should he fear more, his Queen or Aemond? Aemond acted more frequently out of anger than Mother did.

“Mother has always trusted that Aemond is a capable swordsman and knows I am safe in his company. If anything is said I will speak to her. Thank you, Ser, for your dedication,” I told him, smiling at him. He nodded quietly and walked away, knowing I would take all responsibility and feeling ease from that.

Aemond offered his arm to me. I linked mine in his without a second thought. The year I spent here before my disappearance, this is how we walked anywhere. Arm in arm, like we were a singular entity. He would escort me everywhere, never once being late and always ready for some form of contact. I would be with him every moment I wasn’t with my grandsire.

Many ladies in the court once asked me how long it would be until we were married. I assured them that there was no possibility in that happening, but they were convinced. They said that not even their own husbands doted on them the way Aemond would dote on me. But they were always so ridiculous sounding I never gave them any mind.

We had always considered ourselves just children in a game. We were better, smarter, more talented than other players. Never did something so trivial as the gossip at courts ever stop us. But now I wonder if maybe we should’ve stopped.

“You look beautiful in that color, Y/N,” he told me as we began walking towards the gardens. This was our route every time. From my chambers, through the gardens, past the training yard, then to the Dragon Pit.

“Why am I the only one you speak to with such affection?” I asked him, raising an eyebrow. I tried to ignore the people we passed by who stopped to stare at me.

“Yet you do not respond with even half as much,” he said to me as he pulled me closer into his side. He seemed to also be aware of everyone staring.

“What is the purpose of this, Aem?” I asked him. “No longer are we children playing a game. We cannot continue as though we are only friends.”

“But we are friends,” he pointed out as we stepped out into the gardens where nobody seemed to exist.

This was one place in the Red Keep I always felt I belonged. Surrounded by flowers of brilliant blues, reds, pinks, and yellows dotting the otherwise green landscape here. The pink peonies were always very beloved by Alicent. The yellow hydrangeas were Mother’s favorite. Helaena always preferred looking for the bugs that inhabited the ground, so much so I had once destroyed the stores of garden soil they used to kill the bugs. They stopped using it when they realized It was me.

“You are in love with me,” I reminded him. Aemond chuckled at my words as he picked a purple hyacinth and put it in my hair beside the flower Mother had stuck there earlier.

“And if I remember correctly, our last night together was spent with you telling me the names of our no less than four children and all of their dragons,” he said with a smirk.

He spoke as though it were the simplest thing in the world. As though he and I were able to marry for love rather than duty. His words ignored the fact I was to marry Jace and become his queen, that my place in this world was to support my twin. It had been decided a long time ago.

“We were fooling ourselves thinking we could ever be together,” I whispered as I stopped walking. Though the knot in my throat that formed as I spoke those words made my voice sound weak and unsure.

“You are fooling yourself if you truly believe that you love Jacaerys enough to toss aside what you and I share.”

I let out a huff of annoyance. He was always so sure that he was right. He spoke so absolutely that almost anyone would believe him.

“And you think I love you enough to toss aside my duty?” I asked him.

There wasn’t enough time for me to process what he did before I was in the position. A look to make sure we were truly alone and then I was pulled into an alcove we had discovered long ago, hidden behind bushes that nobody ever looked twice at. It was small and dark, but always held room for the two of us.

“You scream my name in our nights together. You tell me over and over how you love me as you cum around me. You begged for us to go away, find someone to marry us in Valyrian tradition before you could be forced to marry him,” he whispered in my ear. “You cannot act as though you do not love me enough. Time has changed many things, but I can assure you that our love for one another is not one of them.”

“Aemond,” I whispered cautiously when he ran his fingers over the low neckline of my dress. “That was all before I was betrothed formally.”

“I wish for you to be my wife. Do not expect me to give up on that so easily,” he told me.

My heart was pounding so hard against my chest I was sure he could hear it. Maybe my mother had a point. Time had been so cruel, ripping me away from everyone I knew and loved. Maybe I should allow myself some time to play the game the way I wish to.

And Aemond was electrifying in all of the right ways. He was irresistibly handsome, almost intoxicatingly so. There was something about him that assured every bone in my body that no harm would come to me as long as I was with him.

Further than that, I loved him. Put aside the promise of safety that he had always provided and I still loved him. I had known it when he would stay with me all night as I prayed to every god in the world that my egg would finally hatch. I had known it when he pulled me out of bed to come with him the night he claimed Vhagar because I was the only one he wanted to share the moment with. When he lost his eye during the resulting fight with my brothers and cousins, I had cried for the rest of the night because I had failed to protect him the way he always protected me. And when grandsire sent for me to join him at the Red Keep, I jumped at the opportunity simply because I would be with Aemond. I loved Aemond with my entire being.

“I am still betrothed to Jace. Your desire to marry me does not change that,” I whispered even though it broke my heart.

“You can! You think I don’t remember that your mother has always given you a choice? That you got to choose whether she named you heir or Jacaerys? You have a choice, more than anyone else ever has,” he all but shouted.

There was not a doubt in my mind that he would back off if I told him I did not want him. If I made it clear that my reasons for denying him were more about how I felt rather than about duty, he wouldn’t question it for a second. My wants and desires were placed above his in regards to us. It was one of the many ways I was certain he loved me.

While I couldn’t lie to him that I did not want him, I also couldn’t decide anything without speaking to Jace. He deserved that.

“I will speak to Jace. Only after will I decide anything,” I said.

Only after several moments of silence did my words have any sway in him. It seemed that promise was enough for him as he pressed a small kiss to my forehead before exiting the alcove, gesturing me to follow. And while it may have been a better idea to leave his company, there wasn’t anything I could do to avoid taking his arm in mine and walking with him.

[artful-aries]

Hello. I am having a difficult time coping with the loss of a pet. Could I request Scaramouche, Childe, and Tighnari comforting an SO who has just lost a pet?

Hello anon!!! Sorry it took me a bit to get around to this. I am very sorry for your loss, I know the feeling well and it is hard no matter if it’s your first pet or your tenth. Sending love 💜

How They Comfort After You Lose A Pet (Scaramouche, Childe, Tighnari)

Scaramouche:

Admittedly, he wouldn’t get why you were making such a big deal about it at first. It’s not that he doesn’t understand why you’re grieving, but he would be mystified as to why you’re coming to him about it

He would awkwardly say “Sorry for your loss…” and maybe put a hand on your shoulder to give you comfort

Scara wouldn’t have his usual look of disdain or biting remarks; he knows to pull back the attitude while you’re going through a hard time

When you fall asleep or leave for a while, he is going to secretly make you a stuffed animal that looks like your lost pet and leave it on your pillow

He will totally deny that he is the one who made it, but when he thinks you aren’t looking he will smile softly at how you’re admiring what he made you

Overall, Scaramouche isn’t the best at comforting, but he certainly tries to put his best foot forward. He’s better at indirectly making you feel better rather than talking through your grief

Childe:

The minute he sees you crying, he will internally panic, expecting the absolute worst news possible

Hearing that your beloved pet has passed away, Childe will take the time to pick you up and find a comfortable spot just to hold you for a while and talk

He’s very experienced with making people feel better thanks to his siblings, so he would pretty much have all his bases covered

Childe is going to hold you, soothingly rub your back or arms as you cry, and tell you that it’s going to be okay. He lets you cry as much as you need to, because he knows it is important

He’ll ask what you need him to do, whether it’s helping you take care of yourself, leaving you alone to grieve, or helping take your mind off things. Your wish is his command, he just wants to do what you think will help

He hates to see you this sad, but he is happy that he gets to show you how much he loves and cares about you. Childe does wish it was under better circumstances, as he had also grown fond of your pet

He makes you a nice little shrine or memorial for your lost pet, making sure to engrave the name or any other important details. Having something dedicated to their memory would help you he feels

Tighnari:

Seeing you cry puts him into alert mode, thinking that you must be sick or hurt as you’re coming to him with tears in your eyes

Upon learning that your pet has passed away, some of the tension leaves his shoulders since he is relieved that you aren’t physically hurt

Tighnari will sit you down and make you a nice cup of herbal tea to calm you, and will soothingly stroke your hair or back as you drink

He would focus on talking you through your grief; he’s no therapist, but he isn’t a complete fool when it comes to helping people cope with things

He reminds you that though your pet is no longer here, you gave them the best life they could have hoped for; full of endless love and affection

It pained him to see you grieve, but he tells you that it is better to make sure that you cry and grieve properly instead of bottling up your emotions.

A bit of his mother hen side will come out, and he will insist that you stay properly hydrated. He wouldn’t want you to dehydrate yourself with your tears

[almostgenerallyalways]

where the wild things are

Pt 1/3  Pairing: Bradley ‘Rooster’ Bradshaw x fem reader  Category: angst / light smut (>18!) / eventual happiness  Word count: 3,4k (sorry if you saw this posted before - i got in my head and wanted to take it in a different direction) CW: language, grief

Two years ago, your sister’s death left a smoking crater in your life, leaving you to take care of your niece. Bradley has lived with loss his whole life, and is in a bad spot on the anniversary of his mother’s death. 

Or: there is a crack in everything / that is how the light gets in

Carol Bradshaw used to read to Bradley from Where the Wild Things Are, and Bradley used to picture it: sailing to an island inhabited by monsters, and reigning as their King. She made him a felt crown, once, which he’d wear to school, and which she’d hang from the wooden post of his twin bed at night, before she tucked him in.

It’s Goose who always looms largest in his mind, sticking to him like a shadow, the long-buried legend everyone compares him to. Sometimes, in the morning, Bradley looks in the mirror and sees his father’s ghost reflected back at him, and he thinks, as he ages into his mid-thirties: Dad never got these crinkly lines next to his eyes. He never got a chance to frown at the stubbornly multiplying white hairs at his temples.

As he got a little older, Where the Wild Things Are was relegated to the back of a shelf. It’s strange, he thinks: One day you read your favorite childhood story for the last time. One day your mother kisses you on the crown of your head for the last time, and you don’t even realize it.

When he got too old for picture books, Carol used to tell him stories about Goose, until he could recite them by heart. The places he’d gone. The adventures he’d lived. The way he’d proposed to her, down on one knee in the sand still warm from the fading sun. The way she’d jumped into his arms, sending him flying back into the surf, knocking off his sunglasses to be carried away on a wave.

She did such a wonderful job keeping Goose’s memory alive, was so dedicated to making sure Bradley would know his father (the way he’d grin at Carol from behind the keys of the piano. The way he’d burn pancakes every time, but still insisted on making them every weekend he spent with his wife and son), that adult Bradley sometimes thinks: I hope she knew.

I hope she knew she wasn’t just Goose’s widow, there to carry on his spirit for his son, for Mav, for everyone.

Bradley knows his father was larger than life – and hopes his mother didn’t feel crushed under the weight of him, of the specter of the husband she lost at barely thirty: Mav crying into her shoulder and Bradley acting out at school, the Navy sending her a medal in a polished mahogany box.

He never asked her. At nineteen, faced with losing the only parent he remembered outside of the bedtime stories, outside of the pictures tacked up in Mav’s apartment, it was all he could do to keep showing up for her – for the hands that kept growing thinner, until the veins stood out starkly, for the clumps of hair he’d pluck off her pillow before she could notice she’d lost them.

He wonders, too, after he’s done staring at his father’s ghost in the mirror, why she never remarried, back when she’d (theoretically, cruelly) had her whole life ahead of her. He recalls, vaguely, men being interested over the years: family friends or colleagues who’d drop by the house on the weekends, throwing a ball around with Bradley. But they were always kept at arm’s length, if not by Mav’s harsh gaze (and was that right, Bradley reflects now, was that fair?), then by Carol herself.

She’d been so young, he thinks, rubbing a hand over his temple, trying to smooth out a permanent crease that seems to have appeared overnight. Did she feel like she couldn’t? Or like she shouldn’t?

And who is keeping Carol’s memory alive, now? Only him.

Only him to remember how she’d read to him, every night, without fail. How she’d make him the Sunday pancakes, although she wouldn’t torch them like Goose had. How she’d park him on the chair outside his elementary school principal’s office and storm in there, a determined look on her face, and when she’d come out he’d suddenly be unsuspended, Principal Spacek looking uncharacteristically cowed.

How she’d let Mav crash on their couch for months on end, and drive Bradley to hockey in the winters and baseball in the summers, and always, always, hug him and tell him she loved him before he left the house, even the morning after they’d had a monstrous argument about him smoking weed in the high school parking lot.

He's the only one left to carry on that torch. And he’s got no one to hand it to.

So forgive Bradley if he, on the fifteenth anniversary of his mother’s death, wants to get shitfaced drunk.

* * *

You suck on the straw of your drink, only to find there’s nothing but ice and the tangy pulp of crushed lime left at the bottom of your glass. Music pounds in your ears, and though you’ve barely had two, you feel a little giddy – you’re a lightweight, now, out of practice.

Not since Sierra has lived with you have you been in a place like this, packed with bodies and possibilities, people dancing and laughter ringing out, a sharp vibration of potential in the air.

You used to love this, before: dressing up and linking arms with your friends, letting the night carry you wherever it may. Tumbling in the back of Lyfts on the promise of another bar being open later, a friend of a friend’s after-party where you could dangle your feet in the pool, kiss a stranger.

Right now, though, you can’t get yourself to relax fully. Your mind keeps drifting to Sierra, long asleep by now, at your parents’ house – in a few hours she’ll be rolling into their bedroom, demanding waffles for breakfast.

Not being with her generates a constant low-grade buzz of anxiety, bouncing between your heart and stomach, and you keep checking your phone even though it’s been ages since your mother texted you a picture of her, safely tucked into her makeshift bed on the pull-out couch in their living room.

You remind yourself once again that this is Callie’s night, and that Sierra is safe, and that you should try to actually enjoy a Saturday night where you’re not, for once, desperately trying to catch up on work and/or scrubbing purple Crayola off the baseboards of your rented apartment and/or falling asleep on the couch at 8:30 pm, every bit as exhausted as the four-year-old cradled in your arms.

As if on cue, Callie floats by, a ridiculous plastic tiara askew atop her wild mass of curls, and grins at you like the Cheshire Cat: “Babe. Stop making a face like you left the stove on, and come dance with Priya and me.”

Your heart melts a little bit, and you reach out affectionately to straighten out her crown. “Alright, bridezilla. Let me go get you a fresh drink first.”

A minute later, you’ve weaved your way through the pulsing crowd to claim a spot at the heavy oak bar – the gleaming wood looks like it’d be more suited to a saloon than a place like this. Pushing yourself up on your tiptoes, you search the menu for something Callie might enjoy – she’s got drain water tastes on a champagne budget.

The beleaguered bartender signals that it’s your turn.

“A paloma,” you say, still frowning at the menu. “and a Coors Light, please.”

“Paloma.” Someone next to you repeats, as if a little surprised.

You turn slightly to look at the stranger, a dismissive remark at the ready, but it dies on your tongue.

Because he’s very striking, this man, sitting on a barstool in faded jeans and an absolute eyesore of a shirt: tall and handsome with an incongruous moustache, suntanned skin and the dawn of a smile at the corner of his mouth not quite matched by the deep circles under his eyes.

“Sorry,” he says, sounding a little hoarse. “That was my mom’s drink. With Fresca, of course.”

You cock your head slightly. He’s holding what looks like a scotch on the rocks, glass already almost empty before the ice has had a chance to melt, and you know that feeling. Have spent a good few nights chasing answers at the bottom of a glass, never getting anywhere.

“I don’t think they make Fresca anymore,” You say, “But it’s still good.”

“I haven’t thought about that in forever.” He smiles slightly, looking back down into his glass, and you can’t help but be charmed. He glances at you. “Can I buy you a drink? This one, I mean.”

There’s something in your gut that tells you to say yes, so you say: “Yeah, why not?”

* * *

Bradley, as it turns out his name is, is the sort of good-looking that intimidates you a little. At first, you feel like you can’t look directly at him for too long – it’s a bit like staring into the sun.

But there’s something else about him, too, that makes you forget about all that. The slight hunch of his shoulders, the way his smile looks a little out of practice. Somehow, over the din of the bar, his voice draws you in until you realize you’ve told him half your life story over the course of three quarters of a drink.

“So you’re a San Diego girl through and through, then, huh?” He inquires, propping his chin up with his hand, elbow resting on the gleaming bar.

You raise your almost-empty glass. “Born and raised, went to college here, the works. The only time I was ever away was when I worked in Boston for two years, but then-” You look down at your bare knees, coming up short for a second. “But then I requested a transfer.”

But then my sister died, and my life fell apart is not conversation for handsome strangers you meet in bars, and right here, right now, you don’t want to be that girl, anyway.

Bradley smiles, taking your abrupt silence for the evasion it is. “I don’t blame you. Too cold up in New England. I was stationed in Rhode Island for a little while, wasn’t my favorite.”

You return his smile gratefully. He’s a gentleman, you think – he doesn’t pry. He smells good, too – Top shelf whiskey and sun and aged oak. It’s messing with your head a little.

Callie finally finds you when her beer’s already past lukewarm, forgotten where it sits on the bar. She throws her arms around you from behind: “There you are, we thought you bailed on us.”

She catches sight of your companion, and your apprehension rises when you see the metaphorical bulb light up above her head. “Oh, hello. Didn’t realize you’d made a friend.”

You manage to keep yourself from rolling your eyes. Just last week she fruitlessly tried to tell you to take more time for yourself, make some effort, meet someone, so she must be loving this. “Callie, this is Bradley. Bradley, this is the bride.”

She holds out her hand, allows him to take it. “One of, at least. My future better half is holding her cousin’s hair back in the ladies’ room.”

“Congratulations,” Bradley grins, apparently not in the least phased by this, “on your impending nuptials.”

You swoon a little bit. Callie, of course, notices, and has an expression on her face like it’s Christmas morning.

“Listen, babe,” she says, looking down at you, her gleaming metallic heels (her favorite pair, you remember picking them out with her for graduation, though they were not at all appropriate for the occasion) giving her a height advantage. “Priya wants to go downtown, to that place with the two DJ’s in the basement. Are you coming?”

She looks between the man opposite and you. “Unless…”

Unless. You know you should, it’s her bachelorette, and it’s been so long since you’ve been able to give her your undivided attention: Between Sierra, and work, and crying heaving panic attacks about the state of your life following crippling, devastating grief, you’ve always had her support, and you owe her (maybe, quite literally) your life.

Bradley cuts in, tentative over the change in music to a slower, deeper sound: “Unless you want to stay here a little bit longer?” (It shouldn’t be possible, you think, for him to look this fucking sincere.) “I would really like that. I could drop you off there later…?”

He turns to Callie: “You could text me the address?”

Callie went to law school with you, and while you went into the safe, comparatively sane world of corporate finance, she is a public prosecutor through and through. She narrows her eyes at Bradley, clearly torn between deep-seated, hard-learned suspicion of strange men, and budding, unadulterated joy at seeing you take an interest in anyone who’s not your niece or a client.

“Alright, Bradley,” She levels, sizing him up judiciously, the effect only slightly diminished by the plastic crown still clinging to the side of her head, “I’ll need your phone and driver’s license.”

To his credit, he hands both over without a word, and Callie makes quick work of texting herself his contact details and a photo of his license. “Great,” she looks up, grinning: “You kids have fun. I’m gonna drag my future wife out of the bathroom and blow this joint.”

To her credit, she refrains from miming I’m watching you at Bradley, but you suppose it’s implied.

* * *

When you step outside into the chill of the San Diego night air ahead of him, it hits Bradley that this night is going nothing like he expected. From the moment you appeared next to him, out of thin air, he’s felt off-kilter.

Like he got tipped into your orbit, and now he’s fated to spin circles around you.

“Paloma.” He says, and you turn slightly, a smile on your lips. He steps in closer, nudging you out of the way of the flow of people making their way into the bar.

Your eyes flash up to his when the broad flat of his palm makes contact with the curve of your side, your skin feeling hot through the thin, slippy fabric of your dress – the color brings to mind the backyard of his old house in Tierrasanta, overrun with California sage: he spent a lot of time there as a kid, alone with his thoughts. He presses his thumb to the fabric, the force of the memory almost bringing back the earthy, crisp smell of that place.

You don’t say anything, holding his gaze as he trails his palm down your side, but he swears your eyes darken almost imperceptibly, and your breath hitches. It emboldens him, and his free hand finds the curve of your jaw, your skin feeling impossibly soft under his fingertips and then he’s kissing you, and the rest of the world (the passing cars, the faint pounding of music from inside, the buzzing of a streetlamp nearing the end of its life overhead) retreats.

You taste like tequila and lime and grapefruit and something else he can’t quite put his finger on. Your hands come up to curve around his shoulders, fingertips grazing the nape of his neck, and he pulls you a little closer. You let out a little sigh in response, and it goes straight to his head, heart hammering in his throat when you cup his jaw, deepen the kiss even more.

He pulls away after a moment, dazed, and sees the wild look he’s sure he must have in his eyes reflected in yours. It sends a jolt of heat right through him, and he swallows heavily.

“Bradley.” You state, and he opens his eyes to find you looking up at him, a little smirk on your face like you know exactly what just went through his head. He almost laughs, feeling suddenly out of breath, but then you slowly run your thumb up the line of his jaw, and all thoughts leave him.

“Tell me to take you to your friends.” He says, sounding a little hoarse to his own ears.

He feels you shiver under his palm for a moment, and your eyes close. He can’t help but feel gratified (and he’s aware of the way he looks, women like him, he knows this – but right now, he particularly wants you to like him, to approve, to see past the glaring cracks in his foundation), and a heady warmth floods him when you open your eyes, that little smirk returning to your face, and you say:

“Take me home with you.”

* * *

You’re nervous, you can’t lie to yourself – going home with someone seems like something out of a past life to you at this point, let alone someone you just met – but Bradley has a way of looking at you that makes you forget your nerves, your self-consciousness. He’s barely taken his eyes off you since he first asked your name, and something about him (maybe it’s that quiet confidence he exudes: not showy, not cocky, just steady and certain) puts you at ease.

He's so eager, and you feel like it makes you glow. You laugh when he bumps his head in his haste to pick you up, press you up against the door – he looks sheepish, for a second, until he smiles wide and kisses you again, and heat floods through you.

You haven’t really felt beautiful, or desired, in two years – the first year after Mel died was a fog of grief and sorrow, a mess of bureaucracy and lawyers, where it was all you could do to keep treading water, keep Sierra fed and cared for, shield her from the worst of the flying shrapnel the grenade of your sister’s death sent careening into your family’s lives. The second year, you pulled yourself together because there was no other option – working long hours to secure Sierra’s future, helping your parents where you could, spending every waking minute worrying for this little life you’d become responsible for.

Bradley doesn’t hide his desire, on the contrary – hitching your legs around his waist, burying his face in your neck (the straps of your pale green dress slipping down your shoulder) – he keeps telling you how beautiful you are, into the skin of your throat, your collarbone, the tops of your breasts.

You’re still half-dressed when he makes you come on his fingers, and for the first time in ages your mind is pleasantly blank, free of worry, the only thoughts being more and Bradley’s warm skin between your thighs as you nudge him down onto the bed, lightly running your fingernails down his torso until he can’t take it anymore and flips you onto your back, his body reassuringly solid above you.

* * *

Hours later, Bradley’s asleep, face pressed heavily into your shoulder, and for a mad, half second you consider just letting yourself drift off right here, with his arm slung across your waist. On the nightstand sits a picture, the glossy, slightly out-of-focus quality of disposable Kodak, of two people and their baby. You reach for it, next to a couple of Jodi Picoult novels and a very worn copy of something called the F-14D NATOPS Flight Manual, and trace your finger down the side of the frame.

Bradley shifts and nestles his face into your neck a little closer, and your stomach sinks. You know you have to go; can’t face waking up here tomorrow and trying to explain, seeing those eyes that looked at you so reverently as he kept repeating your name grow cold.  

Just for a moment, as you run your fingers through the coarse waves of his hair, you allow yourself to imagine you could have this: Someone to fall asleep next to, to take care of you, to tell you things will be okay.

But that’s a dangerous thought, and you’ve discarded it by the time you softly shut the door behind you.

masterlist 

part 2

[ready-2-run]

I contemplated writing this post but I had to get this off my chest.

The death of Liam Payne from One Direction is something that has brought on complex, conflicting, and confusing emotions. And after three days of watching the world process and respond the last 3 days over Twitter, Tumblr, and TikTok, I'm not alone in this feeling. And that other's share the same confused feeling of grief, loss, and balancing the facts that have come to light of Liam's actions and behavior. Which is why those of us who were Directioners feel these indescribable clashes of emotions and morality.

I was 10 going on 11 when 1D formed in 2010, and I discovered them in 2011. They became my life, to say the least, and like millions of people who were Directioners, I was fully immersed in a parasocial relationship with each of the members. Several friendships I had in middle and high school were formed and bonded through our shared love for the band. They were my first concert. I became a fangirl because of them. And when I was deeply depressed at 14, One Direction was the spark of happiness, and I credit their music for pulling them out of this dark time.

Like the rest of the fandom, Zayn departing devastated me and then I was saddened by the announcement of the band's hiatus. I continued to support the solo careers of each of the members, but by the time I left for college in 2017, I sort of fell off. I no longer kept up to date with everything. I enjoyed their solo music when it came on the radio, but I didn't anticipate their next release or spend money like I once did on One Direction. I moved on from them, but held on to that joy they brought me as a pre-teen and young teenager--and looked forward to the day they may reunite as a group. Then when I was again battling a bad depressive episode in 2020, they were part of the light that brought me out of the darkness.

Liam's sudden death, and the feelings it has brought where I am instantly transported back to my teenage self who adored One Direction and feel like a piece of my adolescence is gone while acknowledging his wrong doings and harboring resentment for who he became, reminded me of something I learned in college.

I got my Bachelor's in Psychology and during my sophomore year I took Developmental Psychology, Psychology of Aging, and Psychology of Adolescence. In all three classes, there was a unit dedicated to Erikson's 8 Stages of Development. Touched on in Development and Aging, but emphasized in Psych of Adolescence, Stage 5 is Identity vs. Confusion which takes place during the ages of 12 to 18. This stage of development is integral, as it is the period we as humans navigate our identity and find a sense of self. When we are unable to explore identity, this leads to confusion where we feel lost. Social relationships are important at this stage, where we want a sense of belonging. What happens in this stage, and the identity we find in ourselves, ultimately influences us in adulthood.

Idolizing One Direction, becoming a fangirl through them, shaped my identity. It was my identity. The Directioner fandom brought me a sense of belonging because it was a community where we all loved this band to the point it was our life. That I felt, and still feel about 1D, is the same reason I am so attached to other things associated to my adolescence like Twilight, Hunger Games, Harry Potter, etc. Why I smile or think fondly of memories when 1D plays on shuffle. It's me hanging onto that piece of the girl I once was before life got serious. In simplest terms, it's nostalgia.

One Direction shaped an entire generation of fangirls. They shaped their identity. It is not weird you are experiencing these complex and kind of unexplainable emotions where it's hard to put into words and you simply feel. And it is possible for multiple things to be true. It is possible to hold someone accountable and extend empathy to the people in Liam's life. His parents, his sisters, his son, his girlfriend, his friends, his former bandmates, his exes, and the people he hurt who are now dealing with a new reality.

No one is responsible for his death. Not Maya, not Kate, not anyone. They do not deserve the hate being sent to them following this news. To comment heinous things on Maya's, Kate's, and even Niall's social media because he was the last of the 1D members to see him is disgusting. Anyone who has done this needs to really reconsider their morals and values.

That's all I have to say. If you relate to anything I said above, just know you're not alone in this feeling.

[honeyhhearted]

The Sun and Her Flowers

Read on AO3

Warnings: None

Relationship: Loki/Reader

Summary:

You and Loki finally settle into the domestic life you deserve, and you couldn't be happier. (Or, a complete fluff bomb where Loki gets his happy ending.)

A/N:

hello! i'm so new to writing small one-shots, so i hope this one is good :) i'm still working on Hold My Hand, and I'm like 3/4 done with the next chapter, but in the meantime i wanted to write some fluff <3

You loved to watch your garden bloom in springtime.

You watered each and every plant with such tender care and love, humming sweet songs to yourself as you went. There was something about gardening that felt so right, so at peace, that you dedicated your life to exploring it. To expanding it as far as you could.

After Thor’s coronation, and the declaration of Loki as his royal advisor, you and Loki decided to take a step back from the spotlight that came with being members of the royal family. As the Prince and Princess of Asgard, you of course had certain responsibilities and functions you must attend, appearances and galas and whatever else the good King Thor could come up with. But a quiet life was all the two of you desired.

The years hadn’t been kind to Loki. He still grieved the life he once lived, and mourned the person he was before. In all his time with you, he had learned to release the anger he held toward his father and brother. He met you at a dire crossroad in his life, on the verge of acting drastically in an attempt to prove that he was worthy of the pride Odin showed Thor, despite Loki’s true parentage. You, though. You’d shown Loki unconditional love, without lies, without secrets.

You were there when Odin fell into Odinsleep. When he woke, only to pass not long after. You were there when time took Frigga as well, her bright, twinkling eyes fading into beautiful and revered memory. You held him when his shoulders shook in grief and pain for months following. And you loved him even more as he became the man his mother always knew he could be.

When Loki had presented this lovely place for the two of you, a modest countryside home - or as modest as a Prince can get - you couldn’t believe it. He knew, and listened, to your desires of a simpler life. One where you could use the gardening knowledge you’d gotten from Frigga during your lessons, where you could learn to be a homemaker without the bustling of staff around you. You’d wanted a quiet home for your future children, where they would learn of a life without the pressure of royal perfection.

Thor was all too happy to allow the move. With Loki as his advisor, they had fitted a device that strengthened Loki’s ability to travel in and out of the palace with ease, and for Thor to reach you if needed.

But in the evenings, when Loki’s work was done and your garden was glistening in the setting sun, you lived the life you’d always desired. Sitting by the fire with each other, limbs tangled, cheeks flushed, speaking in hushed voices about the events of the day, you felt your heart grow every day for your husband.

-

As you continued to garden, you heard the telltale sound of Loki returning, and you hurried inside to greet him.

“Hello, darling,” He said, his eyes brightening when he saw you.

You smiled, wrapping your arms around his neck and placing a gentle peck on his lips. “How was everything today? Did the two of you sort out the final arrangements for his,” You lifted your hands to motion air-quotes, “‘post-coronation’ ball?”

He rolled his eyes, chuckling. “We did. He insists it’s not to celebrate the coronation itself, but to celebrate the new start for Asgard, but I saw him choosing the drink list.” He lowered his voice, pressing his forehead to yours as if guarding a secret between your bodies, “Between you and me, I do believe our lovely King plans on letting himself particularly loose at this ball.”

You laughed, tossing your head back. “He was always a partier, was he not? Don’t think I don’t remember the stories of the Mighty Thor, protector of Asgard and resident drinking champion.”

You had been around for many years, and Thor never changed. Your brother-in-law was always lighthearted, trying his very best to make the people around him laugh even when the pressure on him was tremendous. Watching him grow over the years, you could see Loki realize how much work Thor was putting in to be the leader Asgard needed, and even now you could see the respect and pride Loki had in his brother despite his antics.

That night, after the two of you had enjoyed a meal together, you lay in the bath before bed. You sat between Loki’s legs, his arms wrapped tightly around you as your back pressed against his chest.

“You’re so beautiful, you know,” He said quietly. “I worry I do not tell you enough.”

You leaned your head back, pressing a light kiss under his chin, smiling at the way he still shivered slightly at your touch. “You tell me every day, my love.”

“Perhaps I should tell you twice daily.” He pressed a kiss to your ear. “Or thrice.” His hands rubbed up and down your arms.

You hummed. “Prince Loki, if I didn’t know any better, I’d say you were up to something right now.”

He let out a low chuckle in your ear, sending a shiver down your spine. “My dearest. You should know by now, I am always up to no good when I am with you.”

-

Later, you laid in bed sated and happy, facing each other in the soft candlelight.

“Thank you.” You said simply, watching as his face crinkled in confusion.

“For what?” He asked.

You rested a hand on his cheek and he leaned into it, pressing a kiss to your palm. “For loving me.”

His eyes opened slowly and you basked in the way he looked at you with a sort of reverence, as if he was worshiping you. “I will always love you, my heart. You have shown me what it’s like to grow, to bloom. You are my ray of sunshine and I am the garden you have tended with such love and care, and I swear to you until my dying breath that my heart is yours.”

You leaned in and kissed him with wet eyes, and neither of you got much sleep that night.

-

You were gardening again.

You woke slowly in the morning, a note on your bedside table left behind by Loki as he left for work.

I hope you dreamed of me, It read.

You stood in the light of the sun, enjoying how it always felt on your skin. You loved its warmth, the comfort it could bring you as you knelt in the soil, adding to your beloved display.

Life continued, slowly. Asgard changed for the better, while Thor ruled with a kindness the kingdom had not seen in a long time. Loki worked tirelessly beside him, returning to you with proud eyes each day he was able to make a positive change. Every hand he shook, every expression of gratitude he received, showed him that he was worth everything.

At nights, when you were alone, the two of you had long conversations like you were still in your youth; whispered jokes and quiet giggles, secret glances at each other as you sat in different parts of the room. You couldn’t have asked for anything better.

And, when the time was right, your family expanded, and the sounds of small feet became a welcome addition to your lives. As you sat listening to the giggling of your children playing in the garden, your husband’s warm laughter behind them, you smiled to yourself.

[dirtyoldmanhole]

feelsy gunter/corrin pregnacy headcanon(s) that were torturing me this last weekend (route agnostic) ~

so i wrote them smarter about protection in YRMR than they they would actually be because i don't know if the senior nohr generation have ever heard about such a thing given garon and his ....many..... concubines exist (lol). both of them kinda... just assume that his swimmers are too old?

.............i'm not even sure corrin thinks that far?

listen gunter was corrin's combat instructor, not an obgyn. anyway they've been fooling around. uh. a lot.

more than a few dedicated fuck marathons leaving them absolutely exhausted but so satisfied, best endurance in the army amiright

the first time corrin gets morning sickness they both just assume she had a bad piece of meat or something

and it's not until corrin gets morning sickness a few times a row that it suddenly dawns on him, maybe he's distractedly looking over her cabinet for something to help the nausea and an old memory of him doing this before (for his late wife) hits him.

and he goes sheet white.

cuz

the thing about nohr

is i really get the class difference is a big deal. less so with a casual fuck or fling, but when it comes to royal heirs? twice-thrice-over? him as not just a commoner but the whole [gestures]?

and he's thinking oh shit oh fuck i fucked up her life

and he's a long term thinker he's thinking as her knight-guardian every worst case scenario possible all in a blitzkreig (not unreasonably), and almost immediately gets the notion that he's gotta. get rid of this stupid fucking mess his fucking feelings have gotten into (there's ways, maybe niles knows)-

and his chest is tight, there's a tiny frail part of his heart erupting into a blinding grief, struggling, and not even allowing himself to the mourn the what-if-

what if again (this tiny precious miracle of a little one and having it torn away again)-

brutally shoving any thoughts aside he sort of brusquely nudges her to go visit a doctor real quick to confirm, she senses something's weirdly spooked him just by how curt and iron-brittle-tense and almost snappish her beloved authority figure of a black knight is all the sudden and it's. not a great feeling. she's spooked, stomach's squirrley still, spooked enough that she misses the way how he looks at her with the kind of terror of having lost before.

he gets her to a doctor without incident, leaves them to their thing and paces like a madman outside. doctor just ironically thinks that he might be the first one to know, (never the father) of course.

(gunter, upon being let back in, ignores the comment about 'when the father hears-', but it's a. it's a dig. one of many many unintentional digs he ignores, and ignores and ignores-)

but when they're alone again - corrin won't let go of him, she's suddenly very touchy/needy and genuinely concerned about him, she's tentatively happy, she kind of always in the naievity saw them as having kids, it just happened ehhh kinda earlier than they assumed?

and corrin mentions this in a stream of nervous consciousness and -

he grabs her. not hard- there's a vaguely rough-edged strangled weakly incredulous tone to his voice she's never ever heard before, never as him as a combat instructor, never as a lover-

'you want them?'

and it hits him here-

she wants his children.

she wants him as their father, she doesn't want to just have it as a footnote and a badly ended fling, she wants him and their child as a real future.

he is not a very emotional (or emotionally demonstrative) man but i think he leans his forehead against her shoulder for a very long time and just.... buries his face against her.

and corrin doesn't completely get the depth of why, but she holds him, her beloved, and they break there, but in that healing, whole way.

;a;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;

[fullscoreshenanigans]

Hello!! I'm really sorry, but could you do a summary of the Krone and Isabella light novels? I can't find anywhere to read them. thank you so much!!

No need to apologize, happy to help!

I've talked about the contents of the first light novel here. Almost all of it is available either translated in text or via sound dramas with English subtitles. The exception is the "NER in Bird Cages" story, which is only available in English as a summary.

I've provided a general overview of the second light novel here, as well a link to the masterlist of TPN content for the English-speaking fandom. The first half is dedicated to Isabella, and the second half to Krone, though if you've read chapter 181.2, you'll already be familiar with most of it.

If one of the stories is part of the content of a post, I'll usually tag it as light novels, the title of the light novel in question, and the title of the specific story. (e.g., TPN Light Novels + Moms' Song of Remembrance + The Starry Sky and Leslie's List)

Here's all the light novels laid out with their story tags (with the exception of the fourth one because I've only read the half that's translated):

Light Novel 1: A Letter from Norman

• "The Ghost Incidents at Grace Field House" - Norman reminiscences about his earliest memory with Emma and Ray, when they were about three or four, trying to solve the mystery of the spooky occurrences around the house. • "The Day Emma Cried" - Norman recalls an incident when he was about seven and became terribly ill retrieving Emma’s handkerchief during a rainstorm. Thinking he’s on death’s doorstep, with Isabella’s permission (to both appease Emma and test Ray’s loyalty), Emma and Ray go out to find the miracle cure, a white flower that only blooms at night. • "NER in Bird Cages" - Norman muses how he's never seen Ray cry before he remembers the incident where they rescued an injured bird sometime after Emma's ninth birthday. Ray deals with the grief of not being able to save his beloved older sister, Susan, if he wants to save Emma's and Norman's lives. • "A Gift from the 39th Girl" - The Grace Field kids secretly work on putting together a gift for Norman’s eleventh birthday.

Light Novel 2: Moms' Song of Remembrance

• "The Starry Sky and Leslie's List" - Isabella's story where she remembers helping Leslie with a list of goals he set out to accomplish over the course of two days before he's shipped out. She also reflects on her relationships with Ray and Sarah. • "Searching for the Skies of Freedom" - Krone's story; chapter 181.2 is a retelling of this.

Light Novel 3: Records of Comrades

• "Two Paths" - The story of how Lucas and Yuugo's group acquired the tea set we see Yuugo with in the bunker, interspersed with scenes of Lucas interacting with Emma and Yuugo interacting with Ray during the present timeline. • "Two Wills" - Gillian and Nigel's story of their earlier days at Goldy Pond when they both lost their sisters, Lala and Emilia. • "Two Destinies" - The story of how Mujika and Sonju met and how Leuvis inadvertently ended the farm system and thousand-year promise because he was bored.

Light Novel 4: Films of Memories

• "The Days to Celebrate" • "Operation Stormy Night" - The Grace Field children reminiscence about the night their older siblings helped them feel safe during a particularly bad storm. • "Ray and Conny" - The Grace Field kids are telling Emma about their life at Grace Field house when Conny comes up. Ray recalls to himself how he helped three-year-old Conny adjust to sleeping in the larger shared bedrooms with some indirect help from Susan. It's a story only he and Norman know now. • "The Chess Proverb" - Ray teaches Norman how to play chess, and Emma and Norman join in a match with Ray against Isabella. Serves as a metaphor for how each of them approaches a problem and how they balance each other out when they work together. • "Don and Gilda" • "The Guiding Star" - The story that explains how the trio got on the roof for the chapter 119 cover art and the comfort they each draw from the stars.

Finally, here's my general tag navigation page that's hopefully accessible on mobile as well as desktop.