#i just need some more words to tie off loose ends | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

mrs-weasley-reid · 8 months ago

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TEN'S A GOOD NUMBER

Aaron Hotchner x psychiatrist!reader

Sypnosis: After Aaron's traumatizing encounter with Peter Lewis, he's sent to you, but who knew a profiler is the worst patient you'll ever have? Warning: enemies to lovers— ish(?) angst. a dash of fluff. light mentions of death and trauma. a few curses. went ballistic— it's lengthy, so pace yourself. A/N: loosely follows Mr. Scratch timeline for three seasons.

Monday, May 4, 8:34 AM

Aaron Hotchner sits across from you.

He studies you in every detail like he's about to take an exam, and you're the topic.

The weight of your scribbles—light, almost featherlike. Ink leaves a soft trail of words, a map of your thoughts, your perception of him.

The speed of your hand. Swift and elegant. Each movement portrays a scene in a movie. As if they're telling a quiet story, your story he is yet to unravel.

The way you deprive him of eye contact.

What are you hiding?

Why can't you look him in the eye?

The occasional nod to remind him that you're listening—not like anything's coming out from his end.

In conclusion, just about everything you do, really.

To Aaron, you're a cheat sheet. His way back to the field, to work—the part of his life that cannot be halted despite the need for a break.

"Your hand is heavier," Aaron vaguely goads.

You silently stare at him, waiting for the rest of his thoughts to spill out of his mouth.

"Usually, you write like you're afraid to puncture the paper, but just right now, your strikes are deeper. Your grip on your pen is also tighter. Am I annoying you?"

Creative.

You think to yourself as he rakes his eyes down the canvas of your face, blank and land of nothing but mirroring eyes.

Although you prefer Aaron's comment about your new lipstick and how it makes your skin glow—something about your prospect of finding a lover—fifteen minutes into your session. You didn't peg him as a man who knows his lipstick shades, but you stand corrected as he says coral with the utmost confidence for a man who wears his tie like a choker.

Aaron does it all the time. Every five minutes, he says one thing he's noticed about you and then proceeds to zip his mouth, denying you details about him like you're some hired criminal paid to torture the King's hidden fortune out of him.

And as per your entertainment, you'd do something out of your character to throw him off. If you can laugh at his gullibility, you would.

His goal is to intimidate you. Pressure you. Make you tick like every other serial killer he's encountered. Because he'd really rather be across an unsub than you. Aaron would rather be the one to ask questions and not you. In his eyes, you're no better than a small-town detective ignorantly interrogating a serial killer for a cheap gas station robbery, unaware of the skeletons in his closet.

At this moment, Aaron ponders why he agreed to meet with you once a week only to sit in almost absolute silence for about an hour, then go about his day like he hadn't just wasted minutes of his—and your—life.

It's always the same.

He arrives, flaunts his profiling skills for an accumulated total of twelve minutes, and then sits across you like a rock for the remaining forty minutes.

Aaron could've talked more, but...

He despises you.

Well, not you, per se. He despises the profession, and you just happen to choose it as your career. Nonetheless, Aaron generalizes and includes you on his list.

He finds it unnecessary and a waste of one's valuable time. Presenting a series of well-thought-out facts that he's sure Spencer Reid will enjoy. A list of reasons why talking to a psychiatrist isn't as helpful as people perceive it to be.

Aaron spits the words 'family' and 'friends' for the sake of ease and comfort as if he doesn't flinch at the words 'your father' and his face hasn't been frozen into a permanent stern. Because why talk to someone who doesn't know you when there are people who know you best? He lies through his teeth. He lies to himself.

Then, there's you.

You don't know him enough to trust his lies.

"Profiling me won't get you cleared," you state out of the blue. "This is our seventh session, and you haven't said anything." You add, finally lifting your gaze.

Aaron feels taken aback. He'd never encountered a shrink with such pride at their job—they managed to infuriate him. You infuriate him.

Now that you've granted him the wish—your eyes meeting his—it's having an effect on him instead. One that he wishes he didn't feel creep under his skin, stimulating the anxiety he's worked hard to ignore.

Still, Aaron squares his shoulder, "Nothing is wrong with me," He claims like he's not feeling the pit of his stomach churn with every word. "I'm only here for the formalities." He says.

"Ahh," You deadpan, pulling your eyes down on your clipboard. Hushed scribbles echo in the room. "Is that what you told, Dr. Briar? Or Dr. McCormick? Stiles doesn't seem to remember you at all—"

"They deemed me fit to go back to work, which you don't seem to realize." Aaron cuts you off. He doesn't notice the slight lilt of his voice. How a vein peeked on his forehead as he furrows his brows.

You have an effect on him, and Aaron's in strong denial.

"How?" You lean a bit, propping against your lap. It's the first time he's ever let himself tear out of his 'I don't break' shell. You consider it a crumb of a breakthrough and a laughable stain on your pride.

Challenging his stability—you raise your brows—makes him tick.

A faux frown draws on your face—patronizing, "Did you play a staring contest, and they lost against you?" You notice the little twitch of his eye masked as a blink.

It's a little unprofessional to provoke your patient, but you do, anyway.

This one's been particularly adamant about manipulating you into permitting him back to work like you were born yesterday. You think it hilarious how smug he's been for the past six sessions. It is as if you didn't spend almost half of your life devoted to the study of behavior. Like you hadn't figured out his plans from the get-go.

Profilers. They catch a criminal out of idea of sorts, and they think they can read everyone. It makes you want to laugh while pointing at him.

Aaron stares at you with his usual stoic expression, intimidating eyes filled with unforeseen horrors, and a straight mouth that's no use in your four walls.

He decides then that he hates you with a passion.

You feel a vibration on your wrist, "Would you look at that? Your time's up, Hotchner." You withdraw, straightening your back as you scribble yet another word Aaron is curious to know.

If he only knew you're not really writing anything new about the nature of his mental state or anything legible at all, you imagine Aaron exploding like a stack of case files blown by harsh wind.

But can he blame you when he's given you nothing to write?

"Agent Hotchner," He corrects with gritted teeth. Aaron's jaw clenches as he pierces his gaze through you. His hands intertwined with each other as if he's preventing himself from clawing at you.

You smile at him, "In this room, you're just Aaron Hotchner. A patient. A case." You know the specific word will piss him off, much less the motherly tone you paired it with.

A tactic. Unlike him, you don't need a team of agents to get a rise out of a culprit. The bare idea of you, a stranger who has access to his life on a piece of paper, is enough a stimuli to get an individual aiming at your neck.

"So, between you and me, I think you should start talking if you ever want to fly to wherever city your team wanders in. The longer you take, the less progress we make, and the less progress you make, the more possible that the bureau will assign a new psychiatrist for you." You say nonchalantly, letting his anger lead him right into your trap.

The words float like small fire specks of dust, both dazzling and dangerous to the eyes. Getting assigned to a new psychiatrist is like getting an easy case directly handed to Aaron. However, it also means he'll have to restart his psych evaluation process, and he knows firsthand how time-consuming that is.

"But, then again, who knows? Maybe the next fella will let you slide like the others did. Or you'll have to attend a series of sessions again for a lengthy psych evaluation. I've got friends too, you know? They might do me a favor and make your life more… difficult." You're bluffing. In no way, shape, or form will you jeopardize his health, even if Aaron's the most stubborn patient you have ever met in your lifetime.

His nose flares as he stands up. You know that he's done and murdered you in his mind at the way he's glaring at you with invisible daggers, but you play it well and act blameless.

Aaron marches out of your office with blazing hatred. You watch as he dulls every vicinity he's stepped into like death taking a stroll. A part of you is apologetic to his colleagues. They'll be having one hell of a day.

Retreating back inside your office, you plop on your chair behind your desk as a heavy sigh escapes your lips.

You stare at Aaron Hotchner's patient chart.

"What am I going to do with you?" You ask rhetorically in the air.

Aaron Hotchner is—for you at least—a special case. A case so intricate you had to be careful how you'd tread the water, wary of its fragile ripples.

When Aaron's chart landed on your desk, you immediately knew that he'd be toilsome. He'd make it his goal to skip the talk and jump back onto another case. The same routine he did with his old therapists and psychologist, anyone that was able to write a note and say he's fine when he's really not—never have been for a long time.

You already had enough patients on your plate, but you just couldn't say no to your favorite Italian patient; you only had one. You're the best bureau-mandated psychiatrist. His words, not yours.

Then, again, you never fail to mentally brag about how easily you read Aaron just from his chart, his image, and the first step he took to get inside your office. You read him like an open toddler's book, a piece of cake.

During the first session, you learn how badly Aaron's last case had affected him. The intonation of his voice. The way he'd shake his hand, your hand. His scorn. His fiddling fingers.

It's amazing how he's managed to divert his anger towards you instead of the man who traumatized him.

Melodic ringing snaps you out of your trance.

Aaron Hotchner might just get what he wants.

Sunday, May 10, 11:51 PM

A sniffle tickles your nose as you lay flat on the carpet floor of your apartment.

Your face stings from tear stains, and you muse how horrid you must look after your makeup runs dry. Your chunky heels were still on. In a minute or two, you expect one of your feet to cramp.

The day has been hostile towards you.

The mind, which used to be an oasis of positive thoughts, has gone draught. Sleep begins to blur your vision, and you don't hesitate to let it take over.

Until a bombarding knock jolts you up.

"I'm here! I'm here! Calm down!" You shout as you swing the door open. A familiar man stands in front of you with a dour face. Your eyebrows narrow tightly, "Mr. Hotchner—"

"What did you write?!" Aaron badgers as he storms inside your apartment like he owns the place. He pivots on the balls of his feet once he's reached your living room, glowering at you with scalding fury. "I was relieved to know that you released me from your care and looked forward to my clearance. So, tell me why a random therapist called me this morning to confirm an appointment I didn't even know I had. What did you write on my report that I have to go through this again for the second time? Is dealing with your sick games not enough? I'm fine. I know I'm fine. I'm straight in the head to go back in the field. I aced the psych evaluation questions. Your sessions are the problem. You're the problem." His ears, face, and neck are burning red. If he's a cartoon character, you imagine he'd be steaming with smoke by now.

Quite surprised; you're standing speechless. You're watching Aaron like he's a crazy old hag yapping about the Revolutionary War and how she hates not having the power to shoot every redcoat for the sake of rage.

You head towards your sofa, taking a seat.

Aaron examines you in confusion, furrowing his brows.

After a moment, you look at him expectantly. "Don't be shy, Mr. Hotchner. By any means—" you nod towards the armchair across you, glancing back and forth between him and the empty space "—continue with your thoughts. You already started. Might as well let it all out."

He only clenches his hands inside his pockets as he bores holes into your head.

What a sad little man.

You scoff in your mind.

You lean against the back of the sofa, tilting your head to meet dagger-like brown eyes aiming at you. "No? Suit yourself, then." You shrug, feeling the soft cushions under your palms.

"Let me remind you that I'm a federal agent, and I can make your life a living hell if I want to." He threatens, glaring at you as if the twitch of his eye is enough to make you combust into thin air.

But all you see is a child on a tantrum, deprived of getting what he wants.

"Answer my question. What. Did. You. Write?" He growls.

Silence coats the two of you.

His heavy breathing fills the deafening air. Your nonchalance fuels his hatred more than ever and the sentiment is beginning to emit from both ends. It takes a lot out of you to think of multiple ways to sprinkle some salty sense onto him without stinging his wounds.

One thing you learned well enough in time is how good Aaron is when pushing someone's buttons. A perk of his prosecutor days and seasoned by his bureau career.

He's just troubled.

He's just in denial of his own pain.

You chant the words in your head—uncertain of its purpose. Detachment ironically detaches from your senses like old velcro.

"You're not the first agent in my office, Mr. Hotchner. And frankly, you should be thanking me for taking you in. Unlike your old therapists, I actually read through your chart and took the time to understand you to the best of my ability. I cared—" Shocked as he is, your eyes subtly widen.

Before you can continue Aaron speaks over you, "I do not care about your pity. What I wanted was for you to do your damn job and clear me back to work. But that's just little to no pay for a shrink, isn't it? You need messed up people to stay messed up so they can continue knocking on your door." A clear hint of a demeaning smirk flashes across his face.

The sheer irreverence makes you dizzy. The calm snaps, banishing kindness and composure out the window. And rage knocks on your door.

"That's the problem. You don't care. You don't care about yourself." Your tone is sharp—stern.

You knew. You knew from the moment his file thudded on your wooden desk. The moment SSA David Rossi charmed his way to get your favor. You know that Aaron Hotchner does what he believes is right. Not because the unit chief title has gotten in his head. No. Not the slightest. But because he only cares about his values and people.

And you're neither.

It's not you to hold grudges. So, you had it down and set before you accepted Rossi's request. You had it tattooed in your mind that no matter how sharp-tongued and insensitive the man before you might be, he's still just a man under the weight of the world's greatest horrors.

You cannot break. You're not allowed to break.

Pieces of you shatter at the realization that some patients under your care inevitably slip away from your fingers. How your promised oath to do no harm did nothing—not enough to stop the monsters that haunt the world. Not enough to stop you, Aaron's psychiatrist, from dumping your own frustration onto him the same way he's currently doing to you.

But you're not Aaron's psychiatrist today. You're not anything today. You're not on the clock. And no one except Aaron—to your demise—will ever witness such an ugly sight. If ever he shuts up about his dilemma, that is.

"I did my job exactly as I should." You declare, licking the bottom of your lips. Damned the Hippocratic Oath. You wonder if the healing gods will forgive you.

You really shouldn't say the words that are about to leave your mouth, but you've been taking whatever hostility he's got for the last two months; the capacity has reached its limit. A little bit of harshness wouldn't hurt, would it?

"When are you going to admit that the reason you can't sleep at night is not because of all the serial killers you claim I prevent you from catching?" You finally stand. You are a few inches shorter, yet you have never felt taller than you do right now.

You grit your teeth as you move closer to Aaron, almost a breath away, tiptoeing. "When will you admit that the mighty SSA Aaron Hotchner, unit chief, doesn't blink, not once, because he's afraid he'd become the very thing he promised to put away." You raise your brows, challenging him.

Aaron's face morphs into bewilderment and perturbation. His brows are sewn shut. His jawline pops out as he grinds his teeth.

Resentment. Fury. Vexation. Chagrin.

All Aaron felt was anger.

Antagonized.

A walking tower of pure acrimony, finger-pointing towards the innocent.

"Don't you dare compare me to those— I'm anything but." He towers over you, losing his words through the stream of lividity flooding all over his senses.

"Do you really believe that?"

Aaron studies your face. It's different. It's raw and maimed. A squeeze of guilt whispers, but he shoves it quickly.

"What did you write?" He asks once more, earning a scoff out of you.

You step back, staring straight into his glare. Crossed arms tight against your chest. Brows rest over your deadpan eyes.

"While SSA Aaron Hotchner is proficient at his skills and rather placid in physically and mentally challenging situations, I strongly recommend further evaluation in psychotherapy as his emotional capacity is at its limits. The stress accumulated from the job itself has given him little to no time to allow himself the indulgence to properly process certain impacts of the stimulus he encounters on the job. Will update after further observation. Is what I wrote… so far."

You pause.

"Aaron Hotchner is an insufferable, pompous idiot who's afraid of nothing but himself. He is incapable of stepping off his pedestal and refuses to cooperate while complaining about the consequences he himself caused. He has been through enormous trauma. It will be torture to try and help him cope properly. I do not want him in my care as he is a danger to his own progress, and I don't want any part of it. Is what I wanted to write."

Silence.

For him to reflect.

For you to breathe.

Aaron's frozen before you. A pale statue bleached under the moon's harsh reality. Words that used to be superficial insecurities float in the wind of truth, forming into a cage he's sentenced for life.

Your fuse still runs—a long time coming from two months of his deliberate disrespect. The silence annoys you, so you break it. "Excuse my hostility. No one's invaded my privacy and barged into my household at such an unreasonable hour before." The impassive smile on your lips can haunt anyone.

Maybe you've gone too far.

Maybe it's evil to say such blunt things to someone fragile.

But Aaron started the countdown. He lit the fuse. Now, you're exploding right before his eyes, reaping what he sowed. And he's forced to eat up all the debris.

His eyes twitch, scanning your face for any sign of bluff, any sign of fallacy. Any sign that he successfully pissed you off and your words were nothing but overwhelmed impulse.

"I—" he closes his mouth, then agape. Any sign. Aaron will take anything besides the forthright expression on your face. He inhales, "I'm sorry." The sound dies before it can roll off his tongue.

It's like watching a bully shrink into the tiniest man who's ever lived.

Okay, maybe you were a little bit brutal.

You gulp as guilt creeps along your veins, wishing that someone out there would just do you both a favor and snipe you out before the embarrassment settles.

Drawing in a gentle breath, you take another step back from Aaron with a delicate voice, "You're not starting a new evaluation, but you're not done either. I transferred you under someone else's care because of personal reasons. My life doesn't revolve around you, Mr. Hotchner. So, if you have nothing else to say, go home." Your eyes drift to the vast selection of objects in your living room to diffuse the growing pity you can't help but harbor.

Only then does Aaron discern his impulsivity. Internally arguing with himself as he allows himself to look at you. One thing he's never done since the moment he met you with screwed brows and unwavering bias. His gaze instantly softens like a thick fog around him finally dissipates. Like he's achieved a clearer vision.

The first thing he notices is the state of your face. The dry mascara that drew faded stripes down your cheeks. Your puffy eyes are now faint pink, but he recalls them being red when he arrived.

Then Aaron brings his attention to your black dress. It's a simple formal, mesh midi dress, but he admits how it elegantly fits you. But he doesn't say it aloud because there's only one reason why you'd wear such an article of depressing clothing.

As if your words and his own realizations aren't enough, he gets a glimpse of the clock on your wall that reads 12:03 AM.

His blood suddenly stops flowing—skin clammy and pale. Aaron's lightheaded from guilt and penitence.

Without another word, you lead him towards the door, swinging it open. The past 24 hours already drained you, and Aaron just about made it fifty times worse. All you wanted was to get a shuteye.

Aaron swallows the shame and makes his way out. Before he leaves, though, he turns to face you once more. Genuine curiosity pinches his brows.

"Why didn't you just clear me out like the others did if I was such a difficult case?" The word tastes bitter in his mouth. What used to be a desired flavor turned rotten on his palette.

He asks with utter softness, leaving you skeptical to respond.

"Same reason why you kept attending my sessions even though you clearly hated it." You slightly close the door, only leaving enough space for the two of you to see each other.

He looks at you like the answer's all over your face but written in some foreign language he's not familiar with. Aaron barely opens his mouth when you answer the question in his mind.

"You needed a place where you can just be."

The door shuts.

Friday, June 19, 11:02 PM

"I didn't know where to go."

You pore at Aaron Hotchner with nothing but a flimsy robe to prevent his imagination from going rampant—and dirty.

It's eleven in the evening. It's been one month since you last saw him. It's been a month since he barged into your apartment like an entitled brat. It's been a month since you let your emotions take over. It's been a month since the two of you revealed parts of yourselves either of you don't dare think of.

A month and no contact.

You didn't wonder; just hoped and prayed that Aaron finally finds it in him to let go of the emotional turmoil that's torturing the soul out of his body.

Sighing, you step aside and let him in, closing the door behind you like it's normal to stop by one's ex-psychiatrist's apartment in the middle of the night without prior notice and, most importantly, without meter to run the minutes he's inconveniencing you.

Aaron walks in, and the heavy humidity of arousal immediately hits him.

Oh.

Well...

If he had something to say, Aaron kept his mouth shut. He is at fault for driving straight to your place like he's your bestest friend. So, he doesn't mention it, ignoring the fact that you're barely clothed.

Besides, after your last interaction with him, Aaron's certain he didn't have any prerogative in how you'd like to spend your Friday evening.

"Take a seat. I'll be with you in a minute." Your steps are light behind him—feet nimbly grazing the wooden floor.

He turns to face you but quickly averts his gaze to avoid the glistening sight of your thighs. "Thank you..." He does his best to sound normal, choking in between syllables.

Aaron begins to regret his decision. Though, not enough to leave your place.

You disappear in the corner of the hallway. Allowing Aaron to finally release the breath he didn't know he was holding.

With you out of sight, his mind deliberately wanders...

What were you doing?

Aaron shakes his head vigorously like a worm under a storm of salt. The thought is undiscovered—untouched territory, forbidden to be exact. Should he form such thoughts, he'll do it somewhere else or rather about someone else.

Just as he caters to the sudden dizziness caused by his action, a man, half-dressed, walks past him, cursing under his breath and buttoning his shirt. Aaron's eyes widen a little, keeping his stoic face.

Oh, that's what you were doing.

Ick—as Aaron would like to call your visitor—had brown and curly, unruly hair. He was tall and definitely had a face, which, Aaron assumes, is nothing like the one he envisioned you're attracted to.

Somehow not a pleasant discovery compared to what he attempted to imagine—you, alone.

Ick looks at Aaron with a scoff echoing out of his throat, "Oh, what a surprise! She's a slut." He states smugly.

"Or she just wants someone better." The words spill out without hesitation, fired on sight. Aaron doesn't know where the boldness came from as he leans against the seat with a cocky smirk on his face. Definitely no more perplexed than the uncertainty of anger boiling inside of him. He glares at the man either way.

The man scoffs again before leaving with a couple more insults that Aaron thinks he's lucky to whisper, or your visitor would've left your apartment in an ambulance.

Ick slams the door, shaking the vase on the accent chest by the entrance.

Where did that come from?

He's questionably not as big of a hater as he was before, but Aaron can't determine the motivation that made him act the way he just did with a person who has business with you, which he should have no interest in.

Moments later, you come back, fully clothed, in an oversized hoodie and a pair of wide-leg linen pants. Comfy and a 180 contrast on how you dress at work, plus the garments you had on minutes ago.

You make a beeline to your kitchen, "Water or scotch?" You holler out, opening cabinets with a creek on their hinges.

The question is rhetorical. You place a glass with brown liquid glinting under the warm ambient light on the coffee table in front of Aaron, then plop on the armchair across from him, catering your own glass.

He stares between you and the glass while you kiss yours, never breaking your gaze. You hum in delight, making a popping sound with your lips.

Aaron opens his mouth and then closes it, falling into a cycle like a fish underwater. How should he explain himself? How does one explain why they're bothering their ex-psychiatrist past working hours? After making a scene a month ago? He swallows the thick void in his throat.

"Don't talk, just drink. Sit here for an hour. Then, go home." You say, opening up a book that's been sitting on the table since he arrived.

Aaron feels a surge of relief. He reaches for the drink and lets the smoky taste trail down his throat without hesitation. He wouldn't have guessed you as a fan of scotch—or anything not clear or fruity. This is the first he's seen you without some sort of filter he can't read through, and the observation prints you under a new light.

The silence comforts him. The occasional scrape of paper against paper with each flip of a page provides him reassurance. The company he finds within your presence gives him solace.

You let him be. Asked no questions, reading in peace like he was just any other friend who needed company.

He does as you said. Indulging in the hour of tranquility and stillness. His nerves tame. And he forgets why he went to you in the first place.

Why did he go to you?

Of all people. Of all the friends he brags about. The family he cherishes. His feet dragged—drove him to you.

The onerous unit chief chose to wander to your front door, sipping scotch as he enjoyed the silence and absence of others' guilting worry and constant craving to make him feel better when all he wanted was peace and letting the ache pass in gradual acceptance.

By the end of the hour, you call him a cab with the instructions for him to pick up his car the next day.

Aaron slept effortlessly that night.

Saturday, October 24, 9:24 PM

Aaron expected some sort of rejection or for you to slam the door close, or worse, ignore him as soon as you see his face through the peephole.

One can only tolerate a couple of unannounced visits from an insufferable ex-patient, right? He's surprised you haven't called the cops on him.

He skims your face for any sign of irritation or annoyance as soon as you reveal yourself behind your door, standing next to it to give him way. Aaron saw nothing but impatience.

You knit your brows, slightly tilting your head at his frozen build outside the frame of your door. "Well? Are you stuck or something? Get in, Hotchner—" You turn before you can even finish talking, disappearing down the small entryway.

He turns deaf for a moment. Your voice rings in his ears as if a bomb had just popped the only working drum he had left.

Hotchner.

Agent.

Mister—

Just Hotchner.

One simple change, and the light above your head suddenly looks brighter.

Like he's found something good. Something he can say he knows. Something he can trust(?)

"Don't forget to take your shoes off and shut the door!" You holler from the living room—unfazed.

Aaron flinches, snapping out of his trance. He wonders where you'd gone to, furrowing his brows, and yet enters your apartment with the permission you'd given him. He closes the door, pivoting on the soles of his dress shoes as he tentatively takes them off per your instructions.

He emerges back in your peripheral while you stare at the screen on your laptop, blue-filtered glasses back on. Your fingers hammer on the keys, soft sighs slipping past your lips every once in a while.

You glance at Aaron when his figure stays at the corner of your eye, cupping a coffee mug between your hands. "There's fresh coffee if you'd like. Are you hungry? I don't usually eat dinner, so I have nothing ready to eat, but I can whip something up." You blow over the surface of caffeine, and steam wafts on the tip of your nose.

"No—" He shakes his head, scoffing in confusion, "I'm sorry—"

"Apology accepted," You muffle into the mug.

Aaron's brows connect tighter, and his forehead creases. He looks at you like he's under an illusion, a hypnotic dream he can't quite distinguish.

"Hold on," He hoists his hand up as if to pause a scene in the movie. "I'm very confused. What is going on? Why are you being… casual and nice?"

"You say it like I'm incapable of human decency." Your back makes contact with the cushion of your sofa, pulling your legs close to your chest while one hand holds the handle of your mug. You roll your eyes when Aaron only stares at you, "Are you uncomfortable? Do you want to leave?"

Aaron shakes his head.

"Problem solved, then?" Confusion is still fresh on his blank face. You mentally smack your forehead. "There are patients who lack temporal sense, but turning them away when they clearly need immediate tending to would be a form of negligence on my part. So, feel at home." You theatrically stretch your arms, offering every corner of your space as his own.

"But I'm not your patient anymore. I've been back on duty for weeks." Aaron informs. Although he finds a place for his go bag on your floor.

If you didn't know any better, you'd assume he's about to stay for a sleepover—coming to your apartment late at night.

You wrinkle your nose, "Okay?" You look around as if someone else is in the room with you two. "Is that why you went here? You wanted to brag?"

Three months.

Aaron's been back to his usual routine for the past three months. And it's been four since he drank scotch on the very couch you're comfortably in.

A chuckle.

The sound tickles your ears, filling you with unexpected pride.

"No," Aaron shakes his head as the chuckle resonates through his chest. "I… I don't really know why I came here, if I'm being honest." He swallows air.

You nod, setting your laptop back on your lap. "Like I said, you're free to feel at home. Scotch is in the third cupboard. Coffee's in the pot. I've got some stuff to take care of, so help yourself." Your eyes are already fixed on the screen, hands jumping from one key to the other.

With your permission, Aaron ventures into your kitchen. Neat. Clean. Cozy. He somehow imagines you cooking as a hobby.

He settles for coffee. Asking you from the kitchen island if you'd like a refill—which you took without a thought, hoisting your cup up—and taking out a couple of his files to get a head start on his paperwork. He wasn't allowed to bring them outside the bureau's building, but it didn't matter at the moment.

Your apartment becomes a haven.

Aaron, for the first time in years, feels comfortable to slouch. He had no collection of when and how, but turns out he'd changed into a quarter-zip and one of his pajamas tucked in his go bag through the hours.

The two of you silently took care of your own thing until 1 AM strikes, and a yawn pulls you back into the earth.

You turn your head towards the kitchen to find Aaron scribbling over your kitchen island. He's sipping coffee—a fresh batch he made not long ago.

Stretching, you make your way past him. After placing the mug into the sink, you lean against it, crossing your arms as you stare at him. "Ten."

"What's that?" Aaron halts on his seat, lifting his head to look at you.

"I'm granting you ten visits," You announce.

"And that means?.."

Your face deadpans, and he does well at stifling a smile. "You can come here whenever you want—need, but only for ten free visits. It doesn't matter if it's late, too early, or unreasonable. I'm allowing you to knock on my door whenever you need. Any more than that, you have to attend my sessions in my office, where I get paid."

"What's the catch?" Aaron entwines his eyebrows, straightening his back as he props on the edge of the counter.

"No catch. Just one condition," You shift your weight on your other leg, "Don't come empty-handed. Food, drink, things, a person, anything. Bring something." Your brows hang on your forehead, anticipating any type of response.

Aaron weighs his choices. Calculated every possible outcome and benefit. He meets your eyes again. Index and thumb rubbing the growing stubble on his chin.

"Ten's a good number," He says as he nods.

Wednesday, March 2, 7:31 PM

Eleven months pass by in the blink of an eye.

It's the seventh time Aaron showed up without warning, and by this point in whatever acquaintance you two had, you aren't fazed or surprised anymore.

The fourth time he knocked on your door, he was carrying a hefty price of whiskey. An odd reason for a psychiatrist and a former patient to bond with, but you had no qualms about sipping neat whiskey that night.

At first, he stayed for an hour. Then, an hour turned into three. One time, a case hit too deep, and three became seven, but that only happened once—all you remember was a Wednesday night.

"Are you okay?"

Gentle sighs escape shivering lips. Tears pooling deep inside sockets.

One sharp sniff breaks it all.

You sob under Aaron's worried eyes as your grip on the knob almost snaps it off the door.

His brows twists and he reflexively yanks you by the back of your head into his chest, bringing you out of your apartment and into the complex's hallway.

"What happened?" He carefully inquires while he rests his chin atop your head.

You're a mess in his arms. Uncontrollable whimpers muffled in his soaked chest.

Aaron suggested that you two step inside for more privacy and heat, but he didn't complain when you two stayed frozen in the end of winter evening.

When it stops. The suffocating ache. You lightly push yourself off him, wiping the leftover tears off your cheeks—half of it already dampened his shirt.

Fifty-three minutes and seventeen seconds.

You cried to the point of dehydration.

"Sorry," you mutter, eyes down. "We should go inside if we don't want to catch hypothermia." You sniffle.

"Oh, we don't want that," Aaron attempts to joke, closely observing whether you'd react to it.

You didn't.

He closes the door behind him, following your figure as you practically drag yourself to your unofficial designated spot on the sofa.

"I know I'm the last person you'd want to hear this from, but would you like to talk about it?" He bites his inner cheek.

Nothing.

You only mold yourself into a ball.

Aaron hesitates whether to stay or leave you alone. It's true that you said he's welcome anytime, but you're definitely in no condition to entertain his own problems when you can't even look him in the eye the way you would, no matter how insufferable he is.

But he can't just leave you by yourself either. Nothing is stopping him, but he's not cold-blooded enough.

"It's not easy," Aaron fractures out of his trance at the sound of your small voice. You look at him with a tight-lipped smile. "This job, I mean."

You inhale a sharp breath, tucking your lower lip between your teeth. "I can be hopeful, positive, supportive… Everything to prove that a better life is possible, but at the end of the day, it's not my choice." You wryly chuckle. "It's the patient's. It's your decision to want to feel better. To want to change. To want to live—" You choke, and the tears flow once more.

"It's not about me, but I can't help feeling like a failure." Sobs spill off your lips, gasping for air. "I was supposed to make everything better. I was supposed to heal everyone and save everyone from whatever monster was hurting them. She said she's never felt so much better. She said it's the first time she felt so peaceful for years, Hotchner. She said she was looking forward to our next session. But she just… I didn't—" You gulp—struggling. "I didn't catch it. I didn't catch her lie. And hours later, I get a call from her mother telling me she— she died." Your hands shakily clasp your mouth to push the sobs back, but you fail.

Aaron doesn't know what to say.

But he knows what to feel.

He knows it well.

The guilt. The shame of never living up to your own promise. The pain of losing someone you swore to keep safe.

Then, it hits him like a wrecking ball.

How difficult of a patient was he before?

Has he ever made you cry before?

It's a stretch that you'd ever shed a tear over his stubbornness, but Aaron hopes you never did.

Because he's never seen anyone care so much despite getting all the hate. Despite taking all the blame. You stood your ground and became other people's foundation. You became their comfort.

You became the only thing that gave him serenity.

With the little time he's known you—a total of 43 genuine friendly hours—Aaron can testify in heaven that they had mistakenly dropped you into the earth. And he's never felt blessed to have someone like you. Never felt lucky enough to find someone with who he could feel broken as much as he could but never needed to save face.

So, he's heartbroken for you. And guilty that more than half of the time you'd known him, he made your passion a miserable experience.

And also guilty of developing feelings for you.

Saturday, August 13, 4:16 PM

"I'm not playing favorites, but your tech analyst definitely deserves better than being cooped up in the bureau's building." You say, plopping on the sofa with a soft bounce and a squeak from the coil spring.

Aaron hands you a glass of bourbon while sipping his own. Eyes fixated on the board on your coffee table. "I have no other choice. It's the only way to keep her safe. Unless you're willing to adopt her, I don't want to hear it." He chuckles, connecting his brows at the sight of your winning streak.

You two are playing Scrabble. It was Monopoly twenty minutes ago, but along the lines, you learned how butt-hurt a six-foot and two-inch man can get. Not an enlightening experience. It would have been two stars if you had to rate it.

So, you switched to Scrabble.

And Aaron is losing again.

Boy, were you so entertained.

He just came back from a fairly short case from Los Angeles. The case is not heavy or mentally draining—according to Aaron, but Jack's at a two-day sleepover, and Aaron has no idea how to spend the rest of his day—turning down Derek Morgan's and David Rossi's invitation to grab a drink at O'Keefe's with you in mind.

Aaron leans on the back of his seat. You don't know when your reclining armchair became his designated seat, but you noticed how lax he is in it and didn't question it further.

Months and months of relaxing stillness in your home—only ever full of bizarre surprises and irresistible joy whenever Aaron knocks at your door. With no means of communication or ever seeing each other at either workplace, Aaron's visits are welcomed but never fully anticipated. Thrilling.

Spelling the word 'loser' on the board with triple points, you bite the tissue inside your lower lip. "Maybe you can play Scrabble with her. Who knows, maybe you'll get lucky and win." You grin smugly at him.

Aaron gapes at you with a mixture of disbelief and merriment. He looks down on the flat entertainment, then back to you as he blinks. "You're cheating." He declares, pointing an accusatory finger at you.

A hearty laugh Aaron's never heard before roars out of you, and it's melodic to his ears. The meringue light spills through the forgotten open blinds of your window, painting your face with a dreamy filter. Aaron feels dizzy at the sight.

Your smile is contagious, and out of nowhere, his heart starts to pick up as if he'd caught whatever illness your radiant lips had by only staring at it. The loose hair over your forehead frames your face differently—different good. Like you'd been glowing, and the watts in your core mysteriously increased, so you're as bright as the sun and as warm as its light.

"You're just a sore loser. Suck it up, Hotchner." You shake with mirth, casually running dainty fingers along the curve of your ear.

"Aaron," He blurts too fast, too soon—too late to take back.

With a nonchalant shrug, you rephrase, "Suck. It. Up. Aaron." Much more emphasis and friskiness.

You tease him more about his lack of greatness in board games compared to his undeniable talent in every case the BAU encountered. But Aaron's already dazed by your lips calling his name.

Without either of you realizing it, 4 PM became AM.

Talk about abusing one's privileges. Aaron's moderately good at that. You conclude he's simply a strutting opportunist.

After the longest winning streak you've ever had in your life, you and Aaron decided to take a much-needed break and fell into silent reading—or, in your case, grooming your schedule for the next five months.

Midnight strikes along the grumble of Aaron's stomach. You two were too quiet. It echoed all over your apartment. Both of you fell into an obstreperous fit of laughter for another hour, stopping for a minute in between only to laugh some more as soon as you met each other's eyes.

Now, it's four in the morning. You're busy munching on Chinese takeout from a 24-hour restaurant Aaron called in. He claims he has handsome privilege courtesy of the owner, which you mockingly laughed at, to his dismay.

"I'm still terrified." He blurts.

The case must've been very difficult, then. He lied yesterday. However, at this point in your friendship, you expect him to do so, even if it's obvious.

You'd long given up on coaxing Aaron to talk about the case that brought him to your office. Or any other cases that got him knocking on your door at the most unreasonable hour. You thought that the best you could offer him was the comfort that no matter how beaten up he looked, you'd ask no questions and let him sort his boggled mind until he was ready to talk about it.

Looks like tonight's the moment. It only took more than a year, so it is not a big deal—to either of you, at least.

He looks at you when you remain quiet, silently asking for your permission. You nod, and he continues, "What Peter Lewis did to me was terrorizing. I always wonder whether I'm making the right decision or sending my agents straight to their deaths. I second guess. I'm scared that a part of him is still in my head, driving me to make a fatal mistake." Aaron starts playing with his food, poking an orange chicken with his chopsticks.

The memory brings a tangy taste to his tongue, and Aaron can't help but cringe. It's the first time he's ever talked about Peter Lewis. Granted, Aaron spoke about the event numerous times but never about how it made him feel. Never how it broke him.

Is it weird to say you're a little proud of Aaron?

Of course, you don't tell him that. Not out loud. You know he knows you're proud of him. And that's enough said.

With a few audible chews—caused by a carrot bit stuck between your teeth—that somehow doesn't piss Aaron off, you swallow the food and draw your lips into a thin line. You place the chopsticks on the side, wiping the rim of your mouth.

You know he's watching you. Anticipatingly waiting for a response for anything other than the silence he's accustomed to.

"Breathe," You gently instruct, clear enough for him to hear but not too loud for Aaron to jump in shock.

And he does.

His shoulder blades rise and fall into a soft rhythm. Aaron was holding his breath, and you knew. Of course, you knew.

"Do you know the purpose of defense mechanisms?" You quiz him, earning a nod from Aaron, and yet no following answer. "You were already mad at me even before we met. And for what? Nothing concrete, I'm sure."

Aaron was about to object, but you raised your hand to stop him, "I'm not trying to attack you. All I'm saying is that rather than being in denial, you displaced your frustration on someone else less threatening—me."

Silence.

"I'm sorry—"

"I'm not done, shush!" You close your fist to mute him, cutting him off.

Aaron subtly rolls his eyes. He started doing so on his fifth visit when Aaron brought Jack and a few video games.

He told you that Jack's heard about your interest in a couple of games and wanted to play with you, but you know damn well Aaron bought the game for himself. Nonetheless, you entertained them by teaming up with Jack and obliterating Aaron. He vowed never to play against you ever again, at least not to your face.

"I would never know the pain and suffering that you went through. And somehow, even with that fact, a part of your life was in the palm of my hand. You had no control, but I did. So, instead of understanding the why, you hated the wrong who. And it's okay."

You take a sip from your straw, and a bubbly sensation fills you. Your tongue glides over your lips as you lean against the counter. "In short, for a man who's been through a lot, you know how to cope." A shrug ends your sentence, grabbing another bite of chow mein on your plate.

"Yeah, right," Aaron scoffs. The sincerity in your voice sparks something in him. It's giddy and tempting. But he can't possibly show the smile that's itching to spread his lips.

But his nonchalance may have triggered something in you because Aaron doesn't expect your next move. His neck felt like a snapped glow stick after you manually turned his head to face you—grabbing him by the space between his neck and chin. Aaron widens his eyes in the process.

"Listen here, you stubborn poopy head." You start, forehead creasing.

Aaron badly wanted to poke fun at your poor, intimidating skills, but he realized you didn't need any pointers just by the glare in your eyes.

"Peter Lewis got to your head, but that doesn't mean you were weak to let him. Yes, you fought through the influence of the drug heroically. Yes, you saved your agents and, most importantly, yourself. But it's still okay to be scared. It's okay that you feel broken. Who says broken things aren't great?"

It might be the sleep deprivation that's hitting Aaron, but he's very much enjoying your little fuse. How your words meant nothing like how you sound.

"That silver watch of yours—" you glance at his wrist "—has been broken for years, but I bet if you pawn it, it'll be more valuable than me. Antiques are expensive because they have unique histories. They survived beaten up, scratched, damaged, but still as beautiful as ever."

You're rambling, explaining more than you need to. Felt obligated to drill in his mind that despite the bad things, Aaron remains good. You're uncertain—clueless—as to why you felt the need to prove his praiseworthy, almost as if you're trying to convince yourself rather than him.

"From my observation, you're a sharper profiler despite all the things you went through. A part of you suffered and died in that house and many houses before. Of course, you'll be broken. You're a human being, Aaron. Act like one for Pete's sake!"

"I don't know whether you're being nice or mean." He chuckles with a mischievous grin, marveling at the way your eyes narrow as you look at him.

"I liked you better when you didn't talk." You tut, rolling your eyes.

For a moment, your senses heighten, and the simple brush of his hand against the skin over your wrist, as he takes your hold off him, sends billions of electricity throughout your body.

Aaron smiles—genuinely. "Thank you," He says softly, clearing his throat. His hand is still tight around your wrist. "You simply could've slammed the door the first time I knocked, but you always let me in. I appreciate you tolerating me."

You laugh, retracting your hands off his skin before you melt in his grasp. "I did not let you in the first time. You barged in like I'm some fugitive." You fix your posture on the stool beneath you, looking away.

His chuckle wakes the butterflies in your stomach, and you shove them right back down by stuffing your mouth with food.

Your eyes catch a glimpse of the time, "Y-you better go home and change before your son wonders why his father smells like Chinese food for Sunday brunch. Jack's a big fan of good 'ole syrupy pancakes, there's a good one by the bureau's building. Better hurry up and pick him up." It's amazing how much you almost choked and stuttered as you spoke, hoping that Aaron wouldn't question the way your demeanor changed.

Aaron takes one last bite before towering next to you, "Let me clean up. It's the least I can do for imposing half of your weekend." He insists, swiping the styrofoam off your hands.

"Glad you got manners," You nod approvingly, earning another chuckle from him, making sure you gave him enough space to move around without brushing any part of your body, or you wouldn't know what the brewing feeling in your chest would make you do.

You mindlessly peer at Aaron's broad shoulders and dark hair that looks so soft you wonder if it'll melt with your touch. You blink, catching yourself mid-swoon.

After a few minutes, Aaron bids you goodbye and you wish him well, asking to relay a short message to Jack.

"I think you're only nice to me because of Jack," He jokes, pivoting on the heel of his shoes to get one last glimpse of you.

You give him a tight smile, raising your brows as you shrug.

One visit left.

Thursday, May 5, 12:51 PM

The news said Mr. Scratch escaped prison. Peter Lewis is out and about, no doubt, planning serious harm against Aaron. You turn the TV off. The image shrinks into a small diamond spark 'til it leaves a dark screen.

Ninety-eight beats per minute are your normal, but you surmise it's about a hundred and twelve at the moment as your mind anxiously ruminates your not-so-favorite-unofficial patient's well-being.

You glance at your phone, debating whether to give him a call, but even if you gain the guts to do so, you don't have his number. Who knew that refusing personal contacts would backfire? Aaron can knock anytime, you said. It doesn't matter whether he texts or calls before, you said.

Now, you have no means of contacting him, and you refuse to resort to his ways—going through his file like he went through yours.

It's a shitty feeling.

You keep your fingers as far away from your mouth as possible, afraid you'll bite your nails to its quick. If Aaron was with you, he'd say something annoyingly witty about how your anxiety's too easy to read, and you'd be bantering back a remark about his tells that not many notice but sure slightly pisses him off that you know him like the back of your hand.

Eyes dart in the direction of your entryway, waiting for any distinctive sound only Aaron makes whenever he closes the door like a teenager coming home past curfew.

"This is driving me crazy!" You ruffle your own hair, rubbing your face in frustration.

Tempted to wait outside your door for Aaron to arrive, in need of a company. A once-in-a-lifetime bone-crushing hug, given by yours truly. Or open up the 1997 Old Forester bourbon on top of your shelf that Aaron's been eyeing for a year.

You need to know if he's okay. You need to see that he's okay. Physically, mentally, and emotionally okay.

No one ever knocked.

Friday, November 18, 2:33 PM

"Aren't you curious?"

You look at Rossi, "About?" Your eyebrows pinch together. You backtrack the entire session in your mind, trying to remember if there is anything you are supposed to be curious about.

There's none.

Rossi turns to face you, a hand emerging out of his pocket. "You're not curious where he's been? I've known him for years, and I've never been more curious about his whereabouts 'til now." The hand waves around as each syllable flows, and slices the air every emphasis he makes like a conductor of his emotions.

He usually talks with his hand whenever he's emotionally troubled, attempting to make a point to himself, justifying that his feelings are reasonable.

David Rossi has been your patient for years; you can write any and everything about him into a best-selling book.

"You said it yourself, Dave," You shrugged with your arms. "You've known him for years. He and I saw each other a couple of times during our physician-patient interaction. Any interaction we had after is just the two of us drowning in silence."

Aaron never knocked that day.

He hasn't redeemed his last visit for the past five months. While it isn't the longest time he's never stopped by, you're bitter about it.

You couldn't sleep for a week after Peter Lewis escaped prison. You were afraid that Aaron's name would flash across any type of screen or mark a headline on every article and newspaper. You had to take anxiety medication to stop your body from trembling whenever the thought of him crossed your mind.

It was hell.

The utter hopelessness and lack of courage teared you apart. The strangeness. The nonexistence. You don't reckon a conversation with Aaron that involves you and him. Only you or him or whatever depressing topic comes up. You're not even sure if you had actual conversations. Always wallowing in silence while sipping either scotch or coffee.

But you two had a deal. No catch. Not even feelings. Developing one for Aaron did not cross your mind when you granted him the power to bother you at any running time.

All of it is to say you wish you had known Aaron's last visit was, in fact, the last.

Rossi squints, "You're telling me the quietness you shared didn't matter? That his company didn't benefit you the same way it did for him?" He stands tall, pleased with his words.

It did.

Of course, it did.

And you loved every second of it.

Even if you realize it too late.

But you won't say that to Rossi. Or to anyone ever.

A sigh drops your shoulders. You give him a blank stare, letting his question hover for a moment. "What do you want me to say?" You continue packing up your things on your desk, breaking eye contact.

If you knew David Rossi like the back of your hand, David Rossi knew you like every family of the victims he managed to save.

Worried.

Heartbroken.

Hurt.

Aaron never told Rossi about any interactions with you after he was released from your care. It's information Rossi's only ever heard a confirmation from you. But he knew it from the moment Aaron came to work after his first session with you and couldn't seem to get the specific idea of you out of his head.

"We're doing everything we can to catch Peter Lewis. Aaron will be back, I promise."

Pause.

You fight your every single sense to remain composed. Hearing Aaron's name instantly made you crumble. The sound of it hitting your chest with such force you had to bite the tissue behind your closed lip. You badly wanted—needed to cry and throw a tantrum.

The inner ends of your brows lift up as you nod, "Good for you... and for him. I'll see you in two weeks, Dave." You dismiss, walking around your desk to push him out of your office.

"Wait, wait! Just listen!" You retract your hands off his back and let him face you. "He's okay. He and Jack are safe somewhere I, unfortunately, don't know." He tries to meet your gaze—successful. "But! But that's a good thing. Not knowing where he is while in protective custody is good. Safe. I just thought you'd want to know."

You nod, "Certainly a good information, Dave. But not really necessary." Your tongue subtly swipes the bottom of your lips. "Aa—Agent Hotchner was a patient. Anything outside of that is not my business." Liar.

Rossi tucks his mouth into a thin line, nodding. "See you in two weeks, kid."

Tuesday, March 27, 6:12 PM

It's a nice Spring.

Your hair dances like the breeze is music as you trudge back to your apartment against the rush hour sidewalk traffic.

A year and a half.

You moved to a different place since then.

Moved on— from something that never existed, but really, your old complex just ran out of business.

You couldn't possibly move on, even if you wanted to.

"Good evening, Mrs. Willows," You smile at the old lady as she steps on the base of the stairs.

Mrs. Willows was old, close to ninety. And she's the best landlady you've ever met.

She smiles back, "Oh, just in time!" She waddles towards you, scraping the soles of her flats against the creaky floorboards.

"Did you need anything, Mrs—"

The old lady doesn't let you finish when she yanks you back up the stairs. Confusion fills you, but if you are being honest, you're more amazed by her speed. You didn't know it was possible for her to have that much energy.

"There's this handsome boy knocking at your door earlier. So, I let him in."

You dig your feet on one of the steps, halting her. "Mrs. Willows, you let a stranger in my house?" Your brows knit.

She looks at you, "Well, I figured it's one of your patients." She shrugs.

"I wasn't expecting any home visit today." You announce, peeking at the top of the stairs. "And I would've been home if there was…"

You excuse yourself, cautiously walking towards your door. The floor plan is different from your old apartment. But everything still felt the same.

The anxiety of a random stranger going through your place left you rushing to the living room. You don't exactly let any random patient inside your home. It's usually the profilers that seem to have a liking to you that lucked the privilege to visit your home at any given time.

"I'm sorry, but you're gonna have to set an appointment at the clinic—" you abruptly stop, blinking.

Aaron Hotchner.

He's sat on the armchair, only lifting his gaze after he'd closed the book you were reading before you decided to step out to run some errands.

He is wearing a navy blue quarter zip sweater and a white shirt, peeking from under. It's paired with loose-fitting gray casual pants. Like his closet had an upset stomach and threw up all over him.

The bags under his eyes are almost invisible. It used to be a tint of greenish purple. A proof of his late nights and stressful days. He's caught up with sleep for a while now.

His hair, a little longer than you're accustomed to, somehow made him look young and boyish. Probably why Mrs. Willows referred to him as a boy.

It's quite an image. Not one you'd expect to see upon opening your front door, but you mentally admit liking it.

He looks refreshing and well-rested.

"I heard you started your own practice?" He didn't mean to form it as a question, tongue-tied by nervousness. He flashes an awkward, subtle smile, dipping his hands into his pockets.

Your lashes flutter like butterflies gliding through the soft wind of Spring, except you're struggling to go against the breeze, winded by the city pollution.

"H-have you eaten?" You ask, snapping out of your trance as you head to the kitchen. Great. A question for a question. You're as nervous as he is, and you don't feel the need to hide it, though you aren't inclined to admit it.

He chuckles, and it still makes you melt after a year of trying to remember how it sounds, "That's your first question? Not 'What are you doing here?' or 'How did you find me?'" He follows you to the kitchen, it's a lot smaller than the one at your old place but you had a dinner table now, which still feels like an upgrade.

You turn and face him, leaning against the counter, "I'll just charge the entire team on their next visit. But I have a feeling David's the culprit." You blurt, earning raised brows from Aaron. "Oh? They didn't tell you? Your team unofficially designated me as their psychiatrist. I guess they also kept an important information from you." You twist on your feet to focus on the produce you carefully picked in hopes someone would join you for dinner.

But you didn't expect Aaron to be that person.

"Are you mad at me?"

"No!" You almost stumble as you spin back to face him. "I'm in no position to be mad. If a patient doesn't need my services, then I have no say." You lick the lower of your lip, biting it as soon as your tongue glides past. Heat pooling in the back of your eyes.

Aaron steps closer, "I didn't mean to—"

"I told you I'm not mad."

"You're really going to lie to an FBI profiler?"

"Former," You correct him, sniffing as you fight the tears from rolling down your cheeks. Your head's tilted up, almost facing the ceiling. Anger and frustration hammer into your chest.

He rolls his eyes, trying to catch yours. "Former, right." He parrots with a little more sarcasm. "I'm sorry I didn't tell you anything... I needed to make sure Jack's safe." He softly speaks, making sure you understand every syllable.

It's your turn to roll your eyes, blinking and letting a tear fall in the process. "You don't have to apologize for protecting your son. I'm not evil, Hotchner. I'll do the same thing for my family. I'm completely indifferent about your disappearance, and i-it's allergy season. I'm fine." You wipe the tear stain off your face.

"I missed hearing you say my name like it's a foul word." Aaron smiles so brightly you thought you were dead and some divine was just using his image to guide you across.

"Seriously? That's what you took from it?" You shake your head, turning your back to him once more. "I feel bad for Jack now that you're a full-time father."

Aaron laughs, and by definition. "Oh, he's had enough of me." His eyebrows jump on his forehead, drifting his eyes aside as if he's replaying every instance Jack's complained to him.

You laugh, too. A full hearty laugh that seems to source from the casualty between the two of you despite the irritation you felt.

It's still the same. The ease. The effortless flow and connection despite anxious nerves. It felt like talking to an old friend you've known longer than you are alive.

You nibble on your lips, "So? You're off protective custody, or do I have to call you Brad?" You quiz airily, back still facing him to hide any form of amusement that's forming on your facial features.

"Brad?" He scoffs, crossing his arms and knitting his brows. He sounds about offended as if you'd disrespected his entire bloodline.

"Yeah, you look like a Brad to me." You remember a story from the women in the BAU. One that they happily shared one evening at Rossi's before they all begged to be added to your list of patients once you start your private practice.

Aaron lets out another scoff. "No, I'm just Aaron. Aaron to everyone. Aaron to you." He grumbles something under his breath that you don't hear, but a clear indication of his disapproval regarding the name.

You stifle a giggle, "Well, just Aaron. Consider yourself lucky that I got a free slot. I would've been with a patient by now." You state.

"Am I really just a patient to you?" Aaron inquires from behind you. He attentively observes for any subtle movement or expression in your voice. There's a longing look in his eyes that you aren't aware of. A frown drops his lips as he adds, "I at least thought we were friends."

"Mm," You hum a chuckle, "More like my stalker. But sure, we'll go with yours... friends—"

He spins you by the waist, and you're not sure if your initial thought of dreaming is ending anytime soon as your body tenses under his hold.

A small yelp squeaks out of you, hands flying behind you on the counter as if to hold yourself up from your wobbly feet. And you're certain both of you can hear the loud pulse on your carotid.

"Hotchner, what the hell?!" You chastise, pulling back, but to no avail. Caged and pinned by his strength, and you're too baffled to react accordingly.

"I'd like to redeem my tenth visit." Aaron smiles from ear to ear. You never thought it possible for a stern-faced man to ever grin this wide. To ever be this bright and bubbly.

Aaron keeps the two of you that way for a few minutes. His face is a few inches from yours. You can hear him calculating in his head.

Only the busy street outside and one of your neighbor's loud TV fills the silence.

"Your pupils are dilated." Aaron grins mischievously. He further scans your face, the same way he did when he used to be your patient, reading you like it's his job to know every micro-movement and expression you make.

Your eyes widen, "Stop—" Your voice barely comes out, breath hitching halfway through your throat. "—profiling me." The space between you and his body feels suffocatingly good. It's making you dizzy.

"Usually, you're composed, but you can barely look me in the eyes." His hands remain on your hips, and every twitch of it makes you stiff like a statue. "Am I making you nervous?" He quips wittily.

Like a switch, your heart rate steadies, and his image becomes clear.

It's Aaron Hotchner.

Just Aaron, he said.

Warmth surges through your veins. You stare at the grin on his face.

Your head tilts, and you blink excruciatingly slow. "Are you trying to ask me out, Hotchner?" You mirror the trail of his eyes like a map.

Aaron beams like he'd won the lottery. Sending you impulsive thoughts such as kissing the smile off his face.

It's tempting and nauseating.

And if he doesn't stop, you just might.

"Ten."

Your eyebrows merge in confusion, "What?"

"Ten dates," He breathes as he looks you in the eye. "Let me take you out on ten dates. Then you can decide if I'm just one of your many stubborn patients or if I can be more. Let me make it up to you in ten dates. Please." He implores, hopeful, or rather knowing that you'd say yes.

And he'd be right.

All you want at that moment is to say yes.

But teasing him won't hurt, at least not you.

"And what's in it for me?" You try your best not to smile as you taunt him.

Aaron rolls his eyes, but his grin tugs the corner of his lips up. "You get unlimited access to me?"

"Wow, that's... very compelling." And you burst out laughing, folding on your stomach as you lean against his chest. You inhale, "Sorry, I expected better negotiation. Uh, any catch?" You say between chuckles.

He shakes his head, "Just one condition," He's chuckling now, too. Not immune from your contagious giggles. "I spend most of my days with you. Even if it's just sitting in silence. I want it to be with you." He lets go of one of your hips and tucks a strand behind your ear.

The giggles die down a bit, gazing at him with reverie. You nod after a few seconds, squeezing his arms. You lift yourself, tiptoeing, closing the gap.

You leave a quick, soft peck on his lips, smiling as you get back on your feet.

Aaron smiles, and you're as ecstatic as he is.

Another nod fills your chest with utter joy as you breathe in euphoria.

"Ten's a good number."

#aaron hotchner #criminal minds #ssa aaron hotchner #fem!reader #aaron hotchner one shot #aaron hotchner fic #aaron hotchner criminal minds #aaron hotch fic #aaron hotch x reader #aaron hotch x you #aaron hotch hotchner #aaron hotchner angst #aaron hotchner fluff #hotch #cm #criminalminds #bau team

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salontiwon · 5 days ago

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- 𝙿𝚕𝚊𝚌𝚎 𝚘𝚏 𝚢𝚘𝚞𝚛 𝚍𝚛𝚎𝚊𝚖𝚜 ִ ֶ 𓂃

[nonidol!hubby jw x fem!wifey]

࣪𓏲ּ ⊹ ˑ ִ ֶ 𓂃

Summary: [you and jw are married, and lately you've been feeling insecure/left out cuz he's been spending so much time with him co-workers, staying late at the company and work "parties", he hasn't even slept with you in bed for a long while, it made you feel less specially bcs you're unemployed and just his housewife, your intense insecurities made you think that you're just there for his pleasure, in a heated argument he says some words that were heavy on your heart, he felt guilty and decided to take a break with you away from this world]

Warnings: unprotected sex, breeding, fingering, creampie, cock stroking, pet names? (Baby idk), insecure/paranoid reader,smoking, overstimulation, idk what else tell me if I forgot or didn't know abt something

Note: I can say this is my first (I've been writing tho) but it's my first time posting in this acc and I'm kinda embarrassed/anxious idk why, hope nobody judges and if there's any mistakes I'm willing to receive corrections and education from anyone who comes across my work, thank you.

MINORS DO NOT INTERACT FOR YOUR OWN GOOD OR IMMA GENUINELY CRY.

Waiting on the couch, finally deciding to confront your husband about his insanely busy time lately, despite knowing it even before marriage that his job as an important part of that company will automatically take most of his time.

biting on your nails as your insecurities race in your head, like you're hearing another version of yourself making fun of you, look how the "sweet" husband is making you wait, he's out at work parties and god knows where, but all you can do is sit here and clean his dirt.

as the door clicks open, you sit up without a second thought, leaning on the wall at the end of the entry hall "jungwon we have to talk" you say firmly before walking back to the living room

with a loose tie and a few buttons of his shirt undone he follows you, "now? But sweetie I'm so tire-" , "jungwon I said we need to talk" you repeat, making his frustration grow slightly, "and what's so important that you're willing to take the time I should be resting in to 'talk' huh?" He says, and your sensitive heart already started beating faster, scared of not handling this discussion well.

"where are you staying till this hour this last period? Yes you'd say at work but even work won't give you the right to leave me like that!" Your voice trembles, and yes to keep strong, you thought raising your voice slightly would make you feel strong but it only fueled the fire of his frustration and exhaustion, "really?! Are you questioning my loyalty now?! You knew what you were getting into the day I knelt to propose to you!" He yells back.

"I'm not questioning your loyalty I'm just saying, whatever it is, you shouldn't have been THIS absent, it's like I'm single!" You argue.

"'it's like I'm single' my ass, darling please stop being so paranoid I'm too tired to deal with your insecurities right now" he walks to the bedroom, taking his clothes off and slipping under the blanket.

"really jungwon!! You're infuriating! Get up and let's discuss this!" You walk to bed madly throwing the blanket off his body, he sits up but with a deadly gaze this time.

"oh really now you wanna be like this huh?! Okay guess what, I didn't tell you to be here 24/7 , I wouldn't mind if you went to work anywhere and stayed all you wanted doing your job! But you can't force me to drop everything and come running to your arms because of your little insecurities probably about some stretch marks and a massive inferiority complex! You chose to be a housewife then be it! I don't have to fucking pay!" He stands up, his pillow in his hand and a blanket he grabs from the closet in the time you were frozen there, goosebumps all over your skin and tears threatening to fall. It was like a slap on the face making you feel ashamed, embarrassed, hurt and even more frustrated.

he walks down to the living room, falling easily asleep on the couch, signaling that the exhaustion he was going through wasn't as satisfying as you thought it was for him. You slip under the blanket crying yourself to sleep, feeling slightly guilty for ruining his rest, yet you feel hurt yourself.

The night then passes quietly and so are the next few days, awkwardness growing between you two, both feeling guilty but obviously his guilt was greater, he'd occasionally buy your favourite snacks and put them in the drawers without talking to you, or asking about you, above all the stress he was under, your expression that night couldn't leave his mind, how could he say such a cruel thing to such a sweet little soul, he understood your frustration because from where you saw it, it was just the surface, he only thinks about how he left his exhaustion get the best of him, he had the perfect way to gain your smile back but he still has to work on it a little more.

Your eyes slowly fluttering open, you feel a gentle hum, like a car's engine, and after a few blinks and checks, you finally hear

"finally awake?" You feel a big hand on your thigh waking you up completely.

"what's that..my head's spinning" you place your palms on your temples.

"you'll be fine, just lean back and take a deep breath" jungwon smiles pushing you against the back of the car cushion gently by your chest, and as minutes pass, you feel better as you get distracted by the view of the rainy weather and nature surrounding you both and running back as the car paces forward, you even forgot to ask the questions that were in your mind, with your head resting against the window, the sadness started creeping through your calm heart, you immediately start feeling frustrated again at being stuck with him in the car, "how did I get here and where are we going?!" You look at the car's clock, noticing it's 6:00 am, where the hell could he be taking you at this hour. "Do you trust me?" He asks, "jungwon answer me and stop-" he cuts you off "I said, do you trust me?!" He turns to face you just seconds before refocusing on the road, you can't help but nod, after all, an argument won't immediately kill the trust you had for him, "yes I do, so stop being ridiculous and answer my questions" you insist in a slightly annoyed tone making a reassuring smile spread across his face, even tho deep inside you, you knew it's whether a surprise or a way for him to reconnect with you, you wanted an answer.

"just relax, I'm kidnapping my wife is it illegal now?" He smiles making you scoff, you were still so frustrated, but at least seeing this side of him, now you know it really is something good for you, taking you to a restaurant or something, just before you get distracted again by the view and you find yourself out in Dreamland.

At the slight trembling of the car and the sounds of the wheels crashing the hard dirt rocks, you wake up again, your eyes immediately at the clock and they widen, it's now 11 am! You really slept for another five hours in such a position , you look through the window at the pine trees everywhere then look back at him.

"where are you taking me you've been driving for hours! My back is sore" just after hushing you, a wooden, modest house in the middle makes its way to your sight, making you let out a "eh?" , A wide smile you tried to suppress taking over your confused features and a slight flush of embarrassment, cuz after all, you're still hurt and frustrated.

His own face breaks into a grin, brushing your hair back to take a better look, "looks like my girl's excited" , your blush deepens and you push his hand away but gently, "stop it...tell me where we are instead"

without answering, he's stepping out of the car, rushing to the trunk under this heavy rain, he carries the bags he prepared last night, the ones you saw him preparing and thought he was leaving you before you fell into a strange slumber, while he's heading towards the front door, he stops outside the passenger's seat side, knocking at your window with one busy hand.

"afraid of rain?" He jokes, his voice muffled by the door and the sound of rain drops surrounding you, making you shake your head before opening the door and stepping out yourself.

"You look like a maniac" you take one of the lighter bags from his grip.

"oh madam mature, we used to kiss under skies like that". He smirks again, his words making your heart skip a beat at the memory.

With that you finally are stepping inside this house, welcomed by a warm, well tidied up place and the natural fragrance of pine trees surrounding the place outside, the sound of the heavy rain again gets muffled letting both your ears buzzing, you drop the bags in the entry and step in, looking at the modest place, old fashioned couches and handmade details, everywhere you look you'd see a frame, a vase, a rug, and it makes you feel so warm inside, it's nothing like those modern almost empty houses that look nothing like your inner soul, a fireplace at the end of the living room making you mumble

"wow..." You turn back around to face him, he was ruffling his damp hair in the little mirror by the entry and fixing it, before smiling and walking up to you, "like it?" He asked, wrapping his arms around your waist, you immediately tense, you were still frustrated with him, still insecure and slightly embarrassed that this all might be just because he noticed the dilemma you were in. to play it off, you step away taking one of the discarded blankets on the couch ,that was part of the house aesthetic and you knew it, but you're too nervous to play the knowing girl, "god.. why's this here.." You whisper nervously like ‘to yourself‚ making him roll his eyes, a flush creeping to his ears at how you pulled away but he tried not to focus on it for now, but again he didn't give up , grabbing your busy hand, "let me show you the rest", you nod with a blank stare and follow him.

Walking up a few rugged stairs, it was a larger space, with two closed doors and an open one, he steps inside, "here's the kitchen" he turns to face you but you were already stunned, looking at the small fridge, the colored napkins on the counter, the small window and the colored, decorated plates, unlike the plain ones you had back at home, it was like the kitchen you always wanted, since you were a little girl even, the sight makes you squeeze his hand excitedly, and he excitedly responds by stepping out to show you more, he opens one of the closed doors, and there it was, the cozy, warm bedroom with printed walls, and a bed in the center with a soft thick mattress on it, covered with soft printed sheets and pillowcases and a thick blanket, a big window with the incredible view of the rainy weather outside, a beautiful, old fashioned wardrobe with beautiful carved details. You continue looking around in pure awe before he breaks the silence again.

"I'm going to bring the bags so we can make ourselves home"

You turned to ask but he was already walking down the stairs, you were again left with unanswered questions and a frustrating confusion.

Ignoring the awkwardness of the situation he left to do so as you continued checking the place, time passed and you two organised almost everything, showering and changing into comfortable clothes, the sky darkens and the house gets warm when he turns on the fireplace, your housewife and caring nature kicking in, heading to that kitchen of your dreams wanting to cook something, he stepped in behind you, "need help?" He asked, "of course I do, I don't know where anything is" you manage to make him chuckle, immediately start opening the drawers and closing, you two delve into the task and it turns to awkward jokes and forced giggles, you were still deeply hurt and paranoid about his love for you, and he was still thinking about how he could envelope you in his arms again.

Dinner, cleaning, joking, organising, it all passed now and it was kinda too platonic too. you're sitting alone by the fireplace with a cup of cinnamon tea in your hands, he was sitting on the couch across from you, his laptop on his lap completing the final point of his work as he said.

"drink your tea before it gets cold" , without being told twice, he folds his laptop closed and places it beside him, grabbing his mug, you kinda regret telling him that, your paranoia making you think that you're forcing him to enjoy his time with you, you zone out on the fire that's eating on the woods, minutes passing as you both sip and sip, before he immediately places his mug down.

"y/n, I'm sorry..." He breaks the silence making your heart jump with his directness, but you feel guilty for making him feel bad for doing his job, so you just go with "sorry? For what..or what exactly?" You place your own cup down.

He moves to sit beside you, "we know each other too well to act this clueless.." his voice drops to a low murmur, and there you were, realising he's right, you're both mature, adults, grown ups enough to address the elephant in the room. Or at least FINALLY cuz you told him to do so multiple times before his hurtful words, but now that he isn't busy and you're both ready, it'll be more logical.

"you're right...but jungwon, I genuinely hate feeling triggered by you doing your job, I wanna change it but...I just can't and.." hearing your voice admitting that, it almost makes his eyes tear up, as you look into his eyes and you both admire the vulnerability in each other's features, he cups your face and leans closer.

"why are you so precious?" He couldn't hold himself back anymore, his nose tracing your jaw, you squeeze your eyes shut and take a shuddering breath.

"jungwon i.." you were stopped by his burning lips against yours, you immediately melted into the kiss, despite your insecurities eating at you, don't give in, it's just for his pleasure, just for his satisfaction, but fuck, you were deprived of his touch for too long to complain.

He pulls away to look into your eyes, his cinnamon scented breath brushing against your delicate features. "Can I fuck the doubts out of your little pretty head?" He asked, and a slight, shy smile spreads across your face, he's my husband, he chose me to be his, he picked me to be his wife, you think looking at him then back at the diamond ring on your finger "do you want to?" you whisper almost shyly.

"do I want to? Do you wanna find out if I want to?" He whispers with a smiley, deep voice, one of his hands unbuckling his belt, his face nuzzling your neck to make you smile and you did despite your attempts to fight it back, your thighs squeezed together as if trying to hold back the wetness that's uncontrollably leaking out of you as well, cuz with the way his breath is brushing against your skin, and the way he was licking and kissing on your neck? You couldn't say no. All you could do is let out a whisper of "I want it..."

Now with your legs around his waist and arms around his neck, you don't even notice the way to where you're now bouncing on that bed as he threw you.

Unbuckling his belt completely and baring himself before you, he straddles you and rips your pjs top off, tracing the outline of your bra.

"so insecure for what" he whispers as if in disbelief, mostly to himself, before turning you around like you weigh nothing to unclasp your bra, throwing it across the cozy room, followed by your undies, making you shiver.

and he can finally see the ass he loves , the stretch marks he adores,his palm connecting with your ass in a hard slap, making you whimper, reminding you both of the first night after your wedding party. He gets up again, grabbing a towel from the bathroom and lifting your hips, placing it beneath you.

He turns you back to face him, smiling up at you reassuringly, his big hands on your skin, it reminds you of all the times you let yourself go with him and ended up being a satisfied little thing nestled in his arms ,you uncontrollably smile back at him.

He kneels beside your legs, lifting one to rest on his shoulder, his finger gently running along your slit, "so wet bby" he murmurs, making you hiss and squeeze your eyes shut "am I?" You whisper, before whimpers start falling outta your mouth like a broken record when you feel his finger slipping inside your desperate hole, you open your eyes to look at him, seeing him too focused, his cock rock hard against his stomach as he fingers you, a second finger was already in, curling and stroking your g-spot with ease, as if he had a perfectly defined map of your body.

His lips kissing and nipping at your inner thigh, before he sniffs deeply, "you smell like love bby.." he murmurs, one hand gripping your thigh, and the other inside your pussy as you moan and squirm on that bed enjoying yourself, all your worries and frustration is aside for the moment when you're feeling this good.

You look down at him, before your other foot moves to his cock, stroking it gently, he buries his face deeper in your soft thigh as he groans "uh...fuck..." His fingers start moving faster before he looks down at you again. The sight makes him smile even in this hot mess, you both giving pleasure to each other, like the real couple that you are.

"you like that bby? Here?" He strokes a specific spot, making your eyes water as he looks down at you, teasing yet genuinely loving you, his fingers started moving even faster overwhelming that spot, before he feels a pressure pushing his fingers out, just as he does, they were followed by a heavy flow of your waters, and this sight made him leak down your toes, "fuck...Fuck you just squirted baby.." his hot seed spilling down your foot and your essences covering his abs.

you pant, covering your face before he straddles you again, kissing your neck, "are you alright baby?" He tried to peek at your beautiful, flushed face, little did he know you were giggling shyly behind those little hands "yea..", his eyebrows furrow in light curiosity and he pulls your hands away with his "look look who just made a mess and is now giggling .." he said, trying so hard not to ravish you, he wanted to be buried deep in you RIGHT THEN AND THERE, but he has to ask, knowing how paranoid you can get afterwards.

"..can you handle intercourse right now?" He asked, gripping a fistful of your hair and dragging your head back to bite on your neck and sniff, making you know that even if you say no, he'll never stop jerking off on that bed all night long because of you, you look down at his hard cock, making you bite your lip, his hand cups your pussy , caressing your sensitive folds, coaxing you to say yes, "is this a yes? You feel that pretty pussy asking for hubby's cock baby?" He coos, You moan, letting him know that it's a damn official yes and he didn't waste any more time, immediately pushing his tip inside your cunt followed by every inch, he groans in sync with your loud moan at the sensation of finally feeling this again.

Minutes pass and you're now a flushed, moaning mess with tears running down your temples and hair tousled in the sheets, the sight only making him go feral, changing angles every two minutes, hitting deeper and scratching every itch of yours, "you're so tight...fuck and you smell like pure debauchery right now baby.." a hot, panting laugh escapes him, as he continues his thrusts, but even in this situation, your insecurities were still there, and you decided to try to make him look at you, even tho you knew he becomes an animal in heat when he's like that, but it was as if your insecurities were challenging you...you mumble weakly "babe look at me .." but all you get back is two hungry, mad eyes "shut up not now...not when your pussy is feeling this nice baby..okay?."

His gaze softens SLIGHTLY as he looks at you and remembers you're his little lovely woman who's always paranoid and insecure, before sliding his middle and ring finger inside your mouth, he loved being surrounded by your soft inner flesh squeezing him everywhere, he loves feeling possessed by your warmth and giving it back to you, your pussy immediately clench around his cock when you feel his possession of you, the fierce love and lust making you spread your legs wider looking for a fourth orgasm when you feel your pussy getting this slippery, and when he sees the sight in front of him, his eyes almost pop out of his head, your legs wide open, your face flushed and tears all over it, hair in the sheets and your breasts bouncing.

the thought that his thrusts can't get stronger already gets forgotten when he starts fucking you senseless, the bed creaking and skin slapping and here is when your screams couldn't be held back anymore, you grip the sheets in your hands and scream his name nonstop "won... please don't stop..." Your voice making him grip your waist tighter, fucking you fast and hard , the strokes making you feel like your walls are about to explode due to the thick pressure pushing them apart , he reaches out, rubbing your clit, his gaze on his bulge beneath the skin of your lower abdomen.

you start gasping for air when the familiar lightness of your hips starts taking over you making you grind against him, your eyes rolling back as you let out a choked moan, your walls yet again squeezing his dick inside you, and this was all he needed to let go, his hips jerking deep inside you as he groans, his head tilted back and eyes squeezed shut, his hot seed planted deep in your precious inside as he gives a few more thrusts riding out your orgasms. You thought he'd stop now, but the thrusts to calm his twitching dick down only seemed to arouse him again, he didn't stop, and there you were overstimulated and still taking his cock like the good wife that you are, more tears spilling down but your worn out expression only makes him go insane.

His hands grip your breasts making you gasp, it was satisfying, even when you thought you can't cum a fifth time, he continues fucking you madly, there was another hole in the back, but he always thought why would he use it when your puffy tight cunt is there?

Sweat forming on his whole body as he fucks you like a psychopath, you look at him with your completely wrecked expression and it melts your heart seeing obsessed he looks right now, you'll never stop him, even when his thumbs spread your folds to look at his length getting sucked inside then harshly pulling back out, he hisses at the sight, eyes fixated in there and as he starts rolling his hips sensually you knew he was in the verge of filling you up again, you start tightening your cervix muscles, making him roar "uhhh just like that...fuck that ..." He smacks your clit making you whimper just when he buries himself to the hilt, throbbing his hot seed yet again deep inside you, he's now with both elbows on each side of your head, giving the last thrusts to feel the best of his orgasm before he finally collapses on top of you, sticky with sweat and his softened member inside you.

after catching his breath, he rolls off of you, pulling out making you both wince at the light stroke of your two overstimulated privates, he looks down watching his cum leaking out of you and falling on the towel beneath you, before he lights a cigarette as you both stare at the ceiling, the smoke coming out of his mouth, giving you that familiar atmosphere after every sex session, and the silence after that sex with so many unspoken things left you two in confusion, he looks over at you before whispering in a hoarse voice "c'mere" pulling you with one arm around your bare waist easily, you automatically rest your head on his chest, you hand on his abs as he continues smoking his cigarette for minutes.

After it's all burnt, he sits up resting your head on the pillow, crashing his cigarette off in the ashtray on the nightstand, he surprises you by kissing your lower tummy "you were such a good girl for me" he whispered making your tired self smile, brushing your legs against one another despite the discomfort in between them, you stay there drowning in your thoughts again when he heads to the bathroom, wetting a towel with warm water before walking back to you, parting your legs with caring hands and cleaning up the mess, without forgetting to take the towel that's soaked in your fluids from beneath you, heading back to the bathroom yet again, you hear him washing things and moving around, when he steps back into the room, he heads towards the wardrobe slipping in one of his boxers and grabbing one light, silk nightie for you, he helps you into it and kisses your neck softly "are you tired baby?" He asked as you nodded, he gets under the blanket seeking warmth when your bodies come down from the high and processes the chill weather, pulling you with him, letting you rest your head on his chest again as he caressed your scalp and shoulders.

meanwhile, you were fighting sleep there, the only thing stopping you was your doubts, and you finally look up at him,after all this vulnerability and connection, you can't keep being so bitchy about it, "jungwon" catching his attention "hm?" He looks down at you, before you blurt out:

"do you look at me sometimes and wish I was more.... sophisticated? More...into serious, important society? Like.. employed and all?" You look away feeling ashamed of your way of thinking and the fact that his hurtful words from that heated argument actually did have an impact on you.

he shakes his head.

"babe, I know I said some hurtful things and used your insecurities against you, I feel like a bastard for doing so I swear..." He looks into your eyes, leaning dangerously close that your noses are touching before he whispers again "you're as serious and as important as any other human being on this earth ..and even more for me" he kisses your lips gently, leaving a faint taste of cinnamon and cigarettes before whispering again with one hand buried in your hair locks and the other pulling the nightie's strap off your shoulder to caress it:

"you keep that house a home for me, you make me laugh and ease my burdens..you even blow your back cleaning and cooking...and if it wasn't you making me feel alive...god..I don't know how I could've survived every obstacle that has ever came my way baby"

You nuzzle his nose sensually, your vulnerability taking over you as your whispers shake

"I'm sorry for doubling your stress Hun.."

He captures your lips in a deep kiss, sucking your lips into his every time the kiss was about to break, but it eventually does as you both pant, he lets out a breathy chuckle.

"god, many women at work say they wish they were housewives and creating families, I'll never understand women" he laughs, making you smack his chest gently "shut up won you know nothing" you whine tiredly, he smiles tenderly looking at you.

"oh babe I know everything, I know what's going on inside that little head of yours, I know what you love, I know the exact same house you dream of spending a few weeks with me in" he winks as realization hits you like a truck, it was it, the place you always wrote about in your notes, the simple old fashioned house with simple decorations and a fireplace, the cozy bedroom and the painting of the girl by the river that was exactly facing the bed.

you gasp softly and look up at him "no you didn't..." You whisper in disbelief, feeling guilty for all the times you hated how he's always busy, before he cuts you off "yes I did, those nights out, those busy days were all for working on this..." He knocks on your head gently "little dream haven of yours, woman" you immediately hug him tightly,

"I love you I love you I love you" he hugs back "pull away you smell like sex.." he teases along while burying his face on your neck and hugging you tightly against him "ugh go away, go away you little beautiful woman.." he laughs and you do as well.

"sometimes I can't believe you're a grown man, doing things such as putting snacks somewhere and disappearing like santa.." you laugh at him.

"oh shut up, we both know we both have high ego, just imagine after that argument i give you a packet of candies and be like here's your favourite , woman, you'd put it up my ass" he looks at you, his smile softening "but I managed to make you sleep deeply with the last bottle of chocolate milk, you were drinking like a child being all grumpy about me packing 'my bags' , not knowing I was actually planning to kidnap you" he makes you both giggle, continuing the lazy banter in the sheets.

joking for minutes before sleep steals both your minds, the comfort in each other's arms even making you oversleep the next day, cuz your mind and his, had finally found the answer to everything, and you finally feel worthy again.

@twiishaa @slut4hee @stvrrylove @nodoubtily @nanahachi3 @enhard @onlygarden @kikidoul

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kiwriteswords · 2 months ago

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Something To Be Thankful For

Masterlist || Ao3

AN: With Thanksgiving in the US next week, I could not help myself! Started writing this one last week and debated on posting, but here we are. Enjoy! Grateful for this community! (Also needed to post this before I move onto writing some Christmas content, lol!)

Pairing: Aaron Hotchner x Female Reader

Word Count: 3.8k

Tags/Warnings: Thanksgiving, fluff, domestic moments, holiday traditions, family dynamics, slow burn, new relationship, found family, mentions of grief, mentions of wine/alcohol, and food TW.

Sypnosis: When you accept an unexpected Thanksgiving invitation from Aaron Hotchner and his son Jack, a simple holiday dinner becomes something more. Through shared laughter, heartfelt moments, and the warmth of a home-cooked meal, you discover the beauty of connection and the quiet joy of being exactly where you belong.

You were shuffling papers into your go-bag when you heard a knock on the edge of your desk. Glancing up, you were greeted by Hotch’s warm smile, softer than the one he wore in the field but still undeniably him. It was a smile you’d only recently gotten used to—the kind of smile that reminded you things between the two of you were no longer strictly professional.

The bullpen was quieter than usual. Most of the team had already left for the extended Thanksgiving break. Morgan had been the first to bolt, teasing everyone about having a “real” meal with family, while Garcia had dragged Reid out the door, insisting he couldn’t spend the holiday with nothing but his books for company. Rossi had a feast he was looking forward to slaving over, and you could still hear Emily groan at having to see her mother. JJ, however, was looking forward to the domestic Thanksgiving she was hosting. Now, it was just you and Hotch left, lingering in the familiar silence of the BAU.

“You’re not headed out yet?” Aaron’s voice broke the silence, low and thoughtful, drawing your attention away from your bag. He stood near your desk, hands in his pockets, his tie slightly loosened from the day.

“Just tying up some loose ends,” you replied, zipping your bag shut and brushing a stray hair from your face. “You?”

He hesitated, his gaze shifting from your bag to you and then back again. His expression was softer than usual, but his shoulders still carried that ever-present weight. “Actually, I wanted to ask what your plans are for Thanksgiving.”

“Oh, nothing special.” You shrugged, keeping your tone light and breezy. “My family’s out of state, so I’ll probably just stay in. Maybe I’ll cook something small and watch some cheesy holiday movies. You know, the usual.”

Aaron frowned slightly, the crease between his brows deepening, and you immediately regretted how casually you’d phrased it. His concern was unmistakable, and it made your stomach flip.

“You’re spending it alone?” he asked, his voice a touch lower, softer.

“Well, yeah,” you said lightly, trying to shrug it off. “I didn’t think traveling back for just a few days made sense. Plus, it’s not like I’ve never done it before.”

He didn’t respond right away, and his silence made you look up at him. There was something unreadable in his expression, a quiet thoughtfulness that always made you feel like he saw more than you ever intended to show. His lips pressed together briefly, and then his shoulders relaxed just a fraction. When he finally spoke, there was a quiet determination in his tone.

“Then join me and Jack.”

You blinked. “What?”

“Join us,” he repeated, stepping closer, his voice gentler this time. “It’ll just be the two of us. Jessica is with Haley’s family, and Sean… well, who knows where he is. There’s plenty of room at the table.”

“Oh, Aaron, I don’t want to intrude—”

“You wouldn’t be,” he interrupted, his tone firm but not unkind. He stepped closer still, and now his eyes held yours with an intensity that left no room for doubt. “Jack would love to have you there. And so would I.”

Your throat tightened at his sincerity, and for a moment, you could only stare at him. This was Aaron Hotchner—stoic, composed, sometimes impossibly guarded. But now, he was standing in front of you, asking you to spend Thanksgiving with him and his son. It was more than an invitation—it felt like a gesture, an opening to something you hadn’t dared to hope for.

The two of you hadn’t discussed Thanksgiving before this. Your relationship was still new, so new that you’d intentionally avoided bringing up the holiday, not wanting to impose or create any kind of awkward expectation. But here he was, offering exactly what you hadn’t dared to ask for.

“You’re sure?” you asked, your voice quieter now, hesitant.

“I’m very sure,” he said, his voice soft but resolute. “You shouldn’t spend the holiday alone. And honestly…” He paused, his lips twitching into the faintest smile. “It wouldn’t feel right without you.”

Aaron could see the uncertainty flickering in your expression, but he also saw the moment it gave way to something warmer, something that made his chest tighten. He hadn’t planned to ask—not until he saw you standing there, zipping up your bag with a casual mention of spending the day alone. The thought of you sitting by yourself, piecing together a small meal, felt wrong in a way he couldn’t ignore.

You nodded, the weight of his sincerity breaking through your hesitation. “Okay. I’ll come.”

The relief that washed over his face was subtle but unmistakable, and his small smile made your chest feel impossibly light. “Good. I’ll pick you up tomorrow?”

“Yeah,” you said, unable to stop the smile spreading across your lips. “Sounds perfect.”

As the two of you walked to the elevator, silence filled the space, but it wasn’t uncomfortable. You felt his presence next to you, steady and sure, and your mind raced with the implications of spending Thanksgiving with him and Jack. It was new territory, uncharted and a little daunting, but the thought of sitting at his table—laughing, sharing stories, carving turkey—filled you with a warmth that hadn’t been there before.

Aaron glanced at you as you both stepped into the elevator, catching the faint trace of a smile on your lips. For him, the idea of having you there wasn’t just about avoiding loneliness; it was about inviting you into something that mattered to him. Jack needed to see that warmth, that joy again. And, quietly, so did he.

The morning of Thanksgiving arrived, and your kitchen looked like a crime scene—a deliciously fragrant, pumpkin-filled crime scene. Flour dusted the counter, a rolling pin was haphazardly balanced against a bowl, and the golden-brown crust of your homemade pumpkin pie was cooling on a rack, mocking you with its imperfect edges.

“This has to be perfect,” you muttered, frowning as you adjusted the spices in the filling for the third time. Despite your best efforts, doubt lingered like a stubborn stain. You didn’t want to bring just any dessert to Aaron and Jack’s Thanksgiving table; it had to be flawless.

But the pie wasn’t your only problem.

Your bedroom was a disaster zone. A few blouses were draped over the chair, rejected dresses lay in a heap on the bed, and a pair of black heels you’d pulled from the back of your closet sat mockingly on the floor. Every outfit you tried on felt wrong—too formal, too casual, or just not you.

After tossing yet another top onto the growing pile, you grabbed your phone and hit Aaron’s contact. The second you heard his warm, familiar voice on the other end, you started rambling.

“Hey, okay, so, uh, what’s the dress code for today? Like, should I wear a dress? Or maybe a nice top and jeans? Or should I do something fancier? I don’t want to overdo it, but I also don’t want to look like I didn’t try—oh God, what if I look like I’m trying too hard? Are we doing photos? Do I need to plan for that? Aaron—”

“Hey,” he interrupted, a soft laugh threading through his voice. “Take a breath.”

You paused, clutching the phone tightly as you exhaled. “Sorry. I’m just… overthinking.”

“I can tell,” he said, still chuckling. “But you don’t have to. Trust me.”

“How can I not overthink? It’s our first holiday together, and I don’t want to mess it up,” you admitted in a rush.

“You won’t,” he assured you, his tone gentle. “Honestly, you’re adorable when you get frazzled like this.”

Your cheeks heated at his words, and before you could protest, he added, “Jack’s still in his pajamas. And as for me… well, I’m not exactly pulling out a suit for dinner at home. Something comfortable is perfectly fine.”

“Wait—Jack’s still in his pajamas?” you asked, blinking in disbelief, looking at the clock on your nightstand.

“Yes,” Aaron said, clearly amused. “And he’ll probably stay in them until I convince him to change for dinner. So, whatever you’re comfortable in will be perfect. You don’t need to try for us.”

His words sank in, melting some of the tension in your chest. “Okay,” you said quietly, feeling a wave of relief wash over you. “Thank you. I think I needed to hear that.”

“Of course,” he said softly. “Now, how’s the pie coming along?”

You glanced toward the kitchen, where the scent of nutmeg and cinnamon lingered in the air. “It’s… well, it’s not going to win any awards for presentation, but I think it’ll taste good.”

“That’s all that matters,” Aaron said. “We’re looking forward to it—and to seeing you.”

Your stomach fluttered at the warmth in his voice. “Me too,” you murmured, suddenly feeling a lot calmer.

“Good. I’ll be there soon to pick you up. Take your time finishing up.”

“Okay. Thanks, Aaron.”

After you hung up, you felt the lingering anxiety dissolve. You ditched the fancy outfit idea and settled on your favorite pair of jeans and a cozy sweater. Then, you went back to the pie, focusing on getting the filling just right while you waited for him to arrive.

When the familiar black SUV pulled into your driveway, you took a deep breath, balancing the still-warm pumpkin pie in one hand and a bag filled with carefully packed containers in the other. You barely had time to lock the door behind you before Jack jumped out of the car and bounded up to meet you, a wide grin on his face.

“Hi!” he chirped, his excitement palpable. He glanced at the pie in your hands. “Is that dessert?”

“It sure is,” you said, crouching slightly to meet his gaze. “And there’s more where that came from. I hope you’re hungry.”

“Oh, I’m always hungry,” Jack said with a dramatic sigh, making you laugh.

Aaron approached a moment later, his brows lifting in surprise as he took in the scene. You were balancing a picture-perfect pumpkin pie in one hand and a bag in the other, your face flushed with a mix of excitement and nerves.

“Pumpkin pie and—what’s in the bag?” he asked, his tone light with curiosity.

You straightened, holding the bag up with a sheepish smile. “Homemade stuffing. And a couple of bottles of wine.”

Aaron blinked, his lips curving into an amused smile. He had expected you to bring the pumpkin pie you raved about, knowing how thoughtful you were, but this was above and beyond. “You didn’t have to go all out.”

“It’s Thanksgiving,” you replied, shrugging. “It felt weird to show up empty-handed.”

“And the wine?” he asked, his tone teasing as his gaze flicked to the bottles tucked in the side pocket of the bag.

“One red, one white,” you said, grinning. “You like red, I like white, and I’m not driving, so… why not?”

Aaron chuckled softly, shaking his head. You’d thought of everything. “Fair enough. Why not?”

Jack reached for the bag, eager to help, but Aaron gently intercepted it. “Let me carry that,” he said, taking the bag and pie from you. “You take it easy. We’ve got this.”

As he walked back to the car, his thoughts lingered on you. He’d always admired your attention to detail, but this? This was another level. It wasn’t just the food or the wine—it was the thoughtfulness behind it. You’d taken the time to think about what would make the day special, not just for him but for Jack, too. It tugged at something deep in him, quiet gratitude that he wasn’t facing this day alone anymore.

The drive back to Aaron and Jack’s apartment was quiet and peaceful, the kind of stillness that only came with holidays. The roads were nearly empty; the world seemingly paused for the day.

Jack filled the silence, animatedly telling you about how his dad had let him help with the turkey that morning.

“Well, I didn’t really touch the turkey,” Jack admitted, grinning. “But I got to pick the seasoning!”

From the driver’s seat, Aaron couldn’t help but smile. Jack was practically beaming, his excitement contagious. Aaron found himself glancing at you in the rearview mirror, the way your eyes lit up as you listened to Jack’s story.

“You’ve got a good sous chef there, Aaron,” you teased, glancing at him. He gave you one of those small, subtle smiles that you were quickly learning to adore.

The warmth of your voice settled something in him. He hadn’t realized how much he’d been dreading this day, how empty it had felt knowing Jessica was away and Sean was off doing who-knew-what. But now, with you in the car and Jack’s laughter filling the space, it felt… full. It felt right.

“Well,” Aaron said, his lips twitching into a faint smile, “he might be better at seasoning than I am.”

Jack let out a laugh, and you joined in, the sound weaving through the quiet hum of the car. Aaron’s chest tightened for a moment—not in discomfort, but in recognition. This was something he hadn’t allowed himself to hope for in a long time: the beginnings of a new kind of family, one that made the holidays feel like home again.

When you arrived at the apartment, Aaron carried your things while you shrugged off your coat. He set the bag down carefully and returned to you, his hands outstretched to take your coat. His gaze lingered a little longer, studying your face before trailing down to your outfit. A soft smile tugged at the corner of his mouth.

“You look beautiful,” he said, his voice low and warm. The sincerity behind it made your heart skip.

You glanced down at your outfit—a simple pair of jeans and a soft sweater—and flushed. “This? It’s nothing fancy.”

“I know,” he replied, his smile growing slightly. “That’s why I like it. You could be wearing sweats, and you’d still look great.”

Your chest fluttered at his words, and you smiled shyly. “Thanks, Aaron.”

He hung your coat with an easy familiarity, glancing back at you as if he wanted to say more but chose to keep it to himself. For a moment, the quiet in the room felt heavy with something unspoken, but then Jack broke the silence, bounding toward you with the same enthusiasm he’d shown when he first greeted you.

“Come on! We’re setting the table,” Jack said, grabbing your hand and tugging you toward the dining area.

“Lead the way,” you said with a laugh, letting him guide you.

Aaron stood by the doorway to the kitchen for a moment, watching the two of you go. Jack was chatting animatedly about napkin folding techniques he’d learned from his Aunt Jess, and you were smiling, nodding along with genuine interest. Aaron turned back to the kitchen, his chest tightening—not from stress, but from something softer, more hopeful.

The next half hour passed in a warm flurry of activity. While Aaron focused on the turkey, you and Jack worked together to set the table. Jack insisted on folding the napkins into what he called “turkey shapes,” even though they looked more like triangles, and you encouraged his efforts as if he were crafting masterpieces.

“You’re a natural,” you told him as he carefully adjusted a plate.

He grinned up at you, his pride clear. “Do you really think so?”

“Absolutely,” you said with a playful wink, and Jack’s grin widened even more.

From the kitchen, Aaron glanced over at the two of you. His hands stilled on the turkey baster as he watched Jack eagerly showing you his handiwork, your laughter mixing with Jack’s excited chatter. The sight made something settle in him, a warmth he hadn’t felt in a long time spreading through his chest.

He shifted his focus back to the turkey, his mind wandering to how easily you’d fit into their dynamic. It wasn’t forced, wasn’t awkward. Instead, it was natural, like you’d been part of their little family all along. He shook his head slightly, the faintest smile lingering on his lips as he resumed preparing dinner.

The apartment filled with the warm, savory aroma of roasting turkey, the clinking of plates as Jack adjusted the table settings, and the soft hum of conversation. Occasionally, you glanced toward the kitchen, where Aaron worked with quiet efficiency, a faint smile playing at the edges of his expression whenever he caught your eye.

Jack’s laughter echoed brightly, and Aaron chuckled softly in response, the sound grounding the space in warmth and comfort. It had been a long time since Thanksgiving had felt like more than just another day, but with you here, it felt different. It felt like something new, something he wanted to hold onto.

The table was set, the food was ready, and the apartment buzzed with a warmth that felt almost tangible. Jack had insisted on lighting the small candle centerpiece he’d picked out, proudly declaring it “fancy.” You couldn’t help but laugh as he adjusted the napkins for the third time, clearly taking his job very seriously.

Aaron carried the turkey to the table, the golden skin glistening perfectly, and Jack’s eyes widened in awe. “Whoa, Dad, it looks awesome!”

“Thanks, buddy,” Aaron said, his lips quirking into a small smile. His gaze flickered toward you for a moment, something softer lingering there before he gestured for everyone to take their seats.

As the three of you settled in, Jack’s excitement bubbled over. “Can we eat now? Please?”

Aaron shook his head, chuckling. “Not quite yet, Jack.” He leaned forward slightly, his gaze warm as he looked between you and his son. “Before we start, I think it’s only right that we share what we’re grateful for.”

Jack groaned, though his grin betrayed him. “Dad…”

“Come on,” Aaron said with a faint smirk. “It’s tradition.”

Jack sighed dramatically, but you could tell he didn’t mind as much as he pretended. Aaron turned to you, a slight tilt of his head. “Would you like to go first?”

You blinked, caught off guard, but quickly smiled. “Sure.” You looked at Jack, then at Aaron, and for a moment, your words caught in your throat. “I guess… I’m grateful for this,” you said softly. “For being here, for both of you. This is the kind of thing I’ve always dreamed of—a warm meal, good company, and moments that feel like home.”

Aaron’s expression softened, his gaze steady as he nodded. Jack beamed at you, clearly pleased by your answer.

“My turn!” Jack piped up. “I’m grateful for… um… pie!” He grinned mischievously before quickly adding, “And Dad. And you,” he said, looking at you shyly. “And for not having to eat Brussels sprouts this year.”

That earned a laugh from both you and Aaron, and Jack grinned, proud of himself. Aaron’s smile lingered as he turned his attention to Jack.

“Well, I’m grateful for you, Jack,” he said, his tone soft but steady. “And for this… for today. It’s been a while since Thanksgiving felt like Thanksgiving.”

His gaze shifted to you, and there was something unspoken in his eyes, a depth that made your breath catch. “I’m grateful for you,” he said simply. “For being here.”

The words were gentle but carried a weight that settled over the table like a warm blanket. Jack didn’t notice the brief pause that followed, busy trying to decide what part of the turkey to claim first, but you felt it—the quiet sincerity of what Aaron had said.

As the meal began, the conversation flowed easily, laughter punctuating the clinking of plates and utensils. The food was incredible, each dish perfectly cooked and seasoned. You found yourself marveling at Aaron’s skill in the kitchen.

“This is amazing,” you said between bites of turkey. “I can’t believe you pulled all of this together.”

“Dad’s a really good cook,” Jack said proudly. “He always lets me help.”

Aaron glanced at you, a faint blush creeping into his cheeks at the praise. “I’ve had a lot of practice,” he said quietly, his tone tinged with modesty.

The meal stretched on, each bite more delicious than the last, but it wasn’t just the food—it was the atmosphere. The apartment felt alive in a way it hadn’t in years. For Aaron, this was the first Thanksgiving he hadn’t spent alone with Jack since Haley passed. The ones before that—when he and Haley were divorced—had been different, fractured in a way he tried not to dwell on.

But tonight? Tonight was different. It wasn’t just the food or the laughter; it was the way you fit so effortlessly into this moment. It was the way Jack’s eyes lit up when you praised his napkin folding, the way your laugh softened the edges of his own grief, the way you leaned into this space like it was where you belonged.

Aaron leaned back slightly, watching you and Jack talk animatedly about the pie, his heart aching in a way that wasn’t painful but full. It had been years—years—since he’d felt this kind of warmth during a holiday. Not since Jack was a baby, not since he and Haley had been on the same page. This wasn’t just a good Thanksgiving. This was a piece of something he hadn’t even realized he’d been missing.

For you, this moment was everything you’d dreamed of when you thought about falling in love someday. Not the grand gestures or big declarations, but this—the little moments. The laughter shared over a meal, the warmth of a family gathering, the simple joy of being wanted somewhere.

As the evening wore on, Jack began to nod off at the table, and Aaron scooped him up, promising him a slice of pie tomorrow. You helped clear the dishes, and the quiet rhythm of the task ground you both in the moment. Aaron glanced at you as you set the last plate in the sink, his expression soft.

“Thank you,” he said quietly.

“For what?” you asked, turning to meet his gaze.

“For being here,” he said simply, the weight of his gratitude clear in his voice.

You smiled, warmth blooming in your chest as you replied, “Thank you for having me.” And for the first time in a long time, you both felt like Thanksgiving was exactly what it was meant to be.

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qwimblenorrisstan · 7 months ago

Text

Dreamers | Rhysand & Daughter!Reader

Summary: After Madja is away in business for two months, he has to find a healer to replace her in her absence, which happens to be you, his bastard daughter, and unbeknownst to him, Azriel’s mate.

Word Count: ~ 2.3k

Warnings: Angst, bad family relationship, mentions of prostitution, implied sex, but it ends happy don’t worry (PLATONIC BETWEEN RHYS AND READER)

A/N: This request was like perfectly matching up with my daydreams so thanks !! hope you enjoy<3

Requests are open!

Throughout all your years of education and schooling, there was one truth you knew without having to be told.

You were unwanted. A mistake.

You’d always known that and hadn’t cared much for the first few years of your life. Your mother had been a prostitute, and your father had accidentally knocked her up. Whether it had been a mistake, or your mother had purposefully not used a contraceptive just to have a tie to the High Lord was still in debate, but you didn’t care much anymore.

He had tried to raise you, probably not wanting you to grow up a whore like your mother, but been trapped Under the Mountain, leaving you alone, your only real ties to him were through Cassian, who didn’t seem to care that you were a bastard child or your circumstances.

He felt like more of a father, sometimes.

You’d gotten your apartment in Velaris, working as an herbalist, and something of a medic, using the mingled magic of your mother and father to heal people. Some would say the job didn’t match your sometimes uncaring and blunt, even bitter demeanor. But you didn’t care what they said, and you never had. It paid the bills, and let you live relatively comfortably in your little shop when not in the apartment.

You had heard the rumors of Feyre, the Cursebreaker who’d freed your father, and by extension all the other High Lords from Under the Mountain. You’d seen the female and your father together, walking the streets happy as could be together, openly proclaiming their love, not to mention their baby.

After he’d been liberated, you hadn’t tried to seek him out, and he hadn’t with you. It was for the best, probably. You wanted nothing to do with his perfect little happy family and Inner Circle, you didn’t belong there, and you had no desire to. You hadn’t needed a father to grow up, and you didn’t need one now.

However, Madja was away on business, leaving you as the only other healer in Velaris capable of giving checkups to their child. It was for that reason, you suspected, that he invited you to a “family” dinner as if he’d ever treated you like family.

“It’ll be alright.”

Your mate, Azriel, spoke to you as he got ready to escort you into the House of Wind, where they wanted to have dinner that night. You hadn’t bothered to dress up nice or fancy, only donning some loose pants and a shirt, clothes you would usually work in.

Azriel had been your mate for nearly three years, having secretly accepted the bond, and decided to keep the relationship private for now, to let things settle down for now, and now had stretched into one year after another, until you were both content to live in the shadows.

“You know how I feel about them.”

You replied, sighing before quickly composing yourself at the clear mix of emotions on his face. His urge to defend his family and to empathize with you warring with each other in his mind.

You stepped forward, settling into his arms as you felt the shadows wrap around you, the environment shifting as your eyes remained open, and then you were there, the door to the House of Wind standing right in front of you. It felt wrong, to come back here after completely cutting off contact, only to be used for your healing abilities and medical knowledge for a half-sibling you’d never met.

Glancing over at Azriel, he gave a little nod, and you opened the door, setting foot inside the home and immediately confronted with the scents of multiple people. You could recognize some, Mor, Rhys, Cassian, maybe Amren? Only Feyre, Rhys, and Cassian were seated at the table, waiting for you. You’d heard news that Mor was visiting her private estate, and Amren off god knows where.

Expression as ticked off and blunt as you were feeling, you walked in, taking a seat as a plate of food magically appeared in front of you.

Rhys’ gaze ran up and down you, noting your clothes, simple cheap ones to get the job done, the herbs caked under your long nails, the calluses on your hands from handling your mortar and pestle so often, the way you didn’t smile at him or any of his family, or the same impassive and slightly annoyed look on your face. Something briefly appeared in his gaze, before being gone just as easily. Good. You had enough to deal with without any family problems.

“Hello, Y/N, I’d like you to meet -“

He spoke, voice sounding as confident as usual, but with a hint of a crack, as if testing the waters as he gestured towards Feyre.

“Your mate and son. I’m well aware.”

Your voice wasn’t like his, not with the silver tongue he had, tone blunt and straightforward. You didn’t refer to them by name on purpose, to make it seem like you hadn’t even cared to follow the news about him and his life. Like you were better. Feyre cast a sympathetic glance at Rhys, one that made your temper flare.

He shouldn’t get to be comforted for his past mistakes coming to bite him in the ass.

Cassian remained silent, exchanging glances with Azriel across the table. This was bound to happen eventually, and the General didn’t try any of his usual tactics to lighten the mood.

Rhys swallowed, opening his mouth to speak, probably to try and soothe you or make you less openly hostile, but you interrupted him.

“What do you want?”

You asked, tone blunt and cold, detached almost if it weren’t for the anger you held against him. He tried to hide his wince but failed to do it completely. That made you feel a bit better, at least. A sense of satisfaction and accomplishment. His expression sobered into one of resigned seriousness.

“Our healer, Madja, will be away on business for two months. You’re the most qualified to take her place if you would.”

He said. Feyre seemed a bit uncomfortable with the thought of you being the personal healer for their family for two months, and you didn’t blame her, considering your demeanor and history, but it still pissed you off.

“How much will you pay?”

You asked blandly, making it clear that the job meant nothing to you to get closer to them at all. All that mattered was the pay. Your mind was already calculating the costs, advantages, and disadvantages of taking the deal. He stiffened slightly, another small victory.

He stated a price, it was high, ridiculously so, in fact, but you weren’t complaining. Money was money. Even if you got it from your half-family.

“Sure.”

You said simply, still not touching your dinner. The food was tantalizing, but the thought of sending a message even more so. You wouldn’t dine at this table, not like how you had done so many years ago. Though your throat was parched, you didn’t touch the glass of water.

“Is that all?”

You asked, your mint green eyes, the same shade as your mother’s, meeting his violet gaze. Pure indifference was all you were determined to give him. After he’d forgotten about you, too obsessed with his mate and new child, the replacements, to bother with you.

“I was hoping you’d stay for dinner.”

He said quietly, a hint of pleading in his gaze. You felt a pang in your chest at that but shoved it down as you got up from your seat, not tucking it in. They could look at the seat pushed out after you left, and think about you. It would hopefully plague his mind like he plagued yours.

“Keep hoping. See where it gets you.”

You said dryly, walking out of the kitchen, out of that goddamned sentient House that remembered you even now, how it knew your favorite food, just the way you knew your mother had cooked it so long ago, or the way you’d loved the water from that river out back, one you still visited now.

You heard the harsh scratching of a chair against the wooden floor and footsteps, and before you could winnow away, you found that you couldn’t move.

Not metaphorically or rhetorically, you literally could not move your own body, and that’s when you became all too aware of the presence in your mind when your barriers had slipped because of your irritation. Your father finally released you as he stood behind you, you whirled to look at him, seething.

“Stay out of my head.”

You hissed, shoving him away from you even as he gave you a begging gaze.

“Please, I’m sorry, let me try, just give me one chance to be your father, one?”

He begged, voice cracking with desperation you’d never seen before, and it would’ve weirded you out a little if you weren’t frozen in place, throat even dryer now as you tried to think of something to say.

Despite how you denied it and wanted to be cold and vengeful towards him, deep down, that wasn’t what you wanted. Maybe a relationship with him wouldn’t be so bad. It wasn’t like he’d had a choice to leave you behind, he’d been kidnapped Under the Mountain, and been so busy putting his Court back together and handling a war that he hadn’t even been able to think about you.

You swallowed, sighing and giving a resigned nod.

“Just..meet me for breakfast tomorrow, I guess. At my apartment. It’s down the block to the right of Rita’s, you’ll know it when you see it.”

As soon as you said it, he pulled you into a gentle hug, feeling you stiffening under his touch. You weren’t the most touchy person with strangers, or people you didn’t know very well at that.

Breakfast tomorrow. Great.

*********************************************************

Az had already been late when he’d arrived at your apartment for the moment, his tedious little schedule for the recent mission already thrown off because of the extra time he’d taken bending you over a counter. Just as he gave you a little kiss on the cheek, opening the door to head out, he ran face-first into Rhys, the only thing stopping the two from kissing being the subtle height advantage Azriel had over his High Lord.

“What -“

Rhys began, and Azriel was gone quicker than you’d ever seen his shadows transport him. You dragged your father in, closing the door behind you.

“He’s my mate and has been for three years, but anyways, breakfast.”

You blurted in a rushed tone as you tried to ignore the obvious thing that had just happened. Rhys ran a hand through his dark hair and sighed, seeming exasperated but not surprised.

“I thought so, Cassian said he’s been coming home smelling like you lately.”

He muttered under his breath as you slipped an oven mitt on, pulling a muffin sheet out of the oven and hissing as the oven brushed against your arm, leaving an angry little red spot. Your father’s eyebrows raised at that, and he walked over and turned your sink to a lukewarm temperature, grabbing you and easily moving you over to it to run the burn under it. Protective instincts were probably already kicking in for him, albeit a bit dusty and not used for anyone other than his new son.

He grabbed a roll of bandaging that was on your counter, from the other night when you’d also accidentally burned yourself while trying to open the oven with your bare feet, hands too busy. The oven-related incidents were getting a bit too often, now. Especially since Azriel threatened to throw the oven out if you didn’t stop getting hurt.

“Thanks.”

You managed to mumble as his slender fingers skillfully wrapped some of it around you, securing it easily. He gave a little nod, slipping an oven mitt on and dumping the muffins out, just shoving them all onto one plate he set on the small table with two chairs, one for you and Az.

He sat down, you sitting across from him, grabbing a muffin and unwrapping it, before just awkwardly eating in silence.

“So..”

You said, swallowing as you tried to think about how weird this conversation would be. He sighed, running his hands through his hair again. It seemed to be a nervous habit of his.

“I’m sorry, for not being there. There was just so much going on, with the war, Amarantha, not to mention Koschei…”

His voice trailed off at the mention of them.

“I..get it. You were busy with all that.”

“I still should’ve been there. You’re my daughter, and you grew up without a father because of me.”

You swallowed, trying to bite back the emotions that rose because of this conversation. He seemed to notice, violet eyes softening as his chair scooted a bit closer to yours, wanting to comfort you but unsure how to do so without further upsetting you. You suddenly felt bad for all your remarks and attitude earlier. He’d been trying, you hadn’t.

“We can start over if you want. Just father and daughter?”

You nodded, sniffling slightly. At that tiny sniffle, he couldn’t resist anymore, getting up and pulling you into his arms. This time, you didn’t stiffen, didn’t struggle, or try to pull away, you just cried into his chest in a way you usually only could do with Az. He held you close, hand soothingly rubbing your back.

“I think I’d like that.”

You managed to choke out as the tears dried up, and you looked up into his violet eyes, now noticing the golden flecks in them, like stars you could wish on.

Stars promising hope and a future of warmth and acceptance.

Tags:

@judeduartewannbe

#acotar fandom #acotar fanfiction #writers on tumblr #acotar x reader #azriel #azriel acotar #azriel x reader #acotar fluff #angst #light angst #angst with a happy ending #rhysand comfort #rhysand cliff #Rhysand angst #acotar #rhys’ daughter

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imaginespazzi · 26 days ago

Text

Part 13: If You Stay

Masterlist - Part 1 - Part 2 - Part 3 - Part 4 - Part 5 - Part 6 - Part 7 - Part 8 - Part 9 - Part 10 - Part 11 - Part 12 - Part 14

And I find it bittersweet (cause you gave me something to lose)

(In which, an all over the place writer, writes an all over the place chapter)

Pairing: Paige Bueckers X Azzi Fudd

Themes: Angst with some Hurt/Comfort and a little bit of Fluff

Words: 13.1K

TW: Swearing, Slightly Suggestive Content, Mentions of Divorce, Drinking

A/N: Hello my lovelies <3 So clearly that 48 to 72 hours deadline completely evaded me but here I am! I've always gotten asks about how many chapters GH will be and normally it's an estimate but I can almost for certain say that after this one, there will be two more chapters. This part is, like I said, a little all over the place as I start to tie in loose ends and bring everything together but it's pretty important as we start our journey to the end. This isn't particularly well-edited because as well know I hate editing but I eventually will go back and edit so any typos/errors you see are much-appreciated. As always, your live reacts give me life, so let me know what you liked, what you didn't and what you'd like to see next. Have a lovely weekend my loves <3

May 2033

Paige wakes up alone to an empty bed. Her eyes open to the feel of her fingers reaching out and finding nothing but the soft material of her crinkled bedsheets. She stares at the empty space, gaze fixated on the way the sunlight hits the exact spot Azzi had been curled up in and lets her mind wander back to yesterday -god everything had been fine just 24 hours ago- when the rays of sunshine coming through the window had cast lines of gold across the brunette’s face. It wasn’t often that Paige woke up before Azzi, but for some reason she had yesterday. Maybe it was the universe’s way of giving her one last chance to memorize an image that she’s not sure when she’ll be able to see again. Paige traces her hands along the linen, blinking back tears, and she swears she can still feel the heat of Stephie and Azzi’s bodies radiating off of it. It’s unfair, she knows, to expect them to have stayed when it’s the one thing she herself can’t commit to doing but still, that awareness does little to dull the ache reverberating through her chest.

Sighing to herself, Paige shifts onto her back, turning away from the empty space that almost feels taunting. She gives herself a minute, taking deep breaths to chase away the erraticness in her heartbeat and the moisture in her eyes before finally sitting up and leaning against the headboard. Her eyebrows knit together when she notices the bag in the corner -the pink duffel Azzi had packed for last night- and she almost gasps. It wasn’t like Azzi to forget her stuff, even when escaping. And then she hears it, the familiar giggles of a little girl echoing from her kitchen and Paige feels her heart break and fix itself at the same time.

They’d stayed.

Paige flings the covers off of herself, making it from the guest bedroom to the stairs in record time. She almost slips on the fifth step as she races down the stairs, every part of her alight with the need to just see Stephie and Azzi. Her feet skid to a halt before the kitchen doorway and her breath catches in her lungs, hand immediately clutching at her chest as she takes in the scene in front of her. It’s the three most important people in her life gathered around the kitchen counter. Azzi’s flipping pancakes, a soft grin on her face as she listens to Drew and Stephie -both of them already with a stack of pancakes on their respective plates- who are animatedly arguing about whether bananas or chocolate chips go better with pancakes.

“Come on Uncle Drew,” Stephie drawls, “choc-chips are the best-est-est-est and ‘nanas are boooooring.”

“Bananas are not boring,” Drew counters, his voice filled with dramatic offense, “you can mash them in the pancake or eat them on the side or on top of the stack. Bananas are versatile.”

Stephie scrunches her nose and Paige smiles as the little girl gives her brother a pointed look, “I don’t know what vers-a-tile means so that doesn’t even matter to me.”

Azzi snorts, “I don’t think that’s how that works Stephie-bean.”

“Does too,” Stephie pouts and then juts her fork out at Drew, “here Uncle Drew, try it and you’ll see choc-chips are so much better than that,” she looks disdainfully at the young man’s plate.

Drew dutifully accepts the bite of food, chewing it at an exaggeratedly slow pace as he pretends to contemplate how he feels about it.

“I mean it’s not bad,” he says finally, before a smirk breaks out on his lips, “but banana’s clear.”

“Nah, I don’t know about that,” Paige says, finally making her presence known as she walks over to Stephie’s side, “You’re both wrong. Blueberries are better with pancakes than both bananas and chocolate chips,” she reaches out to ruffle Stephie’s hair, smile faltering when the little girl dodges her hand, “Steph-”

“Mama,” gone is the happy child that had been casually bantering with Drew; Stephie’s face is ashen with the remnants of her emotions from last night as she shifts herself as far away from Paige as possible, “I wanna go home.”

Her words feel like a needle, pricking against the bubble of delusion Paige had created mere seconds ago; the wishful thought that maybe they could ignore what had happened last night, that they could just close the lid on the jar of darkness they’d opened and pretend the obsidian hadn’t slipped out, clouding the paradise they’d built before. And maybe that’s Paige’s problem. Avoidance. She’d pushed herself towards Stephie and Azzi, acting like there wasn’t a harness -bound together with the ropes of all the grievances, all the fears, that the past had left in her- and now she was stuck. So close to reaching them but unable to finally get there.

Azzi’s eyes flicker conflictedly between Paige’s ashen face and Stephie’s stormy one, her teeth gnawing at her bottom lip, “you’ve still got some more left on your plate Stephie-bean,”

“I don’t want the rest,” Stephie says adamantly, pushing the plate away from her, “I’m not hungry anymore.”

“Stephie we don’t waste food,” Azzi says it like it’s a reprimand but Paige knows it’s for her sake, to give her more time with Stephie, and a mix of guilt and gratefulness pools in her stomach as she fights the urge to pull the younger woman into her arms and kiss away the stress lines that have formed on her forehead in the last 24 hours.

“Then pack it and we can take it home,” Stephie slides off the counter, tiny arms crossing over her chest as she looks at her mother with pleading eyes, “please Mama, I don’t wanna be here anymore.”

“Stephie-” Paige tries to say, reaching out once again for the little girl.

“Excuse me Coach Bueckers,” Stephie sidesteps the older woman, her voice far colder than a little girl’s voice should be -far colder than anything she’s ever used with her Miss Buecks- and it feels like shards of ice prodding against Paige’s heart.

“Stephie please-”

The little girl refuses to meet her gaze but Paige notices the way her eyes glance towards her for the briefest moment, like she wants nothing more than to turn around and fling herself at the older woman. But the look is gone as quick as it came and Stephie’s face hardens -and Paige hates herself for being the reason why- as she looks at her mother.

“Please can we go home now Mama?”

Azzi sighs, “yeah bean, we can go home. Unless-” she hesitates, eyes locking with Paige’s, “unless- maybe Miss Buecks has a reason we should stay?”

And Paige knows this is Azzi giving her one last chance, one last opportunity to say the right things, to keep Stephie and Azzi with her. It’s why she hadn’t left this morning; she’d been waiting to see if Paige was ready. And all Paige has to do is open her mouth and make the promises that she couldn’t last night; shut the door on her escape plan -to New York and the Liberty- and she can open the one that leads to her perfect dream, that leads to a forever with Stephie and Azzi. But that’s the thing; what if forever doesn’t last? After all, the last time she’d trusted in it -trusted the same woman in front of her to be hers always- forever had turned out to be a myth. Paige isn’t ready. And so she averts Azzi’s gaze, keeps her mouth shut and looks away before she can see the hope disappear from the brunette’s face.

“Right,” Azzi swallows, “alright then uh -you’re right Stephie- we should- we should go home. You go wash your face and uh- Mama’s gonna go grab our stuff and then- then we can go.”

The last words make an indiscernible noise creak out of Paige’s lips as she watches Stephie make her way towards the bathroom. Azzi carefully flips the final pancake onto a plate -one with a stack of blueberry pancakes- before turning the stove off and beelining for the stairs towards the guest room. But Paige is quicker, curling her fingers around the younger woman’s wrist to keep her in place.

“Az,” she breathes out, unsure what to say- unsure what she even wants to say.

Azzi doesn’t look at her, “I ordered groceries.”

“What?”

“You didn’t have any food and I- I wanted to make pancakes,” Azzi explains, “but uh- I got more than just pancake stuff. There’s eggs and milk and that stupid cereal that you like and just- just basic groceries you know. And I know you don’t like veggies but I had to get some because they’re good for you Paige okay but don’t- don’t worry- I balanced it out with all those ridiculously unhealthy snacks you like.”

“Azzi,” Paige’s voice cracks, “you didn’t have to-”

“I did,” Azzi cuts her off, “you just- you can’t live off of fucking takeout okay,” a lone tear slides down her cheek, “and I got- I got enough groceries to last you two weeks but you- you’ll have to get more eventually if-” she stops herself but they both know where that sentence was going.

If you’re gonna live here- if you’re gonna live by yourself.

“I just-” Paige struggles to get the words out, “I need some more time.”

“I know,” Azzi finally looks at her and for a second Paige almost wishes she hadn’t because the hurt -the please just say you’ll stay- swimming in the younger woman’s eyes is almost too much to bear, “I know you need time and you- you can have it,” she brushes her thumb against Paige’s waterline, “but you can’t have both. You can’t have time and us.”

Why not, Paige wants to scream, wants to stomp her feet like a petulant toddler but she knows Azzi’s right, knows that they have to be apart until she figures it out. And so she nods at the brunette’s words as Azzi gently caresses her cheek -fingers lingering just a little longer than they should- before she rushes upstairs to grab her and Stephie’s overnight bag.

Paige watches her go before she disappears out of sight, and the blonde falls back against the counter. Closing her eyes as she takes in a couple of deep breaths, she swears the air has never felt more acidic. And she he can feel Drew looking at her, can almost see the contemplative -maybe even concerned- look in his eyes without opening her own.

“What?” she bites out, harsher than intended.

“Nothing,” Drew hesitates, “I just- I didn’t think Azzi would have stayed last night.”

Paige shrugs, eyes still closed, “I asked her to.”

“I figured but I- I guess I didn’t expect her to agree,” Drew says quietly.

There’s an undercurrent to her brother’s tone that has Paige finally opening her eyes, fixing him with a stern gaze, “what exactly are you trying to say Drew?”

“Nothing,” Drew repeats but the nervous shuffle of his feet say something entirely different.

“Drew.”

“She stayed Paige,” his voice breaks unexpectedly, “last night, this morning, she- she stayed.”

There’s a beat of silence as Paige stares at her brothers, absorbing his words when the unexpected flash of anger hits, “seriously?”

“What?” Drew’s taken aback by the fire in his sister's eyes.

“What do you mean what? One fucking stack of pancakes and suddenly all that shit you said to me last night- you don’t believe it anymore? All of that’s forgotten now?”

“That’s not-”

“Jesus fucking christ Drew,” Paige pinches the bridge of her nose and she’s fully aware her anger is misdirected -that it’s herself, she’s mad at- but she continues ranting at her brother anyways, “you made me overthink everything Drew. I was doing fine, we were doing fine and then- then you said all of that shit last night, reminded me of everything and now here we are the next morning and what? You’re not mad at Azzi anymore? She stays one fucking night and all is forgiven? You’ve changed your whole fucking mind-”

“You can’t blame me-” Drew begins to cut her off loudly but then there’s another voice -soft and small- interrupting both of them. They turn to see Stephie staring at them, her expression almost fearful at the sound of them arguing. And Paige hates herself a little bit for putting all these new expressions on the little girl’s face; she misses when she used to be the reason for her smile.

“That’s- that’s two bad words Miss-” Stephie stops herself, swallowing away the familiar name, “I mean- Coach Bueckers.”

“Sorry Stephie,” Paige whispers, pausing slightly before she takes a nervous step towards the girl, “so does that- does that mean I owe you two kisses?”

Stephie’s face wobbles, her bottom lip trembling as she nods slowly, “yeah you do.”

Paige breathes shakily as she kneels down in front of the little girl, eyes drinking in the sight of having her this close -like they know they might not get this moment again- as she slowly pulls her into her arms. Stephie is warm and soft and familiar and Paige wishes she would never have to let the little girl go. She squeezes her to her chest as she delicately places her lips against Stephies left cheek.

“I’m sorry sweetheart,” she whispers against the little girl’s soft skin, hoping the child knows it isn’t just for the swearing before she presses another fluttering kiss against Stephie’s right cheek, “I’m so sorry.”

And then, just as Stephie’s about to pull out of her grasp, Paige stops her, pressing her lips to the little girl’s forehead. When she pulls back, Stephie’s staring at her with a confused look on her face.

“You only owed me two,” she says matter-of-factly, “what was the last one for?”

Paige gives the little girl a sad smile as she brushes away a strand of curly hair that had gotten loose from her ponytail, “just because you’re my Stephie-bean.”

Stephie stares at her and Paige can see a myriad of emotions flicker behind her tiny eyes. She opens her mouth, like she’s about to say something and Paige’s heart thumps in anticipation, but then the sound of Azzi’s footsteps coming down echoes from the stairs and Stephie pushes away from her. And suddenly, Paige feels empty, like the most vital parts of her are missing.

“You ready to go Stephie-bean?” Azzi asks, mustering on a brave voice for her daughter but Paige can hear the way it’s cracking, can tell from her red-rimmed eyes that she’d taken a little longer than necessary upstairs to fix herself.

“Yeah Mama,” Stephie takes her mother’s outstretched hand, “let’s go home.”

The walk through the foyer and outside towards Azzi car feels like it takes hours. Drew doesn’t come all the way, stopping at the front door and giving Stephie a quick high-five that draws a brief smile from the little girl. He doesn’t say anything to Azzi but there’s an underlying softness in the way he tips his head towards her as they nod at each other. And then it’s just the three of them and Paige swears they’re all walking just a little bit slower than they normally do, like they’re trying to savor this moment just a little longer and prolong the inevitable.

She leans against the side of the car as Azzi buckles Stephie into her carseat. The little girl keeps on her brave face, avoiding eye contact with both Paige and her mother as she focuses firmly in front of her. When Azzi closes the backdoor, Stephie’s face disappearing behind the tinted windows, Paige wants to scream. Everything in her feels like it’s burning and freezing at the same time.

Azzi hesitates as she’s about to get into the driver’s seat, biting her lip as she turns back towards Paige.

“You should know that I - that Stephie and I- we-” she pauses, like she’s scared to say the rest of it, “we want you- we want you forever Paige,” both of them suck in a deep breath as the confession looms in the air above them, “and I know you need time and you should take it,” Azzi says softly, her hand reaching almost halfway to caress Paige’s cheek before falling forlornly back to her sides, “but we can’t- we won’t wait forever.”

***

August 2031

Paige is normally a big fan of All-Star weekend; she relishes the chaos of the weekend, getting the opportunity to connect with her fellow peers in a way that wasn’t possible during the rest of the season and just didn’t quite happen at this level outside of it. But she’s definitely not a fan of it this year, considering it’s being held in her team’s city, in Dallas. Six years later and still, something about this city doesn’t quite feel right, doesn’t feel quite like a place she can call home.

But still, at least it had given her the chance to not have to be in her apartment this weekend. Unlike her teammates who were more than comfortable staying in their respective homes, Paige had taken up the WNBA’s offer to stay where the rest of the non-Wings players were staying. It’s ironic that the sterile walls of an unfamiliar hotel somehow feel more comforting than a home that’s supposed to be hers. Except, the apartment -the one she’d moved into after the divorce after giving Oliva their house in an act of goodwill- feels cold and empty and Paige has done little to rectify it. She pretends it’s because she’s too busy, that she’ll get to hanging up the picture frames and decorating the walls eventually. But there’s a part of her that knows she’s likely just stalling the inevitable, that the apartment is as temporary as it gets until she finally lets herself make the decision to to leave Dallas.

The quiet ding of the elevator opening has Paige sighing as she shakes her mind of that daunting thought. It’s why she’d rushed out of her room in the first place, not wanting to be trapped with herself for longer than necessary. The silence has become her worst enemy, enhancing the loneliness that she’s felt ever since the divorce- maybe even longer.

Divorce.

God she hates that word, has hated it since her parents had sat her down and said they were getting one. She’d always told herself she wouldn’t become another divorce statistic like them but clearly history liked repeating itself. And the worst part of it, Paige thinks, is that she doesn’t regret the divorce -thinks it might be one of the only right decisions she’s made in the last six years- but maybe she regrets that marriage, regrets selling Olivia a dream, she’d subconsciously always known she wouldn’t be able to fulfill.

Thinking of Olivia makes Paige feel awful. She hadn’t done anything outrightly wrong to the other woman, never raised her voice or said anything untoward and she’d definitely never cheated. Well, not physically at least. But she’d gotten married to the reporter for all the wrong reasons, trying to fit a puzzle piece that had all the wrong edges into the jigsaw of her life even though she’d known the empty space in her heart could only be filled by one person. For her part, Olivia had been just as good at pretending as Paige was, acting like she couldn’t see the cracks in their relationship or the water that was seeping in through them.

And then something shifted -maybe the water had finally gone over their head- and just like she’d been the one to bring up the idea of getting married, Olivia was the one who had filed for divorce. And Paige thinks maybe the worst thing she ever did to Olivia, is the way she didn’t fight it once. She remembers the hesitation in her ex-wife’s eyes, remembers the slight pleading look on her face as if she wanted Paige to at least resist it a little bit. But she hadn’t; she’d simply nodded and signed. That was the end of the Olivia, Paige knew and from then on the sweet, bubbly, slightly over-enthusiastic reporter who’d stumbled over her question at Paige’s first media availability transformed into a cold ex-wife who could keep up a charade of cordiality for appearances, but never refrained from a cutting jab here and there.

The elevator dings open and Paige steps into the lobby, straightening her hoodie a little bit as she scans the area for familiar faces. Finding no one she’s particularly interested in talking to, she’d just about to head to the bar when her eyes land on a little girl nervously bouncing on her feet next to a vase of flowers that’s almost double her height. She can’t be older than three years old and Paige can tell from the way her bottom lip is trembling, that the young child is doing her absolute best to hold in tears. Something constricts in her heart -something almost more than just empathy for the little girl- as Paige makes her way over.

Gently, trying not to scare the girl, Paige kneels in front of her, “hey sweetheart.”

When the little girl turns to look at her, familiar dark brown doey eyes filled with unshed tears, her breath hitches in her throat and Paige suddenly realizes why she’d felt that tug in her heart. This is Azzi’s kid.

“H-hi,” the little girl manages to splutter, playing with her fingers as she regards Paige with a way expression, clearly trying to discern whether she’s safe or not.

“Hey,” Paige repeats, smiling reassuringly, “you okay?”

The little girl nods slowly but there must something about the warmth in Paige’s smile that she pauses, rebellious teardrops running down her face as she goes from nodding to shaking her head.

“I-I-I-I- lost,” she wails.

“Oh sweetheart it’s okay,” Paige tries to say, hands instinctively reaching out to run up and down the little girl’s shoulders.

“I was- I was ‘posed to be with Aunty J but she- she was talking and I saw pu-ple flow-es,” she points to the vase through her tears, “so I came to see but then- but then- I look back and Aunty J no there anymore and I want- I want my Mama,” she heaves, fully sobbing now, “I want my Mama.”

“It’s okay sweetheart, shhh,” Paige comforts the little girl as she stands back up, lacing her own fingers through her tinier ones, “how about we go and try to find your Mama?”

She’s about to turn around when feels a tug on her hand and when she looks down, the young child is shaking her head, adamantly planting her feet firmly on the floor.

“We can’t go,” she says firmly, “Mama says if I get lost, I stay where I am and Mama will find me. And-,” she hesitates as she looks Paige up and down, “Mama says I don’t go anywhere with a st-anger.”

It shouldn’t sting -because that’s what Paige is, a stranger- but it’s an unsettling reminder that this is a world like nothing she’d ever imagined when she was younger, a world where Azzi’s daughter doesn’t know her.

“So we can’t go. We have to stay here and Mama will find me,” the little girl says again and despite the tears still swimming in her eyes, there’s complete confidence -trust- in her voice that her mother -that Azzi- will find her.

“Okay,” Paige agrees softly, “but is it okay if I wait with you?”

Azzi’s daughter looks at her with a contemplative look for a couple of seconds before a bright grin explodes on her face and Paige thinks it feels a little bit like a ray of sunshine bombarding into her otherwise cloudy world.

“Okay,” the little girl grins happily before holding out a tiny hand, “I’m Stephanie Katarina Fudd.”

Paige laughs at the formality as she shakes Stephanie’s hand, “I’m Paige Madison Bueckers.”

“Nice to meet you Miss Buecks,” Stephanie chirps as smiles up at the woman.

“It’s Bueckers,” Paige tries to correct as Stephanie scrunches up her nose.

“That’s what I said,” she says with a confused look on her face, “Miss Buecks.”

Paige opens her mouth to try and correct her again but stops, deciding she’s not about to argue with the little girl and that she quite likes the incorrect way Stephanie says her name. Instead she lets herself fall to the ground, leaning against the pillar as she stretches out her legs in front of her. Stephanie raises an eyebrow at the actions but eventually sits down next to her and Paige smiles. They sit in silence for a bit as Paige reaches for her phone, considering texting Azzi for a brief second before she eventually decides to text Jana -who she thinks might just be Stephanie’s Aunty J- instead to let Azzi know Stephanie was with her.

“I know you,” Stephanie says suddenly and Paige looks away from the phone to see the little girl’s eyes wide with recognition.

“I thought you said I was a stranger,” Paige cocks a teasing eyebrow.

“You are,” Stephanie says matter-of-factly, “but I seen you at Mama’s game sometimes.”

“I’ve seen you too,” Paige admits.

“You’re good at bask-ball,” Stephanie states and the thing is, Paige has heard and read so many people say she’s great at basketball but there’s something about the way Stephanie says it -something about the genuine innocence of it- that makes her beam with pride.

“I guess I am,” she bumps Stephanie’s shoulder as she winks at her.

“I love bask-ball,” Stephaniee’s eyes gleam as she says it and Paige knows that expression -knows that slight look of madness that’s just the beginning of falling in love with a sport.

“Yeah?” she asks casually, “you play ball?”

Stephanie nods enthusiastically, “Mama got me a hoop for Ch-istmas -just like the one she had when she littler- and she p-omised that when I’m bigger, she’s gonna lemme go bask-ball camp.”

It’s hard not to grin along with Stephanie’s ranting, especially not when her determination to play basketball -one that reminds Paige a lot of herself- shines through her words.

“You any good,” Paige teases, biting back a laugh when the little girl’s face contorts in offense, like she can’t even believe someone would have the audacity to question her basketball skills.

“Of course I am. I’m Azzi Fudd’s daughter,” Stephanie says proudly, blissfully unaware of the way Paige's smile wobbles for a second at the statement, “but Mama says one day, I’mma be even gooder than her.”

“Can I get your autograph now then?”

Stephanie scrunches her nose, “what’s an au-to-gra-ph?”

“Wait,” Paige stands up, on a mission to find a pen, but Stephanie immediately grabs her hand.

The little girl’s eyes are wide with anxiety as she looks up at Paige, “no Miss Buecks don’t leave me.”

“Oh sweetheart I’m not,” Paige crouches back down in front of Stephanie, thumbs reaching out to rub the little girl’s cheeks in reassurance, “I’m gonna go right there to get something,” she points to the the reception desk, “I’ll be back in one minutes. I swear.”

“Pinky p-omise?” Stephanie raises her pinky and Paige diligently intertwines her own around it.

“Pinky promise,” she says, before practically skipping over to where she’d spotted a cup-holder full of pens. She can feel Stephanie’s anxious eyes piercing into the back of her head and if possible, the smile she’s had on her face since meeting the little girl, somehow deepens. It’s dangerous, she knows, becoming so enamored with Azzi’s daughter but her heart has always moved faster than her head, and Paige still hasn’t quite figured out how to stop that.

“You’re back,” Stephanie claps happily when Paige comes back to her and the blonde beams at the affection in her voice.

“Told you I would be,” Paige grins as she plops back down next to the little girl, holding out the pen she’d found.

“Why you get pen?” Stephanie asks, staring at it like it’s a foreign object.

“Because you need a pen to give me your autograph,” Paige explains, “an autograph is when someone famous signs their name on something for someone,” she holds out her arm that is currently covered by a grey hoodie, “will you sign my hoodie?”

“Silly Miss Buecks,” Stephanie chides, “You and Mama are famous. I’m not famous.”

“Not yet. But if you’re as good at basketball as you say you are, then one day, Stephanie Katarina Fudd, you are gonna be so famous. Just like me and your Mama,” Paige taps the little girl’s nose, releasing the giggle it elicits from her and she thinks it might be her new favorite sound, “and I wanna be the first person who gets your autograph.”

“Can I get yours too?” Stephanie asks, her tone a little shy and Paige thinks that forget an autograph, she’d give her the world if she’d asked for it.

“Of course you can bean,” the nickname slips out before she can catch it and Paige’s mind travels back to her wedding day, back to the phone-call with Azzi.

“Mama calls me bean too,” Stephanie says, as she begins to messily try and write her name on the sleeve of Paige’s hoodie, “she calls me Stephie-bean.”

As if on cue, Azzi’s voice fills the air, tinged with a slight bit of panic and Paige feels her heart catch in her throat. Six years they’ve been apart, something always thrums in her every time she feels Azzi’s presence near her. But it feels almost electric this time. The memories of the last time they’d seen each other, the night they’d spent together after this year’s National Championship game linger in the air and Paige shivers like she can still feels the softness of Azzi’s skin underneath her fingertips; can still hear the breathlessness of her moans in her hears.

“Stephie-bean,” Azzi calls out and Stephanie’s eyes dart towards her mother’s voice as she immediately stands up, little feet tripping over each other as she rushes to get to the younger woman.

“MAMA,” Stephanie yells, flinging herself into her mother’s arms and Paige watches as Azzi cradles the little girl to her chest, kissing all over her face. Something pangs in her chest, and she wishes she were a part of that embrace too. And if all the dreams they’d dreamt together when they were younger had come true, she would’ve been.

“Stephie what have I said about running off,” Azzi scolds as she coaxes the little girl's face out of her neck.

“I din-t run off,” Stephanie defends petulantly, “I go to look at pu-ple flow-es cause they looked so pretty but then when I turned around, Aunty J gone,’ her face wobbles at the memory, “I was so scay-ed Mama cause I lost and ‘lone but then,” her voice changes immediately as she turns around to point at Paige, who freezes when Azzi’s gaze lands on her, “Miss Buecks find me!”

“Miss Buecks,” Azzi repeats dazedly as Stephanie begins to pull her towards Paige, unaware of the anxious tension between the two adults.

“This is Miss Buecks,” Stephahnie introduces the two of them, “she find me and she tol’ me she help me find you but I say that Stephie can’t move cause Stephie have to stay right here cause Mama says if Stephie lost, Stephie don’t move,” the little girl says animatedly and both adults laugh at the random switch to third-person, “but Miss Buckes say she’ll stay with me and so I not ‘care anymore cause I have Miss Buecks,” she says casually, naive to the way it makes both Paige and Azzi swallows, “and look Mama,” she eagerly grabs Paige’s sleeve, “I give Miss Buecks my auto-gaph.”

“That’s, that’s lovely sweetheart,” Azzi says softly before she turns to Paige -and Paige wonders if it’ll ever stop, if the way her stomach swoons every time the brunette looks at her will ever go away-, “thank you for texting Jana and thank you- thank you for staying with her.”

Paige shrugs as casually as she can, “don’t gotta thank me,” she nudges Stephanie, “we had a great time together didn’t we Stephanie?”

The little girl nods enthusiastically, “the great-est-est-est time,” she exclaims to her mother, “Miss Buecks is so cool.”

“Thanks Stephie-” Paige hesitates, unsure if she has the right to use the nickname, “Stephanie. You’re really cool too.”

Stephanie practically glows at the compliment, “Mama, Miss Buecks thinks I’m cool and- and- and- she say that I’m gonna be famous one day. That’s why she wanted my auto-gaph. Cause I’mma be a big bask-ball star just like you two.”

Azzi ruffles the little girl’s hair before looking at Paige with an indiscernible expression, “just like us huh?”

“Maybe even better,” Paige says softly.

“I guess we’ll find out,” Azzi grins before leaning down to pick her daughter up -the sight of it invoking something warm and fuzzy in Paige’s stomach- “alright Stephie-bean, say bye to Miss Buecks. We gotta go get ready the orange carpet and I gotta go yell at your Aunty J for losing you again,” she winks at Paige who lets out a laugh.

And she hasn’t laughed like this -laughed as much as she has in these last few minutes with Stephanie- in so long that she’d almost forgotten what it sounded like.

“Bye Miss Buecks,” Stephanie waves over her mother’s shoulder.

“Bye Stephanie,” Paige waves before hesitating for a second, and then she calls out, “hey Azzi?”

Azzi turns around slightly, humming in response, “what’s up?”

“I like that you call her Stephie-bean,” Paige admits nervously, hoping Azzi will understand what she means and by the way the brunette’s eyes soften, it’s clear she does.

“It just felt right,” Azzi says softly; her mouth opens like she wants to say more -something more than what their current colleague-esque relationship allows for- but in the end, she settles on something far more mundane, “see you around Bueckers.”

“See ya,” Paige whispers back and if she stands completely still, watching Stephanie and Azzi walking all the way until they turn a corner and she can’t see them anymore, well that’s nobody’s business but her own.

That’s the first night Paige lets herself wonder about the possibilities of becoming a Golden State Valkyrie.

***

June 2033

Dream 64 Valkyries 87

Paige has never had particularly strong feelings towards the Atlanta Dream. They weren’t a particularly bad team, nor were they a particularly great team and Paige had simply never had an experience with them -whether it was a fan of the league or as a player in it- that was worth remembering for her to feel anything towards them. But tonight, tonight Paige fucking hates the Atlanta Dream.

Okay maybe she doesn’t hate the team.

She hates a certain player, a certain #11 wearing French player who’d had the audacity to hold her Stephie, to wrap her arms around her Azzi. Paige had spent the first couple of minutes of warm-ups with a deep scowl on her face as she’d watched Clémence interact with her girls. She’d hated the way Stephie grinned at the French woman, hated the way Azzi had laughed at something she’d said. But most of all Paige hated that she hadn’t been able to do any of that -hadn’t been on the receiving end of Stephie’s giggles or Azzi’s warm smile- for almost three weeks now. God she missed them so fucking much.

It was until Jana had tapped her on the back -a knowing look in her teammate’s eyes- that Paige had finally turned away from the scene. She’d channeled all her anger and frustration into the game, playing as the most aggressive version of herself. And it had paid off in the form of a 31 points, 7 assists, 4 rebounds and 3 stocks game, another statline cementing her position in the rather early race for MVP. But all of that feels futile now as Paige -signing autographs before she had to head off to media- notices Stephie go racing back into Clémence’s arms, the little girl’s face bright with happiness as the French woman catches her and twirls her around. From the corner of her eyes, she notices Azzi walking towards the two of them and Paige normally loves Azzi’s smile -think’s it’s nothing short of being the prettiest sight in the world- but she thinks she might hate it a little bit right now when it’s directed at Clémence.

“Aunty Chérie,” Stephie’s squeals echo clearly in Paige’s ears, despite the noise of the crowd surround her, “you played so good today.”

“Merci ma chérie,” Clémence's voice is saccharine sweet, “I’m very happy to see you. I have missed you lots. I was thinking,” Paige continues to sign another jersey but her ears are fully tuned into the conversation happening a couple meters away as Clémence’s attention turns towards Azzi, “we are leaving tomorrow morning so I have some time tonight. So I was thinking maybe I could take you and Stephie out to dinner tonight? Unless-” Paige feels both Clemence’s and Azzi’s eyes flicker to herself and she tries to keep her focus on the fans in front of her, “unless perhaps you are going with someone else?”

Paige waits with bated breath for Azzi’s answer, wishing her telepathic plea for the brunette say no, could somehow reach her but it’s Stephie who answers first.

“Mama please can we go,” the little girl begs immediately -her tone one that Paige knows to be the one she uses when she’s trying to get her mother to agree, “please, please, please. We haven’t gotten dinner with Aunty Chérie in so long.”

“Stephie-” there’s hesitation in Azzi’s voice but Paige knows that she’s likely to cave into her daughter’s wishes -after all Stephie isn’t asking for anything ridiculous- and she knows she has to get away, not wanting to hear anymore about Clémence’s stupid fucking dinner plans.

Giving the fans in front of her a tight-lipped smile, Paige slowly backs away from them, eyes searching for Joyce -her companion to face the press tonight- as she heads towards the media-room. She’s so focused on looking for her teammate or perhaps she’s too in her head but she doesn’t spot the assistant carrying water bottles coming. The two of them collide with a large crash that rings around Chase Center as the bottles go flying across the court. Paige’s cheeks turn a deep shade of pink as she feels the eyes of everyone on her -none more piercing than Azzi’s- but she doesn’t dare turn around. Instead she shoots the assistant an apologetic look, gathering as many water bottles as in front of her, before she’s bolting to the press room, wondering what the fuck she's done for the universe to keep testing her like this.

***

Paige is the last person left in the locker room. By the time she and Joyce had returned from the press conference, most of the team had fizzled out. And so she’d taken her time -ignoring the weird look Joyce gave her considering normally they were all eager to get home- showering and getting changed. She’d come out of the shower to a desolate locker room and as she’d sat on the bench, drying her damp hair, she’d let herself succumb to all the thoughts she’d been suppressing.

It’s somehow worse this time; it hurts more in a way that Paige hadn’t known was possible. They hadn’t been together nearly as long as they were back then and their relationship was barely defined. But at least last time, Paige had been able to run to another side of the country where she wasn’t constantly reminded of her ex. Azzi isn’t even technically an ex this time, but there’s no avoiding her. Not when they’re on the same team, not when she’s a coach at her daughter’s camp. And Paige doesn’t quite know what’s harder, trying to find oxygen in an air devoid of Azzi and Stephie’s presence, or trying to breathe when they’re near her.

Perhaps that’s why it’s so different. Paige has lost Azzi before and even if that doesn’t make the hurt any less, at least she has a blueprint for how to cope with it. But she doesn’t know how to deal with losing Stephie, doesn’t know how to not miss the little girl’s smile and her big doey eyes and the way she’d used to wrap her arms around Paige like she was trying to bind them together forever.

But more than anything, more than missing Azzi or Stephie, Paige misses the three of them together. She misses Azzi’s exasperated look when she and Stephie would indulge in some sort of ridiculous drama. She misses the little girl’s mischievous look before she’d launch herself into both of their arms. She misses her own soft smile as she’d watch the two of them engage in the most mundane things. She misses the peaceful silence as they’d eat together and the noisy chaos when they’d argue over what movie to watch afterwards. She misses everything.

And the worst part is that she knows she wouldn’t be missing any of it, if it wasn’t for the barriers she’s put up herself. This is a cage of Paige’s own making and the key to open the lock rests in her own hands. She just needs to be brave enough to use it. Azzi words run amok in her head, the reassurance that Paige could have time clouded by the reluctant warning that eventually that time would run out.

“Hey,” she snaps herself out of her thoughts to see Azzi cautiously entering the locker room, her playing jersey swapped from a casual green top and cargo pants.

Paige swallows, “hi.”

“I uh- I was um-” Azzi’s eyes nervously dart around the room as she strides over to her locker, picking up the pink lipgloss -one Paige has the taste of memorized- that’s sitting on the bench under it, “I forgot this so I uh- I came back to grab it.”

“Cool,” Paige replies monotonously but her head’s already racing with thoughts of will you let her kiss it off of you the way you let me? And she knows -she trusts- that Azzi won’t but even the possibility of it lights a small fire within her.

Azzi chews on her lips as she nods, before starting to walk towards the door but she stops last second, turning around with the starts of a smile on her lips, “you were amazing tonight P. I mean you have been since the season started but tonight especially, you were just- you were you. You were awesome.”

Paige absorbs the compliments, tries to use it to douse the simmering jealousy that’s flaming up within her at the knowledge that once Azzi leaves this locker room, she’s likely going with Clémence.

“Thanks,” the blonde manages to get out and it’s a little short and rather icy but Paige thinks it’s probably better than saying all the other things that are on the tip of her tongue.

Azzi’s face dims at the curt reply, smile faltering as she nods, “anytime, P.”

That should be it. Paige should let her go, should be content with this small interaction that’s the most she’s gotten from outside of practice in weeks. But then the bitter words are waterfalling from her lips faster than she can stop them and despite the regret she feels immediately after, there’s a part of her that’s relieved when it makes Azzi come to a halt right in front of the door.

“Your girl played well too,” she bites out, the acidic words burning her tongue.

Azzi doesn’t turn around but Paige notices the way her shoulders go rigid, “don’t do this Paige. You know she’s not my girl.”

Paige ignores her, “11 points, 2 rebounds, 1 assist. Not bad numbers. Decent. But not better than yours of course.”

“Paige,” there's a warning note in Azzi’s voice, like she knows exactly where Paige is going with this.

“I’m just saying, “ Paige shrugs with a casualness that’s in stark contrast to the tension lingering in the air, “she’s a decent player. But you’d never be in her shadow. Never be known as just her anything.”

Azzi turns around slowly and Paige feels her anger dissipate as quickly as it had erupted when she takes in the way the brunette’s eyes are brimming with tears.

“Seriously?” Azzi grits out, “you’re seriously gonna throw that in my face right now?”

“I’m not throwing anything in your face. I’m stating a fact-”

“Oh bullshit-”

“It’s not bullshit,” Paige yells before she sucks in a sharp breath, closing her eyes to calm herself down before she continues, “it’s not bullshit,” she repeats, “it is a fact and that fact is the reason why we’re here right now.”

“What do you mean?” Azzi crosses her arms across her body.

“Nine years ago you said no-”

“Oh my god,” Azzi says exasperatedly, “we can’t keep going over this again.”

“We have to Azzi,” Paige cuts her off, “we have to because you said no. And you broke my heart and you broke my trust. And that’s why we’re here right now. That’s why I made the deal with the Liberty and that’s why I can’t let of my escape plan and that’s why I can’t promise to stay and that’s why we have to keep going over it. Because I’m trying, “her voice cracks as the first tear slides down, “god Azzi- I’m trying so fucking hard baby but how do I know you won’t say no me -to us- again?”

Azzi stares at her with an undecipherable expression, her fists clenching and unclenching by her sides. It feels like an eternity passes in between them as they look at each other, breathing heavily almost in sync, until the brunette finally speaks.

“Well how do I know you won’t leave again?”

Paige blinks in confusion, “excuse me?”

“You keep accusing me of all of these things Paige but you’re the one that keeps leaving,” Azzi says and they both know she isn’t just talking about nine years ago, “I know- I know I made a mistake. But when I said no all I asked for was a little bit of time. That’s all I asked for Paige. Time. Just like you’re asking for right now. And I know- I know we said a whole lot of shit that night -I said a bunch of fucking things I shouldn’t have- but- god Paige you didn’t even give it a day. I came to find you less than 24 hours later and you were gone,” she chokes on the last word and Paige wants nothing more than to cradle the younger woman in her arms, take away her pain and shield her from ever feeling anything like it again.

“Az-”

“And if you’d just waited -just given me a little bit of time,” Azzi continues as if she hadn’t even heard the blonde attempt to speak, “then maybe you would have known that I wasn’t saying no forever. Just for a little bit, just for then. But you just- you left.”

“You said a lot more than just no,” Paige says frustratedly.

It’s Azzi’s turn to look guilty and Paige can almost see the memories of that night flashing in her mind, “I know that but I would’ve taken it all back if you’d just waited.”

“How could I have known that?” Paige whispers and she’s not sure if she’s defending herself from Azzi or from that voice in her head -the one she’d done her best to silence- that’s always wondered if she’d made a mistake immediately leaving for Dallas the morning after.

“You couldn’t have,” Azzi says softly, sounding almost defeated, “the same way that you don’t know that I won’t say no again. The same way that I don’t know if you’ll leave again,” she sighs as she sits down next to Paige, “but that’s life Paige. We don’t know what’s gonna happen in the future and we can’t- we can’t predict what someone else will do. All we can do is try and trust ourselves and trust each other.”

“You make it sound so easy,” Paige nudges her shoulder and Azzi lets out a short laugh.

“I know it’s not. Trust me, I know it’s hard. There’s about five hundred different voices in my head saying that I should stop waiting or whatever it is I’m doing right now. That I should let you go for good. That even if you end this whole Liberty bullshit, you’ll still leave me -leave us- eventually.”

“But?” Paige presses and she feels like she’s teetering on the edge of a cliff, like the next words out of Azzi’s mouth will determine whether she falls or flies.

“But,” Azzi breathes out as she turns to look at Paige with a slightly wistful smile, “there’s this one voice in my head, clearer than all the rest that says I should trust you -that I should believe in us- that maybe we just need to get through this one last hurdle to get back to each other,” the younger woman reaches out to squeeze Paige’s hand gently before she stands up, “I think you just need to find that voice too P.”

“I’m scared Az,” Paige says softly.

“I am too,” Azzi admits as she leans down to brush the blonde’s tears away with her thumb, “trusting is really fucking scary. I get it. but maybe- maybe it would be a little less scary if we did it together.”

Paige shudders when Azzi presses a kiss to her forehead, the brunette's lips lingering long after she’s embedded every unspoken thought into it. She pulls away almost reluctantly, patting Paige’s cheeks lightly before starting to walk back towards the door.

“Azzi,” the blonde calls out, mouth going a little drying when Azzi turns over her shoulder, “don’t go to dinner with Clémence.”

Go with me. Let me take you and Stephie out to dinner instead.

“Don’t hold on to the deal with the Liberty,” Azzi says quietly in lieu of an actual answer, “say you’ll stay.”

Paige falters, “Az I-”

“I already told you P,” there’s a sad smile on Azzi’s face before she turns away, “you can have time or you can have us but you can’t have both. Not right now.

“Azzi-”

“I hope you find that voice soon Paige and I hope it leads you back to me.”

***

August 2032

Paige is standing in a corner -a dirty Shirley in her hand- cackling at a joke that Cam had just made when she sees her entering and the laughter dies in her throat. Cam notices the change immediately, her eyes tracking Paige’s gaze until they land on the brunette who’s being pulled into a series of congratulatory hugs by players from other countries.

“So where did y’all go last night?” the LA Sparks center asks casually

“What?” Paige asks distractedly, her eyes narrowing when she notices a familiar French player inching towards the door for a hug of her own.

“You and Azzi,” Cam clarifies and Paige swallows at the mention of her name, “y’all disappeared while we were all still celebrating. Lowkey felt like we were back in Belarus all over again when y’all just kept going off somewhere with each other,” the taller woman shoots Paige a teasing grin, “so where’d you go?”

“Just uh- just needed some air,” Paige bites her lip at the lie.

Because the truth is that once they’d left the hotel bar, and they’d practically pounced on each other -from the elevator till they’d made it to Paige’s hotel room- they’d barely come up for air. The feeling of each other’s lips and bare skin was more intoxicating than any drink they’d consumed -maybe even more intoxicating than the Olympic Gold medal they’d finally won together earlier that day- and neither of them seemed to care about unimportant matters such as breathing.

Cam quirks an eyebrow as she sips at her drink, “if you say so Bueckers.”

“I do say so,” Paige retorts before dislodging herself from the wall she’d been leaning against, eyes still tracking every moment Azzi made, “we should- we should go say hi.”

“We should, should we?” Cam smirks but the sweet angel she is, she falls into step easily with Paige as they start walking across the room.

The banquet hall is buzzing with players dancing and drinking and mingling with each other. Now that the basketball portion of the Olympics was over, they’d all returned from being fierce competitors playing for their country, to being the friendly co-players they all were. Laughter and chatter fills the air as teammates and rivals alike, reconnect at the FIBA-sponsored party that had almost all of the women’s basketball players participating in Bris2032 in attendance.

“Azziiii,” Cam squeals as the two of them finally reach the Valkyries superstar who’d just finished hugging Gabby.

Azzi grins when she sees Cam but it slips a little when she notices Paige next to her. She’s quick to fix it, eyes going back to Cam as she pulls the taller woman into a hug. Something pinches against Paige’s heart and she forces herself to look away; her gaze landing instead on where Gabby has walked away from the three of them to slip an arm around Marine’s waist. Paige stares wistfully at the scene -at the way Marine relaxes into Gabby’s touch as she continues whatever conversation she’d been involved in. It’s all she wants and instinctively, her eyes wander back to Azzi.

“Hey,” Paige says slowly as Azzi lets go of Cam, disappointment coursing through her veins when all she gets is a nod of acknowledgement.

“So Azzi I was just asking Paige here, where y’all disappeared to last night?” Cam asks with a teasing tone.

Azzi blanches as the question, “oh um- I- uh I wanted to go check in on Stephie.”

“And you needed Paige to come with you for that?”

A distinctly pink hue begins at the base of Azzi’s neck, climbing up until it tints her cheeks, “I was a little tipsy and uh- just wanted the support I guess.”

Paige almost snorts at the response. Azzi had been way beyond tipsy and Paige wouldn’t have been any support, considering she’d been maybe two drinks away from blacking out. But she supposes, Cam probably doesn’t need to know that and she definitely doesn’t need to know what it had led to.

“Interesting,” the taller blonde looks between the two women as she takes another sip of her drink, “Paige just said y’all needed some air.”

“I mean that- that was definitely a part of it too. The bar was getting pretty hot-” this time Paige does snort at Azzi’s answer which gets her an amused look from Cam and a very unamused look from the brunette herself.

Cam puts her hands up in surrender, “listen if Paige says y’all needed air and if you say you needed to go see Stephie, I believe you,” she says but that cheeky grin on her face says the exact opposite.

“Speaking of Stephie. It’s uh- it’s almost her bedtime and I should uh- I should call my Mom so I can say goodnight,” Azzi manages a tightlipped smile towards the two other women before she disappears into the crowd, heading towards the balcony.

Paige hesitates for a second before she turns to face Cam and that shit-eating, knowing smirk on her friend’s face almost has her giving into her pride and swallowing the words she’s about to say. Almost.

“I’m uh- I’mma go to,” she stumbles out.

“Oh of course,” Cam grins sly, “bet Azzi needs some more support huh?”

Paige shakes her head, flashing Cam her middle finger -and rolling her eyes when it causes the taller woman to laugh- as she follows after Azzi. The chill Brisbane air swarms around her as she steps out into the balcony. Azzi’s standing right by the railing, her phone held right above her as she facetimes her daughter. Paige catches on quickly to the conversation, realizing that the little girl is telling her mother about how Tim had let her have ice-cream after dinner.

“Stephanie Katarina Fudd,” Paige hears Tim’s voice echo through the phone as Stephanie’s eyes go wide on the screen, “I thought it was gonna be our little secret?”

She holds in a laugh, leaning back against the door, as the little girl splutters trying to justify her tattle-taling, “it’s Mama, Pops. I can’t hide things from my Mama.”

Tim scoffs but there’s no genuine irritation to it, “that’s the last time I give you ice-cream.”

Stephanie shoots him an unimpressed look, “you say that all the time Pops and then you give me ice-cream anyways.”

“She’s got you there,” Katie choruses from the back and Paige watches as she high-five her grand-daughter.

And she doesn’t quite know what that pang in her chest means, but she’s felt it every time she’s seen Stephani and the Fudds over the course of the Olympics. The Fudds had come to Brisbane -of course they had- and every time Paige caught sight of them in the stands or watched them from the corner of her eyes, it felt like something was stinging against her rib cage. They’d all had custom #35 Azzi jerseys and their cheers were louder than every other voice in the arena any time Team USA did anything and after each win, they’d been the first people down the stairs, ready to hug envelope Azzi in a hug. At the forefront of it was Stephanie, who’d ran into her mother’s arms at lightning quick speed and Paige had watched -hoping she was being at least somewhat conspicuous- as Azzi had spun the little girl around.

It wasn’t that the Fudds ignored Paige. In fact they’d made it a point to come over to her right after to wrap her up amidst themselves. Stephanie had come over too, her smile shy as she’d congratulated Paige on the wins. The little girl clearly didn’t quite remember their interaction from all-star last year -her eyes regarding Paige almost like a stranger- and the blonde consoles herself with the fact that Stephanie’s only four. Four year olds weren’t known for remembering things that had happened when they were three. Still, it hurt a little bit considering Paige thinks of that interaction more than she probably should.

But even though she’d still gotten the hugs and the smiles and the congratulations, it wasn’t quite the same, wasn’t anything like she’d picture during the conversations of we’ll get customized 5+35 Bueckers-Fudd jerseys for the Olympics she’d once had with Tim and Katie.

“Alright Stephie-Bean, Mama’s gonna head back into the party-” Paige refocuses on the conversation just in time to hear Azzi get cut off by her rather dramatic daughter.

“I can’t bel-ieve you went to another party without me Mama,” Stephanie drags out the words, “no Mama-good-night-kisses cause she pick party-time over Stephie time.”

The little girl’s joking but Paige can tell by the way it makes Azzi pause for a second -her shoulder stiffening just a little bit- that it’s hit a nerve. She wants to soothe it away, wants to wrap her arms around her from behind, hitch her chin over her neck and take away all of Azzi’s worries. And that bitter thought -the one that seems to surface every time her heart beats a little faster for the brunette, the one that had filled her head when she’d woken up next to the younger woman earlier this morning- takes birth in her head again. The thought she could have done all of that -would have the right to do it- if only Azzi had just said yes.

“I’ll make it up to you Stephie-bean,” she hears Azzi promise, “tomorrow, just you and me okay sweetheart? All of my time’s gonna be yours.”

Stephanie’s face immediately brightens up, “okay Mama,” she says happily as she blows a kiss to the screen, “love you Mama. Good night.”

“Good night sweet girl. I love you more,” Azzi choruses back, waving at the screen before she cuts the call.

It takes her a moment to turn around and Paige watches as Azzi takes in a deep breath, a subtle smile on her face as she takes in the Brisbane skyline. When she does finally turn around, surprise filters onto her expression at seeing the blonde standing there.

“Hey,” Paige whispers nervously, stuffing her hands into the pocket of her pants.

Azzi looks at her for a moment, “hi.”

They stand there rigidly, letting the tension -a completely different kind than the one that had encompassed them last night- simmer between them. It’s almost like they're daring each other to say something, to address the elephant in the room.

Azzi breaks first, “something you wanted to say?”

“Just wanted some air,” Paige says, cringing a little bit at the cliché line that she’s now used twice in one night.

“Right,” Azzi nods, moving towards the door, “guess I’ll leave you to it then.”

Her voice is tinged with an iciness that sets Paige on edge. They haven’t been like this in a while and she’d thought they’d let go of the resentful exes gimmick they’d had going on for the first couple of years. But the hardness in Azzi’s tone suggests that it’s back with vengeance tonight.

“Az-” Paige calls out.

“What?” Azzi asks loudly, biting her lip when the harshness of it almost makes the blonde stumble back, “sorry I-”

But before she can apologize, Paige finds herself retaliating with the same hardness in her own tone, “what’s your fucking problem?”

“My problem?” Azzi reels back, eyes flashing with anger, “are you seriously asking me that?”

“Yes. That’s clearly what I asked,” Paige retorts.

Azzi laughs devoid of emotion, “I woke up to an empty bed this morning and you’re asking me what my fucking problem is?”

Guilt inches it’s way up Paige’s spine but it pales in comparison to the anger that flickers in the pit of her stomach, “oh that’s rich coming from you.”

“Excuse me?”

“Is that not exactly what you did last time we fucked,” the profanity tastes acetous as it falls through Paige’s lips because it sounds wrong, like she’s insulting the sanctity of their relationship, no matter how broken it might be.

“No it’s not,” Azzi nostrils flare, “I told you I was leaving. I had the common fucking decency to let you know. I didn’t just sneak out.”

Paige rolls her eyes, “oh spare me the semantics. It’s all the same shit at the end of the day. We both left.”

“Oh fuck you Paige,” Azzi snarls as she tries to leave but Paige is quicker, fingers wrapping around her wrist to stop her.

And everything she’d been prepared to say dies in her throat because now they’re too close, chests heaving in harmony as their matching glares turn into something else. Paige’s eyes fall to Azzi’s lips, breath hitching when the brunette’s tongue darts out for a second to wet them. She tugs on Azzi’s wrist experimentally, pleased when there’s little hesitation and the younger woman lets herself be pulled closer. The air is electric with want as they lean in slowly, their noses brushing against each other as they wait for each other to make a move, to close the distance.

But then there’s the sound of someone clearing their throat, followed by someone else coughing and the two of them spring apart like they’ve been burned.

“Jesus Az, careful!” Jana’s concerned voice makes Paige’s ears perk up and she follows the Egyptians line of sight to see that Azzi had moved back so fast that she’d fallen back against the balcony railing.

“I’m fine,” Azzi says hurriedly but the shake in her voice betrays that she’s anything but.

“Are you?” Paige turns to find Aaliyah watching them with the wary gaze of someone who’s been around them and their bullshit far too long, “because uh- we can hear y’all yelling from inside.”

Azzi’s eyes shoot up, panic evident on her face, “you heard us? Did you- could you hear what we said?”

Paige scoffs loudly, “oh right yeah because that would be really fucking bad wouldn’t be it Azzi? God forbid anyone found out you fucked me.”

And she doesn’t even know why she’s arguing -honestly she’s just as embarrassed at the idea of their teammates and rivals and everyone else in between actually overhearing their argument- but it pinches a nerve and she pointedly looks away from Azzi’s ashen face.

“You guys fucked?” Paige flinches at how loud Jana is and Aaliyah lets out a low groan.

“Jana,” the Canadian warns, pinching the bridge of her nose.

“Sorry but like,” Jana looks back and forth between Paige and Azzi, dropping her voice, “y’all fucked?”

Paige sighs, feeling drained as she leans back against a pillar for support, “that’s what I said yes.”

If possible, Jana’s eyes get even wider, “so- so what does that mean for the two of you? Are you- are y’all gonna get back together?”

Azzi looks at Paige.

Paige looks at Azzi.

And it’s like they’re both imploring each other to answer Jana’s question and to answer it right.

“It means nothing,” it’s the wrong answer and Paige knows it even before she says it -can tell by the way Azzi barely reacts that she knows Paige doesn’t even really believe herself- but she thinks maybe they’re not quite ready to get it right. Not yet.

“Well there you go,” Azzi says quietly, shrugging nonchalantly at Jana, “it means nothing.”

Paige flinches at the repetition of her own words, looking away as Azzi starts walking towards the door again. The brunette’s shoulder brushes against the older woman’s -sparks igniting around them- and she hesitates.

“It means nothing,” Azzi repeats, her voice a longing whisper only meant for Paige’s ears, “but maybe it could’ve meant something. If you’d stayed.”

***

June 2033

Paige is sulking in her room -watching film to distract herself from the images of Clémence, Azzi and Stephie together from last night that her brain is hellbent on conjuring up- when her pity party is broken up by the sound of her doorbell. She has the urge to ignore it, to stay curled up in the same position she’s been in all day. It’s a rather pathetic way to have spent one of her rare days off but it’s the only thing she’d felt like doing. But then whoever’s outside her door starts to press the bell longer and Paige huffs -irritated by the loudness of it- as she forces herself out of bed.

She’s not sure who she was expecting. Perhaps Jana, who’d caught on rather quickly to what was happening between her two former teammates and had been making somewhat of an attempt to help fix it. Maybe Colleen, here to knock some sense into her on Azzi’s behalf. Or maybe even Tessa, who Paige had learned in the most awkward way, knew about them when the former Gamecock had made a teasing remark about the two of them the next practice, not knowing what had transpired two nights before. When both Paige and Azzi had immediately tensed, instead of blushing or rolling their eyes, Tessa had been perceptive enough to understand something had gone wrong. She’d been trying to help Jana ever since and Paige half expects it to be her at the door with words of wisdom and comfort alike.

Who she isn’t expecting is Tim Fudd.

His wife, she would’ve understood. After all Katie had done exactly that before and it was in the older woman’s nature to meddle just a little bit. Her husband, on the other hand, tended to stay as far out of things as possible. He could be a hovering coach and whenever Azzi’s spirits were low, he’d be there with a ridiculous dad joke and arms outstretched for a big bear hug. But when it came to his daughter’s personal life, Tim Fudd did his best not to interfere.

Tim smiles at Paige when she opens the door, one hand holding up a bottle of whiskey with a grin on his face while his other hand is hidden behind his back. He rolls his eyes fondly when he notices the skeptical look Paige shoots at his liquor of choice before he reveals the premade bottle of dirty Shirley he’s been hiding behind his back.

“Tsk tsk,” he grins mockingly, “what would the fans say if they knew their big bad rizzler can’t drink anything but a sweet cocktail?”

Paige shakes her head as she steps aside to let the man inside, “just cause I don’t drink cheap whiskey, doesn’t mean I don’t drink anything other than cocktails.”

“Cheap?!” Tim guffaws as the accusation, “I’ll have you know this is a Macallan.”

“You know that that means nothing to me right,” Paige says as she follows his lead into her kitchen.

It’s almost foreign having somebody else in her space. Since Drew had left -rather hesitantly after seeing his sister’s condition- the house had been devoid of anyone else but Paige. Jana had tried to invite herself over a couple of times but it had gone in vain when Paige had chosen solitude over any company. It’s not that she particularly wants to be alone, it’s that she thinks -no, she knows- that there’s only two people who can cure this dreadful loneliness that feels like it’s become an innate part of existence.

“Sit,” Tim says as he rummages through Paige’s cupboards for two glasses.

Hesitating for a split second, Paige does as she's told, “did Azzi send you?”

“Are you hoping she did?’ Tim asks pointedly as he places two glasses one top of the counter, filling one with whiskey and other with dirty Shirley.

Paige swallows as she accepts the drink from his hand, “nah,” lies, “ just uh- just feels like something she’d do.”

Tim looks at her for a minute as he takes a sip of his whiskey.

“She didn’t send me,” he says finally and Paige tries to mask the tinge of disappointment his words send through her by taking a large swig of her shirley.

“This tastes like shit,” she grimaces, wiping her mouth with the back of hand.

“That premade stuff usually does. It’s that easy shit you know? The things that just exist without you doing any work. Just doesn’t hit the same as the harder stuff,” Tim says slowly as he leans back against his chair, a clear double meaning in his words.

“You’re using alcohol as a metaphor? So I guess Katie sent you then?” Paige manages a half-smile but she feels her stomach churn at the implication of what he’d just said.

Tim laughs, “it was my idea actually.”

“Her meddling rubbing off on you?” Paige quirks an eyebrow.

Tim shakes his head, “I’m not here to meddle. Just wanted to tell you a story.”

Paige sighs, “so you are here to meddle then.”

Tim ignores her, fiddling with the glass of whiskey in his hands, “did you know Katie and I almost didn’t end up together?”

Paige stares at the older man in shock. Maybe she shouldn’t be so surprised; relationships were complicated after all. But for all the years she’d known Tim and Katie, they’d always been just that. TimAndKatie. The epitome of stableness that had stood strong amongst all the other relationships Paige had watched break down one by one.

“Don’t look so shocked,” Tim says lightly when he notices how wide Paige’s eyes have gotten, “everyone makes mistakes. We’re all capable of doing dumb shit that almost makes us lose everything we’ve ever loved.”

Paige gulps, “what- what did you do?”

“I left,” Tim says slowly.

“You left?” the familiar words make Paige nauseous and she wonders if that slightly regretful look on Azzi’s dad’s face is echoed on her own.

“It was a couple months into our relationship and Katie and I had a huge fight. It was about her not letting me make a decision about Azzi,” Tim explains and the similarity of the situation almost makes Paige want to block her ears.

“It was something small, something stupid. Probably nothing that even mattered cause I don’t even remember it. But I remember how I felt. I was really fucking mad but more than anything I think- I think I was scared. Because that argument, it was a remind that even though I loved her so fucking much, Azzi wasn’t mine. Not yet. And that if I lost Katie, I’d lose her too. The idea of losing Katie was scary enough but losing both of them? I didn’t know how to deal with that,” Tim's voice shakes, like he’s relieving his biggest fears and Paige feels her own eyes start to water; his words settling salt in her still-raw open wounds.

“And it got so heated and we were yelling all this bullshit at each other that eventually I just- I didn’t know what else to do and I just- I started to leave. And Azzi- I guess we were so loud we woke her up- she- she saw me leaving,” there’s an unfamiliar grave look on the normally jovial old man’s face as he reminisces that night, “she ran down the stairs and threw herself at my knees begging me not to go but I- I was so mad and so fucking scared that I walked away anyways.”

“How- how did you fix it?” Paige asks, her voice almost pleading as she wipes away the droplets of water running freely down her cheeks.

“Well not immediately that’s for sure,” Tim cracks a smile, trying to lighten the mood, “took me a little bit of time to pull my head out of my ass and when I finally did, Katie wasn’t so quick to forgive me for it either. And it wasn’t about her or me or us, it was about Azzi. The first time I showed up, she didn’t even let me in. Said she could only let me through that door again if I could promise to stay. Because Azzi had seen me leave once and she wasn’t gonna let her see it again.”

“It must’ve killed you,” Paige whispers, her stomach twisting in knots, “the guilt of hurting her.”

Tim nods, “it did but I think- or at least I hope I’ve made up for it now.”

“You have,” Paige reaches over to squeeze his arm gently, “how did you get her to forgive you?”

“Simple,” Tim places his own hand over hers as he continues, “we talked it out. I explained all my fears to her. How scared I was of losing her, of losing Azzi. And she- she understood because she was scared too, scared of losing me, scared of Azzi losing me. In the end we were both scared of the same thing but all of that got a whole lot less scary when we faced it together.”

Maybe it would be a little less scary if we did it together

“How did you get over it,” Paige asks, almost desperately, “the fear of losing them? How did you move past that?”

Tim smiles wistfully, “time. Not time apart but time together. It wasn’t easy taking that first step, facing that fear but I knew if I wanted them, it was what I was gonna have to do. And I had to trust Katie, that if I stayed, she’d stay.”

“And she stayed,” Paige says softly.

“Yeah she did,” this time, Tim’s grin breaks through his entire, “and the more time she stayed, the more my trust in her grew until one day I just knew. I knew she wasn’t gonna leave ever again. Well, maybe she’s thought about it a couple of times like when I nearly burnt the house down tryna make cookies or when I accidentally tore a hole in our wall tryna hang up a photo frame.

Paige lets out a watery laugh as Tim winks at her, everything suddenly seeming a lot more simple than it had before the older man had walked through her door.

“I know it’s not quite the same for you and Azzi,” Tim continues slowly, “you guys have a history that Katie and I didn’t. You both have more reasons to be scared than the two of us did. But Paige, I’ve always thought you were it for my baby girl. From the moment she came back from USA camp and all she could talk about was you, I just knew.”

Paige can’t help the broken sob that escapes her lips and Tim immediately rounds the kitchen counter to wrap an arm around her shoulder.

“When she was pregnant with Stephie, she kept on asking for mint-choc chip ice cream. Said it was a craving or something. And she decorated everything for her in purple. All the baby clothes she bought were shades of purple,” he doesn’t quite say why Azzi did all of that but there’s a clear implication in his words.

And Paige thinks that probably, why she and Stephie are so similar, why they shared so many favorites, why the little girl had always felt like hers. Because Azzi had given a part of Paige to her daughter, even when she hadn’t had Paige herself.

“Katie and Azzi, they’re mine but I think- I think if maybe someone else had gotten to them first -someone who loved them just as much as I do- maybe there’s a chance things would be different but Paige,” Tim squeezes the younger woman gently, “I think Azzi’s always been waiting for you. Subconsciously at least. There’s never really been anybody elese for her. Her and Stephie, they’ve both always been waiting for you, they’ve both always been yours.”

“You mean that?” Paige asks croakily and she feels like she’s a teenager again, asking Tim to pinky promise that he’d like her box-dyed purple hair no matter what.

“I do,” Tim smiles as he looks at her, “and I think they’ll be yours forever. I think they want to be. You just have to say you’ll stay.”

#pazzi #azzi fudd #paige bueckers #wcbb

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blue-jisungs · 1 month ago

Text

ancient runes and sea creatures

summary. leehan ends up in his worst nightmare - getting the perfect student into trouble

au. hogwarts!!!! ravenclaw!reader x hufflepuff!leehan

word count. 4722 (got a lil too carried away... )

warnings , extras. leehan is intimidated by reader ?? but in a like. impressed way?? also reader is a head girl prefect!!. a slightly suggestive implication at one point but like, its misinterpreted ++ a bunch of hogwart lingo and lore (?). use od leehans real name. mention of a creature that eats humans

author's note. a biiig thank u to @slytherinshua and @gluion for pushing me out of my writers block w this one!!! and esp moni, who tbh came up w this plot!!! i hhope u like it!!! it kinda took a self-indulent route for me (ancient runes as chinese characters haha... haha... and leehan being a mid student w niche hobbies vs the perfect student yn who! shocker! likes! studying... hahah....ha.....) ANYWHO. also love u to death @l3visbby for proofreading!! where would i be w/o u atp....

also i wanted to post one last thing in 2024!!! so i hope u enjoy it and get ready bc ive been cooking <3

leehan fixed his glasses, fingers brushing against the coarse pages of his favorite book. then, he glanced at his notebook. filled from top to bottom with neat, medium sized, handwritten text. here and there were loose sketches and photographs attached with fish shaped paper clips.

the hufflepuff boy looked up at his gryffindor friends - jaehyun and woonhak. they were chatting about something loudly, the sound of their voices blending in with the noise in the corridor.

sunlight peeked from behind the windows leehan was leaning against, making him feel even more indulged in his own world.

“we’ll keep going. don’t wanna be late for potions!” jaehyun suddenly announced in his ear and ruffled his hair “see you, donghyun!”

he just smiled in return, woonhak having goodbye.

before returning to his book, he let out a small sigh and started looking at the students passing him by. a lot of friends giggling and talking, some people studying or snacking on colorful candy.

then, as if a lightning struck him, he tensed upon noticing you.

you were walking with fast pace yet not hurried one. the navy and grey colored tie rustled on the wind, your hair waving gently. a small frown was painting on your graceful features.

“what do you mean sungho is not showing up? i need everyone there” you asked, glancing at your ravenclaw friend for explanation. however, they did not have any.

“no idea, y/n! he just told me to tell you and wandered off… you have to–” they started.

“i don’t have to do anything. we have to cooperate if we want everything work out” with a scoff, you turned your gaze away and locked eyes with leehan for a mere moment.

he felt blood rushing to his cheeks, quickly glancing down at his book. you looked scary. no, intimidating.

“this thing isn’t here by accident” you gently tapped your head girl badge with pride. “let’s go to class now. i’ll catch sungho later”

leehan didn’t even realize he was holding in a breath - only when the sound of your voice faded away, he released it.

he tilted his head and smiled softly, flipped through the pages. he only stopped when he saw a detailed print of a basilisk. quite terrifying yet devilishly smart creature.

leehan closed the book and packed his belongings, slowly going towards his classroom.

“oh come on, don’t be such a loner!” riwoo’s whines reached nearby standing student’s ears, causing them to look over at the hufflepuffs. leehan cleared his throat and let out a sigh of defeat.

“fine. who else is going? you know i don’t enjoy crowded places in particular…” he started but his friend already started pushing him towards the exit.

“well you, me, jaehyun, woonhak… and, drumroll please! yes, you guessed it! two infamous slytherins, park sungho and han taesan!” riwoo grinned. leehan nodded, satisfied. that’s a perfect amount of people. “and hanbin”

“just hanbin?” leehan frowned, suspicious. riwoo smiled awkwardly, forcing his friend to move faster.

“and sohee!” riwoo hesitated.

“and…?” leehan grunted, halting in place.

“that’s all! i promise!” sanghyeok put his hand over his heart “hufflepuff’s honor!”

leehan just scoffed and followed his friend to three broomsticks. it was weekend, after all. going out with more than two people once in a while won’t hurt him, surely.

it was warm inside, the smell of delicious food hitting his nostrils. donghyun was quick to spot his friends (and their friends). lately jaehyun was detachable from sohee and hanbin.

eight butterbeers were already waiting on the table, sticking to the wood.

“you made it, woah! you have my respect!” woonhak, the youngest, joked. sungho patted the seat next to him and leehan sat down, smiling awkwardly.

“and you? shouldn’t you be on the prefect meeting or whatever?” taesan asked suddenly, sungho rolling his eyes.

“i should. but if i skip one, nothing will happen” he shrugged, reaching for his butterbeer.

“y/n seemed pretty upset about it” the words slipped out of leehan’s lips before he could realize it. everyone looked at him, a bit shocked, so he quickly added: “i heard it when she was passing me by. nothing crazy, it’s not like i talk to her or something”

the mere thought of standing near you terrified him, not to mention talking. donghyun didn’t know how sungho – or anyone, really – was doing that.

“she’s being dramatic. miss perfect… she decided to be in charge of organizing almost everything this year, at least it feels like it” sungho mumbled.

“yeah, it’s crazy how she manages to do it all. well, let’s just hope she won’t cast melfors jinx on you” jaehyun teased

“his head is as big as a pumpkin already, though” taesan snickered and was met with sungho’s fist on his shoulder.

you were sitting on the grass, crossing out the ideas that seemed foolish. the weather was cold, yet snow hasn’t fallen yet. even though it was november, you were in charge of organising events for students that are going to stay at hogwarts during christmas. you being one of them.

well, it wasn’t fully your responsibility - other prefects were supposed to help.

“stupid sungho…” you mumbled, wrapping your scarf tighter around your neck.

you looked up and adored the view in front of you. the last of leaves falling off trees, being swept by wind. here and there you could see some students but during this cold season, majority preferred to stay inside. then, you noticed a particular silhouette.

someone was squatting dangerously close to the lake.

you stood up, packing your belongings in a rush.

as you approached the reckless student, you noticed the yellow and black colors of hufflepuff. of course. you opened your mouth to scold their behavior but you heard a quiet murmur.

“hm? how did you get here, little one? you belong to the island. you couldn’t have possibly swam over here”

you leaned a bit forward and peeked over the hufflepuff student’s shoulder. he was gently reaching his pointer finger out to a bowtruckle.

the small, green creature was staring at the stranger, big brown eyes blinking slowly. it slowly meet half-way with the person’s finger.

“you’re not as shy as you friends” a low chuckle made you smile “i should get you back there… but how?”

the person rose their head up and looked around. the bowtruckle pointed at you.

“oh?” the student tilted their head and looked through their shoulder, meeting your curious gaze. you gasped, getting caught.

the guy’s eyes widened, lips tightening.

“oh” he mumbled. you frowned, his features looking somehow similar.

the hufflepuff boy stood up, acting as if he did not just hid the small creature in his pocket. he tried to walk away but you stopped him.

“hey! it’s dangerous to be out here” you cleared your throat. the guy stopped in his tracks, back facing you “do you have an idea what kind of beasts are there?”

a soft smile cracked on his lips, eyes trained on the ground.

“kelpies, grindylows, selkies… and oh, the giant squid. man, they are so…” he whispered and you were certain he thought his words didn’t reach you. yet, they did. you smiled, realizing he was probably another creature-obsessed student.

“anyway, i do appreciate your care towards this little fella. however, it would be better if hagrid took care of him” you looked at him with a straight face. the hufflepuff boy kept avoiding eye contact and failed to notice the silly bowtruckle escaping from his pocket.

the green creature ran down his pants and started making circles around you.

“i, uh… i don’t know how to hold him” you scoffed, trying to catch it.

“like this. make sure not to tug the leaf on its head…” he breathed out and caught the bowtruckle, holding it in two hands.

awkward silence fell between you two, the boy stubbornly keeping his head low.

“i’ll keep going” he mumbled and wandered off to hagrid’s hut, leaving you puzzled and somehow intrigued.

“hey, chill out” sungho nudged your shoulder, casing your fountain pen to jerk and leave a crooked line. you glared at him.

“i would if someone helped me. i still have to come up with ideas for the three last days and i need to turn them in to mcgonagall by friday” you huffed and tossed your notebook aside.

sungho puffed his cheeks and looked over at taesan for help. he just shrugged, carelessly tucking his hands into his pockets.

“don’t look at me. i’m not even a prefect” his cat-alike smirk made you even more frustrated.

“okay, well… maybe try asking some students what would they want to do?” sungho proposed, scanning your face to gauge your reaction. you let out a small huff.

“see, here we go. thanks. now i just have to ask around who’s staying…” you groaned and noted down the idea, closing your notebook. “but i’ll do that later. now i’ll go, i promised professor snape to help him clean the classroom. a reckless student just… caused a mess, so to say”

the exchanged amused looks and you raised your eyebrows.

“what?”

“nothing. have fun” sungho snorted. his gaze suddenly snapped up to someone else and he waved. you noticed three people walking up.

one of them looking similar.

“hey, myungjae, do you happen to know someone who’s staying at hogwarts during christmas?” sungho asked, leaning on the table. your fingers twitched at the sight of him almost spilling a cup of juice with his elbow.

“well, uh… our leehan and ricky, i think. and zhanghao. and hanbin, he promised to stay with them so they wouldn’t feel lonely” a boy in gryffindor uniform answered and looked at you, a wide smile painting on his lips.

“you’re staying?” taesan asked. you looked at the only hufflepuff boy in the group. so that was leehan?

“yeah” he answered shortly, purposefully averting his gaze from you.

“why–?” taesan kept asking and you just sighed.

“is there anything you would like to do? during the break. i need to organize events for students so i figured it would be the best idea to ask them personally” you crossed your arms.

everyone looked at the guy, his head tilted down and eyes glued to his shoes.

“what’s up with him?” the other gryffindor student whispered.

you waited for a moment before shaking your head. that seemed to work on the boy - he finally looked at you, shyly.

“it’s a hard question, i know. just… hit me up once you figure it out” you sent him a soft smile and went your way.

“what’s up with you? is the potion blowing up in your face still on your mind?” jaehyun laughed and nudged leehan’s shoulder.

“so that was him after all” taesan snickered.

“chill out, donghyun. y/n is really cool, don’t need to be all tensed up around her” sungho teased. leehan looked around, scanning the great hall. some people were looking their way - but that was probably nothing serious, right? just a bunch of losers, a prefect and the head girl prefect that’s an all a student.

“earth to leehan! why are you staying here?” jaehyun asked, waving his hand before the hufflepuff boy’s eyes.

a playful smile painted on leehan’s lips before he explained his reasons to his friends.

rushing through the dark hallway, you pressed your textbook closer to your chest. it was way past the curfew and you hoped flich was done with his late patrols on this side of the castle. you just happened to get too focused on ancient runes and–

“oof-!”

you felt the impact of bumping into something and almost landed on the ground when a strong hand prevented you from falling. you squeezed your eyes, the darkness not allowing you fully to recognize the stranger.

“y/n…?” his soft voice rang familiar and you glanced at his uniform. the yellow badge with a proud badger adorned his chest.

“leehan, right?” you scoffed and he helped you regain balance, taking a step back. that way, the moonlight sneaking through the windows fell on his face, highlighting his features.

he fixed his glasses, brows slightly furrowed.

“what are you doing here?” you whispered, blinking slowly. even though your prefect instincts kicked in, you were genuinely curious.

this boy had just a mysterious aura to him. always so aloof, almost distant. nowadays, you caught yourself noticing him, usually alone reading a book or doing something. something, indeed. just like when you saw him near the lake. he always seemed to be looking for some kind of creatures. you couldn’t help but wonder what he was up to.

“i… uh, i was researching” he smiled gently. his gaze was fixed on you - unlike other times. maybe he didn’t feel so shy now that the midnight darkness was surrounding you two. you thought it was cute. “and, uh… you?”

“ancient runes. they are quite relaxing to me, it’s just… i write them all over to remember how they look. once i nail that i feel like i can read them properly. but just the writing itself… is, yeah. time consuming but fun” you smiled and nudged his arm gently “let’s go together, our dorms are in the same direction”

he nodded and followed you, the quiet sound of footsteps echoing through the corridor.

“did you think about the question? it’s okay if you haven’t, i was just curious” you asked, glancing at him.

“personally, strolling around hogwarts at such hour is nice. i wouldn’t mind it if i was able to do it without the possibility of getting in trouble” he answered. you agreed.

“i haven’t thought about that. hm. maybe it’ll be possible since there’s gonna be less students. i’ll talk to mcgonagall about it” you hummed “thanks”

“and, uh, did you get it all done? like, the events” his voice was quiet. he wasn’t shy but more so, he was cautiously picking his words.

“yes but there’s not going to be much. people i asked didn’t seem interested” you sighed.

“it’s a shame, you’ve been working hard to come up with anything” leehan sent you a reassuring smile. a strange glint sparkled in his eye, some kind of sadness.

“what can i do? i guess they want to be alone, apparently” you scoffed.

“meow”

you two froze, feet glued to the floor. leehan looked at you, wide eyed.

before you could realize, he was pulling you to hide behind a column. with your head squished against his chest, you could hear his heart pounding as if it was about to rip out of his ribcage.

his hand naturally rested on your head, the soft fanning of his breath against your hair.

the sound of footsteps was coming closer and closer as you tried to think of something.

a sudden beam of light caused leehan to squint his eyes, pulling you slightly closer.

“what an absurd! not only it is after curfew, you are also… doing things that should be kept private! this place is coming to an end! who would have thought, students… of opposite-!”

“what? no! it’t not like that!” you choked out, turning around on your heel.

“mrs l/n?!” filch gasped, and mrs norris’ loud meow was almost soul ripping “out of all people! you?”

“no, it’s not like that! we just…” leehan’s voice was quiet, almost stuttering.

“yes? explain your red faces then! someone who was caught wouldn’t be such a blushing mess! dear merlin, what is going on with those youngsters nowadays!” the caretaker whined.

“we weren’t doing anything, mr filch! we just- we tried to hide! from you, it is. not from you as in… we didn’t-” you tried to explain. when you turned around to check up on the ravenclaw boy, he was indeed as red as the gryffindor representative color. his eyes were glued to the ground and you could swear you saw sweat dripping down his temple.

“detention!”

his eyes snapped up, wide as two prophecy orbs. panic written all over his face, fingers fiddling.

“it’s my fault. let’s not bring y/n into this” he spoke up, swallowing hard.

“how so? i see you two. not just you, boy” mr filch said with an attitude, picking up mrs norris. “i’m not repeating myself. detention. madam pince needs help in the library, so it’s just perfect”

“but-” leehan tried to cut in but the cat interrupted him with an aggressive hiss.

“now go! before i take points from your houses!” the caretaker tsked and you ran off, grabbing his hand. you could only hear distant murmurs “the head girl… youngsters are getting worse and worse each year…”

once out of his reach, almost at the ravenclaw dormitory, you realized you’re still holding his hand. leehan halted, gasping.

“i’m so sorry, y/n! i don’t know what’s gotten into him but i’ll do it myself. please, don’t bother–” the hufflepuff boy started rambling, avoiding your gaze. was he scared you’re angry at him?

you gently put your hand on his arm.

“hey”

leehan slowly looked into your eyes; however, just for a split second. his breath was heavy in the silence.

“it’s alright. i can handle one detention. in the library? it sounds like a pleasure to me” you huffed, trying to cheer him up. poor boy, he must’ve really felt guilty. “he got so pissed because he has never felt the touch of a woman. mr filch got jealous, that’s all”

you chuckled but leehan remained quiet. well, maybe that was a failed attempt at trying to cheer him up.

“i, uh. anyway, i’m sorry too. don’t beat yourself about it, okay?” you whispered, patting his arm. leehan’s small nod made you content. “sleep well, leehan”

he felt your hand slip off his shoulder.

maybe if he wasn’t too ashamed to look up, he would’ve noticed the way you looked back at him before entering the dormitory.

leehan was standing between the bookshelves, enjoying the smell of books. the library was quiet, thanks to the majority of students having left already. even madam pince wandered off to somewhere.

“hi”

he turned his head to the side and was shocked to see you. out of your ravenclaw uniform, at that.

“hi” he whispered and quickly returned his gaze to the book he was holding. he gulped nervously, his adam’s apple bobbing.

it was his worst nightmare, actually. bringing the all-star student into detention with him. even though the fault was technically on both sides, he couldn’t help but feel guilty. you should be resting and not…

“how’s it going?” you asked quietly, standing next to him. your back faced the bookshelf he was facing, side profiles matching.

“it’s quite pleasant, to be frank” he mumbled in response “you didn’t have to come here”

you scoffed and scanned all the books, laying in messy piles. they really needed reorganizing.

“would i really be able to call myself a student without getting in trouble even once?” you snickered, tucking a strand of your hair behind your ear. “i told you not to worry about it, leehan”

silence fell between you two, only the sound of him flipping the pages bringing warm comfort.

“it’s donghyun, actually” he said softly with a twinge of happiness. you cocked your head and glanced at him, grabbing a random book. “leehan is a nickname that just… stayed. donghyun is my real name”

“it’s pretty” it slipped out of your lips before you could realize, so you just hung your head low and decided to think of a strategy on how to resort the books. leehan smirked and put the book he was holding on one of the shelves. to break the awkward tension you accidentally created, you cleared your throat “uh, did you take care of that bowtruckle back then?”

“bowtruckles aren’t really my thing so i took it to hagrid. he promised me to get it back to its home tree” he hummed, reaching for another book. he ran his fingers over the navy colored cover, the remaining letters of a handwritten title barely there anymore.

“so what is, then?” you asked.

even though you didn’t have to be quiet, you two kept talking softly. you couldn’t put your finger on it but maybe it was the overall atmosphere of the library. alas, you wouldn’t say you minded. it was comforting.

“sea creatures” donghyun answered with a soft sigh. did you irritate him?

“sorry. you don’t have to talk about it if you don’t want to. i’m just curious about you” you mumbled.

your shoulders were touching and you felt his arm move now and then whenever he reached out to put away a book.

leehan hummed in deep thought, far away with his thoughts - hence, he didn’t hear you.

he never would have thought that he would be conversing with you. you were just so out of his league and intimidated him. good grades, friends with everyone… but deep down it was your organization skills. you just had it all together. despite all those side things you took care of, you still managed to find time to study. heck, you even liked it? he recalled your conversation from the hallway. what did you say about ancient runes…?

“they are quite relaxing to me, it’s just… i write them all over to remember how they look. once i nail that i feel like i can read them properly. but just the writing itself… is, yeah. time consuming but fun.”

how can one find thousands of new icons to learn, memorise and remember… relaxing. he was a bit jealous that you did it so effortlessly.

and sure, he heard you complaining about tests and exams. but you still passed with ease. unlike him, who no matter how much he studied, still barely passed.

“ouch!”

a soft thump of a book falling brought him back to life.

he leaned down to pick it up but only bumped against your forehead.

blood rushed to his cheeks out of embarrassment. but you just giggled and took the book, putting it back.

he must have been zoned out for a while because he noticed you did one of the shelves already.

you grabbed another book. it had a black cover and no title whatsoever. you started flipping pages to check what even it’s about. leehan, who was peeking through your shoulder, saw a glimpse of an interesting drawing.

“the giant squid” he placed his finger before you closed the book. you were startled a bit and looked around to meet his face quite close to yours.

yet, his brown eyes were fixated on the creature.

“do you know it’s semi-domesticated? on the chocolate frog cards its described as “the bane” of hogwarts’ students who wanted to go for a “dip in the lake”. it’s so dumb. first of all, it lives very deep in the lake, so even a small dip wouldn’t hurt. and secondly, it’s harmless. it…” he hesitated and a shy smile formed on his lips. you couldn't help but smile as well “it even allows students to feed it bread”

“really?” you asked in disbelief, turning your gaze to look at the drawing of a giant squid. donghyun’s low hum of confirmation made shivers ran down your spine.

“toast to be specific” he added and you felt a movement.

leehan stepped closer and you could feel his body almost pressing against yours, his breath softly fanning over your cheek. the hufflepuff leaned closer to read the information. right, of course.

“but you know, it must be because its magical. true giant squids, architeuthis i think, wouldn’t be able to stand our lake’s lack of salinity. and normally, it wouldn’t digest food” donghyun shrugged. you didn’t know what was happening to you - you couldn’t prevent your smile from growing. listening to him rambling about his niche sea creature interest really warmed your heart.

oh, this boy got you whipped.

“i think it’s a subspecies. like kneazles and mundane cats” leehan added, his finger tracing the black inked illustration of the squid’s tentacles.

your breath hitched. you wanted to reply, to throw a comment. but you realized you had no knowledge in this discipline, making you even more intrigued with donghyun.

“i really want to see it one day. maybe in summer. sometimes it plays with students, you know? lays out its tentacles out of the lake and just… lets the students mess with it” he tsked “hopefully…”

“i’d like to see that” you giggled. you heard a faint gasp and glanced at him. his eyes snapped back at you, as if he just realized he’s been rambling.

“i’ll take you with me, then. i planned on going at the end of the year, just before leaving for summer break” he shot you a soft smile, small crinkles forming around his eyes (and you swore your knees just went weak).

“i’m in” you grinned and gently moved his finger out of the book. then, you closed it and stood on your tiptoes to put it on the higher shelf.

however, you couldn’t reach.

“let me help you” donghyun’s tender voice once again rang from behind you.

soon enough, you felt his warm hand on your hip as he took the book from your hand and placed it for you. for a mere moment you could feel his chest pressing against your back, the smell of his cologne invading your senses like a swarm of butterflies whirling around you.

you didn't even realize when the hufflepuff boy was back in his position, putting back the rest of the books. and further on ramling about sea creatures.

“there was also a case of the giant squid helping a student that had fallen into the lake…”

sitting on a nearby bench, you were writing the ancient runes to form a sentence. actually, you were writing in your journal about today’s date with donghyun. his own notebook was laying next to you - he was afraid to get it wet.

“ah, y/n, quick! a grindylow!” he yelped and you shot to your feet, dropping your journal onto the bench. with snow crunching underneath your feet, you sprinted towards the hufflepuff boy. he had his scarf and hat on, pink nose peeking from the layers.

“how did it come here?” you asked curiously, quickly joining his side.

leehan's gloved hand grabbed yours and pointed at the quickly swimming creature. it was barely visible due to its dark color blending with the green shade of the lake but you could see its outline.

“my bet is looking for food. they like fish. or maybe it was bored. or…” donghyun hesitated, looking over at you. you shifted your gaze at him, looking at his big brown eyes hidden behind his glasses. “or… it came here for its prey!”

donghyun suddenly wrapped his arms around you, lifting you off the ground and spinning around. you squealed, taken by a surprise.

“they don’t eat humans!” you whined when he put you down.

“uh… sure…” he chuckled and reached to the pocket of his puffy jacket. he grabbed some dried algae and threw it into the water. you moved closer to him, suddenly scared. interlocking arms with his, you snuggled onto his side.

“it eats people?” you asked quietly as you saw the creature swimming closer to the food. its head poked out of the water surface, small, black, shiny eyes looking at you before taking a bite of the algae.

leehan snickered and grabbed your chin, eyes locking with you.

“only cuties like you” he grinned and moved his yellow and black scarf out of his face. then, he leaned closer and kissed you softly. even though his lips were cold, you felt warmth spreading through your body. you smiled into the kiss and pulled him even closer by the scarf.

who would have thought that two days after the detention you’d gain the courage to ask him out.

he pulled back slightly, first looking at your lips with a smirk and then back in your eyes.

“and humans. but only the grown grindylows and that one is still a baby” he grinned. and before you could even roll your eyes, he pulled your ravenclaw-colored hat down and covered half of your face. with a giggle, he pulled you closer.

masterlist <3

taglist. @slytherinshua ,, @weird-bookworm

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neosexuals · 5 months ago

Text

( pay attention ) — ₊ ⊹ ! Part 2

Synopsis : Mark is by every account the most popular teacher in your university. He was just that good, he was funny, charming, a good teacher and most of all he was drop dead gorgeous.

Warnings/pairings : smut (‼️) , english teacher! Mark , University au , reader is 20 mark is 27 , dom! Mark , sub ! Reader , mark uses fancy language cuz go figure english prof, mark is a meanie, makeshift tie gag??, pet names, reader has feelings towards mark? maybe?. use of the word slut, squirting.

A/n : 🤕 I didn't want to write big age gap tall I'm sorry 💔 maybe some other day. Also marks kind of a bitch (and I love it) not proof read :P @n4nam1i

Pt 1 pay attention

When it had reached the end of the day you had sprinted your way to marks office, he was sitting there. Suited up, his collar untidy along with his loose tie. "Sir?" You knocked on his wide open door you could tell it had been a rough day for him.

"yes?" His messy hair made it all the more worse, not only did you touch yourself to the thought of your English professor yesterday but it left you longing for him. "Oh y/n come in please" and so you did, closing the door behind you.

Before commenting on his fatigued look you helped yourself to the seat infront of him. "Tough day sir?" To say mark was one of those uptight teachers was a complete lie, being the youngest amongst them, he's always been one to talk casually to his students. "Sorry does it look bad?" He rushed in to fix his hair combing it down with his fingers.

"no it's okay" you pouted your lips at him, that was pretty assuring to him. "Fine uh let's get with it hm" with that you dropped your bag onto the floor before mark got up, you weren't sure what he was up to before he grabbed his chalk. Oh my god he actually started teaching you, repeating what he had taught to the class today since again you werent paying attention. Sighing once again, this was not what you signed up for.

He was confused when he turned back at you, why were you not paying attention? To him you were free of being distracted by him since it's a one on one class. But to you all you could look at was his fat ass and his crooked glasses.

"y/n I'm genuinely confused now" your eyes were already on him, just the wrong parts of him. "What happened now?" He stared at you sighing, taking his glasses off "sir... it's nothing Serious honestly-"

Cut off by his words "listen y/n I really didn't wanna do this but"a lie, blatant at that, another sigh escaped his lips "strip"

"what?"

"I said strip."

"but-"

"say no, and noone has to speak about this"

You weren't all apposed to the idea. Honestly you wanted it as much as he demanded, but it was quite embarrassing considering the situation, but it got you soaked. "Now. Are you going to strip or no darling?" That nickname. Your eyebrows furrowed as you stared him down from the chair, trying to understand the situation laid before you.

“Don't act dumb, you’ve wanted me..” he lets out a dry chuckle, your insides turning at how forward he was being. His glasses quickly being moved from resting on his face to on the desk, he moved closer to you, his breath tickling your ear “I’ve seen how you rub those pretty thighs under your desk, I’m not stupid you know" stepping back; sitting back down.

You started with your jacket, then your top. You couldn't bear him seeing you full naked "don't be so shy" he paused moving towards you "I won't look elsewhere" his eyebrows cocked at you along with a fake pout forming on his face, Pulling your arms away from your body.

God you forgot how hot the English language can be, his figure now towering over you as he tugs on the hem of your shirt before throwing it over your head. "Fuck" and other curses left him as he stares sinfully at the mere sight of your bra clad chest , borderline drooling at this point.

He snakes his hands down to your waist, finally inching towards the place you need him the most. His thumb slowly caress your hips, drawing circles atop it. "The skirt stays on pretty" the nickname combined with the stern tone causes your already weak knees to bend as you nod shakily.

He mumbled a little 'good girl' before slowly running his fingers up your thigh, his free hand moving to your nape, pushing your head closer to his. Too focused on the sensation of lips pressed against yours you miss when his singular had had slipped your panties down to your ankles. Sighing out a cracked 'sir' against his lips when two of his fingers press against your clit, His hand moving from your nape to your back, slipping down just enough to unclasp your bra.

he takes a step back as he relishes your body, eyes gleaming, his hands reach out once again cupping your cunt. "Sir.." you finally find it in you to look at hm in the eye, shooting a confused glance at him "call me mark darling" his breath hot against your ear ".....sir is...." - he mumbles- "odd" his words fish a giggle out of you, not to say you didn't find it hot but the contrast in tone makes your heart skip a beat.

Before he could earn a proper response out of you his fingers press onto your clit. "you shouldnt be laughing when your drenched down here...now should you?" you never missed the smug tone and smirk he threw at you.

"dirty girl " his lips latched onto your neck, soft and small pecks,You'd orgasm right then and there just by his words alone. His agonizingly slow strokes against your clit don't help either, letting out whimpers when he pressed the digits against your core. Small pleas leave your mouth over and over, his teasing topping you off.

"p-please sir" his eyes shoot up at you, removing his lips from your collar bone fingers still going back and forth along your slit "what did I say..? Hm Darling?" That was the final straw for him, one digit followed by another until it's a complete trio stuffed up your cunt.

“N-Not— MARK!”

that was all you could get out before going slack, dumb and cumming all over his fingers all way too quick. “That’s it….” His raspy voice fills your senses while all you can do is smile back at him, falling back down on the leather chair. You rest your head back as you feel your skirt and skin stick to each-other , you felt wet all over. “So good for me…think you could take my cock like this?” His tone sincere with a tinge of sarcasm.

“Hm? Think you could handle it darling…?” He lets out a soft chuckle watching your dumb state nodding like an idiot “yeah? You’re so dumb already” you open your eyes for a moment only to be met with a sulky pout. It’s not about weather or not you could handle anything at this point, to you, you just needed his cock. Letting out a string of pleas begging for even just the tip.

And after 2 or 3 tries he starts take of his own pants, completely naked other than the flimsy white shirt that lays atop him. “Shit i dont have a condom...” he muttered just loud enough for you to hear "I do..." He smiles at you and let's out yet another chuckle, you grab the condom out of your bag and hand it over to him. "Ofcourse you do...slut" the last word you could bearly hear but you could read his lips so clearly. It made you feel all sticky inside, the way he'd say the word so endearingly your heart had jumped right into your throat.

You had gotten into position by now, your thighs spread out sitting on his messy desk. Papers all over the floor and pens rattling around, you felt exposed. "Sir…..” you could only breath out the honorific "mark." His voice Stern once again before you could blink you heard the sound of a packet ripping. The condom, you knew it was the condom. "Now say please for me darling" you were melting right in front of him, arousal dripping onto his desk already exposed "please.....please mark" leaning in he kissed your cheek before pushing you flush against the desk legs dangling off the desk.

his cock sliding up and down your folds teasingly, his cock felt like everything you thought it would. thick just enough to have you holding onto him for dear life, begging to feel just a bit more of him.

"m-mark" his eyes bore into where you had intertwined , "yeah?" fuck his voice was so tantalizing "k-kiss..." a whine-like noise came out of you when he slapped your face as a response, cupping your flushed cheeks before kissing you silly "stay quiet now would you"

he so conveniently grabs his tie from behind you, would he tie your hands?

all thoughts fizzle out once he brought the bunched up fabric to you wide open mouth, muffling your whines and pleas as each thrust shook you right to the core, more things falling off the desk as he made you see heaven.

you tightened each time, the teacher who would always stay so pure and sweet was fucking you into oblivion, "shit- loosen up for me darling - fuck" you physically couldn't, his thrust erraticly pushing you closer and close "what is it? cock too big for your sweet lil' pussy?" you nodded slowly "yeah? you close baby" hearing him speak so casually was a dream nodding became rapid as you let out one last guttural whine, still muffled, as you came all over.

did you....it was a new feeling to say the least, leaking everywhere, you fucking squirted mark finally came riding out his and your orgasm "fuck- didn't know you were a squirter" he spoke as if he gave you the most midcore experience of your life ruffling the back of his head before removing the spit clad tie from your mouth, drool sticking to the tie "m' not..." Mark had never made someone squirt before, it was unbelievable , his eyes wide with shock "I've never.....squirted before"

"so i did that?" you nodded, still out of it. "fuck- you felt amazing darling i-" you could barely move so you'd hope you were a good experience "I'm glad, but could you help me sir?" his smile quickly faded "mark. or do i have to fuck it back into you?" he joked, as much as you would very much like that you wouldn't want it now, here. he helped you up grabbing your waist and wrapping your arm around his shoulders "there you go..." he mumbled.

you'd dress up as quickly as you could, as so did he, "y/n" he had called out as you tried to get as much of shit you'd thrown on the floor back on his desk, catching your attention you looked up at him, "i mean it, you were amazing, and i wouldn't mind doing this again" you felt as if you could burst. all you could do was smile and nod "you were amazing too....if you hadn't noticed"

after cleaning up finally, you had left his room, a dopey smile spreading across your face as it all sits in.

#nct smut #nct dream smut #kpop smut #kpop fanfic #nct 127 smut #kpop fanfiction #mark smut #mark lee smut #mark nct smut #˚｡౨ৎ Aros fics

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hxzbinwrites · 1 year ago

Text

Vox x Emotionless! Reader | Ignorant In Love

(Lovestruck Part 2)

Warnings ⚠️: Cussing, Violence, Vox being annoying

————

4:30am

Vox woke up, yelping as he sprung out of bed. Not a great decision for his sore back as his clawed hand immediately went to brace it. Groaning, his eyes fluttered, attempting to recall what got him in such a tizzy waking up

Right. Another dream.

Vox had been, haunted, by that humiliating event last week. Even more so that he finally realize how incredibly enamored he was with her.

His screen flushing red at this realization of his current situation, Vox decided to rise out of bed. What good was sulking going to do?

Since that day, (Y/n) hadn’t smiled once more at him. Oh how he craves it. Vox acts like he doesn’t care, but he’s aching for another fix. Another high of seeing that smile. He would do anything and everything just to experience that euphoria one last time, just one drop of it.

Getting dressed for the day, Vox was looking at his bow tie collection, seeking out one of his favorite ties before realizing it had been ruined from the coffee.

Frustrated, he grabbed a random one from the pile, not really thinking too much about it as he put it on.

He stomped out of his quarters, his heels dramatically clacking against the floor as he made his way to his office. It was far too early in the morning for anyone to be active, too late for Val to be doing work (at least IN the office, and not at the club), so the quite walk gave his ever-running mind more time to think

What the hell has gotten into him?! He’s a VEE, THE VEE. If anything, this is woman should be loosing sleep and foaming over him!

‘That’s what I like most though’, He thought to himself,’She’s real. She doesn’t tell me just what I want to hear, or cause problems for me, she’s just…her, and she simply does it best.’

His internal conflicts were brought to an end once he finally sat down in his chair. Cracking his sore, aching joints, before booting up his monitor system.

————

8:30am

(Y/n)‘s heels clacked against the tiled floors, making her way to her desk. Her desk was one of those circular desks that curved around the middle and touched both sides of the wall. There was a small door on the side that she could enter from, but it blended in seamlessly with the black desk, so it would be hard for someone who didn’t work here on a daily to find.

Once she entered her cubicle-like desk, she logged onto her monitor, clocking in. 8:30am sharp, as always. She began to work on her boss’s meetings, but her eye caught a certain one for today “errand.”

This caught her eye, as Vox always made her run errands during work hours. Mostly for coffee, but she’s ran to the convenience store in the lobby for strange things as well.

“Hmm” she mumbled, before printing off the schedule regardless and putting it in her folder for later at 10.

That was her routine, print off the original schedule for the day, present it to him at 10, and if edits are needed, she’d come back and re-arrange some things, and repeat the process until it was to his liking.

(Y/n)‘s hardest part of the job was the PR portion of it. Normally, it’s for the PR team, but they got sick of the Vees tantrums and the entire department up and quit. Now, (Y/n) handles Vox’s PR, Velvette’s assistant handles hers, and Vox handles Valentino’s himself.

Speaking of PR, she was in for a doozy today. Last Friday, when the coffee incident took place, apparently Vox said some…choice words…to the Radio Demon, and Alastor relayed that information back to his listeners on his radio show.

Sighing, (Y/n) began typing a public rebuttal, going for the “deny and victim blame” strategy, as Velvette called it.

‘Why does Vox have to act so…stupid’ (Y/n) thought, her stoic face staying steady as her fingers flew across the keyboard,’For someone so smart, he sure acts dumb. Maybe he should just be a model for Velvette instead, he’s sure got the looks for it, but he doesn’t have the social skills for a public viewpoint like this-‘

“(Y/N). MY OFFICE. IMMEDIATELY.” Vox yelled.

Her eyes flicker up from her monitor, which was now adorned with two clawed hands gripping the top of it. Vox was leaning over it, his tall, slender frame allowing his screened face to intrude (Y/n)’s personal space, but it’s not like that hasn’t been done the before the weekend.

Locking eyes, he saw the flick of emotion run through her, he almost for a moment let his anger go, almost. He could hear her mumbling those things about him. About how “stupid” he was, his “dumb actions….how “he’s got the looks”….never mind that last part.

“Sir..?” She said, her face immediately turning back cold. Ah, there it goes again, fleeting like time itself.

“Don’t sir me,” Vox said, shoving the monitor who knows where. He crawled on the desk towards (Y/n), before grabbing her chin, pulling her towards him. The force from his arm made it where she was on her feet, but she was now hovering over her chair. Vox cocked his head at her, narrowing his eyes and he whispered towards her.

“I heard you mumbling about me over there. Insubordination will not be…tolerated, at this company. If you want to keep this job, and your soul, I suggest you meet me in my office.”

He let go of her chin, before sliding back off of her desk, and walking towards his office. Vox’s hands were clasped behind his back, as he glanced over his shoulder one last time to look if she was following him.

(Y/n) got up and started walking behind him, her face not giving away any emotion.

‘DAMN IT.’ He thought, his mood growing worse,’That whole little stunt was just to get a rise out of her. To get something!’

————

10:00am

Once they arrived in his office, the door slammed shut behind them. Vox’s electrical bolt from his fingertip locked the door, as he walked towards his chair, took a seat, and swiveled it around to see an unamused (Y/n) awaiting his words.

“So, (Y/n)” He started, his claws tapping against one another, “Would you like to repeat, word for word, what you were mumbling about me, or should I repeat it for you?”

“Okay, I asked myself why you acted so stupid. Your actions are ignorant and your social skills need heavy improvement.” (Y/n) said,”also, for your schedule today you have a meeting at-“

“No no no sugar.” Vox said, smirking as he crossed his legs,”Tell me everything you said.”

“I did” She lied, standing her ground.

“Ah, so Im not good enough to be a model anymore? That’s a shame, I would’ve loved to give you a show, but alas.” He sneered, trying to desperately to get a reaction out of her, but failing miserably.

“Ah, a shame indeed.” She said, deadpanned,”Now, todays schedule consists of one meeting with Valentino at 7:30pm and during your 3:30 slot all it says is ‘Errand’? Sir, I’m confused about that portion, don’t I normally run your errands..?”

Vox gritted his teeth, his hand now clenching the sides of his chair. This was getting ridiculous, no emotions out of this one. God, he should just pour an entire mountain of coffee on himself, muck up his PC and everything just to see her smile.

“I was originally planning to get my clothes back from the dry cleaners myself, but I see that as punishment enough for today. Do it and get out of my office.”

“A-Alright sir.” (Y/n) said. They locked eyes, and Vox immediately regretted pushing so far for a reaction. Her eyes showed hurt in them.

Vox couldn’t bring himself to say anything, his face contorted with many emotions. One side of him was over the moon, he made her show something! The other side was in immense regret, he didn’t want to hurt her, that was by far from the plan.

Once she left the office, he started throwing monitors again in frustration.

————

10:30am

(Y/n) didn’t even return to her desk, instead opting for a little stroll down to the convenience store down in the lobby. She picked up a drink and a candy bar to take back to her desk as a little pick me up

Well, she attempted to go back to her desk, she ended up just going to a secluded corner in the building, only adorned by a lonely bench, a plant, and a security camera in the hallway.

(Y/n) sat there on the bench, sighing from stress and she took a chunk of her candy bar.

Sitting there, she replayed the interaction in her mind once more. The way he was so, powerful, it made her cheeks dust pink, with equal parts admiration and humiliation as she smiled to herself, lowering her head. She softly chuckled before taking her wrapper of her snack and going to seek out a trash can.

Little did she know that Vox was watching her every move on his monitor, stalking every security camera that tipped off her motion. He was nearly short circuiting at her little smile. Vox noticed how her shoulders bounced as she chucked slightly. He really wished he could just call her into his office, but it was already time for her to pick up his dry cleaning. Sighing to himself, he adjusted his bow tie.

Out of his entire collection, he just had to pick the most irritating one out of all of them. It was entirely too tight and the material was so unpleasant.

Sighing, he just untied it and threw it on his desk, reveling a small sliver of his skin beneath it.

————

3:45pm

“I’m here to pick up Vox’s clothes.” (Y/n) said, making the worker scramble to go retrieve the Overlord’s clothes.

“H-Here you go ma’am! Do you mind checking to see if everything is in there? We don’t want to forget any article of our valuable costumer’s clothing!”

“Sure” She replied with her signature neutral expression, opening up the box of neatly folded clothes to see his entire wardrobe from that day, except something was missing…a key part of his ensemble.

“Ah, where is his bow tie?”

“Oh, did he not tell you? We had to return it to him, the fabric of it was too thin, it would’ve burnt up in the dryer.”

“Oh, well thank you.” (Y/n) said,”everything looks like it’s in order.”

“Have a good day!” The worker said, earning a nod from (Y/n) as she walked out of the dry cleaners.

‘He wore that bow tie often’ (Y/n) thought to herself,’ Maybe since I pissed him off earlier today, I can get him another to make it up to him.’

She strolled by the clothing district before entering the tailors shop, browsing the different selection of items for a while before the clerk cleared his throat.

“Ma’am, is there something I can help you with?”

“Ah yes, I’m looking for a bow tie with a certain fabric to it. It’s rather thin, I need a replacement.”

“You? A replacement?” The man chuckled, looking over at her,”I think I know which one you’re talking about, but I dare say I don’t think you’re in the tax bracket to be purchasing that.”

“I’ll purchase what I please.” (Y/n) retorted, her dead eyes looking into the man’s cocky ones

“Oh really? And who is this for?”

“Vox.”

The man started howling in laughter,”YOU?! FOR THE TECH OVERLORD?? OH PLEASE I-“

(Y/n) briskly walked over and slammed the man’s head down on the table.

“Yes. I suggest you make it quick due to your little interruption.”

“And why should I?”

(Y/n) gripped him by the hair, making his eyes meet hers,”Vox is my boyfriend, and so help me I’ll let him tear you limb from limb just because I said pretty please, now fucking do it.”

“Y-Yes ma’am.” He said, as she let go of his hair, he scrambled to the back room to give her a lavish tie. Instead of the navy blue one he had previously, it was near black with bright blue strips adorning the sides of the fabric where it curved in on itself.

“Hmm, this will do.” (Y/n) said, snatching the box before walking away.

“W-Wait, aren’t you going to pay?”

“Pay? You should be dead where you stand for messing with me today. This is your pay.”

And with that, she walked out of the store, leaving the man shocked.

————

8:00pm

Walking into Vox’s office, (Y/n) looked around to see Vox nowhere in sight.

“Ah right,” (Y/n) muttered to herself, despite the fact that very action got her in a tight situation with her boss earlier that day,”Meeting with Valentino. I’ll just set his stuff down here.”

(Y/n) looked around once more, before setting his clothes neatly on the desk. Patting it down to remove it of any lint that couldn’t accrued on the bag, before setting the nicely wrapped gift atop of it, adorning it with a letter signed to him.

————

9:00pm

Vox groggily walked back into his office, after his “productive” meeting with Valentino on his public image. Not a word went to that moth’s head. One ear and out the freaking other.

He closed his eyes, plopping down unceremoniously into his chair, not even bothering for the brooding dramatics this time.

Rubbing his eyes, he really contemplated calling it quits early tonight. But alas, Vox never does, that’s the mantra of a workaholic.

His digital eyes fluttering open once more, he gazed upon the clothes neatly laid there for him. Smiling he looked at it before his smile turned into confusion. Why was there a box? Wrapped with a ribbon…?

He slowly and gently grabbed onto the small box, unwrapping it like an inpatient child on Christmas morning, only to reveal a new bow tie, the one he ached for the entire day.

This one was nicer though, how she scrounged up some money to “buy it”, he didn’t know, but he was eternally grateful.

His eye caught the letter that was now sitting beside where the box was, it fell off when Vox took the box. He held the envelope and slit the seal with his claw like a letter opener.

“Dear Vox,

I sincerely apologize for this morning. I was out of line. I just don’t really know how to process everything. I feel like you’d understand being mechanical and all, but I don’t know how to process emotion.

Normally, I feel nothing towards anyone, but there’s something weird going on. This strangely warm feeling in my chest and my face, I feel clammy around you, and you specifically.

Feel free to ignore this, but here’s my number. Contact me if you are willing to help my predicament. Enjoy the gift regardless, you deserve it. Also, stop coming to work at 5 in the morning. You’re not sneaky, I see when you’ve clocked in on your schedule.

-(Y/n) (L/n)”

Vox was beaming, a pure genuine smile. He might be a lovestruck fool, but she’s ignorantly in love.

————

Word Count: 2,540

(Part 3?)

TAGLIST

@burningfishkidlamp

@koji-akeme

@callmechito

@neito327

@chocolat3pudding

@yellowsubiesdance

#hazbin hotel #hazbin #hazbin hotel spoilers #hazbin hotel x reader #hazbin vox #hotel hazbin #vox x reader #hazbin hotel fandom #hazbin hotel fanfiction #hazbin hotel vox #vox #vox hazbin hotel #the vees x reader #the vees #hazbin hotel vees #vee #vees

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starlightkun · 2 months ago

Text

❧ word count: 17.6k ❧ genre: fluff, a sprinkle of angst & hurt/comfort, paranormal/supernatural au, ghost!jisung, established relationship, sequel to pur autre vie ❧ warnings: mentions of death, prominent side character dies prior to the beginning of the fic, depictions of grieving, more family tension/drama (yeah those assholes are back lol) ❧ extra info: this is the sequel to pur autre vie, it cannot be read as a standalone. you must read pur autre vie first! ❧ author’s note: oops i once again fell in love with a couple and cannot let them go! so here’s a sequel! i meant to post this a lot closer to the original but ended up getting stuck on some scenes and took breaks to write some other things, but it’s finally here and i rlly like how it turned out!!

“The house,” he sighed, rubbing his face. “Do you want it?”

“Like, Hyukjun’s house? The one that you just got?” You clarified. “I appreciate the offer, but I don’t have the money to buy a house.”

“No, no, you can have it,” he sounded and looked absolutely defeated.

You narrowed your eyes at him, immediately suspicious. “What’s wrong with it?”

Your stepbrother’s face screwed up as if he just ate a lemon; he clearly didn’t want to tell you the reason. “All the renters said it’s haunted,” he finally blurted out.

You shifted uncomfortably in your seat, looking around the coffee shop that you were at. Your eldest stepbrother had asked to meet with you, and you couldn’t imagine that it was anything good—certainly not just to get coffee and catch up. You hadn’t ordered anything, wanting to be able to make a quick escape if needed.

Seohyuk usually didn’t request a meeting with you. If he wanted to talk to you, he typically called to tell you he was going to stop by on his way to or from work, or just dropped by unannounced. That’s why you were extra on edge. You had arrived early, and kept checking the time every two minutes or so.

Finally, you saw him walking in, and thankfully he was alone, not accompanied by either of his younger brothers or his mother. Seohyuk was much easier to handle on his own. You made eye contact with him, but didn’t wave or make any move to stand up and greet him as he arrived at your table. He sat down across from you, looking rather disheveled. His hair was unkempt as if he’d been running his fingers through it all day and hadn’t looked in a mirror to fix it, his tie was loose and askew, his dress shirt crumpled, and his suit jacket that you knew he typically wore to work was missing entirely. He was also pink-cheeked and seemed to be trying to hide how heavily he was breathing, as if he had run here and didn’t want you to know.

“Good afternoon, Seohyuk,” you said politely, opting not to comment on his appearance.

He cleared his throat. “Good afternoon, Y/N.”

“Do you have a concern with the house? Or is this a question about possessions?” You decided to just be direct. Those were pretty much the only two things he ever contacted you about.

When your mother passed away six months ago and you moved out of her and Hyukjun’s house, the property had gone to your three stepbrothers. Which meant that your life since then had been a seemingly endless string of inquiries over you “damaging” the home while you had lived there, or you “stealing” stuff that was “rightfully” theirs when you moved out—i.e., items that were actually your mother’s, but they tried to claim were Hyukjun’s.

“The house,” he sighed, rubbing his face. “Do you want it?”

You couldn’t hide your surprise, your carefully neutral expression falling right off your face. “Wait, what?”

“Do you want the house?”

“Like, Hyukjun’s house? The one that you just got?” You clarified. “You’re... trying to sell it to me? I appreciate the offer, but I don’t have the money to buy a house.”

“No, no, you can have it,” he sounded and looked absolutely defeated.

You narrowed your eyes at him, immediately suspicious. “What’s wrong with it? What could you have done to it in six months?”

“Nothing! Nothing!” He pleaded. “It’s pretty much the same, we actually fixed up some of the wiring, stuff like that. We’ve tried to rent it out, but nobody will stay.”

“You can’t keep your renters?”

“We’ve had four different tenants, none of them lasted longer than a month.”

“What? Why? It’s a great house.”

Seohyuk’s face screwed up as if he just ate a lemon; he clearly didn’t want to tell you the reason.

“Come on, I already know somebody died in the house,” you scoffed. “What is it?”

“They all said it’s haunted,” he finally blurted out. “And I mean, you know it’s an old house, it creaks and stuff sometimes—I tried to tell them that. They said the lights would flicker, so we replaced the bulbs. Cold spots—We had a guy look at the A/C, he said it was fine. Then it was things disappearing from one room and reappearing in another room, and they swore nobody who lived there moved them. One couple said they started on a jigsaw puzzle before they went to bed and when they woke up, it was all put together.”

You slowly nodded, very carefully controlling your facial expressions as you tried to figure out what reaction you should be having to this. Skepticism? Curiosity? Unease?

“All of your tenants said stuff like that happened?” You clarified.

“Every single one,” he confirmed. “And it got worse with each new one. The first one moved out after a month. The second, two weeks. Third, a week. The last one only lasted three days.”

You squinted at him suspiciously, crossing your arms over your chest. “And why do you think I would want to live there?”

“I’m not a superstitious man whatsoever,” he adjusted his tie a bit, “but after all this, I went to the house myself to see what was going on.”

“What, did you bring a Ouija board or something?” You joked, sitting back in your chair.

“I felt ridiculous bringing it in, but yes.”

You knew you were giving him the most incredulous look ever, but he went on with his story anyway.

“I sat down with the board in the living room and asked if there was a spirit in the home. Something cold touched my hands, then the pointer moved to yes.”

“Planchette.”

“Hm?”

“It’s called a planchette,” you corrected him dryly.

“Right.”

“So what happened next?”

Seohyuk continued, “I asked if it was your mother first. I figured that was most reasonable, since she had just…”

“Passed away in the house right before all this started happening?” You filled in for him.

“Yes. But the… planchette moved to no. So then I asked if it was my dad. Again, no.”

“I still don’t see how this leads to me taking the possibly haunted house back from you,” you reminded him, desperately suppressing your giddiness.

“Look, I asked if it was an evil spirit, and it said no.”

“Why would an evil spirit tell you it was evil?”

“It hasn’t hurt anybody, or damaged anything, or done anything bad at all!” Seohyuk was practically begging now. “I mean, I’ve been thinking about it: you lived there for two years while you took care of your mom, and nothing like this happened that whole time, right?”

“No, I can’t say anything like this happened,” you tepidly agreed.

“The spirit must have been there the whole time you were there, and it only started doing this stuff once you left. I think if you go back, it should… calm down.”

You let silence hang in the air for a few moments, holding his eye contact, admittedly enjoying seeing him squirm under your gaze as he seemed to realize how crazy all of that sounded. Finally, you sighed, “I don’t know, Seohyuk, my new place is closer to my job…”

“I will pay you to take it at this point. We can’t rent it, or sell it, this has become an absolute nightmare.” He clasped his hands in front of him, quite literally begging now.

“And you’ll stop harassing me about our parents’ possessions?”

“Yes, yes.”

You pretended to contemplate this again, despite your mind being made up from the very beginning. After another agonizingly long bout of silence, you asked, “How much?”

When your mom was first put on hospice over a year ago now, you had started preparing to leave hers and Hyukjun’s house—and trying anything and everything to bring Jisung with you. You knew that once she passed, your stepbrothers wouldn’t give you much time to get out, so you had to make all your preparations long before then so you could vacate at the drop of a hat. Packing, cleaning, deciding what of your mother’s you were going to keep and what you would be donating, figuring out how to move your ghost boyfriend from one parcel of land to your new apartment.

First you’d tried taking all of the original kitchen cabinet knobs with you, but after fourteen hours, he still blipped back to the house. When a contractor was over doing some repairs, you pocketed a chunk of brick and tried that—six hours. A piece of the foundation—ten hours. Cabinet knobs, brick, and foundation—that was the longest, a full twenty-four hours; you had an overnight errand to run for your mother and tried it then.

You eventually branched out in your search for a way to move Jisung, checking out all sorts of books from the library and staying up late reading blog posts. But no matter what sort of herbs, metals, crystals, or recitation you tried, you could never beat time—he was always eventually, frustratingly, pulled back to the house.

And now here you were, in front of the house again. The flowers had seen better days, looking a little sad as you stopped to inspect their wilting petals and sandy dirt around them. You frowned to yourself, putting that near the top of your mental to-do list. The windows of the two-story townhouse were dark, and the porch swing looked like it had been sanded and re-stained along with the rest of the porch.

Turning the key in the lock of the front door, you heard the familiar click of the mechanism and wrapped your hand around the door handle. You pushed it open, slightly disappointed when you didn’t hear the usual creak of the hinges—they must have been oiled since you left. The house was quiet and dim, and you shut the door behind you.

Looking around expectantly, you called out into the seemingly empty home, “Jisung? Come on, I know it’s you—Ah!”

A weight suddenly crashing into you from the solid wall on your left cut you off, and you immediately recognized the cold arms wrapped around you.

“Y/N,” Jisung murmured under his breath, almost as if he didn’t believe it. “Y/N…”

“Jisung.” You squeezed him back, burying your face in his neck. “Oh, I’m back, Jisung.”

“You’re really-You’re really here?” He pulled back to hold your face with two hands. Jisung was just like you remembered, dark hair, dark eyes, his black cardigan and white shirt, and you were sure if you looked down, he’d have the same black pants and shoes as well.

You nodded, jangling the keys in your hand. “The house is mine. For good this time.”

“You didn’t—” His face looked both pained and touched. “How much did they charge you?”

“They paid me,” you informed him with a laugh. “Turns out it’s really hard to sell a haunted house around here.”

Jisung’s eyes widened as a plainly guilty look overtook his face, and his voice had poorly feigned obliviousness in it. “A… whaaat…? Pfft…”

“Since when have you been such a paranormal menace, Park Jisung?” You shook your head at him but couldn’t keep the amusement out of your tone. “Really, finishing people’s puzzles while they’re asleep, moving stuff around—Were you trying to make them move out?”

“I didn’t like any of them.” He crossed his arms. “The first ones fought every day and were just a bother, the second ones just worked all the time and when they were home all they talked about was their boring jobs, the third ones were just boring, and the fourth one—”

“—Was here for three days, how could you possibly have known if you liked them or not?”

“I knew,” he insisted. “He stepped on one of the flowerbeds when he was bringing in boxes and didn’t even care!”

“You actually did a Ouija board with Seohyuk?”

“I wasn’t going to, but I figured maybe I could get him to pick less shitty tenants,” he huffed. “I was thinking about spelling out your name, but I thought that might’ve been pushing it.”

“He already thinks I’m a little weird for taking the haunted house back, I’m glad you didn’t push our luck,” you said, cupping his cheek with one hand and kissing the other.

“You’re really back?” Jisung asked quietly, placing his hand over yours on his cheek.

“I’m home, Jisung,” you promised, tracing an X over the left side of your chest. “Cross my heart.”

In bed that night, you listened to Jisung’s even breathing, slowly drawn even closer to sleep by the circles his fingers traced on your back. His breath suddenly hitched and shuddered, as if suppressing a sniffle.

“Jisung?” You said his name quietly, already beginning to turn over to face him.

“It was so hard…” His face was tear-stained, and his lower lip trembled as he tried to talk. “Going from actually being somebody with you back to… nobody seeing me, or hearing me. Walking right through me. I’d done it for so long before you, I thought I could do it. But this time…”

“Jisung…” You couldn’t do much more than murmur his name. As soon as you’d reached out for him, he’d already thrown himself into your arms. You cradled his head to your chest, pressing a long kiss to his hair.

“I was so lonely,” he admitted, curling his fingers in your shirt. “I mean, I’ve been alone, but it’s never felt like-like that.”

“Shh, shh,” you soothed his sobs, gently rubbing a hand up and down his back. “I’m sorry, Jisung. I’m so sorry…”

He seemed to be trying to collect himself, wiping at his eyes as he lifted his head. “I’m sorry, Y/N. It must’ve… They kicked you out so soon after your mom passed. You didn’t even have time to grieve her.”

“It was really difficult, yeah. Especially because I didn’t have you,” you said softly, stroking his hair. “I didn’t have anybody. Felt like I was invisible, too.”

He shuffled up higher to sit up against the pillows, wrapping an arm around you, and you let him pull you under his chin. You leaned your head against him, your eyes misty. After a few blinks, the tears subsided again. You’d practically cried yourself dry in the past six months.

“I went to a grief support group the hospital holds once a week,” you continued, picking at your nails. “It helped, I guess, getting to talk about it with other people who were in the same sort of thing as me.”

“Good. I’m glad you found something to help.” He laced his fingers with yours, holding you even tighter. “I couldn’t—I hated the idea that you were going through all of that alone.”

“We’re not alone anymore,” you reminded him. “Okay?”

“Yeah, okay…” Jisung kissed your temple. “Thank you.”

“For what?”

“Coming back.”

“Thank you for waiting again.”

“You look very cute,” Jisung complimented you as you readjusted your outfit, poking the tip of your nose for good measure.

“Thank you,” you responded quietly, conscious of the other people nearby.

Content with your clothes, you looked around for the right person, and happened to spot a girl around your age standing further back and admiring the view as well. You and Jisung were at a riverside park that afforded a nice view of the city skyline across the water. The kitchen cabinet knobs were the easiest for you to carry about in your day-to-day life, and you found that two would usually cover Jisung for a full day out pretty well. You’d had one of the starbursts turned into a ring and another into a pendant that hung from a matching silver chain. The other six stayed in one of your tote bags in case you had something longer planned.

Approaching the girl with your phone in hand and already open to the camera, you offered a friendly smile. “Hi, I’m sorry to bother you, but would you mind taking a picture of me?”

“Oh, sure!” She agreed, taking your phone from you.

Moving back to the railing, you posed as if you were any other visitor, resting an arm on the handrail as you smiled for the camera. Jisung took his usual cue, stepping into your side and wrapping an arm around your shoulders. He did his best to jostle and move you as little as possible, assimilating to your position instead. The girl did a countdown before she took a few photos, and you made sure to make them each a little different, smiling, peace sign, poking your cheek. As always, Jisung did each changing pose with you.

After a few, you relaxed back out of your pose. “Thank you so much!”

“Here, look at them and make sure they’re good,” she said, handing your phone back. “I think something might be wrong with your camera, there’s this blur or something in the previews. It wasn’t showing up when I was shooting, but as soon as I took a picture, it was there.”

You took your phone back, looking at your pictures at an angle that she couldn’t see. And sure enough, Jisung was in all of them, hazy apparition and all.

“These are great, thank you!” You told her brightly, clicking your phone off.

She didn’t seem that invested in your strange phone camera phenomenon that was occurring, so she just gave you a skeptical look before shrugging. “Of course. Have a good day.”

“You too.”

Closing the front door behind you, you then stepped out of your shoes before heading for your living room. You were still wrapping your brain around this really being your home now. You flopped down onto the couch, Jisung beside you, and pulled your phone out to review the pictures from earlier.

“What do you think, Sungie?” You hummed, scrolling through your camera roll.

He scooted in closer to you, wrapping an arm around your shoulders and using that hand to switch between the pictures himself. He clicked his tongue contemplatively, zooming in on his “head” in one of the photos.

“Can you tell I’m winking?” He asked, squinting at the screen.

You giggled. “Not quite.”

“I like the first one and this one.”

“Me too.” You started doing a little bit of color balancing to the pictures.

“Are you hungry, baby? You didn’t get anything while we were out.”

“Oh, sure,” you replied absentmindedly.

“I’ll get you something to eat.” Jisung kissed the top of your head before standing up, and you heard his footsteps recede into the kitchen.

Content with the pictures, you opened up Instagram and got ready to draft a new post. You chose the two pictures that you and Jisung liked, then typed out your caption: ‘went to the river today.’

You’d just hit post when Jisung came back in with a plate of food for you. Setting your phone aside, you accepted the plate with a smile. “Thanks.”

“You posted them yet?” He asked, sitting back down and turning his attention to a partially-assembled jigsaw puzzle.

“Just did,” you confirmed, turning your phone back on to check your notifications. “All the usual stuff so far.”

You hadn’t set out to post pictures with your ghost boyfriend, much less make a hobby of it. When you went out, you used to be extra careful not to get him in any photos, actually. Then, when your mom was put on hospice, in her moments of lucidness she started giving you errands to run for her. She always asked for you to take pictures of yourself on all of the excursions she sent you on. She said it was because she couldn’t go with you, she wanted to be able to hear about it and see it so she could feel like she had gone with you.

At first, you hated every errand she sent you on. You didn’t want to leave her side for even a second, anxious to even use the bathroom, just in case you missed the moment she passed. But you’d begrudgingly accept the tasks, as they were usually things like ‘I want to drink this rare tea before I die,’ or ‘I want to eat a sweet from this bakery before I die.’ You only realized what she was doing when they started to become errands like ‘I always wanted to watch the sunset at this view, won’t you go and take a picture for me?’ At the time, you were still anxious that you would miss the moment, but in hindsight you felt overwhelmed with the knowledge of how loved you were, that your mom was still taking care of you in whatever way she could, even then.

Jisung would almost always accompany you on these errands, at least for however long he could. You tried to take nice pictures to show your mom wherever you went, and of yourself in those places, asking strangers to take pictures of you if you felt it appropriate—usually if she had sent you to some more touristy place. It was while someone else was taking your picture in front of some field of flowers of all places that you cracked under all the stress and burst into tears. Jisung stepped in to comfort you at the same time the older man had taken another picture—he realized that you’d started crying immediately after taking the picture and consoled you as well. Later, when you actually looked at the picture, you realized that Jisung had been captured in the photograph, a dark figure reaching towards you as you turned away from the camera to cover your face, seemingly turning into him. After that, the two of you decided to take more pictures together intentionally.

Having nothing better to do with the pictures, you shared them on your social media, figuring that nobody would naturally assume it was a real-life ghost. They didn’t, of course. Most people thought it was some kind of continued photography or photo-editing project. You didn’t expect it to draw in the outside audience that they did, though. Everybody had a different interpretation of the pictures. Some thought they were just meant to be spooky and look like a ghost, others thought the blur represented something, whether that be grief, a former relationship, mental health struggles, it really was endless. You, meanwhile, continued posting your pictures with your ghost boyfriend.

Putting your phone back down, you picked up a puzzle piece as well. You lost track of how long the two of you had been in peaceful silence, the only sounds that of the cardboard pieces sliding across the table and clicking into place when someone knocked on the door. It was a quick succession of knocks, and you and Jisung paused to look at each other.

“Are you expecting a package?” He asked.

“No.” You furrowed your brow. They knocked again, prompting you to get to your feet. “Neighbor maybe?”

When you peeked out the peephole, you spotted a woman standing there, smoothing out her designer clothes. She fixed her hair as she looked around almost nervously. You were tempted to not answer, except something about her seemed familiar, so you unlocked the latch and cracked open the door enough to show yourself, but not too wide.

“Uhm, hi?” You greeted her, keeping your tone light.

“Hi,” she immediately focused a bright, friendly smile on you. “Y/N, right?”

“Yes. You’re…?”

“Chaeyeon, I’m Seohyuk’s wife.”

“Of course.” You nodded and smiled politely, looking around uncertainly.

“It’s okay that you didn’t immediately recognize me, we only met the one time and it’s been a while,” Chaeyeon reassured you.

“Yes. It’s nice to see you again.”

“You too.” She was still smiling at you, and there was an awkward pause as you didn’t have anything to say back. Chaeyeon said, “I’m sure you’re confused why I’m here. There’s a book that Seohyuk was trying to find in his father’s things the other day and we haven’t been able to locate it. Neither of his brothers nor my mother-in-law have it, and it’s not on the list of things that we sold or donated. Would you mind checking to see if you have it?”

“My mom had a lot of books, it’s possible it got mixed in,” you agreed mildly. When she was still standing there a beat later with her expectant, shining eyes, hands clasped over her purse in front of her, you stepped back slightly from the door. “Uh, do you want to come in while I look for it?”

“Thank you.” She followed you in, and you closed the door behind her.

“I’m sorry Seohyuk sent you all the way out here and got you involved,” you said as you led her into the living room where the bookshelves were. Jisung was still sitting on the couch, and narrowed his eyes at Chaeyeon suspiciously. You shot him a warning look behind her back to behave. The last thing you needed was him spooking her or making you react in some socially unacceptable way in front of her.

“I asked to come. He was going to stop by on his way to work, but I had some errands to run, so I figured…” She trailed off wistfully. “I haven’t seen you since the wedding, you know.”

Unsure of what else to say, you replied, “Yeah, it’s been a while.”

“Here’s all her old books that I still have. What’s the title?” You asked, then paused after she read off the title from her phone. “Wait, that one?”

“Yes, is there a problem?”

You did your best not to outright roll your eyes, but didn’t entirely hide your annoyance at Seohyuk already going back on his agreement to stop harassing you over your respective parents’ things. “I know that book. It’s nice, actually one of my mom’s favorite authors. It’s in my room, wait here.”

Upstairs, you weren’t surprised that Jisung had followed you.

“He’s a dick,” he scoffed.

“Mm-hm.” You grabbed the book off your dresser. “What’s new?”

“Tell her no.”

“I’m tired, Jisung,” you sighed. “I’m tired of fighting with him about this stuff all the time. I have plenty of things to remember my mom and Hyukjun by. I mean—I have their house. If he really wants this book, he can have it. I’m done.”

Your ghost looked down at you sadly. “He did this the whole time you were gone too?”

“Pretty much, yeah.” You headed for the door. “I can’t keep her waiting.”

Descending the stairs and turning into the living room, you were pleasantly surprised to see Chaeyeon pretty much exactly where you left her. Not that you wanted to assume the worst of her, but it definitely had crossed your mind that Seohyuk had sent her here as part of some plot, no matter how nice she had been so far. But she was still in the living room, seemingly reading the spines of your collection of books, hands still on her purse.

She turned when she heard your footsteps. “You have so many books. Have you read all of these?”

“Most of them. Or had them read to me. My mom was a Literature teacher,” you explained. You held the book out to her. “Here.”

“Thanks, Y/N, Seohyuk will be really—” She accepted it, gently opening the clothbound front cover, and her eyes landed on the cover page. “The note…”

“Yeah, it was Hyukjun’s wedding gift to my mom,” you confirmed flatly.

“Keep it.” She immediately offered the book back to you.

“Huh?”

“It was a gift from his dad to your mother. I get why he wants it back, but it should be yours. I’ll talk to him.” She stepped forward to pick up your hand, putting the book into it. “I promise.”

You took it back with two hands, holding it to your chest. “Thank you. You really don’t have to go through the trouble.”

Chaeyeon smiled softly. “Are you busy?”

You couldn’t help your surprise, blinking at her. “Right now?”

“My nail appointment isn’t for another two hours. Would you like to get some tea?”

“Uhm, sure,” you accepted, despite Jisung’s wide, dumbfounded eyes.

Sat across from Chaeyeon in a teahouse, you blew on the surface of your steaming tea, tapping your nails against the side of your cup. Her fingers were elegantly wrapped around her cup, large diamond ring glinting from her left hand as she took a sip.

She set her tea down and gave you a sheepish smile. “I’m making you nervous.”

“Was it obvious?” You chuckled awkwardly, continuing to hold your own drink.

“You’re very tense.”

“Sorry, I guess I’m just surprised that you would ask me to get tea with you.”

“You’re family, too,” she said kindly, and you were straining your ears to try to find any hint of insincerity, sarcasm, or malice in her tone. She really seemed genuine in her sentiments.

“I think the two of us have a pretty tenuous connection there,” you pointed out.

“I know, but since your mom passed—Oh, how do I—” She fretted for a moment, unfolding and re-folding the napkin in her lap then tucking her hair behind her ear. “…Do you have anyone else?”

You had to refrain from looking at Jisung, who was occupying the spot next to you, still observing Chaeyeon closely. “Ah, no, not really.”

“Neither do I,” she confessed. “I mean, I have Seohyuk and his family, and they’re wonderful. But my own parents have passed, and my little sister, too. She would be around your age, actually.”

“I’m so sorry, Chaeyeon,” you said genuinely.

“I know we’re not related by blood, by any stretch of the imagination, but I hope we can at least be friends. If you’d like.”

“Wait, seriously?” Jisung retorted doubtfully.

You fidgeted with the starburst ring on your finger as you thought about Chaeyeon’s words. “I don’t want to be rude since you’re being so nice to me, but can I just ask—Why? Why you’re being so nice to me? I mean, I can’t imagine that Seohyuk has been saying anything good about me to you. No disrespect to your husband.”

“I’ve gathered that you all don’t get along very well…” She acquiesced. After taking another sip of her tea, she continued, “I was only able to meet my father-in-law once. Seohyuk thought we’d have plenty of time to get acquainted after the wedding.”

You winced as you put your tea down, an apology already on your tongue before you could stop it. “I’m sorry, Hyukjun asked me not to say anything to them. I-I still don’t know if I did the right thing, I can’t imagine what it was like for them…”

“There was no wrong choice, Y/N.” She reached for one of your hands. “It was a terrible, impossible situation for everyone involved. There was no decision you could’ve made that would’ve spared everyone’s feelings. It’s okay. Don’t be sorry for honoring his wish.”

You looked down at your hands on the tabletop between you two, then back up at her. “I interrupted you, sorry. Continue.”

“I only met Hyukjun one time, but he was fantastic, he really was. And Seohyuk always talks about how amazing his dad was, you can tell he was his hero—still is.” Her voice and her features held a fondness that you had never seen on display for your stepbrother before; you were genuinely stunned for a moment. “When Seohyuk and I started dating and we were talking about our families, he finally got around to the fact that his dad remarried, and his new wife has a daughter that his dad just absolutely adores. The way he said it, I thought you were a little kid at first, and then he mentioned you had a job.”

You couldn’t help but laugh along with her at this information, the first you’d ever heard of this.

“And he kept bringing it up every so often. That Hyukjun adored you and your mom,” she went on, giving your hand a gentle squeeze. “I sort of thought that if there’s this person who was apparently adored so much by the man that my husband—the man I love and adore—looked up to and loved, that I’d very much like to meet her.”

“My mom would have loved you,” you said softly, feeling your eyes fill with tears. “I mean, I know you met her at the wedding, and you were so lovely to her then, but if you had been able to really know her—God she would have loved you.”

“Oh, Y/N, I didn’t mean to make you cry!” Chaeyeon gasped, opening her purse and bringing out tissues to start dabbing at your eyes for you.

“It’s okay, really,” you assured her, letting her clean up your face anyway. “I think—I think I’m crying because you reminded me of her.”

She sat back on her feet. “Really?”

“Yeah, yeah.” You laughed, mostly at yourself you were pretty sure. Chaeyeon was absolutely beaming at you now, and you took another drink of your tea as Jisung rested a cool hand on your back. “I know you have to go to a nail appointment after this, but would you mind if I visited you and Seohyuk sometime?”

“And Seohyuk?” She repeated, obviously not expecting that.

“I have something to give him back.”

“I already told you, you should keep the book,” she insisted with a shake of her head.

“Other than the book.”

“Oh, then of course.”

“I still don’t know why you like coming to work with me,” you sighed, pulling on your jacket.

Jisung grabbed your bag for you, which had the other cabinet knobs you weren’t already wearing in it. “Do you want me to stay here?”

“I didn’t say that.” You slipped the bag onto your shoulder. “I just don’t get how sitting around watching me work at the office is any more interesting than sitting around here all day.”

“All the dishes are done, laundry’s folded, and I dare you to find a speck of dust in this house.”

“Yes, Jisung, you’re the perfect house husband,” you said, an amused smile playing across your lips as you went to unlock the front door. “Also not what we were talking about.”

He held the door open for you, following you out and waiting on the porch as you locked up. “I miss you when you’re at work. Is that so horrible?”

“No,” you chuckled, pocketing your keys and starting your journey to work. “I miss you too, Sungie.”

After your mom passed, your work had let you take as much time as you needed to both grieve and deal with your hasty change in living situation. Once you were ready, you slowly started a new hybrid schedule—coming into the office for a full day twice a week and working from home part-time the rest of the work week.

Your first stop after dropping your bag off at your cubicle was usually the breakroom. This morning, it seemed as though somebody had brought in donuts, and you spotted a familiar figure already hunched over them, carefully selecting one.

“Good morning, Sungchan,” you greeted your coworker brightly.

The tall man shot up straight, spinning around in place, his ID badge hitting him in the face in the process. He brought a hand up to grab his lanyard and lay it flat against his chest again as he gave you a crooked, breathless smile. “Oh! Morning, Y/N!”

“Sorry, didn’t mean to scare you,” you laughed, grabbing a mug from the cabinet to start on your morning cup of coffee.

“No, it’s okay, I was just so focused, I guess.” He pointed to the box behind him, “Mr. Choi brought donuts for everyone.”

“I see. What kind are you going to get?”

“I don’t know…” Sungchan sucked in air through his teeth regretfully. “They all look really good.”

“Pick two and we can split them.”

“Really?” He asked you, his big eyes shining at you.

“Really.”

“Well, which one do you want?”

“I don’t care, you pick.”

Sungchan made his selections, and carefully cut them into precise halves before letting you pick your pieces of each.

Loading your two donut halves up onto a napkin and grabbing your coffee mug, you gave him a single nod. “Pleasure doing business with you.”

“Thanks, Y/N!” He beamed. “I’ve got to go, I haven’t checked my email yet.”

“Ugh,” you wrinkled your nose at the thought. “Emails…”

Sungchan darted out of the breakroom, leaving just you and your ghost. You took a bite of one of the donut halves, washing it down with a long sip of your coffee. Average chain donut.

“I know you’re pouting, Jisung,” you hummed under your breath. “He’s new, he needs people to be nice to him.”

“I know, I don’t think you’re flirting,” Jisung replied, leaning against a wall and crossing his arms. “I think he’s going to think you are.”

“Too bad for him, then.”

Another one of your coworkers wandered in then, still yawning and rubbing sleep out of his eye. Shotaro looked around the breakroom expectantly. “Sungchan said there were donuts?”

“Only if you like sugary cardboard,” you informed him, dropping yours in the trashcan on your way out.

At your cubicle, you started your computer up, the sound of Sungchan clacking away at his keyboard on your left filling your ears. You took your own lanyard with your company ID out of your tote bag and set it on your desk. The ID gave you access to certain areas of the building, and while technically all employees were supposed to be wearing them at all times, nobody except brand-new employees actually followed that rule. Jisung sat in the chair at the empty cubicle to your right, kicking his feet up on the desk and humming to himself.

Shotaro finally joined your small pod of six desks at his spot across from you, and you noted that he didn’t have a donut with him. You tapped your fingers along to the melody that Jisung was humming.

“Hey, Shotaro, did you see that email that Ms. Kim sent?” Sungchan asked.

“Dude,” Shotaro groaned. “One—I just sat down. Two—Take some notes from Y/N, don’t check your email until 9:30. I promise, you’re going to be so much happier.”

“But it’s already 9:10, I mean—” Sungchan let out a distressed huff, running a hand through his hair. “What do you do for thirty minutes?”

“Get your coffee, fill up your water bottle, chat with people in the breakroom, chat with people by the copy machine, finish any work you didn’t get to yesterday, tidy up your desk, literally anything except open your email,” you listed off some ideas for him, just beginning to turn your own computer on.

“Why?”

“Because if I read an email before 9:30, and it pisses me off, I’m going to be pissed off all day,” you snorted. “It’s for everyone’s good.”

“I’m so glad you’re in the office now,” Shotaro sighed happily. “This is the kind of wisdom I missed out on when I started and you were still remote.”

“Yeah, you’re lucky I came back in at all.”

Jisung sat up in his seat, something clearly having caught his attention across the floor. “Be right back.”

You glanced up from your computer screen to see where he was going, and immediately spotted what he had: Two supervisors who also worked on your floor, Ms. Kim and Mr. Han, walking towards Ms. Kim’s office as they had a hushed conversation. They were at about the same rank as your supervisor, Mr. Choi, and with regards to work, there was nothing remarkable about them. They weren’t overseeing any of your projects, you really only knew of them in passing. But they had caught Jisung’s interest, and by extension, yours, because they had begun something of a will-they/won’t-they romance a couple months ago. You never encouraged Jisung’s snooping on your colleagues, but he needed to entertain himself somehow, and you made sure not to divulge anything he told you that wasn’t already part of the office gossip zeitgeist in conversation to your coworkers.

A few minutes later, Jisung was practically running back to you, narrowly darting around some of your other coworkers in his haste. You could see some of them shiver and look around in confusion at the sudden breeze that had blown by with seemingly no reason, peering up to try to find the air conditioning vent that must be around. Letting out a small sigh and keeping your eyes on your computer screen, you readjusted in your seat and scooted over to make just enough room for Jisung to hop up on your desk.

He happily squeezed in next to your keyboard, swinging his legs as he was clearly buzzing with news. “They’re finally doing it. They’re going on a date!”

“Hm.” You had to keep your reactions small, but felt a smile tugging at the corners of your mouth.

“I know! Ms. Kim is really worried because she doesn't want anybody here to think differently of her, but Mr. Han was just over the moon that she finally said yes! And you could tell that Ms. Kim was excited, too, obviously.”

You grabbed a notepad on your desk, scribbling a note to Jisung. ‘What kind of date?’

“They haven’t figured that out. Ms. Kim got a call before they could finish talking and Mr. Han left her office so she could take it,” he sighed, clearly disappointed.

‘Cliffhanger...’

“Hey, Y/N, does this email sound like, professional enough?” Sungchan asked, poking his head around your shared cubicle wall and through Jisung’s arm. Your ghost jerked his limb away from your coworker with a miffed look as you ripped the paper off your notepad and tossed it in your garbage can.

“Let me take a look,” you offered, going to scoot your chair over at the same time Jisung moved out of your way, back to his empty cubicle.

“Do you have a vent blowing right on your desk or something?” Sungchan shivered for dramatic effect. “I swear the air temperature dropped like ten degrees as soon as I crossed into your cubicle.”

“Cold spot!” Shotaro declared, his finger jabbing at the two of you from over the cubicles. His eyes followed a moment later. “What did I tell you?”

You scoffed, trying to skim the email in front of you again, “You were serious about that?”

“What? What is he talking about?” Sungchan looked between the two of you nervously.

“Shotaro thinks the office is—”

“—Our office is haunted,” Shotaro got up from his chair to lean forward and hiss dramatically, as if the alleged ghost was going to get him just for saying so.

Jisung, meanwhile, gasped and looked around with mock fear on his features. “A ghost! Where?!”

“You guys are ridiculous.” You shook your head.

“What did I do?” Sungchan pouted, obviously assuming that you were talking about him and Shotaro.

“You put a smiley face in your email, Sungchan,” you retorted, hitting the backspace with no mercy. “And you can’t end every sentence with an exclamation mark. The period button exists for a reason. Use it.”

“But I don’t want to sound mean…”

“One. You get one exclamation mark per email. And no smiley faces.”

“Okay…”

“Fine, everybody ignore Shotaro,” your other coworker threw his hands up as he fell back into his seat, letting the chair roll away from his desk before he scooted up again. “But when the ghost starts deleting important emails and writing in toner on the copy room wall that it’s going to kill us all, I will say I told you so.”

“Hey, there’s some ideas…” Jisung nodded along as if he were actually considering this. You shot him a look out of the corner of your eye.

“Your talents are wasted here, Shotaro. You should really be writing horror novels that exclusively take place in office buildings,” you told him, rolling back over to your own desk.

“Ah! Lunch break!” Jisung cheered as the two of you exited the building into the sunny, mild day.

“Yeah, you’ve been really hard at work,” you teased him under your breath, starting on the familiar path to a nearby park that you usually took your lunch at. It was typically pretty empty at this time of day, and you found that you could freely talk to Jisung there, a single headphone in for plausible deniability.

“I wish you had an office,” he sighed. “So we could actually talk to each other.”

“I used to,” you said, plopping down at a picnic table. “Before I moved in with my mom and Hyukjun, when I was still full-time in my old position.”

“Wait, really? What was your old position?”

“Mr. Choi’s position.”

“So Mr. Choi is in your office?”

You grabbed your lunch from your tote bag. “Hasn’t been my office in years. It’s his office.”

“But—Why—” Jisung frowned. “You haven’t said anything before.”

You shrugged. “Haven’t had a reason to bring it up, I guess.”

“You’re back now, though.”

“I couldn’t do that job anymore when I chose to help my mom and Hyukjun. Mr. Choi has been a great supervisor; there’s no point in them firing him just to put me back there now. I wasn’t expecting them to keep an office empty for me for years.”

Your ghost was quiet as he seemed to ponder this.

“Besides, if I had that job again, I’d have to be at the office every day,” you pointed out. “All day. No free time like I have now.”

“Oh.” His nose wrinkled as he presumably imagined what that would be like. “Mr. Choi can keep the office.”

“So are we doing bets on what sort of date—”

“Why is he here?” Jisung frowned and crossed his arms, focusing a suspicious glare behind you.

It was then that you heard footsteps approaching you, and you turned to see Mr. Choi coming down the sidewalk, seemingly not by accident as he focused a friendly smile on you as soon as you spotted him. He lifted his hand in a wave of greeting, and you returned the gesture, watching with interest as he stopped next to your picnic table.

“Hi, Y/N,” he said brightly, and you noticed a brown paper bag in his other hand. “Sorry, were you on a call?”

“Just finished.”

“Well, would you mind if I join you?”

“Not at all, Mr. Choi,” you indicated to the seat across from you.

Jisung moved from his spot with a sigh, sitting next to you instead as your supervisor sat down. Mr. Choi opened his sack lunch to bring out a bento box and small juice box, making you smile into your next bite of food.

“Cute,” you commented, pointing to the colorful vegetable slices that had been cut into star and heart shapes in one section of the container.

“My wife makes all these elaborate lunches for the kids to bring to school,” he began to explain, and though you almost expected him to be sheepish about having a childish-looking lunch, unveiling crackers in the shapes of cartoon characters, instead he just looked fond and proud. “Anything they don’t eat goes in my lunch the next day.”

“You get the scraps?” You couldn’t help but snicker.

“Yeah,” he laughed as well.

“I don’t think I’ve ever seen you take your lunch out of the office if it wasn’t a business lunch, Mr. Choi,” you said knowingly.

“Ah, was I obvious?” He chuckled, pulling on one of his ears nervously.

“I know you value our free time and want us to as well, so I don’t think this is work-related, right?”

“Tangentially…” The older man popped a star-shaped cucumber in his mouth. “I just… wanted to check in with you, Y/N. I hate calling people into my office for bad reasons, much less something like this. Very… confrontational.”

“I get it.” The corner of your lip twitched with a smile. “I’m alright, actually. Still taking things day by day. I miss her a lot, but it doesn’t feel like I’m… suffocating anymore.”

“Good, that’s good to hear.”

“I’m nervous, Sungie,” you admitted, taking a deep breath to try to calm your erratic heart.

“You’ll be fine, baby,” he reassured you, grabbing your hand and squeezing it gently. “You’ve dealt with him before.”

The two of you were on the way to your eldest stepbrother’s house, at the invite of his wife. Chaeyeon had reassured that Seohyuk wanted you to come over, which only knotted your stomach even more. You could deal with Seohyuk being an ass, but you weren’t used to him being… friendly. At least not without being in front of your parents.

You squeezed Jisung’s hand tighter, trying to focus on the familiar coolness of it. “I know. But what if I’m nice because I think he’s being nice, and end up revealing something that he’ll just use the next time he decides to be cruel?”

“Hey, hey, hey,” Jisung smoothed his thumb over your hand as he hushed your anxious thoughts. “You’re just returning something; nobody said you have to pour your heart out to him.”

“You’re right, you’re right.”

Double checking the address Chaeyeon sent you, you watched the house numbers go down and down until you were finally in front of 1174, your destination. You gave Jisung’s hand one last squeeze before letting it go and starting up the short driveway to their front door.

The black painted door swung open hardly a second after you had knocked, the familiar, beaming features of Chaeyeon greeting you.

“Hey, Y/N!” She threw her arms around you. “You made it!”

“Hi, Chaeyeon,” you timidly hugged her back. “Good to see you again. Thank you for inviting me over.”

“Of course, come in.” She grabbed your arm in a gentle but firm grasp, pulling you in after her. Jisung barely slipped in before she closed the door, to your amusement—he could’ve easily walked through it.

Chaeyeon had brought you into their living room, where her husband stood up from his seat on their leather couch. Seohyuk kept his hands behind his back as he nodded to you politely.

“Y/N, hello.”

“Hey, Seohyuk,” you nodded back, nearly suffocating in the tension already.

After an awkward, heavy pause, Chaeyeon piped up, bubbly as ever as she asked you, “So, you said you had something, Y/N? To give back?”

“Yeah, yeah.” You cleared your throat, reaching into your tote bag. In a small pocket separate from your cabinet knobs and other things, were two small rectangles. Taking just one more second to look at the top image, a photograph of Hyukjun when he was younger, you handed both that and the other paper out to Seohyuk.

“I found these the other day, tucked into one of my mom’s books,” you explained quietly. “I think she was using them as a bookmark.”

“What’s…” He brought out the other image from behind the first, his voice trailing off. It was his and Chaeyeon’s wedding invite, and you knew he was seeing exactly what you and your mom had seen before as he held them side by side.

“You look just like him,” Chaeyeon murmured, touching the wedding invite in awe. She looked up at you with a smile, “Thank you.”

“I don’t know what you think about my mom, or really what your guys’ relationship with her was like in your eyes,” you continued. “But to her, you were family. I wish she had been in better shape to be able to show you that, and I know she did too.”

“I’m sorry.” Seohyuk looked up from the pictures to you, a painfully sincere look on his face.

“For what?”

“I never told you that, genuinely, after your mom was diagnosed, or after she passed. I’m really sorry, for everything you’ve been through.”

You bit your bottom lip and nodded. “Me too. I’m sorry I didn’t tell you about your dad’s diagnosis, even if he told me not to. It’s still… You didn’t get to prepare.”

Something distantly beeped from an adjoining room, and Chaeyeon briefly squeezed her husband’s shoulder and murmured a hushed ‘be right back’ before slipping out of the room.

“It sucked, yeah,” he admitted hoarsely. “It must’ve been hard on you, taking care of the both of them by yourself. Especially Dad, I’m sure he didn’t want anything spent on himself, he wanted everything saved up for your mom, right?”

“Yeah, the memory care aides could only do so much for late-stage lung cancer.”

“Thank you. For taking care of him and being there for him when we weren’t.” There wasn’t a trace of sarcasm or bitterness in his tone, just a honeyed warmth that nearly left you shell-shocked.

“I know you already know this, but your dad was just a really, really great guy,” you spoke past the lump in your throat as memories of your stepdad bubbled up. “I’m happy I got to know him for as long as I did. My dad died when I was young, and I didn’t have Hyukjun back then but sometimes it really felt like I did. Just felt like he’d always been there.”

“I’m sorry.” He repeated, setting the pictures down on the coffee table in front of him.

“You already said that, Seohyuk.”

“I know, but I have more stuff to apologize for.”

“Like what? Did you hire someone to secretly egg the house while I’ve been here or something?” You tepidly joked.

“No, no.” He chuckled and shook his head. “When my parents got divorced, it was good. Like, a good thing for everyone. We didn’t want our parents to get back together or anything. Our mom had boyfriends here and there, you know, but Dad never even dated. So when he, seemingly out of the blue, got married to this random woman who also had a daughter that he pretty much immediately accepted as his own, after he spent his whole life raising three sons—as I’m saying it, I can hear how asinine and juvenile this is—it felt like he was just getting himself a new family. Like we’d been replaced.”

You blinked at him, slowly nodding as you actively chose to empathize with him instead. “I’m sorry it felt like you and your brothers were pushed out. That must have hurt. Did you talk to your dad at all?”

“Not in any productive way. And really, you don’t have to apologize. I need to apologize,” he tapped his chest insistently. “We were all grown men in our twenties and thirties behaving like children because our dad was finally living his own life and getting married. It was unacceptable the way we treated you and your mom. Especially you, we were downright cruel to you sometimes, and I’m extremely sorry for that.”

“Seriously?!” Jisung finally spoke, harshly spitting the word out. “After everything they did to you? He thinks he can just—”

“I… really wasn’t expecting this when I came over. Uh, thank you.” You knew your surprise was evident on your features, there was no sense in hiding it in your words either. “I hope you don’t mind my asking… Why the change of heart?”

“My wife brought up a good point to me the other day.” He pointed to the doorway that Chaeyeon had disappeared through, a sheepish half-smile on his face. “We were jealous because Dad loved you so much. But he never loved us any less, he just always had more to give. I’d like to actually get to know his other kid that he spent his last few years with.”

“I… Me?” You pointed to yourself hesitantly.

“Yeah, you,” he laughed with a light air of teasing, though this time it didn’t feel mocking. “We were out of line at Dad’s wake. Of course you two were his family, anybody could see that. I’m sorry for all that, too.”

“He did so much more—”

“Thanks, Seohyuk,” you cut Jisung’s angry ramble off, offering your stepbrother a calm, genuine smile.

Seohyuk let out a sudden, loud, raucous sneeze, throwing his elbow up to catch it as he turned away from you.

You snickered fondly. “You sneeze like him.”

“I do?”

“Yeah.”

“I never noticed…” He lowered his elbow slowly. “Does that mean that I sneeze like a dad?”

“Don’t worry, I do t—”

Something had tickled your nose just then, and you were cut off by the both of you sneezing, nearly identical in volume.

Chaeyeon poked her head back in then, “My God, was that a grenade or you two sneezing?”

You couldn’t help but laugh, Seohyuk giving a couple airy chuckles too.

He gestured to the room where Chaeyeon was, “It’s almost dinner, would you stay and eat with us?”

“I have plans tonight,” you informed him, already thinking of the movies that you and Jisung were going to watch when you got back home.

“Another night? If you want to, no hurt feelings if you’d rather not—I haven’t made myself seem very appealing to hang out with.”

You contemplated this a moment. Your ghost took your pause as an opportunity to let you know his opinion, a loud sigh from behind you. You nodded, “…I could do next week—Monday.”

“Monday!” Seohyuk repeated enthusiastically, clapping his hands once. “Yes, Monday, we can do that. I get home from work at six, uhm, Chaeyeon, will you have appointments that afternoon?”

“Nothing after three.” Chaeyeon’s eyes were sparkling in the warm light from the nearby stylish floor lamp.

“I work in the mornings on Mondays,” you said. “What time should I arrive?”

“Seven? Yeah, dinner should be ready by then,” Seohyuk talked himself through it, flitting his wide, hopeful smile between you and Chaeyeon.

“Or you can get here closer to five and we can hang out first,” Chaeyeon offered to you.

“Or that too!”

“I’ll have some errands to run, seven will probably be the best…” You were still wary of spending so much time here at once.

“Seven it is,” Seohyuk confirmed fervently.

“Why’d you say yes?” Jisung questioned as you pulled a blanket over your laps later that night.

“Mm?” You hummed inquisitively, settling into the corner of the couch. “To dinner at Seohyuk and Chaeyeon’s?”

“Yeah. He was terrible to you, baby. Why even bother?”

You continued humming thoughtfully this time as you tried to piece together all your errant sentiments and feelings about it. “Because he’s making an effort, so I want to, too. And it’s like I said before, Sungie… I’m just tired of fighting with him. It’s so exhausting holding onto all that.”

He was still pouting thoughtfully, brow furrowed. You nudged his side teasingly, “Besides, I’ve got you to hold all my grudges for me.”

Your ghost’s face relaxed just in the slightest as he pulled you closer to plant a kiss on your cheek. “Well, I still don’t forgive him. On your behalf or mine.”

“Oh yeah?”

“Yeah.” He rested his head in the crook of your shoulder, wrapping his arms around your waist. “Worst six months of my life or afterlife without you.”

You leaned back against the arm of the couch to let him sprawl out on top of you, running a hand through his hair. “That’s fair, I suppose. But I don’t think I can really ask him to apologize to you.”

“He already believes the house is haunted, I bet you could get him on another Ouija board,” he mumbled. “Say you heard a weird noise or something.”

“You really want him back in our house so soon?” You laughed, still playing with his hair.

“No,” he huffed.

“Are you ready to pick the first movie yet or are you still sulking?”

“A couple more minutes…”

You were rushing. You were running late this morning, somehow, and it was only when you got to your bus stop that you realized you’d forgotten your tote bag.

“Whew! Right on time, huh, Sungie?” You looked around breathless at the empty bus stop. Too empty. Jisung wasn’t there, and he didn't pop up like he normally did if he wasn't immediately visible. Then you realized the distinct lack of weight on your shoulder.

“Shit!” You patted your pockets fervently for any spare knobs. You didn't even have your ring or bracelet, having taken your jewelry off in order to shower this morning. Just as you were contemplating running back for Jisung, your bus pulled up, and your decision was made for you. He would just have to stay home today.

Walking into work, you felt weirdly lonely, despite your two desk buddies immediately finding you when you arrived on your floor.

“Y/N!” Sungchan’s head was easily visible over the other personnel around him.

Shotaro was in tow, of course, and they fell into step on either side of you. “Y/N! Yes!”

“Good morning?” You squinted at them. “Is it? Should I be concerned as to why you’re so energetic this early?”

“Shotaro thinks—”

“Dude!” Shotaro scolded Sungchan, reaching behind you to smack him on the shoulder. “Tact? Hello?!”

“Oh, I would love to see how you’re going to do this with tact,” Sungchan scoffed back.

“So I should be concerned,” you surmised dryly, heading straight for the breakroom.

“No! I’m just glad you’re back!” Shotaro said brightly. “Because I have a theory.”

“About?”

“The office ghost.”

You held his eye contact for a silent moment before turning back to making your coffee.

“Listen, I swear, our office is haunted. And I think the ghost has a crush on you or something.”

You squinted at him, taking a slow sip of your coffee. “…What?”

“Well, I started keeping a tally every time something spooky happened for the past month—”

“Oh God, okay,” you sighed and rubbed your face.

“And I noticed a pattern. There’s pretty much no spooky stuff that happens on Tuesdays and Fridays. When you’re not here!”

“Maybe the ghost only works part-time, too,” you snorted.

“Listen, I’m telling you, something’s going to happen today now that you’re back,” Shotaro declared.

“Alright, whatever.” You shook your head. It being this early in the morning was bad enough, but you were going to have to go the whole day without Jisung, which meant it’d be dreadfully boring as well.

Back at your desk, you unlocked your computer and avoided your email, instead pulling up a report that you had been working on for the last few weeks. After putting the finishing touches on it, you sent off copies to the printer, and slowly stood up. You’d have to present it at a meeting right after lunch today, which was why you couldn’t try to sprint back home on your break to fetch Jisung—that would risk being tardy for your meeting.

In the vacant copy room, you leaned against the wall next to the machine printing off your report, crossing your arms over your chest and closing your eyes. Stupid presentation. One of the best parts of working remote was no longer having to present to a conference room full of people on your work. Now you didn’t even have Jisung here to cheer you on. You wondered how your ghost was faring home alone. You were sure he was keeping himself busy like he did before the two of you ever met—reading books, watching TV. Maybe he was even working in the garden in the backyard. The two of you had been working on livening up Hyukjun’s flower beds again after they’d been poorly tended to for so long while you were gone.

You let out a huff. You’d so much rather be home with Jisung in your garden, or at least have him here with you.

“Mm?” A confused noise came from elsewhere in the room, and you immediately opened your eyes and looked over towards the doorway, expecting to see one of your coworkers there coming to make copies of their own. But the door was still closed. Quickly looking around the room, you realized that you weren’t alone, though.

Jisung was looking around the room equally bewildered. You blinked at him in disbelief.

“Y/N? Baby?” He stepped towards you. “I thought you forgot all the knobs?”

“I did…” You whispered, reaching out to wipe some dirt off his cheek. “How…?”

“I don’t know.” He took your hand, rubbing circles into your palm with his thumb. “I was in the backyard weeding and then I was here.”

Remembering when you first experimented with bringing him out of the house with the cabinet knobs, you asked, “How’s your head?”

“Fine.”

Someone turned the doorknob to the copy room then, and you dropped your hand from Jisung’s, turning back towards the printer that you were waiting on. Shotaro entered with some papers, heading towards another machine to start making copies.

“Hey, is it just me, or is it way colder in here than normal?” Your coworker questioned.

“Huh?” You hadn’t even noticed.

“It’s normally the hottest room in the building, especially with the printers going—” He gestured to the machines that you two were standing at. “But I’ve got goosebumps.”

“Maybe they finally fixed the A/C in here?”

Shotaro squinted up at the ceiling panels. “I don’t think there’s a vent…”

“Maybe you’re sick.”

“Office ghost,” he declared triumphantly. “What did I tell you? You’re back, the ghost is back. It likes you.”

Jisung giggled at this as you rolled your eyes, trying to suppress your fond smile for your ghost.

“Or maybe it hates me and that’s why it’s only haunting me specifically,” you suggested sarcastically, making Jisung laugh even harder. “Have you ever—”

“Shh!” Shotaro suddenly cut you off harshly, glancing around wildly.

“What?” You looked around too, wondering what exactly he was doing. Jisung had also stopped laughing at the sudden shift in tone, also peering around curiously.

“Did you hear that?”

“Hear what?”

“I swear, I just heard a guy laughing,” Shotaro insisted.

Suppressing your panic, you coolly offered a solution, “You probably did. The walls are really thin here.”

“It didn’t sound like anybody who works here.”

“You know how everybody in this building laughs?”

Shotaro’s face fell, and you felt a little bad for raining on the guy’s parade. “Well, no…”

Your reports had finished printing, and you grabbed all the papers from the tray, securing them in your arms. Patting your office friend on the shoulder, you gave him the best words of encouragement that you could in the moment, “I’m sure the office ghost like you too, Shotaro.”

Jisung nodded solemnly, opting not to say anything this time as he followed you out. You opened the door widely, pretending to struggle with the stack of papers in your arms for a moment so that your ghost could slip out with you. With Shotaro apparently hearing him for a second, you didn’t trust that there wasn’t some slim chance that he could accidentally get clipped by it somehow.

You toured around your floor of the office, dropping off copies of the report to each employee who would be attending the meeting so they could review it beforehand. Jisung silently shadowed you until you had dropped off all your copies except one and ended up in a newer part of the floor with rows of empty conference rooms. You ducked into one, locking the door behind you.

“How did you get here?” You kept your voice just above a whisper, patting down your pockets again, just in case you had a cabinet knob or spare piece of foundation or something that you had somehow forgotten about in there. Nothing, of course. “And did Shotaro just hear you?!”

“I don’t know!” Jisung threw his hands up, then grimaced. “Maybe?!”

“Keep your voice down!” You reminded him emphatically, gesturing for him to calm down.

He slapped a hand over his mouth with a sheepish wince, immediately switching to an even quieter whisper than yours, “Sorry… Not used to whispering.”

“I know.” You leaned against the wall, pursing your lips thoughtfully. “What exactly were you doing before you showed up here?”

“Weeding, like I said.”

“Wait, you had dirt on your face. You never get dirty.”

Jisung looked down at his hands, as if expecting to see them caked with even more dirt. They were clean, but that did nothing to help the uneasy feeling growing in you.

“It didn’t feel like when I would get yanked home.” Your ghost scrunched his nose thoughtfully. “When we were still figuring out the knobs and stuff. I mean, my head feels fine.”

“What about when I bring you with me usually?”

“No, it’s like…” He sighed as he couldn’t seem to find the right words, and switched trains of thought. “What were you doing? Before I showed up?”

“Exactly what you saw me doing. Waiting for my stuff to print,” you shrugged. “And thinking about how much I missed you, I guess.”

“Yeah, that’s what it was like.”

“Like what?”

“I got this feeling like someone had called my name, but I didn’t hear anything.”

You sighed and checked the time. “I need to get ready for my presentation this afternoon. You’ve got to stay quiet today, Sungie. I’m sorry.”

“I understand.” He nodded. “I’ll be on my best behavior.”

“For once,” you teased, pecking his cheek.

Your presentation went over fine, and after, you headed for Mr. Choi’s office, knocking on the open door to get his attention.

“Ah, Y/N, come in,” he waved you in with a smile. “How can I help you?”

“Hi, Mr. Choi.” you offered a faint smile back. “Uhm, I’m not feeling very well. I just wanted to see if I could leave early today?”

“You did look a little distracted during your presentation.” He nodded sympathetically. “Yes, go rest. And if you need to stay offline tomorrow, by all means, please do.”

“Thanks.”

Rushing to close out your programs and turn your computer off, you gave Shotaro and Sungchan hasty goodbyes before fleeing the building, Jisung on your heels.

“How do you feel?” You checked in with him quietly as you speedwalked down the sidewalks.

“Fine. Good.” He kept his voice down.

The two of you were silent until you made it home, where you grabbed your bag from the hook by the front door and took it into the living room, dumping the contents onto the floor. Immediately, you picked out the six that you kept stored in there. You jumped to your feet to run up the stairs and into your bathroom, where the other two were sitting exactly where you left them on the sink. Taking them back downstairs to show Jisung, you dropped back down to your knees to set all eight together, letting out a sigh. You knew you didn’t have any with you today, but the whole time that you were at work, there was still some non-zero chance that maybe you just hadn’t checked your pockets well enough, maybe one was somewhere, you couldn’t be absolutely sure until you saw it with your own eyes. And now you did.

“What the hell is going on?” You whispered.

“Try going down the street?” Jisung suggested. “Without anything?”

You held your hands up to show that you weren’t holding anything as you left the house—alone—and began walking down the street. You were far out of the lay lines of the property, at the end of the block, when Jisung popped up next to you.

You stared at him in shock. He stared back.

“Did you do that on purpose?” You asked. “At all?”

“I don’t know. Did you?”

“How would I have done that?”

He shrugged. “How would I?”

“It can’t be my clothes or anything, I just got like this whole outfit in the past couple months,” you huffed, still trying to brainstorm.

“Y/N, I think—” Jisung looked at you with wide eyes. “I think it’s you. I think I’m connected to you somehow.”

“I’m home!” The words were hardly out of your mouth when Jisung popped into the foyer.

He looked startled, barely sticking the landing as his head whipped around, a book in his hand. Your ghost let out a huff as he found his footing, closing the book on his thumb. “I wish you’d stop doing that. I was upstairs reading.”

“Sorry, Sungie.” You pecked his cheek, hanging your bag up. “I’m not trying, honest.”

Jisung’s annoyance quickly faded as he leaned down to kiss you. “I know, baby. I’m not mad, it just spooks me every time.”

“A ghost getting spooked,” you repeated humorously, walking further into your house.

“I’ll start on dinner.”

“Oh!” You stopped at the bottom of the stairs. “Chaeyeon called me on my way home and asked if they could drop the baby off, by the way. Apparently Seohyuk has a last-minute work thing and they couldn’t find anybody else to watch her.”

“Ah. Okay.”

After getting out of your work clothes, you found Jisung in the kitchen again, wrapping your arms around his waist and pressing your cheek to his back. “Thank you. I know it’s got to suck being here alone all day and then having people come over.”

Since the debacle with Shotaro hearing Jisung at work, you’d been erring on the side of caution and leaving Jisung home when you went to work. It made your days lonelier, and you knew he hated it too, but it was just too hard to bring him out to the same place over and over like that. Especially when you had a paranoid coworker quite literally ghost-hunting constantly.

On top of that, you hadn’t had to bring a single cabinet knob with you anywhere in order to bring Jisung along in the time since, seemingly confirming his suspicions. He was no longer anchored to the house.

“I haven’t met the baby yet,” his voice sounded like he was forcing pep into it. “I’m looking forward to it.”

When Chaeyeon had given birth, you visited the new parents and baby at their house, leaving your ghost at home for the brief meet-up. This would be the first time the family came to your place.

“They’re not staying, at least,” you reminded him. “Chaeyeon and Seohyuk. They’re just dropping SooSoo off and then picking her up after.”

“How long is she going to be here for?”

“A few hours. Don’t worry, I’ll hold her,” you teased.

Jisung snorted lightly, continuing to chop the food. “Good idea.”

Your ghost stayed upstairs while Chaeyeon and Seohyuk brought SooSoo in, handing her and all her supplies off to you. After giving you the rundown of all the basics, they rushed back out with final goodbye pecks on the cheek to both of you. You laughed and waved them off, shutting the door behind the couple.

Upon hearing the front door close, you saw Jisung hesitantly peeking down the stairs. You chuckled, “Coast is clear, Jisung.”

“I can’t believe that’s really him.” He shook his head, taking the baby’s bag off your shoulder for you.

“Who, Seohyuk?”

“Yeah,” he confirmed. “He was like… nice to you. Actually nice.”

“I keep telling you he’s been trying.” You walked into the living room, gently bouncing SooSoo in your arms.

“You’re good with her,” Jisung said, coming to stand next to you.

“You think so?” You beamed, playing with the baby’s tiny fingers. “This is the first one I’ve held.”

“Do you—” He cut himself off, staring at SooSoo with wide eyes. He slowly moved to the left, then the right. You watched his movements with confusion. He looked at you, disbelief clear on his face. “Can the baby see me?”

“What?” You looked down at her, seeing that it did appear as though her eyes were focused on a spot in the air over your shoulder where Jisung was. He moved to the right, and the baby’s eyes tracked him. He then moved to your left shoulder, and they once again followed. She continued watching him as he shifted back to hovering over your right shoulder, and you were really beginning to think that this wasn’t a coincidence.

You furrowed your brow. “Huh…”

Jisung clapped his hands directly in front of her face, and she flinched and blinked.

“Okay, okay,” you chastised him, pushing his hands away from her face. “This didn’t happen when the Kims were little, did it? It’s not like a ‘kids can see ghosts better’ thing, right?”

“No, they had no clue I was there. Babies, children, adults. Nobody ever did this.”

“Looks like you’ve got an imaginary friend, SooSoo,” you chuckled, gently tapping the tip of her nose.

“I’m not imaginary, just incorporeal,” he scoffed, but nevertheless reached around you to adjust her blanket for her.

“Do you think it has something to do with everything else?” You asked quietly. “Shotaro heard you, we don’t need the knobs anymore, now SooSoo can see you…”

“I don’t know.”

“Right. No ghost manual.”

Jisung stayed put as you sat down on the couch, readjusting the baby in your lap. You didn’t love the pensive look still on his features, especially when he didn’t seem to notice you patting the spot next to you in an invite for him to join you.

“Sungie?” You called for him quietly. “Everything okay?”

“I was thinking…” He looked at SooSoo, then held your gaze, obviously conflicted. “Do you want kids someday?”

“Oh.” You knew exactly where his mind had gone. “I-I don’t know. Definitely not right now—”

“But in the future—”

“I said I don’t know, Jisung,” you reiterated. “But what I absolutely do know, is that I love you. Okay? Can that be enough for now?”

“Okay. Yeah.” He nodded, finally joining you on the couch, wrapping an arm around your waist and pressing a kiss to your cheek. “I love you too.”

Chaeyeon and Seohyuk finally came back long after SooSoo had gone to sleep, and just before you were about to follow her lead, nodding off in a corner of the couch. Jisung stopped gently rocking the baby’s carseat when the doorbell rang, shaking your shoulder to make sure you were fully awake. You nodded, reluctantly getting to your feet as he wordlessly took off upstairs. Opening the front door, you greeted the couple, covering your mouth as a yawn escaped. You all chatted about the event as they gathered their daughter and the baby bag from the floor in front of the couch.

Chaeyeon parted the blankets around SooSoo, then rooted around through the bag that was on her husband’s shoulder. “Did she have her pink elephant when she came? I thought she did, but I don’t see it…”

“Oh, yeah, yeah.” You peered around your living room, unable to see the stuffed animal as well. “I think it might be in my room, hold on.” You held up a finger for them to wait a moment, heading for the stairs.

Jisung was already on the ground with his head and arm under the bed when you walked in. You lightly pushed the door closed behind you as he scooted back out, victoriously holding a small, pink, stuffed elephant above his head.

“Thank you, Sungie,” you said quietly, reaching out for the toy. Except he jerked it out of your reach at the last second, holding it above his head with a teasing glint in his eye. You narrowed your eyes at him, continuing to whisper, “I don’t have time for this.”

“Alright, alright,” he snickered, setting the elephant down in your waiting palm. He used his other hand to grab your wrist, pulling you closer and pecking your forehead.

You looked up, leaning in to kiss him when you heard the creak of a floorboard right outside your bedroom door.

“You need some help in—?” Seohyuk cut his own question short as he knocked on your slightly ajar door, causing it to swing open. “Oh, sorry, I didn’t realize you had company…”

You froze, staring between the two of them as you realized that Seohyuk’s gaze was focused directly on Jisung. Immediately, you panicked, reeling back from your ghost as you tried to stay calm, process what the hell was going on, and manage the real-life façade of whatever Seohyuk must be thinking. The further you stepped away from Jisung, the more certain you were that Seohyuk could see him, his eyes flicking between the two of you very deliberately.

“Oh, no, it’s fine, uhm, Seohyuk, this is… my friend Jisung. I told him he could stop by whenever to borrow a book, I didn’t realize…” You trailed off awkwardly, scratching the back of your neck as you shuffled even further away from your ghost.

It was Jisung’s turn to look at you incredulously, clearly upset now at being introduced as your ‘friend.’ You cleared your throat awkwardly, gesturing between them. “Jisung, this is my brother Seohyuk.”

“It’s a pleasure to meet you,” Seohyuk flashed him a brilliant smile as he offered a hand for him to shake.

You watched with bated breath as Jisung seemed to debate doing this for a moment, then took it. To your relief and bewilderment, Jisung’s hand didn’t go through Seohyuk’s, and they shook… normally.

Seohyuk then pointed at the elephant in your hand. “Ellie and I will see you downstairs, Y/N.”

You meekly held the toy out for him to take without another word. He headed out of the room, and you nearly collapsed as soon as he was out of your sight. But you didn’t have time for that yet.

“I’m sorry, just go to the pond, I’ll come get you when they’re gone, okay?” You told Jisung in a hushed voice before he could voice any of his complaints at being called your friend, surprise at Seohyuk seeing him, or anything else. You had to get your family out of the house first.

He let out a short sigh, but nodded. “Alright, alright.”

You walked him down the stairs and to the front door, keeping a polite amount of distance between you two, well aware of the two pairs of eyes watching you from the living room. Opening the front door, you gave Jisung a courteous nod. “Alright, uh, bye, Jisung.”

“Yeah, uhm, goodnight, Y/N.” His eyes darted between you and over your shoulder, and you could tell it was taking everything in him not to habitually kiss you goodbye.

“Nice to meet you, Jisung!” Seohyuk called out from the living room.

“Uh, yeah, you too!” He replied, giving a final wave over his shoulder before departing.

You nearly slammed the door shut behind him, taking a deep breath in to calm yourself down before turning around.

Seohyuk grinned at you as you walked back into the living room. “Friend, huh?”

“Oh my God, shut up.”

“I’m just saying… he didn’t leave with a book.”

“Oh, you’re the worst!” You huffed as he burst into laughter.

Chaeyeon shook her head, handing SooSoo’s carseat to her husband.

“I swear, you two bicker like real siblings now,” she commented, wrapping an arm around your shoulders protectively. “Seohyuk, leave her alone.”

“What? You didn’t see them, Chae, it was—”

“Drop it.”

“Fine, fine.” He held his free hand up, still with the same shit-eating grin.

“We’re going to get out of your hair now, hon,” Chaeyeon declared, squeezing your arm. She then looked at Seohyuk pointedly.

After giving the three of them your final goodbyes at the door, you closed it and locked it up behind them before dashing to the front window. Through a small crack between two blinds, you watched them load up Seohyuk’s new, sensible SUV before pulling away from the curb. Once you were certain they would be several streets away, you threw on a pair of shoes and ran out the door. Despite how dark it was, you knew the way to the pond by heart.

When you first entered the clearing, you couldn’t see your ghost, and your heart jumped to your throat. You took out your phone, shining the flashlight around everywhere. “Jisung?!” You cried out.

“Right here.” He appeared in front of you. “That still works, apparently.”

“God, what the hell just happened?!” You took his hand, marching back home with him in tow.

“I don’t know.”

“I mean, Seohyuk not only could hear you, but see you and touch you?!”

“I know.”

“What the fuck is going on?!”

“I don’t know.”

You lifted his hand that you were hold up, shining your flashlight directly on it. He didn’t look or feel any different—cool to the touch, and he had always had some color to him. With your fast, anxious pace, it didn’t take you long to get back home, dragging him back inside.

Just in the foyer, you stopped and indicated for him to stay right there. Holding up your phone with the camera open, you took a picture of Jisung without even looking at the screen. The suspense didn’t last long, as you swiped to view the image, nearly dropping your phone in shock. Instead of the normal shadowy glitch in frame, your ghost was staring right back, his dark eyes wide open as he looked past the camera directly at you.

You wordlessly turned the phone around to show him. He reached out towards the screen, then pulled his hand back, resting his index finger in the center of his chest.

“Th-That’s me?” He asked hesitantly. “Right?”

“Yeah, Sungie,” you replied hoarsely. “That’s you.”

“What the hell is happening?”

You bit your lip and shook your head. “I don’t know. I don’t fucking know.”

“Do you feel okay?” Jisung asked abruptly.

“Huh?” You hurried to swallow the bite of food that you had just taken. “Yeah, Sungie, I feel fine. It’s not that hot yet.”

You had taken advantage of the cool spring day to do some much-needed weeding in the gardens, and were taking a break to eat the lunch that Jisung had just made for you. He took a sip of his lemonade before setting the cup down on the porch step beside him. Another new development: he could eat and drink now. He wasn’t necessarily hungry or thirsty like you, but he enjoyed food again.

“I don’t mean the weather, I mean—” He ran a hand through his hair as he took a minute to try to piece his words together. “All this that’s been happening. I’m definitely tied to you now, not the house. But I don’t want… to be… taking anything from you. Your soul, or life force, or whatever. I don’t know what’s going on, but if you feel any worse for it, then—”

“No, God, no,” you reassured him, putting your plate aside to scoot closer to him and wrap an arm around him. “I feel just fine, I promise.”

“Would you tell me if it was making you feel worse?”

“I would tell you if I didn’t feel good, yes, but whether or not that would hypothetically be connected is an entirely different question.”

He sighed, wringing his hands between his knees. “I’m just worried, Y/N. And scared. I don’t know what’s happening to us and I don’t like that.”

“I don’t like not knowing either,” you agreed quietly. “But it’s not hurting me, okay? And it’s not hurting you—Well, other than when you stubbed your toe the other day.”

“How was I supposed to know it was going to do that?” He whined, grabbing his foot through his shoe.

Yet another new thing—Jisung could feel physical pain again. Before, the only sort of harm he would come into was his headaches if he was going from the house for too long and got pulled back. Now, if he wasn’t careful to go through an object, he could hurt himself on it just like you. Bruise and all.

“Shotaro misses you, by the way,” you informed him. “He was lamenting the lack of office ghost activity lately.”

“Funny enough, I kinda miss him too,” Jisung admitted. “It’s so boring being stuck here all day now.”

“Mr. Choi put another dinner on our calendars next week, you know…” You said cautiously. “Do you want to come?”

He blinked at you. “Like… on purpose?”

“Yeah, it’s open to significant others too. We’re pretty certain everyone can see you now,” you reminded him, thinking of all the cashiers, strangers in public, and neighbors that had interacted with Jisung at this point.

“I—Yes, okay,” he agreed happily, looking down at his lap.

“Good, you’ll need lots of practice.”

“Practice for what?!”

“SooSoo’s birthday party next month.”

Down the street from the restaurant that you were supposed to meeting your coworkers at, you stopped Jisung on the sidewalk. Fixing his collar, you reminded him, “Okay, Sungie, remember, you’ve never met these people before. You can’t say stuff that you’re not supposed to know.”

“I know, I know,” he huffed, but stayed still as you messed with his hair too.

“How long have we been dating?”

“Three years.”

“Where did we meet?”

“The library.”

“What do you do for a living?”

“I’m a… freelance… graphic designer…?” He answered uncertainly, watching your face with each syllable.

“You have got to be more convincing than that.”

“I barely understand what that is!” He replied indignantly. “What if they ask me questions?”

“You just have to say that your clients make you sign NDAs so you can’t say anything about your projects!” You said. “Or pick a different job, I don’t know! Something that’s easy to talk around. I just don’t want you getting asked questions that are hard to answer.”

He shook his head. “This was a bad idea. I shouldn’t have come.”

“No, you’re my boyfriend and I want to introduce you to my coworkers.” You took his hand, lacing your fingers together. “I want you here. I’m not going to keep you locked up forever.”

Jisung took a deep breath, squeezing your hand tight. “Alright, okay. Let’s do it.”

Pushing the door open, you immediately spotted the table of your coworkers in the corner, waving to them as you walked over. Mr. Choi stood up to greet you, giving you a one-armed hug. His wife stood up as well, kissing your cheek.

“So good to see you, sweetheart.” She was absolutely beaming as she drew back and moved her expectant gaze to Jisung next to you.

You inhaled, starting the introductions. “This is my boyfriend, Jisung. Jisung, this is my supervisor, Mr. Choi, and his wife, Dahyun.”

Mr. Choi shook Jisung’s hand, broad grin on his face. “Nice to meet you.”

“You too, sir,” Jisung coughed over the crack in his voice, giving him the best bow that he could in the cramped space of the restaurant.

You were the last ones to arrive, and Sungchan thankfully scooted over to make room for you at the very end. Hastily doing introductions between everyone, you then started looking over the menu with Jisung.

“So, what do you do, Jisung?” Sungchan asked from your other side, taking a sip of his drink.

“Oh, I’m uh, I’m a freelance…” Your ghost trailed off, and you squeezed his knee under the table to think of something fast before you would have to. “Photographer! Sorry, this menu just looks so good, I zoned out. I’m a photographer, yeah.”

Well, not the worst choice in the world.

Shotaro perked up from across the table. “Oh! Do you help Y/N with all those crazy pictures she posts?”

Jisung nodded hastily, latching onto the life preserver that your coworker had unknowingly thrown him. “Yes, yes I do.”

“They’re really cool,” Sungchan complimented him. “Is it all photo editing or is some of the effect practical?”

You looked over at your ghost to gauge if he was going to need your help on this one. He was frozen as he was clearly wracking his brain for how to answer, so you decided to swoop in.

“Some of it’s practical,” you answered for him. “But it’s a proprietary technique so he really can’t say much more than that…”

Sungchan held his hands up in surrender. “Ah, okay.”

“Do you have your own account?” Shotaro asked eagerly, bringing his phone out. “She never tags anyone.”

“So stingy with the credit,” Sungchan clicked his tongue and shook his head.

“No, I don’t,” Jisung hastily replied. “I’m not really into that sort of stuff…”

“How do you get clients then? If you’re a freelancer but you don’t have social media?”

“Well…”

Seeing that he was panicking again, you smoothly took over, “Word of mouth. He’s just that good.”

Your coworkers seemed both impressed and satisfied, nodding to themselves and each other. “Cool, cool.”

As a waiter came around to start taking everyone’s orders, you patted Jisung’s leg under the table, reassuring him that he’d passed the first part of the gauntlet. He grabbed your hand, rubbing his thumb over your knuckles.

As soon as the front door clicked shut behind you, Jisung let out a guttural groan, sinking to the floor against the hallway wall. He dropped his face into his hands, shaking his head.

“How do you do it?” He bemoaned.

“Do what?” You chuckled, hanging your purse up.

“Talk to that many people for so long.”

“Aw, my poor introverted ghost.” You pouted sympathetically, squatting down in front of him.

“I had friends when I was alive. A bunch. I saw them all the time. Every day!”

“Death changed you, Sungie.”

“Ugh…”

You stroked his hair. “So, do you not want to go to SooSoo’s birthday party? It’s fine if you don’t, I haven’t told them I’m bringing a guest yet, I was waiting to see how tonight went.”

Jisung lifted his head up just enough to rest his chin in his palms, squishing his cheeks up. “No, I had fun. I just… need to get used to people again. I’m not used to having to talk to people who aren’t you. I want to go to the birthday party with you. Especially since those people will be there.”

“I’m glad you had fun.” You smiled, gently tweaking his cheek. “Rule one, you can’t call them ‘those people.’ At least not to their face.”

“Fine.”

“Ready, baby?” Jisung asked as you turned the corner onto Seohyuk and Chaeyeon’s street.

“Mhm,” you responded, looking over at him skeptically. “Are you ready?”

“They’re family,” he replied seriously.

You snickered, leaning over to peck his cheek. “I almost believed you, Sungie. Good job.”

“Just don’t leave me alone with Hyukjun’s ex-wife,” he begged, breaking his facade.

“I won’t, I won’t,” you assured him. “Seohyuk says his mom’s been going to AA, though, and Joohyuk has been in anger management counseling ever since his wife left him, and that Minhyuk has totally mellowed out after experiencing empathy for the first time when he tried ayahuasca in Peru last month. So who knows, they might be better.”

“What a family,” he scoffed. “Can’t believe you’re dating a ghost and you’re like, the most normal one.”

“Debatable.”

“Okay, one of the most normal ones.”

You nodded towards the approaching house. “Get it out of your system now, there’s the front door.”

A serene smile spread across his face. “I’m done, and I’m perfectly nice now and will not bring any of that up for the rest of the afternoon.”

You had barely finished knocking when the front door swung open, Seohyuk on the other side. Your stepbrother immediately went to hug you. “Hey, Y/N. Glad you could make it.”

“Hi, Seohyuk. Wouldn’t miss it.” You patted his back. “Can’t believe she’s a year old already.”

“I know,” he sighed wistfully. Letting you go, he turned to Jisung, mischievous glint in his eye. “I’m Seohyuk, Y/N’s brother. Jisung, right?”

“Yes, it’s great to see you again.” Your ghost accepted his handshake.

You mouthed ‘cool it’ over Seohyuk’s shoulder at Jisung’s way too enthusiastic greeting, and he immediately reworked his expression, relaxing his face a bit more. Seohyuk stepped back and gestured you two inside, closing the door behind you. He guided you further in, pointing to where Jisung could put down the gift bag he had been carrying.

Chaeyeon spotted you from where she had been chatting with a few other guests, excusing herself before darting over to you, throwing her arms around your neck. “Y/N!”

“Chaeyeon!” You laughed, hugging her back. “We just got tea last week.”

“Yes, I know. Doesn’t mean I can’t be excited to see you now.”

You turned around to where Jisung was awkwardly standing a couple steps behind you and latched onto his arm, dragging him over. “Chaeyeon, this is my boyfriend Jisung. Jisung, this is my sister-in-law Chaeyeon.”

She was absolutely cheesing as she turned to Jisung, stacking both hands over her chest as she was trying to contain her excitement. “Can I hug you? You can say no, I’m a hugger, but it’s fine, I totally get it.”

“Uhm yeah?” Jisung agreed before nearly being bowled over by Chaeyeon. “Oh!”

You covered your hand in an attempt to stifle your laugh. The hug was fleeting, as Chaeyeon let him go and grabbed your arm again, her face turning serious. She leaned in, lowering her voice conspiratorially, and you had to strain your ears to hear her over the noise of all the other partygoers and children playing.

“Okay, so drinks are in the kitchen—no alcohol since Jieun is recovering, you know. We didn’t think it was necessary since it’s a kid’s birthday anyway. You already know, don’t ask Joohyuk where his wife is. And Minhyuk… for your own sake, don’t ask about his trip to South America unless you want to hear him talk about the spiritual benefits of psychedelics for two hours straight,” she debriefed you quietly. “Here, I’ll introduce you guys to some of my friends from the mom pilates class that I attend; they’re cool, I promise!”

With that, Chaeyeon took off, leaving you to catch up. You grabbed Jisung’s hand, chuckling as you followed after your sister-in-law.

Later in the party found you sat on the couch, chatting with two of Chaeyeon’s mom-ilates friends. Jisung emerged from the kitchen where he had been getting plates of food for the both of you, looking flustered as he dropped into the empty spot next to you.

“Finally,” you commented, accepting your plate from him. “What took you so long? Was there a line for the pretzels?”

“Minhyuk cornered me,” he groaned, covering his face with one hand. “I didn’t even ask about Peru, I told him you were waiting but that just made it worse. As soon as I brought you up, he started saying something about how when he was tripping, he realized how terrible they all were to you, and he started crying? I really don’t think he’s okay, like mentally…”

You let out a sputtering laugh, rubbing Jisung’s shoulder sympathetically. “Sounds rough, Sungie.”

“Leechan!” One of the moms suddenly barked out her son’s name, shooting to her feet. She shot you an annoyed look before stomping off to grab a boy from a tussle that had broken out.

The other mom that had been with you let out a sigh as she calmly finished her last bite of cake before setting her plate down and getting up as well. “Ryujin! That’s it! We’re going!”

“Remember how you asked me if I wanted kids?” You asked Jisung quietly, making sure to turn your head so only he heard you.

“Mhm?” His voice wavered.

“Yeah, no,” you scoffed. “I’ll be Aunt Y/N for the rest of my life, thanks.”

He snickered, rubbing your back. “That’s—”

Jisung suddenly froze, his eyes going wide and snapping down to the floor in front of the couch. You looked down to see what had startled him, immediately spotting your niece clambering over his feet and attempting to climb up his legs.

“SooSoo, your Uncle Jisung is not a jungle gym,” Seohyuk chastised his daughter lightly, scooping her up in his arms.

The toddler giggled, babbling as she still reached her chubby little arms out towards your ghost.

“Do you want to hold her?” Your stepbrother offered.

Jisung looked at you hesitantly. You chuckled, reaching for his plate on his lap. “Do you, Sungie? It’s okay if you don’t, but I can hold your plate for you if you want.”

“Sure?” He opened his arms as you moved the food, clearing the way for Seohyuk to deposit the birthday girl there.

“Relax, Jisung,” Seohyuk laughed. “She won’t bite. Probably.” He perked up and turned around as his name was called from across the room. “Yeah, coming, Mom!”

That left you, Jisung, and SooSoo. You poked your niece’s belly, making her laugh, the sound ringing through the air like bells. She reached for Jisung again, this time succeeding in grabbing the chain that was hanging around his neck and yanking on it. He jerked forward with it in surprise.

“Ah, gentle, sweet,” you reminded her, fishing the rest of his necklace from under his collar. He was able to sit up straight again as SooSoo was fascinated by the starburst pendant, which matched the ring on your own finger.

“She’s so…”

“Big?” You suggested humorously, playing with the single tuft of hair tied up on top of her head that reminded you of a leek. You were thinking about the first time you saw her after she was born, when she was just a few pounds, compared to now.

“Little,” Jisung finished, his voice quiet but filled with awe.

You looked at him a little funny, scooting in closer to continue your conversation at a lower volume. “You were there when the Kims were all babies, weren’t you?”

“Yeah, but I wasn’t really there,” he murmured. “And they were kinda… I don’t know, boring. They were babies, they didn’t do anything. I don’t think I learned their names until they could talk.”

You laughed much louder than you had been talking, drawing a couple passing glances. Burying your face in Jisung’s shoulder to muffle yourself, you were easily able to picture a disinterested, aloof ghost Jisung turning up his nose at a “boring” baby Seohyuk asleep in a crib. As tears eked out the sides of your eyes, you felt your ghost drop a kiss to the top of your head, the curl of his smile evident.

That night, you were happy and bone-achingly tired, but some part of your brain couldn’t seem to get the memo. With a sigh, you opened your nightstand drawer, rooting around for your bottle of sleeping meds.

Jisung shuffled out of bed. “I’ll get you a glass of water.”

The bedroom door opened, stairs squeaked, and distantly, in the dead silence of the house, you could hear the kitchen faucet. Then, the stairs squeaked again, and Jisung closed the door behind him. As you sat up to accept the cup from him, you squinted at him inquisitively.

“Did you use the door?”

He looked back at the door, blinking hurriedly as he belatedly realized what happened. “Yeah, I did. I guess I was practicing so much to make sure I didn’t walk through anything in front of your family that I forgot.”

As he climbed back into bed, you knocked back the pill and set your water aside. Ruffling Jisung’s hair, you smiled at him fondly, feeling your chest swell. “Thank you, Sungie. I love you so much. I know that all this must be so hard and scary, and you’ve been doing so much for me. Really, thank you.”

“Ah, Y/N,” he chuckled nervously, ducking his head. He picked up your hand, though, playing with your fingers as he spoke, eyes focused on your entwined hands. “Thank you. I’m… You made me real. I know we don’t know for sure what’s going on, but that’s what I believe.”

“Real?” You echoed tentatively.

His hand phased through yours, a chill zipping up your arm, then he turned solid again, fingertips skimming over your pulse point on your wrist. “I’m not human again. I-I don’t know if I ever will be. I don’t want to get our hopes up. But I’m more than I was before you.”

You grabbed his hand, wrapping yours around the back of it and closing all of his fingers except his pointer. “You’re enough for me no matter what you are, Jisung.” You lifted your hands to your chest, drawing an X over your heart. “If we woke up tomorrow and you were incorporeal again, you’d still be the love of my life.”

“You’re the love of my life and afterlife.” Jisung pulled your hands over to him, drawing one leg of the X on ‘life’ and the other on ‘afterlife.’ “Cross my heart.”

“No fair pulling the afterlife card,” you teased, using your other hand to drag him into a kiss.

He kissed you unhurriedly, caressing your cheek with the back of his fingers. When you broke away for air, he squeezed your hand, tender gaze tracing over your features. “Guess I’ll always love you more, then.”

“Nuh-uh!” You retorted childishly, even as you were beginning to struggle with keeping your eyes open.

“Getting sleepy?” He asked smugly.

“Maybe.”

“Lay down, I’ll read to you.”

“Fine, but you didn’t win.”

“Alright, alright,” he hummed, reaching for the book on his nightstand. Settling down under the covers, you let your eyes close as Jisung began reading. Your ghost’s deep voice gently started lulling you to sleep as he kept one hand clasped with yours, resting over your heart.

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