#it's a brief one sentence mention but i wanted to tag it just in case !!

[cinnbar-bun]

Part 4 Jotaro going to Morioh only to find you, a former Stardust Crusader on accident. I imagine they fell out of touch/didn't have time to talk. (Maybe they had feelings for eachother??)

A/n: I LOVE THIS REQUEST SO MUCH I WENT NUTS!!

Reunion in Morioh

Relationship: Jotaro 4 x GN!SDC!Reader

Rating: SFW

Word Count: ~1.4k

Notes: Reader is GN! Some discussions of spoilers for P3 and P4. A brief P5 mention (ifykyk). Jotaro is currently divorced in this fic, and it features some cameos of the Duwang crew. Some mentions of trauma from P3 but overall pretty soft all things considered.

Read in my AO3 here!

Taglist (if you'd like to be tagged, please fill out the form on my pinned!): @child-ofdust @starr-l1ghtt

Jotaro isn’t necessarily the best at communicating. That was always the case with him, as he felt he expressed himself just fine. Surely anyone could tell what he was thinking with just one look or a quick sentence. 

Even when you two traveled together with the rest of the Stardust Crusaders, he assumed you knew him well enough. It did seem that way, at least. You practically became the Jotaro translator to the rest of the team. 

His relationship with you was different from the others, a more close and intimate one compared to the others. It was clear that he valued your presence in the crusaders even more than he did, say, Kakyoin’s or Polnareff’s. 

Jotaro, despite his rough and tough exterior, really did care for you. Even in his more immature state, he had a habit of protecting you and focusing on your comfort than he usually spared the others. 

He knew what he felt inside, that the feelings he held for you went beyond platonic or just mere friendship. It was a genuine want for a closer relationship with you. 

But Jotaro, ever the stoic seventeen year old who had never been in a relationship before, did not really know that his feelings were not easily read as desiring a romantic relationship with you. 

To him, he was dropping hints left and right and showing obvious signs that he had a crush on you and wanted to be with you. 

To you, he would just hand you the last bit of water before Polnareff attempted to chug it down. 

To him, he was standing closer to you and signaling he liked being next to you, while also keeping watch of you to make sure you weren’t too far behind. 

To you, he was gruffly telling you to hurry the hell up. 

Despite the untold feelings you both had for the other, neither of you ever went out and told the other of them. It was the one time you had failed to read Jotaro correctly, one that he spent the next few years believing to be you rejecting him and his ‘advances’. 

So when it came time to part, he believed that your rejection of him (misunderstanding his cues) was your real feelings and decided to stay away from you, figuring you’d rather not be around him after he confessed (throwing easily misinterpreted signals at you). It was another of his silent ways to make sure you were comfortable, but he didn’t realize that you would take it as a sign of him rejecting you as if your relationship meant nothing. 

Well, that was ages ago. 11 years later and he’s no longer the 17 year old delinquent who could smoke five cigarettes at once, but a 28 year old marine biologist who had gotten divorced from his first marriage. 

He didn’t want to be in Morioh, but considering Joseph’s colossal screw-up and the mysterious events taking place, he knew he’d have to stay far longer than he had anticipated. 

Morioh is fine and all, but he didn’t find any worthwhile reason to stay. That was, until Okuyasu and Josuke accidentally destroyed a part of your fence, leading Jotaro to drag them to you to apologize. 

“Come on, do we really have to?!” Josuke cries.  

The commotion outside obviously bugs you, and you swing open the door, complaining about the noise when you gasp as you come face to face with Jotaro again. Time has really been kind to him, and even with his older appearance, it’s easy to tell it’s him. 

“Jotaro?” You ask, making sure it’s really him, while Josuke and Okuyasu eye up Jotaro to explain what’s going on. 

Jotaro keeps it curt and polite, feeling some fondness for you after all these years but still not wanting to overstep your presumed boundaries. He ignores Josuke and Okuyasu’s wide eyes and comments and gives you a brief nod. 

“(Y/n). It’s been a while.” 

“11 years, to be exact…” 

Knowing that you’re here makes the trip significantly different in his mind. Your stand is quite useful, and he asks to recruit you one more time to aid him in finding Kira. He is being truthful about wanting your help, but admittedly, a selfish part of him wants to see what you’ve been up to. 

You agree, feeling somewhat similarly to Jotaro. He has changed a lot since you two last said your goodbyes at the airport, and it’s made you curious how he may have grown. 

Jotaro doesn’t really like to discuss much of what occurred in Egypt to the Duwang group. Josuke and Okuyasu mostly want to hear about how you two became friends and knew each other. Koichi recognizes that you two have some mutual respect for the other and that you seem to know a lot more about Jotaro than meets the eye. Rohan, however, is the one who knows something must have gone down for you two to be this awkward around the other. And he will be annoying and try to get sneaky about finding what happened. 

“Call it a hunch of mine, but something tells me that there’s an interesting story to be told between the two of them.” 

Joseph is the one that breaks the ice for you and Jotaro by being his usual self. 

“Oh, (Y/n)? Is that really you? Don’t tell me I’m hallucinating this!” Once you assure him that no, you are not an illusion and that it really is you, Joseph embraces you and blabs on. 

“You’ve grown well! Haha! I didn’t think I’d see you in this little old town. You know, it breaks my heart that you and Jotaro didn’t stay in touch after all that with Dio. I was sure you’d become part of the family!” 

You can practically hear glass shatter as everyone gawks at Joseph, who is humming casually and doesn’t realize what he just admitted, while Jotaro is fuming internally and attempts to drag Joseph away. 

“Ignore him. Old age has taken a toll on his brain.” 

It’s both a blessing and a curse that Joseph spoke so freely. It stopped both you and Jotaro from thinking the other hated you, but it also left a reminder that once upon a time, you two were that close. 

Still, Jotaro doesn’t want to push his luck- for pete’s sake, it’s been 11 years, why would you care for him like you did when you two were dumb teenagers?- so he tries to keep it professional. 

But unfortunately, even he can’t help the way he gets more protective over you during an ambush from stand users. Or how he gets stern with the boys if they make a poor joke or something negative about you. Or the way he finds himself feeling nostalgic. 

It takes a while but you two eventually begin to talk again beyond surface level greetings and battles. Jotaro finds out that Polnareff used to send you letters, but one day just stopped sending them all together without warning. You find out Jotaro pursued his dream of becoming a marine biologist and was currently writing a thesis on starfish. You moved to Morioh after the trauma from Egypt, living alone and being unable to connect with ‘normal’ people after being so fundamentally changed by the trip. He had a wife and daughter in America, but due to his time away from home, was divorced from her. 

Some things haven’t changed. The comfortable air between the two of you still remains, giving the two of you a break despite Kira being on the loose. Jotaro thinks to himself that he hadn’t felt this at ease in years. 

As the days pass, the feelings he had for you slowly resurface, but this time, he’s much more aware of relationships and wants to correct his mistakes from the past. He won’t be the same misunderstood boy from back then. 

So with a casual and stoic expression, he puts his hands in his pockets and turns to you. 

“How do you feel about going to grab a meal with me tonight?” he asks, hoping that him being upfront will give you two another chance to start anew.

[felibrary]

╭──╯PAIRING: aventurine x fem!reader

CHAPTER SYNOPSIS:  Out of everyone this could’ve happened to, of course, it struck you. As a barista, you meet new customers every day but a fateful encounter with a stupid(ly handsome) stranger, turns into two and three and to the point of no return, and somewhere along the way catching yourself faltering for his persistent charms annoyance.

WORDCOUNT: 4.2k

CONTENT & GENERAL WARNINGS: fem!reader, barista!reader, cursing, light angst if you squint, fluff, march is the n1 shipper, vague mentions of ratio, banter and bickering (more from readers side), no beta-read we die like baiheng

AUTHOR'S NOTE: the last chapter was posted like 2 weeks ago? i think not sure. sorry guys i just had no motivation in the previous few weeks at all 😭😭 but here it is, enjoy! also just cause this took super long to write doesn't equal it being super good 😓

ART CREDITS: none of the characters or art belong to me all art credits go to @/kkuekkue on x!

TAGLIST: @azullumi,@sunananaa, @milksnake-tea, @iceunhie, @nayukiyukihira, @jjzlisu, @raideneiari (if you want to be added to the tag list write a comment or send me an off anon ask! ^^)

PREVIOUS || MASTERLIST || NEXT

“Order for uh.” you abruptly stop your sentence. Furrowing your brow in confusion you look at the questionable name that is written on the paper cup that you’re currently holding in your hand. Your gaze drifts over to the barista behind you. “March..” you whisper through gritted teeth, trying to maintain a smile while pausing for a brief moment to study the face of the girl with the cotton candy-like hair. 

The short girl hums quietly, “What is it?” she tilts her head to the side, a milk-frothing pitcher in her right hand, almost empty. “And why are we whispering?” admittedly you’re not even sure yourself, after all, people come up with silly names all the time, so why are you refraining from saying this name out loud?

“Well, I'm whispering because I don't want the other customers to listen into our conversation, but, are you sure that you wrote the right name here?” you ask the girl behind you doubtfully before directing your view towards the letters that were written in cursive and were adorned by little stars and flowers drawn by none other than March. 

The '*•.¸♡𝓐𝓿𝓮𝓷𝓽𝓾𝓻𝓲𝓷𝓮 ♡¸.•*' which she wrote in cursive (and if you may add, kind of crooked) made you raise your eyebrows as you held the cup in front of her face for her to see.

She always had a habit of drawing cute smiley faces or hearts onto the cups, reasoning it by saying that it’d sweeten the customers' day. Although you’re not sure if that’s really necessary, their day probably already gets sweetened enough from the amount of sugar and sweetener March puts into the drinks.

She huffs, feigning hurt and acting offended by your question “If you want to suspect someone, blame her!” March’s eyes drift over to the silver-haired girl who is currently sitting next to the trash can near the staff rooms, playing video games and thus blocking the way: Stelle. 

The girl in question quickly lifts her head and just smiles sheepishly as if not knowing what’s going on right now. “She’s the one who gave me the receipts and told me the names before you took over, I just added the condiments and started creating cute latte art!.” you sigh at that. Well, whoever gave Stelle their name will probably be able to recognize it sooner or later anyway. 

The worst case scenario that could probably happen is the customer putting their hands on the counter and starting to scream and yell at you to the point where their spit lands in your eyes. Urging to talk to your manager: Pompom. If the customer would see them the customer would probably start scolding you for bringing out the mascot instead of the manager, leaving the shop and giving you zero stars on Maps. (definitely not talking from any former experiences.) Yeah, hopefully, that won’t happen.

You let out a throaty cough before loudly shouting once again “Order for Aventurine!” you really wonder whose mom named their kid after a quartzite stone now — hell, if you let your guard down, the next person who you’d have to call up is someone named Ashleigh or Jonaslian. 

What’s up with women who are only maybe one or two decades older than, and their obsession with horrible baby names?

“Hellooo” the o of the greeting gets dragged out by the owner of the sing-song voice. “Earth to the cashier.” The next thing you know is a hand that is covered in a black leather glove,  waving at your face, moving in a repetitive up-and-down motion. The gesture makes you snap out of the haze which you were in, and slightly shake your head, before looking up at the customer and getting a good glance at them.  

In front of you stood possibly the hottest man you’ve ever seen. Blond silky hair and was dressed in a crisp black waistcoat that was draped around his slim torso, wearing a turquoise button-up underneath it that was adorned with gold decorations around his collar. His tie that matched his waistcoat was adjusted perfectly so that it sat in the right place. Black leather gloves envelop his slender fingers. 

The last time you were enamored by someone was when you were 9 reaching 10, and seeing Asami Sato bumping into Mako with her motorcycle on TV for the first time made you fall head over heels in love with her. That woman had younger you in a chokehold.

You feel your body tensing and heating up slightly. Fuck, has it always been this warm here? Your eyes sway over to the air conditioner behind you. No, that can't possibly be it, you made sure that the A/C was on the highest level before opening the cafe. 

The blond in front of you raises his eyebrow and looks at you expectantly, a small smirk tugging at the corner of his lips as his eyes shift over your face as if studying your expression. There’s amusement that settles onto his face — smugness would be the best word to describe it.

 Shit, there was no way he found out that you were fawning over him.

“Take a picture. It lasts longer sweetheart.” he shoots you a small wink and you’re not sure whether to feel impressed or horrified at the fact that he was able to read you as easily as an open book where the most important words are already highlighted in a bold colour. 

So you remain silent — speechless, to be precise. There’s a familiar feeling bubbling up in your chest, one that makes you all giddy and nervous. How can someone whom you never met enarmour you so much? It’s weird, but it’s weirder that it feels all too familiar. Suspicion arises within you.

“Hmm?” Aventurine — or whatever his name may be, tilts his head to the side, a questioning and innocent expression manifesting on his face that it almost makes him look like a young boy who still has to grasp the concepts of the many fundamentals of the world.

“Spacing out already? Am I that handsome?” Yeah, keyword: almost.

It takes a second to compose yourself again before speaking up again. “Yeah.” Your eyes form into crescent moons as you give him a small faux smile (how March likes to call it: your customer service smile) before your face contorts into an expression of unpleasantness “No, in your dreams Mister. Also please hurry up, you’re holding up the line.” You point behind him and he angles his head backwards to see..no one?

“There’s no one there.” This time it’s him who looks unimpressed, a deadpan expression gracing over his features and you do have to admit that he looks kind of cute with that expression. Oh god, what were you thinking? “You know you’ll have to do better than try to tri-”

Before he can even finish his sentence you quickly cut him off. “With cash or with card?” Your customer service smile from before finds its way onto your face once more. “Miss, you’re so cruel! You didn’t even let me fini-” “I repeat. With cash or with card?” 

Your patience was running thin. Lucky for him he’s somewhat respectful and cute while bothering you and not going on your nerves. If he were some weirdo, you would’ve scurried away already. People like him (unfortunately) remind you that pretty privilege does exist. 

His gloved hand dives into the depths of the pockets of his slacks before pulling out a leather wallet and revealing a black card. Oh great, a rich guy. “With card.” he sighs dramatically. Do all rich people behave like this? “Sir, this is a café not an acting audition for some teenage romance drama.” You’re not sure what to think of this guy, on one hand, his attempts are cute on the other it’s kind of weird that he’s flirting with a cashier whom he met 5 minutes ago. “Just.” You hesitate before speaking up again. “Just type your PIN in here and you’re done.” He nods and continues to do so which the small sound the machine makes confirms. 

At that, you give him a small nod as a gesture of thankfulness, before attempting to kick him out again. “Great, thank you. Now please go and I wish you a good day.” 

“But how am I supposed to have a good day without yo-”

“You’ll live.” you wave him goodbye and that leaves him with no other choice but to step back and leave. 

Maybe you’re hallucinating and maybe you’re just imagining it but before he leaves he gives you a small smile. The soft and charming glow that emanates from his eyes resonates well with the dusking sun as if they were reflecting the last golden rays of sunshine before they were to be engulfed by the warm hues of the sky and later on painted black like the night. An inexplicable feeling rises in your chest as he bids you goodbye, wishing you a nice day.

“Oh he so has a massive crush on you.” you shudder upon hearing March’s voice. Her words ring in your ears like Christmas bells chiming during the holiday season. Loud and obnoxious. You try to drain the thoughts away but how can you when the source who started it all is right behind you? Continuously gushing about how that handsome stranger must have an enormous crush on you.

“The group chat has to know about this!” March enthusiastically squeals and quickly fishes her phone out of her pockets. Before you’re even able to realize what is bound to happen let alone prevent her from aggressively typing on her phone, she’s already sent the first message. 

At that you can only bury your face into the palms of your hand, face sinking into your hands in embarrassment. As much as you love March, it sometimes feels like she’s the oldest of the group and not Mr. Yang. Not in terms of matureness and wiseness, no more like in the sense of the kind of mom who has to share each and every one of her baby’s accomplishments online, but not as bad though, of course. Still.

“I hate you,” you complain, words muffled by the palms of your hands.

“I love you too.” she quips cheerfully, a smirk on her lips.

Safe to say March was in charge of cleaning and tidying up the café for the whole shift.

“Aww the handsome guy from yesterday isn’t here today.” March coos into your ear, a frown is displayed on her lips. She frowns, but you can see the hints of playfulness that linger in her expression. “Put on such a nice show yesterday only to chicken out. Booo, lameeee.” March rolls her eyes in amusement, giggling while doing so. 

Although you didn’t want to agree with what March had to say, she’s somewhat right. You full-heartedly believed that he’d visit again today after the move he pulled off yesterday or perhaps you wanted him to visit him again. 

You quickly shook your head at that thought, brushing the idea of someone paying you a visit at work off to humor you a bit. There was absolutely no way you wanted to see him again. 

“It’s early in the morning and you’re trying to shake the dandruff out of your hair already?” “Not funny Mar-” There was no fucking way.

If this wasn’t a deja vu, you don’t know either. It’s almost as if the interaction of yesterday was replaying right in front of your eyes and once again catching you off guard.

“You know it’s not polite to blatantly stare at people right?” he spoke with a chuckle as he observed your irritated face. “Frowning like that will make you gain wrinkles.” The twitching on your right eye doesn’t go unnoticed by him and he can only chuckle at that, seemingly amused by your morning misery. 

“What are you doing here.” you can only mutter a single question out, dumbfounded by him appearing in front of you once again. “Hm, am I not allowed to come by? I mean, everything’s quite affordable in here and this place isn’t far away from my workplace either sooo.” 

Well, you can’t judge him for that. “Then, what do you want?” with a sigh you pluck one of the sticky notes of the block of colorful sticky notes, ready to write his order and name down. “Someone’s in a bad mood.” he chirps. A blank stare is the only thing you provide him as an answer and at that, he can only chuckle, it’s obvious that he’s enjoying this. “An Iced Americano would be nice. Thanks.” 

“Mhmm, noted.” you quickly scribbled his order down onto the quadratic paper before shouting March’s name over your shoulder. “Can you come here to keep our dear customer company? I’ll prepare his drink in the meantime.” you shoot Aventurine a heavy side-eye before darting your gaze back to March. The girl only giggles in response before happily skipping over to the counter. 

“Aww, do you want to extra prepare my drink?” upon hearing his remark you turn around. Meeting a pair of pink eyes which were covered behind long blond lashes, scanning your figure from a close distance. 

Nervosity crawls at your skin as you feel yourself getting watched by him. It’s weird — screw that, he’s weird. 

“Close!” a giggle accompanies your words. “Actually, I just really wanna get away from you. Have fun with him March.” scoffing, you turn around again.

It didn’t take you long to prepare his order, filling a cup with ice cubes and pouring some shots of espresso over them was a piece of cake. “Here” You hand him his drink and he nods in contentment before handing you a few coins, a cheeky grin appears on his face and you can see the amusement glimmering in his pink eyes. “See you tomorrow” he chuckles and upon that March nudges your side, which in response you can only give her an exasperated groan. 

“Yep. Head over heels in love.” she quips as soon as Aventurine is out of sight, and you have to fight the urge to slam your forehead against the counter.

Your third encounter with Aventurine occurred on a fairly rainy day. With sluggish movements and wet clothes, soaked from head to toe he slumped over to the counter and grinning as soon as he saw you. 

“Hey.” it takes you a moment to process the situation and reluctantly you reply. “Hey.” Your eyes scan over his figure, his white dress shirt is completely translucent now and you can’t help but let your eyes drift to the tattoo on his neck, down to his collarbone which is visibly poking out, and his slim waist, ribs only covered by a thin layer of pale skin.   

Aventurine seems to catch on pretty quickly and wraps himself into his blazer, seemingly uncomfortable by the way you’re looking at him.

You quickly gather your words, and voice an apology. “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to shamelessly stare, that was rude again, I’m so sor-” “It’s fine.” Aventurine interrupts, cutting your apology curt while huffing out a tired sigh. The exasperation that resides in his voice implies that he obviously doesn’t want to dwell on this topic any further.  

A meek nod is the only response you’re able to give. “Can I just get the same thing I’ve had last time? Thanks.” he pulls out his card, ready to pay for his order. 

“Really? An Iced Americano during this weather?” you let out a small chuckle with which you’re trying to lighten up the tense atmosphere that built up between the two of you. 

At the sound of your light laughter, Aventurine’s eyes flicker over your face. “You remember my order?” he asks dumbfounded.

“Well yeah, no one besides teenage girls order an Iced Americano.” you joke, the usual sarcasm back in your voice. It quenches his former uneasiness, your light-hearted words soothing him like a cool steam dripping into his parched heart.

The corners of his lips twitch and he can’t help but smile. “Oh, shut up.” His signature smirk graces his lips and upon catching sight of it you can’t help but also let out a fond smile. 

“Will.. a freshly black brewed coffee do?” you’re careful when asking him. Nervousness crawls at your skin in anticipation. 

“Black coffee?” he hums. “Yeah, that should work. Thanks.” the reassuring smile he gives you makes your tense shoulder drop in relief, easing the worry that previously swam in your stomach.

You disappear into the kitchen, searching for the container that stores the coffee beans to prepare his drink, in the meantime, Aventurine quickly types into his phone before erasing the words as fast as he wrote them.

The fresh scent of coffee beans engulfs your nose and you can’t help but smile. Freshly brewed coffee always reminds you of home; someone in whose arms you can bury yourself in, nudging your nose into their chest as they cage you with their arms, softly embracing you. The rattling of a coffee machine in the background rings in your ears, but the only thing you can focus on is a voice that softly caresses the shell of your ear. 

Domesticity washes over you — it’s all too familiar. 

Aventurine’s drink is prepared in no time and you set it on the counter which makes him look up from his phone, giving you a weak smile before wrapping his hand around the drink. It’s still hot to touch, the warmth spreading over his hand in an instant like wildfire, it’s nice — the feeling of warmth enveloping his cold hand is nice. 

“Well, I’ll get going now.” his announcement catches you off guard, and impulsively you reach out to tug on his sleeve to prevent him from leaving. The action leaves both you and Aventurine surprised. Curious, the blond raises an eyebrow and grins (oh how much you want to wipe that stupid grin off his face), expectantly awaiting your next move.

“Sorry.” you cough apologetically before quickly letting go of his semi-dried sleeve. “But I don’t think it’s a good idea to go out again when it’s still raining. If I were you I’d just wait until the rain stops.” Upon hearing your sincere suggestion, Aventurine’s grin falters and instead slowly molds into a fond smile that makes you inexplicably warm.  

“Aww, don’t tell me you're worried that I might catch a cold?” You counter his playful remark with one of your own. “Well, yeah. Who else is supposed to give me a generous tip?” At that Aventurine can only laugh and the smile you’ve been trying to hold back escapes. 

“Touché.”

From there on visits from Aventurine became frequent, always coming during your shift or during your break to chatter with you about mindless topics. You got used to his visits, and even when you gave off the impression of showing no interest in his ramblings, you always lent him an ear, carefully listening to what he had to say about his pets or his grumpy friend. 

(He told you that the both of you resemble each other in some way, aloof on the outside but caring on the inside. In response, you shot him a big side eye, cause what does he mean by aloof?)

The small conversations exchanged between the two of you, ranged between topics of the latest spots that have just opened, to operas and musicals and eventually work. 

His work to be specific.

Curiosity got the better of you and you couldn’t help but ask: “Aventurine.” upon hearing his name sliding off your tongue, he hums in acknowledgment. “What is it?” you scan his attire, the material of his black blazer is slightly crumpled and the turquoise button-up he’s wearing underneath seems to be the same one as the one when you first met him.

“What the hell do you even work as? I mean what kind of job requires you to wear a new suit every day?” befuddlement manifests on your face. “Ah, well.” Aventurine hesitates for a moment, mouth slightly agape before closing it once again as if searching for the right words to say. “I’ve told you that I work here right down the street right? I’m a teaching assistant at St. Freya University for my friend.” he gives you a small and coy smile. 

“Oh, that prestigious university for rich kids?” at that Aventurine slightly raises his eyebrows as if surprised by your remark before quietly laughing. “Mhm, I suppose you could say so.” “I should’ve known that you taught there, I bet you also went there for university.” It’s only a joking remark you made upon impulse but the amusement on Aventurine’s face slightly dissipates, replaced with a sheepish expression.  

“I didn’t go to university.”

“What?”

“What?”

“What do you mean you didn’t go to university? I mean as teaching a-” “I-i started working from a very early age on and not as a teaching assistant it’s only a job for me to help my friend with.” he quickly corrects himself. “Oh.” “Yeah.” he hums, looking away. 

The silence is unbearable. It’s weird and unusual for you to not hear Aventurine chatter into your ear. “So uhm.. what do you teach or help with?” the embarrassment quickly rises to your cheeks and you turn your head downwards to avoid any eye contact. God, why’s initiating a conversation so hard and always fucking awkward.

“Interested in joining? Want me to sign you up?” you’re relieved upon hearing Aventurine immediately responding, lifting your head only to be met with soft pink eyes that are already earnestly admiring you. 

Your deadpan expression tells him more than enough and he chuckles more to himself than to you. “Well, my friend, he has high expectations for his students. To some people, he might appear strict, but really, it’s for their own well-being — not his. He cares about his students a lot. Sharing his knowledge about certain topics and seeing the potential in all of them, for them to pick the information up and be able to use it. So the things he does in his classes differ, from practical to theoretical classes and I’m just there to assist with my knowledge.” the small smile that quirks at his lips doesn’t go unnoticed by you.

“Okay, okay, well enough about me, what about you? Any plans for the weekend?” Aventurine smoothly changes the topic. 

Upon being asked what your plans are your eyes immediately light up with excitement. “I’ve been meaning to visit the fair for a while now. Trying out the new rides and stuff you know?” Aventurine momentarily pauses. “Ah, I’ve actually never been to a fair.” his admission comes over as surprising to you. 

“Wait what? You’ve never been to a fair? You’re lying!” 

“I’m not! Or maybe I am.” he laughs. “Well, I might have gone to some but I can’t recall anything like that. Perhaps I was too short, too young, or too much of a pussy to try out one of the rides.” 

Before you can even think of how to respond to that, you blurt out a: “Go with me then!” You’re not even sure how you had the courage to ask that, especially to someone whom you’ve only met a month or hell a few weeks ago, you’re even less sure where that question even came from.

From what you can read off Aventurine’s face, he seems to be as equally surprised as you, mouth slightly agape and lips forming a smile as he stares at you with expectant eyes. 

“Really?” Disbelief settles onto his face.

“Thinking about it now, nope.” The light in Aventurine’s eyes immediately dies down, suddenly looking like a kicked puppy who didn’t get any belly rubs. It somehow makes you feel bad — somehow you sympathize with him. “..Fine.” you mumble. You can’t believe yourself. “Though there’s one condition: You’ll have to pay for everything.”

“Sure, no problem.” Aventurine agrees without any hesitation and that makes you skittish. “I was joking!” He gives you a boyish grin “Well, I know but it’s not like it’s a big deal either. Also, can this be considered a date?” he props his elbow up and places his cheek onto his balled fist, smirking while doing so.

“Aventurine,” you say in a stern voice. “Don’t make me change my mind.”

Your irritated eyes meet his fond ones. “I’m glad.” he expresses and you’re caught off guard by his sincere tone. There’s no teasing or playfulness behind it, just pure gratefulness. 

“Is it alright if I have your number? It’s easier to reach you then.” the smirk plastered on his face is enough to tell you what the actual intention behind his words is. 

“Admit it. You just want my number, don’t you?” you deadpan him.

“Hmm, who knows?” the grin on his face only grew wider, amused by the fact that you caught on so quickly.

Swiftly you fish out your phone from your pockets, unlocking it before showing him your phone number, and before you can even ask how he’s saved your number; which contact name he typed in for you, he pulls his phone away. Smiling in triumph upon seeing your irritated face.

He gets up from the chair he’s been sitting on for the past few minutes. “Well, your break is about to end soon, so I’ll take my leave.” your eyes follow him as he checks if he’s got everything. “See you tomorrow then:” he says in a playful tone before leaving. 

Yeah, you’re going to meet your demise, you just know it.

END NOTE: this is just idk man we're gonna progress more in the future chaps okay 😔

© VYNICITY 2024. stealing, copying, translating, reposting my works on other platforms or feeding them to ai is not permitted.

[spikedfearn]

I Said Just a Little Bit, Then I Got a Taste of It

Chapter II

bjorn x fem!reader

summary: After being transferred to another sector of Jackson's Star you reluctantly befriend a ragtag group of people with the exception of one cocky asshole who knows just how to get under your skin.

On the surface, you hate each other, but after experiencing a particularly harrowing event together, the two of you grow closer than anyone else could ever imagine.

warnings: secret friends with benefits, enemies to lovers, angst, alcohol/drug use, sexual themes, non-linear narrative, side rainkay, trauma bonding, near death experience, brief mention of child abuse, more tags to be added

a/n: a slight correction from the first chapter: I realized after I posted that I wrote Kay being under the influence when she runs after you when she is, in fact, pregnant in this au. I don't know how I whiffed that up when it's a relevant plot point to the story (ￗ﹏ￗ) either way though, I went back and edited the chapter but just in case anyone following this story didn't reread it after I made the changes, I wanted to put a disclaimer here!

tags: @asvtrials

wc: 3.3k

Masterlist Next Chapter

You remember the night the two of you first met with a stunning amount of clarity.

It took place a few weeks after your compulsory transfer, a result of the mines in sector two having been exhausted of all its valuable resources, the higher-ups deciding to split the colonists inhabiting it among the other five.

Truthfully, you still don't know how to feel about it. Sure, it sucks being uprooted from the only home you've ever known, forced to live in an alien environment, even if it is just another extension of the same colony.

But, on the other hand, it's sorta nice—starting over. Being relocated to somewhere no one knows you, your story. Able to shed your baggage and leave it behind, only bringing with the clothes on your back and the dog tags of your late mother, the only things that truly matter to you.

You're nearing the end of another one of your shifts, sweat gathered in the folds and creases of your body, watching sparks fly off the hard mineral you're drilling into when the girl next to you yanks down her face shield, narrowly turning away from the rock wall to bend over and vomit in the walkway instead.

It’s not unusual for people to get sick while working, the conditions down here are hazardous and the safety equipment provided does little to protect you from the harsh fumes and kicked-up debris. Still, you sympathize, knowing firsthand how miserable it is to try and push through til clock out time.

However the supervisors do not, one of the men patrolling the area to ensure endless labor shouting, “worker #1693! Why have you stopped working?”

The girl lifts her head in response to being reprimanded, the headlamp strapped to her hard hat illuminating the man looming over her, the head of the drill she was still holding stabbed into the soft earth beneath their feet, using it like an impromptu crutch.

“I'm sorry sir,” she coughs, voice rough from the stomach acid and bile she just spewed everywhere, “it's morning sickness—I'm pregnant.”

A wave of compassion comes crashing down over you, everyone else in the immediate vicinity paying no mind as they continue to excavate, wanting to avoid a scolding of their own. Not that you can blame any of them, insubordination at best results in hours lost and at worst, an automatic jail sentence, the only place somehow worse than the mines.

You want to turn a blind eye like the others but—you can't, feeling guilt gnaw at your conscience. Even in the limited light you can tell she's sick, skin pale and glistening with a fresh coat of sweat, chest spasming as she doubles back over and starts to dry heave.

“Well get back to it, we have a quota to fill!” He orders, growing increasingly agitated.

Almost instantly you find the words, “how long do you have left?” leaving your mouth before you can process what you're saying, watching as she looks back to find you.

“What was that?” She asks, using the back of her wrist to wipe the string of spit hanging from her lip, looking so small and so vulnerable, like she's on the verge of passing out. It's enough to make you commit to what you say next.

Pushing the goggles up and over your helmet and the face shield down and away your mouth to unmuffle your voice you repeat, “how long do you have left? Like—how many hours?”

“Four?” She answers, confused, the same supervisor that had warned her moments ago barking, “worker #1251, why aren't you working?!” The threatening buzz of a shock stick now being aimed towards you.

Four hours. You're in the last hour of your own shift, bone-tired and barely hanging on, adding another four after the fact might actually kill you.

With that in mind you find yourself volunteering, looking between her and the guard ready to taze the fuck out of both of you, “I can pick up her hours. Sir.” You tack on, albeit sarcastically.

Her eyes round out in surprise before the skin between her eyebrows wrinkle in confusion, understandably so. It's incredibly rare for a stranger to show humanity in a hellscape like this, where it's every man for himself.

“Why?” She asks, straightening her back out, hand coming up to cup her still flat stomach.

You shrug despite knowing exactly why, not that you'd share that with a complete stranger, replying, “don't worry about it,” before offering, “because I want to,” instead, hoping to avoid any follow up questions.

A pretty smile breaks out across her face, so big her eyes nearly disappear, turning the headlamp attached to her helmet off to get a proper look at you, ��thank you so much. Really. I totally owe you one.”

“Sure,” you say, not intending to cash in on that favor at all. You don't want to owe anyone anything or them to owe you.

It's a dangerous thing—caring about someone or something on Jackson's Star. One of the only valuable lessons life in the colony has taught you. Better to lessen the weight of the emotional impact when they inevitably leave. Easier.

Your eyes follow her as she walks the path leading towards the exit, a cute little skip in her step. You can't help but smile, the muscles in your cheeks twitching at the foreign stretch of your mouth. You don't remember the last time you felt one of those on your lips.

The extra time doesn't end up killing you—which sucks, it could've been your ticket out of here.

Morbid humor aside, you can barely move as you head to the clock out station, summoning the last bit of strength you have to heave the drill up on top of the counter, ignoring the loud clang it makes when it hits the metal countertop. If they wanna dock you for the damage fine, you can't find it in you to give a fuck at the moment.

The lady behind the transparent partition checks your equipment back in, the clacking of the keys sounding loud without the constant drilling, being the last miner to leave.

“Worker #1251. Drill returned, no visible damage to report. Twenty hours logged.”

“Wait,” you interrupt, her fingers pausing above the keyboard, eyes still glued to the computer screen, “the four hours. Could you give them to the girl I covered for?”

She looks at you then, like you're high on the fumes circulating through the tunnels. Maybe you are, because who just volunteers to do hard labor? And for free? That and you still have to come back and clock in four hours from now.

“Are you sure?”

Though you don't hesitate to nod before verbalizing, “yeah,” your thoughts straying to the baby she's growing inside of her, “she’s gonna need the hours more than I do.”

It'll be the last nice thing you'll ever do, because you're never doing that shit again, offering to cover for someone else, for someone you don't even know.

Except—you do.

Because the morning sickness doesn't go away for the next two weeks, no matter how little she eats to try and combat it. And, regardless of the front you put on, you have a heart. A heart and a motive, one you plan to keep close to the chest whenever you step up and tell whatever supervisor nearby that you'll take on her workload only to transfer the hours to her at the end of the night.

Her name is Kay. You learn that after the third shift you cover for her when she comes up to you during everyone's designated lunch break, taking a seat on the bench next to you, far away from the others eating together.

You're reluctant to give her yours, preferring to just be a faceless number among the crowd, because knowing each other's names means familiarity, and familiarity means attachment. And you never intended for that to happen, wanting to just keep to yourself after the transfer but Kay looks a little crushed when you don't give it to her the first time she asks so, eventually, you do.

It's fine. It's just your name. This doesn't have to mean anything.

Except—it does.

Opens the door for Kay to start joining you for lunch, to stand next to you while you're working, to start asking you about yourself, wanting to befriend the angel that's come to her rescue the last few weeks. Her words, not yours.

You don't disclose much, keeping your past private the only thing keeping you safe from heartache. From that type of overwhelmingly raw pain only loss can bring and, while you've done your absolute best to pick up the pieces, you'll never be the same.

Shattered glass can be put back together but the cracks will always, always remain.

Kay seems to pick up on it because she doesn't broach the subject again, choosing to redirect her energy by trying to convince you to come hang out with her and her friends instead.

You reject her offer every time she asks, giving out your name is one thing, socializing outside of the mines is something else entirely, but Kay is persistent, annoyingly so. Begs you to come out for just one drink whenever you guys have downtime at work, giving you the puppy dog eyes while she does it, whining and stamping her foot when you inevitably turn her down.

You're sitting together during lunch one day, on the little metal bench you claimed the first night you started working in sector six, eating the same boring sandwich you make before the start of every shift.

However, for the first time in a long time, you feel good today, well-rested, chalking it up to not covering Kay’s shifts over the last three days.

She's roughly two months along and no longer vomiting on the job site, able to work her full shifts for the last seventy two hours, the worst of the morning sickness seemingly over. You're glad she's finally feeling better, and, if you're honest, a little relieved.

Not that Kay ever expected you to cover for her, you know her well enough now to realize that, can noticeably see the gratitude she radiates every time you volunteered, but you would've kept doing it, even if she stayed sick for the remainder of her pregnancy.

“Sooo,” Kay starts, drawing out the o, playing with the bendy straw sticking out of her apple juice box, “the gang and I are gonna hit up a bar tonight.”

“Cool,” you mutter, already seeing where this is going. It's the same tactic she's used the last dozen or so times she's invited you out. “Have fun.”

Kay pouts, her eyes big and pleading, “you should come with, it'll be fun. I'll even buy you a drink so I can properly thank you for easing my stress for a little while.”

“You don't have to thank me Kay,” you reply between bites of bologna, “I didn't do it for free beer.” A chuckle following after.

“C’moooon,” Kay bemoans, wiggling her shoulders for emphasis, “stop being such a buzzkill.”

“Can’t. That's who I am, Captain Buzzkill.” Your words slightly muffled by a napkin you use to wipe your mouth clean once you finish eating, crumpling it up along with the cellophane and brown paper bag you brought your sandwich in.

“Why are you the most stubborn person alive?” She whines, chucking her now empty juice box into a nearby waste bin.

“That’s probably not true.”

“Well you're up there! Now please just come out with us tonight. For me. And if you really don't have a good time I'll never ask again.”

“Never?” You ask, feeling your resolve slowly eroding away.

Her eyes glisten with newfound hope, nodding her head enthusiastically, “never ever.”

“Fine,” you relent, “but just one.”

If this is what it takes for her to stop bugging you about it you'll do it, just this once. Besides, you can slam a beer pretty quick if you're dead set on it.

You smile and roll your eyes at the squeal she makes, her arms wrapping around you to reel you in towards her chest, hands settling on your bicep, one on top of the other, her fingers creating wrinkles in the fabric of your shirt sleeve from how tight she's hugging you.

You awkwardly pat her forearm, not used to receiving affection, “but just one,” you reiterate. If you're gonna do this you're gonna do it on your terms and your terms only.

“Just one,” she echoes, rocking the two of you back and forth, the whistle of the horn above you signaling the end of your lunch break.

One turns into three.

You had every intention to leave after the first but, as much as you hate to admit it, you are having a good time.

Kay’s friends are cool, nice, having welcomed you in with ease, like they’ve known you for a while. In a way they do, Kay having told them about you, what you did for her. You don't think it's a big deal but they seem to think so, what with the warmth they show you from the outset.

“So you're the angel that's been helping my little sis out!” Tyler, Kay’s older brother, greets you cheerfully, pupils dilated from the alcohol, having already started without you, not that you actually care. “A proper little mutha’ Theresa in our midst!”

You snort at that, waving him off, “not really. She's pregnant. I'm not so, I thought I'd just help her out.”

“Well it's really sweet,” Rain chimes in, more reserved than the others, preferring to let everyone else talk. You can already tell the two of you will get along. “Which is pretty rare to find around here.”

Besides Tyler and Rain, there's Rain’s brother Andy and their friend Navarro. Andy, like Rain, is also on the quiet side, the programming he has installed a little outdated. Though Navarro, the resident techxpert, is working on an upgrade, building a chip out of scrap metal and wiring, she scavenges from the local scrapyard.

You're all crowded around one of the dozen or so tables taking up half the floor, the bar brimming with other colonists, knocking back beers or playing darts, the room filled with the sounds of laughter and chatter blending together. It's not a place you would choose to go on your own but it does add another layer of entertainment when you're with the right people.

“I guess,” you reply, cautiously agreeing with Rain, even though you know she's more than correct. It's just hard for you to accept compliments, you're just not used to hearing them and don't think very highly of yourself to begin with.

You finish off the rest of your drink, pulling your leather wallet out of the back pocket of your jeans to order another, but Tyler is quick to stop you.

“Nah—nah,” Tyler says, his hand lifting off the tabletop to wave you off, “don't even,” he pauses to turn away and burp before turning back around to face you again, “don't even trip. I got your tab covered.”

“You sure?” You ask, hesitating to put your money away. It's not like you all are compensated fairly for your slave labor. That and if you let him pay for your drinks, wouldn't you owe him then? No, you reason in your slightly tipsy state, he's paying you back for taking care of Kay, meaning you'll be even and no one will owe anyone anything.

So—you let him buy you more drinks, slowly but surely relaxing, thanks to the alcohol and the easygoing nature of those around you. It's clear how much he cares for Kay by how he's treating you.

It's endearing, you can't deny that. Apparently Rain and Tyler dated for a short period of time, just under a month before Rain realized she was really into Kay. But, instead of getting angry or jealous, Tyler just accepted it, even gave his blessing since Rain was better than the jerk that knocked his sister up anyway.

It's been a good night—a great one, better than you could've ever imagined, but something always has to come along and ruin it. Life just has a funny way of doing that.

“Bjorn, mate!” Tyler yells over the noise, looking towards the front door with his arm waving in the air, flagging someone over, “over here!”

That someone maneuvers around the crowd, appearing at Tyler's side in just under a minute, a grin splitting his face in two as he takes the empty seat next to him, swiping Tyler’s drink to wash down his excitement.

“Good night?” Tyler jokes, taking in Bjorn’s appearance, currently vibrating on the bar stool he's sitting on, his attention focused solely on his cousin.

“I'm fuckin’ buzzin’ mate! I finally beat that stupid fuckin’ level,” he begins, launching into a tirade about some game he's been playing for awhile, hands coming up to wildy gesticulate as he speaks.

Your eyes are automatically drawn to him, analyzing his side profile while he's distracted. He's attractive, probably one of the most attractive men you've ever laid eyes on. From his under plucked brows to the oceanic hue of his irises, the single silver hoop threaded through his ear and the silly little frowny face tattoo on his neck down to the plushness of his pretty pink lips, framed by just the right amount of facial hair. He's perfect. Perfect until he opens his big fucking mouth.

He finally registers who's sitting around the table, eyes angrily narrowing when he zeroes in on Andy, gaze flickering over to Rain, “why tha’ fuck did you bring this rust bucket ‘ere?”

“Bjorn,” both Rain and Tyler preemptively warn, like they know what's about to follow and they probably do, considering he's Tyler’s cousin. Rain takes the lead on this one, adding, “don’t start.”

“And why tha’ fuck not? Ya’ fuckin’ knew how I'd feel if he was ‘ere! Ida’ just stayed tha’ fuck home,” he hisses, accent made thicker by his anger.

Tyler pinches the bridge of his nose, looking exasperated by his cousin already, “we just wanted to come for a pint mate. All of us. No use losin’ your head over it.”

“Right. Right. No use. Just like this hunka junk synth.”

You’ve never had a filter, never needed one when you've grown up never having to consider someone else's feelings so you can't help but snark, “do you practice being an asshole in the mirror or does it just come naturally to you?”

You feel everyone’s eyes on you, probably taken aback by your intervention, not expecting you, a total stranger, to speak up on behalf of Andy. But—you've never been good at biting your tongue, never needed to when you only have yourself to worry about, overconfident in voicing your displeasure when you're the only one who'll be punished for it, unlike those with familial connections who talk back to the higher-ups.

“And who tha’ bloody fuck are you?” He spits, face souring like he's bit into a lemon, looking you up and down, from the flat tabletop that sits under your breasts up to your hairline.

“Not a piece of shit like you,” you retort, squeezing the unopened beer Tyler bought for you, hard enough to crease the label wrapped around the circumference of the glass.

“So!” Tyler interrupts, trying to change the subject, directing his attention to you, “why’d it take ya so long to come out and join us?”

Kay squeezes your knee under the table and Rain looks grateful, reassuring a somewhat confused Andy that he's more than welcome to be here, that he isn't bothering anyone that isn't a totally immature man baby.

“Not really my scene,” you answer, ignoring the crisp hiss of the carbon dioxide being released when you pop the lid on the glass bottle Tyler bought you.

“Oh! Not good enough for ya’ princess?” Bjorn mocks, still simmering with anger from his side of the table.

“No, just not good enough for you, asshat,” you flip him off, still pissed on behalf of Rain and Kay and any girl that has to interact with him, feeling Kay’s fingers curl around your shoulders like she's trying to stop you.

You decide to let it go, for now, despite how angry you are, for Kay, sticking it out until she warns you it's time to leave. Because other than that—fuck that guy

[the-kr8tor]

Hii, for the fluffy Friday, spider!reader being sick and Hobie taking care of them, reader wants to do their duties and in general being stubborn and Hobie is just like "not today luv" is that okay ?

That's more than ok! Thank you for requesting! ❤️

Pairing: Hobie Brown x gn! Reader/ Spider-punk x gn! Reader

Tags: no use of Y/N, no specific physical description of the reader, spiderperson! Reader. Description of sickness, brief mention of vomit. FLUFF

It's Fluffy Friday!

ʕ⁠·⁠ᴥ⁠·⁠ʔ

"I can handle it" you sniffle, feeling warm and cold at the same time under the spandex of your suit.

Miguel, Hobie and Lyla stand in front of you, unconvinced. Both Spidermen look at each other, wordlessly having a conversation. For the first time ever they find common ground with Miguel sighing, nodding at Hobie.

Lyla shakes her head disapprovingly at you. Scrunching your nose, a sneeze escapes you.

"Not today, love. Let the others have a turn at the mission" Hobie winces when you start shivering, now fully concerned.

"But I can handle it, please?" You bat your lashes for added effect, but with your heavy eyelids it looked like a fish trying to mimic how a human blinks.

Hobie bites his tongue from a teasing comment. Lyla on the other hand brings out a comically large phone and takes a selfie with you.

"Oh! This is going on the scrap book!" She giggles at your predicament, you try to swat away at her hologram, forgetting that her form isn't solid.

"Take them home, Hobie" Miguel chides in, "get some ample rest. You're dismissed" Miguel saunters off back to his computer.

"But–" you try to reason with Miguel.

Hobie's already leading you away, his arm around your shaking shoulders giving you much needed warmth. You let him, too weak to protest, laying your head on his broad shoulder. But too stubborn to admit you're sick.

He guides you to your dorm in the society, figuring out your body might not be strong enough for an interdimensional travel back home. Unlocking your door for you, he has your code memorized ever since you've given it to him, just in case he wants to hang out after a tiring mission. (which was almost everyday)

Hobie sits you down on the bed, wrapping your fluffy blanket around you. He finds the sight endearing with your head poking out of the cloth, doing your best to glare at him through the hazy fog of sickness.

"Admit it" he goads you whilst he takes clean clothes from your closet.

"Admit what?" Teeth clacking at the cold, you sneeze mid sentence.

"Admit that you're sick" Hobie places the clothes next to you, picking your most comfortable ones. He crouches down to match your height, hands on top of your thighs, feeling the fever seep through your suit.

"'m not" you sniffle.

"Of course you're not, go change into those and I'll grab some meds for you from the infirmary" he moves to stand up, you grab his wrist, stopping him. "Yeah?"

"Stay with me? Please" you feel the heat behind your eyes, looking up at him through watery eyes.

"I will, promise. Just need to grab your meds, that fever won't go down without it" Sure enough, he brings his hand to your forehead, confirming how hot your skin is.

"Okay, come back quickly?" You say in a soft voice.

"Yea," Hobie wipes at your clammy forehead. "Be right back" he resists the urge to peck your skin, thinking he might make you feel more uncomfortable with the added warmth. Too bad though, you really wanted him to do just that.

—

Hobie gets back in record time, swinging around the HQ, dodging fellow spider-people. Even cutting in line in the cafeteria for some chicken noodle soup. He finds you cuddled up under the sheets, body twisted into a shrimp-like posture.

He grabs a bottle of water in the fridge before heading your way, soup hot on his gloves.

"I'm back"

You only grunt back, the top of your head peeking out from under the mountain of blankets.

"Did you change?" Hobie grabs the edge of the blanket to peek inside. Finding you in the comfortable clothes he layed out for you.

You peek back at him like a gopher, cheeks hot, and sniffing away snot. He still thinks you look fit.

After you (reluctantly) take your medicine, you still assure Hobie that it's just your 'allergy is acting up' even after you wobble on to the bathroom to puke out the chicken soup.

Clinging to him, you cuddle his torso, blanket kicked to the foot of the bed now that you're finally sweating off the fever. His arm lovingly kneads at your clammy back. You don't seem to mind the added body heat, instead you welcome it.

"Go to sleep" He instructs for the umpteenth time.

"Shut up you– tall tall man." Still delirious from the heat, your words swirling together, the threat sounding more adorable than scary.

"Can't believe I'm sick. Spiderpeople don't get sick" you murmur out with a pout. Your embrace is getting tighter even in your weakened state.

Hobie indulges you, fingers bracelet around your wrist, anchoring you to him. "There's no shame in that. You'll get back to swinging before you know it"

You huff back a reply, whining, tapping his cheek; your way of telling him thank you without kissing him and potentially getting him sick.

"What else am I?" Hobie whispers to you, pinky tracing the bridge of your nose repetitively. You relax, sighing.

"Hmm, you're very…" dozing off, you fight a yawn. He waits patiently, watching your eyes slowly close. "Very…"

You fall limp in his arms, lips slightly parted, hand gripping his suit unconsciously. Hobie kisses the crown of your head, wrapping his long limbs around you protectively. He makes a mental note to ask you to continue your sentence, once you're all better of course and much more receptive to his teasing.

[holy3cake]

WIP Wednesday!

Another week, another tag game! Please share your last sentence; or, if you don’t have one, share a plot bunny or idea! (OR sketch for your artwork!)

Thank you for the tag my lovely @lancedoncrimsonwings!!

Okay so we're still on Chapter 15 of In his Father's footsteps, my TLK Aethelbert TLK fic! I'm getting there, about 2000 words in so I need to keep going lol! Here's Eadgyth stirring the pot again:

“I came to fetch my horse. I’m leaving.” Eadgyth sniffled, shuffling to the stall opposite him. Osbert’s frown deepened, and he detached from his mare. Dróttning trotted moodily, but Osbert was not deterred by her warning stamp. Instead, he walked over to the stall and watched Eadgyth groom her horse. It was a beautiful Halflinger, and Osbert was surprised that he hadn’t noticed the creature yet. Its elegant mane had been styled perfectly, the golden strands reminding him of Bebbanburg beach. The horse nuzzled against Eadgyth, gentle temperament calming her frayed nerves. Even though it couldn’t quite smile, the horse was radiating a joyful aura, and Osbert was shocked that someone else seemed to have such an intimate relationship with their loyal friend. Perhaps it was that connection that allowed him to reach out, to stop her from leaving in such haste.  “You’re leaving? Why?” Osbert asked, leaning against the stall.  “It’s clear that Aethelstan doesn’t want me here! I have brought him misery.” Eadgyth’s sadness evaporated, her previous solemn mood replaced by anger.  “I am sure that is not true. Did he tell you that?” Osbert felt the divot in his eyebrows continue to grow. Why would Aethelstan be so cruel to his own sister?  “No. But he dismissed me! He is acting cold with me. I do not know what I have done wrong.” Eadgyth stroked her horse, leaning against him. Osbert opened the wooden gate, joining her side as she eyed him curiously.  “Perhaps he is in shock to see you. It has been a long time, Eadgyth.” Osbert reminded her.  “I know. But…I thought he would be happy. I missed him dearly…” She looked up at Osbert, the pain and despair clear in her eyes. It was her sullen expression that struck Osbert’s heart, and he had a brief recollection of something Hild had once told him. He was hopeless when it came to sad people, like a hunter to a hog. Despite only knowing Eadgyth for about ten minutes, he wrapped his arms around her and gave her a friendly hug. Her tiny hands reciprocated immediately, and he smiled softly against her back.  “Give him time. I will speak to him, he is not an unreasonable man.” Osbert spoke against her cape, feeling her hands bunch in his shirt.  “You know him well then?” Eadgyth murmured back, sounding hopeful and curious.  “W-Well. Yes, I suppose.” Osbert almost choked, forgetting himself for a moment. Did he know the King well? Did it count if he knew what Aethelstan tasted like when he came? Or what glorious moans he made in the throes of passion? Osbert was alarmed for a moment, suddenly struck with a realisation.  Am I just a lover to the King? Does Aethelstan favour me for my body, but not my mind?

I also did a moodboard for my OC Turketyl, he is mentioned a few chapters prior! My little murder priest ehehehe. In case you ever wondered, this is what Turketyl looks like:

No pressure tags: @grinningkatz @lord-aldhelm @paula-in-dreamland @book-and-music-lover @synintheraven

@errruvande @persephones-journey @waterfallsilverberrywrites @thenameswinter99 @bilbotargaryen

@whitedarkmoonflower @thelettersfromnoone

[take-it-on-the-run]

A Pearl

Fox Mulder x Dana Scully

No matter how desperately he hung onto her cross around his neck, praying to a God he didn’t believe in, she was still there—sleeping, so gently, despite the devices hooked on and through her.

Word Count: 1.7k

Tags: ANGST, loss, not comfortless, but not exactly outwardly comforting, set in season 2's coma arc, implied depression, Mulder and Scully both need hugs, mentions of hospitals, comas and medical devices, brief mention of killing and death

Characters: Fox Mulder, Dana Scully, Margaret Scully, Melissa Scully, Duane Barry (mentioned)

Read it on AO3!

Taglist: @somethingsomethingcranberries, @sst4r-ddu5t, @ghostlyaccurate, @butterclove

Want to join (or leave) the taglist? Click here!

A/N: Mitski Title! Thank you for checking this fic out, as it's my first MSR/TXF-related writing! This idea mainly came from a post talking about how Mulder not taking off Scully's necklace before he gave it back would've been feral, and I completely agree. Set in Scully's S2 coma/post-abduction arc, Mulder is just a sap who can't help but be in love with Scully. Unbeta'd, every mistake is mine, and I hope you enjoy!

MSR Masterlist | The X-Files Masterlist | Main Page Masterlist

Dana.

He liked that name.

It thundered against his mind constantly, pruning memories drenched in sadness.

It fit her well. He’d searched it out in a book of baby names and their meanings while sitting in a waiting room during one of their first cases.

Wise. Generous. Brave. A pearl.

Maybe, years and years down the line, he’d give his daughter the same name.

He wouldn’t have the heart to tell this hypothetical girl’s mother where the name came from. That, while he was at the FBI, he had a partner he would kill and die for. Because of his inability to let sleeping dogs lie, she was attacked in her home, kidnapped, and never woke up from the coma she was found in.

He could lie and say it was a family name.

But that wasn’t a lie.

She was family.

No matter how desperately he hung onto her cross around his neck, praying to a God he didn’t believe in, she was still there—sleeping, so gently, despite the devices hooked on and through her.

He could barely look at her without wanting to sob, the guilt and rage rushing to him all at once.

If he’d only picked up his phone.

Now, every time it rings, he jumps. He doesn’t mean to, and it gets him more looks than before, but he can’t help it. He cranked the ringer after he missed her call. He wasn’t going to miss anyone’s call ever again.

When he first saw Mrs. Scully and Melissa perched over her for the first time, he could barely get his feet to move. He was shocked he was allowed back into the hospital after the scene he caused when he first came.

All of the bitter sleepless nights he spent thinking of her had come to a rolling boil, sputtering out of the pot as he tugged his shoes on. Sleep-deprived, unshaven, and clutching her cross on his neck, he shot up the highway at Mach speeds, only to get carried out by two security guards as he screamed obscenities and threats at the hospital staff.

Remaining cemented to the ground, he watched her family mourn. Mrs. Scully was holding Dana’s hand, resting her head against her gently rising chest as she muttered prayers under her breath. Melissa’s eyes were closed, and her hands hovered above her sister’s body, moving slowly. Her family, however different in their beliefs, had come to her side, praying in the way each of them knew how.

If either noticed he was wearing her necklace, they didn’t mention it. He’d tried giving it back to Mrs. Scully earlier, but she told him to keep it for when he could give it back.

When he thinks of those weeks he spent searching for her, finding Duane Barry on the mountain, and nearly killing him on the spot, all he can feel is an empty hole where his emotions should be.

If there was justice in the world, Duane would’ve served his sentence with a bullet to the skull the moment they met. If there was justice, he wouldn’t have had to hear that the ventilation she was on wouldn’t likely support her much longer.

He was invited to stay and discuss the matter at hand, but he knew his heart would collapse in on itself if he even thought about it.

He drove home slowly, cruising through different side streets he’d never taken. His apartment was always within reach, but he could barely bring himself to turn into his parking spot. The longer he drove, the longer he could delay the inevitable.

His resignation letter sat askew on his desk, matching the rest of his living space that had been ransacked by the Cancer Man’s men. Skinner refused the letter and told him it was no use giving up on the bureau now.

Mulder didn’t tell him there was no use in the bureau without his partner. Even when Skinner reopened the X-files, he couldn’t get himself to go through them as he had when she was at his side.

Slinging himself on his couch, he could smell the days without showering or sleeping radiating off him, but he could barely get his suit jacket off, let alone drag himself to the shower.

Crushing his body against the worn leather, staring blankly at the disconnected television, he could almost close his eyes and pretend he was in a motel with her again. He tuned the sound of his radiator running to become the soft snoring she would always insist didn’t happen, the wind batting against the windows as her tossing against the lumpy motel beds they frequented, and the pounding of his heart as hers.

Barely a year as partners, and yet he would break, bend, and bleed just to hear her say his name one last time.

She’d only called him by his first name once, while they were on an off-the-books stakeout. He told her to call him Mulder, and that he even forced his parents to call him by their last name.

Every time he heard it, he was suddenly twelve years old, watching his sister scream out his name as he stood still and couldn’t do a thing to protect her like he promised he always would.

But when she said it, he was no longer trapped in his memories. He was just Fox.

If she said his name enough, maybe he wouldn’t hate it as much as he did.

His phone rang, sending his heart to flutter like a bird in a cage. He knew he should answer it, but his body was clinging to the couch harder than gravity was clinging to Earth.

“Mulder.” He answered flatly, stretching his body off the edge of his couch to hold the phone to his ear.

Electricity shot up his spine and down his legs, slinging up to his feet before Mrs. Scully could finish what she was saying. Life bubbled into him as he dropped the phone in its dock.

Mulder’s feet echoed in the sterile hospital hallway as he walked, his steps slow, almost mechanical, every inch of him unwilling to face what he knew was waiting for him behind that door. But he had no choice.

He didn’t want to see her like this again. He didn’t want to walk into that room where she was tethered to life by machines, her body so small and fragile, and the world outside buzzing with life while she remained suspended in an unnerving limbo. But she was there. And he had to be there too.

Her family had gathered around her. Her mother, her sister—the ones who had the right to be there first. But it was his presence that had been permitted, allowed to enter into that sacred space where the woman he had spent endless nights sleeping beside was now lying in a hospital bed.

He stepped through the door, and there she was.

Dana Scully. Her name felt so wrong, so small, in this sterile, whitewashed room. She looked almost ethereal in her hospital gown, pale, the skin of her face so sunken, and yet, there was something about her that still made his heart ache—still made him wonder how he ever got so lucky, or cursed, to be in her orbit. Her lips, usually full with that determined set, were now parted slightly as she lay motionless beneath the rhythmic beeping of the machines keeping her tethered to this world. The familiar weight of her presence was missing, but the quiet strength still lingered there, just out of reach.

“Hello Fox,” Mrs. Scully said, not moving as her hand laced with her daughter’s.

“Not Fox—Mulder.” Her cracked lips quirked as she quipped at her mother. She gently turned to face him, raising her eyes to his.

In the second she corrected her mother, hearing her say his name was enough to make his throat tighten. She looked over her shoulder at her family, and without a word, they silently left the room.

She was alive and awake in front of him, and as drained as he was, he wanted to scream thanks to her God. Her hand reached out to him, and for the first time in the matter of Dana Scully, he hesitated.

She was here because of him.

“Scully…” he trailed, fighting the urge to let her first name slip out. He took her hand in his, so cold comparatively, and brought her knuckles to his lips. She didn’t do anything to stop him, and he felt her stare drop to her necklace hanging on his neck.

“You kept it,” she whispered, bordering on a question, as she touched it to his chest. He felt his face flush as her delicate fingers played with the pendant, watching her twist and turn it.

“Yeah,” he croaked, looping his hands behind his head to unclasp it, “your mom—Mrs. Scully—told me to keep it ‘till I could give it back to you.” He gathered it in his hands, offering to put it on her, “Here, let me.”

It looked better fit on her, dainty and gilded against her throat, proclaiming her differing beliefs in the mysteries of the world and the myth of creation. It was as if her faith in God had taken him to the ends of his limits and then pushed him even further for the sake of her name.

He’d never called her by her first name. Dana. It had always felt too soft, too familiar, too fragile. She was always Scully. And it wasn’t just a title; it was a shield, a boundary they had created together, a wall that kept everything unspoken but understood. To call her Dana would have been to acknowledge a vulnerability neither of them could afford to expose.

For a long time, he thought about the meaning of her name. Dana. A pearl. A symbol of something precious, something rare, something born of pressure and pain, and yet, something more beautiful than anything else. She had always been that to him. Something he could never hold in his hands but could only try to protect from the world that wanted to break her.

But she had never needed to hear him say that. She had always known. She was a pearl, too beautiful for him to touch in the way that he longed to, too precious to be made vulnerable by his words, a testament to the definition of her name. And so he had kept it inside. The ‘Dana’ he had never called her. The pearl he had never acknowledged aloud.

[obsidianpen]

I’m so sorry for asking you this. You can just ignore this if you think I’m being silly about this specially since a lot of fucked up things happens in BG in general and it wasn’t really explicit to begin with but would you mind putting a warning/tag on chapter 51 about what happened to Liam? I’d really appreciate it and if you don’t want to I understand.

this isn’t silly, and you don’t need to be sorry for asking. I understand where you’re coming from. The topic of trigger warnings and tagging everything in fanfiction is a big one, and I know everyone has their opinion on the subject, so here is mine.

I don’t put trigger warnings on specific chapters when potentially triggering things are going to be mentioned because, as you said, there are a lot of dark themes in B&G, and if I were going to do that for one thing I would feel the need to do it for a lot of things, and I’m not interested in doing that. Not just because it essentially spoils what could be a big turning/plot point in the story, but because I don’t know if trigger warnings like that are actually helpful to everyone. They might help some people, being able to be braced for XYZ when it is somehow mentioned, but for others just knowing it’s going to come up and waiting for it could make anxiety worse. I may be wrong here, but from the rabbit holes I’ve gone down concerning trigger warnings, this seems to be the case for some.

I can’t protect everyone on the internet because I can’t cater to individuals. Individuals can, however, dictate their own experiences. This is why many of my fics are rated E and why I select the ‘User chose not to use archive warnings’ box. I often don’t even know myself what sort of stuff I’m going to end up including in a fic when I start it, so I put up the biggest flags I can. And I do put tags for major triggering stuff if it’s a big part of the plot. But at the end of the day, I’m not responsible for labeling every sentence that could be triggering to someone. If you’re choosing to a click on a story with the ratings I’ve put out there, you are responsible for your feelings while reading.

I am sorry if reading that very brief moment in B&G that implied something very dark was triggering for you and made you uncomfortable.

[swanhild]

Tag Games (Last Thought, Throwback Thursday Saturday, Last Sentence)

Going through my notifications and trying to catch up on the tag games - thanks everyone!

@sallysavestheday tagged me for to share the latest idea I've been mulling over. I haven't really been mulling over any new writing ideas recently, but since I finally finished this art of Maglor and Maedhros with the twins, I have been going through my overly long list of art ideas and WIPs, trying to figure out which ones I want to draw this year (and how many of them I actually have time to work on, realistically). Some of the contenders include Mahtan and Feanor in the forge, a happy, joyful Fingon portrait and Finarfin (with Finrod probably) because he's the only son of Finwe I haven't drawn yet. A couple of ideas involving the 3 Cs also made the cut, and I want to do some Russingon and Daemags. We'll see how many of these I'll actually end up doing :P

~

Was also tagged by @melestasflight and @polutrope for Throwback Thursay - all of my fics are less than a year old, so I just picked one at random (and because Feanor interacting with Finarfin and Finrod was a lot of fun to write):

Mirror Image For his son, Fëanor swallows his pride. (And interprets a brief moment of foresight in entirely the wrong way.)

~

Finally, I was tagged by @thecoolblackwaves @elevenelvenswords @cycas and @thescrapwitch to share the last sentence I wrote and tag as many people as there are words in the sentence:

“I am not going to apologize,” Findekáno says with a stubborn tilt to his chin.

That's 15 words, so I'll re-tag all of the people mentioned above in case they want to do any of the other tag games I've smushed into this post and 15 new people:

@gardensofthemoon @dreamingthroughthenoise @grey-gazania @leucisticpuffin @cilil @maironsbigboobs @grundyscribbling @amethysttribble @ettelene @cuarthol @zealouswerewolfcollector @auntieaugury @elennalore @disorganisedautodidact @between-thepages @shoelace-eating-gopher @camille-lachenille

+ anyone else who sees this and thinks this looks like fun!

Consider yourself tagged for all 3 of these tag games!

Zero pressure, of course!

[raccoon-eyed-rebel]

Part 24 - Sy

Masterlist

Series Masterlist

Part 23 -- Part 25

Pairing: Sy x trans!ofc (Alicia)

Summary: The guys throw a New Years Eve party at 179th Crescent Street...

Warnings: SMUT, NSFW, 18+, MINORS DNI, oral (m and f receiving), anal fingering (m receiving), an interesting case (if I do say so myself) of phone-moaning (look it up if you have to). Brief mention of transphobic parents and mention of (child) abuse.

ETA: PLEASE, if I missed any tags/warnings, let me know. (Always let me know, but let me know for this one in particular. It's way more likely I accidentally missed something that can be triggering for someone here.)

Word count: 3.6k

A/N: I'm on the verge of having a panic attack over posting this. Not because I think it's bad - I personally love this chapter - but because Sy is such a crowd favorite and I'm a little nervous about how this will be received. Also: Liz is the first trans character I've written at this point. So much research went into this, which is part of why I struggled with writing this so much. We're still horny on main, though, as always.

It's obviously a first for Sy, too, and he says some stupid shit - he also really likes this girl, which doesn't help with foot-in-mouth-disease, obviously. Bear with him, please.

@deandoesthingstome @geralts-yenn @summersong69 @peaches1958 @fvckinghenrycavill @keanureevesisbae @livisss @sillyrabbit81 @ellethespaceunicorn @ylva-syverson @poledancingdinos

Charles punched a guy. We’d all love to get through a night out - or in, apparently - without something like that happening, but it doesn’t seem to be in the cards for us. That said, I think he was right to do it, and if I’d been within arms reach of the guy, he’d have had me to deal with, too. Harassing Dani was wrong, but to do it right in front of our eyes… That’s just plain stupid. When everyone’s back to their business, I turn back to Alicia and watch her as she takes a sip of her beer. 

“What?” she asks. 

“Nothing,” I say. I huff quietly when I hear myself speak. Little too much emphasis on that ‘g’ at the end. I’m hiding my accent. I like this girl. 

I first noticed it when I talked to Mike after the chaotic house meeting from a few days ago. I say ‘chaotic’, but it wasn’t exactly out of the ordinary for us. It’s not our fault! Who puts eight guys our age in a house and calls it a day? Anyway, he told me one of Dani’s roommates wanted to find out if Dani had been lying about my… Let’s go with ‘skills’. Apparently, the review was pretty good. Now, I’ve seen Sloane. She’s on the hockey team, and I normally wouldn’t dream of passing up an opportunity like that, but I just… Couldn’t care less, to be honest. And then Liz texted me and Mike caught me grinning at my phone like an idiot. Which he pointed out while also grinning like an idiot. And now here we are. 

“Say that again,” she teases. Fuck, I’m busted. How about I don’t answer her, and just shake my head instead? Will that work? “I like the way you talk, Sy.” 

There’s a hint of a drawl to her voice. It’s definitely subtle, but it’s there. At first I wonder if she’s messing with me, but when she asks where I’m from, I have my answer. She’s not mocking me, she’s from Georgia. Which my stepfather would say is even worse, but I stopped listening to him right around the time I turned six. The longer we talk, the clearer her accent becomes. Makes me wonder when she lost it. And why. Takes me a while longer than I care to admit to ask her that… 

“My aunt from New York took me in when I was twelve,” she answers. “Parents kicked me out for… You know… What about you? What made you move away?” It doesn’t bother me that she doesn’t finish her sentence, because I have a perfectly good idea of what she would have said if she had. I feel like everybody would have known. When Mikey found out Liz and I were texting, he asked me if I knew. I told him I did. Then he asked me if I cared, and I told him I didn’t. I meant what I said. 

“The short version is that I tried to hit ma’s scumbag boyfriend back, hit ma instead. Can’t come home unless I apologize to him. Which I ain’t gonna do.”

“Ouch, you win. More beer?” She’s on her way to the kitchen before I can even answer. 

Now that I’ve got nothing else to do, I look around the room. Charles has disappeared - probably with Sloane - and Leon is still chatting up Ariel, Dani’s other roommate. They seem to know each other, which means she might be the same Ariel he always competes with to be first in his class. Marshall is up to something that involves Vivienne Chase. I know the type. We all do. I know Marshall has referred to her as a ‘puck bunny’ before. He seemed pretty annoyed by her at the time. Guess that’s over now. I don’t know what’s been bugging him, but it can’t be good. I reckon there’s an eighty percent chance that this ain’t the way to solve it, either, but it’s none of my business, and I’m gonna treat it that way. 

Alicia and I play a few more rounds of horrible childhood bingo, until people around us start counting down. It’s a countdown to a first kiss I’m shockingly nervous about. Luckily, she’s braver than I am, putting her bottle down while reaching for mine. Then, when that’s put to the side as well, pulling me closer to her by hooking her fingers into the pockets of my jeans. I expected to not have to lower my head: she’s nearly six feet tall. What I didn’t expect was that I’d be looking up slightly. She’s wearing heels, too, fucking hell. It takes everything I’ve got to keep with a certain level of decency. Yes, practically everyone in this room is doing the same thing I am, but that don’t mean… Alright, she doesn't seem to care about propriety half as much as I do. 

“I’ve got a perfectly nice room upstairs, with a lot less prying eyes.” Why am I not surprised she’s coming with me?

Goddamn, this girl can kiss. I’m already dizzy, and something just tells me I ain’t seen nothing yet. The way she’s clawing at my back makes me think she likes it rough. I don’t mind it one bit: I ain’t exactly built to be gentle. She moans loudly when I pin her against the door. Her dress was already creeping up her thighs when I walked her upstairs, but is now only inches away from exposing that gorgeous ass completely - I didn’t let her go first on the stairs for no goddamn reason, and now that we’re in private, whatever fabric stands between me and that ass is frustrating me to no end. 

“Hm, eager,” she chuckles as my hands push her dress up further. I groan as she makes a point of grinding her hips against mine. 

“Well, you’re a hot piece of ass, so…” She laughs when I pull her away from the door, towards my bed. 

That dress comes off easily, but not before she pulls my shirt over my head. That look in her eyes as they glide over my chest, the way she takes her bottom lip in between her teeth… This chick is driving me fucking nuts. I enjoy the way she looks at me for a while too long, apparently, because she reaches behind her back to undo her bra and tosses it aside. Now it’s my turn to stare and her turn to revel in the attention. ‘Great tits.’ That’s it. That’s the only thought I have. Anything else, my brain just refuses to process - like the ringing of her phone, which I hear faintly in the background somewhere. The only reason I know I’m not making it up, is because I watch her pull it out of the purse she dropped next to my bed, and hang up on whoever is on the other end. Other than that faint notion, that rack is really my whole world right now. Fucking magnetic. I mean it. It’s as if gravity in this room has somehow shifted, and everything is now pulled towards her chest. Alright, maybe not everything, but God knows I am, for sure. 

The few quick kisses on her neck are out of a kind of twisted courtesy - pure pretense, to separate myself from a fucking caveman by a hair or two. As much as I hate to admit it, all I really want right now is to get more closely acquainted with these boobs. They’re far from the biggest I’ve ever seen. I wouldn’t say they’re the nicest, either - although they’re definitely up there. But, damn, I’d be lying if I said there had ever been a pair I’d been more curious about. I have a strong feeling she won’t appreciate it if I say something about that, but unfortunately there just ain’t enough blood going to my brain right now for me to think straight…

“Can’t believe these are fake.” Once I realize what I’ve said, I look up at her like a deer in headlights. 

“No worries, you’re good,” Alicia laughs when she sees my face. “I mean… They are fake.”

“How ‘bout I just try ‘n’ keep quiet from now on?” It’s gonna be tough, but I wouldn’t forgive myself if I accidentally say something really stupid and ruin this.

“Oh no. They say you’ve got a dirty mouth. I wanna hear it.” That’s all good ‘n' well, but I’m gonna keep my mouth otherwise occupied for the time being. I sincerely hope she won’t mind.

My nerves about saying something stupid end up on the back burner when her phone rings again. I fucking hope it's a protective friend or something.

"Jesus, who keeps callin' ya?" This is the third time in ten minutes. I gave it a pass the first two, but now… Why doesn’t she turn the damn thing off?

"My ex," she groans. Not what a man wants to hear, honestly. The phone stops buzzing for a minute, and then it picks up right where it left off with call number four. The good news is that she seems as annoyed as I am. The bad news is that continuous phone calls from the ex of the girl you're trying to nail are a really effective boner killer. Liz sighs and hangs up again, while I give up on trying to ignore this issue. 

"Bad breakup?" I ask lightly, barely taking my lips off her skin. I'm fixing to get as much quality time with these tits as I possibly can, ex be damned. 

"The worst," she groans. "She cheated." There's two words in that sentence, and I have no clue which one confuses me more. 

"Cheated? On you? Now that's just stupid." She laughs in reply - a sound that turns into a moan when I bite down on her nipple. 

I’m a little disappointed when one of her hands reaches for my chin and pulls me back up. I was having a great time! Must’ve looked sad, too, because she laughs and looks at me with feigned pity in her eyes before kissing me. I wonder if that’s the only great way she has to cheer me up… My hands continue their exploration. It’s almost impossible to move on from her boobs, but I eventually make it further down, and my hand finds its way between her legs. Hm. 

"Sy," Liz has clearly picked up on my… surprise? Is that the right word? It's a good thing there’s a hint of a chuckle to her voice, because I'm just confused at this point. 

"Yeah?"

"This vagina was brought to you by the wonders of modern medicine. Doesn't get as wet as you’re probably used to." That actually explains a lot - and nowhere near enough. It sounds like lube would fix most of that problem, and I have some, so we’re good there. Thing is: it tastes horrible. Luckily, Liz manages to solve my dilemma before my indecisiveness really gets to me. 

“I’ve heard too many good things about that allegedly incredible head game of yours,” she says coyly. I chuckle as a grin spreads on my face. Knowing her expectations are high should probably make me more nervous than I already am, but it doesn’t. I know what the girls I’ve been with say about me, and I take pride in that particular skill. Does that make me a cocky jerk sometimes? Absolutely. They don’t seem to care when they’re screaming my name, so why should I?

I kiss my way down Alicia’s body. Slowly. I may be impatient but I enjoy teasing ‘em a little too much to skip that part… She clearly disagrees, trying everything in her power to push me down faster. It’s cute, and it makes me laugh. 

“Ain’t gonna work, sugar,” I say in between kisses pressed to her stomach. “The more you try, the longer I’m gonna drag this out. Be good for me, okay?” She agrees - reluctantly - meaning I can continue my journey south. 

Not being able to use my hands is going to be a challenge. One I’ll gladly accept, that’s for sure, but a challenge nonetheless. It takes me a minute to find something she likes. Thank God she’s not shy! Actually, she’s pretty loud, which is fantastic. I love a woman who just offers up the intel on what she likes unprompted. Makes me look like I know what I’m doing, because… well… I’ll know what I’m doing. She’s all moans and whimpers and ‘right there’-s and breaths hitching as my fingertips dig into her hips. Her hand is on the back of my head, pulling me closer to her… I can’t wipe this smug grin off my face - she’s gonna cum in no time.

Fuck! That goddamn phone again! I stop what I’m doing, raise myself up on my elbows and look at Liz. 

“Pick up the phone,” I growl. I’m done with this bullshit. 

“What?” Liz asks me, slightly dazed. I understand her confusion, but I’m seriously over this. 

“Pick up the goddamn phone,” I repeat. My grin widens as I watch Alicia accept the call and put the phone to her ear. 

“Kelly. Hi," she says. She’s clearly not happy to even speak to her. Doesn’t matter. I’m gonna try my best to make this the best phone call they ever had. I can’t help but chuckle as my mouth finds its way back to where it was a minute ago, and goes right back to doing exactly what it was doing before we were so rudely interrupted. When I look up, Alicia stares back at me, eyes wide with shock, begging me… to keep going. 

“Eh, no. I - ah - I’m not home.” She’s trying hard to keep her voice steady, I’m trying hard to break her. Neither of us have it easy right now. And ultimately we’re both still playing for the same side. 

“Why do you even give a - fuck!” Honestly? Nice timing. Kelly’s voice - which I can barely make out from where I am - starts to sound more agitated. Apparently, the answer to that question is a long one, because Kelly keeps talking for a while. That gives me just the right amount of time to really drive Liz nuts. 

“It’s literally - hng - none of your business - hmm - what I’m doing,” Liz suddenly snaps. “Or who I’m doing.” I almost choke on my own spit when she adds that last bit. 

“Because we broke up, remember? Jesus.” There’s no way she can last long now. 

“Kelly, seriously, stop bothering m-oh my god, Sy!” It’s a good thing she can’t see my face, because I’m grinning like crazy.  

“That was fun,” I tease when I lie down next to her again. “Turn that thing off.”

“I doubt she’ll be calling back,” Alicia says, but she turns her phone off anyway before turning to me. “You really are as good as they say.” 

It’s a reputation I never asked for, but I can’t say I mind having it. And I certainly don’t mind honing my craft, so to speak. Besides… most girls are willing to trade good head for good head - in my personal experience, at least. I can't complain about that. 

Her fingers leave goosebumps on my skin wherever they move - and they move absolutely everywhere but the place I actually want them in, while she kisses me fiercely. It’s far too easy to lose myself in her touch, especially when she finally does go where I need her most. 

I’m prepared for the soft gasp I hear when she wraps her fingers around my cock - anything else there is to notice gets lost in the sensation of her lips all over my chest and abs as she makes her way down. Her tongue feels amazing as she slowly swirls it around the tip of my cock before taking me all the way down with no issues. 

I'm staring. I know I am, and I don't give a damn. It's been a while since I've been this impressed with a girl's skills. Fuck me, she's good. Her eyes are on me the whole time she's down there, slobbering all over my dick - pardon my French - and I'm in absolute heaven. Until… 

"Whoa!" Those fingers are headed directly where no man - or woman, for that matter - has gone before. Not on me, at least. 

"What's the problem, Sy?"

I curse softly under my breath and pray Geralt isn't listening in. "I'd say somethin' along the lines of me not bein' used to a girl tryin'a stick a finger up my ass," I mumble. Judging from the grin on her face, she heard perfectly. She slowly climbs up until she's lying next to me again. 

"I strongly recommend that you give it a try," she says in a sultry tone, with eyes that put 98 percent of pornstars to shame. 

"Normally I'd ask ya why I should trust a girl on this," I sigh, "but I reckon you would know…" 

"First-hand experience," she replies. I don't know what it is, but something about this is intriguing. 

"Is it good?" I ask carefully. I'm not saying I will… just that… I might.

"Like you wouldn't believe," she purrs in my ear. That's it, I'm blaming her. It's her. She is impossible to resist. 

"Alright, I'll bite," I say, and I can't believe my own ears. "I'll try it." She's made me fucking curious. Dammit. Oh well. If I don't like it, I don't ever gotta do it again, right?

"Told ya," she grins. I'm still dizzy. That was hands down the best fucking orgasm of my entire life. Fucking hell. And there she is: smug smirk firm on her face, and soft lips torturing my earlobe.

"Gimme a break, sugar," I moan softly as I gently pull her head away from my face by her hair. She seems to like that. 

"That good, huh?" Yeah, yeah, missy, you're awfully proud of yourself. Well… she's not wrong. It really was that good. 

"Yeah," I sigh. "But why not go for the… more traditional…" What I want to know is why she didn't…

"You want to know why I didn't let you stick me." That would be one way of putting it, yes. 

She takes a deep breath and looks at me.

“Cards on the table, Sy: There’s no way you’re gonna fit,” she says. Are my eyes deceiving me or does she look embarrassed by that? 

“Alright, that explains that,” I say, pulling her into a hug. 

“You’re not disappointed?” she asks, her voice as full of disbelief as the expression on her face. I shrug. Of course not! Why would I be? 

“Nah.” It’s the truth, however hard that may be for her to believe. It’s not even the first time this has happened. You never know what the reaction is going to be when girls first find out what you’re blessed with. At this point, I’ve seen everything from nerves to sheer terror to excitement - sometimes on the same face, within the same minute. This ain’t nothing new to me. But it bothers her. And it bothers me that it bothers her. 

“Hey,” I say as I put a finger under her chin and make her look at me, “I’m okay with it if we don’t have sex.” That’s not what I should have said, but I hope she doesn’t jump on it…

“We are having sex,” she says, one eyebrow raised. Fuck. 

“Yeah… I know that. Sherlock pointed that out a few days ago, I’m just… I’m still… adjusting my vocabulary.” The grin on her face spreads slowly while I scramble for words, and I glare at her. 

“I’m sorry, Sy, I shouldn’t be teasing you like this,” she laughs. 

“No,” I reply, “you shouldn’t. You’ll have to make it up to me.”

“Well, there’s always anal,” she says. There’s no way she doesn’t actually hear the record-scratch in my brain. That whole thing came out a little too point-blank for her to be joking. I think. At the same time, I’m not even sure she said what I think she said. I have to have made that up, right? There’s no way… 

“What?” I blurt out. And lo and behold: She repeats herself. There it is again. ‘There’s always anal.’ She really said that. Alright.

“Hold on… Your pussy can’t handle me, but your ass can?” I don’t mean to sound as surprised - or crude - as I do, but I can’t help it. This is very… counterintuitive to me. To say the least. 

“The downside of designer pussy is that it doesn’t really… stretch easily,” she says softly. I can’t stop myself from letting out a chuckle when she says ‘designer pussy’ - two words I’d probably never expected to hear that close to one another. 

“Hey, I’m not opposed to the idea,” I say. It would be another first for me. Definitely something I wouldn’t mind crossing off the list. But not tonight. Not after that blowjob - that's what we're gonna call it for now, I'm still getting comfortable with that other thing that happened. Not after that orgasm. Not after all those beers. She seems to understand perfectly.

"Do you want me to leave?" she asks. I look at her, completely confused.

"Literally not even one bit, darlin'. You're stayin' right here." 

[kh-oc-askblog]

Main Rules

Verses; I am mostly a KH centric askblog/ rp, but I am also okay with most things as long as I am at least already somewhat familiar with the universe/ fandom in question. This can be discussed further in a direct message if you'd like to check if your verse is included. And of course, OCs are always welcome! Though we may need to plot in case of conflicts in lore if they're KH OCs, or just generally it's good to know more about each other's characters before we throw them at each other.

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Mature content; I do explore the same type of content raised in Kingdom Hearts canon such as abuse, grooming, mental health issues, suicide, some mentions of alcohol, displacement, etc. found in Kingdom Hearts/ Disney movies in general, but these things will be tagged with double slashes and then TW + the content "// TW: [content]". I do inexplicitly touch on further themes like CSA, PTSD specifically and self harm, but I do try to be subtle in these expressions and they tend to be shown through symbolism that acts as an allegory to these concepts. Even so, I will also tag them and may add a "allegory" note in brackets; like // TW: CSA (allegory), for example.

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Disclaimer and acknowledgements; All art used for OC asks and in rps are my own. I may use filter layers to create atmosphere, but the art used will ultimately be my own works. Meanwhile any pictures of canon Kingdom Hearts characters I may rp as NPCS or include in answering asks, or any settings depicted that are within the Kingdom Hearts universe, are the property of Tetsuya Nomura and the development team of Kingdom Hearts; owned by Square Enix and Disney. Gifs used for displays are from Tumblr's selection and always have the creator underneath.

[behexded]

—“this small town life, it has its virtue. has potential to divert you from the life you knew back home.”

Ichabod Crane is a resident of Echo Springs, and looks like Andy Mientus. He is 34 and in town is a music teacher. Echo Springs doesn’t feel quite right, though - he recalls memories from Tarrytown, where he remembers the dizzying, nauseating realization that he’s in love with his best friend’s husband while the other man prattles on about football; carving pumpkins with his best friend  while her husband tells a dark, haunting tale of a headless hessian; and freezing to the bone while waiting for his beloved’s company in a graveyard in late October, which fade when he wakes up – for now.

BASICS

Name: Ichabod Crane Age: 34 Occupation: Music Teacher Sexuality: Gay Canon: Tarrytown ( musical )

ECHO SPRINGS

( tw for mentions of homophobia )

Growing up, Ichabod’s family was rather well-off & he went to private school. He was a very good student, very smart, and he took up tutoring other students in his off time throughout high school. Tutoring made him feel useful, it turned him on to teaching as a career - it was something he was good at, after all.

Ichabod realized he was gay in sophomore year. One tutoring session in the library lead to a rough kiss over a frustrating textbook question which lead to a very panicked and very confused Ichabod bolting out of the library and back to his dorm with nothing more than a shakily murmured “I have to go.” Ichabod had never felt truly comfortable in his own skin and the realization just made it worse - it was a confusing time for him. scary, even. Figuring yourself out isn’t always easy, especially when you didn’t know there was more of yourself to figure out. Accepting himself was a slow process, but he got there with a little help (and perhaps a few more kisses. for experimental purposes, of course.) This is something he kept to himself, though. He wasn’t sure how his family would react and the thought of bringing it up terrified him. 

After high school, Ichabod decided to go to college with every intent to become a music teacher because if there was one thing he truly enjoyed, it was music. And if he was going to teaching something for the rest of his life, shouldn’t it be something he enjoyed? College brought with it the freedom to experiment. People were far more open and accepting and, though it took him a little while to get out of his shell, so was Ichabod. He worried less about keeping things hidden and even bought his first pride flag, hanging it up in his dorm. It was so freeing, Ichabod had never felt more himself than he did his first semester of college.

Coming home during breaks soon became a chore because of how different he had to act around his family. Putting up a “Straight Man Front” and trying to laugh off questions about Girlfriends and Gettin’ Some (which he Was, just. not in the way they thought.) It was tiring. So in his second year of college, he decided that he was going to tell his family over winter break. He was fucking Terrified. So much so that he was sick to his stomach just thinking about it but. he couldn’t keep hiding who he was, it felt Wrong. One night over dinner, he announced very shakily that he had something he needed to tell everyone and then proceeded to come out at the dinner table, eyes never leaving his food and hands shaking. 

Unfortunately, this didn’t go very well for young Ichabod. His mother was pissed and spouted a bunch of hurtful things at him. Absolutely devastated, Ichabod packed his things and left during the night. He cut all contact with his mom and picked up odd jobs to pay for an apartment of his own. Luckily, with the help of the financial aid department and the fact that he’d had a savings account, Ichabod was able to finish out his degree and begin his teaching career.

He’s one of those teachers who tries to make class Fun for the kids - he understands that it’s high school and no one wants to be there but he really wants his class to be one that the kids can look forward to. He keeps a prize box in the bottom drawer of his desk. It’s full of silly little trinkets like fun pencils and gel pens and plastic rings and jolly ranchers and he affectionately calls it “The Crow Box.” It’s used to reward good behavior, right answers, winning jeopardy teams, good grades, hard work ( which, ichabod recognizes, are two different things. your grades don’t always reflect how hard you’re working or how much effort you’re putting toward class. ) 

CANON –– TARRYTOWN 

( tws for drug use, drug abuse, and brief mention of of a miscarriage )

After moving to New York City ( it’s never really said in canon why Ichabod moved to the city ), Ichabod Crane found himself lonely in every sense of the word. His coworkers didn’t quite meet the “friend” criteria and they certainly didn’t meet the “possible boyfriend” criteria. So he did the best thing he could think to do: he hit the bars. He went by himself, hoping to meet new people and perhaps to find a friend in a stranger. Unfortunately, he’s a bit shy and he didn’t think through the fact that he’d have to start conversations. He spent a few of these outings sitting on his own, sipping a drink and lost in thought.

One night, however, he was approached by one of the other bar goers and asked if he’d like to leave with him. Eager to make a connection, Ichabod agreed and followed the guy back to his place where they did cocaine together. Ichabod found that he really liked the way he felt when he was high - talking came easier and it eased his anxiety. After that, it became a regular occurance ( “as these things go, i started doing more and more” ) and despite his attempts to not give in, the withdrawal symptoms hit him a little too hard and he decided he’d rather be high than deal with all that.

Absences piled up as he opted to either stay home and get high or stay home because he’s feeling the drop. ( “then, rock bottom. first you get fired - that’s okay, more time to play. paranoia. ‘hey, you look tired,’ they all say.” ) But without money coming in, Ichabod couldn’t afford his rent anymore and it was then that everything really came crashing down. He had to get out of the city, away from his usual temptations, and start anew. He needed to get clean.

And so, he took a music teaching job in Tarrytown. It was far enough from the city that it seemed its own world but not far enough for the move to cost him too much time or energy. At first, he was nervous - another new town meant learning the names and faces of new people and making new friends, which, as we’ve established, Ichabod wasn’t very good at doing. 

Luckily for him, on his first day at his new job he meets Katrina. She’s the principal’s assistant and she’s very friendly and incredibly bubbly. She shows Ichabod to his new classroom and excitedly babbles on about all sorts of things, eventually asking why Ichabod wanted to move here ( “why’d you leave new york city to come to this town so insular? you perceive it’s so pretty, if that’s what you prefer.” ) To which Ichabod responds that it isn’t that he wanted to move to Tarrytown but rather that he needed to leave the city and asks “can we talk about this later? I have lesson plans to go through.” Katrina apologizes and starts to leave only for Ichabod to stop her and, gently, thank her for being so kind to him. In return, she invites him over for dinner that evening.

When he arrives for dinner, Katrina’s still finishing up cooking and tells Ichabod he can wait in the living room with her husband if he’d like. Ichabod didn’t even know she had a husband, she’d never mentioned him that morning. And, unfortunately for poor disaster man Ichabod Crane, her husband is quite the looker. Brom introduces himself and invites Ichabod to watch the football game with him. Ichabod admits that he doesn’t know anything about football and Brom spends the time they have together before dinner teaching him everything he should know to understand it. Ichabod is enraptured by the man beside him, though he doesn’t learn a thing about the game - much too distracted by the odd fluttering sensations stirring in his chest. ( “who’s this guy? what’s his deal? what’s this awkwardness that i feel? i’m intrigued. what’s his aim? i ignite when he says my name. brom is straight! that’s just great! why i always into guys that aren’t available and even if they were would never go for me??” the fucking ‘i ignite when he says my name’ lyric makes me go absolutely fucking bonkers whatta romantic line im a FOOL. )

At the dinner table, the three chat and get to know each other better. It’s very obvious that there’s some tension between Brom and Katrina and Ichabod feels a little awkward sitting there while they bicker about the little things. It’s like when your friend’s parents argue in front of you. But he tries to keep the mood light with his own little interjections. After dinner, Brom excuses himself from the table and Katrina and Ichabod are left to chat amongst themselves. Katrina reveals that she’s unhappy in her marriage to Brom. They were high school sweethearts and when Katrina got pregnant, it was only right that they get married - rumors fly in a small town. She tells Ichabod that she “didn’t love him, but was psyched to be a mom.” Unfortunately, she lost the baby but she stayed with Brom anyway and just hasn’t left.

Ichabod gets a call from Katrina the next day, saying that she and Brom had a fight. He’s her best friend and so she’s calling him asking for advice. He tries not to outright tell her to leave her husband - he doesn’t want to push her into anything big like that - but she seems like she’s looking for his approval to leave Brom and so Ichabod tells her to do what would make her most happy. Shortly after Katrina’s call, Ichabod gets a visit at work from Brom. He’s gentle and a bit . flirty, if Ichabod’s reading the room right, and he asks how to win Katrina over. Ichabod suggests a romantic gesture - a trip together or something - and once Brom is gone, dwells on his feelings for a bit.

Katrina shows up at Ichabod’s later that night, having refused Brom’s “grand romantic gesture” of going apple picking. They hadn’t really discussed it, but Ichabod takes her in no questions asked. She’s his best friend and he’s here to help.

Over the next few months, Ichabod divides his time between work, bonding with Katrina at home, and hanging out with Brom. His hopeless little crush on his best friend’s husband just continues to grow and Brom seems to actively feed into it, to Ichabod’s delight. Brom invites Ichabod over for Halloween and, missing Brom, Katrina decides to tag along. The trio carve pumpkins, hand out candy, and have a genuinely good time together until Brom decides to tell ghost stories.

Ichabod is, at his core, a scaredy cat. This man cannot handle horror and may Actually Faint if you jumpscare him. But, not wanting to seem immature, he lets Brom go on. Katrina thinks Brom’s being mean and after a brief argument, she leaves. In the aftermath, Ichabod confesses his love for Brom ( “even i can’t get over the shock that i love you. brom, i love you! i’m in love!” ) He admits that he’s noticed the way Brom’s acting around him and that he understands that this sort of thing can be scary. ( “i can see you’re like me - spinning, lost, and forlorn. always cursing the day and the way you were born!” ) They share a kiss and Brom tells Ichabod that if they’re going to go any further he’ll need to be high to do it. Ichabod obliges, taking whatever Brom gives him without question. 

It’s then that Katrina returns to talk things out and Brom tells Ichabod to meet him on the bridge in the cemetery - he’ll catch up once he makes sure Katrina is okay. Ichabod believes him, the poor guy, and heads out. Ichabod wanders the cemetery around the bridge as he waits, still on edge from the story Brom told about a headless hessian, and starting to feel the high of the drugs Brom gave him. 

Brom never shows, but the horseman does. Ichabod resigns himself to whatever fate awaits him ( “just let me die, just kill me and chop off my head! who would care? who would notice if i turned up dead? not brom. not his wife. they’re too busy destroying the other one’s life. so who cares?” ) and he’s never seen or heard from again.

tldr; you can find a concise, clean, to-the-point summary of the full tarrytown musical plot here ! :) i’m simply: bad at summarizing things without going into too much detail- hjshdk

[hotchs-bitch]

A Temporary Absence

Summary: When a creepy guy won’t leave you alone at the bar, it’s up to you to find someone to help you. Who knew that Aaron Hotchner would be in town, or that he’d even recognize you after you disappeared from his life?

Pairing: Hotch x blank slate Fem!Reader (no use of y/n)

Word Count: 8.9k (I swear I was aiming for 3k)

Warnings: Language, brief fake relationship, cheesy love confessions, brief mentions of a case, I think that’s it! This is just two idiots in love, emphasis on ‘idiots’ and emphasis on ‘in love’

A/N: Me, writing something other than smut? Apparently it happens. Brought to you by me being bedridden right now, it’s... PG content! As always, interactions make my day! Also I’m thinking of creating a tag list, so maybe let me know if you’d be interested in that :)

Happy reading <3

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People go to bars for a lot of reasons. To celebrate, to meet people, to drink their problems away, to get laid. When you walk into the slummiest bar in town at 7 PM on a Monday after the longest day of your whole year, you know exactly which category you fit into. You need a drink.

The bar isn’t packed by any means, but it’s crowded for a Monday. There are a couple of individuals near the bar, but most people are in groups at tables and booths or on the dance floor. You note the lack of bodies near the bar; that, plus the fact that you need a drink, causes you to beeline towards it.

You sink down into a barstool, smiling at the bartender who sets a drink in front of you despite you not ordering anything yet.

“I don’t think this is mine.” You push the drink back towards him, but he shakes his head. He opens his mouth to speak but stops when someone approaches you.

“It’s from me.” You glance towards the source of the voice; it’s a man who was sitting alone at the other end of the bar when you walked in earlier but is now standing near you. He’s got blond hair, a few years on you, and a lanky frame. He seems nice, but you’re not here to get swept off your feet.

“Oh.” You shoot him a kind smile, hoping not to make this awkward. “Sorry, I’m not really interested. I’m flattered, though.”

“I’m Tony.” He just keeps talking like he doesn’t hear you, shakes the hair out of his eyes. “What’s a pretty thing like you doing here alone?”

You latch onto the last part of his question like a lifeline, wracking your brain until you blurt out, “I’m meeting my boyfriend. He’ll be here any second.”

“Oh, yeah?” It’s obvious he doesn’t believe you. “Sure, he will. How about I keep you company until he gets here, then?”

“I don’t think he’d like that.” You say insistently. This guy doesn’t respect you, won’t leave you alone of his own accord, but hopefully an invisible threat can get him away from you.

“I’ll tell him I’m real sorry.” He drawls, taking a seat. Okay, so maybe you need a more visible threat.

Your eyes dart around the bar, looking for a way out.

Your eyes land on a tuft of inky black hair on a head attached to broad shoulders, facing away from you. The guy is sitting alone at a booth that you recall being packed with people just minutes ago, and you wonder if he’s alone. Did his friends leave? The dots connect when a blonde woman with glasses leaves the dance floor, offers him a hand to which he shakes his head; his friends are partying, and he’s just sitting there. He probably didn’t want to come out tonight but got dragged along, you assume.

At any rate, he might be your best bet. The guy is here with other people, so your safety isn’t at the same risk as it might be if you approached one of the single guys at the bar. He also isn’t surrounded by his friends, which works perfectly. You can’t approach any big groups, since you’d claimed to just be meeting your boyfriend. This guy is truly your only option, you realize.

“So, do you come here oft-” Tony can’t finish his sentence before you jump to your feet.

“There he is, he got us a booth! Nice meeting you.” You flash him a smile and grab your purse, abandoning your drink at the bar.

—————

The secret upside of approaching a guy after his friends walk away? Only embarrassing yourself in front of one person as opposed to seven when you walk up to the booth and blurt out, “Be my boyfriend.”

“I’m sorry?” The man turns his head, gazes up at you and your stomach plummets as his eyes widen in recognition.

“Aaron? Aaron Hotchner?” you gape at him, face bright red. No fucking way. You shake your head before he can even respond, not wanting to derail what you need to say. “Look, I’m sorry, I don’t have time to explain any better but this guy at the bar won’t leave me alone, can you let me sit here for just a minute until he leaves? I told him I was waiting for my boyfriend.”

Aaron blinks twice, hazel eyes boring into you. “Are… do you…? I haven’t seen you in…” His mouth opens and closes a couple of times, and it would be almost funny if you weren’t on the verge of panicking. Creepy guys in bars are no joke, and your safety is becoming a mounting concern the longer Aaron doesn’t answer.

“I know, I know. And if you want to hang out and catch up, drinks are on me, but he’s going to come back if he thinks I was lying. I just need to sit down for a minute, Ace. I’ll be out of your hair in no time if you want.” You don’t know if it’s the pleading, or the old nickname, or maybe he was going to say yes anyways; all you care about is that for whatever reason, Aaron nods.

“Of course, I… sit down,” Aaron motions across the booth, blinks rapidly in that way he’s always done when he’s looking at something that doesn’t make sense. “Uh, those drinks.”

You wait patiently for him to keep speaking, just prompting him with a nod when you realize he isn’t going to finish the sentence.

“Let’s just, we could get drinks? And maybe talk for a while?” It’s a question, not a suggestion. He’s speaking so tentatively that you can’t tell if he’s feeling skittish or if he thinks you’re going to get spooked, maybe both, but either way he’s playing it safe and you’re grateful. He brings one hand up to rub the back of his neck, like he feels exposed.

“Yeah, that sounds good.” You turn your attention to your purse, digging for your wallet when a hand settles itself on the table in front of you. It’s pale, the veins undefined and fingers covered in light wispy hair. In other words, it definitely doesn’t belong to Aaron. Fuck.

—————

“Where are you running off to, baby?” The man from earlier- Tommy? Tony? - has tracked you down, apparently. You had hoped that he would see Aaron and finally leave you alone, but alas.

You valiantly refrain from throwing up all over him when you hear the pet name, mouth opening as you stand to tell the guy off, but to your surprise there’s already movement from the other side of the booth.

Before you’ve got both feet on the ground Aaron is standing in front of your suitor, towering over him slightly. There are mere inches between them, and you can see Aaron’s hand twitch like he’s fighting the urge to throw a punch or grab the guy.

“She isn’t running. She’s with me.” He speaks calmly, confidently, in a way that should have any reasonable creep running for the hills.

Of course, you only get the unreasonable creeps. “Oh, yeah? Funny, since she was by herself earlier.”

Aaron shakes his head slightly, and he gives the guy a look that you can only describe as ‘patronizing disappointment’. “Very funny that I hit some traffic and got here five minutes after my girlfriend.” He deadpans, beckoning to you with one hand without looking.

Aaron’s voice when he speaks to Tony is cold, harsh, nothing like you’ve ever heard it before. It gives you pause, but he drops the tone the second he turns his attention to you. “C’mere.” His voice is so full of affection that you feel something inside you tense, the contrast throwing you for a loop.

Still, you trust him, so you slide close, allowing him to wrap the hand around your waist to pull you in. If it was anyone else trying that, you’d have him on the ground with a broken nose by now, but this is Aaron. With an arm around your waist. In a bar. In front of people.

“Sweetheart, can you get us both a drink?” Aaron hands you his wallet. “You know my order. I’m going to have a little chat with your friend, here.” He drops a kiss against your temple, and you can feel his nose brush the top of your head. You ignore the way your heartbeat speeds up.

“Aaron, don’t-” You don’t know how to finish the sentence. Don’t worry about paying for drinks? Don’t talk to this guy? Don’t go easy on him? Lucky for you, you don’t have to decide. Aaron is taking things into his own hands, once again. Some things never change, a voice in your head whispers.

“I’m not asking.” There’s a newfound confidence in Aaron’s voice that you’ve been paying attention to, and it shines through when he gives you the order (because that’s what it is, really, and you both know it).

You don’t recall him ever speaking like this, despite how natural it sounds; like it’s second nature, a learned behaviour he depends on. He must be some kind of boss or team leader, and he’s been doing it for a while if the air of self-assuredness around him is anything to go by.

“Penelope and the girls are by the jukebox, if you’d like to wait there with the drinks.” He continues when you don’t move, obviously prompting you to leave.

It’s apparent to you exactly how thrown off Aaron must have been to see you when you initially approached him. The Aaron you talked to just minutes ago had been so different, so taken aback and confused; It was like he thought he would never see you again after you moved away.

Where the hell did that nervous guy go? Because he certainly isn’t in front of you now.

You take a step back towards the bar, waiting until Aaron turns his attention away from you to step back in his direction so you can hear the conversation. You’ve got no idea who ‘Penelope and the girls’ are, but they can wait.

Aaron is crowding up to your new friend, who- truly proving his stupidity, in your opinion- doesn’t seem to be shrinking back. He does the opposite, in fact. Both hands shoot out, shoving Aaron back hard.

Before you can move or cry out, Aaron is rushing forward. He’s got the smaller man pinned against the wall a moment later, a hand gripping his collar tight. “She’s spoken for.” He spits out, fire in his voice. “Bother someone else.”

Tony glares back at him. “I’m not an idiot, man. You met that chick three minutes ago and you’re just trying to get her to go home with you tonight instead of me.”

You aren’t ready for the words to follow. “You’re damn right, I’m taking her home. But I’ve known her much longer than you have, so if only one of us can leave with her… well, I just don’t see why you’re still acting like you’ve got a shot.” Aaron sneers. “She’s mine, and if I were you, I would back off now.” The last word is almost a growl, and it takes everything in you not to make a noise lest you alert him to your eavesdropping.

Seeing Aaron like this is intoxicating, and the words he’s saying are setting alight emotions you haven’t felt in years. You briefly wonder if he’s still with Haley, if he lives nearby, if maybe he’d really go out with you after this. It couldn’t hurt to ask, right?

The reminder of his high school girlfriend hits you like a bucket of icy water as you remember how they met. The three of you had been in the Pirates of Penzance together, because you were all theater kids. Aaron was an actor, and that’s what he’s doing now. Acting. He’s pretending to be someone who wants you, he’s faking it.

To his credit, he’s doing a damn fine job of it considering he’s starting to fool you.

You shake yourself out of your daze and head to the bar, ordering two drinks; coke with spiced rum, the only thing you drank together in the old days. You pay and hurry back to the table, forgoing the jukebox suggestion completely; your view of the men has been obstructed from the bar, and you want to know what’s going on now.

“You hear me?” Aaron is stuffing something that looks like a thin black wallet into his pocket, addressing the blonde guy. You frown at that, a little confused since his wallet is in your hand, but you don’t say anything.

“Yes, sir.” Tony mutters. His collar is ruffled, and his eyes are trained on his feet. He’s not posturing anymore; you don’t know what Aaron said or did, but the guy is completely deferential now. It’s nice

“Good. Don’t let me catch you hanging around here again.” Aaron’s tone is definitive, signaling the end of the conversation as soon as he sees you.

“Here, hon, they sell that spiced stuff that you like.” You lean in, tilt your head up slightly to press a kiss to Aaron’s cheek. You feel the barest hint of a 5’oclock shadow scrape your chin, then a hand splaying large fingers over your hip to pull you in. Possessive, but sweet.

The moment strikes something in your heart that you want to push down forever, so you pull back while he gives you a tender smile. The dimples that you haven’t seen in years make an appearance, and you can feel your heart fluttering at the sight.

His hand retreats a second later, and so do you. You slide into the booth and ignore Tony completely, setting both drinks and the wallet down before motioning Aaron towards you.

“Thanks, sweetheart. You can say goodbye to Timmy if you like. He was just leaving.”

“Uh, it’s To-” He stops speaking when Aaron eyeballs him. Neither of you care what his name is, and you all know it. “Alright. Um, good to meet you.” He looks at Aaron, pauses awkwardly before bowing his head, then scurries out without a glance in your direction.

—————

Once the bar door swings shut behind Tony, you let out a groan of relief, resisting the urge to hit your head against the nearest wall. “God, he was the worst.” You glance up at Aaron, shooting him a smile as you raise the glass. “Thank you, Ace. Are we still on for that drink?”

Aaron chuckles and slides into the booth across from you, picking up his own glass. “Of course.” He gives you an amused little nod and takes a sip, eyes lighting up at the flavour. “Hey, you remembered! I haven’t had one of these in…”

“Ages, right? Me neither.” You smile across the table, clinking your glass against Aaron’s. “So, tell me everything. How did Aaron Hotchner turn out?”

A dry laugh escapes him. “How did you expect me to turn out?” he answers with a question, and you shrug in a half-assed response.

“Successful, I guess. You always had that fight-for-the-little-guy attitude, I wouldn’t be surprised if you’ve managed to work that into the day job.”

To your surprise, Aaron digs in his pocket before pulling out what you had thought was a wallet earlier; when he opens it, your eyes widen at the sight of the FBI badge. “Not far off the mark. I was a prosecutor for a while, but I work for the Bureau now.”

“So, I was right about successful, then.” You sip your drink, swirling the glass around once you’ve swallowed. “Colour me impressed. So, do you hang around sleazy bars flashing your badge at creeps all the time, or did I just get lucky?”

Aaron grimaces, sticks the badge back into his pocket. “Depends on your definition of ‘creeps’ and ‘lucky’. We were working a child abduction case, found her unharmed a couple of hours ago.” He nods towards the group of people on the dance floor that had been in the booth earlier. “They’re celebrating.”

“And you’re not?” You take a sip, wait patiently for Aaron to speak. You can see the gears turning in his head as he formulates a response, and you can’t deny being intrigued to hear it.

“There’s always going to be another case.” He doesn’t say much, but he’s never been the type to over-speak. You became fluent in Aaron-ese a long time ago, and it’s good to know that the talent hasn’t gone away over the years.

“Another kid to save.” You correct. It’s a shot in the dark since he didn’t tell you exactly what his job is, but from the way he sighs it seems like you’re either on the mark or close enough.

“You’re saying it like that’s a good thing. Besides, who says I’m not celebrating?” He raises his glass slightly, tips it towards you with a grin that looks like he’s trained his facial muscles to forget what a smile is. “Cheers.”

“Cheers.” You echo, raising your glass in turn. “Do you think it’s a bad thing, then? That there are people to save?”

“I think that everyone is capable of failure, and that includes my team. When there are people to save, people get hurt.” There’s a raw honesty to his words, and he looks over at his group of friends with an indecipherable expression.

Something about his far-off gaze tugs at you, makes you want to wrap him in a hug when you notice the stress lines practically etched into his face. What has this guy gone through since you last saw him?

“How’s Haley?” You ask after a minute, breaking the lull in conversation. It wasn’t an uncomfortable silence- you’ve never experienced one of those with Aaron- but it’s on your mind, and you can’t resist asking.

Aaron does a slow-blink and looks back at you, then down at his drink. “Oh, we broke up. Junior year of college, actually.”

“Oh!” Your face flushes red. “I’m sorry, I didn’t… I’m sorry.”

“Don’t be. People grow apart. Besides, we kept in touch well enough. She’s married to a lawyer, has a son now. The kid’s name is Jack, I think.” He recalls. “She’s happy, though. That’s what matters.”

“It matters that you’re happy, too.” You point out.

His eyes flick up to meet yours. “Enough about me.” Alright, then. “What about yourself? I haven’t heard from you since you left.”

“Well, we didn’t grow up with iPhones and it turned out that stamps are expensive, so excuse me for struggling to stay in touch.” Your joking tone lands flat; the excuse is weak, and you both ignore it. “I’m alright. I got a job teaching, straight out of university, and I’ve been in the position ever since. It’s a fun job for the most part, and my kids are great.”

At the words my kids, you contain a giggle when you see how quickly Aaron glances at your left hand. “My students.” You elaborate with amusement, holding out your hand for him to examine the lack of a ring. “Trust me, I wouldn’t be alone at a sketchy bar on a Monday if I had a partner or kids.”

“I didn’t realize you were alone.” Aaron raises an eyebrow, humour glimmering in his eyes. “Should I leave you to it, then?” He moves as if to stand up, and you scoff.

“You wish. Park it.” You point back at the booth, and he sinks into it with a smile so wide that he looks seventeen again.

After a bit more catching up and a few more drinks, you’re pleasantly buzzed and laughing with Aaron about the time you set a cherry bomb off in your neighbour’s mailbox.

“He made me pay to replace it!” Aaron is half-indignant at the memory, but he’s speaking through laughter. “I had to rebuild the damn thing because you couldn’t think of anything better to blow up!”

“I told you to run as soon as you set it! It’s not my fault you didn’t try hard enough to not get caught.” You giggle, polishing off your drink and retrieving your wallet to buy another.

“I had a sprained ankle, and you knew it. I shouldn’t have set the thing, I was scapegoated.” He points an accusing finger at you with a wink before getting to his feet. “Next round is on me.”

“Every round has been on you,” you start to complain, but he’s already disappeared into the crowd.

He’s as stubborn as ever, you note with amusement.

Some things never change.

—————

While you wait for Aaron, you check your phone for any messages. Your sister just had a baby, so you’ve got pictures to scroll through, and they occupy your attention until you hear a cacophony of voices coming towards you, all talking over each other.

“I don’t know her.”

“What, and you think I do?”

“This was the table, wasn’t it? I don’t see him.”

“It’s got a vantage point and it’s not by a window, of course it was that table.”

“Do you think he left?”

“And went where, exactly? I don’t even know what state we’re in, where’s he running off to alone?”

“No, that’s his jacket, across from her.”

When you hear that, you raise your gaze to the opposite side of the booth where Aaron left his jacket. Are they talking about you? The voices haven’t stopped yet.

“I swear, Hotch is just trying to ditch us these days.”

“Well, who wants to tell Strauss we lost the boss? Cause I’m not doing it.”

“Stop being so dramatic. Maybe he went to the bathroom.”

“And some girl stole our table?”

“I don’t know! How do you think she got there?”

Okay, that’s enough. You set your phone down, angling your body towards the group standing a few feet from the booth. “You could ask her, you know.” You tell them, recognizing them as the people Aaron was watching earlier. His team, he called them.

Much to your delight, most of them look actively mortified at being caught. A brunette woman with bangs takes a step forward, not a hint of embarrassment on her face. “Sorry about that. We’re looking for our boss, and we last saw him sitting here.”

“Your boss?” You remember hearing ‘Hotch’ murmured by someone in the group. “Wait, are you looking for Aaron Hotchner? He’s getting another round.” You motion towards the bar, which is obstructed by the amount of people in the building.

“Another?” The woman echoes. Does Aaron not drink around them?

“Yeah, we’ve been catching up and we had a few. Look, I’ll get out of your hair before he gets back. Sorry to steal your booth.” You slide out of your seat, reaching for your purse. “Tell Ace I said it was nice seeing him, okay?” You direct the request to the brunette, who nods.

“Ace?” An older man repeats from a few feet back, obviously amused.

“Aaron.” You correct yourself, cheeks reddening.

You aren’t expecting a “yes?” from right behind you, and you let out a yelp of surprise, causing Aaron to erupt into laughter at that and at the way you jump a foot in the air.

“You suck!” You spin around, grabbing the drinks and setting them on the table before he can spill them.

“Excuse me for thinking that you’d have gotten over your fear of jump scares by the time you reached adulthood.” He retorts before looking behind you. His eyes widen when he sees his team, and you can detect something new flickering in his eyes. He looks almost nervous now, and that solidifies your decision to leave him alone.

“I was just telling your friends that I should probably getting going. No sense intruding on your celebration, right?”

Aaron’s eyes flicker between you and the team more than once as he wets his lips to speak. “Anyone kick you out?” He questions, and you giggle.

“No, Aaron. I just don’t want to overstay my welcome.” You shrug, sipping one of the drinks he bought. Why not? It’s already paid for and you’re taking a cab home, anyways.

“You aren’t,” he insists, ignoring the raised eyebrows and glances exchanged behind your back. “You aren’t intruding, you’re with me. I… well, I’d like for you to stay.”

“Oh.” Your voice is soft. “If you want me to, I’d like to. You don’t have to say that if you don’t mean it.”

“No, I do. You don’t have to stay if you don’t want to.” He promises.

“I do, but not if you don’t want me here.”

The brunette woman from earlier groans, drawing yours and Aaron’s attention. “Oh, for god’s sake, I can’t listen to this. Hotch, do you want her to stay and have a drink with us?”

He coughs sharply. “I do.”

“Great. And you, do you have anywhere to be right now? Or do you want to stay and have a drink with us?”

You blink twice. “I’d like to stay.” You glance towards Aaron, who was already looking at you. As soon as you make eye contact, you both look away from each other without noticing how the other person’s cheeks redden.

“Perfect, then it’s settled. You’re staying.” She announces, drops herself into the booth and slides down to make room. “Did the fearless leader introduce us?”

“No, he didn’t.” You watch as everyone fits in around the table, leaving the two spots at the end for you and Aaron.

“I’m not surprised. It’s like we’re his dirty little federal-government-appointed secret.” She rolls her eyes, and so does Aaron.

“Prentiss, be quiet.” He sighs before gazing across the table at you. “Sorry. I should’ve-”

“Don’t worry about it.” You reach over the table, one hand sliding comfortably into his. “Going to introduce me anytime soon, Ace?” You can’t help but tease a little, and he squeezes your hand with a grin. It really feels like nothing has changed.

“Of course. This is Dave, Derek, Spencer, Penelope-”

“Of ‘Penelope and the girls by the jukebox’, I presume?” You clarify, and he nods before continuing.

“The very same, yes. And JJ and Emily, the aforementioned girls.” He points to everyone in turn, then gives them your name. You give everyone a ‘nice to meet you’ when he’s done speaking, and they all echo the sentiment with variations of the same.

“So, how do you know Hotch?” Penelope leans over to ask; you recognize her as the one who tried to pull Aaron onto the dance floor.

“We grew up together.” You glance back at Aaron. “Hotch, huh? Your quality of nicknames sure hasn’t upgraded.” You tease, feeling him squeeze your hand again like he’s checking that you’re really here.

“At least that one makes sense.” He says. His eyes are lit up, watching you. It looks like he’s fascinated by your every movement, and you echo the sentiment by watching him right back. You can’t look away from him, would rather memorize every inch of his face, so that’s what you do.

“Barely. I mean, Hotch? Really?” You snicker, trying to imagine his mother calling him that. “I don’t get it. Must be an agent thing.”

“I noticed you called Aaron ‘Ace’. What’s the story there?” The man that Aaron introduced as David asks you.

You take a long sip of your drink, letting the spiced rum coat your tongue as you consider your answer.  “Hmmm… good question. I can’t even remember how it started. Too long ago, I guess.” You think about it for a minute, shaking your head.

“Really?” Aaron is fiddling with his glass with his free hand, still holding your hand with his other. “You don’t remember?”

“I don’t know.” You admit, grimacing. “It’s on the tip of my tongue, I just can’t remember what was going on.”

You’re acutely aware of the group watching the interaction. Your best guess for their behaviour is that Aaron doesn’t relax at work, which you could have predicted. If he acts like he did with Tony earlier, you can understand why Derek has been staring at you like he’s a kid and you’ve brought him his own personal candy shop in the form of a lively Aaron smiling ear to ear at you.

“We were...” Aaron closes his eyes in recollection, or perhaps discomfort. “We were camping, in your backyard. Remember when you got that tent for your birthday? We were twelve or so, I believe.”

You pause, trying to recall the gift. “The green one? I still have it.”

“Right, that one. So, we were spending the night in there and then Sean came to see me.” Aaron lowers his voice, like he’s embarrassed to recount that night.

“You invited him to stay because he was scared to walk home in the dark, and you said your parents would make you stay home if you walked with him,” you recall, “and we played cards until he fell asleep.”

“And I kept winning every game, and you kept saying-”

“That you must have had aces up your sleeves.” You interrupt him but neither of you truly notice, too caught up in the memory.

“Yeah. And then it stuck.” He squeezes your hand, and you squeeze it back before agreeing.

“And then it stuck.”

—————

You might not have played cards with him in years, but Aaron Hotchner drags you away from the table as soon as he can (before the team can ask more questions, probably) to kick your ass at darts and pool.

“If you do this after every case, you’re a shark.” You complain, watching as the cue ball somehow jumps over the ball you aimed for. “That’s impossible!”

“Nothing’s impossible when you’re this bad at pool.” Aaron promises. His voice is dripping in sarcastic support. “Want me to show you?”

“By all means.” You go to hand him the pool stick, but he presses it back into your hands.

“Face the table.” He moves to stand behind you, draping himself against your back. A large hand comes around and covers yours, holding it steady on the stick. “Just like that. And then your other hand, like this.” He repositions that as well, his fingers gripping your own.

You lean over onto the table to get a better vantage point, and you can practically feel Aaron holding his breath behind you as he leans with you.

His heartbeat thrums against the centre of your back, the two of you still pressed together. You can’t hear anything; maybe because of the blood rushing through your ears, or maybe because it feels like the rest of the world has fallen away and left you in a little bubble of privacy with Aaron.

A really big part of you wants to give up on pool and just stand here with his body against yours for the rest of the night. Unfortunately, Aaron breaks the silence far too soon.

“Ready?” He rumbles the question into your ear, and you nod. Guided by his hand you pull the pool stick back and then shoot, watching the cue ball hit a red ball that falls into the corner pocket.

“Hey, it went in!” You shatter the calm of the moment and abandon the pool stick to turn around, throwing your arms around Aaron in celebration.

He catches you in his arms with a laugh, caught off-guard by your sudden movement. “Good job!” He congratulates you, his arm wrapping around your waist like it’s a habit. You lean into him for just a second, inhaling the scent of Aaron underneath the expensive cologne and motel laundry detergent that wafts off him when you get close, but you can’t stay there forever.

“I’ll be kicking your ass in no time, at this rate. I’ll grab us more drinks, meet you back at the table?” You wait for his nod before pulling away and walking towards the bar.

—————

When you get to the bar, you see the girls Aaron introduced as JJ and Emily standing there. Emily is paying while JJ is balancing pitchers that you assume are full of beer for the table, but she seems unsteady with them at best.

“Can I give you a hand?” You offer, stepping up next to JJ to take a pitcher while flashing two fingers at the bartender who, by now, is familiar with both you and Aaron. He gives you a nod and gets started on the drinks while the girls turn their attention to you.

“Oh! Thank you, wouldn’t want to drop that.” JJ smiles at you, instantly easing your nerves a little. (Who can blame you for being nervous? These are Aaron’s people; it’s a daunting thought, but then again, they’re Aaron’s people and that means they’re trustworthy in your book.) “So, how long has it been since you last saw Hotch?”

“Too long.” Your answer is pure honesty. “I left our hometown the second I could, and I never looked back. I haven’t even talked to him since our graduation.”

Emily whistles as she turns around, holding two pitchers of her own. “Guess you have a lot of catching up to do while we’re in town, then.”

“I guess so.” To be honest, this is the first moment that it truly occurs to you that Aaron will be gone soon. Your face falls, and you miss the look that the girls exchange.

“We work out of Quantico, Virginia.” JJ offers up the information out of the blue. “But we travel, a lot. This isn’t even the first time we’ve been in this region of the country this month.”

“Oh. Uh, okay. Thanks, I guess.” Your brow furrows. Why is she telling you? You pass the bartender some cash and take two glasses from him, the pitcher balanced in your other hand.

“Let’s get back to the table, I’ve got a lot of questions about Hotch as a kid.” Emily interjects, starting to walk in the direction of the booth.

“I’m an open book.” You promise with a giggle. Your eyes are trained on the two cups balanced in one of your hands, so you let Emily steer you gently towards the booth to avoid collisions.

—————

You’re so focused that you miss the way Aaron’s face brightens when you come into view, but you’re the only one who doesn’t see it. You also miss the way he gets to his feet, beelining for you.

One minute, you’re focused on the cups. The next minute, large hands close over them and he takes the drinks from you before they can fall.

“Hey, what took you so long?” He takes a long drink from one glass without looking away from you, eyes twinkling as you both sit down after JJ and Emily.

“Hey. Oh, you know, just had to beat off another guy with a stick. Way less efficient than that badge-flashing trick of yours.” You joke, setting down the pitcher of beer and grabbing the other glass from Aaron.

“Can’t go anywhere without me, huh?”

“Something like that, yeah.” You make eye contact with Aaron, and the side of his mouth quirks up in a smile.

“I know JJ wouldn’t, but I trust Prentiss wasn’t giving you a hard time?” You pause at that and blink twice, unsure of who Prentiss is. “Emily.” He corrects himself, seeming to forget that these people are strangers to you.

“Of course, I wasn’t.” Emily smirks at him. “I’m about to give you one, though. Somebody has the inside scoop on Baby Hotch, and I want all the details.”

Aaron rolls his eyes at that. “Keep it reasonable. I don’t need Strauss jumping down my throat about professional boundaries.” He waits for Emily to nod before he takes one of your hands in his own again, a silent permission being given when he squeezes gently.

“Okay. Uh, go ahead, I guess?” You take another sip, waiting patiently with your eyes on Aaron.

“Wait, I want to ask something first!” Penelope says from the other end of the booth. “Was he always so serious?”

“Penelope,” Aaron starts, but you shush him.

“That’s a good question, and I’m allowing it.” You insist, the Hotchner Glare rolling right over you. It’s never been effective on you, and you both know it. You turn your attention to your miniature audience to answer the question. “Not really. He used to be the daredevil out of the two of us, that’s for sure, and he’d do anything to make someone laugh. Aside from when we studied together, Serious Aaron is pretty much totally new to me.”

The table erupts at that, jostling and teasing Aaron whose face is red right down to where his shirt collar starts, but he’s still smiling at you. “Thanks for that,” he murmurs, and you just wink.

“What else was he like, then?”

You can’t look at Aaron when you answer Emily’s question, but you feel his hand tighten on yours when you speak, his thumb running over your knuckles like he’s trying to memorize the feeling of your hand in his. It’s warm, and encouraging, and you can’t do anything except stare at the table.

“He was…” Everything. “One of the kindest people I’ve ever met. He was crazy smart, but he never bragged about it. He tutored for free, babysat with me when I needed a hand, always started a fight with the bully when he saw someone getting picked on. You name it, Aaron was there to help.”

You look back up at the table, noting that no one seems particularly surprised by your answer. Aaron is just watching you, his cheeks still a little red from the praise. He’s got a skewed smile on his face; one you recognize as being reserved for you. At least, you’d like to pretend it is, since he’s got a dimple on the side of his face that no one else can see.

Derek speaks next, looking at you like you’ve just offered him the Holy Grail. “Let’s bring it back to daredevil, huh? What was the riskiest thing he ever did?”

Your eyes light up with glee. “Well, let me tell you about this one time…” and you dive right into the cherry bomb story. The drinks and laughter start to flow as you swap stories with the team about Aaron, who looks like he would rather be anywhere else but hasn’t stopped giving you that damn dimpled smile every time you look over.

It’s interesting, to hear what he’s like now. To know that your closest childhood friend, so full of light and laughter when you knew him, is now prone to tight-lipped smiles and dry one-liner humour. With everything you learn, your hand’s grip on Aaron’s tightens a little. He grew up. You did too, but he did it so obviously, matured as a man and person to such a degree that you have to wonder if it was a slow change, or if it was as abrupt as you falling out of his life.

—————

After what feels like minutes but is closer to an hour of chatter, you realize your drink is empty and the pitchers are almost out of beer. Before you can say anything, Aaron is on his feet, disappearing with the promise of more drinks on the way. Dave is right behind him, probably to help him carry everything back.

“I’m gonna help, too.” You decide, getting to your feet. You’re a little shaky- not stone cold sober by anyone’s definition- but you feel good in a way you haven’t in a long time, and that energy is what propels you towards the bar.

You can see Aaron’s back facing you, Dave across from him. Their conversation seems private but not serious, and you have no justification for the way you creep up to get within earshot, facing away from the men to be safe.

“Anything to make someone laugh, huh?” You hear from the Italian man, followed by a familiar sigh.

“Shut up, Dave.” Aaron’s voice contains the same edge you’d heard earlier when he was talking to Tony, an undertone of back the fuck off dripping from those three words.

“I didn’t say anything. Just never pegged you as the comedian type, aside from your little drug test threats.”

“I wasn’t a comedian.” Aaron huffs. It doesn’t sound self-deprecating, but more… confessional. The way he says it makes him sounds like he was funny against his will, or embarrassed about it, and he’s letting Dave in on the secret. What does he mean by that?

“Does she know that?” If Dave understands the meaning behind Aaron’s words, he doesn’t clue you in by discussing the details.

“It doesn’t matter what she knows. We’re on a plane back to Quantico in twelve hours.”

“Sure. But ‘you name it, Aaron was there to help’? I’m not supposed to say something about that to you?”

You hear the thump of drinks being set down. “Drop it, Dave. Would you take those back? I’m going to take a minute, have a drink here.”

After a minute of silence, you assume Dave is gone. You turn around and look over at the bar, immediately making eye contact with Aaron. Caught. “Oh, there you are!” You attempt to cover your own ass fix the situation, but he’s already laughing.

“Nice try.” He nods to the barstool next to him, and you slide into it. “Hear anything good?”

You have to admit it. “I don’t know about good. Intriguing, maybe. What did you mean when you said you weren’t a comedian?”

Aaron blinks like he’s caught off guard by the question. “I… I wasn’t one. That’s all.”

“But you practically were.” You don’t know why this is a point of contention, or why you’re so willing to dig your heels in. Your relationship wasn’t built off humour by any means, and it’s not even that important. All you know is that you’re finding it hard to breathe, and you and Aaron are staring at each other, and you can’t help but wonder if he was hiding himself from you all those years ago. “You were always cracking jokes, making comments, telling stories.”

“To you.” He watches you carefully, sips his spiced rum and coke when two are set in front of you. He eyes you over the top of the glass, like he’s said something heavy. Wait, has he?

“To me?”

“To you, yes. You liked it when I was funny. So, I was funny around you.” He says it like it’s the easiest thing in the world, but all the blood in your body is rushing to your head. Is this how he felt when you’d popped up in front of him earlier for the first time in years? Thrown off guard, rug yanked out, unsure of everything he thought he knew?

“You lied to me?” You clarify, taking deep breaths until you can’t hear the blood rushing through your ears. This isn’t an episode of Friends, and you aren’t going to jump to your own conclusions and ruin the evening by running off mid-explanation.

“No!” He seems affronted by the very thought. “God, no. I just… dropped my filter around you, I guess. And you seemed to like it, so I kept doing it. If anything, I was more myself around you than anyone else.”

Your cheeks turn pink at his words, stomach churning with a combination of embarrassment and some preening emotion that seems to repeat his last sentence in a loop. “Oh. Guess that kind of makes me an asshole for calling you a liar, then.” You joke and he shakes his head, gaze steady and serious.

“Of course not. You didn’t know. Thank you for letting me explain,” he murmurs. “We should get back to the team.” It’s the last thing you want to do but you stand up all the same, accompanying him back with drinks in hand.

“Did we miss anything good?” You slide into your seat and start listening to Spencer, who seems to be ranting about blood-alcohol levels. To your utter lack of surprise moments later, Aaron’s hand finds its way into yours once again and you smile at him.

“Nothing he won’t do again before the night’s over.” Emily promises with a laugh, tipping her wine glass in your direction before taking a hearty sip.

—————

As it turns out, she’s right. By your estimate, Spencer goes on at least three more tangents throughout the night- probably more since you and Aaron keep sneaking away to sit at the bar together for longer and longer increments.

During one of your rendezvous, JJ approaches the two of you by the bar. She waits for your laughter to die down before she speaks, bouncing on the balls of her feet. “Hotch, I think we’re going to be heading back to the hotel. Uh, are you staying here?”

As she speaks, you check your watch for the first time in hours. Aaron catches your wince, knows exactly what it means. “No, I think we should get going. It’s late.” He agrees, and the three of you start back towards the table where everyone is settling tabs and getting ready to go.

“It was good to meet you.” Emily comments, pulling on her jacket. “We’ll be hearing more about you, I hope?” She glances between you and Aaron like she’s implying something, but for the life of you you’ve got no idea what it is.

“Good to meet you, too.” You grab your own jacket, passing Aaron his. “Depends on if you ask about me, I guess.”

You say your goodbyes to the rest of the team, waving at them as they file out of the bar. Aaron lingers behind, obviously wanting to have some privacy with you. You can see his friends standing at the window outside the bar, but you don’t do anything about it. After a minute of silence, you try to speak at the same time.

“So-”

“I-” You both stop, waiting for the other to speak. Finally, Aaron continues. “It was nice to see you.” He speaks softly, reaching down to take both of your hands in his. Over the course of the evening, it’s become a habit. “Thank you, for staying tonight.” It isn’t the only thing he’s thanking you for.

“Thanks for wanting me to stay.” It’s not the only thing you’re thanking him for, either. You can’t bear to look up at him. If he looks into your eyes now, he’ll know exactly how hard this is for you, how you can feel your world being torn away just like all those years ago.

When Aaron responds, you’re surprised by the ferocity of his statement. “I always want you to stay. You should know that by now.” His grip tightens, so slightly that you might be imagining it.

“Aaron…”

“I don’t want to leave.” He admits. “I feel like I just got you back, and now I have to leave.”

Something about that sentence breaks you, crumbles every wall you’ve been building up regarding Aaron since you were a little kid. “You’ve got me. You’ve always had me.” You whisper the confession, feeling his fingers twined between your own.

Aaron doesn’t say anything.

You’ve never felt stupider in your life. You just confessed your love in a bar like you’re in a shitty romcom, you still can’t bring yourself to look up, and Aaron still hasn’t said or done a single thing. You can’t move, can’t breathe, can’t do anything except wait for some sort of reaction.

Aaron’s hands release yours, letting them fall.

Your heart drops for a split second before he catches it by wrapping his arms around you, one hand finding its way to the back of your head as he pulls you in. You bridge the distance at the same time, your hands finding a spot on his chest as Aaron Hotchner finally kisses you.

It’s a thousand times better than you never let yourself imagine. He invades every part of you until the only thing you’re aware of is him, the way he’s holding you like you’re something he treasures, the taste and scent of him overwhelming you and making you lightheaded.

The kiss itself is sweet but passionate, Aaron taking gentle control of it and easing your mouth open. It contains everything neither of you have said, and by the time he pulls away you’re convinced that this is heaven.

“Say it again.” It’s a plea, and you’re happy to oblige.

“You’ve got me, Ace.” You watch his Adam’s apple bob at the words, then his mouth open and close like he doesn’t know quite what to say.

Finally, he settles on, “You’ve got me, too. If you want me.”

You resist a laugh at the idea of not wanting him. It takes everything in you not to grab him by the collar and pull him in again, kiss him stupid until you get kicked out of the bar, but his friends are waiting outside.

His friends are waiting outside.

The thought occurs to you at the same time and you both swivel your heads to the window in horror, where you can see the team clapping and jeering. Penelope even has a camera out, but it doesn’t matter. You give them a thumbs up, and then turn your attention to the person who really matters.

Aaron turns back to you, one hand around your waist and the other settled on your hip as he leans his forehead against yours. “Do you?” he asks, like he’s somehow unsure of your answer to his previous question.

You bring a hand up to rake your fingers through his hair. “Of course I do, Aaron.” There’s a smile playing at your lips, and he doesn’t hesitate to lean in and kiss it off with a smile of his own.

“We can make this work, right?” He whispers against your lips, and you can’t do anything but nod.

“We can.” You assure him, pulling back enough to speak while staying close enough that you can feel his breath against you. “Yeah, we can do this.”

In lieu of a response, Aaron’s lips meet yours again. You kiss lazily for a couple of minutes until he pulls away, sorrow in his eyes. “I really do need to go. I’m so sorry.”

“I know. It’s okay.” You promise, handing him a card.

“What’s this?” He can’t tear his eyes off you long enough to read it, so he just pushes it into his pocket.

“My number. Just promise me you’ll use it, okay?

“I’ll promise you anything.” He pulls you close all over again, gathering you into a long hug. You oblige, fitting into his arms the same way that you always have. It feels different now, better. “I’ll text you from the jet?” he suggests when he finally steps away, prompted by Dave knocking on the window and pointing to his watch.

“You’d better.”

“Yes, dear.” Aaron mumbles in a long-suffering sort of way, a smirk on his face until you smack his shoulder. “Hey! Okay, okay, I’m sorry.”

You pick up your purse, smiling nervously up at him. “Just give me a call when you can. Goodnight, Aaron.”

“Goodnight, sweetheart.” The husky voice rolls over you when he leans in to kiss your cheek. “Get home safely.”

As quickly as you’d approached him earlier, shaking up his world in half a second, Aaron is gone. The team disappears down the street and you can see them teasing him, hip bumps and elbow nudges that speak of a familiarity you can only hope to achieve as they walk towards the hotel.

To be honest, you’re a little jealous of the people who get to see Aaron every day. It’s already hard not having him right next to you, but you’re comforted by the knowledge that neither of you will repeat your old mistakes.

For the first time, you know with certainty that this absence will be temporary.

[h0tchner]

Something More (Aaron Hotchner x Fem!Reader)

pairing: aaron hotchner x fem!reader

summary: Written as a request for the loml, Abby! (@heliotropehotch!) "Could I have a hotch x reader request thats got a love confession- maybe a hurt comfort scene where the reader is maybe torn up about something like self deprecation or some cop makes an off-handed compliment and he cups her cheeks and wipes the tears away? Pretty please 🥺"

word count: 3.2k

includes: love confessions! hurt/comfort, protective!hotch, mutual pining!!!, kissing, a little teaser of sexytimes, work tension, BAU!reader, crying and other emotions, rude af deputies, fluff soooo much fluff

rating: 18+ (cursing, crude nicknames, suggestive sexual mentions, and brief explicit sexual content at the very end)

a/n: HELLO BESTIES! I hope you love this one! If you want a smutty part two, let me know. PLS (!!!!!) interact if you liked this fic; rb, comment, like and/or send me a request if you have ideas for future fics! i love y’all! - rivka💞

some pals tags: @arsonhotchner @laurensprentiss @mrsh0tchner @ssahotchie

“It’s time to give the profile,” Hotch announces.

Six words. One sentence. Zero hesitation.

“Go and gather everybody in the bullpen,” he directs Spencer, who nods and quietly exits the conference room to collect your team and the rest of the Sherrif’s department of this small, Wisconsin town.

You stand on the opposite side of the table from your boss, looking at him expectantly. Hotch meets your gaze. His tongue darts out from between his lips as he glares at you from beneath thick lashes. You wait for your instructions, but the instructions don’t come. Rather, you both stand there in a staring contest, unmoving.

You can’t help but feel bare under his scrutiny, but this feeling is nothing new. Every time Hotch looks at you, it feels as if every fibre of your being is on fire. It’s been this way since the very first day you started with the BAU, and, over time, the flame has only burned brighter.

You and Hotch have grown close over the two years you’ve been with the team: closer than he’s been with any of his other agents, even Rossi. It all started with one long night spent together in his office, sharing cold Chinese food, scribbling away at mountains of paperwork. It was then, sitting across the desk from him, laughing at his incredulous reaction when he dropped some Lo Mein on an After-Action Report, that you knew: you were in deep. From then on, your Chinese food office “dates” became a regular occurrence. And then, those regular occurrences transformed into other regular occurrences; to name a few: rides on the jet, side by side, sharing soft glances and tired smiles after hard cases… holding hands to comfort each other when emotionally vulnerable… and even bringing you your favourite coffee on mornings that you’ve needed an extra boost. All these little moments of kindness and care are what made you fall in love with him. You would cross the line from coworkers to more in a heartbeat if you knew for certain that he felt the same way about you. But you refuse to take a risk on losing what you currently have with Hotch for the chance at something more.

The way that Hotch looks at you now, tall and commanding, feels very much like something more… it’s incredibly intimate. He’s effectively stripped away all the layers of protection you’ve built up to do your job with one pointed glance. What you don’t know is that he too feeling the same way, and is toeing a line between being your boss, being your friend, and being your “something more.”

Hotch breathes out hard through his nose. You watch as he swallows, his Adam’s apple bobbing as he does. His jaw ticks. He shifts on his feet.

“I want you to sit this one out,” he says.

“Hotch?” You question, puzzled. Nothing about this day has prepared you for him to say that. You start racking your brain, trying to figure out why he would give you such a ridiculous order. Did you piss him off somehow? Did you play-flirt with Morgan too much in the car? Overlook an important lead? Did he not like the coffee you made him this morning?

Looking over at him, you swear he almost looks conflicted… but it doesn’t last.

“This is not up for debate. Do you understand me? You’re sitting this one out.” He repeats, steadfast.

“I don’t understand, what did I do wrong?” You ask more defensively this time, wishing he would give you more information. Something, anything besides the “SSA Aaron Hotchner” routine he was pulling on you now.

“I never said you did anything wrong.” Hotch moves forward a step, finally breaking eye contact, opting to gather files and loose papers into his arms.

“So, then what it is?” You cross your arms, stepping forwards as well, challenging him with your posture.

He doesn’t respond, nor does he look at you. Instead, he lumps more files into his arms before rounding the table, moving swiftly toward the door.

You have never, ever disobeyed one of his orders because his orders have always made sense… until now.

“Hotch,” you say sternly, your stubborn feet moving to stand between him and the exit before your logical brain can stop you.

He’s practically up against you, cornering you between his solid body and the old wooden door. His height dominates your shorter frame, and the heat coming off his body is positively criminal. Your heart flutters in your chest as he stares you down, calculating his next move.

“Out of my way, Agent Y/L/N.” He breathes out, tensing his jaw.

“Fine,” you stutter, “just tell me why and then I’ll let you go.” Your confidence wavers as you’re a little taken aback by his official use of your title and last name.

You’re hurt, confused… and he knows this. No matter how hard you’re putting on your tough-girl FBI face, Hotch can see right through it. He knows this order is unjustified, but he has his own reasons: reasons that he can’t get into. Not now.

Hotch lets his eyes dart to the side, past your head, not daring to look you in the eyes. He wills himself to be gentle.

“I can’t tell you, but I need you to trust me. Sit this one out.” He verbalizes, looking at you a little softer now. His face relaxes a little more into the Hotchner you’ve come to know: the one who calls his son every night to read a bedtime story, the one who grins every time you beat him in chess.

You two stand there a moment longer, your heart racing from the heat of the quarrel and your current proximity to your Unit Chief.

Hotch opens his mouth to say something else, but a knock on the door behind you stops him in his tracks. You step aside and he whips open the door; a very apologetic Spencer stands behind it.

“Sorry to interrupt,” Spencer says, clearing his throat awkwardly, “but everyone is ready in the bullpen.”

“Thank you,” Hotch nods, stepping forward to leave, but you grab a hold of his arm.

“Hotch,” you begin, not entirely sure what you want to say.

“Later,” he answers, finishing the unspoken thought.

With that, he’s out the door and you’re left alone with only stale coffee and a bunch of disorganized files to keep you company.

You close the door behind them with a sigh, letting yourself rest against it again, closing your eyes for a moment in defeat. Three days on this case. Three days of hard work, interviews, and research just to get benched in the end zone. You wish that you didn’t love Hotch, because maybe if you didn’t, it would be easier to disobey him. Opening your eyes again, you scan the quiet room. Then, something in front of you catches your eye and you get an idea.

On the table rests one of the precinct’s phones. It is all too easy to use the conference feature to listen in on one of the other phone lines: specifically, one in the bullpen.

You grin and rush over to the device, feeling a little bit sheepish for not listening to Hotch, but you push the buttons anyway, and bring the receiver up to your ear.

At first, all you hear is the shuffling of papers and muffled voices. You take a seat, leaning back in your chair like the cat who caught the canary. Several more moments pass of bureaucratic white noise, but then, someone speaks.

“Where’s the slutty one?” A male voice whispers.

“Oh, Agent Y/N? Probably on her knees somewhere waiting for her boss to come back.” A second male voice snickers back, matching the volume of the first.

You gasp, the phone slipping out of your hand, landing on the table with a loud thunk.

Scrambling, you grab it again, your other hand coming to rest over your open mouth.

“Don’t know why he wouldn’t let us use her as bait. This whole case could’ve been wrapped up and done by now if we just stuck her in a skimpy dress and shoved her out on the street.” One of them muses.

“Obviously because he’s sleeping with her.” The other mutters. “Agent Hotchner looked like he was going to take your head off when you asked him about it. Thought he was going to deck you for suggesting disguising her as a hooker to lure this guy out.”

“Yeah, he did. She looks like the victims, though. Bet she’s a whore like them too.”

“Deputies, we’re starting.” You hear a third voice pipe up. This time it’s one you recognize: it’s Hotch. “This is your final warning. I don’t want to hear another word out of you for the rest of the day. Not only is this wildly inappropriate, but it is insulting and vile. If I hear either of you speak about, look at, or interact with Agent Y/N, I will make sure you are both charged with harassment and fired from this department. Is that clear?”

With that, your eyes nearly pop out of your head. The deputies mumble something back, but you can’t hear over the sound of papers rustling.

Stunned, you set the phone back in its holder and force air into your lungs.

Waves of thoughts come crashing down on you. You have so many questions and so many answers and it’s all just… too much.

Suddenly, you know that you need to be anywhere but here.

You stand, shoving the chair aside and burst out of the conference room, fuming. You power-walk down the hall, and past the bullpen, focused on getting yourself outside and into the fresh air. Understandably, you don’t look up as you pass the profile briefing, so you don’t see Hotch’s brow furrow at the sight of you. You also don’t see him hand his papers to JJ, excuse himself, and race to follow you out the front door.

Once you’re outside in the parking lot, you look up at the cloudy, grey sky, and the tears start to fall. You feel guilty and angry; part of you wants to run away and cry, but the other part of you wants to walk straight up to those men and kick them straight in the dick. They not only called you vile names, but they also called the victims – those poor, dead women – the same. You sniffle, thinking about how Hotch stepped in and protected you, stood up for you.

Hotch… the thought of him makes you cry a little harder.

You start to pace around, kicking gravel as you went.

Were you that obvious? Was your crush so rampant that two low-level deputies in the middle of nowheresville picked up that easily on how you really felt about your boss?

“Fuck you two,” you curse under your breath to nobody as you choke back sobs. You kick a large piece of gravel as hard and as far as you can, but it doesn’t help.

“Are you okay?” A voice prods from behind you, gently, hesitantly, as if not to spook you. It’s a curt baritone, laced with concern. It’s Hotch.

“Hotch,” you breathe, turning to face him, furiously wiping tears away from your eyes.

“What happened?” He frowns, stepping closer to you, a comforting hand reaching forward to take yours.

Any other day you would grasp it contently, letting him console you. Today? All you can hear are the deputy’s comments. Sleeping with her. Whore. On her knees. You’re embarrassed and ashamed, so, you involuntarily step back.

“It’s nothing,” you put your hands up, looking down at your feet.

“Y/N,” Hotch says, his heart pounding in his chest.

You look back up, locking on his beautiful, angular face. You see every feature clouded in a haze of sorrow and concern.

You know you must swallow your pain and try to get it out. He wasn’t about to let you off easy.

“You… they… I…” you begin, but never finish your sentence. Instead, you start to cry again.

Wordlessly, Hotch moves to cup your face in his hands. They’re large and slightly calloused, encasing your cheeks as his thumbs gently swipe away the tears. His soft eyes search your watery ones; despite your better instinct, you bring your hands up to rest on his chest. You feel his breathing hitch. One of his hands moves from your face to cover your smaller hand against his chest. The two of you stay there, just like that, for another handful of heartbeats. You focus on his hands and how warm and safe they make you feel. Soon enough, you stop crying and gather the courage to speak.

“I heard them.” You whisper, not trusting yourself to say another word. You know that Hotch knows exactly who “them” is, and exactly what it is that you’ve heard.

His brow creases and his hand grips yours tighter. He cleans another tear off your cheek, and then lets that hand down to ball in a fist at his side.

“I’m going to kill them.” Hotch states, furious and heartbroken.

“Me first.” You sniffle.

Your boss sighs, giving you a heartfelt look. Leave it to you to make a joke at a time like this.

“I told them this morning that if I ever heard them say another thing about you, I was going to have their badges. I should’ve kicked them off this case hours ago.” He huffs, closing his eyes, letting his other hand, the one that was covering yours, drop down to his side.

You know this look all too well. You know he’s blaming himself.

“It’s not your fault,” you offer, smoothing your hands over his chest to settle on his upper arms. “Hotch, look at me.”

He doesn’t at first, but eventually, he opens his eyes. His hands open and close at his sides, as if he’s fighting them to be still.

“I’m sorry.” He breathes out. “For everything. For handling this how I did.”

“I’m not.” You chime in, feeling braver, calmer now that you’re here with him. Your comment earns a quizzical glance and a slight head tilt from Hotch, urging you to go on. “You stood up for me. You honoured me. You respected me. You protected me. You –“

With a fierce momentum, your next sentence is swallowed by Hotch’s lips pressing into yours. His hands come up to rest on your hips, and then circle around your waist to pull you closer. He’s warm and soft and intense; you whimper into the kiss, moving your hands to rest on the back of his neck and card in his hair. The kiss is over far too soon for your liking, both of you needing to pull back and inhale.

Hotch looks at you with heavy eyes, hands gripping your hips. He smells like coffee and pine, with a hint of something spicier. Everything about him is overwhelming yet grounding.

“Finally,” you whisper, hands clasped around his neck. “It’s about damn time.”

“It is,” is all he musters, still dazed by the audacity of his own actions.

“Aaron?” You lick your lips, feeling his hands squeeze you tight at your use of his first name.

“Yeah?” He can’t help but start to smile, showing off his adorable dimples and crinkled lines around his eyes.

“I love you; do you know that?” You say in earnest.

Aaron giggles, giggles at your confession, and then attacks your lips again, making you yelp at the surprise. His lips detach from yours only to pepper kisses on your tear-stained cheeks, jaw, and forehead.

“I love you too,” he breathes out, giddier than you’ve ever seen him. He looks like a kid in a candy shop, and it makes your heart leap into your throat.

Just then, a car beeps on the road, startling you two. You’re suddenly reminded where you are, and why you’re here. The thought of having to go back inside makes you groan, and you bury your head into his chest for a moment. He hums into your hair, planting a kiss on the top of your head.

Reluctantly, you pull yourself off his chest to look up at him.

“Forget about them,” you say, “go finish giving the profile so we can close this case and get the hell out of this town so you can take me home and show me how much you love me.” You smile at him, pulling him in for another, lighter kiss.

He grins against your lips, meeting you for another smooch.

“Yes ma’am,” Hotch replies, giving you a kiss on the tip of your nose.

------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Three months later, you and Aaron are coming down from your highs, sweaty and blissed-out after an amazing lovemaking session. After the team wrapped up the case and made it back to Virginia in one piece, you and Hotch went out to dinner the next night. He took you to dine in at the Chinese restaurant that you both usually ordered from on those nights you both spent pining and yearning in his office. It was… perfect. He was perfect. Just as your friendship had blossomed, so did your relationship. One date led to another, one gesture turned into more, and you and Aaron settled into life as a couple with ease. You hadn’t brought up the incident with the deputies since it had happened the afternoon that Hotch had followed you out to the parking lot to wipe away your tears.

Now, as you lay in his arms, wrapped in his strong, loving, embrace, your mind wanders back to their words. However, you don’t feel animosity toward them, rather it makes you giggle.

“What’s so funny hot stuff?” Aaron cracks open an eye and smiles down at you. One arm is tucked underneath his head, and the other is tracing patterns on the bare skin of your shoulder.

“Oh, just that case we had in Wisconsin a few months back.” You nuzzle deeper into his chest with another laugh.

Hotch frowns, recalling the memory, thinking about the way those awful men spoke about you.

“How is that funny?” He asks, hesitantly.

“They called me a whore.” You say nonchalantly, peering innocently into his amber eyes. You bring your palm up to swipe across his cheek softly, feeling the light stubble of his jaw underneath your fingertips.

Both of his eyes are open now, and his hand motions cease their patterns on your skin. He’s confused, and the face he’s giving you is downright adorable. It makes you giggle again.

You detach yourself from his grasp and sit yourself up, carefully shimmying down the bed. Aaron’s eyes never leave you.

You nestle yourself between his legs and look up at him with a smirk.

“They were partially right.” You offer, studying the small changes in his face, watching as his eyes glaze over with lust for the second time that night.

“I am a whore.” You pout suggestively and flutter your eyelashes. “A whore for you, Hotch.”

He shakes his head at you in amusement and chuckles, but it quickly turns into a deep, throaty moan as you wrap your lips around the tip of him.

As you start to bob your head on his already hardening length, you think to yourself: as much as I hate to say it... someone should really give those two deputies a raise.

[peachyteez]

 harmless pranks ≫ DAY ONE, WOOYOUNG?!

this mischevious dolphin hybrid escaped an illegal experiment lab and has wandered the ocean for almost a year. all he longed for was love and attention—maybe even a family. who knew his “little” prank on jiyu would be the beginning to all of his wishes being granted.

PART OF THE HEAVEN SERIES.

✧ taglist: @defsoul15, @jaeminpeachy, @joongiebug, @sunsethw4, @t-tbinnie, @chanyeolol, @danibookmarks, @hello-its-ya-boi, @murralyn, @panini, @moon8894, @koasworld, @taetae123094, @luv3rxcha, @treasure-hwa, @etherealbyeol, @hwaseongzzz, @lovely-sanie, @orbitiiny, @pirate-of-the-dark-seas, @babydolljo, @ms-starlight, @everrrlasting, @bls-luv-me, @atzgiggle, @arohabyeol, @rainbowmagicpixecorn, @soverystupid, @ayetothezee, @kingalls00, @sanstreasure0305, @sparklingmallow, @kpopnightingale, @rosesarethebest, @stillcantfindaproperusername, @bonbonhwa, @its-sarah-stark, @sanismybb, @frankenstein852, @peachseok, @woopetals, @exhofayemars, @pvrkacciosan, 

✧ can’t be tagged: @alienmashup, @c-sanshine, @int0chae

✧ notes: surprise! i know i scheduled the release for may 7th, but thought i’d release it a little early :)

next。

“i can’t believe you’re up and leaving us for a month,” yeonjun sarcastically commented while helping her lug her last luggage into the mercedes van that sunwoo had been so generous enough to send to pick them up. “and from the looks of it, it doesn’t look like soobin, beomgyu, and taehyun are going to let go of the others.”

and true to his word, she looked over to see them gathered in a group hug. beomgyu clung onto yunho with teary eyes, he’s never been separated from him for a month before. yunho gently pat the younger puppy’s head with a small smile. 

she chuckled at the heartwarming scene. “guys, you’ll still be able to call and facetime. and you’re acting like we’re never coming back! we’re only going to jeju island.”

“but what if you run away with this person because they’re rich?” beomgyu asked, ignorant to her background. at his question, the other boys gasped and whipped their heads over to her. 

her smile slightly faltered, forgetting that they don’t know of her origins. she knew she’d have to come clean someday—maybe this trip was the right time to tell. 

“don’t be ridiculous, of course we are,” she gently reprimanded before coming over to ruffle beomgyu’s hair. “beomgyu’s imagination is just running a tad bit wild.”

pouting, beomgyu shifted from yunho to engulf her in a bear hug. 

“soobin and i’ll make sure beomgyu doesn’t grow any grey hairs while worrying about you guys,” taehyun jokingly reassured. he knew beomgyu well enough, even though he was an addition to the family a month ago.  

“miss, it’s about time to depart to the airport,” the driver informed with a bow. 

with a nod, she rubbed beomgyu’s head. “okay, we need to go now, bub. we’ll message you when we get there, okay?”

reluctantly nodding, beomgyu let her go. he joined soobin, taehyun, and yeonjun to see them off, waving until they not longer saw the black vehicle. 

in the car, yunho, mingi, san, and yeosang were fascinated with how fancy the interior was. there were two rows of two seats, and row with three seats in the back. the seats were so comfortable, and it was so roomy; an environment unfamiliar to the hybrids. while seonghwa and yunho knew somewhat of her background, the others wondered how she managed to afford something like this. 

“is your friend rich?” san asked, looking back to face jiyu. seating arrangements were decided by an intense game of rock-paper-scissors. in the end, yeosang and hongjoong sat in front, mingi and san were in the middle row, and jiyu was squished in between yunho and seonghwa in the back. 

“that’s one way of putting it, yes.” in truth, she was worried about how they would react to her and sunwoo’s background. most of them had come from influential families or illegal organizations to begin with. having terrible memories with them, would they change once they knew who she really was?

“but don’t worry, he’s really nice! he has a hybrid friend of his own, too. i think he said a german shepard hybrid.” yunho seemed to perk up at the thought of meeting another dog hybrid. 

“hm...if you say so. if you trust him, then we do, too,” hongjoong said before getting comfortable in the seat. 

upon arriving at the airport, the van immediately took them to the runway where a private plane was parked and waiting. she assumed it was sunwoo’s. the boys plastered their faces against the van windows at the sight of the plane. they’ve never been on one before, hence their childlike fascination. 

“are we really going on that?” san asked with excitement. “i love your friend already,” he teasingly commented. 

jiyu softly chuckled as the van came to a stop. hopping out, she saw sunwoo standing at the entrance to the plane with a hybrid she assumed was eric. catching sight of jiyu, he started climbing down the stairs. she smiled and waved to him, an action he returned with a small chuckle. 

“were you waiting long?”

he shook his head. “don’t worry, we came ten minutes ago. eric’s been eager to meet you and your—” seeing the six hybrids behind her filing out of the van, his eyes widened. he knew she had hybrids, but he didn’t really know what to expect. “you have six?”

she sheepishly chuckled. “yeah...i hope you don’t mind. they won’t bite if that’s what you’re worried about.”

on the contrary, sunwoo didn’t mind at all; it actually made her a hundred times cooler in his eyes if anything. he’s never met a girl who managed to befriend six different hybrid breeds. but then again, with her job, he should’ve seen it coming. despite that, she just kept surprising him with who she is. 

“guys, this is sunwoo,” she called out to the boys. “he’s the friend i was talking about!” 

while the boys acquainted themselves with sunwoo, the german shepard hybrid approached jiyu with a friendly smile. “hi, i’m eric! although i think sunwoo told you plenty about me already.”

jiyu giggled at the boy’s abundance of energy. “he has mentioned you a few times. i’m jiyu.”

eric enthusiastically nodded. “i’ve heard about you a lot, too! sunwoo didn’t stop talking about you for a whole week after your first meeting.”

jiyu felt her face flush at the new piece of information. “a week—”

“ji! sunwoo said there’s also video games on the plane!”

before eric could continue exposing sunwoo, yunho came bounding up to her with the others in tow. with their calm and excited demeanor, she assumed that they managed to feel relaxed and at home with sunwoo, which made her happy and relieved. 

“is that so?” she mused, rubbing the spot behind his ears. yunho nodded and giggled, pushing his head into jiyu’s hands. eric glanced at sunwoo and couldn’t help the smirk on his face at the sight of the soft look on his friend’s face. 

snapping out of his reverie, sunwoo cleared his throat. “we should get going.”

the plane ride nothing out of the ordinary—the boys were getting to know eric, while jiyu and sunwoo caught up over a glass of champagne. 

“so it seems like your friends don’t know about you yet?” sunwoo inquired. “i told eric to keep his mouth shut about it just in case.”

softly shaking her head, she quietly glanced at the hybrid group that had passed out not too long ago after expending all of their energy. “only seonghwa and yunho know about it. i never found the right time to tell the others but this trip might be it.”

mingi had sleepily wandered over towards them and plopped down next to her before laying his head on her lap. within a few minutes, his breath evened out again. 

an endearing chuckle left her lips as she threaded her fingers through his faded red hair. “ah, you big baby,” she cooed. 

sunwoo watches her with a soft smile on his face. he watches the way she gently lulls the giant bunny to sleep, the mother-like smile on her face, the gentle aura she exudes—he could go on and on. she was completely different from what he had been expecting. while they had a few brief meetings during company gatherings, she always had a blank expression, never smiling nor frowning. it was almost like she was more robot than human.

when his parents had informed him of his future marriage with her, he didn’t know how to react. a part of him would’ve been lying if he had denied feeling the tiniest bit of disdain at his fate.

but lo and behold, she managed to leave him soft and charmed with every meeting, even if this was only their second one. 

“sir, ma’am, we’ll be landing in about ten minutes. please fasten your seatbelts.” 

his pilot’s voice managed to break him out of his thoughts, leaving him to scramble to sit up straighter and cool his flushed face. 

“i should wake them up,” jiyu said, completely unaware of sunwoo’s dilemma. softly shaking mingi’s shoulder, she gently prodded him awake before relaying the pilot’s message to him. padding over to the others, she did the same.

sunwoo sighed before buckling in his own seatbelt. he needed to keep himself in check around her before he accidentally does something that would embarrass himself. this is going to be a long month.

upon arriving at the private vacation home, jiyu was already bombarded with the youngers’ pleas to go to the beach. luckily for them, the vacation home was just down the street from the beach, giving them easy access to visit whenever they wanted. 

“i’m really sorry, i hope you don’t mind,” she apologized to sunwoo for the fact that they were going to the beach the moment they put their bags down. “if you’re tired, you can stay. i can take—”

sunwoo’s soft chuckle made her pause mid-sentence. she didn’t know he was capable of making such a melodious sound. while she was still living in the main house, her friends had painted him to be an aloof person. and even from what she saw at company dinners. the daughters of other elites were always throwing themselves at him, offering him drinks and their company. 

yet every singe time without fail, he would coldly reject them.

so when yuta had told her that he was the one her father set her up with, she was doubtful if they could even be civil with each other. 

“it’s fine, i’ll go with you and the others. eric’s been pestering me to go, too so it works out.”

the soft and friendly expression was just proof to her that maybe, just maybe, she had been judging the facade he puts up.

“oh, okay then!” she smiled before scurrying to her room to change. “let’s meet back here when we’re ready!”

watching her excited like a child to go to the ocean, he couldn’t contain the smile that he had been biting back. he was glad that they could at least be friends despite the circumstances.

“stop staring at her door and go change, loverboy.”

he was bought back to reality by his best friend’s quip. throwing him a half-hearted glare, he trudged to his room. “i wasn’t staring.” even his protest was weak. 

eric couldn’t help the smirk that crosses his face. he’s known his best friend long enough to know that he never gets like this around girls. “this should be an interesting trip.”

by the time they all met back up to leave, it was two p.m.—a prime time for the sun to be out and bestowing them with it’s heat on their short walk to the beach.

“it’s the ocean!” yunho shouted with utter glee and happiness as he and eric raced each other across the sand and to the water. the others ran after them, even san who ended up straying on shore and dipping his feet in the water. hongjoong joined him as he watched over the others in the water. 

jiyu and sunwoo had found a group of beach chairs under a big umbrella and tossed their bags down. stretching her limbs, jiyu sprawled out on a chair and closed her eyes for a brief moment. hearing the ocean waves along with the cheerful shouts of the boys in the water made her smile with content. 

cracking an eye open, she caught sunwoo throwing off the white t-shirt he had on and shaking his head afterward to fix his hair. her eyes raked over his body against her own will. his lean figure, the define abs lined on his stomach, and the hints of muscles on his arm only served to have a volcano of butterflies erupt in her stomach. 

“everything okay?” he asked, leaning down towards her face.

looking away from his piercing gaze, she jumped up and quickly discarded her own outerwear before speed-walking towards the water. “yep! just great!” she definitely didn’t miss the smirk that was threatening to take over his face. 

sunwoo smirked before running to catch up with her. he couldn’t help but take note of the red two-piece she was sporting. a part of him wanted to throw his earlier discarded t-shirt over her to give her coverage from other people’s gazes that were lingering just a bit too long, but he bit back his own desire.

after all, they were just budding friends who were about to be stuck in an arranged, and potentially loveless, marriage.

but that didn’t stop him from lifting her up and tossing her into the water.

emerging back up, she had to rub her eyes to get rid of the salt water before throwing a glare towards the laughing culprit.

“kim sunwoo!” she stood up and crossed her arms across her chest like an angry child. 

“i had to—hey!”

too busy caught up in his own laughter, he failed to notice the wolf hybrid sneaking up behind him to exact revenge for jiyu. emerging up next to jiyu, shook his head to remove excess water out of his hair before looking for his culprit. seeing the proudly-smiling seonghwa on shore with his hands on his hips, he let out snort. 

“alright, you got me.”

she burst into giggles before floating on her back. looking up at the sky, there were no hints of clouds—just the endless blue that seemed to stretch out for miles on end. feeling someone tug her feet, she perked her head up to see yeosang pulling her. 

“you were floating too far out,” he informed before lightly flicking her forehead. “watch out before you float away and we’re stranded here without you,” he added with a chuckle, just barely missing the splash of water that jiyu retaliated with, before swimming off back to yunho and mingi. 

“he seems fun to be around,” sunwoo said as swam up to join her. “he reminds me of eric, only more sass.”

“yeah, i never know where his sass comes from—”

she was cut off by a huge splash of water from behind that had not only hit her, but also sunwoo. turning around, she expected it to be yeosang, san, or eric.

but no one was behind them. 

sunwoo furrowed his eyebrows. the hybrid group was at least twenty feet away from them—there was no way any of them could’ve done it since he and jiyu would’ve heard them swimming off or laughing. 

“that’s odd, who—ah!”

before jiyu could finish her sentence, a pair of arms grabbed her waist and yanked her underwater. having no time to react, she felt herself being tugged away as they started swimming with her in tow.

sunwoo swore his heart almost stopped; whether it be from the fact that it all happened so quickly or the fact that jiyu could potentially be drowning, he didn’t know. he didn’t have time to know.

“oi, what the—!”  

his scream caught the others attention. looking over, they sunwoo looking frantic pulling something up from under the water. 

but there was no jiyu. 

they all swam over with urgency, fearing something went wrong.

“where is she?” hongjoong asked, brows furrowing with panic. the others looked ready to fight what or whoever took jiyu, even yunho and mingi even though they both looked on the verge of crying. 

“something pulled her down and just...swam away!”

meanwhile, underwater, jiyu was having a ball trying to fight off what or whoever pulled her down. it was definitely a person—she felt the arms around her waist and the hard chest that was tightly pressed against her back. looking behind her she managed to make out a male with majestic, black with gold highlights. 

the lack of air snapped her back to reality from her gawking and she stared to try and pry the man’s hands off of her. as if catching onto her message, he quickly brought her back up to the surface. 

inhaling like her life depended on it and coughing out some water, she turned around and glared at whoever decided to try and almost drown her.

but before she could her a word out, she was blown away by how...pretty the man staring back at her was. with his hair tucked behind his ears, it framed his face perfectly, showing off his distinct and defined facial features.

but something else caught her eye. 

the lower half of his body was a tail. eyes flicking back and forth from the man’s face to the tail, her mouth opened and closed like fish out of water.

“a fish h-hybrid..?”

“oi, jiyu!” 

at the sound of her name, she looked behind the man to see everyone swimming up to her. it turned out that they weren’t that far away from shore—the man, or hybrid, just took her along the shoreline rather than farther out like she had originally thought. 

the unknown hybrid just watched as the seven other hybrids and sunwoo crowded her to make sure she was okay. yeosang profusely apologized, saying “i know i joked about you floating away and stranding us, but i didn’t mean to make that a reality”.

sunwoo ruffled her wet hair, breathing out a sigh of relief. “you scared me there. i thought i was going to lose you on the first day here.”

“huh? yeosang?”

at the sound of his name, yeosang turned around and practically fainted. he literally swam past him, how did he manage to miss the extremely familiar face.  he stared at the underwater hybrid, wide-eyed, like he had witnessed another miracle from the universe. the unknown man mirrored yeosang’s look.

“wooyoung?!”

[doctorstethoscope]

The Right Chapter 27 || Aaron Hotchner x Fem Reader

Hello my loves! Just a reminder that this chapter is posting from the queue as I am on vacation--- I will be checking in periodically but less active than usual and not updating the tag list! Hope y’all enjoy this one :)

Read previous chapters of this fic here! 

contains: food mention, hangover mention, discussion of parenting, canon-typical mentions of violence

wordcount: 2k

When you woke up the next morning, you’re somewhere between completely refreshed and wickedly hungover. You need a bacon egg and cheese on an everything bagel and a big cup of coffee stat if you are going to get anything at all done today. Aaron, of course, must have gotten up hours ago, and has long past left the bedroom by the time you rise at nearly 11. When you roll to get out of  bed, you notice that he’s left you advil, water, and a sleeve of saltines just in case you were feeling nauseous. You smiled, sitting up gingerly to sip at the water and take the pills. Once you were sure your stomach was fine, you slid out of bed and found Jack and Aaron in the kitchen, cooking up bacon and frying eggs while The Beatles played in the background. The boys hadn’t noticed you yet, and you decided not to call attention to yourself-- taking the moment to commit this mental image to memory, of Jack on his father’s hip, Aaron rocking back and forth as he pushed scrambled eggs around a frying pan, smiling and giggling and not thinking about work or serial killers or the next time he’d be pulled away.

When the song fades out, Aaron looks up, seeing you leaning against the doorway to the hall. 

“Good morning, sleeping beauty. How are you feeling?” He asks, looking you up and down for signs of a hangover. 

“I’m okay. I’ll be better after breakfast,” you tell him. “And a big hug from my favorite Hotchner!” You add, crossing the kitchen and taking Jack from his father, shooting Aaron a knowing glance that said “I’m pretty sure physical therapy didn’t clear you for that. Especially not after last night.” 

“I cracked the eggs. There’s no shells in them, Mom.” Jack says, and the world stops. He doesn’t even seem to notice that he’s slipped up, but Aaron and you both freeze, whipping your heads to look at each other with equally bewildered glances. 

“I’m sure you did a great job, buddy!” You tell Jack, after a moment that feels like hours, not wanting to ignore him but not quite sure how to address what had happened, and Aaron wasn’t being much help. 

“Breakfast is ready,” Aaron says, handing you exactly what you needed-- a bacon and egg sandwich, along with a hashbrown, some fruit, and a big cup of coffee. 

“You might be the perfect man.” You tell him gratefully, and he smirks at you as the three of you sit down at the table and eat.  

You and Aaron make casual conversation for a little while before Jack poses a question. “Dad, can we take my kite out today?” Jack asks as he spears a sausage link on his fork. 

“It’s not really windy enough to fly a kite today, buddy, but we can go for a bike ride or play some soccer if you want,” Aaron responds before taking a sip of coffee. 

“And we’ll all go?” Jack asks, looking across the table at you. 

“Of course,” you tell him. “We’ll all go to the park with you.” 

“Okay. Can I be excused?” He asks, and Aaron nods. 

“Go ahead, just make sure you wash your hands and your face. You’ve got syrup everywhere,” He chuckles, and Jack scoots out his chair and leaves the table. 

As soon as Jack is out of eyesight, you speak up. “So, are we gonna talk about that, or what?” You say in a hushed tone, not wanting Jack to overhear. 

“I didn’t tell him to do that,” Aaron says. 

“Neither did I,” you assure him. 

“Are you upset?” Aaron asks, a furrow in his brow that just about broke your heart. Silly, silly man. 

“No, of course not. Not if you aren’t.” You assure him. 

“I just… he can’t forget Haley. He’s all that is left of her.” Aaron says with a deep sigh, and your eyes well up in tears. 

“No, Aaron, he hasn’t and he won’t. We won’t let him.” You say, reaching across the table to squeeze his hand. “And if you don’t want him to call me Mom, I understand.” 

“That’s not it. It’s just… bringing a lot up for me, is all.” He says. 

“That’s normal, honey. You should think about it for a while, maybe talk about it just with him. No matter what you decide, you’re not going to disappoint me or him. But it’s okay to need some time with this.” You say, standing up to wrap your arms around his shoulders from behind, pressing a kiss to the junction of his shoulder and his neck. 

“Thank you, for understanding me and for respecting her.” he tells you, raising one hand to cover yours where they met over his heart, craning his neck to leave a kiss on your wrist. 

“Baby, have you seen my phone?” You asked, realizing that you haven’t checked it all morning. 

“It’s charging next to mine on the bedside table. You were having a little trouble with the charger when we got in last night,” he chuckles at the memory of your drunken antics from the night before. 

You go into the other room to grab your phones, noticing that you have two missed calls from Penelope--- you only just missed her. You dial her back as you head back towards the kitchen to help Aaron clean up. 

“Where are you right now?” Garcia asks you as soon as the line connects, and your face twists up in confusion as you put your plate in the dishwasher. 

“I’m at Aaron’s place, where are you?” You ask, not understanding her line of questioning. 

“Is Jack in the room with you?” 

“Garcia, what’s going on?”  You ask, starting to get nervous. Aaron turns to face you, sensing your anxiety and you place a hand on his forearm for support. 

“Last night, when we were all at the bar, a girl was kidnapped, who based on the description, looks a hell of a lot like you. A neighbor saw the guy, and based on the he neighbor’s description--

“It looks like Josh,” you finished Garcia’s sentence, and you felt Aaron tense under your fingers. He puts his palm out, silently asking for your phone, and you pass it to him without even telling Garcia that you were putting him on. 

You were scared, terrified even, but you knew that the best thing you could do right then was be a profiler. You left Aaron to settle the details, and went into his bedroom to find something work-appropriate to wear. By the time you came back out, Aaron was off the phone. 

“I called the rest of the team in, they’re going to meet us at the office. We’re going to get this loser, and we’re going to get him today,” Aaron lets out, and you nod.

“I’ll take Jack over to Jess’s,” you say, turning back towards Jack’s room, and he stopped you. 

“No. You stay with me. Jess is on her way,” Aaron says, and she knocks at the door at the next moment. “I just told her that we got called in,” he tells you as he answers the door. 

“Morning, guys,” she says as she steps in, entirely too chipper for the terror that’s rolling through your stomach in waves. “Duty calls, right?” She smiles at you, and you use all the power you have to muster a smile back. 

“Yeah, even at the worst times,” you’re impressed that you strung that many words together. 

“Any idea when you’ll be back?” She asks, and you shake your head. 

“We’ve really got to go,” Aaron says, coming back into the room with Jack, who gives you and his father both hugs before you have to leave. You squeeze him extra tight before Aaron ushers you out of the apartment and towards the car. 

“I am not going to let anything happen to you.” Aaron tells you after a few moments of tense, silent driving. 

“I know,” you say noncommittally, and it’s back to silence. 

“You can’t go in the field.” You both say after a moment. 

“Darling, you have to understand--” 

“No, Aaron, it’s not even up for debate. You’re out because of your leg, and JJ is pregnant. The team needs me, and I can’t sit this one out because either one of us is emotional about it,” You argue, and Aaron heaves a sigh. 

“I wish Elle were here. Josh wouldn’t even still be a problem.” Aaron grumbles out, and despite yourself, you burst out laughing. Aaron’s shocked at first by your reaction, but after a moment, he lets out a laugh, too. 

“Aaron, that’s awful. You were upset with Elle for months, even after she left. You’re better than that.” You say, still smiling even though it really wasn’t funny at all. 

“Yeah, well, when you hobbled out to my car with a black eye, I think I began to understand Elle a little bit better than I did at the time.” Aaron tells you. 

You think of the girl Josh has taken now-- being punished only for the sin of resembling you. No doubt she had her own black eye to match yours, plus god only knows what else at this point, nearly twelve hours after being taken. You swallowed thickly. After a moment, you speak up again.

“You knew that this was going to happen, didn’t you?” You ask quietly-- it’s a genuine question, not an accusation, but it still breaks Aaron’s heart. “That’s why you weren’t excited or relieved like I was when he got arrested.”

“I knew it was a possibility,” he confirms. “I didn’t want to say anything to you, because there was no way to know-- and I didn’t want you to have to keep living in fear,” he explains.

 “I’m gonna get this son of a bitch,” you whispered, more to yourself than to Aaron. 

The team is already waiting for the two of you in the roundtable room while you arrive, although there’s really no need to brief, so you all launch into a profile while Garcia digs for more information. 

“What do we know about the unsub?” Aaron asks the team.

“He’s a power-seeker. He uses physical force as a method of coercion.” Morgan says, and Reid scribbles his statement onto a whiteboard. 

“He doesn’t react well when challenged--- his demeanor completely changed when he came here and Hotch went after him.” Emily adds. 

“True, but he had no problem going toe-to-toe with Morgan.” JJ contradicts. 

“Based on the message he left with the flowers, he’s displaying early indicators of stalking behavior. If that’s escalated far enough, it’s possible that Josh might really believe that the woman that he’s taken is Y/N.” Spencer says, and you nod. For her sake, you hoped not. He had a hell of a lot of pent up anger towards you, and you didn’t want this poor girl to take the brunt of it. 

“What’s her name?” You asked, quietly, and with everyone talking over you, you almost think no one hears you, until Aaron leans in a little closer. 

“What’s that, darling?” He asks. 

“What’s her name?” You say again, and his brow furrows in confusion. 

“Who’s name?”

“The girl who’s taking the beating with my name on it right now,” you spit out, and the rest of the team stops talking over you. “The least I can do is learn her name and go talk to her parents.” You say, packing your stuff up.

“Her name is Anna Reardon. We’ll send the address to your phone,” Emily tells you, and you turn on your heel and walk out. 

tagging:  @romanogersendgame @wanniiieeee      @zheezs14      @greeneyedblondie44 @angelic-kisses13  @baumarvel @ssamorganhotchner  @ijustwannaread2k19    @rexit-mo @shmaptainhotchnersmain @qtip-blog @averyhotchner  @the-modernmary @itsmytimetoodream @choppa-style @hotforhotchner11 @infinite-tides @isthatme-thatsme @g-l-pierce @bakugouswh0r3 @ssahotchie @sleepyreaderreads @rousethemouse

[mctherofdragons]

A Sanctuary Heart | 3 | SR

summary / after her abusive husband lands her in the intensive care unit, y/n changes her identity and moves as far away as possible. upon starting her new life, she meets dr.spencer reid and his son, maddox, when she begins her job as a teacher. but can she keep herself safe and keep up the facade with spencer? can she be safe at all?

pairing / spencer reid x fem!reader

warnings / slowburn romance, fluff, angst, marriage, trauma, domestic violence/abuse, dad!spencer, wheelchair use, paralysis, injury, ptsd flashbacks, car accident/serious injury, bullying, mention of ableism, a singular mention of god.

important links / series masterlist + domestic violence resources

authors note / i absolutely adored writing this chapter, omg. we get more of spencer and maddox's backstory. and things start to get a little more exciting as the rest of the team makes their first appearance! thank you all for the great feedback so far, i'm so glad you're enjoying the series. also my tags are not working, so reblogs on this chapter would be insanely appreciated. Flashbacks are in italics!

Seeing the blood on your hand, Spencer instinctively reached out to grab your wrist gently. You snatched your hand back, bringing yourself up to your feet, wobbling. You grabbed your bag, wrapping your hand in your scarf that you had managed to take off in the cool October night.“Ivy,” he said the moniker one more time and you felt your insides reel once more.

‘I’m a liar, Dr. Reid, I wish you knew,’ you thought to yourself, stumbling to search for your keys under the warm glow of the moon.

“I have to go. Thank you for dinner,” you contended, making your way out of the side gate. Spencer watched in confusion as you made your way out quickly. He figured he ought to chose his battles, not wanting to startle you by following after you.

Once you were safe inside your car, you sat in the driver’s seat, hands gripping onto the steering wheel for dear life. You felt a sharp combination of embarrassment and frustration. You wanted the flit of light that came from the possibility of new love. But instead, the one before had taken everything from you. Even now, all these miles and a new name away, he was pulling you away from those little flickers of brilliance and back into the darkness of yourself.

_____________________________

2 years earlier.

“Maddox,” Spencer whispered, feeling his heavy eyelids open just slightly. He was disoriented, noticing that the once right-side-up roadway was now upside down instead. The loud blaring of the horn was constant. It sent a piercing sound into Spencer’s ears and head, which caused him to wince. “Maddox.”

Spencer tried to turn, but he couldn’t move. Something had him pinned in the driver’s seat. He looked into the review mirror, which by grace alone wasn’t entirely broken. Maddox was slumped in his car seat, blood trickling down onto his Toy Story tee shirt. Spencer let out a weak gasp, trying again with no avail to move.

Spencer noticed how cold it was. It had been snowing all night, and Spencer wasn’t sure how long they had been where they are now. The snow had fallen through the shattered glass, tiny flakes gathering anywhere they could.

Using all of his strength, he turned his head to his wife. Her eyes were half shut, a trickle of crimson come from her mouth.

“Baby,” Spencer whispered. “Are you alright?”

She began to speak, but began to sputter, her lungs sounding flooded. Her hand curled and uncurled, and Spencer could barely reach it. He was able to hold onto her fingertips with his. They felt ice-cold like she was already three steps into Eternity. Spencer knew that type of frigid touch. He had come in content with it a million times, and the person on the other end was never living.

“D-don’t talk, baby. Okay? The ambulance is coming. Do you hear them? We’re going to be okay.”

Spencer could hear the medics somewhere far off in the distance. The repeated echo of the sirens sounded like a band of angels to him. Spencer Reid admittedly didn’t believe in the Judeo-Christian God. He wasn’t sure what he gave credence to, in fact. But at that moment, inverted in the shattered glass, surrounded by the labored breathing of his dying wife...he prayed.

________________________________

Spencer walked into the Bureau, adjusting the brown satchel on his shoulder. His brow looked furrowed as he sipped from his paper coffee cup. He couldn’t stop thinking about the way you left, trying to profile what exactly had gone wrong between the Merlot and you rushing out of his backyard.

“Penny for your thoughts?,” Emily piqued as Spencer sat down, tossing his bag onto his desk. Spencer let out an exasperating sigh, taking another drink of his coffee.

“Just trying to figure someone out.”

“Oh, oh, oh. Is this a lady someone?,” Derek queried, wiggling his eyebrows. He crossed his arms over his chest, leaning onto Spencer’s desk with a sparkling grin.

“Maybe.”

Spencer felt himself smiling despite his best efforts. Emily opened her mouth in surprise, giving Derek a playful shove.

“I told you he would get back out there, Morgan!”

Spencer smiled. “Yeah, she’s sweet. I just...don’t know if I’m ready yet.”

That morning, Spencer had put on his wedding band. He still did it when he was scared, or nervous, or needing to feel close to her. He would feel the cool metal atop his finger and feel less alone. For a brief moment when the metallic touched his skin, he could pretend she was still here.

Derek gave Spencer’s shoulder a supportive squeeze.

“I hope you know me and Prentiss are just messing with you. We care about you, kid. We know these past two years have been hell for you. Just want you to be happy.”

“Yeah…I appreciate that. I just…,” Spencer paused, bringing his hands up as he spoke, as was so akin to him. His lip curled into the smallest smile. “Seeing this girl interact with Maddox. She...loves him for him..already?”

“Maddox is a great kid, Reid.”

“I know. I just don’t want her to find out---”

Spencer’s sentence was cut off by Hotch appeared, letting everyone know they had a case and to meet for Round Table. Spencer quickly shot a text to Maddox’s home health nurse, letting her know he’d need coverage for a few days.

________________________________

You sat in the front of your classroom, your eyes scanning from the test in front of you to the answer key. The students were working on a Social Studies project in small groups. Their task was to read a short story about colonial times and fill out a short worksheet. If they finished early they were permitted to color, which most of the children thoroughly enjoyed.

“Maddox can’t use crayons,” you heard a small voice snicker. You raised your eyebrow, hoping it wasn’t harmful, and rather just an observation.

You heard another child sling a slur at Maddox, who was sitting quietly with his aide, trying to ignore them. But as you looked up, you saw Maddox’s tiny bottom lip begin to wobble. One of the children picked up a crayon and threw it at Maddox, hitting him in the shoulder.

“He can’t even feel that! My dad said that’s why he’s in a wheelchair,” the bully jeered again, high-fiving his friend.

You stood up with a loud squeak of your chair against the linoleum floor.

“You two. Principals office. Now.”

The rest of the class erupted in a chorus of childish ‘ooo’s. You clapped your hands together - your universal signal to quiet down.

“I did not ask for comments from the audience,” you scolded. The children settled down, going back to their work, whispering amongst one another.

“Maddox, come talk to me in the hallway,” you offered. Tears were rolling down Maddox’s cheeks. His aide reached over with a tissue to wipe them, but he turned his face away, one of the only ways he could physically set a boundary.

Maddox’s aide helped him into the hallway and then left the two of you alone. You sat down on one of the small, metal benches in the hallway. At this angle, you were about Maddox’s height. He was blubbering, trying to take deep breaths as more tears came. You pulled a small, clean, cloth handkerchief from your pocket. He let you dab his cheeks, giving him a gentle click of the tongue.

“Buddy, do you want to talk about it?”

“T-they’re so m..m..mean to me,” he whimpered, closing his eyes as more tears fell. “And, and, and I can’t play with them even, that’s why. I can’t do anything!”

You nodded empathetically, gently catching more of Maddox’s tears.

“I hate school! My daddy wants me to like school. It’s all he talks about. I hate him!”

“Maddox,” you softly redirected. “That’s not very nice. You don’t hate your dad.”

Maddox looked a deep breath. You smiled, knowing Spencer must have taught him to do that when he was upset.

“You’re right. But I’m sad, and I wanna go home.”

You sighed, reaching up to blot the little bit of redness still present on Maddox’s cheeks. You adjusted his glasses, moving some of his curly brown hair from underneath the metal.

“Just a few more hours, okay? We have library at the end of the day.”

Maddox’s face lit up, his apple cheeks glowing beneath the rims of his glasses. “Library!”

“Yes, and just for this week, you can take home two books.”

______________________________

Spencer felt distracted the entire flight to Vermont. He knew he was going to be far away for a while, and that Maddox wouldn’t know until he got out of school for the day. The agent detested when he had to leave without Maddox knowing in advance, but it was usually impossible given the nature of things. Thankfully, Reid had a good setup of support through healthcare and respite so Maddox never went without someone to care for him.

Then, there was you. He couldn’t stop thinking about your reaction. He had seen it before in abuse victims. The way you flinched when he moved too fast, the apologizing like your life depended on it, even the way you looked at him with pleading eyes, desperate to avoid a blow. He bridged his fingers together, thinking to himself for a moment.

With that, he stood up, making his way to the back of the plane. He unlocked his phone while he chewed his fingernail with his free hand. Before he knew it, he was calling Garcia.

“Penelope. Hey, I need a favor. A personal one. If you could keep it between us, that would be great.”

“Anything for you, my precious string bean.”

Spencer laughed. “I need you to get all the information you can on someone. Ivy Porter.”

“Ivy Porter. That’s like a movie star name. What did she do?”

“Um..nothing, I don’t think. Just call me when you’ve got something, and email me everything you find.”

“You got it. Every in and out of Ms. Ivy Porter coming to you soon. Be safe. Talk soon.”

With that, Penelope clicked off of the call. Spencer sat back down, anxiously waiting for whatever information Penelope could find about you.

___________

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