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cimmanonrowl · 5 months ago

Text

Gods & Monsters

Part One | Chapter Navigation

Pairing: aaron hotchner x criminal daughter!reader

Theme: smut heaven

Contents: age gap, forbidden relationship, unprotected rough sex, creampie, begging, innocence kink, rutting, somnophilia, a little cnc and panicking, dirty talk, pure filth, sir & daddy (only used thrice) kink, dom/sub undertones, innocent!reader, vague to inaccurate crime and law enforcement details

You woke up in the middle of the night. As you always have in the past few weeks. The room was covered in darkness; with only the faint sliver of moonlight filtering through the curtains. And in every gentle blow of the wind, the white fabric on the open veranda door sways in a mellow rhythm.

You pulled the covers up to your chest and rolled to your side, your heart hammering a little faster as you reached your phone on the bedside table and unlocked it.

No reply.

Your last message to Aaron, sent hours ago, still marked as unread.

You stared quietly at the screen, your eyes tracing over the last words you sent. It was just something simple: a question about his day, followed by a smiley face, light and casual. You were bored earlier so you decided to reach out to him. You even sent him a picture of the chocolate cookies you baked... but to no avail.

He’s probably just busy, you caught yourself saying in your head. The thought was firm with no edge or flicker of doubt. Aaron has his own life, a tedious job, and his own things to deal with. You knew that. Maybe he got caught up with work again, or he’s out with his team, or maybe he’s just tired; too exhausted to do anything but fall into the comfort of his bed and sleep.

Or maybe he simply doesn’t feel the need to reply to your unimportant message.

Your mouth felt dry with that thought. And the silence of the night pressed stealthily against your ears.

Milk. That was enough to draw you out of bed, your feet touching the cool wooden floor with a soft thud. The mansion was still— the kind of quiet that would usually lull you back to sleep. Usually, this meant your father and his men were out for a business matter. Sometimes, Father dear was just too hung up on alcohol and drugs that he forgot to come home at a decent time.

Quietly, you pushed open your bedroom door, careful not to let the hinges creak too loudly. The mansion in which you recently just moved into was heavily guarded just like the past ones.

You stepped into the hallway. Even though it’s only been a couple of months, every painting and corner of the dimly lit hallway was familiar to your senses. You expect to be the only one awake in your household, aside from the night guards. The kitchen would be empty as always.

But halfway there, a sound caught your ear— a murmur, low and indistinct, drifting from your father’s office.

You halted in your tracks, your ears perking at the noise. The door to your father’s office was slightly ajar, a thin sliver of light cutting through the darkness of the hallway. The murmur becomes clearer as you inched closer— three, maybe four voices, deep and serious, punctuated by the occasional clink of glasses.

“We fucking need it done by tomorrow,” one voice complained, rough around all the edges. “The delays are making them antsy.”

“Do you fucking think I don’t know that? Tell those motherfuckers to wait.”

You froze.

The other voices, they’re strangers to you. But you recognize that voice immediately. Your father’s unmistakable deep and commanding one. Yet you were used to this, used to crossing paths with different vile men your father worked with.

“What about the feds?” another voice asked. “They’ve been sniffing around more than usual.”

There was a low and dangerous chuckle that sent a shiver down your spine. “Let them. They won’t find anything.”

“The fuck you mean let them? Are you seriously still convinced that you don’t have a mole in this hellhole?”

Then there was a pause, the kind that felt like everyone was holding their breath. They know about the mole. Of course, they do. They’ve never had delays in their operations such as this before. Only an idiot would count it as a mere coincidence.

You leaned in, your ear almost touching the door, careful not to let it move even a fraction.

“All of your operations were interrupted by the feds.”

You heard the scrape of a chair against the floor, and then the clink of a glass being set down. “I don’t think it’s my men you should be poking your nose about. What about your men?”

“Are you fucking saying that my me–”

“What about the witness?” the first voice intercepted, quieter now, as if the words themselves are too dangerous to speak aloud.

“Taken care of,” your father replied with a sharp sigh, his tone so cold it chills your blood. “Permanently.”

There was a murmur of approval from the others, and you can vividly picture them nodding in agreement. Maybe even smiling. You pressed closer, trying to make sense of it all, but your thoughts were a tangled mess of fear and confusion.

“How much are we expecting on this one again?” another man asked, his voice gruff and heavy with tobacco smoke.

“Enough to keep everyone happy,” your father replied. “This is our last big score for this month. After that, we lie low for the meantime.”

There was another pause, and you heard the rustle of papers, the sound of something being slid across the table. “It’s all here,” your father muttered. “Everything we need. We move three nights from now.”

“Three nights?” the second voice echoed, surprised. “Why not tomorrow?”

“Yes,” there was no mistaking the steel in your father’s voice. “Because I said so.”

Every muscle in your body tensed as the meeting continued. They speak in half sentences, in code words, as if they know someone might be listening.

And then, as suddenly as it began, there was a sudden scraping of chairs, a loud cough, followed by the sound of feet moving. They were wrapping up, and you realized with a jolt that you need to move.

The stairs were just a few steps away. You could bolt downstairs and go straight to the kitchen as you intended. But instead, you slipped back into your room, closing the door silently behind you, and wished that the silence of the night would lull you back to another restless sleep.

When morning finally came, warm light filtered through the thin curtains and into your room. Bones popped beneath the covers as you stretched, your mind foggy with sleep. Yet you forced yourself to sit up, the blankets sliding off your shoulders.

For a moment, you contemplated reaching your phone and sending a message to Aaron. You couldn’t wait to tell him about everything you heard last night. But with the faint sound of footsteps in the hallway outside your room, you thought your information could wait until after breakfast.

You pad softly to your closet, slipping into a pair of fluffy pink slippers before making your way out of the room. You were still wearing your nightdress, a soft, pale blue cotton gown that fell just below your knees. It looked delicate, with a lace trim at the neckline, something you have had for ages. The fabric clung lightly to your skin with every move, the morning air cool against your bare arms.

When you passed by your father’s office, your thoughts immediately drifted back to the conversation you overheard last night. It felt distant now, almost like a dream, but there was this familiar tension in your chest that you knew all those things had happened.

“Morning, sweetheart,” your father greeted you, his voice deep and steady as you stepped into the dining area. “Come, have some breakfast.”

He gestured to the empty chair beside him. Father dear and Harwin were already seated at the table. The dining room was bright with morning light, the smell of freshly brewed coffee mixing with the scent of eggs and toast. Your father sat at the head of the table as always, while Harwin sat across from him, his posture straight, his eyes immediately flicking up to you as you entered.

“Good morning,” you replied softly, forcing a smile as you approached the table.

You were aware of how you must look— the nightdress, the slightly tousled hair, the way the morning light catches on your skin. You seem almost ethereal, innocent. But there was nothing innocent about the way Harwin’s eyes followed you as you move. It was not leering, no. Not inappropriate either, but it was there— an intense, piercing look that made you acutely aware of every step you take.

You slipped into the chair next to your father, feeling Harwin’s gaze settled on you. His expression was carefully neutral, but you could sense the way he was assessing you, as if he was trying to see right through you.

“Good morning, Miss,” he greeted, his voice polite and almost formal. He offered you a small smile, one that didn’t quite reach his eyes. “I hope you slept well.”

You nodded, and your hand trembled lightly as you reached for the glass of orange juice in front of you. “I did. Thank you, Harwin,” your voice was quiet as you replied, as if speaking any louder would shatter the fragile calm of the morning.

But even as you say it, you know it was not entirely true. The remnants of last night’s tension clung to you, making the hair at the back of your neck rise, your breathing almost heavy.

Your father cut into his toast in rough movements. “Harwin will be spending more time around the house,” he said casually, his tone leaving little room for you to react. “I have some business that’ll keep me away, and I want to make sure you’re looked after.”

Business.

Your stomach tightened at his words. You glanced at Harwin, who was still watching you with keen eyes. You know this wasn’t just about keeping an eye on the house— this is about you.

And the realization sent a shiver down your spine.

Harwin nodded in agreement with your father’s words, his gaze still fixed on you. “Just a precaution,” his tone was even, as if this was all perfectly normal, perfectly reasonable. “I’m here to make sure you’re safe.”

Safe. The word echoed in your mind. You know what it really means— under surveillance, monitored, controlled. It’s not protection. This is not about your safety; your father wants to keep you on a leash, and you can already feel it tightening around you.

The corner of your lips twitched as you gave him a smile. “Thanks, Harwin. I appreciate it,” you said instead, dropping your gaze to the plate in front of you.

Your father continued eating, his attention seemingly on his breakfast, but you knew better. He’s always watching, always aware, and now, with Harwin here, you know you are under a different kind of watch.

But, at least, Harwin was polite enough to keep his distance. Though you could always feel his gaze following you, measuring every step you take, every breath. For the entire day, your father’s orders became clear— Harwin was here more than to protect you. He was here to ensure you don’t stray, that someone will watch every move you make.

“Harwin,” you called out softly before glancing over your shoulder. “Do you think we can go to the mall later?”

He seemed unfazed by the request, silently watching you lay on a lounger by the poolside with an open book perched on your lap. “No, Miss. If you need anything, I can have some of your housemaids to shop for you.”

“But I want fresh air?”

“We’re outside at the moment, Miss.”

“Yes, in our garden.”

He frowned a little. “The air is fresh as far as I can tell, Miss.”

And with that, you heaved a deep sigh.

As the sun began to set, you found yourself in your room, your phone clutched in your hand. The events of the past hours have left you feeling trapped and cornered like a mouse. The walls of the house seemed to crumble in on you– it was suffocating.

You opened your messaging app, your fingers hovering over Aaron’s name. It’s been a day since he last responded, the silence from his end gnawing at you, but you couldn’t wait any longer. You need to see him. Besides, you have the information he surely needs. He would have no choice but to respond to your text this time.

Can we meet? you typed slowly, your heart pounding in your chest. You add the details quickly— I have the information. The usual spot?

You hesitated for a moment, your thumb hovering over the send button. But then you pressed it, the message shooting off into the void, your hope clinging to it like a lifeline.

The minutes ticked by in silence. Then your phone buzzed in your hand, with Aaron’s name lighting up the screen.

On my way, was all he said. And for some reason, it was enough. It has always been. So you sighed in relief and smiled to yourself.

Right then and there, you knew what you had to do next. Escaping Harwin’s notice won’t be easy, not with him and the other guards roaming the mansion, but you were determined. You have done it before, though never with this much at stake.

Taking a deep breath, you slipped on a pair of jeans and a hoodie, something that will help you blend in. You grabbed a small bag, stuffed it with a few essentials, then waited for the right moment to finally move.

The silence of your house made every step and the creaking of hinges amplified. From the window, you see one of the guards patrolling the perimeter, his flashlight cutting through the growing dusk. You know there was another by the front gate, and probably more stationed at various points around the property. Getting past them will be tricky, but you have mapped out a plan in your mind.

Harwin was downstairs. The front gate was obviously not an option, not with him and the guards so close. Instead, you decide on your usual route— through the back, where the bushes and trees provide more cover and the lamp posts are seldomly lit.

You waited until a house helper passed by outside your room, her back turned. You moved quickly and quietly down the hallway as you slipped out, sticking close to the walls to avoid any creaking floorboards. The house, large as it is, felt stifling.

With quick strides, you reached the back staircase, your heart pounding in your ears as you descended. The kitchen was just down the hall, and beyond that, the back door that leads to the garden. But you were not alone.

From where you were standing, you heard footsteps— another house helper, moving through the kitchen. You held your breath, peering around the corner just enough to see her pass by, her attention focused on checking the locks. She didn’t see you, didn’t know you were there, but you almost choked on your saliva as you bit your tongue.

As quickly as she moved on, you seized your chance. You slipped into the kitchen, the cool tile under your feet grounding you as you cross to the back door. Your hands shook in fear and panic as you unlocked it, praying it didn’t make too much noise.

And it didn’t.

The garden is shrouded in twilight as you step outside, the cool evening air hitting your face. And for a moment, you felt a rush of freedom. You can’t remember how many times you’ve done this before. But it never, ever felt easy. You doubt it will ever be.

You slipped through the gate, closed it carefully behind you, and took off running down the back alley. You didn’t stop running until you were several blocks away; your lungs burning, your legs aching. Only then do you allow yourself to slow down, and breathe.

It was almost a two-hour commute to the motel where you usually meet up with Aaron. The neon sign flickered in the dusk with a dull glow over the empty parking lot. You made your way to the room you know so well, pulling out the spare key Aaron gave you exactly a year ago.

Inside, the room was dimly lit, the thick curtains drawn shut. It was a modest place; a little different from the lavishness of your spacious room but you’ve loved this as much. With a soft thud, you dropped your bag on the floor and sat on the edge of the bed, your breath still coming in quick, shallow bursts. The silence here is different from the silence at home— this one feels familiar, and light.

You checked your phone quickly, hoping to see another message from Aaron, but there was nothing. A small pang of worry settled in your chest, but you pushed it aside. Aaron never broke his promise. He said he was coming, and you trust him. All you have to do is wait.

Your eyes started to droop as you lay down on the soft mattress, the adrenaline of your escape wearing off. You felt drained. Your legs aching. You curled up on your side, your phone clutched in your hand, waiting for the sound of his knock on the door.

But the minutes dragged by and your eyes fluttered shut, and before you knew it, after a long while, you fell into a deep slumber.

“Angel… fuck…” someone’s hot breath fanning over your ear roused you from the depth of your sleep. “You feel so good…”

You stirred and attempted to stretch your arms, even move your legs when all of a sudden, you felt it. The cold air licked the bare surface of your naked body. A low whine rumbled through your chest as you slowly, groggily so, blinked your eyes in confusion. Your vision was unfocused for a moment, sending you into a flight of panic as you grew aware of what was happening.

“Who-” the question was left hanging in the air as soon as Aaron’s thumb found your aching clit.

His hard cock was pressed against your desperate cunt, sliding through your wet folds at a rousing pace. A quiet gasp escaped your lips as he continued rutting his girthy cock against your swollen clit. You have no idea how he managed to undress you without waking you up. Although it didn’t surprise you, you’re still curious– about how expert and knowledgeable Aaron was with every sexual act. And right now, a thin sheet of sweat was slowly covering your body.

“Aaron– sir–” you whimpered once more, unknowingly bucking your hips to meet his desperate thrusts. “What… what are you doing?”

He let out a deep groan. “You look so sweet sleeping, angel… couldn’t… help myself…”

“Feels so good…” you mewled in return, feeling your dripping cunt clenching in pure desperation for something to fill it up.

The sensation was new and overwhelming. One of Aaron’s big and calloused hands was kneading your breast, pinching your sensitive and taut nipple every now and then. While his mouth was just as busy— his tongue more so; sucking and nibbling, and biting your nipple as his cock slid through the folds of your dripping pussy.

A growl rumbled through his chest.

“Can... can I slide in the tip…” he whispered in a gruff and breathy voice. It sounded vulnerable and demanding, and desperate at the same time. “Just the tip, angel. Hm? Just the tip, I promise...”

You nodded frantically, your hands gripping both of his strong arms propped at either side of your smaller frame. “Just the tip…”

“Fucking hell…” you heard him murmur as he lined the head of his big cock against the entrance of your fluttering cunt. “This is so wrong, angel, but fuck… I never wanted to ruin anyone so badly until you.”

“S-sir…”

His teeth sank lightly at the curve of your collarbone. “I’m going to fucking ruin you, you hear me? I want my cum dripping out of your tight cunt.”

You shivered at the vulgarity of his words. Maybe it was forbidden. Maybe this was wrong. Maybe this will not end up well. But maybe this is the reason why you can’t seem to get enough of it, of his warmth, and his cock ramming in and out of you.

“Aa- Sir!” you screamed loudly, dragging your nails along his arms, your toes curling in pure, white-hot pleasure.

Aaron peppered your cheeks, your lips, and your forehead with light kisses, murmuring his quiet apologies as he forced his big cock inside of you. “I’m sorry… I’m sorry, angel… I’m sorry…”

His promise now long forgotten as you felt the intoxicating burn of his cock stretching your tight cunt. You should’ve known better than to believe his promise.

“You look so good like this, gorgeous…” he whispered in your ear, his big hands roaming your body as if memorizing every corner of it. “Is this what you wanted, huh? Is this why you kept texting me? Can’t get enough of my big cock, little girl?”

You nodded abstractedly. “M-missed you… I missed this…”

Aaron’s lips tugged to a menacing smirk.

“Is my innocent angel turning into a dirty whore?” he taunted, halting his movement. You could feel his hard cock throbbing inside you, rubbing your walls just right. And when you didn’t answer his question, you felt a sharp slap at the side of your thigh. “Answer me, baby. Are you my whore now?”

“Yes, sir… yes… only for you…” unshed tears stung the corner of your eyes.

“Tell me how bad you want it, angel...” he sounded mocking, his voice light with arousal. “Beg for my cock— no, no, no. Don’t you fucking dare look away.”

You shook your head weakly. “D-daddy…”

A high-pitched whine escaped your lips as you felt him slowly dragging his cock out of you. Tears rolled down your cheeks in humiliation. Your legs clung to the back of his thighs in a desperate attempt, locking him in place. Aaron even had the nerve to chuckle as he saw your tears streaming down your pretty face.

“P-please… please… sir…” you said breathlessly. “I want your big cock, sir. Please… please fill me up with your cum…”

Aaron’s cock pulsated against your walls as he heard your words, your voice as sweet and gentle as he first heard it. He clenched his jaw and whispered tauntingly. “Yeah? Is that all you can say, angel?”

“I need it, please… Aaron… Sir… please… I’m a good girl…”

“Are you?” he perked one of his thick eyebrows before ramming his cock inside you once again, hitting a spot so deep you rolled your eyes.

“I- I am…” you nodded frantically, taking a fistful of the sheet in your hands. “I waited for you, sir. Only you. Your big cock… only you, Aaron…”

“Did you touch yourself while I’m away?”

You tried closing your thighs a little as you felt his thumb pressing light circles on your swollen clit. “I- I did, sir. Yes- I thought about your cock… I want your cock so bad…”

“And what did you think about, little girl?” he grunted, pounding his cock slowly and shallowly, his thumb still rubbing your sensitive nub.

Your legs shook as you felt your incoming orgasm. “How good you fuck me. Your cum inside m-me… I always dream of it, sir… before I go to bed… I always want to hear your voice.”

Aaron’s thick eyebrows tugged together as his focus narrowed down on giving you pleasure. His cock continued assaulting your warm cunt, hissing and grunting every time you clench deliciously around his cock. The sound of your loud moan and his heavy breaths intertwined together, your eyes rolling back with the intense pleasure of your upcoming orgasm.

“Please, please… sir, please… make me cum…” you whispered hoarsely, your voice full of desperation. “So close. ‘M so close.”

“Yeah, little girl? Cum for me, then…” his thrust became even more vigorous, firmer. “Show me how good girl you are, baby. Go on, angel.”

“Aaron!” his name came out a scream. “I’m coming! I’m com–”

Your vision blurred out as intensely your orgasm ripped through every fiber of your being. Your legs trembled and clamped shut, making Aaron growl in the tightness of your cunt. It took him all the self-control not to cum then and there; seeing the pleasure on your face, the tears on your cheeks, your beautiful lips hanging in a silent scream.

Fuck.

He’d go to hell for corrupting the innocent girl you once were.

“Sir…” you whispered weakly, your voice spent and quiet.

But Aaron paid you no mind. He hasn’t come yet. And he had no plan on letting you go after just one orgasm. He wants to ruin you. To take over your being. He wants you to realize that he has all the control. He owns you, from the very first day he laid eyes on you, to the very first night you spent together. When you desperately opened your legs for him, you were his. He owned you since then and he can do everything he pleases.

Effortlessly, he pulled you up and switched your positions. He was now lying on his back, his piercing eyes focused on you as you scrambled to find your position on his lap, your legs still shaking from the remnants of your orgasm.

“I haven’t cum yet, little girl.”

You nodded quickly, understanding just well what he meant by that, your chest rising and falling in shallow gasps. “Yes, sir…”

“Make me proud, angel. Show me how good of a whore you are.”

Aaron let out a loud hiss as you lined the head of his leaking cock on your wet entrance, fluttering in anticipation as it welcome the familiar stretch. You let out a satisfied sigh, feeling your inner thigh wet with arousal and your release, and all Aaron could do was shiver as he felt the wetness the moment you fully sank down his cock.

With your palms resting on the soft surface of his stomach, you forced your legs to bounce up and down his hairy cock. Every once and a while, you’d clench around his girth unconsciously, which only made Aaron shut his eyes and pound into you harshly.

You moaned loudly, meeting the way his hips desperately chases yours. “Ah! Ah, s-sir!”

“You feel so good… so w-warm..” he mumbled dazedly, wetting his lips with his eyes closed. “This cunt’s heaven, baby. Fuck. You’ll send me to hell— fucking hell! Yes, clench that pussy tighter, angel! Fuck, I’m coming!”

You bounced even more desperately, fueled by his moaning, and his heavy breathing. The hoarness of his voice, the way the veins in his strong arms popped out, and how his big hands gripped your hips so tightly it left red, angry marks.

He fucked into you like you’re nothing but a fucktoy. Like you’re something he can discard— like you’re something he will discard the moment he reaches his high. And you’d be lying to say you don’t find that idea hot.

You clenched your cunt tighter, holding his hands that were wrapped around your hips.

“A-Aaron! S-sir! Ah!” his cock found the spot only he can reach. “I’m coming again, sir! D-daddy! Ah! Aaron, please, more! Fuck me harder, daddy!”

Aaron didn’t say anything but a loud growl rumbled through his chest. His chest heaving in sharp, restrained breaths.

“God, angel…” he rasped quietly.

A strangled sound of what seemed like your name escaped his lips. You let him take over, let him ruin you the way he wanted, his hand firm on your hips as he fucked into you. And the moment you felt his hips stutter, warm ropes finally spilled inside you; his big cock throbbing as he emptied himself deep into your willing cunt.

You heaved a sigh of satisfaction, tossing your head back with your eyes closed, feeling perfectly sated and elated at the moment.

If this is heaven, you will never, ever come down.

Even if it means you would beg God to forgive you.

As always, replies, likes, reblogs- everything is highly appreciated! I'm only planning on writing 5 chapters for this series. And please be aware that I'm not promising any happy ending. This will end up in angst unless something changes my mind. Also, listen to Lana's Gods & Monsters and feel the vibe of this series! Have a good day and drink your water! <3

Tag list: @downbad4reid, @readergf, @urbrazysimp, @roseydoesypoesy, @pastelpinkflowerlife, @justyourusualash, @hotchsmutrecs, @msfreedom, @birdysaturne, @gghostwriter, @mrs-ssa-hotch, @fore45fore, @actualdeemon, @diksy1112, @jethro-mcgee-tony, @hotchnerbau, @iniyalovesall, @222hwilsss, @balariie, @oliviabbb, @ncis0mrs0gibbs, @jasonswhitetuftofhair, @m4pl, @yiiiikesmish, @luv-unknwn, @thatonepersononline, @ilikwgirls, @ssamorganhotchner, @antonia29, @fandomtookoverlife, @hotchnerwife, @wandererseye, @marisamarisa @l0kilaufeys0n7, @promptly-mercy

#aaron hotchner #aaron hotchner smut #criminal minds smut #aaron hotch fanfiction #aaron hotchner x reader #aaron hotchner x you #aaron hotchner x female!reader #aaron hotchner fic #ssa aaron hotchner

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carriesthewind · 4 months ago

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"Reviewers told the report’s authors that AI summaries often missed emphasis, nuance and context; included incorrect information or missed relevant information; and sometimes focused on auxiliary points or introduced irrelevant information. Three of the five reviewers said they guessed that they were reviewing AI content.

The reviewers’ overall feedback was that they felt AI summaries may be counterproductive and create further work because of the need to fact-check and refer to original submissions which communicated the message better and more concisely."

Fascinating (the full report is linked in the article). I've seen this kind of summarization being touted as a potential use of LLMs that's given a lot more credibility than more generative prompts. But a major theme of the assessors was that the LLM summaries missed nuance and context that made them effectively useless as summaries. (ex: “The summary does not highlight [FIRM]’s central point…”)

The report emphasizes that better prompting can produce better results, and that new models are likely to improve the capabilities, but I must admit serious skepticism. To put it bluntly, I've seen enough law students try to summarize court rulings to say with confidence that in order to reliably summarize something, you must understand it. A clever reader who is good at pattern recognition can often put together a good-enough summary without really understanding the case, just by skimming the case and grabbing and repeating the bits that look important. And this will work...a lot of the time. Until it really, really doesn't. And those cases where the skim-and-grab method won't work aren't obvious from the outside. And I just don't see a path forward right now for the LLMs to do anything other than skim-and-grab.

Moreover, something that isn't even mentioned in the test is the absence of possibility of follow up. If a human has summarized a document for me and I don't understand something, I can go to the human and say, "hey, what's up with this?" It may be faster and easier than reading the original doc myself, or they can point me to the place in the doc that lead them to a conclusion, or I can even expand my understanding by seeing an interpretation that isn't intuitive to me. I can't do that with an LLM. And again, I can't really see a path forward no matter how advanced the programing is, because the LLM can't actually think.

#ai bs #though to be fair I don't think this is bs #just misguided #and I think there are other use-cases for LLMs #but #I'm really not sold on this one #if anything I think the report oversold the LLM #compared to the comments by the assessors

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lostfracturess · 21 days ago

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remedies and reasons | ch. 04

pairing — professor geto x law student reader

summary — this wasn’t supposed to happen. not that miserable internship at the law firm you hated, not him becoming your doctor, and definitely not that drunken night at the bar. but he helped, and god, you needed a friend. and he did too. except it's never just friendship with him, is it? it could be perfect—messy, complicated, but perfect. if only his heart wasn’t already taken.

word count — 11.8 k

warnings — 18+ ONLY. contains explicit sexual content, age difference (10 years), doctor-patient relationship, angst, smoking, alcohol use, mature themes, and depictions of illness. reader discretion is advised.

previously — as suguru struggles with his conflicting feelings, you have your own battles to face. between the hectic internship and these stupid feelings for your doctor, you could really use a break. good thing there's that party this weekend—though knowing your luck, something's bound to go wrong.

author's note — i know it's been a while (sorry !!) but this one is a little bit spicy to make up for it and maybe we even meet other people we know from certain stories. thank you all for being so patient with me and for all the sweet messages checking in. you guys are the best !! hope you enjoy and as always, your comments and reactions mean everything to me <3

series masterlist + playlist + ao3 + wattpad

<- prev chapter | next chapter ->

"In consideration thereof, the Parties hereby agree that upon completion of the Merger..."

You started the sentence for the sixth time, highlighter poised over the page. But the words refused to make sense, like they were written in some strange legal cipher your brain had forgotten how to decode.

"In consideration thereof, the Parties hereby..."

Your mind drifted once more. Dark eyes. Gentle hands. The warmth of his palm against your back at the gallery. Damn it. Focus.

"In consideration..."

How his fingers felt inside of y—

"IN CONSIDERATION—"

The highlighter slipped, leaving a bright yellow streak across your index finger instead of the page. Perfect. You stared at your now neon fingertip and let out a long breath.

At least it matched the other evidence of your scattered mental state today — the coffee stain on your sleeve, the backwards sticky note on your computer monitor, the fact that you'd put your access card in the vending machine instead of your wallet this morning.

You dragged your attention back to the merger agreement, determined to actually comprehend at least one full sentence. Something about contractual obligations and breach of fiduciary duty. The words might as well have been written in ancient Greek for all you were absorbing them.

Instead, your thoughts wandered to the way he'd looked that night — slightly rumpled dress shirt, hair windswept from rushing straight from surgery, that tiny spot of blood on his sleeve he'd tried so desperately to hide.

As if that somehow mattered more than the fact he'd just spent hours saving someone's life before coming to see you.

The way he'd actually listened when you rambled about brushstrokes and composition, those pretty eyes fixed on you like you were sharing the secrets of the universe instead of just babbling about art. How someone who spent his days peering into people's brains could seem so genuinely interested in something as far removed from his world as contemporary art.

And the way he'd looked at you when you talked about your paintings. Your stomach did that stupid little flutter again at the memory, the same sensation you'd felt under his gaze that night.

No. Stop it. Case files. Merger acquisitions. Important legal stuff that actually mattered.

"In consideration thereof..." you tried one more time, but it was hopeless.

You slammed the case file shut, earning a few startled glances from nearby cubicles. A few papers fluttered to the floor, but you couldn't even bring yourself to care. This was ridiculous. You were supposed to be a professional, not some lovesick teenager mooning over your doctor.

Maybe it was just curiosity. It had to be curiosity. Nothing else made sense. You weren't lovesick. Definitely not. That would be ridiculous and completely inappropriate. He is your doctor. There are boundaries. Professional lines. You know this.

But your treacherous mind kept circling back to that moment when the phone call came. How quickly his expression had changed, walls sliding into place. You shouldn't have wondered about what — or who — had put that look on his face. It wasn't your business.

And yet you couldn't help but think it was her.

Dr. Gojo's girlfriend, the one Suguru had feelings for. You remembered how he'd sounded in the hospital that day, talking about two people made for each other, the pain in his voice when he'd admitted to watching his best friend fall in love.

Something tightened in your chest at the thought, a strange heaviness you didn't quite understand. It wasn't your place to feel—whatever this was. You barely knew him, had no right to care about his complicated feelings for someone else.

Besides, it was actually kind of tragic when you thought about it — harboring feelings for your best friend's girlfriend. Like something out of a drama. You should have felt sympathy, maybe even pity. Not this odd feeling that made you want to look away whenever he got that faraway look in his eyes.

You dropped your head into your hands with a groan. What was wrong with you? Since when did you start caring about the personal life of a man who you barely knew?

"Working hard or hardly working?"

Chad's voice cut through your thoughts like nails on a chalkboard. Great. Because this day wasn't complicated enough already.

You looked up to find him perched on the edge of Higurama's desk in his usual way — like he was posing for some imaginary corporate photoshoot. With his stupid suit, all perfectly tailored lines and subtle pinstripes that screamed 'i'm rich'.

"Don't you have your own work to do?" You didn't bother hiding your annoyance.

"Actually, I just finished reviewing the Yamamoto case files." He picked up one of your carefully arranged documents, examining it with that insufferable air of superiority. "You know, the ones you were supposed to handle? Higurama seemed pretty impressed with my analysis."

You snatched the paper from his hands. "Those were my notes."

"Were they?" He tilted his head, his perfectly styled hair not moving an inch. You'd never seen it move, not even in the wind. "Must have gotten mixed up in the filing system. Easy mistake to make."

You clenched your jaw, fighting the urge to throw your coffee mug in his self-satisfied face. Your entire weekend's work, and he'd just—what? Slapped his name on it and presented it as his own?

"What do you want, Chad?"

"Stop calling me that."

"Yeah, whatever. What do you want?" you repeated, turning back to your work, hoping he'd take the hint.

Instead, he leaned closer, his cologne disgustingly close to your nose. "Actually, I wanted to ask you about the Nakamura case. The international trade dispute?"

You stiffened. That was another case you'd spent countless hours on, poring over documents until your eyes burned. Of course he was after that one too. "What about it?"

"Well," he drawled, picking up your pen and twirling it between his fingers, "I'm having trouble with some of the documentation requirements. Thought maybe you could walk me through it?"

"You work here too," you pointed out, snatching your pen back before he could add it to his collection of stolen things. "These are basic procedures. Maybe check the manual?"

He laughed, that practiced, hollow sound that probably took years of private school to perfect. "Come on, help a friend out. We're all on the same team here, right?"

"Friends? Is that what we are?"

"Well, colleagues then." He shifted closer, his voice dropping to a whisper. "Look, I know we got off on the wrong foot with the Yamamoto thing, but I'm trying here. Besides, it's good to have friends in high places. Never know when you might need a favor."

The implied threat wasn't subtle. Neither was the reminder of his position — daddy's little prince, untouchable in his tailored suit and borrowed authority.

"I'm busy," you said flatly, gathering your papers into a hasty pile. "Try Google."

"Google?" Chad's perfectly shaped eyebrows shot up like this was the most outrageous suggestion he'd ever heard. "Come on, don't be like that. I just need—"

Then the door opened and Higurama walked in, his usual stack of files tucked under his arm. His eyes flickered between you and Chad, taking in the scene — you half-standing, clearly trying to escape, Chad still perched on his desk like he owned the place.

"Ah, Mr. Kusakabe," Higurama said dryly. "I wasn't aware my office had become the new break room."

Chad slid off the desk, his corporate smile switching on like a well-oiled machine. "Mr. Higurama, I was just discussing the Nakamura case with—"

"I'm sure you were." Higurama set his files down with a pointed thud that made Chad flinch. "Don't you have that meeting with your father in ten minutes?"

You had to bite back a smile at how quickly Chad's perfectly composed expression crumbled. "Of course, you're right. I should get going." He straightened his already straight tie and headed for the door, but not before throwing you one last look that promised this wasn't over. Like a spoiled child who'd had his favorite toy taken away.

After he left, Higurama settled into his chair with a weary sigh that seemed to age him ten years. "Giving you trouble again?"

"It's fine," you said, straightening the papers Chad had disturbed. "Same as always."

"You know," Higurama began, studying you over his reading glasses with that paternal concern that always made you feel grateful and guilty at the same time, "you can tell me if he's making things difficult. His father may be a partner, but that doesn't give him the right to—"

"Really, it's okay." You managed what you hoped was a convincing smile. "I can handle Chad—I mean, Kusakabe."

Higurama's lips twitched slightly at your slip, the closest thing to a smile you'd seen from him all week. "I'm sure you can. Still." He pulled his reading glasses off and polished them with his handkerchief. "My door is always open. Well, except when it's closed. Or when I'm in court. Or meeting with clients. Or—"

"I get it," you laughed, feeling some of the tension ease from your shoulders. Sometimes it was easy to forget that underneath all his gruffness, Higurama actually cared. "Thank you."

He nodded, then let out a heavy sigh and sank lower in his chair, the leather creaking under his weight.

"What's wrong?" you asked, settling into the chair opposite his desk. You'd seen that look before — it usually preceded either a massive case breakthrough or an equally massive headache.

"These idiots are giving me grey hair," Higurama muttered, shuffling through a stack of papers.

You bit back the urge to point out that his hair was already pretty grey — had been since you'd started your internship. Some truths were better left unsaid, especially when your mentor looked like he was one case file away from a breakdown.

"Dr. Gojo and Dr. Geto?" The names slipped out before you could stop them, and you immediately wished you could take them back when Higurama looked up.

"Funny how you immediately knew who I was referring to." His lips twitched slightly. "Though I suppose they have quite the reputation around here."

"Well, they are our biggest clients from the hospital, right?" You fought back a blush, suddenly very interested in organizing the papers on the desk. "Are they in trouble?"

"Let's just say medical ethics and hospital politics don't always play nice together." He set down his reading glasses and rubbed his eyes. "And certain people seem determined to make my job as difficult as possible."

You fiddled with the corner of a document, fighting the urge to ask more direct questions. Like whether Suguru was okay. Whether this had anything to do with that phone call at the gallery, or the tension you'd sensed between him and Dr. Gojo lately.

"Is it serious?" you asked anyway.

Higurama gave you a long look over his desk. "Well, let's just say I'd rather defend a yakuza boss than deal with hospital board politics. At least with yakuza, you know where you stand." He paused, then added, "But that's not something you need to worry about."

You hesitated, then asked the question that had been nagging at you for weeks. "Why do you even handle their cases? I mean, not to sound rude, but medical law isn't even your specialty."

Higurama was quiet for a moment, his fingers drumming absently on his desk. Then he leaned back, a distant look crossing his face. "Did I ever tell you about my brain aneurysm?"

"Your what?"

"Eight years ago. Was sitting right here, actually, working on some antitrust lawsuit." He tapped the spot on his desk where Chad had been perched earlier. "Started getting the worst headache of my life. Next thing I know, I'm in the ER, and this arrogant young neurosurgeon is telling me he's going to crack open my skull."

Your eyes widened. "Dr. Gojo?"

"Mmhm." A wry smile tugged at his lips. "Every other surgeon took one look at my scans and basically started writing my obituary. But this kid?" He scoffed, but there was something almost fond in the sound. "Struts in like he owns the place, probably fresh out of whatever dumpster he got his medical license from, and said he's going to save my life. Had Geto with him too, back when they were both still residents and marginally less of a pain in my ass."

You tried not to smile at the image. "And he saved your life?"

"Unfortunately." Higurama's expression was sour. "Would've been easier if he'd just let me die. Instead, I'm stuck here, playing babysitter to two overgrown children."

He tapped his pen against the files on his desk, the sound sharp in the quiet office. "And somehow they just wouldn't go away. Keep showing up with their problems and their drama and their 'just one more favor.'" He mimicked Gojo's voice with startling accuracy. "And now I'm stuck cleaning up after two idiots who think hospital rules are more like friendly suggestions."

He glared at the pen in his hand. Then, almost grudgingly, he added, "But I suppose they've grown on me." His eyes snapped up to yours. "Don't you dare tell them I said that."

You couldn't help but smile at his grumbling. There was something oddly wholesome about it — this grouchy corporate lawyer secretly looking out for two chaotic surgeons.

"Stop grinning like that," Higurama snapped, but without real heat. Then his expression shifted, turning serious. "But listen, keep your distance from them outside of work. They're nothing but trouble in private."

Your smile froze, heart skipping a beat. Did he know about the bar? The art gallery? The way Suguru's finger's had felt inside of you? "Of course," you managed, voice carefully neutral despite the sudden tightness in your throat. "Why would I—"

"Good." He cut you off, already reaching for another file as if he hadn't just made your world tilt sideways. "Now, about the Matsuda case, I need you to look into their import documentation from 2018 to 2020. Something's not adding up with their customs declarations."

"Right, the trade dispute." God, you needed to get it together. "I actually noticed some discrepancies in their shipping lists—"

But even as you dove into the familiar world of legal documents and corporate regulations, you couldn't quite shake the pointed look in Higurama's eyes. Nothing but trouble in private, he'd said.

Yeah. With every flutter of your heart when you thought of Suguru, you were starting to figure that out.

─────── ౨ৎ ───────

The apartment of your parents sat squeezed into a worn building at Tokyo's edges, where the city's gleam began to fade. But as soon as you stepped inside, your mom's baking enveloped you in familiar warmth, making even the tiny space feel like home.

At the kitchen table that doubled as his desk, your dad hunched over a stack of bills, squinting through reading glasses he stubbornly refused to admit needing. The table wobbled on its uneven leg, your mom's latest fix—a stack of paper towels—proving no more effective than her dozen previous attempts.

"What's all this nonsense?" you heard your dad say.

"Here, let me look at those," you said, dropping your work bag and settling into the chair beside him. The wood creaked in that old familiar way, bringing back memories of homework sessions at this very spot — your dad's calloused fingers pointing out math problems while your mom hummed by the stove.

Your dad slid the forms your way. "Tell me what all this government gibberish means."

"Just pension forms, Dad. Nothing major." You'd barely started explaining when your mom appeared, wielding a plate of cake that effectively derailed any serious discussion.

"Are you eating good?" she asked, setting down a slice big enough for three. "You're not working too hard, are you?"

"I eat plenty, Mom. Don't worry."

She brushed your cheek. "Convenience store food don't count. These fancy law firms are working you to death."

"It's just a busy period," you assured her, failing to suppress a yawn.

"With you, it's always a busy period." Your dad set aside his papers, fixing you with that penetrating look that still made you feel twelve years old. "You're young. You should be out living life, not buried in work like us."

Even at 26, your parents still fussed over you like you were a child. Some things never change, you suppose.

"Actually, I'm heading to a party tonight with friends."

Your mom's face lit up like you'd announced world peace. "A party! Oh, that's wonderful!" Her expression quickly shifted to concern. "But the lights there won't be too flashy, will they? You know how they can trigger—"

"Mom," you cut in gently, all too familiar with that worried look from years of school trips and sleepovers. "The medication Dr. Gojo prescribed works really well. I'm fine now."

"Just take care of yourself," your dad said softly.

"The medication's been great," you assured them. "Really. No seizures in months. Plus Megumi will be there, he knows exactly what to do if anything happens."

Your mom's face still held that familiar uncertainty, years of midnight hospital runs and frightened vigils etched in her expression. You crossed to her, wrapping her in a quick hug. "I'll be careful, I promise. No strobe lights, no excessive drinking, no late nights."

"Alright, alright," she conceded, but couldn't resist adding, "You know, there might be some nice young men there—"

"Mom!"

"What? I'm only asking! Mrs. Kenji from the convenience store was just telling me her son's studying medicine—"

"Please stop." You stuffed a generous forkful of cake into your mouth, the same recipe she'd used for every birthday since you could remember.

"Leave her be," your dad chuckled, then paused. "Though a doctor wouldn't be such a bad match."

You nearly choked on your cake. "Doctors are the absolute worst," you blurted, words tumbling out before you can think twice. "They're completely married to their work, walking around like they're god's gift to medicine with their fancy degrees and perfect hair—"

Your parents exchanged looks as you continued your unexpected rant.

"—acting all mysterious and professional one minute, then totally unprofessional the next. Sure, they show up late because of emergencies, which okay, fine, lives are at stake, but still—"

Your mom set down her coffee cup slowly. "Sweetie—"

"—and don't even get me started on their god complexes. Strutting around in those white coats like they own the place, being all tall and handsome and brooding—"

"Handsome and brooding?" your dad cut in, eyebrows rising toward his hairline.

Heat flooded your cheeks. "I meant hypothetically. You know, doctors in general. Not anyone specific."

"Right." Your dad set his papers aside completely, barely suppressing a grin. "Well then, how about a nice accountant instead?"

"Oh, an accountant would be perfect," your mom jumped in, eyes twinkling. "Nice stable hours. No emergencies. Definitely no god complexes."

"And absolutely no perfect hair," your dad added.

You buried your face in the stack of pension forms. "I hate you both."

"No you don't," your mom sang, already cutting another generous slice of cake. "But somebody certainly has strong feelings about doctors. In a very theoretical way, of course."

"Can we please just focus on the pension paperwork?"

"Oh, speaking of work," your mom settled into her chair with that expression that meant you weren't getting away easily, "how's the law firm treating you? Is Mr. Higurama still taking good care of you?"

A familiar heaviness settled in your chest — the same one that appeared whenever they asked about the firm. You pulled on your well-practiced smile. "It's going well. Busy, but I'm learning lots."

Your dad's face lit up with pride, and something twisted inside you. How could you tell them that each morning, you walked into that gleaming tower feeling like an imposter? That your days were spent drowning in work you couldn't bring yourself to care about, surrounded by people like Chad who seemed born for this world in a way you'd never be?

"Our daughter at Nishimura and Asahi," your mom repeated, the same way she'd probably told everyone at the market, the same way she'd mentioned it to Mrs. Tanaka at the convenience store countless times. Their daughter, the lawyer. Their golden ticket to a better life.

You thought about the half-finished paintings hidden under your bed in the dormitory, the art supplies you only dared touch in the dead of night. The way your heart had raced at the gallery with Suguru, feeling truly alive for the first time in months.

How strange that you could feel both so seen and so invisible at the same time.

"Yeah." You took another bite of cake, which now tasted like sawdust in your mouth. "It's... great. Really great."

They'd sacrificed everything. Dad's double shifts, Mom's weekend cleaning jobs, their dreams abandoned so you could chase what they thought was yours.

How could you tell them their vision of success was slowly suffocating you? That those gleaming office towers felt more like prison walls with each passing day? That this path you'd convinced yourself to follow was turning into a nightmare? That you'd been wrong?

"Should we look at those pension forms now?" you asked, desperate to escape before the guilt could completely overwhelm you.

Sometimes love could be its own kind of cage, you realized. Your parents' dedication, their unwavering support. It was both a blessing and a burden. They'd given up so much to give you a better life, never realizing they might be pushing you toward a life that wasn't better at all, just different. More prestigious. More stable. More suffocating.

The most painful part was knowing they'd done everything right. They'd loved you, supported you, sacrificed for you — all the things good parents were supposed to do. There was no one to blame, no villain in this story. Just well-meaning parents who wanted the best for their child, never realizing that their dreams for you might not align with your own.

It was a special kind of heartbreak, being unable to disappoint people who had never disappointed you.

─────── ౨ৎ ───────

"If you poke my eye out, I swear—" You squirmed in the backseat, trying to escape as Nobara wielded the mascara wand right in front of your nose.

"Stop squirming then!" She grabbed your chin, fingers surprisingly gentle despite her commanding tone.

"Kind of hard when you're coming at me with that thing!"

From the driver's seat, Megumi let out a long sigh. "Could we maybe not cause an accident? I'd rather not explain that to the police."

"Oh please," Nobara scoffed, never taking her eyes off her work. "I know what I'm doing."

"Since when?" you challenged.

"Since forever. Now shut up and close your eyes."

You complied, though not without a dramatic eye roll first. The car hit a pothole, making Nobara curse as the mascara wand nearly went up your nose.

"Megumi!" She smacked the back of his seat. "A little warning next time?"

"Sure thing," he deadpanned. "Would you like me to narrate every bump in the road? Maybe add some mood music while I'm at it?"

In the passenger seat, Yuji twisted around to watch, grinning like this was the best entertainment he'd seen all week. "Can I try too?"

"Less commentary, more navigation," Megumi cut in. "Where exactly is this place?"

"Right, um..." Yuji squinted at his phone. "Take the next right. Should be the big house at the end—can't miss it."

"I still can't believe we're going to a med student party," you muttered, trying to keep still as Nobara started on your other eye. "Seriously, they'll probably spend all night talking about cadavers."

"Which is exactly why—" Nobara leaned back to examine her work, "—we need to make sure you look absolutely killer."

"I don't need to look killer," you protested. "I'm not trying to impress anyone."

Nobara lowered the mascara wand, fixing you with a long look. "Right. And I'm just going for the thrilling discussions about gross anatomy."

"What's that supposed to mean?"

"Oh, I think you know." She reached into her makeup bag, emerging with a tube of lip gloss. "Especially since a certain someone might be there."

Your stomach did an unwelcome flip. "Who told you that?"

"Aha!" Nobara's eyes lit up like she'd just won the lottery. "So there is someone! I knew it. Spill. Now."

"There's nothing to spill," you said, but the heat creeping up your neck betrayed you. "And I definitely don't need lip gloss."

"Too late!" She was already uncapping the tube. "Open up!"

"Nobara, I swear to god—"

The car swerved suddenly, sending Nobara's carefully aimed lip gloss streaking across your cheek.

"Megumi!" she screeched.

"My bad," he said, his tone suggesting it was anything but accidental. "Must've been a pothole."

"And this," Yuji announced from the front seat, "is why I never let you drive anymore," earning himself a death glare from Megumi.

You tried to wipe at your cheek, but the sticky gloss refusing to budge. "Great."

"Don't move!" Nobara was already armed with a makeup wipe. "I can fix this!"

"No more fixing! I look fine!"

"We haven't even started on your eyeshadow!"

You looked desperately at Megumi in the rearview mirror. "Help me."

"Sorry," he said, barely suppressing a smile. "I'm just the chauffeur."

"Traitor."

─────── ౨ৎ ───────

The first thing that hit you was the noise.

Music throbbed through massive speakers, the bass so heavy you could feel it in your bones, while voices rose and fell in uneven waves, trying and failing to outmatch the music that echoed off the marble floors and high ceilings.

The second thing was the sheer excess of it all.

"Holy shit," Yuji said, voicing what you were all thinking.

The house—if you could even call it that—was more like something out of a movie. A crystal chandelier hung from the vaulted ceiling, casting prismatic light across the sea of bodies below. The furniture had been pushed aside to create some sort of dance floor, where people were already dancing like the party had been going for hours.

"Is that a—?" Nobara pointed, mouth agape, at what appeared to be a massive human heart, currently serving as an elaborate vodka luge for a group of laughing students.

"There's two," Megumi corrected, nodding toward another one shaped like some kind of organ. "But I'm not quite sure what's that supposed to look like."

You stood frozen in the entrance, your senses on overload. Strobe lights sliced through the darkness in rapid pulses, bouncing off mirrored walls and making your head spin. The air was thick with fog machine haze and enough designer perfume to stock a department store.

"Hey." Megumi's hand found your elbow. When you turned, his expression was pure concerned-best-friend. "You good? With the..." He gestured vaguely, but you knew what he meant.

You took a deep breath, mentally checking in with yourself as the bass thundered through your chest. "Yeah, think so. Just... don't abandon me for any hot med students?"

He smiled, shifting slightly to block some of the strobing lights. "Please. As if anyone here is interesting enough to make me ditch you."

Suddenly, a burst of cheers drew your attention to what looked like a Vegas-style bartending show. Some guy in a vest was juggling bottles and literally setting drinks on fire, because apparently regular cocktails weren't fancy enough for this crowd.

"Oh. My. God." Nobara's squeal could probably shatter glass. "Is that a chocolate fountain? That's it, forget becoming a pharmacist—I'm marrying whoever owns this place."

"That would be me."

The voice came from behind, smooth as expensive whiskey. You turned to face a tall, striking man. Designer clothes, top buttons undone and sleeves rolled up, artfully tousled dark hair, and the kind of smile that's definitely practiced in mirrors.

"Naoya Zenin," he introduced himself, managing to sound both bored and smugly pleased at the same time. "Welcome to my humble abode."

Humble. Right. Through an archway, you could see the party spilled out to a pool area that belonged in a luxury home magazine, complete with more people than your entire apartment building.

"Don't think I've seen you around campus."

Before you could fumble for an explanation, Nobara glided forward like she was born for this moment. "Oh, we're med students too," she lied smoothly, her smile pure sugar. "Exchange program. From Kyoto University."

You barely contained your surprise, but then Nobara's heel found your toes.

"Kyoto?" Naoya's eyebrow arched. "Really? What's your focus?"

"Neurology," Nobara replied without missing a beat, then she gestured toward Megumi. "He's in cardiology. Absolute genius with hearts. Top of our class."

Megumi's face remained admirably blank, though you could practically see his soul leaving his body.

"And you?" Naoya's attention moved to Yuji, who froze like someone had hit his pause button.

"Sports medicine!" Nobara swooped in, slinging an arm around Yuji's shoulders. "You wouldn't believe what he did for our university volleyball team last semester. Practically gave them all new knees."

"Yeah, uh," Yuji managed, looking slightly green. "Knees are... really something."

You had to bite the inside of your cheek to keep from losing it as Nobara continued to spin her elaborate tale. She was in full swing now, crafting backstories with enough detail to make you almost believe them yourself.

"—which is exactly why Tokyo was the perfect choice," she concluded with a theatrical wave of her hand. "The selection process was brutal, but once they saw our research proposals—"

"Research?" Naoya interrupted, looking more intrigued now. "What kind?"

"Oh!" Nobara's eyes lit up with what you knew only meant trouble. She glanced around frantically before her gaze landed on the slowly melting ice heart. "We're actually studying crystallization patterns in organic tissue preservation."

You nearly choked on air.

"Is that so? And what have you found?"

"Well," Nobara continued, smooth as butter, "the molecular structure of ice formation in cellular matrices shows fascinating parallels to..." She jabbed an elbow into your ribs.

"Crystalline lattice networks!" you squeaked, mentally thanking every god that you'd actually opened one of Megumi's chemistry books that one time.

"Precisely." Nobara beamed like you'd just discovered penicillin. "The implications for long-term tissue storage are absolutely groundbreaking."

Naoya's eyes narrowed slightly. "And you're all involved in this research?"

"Interdisciplinary approach," Megumi cut in, his poker face giving away nothing. "We each bring our own perspective to the project."

"How intriguing," Naoya drawled, and you couldn't tell if he was actually buying it or just playing along. "We'll have to discuss it further over drinks. I have some excellent imported vodka over here."

"Perfect!" Nobara practically sang, already dragging a shocked Yuji towards the bar before Naoya could start asking about actual medical terms.

The moment Naoya turned away, you released a breath that felt like you'd been holding it since freshman year. "Crystallization patterns?" You glanced at Nobara. "Seriously?"

"I panicked, okay?" she whispered back, still maintaining her beauty-queen smile. "The ice sculpture was right there! What was I supposed to say?"

"Maybe something that won't get us exposed as frauds when he starts asking about actual medical stuff?"

─────── ౨ৎ ───────

It was remarkable how quickly your ridiculous pretense took on a life of its own. Your virgin mojito had long since grown warm, forgotten in the excitement of your increasingly elaborate charade. You'd tried to back out earlier, but Nobara wouldn't hear of it.

Now, surprisingly, you were having too much fun to care.

Nobara charmed her way through the room like always, her tales of revolutionary research getting more outlandish by the minute. Yet somehow, these future doctors were eating it up. Her theatrical gestures and infectious confidence made even the most absurd claims sound plausible.

You found yourself caught up in the performance, adding details to your fictional research with surprising ease. Every half-remembered phrase from Megumi's textbooks, every medical drama you'd ever watched, became fodder for your improvised deception.

"Exactly!" Nobara said, turning over to you. "Show them that diagram you were working on."

Without missing a beat, you grabbed a cocktail napkin and began sketching what you hoped looked like scientific diagrams but were actually just random shapes you remembered from Megumi's chemistry textbooks. The small crowd leaned in.

"This is brilliant," someone said, peering at your doodles. "The way you've mapped the molecular bonds—"

"Groundbreaking," another agreed, though you were pretty sure your drawing made no sense.

Even Megumi, usually allergic to fun, had embraced the absurdity. His natural stoicism translated perfectly into the role of a serious researcher. In fact, he seemed genuinely in his element. For once, he could talk about molecular structures and reaction mechanisms without your eyes glazing over.

Yuji, meanwhile, had found his stride discussing sports injuries with a group of actual athletes. His enthusiasm for sports made up for any medical knowledge he lacked, and he'd managed to deflect every technical question with "Yeah, but you should see what this does to your knees!"

It was strangely freeing, this slipping into another life.

You hadn't actually needed to pretend to be med students — there were plenty of other students at the party too, from engineering to literature. But somehow, making up this stupid story was surprisingly enjoyable.

For once, you weren't thinking about law school, your parents' expectations, or your complicated feelings about certain doctors. Instead, you were just... playing, creating a fantasy world where you could be anyone you wanted to be.

And maybe that was the real breakthrough of all.

Later that night, you and Nobara made your way to the bar to get new drinks, still laughing about your successful deception. Naoya was already there, lounging against the bar with the kind of casual elegance that suggested he'd never had an awkward moment in his life.

His eyes lit up when he spotted you, that boyish smile spreading across his face. He straightened up, abandoning whatever conversation he'd been having with his friends.

"Ah, our brilliant researchers," he drawled, gesturing to the bartender. "Let me make you something special."

The way he said it made you wonder if he'd seen through your act, but his smile remained playful, almost conspiratorial. He leaned over the bar himself, selecting a few bottles. His movements were smooth, casual, like everything else about him.

"Oh, she doesn't drink," Nobara said, pulling you closer as she watched him mix the drinks. "Medical condition."

"Come on, one won't hurt," Naoya insisted, his smile never wavering. "This is a celebration." He slid two glasses towards you both, the liquid an impossible shade of blue that seemed to glow. "My own creation. Like your groundbreaking research, it's one of a kind."

Nobara reached for the drink, but you hesitated, knowing it was a bad idea to drink with your medication. But then you reached for it anyway. It seemed rude not to.

Naoya raised his own glass for a toast, but before either of you could react, a group of boisterous athletes in varsity jackets crashed into your circle

"Yo, Naoya! Stop flirting and get your ass over here!"

Naoya's casual composure cracked slightly as his friends practically manhandled him away and dragged him backwards. "Ladies, excuse me. Duty calls. Save that drink for me?"

Once he was gone, Nobara nudged you with her elbow. "Well, he was subtle."

"Please don't start."

"What? I'm just saying, the guy couldn't take his eyes off you."

You rolled your eyes. "He's literally your type. Rich, handsome, probably going to inherit a hospital or three. Why don't you go for it?"

"Because he wasn't looking at me?" Nobara raised an eyebrow. "Besides, since when do you turn down good-looking guys?"

"Since they started looking like they've never heard the word 'no' in their lives. I mean, look at this place. These people probably vacation in countries I can't even spell."

"Right, because that's totally the reason." Nobara's voice was dripping with sarcasm. "Nothing to do with a certain someone who you won't talk about?"

You groaned, dropping your head onto the bar. "Can we go back to pretending to be brilliant researchers? That was way more fun than this conversation."

"Don't be like that!" Nobara suddenly perked up, grabbing your arm. "Come on, let's go dance. Fresh air will do you good, and maybe clear whatever, or whoever, is on your mind."

─────── ౨ৎ ───────

You followed Nobara into the backyard, still carrying your untouched drink more for show than anything else. The night had transformed the perfect garden into something between a music festival and a medical conference gone wild.

Fairy lights twinkled in the trees, casting everything in a dreamy glow, while the pool glowed an artificial blue that matched your drink. In the water, people splashed around, their pretense of sophistication long abandoned as music pulsed through the air.

Near an absurdly big fire pit, you spotted Megumi and Yuji sitting with a couple of female med students. Even from a distance, you could tell that Yuji was trying to impress them in his own unique way of doing—whatever it was he was doing there—while Megumi watched with his usual quiet amusement.

Then, the music shifted to something with a heavy beat, and before you could protest, Nobara grabbed your hands, pulling you both into a dance circle. Even Megumi got dragged in, though his version of dancing mostly involved standing there while the rest of you moved around him. His deadpan expression only made everything funnier.

You found yourself laughing, really laughing, as Yuji attempted to coordinate a group choreography that absolutely no one could follow. Nobara twirled you around, both of you giggling as you nearly crashed into Megumi, who caught you with an eye roll that couldn't quite hide his smile.

For a moment, everything else faded away. None of it mattered — not law school, not your internship, not any of it. You were just four friends being young and stupid together, pretending to be something you weren't and having more fun than you'd had in months.

Across the yard, you kept catching glimpses of Naoya, who remained stationed at the beer pong table, surrounded by his athletic friends. His smile would flash in your direction whenever your eyes met, and something about the attention felt... nice. Not him specifically. Maybe you just liked being seen. By someone. Anyone.

That's when someone burst through the backyard doors, nearly colliding with you. His shout cut through the music and chatter, "Professors incoming!"

The words rippled through the crowd like lightning. The party dissolved into instant chaos as someone killed the music, leaving only the telltale sound of glass bottles being hastily collected while future medical professionals scattered like startled teenagers.

Before you could process what was happening, someone crashed into you — literally crashed, sending your blue drink all over your shirt. The woman looked right through you, her eyes fixed on something behind your shoulders, face pale like she'd seen a ghost.

"I'm so so sorry," she managed.

"It's okay—" you started, but she was already moving past you, drawn to the front entrance like a magnet.

"What a bitch," Nobara said, eyeing your ruined shirt.

"At least I don't have to pretend to drink it anymore." You dabbed uselessly at your shirt, though you were oddly unfazed. After all, this wasn't the first time something like this had happened.

But Nobara wasn't listening anymore — her attention had shifted to the front entrance where a group of older, admittedly attractive men had just walked in. Your stomach dropped when you spotted him. No, them. Both of them.

Dr. Gojo and Dr. Geto, walking in like they owned the place. Which, you realized with growing horror, they kind of did — these were probably their students. And here you were, playing pretend medical researcher while your actual doctors just crashed the party.

But any panic about your blown cover vanished when you saw what happened next. The woman who'd run into you had frozen in place as Dr. Gojo spotted her. The look that passed between them was so intense, so heavy, that you felt like you were intruding just by witnessing it.

"What is that about?" Nobara whispered, gripping your arm as you both watched the scene unfold.

"I don't know." You couldn't tear your eyes away. Gojo had caught up to the woman now, and even from across the room, you could feel the tension between them as they exchanged what looked like a few terse words. Then, just as abruptly as it started, he strode off deeper into the house, leaving her standing there alone.

"Okay, that was weird," Nobara said, still clutching your arm.

You just nodded, feeling strangely unsettled. There was clearly a story there — several stories, probably — but you weren't sure you wanted to know any of them. Something about the whole interaction felt too private, like you'd stumbled onto a scene you weren't meant to witness.

Then Suguru moved towards the woman, the crowd parting before him. When he reached her, his hand came up to her face with a gentleness that felt like a knife between your ribs, thumb brushing against her cheek.

The pieces clicked together then with nauseating clarity. This was her. Dr. Gojo's girlfriend—student—or whatever she was. She was probably also the woman from the phone call at the art exhibition, the one whose voice had made Suguru drop everything.

Watching them, seeing how his fingers lingered on her skin, made something twist uncomfortably in your stomach.

It was ridiculous. You had no right to feel this way. He wasn't yours to want, wasn't yours to miss. Hell, he was barely more than your doctor, even if the memory of his hands on you in that bar bathroom still burned.

Then, as if pulled by the weight of your stare, his eyes met yours across the room. For one endless moment, the party dissolved into white noise. His hand dropped from the woman's face, and something unreadable flickered across his features before he tore his gaze away.

The moment shattered like glass, leaving you standing there with your stained shirt and a mess of feelings you didn't want to examine too closely. Nobara was saying something beside you, but her words seemed to come from very far away.

You couldn't look away as Suguru turned back to the woman, his posture now stiff and controlled. She kept glancing between him and Gojo with wounded eyes, and Suguru looked at her with such longing, and somehow that felt like a punch in the gut to witness.

"Hey," Nobara's voice cut through your spiral, her eyes falling to the stain on your shirt. "Want to try washing it out?"

You nodded.

─────── ౨ৎ ───────

Nobara steered you away from the scene, her grip on your arm somewhere between protective and worried. You let her guide you through the crowd, grateful for the excuse to escape. Behind you, you could still feel the weight of everything you'd witnessed pressing against your spine.

The bathroom was one of those stupidly luxurious ones rich people have in their houses. All marble counters and fancy hand towels. The lights were almost too bright, making you squint at your reflection in the stupidly large mirror.

"Okay, take it off," Nobara commanded, already wetting paper towels. "We'll see if we can save this thing."

You pulled your shirt over your head with shaky fingers, trying not to think about the last time you'd taken off clothing in a bathroom. Trying harder not to think about whose hands had helped you then.

"So," Nobara said, her tone deliberately casual as she worked on your shirt at the sink. "Want to talk about whatever that was back there?"

"What what was?"

She shot you a look that could have stripped paint. "Oh, I don't know, maybe the way you were looking at that guy from before like he'd personally betrayed you by touching another woman?"

"I wasn't—" you started, then stopped, because what could you say? That you weren't jealous? That seeing him with her hadn't felt like swallowing broken glass? "It's complicated."

"When isn't it?" Nobara said, scrubbing at the stain. "But seriously, what's going on?"

You sit up on the counter, wrapping your arms around yourself in your camisole, the marble cold against your skin. "Nothing's going on. He's my doctor, sort of. We went to an art exhibition. That's all."

Nobara's hands stilled on your shirt. "You went on a date with your doctor?"

"It wasn't a date," you protested weakly. "It was... I don't know what it was."

"Girl," she said, turning to face you fully. "Normal doctors don't take their patients to art shows. Or look at them the way he just looked at you out there."

"How did he look at me?"

"Like someone who's realizing he's in way over his head." She wrung out your shirt, frowning at the stubborn stain. "Which, by the way, seems to be a mutual problem."

You groaned, letting your head thunk against the wall behind you. "This is such a mess. I don't even know why I'm here. I hate parties. I hate med students. I hate—" You cut yourself off, because finishing that sentence with 'seeing him look at her like that' felt too honest.

"Could be worse," Nobara said, attacking your shirt with the fancy hand dryer mounted on the wall. "You could be the one out there in whatever that drama is." She paused, eyeing you. "Though maybe you already are."

"Can we just focus on the shirt?"

Between the two of you, you managed to get the shirt mostly dry, though the stain had settled into a weird bluish shadow. Better than nothing, you supposed.

"I need to fix my face," Nobara announced, pulling out what looked like an entire Sephora store from her tiny purse. "Want me to do yours too?"

"God, no." You shrugged your shirt back on. "I think I'll head downstairs, get some air or something. Meet you there?"

"Don't do anything stupid without me!" she called after you, already leaning close to the mirror.

You slipped out of the bathroom, heading downstairs the music growing louder with each step. The party had somehow gotten even more chaotic, if that was possible. You weaved through the crowd, trying to find Megumi or Yuji.

And then it happened.

You turned a corner and collided face-first into what felt like a brick wall. A brick wall that smelled like sandalwood cologne and cigarette smoke. Strong hands steadied you before you could stumble backward.

You knew those hands. Knew exactly how they felt against your skin, knew the calluses on those fingers, knew—

"Careful," Suguru's voice rumbled above you, too close and not close enough.

You looked up, immediately wishing you hadn't. But before you could even process the proximity, he tilted your chin up with his fingers — the same hands that had anothers woman's face in them just minutes ago — studying your eyes with sudden clinical intensity.

"You shouldn't be here," he said. "The lights, the noise—"

"What happened to 'hello'?" you interrupted, somewhere between amused and exasperated.

He blinked, his doctor act faltering. Something shifted in his expression, softening around the edges as his hand dropped from your chin but stayed resting lightly against your neck. "Hello," he said, the word carrying a warmth that made your chest tight.

"Hi," you managed, your voice embarrassingly breathy. He still had one hand on your arm. His thumb brushed against your bicep in what might have been an accident but felt like fire through your shirt.

"Are you leaving?"

"No, I just needed some air." You swallowed hard, too aware of how warm his fingers are against your skin. You should step back. Should put some distance between you and the intoxicating heat of him. Should definitely stop staring at his mouth.

"I didn't know you'd be here," you said, which was both true and completely beside the point.

"Neither did I." His eyes dropped to your shirt, narrowing slightly. "What happened?"

"Oh, just someone's drink. A friend of mine helped me clean it." You gestured vaguely upward, toward the bathroom. "Story of my life, really. Can't go anywhere without wearing half of it home."

"First sports bars, now this." A hint of the warmth you remembered crept into his voice. "At this rate, you'll need to start bringing spare clothes everywhere—"

"I haven't forgotten about your shirt!" you said quickly. "I have it washed at home, I just... with everything going on, I kept forgetting to bring it to your office."

"Keep it." His voice dropped lower. "It looked better on you anyway."

Heat rushed to your cheeks at the compliment, and you found yourself stumbling over your words. "I... that's not... I mean—" You stopped, painfully aware of how flustered you sounded.

His words stirred up memories you'd been trying to ignore. Skin against skin, the taste of beer on his lips, the way his fingers had felt inside you. From the way his jaw clenched, like he was physically biting back words, you knew he was remembering too.

"Have you been drinking?" he asked then. "With your medication—"

"No," you cut him off. "I'm being good, Dr. Geto. Just water and my endless talent for attracting stains."

The corner of his mouth twitched, almost a smile. "Good," he said, softer now. "That's... good." But he didn't let go, and you found yourself swaying slightly closer, drawn in by his warmth, by the lingering scent of cigarettes and that cologne that had haunted you since that bathroom.

You stayed suspended like that, neither of you speaking. Not about the woman from before. Not about that night at the bar. Not about how his thumbs were still tracing absent patterns on your skin like he couldn't quite help himself.

His breath ghosted across your face. This close, you could make out every detail — the faint shadow of stubble along his jawline, the tiny flecks of gold in his dark eyes. It would be so easy to just lean in, to close that last bit of distance and—

A burst of laughter from somewhere else shattered the moment. His hands dropped from your arms, leaving cold spots where his warmth had been. He took a step back, running a hand through his hair in a gesture that seemed more nervous than purposeful.

"I should check on—" he started.

"Yeah, of course," you said quickly, wrapping your arms around yourself to fight the urge to reach for him. "Go. I'm just going to..." you gestured vaguely toward nothing in particular.

"Be careful getting home," he said after a pause.

You nodded, not trusting your voice. You watched him disappear into the crowd, and only then did you let out the breath you'd been holding, sagging against the wall.

"So I was thinking—" Nobara's voice floated down the stairs, and you immediately lunged for her, catching her wrist before she could finish whatever mortifying observation was about to leave her mouth.

"Don't," you said, already trying to drag her toward the nearest exit. "Not a word. Not one single word."

"But I just saw—"

"Nope." You tightened your grip on her wrist. "We're not doing this. We're going to find Megumi and get out of here before—"

"Guys!" Yuji's voice cut through the crowd, and suddenly he was there. "Holy shit, you have to come to the backyard right now."

"Yuji, I swear to god if this is about another keg stand—" Nobara started.

"No, no, this is way better," he insisted, already herding you both toward the back door. "Just trust me." Yuji was already pushing through the crowd, leaving you and Nobara no choice but to follow. You stumbled after him, trying to ignore how your skin still tingled from Suguru's touch.

Meanwhile, the backyard had transformed into some kind of arena. As you pushed through the throng of drunk students, you saw why.

She was there — the woman who'd collided with you earlier, the one Suguru had touched with such tenderness. But she was different now, her earlier vulnerability replaced by something sharp as she lined up a shot at the beer pong table. And beside her, of all people, stood Megumi, looking simultaneously out of place and utterly captivated.

Across the table, Gojo made a show of rolling up his sleeves and crossing his arms over his chest. Next to him stood Naoya, practically radiating the kind of entitled confidence that came with old money and too much validation, you thought.

You squeezed through the crowd to get closer to Megumi, catching her mid-sentence as she spoke to him.

"—and honestly, the way you approached the protein degradation problem?" She gestured with her free hand while perfectly arcing a shot across the table. "Brilliant. Though I had questions about the temperature controls in the third trial—"

The ball landed with a soft 'plop' in Gojo's cup. She hadn't even looked.

"Wait," Megumi cut in, actually leaning forward. "You read my paper? The one about molecular preservation in organic compounds?"

"Read it? I've referenced it in my assignment." She lined up another shot. "Your approach could change how we handle long-term storage of biological materials. Though I did wonder about the crystallization patterns in the control group—"

You watched as Megumi's face did something you'd rarely seen. Because Megumi? Megumi was gone. Hook, line, and sinker. All it had taken was one beautiful woman who could discuss molecular restructuring while landing perfect beer pong shots.

You nudged him with your elbow. "Wrong place, wrong time?" you whispered, but he barely registered your existence.

His turn came, and oh god, it was painful to watch. The ball went wide, not even close to the cups. You had to suppress a laugh because you'd never seen Megumi look so unbothered by failing at something.

The woman spun back to him, completely ignoring Gojo's turn. "So what got you thinking about temperature-dependent structural integrity in the first place?" She aimed for another shot. "Because I have some ideas about stabilization methods that might—" Another perfect arc, another splash. "—actually complement what you're working on."

You watched your best friend — your brilliant, antisocial best friend who'd once spent forty minutes explaining why drinking games were "a fundamental degradation of human intelligence" — now hanging on every word from this woman.

And he was smiling. Megumi, the guy who'd rather solve complex equations than make small talk was actually smiling at her talking about molecular bonds between beer pong shots.

"You didn't get dragged into this at all, did you?" you said to him.

"Shut up," he muttered, but his ears were pink and his eyes never left her as she lined up another shot.

"Oh god," Nobara whispered beside you. "I think Megumi's in love."

Then you let your eyes wander, and through the crowd you saw him. Suguru stood between the two teams, hands in his pockets, looking like every ethical violation happening before him was physically paining him. His jaw was set, shoulders tense, desperately trying very hard to pretend none of this was happening.

You had to bite your lip to hold back a smile at how adorably stressed he looked, like a substitute teacher whose class had spiraled completely out of control, and somehow, as if sensing your amusement, his eyes found yours across the sea of people.

Your chest did that stupid flutter thing again, the one you really needed to stop happening every time he looked at you like that.

He shook his head slightly, a silent 'can you believe this?' that made the chaos around you fade for just a moment — the shouting crowd, Megumi's awkward academic flirting — all of it dimmed compared to the way Suguru was looking at you.

But then Megumi actually landed a shot, and the crowd erupted. When you looked back, Suguru had turned away, deep in conversation with another professor next to him. You tried to ignore those weird feelings in your stomach, especially when the woman he was clearly in love with stood just feet away. What right did you have to feel this way? To want his attention when she was right there? It was selfish. It really was.

You turned back to the game just as Megumi launched into another scientific discussion. "—if we adjust the temperature coefficient during the initial—" A ping pong ball sailed between them, deliberately catching Megumi's shoulder.

Gojo stood there, all fake innocence. "Are we really doing molecular whatever at a party? Really?"

Across the crowd, you watched Suguru pinch the bridge of his nose, looking like he was questioning every life choice that had led him to this moment. But then Naoya brought out the tequila and challenged them to drink more, and the playful atmosphere curdled into something else entirely. Something heavier.

More shots appeared. The laughter got louder, sharper, meaner.

Nobara pressed closer to your side. "This is about to go sideways."

The woman matched them drink for drink, but while others started swaying, her aim stayed deadly precise. It was almost unnerving — you wondered how any of them were still standing, let alone hitting targets.

Then it happened. When she sank another perfect shot into Gojo's cup and he drained it like water, something shifted in the air. She put one leg up on the edge of a beer crate, hiking up her skirt. The crowd went completely silent as she sprinkled cinnamon on her thigh, just above where her stockings ended.

The air felt suddenly thick, charged with something uncomfortable. Gojo stalked around the table toward her, and you wanted to look away but couldn't. It felt wrong to watch, invasive, like walking in on something raw and private that was never meant for an audience.

When Gojo dropped to his knees before her, you finally managed to tear your eyes away — only to catch Suguru's expression. God, you wished you hadn't. The raw hurt that flashed across his face felt like a punch to your gut. He turned away, disappearing into the dark garden beyond the fairy lights.

The crowd erupted in cheers and whistles, but all you could hear was static. Your skin felt too tight, your chest too hollow. The party pressed in from all sides, suffocating, while that image of Suguru's face played on loop in your head.

Next to you, Megumi had become intensely fascinated with his shoelaces, while Nobara looked like she'd witnessed a car crash in slow motion. Something had shifted, tilted off its axis. What had started as fun had twisted into something else entirely.

You needed air, space, anything to escape the sudden wrongness of it all. You murmured something about needing air to your friends and slipped away from the crowd, following the path Suguru had taken into the garden.

You found him in a shadowed corner, far from the main paths. His cigarette glowed like a firefly in the dark, smoke trailing upward as he exhaled toward the sky.

He must have heard you approach, but he didn't move. You stepped closer, careful to make your presence known, giving him every chance to tell you to leave. When he stayed silent, you settled beside him.

"You okay?" The words came out barely louder than a breath.

"I'm fine." His voice was rough, like the smoke had scraped it raw.

"Okay." You tipped your head back, studying the stars. They were clearer here, away from the party's glow. "Well, I'm just going to stand here and count stars for a bit."

"You don't have to do that."

"Do what?" You kept your eyes fixed upward, letting him have his privacy. "I'm just stargazing. You happened to find the best spot."

Silence fell. More smoke spiraled skyward. You stayed quiet, true to your word, as if watching stars was all you'd come out here to do. As if you hadn't followed him because seeing him hurt made something in your chest ache.

Just two people, looking up at the same sky, sharing the same quiet corner of a chaotic night. If he needed to pretend that's all it was, you could give him that.

"You know," you said, gazing up at the hazy Tokyo sky. "Van Gogh painted 'Starry Night' from an asylum window. Could only see Venus from his room, had to imagine the rest. Afterwards he wrote those frantic letters to his brother complaining that he made Venus way too big in the painting, he could never quite let go of that."

Suguru looked over at you. "Is that so?"

"Mhmm. Also, did you know that he used to eat yellow paint because he thought it would make him happy from the inside out?"

You caught the slight twitch of his lips in the darkness. "You're making that up."

"I swear I'm not! He also tried to drink turpentine once. His doctor had to physically stop him." You were fully animated now, warming to the subject. "Though considering this is the same guy who gave his severed ear to a prostitute as a Christmas gift, the paint-eating thing seems almost reasonable."

"Please tell me that's a joke."

"Oh no, for real! But there are even weirder stories about artists. Like there's this issue about whether Vermeer used some kind of prehistoric camera. Like talent wasn't enough of an explanation for his paintings." You rolled your eyes. "My personal favorite theory is that Vermeer was actually a fraud and his daughter did all the paintings. Oh, and don't get me started about the conspiracy that Salvador Dalí's mustache was actually fake."

"Now I know you're making this up."

"I swear I'm not! Art history is wild!"

Finally, a real laugh escaped him — just a quiet thing, but real, the sound startling in the quiet garden. You watched his shoulders finally relax, the tension leaving his face.

"Ah, there it is," you said quietly.

"There's what?"

"That smile. Been wondering if you'd lost it completely."

He shook his head, but the smile lingered. "You're something else, you know that?"

Your eyes drifted to the cigarette dangling from his fingers. "Those things will kill you, you know," you said. "I hear there's this really demanding profession called 'doctor' that keeps warning people about that."

"Is that so?" he mused. "Must have missed that particular lecture."

You studied him for a moment before saying, "Want to talk about it?"

He blew out a stream of smoke, watching it disappear into the darkness. "It's nothing."

"Right. Because all the cool doctors hang out alone in gardens, smoking and looking sad."

That got you another smile, smaller this time. "Careful, Attorney. Your sarcasm is showing."

"Better than your deflection."

Silence fell between you again. Music from the party drifted through the garden, muffled and dreamlike. You waited, letting him choose whether to fill the quiet or let it be.

Finally, he spoke, his voice rough. "It's just—" He crushed out his cigarette beneath his shoe, watching the ember die. "Watching them hurt each other, then somehow find their way back together. Over and over. Like they can't help themselves." His fingers twitched toward his pocket, probably for another cigarette, but he stopped himself.

He raked a hand through his hair, leaving it messier than before. "And I can't... I can't fix it. Any of it. I'm just standing there, watching it all fall apart."

You shifted closer until your shoulder brushed his, offering what comfort you could. "Maybe it's not yours to fix."

He laughed, but there was no humor in it. "That's the problem, isn't it? I've spent so long trying to fix things for him, for them both. And now—"

"Now you're caught between them," you said softly, "still trying to fix things while being left out."

"Something like that." He turned to look at you then, really look at you. "When did you get so wise about all this?"

You shrugged. "Oh, you know, all those stupid law books."

He huffed out a sound that might have been almost a laugh, then grew serious again. "They deserve better than this," he said quietly, almost to himself. "Both of them."

"So do you."

The words hung between you, weightier than intended. When he turned to look at you again, something in his expression made your heart stutter. The fairy lights caught in his eyes, turning them to liquid gold at the edges.

"Here," he murmured, voice dropping to that deep tone that seemed to vibrate through your chest. "You've got..." His hand moved toward your face, hovering for a heartbeat before his thumb brushed your cheek with impossible gentleness. "Eyelash."

You forgot how to breathe. "Gone?"

"Almost." He leaned closer, thumb tracing another whispered path across your cheekbone. "There."

But neither of you moved away. His gaze dropped to where his thumb had just been, lingering there as a shiver ran through you — from the night air or his proximity, you couldn't tell. Goosebumps raised along your arms, and his eyes caught it.

His fingers drifted down your arm, barely touching, following the trail of raised skin. That ghost of contact only made you shiver harder. You heard his sharp intake of breath, felt it in the charged space between you, and inhaled that faint cigarette smoke that still lingered on his lips.

"You taste like smoke," you whispered, immediately wanting to take the words back. Smell, not taste — as if you already knew.

"Sorry," he murmured, but instead of pulling away, he swayed closer, like you were both being pulled together by gravity itself. His free hand came up to cup your face, thumb brushing along your jaw in a way that made you dizzy.

"Don't be."

The moment hung suspended, everything beyond your small circle of garden fading to watercolor blurs. There was just his hands on your skin, the barely-there space between you, and then — his lips found yours.

He kissed you achingly gentle at first, as if afraid you might shatter. He tasted like smoke and wine and something underneath that was purely him. For a heartbeat, the world condensed to just this — the soft press of his mouth, his fingers tracing patterns on your skin, the night wrapping around you like silk.

But even as you melted into him, you could feel it — the shadow of her lingering between you, all his unspoken love for her. It was there in the slight trembling of his hands, the bitter edge beneath the sweetness of his kiss, the way he touched you like he was trying to convince himself of something.

Then his fingers slid into your hair, and rational thought scattered. This wasn't like that desperate night at the bar. This was slower, deeper, deliberate, like he was trying to memorize every sigh, every shiver, learning exactly how you wanted to be kissed.

You knew you should stop this. He was carrying a torch that burned too bright to ignore, loving someone who wasn't you. But his hands felt so right against your skin, his mouth moving against yours with a tenderness that made thinking impossible.

Instead of pulling away, you drew him closer, fingers curling into his jacket. He made a sound low in his throat, surprise or surrender, you weren't sure. Didn't want to know.

The kiss deepened, turned hungry. Your back hit something solid, a wall maybe, you didn't care enough to check. His hands cradled your face now, thumbs stroking your cheeks as he kissed you like he was trying to forget something, or someone.

Then suddenly he was gone, backing away so quickly you nearly stumbled. His breathing came ragged, matching your own. In the dim light, you could see the conflict written across his face.

"I'm sorry," he said. "I shouldn't have—"

You knew this was wrong. Everything about it screamed mistake — he was older, more experienced and he was your doctor, technically, and let's not forget he's clearly in love with someone else. Tomorrow, in the harsh light of day, you'd probably both regret this.

But right now? Right now you wanted to be selfish. Wanted to pretend, just for tonight, that his hands on your skin meant something more than escape. That when he looked at you with those dark eyes, he was seeing you and not her shadow.

And was it really that wrong to be selfish, just this once? To take something you wanted without overthinking every consequence? Everyone else seemed to do whatever they pleased, why shouldn't you?

You closed the distance between you, hands finding his jacket collar once more. "Don't think," you whispered, pulling him down to meet you. "Just... don't think."

For once in your life, you decided to take something you wanted, consequences be damned. Tomorrow could take care of itself.

He resisted for half a heartbeat, then surrendered with a groan that made your knees weak. This time when he kissed you, there was nothing gentle about it. He walked you backward until stone met your back again, one hand bracing against the wall beside your head.

Your fingers wound into his hair as he pressed closer, until you could feel every line of him against you. The solid weight of him made the world spin. When he lifted you, it felt natural to wrap your legs around his waist, letting him pin you more firmly against the wall.

His hand slid under your thigh, grip steady and sure. Every point of contact between you felt electric, dangerous, wrong — and yet too good to stop.

But god, the way he touched you made it impossible to think straight. Every rational argument dissolved under the heat of his hands, the pressure of his body against yours. You were playing with fire and you knew it. But maybe you wanted to burn.

When you broke apart for air, his eyes were dark enough to drown in. For a moment, you both stayed frozen like that, breathing hard, balanced on the knife's edge of something stupid.

"We shouldn't," he said, but his fingers only tightened their grip.

You leaned in, lips brushing his ear. "Maybe we should find somewhere more private," you breathed, feeling the shudder that ran through him. "Like a bedroom."

His grip on your thigh tightened. He pressed his forehead to the wall beside your head, harsh breaths hot against your neck. The hand by your head curled into a fist against the stone.

"My place isn't far," he said roughly. When he met your eyes again, there was something vulnerable in his gaze. "But are you sure about this?"

Instead of answering, you traced slow kisses along his jaw, feeling the scratch of stubble against your lips. The sound that escaped him was almost pained.

"I meant here."

<- prev chapter | next chapter ->

author's note — thank you all for your continued patience and support with this slow update story :')) i've added a "previously" section at the beginning to help you keep track of the narrative, maybe? idk, i'd love to hear if you find this helpful.

sooo this chapter dove deeper into the growing complications between our characters as their lives start to tangle together. i had so much fun writing the crossover between the remedies and reasons and symptoms and causes storylines, even though handling two timelines of the same events nearly broke my brain.

also thank u to that one anon who reminded me that r&r reader still has suguru's shirt (would have totally forgotten about it).

& quick note about the alcohol consumption in this story: while it's serve the narrative of the story, please remember that alcohol is toxic to the body and brain, with no "safe" amount. please be mindful of your health and wellbeing.

and lastly, thank you so so much for reading. all your messages, comments, and reblogs mean the world to me, like really, seeing your theories and those long analysis messages absolutely makes my day !! i read every single one even if i don't always get to reply. thank you for supporting this story and being patient with my updates <3

ps: if you want to get notifications for future updates, you can join my taglist here !

tags — @sugurora @manhattanstrawberry @rosso-seta @shoruio @paolarox01

@depressedemosantaclaus @myahfig4 @starlightanyaaa @theelegantpotato @panteramarron

@saurondriell @starmapz

314 notes · View notes

maiamore · 27 days ago

Text

MILLER ASSOCIATES

Pairing: Joel Miller x Female!Reader - No Outbreak

Rating: 18+ | W/C: 5k-ish

Summary: A one-night-stand with your boss at the firm you work in turns out not to be such a good idea. Tags: lawyer a/u, alcohol, colleagues to lovers type, breeding themes, able bodied reader, joel being a southern sweetheart, creampie, p-in-v, unprotected sex, mentions of anal, mutual pining, dual pov, dry humping

A/N: very much suits inspired, had to get this out of my head PREQUEL | MASTERLIST

A rhythmic, low bass filled your senses, thrumming against your ears. All the chatter & laughter from the crowd blending into each other, forming one singular noise.

The stickiness from the floor dragged across the ball of your strappy heels. Causing you to wince in displeasure. Thankfully, you’d had enough to drink so it’d dulled the pain of wearing heels all night—you supposed going to town on those cocktail shots wasn’t all that bad now.

The growing chants of the countdown filled the air, the giddy excitement was almost contagious.

Pushing past the wave of swaying bodies, you’d locked on to the figure ahead of you, the only sure thing in the nauseating strobe of lights that grounded you. Briefly, that figure disappeared within the crowds. A slight panic surged through you.

You’d taken a couple steps forward, scanning the crowd. Just when you were on the verge of giving up, a warm hand guides you out with a swift tug by the back of your waist, pulling you against a leather clad wall—or well, chest.

You blinked a few times. Joel, who was quietly ahead of you, gave you a look. Letting you step back a little. “Keep up.” He said. Or, you thought he said by the ways his lips moved. His hands assuredly tightened around your waist this time. He wasn’t going to lose you through the crowd again.

“Okay.” Your voice competed with the chaos around you—countdown timer flashing on all the screens situated in every corner of the room. The reality was bleary at best, you’d definitely drunk enough to scramble the rational side of your brain.

He wasn’t looking at you anymore. You’d followed his gaze to the bar's back door.

As soon as you’d stepped out of the bar, the chilly air outside hit you like a force. Sobering you up, barely.

This was happening.

Joel’s hands flattened against the back of your waist. Thumb soothing you from the decision you both made in the heat of the moment earlier. You could feel just how needy he was just by how touchy he was.

This was happening.

“Wait.” Your panicked voice interrupted his movements when he dipped his head to your level. “...Let’s..let’s just establish the situation before we actually do this.” You managed. Earning a confused look from him.

“I came on to you. And..I kissed you first.”

Deep brown eyes settled to look into yours. A slight scoff leaving his stupid pretty pouty lips.

“This ain’t Law & Order, darlin’.”

Even with nothing but the residual glow blue neon signage illuminating above you both beneath the moonless skies, you could see it in his eyes that he’d been waiting. Way past his limits. His usually assured voice came out barely restrained.

Joel could tell by your less than amused expression that you weren’t fuckin’ around. You needed an acknowledgement from him.

“Yeah.” Backtracking, humour lost in his words now. A much more complicated sentiment taking its place.

“Alright. Sounds good t’me.”

You’d exchanged a look of mutual understanding. As sure as you could’ve been with your current combined blood alcohol levels. The same hand on your waist gently turning your body around.

That was how you found yourself getting fucked against the walls by your boss.

6 Months Later

After that anomaly in your offices’ New Year get together nearly half a year ago, you both swore you’d never bring it up again. It was just too complicated to unpack you said—at least that’s what you told yourself.

He’d been more than happy to oblige. Which stung somehow. Maybe you were just too afraid to deal with the implications of what allowed you both to indulge in something that was hugely just the tip of the iceberg. Or maybe he just didn’t want to create a workplace imbalance. Maybe. The thought had always gnawed at you, the idea that he might’ve regretted whatever happened even though he showed no indication of it.

Tension ran high in the law offices of Miller Associates. There’d been some sort of situation. You figured. You weren’t all that concerned, yet.

“You didn’t hear?” An obnoxious noise crept up from behind you. Interrupting your concentration. “What?” A sharp gasp filled your lips when your chair had swiveled, your colleague, Serena, leaning down towards you. “The case you’re working on! With Mr Miller.” Her voice a mere whisper. “Someone fucked up. Big time. The settlement was voided.”

A chill ran down your spine. “What? When?” You said a little too quickly. Grabbing your phone in a haste. A single notification glowing on your phone.

Fuck.

“Dunno. I just heard Mr Miller was at Wheeler’s trying to work out a deal. Someone leaked information—”

You were on your feet even before she could finish her sentence. This was officially your problem now. You’d been on the case with Joel for weeks.

What was supposed to be a straightforward division of assets—a separation of a couple's joint built company—quickly unraveled. Someone had leaked sensitive information to the opposing counsel's client, costing the firm its leverage in negotiating the settlement.

“Get Leighton out. Make shit up. Do whatever the hell & buy us some fuckin’ time.”

Joel’s voice carried through the halls. A silent look shot towards you to drop whatever pointless errand the other associates tasked you with. Warily, you trailed after him. It was a rare sight to witness Joel frayed.

His normally slicked back curly hair was visibly in disarray.

So he looked perfect even when he was about to lose his shit. Great.

You’d noticed the lack of his tailored jacket or vest. Navy sleeves rolled up snug around his forearms.

This wasn’t like him at all.

He dragged his hand down his scruffed jaw as he remained on the phone. Not even looking back to see if you were following. He just knew.

“Need you on this.” He’d gestured to the stack of documents that lay on the edge of his wide dark oak wood desks. Bringing the phone up to rest against the edge of his shoulder.

You took a few steps ahead to pick up the stack of papers. The initial settlement documents for the Leighton versus Anders proceedings.

“So you want me to look through it again, find the discrepancies. Get references—“

When he’d finally put the phone down to look at you, you were already focused. Your gaze hadn’t lifted while you flipped through the papers.

“No need for the subtitles, darlin’. Do what you have t’do. Get me somethin’ by 11.”

That frustratingly smooth southern drawl in his tone made it sting even more when he’d rendered you an idiot that easily just for asking.

Nodding, you glanced over to your watch with a tilt of your wrist. 4pm. So two hours till the end of work and another four hours tomorrow. Seemed pretty doable.

“Okay. I’ll get back to you by the morning.”

“No. 11pm, tonight.”

“What?” A breath of disbelief that blended into your exclamation left your lips. He hadn’t responded. Merely raising a brow at your confusion.

“I can’t. I have plans—“

“So cancel.”

He’d said it so matter of factly like it was the most natural next step, you’d brought your hand down. The papers crumpling slightly in your grip. It didn’t help that some part of you admired how easily he got people to do as he wished. Well. You’d have known that first hand. Evidently.

You couldn’t trust yourself to speak then. It would probably start with something like listen here you fucking inconsiderate shit.

Mumbling a begrudging got it, you got started as soon as you head back to your cubicle.

JOEL

Joel Miller was a man who’d thrived on setting specified routines for himself, following rules set in place in his life. He had to. It was what kept him sane despite everything that came his way.

Wake up, 0700. Shower, 0715. Breakfast with his daughter, 0800. Office by 0900.

He was off rhythm today. It was only the start of his bad mood. He couldn’t kiss his little girl goodbye before she headed off to school, skipped breakfast and had to drive over to the other end of Manhattan to deal with a literal growing trash fire.

The deal was called off by 0800. He’d lost one hundred and twenty five thousand dollars by 0830.

He couldn’t lose his shit just yet. It was his last name, his fathers legacy, staring back at him in bolded letters of the building.

He was aware that his intense presence had everyone on high alert, though some part of him was grateful he supposed that when it came down to it, his employees were on the ball.

And then…there was you.

Fluttering around helping everyone. Back and forth, through offices of his associates, to the secretaries. Arms always full with stacks of papers you delivered even when you didn’t have to.

Six months ago, you’d officially wrecked the part of his life he’d carefully built walls around. If he was being honest, you already had two years ago when you’d joined the firm as a paralegal.

“So you want me to look through it again, find the discrepancies. Get references—“

Good girl.

He thought. He’d known the sort of person you were. Always compartmentalising. He wasn’t sure if you’d thought about him the way he’d thought about you still. Fixated on the little furrow on your brows as you concentrated on the documents. Lips slightly pursed. It wasn’t that long ago he’d had the privilege of feeling the heady sweetness and the softness of your lips.

“I can’t. I have plans—“

Yeah. I know you had, sweetheart.

He’d heard it all when the other ladies, in the break room, had been squealing at the fact that Marcus from Mergers & Acquisitions had asked you out at the cafeteria.

Fuck. Did you need a probable cause to fire jerkoff, always wearing suspenders, Marcus? He probably could. Shouldn’t though.

Admittedly, he had some sort of satisfaction that he actually had a reason to keep you around his orbit.

PRESENT

It wasn’t like you wanted to go on that date with Marcus. He was a little too egotistical for your tastes, always flaunting his Dior clothes and that obviously second-hand Patek Philippe watch like it was his entire personality. But you were at your wit's end. You needed to stop moping and pining over the one amazing sexual encounter you had all year.

You sighed, leaning back in your chair and stretching your arms above your head. The lights flickered overhead, casting harsh shadows across your face. The glow lulled you—finally allowing yourself some reprieve with a brief shut-eye.

“So..so pretty.” His voice came out in rough whispers against the back of your earlobes. It sent chills down your spine.

He’d hoisted you back up against him with a grunt. You could feel his thick cock filling you up even deeper. A rough hand coming up to cradle around your forehead so it wouldn’t have to touch the walls. Even when you had been so out of it, his attentiveness heightened every nerve ending of your body.

His other hand slid downwards to give your clit much needed attention with a swipe of his thumb. “Been so good f’me—…ah..fuck. Shit.” A sharp hiss leaving his lips when you’d clenched around his cock subconsciously in overstimulation.

You couldn’t trust yourself to speak. Feeling his fingers tip you over the edge. Whining against the arm that held you firm. “Can’t—…t’much..”

“I know baby, you can give me another one, can’t you?” You could feel the purrr in his words. Gently pressing over the bulge on your stomach where he could feel how deep he was fucking into your soft pussy. Praises littered into your skin that felt like kisses. You nodded with renewed desire to give this man anything he'd asked for.

You’d lifted your head up from where it’d rested against your palm. Snapping out of your daydreams at the familiar voice calling your name.

You blinked a few times, registering the office’s law library’s attendant. “Are you okay, honey? I have to leave now.”

You offered a polite smile. “I’m good, see you tomorrow Mrs Balmaceda.”

You’d looked back down at the piles of books across the desk. The coldness of the library—evident by the building's foggy condensation outside the windows. Your exhaustion was finally catching up to you in the worst ways possible. Briefly glancing around at the amber overhead lights, illuminating the books tucked in large floor to ceiling bookshelves.

You’d inwardly sighed at the lack of references you had yet to find—grabbing the paper, scribbled with names of references that Joel had neatly written on it. You pushed past the attached ladders.

This was going to be a long night.

—

“This book..isn’t even supposed to be here.” You grumbled at the lack of care of the people who’d haphazardly shoved books into the shelves in places it didn’t belong. A stack grew in your arms, piling up the wrongly filed books. Taking it upon yourself to reshelve it.

“Are you supposed to be the librarian now?”

You’d nearly jumped out of your skin at the sudden voice from behind you. Books nearly slipping out of your hands, you’d acted quickly enough to stop them. Twisting your body to see the intruder.

JOEL

“Make sure she eats dinner and packs her books fore’ bed. Thanks Tommy…’ppreciate it.”

He’d ended the call, leaning back in his chair with a fist over his eyes. Not a single thing had gone the way he needed it to. He pushed the stacks of paperwork on his desk, blue ink that curved with the initials of your name on a document stared back at him. Confirmation that you were quite literally the only one other than him to have read the settlement papers.

He covers it with a stack of files. As though he didn’t quite want to face the truth behind it.

—

“Anything to show me yet?”

Barely able to register the object coming towards you, you awkwardly managed to catch the can of black coffee hurled towards you. Even with his odd way of showing it, you felt it. The care.

You’d trailed behind him. Eyeing the slump in his shoulders now. “Yeah. Couple of things in the settlement we can take advantage of because of the disparity,” you explained.

The sound of the can flicking open caught your attention. Watching as Joel took a swig. You swallowed. Holding the unopened can tightly in your palms.

Instinctively, your tongue darted out to wet your lower lip as your eyes lingered on the subtle movement of his adam's apple, rising and falling with each swallow. Your gaze trailed downward, drawn to his collarbone, partially revealed by the undone top buttons of his shirt.

You would’ve told him that you didn’t like black coffee. But you’d pretty much lost the window to say anything by now. That didn’t matter. You needed something for how dry your throat felt.

You’d open your can of coffee. Taking sips of the bitter liquid to quench the metaphorical desire building in you.

“Looks good enough. Two or three more references would do.”

He’d noticed the brief look of disgust on your face as you took another sip. Raising his brow slightly at your conformity. “Not much of a coffee person, are you?”

“Not really, no.” You admit. Sitting down across him by the chairs. He’d been flipping through the stacks of papers with you. Hastening the process a little more.

A quiet silence filled the air between you both. You’d have been okay not to acknowledge it. But Joel didn’t want to let it.

“What did you do?” He offered after a couple minutes of silence. You furrowed your brows at his words. “...Over the weekend, I mean.”

Since when did he care for small talk?

“Nothing much. I’ve been studying for the LSAT’s again.” He’d hummed in acknowledgment to your words. Observing you and your little quirks.

He’d noticed. You had a preference for the blue sticky tabs in any paperwork you did for him. When you’d been really concentrated, you opted not to speak.

“Again?” He questions.

“Again.” You repeated. The word leaves a bitter note on your tongue. “I’m not…I don’t test well.”

That earned a frown from him. He’d figured you got a little twitchy at times, but you had heart.

“What about you?” You’d tried to fill in the awkward silence after that. Trying to change the subject now. “What’d you do?”

It was as though your question caught him off guard. As though you’d interrupted his line of questioning that seemed to build up to something. “A play—…my daughter had a play, in her high school.”

You’d actually lifted your head up at his words. You were paying attention now. Something about your silence prompted him to continue. A daughter. You didn’t know he had a daughter.

“I was thinkin’ these kids were going to do some..Shakespeare thing. And then—...Sarah walked on stage as some blonde girl. From that movie.”

“That movie?” You repeated. Brows knit together.

He lets out a sigh. “The movie.” He repeats. His expression mirroring yours, hand gesturing vaguely as though to mortalise the words in his head. “Girl gets hit by a bus at the end…” He manages, in deeper thought. His thumb swipes the bottom of his lips in concentration.

You weren’t sure if you were paying attention after ‘girl gets his by bus.’ He may as well have had a sign on his forehead to say, “kiss me please” with the way he’d been bringing attention to it.

“I wanna say…it was somethin’ bout’ some girl named Caddy. Kayde?”

You were confused at first. Eyes widening.

“Mean Girls?”

A sigh of relief left his lips. As though it would’ve bugged him all night for not being able to remember. “That’s the one.” He says finally.

An amused scoff left your lips, the combined laughter of yours and his filled the silence in the room. Ignoring the fact that high schools nowadays didn’t quite care about literary classics, you were more focused on the fact that Joel seemed chillingly human. It was breaking through the carefully built mental barriers you had in place. Your ability to shove any lingering feelings—with the excuse he was just your boss didn’t quite matter anymore.

You didn’t realize how much you’d been staring at his every movement—how he just looked softer.

—

A considerable amount of time had passed, the both of you working together in sync to get the last of what you needed. You’d been eyeing Joel, his weariness evident in the constant furrow of his brows—or in the way a few curls had fallen effortlessly against his forehead.

You shouldn’t be thinking about him like this anymore. What was it about a man looking so damn attractive when their life seemed to be falling apart?

“How did things go with Leighton?” He inquires. Rudely interrupting your thoughts.

You’d stopped for a moment. Why was he asking this now?

You swallowed thickly. Feeling your nerves fray. Your current demeanor wasn’t lost on Joel. He’d been looking at you carefully. Despite your best efforts, Joel studied you enough to understand your behavior in his entire time knowing you.

He'd spent all day untangling the mess, he was asking this out of courtesy at this point.

“Good…there weren't any issues.”

“I’m askin’ you, since you were the last person to see her.”

“..I—“

When he’d repeated your name firmly, you tensed. It was far too late to keep up with hiding the fact now. He just wanted to hear it from you directly.

That you were the reason why the initial settlement was thrown out the window after you told Leighton about Ander’s infidelity yesterday. It was purposefully withheld from her during the proceedings.

But then…you’d seen Anna and how tired she looked. One look at her and you knew that she deserved all the facts.

“Tell me you didn’t, sweetheart.” The way he said it churned your guts. Of course he’d already been aware–some part of him wanted to believe otherwise.

You’d pressed your lips into a thin line. Not daring to look up. You could feel the way he’d been looking at you. How disappointed he would’ve been.

When you had looked up, however, disappointment wasn’t what you found. In the times you’d known Joel, you’d observed him and his little quirks.

You’d noticed. When he’d tried to practice patience in withholding his anger. His jaw ticked.

“I thought I was doing the right thing.”

The sigh he let out had you looking at the ground. It was a feeling not unlike the sinking weight of having utterly disappointed your parents. “You went behind my back.” His tone devoid of any kindness.

“I did the right thing.” You repeated. Firmer now.

“You’re fuckin’ deluded if you think you did the right thing, darlin’.”

That stung. Far more than you’d expected. Joel’s anger had been simmering over the edge. Minutes from saying something he shouldn’t have. It wasn’t just betrayal he’d felt, it was his naïveté in trusting you completely.

You knew you’d made a mistake. You knew. You should’ve apologized and moved on because he was right. But the words spilling out from you was anything but. The venom laced in his tone was not something you liked in the slightest. It’d rubbed you raw, a blooming pain that bled through the wake of your recklessness.

You’d gotten up abruptly. Grabbing the list of documents you’d needed from the archive room. The hastened clacks of your heels against the carpeted floors was soon joined by the low thud of Joel’s oxfords.

“You know.” He began, his voice trailing closer behind you.

“Through all this bullshit I still expected some level of humility from you at the very least.”

His footsteps grew closer. It was clear that he had no plans to let you get away with everything. Not without an acknowledgement to what you’d done.

You’d attempted to shut the door behind you, but Joel’s hands came up to wedge through the archive rooms doors to let himself in.

Your pace quickened, stepping into the room tucked in the corner of the library. Situating yourself between the metal racks. Stacked with dusty boxes of old case files. Barely lit by fluorescent lighting that hadn’t been changed in years.

He’d repeated your name. A little louder now.

“The hell do you want me to say?” You snapped back finally.

“Something that isn’t an excuse.”

You felt your own anger take the place of the supposed humility you were supposed to feel. You hated this side of him, pushing, cornering, intimidating people into submitting. You rifled through the boxes. Feeling his quiet presence overwhelm you, demanding an answer from you. Words bubbling up like word vomit, you couldn’t stop them from spilling.

“It’s not an excuse.”

“Are you that much of a sociopath that you’re sacrificing ethics and morals over getting a fucking payout for the firm?” You breathed out. Whipping your head around to look at him. “Is that what you wanna hear?”

“This isn’t about ethics or morals!” He’d raised his voice. Louder than he’d intended. No, he was more hurt that you didn’t trust him enough to handle it. Didn’t trust him enough to let him know before going behind his back. He would’ve done anything you’d asked. But you hadn’t.

“I should’ve known better than to trust a damn paralegal with helping me.” He’d felt regret even as he spoke, but he couldn’t help it. “I was fucking naive to think you were more. That you had something—“

“I was a goddamn fool to think that some kid who couldn’t even pass the LSATs could be trusted.”

Your heart twisted at his words.

“Did that make you feel better, Joel?” Your tone was laced with an equal amount of bitterness. “Come on. Tell me what else you fucking feel.” Challenging him. He had a feeling this wasn’t all you’d held back on.

The air went still. He’d known he’d gone too far when he’d said it. But you weren’t upset at the fact that you’d both been exchanging words that were intended to hurt each other, but because all you’d managed to say were shit neither of you meant.

All you could think about was how you’d felt. About him. About all the feelings you’d forced yourself to swallow down.

“I don't need to hear it. I don’t need to hear how much you’ve regretted it.”

“You know damn well that isn’t what I’m talkin’ bout’.”

Did you regret it? Did you regret sleeping with me the same way you regret trusting me with the case?

The unsaid words that couldn’t leave your lips hadn’t gone past him. Despite it all—the residual anger was still there—Being clouded by his wants that bubbled up whenever he was around you. The want that was being amplified now that all he could hear was your breathing and his.

Your eyes traced his features carefully. Not being able to swallow down the anger and humiliation that churned in you. Threatening to consume you whole. You knew he blamed himself for how you seemed to be falling apart. It was all in the subtle furrow of his brows, the faint twitch beneath his eyes, and the way his deep brown eyes locked with yours.

He’d stepped forward the same time you had.

Hands coming down to maneuver you against the shelves. His hand gripping around your waist, dipping his head lower to finally kiss you. It wasn’t slow, or careful. He kissed you like he’d been wanting to for months. You met his kisses with the same intensity—stumbling backwards to catch your footing. Both hands cupped around the base of his neck. You tilted your head to match his movements, the weight of his palm cradling your jaw securely.

Not giving you a chance to catch your breath. You sighed into his lips slowly & he’d drunk it all in—your lips slotting perfectly against his. He’d stepped backwards, panting, like you were. Looking for a sign that you didn’t want this. You’d clumsily yanked his tie off, answering that question for him.

It was quiet at first. All but the rustling of him throwing his jacket off and you attempting to unbutton your blouse in unison—You didn’t like the silence. The last time you’d fucked he was vocal, with praises singing into your skin.

So when he’d finally grabbed you, legs slotting between your thighs, your gasp broke the practiced silence.

He was a man on a mission. He needed to make you come, needed to drink in the sweet saccharine noises you made. The very thing he missed in those six months that haunted him whenever he’d heard you speak.

He tugged you tighter, rocking you against his thigh. Encouraging you to rut against him. You’d whined in his grasp. Your hips tilting to grind against the fabric of his slacks. Tipping your head back, the ache grew. The friction wasn’t enough. This wasn’t enough. You wanted to feel him.

His bigger hands casing your jaw—tutting at your struggle. “…Sh—…shh shh. I know. I know.”

You gripped around his forearms. Tip toeing, you tried to angle yourself just right so your pussy could feel the friction of his thigh properly. Your hips stuttered, feeling him notch your needy pussy right against him with his guidance. He’d tilted your jaw up so you'd maintain eye contact with him. Your lips parted wider, feeling the steady pleasure build in you, your clit stimulated in all the right ways.

“Needy baby, workin’ so damn hard—“ He’d leaned in, tracing the curves of his nose down your jawline. “C’mon sweetheart, need you to come f’me, need you to feel good.” Muttering against your neck. It’d sent shivers down your spine, drinking in the praises that had followed after what he’d said.

“Look at you, pretty…pretty..pretty, pretty.” His wanton sighs against your neck.

His other hand sliding upwards, kneading your tits over your clothes. You’d whined a little when he’d lifted up your blouse. Tugging your lacy bra downwards to free your tits. Head lowering so he could suckle on one. Low vibrations of the rumble in his own grunt of pleasure in seeing you feel good reverberated against you. Steadily massaging the softness while his other hand thumbed over your nipples.

How was it possible that this man knew you more than you’d known yourself?

You’d felt the build up hitting you faster than you’d realized. Your thighs had given in—quivering in the wake of your release. “Atta girl.” He’d leaned in and gave you an appreciative kiss, smiling against your lips. His palms circled around your hips to turn you over before you’d known what had hit you.

Your head rested against the cool metal of the shelves, catching your breath from the intensity. His thumb traced over the dampness of your panty hose. Groaning at the sensation of how turned on you were just by grinding pathetically against him.

“This wet already, desperate lil’ thing.” He mumbled. Placing a few kisses against your pulse point.

A hand slid down to knead the globe of your ass. The sight of you earned a hum of admiration from behind you. If only you’d known just how many nights he’d spent, fucking his fist, thinking about the sight of your pretty ass fucked to the hilt that night.

He hooked a finger over your panty hose, clicking his tongue at just how inaccessible it’d been. You felt a cold gust of air followed by a ripping sound. You didn’t have time to reprimand him when the sensation of two fingers tentatively slid up your clit, down to your slick folds—effectively shutting you up. Wiggling your hips backwards, you attempted to urge him deeper.

He tutted once more. Pressing down on your lower back to hold you in place. Reminding you on patience. Not that you even cared at this point. Your eyes widened at the sensation of his thick fingers finally sliding into your aching cunt, scissoring through the tight valleys of your velvety warm pussy. You’d let out a breath you didn’t know you’d been holding.

You found yourself whining. Growing frustrated. He’d let you move back against him, your pussy sucking his fingers back in everytime he pulled it out just a little. Your senses hyper focused on chasing the release you felt yourself closing in to once more. A loud clunk caused you to snap your head up, catching the sight of him unbuckling his belt over your shoulders with a half-lidded look.

“Back t’reality sweetheart? Ain’t done with you, far from it.” He gripped around his lanyard to toss his security keycard over his shoulder. Holding you secure and snug on both sides of your waist.

He could come just from the sight alone.

You felt the heat of his cock slide against your folds, gathering the slick that had him slipping back out every time he’d attempted to fuck his tip into your pussy—Earning a gasp from both Joel and yourself when he did manage to notch his cockhead in.

“Fuck me, sweetheart, it’s a slip’n’slide out here.”

You looked over your shoulder. Frowning through your fucked out gaze. He chuckled, a sound that only made you throb all the more. He’d raised a hands up in defense at your glare.

He guided the base of his cock with a firm grip—feeding you his cock. Inch by inch.

You gripped tightly against the shelf. Eyes rolled back at just the sensation of him filling you up after he’d been such a goddamn tease. You’d managed to catch him off guard by grinding backwards, he hissed at the tightness of your pussy, choking him like vice, forcing him to bottom out in you.

A low groan leaves his lips at the sight. Head lolled to the side at how perfect you fit against him. His hips began to rock steadily around you, not even having to move much with how you were eagerly bouncing against him.

He smirks at the sight, leaning back to observe. Allowing you to set the pace. Gently rubbing down both sides of your hips as a soothing gesture.

Joel couldn't handle it any longer. He needed to fuck you like you deserved.

“Still owe you an apology, sweetheart.”

You’d let out a sharp gasp when he’d tugged you harshly up against him. His arm coming up across your chest. Anchoring you in place before he starts to jackhammer into your pussy.

“F-Fuck, Joel!”

He gripped underneath your jaw, tilting your head back–kissing you sloppily, drowning your reverent moans into his mouth. He’d set the pace, fucking you hard until the shelves rattled underneath your combined weight. His sweat mixed into yours in the almost intolerable heat your bodies emitted.

You’d probably come again, you didn’t know, didn’t care. Feeling Joel’s grunts and gasps was enough to send you over the edge.

“Tight pussy’s gonna be the death of me.” He gasped against your neck. Nose rubbing against your cheeks.

“M’gonna come.” He managed, barely. “Please baby, tell me I can come inside you.”

You mewled at his words. The breathy way he’d practically begged you for permission. Grinding against him in finality–you nodded desperately when two fingers rubbed against your clit.

“Yes, f-fuck, yes.”

With renewed fervour, he’d buried his head into the crook of your neck—rutting into you until you felt his hips stutter. Feeling his heavy breathing as he held you snug against him, your smaller hands gripped around his hand that was flattened against your chest. He could feel you pulsing in your own release around him and that was enough to tip him over the edge.

He grunted into your shoulder, pumping you with ropes of his hot come. Filling you deep.

He’d pulled out of your pussy after a few seconds with a slick pop, his thumb swiping against your entrance, two fingers stuffing the come dribbling out back into you. You’d briefly glanced back to see a lazy smile curled up one side of his lips.

He leaned in to kiss your shoulder. Firm hands adjusting your skirt back into place.

“C’mon. I’ll drive you home.”

#joel miller #joel miller smut #joel x reader #joel miller x y/n #joel miller x reader #joel the last of us #tlou fanfiction #the last of us hbo #pedro pascal #pedro pascal smut

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bokutosbiceps · 1 year ago

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jell-o shots

eustass kid/monkey d luffy/roronoa zoro/trafalgar law/vinsmoke sanji x afab!reader | slight smut/fluff | ~900 words

warnings: suggestive/18+ themes, mild cursing ?

a/n: i was listening to one of my fav podcasts (the basement yard) n they were talking about how some girls use the way that guys do jell-o shots to gauge if they're good @ eating pussy. so i ran w it 😁 also def a modern au ,, thinkin bout doin more of these 🤭

18+ MDNI | under the cut for length

you can't tear your eyes away from the man across the granite kitchen island. the way his tongue shoves into the sticky jell-o, laps at the sides of the cup, and swirls around the bottom to clean up any leftover sugary alcohol has you feeling dizzy and squeezing your thighs together. as if he couldn't get any more irresistible.

maybe it was the fact that you'd already thrown back a couple of drinks. or maybe it was the fact that you'd just imagined your boyfriend’s tongue doing that to you instead. but you were feeling particularly brave, particularly needy.

he sees you watching, and you can tell that he's wondering why you're staring at him so intently. his eyes call you over, and you take a few shaky steps around the island to sidle up next to your man.

you smooth your hands over his shoulders, your nails digging into his deltoids for stability as you lean in and whisper “can you eat pussy like that?”

eustass kid bursts out laughing. it's a hearty, wry laugh that has you pushing out your bottom lip and furrowing your brow at him.

“why the hell are you laughing?” you whine, pouting at him.

kid glances at you out of the corner of his eye, picking up another jell-o shot and repeating his ritual. he enjoys the feeling of your hold on his bicep tightening, and how you subconsciously press yourself further into him.

he lets his eyes travel further down to where he can see you rubbing your thighs together, and he feels a familiar hunger starting to burn in the pit of his abdomen.

once the cup is left pristinely crystal clean, he snakes an arm around your waist and pulls you flush against his chest. you can feel his lips brush against the shell of your ear and he huffs out another laugh.

“i wanna see you get on your knees and beg, doll.”

monkey d luffy blinks at you, a small smile stretching across his lips as he realizes what you had whispered to him.

“you mean can i eat you out? yeah! you wanna?” luffy chirps, picking up another jell-o shot and practically vacuuming out the sugary alcohol in one go. you watch, feeling like your legs are going to give out.

luffy grabs your waist with his arm to help prop you up against him. he's still grinning at you, eyes searching yours for any affirmation of what he had asked.

he pinches your side playfully and presses a kiss to your clavicle, then rests his head on top of yours, happy to be enjoying the party with you. but now there's something else he'd rather be enjoying, and he's still waiting for your answer.

so you nod, a movement so slight you’re worried that luffy wouldn't notice. but then luffy’s scooping you into his arms and running upstairs with you cradled to his chest, searching for any open bedroom or bathroom he can use to indulge in his favorite meal.

roronoa zoro straightens up slightly, pushing his nose into the air and looking at you out of the corner of his eye. his lips are set in a firm frown as he studies you for a bit, and then they’re stretching into a sly smirk.

he doesn't say anything, just backs you into the counter behind you and grips your waist with both of his hands. he leans in closer to you, pressing his cheek against yours. you can feel his thigh pressing against the seam of where your own thighs are clenched together, prying them apart.

you shudder at the way zoro’s hot breath is wafting across your neck, and you about explode when he presses a warm, wet kiss to the nape of your neck. he rests his face in the crook of your neck and you can feel his lips smile against your skin.

“you wanna find out?”

trafalgar d water law scoffs at you, wrinkling his nose and setting the empty cup down on the island.

“are you drunk?” he asks lowly, noticing how you're gripping so tightly onto his arm. you squeeze your thighs together once again when you feel his warm breath fan across your face and his hazy, grey eyes bore into yours.

“no.” you purse your lips, pressing yourself further into him. “i just…need you right now.” you give him a pointed look, feeling your cheeks heat up as you glance back down at the cup. he follows your gaze and snorts a chuckle out through his nose.

how could he resist you when you were so cute, being so desperate for him?

“come with me.” law rubs the small of your back and allows you to lean on him as he guides you through the party and upstairs. “let me take care of you.”

vinsmoke sanji is flabbergasted. the empty cup falls from his fingers and onto the counter. he's staring at you, wide eyed and blushing.

you shift uncomfortably under his stare, wondering if maybe you'd made a mistake, come on too strong perhaps. but your train of thought is quickly derailed when sanji grabs your hands and presses them to his chest.

“you mean it, princess?” sanji asks you, his eyes shining. his pupils are practically heart shaped as he beams at you, hands trembling as they held yours against his palpitating heart.

“mhm. right now.” you say softly, giving him a coy smile. you blink, and suddenly you're in sanji’s arms and he’s making a beeline for the nearest bedroom. sanji’s on a mission to serve you like the princess you are, party be damned.

taglist: @usoppsstar | @luffysprincess | @pileofmush | @anemptypuddingcup | @kingofthe-egirls

#one piece #one piece smut #eustass kid x reader #eustass kid #monkey d luffy #monkey d luffy x reader #roronoa zoro x reader #roronoa zoro #trafalgar law #trafalgar law x reader #vinsmoke sanji x reader #vinsmoke sanji #kid x reader #luffy x reader #zoro x reader #law x reader #sanji x reader

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zozotheme · 1 year ago

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Grab a creative #Igual - Law Firm WordPress Theme Just for $49!

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#business #consultant #lawyer wordpress theme #law firm theme #wordpress themes #web design #web development

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solanasreality · 19 days ago

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†⠀⠀ㅤֺ⠀ SLEEP 2 DREAM : SURRENDER / ACCEPTANCE .

︖ ── at some point, you have to take control of your shifting journey. “i think someone’s playing a trick on me!!!@” i promise you, you aren’t that important, and nobody’s going to dedicate this much time for a lie. the world isn’t revolved around you (unless you’ve assumed it is, congratulations, you’ve shifted).

﹒ what if you shifted the next time you tried? what if you gave it your all? what if you reset your shifting journey ℘ forgot about all the terms you heard? what if you started over from scratch?

﹒non-dualism is the notion that nothing is separate from you. it means that you are everything—you are the painter sculpting the universe, you are the earth, and you are the painting. so, you have what you want, because you’ve created it by acknowledging it. all you have to do is move your awareness.

law of assumption : whatever you assume is what you’re subconscious will perceive to be true. what you repeatedly affirm becomes your reality. enough about “feeling it real,” or “being in the state.” it’s all about what you repeatedly tell yourself.

﹒now that we’ve got the basics down, it’s up to you to decide whether you want to change your thoughts or stay persistent in living in the same reality everyday. you can’t create based on the past, and if you think you can, you’re reacting to what you’ve already persisted in when you weren’t consciously creating. you’re surrendering.

── METHODS 𝐓𝐎 USE .

﹒after it’s clicked that you don’t need methods to shift, or accepted that the power comes from within, shifting can become fun again.

visualization : visualization can help saturate your mind, especially if you’re a daydreamer like i am. bask yourself into the inner scapes of your mind and make it a safe space, something no one can take away. all you need to do is a say an affirmation thaf goes, “this is the real me,” and daydream away.

reprogramming your subconscious : MY inspiration for the theme ‼️ instead of seeing sleeping as you waking up in your cr, you can reprogram your mind to see it as a trigger for shifting. as soon as you hit the pillow, your mind is traveling the cosmos, that isn’t an affirmation, it’s a fact. or, alternatively, your brain sees waking up as a trigger to shift. as soon as your in that in-between state while you’re drowsy (you know the feeling), you say a few affirmations and trust you’ll be there. why? because you don’t go to sleep to dream, you’re standing firm in the fact that you’ve shifted.

romanticizing your dr : or more like, romanticizing yourself. you’re not your reality nor your surroundings. you’re finally who you want to be, you’ve always have been, so tune into that. what are your hobbies? favorite snacks? favorite martini after a long day of work? favorite pillow? favorite pet that you wouldn’t admit to the others? make it FUN. this is not a chore. remember that.

aligning your energy : this is mostly for my spirituality girlies, start aligning your energy. meditation, tarot cards, just align your mindset, but keep it simple. (if i catch any of you using the law of at*raction i’m coming for you 🫵)

think as if : when i say this, i might really get into it. get protective over your dr—your life, it’s something personal to you, just as your life is here. there are some things you wouldn’t want us to know here, right? keep the same energy. show some decorum, y’know?

── ACCEPT IT’S OVER .

﹒accept your shifting journey is over, because it is. it ended the moment you trusted in yourself, the moment you allowed yourself to shift. there’s nothing else to do, because your future is already written in stone. you exist to travel the universal plane and walk amongst the stars.

﹒ despite any of these methods you decide to use, or any at all, the main point is to stop surrendering. you know you’re made for more, otherwise, you wouldn’t be reading this. shifting is the easiest thing you can do, it’s up to you to use it consciously to your benefit.

#reality shifting #shiftblr #shifting community #shifting motivation #shifting blog #shifting diary #black shifters #shifting antis dni #reality shift #shifttok #shifting consciousness #shifting advice #shifters #loablr #loassumption #loa blog #loa advice #loa tips #loa success

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divinector · 1 year ago

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Lawyers and Law Firm HTML Template

#law firm #lawyers #bootstrap templates #bootstrap themes #lawyers html template #webdesign #website template

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imaginespazzi · 18 days ago

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Part 12: Fleeting Moments Of Forever

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

I let my guard down and you pulled the rug (I was getting kinda used to being someone you loved)

(In which a depressed by recent events author spreads her depression)

Pairing: Paige Bueckers X Azzi Fudd

Themes: Angst, Fluff if you squint really hard, Hurt with a little bit of comfort if you squint really hard again (basically just squint you guys!)

Words: 12.3K

TW: Swearing (as per usual), a man (ew), brief reference to parental abandonment

A/N: Good morning/night my lovelies <3 Not quite sure what to say when it's one in the morning and I'm slightly delirious but I'm only a couple of hours late with this. There's a lot going on in this chapter and I'm sure I will once again be spammed with asks calling me evil, but remember lovelies, it's for the plot! I will be editing this chapter at some point tomorrow because I just really don't have the energy to edit but I wanted to get this out for you guys by tonight. So if you're reading tonight and see mistakes, please feel free to point them out and I'll fix them. As always, let me know what you liked, what you didn't and what you'd like to see in the future. Have a lovely rest of your week my loves!

May 2033

~ A few minutes ago ~

Azzi feels like shit as she runs up the stairs behind her daughter. She feels like a shit mother, she feels like a shit sister-in-law-sort-of-kinda-thing and most of all she feels like a shit ex-girlfriend-turned-complicated-current-situationship-or-whatever. And saying those complicated relationship titles in her head only makes her feel worse. Because really it should’ve been so simple; it had been so simple. And Azzi had chosen to make everything complicated and difficult instead.

Drew’s words had been like a shot going down wrong, an accusation she knew she deserved but one that stung all the same. Paige’s silence -the fact that she hadn’t been able to give Azzi the assurance that she’d forgiven her- had been like the terrible chaser after that only made her feel more nauseous. And the after effects of it had been Azzi exploding all her feelings on her baby girl who’d just wanted some damn soda.

Letting the guilt fester, Azzi pushes open the door to Paige’s bedroom to find Stephie cuddled up against lavender pillows, one of Paige’s few hoodies that hadn’t made it to the Fudd household draped around her tiny little body. Azzi’s heart constricts at the sound of her daughter’s hiccoughs, tightening even more when she notices the wet patch Stephie’s tears have created against the pillow.

“Stephie-bean,” she says softly as she climbs onto the bed, reaching out to brush a hand across the little girl’s curled up frame.

“Go away Mama. I’m mad at you,” Stephie’s petulant reply is immediate as she shrugs off Azzi’s hand, furling away further into herself.

“I know sweetheart-”

“You yelled at me,” Stephie continues, trying to keep her voice as firm as a five-year old’s can be but it’s too many emotions for such a little soul and Azzi can hear the telltale sign of a fresh new set of tears just waiting to fall.

She tries again, gently pulling Stephie’s back against her chest and this time, there’s little resistance as the little girl goes easily into her mother’s arms. Azzi tightens her arms around Stephie’s waist, pressing a litany of featherlight kisses into her hair in between apologies, “I’m sorry. Mama’s so sorry sweetheart. I shouldn’t’ve yelled like that baby-”

“No you shouldn’t’ve,” Stephie says matter-of-factly, as she turns her body around to face her mother’s and Azzi’s hands instinctively move to wipe away the tears tracks on her face, “you were so loud. I don’t like when you yell.”

“I know bean,” Azzi says, the tight grip of remorse squeezing her heart harder at the melancholy in her daughter’s words, “but Stephie baby you know soda’s bad for you-”

“But it’s Friday Mama and I only wanted a little,” the little girl whines immediately, “I swear Mama I would’ve only had a little bit and then I would brushed my teeth so hard and they’d be sparkling white like this,” she pulls her cheeks wide open so she can bare her pearly white teeth at her mother, “see!”

And despite that heavy pit in her stomach, Azzi can’t help the slight peal of laughter that rumbles throughout her and elicits a matching grin from her daughter. She ruffles the little girl’s hair before pulling her flush against herself, Stephie’s head burrowing itself into the crook of her neck and for the first time tonight, Azzi finally feels like she can breathe again. Because at the end of the day, what matters most is the child wrapped securely in her arms and as long as she has Stephie, Azzi thinks, no matter what, she’ll find a way to survive. For Stephie.

Something soft and fluffy brushes against her skin and Azzi reluctantly unfocuses from Stephie to find that the arm of the hoodie that had previously been draped over her daughter’s body, is now wrapped around both of them. Paige’s hoodie. She stares at the material, eyes blinking back tears as that wretched feeling of something’s missing whirls around her. It’s not an unfamiliar feeling; this secret craving that Azzi had often found herself hiding away from when she and Stephie were alone. A craving to have Paige there too, a craving for the two of them to be cradled in the blonde’s strong arms, a craving for this almost perfect picture to be complete. And now that she’s had a taste of what it’s like to have that - these past few weeks having felt like a tester of what it could be like to live in a dream that Azzi had thought she was no longer allowed to dream- Azzi wants nothing more than for it to be permanent.

Another wave of guilt crashes against her as her mind flickers back to the bitter note she’d ended the conversation down stairs on. The stinging emphasis she’d placed on my daughter echoes loudly in her ears and even though Azzi knows that technically she hadn’t said anything untrue, the image of Paige’s face falling -the sparkle in her eyes dimming at the reality of the younger woman’s words- makes Azzi’s heart stutter with regret. There’s a part of her that thinks it’s all happening too fast, a part of her that’s in a constant duel with the rest of herself that’s ready to call Stephie theirs. And she knows it’s only been a couple of weeks -knows that it’s a little insane to have already carved out a place for forever on a shelf that’s plagued with uncertainties- but the truth is that there’s always been an unfilled space in Azzi and Stephie’s world that’s just been waiting for Paige to step in and claim it. It’s always been hers; they’ve always been hers.

“Mama,” Stephie’s quiet voice mumbles against her chest and Azzi distractedly hums in return, “why does Miss Buecks have to learn to say no to me?”

“Because she likes to say yes a little too much and she definitely likes to say yes to you but if she keeps saying yes all the time, she’s gonna spoil you. Well more than you already are that is,” Azzi teases goodnaturedly, tugging at Stephie’s nose.

The little girl pouts loudly before indignantly refuting her mother’s statement, “I am not spoiled. I’m a good girl. A very good girl. A very, very, very, very, very-”

‘Okay, okay, okay,” Azzi says, hushing the little girl with a slight laugh before she can continue to repeat herself, “you’re my very good girl who’s just a little bit spoiled.”

“Maybe a little bit,” Stephie admits, scrunching her nose, “but how come you never make Aunty Leen or Aunty J or Aunty Tessie or any of your other teammates say no to me?”

“Because-well,” Azzi struggles to find the words, “Miss Buecks is- she’s just- it’s different and she’s around a lot more,” she’s around all the time, “and so she’s gotta learn to say no to you sometimes.”

“Like Pops had to learn to say no to me if he wanted to keep helping Nana babysit?” Stephie asks earnestly and Azzi laughs at the reminder of how she and Katie had basically had to force Tim into learning how to say no to his persuasive granddaughter.

“Yeah something like that,” she says with an amused grin.

“So Miss Buecks is like-” Stephie pauses, hesitating slightly before a soft smile -one that bears an uncanny resemblance to the one her mother sometimes has when thinking of the same woman- appears on her face, “she’s like family?”

Azzi’s breath hitches in her throat; the delicate mix of sincerity and innocence in her daughter’s voice makes her pause. Because Stephie says it like it’s the most simple yet most important truth in the word, that’s it’s common knowledge she’s known all her life. Paige is family.

“Yeah,” the brunette breathes out finally, the edges of her lips slightly upturning into a grin that matches her daughter’s, “I guess she is.”

Stephie nods quietly as she mulls over her mother’s answer and Azzi can practically see the cogs turning in her brain before her daughter’s dark brown thoughtful eyes look back up at her, “so does that mean we can keep Miss Buecks forever?”

“I-’

“I mean cause you said she’s family right?” Stephie babbles on, ignoring the way Azzi’s eyes have widened considerably, “and family- family is forever right Mama? That’s what they say? So- so if Miss Buecks is family that means she has to stay forever? We get to keep her forever?”

Azzi blinks rapidly at the onslaught of words falling from her daughter’s lips. Stephie makes it sound so simple; she makes a forever with the three of them sound like a given, like something that’s meant to be. And it makes her think of that night eight years ago, when Paige had made it sound just as simple.

Be mine forever.

It was Azzi who had made it complicated; obsolete even.

But, she thinks, she won’t this time. As she looks back down at her daughter, the hopeful smile on Stephie’s face as she awaits Azzi’s answer, feels a little bit like fate is giving her another chance; a clear sky to re-write her own destiny in the stars. This time, with Paige.

“Do you- do you want that,” Azzi asks slowly, “do you want to keep Miss Buecks forever?”

If possible Stephie’s smile grows even larger as she gives her mother what can only be described as a ‘duh’ look, “of course Mama. I want Miss Buecks forever and ever and ever. You want that too don’t you Mama?”

Azzi pauses for a second, letting herself be immersed in the idea.

“Yeah,” she says softly, her eyes suddenly misty. And she knows that there’s still so much left unresolved, that tonight had revealed a chiasm of problems they’d have to still build a bridge over to get back to each other. But for a chance at a forever Azzi had thought she’d long forsaken, Azzi’s willing to try, “yeah I think I’d like to keep Miss Buecks forever too.”

The squeal Stephie lets out practically bounces off the walls in tandem with the little girl springing off the bed and Azzi laughs as her daughter wraps her small hands around her mother’s much larger ones, trying to tug her along.

“Stephie wait sweetheart, what are you doing? Where are you going?”

Stephie sighs impatiently, “we’re going to Miss Buecks, Mama. We can’t just make this decision without her,” she continues matter-of-factly, “we have to tell her.”

“Tell her what Stephie?” Azzi laughs as she finally lets her daughter pull her off the bed and start dragging her out the door.

“We have to tell her that she’s family and we have to tell her that we want to keep her forever.”

***

They’re about halfway down the stairs when Azzi begins to hear the whispered hissing of an argument between Paige and Drew going on in the kitchen and she feels dread wrap itself around her whole body. It doesn’t take a genius to gauge that it’s likely about her -more specifically about her and Paige’s relationship- and suddenly it feels like something dark has been cast all over her, stomping out the brightness that she’d felt just mere moments ago.

Azzi hesitates on the last few steps, causing Stephie to impatiently look up at her as she contemplates whether or not to interrupt whatever altercation is going on in the kitchen. For as long as she’d known them, Paige and Drew had never seriously fought but then again, when Azzi had known them, Drew had been a child; a kid who would never have doubted his sister's decision, or Azzi’s for that matter. But the man that had walked into their lives tonight is one that had been witness -perhaps even a victim- to all the terrible decisions the two of them had made in the last eight years. It’s only natural, Azzi thinks, that he’d be wary of their relationship. He’d seen the burn marks that their relationship catching on fire had left on his sister’s skin and it was only natural that he’d blame the woman who’d held the matches.

“Mama,” Stephie presses as she tugs at Azzi’s hand, “come on,” she whines, “I wanna see Miss Buecks.”

“Steph-” Azzi tries to say, her instincts going haywire when she hears Paige’s voice more clearly now -stop it Drew- but then Stephie pulls hard and she’s practically tripping down the rest of the stairs, trying to keep balance as the little girl holding her hand continues to drag her towards the kitchen.

They’re still speaking too quietly for Azzi to pick up exactly what they’re saying but there’s a resigned urgency in Drew’s voice and a fearful sadness in Paige’s that makes bile rise at the back of her throat and suddenly Azzi’s very sure that whatever this conversation is, she really doesn’t want to hear it. But her feet keep moving, letting Stephie lead the way as the claws of it takes a second for everything to fall apart sink into her heart.

“-there’s a reason you only wanted to be here for this season,” Azzi hears Drew say as they finally reach the kitchen door and she forces Stephie to a halt. Every part of her is screaming to take her daughter and turn away, to not listen to wherever this conversation she clearly wasn’t meant to hear is going.

“I know,” Paige whispers and Azzi’s heart stutters as she takes in the blonde’s red-rimmed eyes as she leans against the table, “I know.”

Azzi opens her mouth, ready to alert the brother-sister duo of their presence but before she can say anything, Drew’s speaking again and as the words roll out of his mouth, Azzi feels her blood run cold.

“Stick to the plan Paige. Let the Liberty be the end goal. You’ll be in New York by the end of October.”

The plan. Liberty. New York. October.

The words run around in a frenzy through Azzi’s brain creating a mixture of confusion battling with the sense of an unwanted realization that makes her feel dizzy. It’s like someone pricking a needle against the bubble of forever she’d just let herself believe in and there’s a loud pop echoing in her head. The noise hurts. Azzi had known Paige’s contract with GSV was only for a year; she’d even considered -perhaps even expected- that when Paige had signed it, she probably wasn’t planning on staying forever.

But that was then.

Surely things would be different now.

“Miss Buecks,” Azzi’s dragged out of the cacophony of her mind by the sound of her daughter speaking. Stephie’s voice is wracked with fragility as she clings tightly onto her mother’s hand, her face morphed into a combination of betrayal and please tell me i’m wrong as she looks at Paige, whose face has gone ashen at the sight of the two of them standing by the doorway, “you’re moving to New York?”

“Stephie,” Paige whispers, eyes brimming with tears as she falls to her knees in front of the little girl, hand moving to grip her her shoulders, “sweetheart I-”

“Miss Buecks,” Stephie says again, her usually boisterous tone replaced by a meek, desperate one, “are you going to New York? Are you- are you,” her voice breaks and the next words come out in a barely there whisper, “are you leaving us?”

Say no, Azzi thinks, please say no, say you aren’t leaving, promise you’d never leave. But as she watches Paige open and close her mouth, choking on air as she tries to give an answer, she knows it’s wishful thinking, knows that it’s a promise Paige isn’t going to make.

“Miss Buecks,” Stephie’s voice is shaking, holding back her tears as tight as she’s holding onto the hope that Paige will give her the answer she wants- the answer she needs, “are you leaving us?”

“I-” Paige bites her lip, hands running up and down Stephie’s shoulder and arms, almost like she’s trying to memorize what it feels like to be able to touch her, almost like, she’s not sure when she'll get the chance to have her this close again again, “I don’t- I don’t know sweetheart I-”

It’s the wrong answer and Azzi closes her eyes as Paige cuts herself off with a small gasp of air when Stephie rips herself out of the blonde's grasp

“No,” the little girl says harshly, pushing herself behind her mothers legs.

“Stephie-bean,” Paige says helplessly, looking from the little girl to Azzi.

“No, no, no, no,” Stephie says; each no is louder than the last, “how you don’t know? You’re an ‘dult. ‘Dults are big. They know everything so how you don't know Miss Buecks?”

“It’s not that simple bean-” Paige tries to say, her hands outstretched towards the little girl, fingers clenching and unclenching like they don’t know how to be still unless they’re clasping onto her.

“It is,” Stephie yells, “are you leaving us or not? Yes or no Miss Buecks?”

“I-” the blonde splutters, still unsure of what to say.

“Stephie,” it’s Azzi who cuts Paige off this time, opening her eyes as she bends down in front of her daughter, pulling the little girl into a hug, “baby it’s okay. It’s going to be okay-”

“No it’s not,” Stephie screams as she wrangles herself out of her mother’s grip, the force of it causing Azzi to stumble backwards and something like if you’re going to hold me, hold me forever catches in her throat when Paige instinctively reaches out an arm to wrap around the her waist to keep her steady. The contact makes Azzi shiver and she has to fight the urge to let her shoulders relax, the urge to let herself melt into the warmth that Paige has always exuded. They stare at each other for a second, Azzi trying to drown herself in the ocean blue of the blonde’s eyes as Paige tries to find some semblance of stability to hold onto in the brunette’s earthy ones.

“Azzi,” Paige breathes out, that one syllable coated in layers of emotions that Azzi thinks she’d be willing to spend an eternity peeling through if it would bring her one step closer to keeping the woman in front of her from leaving, from going to fucking New York.

“Mama I wanna go home,” Stephie’s adamant voice pierces through the silence and Azzi tears her gaze away from Paige -but not before she can catch a brief glance of the older woman’s face contorting in pain- to look up at her daughter's cloudy face.

“Stephie-bean,” Paige speaks before Azzi can, heartbreak laced in her tone as she practically pleads with the little girl, “sweetheart please-”

“You promised you’d try to stay” Stephie bursts out, big fat tears cascading down her small face, “do you even rem-ber? At Nana and Pops’s house when I was scared you left you promised you’d try. But you’re not- you’re not even trying to stay Miss Buecks,” the little girl accuses, “you- you- you lied to me Miss Buecks.”

“I didn’t Stephie- I didn’t lie-” Paige tries to explain between her own tears and they’re still pressed so close together that Azzi can feel every shake of the older woman’s body against her own, “I didn’t lie sweetheart. I’m still- I’m still trying-”

“You’re not-”

“I am. I am Stephie. It’s just-” Paige’s eyes flicker towards Azzi who flinches at the unspoken implication, “it’s complicated.”

“Then un-comp-icate it,” Stephie stomps her feet petulantly before a series of heavy sobs wracked her tiny body and she heaves loudly, clutching at her chest.

Concern floods through Azzi’s veins as she shuffles towards her daughter, still on her knees and Paige follows her lead, the two of them inching closer, “Stephie-”

Something shifts as Stephie looks at the two of them through tear-stained eyelashes; the anger and fight slowly dissolving into the air. And then, if possible, her face crumples even more before she’s falling into Paige’s lap, one arm tightly wrapping around the blonde’s neck as her other hand reaches out to grab onto Azzi’s bicep, binding the three of them together in a mess of limbs on the cold kitchen floor.

“Please don’t go Miss Buecks,” Stephie wails as Paige clutches the little girl firmly against her chest, her hands brushing through her dark curls as she tries to comfort her, “please, please, please Miss Buecks I don’t want you to go. Don’t go to New York. Please don’t go. Please stay- stay with me and Mama forever. Please Miss Buecks.”

“Stephie-”

“Please don’t leave us Miss Buecks,” Stephie cries, her breathing unnaturally heavy as she shakes in Paige’s arms and Azzi reaches out a hand to soothe her back, trying and failing to keep her own tears at bay. Azzi’s chest tightens as Stephie continues to babble, begging Paige to stay as the blonde continues to hold her, droplets of water streaming down her face as she gently rocks the little girl back and forth. Because despite the way Paige has practically melded Stephie’s little body into her own, Azzi can see the way that the older woman still can’t seem to say the words that the little girl wants to hear, can’t seem to bring herself to guarantee forever. And it feels like the threads of the dream she’d just started weaving, are slipping out of her fingertips.

Azzi doesn’t know how long they sit there -Stephie still pleading in Paige’s arms and Azzi stroking her back- but eventually her daughter’s words begin to turn into nonsense, her breathing slowly evening out until there’s nothing but silence; the gravity of her emotions having lulled her to sleep. The silence is deafening as Azzi tries to figure out what exactly she should do next, take her daughter and run or succumb to that part of herself that wants to follow Stephie’s lead and beg Paige to never leave them. She still doesn’t quite understand what’s going on, what sort of plan Paige has about moving to New York and if she’s honest with herself, there’s a part of her that doesn’t want to know; a part of her that wants to go back to ignorant bliss they’d been living in for the last few weeks. But as she stares at the dried tear tracks staining her daughter’s face -that familiar guilt of all we do is hurt the people around us reverberating between her and Paige- Azzi knows there’s no going back.

“We should talk,” Paige says finally, her voice small as she looks at Azzi, “please.”

Azzi swallows as she wipes at her tears, ignoring the way Paige’s eyes trace her fingers, like they wish it was her brushing them away instead. She ignores the part of heart that wants that too, wants Paige’s comfort, just wants Paige.

“Yeah, yeah I guess we should,” she says finally, “but um- I should- um,” she gestures towards Stephie’s sleeping body, “should uh- probably put her to bed first.”

“Right- yeah- yeah of course,” Paige nods awkwardly as Azzi reaches to pry Stephie off of her.

The little girl lets out a low sleepy whine, her hands tightening around Paige’s neck, “no Miss Buecks don’t let me go.”

“Stephie,” Azzi’s heart breaks at the fear etched on her daughter’s face, despite being fast asleep, at the idea of being taken away from her Miss Buecks.

“I’ve got you sweetheart,” Paige whispers softly against the little girl’s hair before looking back at Azzi, her eyes swimming with guilt, “I can- I can take her upstairs.”

A part of Azzi wants to say no, wants to start taking out stitches in the places where Stephie and Paige have already sewn themselves together. There’s a part of her that regrets having ever given them the needle in the first place, a part of her that wishes she’d never let her daughter get so attached, when there were so many uncertainties about the strength of the thread between them.

But instead she says, “fine,” as she follows Paige up the stairs, heart constricting at the softness with which the other woman holds her little girl.

“Put her in one of the guest rooms,” Azzi calls out quietly when Paigs starts to turn into her own room.

The blonde stops in her tracks, turning around to face Azzi and she has to look away when she sees the stricken expression on Paige’s face. They were meant to be having a sleepover. The night was supposed to end with the three of them curled in Paige’s bed, supposedly watching some random movie but in actuality, Stephie would have dosed off in the middle of it and Paige and Azzi, with their hands entwined over the little girl’s body, would have spent the rest of it talking about everything and nothing. That’s how it was meant to go; it was meant to have been just another night like any of the other ones they’d spent together the last couple of weeks. But now that normalcy seems like an out of reach fairytale.

“Az-” Paige tries to argue but there isn’t much fight in it and just the slight defeated shake of Azzi’s head is enough to have the older woman biting her lip and doing as she’s asked.

Azzi hangs back by the doorway as Paige gently places Stephie down on the bed, pulling up the moss green covers over the little girl’s body. It feels wrong, Azzi thinks, as her mind drifts back to a few moments ago when Stephie had been cuddled in Paige’s purple bedsheets; that had felt right, like a place her daughter could truly belong. She shuffles her feet nervously as she watches Paige caress Stephie’s cheeks before pressing her lips against the little girl’s forehead.

“I love you Miss Buecks,” Azzi hears Stephie mutter and she digs her fingernails into her palms.

Paige lets out a quiet whimper, shuddering slightly as she echoes the words back, “I love you more Stephie-bean.”

That should be enough, Azzi thinks, it should be enough that Stephie loves Paige and Paige loves Stephie to keep them together. And it’s not fair that it isn’t but if there’s anyone that knows that sometimes love isn’t quite enough to keep two people together, it’s Azzi. There’s too much there, too much history and she’d been naive to think the past wouldn’t cast a dark shadow on her present.

The walk back downstairs feels like it takes an eternity; like they’re climbing back down from a tall mountain. Azzi walks ahead of Paige and she can feel the blonde’s gaze lingering on her back, can practically feel the tension vibrating off of her body at the prospect of the talk they’re about to have. Drew stands at the bottom of the stairs, nervously pacing with his hands stuffed in his pocket. His eyes move up to meet Azzi’s when she finally reaches the last step and he looks a lot like the little boy who’d once accidentally spilled a glass of water all over one of her favorite books. He has that same guilty look he’d had back then when he’d apologized profusely, swearing he’d save up all his pocket money just to buy her another one.

“I’m sorry,” Drew says in a rush, “I didn’t know you guys were coming back down and I didn’t know Stephie was gonna hear that-any of that. I swear Azzi- you know I wouldn’t have said any of that shit if I knew she was gonna hear-”

“It’s fine Drew,” Azzi reassures him, hesitating slightly before reaching out a hand to gently pat his cheek and she’s relieved when he doesn’t immediately back away, “I know you didn’t mean to.”

Drew lets out a small sigh of relief, “okay good cause I really didn’t. I uh-” his gaze flutters between Paige and Azzi, “I’ll um- I’ll let you guys talk now,” he pauses in front of Paige, who looks about as miserable as Azzi feels, “love you no matter what Paigey,” he whispers before giving her a quick peck on her forehead and squeezing her shoulder.

And then it’s just the two of them and the heavy burden of everything they can no longer ignore.

***

April 2027

Azzi grips the armrest tightly, her eyes screwed shut as the plane shakes rapidly while preparing to land. For someone who’s pretty-well travelled and has dealt with her fair share of turbulent plane rides, Azzi still finds herself going ridgid every time an aircraft she’s on starts getting a little too bumpy. She can practically hear Paige’s teasing voice -even after all this time- calling her a big baby but the blonde would have laced their fingers together anyway, distracted her with some random story and she’d have held on to her hand -no matter how sweaty- until the plane stopped moving.

God, Azzi misses her so fucking much.

But hopefully she won’t have to for much longer. Azzi’s not quite sure what’ll happen after she lands in Dallas, hasn’t -in a very un-Azzi-like step- even really practiced what she wants to say. But, and she knows it’s a little dramatic but she thinks she can probably come up with a mix of apologizing, begging for forgiveness and declaring her undying love that would atleast get Paige to consider giving her another chance.

There’s this hollow ache in her chest that hasn’t gone away for the last two years. And Azzi had tried to ignore it, had tried to shift her focus to everything else -everything good- that was happening in her life. But even after she’d had an All-American last season at UConn, even after she’d let that team to a back-to-back national championship, even after she’d been the first pick of the 2026 draft to GSV, even after she’d won rookie of the year, there was a still lingering pain -a deep rooted sense of something she’d lost- etched through her whole body. The thing is that Azzi knows she can survive -can even succeed- without Paige- but she doesn’t want to. Not anymore.

The decision was a long-time coming, the inevitable leap of faith to chase after what she wanted most in the world. But it had all clicked into place at the most mundane of times. She’d been at the park on her regular morning run and she’d seen a family -two women who’d looked at each other like they’d stop breathing if they looked away and their beautiful baby girl who was happily swinging in between them- and suddenly everything else had felt so insignificant in comparison. She’d been forced to admit the truth she’d been trying so hard to run away from. That was the future Azzi wanted -perhaps not immediately but eventually- and she wanted it with Paige.

Azzi hadn’t let herself overthink it, knowing that if she gave herself enough time, she’d more than likely talk herself out of it. Instead, she’d booked the tickets from San Francisco to Dallas in a rush and then called Ice -the newly anointed Dallas Wing rookie- and it hadn’t taken much to convince her former teammate - who’d all but squealed at the idea of her ‘parents getting back together’- to pick her up from the airport and drive her straight to Paige’s.

“She’s gonna be so happy,” Ice had assured her, “I mean I’ve only been here like a week but I know for sure she misses you Az. Oh my god this is so exciting,” and Azzi had laughed as she’d listened to the sound of her friend giddily clapping, “I’m so excited for the two of you. You belong together.”

A serene smile crosses Azzi’s face, and she knows it must look a little ridiculous just smiling to herself like this, but all she can think about is that she’d be with Paige soon. And she’s not naive enough to think that everything would miraculously be okay; she knows just how deeply her rejection must have pierced into Paige’s soul. But if the other woman gives her the chance, Azzi’s ready to spend an eternity making it up to her.

She sucks in a deep breath as the wheels of the plane collide with the runway, her eyes crinkling slightly as she realizes the weather app had lied to her and instead of the ambient evening she’d expected, it’s torrential downpour outside. In hindsight, maybe that should have been her first sign. But for now, Azzi smiles at the raindrops trickling down the window, clichéd memories of kissing in the rain -”baby come on, it's romantic, who cares if we get sick”- flooding her brain.

“Good evening, ladies and gentlemen, welcome to Dallas Fort Worth International Airport. The time outside is currently 7 pm in the evening. We hope you had a good flight and on behalf of Delta Airlines, we wish you a pleasant stay,” the pilot’s voice croons throughout the speakers as Azzi fidgets with her necklace, her last Christmas gift from Paige.

Just a little while longer baby. I’m coming to you. Forever.

***

The nerves she’d kept at bay hit Azzi all at once as soon as she climbs into Ice’s car; the thoughts of everything that could possibly go wrong barrage into her mind as she watches the windshield wipers furiously fight against the rain. What if Paige doesn’t wanna see her? What if Paige isn’t willing to give her another chance? What if Paige hates her?

“Dude,” Ice groans, briefly looking away from the road to flick Azzi’s arm, “I can literally hear you thinking. Chill the fuck out!”

“I’m trying,” Azzi whines, leaning her head against the cool window, “Fuck, Ice what if this is the dumbest shit I’ve ever done in my life? What if she sees me and is like ‘what the fuck are you doing here,’ what if she tells me go home? Oh my god Ice why the fuck did you let me do this?”

“Let you?” Ice splutters indignantly, “oh no no no. You are not putting this on me. You didn’t even let me say anything when you called. It was literally ‘hey Ice, I’m coming to Dallas, make sure you pick me up in 6 hours okay thanks’ and next thing I know you’re in Dallas,” the younger girl mimics the phone-call as Azzi continues to groan.

“This is why I leave the spontaneous shit up to Paige,” she says, stressfully rubbing her face.

“Yeah but-” Ice gives her a lopsided grin, her tone softening considerably, “she’s gonna love that you did this for her Az. Trust me dude- the two of you- you’re meant to be. Everyone’s always known that. She’s gonna be so fucking happy to see you.”

“Thank Icey,” Azzi says softly, dragging in another deep breath, “I needed to hear that.”

“Any time Az, any time,” Ice reaches over to squeeze her hand and Azzi finally lets herself relax into her seat.

The rest of the car ride consists of reminiscing their time at UConn -it’s strange to think that they’re both alums now- and Ice telling Azzi stories about her move from Connecticut to Texas. Anticipation builds in Azzi’s stomach as she glances at the GSP, eyes fixating on the ‘3 minutes till your destination’ bubble on the bottom left corner.

Her destination.

Azzi thinks no matter how much she’d tried to fight, no matter how much she’d tried to turn and walk the other way, all roads were always meant to lead here. Paige was always meant to be her final destination. She’s not one for fairytales, doesn’t think life began with once upon a time, but as Ice’s car comes to halt opposite the blonde’s apartment, Azzi hopes that her life has a happily ever after where she and Paige get to write the ending of their stories together.

“We’re here,” Ice says slowly, smiling ear to ear as she turns towards Azzi, “go get your girl.”

“Okay, okay-” Azzi whispers to herself, “you’ve got this Azzi. Just fall to your knees and tell her you’re sorry and that you love her,” she shoves Ice when the younger girl snorts at her little pep talk and then breathes in deeply, “it’s gonna be okay. I’ve got this. I’ve got this!”

“You’ve got this,” Ice affirms, forever a supportive child.

Taking one more breath, Azzi’s just about to step outside, when she sees her. Paige is walking, almost running towards her apartment. Despite the rain, in typical Paige-fashion, the blonde doesn’t have an umbrella. Strands of wet hair are plastered against her forehead and little droplets of rain cascade down her face and neck. Her shirt sticks to her body so that Azzi can see the definition of her abs and the younger woman would love to take a moment to appreciate just how fucking hot Paige looks but instead, her eyes follow the bulge of the blonde’s biceps down to where her hands are interlocked with someone else’s. Someone else who’s not Azzi.

She gasps for air but she swears it’s carbon dioxide that settles in her lungs instead because god, does it burn.

Paige is laughing, eyes twinkling as she and a beautiful woman -a beautiful woman who isn’t Azzi- race to get out of the rain. She hears Ice curse behind her, sounding just as confused as she feels as the two of them watch the scene unfold in front of them, watching Paige and the woman come to halt right in front of the blonde’s apartment building.

“Az maybe we should-”

“Who is that?” Azzi cuts Ice off, her eyes still transfixed on the two smiling women.

Ice sighs, “her name’s Olivia. She’s a reporter for the Dallas Morning News-”

“And who is she to Paige?” Azzi asks bitterly, as if she doesn’t know the answer, as if the way Paige is wrapping an arm around that woman’s waist isn’t enough of an answer in itself.

“I don’t know. Azzi I swear I didn’t know she had a-” Ice hesitates, “she hasn’t told me anything about another woman.

Azzi doesn’t say anything, hand tightly gripping the car door she hadn’t even had a chance to open as she watches Paige brush a loose strand of hair out of the woman’s face.

The tip of the dagger pierces against her heart.

The woman smiles at Paige as she wraps her arms around the blonde’s neck and now they’re pressed flush against each other, barely any space between them.

The dagger digs deeper.

Paige caresses the woman’s cheeks.

The dagger twists.

It happens in slow motion; Paige moving ever so slowly as she presses her lips against the woman’s.

And the dagger lodges itself somewhere so deep inside Azzi, she thinks it might be permanently entrenched inside her soul.

It’s funny, Azzi thinks as she watches the two women break apart -their hands intertwining again as they start walking into the apartment- anyone else watching this scene would perhaps think of it as something straight out of a romantic comedy. But to Azzi, it feels like the climax scene of a tragedy.

“Can you take me back to the airport?” she says slowly, still watching Paige’s retreating back.

“What- no Azzi I don’t think that’s a good idea,” Ice disagrees immediately, “c’mon we’ll go back to my place and I swear I have some good vodka left over from my housewarming party-”

“Ice please,” Azzi begs, her voice hoarse, “I just wanna go home. Please.”

“Okay, okay. Whatever you say Azzi,” Ice concedes softly, already starting to pull away from the curb.

“You can’t tell her about this, you know that right?”

“Az-”

“No Ice. She’s moved on and she’s allowed to move on,” the words feel like thorns on the tip of her tongue, “she looks happy. I won’t ruin that. You can’t tell her. You can’t ever tell her.”

“Fine,” Ice nods reluctantly, “I won’t say anything.”

Azzi allows herself one more look back at the apartment, allows herself one more second to dream of Paige running back outside, spotting her and telling her that all of this is just one big misunderstanding, telling her that she hasn’t found someone else, telling her that she’s still Azzi’s. But dreams aren’t reality. No, reality is the fact that Paige looked happy, looked happy with someone that wasn’t Azzi. And even if that damn fucking dagger -sharpened with the image of Paige and someone else- is making her bleed out, Azzi thinks that her heart will still a find way to keep beating, as long as she knows that Paige is happy.

***

The almost two thousand dollar last-minute flight back to San Francisco passes by in a blur. Azzi feels like she’s sleep-walking as she gets into the uber, pressing play on a voice message Ice had left her from after she’d gotten on the plane.

“Azzi please text or call me as soon as you land. I’m really worried about you dude. I’m so fucking sorry. I had no idea. I texted Adam after -he’s a team manager that’s really close with Paige- and I guess she and Olivia have been dating since the end of the season last year but Paige is keeping it highkey on the DL like the team barely knows and I swear Az- I didn’t know. Fuck please don’t do anything stupid Azzi. Text me as soon as you hear this and then just- just go home and sleep and call me tomorrow morning. I love you Az, I’m so fucking sorry.”

Since the end of the season, Azzi thinks slowly, her brain still a fuddled mess. That meant that Paige had been with someone for almost eight months. And Azzi knows she has no right to feel this hurt, let alone feel that tiny spark of betrayal that’s lingering underneath it. She’s the one that had let go; it’s only natural that Paige would eventually find someone else to hold on to.

“Where to Miss?” the uber driver asks as Azzi’s typing out a short ‘landed’ text to Ice.

It’s almost two in the morning and sleep prickles against Azzi’s eyes, her body feeling barely functional but the urge to just forget is stronger than the wave of tiredness washing over her body. And so she ignores every good instinct she has and instead of giving the cab drive her home address, Azzi tells him to drive to the nearest bar instead.

It’s a heat-of-the-moment decision -taken as sordid images of Paige wrapped around another woman cloud her ability to think- and she doesn’t know it’s about to change the trajectory of her whole life.

***

May 2033

The silence in the living room is deafening as Paige and Azzi find themselves sitting on opposite sides of the sofa. Azzi’s fingers tap against her thighs; resisting the impulse to reach over and touch the other girl, comfort her and be comforted in return. This night has felt like one of the longest in her life, all the hits falling like dominoes with the two of them at the end of the line. And perhaps it’s the way she’s starting to feel the bruises now as she absorbs everything that’s happened tonight that has her thinking fuck it and turning to Paige with a pleading look on her face.

“Can you just-” Azzi hesitates as she scooches just slightly closer to the other woman who regards the movement with wide eyes, “I know- I know we have to talk and we will but I just- it’s been a long night and I’m just so fucking tired and I just- I miss you-” she says and she’s not sure how it’s possible when Paige has been here the whole night but it’s the truth, “and I just- can you just hold me? Please?”

Paige is so still that for a moment Azzi thinks maybe she’s asked for too much but then the older woman is moving -so fast like she’s scared the brunette will change her mind- and Azzi feels herself being lifted sideways onto Paige’s lap. The blonde’s grip is iron tight as Azzi buries her head into the crevice of her neck, breathing in the smell of all things Paige. She reaches her hand out gently, placing it against the older woman’s chest, trying to stabilize the two of them to the steady beat of Paige’s heart as the other woman rubs her hand up and down Azzi’s back. They stay like that for god knows how long and Azzi wishes she could just keep them like this forever, in each other’s arms.

But they need to talk.

And Azzi reluctantly untangles herself Paige, closing her eyes when the blonde lets out a soft whimper. She doesn’t move all the way to the other end of the sofa this time; choosing instead to sit right next to Paige with their legs pressed togethers and it’s not nearly enough -too little when all she wants is to be consumed by Paige- but at least it’s something.

“I was going to tell you tonight,” Paige starts slowly, “you remember in the car when I said I would explain the whole Angie thing to you, well that- that’s part of this whole mess.”

Azzi furrows her eyebrows, “Angie? What does- what does she have to do with this?”

“I’ll get there okay- just- just let me start from the beginning,” Paige says nervously, “just listen okay.”

Biting her lip, Azzi nods, signaling for the older woman to continue.

“I didn’t want to come to GSV-”

“Because of me?”

Paige sighs, “yes. It- it just- it felt like such a bad idea at the time. You broke my heart Az,” she shoots Azzi an apologetic look when she flinches at the bluntness of it, “and coming here- being around you- I was scared it was gonna be a reminder of that all the time. Every time I’ve seen you these last couple of years Az- it’s hurt. And I just didn’t- I couldn’t live with that every day.”

It’s not something Azzi wants to here but she understands it; she’d felt the exact same way when Colleen had first told her about GSV being interested in Paige.

“But more than anything,” Paige continues, “I was scared that coming here meant giving you a chance to do it again. Because the two of us being together for more than just a fleeting moment- well it felt inevitable that something would happen and I was just so scared that it would be something bad. And so I fought Talia every step of the way until she forced me to come here and I met Stephie,” a soft smile flitters across the blonde’s face, “and she just- she said I’d look good in purple.”

Azzi laughs, “and that’s all it took huh?”

“You know me. A little bit of flattery will get you everywhere,” Paige grins, “but it wasn’t just her,” she nudges Azzi, “it was you. I was so sure you were gonna tell me to turn it down, tell me that there was no way this was gonna work. But you didn’t. You’re always surprising me I guess. Baby you said you wanted me on your team and that was it for me. No matter how much I said I needed time to think or whatever, as soon as you asked me to come here, I knew I was a Valkyrie.”

“I lied to Colleen that it was for the team,” Azzi admits, “think I even lied to myself about it that I wanted you here to help us win a championship. And yeah maybe that was a little bit of it but I just-” she looks down shyly at her lap, “I just wanted you. Here. With me.”

They’re quiet for a little bit, letting their confession dangle in the air until Azzi breaks it, her mind back to focusing on the revelation from before, “I don’t get it then Paige- what was Drew talking about then? What is this whole plan thing with the Liberty? Being in New York by October? I know your contract is for a year but I just-” she shrugs, “I just assumed you were gonna renew with us so where- where does New York even come into play in all of this? I’m just- I’m just so confused.”

Paige chews at her bottom lip and fidgets with her fingers, two tell-tale signs of her nerves as she keep her gaze firmly away from meeting Azzi’s, “I guess- I guess all my fighting against GSV got through to Talia and after I’d made up my mind to sign with the Valkyries, she- she figured out a verbal deal with the Liberty. They didn’t- they didn’t have the money for me this year but next year with Sabrina retiring- next year they will and GSV knew they were gonna get Angie to be their point guard of the future and it all just- it all made sense. I’d stay here for a year, mentor Angie so she could be my replacement for next year and then I’d-”

“Then you’d leave,” Azzi says bitterly and this time it’s Paige who flinches, “but you said- you said Stephie and I convinced you to come here- so- so what? We only convinced you to come for a year?” she asks, her tone sharper than she intended it to be.

“No it wasn’t- it wasn’t like that,” Paige tries to justify, “I just- it scared me how easy it was for me to be convinced. It was one moment with Stephie- one moment with you- and I was ready to make a decision for my future based just off of those two little moments. Do you know how scary that is? And I knew- I knew that coming here- being around the two of you would just- it would make me fall so fucking fast -and it has- and I was just so scared that I’d get my heart broken again and I just- I needed an escape plan.”

“You needed an excuse to leave us,” Azzi says venomously.

“That’s not fair Azzi,” Paige says quietly, “you have to understand how afraid I was of history repeat itself Az,” she reaches for the younger woman’s hand, enveloping it between her own, “when I lost you the first time, I was so fucking broken and it took me so long to fix myself- I- I don’t even know if I did ever fully fix me. You can’t blame me for being scared of having to go through it again.”

Azzi’s quiet for a second before she finally lets out a sigh because Paige is right and she can’t- she won’t hold whatever decision the other woman had made before they’d found their way back to each other, against her.

“Okay. Okay. I- I get it. I get why you were scared. I get why you had a whole backup plan and-,” she grins teasingly at the blonde, “and now I also get why you were such a bitch to Angie.”

Paige laughs a little, pressing her forehead against Azzi’s and closing her eyes, letting themselves melt into a comfortable silence as they bask in each other’s presence and for a moment’s Azzi feels floaty and free until Drew’s words replay themselves inside her head.

“Paige,” she says slowly, earning a little hum of acknowledgement from the other woman, “it’s over now though right? The deal- you- you’re gonna tell the Liberty that it’s off? No more New York right? Not even as an escape plan?”

The blonde stiffens, her eyes opening immediately.

“Paige,” Azzi presses, lifting her forehead so she can study the older woman’s face properly, the false comfort of a few seconds ago being replaced by a leaden pit in her stomach.

“I- I don’t know,” Paige whispers, so quietly that it takes a couple of seconds for Azzi’s ears to even pick it up. But when it does finally register -the repeat of what she’d said to Stephie- it feels like something’s slowly cracking inside Azzi, until the cracks get larger and larger and something shatters, the pieces of it lodging themselves in every organ of her body.

“You don’t-” Azzi swallows, pulling her hands out Paige’s, “you don’t know?”

“Az-”

“No,” Azzi holds her hand out in a stop sign as Paige tries to grab for her, “how- how can you not know,” she keeps speaking even when the blonde tries to reply, “Paige you- you were the one who pushed for this. You were the one who begged- who convinced me to try. Why- why would you do that? What have we been doing for the last few weeks Paige if you’re still thinking about leaving at the end of the season? God Paige- how can you even say that you don’t know?”

“I thought I did,” Paige bumbles out, “these past few weeks have been everything to me Azzi and I thought I knew but tonight- everything Drew said-” she stops suddenly and Azzi knows whatever the young man had said isn't something Paige wants to repeat back to her.

“What did Drew say?”

Paige hesitates, “he thinks you’re gonna break my heart and that I’ll lose you and that I’ll-” she clutches her throat like the next words are physically painful to say, “that I’ll lose Stephie.”

“And you- you think he’s right?”

There’s heartbreak etched all over Paige’s face as she shrugs helplessly, “you’ve done it before Az. You let me go. You- you said no-”

“And you’re one who left,” Azzi bursts out, tears cascading down her face as she rises to her feet.

Paige guffaws up at her, “what?”

“I know I said no but you left literally the next fucking day before I could say anything else. God Paige, I know I fucked up and I know that it’s mainly my fault. Trust me I’ve regretted it every single day,” Azzi sobs, “but you- you left Paige. I know I let you go but you didn’t hold on to me either. You just- you left.”

“Azzi-”

“I understand why you had an escape plan before,” Azzi says, wiping away her tears, “but I can’t be with you if you still have one now. Especially not when Stephie’s involved. She’s already so fucking attached and if you can’t promise not to leave her then I- I can’t let her get anymore attached. I can’t watch my baby girl cry like she did tonight- not again Paige.”

“Azzi,” Paige says again, like it's the only word she knows; the only word that matters.

Azzi falls to her knees in front of the other woman, wrapping her hands around Paige’s tightly wounded fists.

“I get that you’re scared and I’m so sorry baby, I’m so sorry that I’ve made you feel like heartbreak is inevitable with me,” she presses a kiss against the blonde’s knuckles, “but Paige I- I can’t- live like this, I can’t live knowing that you could leave me -leave us- any second. I need you to trust me, I need you to believe in us and I need you to tell me you’ll stay. And if you can’t do that then-”

“Please don’t say it,” Paige breathes out, her shoulders radiating with tension.

Azzi stands back up slowly, delicately placing her lips against the older woman’s forehead. She feels Paige shudder under her touch as she tries to put every little bit of emotion, every little bit of please choose me, please choose us, please choose to stay, into that kiss.

“Just- just think about it- sleep on it I guess. Take your time Paige but I- I need more than ‘I don’t know’ as an answer,” she says finally, the words lingering between them as she brushes away a couple of strands of the blonde’s hair before letting out a sigh as she puts some space between them, “I should go.”

Paige’s fingers immediately wrap around her wrist as the other woman blinks up at Azzi with pleading eyes, “don’t go-”

“Paige-”

“It’s late. Stephie’s asleep. Just- just stay.”

You stay, Azzi wants to scream because how can Paige ask her to do the one thing that the older woman herself is scared to do. But she’s exhausted and driving home -to a house that’s entrenched with the memories of the last few weeks but wouldn’t have Paige in it- sounds like something dreadful. And so she nods, shooting Paige another longing look before she heads towards the staircase.

“Az,” she hears the other woman call out just as she’s about to climb onto the first step, making her stop and turn her head over her shoulder.

“Yeah?”

“You know right? You know that- that I-” Paige gulps, “you know that I lo-”

“No,” Azzi says immediately, shaking her head rapidly, “say it to me when you can tell me you’ll stay.”

***

May 2027

Azzi taps her foot incessantly against the hardwood floor as her gaze nervously flitters towards the front of the restaurant, where a man in a light blue polo shirt and dark jeans has just walked in, his own eyes scanning the premises in search of someone. She has the ridiculous urge to shrink in her seat, to hide away from his wandering eyesight as if he’s not the reason she’s here in the first place. Taking a deep breath and counting to ten Mississippis, Azzi finally raises her hand, trying to wave him over.

“Tristan,” she calls out, attempting to arrange her features into a smile to match his when the man in question finally spots her.

“Hey,” Tristan choruses, his eyes twinkling as he slips into the seat opposite Azzi, “I’m not gonna lie, I’m kinda shocked you called. Not that I’m not happy- I mean, who wouldn’t be happy if a pretty girl called but I- I just wasn’t expecting it.”

Azzi tries to give him a humorous grin, “so you just gave me your number expecting nothing?”

She’s trying to make a joke but it comes out flat and she hopes he can’t read just how uncomfortable she is; won’t call her out for the uneasiness that she knows is radiating off of her.

“Expecting? No. Hoping? Definitely,” Tristan smirks and Azzi’s reminded of the charm he’d exuded that night in the bar.

The memory makes her want to throw up- well she supposes it’s probably not just the memory but also her little situation. She regards the man in front of her warily; he’s not bad to look at and at first glance he doesn’t exude any major red flags. And she’s almost ready to give her way-too-fucking-drunk past self a pat on the back because she'd made multiple dumb-as-fuck decisions that night -exhibit a: fucking a random stranger in a bar while mourning her ex- but at least she’d had the sense not to choose a complete psychopath.

“Well I called,” she announces awkwardly.

Tristan raises an eyebrow, “it’s been a whole month.”

Azzi bites her lip, “better late than never?”

The man in front of her snorts, “I suppose so but honestly I wasn’t expecting you to call at all. I mean- I figured you’d have gotten back together with your ex.”

That causes Azzi to suck in a sharp breath, her fingers digging crescent shaped scars into her palms.

“I mean,” Tristan continues, oblivious to the way his words cut into the woman in front of him, “you just- you sounded like you really loved her and the way you talked about your relationship- it just- it sounded so perfect and I know I don’t know her and I know- I know you mentioned she was seeing someone else but you just- your relationship like- that shit sounded unbeatable and so I just- I guess I just assumed that if you wanted her back- she’d want you back-”

“She’s engaged,” Azzi says loudly and it would be comical how quickly that shuts Tristan up if it wasn’t for the fact that saying those words out loud, feels like shooting an arrow into her own heart. She can still see the engagement announcement floating behind her eyes; can still so clearly see the pictures of Paige down on one knee for a woman who was beaming down at her, for someone who had said yes.

“Oh,” Tristan’s saved from having to say anything more when the waiter appears with a menu.

“What can I get you guys today?” the waitress asks cheerfully.

“Just the salmon for me please,” Azzi says, still a little lost in her thoughts.

“And for you sir?” the waitress turns to Tristan after jotting down Azzi’s order.

“I will have the chicken with a waldorf salad on the side but with no nuts please; I’m allergic to most nuts,” Tristan responds politely as the waitress nods and starts to walk away but it’s the last part that perks Azzi’s ears up.

“You’re allergic to nuts? Is that like- is that genetic?” she asks.

Tristan seems a little taken back by her curiosity of his allergy but he nods his head yeah and Azzi pencils that little fact into her brain, figuring it would be an important tidbit to share with her doctor.

“So your ex is engaged,” Tristan repeats, looking apologetic when his bluntness makes Azzi flinch but it’s replaced by a smirk as he lounges back in his seat, “so you called me for what? A rebound? I mean look Az, you’re a gorgeous girl but only being called for a rebound might just give a guy a complex.”

She knows he’s trying to be suave -charming even- but instead all it does is give her the ick and Azzi’s reminded of why she’d avoided men since her mistake of a boyfriend back in her senior year of high school. Hell, she’d only dated him because she and Paige had been trying their hands at another attempt of being just friends and the blonde was dating some pretty girl. But he’d been the first and last man she’d ever been with -which wasn’t surprising considering it had taken her and Paige only a year after to finally get together- until that night at the bar.

Azzi barely remembers anything about that night beyond flashes of memories but she remembers the morning after clearly, remembers the regret that had coiled itself around her ribs. She’d practically run out of the hotel room, barely managing to keep the tears at bay in the back of the uber. She hadn’t even made it to her bedroom, breaking down in the middle of her living room floor as everything that had happened the night before -seeing Paige with someone else, being with someone else- hit her like an avalanche. Azzi doesn’t know how long she’d sat in a sobbing mess on the floor but at some point she must have fallen asleep, because her next memory is Colleen towering over her, a look of pure concern on her bestfriend’s face as she shook her awake. And then she was crying again, this time wrapped in the comfort of Colleen’s arm as she let the regret of all her mistakes -from the past and the present- flow down her cheeks.

All she’d wanted after, was to just forget about the night -forget the image of Paige kissing a stranger, forget the image of herself walking up next to a stranger- and for a little while, the world had even granted her that wish. That was until a mandatory pre-season checkup had given her news that would make sure she’d never forget that night.

“Azzi?” Tristan clicks his fingers in front of her face to get her attention, “you still with me?”

Azzi shakes her head, trying to come back to reality instead of staying lost in her mind. Taking a deep breath, she finally puts into words the truth that has become the epicenter of her world.

“I’m pregnant.”

Tristan stares at her with a shell-shocked look on his face, his eyes unblinking and wide as his mouth slowly morphs into a ‘O’ shape, “you’re- you’re pregnant?”

“Yes,” Azzi nods, her tone shifting from nervous into something more businesslike, “and before you ask, yes it’s definitely yours. But you don’t have to feel pressured to be involved beyond whatever you’re comfortable with. I’m more than financially capable of taking care of a child by myself and I’m very lucky to have a great support system in my friends and family so I’m not depending on you for any-”

“You’re keeping it?” Tristan cuts her off, sounding almost disbelieving that, that was the choice she was making.

Azzi stops at his words, tongue darting out to wet her lips. She’d gone back and forth with the decision from the minute she’d found out. Most of the factors in Azzi’s life pointed towards an abortion being the best thing for her. She was an athlete at the beginning of the peak of her career and she was only 25 years old, a young adult who’d just started this journey of life. For all her responsibleness, Azzi was still figuring out how to take care of herself. How could she possibly take care of a baby?

She’d been just about to call Dr. Myers when instead her phone had opened to the instagram app; Paige’s engagement announcement the first thing on her feed.

There’d been a thousand and one emotions that burst through Azzi but she’d fixated specifically one of them; loneliness. It was a ridiculous thing to feel for a girl whose family had moved across the country for her; whose best friend had become her manager and followed her to a brand new state. But Azzi felt it every time she was alone, sometimes even when she was surrounded by hundreds of people. She was so fucking lonely.

And that’s when she’d decided she wanted this baby, a baby she could love and a baby who’d love her back, a baby who would fill this aching whole in her heart. A baby that would be hers.

Azzi would never be lonely again.

“Yes,” she answers Tristan’s question without a hint of hesitation, “I’m keeping the baby.”

“Wow- okay- this is- sorry,” Tristan shakes his head, his previous casual demeanour having changed to something far more rigid, “this is just- it’s a lot to process.”

“I understand,” Azzi says gently, “take your time.”

Tristant stares down at the table for what feels like an eternity and when he looks up, well, Azzi doesn’t really know the man in front of her at all- hasn’t even had the chance to ask him his last name, but she knows what the guilt in his eyes means. She remembers seeing it when she’d met her own biological father, only once, only for an hour and never again but a snapshot of it has been saved to her brain ever since.

“I’m sorry,” he says, standing up from the table, “I can’t do this. I’m not ready to be a father. I can’t have a baby. Fuck me. I’m barely an adult. I can’t take care of a child. I’m sorry, I just- I can’t.”

“I understand,” Azzi replies clinically even though her stomach lurches a little at the rejection, at the realization that her child would grow up with the ever-present question of why didn’t he stay, just like she had.

Azzi hadn’t called Tristan for lunch with the intent of getting anything out of it. The plan had simply been to do her due diligence by telling the father of her child that she was pregnant. After that, the decision would be in his hands and she’d made peace with the fact this -what had just happened- could be one of the outcomes. She hadn’t come here under the guise of reconnecting, finding a husband or any of that, not when, even thinking of any of that -despite the fact that Paige is engaged to someone else- feels a little bit like cheating. But Tristan's response still stings.

Because he might not have been her first option to raise a child with-really she’d only ever wanted any of that with one person- but Azzi thinks if he’d wanted to try, she would’ve liked having a partner to watch her child grow up with

“I’m sorry. I’m really, really, really sorry,” Tristan repeats again as he starts to back away, “I wish you-” his eyes flicker down to her stomach, “I wish both of you the best.”

Azzi nods, “thank you,” and the words of gratitude are for a little more than just his best wishes.

Tristan pauses for one second, hesitating as he looks at Azzi's belly one more time with an indecipherable emotion in his eyes, something a little like regret. But it’s not enough to make him stay and Azzi watches, with a hand on her stomach, as he turns walks out of the restaurant. Through the window, she watches him walking down the street, getting smaller and smaller until he rounds the curb, disappearing out of sight. And Azzi lets out a breath she hadn’t even known she was holding.

“Oh,” her head snaps towards the waitress, who’s carrying two plates of food and looking awkwardly at Tristan’s abandoned seat, “your uh- your friend- where is he?”

“He’s gone,” Azzi says quietly.

“Is he coming back?”

“No,” Azzi shakes her head, “no, I don’t think he is.”

***

May 2033

The memory burns against the back of Azzi’s eyelids as she lies, wide awake, in Paige’s guest room with Stephie tightly snuggled against her chest. She’s not sure what exactly had triggered the memory because honestly, she doesn’t think about Stephie’s father -her sperm donor to be more accurate- that often. He’d existed for a mere second in the clock of her life, disappearing almost as fast as he’d appeared. But there’s a part of Azzi that will always be thankful to him, because he’s part of the reason she has this beautiful little girl who’s sleeping in her arms.

A little girl who she loves and who loves her back, a little girl who’d filled the aching hole in her heart. A little girl, that was hers.

And Azzi hasn’t been lonely ever since she’d been handed her little girl.

Until tonight.

Her eyes drift to the other side of the bed and she can’t help but focus on just how empty it looks, can help but be immersed in the feeling of something’s missing. It’s the first night in weeks that the other side of the bed isn’t filled and everything about it feels so fucking wrong. Azzi sighs, resting her cheek on Stephie’s head as she rubs her hand up and down the little girl’s shoulder. She can’t sleep and she knows -by the little telltale frown on her daughter’s face- that the little girl might be asleep, but it’s the kind that’s deeply troubled.

She’s just about to close her eyes for another unsuccessful attempt at letting her exhaustion lull her into a slumber, when she hears the sound of footsteps right outside her door. Azzi rises up slowly, gently disentangling herself from Stephie as she squints through the little gap between the door and the floor. It doesn’t take a genius to know who it is and Azzi’s heart thumps anticipation as she watches the shadow of feet pacing back and forth. Suddenly they disappear and disappointment -even it’s ridiculous to feel it after the events of the night- courses through Azzi. Sighing to herself again, she lays back down, closing her eyes.

A minute later they shoot open at the sound of the door being pushed and Azzi sits back up again, something like relief -something like i’m so glad you’re here, i'm so glad you came back please don’t ever go again- rushing into her veins. It takes a second for her eyes to adjust to the sight of the figure in the dark but once they do, Paige is practically illuminated by the moonlight streaking through the windows. The blonde looks at her, not a speckle of shock at the fact that she’s awake because Paige knows her, knows her the way Azzi had known Paige was awake too, knows that they’d never been particularly good at falling asleep after an argument.

“Can’t sleep,” Paige admits out loud in a whisper, nervously shuffling her feet by the doorway.

“Me neither,” Azzi confesses, her hands brushing through Stephie’s hair.

Their revelations -and the i can’t sleep because i can’t sleep without you hidden behind them- hang in the air, waiting for the two of them to say anything else as they stare at each other in the dark room.

Paige speaks first, stumbling towards the bed, “can I just-”

“Yes,” Azzi breathes out before the question’s even finished, “please.”

Despite the urgency in their words, Paige is slow, climbing into bed, like she’s waiting for Azzi to take it back. The blonde slips underneath the covers, her hands immediately moving to rub Stephie’s back where they collide against Azzi’s fingers and that lightest bit of contact elicits a breathy gasp from both of them. There’s so much still left to say, so much still left to fix, so much they’re not sure can be fixed, but as Azzi slowly lies back down, her fingers interlocking with Paige’s over Stephie’s tiny body, she thinks that she might not survive, if these fleeting moments don’t lead to forever.

#pazzi #paige bueckers #azzi fudd #wcbb

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kiwriteswords · 1 day ago

Note

Hiya! May i please request protective Aaron Hotchner? Thanks Ki!

To the Ends of the Earth [Aaron Hotchner x Female Reader]

Masterlist || Ao3||Word Count: 4k|| AN: LOVE PROTECTIVE HOTCH!! Thanks for requesting!!

Tags/Warnings: no use of y/n, canon-typical themes, reader was taken advantage of by a powerful figure, protective!Hotch, mentions of sexual assault/harassment, mentions of physical altercations, blackmail, canon-typical violence, angry Hotch, protective!Derek Morgan, Hotch's POV, Reader defending herself, established relationship, Strauss is a nightmare boss sometimes, Aaron "I must make sure justice is served" Hotchner, bureaucratic politics

Summary: When an opportunity of a lifetime turns into a nightmare for you, Aaron Horchner needs to make it right.

Aaron Hotchner was not a man given to fits of rage. His demeanor, honed by years of service and hardship, was one of controlled calm, a fortress of logic and order. But as he watched you move around the kitchen that morning, something stirred deep within him—a tumultuous blend of protectiveness and fury that he hadn't felt since the harrowing days of George Foyet.

Something was off about you. It had been for a few weeks now, ever since you returned from that high-profile assignment with the task force. Hotch remembered how proud he had felt when you were selected, the honor that lit up your eyes, the excitement that animated your every gesture. But now, the light had faded from your eyes, replaced by a haunted, distant gaze.

Your movements were mechanical, your smiles forced. You flinched at sudden movements and seemed to wrap yourself tighter in your own arms whenever the house fell too quiet. The changes were subtle, but to Hotch, they screamed of something profoundly wrong.

He watched now as you poured coffee with slightly trembling hands, the dark liquid spilling slightly over the rim of the mug. Hotch's jaw clenched. He approached you, his steps silent but purposeful.

"Hey," he said, his voice soft yet carrying an undercurrent of concern that made you pause and look up. "We need to talk."

You nodded, setting the coffee pot down a bit too quickly, liquid sloshing onto the counter. "I know," you murmured, avoiding his gaze.

Hotch reached out, gently lifting your chin so you were looking into his eyes. "What happened on that assignment?" he asked, his voice low and intense. "You've been different since you came back."

Your eyes filled with tears, and you bit your lip, a clear struggle within you. The room was thick with tension, the air heavy with unspoken fears.

"It's... it was nothing, Aaron. I—I just got overwhelmed with the work, that's all," you stammered, but Hotch's eyes darkened. He knew you. He knew when you were hiding something painful.

"Talk to me," he pressed, his hand firm yet gentle on your arm. "Please."

The floodgates opened then, and as you told him about your boss—the respected and powerful figure within the Bureau, the one with connections that reached the highest echelons of government—Hotch felt a cold fury settle in his stomach. The man had taken advantage of you, betrayed your trust in the most despicable way, and used his power to silence you.

"He told me... he told me if I said anything, it'd be the end of my career. He's friends with—"

Hotch cut you off, his voice icy, "I don't care who he's friends with."

You flinched at the steel in his voice, and he immediately softened, pulling you into a protective embrace. "I'm sorry, I didn't mean to scare you. I'm just so, so angry that he did this to you. That I wasn't there to protect you."

Hotch held you close, his mind racing. His instinct was to protect, to avenge, to rectify. But he was also Aaron Hotchner, a man of the law, bound by rules and protocols—even if his heart screamed to break them for your sake.

"We're going to handle this," he whispered into your hair, his voice a steady rumble of contained fury. "I promise you, I won't let him get away with this. No one hurts you and just walks away."

Hotch felt your body tense in his arms, the weight of your emotions palpable against his chest. He held you tighter, a silent promise in the embrace.

"Look at me," he urged gently, tilting your chin up so your eyes met his once again. In them, he saw a storm of hurt, fear, and defiance—a maelstrom that made his own heart clench with an indignant rage he seldom allowed others to see.

"I... I don't want to make this into something big, Aaron. It's... it's embarrassing," you whispered, your voice breaking with the weight of your vulnerability. "And I... I don't want to be seen as a victim. He's too powerful. What if—"

"No," Hotch interrupted firmly, his tone brooking no argument. His gaze was intense, almost piercing, as he spoke with a clarity that cut through the fog of your worries. "You are not a victim. And this... this man has committed a crime. His power doesn't protect him from the law—not from justice. Not as long as I'm here."

You searched his face, looking for the certainty that felt so elusive to you now. Finding it in his eyes, the relentless determination that defined him, a small, fragile sense of security began to weave through your trepidation.

"Aaron, I'm scared," you admitted, the truth sounding stark and raw between you. "I'm scared of the fallout, of what it means for us, for my career..."

Hotch's expression hardened, the lines of his face setting into that familiar mold of resolve that had carried him through countless challenges. "I understand your fear, and it's valid. But you're not alone in this—not now, not ever. We'll do this together and on your terms. We'll take every precaution, use every resource at our disposal. We'll fight this, and we'll win."

The certainty in his voice was more than just comforting—it was a bastion against the doubts that threatened to overwhelm you. Hotch stood, his posture rigid with controlled anger, a testament to his unwavering support.

"And if he thinks he can intimidate or silence you, he doesn't know who he's dealing with. He doesn't know who I am," Hotch added his voice a low growl of protective ferocity. It was the same tone he'd used years ago, a sound born of fury and pain from darker days. It reassured you, reminded you of the strength you had beside you.

You nodded, leaning into him, drawing strength from his presence. "What do we do now?" you asked, the practical part of you ready to take the next steps, no matter how daunting.

"We start by documenting everything. Every interaction you've had with him, anything that can support your case. We'll get statements from anyone who might have noticed anything during your assignment," Hotch planned out loud, his mind already sifting through procedures and protocols. "I'll talk to Strauss personally. We need to make sure this is handled by the book and with the utmost seriousness."

"And then?" Your voice was small, but your eyes were steady, meeting his.

"Then we make sure justice is served," Hotch stated simply. "And we ensure that this never happens to you, or anyone else, ever again."

The resolve in his voice was unwavering, the promise not just of a lover but of a protector, a leader.

The next day, Hotch’s steps were purposeful as he approached Erin Strauss's office, his jaw set in a firm line, his thoughts a whirlwind of strategy and barely contained anger. This wasn't just another bureaucratic hurdle; it was personal, and the stakes were far higher than usual.

Knocking briskly, Hotch didn't wait for a reply before pushing the door open. Strauss looked up from her desk; her expression schooled into one of cautious neutrality.

"Agent Hotchner, what can I do for you?" Strauss asked, her tone as meticulously controlled as the rest of her demeanor.

"We need to talk about an urgent matter," Hotch began, his voice laced with a severity that made Strauss straighten slightly in her chair.

"It's about the conduct of a high-ranking official in the task force assigned to an agent on my team. There have been serious allegations made against him," Hotch stated bluntly, not one to dance around the subject.

Strauss's eyes narrowed, a flicker of concern passing over her features before she masked it with a bureaucratic calm. "I'm aware of the individual you're referring to," she said slowly. "However, you know as well as I do the complexities involved. He has significant connections, Aaron. This could become a highly volatile situation."

"That doesn't excuse his actions or absolve us of our duty to act," Hotch countered sharply, his hands clenched into fists at his sides. "We have a responsibility to protect our agents and uphold the integrity of the Bureau."

"Aaron," Strauss began, her tone firmer, more authoritative. "I understand your concerns, as well as your….personal connection to this, but we must approach this carefully. Rushing into this could backfire, not just on us but on your agent as well. We risk turning her into the subject of a very public, very messy scandal."

Hotch felt his frustration mount, the protective fury simmering beneath his cool exterior. "With all due respect, Ma'am, I'm not willing to let this go because it's complicated. If we start picking and choosing which battles to fight based on political convenience—"

"This is not about convenience, Agent Hotchner!" Strauss interrupted, her voice rising slightly for the first time. "It's about strategy. It's about ensuring we handle this in a way that ensures justice without causing unnecessary harm. I am not saying we do nothing. I'm saying we need a plan."

Hotch paused, the logical part of his brain recognizing the truth in her words, even as his emotions rebelled against the implication. "I want your assurance, then, that we will pursue this. That it won't be swept under the rug because he's 'connected.'"

"You have my word that we will take appropriate action," Strauss said, her gaze locking with Hotch's. "But I need you to be patient. Give me time to navigate this minefield. I need to talk to the Director, maybe even higher. This isn't just about the Bureau, Aaron. It's bigger than that."

Hotch's expression hardened the lines of his face set in determination. "Time is something I can give, Erin, but silence is not. If we don't see action, I will take this to every authority necessary."

Strauss met his gaze, a silent battle of wills taking place in the quiet tension of the room. Finally, she nodded. "Understood. Let's reconvene in forty-eight hours. I should have more information then."

Hotch nodded curtly, the promise of action the only thing tempering his rage as he left her office. The fight was far from over, and while the bureaucratic wheels turned slowly, his resolve was as swift and unyielding as ever. Justice, he knew, sometimes required more than just good intentions. It needed steadfast, relentless advocacy, and that was something Aaron Hotchner was all too ready to provide.

As Hotch sifted through the case files on his desk, his focus was frequently interrupted by a far more personal concern. The events involving you had left a residual tension that permeated not just his office but his every thought. It was during one of these distracted moments that he heard the familiar knock of Derek Morgan at his door.

"Come in," Hotch called, setting aside the files and steeling himself for the conversation he anticipated was about more than just BAU casework.

Derek stepped in, closing the door behind him with a seriousness that matched the gravity Hotch felt. "Hotch, I've heard about what happened. How's she holding up?" Derek's voice carried a mix of concern and protective anger.

"She's coping, Derek, but it’s far from ideal," Hotch admitted, feeling the weight of his responsibilities as both a unit chief and a partner, “She's strong, but this... this isn't something anyone should have to be strong for--what happened... it’s unacceptable."

Derek's presence was reassuring, a reminder that he wasn't alone in his resolve to address the issue. "We can't just wait for the system to grind forward. What are we doing to make sure she feels safe, not just now but in the future?" Derek asked, his stance resolute.

Leaning back in his chair, Hotch considered the proactive steps they needed to take. "Strauss is handling the investigation, but we need to tighten our own security measures. I’m thinking about revising our late-night protocols and perhaps reintroducing a buddy system."

Derek nodded, folding his arms across his chest. "And maybe we should look into a refresher on self-defense for the team. It's been a while, and it might help give everyone a bit more sense of control," he suggested.

"That’s a good point. I’ll arrange for a workshop. We should also consider implementing more discreet ways for team members to alert security. Fast and effective responses could make a big difference," Hotch said, feeling a strategic plan forming.

"Like panic buttons?" Derek proposed.

"Exactly," Hotch confirmed, his mind already running through logistics and implementations. "I'll ask Garcia to look into integrating something seamless yet powerful."

Derek’s next words struck a chord, emphasizing the culture Hotch always strived to foster within the team. "We need to make a statement, Hotch. Not just with new systems and training, but in how we handle this. We protect our own, not just out there," Derek motioned towards the world beyond their office walls, "but in here, too."

Hotch met Derek’s gaze, a silent acknowledgment of the shared commitment. "I agree completely. Let’s set up a team meeting tomorrow. We’ll discuss these changes openly and ensure everyone knows we’re serious about safeguarding our own."

As Derek left, Hotch turned his attention back to the files before him but with a renewed focus. The safety and well-being of his team, particularly you, now had a clear path forward. With Derek's support and the team's collective effort, Hotch was determined to transform this challenging situation into an opportunity to strengthen the BAU from within. The resolve in his heart was matched by the plans forming in his mind, and he felt ready to lead this crucial initiative.

The wheels of bureaucracy had finally begun to turn, albeit slowly. Hotch could feel a subtle shift in the atmosphere within the Bureau as whispers of the investigation started to circulate among the upper echelons. Strauss had been true to her word so far, initiating discreet inquiries that didn’t draw undue attention yet signaled a clear intent to address the allegations seriously.

However, just as Hotch was beginning to see a glimmer of progress, a new, more immediate crisis erupted. It was late in the evening, and you were at home with Hotch, the two of you trying to enjoy a quiet dinner together to take your minds off the ongoing turmoil. Your phone buzzed with the arrival of an email, and the change in your demeanor was immediate and alarming.

“What is it?” Hotch asked, noting the sudden pallor that washed over your face as you stared at your screen.

“It’s him,” you murmured, your voice barely above a whisper. “He’s... he’s threatening me, Aaron.”

The words hit Hotch like a physical blow. His jaw clenched, and his eyes hardened with a fury that had been simmering just below the surface, now brought to a boiling point by this new provocation. He took the phone from your hands; his movements controlled but brisk, and read the email himself.

The message was succinct, laced with venom and arrogance. The man threatened to ruin your reputation, to make sure you would never work in law enforcement again if you continued to "drag his name through the mud." The audacity of the threat, the blatant attempt to intimidate and silence you, ignited a fierce protectiveness in Hotch.

“This ends now,” Hotch said, his voice low and dangerous. He stood abruptly, his chair scraping against the floor with a sharp screech. “I won’t let him get away with this.”

You reached out, touching his arm. “Aaron, what are you going to do?”

“I’m going to make sure he understands the consequences of threatening an FBI agent,” Hotch replied, his tone leaving no room for doubt about his intentions. “He thinks he can intimidate us into silence, but he’s gravely mistaken.”

Hotch’s first call was to Strauss, informing her of the new development. His words were clipped, his anger barely contained as he explained the situation.

“Erin, he sent a threatening email. He’s trying to intimidate her into dropping the charges. This is witness tampering, and it’s unacceptable. We need to act, and we need to act now,” Hotch insisted, his demeanor unyielding.

“We will start with securing a formal censure against him. I’ll also alert the Director immediately. This is serious, Aaron, and we’ll treat it as such,” Strauss responded, her voice reflecting a new urgency.

Satisfied that the Bureau was finally mobilizing with the necessary aggression, Hotch turned his attention back to you. He could see the fear and uncertainty that the email had sparked, and he knew he had to be the rock you could lean on.

“Listen to me,” he said, taking your hands in his. “I promise you, I won’t let anything happen to you. We’re in this together, and we’re going to see it through. No one threatens you and gets away with it. Not on my watch.”

As Hotch spoke, his assurance, his unwavering support, you felt a flicker of hope. Despite the darkness of the situation, with Hotch by your side, you believed that, somehow, everything might still turn out right.

Aaron Hotchner had settled into the kind of focus that came with years of late nights and urgent cases. The dim light from his desk lamp cast long shadows across the paperwork in front of him, the numbers and details blurring into a singular narrative of crime and consequence. He was deeply immersed in a complex profile, one that needed to be finished before morning, when a faint noise caused him to look up. It was a sound out of place in the quiet of the late evening, a soft shuffling, a hesitant step.

The sight that greeted him was one he was wholly unprepared for. You were leaning heavily against the doorframe, your face visibly battered and bruised, your clothing disheveled as if from a scuffle. There was a black eye forming, swelling under the stark fluorescent light, and blood was trickling from a cut on your lip, dripping onto your collar.

For a moment, Hotch froze, his brain trying to process the scene before him. His files, his profile, the pen still poised in his hand—all of it faded into irrelevance as a surge of protective anger rose within him. He was on his feet in an instant, his chair pushed back with such force it nearly toppled.

“What did he do?!” The words burst from him, laden with fury and concern as he closed the distance between you and him in a few long strides. His hands hovered just inches from you, itching to reach out, to confirm you were real and standing there, yet hesitating out of fear of hurting you further.

Your appearance was a stark, visual slap to his system, igniting a rage in Hotch that was pure and lethal, a reminder of the days when he'd hunted the most dangerous criminals. His mind raced with the implications of your injuries—how it had happened, where, and most importantly, who was responsible.

Seeing you in such a state, so vulnerable yet defiant, was more than just a call to action. It was a personal affront, a challenge to everything he stood for, both as the unit chief of the BAU and as the man who loved you. Your safety had been compromised under his watch, and the violation of that trust was something he took as a personal failure.

“Who did this?” His voice was a low growl now, demanding an answer, needing to know whom to direct his burgeoning wrath towards. The protective barrier he always maintained—the one that kept his professional judgment clear of emotional interference—was crumbling fast, chipped away by each drop of blood he saw staining your skin.

Your response was shaky but filled with a fire that spoke volumes of your resilience. “It was him. In the locker room,” you managed to say, your voice a testament to both the physical pain you endured and the psychological battle you were fighting. “There are no cameras there. He knew that.”

Hotch’s jaw tightened, his eyes hardening with resolute anger. You had defended yourself, survived, and prevailed, yet the cost was written all over your face, and it was a price too steep for him to bear without retribution.

“We’re going to Strauss now,” he stated unequivocally, the protective fervor in his voice leaving no room for negotiation. “He won’t get away with this. Not now, not ever.”

He quickly grabbed a first aid kit, gently tending to your wounds with a steadiness in his hands that belied the storm of emotions inside him. Once he was sure you were stable, he offered you his arm, ready to accompany you to Strauss’s office. The walk there was tense, each step heavy with the weight of the incident and its implications.

Upon reaching Strauss’s office, Hotch knocked firmly, not waiting for an invitation to enter. Strauss looked up, her expression turning from surprise to alarm at the sight of your condition.

“Aaron, what happened?” Strauss stood immediately, her eyes wide as they took in the visible marks of the attack on you.

“She was attacked by him, in the gym locker room. There are no cameras there. It was premeditated,” Hotch explained, his voice controlled but the underlying fury unmistakable. “She defended herself and subdued him. He’s still there, unconscious and handcuffed.”

Strauss’s face hardened, her eyes now reflecting a mix of anger and determination. “I’ll call security, have them take him into custody and ensure he’s watched until he can be formally charged. This is attempted assault on a federal agent, at the very least. We’ll push for the maximum charges.”

You nodded, leaning slightly on Hotch for support, both physically and emotionally. “Thank you, Strauss. I... I defended myself, but I want this to be handled by the book. We need to make sure he never has the opportunity to hurt anyone else.”

Strauss moved around her desk, reaching out to gently touch your shoulder. “You did good, and I’m sorry this happened under our watch. We’ll take care of it from here. And you,” she looked at Hotch, “make sure she gets to a hospital, and then take some time off. Both of you. You need to recover from this.”

Hotch nodded, his protective instincts fully engaged as he wrapped an arm around your shoulders, guiding you out of the office. The rage still simmered within him, a fierce protectiveness that would not soon abate. But alongside it was a profound respect for your strength and resilience and a renewed commitment to stand by you, no matter what lay ahead.

That night, the world outside seemed distant, almost irrelevant as you and Aaron Hotchner returned to the sanctuary of your home. The hospital visit had been thorough but exhausting, leaving both of you drained yet relieved that nothing was critically amiss. Now, in the quiet comfort of your bathroom, Hotch took on the role of caretaker with a gentleness that made your heart swell despite the pain.

You sat on the closed lid of the toilet, watching him gather supplies—antiseptic, cotton pads, and some fresh bandages. The care with which he handled each item, his movements deliberate and focused, was a quiet testament to his concern for you. As he turned to you, his expression softened, his eyes meeting yours with an unspoken promise of tenderness.

"Let's get this cleaned up," he murmured, wetting a cotton pad with antiseptic. His touch was feather-light as he dabbed at the cut on your lip, the one that had stopped bleeding but still throbbed with every movement. You flinched slightly, not from pain, but from the intimacy of the gesture, the proximity in a moment filled with so much vulnerability.

"I'm sorry you had to go through this," Hotch said quietly, the weight of his emotions making his voice thick and unusually expressive. He paused, his hands steady as he tended to your wounds, but his heart was anything but calm. "I should have—"

The words trailed off as a tide of frustration and guilt surged within him. Hotch despised the feeling of helplessness, the gnawing thought that he might have prevented your pain had he anticipated the threat more effectively. It was a violation of his deepest principles, both as a protector and a partner, to see you hurt and know he had not been there to prevent it.

He gazed at your face, noting the bruises that marred your skin, each one a stark reminder of the violence you endured. It pained him to see these tangible signs of trauma on someone he cared deeply about. The instinct to shield you from harm was ingrained in his very nature, honed through years of leading a team that faced danger daily. Yet here, in the quiet of your shared space, the reality that you had faced such danger alone was a bitter pill to swallow.

As Hotch looked into your eyes, seeing the trust and understanding there despite the shadows of the recent ordeal, he felt a renewed surge of resolve. His role was not just to protect but to support and ensure such a breach never occurred again. This incident, while closed legally, would prompt him to reevaluate his own vigilance. The emotional undercurrent of this moment, the blend of regret and protective fervor, was a powerful catalyst for Hotch. It reinforced the essential truth that his duty to protect you extended beyond the physical; it was emotional, a bond forged in mutual respect and shared trials.

The silence that followed his unfinished apology was filled with a heavy understanding. He knew you didn’t blame him—you had faced the situation with incredible resilience. But he held himself to a standard that was often unrelenting. Hotch needed to articulate this, not just for you to hear, but for him to acknowledge it openly.

“You shouldn’t have had to handle this alone,” he continued, his voice firmer, reflecting his internal commitment. “I’m here, and I will do everything in my power to ensure you never feel that isolated again. We’ll increase security protocols, and I’ll personally review them.”

His promise was not just words; it was a vow, a pledge of his ongoing commitment to your safety and well-being. Hotch knew that recovery from such events wasn’t just about physical healing—it was about restoring a sense of security and normalcy. He was prepared to lead that effort, standing by you as both your staunchest ally and your devoted partner.

"Don't," you interrupted gently, placing a hand over his. "Don't do that to yourself. You couldn’t have known. And you were there when it mattered. You’ve always been."

He looked at you, really looked, as if seeing you anew, and nodded slowly. "It's over now," he reassured you and himself more than anyone. "He's in custody, and he's not getting out anytime soon. Strauss is making sure of it."

You nodded, feeling the weight of the past weeks begin to lift ever so slightly. "It’s hard to believe it’s over," you admitted, allowing yourself to lean into his care, into the promise of safety his presence provided.

"It is, though. And we're going to make sure you're safe, that this never happens again," Hotch said, his voice firm with conviction. He finished bandaging a smaller scrape on your cheek, his fingers lingering a moment longer than necessary, as if to impart comfort through his touch.

You reached up, your hand brushing against his. "Thank you, Aaron. For everything. I don’t know how I would have handled all this without you."

Hotch’s hand covered yours, his grip warm and reassuring. "You're not alone in this. You’ll never be," he said, his gaze holding yours. "We’re in this together, remember?"

As you nodded, a silence fell between you, comfortable and healing. It was the kind of silence that spoke of shared struggles and mutual support, of battles fought and won together. Hotch finally stood, helping you to your feet.

"Let’s get some rest," he suggested, his tone lightening a bit as he led you toward the bedroom. "You need to heal, and I need to make sure you stop finding trouble," he added, a hint of humor glimmering through the residual tension of the day.

You chuckled softly, leaning against him as you walked. "Deal," you replied, knowing that whatever the future held, you faced it not alone but together, stronger and more united than ever.

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