#office chair maintenance

[interiorergonomics]

How to prolong Your Office Chair Lifespan

Prolonging the lifespan of an office chair ensures long-term comfort and support. This also maximizes investment value while minimizing environmental impact.

Regular maintenance and care are essential to preserving the structural integrity and aesthetics of the chair. Simple practices such as keeping the chair clean from dust and debris, lubricating moving parts, and tightening loose screws can significantly extend its lifespan.

Additionally, using the chair according to its intended purpose and weight capacity helps prevent premature wear and tear. Investing in high-quality, durable materials and construction further enhances the chair's longevity.

Furthermore, ergonomic adjustments tailored to individual preferences promote ergonomic health and reduce the risk of discomfort or injury, ensuring prolonged satisfaction with the chair's performance.

Ultimately, these proactive measures streamline ways to caring for your office chair which maintains its functionality and aesthetic appeal for years to come. This contributes to a productive and comfortable work environment.

[kiwriteswords]

Finer Things [Aaron Hotchner x High-Maintenance!Reader]

Masterlist || Ao3||Word Count: 6k|| AN: Here we are! This took a little longer than expected, but I think I like how this one turned out!

Tags/Warnings: no use of y/n, canon-typical themes, high-maintenance reader, female reader, progression of relationship, simp!Hotch, feminine reader, Jack exists but is only briefly mentioned, BAU reader, materialistic reader, Garcia the helpful friend, flirty banter, mild language

Summary: You're a stylish...arguably high-maintenance BAU agent who unexpectedly falls for your straightforward and grounded partner, Aaron Hotchner. As you both tackle cases and life’s surprises, you learn to blend your love for the finer things with his practical approach, discovering a deep and enduring connection.

Hotch’s office door clicked softly as you knocked, barely audible over the hum of the precinct around you. The frame filled almost instantly with your form—pristine as always, from your flawlessly styled hair down to the heels that added an effortless grace to your every step.

“Got a minute?” you asked, your voice as smooth and composed as the latte you held in one hand, the steam still curling lazily up from the cup.

Hotch stepped aside, allowing you entrance. “Of course,” he said, though he knew his afternoon was already crammed with meetings and reports. For you, though, he made time—something the rest of the team had noticed and often teased him about. But what could he say? Aaron Hotchner, stoic and steadfast, had indeed developed a soft spot for you.

As you settled into the chair across from his desk, Hotch couldn’t help but admire the meticulous way you organized your space on the table. Your designer bag was set precisely to the right, not a strap out of place. He often wondered how someone so particular could thrive in the chaotic unpredictability of the BAU.

“So, what did you think of the profile?” you began, breaking into his thoughts. Your eyes were bright, lively—a stark contrast to his own, which often carried the weight of the job.

“It’s thorough. You have a knack for getting into the unsub’s head,” Hotch replied, his voice firm yet carrying a hint of warmth reserved mostly for you.

Your smile widened, pleased. “I do try,” you quipped, stirring your latte leisurely. “But I think it could use a bit more… je ne sais quoi, don’t you think?”

Hotch raised an eyebrow, a small smile tugging at the corner of his lips. “And what would you suggest?”

“Well,” you leaned forward, the light catching your earrings just so. “If I were him, I’d be more careful about where I left my clues. Too sloppy. Maybe he needs a lesson in organization from me.”

Hotch chuckled, the sound more natural than he intended. “I think he’d be horrified at the idea.”

“Good,” you grinned, sitting back with satisfaction. “Then he’d know how I feel about unorganized data.”

Moving to the round table, the rest of the team began to filter into the office for the briefing, and Morgan threw a teasing glance your way. “Looks like Hotch is getting his daily dose of high maintenance,” he commented, a playful smirk on his face.

Prentiss elbowed him lightly, smiling in your direction. “Leave them alone. If anyone can get Hotch to lighten up, it’s her.”

Hotch cleared his throat, signaling the start of the briefing, but he couldn’t deny the truth in their observations. You brought a lightness to his often too-heavy life, a splash of color to the monochrome routine.

As the meeting progressed, your contributions were not just insightful but infused with a vibrancy that lifted the somber mood typical of these sessions. Each time you spoke, Hotch found his attention drawn not just to your words but to the way you expressed them—with a confidence and a flair that was uniquely yours. When you directed a comment towards him, accompanied by a playful raise of your eyebrows, there was an underlying challenge there, as if you were coaxing him out from behind his well-constructed barriers.

Your laughter, light and unguarded, filled the room at one point when you poked fun at the unsub’s choice of hideouts, suggesting even you could find a better hiding place during your shopping trips. The team chuckled, and even Hotch’s lips twitched into a smile—your cheer infectious, your presence undeniably compelling.

As the team began to disperse, you lingered over your notes, your meticulous nature evident as you aligned your papers and recapped your pens with a precision that spoke of a deeper need for order—a trait Hotch could appreciate, perhaps because it mirrored his own.

Hotch watched you, the way the light caught the highlights in your hair and the meticulous care you took with even the smallest task. He remained in his seat, an internal debate raging within him. He was the Unit Chief, always in control, always composed. But around you, those walls he meticulously maintained seemed less formidable, more permeable.

Finally, he stood, his decision made, propelled by a force he hadn’t fully acknowledged until now. Approaching you, he noted the slight surprise in your movements as you looked up. His voice, when he spoke, was steady, but there was an undercurrent of something more, something deeper.

“Dinner tonight?” he asked, the invitation hanging between them, heavier than the casual manner he attempted to portray.

You paused, a pen still in your hand, and met his gaze. The flicker of surprise was quickly replaced by a slow-spreading smile that warmed your eyes. “Trying to keep up with my high standards, Hotch?” you teased, the challenge back in your voice, but this time it was laced with an unmistakable warmth.

“I think I’m ready to try,” Hotch replied, his voice low, honest. The corners of his mouth turned up in a rare, genuine smile that seemed to reach his eyes, softening the usual hardness there.

“Then it’s a date,” you declared, your voice light but carrying a weight that filled the room with a promise of something new, something thrilling.

As you gathered your belongings and left, your heels clicking assertively against the floor, Hotch watched you go, a sense of anticipation building within him. It was a feeling foreign yet exhilarating, stirring something within him that had lain dormant.

He realized then, as the distance grew between you, that what the team jokingly called his ‘weakness’ was perhaps his most profound revelation. In you, Aaron Hotchner found not just a challenge but a vibrant counterpart who could match his steps in life’s intricate dance. With you, the future seemed less daunting, more vivid—colored by the finer things, in every possible way.

Since that first dinner, a subtle shift had occurred in the dynamics between Hotch and you. What started as a casual outing evolved into a series of clandestine meetings, each encounter deepening the bond that was swiftly becoming an integral part of his daily life. The secrecy was necessary—not just for the sake of professionalism within the team but to preserve the unique world that had begun to flourish between the two of you.

Hotch found himself anticipating your texts, which often popped up on his phone with playful emojis and witty remarks about everything from case files to the peculiar habits of their local barista. You managed to make even the mundane seem amusing, and Hotch, ever the stoic leader, found his day brightening with each notification.

One evening, as Hotch returned home from a particularly grueling case, he found a small package at his doorstep. Inside was a high-end espresso machine—a gift from you, complete with a note: "For your home office, so you can enjoy a proper latte without braving the outside world. Think of me when you use it." It was both a luxurious gesture and so quintessentially you, blending high maintenance with thoughtful consideration.

Hotch couldn’t help but smile as he set up the machine in his kitchen. It wasn’t something he would have ever purchased for himself, but now, brewing a cup in the quiet of the morning, he found a new appreciation for the ritual. It reminded him of you—how you’d insist on the perfect temperature, the ideal foam-to-espresso ratio, details he’d once overlooked but now found endearing.

At work, these small infiltrations into his life were becoming more apparent. You had taken to adjusting the small things around him, straightening the papers on his desk, sometimes replacing his usual stark office supplies with items that had a bit more personality—a stapler in polished chrome, sleek and efficient like the espresso machine, or pens that wrote so smoothly he found excuses to handwrite notes he would typically type.

Hotch had to admit, albeit reluctantly, that your influence was a welcome one. It was as if you were slowly coloring in parts of his world that he hadn’t even realized were so monochrome. And when you both sat down at the round table, reviewing case files together, the subtle touches—the way your knee would gently brush against his, or how you’d share a quick, knowing look over a shared inside joke—added layers to their days that Hotch hadn’t anticipated but found he no longer wanted to go without.

One afternoon, caught in a rare moment of downtime, Hotch found himself at the local shopping center, standing before a display of designer ties. He remembered you commenting on how a splash of color could brighten his usual ensemble of dark suits and somber expressions. With a critical eye, he selected one that was a soft shade--something that would match your eyes, he thought, a private acknowledgment of the space you were coming to occupy in his life.

That evening, when he wore the tie, the team didn’t miss the change. “Look at Hotch, finally taking some fashion tips from the best,” Morgan teased, nudging you as you both arrived for the briefing.

You shot Hotch a playful wink, and he responded with a slight nod, a silent conversation passing between them. Yes, you were changing him, but perhaps, Hotch considered as he adjusted the new tie subtly, this change was not just inevitable but necessary.

For Aaron Hotchner, known for his rigor and restraint, the gentle invasion of your high-maintenance habits into his disciplined life was less a disruption and more a revelation. Each new preference, each shared secret, wove a richer tapestry into his days. And as he looked across the table at you, he realized with a clarity that surprised him, that these threads, once so foreign, were now essential to the fabric of his life.

The rarity of a day off was not something Hotch took lightly, especially with Jack away on a Boy Scout trip. He had considered a quiet day at home, perhaps catching up on some reading or simply enjoying the peace. However, as he was contemplating his solitary plans, you texted him about your own plans for the day—getting your nails done, a routine you indulged in every few weeks.

"I’m off to maintain my high standards," your message read, accompanied by a laughing emoji. "Care to join me for a change of scenery?"

The invitation was unexpected. The thought of spending his day off in a nail salon was not something Hotch would have ever considered before meeting you. Yet, the idea of accompanying you, of sharing in something that was a part of your routine, held an appeal he couldn’t deny.

"Sure, why not?" Hotch texted back, a smile tugging at the corners of his mouth as he imagined your reaction.

At the salon, you greeted him with a bright smile and a quick peck on the cheek. "Never thought I’d see the day Aaron Hotchner steps into a nail salon willingly," you teased, leading him inside.

The salon was a buzz of activity, a stark contrast to the usual seriousness of his work environment. You introduced him to your nail technician, a friendly woman named Lisa who greeted him with a warmth that seemed to radiate throughout the room.

As Lisa started on your nails, you chatted animatedly about the colors and designs. Hotch found himself pulled into a conversation about the merits of various shades—a discussion he never thought he’d have, yet here he was, weighing in on whether 'Midnight Blue' was a better choice than 'Stormy Grey'.

"You know, you could get something done too. A manicure perhaps? It’s quite relaxing," you suggested, your eyes sparkling with mischief.

Hotch raised an eyebrow, considering it. "What would the team think if I showed up with polished nails?"

"They’d think you’re embracing the finer things in life," you replied with a laugh. "But maybe just a clear coat. We wouldn’t want to give Morgan too much ammunition."

Surprisingly, Hotch agreed. As Lisa began to work on his nails, he found the experience unexpectedly soothing. The gentle handling, the focus on something so trivial yet intimate, was a stark departure from his day-to-day life.

"So, how does it feel to be pampered?" you asked, watching him with an amused expression.

"Strangely relaxing," Hotch admitted. "I can see the appeal."

As Lisa finished, you both sat under the nail dryers. Hotch looked over at you, taking in the relaxed ease of your posture, and the genuine smile on your face. It was these moments, he realized, that he cherished deeply—the simple pleasures shared, the barriers between professional and personal blurring into something beautifully ordinary.

"You know, I’m glad you invited me," Hotch said, his voice soft amid the hum of the salon. "It’s nice, sharing this part of your world."

You reached over, your hand finding his. "I’m glad you’re here, Aaron. It means more than you know."

As they left the salon, Hotch felt a lightness he hadn’t experienced in a long time. The day had been uneventful by most standards, yet for him, it was a precious insight into the everyday joys of the person who had unexpectedly become his closest confidant.

The team's discovery of his relationship with you was as inevitable as it was unintended. It began one morning when Garcia, ever observant, noticed the faintest of smiles on Hotch’s lips as he read a text from you. It was nothing overt, just the subtle lift of his mood, but it was enough to pique her interest.

“Spill it, Hotch. You’ve been smiling more these days,” Garcia prodded as they gathered in the briefing room, her tone teasing but her eyes sharp with curiosity.

Hotch, caught slightly off-guard, managed to maintain his composure. “It’s just been a good morning,” he replied smoothly, hoping his nonchalance would deflect further inquiry.

Garcia, however, was not so easily dissuaded. “Uh huh,” she hummed, giving him a knowing look but dropping the subject in the presence of the rest of the team.

The next clue came unintentionally from you during a case briefing. You were discussing a particularly challenging aspect of the case when you casually mentioned a small detail—a detail that Hotch had shared with you in confidence during one of your dinners together.

As you spoke, Reid’s head tilted slightly, his brow furrowing in that characteristic way when he was putting pieces together. “That’s an interesting observation,” he remarked, glancing between Hotch and you. “Not many would’ve caught that.”

Hotch met Reid’s gaze, a silent acknowledgment passing between them. Reid’s expression softened into a subtle smile, and he nodded slightly, turning his attention back to the files in front of him.

Morgan and JJ were the next to catch on. It happened in the field, during a tense moment when you instinctively reached for Hotch’s hand. It was a brief touch, meant to be reassuring, but Morgan and JJ caught the action from the corner of their eye.

Later, as they regrouped at the SUV, Morgan clapped Hotch on the shoulder. “You know you can tell us, right? We’re family here,” he said in a low voice, his look pointed but friendly.

Hotch simply nodded, the corners of his mouth twitching upwards. “I know, Derek,” he said, grateful for the support he knew they would offer.

Prentiss figured it out during a late-night coffee run when she saw you both at a small cafe, your heads close together, laughing softly over shared stories. She didn’t approach, respecting your privacy, but the next day, her smile was a bit wider when she greeted you both.

“It’s good to see you happy, Hotch,” she said quietly as she passed by his office, her words meant only for him.

By the time Rossi found out, it seemed that most of the team had already accepted the new dynamic with characteristic adaptability. Rossi, ever the father figure, simply raised his glass to Hotch during their next team dinner, a silent toast that spoke volumes.

“You’ve got a good thing, Aaron. Don’t let the job get in the way,” Rossi advised later, when they were alone, his voice low and earnest.

Hotch appreciated the wisdom; knowing the balance between personal happiness and professional duty was a fine line to walk.

As the team gradually discovered the relationship, what surprised Hotch most was not the fact that they found out, but the ease with which they accepted it. Their teasing was gentle, their support unwavering, and in their acceptance, Hotch found not just confirmation of his feelings for you but also a deeper appreciation for the team he considered his second family.

In this newfound openness, Hotch realized that his relationship with you did not weaken his leadership; rather, it enriched the very fabric of his life, both at work and beyond. With each passing day, as you both navigate the complexities of a relationship built amidst the demands of the BAU, Hotch found himself not just accepting but embracing the vibrant color you brought into his once-monochrome world.

The integration of your meticulous routines into Hotch's daily life was gradual, almost imperceptible at first, until one day he found himself deeply enmeshed in the particulars of your high-maintenance habits. What began as playful observations soon became cherished moments of his day, each routine offering a glimpse into the meticulous and vibrant world you inhabited.

Every evening, as you both prepared for bed, Hotch would lean against the bathroom doorway, watching as you engaged in your elaborate skincare routine. The array of creams, serums, and tools was impressive, and he'd often raise an eyebrow in mock incredulity as you explained the purpose of each one.

“Do you really need all of this?” Hotch would ask, his tone light and teasing as you applied a night serum with precise, practiced motions.

“Absolutely,” you’d reply without missing a beat, your reflection in the mirror smiling back at him. “It’s about maintaining standards, Aaron. You of all people should understand that.”

“I thought we were just going to bed, not preparing for a photo shoot,” Hotch would retort, the corners of his lips twitching into a smile.

“It’s called preventive maintenance,” you’d say, tapping the side of your nose with a finger. “One day, you’ll thank me when we’re both ninety, and I still look seventy.”

Hotch couldn’t help but laugh, the sound mingling with the soft notes of the evening. He had to admit, there was a certain peace in these nightly rituals, a tranquility that had seeped into the crevices of his once rigid routine.

Sometimes, you would catch him watching and pull him into the routine, applying a bit of moisturizer to his face with gentle, coaxing motions. “You’ll feel better,” you’d assure him, and he’d comply, not because he believed in the miraculous claims of the products but because it meant more moments shared with you.

On weekends, the rituals would extend to mornings. You’d take your time selecting an outfit, coordinating accessories and makeup with an artist’s eye for detail. Hotch would sit on the bed, coffee in hand, offering the occasional nod or hum of approval as you held up two nearly identical pairs of shoes, asking for his opinion.

“What do you think? The matte or the glossy?” you’d ask, holding them up for him to see.

“The matte,” Hotch would decide after a moment’s consideration. “It’s subtler.”

“Subtle,” you’d repeat, considering this. “I like it. Subtle but effective. Kind of like you.”

The routine wasn’t just about vanity or upkeep—it was a dance, a way of you expressing yourself and inviting him into your world. Hotch found himself missing these interactions whenever you were at your own apartment. The bathroom felt too empty, the mornings too quick and utilitarian. He missed the scent of your skincare products, the sound of your voice explaining the benefits of jasmine oil, or the way you’d ask his opinion on things he’d never considered before.

Even his morning routine had adapted; where once a quick shave sufficed, he now found himself opening your moisturizer, the scent a comforting reminder of you. It was a small concession to the routines you loved, a way of keeping you close even when miles apart.

Through these shared routines, Hotch learned more than just the importance of exfoliation or the difference between matte and glossy finishes. He learned the value of slowing down, of savoring the quiet moments together before the chaos of the day set in. Each ritual, each routine you shared, wove deeper connections between them, turning mundane moments into cherished memories and in doing so, seamlessly blending his life with yours.

With your birthday on the horizon, Hotch was well aware of the intricacies involved in selecting the perfect gift. Your independence and flair for purchasing exactly what you wanted, when you wanted, left little room for him to dazzle you with something unexpected. Yet, the desire to surprise and delight you was strong; he wanted to be the doting boyfriend who could still manage to sweep you off your feet.

One morning, as he was choosing a tie for work, you playfully suggested one that would "match beautifully with my purse—if I had the right shade." The comment was offhand, perhaps even forgetful of the collection you already owned, but it sparked an idea in Hotch's mind.

Later that day, armed with determination, Hotch sought out Garcia. He found her busy at her workstations, screens flickering with data.

"Garcia, could I get your help with something a bit more... personal?" Hotch began, hesitating slightly as he ventured into unfamiliar territory.

Garcia swiveled in her chair, her expression instantly shifting to one of eager attentiveness. "Of course, Hotch! What do you need? Secret admirer codes cracked? Background checks for mysterious suitors?" she quipped, her tone light.

"Actually, I need advice on buying a purse," Hotch admitted, and briefly explained the situation.

"A purse? Oh, for you know who?! This is going to be fun!" Garcia clapped her hands, her earlier levity shifting into focused enthusiasm. "Okay, first things first, we need something as unique and classy as she is. Let’s dive into the world of designer handbags."

Garcia guided him through various high-end brands, explaining the appeal of each. "These are timeless," she pointed out, scrolling through an array of sophisticated designs. "But knowing our girl, something with both function and a high fashion quotient would be ideal."

Hotch listened, absorbing details about textures, colors, and what each brand symbolized. They finally narrowed it down to a few choices, each one reflecting a different aspect of your personality and style.

"This one here," Garcia pointed at a sleek, modern satchel with minimalist design but luxurious detailing, "seems like it could be the perfect accessory for her. It’s stylish but not ostentatious, much like how she approaches her work and personal style."

"It looks great," Hotch agreed, imagining how it would look draped over your shoulder. He made a mental note of the bag and the brand, deciding to do a little more research before making the final purchase.

"Good luck, Hotch! She's going to love whatever you choose because it's from you," Garcia smiled warmly, giving him a thumbs-up as he thanked her and left.

Back at Hotch’s apartment, as you both moved through your evening routine, Hotch found opportunities to subtly probe for more of your preferences without giving away his intentions.

"So, if you were to splurge on something frivolous, what would it be?" Hotch asked casually as you were both settling down with a glass of wine.

"Frivolous?" you chuckled, giving him a playful look. "Isn’t everything I buy somewhat frivolous to you, Mr. Practicality?"

"Perhaps," Hotch conceded with a smile, "but indulge me."

"A purse," you said after a moment, a mischievous twinkle in your eye. "A really good, outrageously and stupidly expensive purse that makes me feel like a million bucks when I carry it."

"Sounds like a worthy investment," Hotch replied, his tone teasing but thoughtful. Your eyes met, and there was a spark of something that went beyond the casual banter—a shared understanding and appreciation for these little confessions.

Hotch tucked away every piece of information, each helping him build towards the moment he would present you with the perfect birthday gift. It was more than just a purse; it was a symbol of his attentiveness to your desires and his wish to celebrate everything you were.

But the birthday Hotch had planned for you was supposed to be special, a day to celebrate you in style, with every detail tailored to your liking. Instead, duty called in the form of a particularly tough case that dragged on much longer than anyone had anticipated. The hours turned into days, and by the time it was over, everyone was exhausted, physically and emotionally drained.

As the team began packing up, you sighed heavily, the weight of the last few days evident in your slumped shoulders. "I just want to go back to my apartment," you murmured. "I ran out of clothes, and I forgot half my skincare stuff in the rush out."

Hotch, who had been hoping to salvage what was left of the day, felt a twinge of disappointment. "You could grab what you need and come back to my place," he suggested, trying to keep his tone light, though concern etched his features. He’d go to your place if he could, but Jack was waiting for him. 

You shook your head, fatigue lining your face. "I'm just so tired, Aaron. Let’s just celebrate tomorrow, okay?" Your voice held a note of finality, but also a plea for understanding.

He knew he should let it go…give you the space you needed, but a part of him—the part that had been quietly contemplating a more significant step in your relationship—spoke up. "I was going to bring this up over dinner," Hotch began, his voice steady despite the chaos of the day, "but maybe this is the right moment. You and your... elaborate routines should just move in with me."

Your fatigue momentarily gave way to surprise. "Do you know what you’re getting into? My high maintenance might take over your space," you teased, a faint smile playing at your lips despite the exhaustion.

"Yes," Hotch said firmly, his gaze intense. "I know exactly what I’m getting into, and I love it. I miss it when you’re not there."

You looked at him, searching his face for any sign of hesitation. Finding none, your smile grew, and the weariness seemed to lift slightly. "You really want me and my half a suitcase of skincare products moving in?"

"Every last bottle and brush," Hotch confirmed, his voice softening. "It’s part of who you are, and I want all of you every day. Not just on good days or birthdays, but every challenging and tiring day too."

Your eyes softened, and you stepped closer, leaning into him slightly. "Okay, but we’re getting a bigger bathroom cabinet," you stipulated, your tone light but sincere.

"It’s a deal," Hotch agreed, wrapping an arm around you. The case had taken much from you both, but at this moment, a new door was opening—a commitment that promised to blend your lives in ways beyond shared cases and briefings.

As you both headed back, the weight of the case still lingering, there was a new undercurrent of hope, of shared futures and bathroom cabinets, a testament to the resilience of your bond.

You decided to pick up a few essentials from your apartment and spend the night at Hotch's place--now your place, too, despite your tiredness. Hotch, feeling a mix of relief and excitement, drove you to your apartment, waiting as you gathered your things.

Inside, you moved efficiently, albeit with a tired grace, packing your cherished skincare products and several outfits. Hotch leaned against the doorway, watching as you filled a small suitcase with what seemed to him an elaborate array of potions and tools. Each item was carefully selected, a ritual that he found both fascinating and slightly amusing.

“You sure you’ve got enough there for just one night?” Hotch teased lightly, his eyes twinkling with humor.

You glanced over your shoulder, a playful smirk on your lips. “This is the streamlined version, believe it or not. You might have to rent the apartment next door.”

“I’ll consult the landlord tomorrow,” Hotch quipped, the corners of his mouth lifting in a smile.

Back at his apartment, as you began setting out your skincare products in the bathroom, Hotch watched for a moment, his mind returning to the gift he’d carefully hidden away—something he hoped would make your day a little brighter after the tough case.

“Hey,” Hotch called softly, capturing your attention as you meticulously arranged your items. “I have something for you. I was saving it for a proper celebration, but I think tonight is as good a time as any.”

Your curiosity piqued, you followed him to the living room, where he retrieved a small, elegantly wrapped box from a drawer. Handing it to you, he watched as your eyes widened slightly, a mix of surprise and anticipation lighting up your features.

You unwrapped the box with a gentle precision, and as you lifted the lid and saw the purse—a beautiful, designer pocketbook that perfectly matched the sophisticated style you cherished—your expression transformed into one of sheer delight.

“Aaron, this is beautiful,” you breathed out, carefully pulling the purse from the box. You admired the craftsmanship, running your fingers over the smooth leather and the detailed stitching.

“It reminded me of you,” Hotch said, his voice sincere. “Elegant, practical, and incredibly stylish. Happy Birthday.”

You looked up at him, your eyes shining not just from the beauty of the gift but from the thoughtfulness behind it. “I love it,” you said, stepping closer to wrap your arms around him in a heartfelt embrace. “Thank you; this is the best end to a rough day.”

Hotch held you close, his heart swelling with the joy of seeing you so happy. “There’s nothing I wouldn’t do to make you smile like that,” he murmured into your hair, feeling the weight of the case and the fatigue of the day finally begin to lift.

As you pulled back slightly, still holding the purse, you teased, “Does this mean I get a new purse for every rough case?”

“Birthdays,” Hotch corrected with a gentle smile, his gaze softening as he added, “You make it incredibly hard for me to spoil you more than I already wish to.”

You laughed, a sound that Hotch had come to cherish deeply. “I’ll try to be less self-sufficient in the future,” you quipped, clutching the new purse a little closer as if it were a treasured award.

“I wouldn’t change a thing about your independence,” Hotch replied earnestly. “It’s one of the many things I admire about you. But allow me the occasional indulgence of spoiling you, especially on days like today.”

The purse, an elegant and thoughtful gift, lay between you on the coffee table, symbolizing not just a celebration of your birthday but of the new phase in your relationship. The evening settled into a comfortable rhythm, the earlier tension from the case dissolving into the background as you both enjoyed the simple pleasure of each other’s company.

With the challenges of the case behind you and the warmth of your shared space around you, Hotch felt a profound sense of contentment. This was more than just a birthday celebration—it was a reaffirmation of your partnership, a testament to how deeply your lives had intertwined.

As you both relaxed into the sofa, the conversation drifted from light teasing to deeper, more introspective topics. Every so often, your hand would brush against the purse, a physical reminder of Hotch’s affection and attention to what brought you joy.

“Thank you, Aaron,” you said again, your voice lower, more reflective as the night wore on. “For understanding me, even when I think I don’t need anything.”

Hotch reached over, his hand finding yours, squeezing it gently. “You don’t need to thank me for that,” he murmured. “It’s just another part of our journey together. And I’m grateful for every step we take, side by side.”

The purse remained on the table, a beacon of new beginnings and mutual understanding, as you both shared the quiet comfort of knowing you were exactly where you were meant to be.

Tag List:

@zaddyhotch @estragos @todorokishoe24 @looking1016  @khxna @rousethemouse @averyhotchner @reidfile @bernelflo @lover-of-books-and-tea @frickin-bats @sleepysongbirdsings @justyourusualash @person-005 @iyskgd @hiireadstuff @kcch-ns

[thoughtfulfiction]

Shift in the Routine

Author’s Note: Vibes are up from episode one of Hard Knocks starring Batman but I really wanted to write something angsty.

Part II

The morning started off with an entire 16 oz cup full of coffee spilling all over the kitchen floor. The brown puddle continued to spread and you watched in horror as the caramel frappuccino you’d just spent the last 20 minutes carefully curating to perfection went to waste. Then, your apartment key got stuck in the door, snapping in half so you had to make a call to your lovely landlord who charged you $150 to replace the key, and get the maintenance guy to come in and get your old key out. There went the money that you wanted to use to splurge on lunch.

Just when you thought you’d turned a corner for the better when you got off work early, your best friend Rachel called in a panic, putting an immediate end to the relaxing afternoon you had planned.

“Hi babe! I need you to do me a huge favor.”

You sighed, mentally saying goodbye to the Netflix binge on the couch with a fluffy blanket you were desperately looking forward to. “What’s up?“

She chuckles softly, breathing out a sound of relief that you were willing to help. “You know you’re my favorite person in the world, right?”

“What do you need Rach?” You bite out, your patience mostly nonexistent after such an awful day. Even her best attempt at buttering you up wouldn’t fix it.

“Okay, okay jeez. Who pissed in your cereal this morning? Anyways, I need you to run to my office and grab my other laptop. The one I have with me died and the tablet just isn’t cutting it right now,” you can hear her whispering to someone while you wait on the other end of the line for further instructions, “texting you the address as we speak.”

Your destination was 48 minutes away from her office, much closer to your job. Rachel owed you. Big time. “Fine. Be there in an hour.” You hung up a little in the midst of hearing her say “thank you” for the sixth time.

Rachel was an interior designer, working on some top secret project with a client for the last year, whose identity she refused to reveal, that was until today when she clearly had no choice. She’d apparently asked the client if it was ok for you to come to the house and they were clearly cool with it because the gate opened and the mansion you were faced with was unlike anything you’d ever seen. Every part of you wished you’d worn nicer clothes to work today.

Before you could even knock, your friend opened the door and ushered you in, plugging the laptop into one of the kitchen outlets and pulling up whatever she needed, thanking you again for saving her ass.

You looked around the room, exquisite marble covered the countertops, super cozy looking white swivel chairs and every square inch of the place just screamed luxury. “Who the hell lives here alone? Head of the mafia?”

Rachel snorts out a laugh, typing away without looking up at you.

“Not exactly,” a male voice is heard behind you, scaring you a little. And that makes Rachel laugh even more. “I assume you’re Rachel’s friend y/n.”

No fucking way.

You glance at Rachel before turning around to face him, nodding your head. “I’m so sorry your highness, you’re more…King of the Jungle, right? The mafia is more of a Bills thing.” All the secrecy made sense now and you turn towards her, your eyes full of disbelief.

“You signed an NDA didn’t you? Because I know you’re the world’s worst secret keeper and you’ve worked for the Bengals starting quarterback for a year and I haven’t heard a peep. Wait,” you look at him again, “does this mean I have to sign one?”

“Would you like to?” Joe deadpans, a hint of amusement pokes out behind his rigid exterior. He looks even better in person, you think to yourself.

“I have always wanted to sign one but I’ve never really been in the position to do that. But now…”

“Now you’re being ridiculous,” Rachel cuts in, “he’s not gonna make you sign anything, you don’t even know the gate code.”

Waving her off for ruining your fun, you grab your keys and get ready to head home when Joe’s voice stops you in your tracks for the second time in the last 20 minutes.

“You don’t want water or anything before you go? I have an entire fridge just for Voss water. The glass bottles.” His voice is so relaxed, a calming energy surrounds him and he delivers his words with such a casual tone like it’s not one of the most absurd things you’ve ever heard.

“Are you being serious?”

“No! I’m kidding,” he laughs, a genuine hearty sound that you hope to never forget. You need to leave this fortress as soon as humanly possible before you find yourself attracted to the way the man breathes.

Rachel has long forgotten the two of you are in the room, completely in the zone while deciding between white oak and alder so the gorgeous man walks you out. Has he always been this tall? “Rich and funny. It’s very nice to meet you Joe.”

He’s about to let you leave, but he doesn’t want to regret not going for it. “Would you—maybe want to um, see each other again? When you’re having less of a bad day? I promise there will be no coffee involved, just a little dinner?” This is a stark difference from his earlier nonchalance, you can tell he’s trying to keep the nerves at bay.

“You heard all of that?” You look at him wide-eyed. Of course Joe freaking Burrow heard you complaining about spilling coffee everywhere and damaging your keys, not your finest moments. And somehow, none of that deterred him from asking you out. “I’d love to. Rachel can give you my number and I’ll see you soon?”

“Yes, definitely.”

Dinner turned into dinner and a movie which turned into several nights of ordering in. That became FaceTime dates when he would travel across the country, helping him pick out clothes to wear for his foundation’s golf tournament or getting up at ungodly hours to answer his calls during Paris Fashion Week. Then he came home to lock in for the season but not before giving you a jump scare by randomly buzzing and bleaching his hair. Everything you thought you knew about him from the media or via word of mouth living the city, was nothing compared to actually getting to be with him. He was funny and kind and the most caring person in the world and you really owed Rachel your entire life for asking you to drop off that laptop.

Admittedly, you were nervous going into the season. You’d seen him go down last year in Baltimore, watching on tv like every other fan feeling helpless as his season ended. Now you’d seen first hand how much work had gone into not only getting him back to what he was before but transforming him into a better version of what he once was. And routine was everything. Workouts and meals were scheduled down to meticulous detail, meetings with his nutritionist and strength trainer happened frequently and the closer you got to week 1 the more dialed into the process he was. You just tried your best to navigate the controlled chaos.

Friday evening before you drove home after work, you made a pit-stop at Joe’s to drop something off. Having already decided that you were staying at your place for the rest of the weekend as to not be distraction, you placed your surprise in the fridge feeling proud of yourself before closing the door, meeting your boyfriend face to face.

“Oh my god, you scared the shit out of me!” You playfully smacked his chest as he grabs onto your hands, enveloping you in a warm embrace. “I didn’t think I’d see you. Thought you’d be up to your eyebrows in New England film right now.”

“Took a break to grab a snack,” he sidesteps you to get to the fridge, taking a look inside before he spots the item you just placed in there. “What are these?”

You nod toward the tupperware in his hand, “open it.”

Joe carefully takes off the lid, looking at the contents inside like a kid on christmas morning, recognizing the look of his favorite dessert, with a twist.

“They’re protein pumpkin pie cups. The bottom is peanut butter.”

“Two of my favorite things. Well, three now, including you. Thank you.” You want to pretend to have a toothache at how sweet he’s being but instead you stand on your toes, inching your way up to kiss him on the lips and when you pull away to stand at your normal height he sneaks another kiss, pressing one onto the side of your head. It’s getting late and you really don’t want to leave, but you can’t mess up his routine. The next time you see him is after the loss, he’s understandably disappointed but also a little relieved to shake some of the rust off and come back more relaxed the next game.

Slowly but surely the losses piled up and they added more weight to his often slumped shoulders. You tried to lighten the load by being a constant presence, reminding him of how well he was playing, but the once comfortable, homey atmosphere that Joe created for you became tense. Long conversations about how the team could be better turned into shrugs, “I don’t knows” and exhausted sighs.

And now? The team was 4-8.

You’d been staying at Joe’s since the bye week ended just to make sure he wasn’t isolating himself and completely consumed by football. When he came home after the Steelers game you could instantly tell it was going to be a long night. As soon as he set foot in the door he dropped his bag off and headed up to his office without giving you so much as a glance.

Dinner was cold by the time he emerged again two hours later. You didn’t want to say the wrong thing. And you also didn’t want to just sit there and say nothing. The elephant in the room was doubling in size by the minute. “Joe, you—”

“If you’re about to say I played well you can just…not. I fumbled the ball twice and threw a pick. Three turnovers isn’t exactly a recipe for success.”

You closed your eyes, trying to come up with something that would get him to see things the way you did. “I know that, but you still fought your way back and you guys were so close to completing the comeback.”

His adam’s apple bobs uncomfortably slow as he swallows some of his frustration. None of this was your fault and he knew that. He just, really didn’t want to talk about it anymore today. He’d discussed it with the team, with coaches, the media. The game had ended long ago and he was still having to explain himself. Glancing at the clock, he let you know he was heading to bed and he was just…gone. No hug, no kiss on the cheek or anything. Which usually wouldn’t have bothered you but then you found him fast asleep with his back facing you. You climbed in behind him, treating him like the little spoon as you wrapped your arms around him but he easily removed himself from your grasp, covering himself with the blanket, mumbling something about not feeling like cuddling tonight. You had this overwhelming urge to cry so you turned away from him, squeezing your eyes shut, begging sleep to overtake you.

Waking up the next morning, you decide to shake off whatever that was last night. You texted Joe’s chef and asked him what was on the menu for tonight, thinking that a good meal and some lighthearted conversation was just the thing he needed. The work day was long and frustrating, some random sponsors came in to do some long winded presentation about the new health guidelines which was about as entertaining as watch Geno Stone miss tackles. One thing was motivating you to get through it and that was Morgan, Joe’s chef texting you that he would have everything ready when you got home and all you had to do was put your finishing touches on the evening.

All of the food was prepped, the table was set, candles lit and all you needed was Joe. You wait 45 minutes for him to walk in the door, looking surprised. “What is all this?”

“Nothing special, I just figured we could eat together before watching Monday Night Football in bed.”

The look on his face isn’t promising. “I already ate at the facility,” Joe says regretfully. He’s met with silence and it’s uncomfortable, worrying. “How was work?”

“I texted you,” your voice hardens, “twice. No response.”

“Wasn’t near my phone all day. We had a team meeting, guys said things that were on their minds and we had an open and honest conversation. I’m sorry I didn’t see it.”

You close your eyes, really trying not to cry about something so small. “Right, ok. How did your meeting go?”

“It was fine,” he shrugs, not divulging any other details and it irks you even more. Joe catches you massaging your temples, a clear sign that you’re stressed. “You alright?”

“I’m fine,” you echo his words, hoping he gets the hint, “had a long day.”

The quarterback places his hands on your shoulders, hoping to ease the tension in your posture. “Do you want to talk about it?”

“That’s rich,” you mumble.

“Hm?”

You grab his hands and pry them off of you. “I said that’s rich. You know, coming from you.”

He looks irritated but keeps his voice even, “what is that supposed to mean?”

“It means you want me to open up and talk about my feelings when you’ve been an emotional brick wall the last couple weeks! I can barely get two words out of you. Joe, I’m trying babe. I respect your time and your space, I never stay the night on Saturdays or ask you do anything past 8pm and you still shut me out. Why is that?”

“You don’t think that doing all of this is a little much right now? Everyone wants something from me all the time. I just need a second to think, on my own. And I get it, you’re trying to help but you’re always here, pestering me about little things. I really don’t need you breathing down my neck and smothering me this week.”

You stare at him for a while, processing every word he just said.

You’re pestering him.

You’re smothering him.

Breathing down his neck.

That’s why he didn’t want you to hold him last night. He thinks you’re too needy, too clingy.

You’d done the one thing you’d been telling yourself you wouldn’t do. You had disturbed his peace, messed up his flow. In trying to be helpful and proactive, you had actually gotten more in the way. And he didn’t want you here right now. He’d just made that painfully clear.

“No you’re right,” you tell him, in your most normal tone, “I’ll stop with the questions. You probably have stuff to do so I’m gonna clean this stuff up.”

Joe nods simply, heading upstairs to crack open the Dallas film. A few stray tears escape your eyes as soon as he’s gone. You gave yourself 10 minutes to have a little cry and then the leftovers were placed in the fridge, dishes put away, candles blown out and everything back in its rightful place. Then you headed upstairs to Joe’s room to pack your stuff. He clearly needed space from you and you weren’t going to stay anywhere you weren’t wanted. Carefully placing all of your bags in the car, you took a shuddering breath before putting the keys in the ignition.

He woke up out of his sleep around 4am looking for you, feeling the cold space where your body was supposed to be. Chalking it up to you maybe having slept in one of the guest rooms after the tense conversation from earlier, he turned over and went back to sleep. You knew you had a problem, tossing and turning aimlessly, growing accustomed to being next to him, literally proving his point. The honeymoon phase was over and you desperately needed to pull it together.

“You don’t need to freak out, every couple goes through a rough patch,” Rachel tries to reassure you, digging into her bowl of popcorn as you lay face first, mumbling into your pillow. “Babe I can’t understand a word you’re saying.”

It feels like there’s a ton of bricks weighing you down after one disagreement. “Rach you didn’t hear what he said. And the way he looked at me. He hasn’t even called or texted or anything. And I’m not texting him, that would be smothering or pestering or everything else he said. God I just, I don’t know.”

She hated to see you struggling like this. “Just give yourself some time and you’ll eventually know the right thing to do. You two are annoyingly into each other and those genuine feelings don’t go away because of a stress filled heated moment.”

She was right, all you needed to do was give him space. You dove face first into your job, attending every meeting five minutes early and staying later to get ahead on the next day’s to-do list. Joe did eventually text late in the afternoon, asking if you were coming over for dinner but you told him you had a work thing.

By day three of you having “work stuff,” Joe was calling bullshit. All of your responses were either dry, a simple “yes” or “no” or you kept it short and sweet. And he didn’t like it. Even though he prided himself in being able to compartmentalize, at home it felt empty and void of color and joy without you. He’d pushed you away and embarrassingly said some things that he didn’t even really mean, he just lashed out of exasperation and now he hadn’t heard the sound of your voice in almost 80 hours.

He needed to fix this.

“Can open the door? We need to talk.” He sounded out, in between semi frantic knocks on your door.

Slowly cracking it open, you let him in. “What do we need to talk about?”

His hair is messy and still slightly wet, like he ran here immediately after a shower. Seemed like this couldn’t possibly wait another second. “I’m sorry. I said things I shouldn’t have. I was upset because you’re right. The other night,” he sighs, running a hand through his hair, “you called me out and I didn’t want to admit you had a point so I dug myself a hole. And I’m so sorry for hurting you.”

You wanted to melt into his arms and forgive him. You wished it was that easy. But his words just kept playing over and over in your mind. “I appreciate the apology.”

“So…you’ll come home with me?”

“Joe I am home. And you have—a strict sleeping schedule. It’s getting late, I’m sure you’re tired.”

He wonders quietly how long you’ve been like this, giving robotic, monotone responses like you’re just saying things that you think he wants to hear. “It is getting late, but I’ve gotten so used to you being next to me that I don’t sleep as well when you’re gone.”

“Really? Cause I thought I was smothering you. Or what was the other one? Oh right, breathing down your neck.”

“Babe, I didn’t mean it like that.”

“Well you still said it! And now I’m wondering if I’m too much for you or how you had to drive over here instead of going home and getting your rest trying my best to be what you need,” you pause, looking at him through watery eyes, “I don’t know if I’m cut out for this.”

He seems visibly shaken, hesitantly steps toward you, reaching out to hold your hand to make your not going to disappear into thin air and leave him on his own. “Wh—what you mean?”

“I just, I really think I’m the one that needs some space. To figure out where the hell I even fit into all this. If I still want to fit into all this. I’m not saying I want to breakup I just think—you’re in a really pivotal time in the season and I don’t want to get in the way.”

Joe gives your hand a squeeze, “you’re never in the way. Actually it’s the opposite, I just wasn’t appreciative enough of everything you’ve done for me this year. But if you want space then, take all the time you need.” He swallows the lump in his throat and presses his lips to your forehead, uttering out that he’ll be waiting until you’re ready.

You take a step away from him as his soft lips linger on your skin whispering, “Joe…can you please go?”

He nods, slowly closing the door behind him. You imagine him walking away, climbing into his Porsche and heading home alone. Maybe this is how it should be, him over there, you here.

Tonight almost hurts more than the last time, so much so that the tears won’t even come. You’re just…numb. But you need this space to see if this life is something you’re ready to commit to. Because the last thing you want to be is another thing on his schedule.

[ceilidho]

fear of god

prompt: There's someone outside the spacecraft. You don't remember them being part of the crew. Part 1 masterlist

-

In the end, gazing out of the ship's portholes into the dark vastness of space proves to be less comforting than the architects must have originally anticipated. You can attest to this more than most.

Every morning, you get up an hour earlier than the rest of your crew and make your way to the galley to make your morning cup of coffee. A pack of instant crystals into your favorite mug and hot recycled water from the kettle. Sometimes you stay to have breakfast, but often you take your coffee with you to the main viewing deck for your morning sojourn. 

There, you sit curled up in the navigator’s chair and stare out of the flight deck window until your breathing levels out. Early morning meditations. With the sun only visible through the rear porthole, the Milky Way stretches out before you, immeasurably vast. Ancient cosmic entities, some already long dead. 

Stars fill your field of vision like an intricate latticework of varying brightness. The watery glass warps at the edges, bending the far off light. All things with their propensity for brightness and decay.

A deep, steady hum fills the room. It’s cathartic to be alone. Sometimes, when you look out into the depths of space, you imagine yourself as a cartographer of old, labeling everything beyond this point: “here there be dragons.” 

Farah is the first person to join you, the ship’s maintenance technician already washed and dressed, floral cumberbund cinched around her midriff and her headwrap pinned in place. She greets you with a firm nod upon her entry, never one to mince words. In the months since your ship set off on its course for Jupiter, you’ve exchanged all of ten words, most of your conversation one-sided. 

She glides in like she’s been up for hours, likely running through her routine maintenance checklist. Monitoring propulsion, life support, and all critical systems. You wouldn’t doubt if she had been, descending into the bowels of the ship and cataloging every minute difference from the day before. Nothing if not thorough. 

Graves sweeps in not twenty minutes later, his uniform pressed and ironed. When he glances your way, you shrink under his gaze, self-conscious about something unidentifiable. He is every bit the commander you met briefly back on Earth, never a hair out of place. If he were less intimidating, he’d be insufferable. 

“Morning,” you murmur, the mug still close to your lips making your voice reverberate. He doesn’t respond. You wonder if he even heard you greet him. It likely wouldn't matter.

Medic has a different connotation this far from Earth. Hierarchy out in space is typically determined by way of one’s importance to the ship, and the scope of your role does not, unfortunately, include maintaining the ship. What that means, unofficially, is that you speak when spoken to, and not for any other reason. 

In the months to come, there may be moments or days when your usefulness is acknowledged, usually much to your colleagues’ chagrin. Though it’s not likely that any of the crew will encounter foreign pathogens while on a hermetically sealed ship in the middle of space, they’re all still susceptible to falls and cuts and worse. Nikolai, the chief engineer on board, had sprained his wrist during the first week of the mission, lending you immediate purpose and validation. 

You make way for the second officer when he finally deigns to make an appearance, sliding quietly out of his seat and stepping to the back of the cockpit, back pressed to the wall closest to the door. 

“Morning, everyone,” he greets, peppier than the three of you despite his rumpled appearance. His thick mustache twitches with the force of his smile. “Ready to seize another day?”

“Jesus Christ, Keller, let’s tone it down ‘til about ten o’clock, alright?” Graves sighs. He pinches the bridge of his nose as if to ward off a headache.  

“Our clocks are off, commander,” Alex jokes, coming over to give him a little shake by the shoulder. It would be insubordination from anyone else. “I’m about ready to eat lunch.” 

“Let’s just get through formation and then you can go fill up the bottomless pit you call a stomach.”

The morning briefing never takes up too much time. It’s as much of an excuse to have coffee together as it is to go through the day’s schedule. Graves spends most of the time reviewing the flight course, charting where the ship will be by day’s end. 

“Almost through the belt,” Alex remarks, staring down at the monitor in front of him. It’s an incomprehensible jumble when you try to peer over his shoulder, but he must be able to make sense of it. 

The crew had been on high alert since entering the torus-shaped region between Mars and Jupiter a month back. For the most part, they needn’t have been so on edge—the average distance of the asteroids in the circumstellar disc between the two planets tended to be quite substantial—but a collision the previous day had reinstated their earlier anxiety. 

“Can we switch from manual yet, Farah?” Graves asks from his seat at the helm of the ship. 

She shakes her head, lips tightening with frustration. “I still have to figure out what’s going on with cruise control—it’s not responding correctly.”

“Was that from that little ding the other day?” you ask, blurting out the question without thinking.

Farah’s expression is flat when she glances over at you. “That ‘little ding’ nearly took out our communications system altogether.” 

You wince at that, staring down at your feet instead. Better to just shut your mouth than make a fool of yourself. Had you not blurted out the question, you might have even surmised the nature of the situation given the comm specialist’s notable absence from the cockpit. 

When Nikolai eventually ambles in with a thermos of coffee and deep troughs under his eyes, Farah looks up and frowns. “Where’s Hadir?”

The man shrugs, nonplussed. “Cargo?” he grunts, rolling the toothpick between his teeth around the words. 

She sighs. “I’ll go find him.”

No one says anything when she leaves, the double doors sliding open and shut automatically at her approach, and she doesn’t bother saying goodbye. 

“Dismissed, I guess,” Graves sighs, collapsing into his chair and spinning around to face the stars proliferating in front of him. 

The informality digs at you sometimes because you know you can’t indulge in it. The times you’ve attempted to, you’ve been rebuffed. Sometimes unintentionally, but often to remind you of your place.

This isn’t a crew you’ve ever worked with before. From conversations you’ve overheard, you’ve gleaned that they’ve all worked together in different capacities before, years of familiarity breeding an easy trust and companionship between them. Two of them might even be lovers—though Farah maintains a neutral facade at all times, the same can’t be said for Alex, the man always hovering nearby, eyes going soft at the sight of her. 

You’re the only odd man out. The newcomer. And though you sit with them in the mess for meals and partake in conversation and pass jokes like small stones from hand to hand, you know deep down, in the dark well of your heart, that you are not one of them. You are a passenger that they picked up along the way. A straggler. 

This wasn’t supposed to be the case. When you signed on to the mission months ago, the circumstances were wholly different. A newer ship, a different crew, some of which you’d worked with before. Then ownership changed hands and budgets were cut. Slashed to ribbons even. You had a chance to tour the ship before the launch date, and even down on Earth with all the glitz and glam available to trick the eye, you hadn’t been convinced of the vessel’s ability to withstand the extreme conditions of space.  

But by then, you were locked into a contract so iron-clad that the consequences of breaking it seemed worse than simply seeing the mission through. 

Most days, you feel like you’re waiting for something to give. You pass through halls that echo with low creaks and a deep, rhythmic thrum. Sometimes the walls of the ship groan so loud that you wait with baited breath for the hull to implode around you, to feel the metal crush the delicate eggshell of your body beneath its weight. 

It’s not any better to just stay in your room, your quarters too cramped to nurture anything other than claustrophobia. A recent, unfortunate side effect of spending months on such a small ship. You’ve become accustomed to crews numbering in the tens and hundreds, ships so colossal in size that even months spent aboard weren’t enough to explore all of its nooks and crannies. Cargo holds with excavators and backhoes for excavations on Mars and humvees for getting around the rough terrain. 

This ship barely holds six people and the payload you’ve been hauling to Europa. Pipes hiss in the corridors. Once a week, the radiator splutters or the intercom overhead crackles, kicking your heart into hyperdrive. 

You leave formation more out of sorts than ever. Vaguely aimless. With nothing to do, you grab breakfast in the galley and eat at the counter, too uncomfortable to venture over to the mess. Your days consist mainly of hovering around the ship or sitting quietly in the medbay, waiting for something to happen. A morbid preoccupation. 

The stairs clunk under your feet as you make your way down towards the medbay. You’ve long grown used to the sharp sound of your boots against the metal floor. 

Rationally, you know they don’t dislike you. You might even venture to say that you get along with the majority of them, particularly the chief engineer and Farah’s brother. The big man likes that it only takes a single drink to get you plastered, often howls with laughter when you stumble out of the mess after drinking with the crew, always the first to turn in for the night. Farah herself is only frosty because she works twice as hard as anyone else, burning the midnight oil on the regular. 

You swallow half-truths like stones to help settle your stomach. 

It doesn’t replace real companionship though; it approximates, but doesn’t quite replicate it. You feel its absence most acutely in the sidelong glances you sometimes get of real affection: Alex grazing his pinkie across Farah’s when he thinks no one is looking; Farah’s eyes softening at the sight of her brother; Graves and Nikolai reminiscing about something a decade past, hardly even aware of your presence in the room. 

It’s something you’ve endured before, but never for such an extended period of time. Prolonged isolation prickles at the mind, feathering the edges. It purples space; passes through the vents. The crew rarely goes on spacewalks (hardly any need for it), but sometimes you swear the ship’s oxygen has a faint sulfuric undertone, like rotten eggs. It permeates the air wherever you go. 

Someone knocks at the window just as you walk by.

You pause mid-sip, the mug raised to your lips and just pressing into your bottom lip, not yet tilted. 

“Hello,” you hear through the thick-paned glass, the voice muffled through the layers of glass and plastic partitions. “Could you let me in, please?”

Though your reflex is to look up, you don’t for some reason. The muscles in your neck stay locked instead. Shoulders stiff, weighed down by an unnatural force. 

The thing outside the ship knocks again. “Love? Can you hear me?”

Your head turns towards the porthole, the hand holding your mug drifting away from your mouth. It tips in your hand and a drop leaks down the side. Your lips tingle, almost numb. 

There’s a man outside the porthole, clear as day. He hovers outside the window, a hand raised in a friendly wave and full lips splitting to reveal perfect, white teeth when he smiles. He’s dressed in a spacesuit, no different than any of the crew on a spacewalk. Through the helmet, you can make out dark eyes and dimples. A close cropped beard.

It’s not a face you’ve ever seen before though. You think you might’ve remembered someone so handsome working on the ship with you.

Something needles inside of you though. A sickening feeling, like something you’ve forgotten but you desperately need to remember. 

“Hi there,” the man says, voice as charming as you’ve ever heard, so velvety rich that you feel the blood heat your cheeks. “Glad you were passing by. Mind letting me in?”

[redflagshipwriter]

Hot Ghouls in Your Area

Chapter 1

“A cult?” Jason blew out a bubble and enjoyed the disgusted face that Bruce made.

“Yes.” His voice was tight. Jason could tell that he wanted to turn back to the Batcomputer. “They’re operating in Park Row-”

“Crime Alley.”

Batman sighed and accepted the correction. “I would like to propose a joint operation.” He sounded so tired and not very optimistic.

Jason eyed up his on-again-off-again Father figure and popped his gum, thinking it over. Bruce clearly expected him to say no, fuck off, and take the information himself.

He could. There was nothing wrong with that.

“Sure, old man.” He clapped Bruce on the shoulder and finished screwing together the tool he’d brought in for maintenance. He’d had to fabricate a new part and the Red Hood didn’t exactly have the equipment for that in his two room apartment. “Thursday night alright?”

“They’ve a planned meeting on Wednesday, actually,” Bruce said, frowning slightly at him but looking soft around the eyes with confused hope. “Would that be possible? They seem to gather mid-week.”

Jason let out a sigh. “I can make it work. Ta, old man.” He made sure to toss off an especially insouciant salute as he sauntered away. Sure, he was willing to put a little effort into maintaining their relationship, but he couldn’t be too compliant. If you gave Bruce an hour of your time, he wrote you down on the schedule for an hour every day until one of you fuckin’ died in a warehouse explosion. Something like that.

He wasn’t that trusting, though. Jason took the information that Bruce emailed him and did his own legwork. He wasn’t stubborn enough to bother redoing digital work that Bruce had done or gotten from Babs. That would be a waste of his time, and he valued his time. But he scoped out the cult’s meeting place.

Of all the undignified things, it was a rented room in the community center. Jason found himself sheepishly breaking into the office to check on the reservation and poking around the room itself.

There was nothing special about it. It was a shitty room with shitty paneled walls and cheap, well-trodden grey carpet. It boasted a few too many tables, arranged in a U shape, and a whiteboard pushed up against the wall that hadn’t been cleaned off well enough to erase what he was pretty sure was a reference to their lord and savior, destroyed of worlds.

So. That was a point for Bruce’s cult thing.

He hadn’t really doubted it, if he was honest, given that this had originated in a tip from Zatanna. She had told him as a courtesy that some creep had moved their base of recruiting and operations into Gotham.

Apparently, recruitment was going pretty well. The room could seat like, twenty? Jason counted chairs and left.

He came back on Wednesday at 8pm with the Batman and an attempt at a good attitude. He probably wasn’t going to need any of the weapons on his person. They were going to check in so that this guy knew they had an eye on him and that he would be suspect number one if there was any hint of people or cats being sacrificed.

Bruce fucked off to peer in the windows, like the giant caped creep he was. Jason took the front door, nodded congenially at the old man in the office, and knocked at the room the cultists had reserved.

He could hear Bruce internally curse through the comm. It was silent, of course, but the quality of the silence changed. “Knock knock,” he called, since a literal knock hadn’t done it. He opened the door without waiting. “Just checking in, heard you’re new to town and that you tried to feed Zatanna’s shitty little cousin to the god of Death?”

The room stared at him. A whiteboard marker squeaked to a stop. He idly followed the sound to the board. A …. Huh. that looked like some kind of mystical bullshit.

“You’ve been touched by death,” said the fraud himself, a man in his fifties with a wildly pretentious robe that was wrinkled from the paper bag he’d clearly used to carry it in. He outstretched the hand that didn’t have a blue whiteboard marker in it. “You would be a perfect sacrifice to our Lord.”

“So will it be,” said about half the people there, at the same time a young woman said, “No shit?” in an impressed tone.

Jason rolled his eyes through the helmet, unintimidated by the room of weirdos standing up. The kind of people who gathered at a community center on a Wednesday night were not going to summon the God of Death. Light glinted off the window where Batman was clearly weighing the possibility of breaking glass and swinging in. Jason silently waved him off with a headshake. They weren’t to the point of property damage yet. He took a couple of steps into the room with deliberate swagger. “What a lucky guess,” he drawled. “The Red Hood has had brushes with death? No one but a legitimate prophet could possibly make such a statement.”

“I’m not a prophet,” said the man, and turned back to his white board. “I’m a devote.” He rubbed out a line with the meat of his hand and then hurriedly wrote in ‘The Red Hood’ in a tilted cursive. “The sacrifice!” he shouted, throwing his arms wide and accidentally making a big blue line through his evil little sigil or whatever it was. The elderly lady to Jason’s right opened up her bag, thrust her hand in, and came up with a fistful of -

“Salt?” Jason asked, confused and unimpressed as the silly twit threw her handful of salt at him. “Thanks, I’m better seasoned now,” he snarked. He pulled out a gun easily. “Alright, let’s get serious. I-”

The whiteboard was glowing. The blue letters were glowing green.

“What the fuck?” Jason said. The windows exploded with broken glass as Batman decided now was the time to make his entrance. He barely got to see it before something hooked unpleasantly on his body and soul and twisted it sideways.

The world was green now. Holy shit. Jason spun a circle on uneven ground and gaped. “...Egg on my face,” he said. “I’ve been sacrificed. Consider me embarrassed.” A quick check showed that his comm was useless. It was giving off a steady little eeee of static that kinda sounded like screams. Whimsical. Jason turned it off.

He wasn’t panicking yet. The void wasn’t that freaky. It was weird, sure, but there weren’t any demons or enemies. He flicked the safety off his favorite gun just in case and frowned into the darkness.

It was like he was standing under a spotlight with no light source. There was ambient lighting in all directions, but the world faded into darkness only a few dozen feet away. He took some experimental steps to determine that, yeah, the field of visibility traveled with him.

Well. Time to get moving. Jason walked. There was nothing for the first - hour, he was gonna call it an hour. He got antsy and started jogging. The green stretched on, placid and infinite in a way that was really starting to piss him off. “Hey!” Jason barked into the void. “Anyone there?”

There was an answering electronic whirr. He stopped in his tracks. Jason looked in every direction, including up, and only saw the fucking thing when it was basically on top of him.

The vehicle was probably most equivalent to a spaceship, he decided, as what was probably a 3-man craft at most parked. The top clicked. It opened from the top and someone bounded out. “Hey!” came an annoyed male voice. “What’s the deal, bud?” The stranger landed in front of Jason with crossed arms and a pissy expression. His white hair floated above his head as if he was the little fucking mermaid in the ocean.

Jason scowled, the back of his mind cataloging the other guy’s outfit as pristine and undamaged and his musculature as athletic. “What’s it to you?” he asked, defensive. He didn’t know if it was safe to give information to this guy. “I might be a little lost,” Jason conceded.

“A little lost,” the guy repeated, and then- okay, he flew in a weird little flippy circle, scowling all the while as Jason gaped. “A little lost.” He scoffed. Then he let out a sigh that made his whole body look smaller. He uncrossed his arms and ran a hand through his hair. “This is a weird question,” he said, making it sound more defensive than apologetic. “Did you uh.” He scowled, like the words were distasteful. “Look,” he tried again. “Are you delulu, or did you get caught up as the sacrificial bride? I told Frank to knock that shit off.”

Sacrificial bride. Jason felt his brain go offline for a moment. Say what now.

“Helloooo,” the… was this rando a god of death? He was impatient. He flew way up into Jason’s personal space and snapped his fingers. “Someone just smashed metal trash bins together at my grave to get my attention, basically. No, it’s more like one of those spam pop ups that says there’s hot girls in your area?” He made a gesture at Jason. “Only it’s loud. It’s ringing in my ears, and I had to come track you down. Do you think this is funny?”

“...Sacrificial bride?” Jason finally managed to croak out.

Weirdly, this made the other guy relax immediately. “Just found out, huh,” he said, sounding much more sympathetic. “Yeah, okay, we need to sort out a spiritual divorce immediately. And then you can go home and there will be no more hot girls in my area and I can get back to my ess- my work.”

Jason took a few moments of grief and confusion to accept his apparent status. “We’re married?” he said weakly.

The white haired man looked a little sheepish. “Marriage is probably not quite accurate,” he said, and Jason felt a little bit of relief before the guy continued, “It’s more like you’re my concubine?” He sounded mortified by this. “I didn’t want this!”

“No, no,” Jason said, meaning both that he believed it and that he needed this conversation to change directions immediately. “I- who are you?” He gestured at his– what the fuck was the other side of a concubine relationship? King was the associated word that came up, but that…

“I’m nobody, really,” said the white haired man weakly. “But I may technically be King of ghosts or whatever. The Infinite Realms.” He scratched at his face. “So… yeah.”

They stood in utterly mortified silence for a long moment before he seemed to remember something. “You can call me Danny,” he offered.

“...Call me Jason,” he said.

“Thanks, Jason,” Danny said genially. “So, uh, this is a mess, right?” He started floating away backwards. “I’m going to hunt down my mentor and advisor and get some uh- advice, I guess. Do you wanna come with? Or should I come back and check in once I’ve heard from him?”

Jason weighed up his situation, the conventional wisdom about getting in vehicles with strange men, and wondered how useless his gun was going to be in this situation. Danny had never reacted to it being pointed at him, so his guess was ‘utterly unhelpful’. He put it away. “I’d like a ride, thanks,” he said dryly.

They made some stilted conversation on the ride. Danny was clearly trying to hold back and give him no identifying information. That was fascinating, because it implied that there was something Jason could do from the human world to track Danny down. It was also reassuring because there was no reason to withhold information if he’d planned to keep Jason prisoner, so, ya know, that was a good sign.

Anyway, Jason got a lot of information from Danny.

Danny was a terrible liar and he misspoke like, all the time. Jason was pretty sure he was in the ghost equivalent of school, like college or something. He talked like someone in Jason’s age group would, so he’d probably died very recently. Maybe he had been a college student when he’d died and he just hadn’t given up on that degree yet, honestly. Jason managed to drag the conversation around to education. He got nowhere with asking about literature but he hit the jackpot with science. Danny was still babbling about a telescope when he landed the …ship outside of a wonky clocktower.

Jason took off his safety belt and froze in his tracks when Danny absently stopped him with a cool hand. Jason looked down at that hand.

“You had better stay here,” Danny said. He shook his head slightly. “Clocky doesn’t like everyone.”

He melted into the chair as if he had never wanted to get up. “Alright,” Jason said.

Danny was out of the spaceship by the time that Jason realized something was very wrong with that interaction.

He hadn’t decided to sit down. He hadn’t wanted to sit back down. Did- did he actually think it was reasonable to stay behind, or would he have argued and gone in normally?

‘...I think Danny did something.’ Suspicion swirled in his gut. Jason tried to take the safety belt off and stand up. He couldn’t. It was like his muscles wouldn’t respond to it.

Well, that was pretty fuckin’ evil. His pulse picked up in his throat. It… It was some kind of compulsion? He had to do what Danny told him to do? That was really fucked up. He was starting to feel really unsafe now. He wished he’d hung back with Bruce. He wanted someone to bring him home. And weirdly, he felt betrayed. He hardly trusted Danny, didn’t know the fucker well enough to, but he hadn’t gotten that impression off the guy–

‘It wasn’t him,’ Jason realized. ‘It was the binding ritual. Danny said it wasn’t like a marriage, it’s not equal. That’s why I did what Danny wanted me to do.’

Well. Well then. If Danny didn’t know that Jason had to follow his orders, Jason was most fucking certainly not going to spell it out for him. It was a grim calculation to make, but it seemed the safest. As it was, Danny seemed to want to get rid of him as fast as possible.

So that was it. He’d play along and get Danny to spit him back out into Gotham, a young hot divorcé free on the streets.

[3liza]

here's what I've learned to never pay full price for, because people are giving these items away for free or almost free on Craigslist, Nextdoor, Facebook, at Goodwill, and on eBay (which has a local pickup section) in every sufficiently populated location in the USA.

cost of acquiring these items ranges from "carrying it home from the sidewalk" to "getting a friend with a car to help you pick it up" which is the same amount of effort as going to IKEA for worse quality that costs more, with the notable exception of it being a pain in the ass to coordinate with craigslist sellers, and you often have to wait and watch for what you want to actually show up. it took me about a year to find an acceptable gamer chair left out on the sidewalk, for example. but they cost $100+ new, so I chose to wait.

a lot of this stuff is the kind of thing you don't necessarily intend to keep, just to use in transitional housing or until you can afford a better one.

1. printers of any kind. basic office inkjets are free. ink is easily refillable or has generic ink cartridges way cheaper than brand name for any inkjet up to about 2015, not sure how difficult the newer smart printers are to hack but there's no reason to own a newer one because printing technology has not improved since about 2005. you want a color laser for making zines and wheatpastes? it's on Craigslist RN and someone's mom is desperate to get rid of it

2. bedframes

3. desks

4. tables

5. chairs

6. bookshelves, nice oak bookshelves that don't bend like al dente spaghetti when you put books on them, are rotting on sidewalks rn because they didn't fit in someone's house. go get them

7. scanners. I find a working scanner by a dumpster at least once a quarter, and I don't pick them up because I already have one that I picked up from a dumpster years ago

8. hot tubs. everyone thinks they want a hot tub and that the maintenance and upkeep will be worth it, and they are wrong. Craigslist.

9. sofas, with the caveat that if you are in a bedbug region like New York State you need to be very confident in your bedbug screening skills

10. quality leather shoes. these last forever and are expensive new. eBay is best for these

11. plates, glassware, silverware. all of these are able to be sterilized to whatever standard you feel comfortable with but if you eat in restaurants you've already put a fork in your mouth that hundreds of people have drooled on so try not to fool yourself

12. televisions and computer monitors

13. houseplants. similar to the bedbug warning above, you need to screen these for pests like fungus gnats and mealybugs

14. dressers, wardrobes, china hutches, cabinets, chests of drawers, etc

15. mirrors

16. clothes hangers

17. moving boxes

18. mattresses to a certain extent. I don't like secondhand used mattresses but unstained, unused mattresses are surprisingly common, especially since the foam mail order mattress boom started and people keep getting told by the mattress companies to just get rid of/keep any mattresses they want to return for flaws or wrong sizes or whatever. bedbug warning on this obviously

19. sheets and towels. you gotta launder them obviously

20. basic clothing, especially for kids. normie type clothing is so numerous people often just throw them away because they can't get anyone to take them

21. kitchenware like cooking utensils and pots n pans. don't use chipped or scratched Teflon/nonstick if you can help it. everyone needs one basic steel chef knife, which can be sharpened and maintained indefinitely. people throw these away CONSTANTLY

22. household consumables like laundry soap and dish soap. people often accidentally buy the wrong brand, scent, or develop allergies and want to get rid of extra

23. pet supplies like collars, leashes, dog crates, litter boxes, litter itself, dog beds, toys, carriers, etc

24. medical equipment of all kinds. people who take care of all kinds of patients end up with tons of leftover, sealed, miscellaneous stuff when that person recovers or dies, and they often give it away. adult diapers, hospital beds, IV stands, crutches, walkers, wheelchairs, fracture boots and splints, knee braces, canes, catheter packs, ice packs, heat packs, sterile paper sheeting, gauze, slings, over-the-door stretching and rehab pulleys, mattress protectors, etc

25. washers and dryers, both the basic household cube type and the small twin tub or rock tumbler type. people upgrade these when the old ones are still working, just squeaky or a little weird or sometimes just old

26. vacuum cleaners. secondhand ones are sort of icky but you can get rid of the ickiness by wiping them down with a rag and isopropyl alcohol inside and out. use an exacto or utility knife to slice off the hair and string wrapped around the roller. buy a new filter on Amazon. people throw away vacuums that work perfectly all the time because they don't actually know how to clean them out or do maintenance. bedbug and pet hair warning obviously

27. microwaves

28. refrigerators

30. lamps

31. any kind of exercise equipment including stationary bikes, ellipticals and weights/weight benches

32. any kind of piano. there's a grand on my local Craigslist for free rn

33. scrap wood and lumber

34. pallets

35. wood shipping crates

36. newborn, toddler and baby equipment like breast milk pumps and storage, bottles, bottle racks, diapers, etc. anything a little guy will grow out of fast will end up being given away

37. air conditioners, humidifiers and dehumidifiers. these will be most numerous during their respective off seasons

list updated 2/13/24 based on recent Craigslist trawling

38. jars, both canning type jars and clean food jars like from pickled or jelly bought at the store

39. rugs. most of my rugs are sidewalk finds. rugs will almost always be dirty. a decent consumer grade rug cleaner costs under $100, it's cheaper to just buy one if you have the space to store it. flushing the scavenged rug with soap, hot water, vinegar, alcohol, etc will clean almost anything but huge bedbug and allergen warning on this item

[p0orbaby]

It’s Called Free Fall

summary: therapy makes you realise a lot of things

warnings: none

a/n: there’s not actually any alexia in this, but she is mentioned

word count: 2.7k

part 1

-

The therapist’s office feels like it’s been curated for someone far more refined than you—someone who actually takes their therapy seriously, rather than as an ironic lifestyle choice. The walls are a pale, flat grey that veers perilously close to lifeless, and there’s this overwhelming sense of emptiness, like everything here exists for display rather than use. The chairs, two narrow-backed leather things angled just slightly towards each other, appear less like furniture and more like sculptures. You imagine some recent graduate from a New York art school positioned them just so, meticulously arranging each one to make sure it induced the precise mix of discomfort and luxury.

The table between you and Dr. Vargas is another matter entirely—a sleek slab of polished mahogany, thick enough that you could lean your entire weight on it without even a squeak of protest. Its surface is bare except for a single leather-bound notebook, a fountain pen and a ceramic dish, all aligned to a degree that feels almost militaristic. There’s not a single loose thread in the rug, not a fingerprint on the glass of the one window facing out onto a garden view that’s suspiciously verdant for the middle of winter.

Even the fern, perched in the corner like it’s waiting for its close-up, seems too green, too lush. It’s ridiculous, but it’s all part of the aesthetic, this carefully curated minimalism, the kind of cultivated restraint that says, “We don’t need embellishments. We’re here for the truth.” You’re here, supposedly, for honesty and revelation. But to you, it all feels a bit too staged, like a hotel that boasts a “homely charm” but is actually cold and sterile beneath the surface. You suspect Dr. Vargas might even mist the plant herself in some sacred ritual of maintenance, a sort of last-minute grounding exercise to fill the silence between clients.

You settle back in the chair, draping one leg over the other, and make a mental note to mention it next time you’re in some magazine interview. “Austere,” you’d say, “but in a chic way. I once caught my therapist hand-polishing the leaves of a houseplant.” You let yourself savour the image for a moment, glancing at the fern, which seems to return your gaze with silent judgement.

Dr. Vargas has her pen poised in that infuriatingly neutral way, a half-smile that somehow manages to be both welcoming and utterly unreadable. She’s mastered this look; the expression that says, I’m here for you while also suggesting she’s already a step ahead, already written your entire profile out in her head, neatly categorised into sub-headings like “Avoidant Tendencies” and “Control Issues.”

You begin with a sigh, throwing a glance at the ceiling in mock contemplation. “I’ve been thinking about another place. A chalet, maybe. Something in the mountains this time.” You pause, letting the idea sit, feigning like it’s just occurred to you. “Somewhere remote, where people can’t just… get to me”

You’re fully aware that she sees right through it. This isn’t her first rodeo; you’re sure she’s dealt with hundreds like you before, masters of diversion who fill sessions with banalities rather than facing anything real. But Dr. Vargas, in all her maddening professionalism, gives nothing away. She just tilts her head, the soft scratch of her pen against her notebook barely there as she writes something down.

“A place to escape,” she offers back to you in that maddeningly placid tone.

“Yes. Escape,” you echo, knowing full well the word holds no weight here. Escape from what, exactly? You let your leg bounce a little, as if the rhythm might lend some gravity to your words. “And there’s this new project I’m in talks with—A24, actually. They want me to do something… serious. A proper rebrand. Gritty. Artistic.” You drawl out “artistic” with the faintest of smirks, like you’re amused at the thought of it all. A lifetime of playing these games, and you’re practically a pro by now.

Dr. Vargas’s face betrays not a flicker of interest or amusement. She simply nods, that little encouraging tilt of her head again, like she’s waiting for you to get to the real point, the heart of the matter. But you’re not giving in so easily.

“It could be big, you know,” you continue, lifting your chin a fraction. “And I’ve got Alexia, of course.” The name slips out, deliberately nonchalant, though you feel its weight instantly, like it’s left a mark on the air between you.

Dr. Vargas raises her eyebrows, ever so slightly. “Alexia,” she repeats, not quite a question, not quite a statement. Just… acknowledgment, and yet it still feels as if she’s plucked something out of you without you realising. You don’t like it, the way she turns your own words against you.

“Yeah,” you say, shrugging. “She’s… brilliant. On the field, off it. You know, she’s—” You trail off, allowing a smirk to play on your lips. “Not bad to look at, either”

She gives no reaction, doesn’t even break eye contact. You imagine her poker face would rival that of any seasoned card shark. But it’s her silence that presses at you, coaxing out more than you intend to reveal. It’s a trick she’s used before, and yet here you are, willingly falling into it.

“Honestly,” you continue, almost laughing as if sharing some private joke, “you should see her after a match. There’s this… intensity, this rawness. Shirt off, sweat-drenched, eyes still blazing from the game. It’s… invigorating.” You roll the word around like a fine wine, savouring it as you go. “It’s like the universe threw me a bone, just when I was getting bored”

Dr. Vargas finally moves, a slight shift of her head, her mouth curving up in a near-smile. “And yet, you’re here”

Her words drop between you like a carefully placed stone. You scoff, rolling your eyes, but there’s something in her expression—an almost imperceptible softness that somehow feels like an accusation. “Therapy’s a hobby,” you shrug, leaning back, as if the very idea of anything deeper is laughable. “I’m always in therapy, Doc. News flash”

“Yes,” she agrees smoothly, not missing a beat, “but you don’t usually bring her up”

“Come on,” you counter, with a smirk that’s designed to look careless, “I bring her up all the time”

“Not like this”

Her voice is calm, almost gentle, but her gaze sharpens, pinning you in place. You feel a spike of irritation, or maybe it’s something else. You cast a look towards the fern, now faintly silhouetted by the afternoon sun, its shadow long and narrow across the wall, an unasked-for third party in this strange little dance. The absurdity of the whole scene hits you, but before you can fully detach, she’s speaking again.

“You’re talking about her differently. More… openly.” There’s no edge to her tone, no overt judgment, yet it feels like she’s peeled back a layer, glimpsed a part of you you hadn’t meant to reveal.

In the moments that follow, you stub out your cigarette on the pristine ceramic dish Vargas keeps on the table, the one she’s claimed is “not for smoking” but never actually moved after that one session. You’ve taken it as tacit permission, though you know damn well it irritates her—just another way to test the boundaries in a room that prides itself on having none. That’s half the point of these sessions: see how far you can stretch them. How much she’ll let you say, or not say. And you’ve mastered the art of saying absolutely nothing, all while filling the space with empty words.

Dr. Vargas doesn’t speak, doesn’t press, which is almost worse than if she did. There’s just the persistent softness in her eyes, the quiet implication that she understands more than you’d prefer. You remember Alexia’s eyes looking at you like that once, right after you’d tried to make some grand point about the nature of relationships—one of those pseudo-philosophical tangents you like to go on. She’d just looked at you, with a kind of bemused patience that felt a little too genuine, a little too close to knowing you.

You roll your shoulders, shake off the memory. But it clings.

“Alright,” you say, letting the smoke spill out as you form the words. “Maybe I don’t do ‘love’ like everyone else. I’m not here for a candlelit dinner and a mortgage. I’m not,” you add with a quick laugh, “one of those people who turn into some sap over a nice couple’s holiday in Santorini”

Dr. Vargas gives a small nod, an acknowledgement rather than agreement, her expression neutral but open, giving you room to continue.

“But, yes. Fine.” You take another drag, a deliberate pause. “Maybe I… care about her. I care about her. She’s different, alright?”

“Different how?” she asks gently, with an infuriatingly patient tone.

You groan, shifting in your seat. “Come on, don’t make me quantify it. That’s your thing, not mine.” You know you’re stalling, using your usual deflections, but there’s an itch underneath it, a part of you that feels raw just acknowledging that Alexia is, in fact, ‘different.’

You can feel her eyes on you, waiting for you to take the bait you’ve laid out for yourself.

“Fine, you want specifics?” you sigh, feigning annoyance, though you know you’re the one who’s led the conversation here. “She… laughs at my worst jokes. Like, really laughs. Not in a polite way, but genuinely, like she thinks I’m the funniest person alive, even when I’m barely trying. It’s stupid, really, but it gets me”

“And how does that make you feel?” Vargas leans forward, like she’s zeroing in on something significant.

You chuckle, low and dismissive, waving the question off with your cigarette. “How do you think it makes me feel? It’s… fine. Nice. A bit strange, maybe. I’m not used to being seen like that.” You pause, the weight of that admission lingering in the air between you.

She doesn’t react, doesn’t push; she just lets the moment settle, knowing there’s more.

You sigh, smoke curling up around you, as your mind goes back to other little things—the way she has this weird ritual of picking all the green M&Ms out of the bag and tossing them to you, claiming they’re “bad luck.” How she insists on reading the morning news out loud, in that silly, exaggerated announcer voice, just to make you laugh while you pretend to read emails. Or how she makes you tea at exactly the right temperature, handing you the mug with a grin like she’s just given you a priceless gift. These are things that, on the surface, should be forgettable, the kind of mundane moments that fade. But they don’t, do they? Not with her.

Dr. Vargas’s voice interrupts your reverie, soft but insistent. “You’re smiling”

You realise she’s right; you’re smiling without even meaning to, and it’s a small, stupid smile, the kind that feels too open. You try to erase it, but it’s too late. The vulnerability’s already there, a quiet confession written across your face.

You roll your eyes, more at yourself than at her. “Alright, so what? So she’s… alright, she’s fun. She’s got that energy, you know, that lightness. It’s kind of… refreshing”

The words slip out unbidden, and you feel a pang of something resembling regret. Refreshing. A word that implies something else by omission—that most of your life, most people you’ve known, have been exhausting. The irony isn’t lost on you: someone so completely different from your own brand of detached sarcasm, from your carefully cultivated ennui, has managed to slip under the radar and wedge herself into your carefully controlled life.

Dr. Vargas watches, her silence pressing you forward.

“Look, I don’t think about it too much,” you say, trying to inject a casual note into your tone. “I don’t need to psychoanalyse every smile, every inside joke. I’m not here to have my relationship broken down into neat little psych terms”

“Maybe you should think about it,” Vargas says gently. “Maybe that’s why you’re here”

You scoff, but there’s a softness in the sound, a hint of resignation. Because she’s right, isn’t she? You came here because, as much as you don’t want to admit it, this thing with Alexia has started to matter, in a way that’s both terrifying and strangely compelling. You’ve always prided yourself on staying a step removed, on being a spectator in your own life, observing rather than fully engaging. But with her, you’re finding it harder to keep that distance.

“Fine,” you mutter, leaning back, letting your head rest against the chair, staring up at the ceiling as though the answers might be written there. “Maybe she’s… special”

The words feel strange in your mouth, too vulnerable, too open. You don’t say “special” often, especially not in this context. But there it is, a reluctant admission.

“I mean, it’s not like I’m in love with her,” you continue, the words tumbling out before you can stop them. “She’s great—don’t get me wrong. She’s amazing in bed. I can’t remember the last time someone made me cum so much. And she’s got this thing about her, you know? Like this fire, this intensity. It’s like when she looks at me, she’s looking right through me. And yeah, I guess that’s… intoxicating. But that’s all it is. Right?”

Dr. Vargas nods, a small, subtle gesture. “Why does that scare you?”

You don’t answer right away. Instead, you watch the smoke dancing away from your cigarette, dissipating into the air, leaving nothing behind but a faint, lingering scent. You think about what it is you’re so afraid of—because there’s something there, something you can’t quite name, a sense that if you let this thing with Alexia continue, it might change you in ways you’re not ready for.

“Because I don’t do… attachment,” you say finally, the words coming out sharper than intended. “I’ve built a life that doesn’t depend on anyone else. And she’s… she’s a complication”

You can feel Vargas watching you, sensing the weight of what you’re not saying, the unspoken truth that this isn’t just about Alexia, that it’s about something deeper, a fear of vulnerability, of losing control. She doesn’t push, though; she just waits, letting the silence do the work for her.

After a long pause, you take a breath, letting your gaze drift to the fern by the window, its leaves glossy and perfect, so meticulously maintained it almost looks fake. You wonder if it’s ever felt the strain of trying to keep everything together, to present a flawless exterior while something more fragile lurks beneath the surface.

“You know,” you say, almost to yourself, “it’s funny. For the longest time, I thought love was just a distraction, a temporary fix for people who couldn’t handle being alone.” You take another drag from your cigarette, exhaling slowly. “But with her, it’s… it’s different. It’s like she makes everything brighter, sharper, like she’s tuned into some frequency I didn’t know existed”

Dr. Vargas doesn’t respond, just nods, letting you continue.

“And the worst part?” You chuckle, a self-deprecating sound. “The worst part is that she’s getting to me. She’s in my head, even when she’s not there. I find myself thinking about her in the middle of the day, wondering what she’s up to, if she’s thinking about me too”

There’s a fragility in the admission, a crack in the armour you’ve built around yourself. And it terrifies you, this sense of letting someone in, of letting them get close enough to matter.

You stub out your cigarette, watching the last curl of smoke dissipate into the air. It feels like a metaphor for something, though you’re not sure what.

Dr. Vargas gives you a small, knowing smile. “Maybe falling in love isn’t as bad as you think it will be,” she says gently.

You shrug, trying to play it off, but there’s a part of you that knows she’s right. Because for all your detachment, all your carefully cultivated distance, there’s something about Alexia that feels like home, like she’s a part of you you didn’t realise was missing.

“Maybe,” you say, the words soft, barely audible.

Love. The word lingers like an uninvited guest. You try to dismiss it, try to laugh it off, but it keeps creeping back in.

[starringp1]

Office hours

Synopsis: Working hard for an upcoming promotion, the last thing you need is your boss glued to your back for no apparent reason. Stubborn as you are, you're set on finding out why. So when you do, you realize he isn't the last thing, but everything you need.

Pairing: CEO!Yunho x office worker!afab reader (ft. Hongjoong) Wordcount: 10.7k | 5k plot - 6k smut

Content: 18+ mdni; big dick yunho, somewhat cheating?? but not rlly, choking, dom!Yunho, degrading, face fucking, fingering, oral both!receiving, unprotected sex (stay safe irl!!), liiiittle bit of pegging, a tiny bit of voyeurism?, spit play

The soft sounds of rain droplets run against your window, thunder and lightning about to make their way to you. Next to the tapping of the rain, the only noise audible is the clicking of your keyboard, as you sit in your office wrapping up the last pieces of paperwork.

Someone gently knocks on your door and when you tell them to come in, Jeong Yunho enters, politely greeting you. "Miss, I think it's time for you to go home. Take a rest." you quickly stand up and bow your head, holding back the surprised look on your face. It's not often that your boss comes your way, let alone to your office. "What brings you here Mr. Jeong?" you offer him a seat in one of the chairs in front of your desk before pushing close the laptop you have been working on.

"I saw light in your office and was wondering why you're still working, at this time of day, or I should probably say, night." he takes a performative look at the watch on his wrist.

"Well, there's some documents I'd like to finish today, to lighten my workload. I want to clear my schedule as much as possible for the upcoming project. As you know, I need to perform well." you give Mr. Jeong a polite smile, before opening your laptop again after realizing he has no pressing matters to be discussed. "Also, it just started raining, so I'd rather use my time wisely, instead of getting soaked trying to get home. My car is in maintenance."

Your superior doesn't seem delighted at your response and leans back in his chair. He watches you type on your computer for a while before speaking up again. "You know you can always ask for one of the secretaries to help, right?" his hand reaches up and tugs on his tie to loosen it slightly. Your eyes flicker up to him for a second before concentrating on the screen again. "Yeah sure," you scoff, "because someone in my position needs help? I know HR and most importantly you are watching me, Sir."

You finally stop typing and look up into Mr. Jeongs eyes. "I won't be throwing this chance away, just because I'm a little worn out."

A loud rumbling of thunder suddenly arises and the loud banging makes you flinch. Mr. Jeong chuckles lightly before opening the top button of his shirt, eyes never leaving yours. "I think you're too paranoid, which is not a good quality in a leading position." he winks at you. You clench your jaw, realizing he'd be able to turn anything you say to his favor.

"I'm not trying to sabotage you, neither do I think you're lazy. I sincerely wish for you to go home because it's late." a soft smile flashes across his face. "A couple of investors are coming in on short notice tomorrow and I haven't told any of the candidates yet, because I'm planning to call in an emergency meeting." Mr. Jeong immediately catches the confusion in your face and before you can even ask, he answers your question.

"I'm only letting you in on this, because you are so adamant on working at this ungodly hour. So do me a favor and tell no one of this." he puts his finger up to his lips as if to shush you, though you already know it isn't a request, but a command. You nod slowly, packing up your things with a sigh.

Strangely enough, Mr. Jeong waits for you and the two of you leave your office together. A soft jingle is playing when the doors of the elevator open and the two of you enter. Your hand reaches out to press the button for the lobby, but Mr. Jeong grabs your wrist and instead presses the button for the underground parking lot.

"I'm driving you home."

You open your mouth to somehow decline his offer, but he shuts you down immediately. "I insist, Ms. y/s."

a/n; y/s meaning your surname or last name

You're feeling tired and you don't have it in you to fight back today, so you decide to just go along with it. Yet you can't help but be provocative. "Sir, I don't mean to be rude nor am I interpreting this the wrong way, but are you sure this is okay for your wife?" Mr. Jeong stops in his tracks and looks at you amused. He gives you a light smile just for it to turn into a stern, almost threatening look. "What my wife deems to be okay or not, is none of your business, Ms. y/s. I suggest you be thankful of my generosity, driving you home." he almost seems a little on edge, so you're sure you've hit a sensitive spot. Needless to say, you regret asking in the first place.

You mumble out a quick apology, before entering his car, Mr. Jeong holding open the door for you. It's a little awkward when he settles in place next to you and you try to avoid his gaze. "Give me your adress." his deep voice makes you shift in your seat and you hope for the ride to end as quickly as possible, when the car has just left the parking lot. Arms crossed, you're crouched in your seat and watch the raindrops on your window rolling down.

Mr. Jeong seems to misread your body language and increases the heater. For a while you withstand the thick air, but soon you find it unbearable, due to the windows being closed because of the now heavy rain. You take off your jacket and fan air with your hand, all the while Mr. Jeong doesn't seem affected at all. "Sir, how long is the ride?"

"We'll be there soon, don't worry." you almost feel like you can sense a sly smile on his lips, but you don't want to stare at him too obviously. Is he doing this on purpose? Too embarrassed to ask if he can turn off the heater, you can't seem to get behind it, so you try not to think about it any further and keep your eyes plastered onto the dark street in front of you.

When the car finally comes to a stop, you're sure your face is all flushed from the heat, blouse sticking to your back from the sweat. Even Mr. Jeong seems to be hot now, his breathing a little heavier, sleeves rolled up to his elbows. Why wouldn't he just turn on the AC? You can't help but let your gaze linger a little on his upper body, veins flowing down his arms to the hands, that were gripping the steering wheel up until now.

Quickly you advert your eyes, undoing your seatbelt. Suddenly Mr. Jeong undoes his too, your brows furrowing in confusion. "Relax, I'm just bringing you to your front door, since you don't have an umbrella." He leaves the car, draping his jacket over his head. When he opens your door, he leans down to cover you from the rainfall. "Nothing my wife should be upset about." he adds, earning an embarrassed look from you.

You close the car door and Mr. Jeong holds his jacket above his head, urging you to slip beside him. You hesitantly press up against him while the two of you slowly walk over to your apartment complex. His arm sneaks around your shoulder, holding you close while shielding you from the rain. You can feel the heat radiating from him and you're sure your body feels just as hot to him.

When you reach the front door, which luckily has a small roof, he lowers his jacket and scans your body. "You're so wet." and for a split second, your heartbeat increases, before realizing he was talking about your legs, that hadn't been covered from the rain. Though for some reason, you feel like his choice of words was intentional.

"It's okay, I'm home now, aren't I?" you give him a wry smile before fishing for the key in your bag. "Thank you Mr. Jeong, I appreciate it. I hope it wasn't too big of an inconvenience."

"Not at all miss, anything to have you home safe and sound." he reaches out his hand to see you off with a handshake. Hesitantly you grab it, as you would usually bow and not say goodbye western style. His big hand wraps around yours, long fingers enveloping almost all of it. "See you tomorrow Ms. y/s. Rest well ." his thumb caresses your skin a few times before finally letting go, an undoubtedly ominous smile on his lips.

You hurry inside when he leaves, leaning against the door of your apartment.

What the hell was that?

When you wake up the next day and get ready for work, you can`t help but wonder about last night. In the beginning you had been sure Mr. Jeong just wanted to be nice and maybe somewhat make a picture of his own, of one of the candidates for the recently vacant position of chief operating officer.

The company was running on the efforts of young people, but for someone as young as you to work their way up the ranks this quickly, was still an astounding accomplishment. You knew this and so did everyone else. It had gained you a newfound respect, as well as some enemies, though mainly older collegues who were envious of you. Since Mr. Jeong hadn't been the CEO for long (the chairman had stepped down from the position of chief executive officer) he naturally wasn't too informed about the strengths of the higher ranking employees.

It was in fact his spot that opened up, as he got promoted from COO to CEO. You feel uneasy, not knowing his intentions after last night. Was it just some kind of manipulation tactic to see if you are fit for the position? Or was he acually hitting on you? You try to convince yourself you're just reading into it, but you know all too well even a marriage won't keep a man from cheating.

And now that you think about it, you realize you barely see Mr. Jeong without a female coworker next to him. All this, while wearing a ring on his finger.

A few hours later, you find yourself looking at exactly this ring, as Mr. Jeong has called in the emergency meeting, just like he said he would. Somewhat you are a little prepared thanks to him telling you in advance, but it also pressures you to perform even better, as if he is expecting it from you.

"Ms. y/s, I would like to have a word with you." Mr. Jeong calls out to you after the meeting ends. He doesn't even look up from the sheets scattered on the table, voice sounding almost concerned. When the conference room has cleared, the two of you sit in silence for a while, until you speak up. "Sir, what did you want to talk about?"

Finally his eyes meet yours and he looks.. disappointed. "As you probably have noticed, I told everyone in advance of this 'emergency meeting'. I wanted to see how each one of you would prepare themselves."

You definitely had noticed. The meeting went by too fast and smooth, for it to be truly a surprise for all the participants present. 'So it was a ruse all along' you think to yourself feeling relieved. He was indeed just trying to get you out of concept, not hitting on you.

"You didn't satisfy me today." and maybe speaking ambiguously was just his thing...

"I expected you to make good use of my briefing, but you didn't. Why didn't you prepare your materials properly?"

"I felt like it would've been weird if I seemed too well prepared in comparison to my colleagues. Also I deemed it unfair to those who didn't know about the meeting." you admit, hands fumbling with the hem of your blouse beneath the table. "Well Ms. y/s, the world just isn't fair." Mr. Jeong sighs and leans back in his chair. "Look. I still think you are a suitable candidate and I'm giving you the benefit of the doubt, because I know very well what it's like to be working with all of these geezers."

A smile forms on your lips as he starts speaking so informal. Jeong Yunho is only a couple years older than you, of course having the advantage of being the chairmans son, nonetheless. "So please promise me to be a little more selfish? I think being fair is an important quality, but wit also is." you nod along, feeling almost ashamed.

"Mr. Jeong can I ask you something?" fiddling with your hands, you try to hold his gaze. "Are you only looking out for me because we almost share the same age, or is there another reason..?"

"What other reason would there be?" his voice sounds surprised and it has your cheeks heat up from the embarassment. "None.. please ignore what I just said."

He gives you an indifferent look before finally letting you go. "I suppose you'll be working late again today, Ms. y/s?"

"Yes sir, is there anything you need?"

"Nothing in particular, I'll just be dropping off some spreadsheets at your office." he gives you a last polite smile before his eyes are fixated on the papers in front of him. You leave the conference room, quickly making your way to your office.

Why would he need to drop off spreadsheets by himself when a mere assistant could do the same? You groan and fall into your chair, massaging your temples. Jeong Yunhos weird behavior is getting to you and you're sure it's part of his scheme. It doesn't help that he is (per your judging) the most attractive man in this company which oh so happens to partly belong to him? This whole situation feels like bullshit.

You just want the scouting part to be done and over with and the new chief operating officer to be announced, so you don't need to deal with this anymore.

'Hold out y/n, think of your future.' you affirm yourself, tapping back into work.

When it's dark outside, a knock on your door brings you to pry your eyes away from your laptop. You expect it to be your boss, but instead Kim Hongjoong enters, a colleague you grew rather close with over the past few years.

"Hongjoong? What do you need?" surprised to see him, you take a little break. "Why do you always suppose I need something?" he pouts a little, letting himself fall onto your office chair. "I was working until now and haven't had dinner yet. You wanna clock out and grab something to eat?"

Just as the words leave his lips, you can feel your stomach rumbling. Today was not a good day. The exhaustion is creeping up your body and for once, you really want to get out of your office and stop working. With a nod, you save all drafts on your laptop and get ready to leave.

"What do you wanna eat?" you ask your friend, opening the door for him. But Hongjoong doesn't reply and just stands still with a startled look on his face. Mr. Jeong stands right in front of your door, hand balled to a fist - he was about to knock when you opened up.

"Mr. Kim. What are you doing in Ms. y/s' office at this hour?" Mr. Jeong sounds a little taken aback but you can't pinpoint why. Hongjoong quickly bows before replying. "Good evening Sir. We were just about to leave the office together."

Jeong Yunhos gaze turns towards you and he looks disappointed. "I thought I told you earlier I was dropping by."

"I-it's late already, I thought you weren't coming anymore." you stammer, trying to find an excuse. In all honesty you were hoping not to see him anymore after todays dilemma. "Hongjo- I mean Mr. Kim, I'll be with you in a second." you say, gesturing him to wait outside.

"You don't need to wait up Mr. Kim. I'll need Ms. y/s to tend to these documents," he wavers the papers in his hands in the air, "It'll take a while for sure."

And with those words, Mr. Jeong closes the door in front of your friends face, not even waiting for a reply.

You just stand there dumbfounded. What just happened? "Sir, we were actually about to have dinner..." you mumble, "it's really late, can't I look over the papers tomorrow?"

He ponders for a moment, before leaning against the door with crossed arms. "If you're too tired to be working on these, then you shouldn't be going out to eat with a coworker." his tone is sharp and his eyes are squinting at you.

"W-well I can't really sleep on an empty stomach." you give him an apologetic look.

He closes his eyes slowly and sighs quietly. "Excuse me, I'm not sure what has gotten into me. Of course you need to rest. These can wait." he places the sheets on your desk. "Guess that means we'll be spending more time together tomorrow." a light smile spreads across his face. You keep getting this suspicious feeling in the back of your mind and you're really hoping you're wrong, but you feel like Mr. Jeong is... jealous.

"What do you want to eat?"

Surprisedly you raise your eyebrows in surprise at his question. "You said you're hungry. So I'll take you out for dinner. I'm sure Mr. Kim is already long gone."

You have to hold back a scoff at Mr. Jeongs statement. You are very sure Mr. Kim hasn't gotten that far and is probably still in this very building. But you get the feeling you shouldn't be disagreeing with your superior right now, so there's nothing you can do except for giving into him.

"I don't really care, you can choose the restaurant, sir." you reply, wondering how your dinner plans with Hongjoong suddenly turned into dinner plans with your boss, Jeong Yunho.

Somehow, this becomes an almost daily occurence. Mr. Jeong comes by your office unannounced in the evenings to 'discuss work matters', or finds ways to have you come to his instead, like entrusting you with delivering important papers to a colleague "because a simple assistant could mess things up" or "because you should look into the documents as well". When it gets too late, he ends office hours with you and insists on driving you home just like the first time, eventhough you have your car back.

Soon you can't deny the fact you're starting to grow fond of him. He's very charming, knows how to make you laugh and when he smiles at you it gives you this fuzzy feeling in the pit of your stomach, which you try to ignore. Most importantly; you find working with him most pleasant. Mr. Jeong is smart and hardworking, it makes sense to you that he was given the opportunity to lead the company at such a young age, even when related to the chairman.

Older colleagues had been in favor of the position, but still didn't make it.

Slowly but surely, having him this close to you is making you go insane. Your intuition tells you he's being way too nice for a superior, or any other colleague at that. Maybe it's just wishful thinking, but you're not ready to admit it yet. Buying you coffee, leaving work together and one time him inviting you out for lunch (which you declined) have the rumours rolling, which isn't great at a crucial time like this. But your biggest concern is the way you can feel yourself catching feelings for him. A married man, who is also your superior.

After almost three weeks of this, you finally snap.

Mr. Jeong had just ordered you to come to his office again, pray tell what reason he'd find today. You take a deep breath, collecting your thoughts.

This was driving you crazy and you couldn't go on like this.

Before entering, you try to calm yourself, as your job could be on the line for this. You knock, waiting for his approval. When you enter the room, a godly picture unfolds before you.

Mr. Jeong has rolled up his sleeves and unbuttoned the top three buttons, leaving little to imagine. His cologne lingers in the air, almost as if sprayed on a few minutes ago. His hair is dissheveled, cheeks having a rosy taint to them. He's so focused on his papers he doesn't even bother to greet, nor look up at you.

Your breath catches in your throat for a second, but you keep your resilience. "I can't seem to figure out this problem.." he mumbles, inviting you via hand gesture to sit, eyes still locked with the documents. You sit down in front of him as he turns around the papers. For a few seconds you scan it with your eyes, looking for the issue. As fast as you realize the numbers for a recent project aren't adding up, you also realize the problem doesn't even lie in your department. He should have called someone else to his office, but instead he summoned you here. There was no way he wasn't playing you right now.

"Mr. Jeong please be honest with me. Are you testing me right now? Is it because of my age? To see if i would sleep with my handsome boss to get a promotion?" you blurt out, no longer willing to have him play tricks on you.

"You think I'm handsome?" he retorts, lips wearing a gentle smile.

You immediately feel your face heat up, being at a loss of words for a hot minute. "No! that's not what I... sir, you know exactly what I'm talking about."

"No, I don't think I know. Would you care to enlighten me, Ms. y/s?", his tone has some playfulness to it, almost as if he's enjoying seeing you flustered.

"You call me to your office to solve a problem, which I will barely be any help for. I was neither the project manager nor did I even take part in this one. It's a way different compartment, so why would you involve me out of all people?" your brows seem to be furrowed in anger, but in reality it's your anxiety.

Rudely confronting your superior like this wasn't your greatest idea. But now that you had started, you couldn't just back off like a scared dog. "I think you're reading into this. As potential future chief operating officer you will be faced with things like these all the time. Even if they don't fall under your specialized compartment." Mr. Jeong doesn't seem offended by you stepping out of line and you wonder why.

"Of course I know this, but usually I'd be taking the issue on with the people involved, who were actually working on the project. So where is the project leader? Why are we alone?" You cross your arms in front of your chest. "Why have we been alone so many times for the past few weeks?"

"I commend you for being so insistent, but I get the feeling you're just seeing what you want to see. I've been so good to you, giving insights on tasks and a routine. After all I was favoring you as a candidate. Is this the thanks I get for taking you under my wing?" he replies nonchalantly and you can't help but still be sure he's favoring you in more ways than just work.

Just seeing what you wanted to see? Bullshit, but you can't exactly call your superior a liar. There's nothing else left to say as he keeps denying your allegations, and you feel like you've crossed the line way too far already, so you give up on it.

"I'm guessing it's safe to say I am not in your favor anymore, seeing as you used the word 'was'." lips pressed shut tightly as you try to hold back the heavy feeling in your chest. You really messed up here. "I apologize for my rudeness sir. I'll make sure I won't behave improperly again." you stand up and bow deep, about to take your leave.

Somehow you wonder if maybe you were indeed delusional. The way Mr. Jeong is denying everything you accused him of, hurts. A lot. You had been so sure over the time being, that he was acting differently towards you than other colleagues. And now that you had caught feelings, you needed to confront him. For the sake of your mental well being, as well as the sake of your future at this company.

Mr. Jeong watches you quietly, almost as if he's not sure what to say after your sudden change of heart. Just before stepping out of the room, you turn your head back, looking him directly in the eyes. "Just so you know sir, I still stand by what I said earlier. Now that I'm out of the picture for the position I would like to ask you to stop coming to my office late at night." you bite your bottom lip, hesitant to say the following words.

"It's... giving me the wrong idea."

The stern look on his face turns into a softer one, almost apologetic. "Y/n."

You halt your movements as he suddenly calls you out by your first name. "Did I go to far?" he stands up, hands leaning on his desk. "Please forgive me."

You still stand in the doorway, now completely baffled by the unexpected turn of events. Slowly you step back into the room, closing the door. "You weren't wrong." Mr. Jeong says, inviting you to sit on his office couch. "I didn't want to admit it right away, because I wanted to be sure you want this as well." he explains, but you don't care for that part anymore.

He's had you on his radar weeks before you were even in question as a possible candidate, but there was never reason to summon you. When he decided to join the recruitment committee himself, he knew he had to take the chance, but he wasn't planning on telling you that.

Your mind is racing with thoughts as you try to figure out what to say. He walks over to you, sitting down carefully, your legs almost touching.

"Don't you think I noticed the way you kept looking at me every time we encountered? And especially now?" He refers to his unbuttoned shirt which your eyes keep flickering to. "T-that's because it's all out in the open!" hand automatically reaching up to shield your view from his defined torso, you whine while blushing,

He doesn't reply and instead grabs your wrist, guiding your hand to his chest onto the exposed skin. His warm skin meets your fingers and you suck in a string of air at the contact. "Mr Jeong.." you warn him "I have a job to lose and you a wife." but his grip doesn't let up.

This wasn't exactly what you had in mind when you confronted him. All you wanted to hear was a clear explanation and that you weren't making things up.

"Not if it's within my company." he retorts back with furrowed brows.

"Do you know I consider this psychological warfare? Competing for a promotion but also being at odds to be eliminated any second because my boss who is married is hitting on me?" he finally lets go of your wrist and you pull back your hand.

Scoffing, he's leaning his arm onto the couchs' backrest. "Then care to explain to me why you're dressed like you want me to take off all your clothes each time you come in here? Your skirts get shorter every time I see you." he lets his eyes wander over your body, but doesn't come any closer. "You don't consider that psychological warfare?"

You know you started putting more effort into your outfits and make up, but you hate to admit that it was all for him. Wearing skirts almost everyday, when before you used to wear pants all year long.

"Are you sure you'll be able to walk away from me right now?" he sounds like he's challenging you and you would love to prove him wrong, but you can't.

You stay seated as you're torn on what to do. The rational answer would be to leave his office immediately and try talking to him tomorrow, preferably in an open space. Your mind tells you to stand up, but your body doesn't comply.

The smell of his cologne mixed with his body odor, the flushed cheeks, everything about him makes you want to stay. "I don't know what to do." you confess, hands trembling in your lap.

"But I do."

He leans forward, hand cupping your cheek and his soft lips gently kiss yours. Your eyes flutter shut and all the restraint you had left flies out the window. When he pulls back just a little to look at you, his cheeks are even rosier than before.

He looks like a dream.

"I won't touch you any further if you don't tell me to." he whispers, his hot breath fanning against your face.

"You already did, Yunho." this time you speak with confidence, knowing there's no going back anyway. "So do it again." Your hand holds onto his thigh as you move upwards to embrace his lips in another kiss. His hand flies to your hip and his chest immediately presses up against yours as he pushes you back to lay down on the couch. "I have.. been waiting.. for so long..." he manages to say in between kisses, before grabbing your hair and gently tugging, to suck on the skin on your neck. "Say my name again."

You quietly moan out, arms propped up behind you on their elbows. "Y-yunho..." The hand that was on your hip moves to slip under your shirt, pushing the bra underneath up your boobs. His fingers cup your breast and he slightly pinches your nipple, making you arch your back into his touch. You let yourself fall onto your back to unbutton your blouse, giving him free access.

Yunho takes in the sight of you sprawled out beneath him, dick growing harder by the second. "So fucking pretty..." his hair falls into his eyes and you wipe them away only to reach behind his neck and pull him back in for another kiss. He kisses you sloppily, tongue deep in your throat.

You can't remember the last time anyone has made you feel this good and Yunho was just getting started.

When he pulls back for air, a string of saliva still connects your lips, you quickly unclasp your bra and throw it to the ground along with your blouse. You look stunning to him and it's taking everything in Yunhos might to take his time with you instead of just pulling his cock out and fucking you stupid.

His long fingers graze the marks he has just left on your neck, before plunging two of them into your mouth. A soft whimper escapes your lips as your tongue swirls around his digits, sucking on them eagerly. Wishing he could take a picture and frame it in his office, Yunho groans at the sight.

His unoccupied hand pushes up your skirt to reveal some laced panties and he gives you a little slap onto your clothed throbbing cunt, which makes you moan out loudly around his fingers.

"Are my fingers not enough to keep you quiet? Maybe I need to stuff your mouth with my cock instead." your moaning earns yourself another slap before he pulls his fingers out of your mouth, circling them around your left nipple.

You watch as he hovers over you, kneeling inbetween your legs. His fingers leave your nipple and without warning he pushes your panties to the side to slide them into your heat. Your saliva as well as your wetness make it way too easy and your lips part to choke out a moan. Yunho grabs your jaw and brings himself close, but instead of kissing you like you anticipated, he spits into your open mouth.

You clench around his fingers in surprise then swallowing all of it, the rest that landed on your bottom lip distributing onto your chin with the help of his thumb. Never in your life did you think you could be so at mercy for a man, but here you are.

Yunho looks like he's about to devour you but your focus is directed at the feeling of his fingers sliding in and out of you, occasionally curling inside.

"More.." you manage to whimper, begging him for more stimulation. His lips turn upwards into a smirk as he adds another finger. You feel something cold enter you and you can tell it's his wedding ring that's pushing you to another level of pleasure.

"Look at my little slut getting off on a married mans fingers.." Yunho coos as he watches your cunt greedily suck in his fingers. Your heavy breathing quiets down as you accomodate to him stretching you out, knowing you need even more.

You bite your still wet bottom lip and look up into his eyes, one hand roaming his body until it stops at his bulge. "I need you inside of me, now."

But Yunho isn't done with you yet.

"What you need, is to have some respect." his fingers come to a complete halt and you whimper at the sudden loss of friction. He pulls them out only to rid you of your skirt and panties, leaving you completely naked on his couch.

Lips come crashing into yours, followed by his hand on your throat, smearing your juices onto you. His hips start rolling into yours, the friction of the fabric against your throbbing clit driving you insane. "I'll fuck you when you deserve to be fucked." he says through gritted teeth, his cock starting to painfully twitch in his tight pants.

Now kneeling over you, he's pulling his shirt over his head. You can't help but stare at his chest in awe, fighting the urge to suck hickeys all over his torso.

Yunho chuckles at your dazed look before grabbing a fistful of your hair to yank your head up, now eye leveling his crotch. "Suck me off and I might consider fucking you." Having no time to waste your hands are pulling down his zipper and freeing his cock from his underwear. You let out a long breath as you finally hold his dick in your hands, so long and girthy you start worrying if you can even fit the head in your mouth.

Precum is leaking from his slit and you hesitantly give the tip kitten licks before pushing it into your mouth. Yunho lets out a soft sigh, relishing in the feeling of your warm cheeks embracing him.

You test the waters by slowly pushing him in further, only to halt abruptly when you start choking on him.

"Who said you could stop?" His hand flies to your head to push you down on his length, tears filling up your eyes as you try to breathe. Your hands grip onto his thighs to steady yourself, not being able to get in more than half of his cock.

Slowly his hips start moving and you have to do nothing but stay still and be his little fuckdoll. His moans grow louder each time he thrusts himself into you, the sound being your new favorite melody. You're sure that by now there must be stains on his couch from the way your wetness keeps pooling in your heat.

One of your hands sneaks down to rub small circles over your clit, which leads you to ellicit a small moan, dick still stuffed deep in your throat. He pulls out of you, only to let his fat cock slap against your cheek.

"I don't remember giving you permission to touch yourself." He frowns before stealing your air supply again, now bucking his hips into your face with even more fervor than before.

You whine out and grab onto the couch. Your jaw is starting to hurt and you know you can't keep this up much longer. You knew he was packing, having stolen glances at his crotch over the past weeks, but you didn't expect him to be this big.

When his hips finally start to stutter, you're already so fucked out, saliva dripping down your chin onto your breasts.

Your eyes are halfway closed as tears roll down your cheeks, Yunho being all you could feel, smell or see.

He comes to a complete halt, shooting his load down your throat, letting out a deep moan. "F-fuck." You feel the bitterness spread in your mouth and quickly swallow down the warm liquid. His eyes are fixed on your beautiful face and the way you're taking everything so well. When he pulls his softening cock out of your mouth, he strokes your hair, gently lowering you onto your back.

"So?" you ask him, hands grazing over his nicely toned muscles.

"So what?" Yunho asks back with a confused smile on his lips.

"Do I deserve getting fucked?"

He's trapping you in between his arms and the couch, eyes never leaving yours.

"You deserve getting ruined." his lips meet yours again, licking off the remains of his own cum. Slowly he's peppering kisses all over your neck, moving down to your chest, slightly grazing one nipple with his teeth. Yunho starts sucking on the hard bud when you let out little whimpers, hands laid on his strong arms, that are still caging you. Excitement rushes through your veins at the mere thought of Yunho touching you again and you almost start trembling from the anticipation.

His tongue swirls around your nipple a few times before leaving your breasts altogether as he moves further down. Face hovering over your pussy, you prop yourself on your elbows to have a better view.

You just need to witness this.

His face gets closer to you until you can feel his hot breath on your core, only turning you on further.

"Such a pretty cunt." he whispers before placing a few gentle kisses on your clit. You inhale a sharp breath of air when he finally buries his face into your pussy, tongue delving deep into your folds.

One of his hands rakes up to grope your breast, roughly massaging it. You close your eyes for a moment and get lost in the feeling of his wet tongue inside of you and his big hand assaulting your tit.

As your moans grow louder, Yunho stops for a minute to mark you up on your inner thigh. "If you keep this up, everyone is going to hear us." he kisses down gently on the now red-ish skin. "But maybe that's what you want? To have Mr. Kim hear how I rearrange your guts?" His eyes dart up to meet yours and there's a mischievous smile plastered on his lips.

You could tell he was hung up on the fact you were close to a male colleague of yours, but you didn't want to think about Mr. Kim now. Not in this situation.

"I'll try to be quiet..." you mumble, blushed cheeks from the suggestion. Quickly you grab his wrist, guiding the hand that was massaging your breast, up to your mouth sucking in his fingers, to cut the conversation short. Yunho just chuckles softly before lapping at your hole again, eyes closed while getting enveloped in the taste of you. His nose bumps into your clit at times and it's getting harder for you to hold back your moans.

It's taking all your might to stay quiet when he plunges the three fingers, that you were lazily sucking on just a moment ago, into you while relentlessly flicking his tongue against your sensitive nub.

His long slender fingers glide right into your heat while stretching you out deliciously. If this is how his fingers feel you can barely contain your greediness for his huge cock.

Head thrown back in pleasure, your hips start bucking into him while your hand is tangled in his hair. Breathy moans leave your lips when the pace of his fingers quickens and the knot in your stomach gets tighter. Yunho is sucking and licking on your clit like his life depends on it and you can feel yourself clench around his fingers. "I-im so close.." you huff out, still rolling your hips into his tongue.

"That's it.. cum on my face, baby." the vibrations and especially the use of the petname sends you over the edge and you come undone, legs squeezing around Yunhos head.

You pant heavily, arm covering your face as you recover from your high. Yunho is lapping up your juices, fingers still moving in and out of you. You whine out, pushing his head away from the overstimulation.

"S-stop I can't-"

He chuckles before finally removing his fingers from your cunt, licking them clean. His lips are glistening from your wetness as he emerges from inbetween your legs and you can't believe this god of a man just ate you out, with all that he had at that.

"God, you taste so sweet."

He sits up, quickly getting rid of his pants, then stroking his now hard again dick. Grabbing the base of his cock, he rubs it against your core, covering his cockhead in your cum. You moan at the stimulation, clit swollen and abused. You can't pry your eyes off the attractive nude body gracing your sight and it leaves him chuckling at the way you're looking up at him with needy eyes, begging to be fucked senseless.

"Are you sure you want this?" Yunho asks you one last time, needing to reassure himself, even when he already knows the answer.

It makes you scoff, furrowing your eyebrows. Like he didn't just have you at his mercy on only his tongue and fingers, eating you out like a starved man. His skin is glistening with sweat from the arousal and heat between you two, only showing off his defined muscles more. The naked man in front of you looks like a deity, almost like he's the god of sex.

You could swear you've never gotten this horny just by looking at someone.

"I need this." you reply while grabbing one of Yunhos hands to intertwine your fingers with his. He smiles warmly at you before pinning down your hand next to your head and slowly pushing his tip into you, tightly holding your hand.

Soft moans leave your lips as you're getting stretched out by his girthy cock, the feeling of his length inside of you bringing you almost to tears, because it just feels that good. Eyebrows furrowed, enveloped in the feeling of him as he bottoms out in you.

Your cum makes it a little too easy for Yunho to slide in and he lets out a deep moan when he's fully sheathed inside of you.

"Shit, your pussy feels so good.." he murmurs and places a wet kiss upon your left temple.

Your eyes flutter open to take in the image of him hovering over you while getting spread on his thick cock. The stretch feels so good it has you loudly moaning even when he hasn't started moving yet. "You're too fucking big." you groan, eyes tightly shut again. He let's you get used to his size for a couple of seconds before starting to move.

"You say 'too big' but look at how your pussy is sucking me in - just fitting for the greedy whore your are." slapping your tit, he watches in contentment as it jiggles.

Quickly he's building up his pace, knocking the breath out of your lungs. Soon Yunho is smashing his hips into yours, hand having let go to properly hold himself up. You let out uncontrollable moans while digging your nails into his forearm, resulting in one of Yunhos hands covering your mouth.

"My dumb little slut.. wants everyone to hear how I'm fucking that tight little pussy so well, hm?" he taunts you, lips curled upwards into a smirk. You clench around him at his words, letting out a muffled moan against his hand. But you can tell he's feeling just as good as well, voice breathy, sometimes letting a moan slip inbetween.

You're feeling so good you don't care anymore wether someone is going to hear you, all you care about is his big dick stuffed in your cunt. When his hand leaves your mouth to roughly grab one of your tits, your head immediately tilts downwards to see how his cock is disappearing in your pussy.

The drag against your walls feels insane and you just feel so full, you're scared you will never be able to have sex with someone else.

"Y-Yunho.." you moan out his name as your climax keeps building, head thrown back in pleasure.

"What is it baby?" you love how Yunho calls you baby and it has you tightening around him, making his hips stutter for a hot second. "Fuck, don't do that again or I'm cumming inside of you." his lips come crashing into you while still rutting his hips into yours at such a fast pace, you almost feel like he's splitting you into two.

Pinching your nipple one last time he sits up to firmly grab your waist and thrust into you. "I'm gonna cum!" you cry out, hips bucking into his, but he immediately stops, the rising feeling in your stomach vanishing.

You can imagine yourself getting addicted to the way he's thrusting into you, because now that he's stopped you feel the urge to cry, as if getting down from your favorite drug.

And it's quite the same. His dick is taking you to levels of pleasure you couldn't even think of before, making you not wanting to waste thoughts about what's going to happen when he's done with you.

And luckily Yunho is far from done with you.

"I decide when you cum." he slips his cock out of you to slap it against your clit before sliding it through your folds. "My greedy little whore." he whispers, while you're trying to restrain yourself from grabbing his dick and just shoving it into yourself.

You feel so pathetic at how he's making you feel so good just by rubbing his lengtg against you, but when he doesn't stop teasing you, it drives you insane. "P-please."

"Please what?" slowly he dips his cockhead into your pussy, fucking you with only an inch of his dick. "Use your words. How else is a dumb slut like you gonna get a promotion?"

You didn't know you had a degrading kink but Yunho sure as hell brought it out in you.

"God you get tighter everytime I insult you." he scoffs with a smile, eyes locked onto his tip inside of you.

"Please fuck me properly.." you whine, hips trying to push yourself further onto his cock. Yunho chuckles at your poor attempts before yanking both of your legs up to gather them over one shoulder, gripping them firmly and unexpectedly thrusting deep into you. He has completely buried himself into you, your mouth agape from the feeling. His lips are softly grazing the skin on your legs, while you're letting out obscene noises. The way he's slowly rolling his hips into yours is making you lose your mind and you wish he'd just fuck you for all eternity.

As he keeps thrusting into you, his huge cock is hitting your bladder and slowly it's getting uncomfortable, because it feels like you need to pee, eventhough you're already aware you don't. Yunho is starting to fold you in half, legs that were draped over his shoulder now pushed into your face as he's using your wet hole like his cocksleeve.

The squelching sounds are making Yunho emmit deep groans, eyes not being able to look away from his pulsing cock drilling into you. One of your arms is holding onto the couchrest behind your head to somewhat find stability and Yunho leans down to sloppily kiss you while folding you like a sandwich.

The angle makes you cum without a warning and you moan out loudly into his mouth to muffle the volume of the forbidden sounds. Your walls are clenching around him hard, wetness seeping onto his cock.

He halts abruptly in his movements, pulling away from you. A short string of spit connects your lips until it plops down onto your chest. Yunho is panting hard and it seems like he just held back from cumming inside of you, much to your disappointment.

"Fuck, I didn't tell you to cum." he pulls out of you, immediately grabbing a fistful of your hair to yank you up and pull you towards his desk. "Is my bitch wanting to be punished?" he asks in a daring tone, eager for what's to come.

His big hand is pressing down your cheek against the cold wood of his desk, bending you over. Heart beating fast, you don't resist and just go along with what he's making you do. Right now you'd do anything he requested of you if it meant getting fucked properly. His other hand lines up his dick with your entrance and with a sharp thrust he pushes his cock past your folds, earning a loud whimper from you. Your voice is too fucked up to be forming proper words, so only pathetic moans and a variable of other noises leave your mouth.

Not even recovered from your high he's fucking you so hard your hips are rutting into the desks edges, sure to leave behind bruise marks. "That's what you get for disobeying me." he groans and you love how he's putting on this dom show, your overstimulated pussy tightening at the thought of him punishing you right now. "How can you still be this fucking tight when I'm stretching you to my size?" Yunho buries his face into your neck, sucking hickeys into the soft skin to distract himself from not hitting his release too early. He was set on making you cum at least a third time.

"D-don't give me so many hickeys.. what if someone sees..?" you manage to whimper out. Fuck, leaving his office later, looking like a mess and pumped full of his cum already has you shivering at the thought. There's no way no one's going to notice, especially when he's leaving kiss marks all over your neck now.

"Then they'll know you belong to me."

You moan as he slows down his thrusts, pulling your asscheeks apart to have even better access to your throbbing hole. A string of saliva drops down onto your ass and you immediately panic when you feel Yunhos thumb press against your back door. "Wait, d-don't!" you cry out as he slips his finger past the ring of muscles, clenching around him hard. He groans, finger slowly moving but hips staying still.

"You're gonna snap my dick in half, relax." thumb still inside, he leans down and turns your head to the side to capture your lips in a kiss. Your hands are gripping some sheets of paper that are scattered beneath you as he starts thrusting into you again, balls slapping against your buttocks.

"F-feels so good Mr. Jeong." mind so hazy that you don't even notice you go back to calling Yunho by his last name. A low chuckle leaves his lips before he suddenly moves around a bit, making you try to turn around and see what he's doing.

"Is that so? Then why don't you tell Mr. Kim about it?" You hear a clicking noise and the next second Yunho places his office phone next to you and turns on the intercom. The unfamiliar feeling of having both holes filled have you pant loudly, barely shutting up in time for the call.

Hongjoong is way too quick to pick up the phone, which leaves you no time to brace yourself. Your eyes widen and you try to get Yunho to stop from fucking you so hard, the very obvious noises probably easily heard through the phone. "Good evening sir. How may I help you?" your colleagues voice politely appears through the receiver, seemingly not yet suspicious of the sounds coming from the other end.

"Go on. Tell him how good my dick inside you feels. Let him hear that dirty little pussy of yours." Yunho whispers into your ear, only for you to hear.

"Hello? Mr. Jeong?" Hongjoong quietly asks into the phone. Finally Yunho pulls out of you, letting you breathe for a second. When you feel his hand grabbing your ass forcefully you know you have to play along. "Hello Mr. Kim, it's me."

"Oh? Ms. y/s? Why are you calling me from Mr. Jeongs office?" he sounds very confused, which makes it harder for you to come up with a believable excuse. Even more so when Yunho suddenly turns you onto your back and forces you to sit up with his hand on your throat. A helpless little yelp leaves your lips and you immediately shut your mouth, hoping your colleague heard nothing.

"..."

"Is everything okay?"

Right now you can only applaud Hongjoong for his polite- and patientness, as you're sure you would've been annoyed as hell by now if you were in his shoes. "Sorry I just dropped something." you manage to say, gears in your head turning on what to tell him next.

"So uhm... I called you.. because... I need help with a document..?" it sounds more like a question the way the words are leaving your mouth and you're sure you don't sound believable at all.

"Okay.. what is it?" no further questions are asked and you just know he'll give you hell later for this awkward phone call.

"I uh-"

Suddenly Yunho plunges his dick back into you and you have to hold yourself upright on his shoulders. Lips tightly shut you shake your head and look at him with pleading eyes to stop. But he doesn't let up.

"I-I think there's a m-mistake in the formatting of one of t-the project files, but I can't seem to f-find it." it's taking all of your strength not to moan or let out any other noise and you feel like Yunho isn't as strong as he's acting either.

His face is buried in the nook of your neck, sucking more marks onto your skin. Sometimes a little whimper slips out, quiet enough for Mr. Kim not to hear. He must be insane, you think to yourself, to be risking getting caught. Maybe he's even into this, maybe he wants to get caught.

Caged in one of Yunhos arms, the other is placed right behind you, holding himself stable while he's jerking his hips into yours, coating his cock in your wetness. "So good for me..." he whispers, sending a tingle up your spine. "I can't believe I haven't fucked you earlier."

"Alright, can you send me the file now? I'll look over it while you're on the phone." Hongjoongs voice snaps you back to reality and your mind is racing, thinking of the next excuse to give. "My computer is broken." is all you can think of.

"Is that why you're in Mr. Jeongs office?"

You feel relieved when Hongjoong thinks even further than you, finding a way to make this lie work. Though it makes no sense in your head, you gladly accept it.

"Yes, she is. But I think it would be more efficient if you just came down to my office Mr. Kim." Yunho cuts right through you when you open your mouth and you look at him in terror. Is he seriously inviting Mr. Kim to come over right now?

"No! I'll come to you! Don't come here!" You almost yell out, slamming the phone onto the charging station. "How am I going to explain this? You're insane." instantly you let out a loud moan, closing your eyes and letting yourself get enveloped in the feeling of pleasure. Your legs are slung around Yunhos waist, slowly starting to hurt from having to hold them up in the air as he's fucking you on the edge of his desk.

"I'm insane for you." Yunhos lips brush your earlobe before slightly nibbling on it, his moans starting to get louder too. You can feel your inner thighs getting coated with your slick everytime he pulls out just to slam back into you, the sheets of paper you're sitting on probably already completely ruined.

Fast and surely you can feel your third orgasm building up, hips starting to rock against his to get some more friction. He captures your lips in a sloppy kiss, his tongue exploring the inside of your mouth. He's so big it almost feels like his cock is hitting the entrance of your cervix, you can swear you see the outline of his bulge in your stomach. "So fucking big.. I can't." you cry out, head thrown back in pleasure.

"Mr. Jeong let me cum, please?" you automatically ask him for permission, leaving him moaning into your ear.

"Only because you've been so good for me." he tilts your chin up to press a surprisingly soft kiss to your lips before picking up his already fast pace, one of his arms locked around your waist. He's hitting just that right spot several times and you have no strength in you to form any coherent words, a string of moans and other obscene noises accompanying the sound of skin slapping against skin.

Your wetness keeps gushing out and is coating his cock in your liquid, having him groan at the feeling. Just the way he's moaning so deliciously into your ear almost has you cumming and you know you won't be holding out for much longer. Arms thrown around his neck you come undone, your orgasm washing over you so intensely, you see your vision go blurry.

It's taking everything and more for Yunho not to spill his load in an instant when he feels you orgasm around him and slows down his movement for a second. "Where do you want me to cum?" he asks breathless, gazing at your face contorted in pleasure, only hurrying him more.

"I-I don't care just fuck me." you cry out, rocking your hips desperately against his. Your words take him over the edge immediately, hips stuttering while he's driving himself into you. Legs sqeezed tightly around his waist you feel the spurts of long thick ropes of cum painting your walls. The joined moans of the both of you sound like they're straight out of porn, neither caring for the volume anymore. Your high lasts so long, you think you might just pass out from this incredible feeling, the waves of pleasure seemingly not coming to an end. And you wish they didn't because oh god was this the best sex you ever had.

In the meanwhile your pussy is milking Yunho completely dry, his cock twitching inside of you before he eventually starts growing soft. He stays sheathed in you, just heavily breathing into your neck with his head laid on your shoulder.

As the both of you come down from each high, reality hits you like post nut clarity and you get this heavy feeling in your chest over what you have just done.

"Mr. Jeong. This was so insanely wrong of us." you murmur quietly, your heartbeat going up again, this time out of fear. It's not exactly what anyone wants to hear after fucking their brains out.

He lifts his head in confusion, looking at you surprisedly. "If you think I'll be favouring you in the selec-"

"No- not that. I don't really care about the work part. At least for now." you frown at him, urging him to get some distance between the two of you. His arm is slung around your waist still and face only a couple inches apart. "I'm talking about your... marriage."

But Yunho doesn't bother letting go of you, the corners of his mouth curling up into a soft smile. "The marriage with my ex-wife that I have been divorced from for over two years?"

The look of disbelief forms on your face as you try to get in your head what he just said.

"What are you talking about? Then what about your wedding ring? You're still wearing it." it makes no sense to you, especially when you saw them at a work gathering weeks prior. Does he think you'd fall for such a pathetic lie?

"That's because we haven't made the divorce public. It was a marriage of convenience and while our families know we aren't together anymore, which we technically never were, no one else does, except for a few higher ups." He finally pulls out of you, watching his own cum slowly flow out of you and keeping your thighs spread.

"C-can you not do this while we're talking?" you blush from his boldness but don't resist his hands that are now wandering up your body.

Blatantly ignoring you, he goes on with the explanation. "It's better if rival corporate businesses don't know our two family firms aren't binded by law anymore." His hand is cupping your breast, thumb softly rubbing your nipple.

"So you're trying to tell me the two of you act like you're still married, but you've been divorced for two years already?"

There's a big chance he's just lying to get out of this situation, but you sincerely hope he's not making all of this up. Yunho seems to notice your suspicion and leans forward to capture your lips in the softest kiss.

"You don't believe me do you?"

He whispers, burying his face in your neck. "I'm not sure if I should." a heavy sigh leaves your lips as your hand reaches up to comb through his hair. "I want to, though."

You can feel him smile into your neck, before lifting his head and pulling you in for yet another kiss. "I'll take you home tonight," he mumbles against you, "to my house I mean. And you'll see there won't be no wife waiting for me."

Warmth fills your body at his words, coming to terms with the fact he might just not be lying at all. Spending the night at Yunhos place wasn't exactly what your to do list included for today, but your heart starts racing regardless, thinking of all the things he could do to you later. "If you say so.." a small giggle escapes you, leaning into his touch more.

"Should I get plan B for you?" Yunho asks out of the blue, while looking down at the mess he made. You're surprised at how considerate he is, not quite expecting him to even care. Though it should be common decency of course. "It's okay, I've got an IUD in." you smile at him softly, pressing a peck onto his cheek, before retracting awkwardly. It feels like you've overstepped the boundaries, boundaries which you yet have to talk about.

"Are we weirdly loving right now?" the atmosphere is somewhat heavy and you try to lighten the mood. Yunho gives you a cheeky grin, hand that was cupping your breast moving back down again. "I don't know about that. But I do love your body." he tries to sneak his finger to your clit but you slap his hand away before he is able to. As the both of your are laughing, your eyes fall onto an object that is standing on Yunhos desk, and something seems off to you. After closer inspection, you fall silent and your eyes widen in horror.

"Mr. Jeong..."

"I think we're past the stage of calling each other by our last names, don't you think?" he chuckles at you, not noticing how distraught you are. When he finally does, his gaze follows yours, soon the shock is written all over his face as well.

Earlier you didn't put the phone correctly onto the charging station.

Which means you never hung up.

A/n; i'm actually so insane for yunho...🥹🥹 this fic sucked the life outta me. can't believe my second fic on this acc is such a lengthy one. hope you enjoyed it!!

[jezabelle9299]

Fashion Show S.R x FEM! Reader

Overture- You try on a new dress for a night out, and Spencer is continuously surprised by how beautiful you are

CWs- Reader wears a dress and heels, Spencer walks in before she's zipped the dress up all the way (But he doesn't really see anything-- just the back of her bra), Penelope is one pushy matchmaker and we love her for it

A/N- Day 19, I did not in fact fall off the face of the Earth (Yet), and I will hopefully get caught up with everything by Thursday! But I can't make any promises. If you like it, let me know-- and if you hate it, then maybe don't tell me, please, thank you.

Finally having your first fancy professional job came with something you were not all that familiar with, disposable income. So when Penelope invited you for a shopping trip on your lunch break, you obliged. You walked around the mall with her, and ended the trip with three new outfits, and a new pair of shoes. Two were for work, since you spent most of your time there anyway; and the third, along with the shoes were for the occasional night out. Whether a date (Which were few and far between), or the rare occasion of the government paying for a nice hotel with a bar you felt the need to dress up for. 

The fitting rooms were closed for maintenance when you went, so Penelope convinced you to do a quick fashion show when you got back, just for her in her office. The bathroom was right next to her office, so no one would even see you on the walk while you tried to decide if you liked the things you got. 

You tried on the work outfits first, working your way up to the piece you were most nervous to try on. It was a somewhat short purple dress, with a lace trim to complete it. But of course, this was the one thing you could not zip yourself. You threw on a jacket for the ten foot walk, and made it into Penelope’s office without seeing anyone. But as soon as she ran over to you in her very high heels to help you zip up, someone knocked ‘shave and a haircut’ on her office door, before promptly walking in. 

You knew from the knock that it was Spencer, unfortunately Spencer had no idea you were in there, let alone what you were doing. 

“Hey Garcia—“ as soon as he caught a glimpse of you, right as Penelope started zipping you up, he froze. No recollection of why he came over here, barely even registering Penelope’s presence when you looked like that. 

As if his life was one cruel joke, his favorite person in the world was wearing his favorite color, in a dress that could have been engineered specifically to render him speechless. And in the workplace no less. And in one final twist of the knife, he wasn’t supposed to see you. And he knew it. As soon as his brain could get him to move even an inch, he was covering his eyes. Like a child during a scary movie, he fully covered his eyes with one hand placed sideways, only to double the other one over top of it. 

You couldn’t not laugh at him. Just a little bit. He was just so scandalized at seeing a little bit of your bra. 

He was just trying to figure out how to excuse himself without opening his eyes when he felt your hands over his wrists, gently tugging his hands from his eyes. 

“Spencer, it’s ok. I promise I’m fully dressed now.” 

“What did you need, boy wonder?” After shooting you a look declaring, once again, her support of you and Spencer becoming a couple– Penelope sat herself back in her desk chair, ready to do whatever Spencer needed. 

“I—uh.” He quickly readjusted his glasses, but it didn’t help. Functionally, he was a brick in a sportcoat. 

“The incomparable Dr.Reid speechless? This dress is better than I thought.” You made the joke to undercut the tension you were feeling, but it only made it worse for both of you. 

“Sorry, I—I’ve just never seen you this dressed up.”

“She bought it to go out, you should take her for a night out tonight!” Both of you looked at Penelope, you couldn’t believe she would do that to you. Setting you up for that kind of rejection? Even if he did say yes— would it be for the sole factor of you dressing in a form fitting outfit? Spencer had a similar line of thinking– Penelope knew he liked you, and he was deeply upset that she would force him to actually hear your rejection. 

“Oh–um. I’m sure you have plans, I mean– you look really nice, I’m sure you have someone in mind or somewhere specific you wanted to go.”

“She doesn’t have any plans tonight! You don’t either, so you two are hitting the town.”

“I don’t have any plans.”

“Me neither.”

“It’s a good thing we’re getting off work soon, and the chinese place down the street is open late anyway.”

You looked at each other, or in the general direction anyway. Neither of you wanted to make eye contact, and then when Spencer shot Penelope a betrayed look at her meddling, she just tilted her head to the side in a ‘go on’ motion.   

“Would you maybe like to go to the Chinese place with me after work? As a– I mean as a date?”

“You want to go out with me?” He was so surprised by your reaction, he ended up taking a full step back– his brow furrowing as he did. 

“Well yes– of course, but we don’t have to if you don’t want to.” By the end of his sentence his cheeks were starting to turn pink again. 

“I thought that you knew I liked you, is all. Of course I want to go out with you.”

“Oh– ok, can I pick you up at your desk after we’re done with paperwork?”

“That sounds nice, thank you Spencer.”

“Of course, and could you– maybe– keep the dress on? You just look really, really, great.”

“Sure Spencer, I’m glad you like it.” The teasing you endured from the rest of the team was worth it, because every time you looked at him, he was already looking at you– tossing you a shy smile that could only increase your excitement for tonight.  

[violet-fluff]

Levi x Pregnant! Reader AU

An Unexpected Gift (pt.1)

Part two

Masterlist

You stared at the endless amount of medical posters plastered on the walls.

One provided a hotline for mental crisis.

One demonstrated a diagram of a human’s nervous system.

And another was reminding everyone to get their flu shot for the upcoming season.

You weren’t here for any of that. You were here because…cancer.

At least that’s what Google determined your sudden nausea was, because…why wouldn’t Google continuously tell people they have cancer?

“Miss L/N?” A nurse’s sweet voice snapped you out of your thoughts.

The nurse escorts you to the back where she has you step on a scale to get your weight.

You’ve lost three pounds.

Yup. Cancer. Definitely cancer.

After taking other precautions like your height, blood pressure and temperature, the nurse leaves you in a room to wait for the doctor.

The crinkling of the bed’s paper cover annoys you as it crinkles every time you move.

You sit up straight as you hear a knock on the door and your doctor walks in.

“Miss L/N. Nice to see you again.”

“Dr. Reed,” You sigh, “I have cancer don’t I?”

Dr. Reed chuckles as he sits in his chair, reading over his clipboard. “How many times do I have to tell you to stop reading Google?”

“Every time…”

He looks over the rim of his glasses and smiles as he clicks his pen closed. “Well fortunately for you, Miss L/N, you don’t have cancer. Your blood tests and urine samples came back showing that you’re pregnant.”

Time stood still. You feel all the color wash from your face as you feel light headed. “P-pregnant?”

“Mhmm,” Dr. Reed hums and crosses his arms. “It explains your sudden nausea, weight loss and fatigue. I’m shocked Google told you cancer and not pregnancy. Although, your iron levels are low so I’m going to prescribe you iron pills as well as prenatals.”

You cover your eyes as you laugh in disbelief. “I didn’t figure I was pregnant because my husband is snipped. He’s not supposed to be able to get me pregnant!”

Dr. Reed hums in thought. “I see. Well unfortunately in some rare instances, vasectomies can fail. I would advise your husband to go to his doctor to get that looked at. You both decided to not have children or he already had the vasectomy before he married you?”

You sigh. “We both decided to not have children.”

“Alright,” Dr. Reed uses his professionalism to analyze the situation, “How do you feel about this? The pregnancy I mean.”

“Shocked. In disbelief.” You twiddle your thumbs anxiously. “I mean, this wasn’t supposed to happen.”

“I have an important question to ask. This may be one you want to speak with your husband about first, only if you’re comfortable with that. Do you want to terminate the pregnancy or keep it?” The doctor asks sternly, but softly.

You try to think of an answer, but so much is going on in your head that you can’t come up with one on the spot. “Um, I have to think about this first. I would also like to let my husband know. It would be wrong of me not to tell him.”

Dr. Reed nods and helps you up. ���Alright. If you want to keep the pregnancy or terminate it, I want you to call the office right away after you make the decision so I can know what direction to take you.”

Tears fill your eyes as you nod. “Thanks, Dr. Reed.”

He smiles and helps you back out to the office.

Once you get home, Levi is waiting for you on the couch. Your eyes widen.

“You’re home early?”

Levi nods as he watches the TV. “Yeah. The building is getting electrical maintenance so Erwin sent us all home.”

“Ok.” You quickly walk to the bathroom and sit on the floor for a few minutes, trying to figure out how you will tell Levi.

You jump when there’s a knock on the door. “You alright? Did you have to take a shit?”

With a small laugh, you took a deep breath and decided it was now or never.

You walk out of the bathroom and come face to face with Levi. He raises a brow as you grab his arm and sit you both on the edge of your bed.

“I went to the doctors today….”

Levi groaned. “Shit. You’re dying aren’t you?”

You give a small smile. “I thought I was. But…I’m pregnant…”

Levi’s eyes widen and he jumps up. “What?! How?!”

“The doctor said sometimes a vasectomy can fail and-“

“No no no!” Levi cuts you off as he starts pacing back and forth. “Not mine. My wouldn’t fail. I went to the best doctor in the city.”

At a loss for words, all you can do is start tearing up and stuttering. “W-well, that’s what my doctor said. He confirmed-“

Levi stopped right in front of you and looked down towards you. “You cheated didn’t you?”

“What?! No!” You yell. “I literally told you what my doctor said. He said you should get rechecked by yours.”

Levi covers his face with his hands. “Do you want to keep it? Because remember we both decided we liked to be by ourselves and not have a little shit to deal with.”

A sense of motherly instinct washed over you on that last part and caused you to stand up in irritation. “I do want to keep it.”

That causes Levi to freeze in place and then suddenly throw his hands up in frustration. “Shit! I can’t deal with this right now!”

He storms out of the bedroom and you can hear the jingle of his car keys as he stomps out the front door, giving it a nice slam on his way out.

You are emotionless for a good minute before you start sobbing into your hands.

‘I guess I’m a single mom now.’

[answer2jeff]

this you knew.

warnings : (workplace) established but private relationship. fluff. that's about it actually.

also, this mostly just weirdly poetic and emotional writing. not a lot of plot or substance. sorry!

a/n: carmen refers to reader as "pico," short for "piccola" (small), and reader refers to carmen as raga, short for "ragazzone," (big boy) sorry if these nicknames are cringe they're cute to me !!!!

Fuck, it was cold.

Why did winter have to stretch out for such an excruciating amount of time? It had been snowing since late November—which, at this rate, might continue until March, give or take.

The holidays had just passed, stores were back open, The Bear was back under maintenance, leisure was nonexistent. There was no need for slush on the sidewalks and frost on your car window. You'd already spent the holidays with your extended family, even after swearing up and down you had no intention on coming home this year. Anything remotely related to that mistake needed to be disposed of.

Tonight was calm. Almost too calm. Richie and Marcus were still laying out the general foundation of the dining hall, and Carmen finally beat his record timing for passing through each station of the kitchen marked by green tape. You were pretty much free to go home. Especially since Sydney was the first to leave and encouraged you to do the same.

But just as you walked out of the empty kitchen space through the back door, something urged you to walk back in.

Just act like you forgot something.

Quickly swinging the door open and turning the corner into Natalie's office, where you knew Carmen would be, you stopped. Just barely near the frame.

Altered by your presence, Carmen snapped out of the trance that was staring at the empty space of the wall in front of him. He spun around in the 5-wheeled chair to face you.

"Raga?" you called out, not wanting to intrude as you stepped into the box of the office. Despite the door being wide open like it always was.

Raga. Sure, he wasn't a huge fan of petnames—but it made him feel like he was yours.

And he was. And you were his. Possibly for months now. And you even started to feel it. The word "boyfriend," though it wasn't used religiously, didn't feel bitter in your mouth. The way your name rolled off of Carmen's tongue was addictive to him. He preferred it over a simple 'she' when he spoke of you. You were chaos, but grace all in one.

You told your closest friends about a week after he spoke the words

"I don't really know what I'm doing, but that's—that's okay. It's more than okay. I want this."

But you hadn't told your family, and not even your true, chosen one. Which was here, in this restaurant, and everyone who played a part in it. But perhaps they already knew. Neither you or Carmen were particularly good at keeping secretes.

Just because your mouth stopped, didn't mean your body language or your face did.

Smiles and glances, whispers in corners of the restaurant incoherent to anyone else, his kisses against your temples that weren't as discreet as he hoped, it made it obvious.

But it felt right. This was okay. More than okay.

"Pico?" he repeated, mirroring that same skeptical voice you used just seconds earlier.

Eyebrows knitted with concern, your teeth gnawing at the inside of your cheek, you stood with your weight on your hip and your arms crossed against your chest. Carmen realized you stood like this all the time. But right now, he almost felt like he was in some kind of trouble; the way you eyed him above his level. Like you'd been looking for him and he failed to come to your assistance.

His urge to cave and melt into you was overwhelming. Big, blue eyes peered up at you as he leaned forward, prepared to listen. You only smiled while shrugging your shoulders and leaning against the doorframe.

"Think everybody went home. I didn't really see y'leave. Just—" you swallowed, "—wondered if you'd left or not."

That seemed to finally be enough to soothe him. You just wanted to know if he was here; if he was okay and ready to go home like he should've been.

"Uh—yeah, yeah, I'm still here."

"Yeah, I see that now."

The room stilled. Silence bounced off the drywall. But it was comfortable. It wasn't forced or unwanted. Just simple. And simplicity was scarce at the moment.

"C'mere," Carmen mumbled as he motioned his hand to signal you to come in, his voice barely audible, "just for a 'sec."

Caving in, his cadence and the look in his eyes being enough to convince you, you stepped in. He blinked slowly so as to not miss a single bit of you. For once, you could appreciate the slow of time in this room.

"I'm feeling really good about this," you smiled down at him, "this whole thing, I mean. Mikey woulda' been so proud 'f you, Carmen."

The lump in his throat was harshly swallowed back down as he nodded his head, not quite smiling, but not frowning either. You knew that face all too well. It was the face of guilt. He always wondered if he'd been doing the right thing. Lately it'd been easier to convince himself that the renovation was right, and that he was completely and fully capable of making these "adult decisions," as you called them.

"Thank you."

It was mostly thanks to you, though.

A delicate hand reached for a curl that fell just past his eyebrow. You wrapped the blonde strands around your finger, glancing from his eyes and back to his hair, just to see if he'd been watching you as closely as you hoped. Almost as if it had been second nature, he tilted his head up for easier access as you pulled away from his hair and reached to cup his clean-shaven cheek.

"I mean it, bear," your thumb gently caressed his skin as you spoke. He looked up at you as if he'd just found God in your eyes.

"I know," he tried to protest, giving you a weak smile and threatening to pull his head away.

But he waited.

There'd never been anyone in the universe, on the planet, in the country, in the culinary industry, in this city, or in this restaurant who saw through you the way Carmen Berzatto did. He'd been your head chef even before what was then, The Beef. You followed him back to his home city even months after the two of you made a pact to quit your last job as his sous, and his as your head chef. There was nothing you wanted more than to see him chase his stardom.

You loved him. This you knew.

"You're better at what you do than you'll ever give yourself credit for."

This he knew. At least now he did.

You took him in again with one look. His little moles here and there, his blue eyes, the rose of his cheeks. And at a moments notice, you leaned down to kiss him like it was the last thing you'd ever do. Carmen rose without even letting your lips separate. His hand planted itself at your waist as the other held the back of your head and gently buried itself into your hair. He tasted like cigarettes and mint with a hint of that bitter and filmy residue left on pill capsules.

He loved you. This you knew.

"Maybe you should give yourself some credit, too."

This you knew.

[loganwritesprobably]

Save Me

Law & Reader fic for anon for my 200 followers event

Content/Warnings: Law & GN!Reader, angst, Law doing doctor things, reader struggles with mental health, inspired by how to save a life by The Fray

"Hey, make some time to come to my office today." Law told you in passing when you were leaving breakfast, and he was just arriving. What? That was a little ominous, but you just nodded and continued on your way. You had things to do, maintenance around the tang, so you set about your tasks. Law's words rang in the back of your mind for the rest of the day, haunting you while you tried to focus.

Around lunch time, you knew you needed to go see him, because if you didn't you'd just be distracted, unable to work as his words were all you could think about. A dozen possibilities circulated in your mind, but you couldn't guess what it was he wanted to discuss.

You knocked gently on the door to his office, and when there was no response indicating whether you could or couldn't enter, you slowly opened the door and peeked your head through to see Law sitting at his desk and working on papers. "You wanted to see me?" You said, hesitating there in the doorway. "Oh yes, come in and just sit down." Law said, quickly shuffling his papers together and off to the side of his desk. You did as he asked, pausing before you sat in the chair opposite him rather than on the examination table. Now this was really odd. "What was it you needed, Captain?" You asked after a brief, awkward silence. "I just wanted to talk to you about some.. things you've said recently." You said a lot of things, so that wasn't particularly helpful, but it was something at least. You had a brief flash of concern when for just a moment you thought maybe you'd upset someone on the crew, which was of course the last thing you would ever want to do.

"Everyone is worried about you." Law said, and all the air rushed from your body. Oh. Now you understood. At least you knew what was happening now. "Oh. Okay.." You trailed off, unsure of what he wanted you to say to that. Clearly, Law wasn't too sure what he wanted to say either. He knew the conversation was important, and apparently was needed, but he just didn't know how to do it. Silence followed where the two of you sat, fidgeting, uncomfortable but with no words to share.

"I don't know what you want me to say, Captain." You said, hoping to prompt.. something. Anything really. "You know we all care about you, right? We'd miss you if you were gone." The words left Law in a rush, as if he needed to force them out, and you weren't surprised that it felt like that. You all knew he cared about you sure, but he wasn't often verbally affectionate. "I know Cap. Logically.. I know." "But that doesn't make a difference." Law finished, a knowing expression on his face. As if he'd experienced something like that before. "Yeah." You agreed, voice just a whisper. That was exactly it. Sometimes it didn't matter how much you knew that the crew cared for you, because the voice in your head would whisper that they didn't really, that they were only pretending. It was exhausting both to listen and to ignore it.

"You know if there was more I could do for you, I would. If you would talk to me I could.. prescribe you something? It might help." Law offered tentatively, but you just shook your head. You really didn't like the idea of being medicated. It wasn't something that you wanted, unless necessary. "And isolating yourself isn't a solution - don't think we don't see you doing it. It makes you worse, and I think you know that too." You looked down at your feet with a sigh, not giving him a response. Of course you knew, but it just wasn't that easy. But then, he knew that too. Law had been through the ringer, he understood if nobody else did.

"I want help, Cap." You whispered, and Law rounded his desk to pull you to his chest. Law was prone to small, casual acts of physical touch like patting someone's back or leaning against them - but a hug was special. You embraced him in return, clutching at him like he was a lifeline. "I've got you. I'm here."

Tags: @claryeverlarkf @uselessboots @cainnoable

[jeyneofpoole]

right now barbrey is in the manager’s office sitting in roose’s chair blasting [LOFI BEATS TO STUDY AND CHILL TO ☆*:.｡.:*☆] with her tiny bluetooth speaker that domeric dropped in his jank splash pad in her front yard when he was three and now everything comes out bass-boosted and crackly from water damage to drown out the sound of theon banging on the walk-in freezer door from the inside because ramsay locked him in there after theon refused to smoke his laced weed in walda’s new minivan that ramsay hotwired and drove to work while she was getting her bimonthly perm. barb’ll let him out when she needs to thaw burger patties but that might be a while because she has been entranced by the lofi snare she likes the irregularity and abrasiveness of the lofi snare it’s calming to her. she wipes a single tear away. domeric would’ve loved the lofi snare. theon has lost two fingers to frostbite. he doesn’t get to take a lunch because he’s wasted so much company time locked inside the walk-in. ramsay has been punching him out three hours early every day for the last month. he makes two fifty an hour. he allots half of that for his novelty lighter collection fund and the other half for bleach (frosted tip maintenance). this is the best day he’s had in months.

[oneforthemunny]

the apple blurb from the crypt (funsonmunson february 2023 lol) <33 finally recovered and being added to the masterlist for all the janitor!eddie x teacher!reader lovers.

janitor!eddie is always leaving an apple on teacher!reader’s desk every morning.

he gets there early before her to do some extra maintenance- the school had given him a raise to do both so they wouldn’t have to hire someone else. it started as a joke between you two. eddie grinned when you’d brought an apple to lunch one day, playful glint in his eye. “an apple a day, huh?” he asked.

steve snorted. “that’s a doctor, munson.” he rolled his eyes.

you shrugged, biting into your apple. “I like apples, ok?” you giggled. “guess I was made to be a teacher, huh? the stereotype doin’ it for you?”

eddie couldn’t stop smiling. so every day, when he’d stop at the gas station by the trailer park, he’d get his usual pack of camels and an apple. he’d place it on your desk, scribbling on a spare piece of paper a little note that left you blushing when you’d find it.

he’d pass by your classroom, catching your eyes when you’d see him, smiling and nodding towards your apple. later, when he’d take you out, you’d kiss him sweetly on the cheek. “thanks for the apple.” you’d mutter. “it was delicious.” you’d let your bottom lip graze over his cheek, sending a hot blush down his neck and cheeks.

eddie wanted that reaction always, so he’d bring you apple after apple, proudly propping them on your desk each day with a little note.

‘you’re the apple of my eye, sweetheart. have a good day. -ed’

you’d giggle, tucking them into your purse. you’d saved everyone, reading them later when you missed him, heart fluttering in your chest.

one day, eddie walks into his ‘office’- a storage closet with a chair and an old desk, a rack to hang his jacket. there where he put his lunch pail was a small tin of hand balm, ‘for working hands’ it read.

eddie’s heart swelled. he’d complained about the blisters and callouses from working at the school mixed with his guitar making his hands rough, the cold cracking them and making them bleed. when he held his hand in yours, you’d ran a finger over the cracked, raw skin with a sympathetic pout.

eddie picked up the tin, the best folded card on top reading:

‘a little of this cream keeps the callouses away (or that’s what the store clerk told me). hope this helps you my hard working man. xoxo’

eddie slipped it into his front pocket, a dopey grin on his face. he dug his fingers into the balmy substance, rubbing it over his hands before reaching into his lunch pail, grabbing the shiny, red apple out and starting towards your class room.

[fawnsflowerbed]

♡ It's The Most Wonderful Time-out! ♡

A/N: is this late? 100% but it's time for some CHRISTMAS HYBRID TIMEEEEE!!! A HUGE thank you for the patience from my amazing sunshine anon for this commission <3 Personally I think the title is hilarious, do- do you get it- the most wonderful time of the year- plz laugh-

Warnings/content: 2nd person (you/yours), fem pup hybrid reader, puppy's first Christmas! Grumpy ol' man Vendetta Leon, Leon is referred to as daddy! Reader in time-out, visiting the hybrid park, angst and fluff, mentions and descriptions of gore, all gets resolved in the end!

Word count: 7,430 approx.

┈•┈┈•┈୨୧┈•┈┈•┈

┈•┈┈•┈୨୧┈•┈┈•┈

December 23rd

Time out. Oof, those words. They were enough to take the swing right out of your tail. 

This definitely wasn’t your fault. On the scale of 1-10 you’re like, a -5 when it comes to being in trouble. Totally. It wasn’t your fault it had rained, or your fault you wanted to jump in the the new layer of snow and got all wet and muddy, the only part that might have potentially, potentially been on you was tracking said mud and sleet through the living room. The living room rug to be exact. The rather expensive, difficult to clean because daddy sometimes ‘truly can’t be fu- bothered’ rug. That was the one rule; he could deal with mess on the floorboards, the tiles, but not the carpet. The stains were just too hard to get out.

Leon could handle dirt and grime absolutely, he’d take it over guts and gore any day of the week, public holidays and Christmas included. But coming home from work after a long day, hands stinking of gunpowder and grease, only to find muddy streaks and pawprints all over the rug was his last straw. The coffee machine in the office had been broken, his magazine clip had taken three different attempts to click into place despite the million times he’d done it before, and the armoury’s practice range had been down for maintenance. This was just the gasoline flavoured icing on his flambe flaming shit excuse for cake. 

Woosh. Fire. 

So, there you were. Plopped back into your pen, favourite squeaky toy just out of reach sat beside Leon’s chair as he scrolled through whatever’s on his phone. Teddy was right there, all worn out fluff and stringy neck ribbon, you were being taunted! This was torture, punishment of 

the worst degree. The only thing that would make it even more awful was going to bed without a kiss goodnight. But even Leon wasn’t that cruel.

Don’t get it twisted, he was feeling guilty about this too. The face you made when he walked through the door told him plenty. Big, round eyes, head bowed and tail anxiously thumping. You knew you’d gotten carried away. But you also knew better. And it’d been so long since he actually disciplined you. This was long overdue, half chewed toys left sopping wet in the bath after tub time, weeks of chased squirrels and rabbits, staying up way past your set bedtime. This was what really sealed the deal though. So, you do the time, you do the crime.

Even now he could feel your eyes boring into the back of his head, like two teary, glossy lasers set to melt his old hardened heart. Every half-hearted thump of your fluffy tail, every scuttle of your nails against the floorboards as you got comfortable, every tiny whimper you seemed hesitant to let out. Not to mention your poor attempts at being ‘completely and totally cool’ with your timeout since he often caught you staring up at him through the bars, eyes following each swipe of his fingers over his phone screen. And when he craned his neck to check on you, you were swiftly looking in the opposite direction, swearing you weren’t just tracking each of his movements. How couldn’t you though? You were obsessed with your owner, Leon was your daddy at the end of the day no matter how many play pens or crates he had to put you in so you’d behave.

 His poor princess. You were killing him, really. He’d survived well over 15 years of bioterrorism just to die at the hands of his pup-hybrid’s big wet pathetic gaze. Could flood a village with the amount of tears you shed a week, but he loves you and that tender heart of yours.

The real question was how much longer could either of you take? Leon knew it was a ‘you do the crime, you do the time’ type of deal, but was this truly teaching you anything other than how to master your pouty bottom lip? You’re his favourite fluffball, fuzzed up and huffy, chuffing and rolling over onto your back like you’re ready to play dead if it gets you out. 

And honestly? He was caving. He was only a man after all.

You’d softened him, even if he didn’t want to admit it. Three years ago he’d have scoffed at the thought of even owning a hybrid, let alone being this attached. But now you were glued to his side. Now he just felt like an old man, worn and tired, your sunshiney attitude and warmth had thawed through him like no heater had. He’d been frostbitten before meeting you, whether he’d known it or not.

He couldn’t bear it. Yeah, time was up.

So his heavy footsteps muffled through socks padded across the floorboards to you, although you tried to act like you didn’t care (and failed miserably). It was pretty obvious how much this mattered to you, because your tail was whipping something fierce, so hard it had your hips wiggling. 

“C’mon, darlin’. Think you’ve learnt your lesson.”

Those big eyes pierced his very being and soul as you gazed up at him from behind your lashes, ears all floppy and face streaked with past tear tracks. God, you’d been crying over this too? Might as well just rip his heart from his chest and stomp on it. 

Even as he turned around and sat back down on the couch, looking over to you expectantly, you seemed to hesitate at first. Glancing at the spot where the rug had once sat in the centre of the living room, right in front of the coffee table, with guilty furrowed brows. Then it was back to looking at Leon, back to melting him with those heartbreaking watery eyes.

“Oh, my sweet puppy.” He couldn’t help but croon as you made guilty little steps over to him, every tap of your feet filled with shame, tail swaying with embarrassment. You were a walking heap of emotions, and he was ready to scoop you up and put you back together. “Here she comes, there we go. Tough day for our girl.”

You’d missed it, oh how you’d missed it. At your heart you truly were just a puppy, in need of the loving praise and sweet words that only he could provide. You weren’t the mushiest pup in the litter, but there was nothing like a good hug from your daddy. That much was clear from the way you melted into Leon’s body as soon as you were sat in his lap, your tail thumping delightfully against his knees while you burrowed into him. Paws kneading his shirt so you nestled into him just right.

“I know it was rough, honey. M’ sorry. But sometimes daddy has to discipline you, y’know?” the thick pad of his thumb encased your chin just enough to tilt your gaze upwards, his hand sliding over the curve of your face so he could wipe your tears away. “And it hurt, didn’t it?” “Yeah..” “So next time you think about stepping on the rug with muddy feet, you’ll remember how much we both hated this, and you won’t do it, isn’t that right?” “,,Yeah.”

“That’s right, baby. My poor girl.” That last statement came out as a small sigh, rubbing the soft fuzz of your floppy ears tenderly between his fingers. Even now as he gave you a talking down your tail never stopped thumping against his leg. 

No matter what, you loved him. That must’ve been why they called it puppy love. And it made his heart ache something fierce. You were too good.

Leon felt like the worst daddy in the world sometimes, he wasn’t gonna even try to lie about that. Sometimes he scratched behind your ears too hard, or you didn’t understand one of his jokes and ended up getting pouty and upset, sometimes he didn’t throw the ball right or pick out the right snacks. But all of that was nothing compared to the biggest issue.

His intoxicated escapades were at the very top of that list. 

Raids of the fridge and mumbling to himself, slumping his jacket off only to pass out on the edge of his bed. Leon knew you didn’t like when he got drunk, it was probably what hurt him the most about all of it. Not the gunshots echoing through his skull when his shot glass hit the table, or the recoil of a pistol wracking his shoulder when he ran into a wall too hard. 

No, it was the look on your face.

How you seemed to curl yourself back into your pen, watching with a lowered head and a hesitant gaze, tail somewhat tucked. The foggy memory of the face you pulled when he was too rough petting you or spoke too loud while sloshed. That’s what ached, what truly stung like a bitch. 

He was supposed to be the one protecting you, caring for you, and because of his own problems now you’d seen a side of him he never wanted you to. He’d made your hands awaken to the crack of eggshells beneath them when you stepped towards him, you were familiar with the shell’s powdering like that of bullet sulfur, and inner yolk gold as the streaks in his hair back then. Knew of the blood that sometimes hung in the middle of it all, and in the worst scenario the curling of bones left over. 

But still at the end of the night, drifting between a muddled haze of asleep and awake, he’d hear you make your way slowly towards his bed, the mattress dipping when you climbed up and curled up at the bottom of the duvet. Because, despite it all, you wanted to be close to him.

 Because, despite it all, he was your person. So he dumped what he could of the remaining bottles, stashed a few shitty cans for safe keeping in case things got too hard, and stopped being a regular at Jerry’s bar. 

He was doing it for you, maybe only for you.

Now he had you sat in his lap, buried in his shoulder and curling in as small as possible. Trying to become one with the skin of his arms and fabric of his shirt. You wanted to crawl up under his jacket and be carried as one with Leon, you’d do it if you could. 

He had to do something.

“What am I gonna do with you, huh?” Oh, that voice. Despite the icy weather outside, despite the cold that hung in his chest from time to time, his tone always tried to be warm with you. Soft. like those mutts learning to gentle their snarls and unclench their teeth, to stop growling. He was so used to the sneering, the sarcasm, snapping when someone got too close or said the wrong thing to him. But you were so fluffy, so fuzzy to the world, so unaware and loving. So he had to wear a muzzle, and he learned how to adjust.

Why? Because he couldn’t be a violent dog if he had his very own puppy. “I dunno..”

A lopsided smile spread across his cheeks at the look on your face, chin tilted and tail squirming as you look to him. There’s still the matter of that guilt still hanging in your face, stray strands like an unruly mop of hair.

“I’ll tell you what I’m gonna do. I’m gonna squeeze ya.” While you were still processing Leon’s comforting words and the lull of his voice, he was quick to gather you in his arms and press you tight to his chest. Immediately you were bathed in the scent of his shirt, the natural smell and comfort of his body. A warm blanket of safety had been draped over your blankets in the form of his presence. He squeezed your body nice and close until you squeaked out a yapped laugh, the fluff of your ear squished against his stubbled cheek.

“Oooo, good squeeze. Get all those nasty feelings outta you.”

“Daddyyyy, you’re smooshing me!” These were the moments he really cherished, ones where your tail swung and you squirmed in his arms with that smile of yours.

“Awww, well that’s how you know that it’s a real good squeeze,” His voice waved every time he swayed you slightly from side to side, bringing bubbly giggles from your throat that drifted up into the air and popped right at his heart. “It’s like juicin’ an orange, gotta shake and twist you till you’re all better.” “I don’t wanna be juice!” You howled out playfully, throwing your head back like the dramatic little thing that you were.

“Oh you don’t huh? Then you gotta keep smiling for me baby, it's just that simple.” He pushed his cheek up against your own. God, how he loved that smile, the sound of your tail thumping across the fluff of the sleek couch. There you sat, cute as a button, curled up atop his legs and snuggled in close like the sweetest, softest stuffed animal. “Tell you what, we get you one last snack, and then we’ll tuck you in, and tomorrow we’ll go into town. Catch everything before it all closes up.” 

You were already half asleep in his arms by the time he’d finished talking.

December 24th

Planning the day out was the easy part, executing it was hard. Not only because Christmas was right around the corner which came with its own chaos, but because you were- well, you. Overly loving, over committed, overly loyal and lovely you. Leon swore you must’ve been the cutest looking leech or tick in a past life.

You insisted on putting together an outfit that yes consisted of your favourite bows and daddy’s most comfiest shirt that smelled like him. But even his ‘I’ve worn the same blue shirt for 3 years’ ass could tell when things didn’t coordinate together. So he did the gentlemanly and not-wanting-you-to-look-like-a-disaster-oustide-ly thing and helped you into some cute fleecy stockings, complete with a soft sweater and your favourite skirt. Gloves of some sort were a must, you had a thing for pawing at whatever you could get your hands on no matter how cold it was, and you were in your fuzziest boots. Adorable. Like a Christmasy puffball, a fluffy ornament. All you needed was a pair of angel wings and a halo and you’d be ready for the top of the tree. 

“Look at her, look at that posture and stance. Look at that trot. That’s a well trained leash dog right there.” A smirk tugged at Leon’s lips as he watched you pad in step with him, the lacy trim of your skirt swaying whenever your foot met the sidewalk. This was the very same puppy who sat staring at him from her crate with the most pitiful eyes yesterday, rolling over onto your back like you might die from lack of attention. And now you were practically skipping, a bounce to your tail with every step.

You were lucky enough to live in a small enough part of the city. Not too urban, but definitely not rural. An outskirt area that was a nice walk away from the nearest hybrid park, long enough to get you warmed up for the real fun. And even after Leon had you off the leash you were staying in step with him, glued to his side with the sweetest smile on your face. In fact it took a little coaxing and the presence of some other pups for you to finally run around.

Leon knew you could be sociable when you truly wanted to be, but even for such a smiley little thing sometimes you simply preferred his company to anyone else’s. You could be skittish, a bit shy, and it truly threw him off guard when that part of you poked its head out from behind the warm rays of sunlight that radiated from your very being. It was adorable, really. Watching you curl into his leg with a slightly swishing tail of fluff, giving a small wave only to burrow into him. But today you were doing well, today you chose to shake out your jitters. And yes, he wouldn’t admit it, but he was proud of you.

No matter how many times Leon brought you out here, letting you experience the wonders of a normal domestic life, it never stopped being nothing short of magical to watch you shine. You had this magnetic aura that always seemed to follow you around, people were drawn to you and that sunbeam that clung to the smile on your face. The warmth that you spread to those around you. 

You truly were his sunshine.

“Leon?”

A voice he hadn’t heard in a few weeks thanks to his time off work caught his attention, and sure enough as he looked over his shoulder there stood Ingrid Hunnigan. Bundled up in a long overcoat with a recyclable cup in her hands, steam wafting from the lid in smooth swirls through the crisp cold air. Already her glasses seemed to be fogging up again, despite so clearly being cleaned only recently. Yeah, he didn’t realise how lucky he was to have decent vision despite all the bullshit he’d been through. Glasses on top of the trauma and broken bones might’ve done him in.

“Hunnigan? The hell are you doing out here?” It wasn’t defensive or aggressive, moreso confused. Intrigued, interested. It wasn’t often he actually saw her out and about. A little silly in all honesty for him to think that, Ingrid always had some sort of plans around Christmastime. Her holiday decorations, complete with lights and glowing reindeer atop a tiled roof, were nothing to scoff at.

“It’s been a while since I’ve seen the snow in person, I figured I’d go for a walk to get a feel for it.” She shrugged, hands tucked into her pockets. 

He was listening, or at least some part of him was. The other part was blurring through his peripheral vision to make out the blob of colour and wagging tail that was you balling up snow as you ducked behind a tree, playing with one of the other hybrids. If you asked anyone in his line of work, they’d say Leon is a hardass. He’s committed to his work and gets his job done, and he’s passionate about what he does whether that’s good for him or not. 

But with you? With you he was just a man. Just your owner, your person. And that was such a relief.

“How’s she doing?” Ingrid asks out of habit. Every woman in the office can’t help but ask Leon about his perfect princess. And of course he laughs, shaking his head.

“Spoiled as ever. Really enjoying my time off with her.” Much needed confirmation, he knows he’d never hear the end of it if he dared tell Hunnigan about the time out incident. Best to keep it lighthearted now. Even as her face seems to.. Falter. What was that about?

“Listen, about the Phillis report..”

And then that lightheartedness was gone. If it weren’t for the icy chill that surrounded him, Leon would’ve gone a new shade of pale in the cool winter light. 

It never used to bother him. It never phased him on the outside. But now? With you?

The Phillis report. A family with a hybrid that had been a target for a bioterrorism attack. 

A hybrid.

Out of the corner of his eye he saw you smiling, the red tips of his ears pricking at your laughter, the soft crunch of snow beneath people’s feet feeling much louder now as they passed. Everyone’s footsteps were unique, every thud and crush that left a print. Evidence. Clues. Cases. Work.

A hybrid like you. Everything was muddling together into the nastiest shade of grey water freezing over into ice. He hated his job. If he could pull the pin on a grenade, jump on top of it and coat the walls of that godforsaken office in his blood and guts he would. Because that’s what they were asking from him. They were asking him to die for them. Jumping from subject to subject, he was playing jump rope and hopscotch with his morals and intrusive thoughts over one simple statement in the middle of the holidays. How the mighty so quickly fell beneath twinkling lights and atop brightly wrapped presents.

The pulse of his heart had managed to spike, thundering fast and heavy in his chest. Eyes half an inch wider, pupils shrunk.

It could’ve been you. It- “Please, don’t. I’m just- I’m trying to not think about all of that. Not with her here.” It came out a bit too rushed, like his body had forced each syllable from his lips to get a point across. A safety measure, a precaution for his well being.

Leon had already spent countless nights tossing and turning over the paranoia of you being caught in his work. Now it had gotten so bad that even the mention of a hybrid being involved in a case made him sick to his stomach.

Because what if that had been you?

His throat almost closed itself off to the world as he got his words out. Ingrid’s face was creased in worry at the state of him. How had one statement so quickly pulled him through a 180? “It’s our first Christmas together, I can’t ruin that. I can’t.” Swallowing felt like choking down gravel but he managed to nonetheless. 

Hunnigan’s gaze softened, because she knew exactly how much it would ruin a perfectly good day if she were to stretch this out. She knew you were bouncing around somewhere without even looking for you amidst the snow and differently shaped animal ears and noses. You were the centre of Leon’s world, even if he didn’t know it. But those around him, those like her and Claire and Rebecca, could see what a difference you’d made. “I get it. Just.. don’t worry about rushing it, okay? It can wait until next year.”

“Yeah.. Yeah, thanks.” Automated. Robotic. Leon felt like he was backseating his own life as he responded, hearing Hunnigan’s shoes click as she prepared to walk back to her apartment complex. The sympathy ebbing from her expression only made him feel more sick, and yes that would’ve made him feel bad if it weren’t for him being on the brink of what was most likely a panic attack.

“Merry Christmas, Leon. Take it easy.” He couldn’t get the words out, settling for a stiff nod. Work. Work, work, work. It followed him everywhere no matter how fucking hard he tried to escape it. Think of something else, he scolded himself through the deafening heartbeat in his ears. Anything else. Think of you.

Padding your way over the snow, he watched on in an attempt to calm himself down as you bounded around the park like a bunny. Maybe a fox, the type that burrowed deep under the flurries of fresh powder with yipping laughter. All he knew was you were enjoying yourself, and that was all that mattered. That was all he focused on as his breathing steadied. With a short, still somewhat breathless whistle, your ears stood on end. Immediately your head thwipped to him, and you were merely a blur of pink and white that came scampering towards him. Yeah, that got a snort. Good. He needed to laugh more.

“There’s my girl.”

And there you were indeed, practically barrelling into his leg so he let out a hoarse ‘oof’ at the impact. Complete with a whispered “Hi daddy,’ that somehow managed to calm his heart in ways no medication or therapy could. Maybe he could start you out on service hybrid training, get you certified. Nah, you were too cuddly for that. Plus the vest would have to be pink or you just might refuse to wear it. So for now, he figured he may as well treat you.

“How about some hot cocoa, hm? You were a good girl after all, took your punishment like a champ.” Lie. Big, fat lie. If the ladies at the office ever caught word of how Leon had put you in timeout he’d be getting the most gruelling of death glares. His grave would be trampled on as they sprinted their way over to comfort you. He couldn’t really blame them, though, how could you not run someone over to pet someone as precious as you. You, currently sticking your little tongue out to catch the delicate snowflakes floating down from the sky as you approached the cafe. That’s what he had to keep reminding himself of in this moment. He did all of this for you. Trying to drown out the sinking ache in his stomach as if he’d swallowed an anvil, that son of a bitch must’ve been hidden between the bubbles of his saliva, or maybe the frost that dripped from the roof. 

So yeah, he was using you as the most sweet looking distraction right now, watching your wide eyes take in the wood grain and sleek walls of the coffee shop tucked into a corner of the park. On your best behaviour as you both stood in line until you got to the register. The metal tang in the back of his throat definitely had nothing to do with the gut weight still lingering after talking to Ingrid. Nope. Must’ve been the cold.

“Yeah, can we grab one long black and one.. Hm.” For a moment Leon caught himself rethinking his decisions. Was it really the best idea to give you something that had ‘cocoa’ in the name? You guys had yet to test how you’d react to chocolate after all. Taking the time to test and breakdown what food and beverage you could eat or simply didn’t like was a meticulous process, but better safe than sorry. “Wait, that was on our testing list..”

“Daddy?” Sorry puppy, daddy’s too busy having a small crisis over whether or not you can actually drink what he was ordering for you.“Is it- It should be safe for you to have hot cocoa, right?” “Daddy.” This time it was flatter. Unimpressed.

“I mean you haven’t had a bad reaction to anything yet despite being part puppy but, it’s technically chocolate to some degree so-

“Daddy!”

The tugging at his wrist was enough to get his attention back on you, the draw of your big dewy eyes and scrunched nose luring him in like a fish to bait.

“Sorry, sweetheart.” “Turn brain switch off.” 

Sometimes he thought you were pretending to be as curious and innocent as you are, because you so easily sensed when he was anxious or worried. Like an instinct. Sure, he loved you to bits, but you weren’t the brightest bulb in the- light store? Batch? He’d come up with a better analogy later. Either way, the point stood. And yet you always did that little head tilt when something seemed off. That bulb flickering to life.

“Right, puppy. Daddy’s turning the overthinking switch off.” Leon reassured as best as he could. And it seemed to satisfy. “Good daddy.”

He couldn’t help but snort again at that. “Thanks, baby.” Being praised for his minute efforts in managing his thoughts by his very own puppy hybrid. By the time you hit the register he was still smiling despite the storm in his head. “One long black and a hot cocoa, please.” 

But oh, how quickly it faded into thunder clouds. Even as he gave the barista his name for the order and walked over to wait for your drinks, it lurked over him. A sickening thickness in his throat, like tar tobacco and nicotine had clogged his windpipe. He was on auto pilot when he collected the recyclable cups and placed one of them into your eager hands, not recognising his own voice as he warned you about it being hot.

Leon was stuck between reality and dissociation, his feet leading both of you on the path back home that you’d taken enough times to have memorised. And even as you blew on the surface of your cocoa through the spout of the cup’s lid, you could see it in his eyes. That distant look. Deflated, the same as when you chewed on your favourite squeaky toy too hard and it popped.

“Daddy? You’re all droopy.”

Your voice was high and puzzled, all floppy ears and arched brows in confusion. Did he not like the park? You’d had a wonderful time making snow angels and bounding through the white powder like sweet icing sugar atop a winter cake. Maybe daddies just didn’t do parks well, like how you didn’t do the vet too well.

“Sorry, sweetheart. Daddy’s just thinking about things.” It had him staring out so far his eyes hit the end of the sidewalk, through the ice and snow to the cement. One hand held your leash, the other swiping past his lips. Hoping to wipe away the residue of his frown. 

It didn’t work. “But the switch..” Oh, don’t give him that tone. So heartbroken, so worried. It broke him.

“I know, I know the switch honey.” Already he was rubbing over the crease between his brows. This conversation couldn’t happen, not here and not now. “But sometimes- sometimes it’s not that simple, you know? Sometimes the switch doesn’t work.”

You supposed that made sense. Still, you couldn’t help but wonder. And pry, just a smidge. You could be a little pushy and shovey, whether you meant it or not. “Well, whatcha thinking about?”

What wasn’t he thinking about was the real question. It was all blurring together.

He simply shook his head. Made the bangs of his hair sway when he did. “Don’t worry about it, pup. It’s a conversation for another time.”

Well, that didn’t seem right to you. Usually Leon was so open with his feelings towards you, so you couldn’t help but nudge him. This time not with your nose or paw, but with your words. “But..”

And then his voice was lighter, as if he’d dropped the weight he’d been carrying over to one shoulder. Giving the illusion that things were better, that things were normal. But that shoulder still slumped. “Hey, weren’t you telling me something about Jill’s dog Carlos showing up on his own today? What was that about?” 

It still dragged.

At first you were very willing to tell him, the very concept of a hybrid on their own both bewildered, confused and excited you. Carlos was a big shaggy furred fella, he always played fair and shared the good treats Jill handed out.

But you knew this tactic. It was the same as when you’d ask him questions and instead of giving you an answer he’d pick up the nearest squeaky toy and suddenly you were playing fetch instead of talking. This time you were all the wiser.

“You’re trying to distract me! I don’t get it, when people say certain things you go stiff and wonky.” You couldn’t help but frown up at him. It didn’t feel fair, not knowing these things about him. A whole year together and yet sometimes he looked more like a stranger, dodging your questions and petting your ears so you’d move on. But you weren’t expecting him to furrow his eyebrows and sigh low in his chest, the way his forehead creased and nose flared. It was the same look you got before time out, only this one seemed more defensive than the last. 

“Not now, sweetheart. Please.” Leon’s tone was flat, no room for argument no matter how much your wriggled and squeezed your body between the cracks. Your tail’s wag deflated, slowing to nothing more than a slight sway. The snow felt a little colder after that.

December 30th

Christmas had been nothing short of a success in the Kennedy household, with Leon’s living room being covered in scattered wrapping paper and a whole new variety of toys in pastel colours. He was delighted. This may have been one of the few times he actually enjoyed a holiday rather than loathing it. Maybe it was because you were there, so he wasn’t spending it alone like he usually did. The way you’d spun in circles and yapped happily about it being Christmas morning.

It had been your first real Christmas ever. Your first Christmas not spent in a cage, where you got toys and ate warm meals with the man you loved, with Claire and Becca and Chris and Jill coming over for lunch under the fluorescent glow of the Christmas lights you’d insisted Leon put up. You’d sat by the tree unwrapping gifts with the fastest wagging tail Leon had ever seen, ears perked to attention and eyes wide and sparkling. He was glad, honoured really, to witness this moment of pure unbridled joy for you.

The two of you spent most if not all of Boxing Day lazing around the house in your pajamas, cuddling by the fireplace and bundling under blankets for more than a few naps. Lazy days, oh how you both loved them. Soon it was the 26th, then the 27th,so on and so on. 

Now, the christmas paper had been collected, the tree’s decorations were slowly taken down in day by day intervals, and you sat politely by the glass door to the backyard watching the snow. Leon figured if there was ever a time to truly explain to you the truth behind his career, it was likely now. A tough conversation to have, but one that needed to happen. He just couldn’t leave you in the dark like this, not any longer. 

“Hey, sweetheart?” “Hm?”

There it was. That innocent lilt, the curve of your neck as you craned to look at him. You were something too pure to be sitting on the floor of his home. You deserved mattress upon mattress like the princess and the pea, only he wouldn’t be an idiot like the ones in that book. Leon knew better than to leave under the bed unattended in case there were coyotes trying to nip at his sweet girl’s toes and tail.

Softening, that’s what he was doing. Cracking. This wasn’t going to end well and he knew it. “Y’know how daddy doesn’t like to talk about work?”

Uh oh, now you knew it was time for a serious talk. Not like when you dirtied the rug, this time you weren’t in trouble. Still you looked at him so gently, with such trust while that mountain of fluffy fur behind you swished. Because if it was serious, it was important. “Yeah.”

Leon patted the spot on the couch beside him, complete with a pretty pink bone print blanket for you to settle on, to which you trotted yourself over as dainty as could be. Hopping up next to him, a tail curled around your back. Getting yourself cozy under his arm with your head nestled right next to his chest. Listening to the steady thrum of his heart as his pulse picked up. Doing so much, yet so little, and it all comforted him.

 It was starting to sink in. He was telling you. He was opening the casket, dragging the corpse of his past through the dirt to pose for a real, living person. How was he supposed to break this to you? How did you even word his job without saying ‘I might die one day’?

“Well, that’s cause what I do is pretty dangerous, puppy. I don’t want to worry you with all the stuff I have to do.” The violence, the bloodshed, the screaming. Flashes of red that haunted his dreams, the ones you’d nudge at his face over until he’d wake up because you heard him muttering in his sleep.

“Why?” You were so oblivious to his little inner world, the one he made sure to hide from you. The one filled with guilt and shame. He wanted to keep it that way, but what choice did he have? How could he keep you safe if you had no idea what you were being kept safe from? You should be worried about what colour skirt to wear, or if your collar matches your outfit, not this bullshit. 

“Because it’s just better for you to sit and wait for me to get home at the end of the day, baby.” It was better for you to expect him home every day. 

It was better for both of you if you just always thought he was coming home.

 It made his heart break so hard his ribs snapped thinking about you sitting by the big bay window, tail flicking and throat weeping whimpers if he didn’t show up for a few days. Then weeks. Then eventually someone would have to take you in, pack up all your toys. They’d find the list he kept stashed on the top of the fridge just in case; instructing anyone who found you on just how you liked your food and which stories to whisper in your ear at night when the thunder got too loud. 

You’d never go willingly. Someone would have to leash you and tug you out the door to their car. You’d cry. You’d cry so hard your throat would die out hoarse. It would probably be Claire or Chris or Becca picking you up, he’d have to hope. The thought of some stranger from the DSO taking you from his home, your home, the home you shared together, had him swallowing down a lump. He knew you’d never recover from it. It would shatter you, after sitting in a kennel alone for so long and finally crawling out of your shell, just to lose the person you so clearly loved more than anyone else. Fuck, Leon could feel his eyes watering.

But he couldn’t do that to you. He just couldn’t. It would be the cruelest thing in the world for him to abandon you without any choice in the matter. If he were a stronger man he’d have retired by now. But he wasn’t stronger. He had no backbone when it came to his job, the government, the United States as a whole. Some fucking hero. He was more like a lapdog, breaking his neck for a board of people who didn’t give a shit about him. Taking the scraps he was offered.

“Daddy, you’re crying..” Your sad voice pulled him back into reality, where you were now taking those soft hands of yours to wipe away his tears. Wet streaks that lined the creases forming in his scarred over skin. He was getting too old for this. Too old to be bottling up these feelings for days on end. Wearing himself down for the sake of denying what he felt.

“Fuck, sorry sweetheart. It’s just.. It’s my job to keep you safe. But it’s also my job to keep everyone else safe, too. And your daddy’s been through everything, honey. Zombies, parasites, bioterrorism, war, the whole five yards. I’ve had so many people turn their backs on me or- or look to me for help for so long that it drives me crazy to even think of you worrying about me not coming home.”

How long had it been since he’d cried? Really cried? How much more could a man like Leon take? Sure he was strong, he had to be. Built up from broken beginnings on bloodied glass, shitty past relationships and world-ending catastrophes. But he was only human for Christ’s sake.

And maybe he was finally starting to sober up to that realization.

“I always think you’ll come home..”

Of course you did. Of course you, this sweet angel of a puppy girl, looked up at him with those watery eyes filled with confidence in such a statement. As if you loved him so much it almost poured from your lash line in heart shaped droplets. You had such hope despite where he’d adopted you from. Had he done that? It was odd to think about. How someone as shitty as him (in his perspective at least) had gotten you to blossom and bloom into the sweet thing you were today.

“Yeah, why’s that honey?”

“Cause you’re Leon, and Leon is the strongest person I know.”

The weight of your head now resting against his shoulder was like an anchor that stopped Leon from washing out on the beach of his despairs. He wasn’t left to drift off into oblivion, to drown in his sorrows and regrets. He had you. You had him. A hand came out to instinctively pet over the warm fuzz of your floppy ears, and he seeked out the comfort that came with your presence.

It was comforting, the quiet. Not tense or awkward. Like the waves of the ocean sloshing to a slow and serene sway after a tsunami or a tidal wave. To know you saw him as your hero, that you held him in such high regard. It made every grey hair and creased feature feel worth it. Everything he did, he did it for you. And for once it didn’t feel like a pressure, or a burden, it was a responsibility he was glad to shoulder. Like he were your knight in shining armour.

“Why’d you never tell me you went through all that stuff?” Even now as you spoke your voice was low and soft, sweet to his ears like a drizzling of warm honey right to his cochlea. Those homemade remedies for aches and pains.

Even now he found himself chuckling to get through this, an ache in his chest with each exhale. Someone had set a cinderblock on his chest, and you were mustering up all the strength in those little paws to ease it off. “And ruin what we’ve got going on right here? I wasn’t gonna risk that.”

Apparently that was the wrong answer, because now you were perked upright with the slightest of pouts perched atop your lips. Disagreement etched into your features. “S’ not ruined, dummy. It just means I get to say I love you a whole lot more.”

Now it was his turn to snort sincerely. Always so stubborn. Adorable, sweet, but stubborn. "Oh, is that so?”

“Mhm. So when things are yuck it’ll be easier to remember that I love you. Cause I’ll say it as many times as I gotta until you believe it.”

You ruined him, and not in a bad way. You took the world’s smallest pick to the world’s coldest iceberg and chipped back his layers sliver by sliver. Sculpting him back into what he once was before the world dumped cold water onto him and froze over the softness that lay within. 

Leon’s hand stroked aimlessly over the curve of your head, tracing over the edges of your hair gently. Even with the scrapes on his knuckles and bruises on his palms he always made sure to be soft with you. His voice, half cracked and brimming with affection, was quiet as he whispered back. “I love you too, puppy. You’re my best girl.”

Firewood crackled in a low, jagged white noise in the background, smoothing into a quiet simmer that cast a warm orange glow against the walls. Bathing the room in heat, one that you both let wrap around you like a safety blanket. You found haven in each other, because no matter what, you always came back to one another. Leon was your owner, after all. It was his job to ensure you had the best life, with all the comforts you could ask for and then some.

And he planned to do just that. Whether it meant dumping out all the alcohol in his house or not.

“So.. Do I get more presents?” It’s a teeny voice against his shirt that had him tilting his chin down to look at you.

“Well no puppy, the next holiday is New Years Eve. We don’t give presents then, only Christmas.” A pretty straight forward explanation, or at least that’s what it felt like to him.

“Why?” Another chirp.

His brow arched. “Cause Christmas is only once a year, sweetie.”

“Why?” And another. “Okay, we’re not starting this.”

God, just wait until you find out about birthdays. Then he’s done for.

Like my work? Consider supporting me with a commission or buying me boba! :D

[putmeinmoviebaby]

Arriving at the FBI headquarters in Quantico, I walk through the huge door towards the elevator. It was exactly 2:30 in the morning when I received a call from Garcia saying we had a new case.

As I walk through the elevator door, I hear a voice shouting in front of me, breaking me out of my thoughts.

“Y/N, HOLD THE DOOR, PLEASE!” Looking at the voice ahead, I see JJ and Reid approaching.

The two were coming towards me when the door was about to close, so I immediately held it open.

"Thank you. How was your weekend? I imagine it was more exciting than mine." JJ says as she gets into the elevator with Spencer, standing next to me.

"Ah, it was a lot of chaos. My neighbor set the kitchen on fire and I had to help her put it out," I say, rubbing my eyes in an attempt to get rid of the sleep.

“It is known that the biggest cause of house fires is neglect of the electrical system and lack of maintenance,” says Reid as he takes a sip of coffee in his hands.

“Actually, she was trying to make a cake and ended up setting the kitchen on fire. She’s a 66-year-old woman,” I explain as I lean against the wall of the elevator. "Wait, shouldn't you go out to dinner with Will? It was all arranged."

"Oh, I wish I could, but my babysitter got sick, and I had to cancel everything."

"I can't believe it, what bad luck! Everything was arranged for you to celebrate your wedding anniversary. You could have called me; I would have watched Henry for you."

"No, I couldn't do that. The last case left us all exhausted; we needed some rest."

As I hear her words, the elevator doors open, leading us to step out.

Ahead, I spot Derek with a mug in his hands, heading toward the meeting room.

I drop my things on the table in front of Emily and make my way to the room.

Upon arriving, I sit in the chair next to Spencer and Emily, who greets me with a smile and a pat on the back.

"Since everyone is already here, I will start presenting today’s case. Our Atlanta office informed us about a serial killer; two prostitutes have been stabbed and repositioned in the past two weeks," Garcia says, displaying the photos of the victims' bodies on the screen.

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

"Oh God, my back is killing me," I hear Rossi’s voice as he exits the jet.

I let out a low laugh and glance sideways at him. "Age catches up with everyone, Agent Rossi," I say, grabbing my bag after returning from Atlanta, where we solved another case.

As I move forward, getting closer to Reid, I see JJ running to catch up with me.

"Y/n, could you do me a favor? I don’t know if you have plans for tonight, but I managed to reschedule my restaurant reservation, and it’s only for today." "Could you watch Harry for me tonight?"

"Of course, go have fun, you guys deserve it," I say, giving JJ’s shoulder a squeeze. "Besides, I love Harry. He’s a really fun kid, way better than spending the night watching Friends."

"I can help you," I hear Reid’s voice say, who was walking next to me. "If you want, I can just go home."

I look at his face and smile.

"It would be lovely to have Dr. Spencer Reid’s company," I say playfully.

"Okay, I’ll see you two at 8," I hear JJ say as she heads toward her car.

As time passes, I park my car on the corner of JJ's house and soon see Spencer’s car nearby.

Getting out of the car, I lock it and head toward JJ's house, knocking on the door, which is quickly opened by Will.

"Y/n, how are you? Come in, JJ is finishing getting ready, and Spencer is in the kitchen with Harry."

"Oh, hey Will, I’m good. I’ll leave my bag here in the living room," I say, walking toward the living room and placing my bag on the side table.

Turning toward the kitchen, I soon see Spencer with Harry, playing a word search game.

Spencer was wearing his dark blue cardigan along with his glasses, making him even more attractive in my eyes.

He was so focused that he hardly noticed my presence upon arriving in the kitchen. Harry, who spotted me right away, came running toward me, throwing his arms around my shoulders and hugging me.

"Oh Harry, I’ve missed you! It’s been so long since I last saw you. You’re getting bigger every day," I say while still hugging him.

"Soon I’ll be taller than you" I hear him say, which makes me laugh.

"That won’t be hard, Harry, since height isn’t my strong suit," I say, releasing Harry from the hug and looking at Spencer, who was watching me with a sideways smile. I walk over to him and sit in the chair next to him.

"Good evening, Dr. Spencer Reid. Have you found all 1,000 the crosswords?" I ask, noticing the pencil in his hand.

"Yes, this was the last one," he says while writing in the leaf.

"The Spencer is really fast,Y/n. He’s the best at word searches," I hear Harry say with admiration.

"Oh, I’m sure he is," I say, looking in his direction, which makes him look back at my face.

His expression showed a mix of embarrassment and happiness. JJ enters the kitchen with Will.

"I don’t know how to thank you two for this," I hear JJ say.

"Don’t mention it, you’d do the same if we needed it. You look beautiful," I say, looking at her, which makes her let out a soft laugh.

"Thanks, the restaurant is a bit far from the city. If anything comes up, you can call me. I should be back by around 11," JJ says, heading toward Harry, kissing his cheek and ruffling his hair.

"Okay, Harry and I are going to throw a big party. In the meantime," I say, looking at Harry, who lets out a laugh.

"Oh, I’m sure of that," JJ says, laughing, as she heads toward the door with Will. "Bye, see you later." I soon see her closing the door.

"Can we order pizza?"

"Oh, Harry, you read my mind. That’s exactly what we’re going to do," I say, grabbing my phone to call the pizzeria.

"While we wait, why don’t we watch Jurassic Park?" I see Harry’s body jump in excitement, and we head to the living room, where he lays down on the couch to watch the movie.

I see Spencer sitting next to me and Harry laying his head in my lap.

"Did you manage to get some sleep?" I hear Spencer’s soft voice ask.

I look in his direction and let out a low sigh. "I wish I could, but I couldn’t sleep last night. I was too anxious about the last case."

"It’s okay, your body is stressed and anxious with your daily life. You have a job that demands a lot from your mental health."

"I often feel incapable, like I won’t be able to carry on, but I remind myself that I need to be strong, or I’ll fall apart."

"You don’t have to be strong all the time. It’s impossible to be, rationally speaking. Let yourself fall apart once in a while."

I let my body relax, feeling a little lighter, and rest my face on Spencer’s shoulder, which surprises him at first. Soon, he wraps his arm around my shoulder, pulling me closer and running his hand through my hair.

"It’s okay, you don’t need to be strong around me. You know that." I hear his voice whispering in my ear: "I’m here. You can call me when you can’t sleep, and I’ll read you the story of Snow White, which was your favorite when you were a child."

Hearing what he said makes me let out a soft laugh, and I hide my face in his neck, causing him to feel shivers.

"Oh, I’ll definitely remember that. So, wait for my call in the middle of the night for you to read me the story of Snow White."

"That won’t be a problem; I know the story by heart. I used to read stories to my mom when she had episodes."

"That’s really sweet; you’re definitely a great son." "I’m terrible at reading in public. I get really nervous," I say softly, looking at Spencer’s hands now resting in his lap.

"When we read or speak in public, the first thing our body thinks before we start is that we’re being threatened. And when we feel that way, biochemical reactions happen naturally in our body, which help us get out of the threatening situation," I hear Spencer say.

"I love it when you do that," I say, still looking at his hands.

"Do what?" He asks, looking at my face with a curious expression, raising an eyebrow.

"When you start to ramble about something," I say, laughing and watching his face heat up.

"Oh, the rest of the team hates it because they think I talk too much, which isn’t entirely untrue," I hear him say.

Hearing your words makes me laugh as I see a slight smile forming on your lips; sometimes, Reid seemed like a "little boy" seeking his parents' attention.

"Don't worry, you always have me, you know that," I say, leaning my shoulder against yours in an attempt to get closer to your body.

I see a slight smile on your face now, and your light brown eyes are fixed on mine as your hand moves toward my face, resting on my cheek for a few moments before leaning in to leave a kiss there.

It makes me feel a sigh in my chest, completely losing myself in those eyes and long brown hair that make my heart warm and alive.

The End