#tagging the shows I watch so others like me will share

[coryndoll]

chrysanthemums ₍₂₎

drew starkey x reader zombie apocalypse au

— “you’re the gun in my lips that will blow my brains out.”

content: zombies, weapons, violence, reader lowk opening up more to drew, short little filler but it introduces the journey theyll go on together !

authors note: guys i started tvd n omggg. anyway if u arent part of the tag list, feel free to lmk thru replies, dms, anons, or reblogs !!

previous

the next few days pass in a blur of footsteps, scavenging, and silence. you, drew, and the dog—who you’ve officially named dog because of his lack of collar and your shared inability to come up with something better—keep moving. drew joked that dog might just be a stray wandering the ruins, but it leaves the uncomfortable question hanging between you two: could animals get zombified too? you’ve been leaning toward no, but the thought lingers, a constant what-if.

meanwhile, drew’s been keeping his distance sometimes, falling into a quiet rhythm that matches your pace without crowding you. it’s a small mercy, really, that he knows when to leave you alone.

you’re not trying to be cruel, but attachments feel pointless these days. they don’t lead to anything good. someone always ends up bitten, or worse, you run into people who think survival means stepping on others. either way, someone gets left behind.

so what’s the point in getting close?

you pull your jacket tighter against the chilly air as you enter another building. it’s small, half-collapsed, with broken windows and a roof that looks like it might give out if the wind hits just right. dog pads in first, sniffing the ground like he owns the place. you follow, stepping carefully over shattered glass, while drew lingers near the doorway, his hand brushing against the baseball bat strapped to his pack.

he asks casually, like it doesn’t mean much, “have you been headed anywhere specific?”

you ignore him at first, your focus on a shelf in the corner. a dusty can catches your eye, and you pick it up, squinting at the label. it’s dented, the writing smudged. it’s empty though. you flip it out of your hand onto the table with a clatter, then sigh as you look away.

dog is sniffing something near the far wall, his tail wagging just enough to show he’s entertained. you watch him for a second, then pull your hair back, twisting it into place and clipping it up. crouching down, you start searching through the bottom racks.

when drew doesn’t get an answer, he moves. his footsteps are slow but deliberate, and when he swings around the doorframe into your space, you know he’s not going to drop it.

“you going to tell me?” he asks again, his voice softer but still persistent.

you can feel his eyes on you as you sift through the mess on the floor. papers, broken glass, an empty bottle. nothing useful.

your hand pauses, brushing against the knife strapped to your belt. it’s instinctive now, keeping it close, even when drew’s around. especially when he’s around.

finally, you clear your throat, tucking a loose strand of hair behind your ear before rubbing the back of your neck. the words come slower than you want them to. “i’ve heard rumors. about a place.”

he raises an eyebrow. “a place? what kind of place?”

you push yourself to stand, reaching for his hand to steady yourself as you rise. “clarenora beck,” you say, watching his face for any sign of recognition.

nothing.

“who the hell is that?”

you scoff, dropping his hand and dusting off your palms. “it’s not a person, dipshit. it’s a settlement.” you turn and start moving again, still in talking distance as you scan a half-broken cabinet.

“it’s supposed to be a safe haven for survivors,” you explain, pulling open a drawer and frowning at the empty contents. “not the biggest, but the safest apparently. they say it’s guarded, got crops, animals, people who actually give a damn. a home.”

he follows, a few feet behind, picking through the debris on a nearby counter. “and you’re trying to find it?”

“trying to see if it’s real,” you admit, your voice quieter. “no one really knows where it is, not exactly. part of me thinks it’s just a rumor. but if it’s real . . .” you trail off, shaking your head.

he stops, leaning against the counter, studying you. “where’s it supposed to be?”

you hesitate, your hand hovering over a dusty jar before moving on. “far,” you say at first, hoping he’ll let it go.

he doesn’t.

eventually, you sigh, turning to face him. “vermont.”

he freezes, staring at you like you’ve just sprouted another head. “you’re joking.”

“nope.”

“vermont.” he repeats it slowly, like he’s trying to process. “do you know how far that is?”

you shrug, already turning back to your search into another room. “not like i’ve got anywhere better to be.”

drew follows you through, his footsteps softer now, trying not to trip over dog as he tails you. dog pauses at the edge of a room, sniffing at the base of a crumbling wall, and drew nearly stumbles right into him because he’s too busy watching you instead of where he’s going. you don’t notice—or you pretend not to—and he mutters something under his breath, stepping over dog and catching up with you.

"and you don’t even know exactly where it is?” his voice cuts through the quiet. “what, are you just gonna explore ten thousand miles ‘til you find it?”

you pause, jaw tightening as you pull a can off a shelf and turn it over in your hands, examining it for any dents or signs of damage. he’s waiting for an answer you don’t feel like giving. you toss the can onto the table with a hollow thud and move to crouch by the lower shelves, brushing dust off a few boxes.

he doesn’t stop, leaning casually against a doorframe and fiddling with a blade he pulled from his pocket. “seriously, what else do you even know about this place?”

you sigh. “i’ve had leads,” you say finally, your voice quieter. “a month or two back, i ran into these two people passing through. one of them told me about it—clarenora. said it was worth looking for.”

drew raises a brow, his interest caught now. “and you believed them?”

“not at first,” you admit, straightening up and wiping your hands on your jeans. “i didn’t even think about it again ‘til later. but they told me something . . . something people who are looking for clarenora pass along.”

he’s watching you now, his fidgeting with the blade slowing. “what’d they say?”

you hesitate, knowing how ridiculous it’ll sound once it’s out in the open. “they said . . . ‘strike c-4 in the heart of daisy.’”

there’s a beat of silence, the faint shuffle of dog nosing through debris the only sound. drew stares at you like you’ve just spoken in another language.

“okay,” he says slowly, his tone dripping with skepticism. “what the hell does that even mean?”

“i don’t know,” you reply, voice clipped. “and if you’re gonna complain about it, save it. i told you, i didn’t have anywhere better to be.”

he doesn’t say anything, just keeps watching you with that same unreadable expression. you turn away, already regretting telling him, already bracing for the inevitable whining and questions. but instead, he leans back against the doorframe, slipping the blade back into his pocket.

“‘strike c-4 in the heart of daisy,’ huh?” he murmurs, almost to himself. “we’ll figure it out.”

you glance at him over your shoulder, surprised but unwilling to let it show. instead, you turn your attention back to the shelves, ignoring the way his words linger in the air.

you approach another table in the corner, its surface layered with dust and scattered with useless junk. broken pencils, faded wrappers, and scraps of paper clutter the space, but you push through it all, your hand rattling noisily across the debris.

something catches your eye further down the table. you reach for it, leaning in slightly, when a decayed hand shoots out from a gaping hole in the broken wall behind the table.

you yelp, the sound sharp and instinctive, and it alerts drew who whips around. before you can think, your hand is on the knife at your belt, pulling it free and slamming it down into the rotting hand. the knife crunches through bone, pinning the thing in place as you stumble back a step, your heart racing.

you back up into drew, your hand immediately reaching out to gesture dog closer. he obeys without hesitation, slipping to your side.

drew pulls his baseball bat from where it hangs across his back, gripping it firmly. its head is littered with nails and screws, jagged and sharp, and he seems almost grateful for the added weight. you tighten your hold on your knife, your gaze snapping to the doorway as an empty lumbers in, drawn by the noise.

without hesitating, you dart forward, slashing the blade across its temple. the thing crumples, but another two stumble through from drew’s side.

he purses his lips, muttering a quiet, “here we go,” before he kicks one in the chest, sending it staggering back. with a quick swing, his bat arcs through the air, landing with a sickening crunch in the nearest empty’s skull. blood splatters across his shirt, but he doesn’t stop. he yanks the bat free, twisting it with a grunt, and swings again.

the second stiff collapses under the weight of the strike, but drew’s already glancing over his shoulder to check on you.

your knife is buried deep in the forehead of the first empty, and you wrench it free with a sharp tug. you pause only long enough to glance back at drew, your chest heaving.

“you good?” he asks, but his eyes are already scanning the room, taking in the stiffs on the ground. he whistles sharply, catching dog’s attention, and waves him forward. “let’s go,” he says.

you fall into step behind him without question as he leads you out of the building. your pulse is still pounding in your ears, but you don’t look back. there’s no point.

as you head back to the car, drew moves ahead and opens the backseat door for dog, who hops in with a quick wag of his tail. you circle to the driver’s side, sliding into the seat without a word, and the moment you pull the door shut, drew’s voice cuts through the tense silence.

“how’s your leg?” he asks.

you grit your teeth and glance at him briefly. “‘s fine. doesn’t hurt anymore,” you reply curtly, your tone leaving no room for argument.

drew hesitates, narrowing his eyes slightly as if trying to gauge the truth of your answer, but you don’t give him time to press further. he sighs, shuts the back door, and makes his way around the car.

as he does, you swipe a fingertip across your face, pulling away a streak of drying blood. it’s dark against your skin, and your gaze drops to your leg. shifting your foot slightly, you look at the spot he’s so concerned about. the fabric of your pants clings awkwardly to the wound underneath, stiff with dried blood, but you force your focus forward as drew opens the passenger door and climbs in.

before he can even settle in his seat, you ask, “where’d you learn medical care, anyway?”

he pauses, then grins, leaning back and shutting the door with an exaggerated sigh. “you mean wrapping a booboo so it doesn’t get infected?” he quips, his tone light and teasing.

your jaw clenches, and you sigh sharply through your nose, staring straight ahead as you start the car. the engine hums to life, and for a moment, the tension hangs heavy between you.

drew glances at you out of the corner of his eye, then leans his head back with a chuckle. “jean,” he says after a beat. “she was part of this group i met a while ago. taught me a lot about survival stuff. said medical care was essential in a world like this.”

you flick your eyes toward him briefly, your grip tightening on the steering wheel. “why’s that?”

“‘cause if you don’t have someone who knows the difference between a heatstroke and dehydration,” he says, mimicking jean’s sharp tone, “you’re as good as dead.”

the car falls quiet for a moment after that. your jaw relaxes slightly, but you don’t say anything, just keep your eyes fixed on the road ahead. drew shifts in his seat, and out of the corner of your eye, you catch the faintest trace of a satisfied grin.

“thanks,” you murmur, so soft you’re not even sure he catches it.

drew stiffens in his seat, his hand stilling on the hem of his jacket. he doesn’t say anything at first, but you can feel his gaze burning into the side of your face. when you glance over, he’s squinting at you like he’s trying to figure out if he’s hearing things right.

you bite back a smirk and shake your head, eyes back on the road. “don’t look at me like that.”

“like what?” his tone is teasing, but there’s a genuine curiosity underneath it.

you finally let the smirk slip, a small, fleeting smile that you know he catches. “like you’re confused.”

“i am confused,” he says, his voice light but his stare lingering.

you exhale a laugh and shake your head again. “look, now that you’re in on this whole clarenora thing, we’ve got bigger things to worry about.”

he raises an eyebrow, leaning back in his seat with an exaggerated sigh. “like what?”

you glance at him briefly, your smile faint but persistent. “like solving a riddle. ‘strike c-4 in the heart of daisy.’”

drew furrows his brow, repeating the phrase under his breath. then he turns back to you, his expression all mock incredulity. “so you’re dragging me into this, and now i have to just solve riddles with you?”

you shrug, the smile growing wider as you press the accelerator. “what else do we have to do?”

he groans dramatically, but the faint grin tugging at the corners of his mouth betrays him.

tags: @iissza @lotuslovers @obsessionsarenotfortheweak @yootvi @skyslowalking @hoelesslyt @ariiwritess @beebeerockknot @0-tatiana-0 @beabafreakbee @spiderstyles04 @jeyramarie @loves0phelia @writtenbyhollywood @cl4uus @wumblewee

[kiwriteswords]

Hotch and Reader are both in love with each other and have been for years but are both too professional and care too mcuh about work and ruining things so they dont get together but they end up getting together finally. its angsty and delicious!! with a happy ending ofc! (bonus if smut is added at all!?!?!)

I love you in a place where there's no space or time

Masterlist || Ao3

AN: So sorry this one took so long to share, anon! I hope it's all you hoped for! xx

Pairing: Aaron Hotchner x Female Reader

Word Count: 13.6k

Tags/Warnings: Canon-typical violence, canon-typical themes, hurt/comfort, jealousy, fluff, angst, feelings un-acknowledged, canon-typical injuries, language, fade-to-black smut, sexual themes, friends with benefits, friends with benefits turned relationship, slow burn, family dynamics, intimacy with feelings, proposal, talk of marriage.

Sypnosis: Aaron Hotchner has always been a man of order and control, carefully compartmentalizing the demands of his work and personal life. But when a long-standing partnership with a member of his team—you—begins to blur the lines between professional and personal, he’s forced to confront feelings he’s buried for years.

Aaron Hotchner had always been good at compartmentalizing. It was a skill he'd honed over years of leading the BAU, of balancing the chaos of his work and the fragile peace of his home life—or what passed for home these days. And you? You were a complication he never anticipated but somehow couldn’t imagine his life without.

You’d been with the team for years, carving your place with sharp wit, unwavering competence, and a sense of humor that could soften even the darkest days. Somewhere along the way, your partnership had morphed into something more. Late nights at the office became late nights at his apartment, pouring over files as Jack played in the living room. Work dinners turned into shared takeout meals, laughter filling his kitchen. And the tension—the chemistry between you both—it became a thread stretched taut, always on the brink of snapping.

But neither of you ever said a word.

Hotch couldn’t pinpoint when it had started, exactly. Maybe it was the time you showed up with a Batman figurine for Jack, just because he’d mentioned liking the character once. Or the way you sat with him on the couch after Haley’s death, saying nothing, just being there when he needed it most. Or the way you touched his shoulder during a case, grounding him when his anger threatened to boil over.

It didn’t matter. What mattered was that now, you were a constant in his life, and he had no idea how he’d let you become that. Friends with benefits, the team might have called it if they weren’t too polite to say it out loud. But it wasn’t just the sex—though that was undeniable. It was the quiet moments. The way you fit seamlessly into his life, into Jack’s life. Like you belonged.

Like you were family.

Hotch watched you now, sitting cross-legged on his living room floor, a game controller in hand, as Jack giggled beside you. You feigned frustration as Jack’s character beat yours on the screen, throwing your hands up dramatically.

“You’re cheating,” you teased, pointing an accusatory finger at Jack, who grinned up at you.

“I am not!” Jack protested, his voice full of glee. “You’re just bad at this.”

“Bad at this?” you gasped, clutching your chest as if he’d mortally wounded you. “I’ll have you know I used to be the reigning champion at this game.”

Jack tilted his head, squinting at you skeptically. “When? Like, a hundred years ago?”

Hotch couldn’t hold back a laugh from the couch, shaking his head as he sipped his coffee. “Careful, Jack. She might just ground you for that one.”

You spun around, pointing the controller at Hotch like a weapon. “Oh, don’t you start with me. You’re supposed to be on my side.”

“I’m on Jack’s side,” he said smoothly, the rare smile tugging at his lips, softening the tease. “He’s clearly the underdog here.”

Jack beamed, puffing out his chest. “See? Dad gets it.”

“Traitors,” you muttered, shaking your head dramatically before turning back to the game. “Fine. But if I win the next round, you both owe me ice cream.”

Jack laughed harder, leaning against you as if you’d always been there. “You’re not winning,” he declared. “And even if you do, I pick the flavor. No weird ones.”

“No weird ones? Jack, I have excellent taste. Mint chocolate chip is a classic.”

“Mint chocolate chip is gross,” Jack said, sticking out his tongue.

You gasped in mock outrage. “Okay, now you’ve gone too far.”

Hotch set his mug down, leaning back into the couch as he watched the scene unfold. This was his favorite view: you and Jack, a picture of domesticity he didn’t dare name.

The ache in his chest was familiar by now. Warm, heavy, and terrifying all at once.

Later, after Jack had gone to bed, Hotch found you in the kitchen, drying the dishes. It was a quiet ritual you’d fallen into over time, one neither of you had ever acknowledged aloud. The hum of the dishwasher and the soft clinking of plates filled the space between you, but it was far from silent. The weight of everything unspoken lingered, just like it always did.

Your shoulder brushed his as you reached for a glass, the simple contact sending ripples of awareness through him. It was ridiculous, he thought, how something so small could affect him so much. But that was how it had always been with you.

“You don’t have to stay,” he said softly, though he already knew the answer.

You glanced at him, a hint of amusement in your expression. “You know I don’t mind.”

Of course, you didn’t. You never minded. Whether it was a case of collapsing into bed together after a high-stakes day or nights like these—quiet, uneventful, and free of tension—you always stayed. It wasn’t just about the times the chemistry boiled over; it was about all the moments in between. The ones that felt effortless.

Hotch set the last plate on the drying rack and turned toward you, wiping his hands on a towel. “Jack really likes having you here,” he said, his tone conversational but deliberate. “He talks about you all the time.”

“And you?” you asked lightly, with a teasing lilt that tried to downplay the weight of your question. “Do you like having me here?”

His brow lifted, a rare smirk playing at the corners of his mouth. “Why wouldn’t I? You help with chores and keep Jack entertained. I’m getting the better end of the deal.”

You rolled your eyes, shaking your head as you bumped your shoulder lightly against his. “Deflect all you want, Hotchner. I know you’d be lost without me.”

He allowed himself a small chuckle, one that softened the sharp edges of his usual demeanor. “I wouldn’t go that far,” he replied, though his voice held more warmth than his words. “But I like having you here. More than I probably should.”

That caught you off guard for just a moment, but you recovered quickly, the teasing smile returning to your lips. “Good,” you said simply, returning to dry the last dish.

By the time the house had settled into silence, Hotch found himself in the bedroom, sitting on the edge of the bed as he unwound from the day. He heard your soft footsteps before you appeared in the doorway, your presence familiar and steady. You didn’t pause or hesitate, instead crossing the room to climb into the bed—his bed, though it had long since stopped feeling like just his.

You always stayed, and it had become a routine neither of you commented on. The guest room was just there for show, untouched and unnecessary. Some nights, the pull of tension between you snapped, leaving no room for words or space. Both of you would end up breathless and wanting in bed. Other nights, like this one, were quieter. Still, you stayed.

“Are you just going to sit there all night?” you asked, your voice low and tinged with humor. You were already lying on your side, propped up on one elbow, as you watched him with a curious gaze.

Hotch smirked faintly, shaking his head as he joined you, slipping under the covers. “I thought you might enjoy the peace and quiet,” he replied, his tone dry.

“I don’t think you’d know what peace and quiet were if it hit you in the face,” you shot back, though your words held no bite.

He settled beside you, his arm coming around you instinctively as you shifted closer. It was a gesture that felt as natural as breathing now, one neither of you ever acknowledged, but both seemed to rely on.

“You know,” you murmured, your voice soft against the stillness of the room, “it’s kind of funny how we never talk about this.”

“This?” he echoed, though his hand lightly tracing circles on your back betrayed the calmness of his tone.

“This,” you said, gesturing vaguely to the two of you. “Me staying. Us… whatever this is.”

Hotch was quiet for a moment, his brow furrowing slightly as he considered his response. “Talking about it might ruin it,” he said finally, his voice barely above a whisper.

You smiled at that, the kind of smile he couldn’t see in the dark but could feel in the way your body relaxed against his. “Maybe.”

The silence that followed wasn’t uncomfortable. It was full of the things neither of you dared to say aloud. And as you shifted closer, resting your head on his chest, Hotch allowed himself the brief indulgence of pretending that this—your warmth, your presence—was something permanent. Even though he knew it wasn’t.

Your company was appreciated and needed more than Hotch knew, even at work. The case was brutal. A family annihilator who preyed on vulnerabilities, using twisted logic to justify his violence. Hotch could feel the weight pressing down on him, but he didn’t have to carry it alone. You were there, as you always were, your presence steadying him.

When the unsub was in custody, and the team returned to the precinct, you lingered in the corner, watching him. He could feel your gaze like a physical touch as if you were daring him to break the silence that stretched between you.

“You okay?” you asked finally, your voice soft. Never prying. 

He nodded, but the truth hung in the air, unspoken. He wasn’t okay. Neither were you. But that was the deal, wasn’t it? To keep moving forward without acknowledging the things that could break you.

That night, back at the hotel, the weight of the day lingered on Hotch’s shoulders, pressing harder with every passing moment. Cases involving families always hit him differently, carving into the parts of himself he worked so hard to protect. But tonight, something else tugged at him—a sharper, deeper ache he couldn’t shake. It was you. It was always you.

He’d known you’d come. You always did on nights like this, when the line between partner and something more blurred into nothingness. The knock on his door was soft but unmistakable, and when he opened it, there you were, leaning casually against the doorframe as if this wasn’t an unspoken ritual.

“You weren’t going to sleep anyway,” you said, your voice low, tinged with exhaustion but still carrying that edge of teasing familiarity.

“Neither were you,” he replied, stepping aside to let you in.

The door closed softly behind you, but the tension in the room was anything but quiet. It filled the space between you like a storm waiting to break. You shrugged off your jacket, tossing it onto the chair in the corner, and Hotch couldn’t stop his eyes from lingering on you—the curve of your shoulders, the set of your jaw, the flicker of vulnerability in your expression you probably thought he wouldn’t notice.

“Rough day,” you said, breaking the silence as you turned to face him.

He nodded, his jaw tightening. “They always are.”

You crossed the room, your steps slow and deliberate, until you were standing just in front of him. “But this one was worse,” you said softly, your voice lacking the teasing edge it usually carried. “For both of us.”

Hotch didn’t answer, because he couldn’t. The words caught in his throat, the weight of everything unsaid pressing harder than ever. But you didn’t seem to need his response. You looked at him for a long moment, your gaze steady, searching, and then you moved closer.

It happened all at once and yet not at all suddenly, as though it had been building for hours. His hands found your waist, gripping you tightly as his lips crashed against yours. The kiss was fierce, almost desperate as if he was afraid you might vanish. And you let him, meeting his intensity with your own, your fingers threading into his hair, holding him as tightly as he held you.

It wasn’t just adrenaline from the case or the pull of attraction that neither of you could deny. It was the unspoken understanding that this—whatever it was—was the only way either of you knew how to deal with the weight of the lives you led. It was raw, honest, and utterly consuming.

You tugged at his tie, loosening it with practiced ease, your movements steady but charged with purpose. His breath hitched as your hands brushed against his chest, unbuttoning his shirt with a deliberate slowness that had his pulse racing. His own hands mirrored your urgency, sliding under the fabric of your blouse, feeling the heat of your skin against his palms.

"Are you sure?" he asked, his voice rough but soft, his forehead pressing against yours as he paused just long enough to look into your eyes. The question wasn’t about this moment—it was about everything. About stepping closer to the line, you both swore you wouldn’t cross but had already blurred so many times.

You didn’t answer with words; instead, you pulled him back into a kiss, which was softer this time but no less consuming. Your lips moved against his in a way that spoke of trust, of understanding, of a desire too strong to deny. His hands cupped your face, his thumbs brushing your cheekbones as he deepened the kiss, pouring everything he couldn’t say aloud into the way he held you.

When you pulled away just enough to whisper against his lips, your voice was low and steady. “I’m here, Aaron. Always.”

His name on your lips sent a shiver down his spine, and something inside him gave way. He guided you toward the bed with a gentle but unwavering urgency, his hands never leaving you. The soft glow of the room’s lamp cast warm shadows across your features as you looked up at him, your expression a mix of vulnerability and certainty that made his chest tighten.

The rest of the world disappeared as you both surrendered to the moment. Every touch, every kiss, every whispered breath was a testament to the connection you shared—a connection that went beyond words, beyond labels, beyond anything either of you could easily explain.

When you reached up to touch his face, brushing your fingers against the faint stubble along his jaw, he leaned into your touch instinctively. “Aaron,” you said again, his name a quiet anchor pulling him further into you.

He tilted his head down, his forehead resting lightly against yours. “You don’t know what you do to me,” he murmured, his voice low and raw, the words escaping before he could stop them.

“I think I do,” you replied softly, your hands moving to rest on his chest, feeling the steady thrum of his heartbeat beneath your palms. “Because it’s the same thing you do to me.”

The admission hung between you like a fragile truth, one neither of you had dared voice before. But instead of shattering the moment, it only seemed to deepen the connection that pulsed in the quiet space between your bodies.

Hotch’s hands found the hem of your blouse, his movements deliberate as he slid it up and over your head. His fingertips brushed your skin, the contact sending sparks of warmth that spread through you. You reached for the buttons of his shirt, your touch steady despite the tremor of anticipation that hummed in the air.

When you finally settled on the bed, his weight pressing into the mattress beside you, the world outside the walls of the hotel room ceased to exist. The past, with all its heartache and shadows, faded away, leaving only the present—this moment, this connection, this intimacy you both shared.

Hotch leaned over you, one hand bracing himself beside your head, the other trailing along the curve of your side. The way he touched you was reverent like he was committing every inch of you to memory. His lips found yours again, the kiss softer this time, more deliberate, as if savoring the quiet intensity of the moment.

But there was something else beneath that tenderness—a tension he could no longer hold back. His lips pressed harder against yours, the kiss deepening with a newfound urgency. His hand slid from your side to your thigh, gripping it firmly as he pulled you closer as if closing the space between you would somehow quiet the storm raging inside him.

When you gasped softly against his mouth, he pulled back just enough to meet your gaze. His dark eyes, usually so controlled, were filled with something raw, something unguarded. "Tell me if it’s too much," he said, his voice rough, the words both a request and a warning.

Your answer came not in words but in the way you hooked your leg around his waist, pulling him closer, your hands gripping his shoulders as if daring him to let go. “It’s never too much,” you whispered, your voice steady despite the flush of heat in your cheeks.

That was all the permission he needed. His hand slid up your thigh, his grip firm but not harsh, leaving a trail of heat in its wake. His lips found yours again, but this time, the kiss wasn’t soft—it was demanding, consuming, as though he was pouring everything he couldn’t say into the way his mouth moved against yours.

Hotch’s other hand tangled in your hair, tilting your head back to give him better access as he trailed kisses down your jaw and neck. He paused at the hollow of your throat, his breath warm against your skin. When his teeth grazed just enough to make you shiver, he chuckled softly, the sound low and rich. “Still okay?” he murmured, though the way his hands gripped your waist betrayed his struggle to hold back.

“Yes,” you breathed, your voice barely audible as you arched into him. “Don’t stop.”

He didn’t. The restraint that usually defined him seemed to unravel as his kisses grew rougher, his hands exploring with a certainty that left no room for hesitation. He shifted, guiding you further back onto the bed, his body pressing into yours, solid and unyielding. The way he moved, the way he touched you—it was as if he was trying to claim you, to prove that this moment, this connection, belonged to both of you and no one else.

As his lips returned to yours, his hands found yours, pinning them gently above your head. His weight and the intensity of his gaze sent a shiver of anticipation through you. "You’re mine tonight," he said, the words rough but filled with a quiet reverence that made your breath hitch.

“And what about tomorrow?” you teased softly, though your voice trembled with the weight of the moment.

Hotch’s grip on your hands tightened just slightly, his expression darkening with something that looked dangerously close to vulnerability. “Let me have tonight first,” he murmured, his lips brushing against yours, and at that moment, nothing else mattered but the way he made you feel—seen, wanted, and completely his.

The rest of the world disappeared as you both surrendered to the moment. Every touch, every kiss, every whispered breath was a testament to the connection you shared—a connection that went beyond words, beyond labels, beyond anything either of you could easily explain. Times like this, when cases were especially bad, it was a little rougher than tender, but neither of you seemed to mind.

The silence in the room was heavy but not uncomfortable. It was the kind of quiet that came after something unspoken had been shouted without words. Hotch’s chest rose and fell steadily beneath your head, your fingers idly tracing patterns on his skin, grounding both of you in a moment that felt suspended in time. The storm of the night had calmed, leaving in its wake a raw, unfiltered intimacy that neither of you could explain—or acknowledge.

But then you shifted.

The movement was subtle at first, just a slight pull away from his side, but it was enough to snap him out of his haze. He felt your warmth leave him as you turned, sitting up on the edge of the bed. He watched as you reached for your clothes, your movements slow but deliberate, your back to him.

“You’re leaving?” The words came out gruffer than he intended, his voice low and edged with something he couldn’t quite define—something dangerously close to vulnerability.

You hesitated, your fingers pausing on the fabric in your hands. “I should,” you said quietly, though your tone lacked conviction. “We both need sleep. It’s been a long day.”

Hotch sat up then, the sheet pooling around his waist as he leaned forward. “You usually stay,” he said, his voice softer now, but still carrying the weight of a question he wasn’t sure he wanted the answer to.

You glanced over your shoulder at him, your expression guarded, but your eyes betrayed you. They always did. “It’s different tonight,” you said, your voice barely above a whisper.

He frowned, his brows drawing together. “Different how?”

You stood, pulling on your shirt as if the action might shield you from the conversation you were both teetering on the edge of having. “I don’t know,” you said finally, shaking your head. “It just… it feels too close. Like if I stay, it’ll mean something.”

Hotch swung his legs over the side of the bed, planting his feet firmly on the floor. He reached for your wrist, his grip gentle but firm enough to stop you. “It already means something,” he said, his voice steady despite the turmoil swirling in his chest.

Your breath hitched, but you didn’t turn to face him. “We don’t talk about this, Aaron. That’s the deal.”

“I know,” he admitted, his grip loosening just enough to let you pull away if you wanted. “But tonight—” He paused, the words catching in his throat. “Tonight, I don’t want you to go.”

That stopped you. You turned slowly, your eyes meeting his, and for a moment, the weight of everything you both refused to say hung between you. You looked at him like you were trying to decipher some unspoken truth, but he didn’t flinch under your gaze. He couldn’t. He needed you to understand.

“I don’t know if I can,” you said finally, your voice wavering.

“Yes, you can,” he said, standing now, closing the space between you. His hands found your shoulders, grounding you just as yours had grounded him earlier. “Just for tonight. Stay.”

Your walls were up; he could see it in the way your jaw tightened, and your shoulders tensed. But he could also see the crack in your resolve, the way your lips pressed together as if to keep from saying something you might regret. You nodded slowly, and his hands dropped from your shoulders, relief washing over him in a way he didn’t entirely understand.

“Okay,” you whispered, your voice barely audible.

Hotch stepped back, giving you space even though every fiber of his being wanted to pull you closer. You climbed back into the bed, your movements slower this time, less certain. When you finally settled beside him, he wrapped an arm around you, his hand resting lightly on your back.

Neither of you spoke again, but the silence was heavy with understanding. He didn’t know what tomorrow would bring, and he didn’t know if either of you could keep pretending this wasn’t something more. But for now, it didn’t matter.

You were here, and that was enough.

The room was quiet again, save for the rhythmic hum of the hotel’s air conditioning and the faint sounds of life beyond the walls. You were back beside him, though the space between your bodies felt heavier than before, as if the rawness of what had just happened was an invisible barrier neither of you wanted to cross.

Hotch’s arm rested lightly on your back, his hand brushing the curve of your shoulder in slow, deliberate motions. He could feel the tension in your body, the way your breathing was steady but shallow, as though you were trying to keep your emotions at bay. He didn’t push; he never did. But tonight, the weight of everything unspoken was almost suffocating.

“You don’t have to stay if you don’t want to,” he said finally, his voice quieter, less firm than it had been when he asked you to stay.

You shifted slightly, turning your head to look at him, your expression unreadable in the dim light. “Do you want me to go?” you asked, and there it was—your defense, sharp and ready, a shield to deflect the vulnerability threatening to surface.

“No.” The word came out before he could stop it, his tone firmer this time, leaving no room for ambiguity.

Your eyes softened just slightly, but you quickly masked it, shifting to lie flat on your back, staring at the ceiling. “This feels… different,” you admitted, your voice barely above a whisper. “It’s not like the other times.”

Hotch turned to face you, propping himself up on one elbow. “It is different,” he said, his gaze steady on you. “But I think it’s always been different. We just don’t say it.”

You let out a breathy, humorless laugh, turning your head to meet his eyes. “We’re not exactly great at saying things, are we?”

His lips twitched into a faint smile, though there was little humor in it. “No, we’re not.” He reached out, brushing a strand of hair from your face, his fingertips lingering for a moment longer than necessary. “But that doesn’t mean it’s not there.”

You closed your eyes briefly, as if trying to absorb his words without letting them take hold. When you opened them again, there was something softer in your gaze, something that looked a lot like surrender. “You scare me sometimes,” you admitted quietly. “Not in the way you think. Just… the way you make me feel.”

Hotch’s chest tightened at your words, his hand moving to rest against your cheek. “You think I don’t feel the same?” he asked, his voice low but steady. “Because I do.”

The air between you shifted then, the tension softening into something quieter, more vulnerable. For a moment, neither of you moved, your gazes locked as though daring each other to break the silence. Then, slowly, you reached for him, your hand finding his and lacing your fingers together.

“I’ll stay,” you said softly, almost as if reassuring yourself as much as him. “But just for tonight.”

It was always more than just tonight. 

Hotch nodded, his lips pressing into a thin line as he leaned down to kiss your forehead—a gesture so tender it felt almost out of place between the two of you. “Just for tonight,” he echoed, though the way his hand tightened around yours betrayed the truth.

You shifted closer to him, your head resting against his shoulder, and for a while, you both lay there in silence, the unspoken words still hanging in the air but no longer suffocating. Whatever this was between you—messy, undefined, and terrifying—it was enough for now. It had to be.

Aaron Hotchner prided himself on control. In his work, in his demeanor, in the way he navigated the chaos of the BAU—it was a skill he had honed to perfection. And yet, when it came to you, control felt like a slippery thing, something he grasped at but never fully held.

The days following that night settled back into the rhythm you and Hotch always maintained—something hovering between routine and denial. At work, you were as efficient and professional as ever, the picture of a seamless partnership. You exchanged clipped updates about cases, worked in sync during briefings, and traded subtle glances across the room that said more than words ever could.

Outside of work, the lines blurred more than ever. You still joined Hotch and Jack for movie nights, helped Jack with his homework, and shared quiet dinners that felt far too domestic for two colleagues who claimed not to be anything more. You fell back into bed together on those nights when the tension boiled over (and many nights when you both were just too tired not to just be), and yet neither of you ever spoke about what it meant. That was the unspoken agreement: not to name it because naming it would make it real.

It worked. Until Beth.

She had been kind, warm, and direct in a way that took him by surprise. Meeting her at the park had been pleasant enough—a chance encounter during one of his runs training for the triathlon. She’d struck up a conversation easily, and before he realized what was happening, she was smiling at him in that way, the kind of way that left no question about her intentions.

“I-I could use some tips--if you’re not busy?” she’d asked, her tone light but confident.

For a moment, Hotch froze. His first thought, inexplicably, was of you—how you’d look at him if you knew, the slight quirk of your brow, the teasing edge in your voice. And yet, beneath that, there was something else. Something heavier.

“I—” He hesitated, shifting uncomfortably. “I just don’t know my schedule. I’ll think about it.”

Later that night, as you sat on the couch in his apartment, flipping through a case file while Jack played nearby out of hearing, Hotch broke the silence.

“Someone asked me out today,” he said, his voice calm, almost too casual. 

You didn’t look up immediately, your focus still on the file, but he caught the way your hand stilled on the page. “Oh?” you said lightly, though the tightness in your tone betrayed you. “Anyone I know?”

He shook his head, leaning forward to rest his elbows on his knees. “A woman I met at the park. Beth.”

“Beth,” you repeated, setting the file down. You finally looked at him, your expression unreadable. “And what did you say?”

“I said I’d think about it.” He paused, studying your reaction closely. “It felt… strange.”

You tilted your head, your lips curving into a wry smile. “Strange how? Like you haven’t been asked out in a while? Or…?”

Hotch sighed, his gaze dropping to the floor. “Like it would be wrong. Like I’d be… cheating.”

The word hung in the air between you, and for a moment, neither of you spoke. Then you laughed, though the sound was hollow. “Cheating? Aaron, we’re not—” You stopped yourself, the words catching in your throat.

“I know,” he said quickly, his jaw tightening. “But it still felt that way.”

You leaned back against the couch, your arms crossed over your chest. “How would you feel,” you asked after a long pause, “if someone asked me out?”

The question was quiet but sharp, cutting through the space between you. Hotch’s eyes snapped up to meet yours, and for a moment, he didn’t speak. His first instinct was to deflect, to downplay it, but the truth was already clawing its way to the surface. His eyes darkened at the thought. 

“I’d hate it,” he admitted finally, his voice low. “I’d hate it, and I’d probably want to throw a punch.”

Your eyes widened slightly, his uncharacteristic bluntness catching you off guard. But instead of teasing him, you leaned forward, your elbows resting on your knees as you mirrored his posture. “Really?” you asked, your voice soft but steady.

“Really,” he replied, and then, after a pause, he sighed and ran a hand over his face. “There was a time… that officer in Seattle, the one who wouldn’t stop hitting on you.”

You blinked, clearly startled by the shift in the conversation. “The one who called me ‘darlin’’ every five minutes?”

Hotch nodded, his jaw clenching at the memory. “I had all I could do not to step in. Every time he touched your arm or found some excuse to be near you, I—” He stopped, shaking his head as if trying to will away the irritation that still simmered beneath the surface. “It wasn’t professional.”

A slow smile tugged at the corners of your mouth, and you leaned back against the couch, crossing your arms. “You were jeal-ous.”

“I wasn’t—” he started to protest, but the sharp look you gave him cut him off.

“You were totally jealous,” you said, your smile widening. “You hated that someone else even thought about getting near me.”

Hotch shifted in his seat, his expression stern but not quite able to hide the faint flush of his cheeks. “I didn’t say that.”

“You didn’t have to.” You tilted your head, your gaze playful but laced with something warmer, deeper. “You know, it’s kind of hot.”

“Stop,” he muttered, his voice tinged with exasperation, though the way he avoided your eyes betrayed him.

You laughed softly, the sound lightening the tension between you. “Fine. But admit it—you wouldn’t like it if someone else was interested in me.”

“No,” he said simply, his voice quiet but firm. “I wouldn’t. Because…” He sighed, fidgeting, running a hand through his hair. “Because it would mean someone else has something I want but won’t let myself have.”

The confession hung between you, raw and unfiltered. You looked at him for a long moment, your expression softening, though there was still a hint of sadness in your eyes. “Aaron…”

“I know we don’t talk about this,” he interrupted, his tone firm but not harsh. “But you asked, and that’s the truth.”

You leaned back again, your arms wrapping around yourself as if for protection. “I don’t think I’d like it much either,” you admitted quietly, scrunching your nose at the thought. “If someone else had what I already think of as mine.”

Hotch’s breath caught at your words, and for a moment, the weight of what you’d both said seemed too much to bear. But then you looked at him, and something in your expression shifted—a quiet resolve that mirrored his own.

“We’re really bad at this, huh?” you said, a faint, self-deprecating smile tugging at your lips.

“Terrible,” he agreed, the corners of his mouth lifting slightly despite himself.

The silence that followed wasn’t uncomfortable. It was heavy, yes, but it was also full of understanding. Neither of you had the answers, and maybe you never would. But for now, the truth was out there, raw and unspoken, just like everything else between you. And somehow, that was enough. For now.

Life fell back into its strange, unspoken rhythm. You and Hotch continued your routines, the moments that felt too much like a relationship carefully tucked away, ignored but ever-present.

Hotch had made his decision about Beth without much thought, declining her offer politely but firmly. He told himself it was because his life didn’t allow for complications like dating, but he knew the real reason. 

He didn’t bring it up again, and neither did you. But sometimes, when you caught his eye across the bullpen or during a quiet moment at his apartment, there was a weight in your gaze that mirrored his own. It was easier not to talk about it.

The unsub had been cornered, a desperate man with nothing left to lose. Hotch could see the wild look in his eyes, the way his hand twitched around the gun. You stood a few feet away, crouched behind a car door, your gun trained on the suspect.

“Put it down,” Hotch commanded, his voice steady, calm, despite the adrenaline coursing through him.

The unsub didn’t move, his eyes flickering between you and Hotch like a cornered animal. Then, in an instant, he shifted his aim—toward you.

It happened so fast that Hotch didn’t think, didn’t hesitate. He moved before the shot rang out, his body blocking the line of fire as he tackled you to the ground. Pain flared in his shoulder, sharp and searing, but he didn’t let it stop him. He rolled to shield you as Morgan and the local PD took the unsub down, disarming him within seconds.

“Aaron!” Your voice was sharp, filled with anger and panic as you shoved him off you, your hands immediately moving to his shoulder. “Are you—damn it, you’re bleeding!”

“I’m fine,” he said gruffly, though the pain in his voice betrayed him.

“No, you’re not fine!” You glared at him, your hands pressing against the wound to stem the bleeding as the medics approached. “What the hell were you thinking?”

“I was thinking I wasn’t going to let you get shot,” he snapped, his tone sharper than he intended. Your jaw tightened, but you didn’t argue as the medics came to his side. 

Hotch sat in the back of the ambulance, his jacket discarded and his shirt pulled down over his good shoulder to expose the wound. The paramedic worked efficiently, stitching up the graze with practiced precision. He barely winced, his focus not on the pain but on you.

You were pacing a few feet away, your arms crossed tightly over your chest as you muttered to yourself. He could tell by the sharpness of your movements and the tension in your jaw that you were furious. He also knew it wasn’t just anger; it was fear, worry, and something else neither of you would admit.

“Does she know you’re okay?” Rossi’s voice broke through his thoughts. Hotch turned to see Rossi and Morgan standing at the back of the ambulance, their expressions a mix of amusement and exasperation.

“She knows,” Hotch replied curtly, his tone dismissive.

“She doesn’t look like she knows,” Morgan said, nodding toward you. “She looks like she’s about to tear you a new one.”

Hotch sighed, his hand clenching briefly at his side. “She’ll get over it. She’ll be fine.”

“Will she?” Rossi asked, his tone pointed. “Because from where I’m standing, this whole act the two of you have going is starting to wear thin.”

“What act?” Hotch asked, though he already knew the answer.

Morgan raised an eyebrow. “The one where you two pretend you don’t have feelings for each other. It’s getting old, Hotch. And frankly, it’s not doing anyone any good.”

Rossi crossed his arms, his gaze steady on Hotch. “You put yourself in the line of fire for her, Aaron. We all would have done it, but you didn’t think twice. That’s not just leadership. That’s something else.”

Hotch’s jaw tightened, his eyes flickering briefly to you before he looked back at them. “It’s not that simple.”

“Of course, it’s not,” Rossi said, his voice gentler now. “But ignoring it doesn’t make it go away. You’re not protecting her by pretending it doesn’t exist. You’re just making it harder—for both of you.”

Hotch didn’t respond, his gaze dropping to the floor of the ambulance. The paramedic finished the stitches and stepped back, leaving him alone with his thoughts and the weight of Rossi and Morgan’s words.

When he finally looked up again, you were still pacing, your anger radiating off you in waves. And for the first time, he wondered if maybe, just maybe, Rossi was right.

The atmosphere back at the BAU was tense, the usual hum of activity muted by the weight of the recent case. Hotch moved through the bullpen with his usual efficiency, though the stiffness in his shoulder and the dull ache radiating from the stitches served as a constant reminder of how the day had started.

You were another reminder.

Since the moment he got out of that ambulance and was cleared to finish the case, you’d been snapping at him—sharp comments about his paperwork, curt responses to his questions, even a pointed remark about his “reckless heroics” during the case. It was all thinly veiled anger, but it wasn’t lost on anyone. Rossi shot him a knowing glance as he passed; Morgan smirked but wisely stayed out of it, and even JJ looked like she was holding back a comment. He’s pretty sure he even heard a scoffing laugh out of Emily at one of your brattier comments. 

“Hotch,” you said sharply, interrupting his conversation with Reid about a case update. “If you want those reports done before midnight, you might want to clarify what you actually need. Or is guessing part of the job now?”

Reid froze mid-sentence, his wide eyes darting between you and Hotch. The tension in the room was palpable, and Hotch’s patience, already worn thin by the soreness in his shoulder and the mental fatigue of the case, snapped.

“Y/N,” he said, his tone firm but controlled. “My office. Now.”

You opened your mouth to retort, but before you could get a word out, he reached for your elbow and guided you firmly toward his office. The rest of the team watched with varying degrees of curiosity and amusement as you allowed yourself to be led, though the fury in your eyes was unmistakable.

Once inside his office, Hotch closed the door behind you, the sound louder than it needed to be. He released your arm, his hand lingering for only a second before he stepped back, his dark eyes locking onto yours.

“What the hell was that?” you demanded, crossing your arms over your chest. “You just dragged me in here like I’m fucking child.”

“You’ve been snapping at me all day,” he shot back, his voice low but sharp. “What do you expect me to do? Let you keep undermining me in front of the team?”

“Oh, so now I’m undermining you?” you said, your voice rising. “God forbid anyone have a reaction to you throwing yourself in front of a bullet.”

“I did what I had to do,” he said, his tone clipped. “It’s my job to protect the team.”

“You’re not invincible, Aaron!” you snapped, your voice breaking slightly on his name. “You can’t just—do that, and then act like everything’s fine. Like we’re all fine.”

The room fell silent, the weight of your words hanging heavy in the air. Hotch pinched the bridge of his nose, letting out a slow breath as he tried to keep his frustration in check. He was tired. Tired from the case. Tired from the injury. Tired of the running.

“I wasn’t going to stand there and let you get hurt,” he said finally, his voice quieter but no less firm.

“And what about you getting hurt?” you fired back. “Do you think any of us would be okay with that? Do you think I would?”

Hotch froze, the intensity in your voice cutting through his fatigue and frustration. For a moment, he didn’t know what to say. The raw emotion in your eyes, the way your shoulders shook slightly as you tried to keep yourself composed—it was almost too much.

“This isn’t about the case, is it?” he asked, his voice softer now, though there was an edge of steel to it. “You’re not just angry about what happened.”

You opened your mouth to argue, but no words came out. Instead, you turned away, your arms tightening around yourself as if to create some kind of barrier.

Hotch took a step closer, his tone steady but tinged with something softer, something almost pleading. “Talk to me.”

You turned back to him, your eyes blazing with anger, but beneath it, he could see something else—fear, worry, hurt. “Why should I? We never talk about anything. Not really.”

The words hit him like a blow, the truth in them undeniable. And for the first time, he didn’t have an answer.

Hotch stood still, every muscle in his body taut as he let your words settle in the air. The frustration and fire in your voice cut through him, but it was the vulnerability underneath that made him pause. He had always prided himself on reading people, on staying composed no matter the situation, but you had a way of stripping him bare, of making him feel exposed in ways he wasn’t prepared to handle.

“You think I don’t feel it too?” you demanded, stepping closer, your voice trembling with restrained emotion. “Every time you step in front of danger, every time you put yourself in harm’s way for me—it eats at me. And then you have the nerve to act like it’s just another day at the office, like it doesn’t mean anything.”

“I don’t act like it doesn’t mean anything,” he said, his voice sharp, cutting through your words. “But we can’t afford for it to mean what you think it does.”

“And why is that?” you snapped, crossing your arms tighter over your chest. “Because it might make you feel something real? Because it might mean admitting that this—whatever this is—actually matters?”

Hotch’s jaw tightened, the words catching in his throat. He wanted to argue, to say that you didn’t understand, but the truth was, you understood better than anyone. “Because if something happens to you,” he said finally, his voice low but cracking at the edges, “it would destroy me.”

Your breath hitched, but you didn’t back down. “And you think it’s any different for me? You think watching you throw yourself in front of a bullet didn’t tear me apart? God, Aaron, don’t you get it? You don’t get to make that choice for me.”

He turned away, running a hand through his hair, his composure fraying with every word you spoke. “I’m trying to protect you.”

“From what?” you demanded. “From being hurt? From feeling? Because if that’s your plan, it’s not working. I’m already hurt. I’ve been hurt for years because we refuse to deal with this.”

“You think it’s that simple?” he asked, spinning back to face you, his voice rising. “That we can just talk about it and everything will magically be fine?”

“No,” you shot back, your voice rising to match his. “But pretending it’s not there isn’t fine either. Ignoring it doesn’t make it go away—it just makes it worse.”

The room was suffocating now, the air thick with all the words neither of you had said for years. Hotch’s mind raced, every argument, every excuse colliding with the raw truth you had thrown at him.

“This job…” he started, but his voice faltered. He took a steadying breath and tried again. “This job demands everything. It doesn’t leave room for mistakes, for weakness.”

“And you think this is weakness?” you asked, your voice trembling now, the anger giving way to something quieter but no less intense. “Do you really think what we feel—what we’ve built—is a liability?”

Hotch’s shoulders slumped slightly, the fight draining out of him as the weight of your words pressed down on him. He opened his mouth to respond but found himself struggling to find the right words.

“I don’t know,” he admitted finally, his voice raw. “I don’t know how to do this, how to balance it. I don’t know how to protect you and still let myself have you.”

You stared at him, the raw honesty in his voice cutting through your defenses. But it wasn’t enough—not yet.

“You can’t have it both ways, Aaron,” you said, your voice soft but firm. “You can’t keep me close enough to feel everything and then pretend it doesn’t exist when it gets too hard.”

“I know,” he said, his voice cracking under the weight of his admission. “I know I can’t. But I don’t know how to do this without risking everything.”

“Neither do I,” you said, taking a step closer, your voice trembling. “But the risk of losing this, of losing us—aren’t we worth figuring it out?”

Hotch closed his eyes, the tension in his shoulders finally breaking as your words sank in. He couldn’t argue with you, not when everything you said mirrored the storm that had been raging inside him for years. He opened his eyes and looked at you, really looked at you, and for the first time, he let himself feel the full weight of what you meant to him.

The silence between you stretched, heavy and electric, the air in the room thick with everything you’d both left unsaid for far too long. Hotch’s gaze flickered to yours, searching for something he couldn’t name but desperately needed. His own words had fallen short, his admission incomplete, and he could feel the weight of it pressing down on him.

But then you spoke, and it hit him like a tidal wave.

“I can’t keep doing this, Aaron,” you said, your voice trembling but strong, each word deliberate and cutting through the fog of tension. “I can’t keep being someone you make love to, someone you fuck when it gets to be too much. Someone you play house with when we’re with Jack. You can’t look me in the eyes and expect me to pretend I’m not already part of your family.”

He flinched, the raw honesty in your voice slicing through the walls he’d spent years building. “You are part of my family,” he said, the words spilling out before he could stop them.

“Then why do we keep acting like I’m not?” you fired back, your tone sharper now, anger laced with pain. “Why do you let me stay, let me take care of Jack, let me sleep in your bed—let me love you—but we act like it doesn’t mean anything?”

Hotch’s breath caught, his chest tightening as your words hit their mark. He opened his mouth to respond, but you weren’t done.

“You jumped in front of a bullet for me, Aaron,” you continued, your voice breaking slightly. “And you expect me to believe you’d do that for anyone else? That I’m just another member of the team? I’m not stupid. I know what this is—what we are. But I can’t keep pretending it’s nothing.”

He stepped closer, his hand twitching at his side, but he didn’t reach for you. “You think I don’t know that?” he asked, his voice low and rough. “You think I don’t feel it every time I look at you, every time I hear Jack ask about you when you’re not there? You think I don’t know how much it means to me that you’re part of my life?”

“Then we have to stop running from it!” you exclaimed, your voice cracking as your arms fell to your sides. “Stop pretending it’s safer to ignore it, because it’s not. It’s killing me, Aaron. I’m so in love with you, it hurts. And it’s killing me to keep living like this, to keep pretending we don’t already know the truth.”

The words hung in the air, raw and unfiltered, leaving him breathless. He felt like the ground had been ripped out from under him, like the armor he’d spent years perfecting had finally crumbled to dust. He didn’t know what to say, didn’t know how to make sense of the storm inside him.

You shook your head, stepping back slightly, though your eyes never left his. “I need you to decide,” you said softly, but the steel in your voice was unmistakable. “Because I can’t keep doing this—loving you like this—if you’re not willing to let yourself love me back.”

Hotch’s throat felt tight, the weight of your ultimatum pressing down on him like a physical force. But as he looked at you, at the pain and determination in your eyes, something inside him shifted. He couldn’t lose you. Not like this.

He stepped closer, his hand reaching for yours, his grip firm but gentle. “You’re right,” he said, his voice barely above a whisper but filled with conviction. “I’ve been running. I’ve been terrified. But I can’t lose you—not like this. Not ever.”

Your breath hitched, your eyes searching his, and for a moment, the room was silent, the tension between you finally giving way to something else. Something undeniable.

“I love you,” he said, the words raw and unpolished, but no less true. “I don’t know how to do this, but I want to try. With you.”

Tears welled in your eyes, but you didn’t look away. “Then stop pretending I’m anything less than yours.”

“I won’t,” he promised, his voice steady now. “Not anymore.”

The air between you shifted, the weight of everything unsaid finally lifting as you stepped into him, your arms wrapping around him as his enveloped you. It wasn’t a resolution, not entirely, but it was a beginning. A chance to stop running, to stop pretending, and to finally face the truth you’d both been avoiding for far too long.

The embrace lingered, grounding them both in a moment of quiet resolution. Hotch could feel your heartbeat against his chest, the tension in your body slowly melting away as his arms tightened around you. For once, the silence between you wasn’t filled with unsaid words or guarded emotions. It was calm. Real.

But the calm couldn’t last forever.

As you stepped back slightly, your hands still resting on his chest, Hotch caught the faintest hint of a smirk on your lips. It was subtle, but he recognized it immediately—the way your mouth twitched just before you said something that would almost certainly drive him up a wall.

“You know we just gave the entire team front-row seats to our meltdown, right?” you said, tilting your head as you looked up at him. “They’re probably out there placing bets on how long it’ll take us to come out of this office.”

Hotch sighed, the corner of his mouth twitching as he fought the urge to smile. “I’d imagine Rossi’s leading the pool.”

“Of course he is,” you replied, stepping back fully now, though the warmth in your voice remained. “He’s been waiting for this for years. Probably thinks he’s some kind of love oracle.”

Hotch allowed himself a quiet chuckle, shaking his head as he rubbed the back of his neck. “We’ll have to face them eventually,” he admitted, his tone resigned but not without a trace of humor. “It’s not like they’ll forget about it by morning.”

You raised an eyebrow, crossing your arms as you leaned back against the edge of his desk. “Oh, they won’t. They’ve been watching us like hawks for years. I wouldn’t be surprised if Morgan starts calling us ‘Mom and Dad’ the second we walk out of here.”

Hotch froze for a moment, his brow furrowing slightly. “What do you mean, ‘Mom and Dad’?”

Your grin widened, and you shrugged nonchalantly. “You didn’t know? The team’s been referring to us as Mom and Dad behind our backs for ages.”

He blinked, his lips parting slightly as he tried to process your words. “They… what?”

“Oh, come on, Aaron,” you said, your tone teasing now. “You’ve seen how they act around us. Morgan and Reid bicker like siblings, and JJ’s always trying to keep the peace. They’ve practically assigned us roles in their little BAU family.”

Hotch sighed, pinching the bridge of his nose as he shook his head. “That’s ridiculous.”

“Is it?” you asked, your voice laced with amusement. “Because it makes a lot of sense when you think about it. I mean, you are kind of a dad to everyone, and I—” You stopped abruptly, the teasing edge in your voice faltering for just a moment before you continued. “Well, I guess I’m just always around.”

Hotch looked at you then, his gaze softening. “You’re not just always around,” he said quietly, his voice steady. “You’re part of this team. You’re part of my life. And, apparently, the team’s ‘mom,’ whether we like it or not.”

The warmth in his voice made you smile, and for a moment, the tension from earlier felt like a distant memory. “Well,” you said, pushing off the desk and straightening your posture, “if we’re going to face them, we might as well lean into it.”

Hotch raised an eyebrow. “Lean into it?”

“Sure,” you replied, a mischievous glint in your eye. “Let them think they’ve been right all along. It’ll make their day.”

He sighed again, though the faint smile tugging at his lips betrayed his amusement. “You’re enjoying this far too much.”

“Maybe,” you said, moving toward the door. “But it’s not every day we give them this much to gossip about. Might as well embrace it.”

As you reached for the door handle, you turned back to him, your expression softening slightly. “You ready?”

Hotch straightened, his shoulders squaring as he stepped forward. “Not even a little.”

Your laugh was soft but genuine, and as you opened the door, he couldn’t help but feel a sense of relief. Whatever was waiting for the two of you on the other side, you’d face it together. And that, at least, was something he could hold onto.

The weeks that followed were, on the surface, remarkably unchanged. You and Hotch still worked side by side at the BAU, the same unspoken rhythm of partnership guiding your every move. Your routines remained intact—late nights at his apartment, dinners with Jack, quiet moments stolen away from the chaos of your jobs. But now, there was something new woven into the fabric of it all. Something quiet and steady: the acknowledgement of what you were to each other.

It started small. He would brush his fingers against yours when no one was looking, or you’d linger in his office just a little longer than necessary, your smiles softer, your words laced with warmth. And the words “I love you” slipped into your conversations as naturally as if they’d always been there.

One night, after a particularly grueling case, you both returned to his apartment, the comforting routine of shedding your workday as familiar as ever. Jack was already in bed, the soft glow of the living room lamp casting a warm light as you both settled in.

Hotch disappeared into his home office for a moment, returning with a folder in his hand. He handed it to you without a word, his expression unreadable.

You took it, raising an eyebrow as you opened it. “What’s this?” you asked, flipping through the pages.

“Employee relationship disclosure paperwork,” he said simply, his tone neutral but his lips twitching with the faintest hint of amusement.

Your head snapped up, your eyes narrowing as a slow smile tugged at the corners of your mouth. “Employee relationship paperwork?” you echoed, setting the folder on the coffee table. “What exactly are we calling this, Aaron?”

Hotch paused, clearly caught off guard by your question. “What do you mean?” he asked carefully.

You leaned back, crossing your arms as you looked at him with mock seriousness. “I mean, if we’re filling out forms, that means we’re officially labeling this, right? So, what are we? Is this… a relationship?”

His brow furrowed slightly, as though the question confused him. “Of course it’s a relationship,” he said, his voice steady. “It has been for a long time.”

You tilted your head, your lips quirking into a teasing smile. “Oh, really? Because last I checked, we’ve been playing house without acknowledging anything for years. So what’s the label, Hotchner? Are we ‘dating’? Am I your ‘girlfriend’?” You said the words with a playful lilt, but there was a genuine curiosity beneath your teasing tone.

Hotch hesitated, his jaw tightening as he considered your question. “I don’t think ‘girlfriend’ really fits,” he said finally, his tone thoughtful. “It feels… juvenile.”

You couldn’t stop the laugh that bubbled out of you. “Juvenile? Aaron, you sound like you’re 100 years old. What would you prefer? ‘Lady friend’? ‘Companion’?”

He shot you a pointed look, though the warmth in his eyes undercut his irritation. “I’m serious.”

“So am I,” you replied, still smiling. “If ‘girlfriend’ doesn’t fit, what does? You could’ve at least asked me to go steady or something.”

That earned you a quiet laugh, and Hotch shook his head as he sat beside you on the couch. “You’re impossible.”

“And you’re old-fashioned,” you shot back, nudging his shoulder with yours. “But seriously, what is this? What are we calling it?”

Hotch turned to face you fully, his expression softening. “We don’t need a label,” he said after a moment. “But if you want one… yes, you’re my girlfriend. My partner. Whatever word you want to use.”

Your smile widened, your teasing demeanor giving way to something warmer. “Your girlfriend, huh? Never thought I’d hear you say that.”

He smirked, leaning back against the couch. “You make me say a lot of things I never thought I’d say.”

You reached for his hand, lacing your fingers through his. “I like the sound of it,” you said softly. “But you know, if this is going to be official, you’re going to have to deal with the team making fun of us.”

“I’ve dealt with worse,” he replied, his voice steady but tinged with amusement.

Hotch felt the faintest tug of a smile on his lips as your fingers threaded through his. The warmth of your touch steadied him in a way few things ever could. He tilted his head slightly, his gaze resting on you with that quiet intensity he so often wore, but this time there was a softness beneath it.

“You’re going to have to deal with it too,” he added, his voice quieter now, almost teasing. “You think Morgan’s not going to have a field day the second he hears about this?”

You chuckled, leaning back against the couch and letting your head rest on his shoulder. “Morgan’s going to call me ‘Mom’ for the rest of my career,” you said with a grin. “And don’t even get me started on Rossi. He’s probably already planning the toast for our wedding.”

Hotch groaned softly, though there was no real frustration in the sound. “Rossi thinks he knows everything,” he muttered.

“Well,” you teased, “he was right about this.”

He didn’t respond right away, his gaze drifting down to your intertwined hands. He knew the rest of the team would have plenty to say, but for once, he didn’t feel the usual tension that accompanied such thoughts. Instead, there was a quiet acceptance, a sense of inevitability that, despite his usual resistance to change, felt strangely comforting.

Your voice broke through his thoughts. “You know, I don’t think I’ve ever actually said it out loud.”

“Said what?” he asked, tilting his head slightly to look at you.

“That you’re my boyfriend,” you said, the word tumbling out casually, but the way your lips curled into a playful smile told him you were testing it, savoring the way it sounded.

Hotch blinked, his brows lifting slightly. “Your boyfriend,” he repeated, the word feeling foreign but oddly fitting on his tongue.

“Yes,” you said, your tone mockingly serious now. “You know, boyfriend. Partner. Significant other. Lover—”

“Stop,” he interrupted, though the faintest hint of color crept into his cheeks as he shook his head. “I get it.”

You grinned up at him, clearly pleased with his reaction. “I think it suits you.”

“I feel ridiculous,” he admitted, though there was no heat in his words.

“Ridiculously lucky,” you corrected with a smirk.

Hotch sighed, though his lips twitched upward in a reluctant smile. “You’re insufferable.”

“And you love it,” you shot back, your tone light but laced with something deeper, something unspoken that now didn’t need to be.

He leaned back against the couch, letting out a quiet hum of agreement. “Maybe I do.”

“See? You’re getting the hang of this already, boyfriend,” you said, your grin widening.

He shook his head, chuckling softly as he pressed a kiss to the top of your head. “You’re going to drive me crazy.”

“Good,” you replied, settling into his side. “That’s half the fun.”

Hotch’s lips twitched as he let your words settle, your playful tone doing little to mask the deeper warmth behind them. He tilted his head, watching the way you fit so effortlessly into his side, your teasing smile lighting up a part of him he rarely let anyone see.

“‘Boyfriend,’” he repeated softly, tasting the word again like it was foreign but not unwelcome. “I think I still prefer something more… permanent.”

You lifted your head slightly, your brow arching in curiosity. “Oh?” you asked, your tone laced with amusement. “What would that be? Partner? Spouse? Or—” You grinned, the mischief returning to your expression. “Are you saying you’re more interested in ‘husband’?”

Hotch didn’t flinch, though the faintest flicker of color touched his cheeks. He met your gaze, his expression steady, though his lips quirked in a faint smirk. “If we’re being honest,” he said, his voice calm and deliberate, “that does sound like it fits better.”

Your jaw dropped slightly, your mock surprise more playful than genuine. “Aaron Hotchner, did you just casually suggest skipping the whole dating phase and jumping right into wedded bliss?”

He shrugged, leaning back against the couch with an air of calm that was entirely deliberate. “Considering we’ve been acting like we’re married for years already, it doesn’t seem like that big of a leap.”

You laughed, the sound bright and genuine as you swatted his chest lightly. “You are ridiculous. You’re not even my fiancé, and you’re already talking about being my husband.”

“Like I said,” he replied, his voice soft but steady, “I prefer more permanent labels.”

Your grin softened, your eyes searching his as the teasing edge in your tone gave way to something quieter, more reflective. “You’re serious, aren’t you?” you asked, the question almost tentative.

Hotch nodded slightly, his gaze unwavering. “I don’t take things lightly,” he said simply. “Not with you. I never have.”

For a moment, the air between you was heavy again, but not with tension. It was filled with the weight of everything you’d both been building for years, every unspoken truth and every quiet moment of connection that had brought you here.

You smiled, leaning into him again, your voice soft but teasing as you murmured, “Well, if that’s the case, boyfriend, you’re going to have to start calling me ‘your wife’ in front of the team.”

He chuckled, pressing a kiss to the top of your head. “One step at a time,” he said, though the warmth in his tone left little doubt about where his mind had already wandered.

Life fell back into its natural rhythm after you and Hotch filed the paperwork. The team made their comments, as expected—Morgan’s teasing was relentless, and Rossi’s smug satisfaction was borderline insufferable. But beyond the ribbing, nothing really changed in the day-to-day. You and Hotch continued your routines, slipping seamlessly between work and home as if the acknowledgment of your relationship had always been there.

Except now, there was an ease to it. A clarity.

The shift became apparent not in how you treated each other, but in how the rest of the world seemed to see you. It started small—another parent at Jack’s school, someone Hotch didn’t recognize but who greeted you both warmly at pickup one afternoon.

“Oh, you must be Jack’s mom,” she said, smiling at you before turning to Hotch. “He’s such a sweet boy. It’s clear he gets it from you two.”

You both had opened his mouth to correct her out of habit, but then he stopped you. What was the point? It felt right. Natural. So he’d smiled politely and said, “Thank you.”

Later, as you walked back to the car with Jack skipping ahead, you nudged him lightly. “Jack’s mom, huh?” you teased, raising an eyebrow.

“You didn’t correct her either,” he countered, his lips twitching with amusement.

You shrugged, your smile soft. “Didn’t feel like I needed to.”

It was one of those rare sunny Saturday mornings when Hotch found himself not at the office but at the local community park with you and Jack. The three of you had fallen into an easy rhythm—Jack running ahead to the swings while you and Hotch strolled behind, coffee cups in hand.

As usual, you and Jack had dragged him into this outing, insisting he needed a break. He wouldn’t admit it aloud, but watching Jack’s laughter echo through the park and seeing the soft smile on your face made him realize how much he needed mornings like this.

While Jack climbed the jungle gym, you leaned against the railing near the benches, brushing a stray hair from your face as the breeze picked up. Hotch stood beside you, close enough that your arm brushed his when you reached for your coffee.

A voice interrupted the moment. “Aaron Hotchner, is that you?”

Hotch turned to see a woman he vaguely recognized approaching, her face lighting up as she drew closer. It took him a moment to place her—one of Haley’s old acquaintances from a distant social circle.

“It is you,” she said warmly, stopping in front of you both. “Wow, it’s been years. How are you?”

“I’m doing well,” Hotch said politely, offering a small smile. “It’s good to see you, Claire.”

Her eyes flicked to you, curiosity plain on her face. “And this must be…?”

“My wife,” Hotch said without hesitation, the words slipping out so naturally that he didn’t even think to correct himself.

You blinked, your lips twitching with amusement as you extended a hand to her. “Hi,” you said, your tone friendly but neutral. “It’s nice to meet you.”

Claire’s smile widened as she shook your hand. “It’s so nice to meet you too. And Jack! Oh, he’s grown so much,” she added, waving at him as he climbed the monkey bars.

Hotch nodded, his gaze following Jack for a moment before settling back on Claire. They exchanged a few pleasantries—updates about mutual acquaintances and polite questions about work—before she finally excused herself, leaving you and Hotch alone again.

“You told a lie,” you said after a moment, your tone casual but laced with quiet amusement.

Hotch turned to you, his brow furrowing slightly. “About?”

You raised an eyebrow, your lips curving into a faint smirk. “About me being your wife.”

He paused, the realization settling over him, and then shrugged, his expression unbothered. “Didn’t feel like I needed to call you anything different.”

“Really?” you asked, your smile widening. “Is this what we’re calling it now?”

Hotch glanced at you, his dark eyes steady but soft. “It’s what it feels like,” he said simply. “It’s what we are.”

Your breath hitched slightly, and for a moment, you said nothing, your gaze searching his. Then you let out a soft laugh, shaking your head. “Well, I guess I should get used to it, huh?”

“You’re not opposed, are you?” he asked, his voice low but tinged with amusement.

“Not in the slightest,” you replied, taking a sip of your coffee before looking up at him with a grin. “But if you keep calling me your wife in public, you’re going to have to follow through at some point.”

Hotch chuckled quietly, his lips twitching with a faint smile. “Noted.”

Jack’s shout from the swings broke the moment, and you both turned to watch him wave enthusiastically for your attention. Hotch gave a small wave back, his hand brushing against yours as he lowered it.

And just like that, the conversation shifted back to the simplicity of the morning, but the weight of what had been said lingered in the air. Neither of you felt the need to correct it. After all, it was the truth—whether there was paperwork to prove it or not.

The next instance came at work, during a meeting with another department. A young agent had introduced herself and, glancing between you and Hotch, asked, “So, you and your wife—do you find it hard balancing work and home life at the BAU?”

He didn’t miss the way your eyes flicked to him, your expression unreadable. But he also didn’t hesitate. “It’s a challenge,” he said smoothly, his tone professional but warm. “But we make it work.”

After the meeting, you leaned against the edge of his desk, your arms crossed as you smirked at him. “Wife, huh?”

“Again, would you prefer I said ‘girlfriend’?” he asked dryly, hating the juvenile label, though the corner of his mouth quirked upward.

“Not at all,” you said, tilting your head thoughtfully. “But you do realize you’ve been calling me that a lot lately.”

He shrugged, his gaze steady. “Feels accurate.”

Your smile softened, and you reached out to brush your fingers against his. “Feels accurate to me too.”

It wasn’t until one afternoon in the bullpen that the team finally confronted you both. Emily leaned against Morgan’s desk, her arms crossed as she watched you and Hotch exit his office together. She raised an eyebrow as the two of you exchanged a look and parted ways—Hotch heading toward the coffee station and you to speak with JJ.

“Alright,” Emily said, her tone laced with curiosity as she approached Hotch. “Are you and Y/N married? And don’t try to brush this off—I’ve heard you call her your wife at least three times this week.”

Hotch turned, his brow furrowing slightly. “No, we’re not married,” he said, his tone even.

Emily’s eyes narrowed, skeptical. “Then why do you call her your wife?”

He hesitated for only a moment before answering. “Because it feels more honest than calling her my girlfriend. That doesn’t seem to cover what we are.”

Emily blinked, clearly taken aback by the straightforwardness of his response. “Okay, fair point,” she said slowly. “But what’s stopping you from actually getting married?”

Hotch opened his mouth to respond, but the words didn’t come. What was stopping them? He knew it wasn’t fear or hesitation—it hadn’t been for a long time. And the thought of marrying you didn’t fill him with apprehension; it filled him with the same sense of certainty he felt when he called you his wife without a second thought.

“I—” he started, but before he could finish, you appeared at his side, holding a file.

“What’s this about?” you asked, glancing between them.

Emily grinned, her eyes flicking between the two of you. “Just asking your husband here why you two aren’t actually married yet.”

You raised an eyebrow, clearly amused, before turning to Hotch. “Well?” you asked, your voice teasing but your expression curious.

Hotch met your gaze, and for a moment, the world seemed to quiet around him. “That’s a good question,” he said, his voice steady. “What do you think?”

Your smile widened, your eyes softening as you leaned just slightly closer. “I don’t think either of us have a good reason not to,” you said, your tone light but meaningful.

Emily rolled her eyes but grinned. “Well, when it happens, let us know. Rossi’s already planning your wedding toast.”

As Emily walked away, you and Hotch exchanged a glance, your smiles matching. And for the first time, the idea of making it official didn’t feel like a question of if, but when.

The idea had been with him for weeks, lingering in the back of his mind as he watched you move through your life together. It wasn’t a sudden realization or a dramatic epiphany. It was quiet, steady, and inevitable, much like the way you’d become the most important person in his life. He didn’t need to overthink it because he already knew the answer. You were his partner in every way that mattered, and it was time to make that official.

But Hotch being Hotch, he planned every detail. Not something grand or ostentatious—that wasn’t either of you. Instead, he wanted it to be personal, grounded in the quiet, meaningful moments that had always defined your relationship.

It was a Friday evening, the end of a particularly grueling week at the BAU. You and Hotch had fallen into your routine, picking up Jack from soccer practice and grabbing takeout on the way home. The three of you sat around the dining table, laughing as Jack recounted a story about his coach’s dramatic attempt to demonstrate a bicycle kick. Hotch caught your eye during the meal, the warmth in your gaze settling something deep within him.

After Jack went to bed, you lingered in the living room, curled up on the couch with a blanket draped over your legs. Hotch joined you, sitting close enough that his knee brushed against yours. The room was quiet now, the only sound the faint hum of the dishwasher in the kitchen.

“You look tired,” you said softly, your hand reaching out to rest on his knee.

He smiled faintly, his hand covering yours. “Long week.”

“You don’t have to tell me that twice,” you replied, your lips curving into a small grin. “But at least we survived it.”

“We always do,” he said, his voice steady, though there was a weight to his words that caught your attention.

You tilted your head, your brows furrowing slightly. “What’s on your mind, Aaron?”

He hesitated for a moment, the weight of the moment pressing on him. But then he reached into his pocket, his movements deliberate but calm, and pulled out a small box. Your eyes widened slightly, and you sat up straighter, your hand still resting on his knee.

“I’ve been thinking about this for a while,” he began, his voice low but steady. “About us. About what we’ve built together. It’s not just a routine or a habit. It’s a life. And it’s a life I want to share with you—not just in words or assumptions, but in every way that matters.”

You stared at him, your lips parted slightly, but you didn’t interrupt. He opened the box, revealing a simple, elegant ring. It wasn’t flashy, but it was perfect, understated in the way he knew you’d appreciate.

“I’ve called you my wife more times than I can count,” he said, a faint smile tugging at his lips. “Because that’s what you are to me. It’s what you’ve been for a long time. And now, I want to make it real.”

His dark eyes met yours, and for the first time in what felt like forever, Aaron Hotchner let every wall fall away. “Will you marry me?”

The silence that followed wasn’t awkward or tense. It was full of the gravity of the moment, the quiet weight of a decision that neither of you had to think twice about.

Your lips curved into a smile, your eyes soft as they brimmed with unshed tears. “Of course I will,” you said, your voice steady but full of emotion. “Yes, Aaron. Yes.”

Relief and joy washed over him, a rare, unguarded smile breaking across his face as he slipped the ring onto your finger. You leaned forward, wrapping your arms around his neck, and he pulled you close, his own arms circling your waist.

It wasn’t flashy or elaborate. It was simple, quiet, and utterly perfect. Just like the life you’d built together.

Aaron Hotchner had never been a man who dreamed of grand gestures. His life had taught him the value of simplicity, of finding solace in the quiet moments that others often overlooked. And as he sat with you on the couch that night, your hand resting in his, the weight of the ring now on your finger, he realized that this was everything he’d ever wanted. No fanfare, no spectacle—just you, him, and the life you’d built together.

The days that followed felt much the same, yet somehow entirely different. There was a new ease between you, a sense of certainty that replaced the unspoken tension that had once lingered. At work, the teasing from the team was relentless but good-natured. 

But it was at home, in the moments away from the chaos of the BAU, that the shift was most palpable. You’d catch Hotch watching you with a quiet intensity as you helped Jack with his homework or laughed over a shared joke at dinner. And when you teased him about it, his response was always the same—a faint smile and a simple, heartfelt, “I’m just happy.”

One evening, as you sat curled up on the couch together, Jack asleep in his room, you glanced down at the ring on your finger and then back up at him. “So, husband,” you said, the word rolling off your tongue with a mix of playfulness and warmth, “how long do you think it’ll take before Rossi starts making bets on when the wedding will be?”

Hotch chuckled softly, his hand brushing against yours. “If he hasn’t already, I’d be surprised.”

You grinned, leaning into him, your head resting against his shoulder. “Do you ever think about how far we’ve come? How all of this just… fell into place?”

He turned slightly, his arm wrapping around you as he pressed a kiss to your temple. “It didn’t just fall into place,” he said quietly. “We built it—one step at a time. And I wouldn’t change a single moment of it.”

You looked up at him, your eyes soft but filled with that familiar spark of mischief. “Not even the part where the team found out and started calling us ‘Mom and Dad’?”

He smirked, his hand trailing absently along your arm. “Not even that.”

The two of you sat there in the quiet, the glow of the lamp casting a warm light over the room. It was a life neither of you had expected, but one you’d fought for in your own way. And as Hotch held you close, the future felt less like an unknown and more like a promise—a life you’d continue to build together, one quiet, meaningful moment at a time.

Tag List:

@zaddyhotch

@estragos

@todorokishoe24

@looking1016

@khxna

@rousethemouse

@averyhotchner

@reidfile

@bernelflo

@lover-of-books-and-tea

@frickin-bats

@sleepysongbirdsings

@justyourusualash

[ctrllhyuck]

no hitter

genre/tags ✮⋆˙ enemies to lovers, college au, kim seungmin x fem!reader

word count ✮⋆˙ 2.6k

NOT PROOREAD

˚　　　　✦　　　.　　. 　 ˚　.　　　　　 . ✦　　　 　˚　　　　 . ★⋆. ࿐࿔ 　　　 　　 　

you first met seungmin at the park by your elementary school, you were playing with lia, your best friend, when out of no where some kids pushes you over.

“hey! you knocked me over, you’re supposed to say sorry.”

“i didn’t knock you over, you were in the way so i nudged you. you should be the one apologizing to me.”

“that’s not how it works! i was sitting here playing with the sand and you pushed me instead of saying excuse me. don’t you have manners?”

“i feel like i’m just wasting my time here. next time, watch where you sit princess.”

from that day on seungmin relentlessly tormented you. whether it was pulling pranks on you, starting rumors about you, and even going as far as accusing you of cheating on an exam. that’s why you had always said you hated him. at the start of your freshman year you decided to solely focus on your studies. you were never the type of person to go out to clubs or parties like your friends. you always preferred to stay in your dorm studying, watching a show or napping. seungmin on the other hand gained quite the popularity. even if you wanted to you couldn’t deny it, seungmin was handsome. you thought it was a waste that such a mean person had such an angelic face. seungmin had always excelled at baseball. he had quite the throw, which landed him a starting position on the university’s team. you two had mutual friends which made avoiding him 24/7 a difficult task for you.

“dude, please put the books down for one day. i’m literally begging you, i’ll get on my knees if i have to,” han jisung asked as he pulled on your backpack strap. han was one of the first friends you made at the beginning of freshman year. the poor boy stumbled into the women’s restroom as you and lia were walking out and the rest was history.

“han you know i don’t like going out, especially when i know seungmins gonna be there,” you responded to the boy as you sipped your iced coffee. to your left, lia scoffed.

“you know, i think you and seungmin might have a little enemies to lovers story going on,” the brunette said as she eyed your face, carefully scanning it until she found that slight flush of pink on your cheeks. you had practically known lia all your life, she was like the sister you never had. she was able to read you perfectly in any situation. a few weeks ago she had caught you staring at seungmin during a class you three shared together. when you noticed she had caught you, you let out a nervous laugh and that little flush of pink appeared. from that moment the gears in her head starting turning and she came to the only logical conclusion: you had a crush on seungmin.

renjun, your lab partner turned best friend, spoke up, “that’s actually impossible, she hates his guts.”

“okay can we get back to the real issue here, getting our lovely yn to come bowling with us,” han squeaked in an exasperated tone. the poor boy just wanted you to come out of your dorm for once and live a little. they knew parties were completely out of your comfort zone and would never force you to attend these events. but bowling? who doesn’t love a good round of bowling. the rest of the baseball team was going too, and they were actually quite fond of you since you would attend their practices sometimes.

“okay, i’ll go. but as soon as seungmin says something or does something to make me uncomfortable, can one of you take me home?,” you asked your friends as they all looked at you wide eyed. safe to say you were met with never ending “yes’s” from all three of your friends.

the night you were going bowling finally arrived. you were actually dreading it ever since you had accepted the invitation. you were unsure of what was an appropriate outfit for this outing since you lived in baggy jeans and over sized sweaters. lia had offered to come and style you (perks of having a fashion major best friend). after many no’s you two had finally decided on a denim skirt and a cute sweater.

“you’ll definitely catch seungmins attention tonight,” lia said as she spun you around in front of your mirror. you couldn’t help but wonder if seungmin had ever called you pretty in his head.

you were sitting in the passenger seat of han’s car while lia and renjun sang their heart out to sabrina carpenter. as you guys pulled up to the bowling alley you saw the rest of the team (and their respective girlfriends) standing outside. as your group walked towards the entrance you saw him. the man you “hated” the most, the person you would always avoid on campus, kim seungmin. you couldn’t help but admire his face. he was just so handsome? dreamy? you couldn’t find a word to describe him. as he turned around to greet han, his eyes caught yours. you don’t know if your crazy, but you could’ve sworn seungmin gave you a small smile as you made eye contact. the night was progressing as you made casual chit chat with some of the other guys on the team. seungmin had yet to come up to you to say a smart ass comment or make fun of you.

without anyone noticing, you slipped away from the group. you wanted to get some fresh air as the closed space had started to make you feel anxious. the cool air hit your face as soon as the doors opened, maybe the skirt wasn’t a good idea. you looked up at the sky and noticed there was a full moon, you quickly took out your phone to snap a picture of it. as you were angling your phone you heard a voice creeping up behind you.

“pretty isn’t it.” that voice alone made your stomach do flips. you knew exactly who it was.

“um, yeah, i was trying to get a picture for my story,” you responded practically tripping over your own words. the boy behind you laughed. oh how you loved his laugh.

“still get nervous around me huh,” seungmin asked as he started into your eyes, his smile never faltered. he was just so hypnotizing. you couldn’t help but feel drawn in.

“i- i don’t know what your talking about seungmin. if you don’t mind, i came out here alone for a reason.” it was as if something had snapped you back into reality. this is kim seungmin, the boy who always found the way to make you feel so little.

“cmon yn, it’s pretty obvious that you like me. everyone on the team knows it. why do you keep acting like you hate me.” seungmin kept inching towards you, every step he took invading your personal bubble. but, why didn’t you move? it’s like you wanted him there. he stopped when he was a few centimeters away from your face, your breaths mixing together. he started leaning in, and you didn’t pull away. you wanted that kiss. you wanted it more than anything.

then you heard it. the little giggles coming from behind the cars. you turned your head in the direction of the laughs, and you saw multiple phones pointing at you and seungmin. they were recording you. this was all a cruel joke planned by seungmin and his stupid friends. you felt the tears starting to pool in your eyes. how could you let your guard down so easily?

“no way you really thought seungmin was gonna kiss you,” a voice from behind you said. you knew that voice perfectly. it belonged to karina, seungmins former girlfriend. she was mocking you. every single one of them was making fun of you. you wanted the ground to swallow you. you felt your anxiety begin to bubble up. you needed to find one of your friends. you needed to be away from seungmin. you tried so hard not to cry but the feeling of humiliation was just too much. as you began sobbing you saw han walk out of the bowling alley, he had been looking for you. as soon as he saw the state you were in and everyone just standing around you he began to push seungmin and ask what the fuck was wrong with him. you weren’t sure if you purposely blocked everything that happened after out of your mind or if you blacked out. all you remember is lia helping you put your pjs on and tucking you into bed.

after the incident at the bowling alley you didn’t want to show your face on campus. you were sure the video they had taken of you and seungmin was posted all over social media. lia and renjun had assured you that it wasn’t posted anywhere, but they couldn’t tell you everyone had been sharing it thru texts.

“so are you coming to the baseball game? it’s the final, it would mean a lot if you came,” han was basically pleading with you. you felt conflicted. you wanted to go support your friend but you also didn’t want to see seungmin or the other idiots that helped him with his scheme. with a half smile you tell han you’ll try to make it.

it’s saturday night, the game is starting in 30 minutes. that’s exactly how long the bus ride to the stadium is from your dorm. after a lot of pep talks to yourself, you realized you couldn’t hide forever. you were going to have to move on from what happened that night. you knew it wasn’t the end of the world but your anxiety had made you feel much worse. you arrived at the stadium after the first pitch was thrown. you were quickly able to find lia & renjun in the sea of people. they greeted you with hugs and forehead kisses (courtesy of lia). you hadn’t been to a game since the season started so you were kind of lost to what was going on. by the middle of the 9th inning your university was up by 3. it was a small lead but they were so close to victory. three strikes was all that was needed for your uni to win the championship. you hate to say it but seungmin had been pitching amazing as usual. as he pitched the first ball you saw his face contort. you realized something wasn’t right. you saw him wince in pain and he hit the ground. he was holding onto his right hand as he was yelling things you couldn’t make out. after a few minutes you saw the coach and medical staff escorting seungmin off the field. then the announcement came, seungmin was hurt and they were switching pitchers. your chest felt heavy. you were able to see the tears in seungmins eyes. all you wanted to do was go down there with him and hug him. but you couldn’t, not after what he had done to you. after seungmin was replaced everyone could tell the new pitcher had no idea what he was doing. the game quickly ended with a grand slam from the opposing team. the final score 4-3. they had lost the championship.

you knew you shouldn’t be doing this. you should be with lia and renjun comforting han. but you couldn’t stop yourself. at first you were walking towards the locker rooms, but now you were full on sprinting. you had to find seungmin. you just felt like he needed someone and you wanted that someone to be you. as you neared the locker room you slowed down a bit to catch your breath. then you heard it. low sobs coming from inside the locker room. you carefully pushed the door open and that’s when you spotted him. seungmin was sitting on the ground, head buried in his hands as if he was trying to hide away from the world around him. you carefully approached him and sat next to him.

“seungmin.”

the boy looked up and his eyes widened in surprise. you were the last person he expected to see.

“go away. your not even supposed to be in here.”

“i know, but .. i wanted to check on you.”

you heard a scoff coming from him as he spoke, “check on me? oh please i don’t need your pity.”

“it’s not pity seungmin. you’re hurt and i wanted to check on you. i was worried.” did you actually mean what you were saying? why would you worry about seungmin? especially after how he treated you.

“this stupid injury cost the whole team the championship. it’s my fault we lost.”

“you didn’t know you were gonna get injured, i’m sure no one is blaming you min,” you stopped as soon as you said it. you called him by his nickname. a nickname you were never worthy of, or so you thought. you noticed a slight blush appear on his cheeks and the tips of his ears.

“only my friends call me min.”

“yeah i know, i’m sorry.” there was a long pause. it seemed like both of you were scared to speak. scared of saying the wrong thing. scared of hurting each other. seungmin was the one who broke the silence.

“i’m sorry,” you never thought you’d hear those words coming out of his mouth. “i’m sorry for what happened at the bowling alley. i know it’s hard to believe but i didn’t want to do it. it was karina’s idea.” he took your silence as a sign to continue. “she’s always been jealous of you. she heard something from one of the guys a few days back and she got mad. she really should’ve been upset with me, not you.”

“what did she hear? was it something about me,” you asked nervously unsure of what response you could get.

“yes and no. it’s something i said,” he paused and you looked over at him. his face was completely red. “this is hard for me please bear with me,” he said pleading with you.

“seungmin, i won’t be here forever,” you mustered to him as you stood up. seungmin was quick on his feet.

“wait, please.” his figure towering over you, but he couldn’t meet your eyes. “i told jeno that i- fuck this is hard,” you heard him gulp. “i told jeno that i liked you. that i’ve always liked you and that i’ve only ever picked on you because i wanted your attention.”

your mouth was agape. seungmin, the boy who you’ve had a crush on since that fateful day on the playground, was confessing to you. you were in shock. seungmin was trying to read your face but he couldn’t.

“please say something. reject me, slap me, kiss me whatever just please. i know i messed up big time but i can’t stand the idea of me losing you, please yn i-“ you cut him off with a gentle kiss on the lips. it was like you had always pictured it. his lips were soft and he immediately melted into your touch. it’s like your lips were molded to fit each other perfectly. you pulled away when you were both out of breath.

“seungmin i’ve always liked you.” you saw his face turn a bright red shade. you kissed the tip of his nose.

“i promise i won’t hurt you ever again. please stay by my side.” you could see in his face that he was sincere. you realized how in love you were with him.

“lia was right, we did have en enemies to lovers story going on,” you giggled as you saw seungmins puzzled expression.

this was just the start of your new chapter with seungmin. a new chapter in a story that you never wanted to end.

[bengiyo]

Ben's Big BL Blurb 3: Blue Canvas of Youthful Days Blew It, But I Still Recommend It

I finished Blue Canvas of Youthful Days today, and I don’t like where we left off with this show. Let’s get into that, and then check in on some of the other shows I’m watching.

Blue Canvas of Youthful Days Didn’t Give the Audience Catharsis

I don’t begrudge the show going for a happy ending, given how so many other BLs from their home country end with sudden traumatic turns. However, I don’t feel like we got catharsis from the ending at all. I struggle to full articulate my frustration here, but I think I just really wanted an ending akin to Weekend (2011) or Gameboys 2 (2022).

I think these two were in a position where they were unable to be together now, and I think they should have ended on a separation. When Cairo and Gav had to separate at the end of Gameboys, it was the correct choice. They were still building their lives, and Gav wasn’t doing well on his on. Similarly, Blue Canvas established a scenario whereby Qi Lu did not have the power to stop his father from harming Qin Xiao. Likewise, Qin Xiao couldn’t keep the local gang from beating Qi Lu.

I would have preferred they have the boys confront that they were hiding things from each other, and how they both failed to protect each other from the horrors. I am disappointed that we didn’t get a poignant goodbye from them as they accept that they can’t be together right now. I wouldn’t have minded so much a blurb at the end of the show with the pitch for a season 2 that they didn’t get to film (though @thisonelikesaliens commentary makes even what they wrote dour). We didn’t confront the issue with the dad at all, and we didn’t deal with Qin Xiao losing all he’d worked for.

Genuinely, I would have been okay with them getting a tag at the end of the show with them seeing each other on the street again and sharing a meaningful look. However, we never saw them face the music of their double noble idiocy, and that sucks. It especially sucks because we had Let Free The Curse of Taekwondo this year, and so we saw the consequences of this. We could have had these two railing against the world and promising to see each other again. The tag at the end of the reuse of the fantasy sequence feels tacked on and unearned. That kinda sucks more.

Final Verdict: 8, Recommended With Reservations. I really liked most of this show, and I think they wrote some phenomenal characters until the finale here. Like @lurkingshan I ended up not pleased with this ending. I am disappointed in the lack of resolution about the withholding, and I think they needed to face the separation and goodbye. However, I really liked the cast, and I respect the team that worked so hard to get this to us.

On to the rest of the show, presented in no particular order…starting with the worst. I’ll put in parentheses what episode number I’m on as of this post.

Haunted Hearts is Boring (5/7)

Magic, mah friend! Your show is boring. I do not know why these boys won’t kiss, and at this point I feel like I don’t care anymore. They’re introducing yet another ghost next week and I just am so disinvested. I try so hard every time to support Oxin Films and Regal Entertainment, but they make it so fucking hard. Holy shit. There’s only so far the boys being cute can carry a thin concept like this.

City of Stars is Better Than I Expected (2/12)

I am catching up on this show. The acting isn’t great, but I’m really enjoying a lot of what’s happening here. I will report back when I finish.

See Your Love is Fun But Kinda Weird (7/13)

The visuals are great in this show, and the leads are filling in the aesthetic gap left behind by Jimmy and Tommy in a way that really works for me. There’s been way too many pratfalls in the last two episodes. We are at 1.5 pratfalls per episode at this point. The side couple is absolutely ridiculous. I’m having fun.

Caged Again is Becoming a Favorite (4/10)

Junior is the best protagonist of the year. I’m obsessed with this penguin boy. I love the way this show uses its supernatural elements to drive its storytelling forward, even if I think the plot got a little silly in episode 4. The friend group dynamics are so fun, and I haven’t enjoyed a group of Thai boys this much since Knock Knock, Boys! (no surprise, two of them are in this show, too).

Your Sky is a Weekly Delight (3/12)

The 2gether rewrite show is great, and I will be reading no commentary to the contrary. These boys are so great, and they are one of the best couples of the year. This show is doing fake dating in a way that’s just so excellent, because it’s real dating! The boys are genuinely trying to get know each other so they can pretend to be a better fake couple. This is so close to being excellent meta commentary about dating in the digital age, and how so much of dating for the current generation is about how others perceive the validity of your relationship. It’s actually so fun to watch a show where the characters are doing all the things you’re supposed to do when you’re trying to build something with someone, but one of them doesn’t fully understand what they’ve gotten into. This show is great, and I love it.

Love in the Air: Koi no Yokan is so Slick (5/10)

If there’s one thing a Japanese drama is going to get right it’s trauma! This show delivered on Kai’s horrors in a way that was so visceral that I needed to pause and catch a breath. I remain obsessed with the casting of Nagatsuma Reo as Kai, because he’s taller than Suzuki Asahi sometimes. I really love that they didn’t give us the BL height difference trope, and I like that they didn’t style Kai in a way to make him look more feminine. There’s a egalitarian physical balance between Fuma and Kai that I find extremely refreshing, considering the massive class, wealth, and suffering gap between the two characters. It’s no surprise that we’ve had a dearth of gifs of their sex scene, considering it doesn’t play to the kind of asymmetric aesthetics that folks seem enjoy in their pairings.

As always, the Rei and Kai friendship remains one of the best parts of this story, and I like the way this version of Sky talks to this version of Rain about the queer stuff. He feels like he’s being careful with his friend, and not just ghosting him on important conversations about his friend’s sexual awakening (one of my major gripes with the original Thai adaptation).

Our Youth is Taking Over My Brain (4/11)

I have not moved on from the “Infect me” line, and I am still obsessed with the plausible deniability of the “no homo” that Hirukawa relies upon as he continues to pursue Minase. Now that Minase has reached his breaking point, I’m so looking forward to seeing where we go next. We’re due for a major separation, and I’m ready for a Japanese BL to not fuck up a second chance romance attempt this time. Perhaps adapting Korean work could the solution?

Spare Me Your Mercy is a Welcome Return to the Sammon Feeling I Enjoy (1/10)

I just really love when Sammon shows feel like the mystery matters more than the romance, and this feels like it’s in the correct space. I loved the initial setup, and the potential for there to be multiple murderers. I really hope that they start killing younger people in this show, because they said there were only 40 palliative care patients, and we downed three of them in the first episode. I’m so happy to see JJ again, and Tor looks great. I am looking forward to the weekly watch and theorizing with this show. Most importantly, I’m looking forward to the complex meditation on euthanasia, which this story feels like it’s taking seriously.

Love is Like a Poison Finally has Given Us a BL Battle Couple Again (11/12)

We haven’t had a BL battle couple in what feels like forever. I love that this show continues to reward us for believing in Haruto and Shiba. Haruto’s dad is the absolute worst, and I really want him to lose. I love Shiba, and I love that the show continues to give him some of the visual tropes of a legal drama (like the pan up near the end). I’m in love with this show, and it’s going to be one of my favorites of the year, I’m sure.

Fragrance You Inherit Hurts Me Because Everyone is Doing The Right Thing (4/8)

This show is actually so painful sometimes, because no one is doing anything wrong. Everyone is being as emotionally honest as they can be with everyone they speak to about all of the things that are going on. There’s absolutely nothing wrong with Sakura choosing to let go of her lingering crush on Mone now that they’re both moms and their kids are dating. Besides, we presume that Mone is still married! The conversation with On-chan makes me think that Mone misunderstood the relationship Sakura had with him in college (My man is ace but not aro! We love to see it).

I just really love that everyone is trying to do right by everyone around them, and I think all of the things that remain unspoken in this show have been withheld for completely valid reasons. There are no villains in this story, and that makes it even harder to watch really kind people treat each other politely in every scene. I’m just feeling a quiet scream in me the entire time I watch a good son by a thoughtful gift for his loving mother with the help of his supportive and lovely girlfriend, as he prepares a surprise from the old friend who clearly still cares about her friend and the unrequited/unexpressed feelings between them. This show is incredible. Go watch it right now. Thank you again to @isaksbestpillow.

Conclusion

That’s more shows than I’ve been watching in a while. It’s nice to have some Thai shows back in my rotation that I’m actually enjoying. I really want the Chinese to now fuck up their endings, but it seems like 2024 will not be that year. I’ll try to check in with the end of Love is Like a Poison when the Netflix release schedule completes so folks can binge it then. In the mean time, let me know what you’re enjoying, and what else I should consider picking up.

[bonny-kookoo]

Jungkook

YEARNING || Trust

There's always choices to be made.

Tags/Warnings: Dragonblood!Prince!Jungkook, Human!Reader, Angst, Some fluff if you squint?, Jungkook is emotionally constipated oops

Length: 5k words

-> Masterlist

There is no taglist for this fic.

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“You’re so gentle with them, it’s really nice to see.” Taehyung says, as he watches you help clean the still soft scales of the young dragon in your lap. “It’s like you’ve got a natural talent for it.”

“I wouldn’t call it talent.” You laugh, gently running the damp towel over the head of the heavy but still young creature in your lap, it’s eyes closed in bliss as it’s resting on your thigh, nearly asleep. “Isn’t it a.. normal instinct to care for children?”

“Children of your own kind, maybe.” Seokjin sighs. “But normally, humans don’t see anything positive in the whelps other than monetary value.” He mumbles, preparing food for the smallest hatchlings.

“Jin..” Taehyung warns softly, but you shake your head.

��no, he’s right.” You sigh. “and I’ll probably never understand how you can look at these beings and feel.. nothing.” You mostly talk to yourself, as someone else enters.

“Its good to see you up.” Namjoon offers. “I’m sorry for not having taken into account how sending Yoongi must’ve looked to you.”

“Its nothing to apologize for. I overreacted.” You wave off. “I hope he wasn’t scolded?” You worry, but Namjoon shakes his head.

“No, Jungkook understood.” He nods, before he seems to fall into thought. “which actually… would you like to accompany him and myself today? We will be taking a regular look at the borders later.” He asks, and both Seokjin and Taehyung share a look that shows only confusion.

But you nod. You reckon its most likely to show you a way to leave from, and where to go so you can truly make your way out of this place without getting in the way again. “good. I’ll come back later to fetch you.” He nods, before he leaves.

“Border patrol? That seems.. weird.” Taehyung bluntly states.

“Its mostly weird that he’d want you there.” Seokjin says towards you, who just shrugs.

“Maybe to give me an idea where not to cross again.” You explain. “It’s likely. Considering I can’t stay.”

“I still don’t get why not.” Taehyung huffs to himself, disappointed. “You’re so good with the hatchlings, and you’re clearly nice. Yoongi gets to stay too, why not you as well?” he mumbles to himself as Seokjin gives him a bottle to feed to the already jumping baby at his legs.

“I’m sure he has his reasons.” You simply say, as you help feed the small dragons, making it clear that you do not want to talk about it any further.

It’s later on that you realize Namjoon must’ve forgotten to tell Jungkook that you’ll be accompanying the two of them- because the glares the prince keeps sending his advisor could surely kill at any given chance.

And the biggest reason for that, is that apparently, Namjoon had forgotten that he can’t actually tag along at all, leaving the prince and you alone.

“You can just show me where to go, and send me off.” You tell him, as he rides closer to the border, horse calm but curious while Jungkook makes sure to keep an eye on you riding close to him, on one of the horses usually meant for other riders who patrol the borders.

“…you won’t leave today.” He mumbles, frustrated with himself. “...unless you want to, of course.” He offers, but you just sigh, petting the horse’s neck.

“I don’t think I could make that decision on my own.” You answer him, earning his full attention. “I would just act selfishly.”

“How so?” He asks, steering his horse past a few rocks.

“I would stay.” You shrug. “I don’t.. know why. Being here makes me feel guilty, and yet something inside of me craves to stay.” And at those words, Jungkook begins to feel guilty himself. If it wasn’t for his weird situation, you wouldn’t be stuck feeling like this.

Wait. You.. Shouldn't be feeling anything connected to the bond. This whole thing should be one-sided.

“Did you.. Are you sure your mother was entirely human?” He asks you, as the horse tilts its head a little to look at something for a second, before Jungkook steers it back on track. You shrug, before you nod.

“Very sure.” You say. “I’ve.. Seen some Hiwern women fleetingly, these past times I’ve been here. And she looked nothing like them.” You respond to him.

“And what about your father?” Jungkook asks- feeling you sigh.

“He died, during the last war.” You say, making Jungkook tense up. “I remember him leaving, when he was drafted. He.. Really didn’t want to fight, but he couldn’t risk us getting punished for his actions either.” You shake your head.

“Fear is a powerful emotion.” Jungkook says. “It’s however still brave to face it as an act to protect one’s family. Honorable, even.” He admits, despite his natural.. Negative feelings towards anyone who fought against his own kind.

“He wasn’t scared.” You deny however, causing him to perk up in interest. “He just.. Really didn’t want to fight. Because he felt like.. The enemy wasn’t his.” You explain. “That’s what my mom said.”

It’s quiet for a moment. What you say paints a different picture to how the war had been taught to him- if your father didn’t want to go to war against the Hiwerns and dragons, how many felt the same, but were forced to do so to protect their loved ones?

This is all getting way too muddy for his liking. Everything seems to blur and bleed, no clear lines visible anymore to him.

However, looking at you from a new perspective, he has a hunch as to who your father might’ve been. “Did he ever become a defector by chance?” Jungkook wonders, and you shrug.

“I’m not sure. My mom.. Mentioned something like that, but we never really got any definitive proof.” You explain. “All we had was a letter, and uhm.. This.” You say, pulling a necklace out of your coat, Jungkook taking a look at the tag on it- a silver soldier’s tag to be specific. “Someone told my mom that the three lines scratched in there mean he surrendered.” You say, and Jungkook leans over to inspect the tag a bit closer-

And you’re not quite right about the meaning of those three lines.

The three lines were a sign of acceptance- symbolizing a dragon’s footprint, they’ve been scratched into soldier’s tags after they did something meaningful for the Hiwern people. Simply surrendering would only really gain soldiers a way out.

This means that your father must’ve been accepted at some point.

“Hm. How did you get that?” Jungkook asks, letting go of the necklace for you to tuck away back beneath your clothes again.

“It was given back to us, together with his body.”

Jungkook quiets down at that. He doesn’t want to imagine your mother having to explain to you that your father would never return back home- that he was dead, and gone forever. A child shouldn’t have to grow up without any of the parents missing- but the world is a cruel place, and people always end up hurting themselves for nothing.

Jungkook quietly brings you both back to Taehyung and the rest- leaving you with them, while he himself investigates his own suspicions a bit further. If your father really got accepted, there has to be records of it somewhere in the archives, and Namjoon is the one keeping track of it all.

Because if what you say is true, then there has to be evidence of this somewhere.

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“There. The Number on the tag is the same.” Namjoon offers, having finally found an entry that seems to be what Jungkook has been looking for. A few documents written about him, and a small leather bound book, a journal most likely. It’s common for soldiers to write one after all- to leave something behind for their families if they don’t end up making it back.

And your father didn’t. It’s a shame he never even got to give it to you either.

He skips over some things, before something catches his attention. “..proved his bravery as he fought for his kind, and not against it.” Jungkook furrows his brows. “..despite his actions of mingling with the human kind, he still kept his dragon heart and stayed loyal to the tooth.” Jungkook reads.

“He was a Hiwern?” Namjoon wonders, surprised. “Well that certainly changes things.” He mumbles, looking over Jungkook’s shoulder to read what’s written down in the memorial book for himself. “So she is a hybrid Hiwern. Very interesting..” Namjoon says, as he instantly moves to look for something, while Jungkook is left behind.

Your father basically gave up his place within the lines and kingdom of the Hiwern people- just to be with your mother? He looks through the pages to find the mention of you and your brother- children he had raised as his own, even though you and your brother were not his.

This is just getting more and more confusing.

‘When I found her, naked and left to join the course of nature out in the winter, I did not hesitate to take her in as my own, despite the fact that she was not mine.’

Is written down in the journal pages attached to the memorial entry for your father. The leather of the booklet is worn and torn from age, so its not unusual to find the pages loose and out of order, a lot most likely missing entirely.

‘She was neither this nor that- discarded as a mistake meant to be forgotten.’

Jungkook sits down near a window, crossing his legs in a more comfortable position as he continues to read the handwriting.

‘they were not the same, but I raised them as such.’

He writes further, with that most likely meaning that your brother was his lover’s son, while you were not- but that he didn’t make any difference between you or your brother.

‘They are my children, cared for by my beloved, who had longed for another child for way too long, but was denied by nature to never receive one from me.’

Jungkook has to imagine the situation, somewhat. Has to think of what your childhood between all those humans must have been like, unaware of why you actually were. And he does admit that you do have something strangely familiar to him, even though he does not know you. Like a fable told to him years ago, as if you’d jumped out of those tales, made by the words and descriptions written down. If you have even just a hint of dragon’s blood in you, his attraction would finally make sense.

He flips through the pages of the journal, some of them burned, dirty, or torn. Your father most likely held onto them until the very last, before he gave them to the libraries to be archived.

‘Is it odd that I feel like she is starting to look like my beloved? Not in appearance, but in mannerisms. The way she hums the same song as her mother, the way she brushes her hair alongside her in the mornings, the way she carries the basket to help with the gardening. I see my beloved in her, every day a bit more. And I feel soothed by the thought that she will carry those parts of her even once we will no longer be here to watch over her.’

Jungkook’s heart aches for your father. He most likely never found out what happened to his partner, how she was taken away by force of the law, and not by the simple rule of time.

‘She will one day do well amongst the Hiwern people. She belongs there, I feel it every time I see her watch the dragons above with a certain sense of longing. One day I will bring her there, because her real home is amongst them.’

This catches Jungkook’s attention, as he remembers how you’d told him how you feel almost as if you’re pulled towards this place, instead of your former home. If your father was right, it would most likely be the blood yearning to go home, where it belongs, even though it’s not pure.

Your father is right, he decides, as he moves a bit to close the book. You belong here, even if he himself isn’t too fond of the thought. He has no right to deny you your place.

A piece of a page falls out and onto his boot, making him pick it up to read it, sentence cut but context still very clear on the burned scrap.

‘...oever it might be that one day might reach out for her hand;’

‘please, do not leave her out in the cold again. Dragons need warmth, after all.’

“Jungkook?” Namjoon asks, making the prince mindlessly tuck the torn piece of yellowed paper into the pocket of his coat, before he looks up. “what will you do now?”

“Well, I believe all the bits and pieces fit together.” He sighs. “from the way the younglings act towards her, to the memorial entry and the tag of her father. I can’t deny her a place here.” He accepts a bit reluctantly.

“And the bond?” Namjoon asks, watching the prince intently.

“Can wait. I don’t.. I can’t make a decision about that right now.” He refuses to answer properly, getting up after giving the book to his friend.

As he walks through the several bridges connecting the tunnels and houses hidden inside the mountains, he finds his interest sparked as a lot of the youngest dragons seem to be on the hunt for something- clumsily crawling over the grounds of a larger mountain top where much grass has grown, edges protected by fences to make it safe. The youngest are poking their heads around stones and trees, playing around it appears like. “Hide and seek.” You explain from behind him, partially hiding beneath, ironically, a large stone carving of the daughter of the mountains. “Seokjin said it trains their hunting instincts.” You explain, watching the little hatchlings searching for their ‘prey’- finding Taehyung who didn’t put too much effort into his hiding spot as to not make it too hard.

“How can you be a good example to them, showing yourself so openly?” Jungkook.. teases? You’re caught off guard for a good second, and don’t notice his hand in the pocket of his coat feeling the folded paper.

“Well, I mean-“ you stammer. “it’s not like you’re gonna hunt me..” you say, when you spot the way his lips begin to curl up, a sparkle in his eyes flickering. And somehow, there’s some odd internal words exchanged, or something else you can’t quite figure out.

“What makes you so sure?” He asks, eyes still on you-

When you suddenly run off, hearing the prince running right after you, Taehyung laughing together with someone else as the Hiwern chases you around the small patch of grassy grounds, your own laughter soon joining in as you try your hardest to escape the dragon blood, opting to climb a tree he doesn’t follow you up on.

Instead, he stands at the tree’s roots, arms crossed, chest rising and falling from his quickened breathing. “You will have to come down at some point.” He challenges.

“I will, when you’re gone!” You call back towards him.

“I have time, and patience. I can wait.” He responds, and at that you move to sit more comfortably on the thick branch, looking down at him.

“Have you found out more about my father?”

He’s caught off guard by this, and sighs, moving to face away from you, leaning against the stem of the old tree. “I did.” He responds. “how did you know?”

“You’re very easy to read.” You simply answer, swinging your legs.

“am I?” He scoffs, and you laugh.

“Yes. Very.” You dig the dagger deeper, and he rolls his eyes- not that you can see. “He was a good man. I hope he was remembered as such.”

“He was archived as a very good man.” Jungkook reassures you.

“He was one of you, wasn’t he?”

“he was.” Jungkook responds.

“it’s funny.” You say, watching the other hiwern afar struggle with one of the bigger helps. “if he’d never met his lover, never found me, do you think fate would’ve still created me?” You wonder.

Jungkook believes that in that case, he wouldn’t exist either. Because if the complimentary part to his blood did not exist, why would he?

“we will never know.” He answers because of that.

And that’s where he leaves you- figuratively, and literally.

◇━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━◇

The next morning, everyone already seems to be busy and scrambling around, as he opens the windows to watch multiple staff hurry to wash clothes and sheets outside in the gardens on top of the hills and smaller mountains. This wouldn’t be unusual-

But there’s also medical personnel running around, instructing male and female maids to fetch things needed left and right.

A knock on his door is heard. Namjoon steps inside, bows politely. “whats going on?” Jungkook wants to know, wary now that he can see his friend place down a tray of water, breakfast and a steaming mug of herbal tea with a distinctive smell.

“There’s been multiple reports during the night of Hiwerns feeling sick. We’re still investigating, but the symptoms do point towards an outbreak of Scale Haze. One of the mother dragons must’ve brought it in.” Namjoon explains, as Jungkook takes the tea into his hand to sip the bitter liquid. “it also seems as if we might be.. getting our proof. About her blood, I mean.”

At that, Jungkook’s interest is peaked- though his gaze is alarmed, rather than curious. “She caught it too?” He asks, and Namjoon nods.

“She has the same symptoms.” Namjoon says, which makes the prince turn towards him fully.

“All the symptoms?” He asks, and namjoon nods.

“All of them.” He says, sitting down at a small table where Jungkook’s breakfast was placed, the Hiwern prince sitting down to eat while he listens. “fever, confusion, nausea, you name it.. but she’s visibly struggling a lot more than even the younger dragons.” He sighs.

“Her human side.” Jungkook says, speaking out loud what his friend is hinting at. Namjoon nods.

“Her body isn’t as good at dealing with it, especially the fever. But we’re trying our best.” He says.

“Make sure she gets the treatment she needs. Isolate her from the rest if necessary.” Jungkook mumbles, crossing his arms.

“You can see her and the others, if you’d like. But only from afar.” Namjoon instructs as Jungkook finishes his breakfast. “it might boost their morale. I’ve heard humans especially benefit from emotional support during sickness.” He says, as the prince gets up to get dressed.

“We’ll see how much is true about that theory.”

When Jungkook later on enters the rooms where the currently sick are being treated, he sees what he expected. Scale Haze is like a viral infection amongst dragons after all- it happens, though any kingdom or group should try to avoid it due to it being a pretty nasty ride, and very dangerous for the very young and elderly. But when he reaches the room you’re held in, he’s not prepared for just how bad you’re coping.

If one could even call it coping.

You’re asleep, or at least not conscious, sweat on your skin, while several maids tend to you, making sure to keep you both comfortable and your temperature down as much as possible. “Is there anything she needs?” Jungkook questions, but the tending maid shakes her head.

“Yoongi has gone through a fever before too, and he survived. She will be just fine.”

And while Jungkook doesn’t quite believe that fully, he has no choice but to exit the halls of the sick, to keep himself safe, and the kingdom running as always. He might not want it to be so, but the sight of you in such a miserable state hurts him physically, due to the bond, mostly. It’s growing steadily with every breath you share near him apparently, getting stronger every day.

A decision has to be made soon- but for now, the prince needs to focus on his own duties.

And yet, over the course of the next few days, he’s constantly distracted by the thought of you- how you’re doing, if there’s anything changing at the very moment, or if there was anything he could do to somehow make it easier on you. He catches himself watching the window often, always anticipating the moment you’ll join the other recovering Hiwerns outside- but do you even need sunlight to recover properly?

He knows from reading here and there, that humans do indeed need sun exposure here and there, but that they can also burn their skin since its a lot more sensitive. But the more he thinks, the more he starts to become a bit more confused.

Your father was a Hiwern. That much is certain. But your mother was not your biological one- he had found you out in the woods. True, you don’t look like you have full dragon blood- but maybe you’re just an anomaly. It happens, after all- from Dragons born without scales, to missing their wings or being unable to fly. The same goes for Hiwern people- they come in all shapes and sizes, taller, shorter, blind or deaf, missing their markings or having more prominent marks than others.

Why does this occupy his mind so much?

“They’re having a bit of trouble with your mate.” Yoongi teases as he sits down in front of Jungkook, setting down a few papers meant to be signed and sent off to another Hiwern Hideout.

“What do you mean?” Jungkook asks, alarmed- but also, surprisingly enough, no longer fighting the term used to refer to you any longer, as if he’s starting to accept it, slowly but surely. “Did something happen?”

“She’s recovering, so calm down.” Yoongi reassures him. “But the caretakers are having quite a hard time keeping her in bed. She’s quote, ‘acting worse than any other hatchling’, I’ve been told.” He says, and Jungkook sighs, running a hand over his face.

“What is she doing?” The Hiwern asks, and Yoongi laughs under his breath.

“Helping, as she calls it.” He explains. “She watches out for any chance, and then strikes to take over any task she can manage. It does help, but it’s also very obvious that she should slow down a little.”

This alone makes Jungkook visit you later on, arms crossed as he observes you wash some of the clothes. “You should be resting.” He scolds, and you jump at that, instantly turning around to face him.

He has to admit- looking at him like that, he couldn’t ever really see himself getting extremely angry at you.

He takes the fabric you’re currently holding onto from you, before he waves an actual caretaker over to do the task for you, keeping a hand on yours as he drags you back to what he remembers was your bed in the makeshift quarters. “But- I’m doing better!” You complain.

“Better is not good enough. You’re supposed to rest, not prolong your sickness because you don’t give your body enough time to recover.” He denies your complaint, only letting go of you once you sit on your bed again.

“I’m not contagious anymore.” You argue once more with crossed arms- just like he is standing in front of you.

“I don’t care.” He answers.

“I can help-” You try again, and he’s quick to shut you down.

“Not like this.” Jungkook denies.

“But I can’t just lay around and do nothing.!” You whine, clearly agitated over this.

Jungkook sighs. He can understand that you’re most likely restless, he himself knows the feeling well- but there’s nothing he can really do in this moment. He doesn’t want you to be harmed by your own stubbornness, but he doesn't want you close either because he knows he won’t be able to properly handle that.

But he’s unable to resist any further it seems like.

Because hours later he’s working on reading through the documents before signing them, while you’re sleeping on his bed of all places, dozing away what’s left of your sickness in your body, and this alone makes him feel lighter, in a way. He watches you for a good little moment, just thinking about what would really happen if he was to just give in, and reach out for you.

Would it really be as horrible as he thought it would be?

You’re basically almost the same, simply a little different, but nothing near impossible to make work. Your father seemed to have been just fine raising his children alongside a human mate- and even though Jungkook’s position is very much a different one, no one could ever blame him for just wanting to be selfish at least once in his life.

Until now, his entire existence had always been devoted to his role of future leadership. It’s always been about what he can offer to the people, to the small little kingdom left to his kind- but he wants to just be stubborn for once. Betray his title and gain something that’s simply just for himself, and not to be shared with others.

He wonders if it could work.

And if it would-

How his life would turn around.

◇━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━◇

While you didn’t sleep in his chambers, but rather returned to your very own soon after your nap and a decent meal, Jungkook still feels as if your scent alone left on his pillows offered him a sense of company at night.

Now, this morning, it’s obvious that you’re recovering well- though you still seem rather tired. He can’t help himself when he spots you laying down on a blanket outside in the gardens where other dragons currently reside as well-mostly mother dragons taking care of their recovering younglings. When he walks closer, you don’t seem too alarmed, though you sit back up properly, as if you expect him to say or ask something.

He doesn’t.

Instead, he sits down on the blanket with you, wordlessly patting his leg as if to invite you to lay your head there- and you do so, unsure yourself as to why this seems so impossible to deny. There’s a strange attraction in yourself that you cant properly explain yourself- as if you’ve known him forever, and want to be as close as you can be, just because everything feels better the closer you are.

So you watch from where you’re laying down now, with your head on his thigh, how the mother dragons curl up for a nap in the sunlight as well, resting as they recover from their illness. “How are you feeling?” He asks, and you notice his hand resting on your waist by now, casually, with no other clear intentions. You simply nod, eyes closed, and he can’t help the soft chuckle that escapes him at the sight of you so blissful.

It’s a clear and obvious sign that while your body might be painfully human, your blood is still a dragon’s- and it’s calling out to his own, reaching out and clinging to him already.

“When do I have to leave?” You ask, still not opening your eyes- and his hand moves a little at that, adjusting its position as he sighs.

“You don’t.” He admits. “You belong here.”

“Do you want me here?” You ask, now looking up at him. “it’s fine if you don’t. You know.. I can maybe travel to another Hiwern outpost then-“ you explain, but he shakes his head.

“No, you will stay here.” He denies. “I.. there is something I need you to know.” He starts, and you nod, slowly sitting up- and while he internally doesn’t like it, he has to let it happen, mind aware that putting at least a bit of distance between you two is for the best, especially considering the topic he’s about to begin. “Hiwerns.. have mates.” He says, and you lean your head a little to the side in confusion. “It’s a blood connection, so to speak.”

“And I am yours?” You ask, making him nod as an answer.

“There’s.. no real bond yet, but it is why I’m holding you at arms length.” He admits to you. “I am in a position of power, and every move and decision I make has to be carefully calculated.” Jungkook explains. “But I can’t help but.. crave to be selfish.”

“selfish?” You wonder, unsure what he means. “Because you want to.. I guess, accept that bond-mate thing?” You ask, and he nods- avoiding eye contact now. “But how would that be selfish? It’s not like I’d automatically fall into power as well.”

This makes him stutter, he’s widening as he realizes you’re right.

You’d gain nothing from this. You’d simply be his mate, but other than that, nothing would change. He’d been worried about how he’d be perceived by the other people under his ruling, but at the end of it all, you are right. It’s not selfishness-

If anything, his act of simply seeking out an emotional and physical connection to someone else, taking on a lover and mate, just makes him painfully human.

And is that truly such a mistake?

“You’re right.” He nods after a moment of thinking. “You’re right.” He repeats softer, and you smile.

“so-“ you start, leaning a bit closer to him to finally catch his gaze again.

“Does that mean I’ll finally get to know you?”

◇━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━◇

“You accept her?” Namjoon wonders as be walks into Jungkook’s office, where he stands to watch outside of his window, observing you help some others in hanging up laundry. Jungkook nods.

“Its up to her to accept me now.” He says. “she wants to get to know me first.”

“So?” The fellow Hiwern laughs. “What are you doing in here then? It’s hard to get to know someone else by simply staring from afar.” He jokes, and Jungkook sighs, crossing his arms.

“I don’t.. know what she thinks she’s going to find.” He says, a little frustrated. “I don’t know what she wants to find.”

“I don’t think she wants to find anything specific.” Namjoon denies, walking to stand next to his friend. “I believe she just.. wants to know who you are.”

“She knows.” Jungkook frowns. “my name, my place, my history. What else is there to know.” He argues.

“What you like and dislike. What you dream of, or what you enjoy eating. What you were like as a child, or what you like to do in your free time. Jungkook, just.. be yourself for once. You can be a leader any other time of the day-“ he advises, a hand on his friend’s shoulder. “-But please, take this chance.”

Take this chance.

It’s a little later that morning that he finally finds the courage to seek you out again- this time finding you way down at the foot of the mountains, where you’ve agreed to help a group of Hiwerns in bringing a few horses back that they have traded with a human outcast near the border.

“Does this happen often?” You wonder, as you walk towards Jungkook , holding the reigns of a dark brown horse. “trading with humans, I mean.” You wonder, not even seemingly surprised that he’s there.

“not often, no.” He denies, taking the reigns from you before he walks besides you back to where the horses are hidden from sight. “we have.. contacts that we trust, and that is where we leave it most of the time. It’s purely business more often than not.” He admits.

“Hm. Because new connections aren’t really trustworthy yet, I guess...” you say, making the prince nod.

“Trust has to be earned, and nurtured. It’s not to be freely given away.” He agrees, and you stay silent for a few steps, before you speak again.

“How.. can I earn your trust?” You ask, as he gives the reigns to another person who brings the new horses into their stables, leaving you and Jungkook behind.

The prince seems to think for a moment, before he answers.

“I don’t know.” He says.

“You know, answers like that.. make me trust you.” You admit, a drop of water falling onto your shoulder, skies having darkened a little with heavy clouds. “because you’re honest.” You say, and Jungkook turns to look at you.

“You deserve honesty.” He simply offers, making you smile.

“thank you.” You respond, and he can’t help the way his lips tilt upwards as well, smile creeping up on him by the sight of you.

“come on now. Before it starts to rain.”

On the way back, he notices it again- the song you hum, while holding your own hands behind your back, walking with your steps easy and light. You really do look right at home in this place- you seem to glow almost, like an animal set free into its natural habitat. It’s no wonder that he feels enchanted already- he’s almost convinced that even without the blood-bond, he’d have found interest in you either way.

So he finally sets himself free as well, as he walks closer, and moves his own hand between yours to take hold of your palm. It’s a wordless gesture, but the fact that he interlocks his fingers with yours to keep you at his side makes it obvious what he’s trying to tell you with it.

“I’ll have to help take down the laundry again before it rains.” You say, but he shakes his head as he leads you somewhere else.

“the maids can do that.” He denies. “right now, I’d like.. your company.” He asks almost, and you laugh.

“my company? For what?” You repeat, bumping a bit into him- surprised however to see him smile so openly at you now.

“to get to know you.”

[bigball-thefrog]

Omg you’re back!! Yay! I’ve missed your writing so much!☝🏻 Now that you’re back I would like to request a little something. I was thinking of maybe something with Sanji. So basically I was thinking of something along the lines of the reader being in love with him and him being in love with her too but the reader is scared of being with him because of her past. So when Sanji approaches her with that she rejects him out of fear and starts avoiding him, so then maybe he begins to get curious about it and asks either Robin and Nami about it and one of them tells him what happened in her past. I don’t know just something along those lines🤔Like maybe she accidentally hurt her past partner? Oh and it would be cool she was the baker of the ship just to have that chef and baker dynamic. And as for her ability you can make that up. Anyway hope you can write it!

HELLO!!!! Thank you so much kind words and thank you for the request, I haven't written for Sanji in so long. This was really sweet and I actually am considering making this into a Character ai bot if you wouldn't mind. I hope I wrote it well and you enjoy it

Warnings/Tags:

Angst to comfort

Rejection

Bullying

Readers has had their feelings played with in their oast

Insecurities and fear of romace

Female reader

______________________________

Narrator POV

For your skills in baking delicious treats and fighting with your baking utensils, Luffy quickly asked you to join his crew. You accepted and that's how you met him... Sanji...

Usually Sanji preferred to be the only own allowed to work in the kitchen, but when someone as skillful and as beautiful as you came in, he didn't mind sharing his space. And quickly you two found your rhythm together. When he'd be making soup you'd be quick to make garlic bread to go with it. Sanji was making chocolate mousse for dessert? We'll you were making doughnuts to be filled with the mousse! The kitchen would be filled will mouthwatering aromas of your baked goods and Sanji's meals, inside the kitchen it was a show to watch you both work, knives chopping, spices being tossed between you two, you were both almost the exact same person now split in half and making a delicious storm in the kitchen, you two, were perfect together.

And now only were your skills in the kitchen a match, your feelings for each other were also a match. It was only a matter of time before you two to fell for each other. A baker and a chef, it's a match made in heaven! Or rather, match made in the kitchen ☞( ͡° ͜ʖ ͡°)☞. You loved Sanji, and he loved you back, and more than other ladies! Yes, out of all the ladies in the world, you were the one to win Sanji's heart, and he wanted no one else but you. And you loved him all the same, but there was a big problem. You didn't think he could or would like you back... You had been hurt so many times in the past when it came to romance that you grew to accept that no one would genuinely love you. And then it happened, Sanji came to you with a beautiful bouquet of your favorite flowers and your favorite meal and he asked you out. You froze, you wanted to belive his confession but your insecurities, your pain from the past, you just couldn't believe he was being genuine. "I can't..." was all you managed to say before running away, leaving Sanji confused and heartbroken.

Sanji POV

"I can't..." The words rang through my head, over and over again. Why? Why couldn't she accept? Was it something I did? Did she not like me that way? After that failure of a confession she began to avoid me completely, she'd cook completely, she'd take her meals to her rooms. It was tearing me apart and I just wanted my kitchen partner back...

I was currently stirring some stew for lunch, since that night my energy to cook was low, I still put effort into all of it but it felt like my motivation was gone now that she wasn't with me in the kitchen. I was brought out of my self loathing thoughts when I heard Nami and Robin entering the kitchen, "Sanji, is everything alright?" Robin asked, "Luffy's getting impatient and everyone's realized lunch is taking longer than usual." Nami said, looks of concern on both of their faces. "I'm alright ladies... Just a bit tired lately..." I said and went back to stirring. I could hear them mumble about how something was definitely wrong then Robin spoke again, "Is this about your confession?" I froze, my lips trembled and I stepped away from the pot to wipe my face. Nami sighed and Robin nodded her head. Both girls sat me down and tried to comfort me, "It's not your fault Sanji." Nami spoke and pat my shoulder, "But then what was it it? Why did she reject me??" "It's because she's been through a lot in the past, stuff that's made her more scared of romantic relationships." Robin reassured. I raised my head at that, "Her past? What happened?" "Well, you see, back at her home island, she had a partner, someone she really cared for. But there was an accident... He was helping her bake when he started an argument while cooking and they were so distracted by their argument that he slipped while carrying a pot of boiling water. He was burned all over and she felt immense guilt, and since then she's been scared to let someone get close like that, she just doesn't want to accidentally hurt someone again..." Nami said, Oh, my poor sweet darling... She wasn't able cooperate with her past lover in the kitchen and he got hurt, now she carries all the guilt on her shoulders... "So, it's not your fault Sanji, your confession was beautiful, it's just that she's scared she'll accidentally hurt you in someway..." Robin said. "But what do I do? How do I show her that I'm being genuine and that I really love her with all my heart?" "Nami, you're gonna have to do something deep, something personal, something that can get under those walls she's built around herself." Nami said and squeezed my shoulder "A love letter is always a good choice. Writing down all your thoughts feelings for a person to see." Robin said. A love letter? Writing all my thoughts and feelings of her and letting her read it? It could work. Filled with a new motivation I thanked both girls and got to work, after making lunch of course.

Narrator POV

He spent hours, writing all his thoughts, and all of his feelings towards you and how much he loved you. What was supposed to be a love note, ended up being a love book since Sanji wrote over 100 pages dedicated to his love for you put into words.

It was after dinner now and Sanji was alone cleaning until he heard footsteps and he turned to see you, "I'm just here to bring in my dishes." you mumble and put your dishes in the sink before quickly turning to leave, but Sanji quickly took your hand in his and pulled you back, "Please don't go Mon amour, I have something to give you..." He pleaded, holding your hand delicately in his. "A-alright..." you stuttered, trying to control your already racing heart from jumping out of your chest with the way Sanji held your hand. He momentarily let go to grab his love note/book and placed it in your hands, you looked at him confused before looking up at him, waiting for an answer. "It's all my thoughts, all my feelings put into words... All about you Mon amour..." you felt your heart break before you could protest, Sanji spoke again, "Please my dear, just skim through it, you don't have to read all of it, but just see how I feel, how I genuinely feel about you." Sanji pleaded. You sighed and flipped through the pages, each one the word love written so many times, how he loved your body, how he loved your smile, how he loved how passionate you were about baking, he just seemed to love everything about you, inside and out. You were tearing up as you flipped through each page, then the last page you read entirely and it was your breaking point:

"My love, Nami and Robin told me about what happened with your previous partner and I need to say, it's not your fault. He started that argument and got himself hurt. It brings me deep pain that you now feel this way now. That you do not deserve love because of one mistake from a fool that wasn't looking where he was going. My love, you do not need to carry such weight on your shoulders, you can lean on me and let go of that weight, because I love you and there is nothing you could do to hurt me and make me angry or hate you. Your body, your face, every mark, every curve. I would spend days kissing every imperfection on your your body, yet it wouldn't even take a second to, because there are simply no imperfections on you. You are simply perfect, your passion for baking, your loyalty. My darling you are perfect in every way possible, and I couldn't have asked for a better kitchen partner and best friend. Please, believe me when I say, I love you and that I want to spend the rest of my life with you, the both of us together in the kitchen, creating our love in the form of food for everyone to experience. I love you, Ma chérie."

You could not stop crying, his words hit deep and meant so much to you. Sanji was quick to wrap you in a tight comforting hug. "Shhh it's okay... You don't have to cry my love... I'm here, and I'll stay as long as you want me to." He held you close to his chest and rubbed your back, "I'm so sorry Sanji... I was just so scared it was another joke.." "It's okay Mon amour, I understand your fear, but I would never play with a lady's feelings like that, especially not yours." "So you still love me?" "With all my soul" "Do you still want to date?" "With all my existence."

"Kitchen partners for life?"

"Kitchen partners for life~"

______________________________

Alright this is it for now, I will post my poll very soon for you all to decide what I write next, and I will see you all very soon.

Kelly🐸

[vividlilies]

CALLING ALL QUEER PEOPLE

I NEED SOME MORE GAY SHOWS

PLEASE SPARE A RECOMMENDATION

(please it’s for my mental health)

[nexus-nebulae]

every day i wish that Rats SMP was a cartoon bc it would make the greatest show ever i think

[necrotic-nephilim]

do you ship helena bertinelli with anyone? if yes, then which characters and why? what's your favorite helena ship? do you have any helena rarepairs? (i know you've talked about helena/steph and you're so right about it, it's a very interesting ship)

!!!! i have so many ships for my best girl ever yes oh my god thank you for asking.

my top pairing is probably Vic Sage/the Question. Vic is the basic answer, but man. i love them so much. no couple has matched each other's freak like that have. Justice League Unlimited is a great adaptation of Helena in general, but it also did a great adaptation of Helena and Vic's relationship. how he just dedicates himself to helping her with no expected return, but also wants to make sure she doesn't go too far in a hunt for vengeance that never ends for her. i think a lot of characters often want to change Helena or expect things out of her for their own needs, like the Batfam and the BoP. but Vic is one of the few people who just wants her to be better for her own good. when he tries to stop her from killing it's not because of his morals, it's because he doesn't want this crusade to consume her. and i just. man i think about them a lot. Helena rlly likes weird little men who give themselves wholly to her.

Zinda Blake/Lady Blackhawk is also a top ship for me. tbh i just like Zinda. but i do love how Helena and Zinda interact, being the more rough and tumble members of the BoP. they're both outsiders, in different ways. Helena is an outsider of the Batfam and Zinda is literally from a different time and an outsider to the current world. their friendship is so genuine and i think if Babs and Dinah can have. whatever homoerotic nonsense going on during BoP, then Zinda and Helena deserve some homoerotic nonsense too. as a treat.

if we're willing to count New-52 Helena, then i enjoy Helena/Dick/Tiger. i think Helena and Dick being a past relationship is really important in pre-Flashpoint for Helena's development, though i don't ship them as a serious couple beyond a fling. but in the New-52, i think this throuple be fun. Helena and Tiger respect each other as two very driven, no-nonsense agents and then well. they both clearly have some kind of thing for Dick. so it's fun finding the balance of how they could all work together romantically.

and ofc. it's a crime to mention Helena ships and not mention Renee Montoya/the Question. every time they interact it's really fucking gay. it's so gay that Kate Kane, Renee's own ex, assumed Helena and Renee were gay. i cannot be convinced against this ship. i genuinely think this ship should be canon. i mean. DC did tease us with this moment from an alternate universe and it's lived rent for me since. fucking criminal for us to only get one panel of what we could have if DC let Helena be a fruit in the main universe. being in love with Helena Bertinelli should be a right of passage for the Question mantle, i personally believe. if you asked me like. genuinely who i want to see Helena date in the current comics, Renee is my top pick. (i would say Vic but he's fucking dead and the New-52 butchered him so rip my mans-)

lois lane (2019) #10

besides those ships, just about every ship for Helena probably falls into the category of rarepair. like you said i've talked about my love for Helena/Steph before bc god. i think it should be a thing more people ship. once i finish the fic i'm writing about them i will convince others to like it.

i also think Helena/Cass could be fun. in a *lot* of ways Helena and Cass are narrative parallels to each other. Helena was a victim of her family being murdered at about the same age Cass was forced to be a murderer. Helena grows up to believe in lethal justice because of this, and Cass grows up to be staunchly against it. Cass' Batgirl suit was made *by* Helena. they both want to be protectors of the most vulnerable people. they balance each other out in a lot of ways and i think they should kiss about it.

also probably a rarepair, i think Helena/Lady Shiva is fun. their fight during Birds of Prey (2010) had... questionable moments for Helena's characterization, but i do love so much that Helena knocks Shiva off her feet and gains a deep respect from Shiva. like. Shiva gives her a nickname and shows her admiration. i would like to see fanfic where Shiva continues to be weirdly admirable of Helena and bothering her non-stop. they could be a fun fucked up toxic yuri moment. this is just. so gay to me.

birds of prey (2010) #6

my most rare Helena pair would probably be Helena Wayne, actually. but specifically Helena Wayne of JSA (2022). ever since, for some reason, it was made canon that the current Helena Wayne was named after Helena Bertinelli and took the name Huntress to honor her i *cannot* stop thinking about them meeting. because in-universe it makes *no* fucking sense for Bruce to name his kid after *Helena Bertinelli*, someone he's regularly at odds with and doesn't like. it's clearly an awkward explanation to try to make the whole two Huntress situation make sense. (it's almost as bad as Helena Wayne in the New-52 using Helena Bertinelli as an alias.) but because it's such an odd choice, i do think it could be fun for Helena Wayne, when she's back in time to see Bruce, to find Helena Bertinelli to get to know the woman she was named after and Helena Bertinelli just being. baffled by the idea of *Batman* naming his kid after her. it could be a fun fucked up moment.

my other super rarepair is Kara Zor-L/Power Girl. they had like. one meaningful interaction of JSA Classified and it's been PLAGUING me. something about when Power Girl doesn't remember her past and she's seeking a friend, she instinctively goes to find Huntress? but it's wrong bc this isn't *her* Huntress and neither of them understand why Power Girl would seek Helena out? god it's so good. i'm always a big fan of ships where one person in the ship is *so* obviously using the other person as a replacement for someone they lost and they both know it. it's such a doomed angsty thing where you could play with Helena actually really liking Kara, but knowing that she's just a replacement for Kara's Helena Wayne. good fucked up shit man.

and lastly: i really ship her with Dawn Granger/Dove. there's no canon basis for this, they didn't have a ton of interactions even when they were both on the BoP. but there's a very kind innocence to Dawn that contrasts Helena's violence really well. and i do love a ship with a corruption kink vibe to it. let Helena corrupt Dawn. i could write such fucked up porn about these two.

[cowardstiel]

i think it should be mandatory that everyone watch The Social Dilemma at least once every six months

[coolspacequips]

Here's something crazy... Still haven't watched Bridgerton s3, but seeing everyone fawn over the kanthony cameos, and then now having moved on to just fawning over iconic kanthony scenes apparently in response to it, has got me like sdkfa;sdfkadsk ABOUT TO REWATCH S2.....!!! AGAIN....!!!!

I saw the Dancing On My Own first dance scene on my timeline like 3x today and I'm foaming at the mouth, have been thinking about them all day LMAO

[hella1975]

Hi hella! I love love your writing and have done so for years and liked your posts but above all else I am a social media lurker at heart. But I wanted to tell you that following you for so long I’ve seen you go off to college and strike out on your own. Your self reflection and how you move through your life is so inspiring. I feel like your proud distant auntie sometimes cheering you on from afar. Growing up and going through school and into your adulthood is so confusing and frustrating and depressing sometimes but I’m a bit on the other side now and can tell you you’re doing so well. Absolutely killing it and it’s a privilege to read about. Your openness often has me reflect on my own life! I appreciate you bestie 🫶

reading this was genuinely so emotional BESTIE WHAT THE HELL

[artekai]

Guess what movie I watched

[nygleskas]

have i ever shared the jermstone (ish) lore where after s1 ends and gideon leaves for haiti without fully explaining to me why (the 'why' is to atone for his sins of trying to blackmail his family which he Also kept from me 😭), i dye my hair (yknow black/pink) bc yknow. normal emo persons reaction after a "break up" (not even together at that point). idk i just think that's funny. oh and after he comes back and we reconnect and i hang out w his family again, pontius seeing me w dyed hair inspires him to start bleaching his hair (100% against his parents wishes btw). and we become friends yayy.

[potatoes-tomatoes]

I’ve been goin thru a steven universe rewatch since last week and… wow. Wow this show is revolutionary for queer voices. It was eye opening seeing everything unfold again.

It’s been wonderful experiencing the show with fresh eyes. I started the show, saw the premiere of the show, followed it and finished it while I was still closeted and bigoted. I saw the reveal of Garnet being a fusion, being love, and was initially disgusted and disappointed because I was TAUGHT to be disgusted and disappointed.

The residual bigotry flares up at times… but it’s not me anymore. Well it is, but it’s like.. the MEMORY of me seeing that moment through my old eyes. I do my best to not feel shame, but to understand and forgive myself and enjoy creating a new experience watching SU.

now that I’m (somewhat) open, I’ve been able to enjoy the show and appreciate how much it’s done for queer voices since. I… saw Ruby and Sapphire’s wedding for the first time, I saw it— not with my hands barely covering my eyes. What a triumph that this show inspired others to let queer ppl share their stories, experiences, hopes, fears, love, without shame! Steven Universe isn’t perfection— it’s flawed, beautifully flawed, like the people who made it, the people who watch it, and the characters in it. If the road it paved wasn’t perfect, then all the better for newer voices, newer stories to be like, that limestone thingy in roman rock to reinforce it. To make it better. to make like, longer gay roads! pff shit I think I was trying to be poetic and metaphorical or something, but I hope my point came across. I just have big feelings right now. I didn’t realize what SU did for this lil baby queer. It’s so inspiring

[victory-cookies]

the only irl friend I have that I feel comfortable actually talking about the things I enjoy with just insulted me for gushing about smth to her over snap last night and now I want to cry