#the way they look at each other season 8 | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

crescenthistory · 4 months ago

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hi angel!!!! absolutely adore your blog and especially the way you write for regulus 🥹🥹 makes my heart so happy, like that’s baby boy!!!! thank you so much for sharing with us!!! i have a prompt request but only if you feel so inclined!!! number d8 “where is she?" with regulus, pretty please, like maybe something happens to reader and he is the last to find out (busy w quidditch or prefer things) so when someone finally tracks him down being like your girl needs you, his composure is for once non existent and he is panicking!!!! ughhh hurt/comfort with reg is everything!!! anyway only if you feel my up to my love no pressure ever - love your blog regardless 💗💗💗

hi my love<33 this is hands down the sweetest request i have received, thank you so much for being so kind 🤍🤍 i genuinely appreciate your words so much! as for the request, i adore some hurt/comfort with reg, and this is an idea i've had for a while, so it was so fun to write

Prompt: D.8 "Where is she?"

Words: 6k

Warnings: not proofread, fem!reader, severe injury (happens off screen, explained and treated on screen), lacerations, typical regulus anxiety (overworked), best friends to lovers, pomfrey being a badass, snape is a villain, animal abuse (technically), background marlene, rosekiller, etc.

It was common knowledge that Slytherin quidditch practice was never to be disturbed, especially this close to the final match of the season against Gryffindor.

This was Regulus’ first year as captain and he was determined for it to be written in the history books as a victorious one, to make himself deserving of the title. Playing opposite his brother and his best friends didn’t lessen the pressure much, either.

He knew he had been pushing the team quite hard, but he also knew that if anyone could handle it, it was them. Evan and Barty funnelled all their chaotic energy into quidditch once they realised just how much it mattered for their mate, and Dorcas had just as much to gain from winning against Marlene as Regulus had against Sirius. Fenwick had had his skull bashed in by enough bludgers in his career to not be able to formulate any complaints, even if he had them. The rest of the team were relatively young players, a risk most others had chastised Regulus for taking, but one that was playing off beautifully – and with those rumours, they wanted to prove themselves, too.

There really was little problem with this arrangement, he told himself, other than the fact that he was perhaps wearing himself a bit thin when balancing it all with his prefect duties and exams.

And, more importantly, missing you.

You had been the best friend he could have asked for during this hectic year of his, always standing by his side, just as much of a loyal team-player as those on his actual sports team. That unwavering dedication you had shown him over the years that taught him that maybe, just maybe, he was capable of being loved – and most definitely of loving, because Regulus would be damned if he didn’t admit that that was the only appropriate word for how he felt about you.

Not that he had told you that yet, though, and neither had you. It was never the right time, and you both knew, at least to some degree. For now, it was enough. You had each other, always, and it was enough. He told himself as much, at least.

Regulus was trying to zero his thoughts back on his team running through their plays off-broom on the ground, looking for any weakness in their formation, when the cardinal rule of not disturbing practice was broken.

“Black!” A voice shouted as it ran across the pitch from the school.

Regulus squeezed his eyes shut, trying to will the pestering fourth year away, one of those who just seemed to always be there, nameless and bothersome. It was to little avail, though, judging by the sounds of his heavy steps hitting the still somewhat moist dirt on the field.

“Black, I have to–”

“We are in the middle of a practice!” Regulus cut the kid off, letting his nerves get the better of him as he saw most of his players stop in the midst of what had been their best run-through so far. “Unless someone has died, it can wait.”

“But–”

“Has someone died?” Regulus had his hands on his hips, half aware that he looked way too much like his older brother as he regarded the student-shaped owl in front of him with derision.

“No, but–”

“Are someone in the midst of dying? Like within the hour?”

“N– no.”

“Then you may leave.” The student looked thoroughly confused, clearly not having been properly warned by whoever sent him as a make-shift owl that this was the only response he would be getting from Regulus. He could vaguely hear you whispering poor boy in his mind, always advocating for Regulus’ softer side, but right now he pushed it away as he turned back to his teammates. “Whatever it is will still be there when we are finished up here.”

Regulus didn’t wait for him to go before he began to pretend he was air, attention fully on his team once more.

Barty snickered as he tried to lean his chin on Evan’s shoulder, only to have the taller boy fully shove him off. Regulus shook his head, ignoring the crestfallen student beside him as he tried to increase his energy levels back to where they needed to be.

“Okay, that last round was getting closer to where we want to be. Ready to take to the sky for the last few minutes?”

When he finally stepped foot inside the quidditch locker rooms, Regulus sped through his shower routine. He was eager to get out of there and back to the dorms quick enough to have sufficient time to spend with you before going to sleep. He had half a mind to ask you to sleep in his bed tonight, but he wondered if that might be pushing it since you just did that a few nights ago. Nothing ever happened, of course, you were just the best of friends – and even if you had been something more, it was hard for anything to happen with Evan and Barty in the same room.

You just brought him a sense of peace he found himself craving more day by day. He wished to squeeze out every ounce of it he possibly could.

His hair was still wet, bag thrown about as haphazardly over his shoulder as he could allow himself to without spiralling – which is to say, he still looked perfectly polished to anyone but him. He turned to give the team lingering behind an attempt at an emphatic great work today that ended up falling a bit short from his hoarse voice. Thankfully, everyone else seemed tired enough to accept it without reservation, and Regulus could exit the changing room before all but running towards the Slytherin dorms.

On his way there, he passed through the Great Hall, attempting to slow his stride to look a bit more composed, but quite ready to throw all of it away for the night just to curl up with you.

“Re- Regulus?!”

Sirius’ incredulous voice sounded behind him, and though Regulus loved his brother dearly, he took a deep sigh at the disturbance, knowing that, with him, it would likely not be a short one.

“That would be me.” Regulus turned around with a sarcastic half-smile, only for it to waver when he saw the expression on Sirius’ face.

There was an evident tension in his face when he looked Regulus up and down, as if trying to figure him out while a thousand thoughts ran through his mind. Sirius’ lips were pressed tight, as if holding back a severe frown and his eyes were decidedly clouded with worry.

“Reg, what are you doing here?” His voice conveyed more confusion than upset, but both were woven into his tone.

“I’m… on my way to Slytherin? We just finished practice.”

It was as if Sirius found an answer to his confusion as his face settled into a form of defeat. “You don’t know.”

“Don’t know what?” Regulus stared his brother down, heart speeding up in his chest, but he could feel it in his whole body. “What is it, Siri?”

“James sent someone to tell you,” Sirius says, speaking more to himself.

“Tell me what?” Regulus’ patience was worn thin by his pulse straining his skin.

“Uh, it’s Y/N.” Pangs shot through his body, pulling every vein taut. “She– she will be fine, don’t worry, but–”

“Where is she?”

Regulus struggled to make out where Sirius stood in front of him as the world seemed to tunnel around him and his mind was immediately elsewhere, immediately with his best girl, imagining any possible horror that might have overcome you. Had it not been for Sirius’ delivery of the news and the way he looked at Regulus, he might have felt more calm. But he had always known his big brother to be more composed than this.

“The infirmary–”

He didn’t need to hear more before he was running at full speed down the hallway.

Little to nothing registered with Regulus on the way to the infirmary, that he for the first time in his life realised was located painfully far away from the Great Hall. Illogical, given how many students go through there throughout their days.

He felt lighter than ever as he was entirely certain he had never run this quickly in his life, simultaneously as every limb felt heavy with worry.

She will be fine is only reassuring if he was concerned you had died – in every other scenario it is the worst thing to hear, because it confidently means you are not fine right now.

Regulus is half aware that he has run through two ghosts, into one student and past a professor – he thinks maybe Flitwick? – but he paid none of them any mind, willing to take the point deductions or even detentions, if only they don’t slow him down. He can deal with everything and anything else later.

When he finally reached the door to the infirmary, it took everything in him to come to a halt.

He all but crashed into the door, catching himself with one hand on the doorframe as he breathed heavy, giving himself but two seconds to collect himself, lest he be banned from the infirmary by life by Madam Pomfrey. That was not something he could afford right now.

Still heaving, he opened the door and took two steps inside – before his vision became entirely swamped by that very same woman, standing with her hands on her hips.

“Is she here?” He tried to get out before she could say anything.

“No visitors at the moment,” Madam Pomfrey said sternly.

“Please, is she here?” Regulus couldn’t even think to say your name, but the look on the matron’s face told him she knew.

“She is, and she is alright, but there will be no visitors at the moment.” Her voice was a bit softer now, but she was not relenting and she was not moving.

Regulus’ breath picked back up, and he didn’t register the tears that were forming in his eyes. A choked please was forming on his tongue when–

“Please.”

You beat him to it. Your meek voice sounded from a few curtains down behind Madam Pomfrey. Regulus didn’t hear the noise that escaped him when he heard the soft pain in your usually chipper voice, but the matron did. Still, it seemed to be on your account and not the lovestruck, fear-sickened boy in front of her, that she took a step to the side.

“Only you, and it must be brief.”

Her words were mostly caught by the air that Regulus left in his wake the moment she moved to the side, because as soon as he could he was by the curtain he had heard you speak from behind, ever so gently pulling it to the side.

“Oh, mon amour.”

The sight he was faced with both mended and broke his heart – because you were there, awake and already looking at him, but your forehead and right arms were bandaged and your face bore telltale signs of pain. He could see tear tracks down your delicate cheeks, mascara smudging just barely beneath your eyes. You looked happy to see him, he could see your chest heave a breath of relief, but that was about the only positive thing he could decipher in you at the moment.

At last, his movements were measured and careful again, but for once not for the sake of how he was perceived, but rather to not disturb the space around you, as if that could lessen your pain. He barely managed to close the curtain behind him with trembling hands, giving you a semblance of privacy, even in this infirmary that he had no idea hosted how many others.

There was enough space on the left side of the bed beside you for Regulus to take his rightful place by your side, as close as he dared. His eyes kept jumping all over your body and face, breath hitched.

Your name escaped his lips in a small breath as his eyes widely roamed your form.

He didn’t realise his hand was hovering between you before you reached up to him with your left hand and took it in yours. Your grip was weak and the tips of your fingers cold, but it was still the smooth skin he was used to feeling on his.

Upon your touch, he seemed to be brought back down to earth and the welling tears spilled down his cheeks.

“Oh, Reggie,” you whispered, squeezing his hand. “It’s okay, I’m alright.”

“My poor love,” he whispered back, letting his free hand move up to lightly caress your cheek, brushing some damp hair away. It must have gotten wet when Pomfrey tended to whatever wound was bandaged on your upper forehead. “What happened to you, amour?”

Regulus often referred to you with terms of endearment, you knew you were each other’s person, but the absolute softness of them now broke your heart a little.

“It was…” you trailed off, wincing as you scrunched your brows in confusion and consequently pulled on your bandage. “It was an accident.” The sound that escaped you was almost a laugh, but it was too wet and strangled to truly be classified as such.

“What happened?” Regulus’ voice urged, more desperate than before. He held your hand tighter, bringing it closer to his chest, as if to protect it.

“We were helping Kettleburn – unwillingly mind you –”

“Who are we?” Regulus cuts you off, still seeming rather feverish in his desperation to know what was wrong. You squeezed his hand and smiled at him to calm him down.

“An unfortunate bunch of us who happened to be enjoying the fresh air by the benches. Me, Lily, Marlene, Snape, Avery and some others we don’t really know too well, mostly fourth years.”

Regulus scowled at the mention of Snape and Avery, but nodded, as if encouraging you to continue.

“Kettleburn needed some help preparing bait. He believed there was a hippogriff in the Forbidden Forest that he wanted to draw out. It worked a bit too well, a bit too well.”

His brows scrunched at that. “But hippogriffs are mainly peaceful unless you disturb them?” Unease was growing in his stomach.

“Yes, that’s what I said as well,” you feel a bout of dizziness come over you, but try and speak through it. “We were down, probably a bit too close to the forest when it came out. I tried to push the bait towards it carefully, keeping my distance. It just wanted food, you know.”

“But?”

“But Snape and Avery freaked. When it took a step closer, just to eat – they let curses fly, kneejerk self defence reaction they said.”

Regulus had to be mindful to not hurt your hand as his fists clenched on reflex. He settled for holding the sheets beside him disturbingly hard instead – he had already pieced together what happened. “You were still in the line of fire,” he concluded, eyes darkening.

“Yes,” you whispered weakly. “It would have been fine, if it had only been a stupefy or something, but Snape shouted something else, some freak hex. It was like being slashed with a knife all over.”

Regulus’ breath hitched as he let his eyes travel from gauze to gauze. His fingers came up to linger near a particularly large bandage that travelled from your shoulder in under your hospital gown. “All over?” His voice was a mere whisper before he finally looked in your eyes again. He found them teary, and his heart clenched painfully.

“Yeah, I– The biggest one is across my stomach. Pomfrey has patched me up nicely, but it was, uh, it wasn’t good.”

He can’t fight the new tears that spill as he whispers my girl before carefully shuffling closer to you to give you a hug, or at least as close to one you could get right now. His cheek is pressed into yours, his hand on the back of your head, and you can hear him cry directly into your ear, drawing tears from you as well. “I’m so sorry,” he whispered into you. “So sorry, amour.”

“Reggie, there was nothing you could do,” you try to look at him, but his grip on your head remains steadfast.

“No, I should have been there. I’m so sorry.” He presses a kiss to your upper cheek, and his lips are wet. “I should’ve been there.”

“Reg, there was no way anyone could have known.”

He pulls back slightly, looking you over to see if he was hurting you before settling in with his forehead against yours – making sure to avoid the wound in the top left. When his eyes look into yours, you feel a sense of calm finally wash over your body that had been riddled by the shock of being torn open. A grey safe haven.

“I’m sorry, amour.” He keeps saying it like a prayer.

You try to shake your head, but wince at the action. His hand immediately shoots up to your jaw, to still your head. Protecting you, even from yourself. “You’re not allowed to be sorry, Reg, you didn’t do anything. You can only feel sorry for me, which isn’t quite that hard. I look pathetic right now.”

Your half-hearted attempt at humour doesn’t seem to drag him from his despair as his eyes keep searching your face, flitting from the tears to the deviating makeup. His thumb, ever so carefully, drags under your eye to wipe away some of the mascara there. You lean into his touch.

“They tried to tell me, but I– I didn’t know, so I didn’t listen and–”

“You were at quidditch practice,” you cut him off. “Everyone knows you can’t be disturbed then.”

Regulus looked at you incredulously. “This is disturb-worthy, you – anything with you is always the biggest priority. I’m sorry.”

“One girl versus preparing for the match of your life? Hm, I think it’s good you weren’t distracted.” You are determined to lighten his mood, the sinch of his eyebrows and worry in his eyes were beginning to make you feel sick for him.

“But you’re my girl,” he says in a low voice, stressing the words as if to pour additional meaning. “You’re my best friend, my everything. Y/N, you are everything.”

You struggle to come up with a response to that. Any mask Regulus switches between is completely discarded in this small infirmary section with you. When he holds your face and looks at you, you know what it is.

Unable to speak over the lump in your throat, you just drag his face closer to press a sweet kiss to his cheek, as always.

Except this time, while your lips linger on his cheek, Regulus uses his hand still on your jaw to angle your face towards his. With your lips millimetres apart, he looks from them to your eyes, searching for something, and then back down. He whispers another soft everything before pressing his lips to yours.

For all the times you had thought of kissing Regulus, nothing compared. You never expected there to be salty from tears, you never imagined his scent in your nose to be swirled with the disinfectant covering everything around you – but he was right, it was everything. His lips were unbelievably soft against yours, even as he pushed himself even closer to you, as if he needed you underneath his skin, not just on top of it. The pinky underneath your jaw digs into your skin, and you can feel your pulse beat against his finger.

When Regulus pulls away, your mouths are still essentially connected, slightly parted, just breathing into each other. You open your eyes and find him looking at you with nothing short of love.

“I–”

“I love you.” You cut him off, smiling a bit as he half feigns indignance before it turns soft once more.

“I love you, belle fille.”

“I know.”

Finally, finally he gives you a genuine smile. It eases your nerves more than even his eyes could, and you feel yourself melting back into your pillow. Unfortunately, comfort makes you even more aware of the pain and soreness in your body, but he doesn’t need to know that.

“I’m sorry,” he whispers again, mostly to himself it seems.

“I won’t allow that.” You tug your intertwined hands closer to you, wanting to share the comfort with him. “I’m alright, Reggie.”

“You’re wounded and bandaged.”

“And I’m perfectly okay.”

He gives you an as if look, but it’s good enough for you, for now. Then his face twisted into something darker and you saw the same desperation from earlier bubbling to the surface.

“What happened to Snape? And Avery?” His hold on you is still soft and caring, but the rest of his body has grown stiff, mind racing with imagined visions of what went down and of what he would do with them in return.

“Nothing yet,” you said with a careful, measured voice. “Kettleburn wanted to ease the situation first, but since it was technically his fault for bringing us along unprompted, I’m not sure what would be done. Detention maybe?”

“Yeah, Kettleburn’s an idiot for that, but Snape was the one who used an unorthodox and probably dark hex. He has to be dealt with.”

Though you don’t condone how fast some of your friends resorted to revenge and violence, even you had to admit that the idea of Snape knowing magic like that didn’t sit right with you either. There was no situation you could imagine where a slasher spell like that would be moral in combat.

“I’m sure they will deal with him tomorrow,” you settle on. “Tonight the main priority seemed to be making sure I don’t bleed out on the grounds.”

Regulus’ look was pained as he pressed his lips together. “How did you get in after that anyway?”

“I don’t remember too well.” You truly didn’t, and the flashes that went through your mind were not ones Regulus would be better off knowing about. “Kettleburn shushed the Hippogriff back into the forest – it thankfully didn’t get severely injured it seemed – while everyone else panicked. Lily and Marlene were the first ones by my side.”

You both smile absentmindedly at that. When you first befriended Lily through your study sessions at the library, Regulus had been unsure of how to approach your joint integration into his brother’s friend group, but the girls had turned out to be some of the best friends you could have asked for.

“Oh!” you exclaim, almost straddling Regulus. “Almost forgot, but you’ll be happy to know that Marlene suckerpunched Snape before they brought me inside with a levitation spell. Pretty gnarly punch, too.”

Regulus’ smiled seemed to be less from gratification and more from endearment from you. “I think I’d like to see Snape get a little more than a punch for what he did to you. But that’s a great start, darling.”

You rolled your eyes playfully at him. “It’s a start. And again, we can deal with all of that tomorrow. I don’t have the energy today.”

“No, no, you are the only priority right now, amour.” Any mirth slipped from his face as he studied you concernedly once more.

“I know you’re “alright”, but you’re not alright” he started. “Could you tell me where it hurt the most?” He looks over you again, as if he can map you out and fight your pain off, spot by spot.

“My stomach and chest got it worst,” you admit. “It’s growing more sore, but Madam said I could get more pain relief in just a little while.”

“Well, she also said I could only stay here for a short while,” he whispers conspiratorially, looking towards the curtain as if he expected it to be ripped back any minute. “Pretty sure we’re way past that.”

“Maybe she heard us crying like babies over a non-fatal injury and figured it was less of a hassle to leave us to it.” You squeeze Regulus’ thigh with a grin and he bites back a yelp.

“She would be wise to do so. Especially because there’s no bloody way I’m leaving.”

You don’t say much to that because you really, really don’t want him to either. You know you are fine, and for his sake you try and seem even more assured of it, but the white panic that soared through your veins those first few minutes is hard to shake. Even though you don’t want him to hold his absence against himself, you don’t like the thought of him leaving now that he was there.

“Has she said anything about a treatment plan? How long you’ll be here? She said you’re fine, so it shouldn’t be too long right?” Though Regulus looks at you as he asks his questions, you know he is already trying to piece together probable answers in his head.

“Most of our first conversation was her narrating what she was doing while I was moaning and not listening.” Your comment was off-handed, but Regulus seemed to wince at the image it painted in his head. “Sorry,” you mumbled bashfully, but he just gave you a smile.”

“Good thing I have the memory of an elephant, then.” Madam Pomfrey’s voice sounded just seconds before she ripped the curtain back and stepped into your little bubble.

Regulus went straight into autopilot, rightening his posture and schooling his expression. You squeezed his hand tighter, so that he couldn’t pull away, but that had not even been any option in his mind. Pomfrey went through the station beside you at the speed of light, way too familiar and comfortable with these procedures.

“Miss L/N had 5 deep lacerations and several shallow ones,” she begins to recite and Regulus hangs onto every word. “The shallow wounds are almost entirely gone from the treatment already, but the more severe ones will need time to recover. She will have to stay in the infirmary overnight today and tomorrow for observation and continue to receive some medication. Among those are pain potions and salves for the wounds. Rebandage every 10 hours and apply new salves.”

“How will that affect her?” Regulus asked, probably pushing his luck with the matron.

“The pain potions will make her a bit slow and groggy, but she will still be awake. Though she should sleep.” At that she gives you a curt look over her shoulder. “The healing process for the wounds will likely be itchy and uncomfortable and she may develop a fever. We will pay particularly close attention to the stomach wounds in case she develops any infections there.”

“What are the symptoms of infections like that?”

You try and pat Regulus’ leg to say down, boy, but he doesn’t give you the time of day, instead focusing fully on any and all information the matron is willing to share with him. You had half a mind to joke that this was private medical information, but let it be.

Madam Pomfrey turns to Regulus at his fourth question, putting her hands on her hips as she measured him closely. It seemed like she decided on something and the next second she exited through the curtains again. You and Regulus barely had time to exchange a glance before she came back and threw a white coat at Regulus who catched it bewilderedly.

“Seems like I’ve got myself an assistant for the remainder of her stay, haven’t I, Mr. Black?”

A slow smile spreads across Regulus’ face before he hurries on the coat. “Yes, Madam.”

Pomfrey talks you – and now, Regulus – through the new pain potion she is about to give you, giving brief background on the ingredients, application and effect when the door to the infirmary slams open, decidedly louder than when Regulus entered earlier. Her eyes squeeze shut, as if pained by the disrespect and incredulity of students, but finished giving you the potion.

“That is no way to enter an infirmary, Mr. Crouch,” she says through half-gritted teeth as she works. She waves at Regulus to open the curtain to your bed, revealing Barty, Evan and Dorcas, all heaving as if they have been running too. “You seem to be particularly loved, Miss L/N. Please never get injured again, it disturbs my workspace.”

Your friends’ eyes are wide as they take in your form where you lay, still rather pathetically, in your bed.

“Merlin’s tits, what happened?” Dorcas asks.

At the same time Barty’s gaze flits between you and Regulus. “Who?” he asks, while looking at you.

“I–” you start, but that was clearly the wrong answer because he then immediately turns to Regulus instead.

“Who?”

There is no hesitation in Regulus’ voice. “Snape.”

Barty’s face morphs from shock and concern into pure determination. He stalks over to you in three wide steps, pressing a quick kiss to the safe side of your forehead, whispering a quiet take care, Treasure, before turning around and dragging Evan out of the infirmary. The other boy’s jaw was ticked shut and went more than willingly.

Even you felt a bit bad for Snape in that moment.

Madam Pomfrey, however, only breathed a sigh of relief that they left so quickly.

Dorcas comes up between you and Regulus, sitting on the very edge of your bed. Pomfrey, with Regulus’ assistance return to the work on your bedside station, though his eyes are on you almost the whole time. He has that furrow between his brows that shows up whenever he focuses intently, and you are torn between wanting to kiss it and draw it.

“We met Marls and Lily in the hallway,” Dorcas explains. “They got halfway through their story before Junior took off with us on leash behind us.”

“Sounds like him,” you laugh, trying to hide how the rumble hurts you. “But really, I’m totally fine. Or, I’m relatively good, and will soon be alright.”

“Yeah, especially when you’ve got two nurses to tend to you,” Dorcas teases, casting Regulus a knowing sideways glance.

“Pardon you, Miss Meadows; I am a Healer.”

You can’t help the snort that escapes you. Despite never wanting to return to this infirmary, you had grown quite fond of the Madam.

“My deepest apologies, Madam,” Dorcas offered with a gleam in her eyes. You could have sworn you saw Pomfrey smile ever so slightly.

“But yeah, Dorc, I’m well taken care of. I’ll be fine.”

“Firstly, just because you’re wounded does not mean you can get away with calling me that.” You laugh once more, happy to not be treated like a dying animal even in such a grave hour. “Secondly, I’m glad. You deserve it, and it was about damn time.”

You pretend to not understand what the last part referred to, but you knew she got you all figured out. You squeeze her leg in a sign of admiration and, perhaps, defeat.

“Thirdly,” Regulus interjects. “You need to either not make her laugh or leave.”

Pomfrey nodded emphatically.

“Not my fault your girl just finds me absolutely hilarious, Black.” Dorcas winks at you.

“Speaking of someone’s girl,” you drawl, trying to even the playing field, which worked, if Dorcas’ light blush was anything to go off of. “Please tell Marlene I say thank you. I don’t think I got to in the whirl of everything and then everyone was thrown out.”

Dorcas’ smile softens. “I will, babe, but you don’t have to thank her. She’s still a bit worried though, so I’ll tell everyone you’re doing fine.”

“Thanks,” you whisper through a smile, accepting Dorcas’ half-hug before she slips out of the infirmary, which finally returns to its prior quietude.

“That’s enough visitors for today!” Pomfrey explains, clapping her hands together as she is done. “Only staff and patients for the rest of the night.” She shoots Regulus and his white coat a knowing glance.

“Does that mean I can sleep?” You don’t mean for your voice to sound so meek, but the pain potion is starting to work, and the more your body relaxes, the more exhausted you realise you are.

Regulus makes a soft cooing sign, coming back to sit on the side of your bed, taking your hand in his and drawing comforting circles on its back. “Yes, amour. We have prepared the station for when we have to wake you in a few hours for reapplication.”

You groan a bit at the thought of being woken, and both your matron and her assistant laugh a bit at you.

“Better that than affection, Miss L/N.”

“Yes, of course,” you relent, letting out a heavy sigh. “Thank you. For all of it.”

Pomfrey merely nods before gathering her things and exiting into the rest of the infirmary, pulling your curtain shut behind you. You expect that is the closest she usually gets to a you’re welcome and you accept it heartily.

Regulus shifts into a more comfortable position beside you, back against your headboard, ensuring you are as comfortable and pain-free as possible. He brings your intertwined fingers up to his lips to press delicate butterfly kisses to them. The softness of it all makes you almost want to cry again, but you bite it back, purely because you can’t stand seeing Regulus cry again tonight, and you knew he would.

“Congratulations on your promotion.” Your tire does not hide the coyness of your tone and he smiles fondly at you.

“Thank you. Think she figured it was easier that way – and I have always been a top student.”

“Yeah, yeah, you and your OWLs.” You turn your head more towards him, smiling. “Such a nerd.”

“I reckon you like that about me.”

“I reckon the same.”

You lean forward and he meets you halfway for a slow kiss. The casualness of it makes it feel all the more important, especially when the past few hours of your life has been anything but.

He leans his head onto yours, drawing you as close as he can with your current circumstances.

“I’m sorry,” Regulus whispers again and you shake your head beneath his. Before you can tell him no, he continues. “Not just for what happened to you or not being there. Just, I don’t know. Being slow.”

“Didn’t we just agree you were bright?” you tease, but when you turn to see the sincerity in his eyes, you soften. “It’s okay, Regulus. We were both slow.”

Neither of you feel compelled to delve into the details of it, and it makes you feel more at ease. Even with everything, this was just how it was supposed to be.

“I’m glad I have you.” It is the best way to summarise it; it was enough. He smiles warmly at you.

“And I you.”

You ignore the strain of some of your bandages as you lean closer to kiss him again, where he meets you enthusiastically – it was worth it.

“Go to sleep now, amour. I’ll be here to ease you awake when the time comes. I’ll always be here.”

And he was.

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whoreforsexymen · 3 months ago

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Love Me (Bar)Tender | NSFW Flash 🫗

(GIF cred: me <3)

Y’all see what I did there? With the title? Hehe. Ok, sorry, I’ll leave.

(I know the gif is technically a sad scene, but y’all can’t tell me you aren’t imagining him pressing his forehead against yours like that in the heat of the moment 😩)

Anyways…

Pairings: Vander x Reader

Pronouns: Female Identifying/AFAB!Reader

Rating: NSFW, 18+, MDNI !! You WILL be blocked!!

Word Count: 498

Tags: Riding, Fluffy Smut, Vander being pussywhipped (kinda), Poetic Smut, Vander is smitten by you (as he should be 😉), Tooth Decayingly Sweet Smut

Notes: I guess I’m just on a roll today. Haven’t touched this account in like 5 years and now here I am— Posting 8 things in one day. Go, me!

(I can see you, minors. Get outta here 🤺🤺. BACK! BACK, I SAY!)

“Fuck— Yeah. Like that, pretty girl.” Vander huffs out. Barely able to breathe, like a fish out of water. With practiced grace, you roll your hips, the fluidity of your movement reminiscent of a seasoned dancer lost in the rhythm, every shift a seamless blend of control and expression.

Vander’s head can no longer bear the weight of how you were making him feel—tilting backward as his neck gives way. It falls against the headboard, the movement slow and weary, a silent surrender to the beckoning of pleasure.

His eyes fall shut, and his breathing becomes erratic—quick, needy, shallow gasps. The only sounds he can manage are strained grunts, desperate groans, and breathless utterances of your name.

Your hips swirl, bearing your weight down on his thighs with your hands. You lean back into them, your movements slow but insistent, each one designed to draw him further into the frenzy—relentless in your pursuit to push him beyond control.

Your own insistent whining mixes with his, a symphonic blend of desperation between the two of you.

His hands are kneading your hips inexorably. Almost as if he’s scared to let go. His nails feel desperate to burrow under your skin with the way he’s clawing at you.

“You’ve got magic in these hips, love,” he says, his voice hushed, as if your motions had cast a spell— urging him to speak.

You can’t speak, your breath ragged and uneven as you picked up the pace, leaving you too consumed by the urgency to form a single word. You needed more. Not just of his words, or the deliciously whiny way he spoke. You were already stretched to the limit, every inch of you aching, yet the hunger within you refused to be sated. You craved more—more of him, as a whole.

If you could, you’d dissolve into him, merging into one single being, where every pulse, every breath, is shared between the two of you—inseparable, bound by desire.

“So good, pretty girl. You’re doing so good. Don’t think I can take much more, love.” He grunts, his eyes fluttering open to find you again, the sight of you cutting through the hazy state of desire he’d been gliding through.

He had been a fool to ever look away—how could he ever let himself look away? You weren’t just beautiful; you were everything a masterpiece could never capture, an intoxicating blend of grace and fire, more captivating than any sculpture or painting, alive and burning with an allure that consumed him whole.

“Fuck.” He grunts, unable to form a single coherent thought, let alone words. Every impulse in him screamed to voice the things he couldn’t hold back, to tell you what was racing through his mind. But your movements—each one more demanding than the last—silenced him, keeping his voice captive, lost in the frenzy of the moment.

“My girl. My pretty girl.” Is all he can muster before you’re both crashing into each others like waves against a cliff.

#Vander x reader #vander x reader imagine #Vander x reader Drabble #Vander x reader smut #Vander x reader smut imagine #Vander x reader smut Drabble #Vander smut #Vander arcane #Vander x reader arcane #arcane x reader #arcane smut #arcane x reader smut #arcane imagine #arcane Drabble

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slaytheusurper · 7 months ago

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⭑ The prince of pleasure ⭑

Masterlist

Pairing: Aegon II Targaryen x Niece!reader

Summary: You and your uncle always had fun growing up and when you see each other years later, he knows just where to take your for some real fun.

Warnings: NSFW, 18+ mdni, family feud, Aegon being a bad influence, making out, grinding/dry humping, oral (f receiving), vaginal sex, titty sucking.

A/N: Inspired by Rhaenyra's and Daemon's adventures, and parts of dinner scene in episode 8 S1. Can you tell I miss season one :(?

Word count: 4.6k

Your heart almost came up in your throat as you descended the stairs behind your family. After the petition and the announcement of your brother's bethrotals, the king wished to spend supper with his entire family, finally reunited. This was, of course, doomed from the start. The strained and tense relationships had never really washed away. There had always been a weird dynamic between your two uncle’s and you and your brothers. But one thing was for sure, you all kind of ganged up on Aemond. He was just easy to pick on. This created a sort of mischievous and friendly dynamic between you and Aegon. You both hadn’t seen each other since the whole ‘incident’ on Driftmark. Eager to see him but also anxious were the only words you could use to describe the weird feeling in your abdomen.

Both of you had grown into your own person, you had finally gone through puberty, curved hips, filled out breasts, sharper and more defined features. And even your silver hair had grown longer, but tonight it was braided in the style of your house. As well as being styled in a beautiful red and black dress. And as you finally arrived, before the king it seemed, you saw him there. He turned around in his chair, his mouth slightly agape as he took you in. His hands seemed bigger, his shoulders broader, circles under his eyes and his lips stained red from wine. A habit he hadn’t grown out of by the looks of him. You took a deep breath at the sight of him, pressing any affectionate feelings deep down.

He quickly turned back in his seat as you and your family took yours. Of course, your brother had to leave one chair between him and Aegon as his betrothed sat on his right side. Are you fucking kidding me, why couldn’t he have just been mature and took the seat. To avoid suspicion you tried to set your thoughts aside and hurriedly took your seat, already earning a confused look from your mother. Luckily for you there wasn’t any time for conversation as the arrival of the king was announced and you had to stand up again. When he was seated at the table as well, he started off with a speech that quickly got drowned out by your own thoughts. Somehow you couldn’t shake the feeling of him staring. But why would he?

However, your intuition was right because just as you glanced to the side, you already caught him staring. That bastard only made things harder. You could feel his glances on you the entirety of your grandsire’s speech. It made you want to be sucked up by the floor, never to be seen again. But why couldn’t you help yourself from glancing once every while either? All those thoughts were put to a stop when the king sat down again. Your family started a seemingly peaceful conversation with one another. But then, the inevitable... Aegon leaned to his right, where you were seated, and got a bit closer to your ear. The stench of wine and his musk, which was way more enticing than you wanted to admit, filling your nose.

“It’s been a long time hasn’t it, dear niece?” Fuck- His voice had matured too, not as nasal and annoying as it once was. But deep and smooth, cold and hot at the same time. But he had more of a mischievous tone to it, which instantly made goosebumps ripple over your skin. “Yes it has. Still a strong taste for wine I see.” You mused. Keeping a light but inviting tone yourself. “Oh- and she has become more brazen as well.” He grinned, still keeping close to you. You knew he was planning on fucking up this whole dinner tonight, but maybe you were looking forward to that. The annoying voice of Otto Hightower already making you lose your patience. “As well?” You gave him a questioning look, finally acknowledging him.

“Must I really say it?” He was clearly drunk with the way he observed your tits in the corseted dress. You must admit, you did pick one of your more revealing gowns tonight. Either by accident or on purpose, Aegon cared not. He was just glad you seemed to give him a view to enjoy tonight. “Yes, you must. What do you mean by that?” Clearly you had no idea what he insinuated and oh did that make this all more perfect for Aegon. “Fine. You have matured. Grown into your body, I suppose.” Lowering his voice and choosing more careful words. He didn’t want this dinner to be over yet. “Oh- I- uhm, thank you uncle. That is kind of you to say. You have matured as well. Less...skinny.” That earned you a grin, one you had missed more than you thought.

Your brothers were always fun to be around but as they got older they started to become more serious. Something that hadn’t caught up with you yet. Jace cared more about his studies and Luke about training with the sword, and Joffrey was too young to have any real fun with. But Aegon hadn't changed as much it seemed, and it made you happy. Knowing that during your stay, you could maybe find some good company in him. Maybe even make it like the old days and pester Aemond a bit, although he had matured too and become more intimidating, so you decided against that part. That was especially proven when the king parted for the night and a pig was brought in, and set right in front of Aemond. Giving one glance to your brothers, you three couldn’t help but let out a snigger. To which Aemond rose from his seat, slamming his hands on the table in a fit of rage, one he hadn’t felt since the old days.

“Final tribute.” He began as he raised his cup to which Aegon mirrored him. You gave your brothers a knowing look. This could only go one way. “To the health of my nephews.” There we go. “Jace, Luke and Joffrey. Each of them handsome, wise…strong.” Alicent gave Aemond a warning but he didn’t give a single fuck, too blinded by hurt and embarrassment. “Come, let us drain our cups to these three strong boys.” You didn’t think he would really go there as Aegon was usually the one to ruin events but Aemond always had a taste for the dramatics. “I dare you say that again.” Jace spoke up, he was always sensitive about the rumours and accusations. Saying you could never understand with your Valyrian features. “Why? ‘Twas only a compliment. Do you not think yourself strong?”

Aemond really had to take it further. Jace at this point had stood up and stalked towards Aemond in a fury. Aaand dinner ruined. Jace landed the first punch, then all hell broke loose. Luke stood up as well wanting to help his brother defend their honour. But Aegon stopped him slamming him on the table. Making you stand up and push Aegon off him. Your mother and Alicent were all yelling at this point, guards were stepping in and you were all pulled off each other. “Why would you say such a thing in front of all these people?” Alicent scowled. “I was merely expressing how proud I am of my family mother. Although my nephews aren’t quite as proud of theirs!” Aemond raised his voice, really making sure your brothers heard it. Jace broke free, ready to launch himself at Aemond again but Daemon stopped him. “Go to your quarters, all of you go, now.” Your mother put an end to it.

At least supper went as expected, however you knew you needed to clear your mind and cool off before going to bed so you sneaked out to the gardens. However while you were out, a knock landed on your door. Aegon stood there with a bag and a note. He didn’t expect you to disobey your mother and leave but that only confirmed he could make it up to you tonight. His way. He slid inside your chambers and left the bag accompanied by the note on your table, and sneaked away. This was the real test, he thought. To see if you were still the daring, brazen and reckless girl of all those years ago.

When you returned to your chambers one of the guards let you know who stopped by. And that he left something in your chambers. Curious as to what Aegon could have possibly brought you, you hurriedly stepped inside and closed the door. There it was, the bag on the table and the note of course. Opening it with haste, your face fell into a frown, old dirty commoners clothes? What the fuck kind of gift was that? But your gaze fell on the note beside. You grabbed it and revealed the messy handwriting inside. “Meet me at the back entrance if you want a real fun experience tonight. -The Drunken Fool.” The smile on your face was uncontrollable as you discarded your regal gown and stepped into the musty clothes of the bag, pulling your hair into a bun to tuck underneath the hat that Aegon left in there as well. With one look in the mirror to make sure you didn’t leave any white strands out you left your chambers during the guards shift change, with there always being about two minutes between their shuffle. Something you remembered quite well from your childhood.

Giggles and laughs almost escaped you every time you managed to evade guards and servants. At last you found your way outside, no one there recognizing you as you tried to make your way to Aegon. Passing a few people you met his gaze as he stood by the back entrance, a couple of feet away from you, wearing his usual attire and accompanied by two men. You smiled at him and started to walk over to him, when you all of a sudden felt a hand grip your upper arm pulling you back. A gold cloak stopped you. Panic seeped in your skin as you were terrified of being caught. “Girl. What is your business here?” His hoarse voice broke the giddy haze you were in. “Let her go immediately.” You almost didn’t notice Aegon coming to the rescue until he was already at your side. “My prince. I apologise, I didn’t know she was with you.” He grabbed your hand and pulled you with him.

“I have never been called ‘girl’ before.” You chuckled. “Keep your voice down, no one can know you’re here.” Aegon shushed you. Dragging you with him through the city. The two men following you. “What about them?” You asked as you nodded behind you. “They don’t know who you are, told them you were a whore I picked out to take for the night.” He grinned, still accompanying you through Flea Bottom, the streets of which you recognised. “A? Whore?” You asked confused. Oh no. Aegon thought. Did you really know nothing about sex? Pleasure? He was about to take the night a lot further than he initially planned. He wanted to take you out drinking, to get a break from his boring family and have some fun with the only person who didn’t judge him. But you still being innocent in that regard made him swell in his pants. He was going to show you a lot more fun than you thought.

“How about I explain when we get to the place huh?” Aegon bit his lip in anticipation, he walked past the tavern where he originally planned to take you and continued walking- to the streets of silk. There was one particular pleasure house where he could have his privacy with you. As you both reached the door of the place, moans could already faintly be heard outside and Aegon noticed your face grow confused. You made this so much harder for him. He ordered the guards to wait outside and took your hand once more to lead you inside. When you entered your jaw almost crashed through the floor at the sight. People everywhere, naked as the day they were born. At least most of them, the others barely wearing anything. They were all over each other, men on women, men on men and even women on women. All screaming, moaning, whining and groaning in pleasure. You looked around, mouth agape as Aegon looked only at you.

Your reaction was better than he could’ve ever dreamed about. “A whore is someone who gets paid to pleasure a man, or woman. That all happens here. In a pleasure house, you see, pleasure is the greatest thing the gods have ever given us. Besides wine. Marriage is a duty, but fucking is a pleasure.” He whispered in your ear. You almost moaned at his words. A tingly and heated feeling spreading through your body. Aegon squeezed your hand and led you through the people, their eyes occasionally landing on Aegon. He probably came here often? As a serving girl recognised him, she gestured for him to follow her. Taking you both to the back of the building, curtains were revealed. Aegon told the girl to piss off, opened the curtains and revealed a decently sized room, a large round bed inside. Which was decorated with pillows and blankets. Hundreds of candles were lit on the incavings of the walls in the room.

Aegon closed the curtains and led you on the bed, removing the muffy hat you were wearing. “Do you... come here a lot?” You asked, a slight tremble in your voice. You still didn’t fully grasp the concept of what was exactly happening here, but you were beginning to understand. “I do, and before you go back to Dragon Stone. I’ll show you what real pleasure and fun can be.” He murmured, leaning in a bit closer. He now stroked your cheek. Your lips parted and you could feel the slick and ache between your thighs. The feeling of it becoming uncomfortable, you pressed your legs together, kneeled on the bed before Aegon, who was eyeing you hungrily, the action not going unnoticed. “Does it hurt, little niece?” He asked, lust and impatience filling his body. He knew you didn’t know you craved his touch, but he knew. All too well in fact. You could only nod, a small whimper leaving your lips.

Aegon felt dizzy, his cock was now fully hard. He was probably in more pain than you. He never felt this horny, this pent up. He could feel the precum sticking to the inside of his breeches. “Let me show you, teach you. Real pleasure.” You could only whimper in response. “Kiss me.” You let out a breath and kissed him on the cheek. “No darling, on my lips. It will feel better, I promise.” You obeyed and kissed him softly on his lips. A spark igniting in you at the touch. Aegon felt it too, as he pressed his lips more firm against you. His hands pulling you closer but his desire for you was far from satiated. He deepened the kiss and forced your lips open, prodding his tongue inside. You still awkwardly kissed back and he pulled back a moment. “Try to move your tongue against mine love.” His voice came out hoarse and raspy. You tried to do as you were told, kissing him once more, you moved your tongue against his, getting saliva on both of your lips. Aegon sucked on your tongue and moved his hands in your hair.

You could feel the vibration of his groans on your lips, on your tongue. You felt yourself pulsate between your legs and pressed your thighs together once more. Aegon didn’t slow the kiss as he now licked your teeth and nibbled on your bottom lip as well. Then he moved back, sitting against the headboard as he moved you on top of him. Sitting on his lap, you started to mimic his tongue movements, licking his teeth as well and sucking on his tongue. Then he moved his hands lower, towards your ass. Only then it really hit you what was happening. You ripped your lips away from his. “Aegon- what- wait we can’t do this.” Aegon was afraid you would realise. This is what the septa’s meant when they would tell you you couldn’t dishonour yourself.

“Shh, don’t you worry about that. I promise it will be fine. Don’t you want to get rid of that ache? Don’t you want to feel good?” He panted, still lust filled. Desire clouded your mind and judgement and before you could think about it more, Aegon pulled you further on his lap. Right on something hard, hitting that aching spot between your thighs just right. You let out a moan at the feeling. How could you stop now? The pain and ache would become overbearing and besides, Aegon did this all the time. And he was just being so nice showing you how good you could feel. Aegon moaned in response. Did that make him feel just as good as it felt for you? Wanting to chase that feeling, you grinded your hips yourself this time.

“Fuck- yes just like that. This feels just as good for me as it does for you.” You shuddered at his words. “What is that-” You whined. He grabbed your hand that was resting on his shoulder and moved it between his legs, letting your hand grip his bulge. “That, is my cock. And it feels so fucking good when you touch it. And when I touch you between your legs,” He paused, moving his own hand between your legs, letting his thumb graze your clothed clit. “right over your cunt, it will feel amazing for you.” You gasped at the feeling and his words, never did you feel you so excited, good and hot at the same time. And the urge for more only grew. “So I beg of you, don’t stop. For the good of both of us.” Aegon pleaded, moving his hand back to your ass and helping you grind on him this time.

You could only chant ‘yes’ in response accompanied by moans and whines. Aegon, not being quiet himself, let out his filthies moans and groans. Pulling your head down a bit, he kissed you again. Using his other hand to keep you steady while you humped each other like animals in heat. His covered cock hitting your clit just right every time, and the slick covering your cunt making it easier to grind against each other. Your breath caught in your throat as you pulled away from Aegon, never stopping your hips that grinded on him. “Aegon, some- something is happening- I don’t- please, more- more!” You mumbled incoherently as you felt an intense amount of pleasure building up, your entire body about to burst. “Fuck- good girl. You’re about to cum. You gonna cum for me little princess? You gonna cum for your uncle?” His vulgar words sent you over the edge as you felt waves of fire cursing through your body. One long moan left your lips as your grip on Aegon’s shoulders tightened, pressing yourself as hard as you could against his erection.

Aegon let out a groan at the sight of you, mouth agape, eyes squeezed shut in pleasure, a light sweat covering you. What a divine sight before him. It was worth every restraint of staying sober before your outing. Just so he could remember every detail. When you had calmed down, your eyes locked, you shared a breathy chuckle. “This is only the beginning.” Your eyes widened at his words. Aegon moved his hands to your tunic and started to pull it off, you decided to do the same. Removing his tunic as well. His skin exposed, his abs and toned arms out for only you to see. He could only focus on your hardened nipples, the soft flesh looking beautiful under the candlelight. He couldn’t stop himself even if he wanted to and immediately dove in on your breasts. Suckling and licking your nipples, your hands moving to his neck. You needed to hold on to him, otherwise you were sure you would lose it.

As he held you, nipple in mouth, he moved you on your back. His hips now back to rutting against you, but it still wasn’t enough. “Need more, more of you princess.” He huffed. He removed himself from you and pulled the old pants you were wearing down, immediately revealing your slick cunt. “Fuck- it’s almost as if you did this on purpose.” He grinned, fully ripping the pants off, with a wet stain at the crotch, to throw it to the side. You didn’t however, you just didn’t have access to men’s breeches and womens smallclothes wouldn’t do in pants. His thumb circled your clit and Aegon looked at you through hooded eyes, small pants leaving his lips. How could he ever go back to regular boring whores when he had a Valyrian princess to devour? He decided he no longer had time for patience and removed his own pants, removing his breeches as well in the process.

You leaned on your elbows, curious to see what his cock looked like bare. Aegon let you stare, he loved the effect he was having on you, the first to be having this effect on you. His cock stood proud, curved, veiny, leaking and red from arousal. Balls filled with seed, eager to be emptied and white pubic hair trailing from his navel to his pelvis. You licked your lips at the sight, an urge filled Aegon as he took the base of his cock and trailed the head between your folds. A low grunt escaped him and you let out a whine at the feeling. Finding your tight hole, he let spit dribble from his lips on his cock, although he doubted he needed it, he didn’t want to hurt you.

Holding the base still, he guided the head to your entrance and with a bit of resistance he managed to get the tip inside, a moan filling the room as he felt your tight hole suck him in. The primal urge to fill you, pound into you until you were stuffed with his seed overtook him but he had to take it slow. “Such a good girl aren’t you? But so disobedient at the same time, taking your uncle’s cock in a pleasure house, in the middle of the night.” He groaned at his own words. Only the idea of it already made him hard. Never could he have fantasised about the real pleasure. He pushed further into you when he felt you relax, you whimpered but didn’t feel too much pain. Checking in on you he now fully sheathed himself inside, hitting your cervix.

You moaned and gripped the sheets beneath you, your legs wrapping around his waist. A sign for him to start fucking you. Aegon kissed your neck and started to slowly rut into you. “Yeah, feel good? You’re making me feel so fucking good love- your tight cunt wrapped around me. Taking me so well, my own little whore.” He grunted as he fucked into you harder. The sounds of sweaty skin smacking against each other and both of your sounds of pleasure filling the room. “More please- uncle- please!” You begged, you finally knew what he was talking about, what he craved- why he goes here. “You want more? How about you get on your stomach? Ass in the air little princess.” His voice sounded demanding and depraved. He pulled out so you could move, you both hissed at the loss of contact. Being in position he wasted no time pushing his sensitive cock back inside you.

Pounding into you again he grabbed the flesh of your ass helping you move into him as well. “Fuck- You’re perfect- So fucking perfect. Don’t think I can let you leave after this. Gonna need you every night-” He felt his balls tighten, a sign of his release approaching soon, he wanted to chase it, fill you up real good but he also didn’t want to stop yet, for reality to come back. “Doing so good for your uncle darling- so good-” He spoke the words pound for pound making your moans louder and louder. “Yes! All for you Aegon- only for you! Just want your cock please-” You barely even knew what you were saying, all you knew was that he was right, you could never go back to normal after this. His thrusts became more staggered and harsher, giving a couple more before pulling out and letting ropes of his cum painting your ass, long and whiny moans leaving his lips at the sight. You whimpered at the feeling of his warm sticky cum hitting your skin. Taking a deep breath he fell beside you and pulled you close, ignoring the blood on the sheets.

“I don’t think I can stop myself from taking you again.” He whispered in your ear, his hot breath making you shiver. “I don’t want you to stop yourself, I’m already tainted now, what does it matter anymore.” You both laid in each other's arms for some time before Aegon decided to kiss you again. Letting his tongue trace your lips, before entering your mouth. You both made out for a bit before Aegon felt his cock stir again. The power you held over him was dangerous. He removed his lips from yours and laid you on your back again, before kissing down your stomach. “Aegon, what are you doing?” You asked hazily. “Kissing you somewhere else.” When he reached your folds he kissed them softly before kitten licking your clit, making you jerk your body at the feeling. You were still sensitive from the grinding and his warm, wet tongue felt way too good.

“Oh- do that again, please- harder.” Aegon grinned at your reaction, feeling his chest swell with pride at how he was already making you beg again. He did as you asked and started lapping feverishly at your folds. Occasionally prodding his tongue inside you. His hands held you in place by your tits while your own found his silver locks tugging at the roots. He groaned against your cunt and sucked on your clit. Your feet tensed up at the feeling, and your hands tugged his head closer, basically grinding on his face. Aegon wanted nothing more than to have you cum once more, all over his face. As he lapped and sucked your release came closer, Aegon would devour you every night if he could. He flicked his tongue faster as your moans grew louder and curses fell from your lips. With one shattering moan you fell apart, moaning Aegon’s name as your vision went black and fire cursed through you once more. When you calmed, Aegon gave your cunt one last kiss before laying beside you again.

“I want to do that to you.” You huffed, a smile on your face as the post orgasm still flowed through you. “Another day if we can, darling.” You frowned at that. “Sadly we must get back soon, before we raise any alarms.” You sat up, the reality of it all hitting you. Yet you felt no regret. “This was- unforgettable, Aegon.” You smiled, looking back at him as he still laid on the bed. “That it was.” He agreed. How could corruption feel so good?

#house of the dragon #hotd #aegon ii targaryen #aegon ii targaryen x reader smut #aegon ii targaryen x reader #aegon targaryen x reader #aegon targaryen x reader smut #aegon ii targaryen x fem reader smut #aegon targaryen x fem reader smut #aegon targaryen x fem reader #hotd smut

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vandersprodigy18 · 3 months ago

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Caitlyn setting Jinx free wasn’t just for Vi, it was also for herself.

Yes, it was a pretty grand gesture, a profession that her love was greater than her need for vengeance.

But also Caitlyn did it for herself. She needed it for herself.

Throughout Acts 2 and 3 we are shown that Caitlyn is coming to terms with the actions she has committed in her obsession with capturing Jinx. That she lost herself in her grief and anger, and perpetuated the cycle of violence she has always disagreed with. She realises she has become the thing she hates.

In so doing, she comes to a sort of understanding of Jinx. And this was really the point of Caitlyn’s arc this season, as true narrative foils to each other, Cait needed to live Jinx’s pain and think her thoughts and commit the same mistakes as her.

So by the time Ep 8 rolls around, Caitlyn is in a place of self-resentment, she hates herself. And she’s looking for a way out of it, lamenting the fact that ‘we cant erase our mistakes’, talking about Jinx and herself.

So when Vi blows up at her saying ‘who decides who gets a second chance’ she realises she has the power to set both Jinx and herself free from this cycle of pain. She gives them both a second chance. Because if she is to be worthy of forgiveness, so is Jinx.

Because setting Jinx free is also setting herself free.

#arcane #arcane meta #arcane analysis #caitlyn kiramman #jinx #jinx arcane #vi arcane #caitvi #piltover's finest #violyn

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pathologicalreid · 8 months ago

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Hello, love your writing, can i request a oneshot for spencer Reid x wife!reader with the plot of the movie taken where she goes on a business trip or something and she gets taken and the team have to work against the clock to get her back. Had this idea for so long and thought you would be perfect to write it. Perfectly fine if you dont but im craving this story.

leave a message after the beep | S.R.

When you go missing under suspicious circumstances on a business trip, the BAU goes to Texas - and ends up in the middle of something bigger than anticipated.

who? spencer reid x fem!reader category: angst content warnings: kidnapping, blood, guns, reader almost kills someone, hospitals, the securities and exchange commission, typical cm violence, texas, takes place maybe circa season 7 word count: 4.03k a/n: okay anon so like yes i can write this but also i've never seen the movie taken so really i took your request and made it my own! i hope you like it either way!

Tuesday, 2:17 p.m.

“Hey, Spence, it’s me. Shame I got your voicemail, but I just landed at Dallas Fort Worth and I’m waiting for my ride to take me to meet the regional officers. Not sure if you’re traveling, but uh, call me when you get this, I guess. Or when you can. Hopefully, this trip goes better than I think it’s going to… oh, I think my ride is here.”

Tuesday, 6:42 p.m.

“Hey babe, so, the first meeting went fine, they don’t seem very receptive, but people generally aren’t when I’m sent in to change their methods. Wish you’d pick up your phone. Anyway, I’m on my way to the hotel now, I’ll probably try you again before I go to bed. I know my updates are probably riveting.”

Tuesday, 8:09 p.m.

“Well, I’ve definitely stayed in nicer hotels than this one, but I guess I can’t complain about being put up for free. I’m probably just biased because the a/c unit is busted – oh, my room number is 316, I know you like to have it. I opened the windows to let air in but it’s so dry here that I’m not sure it’s helping any. I’ll shut them before I go to sleep, so don’t worry about that. Call me back, I miss you, don’t worry about waking me up. I think that’s all I’ve got, goodnight, I love you!”

There was a collective sigh in the roundtable room, five agents around the room all looked nervously at each other. No one wanted to be the first person to speak. No one wanted to be the first to propose a theory. “Where’s Spencer?” Emily asked, looking through the voicemail transcripts that were splayed out in front of her.

“In Hotch’s office, they’re talking,” Rossi said, eyeing the photo of you that was being projected up on the screen. Most of the time, Penelope just used driver’s license or passport photos in files, but for you, she had chosen a photo from the last BAU O’Keefe’s outing. Your skin was flushed and there was an odd shadow being cast on your face, but your smile was unmistakable.

The official files would have your driver’s license photo, but that picture was for the BAU. Seemingly unable to peel her eyes off of the screen, JJ asked the question that everyone was sitting on, “We’re on this case, right?”

It felt ridiculous, one of their own had gone missing in the middle of the night and they weren’t even sure if they had the jurisdiction to look into it. When no one answered, Morgan looked around the room, “The brass isn’t seriously going to try to tell us not to investigate.”

“No, they’re not,” Hotch said, suit jacket unbuttoned and fluttering behind him as he walked into the roundtable room with purpose. “We’ll debrief more on the plane, JJ and Garcia will stay here, the rest of us are headed to Dallas,” he instructed, nodding at everyone before turning around and walking out the door, the rest of the team following like ducks in a row.

On the jet, the traveling members of the team watched as Rossi held a cup of coffee out for Spencer to take, but the team's youngest member took a moment to even recognize that it was there, “Oh,” he mumbled, “thank you.” Blinking a haze from his eyes, he took the cup in his shaky hands.

A familiar concern flowed among Spencer’s teammates, they all watched as he twisted his wedding ring around his finger – a nervous habit that usually presented itself when he missed you. “Y/N’s boss is en route to Quantico to talk with JJ, the flight’s about three hours, we should get started,” Hotch was the one to speak up, herding the sheep in the correct direction while everything felt aimless.

With his legs tucked beneath himself, Spencer watched the team as they bounced back and forth in a discussion on what you were doing in Dallas and Penelope scoured through your recent communication.

“According to the voicemails and the hotel records, her room was on the third floor,” Emily spoke up, flipping through the file in front of her. “Do we have crime scene photos from the hotel room yet?”

On the video screen, Penelope shook her head, “CSI is still processing the scene, I have an inquiry in with them to send the photos as soon as they can.”

Checking his watch, Hotch looked over at Spencer, still sequestered on one side of the jet, “Make sure they keep the scene undisturbed for when we arrive. Dave and Morgan will meet with the sheriff at the hotel, and the rest of us will head to the precinct to set up.”

If Spencer wanted to be the one to investigate the crime scene, he didn’t protest his assignment, he just continued to spin that gold band on his finger. He didn’t notice the glances exchanged between the rest of his team; he could only think of you.

With the involvement of the BAU, the team had been redirected to the Dallas Field Office. “There was a hole torn in the window screen, the crime scene techs think that’s how they got inside,” Morgan announced to the team, they were all gathering in the conference room.

“On the third floor?” JJ questioned over video chat, she and Penelope sat right next to each other on the screen.

Rossi nodded, “We must be looking at a team. At least two, likely three UnSub’s in order to pull something like this off. They cut the camera feed and broke into the hotel room where she was staying – this was premeditated.”

It wasn’t difficult to deduce that being taken from the third floor of a hotel meant that you had been a target, but the evidence of a break-in settled like a boulder on Spencer’s chest. Someone had intended to take you. Someone had intended on grabbing you from your hotel room in the middle of the night – and they had succeeded.

“Is there any chance she forgot to close the windows when she went to sleep last night?” Emily looked over at Spencer, dark brows raised quizzically as she leaned over the table, skimming through the voicemail transcripts again.

Clenching his jaw, Spencer shook his head, recalling your promise to close the windows before the end of the night. “No, she’d never forget. She knows I worry,” although, after this, you’d never be able to chide him for worrying too much ever again. Sharing a knowing look with the brunette before him, “So, she’s been missing since last night, not this morning.”

The initial assumption had been that you’d disappeared at some point early in the morning, maybe on your way to your first meeting of the day, no one was entirely sure, but this confirmed that you had been missing for at least eight hours more than the first estimate.

A knock on the door garnered the attention of the team, each of them turning to see a field agent, “Uh, Ezra Buchmann is here to speak with you, he said he got a call from your tech girl.”

Hotch nodded succinctly, “That’s the co-worker who reported the case. Morgan, go see if he needs anything. Dave, let’s go check out the office building that Y/N had been working at.”

“Do you think she might’ve been caught up in something at work?” Spencer asked, following his team members with his eyes as they left the conference room.

The unit chief didn’t provide a forward answer, “I’d like to start checking off some possibilities. It’s been fourteen hours with no firm leads.” It wasn’t as optimistic as anyone had hoped, but Hotch shared a look with Emily before leaving the room.

Rubbing the back of his neck, Spencer turned to the evidence board, looking at the pictures of your hotel room, the water splashed around the rim of the bathroom sink, your phone charging on the bedside table, your wedding ring resting on the counter, and if he separated himself from the missing posters, he could almost convince himself that they were just random pictures. Almost.

Frowning at the blown-up images of partial fingerprints and a random CCTV shot from across the street, he recalled your voicemails. “I wasn’t busy,” he confessed to Emily. “When she called me, I wasn’t busy. I was doing other things, but I wasn’t too busy to answer the phone. I assumed that I’d have the chance to talk to her today,” he said, slightly leaning over the oak table, resting his fingerprints on the varnished surface in an attempt to keep himself standing.

Pursing her lips, Emily took a member for responding, “That’s not an outrageous assumption to make,” she tried to reason with a miserable man. “You’d never think something like this would happen.”

“Until it does,” Spencer continued. “We see it happen to people all the time, we’ve made a life of it, but I never thought it would happen to me. To her,” he maundered. If he had a dollar for every time he had heard the same sentiment from victim’s families, he’d never have to work another day in his life. “I did call her back when I got home last night,” he added, though, he wasn’t entirely sure who he was trying to reassure.

In an effort to comfort him, Emily reached out and patted his arm, “We will find her, Spencer.”

Dead or alive? He wanted to retort, but he bit his tongue, holding it in.

As a favor to him, in the hopes of providing him with some emotional respite, Emily had haggled with the field agent whose name was last on the chain of custody of your belongings. It wasn’t entirely proper for evidence to be released to family, but she offered to put her name on it in the interim.

She stayed with Spencer in the conference room, letting him keep your things nearby as she spoke with JJ and went through the information that had been acquired back at Quantico. The team now had your performance reviews at work and, according to JJ, your boss couldn’t say enough good things about you. While it was nice to hear, it didn’t bring them any closer to finding where you were.

Tracing the woodgrain of the table with his fingertips, Spencer eventually tuned the phone call out, instead wondering at what point he was obligated to call your parents. He was so lost in thought that he didn’t notice your phone was ringing in the evidence bag before him until Prentiss tapped him on the shoulder.

It was an unknown number, but that was a barrier easily blocked by Garcia with a quick search. The rest of the team watched as she blanched on the screen, “Uh, you might want to answer that.”

“Garcia, who is it?” Hotch asked, a hardened look on his face as he looked from the screen to the buzzing cellphone.

JJ frowned at Penelope’s monitor as if she couldn’t believe what she was reading, “It’s the SEC,” she responded.

Swiftly, Hotch answered the phone call, turning on speakerphone so the rest of the team could hear, “Hello.”

“Hello, may I speak with Mrs. Reid?” A male voice came through the receiver, everyone sharing the same wary look.

Focused on the phone call, Hotch shook his head, “This is Supervisory Special Agent Aaron Hotchner with the FBI’s Behavioral Analysis Unit, you can speak with me.” He said, elaborating on the situation and rendering the SEC investigator speechless.

Unable to listen to the conversation any longer, Spencer got up, minding his movements as he walked out of the conference room. He checked the map of the building that was posted on the wall before walking up the stairs, making his way up to the roof of the building.

The dry heat of Dallas was about as miserable as everyone made it out to be, but it was hard to ignore the way it reminded him of home. Maybe he could call his mom – speaking with her usually brought him some semblance of peace. Though, she might have a negative reaction to the situation he found himself in. On the hot rubber roofing, he kicked around piles of dirt before leaning against the ledge of the building, craning his head back and closing his eyes when he heard the rooftop door open.

“Look, I’m really not in the mood for any sort of discussion right now,” he complained, neglecting to spare a glance at whoever was disturbing his quiet – not exactly an Eden, but quiet.

He recognized Emily by the sound her boots made, even on the rubber that had been softened by the relentless sun, “I’d be more surprised if you were in the mood to talk.”

Impulsively, he rolled his eyes, “Did Hotch put you in charge of me?” He was glad his eyes were still shut, that way he couldn’t see the look on Emily’s face when he sniped at her.

“No,” she responded, gathering his attention as he brought his head down, squinting in the sunlight. “I thought you might want to know what just happened,” she nearly challenged, dark hair gleaming in the daylight.

Mentally kicking himself, he nodded for a moment, “You’re right, I just… I’m sorry.”

Taking a moment, Prentiss walked over, standing next to him, “I know.” She sighed, turning around and taking inventory of the surrounding buildings, “She was sent out here to look at some shady dealings of the company – insider trading, that kind of stuff. The main branch has an investigation open with the SEC, and they have been for the last few months. She was supposed to meet with that Ezra guy this morning to try and work something out. Hotch is talking to the CEO right now, he’s claiming he couldn’t tell JJ because it’s need-to-know,” Emily explained, focusing her eyes on the highway in the distance. “The SEC has an office in Fort Worth, they’re sending some people, and they faxed over all of the files.”

Setting his jaw, Spencer was the first to move to the stairs, the air conditioning providing an instant relief as he strode down the steps with Emily trailing close behind.

A field agent was standing in the middle of the office, stirring a cup of coffee, “Would someone really kidnap a woman over an SEC investigation?”

“We’ve seen much worse for much less,” Spencer mentioned in passing, swerving through the office of people until he made it back to the conference room. “Why would Y/N’s boss send her to investigate something that had already been brought to the SEC?” He posed the question to the rest of the team, taking one of the files that Morgan handed him and reading through the pages.

Rossi shrugged, nodding his head in the direction of the evidence board, “He wanted it handled quietly,” he posited. “Maybe he thought she could negotiate a solution and they could call off the securities investigation.”

Understanding where Spencer was going with his question, Hotch watched the board as if it was all coming together, “But, Y/N had no idea there was an open investigation. This was just another assignment to her.”

You had basically said as much in your voicemails, you went in, and you cleaned up fires across the country, and now you were caught in a blaze. “It was a setup,” Spencer concluded.

“And I know just who you need to talk to,” Garcia said over the phone, typing on her keyboard, “Check your phones.”

Ezra’s assistant folded immediately under the threat of being charged with interfering with a federal investigation. She had no knowledge of what her boss was up to, but she did know where the BAU could find him.

On the edge of the city, your company held an old office building that was slated for demolition. With the information from the assistant and some actions of questionable legality from Garcia, the team was able to nail down Ezra’s location and, hopefully, yours.

Letting SWAT lead the way, Spencer, Emily, and Morgan all made their way up yet another flight of stairs, hoping to be able to find you on the third floor. The SWAT commander signaled with his fingers to direct everyone in their respective directions.

There was a clang from across the floor and everyone froze in place, “Fuck you!” Your voice rang out, reverberating through the mostly empty office space. The yelp that followed would have sent Spencer clambering in your direction if it weren’t for Morgan grabbing his arm in warning. “I didn’t know,” you spoke again, your tone less obstinate as the misery you felt crept in.

Drawing their weapons, the team clung to the wall as SWAT gave orders over comms until the team came into view, lifting their firearms.

In retaliation, Ezra pulled you up, keeping a deadly tight grip on your upper arm as he kept you compliant by pressing the barrel of his gun to your temple. “She told me you’d come,” he said, nearly seething with rage like a rabid animal.

It seemed like a ridiculous moment to feel relief, but the fact that you knew the BAU would come for you ever so slightly lightened the weight on Spencer’s shoulders. However, whatever relief he felt was quickly banished from existence when his eyes met yours, you were covered in blood. It leaked in a steady stream from your nose and down your sleep shirt, he hoped that was the extent of the damage that had been done but based on the evidence of a struggle in the hotel room, he doubted it.

“Y/N, don’t look at him, look at us, look at Spencer,” Emily reasoned, noting the way you looked over at your captor, eyeing the gun in his hand.

You didn’t look scared, not to Spencer, though Emily had reasonably assumed that you would be in this situation. “Y/N, don’t,” Spencer said in a warning.

But his warning came too late, you had already swung your bound hands up, grabbing the weapon from Ezra as you kicked his legs out from under him. If Spencer hadn’t been so worried, he would’ve been impressed, but now he found himself in an entirely different situation.

“The safety’s still on,” you chastised as your now shaking hands undid the small latch, settling your pointer finger on the trigger as you stared him down.

SWAT seemed entirely dumbfounded, not sure how to go about the admittedly unique situation, so, it fell upon your husband to talk you down. Slowly, he holstered his weapon and stepped toward you, “Baby, put the gun down.”

You sucked in a harsh breath, “He set me up, Spence”

“I know, darling, I know,” Spencer said breathlessly, holding his hands out to stop any and all movement in the warehouse. “This isn’t the answer though, okay? You know this isn’t the answer.”

Your hands didn’t stop shaking, still bound together by the flex cuffs on your wrists as you narrowed your eyes at Ezra. “He set me up,” your voice broke at the sheer memory of the betrayal.

Distantly, you heard Derek tell people to lower their weapons, convincing the field agents that you weren’t a threat. “This isn’t you,” Spencer insisted.

Blinking as tears fell from your eyes, you gripped the handle of the gun, leaving your pointer finger hovering precariously on the trigger. This isn’t you. This isn’t the answer. This isn’t you. This isn’t the answer.

Swallowing thickly, you looked down at Ezra, who was taunting you, trying to get you to pull the trigger. You fought against yourself, trying not to stare at Spencer because you knew as soon as you met his brown eyes, the choice would be made for you.

“Pull the damn trigger,” Ezra jeered, baring his teeth at you. This was it; this was the end. The FBI had the whole building surrounded. Even if he tried to run, the BAU would follow him, they’d chase him down, and they’d kill him themselves if it came down to it.

Slowly, you moved your thumb, re-engaging the safety before you lowered your arms, handing the gun off to Spencer. As he grabbed the barrel of the gun with one hand, he pulled you in with the other, passing the gun off to Emily so he could hug you tightly.

He pulled away for a moment, retrieving a pocketknife and using it to cut the flex cuffs from your wrists, letting the stiff plastic fall to the ground, and catching you when you practically threw your arms around him.

Your legs gave out from under you, and Spencer wondered how long you had been in this sweltering building without water, likely having used the last of your strength to stop Ezra. “Shh,” he hushed gently, “Let’s sit down,” he spoke to only you as he guided you to the ground.

Closer to you now, he saw more of the damage that had been done, the glazed look over your eyes, your chapped lips, and a bruise on the side of your head. “I knew you’d come,” you murmured dazedly, swaying ever so slightly, “I told him you’d come.”

“I know, I know,” Spencer reassured you, listening to the buzzing of people, hopefully EMTs, around you.

A hiccupping sob almost broke his heart, but he just kept his hold on you, keeping you upright and wishing your nosebleed would clot. “I almost killed him,” you mumbled.

But you didn’t, he wanted to respond. Part of him felt like it would’ve been fine if you had. You’d have gotten away with it, even, but he knew firsthand what it felt like to take another life. He wanted to believe that he had played a part in you turning the safety back on, but even he wasn’t sure.

“How are you feeling? Better?” Spencer asked, sitting on the edge of your hospital bed and taking your hand in his.

He squeezed your hand gently, allowing you to admire the way your wedding ring looked now that it had been returned to its rightful home. “Much,” you assured him, keeping your head resting on the mountain of pillows behind you. You had been cleaned up, stitches on your forehead, and a bandaged cut on your thigh, but the main concern was your dehydration. An IV delivered fluids to you while you sipped on a cup of water, waiting for your stomach to settle enough for you to eat something.

Spencer raised his eyebrows, reaching out and sweeping a strand of hair behind your ear, “Good enough to try something for dinner?”

You nodded apprehensively, “Something light?”

The smile that sprouted on his face was enough to convince you to eat. He offered to go talk to your nurse, pressing a tender kiss to your forehead before he left the room, leaving the door open so you could see him in the hallway.

A small chime got your attention, looking around for the source of the noise, you found yourself digging through Spencer’s bag, retrieving your cell phone from the leather satchel.

There was a scratch over the screen, but it still worked just fine following your skirmish in the hotel, you opened the phone to find that you had a voicemail. You tapped the message before bringing the phone to your ear.

Tuesday, 10:23 p.m.

“Hey love, I’m just leaving the office now. I’m sure they’ll be more receptive to you as you talk more, you can be very convincing. The weather is very dry in Texas, make sure you keep hydrated, okay? I’m sorry I didn’t answer any of your calls, we’ve been trying to prepare all of this paperwork for Strauss and time just got away from us. I miss you, maybe when you get home, we could talk about taking a trip. We could go see my mom. It’s been a while. Hm… I have to admit, I’m a little bummed you didn’t answer the phone, but I’m glad you’re getting sleep. I love you so much, sleep well.”

#spencer reid fanfic #spencer reid #spencer reid x reader #spencer reid angst #spencer reid hurt/comfort #criminal minds #criminal minds fanfic #spencer reid x fem!reader #spencer reid x you #criminal minds hurt/comfort #spencer reid fic #spencer reid fanfiction #criminal minds fanfiction #criminal minds fic #criminal minds angst #spencer reid x y/n #margot's requests #written by margot

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mrs-weasley-reid · 9 months ago

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TEN'S A GOOD NUMBER

Aaron Hotchner x psychiatrist!reader

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

Monday, May 4, 8:34 AM

Aaron Hotchner sits across from you.

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

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

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

The way you deprive him of eye contact.

What are you hiding?

Why can't you look him in the eye?

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

In conclusion, just about everything you do, really.

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

"Your hand is heavier," Aaron vaguely goads.

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

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

Creative.

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

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

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

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

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

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

It's always the same.

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

Aaron could've talked more, but...

He despises you.

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

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

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

Then, there's you.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

He decides then that he hates you with a passion.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

You stare at Aaron Hotchner's patient chart.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Melodic ringing snaps you out of your trance.

Aaron Hotchner might just get what he wants.

Sunday, May 10, 11:51 PM

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

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

The day has been hostile towards you.

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

Until a bombarding knock jolts you up.

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

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

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

You head towards your sofa, taking a seat.

Aaron examines you in confusion, furrowing his brows.

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

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

What a sad little man.

You scoff in your mind.

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

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

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

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

Silence coats the two of you.

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

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

He's just troubled.

He's just in denial of his own pain.

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

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

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

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

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

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

And you're neither.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Resentment. Fury. Vexation. Chagrin.

All Aaron felt was anger.

Antagonized.

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

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

"Do you really believe that?"

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

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

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

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

You pause.

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

Silence.

For him to reflect.

For you to breathe.

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

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

Maybe you've gone too far.

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

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

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

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

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

Okay, maybe you were a little bit brutal.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

The door shuts.

Friday, June 19, 11:02 PM

"I didn't know where to go."

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

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

A month and no contact.

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

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

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

Oh.

Well...

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

What were you doing?

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

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

Oh, that's what you were doing.

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

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

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

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

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

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

Where did that come from?

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Why did he go to you?

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

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

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

Aaron slept effortlessly that night.

Saturday, October 24, 9:24 PM

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

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

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

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

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

Hotchner.

Agent.

Mister—

Just Hotchner.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"Apology accepted," You muffle into the mug.

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

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

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

Aaron shakes his head.

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

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

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

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

Three months.

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

A chuckle.

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

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

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

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

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

Your apartment becomes a haven.

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

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

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

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

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

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

"And that means?.."

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

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

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

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

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

Wednesday, March 2, 7:31 PM

Eleven months pass by in the blink of an eye.

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

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

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

"Are you okay?"

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

One sharp sniff breaks it all.

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

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

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

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

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

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

Fifty-three minutes and seventeen seconds.

You cried to the point of dehydration.

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

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

You didn't.

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

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

Nothing.

You only mold yourself into a ball.

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

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

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

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

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

Aaron doesn't know what to say.

But he knows what to feel.

He knows it well.

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

Then, it hits him like a wrecking ball.

How difficult of a patient was he before?

Has he ever made you cry before?

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

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

You became the only thing that gave him serenity.

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

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

And also guilty of developing feelings for you.

Saturday, August 13, 4:16 PM

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

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

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

So, you switched to Scrabble.

And Aaron is losing again.

Boy, were you so entertained.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"I'm still terrified." He blurts.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

And he does.

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

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

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

Silence.

"I'm sorry—"

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

One visit left.

Thursday, May 5, 12:51 PM

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

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

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

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

It's a shitty feeling.

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

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

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

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

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

No one ever knocked.

Friday, November 18, 2:33 PM

"Aren't you curious?"

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

There's none.

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

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

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

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

Aaron never knocked that day.

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

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

It was hell.

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

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

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

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

It did.

Of course, it did.

And you loved every second of it.

Even if you realize it too late.

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

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

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

Worried.

Heartbroken.

Hurt.

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

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

Pause.

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

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

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

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

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

Tuesday, March 27, 6:12 PM

It's a nice Spring.

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

A year and a half.

You moved to a different place since then.

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

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

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

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

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

"Did you need anything, Mrs—"

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Aaron Hotchner.

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

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

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

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

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

He looks refreshing and well-rested.

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

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

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

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

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

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

"Are you mad at me?"

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

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

"I told you I'm not mad."

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

It's Aaron Hotchner.

Just Aaron, he said.

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

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

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

It's tempting and nauseating.

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

"Ten."

Your eyebrows merge in confusion, "What?"

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

And he'd be right.

All you want at that moment is to say yes.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"Ten's a good number."

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

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undoing-daughters-blog · 3 months ago

Text

I'm going to explain the theory that Jinx is not actually dead

(I know this is long, I promise it's worth it)

This starts in chapter 8 of season two.

We see Jinx in the prision, she's devastated, lost, defeated, and wants things to end. And we see the first interaction she has with the voice of Silco. In this interaction Silco tells Jinx that "killing is a cycle" and that it would continue. But Jinx says she's "done running in circles", meaning: she wants to stop this cycle. To which Silco says:

And later, when Vi goes to visit Jinx, and Jinx tricks Vi and escapes the prison. Vi then asks her what she will do, Jinx answers:

And now Jinx knows the way to break the cycle, is by leaving.

Next time we see Jinx is in episode 9. She is still in the same mood as before, and now she cuts most of her hair off and burns The Last Drop

Burning down The Last Drop and letting go of her hair shows this closure. Later, she tries to kill herself, which is her way of "walking away" to "break the cycle".

But then Ekko shows up, saves her, and they go to save Vi and the others together.

At this point, Jinx wants to stop the killing and wants to leave, but she will always want to save Vi ("I'm always with you. Even when we are worlds apart").

But she still wants to break the cycle. She still needs to let go.

So, as she saves Vi from Warwick with the monkey bomb explosion, she escapes and leaves Piltover.

And we get a hint of that in the final scenes of the show when Caitlyn is going through her mother's database. She finds a blueprint of the hexgate tower and finds secret air ducts in the place where the explosion happened.

We also see her holding a part of Jinx's bomb.

And after seeing the blueprint she has this look. Like she's thinking "is it possible she survived?"

And in the very last scene we see one of these things that is flying away from Piltover.

Which reminds me of Season 1 Episode 1:

She has always wanted to ride one of them.

Maybe, this is her new way of walking away, instead of dying.

And the two frames are almost exactly the same, it couldn't not be a reference to that s1 moment.

And I know this theory may sound dumb but, why would they show us Caitlyn looking at those blueprints then? Every scene, every frame in Arcane is carefully designed. The team is very good, they wouldn't just show it for no reason. It wouldn't make sense. Especially because they have only 9 episodes of 40 minutes each (except 9 which has 50) to develop everything that happens in season two. And there are A LOT of things going on, they don't have time to spare. If they chose to show us that, it had a very important meaning.

Also I think it's kinda bad If Jinx just dies, I wouldn't like that ending, at least not like this.

#arcane #arcane spoilers #arcane season 2 #arcane s2 act 3 #arcane s2 act3 #jinx arcane #jinx #arcane jinx #arcane theories #arcane analysis #Caitlyn #caitlyn kiramman #caitlyn arcane #vi arcane #vi #silco #silco arcane #arcane finale

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lunarsilver · 2 months ago

Text

What awaits you in 2025?

REMEMBER

I’m not a doctor, a psychiatrist, a therapist nor a psychologist. Divination will never replace meetings with them.

It’s a general reading, so not everything will resonate.

If you can’t choose between two piles, probably both of them have some messages for you. You can also not identify with any of them, and that’s okay, too.

Readings can help you make a decision, but they shouldn’t be the main reason for making it.

1 ~ 2 ~ 3

4 ~ 5 ~ 6

PILE 1

What will this year teach you?

Strength

The Major Arcana shining on your 2025 is Strength. That’s my favorite Tarot card if I’m being honest so I may be biased lol. You’ll learn this year you have way more strength than you thought you have - especially the psychological and mental one. This card is both about your inner strength and the way you are able to influence others. You’ll learn how to channel this power.

The main theme of each season for you

Winter: Summer (expansion, growth) - Spring: Leaves (renewal, revival, progress) - Summer: Bird (freedom, opportunity) - Fall: Moon (phases, cycles, intuition)

Funny that for the winter season we’ve got a card called Summer, huh? The first three months of this year you’ll find new ways to grow and work on it. This trend will continue in spring, though you’ll correct the course a bit, maybe come back to something (a hobby or a dream?) and realize that hey, you actually still like it. Summer is the time of vacations, so it only makes sense you’ll feel more freedom in your wings. An opportunity may come to you. Fall will be a more reflective season. Noticing patterns, being after some time again in a similar situation or place, getting more in tune with your intuition.

Main blessings for you this year

Longevity (Chrysanthemum) - Productivity (Kent pumpkin) - Hope (Daffodil)

Longevity suggests good health and a lot of energy. For some it may be even about curing a serious illness or surviving a dangerous situation, but obviously I won’t throw such statements lightly. With how we’ve already talked about your growth and nice opportunities during this year, it’s no brainer that you’ll be really productive and have a hopeful attitude.

The main challenge of this year

Ring - Moon - Sun

Commitment to the deep desire of being happy.

Okay, pile one, looks like your main challenge is literally being consistent lol. Literally the only person that can sabotage your huge growth this year is you yourself.

How will you grow?

8 of Wands R - Justice R - The High Priestess

After some time of frustration and slowing down, you’ll take full accountability for your actions and take your fate in your own hands. Thanks to this, you’ll be more in tune with your intuition and get more at peace with yourself.

A piece of advice

Third Quarter Moon - Disseminating Moon - New Moon in Cancer

“Adjustments are required”, “Take time to breathe out”, “You and your loved ones are safe”

Think about what needs small changes. You’ll probably think mostly about what adjustments you should make during spring, as we’ve talked about it, but there’s no reason why you couldn’t do it now. Just take a deep breath and relax a little, it’s gonna be okay, both with you and your close ones, no need to stress out so much.

PILE 2

What will this year teach you?

The Sun R

This Major Arcana came up in reverse, so it’s more about your inner world. During this year you’ll learn how to take care of your inner child, how to balance optimism with realism and how to have fun with your hobbies that you thought you had buried a long time ago.

The main theme of each season for you

Winter: Cup of Tea (patience, reassessment) - Spring: Autumn (bounty, balance) - Summer: Tend (maintenance, encouragement, guidance) - Fall: Oak Tree (power, courage, strength)

The last card fell out even before I finished asking my question. This year will start slower for you, just to harvest the crops near the end of it. This winter you’ll reconsider what’s the best for you right now, patiently making plans with your interest in mind and seeing the first result of it in spring. Continuous work on it during summer will lead you to feeling way more empowered by the end of 2025.

Main blessings for you this year

Refinement (Dahlia) - Healing (Geranium) - Duality (Banana)

The last card showed up as I was shuffling, so I consider it the most important one. Balance keeps coming back in this reading. I think healing refers to healing your inner child, and refinement is about getting better at what you already have; progress.

The main challenge of this year

Coffin - Fox - Heart

The end of a selfish love.

It looks like you’ll get over some crush/ex, though it may refer to any kind of love. Moving on will be hard but necessary.

How will you grow?

The Tower R - Two of Cups - Queen of Pentacles

Despite the fear of change, a personal transformation will take place. This will lead to a joyful partnership (a relationship, perhaps) and you being this confident, earthly Queen of Pentacles: a person good at finances and comfortable in their body.

A piece of advice

Void-of-Course-Moon - New Moon in Capricorn - Third Quarter Moon

“Nothing will come of this situation”, “Your hard work is paying off”, “Adjustments are required”

The thing with the end of a relationship of some kind keeps coming back. Nothing will come of it, so time to move on. It’ll only benefit you, pile two! Correct your course a little and act because you’ll reap your rewards.

PILE 3

What will this year teach you?

The Lovers

2025 will teach you how to make right choices, how to be in harmony with yourself as well as with others. You’ll learn a lot about navigating relationships and getting closer to people.

The main theme of each season for you

Winter: Basil (prosperity, luck, love) - Spring: Seeds (new ideas, hope, open-mindedness) - Summer: Sow (planning, setting intentions, optimism) - Winter: Leaves (reneval, revival, progress)

Winter looks very happy for you - good luck both in money and in love. During spring, you’ll stay open-minded and find new ideas thanks to this. With them in mind, you’ll start making plans and work on them till the end of the year.

Main blessings for you this year

Tranquility (violet) - Clarity (carrot) - Grounding (potato)

A pretty calm, steady vibe. You’ll be able to stay at peace, gain a better perspective on certain matters and be down to earth. Stability and a more mature approach .

The main challenge of this year

Mice - Book - Heart

Misinformation about love.

There’s something you won’t know at first or get a false impression regarding some kind of love. Someone may not have your best interest at heart.

How will you grow?

The Tower R - The Sun R - Knave of Wands

Something is going to end, and this will lead to you withdrawing and thinking more about what you actually want and need. This period of introspection is needed because it will help you to become this Knave of Wands - someone fierce, fiery and passionate.

A piece of advice

New Moon in Scorpio - New Moon in Pisces - Full Moon in Aquarius

“Work through your fears”, “Meditate and contemplate”, “Show the world the real you”

The cards encourage you to face what you’re running away from. Think, meditate, maybe pray. Everything you need to make it easier for you to show the world what you have to offer.

PILE 4

What will this year teach you?

The Moon

You’ll get way more in tune with your intuition, as well as learn how to deal with your fears. You’ll mature a lot emotionally. You’ll get better at “reading” people but also at understanding your own patterns.

The main theme of each season for you

Winter: Cup of Tea (patience, reassessment) - Spring: Salt (protection, banishing negativity) - Summer: Earth (peace, grounding) - Fall: Hearth (safety, comfort, spiritual connection)

This year looks to be more on a quieter side. It’ll start off a little lazily. You’ll observe and revalue some things, and decide to leave what doesn’t serve you anymore; cut yourself off from toxic people. Thanks to this, you’ll have a much more peaceful life. You’ll get more in tune with nature, as well as more spiritual. You’ll feel more comfortable thanks to this decision of leaving people and situations that cause you harm.

Main blessings for you this year

Happiness (Marjoram) - Continuance (Apple) - Clarity (Carrot)

This year will be joyful and peaceful. You’ll move on from doesn’t serve you and get a better perspective on what surrounds you.

The main challenge of this year

Book - Birds - Mice

Knowledge about dirty gossip.

The thing with some people you should get rid of because they don’t have your best interest at heart keeps popping up.

How will you grow?

Queen of Pentacle R - The Fool R - Seven of Cups R

You’ll start putting yourself first more often. It will take some time, but at last you’ll get more financially independent and prioritize your personal values.

A piece of advice

New Moon in Aquarius - Waning Moon - New Moon in Cancer

“Bring love into the situation”, “What do you need to release?”, “You and your loved ones are safe”

Forgive yourself if there is anything you keep blaming yourself about. Release what doesn’t serve you. Both you and people you love are safe so make more room for the ones who want good for you.

PILE 5

What will this year teach you?

The Hermit R

The main thing you’ll learn about this year is being alone - depending on your situation, either that you should reflect and meditate more, or that it’s time to finish your solitude and go out to people. Based on other cards, I think for most of you it’s the latter.

The main theme of each season for you

Winter: Broom (energy clearing, freshening) - Spring: Potion (invigoration, empowerment) - Summer: Moon (phases, cycles, intuition) - Fall: Bird (freedom, opportunity)

You’ll start this year with cleansing - both physical and more metaphorical/spiritual. You’ll be very energetic during spring, as well as more in tune with your personal power. You can do so much, and this season will show this! Later, you’ll learn to be more intuitive, you’ll notice some patterns that were hidden before. Something from your past may show up again. Maybe vacations to the place you always come to, or your old friends or love coming back into your life. Some nice opportunities will show up for you in fall.

Main blessings for you this year

Healing (Geranium) - Focus (Stock) - Luck (Lime)

You’ll heal some part of you that was hurt in the past. You’ll find out what you should focus on and actually commit to it. “May the luck be ever in your favor”.

The main challenge of this year

Dog - Man - Clover

A friendly man’s offer.

Now, that’s interesting and can go a few ways.I highly doubt that the man represents you. Your main challenge of the year is this person that will probably give you some kind of opportunity. With how the cards before were, I think it’ll most likely happen either during summer or fall, so the second part of the year. The guy is a kind and loyal one, so don’t worry, the offer, while challenging, will be a good thing.

How will you grow?

Knave of Pentacles - Five of Wands - Queen of Pentacles

I think it’s lovely how you’ll grow from the Knave of Pentacles into the Queen of Pentacles. You’re starting as someone great already, and then become even better lol. You’re hardworking and productive. A challenge will show up, a conflict or disagreement between you and a few people. Probably a rivalry at work. You’ll emerge victorious and stronger than before: a royal who knows their worth and how to deal with earthly matters.

A piece of advice

New Moon in Taurus - Waxing Moon - New Moon in Aries

“Prosperity lies ahead”, “The energy is gaining momentum”, “It’s time to take action”

All the cards talk basically about the same thing: it’s your time. I think it’s about your career or your school. You have strong cards so time to play.

PILE 6

What will this year teach you?

The Empress

Regardless of your gender, you’ll learn the power that lies within femininity. Who said someone nurturing and empathetic isn’t strong? There are also lessons about utilizing creativity and discovering what makes you beautiful, as well as understanding better your sensual side. For some, this year may also teach you a lot about motherhood.

The main theme of each season for you

Winter: Oak Tree (power, courage, strength) - Spring: Sage (wisdom, purification, harmony) - Summer: Pine Tree (vitality, longevity, perseverance) - Fall: Summer (expansion, growth)

You’ll start your year strong and then only continue at getting more knowledgeable and in tune with your needs and inner self. You’ll secure what’s important for you and grow even more. Looks like an intense and rewarding year, happy for you!

Main blessings for you this year

Healing (Geranium) - Success (Peppermint) - Divination (Chives)

Yeah, we get further confirmation this year will be focused on you growing and learning how to nurture yourself. There will be work put into healing the part of you you’ve rejected and a lot of different kinds of successes. The Divination card is interesting. I think it means you’ll learn more about this topic (especially if you practice or think about practicing divination). Maybe you’ll have a spiritual awakening. For some, it’s simply about divination helping you navigate your journey.

The main challenge of this year

Heart - Garden - Moon

A loving community’s desires and expectations.

Social fear is your main challenge for this year. You’re scared of people’s judgement. But worry not, because there is a loving community for you out there, and they’ll love you the way you are.

How will you grow?

Three of Cups R - The Devil R - Three of Pentacles

You’ll release limiting beliefs and limit contact with people who don’t have your best interest at heart. If you’re lonely, it’ll come to an end. There are people out there with whom you’ll communicate easily and work as a team. You’ll learn a lot from each other and probably do something creative together.

A piece of advice

Full Moon in Capricorn - Full Moon in Taurus - New Moon in Scorpio

“The end of a tough cycle approaches”, “Your dreams need a practical plan”, “Work through your fears”

Yeah, it looks like it’s been kinda hard for you recently, huh? Well, this is coming to an end. Time to plan your next actions and face your worries. Time to deal with them, you can’t run away from them.

#divination #cartomancy #pick a picture #pick a card #pick a card reading #general reading #tarot reading #free tarot reading #moonology #green witch #oracle cards #lenormand #tarot #tarot deck #pac #witchblr #pac reading

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pumpkin-cake · 7 months ago

Note

begging for ANYTHING fix it related for the most recent season !!!

five x reader and they are married?? it would be nice if the reader had a more relaxed job in comparison to five in the CIA (the reader used to also work for the commission but wanted a calm life)

like maybe working in a daycare or flower shop?

i’m honestly begging for anything sweet please if you’ve got the time !

THIS HAS ME IN A CHOKEHOLD. YES, I WILL WRITE THIS FOR YOU <3 I ALSO HATE THE WAY THEY CHARACTERIZED FIVE IN THE NEW SEASON. This will be very domestic :3 And it's been a while since I've written Five, I hope he's not too out of character, let me know if you have any pointers :3

The door to your apartment creaks open and heavy footsteps enter, the jangling sounds of house keys hitting the ceramic bowl reaching your ears with a sigh following.

"Good evening, Jerome." You coo.

"I did not pick that name, quit calling me it." Five huffs as he shrugs off his suit jacket, entering the living room. He looked tired, but he was okay with that. He didn't want to settle for some repetitive job he'd be bored as hell at. Even if they gave him stupid aliases like Jerome.

"You could have at least asked. That's embarrassing, telling people your name is Jerome. What about...Ethan? Or even something that's close to Five. Like, Finn, or something." You answered with a chuckle, while Five crumpled on the couch next to you.

"There isn't any point. It's not like you need to go around calling me that name." He said, taking off his tie and laying it across the arm of the sofa. "Anyway, how was work?" He asked, taking off his brown Oxfords and laying them nearby but out of the main walkway. He reached over to the stack of papers on the coffee table and looked at the first page. "Jesus, this is the sloppiest handwriting I've ever seen."

"Ah yes, because children who still have shitty motor skills are going to be writing in perfect print. That's why they only have to write their names, not write full-fledged essays." You said sarcastically, plucking the piece of paper from his hands. You looked over the assignment your kindergarteners were given. The instructions were to count the different types of bugs on the paper. There were no more than 9 of each bug. 4 butterflies, 7 caterpillars, 1 beetle, 8 spiders.

"I was never that dumb." Five said a little snarkily, pointing to the answer spot that said there were only 5 caterpillars.

"Don't be such a prick." You huffed, getting out a blue pen. You didn't like to use red, too harsh. You circled each answer wrong, not making any corrections.

"How are you even meant to teach them this? It's basic counting." Five asked, sort of actually curious.

"We'll just go over it in class tomorrow. Everyone will count together."

"Then what's the point of the homework?"

You groaned. "We are not having this conversation anymore, old man." You pulled out a pack of stickers, putting one on each sheet of paper.

"You're just as old." He countered with a smirk, leaving you to roll your eyes and continue 'grading' the papers. He did shut up and drop the subject, letting his hand stray to your hand that wasn't busy grading papers. He wasn't ever one for physical affection in the past, but ever since getting to this place? He was more lenient. He was never hanging off of you, but his touches were gentler. Each contact of skin was a small way of saying 'I love you', because it was hard to say it out loud after years of isolation.

The biggest way of him saying he loved you was twisting the ring that nicely fit on your finger like he was doing right now. Like he was making sure you were aware of its presence and meaning.

You finished the papers in less than five minutes. You did not envy the fourth-grade teachers who had actual homework to grade. "Your dinner is in the fridge." You told him, taking his other hand and playing with the black band that adorned his ring finger.

"Not hungry." He said shortly, like he was offended you'd ever assume he wanted to do something aside from this. He wouldn't ever say that out loud, of course.

"It's sushi. Made by yours truly." You added, holding back a chuckle when he sucked in a deep breath, very torn between the options. It was weird, able to sit and think about something. He wasn't rushing home to eat and go to bed, he got to do domestic shit with you and fuck did he love it.

"..." Five stayed silent like a brooding teenager.

"I'll come with you." You reasoned, and he reluctantly sat up. You smiled and got up with him, the two of you traversing to the kitchen. He opened the door to the fridge and grabbed the small Tupperware of delicious looking sushi. You were not a fan of Commission cafeteria food, and you took pride in buying the best ingredients for you and your spouse. You were already grabbing him a pair of chopsticks, sitting with him at the kitchen island.

"...thanks." He said after eating a roll. He was stubborn, but he really did appreciate you taking the time to make more for him when he got home late. It was so nice to come home to a homemade meal. It reminded him of Grace.

"Of course, honey." You smiled, sitting in silence while he ate. He savored every moment. After being in the apocalypse for forty years, he really grew to appreciate the things he didn't have. He swore he would never take this life for granted.

He never questioned why, because the whole reason was sitting right next to him.

#x reader #gn!reader #the umbrella academy #five hargreeves #five hargreeves x reader #fluff #aidan gallagher #umbrella academy season 4

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urmum-lovesme · 3 months ago

Text

Angel Baby - Rafe Cameron x Kook!reader P2

pairing: Best Friend!Rafe Cameron x Kook!Best-Friend!reader

summary: Rafe and Reader have known each other since kindergarten, always side by side, the king and princess of Figure 8. So why now does he start feeling different towards her, when all she's ever been is his best friend?

a/n: omg omg part 2! I can't believe so many people actually read the first part that makes me so happy :D. Tensions start to unfold here... featuring Wheezie cause I missed her in the new season. May have snuck in bi!reader again, should I keep that? Thank you so so so much for all the love! and enjoy the next chpt. (pt3 may be in a few days)

warnings: mention of drugs, dismissive mother, Ward (he deserves his own warning)

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Y/n grumbled to herself as she pulled her glasses over her face getting into the back of the car seat, the setting sun too bright for her liking, the orange hue now covering Kildare. Head thumping steadily caused a dull pain behind her eyes, she rested her heavy head against the seat letting out a huff. Her parents, sitting at the front, looked back at her through the rear view mirror, her mother speaking up as her father pulled out of their drive, making way towards Tannyhill for the family's monthly dinner with the Cameron's.

“I don’t know why you go around acting like an alcoholic y/n.” She spoke dismissively, as she swiped the dark red lipstick across her lips, puckering her lips together before capping the make-up with a click. “I’m not an alcoholic mom” She groaned back, the woman’s voice irritating her, why hadn’t she listened to Rafe? “Well you act like one. There’s a limit,” the woman scoffed, unimpressed by her daughter's unladylike attitude.

“Drop it Marie.” Her fathers voice rose up from behind the steering wheel speaking to his wife, the consistent clicking of the indicator filling the tension of the car. “Can we just have a peaceful evening hmm? No dramatics in front of the Cameron’s.” He continued, Marie pursed her lips as she looked straight ahead, he gazed over at his daughter through the mirror once again,

“You got that princess?”

“Yep.” She spoke back, popping the ‘p’ as she closed her eyes trying to ignore the throbbing in her head before they got to the household.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Rafe was standing in his room, having just put on a new shirt after he had gotten out of the shower. He ran his fingers through his damp hair as he looked in the mirror, his thoughts filled with the family dinner. He knew y/n hated these dinners, probably not as badly as him but she still hated them. As he finished running his fingers through his hair, he heard a knock on his door, his gaze moving over to the sound.

“Are you coming down y/n’s going to be here soon” Wheezie asked as she leaned against the doorframe, looking over to the boy impatiently. He rolled his eyes as he glanced over to his younger sister. He was about to respond with some sarcastic comment, before the words registered in his head.

“Yeah, I am.” He responded, his mind now focusing on the fact that he would have to sit around at dinner and act like he had a stick up his ass for the next few hours. He made the final adjustment to his shirt, making sure he looked presentable, before he spoke to Wheezie once more, “Let’s go down then.” The girl walked behind him down the stairs before she spoke out, “You know dad said you’re not allowed to drink tonight…” cautiously, not sure how he’d react to the information, he was a little- unpredictable after all. Rafe rolled his eyes once again at Wheezie’s words, shooting her a glare as they made their way down the stairs. He was starting to get irritated by the rules that his father had for a simple dinner that happened every. single. month.

“Yeah, yeah. I know.” He muttered in a dismissive tone as he glanced around once they reached the bottom of the stairs, hoping to catch any sign of y/n's family’s car pulling up.

Sarah doesn't even need to be here, funny

The car rolled onto the grounds of the Cameron’s residence, gravel crushing under the wheels. Coming to a stop outside the building y/n let out a breath. Knowing tonight was going to be a long one, she prayed that Rafe was going to be in a good mood as she got out of the car, walking a few steps behind both her parents towards the doors. Rafe and Rose waited outside in the front yard as the car pulled up into the long drive way of the Cameron’s house. Rafe watched as he saw the family’s car coming up, he could faintly make out y/n's figure sitting in the backseat through the tinted windows, he chuckled as he watched her put on glasses to shield her eyes from the sun.

Told her she’d have a hangover

She followed her parents to the entrance of the home, both of them greeting Rose joyfully, a small ‘hello’, 'how are you' directed to Rafe before they walked off into the home following the blonde woman. Two steps behind them she got to the entrance, eyes looking at Rafe through her sunglasses letting out a huff of air. He chuckled as he watched y/n approach, seeing her in those glasses, grumpy and somewhat dishevelled. He had to bite his lip to keep from laughing. He smirked and held out his hand, “Rough night?”

“Shut up,” She grumbled as she held her hand up to him to stop the boy from his teasing. She took his hand as she walked up the stairs to the entrance, shaking her head she gestured to the doors leading inside. He smiled at her grumpy response and tried his best to hold back his laugh, “You’d only have yourself to blame princess. Told you it was a bad idea.” He spoke out with a teasing grin, as he put his hand on the small of her back, leading her into the home. They walked into the dining room, parents all speaking to each other. She looked over to the side where she noticed Wheezie running up to her happily.

“Y/n!” She exclaimed glad to see the older girl again, arms wrapping around her.

“Hey Wheeze,” she spoke out softly, one hand on the girl's back as her other one reached up, taking her sunglasses off her face. She knew if she didn’t her mother would complain, reminding her about manners. Rafe observed silently as the girl greeted his younger sister, she always looked up to her like a big sister, like Sarah. He leaned against the wall behind them as she spoke, crossing his arms, unable to take his eyes off of her, careful not to make it obvious. His parents sat at the table talking, while Wheezie clung to y/n’s side ranting about something he wasn’t really paying attention to.

“Omg no way what?!” Y/n gasped out invested in the girl’s story as she spoke to her about school gossip. The younger girl nodded her head eagerly before she turned away being called by her stepmother. He smiled as he watched the girl listen to his sister, both of them seemed to be completely immersed in whatever was going on. His eyes followed the young girl’s path as she turned to go sit next to Rose. He looked back at y/n,

“I don’t think she even paused to breathe once during that story.”

“I know right?” She shook her head amused, “I love her.” She spoke tenderly looking over to the girl, head now turning to Rafe, “like my own sister,” she commented. She didn’t have any siblings, and being an only child was an advantage but also a disadvantage when it came to her family. He smiled and met eyes with her, his expression soft as he heard them talk. She looked so sweet and tender as she watched his little sister.

Already like part of the family

“She really does love you,” he spoke, leaning his head slightly against the wall as he continued to look down at the girl.

“I’d hope so, I’ve only known her since she was born.” She commented at the boy rolling her eyes sarcastically. He chuckled as she playfully rolled her eyes, “I know, I was there,” he teased. He watched her closely, noticing her tired eyes and faintly dishevelled hair, the effects of the night's drinking, her lip-gloss slightly smudged below her lip. He liked how unkempt she looked in a way, there was something about her usual perfect appearance being messy that attracted him.

...what?

“So where’s Sarah?” She questioned. His jaw clenched at the mention of his sister's name, his expression shifted slightly into one of annoyance. “She’s out.” He said, his voice slightly bitter, keeping his answer short.

“Right,” she nodded along. She knew that Sarah was probably out with John B, and the rest of his gang. Not that she had any issue with the pogues, they were actually kind of funny, well when Rafe wasn’t around. Over the years she’s realised that Sarah was the favourite child, the rules applying to the other two siblings always seemed to slip past her. She knew it was because Ward would never criticise his golden child, but it wasn’t her place to say anything anyways.

“Should we sit?”

He shrugged slightly. He was never super bothered by the fact that Sarah was the favourite, of course sometimes it did bother him, slightly. He knew there was no point crying over it, doesn't mean he didnt think about it.

“Yeah come on.”

He nodded, grabbing her hand gently and led her over to the table, he pulled out a chair for her, offering it to the girl. She settled into her chair, Rafe sitting down next to her. His knee brushed up against her’s under the table as he pulled his chair in towards the table, they always sat together, it was nothing new. But this felt… different. Maybe it was the silk material of the dress she was wearing? He felt the urge to pull his knee away from her. The room was quickly filled with the sound of cutlery scraping against the porcelain plates, their parent’s discussing the latest news from around Kildare, that this family had done that, and this couple had said this.

This is pointless…

Do I still have that joint?

“So y/n,” Ward spoke up from the other end of the table, breaking the silence between the two teens, “Rafe tells me you’ve been busy with your family business, that right?”

She looked over to the man at his unexpected question, nodding lightly. “Yes sir,” she said, her parents always urged her to treat him with the utmost respect, considering that he was such a great financial investor in their company. Yet there was nothing more that she wanted but to ignore him and continue eating.

Rafe glanced over at his father when he spoke up. Ward had been asking about y/n a lot lately, his interest in the family business had perked up, being involved with the family for years but recently more than in the past. Rafe knew exactly why, the business had been doing well lately, and his father, being a rich financial investor, wanted to get involved some more to ensure their own success. He looked over at y/n, watching as she responded respectfully to his father, he almost wanted to laugh at how his father’s eyes lit up at the way she treated him.

“She’s been working very hard.” she nodded her head as the boy spoke up from next to her, wondering what else the man could possibly want to ask her. She was aware that Rafe knew about the family, she told him everything so she wasn’t surprised when he responded for her.

“Maybe you could learn from y/n hmm Rafe?”

Silence

Y/n’s eyes flickered over to Rafe, his fork now harshly gripped in his hand. His head whipped around to look at his father as he clenched his jaw in displeasure. He tried to control the annoyance from seeping into his voice but anyone could hear the tension in his tone as he spoke up,

“I do plenty of hard work.”

“Right.”

Ward responded firmly, clearly unimpressed. Y/n could sense the tension between them, she felt the need to change the conversation to break the uncomfortable atmosphere which formed around the table, everyone else keeping their eyes down from the father son clash which has commenced halfway through dinner,

“Um Rafe tells me the company is expanding really well…”

Rafe felt his irritation grow as his father continued to belittle his work, in front of everyone, but he tried his best to hold in the anger. He was thankful as he heard y/n speak up, trying to change the subject away from what his father had been pestering him about. Ward seemed to loosen his annoyance and turned back to the girl,

“Yes, but I must say, I’m quite taken back by what your parents have achieved. It’s very impressive.”

Y/n sat back as her father jumped to the occasion to discuss his work. She let out a quiet breath, shoulders lowering in relief. From the corner of her eye she could see Rafe, body still tense as he aggressively cut into the food on his plate. Her hand reached out under the table, palm lowering gently to rest on his knee in a comforting gesture. He felt the girl’s hand lower down onto his knee, it did comfort him slightly. He let out a small huff of air as her hand gently stroked his knee. He hadn’t noticed how tense he’d become when his father started talking to him, she was the only one who could tell. He let out a sigh, knowing he would have to try and avoid his father for the rest of the night, for both of their sakes.

Her eyes searched for his sending him a small smile, hoping to reassure him. She didn’t like the way his father treated him, never had and never will, she hated it actually. He acted like Rafe was the black sheep of the family, always finding a way to remind him of that. She kept her hand on his knee as her other hand held the silver fork, stabbing at the salad on her plate and lifting it to her mouth. He felt a small sense of relief at the girl’s smile, he’s realised over the years that she often didn’t like the way his family talked to him, especially his father which she wasn’t afraid to tell him about. As he watched her take a bite off her fork, his eyes couldn’t help but notice her soft lips close around the fork. The subtle curve of her mouth lingered on the metal, a delicate, almost teasing motion, his chest felt tight. In that moment he almost forgot the tension from earlier as his mind was occupied by something else now.

Stop

She heard the boy next to her clearing his throat, mumbling out an ‘excuse me’ as the sound of the chair scraping against the floor filled the room, rising and standing up, chucking his napkin onto the chair and walking out the room towards the bathroom. Her brows furrowed slightly, had Ward worked him up that much? He mumbled out his apology to everyone in the room as he stood up and quickly walked out the room, he shut the bathroom door behind him and let out a frustrated sigh. It was his father, that’s what it was. It was how he talked to him that pissed him off, he hated being made to feel like a complete failure in the eyes of his father, and he hated that he couldn’t do anything about it.

But that wasn’t it though was it?

…

It was Angelina. It was the way her hand rested on his knee, that damned smile she’d send him to get him to calm down. Those, those stupid lips which lingered on her fork and wrapped around her straw when she lifted her glass to drink.

Get yourself together

She looked over her shoulder wondering if she should follow after the boy, would her parents get mad if she just got up after him. She turned her head back now, Wheezie who was sitting opposite her looked at the girl nodding her head slightly so no one else would notice, shoving a potato into her mouth as she did so. “Um- I’m sorry I’ll be right back.” she spoke out gently, no one paying any attention as they’d fallen back into conversation, she quietly stood up walking in the same direction as him.

Rafe let out another frustrated sigh, hand coming up to pull at his hair as he stared at himself in the mirror. He put his hands on the edge of the sink and let his shoulders drop. He was annoyed but that wasn’t all. Y/n was still on his mind, her hand, her sweet smile, her lips… He never struggled to control himself around her. Fuck. She was his best friend. Yet tonight he couldn’t help it, he was overthinking and over analysing every single action, every single smile, every single touch and it was making him lose his mind slightly.

Is this a symptom of withdrawals?

He’d tried to lower his intake of the white powder, he knew she’d asked him to try cause she was getting worried. He felt bad. He’d never want to be the source of her Worries. But this just wasn’t right. The quiet sound of the bathroom door opening pulled him out of his mind and he snapped his head up to see who’d entered. His eyes widened slightly as he saw y/n, he hadn’t expected her to follow him.

“What are you-”

“-are you okay?”

She whispered out as she quickly walked into the bathroom, shutting the door behind her quietly hoping no one noticed, lord knows gossip would arise between the workers of the household, she’d caught them talking before. He let out an exasperated exhale. Of course, of course she was checking in on him like she always did. He felt his heart flutter slightly at the thought of her worrying about him,

“I’m fine.”

He responded quickly. He turned to the sink, turning on the faucet and filling his hands with water, he held them in front of his face, not wanting the girl to see expression.

“Okayyyy.” She drew out as she leaned her back against the door of the bathroom, the cold wood pressing against the exposed back of her dress. Her arms crossed as she looked to him sceptically, “You seem a little…. on edge?”

Yeah you have no idea

He let out a small scoff as she called him out on how he was acting. He was usually so good at hiding his emotions, but the girl had learnt to read him like an open book, it was almost infuriating how well she understood him.

“Really? What gave it away?” He replied sarcastically, he splashed the cool water on his face, trying to hide his expression from her once again.

“Oh I don’t know” She smiled in amusement as she walked over to where he was standing, heels clicking against the tiled floor. Pushing the toilet seat down the porcelain clinking slightly, she sat on the cover as she looked over to him tapping her manicured nails against the marble faucet counter. “Maybe cause you paraded off like a drama queen?” She teased.

He dismissed her with a dry laugh, his eyes rolling in annoyance as she spoke. He knew that she was only teasing him, and he would usually respond with witty remarks and banter, but he couldn’t focus enough to think of a retort back at her, as she sat so close to him taunting.

“Watch it or I’ll lock you in here.” He responded to her teasing, he was trying his best to sound unbothered but it came out as strained instead. Her eyes softened slightly at the sound of his voice. Standing up she stood next to him, hand coming up to place on his bicep in an offer of sympathy, “C’mon I’m serious… are you okay?”

His body tensed slightly as the girl’s hand rested on his arm. Her touch made his skin burn excitedly and he suddenly became hyper aware of how close her body was to his as he stood with his back to the sink. He couldn’t look up at y/n as her eyes gently searched his face, so he kept his eyes down, his jaw clenched. He felt a pang of guilt at her worry for him, he didn’t like it, and he didn’t like the fact he felt like he was taking advantage of the situation.

If you really knew what I’m thinking, would you still react the same?

“Yeah I’m good”

“Mkay.” She breathed out, taking a step back realising he needed his space. Her eyes couldn’t help but get caught on the small water droplets still on his face, clinging to his lashes which covered his troublesome eyes, dropping down and rolling down his cheeks, resting on the cupid bow of his lips. Her gaze lingered on his lips, almost involuntarily as she felt a sudden rush of heat she wasn’t prepared for, it was a startling realization, one that made her heartbeat quicken and her breath catch in her throat.

Wait what?

The feeling of her hand leaving his arm sent a chill down his spine, he had to resist the urge to grab her hand and keep it on his arm. He closed his eyes shut as she stepped back, he was so confused. Why did the girl being so close to him suddenly make his body feel so weird. He opened his eyes after pulling the towel which he had lifted to wipe the water off his face away, to find y/n staring at him.

“…you’re staring”

“Right”

She cleared her throat, why had her mouth gotten dry all of a sudden. She took a step back, hands clasped behind her back as she waited for him, looking down at the floor. He kept his eyes on her movement. Her body language seemed off for some reason.

Is she... nervous?

But that didn’t make sense, he was the one who was confused. Why was she acting so weird? He took a step forward until he was right in front of her, his eyes looking down at her intently, she still didn’t look up at him. He tilted his head down slightly, trying to get her to meet his gaze.

“Look at me”

Noting his shoes now standing opposite hers. Her eyes fluttered up looking at the boy in-front of her. She met his gaze with a small smile as she swallowed trying to regain her composure.

Is my ovulation cycle earlier or what?

He looked at her intently, his eyes searching her own, trying to figure out why she suddenly seemed so nervous. He noticed the way her throat bobbed as she swallowed, he saw how her expression seemed to be fighting to stay composed, something was wrong, but he couldn’t work out what it was. His gaze darkened as his eyes continued to scan her face, not breaking contact with the girl’s own eyes,

“Tell me what’s wrong”

He spoke up, his voice low and quiet, in a tone she’d never heard from him before.

“Nothing”

She spoke out a little too fast. She let out a sigh hand coming up to run over the arch of her brow. “Nothing… I’m just worried about you,” she spoke out, looking at him genuinely. That wasn’t wrong.

He hummed with a hint of sarcasm, he didn’t believe her. He knew when she was lying, they’ve been friends long enough, and he was certain she was doing it right now. He’d never seen her so nervous, well maybe except for when they were younger and she’d made him meet up with her before her first date with some waitress- or something like that. It was driving him insane.

“No way, don't lie to me. Something’s wrong. I know it is,” he spoke out firmly.

“If something was wrong I’d tell you,” she arched her brow as she looked up to him crossing her arms speaking out,

“Would you tell me?”

His eyes bore into y/n’s as she stood in front of him with her arms crossed, her expression determined.

“Yes I would. I don’t keep secrets from you.”

“Yeah well neither do I.”

She asserted, looking at him as she tilted her head up. He exhaled loudly in frustration as she stood in front of him with her head held high and her arms crossed stubbornly.

“Bullshit. You obviously are keeping something from me right now. You’re acting weird” He had to put his hand on the counter to ground himself.

“I’m acting weird?” She let out a mocking laugh before pointing her finger towards him, “You’re acting weird!”

He couldn’t help the scoff that escaped his lips as she pointed at him, this was starting to feel more like an argument than a conversation.

“I’m not the one stuttering and staring at the floor” He retorted back harshly gesturing to her as he spoke.

“I’m not the one running away from the table!” she spoke out slightly louder now with wide eyes as her hand gestured out the door back to the table.

His eyes narrowed in response to her remark, this argument was going back and forth, and no one was backing down from their position, he’s been friends with her for too long to know definitely wasn’t going too.

Stubborn brat

Moody asshole

“I didn’t run away” He said, tone now defensive and cold.

“I-” She sighed out, fingers reaching up to pinch at the bridge of her nose, “I didn’t come here to fight Rafe. I just wanted to know if you’re okay.”

He let the tension leave his shoulders as she spoke again, realising he’d projected his own frustrations onto her. He squeezed his eyes shut momentarily and exhaled loudly, realising how annoyed he’d become for some reason.

“Look… I’m fine, really. You don’t have to worry about me. I’m alright princess.”

He didn’t like the way y/n still looked at him like she didn’t believe him, but he didn’t want to start another argument. He reached out to her gently, his pinkie finger wrapping around her own, the tradition starting when they were younger.

“I mean it. I’m fine, I promise, alright?”

He spoke sincerely. He really was fine, he couldn’t say what had come over him before, but he was fine now.

I think

She smiled genuinely at his action, as she brought their hands up between them keeping their pinkies intertwined, “Pinkie promise?” She spoke out hushed as though it was a secret, she couldn’t deny it amused her, thinking back to how they used to do it when they were younger, it used to be a sacred oath back then.

His lips curled up in a smile as their pinkies intertwined together. He found the childhood gesture endearing, the thought that they both still did it even after all these years. He couldn’t deny it, it made his heart race in his chest. He chuckled lightly as he nodded his head gently, the sound of the girl’s voice whispering filling his ears.

“Pinkie promise” He responded, his voice just as quiet as the girl's. He didn’t want anyone to hear them from outside the bathroom, as though it was their very own secret ritual once again. She let go of his finger gently as she took a step back nodding her head, her hand reaching out for the door handle,

“I’ll wait for you outside?” she questioned as she pushed the cold handle, the metal letting out a tiny squeak at the pressure as she pulled it towards her. He sent her a nod, corners of his lips pulling up into a small smile as he turned back to the mirror, faucet turning on again. She slipped through the door, closing them behind her. She let out a breath, leaning her back against the door, hand coming up to push her hair out of her face.

What the fuck was that about…?

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taglist: @evermorx89

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