#there's something about people finding comfort in each other at the end of the world
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marvelwitchergilmore ¡ 1 day ago
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Friendship In Escape
Summary: Steve Rogers x fe!Reader -> After escaping a party, you meet Steve Rogers. It's in a simple conversation, you and him find common ground and from that a friendship grows. Question is, will either of you ever find the courage to act of the underlying feelings?
Disclaimer: This is a LONG one. Spoilers ahead for most of the main Captain America/Avengers films from The Avengers. Also, there's probably a lot of plot holes in this fic so we're just gonna ignore them. Slow, slow burn. Angst-y moments. Found family, fluff, taking care of each other. Some swearing. Reader helps Steve adjust to the modern world. Lots of hugging. Probably spelling and grammar mistakes but we're gonna ignore them, too (it's late and I'm pretty sure my brain is fried). Hope you enjoy it <3 Not proof read.
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The party had been humming to life for an hour or more before the honorable host finally showed his face. Dawned in a big name branded suit, Tony Stark stood at the top of the stairs, calling for people to start the party. 
There was meant to be music, laughter, too many drinks and a fight he’ll be able to tell a story about at the next party. And you were sure, by the end of the night, he’d get his wish. 
This party in particular had been the third you’d been dragged along to in the space of a month. It hadn’t changed since you were a child. 
Posh names belonging to posh people with deep pockets and, when the time called for it, had long arms, too. The amount of money that was gathered from parties like this were worth the events being held. 
But never once had you felt comfortable. 
It wasn’t the shoes or the dress. In fact, getting ready was the best part of the night. But being dragged to the same people, with the same stories, being told about the same single people in their family, their sons, nephews, cousins. Being told to stand and take a picture with a smile that will let everyone know how fun the parties are. 
But they weren’t. 
For others they were. But for you? You had more fun spending time alone in the libraries at University, studying, answering company emails and working, mostly, from behind the curtain. 
If you could have done that, you would have avoided the parties all together. Relationships with other businesses were already solidified and had been for almost fifty years. 
So, after the fourth hour of walking around the gala room, standing and being forced to listen to the same conversations that you’d heard your whole life, listening to people be more interested in what Tony Stark had placed around his hosting room, and being introduced to another twenty something with a multi-billion dollar company behind his family’s name, but no integrity, you found your escape. 
“Darling, where are you going?” Your mother asked as you handed her your drink. 
“Just to the bathroom.”
She gave you a smile. “Hurry back. Sandra told me she’s bringing her cousin. Special invite from Mr Stark himself.”
You forced your millionth smile of the night and nodded. “Will do.”
As you took the stairs up towards the upper floors and bathrooms, you looked down over the edge of the balcony. They were preoccupied, listening to somebody’s story. 
Rather than taking a right, you took a left, bumping into a waitress. 
“I’m so sorry. Are you alright?”
She nodded. “Can I help you with something?”
You looked around you. “Just promise you didn’t see me. I need a break.”
The waitress just smiled. “There’s some rooms that haven't been decorated yet. Just take a right at the end of the hall.”
You looked down the hall, looked back and smiled at her. The first genuine smile of the evening. 
“Thank you.”
She shrugged. “This is my fifth party helping the host. We all need a break every once in a while.”
You thanked her again before walking down the hall. The minute you turned the corner, the party seemed like it was miles away. Every once in a while, you heard a roar of laughter but it never got any louder than that. 
With a sigh of relief, you decided to explore the different rooms. Some had tarp over the entrances, the insides not being suitable to survive at least an hour in. From holes in the floors to fresh paint fumes and drying plaster. 
But then one at the very end of the hall had a door. So, taking your chance, you opened it. 
“Oh!”
Inside stood a man dressed in a woolen style suit, his tie loose around his neck. He looked as if he’d been pacing and deep in thought before you’d opened the door. 
“I-” You looked around you, fearful you were about to get into trouble. “I’m sorry. I didn’t know anyone- Sorry.”
“Trying to escape the party, too?”
You stopped trying to close the door and looked at him. You couldn’t put your finger on it; maybe it was the way he stood, maybe it was the tone in his voice or maybe it was the way he was looking at you, but you saw something trustworthy in him. 
An unlikely friend in a place where you had none. 
“What gave it away?”
He smiled, softly. “You’re welcome to stay, if you’d like.”
You stepped inside. “Thank you.”
“I- I’m Steve, by the way.” He held out his hand and you shook it. 
“Y/n.”
“It’s nice to meet you.”
For the second time that evening, you gave a genuine smile. “Likewise. So, what are you hiding from? A match-making mother, or a business minded father?”
“Neither.” Steve laughed a little. 
You walked further into the room before finding a spot with less sawdust on the ground. You’d been on your feet for a long time. You found the perfect spot against a wall between two windows. 
“Wow,” you brushed what sawdust you could with your feet before turning around and tucking the skirt of your dress down. “Sounds like there’s a story there.”
He chuckled. “Not a big one.”
You shrugged, stretching your legs out and crossing them at your ankles. You patted the ground beside you. “My parents want me to socialise. I’d say talking with you qualifies as that. I’ve got time.”
Steve smiled as he watched you, finally agreeing to sit beside you. 
And for the first time in almost a month, you weren’t bored. 
Talking and listening to Steve didn’t make you so bored out of your mind you would have rather ran a cross country race. Talking with Steve was the first time you felt comfortable at one of these fancy galas. 
You’d come to learn that he was, in fact, the man they’d dug out of the ice. That he was the soldier lost to time, being forced into a new century without any idea how to deal with it. 
“I know a little of what that’s like,” you admitted to him. “To feel lost. I’ve been attending different parties like this since I was a kid. And never once have I felt comfortable attending them. I can talk to everyone in the room and feel completely loney, but I can sit on my own in a quiet place like this and…feel comfortable and be myself.”
“I had that once.” Steve told you. “I’d say back home, but I’m still in the same country. To be honest, I don’t know what anything is outside of this room.”
Then an idea popped into your head. “I could help.”
“How?” 
You shrugged. “I could help you adjust. I’m no therapist but I know how most things work in the 21st century. Movies, media, books. You said they gave you a document packet?”
Steve nodded, reaching into his jacket and pulling out a folded over thick document. 
“With all the stores and street names, I don’t recognise anything anymore.”
Opening it up, Steve handed it to you. It had an address, some pictures, different appointments and different wifi codes. 
“I know where this is.”
“You do?” Steve seemed surprised. They’d given him the address three days ago with no instruction on how to find it. They just told him something about Google Maps. Whatever a Google was. 
You nodded. “It looks kinda old.”
Steve shrugged. “‘Guess it’s their way of giving me some familiarity.” 
You shook your head. “When do you move in?”
“End of the week.”
“I’ve got a meeting in the morning, but I can take the rest of the day – help you move in, if you’d like.”
Steve looked at you. “You’d really do that for me?”
You handed his document back and nodded. “I would. Just because you were given an image for them to control, doesn’t mean that they should take advantage of the person you are behind it all.”
“That’s really kind of you, ma’am.” 
You smiled. “Don’t mention it.”
For an hour more, you and Steve just talked. Filled with quiet laughter and genuine smiles, you and Steve found an unlikely friendship in each other that evening. 
A friendship that would only grow stronger and stronger over the years. 
At the end of that week, you met Steve outside the SI building before walking with him towards the underground and pointing out different landmarks for him to recognise. A university campus, a museum, a deli store that served the best sandwiches. You explained about the times for the trains that headed towards the different states. Finally, walking down the different streets, Steve started to recognise a few different places. New businesses stood in their places, but the bricks around them were the same. 
“Pretty sure I got beat up in that alley.”
You followed Steve’s eye-line before looking back at him. “Bet your mom was beside herself with the amount of times you came home with a black eye.”
Steve held a reminiscent smile on his face as he looked at his shoes. “Just a kid from Brooklyn who was too dumb enough to run away from the fight.”
You watched Steve for a moment; something in his tone told you those weren’t just his words. 
“Come on, we’re almost there.”
You took Steve’s hand, leading him down the street before you both arrived at the apartment block. A couple of younger kids were playing out in the street, kicking a football around until they scored it round the corner of the building, one of their mother’s yelling to play in the back. 
A guy with a coffee cart served passers by heading back from their lunch break, on the corner. 
Unlocking the front door, you and Steve walked up the first few flights of stairs before finally reaching his new home. 
As Steve opened up the door and walked inside, he was met with a living space that probably hadn’t had someone live there…maybe ever. The furniture seemed old, the kitchen table was rusting a little at the bottom of the legs and the curtains had seen better days. 
A few boxes had been stacked by the entrance way with different labels scribbled on them. 
You rifled through them. “Bed sheets, books, clothes.”
You took a note of the size label. “You know, I think one of my friends might have some clothes you’d like. She runs a clothing company that does everything from a vintage style to modern day. I’m sure she’d love to let you rifle through her products; see if there’s anything you’d like to take off her hands.”
You turned around but Steve hadn’t been listening. Instead, he’d been focusing on the case files that were strewn across the kitchen table. 
Standing beside him, keeping your eye on his reactions, you looked down at the table before you came across a picture. You had to take a breath. 
Steve had told you a little about his friends from the war. The Howling Commandos. 
“Is that them?”
Steve nodded.
It took Steve a while to get used to his new apartment, but with your help, he found it becoming a home. You helped him change the bedsheets and work out his washing machine before putting your phone number into his phone. 
“Think of it like a telegram,” you told him. “But rather than waiting weeks to hear back, it’s almost instantly.”
In the weeks that followed, you met Steve at his apartment every few days. On the weekends, you showed him around some of the thrift stores where he’d found a new kitchen table and some dishes to use in the kitchen. 
One of your friends – the same friend that ran a clothing company – had delivered some new curtains. They were plain, but they were better than the ones Steve had been left with. 
Meanwhile, Steve found an old gym where he could spend his evenings and, with your help, had figured out the basics of a phone and computer. 
The one Shield had given him was far too high tech, even for you. So, you had brought Steve one of your old ones. It was still pretty modern, but it was a lot simpler to use than the Stark Industries issued one. 
Then he got pulled into helping Shield with a threat that, to him, would have been best left in the ocean. 
News reports came in thick and fast during the attack on New York. You hadn’t heard from Steve during it, until you nearly ran into him in the middle of the street as mechanical…whatever the hell they were, were flying through the sky. 
“Why are you still in the city?! Everyone needs to get out.”
You nodded. “I know, but people needed help.” You looked down at his shield. “You know how to use that?”
Steve nodded. 
“Can you break a lock with it?”
Steve followed you as you ran down an alley before disappearing around the corner and to an employee entrance. Neither you or Steve could tell what had welded a lock shut, but considering some kind of blue weapon lay not too far out in the middle of the street with similar residue being left of the door, you could only gather it had been some alien technology. 
It took a few tries but the lock finally busted open and a bunch of parents with their kids came flooding out of the doors. As you and Steve started directing people to safety out of the city, you saw the way the kids looked up at Steve. 
The whole image of Captain America had been controlled by the government, making him an image away from Steve Rogers. But nothing could control the way those kids looked up at Steve as their hero. 
A comic book hero that existed in real life. 
“Ma’am, is that everyone?” Steve asked one of the women that left the room. 
She seemed distressed as she looked around. “I-I think so.” Then she ran off with the others. 
Something in your gut told you to check the rest of the room, and Steve followed you inside. 
“Go! Help the others! I can look after myself.”
“But-”
“Steve.” You looked at him. “Go. They need you.”
It took him a minute but he took your word for it and ran back out of the door. Meanwhile, you checked under every table and desk before something caught your eye at the side of one of the cabinets. 
A kid, no older than six. 
“Hey, honey.”
“Mommy was meant to pick me up.”
You looked around, hearing something hit a building nearby. 
“I’ll help you look for her. Can I pick you up?” The kid nodded. “I’m Y/n, what’s your name?”
“Sophie.”
“It’s nice to meet you, Sophie. Come on, let's go and find your mom.”
After three hours of destruction over the city, and countless injuries being collected by people, it wasn’t until a mom came running through the crowds of EMTs and doctors, screaming out for her child that you and Sophie, sitting in the back of an ambulance, looked up. 
And Sophie called out. 
Jumping from the bench, Sophie looked outside and saw her mom running through the crowd. You watched as they collided and sank to the ground. 
“I’m so sorry, baby. Are you okay? Are you hurt? Why aren’t you with the rest of your class? Where are they?”
“Hey,” you said, walking behind Sophie. “They got separated when trying to clear the city.”
“Did you save her?”
“I got her out-” Suddenly, the mom crushed you with a hug. 
“Thank you. Thank you so much. I don’t know what I-” The tears continued to flow from her eyes. 
“It’s alright. All that matters is that she’s safe.”
“Thank you so much.”
Hours later, you had finally made it back home, had showered and switched your TV on. The news had been following updates and different people’s theories of what had happened. 
Then a knock came to your door. 
Upon opening it, you were greeted with a fresher looking Steve Rogers. 
“Shouldn’t you be with a medic?”
Steve smiled, “Shouldn’t you? Between the pair of us, I’m the one who has a serum running through their veins.”
You looked in his hand. “Is that a pizza?”
Steve nodded. “Didn’t know which kind you’d like, so I got the classic. Figured you haven’t eaten since yesterday.”
Inviting him inside, Steve laid it on the coffee table. 
“Shouldn’t you be helping The Avengers or something?”
“Avengers?” Steve looked at you with a curious look. 
You just pointed at the screen. “Oh, right. Yeah, we’ve all decided to take a break. But Shield tells me they’ve finally found me a job.”
“That’s something to celebrate.”
Steve shrugged. “Kinda hard to celebrate when an entire city almost got levelled to the ground.”
You understood. “I’m gonna head back tomorrow and see if they need any help.”
“Can I come with you?” 
“You don’t have to ask, Steve.”
He smiled, if a little sheepishly. 
For the rest of the evening, you and Steve shared a pizza and talked until neither of you wanted to say anything else. 
So, you picked out a film and placed it into the DVD player. And you and Steve just sat and watched it. 
As the months passed, you and Steve slipped into a familiar routine. He got better at texting, but you’d come to find he preferred to call. And during the days he was at the training facility in Washington and devoid of signal, he’d write you letters. 
And you wrote them back. 
He’d also started keeping a list, you’d noticed, of things you’d say in passing or you’d tell him to listen to or watch. 
On the quiet afternoons you spent together, Steve would open up more. He told you more about the 40s and being in the army. He told you more about his childhood and his best friend, Bucky. 
You’d surprised him one afternoon by taking him to the Smithsonian. They had a new exhibit put up – one pillar being dedicated to Bucky and his friendship with Steve. 
In one of his final letters, he’d told you of a man he’d basically been trolling on his morning runs. You’d come to find out his name and you smiled. 
Outside of you and the members of his team, Sam Wilson was the first friend Steve had made. 
However, you didn’t get to meet him in person until you got a call from him, under Steve’s contact. Of course, the minute the headline had flashed on your screen, you’d tried to get into contact with him. He’d fallen, or rather, jumped, from an elevator and fallen a hundred feet or more to the ground. His own work seemed to be after him. 
So, when you were told he’d fallen, once more, from one of the jets and had been in surgery, you rushed to him. 
Entering his room, Natasha had been the one to take you to his room after two nurses read your name on his file but wouldn’t let you through. 
“He’s alive, as you can see.”
“If I get a call like this again, telling me you’re dead, I’ll kill you myself.” You warned Steve before you walked to his side. The bastard had the audacity to chuckle. 
“I promise. If I’m gonna die, I’ll ask your permission first.”
From behind you, you heard a voice smile. “I like her.”
“Y/n, this is Sam. Sam, this is Y/n.”
From that day on, the movie and pizza nights came to include both Sam and Natasha. However, unbeknownst to you and Steve, the movie nights also came to include the rest of the team. 
Natasha had been trained to read people. And she’d never read anyone easier than you and Steve. 
And her information soon became Clint’s information which soon became everyone’s information when he accidentally let it slip to the others. 
Tony had been planning a party. Rather, he wanted to throw one and Pepper had come up with a list of people to invite. And when she read out your name, Steve had looked up but Clint had spoken first. 
“Is that Steve’s girl?”
They all looked around at each other before looking at Steve. He had a girl?
Steve faltered. “Yes, well, no. She’s my friend. We’re friends but-”
Tony turned to Pepper. “Invite Steve’s girlfriend.”
“She’s not my girlfriend. We’re just friends. And she doesn’t really like big parties so-”
“Invite her anyway. I can’t believe Clint knows about her before we do.” Then he turned to Natasha. “I suppose you already knew.”
She just nodded. 
And that was just the start of it. 
A few nights later, Steve had given you a heads up which you appreciated but it did put you on edge a little. But all in all, it was…fun. 
It was the first time you enjoyed yourself at a party and didn’t hate every minute of it. 
Firstly, the attire was fancy but not gala fancy. It was a celebration of Hydra finally being overthrown from Shield.
You arrived in your heels that didn’t hurt your feet so much, wide legged trousers and a graphic t-shirt. 
“Now, who is that?”
At the bar, Rhodey, Thor, Tony and Maria all stood watching as you entered the room, clearly looking for someone. Tony and Rhodey had met most of the building at the party. Maria had met them all – at the very least, she had a file on them all. 
But not on you. 
From behind the bar, Natasha leaned over. “That’s Steve’s girl.”
From the bar they watched as Sam noticed you first and called you over. You looked relieved at seeing a familiar face. Even more relieved at seeing Steve. Tony watched as Steve noticed you, too. 
The game of pool Steve had been winning at suddenly took a dip as his aim went off kilter, his attention immediately going to you. 
“Steve has a woman?” Thor asked, the other just nodded. “Well, we must meet her.”
However, as they all went to walk towards the pool table, Maria reached her hand out. “You boys swarm her, Steve will make sure you never get to speak to her again. I will go.”
And so she did. 
The others watched on as Steve introduced you to Maria, every protective instinct a man got when introducing his girlfriend to the rest of his family going up. And somehow, with simple ease, Maria had gained a small part of your friendship and led you towards the second bar. 
Meanwhile, Steve watched as you walked away, the heart in his eyes never leaving. Not even when Sam nudged him and they got back to the game. 
Throughout the night, Steve kept his eye on you. 
He almost broke the sound barrier by how quickly he turned up at your side when you were dragged into the conversation circle with most of them. 
“So, tell me.” Tony said, sitting beside you. “How did you meet our fellow Captain?”
“Tony.” Steve warned, though no true malice could be traced in his voice. 
You smiled. “It’s okay. We actually met at one of your parties.”
Tony sat back. “Really?”
You nodded. “Some fancy gala a few years back.”
Conversation between yourself and the rest of the group seemed to take a natural flow until eventually, all your nerves had subsided. 
But that didn’t stop you from needing a break by the end. Between talking with Natasha, Maria and Thor for most of the night, and beating Sam at a few rounds of pool – something Steve found incredibly entertaining,
Tony had backed Sam on his idea that you were cheating. Nobody won that many rounds of pool one after the other. So, as the others gathered and watched the game, Steve stepped forward and he covered your eyes. 
For a moment you looked up at him and smirked, and he smiled back with a light shrug of his shoulders. 
“Yes, thank you, Cap.” Sam said. “See. This will prove that she’s cheat-”
As you hit the white cue ball, everyone watched and was left speechless as every ball suddenly found its home in the pockets, leaving you with an automatic victory. 
Opening your eyes once more and standing up, you looked at the pool table with a proud look before looking at Sam. You’d never seen him as shocked. Looking at Steve, he seemed shocked but also proud. 
“Still think I’m cheating?” 
Tony just looked at you. “She’s a witch. She had to be. Were you cursed as a child? Born to some Vampire in Europe or something?”
Steve chuckled, as did you. 
“Come on, Tony. Accept your defeat.”
As the hours passed, eventually you found yourself outside on the balcony, taking a breather from the party. 
“Figured you’d find some place quiet.”
You stood back up, holding onto the balcony bar. “Hey.”
Steve smiled. “Hey. You okay? They can be a bit much.”
You shook your head. “No, it’s not that. Just needed a minute. You know, this is the first time I’ve enjoyed myself at one of these?”
Steve looked up at the building before looking back at you with a smile on his face. “It is better when people aren’t trying to show you off.”
You nodded with a smile. “Thank you for inviting me.”
“Thank you for escaping the last one and finding me in that room.”
It was in that moment that you realised the last time you’d gone to any kind of gala or party of the same scale was the first time you’d met Steve. 
You smiled fondly at the memory. “Thanks for not being mad when I opened the door.”
“I could never be mad at you.”
“You didn’t even know me.”
Steve shrugged. “I’ve got a good judge of character.”
You felt yourself chuckle before you looked out across the rest of the city before a cold wind blew through making you shiver. 
“Here,” Steve shrugged off his jacket but before you could tell him you were fine, he placed it over your shoulders. 
It smelt of him. 
“Thanks.”
Steve just nodded with a smile watching as you placed your arms through the holes and wrapped it a little tighter around yourself before you looked out at the rest of the city with him. 
“Can I ask you something?”
“Anything.”
“Is something going on between Maria and Sam?”
Steve couldn’t help but laugh. “She’ll eat him alive.”
“He might be into that.” 
Steve laughed and closed his eyes in disgust. “What makes you ask?”
You shrugged. “Just something I’ve noticed. He looks at her like she hung the moon. Though, of course, that’s when she’s not looking. When she is, it's like I’m back at school rehearsing for Much Ado About Nothing.”
Steve’s joy widened. “You were in a play?”
You laughed. “I wasn’t any good. I was only put on stage because my folks donated so much money to the school. All I wanted was to work with Tech.”
Steve chuckled. “I’d pay good money to see that. But, I get what you mean about Sam and Maria. Who knows? If the timing is right…”
Steve looked at you and you felt something bigger was being hidden behind his words. Part of you certainly held out hope that there was. 
“We should probably get back inside.”
An hour later, most people had gone home so it was left with just Steve, yourself, Clint, Natasha, Bruce, Maria, Tony, Rhodey and Thor. 
Still wearing Steve’s jacket, you were sitting in the middle of the sofa, your legs curled towards your chest. After he stood up, Steve came back and handed you a beer before he nudged your legs allowing him room to sit down before he pulled them across his lap. 
It was the standard procedure for you and him to sit on a sofa together. Mainly because his sofa in his old apartment had been small enough to do so. 
Despite changing apartments and the sofa, it was just something that stuck. 
The others took silent note of it as the debate continued between Thor and Clint over his hammer. 
By the time everyone was trying to lift it, Steve became one of the last. Sharing a look with you before looking at Thor, Steve stood up and tried to lift it. 
You watched as it squeaked on the table for a moment, but moved no further. However, your knowing grin – despite it never truly lifting from the table – caused you to look at Thor. 
He looked panic stricken. 
But Steve stood back and held his hands up. 
“Or…you’re all not worthy.”
“It’s still a trick!”
In the moments that followed, everyone turned to their own conversations; including you and Steve. 
But Clint and Natasha kept their eyes on you and Steve. Your legs over his lap, wearing his jacket, his focus solely on you, his hand rubbing lightly against the bottom of your leg that was exposed under your wide-legged trousers, your ever loving gaze on his that matched yours, light and soft smiles on your faces. 
“Ten bucks says they’ll be married in two years.” Clint whispered up to Natasha. 
“Deal.”
Something that Clint didn’t know, that Natasha did, was that you and Steve were fucking oblivious. 
They’d all be lucky if it happened in two years. 
Quite frankly, it should have happened two years ago. 
Suddenly, a high pitched noise rippled through the room. 
“Of course you’re not all worthy…”
Your eyes landed on an oil leaking…zombie robot?
His voice was deep and menacing and nothing about any of it felt comforting. 
“Steve?”
“Stark?”
“Jarvis?”
In a single turn of events you’d gone from laughing and joking with each other to suddenly defending yourself against a robot who claimed he’d killed someone. 
A swarm of them flew in through broken glass panels and Steve kicked up a table before any of them could hit either of you. 
You landed on the floor beside him, a little winded. 
“Are you okay?”
You nodded. “I’m okay. Go, go, go. I’ll be fine.”
Steve helped you up before running off in the other direction. It was a whirlwind of blasts, bullets and shattered glass. 
At one point, one had you cornered as Tony unhooked another. And for a moment, you thought you’d be sent flying out of the window and out into the open before Steve took hold of it, throwing it back towards Thor before Clint threw him his shield. 
And it all ended as Thor sent his hammer flying through Ultron. 
“What the fuck was that?”
“Banner.” Tony called him over before they headed towards their lab. 
Meanwhile, Steve turned around before heading straight towards you and holding you in his arms, almost lifting you from the ground. 
“Are you okay?”
You nodded, letting the scent of him, his clothes, his jacket, calm you. 
“Yeah. Thanks for saving my life.”
Steve truly breathed for the first time since the high pitched noise had rang through the room. With a hand at the back of your head, he pressed a kiss to your temple and he closed his eyes. 
“Come on, let's go and find the others.”
However, as he took your hand, you pulled him back. “Steve.”
“Right, you-you’ll want to go home-”
You shook your head. “It’s not that. You’ve got glass in your arm.”
“Oh.”
“Does Tony have tweezers in his lab?”
Steve nodded. “I think so.”
Less than five minutes later, you sat Steve in one of the chairs, Bruce handing you and Maria a set of tweezers each. 
Staring with his arm, you plucked out the small fragments of glass before his skin healed over them, before holding his palm up to face you. Meanwhile, they began discussing the extinction of The Avengers and the possibility of nuclear codes getting out to the rest of the world.
Then rage got passed around the room. 
By the time morning rolled around, Steve drove you back home.
“Whatever happens…” You looked at Steve, a small voice in the back of your head begging for him to be imprinted in your memory as if he hadn’t already. “Just promise me you’ll be careful.”
Steve nodded. “I promise. You’re the only one that can kill me, remember?”
You felt yourself laugh. At least he remembered. 
Looking at him again, you hugged him. “I mean it, Steve. Please be safe.”
He hugged you back, the feeling of him strong enough for you to still feel hours later. 
“I promise.”
Each day you didn’t hear from him was a little more worrisome than the last. And then when the media reported Shield helping evacuate people from a floating country…all you could do was hope Steve wasn’t one of the casualties. 
“Maybe I’ll take a leaf out of Barton’s book.”
“The simple life?”
“You’ll get there one day. Maybe you could get there with Y/n?”
Steve couldn’t deny he hadn’t thought about it once or twice. You and him. Together. More than friends. A part of him did think you felt it too. The same spark. Familiarity. The same love. 
“If something was gonna happen, it would have happened by now.” Steve told him. “Besides, I think the guy that wanted all that went into the ice seventy five years ago.”
Tony shrugged. “Don’t count on it. That guy is still there somewhere. See you ‘round, Rogers.”
As Tony drove away, Steve took in the building in front of him. And despite the acceptance he felt of being home, the idea of you and him…he figured that would always be with him. 
Even if it never happened. 
That night, Steve turned up outside your apartment with the next movie on his list and a case of soda. However, when you didn’t answer, he went in search of you. 
Opening the door to the roof, he looked around before spotting you in the very corner, sitting on the table of the picnic bench. 
“Penny for your thoughts?”
Looking around, you gave a sigh of relief at seeing him. He dropped the case on the table before you reached for him. 
“Thank god you’re okay.”
“How long have you been up here?”
“Since Nat called me and told me you’d landed. I couldn’t sit in my apartment anymore so…I came up here. Last time I looked out at the city was before everything went to hell.”
Steve looked out at the city himself before looking back at you. “We’re not out of the woods yet. Ross is probably about to reign hellfire down on…everyone.”
“What about the girl?”
“Wanda?”
You nodded. 
“I don’t know. She went through a lot, losing her home and her brother in one fowl sweep.” 
“You should train her.”
“What?”
“Train her,” you repeated. “You’re the only one who knows what it’s like to be in a war, to sign up to be experimented on. She’s gonna need someone who actually understands some of what she’s going through.”
Steve agreed with you. You had a point. 
“Tony can have a lot of influence and his heart can be in the right place but he doesn’t always remember that people didn’t have his childhood or his life.”
“He’s been through a lot.”
You agreed with Steve. “He has. But he’s never lost a brother, or his life to somebody’s cause. She’s gonna need help.”
“I’ll see what I can do.”
The rest of the evening was spent talking over what had happened, what Steve had thought when the earth quite literally started to lift from beneath him, what had happened with Banner and Nat and then you gave him your news. 
Bucky had been spotted. 
The next time you saw Steve was at Agent Peggy Carter’s funeral. You sat at the back for most of it, watching as Steve helped carry the coffin and as people gave their eulogies. 
You didn't know much about Peggy Carter personally, though you could remember learning about her in school. The founder of Shield, working alongside Captain America in her early career. And from meeting Steve, you’d come to know more about her. As well as how deeply both she and Steve were in love. 
You’d seen the clips at the museum, and with Steve beside you, it gave them a whole other meaning. And even though Steve living through the ice and landing himself in the 21st century had given you one of the greatest friendships you’d ever had, part of you felt angry for him. 
Angry at the fact he missed out on his chance with Peggy and that she had to live a life where, as far as anyone knew, Steve was dead. 
A soldier and a love story left stranded in time. 
You could remember when Steve had first visited Peggy, again. 
And now he had to say goodbye, again. 
“It was a beautiful service.”
Steve looked up and down the aisle to where you were walking towards him. He felt the breath get knocked out of him. Or maybe back into him. 
“Hey, what are you doing here?”
“Thought you could use a friendly face?”
 A silent conversation then took place between you and Steve. Silent conversations weren’t unusual between you. A thousand words could be said in a look, but you’d both understand.
“I don’t know what’s gonna happen after I leave here-”
“No, I know. I know.” You understood completely. After he walked out of the church, Nat would be leaving without him. 
“Today’s been a lot. Tomorrow’s gonna be a lot.” You looked back at Steve. “Right now can just be…right now. You’ve lost someone, Steve. Right now you don’t have to carry the weight of the world on your shoulders. You don’t have to be Captain America right now.” Your gaze turned to Peggy’s picture. “I might not have met her, but I know you and I both know she would be telling you, you don’t have to be Captain America right now. At this moment, you’re just Steve: World War Two veteran who has just lost a great love in their life and deserves a moment to breathe.”
Steve gave you a weak smile, his emotions building up in his chest. “Thank you.”
Stepping forward, you wrapped Steve in a comforting hug and for the next twenty minutes, you both stayed inside the church. 
There he told you the smaller facts about Peggy – the ones he’d learnt when she was with him and his Howling Commandos. 
But then the time came to leave. 
Walking down the different streets, hearing time tick away, you and Steve soaked up what time you could before everything was about to go to shit. 
And on a bench beside the River Thames, you and Steve said your goodbyes. Both of you knew something was going to go wrong. What that was exactly, neither of you could put your finger on it. But something was going to happen. 
It was only a matter of time. 
“Here.” 
“What’s this?”
Steve read the piece of paper. It was a set of coordinates. 
“I own a house. It’s in the middle of nowhere, somewhere in Europe. If anything happens, Ross can’t touch you. The house had been in my family’s name for generations but one of my great aunt’s left it to me. It’s yours to use.”
“Y/n-”
“Take it, Steve. Nobody knows it exists so they won’t find you. It’s run down but there should be running water.”
Steve finally accepted it. “Thank you. You know, if Tony ever finds out about this, he’s gonna believe that you are a witch from a vampire family.”
You shrugged. “Maybe I am, you just don’t know it.”
Steve shrugged, pocketing the paper safely. 
“I’m gonna miss you.”
You took his hand. “I’m gonna miss you, too.”
You tried your best to avoid the tears, but they were trying their hardest anyway. 
“Just promise me one thing, Steve.”
Steve nodded, squeezing your hand a little tighter. “Be safe?”
You nodded. “Be safe.”
Your eyes locking with his, Steve decided to take a risk. There was a chance he might never be able to see you again. Whatever was going to happen, the first person they’d put a tail on would be you. 
He kissed you. 
With your hand on his lapel, you held him closer. It was short and bittersweet, but the memory of him and his kiss would forever be seared into your brain. 
And for a few moments, you just held onto each other, fearful of opening your eyes and accepting that one of you would have to walk away. 
With his finger, Steve gently brushed the stray hair from your face away and behind your ear before kissing you quickly for a second time. 
“One of us has to say goodbye.”
“I know,” you sniffed. “I know.”
“If there’s one thing I’m grateful for, it's that you walked into that room when you did. You were the first person to treat me like one and to help me. Thank you for wanting to escape that party.”
You laughed through the tears. “You never have to thank me for that. It’s crazy to think I almost didn’t go.”
“I’m glad you did.”
“So am I.”
Looking at each other for one final time, you leaned in and kissed him. You prayed that his hand by your waist would leave a brand – a different pain to carry with you than the one in your heart. 
Feeling yourself stand, the kiss broke away and you were the first to say goodbye. 
Walking down the stone pavement, you looked behind you before you turned a corner, only to find Steve had already gone. Between the bustling people, the bench you’d both just been sitting at was exactly that. 
A bench. 
Going home, you tried to find a way to keep yourself busy but no matter where you looked, everything reminded you of him. The movies you’d watched with him, the ones you didn’t. The pizza’s shared, and soda spilt, the curtain, bedsheets, books, clothes, pictures. 
You had some of his artwork in your house. Some of them people, most of landscapes – people and places you’d seen together. 
And in an album under your bed, you had his letters. 
Each one in its original envelope on one page and the pictures he’d drawn of the skyline from wherever he’d been. 
Some evenings, you’d reread his letters – still able to hear his voice. 
Then the headlines started to roll in. 
Captain America was a fugitive and had broken his team out of a high secure facility. 
And for almost two years a hunt was put on for him. You were interviewed every couple of months with the same questions. 
Did you know where he was? Had he contacted you? What information did he share with you?
Just because you’d given him a set of coordinates didn’t mean he’d use them. The last time you’d heard from Steve was in London and the only information he’d shared with you that day was about Peggy Carter and some of the old stories of when he was first in London in the 40s. 
In the meantime, your parents had convinced you to attend different dinner parties, charity shows, fundraisers and galas, all the while helping you find a date. 
Most of the people your mother had first introduced you to years ago, they were recently married. But the single ones she’d found; you dated some, though it never went any further than a sixth date – usually the date after your parents invited them to attend dinner. 
But no matter the fancy meal, or the conversation, or the man; none of them could beat a pizza, soda, a movie and…
Steve. 
None of them could beat Steve. 
But that all changed one afternoon when you were gardening. 
Living in the city had reminded you too much of Steve, and with the constant reminders of the memories and new threats and superheroes popping up, you decided to find somewhere nice to live. 
Someplace…simple. 
So, buying a house outside of the city with a few acres of land, you started renovating. Any business meetings you had could be done online which meant you had more time to fix your new home up. 
The smell of plaster, paint and sawdust filled your home for most of the days until finally things started to come together. New windows and locks were installed, the faulty taps were fixed and finally the entire place was given a new lease of life. 
And just as you were half way through with fixing your garden; planting some flowers and digging patches for a small allotment, a car pulled up outside your drive. 
On your knees in the dirt, it took a moment for your eyes to focus on the person climbing out of the car in the distance. 
They were tall, broad and had a beard. 
However, the closer they got, memories started to kick in. The walk, the frame…
You stood up and walked closer until you stopped again, feeling the breath being knocked out of you. 
“Oh, my god…”
He watched as you stopped in your tracks, your brain confirming who he was. Then you started running. Across the grass and onto the gravel path, you collided with Steve. 
“This is you, I’m not dreaming, am I?”
Steve shook his head and he held onto you, the essence of you filling his senses. 
“No, you’re not dreaming.”
You leaned back and looked at him before hugging him again. 
Finally, Steve set you back onto your feet and his hands remained at your waist. 
“Why are you back? Last I heard…”
“The team and I are keeping our distance for a few days. Nat’s headed to Ohio and Sam is trying to see his sister. It’s the best way to avoid Ross.”
You nodded, checking him over. He didn’t seem like he was dying. 
With a hand on his cheek, you smiled a little, pointing out the obvious. “You grew a beard.”
Steve smiled a little. “Helps me blend in.”
You looked into his eyes and smiled. “It suits you.”
Holding gently onto your wrist, Steve turned his head and kissed your palm and for a second you closed your eyes, leaning into him. 
“I’m really glad you’re okay.”
Placing your hand over his heart, Steve seemed to bear into your soul. “So am I.”
What followed was two hours of conversation around where he’d been and what he’d been doing since he left, and what you had been doing. 
Then he started to help. Painting the porch on the back of the house as you continued planting in the back garden, you spent time together. 
Time that was all too precious knowing he was on a clock. 
“Where did you learn to cook?” You asked Steve as you helped him chop up veg. 
With a smile on his face, Steve continued to prepare dinner. “I have a contact in Scotland. Their aunt runs a cafe and needed a few extra hands in the kitchen.”
As you helped Steve prepare dinner, you listened to the stories he’d gathered over his time away. Scotland, Spain, Germany, Italy, England, Poland, Norway, and many others. 
Once dinner was finished, you started to clean up. But from the table, Steve looked at you standing by the sink in front of the window. 
You’d never left his thoughts. 
Sat on that bench in London, he watched you walk away and for a moment, he remained where he was. He didn’t know if he’d ever be able to see you again – not without heavy restrictions. 
He wanted you so desperately to turn around, but if you did, he would have followed you. He would have stood up and ran after you. 
So he left. 
He left before you could look around, he left before he would stop fighting himself and follow you. 
And each day he woke up, for the few moments in the morning where he would forget what had happened, where he would forget the world he’d been found in, he thought about you. He thought about calling you or writing you a letter. He thought about seeing you when he’d roll over in bed. But each time…
You weren’t there. 
You weren’t with him. 
You were at your home, thousands of miles from him. 
And he had no way of talking to you. 
Walking across the kitchen floor to you, he placed a hand on your waist before reaching across to the window cill. 
“What are you doing?” You smiled. 
Looking at you and turning up the dial, Steve smiled. “Come with me.”
Taking the cloth from your hand, Steve dropped it back into the bowl of soapy water and took your hand in his. Then, pulling you into the middle of the kitchen with him, you both started to slow dance. 
“What’s this for?”
Steve shrugged, holding your hand over his heart once again. “I don’t know how long I’ve got with you. Figured we could spend it not washing up.”
You felt yourself smile. “I think I like that.”
It was soft and slow. Swaying with the beat until the radio turned static, you and Steve remained in each other's arms. 
“Can you stay the night?”
Steve nodded. 
“Good.”
The night soon settled over your home, the stars slowly emerging from behind the clouds. With your porch taking on a blue hue in its own shadow, you and Steve sat side by side on your porch swing. 
Your hair still a little damp from your shower, Steve continued to run his fingers through it. And with your head on his chest, you let his heart beat calm you. For a moment, Steve turned his nose into your hair and pressed a kiss to the top of your head. 
After a few moments, he didn’t say anything. Not that you would have heard anything considering your body was begging for sleep. 
Carefully standing, Steve slipped one of his arms around your back and one under your legs before carrying you inside. He tucked you under your bed covers before making his rounds, locking up the doors and windows. Finally, he got in beside you. 
For years, he’d dreamed of it. 
Being with you, by your side, a domestic and loving day before laying beside you knowing he would be waking up beside you every morning. 
And Steve smiled as in your sleep you moved closer to him, your arms wrapping across his middle. 
You couldn’t remember when you’d gone from the porch to your bed, but you could remember Steve. Feeling his arms around you, his heartbeat under your cheek, his lips on yours…
“Hey,”
Steve was sitting on the edge of the bed by your legs, fully dressed. 
“Hey, what time is it?”
Steve kept his eyes on you. “A little after four.”
You gave a groan and closed your eyes again. Steve chuckled. Reaching out, he gently swept the hair from your eyes, your head turning towards him. With his hand on your cheek, he felt your smile. 
It was your turn to hold onto him and kiss his palm. 
And just as the knowing sadness started to grow, Steve still smiled, leaning forward and kissed you. 
You would never get bored of his kiss.
Peppering it out, you held onto his face before your hands slipped around his back and you held him closer. 
With a sigh, Steve held you closer to him, trying to imprint the feeling of you in his arms. 
Trying your best to ignore the growing tears, you spoke. 
“Just promise me you’ll be safe?”
Steve chuckled a little. “You know you’re the only one who's allowed to kill me. But I promise.”
“Good.”
Holding on a little tighter, you silently begged for more time with him. But the clock was ticking. 
From above, there was deep rumbling. 
“You better go,” you told Steve. 
It took him a moment before he let go and with one final kiss, it was his turn to say goodbye. 
Hearing his boots walk across the floor of your bedroom, down the hallway, through the living room and towards your front door. 
You heard his pause for a moment and in that moment, you wondered what he would do if you called out for him. 
But he couldn’t stay any longer. 
People needed him. 
The world needed him. 
Hearing your front door click open, Steve’s footsteps trailed off as it closed once more until eventually the only sound that was left was the ever quieting sound of a rumbling jet engine.
Six months later, half of the world disappeared. 
With a snap of Thanos’ fingers, Steve watched as half of his team, his family, disappeared. And upon returning back to the Avengers’ compound, you were his first call. 
Only, you never answered. 
“Go.” Natasha told him. 
He didn’t need to be told twice. 
Making a break for it, Steve ran down into the garage before hopping on his bike. He’d made it to yours in half the time. 
Pulling up, he started calling out for you. His voice filled with desperation and fear, he ran up to your front door. 
It was unlocked. 
He almost tripped inside as he tried the door, the hinges getting stuck. 
“Y/N!”
He raced around your home; checking the kitchen, living room, pantry, washing room, office, bathroom, and the bedrooms before finally reaching yours. 
The bedding was strewn a little, the soft lines of the fitted sheet folded into where you would have been laying. The pain in Steve’s chest seemed to grow heavier by the minute. 
You weren’t here. 
One hand on his hip, another covering his mouth, Steve turned around in a slow circle. Tears pricking at his eyes, his mind had gone from running a thousand miles a minute to…being completely overrun by pain. 
He had nearly a thousand chances to be with you, to share a life with you that he’d always dreamed of – all before everything went to hell. 
But it was too late. 
You were gone. 
Just like half of the world, you were gone. 
Gripping onto the cold metal of your bed frame, Steve tried to steady himself. 
You were gone. 
Somewhere behind him, he heard a click. 
His entire body stilled. 
Slowly turning around he found…
No one. 
Somewhere down the hall, a door closed. 
As quietly as he could, Steve walked from your bedroom and down the hallway. The noises started to compile together. 
Shoes shuffling, a bag being thrown onto a counter, a bucket handle rattling against itself. 
From a corner, Steve saw an apron thrown across the back of a kitchen chair. A tap started to pour before someone switched it off. 
Then someone started to hum. 
You started to hum. 
Fully stepping into the kitchen doorway, Steve felt the entire life get knocked back into him. 
Then you turned around. 
He scared the shit out of you. 
The bucket slipping out of your hand, it knocked against your sink, the water spilling down the drain. 
Just as it did, you recognised him. 
Rushing forward, Steve enveloped you into his arms, your feet lifting from the ground. 
“You’re alive,” you breathed. 
“I thought you were gone.” Steve mumbled into your shoulder, holding onto you tighter. 
“Steve, what’s going on?”
“He won.” 
Steve set you back down on your feet and for the first time in almost seven months, you finally got a good look at him. He looked tired, worn. Beaten. 
“We almost did it, but he won.”
“Whose left?”
Steve tried his best to name those who were left. 
“We think Tony’s gone but we can’t be sure.”
The tears were falling from Steve’s cheeks as he told you. Wiping them away, you pulled him back into a hug. 
“I tried calling you but when you didn’t answer…” You could feel Steve’s entire body shaking under you. “I thought I’d lost you, too.”
“I’m sorry I didn’t answer. Steve, honey, you need to sit down. Let me get you some water.”
As you sat him down, Steve watched as you moved around your kitchen. Grabbing a glass from the cupboard, running the tap until it was cold before handing it to him. 
“I’ll make you some food. When did you last eat? You should call Nat.”
“Right.”
After calling and updating Nat, Steve hung up the phone. And for the next few hours, Steve talked you through everything he could; right up to him running through your door. 
In the months that followed, a transition started to take place. People had to get used to a world where half of the people they loved were gone. 
And somewhere between Steve finding you in your kitchen and Tony and Pepper having their daughter, yourself and Steve finally came together. 
Properly. 
This time there were no goodbye kisses and fear of never seeing each other again. That biggest fear had been and gone. 
What you were left with was…acceptance. 
Acceptance that you had both almost completely lost each other for good. There was no point in avoiding feelings, or being scared of what might happen. 
You both had a chance at a life together. 
So you both took it. 
From then on your home with Steve became interchangeable between the Avengers compound and your house. Saving her from the lifetime supply of peanut butter sandwiches, you dragged Natasha when you could to your home with Steve and made her a decent meal. 
Being out in the open also gave her a breath of fresh air away from the training facility walls that never changed colour. 
And eventually things…settled. 
People found a new way of life, coming back each year to celebrate those who were lost. And then new life was brought into the mix. 
Not too long after Pepper had given birth to Morgan, you were faced with a positive pregnancy test result yourself. 
And Natasha was your first call. 
“What’s going on? I have an extra gun in the car if we need it.”
You showed it to her. “What does that show?”
“Holy shit, you’re pregnant.”
A small whimper left your lips as you handed her the test stick and started pacing around your bathroom. 
“Are…are we not happy about that?”
You whimpered again as you paced up and down. “I-I don’t know. We-we haven’t planned anything. I mean, we’ve talked about it a few times but what if something goes wrong? Are you sure it was positive?”
Natasha looked back at it. “Well, it’s got a plus sign so-”
“It’s the third I’ve taken this week. The other two came up invalid but that one was like a bright flashing light.”
Reaching for you by the shoulders, Natasha sat you down. “Okay, first off, breathe.”
You did so. 
And then some more. 
“Okay. Here’s what we’re gonna do. I’m gonna go and get you another box of tests. Proper ones, not these things. And you’re gonna call Steve.”
“He’ll probably pass out. Why do you think I called you?”
Natasha laughed. “Just call him. I’ll be right back.”
And she was. 
Walking back inside, she called out and Steve called back. 
Three minutes later, you were all huddled in the bathroom waiting for the result to finally show. 
“What if it’s a false positive? If it’s positive-positive, will I be able to carry the baby?”
Crouching down in front of you, Steve held your hand. “Whatever it is, we’ll figure it out. Together. Okay?”
You took a breath and nodded. Leaning up, Steve kissed you and you kissed him back. 
You’d been having conversations about starting a family together for a while, but neither of you had started planning it just yet. Mostly because you hadn’t gotten around to it. And you didn’t know if you could even carry Steve’s kid. For all either of you knew, the serum would carry onto your child. 
Natasha looked at her phone. 
“It’s time.”
With a shaky breath, you and Steve stood. However, you paused as you reached for the test. 
“Count me down.”
Steve chuckled softly, counting back from three. 
After one, you turned it over. 
Pregnant 3+ weeks
You felt yourself smile and laugh a little before showing Steve. 
“You’re gonna be a dad.”
Taking the test from your hands, Steve took one look at it before the water-works started. 
Nine months later, inside the Avengers compound, Natasha was walking with you. 
“Once they started arguing over what the manual said, I made a break for it.”
Tony had surprised you and Steve at your home and after an hour, Steve had wrangled him in to help build the crib. It was the final thing that needed to be built and since Steve had banned you from lifting heavy things since you had elected to ignore your midwife and pushed the crib from the living room and into the nursery. You couldn’t help. 
“Have you decided on a name yet?”
You shook your head. “Not yet.”
“Well, I might be biassed but Natasha is a really good name.”
You laughed a little. “I’ll think about it.”
Natasha smiled, holding onto your hand as she helped you down one of the narrower steps. 
However, halfway around the building, you stopped. 
“Everything okay?”
You nodded. “Just a bit of cramp.”
But it wasn’t just cramp. 
Barely a second later, you felt water trail down your leg until there was a louder splash against the tiles. 
“Oh, shit.”
You looked down. “Oh, my god.”
“Okay, okay. We’re okay.”
You nodded, taking hold of her hand as she walked you down the hall. 
“Steve’s old room is just down the hall. Once we get you there-”
“Call him.”
“I know, I will.”
“No, call him now. Please.”
Twenty minutes later, Tony’s car was kicking gravel up and onto the windshield. Steve ran inside, nearly taking out a few employees on the way. 
Almost fifteen hours later, a healthy baby girl was delivered. 
With her in Steve’s arms, bundled in a fresh baby blanket, everyone stood around the bed. 
“Only took you a decade.”
Steve chuckled, but he couldn’t tear his eyes away from his daughter. And neither could you. 
And for almost four years, it was blissful. 
As your daughter grew up, Steve told her stories and showed her pictures of the 40s. Even at the age of three, she seemed wise beyond her years. 
Then one night, everything changed. 
Recently, she hadn’t been sleeping. So, lay in bed with you whilst Steve was still at work, you told her a few bedtime stories but when Steve came in an hour or so later, he found her still awake. 
“You should be asleep,” he whispered to her. 
“I tried. Mommy fell asleep, though.”
Steve looked over and smiled. “Come on, let your mom sleep.”
Picking his daughter up, Steve carried her down the hall, leaving his jacket on the bed beside you. Making sure to close the door behind him, Steve started to talk to his daughter. 
Their conversation eventually turned to someone from Steve’s past. 
“Daddy, whose that?”
Steve looked at the photo. It was him and Bucky during his army days, though both were out of uniform and in civilian clothing. There weren't many pictures of Bucky in normal clothes. 
“That’s Uncle Buck.”
“But he’s not in green.”
Steve chuckled. “You’re right, he’s not. That was when we were in London. Pinky, one of the Howling Commandos, decided to take us on a tour of London.”
“Wow.” 
She was awe-struck. 
“Does he know I was born?”
Steve felt a pang in his chest. “Maybe. I don’t know if he can hear me, but I’ve told him.”
“Would he like me?”
Steve smiled. “He’d love you.”
Kissing her temple, Steve sat down in one of the chairs. “Try and get some sleep.”
Steve himself must have fallen asleep because next thing he knew, you were waking him up. Your daughter was still fast asleep, he carried her to bed before you led him down the hall and he collapsed onto your shared bed. 
The next time he woke up that morning, everything you both knew was about to change. 
Time Travel. 
There was a chance everyone could be brought back. 
And after a long conversation, one that was overheard by your daughter who had been playing in the back garden with the family dog, Steve accepted what he had to do. 
“You and Aunty Nat will have pictures again.”
Handing Steve a slightly mud scattered, crinkled, crayon drawing; your daughter had drawn a picture with everyone on it. 
Herself, you, the dog, Steve, Nat, Bucky, Sam with his wings, Clint with his bow and arrow, Thor and his hammer, Tony, Bruce…the stick men with different items, standing on a green field with a corner sun, continued on and on. 
It was that night you kissed Steve and he said what could have been his final goodbye to your daughter. She held onto him tightly, telling him she loved him. The only thing that carried him on his feet was the thought of going through what Scott was. 
In the time he got stuck, he thought his daughter was gone. 
Steve would have done anything to get his daughter back. 
And it didn’t take much for him to remember the pain that washed through and over him when he thought he lost you. 
Scott, like many others, had lost someone they loved. So had Steve. But he hadn’t lost you, though he thought he did. 
People needed their families back. 
And that’s what they got. 
At the cost of Tony’s life. 
After everything had settled, you drove as fast as you could to find Steve. And you found him far outside of the Avengers compound, crouched on the floor. 
“Steve!? Steve!”
Looking up, he spotted you amongst the grey smoke. A shining light in the darkness. 
Running as fast as you could, you eventually reached him. 
“I couldn’t wait any longer. I needed to know if you were okay. Are you okay?”
Steve’s voice was quiet. “He’s gone.”
“Gone? Who’s gone?”
Steve’s voice broke. “T-tony. Tony’s gone.”
“Oh, my god.”
As Steve hugged you, you held him as tightly as you could. He asked about your daughter. 
“She’s with my dad back home. She’s safe. She just needs a cuddle from her dad.”
Steve nodded. “I think I need one from her, too.”
Two weeks later, Steve brought Bucky and Sam home. 
“Honey, come here.” Your daughter ran to her dad’s side. “Sam, Buck. I’d like you to meet Aurora. Rory, honey, this is Sam and Bucky.”
Sam knelt down and shook her hand. “It’s nice to finally meet you, miss.”
Meanwhile, Bucky was in pure shock. Slowly, he knelt beside Sam and Bucky felt his life flash before his eyes. 
“Steve…she looks like your mom.”
As Rory studied Bucky, she decided to hug him. Sam smiled and so did you and Steve. And eventually Bucky hugged her back, frightened he might break her. 
“Can I show them my room?”
The consensus was yes and whilst Sam was dragged towards her bedroom, Rory shouting for you to follow, Bucky and Steve followed behind. 
Inside her room, her walls were covered in different pictures she’d drawn of the different stories Steve had told her. Of course, most of them were stick men, but the message was still clear. 
A week later, a funeral was held for Tony and the Stones had to be returned. 
Standing beside Bucky as Steve stood on the platform, Aurora stood and waited in between both of you. 
And in what was a few seconds later, Steve returned with Natasha by his side. 
Aurora gasped and bolted forward. 
“Aunty Nat!”
“Careful, kiddo.” Steve warned just before Aurora collided with her, but Natasha shook her head. 
“It’s okay.” 
Lifting her into her arms, she hugged her tightly.  
“You’re back.”
Natasha smiled. “Thanks to your dad.”
Looking at her dad, she smiled before hugging Natasha again. 
“I’ll be back in a minute.” 
Natasha nodded and carried Rory back towards you before everyone started running over. Meanwhile, you watched as Steve walked over to Sam. 
Ten minutes later, your daughter bolted from the crowd and towards her dad who was finally out of his protection suit. 
“I missed you.”
“I missed you, too.”
Seeing you again, Steve kissed you before kissing Rory’s cheek. 
“Everything okay?”
Steve watched as Fury made his way over to Sam, and he smiled. 
“Everything’s good.”
Kissing you again, Steve smiled. “Thank you.”
“For what?”
“For walking into that room when you did.” Steve told you. “I’m just sorry it took me so long to do something about it.”
You shook your head, looking from him to your daughter and back to him. “It happened when it was meant to.”
Steve smiled before he kissed you. “I love you.”
“I love you, too.”
Tony was right; Steve found the life with you he’d always wanted, even if it did take him a decade to do something about it. 
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blainehasregrets ¡ 2 days ago
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Red and Blue in Glee
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Of course red and blue is the Most obvious symbolism in the world, but this is something I think gives a lot of insight to the character’s motivations in Glee that not a lot of people point out!
Glee often used these two colors to show opposing forces, or when used together, a character being conflicted/in the middle of something. This concept is introduced in the Pilot, with Vocal Adrenaline performing in all blue during Rehab, while the New Directions are dressed in red during Don’t Stop Believing (and okay yes that’s a picture of Vocal Adrenaline from Theatricality, it was impossible to get a good screenshot of Rehab. Same thing.). And though I’m not sure it was always the case, I feel like blue was occasionally used to symbolize a sense of teamwork and “sameness” (as Vocal Adrenaline were a well oiled, well choreographed show choir machine in matching competition outfits) while red was meant to convey a sense of individuality (a small group of outcasts/underdogs coming together in different outfits that reflect each of their personalities).
And of course this isn’t like…a constant rule throughout the show either, because blue and red are just a striking combination in general, so of course sometimes its just used because it looks good together! Like they all pretty much wear red during Valentine's episodes just because it's Valentine's day lol and after all, red is just a part of McKinley’s school colors, and the football team and Cheerios aren’t exactly shining examples of individuality.
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I explained a little here how blue and red could be used in cases whether the characters understand each other and if the character’s are on the same page or not, for example, here with Quinn and Rachel during I Feel Pretty/Unpretty.
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An episode that uses this to aide the story visually is The Rhodes Not Taken. During Maybe This time, Rachel, in an outfit completely opposite of April’s to highlight the differences between them, performs the song against red and blue lights/curtains. While she initially believes Sandy's play is her chance to shine after being denied a solo in the New Directions, it's a decision she quickly regrets because of how miserable and isolating it is. Her conflicting thoughts continue to be illustrated both in the bowling scene with Finn where she wears a blue and red sailor collar t-shirt as Finn tries to convince her to come back to the club, and in the bathroom scene with April, where she is again their differences are highlighted.
Eventually, Rachel does end up going back to the New Directions, because she does value the group (and I think, despite popular opinion that Rachel is "the most selfish person in the show", she spends all of season 1 proving how much she cares about and wants the group to succeed) and she wants to find a place where she belongs. It's not even that Sandy was just an asshole director, she felt incredibly lonely. In Mattress, Rachel tries to comfort herself by telling herself it's lonely at the top and she has to expect to be disappointed, but it's obviously not something she actually wants for herself and it comes from a naive place that she still needs to unlearn. Rachel, along with the fact that she is incredibly ambitious, is also a person who needs people, and the end of this episode is her taking one more step towards realizing that as she joins the New Directions, dressed in blue during Somebody To Love. Both to contrast the pink of April's outfit with the New Directions dressed in black as her glorified backup dancers, and to show them coming together as a group of people who want the same thing.
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In Preggers, Kurt wears a red sweater with a blue tank top and sweatband to tryout for the football team. It’s not that Kurt is necessarily conflicted about who he is, but in this episode he blends who he is (the Single Ladies dance), and who he thinks his dad wants him to be (Football player).
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The most obvious example of the red and blue being used as a halfway point is in the Dalton uniform. Even though I could explain the reasons why Blaine (and Kurt) leaving Dalton was inevitable, but! -> 👔 Their ties tell you everything you need to know! “It makes no sense Blaine left his rich private school for his high school boyfriend” but the symbolism spells it out for you! Dalton, with its red and blue tie, is a temporary place for Kurt and Blaine.
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In Duets, as Kurt makes the final decision of whether or not he should duet with Sam, he’s wearing a blue sweater since he ultimately decides to put the team’s needs above his own wants. Sam, on the other hand, after telling Finn he’s going through with the duet with Kurt, wears a blue shirt with a blue and red target on it. When he’s splattered with a red slushie that Quinn helps him clean up immediately after, it represents his new choice for a duet partner. So, besides the obvious meaning behind the target on Sam's shirt being used to show he'll be harassed if he duets with Kurt, the print takes on a new meaning as his character is now inbetween Kurt and Quinn. (Even their outfits! Kurt’s sweater is blue and Quinn’s cheerio uniform is red.)
Though I’m sure he would have gone through with the duet with Kurt had Kurt not “set him free” since Sam said himself he had no intention to back out, the slushie itself shows this is something beyond his control. Both because of interference from Finn and because of the societal pressures that are going to put a stop to this duet between him and Kurt. (also I just made that up right now)
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He continues to wear red and blue plaid when he tries to convince Quinn to duet with him, and for most of their relationship, Sam wears blue because 1) it just looks nice next to Quinn’s red uniform 2) I personally felt they were never really on the same page in their relationship as early as Duets. This is evident when Sam points to a planet and says it’s Venus, the planet of love, which Quinn corrects to tell him it's Mars, planet of war.
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In The Purple Piano Project, Blaine comes to school in bright red pants, and his first solo at McKinley as a student is backed up by the Cheerios in their bright red uniform. Blaine’s now officially a member of the New Directions, his red pants representing that new sense of individuality as he’s finally becoming a character of his own, rather than an almost representation of Dalton from season 2. (I also think his striped bow tie’s a nod to the Dalton tie, but obviously more “him”.)
Anyways, what's the point of this post? Though glee is not the most thought provoking show in the world for most people (unless you’re insane like me), I do think some level of effort was put into it, and maybe something like this could help give a better understanding to a character's thought process when it's conveyed visually through the color of their clothes. For instance, related to the above paragraph, I think there’s a misconception that Blaine’s character solely revolved around Kurt, as if that was a writing mistake. While it isn’t totally untrue that Blaine had many plots with Kurt (after all every character serves its purpose, and Blaine’s was to be Kurt’s boyfriend), I also believe that line of thinking misses the times Blaine is so obviously shown to be a character of his own, making decisions of his own. For instance, transferring to McKinley is something he chose to do and was set up in the very episode we met him when he tells Kurt he felt as if he ran away from his problems (and that itself is a consistent trait of Blaine's, he tends to run away from his problems) Similarly to how he says he's “100% gay” in Blame It On The Alcohol, that is something he alone decided, given he ends his previous conversation with Kurt earnestly telling him that Kurt can't control him (something that was also consistent with Kurt’s character) and that whatever happens (which in the end, it's him confidently declaring he's gay when Rachel kisses him sober), it's because he came to that conclusion solely on his own.
These things are reflected in the writing, the framing, and even sometimes the wardrobe. And so, when Blaine chooses to change schools to be with Kurt, when he’s wearing pants that symbolize his independence as a character of his own, I think the fact that his first choice of song to sing towards Kurt, It's Not Unusual whose lyrics are basically “if I see you with anyone else, I’ll DIE :)” tells us something about who his character is. Whether you want to take it at face value that Blaine is someone who’s incredibly driven by love, to the point of possessiveness (which we see in Dance With Somebody or New New York) and willing to transfer from a prestigious private school to a shitty public one, or to show he can be oblivious and often times picks a song with lyrics that are hilariously over the top or inappropriate for the situation (like When I Get You Alone. I love both interpretations and think both apply to his character) maybe it just means…that stuff is a part of his character and personality! Blaine being obsessed with Kurt and love to the point of changing schools for him (along with the fact that it’s something he had already stated he wanted to do) isn't a writing flaw, it's apart of his personality!
Finally, a couple more examples that I feel like don’t need explanations. Though you can always argue that all of these are simply because red and blue are just a visually pleasing color combination (I especially think the Born This Way screenshot was done more out of cohesion than anything, though Rachel is in between trying to figure out if she should have plastic surgery or not), I think you can still make the case that these are ways to show the character’s thoughts and emotions.
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pettson ¡ 1 year ago
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yes i will keep thinking about how joel and tess were two equals equally broken who would never heal each other but still save each other in every other possible way
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suhkusa ¡ 6 months ago
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THE KISS BET.
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PAIRING. Bakugou Katsuki x f!Reader
SUMMARY. Your friends bet you to kiss Katsuki Bakugou. Fortunately for you, they’re offering you $500 for it. Unfortunately for you, the two of you absolutely hate each other.
CW. third year, angst to fluff, light hurt/comfort, enemies to lovers, mature humor, feelings, language
WC. ~2.8k
A/N. enjoy :3
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You and your group of friends had a running gig. Bets. 
The group would bet one person to do something, on a scale from normal to outrageous, and that person’s turn wouldn’t end until they complete that bet. Of course, depending on how crazy the bet is, everyone would put in some amount of money. 
The most you’d gotten was $100 total from accepting a date from creep in the business class. Worst date of your life, but Jirou felt bad so she gave you an extra $50. 
As the lot of you gather around the campfire, everyone offers up their money to Mina who had just done her bet to put laxatives in Kirishima’s drink. There were a lot of questions about the morality of it, but you ignored it and gave her a crisp $20. 
“Y/N~ it’s your turn!” Ochako gleed. 
You roll your eyes, “I feel like I just did my other bet, which by the way was shit,” the girls laugh at your words. “I feel like all of you get the easier ones,”
“Easy? I had to kiss Monoma, do you know how hard that was? He knows I’m lesbian so imagine how hard that was for me to convince him,” Yaoyorozu sighs with a palm to her face.
“Oh, whatever,” Mina says with a clap of her hands, “You want a hard one, Y/N?”
“I mean that’s the whole point of paying each other to do bets, they’re supposed to be hard,” 
“Be careful what you wish for,” Mina smirks before standing up and pointing at you. 
“I bet you $100,” your ears perk up.
“-to kiss–,” your eyes widen but listen nonetheless.
“Katsuki Bakugou,” your world falls apart.
“Mina, no,” 
“Y/N, yes,” she jumps up and down, “It’s too late, I already said it,”
All the other girls are hooting and hollering, but you just sit there in silence as you stare at the flames. Are you really going to try this?
As you consider your options the other girls start placing their bet offerings.
“$75 from me,” Tsuyu calls out.
Then from Hagakure, “$50,”
“$150,” from none other than Yaoyorozu. 
“I guess I’ll put in $80,” Jirou smiles at your misery.
“Hmm, I’ll even it out with $45, so $500 flat for you, Y/N,” Ochako smiles.
$500?!? You’d be outright stupid to deny such a big amount of money. But you’d even stupider to think Katsuki Bakugou would kiss you of all people. 
“I think that’s impossible,” you whine as the other girls poke fun at you.
“I guess only time will tell,” Mina grabs your hands and smiles, “Good luck, Y/N,”
—
You can hear the rambunctiousness of your class before you walk in. When you walk through the doors, your eyes scan the class before your eyes lock in on Katsuki Bakugou. You groan with a roll of your eyes before stomping your way towards him. 
“Hey, Katsuki,” you stare down at him, “You want to do me a favor,”
“For you? I rather eat shit,” he grumbles as he meets your gaze.
“You’re a freak,” you already knew this was going to be hard, “Please,”
“Mm, depends, what’s in it for me?” 
“I guess you’ll find out,” you say. “Kiss me,”
It feels like the class goes silent as the two of you continue to just stare at each other. He opens his mouth then closes it. 
“You– The fuck?” His eyes are scattering as the words continue to process through his mind, “What a weirdo, hell no,” then he’s pushing himself out of his seat and making his way to the door.
“You know class starts in 5 minutes right?” you call to him.
“Fuck off,” he grunts as he shuts the door behind him.
Yep, definitely hard. 
—
The next time you bother Bakugou for a kiss is when the two of you are paired up for combat training. Much against his will. 
“Katsuki~” you call out as you dodge another blow from him. “You can’t avoid me forever,”
“Yes-” another explosion, “I can,”
You go on the offense as you continue, “Just a peck, please. I’m a good kisser, I promise,” 
“You’re shit,” he’s grumbling between dodges of your attacks.
“Wouldn’t you like to know,” you send him a wink before getting a hit on him. 
Bakugou groans, about to send another remark, when the training ends with a blow of a whistle.
The two of you meet eyes one last time, “Think it over, kay?” you smile before walking away.
—
Knock, knock. 
You stand at Bakugou’s door.
“Go away, perv,”
“Aw, how did you know it was me? You missed me?”
“I can just tell by the stench,” 
You laugh a little at his words, “Please, let me explain to you and maybe you’ll reconsider,” 
You can hear footsteps, and you smile. When he opens the door he’s adorned in his classic black tank and some sweats.
“You should put some clothes on, perv,” you mock. “Anyways, it was a bet from my friends and there’s $500 on the line, so if you would just–”
“I don’t kiss just anyone, princess,” the nickname causes you to fluster, but you shake it off as he continues, “You gotta earn it,”
He’s got a stupid smirk on his face, and you didn’t even realize it but he’s definitely leaning closer to you. It’s sending butterflies– well maybe more like moths– into your stomach. 
“What the– You’re definitely the pervert. I’m just going to ask to call it off,” you fake gag, “Later, loser,” 
“You’ll be back, nerd,”
You internally groan as you hear him shut the door, ignoring the intense heartbeat in your chest.
—
“No,” Mina says.
“What?! I told you it’s impossible,” you argue, all of your friends on the other side of the argument. 
“No it’s not, he said you had to earn it right?” Mina retorts, “So obviously there’s a way, you’re just stubborn,”
“You’re really not asking me to… You guys are crazy. Please, please, I’ll take anyone else, anything else,” 
“Sorry, Y/N, it’s the rules,” Tsuyu looks at you with pity.
“He hates me and I hate him! That’s all there is to it. It’s not going to happen,”
“Why do you guys even hate each other? It’s our third year, get over it already,” Jirou teases. 
“Because he’s a dick and I refuse to let him walk all over me! I just cursed him out one time for calling me weak. He’s the one who holds grudges because of his fragile, little heart,” 
“You should’ve known he’d hold that against you, but I honestly doubt he hates you because of that,” Mina says. “He probably thought you looked hot,” she laughs.
Heat rushes to the tips of your eyes, “Whatever, all of you are weirdos. But anyways-”
“No, Y/N,” Mina states, end of subject.
“You all just want me to kill myself,” you groan as you sink into the couch. “Whatever, but I’m going to force all of you to double your offering if I actually do this shit,”
The girls cheer. You cry inside. Anything for money, you guess.
—
It seems like the universe heard about the predicament you were in, because it felt like you were suddenly around him more often ever since the bet had been set.
“You know, I don’t want to be on patrol with you either,” you grumble, kicking at rocks as the two of you walk up and down the roads of the dorms.
“Glad we agree,”
Silence washes over you both. 
“Why don’t you want to kiss me? Am I ugly or something?” you ask, but it definitely comes off sadder than you intend.
“Don’t get all insecure because you don’t get a stupid kiss,” he looks the opposite direction of yours, “You know damn well you’re not ugly, so don’t piss me off,” 
He had a strange way of saying stuff.
“Aw, you love me, don’t you?” you tease, poking at his arm.
“Ah you dumbass, pay attention,” you snap back into place with a laugh, “‘M just saying you’re better looking than some of these extras,” 
You don’t know what to say in response to his words. Because they were surprisingly very sweet. 
Realizing he had said too much, he changes the subject. “Let’s go this way,”
You follow him with a nod.
There was definitely a certain type of tension lingering that the two of you walked in near silence for the rest of the patrol. 
You definitely were not repeating back his words in your head over and over again for the rest of the patrol. And Katsuki Bakugou was definitely not turning red because of what he said earlier. Definitely not. 
—
After that patrol, things seemed to sort of shift between the two of you. And to say it was scary was an understatement. 
Conversations wouldn’t always start off with the two of you insulting or cursing each other out. There’d be a hey or hello. If you guys saw each other in passing, he’d greet you with a nod of his head. Him being anything but passive aggressive towards you was terrifying because it was so not him. 
“Y/N,” a familiar voice calls out to you, you groan as you put your pencil down.
“I’m studying, what do you want, Katsuki?” 
“Come with me to the movies after school today,” it’s not really a question, more like a command. 
You put your hands to your mouth in fake(?) excitement, “You’re asking me on a date?! So kind, Katsuki,” 
“It’s not a date, idiot. I’m going with Ei and Denki later, they’re bringing Jirou and Mina. They were teasing me for not bringing anyone, so come,”
“If I don’t?” you muse.
“Be there or be square, nerd,” he doesn’t take your bait, but you can tell he’d prefer it if you go. He walks away before you can respond. 
Well, you guess you have plans later.
;;;
You meet up with the lot of them at the allotted time. The group walks together, and you thank God your friends have a questionable taste in men so you wouldn’t be stuck with some randos. But you also have half a mind to curse them out for leaving you to fend for yourself when you all arrive at the theater. 
They left you with no choice but to sit with Bakugou. Part of you really hates it, but not as much as you hate the rate at which your heart beats. 
For the most part, the two of you just sit there in awkwardness. The other couples indulge in that lovey dovey shit, and it makes you feel out of place. You zone out and get into your head. Was there a motive in asking you to come out here? He could’ve invited like… Midoriya… or Ochako… Or anyone, really. But, you? Does he like you? Or were you his last option to invite? Your head hurts from overthinking.
Your hand rests in your lap, picking at the material of your pants. At least that’s what it was doing. Until it happened. 
From the corner of your eye, you watch as Bakugou slid his hand into yours. His fingers finding a comfortable place between your own. You release a deep breath when you realize you were holding your breath. Is he out of his fucking mind?
Despite your efforts to try and justify how much you absolutely hate it. You didn’t even try to stop him. You didn’t pull away. You didn’t let his hand go. And even as the movie ended, you actually felt sad when he slid his hand away. 
The cool air of the night shocked you a bit when all of you made it outside. 
“We were thinking of grabbing a bite, did you guys want to come?” Mina exclaims. 
“Ooh, that sounds good, are you down, Jirou?”
“Sure, and you guys?” they all look at you.
“I- I have a stomach ache… Butter fucks with my stomach really bad,” the excuse is kind of weak, but still holds up as they all nod in understanding. 
“I can walk you to the dorm,” Bakugou offers, and you don’t really give him a yes or no, he just follows you.
Kirishima and Mina whistle and holler as the two of you part ways with the rest of them. 
Part of you regrets making up some stupid lie to go home. Because this was way more awkward than getting free pizza. 
The two of you are right by each other as you walk in silence towards the dorm. You wait. And wait. Wait for him to bring it up. Why did he do that? Why did he grab your hand? Was it all a front?
Why is he treating you so well?
Even as he drops you off at your room, he says nothing. Just a simple “Goodnight,” before he’s making his way to the elevator.
What an asshole.
—
So you take the initiative. The initiative in ignoring him. You weren’t some casual fling. Fuck the bet, fuck him.
When you saw him making his way towards you, you were quick to get up and rush out of the classroom. When he nodded your directions in passing, it was easy to just walk past and not acknowledge him. Whatever there was between you and him, was gone. Whatever “it” was, exactly. 
But you were okay. You guess. You were down $500 or $1000, but whatever. That game was bullshit anyways. You always got the worst bets. You kind of felt bad that you were the end of it, though. 
It was easy to avoid him. That’s what you thought. At least until one week later, you found yourself cornered by your dorm room with nowhere to go.
“What the fuck is up with you?” he’s angry, you’d be stupid if you thought otherwise.
You cross your arms and avoid his intense gaze, “Whatever do you mean?” 
He’s getting closer, and a tiny, like miniscule, part of you finds angry-him hot. “You know what the hell I mean, you’ve been avoiding me,” 
“Nuh uh,” you retort, still avoiding the subject at hand. “I’ve just been busy, sorry,”
“Like hell, Racoon Eyes said you’ve been in your dorm room everyday, so try again, asshat,”
Fucking Mina.
“I don’t have to explain myself to you,” you poke at his chest, “Now get out of my way before I beat your ass,”
“Yeah? I’d like to see you try,” he’s smiling with mockery.
“Oh, I’m sure you’d like to be touched by me, you little virgin,” you inspect your nails in nonchalance, “Too bad, so sad, now move,”
“No, not until you answer me,” he’s a bit more serious now, you can sense it in his tone. 
You groan, “Fine, not until you answer me, though. Why the fuck did you hold my hand and act like it didn’t happen? Am I like a joke to you?”
He straightens up and his eyes widen. He looks to the side, then back at you.
“You’re fuckin’ smart, why don’t you take a guess?”
“You’re not a baby, why don’t you use your words?” 
You got him there.
“Maybe ‘cuz I like you, or something, idiot,”
You laugh. Laugh. Because he really thought you’d believe a stupid joke like that.
“You’re funny, but seriously, why did–”
A kiss. Katsuki Bakugou has always been known for his speed and his wit. But now you see it more than ever. As he steals a kiss from you. It happens faster than you’re able to even realize you’re leaning into it. 
When the two of you part, it’s tense again. You don’t know if you should say something but he takes that choice from you.
“You think that was funny?” he asks.
“Well- no, but–”
“No buts, that’s that,”
“I didn’t even say I like you back! What if I didn’t-”
“Oh, so you do?” you jump up in realization you fumbled your words. “Good to know, princess,”
“Ugh, you’re so annoying. How was I supposed to know you liked me? You’re such an asshole, you know?”
“Really? Because this asshole just got you some cash,” he laughs referring to the bet, “But y’know, I don’t let just anyone call me Katsuki,”
You grit your teeth before throwing a punch at his arm, “Annoying! Annoying, so annoying,” 
Another hearty laugh escapes from his lips as he pulls you into a hug. You didn’t even know Bakugou gave hugs. But you don’t mind it. 
“You’re such a pervert, I bet you’ve been looking forward to that kiss,” he teases.
“Yeah? Well you’re a pervert for even kissing me in the first place,”
—
YOU: pay up bitches
YOU: i’m talking double btw
[164 new notifications]
You were rich and in love. What more could you ask for?
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Š all writings belongs to suhkusa 2024. do not repost or change.
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flwrkid14 ¡ 25 days ago
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Tim and Danny: The Couple That Could Have Been
Tim Drake and Danny Fenton weren’t just Gotham’s it couple—they were the couple.
Tim, the poised and brilliant CEO, and Danny, the charismatic streamer with a chaotic streak, were the kind of pair that inspired faith in love. Their relationship was public but never performative. The candid photos, the impromptu livestreams where Danny would drag Tim into the frame to tease him about his “ridiculously expensive suits,” the way Tim would smile when he thought no one was looking—it all seemed so real, so untouchable.
For years, they were inseparable, the picture of what love should look like. And Gotham believed in them. People joked that they’d be together in every timeline, every universe, because how could they not be? They were made for each other.
So when Danny uploaded a new video one unassuming Tuesday, everyone thought they knew what was coming.
The engagement announcement.
Danny’s setup was different this time—gone were the familiar vibrant backgrounds and playful chaos. The walls were bare, his face somber, his voice quieter than anyone had ever heard.
“Tim and I…” He paused, swallowing hard. “We’ve decided to go our separate ways.”
What?
No, that couldn’t be right.
This was Tim and Danny. The couple everyone was convinced would make it through anything. The couple people joked would find each other in every timeline, every universe, because it was always them.
But Danny kept talking, his voice trembling as he explained—without really explaining—that they couldn’t make it work. No details, no messy drama, just a quiet goodbye that left everyone feeling like the air had been stolen from the room.
———
The Batfamily found out the same way everyone else did—through Danny’s video. They hadn’t even realized anything was wrong. The last time they saw Tim and Danny together, they’d been the same as always: teasing, bantering, comfortable in each other’s presence.
Bruce was the first to confront Tim about it, cornering him in the Manor with that familiar stern frown.
“Tim, what happened?”
Tim didn’t answer. He couldn’t.
Because he didn’t know either.
Danny had been the one to end it. One day they were fine—perfect, even—and the next, he was breaking up with Tim over coffee, quiet and somber, like he was grieving something Tim couldn’t see.
“I just… we can’t,” Danny had said, his voice trembling. “I’m sorry, Tim. I love you. I’ll always love you. But we can’t keep doing this.”
And that was it. No further explanation.
Now, Tim was left packing up his things from the apartment they’d shared, trying to piece together what went wrong. Danny was on the other side of the room, just as quiet, boxing up his own belongings. They didn’t speak. Couldn’t.
The space between them had never felt so vast.
“I love you,” Danny had said, his voice breaking. “I’ll always love you. But I can’t… we can’t keep doing this.”
And just like that, it was over.
And Danny? Danny knew exactly why.
———
Danny Fenton was a coward.
He’d gone to Clockwork for help after the first heartbreak, unable to bear the thought of living in a world without Tim Drake. He couldn’t undo the pain of losing Tim to the Justice League’s doomed mission, but he could relive the good years.
Clockwork had hesitated.
“This is dangerous, Daniel,” he warned, but Danny didn’t care. He didn’t want to forget Tim. He didn’t want to move on.
So Clockwork granted him his wish.
Again and again, Danny went back. Every time their relationship reached the point of no return—where Tim’s inevitable death loomed on the horizon—Danny would break up with him, retreat to Clockwork, and start over. He couldn’t bear to see Tim die, not again.
But the cycle wasn’t perfect. The cracks showed with each repetition. Danny’s breakups became harder to explain, his excuses more transparent. He could see the hurt in Tim’s eyes, the way his walls went up higher and higher with every iteration.
And still, Danny went back.
Because he couldn’t stop.
Because he couldn’t let go.
———
This time, though, it was different.
This time, as he packed his things, Danny felt the weight of what he’d done pressing down on him like never before. Tim wasn’t angry. He wasn’t even questioning it anymore.
He just looked tired.
And Danny hated himself for being the reason why.
The world moved on, but Gotham felt the loss of Tim and Danny like a phantom limb.
The bats watched Tim retreat further into himself, his work becoming his sole focus, an impenetrable wall between him and everyone else. They wanted answers, but Tim wouldn’t give them. And Danny? Danny disappeared from Gotham entirely, his absence leaving a wound that never seemed to heal. Maybe that’s why Tim would find himself on that mission, before Danny's loop restarted everything again—caught in the endless cycle of fate, unaware of how close he was to losing it all for good.
Clockwork didn’t say anything when Danny returned again, his face pale and his hands shaking. He just stared at Danny with quiet pity, his form shifting through time as if he were trying to decide what version of himself could make Danny stop.
“You can’t keep doing this, Daniel,” Clockwork said softly.
Danny didn’t answer.
Because he knew he’d be back.
Because he couldn’t stop.
Because he’d rather relive the heartbreak a thousand times than face another world where Tim Drake was gone for good.
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teaboot ¡ 1 month ago
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do you think i'll ever get to a place in my life where i'm actually a good person and i don't keep getting bombarded with people telling me all the ways i'm doing things wrong. will i ever stop feeling like i'm faking being good and i'm actually a despicable person deep down inside like there's something rotten and irremovable in the very core of me. i feel sick
As a recovering self-hater I have a few things that have been helping
Truly shitty people are typically, in my experience, not chronically preoccupied with anxieties that they need to be better. It seems to be the 100% rock-solid certainty that everything you ever do is selfless that you need to watch out for.
Motive only matters in court. If you donate 30 hours a week to charity so you can tell yourself you're a good person or you donate that same time because you genuinely enjoy helping people, that's still 30 hours, imo. At that point the argument is more philosophical than anything. The help is still happening.
Nobody can read your mind. You can be the bitterest, cattiest, most judgemental and mean-spirited motherfucker alive, but as long as you don't let your feelings hurt others, you're golden. In fact, I personally think you should get extra credit for effort. Swimming upriver ain't easy
None of us are selfless by nature. That's okay. We all crave attention, and validation, and comfort, and reward. That self-interest is a survival skill. It's not going anywhere and I don't think it should. The key is moderation, self control, and consideration for others.
The loudest voice in your head probably isn't yours. Survivors of all kinds of abuse- and all abuse is psychological to varying extremes- often keep their critic's narrative in their head. That voice that says you're awful- is that something you'd say to someone else? No? Then try to figure out who said it to you. They were probably an asshole. The voice that answers it it probably your own. Listen to that one
No, you will not feel like this forever. It's a pain in the ass, but dedicating time and thought into ignoring that inner critic and elevating your positive impulses is effective.
Some things I've done myself that seem to help:
Do some research on cognitive behavioral therapy and cognitive reprogramming. These are easier to exercise with a therapist but once you figure out the steps to follow you can do them on your own, too.
When you do something good, write it down for yourself. Keep a dated journal, either on paper or in your phone. When you find yourself in a pit of self-loathing, you can go back and remind yourself of all the good you've done. If this is hard, try listing 3 good things you did at the end of each day. Anything from picking up a scrap of litter to running a food drive.
Long post, but really, the best thing I can say is this:
Aything that takes effort is worth celebrating, even if that effort is minimal or that task is considered small.
At the end of the day, "bare minimum" isn't working a full-time job and eating three meals a day, cleaning up after yourself and doing it with a smile- bare minimum is nothing. Bare minimum is laying on the floor motionless for 24 hours and filter-feeding like a sea sponge. And if even that's difficult for you, then it's not your bare minimum, is it?
There's a lot of cruel, inconsiderate, uncaring people in the world, only out for themselves at the expense of others, and even if you think you're one of them, giving a shit about doing better still puts you a mile ahead of most.
Try not to worry too terribly. If you're thinking about it, you're probably doing fine👍
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unconventional-lawnchair ¡ 23 days ago
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Hello! Could you do a Barty Crouch Jr. x Fem! Potter! Reader.
Where they are both in Ravenclaw and get close and end up dating in secret because of the Slytherins and the marauders. But then something happens and they break up but Barty shows up at the readers house years later to warn her about Harry, James, and Lily. They rekindle (smut if you write it. Or leads to that?)
And I was thinking about two different endings.
Ending 1: The reader later finds out she’s pregnant and has to raise their child on her own until the triwizard tournament where their child meets their father?
Ending 2: The reader goes to godric hollow that night to try to help them but ends up dying and Barty finds her and holds her?
Or if you like both you can do two different Barty x reader!
Love your fics by the way and I am Hooked to the series!!
Making Mistakes
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Barty Crouch Junior x Potter!RavenClaw!Reader
Summary: (See above) After a horrible break up in 7th year, Barty and you haven't spoken a word to eachother. Then, he comes barrelling back into your life begging for forgiveness, will you trust him?
Wc: 16.8k
CW: Angst Heavy. Hurt/Comfort, Barty and the reader are messssy. Sexual themes and scenes. Mom!Reader, AFAB!Reader, Dad!Barty, Non canon complacent, The first part of the fanfiction is focused on the reader- second is focused on Ophelia(your daughter).
The Potter Manor, once warm and full of life, now felt cold and empty. The high ceilings and ornate decorations that had once felt grand now only magnified the silence. The vibrant reds and golds of your family crest seemed muted, much like the life that had once filled these halls.
Your brother, James, was hiding somewhere even you couldn't name- hardly able to visit outside of special occasions. Your parents had been gone for over a year. The house was far too big, far too quiet, and far too lonely. It wasn’t just the emptiness of the space itself- it was the absence of the people who had made it a home. You’d told yourself that time would help, but the grief lingered, stubborn and heavy, refusing to fade.
Even now, curled up on the couch in the living room- the one you used to complain was too cramped- you felt the space around you stretch endlessly. With a blanket over your knees, the fireplace crackling softly, and a book resting on your lap, it should have felt cozy. Instead, it felt hollow. You ran your fingers absentmindedly over the cover of your book, your other hand drifting to the necklace around your neck, the small charm resting just above your heart- a lone magpie. 
It matched your patronus. Well, it matched what your patronus had become. Once, it had been a darling doe- calm and serene, a reflection of your regal- that's what Sirius had said. Now, it was the magpie: small, fierce, and energetic. It suited you, or at least the version of you that remained. You’d felt yourself change, slowly but surely, in the years you knew a love so dangerous it tore off parts of you that you no longer remmebered.
Your fingers traced the delicate charm as your thoughts wandered to the person who had given it to you. Barty. The weight of his name still felt the same, a complicated tangle of emotions that hadn’t untwisted no matter how much time passed. 
You could still see his face the night you’d told him you couldn’t do it anymore. The way his sharp features had frozen, the defiance and anger creeping in as soon as the words left your mouth. You’d said you couldn’t keep hiding, couldn’t keep pretending that what you had didn’t matter. You’d told him you were tired of the stolen glances, the whispered promises, and the constant fear of being caught. 
But you knew now that what had hurt him most wasn’t the ultimatum- it was the fear. Fear of admitting to the world what you meant to each other. Fear of what he might lose if he dared to love you openly. Fear that his world and yours were too different, too far apart to ever coexist. 
Now, as you sat there in the flickering firelight, your thumb brushed over the charm, the memories tugging at your chest. The book on your lap remained unopened as you stared into the flames, the ache in your heart as familiar as the necklace around your neck.
~~~
The flickering candlelight painted Barty’s sharp features in gold and shadow as he lay beside you, his bare chest rising and falling steadily. The heat of your bodies still lingered in the cool air of the room, your skin damp against the soft sheets tangled around your legs. His fingers toyed with the charm resting against your collarbone, his touch so gentle it made your heart ache.
“Crow, can we talk?” You whispered, your voice soft but firm, breaking the fragile silence that had fallen between you.
Barty’s hand froze, his fingers brushing against the charm one last time before he let it fall against your chest. His jaw tightened, his green eyes refusing to meet yours as he shifted slightly, feigning casualness. “What’s there to talk about, birdie?” He murmured, his voice smooth but unconvincing. Unsatisfied your little exercise didn't make you truly forget what you intended to talk about. “We’re here. Together. Isn’t that enough?”
You sat up slightly, leaning on your elbow as you looked at him. “No,” You said softly, the word carrying more weight than you’d intended. “It’s not.”
He finally glanced at you, his expression guarded. “You’re overthinking again,” He said lightly, reaching out to brush a strand of hair from your face. “Can’t we just- can’t we just enjoy this?”
“Enjoy what?” You challenged, your voice trembling slightly. “Hiding? Pretending? Barty, we can’t keep doing this.”
He groaned softly, falling back onto the pillow and running a hand through his disheveled hair. “Why do you have to ruin the moment?” He muttered, though his voice lacked its usual sharpness. “We’re happy, aren’t we? Isn’t that what matters?”
“Are we happy?” You shot back, sitting up fully now, the blanket slipping from your shoulders. “Because I don’t feel happy, Barty. I feel like I’m suffocating.”
He sat up abruptly, his eyes narrowing as he fixed you with a desperate gaze. “Don’t say that,” He snapped, his voice rising slightly. “You don’t mean that.”
“I do,” You said firmly, though your voice broke slightly. “I love you, Barty, but I can’t keep pretending this is enough. I need more. I need us- the real us.”
“This is the real us,” He argued, his voice frantic now. He reached for you, his hand gripping your arm as if holding onto you could stop you from slipping away. “This is how we work, birdie. This is how we survive. You think the world would let us be together? You think they’d let us have this?”
“I don’t care what the world thinks,” You snapped, your own desperation rising to meet his. “I care about us. But this- this isn’t sustainable. We’re tearing each other apart, Barty.”
“Of course you don’t care,” He spat suddenly, his grip tightening as his green eyes blazed. “You wouldn’t. You’re a Potter. You come from your perfect Potter family with your perfect, golden life. You wouldn’t understand what it’s like to have a family like mine- to be a Crouch.”
His words cut deep, the bitterness in his tone like a slap. But you didn’t flinch. Instead, you stared at him, your voice steady as you said, “Don’t you dare.”
He blinked, startled by the fierceness in your tone. “What?”
“Don’t you dare use my family as an excuse to run from what you deserve,” You said, leaning closer. “Just because my parents loved me, just because James and I grew up with something good, doesn’t mean you don’t deserve that too.”
He scoffed, the sound bitter and sharp. “I don’t deserve that. Not with who I am. Not with my name.”
“Yes, you do,” You said fiercely, your hand finding his cheek, forcing him to look at you. “You deserve love, Barty. Real love. Not this shadow of it we’re living in. But you have to believe that, or none of this will ever work.”
He stared at you, trying to read your expression, his jaw so tight you swore you could hear ticking. His grip on you was bruising, but you ached for it. You ached for his want, his desperate need, because without it- you felt like you were falling apart.
You leaned into him, your once hot skin chilling against the air of the room. On instinct, his hands slipped away from your arm and he wrapped them around your waist. Your hands found his chest and you moved all that bit closer. “Wouldn't that be a dream, Barty?” You whispered, voice strained and tears threatening to spill from your eyes. “If- if our kids,” You choked out and his eyes widened at your admittance of something solid. That was your dream. To be so true, so real, that starting a family was the obvious next step. “Our kids talk about us how I talk about my parents? That our son- our daughter- our little wix. They knew what a love like ours could do.”
Your words hit Barty like a physical blow, and for a moment, he looked utterly stunned. His hands on your waist tightened instinctively, pulling you closer as though the sheer force of your desperation could tether him to the dream you had just dared to voice. 
“Our kids,” He echoed, his voice hoarse and filled with something you couldn’t quite place- something between longing and disbelief. His wide eyes searched yours, as if trying to find the certainty he couldn’t feel within himself. “You really think… that we could have that?”
“I know we could,” You said, your voice trembling but resolute. “But only if you let us. Only if you stop running from it.”
He shook his head, his hands trembling where they gripped you. “You don’t get it, birdie,” He said, his voice breaking. “I’m not… I’m not good like you. Like your parents. I don’t know how to be that kind of person.”
“You think my parents were perfect?” You asked, your voice rising in frustration, shaking. “They weren’t saints, Barty. They argued, they made mistakes- but they never stopped trying. They never stopped fighting for what they believed in, for each other. And you can do that too.”
He let out a bitter laugh, the sound almost choking on its way out. “You don’t know what you’re asking. My family isn’t like yours, okay? My father only believes in appearances, in power. He’d never accept this- he’d never accept us. And if he found out…” He trailed off, his expression darkening as a shudder ran through him.
“I don’t care about your father,” You said fiercely, your hands cupping his face. “I care about you. And you’re not him, Barty. You’re not your father.”
His eyes closed at your words, as though they hurt to hear. “I don’t know how to believe that,” He admitted, his voice barely a whisper. “I’ve spent my whole life trying to be what he wants, and even that’s not enough. I don’t know how to be anything else.”
“You don’t have to be,” You said, your thumb brushing softly against his cheek. “You just have to be you. And you have to let yourself believe you deserve more than what he’s made you think you do.”
He opened his eyes then, and for a moment, you saw the cracks in his carefully built walls- the vulnerability he worked so hard to hide. “And what if I can’t?” He whispered. “What if I ruin us?”
“Then we fight through it,” You said, your voice firm even as tears threatened to spill. “We keep trying, just like my parents did. Just like I know we can. You don’t have to be perfect, Barty. You just have to let yourself love me.”
His breath slowed, his hands sliding up your back as he pulled you into a desperate embrace. His head dipped into the crook of your neck, and you felt the wetness of his tears against your skin. “I do love you,” He said, his voice raw. “I love you so much it hurts. It scares the hell out of me, birdie.”
“I know,” You murmured, your hands threading through his hair. “I know, Barty. But love isn’t supposed to be easy. It’s supposed to be worth it.”
For a moment, you thought he might let himself believe you. His arms around you felt solid, grounding, as though he was holding on to you for dear life. But then, just as quickly, he pulled back, his eyes filled with an anguish that made your chest ache.
“I don’t know if I can give you what you deserve,” he finally muttered, his voice trembling. “And I can’t bear the thought of failing you.”
“You’re not failing me,” You said, reaching for him, but he was already pulling away, retreating back behind the walls he had built to protect himself.
“I am,” He said, his voice cracking as he shook his head. Pushing you back and getting to his feet. “I already am.”
You watched, your heart shattering as he put on his clothes, back to you. Your eyes trailed the path your nails made against his back, your silent claim on him that he always begged you for. “Barty, Barty, please.” You sobbed out and you saw how stiff he grew. “Barty, my love.”
“I hear you, Birdie.” He whispered and buttoned up his shirt. Walking back to the bed, but staying out of reach from you. “Always such a beautiful song.” He whispered before he leaned in and stole a kiss. “I'm sorry.”
“Barty-” You strained and he kissed you again. Over and over until he managed to push you back against the bed.
“I love you Birdie.”
“Barty-”
“But I'm.. I'm not who you need.”
Your heart broke with every word that fell from his lips, each one chipping away at the fragile hope you'd tried to build between you. 
“Don’t do this,” You whispered, your voice trembling as tears spilled freely down your cheeks. “Don’t say that, Barty. Don’t leave me like this.”
He closed his eyes as if shutting out the sight of you would make this easier, though you both knew it wouldn’t. “I have to,” He murmured, his voice thick with emotion. “If I stay, I’ll ruin you. I can’t do that, Birdie. I can’t be the reason you lose everything.”
“You are everything,” You choked out, grabbing his wrist in desperation as he made to pull away. “Can’t you see that? You’re what I choose, Barty. You’re what I want.”
His breath stopped at your words, and for a fleeting moment, you saw the war raging within him. His body was tense, his jaw clenched so tightly it looked like it might shatter. But then he shook his head, his eyes meeting yours with a tortured finality.
“You deserve more,” His voice breaking as he leaned in to press one last kiss to your forehead. It lingered, soft and agonizingly final. “You deserve a love that doesn’t hurt like this.”
“I don’t care about perfect,” Your hands clutching at his shirt as though you could physically anchor him to you. “I care about you.”
He pried your hands off of him gently but firmly, his touch reverent even as it was devastating. “And I love you,” He said, his voice barely above a whisper. “But love isn’t always enough.”
You shook your head vehemently, trying to reach for him again, but he stepped back, his retreat like a knife slicing through the air between you. “Barty, please,” You begged, your voice breaking entirely now. “Please don’t do this.”
His gaze lingered on you for a moment longer, his own tears threatening to spill, but then he turned away, his movements slow and deliberate, as if each step was a battle. 
He paused at the door, his hand on the frame, his back still to you. “You’ll always be my song, Birdie,” He said quietly, the nickname a bittersweet ache on his tongue.
And then he was gone, leaving you alone in the room that still smelled of him, your heart breaking in the silence he left behind. The only sound was your sobs, muffled by the pillow you clutched to your chest, the magpie charm pressing cold against your skin- a painful reminder of what you’d just lost.
~~~
You gave a low shaken sigh. Trying to still your shattering heart and gather your voice before it all became too much again. 
You looked up at the mantle above the fireplace, unable to stop the smile that curled on your lips. The photos, of your parents on their wedding day, of James’s first birthday, then yours. Then a photo of Lily and James’s wedding, of Harry’s first birthday- just three months ago. 
You stared at the photographs for a long moment, your fingers tightening around the magpie charm at your neck. The smiles in the photos were so vivid, so full of joy, that it felt almost cruel. Your parents, James, Lily, even baby Harry- they were all looping so present in the frozen moments captured by the camera. Yet here you were, alone in the vast emptiness of the manor, the weight of their absence pressing down on you.
The photo of Harry’s first birthday caught your eye. His tiny hand reaching for the cake, James’s laughing face as Lily leaned in to kiss Harry’s cheek. You could almost hear the sound of their laughter echoing in the back of your mind, a memory you clung to desperately. 
Your lips quirked into a faint smile, though it didn’t reach your eyes. “James would tell me to get up and stop being so dramatic,” You muttered to yourself, shaking your head. “He’d probably say something ridiculous like, ‘You’re a Potter, we don’t mope, we plot.’”
The thought of your brother’s mischievous grin brought a pang of longing. You missed him fiercely- his energy, his unrelenting optimism, and even the way he teased you mercilessly. James had always been your anchor, the one person who could pull you out of your darkest moments. But now he was miles away, hiding with Lily and Harry, fighting a war you couldn’t see but could feel in every corner of your being.
Your gaze drifted back to the fire, the flames dancing and crackling softly. The silence in the room felt deafening again, the weight of your solitude settling back over you. You tried to distract yourself by opening the book on your lap, but the words blurred together, meaningless against the storm of thoughts raging in your mind.
You closed the book with a frustrated sigh, setting it aside as you leaned back against the couch. Your fingers traced the magpie charm absently, your thoughts inevitably returning to him.
Barty.
His name echoed in your mind, and with it came a flood of memories- his rare, boyish smiles that he reserved just for you, the way his green eyes softened when he thought you weren’t looking, the way he held you like you were the only thing tethering him to the world. 
You closed your eyes, letting out a shaky breath as the memory of his voice played in your mind:
A tear slipped down your cheek before you could stop it, and you quickly wiped it away. Crying wouldn’t bring him back. Crying wouldn’t change the way he’d walked out of your life, no matter how much it hurt. 
But Merlin, did it hurt. 
The knock at the door startled you from your thoughts, the sound sharp and sudden against the heavy silence of the manor. You froze for a moment, your heart leaping to your throat as dread washed over you. The wards. You reminded yourself of the countless layers of protection James and Lily had insisted upon. No one with ill intent could step foot near the manor. Still, it took you a moment to move.
Your fingers tightened around your cardigan as you approached the door, peering cautiously through the window. Relief and confusion mingled as you saw Remus standing there, holding a bundle of flowers and looking chilled down to the bone.
You couldn’t help the way your lips curved into a smile, the first genuine one in what felt like weeks. Remus always had that effect on you, with his quiet strength and steady presence. You opened the door without hesitation, the chill of the winter evening brushing against your skin as you pulled him inside.
“Remus!” You laughed, wrapping your arms around him tightly before he could say a word. The flowers in his hands crinkled against your shoulder, and he let out a low, startled chuckle.
“Hello to you too,” He murmured, his arms coming around you after a brief hesitation. His embrace was warm and grounding, and for a moment, you let yourself rest in the safety of his hold. He cradled you like you were something fragile, something he was afraid might break if he squeezed too tightly.
When you finally pulled back, his sharp eyes roamed your face, scanning for any cracks in the mask you hadn’t realized you’d been wearing. “You didn’t have to bring me flowers,” You hummed softly, trying to inject some lightness into your tone as you gestured to the bouquet.
Remus gave a sheepish smile, shrugging slightly. “I thought it might brighten your evening,” he admitted. “But if I’d known the hug was part of the deal, I might’ve come sooner.”
You let out a laugh and furrowed your brow further, unable to help how the cheeky comment brightened up your night that little bit more. “I see Sirius has gotten into you. Come in, let's go to the kitchen.” 
The kitchen glowed softly, the warm light reflecting off the polished wooden counters and copper fixtures. The steady hum of the kettle was a comforting backdrop to the quiet conversation you and Remus shared. You busied yourself preparing tea, your back to him as he leaned against the table, his long limbs relaxed but his eyes watchful.
“You’ve redecorated,” He remarked, gesturing to the new curtains hanging over the window. “I’m not sure the maroon suits the Potters, though. Sirius would call it RavenClaw overkill.”
You smirked over your shoulder, a hint of genuine amusement breaking through the lingering heaviness in your chest. “Sirius would call anything not leather or black an abomination,” you retorted, setting two mismatched mugs on the counter.
Remus chuckled, a low, pleasant sound that filled the room. “Touché. Though I do think the blue adds some warmth. This place could use it.” He glanced around, his expression softening. “It feels different without… everyone.”
You paused for a moment, letting his words hang in the air. The truth of them settled deep in your chest, an ache that had grown all too familiar. “It’s been a bit lonely,” you admitted, your voice quieter now. “I’m not used to all this space- just me.”
He nodded, his gaze heavy with understanding. “I think they’d hate to see you like this. Especially James. He’d insist on dragging you to some ridiculous Quidditch match to cheer you up.”
You smiled faintly at the thought, a flicker of warmth chasing away the cold for just a moment. “He would,” You agreed. “He’d bribe me with chocolate frogs and promise not to embarrass me in front of the team, only to shout louder than anyone else in the stands. Calling us the seeker twins.”
Remus’s lips quirked into a small smile, but there was a flicker of something else in his expression- something that felt out of place. Nostalgia, yes, but also something deeper, something almost... reverent. His fingers drumming against his cup as he sat down at the table.
“You’ve always been good at making people laugh,” He said softly, his tone different now. His gaze lingered on you in a way that made your fingers hesitate as you poured the tea.
“You give me too much credit,” You hummed lightly, though his words sent a faint blush creeping up your neck. “James is the funny one. I’m just the stubborn one.”
He tilted his head, his smile turning crooked- letting his fingers graze your wrist and fixing your cuff as you poured him his tea. “It's a Potter trait. But I think it’s more than that.”
You turned to face him fully. “What are you getting at, Remus?” You narrowed your eyes, your tone teasing but your curiosity piqued.
He took the mug, his fingers brushing yours briefly, and for a moment, he didn’t reply. He just studied you, his hazel eyes unusually intense. “You’ve always had this way of making people feel seen,” He said finally, his voice softer now. “Like they matter. Even when they don’t think they do.”
His words caught you off guard, and for a moment, you didn’t know how to respond. “That’s… kind of you to say,” You managed, looking down at your tea as you tried to gather your thoughts. “I don’t think I’ve ever been particularly good at- ”
“You're selling yourself short, Birdie.” He chuckled. The nickname slipped from his lips so naturally, so casually, that it took you a moment to process. When it hit, your breath caught in your throat, and the air between you seemed to still.
You set your mug down slowly, your mind racing even as you fought to keep your expression calm. You turned back to the sink, gripping the edge tightly to ground yourself. “...What did you just call me?”
Remus stiffened, and you felt his gaze burn into your back. “What do you mean?” He mumbled, his voice suddenly cautious.
You turned around, your heart pounding- only one person called you by that name. “Why are you here?” You crossed your arms, your voice steady despite the storm building in your chest. “And don’t tell me it’s for tea.”
His expression faltered for just a second- just long enough for you to see through the carefully constructed façade. “I’m here because I wanted to see you,” His tone was measured. “To make sure you were all right.”
“No,” You scoffed, shaking your head as the pieces clicked together. “No, you know I'm not a fool.”
He opened his mouth to respond, but you didn’t let him. “Why are you here, Barty?” 
His eyes widened, and for a moment, the mask slipped entirely. The careful demeanor, the warm smiles, the familiar quirks- it all fell away, replaced by a raw, vulnerable intensity that made your breath stop.
“You always were too clever for your own good,” He muttered, leaning back in his chair with a resigned sigh. “Guess there’s no point pretending now.”
Your chest tightened as the truth settled in. You gave a disbelieving scoff before you ran your fingers through your hair. Pacing slightly before you paused, a scary truth settling over you. “How did you do it?”
Barty rolled his neck and leaned further into his seat to face you again. His expression neutral- the natural arrogant energy coming from him felt horribly wrong coming from Remus’s stolen face. “What exactly, birdie?”
“Don't play coy.” You snapped. “How did you get as piece of Remus for the potion you used to lie your way past my wards and into my home, Crouch?”
“... I hate when you call me Crouch.” Barty's response was almost petulant, his lips twisting into a pout as he sat back in the chair, fingers tapping rhythmically against the porcelain mug he had barely touched. He tilted his head to the side, his green eyes narrowing slightly as he studied you, the faintest ghost of a smirk pulling at the corners of his mouth.
“You always know how to wound me,” He continued softly, his tone a mockery of vulnerability. “But then again, you've always been too good at that, haven't you?”
Your stomach churned at the way he looked at you, like you were something to be admired and consumed all at once. It was too much, too familiar, and yet so far removed from the boy you once knew. You crossed your arms tightly over your chest, grounding yourself against the onslaught of emotions threatening to overwhelm you.
“Answer the question, Barty,” You said sharply, your voice cutting through the heavy silence of the room. “How did you do it?”
He sighed dramatically, as though the act of explaining himself was some grand inconvenience. “Remus has always been predictable,” He snarked lazily, his gaze never leaving yours. “He's a creature of habit, like clockwork. It wasn’t exactly difficult to collect what I needed.”
Your blood ran cold at the casual way he spoke about violating the trust of someone you cared for. “You stalked him. You used him,” Your voice trembling with anger. “You used him to get to me.”
He smiled then, a slow, deliberate curl of his lips that sent a shiver down your spine. “I did it for you, Birdie,” he said, his voice dropping to a low, honeyed murmur. “For us. You don’t understand how much I’ve missed you, how much I’ve needed you. Every single day without you has been... agony.”
“Agony?” You repeated incredulously, your voice rising as your anger boiled over. “You don’t get to talk to me about agony, Barty. You left. You made that choice, and now you want to waltz back in here, pretending like nothing’s changed?”
“Because nothing has!” He shot back, rising from the chair so suddenly that it scraped against the floor with a harsh screech. He moved toward you, and despite yourself, you took a step back. “You think I stopped loving you? You think I ever stopped thinking about you? Every second, every breath, it’s always been you.”
“Stop,” You said firmly, holding up a hand to keep him at a distance. “You don’t get to do this. You don’t get to waltz in here, steal someone’s face, and act like you’re some lovesick hero.”
“But I am lovesick,” He said, his voice trembling as he closed the space between you. “I’m sick, Birdie. Sick. You’re the only thing that makes me feel alive, the only thing that’s ever made sense. Don’t you see? I’m here because I love you.”
“Love?” You scoffed, shaking your head in disbelief. “You don’t even know what love is, Barty. Love doesn’t manipulate. It doesn’t lie. It doesn’t use people. Get out.”
His expression switched to one of complete shock. As if he didn't expect to actually be sent away. You turned on your heels and walked down the hall, ignoring the stunned boy for a moment before he began to follow after you, taking a heavy breath. “Baby, birdie, don't walk away. Princess.”
Merlin, you hated to hear that coming from Remus’s mouth. It made your skin crawl.
His voice followed you like a shadow, echoing in the high ceilings of the manor. “Birdie, please,” He pleaded, a mixture of whining and anger that grated against your already frayed nerves. You didn’t turn around, your footsteps quick and determined as you ascended the stairs. “Don’t walk away from me!”
You didn’t answer. You couldn’t. Every part of you screamed to keep moving, to put as much distance as possible between you and the man who was once everything to you. Your grip tightened on the banister as you climbed, trying to block out the sound of his voice.
“Stop ignoring me!” He shouted, his tone sharp with frustration. He was right behind you now, his steps uneven and frantic. “Do you think this is easy for me? Do you think I want to be like this?”
At that, you stopped abruptly, your heart pounding in your chest as you turned to face him. “Do I think this is easy for you?” You snapped, your voice trembling with barely contained fury. “You’ve made it abundantly clear, Barty, that you’ll do whatever you want- no matter who it hurts.”
He flinched at your words, the rawness of them cutting through his desperation. But instead of backing down, he stepped closer, his expression a twisted mixture of anguish and determination. His face flickered again, the remnants of the Polyjuice Potion struggling to hold as patches of his sandy hair and pale skin replaced Remus’s softer features.
“I’m not trying to hurt you,” He said, his voice breaking. “I’m trying to fix this. To fix us.”
“There is no us,” you spat, your hands shaking as you stepped back. “There hasn’t been for a long time. And that was your choice, Barty.”
“No,” he said firmly, his green eyes blazing with an intensity that sent a chill down your spine. “You don’t get to put this all on me. You think I wanted to leave? You think I wanted to-” His voice cracked, and he clenched his fists, his body trembling with barely restrained emotion. “I didn’t have a choice, Birdie. You don’t understand-”
“You’re right,” You interrupted, your voice rising. “I don’t understand. I don’t understand how someone who claimed to love me could leave me to pick up the pieces of a life we built together. I don’t understand how you can come back now, pretending like you didn’t shatter me.”
He took another step forward, his hands outstretched as though reaching for something he couldn’t quite grasp. “Because I had to,” he whispered, his voice hoarse. “Don’t you see? I had to protect you. From my father, from the world we were in. I-”
“Stop,” you said sharply, holding up a hand to cut him off. “Don’t stand there and pretend you were some kind of martyr. You weren’t protecting me, Barty. You were protecting yourself.”
His jaw tightened, and for a moment, he looked like he might argue. But then his shoulders slumped, and the fight seemed to drain out of him. “Maybe I was,” he admitted, his voice barely above a whisper. “But it doesn’t change the fact that I love you. That I’ve always loved you.”
“Love?” You echoed bitterly, shaking your head. “You call this love? Breaking into my home, stealing someone else’s face, manipulating me into letting you in? That’s not love, Barty. That’s obsession.”
At that, something in him seemed to snap. His entire body tensed, and he closed the space between you in two long strides. “Fine,” he hissed, his voice low and trembling with barely contained anger. “Call it what you want. Call me a monster, call me obsessed- but don’t you dare tell me I don’t love you.”
Before you could respond, his knees buckled, and he sank to the stair landing at your feet, his hands clutching at your covered thighs as though it were a lifeline. His chin pressed against your skirt, looking up at you with those eyes a young girl you knew once spent hours of her time lost in. Those brilliant and calculated eyes. Here he was; Bartemius Crouch Junior, with an ego to rival the gods and the mind and skill to back it up- on his knees. Looking up at you like an obedient dog. “How can I not love you?” He whispered. “Birdie. My beautiful song bird. How?”
Your chest heaved as you looked down at him, his once-imposing figure now crumpled before you, hands gripping your skirt like you were the only tether keeping him from falling apart completely. His words, dripping with desperation, clawed at your resolve. 
“Barty,” You whispered, your voice trembling, a mixture of anger and grief thick in your throat. “You need to leave.”
His eyes shot up at your words, his green eyes wide with disbelief. He stared at you as if you’d just struck him, his lips parting slightly, searching for something to say. “No,” he said softly, his voice unsteady but growing firmer. You watched as the full potion effect dropped away. “I can’t leave. Not like this. Not when I know you still love me.”
You flinched, his words cutting deeper with his true voice, but you didn’t waver. “This isn’t about love,” you said firmly, though your voice cracked. “This is about you not knowing when to let go.”
He rose slowly, his movements deliberate, careful, like a predator trying not to spook its prey. He hovered over you now, his height casting a shadow that made the grand staircase feel suddenly small. His hand reached out, trembling as it moved toward your cheek, and you instinctively stepped back, pressing yourself against the banister.
“Don’t,” You warned, your voice sharp.
His hand froze mid-air, his fingers curling slightly before he dropped it to his side. He exhaled shakily, his breath warm as it ghosted over your skin. “Birdie, please,” He murmured, his voice barely audible, his lips forming words you couldn’t make out. His shoulders hunched as if the weight of his own need was too much to bear. “Please don’t send me away.”
You shook your head, tears threatening to spill over as you fought to keep your composure. “You don’t get to do this,” You hissed. “You don’t get to break into my home, throw yourself at my feet, and demand I fix you. You’re not my responsibility, Barty. Not anymore.”
His hands twitched at his sides, his jaw clenching as he fought some inner battle you couldn’t see. Then, in a single motion, his hands reached for you again, his movements quick but not violent, desperate but not forceful. Panic surged through you, and before you could think, your hand flew up, striking his cheek with a sharp slap.
The sound echoed in the hollow silence of the staircase. 
He staggered back slightly, his hand flying to his cheek, but instead of anger, a strange expression crossed his face. His lips curved into a slow, almost delirious smile, his chest rising and falling as if he’d just surfaced from drowning. 
“That,” He murmured, his voice rasping with something unhinged, “felt real.”
Your stomach churned, the unease twisting tighter as he stood straighter, his demeanor shifting. His hand dropped from his cheek, and he let out a low, almost relieved laugh, shaking his head. “That’s the Birdie I know,” he said softly, his tone dangerously gentle. “The one who knew what our passion meant- I miss her. Can I talk to her?”
Your chest heaved with the weight of his words, the deranged calmness in his voice sending your heart into overdrive. His smug, unhinged smile made the bile rise in your throat as your fingers curled into fists at your sides. 
“You miss her?” You snapped, your voice sharp and trembling. “The Birdie you claim to miss is the one you destroyed, Barty! She’s the one you left behind when you decided to join them!”
The smile faltered slightly, and for a fleeting moment, you saw something like regret flicker across his face. But it wasn’t enough. It could never be enough to erase what he had done. 
“You made your choice,” you continued, stepping toward him now, your fury overriding the trembling in your hands. “You chose to follow him. You chose to become a monster, to fight against everything I stand for, everything my family stands for. You don’t get to waltz back into my life and pretend none of it happened.”
“I did it for you,” His voice rising, his green eyes blazing as he stepped closer. “Every single thing I’ve done was for you, Birdie! To protect you, to keep you safe, to make sure you’d never have to know what it’s like to be weak. You think I wanted to join them? You think I wanted to-”
“Don’t you dare,” You cut him off, your voice trembling with rage. “Don’t you dare try to make this about me. You didn’t join them for me, Barty. You joined them because you’re too much of a coward to stand up to your father. You wanted power. You wanted to prove to him that you were more then him. But you didn’t care who you hurt along the way, did you?”
He flinched as though you’d struck him again, his jaw tightening as his hands clenched into fists at his sides. “You don’t know what you’re talking about,” He hissed through gritted teeth, his voice low and dangerous. “You don’t know what it’s like to live with the weight of that name. To have no choice but to-”
“You had a choice!” You screamed, the words tearing from your throat as tears stung your eyes. “You always had a choice, Barty! And you chose them. You chose power. You chose to stand against me, against my family. Against James!”
He froze at that, his eyes wide and his breath hitching as though you’d struck a nerve. But you didn’t stop. You couldn’t stop now, not with everything bubbling to the surface. 
“You think I haven’t thought about you every single day?” You demanded, your voice breaking as tears began to spill freely down your cheeks. “You think I haven’t wondered if there was something I could have done, something I could have said to stop you? To save you?”
“Don’t,” He whispered, his voice trembling now, the bravado in his tone beginning to crack. “Don’t say that.”
“You don’t get to tell me what to say,” You spat, your voice trembling with a mixture of anger and heartbreak. “You don’t get to tell me anything anymore. You lost that right the moment you turned your back on me.”
He stared at you, his chest rising and falling unevenly as the weight of your words pressed down on him. And then, suddenly, he moved. 
Before you could react, he closed the distance between you in a single stride, his hands gripping your face with a desperation that took your breath away. His lips crashed into yours with a force that stole the air from your lungs, the kiss searing and frantic, as though it was the only way he could express everything he couldn’t say. 
For a moment, you froze, your mind racing as the heat of his mouth overwhelmed your senses. You wanted to shove him away, to scream at him, to remind him of all the reasons this was wrong. But then something in you broke. 
Your hands flew to his chest, not to push him away, but to pull him closer. The kiss deepened, raw and terrifying, a collision of anger, grief, and longing that neither of you could control. His hands slipped from your face to your waist, his grip bruising as he pulled you against him as if he could fuse you together.
The kiss deepened, and soon words no longer mattered. There were no more accusations, no more pleas, just the raw, unfiltered intensity of everything you’d both been holding back for far too long. It wasn’t tender or sweet- it was desperate, filled with the kind of longing and pain that made it impossible to think about anything else. His hands mapped out every inch of you as though he was trying to memorize you, to hold onto something real in a world that had been slipping away from him for years. 
And you let him. You let yourself forget, if only for a moment, what he’d done, what he’d become, and the mess he’d left in his wake. You let yourself feel, because Merlin knew you couldn’t stand the ache of silence anymore.  
It wasn’t long before the tension gave way to something more, something equally terrifying and exhilarating. Clothes were discarded hastily, his lips tracing paths of fire along your skin, and for the first time in what felt like forever, the silence of the manor wasn’t suffocating. It was electric.
You didn’t speak a word to each other the entire time. The only sounds being your soft gasps and his inaudible murmurs- ones that sounded more like pleas than anything else. You couldn’t give him more then that. Words would have only reminded you of the impossibility of it all, of everything you’d both lost. Words would have shattered the fragile bubble you’d created, where nothing else mattered but the two of you.  
When it was over, you lay side by side in the fading moonlight, your bodies tangled in the sheets as the world slowly came back into focus. His breathing was uneven, his hand still resting on your waist as though he couldn’t quite bring himself to let go. But you didn’t look at him. You couldn’t. You stared at the ceiling instead, your mind a chaotic storm of emotions you weren’t ready to unpack.
~~~
The morning light filtered in through the heavy curtains, painting the room in soft hues of gold and grey. You stirred slightly, the ache in your body a reminder of the night before, but you kept your eyes closed, willing the world- and him- away.  
You heard him moving about, the rustle of fabric as he dressed. For a brief, fleeting moment, you thought he might leave quietly, that he might spare you the agony of facing him after everything that had happened. But then he spoke, his voice low and hesitant, as though testing the waters.  
“I’ll come back later.”  
You scoffed softly, rolling over to face the wall, your back to him. You didn’t say a word. You couldn’t trust yourself to speak without breaking, without letting the storm inside you spill out.  
“Birdie…” His voice was softer now, almost pleading, but you didn’t move. You kept your breathing even, your expression neutral, even as your heart clenched painfully in your chest.  
The air felt heavier as the silence stretched, broken only by the soft creak of the floorboards as Barty lingered by the door. His shadow loomed across the threshold, hesitant, like a ghost caught between staying and vanishing. 
“Birdie.” He whispered, his voice raw and strained, as though dragging each word out of his chest cost him a piece of himself. “One last thing.”
You didn’t respond, your body curled away from him, but he knew you were awake. He always did.
“You have to tell James.” He sighed, the words tumbling out in a quiet rush. “About his Secret Keeper.”
Your breath stopped, but you didn’t move. Every muscle in your body tensed as his words settled over you like frost, cold and unforgiving.
“Barty, what are you talking about?” You finally whispered, your voice hoarse as you turned just enough to glance over your shoulder. He looked so different in the pale morning light, the shadows on his face accentuating the cracks in his armor, the boy you once loved bleeding through the man he had become.
“Just promise me,” He cut you off, his tone suddenly sharper. “You'll.. warn him not to trust them.”
You stared at him, searching his face for answers, but all you found was that same haunted intensity you’d seen last night. He wasn’t lying- at least, not about this. But that didn’t make it any easier to believe. 
“... okay.” You muttered. “I will.”
Barty stared at you like he wanted to say a million different things at once. Instead, he turned, the door closing behind him. You hugged your knees to your chest and willed away as much of reality as possible. Begging for any sense of normalcy to return; even the painful loneliness.
But nothing truly worked.
~~~
As the days went on, the weight of Barty's absence hung over the time that followed like a storm cloud. He hadn’t come back, and you weren’t sure if you were relieved or heartbroken. The last words he’d said lingered with you, haunting your every quiet moment: Tell James. Warn him.
You’d followed through on his warning, albeit reluctantly. It had been difficult to convince James without revealing the entire truth, but the grim look in his eyes had told you he believed you, or at least enough to act. 
Nothing happened at first, but Peter was monitored. It didn't take long for everything to come to light; Peter was working against you. It all worked out. James was ready for him that night, the night he came for Harry, surprising the monster before he could act. Peter tried to run after the news came out, but a furious Sirius tracked him down for a confrontation. One with an explosive end for their former friend, nothing left of the boy but a finger.
It did take a few hours of wrestling with the Aurors, but after being proper witnesses and all of your evidence of treason- Sirius was released. Walking out of the holding cell with a smile that could blunt the sun. Lily and James were safe. Baby Harry, too. Relief and disbelief were all anyone seemed capable of, but you couldn’t bring yourself to celebrate. Not fully. Because in the same breath that the Dark Lord fell, Barty was taken to Azkaban.
You hadn’t dared to ask about the details. Not from James, not from Sirius, not from anyone. Knowing felt like it would only make it worse. But the knowledge of him locked away, cold and alone in a place that stripped people of everything, clawed at your chest in the silence of the manor.
You had lost him all over again, and this time, you knew there was no coming back. 
The days that followed felt like a blur of motion and noise, a sharp contrast to the oppressive stillness that had once consumed you. You refused to let Barty- or the ghost of him that lingered in your mind- define you any longer. He was gone, and you couldn’t afford to let his absence drag you down any further. Not when there was work to be done.
You didn’t go to his hearing. You couldn’t. The idea of sitting in that courtroom, of listening to them talk about him as though he was nothing more than a monster, was too much. It wasn’t that you disagreed. He’d made his choices, and the world would see him for what he’d become. But for you, he was still the boy who had once traced your blemishes like constellations and whispered that you were the only light in his life. 
Even now, looking back, you had always known what that young boy was capable of. The signs were there; and the raking guilt of knowing that you were possibly the only thing keeping him from becoming what he seemed so keen on being, taxed your self worth.
So, you pretended that night didn’t happen. That he didn’t exist. The magpie charm around your neck was tucked away in a drawer, along with the pieces of your heart that still ached for him. You buried it all deep, focusing on what you could control, on what you could fix.
Joining the Order to help clean up the aftermath of the war felt like a natural next step. It was what your parents would have done, what James would have done if he wasn’t busy. Saying he wanted to be a proper father to Harry and a good man to Lily. Lily still stayed close, there wasn't many healers with her talent. But James stepped down. It was what you needed to do. The world hadn’t stopped turning, and there were still Death Eaters to hunt, still innocent people to protect, still so much damage to undo.
The first few missions were grueling, physically and emotionally. You worked long hours, tracking down the last of Voldemort’s loyalists and dismantling the remnants of their operations. It was dangerous, messy work, but you thrived in it. The chaos kept you moving, kept you from lingering too long on the memories that threatened to pull you under.
You found solace in the chaos of the Order. Sirius, always protective, tried to keep a close eye on you, though he seemed to understand your need for space. Remus was steadier, offering quiet support when you needed it most, though you often pushed him away. And James- when he wasn’t with Lily and Harry- was your anchor, his unrelenting optimism a reminder of the person you used to be.
But there were moments, late at night, when the world went quiet, and you couldn’t escape the weight of it all. When you lay awake in bed, staring at the ceiling, and his voice echoed in your mind. When you caught a glimpse of something out of the corner of your eye that reminded you of him, and your heart clenched painfully before you forced yourself to look away.
And then there were the whispers. The Order didn’t really talk about Barty, he was just another cog in the operation, but you heard the murmurs. About his trial, about Azkaban, about how someone so young and clever could have fallen so far. You kept your head down, pretending not to hear, but the words cut deep.
The recklessness came on slowly at first, creeping into your choices like an insidious shadow. You pushed yourself harder on missions, volunteering for the riskiest tasks, throwing yourself into danger with a desperation that bordered on self-destructive. It was easier to focus on the fight, on the rush of adrenaline and the sharp edge of survival, than to confront the gaping void Barty had left behind.
Sirius and Remus noticed, of course. They weren’t blind to the way you flinched at certain names, or how you worked yourself to exhaustion. Sirius tried to laugh it off at first, making quips about how you were channeling your inner Gryffindor ‘under all that Ravenclaw’. But Remus, ever perceptive, wasn’t fooled. His hazel eyes lingered on you with quiet concern, though he said nothing outright. Not until the mission that changed everything.
It was supposed to be a straightforward raid: infiltrate a suspected Death Eater hideout, gather intel, and get out. But things rarely went as planned. The ambush was swift and brutal, spells ricocheting off walls and sending debris flying. You and Remus were in the thick of it, your wand moving instinctively as you deflected curses and fired back.
Then it happened. A flash of green light, too close, too fast. It was aimed directly at Remus, who had his back turned while shielding a fallen comrade. Without thinking, you moved. You felt the spell hit you like a freight train, knocking the air from your lungs as a searing pain ripped through your side. 
You barely registered Remus’s horrified shout as you crumpled to the ground, your vision blurring. The sounds of the battle faded into a dull roar as your consciousness slipped away, the last thing you saw being his anguished face hovering over you.
~~~
Remus paced the length of the ornate carpet, his fingers raking through his hair repeatedly as though he could scrub away the memory of what had happened. Sirius sat slumped on the sofa, uncharacteristically silent, his dark eyes fixed on the fireplace. The flickering flames did nothing to ease the tension in the room.  
Remus’s chest tightened with guilt, each second that passed driving the weight deeper. He could still see it- the flash of green light, the way you had thrown yourself in front of him without hesitation. The moment felt frozen in time, looping endlessly in his mind.  
“Moony, sit down,” Sirius huffed finally, his voice low and hoarse. It was an order, but not a harsh one.  
“I can’t,” Remus replied, his voice taut as a wire. “She- she could’ve-”  
“But she didn’t,” Sirius interrupted, his tone firm. “She’s alive, and Lily is better then any healer we have.”  
Remus halted mid-step, his jaw clenched tightly. “She shouldn’t have had to save me,” he said, his voice cracking. “She- she’s half alive, Sirius. If anything happens to her-”  
Sirius’s gaze darkened, and he stood, crossing the room in a few long strides. He placed a hand on Remus’s shoulder, squeezing it tightly. “You listen to me,” His eyes were sharp but his voice was steady. “She’s as stubborn as James, maybe more so. There’s no way she’d have stood by and done nothing, and you know it. Blaming yourself won’t change anything.”  
Remus opened his mouth to respond, but the sound of the front door opening cut him off. Both men turned toward the entrance just as James entered, his face pale and tense. Harry toddled in after him, clutching his father’s pant leg with wide, curious eyes.  
“Where is she?” James asked immediately, his voice sharp with worry.  
“She’s upstairs,” Sirius said quickly. “Lils’ with her. She hasn't come back down yet.”  
The tension in the room was suffocating, the silence broken only by the faint crackle of the fire and the occasional creak of floorboards as Remus paced. Sirius watched James carefully, noting how his hands trembled ever so slightly as he held Harry close. It was subtle, but for someone as unshakable as James Potter, it was telling.
“I need to go to her,” James said abruptly, his voice sharp and breaking the heavy stillness. He passed Harry to Sirius, who took the toddler without protest, his dark eyes wary. “She’s my sister. She shouldn’t be alone.”
“You can’t,” Sirius said firmly, standing up to meet James’s gaze. “Lily said we need to give her space. She’s working.”
“I don’t care what Lily said!” James snapped, his voice louder now, desperation seeping into his tone. “That’s my little sister lying upstairs, Sirius. If something happens- if she-” He cut himself off, swallowing hard as he fought to steady his breathing. “I can’t just sit here.”
“You think I want to?” Sirius shot back, his voice rising to match James’s. “You think Remus wants to? Merlin, Prongs, we’re all going mad down here, but Lily knows what she’s doing. She’ll call us if- when- there’s news.”
James ran a hand through his hair, his frustration palpable. He knew if anyone could understand even a fraction of what he was feeling it was Sirius- you had endeared yourself to him in a way not many people could. And those people were in this house. “She doesn’t get to keep me from her,” He muttered, his tone dangerously low now. “Not her. Not anyone.”
“James, listen to me,” Sirius snapped, stepping closer, his hand gripping James’s shoulder tightly. “You storming in there isn’t going to help her. It’s not going to help anyone.”
Before James could respond, the sound of light footsteps descending the stairs cut through the room like a knife. All three men turned toward the staircase as Lily appeared, her face pale and her expression unreadable. The sight of her made James freeze, his words dying in his throat. Sirius’s grip on Harry tightened, and Remus stopped pacing entirely.
Lily’s hands were clasped tightly in front of her, and her eyes darted between the men before finally settling on James. “Can I speak with you alone?” She asked softly, her voice calm but heavy with something that made James’s stomach churn.
“What is it?” He demanded, taking a step toward her. “Lily, just tell me-”
“Please, James,” She interrupted, her voice breaking just slightly as she glanced toward Harry, who was still nestled in Sirius’s arms. “Come with me.”
James hesitated, his body rigid with tension, but the look in Lily’s eyes left no room for argument. He turned back to Sirius and Remus, his jaw clenched tightly. “I’ll be back,” He said, though his voice wavered.
James followed Lily just a few steps into the hallway before she stopped, her back to him as she hesitated. Lily’s words were hushed and inaudible, even to Remus’s keen ears- or maybe, he just wasn't willing to know just yet.
James’s expression shifted from tension to something unreadable, his brows drawing together as he processed Lily’s quiet words. The weight of whatever she had said seemed to hit him all at once, and his jaw went slack, his eyes widening in stunned disbelief.
Sirius and Remus exchanged a quick glance, their concern growing as they watched James stagger back a half step, his hand running through his already disheveled hair. His lips moved as though forming a question, but no sound escaped. Whatever Lily had told him, it had shaken him to his core.
Sirius shifted Harry on his hip, his protective instincts flaring. “What the hell did she just say to him?” He muttered under his breath to Remus, his dark eyes narrowing.
“I don’t know,” Remus replied quietly, his voice tight with unease. James finally looked at Lily, his wide eyes searching hers for confirmation. 
James didn't hesitate after Lily's nod. He took the stairs two at a time, his worry and confusion pressing heavily on his shoulders. His hand gripped the banister tightly as he moved, the wood creaking faintly under his weight. Sirius and Remus exchanged uneasy glances from their spot by the fireplace, the tension thick enough to choke on.  
Lily lingered at the base of the stairs for a moment, watching James's retreating form before turning back to the room. She mustered a soft, reassuring smile, though it didn’t quite reach her eyes.  
“She’s fine,” she said quietly, addressing Sirius and Remus.  
Sirius raised an eyebrow, clearly unconvinced. “Fine? You call that fine?” He gestured toward the staircase with a sharp nod, where James had disappeared moments before. “Prongs looked like he was about to keel over.”  
“She is,” Lily insisted gently but firmly. “But James.. they just need to talk.”  
Remus frowned, his sharp hazel eyes darting between Lily and the stairs. “If she’s fine, why is he in such a rush? What aren’t you telling us, Lily?”  
Lily hesitated, her smile faltering slightly as she tucked a strand of hair behind her ear. “It’s not my place to say,” she said finally, her voice soft but resolute. “You’ll have to ask her yourselves when she’s ready.”  
Sirius let out a low growl of frustration, running a hand through his hair. “Great. Love a good mystery. Just what we need after all this.”  
Remus, however, wasn’t so easily placated. His gaze lingered on Lily, his instincts screaming that there was more to the story than she was letting on. But he didn’t press her. Not yet.  
Instead, he leaned back against the arm of the couch, his arms crossed tightly over his chest. “Whatever it is, it’s obviously got James in a state,” he muttered under his breath.  
Lily offered him a small, almost apologetic smile before excusing herself, taking Harry from Sirius, as she headed toward the kitchen, leaving Sirius and Remus to stew in their unease.  
~~~
James reached the door to your room, his breath coming in shallow bursts as he paused to gather himself. He wasn’t sure what he was expecting to find on the other side. The worry twisting in his chest was relentless, and the weight of Lily’s cryptic words only added to his unease.  
He knocked softly, his knuckles brushing the wood. “It’s me,” He called quietly, his voice trembling slightly. “Can I come in?”  
There was a moment of silence, and then your voice- weak but steady- drifted through the door. “It’s open.”  
James pushed the door open and stepped inside, his eyes immediately searching for you. You were propped up against a pile of pillows on the bed, your complexion pale but no longer deathly. A soft blanket was draped over your lap, and a steaming mug rested on the nightstand beside you.  
Relief flooded through him at the sight of you awake, but it was quickly tempered by the shadow of exhaustion that lingered in your eyes.  
“Hey,” he said softly, his voice breaking the quiet.  
You managed a faint smile, though it didn’t quite reach your eyes. “Hey, Jamie.”  
He crossed the room in a few strides, pulling the chair closer to your bedside and sinking into it. His hands fidgeted in his lap as he searched for the right words, his gaze flickering between your face and the mug on the nightstand.  
“You scared the hell out of me,” He sighed finally, his voice barely above a whisper.  
You looked down, your fingers picking at the edge of the blanket. “I know. I’m sorry.”  
James shook his head, leaning forward to rest his elbows on his knees. “Don’t apologize,” He said firmly. “Just… talk to me. Please. What’s going on? Lily said you’re fine, but-”  
“Lily’s right,” You cut in gently, meeting his gaze. You were able to see all the true overbearing nature of James Potter. When you were younger his protective nature used to irritate you- he was always on, all the time, brash and loud- a proper lion. Now? You wanted nothing more than to curl up against him and cry. But that's the last thing you could allow yourself to be- weak. “I’m fine, James. Or at least, I will be.”  
He studied you for a long moment, his hazel eyes filled with a mixture of concern and doubt. “Lily said.. you needed to tell me something.”
James tilted his head slightly, his brows furrowing as he studied your expression. There was something guarded in your eyes, something that made the air between you feel heavier. His concern deepened when you let out a soft, shaky breath and slowly ran your hand over your abdomen.
The motion was small, almost absentminded, but it struck James like a thunderclap. His eyes widened, his lips parting as the realization sank in. For a moment, he was utterly still, his mind racing to catch up with what you’d just silently told him.
“No,” he breathed, the word barely audible as he leaned back in his chair, his face pale with shock. “No.”
You didn’t say anything, didn’t move, didn’t breathe. You simply held his gaze, your fingers resting lightly on your abdomen.
James swallowed hard, his voice trembling as he asked, “Bambi, when?”
The nickname, soft and familiar, broke something inside you. But you held firm, your eyes flickering away from his as you shook your head. “It doesn’t matter,” You whispered, your voice barely above a murmur.
James’s leg began to bounce, his eyes flickering from you to the door a few times before he shot up from his seat and began to pace. “When did you find out?” He demanded sharply, his voice tight with tension.  
“Tonight,” You admitted quietly, your fingers curling around the blanket on your lap.  
James stopped mid-step, spinning on his heel to face you. “Tonight?” He repeated, his voice rising slightly. “And you didn’t think to tell me immediately? Merlin’s sake!”  
You flinched as his voice raised, but you held your ground, meeting his gaze with a calmness you didn’t entirely feel. “I was a little busy almost dying, James,” You hissed, your voice firmer now.  
He opened his mouth to argue but then snapped it shut, his jaw tightening as he resumed pacing. “Fine. Fine,” He muttered, more to himself than to you. “But you’re leaving the Order.”  
You let out a sharp, humorless laugh, shaking your head. “As if they’d want me back after that stunt,” You shot back. “I’m not exactly in peak condition for fieldwork, am I?”  
James ignored your sarcasm, his hands balling into fists as he continued his relentless pacing. “Good. You shouldn’t be anywhere near this madness,” He said firmly, his tone brooking no argument. “Not now.”  
Your heart clenched at his words, the overbearing protectiveness you’d come to associate with him hitting harder than ever. But before you could respond, he stopped abruptly, his hazel eyes narrowing as a new thought seemed to strike him.  
“Who is it?” He demanded, his voice sharp and almost accusatory. “Who?”  
You swallowed hard, the weight of his question settling over you like a lead blanket. “It doesn’t matter,” You pushed, though your voice wavered slightly.  
James’s expression darkened, his jaw tightening as he began to pace once more. “Doesn’t matter?” He echoed incredulously, his voice rising. “It absolutely matters, Bambi. You can’t just- Merlin, you can’t drop something like this and expect me not to-” He cut himself off with a growl, shaking his head as he muttered under his breath.  
James's pacing came to an abrupt halt, his hazel eyes narrowing as the pieces began to fall into place. He turned to you, his expression shifting from confusion to a dawning realization that made your stomach drop.  
“The wards,” he said slowly, his voice low and dangerous. “The ones Lily and I put up for you- someone would’ve had to get past them. Someone who knew how to.”  
You froze, your heart pounding in your chest as his gaze locked onto yours, sharp and unrelenting.  
“Who was it, Bambi?” he demanded again, his tone deadly serious now. “Who the hell got past the wards?”  
Your throat tightened, and for a moment, you couldn’t find your voice. You looked away, your fingers gripping the blanket tightly as if it could shield you from the weight of his question.  
“Answer me!” James’s voice cracked, a mixture of desperation and anger bleeding into his tone.  
You took a shaky breath, your gaze fixed on the wall as you whispered, “You don’t want to know, James.”  
“That’s not your choice to make,” he shot back, his voice trembling. “Tell me.”  
You finally met his gaze, your eyes brimming with tears as you whispered the name that had haunted you for weeks, for months: “Barty.”  
The silence that followed was deafening, the weight of your admission hanging heavy in the air. James stared at you, his face a mixture of shock, anger, and something deeper- betrayal.  
“Barty Crouch?” He asked slowly, his voice barely above a whisper.  
You nodded, your throat too tight to speak.  
“Barty Crouch Junior?” James pushed and you gave a weak scoff.
“James- yes Junior.” You huffed, your anger boiling over.
James stared at you, his chest rising and falling with the effort of keeping his temper in check. His jaw clenched so tightly you thought it might shatter, but his eyes- those familiar, warm hazel eyes- betrayed the storm inside him. He was angry, yes, but the anger wasn’t directed at you. It wasn’t even directed at Barty. It was directed at himself.
For a moment, the room was silent, the only sound the faint beating of rain against the windows. You could see it, the way his hands trembled slightly as he tried to decide what to say. Finally, he spoke, his voice low but sharp enough to cut through the silence.
“How long?” He asked, his tone controlled but strained. “How long were you seeing him?”
You swallowed hard, gripping the blanket in your lap. “James-”
“How. Long.” His voice cracked, louder this time, the control slipping for just a moment. He was trying, you knew he was trying, but the weight of everything was too much for even him to hold back.
You took a shaky breath, forcing yourself to meet his gaze. “It started fifth year.” you admitted quietly. “It ended seventh. And he.. he showed up here. He told me about Peter.”
James’s face twisted, and he turned away, his hands dragging through his already-messy hair. He let out a low, frustrated sound that was somewhere between a sigh and a growl. “Fifth year?” he muttered to himself. “Merlin, Bambi, how did I not see it? How did I-” He cut himself off, pacing again.
You bit your lip, tears stinging your eyes. “James, please-”
“I..” He started but stopped- as if your tears alone tore apart at his flimsy heart. Closing his eyes and taking a steady breath. “So he made it past the wards. He came and told you about Peter and what? You-”
“James please just drop it. He's in Azkaban for life! It doesn't matter.”
James froze mid-step, his fists clenching tightly at his sides as his back remained turned to you. His shoulders heaved with the weight of unspoken words, his frustration palpable in the charged silence that filled the room.
"It doesn't matter?" He finally repeated, his voice low and filled with a quiet, simmering rage. "It doesn't matter?"
You flinched at his tone, gripping the blanket tighter as you tried to steady your breathing. "He's gone, James," you said softly, your voice trembling. "There's nothing left to fight over. There's no point in dragging this out."
James spun around to face you, his hazel eyes blazing with a mixture of anger, hurt, and disbelief. "No point?" He hissed, taking a step closer. "You think I’m angry because of him? Merlin, Bambi, I couldn’t give a damn about Barty Crouch. I’m angry because you didn’t tell me. You’ve been carrying this- this secret- alone, and now you’re trying to push me away again."
"I'm not pushing you away," You shot back, your voice rising slightly. "I'm trying to protect you! You have Lily, Harry- your family. You don't need to be dragged into this mess, James. It’s mine to deal with."
His expression softened for a fraction of a second, but the anger quickly returned. "You’re my family," he said fiercely, his voice breaking slightly. "You always have been. And if you think for one second that I’m going to stand here and let you face this alone, then you don’t know me at all."
You stared at him, the raw emotion in his voice cutting through your defenses like a blade. Your chest ached, torn between the desire to let him in and the fear of burdening him further. "James, I-" you began, but your voice faltered as tears welled in your eyes.
He closed the distance between you, dropping into the chair beside your bed. His hand found yours, warm and steady despite the tremor in his grip. "Listen to me," he said softly, his tone losing its edge as his thumb brushed over your knuckles. "I don’t care how messy this is. I don’t care how much it hurts. I just care about you."
The dam inside you broke, and a sob escaped your lips as you clung to his hand like a lifeline. "I don’t know how to fix this," you admitted, your voice barely above a whisper. "I don’t know how to move forward."
James squeezed your hand tightly, his gaze unwavering. "You don’t have to figure it out alone," he said firmly. "We’ll take it one step at a time, together. You hear me, Bambi? You’re not alone in this."
The weight on your chest eased ever so slightly as his words sank in, the overwhelming love and determination in his voice a balm to your fractured soul. You nodded, unable to speak as the tears streamed down your face, and James pulled you into a tight embrace.
For the first time in what felt like an eternity, you allowed yourself to lean on him, to let the walls you’d built around yourself crumble. And as James held you, murmuring reassurances that you would face whatever came next together, you felt the smallest flicker of hope begin to bloom in your chest.
After you recovered, you faced the daunting task of telling Sirius and Remus. Their reactions were nothing like you’d expected. After weeks of being stuffed up in that dingy room.
Sirius, ever the one to surprise you, turned softer than you’d ever seen him. It reminded you of the day Lily announced she was pregnant with Harry. He was standing in the kitchen when you told him, fiddling with a mug of tea. The moment the words left your lips, his eyes widened, and he nearly dropped the mug onto the countertop. 
For a moment, you thought he might pass out, but then his face broke into a beaming smile that almost seemed out of place for the weight of what you’d just told him. “You’re joking,” he said, his voice barely above a whisper. When you shook your head, tears welling in your eyes, he stepped forward, his hands gripping your shoulders firmly. “Merlin, you’re not joking.”
“I’m sorry,” You began, your voice cracking as the apology spilled from your lips. “I didn’t mean for this to happen, I-”
“Stop,” Sirius interrupted, his tone so warm it took you aback. He let go of your shoulders and instead pulled you into the tightest hug you’d ever received. “Don’t you dare apologize,” he murmured, his voice thick with emotion. “You’ll be a good mum, do you hear me? A bloody brilliant one.”
Tears slipped down your cheeks as you clung to him, his words washing over you like a balm. “But Sirius,” you tried again, your voice muffled against his shoulder. “The father-”
“I don’t care,” he said firmly, pulling back to look at you. His gray eyes were intense, but not with judgment- only love and determination. “I don’t care who he is, or what he’s done. This baby is going to have the best mum in the world. And they’re going to have me too, whether they like it or not.”
You let out a shaky laugh, his unwavering support lifting some of the weight off your chest. He grinned at you then, that mischievous, boyish grin you thought you’d lost after the war. “Merlin, James is going to lose his mind when he meets them,” He said, his voice laced with humor. “But I’m going to be the favorite uncle, just you wait.”
But then there was Remus.
You found Remus later in the sitting room, a book in his lap, though he wasn’t reading it. His eyes were distant, his fingers absently tracing the edges of the pages. He looked up when you entered, and the small smile he gave you faltered slightly when he caught sight of your expression.
“Remus,” you started hesitantly, sitting down on the sofa across from him. You fidgeted with your hands, unsure of how to begin. “There’s… something I need to tell you.”
He didn’t say anything, but the corner of his mouth quirked upward ever so slightly. His gaze flickered to your stomach for a moment, then back to your face. His expression was calm, almost amused, but there was a glint of something in his hazel eyes- something knowing.
“I-” you faltered, feeling suddenly uneasy under his gaze. “It’s… it’s important.”
He hummed softly, setting the book down on the armrest. “Go on, then,” He said, his tone light but laced with curiosity. He leaned forward slightly, resting his elbows on his knees as he studied you.
You took a deep breath, the words caught in your throat. “Remus, I-” You stopped when he lifted a finger to his nose and tapped it lightly, the gesture so quick and casual it took a moment to register.
You frowned, your heart skipping a beat as realization slowly dawned on you. “Remus,” you said again, your voice sharper this time. “You already know.”
His smirk grew slightly, the mischievous tilt of his lips catching you completely off guard. “I might,” he said nonchalantly, leaning back against the couch with an air of smugness. “Though it’s much more fun watching you squirm.”
You stared at him, your mouth opening and closing as you tried to process his words. “How?” You finally managed, your voice a mix of shock and disbelief. “How do you know?”
He shrugged, crossing one ankle over his knee. “It wasn’t hard to figure out,” he said casually, though there was a teasing lilt to his tone. “The scent changed a few days ago.”
“The scent?” You repeated, utterly baffled.
His smirk deepened, and he tapped his nose again, his hazel eyes sparkling with amusement. “Enhanced senses, remember? The subtle shifts, the hormones- it’s all there. Just like Lily. Didn’t think I’d notice?”
You stared at him, utterly dumbfounded. “You could smell that I was-?”
“Pregnant?” He finished for you, his tone softening slightly. Hearing Remus be the first to break- to finally say the word properly- it brought a smile to your face. “Yes.”
You buried your face in your hands, groaning softly as the embarrassment washed over you. “Merlin, Remus, you could’ve said something!”
“And miss this moment?” He teased, leaning forward again. “Not a chance.”
You peeked at him through your fingers, narrowing your eyes. “You’re insufferable.”
“Only because I care,” he quipped, his smirk turning into a warm smile. He reached out, his hand resting gently on yours. “I knew you’d tell me when you were ready.”
His words melted some of the tension in your chest, and you let out a shaky laugh. “Well, I’m telling you now,” you said softly. “I’m… I’m having a baby.”
His smile grew, the teasing glint in his eyes giving way to something softer, something warmer. “I know,” he said simply, his voice steady and reassuring. “And you’re going to be amazing.”
Tears pricked at your eyes as his words settled over you, their sincerity hitting you squarely in the chest. “Thank you, Remus,” you whispered.
~~~
Even after everything, it was as smooth as it could possibly be. James, Lily, and Harry all finally packed up from their safe house and moved back into the Potter Manor. 
Sirius and Remus finally stopped torturing everyone and confessed to their little run around of affections. 
The years passed like a dream, each one carrying its own triumphs and heartaches. The war faded into history, though its scars remained etched into the lives of those who survived it. Life moved on, not always neatly, but with a resilience that surprised you.
Sirius and Remus opened a small library nestled on the corner of Diagon Alley and a quiet cobblestone street. It was cozy, with tall shelves of books that seemed to reach the ceiling, a perpetually warm fireplace, and a small reading nook tucked into the back. The name on the window read Padfoot and Moony’s Rare Reads, though it quickly became known simply as “The Den.”
Remus spent his days writing accurate, unbiased Defense Against the Dark Arts books, ones that became staples in Hogwarts classrooms. His name grew to rival even Gilderoy Lockhart’s (though, unlike Lockhart, Remus didn’t need embellishments to sell books). Sirius, of course, claimed full credit for every ounce of their success, though he spent more time charming patrons and hosting wildly popular storytelling nights than actually working.
Your daughter, Ophelia, was the light of your life. She had her fathers eyes- but carried a quiet intensity in her gaze that reminded you of a young girl you once knew. Sirius adored her, and James, ever the doting uncle, took it upon himself to teach her everything he could about Quidditch, much to Lily’s dismay. Harry, now only 6, had taken on a brotherly role, often sneaking her chocolates or helping her catch frogs in the garden when no one was looking.
But it was Remus who seemed to understand Ophelia in ways even you sometimes struggled to. He noticed the way she retreated into her own thoughts, the questions she asked that were far too insightful for her age. He never pushed her, always waiting patiently for her to come to him with her thoughts, her worries, or her triumphs. It was Remus who first noticed how much she loved books, spending hours reading to her in that steady, soothing voice of his.
One quiet afternoon, while Ophelia played on the rug with a stack of enchanted building blocks, you stood at the counter of the library, watching Remus as he worked on editing a draft of his latest book. The sunlight streamed through the windows, catching the streaks of silver in his hair, and you couldn’t help but smile.
“I’ve been meaning to ask you something,” You said softly, your voice breaking the comfortable silence.
Remus looked up from his notes, his hazel eyes warm and curious. “What’s on your mind?”
You stepped closer, your hands resting lightly on the counter. “I wanted to ask if you’d consider being Ophelia’s godfather.”
His expression froze for a moment, his pen hovering above the page. Then, slowly, a smile broke across his face, wide and genuine in a way that made your chest ache with affection. “Are you serious?” He asked, his voice barely above a whisper.
“Dead serious,” You teased lightly, though your voice trembled with emotion. “She adores you, Remus. And so do I. There’s no one else I’d trust more.”
He set his pen down and rose from his chair, crossing the short distance between you in a few strides. He hesitated for only a moment before pulling you into a tight, warm hug. “It would be an honor,” He murmured, his voice thick with emotion. “Thank you.”
~~~
It was late summer, and the warm golden light streaming through the windows of the Potter Manor made the room feel alive, even as you worked through the seemingly endless task of packing Ophelia’s trunk for another school year at Hogwarts. She sat nearby, perched on the edge of the armchair with her dark hair falling in loose waves over her shoulders, her head bent over her meticulously written list. 
She was elegant without trying, a quiet sort of grace that seemed inherent in her very being. Even now, as she frowned slightly at the parchment in her hands, the faintest furrow of her brow betrayed her focus; her fingers fiddling with the magpie necklace you gifted her on her eleventh birthday. You couldn’t help the soft smile that tugged at your lips as you watched her. She was so much her own person- intelligent, curious, and brimming with quiet determination- but in her moments of focus, you could see glimpses of her father in her too. It made your chest ache with a love so fierce it almost hurt.
“Mum,” She said finally, her voice gentle but tinged with that signature note of exasperation. She didn’t look up from her list as she spoke. “I told you- I need new potion vials. The ones from last year cracked.”
You folded one of her robes carefully and placed it into the trunk, glancing over at her with a soft chuckle. “And I told you, my love,” You hummed, your voice calm and warm, “that you’ll get them when we go to Diagon Alley. Harry and the Weasleys are meeting us there, remember?”
She let out a dramatic sigh, finally lifting her head to meet your gaze. Her sharp, inquisitive eyes- so much like his and yet so uniquely her own- sparkled with that combination of pride and determination that seemed to define her. “I don’t see why I can’t just go by myself,” She challenged, crossing her arms over her chest in that effortlessly regal way of hers. “I’m not a baby, you know.”
You raised an eyebrow at her, the corners of your mouth lifting into a knowing smile. “You’re thirteen,” You countered gently, pausing in your task to give her your full attention. “And while I have no doubt that you could navigate the alley on your own, I’d prefer to keep you in one piece. Humor your mother, will you?”
Ophelia rolled her eyes dramatically, but the faint smile that tugged at her lips betrayed her. “Fine,” she relented, her tone light but tinged with mock indignation. “But only because you insist.”
You laughed softly, reaching over to brush a stray strand of hair from her face. “Thank you, darling,” you murmured, your voice soft with affection. “I don’t know what I’d do without you to keep me on my toes.”
She tilted her head slightly, her expression softening as she studied you. “Probably live a very peaceful, boring life,” She sighed in faux aspiration, her words playful but her tone warm. “No dramatic letters about professors or requests for obscure potion ingredients.”
“Don’t forget the long rants about Magic Theory,” You added with a smirk, resuming your task as you carefully folded another one of her robes. “I’d be lost without those.”
Ophelia gave a delicate shrug, her lips curving into a smile that was pure mischief. “Well, someone has to keep you informed,” She said lightly, glancing back down at her list. “You’d be dreadfully out of touch without me.”
“Perish the thought,” You mused, your tone laced with mock horror. But as you reached for another item to pack, you couldn’t help the warmth that bloomed in your chest. 
Despite her pride and sharp wit- or perhaps because of it- Ophelia had a heart so full of love and passion that it left you in awe. She was your miracle, your everything, and the reason you had fought so hard to build a life worth living after everything you’d endured. And though she sometimes tested your patience, you wouldn’t trade a single moment with her for the world.
As you worked together in companionable silence, the house around you buzzed faintly with the promise of the day ahead. Soon, the Floo Network would carry her off to join Harry and the Weasleys, and you would meet James and Lily later at the Leaky Cauldron. But for now, in this moment, it was just the two of you, and the quiet love you shared was enough to fill the room with light.
“Ophelia,” You called softly, breaking the silence as you tucked the last item into her trunk. She looked up at you, her expression curious. “You know I love you, don’t you?”
Her sharp features softened instantly, and she set her list aside, crossing the small space between you to wrap her arms around your waist. “Of course I do, Mum,” She murmured, her voice quiet but sure. “And I love you too.”
You held her close, your heart swelling with a love so fierce it threatened to overwhelm you. No matter how many years passed or how independent she became, she would always be your little girl. And in that moment, as the sunlight streamed through the windows and the world felt soft and safe, you were reminded once again of just how lucky you were to have her.
~~~
The cobbled streets of Diagon Alley buzzed with life, the chatter of families mingling with the clink of cauldrons and the rustle of shopping bags. Children darted between storefronts, their excitement infectious, while parents called after them, juggling lists and parcels. But Ophelia paid the lively scene no mind. She moved with purpose, her steps elegant yet determined, weaving through the crowd with a quiet confidence that belied her thirteen years. 
“Honestly, Harry, it’s just a bookstore,” she’d said earlier, rolling her eyes at her cousin’s protests. “I’ll be fine.” Her tone, a perfect blend of exasperation and poise, had left little room for argument. She’d dismissed him with a wave of her hand, her pride unwilling to entertain the notion that she needed an escort for something so trivial.
Now, her prize- a hefty tome on advanced magical theory- was clutched tightly under her arm, its worn leather cover radiating the promise of knowledge. She moved briskly, her dark hair swaying as she navigated the bustling street, her mind already racing ahead to the countless possibilities the book would unlock. The noise of the crowd seemed to fade as she glanced down at the book, her lips curving into a satisfied smile. 
It wasn’t just the content that thrilled her- though the promise of unraveling complex magical concepts certainly did- it was the independence of it all. She’d insisted on going alone, had chosen the book herself, and now, with it safely in hand, she felt a sense of accomplishment she wouldn’t admit to anyone. 
With her head held high and a quiet pride radiating from her, Ophelia turned her steps back toward the group, determined to reunite with Harry and the others before anyone could begin another lecture on responsibility. For now, though, the world felt bright, the possibilities endless, and she relished the brief moment of freedom.
That was when she heard it.
The cheerful hum of Diagon Alley faded into the background as a sharp, panicked cry reached Ophelia's ears. She froze mid-step, her heart skipping a beat as her gaze snapped toward a shadowy alley just ahead. The sound came again, muffled but unmistakably distressed. Her fingers instinctively tightened around the book she carried, and she shifted her weight forward, craning her neck to see.
In the dimness of the alley, two figures stood locked in a tense struggle. The taller one had the smaller pinned against the brick wall, his grip tight around the other’s collar. “You've got nerve, Pettigrew.” The smaller figure’s pale hair fell in messy strands across his face as he squirmed against the hold, his voice trembling. 
“Please,” the blonde figure gasped, desperation lacing every syllable. “I’m sorry! I won’t look for you again. H-he won’t hear of your escape- not from me!”
Ophelia’s breath hitched. Her heart hammered against her ribs as she took in the scene. The smaller figure’s voice cracked with panic, his pale blue eyes wide and darting frantically. The taller figure, shrouded in shadows, stood silent and imposing, his wand raised. A faint, menacing glow illuminated the tip, the threat unmistakable.
She didn’t think. She didn’t pause. Her wand was in her hand in an instant, and she stepped into the mouth of the alley, her voice cutting through the tense air like a blade.
“Oi! Let him go!” She shouted, her tone sharp and commanding. 
Both figures froze, their heads snapping toward her. The taller man’s wand lowered slightly, his body going rigid with hesitation. The smaller figure twisted his neck, his gaze locking onto hers, and for a fleeting moment, Ophelia saw a flash of something in his pale eyes- hope? Relief?
It didn’t last. 
The blonde man’s lips parted, and before she could speak again, his body jerked unnaturally. The sound of cracking bones and tearing sinew filled the air, a grotesque symphony of transformation. Ophelia’s stomach churned as she watched the man’s form contort, shrinking and twisting. Within seconds, he was gone, replaced by a scruffy, dirt-streaked rat.
“What the- ?” The words barely escaped her lips before the rat lunged forward, its sharp teeth sinking into the taller man’s hand. 
The man let out a hiss of pain, his grip faltering just enough to allow the rat to squirm free. In a blur of motion, it darted down the alley, disappearing into the shadows with a faint, scuttling sound. 
Ophelia stood rooted to the spot, her wand trembling slightly in her grasp. Her wide eyes flicked from the spot where the rat had vanished to the man now turning toward her, his movements deliberate, his frustration radiating like heat. 
As he stepped into the dim light filtering from the street, his features came into view. Sharp, angular lines carved a face that was both striking and unsettling. His dark hair fell messily across his brow, and his green eyes burned with a mixture of irritation and something else- something far more dangerous.
Ophelia squared her shoulders, her heart thundering in her chest but her chin lifting in defiance. She clutched her wand tightly, the poised elegance of her posture belying the unease bubbling beneath the surface. Every lesson her mother had taught her about composure echoed in her mind, steeling her nerves.
“Who do you think you are?” she demanded, her voice cold and cutting. “Picking on someone smaller than you in an alley? How pathetic.”
The man’s lips quirked into something that might have been a smirk, though it didn’t reach his eyes. He took a step closer, his tall frame casting an intimidating shadow. “And who,” he said, his voice low and measured, “do you think you are to interrupt something that doesn’t concern you?”
“I’m the girl who’s about to hex you into next week,” she shot back without missing a beat, her wand steady as she pointed it at his chest. “Back off, or you’ll find out just how much trouble a thirteen-year-old can cause.”
The man hesitated, his head tilting slightly as he studied her. His gaze dropped from her face to her neck, and his sharp eyes narrowed, honing in on the small magpie charm resting just above her collarbone. The faint light caught the delicate metal, and for a moment, his composure faltered.
“That,” he murmured, his voice strained, “isn’t yours.”
Ophelia’s brows furrowed, her hand instinctively rising to the charm. Her fingers brushed over the familiar metal as her mind raced. “What’s it to you?” she retorted, her tone sharp, her grip on her wand unwavering. “It was a gift.”
The man’s jaw tightened, and for a fleeting moment, something flickered across his face- recognition, anger, and a hint of something she couldn’t quite place. “Who gave it to you?” he demanded, his voice rougher now, almost desperate.
Her lips pressed into a thin line, and she straightened her spine, her wand tip glowing faintly as she met his intensity head-on. “That’s none of your business,” she said firmly. 
He took another step forward, his green eyes blazing with an intensity that made her breath hitch. “I’ll ask you again,” he growled, his voice a dangerous whisper. “Who gave you that charm?”
Ophelia didn’t flinch. Instead, she tilted her chin higher, defiance sparking in her gaze. “My mom,” she said clearly, her voice carrying an unmistakable note of pride. Her lips curved into a faint, deliberate smile as she added, “You should know her. I’m a Potter, after all.”
The man froze. His entire body stiffened, his green eyes widening ever so slightly before narrowing again. Something shifted in his expression, a mixture of shock, pain, and anger that he quickly tried to mask. He stared at her as though he were seeing a ghost.
Ophelia arched an eyebrow, her confidence swelling as she saw the cracks in his composure. “Oh,” she said lightly, her tone dripping with mock disappointment, “don’t tell me you’ve forgotten about us. That would be awfully sad- we are war heros.”
The man’s lips pressed into a thin line, his hands twitching at his sides. He took a small step back, his expression unreadable as he muttered, “A Potter.”
“That’s right,” she said evenly, her wand still raised. “And unless you’d like to explain what you’re doing lurking in alleys, I suggest you leave.”
He didn’t respond. Instead, he turned sharply on his heel and disappeared into the shadows without another word, leaving Ophelia standing in the mouth of the alley, her chest heaving as she tried to steady her breath.
She glanced down at the charm again, her fingers brushing over its surface. Who was that man? she wondered, a faint chill creeping down her spine. And why did the sight of this charm seem to haunt him so?
~~~
The Leaky Cauldron buzzed with its usual chatter, the comforting scent of roasted meat and freshly baked bread drifting through the warm air. You sat at a large table with James, Lily, Sirius, and Remus, laughing at one of Sirius’s over-the-top tales from Hogwarts. The lightness in the room felt like a rare and precious gift, a momentary escape from the shadow of battles fought and sacrifices endured.
The door swung open with a sharp creak, a gust of cool air sweeping in as Harry entered with Ron, Ginny, and Ophelia. Their cheeks were flushed from the bustling streets outside, their movements slightly hurried. Your gaze instinctively fell on Ophelia. 
Something was wrong.
She lingered behind the others, her usual confident stride replaced with hesitant steps. Her arms were crossed tightly over her chest, as though trying to shield herself from the world. Her sharp features looked drawn, pale, and etched with unease. 
“Oi, there they are!” Sirius called out, raising a hand in greeting. “Took you long enough. Did you stop for ice cream?”
Ron mumbled something about Fred and George dragging them into Weasleys’ Wizard Wheezes, but his words barely registered. Your focus stayed fixed on Ophelia as she slipped into the seat beside you. She didn’t look up, her fingers fidgeting with the edge of her cloak, her head bowed like she was trying to disappear.
“Ophelia, love,” you said gently, leaning closer to her. “Everything alright?”
Her shoulders tensed, and for a moment, she said nothing. She just sat there, her hand brushing against the magpie charm around her neck. It was a small, almost subconscious motion, but it spoke volumes.
“Yeah,” she murmured after a pause, though the tremor in her voice betrayed her. “I’m fine.”
You frowned, your worry deepening. She was many things- brilliant, fiery, and determined- but never this quiet. You reached into your bag, pulling out a few Galleons, and slid them toward Harry, Ron, and Ginny. “Why don’t you three grab some ice cream for real this time? My treat.”
The three exchanged uncertain glances, but Ron was the first to shrug and stand. Harry hesitated, his concerned gaze darting toward his cousin, but eventually, he and Ginny followed Ron out of the pub.
The second they were gone, you turned back to Ophelia. “You don’t look fine,” you pressed softly. “What happened?”
Across the table, James and Lily shared a look, their worry mirrored in their expressions. Sirius, his usual joviality replaced with quiet intensity, leaned back in his chair, studying Ophelia closely. Even Remus put down his cup of tea, his sharp gaze focused on her.
Ophelia’s fingers twisted together in her lap, her head ducked low. “It’s nothing,” she muttered, her voice barely audible.
“Ophelia,” you said again, your tone a little firmer this time. “You can tell me. Whatever it is, I’m here.”
For a moment, she stayed quiet, the tension in her shoulders radiating like a pulse. Then, in a gesture so small it almost went unnoticed, she leaned into you. Her head rested against your arm, her nose pressing into the fabric of your sleeve. 
You froze for half a second before wrapping an arm around her, pulling her close. She didn’t cry- Ophelia never cried- but the way she clung to you spoke louder than words.  “Mom.” She muffled against your side. As if recharging her spent bravado and bravery in your arms. “Do we know a Pettigrew?”
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midday-clouds ¡ 4 months ago
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Yandere Batfamily x Neglected & "Immortal" Reader 》I Part II Part III Part IV
There are many yandere batfam x neglected reader but I can't get enough of them--- So here is a silly story idea I have
I don't go into too much detail about how the reader is immortal but I'll probably share about it another timeee
CW: Neglect, Self-Degrading, Kidnapping, Violence(Being shot at), Blood, "Death"
Reader is a product of a hookup between Bruce and some random other woman, your mom
You and your mom had a decent relationship. The two of you would help each other out and have fun playing games. You were so content without knowing who your father was.
Your world begins to collapse when your mom doesn’t come home one day. A bunch of strange people suddenly come into your house and drag you out. You never understood what happened that day besides that you were now alone.
After your mother is announced dead, you find out that you are related to the millionaire, Bruce Wayne. You don’t know much about him but still find yourself put on the Wayne Manor's doorstep
Bruce had just gone through the loss of Jason and had just taken Tim in. He would have happily made some space in his schedule but a case always comes up and makes him forget about you.
Due to Bruce being too busy, you never properly mourned for your mother. Alfred would try to help you but you needed your dad.
For the first week, you locked yourself in your room, almost immediately forgotten by the rest of the family. Alfred would bring meals to your room, knowing that you aren't ready for any sort of interaction in this state. 
Alfred tries to convince Bruce to prioritize your health but there is always a case that takes up all of his attention
After that first week, you become comfortable enough to try and get out of your room at least.
With you around the manor more, the family begins to see them more often but not enough to care.
All of them were busy being vigilantes and weren’t interested in connecting with you. Sure, don't mean to neglect you, but some criminals just don't know when to stop
This worsens your mental state, making them regret not trying to bond with their family earlier. If they had tried in the beginning, then maybe they would have made connections with your new family. Now it feels like they've lost their chance
Alfred would do his best to comfort you but he could only help so much.
When you met Dick, it was when he was stopping by to talk to Bruce. You both had a fun conversation together but that was it.
After that first interaction, you tried to talk to Dick more often when he stopped by, but it seems the first time was just lucky. Dick always had something that didn't allow for a quick chat,
Meeting Jason was honestly terrifying. You were in the kitchen when you heard some noise from outside. It's dark outside so you walk up to the window to see what the sound was
Because of the darkness outside and lights inside, you mainly just see your reflection when looking outside
You squint your eyes to try to see past the reflection when a red helmet pops up and frightened you
Falling onto the ground, you stare in shock at seeing the stranger open the window and step inside
Jason tries to relax your nerves by taking off his helmet, showing he isn't a threat. It doesn't help much when you don't even know who he is
He explains himself after seeing your confused look and you both end up having a small conversation. It was nice until Bruce came in and pulled Jason away.
You never seem to meet Jason again
There were very few instances where you interacted with Tim. Even though you lived in the same house, Tim was always busy.
You’d both exchange small greetings when seeing each other in the hall but that was it. You didn't want to disturb him so you never stopped by his room
you hoped that when Tim had free time, the two could hang out. However, Tim always made plans that you couldn't fit into
Sometimes you would hear that Tim has been playing a game with his friends and you would play it but by yourself.
After a couple of years, Damian enters the family and you were so excited
Because Damian was new to the family, you thought it would be the perfect opportunity to bond with him
That didn't go well. He almost stabbed you
Your opinion of Damian was quick to go sour.
Damian's acts to show authority have gotten you scared of walking around the manor and frightened of animals. Specifically Titus.
It is quite unfortunate as you love animals and to have a dog in the family would bring you so much joy. Too bad Titus has attacked and chased you on multiple occasions
You didn't know what to do with the violence Damian had been taking out on you. You don't feel comfortable talking to Bruce and don't want to bother Alfred. This leads to you bottling up your emotions and locking yourself in your room
During your time, you spent reflecting on your life. Being in the manor isn't helping your mental health so it would be good to go outside more. Due to your constant attempts to bond with your family, you don't spend too much time with your friends from school
Seeing this as another perfect opportunity, you make plans with your friends to get out of the house and have a bit of self-care
Once the day comes, you quickly pack a small backpack and leave the house, only leaving a note for Alfred that says where you're at.
Finally getting some “fresh” air and being surrounded by those who feel more like family than your real family
You all have the best day and make plans for more get-togethers. 
It may not be the safest to be out so often but you’ve lived in Gotham your whole life, you know the safety procedures to stay safe. There isn't much news on you so people don't even recognize you as Bruce’s kid
Of course, something had to happen
You and your friends had just finished a fun day and you realize that your bike was stolen, meaning you don't have a way home. Your friends offered to take you home but you declined out of politeness. If something does go wrong, you ask your friends to call you to check up on you
Your walk home is longer than expected and it’s getting darker. As you walk through the streets of Gotham, you’re suddenly pulled into an alley and are threatened with a gun
There a three masked guys and one of them seems to have recognized you as Bruce’s kid, changing their plan to use you for ransom
You’re knocked out and taken to an abandoned building where you’re tied up to a pipe in the back
The kidnappers have a ransom letter and take it to the Wayne manor, including the small backpack you carried around
Unfortunately, Alfred was on his month-long vacation and Bruce was the one to receive the letter
He takes the time to contact "all" his kids and they're all perfectly fine and he doesn't recognize the backpack that was sent with the letter. There was a wallet but no ID card of any kind. The letter also didn't have a name on it.
Bruce brings up the case to the rest of the family but they agree that it may be a scam. 
The letter was likely from some desperate person who was trying to trick Bruce into giving money so it was put on the side while the family worked on a bigger case. 
Because of this, you’re held hostage for an unknown amount of days before the kidnappers get tired of waiting and shoot you in the gut out of frustration 
You’re filled with immense pain from the bullet before darkness consumes you.
More days pass before you wake up, still tied to a pipe and blood stained clothes
It seems your kidnappers had left your body behind rather than getting rid of it. You’ve been struggling with the rope since you have been taken and it was paying off because you can see that you can almost get your hands free.
Once you're out of the building, it is midnight. You immediately run back to the manor the moment you find a family path.
No one is there to notice you make your way back to your room. Because of how long it's been, you don't leave a trail of blood. Maybe some dirt but hopefully it won't be too hard to clean up
You debate on what action to take next. Looking in the mirror, the injury from the bullet is gone and you don't want to go to the hospital
One thing that is clear though is that you are extremely hungry and how dirty you feel. With this on your mind, you do your best to clean yourself up before going down to the kitchen
You don't feel comfortable talking to anyone so thankfully the rest of the family is busy at night,
Once you are sure no one is around, you take a bunch of snacks and hurry back to your room
In your room, you eat everything until you finally feel full. Hopefully, you don't just throw everything up because it feels so nice to finally have something in your stomach
Your nerves begin to relax and you truly take in the events that happened
How are you still alive? You were shot and haven't had food for days. What happened? Did Bruce not get the ransom letter? Why did no one save you? Did your friends call you?
Quickly remembering your friends, you look for your phone but are unable to find it. Not wanting to worry your friends, you open up your laptop to contact your friends through there. You see that you've gotten multiple calls and messages from your friends and it honestly makes you happy, knowing that there were people that worried and cared about you. You quickly text your friends and tell them what happened (Not mentioning how you survived being shot)
During your chat, the topic changes to college stuff. Your senior year has just ended a couple of weeks ago and it would be good for you to move out and be closer to those that make you happy. Also, after the kidnapping, you don’t want to be near your current family. They were the reason you were kidnapped and didn’t even bother to help you
Your friends suggest going to college outside of Gotham, perhaps in Bludhaven.
After many years of being stuck in a family that does nothing but hurt you, you got an acceptance letter for a school in Bludhaven. You were so happy and had a small celebration with your friends. Unfortunately, none of your friends would be joining you but you couldn’t wait to truly be free. 
Alfred returns from his vacation and reviews all the work that he left behind, along with Bruce’s mail. He knows Bruce has likely already reviewed them but it helps Alfred get back on pace with his work
He finds the discarded ransom letter and immediately checks up on you.
When he goes to your room, he finds the room empty besides some items that you weren’t planning to bring to college with you. This worries Alfred more and goes to Bruce’s office to confront him about the letter.
Bruce is filled with immense guilt when he realizes he forgot that you existed and now you could be dead in an abandoned building. Him and the rest of your family completely forgot about you
Bruce has an emergency meeting with everyone where he explains the situation. Once a plan is set, they all go out in the night to find you. However, they only find loose restraints with dried-up blood and a broken phone.
When the family returns to the manor, Tim goes to his room to fix the phone, Bruce and Damian go to the Batcave to review the cameras, Dick and Jason decide to visit your room
With Alfred’s help, Dick and Jason find your room and take a look around. It isn’t the biggest and barely has anything in it. 
Jason finds some old and filled journals and looks through them. There is a checklist for school work, notes to yourself, and personal entries. He understands the emotions you put in your journal and wants to protect you. Especially when he reads your last entry about your kidnapping 
Dick looks at the decorations you have on the wall. There are some glow-in-the-dark stars, some posters from school events, etc. One of the posters is for a theater show and he wonders if you were a part of it. Either an actor or tech person, Dick wonders why he never heard about your shows. He attempts to take a poster off the wall but the tape used peeled some of the paint off the wall.
Bruce loads up the camera and looks at what happened the day the ransom letter was given to Bruce. You had this happy smile as you made sure you had everything you needed before going through the front door. About a week later, Bruce sees you on the camera, in bloodied clothes and completely exhausted. This brings a wave of relief to Bruce while Damian looks closely at the camera footage. The front of your shirt is covered in blood and has a hole in it, but you seem completely uninjured. 
The last thing the two see of you is you slowly taking your stuff out of the manor and officially moving out
Bruce and Damian find your room to update Dick and Jason on their findings.
They’re thankful that you’re alive but still need to see you in the flesh. Looking around your bedroom, there aren't many clues about where you have gone. 
Tim takes a few days to fix the damage on your phone. At the very least, he needs to save the data that was kept on the phone. After messing with a few parts of your phone, he transfers all the data to his computers.
Once everything is saved, Tim lets his curiosity get the best of him and looks through all of your stuff before informing the rest of the family. All your photos, text messages, etc. He sees all the calls and voicemails your friends sent you on the day you were kidnapped.
Tim continues to learn more about your interests and your efforts to spend time with the family. You ranting to your friends about only playing a game or reading a book because someone in the family has read or played it.
Tim ends up having a copy of all your data for personal use before speaking to the rest of the family
Your phone is finally fixed and Tim can use it to find the location of your laptop. All the way in Bludhaven
With new hope, the family begins their search for you
They just need to take you home and keep you safe
Forever
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ancientgoddessofegypt ¡ 6 months ago
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Astro Notes : Short N Sweet <3 Neptune's Revenge
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Neptune 1st House - Popular energy. Very well known for their beautiful, majestic energy. Could have a lot of haters but admirers at the same time. Energetically sensitive to alot of others emotions. Sometimes, it can be a lil confusing holding so much power. Because their energy can be mixed up with someone elses if they don't know how to tell the difference. They usually have a strong sense of self, its just other peoples opinions can get in away of that if they arent careful.
Neptune 2nd House - Could use some help on the financial train. They're organic to the way they use their money. I mean, they could be super horrendous spender, spending each and every dime on any and everything. While still some how always having more in their wallet. Or they could be pretty good at saving and are a little bit of a cheapskate.
Neptune 3rd House - Whimsical voices. Poetic writers. Creative thinkers. Very talented when it comes to the hands as well. Could be excellent drawers & painters. Neptune in the 3rd has an ability to travel to very interesting places that aren't too far at home. They may go on lil adventures here and there. But its always a treat. Its kinda strange how well they can be at finding good eats as well with all the travel they do. Could work abroad or go to college somewhere out of their comfort zone a lil.
Neptune 4th House - Has a lot of secrets when it comes to the inner child. Very free, sweet loving children. Can open a door to different realms like we're in Narnia or something. Angelic creatures who enjoy alone time near their favorite place. If they ever share that special place with you consider yourself lucky. They normally keep the things they cherish hidden for a long time.
Neptune in the 5th House - Artists who seek deep into the art and become it. Very creative & a one of a kind with the way they carry the emotion in what it is they do. Can have you thinking hard on what it is they are trying to convey, they are a master at making complexities more harder to figure out. Just be there in the audience and watch the show. You'll never leave the same again.
Neptune in the 6th House - Fun loving pet owners, they go hard for the planet and the creatures that come from it. Real advocates for change and don't take too kindly to insensitive people. Could need to sharpen their boundaries a little more with people. Also, are incredible writers and should tap into this side a bit more. You might end up surprised with what talents you have that could make you some money, or could be a really cool job.
Neptune in the 7th House - Romance is the thing that just keeps on given to these individuals. May need to put the rose colored glasses down. that man might not be for you, love. Don't forget to put more time into your own needs versus the needs of someone else. Your compassionate energy may run dry if you're not using that waterfall of emotion for yourself. People are drawn to 7th house neptunes alot more than you think. They are capable of seeing thru the veil, you just don't notice.
Neptune in the 8th House - Psychologically understands the reasons on why the universe is the way that it is and why the people in it behave the way that we do. Could be honest about a lot of things, dishonest about what they know. The world doesn't need to know everything, which is why the divine gifted them with certain antidotes. Only they can use this so bring healing to a certain nation (or individual) but not everyone can find this secret the way they can. This is normally given to them by spirit guides, ancestors, or thru drreams.
Neptune in the 9th - Impracticality is almost their birth right. They see things in a way that doesnt make sense at all but to them it means something. What I mean is that these people see the world bigger than what they people tell them. They could have big drams and not understand why they have them, but God put them their for a reason. So you can figure them out. You may want to travel and study abroad, or just move somewhere different and don't know how. Thats where all the magic happens, finding out and taking the risk. The sagittarian way.
Neptune in the 10th - Majestic auras. The highlight of the moment. The star. The siren. The energy healer. Do I keep going? Very special creatures who touched this earth to make their dreams come true, even if they have to figure it out themselves. Empathetic to the people around them and are big on helping out with anything whenever they can. The Queens & Kings of the law of attraction. Can attract what they want if they just believe it in it more.
Neptune in the 11th House - Community leaders. Ancients who know they way to what the true reality is meant to be like. Literally can change the world with the way they move, think, and go around helping others. Sweet and lovely people to be around. Needs healing in their own friend groups. Can be a little out there, but thats why people love them.
Neptune in the 12th House - Practical minds in a world that tells them their crazy. No they arent crazy, they just have multiple psychic gifts. And these gifts have a way in showing them things people aren't usually equipped with handling. They need more time alone and in nature to keep themselves grounded. Other wise, they will go crazy from the world telling them that their crazy... When really they know a little more than what they led on. The imagination is a fun place, but also a place where the most hidden becomes entirely to open. Seers of the daylight & the night.
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bueckers ¡ 6 months ago
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UNFINISHED BUSINESS ━━━ paige bueckers
i don’t wanna fight, but you got the wrong vibes. let me get you right, it’s how i apologize. ✶
synopsis: she broke it off, but has since had a hard time leaving her alone… especially when having to see her in person.
pairing: paige bueckers x fem oc
warnings: smut with plot, p eating ( p is literally EATING ), fingering, thigh riding, and slight angst.
notes: this is ridiculously long. in honor of her fit here, enjoy.. i loved writing this almost as much as i love the song lol. lmk if i should make a part two or maybe a series!
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Nervous, excited, and borderline bald from tugging at my hair—these were all the things I had felt the moment I stepped into the WNBA 2024 All-Star Game.
I would be seeing Paige tonight. Paige would be seeing me tonight. Paige knew I knew she would be seeing me tonight, and I knew Paige knew she would be seeing me tonight.
When Paige and I first started hooking up, it was never supposed to be anything serious. She was sidelined with a torn ACL, and I knew she was in a dark place, struggling with everything that came with being forced off the court. I think that’s why it started, honestly. She needed an escape, something to make her forget for a little while, and I was there.
Paige and I have known of each other for years, though. We both came up in the basketball world at the same time, our names being tossed around in the same circles since high school. We’d cross paths at AAU tournaments and national showcases, always on different teams but always aware of each other.
Back then, our support for each other was more from a distance, and it wasn’t until college that things started to shift. We crossed paths more often, whether it was at games, media events. The rivalry between our schools added a new layer to our interactions, but by then, we had leveled up from distant competitors to something more like casual friends.
Those moments were what led us to where we eventually ended up. The more we talked, the more we realized how much we actually had in common—our experiences, our struggles, the pressure to perform, and the constant scrutiny. It felt natural, easy, to let our guard down with each other, which is why when her injury happened and everything else in her life felt like it was falling apart, I wasn’t surprised when we fell into it.
We had an agreement. Not one that was ever talked about soberly, but the way it happened just fell into place so perfectly that we didn’t need to. We’d meet up when it was needed, no commitments, no expectations. Just two people finding comfort in each other, filling a void that we couldn’t fill on our own. It was convenient, effortless, and most importantly, it worked for the both of us. I guess I figured if I kept things casual, I wouldn’t get caught up in something messy. I didn’t want to be the one to complicate her life even more.
We’d cross paths after games, during off-season, or whenever our schedules aligned, slipping into each other’s lives for a few hours at a time. She knew how to keep me at arm’s length, just close enough to keep me coming back but far enough to never let me in too deep. She knew exactly how to make me feel needed without ever giving too much of herself away. It was maddening, really—how she could be so vulnerable one minute, showing me sides of herself that no one else got to see, and then switch off just as quickly.
The more we hooked up, the more I started to realize I was getting too close. I could see it in the way she’d look at me sometimes, like she knew I was starting to care too much. And the worst part was, she didn’t seem to mind pushing me right to that edge. She’d say something that made my heart race, or she’d touch me in a way that felt like it meant something, only to pull back and remind me of our status. She was always in control, always the one with the upper hand, and I hated how easily I let her have it.
And then it was all done. She cut things off with a cold finality that I still can’t even believe. No explanation, no soft letdown—just a sudden, brutal end. It was like she knew exactly when I’d reached that point and she didn’t hesitate to remind me that it was never supposed to mean anything at all.
“I’m gonna go grab some snacks, alright? Try to look a little more happy for the jumbotron,” JuJu teases, getting up from her seat. I gasped, barely having any time to process her insult as she scooted between me to get to the stadium stairs.
“Very funny,” I muttered, watching her walk away.
Alone now, I focused on the game, doing an extremely good job at hiding the gnawing in my chest. I’d say I have a good poker face, but Paige would agree to disagree. My phone buzzed, jolting me from my thoughts. It was her and she’d finally found you. She was on the other side of the arena, clearly getting a kick out of having you in her view.
you mad at me or just deep in thought?
I rolled my eyes back to the deep depths of hell. Another text from her.
you look good tonight
you too. how’s the game?
As soon as I hit send, I regret it. I should have ignored her. I should have said something snarky.
Her reply comes almost immediately.
could be better. thought about coming over
what stopped you?
You watched her text bubble practically stutter, making you quirk an eyebrow.
juju. i didn’t wanna make it awkward.
lol. okay.
actually, scratch that. leave w me.
I shifted in my seat, my hands suddenly clutching my phone a little tighter.
paige, no.
why not?
I shut off my phone just in time for JuJu’s return, watching as she squeezed through mounds of people to get back to me. She handed me a cherry slurpee, which would however be gone in ten minutes.
“Thanks, sugar,” you teased her, wrapping your lips around the straw and taking a nice, long sip. She shook her head at me as she focused on the game again, nachos in hand. Ping.
Tell her don’t get too comfortable 😂
I could even feel her eyes boring into me from the other side. I could picture the stupid smirk or gummy smile she’d have. I turned my ringer off and silenced Paige’s notifications before slipping my phone into my back pocket and reverting my attention back to the game. It’s almost over.
Fast forward to the final buzzer, and Juju and I made our way down to the court, weaving through the crowd of fans and players. I always loved the energy in a room of women’s basketball players and fans— there were always a million things going on at once. As we reached the court, we spotted Caitlin, who was already deep in conversation with a couple of other players.
“Great game, Cait,” I said, pulling her into a light hug. “Guess nobody busts your butt as good as SC, huh?” I pulled back first, resting my hands on my hips. I could say I’ve known Caitlin as long as I have Paige, but Cait doesn’t know me the way Paige does.
Caitlin laughed, rolling her eyes good-naturedly. “Yeah, yeah, Miss Championship. but don’t get too cocky now.”
Juju laughed alongside me, adding a quick comment about how USC would give her a run for her money next time. The conversation flowed easily, a mix of post-game analysis and friendly banter. I scanned the court for a brief moment, knowing exactly who I was looking for.
Sure enough, out of the corner of my eye, I saw Flau’jae and Paige making their way over. I braced myself, knowing the cameras would be all over this reunion, and the media would have a field day with it. Paige looked as confident as ever, her stride always one that grabbed attention.
“Hey, y’all,” Paige said, her voice smooth, effortless. She exchanged hugs and high-fives with everyone, her presence commanding attention as always. When she reached me, she didn’t hesitate to pull me into a hug, her hand resting on my hip before snaking around to my lower back.
And then I felt it—her hand slipping lower, fingers grazing the fabric of my mini skirt. I could hear the smirk in her voice as she leaned in, her breath warm against my ear. “Good to see you.” Just close enough to keep me coming back.
I pulled back slightly, meeting her eyes. There was that smirk. My heart was pounding, a mix of frustration and something else I didn’t want to acknowledge. “You too,” I managed, keeping my tone as neutral as possible, pulling back with a tight-lipped grin that looked friendly enough to anyone who didn’t know what was going on. Which was everyone.
The group continued chatting, oblivious, obviously. You’d found out the one thing you hated about being around Paige was the overwhelming current of being the only ones in the room who knew how each other was feeling. Paige, ever the actor, kept up her usual easygoing demeanor, but I could feel her gaze on me, like she was waiting for something. I tried to focus on the conversation, but it was impossible with her so close, the warmth of her hand still lingering on my skin.
When the small talk finally wound down, and the others started drifting away, Paige moved closer, her eyes locked on mine. She leaned in again, her voice low, almost a whisper. “C’mon. Meet me,” she coaxed, her breath warm against my ear. Her fingers brushed lightly against my side, tracing a path.
I hesitated, the resolve I’d built up over the past hour crumbling under the weight of her presence. She was testing me, pushing every button she knew she could. And damn it, it was working.
I finally nodded, barely audible. “Okay.”
It was all she needed. A single, one-word confirmation that I wanted her as bad as she does. She took my phone out of my pocket for me, placing it my hand as she said her goodbyes to everyone else, leaving me there. I suppose it was smarter for her to do that anyway.
Shortly after Paige’s departure, I made my way out as well. JuJu wasn’t a tough barrier to get past. I told her to finish up her conversations, and that I’d see her back at the hotel. I wasn’t quite show how long my excuse would suffice, but I hoped she’d find her way to the bar or something after.
I don’t know why I listened. Watched my fingers click on her contact and give the driver her hotel’s address. It was like I was compelled from the moment she’d touched me, and to be honest, I don’t think I’d be surprised if that was the case.
The Uber ride felt interminable, each passing moment only heightening the anticipation and anxiety. I could barely focus on the city lights flashing by outside, my mind consumed with the impending confrontation and whatever would follow.
Finally, I was able to make my way to her room, feeling the cool air of the hallway against my skin as I knocked on the door. When Paige answered, her smile was as infuriatingly charming as ever, and she pulled me inside with a warm, yet testing glint in her eye.
The moment the door clicked shut behind us, Paige’s demeanor shifted. Before I could voice any protest, her lips were on mine, kissing me with an urgency that made my heart race. I barely had time to process the sudden change before she deepened the kiss, her hands roaming possessively over my back.
I tried to pull away, my mind still reeling from the fact that I was even here, but her grip tightened, pulling me closer. “Paige,” I murmured against her lips, trying to catch my breath. “We need to talk—” but as much as I tried to voice it, I knew that isn’t what we both really planned to do.
She silenced me with another intense kiss, her fingers tangling in my hair, guiding my head to tilt for better access. Her touch was relentless, her body pressing against mine with all the need in her body. “I don’t wanna fight,” she whispered between kisses, her breath hot and heavy against my skin. “Jus’ wanna be close to you.” She breathed in my scent, and I melted.
The words were almost lost in the heated moment, but I could feel the sincerity. She pulled back just enough to look into my eyes, her gaze smoldering with an intensity that made me rethink actually standing on business. She waited, trying to see if I was really against this. I licked my lips, glancing at hers.
I didn’t stand a chance.
Her lips found mine again, and the world narrowed to the press of our bodies. Our kisses were feverish and desperate, each touch holding some type of meaning. Paige’s hands roamed over my skin like there were so many options in a candy store and she couldn’t pick just one. In this case, one spot to focus on. Her mouth trailed down my collarbone, leaving a path of pinkish marks.
Our bodies were pressed together and refusing to let go. Paige guided me towards the bed, her hands never leaving my body, her lips continuing their assault on my skin. When she finally lowered me onto the bed, I was needy and breathless and finally feeling a little more realistic.
“P, I’m still mad,” I tried to insist, though my voice wavered as I watched her begin to undress. She unzipped her Nike vest slowly, the sound of the fabric sliding down her body making my pulse quicken. It fell to the floor, and she ripped off her shirt with a sudden, breathless intensity, revealing her sports bra. The sight of her, partially unclothed and vulnerable in front of me again left me speechless.
“I know,” she murmurs, her head slightly tilted as she looked at me all-knowingly. “And ima’ make it up to you, I promise. Just let me get you right.” Her fingers trailed up my bare legs, eliciting a small gasp from my lips. She tugged at the hem of my skirt, pulling the fabric down and grabbing my panties in the process. I watched her do it, in utter disbelief that this was how I was spending my night.
Her fingers graze teasingly against my kneecaps, sending shivers through my body, before she gently but firmly peels my legs apart. I look down at her. “You’re just trying to distract me,” I say, but there’s no heat behind the words.
Paige smirks, a knowing look in her eyes as she falls to her knees, her hands sliding over my thighs. “Maybe,” she admits, her voice dropping into a low, sultry tone as she tucks her lip between her teeth. “But you can’t say you don’t want this too.”
She’s right, and we both know it. The way she’s touching me, the way her eyes are locked onto mine with that look. The same one that knows she’s getting her way tonight. My worries seem so distant now, nothing more than a whisper of irritation in the back of my mind, easily drowned out by the way Paige’s hands are moving.
I begin to say something, but she easily cuts me off by diving into me with no warning, immediately humming against my cunt in satisfaction. Her eyebrows were furrowed as her tongue made some deliberate strokes, seemingly in disbelief of the way I tasted. She looks up at me as she delves in, a sight beautiful enough for the Louvre but way too sinful.
She says something I can’t hear, but I do catch a, “Can’t leave you alone, ever. Fuck.”
“Yeah?” I muster out, my breath a careless whisper.
Paige smiles against me, loving the cocky tone in my voice as she responds with a fast nod, the movement making me gasp. “Yeah.”
From there, every moan and gasp from me seems to fuel her desire, making her work even harder to drive me wild. Her hands grip my hips firmly, keeping me in place as her mouth and tongue continue their relentless assault. In the haze of ecstasy, all I can focus on is the feeling of her between my legs, making good on her promise to get me right, leaving me utterly consumed by the pleasure she’s giving.
I come, loud enough that the neighbors might know Paige’s name, but she keeps going. It becomes too much, enough for me to whine and pull away, scooting a little bit higher on the bed. She isn’t going for it, though, and immediately brings me back to her mouth, wrapping my legs in her thick arms.
“Where you tryna’ go, princess?” she teases. The sensation of her mouth and fingers on me is so intoxicating that I can barely respond before she pulls back entirely, rising to her feet. She begins to peel off her pants, her movements slow, leaving me breathless and frustrated.
“Seriously?” I complain.
“Chill,” she responds with a husky chuckle, towering over me in the sexiest way explainable. It’s like she contemplates something in her head for a moment, leaving me dripping wet and needy before her.
Finally, Paige steps closer, her hands sliding down to her sports bra. With a teasing glance, she pulls it off, revealing her bare chest. My eyes widen as I take in her form, unable to tear my gaze away. She then sits back down, positioning herself comfortably on the edge of the bed. “Want you to get on my thigh, baby, m’kay?” And there was no room for argument.
I crawl toward her, a mixture of urgency and anticipation in my movements. Once I’m seated on her thigh, I start to ride it slowly, the friction sending waves of pleasure through me. I truly can’t believe we haven’t done this before. The way she flexes, the way I can feel her muscle.. it’s all too much.
I roll my head back, needing more. My hands find Paige’s boxers, slipping into them with ease as she watches, her eyes moving more than her actual head. My fingers find their way to her core, exploring.
Paige’s breath hitches, her fingers gripping my hip as she watches me intently. “You like that, don’t you?” she breathes, her voice filled with a mixture of desire and all things Paige. “You’ve got me exactly where you want me.”
I stare at her. My body and arm moving repeatedly, my hair a bit puffy at this rate, and a panting mess. Paige raises her thumb to my plump and parted lips, slipping it in. I moan out, forced to suck around it as I squeeze my eyes shut.
Paige is in a trance, completely focused on the warmth around her thumb and how your small fingers disappear into her. “So, so, so good. Love seeing you above me, baby. So pretty.” I couldn’t understand how she could say things like these, and happen to not mean them, but it was the last thing on my mind.
“Mfmfmm, I’m gonna come. Again.”
Paige’s response is a series of breathy moans, her hands gripping my hips tightly as she keeps me pressed down, every thrust and touch pushing us both closer to the edge.
As she finally shudders, her release crashes over her like a tidal wave, her body trembling violently. The sensation of her coming around my fingers makes my own climax come shortly after. I cry out, my own pleasure peaking as I grind against her, my fingers thrusting in and out.
Our combined releases feel explosive, a storm of heat and passion that has us both gasping and moaning. I feel her tremors against my fingers as I continue to move, riding out the last waves of ecstasy before finally collapsing against her, both of us spent and tangled together in a sated, sweaty mess.
I think I’ll regret this in the morning. But right now? I’ve never been happier.
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imsosleepyofyourbull ¡ 8 months ago
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I firmly believe that Kabru is autistic but masks so hard that he’s convinced himself and (almost) everyone around him that he’s neurotypical.
That man’s special interest is people and how they work, but he just thinks it’s him Being So Good At Socializing — like he doesn’t spend 95% of his time people watching and adjusting his personality in response to the traits he witnesses and obsessing over the intricacies of human interaction while mapping an ever growing relationship chart in his head. For fun. He even admits it in the manga!
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Like, look at him!!!
It’s such a shame that — because he’s the narrative foil to Laios and his interest is generally considered more “socially acceptable” in both their world and our own — more people don’t realize this about him. He’s constantly misinterpreted as a horribly manipulative person who only acts the way he does to use the people around him, when that’s explicitly shown to not be the case at all. Kabru is naturally empathetic and is almost always thinking about other people, regardless of whether or not they’re right there with him or a thousand miles away.
I mean, his most defining motivation is his desire to do everything he can to avoid another tragedy like the one at Utaya. Someone who doesn’t care wouldn’t have a goal like that, and they most certainly wouldn’t go about it the way he does. He’s constantly working to help people who can help everyone else and tries so hard to make sure that anyone who seems like a threat is actually someone he needs to worry about before doing anything about it. His supposed aversion to Laios is only because of the ridiculous trolley problem he’s set up in his own head.
Outside of that, he (rather justifiably) hates monsters but is desperate to understand Laios’ love for them and his apparently most selfish goal in getting close to the guy was literally just to become friends with him.
When he’s interacting with the canaries and they imply that they’re going to take him and all of his friends to the West, his first thought is of Rin and how much she’d hate to be stuck in the place that gave her so many bad memories.
He helps Kuro learn Common when Mickbell is asleep and firmly looks forward to the day that the half-foot and Kuro can communicate properly so that their relationship can get properly started without any miscommunication.
And he understands Mithrun with only a handful of weeks AT BEST interacting with him, getting enraged when the elf seems to give up and immediately trying to help him find a new motivation for life.
I’m excited just thinking about the day that Kabru starts unmasking more and more around his friends — both new and old — because if being with my current friend group has taught me anything, it’s that hanging out with anyone so unabashedly themselves is bound to make you more comfortable with yourself too. It’s part of the reason why I like Labru so much! There’s something nice about imagining them hanging out in the throne room or laying in the grass outside and talking for hours on end about their special interests. They might not strictly understand what the other finds so fascinating about monsters or people, but they can grasp that shared feeling of love.
They probably influence each other in really good ways too, with Kabru helping Laios figure out what people are thinking even when it doesn’t make sense or Laios helping Kabru understand that not everyone and everything needs to be analyzed a thousand times over. They both get to learn that there are people like them and people who will love them without them ever having to change a thing about themselves. They deserve to know that they’re fine the way they are.
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reidrum ¡ 7 months ago
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the many names | s.r
a/n: i could not get the idea that spencer would have little explanations for all the names he has for you so i give you this enjoy
summary: in which the many names that spencer calls you each have a special meaning
cw: mind rotting fluff
wc: 1.1k
honey:
spencer’s childhood was anything but ordinary. graduating high school at 12, with a schizophrenic mother, and an absentee father is a combo meant to mess anyone up. the one thing he felt was constant were the sitcoms his mother would watch when she had her good days. shows like i love lucy and cheers filled his ears as he watched the picture perfect families navigate through mundane and seemingly normal scenarios. the comfort he found in these televised families, something he wasn’t afforded in his own, was a nice little bandaid on the gaping hole left by the oddities of his life.
until he met you, of course. you changed everything for him, showed him what it meant to be loved and cherished, what family really was outside of the textbook definition. as a young boy he’d always envied ricky ricardo coming home to lucy at the end of every work day, bursting through the door and saying “honey, i’m home!” the phrase itself encompassed what he so dearly longed for; a home.
so when spencer calls you honey, he means it because you’re sweet and sappy and all the things normally associated with honey. but for him, specifically, when he gets to come back from harsh cases, bursting through the door of your shared apartment yelling “honey, i’m home!”, it heals that gaping hole from his childhood little by little, replacing the wound with the home you’ve built together.
sweetheart:
for someone who absolutely loves sweet things, calling you sweetheart was an obvious title in his book. the way you cared so deeply for the people in your life, the people you didn’t know, even those involved in heinous crimes were offered some of your never ending empathy. it inspired him, to know that someone who sees the true horrors of humankind on the daily can still hold hope and love for the world’s inhabitants.
when spencer calls you sweetheart, it’s in the more domestic moments of your lives. when he asks which tea you want, when he can tell it’s been a rough day and he lets you rest in the comfort of his arms saying “it’s okay, sweetheart. i’m here now.”, when he leaves you long and loving voicemails for when you’re not able to go on cases together. spencer’s sweet tooth could probably never be satiated, but if it keeps you around forever he has no problem with that.
angel:
calling you angel is still something he finds a little ironic. he’s an agnostic atheist, has no faith in the gods or whatever power that may be. he’d always say if you couldn’t find it in a textbook then it’s not a real thing. but here you were, defying literally everything he ever knew or thought he knew. spencer thinks that if angels were personified they would surely look like you.
his job has so many moments that put him in near death situations, he’s not proud of how many times he’s felt the pearly gates come for him. but every time he was close to that end, flashes of you would roll through his mind like a movie reel and it would tether him back to this realm.
add to that, you just always happened to be there when he needed you. if he was about to drop a cup of coffee you’d be there grab it, you had his back when you were on the field together, and you’d let him talk your ear off about the most obscure topic just to see him smile.
if proof existed for the theoretical, it would be you. you were his guardian angel, and he never let you forget it.
princess:
this one was rare, only invoked in the super intimate and special moments between you both. usually in the bedroom is where you hear this one used in both sides of the extreme. on one side he says it when you’re being just so needy, so pliant and willing for whatever he wants it just makes him want to give you everything in return. on the other side, when you’re being for lack of a better word, a brat, it’s used as a tease, a taunt for your slutty bad behavior. a reminder that even though you’re spoiled by him he’s still going to give you the world.
it’s also used when you both get dressed up, for an fbi event or a party at rossi’s. it always takes the wind out of him when he sees you getting ready or you come out to show your outfit to him. it makes him feel like falling in love with you again every time, like he’s been so blessed to live a fairytale where he prevails and gets the princess at the end.
baby:
calling you baby is quite literally second nature to spencer, probably the easiest thing for him to do. it slips out all the time people might think baby is your real name. he uses it when he asks what you want for dinner, when you’re upset over something he did at work that put him in danger, when he just really wants you to watch this one russian romance film he finally got his hands on and promises you’ll love it.
you also find it really funny to play songs that you know he doesn’t know that have the word baby in it, because even if he doesn’t know the words to always be my baby to mariah carey, it never stops him from giving you the biggest smile in the universe when he listens to you belt the song to him.
pretty girl:
he didn’t even come up with this one, derek did. stemming from his nickname for spencer, when derek realized that there was something between you and pretty boy, it just became so easy to get under his skin and call you pretty girl, telling him “don’t look now, your pretty girl is coming.”. before you had started dating and spencer was just pining from afar, he would get so red in the face when derek would let the name slip.
after he finally grew some balls and asked you out, spencer adopted the name for himself to use in situations he had you alone, where he could admire you in your entirety and no other prying eyes. to use when you just wake up and the sunlight hits you perfectly like a glowing halo, or when you’re both in the office and you’re explaining something relevant to the case and you just sound so smart and beautiful, and he can’t help but truly believe that the aphrodite reincarnate is his.
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sharoo ¡ 2 months ago
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Self-knowledge as a theme in STP messes me up so bad, bros.
This all starts with how little the Princess can tell you if you ask her about herself. How little you can say about yourself, more often than not. Most of the time Quiet doesn't even know what they look like!
The Narrator makes it a point to make the Princess' cluelessness, her lack of self-knowledge, into deception, but really, both the protagonists don't know themselves. How could they?
The concepts of bounds, of something that isn't you, the distinction of "self" and "other", "you" and "I", the concept of something being not like yourself... this is the first time this deity which is now two has ever experienced it.
The Shifting Mound and the Long Quiet did not exist until the Narrator tore a whole into parts.
Now, this deity in twain has to reorient. It has only begun existing, it's not yet known itself. A toddler has to develop a self-concept, and the concepts of others.
Now imagine, for the first time in your solitary existence, that there is something that you are not. Unknowable, foreign.
What are they like, you think? Are they a friend? Should I get to know them? Are they a foe? I do not know them, I cannot trust them... Or can I?
This brings to mind, of all things, Contrapoints' video on Twilight, where she speaks about the concepts of Union and Division in relation to love. And while she speaks of it in terms of eros, it can apply here just as easily, romantically and platonically.
Love is the union of two beings. We love because something outside of us allows us to be more than ourself. In others, many seek that which they lack. We seek out people so that we may develop through our similarities and contrasts with them, to change an be changed.
We seek out people because there can be no I without a You. To exist in a void is not a fulfilling experience.
We cannot discover ourself if he have nothing that allows us to compare ourself. The mirrors elude us throughout the game, always leading to the princess - she is the only way we may know ourselves, the mirrors tease as they disappear. And at the end of the route, only then, can you see yourself, now that you have a complete knowledge of yourself in a given scenario, with a given persona.
Was the princess someone you decided to trust? Or to betray? Was she a foe? A friend? A nightmare? A victim?
You both try to find out who you are through your relationship.
The princess assumes many faces and attitudes in response to you, you assume voices and attitudes in response to her. You're two batches of clay shaping each other at the same time. It's almost like knowing someone your entire life, seeing them go through different phases as they try to find out their identity in the world, their place. The 5 routes, whatever they be, are your "adolescence".
And growing means you will hurt each other, intentionally or not. There will be fights, disagreements, there will be heartache, and comfort and love.
And everything will pass.
Shifty, before she's complete, before she discovers her godhood, makes this point so clear.
How could she not be kind to you? You are the only thing in this place that is not her. What reason could she have to hate you? To make the only friend she could have into an enemy?
That's why, at the end of every route, all hurts are forgiven. All the heartache is acknowledged, understood, and then she moves on. So that you may continue being together, so that she may see what else you do.
Even godhood can become a phase. The Shifting Mound recognises what you both were, but it need not be you unless you accept it. Because self-knowledge is unending. You are always changing, and you can always change.
You can accept being a god, and that becomes you.
You can reject being a god, and that becomes you.
You are by that point an "adult". The figure trying to dictate who both of you are is gone, and you can decide for yourself.
I think this is partially why I love the Leave with Stranger ending the best of all the endings. You begin it by avoiding knowledge of yourself and of another. The self can only exist as far as it is not like the others.
And you meet the Stranger, this being who knows so little about herself, because she too has been deprived of another. The route is quick. It really cannot amount to much, because if you don't know yourself, it's so hard to build a relationship.
But at the end, they've matured. You gave each other time to become fuller beings. You met this person again and they seem so much happier with themself than they were in youth.
I love how they say "We're just a stranger.", and the voices point out how it needn't be sad that you don't know her, unless you make it out to be. You can get to know them, the real them, and they can do that with you.
The way the Stranger speaks if the position of a God only underlines how much the heart of the Shifting Mound can understand self-knowledge.
They speak of how they feel themself be pulled towards taking the position of godhood, of being everything, yet find it confining. Restricting.
"We want more. We want whatever might be on the other side of this door. Something new, that we'll experience together. With someone who exists outside of us. Someone who can see us in a way we can never see ourself."
Self-knowledge through relationships and reflection on how you impact other people.
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yoitsjay ¡ 25 days ago
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Hey I absolutely LOVE you…….(r) writing style. Do/Can you make a fic about what makes BatBoys feel like “home” with reader? Like relationship wise. If this doesn’t make sense I’m sorry, this m first time making a request 😭✌️. Ty's!
No it makes sense! Thank you for the request!
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Like Home
Summary: How you're the batboys home.
Warnings: tooth rotting fluff
Bruce Wayne:
To Bruce Wayne, home isn't a place. Its you.
Typically Bruce is wary of genuine, committed relationships, his kids definitely warned him about people dating him just for his money, but when he met you, right off the bat you were so different.
From the moment you rushed to pay for dinner before Bruce could was the moment he knew he wanted you.
Home to Bruce is waking up in the morning with you still fast asleep in his arms, lips parted slightly as soft snores escape your lips. Home to him is holding you from behind as you cook breakfast for everyone instead of Alfred.
Home to him is holding you close as he- (we won't finish that sentence)
you, and all the things you do, big or small, mean the world to him, and he wants things to stay like this forever…
Dick Grayson:
Home to Dick Grayson is freedom, or it was until he met you.
He had bumped into you in a coffee shop and you were in a pretty heated argument with one of the other patrons there, defending an elderly lady who was only just trying to buy coffee.
When the guy had raised his hand to you, Dick was about to step in and stop the fight, only to see you deflect the blow, twist the mans wrist and pin him to the wall within seconds.
After that he had to ask for your number.
Then on patrol the following evening, a new hero arrived in gotham, someone oddly familiar to him.
You and Dick started working together on patrol, and in person too, since you had been one of the new interns at Wayne Enterprises, so it was a good excuse to see you more often. Though you both had no idea about each others identities until one really rough battle… and to make a long story short you ended up in his apartment, kissing him when you had accidentally knocked his mask off.
“Dick!?”
You ended up revealing yourself that night, too, and after that, you and Dick started dating. Being with you, fighting alongside you, and cherishing freedom quickly changed to cherishing you, wanting you to be his forever. You became something he wanted to come back to alive every night… and that was good enough for him.
Jason Todd:
You had always been his home. From the moment you met Jason as kids, he always loved you, cared for you, and you did the same.
When he died you were broken, you mourned for who knows how long, and everyone knew that your spark had died along with Jason.
When he came back, you were stunned.
You had just gotten home from work, and noticed your living room window wide open, and in the room itself stood a large man.
You wasted no time in attacking. Jason and you trained together as kids, and after his death you continued training under Bruce and Dick, so you liked to think you were pretty good.
But for some reason your intruder wasnt hitting you back.
He only fell to his knees and he hugged your waist tightly.
“I’m home- im home- im so sorry-” He whispered, and you froze.
“Jason…?”
“Im home baby, im not leavin’ you again”
you both cried, for a while probably, but despite the tears, the trauma he revealed to you, you did nothing but comfort and love him, and hold him close as he cried into your chest about how much he missed you.
he found his home in you a long time ago… “If only i hadnt been so reckless, i would have never lost you-”
“you didnt lose me Jason, ive been here, waiting for the time i could see you again… it came alot sooner… Screw you Thalia Al Ghul, and thank you for bringing my Jason back to me”
Tim Drake:
You had Tim had been dating for a few years at this point, it had been more on the arranged side, Your father and Bruce were really close friends, and they had agreed after finding out that you and Tim were the same age and both single, that you two had to at least meet, and talk and get to know each other.
You agreed, Tim was more reluctant.
Turns out you and him were already friends. You had been close in High School, though you both never revealed much about your family lives, so being rich in Gotham kind of flew under the radar.
You and Tim both laughed about it over lunch, though in that time you really started to get to know each other. Had you always been so beautiful?
After a little bit, he asked you out officially. You said yes, and your relationship evolved into something he couldn't ever give up. Similar to Bruce, he found comfort in the littlest things. The way you held him ran your fingers through his hair and made his shoulders sag in relaxation. That was home to him.
Damian Wayne:
Damian Wayne hated you.
he despised you, and you had no idea why.
You were Alfred’s niece, and after your parents had died you had come to gotham to stay with Alfred since he had become your legal guardian.
You tried to mind your own business, you helped alfred clean, became a maid of sorts to earn your keep, even though Bruce, more than once assured you that you didnt need to worry. You still did.
Damian took advantage of that and took advantage of the whole maid aspect, you did a lot for that guy and yet, he despised you.
Then he found out that you had been asked out on a date by someone from Gotham Academy, a school you both went too.
“You’re not allowed.”
Damian stated as he walked up to you in the manor, and you looked over from where you were cleaning. “Huh?” You questioned, unsure as to what he was talking about.
“Your not allowed to go on a date with that child. Your my girlfriend now.” Damian stated, and your eyes went wide.
You kinda… just couldnt say no.
after that Damian started treating you a lot nicer, he did a lot of small things for you, payed attention to the things you looked at or liked, and more often then not, the same item would be on your bed.
he found comfort in the things you did for him, and you had no idea, but he treated you like dog shit because of his fat crush on you.
what… The… fuck.
Tag list:
All: @only-my-unexistent-fiances @francesfarhadi
Batfam:
Bruce Wayne: @ilaiise
Dick Grayson: @ilaiise
Jason Todd: @ilaiise
Tim Drake: @ilaiise
Damian Wayne: @ilaiise
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ceesimz ¡ 1 month ago
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Evergreen
Glimpses of your relationship. (Autistic Reader)
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Reverie series can be found here. This is structured differently than the rest, it's multiple blurbs in one that I've written over time, which has definitely made it unnecessarily long but it's super light-hearted and fluffy so hopefully it's worth it
Being in a committed, serious relationship was new to you. You had dated, and… that was about it. That’s as far as things had gone in the past. 
Yet, here you were, making your way through the airport after spending Christmas back home in ice cold, snowy Norway, a small smile on your face at the thought of the person waiting to pick you up and take you home.
It was a strange adjustment, that was for sure, but a very welcome one. Having someone at your side felt… comforting. Knowing you could go to her for anything at any time was comforting. However, sometimes it worried you that you had to commit your every day to her. Not in the sense that you couldn’t settle down with her and her only, no way. Instead, you were anxious about the fact that there were times you needed your alone time, where you needed the world to quieten down a little to give you the space you needed to regulate yourself. Would Alexia understand that? Or would it irritate her that sometimes the only thing she’d get from you was radio silence?
In the end, you didn’t need to worry for even just a second. As a matter of fact, you found that peace in Alexia’s company. Not all the time of course, that wasn’t entirely realistic and time alone was still something you needed, just… less often. You wanted to spend everyday with her, even when you were mentally exhausted or burnt-out and so stressed you feared your hair would turn grey. 
You hadn’t planned to fall in love within mere months of living in Barcelona, nor had you expected to fall for a teammate. However, sometimes the most surprising things end up being the best. You adored Alexia and all that she was, especially when she demanded that she drop you off and pick you up from the airport and left no room for arguing. 
The sight of her waiting for you as you walked out of the arrivals door was worth the ten days of torture being away from her. There was no way in hell you could have controlled the shy, excited grin on your face as you wandered over to her.
She didn’t hesitate in holding her arms out when you got closer, an equally sheepish smile greeting you before you stepped into her space. The blonde let out an audible sigh of relief when her chin landed on your shoulder, holding you tightly against her whilst your hands slipped underneath the puffer jacket she wore and landed on the small of her back atop her sweater. For a few moments, the pair of you indulged in the comfort of the other after going so long without it. Hundreds of people passed by you as you did, each of them nothing more than a fleeting stranger with a life as complex as your own, yet your interest in their stories and the lives they led paled in comparison to the all-consuming feeling of Alexia’s embrace. 
Despite how you had technically just gone home, back to Norway where you grew up with all your family around you, that reuniting hug was… something more. Something deeper. You couldn’t quite put your finger on what it was about it.
“How are you? How was the flight?” She murmured quietly, pressing her lips to your coat-covered shoulder before leaning back and gazing down at you.
“Tired. My mind is frazzled.” Alexia scrunched her nose at the unfamiliar phrase, and though she had never heard it before, she seemed to understand what you meant by it. You smiled at her as she did it, finding it much more adorable than you'd ever care to admit.
“Let's get you home, eh? With… with me? I stay?” She asked, wanting nothing more than to fall onto the sofa with you and lay there for the rest of her days.
“Yes, god yes. I missed you.” You told her. The blonde chuckled softly and pulled you back in, this time with her cheek resting against your forehead as you nuzzled your nose against her jaw.
“Sí, I will stay with you. Por supuesto.” Alexia said in a whisper, her lips pressing a kiss to your temple. “I missed you too. It was so strange without you.”
“How so?” You wondered, content to stay there in her arms with the warmth of her drowning out the cool chill of the terminal.
“I was sad. Whenever I had some free time, I went to ask if you wanted to come over or I go to you or we have food together or something. But you weren't here and then I was sad. I'm never sad.” You giggled at the last statement, because despite staying in touch whilst you were gone with both calls and texts frequently throughout the day, it was nowhere near the same as being there in person. You understood exactly what she meant.
“Don't be silly, you're the most popular person in Barcelona. You know everyone there somehow, nevermind the thousands of fans too.” 
“Maybe, but none of them are you.” 
Your first instinct was to roll your eyes at her statement, which made her grin, but it did something to you. To you and your heart, to the butterflies in your stomach.
“Calla, Ale.” You shook your head, though spoke with a sheepish gratitude to your voice and a weakness to your knees that had her laughing quietly.
“I am being serious. I wanted you to have an amazing time at home but I wanted the days to go fast so I could see you again.” 
Her hand that landed on your cheek stopped you from turning away from her out of embarrassment at her sweet words, and you barely had a moment to scold her before she leaned down and finally kissed you. Each of you were overcome with a sense of relief, of yearning, of adoration, yet there was one stand-out thought which you both had– there was no way you could go that long without it again. And for Alexia, well, she also knew there was never another person in the world that could make her feel the way you did with just one kiss. It broke off sooner than you wanted, simply because not one of you could stop smiling.
“Take me home now?” You said, gazing at her as she blinked at you a couple times before snapping back into the reality. You giggled, spotting the exact moment she came out of her thoughts, which were overflowing with you, and nodded.
In moments like this, it was hard to believe that you were hardly three weeks into the relationship. Yet, if this was what three weeks had in store for you, you couldn’t wait to see what a lifetime held.
There was a bit of that playful back and forth that you adored when she took your suitcase from you, arguing something to do with being a gentlewoman, and you let her. Who were you to resist her? Dumb, that’s for sure. So she wheeled your bag to her parked car, your hand grasping onto her upper arm, in a comfortable silence. With it, came quiet excitement that formed between you, only now processing the fact you were back in each other’s company and had the next few days to spend time together before training started up again. 
Nothing could have prepared you for the complete and utter domesticity that took over your apartment when you stepped foot inside again. 
Firstly, it started with Alexia heading to the kitchen whilst you went to your bedroom to drop off your bags and unpack the main things from your backpack. Unbeknownst to you, while you were out of the country, Alexia had borrowed Ingrid's key to your flat so that she could organise a few small surprises she hoped you would appreciate. And appreciate them you did.
Just as you were beginning to feel a little overwhelmed at the thought of all the chores that coming back from a vacation had to offer, the door to your room creaked open and in walked your girlfriend with a mug of your favourite hot chocolate in her hand. With a disbelieving smile on your face, you happily accepted it, placing a grateful kiss to her check as your silent way of thanking her.
And as if it couldn't get any better, with a quiet, loving murmur, the blonde persuaded you to leave your bags until tomorrow, not afraid to admit that she would much rather spend the evening in your arms than to see you add to your own stress by trying to get everything organised straight after a flight. You were glad to take her up on her advice because you walked into your lounge to a coffee table filled with surprises. A fresh bouquet of flowers, a new candle, the softest looking blanket you might have ever seen, one of Alexia's folded-up hoodies, and a small gift-wrapped box. You felt overwhelmed, but this time in the best way possible – because you felt wholly and completely loved, even if the pair of you hadn't said that specific word yet.
The only thing you could do to repay such kindness was by granting her wish of doing nothing but cuddling with you on the couch. So you did exactly that. With Alexia's hoodie on, which you realised was her favourite, you both lay down on the sofa and got comfy. Your head was on her chest, tucked perfectly under her chin, with the new blanket that exceeded your softness expectations covering you both, and the most adorable Christmas tree decoration hanging off a pine branch in the corner of the room. According to her, Alexia had chosen it whilst at the Christmas markets, seeing the beautifully crafted glass decoration and thinking of you. Though, she also went on to admit that she thought of you all of the time, hence why she had bought multiple small gifts for you whilst you were gone.
Neither of you planned to fall asleep, but it seemed that had been the case when Alexia woke up some time later, you still on top of her and sleeping. She glanced at her phone and her heart dropped when she saw the time. You hadn't spent the night together at this point of your relationship, yet here the midfielder was, still on your couch at 1am. 
Maybe it was slightly unfair of her, but she would have truthfully done anything to stay in that moment, with you completely at peace lay on top of her. So she lingered for a minute or two, one hand on the back of your head as the other slipped under her jumper and softly trailed her fingertips up and down your warm skin. She closed her eyes and rested for just a second, before letting out a slightly stifled sigh and raising her head from where she had laid back. She gazed down at you, your cheek slightly smushed against her chest and your lips parted as you let out small breaths every so often, and did her best to memorise the sight for herself.
“Cariño.” She whispered, gently nudging your shoulder to wake you up so she could leave. If it was up to her, she would just slip out quietly and not wake you, but she knew the anxieties that would most likely cause for you and that was the last thing she wanted. “Wake up, cari. Por favor.”
“Shh. Sleep.” You grumbled, burying your face further into her neck and pulling the blanket tighter around you.
“No, mi amor.” Alexia chuckled softly, which only had you groaning. “Sorry. I have to go, it's the middle of the night.”
“Just stay, Ale.” You told her. Now that, she wasn't expecting. And if you weren't toeing the line between awake and asleep, you probably wouldn't have said it either.
“S…stay?” She repeated, though got no response from you. “Wake up, wake up. Just for a minute while I go.”
You reluctantly opened your eyes then, if only to frown when you lifted your head up to look at her properly.
“Why do you want to leave?” You asked in a slightly anxious mumble, those worries that Alexia wanted to avoid appearing anyway. To quell them quickly, she cupped your cheek and leaned forward to kiss your forehead.
“Because we haven't spent the night together yet and I don't want to cross any boundaries. This is your space, I don't want to intrude and overstay my welcome.” She answered sincerely, gazing at you so softly that had you been standing, your knees would have surely buckled. 
Those three words were so close to slipping out then, but you feared it was too early and you didn't want to scare her away just as you'd gotten her back. She kept you and your needs in mind at all times- not an overbearing amount, instead in a way where she somehow always knew the moment it was necessary for her to voice her willingness to cater for them. You'd known each other for a number of months now, so she had come to know you well, but it still caught you off guard how thoughtful and caring she was. Other than Ingrid, you weren't sure you had ever come across someone outside of your family that treated you so... perfectly. So normally. It was second nature for the Spanish woman at this point, and that meant the world to you.
“Ale.” You breathed out quietly, shaking your head slightly. She frowned at your reaction, and you couldn't help the sleepy giggle that left your throat. “I would really, really love it if you stayed over. Only if you want to, though.”
Your hair was no doubt a mess from being asleep, you could feel how flushed your cheeks were, and the material of Alexia's t-shirt was probably imprinted on one side of your face. Despite this, Alexia still looked at you like you were the only person in the world.
“If you are happy with it, I would love to stay over. I couldn't think of anything better than waking up in the morning to you.” Her words had you blushing, as they often did, and in your shy embarrassment, you ducked your head down to hide the beaming smile on your face. You lifted it back up only a second or two later when you heard Alexia yawn above you, the pair of you bursting into loud, hearty laughter afterwards.
Together, even with your fingers intertwined for the very short journey, you headed to your bedroom. Alexia perched on the edge of the bed as you searched your wardrobe not only for yourself, but your girlfriend too. You turned around with a pair of shorts for you, more than happy to keep on the jumper of hers you wore, as well as a sweater and another pair of shorts for Alexia. However, she looked at you like there was something she was holding back when you went to hand over the clothes.
“I don’t… usually sleep with shorts or trousers on.” She admitted with an amusingly bright shade of pink to her cheeks. Even the tips of her ears had changed colours.
“That’s fine, Ale, you can sleep in whatever you want. Long as you’re comfy.” You told her, giggling at the small sigh of relief she let out as you put her shorts back into the drawers.
“I did not want to make you feel uncomfortable or anything. Thank you for this.” She smiled up at you before standing. 
There was a miniscule moment of awkwardness where the two of you felt like teenagers at a sleepover, worrying about changing in front of each other, until Alexia turned so that her back was to you and began to unbutton and unzip her jeans. You turned too, not without a coy grin on your face, and quickly got changed, as did Alexia.
“Can I turn now?”
“Are you finished?” 
You asked at the same time, laughing together once more whilst moving to face each other again. Alexia took in the sight of you in her jumper, the small detail making her heart skip with joy around her chest, and you shook your head at the fondness she admired you with as you tried not to look at the rather substantial amount of skin on show from the woman across from you. She looked adorable, in just her underwear and a sweater with slightly tousled hair. It was such a contrast to the person you saw on the pitch, and so what if you secretly, not-so-secretly loved the fact that you were the only one in the world that saw this dimension of her multifaceted persona?
“What side do you prefer?” You wondered, gesturing to the bed behind you.
“Which side?” Alexia scrunched her nose in confusion like she did back at the airport, and still you found it just as endearing. 
“Yeah, like do you prefer being closer to the door or to the window?” 
“Oh! I do not mind, cariño, you can pick.” You let out a dramatic breath at her decision, then immediately clambered under the covers, making Alexia smile. “So you like the window?”
“I do. I like being able to look out every morning, the sunrise wakes me up.” You answered her curiosity, and it was simply another fact which she stored away. She had a number of them memorised by now, but she hoped she could learn every single one. 
“Do you, um… like to cuddle? When you sleep?” The blonde murmured a little shyly, lay on her back with her head turned to you. You had a feeling, from the sheepishness in her tone, that there was a certain answer she was hoping for. When you answered, you couldn't help the small, excited smile on your face.
“I think I do.” 
At your response, she moved onto her side, her accent thick when she quietly demanded that you roll over away from her. Once you had, you hid your face in your pillow when she shuffled up close to you, her chest to your back. Were you sure you weren’t asleep? Because when her arm slipped around your waist and hugged you tight back against her, you were convinced you were dreaming.
But, of course, you always had something to say.
“Do you sleep with socks on?” You hummed curiously into the quiet room.
“Sí..? Why?”
“That’s so strange, Ale.” You commented, goosebumps rising on your skin with the huff she let out against your neck.
“Vete a dormir, idiota.” She grumbled, though you knew she was smiling, it came through so clearly in her voice.
You woke up first the next morning. You weren’t used to sharing a bed, so you didn’t sleep too great, but waking up to Alexia snuggled close to you with her head half on your pillow and an arm wrapped around your body to ensure you didn’t move from her hold, it was so worth it. Even if she called you a worm for the rest of the day, droning on and on about how wriggly you were overnight. This time, when she teased you, you could see the smile on her face as she did so, you didn’t have to assume she had a grin like the previous night. With how the first night went, you thought about your future with a smile on your face, now knowing that mornings were so much better than ever before when you woke up to Alexia’s grumpiness and her tendency to cling onto anytime you tried to leave the bed.
—
Just because you hated your own birthday, that didn’t mean you disliked other people’s birthdays. In fact, for the people closest to you, you relished the opportunity to meticulously plan for them and show them exactly how loved they were.
“Ale, I mean it. Don’t you dare show up early.” 
February 2nd was of course your girlfriend's birthday. It was a morning training session that day, which was honestly quite lucky, and after some celebrations there with the club, you two were going your separate ways. Alexia had plans with some of her close-knit circle of friends from her hometown, whilst you were finishing up organising everything for when she came over to your place afterwards.
You had your arms crossed and eyebrows raised as you looked at her in warning where you stood at the driver's side window of her car. She had a smug grin on her face, like she wasn't listening to a thing you were saying.
“What if I just want to see you, mi amor?” She argued cheekily, but you scoffed.
“Well, I'm right here, telling you to NOT show up early.” 
“But I'm early to everything! Early is on time, on time is-”
“On time is late, late is what the hell is the point of being alive, yes I know you, Alexia.” You jabbed a finger into her chest, smiling at the toothy grin she responded with. “But this is your birthday and I have everything planned down to a T, if you're early then I'm just going to kick you out and make you sit outside in the corridor until it's the right time.”
There was a tight schedule for the day, one you were not going to break. Alexia may try her damn hardest but her determination isn't going to win out this time, because yours is stronger. 
She was going to spend the afternoon with her closest friends, the people that she knew she wouldn't be where she was now without them, whilst you had an intense few hours of cooking. Yes, hours. Cooking historically wasn't your favourite thing in the world, you were a pair that did not get along, but with a few tips and lessons from Alexia's mother, you had nearly perfected one dish that you knew Alexia would die for. Hopefully she wouldn't have to resort to such extremities as long as you keep to your timetable and she doesn't ruin that.
“Oh my god!” You suddenly exclaimed as your phone vibrated in your pocket, your alarm telling you to get home ASAP going off at that particular moment. “I need to go! You’re going to make me late!” 
Before Alexia could even blink, you had kissed her cheek and turned to head back to your car. But she wasn’t allowing that.
“Oye! Ven aquí, engel.” She sounded serious and a little strict then, you had no choice but to turn around and walk back towards her skeptically. You stood about a foot away from her door, though she beckoned you over with a wave of her hand and raised an eyebrow when you only shuffled a tiny bit. “Ven aquí.”
You rolled your eyes at her and did as she said, though your attitude didn’t stay for long when she pinched your cheeks together with one hand and leaned up to leave a lingering, firm kiss to your pouted lips that momentarily turned your brain to mush. After she pulled back, she chuckled a little menacingly at the daze she left you in, until you blinked out of whatever not so PG thoughts you’d fallen into and back to the present. 
“Don’t distract me!” You groaned, pushing her face away gently with your palm. “Have fun with your friends, I’ll see you later. At the right time, Ale!”
Fortunately for you, she did show up on ti- well, two minutes early actually, but you were running ahead of schedule thanks to the gracious extra time you gave yourself in case anything did go wrong. Some things… did go wrong, but all were salvageable, and now you had the most beautiful aroma of slow-cooked, completely homemade (apart from the actual pasta) shredded beef ragu pasta circling throughout your apartment, and if you didn’t say so yourself, it could definitely pass as a Michelin star meal.
However, out of all the outcomes you had thought of for that night, there was one that you never could have prepared yourself for.
“You reek of wine.” Was the first thing you said when you opened the door to your pink-cheeked, suspiciously happy girlfriend. You scrunched your nose up at the distinct scent coming from her, or actually it was probably just your hypersensitivity to most smells, whilst Alexia beamed at you from her place rooted in the doorway.
“Hola, guapisima.” The blonde grinned, reaching her arms out and making toddler-esque grabby hands at you, otherwise known as asking for a hug in sober language. 
Your first thought, as you leaned in, was one of anxiety and stress, since you didn’t exactly plan to deal with a wine drunk Alexia for the first time especially with it being her birthday. But then, she hummed almost like a happy cat purring when you wrapped your arms around her, and she seemed relaxed and happy in a different way than you had seen so far. Thankfully she didn’t seem too drunk, maybe just a bit tipsy, and as you held her you giggled at the way she nuzzled her nose into the skin just below your jawline.
“You had fun then? With your friends?” You wondered as you ran a hand up and down her jumper clad back.
“Mhm.” She lifted her head up and smiled at you. You looked in her eyes, and found nothing but carefree and utter contentment swirling around there. It did something to your heart then, a feeling akin to relief and pride settling over you at how at peace she seemed to be in your company. Even if that was assisted by the alcohol in her system. “So happy to be with you now. I waited all day.” 
“Yeah, yeah. Softie.” You teased, giggling at how she tutted in disapproval at your comment and raised an eyebrow at you. “Feliz cumpleaños.”
“Tusen takk.” Alexia grinned in turn, her eyes creasing in the corners. “Ves? I am not early. I am at the right time and hungry, so let me in.”
“No.” You said just as she went to move past you. You tightened your arms around her waist so that she couldn't move, and she frowned grumpily as a result. “You're two minutes early, actually.”
“Vale.” She sighed, giving up the fight much easier than you expected, which only raised your suspicions further. “You cooked, sí? Mami said you were cooking a big meal?”
“I did, it's almo-” You were right to be wary of her behaviour, as her hands slipped down to the back of your thighs and she hoisted you up into her arms, catching you off guard. You pushed the door shut behind her before she walked away, only just managing to reach it over her shoulder as she started walking through your flat. “Ale! What are you doing?!”
Not that she made it too far before she almost sent the two of you flying down to the floor when she bumped into the set of drawers near the entryway.
“Be careful! How much did you drink?” You scolded lightly, grabbing onto the door frame that led into the kitchen to steady yourselves. 
“Hmm… does it matter?” She answered, curving the question with a smile on her face before the smell of food cooking caught her attention.
“No, you can’t be in here yet! Put me down, get out!” You panicked slightly at how the surprise would have been ruined as she went to head over to the stove, though it was instantly relieved when Alexia stopped in her tracks and lowered you back down to the floor with a grumble. “You can’t know yet, I need to serve it up. Go sit at the table and wait, please behave. No funny business.”
“I will stay here and behave and watch you.” The midfielder compromised, and with a defeated sigh, you nodded and got started with the final steps of the evening. 
“You're so weird.” You muttered, turning to glance back at her where she leaned back against the wall with her hands clasped behind her like a bored, young child when she clicked her tongue in disapproval.
“Not weird.” She grumbled, giving up on standing around and waiting, instead wandering over to stand beside you, drooling at the food you'd prepared until something caught her eye. “What is this?”
She picked up the piece of paper she saw and read through it – albeit with slightly blurred vision – and felt a wave of adoration wash over her.
“Oh, it's the… timetable I wrote for myself tonight. So I didn't forget anything.” You replied sheepishly, opting out of facing the blonde in case her and her unpredictable drunken antics decided to tease you for it.
You knew it might be a little weird to anyone else that you'd make such a detailed outline for the evening, but it was something you had always done and it hadn't failed you thus far. It was very meticulous, with timings for food and reminders of tiny things you didn't want to forget and when you could get ready for her arrival as the dinner cooked without it ruining the process. 
Though, Alexia didn't think it was weird or unusual. To her, it was just another glimpse into your mind and how it worked, and she treasured it anytime she got to see that. She was sure, when you weren't looking and didn't need it anymore, she'd slip it into her pocket and keep it as a memory. Sure it might just be a lined bit of paper ripped out of the nearest notebook with scribbled notes that only you could understand, but for Alexia it was a sentimental souvenir that represented so much more than just a nice evening together. Making sure everything went perfect and was well organised that night was one of your many ways of demonstrating your love for her and how deep it ran.
“I really appreciate you setting up this evening for us.” Alexia began quietly, resting her chin on your shoulder and wrapping an arm loosely around your waist as her hand found its place on your hip. “Mi novia bonita. You are the best.” 
“I'm sorry we aren't going out or doing anything fancy.” You mumbled insecurely, suddenly shrinking in on yourself and allowing the doubts to come in. 
Alexia might be here with a smile on her face, but would she have been happier elsewhere? An actual Michelin star restaurant with a girlfriend that could handle more than half an hour in such an environment? Dressed up to the nines and paying a bill of, at the very least, three digits rather than putting up with a haphazard home-cooked meal and a night in?
“Why you say that?” Alexia frowned, gently taking the dish you were holding as well as the ladle in your other hand and putting them both down for the time being. She put the lid back on the pot so that the food didn't cool too much, before urging you to face her with her hand moving to your shoulder. “Why, when I think this is the perfect way to spend my birthday?”
“Because other years you've had parties and nights out, you've told me all about them and the dinners you've had and stuff. This is just… nothing compared to all those. But it's all I can give you and it doesn't feel like enough. I just… I tried my best though.” 
The words come out thick and fast with little warning, revealing stresses that you'd carried on your shoulders for days since you came up with the idea for this night. You tried to disguise them, whenever Alexia asked previously you what was up you shrugged her off, but of course it was now of all moments that you spilt all you felt. 
“No. No, no, no.” Alexia said, her eyebrows pressed down into a scowl of determination, which you took as anger.
“I am sorry, Alexia, I did try my b-”
“And your best is so much more than I could wish for.” She cut you off in a firm voice, her hands on either side of your neck as her thumbs under her chin tilted your head up to face her. “It is more than enough. I see what you have done here for me and I see you. Not what you can't do. Those other things for my birthday, they were more for my family and my friends to enjoy. I liked them, but… there is a reason I didn't want to do all that this year and it's not because of you. It's because it's not what I want, but you know what I want, and I know that because you've planned this night and it is perfect for me.”
With her flushed cheeks and slightly tousled hair from… well, from what you weren't sure though it probably had the same reasonings as the red tinge to her cheeks, but it was her wide eyes that really tied off the slightly manic appearance of her. Like, if you didn't believe everything she said, she might go on a tipsy rampage against everyone that had done you so wrong it had led to your current doubtful mindset. 
Your hands were clasped in front of you, fidgeting as you processed her words which had been a little unexpected. Perhaps a drunk Alexia wasn't such a worrying thing like you thought it might be.
“A… are you sure? I mean, I d-” 
“Spending time with the woman I love? She cooks an amazing meal for me? And it is just us, nobody else?” She interrupted you again, a soft smile on her face as her thumbs carefully caressed the soft skin of your cheeks. “I love that, cariño, I really have been so excited all day. Please, never… belittle yourself over what you can't do, when everything that you are doing is more than good enough for everybody around you. Nobody loves like you do and I feel very lucky to be the one that gets all you have to give.”
Definitely not as bad as you feared.
“You…” Speechless, you trailed off and shook your head. So you leaned in and hugged her, because there was very little you could say to repay her for her thoughtfulness other than- “I love you.”
“I love you too, mi amor.” Alexia hummed into your ear, swaying you both on the spot before her temporarily depleted attention span averted back to the pasta that was calling her name. “I also love pasta so please let me eat now. Two minutes have passed, no?” 
There was a grin pressed against the skin of your neck as you lightly hit her back for her comment. That night with Alexia was just another example of how well she truly knew you, unlike anyone you'd ever met. And that pride from earlier? It returned as you say across from her at the dinner table, a rich amount of pasta dished up in front of you both, because she said you knew her too. You knew her too. 
As it turned out, your cooking skills far surpassed Alexia's expectations, nevermind your own. She may have been a tiny bit worried considering the few but memorable occasions of you trying to cook for her, so she'd have to thank her mother in a very generous way, because it might have been one of the best things she'd ever been served. When the midfielder slumped back in her chair, the button to her trousers undone after stuffing her face with a week’s worth of pasta, her eyes never steered away from you.
You weren't doing anything of note, you were simply loading the dishwasher up with the plates and cutlery and whatnot that you'd used that day. Yet, for your girlfriend, there was so much love blooming through her chest she had no idea what to do with it apart from gaze at you like you were the one who had invented football.
“Your presents are in my bedroom by the way. I, um… may have gone a bit overboard.” You admitted shyly as you went to go back to your chair, though you were stopped in your tracks when an arm curved around your waist and pulled you down to sit on Alexia’s lap.
“Your bedroom?” She said lowly, a glint in her eyes that were solely focused on your lips. You blushed, knowing exactly what was on her mind, having come to recognise the pattern in her behaviour when she wanted… something in particular. You dragged the whole thing out, knowing it only ended in one way, but where’s the fun in that?
“Mhm.” You nodded, your heart rate speeding up a tad at how she smirked afterwards.
“Vaya, qué conveniente, no?” Alexia murmured, leaning in so that your noses brushed together and your lips were millimetres apart. At her teasing, you tried to resist the bashful smile but Alexia saw it for a split second before you could repress it. “Bueno. Vamos.”
In an instant, she was up from her seat with you in her arms, one strict destination in her mind with one very likeable goal. 
“Ale, I just had a giant bowl of pasta!” 
“No me importa, mi amor.” She sang, before kicking the bedroom door shut behind you both.
—
From an outsider’s perspective, your relationship seemed just as perfect as it was in your point of view. Didn’t take a genius to recognise that; five minutes with you and Alexia, anyone could see how much you valued each other.
“-and then my mother rang Mapi, like actually called her, just to see if I was lying. They teamed up on me, snuppa, my mother and my girlfriend. Over soup.” 
“That is… you got yourself into that mess, Ingrid. I can’t comment. Can’t take sides.”
Just like it had been ten years ago, back home in Norway in a tiny hotel in Oslo, you and Ingrid were sharing a room for an away game. There had been training, dinner, and now it was downtime where everybody could choose what they wanted to do. With Alexia at the press conference and Mapi… doing whatever Mapi did, you and Ingrid settled for a relaxed night in, though the movie you’d landed on was long forgotten in the background.
“You just took a side. Unbelievable.” The dark-haired woman sighed, shaking her head in disappointment. You grinned, lay on your side on your bed as Ingrid painted her nails across from you on hers.
It was peaceful and just what you wanted it to be, some time alone with your second favourite person in your life where you could just exist in each other’s company. Unfortunately, though to nobody’s surprise, it didn’t last long.
“Buenas noches.” Alexia smiled as she walked in, somehow having acquired a keycard to your room.
“What are you doing here?” You asked in confusion, not expecting to see her for the rest of the evening since you weren’t sharing a room.
“Oh, what a lovely greeting.” She scoffed jokingly, disregarding the fact you were midway through a conversation and flopping down onto the space next to you. The blonde lay on her stomach, face turned into your back as an arm flung around your waist. And she just stayed there.
With a glance at Ingrid, who shrugged her shoulders, you rolled your eyes at your girlfriend’s antics before the pair of you slipped back into conversation like nothing had happened. Alexia piped up every now and then, but for the most part, she remained quiet and just relished in your company. 
Ingrid hadn’t seen these sides to either of you, ever.
It was something small, you and Alexia didn't even exchange a word, but there was a smile on your face as you chatted with Ingrid that the defender didn't see much until Alexia came into your life. Still, it was big enough for her to come to a realisation. Two, actually.
First, that you were happy with Alexia, which made her beam with joy for you and feel extra grateful for Alexia. The second, though, was something she had hoped would happen the minute she caught wind of the transfer rumours. You were completely, genuinely, whole-heartedly happy with your life at Barcelona. And in Barcelona too of course, but you weren't currently in the city at that moment, you were halfway across the country, so. But her point still stood.
However, no matter how much she valued your happiness, she could get to that another time. For now, she wanted-
“I want to go to sleep now.” She decided, zipping up the bag in which she kept all her nail stuff for when she travelled, looking at the two of you on the bed and noting the puzzled expression on your face.
“Then go to sleep, Ingrid, nobody is stopping you.” Alexia chuckled behind you at that, quickly leaving a kiss on the back of your neck before sitting up. 
“No, she is trying to tell me to get out.” She yawned, sharing a smile with Ingrid at your misunderstanding.
“Oh. Well, get out then. You’re not even supposed to be here.” Ingrid grinned at your reply that had Alexia frowning, not expecting you to go against her.
“You’re supposed to be on my side, cari.” She argued, nudging your knee.
“Ask Ingrid. I don’t take sides. The only side I’m on is the right side of justice.” Ingrid bursted out laughing at that and you had to stifle your own, though you did smile at the unimpressed but amused look on Alexia’s face. “Take it up with the club, those are the rules. You’re the captain. I’m sure they will be so glad to hear you can’t stay away from your girlfriend for a few hours overnight.”
The captain shook her head and stood, tugging you off the bed and wrapping you up in a hug that had a better purpose than simply saying goodnight. She slipped her own keycard into your pocket and whispered something unintelligible for Ingrid’s ears to you. Then, she left with a grin, and Ingrid scoffed as you turned back to her shyly, cheeks bright red.
“You know what, I don’t even want to know.” Ingrid said, gathering her things to take into the bathroom to start her night routine.
“It was nothing like that!” You claimed abruptly, realising where her mind had gone. You hesitated for a moment, before remembering who it was in front of you. “She was just being sweet. Saying she would miss me for the night.”
All Ingrid could do was shake her head at the pair of you and how utterly loved up you were, because with every glimpse she caught of the true nature of your connection with each other, it exceeded her hopes and expectations every single time. So, with her hands on her hips as she took the sight of you smiling with a soft shyness to your face and how you fidgeted with the keycard in your pocket, she had no qualms expressing her feelings.
“Do you know how much it means to me? To see you this happy with someone?” Was what she said, which you weren’t expecting at all. You were expecting more teasing, or for her to just tell you to be quiet so she could get ready for bed. Certainly not that.
“What do you mean?” You wondered quietly. She came to stand in front of you and put her hands on your shoulders, meeting your curious stare with a proud look in her eye.
“It just makes me happy to see that you have found someone that treats you exactly as you deserve to be treated. Who isn't afraid to ask questions, who goes above and beyond for you, who sees you for who you are. I had no idea Alexia would be that person for you but I am so glad she is. I am just… relieved and proud that this is how things have worked out for you with moving to this club. I was worried you wouldn't like it but you have really made a place for yourself. And you even got yourself a girlfriend, like, look at you go!” Ingrid beamed, shaking you a little from excitement as she spoke. 
You giggled at her because this moment was so Ingrid, but at the same time, it tugged on your heart strings. Her words put things into perspective for you about everything that had happened since you left Germany, and though there had been lows, there were so many more highs than you realised. Even still, the best was yet to come.
There wasn’t a single part of you that would ever get tired of hearing how proud and happy Ingrid was for you. You’d looked up to her since the moment you met her, she was an example to you, like a big sister. No way would you be the person you were without her. She’s one of those people you hold onto for life, and you would spend the rest of yours trying to repay her for everything she’d done for you.
The next morning, when Ingrid woke up alone in your shared hotel room, she wasn’t even surprised, nor was she the slightest bit concerned for your whereabouts. There was only one place you would be, and though you cruelly abandoned her some point during the night, the sight of you walking in with Alexia, wearing her training jersey with 11 printed on it, her arm around your shoulders as you giggled at something she said to you, was very much welcome.
—
When something wasn’t quite right with Alexia, your entire world felt off-kilt, until you got to the bottom of what was up with her. Sometimes she’d willingly come to you for some support and comfort, other times she was reluctant, and very much stuck in her own head.
Like, for example, just before the season started ramping up, she got a minor muscle injury that’d keep her out for a couple weeks. Everyone knew how it’d make her feel, but it was up to you to be there and reassure her that no, the world wasn’t ending, and yes, she could be the little spoon for that evening. 
Alexia was a bit of a doom-thinker, which not many people knew about, but it was the truth. The moment she was told some bad news, there was a frown paired with a scowl which both were so deeply imprinted on her face, if there was a gust of strong wind, she might actually, genuinely, get stuck like that. Her mind worked on overdrive, thinking and thinking and thinking until she could land on the fastest solution to whatever was wrong. When there wasn’t an immediate solution, well… you wouldn’t be surprised if her head exploded.
So, after having gone home before Alexia was done with her physio assessment, you raced back as soon as you could the second one of the Barca staff told you she was still there, on her own, watching the B-team’s training session. You had tried ringing her, though you knew her phone was most likely sitting in her bag in the locker room as she attempted to gain some peace of mind. The captain had apparently been there for quite some time, however, and you felt she’d had enough time on her own to process it before she needed the care of someone she loved.
She sat on the second-to-top row of the bleachers, hood up and cap on with her hands in her pockets, slumped back against her chair as her eyes tracked every movement of the young players in front of her. You approached her quietly and cautiously, as if trying not to spook away some sort of wild, erratic, unpredictable animal. But no, it was just your emotionally inept girlfriend- inept only when it came to football and injuries.
Even though she could definitely hear you, she gave nothing away.
“Ale? Can I sit with you, or would you like some more time on your own?” You asked gently, the blonde staying silent. “I can leave if you’d like. Just thought I’d come check on you.”
After a second or two, she shook her head and waved you over. She didn’t really know what to say, her mind was split in half and each side was fighting it out between being angry and being logical. She knew she’d be back in no time, but there were still games missed. Missed games, missed opportunities.
You took the seat beside her and tried to get a read on her face, which was entirely emotionless apart from the way she pursed her lips and the slight scowl she had that couldn’t be blamed on the sun, thanks to her hat. Without really knowing how she felt, you didn’t know what to do. Alexia had never lashed out at you to ever give you the wrong idea, but you really didn’t want to say the wrong thing and make her feel worse, or angry.
That was until, about a minute after you sat down, she shuffled a little closer in her seat to where you sat, her shoulder just slightly brushing against yours. You knew that was her silently reaching out, so you complied easily, and rested a hand on her thigh, which she immediately grasped onto with her own. 
“It is so annoying.” You heard her say some time later, her voice just a whisper which had the tiniest crack of emotion in it. “And I am annoyed that I feel annoyed.”
Her eyes were still unmoving from the pitch, but as you looked at her, you smiled sadly, and slipped your hand out of hers to wrap an arm around her shoulders. You coaxed her closer to you, glad when she leaned your head against yours. You would never wish for her to be in this position or a situation similar, but right now you knew she was okay and safe, so you relished in the fact she sought you out, like you did when the roles were reversed. It was the wrong moment to think such a thing, but you were almost relieved that she also needed you when she was going through a difficult time, like you needed her. 
“I know. Nobody expects you to just sit back, take this news, and not be angry that an injury has come when you’re so in form. And when the team needs everybody because it’s going to get hectic soon. Let yourself feel frustrated, you’re allowed to and expected to. But when we wake up tomorrow, you’re gonna come here, and you’re gonna get on with rehab because that is your mindset. You know, when you get up in the morning, these resentful feelings will have gone. You just have to feel them.” You settled on reminding her that she knows she will get past it, because it was the truth, and trying to sugarcoat anything or pretending like all was okay would have been the wrong way to go about this situation. 
Alexia was ineffably grateful. For you coming to be beside her, for your words, and just for you overall. She always found these first moments after bad news difficult, but the road ahead of her seemed so much clearer with every bit of reassurance you gave.
“And you will be with me, huh?” She turned to you with a slight smirk, an act you knew was a classic performance of fake it ‘til you make it. If she acted confident, maybe she would start to feel somewhat sure of herself again.
“And I will be with you for every second of it. Every second.” You told her with a bright smile, and the combination of that and your dedication to her also brought a smile of her own to her face. “You are the most determined person I have ever met. But it is human to have blips. It’s why I’m here; to try to make you feel better because you don’t have to go through blips alone.”
Somehow, you were saying all the right things, even if you thought you were just muddling through an internal checkbook of ‘things people say to each other during hard times.’ Seeing Alexia with a smile on her face compared to the stormy expression she wore when you arrived was a huge boost in confidence. Even more so when she turned her body towards you and ducked her head down so that she could rest her chin on your shoulder as she brought you in for a hug that comforted you just as much as it did her.
“Thank you for coming here.” She mumbled into your jacket, and you kissed her cheek afterwards. 
“Always. It is my duty to the team, no?” You couldn’t help but grin in triumph when she laughed, slightly muffled by your clothes, but she laughed nevertheless. “And as your girlfriend, I suppose.”
“You suppose.”
“Fine. It is my duty, a duty I take very seriously. A duty I’m very good at, considering I’ve got you here in my arms, laughing like you didn’t look like you wanted to watch the world burn when I arrived.”
“You are… annoying. Cocky, smug, and annoying. Stop it.”
—
You were serious when you said you’d be there every second along her rehab. As you had told her, it was a duty you took very seriously. But how serious, Alexia didn’t know in that instance at the training ground. 
One of your favourite love languages for others was gift giving, you were sort of known as the best present-buyer with everyone you know, because that was also another thing you did not joke about. Though, it was your spontaneity with such a habit that you knew people appreciated most. And who else would be at the top of that long list of people, other than your girlfriend. 
Even if you did accidentally almost send her to hospital as you walked into her apartment out of the blue as she sat at her dining table with her headphones on. 
Since she was out of playing action and feeling a little useless with what she could give to the team, she basically took it upon herself to take notes of the matches and training sessions that she’d missed whilst she was gone so that she could send them to the team and hope they got good use out of it. That meant her attention was entirely on her laptop and notepad when you walked in, a small gift bag in your hand and a nervous look on your face, which she missed of course.
It wasn’t until you were stood beside her and placed a gentle hand on her shoulder that she jumped out of her skin and slammed her headphones down on the table so hard out of fear, you worried she’d broken them. Then, she exhaled deeply, hand on her heart as she worked to slow it down once she noticed it was you. Unfortunately for her, you had no control over the laughter that bubbled out of you at her dramatic reaction, to which she groaned and pulled you closer with an arm around your waist, hiding her face in your stomach out of embarrassment. 
At that point, you noticed something very convenient for the gift you had bought her. Her hair was tied up into a messy bun, making your life so much easier.
“Close your eyes, Ale. I have something for you, you’re not allowed to see it.” 
“Why get me something if I cannot see what it is?” She argued, putting on that frustratingly endearing faux innocent expression she often put on when trying to fight her case over something small and light-hearted like this.
“Just be quiet and do what I say.” You told her, attempting to be stern but it was entirely futile when she gazed up at you like that, and before you’d even finished your sentence, there was a smile on your face. 
Despite how she rolled her eyes teasingly, she closed her eyes and sat still, waiting for whatever you had in store for her. As she sat there, she could hear you reaching into the bag she spotted and taking something out of it, but other than that, she was none the wiser to what her surprise was. Her eyebrows shot up when she felt you lay something delicate around her neck.
“Engel, what have you done?” She enquired, her eyes still shut as she fought the urge to open them prematurely.
You stayed silent, making sure the present was secure, before tapping her shoulder to indicate you were done and stepping back shyly. The second she opened her eyes, she fixed you with a knowing, accusatory glare, before standing and heading over to the mirror, where her face lit up at what she saw.
A dainty gold chain sat perfectly across her neckline, a simple piece of jewellery that immediately jumped up to the top of her favourites. There wasn’t anything outrightly extravagant about it, it was discreet and meant to be worn with daily casual clothes, but Alexia wondered how she’d gone without it for so long, because it was truly perfect. She couldn’t find a better word to describe it. Maybe priceless, because the sentiment behind it was even more beautiful to her than the appearance of it. 
You had gone out with some friends having woken up without Alexia beside you that morning with no plans to see each other that day. Yet, there you were, showing up out of the blue with a surprise that she treasured after having it in her possession for no more than a minute. It was supposed to be an entirely inconspicuous day for the pair of you, but that flew out the window when you decided to get her a gift that could probably never be topped.
Alexia never really found herself as someone that people randomly bought gifts for. Sure, her mother and her sister might spot something and get it for her, but other than that, everyone assumed she had everything she could ever need, what with her wages and her sponsors and bonuses for all the thirty titles she’d won. She never would have known that a necklace could evoke such a whirlwind of emotion throughout her. It stuck in her mind, on repeat, over and over; you went out shopping with friends, without Alexia even jokingly asking for a present, and had seen something which made you think of her. And you even went so far as to buy it for her, and then surprise her at her own apartment with no warning. 
“It’s just something small, I know it’s not all that special, but I saw it and thought of you and deci-” 
The blonde had a habit of cutting you off when you rambled insecurely, though it wasn’t something you had a particular distaste for. Every time she did so, she stopped you in your tracks and did something that pulled each anxiety from your mind until you forgot what you were even worrying about. Whether that be by talking, or drawing you in for a hug, or offering a distraction, or in this case, indulging in the overwhelming amount of love she felt by kissing the life out of you.
Though, for her, that still wasn’t enough of an expression of her feelings, so just as you caught up with her she pulled away. Her arms were around your waist in an instant, and she lifted you up off the ground and spun you both around, like movie stars in the rain. However, thankfully you were both warm and majoritively dry in the comfort of Alexia’s apartment- majoritively dry, because there were… tears on your neck?
“Are you crying?” You asked in disbelief, surprised that she’d have such a reaction to just a necklace.
“Yes. Yes I am.” Alexia answered with a laugh, using one of her hands to hastily brush away the endless tears that fell. “I am crying because you bought me a necklace. For no reason, you bought me a necklace, and I really l-love that. It means a lot to m-me, amor.” 
Her reaction almost had you crying too; she was adorable, and you hugged her tighter because it felt like that was all you could do. Every day with her, she showed a new side to who she was away from Alexia Putellas, the merciless footballer that was no match for anyone. This version, this emotional, choked up version of her was so heart-warming, part of you wished the world could see it, whilst the rest of you relished in the fact you were the only person to see it. Only you could make her cry over a necklace, and as weird as that was, it was your badge of honour you’d wear with pride. 
Perhaps your bank account wouldn’t agree, but you’d buy her a dainty gold chain everyday of the year if it meant she felt at least half as loved as she made you feel.
—
Somewhere along the way since you first fell in love with Alexia, Barcelona officially became… home. 
Germany was never home, you always knew you’d move away at some point. You liked the city you were in, you thought you loved it at the time, but… Barcelona introduced to you what love actually was, and it was Alexia. 
You didn’t know what life had waiting for you years down the line, and if you thought about that and its unknowns for too long, you would send yourself into an anxious tizzy that was entirely unnecessary. For now, you were the happiest you’d ever been, and it just so happened that you were in Barcelona when that happened. The city was dreamy, though so was the woman you were in love with. So were your friends. Everything about your life was the best it’d ever been.
That, unsurprisingly to you, opened up a world of daydreams and scenarios to think about. The first on your agenda, which was a terrifying one if it didn’t go your way: would Alexia ever want to live with you?
“Ale? Can we talk about something?” You said out of the blue as the pair of you walked along a beach in Madeira, hand in hand as the waves lapped calmly over your feet and the sun and the sky flaunted its beauty with shades of purples, pinks, and oranges, painting the perfect, serene background to a conversation sure to bring some anxiety. 
“Of course. Anything. Do you want to sit down and talk?” Alexia suggested, taking you both a little higher up the sand after you nodded. She took a seat first, before looking up at you with a welcoming smile as you paused for a moment, then sat down.
It was probably ridiculous and childish that you thought so, but you hated how the dynamic of any kind of relationship could change with one conversation. With what you were about to say, you felt sick at the possible outcomes. You knew what you were about to say, whilst Alexia was blissfully unaware of the storm you were about to kick up. The words were on the tip of your tongue as you looked at her, and your mouth opened and closed for a few moments as you built up the courage to speak them. Eventually, you did, and Alexia waited patiently throughout your internal warfare.
“Would you… ever want to, maybe, live together? One day?”
For a few brief moments (the worst of your life), Alexia didn’t respond. In that short time, your anxiety reached whole new heights, convincing you that the next words out of Alexia’s mouth would be her breaking up with you. They weren’t, of course they weren’t.
“I would love to. I really would.” She admitted coyly, smiling and shaking her head at the utter look of shock on your face. “I have been thinking about this for some time, I just didn’t know how to bring it up. So, please, tell me what you think.”
“What I think?” Alexia nodded, a comforting hand landing on your knee. “Well… I don’t know how we would do it.”
“What do you mean? We just decide whose apartment to move to and do that, no?” 
It wasn’t that simple, unfortunately. This was something you did indeed have a lot of thoughts on, and maybe it’d be those that would finally scare her off. 
Alexia was amazing at understanding, but she wasn’t perfect. Nobody could blame her for not being clued in on something like this, especially since it was the first time you were talking about it together.
“I… that wouldn’t work. Not for me anyway.” You started, a little disheartened by the frown that formed on her face. Still, you explained yourself. “If I moved into your apartment, it wouldn’t feel like my home. I love your apartment, I do, but it’s your apartment and always has been. If you moved into my apartment, that would mean that… it’s not my space anymore. Which makes no sense at all because it obviously would be, but… I don’t know how to explain it best. It’s…”
You trailed off, frustrated at how you couldn’t properly articulate yourself in such a delicate situation. But, now that she was clued in, Alexia understood exactly what you meant. 
Your apartment was your dedicated space; having someone move in, no matter who it was, would feel like having an intruder there at all times. Everything would be different in your mind, even if the only physical difference was Alexia, your girlfriend. It’d take you months, or probably even years, to get used to it. And you know you couldn’t live like that, even if you so desperately wanted to. 
Living with Alexia in her apartment would be even worse. You know her apartment as a visitor, but not as a resident. If you lived there, it would constantly feel like you were in someone else’s home and not your own. These two things, though they may be the easiest options theoretically, would cause all kinds of hell for you and probably reverse all the progress you’d made since moving to Spain. It would put strain on everything, from your relationships, to the football you played, to your mental health, everything. It just wasn’t a feasible or healthy option.
“I understand that, mi amor. I understand all that you said.” Alexia tried to reassure you, but you could see the sadness in her eyes that she tried to disguise. She was upset by this new revelation, and that wrecked you. “Please don’t feel guilty about it though. I am not mad or anything.”
You nodded and avoided her eyes, focussing your attention on the ocean in front of you and crossing your arms, like you were protecting yourself. You pulled away from your girlfriend to get away from the inevitable pain of her pulling away instead. Alexia realised that and had to suppress a sigh, not one of annoyance or along those lines, but out of concern, because she could see that turmoil this conversation had caused you. 
She decided to give you a couple minutes to think on your own, wondering if that’s what you’d need to process all that had just occurred. She was right to do that, because you did something rare. Rather than dwelling on the negative outcomes of what just happened, you tried your best to make something good out of it.
Because, in the end, relationships were all about compromise.
“Maybe, next year or next season or whatever, we…” You paused to take a breath, then addressed Alexia directly. She met you with a curious and open gaze, wordlessly encouraging you to get whatever it was off your chest. “We revisit this conversation, and… look at houses together?”
A new, shared space would work. A blank canvas for you both to work together on, to figure out together, to make a house into a home, together.
Alexia’s wide, bright smile was worth more than anything else in the world. One second, she was sat beside you, and the next, she had lunged forward to tackle you to the soft gold ground beneath you, putting her weight on you as she leaned down to shower you with the surge of adoration she felt. She peppered kisses all over your face and down to your neck, eliciting a surprised giggle out of you that was priceless to her. 
Your future, your shared future with the woman that lay on top of you, was in sight and near enough solidified. In a few years, you might not be a Barcelona player, football might take you down a completely different road, but the one you were on now, where you had plans to buy a house with Alexia, was enough for now, enough to settle the anxiety you always got when you thought about the future, because things were pretty good at that moment.
And to tie off an all-round very successful conversation, Alexia said something that summarised your whole relationship in only a single sentence. 
“Whatever you want to do, we will do, because seeing you happy makes me happy also.” 
—
depending on the reaction to this, i have no idea when or if there will be another story after this one. very anxious to post for reverie after all that happened because people have not so fun opinions about this overall topic that can and will wreck me which is pretty scary so :)
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kiwriteswords ¡ 2 months ago
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more bombshell reader and maybe jealous hotch!!
Something in the Way She Moves
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Masterlist || Ao3
Pairing: Aaron Hotchner x Bombshell Female Reader||Word Count: 20k!!
Tags/Warnings: No use of Y/N, canon-typical violence, canon-typical themes, spoilers/mentions of past character's death(s), hurt/comfort, jealousy, fluff, angst, breakups, forbidden romance, smut, sex without protection, yearning Hotch, Reader is Hotch's Boss, holidays, Reader has hair, cheating if you squint (not on each other; not Reader on/by Hotch), mentions of alcohol at social setting, bombshell reader, possessive Hotch, jealous reader
Sypnosis: As the new section chief of the BAU, you’re determined to lead with professionalism—despite an undeniable connection with Aaron Hotchner, the stoic unit chief who understands you like no one else. When your growing romance draws scrutiny from the Bureau and threatens both your careers, breaking things off feels like the only choice. But resisting your feelings is easier said than done, and navigating the fallout proves more complicated—and personal—than either of you anticipated.
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Aaron Hotchner had always believed in rules. They provided structure, a way to ensure order in the chaos of the world he inhabited daily. He lived by them—until you walked back into his life.
When you first stepped into Erin Strauss’ old office as the new Section Chief of the Behavioral Analysis Unit, Aaron had already known you would get the job. Not because you were an excellent candidate, though that was undeniable, but because he had written the letter of recommendation that tipped the scales. He’d been the one to argue your case, to convince the higher-ups that your tactical mind, people skills, and years of leadership in the Child Abduction and Serial Killer Unit made you the right choice.
He knew he couldn’t take on the job himself. He didn’t want to sacrifice his time in the field or more time away from Jack. Things with Beth had just mutually ended, and he knew now wasn’t time for a big change in his career. His team needed stability, too. He knew where to find it for them. He couldn’t think of a better boss for himself or his team. 
But what Aaron hadn’t expected was how your presence would shift the ground beneath his feet.
From day one, you were everything he remembered—commanding, intelligent, and stunning. But there was a new energy to you now. Your style was impeccable, all sharp lines and elegance, yet undeniably bold. You wore heels that clicked purposefully against the tiled floors, and your perfume lingered just long enough to be distracting. Every room you entered turned its attention to you, though you never seemed to revel in it. You worked hard—harder than anyone—but also knew how to treat yourself. Aaron admired that, envied it even.
And then there was the personal side, the one you didn’t show many. The way you smiled when you spoke about your niece’s upcoming recital. The way your laugh, a warm and genuine sound, filled the briefing room when someone cracked a joke. You were extra, yes—extravagant even—but never entitled. You could be sharp-tongued and exacting, but you were also kind and humble. You never asked anyone for anything you wouldn’t provide for yourself.
You were a paradox, and Aaron found himself drawn to you more every day.
The first time the two of you crossed the line, it had been... unplanned.
It was late, the kind of late where the bullpen was empty except for the faint hum of desk lamps and the rhythmic clicks of Aaron typing. You had come down from your office, a mug of tea in your hand and a softness to your expression he rarely saw as you popped into his opened door.
“You’re still here?”
“I could ask the same of you,” he replied, looking up from his laptop as you perched on the edge of his desk.
The conversation started as work but soon meandered. Aaron had always valued your opinion, and it wasn’t unusual for the two of you to linger over cases. But that night, as the hours stretched on, there was a shift.
“I’ve always admired your dedication,” you said quietly, your gaze steady on him. 
“Thank you,” Aaron replied, his throat tightening.
“And the way you fought for me to get this position... Aaron, it means more than you know.”
There was a vulnerability in your voice, a crack in the armor you so carefully maintained. Aaron wasn’t sure what compelled him, but before he could second-guess it, his hand covered yours where it rested on his desk.
That simple touch was all it took to change everything.
Weeks passed before either of you acknowledged what was happening. It started innocently enough—a lingering glance across the briefing room, the brush of hands when passing files, the way your voices softened when it was just the two of you. But it didn’t take long for the connection to deepen, slipping past the professional boundaries you had so carefully constructed.
Aaron would find himself texting you late at night, ostensibly to discuss case details, but the conversations often veered into personal territory. It wouldn’t take long until you crossed the boundary, deciding the messages weren’t enough phone calls were needed. He learned that you hated mornings but loved the ritual of your complicated coffee orders, that you missed the simplicity of fieldwork but thrived in your new role because it gave you a broader sense of impact. You learned that he still struggled with guilt over Haley, that he missed spending more time with Jack but refused to let his son see his father falter.
The shift wasn’t dramatic, but it was undeniable. The way you looked at him during meetings lingered too long, your gaze softening when you thought no one else was watching. The way he always stood a little closer to you than necessary, catching your perfume—an elegant mix of jasmine and citrus—that lingered long after you walked away. The stolen moments became something he craved, something he couldn’t ignore.
Aaron knew it was wrong—or, at the very least, complicated. But the way you saw him, truly saw him, made it impossible to stay away. Aaron had met a lot of people in his life, nobody who completely saw him. It was almost as if he spent his whole life searching for it, for it to be looking him in the face all of these years. 
The first time he kissed you, it was in your office.
You were pacing, heels clicking against the polished floor, your tailored suit jacket hanging neatly on the back of your chair. The soft silk blouse you wore glimmered faintly in the dim light, catching his attention more than it should have.
“Can you believe this?” you muttered, gesturing toward the papers on your desk. “A dozen forms to approve before tomorrow, as if I don’t already have enough to do. And the Director wants an update on—”
“Stop,” Aaron interrupted gently, his deep voice cutting through your frustration.
You froze mid-stride, turning to face him. Your expression softened slightly, but your eyes—those piercing, calculating eyes that could read anyone in a heartbeat—searched his face for answers.
“What is it, Aaron?” you asked the edge in your tone melting into something warmer.
He stood from the chair opposite your desk, his broad shoulders and crisp suit making him seem even taller in the small space.
“I can’t do this anymore,” he admitted, his voice quiet but firm.
Your brow furrowed, confusion flickering across your features. “Do what?”
He stepped closer, his dark eyes locked on yours, his presence overwhelming in the best way.
“Pretend that I don’t want more.”
For a moment, the air between you stilled, charged with an unspoken tension that had been building for weeks. Your lips parted slightly, but no words came. Instead, you tilted your head, studying him with the same intensity you reserved for interrogations.
And then your free hand moved, reaching up to curl into his tie, the silk fabric slipping easily between your fingers. You tugged gently, pulling him toward you, your breath mingling with his.
“Aaron,” you murmured, a faint warning still lingering in your tone.
But he didn’t stop. His hand rose to cup the side of your face, his thumb brushing against your cheekbone. Your skin was warm, impossibly soft, and he couldn’t remember the last time he’d felt anything so grounding.
The kiss started tentative, almost hesitant, but the moment your lips met, it shattered whatever walls remained between you. You leaned into him, your other hand finding its way to his chest, where his heart pounded beneath the crisp cotton of his shirt. His other hand slid to your waist, his fingers pressing lightly against the curve of your hip, steadying you as you deepened the kiss.
You tasted like mint and something sweet, and Aaron thought he might be losing his mind. The world outside your office door ceased to exist; there was only you, your warmth, your intoxicating presence.
When you finally pulled back, your cheeks were flushed, and your breathing uneven. His tie was slightly askew, and your fingers still clutched it loosely as if unsure whether to let go.
“Well,” you said, your voice teasing but laced with something raw, something real. “That’s one way to solve a bureaucratic nightmare.”
Aaron chuckled softly, his forehead resting briefly against yours.
“I’m sorry,” he murmured, though he didn’t look it. He certainly didn’t feel it. 
“Don’t be,” you replied, your fingers brushing the lapel of his jacket. “Just... don’t make me regret this.”
“I won’t,” he promised, his voice steady.
And he meant it. Whatever came next, whatever complications or consequences arose, Aaron knew one thing for certain: this—you—was worth it.
Aaron Hotchner had never been one to let himself indulge—not in anything that wasn’t for Jack, at least. His life revolved around necessity and function, keeping his head above water while ensuring those around him could do the same. Haley and Beth had been simple…these minor things didn’t appeal to them. But with you, indulgence didn’t feel frivolous. It felt... right.
The kiss had been a turning point. It wasn’t just the line crossed—it was the invitation to something more. After that moment in your office, there was no going back. Within days, the two of you had quietly shifted from colleagues to something undeniably personal. By the end of the first week, Aaron had asked you out, and to his surprise, you’d agreed without hesitation.
Your first date had been dinner at a small but elegant restaurant nestled in the heart of Georgetown. Aaron had chosen the spot carefully—upscale enough to meet your polished tastes but intimate enough to keep prying eyes at bay.
“I have to admit,” you’d said over a glass of sauvignon blanc, “I wasn’t sure you’d be able to keep up with me.”
Aaron had raised an eyebrow, a smirk tugging at his lips. “Keep up with you how?”
Your expression had turned playful, your eyes sparkling in the candlelight. “Let’s just say I’ve been accused of having... expensive taste.”
Aaron had leaned back in his chair, swirling his whiskey casually. “You think I don’t know that by now?” he teased. “You’re the only person I’ve ever met who insisted on a specific brand of bottled water for office meetings.”
“That’s called maintaining standards,” you countered with mock indignation.
He chuckled softly, the sound low and warm. “Don’t worry. I might be frugal, but I’m not struggling. And I like to spoil the people I care about.”
The admission had caught you off guard, he could tell. Your confident demeanor had faltered just enough for him to notice, and for a moment, you’d looked down at your glass, your smile softer. “Well,” you’d said finally, meeting his gaze again, “I won’t complain about that.”
By the time you’d gone on a few dates, Aaron found himself more at ease with the idea of what you were becoming. It wasn’t just the shared dinners, the quiet moments in the corners of bars, or the back seats of dimly lit movie theaters. It was the way you fit into his life so seamlessly. Despite your differences—you with your love of extravagance and meticulous planning and him with his pragmatic approach and quiet restraint—you balanced each other.
You worked well together, too. Surprisingly well. If anything, your meticulous attention to detail and unrelenting standards had only strengthened the BAU. Aaron had always considered himself by the book, but compared to you, he realized he could be downright lenient.
“You’re more Type A than I am,” he commented one night after a case briefing, leaning against the doorframe of your office.
You glanced up from your perfectly organized desk, where every file was stacked at precise right angles. “Is that your way of saying I’m bossy?”
“Not at all,” he replied, his tone teasing. “I’m saying you’re by-the-book to a fault. It’s impressive, really.”
You rolled your eyes, but your smile betrayed you. “Says the man who color-codes his case files.”
“Touché,” he admitted, crossing his arms over his chest. “But I don’t panic at the thought of bending the rules when necessary.”
Your expression sobered slightly, and Aaron noticed the way your hands stilled over the papers in front of you. “I just... I don’t want to give anyone a reason to question me—or us.”
Ah. There it was.
“You’re worried about telling the Director,” Aaron said, stepping further into the room.
Your silence was answer enough.
Aaron sat on the edge of your desk, his presence grounding. “Things are going well,” he said firmly. “The team respects you. Cases are running smoothly. We work together seamlessly. There’s no reason for anyone to take issue with this—unless we give them one.”
You looked up at him, your expression vulnerable in a way few ever saw. “But what if they do? What if they say it’s inappropriate or unprofessional? I could lose this position, Aaron.”
He reached for your hand, covering it with his. The touch was gentle, but his grip steady, reassuring. “You won’t lose it. You’ve earned this. No one can take that from you.”
“But what about you?” you asked quietly. “If this affects your place on the team...”
“I won’t let it,” Aaron said with conviction. “We’ve handled worse than bureaucratic red tape. Besides, I think the Director has bigger problems than two senior members of the BAU in a consensual, functional relationship.”
Your lips twitched into a reluctant smile. “Functional, huh? That’s romantic.”
Aaron smirked, brushing his thumb over your knuckles. “What can I say? I’m a realist.”
You shook your head, your laughter soft but genuine. “I don’t know how you stay so calm about this.”
“Because I’ve spent my life trying to control everything,” he admitted. “And I’ve learned the hard way that some things are worth the risk.”
Your gaze lingered on his, the weight of his words settling between you. And for the first time since this all began, Aaron saw the tension in your shoulders ease.
“Okay,” you said finally, your voice steady. “We’ll tell the Director. Together.”
Aaron nodded, a small smile tugging at his lips. “Together.”
In that moment, as the two of you sat in the quiet comfort of your shared understanding, Aaron knew one thing for certain: whatever the future held, you were worth it. Every risk, every consequence—you were worth it.
Aaron Hotchner had walked into more high-pressure situations than he could count. Interrogating unsubs. Negotiating with armed suspects. Delivering heartbreaking news to grieving families. But as he sat outside the Director’s office with you beside him, he felt a knot in his stomach that rivaled even the most tense of standoffs.
You sat with your legs crossed, your polished heel bouncing ever so slightly—a nervous tick Aaron had come to recognize. You were dressed impeccably, as always, your tailored blazer sharp enough to cut through steel. But Aaron knew you well enough to see the tension in the way you smoothed nonexistent wrinkles from your skirt or adjusted your necklace.
He reached over, his hand brushing yours lightly. “We’ll be fine,” he said quietly, his voice low enough not to carry.
You turned your head, offering him a small smile, but the doubt in your eyes was unmistakable.
Before he could say more, the assistant opened the door. “The Director will see you now.”
The Director’s office was a testament to order and authority. Every book on the shelves was carefully aligned, the awards and commendations behind the desk displayed with precision. Aaron Hotchner had sat across from this desk many times, but today, the air felt heavier. He wasn’t just representing his team or defending a decision. Today was personal.
The Director greeted them with a curt nod, gesturing for them to sit. Aaron glanced at you as you settled into the chair beside him, your posture immaculate, your gaze steady. He knew the nerves beneath the surface were hidden behind that calm, polished exterior.
“You wanted to discuss something... personal,” the Director said, leaning back slightly, his hands folded on the desk.
Aaron cleared his throat and straightened in his chair. “Yes, sir. We wanted to inform you about our relationship.”
The Director’s eyebrows rose slightly, but his face remained unreadable. He waited, prompting Aaron to continue.
“We’ve been seeing each other for some time now. We’ve taken every precaution to ensure it doesn’t interfere with our work or the team’s performance. Cases continue to run smoothly, and morale remains high. We believe—”
The Director raised a hand, signaling for Aaron to stop.
Aaron exchanged a brief glance with you. The air seemed to grow heavier.
“I appreciate your honesty,” the Director said, his voice even, almost sympathetic. “But this isn’t acceptable.”
You leaned forward slightly, your tone measured but firm. “With all due respect, sir, we’ve maintained professionalism at all times. There has been no impact on the team’s dynamics or efficiency.”
The Director sighed and leaned back in his chair, his expression thoughtful but resolute. “This isn’t about professionalism or efficiency, though I trust that both of you believe you’ve kept those intact. It’s about perception. The BAU is already under a microscope. The media, oversight committees, politicians—they’re all waiting for any reason to scrutinize this unit further.”
Aaron shifted in his seat. “Sir, we’ve handled public scrutiny before. We’ve worked under immense pressure and still delivered results. I believe—”
“You believe,” the Director interrupted, his voice gentle but firm. “But this is not about what you believe or how well you perform. It’s about how this looks. Two of the highest-ranking members in the same unit, in a romantic relationship? It opens doors for questions about bias, favoritism, and poor judgment.”
You stiffened slightly, and Aaron could feel the tension radiating from you.
“We’ve had to address optics before,” the Director continued, his tone less stern and more weary. “When Erin Strauss was here, we allowed too much to slide—her personal struggles, her decisions that created friction within the team. It put the BAU in a precarious position, one we barely recovered from. And now, with our history, with every move under scrutiny, I can’t let this slide. Not again.”
Aaron pressed his lips into a thin line, forcing himself to remain composed. “Sir, neither of us would let this compromise our responsibilities. Our records speak for themselves.”
The Director nodded slowly. “They do, Hotchner. Both of you have impeccable records, and I trust your intentions. But this isn’t about trust. It’s about precedent. If I allow this, what message does it send? That personal relationships among senior staff are acceptable? That the rules don’t apply here?”
You spoke next, your voice calm but resolute. “We’re not asking for special treatment. We’re asking for acknowledgment that this doesn’t interfere with our ability to lead.”
The Director exhaled, his tone softening. “I understand what you’re saying. And if the world operated on logic alone, I might agree. But the reality is perception matters. The BAU is too visible, too scrutinized. I can’t allow this.”
“What are you saying?” Aaron asked, though he already knew the answer.
“I’m saying one of you has to transfer, or this relationship ends,” the Director said evenly. “Those are your options. I won’t dictate which path you choose, but this arrangement cannot continue while you’re both in these positions.”
The finality in his tone hit like a cold wind. Aaron’s fists clenched in his lap, though his face remained impassive. Beside him, he could feel you bristling but holding yourself together.
“Is there any room for reconsideration?” you asked, your voice level but tight.
The Director shook his head. “I wish there were. I respect both of you immensely. But this is a line we can’t afford to cross.”
The silence that followed was suffocating.
“I can draft up some reccomendsations for units to transfer,” he continued, “But I’d warn you, that may put a bigger target on your back with the brass.” 
“Is that all, sir?” you asked finally, your voice sharper than you likely intended.
“That’s all,” the Director replied, his tone tinged with something almost regretful.
The Director’s words still echoed in Aaron Hotchner’s ears as you stormed out of the office, your heels clicking sharply against the tile floor. Aaron trailed behind you, his thoughts spinning, barely registering the brisk pace you set.
When you reached the bullpen, you didn’t stop. You headed straight for the stairs that led to the upper offices, bypassing your usual elevator ride. Aaron hesitated for a moment before following, his long strides catching up to you as you pushed through the door to your private office and let it slam shut behind you.
For a moment, Aaron stood outside, his hand hovering near the doorknob. He could hear you moving inside—papers rustling, a muffled sigh, the creak of your chair as you sat heavily into it. He took a breath and opened the door, stepping inside and closing it quietly behind him.
You didn’t look at him. Instead, you stared at your desk, your hands resting on its polished surface as if grounding yourself. Your jaw was tight, your expression unreadable, but Aaron had known you long enough to see the storm brewing beneath the surface.
“This is ridiculous,” you said finally, your voice low but trembling with barely contained frustration. “We’ve done everything right. Everything. And it still doesn’t matter.”
Aaron didn’t respond immediately. What could he say that wouldn’t feel hollow? That he agreed? That he hated the situation just as much as you did? None of it would change the reality bearing down on both of you.
“We’ll figure this out,” he said quietly, though the words felt inadequate even as he spoke them.
Your head snapped up, your eyes blazing as they met his. “How, Aaron? How do we figure this out? Do I transfer? Do you? Do we just pretend we’re fine with throwing everything away?”
Aaron opened his mouth, but the words caught in his throat. He’d been in impossible situations before—ones where no option felt right, but he had to choose anyway. This time, though, the stakes felt different. He wasn’t deciding a case, balancing strategy and risk. He was standing on the precipice of losing something he hadn’t even realized he needed until it was almost too late.
When you finally looked away, your shoulders slumping under the weight of the conversation, Aaron allowed himself a moment to think. To really think.
He imagined what it would mean to leave. Retiring from fieldwork had crossed his mind before—Jack was growing up fast, and Aaron had often wondered if he was missing too much. But the idea of stepping into a more conservative role, away from the pulse of the work, left a hollow ache in his chest.
And then there was you. He thought of you sacrificing your position, giving up this incredible opportunity that you had earned through sheer determination and talent. The thought twisted his stomach.
Aaron couldn’t bear it. He couldn’t let another person give up so much of themselves for his job. He had promised himself, after Haley, that he wouldn’t let his work consume anyone else. That was why he had let Beth go so easily when she wanted more for herself and her career.
But you weren’t Haley or Beth. You were different. You were his equal, his match in every way that mattered. And yet, the guilt and shame of letting you make that kind of sacrifice—for him, for them—was unbearable.
“You shouldn’t have to leave,” Aaron said finally, breaking the silence. His voice was steady, but the weight behind the words was impossible to miss.
You looked at him sharply. “And you think you should?”
“No,” he admitted. “But I can’t ask you to give this up. I won’t.”
Your hands curled into fists on the desk, and Aaron saw the flicker of pain in your eyes before you looked away. “So what? We just... stop?”
Aaron exhaled slowly, his heart aching at the rawness in your voice. “I don’t want to,” he said honestly. “But maybe it’s what’s best.”
Your laugh was bitter, your head shaking. “Best for who? Them? The optics? Certainly not us.”
Aaron stepped closer, his hands resting on the edge of your desk. “It’s not fair,” he said quietly, meeting your gaze. “None of this is. But if we keep fighting this, it could hurt the team. It could hurt you. And I can’t live with that.”
Your eyes glistened, but you blinked quickly, refusing to let tears fall. “So that’s it? We just... agree to walk away?”
Aaron’s throat tightened. “I don’t want to,” he repeated, his voice barely above a whisper. “But I think we have to.”
For a moment, neither of you spoke. The air between you felt heavy, suffocating as if the weight of what you were agreeing to was pressing down on both of you at once.
Finally, you stood, your movements slow and deliberate. You rounded the desk, stopping just in front of him.
“Do you really think this is the right thing to do?” you asked, your voice cracking just enough to betray the strength you were trying to hold on to.
“No,” Aaron admitted, his own voice hoarse. “But I think it’s the only thing we can do.”
The words hung in the air like a final verdict, sealing something neither of you wanted to face.
When you stepped closer, your hand resting lightly on his chest, Aaron’s heart broke a little more. He covered your hand with his, holding it there for a moment as if trying to memorize the feeling.
“I hate this,” you whispered, your eyes meeting his one last time. He didn’t miss the tears beginning to well in them. It was instinct to want to look away, it was a sight too painful to unsee, but he found himself still looking through to you.
“So do I,” he replied, his voice raw.
And then, as you stepped back and let your hand fall away, Aaron felt the loss like a physical blow—a kick to the knees. You walked past him, your steps unsteady but resolute.
He didn’t turn to watch you leave. He couldn’t. All he could do was stand there, alone in your office, knowing that this decision—the right one, the necessary one—was going to haunt him for a long time.
The weeks that followed were some of the hardest Aaron Hotchner had endured, and that was saying something. He had always prided himself on compartmentalizing, on keeping his personal life from bleeding into his work. But this—you—made that impossible.
The day after the decision, you had returned to work with the same polished professionalism you always displayed. Your suit was impeccable, your tone measured, and your focus sharp. But Aaron saw the cracks beneath the surface. He saw the way your eyes avoided his during meetings, the way your smiles—rare as they were now—never reached your eyes.
And it wasn’t just you. Aaron could feel the weight of it pressing down on him, a constant ache in his chest that no amount of distraction could dull. He would catch himself looking at you across the bullpen, remembering how it felt to have you close, to hear you laugh in those unguarded moments. The memories were like splinters—small, sharp reminders of what he’d lost.
He wondered if it were some sort of sick joke. That once again, here he was, Aaron Hotchner choosing the job over what was right in front of him. 
The team picked up on it quickly, though they didn’t understand the cause at first.
“Something’s off,” Morgan said one afternoon, leaning against Aaron’s office door.
Aaron didn’t look up from the file in front of him. “What do you mean?”
Morgan shrugged, his casual demeanor belying the concern in his eyes. “You and her,” he said, nodding toward your office. “I don’t know... You two used to be so in sync. Now it’s like there’s this... distance.”
Aaron’s jaw tightened, but he kept his expression neutral. “We’re fine. Just busy.”
Morgan raised an eyebrow, clearly unconvinced, but he didn’t press further. Still, Aaron knew the others had noticed it too. Reid’s hesitant glances during meetings, JJ’s subtle attempts to smooth over the tension, and even Garcia’s uncharacteristic silence when she addressed the two of you.
The pain of working together was a constant, gnawing ache. Every interaction felt like walking a tightrope, balancing professionalism with the unspoken emotions neither of you could completely hide.
During briefings, Aaron found himself hyper-aware of you. The way you avoided sitting too close. The way your voice would falter, just slightly, when addressing him directly. It was subtle, so subtle that no one outside the team would notice. But Aaron noticed.
You rarely joined the team in the field, but you were more present than Strauss’ constant absence due to her dislike of fieldwork when in your role. Even in the field, the strain was palpable. The easy rhythm you had once shared was gone, replaced by clipped exchanges and a formality that felt wrong coming from you.
“You’re clear on the approach?” Aaron asked during one such mission, his voice firm but hollow.
You nodded, your tone equally curt. “I am.”
It was efficient. Professional. Everything it needed to be. But it wasn’t you. At least not the you he knew.
The worst moments came in the quiet, in the spaces between the chaos. Late nights at the BAU, when the rest of the team had gone home and the building was quiet. Sometimes, Aaron would catch a glimpse of you in your office, the light from your desk lamp casting long shadows across your face. He wanted to go to you, to break the silence and bridge the gap, but he never did.
One night, as he packed up to leave, he saw you sitting at your desk, your head in your hands. You didn’t notice him watching, and for a brief moment, he considered walking in, saying something—anything. But then you straightened, brushing a hand through your hair, and the moment passed.
Aaron turned away, the pit in his stomach growing heavier with each step he took toward the exit.
The team never said anything outright, but Aaron could feel their unease. They didn’t know the details—didn’t know that the two of you had once been something more, or how close you had come to risking everything to stay that way. But they felt the shift.
JJ tried to smooth things over with small acts of kindness—bringing coffee, lightening the mood in meetings. Morgan watched both of you with quiet curiosity, his usual teasing replaced by a patience Aaron hadn’t expected. Even Garcia, ever perceptive, gave him a long, searching look one day before sighing and saying, “You know, you can talk to us, right? About anything.”
Aaron had nodded, offering a faint smile he didn’t feel. “Thanks, Garcia.”
Months passed, and the ache dulled, but it never went away. Aaron learned to live with it, to bury it beneath the weight of his responsibilities. He told himself it was the right decision, the only decision, but there were moments—late at night, when the silence was deafening—when he let himself imagine what could have been.
And you—he could see it in your eyes, the way you carried the same weight. You were just as professional, just as efficient, but there was a sadness in you now that hadn’t been there before. It mirrored his own, and that was perhaps the hardest part of all.
You were both doing what you thought was best. And it was killing you.
The bullpen was unusually quiet when Aaron Hotchner stepped out of his office. His team was gathered around JJ’s desk, their conversation hushed but animated. The moment his presence registered, they all straightened slightly, trying to appear busy.
Aaron didn’t buy it for a second.
“Morgan. JJ,” he said, his tone even but curious as he descended the steps. “What’s going on?”
JJ exchanged a quick look with Morgan before speaking. “Oh, uh, nothing, Hotch. Just catching up on some... Quantico gossip.”
Aaron arched an eyebrow. Gossip wasn’t something his team typically indulged in—not during work hours, at least. “What kind of gossip?”
Morgan rubbed the back of his neck, a rare flash of discomfort crossing his face. “The kind that probably shouldn’t leave the locker room, but since it’s about someone we all know... it didn’t sit right with me.”
Aaron’s jaw tightened as he stopped a few feet from the group. “Who?”
Morgan hesitated, glancing at the others. Emily crossed her arms, her expression skeptical but intrigued, while Penelope fidgeted, clearly torn between curiosity and concern.
“Look,” Morgan started, his tone careful, “it’s about…You know—”
Aaron’s stomach sank. He didn’t need Morgan to say your name to know exactly who he meant.
“Go on,” Aaron said, his voice clipped but controlled.
Morgan sighed, leaning against the desk. “JJ and I were at the gym downstairs yesterday. I was in the locker room, and I heard some guy—one of the suits from Finance, I think—talking about her.”
Aaron’s chest tightened as Morgan continued.
“He was bragging about how they’ve been... seeing each other,” Morgan said, his expression darkening. “But the way he was talking—man, it was gross. Like, disrespectful. He was sexualizing her in a way that made my skin crawl.”
JJ chimed in, her voice tinged with frustration. “He called her a ‘great ass with brains’—as if that’s all she is. Then he made some comment about how lucky he was to have caught her attention.”
Aaron’s hands curled into fists at his sides.
“I told him to knock it off,” Morgan said, his tone sharp. “Told him it wasn’t cool to talk about her like that—especially in a damn locker room, where anyone could hear.”
Penelope’s mouth fell open, her indignation bubbling to the surface. “You’re kidding me. He said that in the locker room? What kind of—ugh! Men are the worst sometimes.”
Emily smirked faintly, her voice dry as she added, “Not all men. Just most.”
Rossi, who had been quiet up until now, leaned back in the chair and folded his arms. “So she’s seeing this guy? Or is he just running his mouth?”
Morgan shrugged. “Couldn’t say for sure. But he seemed pretty confident.”
Aaron’s jaw clenched so tightly it ached. He could feel the team’s eyes on him, but he refused to let his expression betray the storm brewing inside.
“Hotch,” JJ said gently, her voice pulling him back. “You okay?”
“I’m fine,” Aaron said curtly. “But I need to remind all of you that gossip—about anyone—isn’t appropriate here. If there’s a problem, it needs to be addressed through the proper channels.”
The team exchanged glances, but no one pushed further.
Aaron returned to his office, closing the door behind him with a bit more force than necessary. He sank into his chair, staring at the stack of files on his desk without really seeing them.
The idea of you seeing someone else didn’t sit well with him. Not because you didn’t deserve happiness—you did, more than anyone. But because the thought of you with someone who didn’t appreciate you, who reduced you to nothing more than your appearance or used you as a bragging point, made his blood boil.
He hated the way that man in the locker room had spoken about you. Hated that it had happened at all.
And yet, there was something else eating at him. Something sharper, more selfish.
Jealousy.
The idea that you might have moved on—might have found comfort in someone else’s arms—cut deeper than he wanted to admit. He had no right to feel this way. The two of you had made your decision, painful as it was, and he had to live with it. But knowing you might be with someone else, hearing those crude words about you... it was unbearable.
Aaron rubbed a hand over his face, willing himself to focus. He couldn’t afford to let his emotions cloud his judgment. Not now. Not ever.
But as he sat there, the words from the locker room replaying in his mind, he couldn’t shake the gnawing feeling that he had let you go too soon. Too easily.
And it was killing him.
Time had a way of dulling pain, or so Aaron Hotchner told himself. Days turned into weeks and weeks into months. The ache of what had been and what could never be dulled into something he carried silently, like an old injury that flared up when the weather changed. But it never went away.
And then he found out for certain.
He hadn’t meant to overhear the conversation—it was the kind of thing he normally tuned out. But as he passed by the kitchen in the Quantico building, he caught the tail end of a conversation between two agents from a different unit, their voices low but not low enough.
“Yeah, they’ve been going out for a while now,” one said, his tone carrying an unmistakable edge of smugness. “I can’t believe he managed to lock her down. She’s way out of his league.”
The other laughed. “I heard she’s really something. Smart, gorgeous, the whole package. Lucky bastard.”
Aaron didn’t need to hear your name to know exactly who they were talking about.
He found himself sitting in his office later that day, staring blankly at the case file in front of him. The words on the page blurred together, his focus shattered.
You were seeing him—the man from Finance. The one Morgan had overheard in the locker room, the one who had spoken about you like you were nothing more than a conquest.
Aaron’s jaw tightened, and his chest ached with something that felt dangerously close to regret. He hated the thought of you with someone who didn’t truly see you—who didn’t appreciate the sharpness of your mind, the strength in your character, the way you carried yourself with grace and confidence even under the heaviest burdens.
And yet, what right did he have to feel this way?
You had every right to move on. Every right to find happiness where you could. It wasn’t your fault that he couldn’t shake the lingering shadow of what the two of you had shared—or what might have been if things had been different.
As the weeks dragged on, Aaron tried to bury himself in his work. He tried not to notice the way you laughed at something someone said in the bullpen or the way your eyes lit up during a briefing when an idea struck you. He tried not to think about the nights you spent with someone else, someone who wasn’t him.
And then Beth called.
It had been months since they’d last spoken, her name long buried in the recesses of his mind. But there she was, her voice warm and familiar, asking how he was, how Jack was if he might want to grab coffee sometime.
Aaron hesitated.
He thought of you—of the distance that had grown between you, the way your conversations were now stilted and professional, the warmth that used to linger between you replaced by a polite coolness. He thought of the man from Finance, the way his name had crept into conversations around the office, always tied to you.
Maybe it was time, Aaron thought. If you had moved on, maybe he should too.
He met Beth for coffee and then for dinner. She was as kind and understanding as he remembered, her smile easy, her company pleasant. But something was missing.
With you, there had been a fire—a spark that made every conversation electric, every glance charged with something unspoken. With Beth, it was different. Comfortable but muted.
Still, Aaron told himself it was the right thing to do. Jack liked her, and she was good to him. Maybe this was what he needed—a reminder of what it felt like to let someone in, to have a life outside the walls of the BAU.
But no matter how much he tried, Aaron couldn’t shake the feeling that he was going through the motions. He couldn’t stop himself from comparing every moment with Beth to the moments he’d shared with you.
When Beth laughed, it wasn’t your laugh. When she reached for his hand, it didn’t feel the same as when you had pulled him close in the quiet of your office.
And every time he saw you in the hallways of Quantico or across the table during a case briefing, that ache in his chest flared anew.
Aaron knew he had made his choice. He had chosen to let you go, to protect the work and the team, to do what he thought was right. And now, he was trying to live with that choice, even as it slowly unraveled him from the inside.
But as he sat in his office late one night, the bullpen quiet and empty, Aaron allowed himself a single, fleeting moment of honesty.
He had moved on.
But not really.
Because a part of him—the part he tried to bury beneath duty and responsibility—would always belong to you.
Aaron Hotchner sat at the head of the conference table, scanning the stack of case files in front of him as the team settled into their usual seats. The murmur of conversation drifted around the room—Morgan and Emily debating the odds of another late-night call, Penelope slipping a fresh report to Reid, Rossi sipping a coffee that smelled distinctly stronger than the usual bullpen brew.
You entered last, heels clicking sharply against the tile floor as you carried yourself with the effortless confidence Aaron admired. You placed your tablet on the table and glanced around the room, your polished demeanor demanding attention without a single word.
“Before we get into case updates,” you began, your voice calm but firm, “I wanted to bring something to everyone’s attention.”
Aaron leaned back in his chair, already anticipating the shift in focus. You had a way of setting the room’s tone that even Rossi respected, and your next words proved no different.
“As most of you know,” you continued, your gaze sweeping across the team, “the Bureau’s annual holiday party is coming up. And while I’m well aware that the BAU has a reputation for... skipping it, I feel this year it’s important that we all make an effort to attend.”
That got their attention. Emily’s eyebrows lifted, Morgan tilted his chair back with an incredulous grin, and Penelope froze mid-sip of her elaborately decorated coffee.
“Come on,” Morgan said, his tone half-teasing. “You can’t be serious. You know those parties are all stiff handshakes and bad speeches.”
You smiled faintly, unruffled. “I’m very serious, Morgan. This isn’t about the party itself—it’s about the message it sends.”
Aaron noticed the way you paused, your gaze flickering briefly in his direction before continuing. “After the last few years, it’s important that we show the brass that we’re aligned with their expectations. It demonstrates that we care about appearances and that we’re just as invested in maintaining relationships as they are.”
There it was. A subtle but unmistakable reminder of why things between you and Aaron could never be, woven seamlessly into a broader point that the rest of the team couldn’t grasp fully.
Morgan raised a skeptical eyebrow. “You mean to tell me we’re going to this thing to rub elbows with suits who don’t know what we actually do out here?”
“Yes, that’s exactly what I mean,” you replied, your tone calm but edged with authority. “Appearances matter. And it’s our job to ensure those appearances align with the professionalism the BAU stands for.”
Aaron watched as the words settled over the team, their expressions shifting from mild amusement to begrudging understanding. You had a way of cutting through their resistance without belittling them—a skill Aaron had always admired.
“Plus,” you added, a faint smile tugging at your lips, “I’ve been assured the band will be better than last year’s.” You paused. “And an open bar.” 
That earned a soft chuckle from Penelope, who set her mug down with a small shrug. “Well, if it’s formal attire and a better band, I suppose I could make an appearance.”
“Attire is black-tie,” you confirmed, your gaze sweeping the room. “And yes, plus-ones are welcome. But I expect every one of you to be there. No exceptions.”
Emily leaned back in her chair, smirking. “Guess that means we all have to dust off our evening wear.”
“I have a tux,” Reid offered quietly, drawing a chuckle from Rossi.
Aaron remained quiet, his focus trained on you. He could feel the weight of your words—not just the direct ones, but the subtext you didn’t need to spell out. He knew why you were pushing for this, why it mattered so much to you. And he hated that he understood.
As the meeting wrapped and the team began to filter out, you lingered behind, gathering your tablet and a small stack of papers. Aaron stood as well, pausing briefly near the door.
“Formal wear suits you,” he said quietly, his voice low enough that only you could hear.
You glanced up, your expression unreadable but your eyes betraying the smallest flicker of something softer. “I expect to see you there, Hotchner. On time.”
“Yes, ma’am,” he replied, his tone carrying a faint edge of humor.
But as he left the room, his chest tightened with the familiar ache that came every time he was near you. Formal appearances, aligned expectations—he understood all of it.
But that didn’t mean it hurt any less.
The Bureau’s holiday party was exactly what Aaron Hotchner had expected: polished, overly formal, and steeped in thinly veiled networking. The grand ballroom at the hotel downtown was decorated in muted gold and deep red, elegant but impersonal. A string quartet played softly in one corner, their music adding to the ambiance without drowning out the hum of conversation.
Beth stood beside him, dressed in a sleek black gown that flattered her in every way. Her brunette hair was swept into a low chignon, and her smile was warm as she introduced herself to the occasional colleague who passed by. She looked stunning, and Aaron knew that anyone in the room would agree.
But when you walked in, Aaron forgot how to breathe.
You entered the ballroom on the arm of Jeff from Finance, a name that Aaron had come to resent more than he cared to admit. He was wearing a garish plaid tuxedo jacket that screamed “trying too hard,” and his broad grin made Aaron’s jaw tighten. But none of that mattered—because you were radiant.
Your gown was a deep emerald green, the kind of color that made your eyes seem brighter, your skin glow. It hugged your figure perfectly, the fabric shimmering faintly under the chandelier light as you moved. Your hair, styled elegantly but effortlessly, framed your face in a way that made Aaron’s chest ache. You looked... otherworldly.
Aaron had always known you were beautiful. It was an undeniable fact, one that had never gone unnoticed by anyone who crossed your path. But tonight, you were something else entirely. You weren’t just beautiful; you were extraordinary, like a rare phenomenon that people spend their entire lives waiting to glimpse.
When you stepped into the room, it was as though the world tilted slightly, every sound dulling, every light dimming except for the one that seemed to follow you. Aaron’s breath hitched, his chest tightening as a strange, almost childlike awe settled over him. He felt like a boy again, staring up at the stars for the first time and realizing just how vast and infinite the universe could be.
You were that kind of beautiful. The kind that made time seem to pause, as if the room itself was holding its breath just to take you in. You were the kind of beauty that inspired poetry and music—the kind artists yearned to capture and always failed to do justice.
And in that moment, Aaron finally understood why men wrote poetry, painted masterpieces, composed symphonies, and created entire films in honor of women like you. It was all a desperate attempt to grasp something fleeting, something divine, and pin it to the earth long enough to keep.
It wasn’t just your gown, though the deep emerald green shimmered like it had been made for you, highlighting the curve of your shoulders and the elegance of your frame. It wasn’t just the way your hair fell, soft waves framing your face in a way that seemed almost unfair. It was something deeper, something impossible to put into words.
Aaron felt it in his chest, a deep, aching yearning that he’d never experienced before. It was amazement, pure and unfiltered, like seeing magic for the first time and realizing it wasn’t a trick. It was real. You were real. And yet, you didn’t feel like something he could ever touch.
He couldn’t stop staring, and for a brief, dizzying moment, he didn’t care who saw. The logical part of his mind—the one that always kept him grounded—was overruled by something more primal, more human. How was it possible, he wondered, for someone to look like that? To exist in a way that felt so rare and unattainable and yet so deeply, painfully familiar?
He thought of how easily you commanded the room, not by seeking attention but simply by being. It wasn’t forced, and it wasn’t deliberate. It was just you—this singular, dazzling presence that made everyone around you seem to fade into the background.
Aaron had never felt this way before, not even with Haley. Not even with anyone else he’d allowed into his life. This was something else entirely, something more profound and unsettling. It wasn’t just admiration or attraction. It was belief. Belief in something he hadn’t even realized he’d been missing.
And then he saw Jeff beside you, his tacky plaid suit clashing with the elegance of everything you were. The man who didn’t seem to understand how lucky he was, who treated your presence like a status symbol rather than a gift.
Aaron’s stomach churned, his skin crawling as jealousy flared sharp and unrelenting. He hated it—hated the way it burned, the way it clawed at the edges of his composure.
But what he hated more was the knowledge that he had no right to feel it.
You weren’t his. And yet, watching you from across the room, Aaron couldn’t help but think you never truly belonged to anyone. You were too rare for that. Too extraordinary.
And God, how it ached to know he had let you go.
He forced himself to smile at Beth as she laughed at something Rossi said, but his attention kept drifting back to you. He hated the way Jeff hovered near you, his posture possessive and his grin smug. He hated the way Jeff’s gaudy suit jacket clashed with the elegance of your dress, as though he didn’t understand how lucky he was to be standing beside you.
More than anything, Aaron hated the feeling crawling under his skin—the sharp, searing jealousy that he couldn’t shake. It was worse than anything he had felt before, even when Haley had been unfaithful right in front of his face. This was different.
Haley’s betrayal had stung, yes, but it had been rooted in a relationship that had already begun to fracture. What Aaron felt now was raw and consuming, made worse by the knowledge that he had no claim on you. You weren’t his.
You never would be.
Beth touched his arm gently, drawing his focus back to her. “You okay?” she asked, her voice soft.
Aaron nodded quickly, plastering on a polite smile. “Of course. Just thinking about the week ahead.”
Beth gave him a knowing look but didn’t press further. She turned her attention back to Rossi, leaving Aaron with his thoughts.
He glanced toward you again, catching the way you laughed at something Jeff said. It wasn’t the laugh he remembered—the soft, genuine sound that used to fill his office late at night. This one was polite, reserved, a laugh you gave when you were being kind but not necessarily amused.
It was a small comfort but not enough to quiet the jealousy raging in his chest.
When you caught his eye from across the room, Aaron felt his breath hitch. Your gaze lingered for a moment—just long enough for him to see the flicker of something in your expression before you turned away, a polite smile on your lips as you greeted someone else.
He had made his choice. You had made yours. But standing there, watching you with someone like Jeff, Aaron couldn’t help but feel like he had made the wrong one.
And yet, there was nothing he could do but endure it.
So Aaron turned back to Beth, his expression carefully neutral, and let the music and the hum of conversation fade into the background. But the ache in his chest didn’t go away.
It never did.
Aaron Hotchner stood at the bar, waiting for the bartender to return with his order. The room buzzed with conversation and the occasional burst of laughter, the hum of the holiday party continuing around him like static. Beth was across the room, talking animatedly with one of the Bureau’s administrators, her glass of white wine nearly empty.
He had volunteered to get her a refill, partly because he wanted to give her a moment to network uninterrupted, but mostly because he needed a moment to himself. Maybe Beth would sell a painting or two with the amount of stiff suits in the room thought, he thought. 
The sight of you with Jeff—laughing politely, your hand resting lightly on his arm—was wearing thin on his composure.
The bartender slid a fresh glass of wine and a scotch across the counter, and just as Aaron reached for them, he heard the unmistakable click of your heels behind him.
You didn’t say anything at first. You simply sidled up beside him, so close that he could feel the faint warmth of your body through the fabric of his suit. The scent of your perfume—something soft and alluring, with notes of jasmine—drifted over him, making his pulse quicken.
Aaron didn’t turn his head, but he felt the air shift between you. His grip on the glass tightened as he fought the urge to look.
Finally, you broke the silence.
“I hate you here with her.”
The words were quiet but sharp, cutting through the hum of the party like a knife. Aaron froze, his breath catching as he turned to look at you.
You weren’t looking at him. Your gaze was fixed on the row of liquor bottles behind the bar, your expression calm but your eyes betraying the storm beneath.
He swallowed hard, his voice low and steady. “And you think I like seeing you here with Jeff?”
You let out a soft, bitter laugh, finally turning to meet his gaze. For a moment, neither of you spoke. The tension between you was palpable, crackling like static electricity in the small space that separated you.
Then you leaned in, so close that Aaron could feel the warmth of your breath against his ear.
“Do you know what I do?” you murmured, your voice almost a whisper. “I imagine it’s your hands on me instead of his. It makes it... easier.”
Aaron’s heart slammed against his ribcage, the weight of your words knocking the air out of him. He couldn’t move, couldn’t think, couldn’t do anything but stare at you in stunned silence.
You straightened, your expression unreadable but your lips curling into a faint, almost sad smile. “I thought you should know.”
His throat felt dry, his voice caught somewhere between his chest and his mouth. He wanted to say something—anything—but nothing came.
Before he could gather his thoughts, you stepped back, your gaze flickering briefly to his hands, still clutching the glasses. “Your drinks,” you said softly, the faintest hint of something unspoken lingering in your tone.
And just like that, you were gone.
Aaron watched as you crossed the room, your hips swaying, your gown flowing gracefully behind you as you returned to Jeff and the group of section chiefs. You slipped back into the conversation effortlessly, smiling and nodding as though nothing had happened.
But Aaron knew better.
He stood there at the bar, the scotch and wine forgotten in his hands, as the weight of your words settled over him. His pulse still raced, his skin prickling with the memory of your closeness, your voice, your confession.
For a man who had always prided himself on control, Aaron felt anything but. You had shattered the careful walls he’d built around himself, leaving him standing in the middle of a crowded room, completely undone.
Aaron Hotchner sat at the table, his back straight, his hands loosely clasped around the tumbler of scotch in front of him. The room was alive with the sound of music, laughter, and the murmur of conversation, but to him, it all blurred into a distant hum.
Beth was seated beside him, engaged in an animated discussion with Penelope. Her warm laugh punctuated the conversation. Aaron nodded occasionally when prompted, but his focus was elsewhere.
Across the room, you swayed to the slow rhythm of the music, your body close to Jeff’s as he held you gently, one hand on your waist, the other resting lightly on your back. Your head tilted slightly, your cheek brushing the fabric of his shoulder. The two of you moved easily, almost effortlessly, to the soft melody of the band.
And then you looked up.
Your eyes found his across the room, and in that instant, the rest of the world fell away.
Aaron froze, his breath catching in his chest as your gaze locked onto his. There was something in the way you looked at him, something unspoken but deeply familiar, that cut through the noise and the lights and the meaningless chatter around him.
It wasn’t just eye contact. It was a connection—a thread pulled taut between you, invisible to everyone else but impossibly strong.
He couldn’t look away.
Your eyes held his, and in them, he saw everything that words couldn’t convey. Longing. Frustration. A quiet, desperate ache that mirrored his own. It was as though every emotion he’d buried, every feeling he’d suppressed, was reflected back at him in your gaze.
And then there was the tension—the undeniable, magnetic pull that had always existed between you but felt even stronger now. It was intoxicating, overwhelming, the kind of thing that made time seem irrelevant.
Aaron didn’t notice the way his fingers tightened around the glass in his hand or the way his heart began to pound. All he knew was that he couldn’t tear his eyes away from you.
You swayed gently in Jeff’s arms, your movements fluid and graceful, but your gaze never wavered. The music, the people, even Jeff himself—all of it faded into the background. There was only you and him, locked in this moment, this silent conversation that neither of you could end.
It wasn’t just attraction, though, that was there, simmering beneath the surface. It was something deeper, something raw and unspoken. It was the weight of every choice you’d made, every boundary you’d set, and every word you’d left unsaid.
Aaron felt like he couldn’t breathe like the space between you was both infinite and nonexistent. It was a cruel paradox—feeling as though you were so close he could almost reach out and touch you, yet knowing you were untouchable, unreachable.
The ache in his chest wasn’t just pain; it was a deep, hollow yearning that he couldn’t ignore. It wasn’t the sharp sting of a fleeting wound—it was the slow, relentless ache of loss. Of knowing exactly what he was missing and yet being powerless to reclaim it.
He missed you in ways that felt impossible to quantify, in ways that crept into his thoughts when he least expected it. He missed your touch—the way your hand had lingered on his arm during late-night conversations, grounding him in moments when he felt untethered. He missed the warmth of your presence, the quiet reassurance that came with simply having you near.
But it wasn’t just the physical things. It was everything about you, the parts of you that no one else seemed to notice or understand the way he did.
He missed your laugh—the genuine, full-bodied sound that lit up a room and chased away the weight of even the hardest days. It was rare, but when it happened, it was like the world itself paused to listen.
He missed your softness—the way you could be so strong, so unyielding in your convictions, and yet offer a kindness that made even the most jaded person feel seen. You had a way of making people believe they mattered, a way of making him believe he mattered.
And he missed your fierceness—the fire in your eyes when you were fighting for something you believed in, the way you carried yourself with confidence and grace, never backing down from a challenge. You inspired him in ways he didn’t even realize until you weren’t there to do it anymore.
Most of all, he missed your presence. That quiet, steady support that had become such a part of his life he hadn’t realized how much he relied on it until it was gone. You were his equal, his match in every way that mattered. And now, you were just... gone.
The ache in his chest deepened as he sat at the table, staring at the empty doorway where you had disappeared. He didn’t just miss what they had shared—the stolen moments, the quiet confessions. He missed you. The person who had seen him at his worst and still stood by him. The person who had understood him in ways no one else ever could.
And as the weight of that realization settled over him, Aaron knew that no matter how much time passed, no matter what choices either of them made, the space you had left in his life would never be filled.
And then, just as suddenly, you broke the spell.
You blinked, your gaze faltering as you looked away, your expression unreadable. Flustered almost. Aaron watched as you gently stepped back from Jeff, your movements deliberate but hurried.
“Excuse me,” you murmured to him, your voice just audible enough for Aaron to hear over the music.
You crossed the room with purpose, your gown flowing behind you like liquid emerald. Aaron’s eyes followed your every step, his heart sinking as you reached your table and grabbed your clutch.
Jeff, caught off guard, trailed after you, his expression confused but compliant. He said something to you, but you barely acknowledged him, your focus entirely on leaving.
Aaron’s gaze lingered on the empty space you left behind, his chest tightening as he watched the two of you disappear through the ballroom’s double doors.
The world slowly returned—Beth’s voice beside him, the hum of the music, the clinking of glasses—but none of it felt real.
Aaron took a slow sip of his scotch, his gaze fixed on the door as though willing you to return. But he knew you wouldn’t.
Because whatever had just passed between you, whatever that moment had been, was too much for either of you to bear.
The drive to Beth’s apartment had been quiet. Too quiet. She had smiled softly at him when he pulled up in front of her building, the warmth of her expression filled with an affection that he knew he couldn’t return—not the way she deserved.
“Do you want to come up?” she asked, her tone light but hopeful.
Aaron hesitated, his hands tightening on the steering wheel. He forced a smile, one that felt more like a grimace. “Not tonight. It’s been a long day.”
Beth studied him for a moment, her disappointment subtle but evident. “Okay,” she said softly, leaning over to kiss his cheek. “Drive safe, Aaron.”
He nodded, waiting until she disappeared into the building before exhaling a shaky breath. He should have gone home. He should have driven straight to his house, poured himself another drink, and buried the night in paperwork or sleep.
But he didn’t.
Instead, Aaron found himself driving through the quiet streets, the sound of the city outside his car muffled by the relentless echo of your words in his mind.
Do you know what I do? I imagine it’s your hands on me instead of his. It makes it... easier.
The words played on a loop, relentless and consuming. He could see the way you had looked at him, the softness in your voice, the sadness and longing that mirrored his own. It unraveled him.
He loosened his tie, tugging at the silk knot with a sharp, frustrated motion as if it were choking him. His chest felt tight, his breath shallow, and he couldn’t shake the image of you from his mind—your gown, the way you moved, the way your eyes had locked with his in a silent confession across the room.
He didn’t even notice his speed, the way the city blurred around him as he drove. All he knew was where he needed to go.
When he pulled up in front of your building, he hesitated only briefly. Jeff could be here. That much was obvious. But Aaron didn’t care—not tonight.
He climbed out of the car, his footsteps quick and determined as he approached your door. His heart pounded in his chest, his pulse roaring in his ears, but his mind was clear.
He knocked, his knuckles rapping firmly against the wood.
The seconds stretched endlessly until the door opened, and there you were.
You were wearing a silk robe, its soft fabric clinging to your frame and catching the light. Your hair was loose, framing your face in soft waves, and your expression shifted from surprise to something unreadable when you saw him.
“Aaron,” you said softly, your voice tentative.
“Is he here?” he asked, his voice low and steady, though his chest felt like it might explode.
You blinked, startled by the question, before shaking your head. “No.”
“Good,” he said, stepping forward and into your space.
And then he kissed you.
It wasn’t gentle. It wasn’t hesitant. 
Aaron’s lips crashed against yours, his hands finding your waist and pulling you flush against him as he pushed the door closed behind them with his foot. The kiss was fierce, dominating, raw, filled with all the pent-up tension and longing that had been building for months.
You gasped against his mouth, your hands gripping the lapels of his suit jacket as you stumbled slightly, the force of his kiss pushing you backward. He guided you with purpose, his body pressing yours against the wall just inside the entryway.
His hands moved to your face, his fingers threading into your hair as he deepened the kiss, pouring everything he couldn’t say into the connection. It was raw, desperate, and consuming.
You responded in kind, your hands sliding up to his shoulders, pulling him impossibly closer. The silk of your robe brushed against his suit, the contrast of textures only heightening the sensation.
When he finally pulled back, both of you were breathless, your chests heaving as you stared at each other.
“Aaron,” you whispered, your voice trembling but laced with something unmistakable—desire, relief, and a trace of vulnerability.
He rested his forehead against yours, his hands still cradling your face as he closed his eyes. “I couldn’t stay away,” he admitted, his voice rough and raw.
You didn’t reply with words. Instead, you pulled him back into another kiss, and Aaron let himself surrender to the moment, the weight of everything else fading away.
For once, nothing else mattered.
Aaron’s breath was ragged as his lips moved against yours, his hands still cradling your face like he was afraid to let go. Every ounce of restraint he’d held onto for so long had snapped the moment you’d opened the door, and now, the thought of stopping felt impossible.
Your fingers curled into the lapels of his suit jacket, pulling him closer, and he responded in kind, his body pressing firmly against yours. The silk of your robe was impossibly soft under his hands as he slid them from your face to your waist, his fingers gripping you like he was trying to anchor himself to the moment.
Aaron knew he shouldn’t be here. Knew this was a line he’d promised himself he wouldn’t cross again. But every logical thought dissolved under the weight of your kiss, the way your lips moved against his with a hunger that matched his own.
“God, we shouldn’t—” you murmured against his mouth, your voice breathless but tinged with something desperate.
“I know,” he whispered back, his hands trailing along your sides, feeling the warmth of your body through the thin fabric of your robe. “But I can’t stop.”
Your eyes met his, the intensity of your gaze nearly undoing him. It wasn’t just lust that burned in your expression—it was longing, the same yearning that had been simmering between you for months, the same ache he’d carried every time he saw you.
He kissed you again, deeper this time, his hands roaming up your back as he felt you relax into him. Your hands found the knot of his tie, tugging it loose with a deliberate pull that sent his pulse racing. The silk slipped free, and you tossed it aside, your fingers moving to the buttons of his shirt with a sense of urgency that mirrored his own.
Aaron let out a soft groan as your hands brushed against his chest, your touch igniting a fire in him that he hadn’t felt in years. His mouth trailed from your lips to your jaw, pressing hot, open-mouthed kisses down your neck as you tilted your head to give him better access.
“Aaron,” you breathed, his name falling from your lips like a prayer, and the sound of it sent a shiver down his spine.
His hands found the sash of your robe, his fingers hesitating briefly as he looked at you, searching your eyes for any sign of hesitation. But there was none—only want, only need.
“You’re sure?” he asked, his voice rough but tender, his forehead resting lightly against yours.
Your answer was clear in the way you pulled him closer, your lips brushing against his as you whispered, “I’m sure.”
The robe slipped from your shoulders, pooling at your feet, and Aaron’s breath hitched at the sight of you, so beautiful and bare before him. His hands traced the curve of your waist, his touch reverent but firm, as though he was committing every detail to memory.
He kissed you again, deeper and slower this time, savoring the taste of you, the softness of your lips, the way your hands tangled in his hair. The tension between you crackled like electricity, the air heavy with the weight of everything unspoken but understood.
Every touch, every kiss, felt forbidden, a line crossed and recrossed with every passing second. But neither of you pulled away. You couldn’t.
Aaron guided you gently toward the couch, his lips never leaving yours as you moved together. You sank down onto the cushions, pulling him with you, and he let himself get lost in you—the way you smelled, the way your skin felt against his, the way you whispered his name like it was the only thing that mattered.
As his hands roamed over you, exploring, memorizing, Aaron felt a pang of guilt buried beneath the passion. He knew this was dangerous, that there would be consequences. But for now, in this moment, he didn’t care.
Because for the first time in what felt like forever, you were his.
And he wasn’t ready to let that go.
Aaron’s mind was a storm as he pressed you against the cushions of the couch, his lips moving with a ferocity he hadn’t allowed himself to feel in so long. The weight of his body pressed into yours, grounding him in a way that made everything else—Beth, Jeff, the consequences of this moment—fade into the background.
Your hands slid under his shirt, your fingers grazing his skin with a touch that sent shivers through him. He growled low in his throat, pulling back just enough to shrug out of his jacket and let it fall to the floor. His shirt followed, buttons undone hastily by your hands, and he barely registered the faint sound of fabric hitting the hardwood before his mouth was back on yours.
This was wrong. He knew it with every rational part of himself. But it didn’t stop the way he kissed you, dominating, claiming like he was trying to erase the memory of anyone else who had touched you. His hands were everywhere—your waist, your thighs, your back—pulling you closer, needing to feel every inch of you against him.
“You have no idea what you do to me,” he murmured against your lips, his voice rough, almost a growl. His fingers found your bare skin so inviting. “I’ve wanted this… you… for so long.”
You arched into him, your breath hitching as his lips trailed from your mouth to your collarbone, leaving a scorching path in their wake. Your hands tangled in his hair, pulling him closer, and Aaron felt like he might lose his mind at the way you responded to him.
“Do you know how hard it’s been?” he asked, his voice strained as he paused, his forehead pressed against yours. His fingers grazed your bare shoulder, his touch featherlight but filled with intent. “Watching you, wanting you, knowing I couldn’t have you?”
Your eyes locked with his, and for a moment, neither of you moved. The intensity in your gaze was enough to undo him, filled with the same longing, the same desperation he’d been carrying for months.
“I know,” you whispered, your voice trembling. “I’ve felt it too.”
That was all it took for Aaron to give in completely. His lips crashed against yours again, his kiss deep and consuming, leaving no room for second thoughts. He shifted, lifting you slightly as he moved you further onto the couch, his hands gripping your hips with a possessiveness he couldn’t hold back.
You were his. At least in this moment, you were his.
His hands roamed over you with purpose, memorizing every curve, every inch of skin he could reach. His lips continued their relentless exploration of your body. He kissed you like he was starving like you were the only thing keeping him alive.
And maybe you were.
The air between you was thick with tension; each movement laced with the weight of everything unspoken. Aaron’s hands framed your face as he paused to look at you, his chest heaving as he tried to catch his breath.
“You’re so beautiful,” he murmured, his voice soft but intense. “I don’t deserve this. I don’t deserve you.”
You shook your head, your fingers brushing over his jaw as you pulled him back to you. “Stop,” you whispered, your voice trembling but firm. “Don’t say that. Not now.”
Aaron didn’t argue. He couldn’t. The way you looked at him—like he was the only thing in the world that mattered—was enough to silence any doubts. He kissed you again, slower this time, savoring every second, every touch, every sigh that escaped your lips.
It was forbidden. It was reckless. But in that moment, it was everything.
Aaron’s control, the control he prided himself on in every aspect of his life, was slipping through his fingers. His hands gripped your waist as he pulled you impossibly closer, his lips moving against yours with a hunger he hadn’t felt in years—if ever. The feel of your body beneath his was intoxicating, and for once, he allowed himself to surrender to the moment.
But you weren’t passive. No, that wasn’t who you were.
Your hands found their way to his shoulders, your nails raking down his back as you shifted beneath him, a movement so deliberate it nearly undid him. You pressed up against him, your strength and confidence matching his in a way that sent his pulse racing.
He pulled back just enough to meet your gaze, his breath heavy as his eyes roamed over you. The sight of you—flushed, lips swollen from his kisses, eyes dark with desire—was enough to make his chest tighten.
“You’re not getting away from me this time,” he said, his voice low and commanding, his hands sliding up your thighs as he leaned in close.
You smirked, your fingers tangling in his hair as you tugged him toward you. “I wasn’t planning on it,” you murmured, your voice teasing but filled with intent.
Aaron’s response was immediate. His lips found your neck, his teeth grazing your skin just enough to make you gasp. He wanted to mark you, to leave a reminder of this moment, of him, as if to stake a claim neither of you would ever admit aloud.
Your hands moved to his belt, the boldness of your actions sending a jolt through him. He let out a low growl, gripping your wrists gently but firmly to still you.
“Not yet,” he said, his tone a mix of command and amusement.
You raised an eyebrow, your expression challenging. “Afraid you can’t keep up, Hotchner?”
That did it.
Aaron’s lips crashed against yours again, his hands sliding up to cup your face as he deepened the kiss, pouring every ounce of frustration, desire, and possessiveness into it. His teeth grazed your bottom lip, drawing a soft moan from you that went straight to his core.
“You have no idea what you do to me,” he said, his voice rough as he broke the kiss, his forehead resting against yours.
You smiled, your fingers trailing down his chest with deliberate slowness. “I think I have some idea,” you replied, your voice low and filled with heat.
The push and pull between you was electric, a constant dance of dominance and surrender that neither of you fully gave into. When you shifted, pushing him back with a surprising strength that only made him want you more, he couldn’t help the low chuckle that escaped him.
“Is that how it’s going to be?” he asked, his hands gripping your hips as you straddled him, your robe slipping fully off your shoulders, completely bare to him. 
You leaned in, your lips brushing against his ear as you whispered, “You don’t mind a challenge, do you?”
Aaron’s grip tightened, his fingers digging into your hips as he pulled you down against him, his voice a growl. “Not at all.”
The heat between you was overwhelming, the air thick with tension and desire as your lips met his again, both of you fighting for control even as you gave into the pull of each other. It was raw, intense, and unrelenting, a collision of two forces that had been held back for far too long.
Every touch, every kiss, every movement spoke volumes, the unspoken words of longing and frustration spilling out in the way you claimed each other, over and over again.
Aaron had always been a man of control, a man who measured his steps and chose his words with precision. But here, with you, that control was unraveling, slipping away with every kiss, every touch. The months of tension, the stolen glances, the unspoken words between you had built to this moment, and now, neither of you seemed capable of holding back.
Your nails dragged along his chest, leaving faint, red lines in their wake as you leaned into him. He hissed at the sensation, his hands gripping your hips with enough force to anchor himself. Aaron couldn’t stop his hands from exploring, feeling the heat of your skin under his touch.
“You drive me insane,” he growled, his voice rough and strained as he tilted his head to capture your lips again. The kiss was fierce, almost punishing, a testament to the months of restraint that had finally snapped.
You didn’t shy away. You met his intensity with your own, your lips moving against his with a hunger that left no doubt about how much you wanted this—wanted him.
“Good,” you murmured against his mouth, your voice breathless but laced with defiance. “Because you’ve been driving me insane for months.”
Aaron chuckled darkly, his teeth grazing the sensitive skin of your neck, earning a gasp from you that sent a surge of possessiveness through him. His hands slid down to the backs of your thighs, gripping firmly as he lifted you from the couch effortlessly. The action earned a surprised laugh from you, but it was cut short when he pressed you against the wall, his body pinning yours in place.
“This is mine,” he said, his voice low and commanding as his hands roamed your body. He pressed his lips to your shoulder, trailing kisses down your collarbone, his breath hot against your skin. “You’re mine.”
Your head tilted back against the wall, your fingers tangling in his hair as you pulled him closer. “Then take me,” you whispered, your voice trembling with a mix of challenge and desire. “If you want me so badly, Aaron, prove it.”
Something snapped in him at your words. His hands tightened on your thighs as his lips found yours again, the kiss rough and consuming, leaving no room for doubt about who you belonged to in this moment. His fingers dug into your skin just enough to leave faint impressions, a silent mark of his claim on you.
Every movement was deliberate, every touch a blend of dominance and reverence. Aaron’s hands slid beneath the loosened fabric of your robe, his fingers exploring every curve, every inch of skin he could reach. 
Your body arched against his, your hands gripping his shoulders as you met him with equal fervor. There was nothing soft or gentle about the way you moved together; it was raw, fierce, a collision of passion and pent-up frustration that neither of you could contain.
“Aaron,” you gasped, his name falling from your lips like a plea, and it undid him. His forehead pressed against yours, his breath ragged as he looked into your eyes, his grip on you firm and steady.
“Say it again,” he demanded, his voice a growl as he tightened his hold on you.
Your eyes locked with his, dark with desire and unspoken emotion. “Aaron,” you repeated, your voice softer this time but no less commanding.
His lips crashed against yours again, his hands roaming freely, claiming you in every way he could. There was no hesitation, no room for second thoughts—only the overwhelming need to have you, to show you exactly what you meant to him, even if he couldn’t say the words aloud.
He pressed his forehead against yours, his eyes searching yours for any hesitation. What he saw there—desire, longing, and something deeper, more vulnerable—unraveled him completely.
“I need you,” he murmured, his voice low and hoarse, filled with the weight of months of suppressed emotions. “Tell me you want this.”
Your hands cupped his face, your thumbs brushing lightly over his jawline as you looked at him with a gaze that left him breathless. “I’ve always wanted this,” you whispered, your voice trembling but certain.
That was all he needed.
Aaron’s lips crashed against yours, the kiss hungry and all-consuming as his hands slid up your thighs, securing your legs around his waist. He pressed you harder against the wall, the roughness of the plaster against your back contrasting with the heat of his body against yours.
Every touch, every kiss, every movement was filled with urgency, a desperate need to make up for all the time you’d spent denying yourselves this moment. His hands roamed your body, possessive and reverent as if trying to commit every inch of you to memory.
Your hands tugged at the rest of his clothes, pushing them further off him as your lips moved from his mouth to his jawline, trailing kisses down his neck. The soft, breathy sound you made against his skin sent a jolt of electricity through him, his control slipping further.
“Aaron,” you gasped, your voice breaking as his hands moved to the small of your back, pulling you closer.
He groaned in response, his name on your lips undoing him in a way he hadn’t expected. “You’re mine,” he growled, his voice rough and raw as his lips found yours again. “No one else’s.”
Your response was immediate, your arms tightening around his neck as you kissed him back with equal fervor. The way you moved against him, the way you whispered his name between gasps, left no room for doubt—you were his, and he was yours.
The tension between you reached its breaking point, the air heavy with the weight of everything unspoken but understood. Aaron’s movements became more deliberate, his hands gripping you firmly as he gave in completely to the moment.
It was raw, intense, and unrelenting, a culmination of months of longing and frustration. Every touch, every kiss, every movement was filled with a passion that left you both breathless, the line between control and surrender blurring as you claimed each other fully.
When he reached between you, he found you wet and wanting. Bucking your hips against his hand. He circled his fingers, warming you up--not that you needed it. Savoring the little responses he got from you. His other hand reached for your breast, caressing and cupping it with achingly slow motions. 
“Aaron!” It was almost a demand, telling him you needed him now. He understood as you pushed yourself up, wrapping one leg around his waist. His pants and belt pooled at his ankles--it wasn’t the most practical scene, but was anything about this situation? 
He entered you swiftly, an open-mouthed kiss with a shared groan between the two of you. Your hands found his hair, tugging on it as your eyes rolled back. His mouth moved to the hollow of your neck, his hands exploring you all at once, but still not enough. 
He imagined the angle was physically more demanding for you as he lifted you, holding you up against the wall, bringing him impossibly deeper now. He rocked into you with a rhythm that was unmatched. The sound of his metal belt buckle shifting on the floor with every swift slap of his hips against yours filled the room.
It didn’t take long for you to reach your peak, basically melting in his arms. It was like a domino effect, taking him down with you. He released deep inside of you, his forehead resting against your shoulder as he groaned your name. 
Something deep was released inside in this moment, too, more emotionally than any sexual release. He knew in this moment he couldn’t not have you again. 
You unwrapped your legs from his hips, the two of you slowly separating with a whimper. 
Aaron held you against him, his forehead resting against yours as both of you tried to catch your breath. His hands remained on your waist, his grip firm but gentle, as if he couldn’t bear to let go just yet.
For a moment, neither of you spoke. The weight of what you’d just done hung in the air, but so did the undeniable connection that had brought you to this point.
“You okay?” he asked softly, his voice low and rough as his fingers brushed lightly against your side.
You nodded, your lips curving into a faint, almost bittersweet smile. “Yeah,” you whispered. “I’m okay.”
Aaron exhaled, pressing a soft kiss to your forehead as he closed his eyes. For now, in this moment, everything else could wait. For now, there was only you.
The intensity between you had cooled slightly, replaced now by a quiet tenderness that neither of you knew how to navigate. Reaching down, he pulled his boxers, pants and belt back up, leaving them still undone.
The silence was thick, and as Aaron stepped back, his gaze flicked to the disheveled state of both of you. He ran a hand through his hair, his breathing still uneven as the realization hit him like a jolt.
“We didn’t...” he started, his voice low and gravelly. “We didn’t use protection.”
Your lips parted, and for a moment, you didn’t respond. Then, with a softness that caught him off guard, you said, “I know.”
Aaron frowned, confusion furrowing his brow. “And you’re... with Jeff.”
The words tasted bitter on his tongue, but he forced them out, needing to understand. He watched as you turned away.
“We haven’t had sex,” you admitted quietly, your voice barely above a whisper.
Aaron froze, the weight of your words sinking in slowly. “What?”
You turned to face him, your expression vulnerable in a way he wasn’t used to seeing. “I couldn’t,” you said, meeting his eyes. “I couldn’t bring myself to... be with him. He’s—” You let out a bitter laugh, shaking your head. “He’s been an accessory. Something to keep people from asking questions.”
Aaron stared at you, his mind racing. Jeff’s smug comments in the locker room, the way he’d hovered near you at the party—it had all been an act, a performance. You hadn’t been with him. You’d been pulling him along to keep up appearances, just like you’d said.
“I thought...” he began, but his words faltered. He took a breath, running a hand down his face. “You’re with him, and I’m with Beth. Or at least I thought I was.”
You studied him, your eyes searching his face. “Have you?” you asked, the question hesitant but pointed.
Aaron shook his head, his voice quieter now. “No. I haven’t been able to.” His lips pressed into a thin line as he met your gaze. “She’s not... she’s not you.”
For a moment, the weight of that truth hung between you, unspoken but undeniable. Neither of you moved, the air between you thick with something that felt too fragile to name.
Eventually, Aaron stepped forward, his hand brushing against yours before gently taking it in his. “Come on,” he said softly. “Let’s get cleaned up.”
You followed him without a word, the quiet between you more comfortable now, though still heavy with everything unsaid. In the dim light of the small bathroom, Aaron found a clean towel, dampening it with warm water before turning back to you.
He worked in silence, his movements careful and deliberate as he wiped away the remnants of your shared passion. His touch was tender, his fingers brushing against your skin with a reverence that made your breath hitch.
When it was your turn, you took another face cloth, your hands steady but your expression unreadable. You dabbed at his face, his neck, his chest, your fingers lingering just a little too long as if memorizing the feel of him.
Neither of you spoke, the quiet filled only with the soft sound of water and the unspoken tension that neither of you knew how to address. Aaron watched you, his chest tightening as he saw the flicker of vulnerability in your eyes, the way your lips pressed into a thin line as you concentrated on your task.
He wanted to say something—anything—but the words wouldn’t come. So he let the moment stretch, allowing the silence to say what neither of you could.
When you were finished, you folded the towel and set it aside, your hands brushing his one last time before you stepped back. Aaron caught your wrist gently, his touch lingering just long enough for you to meet his gaze.
But still, neither of you spoke.
Instead, you turned away, pulling your robe tighter around you as Aaron let his hand fall to his side. The weight of everything you’d shared pressed heavily on both of you and for now, neither of you had the courage to face what came next.
Aaron stood in the quiet of your bedroom, his hands resting on his hips as he tried to gather his scattered thoughts. The events of the night weighed heavily on him—what they meant, what they would lead to—but before he could sink too deeply into his own mind, you reappeared.
Your silk robe was gone, replaced by his button-up shirt, which hung loosely on your frame, the hem brushing the tops of your thighs. You looked both effortless and intimate, like you belonged in it.
“I missed this,” you said softly, your voice breaking through his thoughts. You smoothed your hands over the fabric, as though savoring the feel of it. “I missed the smell of you. I missed you. Everything about you.”
The words hit Aaron like a punch to the chest, and he exhaled slowly, his throat tightening. He knew the feeling all too well. He had missed you, too—more than he could admit, more than he had allowed himself to feel until now.
You took his hand, your fingers curling around his as you gently tugged him toward the bed. Aaron followed, the quiet intimacy of the moment grounding him even as his heart raced. Removing his dresspants, folding them, and placing them on a chair nearby. 
He sat on the edge of the bed, his body taut with hesitation, but you didn’t let him linger there. You climbed onto the mattress, settling in on your side and motioning for him to join you.
Aaron hesitated for a moment, then slid under the covers, lying on his side to face you. The moonlight spilled through the curtains, bathing the room in a soft, silver glow. It cast delicate shadows across your face, highlighting the vulnerability in your expression as you looked at him.
For a long moment, neither of you spoke. The quiet stretched between you, filled with the weight of everything unspoken. Aaron’s gaze traced the lines of your face, committing every detail to memory—the curve of your cheek, the softness of your lips, the way your eyes held his with an intensity that made his chest ache.
“Love me,” you whispered suddenly, your voice trembling but insistent. Your fingers brushed lightly against his jaw, your touch hesitant but desperate. “Please, Aaron. Love me.”
The vulnerability in your voice, the way you said the words like they were both a demand and a plea, sent a wave of emotion crashing over him. This was almost uncharacteristic for you. Your presence never demanded attention, yet here you were, asking him to love you. Aaron’s heart twisted painfully, and he reached for your hand, bringing it to his lips and pressing a gentle kiss to your knuckles.
“You don’t have to ask me to do that,” he said softly, his voice thick with emotion. “I already do.”
Your breath hitched, your eyes searching his as if trying to find the truth in his words. But there was no doubt, no hesitation in his gaze. He loved you—he always had, even when he couldn’t say it, even when it felt impossible.
“But we can’t,” he continued, his voice breaking slightly. “You know that. If we do this, we risk everything—our jobs, the team, the work we’ve both sacrificed so much for.”
“I don’t care,” you said, your voice firm despite the tears shining in your eyes. “I don’t care about any of that, Aaron. I just care about you.”
Aaron closed his eyes, his chest heaving as he struggled to reconcile the conflicting emotions tearing through him. He hated how complicated this was, how the world seemed determined to keep the two of you apart.
“I hate it, too,” he admitted, his voice barely above a whisper. “I hate how complicated this is, how much we have to give up just to be together. But I can’t lose you. I can’t risk losing everything that makes you... you.”
Your hand cupped his face, your thumb brushing lightly over his cheek as you leaned closer. “Then don’t,” you said, your voice soft but resolute. “Don’t lose me. We’ll figure it out. We have to.”
Aaron exhaled shakily, his forehead pressing against yours as his eyes closed. The thought of giving you up, of walking away from this, was unbearable. And yet, the thought of losing everything you had worked so hard for was just as devastating.
“I’d give it all up,” he murmured, his voice raw with emotion. “The job, the team—all of it. I’d give it up to have you.”
Your breath caught, and for a moment, neither of you spoke, the weight of his words settling over you. He had reached a point where he couldn’t even get to with Haley--ready to put the job and whatever else behind him. Then, slowly, you leaned forward, your lips brushing against his in a kiss so soft it felt like a promise.
Aaron kissed you back, his hands cradling your face as he poured everything he couldn’t say into the connection. And as the two of you lay there in the quiet, the moonlight casting its gentle glow over the room, Aaron realized that, for the first time in a long time, he wasn’t afraid of what came next.
The morning light filtered through the curtains, casting a soft glow across the room as Aaron woke to the warmth of your body next to his. For a moment, he allowed himself the luxury of forgetting everything outside this space. But the weight of reality settled quickly, and he knew there were choices to be made—choices that couldn’t wait.
You stirred beside him, your head turning slightly on the pillow as your eyes fluttered open. When you looked at him, there was a quiet understanding in your gaze, as though you’d already been thinking about what needed to happen next.
The day was spent in quiet, focused conversation. You sat together at the kitchen table, steaming cups of coffee in front of you, as you laid out the possibilities. Aaron admired your methodical approach, the way you analyzed every angle every consequence, even as he felt the heaviness of the discussion pressing down on him.
“What if we went to the team first?” you suggested your voice steady but laced with uncertainty. “If they’re on our side—if they don’t have any reservations—it might give us the leverage we need when we talk to the Director again.”
Aaron considered your words carefully, his fingers drumming lightly on the table. “It’s risky,” he admitted, his gaze meeting yours. “But it might be the only way to prove that this won’t affect the team’s dynamic. If they can support us, it could make a difference.”
You nodded, your hands wrapped around your mug as you leaned back in your chair. “And if the Director still refuses?”
Aaron’s jaw tightened, his eyes darkening with determination. “Then we don’t give him a choice. We go in together and tell him it’s either this—or we both walk.”
The silence that followed was heavy but not uncomfortable. It was a shared understanding of the enormity of what you were discussing. Neither of you had ever walked away from anything lightly, but the thought of giving each other up again was unbearable.
Later, as the day stretched on, the two of you made the decisions you’d been avoiding for weeks. Beth deserved the truth, as did Jeff, no matter how difficult those conversations would be.
Aaron made the visit to Beth first. She was tinged with confusion at his sudden need to talk. He kept his words measured and respectful, explaining that he couldn’t give her what she deserved—that his heart had always belonged to someone else. Beth was hurt but graceful, her acceptance tinged with sadness.
When he returned to the your house later on after also attending to fatherly duties with Jack, you were finishing your call with Jeff. Your expression was unreadable, but the way you let out a soft sigh as you set your phone down spoke volumes. “He didn’t take it well,” you admitted quietly, your fingers tracing the edge of your mug. “But I couldn’t keep leading him on. It wasn’t fair.”
Aaron placed a hand over yours, his touch grounding and steady. “We did what we had to,” he said, his voice low and resolute. “Now we move forward.”
That evening, as you sat together in the quiet, the weight of the day’s decisions settled over you both. The path ahead was uncertain, filled with potential challenges and risks, but for the first time, there was a glimmer of hope.
The two of you had a plan—a united front—and whatever came next, you knew you’d face it.
The BAU conference room felt smaller than usual as Aaron Hotchner stood to the side, leaning against the wall with his arms crossed. You were seated at the head of the table, your posture poised but your hands clasped tightly together—a rare sign of nervousness that only someone who knew you well, like Aaron, would notice.
The team filtered in one by one, their expressions curious but light. Emily had a cup of coffee in hand, Derek was chatting with JJ about some recent Quantico gossip, and Penelope trailed behind with a bright, questioning look. Reid sat toward the middle, already flipping through a notepad, and Rossi took his usual spot near the back, his eyes sharp as they scanned the room.
“Alright, what’s going on?” Derek asked, his grin playful as he pulled out a chair and settled in. “This doesn’t feel like our usual meeting vibe.”
You took a steadying breath, your gaze sweeping across the table before landing briefly on Aaron. He gave you a small nod, his expression calm but supportive.
“Thank you all for coming,” you began, your voice steady despite the undercurrent of tension in the room. “I know this isn’t our usual meeting. Aaron and I asked you here because we need to discuss something important—something personal that affects the team.”
The lighthearted chatter died down instantly, replaced by a palpable curiosity and concern.
You continued, your hands tightening slightly around each other as you spoke. “Over the past few months, Aaron and I have realized that we want to pursue a personal relationship. I know this might come as a surprise—or even a concern—to some of you, given our roles and the nature of our work.”
Aaron watched as the team processed your words, their expressions a mixture of surprise, curiosity, and, in some cases, quiet understanding.
You straightened, your tone firm but earnest. “We’ve thought this through carefully. We understand the gravity of this decision, not just for ourselves but for all of you. This team is a family. It’s been my honor to work with each of you, and I don’t take lightly the idea of doing anything that could disrupt that dynamic.”
Aaron stepped forward then, his voice calm and measured as he added, “That’s why we wanted to be upfront with all of you. We respect your opinions, and we’re here to listen if any of you have reservations or concerns.”
There was a beat of silence before Emily leaned back in her chair, crossing her arms with a thoughtful look. “So let me get this straight,” she said, her voice tinged with dry amusement. “The two of you want to be together, but the higher-ups don’t approve?”
You nodded, your gaze steady. “Correct. The Director has made it clear that our relationship is considered inappropriate given our positions. He gave us two options: end it or find roles outside the team.”
JJ frowned, her concern evident. “And what are you planning to do?”
Aaron glanced at you, and you gave a slight nod before he spoke. “We’ve decided to pursue the relationship despite those orders. But we’re not going into this without a plan. We believe the best course of action is to go to the Director with the support of this team. If we can demonstrate that our relationship won’t compromise our work or the dynamic here, it may give us the leverage we need.”
“And if it doesn’t?” Reid asked quietly, his brow furrowed in thought.
You hesitated, and Aaron stepped in. “If the Director won’t budge, we’re prepared to leave. Together.”
That admission hung heavy in the air, and Aaron could feel the weight of the team’s reactions pressing down on him.
Derek leaned forward, resting his elbows on the table as he let out a low whistle. “Man, that’s a big gamble. But you’ve always been a risk-taker, Hotch.”
Emily smirked faintly, her tone more teasing than judgmental. “Never would’ve pegged you for a rule-breaker, though.”
Penelope, wide-eyed and fidgeting with her bracelets, finally spoke up. “So… does this mean we’re, like, the deciding vote? Because, no pressure, but this feels like a really big deal!”
You smiled faintly, the tension in your posture easing slightly. “It is a big deal, Penelope. But we trust you. All of you. That’s why we wanted to have this conversation first.”
Rossi, who had been quietly observing, finally leaned forward, his expression thoughtful. “For what it’s worth,” he said, his voice calm but firm, “I’ve seen a lot of things in this job. Relationships, breakups, people falling apart under pressure. But I’ve never doubted the professionalism or dedication of either of you. And I don’t see that changing now.”
Aaron felt a flicker of gratitude as Rossi’s words hung in the air, setting the tone for the rest of the discussion.
One by one, the team voiced their thoughts. JJ expressed some concern about how this might look to the brass but ultimately supported you both, trusting your judgment. Reid, after asking a few logistical questions, nodded thoughtfully and said he believed the two of you could handle it. Penelope gave an impassioned speech about love conquering all, which drew chuckles around the table, and Emily and Derek exchanged a look before both offering their backing with only a bit of playful ribbing.
By the end of the discussion, Aaron felt a weight lift from his chest. The team’s support wasn’t just a relief—it was a validation of the respect and trust you had built with each of them over the years.
You stood, your hands resting lightly on the table as you addressed them one last time. “Thank you. Truly. This means everything to us. And I promise, no matter what happens, the integrity of this team will always come first.”
Aaron stepped beside you, his gaze sweeping over the team with quiet gratitude. “We’ll take this to the Director together. And whatever happens, we’ll figure it out.”
As the team began to disperse, Derek clapped him on the shoulder with a grin. “Never thought I’d see the day, Hotch. You breaking rules for love? Guess there’s hope for all of us.”
Aaron chuckled softly, but as he turned to look at you, his expression softened. This wasn’t just about breaking rules—it was about finally choosing the person who made it all worthwhile.
Aaron Hotchner stood in the hallway outside the Director’s office, his hands in his pockets and his gaze steady. The weight of what they were about to do hung heavily between you, but he felt none of the apprehension he might have expected. Instead, he felt a strange calm bolstered by the resolve that radiated from you as you stood beside him.
You turned to him, your expression set but your eyes soft. You had dressed sharply for the meeting, your tailored suit immaculate, projecting the authority you carried so effortlessly. Still, there was something in the way your fingers brushed against his as you reached for him that made his chest tighten.
“You ready for this?” you asked, your voice low but steady.
Aaron looked at you, taking in the determined set of your jaw and the quiet strength in your posture. “With you? Always.”
A faint smile tugged at your lips, and for a moment, the tension between you softened. You stepped closer, your hand resting lightly on his chest as you leaned in, your lips brushing against his in a kiss that was both grounding and electrifying.
“Let’s do this,” you murmured against his mouth, and he nodded, his hands lingering briefly on your waist before you pulled away.
When you entered the Director’s office together, the atmosphere shifted. The room was large and imposing, the walls lined with awards and photos that told the story of the Bureau’s successes. The Director sat behind his desk, his expression unreadable as he gestured for you to sit.
Aaron stayed standing beside you as you took the lead, your voice calm and authoritative as you began. “Thank you for meeting with us, sir. We wanted to address the situation between Agent Hotchner and myself directly.”
The Director leaned back in his chair, his hands folded neatly in front of him. “I’m listening.”
Aaron watched as you laid out your case with precision and confidence, detailing how the two of you had handled your relationship with professionalism, how you had sought the team’s support, and how they had expressed their trust in your ability to maintain the integrity of the BAU.
“We understand your concerns, and we don’t take this lightly,” you said, your gaze steady on the Director. “But we also know the value we bring to the Bureau, both individually and as a team. We’re here to ask for your trust, just as we’ve earned the trust of the people we lead.”
Aaron stepped in then, his voice steady but firm. “We’ve always put the mission of the BAU first, and that won’t change. But if this is a line you believe we’ve crossed, we’re prepared to accept the consequences. Both of us.”
The Director’s gaze sharpened at that, his eyes narrowing slightly as he studied you both. “You’re telling me you’re willing to walk away? Both of you?”
“Yes,” you said simply, your tone leaving no room for doubt. “We believe in what we’ve built here, but we won’t compromise our integrity—or the team’s—by pretending this relationship doesn’t exist.”
The room was silent for a long moment, the weight of your words settling heavily in the air. Aaron could feel the tension coiled in his chest, but he didn’t waver. He stood beside you, unflinching, as the Director considered their ultimatum.
Finally, the Director let out a slow breath; his fingers steepled under his chin. “This is highly irregular. You both know that. The Bureau doesn’t operate on personal exceptions.”
You nodded, your posture unyielding. “We understand that, sir. But losing both of us would be a significant blow to the BAU, especially given our track record and the current demands on the unit.”
The Director’s lips pressed into a thin line. “You’re asking for a lot.”
Aaron stepped forward, his voice quiet but firm. “And we’re offering a solution. Put us on a review period. Watch us closely. If there are any issues—any compromises to the integrity of the BAU—you’ll have our resignations. No questions asked.”
The Director’s gaze flicked between the two of you, his expression inscrutable. After what felt like an eternity, he leaned back in his chair and exhaled sharply. “Fine. A review period. But understand this: you’ll both be under intense scrutiny. Any sign that this relationship is affecting the team or your work, and it ends. Am I clear?”
“Yes, sir,” you said immediately, your voice steady.
Aaron nodded. “Crystal.”
When the two of you left the office, the tension in the hallway was palpable, but it quickly gave way to a quiet sense of victory. You turned to him, your eyes meeting his, and for the first time that day, you allowed yourself a small, relieved smile.
“That went better than expected,” you said, your voice light with a mix of relief and determination.
Aaron chuckled softly, his hand brushing against yours as you walked. “I’d say we make a pretty good team.”
You stopped then, turning to face him fully. The moonlight streaming through the hallway windows cast a soft glow over your face, and Aaron felt his chest tighten at the sight of you—strong, confident, and absolutely unshakable.
“With you?” you said, echoing his earlier words. “We can do anything.”
Aaron smiled, his hand finding yours and giving it a firm, reassuring squeeze. And as the two of you walked away from the Director’s office, united in purpose and resolve, he knew that whatever challenges lay ahead, you would face them together.
Days later, the grand estate was already alive with warmth and light as Aaron Hotchner guided you up the stone steps to Rossi’s front door. The crisp New Year’s Eve air bit at his skin, but it was nothing compared to the warmth he felt when he glanced at you, wrapped in a deep burgundy coat that highlighted the glow in your cheeks.
“Rossi doesn’t do anything halfway,” Aaron remarked quietly, his lips curving into a faint smile as you reached the top step.
“You say that like you’re surprised,” you teased, your eyes sparkling as you met his gaze.
Aaron chuckled softly, his hand finding the small of your back as the door swung open, revealing Rossi himself. Dressed in a sharp suit, his expression was one of genuine delight as he welcomed you both with open arms.
“Ah, my two favorite rule-breakers,” Rossi said with a grin, stepping aside to let you in. “Come in, come in. There’s champagne waiting, and plenty of people to charm.”
The party was every bit as grand as Aaron had expected. Rossi’s expansive living room was filled with colleagues, friends, and family, all dressed in their finest. A jazz quartet played softly in the corner, their music weaving seamlessly through the low hum of conversation.
Aaron scanned the room instinctively, cataloging familiar faces—Emily and JJ chatting near the bar, Penelope gesturing animatedly to Reid, and Derek leaning against a nearby column, his easy grin drawing a small crowd of admirers.
But his focus always returned to you.
You were by his side, your coat now replaced by an elegant black dress that hugged your figure perfectly, the neckline just daring enough to make his chest tighten. You smiled at someone who greeted you, your laugh soft but genuine, and Aaron couldn’t help but marvel at how effortlessly you commanded the room.
“Enjoying yourself?” you asked, tilting your head to look at him as you handed him a glass of champagne.
He took it with a small smile, his fingers brushing yours briefly. “I’d say that depends entirely on you.”
Your lips quirked into a faint smirk, and for a moment, the noise of the room faded, leaving only the quiet connection between the two of you.
As the evening wore on, Aaron found himself drawn to you again and again, his gaze seeking you out even when you were across the room. You had a way of grounding him, even in the chaos of a room full of people, and he felt a quiet thrill every time your eyes met his, a silent understanding passing between you.
When the two of you found yourselves alone on Rossi’s terrace, the night sky stretched out above you, Aaron couldn’t help but steal a moment. The cold air bit at his skin, but the warmth of your presence was enough to chase it away.
“You look stunning tonight,” he said softly, his voice low as he leaned on the railing beside you.
You glanced at him, your smile softening into something more intimate. “You’re not so bad yourself, Agent Hotchner.”
The teasing tone in your voice made him chuckle, but there was an undercurrent of sincerity that made his chest ache in the best way.
The sound of the party spilling onto the terrace broke the moment, and the two of you turned to see Rossi stepping out, his hands raised theatrically.
“Two minutes to midnight, folks!” he called, his grin as wide as ever. “Let’s make it count!”
Aaron glanced at you, his heart pounding as he saw the faint blush on your cheeks. Without a word, he reached for your hand, pulling you gently closer.
“Happy New Year,” he murmured, his voice soft but firm as the first sounds of the countdown began to echo from inside.
“Happy New Year,” you whispered back, your lips curling into a small, private smile as the world around you blurred.
And as the clock struck midnight and the room erupted in cheers, Aaron kissed you, his hand cradling your face as the noise and the cold and everything else faded away. It was just you and him, standing together at the start of something new, something strong.
Together, you could conquer anything.
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