#took me a while to figure that out though

[crowwithagun]

Someone I think about often

When I was a kid, maybe about 6 or 7, my dad and his girlfriend took me and one of her kids to a haunted house. Mind you, this wasn't just a normal "kid friendly" haunted house. This was something closer to a horror movie set. A really gory, scary, clown-filled, zombie-filled, desecrated body-filled horror movie.

I was convinced I'd be okay, and so I begged my dad to let me go in with him since his girlfriend's kid was going in, and she was about my age. I figured I'd be fine, if she was going. I was decidedly not fine. I was freaked out the WHOLE time while in line, the scare actors specifically coming near us and messing with us even though we were kids. (Thinking back on it, the scare actors were a lot friendlier and more playful with me and my friend than they were with the adults. But at the time we were PETRIFIED.)

Finally we make it inside, and I get jumpscared multiple times. I'm freaking out, crying, and my dad is covering my eyes while I walk through the clown section and then the gory/gross dead body section. I take his hand off my face during the dead body section, and don't remember seeing all that much, but remember smelling the most God awful stench (they likely used Liquid ass or something similar, because when I tell you it was NAUSEATING, I mean it.) and trying to put on a brave face.

All this being said, here comes the person I'll never forget. I was clinging to my dad's side as we go through the zombie section, probably trembling and crying still. There's this one scare actor who sees me, petrified, and decides to do something that to this day I think about and smile over. He started singing To The Left by Beyonce. "To the left to the left, everybody goes to the exit to the left" is what he said. It was so ridiculous, and he sang it in this deep, gravelly zombie voice, and it made me laugh. It made me so much less afraid. It made me feel safe.

Fast forward to today, and I now do Scare Acting myself every Halloween. The past two years, I've gone as a clown, and I scare the shit out of kids, teens, and adults alike. But whenever I see a little kid, who's absolutely petrified, I always make sure to be silly. I make sure to be friendly, and not creepy. I give them candy, and I talk to them kindly, even if I'm playing as someone who doesn't talk. I do silly things, like stick out my tongue, and scrunch my nose. I do a silly dance, or I wave sweetly, and talk to their parents so they see I'm not a threat. I always do my best to make them feel safe, just like that man did for me all those years ago. Because I know what it's like to be that scared little kid. And I know how much it helped me all those years ago. So the least I can do, is be kind back.

[slytherin-pen]

Nothing To Prove

pairing: Garrick Tavis x Reader

word count: 3k

warnings: RSC torture, injuries, ptsd, side character death, hurt/comfort

a/n: now that i’m nearly at 200 followers i finally post my ‘100 followers appreciation’ fic. looks like i’ll be posting another poll soon 😆 genuinely though thank you for all the support, it truly means the world to me. comment if you’d like to join my Fourth Wing specific taglist!

Everything was muffled—like someone had stuffed cotton in your ears. Pain pulsed through your body, a sharp, aching throb that started in your face and spread down your body. You were only meant to have been in the RSC training torture chamber for two days, but it felt like it had been much longer than that. It became obvious early on that you were being targeted due to your relationship with Garrick Tavis when you were strapped into a chair in the middle of the room while the rest of your squad was chained to the wall next to each other.

But they didn’t break you. Even after they took away the bond with your dragon, even when they took their frustration out on your squadmates. You held the line. You wish you could say the same for everyone. One of your squadmates, Patrick, had given in.

You now understand why Professor Grady had only responded with ‘Don’t’ when a cadet had asked what happens if you break. Your whole squad had held their breath when Patrick gave up his phrase. That’s when the delusion had kicked in—that maybe it would be ok. Your squad would just have a few points deducted, your Wingleader would scold you and call you all embarrassments to the Wing but Patrick would be fine.

He was not fine.

The two Infantry cadets executing the interrogation had started beating him relentlessly. Punching his face, kicking his stomach. You think you might have screamed, but it was hard to tell over the cries of pain from Patrick and the shouting of your squadmates.

That alone felt like it had gone on for hours, and by the time they pulled away it was a shock to see him still breathing. His face was purple with blood running down his nose and chin. A couple of his teeth lay on the stone floor and his nose was undoubtedly broken. You thought his ear may have been hanging off but it was hard to see through your swollen eyes.

It wasn’t long after that when Professor Grady walked into the room, gave a disapproving frown toward your squad, and then broke Patrick’s neck.

Someone fainted. Someone else pissed themselves, but no one else broke after that. Thank Zinhal the interrogation ended soon after.

You survived. Now, you just had to survive the aftermath.

The bright mage lights of the Healer’s Quadrant were disorienting after spending two days in the dark chamber. Fuzzy figures passed you, one stopping by to pour some disgusting tonic down your throat. The only reprieve was that you could feel your dragon, Thalor, again. Grunts and moans of pain filled the room and the smell of antiseptics nauseated you.

You barely registered it when strong arms lifted you from the cot you’d been placed on after your squad was escorted to the infirmary. There was a low murmur of voices, but your head lolled against a broad chest, exhaustion dragging you under. That’s when the scent of leather and steel reached your nose. Garrick.

“I’ve got you,” he whispered. “You’re safe now.”

The world blurred as he carried you to the barracks, his grip secure yet gentle. You wanted to say something, anything, but you were too drained to open your mouth. You let your head rest on his shoulder and shut your eyes.

His steps were long and determined, quickly navigating the halls of Basgiath and narrowly avoiding being spotted by leadership. He knew you wouldn’t want anyone to see you like this despite disagreeing with your reasoning. Everyone who had survived second year knew exactly what it was like to go through RSC scenarios, and they would be hypocrites for judging you. Garrick’s heart hammered in his chest, his rage ready to lash out like a beast in a cage. He saw the rest of your squad lying on the other cots when he walked through the infirmary, and you looked significantly worse. Blue and purple bruises marred the skin that was visible outside of your uniform, and dried blood was smudged around your face.

He tried to remain calm for you though. You likely had enough panic running your system to power a dragon, he didn’t need to add to it. Even though RSC torturing was a sanctioned scenario, it didn’t mean those running it couldn’t take advantage of an opportunity to cause you harm. You weren’t a marked one like him, but at Basgiath you weren’t as good as guilty by association. Choosing to be with him was frowned upon but you never batted an eye at the whispering or glares cast your way. You’d just raise your chin and grab his hand, signaling to everyone who could see that you did not care what they thought. It’s one of the many reasons Garrick loved you.

He finally approached his room, unlocking the door with a flick of his wrist. His rucksack and swords were still tossed in the corner where he left them when he found out you had been released from the chamber. Xaden had him running extra drop-offs just to keep him busy, too busy to run down there and break you out.

You whimpered when the warmth of his body disappeared as he placed you on his bed. Garrick pulled the blankets over your trembling form. His hands, calloused from years of flying and fighting, gently brushed the hair from your face before checking the damage.

His voice was a growl when he finally spoke. “I should kill them for this. I should—”

He cut himself off. Cool. Calm. Collected. You were sensitive to emotions others gave off, and him getting worked up would only set you off.

Garrick took a deep breath. “Just rest now. I’ll be here when you wake up.”

You mumbled something he didn’t quite catch, but then your body relaxed and he knew you were asleep.

The memories chased you in your slumber. The feeling of the leather straps being tightened around your wrists. The terror you felt after you realized you couldn’t communicate with your dragon anymore. Your squadmates being beaten over and over again. Patrick as his body hung loosely from the grip of the chains after Professor Grady snapped his neck.

Your nightmare took on a mind of its own. Patrick started to move. His neck, at an unnatural angle, turns to look at you. Lifeless green eyes staring into your own. He was muttering something—you couldn’t tell what. He began to thrash against the chains as you screamed. Your screams got more frantic as you looked around the room and noticed all of your squadmates were dead too. Slouched with bones going in the wrong direction, blood dripping from their throats.

You jolted awake as a large hand gripped your shoulder. The flickering of a candle on a desk across the room was the first thing you saw, then your head snapped toward the hulk of a shadow sitting on the bed next to you.

“Garrick?” you murmured, voice hoarse.

He frowned, eyes roaming over your sweaty form. “I told you I’d be here when you woke up.”

You blinked, struggling to remember when he said that or how you got here. Swallowing past the tightness in your throat you asked, “Don’t you have training with Xaden tonight?”

He let out an exasperated huff. “No, love. I have much more important matters to attend to.”

Your sleep-addled brain was slow to catch up. “Like what?”

His hazel eyes softened as he met your gaze. “You.”

Something in your chest cracked with those words. You knew he loved you, of course. But Garrick was always so busy. Being a Section Leader, assisting a revolution, helping train the first years—all on top of keeping himself alive. An insecure, anxious part of you sometimes sees yourself as less important. I mean really, how do you compare to the protection of an entire province and a hundred and seven marked ones?

But then you looked at him. Really looked at him. His dark, curly hair was tussled like he’d been running his hands through it. Dark circles lined his under eyes, and he kept clenching and unclenching his hands with seeming restless energy.

Garrick had always been the calm and steady one. When you were pacing or nearly tearing your hair out, he was the anchor that kept your mind from drifting too far. Preventing the waves of your emotions and worries from pulling you under. But right now, there was something unsteady in him too.

“Garrick, I—” You tried to push yourself up, but the pain hit like one of Imogen’s punches, drawing a sharp gasp from your lips.

He was there instantly, hands bracing your shoulders, stopping you from moving too fast. “Easy,” he murmured.

He adjusted the pillows behind you and helped you slowly scoot up to lean your back on the headboard. You sighed as your muscles relaxed slightly. Garrick handed you a glass of water and you gulped it down, the cool liquid soothing the dryness in your throat.

You whispered a thanks as you handed the glass back to him, and placed it on the table beside the bed.

“You’re staring,” you mumbled as your fingers fiddled with the seam of the blanket.

His lips twitched, crinkling the scar that ran along his cheekbone. “You make it hard not to.”

“Because I look like I got thrown off a dragon?”

His expression darkened. “Because I hate seeing you like this.”

You exhaled, shifting against the pillows. “It’s part of training. We all have to go through it.”

“That doesn’t mean I have to like it,” he shot back.

“Still. You don’t have to babysit me,” you sighed. “I’m a big girl, I can manage to not bust my ass on the way to the bathroom.”

His jaw tightened. “I’m not babysitting you. I’m taking care of my girlfriend.”

The word sent a strange warmth through you.

Girlfriend. Riders didn’t often use those terms. Usually, two people would hang out and hook up regularly, and then after graduation they’d get married if they wished. That was when labels were put on things. Life was so short and uncertain at Basgiath, using labels like boyfriend or girlfriend felt so insignificant in the grand scheme of things. But as a warm fluttering swarmed your stomach, it didn’t feel so insignificant.

You and Garrick had always been close. You met him just before you crossed the Parapet during your first year at Basgiath. After he took your name for the roll he had warned you to tie your hair back so it wouldn’t obstruct your eyesight. Looking back, it should have been obvious to you that being blinded by your hair might lead to your death, and maybe he should have let you cross as you were and you would have had no one to blame but yourself. But he didn’t. He broke a rule for you before you’d even properly met. Then he found you after your first formation and invited you to join him and his friends for training later that night. Somewhere between midnight flight drills when neither of you could sleep, relentless sparring practice, and stolen glances during Battle Brief—things had shifted. He had become the one person you could truly let your guard down with. Someone you didn’t have to hide your spiraling thoughts or sensitive heart from.

And now, when you were at your lowest, he refused to leave.

“I just—” You hesitated, frustration rising in your throat. “I hate this. Hate having to rely on someone.”

His lips dipped into a slight frown. “There’s nothing wrong with needing a hand. We all can use a little help every now and then.”

You scoffed. “When have you ever needed help?”

“After I watched my parents die.” He looked down at the relic winding up his arm, stroking it thoughtfully. “After Parapet and I realized this wasn’t all some fucked up nightmare. That we really had been sent to this death sentence of a college for the crimes of our parents. I was lost. But Xaden picked me up. And Bodhi, and Imogen, and Liam. We help each other. We lean on each other. And I’ll be damned if my girl thinks she has to stand on her own to do what? Prove that she’s strong?”

Your throat tightened, tears gathering in your eyes.

Your dragon, Thalor, chimed in for the first time since getting access to your bond again. “The Section Leader is right. You have nothing to prove. I chose you. You held the line. That is enough.”

Garrick sighed and grasped your hands in his. He leaned in close enough you could see the mix of brown and green in his eyes. “You are strong. I know it, your squad knows it, this whole damn quadrant knows it. The only person who still questions that is you.”

The memories of the interrogation hit you again. The bone-deep chill, the fear on your squadmates’ faces. Your own fear.

Tears ran down your cheeks and your breath hitched before the dam broke. “I was so scared,” your voice cracking with the admission. “The whole time. I wasn’t brave and I wasn’t calm. I was an embarrassment to what it means to be a Rider. Every time they walked into the room I wished I could flee. And then—and then they killed Patrick and I—”

Garrick grabbed your face with his hands, forcing you to look at him. “Baby. Baby, look at me.”

Your breath came in shallow, uneven gasps, your chest rising and falling too fast. Garrick’s eyes were wide, his brows drawn together when you met his stare. Your hands trembled as you pressed them against your ribs as if you could somehow steady the erratic rhythm of your breathing. The room felt too small, the walls creeping closer, the dim lighting casting shadows that flickered like ghosts.

“Hey,” he murmured, voice low and gentle. “It’s okay. You’re okay.” He seemed to notice your aversion to the darkness and with a flick of his wrist the mage light was on, casting the room in a light blue glow.

You forced yourself to nod, but your throat was tight, your body locked in place. His gaze jumped around to your face, your arms—the bruises, the cuts, and his jaw clenched. He inhaled through his nose and exhaled slowly. When he met your eyes again, there was no pity, only quiet understanding.

“What you went through…” He hesitated, like he was choosing his words carefully. “No one walks away from something like that without scars. It’s normal.” His voice softened further, the words weaving through the haze of your mind. “Your reaction is normal.”

A shuddering breath left your lips. “Then why—” Your voice cracked, and you swallowed hard. “Why does it feel like I can’t breathe?”

He removed his hands from your face and instead grabbed your knees, squeezing lightly. Grounding you. “Because your body still thinks you’re there,” he said. “It takes time to teach it that you’re safe now.”

Safe. You wanted to believe him, but you’re never truly safe at Basgiath, are you?

Garrick gave you a smile that didn’t quite reach his eyes. “I’ll go grab a med kit, I’ll be right back.”

He disappeared into the bathroom, the sound of a cabinet opening and closing filling the silence. When he returned, he was carrying a small black box. He returned to his spot beside you, opening the latch with one hand.

“Let me?” he asked, holding up a cloth he’d soaked in antiseptic.

You nodded.

His touch was firm but careful as he cleaned the cuts on your hands and arms, his thumb brushing along your skin with the occasional silent apology when the antiseptic stung. He grimaced the same times you did when he got to your face. There was a cut through your left eyebrow and on your cheek. From experiencing a lifetime full of injuries he knew the face was the most sensitive. His movements were so at odds with his body. This large, muscularly dense man, who could snap you like a twig if he wished, was using a gentleness that made your heart stutter. It was as if you were a priceless vase and he was trying to put it back together. His methodical movements, the crease between his brow as he focused helped soothe you, the panic receding like the tide.

“I can’t believe the Healers didn’t patch you better,” he said through gritted teeth. He placed your wrist on his knee as he wrapped it with a bandage.

You licked your dry, cracked lips, focusing on his face again rather than his hands. “They gave me a tonic and I think they mended a few bones, I don’t remember much though. I was pretty out of it by the time we got there. But they had a whole squad to heal, they couldn’t spend all of their time on me.”

He clenched his jaw but said nothing. You looked up at him as he moved back to your face, placing a butterfly bandage on your brow. Your hand twitched with the urge to caress the two days worth of stubble that covered his sharp jawline.

“There,” he said after smoothing a balm over your cheek. “All patched up.”

You blinked, snapping out of your reverie. He didn’t move right away, and neither did you. The weight of exhaustion pulled at your limbs, but you were hesitant to succumb to it. The fear and adrenaline still running through you. Maybe he sensed it, maybe he just knew you better than you know yourself sometimes, because the next thing he did was set the med kit aside and motion for you to scoot over with his chin.

He untied his boots and kicked them off before climbing into the bed beside you and maneuvering under the blankets. His arm curled around you, pulling you against his chest, the steady beat of his heart anchoring you. His other hand found your hair, fingers threading through the strands.

“Go to sleep,” he said, his tone soft yet leaving no room for argument. “I’ll be right here. I’ll keep you safe.”

And this time, you believed him, the rest of the adrenaline draining from your body as your eyes finally shut.

[bizarrelovetriangel]

distance

angst with comfort. brief jealous reader/mc and jealous zayne. slightly ooc zayne just bc you know he'd always put you first no matter how hectic life can get. but just for this one, he gets a little cold...

as insecurities take over, you distance yourself from zayne and zayne realizes how empty he feels without you.

Being a doctor can be stressful. It takes a lot of energy, and Zayne, no matter how perfect he seemed, isn't an exception.

Lately, his work has been taking a lot of his time, and it's starting to take a toll on his health. You've been trying to help him to take a break and relax for a while, but it hasn't been easy.

And your relationship was put to test.

You brought him food in his home office, and it had only gone cold and untouched.

You wanted to get his mind off work for a bit, so you took him out for plushie hunting at the claw machines after dinner one night, though he only said a few words as he watched you play, eyes looking like they're ready to close at any minute.

You encouraged him to join you in bed to get some sleep, hoping to get rid of the tiredness in his eyes, and he told you to go first and he'll join you in a few minutes, only for him to take hours, when you were already in a deep sleep.

You asked him to watch a movie with you, he said he wasn't in the mood, so you ended up falling asleep on the couch all alone until the movie's end credits started rolling.

You offered to give him a massage, gentle hands squeezing the tensed muscles of his shoulders, only for him to move away and say, "I'm sorry... I just need some time alone for a while. I need to finish this."

Of course, you understood. He is a doctor who has to do paper work along with treating the patience at Akso Hospital. Things can get pretty stressful, and even Zayne can be overwhelmed.

It's normal to want space.

After all, you admit that you might have seemed like a pesky buzzing fly to someone who just wants some silence.

"Okay. I'll head home, then. Good night, Zayne. Please, don't forget to eat and rest." Not wanting to annoy him any further, you resisted to give him your usual parting peck and embrace. Instead, you gave him a soft smile and a casual wave of goodbye before leaving his house.

In the following day, you sent Zayne a good morning message, reminding him to take good care of himself, and he responded with his favorite good morning sticker. You weren't able to see him at all, since the Wanderers you dealt with had been a handful. By the end of the day, after eating dinner at a ramen shop with your coworkers, Xavier and Tara, you just had enough energy left for shower before crashing on your bed.

The next day, you had a day off so you decided to stop by Akso Hospital to drop off lunch for Zayne, knowing that he's most likely just eating cafeteria food. You even got him some macarons as a treat for working so hard, so you're certain he'll choose your personal delivery than the cafeteria.

The moment you arrived, you were greeted by Yvonne, whose eyes lit up as soon as she spotted your figure. "Hey! It's been a while since you visited!"

"Haha, I know! Work's been crazy, but apparently not as hectic as yours!" You laughed as Yvonne pouted in agreement.

"Tell me about it!" Greyson appeared as well, clutching a few sheets of paper in one hand. "So many people are getting injured these days! Luckily, things are starting to calm down now though."

"That's good. You guys really need a break after all the hard work you've been doing." You then held up the light blue tote bag that contained the lunch box and started to walk towards Zayne's office. "Anyways, don't let me take anymore of your precious time. I just stopped by to give Zayne - "

Within several feet away from his office, you froze.

The door was partly opened, and inside you could see him. Zayne was already eating lunch, and he wasn't alone. He's with a woman, another doctor, based on the snippets of phrases you caught as she spoke elegantly.

You couldn't tear your eyes off Zayne's bright eyes and his lips slightly curled into a smile.

The smile that you haven't seen for days.

You were glad to see it.

You only wished that it was directed at you right now.

"Ah, never mind. I guess he's busy at the moment." You turned around and retreated, giving Yvonne and Greyson a smile.

It was the kind of smile that had them exchange a look of concern.

"I'll just get going then. It was nice seeing you two!"

Greyson's eyes followed the tote bag in your hands that were lowering with disappointment. "Ahaha! Well, you know.... I haven't had lunch yet..." His left hand scratches the back of his head. "How about I trade some coupons with you in exchange for whatever you got in there? I'll treat you next time we have a group hang out too."

You grinned as you caught his drift right away. Someone wanted free food. "The coupons will suffice. I hope you enjoy!"

Greyson managed to drop a quick thank you as you practically ran out of the building.

Later that night, you didn't send a goodnight text, and you did not receive one either.

The next morning, you woke up to a good morning message from Zayne, along with a snowman sticker that said, 'Awake?'

You replied a quick, 'Good morning' before continuing to eat your breakfast while scrolling through social media.

A couple of minutes later, you received a follow-up text, with Zayne asking if you're feeling okay, sensing that something was off with the way you replied to him.

You always send him multiple texts, sometimes paragraph-long, but never just a couple of words that lacked your usual charms.

'Just feeling a little tired, been busy at work'

It wasn't a lie. Wanderers have been kicking your ass, though you always make sure to kick theirs thrice as hard.

You weren't even really upset with Zayne. He didn't do anything wrong that would warrant a cold shoulder.

It's just that something has been forcing you to distance yourself from him. Something deep in your stomach was making you feel weird, about yourself.

You started to wonder.... if you were too much for Zayne.

Too loud, too energetic, too draining, too....childish.

What if, maybe, he preferred to be with someone who's more calm and collected? Someone who didn't waste his time getting plushies at claw machines? Someone who matches his interests and intellect and energy? Someone mature? Like that woman that he was having lunch with.

After all, she was able to get him to smile, while you failed for days.

Maybe Zayne was getting tired of you.

And so, you stayed away from him, not wanting to pest him with your presence any longer.

He deserves better.

/////////

Busy. Busy. Busy. He'd been asking you if you were available to go out on Friday, Saturday, then Sunday, but Zayne hasn't had any luck.

The good morning and good night messages stopped, too. Usually, you were the one that sent them first. Sometimes, he'd send a text first, and you'll reply with multiple messages. This time, it's just been silence. All calls have been missed. He hasn't seen your face nor heard your voice for days.

He doesn't like it.

The distance. The silence.

Something was wrong, and he had a feeling that it's not because of your job.

You've been together for a while now, and he had seen you in your busiest and most exhausted days. No matter how much work has taken from you, you always made time for him. Even if it's just to shoot him some messages and a quick video call to let him know what you've been up to.

You always find time and energy for him.

That was something he hasn't been doing lately. He knows that he'd messed up and pushed you away when you were just looking out for him.

Zayne wanted to apologize properly in person, but now, he realizes, that might not happen anytime soon.

In his office at the hospital, Zayne quietly ate his lunch that was purchased at the cafeteria, forcing his eyes to remain at his computer screen even though they keep darting back to his closed door, hoping that it would open and a certain hunter will give him a surprise visit with food she prepared just for him.

The food wasn't settling well in his stomach.

Zayne couldn't find it in him to enjoy the sweet drink he bought at the cafe. He didn't want any of it. What he wanted was for you to show up so he can hold on to you and never let go.

It's been days and he misses your warmth.

Sighing, Zayne stood up and took a folder that had been sitting on his desk. He had unfinished paper work to do, he might as well just focus on that now, since he didn't have the appetite for lunch.

"Greyson, I have a question about yesterday morning's patient from the pediatrics." He entered his colleague's office, which wasn't too far from his own.

"Doctor Zayne, what do you need?" Greyson looked up from his book.

"About the antibiotics they were prescribed. How many - " Zayne's eyes shifted to something familiar that demanded his attention. A light blue tote bag sits on Greyson's desk. "That looks just like...."

He then spotted a familiar snowman sticker at the bottom left corner at the front of the bag. He knows that sticker well, because he was the one that put it there.

"Actually, that's.... Why do you have that?"

Greyson tensed up at Zayne's suddenly raised voice. Not angry, but more...accusatory. All he could do was laugh nervously.

"She visited a few days with food meant for you, but she saw that you were busy, so....I figured, instead of letting it be wasted....."

Zayne nodded his head. "I see." He then picked up the tote bag with the clean and washed empty lunch box inside. "I'll be returning this to her then."

"Y-yes, please! Thank you!"

Zayne didn't even finish his question for Greyson. He just walked out of the office immediately after taking the bag.

Greyson sighs with relief. He didn't die.

///////

Zayne returned home with his stomach feeling worse, and it's not because he hasn't eaten much. Now, he's certain that you really were upset with him.

First, he neglected you, pushed you away and acted cold when you were just caring for him, then you saw him having lunch with another woman - which wasn't wrong, and you've seen him have lunch meetings with other women before and expressed no concerns, but this time was different. The timing was bad, and the fact that you didn't barge in or talked to him afterwards meant you felt upset.

After giving you a few more calls that had all gone to voice mail, Zayne called it a day, hoping he'd have better luck tomorrow.

But he wasn't gifted with sleep that night.

His mind couldn't stop thinking.

He worried that you might've been so hurt that you'd want to leave him, and the thought of losing you made his chest tighten.

The thought of having to live without you by his side, just like all those years ago, hurt a lot. Now that he knows what a life with you feels like, there was no way he could go back to the days without you next to him.

Zayne sat up and looked at the time.

11:20 p.m.

It started to rain, and the coldness has entered his lonely home.

He can't waste another day.

Zayne needed to see you. Now.

And so, he quickly changed his clothes and went to his car and drove to your apartment.

/////

Your mouth dropped as soon as you saw who rang your doorbell.

"Zayne?! What the hell - it's almost midnight and it's raining!" His hair had gotten wet from the rain, black buttoned-up shirt also catching cold droplets, yet he didn't care at all. "Are you crazy?! What are you - "

You couldn't even finish screaming at him as he suddenly dove into your arms, burying his face against your neck as he pulls you close to him.

"I'm sorry." He whispered, warm breath tickling your skin. "I'm sorry."

Your throat tightened and words failed to leave your mouth. The coldness pricked your skin, so you rushed back inside your apartment with Zayne still latching onto you.

You took him to the kitchen and sat him down on a chair. He kept his arms wrapped around your waist while his face rested on your stomach.

Your fingers brushed against the wet strands of his hair. "Zayne..."

"I'm sorry." He said again. "I'm sorry for pushing you away when you only meant well. I'm sorry that you had to distance yourself from me, because I made you feel like... like you weren't important. But you are. I need you by my side. Please, don't leave."

"Zayne..." Your chest ached at the desperation in his voice. "Zayne." You got on your knees so that you can look at him in the eyes and hold onto his hands. "I'm sorry, too."

His eyes looked at you with confusion.

"I'm sorry for the way I acted. You weren't at fault for wanting space. I'd respect your wish anytime. It's just, at that time, my insecurity got the best of me."

"Insecurity?"

"I started to think that I might be too childish, and that maybe you'd prefer to be with someone more mature and someone who matches your interests, someone who could help you out when you're stressed about work, instead of getting in your way." You confessed, feeling embarrassed now that you're saying it out loud in front of him. "I'm sorry."

Zayne shook his his head and brought your hands to his lips for a lingering warm kiss. "I never thought that, and I never will. I'm grateful for you, and I love you exactly the way you are. You don't get in my way. I shouldn't have pushed you away. I truly am sorry for making you feel that way. I promise I won't do it again."

You rested your forehead against his.

"....you're still wet from the rain." You clicked your tongue and got up to get a towel, only for him to grab your hand. "Come on."

You brought him to the bathroom so you could help him freshen up from the rain. After he changed into the pajamas that he'd keep in your house, he joined you on your bed, and his arms wrapped tightly around you.

His head rested on your chest, arms on your hips, legs tangled together.

Just then...

"Shit. I forgot to turn off the lights in the kitchen."

You attempted to get up, but Zayne only held you tighter.

"Don't go."

"It'll only take a second." You poked his cheek, suppressing a smile, enjoying his clingy side that rarely comes out.

"It'll be fine. It can stay on for the night. Just let me keep holding you."

"Okay. Good night, Zayne."

"Good night."

[myth1cs]

Obedience Through Discipline (Myoui Mina x M!Reader)

Smut; An officer not listening to their superior is a clear sign of disobedience. Luckily nothing a bit of discipline can't fix. Word Count: 3,021

The hard part was already over. Now that you've finished the training phase now you could finally start doing some actual work. You were assigned to officer Myoui Mina. She was the best officer at the station though many people felt bad for you which you didn't understand why at first.

It didn't take long for you to figure out why. She was always someone who was very stuck up about following the rules. Every mistake you made was followed by a scolding by Mina on why what you did was wrong. While yes you did believe that this line of work didn't have room for mistakes you still felt like she was being too harsh on you.

Things only got worse when she became a sheriff only after a few months since you were partnered with her. Even though time after time she had clearly expressed her disdain for you she never made an attempt to get you fired. In fact ever since she became sheriff it felt like she was keeping a closer eye on you. And you'd be lying if you said it wasn't making you nervous.

During your break you were sitting in your patrol car alone since your partner Nayeon decided to have her break inside. While you were eating your lunch you heard a knocking on your window. You looked up and saw that it was none other than sheriff Mina.

You rolled down your window and greeted her. "Hello sheriff Mina. Can I help you with anything?"

"You know about the parade happening downtown next week right?"

"Of course, what about it?"

"Well Ryujin got injured in the line of duty yesterday and the doctor said she wouldn't be fit to come into work for the next 2 months. So now I need someone to replace her for patrolling the area around the parade. I'm guessing you can see where I'm going with this."

This was a surprise to you. Why was she asking you anyway? There were officers who have been serving longer in the police force which she respected more that would be available to take over Ryujin's shift.

"With all due respect sheriff I believe others may be more qualified than me. Why not try asking officer Kyujin or-"

"I don't think you understand Y/N. This isn't a request, it's an order. You WILL be the one patrolling the area during next week's parade."

You let out a sigh knowing that there was no debating this with her. Once Mina makes up her mind her decision is final.

"Alright sheriff."

You rolled back up your window and Mina walked back towards the station. "Damn brat, who does he think he is trying to tell me how to do my job? Tsk, it's my fault for letting his disobedience go on for too long. I'll have to do something about that."

Breathing a sigh of relief you were glad that the encounter went rather well. Usually she would scold you for trying to talk back for at least half an hour but this time she didn't. Though you wondered if this truly was a good thing or if there was another reason behind Mina's actions. But you didn't ponder on that idea for too long. It was silly to think otherwise... or so you thought.

The week flew by in a blink of an eye. Before you knew it it was the day before the parade. You had to attend a meeting about where everyone would be stationed at the parade and what protocols to follow. You weren't really paying attention to Mina's speech though. Not like your role was rather complicated. Just simply patrolling the perimeter, if you see anything suspicious you were to report it.

"Y/N! Y/N!"

Mina's yelling took you out of your thoughts.

"Wh- what happened?"

The whole room had gone silent. Everyone simply stared at you without saying a word. Mina walked towards you and you felt your heartbeat fasten. You felt like your heart was going to explode or that you would faint from nervousness at any moment.

"You think you're too smart for this huh?" Mina said with a mocking tone.

"N- no I would never-"

"Meet me at my office."

Mina walked back to the front of the room. The tension was thick in the air. Everyone paid attention to Mina, everyone was too scared to look away from Mina.

The meeting wasn't supposed to go on for too long. But it felt like it went by in just a few seconds while also feeling like it went on for 5 hours. Everyone avoided you as they left the room. You followed Mina to her office, hands sweating, and your heart was beating so loud you thought everyone in the building could hear it.

Mina unlocked her office door and walked in. Your legs didn't want to move forward. Was it fear? But what were you afraid of? Losing your job or was it something else?

"What are you waiting for Y/N?"

"Pardon me."

You walked in. Mina closed the door behind you and locked it which made you more nervous. "Sit down." Mina commanded as she pointed at a chair. You obeyed and sat down.

"You know what you did wrong?"

"I uhm-"

Mina sat down on her desk crossing her legs. She reached down to grab your chin and lifted it up to make you look at her.

"Look into my eyes as you say it."

"I wasn't listening."

"Say it with your full chest Y/N. I can't hear you."

"I wasn't listening!"

"Not listening to your superior are you Y/N? How troublesome indeed, will I have to punish you for this?"

"No sheriff, I'll behave from now on."

"Good to hear Y/N."

Mina's voice suddenly dropped.

"Cause this is your last warning."

Mina got off her table and went to sit down on her chair behind her desk. "Now get out."

Without hesitation you got up from your chair and made your way out of her office. As you left her office you breathed out a sigh of relief.

You went to your car to drive home but you suddenly bumped into your partner, Nayeon, in the parking lot.

"So Y/N were you fired?"

"What kind of question is that?! No I wasn't fired!"

"Relax Y/N I just had to know. So what did Mina talk to you about?"

"She just told me that this was my last warning."

"Well if that's all then I guess that's rather tame then."

"What do you mean?"

"Come on Y/N I don't think I need to spell it out for you. Mina doesn't take things like this very lightly. If it was anyone else I'm sure she would've fired them already. And don't you think that she's been scolding you less recently?"

"Yeah I kinda picked up on it. Maybe this is a sign that she's turning over a new leaf."

"We can only hope so. Still the aura I get from even being in the same room as her is terrifying. I swear she gives off nothing but "Look at me the wrong way and I'll kill you" vibes."

"I swear she's knocked a few years off my life already."

"I feel that, anyways good luck with patrol duty tomorrow."

"Good luck to you to Nayeon."

-

The day of the parade came and you, along with a few other officers, were assigned to patrol the parameter and told to report anything deemed suspicious.

The area you were currently paroling didn't have many people. A few people passed by but nothing suspicious was happening in particular.

As you were walking you saw two people in an ally way. It seemed like they were committing an act of vandalism. While you were ordered to report things this wasn't any suspicious activity it was just people being stupid so you decided to just quickly deal with the situation.

Vandalism isn't something that you would arrest someone for in all honesty it was just a small misdemeanor but realized these were the same people you've had run-ins with these people before. At this point they were just begging for a prison sentence. The sentence for something like this was only up to a year so you didn't feel too bad.

-

Mina put Hwi in charge while she went on her break. For some reason she couldn't shake off the feeling that even though she told you that you were on your last warning you would still not listen to her. She made her way to where you were stationed.

"What the- I give him ONE job and he can't even follow that."

She pulled out her phone and called you. It only rang a few times before you picked up.

"Yes Mina?"

"Where are you?!"

"I'm driving these two people to the station-"

"Damn it you're supposed to report things! Do you even listen to me when I speak to you?!"

"Mina I-"

"I don't want to hear it! Meet me at my office the minute you're off the clock."

"But-" Before you could rebuttal Mina had already hung up.

You knew you were about to lose your job.

-

Once you got back to the parade Mina assigned someone else to stay by your side to make sure that you wouldn't deviate from your job.

The rest of the parade went fine. Nothing major happened that was worth noting. But you couldn't help but wish that it wouldn't end. You weren't prepared to be yelled at by Mina and get fired.

To your dismay the parade ended and so did your shift. You got a good look at yourself in your uniform before you walked to Mina's office knowing this was the last time you would be wearing it.

You had to pull yourself together and muster all your strength and courage to walk to Mina's office. Now you were standing in front of her door and you prepared for the worst.

Putting your hand on the handle and turning it you fully opened the door. Mina was sitting behind her desk sorting some paperwork.

Unsure what to do, you stood at the doorway simply staring at Mina. After a few minutes she looked up and made eye contact with you.

"Are you just going to stand there or are you going to come in and take a seat in front of me?"

Without saying a word you walked in and closed the door before you went to sit down in front of Mina not daring to make any sort of eye contact with her.

She looked at you for a few seconds before she went to type something on her computer. It seemed like she was just doing work for the sake of it but you couldn't tell.

Eventually she got up and walked up to her board where she had pinned a few documents. You glanced at the clock and saw that it was about time where most people were headed home. Most officers working at this hour were patrolling the downtown area.

Mina sighed and turned to face you. "It's impossible for you to listen. So what should I do with you?"

Was it a rhetorical question?

"I'd much prefer if I could keep my job, sheriff."

"You're almost at your one year mark. And this marks my third month of having to deal with you as sgeriff. So..."

"Please don't fire me."

"That's not what I asked so I'll ask again, What should I do with you?"

"Uhm"

"Ran out of excuses have you?"

"I never made excuses sheriff."

Mina took a deep breath.

"Do you know why I'm stringent with the rules Y/N?"

"Because this line of work doesn't have room for failure?"

"Well that's not my main reason. Do you know the main reason?"

"I don't, sheriff."

"It's because I don't want to see people hurt." Mina walked over to you towering over you. "Or maybe I should be more specific. I don't want to see you hurt."

Mina reached behind her back and grabbed handcuffs. She danged them in front of you. "But I can't just let this slip by. I'm going to punish you."

The situation seemed to develop so fast you didn't register what Mina just said until she was handcuffing you.

"Sorry I leave the fuzzy handcuffs at home so we'll have to make do with these."

Part of you was hoping she was joking. Was this really happening, were you about to do it with Mina?!

"Don't do this Mina. Th- this isn't right!"

"Don't speak back to me you filthy brat!"

Mina's sudden outburst scared you and made you quickly shut up not daring to try to speak out of term.

"Now be a good boy for my Y/N. Just sit here and accept your punishment."

Mina got down on her knees and started to undo your pants. There wasn't anything you could do but simply watch. Once she took off your pants she ran her fingers along your thigh.

"P- please stop."

"You want me to stop darling? But your body is reacting so eagerly to my touch. Are you sure you want me to stop?"

She wasn't lying, you were yearning for her touch as much as you wanted to deny it. Before you could respond Mina smacked your thigh. It wasn't too harsh but it stung a little.

"But darling, I thought I told you not to speak out. Don't make me remind you again okay?"

"Ow fuck-"

She smacked you again.

"Drop the language."

"Y- yes ma'am."

Mina kissed your thighs while her fingers were rubbing against your clothed aching cock. You wanted this to continue but you knew this was wrong. It's not like this is standard protocol and she didn't even ask if you were okay with it. Yet you still couldn't help but be turned on by the given situation.

Even though you denied it your body knew what it really wanted. Shivering every time she ran her finger on your body to your cock hardening it was all too obvious.

She could tell you wanted to say something. "If you want to say something then I'm granting you this opportunity to say it."

"Please"

"Please what darling? Use your big boy words now."

"Suck me off Mina please I'm begging you."

"Begging now are we? Well I'm not entirely convinced yet, maybe you should beg me some more and I'll consider listening to you."

"Mina please, I really want you to fuck me until I can't walk. I want to lose all senses and be at your mercy."

Mina giggled at your statement. "Oh darling if you think that's enough to get me to listen to you you're going to have to try a little harder than that I'm afraid."

"Please fuck me Mina! I only crave your touch, I swear I'll listen to every order you give me!"

Mina rubbed her nose against your clothed cock. "That's more like it darling. However since you've been so disobedient then you'll have to make me cum before I give you any pleasure."

She proceeded to stand up and take off her clothes. Mina made sure to take her sweet time taking off her clothes. She knew it was driving you crazy and you wanted to get up and take her clothes off for her but your hands were handcuffed to each other.

Eventually she stripped down to her bra and underwear. Both were the same colour of pink. Mina sat up on her desk and started to rub her pussy using one of her fingers.

Low moans fell out of her mouth as she pleasured herself. You couldn't do anything but watch. You felt yourself get turned on by watching the scene unfold in front of you.

"What are you waiting for darling? Come and make me cum!"

"My hands are tied."

Mina laughed at your comment "Of course you are darling. But I didn't put a gag on you did I?"

When you realized what Mina wanted you leaned forward and used your mouth to take off her underwear.

"Just like that darling, make this a learning experience!"

You buried your face onto Mina's pussy and shoved your tongue deep into her. Mina wrapped her legs around you tightly cutting off your air supply. "If you want to breathe then make me cum. Or else you'll suffocate between my thighs. Though I'm guessing you'd be okay with that wouldn't you darling?"

Fastening your pace you licked every inch of Mina's delicious pussy. Part of you wished your hands weren't tied so you could grab her boobs. But the current situation would do.

Though you tried desperately you felt yourself losing consciousness and before you knew it everything went black. "Aw did you pass out already?"

Mina unwrapped her thighs that were around your head and started to finger herself. Wet sounds filled the room as she shoved her fingers in and out of herself while her other hand was on her clit.

You were suddenly woken up by the feeling of something splashing on your face. When your eyes adjusted you realized it must've been Mina's cum.

"Oh your awake again darling?"

"Mina what-"

Another smack was given to you.

"What did I say about speaking out of term? And to think I thought about letting you cum. Since you seem to suck at making me cum and suck at listening to orders then I'll let you sit here and think about your actions."

Mina got up and put her clothes back on and you didn't do anything but watch as she started to leave the room.

"Don't worry darling I'll come and get you early in the morning. Till then think about your actions and I might let you cum first thing in the morning!" Mina said as she left the room closing the door behind her leaving you handcuffed to the chair to think about your actions that lead you to this moment.

------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Sorry for not uploading even though I said I would get back on schedule. In my defense I've been reading a really good Lux/Jinx fanfic.

Starring: You Mina, Nayeon (TWICE) Ryujin (ITZY) Kyujin (NMIXX) Hwi (TNX)

[lov3yv4mps]

Can you make aftercare with bangchan and fem reader please! Of course only if you want <3

Yes, of course! Thank you guys so much for all the requests!

⋆⑅˚₊ aftercare ₊˚⑅⋆

Warnings: MDNI, suggestive content, some kissing, some cursing, let me know if i missed any!

The world felt like it was still spinning, but in the best way possible. The remnants of shared moments hung in the air like the fading scent of perfume, warm and intoxicating. You lay nestled against Chan’s chest, your body pressed so close to his that it felt like you were both part of one another. His heartbeat, steady and rhythmic, thudded in your ear, grounding you.

Chan shifted slightly, his fingers absentmindedly tracing soothing circles on your back as if checking in with you, making sure you were still in one piece. His touch was tender but firm, the kind of touch that made you feel safe and cherished. “Feeling okay?” His voice was soft, laced with that quiet concern you were so used to hearing, yet it never failed to make your heart flutter.

You nodded, your cheek still resting on his chest. The lingering sensation of your time together hadn’t quite worn off yet, but you were comfortable. He always made sure you were comfortable. “Yeah,” you murmured, your voice still thick from the intimacy of it all. “Just... tired.”

A low chuckle escaped his lips, a sound that vibrated through his chest and directly into you. “I figured as much. You really gave me a run for my money,” he teased, his hand sliding up to cup the back of your head, fingers threading through your hair. You couldn’t help but laugh softly, burying your face into his chest. “Shut up.”

Chan’s grip tightened gently, his lips pressing a soft kiss to the top of your head. “Nah, not a chance.” He paused, the teasing tone giving way to something softer. “I’m proud of you, though.”

You pulled back slightly, looking up at him. His eyes were soft, searching yours like he always did when he wanted to make sure you were okay. “For what?” you asked, voice a little less steady than you intended.

He smiled that warm, sincere smile that made your chest tighten. “For trusting me. For letting me take care of you,” he said, his voice low, steady. “You’re always so strong, but tonight, I saw you let go. And it made me proud.”

His words hit you in a way you didn’t expect. There was something in his tone—something raw and real—that made your heart swell. You weren’t used to hearing that kind of praise. Not like this.

You swallowed, feeling your cheeks warm. “You’re such a sap,” you muttered, looking down to hide the way your heart was beating a little faster than usual. Chan chuckled, pressing his lips to your forehead. “Maybe,” he admitted, “but only for you.”

You stayed like that for a while, wrapped up in the warmth of each other’s presence, the kind of silence that didn’t need words to be understood. But you knew he wouldn’t let you rest for long without taking care of you properly.

“I’ll be right back,” Chan murmured, carefully untangling himself from the sheets. “Stay put, okay?” You groaned softly, curling into the blankets. “Fine, but hurry up. I’m comfy.” He laughed quietly, a soft, affectionate sound. “I’ll be fast.”

When he returned, it wasn’t long before you felt him gently lifting your head to place a glass of water into your hands. “Drink,” he instructed softly, his voice tinged with that same caring authority that always made you feel a little weak in the knees.

You took a sip, grateful for the cool relief. He watched you with that intensity in his eyes, as if making sure you drank enough, his gaze never leaving your face. You finished the glass and handed it back, letting out a soft sigh. “Good girl,” Chan murmured, his tone warm but with an underlying trace of something that made your skin flush.

You raised an eyebrow, feeling a flutter in your chest. “Stop calling me that,” you teased, though the effect of his words had your heart beating just a little faster. But Chan’s eyes twinkled with amusement. “I’ll call you whatever I want, baby.” His lips curled into a smirk. “And you love it.”

You didn’t even try to hide the smile that tugged at your lips. “You’re insufferable,” you muttered, but your tone was fond, affectionate. Chan leaned in, brushing his lips against your forehead before murmuring softly, “Let’s get you cleaned up, yeah?” You groaned in protest, curling back into the sheets. “I don’t want to move.”

“I know, but you’ll feel better after,” he coaxed gently, already pulling the blankets back and making his way to the bathroom. He scooped you up effortlessly in his arms, his strength comforting and solid as he walked with you toward the bathroom.

“You’re such a show-off,” you muttered, though you couldn’t suppress the smile that pulled at your lips. “And you love it,” he teased, pressing a playful kiss to your temple.

Chan’s gentle care didn’t stop once you were in the bathroom. He helped you out of the tangled sheets, his hands moving with an ease that came from years of knowing exactly how to make you feel cared for. There was no rush. No shame. Just the comfort of him taking care of you in the soft glow of the bathroom light.

You stood before him, naked and vulnerable in a way you had never felt with anyone else, yet with him, it felt like the most natural thing in the world. Chan’s eyes softened as they traced over you, his touch tender as he gently took a warm washcloth and pressed it against your forehead. The coolness of it calmed your senses, but his steady hands were the true relief.

“You’re amazing,” you murmured, barely above a whisper. Chan’s lips curled into a soft smile as he brushed the washcloth down your neck, gentle and slow. His touch made you feel like you were the only thing that mattered in the world. “I just want you to feel good, baby. You deserve it.”

The water on your skin made your body feel alive again, but there was something so calming about his care—his focus solely on you, his gaze warm, loving, but with just enough edge that made you shiver. “Feel better?” he asked, his voice smooth, with that soft teasing tone that always lingered.

You nodded, unable to stop the smile that tugged at your lips. “You’re too good to me,” you whispered, leaning into his touch as his hands gently rinsed off the remnants of the night’s heat from your skin.

After a few more moments, he helped you back into bed, carefully tucking you under the blankets as if you were the most precious thing in the world. His own skin, warm and close to you, kept you grounded as he climbed into bed beside you.

“I’m never letting you go,” he murmured, his voice a soft promise. You smiled, resting your head against his chest again, letting his heartbeat lull you back to comfort. “You say that every time,” you teased, your voice soft but warm. “I mean it every time,” he whispered, kissing the top of your head.

The night stretched on, quiet and comforting. Chan’s kisses, his tender words, his touch—they were all you needed. With him, everything else faded away. There was no rush, no expectations, just a space where you could both exist together, safe and loved. And as your eyes fluttered shut, you knew—you had everything you could ever need in this moment.

v4mps note: this was so fun to write! Please spam me with requests I absolutely love them!

[winterscaptain]

professional courtesy.

...or berry hill (aaron's version) Aaron Hotchner x Fem!Reader

a/n: hello it’s me from beyond the veil i’m sorry i haven’t updated this in three years, but enjoy! i figured i’d warm up from my hibernation with a long-requested installment. (i dont want to hype myself up too much but the discord girlies about died)

words: 17.3k (damn) warnings: language, a far less vague mention of aaron’s anatomy (masturbation in the shower, nothing too extreme), alcohol, the vibe is self-loathing, catholic guilt™

summary: “i go itchy with want, thin on sleep. i feel her fingers in mine. the way we could be both hard and soft on each other. her sandy voice calling out as i climb one exposed cliff after another. ... all night this all goes through me, the four hours of sleep i get.” - kawai strong washburn, sharks in the time of saviors. december 6th-12th, 2010

masterlist | a joyful future masterlist | ajf faq | taglist | what do you want to see next?

It’s way too late and you both know it, but Jack is still on his annual winter vacation with Jessica and the rest of Haley’s family, so there’s simply no incentive to leave. Aaron sits back in his chair, a soft smile on his face as he watches you kick back in one of the chairs in his office, your feet on his desk like you own the place. 

The Montana case wrapped up neatly, and any remaining or incoming paperwork this week is light. If Aaron were an honest man, he’d have a few problems. The first, though, would be how much he missed JJ. He, of course, knows and understands the importance of her role, but he didn’t anticipate that losing her to the State Department would feel more like losing a limb. He knows you feel similarly - he’s seen the way you look up in the office and in the field, the ghost of her name on your lips. 

That aside, he’s in the middle of a story - one that took place just before Jack left for the lake. “...And then I found the actual writing on the wall.” He clarifies, seeing your furrowed eyebrows. “He drew on the wall.”

“What do you mean he drew on the wall?” You say through a laugh, popping a grape in your mouth. “Are we talking like a crayon mark here and there or a full on mural?”

He loves the way you love his son. It’s palpable to anyone who sees the two of you together - the love that Jack has for you and the fierce, consuming love you have for him in return. 

If he thinks about it too hard, he can imagine how seamlessly you could fit into their lives, how faithfully and seriously you would step into your role in Jack’s life. If he thinks even harder, he can imagine sleepless nights beside you, caring for the children you share. 

So he doesn’t think too hard. 

“Multi-media mural - glue, paper mache, markers, crayons, you name it and it was there.” He laughs and he takes a grape from your bowl, kicking his feet up on the desk - mirroring you. “I have no idea how he managed it. I was in the house the whole time.”

“Oh my God, he’s a terror!” Before Aaron can agree, your phone starts ringing. You pick it up, smiling as you see the caller ID. “Hey Dean!” You stand and give Aaron a ‘sorry, just a second’ finger and step out of the office, leaving the door open behind you. 

Aaron watches you go, taking another grape. He can’t hear what’s said on the other line, only your reply.

“Oh, not at all. I’m still in the office with Hotch getting some work done.”

Aaron raises his eyebrows, catching your eye. “Work?” he mouths. You shrug playfully, pulling a face, a light, lovely smile just for him. He smiles when you turn your back.

You’re doing anything but work right now. 

Work was over…

He checks his watch. 

…Nearly three hours ago. 

Is it that late already?

“So what’s up?”

There’s a pause while your friend speaks. When you reply, you sound defeated. Aaron’s brow crumples and his feet come off the desk. He sits forward, not really meaning to eavesdrop, but he is anyway.

I hope everything’s okay…

“It’s okay. I get work stuff, trust me.” 

He watches as you tip your head up to stare at the ceiling. He can hear the tears in your voice. “Yeah, I’ll figure it out. None of them knew to ask off work, so if we have a case I’ll be on my own regardless.” 

Oh no.

“It’s okay,” He hears you say. He knows it isn’t, but you’re a good friend. The last thing you’d want is for someone to feel bad on your behalf. 

Too damn bad and too damn late. 

Aaron starts to think. Time off work could be for anything - it sounds like an event? He got (and approved) your leave request ages ago. Maybe a vacation? 

Maybe I could… 

No. Don’t go there. 

There’s something in his head screaming danger! danger! danger! at the possibility that you and he could be somewhere alone for an extended period of time. It’s not that he doesn’t trust himself (really), but he’s not sure he’s that good of an actor. 

“Okay.” You heave an uneven sigh. “I’ll talk to you then. Really - don’t worry about it, it’s fine.” You hang up quickly and rest your forearms on the railing. Aaron watches your head hang, watches you swipe at your face and take a deep breath. 

He watches as you fruitlessly try to maintain the frivolity and decadence of the moment before, sitting in your same chair with your feet up and a cluster of grapes in your hand. 

It doesn’t work. Aaron sees right through you. “Everything okay?”

“Yeah,” but your voice breaks. You clear your throat and blink a few more times. 

He squints at you. “What’s wrong?” 

“Oh, you know.” You sniff, and gesture vaguely as you continue. “My best friend from college was supposed to be my date to a friend’s wedding next week, and the friend getting married also happens to be someone I dated in college so I was really hoping Dean could come with me, and now…” You trail off. He can see there’s more to say, but you’re holding back. 

It’s more than you’ve ever shared about your time in college, certainly more information than he’s ever had about your dating history. You’ve been through so much together, Aaron almost finds it odd that he’s never asked, but his curiosity is squashed by guilt. 

It’s been years…and he’s never asked. 

All those moments you’ve shared, the horrors and the joys, and he never thought to ask about something as simple as a college boyfriend? 

Maybe because it’s inappropriate, Hotchner. Ever think of that? 

He’s never asked Derek about his college flames, or Emily about her first kiss or anything of the sort. Why does it feel so odd with you? 

He knows. He just won’t admit it to himself. 

“Do you want someone to go with you?” He watches you chew on your lower lip. A long time ago, he decided there was nothing worse than seeing you upset. 

This is the least you can do, Hotchner. First personal weekend in nearly four years, you can at least do what you can to make it suck less. He reasons with himself, but he can’t help the sly thought that sneaks in on the tail end. Being a backup is better than being nothing at all. 

That’s enough. 

You scoff, still trying to shake it off. “Well, yeah. Obviously.”

He smiles a little. You completely missed his point.

The smart choice is to let it go—to offer some reassuring sentiment about how you’d be fine on your own, that you are more than capable of handling an awkward situation. And yet, he can’t ignore the weight behind your words, the way your shoulders have drawn just a little tighter, how your voice cracked when you first answered his question. His instinct to protect, to ease whatever discomfort you’re feeling, is strong—always has been. But it’s tangled up in something else, something quieter, far more dangerous. His fondness for you, his respect, his attraction — lines that had once been clear but have blurred over time into something he wasn’t sure he can still call professional. His ability to hold those boundaries is tenuous at best, these days, and this would only make it worse. But then you exhale, soft and resigned, the fight to downplay your disappointment slipping away. 

And, really, what was one more bad decision?

“If you wanted…” He hesitates, debating how to phrase it, but you beat him to it.

“Oh, God, Hotch.” You cover your face with your hands. “Please don’t feel like I’m trying to guilt you into anything. I’ll be fine.”

He huffs a quiet laugh. “You’re not guilting me into anything. I’m offering.”

Your hands fall away from your face, eyes searching his. He keeps his expression even, waiting.

“Really?”

“Really. I can get the weekend off—things are pretty slow around here. Where is it?”

You look a little stunned. “It’s, ah—it’s down at Berry Hill Resort, right by the North Carolina border.” You hesitate. “It’s about a three-and-a-half-hour drive.”

He nods, pulling out his phone to check the route. “If we leave early, we can switch in Richmond. I’ll start, if you’d like.”

Your smile is small but genuine. “Hotch, you’re the best.”

Warmth spreads through him at the ease of your acceptance—at the way you don’t second-guess his offer, don’t try to talk him out of it like he was making some grand sacrifice. You’re just… happy. Glad to have his company. And that shouldn’t mean as much as it does, but it settles somewhere deep in his chest, steady and certain.

He clears his throat, nodding as he glances back at his phone. “If we get on the road by seven, we’ll have plenty of time to stop if we need to.”

You hum, thoughtful. “You’re gonna regret offering when I make you stop for coffee every hour.”

He laughs a little, shaking his head. “I think I can manage.”

+++

He hits send on his brief email to you (no subject, just a come see me when you can - ah) and leans back for a moment, rubbing a hand over his jaw. It’s the middle of the day, but it already feels much later. 

Hotch’s desk phone rings, the director’s name flashing on the tiny screen. He sighs before answering.

“Hotchner.”

“Aaron,” the director greets, his tone brisk. “I wanted to go over the paperwork from your last case. I received your after action report and the folks down at records supplied the rest.”

Hotch straightens. “Of course. Was there an issue?”

“Not an issue, exactly,” the director hedges. “But there are a few inconsistencies between your initial report and the final case file. I need clarification before this goes any further.”

Hotch exhales slowly. “I assume this is about jurisdictional oversight.”

“In part. There’s also a discrepancy in the timeline of the suspect’s apprehension and when the local PD filed their report. It’ll need to be accounted for.”

He had anticipated as much. A minor issue, more bureaucratic than substantive, but one that requires correction nonetheless.

There is a knock at his door before you swing in, one hand gripping the doorframe. Your movement is easy, familiar—Hotch is thrilled that you never hesitate in his office, never second-guess your place here. It’s a good quality. Confidence without arrogance.

Stop it. 

Hotch lifts a hand, beckoning you inside. You step in and close the door behind you, waiting patiently near the couch on the far side of his office.

“...No, sir, that won’t be an issue. I’ll review the reports and send the necessary adjustments this afternoon.”

The director says something else he’s not really listening to with any depth, distracted by the way your eyes wander out the window, the sun catching your face in the light…

Stop it!

A pause. The director said something nice, something he needs to respond to as soon as he pulls his head out of his ass. “Understood. And I appreciate that. I’ll pass that along to the rest of the unit.”

“Thanks, Hotch. Have a good night and get home safe.”

“You too, sir.”

He sets the phone down, lacing his fingers together as he regards you. “Question.”

You drop into the chair across from him, resting your elbows on his desk. “Answer.”

Hotch levels you with a flat look, but his eyes betray his amusement. He can’t let your ability to make him laugh go to your head. “Funny.” You smirk, but he ignores it, pressing on. “I’m not sure if it matters to you, but I have an absurd number of ties. Color preference?”

A short huff of laughter leaves you. “You called me in here to ask whether or not I want to have a color scheme?”

“Yes,” he says, as if it were the most logical thing in the world. “A united front, or at least a coordinated one, seems like the best strategy, right?”

The reasoning is sound—practical. Coordination suggested cohesion, something seamless and intentional. It’s a subtle but effective advantage. He had seen juries make unconscious associations based on far less.

That was the only reason he asked. Definitely no ulterior motives. 

+++

Aaron descends the stairs from his office, phone pressed to his ear, the steady hum of the bullpen grounding him in the familiar rhythm of the day. Outside, the snow is falling in thick, lazy flakes, dusting the base in a quiet hush. Jack had launched into a continuation of the story he’d started earlier in the call—something about a rabbit nearly the size of his backpack darting across the backyard. He had, apparently, spent the better part of the afternoon watching from the window, hoping to see it again.

“You’ll have to tell me if you see it tomorrow,” Hotch says, a small smile tugging at the corner of his mouth. “Maybe it’ll come back looking for more crumbs.”

Jack hums thoughtfully. “Maybe I should put out some carrots.”

Hotch chuckles, “That might work. Just don’t be too disappointed if it doesn’t come back. Wild animals don’t always stay in one place for long.”

“Yeah,” Jack sighs, clearly unconvinced. “But it was really cool.”

“I bet it was,”

Jack hums his agreement, then shifts gears, asking to speak to you. Hotch is already on his way toward your desk.

You’re in the middle of a consult with Ashley, walking her through your approach with the same steady patience Emily once used with you. Hotch’s hand comes to rest on your shoulder, and you glance up at him.

“Yeah?”

He pulls the phone from his ear just long enough to say, “Jack wants to talk to you.”

Your expression softens, a small smile playing at your lips as you shake your head. With an apologetic glance toward Ashley, you take the phone from his hand.

“Hey, kiddo,” you greet easily. “How’s Grandpa’s house?”

Hotch can’t hear Jack’s response, but he doesn’t need to. The way your face lights up told him everything he needs to know. He catches a few words here and there—aunt, snow—but mostly, he hears the warmth in your voice, the way you so easily match Jack’s enthusiasm.

“Aw, bubba, I miss you, too.” You assure him. “You’ll be home really soon, and when you get back we’ll go out to ice cream and you can tell me all about your visit.”

Another pause, then your voice, quieter, almost absentminded, as if the words had slipped out on their own. “I love you too.”

You hand the phone back without looking at Hotch, refocusing on Ashley as if nothing had happened. “So, like I said, Hotch prefers to—”

Hotch takes the phone, walking back toward the stairs.

Jack’s voice calls out as soon as Aaron greets him again. “Bye, Dad!”

Hotch feels a quiet pang of affection as he lifts the phone back to his ear. “Bye, Jack. Let me talk to Aunt Jess.”

There’s a shuffle on the other end, and then Jess’s voice comes through, bright and teasing. “Well, he’s having the time of his life, if that wasn’t obvious.”

Hotch huffs a quiet laugh. “That’s good to hear.”

“He’s been an angel,” Jess continues. “Which, honestly, is shocking, considering my family has zero faith in your parenting skills.”

Hotch lets out a real laugh at that, not bothering to argue. “I think that has more to do with you and—” He catches himself, shaking his head. “With the people he has around him.”

Jess hums, but doesn't press. 

+++

The crystal decanter clinks softly as Dave pours a generous measure of scotch into Aaron’s glass. He slides it across the polished wood of his desk, then leans back in his chair, swirling his own drink with the practiced ease of a man who has lived (at least part of) his life in leisure.

“So,” Dave begins, his voice laced with amusement. “You gonna pretend we’re just drinking in companionable silence, or are you finally going to tell me what’s going on?”

Aaron inhales slowly, lifting the glass to his lips. He knows Dave isn’t asking about the Orioles game yesterday. “Nothing is going on.”

Dave scoffs. “Oh, please. I’ve known you for too long to believe that. Tell me.”

Aaron shakes his head, gaze fixed on the amber liquid in his glass. “There’s nothing to tell.”

Dave leans forward, resting his elbows on the desk. “Uh-huh. And that’s why you look at her like she hung the moon?”

Aaron’s jaw tightens. He doesn’t need to ask who Dave’s talking about.  “She’s a valued member of my team. Just like you, or Morgan, or Prentiss, or Reid.”

“She’s also someone you’re clearly crazy about.” Dave takes a sip of his drink, watching Aaron with knowing eyes. “I mean, come on, Hotch. You really think I haven’t noticed?”

Aaron stays silent.

Dave smirks, using his hands now for emphasis. It’s absurd. “Let me paint you a picture. She walks into a room, and suddenly, you’re not the unshakable, unflappable Aaron Hotchner anymore. You’re—what’s the word? Present. Engaged. Maybe even happy, if I squint.”

Aaron sighs, rubbing a hand over his face. “Dave.”

“I’m just saying,” Dave continues, undeterred. “If there’s nothing there, then I’m a damn fool. And we both know that’s not the case.”

Aaron hesitates, then, almost reluctantly, admits, “Maybe there’s something.”

Dave grins like he’s just won a bet. Maybe he has. “Knew it.”

Aaron shakes his head again, but the small smile tugging at his lips betrays him.

“So what’s the problem?” Dave presses.

Aaron takes another measured sip before answering. “Jack, for one. It’s too soon after Haley. I have to be careful about—”

“Careful about what?” Dave interrupts. “Being happy? It’s been two years, Aaron.”

Aaron shoots him a look. “About how this affects him.”

Dave softens slightly, nodding. “Fair. But have you considered that maybe she’s already a part of his life? That maybe Jack — God forbid — actually likes having her around?”

Aaron doesn’t respond.

Dave tilts his head. “And let me guess — your other concern is her?”

Aaron lets out a slow breath. “There’s fourteen years between us, Dave.”

“Oh, give me a break. You were born in November—that’s practically thirteen years.” Dave waves a dismissive hand. “You’re acting like you’re twice her age.”

“She has a career to think about,” Aaron continues, ignoring him. “A reputation. If there were even a whisper of inappropriate behavior… or a conflict of interest, the whole team would get torn apart. Just imagine what Strauss—”

Dave groans. “Aaron, you are the most upstanding man I’ve ever met. If anyone tried to imply something inappropriate, they’d be laughed out of the room.”

Aaron still doesn’t look convinced.

“And as for the age thing,” Dave goes on, “she’s a grown woman. A brilliant, capable woman who—let’s be honest—doesn’t take crap from anyone, including you.”

That earns him a faint smirk from Aaron.

“She’s not some kid with a crush,” Dave says. “She knows exactly who you are, baggage and all. And let me tell you something—you might be able to fool yourself into thinking this is just one-sided, but I’ve seen the way she looks at you.”

Aaron stills, his lowball glass touching his lips. He recovers, taking a sip in what he hopes is a nonchalant fashion.

Dave raises an eyebrow. “Yeah. Thought that might get your attention.”

Aaron shakes his head, exhaling sharply. “Even if you’re right, it doesn’t mean it’s a good idea.”

Dave studies him for a long moment, then leans back with a sigh. “Hotch, let me ask you something. When’s the last time you let yourself want something just because it made you happy?”

Aaron doesn’t answer.

Dave nods knowingly. “Yeah. That’s what I thought.” He takes another sip of his drink, then points at Aaron. “At some point, you have to stop talking yourself out of the good things in your life. Otherwise, you’re gonna wake up one day and realize you let something incredible slip away.”

Aaron looks down at his glass, turning it slowly in his hands.

Dave smirks. “Just think about it, is all I’m saying.”

Aaron sighs, shaking his head. “You’re relentless.”

“That’s why you love me,” Dave says, raising his glass.

Aaron huffs a quiet laugh and clinks his glass against Dave’s, but he says nothing.

Dave takes a slow sip of his scotch, eyeing Aaron over the rim of his glass. Then, as casually as if he were asking about the weather, he says, “So… Any plans to spend time together outside of work?”

Aaron sighs, already anticipating where this is going. “She asked me to go to a wedding with her next weekend.”

Dave’s eyebrows shoot up. “Oh?”

“As a favor,” Aaron clarifies, setting his glass down with a firm clink. “Nothing more.”

Dave makes an exaggerated show of nodding. “Ah. A favor. Because obviously, of all the people she could have asked, she just happened to land on you.”

Aaron gives him a look. “It’s a professional courtesy. And I was right there, so it was probably just convenient.” He leaves out the part where you didn’t ask outright, knowing his offer is damning evidence that would only prove Dave’s point.

Dave outright laughs at that. “Oh, that’s rich. Hotch, if this were any other woman in your life, you would’ve given her some excuse about being too busy with Jack or the job. But you didn’t.” He points a finger at Aaron around his scotch. “That means something.”

Aaron shakes his head. “It doesn’t.”

“Sure it doesn’t,” Dave says, smirking. “But since you’re doing this grand, selfless favor, tell me—what’s your game plan?”

“My what?”

Dave leans forward. “Your approach. This is the perfect opportunity to figure out where she stands, and you’re not about to waste it, are you?”

Aaron sighs. “Dave—”

“Nothing untoward, of course, nothing unprofessional,” Dave interrupts. “Just a little fact-finding mission. See how she responds to being close to you—seizing the opportunity to dance, for example.”

Aaron exhales through his nose, unimpressed. “I’m not—”

“Why not?” Dave cuts in. “It’s a wedding. It’d be weirder if you didn’t.”

Aaron pinches the bridge of his nose. “This is ridiculous.”

“What’s ridiculous,” Dave counters, “is pretending there’s nothing there when it’s obvious to everyone else. Just consider it—see how she reacts to you in a setting that isn’t life-or-death. Give yourself permission to look for the signs.”

Aaron doesn’t respond right away, and Dave knows he’s planted the seed.

After a moment, Dave smirks. “At the very least, you get to have a nice weekend out with a beautiful woman. Not exactly the worst way to spend a few evenings.”

Aaron sighs, finishing off his scotch and repeating, “You’re relentless.”

Dave grins. “So you’ve said.”

+++

Aaron sits alone in his armchair, an ill-advised finger of bourbon in his glass. He’s sure he’s had more to drink this week than in the previous five years combined.

There’s something, even now, that leaves him feeling unsettled when he’s in his apartment alone. Maybe it’s PTSD, maybe something less pathological, but it’s nevertheless uncomfortable. 

Maybe you don’t like to hear yourself think. That’s an option, Hotchner. 

The voice that narrates his thoughts isn’t always his. When it’s critical or snide, it’s almost always his father. 

Maybe he should work on that. His mouth twists and he takes another sip, letting the liquor roll across his tongue before warming his chest. 

Drinking bourbon is an art form at the most, a learned skill at the least. He’s almost certain it was a required item for law school, but he couldn’t quote the statute. 

He’s stalling, avoiding both his (far too reflective) thoughts and the phone call he needs to make. It’s just you. Why is he so nervy all of a sudden?

All of a sudden. Right. Like I haven’t been that way this whole time. 

There is some irony in creating artificial distance between him and the one person who can reliably calm him down. What, then, happens if you’re the thing freaking him out?

No. Aaron Hotchner does not freak out. Become subject to the whimsy of his neuroses, sure. Fine. Let’s call it that. 

Neurotic. Sure. 

He exhales, rolling the tension from his shoulders. The house is quiet now, still—a stark contrast to the nerves humming under his skin.

It’s just a wedding. A favor for a friend.

And yet, as he reaches for his phone, he knows that’s not the only reason he’s calling.

The line barely rings twice before you answer. “Yeah?”

The tightness in his chest eases immediately and he feels even sillier for putting it off. “Hey, it’s Aaron.”

“Ah, my saving grace,” you say, a smile in your voice. “Calling to cancel on me, after all?”

His lips twitch. “Not even close. Is 6 a.m. still good to come get you?”

“It’s so early.” The dramatic whine earns an actual chuckle from him, surprising even himself. “But yes, that’s fine. That gives us enough time even if we hit some traffic out of the District and into Richmond.”

“My thoughts exactly.”

A pause, then: “You’re still okay with this, right? I know I couldn’t grab that extra hotel room for you, and I don’t want you to feel pressured or—”

He doesn’t let you finish. “Enough,” he says firmly, calling you by name. “I offered, remember? I’ll see you at six. Bring a pillow so you can sleep in the car.”

There’s a beat of silence, then a quiet, “Thanks, Aaron.”

He knows you’re not just thanking him for the reminder.

“I’ll see you in the morning,” you add, after a beat of silence.

“Of course.” He hesitates, then adds, “Sleep well.”

The call ends, and he stares at his phone for a moment before shaking his head and setting it down.

He doesn’t sleep much that night, either.

+++

At 5:55 a.m., he pulls up to your driveway expecting to have to knock, maybe even call. Instead, you’re already outside, standing on your porch with a pillow under one arm and a travel mug in hand.

He blinks.

You look only mildly worse for wear, but you’re ready. And you have coffee.

His mouth twitches. “You’re awake.”

“Barely.” You step forward, holding out the travel mug. “Thought you might want this.”

He takes it—along with your suitcase, because he won’t let you carry it. “Thank you. Jump in.”

You don’t argue, sliding into the passenger seat and immediately wedging your pillow between your head and the window.

Aaron tosses your bag into the trunk before getting behind the wheel. He glances over as he starts the engine, and his chest does something strange at the sight of you, curled into yourself in an oversized sweatshirt, already half-asleep.

He shakes his head, exhaling as he backs out of the driveway.

Just a wedding. Just a favor.

Aaron has always been good at compartmentalizing. It’s a necessity in this line of work, the only way to keep from drowning in the weight of it all. But this morning, he finds it harder than usual to box up his thoughts and shove them aside.

He blames Dave.

"Any plans to spend time together outside of work?""This is the perfect opportunity to figure out where she stands.""Seize the opportunity—see how she responds to being close to you."

Ridiculous. This—the drive, the wedding, the whole weekend—isn’t about that. It’s a favor, nothing more. You need a date, and he is more than capable of stepping in.

So why does it feel like something else entirely?

Aaron lets out a slow breath, glancing to his right. You’re curled against the window, your pillow wedged beneath your head, still fast asleep. Your sweatshirt is too big for you, the sleeves bunched up where your arms are tucked close to your chest. Your face is relaxed, peaceful in a way he rarely sees when you’re awake.

Something shifts in his chest.

Would he have offered this to anyone else?

Emily? Maybe. JJ? Possibly, depending on the circumstances. But would he have gone out of his way to clear a weekend, to ensure they didn’t have to face something alone?

No.

He knows the answer, even if he doesn’t want to.

He knows you’re different, and that frustrates him. Confuses him.

Would it really be so bad to… pay attention? To see if Dave is right?

His hands tighten around the steering wheel. It doesn’t matter. There are too many reasons this is a terrible idea.

Jack. The team. His own grief, still lurking beneath the surface, no matter how much time has passed.

A year and change, almost two, has passed since Haley’s death, but there are still mornings when he wakes up gasping for breath. Jack still has nightmares, too. He knows you would always pick up if he called—no matter the hour.

And he has called. More times than he can count.

You never hesitate. Sometimes you talk to him about anything and everything, filling the quiet until his mind settles. Other times, you simply read to him, your voice a low, steady thing in the dark.

You understand in a way no one else does. You have been there. You have seen him at his lowest, taken Jack from his arms when he couldn’t stop shaking. You know what haunts him.

And yet, you stay.

You murmur something in your sleep, shifting slightly. He could swear it was his name. Aaron glances over, watching as you burrow deeper into your pillow, a small smile tugging at your lips.

His fingers flex against the steering wheel. That warmth—the one he has been trying to ignore—stirs again.

He shakes his head, looking back at the road.

And then there’s you.

The age gap isn’t something he’s ever consciously thought about, but now that Dave has addressed it, he can’t help but consider it. Would it even matter to you? Would it matter to anyone else?

That’s not the only thing that concerns him. You have worked hard to build a career in the Bureau, and despite your talent and intelligence, it has taken you longer than it should have to be taken seriously. You once told him that being a young woman in this line of work often feels like a battle you never really win—only survive.

And what would people say if there was suddenly something between the two of you?

He exhales sharply through his nose. Not that it matters, because there isn’t.

Still, he keeps his hands firmly on the wheel, afraid that if he loosens his grip, that warmth might spread beyond his control.

The car slows as he takes an offramp, the change in speed pulling you from sleep. You lift your head, blinking sluggishly as you look around.

“Are we in Richmond already?”

Aaron glances at you, his lips quirking slightly at your sleep-heavy voice. “Not yet, but I figured you hadn’t eaten yet.”

You tip your head, still shaking off sleep. “I could eat.”

He gives you a knowing look. “You should eat.”

You huff a small laugh, rubbing at your eyes. “You take your supervisory duties very seriously.”

He only shrugs. “It’s my job.”

You smile at him, still soft around the edges from sleep, and something in his chest tightens.

Aaron looks back at the road.

Dave is wrong.

This isn’t a fact-finding mission.

Unfortunately, he already has enough facts to know he’s cooked.

+++

Aaron refuels the SUV and makes sure you’re settled with food before pulling back onto the highway. The morning settles into a comfortable rhythm—quiet, but not stiff. But then again, it’s always easy with you.

When you offer to take over driving, he shoots you a look before shaking his head. “If you drive, I don’t get to pick the music.”

You frown, still shaking off the last bit of sleep. “I thought shotgun picks the music.”

“That’s Morgan’s house rule, not mine.”

You hum in consideration, eyes narrowing slightly. “Okay, so what are your house rules?”

He lets a smirk tug at the corner of his mouth. “Driver picks the music and critically considers any suggestions made by shotgun.”

You groan. “So, what I’m hearing is that we’re listening to the White Album.”

Aaron flips through his playlists, selecting the album in question without a word. The familiar opening chords of Back in the U.S.S.R. fill the car, and he glances at you just in time to catch the way you bite back a smile.

You might tease, but he knows you like it. Or maybe you like that it’s his favorite. It’s a thought he doesn’t prefer to dwell on.

The road stretches out ahead, and for the first time in a while, he feels something close to ease. The usual tension in his shoulders dulls, the steady hum of tires on asphalt lulling him into a rare sense of contentment.

“Why is this one your favorite?” you ask suddenly.

He considers the question for a moment. No one has ever really asked. Maybe no one has thought to.

“I’m… not sure,” he admits. “I think it might have something to do with my mom. She bought the record a couple of weeks after I was born, and when I got my own record player in college, she made sure I had a copy.” He shrugs, fingers tapping lightly against the steering wheel. “It’s been around just as long as I have, and there’s something a little— I don’t know— comforting about that.”

You nod, thoughtful. “I get that.” A pause. Then, with a wry tilt to your voice, “Grease 2 came out the year I was born, so I can’t say I share a similar affinity for the pop culture phenomena of my birth year.”

Aaron lets out a low whistle. “That film really was awful.”

Your laughter is immediate, warm. He finds himself waiting for it before continuing, “I saw The Who on their final tour that year.”

You turn in your seat, brow furrowed. “Weren’t you, like, barely in high school?”

He nods. “We snuck out—some friends and me. It was really stupid, and we got in a lot of trouble, but it was fun.” A nostalgic smile plays on his lips. “I have no idea how we managed to get all the way into the District, let alone find tickets, but everything was a little less complicated back then. Buses ran on time, people read maps and paid in cash, and parents didn’t all have cell phones.” He smirks, glancing over at you. “But of course, that’s before your time.”

You scoff, rolling your eyes. “Oh, come on. I’m not that young. I remember the world before the mainstream internet and 9/11 and all that pre-Patriot Act shit. I remember when the Berlin Wall came down, at least.”

That gets a real laugh out of him. “Fair enough.”

The conversation slows after that, the easy quiet of the road settling in again.

Every so often, he reaches a hand toward the center console, and without prompting, you pass him a fry from the fast-food bag. It’s a small thing, but it makes something in his chest feel steady.

Aaron keeps his eyes on the road, but he knows you’re watching him. You always notice things—little things no one else pays attention to. Like the way his fingers move in time with the music, a habit so ingrained he barely thinks about it. Until now.

“Hotch, do you play guitar?” There’s something in your tone—amusement, curiosity, maybe a bit of disbelief.

He shrugs. “I played a little when I was younger. I guess you could say I know how, but I don’t claim to be decent at it.” A short exhale, a shake of his head. “Sean’s always been better at those kinds of pursuits.”

That isn’t untrue. Sean has a natural talent for things Aaron has always had to work at. Music, art, charming the hell out of people. But that isn’t why Aaron stopped playing.

After a moment, you ask, “Have you and Sean always butted heads?”

Aaron lets out a short laugh. “Yes.”

That’s the simplest way to put it. There’s silence for a moment. 

“My dad was right-handed, so I play right-handed,” he admits, voice quieter than before. It’s a non-sequitur, but he suddenly itches to share something with you, something he rarely talks about. “When he taught me, it never occurred to me to try the left-handed way.” A beat passes, then a wry smirk. “He wasn’t exactly the type to entertain the idea of doing something differently just because it might’ve been easier.”

That’s putting it mildly.

He sees you nod, filing the information away in that sharp mind of yours, but you don’t push. Instead, you say, “I’d like to see you play sometime.”

He huffs a quiet laugh, unsure if you mean it or if you’re just being kind. It’s been years since he picked up a guitar for anything more than a few absent-minded chords. Longer still since he played with any real enjoyment.

Then you say, almost absently, “You have a Gibson in your office at home.”

His grip tightens on the wheel for half a second before he forces himself to relax. “It was my dad’s Les Paul.”

He doesn’t know why he keeps it. The guitar is a relic of a man he has no desire to remember and is worth well over ten grand, yet there it sits, leaning against the bookshelf. The same man who once took a young Aaron by the hands and taught him his first chords is the same man who turned those hands to violence. And yet, Aaron has never been able to bring himself to get rid of it.

Maybe it’s proof that his father was once something more than a monster. Or maybe it’s just another burden he carries because that’s what he’s always done.

He doesn’t look at you, but he feels your attention shift—feels the moment when you connect the dots, understand the weight behind something as simple as a guitar in the corner of a room.

You don’t say anything.

And for that, he’s grateful.

Instead, you let the silence settle, let the music fill the space between you. And slowly, as if nothing has happened, his fingers resume their absent rhythm against the steering wheel, tapping along to Happiness is a Warm Gun.

+++

Aaron listens and participates quietly as the conversation drifts between you both. He’s used to the silence that comes with long drives, but he knows that when you have something on your mind, you don’t always jump straight to it. After a while, though, the air feels thick with unsaid things, and he finally asks, “So, who is this guy?”

He glances at you quickly, the question hanging in the air. He can already tell you’re hesitating, unsure whether to share more detail with him. But he isn’t expecting anything specific. His job has taught him that people open up when they’re ready, not when they’re pushed.

You sigh, tipping your head against the seat, clearly reluctant to dig into old memories. “Ugh. You really want to know?”

Aaron shrugs, keeping his eyes on the road. “Of course. Isn’t it protocol to brief the team before arrival?”

“Yes, sir,” you reply, sounding almost mockingly formal, and he can’t help but smile more at that.

You begin to tell him, your words flowing easily now. “His name is Austin. We met in some random general education class and became fast friends. Then we started dating. We were talking about marriage, kids... the whole thing. We were together for two years.”

The weight of it all hits him—he can tell it’s not easy for you to talk about, and yet you’re doing it without hesitation. He listens, letting you pace yourself, because he knows that’s what you need.

You pause for a moment, and Aaron glances at you, catching the small frown forming on your lips. “Then I went abroad for a semester… When I came back, I found out he’d been seeing someone else the whole time I was gone.”

The shift in your tone makes something twist in his chest. He knows that feeling of betrayal too well. But he doesn’t interrupt. You need to get it out.

“It’s kind of cliché, I know, but it broke my heart in half,” you finish, your voice a little shaky but hiding it behind humor. Aaron doesn’t push. He knows it’s still there, the hurt, even though it’s been years.

“You handled it better than I did,” he says, keeping his voice soft.

You continue, telling him about how you’ve tried to remain civil with Austin’s family, keeping in touch through other people over the years. Your words drift back to the wedding invitation. “I think his mom sent it. I mostly accepted because I wanted to see her and Austin’s little sister. I miss them the most.”

The warmth in your voice when you talk about them catches Aaron’s attention, and he finds himself focusing more on the things you miss, the parts that matter.

“What are they like?” he asks, genuinely curious.

You smile as you tell him. “Allison is funny—always putting more cream than coffee in her mug. And their mom—she is the best. She had great taste in books. She still sends me copies of her favorites, even now. It’s nice to get something from her every once in a while.”

Aaron can’t help but admire how you’ve managed to keep that connection alive, even after everything. He knows what it’s like to try and maintain ties, even when it’s difficult. He appreciates that you haven’t let it all go, even when it would’ve been easier to cut the ties for good.

“It was good of you to keep in touch,” he says quietly, a genuine respect in his tone. You’re stronger than you give yourself credit for, but he doesn’t need to tell you that. You already know.

You shrug. “I guess. I mean, I know it’s different, but you have Jess.”

The comparison catches him off guard. His relationship with Jess has never been about choice. He loves her because she’s family, because she took care of Jack when he couldn’t. But if Haley were still here, would he have made the effort?

The difference, he decides, is that you’re kinder, more patient than he is. Jess would hardly be in his life at all if Haley were still here. He had a hard enough time keeping up with Haley’s family when they were married. Keeping up with them after the divorce? There’s no way to know, but he can’t remember much affection between them even before Haley’s father decided to hold him personally responsible for her death.

He’s a little startled when your hand reaches out, resting lightly on his arm. Your hand is a little cold, but it’s nice, almost refreshing. Your thumb traces softly over the skin of his bare forearm. The simple gesture unravels something in him.

“It’s different now, and it would have been different then,” you say, gentle but certain. “There’s no right way to do anything.”

Aaron exhales in a huff, unsettled by how easily you know him. How you always seem to.

“I spent almost twenty-five years knowing Haley,” he says. “You know that.”

“I do,” you reply. “I also know you spent longer than twenty-five loving her. And probably won’t ever stop.”

Aaron feels the weight of your words settle into the quiet between you. There’s no hesitation in the way you say it, no pity—just an understanding and acceptance that feels too easy, too natural. It catches him off guard.

He knows you pay attention, but this is different. This isn’t just observation. This is something deeper, something that makes him feel more seen than he’s comfortable with.

He thinks about deflecting, about making some comment on profiling, turning it into a joke to lighten the moment. He considers arguing, telling you that love like that doesn’t last forever, that people move on, that they have to. But he doesn’t believe that—not really.

Instead, he wonders if he should correct you, if he should remind you that love isn’t what it once was, that time has reshaped it into something quieter, something lonelier. But that isn’t entirely true either.

So many things come to mind, but none of them feel right.

So he exhales, leans onto the center console, and settles on the only thing he can say.

“How do you know everything?”

You rest your head against the seat and adjust so your body is angled toward him. A small smile crosses your face as you take in his profile.

“I dunno. I guess I just pay attention.”

+++

Aaron watches as you exhale, shoulders sagging the moment you step into the room. His eyes flicker to the lone king-sized bed before returning to you, gauging your reaction. He registers the way your breath hitches just slightly, your posture going momentarily stiff. He understands immediately—it’s not what you expected.

It’s not what he expected, either, but it’s fine. There’s a couch, if it comes down to it. He adjusts quickly, out of habit, but beneath that practiced ease, something unspoken lingers—something that makes the space between expectation and reality feel impossibly small.

But years of practice, of adapting to the unexpected, have conditioned him to recover faster. He doesn’t hesitate. Instead, he moves toward the left side of the bed, the side closest to the door. That instinct runs deeper than thought. It’s the side that gives him the fastest access, the clearest vantage point. It’s the side that lets him place himself between any unknown variable and you.

As he sets down his bag, something flickers across your expression, something just shy of startled realization. You follow his lead, wordlessly taking the opposite side, unzipping your suitcase in tandem with him. It doesn’t escape him how easily the two of you move in sync.

He files the thought away before it can settle.

Your small, satisfied smile doesn’t go unnoticed. Neither does the way it vanishes just as quickly, as though you’ve chastised yourself for it. Aaron doesn’t linger on it, though. Instead, he unzips his garment bag and retrieves the suit he had set aside for the occasion.

The moment you look over, he senses the shift in your focus.

“Mind if I take up some real estate?” you ask, holding up a handful of hangers.

Aaron shakes his head, wordlessly making space for you. He notices the way you glance over his suit again as you hang your things. It’s a suit like any other for him, part of the uniform of his life, but this one is particularly well-tailored, undeniably expensive. Maybe you hadn’t expected that. 

When you both finish, he watches as you sit on the bed, sinking down with the weight of exhaustion. 

“What time is our first obligation?” he asks, more to get a read on your energy than anything else.

You huff a small laugh. “5pm Cocktails at the hotel bar for everyone who arrived today. Rehearsal dinner after that is wedding-party-only, thank God.” You glance at the clock, confirming, “We basically have the day to ourselves until then.”

Aaron nods, considering the hours ahead, then meets your gaze. “How do you feel about a nap?”

Something flickers across your expression too fast for him to catch. But whatever it is, it makes his lips curve slightly, his body instinctively seeking relief at the idea of rest. He’s running on fumes. He knows it. 

And yet, there’s something in the way you immediately agree, something in the easy way you say, “I feel great about a nap,” that makes something in his chest loosen.

He doesn’t let himself analyze it.

Instead, he reaches for a pair of flannel pajama pants from his bag, retreating into the bathroom. He changes quickly, splashing cold water onto his face, gripping the edge of the sink as he studies his reflection. 

This is fine. You’re just tired.

He takes a steadying breath before stepping back out.

The room is dim now, the blinds drawn to a gentle shade, leaving a soft hush in the air. You’ve already curled up under the covers, body relaxed, breath slow. He stops just short of his side of the bed, gaze drawn to you despite himself.

Your brow, usually furrowed with thought, is smooth in sleep. Your hands rest loosely in front of your face, fingers curled slightly. He watches the way your breath moves evenly past the curve of your lips, steady and undisturbed.

Something in his chest tightens.

He knows he should slip under the covers properly, let himself rest. But the thought of shifting the bed, of disturbing whatever delicate balance exists in this moment, makes him hesitate. Instead, he carefully places his jeans back in his duffle bag and stretches out on top of the covers beside you.

His body is heavy, exhaustion pressing into him, but his mind refuses to still.

He lets his eyes close, but sleep does not come immediately. Instead, his thoughts remain preoccupied—not by the case files in his briefcase, not by the endless to-do lists or the weight of responsibility.

But by the quiet phenomenon beside him, the simple, inexplicable comfort of your presence.

This should not feel as natural as it does.

Eventually, exhaustion wins. But even in sleep, he drifts toward you, drawn by something he isn’t ready to name.

+++

Aaron stirs, the warmth of your hands grounding him before he even fully wakes. His fingers are curled around yours, your hands clasped together between them, the smallest space between your foreheads. Not touching, but close. Too close.

There is no memory of how this happened. No recollection of seeking your hand, of the moment skin met skin. Either he has reached for you, or you have reached for him. He doesn’t know which possibility unsettles (or excites?) him more. A small shudder goes through him.

Of course, this isn’t the first contact you’ve ever made, but it feels different. Hair ruffles and shoulder squeezes and hugs for comfort are one thing, but this is entirely another.

His first instinct is to move, to create distance, to restore the boundaries that have served him so well. But he doesn’t. Instead, he listens—to the even cadence of your breath, to the way his own heart hammers in his chest, an erratic counterpoint to the quiet, and the things that heart says. He tells himself you are still asleep, that you don’t know what is happening, that you won’t wake up and see him like this, so weak and subject to the strength of his feelings and impulses.

And then he watches as your hand shifts slightly, as if in response to his own. You are awake.

A slow exhale escapes him, measured, careful. He releases one of your hands, feeling it drop onto the coverlet, fingers relaxed. He should roll away. He should sit up. But his body betrays him before his mind can stop it.

His fingertips skim the arch of your brow, tracing downward, barely brushing your skin. He follows the slope of your nose, the curve of your lips. He tells himself he is committing your face to memory, as if it is something fleeting, something he will lose the moment he lets go.

His hand moves lower, tracing the line of your jaw, lingering for half a second before he pulls away. His fingers wrap around yours again, grounding himself in the simplest touch. And before he can think better of it, he brings your hand to his lips, pressing the faintest kiss to your knuckles before tucking it back against his chest.

His eyes close, but sleep does not come easily. He is too aware.

Of you.

Of the way his body angles toward yours.

Of the way his heart beats too fast in his own ears. It takes time, but eventually, his breath evens out.

But you don’t sleep.

Your eyes open, and you look at him, really look at him. He can feel it. The quiet study of your gaze, the slow path of your fingers as you trace the angles of his face.

He fights the instinct to react. He knows what this is—knows because he did the same to you only moments ago. He remains still, perfectly still, even as a shock of adrenaline spikes through him.

You know.

You know how he feels about you.

And worse—you know how you feel about him.

His chest tightens, his grip on your hand nearly faltering before he forces himself to stay still. The truth is too much, too soon. He isn’t ready. You aren’t ready.

This is temporary, he tells himself. It has to be. There is no space for this, no space for you in the life he has only just started to rebuild. His time belongs to his son. His efforts belong to his healing.

But even as he tries to convince himself, something inside him wavers.

The new normal is the hardest thing to find, his therapist once told him.

He’s been so sure he could find it on his own. He isn’t sure anymore, especially as your finger rests on the hollow under his nose, just above his mouth. He can hear your breath catch.

It takes everything in him to stay still as your fingers card through his hair at his temples. His breath remains steady as he resists the urge to lean into your touch like a cat, deeply comforted by your gentle touch.

You pull away first, slipping your hand free from his and rolling onto your back. He tells himself the loss of contact is a relief. He tells himself he doesn’t miss it.

You check your phone, the early afternoon light filtering through the drawn blinds. He forces himself to move, inhaling deeply before stretching, shifting onto his back as if he is only just waking up. He laces his hands behind his head—it’s a play at casual, but he mostly just needs to occupy them.

When you turn to look at him, your expression is composed. Normal. Too normal.

“Good afternoon,” you say, and he almost smirks at how carefully neutral you sound.

He lets a small smile play at his lips, refusing to betray what he knows. “Good afternoon.”

You shift, pushing forward before anything can slip between the cracks. “So, tonight.” Your voice is casual, almost too casual. “Do you just want to be ‘work friends,’ or do we want to lean into the whole ‘let’s ruin Austin’s life’ thing?”

Aaron laughs, the sound breaking the tension like the first crack in ice. “I’m comfortable leaning in if you are.”

+++

The cocktail hour isn’t as horrible as Aaron anticipates. He stays close to you, your right hand resting lightly in the crook of his arm, a small tether between you. You hold a glass of wine but he hasn’t seen you drink much, if at all, your fingers idly twisting the stem as you navigate the room.

When your name is called from across the space, he tips his head down to listen as you whisper a quick debrief—names, relationships, a crash course in shared history. It’s impressive, really, the way you move through social circles with ease, offering him just enough to fall seamlessly into step beside you. The person he knows at work—put together, capable, confident—is here, but this version of you is just a little different. A little more put-upon, a little more deliberately engaged.

You’re performing. Just a little.

Which version of you is closer to the truth?

If he were profiling you in this moment, he’d see someone who knows how to navigate a crowd, someone who controls the conversation with quiet grace. But he also knows you’re nervous. He admires the effort you’re making to connect, to meet these people where they are after years apart.

As expected, he plays his role well. Warm, charming, a careful observer, taking his cues from you. He listens as you catch up with old classmates, some you remember fondly, others whose faces don’t stir a single memory. He’s proud when he can recognize the momentary blank look on your face when you don’t remember someone, but you always cover neatly. He nods at the right times, adding the occasional comment where it makes sense, content to exist in your orbit.

“How did you two meet?” The question comes from a woman whose name he catches (Leslie)  but you did not. He resists the urge to smirk at your near-imperceptible pause before you answer.

“We’re in the same department at work.”

The man beside her—Carson, apparently, based on the murmured correction from someone else—tilts his head. “Where is that, again? I can’t remember where you landed after your internship.”

“DoJ, in Quantico,” Aaron supplies helpfully.

“FBI,” Leslie interjects before Carson can fumble through another half-formed thought. “Keep up.”

“No shit!”

A small group gathers now, drawn into the conversation, and instinctively, you shift closer to Aaron. Without thinking, his arm slides around your waist, his stance adjusting to keep you securely within his personal space.

Protective. Steady. Natural.

It makes sense. You have moved closer, and he has responded accordingly. That’s all.

“Shit,” you say, bumping him playfully with your shoulder. “We don’t have our creds on us tonight, so if you get arrested, you’ll have to bail yourselves out.”

“We also don’t have jurisdiction even if we did,” Aaron adds smoothly, his voice low and even, laced with quiet amusement. “So keep it high and tight, and we’ll all do just fine.”

He feels the tension in your body shift—not quite a flinch, but something subtle and telling. A second later, you take a longer sip of your wine than necessary, as if to mask a reaction.

Shouldn’t have said that.

Not with his hand where it is, his chest just barely against your back. Not with how easy it is to stay close to you, to let the boundaries blur just a little too much.

But, again, it’s for the show. A natural response. Just acting.

“There he is!”

The exclamation shatters the moment, and he feels you tense before your head whips around so fast you nearly lose your balance. His grip adjusts instinctively, a steady hand at your shoulder keeping you upright.

That, at least, isn’t acting. Just reflex.

“Thank you,” you murmur, just for him.

He hears you. Of course he does. And before he can think better of it, he presses a light kiss to your temple.

Too much.

“Always.”

Unnecessary.

It sells the image, sure, but it also crosses the line. He justifies it easily—you’re nervous, you need reassurance, and this is the most natural thing to do.

The instinct isn’t for the act, but the justification certainly is. How much more can he get away with, without taking advantage or being gratuitous? You don’t seem to mind, and that’s good enough for now. 

Austin approaches, looking more polished than Aaron expects, with a stunning fiancée at his side and an easy, practiced smile.

Aaron lets you go just as Austin pulls you in for a hug—longer, warmer than necessary. He uses the moment to assess, his gaze sharp as it flicks over the man’s expression. Austin’s focus lingers on you, but there’s something calculating, almost judgmental in his eyes when they finally land on Aaron.

He introduces his fiancée—Madeline—and you, in turn, introduce Aaron.

“Austin, this is my…” You hesitate.

Aaron’s fingers curl gently around your waist, a silent reassurance, a quiet prompt. He’s just as interested in what you’re going to say as Austin appears to be.

You let the implication settle before making a light recovery.

“Aaron.”

That works. 

The smirk threatens at the edge of his lips, but he suppresses it as he extends his free hand. His grip is firm, unwavering, just a touch longer and more of a squeeze than is entirely necessary. He watches as Austin’s expression falters, his jaw tightening briefly before he lets go and flexes his fingers.

“Pleasure,” Aaron says. “Congratulations.”

Austin gives a slightly forced laugh, shaking out his hand. “Thanks. We’re really glad you both could make it. Mom will be really happy to see you.”

Aaron simply nods, his hand settling back at your waist, his touch light but deliberate.

Just to sell it, that’s all. 

+++

“That could have been so much worse.” You shuck Aaron’s blazer off your shoulders and hang it in the closet as he passes behind you. He’d passed it to you when you shivered slightly at the bar, and it wasn’t even a point of conversation. Just instinct. Draping it over you, placing a hand on your back. He’d barely thought about it, but now, watching you slip it off, he kind of wishes you’d kept it on a little longer.

It is both shocking and uncomfortable how much he likes to see you in his clothes, even if it is just stuffy outerwear.

“Thank you for enduring the mayhem down there.”

Aaron sits on the bed and slips off his boots. “I can’t remember the last time I went to a social event that didn’t directly affect my career trajectory.” He looks up at you, and the way you smile at him—soft, easy—makes him feel a little looser than he should. His buzz from two drinks hasn’t quite worn off yet, and he lets himself enjoy that.

You shake your head, walking past him to retrieve your pajamas and toothbrush. “Do you ever want to move up the chain at all?”

“Not really. Something big would have to change to get me to leave the BAU.” He looks at you over his shoulder. “We tried that, remember?”

He had tried, during one of the most trying periods of his life. With every incentive and push, he tried. And it hadn’t stuck. The BAU was grueling, consuming, and unrelenting, but it was also the work that made him feel most like himself. The thought of stepping away—leaving behind the team, the purpose, the sheer necessity of what they did—felt impossible. He knew he wasn’t built for desk work, wasn’t made for a role where he wasn’t in the thick of things, reading people, preventing the worst. Every time he’d thought about moving on, the idea had crumbled under the weight of what he’d be giving up. 

“I do, actually.” At his chuckle, you continue. “I can’t say that’s something I’d like to relive anytime soon.”

You move easily around each other, and he takes more notice of that than he probably should. There’s a comfort here. A rhythm. Changing into pajamas, brushing your teeth, the little rituals of getting ready for bed. He’s seen you like this before, sure—late nights at his house with Jack asleep in his room, movie credits rolling—but this is different. It’s just you and him. No cases, no responsibilities, no excuses.

He catches his own reflection in the mirror, rolling up the sleeves of his dress shirt, letting the fabric stretch over his shoulders as he pushes his hair back. He shouldn’t be encouraging anything, but if you’re looking, he won’t stop you.

Lost in thought, he stares into space for a moment before coming back to himself, preparing everything he needs for bed. 

Eventually, you throw back the covers and crawl in without thinking about it too much, while Aaron lingers in the bathroom doorway, still in his slacks, his shirt untucked, barefoot. 

“I really can take the couch.”

You look at him and pointedly turn off the lamp resting on your side table. “We’re adults. I don’t mind it if you don’t. And for that matter, if either one of us is sleeping on the couch it’s me.”

“Oh?” He asks, amused. “Why’s that?”

As you answer, he reaches for the fresh t-shirt he set aside earlier, slipping into the bathroom and pulling the door while he changes. The motion keeps him busy, gives him something to focus on besides the knowledge that he will be sharing a bed with you–again–this time, separate from the team, independent of necessity and absent professional boundaries or inconveniences. You’re here, with him, settling into bed like it’s normal. 

He hoped, probably somewhat irrationally, that you would let him sleep on the couch. This is an unfair temptation of his ability to repress his feelings. He’s good at it, but he doesn’t know how much longer that skill will hold up to continued stress before something snaps.

“Because as you so astutely pointed out earlier, I am significantly younger than you, and I think my back will fare better than yours after a night of lumpy cushions.”

The bathroom light flips off, and he scoffs in the dark. “Never once did I say significantly younger.”

“Well, Aaron, ‘before your time’ is rife with implication.”

He chuckles as he moves toward the bed, sitting on the edge and putting his socks on. He’s stalling. The king-size bed feels small, almost claustrophobic. 

“You know what? Nevermind. I forgot who I was talking to, and I would hate for you to go full-tilt lawyer on me.” You curl up, bringing the covers to your chin. He laughs, and he knows, in that moment, that if he let himself, he could get used to this.

He flips the covers back and forces himself to lay on his back, staring at the ceiling. He’s rigid, his hands resting lightly on his chest. He makes an effort to unlock his knees, but it takes some work. 

Don’t get comfortable.

Why not? She’s right here.

Because she’s your friend. Because this is temporary.

You’re both quiet for a little while, listening to each other breathe in the dark. Then a sigh—yours. He catches it too late to figure out what it means. 

“Are you okay?” His voice is softer in the dark and he turns on his side, facing you. You nod. He can hear your head move against the pillow, but he’s not sure if you’re being honest. “I know this isn’t easy for you.”

You pause, then, carefully, “Yeah, I’m fine. I just—I really can’t tell you how grateful I am that you’re here with me this weekend.”

That shouldn’t hit him the way it does. He reaches out, tentative, and when your hand finds his, he lets himself hold on.

“Of course. I’m glad I can be here for you.” He means it. You trusting him like this, being this open, it’s something he won’t take for granted. “Thank you for letting me come.”

I’d like to let you come—

Jesus Christ.

What?

Read the room.

He swallows the thought and keeps his voice steady. “With that in mind,” he continues, “I’m really proud of you. And not in a ‘I’m your boss and you’re making significant progress’ way. As your friend, I’m really proud of you.”

Your friend.

That’s what he is.

That’s what he needs to be.

That’s what you expect.

He can hear the fondness in your voice when you reply, “Goodnight, Hotch.”

Hotch.

Not Aaron.

He takes a deep breath. He doesn’t correct you. “Goodnight.”

He belatedly realizes you’ve avoided accepting the compliment. 

+++

Aaron wakes slowly, the weight of his arm around your waist both grounding and comforting. For months now, he’s woken from these moments with a lingering sense of peace, only for reality to rush in and steal it away. He hasn’t dreamed of Haley in months. It’s you. It’s always you. And he’s long since stopped trying to deny what that means.

It’s always like this in the best dreams.

He exhales slowly, nuzzling in. His breathing matches yours, slow and steady, as the warmth of your body sinks deeper into his, and the scent of your skin fills his senses. There’s something about this moment, the way you fit against him, the way you’re tangled up with him, that feels like the best part of every dream he’s ever had.

His eyes flutter open, and for a moment, everything feels like it’s been pulled from the world he visits in his subconscious. But then something shifts—the warmth beneath his palm, the way your fingers brush against his in sleep. And the realization hits him like a punch to the ribs. The softness of your skin against his, the quiet rhythm of your breathing, the way your hair smells like something impossibly familiar—he’s not imagining it. He’s not dreaming.

For a brief, disorienting moment, he doesn’t recognize where he is, but it all comes back to him fast enough. You’re tangled together—his knee between your legs, his face buried into your shoulder. He feels you breathe, slow and even, your body molded against his like you belong there.

The feeling sends a wave of warmth through him, and the last vestiges of sleep fade. His first instinct is to pull away, afraid that you’ll wake and find him draped over you like some kind of ridiculous backpack. 

But as his mind clears further, reality sets in with an almost physical weight. He’s not sure how he’s gotten here. Last night feels like a blur of quiet conversation, laughter, and unspoken tension, but here you are, wrapped in his arms as if you’ve done it a thousand times before.

God, what am I doing? 

The thought is sharp, cutting through the haze in his mind. He tries to pull away, but he can’t. His body refuses to listen to the voice that tells him to stop—to retreat, to keep the distance between you that’s always been there.

This is wrong, he tells himself. But the longer he stays, the more that little voice feels like a lie. He’s wanted this—wanted you—long before he ever admitted it. You’ve been there in his dreams, in his thoughts, in places he never thought he’d let anyone reach. But now, with you here, so close, it feels too much like something he’s been afraid to face.

You’re here because you want to be, he tells himself, even though the thought makes his chest tighten. The last thing he wants is to ruin this by overthinking it. But how can he not? He’s tangled up with you, wrapped around you in a way that feels natural, but still entirely new. Your breath on his skin is soothing, but it’s also a reminder of how close you are. The thought shakes him, unnerving in its simplicity. 

You, with your vibrancy, your youth, your life ahead of you... how could you possibly want someone like him? He’s older, with baggage that comes with the territory - a dead ex-wife, a son, an irreconcilably difficult relationship with his work. He’s seen the toll of his career on his own soul, and he’s no fool—he knows he can’t give you the things someone your age deserves.

And yet... he can’t picture a life without you. Whenever he looks ahead, you’re there. You’re part of it.

You shift in your sleep, and the movement makes his body react in ways it shouldn’t, as if it’s betraying him on purpose. Morning wood was always inconvenient, but he can’t deny that his body has a good reason for reacting the way it is, this morning. He can’t rightly blame his body or his brain for this one, but he can mitigate the issue. He swallows hard, trying to keep his thoughts in check. This is foolish. He’s being foolish. But the pull of you, the way you trust him enough to let him in this close, it’s all too much.

Quit while you’re ahead, Hotchner. 

He tries to shift away, slowly, gently—careful not to wake you, though your soft protests make it clear you’re not fully asleep. The last thing he needs right now is a reminder of how real this moment is.

A shower. That’s what he needs. Something cold. He picks up his toiletries and makes his way to the bathroom, locking the door behind him for some semblance of space, of control. He starts the water and palms himself, trying to relieve the uncomfortable pressure insistent and painful between his legs. 

Hotch braces a hand against the cool tile, his other already wrapping around himself with a practiced ease that borders on shameful. The heat of the water is nothing compared to the warmth of your body still lingering in his mind, the phantom press of your back against his chest, the way your fingers had laced so easily with his in sleep. He bites back a groan, jaw tightening as his strokes fall into a familiar rhythm, one he knows too well. This isn’t new—he’s had years of practice burying his want for you in moments like this, years of pretending that letting it out like this will make it any easier to ignore in the daylight.

But this time, it’s different. This time, it’s not just a fantasy. This time, he has the memory of you in his arms, your scent in his nose, the knowledge that, even unconsciously, you reached for him just as much as he reached for you. His chin falls down to his chest, breath stuttering as he pictures what it would be like if you weren’t just beside him in sleep but in this, too—if it were your hand, your touch, your voice whispering his name in the quiet. He grits his teeth, trying to hold back the rush of it, but it’s no use.

The release comes fast, sharp and overwhelming, and for a moment, it’s everything. But then it’s gone, leaving him panting under the spray, the guilt creeping in at the edges like it always does. He lets the water scald his skin for a moment longer, trying to drown out the truth of it.

He’s fucked. He’s completely, hopelessly fucked.

He takes another breath and turns the spray to a shrinking cold. Serves him right. 

When he finally emerges, he’s grateful for the cold that follows, the chill of the bathroom driving out the last of the thoughts that have been clouding his mind.

He doesn’t expect you to be awake when he returns, but he hears your soft chatter and typing before he even opens the door. He’s aware of your presence, as always, and of the tension in your voice as you speak to someone on the phone. He leans toward the door, his fingertips pressing with the lightest of touches to hold his weight as he eavesdrops. 

He can’t even bring himself to feel a little bad. 

And then he hears your voice.

“…he’s just here because he likes to owe me favors.”

Hotch pauses, and huffs out a quiet laugh. He can’t even be annoyed because, honestly? That’s funny.

He can’t hear the response, but he does hear you when you say, “My God, Em. Would you quit?”

Ah. So it is Emily.

“I’m not going to do anything about it because there’s nothing to do anything about...Don’t give me that...You have absolutely no proof...I don’t care if you’re a profiler or not, there is no way you can say with any definitive certainty—”

Your voice drops, too low for him to catch the rest over the hum of the bathroom fan.

With a frustrated huff, he ties the towel around his waist and ventures out, entirely aware of his state of undress.

And if he enjoys the way your voice falters at the sight of him, well—he doesn’t owe Emily a damn thing.

The sight of you, trying to pretend you’re unaffected, makes something in him tighten.

You’re not as unaffected as you’d like to think. Neither of you are.

He catches the faintest hint of a smile as you try to recover, but it’s gone before it fully forms, replaced by the distraction of your laptop, your fingers flying over the keys.

“Yeah, for sure,” y0u reply, still determinedly typing with a little more force than necessary.

Hotch smirks to himself as he pulls on his shirt, taking his time with the buttons. He may not be able to hear Emily’s exact response, but your reaction tells him everything he needs to know. The sharp click of your typing, the force behind your words—he’s spent enough time reading you to know when you’re flustered. And if Emily is pressing you, it means she knows it too. She reacts to sexual tension like a shark with blood in the water. 

Emily must say something in reply, as you retort, “Emily, you know I’m not going to dignify that with a response.” 

He’s not blind. He knows he’s at least somewhat attractive for a man in his early forties—he keeps in shape (his mile time and bench max are better than they were in his 20’s, in fact), his suits are finely tailored, and he’s been told more than once that the whole “stern FBI unit chief” thing works for him. But knowing you think he’s attractive? That’s something else entirely.

And it’s more than enough of an ego boost to wash away any lingering guilt from his… activities in the shower. Because really, can he be blamed? When you look at him like that, wide-eyed and breathless, struggling to pull yourself back into focus?

No. No, he absolutely cannot.

He bites back a knowing smile as he reaches for his tie, glancing at you out of the corner of his eye. You’re still determinedly avoiding looking at him, fingers flying over your keyboard like it’ll somehow drown out the conversation entirely.

Poor thing.

He almost feels bad for you. Almost.

In the bathroom, he decides to forgo the tie until it’s time to leave for the ceremony, leaving the top two buttons of his white dress shirt undone. He notices that something on your computer must be riveting, because you don’t look up at all as he returns to the suite. 

+++

Austin's family had clearly spared no expense for the ceremony or the reception. The moment he and you had walked in together, arm-in-arm, he could feel the weight of the event pressing down on you. You’d chosen seats near the back, on the groom’s side.

He knows this is strange for you—this wedding, this man who was once supposed to be your future. But you aren’t sitting beside Austin now. You’re sitting beside him.

Aaron doesn’t miss the way your eyes flick over him when you think he’s not looking, the warmth in your gaze when he adjusts his tie—the tie that matches your outfit, as promised. He had seen the way you watched him put it on earlier, how you’d ducked your head with that little smile you always tried to hide. He pretends not to notice, pretends it doesn’t stir something in him, but it does.

The ceremony itself is a blur. He follows the motions—standing, sitting—but what he notices most is you. You rest your head on his shoulder, playing the role. But when you take a shaky breath, he knows it’s more than that.

You don’t love Austin anymore, not even close. But he recognizes that look in your eyes—the quiet ache of knowing time keeps moving, that you are married to nothing but work. He knows because he’s felt it himself.

“Are you okay?” he asks, voice pitched low enough that only you can hear.

You nod. “Yeah. Just thinking.”

“About?”

You shake your head, pressing your temple deeper into the fabric of his jacket. “Later.”

For a moment, just a moment, he lets his cheek rest against your hair. He isn’t worried, not exactly, but he’s never seen you like this before—existentially untethered. It unsettles him, not because he doesn’t understand it, but because he does. And there is nothing he can do to make it easier for you.

+++

At the open bar, you snag a glass of wine for yourself and two fingers of whiskey for him—good whiskey, because of course you would—when an older woman embraces you with unmistakable warmth.

Aaron watches as you break into a genuine smile. “Hey, Laurie,” you greet her, embracing her with an ease he doesn’t often see from you. He knows exactly who she is—Austin’s mother, from the ceremony. He doesn’t need to hear your words to know that she means something to you.

He doesn’t eavesdrop, exactly, but he can tell the woman is pressing you for information. When she gestures toward him, he schools his expression into something neutral, waiting for you to answer.

With a long-suffering sigh, you grab the drinks and make your way back to the table, the woman in tow. Aaron watches your approach, the amusement flickering behind your carefully composed expression.

“Aaron,” you say, placing the whiskey down in front of him, your hand resting briefly on his shoulder.

He turns, catching the way you glance at him before stepping aside. He stands, extending his hand. “SSA Aaron Hotchner. Thank you for having us. I’ve heard so much about you and your family.”

“Oh no, that can’t be good.” Laurie laughs lightly and takes his hand in both of our own. “Laurie Miller. As I’m sure you know, I have a great amount of love for this one here.” She releases Aaron’s hand and tucks you into her arms again, kissing your cheek. You laugh. Aaron smiles. 

“C’mon, Laurie. You don’t have to lie for my benefit.”

Aaron takes his seat as Laurie settles across from him, and you lean forward on your elbows, watching as he answers her questions. He doesn’t talk about their work often, not outside the team, but here, away from the weight of the job, he lets himself. He tells stories—ones that won’t bring the room down—and watches as Laurie hangs onto his words.

When he glances at you, he sees something shift in your expression. Something that almost makes him forget what he was saying.

“...Preventing loss of life is always rewarding, and our team is a family.”

Laurie nods, clearly enamored. “It’s so lovely you have so much fondness for each other. I imagine it makes everything much easier.”

He doesn’t hesitate. “It does.” He lets the words sit between you for a second longer than necessary before your phone buzzes, pulling you away.

You excuse yourself with a hand on each of their shoulders, your touch lingering on his just a second longer than necessary. He watches you step away, lifting your phone to your ear. “Dean, you bastard!”

Aaron huffs a quiet laugh, shaking his head as he turns his attention back to Laurie. He picks up where he left off, but his mind stays on you, lingering at the edges of his thoughts.

Her expression shifts, her gaze turning knowing as she studies him. “So,” she says, resting her chin on her hand. “What exactly are your intentions with her?”

Aaron exhales a quiet chuckle, shaking his head. “We’re just colleagues,” he answers honestly, though he knows that’s not the whole truth.

Laurie tsks, tilting her head as if she’s seeing straight through him. “I beg to differ. I’ve been watching you two. The way you look at each other.”

He doesn’t quite squirm, but he feels a warmth creep up his neck. “She’s important to me,” he admits carefully.

“Of course she is,” Laurie agrees, her smile soft but pointed. “I just think you should consider how important she is to you. And in what way.” She pauses. “Just don’t break her heart and you’ll do just fine.” She smiles a cheeky, knowing smile. There’s a little pain behind it. “Trust me, I know.”

Aaron doesn’t have a response to that, and Laurie simply pats his hand before shifting the conversation elsewhere. But the thought lingers, settling somewhere in his chest as he watches you, framed by the doors to the balcony. 

+++

When the dancing starts, Aaron’s anticipation reaches his nervous system in a way it hasn’t in a long time. He finds himself chuckling when Signed, Sealed, Delivered (I’m Yours) starts to play. He thinks of what Dave said earlier, about letting himself have a little fun, and for once, he’s inclined to listen. Maybe he will seize an opportunity tonight. 

Old dog, new tricks?

With a confidence and certainty that only feels partially for show, he stands and offers you his hand. There’s no hesitation when you take it, and only after does it seem to dawn on you what he’s doing.

“Hotch, you can’t be serious.” You stop in your tracks, and he tightens his grip just enough to keep you tethered to him. There’s amusement in his eyes as he looks back at you.

Of all the things to say to me, of all people…

“When have you ever known me to be otherwise?” He tugs you forward, and you fall into his arms with an exasperated huff. “Humor me. Just one, and I’ll leave you alone for the rest of the night.”

Your skeptical look is well-earned. “Why don’t I believe you?”

“Because I’m lying.”

You give in, and when you do, something shifts. He keeps you both to one side of the dance floor, mindful, careful. The push and pull of movement is familiar, natural, and his grip on your waist is steady, grounding without constraint. There's laughter—his, yours, mingling with the music—and the ease of it catches him off guard. He hadn’t realized how much he missed this, the quiet joy of sharing something simple, something good.

Your tension eases gradually. He notices the way your fingers stop gripping his shoulder so tightly, the way your steps become more fluid. He catches sight of Austin across the dance floor and, in an instant, recognizes the way your eyes dart away.

“Hey.” His voice is low, nearly teasing.

Your eyes snap back to his. “What?”

“Relax.”

“You’re one to talk,” you scoff.

With a smirk, he spins you out, then pulls you back in against his chest. “I’m plenty relaxed. You, however, are tense.”

Aaron's heart pounds in his chest, and he's sure you can feel it. Whether it's from exertion or something else, he's not sure. He’s pushing the line now, taking liberties. 

In for a penny…

You sigh, relenting. "It just feels weird."

“What does?” He turns you again, your hand landing lightly over his heart as he pulls you close once more. His hands are politely centered on your back. Now that is a liberty he’s not going to take.

“I just—” You hesitate, then push through. “I don’t love him in that way anymore, but it’s strange to think I ever did. That I thought he was it for me. And now he’s with someone he loves, and both of our lives just… kept going after we split, you know?”

He nods. “I do.”

And he does. The memories of Haley—of their love, their pain, their loss—never truly leave him. But right now, for the first time in what feels like forever, those thoughts aren’t heavy. They don’t weigh him down. Instead, there’s just this—just you, warm in his arms, laughing as he spins you under his arm. The sound of it tugs something loose in him, something he hadn’t even realized was so tightly wound.

When you return the favor, spinning him under your arm, he lets out a surprised laugh, bright and uninhibited. The song shifts into something slower, and he doesn’t let you go. Doesn’t even consider it.

Your head comes to rest against him as you sigh, exhausted and content.

“Thank you for being here with me.”

The words settle in, warm and unexpected, and something in him softens. When he speaks, it's quiet, but certain. “Of course.”

Nowhere better. 

+++

By the time you both retreat upstairs, Aaron feels something he hasn’t in years—genuine lightness, unburdened by the usual weight he carries. His suit jacket had long since been abandoned, leaving him in rolled sleeves, a loosened tie, and an altogether uncharacteristically unkempt appearance. He carries it slung over his shoulder, holding onto the collar with a single finger. He leans against the wall, his ankles crossed. He’s the picture of ease.

“You look positively rumpled, Agent Hotchner.”

The teasing lilt in your voice makes him laugh, a sound he’s only now realizing has come freely tonight. “It’s past my bedtime.”

“You don’t have a bedtime.”

And it’s true—he hardly sleeps on cases (or at home, for that matter), and you’ve seen him function on nothing more times than you can count. But here, in this moment, he feels the kind of exhaustion that doesn’t come from stress or overwork, but from something simpler, something warmer. Something that could actually inspire him to sleep soundly, for once. 

You turn away to sort through your belongings, and Aaron watches for just a second longer before disappearing into the bathroom to shower.

When he returns, his hair damp, you’re already asleep—curled up on top of the covers, out like a light. He exhales softly, flicking off the last of the lights before making his way to your side of the bed. Carefully, he peels back the covers, shifting your legs beneath them, then your torso. You stir, your fingers curling around his wrist before he can pull away.

His breath catches, his eyes closing for just a moment. Then, gently, he slips his hand from yours.

And when he finally slides beneath the covers, you instinctively curl into his side, your leg hooking over his. He doesn’t fight it. Doesn’t move away. He only lets out a quiet sigh and allows himself, for once, to enjoy the comfort of something good.

+++

Aaron watches you sleep, your face tucked against his chest, your breath warm and steady against his skin. He should wake you soon—checkout isn’t far off—but he doesn’t move. He doesn’t want to. His arm tightens slightly around you, as if that will keep this moment from slipping away.

Your body is curled into his, trusting and unguarded. He tells himself it’s just the circumstances, that you’d be this way with anyone who made you feel safe. But something deep in his chest twists at the thought, and he wonders if he’s being selfish, holding onto this feeling for just a little longer.

The morning light filters through the curtains, catching in your hair, casting soft shadows across your face. You shift slightly, murmuring something he can’t quite make out, and he freezes, barely daring to breathe. But you settle again, your fingers lightly curling into the fabric of his shirt. He lets out a slow breath, relief and something else washing over him in tandem.

He wishes he could have this every morning—waking up warm, wrapped in quiet moments before the world intrudes. But joy like this isn’t for men like him. He knows better than to reach for things that aren’t meant to last.

Still, he lingers, allowing himself just a few more minutes in this fragile peace before reality calls you both back. He tips his head back against the headboard, letting himself fall into the fantasy where this is his every morning, waking up with you in his arms. 

Get over it already. Jesus. 

He’s still looking at you, memorizing the peace on your face, when your eyes crack open. Your eyes flicker up, meeting his with a surprise that doesn’t seem all that unwelcome. 

“Good morning,” he says. 

Best to start simple. 

You tuck your face back into his chest. He takes the opportunity to pull you closer, hold you a little tighter. “I’m sorry - I’m clingy when I sleep.” 

His laugh sings over the crown of your head. “It’s alright. I don’t mind.” 

Too much? He freezes for a moment, but you haven’t pulled away. 

“What time is it?” You crane your neck and look at the clock on his bedside table, but he’s sure his arm is blocking the eyeline. He’s not inclined to move, so he just answers. 

“Just before nine. We have an hour before checkout. Want to get packed, grab some breakfast, and head out? I’ll drive.”

“You drove here.” You shove at him and sit up. He lets himself fall back as you leave the circle of his arms. He’s not imagining it–you’re much readier to make contact now than you were before. Sometime during the weekend, the contact became less taboo. 

The zings of electricity that jump through his skin when you touch him haven’t stopped though. He hopes it never does. 

He shrugs and tells the truth. “I like driving.” 

I am also a control freak. But you knew that. 

“I won’t argue with that.” 

You sigh, stretch and stand. You miss the way Hotch’s brow crumples as a sliver of your skin becomes visible as your arms stretch above your head. He very purposefully keeps his back to you as he gathers his things, tidying up and hiding the rather unfortunately timed hard-on. While you’re in the bathroom, he changes with practiced haste, using a trick he hasn’t needed since college - the old flip into the waistband move. Minimizes adjustments, maximizes suffering. Especially in jeans. Serves him right.

You switch places, letting him brush his teeth and shave. He takes your zipped suitcase in one hand, his roller bag in his other. 

“Meet you downstairs?” He asks. 

You nod, smiling. “Checkout should be taken care of, but I’ll check at the front.” 

“Bill me if it’s more than five dollars,” he says with a wink, already halfway out the door.  

He meets you outside, sunglasses on, the sun baking his dark hair. It is rather pleasant outside, even if it is the beginning of winter. “Ready?”

You snap back to attention and give him a wide smile. “Yes, sir!” 

He finds himself loving the side of you unlocked by this trip–the shameless silliness and easy laughter. He hopes it can stick around when they get home. He hopes a lot of this can stick around when they get home, but he knows the magic of being ‘out of context,’ as it were, for a weekend can’t last.

Breakfast is an eventful affair. As soon as you sit down, you get a call from Penelope. 

“Hey, Pen, what’s up?” You look across the table at Hotch with amusement in your eyes, and he smiles, still digging into his eggs benedict. He is starving, the ver corner of a hangover at the edge of his eyeline. He only had two or three drinks, but his metabolism isn’t what it used to be. 

“Oh, well we’re just at breakfast,” you say, “almost on our way back. My laptop is in the car, can I take a look at that for you when I get home?” 

He studies you behind his sunglasses. There’s something intangible that changes in your demeanor when you’re omitting something - he’s seen it in the interrogation room. He’s almost certain Penelope wants you to spill. 

There’s a small part of him that idly wonders how many details you shared in advance of this weekend. 

With a laugh at Penelope, you reply, “Of course. You know, it might be easier if you just stop by - I’ll text you when I get home and we can do dinner or something.” You push your food around your plate. 

Is that… disappointment? 

For what, though?

You put your phone away as Penelope appears to abruptly hang up and shake your head. “She’s very predictable.” 

He nods, looking at you from under his brows. “Indeed.” 

You both continue to dig into your food, not realizing how hungry you are from all your antics the night before. His phone rings next, and it’s Jack. 

“Hey bud!” 

“Hi dad!”

God, he loves that boy. He has no idea (okay maybe some idea) of how he turned out so great so far. 

“You having a good weekend?” He asks. 

“Yeah! I saw that rabbit again!” 

Aaron smiles. “I’m glad buddy.” 

“What’s all that noise?” 

Aaron looks up, finding a dog barking on the sidewalk, a leafblower going strong across the street, and the sounds of the hotel valet drivers tossing keys and getting people checked out. “We’re at a wedding this weekend, remember? We got to go to a big party last night, and we’re driving home today.”

“Did you have fun?” Jack asks in that polite way only children can. 

“Yeah,” he looks at you, “we did have a lot of fun.” You smile, crinkling your nose at him. He smiles back. “I’m so glad you had a good time with Aunt Jess and the Brooks cousins this weekend.”

“I did! We ice fished, too!”

“You got to go ice fishing? That’s so exciting! Did Grandpa take you?

“Yeah. He showed me how to put bait on and everything.”

“Awesome, bud.”

“I gotta go, Dad. We’re leaving to go…” Jack must have pulled the phone away from his mouth, because all Aaron hears is ambient noise of an entire house getting ready to leave. 

“Sounds good,” he says uselessly. “I’ll call you when I get home, okay?”

Jack returns to the receiver. “Love you Dad!”

“I love you too.”

When he puts his phone away, you ask, “How’s he doing?”

“It’ll be a fight to get him home, that’s for sure.” 

You take another bite of your food. “How are things with Haley’s family? Any better?”

Isn’t that the question of the hour. “Not at all. I’m not sure there’s much I can do, at this point. Jess does what she can, but her dad is...not a fan of mine.” 

Aaron vividly remembers the cold fury in Roy’s eyes at the funeral, the icy conversation they had after the service. Roy’s feelings about the whole affair–Haley’s murder, his role in it–is clear. Aaron’s responsibility for her death is one of the few things they agree on, these days. But even that isn’t enough for a functioning relationship. 

Like you can read his mind, you say, “I know you know this, but none of this is your fault.” He can tell just by looking at you that you mean it, which is very kind of you. 

Kinder than he deserves, surely. 

He doesn’t want to get into it with you again, so he just says, “Thank you.”

+++

Hotch lets you pick the music on the way home, and doesn’t say a word when you sing along (sometimes good, sometimes bad). He secretly enjoys your karaoke-esque abandon in the car. He catches himself smiling more often than not. 

At a certain point, you turn the music off and sit back in your seat. 

Uh oh. 

This feels like a preamble to something.

“Yes?” He asks. 

“I know I keep saying this, but thank you for coming with me this weekend.” Your body shifts toward him. He can see out of the corner of his eye that your attention is glued on him. If he didn’t like it so much, it would be unnerving. 

“You’re welcome.” He glances at you before looking back at the road. “Thank you for trusting me not to embarrass you in front of people you haven’t seen in almost ten years.” 

You smile a kind of lopsided sort of smile. “You could never embarrass me.”

He frowns playfully. “That’s not true.” He’s sure he has, in fact, on multiple occasions. 

“You are exceedingly upstanding, and you just got your hair cut, so the odds are in my favor.” 

“Hey!” He self-consciously runs a hand over the back of his head. He did get a haircut before this weekend, but he was sure you hadn’t noticed. You reach over to shove at his shoulder and he laughs, letting himself get jostled. 

“I’m kidding! I like it long, though.” You look over fondly at him. Something grows warm in his chest and his lips turn up at the corners, almost without his permission. “It was longer when I first met you, remember? You started keeping it shorter after the div - well, after.” 

He quirks his brow, the corners of his lips upturn just the smallest amount. “Nobody ever accused you of being unobservant.” 

And ain’t that just the coldest truth. 

You grin widely at him and turn the radio back on. 

+++

Aaron has never been more reluctant to pull into a driveway in his life. Yours, specifically. He slows more than he needs to, as if delaying the inevitable might somehow change the outcome. But real life is waiting for both of you, and pretending otherwise is just another cruelty he’s allowing himself.

He turns off the ignition, and for a long moment, neither of you move. He can feel the weight of everything left unsaid hanging between you. Maybe you don’t realize it, but he does. He knows the exact shape of it, the way it’s been growing, pressing in at the edges. And still, he sits in it, selfishly, because soon he won’t have the luxury.

You sigh, and it feels like a cue. He follows you out of the car, circling around back without thinking. He should just let you take your own damn suitcase, but he doesn’t. Carrying it is another excuse—one more fleeting moment before the goodbye he doesn’t want to say.

At your doorstep, you fumble with your keys, and he thinks, just for a second, that if you never got the door open, he wouldn’t have to go. He sets your suitcase down, but his hands don’t leave it right away. They ache with restraint. You get the door open and take a few steps inside. 

Then, before he can stop himself, he reaches for you. Covers your hands with his own. He shouldn’t, but he does. He shouldn’t lean in, but he does. The kiss he presses to your cheek is light, barely there, but it lingers between you all the same.

“Thank you for inviting me.” It’s not what he wants to say. Not even close. What he means? 

Thank you for letting me love you, like I would. Like I want to.

But it’ll have to do for now.

You nod, but your smile is tight, your lips pressed together. You feel it, too, don’t you? This thing neither of you are naming. He swallows and lets you create distance. He can scarcely allow himself to hope. It’s not fair to hope. 

He’s not sure if it’s more unfair to you or to him.

“I’ll see you tomorrow.” He steps back because he has to. Because if he doesn’t, he’s not sure what he might do.

Something regrettable, no doubt.

“Bye, Hotch.” Your voice is steady, but he knows better. “Thanks again.”

He turns before he can look too long at the way you watch him. He pulls on his sunglasses, a weak shield, and opens the door, looking at you over his shoulder. “Anytime,” he says, and it’s the biggest lie he’s told in years.

He is proud that he only looks back once, to see you waving with the tips of your fingers, peeking out behind the door, as he follows the stone path back to the driveway. The walk feels miles long, the distance between you stretching like a reflection in a funhouse mirror.

You disappear inside when he reaches the edge of the poured concrete. He waits until the door closes before he exhales, before he rubs a hand over his face and forces himself back into the driver’s seat. He doesn’t start the car right away. He sits there, gripping the wheel, knowing that for the first time in a long time, going home doesn’t feel like relief. It feels like loss.

Fuck.

+++

tags: starting fresh! hit up the spreadsheet if you want to come back to the taglist :)

[shanastoryteller]

SHANA HAVE YOU SEEN ARCANE? IF NOT GO DO THAT AND JOIN ME IN MY INSANITY WITH JAYVIK. Otherwise its dealers choice and some happy valentines chocolates for you 💕💋

Castiel has gone rogue, has torn down the wall keeping the cage at bay, and Dean is going to have to face him alone if Sam can’t figure out how to get out of his own head.

Absorbing the memories of what he’d done when he’d been soulless had hurt. To know that any version of him was capable of that kind of callousness, of the kind of ruthless efficiency he’d always turned up his nose at, was a blow.

But absorbing the memories of the cage may very well kill him. Everyone seems to expect it to, if it doesn’t drive him outright insane. It’s likely the most he can hope for is that it leaves him cationic, that he stays in this safe little place in his mind that Lucifer can’t touch and leave the rest of the world to rot. He already destroyed himself to save it once, why should he have to go through that again?

For the same reason he did it the first time.

The world still has Dean in it. He can’t leave his brother to suffer if there’s anything he can do about it.

When he finds across the version of himself that knows the cage, he has to clamp down on the urge to tremble. He’s standing there, half hidden in shadow, leaning against the wall like he can’t hold up his own weight.

He’s covered head to toe in blood.

“Hey,” he says then swallows. Soulless had been aggressive, had been angry, hadn’t hesitated to engage with him. Cage seems like he can barely keep breathing.

It’ll make him easy to kill, easy to reintegrate, but he doesn’t know what that will leave him as when he’s done.

Just killing the guy after everything he’s been though doesn’t seem right. He licks his lips. “Look, I don’t know how aware you are of everything that’s going on, but I – we – I mean.” He swallows. “Dean’s in trouble and I can’t help him without remembering. Everything. And I know I’m not strong enough to deal with everything you’ve delt with-”

“Why do you say that?”

Sam startled. Cage’s voice is raspy, but not weak. There’s no fear, no tears, just simple curiosity. “I – what?”

“Why do you say that?” Cage repeats.

“I,” he thinks back on Soulless’s memories, of how he’d been on board with getting his soul back up until he’d found out what it would do to him, of how they’d described the tattered remains of who he used to be. “They said it would destroy me. You don’t – you don’t look to be in great shape.”

Cage shrugs. “People have always underestimated us, Sam. You know that. They didn’t think we’d be able to take control of Lucifer and we did that.”

“What?” he laughs incredulously. “It was just a hunky dory time in there with Lucifer? You look like shit.”

“And you think Lucifer did this to us?” Cage smiles, Sam can see the white of his teeth against his blood covered face. It should be disturbing, a sign of a cracked mind, a cracked soul, but it just looks like a normal smile. “You know us. You know us better than I do at this point. When have we ever stopped fighting?”

“We fought the devil,” he says flatly. “In the cage.”

“Do you know what powers angel’s grace? Demon’s abilities?” he asks.

Sam shakes his head.

“Human souls,” he says. “It’s the greatest source of power on any of the three planes. And if you know Enochian, you can harness that same power. It took a while, but eventually we learned.” He tilts his head to the side. “I won’t lie, Sam. Lucifer put us through things that no person should experience, a type of hell that broke us more than once. But we were in that cage a long, long time. Souls heal. Grace disconnected from heaven just runs out. I’m thankful to be out, but given a few more centuries, well. Lucifer wouldn’t just be in the cage. He’d be gone.”

Sam doesn’t understand, doesn’t believe it. “So you used your own soul to fight the devil? With the angel’s language? That’s–”

“What did we have to lose?” Cage interrupts. “Michael and Lucifer distracted each other occasionally, and Michael keeps Adam unaware. All we had was fighting and surviving. If we could kill Lucifer for good, what did it matter what state it left our soul in?”

“Then why hide?” he challenges. “Death and Castiel put you away. Why hide even now? If it’s not that bad, why let yourself be walled away?”

“It is that bad,” Cage says softly. “You’re just that strong.”

Sam swallows.

He used to believe that about himself.

“I’ve spent centuries in the cage,” he says. “Some days I barely remember life on Earth. I’ve changed. I had no reason not to.” He looks away for the first time. “I did it for Dean. I never forgot that. And Dean got me out, he saved me, but,” he meets Sam’s eyes. “I remember what it was like to have Dean look at me like he didn’t recognize me. I didn’t want to go through that again. You, he knew. You, he recognized. I thought it was better. You didn’t need the person you became in the cage once we were out of it and I wanted,” he cuts himself off again.

It's okay.

Sam knows.

“You wanted to be someone Dean would be willing to sell his soul for,” Sam says.

He’d never wanted what Dean did, but he’s always felt crushed under the weight of being worthy of it, of the loss and fear when he felt he wasn’t. It’s such a fucked up metric to measure love against, if someone would be willing to go to hell for you, but Dean’s the one who set it. He’s just following suit.

He’d do anything for Dean.

“Dean needs our help,” Sam says. “Castiel-”

“I know,” Cage says. “Even a juiced up Cas isn’t Lucifer. We’ll be able to take care of him. You need to know what I know and there’s no way to teach you Enochian without everything you had to go through to learn it. I’m sorry.”

“We’ve got a year of fresh memories,” he says. “A year of our life on earth front and center. It’ll help. They won’t feel so far away from us after.”

Dean will still love them after.

“You hope,” Cage scoffs.

Sam smiles and lifts a shoulder in a half shrug. “Yeah. It’s all we’ve ever had, right?”

Cage smiles again, pushing off the wall to stumble forward. Sam catches him when his knees buckle, looking into his own face, his own eyes. They are different. But not unfamiliar.

Souls heal. Whatever Lucifer did to him, whatever he did to himself in there, it’s not irreversible. There’s a difference between scarred and bleeding.

“You’re going to be okay,” Cage says, offering him a knife that Sam hadn’t even noticed him carrying. “You can do this.”

Sam swallows, giving a nod before taking the hilt and plunging it into Cage’s chest. He holds him through it, hearing the wet gasp against his hear. “Yes,” he says softly. “We can.”

When he opens his eyes in the panic room, all versions of him settled into one, into just Sam, he doesn’t waste time mourning the people he used to be.

Dean needs him.

[fidgetyhands]

I think this theory works, but I want to go a different direction from it anyway because why not.

Marnie was the oldest sibling. She had an unspecified number of younger siblings. The youngest, who I'm calling Terry, was let's say ten years younger than Marnie.

Terry made friends with Shane in first grade, and they stayed friends. Marnie was around for the first few years, but a 17-year-old is very old to a 7-year-old, and she was more of a babysitter / additional-parent figure to Terry than a sibling. She stayed involved with her family even after she moved out. When she was 25, 15-year-old Shane needed to get away from his family for a month and she let him crash on her couch (with bonus "you _will_ shower" and "you _will_ keep going to school" and "you _will_ do all your homework" and "you _will_ help me cook and clean" semi-parental behavior). When she was 30, 20-year-old Terry had a kid (purposeful or not) and of course wanted long-standing friend Shane to be in her life. When Marnie was 32, Terry (and other parent?) died in a car crash while Jas was home with a babysitter. Marnie took toddler Jas in. Shane was not having a good time at that point, and losing his long-term friend suddenly and tragically did not help. Marnie still felt like a big sibling / quasi-parental figure to him, and took him in. There wasn't the structure of high school and homework to push on him, so she got him into farmwork and he took especially to chicken-breeding. He was jumpy around Jas, though -- maybe he felt responsible for the car crash, maybe she had Terry's nose, maybe he was just not good with kids and was stressed and sad. After a while, Jas started picking up on Shane's unease and was not comfortable around him either.

Fast-forward 6 years. Marnie is 38. Shane is 28. Jas is 8. Jas is Marnie's niece and Shane's goddaughter. Marnie kind of feels like she has two sibling-related kids in the house, especially since Shane struggles in a lot of ways with maturity and she's been a quasi-parental figure to him since he was like 6, so she thinks of him as her nephew.

Playing through Stardew Valley again (as you do when you are housesitting a creepy old house) and I have Concerns about Marnie’s household.

Here’s what they tell us:

Marnie refers to Jas as her niece.

Marnie refers to Shane as her nephew.

Marnie, as far as we know, has never been married and doesn’t have in-laws.

In this situation, Shane should either be Jas’s sibling or cousin.

Instead, Jas tells us that Shane is her godfather as he was friends with her parents before they died. In other words, not an actual familial relation but rather a designated one. I could buy that he’s her cousin and her godfather, but you don’t just call your cousin “a friend of your parents”.

So that’s… not really how familial relations work. Now, it could definitely be that this is just another example of Stardew having uhhhhhhh iffy writing, but why use that as a reason not to headcanon? Besides, who knows? Maybe it is the implication.

If that’s the case, where did Jas actually come from? Which piece of information is inaccurate? My initial reaction was to be like “did Marnie have a secret child with Lewis?” but then I realized that it made much more sense for Shane to have a secret kid. The ages add up, there’s a real resemblance, and there’s more of a reason for the deception to exist.

Shane, love him or hate him, is not a responsible person. He’s surly, he’s drunk, and most importantly, we see that he upsets Jas. If Shane had had a kid Jas’s age, he probably would have been fairly young. (Though obviously, SV doesn’t give us exact ages.) There’s a very solid chance that he wouldn’t have been able to properly care for Jas and him needing to give up his child probably would have worsened his alcoholism and depression. The fact that he only recently came to stay with Marnie would imply that he lived fairly far away from his secret daughter and is only now getting to know her under the guise of a godfather.

So why does Jas believe he’s her “godfather”? Well, we see from Secret Note #11 that Jas came to live with Marnie when she was what appears to be a toddler. She’d have no idea who her real parents were. Why even give us that note if there’s nothing to examine further with this family?

Anyway, that’s the only way that Marnie can be telling the truth on this matter. Shane is her nephew. But Jas is her grand-niece.

¯\_(ツ)_/¯ ¯\_(ツ)_/¯ ¯\_(ツ)_/¯ I’ve been playing this game for too long on too little sleep, but I’m convinced.

[00valentina-writes00]

Walk with me here

Pirate sevika x siren/ mermaid reader

I’m walking. In fact I’m running.

♡♥︎ The Siren’s Song ♥︎♡

Warnings: slightly (if you squint) suggestive content, light humor, Sevika being a confident badass, siren reader with magical abilities

The sea is a siren’s home, a place of beauty, danger, and intrigue. It is where you thrive—where your voice dances with the waves, and your melody sinks deep into the hearts of those who dare sail too close. For centuries, you’ve woven your enchanting song to lure unsuspecting sailors to their doom. But today, something about this particular ship caught your attention—a ship that refused to succumb to your song.

The Black Sable.

From your perch on the jagged rocks along the shore, you could see it: a mighty vessel slicing through the waves, its crew hard at work. There was something different about the captain, though. She wasn’t like the others. While most men would’ve been lured to their deaths, this woman seemed… unfazed.

Sevika.

She was a pirate captain, known far and wide for her ruthlessness and cunning, her strength a match for the fiercest storms. Her ship was as much a part of her as her own limbs, and her crew—loyal, feared, and well-disciplined—followed her without question. But none of that deterred you. In fact, it intrigued you even more.

Your song had always been a powerful tool, one that could make even the strongest fall at your feet. So why hadn’t it worked on her? You had to find out.

It took little effort to draw the ship closer. You sang softly, weaving your voice through the air like an invisible thread, guiding the ship toward the rocky shoreline where you waited. The crew had no idea what awaited them.

You didn’t just want Sevika. No, you wanted to understand why she was different. Maybe if you could figure that out, you could use it to your advantage. And if she refused to be swayed by your voice, well, you could always turn to other methods.

As the ship drew nearer, you flitted from rock to rock, your iridescent tail shimmering beneath the surface, catching the sunlight in mesmerizing ways. With a final sweep of your voice, you ensured the ship was drawn into the bay.

Now, it was time.

You surfaced, emerging from the water like a phantom. The sound of the waves crashing against the rocks and the smell of salt filled your senses. You waited for the crew to see you, for them to fall under your spell.

But instead of panic or wonderment, you saw confusion.

“Captain! We’ve… we’ve got a visitor!” one of the crewmen called out, pointing to you. The others looked toward you, bewildered, as if something wasn’t right.

Sevika, standing tall at the helm of the ship, narrowed her eyes as she surveyed you. Her first mate—an imposing, strong figure—moved to stand at her side, but Sevika merely raised a hand to stop him.

“Let her come,” Sevika said, her voice a low growl of authority. “I want to see what she’s got.”

With confidence only a pirate captain could have, Sevika strode toward the edge of the ship, her boots making a heavy thud against the wood. She wore a long, tattered coat, the fabric billowing out behind her in the wind. The look was unmistakable—pirate chic, with a touch of Jack Sparrow’s flair, but designed to show off the strength she carried. A dark vest hugged her figure, showing off her muscular frame, and the long bandana tied in her hair completed the iconic look.

But it was her eyes that caught you the most—piercing, sharp, calculating. She wasn’t afraid of you.

“You gonna sing for me, or what?” she called out, leaning casually against the railing, her smirk daring you to try.

The audacity.

You smiled, swimming closer to the ship, your voice rising in a low hum. The song was soft at first, the melody haunting, seductive. Your words—no longer just whispers but a call—wrapped around her like a siren’s embrace.

“Come to me, oh sailor bold,” you sang, your voice echoing across the water. “Let your heart be mine to hold.”

Sevika didn’t flinch. She stood there, unwavering, her arms crossed as if bored by your charms. The rest of the crew was still, captivated, but not by your voice. No, it was the captain who held their attention.

You frowned, the frustration mounting in your chest. This was supposed to work. Why wasn’t it working?

Determined to bring her to her knees, you slipped beneath the water, reappearing beside the ship, your lithe body rising up just enough for her to see your face. The water clung to your curves, shimmering like liquid moonlight. Your song grew louder, a more intense, powerful spell designed to break even the hardest hearts.

“You’ll come to me, whether you want to or not,” you whispered, as the song wrapped tighter around Sevika’s heart.

Her eyes flickered briefly, a flash of something—interest, maybe—but she quickly regained her composure.

“Is that so?” she muttered, more to herself than to you. Her gaze remained on you as she walked to the side of the ship, looking down at you with an unreadable expression.

You smirked, thinking victory was near.

You slid closer, your body rising from the water in an elegant curve, until you were almost level with Sevika. Your breath was steady, your heart pounding as you prepared to press the final note—before you kissed her, claiming her soul for your own.

You leaned forward, lips parting as you made your move, but in the instant you closed the distance—she grabbed your throat.

You froze, eyes widening. Her grip was iron-tight, her fingers digging into the delicate skin of your neck as she yanked you toward her.

“Thought that would work, didn’t ya?” Sevika whispered, her voice a low growl, the smirk never leaving her lips.

Your breath hitched as you tried to squirm in her grasp, but her hand held you in place with terrifying ease. She was stronger than you’d anticipated. You hadn’t planned for this—hadn’t expected her to fight back.

You let out a strangled laugh, your eyes darting to her face. “You… you don’t fall for it?”

“Not everyone can be swayed by a pretty song, sweetheart,” Sevika said, her voice teasing but laced with an edge of amusement. She pulled you closer, her thumb pressing gently against your pulse point as her grip softened just a bit. “I’ve seen enough to know when someone’s trying to lure me in.”

Her eyes gleamed with mischief, but there was no fear in them. Just pure confidence, and a bit of fondness that you didn’t expect.

“Shame,” she added, her hand slowly sliding from your neck to cup your face, the gesture surprisingly tender. “I was kind of hoping to see where this was going.”

You blinked, taken aback by the soft touch. “You…”

“Yeah, yeah,” she grinned, leaning in closer. “You think you can charm me with that voice of yours, but I’ve got my tricks too.”

You were caught off guard. Most sailors who encountered you were helpless, mesmerized by your song, but not Sevika. She was a woman of the sea herself, hardened and immune to the tricks of lesser creatures. She wasn’t afraid of your powers.

And yet, she didn’t seem disgusted either.

“So,” Sevika continued, her grip loosening, “how about we do things my way?”

You narrowed your eyes, struggling to regain your composure. You hadn’t expected her to turn the tables on you like this.

“And what way would that be?” you asked, trying to keep the frustration out of your voice.

Sevika smiled knowingly. “How about we skip the whole ‘charming’ bit and get to the part where I get to kiss you? No magic involved.”

Your eyes widened bewildered. “You want to kiss me?”

She raised an eyebrow, smirking. “Yeah. But first, I think you owe me an apology for trying to kill me.”

You blinked, taken aback by her directness, but something inside you stirred—something deeper than your siren instincts. You saw the genuine curiosity in her eyes, the amusement, and maybe something else.

Maybe this woman was more than you bargained for.

You licked your lips slowly, meeting her gaze. “Apology… accepted,” you said, your voice low and playful. “But no promises after that.”

Sevika chuckled, leaning in until her lips were only a breath away from yours. “We’ll see,” she whispered.

[maskedcrawford]

Hidden Secrets

Chapter 1

Summary: Reeling from the events of the night before, you and Ji-yong figure out where you stand. As time moves forward you begin to realize this may not be as easy as you thought.

Warning: Nothing really other than more angst.

A/N: I really hope you guys enjoy this! I'll be putting out requests in between the chapters, so I'll try to make sure the previous chapter is linked at the top of each one.

Requests are OPEN

Chapter 2- Offensive Behavior

Ji-yong stares at you, unsure of what to say. What does it mean for you two? He knew you were fragile and vulnerable and he knew he was selfish.

“I mean, it doesn’t have to mean anything for us,” he shrugs off feeling the weight of the guilt on his shoulders.

“If nothing else, it was a one-night thing, it doesn’t have to happen again.” Your heart hurts when you the words. Granted it wasn’t what you feared most, but it was still rejection. It still wasn’t what you wanted to hear.

“If anything, Jagiya,” he slings an arm around your shoulder cooly, “I was your rebound,” he laughs bitterly as his own heart breaks into a million pieces as he tries to convince himself that’s all it was. Part of him believed you went along with it because of that, and when you didn’t protest the rebound comment, he took that to mean he was right.

“What time does Steve leave for work?” he asks after a moment of awkward silence.

“Uh, he doesn’t work,” you mumble with a tinge of shame.

“You mean you were supporting him?” his voice is thick with attitude.

“Unfortunately,” you sigh as you both head to the living room.

“Unbelievable.” He rolls his eyes as he mumbles. As the day went on, the air between you two finally started to feel normal again. You called Steve to let him know you and Ji-yong were coming by.

You knock on the door, biting the inside of your cheek nervously. Steve comes to the door, he reeks of alcohol, which wasn't uncommon for him. He liked his whiskey.

“Come on,” he slurs as you make a face of disgust.

“God what is that smell,” you whisper to yourself as you walk through the apartment. It was a mix of cigars, filth, alcohol and what you would've sworn was sewage.

“Make sure lover boy only touches what’s yours,” he says pointing to Ji, you look at each other for a moment before just walking back to the bedroom. The air that had cleared before? Yeah, it’s not clear anymore. I mean, were you lovers? You did technically make love, right? Was that what it was for him? Was that what it was for you? You weren’t entirely sure what it was.

You grab your things, placing them in boxes Ji had brought with you. After about an hour of hauling your stuff out, you realize you can’t find your big easel.

“Steve!” you shout from the room that you used to paint in.

“What,” he stumbles in the room. Ji-yong had just come inside from putting a box in the trunk of the car.

“Where my easel, the one with the unfinished painting?” you motion to the room that’s nearly empty.

“Oh, yeah about that,” he rubs the back of his neck.

“I kinda broke it this morning.”

“You what?” Your veins were on fire. You could have run through him given the opportunity. That easel was given to you special by your grandmother before she passed a few years ago. It was the only thing left of her you had.

“You son of a bitch,” you whisper as tears prick your eyes. He walks closer to you pressing you against the wall.

“Get away from me,” you go to move, trying to get out from under him but he pins you with arms on either side of you.

“I said I was sorry,” you turn your head as he tries to make you look at him.

"No, you didn't," you mumble under your breath. Trying to reason with him while he's drunk, though? Not a good idea.

“I’m sorry about the easel I’ll get you another one,” he tries to rest his forehead on yours, in some attempt at intimacy you assume.

“Just stay, be here with me,” he tries to kiss you, but you doge your head.

“Get off me!” you say louder.

“Baby come on, don’t be like that,” his hands find the buttons of your jeans, and you freeze, unable to move. Your mind automatically takes you somewhere else, anywhere else but where you're at now.

“Get off her!” Ji-yong he shouts. He hears your voice ring through the hall and like the speed of light he’s in the door way. One second, your worst fear is about to be recognized, the next Steve is on the ground clutching his back. Then Ji-yong kicks him in the balls for good measure before jumping on top of him to land a few punches. Once he was sure Steve would be on the ground for a while he turns his attention to you.

“Are you ok?” his hands cup your face gently looking into your glassy eyes. You nod slowly, still nervous to move.

“Just get me out of here.” you whisper barely audible. He takes your hand and leads you out of the apartment. You get in the car and for a moment, all you can do is stare out the window as he drives.

“Y/n,” he says quietly, “are you ok? Can I do anything?” his hand touches your thigh and you tense. He steals a glace towards you as he feels the muscles in your thigh contract. He removes his hand and puts it on the wheel.

“Shit,” he sighs. You look over at him and realize his hand is cut up and bleeding. You pull his arm over to you examining his hand. He’ll live, but it needs to be looked after. You grab a rag from the back seat and place it on his hand lovingly.

When you get through the door you instantly make him go to the bathroom so you can bandage up his hand.

He sits on the counter and you grab the first aid kit and position yourself between his legs. He grabs your arm right before you start cleaning his hand.

“Are you ok?” his gaze is intense. You feel like he could read your mind.

“I’m ok,” as you bandage up his hand, partial memories flood your mind of them. How they gripped your hips just the right way, how his skin felt electric against yours, how the slightest touch made you feel like it was heaven.

“Uh, y/n.” you snap your head up at him and his eyebrow is quirked.

“What are you thinking about?” he half giggles at you lost in thought. You feel the blush begin as you try to explain yourself.

“N-nothing,” you quickly finish bandaging his hand and try to leave, but he puts his hand on your stomach. You stop without looking at him, biting your lower lip as you feel a familiar nervousness kick in.

“Don’t lie, jagi,” he purrs in your ear. You shut your eyes, swallowing the lump in your throat.

“Tell me.” He encourages you with a low husky voice. His forehead rests against the side of your head.

“You,” you whisper, “and your touch.” Your cheeks are fully red by this point and his gaze is burning holes into your skull at this point.

“Ji,” you turn to face him and the way this man held restraint when looking at you with your doe eyes, it was a miracle.

“Hmm,” he hums as his hand instinctively goes up to your cheek.

“Thank you for today,” you whisper. He nods and kisses your forehead. The heat between you is too much, he pulls your face to him, his lips soft and gentle. You stay like this for a moment before the kiss becomes a bit more rushed.

“I need you,” he whispers in your ear.

“Ji, we said it was a one-time thing.” Your voice is unsteady, but desperate. You want him, bad, but he was the one who suggested a one-time deal. Why did you kiss him? Heat of the moment, emotions were high, mainly your own.

“So, I really was your rebound,” he says sounding amused, trying to hide the disappointment.

“What, no, I,” you sigh and pull away from him.

“Ji, what’s happening? I mean what we did, it-it never should’ve happened.” You pause and while looking at the floor you don’t see the way his face twists in pain at your words.

“It’s made things complicated now.” You sigh in frustration. He gets off the counter.

“So, lets uncomplicate them,” he says as he walks out of the bathroom and you follow.

“How would we do that?” you cross your arms over your chest.

“Simple, friends with benefits. Either of us has a need, we use the other.” The way he described it made your stomach turn slightly. You never wanted to ‘use’ him. He never wanted to ‘use’ you, but this seemed to be the best solution in his eyes. This way he got some piece of you. I mean after all you said it never should’ve happened.

“What about dating? I mean, if we’re friends with benefits does that mean I can bring someone home?” You weren’t sure what you were expecting, him to protest maybe? Did you want the idea to get under his skin? Yeah, a little, because lets be honest, the idea here is just selfish lust, not love, and love is what you want.

“All right, how about this.” He pauses as he turns to you in the living room, “We can date whoever we want, bring home whoever we want, but we get tested regularly if we're with other people, keep it casual, and we have to tell each other if we meet someone.”

“And all sex ceases if we get into a relationship?” you clarify.

“Yeah, sure,” he shrugs, "If that's what you want."

You couldn’t see the way this conversation was killing him inside, the way it felt like a million little cuts to his heart. But he wanted you, regardless of how or for how long, he knew he wanted you.

A few months go by and you get settled into a routine with Ji-yong, surprisingly you haven’t been together much, both of you were busy with work and exhausted. You’re working on your latest sculpture when your phone rings.

“Hey, Ji,” you smile as you put the phone on speaker.”

“Hey, I need you to be ready in something casual around 4.” You scrunch up your face.

“Ji, it’s 3:15 and I have plaster on my hands and arms,” you say as you look at your skin.

“Then take a shower, because we’re leaving the house either way,” he says with a cocky attitude. You sigh and wipe your forehead with the arm that’s got less mess on it.

“Something casual?” you ask. You can hear the smirk in his voice due to the victory of you not arguing with him.

“Yeah, I’ll see you soon,” he hangs up and you hop in the shower.

You throw on a hoodie and a pair of paint-stained jeans with tennis shoes. The man said casual after all. He opens the door as you finish tying your laces.

“Woah, you said casual,” you say as you look at him in his suit, “Now I have to change,” you turn to go down the hall way and he grabs your wrist wagging his finger at you.

“No time, come on,” he leads you out the front door.

“But, Ji,”

“Do you trust me?” He says pointedly as he opens the car door for you.

“I, yeah,”

“Then do it. Get in.” you cock your brow at him before slowly sinking into the car seat.

Ji-yong's emotions are on a high, he can tell you’re trying to figure out his plans and he’s loving every second of you being confused. He gets into the car with a satisfied smile.

“Are you gonna tell me anything?” You ask as he pulls out of the drive way.

“Nope, I told you to trust me.” You roll your eyes at his comment. The drive is silent until you pull up to the mall.

“What are we doing here?”

“Y/n, trust me,” is all he says before getting out and coming to open your door. You eye him curiously as he takes your hand and leads you into the building.

“Here, wear this,” he hands you a mask and puts one on for himself, along with a hat to conceal his colored hair. He takes you to your favorite clothing shop.

“Ji,” you tug his sleeve almost like a child.

“I can’t, this week,” you gesture to the clothing racks.

“Just try something on.” He holds up a cute sweater and looks at you. You shake your head no. He holds up multiple items and at every single one you shake your head no. Before you know it, though, you see a gorgeous dress, one that makes you actually look at the price tag. Ji goes to hold up something else and is startled to see you aren’t by his side anymore, but rather looking at the dress on the mannequin. He smirks at you.

“You like this one?” he comes up behind you and wraps his arms around you waist.

“It’s too expensive,” you say sadly.

“Try it on.”

“Ji, if I love it,” you mumble feelings irritated.

“Humor me,” you sigh as he kisses the top of your head through his mask. You find the dress and take it off the rack and put it on in the dressing room. You gasp at how the fabric hits all right placesl; at how beautiful you feel.

“Let me see,” he says from outside the dressing room.

“I’m gonna kill you for this,” your say as your face scrunches as you walk out. His eyes get bigger as he takes in how beautiful you look.

“Aegi,” he whispers to himself as you stand there feeling awkward under his gaze.

“Look in the mirror,” he takes you to the 3-sided mirror and stands in behind you. You turn to each side and smile, one that’s genuine and happy.

“Great, now I’m sad,” you utter as you remember you can’t afford the dress.

“While you were changing I seen these, here,” he places a beautiful pair of red bottoms down beside you.

“Ok, I know I can’t afford those,” you laugh as you take off your shoes anyway. There’s no use in arguing with him.

“Oh wow,” you whisper as you look at yourself.

“A masterpiece,” he mumbles in your ear causing you to blush.

“Wear it out,” he says as he kisses your shoulder. You notice he picks up a hand bag too and place it on the table.

“What,” before you can protest or ask questions he’s left you there and headed to the register. You walk over to him after grabbing your clothes. The cashier gives him a bag and Ji-yong puts your casual wear clothes in it.

“What just,” you look at the bag he's bought for you, you notice its Dior.

“Now we can go to dinner,” he smirks holding the bag in one hand and capturing your hand in his other one.

He pulls up to the restaurant and you both get out of the car, it’s an intimate place, dim lighting, a private area just for you and him, barely anyone is even there.

“This place is beautiful,” you say as you sit down in a corner booth. He slides over next to you.

“A beautiful place for an even more beautiful girl, he kisses your cheek softly. You giggle and roll your eyes at his line, only for Ji-yong it wasn’t a line. He meant every word. He wanted you to feel special, wanted you to feel spoiled and loved.

“You keep picking these assholes so I figured I’d show how you should be treated. With luxury, respect and the finest things life can offer.” You blush as his words as you scan the menu. He takes your hand in his and despite the sex, this was one of the most intimate things you’d done with him.

The waiter comes over and takes your order and he orders for you, after asking what you wanted of course.

“I can order my own food,” you say playfully.

“But you don’t have to,” he tuts.

“Let me spoil you, Jagiya. Stop fighting it,” he pleads.

“I swear,” you breathe out a laugh, “If people could see us now, they’d think we’re dating,” you chuckle and you notice how he shrinks back a bit.

“Not that it would be a bad thing," you stammer as you try to fix what you did and not admit everything you really felt, "I just meant, neither of us wanted a real relationship with each other," you say trying to do damage control.

“Yeah, I guess not, but if I’m allowed to touch you,” he places his hand on your thigh, “the least I can do is treat a lady to a date every now and again.”

“Oh, so that’s what this is for? Ji, no offense but you don’t have to do this. Like you said, we’ll use each other.” You can’t help the bite the word ‘use’ has when it comes out. That conversation still stings.

“Fine, then let’s go.” he shrugs and his tone is short.

“What, now? We haven’t eaten,” you say as he moves out of the booth and extends a hand to you.

“You said you don’t need a date so I won’t bother,” his tone is aggravated. This was not how the night was supposed to go.

“Fine,” you stand up and walk ahead of him back to the car. The drive back is silent, thick with tension of frustration. You both get out of the car once you arrive home and as soon as the front door shuts your pinned to the wall his lips on yours.

But this wasn’t like last time, you’d been with him a few times since that first night when you and Steve broke up, but each time he was gentle, caring and he took his time. This time he was rough and rushed. You hit your teeth together and your tongues fight for dominance.

His kiss made your head spin, and you push off his jacket as he picks you up. You wrap your legs around his waist and he walks you to your bed.

“Tell me what you want,” he says as he starts another assault on your neck. You gasp and your hands find his hair, tugging and pulling earning a throaty moan from him.

“Tell me, what you fucking want,” he growls again in your ear. Your legs shake slightly as his knee goes between them.

“You,” you breathe out and his hands start hiking up your dress.

“What do you want from me?” he puts his forehead on yours as he’s dangerously close to where you want him most. You blush as you realize he's toying with you. But really, he wanted to hear you admit that you wanted him, even if it was only this way.

“Ji,” you whine desperately.

“Tell me or I won’t do a thing. I’ll leave you here, like this.” You bite your lip as you look to the side before looking back at him. His eyes are hooded and you know that he’s upset, angry maybe, but asking you to beg wasn't fair. You decided to try and play his little game better than him.

“I don’t want a thing from you,” you smirk. He looks at you taken aback.

“You better be sure,” he says dangerously low.

“I’m sure,” you think he’ll break, but boy were you wrong. He kisses you roughly one last time.

“Then I’ll just use my imagination,” he whispers in your ear before leaving your room and going to his own. You lay for a minute stunned. You really thought he would’ve given in. It’s not long before you hear him moaning and whimpering from his room and you can’t help but feel completely turned on and yet at the same time a little pissed off. He never left you unsatisfied.

You wait until he’s finished, before mimicking the noises and sounds he was used to from you, exaggerating them a little more to be sure he heard you. Before you could even finish, you hear his door slam shut and then the front door.

What had this night turned into?

You pace your room as the time gets later and you don’t hear him come back. You camp out on the couch for a while before deciding to text him.

“Where the hell are you? It’s late and I’m worried,” you admit. He reads the message but doesn’t respond.

“I can see that you read it, just tell me you’re ok.” He reads it almost immediately, but again no response.

“Ji, what the fuck?” once again no response. You try calling him, no answer. You try again, no answer.

You ultimately fall asleep waiting up for him. But you’re woken up by the sound of a girl giggling.

“Shh, we have to be quiet, my room mate's sleeping,” he says. Your eyes grow wide as you realize he’s brought another girl home. As much as you don’t want to admit it, that hurt. You knew it was a very good possibility but it still hurt.

The two of them walk into the living room and he see’s your back against the couch. For a brief moment he stops, wants to tell the blonde, whatever her name is, to go home. He wants to pick you up, cuddle you and explain everything. But that familiar pang of you laughing earlier tonight haunts his mind. You thought it would be a joke to date him, or at least that’s what he assumes.

You stay in place, frozen, not daring to show you’re awake. A few stray tears fall from your eyes as he ushers her into his room, basically right in front of you. It isn’t long until you hear the familiar noises again. You put your hand over your mouth as try not to cry too loud.

It wasn’t just that he brought another girl home, it was that he brought her home after what you thought was a dumb little game. You weren’t sure why this felt so personal, but once he snapped at dinner it’s like all he cared about was himself. You get up from the couch once the noises stop and pour self a glass of wine.

“I’ll be right back,” you hear him say to his guest as he walk into the kitchen in nothing but grey sweatpants. You freeze as you hear him enter the kitchen. His eyes are wide for a moment before coming up beside you to get in the fridge.

You both stand in silence for a moment.

“That’s really fucked up, ya know.” You mumble as you take the bottle of wine and your glass to your room. He stands there for a moment, watching you walk away.

“No, what’s fucked up is I was trying to do something nice for you tonight, and you fucking laughed at me for it.” he says as he passes you back to his room, which unfortunately in times like this, was split by a single wall. You watch him disappear with a can of whipped cream into his room.

“Two can play this game,” you mumble to yourself as you walk into your room. You pick up your phone as you start to hear the giggling and the girl’s shrieks. You roll your eyes and do what you quietly swore to yourself you wouldn’t; you call Steve.

If you enjoyed, consider buying me a coffee

Tags: @loveesiren @natalicss @nerdydoll-com

[mistressofthemanor]

masterofthemanor

Once again, the moment she'd casted her gaze upon him from beneath her thick row of lashes, he'd felt his heart skip a beat. She really did hold great power over him and he'd become more aware of it at once at moments like that. She was effortlessly seductive and he'd found her even more alluring like that, being on top of him and in control... there was so much he could have said to provoke her and encourage her to take the reins... so much he would have given to have her take advantage of the power, climb up on him and take her position to straddle him properly - only he didn't have the luxury to give into her without any care in the world and risk uncovering his arm. So for now, he'd merely swallowed to moisturize his throat that'd gone dry and focused on his answer rather than making the mistake of letting his fantasies take over his mind. "Definitely. I'll figure something out for us to do that should entertain us and exhaust you by the end of the day" He stated mysteriously, and to his luck, his words could've been interpreted in other ways that she'd have preferred, so she wouldn't feel rejected, although, it was the riding trips he'd referred to. It'd be beneficial for the both of them to spend some time outside, exercise that way and get into adventures all while being together, talking away and catching up on those years they've spent apart. "Spoil her?!" He exclaimed, doing his best to sound as appalled as he could. "Hey, that's not fair coming from you! I haven't spoiled her more than you have spoiled Draco, and you know that, so don't you try and make it sound as if I was taking shortcuts to bribe her rather than to have her behave a certain way through setting up rules and being consequent, because I could say the same... Also... I know how you are with Ariadné, so don't even try deny it" He opposed with a smirk, for even though it was the truth they'd had that conversation many times in the past and they've settled everything properly when the children were small, which meant it was something they could joke about now.

Lucius was vague, but enough that she hoped he would spoil her in the way they were both hoping for. She could only grin in response as she definitely was feeling better about their evening last night being merely one of miscommunication or fatigue. Completely putting that aside, she was able to focus on these cats that he was so determined to take care of and feed efficiently. It took all within her not to laugh as he repeated her words in feigned offense. So she decided to give it back to him. "Me? Spoil Draco? Oh you know not...I didn't spoil him. You spoiled Celeste certainly more, at least. You have to agree to that!" She adverted her gaze and did her absolutely best to look at innocently as possible, letting out a soft sigh, "As for Ariadne...I can never confirm or deny your story. Perhaps I do spoil her....maybe...just a bit." When she caught Lucius' gaze, she huffed dramatically and sat up fully, "You know, it's hard not to spoil someone as cute as she is. I mean, you've seen her face. You've seen her pout her little lip and give me those sweet, adorable eyes. I physically cannot say no to her, Lucius. I believe it's practically impossible."

Bones of Contention

[tachiibabe]

━╋ ݁ ⏜ ꒰ GOOD LUCK, BABE! ꒱ ── momo yaoyorozu x fem!reader / tenya iida x fem!reader ๑ ֹ ₊ㅤ

𓏲𝄢 momo does love you with all her heart. she does. but why can’t she let herself be with you if she does. now she’s here, as your maid of honor, watching you get married to someone that isn’t her.

𝜗𝜚 ─ warnings : angst. mostly written in third person. first time writer…bear with me please :p (might rewrite this in the future if i get better)

༝༚༝༚ ⊰ momo didn’t know if she wanted to rewind time or not. she wanted too, but she didn’t after seeing how happy you were. seeing your smile and how your eyes lit up were everything to her. and she wouldn’t dare take that away from you.

you deserved to be happy with the one you truly loved. she may have had your heart first but she didn’t keep it. now you have found love and solace in another. she wasn’t upset or sad, she was happy for you, and couldn’t wait for the rest of your future. but she was selfish, and wished that it was her, you were getting married to.

it was her fault, truly, it was. maybe if she accepted that her heart called out for you, it could have been her.

“i love you.”

words you had said to her when both of you were still attending UA. she knew you meant them. she whispered the same words to you. nothing came of it though…because of herself.

she wanted more with you, she wanted to live life with you right by her side, experience things she never had before. she wanted to be with you, live with you, marry you, raise a family with you. it didn’t happen like she had planned.

for some reason she couldn’t accept her heart yearning for you. so she put her feelings aside, and forced herself to love someone else. she’ll never forget the night she told you.

tears streamed down your face, and you asked why. she didn’t answer you, but she apologized. that wasn’t any better. you weren’t going hang to her, you weren’t going to put your life on pause for her no matter how much she meant to you. but you did tell her that when she realized it was too late for her to come back to you, you’ll tell her ‘i told you so’. and how much you hated it.

༝༚༝༚ ⊰ the morning of your wedding she woke up next to you, in the same bed. your eyes were still closed, lips parted slightly. she counted each mole on your face, and memorized their places. she watched your body going up and down gently with every breath you took. she knew in just a few hours she could never ask herself if their was a possibility of you being hers.

she watched you for a few more minutes. nostalgia waves over her, and just for second. in that tiny second for her, you both were back in the UA dorms.

she pushed the memories away, and gently called your name. at five a.m. you both woke, other bride maids tiredly walking in to get ready with you. the whole time she watched you, as you got your makeup done. she always loved your eyes, loves the shape and color of them. she watched as you got your hair done, your curls full of life, falling down your back.

she helped you into your wedding dress. a beautiful white dress with blue rhinestones coating the train. she softly slide the dress over your figure and went behind you to zip it up. her hand hovered over the zipper, her fingers twitched and she zipped the dress up.

she admired you whole, from the top to bottom. taking in your presence, being able to stand next to you was a blessing for her. she put a hand on your cheek and smiled at you saying nothing. and you smiled back, leaning into her palm.

you love her, truly. but you weren’t in love with her. not anymore. you cared for her and you would never stop.

she got in her place, standing next to the the bridesmaids. she watched you walk down the isle. for her, it was an eternity. the realization slowly sinking in, that you would belong to another.

she looked away slightly as you shared a kiss with your now husband, tenya iida.

the after party being full of life, while she felt like hers broke apart. as you both were eating, a very familiar song came on, you turned towards her, you eyes lighting up. you laughed and told your husband you were going to dance, giving him a wide smile and kissing his cheek. you grabbed her hand without another word and pulled her to dance.

“are you happy?” momo asked you softly. “i’m really happy, especially since you were by my side” you told her.

“are you happy, momo?”

no. she wasn’t.

“…i am” she smiled softly, her eyes slightly filling with tears.

you smiled and nodded, wiping her eyes. “don’t cry, i think you’re too beautiful to cry.” and in return she laughs.

“i told you so. i told you we’d be happy”

oh, how those first four words sent pain to her heart. if her heart wasn’t completely shattered, it was now. and once again in that moment she wished she had never set you aside. she wished she had let herself accept your love and your heart. she now truly wished should could rewind time.

now she’s standing face to face with “i told you so.”

© tachiibabe … do not translate, copy or plagiarize any of my work. (whenever i decide to write….)

tags : @fishii28

[maiyz]

a pearl

yuji x reader | masterlist

01: nice binder goob

wc 0.8k

you arrived at jujutsu tech in early february, it gives you about 4 months to plan an assassination of sukunas vessel, a first year student named yuuji itadori.

your tactical boots specialized in traction and protection crunch the winter leaves below you. its just about 6am, you woke up early today.

you plan out the killing in your head. come to think about it 4 months is a lot isnt it? you typically like making it quick and simple, although you have little experience in actual killing people.

perhaps bidding your time would be the best option. jujutsu tech is filled with many powerful individuals who would most likely kill her if they knew her intentions. your biggest fear is the 10 shadows user, he appears to have the closest relationship to sukunas vessel.

at around 7am she arrived outside the classroom, where gojo sensei would be waiting to introduce her to the measly 3 first year students inside.

“everybody!” gojo shouts at a volume way too loud for 7 in the morning. “we have a new student! give her a round of applause!”

sukunas vessel and kugisaki clap lamely while fushiguro makes no attempt to indulge in gojos acts.

you enter the classroom and bow slightly before walking to the single empty desk. “thats yn zenin! which puts the first year class at 4 students! hooray!” gojo shouts.

you have no intention on talking to the other students, or anyone for that matter. while gojo talks about paired missions all you can do is fight the urge to fall asleep, maybe waking up early was a bad idea.

“ok! we have an even number of students sooo…! were gonna do paired missions! nobara and megumiii in one pair and ill supervise yuji and yn!”

is gojo ever quiet.

oh, me and sukunas vessel?

thats good. i could probably kill him easily. what about the veil though? i surely wouldnt be let out if gojo is supervising.

well its still good to figure out some information about sukunas vessel.

you enter the car driven by gojo, the mission you were assigned to is a grade 2 curse in an abandoned hospital about 45 minutes away. you stare out the window on to the dense forest near the road.

the car stops before gojo tells you and sukunas vessel to get out of the car. you stretch slightly when getting out due to sitting for too long before starting to walk to the mission site.

gojo lowers his veil trapping you and sukunas vessel, hopefully he doesnt like. kill you or smth.

you walk around looking for a 2nd grade curse, checking the patients rooms, waiting room, the roof. although you just cant put your finger on where it is.

while youre looking, sukunas vessel keeps blabbering on and on, to the point where youre starting to tune him out.

he taps your shoulder which throws you off guard, causing you to step back away from him quickly.

“just trying to ask a question” sukunas vessel says.

i thought he was gonna kill me. he couldve just now.

“what.”

“why did you become of a sorcerer?”

theres a brief silence before you say. “its none of your business”

“thats fine, you remind me of fushiguro in a way! youre both very grumpy you know?”

after about a couple minutes of fighting with the curse you end up surviving the mission relatively unharmed, sukunas vessel took most of your heavy hits for you.

you and sukunas vessel end up both going to ms leiri for her expertise in reverse cursed technique. not that you needed it, you just tagged along.

you tagged along because you had to. not because you wanted to.

you, the other 2 firsts years, and sukunas vessel get treated to. revolver sushi. or something similar to that. you expected this is be a gun shop or maybe the name of a brand, not a type of restaurant.

“what you and kugisaki never been to a revolving sushi place? you have to go its so cool! its for the experience!” (ita)

“they dont have those where i grew up. revolving sushi is cheap isnt it? lets go somewhere expensive since gojo sensei is paying” (kugi)

“but i want it! its not about how expensive it is, its about the experience!” (ita)

“you say that until you get food poisoning.” (kugi)

“you agree with me, right zenin!??” (ita)

you shake your head in disagreement.

“see i told you! zenin agreed, were gonna get steak!” (kugi)

“when did zenin agree to get steak” (fushi)

“shut your mouth.” (kugi)

extra!

can u tell dialogue is my least fav thing ever. ngl everything non smau is.mmmlol

my friend said i was the type to read ao3 and bl. i ask her hiw did she know what that meant and she was like. i have my sources. ok freak

i played volleyball and i hit it and it bounce onto my face or smth ow

my chromebook got power washed wuess by who. me. i did on accident my bad 💔✌️

took soso long for this I SPENT LJKE 2 weeks. next chapter in 6 weeks stay stuned

ok gn.

taglist! (0/50)

[merinarasauce]

Well, this is it, then.

It wasn't like Yaron hadn't... expected this. No-one on her father's side of the family made it to twenty revolutions. They just... wilted. To humans, they were remarkably long-lived, but any other member of her species would have a good thirty revolutions left.

She laid on the hot pavement as the humans shouted at her desperately, thinking to herself, what a fiasco this would be. Not only would her body have to be shipped to the nearest Jakta station for autopsy, they'd have to launch an investigation as per interstellar law, and then they'd have to transport her six hundred light years to her home planet so her family could bury her...

It was a shame. Really.

Yaron wasn't afraid to die. She'd had to confront the idea as a mere sapling, and she'd come to accept it. But still, knowing that the grieving process of her friends and family would have to be disrupted by lawkeepers, that broke her heart.

There was nothing to be done about it. She couldn't speak, couldn't move, so... she just let go.

~~~

Yaron came to with a raging headache, and she shot upright with an alarmed warble. It was so bright. There were tubes and wires running all over her body, and she felt a bandage taped over the left side of her torso.

A human in the corner wearing dull, stiff clothing yelped, dropping a tray full of tools. "Ambassador Yaron-!"

"What happened!?" she demanded, trying to stand. "Why am I not dead??"

"Please calm down-"

"Am I dead? Can't you tell me anyth-"

As soon as Yaron put her full weight on her feet, her joints gave out, and she crumpled.

Lying face-first on the ground, she cursed after a few seconds. "Is nothing simple with you humans?"

Yaron figured pretty quickly that this was a human hospital. It wasn't too far off from those built by her kind- clean, sterile, well-lit. It was much louder, that was certain. And cold.

The humans settled her back into the bed rather quickly, and as they ran some tests, someone in a white coat walked in and sat next to her. She had a round face and dark eyes, her hair pulled back neatly.

"Ambassador Yaron? I'm Dr. Nadia Mundell. I'd like to inform you about the surgery you received."

She extended a hand, which Yaron ignored, feeling sick. "Surgery? You mean- you cut me open?"

Dr. Mundell seemed a bit nervous at that. "Well- uh- it's not quite that simple. I assure you, it was a lifesaving procedure, and we took all possible measures to prevent infection."

Yaron groaned, lacing her fingers through the dense leaves on the nape of her neck. "Of course. Out of anyone, I had to be the unlucky machtarak who collapsed on the human homeworld...!"

The doctor raised a placating hand. "Let me explain what happened and what we did, alright?"

She was met with a huff and a grumbled "Fine."

Dr. Mundell reached over and took a clipboard from a nearby table, flipping through it. "We found out the reason for your collapse was an arrhythmia in your vascular heart. We performed an ultrasound scan- it's just reflected sound waves, completely harmless- and discovered a hard burl nearly blocking your aortic artery."

Yaron watched as the doctor showed her a black-and-white image, and though she didn't know much about anatomy, she could tell the bright white thing circled in red probably wasn't normal.

"It's likely your heart was working much harder than normal to maintain proper blood flow. And, thanks to your venous system, you likely didn't experience many symptoms beyond some mild pain now and again. Does that sound right?"

The ambassador just stared, dumbfounded. "...yeah, I- I guess so..."

"From what I can tell, you were probably born with a thin arterial wall, and micro-tears caused the burl to form. I know the Galactic Council finds it... uh, what did they say... barbaric. But in order to save your life, we had to remove it. Thankfully, it was a success. We'll have to keep an eye on you for a few days. I'd prefer if you kept activity levels fairly low while your artery heals and your heart recovers."

Yaron could barely process all this. Dr. Mundell spoke about it like it was normal. Like it was no big deal. Like causing harm to heal wasn't akin to the witchcraft of a thousand revolutions past. Had she not felt their blades simply because she was unconscious? Or was there more human insanity that she wasn't privy to? How, after opening their eyes to a universe of technology beyond their wildest imaginations, could the humans have known that their methods could still save lives?

All that came out of her mouth was a hoarse "Okay."

Despite medicine reaching its near pinnacle form, humanity still prefers to practice surgery. It is seen as barbaric, invasive even by other alien civilizations. One day, an alien diplomat collapses on human soil and wakes up in a bed with small stitches on their body.

[a99jazzybean]

Why do we Keep Playing These Games?

Chapter 5: Queen of Hearts

Ch.1/ Ch2./ Ch.3/ Ch.4

synop: College TA au

Jayce Talis... He's your unrequited sworn enemy. You are the object of his obsessive affections. After discovering your disdain toward him, He decides to win your heart... Through playing games. Winner gets to make the loser do whatever they want. You'll take him up on the bet, but what will happen if he wins?

words: 5.7K

includes: jaycexfem!reader, angst, fluff, kissing, yearning, betting, massages

a/n: I think I have a better idea of where I'm wanting this story to go. Hope you enjoy a bit of angst.

As your eyes glazed over while reading a textbook, you heard groaning and shuffling by your side. Glancing in your peripheral, you saw Viktor shift uncomfortably in his seat. Occasionally he would huff out in frustration or pain, wincing at the feeling. You softly shut the book and turned to him.

“Are you doing alright?” You asked, concern laced in your eyes

The man beside you paused, taking in the worry on your face. While he wasn’t one to enjoy pity, it was clear you were genuinely concerned for him. He sighed, as he attempted to move his leg into a comfortable position. As he did, another sting of pain shot through the limb, causing the man to hiss and grind his teeth. Normally he would be able to fight through the discomfort, but today was quite the unpleasant flare up. Feeling like a pinched nerve somewhere, though he couldn’t figure out where. 

“It’s nothing. Just a bad flare up.” He huffed as he pressed his fingers into his thigh, attempting to find the source of the sharp pains. 

“Is there anything I can do to help?” Again, no pity laced in your voice. Though he wasn’t surprised. You never treated him as someone to be pitied. 

“Not really, I left my pain meds back at the apartment. And Jayce is really the only one that can help massage it out.” That had you raising your brow. Viktor chuckled lightly at your questioning gaze.

“He’s a very sweet man.” He returned his leg to the most comfortable position he could with a groan. “You would know if you ever listened to me about his positive traits.” He gave you a pointed look. 

You huffed in annoyance. Viktor and Mel had both attempted to make you see reason when it came to Jayce. The two always pointing out his acts of kindness. Though you knew of his kind ways, it was something that added to your annoyance. Since you were unable to truly rationalize your disdain for a man that was totally selfless in his actions. True altruism seemed like an impossible feat, yet Jayce managed to be the one person to prove you wrong. 

“During the summer between our sophomore and junior years he took massage therapy courses at a community college.” Viktor said.

“Really? Why?” That was a silly question. As Viktor continued to shuffle uncomfortably, you understood why.

“Because he wanted to help me.” Viktor stated, a soft smile on his face. “He knows I’m not one to ask for assistance, but he’s still always there when I do need help. He just wanted to add more to his arsenal of aid.” 

“You’re not one to particularly enjoy people going out of their way for you…” You had witnessed Viktor’s sneers of irritation when others had attempted to “assist” him when it came to his disability. It was a bit of a surprise how willing Viktor was to accept Jayce’s help.

“He didn’t do it because he felt sorry for me. He did it because he cares. Again, something you would know if you actually listen to me about Jayce.” Viktor sighed, as if it was exhausting to continually reiterate this point to you. “That man is breaking his back, bending over for other’s needs. Including yours.” His amber eyes gave you a pointed look. 

Avoiding his gaze, you grumbled to yourself. Sure, Jayce probably was a sweet person. Scratch that, you knew he was, but there was some damned prideful part of you that didn’t want to acknowledge it. In hopes that if you pretended you weren’t privy to that information, you could feel better being a jerk to the man. It didn’t work, especially now when you knew how he felt about you. Now there was a bitter taste of bile in your throat as you thought of the man’s unending kindness that you continually rejected. 

Viktor’s eyes continued to watch you. Studying your response to his statements. It was cute, how frustrated you got about this situation with Jayce. Viktor didn’t really know the full reason why you despised his partner. This whole “enemy” thing was definitely a facade hiding your true feelings. If you truly hated Jayce in the ways that you claimed, then you should have hated Viktor as well. Instead, you had befriended the man. A curious thing, the way your mind justified your feelings. 

“Well, that’s very kind of him.” You said, conceding to the truth. Yes, Jayce was in fact a caring person. 

“It is.” Viktor left it at that. 

You returned to your textbook, unsure of the energy in the air. Somewhat tense, yet comfortable as you allowed yourself to accept new truths. 

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

The next Monday had arrived. The first day of the school week where you helped aid Heimerdinger with Jayce and when you and Jayce would play your next game.

Fall was slowly taking over the summer heat. Cool breezes were more common than the stale humidity. Leaves had just begun turning yellow and orange. A pleasant change as you no longer sweated on your way to the physics building every morning. 

As you enjoyed the cooler air on your walk, someone sidled up to you. Though you didn’t turn to him, from the size of their frame you could tell it was Jayce. Sandalwood scented cologne wafted in your direction as the man moved as close to you as he could. With his closer proximity, you turned to look up at the man by your side.

“Good morning!” He said cheerily.

“Morning.” You replied. “You’re too happy to be up for an 8 am.” 

“That’s why I got you this!” He held out a coffee cup. The scent, catching your attention.

You reached for it, breathing in the smell of the fresh brew with a sigh and content smile. The action made Jayce’s heart flutter. He enjoyed the way you enjoyed simple pleasures. 

“Thanks. How much do I owe you?” You went to reach around for your wallet.

The man waved you off.

“It’s all good. It’s on me.” He gave you a bright smile. 

“You sure?” 

It wasn’t unusual for Jayce to go on coffee runs for your TA group. You would pitch in funds, but it seemed like more often than not, Jayce would find a way to cover the tab. While it was a nice gesture, you didn’t particularly enjoy feeling as though you owed someone something.

“You’ve bought like the last five coffees I’ve had.” You gave him a questioning look.

“Have I now?” Jayce feigned ignorance. “I never counted. Just wanted to do something nice for a friend.”

“Right.” You continue to hold his gaze with your own suspicious one. Turning away first to sip at your coffee. Of course, it’s perfect. Just the way you liked. You glanced at the man again, a glint of anticipation in his eyes. 

“Thank you, Jayce. It’s pretty good.” You swear you hear him release a sigh at you saying his name. Gaze softening as he continued to look at you. 

A pang of hurt struck your chest. You avoided his gaze, instead focusing on the coffee cup in your hands. Why? Why? Why was he always so nice? When you were acting like an ass to him. Your fucked up attempts to push away someone who just wanted a connection with you were coming to bite you in the ass. It was beginning to hurt.

Viktor and Mel were fine as your friends, but why not Jayce? 

In frustration, you gripped your coffee cup a bit hard. The lid popping off, spraying a splash of steaming hot coffee onto your hand. 

“Shit.” You hissed. 

Thankfully the only victim of your mishap was your hand. Jayce had managed to catch the lid before it hit the ground. He reached for your coffee cup to put it back on, then placed it in your hand once more.

“Is your hand okay?” He asked, a look of concern furrowing his brows.

“Yeah, I’ll be fine.” You let out a sigh. The pinging tightness remained in your chest. “Sorry, I’m such a clutz.” 

The worried look remained on his face. He reached for the hand that you had slightly burned. Hesitantly, you allowed him to look over the backside. His fingers lightly brushing over your skin, making your face hot. There wasn’t any damage, just a small red splotch. 

“Might sting a bit, but nothing too bad.” He lightly patted your hand and let it go. Again, another pang hit your chest. 

“Yeah.” You croaked. A waver in your voice making Jayce pause.

“Are you okay?” There it is, a moment, one that you could allow yourself to embrace for once. To maybe let him see some vulnerable part of you. One outside of the games you play. 

“I-I’m fine. Thanks for asking though.” Alas, you weren’t ready. Not yet, not when there was that damned prideful part of you that didn’t want to concede. 

At the very least you could thank him for caring. Perhaps it wasn’t enough, but it was what you were willing to give. 

“Okay. Well, I’m here if you want to talk.” He gave you a soft smile. One that added to the ever growing pain in your chest.

Instead of answering, you nodded. A small smile of your own on your lips. 

During Heimerdinger’s first period you felt Jayce’s eyes on you the entire time. He was trying to get a read on you. It was obvious that you were lying about how you were feeling. Both of you knew you were a shit liar. He wondered why you still tried to lie though. Despite your obviousness, you did your best to conceal parts of yourself. Parts that he desperately wished to learn more about, to understand.  

The heat of his hazel eyes never left you. Even when students came to him with questions, his eyes kept flitting to you. To see if any part of you would crack and reveal an opening. But none showed up. You managed to keep up your mask for the period. 

It was obvious that you were desperate to get out of the class. Twitching hands and shuffling feet giving away your need to run. You did your best to avoid catching Jayce’s gaze. He didn’t hide his intense staring, concern still deeply etched onto his face. You pretended not to notice, but it wasn’t working very well. He knew it, you knew it. Despite just getting to know you recently, the man could read you exceptionally well. 

It was fine though. Again, Jayce was patient. So far his patience seemed to assist him. Ever so slowly you had allowed him in. While he wished for more, he was willing to wait. Of course he was, it was you after all.

The rest of the day trudged on. Before you were about to head to your office hours, Heimerdinger asked for your assistance. 

“Would you be able to come to the library with me? I have to pick up some textbooks for the next two weeks of class.”

Ah, that was right. There was a specific text that the professor only used a section of and didn’t feel it necessary to have students purchase it. In order to ensure students actually received it, he took it upon himself to reserve the library’s copies.

“Sure Professor, I do have my office hours in about thirty minutes though.” You warned.

“Oh, we’ll surely be done sooner than that. Besides, I believe Mr. Talis shares the same time slot, so a little tardiness shouldn’t be an issue.” He gave his classic twinkling giggles that had you smiling. The Professor was certainly quite the character. 

You followed the shorter man to the library. He waved and greeted students and faculty on the way there, red cheeks pulled into a bright smile. Trailing behind him, you nodded at the passing people with a polite smile of your own. 

Heimerdinger had managed to reserve around 200 books, and you happened to be his packing mule apparently. While he did aid you in stacking the books on a cart, you did most of the bulk. As you wished to move the job along faster, you grabbed as large of stacks as you could. One particularly large stack would be your undoing. The weight sending a shock up your spine as you lifted with your back instead of your legs. Thankfully you managed to grit your teeth through the pain to avoid dropping the texts. Through the sharp pains in your back, you continued to pile books onto a cart. Sighing with relief, you plopped the final stack down. Attempting to stretch out your back to no avail. Groaning, you grabbed the cart and began pushing it to the physics building. Heimerdinger cheerily following behind you. 

Each step toward the building sent more pain up your back. It was going to be a long night. You groaned at the realization that you weren’t going to be able to lie down for at least three hours. Just the thought of you sitting hunched over a table helping a student sent more pain up your spine. 

“Is everything alright?” The professor’s high voice broke you out of your thoughts.

“Yeah. Just pulled my back.” You grunted, pushing the heavy cart forward.

The man tutted.

“You know what they say, ‘always lift with your legs!’”

“Thanks, Professor…” 

After dropping off the textbooks at Heimerdinger’s office, you made your way to your own office. Dreading the next few hours as your back continued to grow more and more sore. The heavy weight of your backpack doing nothing to relieve the pain. 

Groaning, you trudged into the office. Jayce looking away from the student he was working with as you walked inside. The look on your face indicating the discomfort you were feeling. The man found himself furrowing his brow in worry once again. 

“You’re late.” He tried to lighten the mood with a bright tone.

“I was helping Heimerdinger.” You sighed as you sat down, attempting to warp your back into a comfortable position.

“A likely story.” He teased. 

“Save the interrogation, Talis. You have a student that needs assistance.” You sighed again. 

Jayce grew more concerned. Normally you would gladly partake in banter with the man. Something must truly be wrong if you were shrugging off the chance to be snarky. The man decided to table that discussion till he was done aiding the student with him. 

To the his dismay, he didn’t get an opportunity to speak with you till after your office hours. A steady stream of students had kept you both busy for the entire time. Jayce had kept his eye on you though, his concern growing as he saw your demeanor grow more frustrated. 

The pain in your back had you a bit grumpy and short tempered with students. Many times you found yourself holding back a snarky comment when they would mess up a problem on a practice test. You had to continually remind yourself to be kind despite how irritated you were feeling. 

When the final student left the room, you let out a sigh of relief. The action making Jayce raise his brow. You never behaved this way with students before, he was slightly concerned. Still, he had something to look forward to. 

The man locked the office door, catching your attention. Right, it’s game night. This time it was Jayce’s turn to pick the game. Based on your mood, he decided to go easy on you. From his backpack he pulled out a deck of cards. With deft hands, he began to shuffle them. Your eyes watched as he expertly maneuvered the cards. Enjoying the way he showed off small tricks with his fingers. 

“Enjoying the show?” He asked, a teasing glint in his eye.

“Mhmm.” You decided to be honest. It really was impressive. “What are we playing?” 

“Old Maid.” The light smile that was on your face dropped into a look of annoyance.

“Old Maid? Seriously?” It felt almost insulting, his game of choice. 

“You look like you needed an easier game today.” He said pointedly.

He was right. Anything that involved true strategy would have you floundering. The pain in your back seemed to be the only thing you could pay attention to. Fine, you’d accept the children’s game. 

“The game doesn’t last that long though.” You attempted to stretch out your back with a groan. It did nothing to help.

Jayce paused his shuffling.

“Are you doing alright? You’ve been off all night.”

“I’m fine.” You lied. 

“Please stop.” He sighed.

“Stop what?” You wondered where this was going. 

“Stop lying to me. I’ve told you before, you’re a shit liar.”

“My back just hurts. That’s all.” You said. Though it was clear it was bothering you more than you let on. 

“We’ll do best two out of three. How’s that sound?” The man changed the subject for you. It was obvious you didn’t want him to pry.

“That sounds great.” You said, attempting to be cheery. 

Jayce picked out three queens from the deck and set them to the side, then he began to deal out the cards. You picked up your hand, meticulously grabbing the few pairs you had managed to get. Jayce laid down his pairs in front of him in neat stacks. He had four and you had three. You didn’t have the queen though, so you at least had that going for you. Hopefully Jayce wouldn’t keep the poker face he was currently wearing. 

“You go first.” He said, motioning you forward.

Hovering over the cards your hand slightly shook. You couldn’t lose again. As your fingers trailed over his spread out hand, you watched Jayce’s eyes. Aha! You caught the slight shift as you reached the second to last card on the right. Instead, you pulled one from the middle. Breathing a sigh of relief as you grabbed a seven of clubs. Perfect, you had the seven of spades. With a cocky smile, you set the pair down in front of you.

Jayce chuckled at your competitiveness. Even with a game of chance, you still wanted to be seen as a fierce opponent. 

The two of you continued to pick at each other’s hands. Jayce hadn’t realized you had caught his tell and was growing more anxious as the majority of your cards were paired up in front of you. He held seven in his hands. The old maid he kept shuffling around, hoping you would slip up and grab it. Alas, to his disappointment you had managed to avoid the card. When it was over he was left with the queen of hearts. It felt as if the card was taunting him. No matter, there were still two games left. 

This time you shuffled the deck. While you weren’t as dexterous as Jayce, you still caught him staring at your hands. A small smirk danced on your lips as he continued to watch you. A comfortable silence had rested in the room. It was nice, you found yourself liking these game nights a bit more than you expected. Sure, the last two times you’ve lost, but playing with Jayce was kind of fun. 

“You ready to get creamed, Talis?” You asked smugly. 

“You wish.” Jayce said, trying to hide his nervousness. 

If you won, he was toast. He had no idea what you had planned for your wager. It could be something nice, maybe. But he wasn’t holding his breath on that. 

You dealt out the cards and repeated the process of picking out pairs. Despite your thorough shuffling, you found you had managed to gather seven pairs. 

“Oh no, absolutely not.” Jayce practically growled. “There’s no way you didn’t cheat.” 

“Jayce, you’ve been sitting in front of me this entire time. Staring at my hands, might I add. When would I have cheated?” It was almost cute, his anxious demeanor about the prospects of you winning. 

“Besides, you know I have the old maid. Doesn’t really matter how many pairs I get if you don’t grab her.” 

Grumbling, he conceded. You motioned for him to pick a card, doing your best to keep your face emotionless. Though you were a terrible liar when speaking, you had managed to secure a decent poker face. Something that very much bothered the man in front of you. He reached for the middle card and sucked in a breath. It was a three of hearts. He sighed with relief as he paired it with his diamond card. 

“You seem a bit tense.” You chuckled.

“You’ve already got a win in, I can’t have that happen again.”

“And here I thought I was the competitive one.” His clear frustration had you wondering about his wager. “I wonder what’s on the table for you to be so persistent to win.” 

Hazel eyes grew dark as they peered over the cards at you. The look was enough to have you shivering and clenching your thighs. Surely he was planning something that would wreck you. You didn’t know if that frightened or excited you. 

It was clear to you that your last game night had impacted you. Something new stirred in your belly when it came to Jayce. Something you didn’t know if you wanted to explore or not. If he won you had a feeling you wouldn’t have much of a choice. So, you obviously had to win.

You were so close. Just two more pairs and getting rid of the old maid. 

As Jayce reached toward your hand, you held your breath. His fingers twitching above his card of choice with hesitancy. This was it, the moment of his downfall. You didn’t let your face betray you. The man plucked the card out.

“Shit.” Again, the queen was taunting him. 

His eyes narrowed at you as a smug smile was on your face again. He shuffled the maid into his remaining few cards. There was still a chance he could win. 

Reaching for Jayce’s hand, you bit your lip. Doing your best to read his face without him noticing. And there it was again, the flitting of his eyes as you reached for the old maid. Instead you snatched a different card, making the man groan in frustration. 

You placed your final pair in front of you, feeling somewhat accomplished. Finally, you had beaten Jayce Talis. The man stared at the queen in his hand in shock.

How? How did you beat him at a children’s game?

“You have a shit poker face.” You teased. 

“What?” He swore he kept himself perfectly composed.

“You’ve got an easy tell.”

“And what exactly is it?” He pried.

“Nuh uh, I gotta make sure I keep the advantage. Especially if we play more card games.” You smiled. 

While he was upset at the loss, he couldn’t help but smile back. He loved when you genuinely smiled. The way your eyes crinkled and shined with enthusiasm. The way your lips pulled at your cheeks, looking oh-so kissable.

“So, what were you betting on?” He asked. 

It was then you realized you hadn’t actually thought on it. You were sure he was going to win again, so you didn’t put much thought into what you wanted. Then, it hit you. The pain in your back returning as your distraction had ended. You recalled the recent conversation you had with Viktor. 

“Viktor says you took massage therapy courses, is that true?” You ask, eyes looking at his hands. 

“Um, yeah. They had a specific course to aid in relieving nerve pain.” He raised a questioning brow at you.

“I know what I would like.” Another strike of pain made you groan. “You have to give me a thorough massage.”

That had both of Jayce’s brows raised. He thought you were going to make him take your workload from Heimerdinger's classes, instead you were offering him the chance to touch you again. If anything, this was an opportunity that Jayce wouldn’t pass up. 

“You sure that’s what you want?” His voice buzzed with excitement. 

“Don’t be so happy about it.” You groaned in pain again. “I just pulled my back really bad and need some relief.” 

“I will gladly provide that relief.” Jayce’s eyes were practically sparkling with anticipation. Then they grew dark. “And I can provide other forms of relief too.”

You scoffed at the man’s forwardness.

“Don’t push it, Talis.” You narrowed your eyes at him.

He raised his hands in a surrender, then placed them on the table to push himself up. You took that as your cue to pack up your bag. Before you could grab it, Jayce had snatched it up from the floor.

“I don’t want you hurting your back even more.” He shoved the pack over one of his shoulders and carried his own bag in his hand. The muscles in his arms flexed. The action distracting you for a moment. Sometimes you forget how impressive the man’s physique was. 

Jayce smirked, catching you staring. A red blush dusted your cheeks. God, he wanted to kiss you again. 

“C’mon, let’s get you home.” Jayce nudged his head toward the door. 

The walk back to your apartment was completed in silence. Crickets chirped and cicadas whirred in a symphony of nighttime. It was quite a pleasant trek, minus the occasional pang in your back. Jayce noticed how stiff you were walking. 

“Do you want me to give you that massage tonight?” His brow furrowed with concern. A look you were growing used to seeing on his face. 

“Nah. I’ll take it tomorrow evening though.” You yawned. It was getting pretty late, and you didn’t think you could stay up much longer. 

“There’s nothing I can do?” Jayce pushed lightly. He really hoped you’d let him help at least a little bit. 

Sighing, you conceded. It would probably be a good thing for him to at least decrease the ache somewhat. You weren’t sure how much you would be able to take tomorrow. 

“You can at least start, I suppose. Get the knot out, or whatever.” 

Jayce nodded enthusiastically, making you let out an amused huff. The man was never subtle. 

When you reached your apartment you paused. Jayce had never been in your home before. You didn’t know how you felt about that. While you weren’t messy, the place could do with some TLC. Though why did you care about what he thought? 

“Everything okay?” Jayce waited patiently for you to unlock the door.

“Uh, yeah.” You shook off your embarrassment, and opened the door. 

The first thing the man noticed was the smell of your apartment. It was so… very you. You had decorated the space almost perfectly to the way he had imagined it. A mishmash of cozy items and eclectic art on the walls. Potted plants near windows and the sliding door to the balcony. Fairy lights strung on the ceiling leaving a warm glow in your living room. 

Jayce toed his shoes off and placed both the bags he was holding down. Sighing with content as he looked around your little home. It felt wrong, allowing him into such an intimate space. 

From between his legs, Jayce felt soft fur pass through. He watched as a small cat sauntered over to you. Mewling for you to pick it up. Despite the pain in your back, you obliged in your furry friend’s request. Grabbing her and giving her a kiss on the head, her eyes slowly blinking in content. The sweet action making Jayce’s heart melt. 

“I didn’t know you had a cat.” He said.

“Really?” She’s my phone screen.” You lifted your phone to show him a picture of your cat playing with a bell toy. 

Jayce walked over, hand lightly stretched out for her to sniff. The cat in your arms tentatively sniffed, then nuzzled her head into his palm. He took the opportunity to scritch behind her ears, eliciting a gentle purr.

“What’s her name?” He had just noticed the close proximity to you. A blush creeped to his cheeks as he realized that you weren’t making any attempts to distance yourself from him.

“Sedona. It’s a town in Arizona. Has the most gorgeous sunsets. My mom took me there when I was young. She always said that she thought the name would be fitting for a pet.” You smiled down at the sleepy cat. “So I decided for my first pet, that’s what I would choose for a name.”

“It fits her.” He said. 

“Yeah, I think it does.” You looked up at him. His soft gaze on you making your heart stutter. 

This wasn’t right. Allowing him in so easily. Yet… you didn’t want to stop. 

Glancing at the microwave clock you realized you needed to get ready for bed soon. You let Sedona down with a groan, reminding Jayce of the reason why he had been invited in in the first place. 

“Right, massage.” He said. 

“Since we’ll make it quick, does the couch work?” You asked. 

“Uh yeah. I do have a massage table back at my place. I can bring it when we do the full thing.” 

“You just have one of those on hand?” You chuckled.

“It was required for the course, and folds easily enough so I kept it.” He shrugged his shoulders then motioned for you to lay down on the couch. 

You laid down on your stomach, wincing as the pain in your back flared. 

“Is it alright if I move up your shirt?” He asked, voice gentle. 

“Yeah. Do what you need to.” You said. 

Although you couldn’t see him, he nodded. 

He pushed up the back of your shirt, then placed his palms on your back. They were pleasantly warm. 

“Where exactly is the pain?” He asked. 

You did your best to blindly point to where it was. Jayce followed the direction of your index finger, tracing along your back. The movement making you shiver. 

“Right here?” He asked, adding a little pressure.

“Yes.” You groaned.

He added more pressure and hummed. 

“Yeah you’re real tight.” He said, unfazed at the double meaning. 

You were glad your face was pressed into the cushion, or he would see it bloom bright red. 

Jayce methodically worked out the deep knot in your back. Careful not to hurt you with too much pressure. It felt really good. He clearly took his studies seriously, and you were enjoying it greatly. A bit too much it seemed, when you let out a moan as he loosened up a tight area. 

Your hand clamped over your mouth. From above you Jayce chuckled, reaching for your hand. Moving it away from your lips. 

“You don’t have to be embarrassed. You should hear what Viktor sounds like.” Though you couldn’t see him, you could hear the smile in his voice. 

Jayce continued to work out the knots he could in the short amount of time that he had. When he was done, your back was already feeling better. While it wasn’t back to 100%, it was at least something. 

Before ushering him out of your apartment you stopped him with a hand on his chest. Feeling his heartbeat speed up at your touch. Biting your lip, you tried to find something to say before he left. 

“Um, thank you.” Was all you could manage.

He smiled softly. Your eyes kept shifting, you didn’t know if you could look at him. Afraid of what you would feel if you did. A warm hand lightly grabbed your chin, moving your face up to look at him. There was that look of concern on his face again. 

“I’ll be back tomorrow.” His voice was soft, as if he was afraid a louder tone would make you scurry away. It probably would, as you were filled with a crushing fear. You didn’t know why, but you felt wrong, this felt wrong. So why weren’t you stopping? 

“Is that okay?” He tried to keep your attention on him. 

The frazzled look in your eyes was making him more concerned. It looked as if you were beginning to spiral. 

Sighing out a long breath you closed your eyes. Allowing yourself to collapse onto his chest, his strong arms wrapping around you. Keeping you grounded. 

“I’m sorry.” You mumbled, though you didn’t know what you were apologizing for.

Jayce tightened his embrace around you, laying his head on top of yours. He didn’t know what to make of this. While part of him was ecstatic that you were showing him more trust, a different part of him continued to grow more worried for you. For now he could provide you some comfort.

A soft hand caressed up and down your back, reminding you to breathe. As you gulped down deep breaths, you began to slowly pull away from him. Avoiding his gaze, you lightly pushed off of his chest. The lack of contact making Jayce’s heart ache, but he didn’t want to distress you further. 

“S-sorry.” You mumbled again.

“What for?” He asked, voice still soft. 

“I don’t know. For something, everything.” You couldn’t stand to look at him. “I don’t know.” 

Jayce reached for your face again. Coaxing you to look at him. Your heart jolting as you locked your eyes with his. The smile on his face making you soften. 

“You have nothing to apologize for.” He leaned towards you, making you stiffen. 

Soft lips placed a chaste kiss on your cheek, leaving your face hot. But you realized that wasn’t what you wanted. 

In a moment of impulsiveness, you gripped the collar of his shirt and pulled him back toward you. Pressing your lips against his. Making his eyes widen as yours fluttered shut. He allowed himself to give in, returning the kiss. Your lips molding easily with his. Tongue swiping at his bottom lip. A light gasp from the man opening his mouth enough for you to trail your tongue inside. A groan rumbled in his chest. 

As soon as it had started, you made it stop. Quickly pulling away from the man with a gasp. Why did you do that?

Jayce didn’t know what to make of it, so he just allowed himself to enjoy your impulsivity. 

“I guess I’ll see you tomorrow.” You said.

“I’ll see you tomorrow.” This time he leaned forward, lightly kissing you. And you let him, savoring the way his lips felt on yours. 

After Jayce left you stood at the entrance of your apartment in shock, fingers tracing over your lips. Replaying his kiss over and over. 

[criminallyvenomous]

Anytime, Always - Spencer Reid X Reader (part four)

part three story masterlist

•Plot - When Dr. Reid came to speak at your University, you were thrilled. A big-time F.B.I. agent at your own school, how could you resist? Soon, that wasn’t the only thing you couldn’t resist. Random meet ups and nights together were fun at first, but when he started guest lecturing on a regular? That was a whole new experience.

•Ship - Spencer Reid X Reader

•Fandom - Criminal Minds

•Warnings - Age gap (legal consenting adults), Alcohol, Fluff, Eventual smut, Pining, and of course a warning you might fall for Spence even harder post reading)

•Word Count - 569

•A/N - ik its short im sorry!!! it was hard to find a stopping point. still working on the longer next chapter but second session classes started this week at my uni and im still catching up on midterms so im swamped lmao. its also hard bc im debating smut or not in that chapter. six will be the start of prof! spence tho..

~

This was all new to Spencer. He hadn’t ever done something so ‘casual’. He hadn’t even ever had sex with someone who he didn’t really care for, not that he wasn’t starting to care for you. It’s just that drinking and sleeping together was more of a Derek Morgan thing, not a Spencer Reid thing. He’s beginning to think he’s in over his head. Maybe he should just call up the ‘ladykiller’ while you’re getting the Chinese.

“What’s up, playa?”

“Hey, Morgan. I think I’m a little out of my depth here.” Spencer admitted.

“What do you mean? You’re just visiting a ‘friend’, aren’t you?” He teased.

“I, um, may have-“

“I know, kid. What’s the problem?” Derek interrupted.

“I’ve never done something like this before.” Spencer confessed.

“Oh come on, you’ve had sex before, Spence.”

“I meant doing something so ‘relax’, something so casual.”

“Well, how did it happen the first time?”

“A good amount of alcohol.” Spencer said, making Derek chuckle.

“That’s called liquid courage, my friend. Well, do you like her?”

“Yeah, she’s great. It’s just that she’s young and we’re not like a couple or anything.” All Derek heard was the age comment.

“How young?” Derek pry-ed, Spencer could basically see his face right now.

“Don’t worry about it. I’m just gonna go.” Spencer was defeated, unsure of what to do.

“Hey, don’t put so much pressure on it. Just feel it out and do what feels right.”

“I have no idea how to do that.” Spencer chuckled and Derek did too.

“I know, kid. Just try. I mean, the date’s been going well, right?”

“Yeah, it’s been great.”

“Then don’t change anything. You’re great as you are, Reid.”

With the boost of confidence from his much more experienced friend, Spencer tried to swallow his pride. Plus, he was definitely going to seriously consider the ‘liquid courage’ that helped him out last time.

“Garlic tofu with rice for two and as many spring rolls we could get.” You did a little ‘ta-da’ motion as you approached the doctor.

“It smells amazing, it’s interesting though. This restaurant is supposed to be Chinese but has Vietnamese and Japanese options on the menu, like Pho and Ramen.” Spencer analyzed.

“You’re right. I guess most Americans don’t really notice the difference.”

~

“Awh, is this for me?” You asked as you took off your shoes along with Spencer.

The two of you went up to his hotel room on the third floor, upon entering you saw two stemmed glasses and a nice bottle of white wine on the nightstand.

“I asked room service for it. I figured it would be a step-up from the mini-fridge screw top.” He stated, walking up to pour the wine. You put your hand on his back.

“You’re the best, Spence.” You smiled, then realized. “Sorry, I meant Spencer. It just slipped out.”

“Don’t apologize. My friends call me that, too. Have to say, though, it sounds better coming from you.” He turned to hand you your glass.

God, he was sweet, funny, smart, and downright gorgeous. You didn’t care if you’d be stuck with meeting up every few months for a day or night together, it’d be worth it. You took a drink from your glass and looked over to Spencer.

“That’s so much better.” You both laughed and set the glass down on the nightstand closest to you.