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ssa-dado · 15 days ago

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19 - Push & Pull

Aaron Hotchner x bau!fem!reader Genre: slow burn, whump, fluff Summary: Everything that happens in 3x2 - the good, the bad, the ugly, what you see and especially what you don't see. Warnings: themes of suicide, non-consensual sexual encounters, infidelity, alcohol, physical violence that feels like the filthiest smut, CM case details, P***r gets mentioned Word Count: 21k - you can start feisting now Dado's Corner: Despite the fact that a good third of this chapter was fever-fueled - yes, I'm still a helpless victorian child rotting in bed - this has to be my favorite in the series. The complexity, the blend of themes, the highs and lows… It was an emotional rollercoaster to write. Please tell me I didn't waste your time and show me some love because I'm never writing such a long chapter like this ever again. Honestly, it was challenging on every level, but I could say, I'm satisfied about how it turned out.

masterlist

Gideon, your mentor, was unraveling.

His office had turned into a reflection of his mind: cluttered, chaotic, littered with unfinished reports, half-eaten meals, and newspapers strewn like remnants of thoughts he couldn’t quite piece together. The deep shadows beneath his eyes grew darker with each sunrise, his sharp instincts dulled by an overwhelming sense of doubt that he wore like a second skin.

It was Reid, in his quiet, persistent way, who seemed to keep Gideon tethered to the here and now. Every night, after the bullpen had emptied and the hum of activity quieted, Reid would slip into Gideon’s office with his well-worn chessboard.

No words were needed between them - Reid would simply set up the pieces, and they’d play, the clink of pawns and knights the only sound breaking the stillness.

Sometimes, Reid would ramble on about obscure facts, statistics, or philosophical musings - trying, in his own way, to coax Gideon out of the fog.

And sometimes, it even worked.

Gideon would nod, listening, though his eyes were always distant, like his mind was trapped in some other place, some other time.

You noticed it all.

You saw the way Gideon was slipping further into himself, withdrawing into a shell built from old scars and fresh wounds, and despite your own burdens - the ceaseless grind of paperwork, the weight of decision-making - you couldn’t help but stay.

Late into the night, you’d linger in his office, your own files spread out on the corner of his desk as they played chess in the background.

It wasn’t planned.

No one spoke of it.

But the three of you were drawn together by the silence, by the shared weariness that seemed to fill the room. There was a strange, unspoken bond forged in those long hours, a quiet understanding that didn’t need words.

One particularly late night, you noticed Gideon had barely touched his dinner.

A dry sandwich sat untouched on his desk, the wrapper barely peeled back. His gaze was fixed on the chessboard, but you could tell he wasn’t really seeing it.

Across from him, Reid spoke softly but quickly, his usual stream of physics trivia flowing in a rapid, soothing rhythm. As much as you wanted to follow along, the complexity of it eluded you, your focus drifting instead to Gideon.

He wasn’t listening to Reid either.

Not really.

His gaze flickered toward the younger profiler as if searching for something in him - a reflection, a glimpse of the man he used to be. It was as if Gideon believed that, if he looked long enough, he might find in Reid the younger version of himself - the idealist who still found meaning in the smallest details, who once believed in the unshakable rightness of the work.

That’s when you decided it was time to lighten the mood, if only a little.

Without a word, you began rummaging through your bag, searching for the small box you always carried for nights like these.

It wasn’t much, but it was something.

Finally, your fingers closed around it - a box of espresso-filled chocolate truffles.

You pulled it out and placed it on the table between them, the soft rustle of the box breaking the silence. Both Gideon and Reid looked up from the chessboard, their attention caught by the unexpected offering.

“Thought we could use a pick-me-up,” you said, giving them a small smile. "Chocolate, sugar, caffeine, all the essentials.”

Reid’s eyes lit up immediately, his love for sweets rivaling his encyclopedic knowledge. Without hesitation, he reached for one, already unwrapping it before you even finished speaking.

“Just be careful,” you cautioned, watching him with amusement. “Make sure to eat it all in one bite, the center is-”

Too late.

Reid bit into the truffle with enthusiasm, only for a stream of espresso to spill out, running down his chin and splattering onto his shirt. His eyes went wide with surprise, his fingers frozen mid-bite as the liquid dripped onto him.

You stifled a laugh, raising an eyebrow as you glanced over at Gideon, who had paused, a faint smile tugging at the corner of his mouth. “-liquid,” you finished, a little too late, but the playful tone wasn’t lost on either of them.

Reid blinked down at the mess, flustered. “I… should’ve listened,” he muttered, grabbing a napkin as you chuckled softly.

For the first time in days, Gideon let out a genuine laugh—the sound warm and rich, cutting through the tension that had gripped the office for weeks.

It was contagious, and soon you found yourself laughing too, shaking your head at Reid, who was frantically dabbing at his shirt with a napkin. “Well,” you teased, trying to suppress your grin, “at least now you get a second truffle, Reid.”

Reid shot you an exasperated look but reached for another anyway, this time more cautiously. He ate it in one swift motion, nodding with appreciation at the taste.

As the laughter faded, Gideon leaned back in his chair, still smiling softly. “I have to say, it’s nice being included in you and Hotch’s little long-lived tradition,” he remarked, his tone light but carrying an edge of nostalgia.

You raised an eyebrow, crossing your arms. “It’s not a tradition, Gideon. Just an act of kindness.”

His smile grew, though weariness hung at the edges. “Sure, but you and Hotch have always had your... gestures. I’ve seen it over the years.”

Feigning offense, you shot him a playful glare. “Are you accusing me of being too nice?”

Gideon chuckled, shaking his head. “Not at all. But there’s always been something different between you two. Even in the quiet moments, you’ve had each other’s backs in ways that most people couldn’t even see. It’s unusual, how quickly he let his guard down with you.”

You deflected with a smirk. “Well, I was the only one slipping him chocolate across the desk. If you or Rossi had tried, maybe you’d have broken through that wall too.”

He didn’t laugh this time, his voice lowering slightly. “It’s not just about the chocolate...”

You knew exactly what Gideon meant, the weight of his words hanging in the air between you, but thankfully, before you could respond, Reid - oblivious to the underlying tension - cut through the moment. “Gideon, your move,” he said, eyes still fixed on the chessboard.

And just like that, you saw it - the way Gideon’s focus shifted, retreating inward.

His face darkened, leaving behind a man questioning everything: the cases, his instincts, his very place in the team.

Your heart clenched.

This was the man who had taught you to trust your gut, to peel back the layers of darkness in others to find the truth, that had brought you right where you belonged. He’d been your mentor, the one who shaped you into the profiler you had become. And now, watching him crumble, piece by piece, felt like losing something vital, a part of yourself that had always drawn strength from him.

And so, you stayed.

You overstayed your office hours, finishing your paperwork in Gideon’s office instead of Hotch’s. It wasn’t a solution, but it was something.

And Reid, with his boundless loyalty stayed too, playing chess with Gideon night after night, keeping him tethered to the world for just a little longer.

But as the days passed, you saw it, every time you caught him staring off into the distance, you knew he was drifting further into the abyss.

In those two weeks, you did everything you could to hold him together.

You brought more truffles, more late-night conversations, more quiet companionship. But you knew, no matter how much you tried to anchor him, he was already gone - retreating into the darkness of his own making.

But you stayed anyway, because that’s what you and Hotch had always done for each other. And even though Hotch wasn’t there, you carried on the tradition.

Because that’s what partners do.

---

As the weight of the last night as Unit Chief night pressed on, your phone buzzed in your pocket.

You already knew who it was before you glanced at the screen.

Peter.

You sighed softly, your thumb lingering over the screen for a moment.

“I’ll be back in a second,” you said, quietly excusing yourself as you stood from Gideon’s desk. Reid and Gideon were still staring intently at the chessboard, though Reid’s eyes flickered up to meet yours when you moved toward the door.

He gave you a questioning glance, and without saying a word, you lifted the chain around your neck, revealing the engagement ring you always kept there. You gave it a playful swing, making a mock-embarrassed face, knowing full well they understood why Peter was calling so late.

“Trouble at home?” Gideon teased, his voice soft but filled with implication. He knew the tension between you and Peter had been simmering lately.

You forced a smile. "Just the usual check-in,” you said, stepping out into the hall, feeling the weight of their eyes on your back.

As soon as you closed the door behind you, you answered the call. "Pete, I know what you're going to say," you began, leaning against the wall, trying to keep your tone measured, but your exhaustion was seeping through.

"And you know why I’m calling," Peter’s voice was tense, irritated. "You’ve been in the office for days now. When are you coming home?”

"I’m still here because of Gideon,” you said, your voice dropping as you glanced back toward the door. “I’ve told you this before. He's not... he's not doing well, Peter. He needs someone keeping an eye on him."

There was a pause on the other end of the line. "He’s a grown man, Y/N. Gideon’s been through a lot, but you can’t babysit him. He’s a legend in the field, you really think-"

"I’m not babysitting him," you interrupted, your voice sharper than you intended. "I’m making sure he doesn’t fall apart. You don’t know what he’s been like these past few weeks. He’s barely eating, barely sleeping. You worked with him too, you should understand how serious this is."

Peter sighed, the sound heavy and tired. "You know I worked with Gideon for years, but you’re acting like it’s your job to save him. What about us? What about our life?"

You pressed your lips together, feeling the familiar sting of guilt rise sharply in your chest. "Pete, I’ve seen this before. I know the signs." The words were quiet but filled with a heaviness that made your throat tighten. "When someone stops caring, stops trying... and then, if they suddenly seem calm, peaceful even, it’s because they’ve already made their choice."

There was a heavy silence on the other end, the kind that seemed to stretch into forever, the kind that made you wish he would say anything - anything but what you knew was coming. Peter’s voice cut through the quiet, blunt, almost cold. "Y/N, you can’t save everyone – especially when they’re not asking for your help in the first place."

His words hit you like a punch to the gut, cold and final, the truth of them sharp but unwelcome. Your breath caught in your chest, and for a moment, even the bullpen across from you seemed too small. How could he say that? Didn’t he understand?

"I can’t just let it happen, Peter," you whispered, your voice breaking, the pain barely held back. "I won’t."

His frustration seeped through the line, thick and undeniable. "You always do this, Y/N. You get too involved. If you couldn’t control it in your own home, then what makes you think you can with Gideon? You can’t keep carrying this guilt with you everywhere you go."

His words were biting, an ultimatum thinly veiled as concern. "You need to come home. It’s past midnight, Y/N. This isn’t even your responsibility anymore. Hotch is back as Unit Chief, so stop clinging to this. You’re supposed to be going back to the Academy, back to teaching. You need to remember where you belong, because this - " he paused, letting the weight of the moment hang between you, "this needs to end. Everything’s supposed to go back to normal."

"Back to normal?" you echoed, the bitterness of the words catching in your throat.

As if the past few weeks could be erased.

As if Gideon spiraling wasn’t your concern anymore.

As if you hadn’t been holding everything together, here and at home.

But most of all, as if the cracks in your own life could just be mended overnight.

You sighed, exhaustion settling deep into your bones, making your shoulders sag. "Alright, Pete. Just... give me some time. Let me say goodbye, and I’ll come home. I promise."

There was a brief pause on the other end, a moment where you almost expected him to soften, to understand. But when Peter spoke again, his voice was colder, sharper. "Fine. But don’t take too long. And remember, I love you, okay? I’m doing this for you. You should be grateful I put up with this, most men wouldn’t."

The words stung, but you were too tired to react, too worn down to really let them sink in. "I am… sorry... I love you, too."

"Good," he replied, and there was an edge of something dark there, something you couldn’t quite touch in the moment. "And when you come home, don’t say you’re tired. You’ll find a better way to apologize, won’t you?"

Before you could respond, the line went dead, leaving you standing in the dim light of Gideon’s office. The ache of everything unsaid, everything unresolved, tightened in your chest, but you pushed it down. You had to. There was no space for that kind of pain right now.

With a deep breath, you steadied yourself and walked back toward Gideon’s office. When you pushed the door open, you found them right where you’d left them, both hunched over the chessboard, though they looked up almost in unison when you stepped in. There was an unspoken awareness in the room, like they could sense the shift in your mood before you’d even said a word.

Reid offered a small, tentative smile before glancing back at the chessboard, his brow furrowing as though trying to solve a puzzle. Gideon, on the other hand, didn’t speak right away. His fingers were idly tapping the edge of the board. It wasn’t until you approached the desk that he finally broke the silence.

“Everything sorted?” he asked, his voice soft, though he didn’t look up, as if giving you space to decide how much you wanted to share.

“More or less,” you replied, trying to keep your tone light. You lingered near the desk for a moment before continuing, your voice a little quieter now. “Just... wanted to say goodbye before I head out.”

That made him pause.

Gideon’s head lifted, his sharp, discerning eyes narrowing as he locked onto yours. It was as if he could see right through you, past the walls you were so desperately trying to keep up. His gaze softened, but it was Reid’s reaction that caught you off guard, that really hit you.

Reid’s eyes widened in genuine surprise, as though the reality of your departure had only just dawned on him. “You’re... leaving?” His voice was soft, almost childlike in its sadness, like he couldn’t quite believe it, but it was the rawness in his tone that caught you off guard.

You weren’t sure what hurt more: the way his question lingered in the air, fragile and aching, or the fact that you hadn’t truly accepted it yourself until that very moment.

You nodded, forcing a light smile despite the tightness in your chest. “Yeah, but don’t worry. Hotch will be here in seconds. Knowing him, he’s probably already waiting for me in the elevator, like we’re two Swiss guards changing shifts.” You tried to make it sound casual, but even the humor felt bittersweet. “You won’t be alone here for long.”

Gideon’s chuckle lingered in the air. “Oh, don’t I know it. You two,” he began, his tone tinged with something deeper now, “like some inevitable force of nature. You’re out here burning the midnight oil, and Hotch... he’s already pulling the sun back up. It’s funny, really. Like the two of you are stuck in some cosmic dance. Push, pull. Night and day.”

You couldn’t help but smile, though his words stirred something heavier inside you. “Hey,” you teased lightly, trying to brush off the weight of it, “we balanced each other out.”

“Balanced? You two were an overworking disaster,” Gideon said with a smirk, leaning back in his chair, his tone light but his eyes reflective. “The only relief was seeing you separately this time around.”

He paused, his expression softening, becoming more contemplative. “It reminds me of something from one of Heraclitus’ fragments: ‘The way up and the way down are one and the same.’ That’s what you and Hotch are, not just balance, but two sides of the same journey. You push him deep into the night, and he pulls you back into the day. It’s not just about working together - it’s about how you exist together. Two halves of one whole.”

He glanced at you with a knowing smile. “That kind of partnership... it’s rare. Don’t ever take it for granted.”

And then his mind drifted to more than ten years prior, back when he stood before his class on that first day, the low hum of shuffling papers and whispers settling into silence as he prepared to speak suddenly all came back to him – now.

In his first class there was a routine he had mastered - a careful choreography of words and images designed to unsettle the students, make them question the very foundations of their understanding. These future profilers, most of them ex-cops, were here to learn to see beyond the obvious.

And what better way to start than with a puzzle they wouldn’t expect?

He clicked the projector, and Heraclitus appeared on the screen - his shadowed face staring out from antiquity. The image was his favorite weapon, a portrait of philosophy’s "dark" and "obscure" mind, someone no one in this room was likely to recognize.

It was an intimidation tactic, plain and simple.

The baffled faces around the room were predictable, a symphony of confusion and unease. Gideon could feel the atmosphere shift as students glanced nervously at one another, trying to decipher what that unknown face had to do with the world of behavioral analysis.

But then, in the front row, there was something Gideon hadn’t expected.

A single discordant note in his well-rehearsed composition: a smile.

It came from you.

Gideon’s focus narrowed, his routine thrown ever so slightly off course.

Who was this young student, barely old enough to be in the Academy, wearing an expression of recognition?

Not confusion, not fear, but understanding.

It was unsettling, rare - intriguing. He couldn’t help himself. His curiosity got the better of him, and he went off script.

“What’s so funny about that picture?” Gideon asked, his voice sharper than intended, but charged with genuine interest.

All eyes turned to you, the youngest in the room. For a moment, the room held its breath, waiting for the usual nervous fumbling.

But you didn’t falter.

Instead, you met Gideon’s gaze, confident and steady.

“That’s Heraclitus,” you said, your voice clear, unmistakably sure of itself.

The simple statement landed like a lightning strike in the room. Gideon raised an eyebrow, impressed but still testing. “And what exactly do you find so amusing about Heraclitus?”

Leaning forward slightly, your excitement bubbled beneath your measured tone. “Heraclitus, the ‘Obscure,’ the philosopher of contradictions and paradox. No one expects philosophy in a behavioral analysis class, but he fits perfectly”

Gideon’s lips twitched in the faintest hint of a smile, though he masked it quickly. "Go on," he said, his tone a challenge.

You straightened in your seat, your eyes meeting his."Heraclitus also talked about the unity of opposites, how things that seem in conflict are actually interdependent. ‘The way up and the way down are one and the same,’ he said. It’s like the way we study both victims and unsubs in this field. They seem like opposites, but understanding one helps us understand the other. Just as pain and joy, light and dark, can’t exist without each other, neither can the criminal and the victim in our analysis. They’re part of the same story, the same journey."

Gideon felt a rare flicker of pride - not for himself, but for the potential sitting in front of him. You weren’t just reciting textbook philosophy; you were applying it, weaving it into the very fabric of the discipline you were there to learn.

And you weren’t done yet. Of course, you couldn’t resist - you had to link it to one of your all-time favorite philosophers. You leaned forward, a glint of excitement in your eyes.

"Even Hegel was profoundly influenced by Heraclitus. He said that there wasn’t a single proposition of Heraclitus that he hadn’t adopted in his own logic. Heraclitus' idea of 'becoming,' the flux between being and non-being, deeply influenced Hegel’s dialectic. It’s similar to what we see in criminal behavior - the constant push and pull between identity, choices, and circumstances. It’s never just one thing, it’s always in motion, always evolving."

That was the first time Gideon’s never-failing intimidation tactic had faltered, the only other time it would happen again would be years later, with Spencer Reid.

Heraclitus had marked your first interaction, a bridge between minds.

And now, as he watched you walk toward the elevator for what would unknowingly be your final moment together, Gideon couldn’t help but reflect on the strange symmetry of it all.

Heraclitus - the philosopher of change, of things never staying the same - had also marked your last exchange.

It felt fitting, like the end of a cycle, the completion of a journey.

In that instant, as you turned your back, unaware of the farewell lingering in the air, Gideon felt something unexpected - peace.

A peace that had eluded him for so long, now settled quietly in his chest.

He had done it.

He had left something behind, something more enduring than cases closed or criminals caught.

You.

Spencer.

His legacy.

Not just students, not just colleagues, but two minds shaped by the very philosophy that had shaped him: always seeking, always questioning, always flowing with the deeper currents of human behavior.

Suddenly he was no longer burdened by the weight of leaving. He could let go now, because he would never be truly gone – because his presence, his wisdom, lived on in both of you.

In your intellect, your understanding, in the way you would carry on the work with your own brilliance and compassion. You were the continuation of the journey, just as Heraclitus had once said: the way up and the way down are one and the same.

He had done his part.

Peaceful.

Grateful.

And finally free.

Today was the day.

The day Aaron had both longed for and dreaded in equal measure.

Every action since the moment he opened his eyes had been deliberate, as if each small motion was preparing him for the weight of the hours ahead. His body was already drained, conserving what little energy remained for the mental battle he knew was coming. It was like walking in slow motion, bracing himself for the inevitable.

Haley moved quietly around the table, as if she could feel the tension radiating from him without a word spoken. She handed him a fresh cup of coffee on the table, its dark aroma rising between them like a silent acknowledgement of what loomed.

Aaron ephemerally glanced up, offering her a smile - small, tired, and fleeting, the kind of smile that never quite reached his eyes. She didn’t need to ask; she already knew. The weight of the day sat between them, unspoken.

“Thanks, honey,” he murmured, his voice low and strained.

“Yep,” Haley replied simply, though her eyes lingered on him longer than usual, filled with quiet concern. She stepped behind him, resting her hands on his shoulders, applying a gentle pressure. “Are you sure you’re okay?”

Aaron nodded, though it felt more like a reflex than an honest answer. His shoulders stiffened under her touch, his mind far away. He wasn’t sure if he was trying to convince her or himself. “Yeah, I’m fine.”

Across the table, Jack was giggling as he tried to scoop cereal into his mouth, his little hands fumbling with the spoon. Kuna, the pine marten plushie, sat propped beside him as if it, too, was waiting for breakfast. Jack giggled again, offering the toy a bite of cereal as Aaron watched, feeling a pang of guilt mixed with love.

“You’re doing the right thing,” Haley said softly from behind him, her voice steady but with an undercurrent of certainty, as if she could sense the turmoil inside him.

Aaron nodded again, staring down into his coffee, his fingers tracing the edge of the cup. “I know,” he replied, though the words tasted hollow. He knew it, but he didn’t feel it. The decision he was about to make—requesting a transfer to Strauss—gnawed at him. He could hear her words ringing in his mind: “If it were solely up to me, you would never get these credentials back.”

It wasn’t just about work, though.

It was about purpose.

These last two weeks had been torture, not because he didn’t love spending time with his family, but because the stillness, the helplessness of suspension, had chipped away at him. Aaron was never the type to sit still.

His entire life had been built around momentum, around action.

These past weeks, he had felt himself slowly unraveling, checking in with you more often than necessary - not to oversee your work as interim Unit Chief, but because he missed it.

He missed the pulse of the job, the sense of purpose that came with it. He loved his family more than anything, but he couldn’t deny the restlessness eating away at him.

"Getting suspended was a blessing in disguise," Haley continued, her hands now gently massaging his tense shoulders. "We deserve a normal life."

Aaron took a slow breath, the words sinking in. He loved Haley, loved Jack, loved the idea of a normal life for them all. But was he even capable of that? Was "normal" ever really going to fit him? He felt the weight of her words more than ever, yet they didn’t soothe him like they should have.

"I love you," Aaron said quietly, turning his head slightly to meet Haley’s eyes, his tone filled with sincerity but also the unspoken conflict that still lingered beneath.

“I love you, too,” she replied, her hands slipping from his shoulders as she gave him a tender smile, though there was something unspoken between them as well. The past two weeks had been hard on both of them, in different ways.

Jack, unaware of the tension, looked up at his dad with a beaming smile. "Sok, Kuna!" he chirped, holding up his sippy cup toward the plushie, as though offering it juice.

Aaron blinked, caught off guard, before letting out a surprised laugh. He couldn’t believe it. His two-year-old son had just said a sentence - albeit a grammatically incorrect one - in Croatian. Aaron laughed, shaking his head in disbelief.

Aaron’s grin widened, the tension in his chest easing for just a moment. Of course, Jack would learn that word. You’d been playfully insisting on reading The Adventures of the Pine Marten in its original Croatian to Jack ever since you’d gifted him the book, mostly to humble him as usual.

At first, it had been a challenge, but after a few butchered attempts, Aaron had managed to learn a couple of basic words. “Sok,” which meant juice, and "Kuna," the name of the pine marten character, were the ones that stuck.

Aaron leaned forward, grinning at his son. “Kuna wants some juice too, huh, buddy?”

Jack, as if determined to correct his father, beamed and repeated, “Sok.”

Aaron couldn’t help but laugh again, shaking his head in disbelief. It was one of the few moments lately that lifted the dark cloud hovering over him. "Sok," he repeated with a grin. "Of course, Jack. Juice."

Haley, who had been watching the exchange with an amused but slightly exasperated expression, raised an eyebrow. “Did you tell her that Jack learned to say 'Kuna' before 'Dad'?”

Aaron groaned, rubbing a hand over his face. “Oh no, she can never know that. You think she’d ever let me live it down? I’d hear about it for the rest of my life.”

Haley smirked, shaking her head, though there was a subtle edge to her amusement. “Only your son could pick up two words in Croatian by the age of two. Seriously, do you even know how many words a two-year-old should know?”

Aaron didn’t hesitate, slipping into profiler mode as easily as breathing. "Between 100 and 500 words. So the fact that Jack knows even 0.5% of that in Croatian is... pretty impressive," he said, pride swelling in his chest.

Haley rolled her eyes, though her smile lingered. "Out of all the words, it’s 'Kuna' and 'sok.' You’re really proud of that, huh?"

Her words had a playful tone, but Aaron couldn’t help but notice the underlying frustration. It wasn’t the first time Haley had made comments like that. “That’s my fault, the only words I can actually pronounce are 'Kuna' and 'sok.'”

Haley let out a short laugh, but it had a bitter edge. “Out of all the bedtime stories you could read, you’re reading that Croatian book. Sometimes I wonder... I swear, Jack reminds me so much of you and her. If this keeps up, he’ll be in university by fifteen.”

Aaron laughed, though he could sense the underlying tension. "Hey, those words - 's,' 'k,' and 'n' - they’re great for his pronunciation. He’s got a head start." He ruffled Jack’s hair, feeling a surge of fatherly pride.

Haley gave him a look, half-joking but with an edge. "Are you going to be mad if Jack grows up to be a linguist instead of a lawyer like you?"

Aaron hesitated, his gaze drifting to Jack, who was happily babbling to his stuffed marten, Kuna. The thought tugged at his heart, and his mind inevitably wandered to you, at the profound impact you'd had on him, his life, and, in subtle ways, on his family.

You’d only met Jack twice, but your influence was undeniable.

It was woven into bedtime stories, casual conversations, even the way Jack’s eyes would light up at words in other languages.

Aaron spoke about you way too often, sharing stories of your time together, your intense passion for languages and philosophy - all those hours you spent digging deep into human nature and meaning.

He’d done it even when Jack was too young to understand, planting seeds that somehow, in his son’s little world, had started to bloom. He liked to imagine that some of your passion had seeped into Jack - through stories, through osmosis, through that connection he always felt when talking about you.

“I wouldn’t mind if Jack grew up to be a linguist like her,” Aaron said softly, a warm smile pulling at the corners of his mouth as he imagined Jack inheriting that same thirst for knowledge, that wide-eyed wonder at the world.

But then, a nagging thought tugged at him - Jack’s repeating words like “Kuna” and “sok” was innocent, even charming.

It was just a toddler picking up on the rhythm of language, right?!

But what if one day Jack started rattling off philosophical musings - your philosophical musings?

Aaron wasn’t sure he could handle that.

The thought of raising a mini-version of you was both amusing and daunting.

He adored you, truly, but he also knew how relentless you could be when it came to deep conversations. Would Jack grow up with that same fierce, intellectual curiosity? Aaron wasn’t surely ready for that, especially not from a toddler.

He chuckled softly, shaking his head, trying to imagine the future. “You know what I’d really be worried about?” he asked, his grin returning despite the weight still lingering in his chest. “If he starts talking about philosophy like her.” He smirked, a playful glint in his eyes as he glanced at Haley, trying to lighten the moment. "Can you imagine? My worst nightmare would be hearing my son say the name Plato."

Haley raised an eyebrow, her lips twitching into a knowing smile. "Oh, please. You love it when she starts talking about philosophy. Don’t act like you wouldn’t secretly be proud."

Aaron’s smile softened at that, his heart swelling with the truth of her words.

Of course, he would be proud.

Just like he was proud of everything Jack did - whether he followed in his footsteps or carved his own path.

But imagining his little boy spouting off Plato or Hegel at the dinner table, at two years old? That was another story.

Before Aaron could respond, Jack, as if sensing his father’s thoughts, piped up from his high chair with a grin. “Plat!”

Aaron’s eyes widened in shock, his heart skipping a beat.

There was no way.

Jack couldn’t possibly be saying Plato, could he?

"Kuna wants some more cereal on his plate?" Aaron asked quickly, trying to redirect the conversation, his voice a little too cheerful as he pointed to the bowl in front of Jack. "This is called a bowl, not a plate, buddy."

But Jack giggled, delighted by the attention, and in that mischievous, toddler way of his, he declared loudly once again, “Plat!”

Aaron glanced at Haley, who was now biting her lip to keep from laughing, and he realized he wasn’t out of the woods yet. His son’s innocent mimicry was hitting far too close to home. But as if to make matters worse, Jack giggled again, this time saying something that sent another shockwave through Aaron's system.

“Heg!”

Aaron froze, staring at Jack with wide eyes.

There was no way his son was about to say Hegel.

He couldn’t possibly.

Not Hegel.

Not the philosopher you mentioned the most.

Frantically, Aaron scrambled to recover. "Eggs, buddy? You want eggs?" he asked, laughing nervously, already planning his escape route for when Jack inevitably started quoting full passages from the works of ancient philosophers. He could feel his heart racing at the thought.

Jack, still giggling, waved his hands as he played with Kuna, blissfully unaware of the existential crisis he was causing his father. Meanwhile, Aaron glanced at Haley, who shook her head, clearly amused by the whole situation.

"You know," she teased, a glint of mischief in her eyes, "if he keeps this up, he’ll be rattling off entire philosophical arguments before he’s five."

Jack’s giggles filled the room, and Aaron let out a shaky laugh, grateful that his son wasn’t quoting philosophers just yet.

But deep down, he knew it was only a matter of time.

The day Jack said "Socrates," Aaron would have to get creative - maybe "sausages" could be his go-to deflection.

There was only one person yet to be informed about his transfer request from the BAU.

He couldn’t avoid this conversation any longer.

Even though he knew you were probably heading out to teach your first class of the day at the Academy - something you'd been looking forward to for weeks - he had to do it now.

‘She deserves to know’, Aaron thought, as his thumb hovered over the call button. He took a deep breath and pressed it, listening as the line rang.

"Unit Chief?" your voice answered, light and full of warmth. The sound of your happiness struck him, and he could hear the bustle of students in the background.

You sounded truly happy, like a weight had been lifted from your shoulders. Aaron couldn’t help but feel a pang of guilt. You’d taken on so much in his absence, and despite your talent for compartmentalizing the stresses of work and life, he knew it hadn’t been easy for you.

He admired how you could move through the chaos and still find joy, something that felt foreign to him these past few weeks.

"How does it feel being back?" you asked brightly, already celebrating his return as if you were right there in the bullpen with him.

Aaron swallowed hard.

He couldn’t pretend everything was normal.

"I requested a transfer," he said, his voice flat. The words spilled out faster than he’d intended, but he couldn’t hold them in any longer. They were burning a hole in his chest.

The line went silent. One of the few times Aaron ever remembered it feeling uncomfortable between you two.

"Where did she tell you to go?" you asked, your voice quiet but laced with a sharp understanding. You didn’t ask ‘where did you choose?’ or ‘where are you headed?’

You already knew this wasn’t truly his choice, it would never be.

"White-collar crime," Aaron answered, his voice dripping with bitterness despite his best efforts to keep it neutral.

You scoffed, disbelief dripping from your voice. "Seriously, Aaron? Did you put down 'coin collector' in your ‘fun facts about me’ section, and Strauss decided that made you the perfect fraud detective? What was her logic? ‘Oh, he can spot a rare penny, let’s put him on white-collar crime!’" You let out a sharp, sarcastic laugh. "Honestly, your talent - the Aaron Hotchner, wasting away in the land of paperwork and forgeries. Your skills are being thrown in the trash. Why would she do that?"

"She said it’s because I was a prosecutor," Aaron explained, though he didn’t even believe it himself. The words felt hollow as they left his mouth.

"Then she must really hate you," you said, your tone shifting, half-joking but carrying the weight of truth underneath. You always teased him about his past as a prosecutor, poking fun at him for being a 'suit' - but today, there was no laughter nor banter, just an undercurrent of anger.

There was another beat of silence, the weight of the conversation sinking in. Aaron could almost hear the wheels turning in your mind as you processed what he had told you.

"Peter works in white-collar crime too," you said softly, trying to find common ground, trying to make it make sense. "He was a profiler, just like me. Just like you."

Aaron could hear the strain in your voice.

You were trying to offer some kind of comfort, but he could feel the tension, the unspoken weight of something much deeper between your words. Before he could respond, you continued, and this time your voice carried that unmistakable philosophical edge that always made him stop and listen, no matter the situation.

"But you’re different, Aaron," you began, your voice softening as it delved into deeper waters, the kind you knew Aaron always paid attention to. "What sets you apart isn’t just your skill - it’s your empathy. That’s what makes you irreplaceable. White-collar crime... it’s sterile. To them, criminals are just reduced to numbers, a name on a file, detached from any sense of their human nature. They’re stripped of complexity, of identity. But you..."

You paused, feeling the weight of what you were about to say, "You see criminals for what they truly are: people. Broken, flawed, yes. But human."

Aaron’s grip tightened slightly on the phone, but he remained silent, waiting, knowing you were just getting started.

And he was right.

Talkative, as usual.

"It’s easy to see the humanity in victims," you continued, your voice laced with both tenderness and conviction, "because we’re conditioned to feel for them, to mourn them. But you… you do the impossible. You see the humanity in the people who commit the crimes, the ones we’re taught to loathe, to cast aside. You see the hurt, the trauma, the reasons behind their actions. You see them as more than the sum of their worst mistakes. That, Aaron, is rare. That’s what makes you exceptional."

You paused again, the emotion thick in your throat as you tried to find the right words, knowing you had to make him understand. "We were taught to break people down into patterns, behaviors, motivations. But you don’t just analyze - you connect. You see through the layers of darkness and you recognize that beneath the surface, there’s still something worth understanding. You bring out the human element in a job that demands detachment."

Aaron’s throat tightened. How did you always manage to articulate things in a way that made the abstract suddenly feel so tangible? You were right - he knew it - but hearing it from you made the reality of his decision even heavier.

"You can’t reduce people to their actions," you continued, "not the way they do in white-collar crime. Not the way Strauss wants you to. You see beyond that. You’ve always seen beyond that. And that’s why this transfer isn’t just a waste of your talents - it’s a loss for everyone who relies on you to see them, really see them, when no one else can."

Aaron let out a breath he didn’t know he was holding, the weight of everything - the decision, the transfer, the exhaustion - pressing down on him.

"And the hardest part?" you added, your voice quieter now, almost a whisper. "The hardest part isn’t just leaving the BAU. It’s knowing that you’ll be asked to abandon the very thing that makes you who you are. That’s what white-collar crime will do to you - it’ll strip away your empathy, piece by piece, until all that’s left is someone you don’t recognize."

You were right, as alwa – most of the times.

But that wasn’t why he requested the transfer.

"Does Peter come home at a normal time?" Aaron asked abruptly, knowing you would catch the subtext.

There was a brief pause, a hesitation that he immediately picked up on. You paused for a fraction longer than usual, and that was all Aaron needed to understand that something wasn’t right. "Yes," you said, your voice quieter, more resigned. "He’s home most of the time, if that was your worry. He’s home even more than I am, actually."

Aaron could hear the bitterness beneath your words. "Does that make you happy?" he asked gently

There was another silence, longer this time. Aaron’s stomach tightened. He could feel it, something was wrong. But what?

The truth was, Aaron had no idea what had happened between you and Peter last night. And when you came home? It had turned ugly.

You could still feel his hands on your body rough, demanding. His words about how you owed him an apology, about how you were supposed to show him you were sorry. You’d been exhausted, drained from everything with Gideon, not after the emotional toll of the past few weeks.

But Peter hadn’t cared.

He hadn’t listened.

He’d just acted.

Aaron’s voice on the phone brought you back to the present, but you were struggling to keep your composure. He was asking questions, trying to understand, but how could you tell him what had happened? How could you explain that everything in your life was falling apart?

"Does that make you happy?" Aaron asked again, his voice gentle but pressing.

You hesitated again, knowing that Aaron could read the smallest of pauses.

But how could you answer?

How could you tell him that everything was wrong, that nothing made you happy anymore?

---

He had barely begun to sort through his books and personal items when Garcia had come in, a mixture of sadness and hope in her eyes.

"Is it appropriate to ask whether I could talk you out of it?" she had asked , almost pleading, yet her tone tinged with the sort of desperate optimism that only her could muster.

Hotch couldn’t look at her.

"Heard you got a bigger office," he said, forcing a half-smile as he stacked the tomes on top of each other.

She played along smiling though her attempt at lightness fell flat. "A swanky new map and everything."

Hotch had paused mid-pack, his gaze drifting toward the stack of files on his desk. He saw her hesitate, holding a file in her hands as if she wasn’t sure whether to give it to him.

"It’s the Milwaukee file. JJ wanted me to give it to you."

His heart clenched. The familiar burn of curiosity flared up inside him. "I’m not working it."

Garcia’s face was tight, holding back something she didn’t want to say. "I’m just following orders." She pressed the folder into his hand, her voice quiet. "They found a new body this morning. The others are headed straight to the scene."

That was hours ago, and yet it felt like only moments had passed.

Now, sitting alone in his car, Aaron stared at the case file in the passenger seat. He knew he should leave it behind, let it go. It was the right thing to do - for Haley, for Jack, for the fragile promise of a normal life he’d been trying so hard to grasp.

But the push of the manila folder was almost unbearable, like a gravitational pull that he couldn’t ignore. It called to him, with a magnetism that felt almost sinful, the kind that wormed its way into his thoughts until it was all he could see.

He knew it wasn’t just curiosity - it was the desperate need to still feel like he was part of the team, like he hadn’t been stripped of his identity, relegated to a role he wasn’t ready to embrace. The file promised him a lifeline to who he used to be, to the life he was being forced to leave behind. He craved the rush, the sense of purpose that only the job could bring.

‘I’ll just put it away in my office’ he tried to reassure himself, even as his fingers twitched toward the folder. But the moment he stepped through the front door, the stillness of the house hit him like a wave, pressing down on him.

His home office, once a safe haven where he could lose himself in the work, felt cold and unfamiliar now - tainted by the distance growing between him and Haley.

He couldn’t go there. She’d notice. She’d feel the shift.

So he waited.

His body was coiled, tense, like a spring, listening for the sounds of Haley moving upstairs with Jack. He held his breath to her soft footsteps, waiting for the gentle click of the nursery door. And when it finally came, he slipped onto the living room couch, the file in his hands, feeling the now-familiar forbidden thrill quicken his pulse.

It was a silent kind of betrayal, opening the file right in their living room, yet the push was too strong, the pull too insistent to take any longer. His hands seemed to move of their own volition, sliding open the manila folder so that the scent of fresh ink and paper filled his senses, hitting him like a drug he'd been too long without.

The rush was immediate -a heady cocktail of thrill and terror - and his sight blurred for a moment as he scanned the introductory paragraphs. The words for one fleeting instant began to shimmy before him, fuzzy, out of focus.

So unlike him.

Always present.

Always focused.

But now?

Everything else paled into insignificance in that single fragment of time: the burden of his transfer, the oppressive silence of the house, the chasm widening between him and Haley. In that swift heartbeat, he was just Aaron Hotchner, or better - Hotch - holding a case file in his hands.

It was a fraction of a second he would wish he could reclaim, the sweet ignorance of what was to come, the last breath of ordinary before everything would begin to break apart.

A fraction of a second, that’s all he had.

And then came the clarity.

Dark blue ink.

Gel pen.

0.7mm tip.

It was immediate.

It hadn’t been JJ who asked Garcia to hand him the file,

It had been you.

The blue ink screamed against the page, a jarring contrast to the black-and-white case details.

The familiar shade of deep blue you always used, the pen that seemed to bear the weight of every observation you made, every thought you trusted him to read.

Your handwriting - one constant in his life - appeared now like an intrusion.

You had pulled him back in, a lifeline disguised as an anchor, tethering him to a life he was already struggling to leave so much.

He knew why you’d done it, felt your intentions through the words you’d scrawled on the side of the pages: a subtle reminder of who he was, a steadying hand.

But it stung, a betrayal dressed as support, calling back his instincts, awakening the part of him that craved the hunt. He resented it, hated how you knew what he needed even when he was trying to silence it.

He didn’t want to be pulled back in.

Not by you.

Because he could always manage to silence his own voice, but yours? Yours never.

He couldn’t stand the way your presence in his mind made him doubt, the way it nudged the conscience he was desperately trying to bury.

But in the silence, he had buried something else - he hadn’t heard the faint sounds of Haley’s footsteps, hadn’t sensed her presence beside him until she was already there.

“Is Jack still napping?” The words slipped out instinctively, a reflex to buy a moment - not to divert her from the case file laying on the coffee table she’d surely already noticed, but to protect the one thing he could still preserve.

He could keep Jack from witnessing what was about to unravel.

Haley’s gaze was steely, scrutinizing him with an intensity that seemed to cut through every layer of defense he had.

"I thought this was over," Haley said, stretching her palms as if grounding herself, her voice tight and hard.

"It is," he said firmly, choosing his words in consideration, measuring each with the deliberation of a man who stood too close to a precipice. “I’m just curious.”

Haley let out a sharp breath, her mouth twisting into a bitter smile that didn’t reach her eyes, a shadow of the warmth he used to see there. They stood locked in a silent standoff, a lifetime of shared memories flickering between them like ghosts. He could feel the argument waiting to break free, simmering in the quiet between them, unspoken words just waiting to pierce the space they once shared.

And then the phone rang.

A shrill, jarring sound slicing through the tension like a blade. It was the household line, buzzing on the table before him. Aaron reached for it, desperate for even a momentary escape from the heaviness that weighed on his chest, but it was a fleeting, fragile illusion of comfort.

Out of the corner of his eye, he caught Haley’s hand reaching towards the photographs on the table, swiftly flipping them facedown as though the sight of them was something she couldn’t bear.

In that brief, almost tender moment of closeness, he felt nothing but the icy distance between them, a void that had grown too wide to bridge.

“Hello” The word hung in the air, heavy and uncertain. Silence answered him back, a silence that stretched far beyond the line. He tried again, "Hello?" he repeated, the word hanging in the air like a plea, but the line remained dead.

Before he could turn back to Haley, before he could face the storm gathering in her eyes, the phone rang again.

Only this time, it wasn’t the house phone.

The sound echoed from across the room - from her purse, sitting neatly on the side table by the door, ringing insistently, demanding attention.

Her personal phone.

The sound echoed from the side table by the entrance, and both of them turned, their movements perfectly synchronized in that single instant - the first time they had moved together, effortlessly in tune, amidst the discord of their unraveling world. A bitter note of perfect harmony, a heartbeat of shared motion, in a symphony that had become painfully out of key.

And with it came the undeniable truth, creeping in like a cold shadow, that the life they had built was no longer whole.

Clarity.

A chill ran through him, Haley’s gaze flicked from the purse back to him, her face clouding, a flicker of panic in her eyes before something else - a defiance, a kind of worn resignation - surfaced. She looked like the criminals he’d seen in interrogation rooms just before they confessed, her body a canvas of the truth she hadn’t yet spoken aloud.

His heart was shouting at him, urging him to stop analyzing her with his profiler’s eyes, the ones that stripped away any illusions. If only he could switch off that part of himself, maybe he could still live in blissful ignorance, cling to the delusion that his worst fear wasn’t unraveling right before him.

But that was the curse of his job - it defined him, for better or worse.

He was trained to see the truth, to read between the lines, and now there was no unseeing it, even though it felt as if she were the one sleeping with a gun underneath their bed.

The pieces continued to assemble themselves in his mind unbidden, swift and unforgiving, and he saw everything.

He remembered his father.

The infidelities everyone had known about.

The shame he had carried in silence, back when Haley was the only one who’d comforted him, promising he’d never be like his father, that they would build something unbreakable, something lasting. She had seen him through those years of shame and anger, through the wounds his father had left behind.

And yet, here she was.

She had hurt him in the very way that had once broken him.

"What did the Section Chief say?" She asked, her voice tense, her hands moving to her hips - a stance he recognized all too well. It was her defense mechanism, a way to regain control of the conversation, to shift the power back to her.

But the phone was still ringing, hanging in the air like an accusation she refused to acknowledge. He fixed her with a hardened gaze, silently willing her to explain. Instead, she ignored it, raising an eyebrow in a silent demand for him to answer her question.

Only when the phone finally stopped ringing did the silence grow heavier between them.

“She suggested I transfer to a white-collar crime task force,” Aaron said, his voice barely holding together, each word heavy with the weight of what was slipping away. He turned his gaze away from her, looking anywhere but at the face he had once known so well. The pain in his chest throbbed, a wound that felt like it would never heal.

And he moved there it was again, that echo - blue.

Blue, scattered all over the margins of the case files.

He could almost hear your voice in the back of his mind, unbidden, stirring memories he had tried so hard to bury.

“It’s a beautiful metaphor, Aristophanes tells us that when two halves find each other, there is a recognition, a knowing. It’s not just attraction or desire - it’s a profound sense of homecoming, of finally feeling whole.”

He remembered that day, the pride he felt when you stood up at his wedding, your words carrying a weight that felt like destiny. How he had looked at Haley then, feeling so sure, so hopeful that he had found his missing half, the person who made him whole.

“Aaron and Haley, you are each other’s missing halves. You are each other’s home. And today, you stand before us, not as two separate people, but as a whole, as something that the world tried to keep apart but couldn’t. You’ve found your way back to each other, just like you were always meant to.”

Your words were a promise, one he had clung to during every argument, every moment of doubt. He had kept the pages of your speech hidden in his desk drawer, reading them whenever he needed reassurance that they were meant to be, that they could weather any storm.

But now, that certainty felt like a lie, a broken promise that tasted bitter and hollow.

"Would you have to travel?" Haley asked, and there was no curiosity in her voice, no real concern - just a rote question.

“No,” he replied. “I’d have a nine-to-five life.”

But it didn’t matter.

None of it did.

The foundation they had built together was already crumbling.

She nodded, the motion mechanical. "Then it’s a no-brainer," she said, but there was no relief in her voice.

No joy.

Just finality.

An ultimatum.

Then she walked away, her bag clutched tightly in her hand, leaving him frozen in place, staring into the emptiness she left behind. The silence swallowed him whole, and all he could hear were the echoes of his own thoughts, the relentless surge of guilt washing over him like a tidal wave - his oldest, most familiar companion. It weighed heavy on his chest, pushing him down until he felt hollow and exposed.

There was only one thing he knew he couldn’t fail at—the one thing that never failed him.

His job.

With a steadying breath, he picked up the phone - the same one that had rung into nothingness only minutes ago - and dialed.

"Hey," Morgan's voice came through the line.

Hotch immediately replied “How’s it going?”

---

Hotch dressed himself with deliberation, his mind continuously repeating a mantra he clung to - the team needs me - as he methodically went through his motions with the practiced efficiency that was his trademark. He tied the knot on his tie carefully, almost ritualistically, and took the gun from the safety box on the nightstand with silent certitude. His mind was already in Milwaukee, with the team, miles away from where he stood.

Haley burst in as if she were a sudden gust of wind that broke his focus. "What the hell are you doing?" Haley's voice was sharp, almost desperate, echoing with anger and fear.

"Keep your voice down," he calmly but firmly returned, his eyes never meeting hers while continuing to fold the clothes from the dresser. He couldn’t afford to lose his composure now.

"Gideon didn’t show in Milwaukee, and the team needs me," he said, his voice calm but unyielding. He didn’t lift his gaze from his task, already knowing Haley could sense it - the unwavering resolve, the wall she couldn’t break through.

There was no point in arguing, he had already chosen, and nothing she said would change the path he was on.

“I don’t believe this.” Haley shook her head, disbelief etched in every line of her face.

He didn’t stop, didn’t even look at her.

“Don’t worry,” he said, his tone overly steady, betraying how much he was trying to control the situation. “It won’t affect my transfer if I’m working on an existing case.”

His hands moved mechanically, pulling clothes from the dresser and laying them on the bed, his attention focused on his preparations. The meticulous packing felt like his only control in a situation spiraling away from him.

“You’re not working on this case,” Haley demanded, her words clipped, biting. She was trying to reach him, trying to make him see what he was sacrificing, but he remained unmoved.

“I can’t just switch off my loyalty, Haley.” The words came out like an admission, his gaze finally meeting hers.

Loyalty.

What a word, what an irony.

“They suspended you for two weeks,” she said, her voice rising with urgency. She was trying to make him see what he was throwing away. “Who are you being loyal to?”

“The team needs me,” His voice was firmer now, more resolute.

He could have said more, could have pointed out her own failings with the concept of loyalty, but he didn’t.

There wasn’t time, and in his heart, the job came first.

Always had.

He could never be satisfied.

“Aaron, you’re allowed to be satisfied. You’re allowed to find happiness outside of work. It doesn’t make you any less dedicated. You’re not the man you were back then. You’re better.” Your voice slipped into his mind as he stared blankly into the distance. Just allowing your words to surface was already a victor, —he could never shut you out completely.

But looking back, he realized—no, he was even worse.

“I wish it were that simple. I want to believe you, but I keep feeling like… I’m never satisfied. No matter how much I achieve, no matter how far I go, it never feels like enough.” He admitted, not even aware the confession had escaped his lips..

“Aaron, happiness isn’t a destination,” you had said, your response almost immediate. “It’s not something you can chase down like a criminal or lock away like a case file. It’s messy and imperfect, and sometimes, it’s just allowing yourself to be enough. It’s letting go of the ‘what ifs’ and the regrets. You have a chance to rebuild something with Haley, to find that piece of your life you thought you’d lost. Why not take it?”

I love you – here’s why.

He wished he’d had the courage to say what he felt back then. Maybe he wouldn’t be in this mess if he had.

Instead, all he had left was the silent regret - I loved you, and that was his burden to bear.

Back to this hollow routine, back to a crumbling marriage that left him feeling more empty than fulfilled. If it had been you, he thought, you would have understood without him having to explain. You would have stayed by his side just as he would have stayed by yours, without the pain, without the pretense.

Too late.

“No, they need Gideon,” Haley shot back, the desperation in her voice barely masked. He could hear her fear, her anger, the worry she tried to hide beneath her frustration.

Hotch moved to the bathroom, collecting his essentials, his voice echoing off the tile. “Do you know what this guy’s doing to women in Milwaukee?” His voice was tight, his words clipped - almost a challenge.

He was asking because he knew she wouldn’t want to hear it. Because the truth was ugly, and he couldn’t turn away from it.

"I don’t want to know," she said, her voice breaking with emotion, but he continued, unable to stop himself.

“He’s using his son to lure them, he’s holding them, and then he’s cutting their hearts out.” His tone was clinical, detached - a profiler’s voice.

The urgency, the danger, had overtaken everything else.

The case was all that mattered now.

“Aaron, stop!” she shouted, and he froze, finally turning to face her. The look in her eyes - pain, anger, desperation - was like a slap to the face.

“Don’t make me the monster here,” she pleaded, her voice softening, the anger draining from her as she looked at him with something close to resignation. “I feel sick about these women, but when this case is over, there will be another one. And another one and another one. It is never going to stop.”

He held her gaze, feeling the weight of her words settle like lead in his stomach. “This is who I am,” he said simply, and the raw truth in those words cut through the tension like a knife.

“No,” she said, her voice barely a whisper, sadness and frustration mingling together. “This is what you do.”

He swallowed, his throat tight, and tried to explain himself. “I’m trying to do the right thing, here and there,” he began, but his voice cracked, the weight of his choices pressing down on him. “And I would really appreciate a little support.”

Haley’s laugh was short, bitter, a scoff that cut deep. “That’s right, ‘cause you always need to be the hero,” she said, her voice laced with resentment.

“Don’t give me that,” he snapped, his own anger flaring, but she didn’t back down.

“No, obviously, a happy life isn’t enough for you,” she said, her words like ice, hitting him with the weight of a truth he didn’t want to face. He looked at her, his eyes burning with unshed tears, knowing he couldn’t argue, knowing she was right in ways he couldn’t admit.

“But you deserve it, Aaron. You deserve to find the kind of happiness that doesn’t come with strings attached, that doesn’t make you feel like you’re constantly running.”

His gaze fell to where your hands touched, his thumb brushing yours. I love you. That’s the only thought his mind managed to form. But he couldn’t say it.

“I don’t know what I’d do without you,” he said softly, his voice thick with emotion. “You’ve always been the one keeping me steady, reminding me why I do this. You make it bearable.”

“I’ll always be here,” you said, your voice trembling. “No matter what. Even when it’s hard, even when you feel like you don’t deserve it. I’ll be here.”

I love you.

“Thank you,” he whispered, his voice breaking slightly. “For everything.”

I love you.

He zipped up his go-bag, the sound unbearably loud in the tense silence that had fallen between them. Haley’s eyes were glassy, the fight leaving her as he turned to go. “Aaron, I need you here,” she said, her voice cracking, a final plea.

He stopped, his back to her, the words hanging heavy in the air. “And I will be here, as soon as this case is over,” he said, his tone detached, determined, before walking out the door, not daring to look back.

As he descended the stairs, her voice rang out behind him, cutting through the silence like a knife. “Yeah, well make sure you give your son a kiss before you leave.”

Jack. His whole world.

Then the memory played in his mind like a haunting melody - Jack’s small face lighting up the moment he first began stringing words together.

Each syllable a small miracle, a bridge to understanding, but the very first combination of words he’d uttered had been “Dad. Work.”

But now he brushed it off.

He didn’t stop, didn’t look back.

He couldn’t.

Not now.

Because the job was all he had left.

Dad. Work.

---

“I told you, I hate politics,” Emily said, her voice steady but resigned as she stood in the kitchen, the weight of her decision heavy in the air.

“Come to Milwaukee,” Hotch pressed, his voice firm, not backing down. He saw it - the hesitation in her eyes, the uncertainty.

It was enough to make him push a little harder. “I’ll make you a deal,” he said, his tone softening. “If your ready bag isn’t here, packed, I won’t bother you anymore. But if it is, I want you on that plane with me. One more case.”

Emily sighed, the conflict clear on her face. “I already turned in my badge and my gun,” she said, the words feeling empty, as if she didn’t fully believe them herself.

“That’s just hardware,” Hotch countered gently, his eyes not leaving hers, sensing the crack in her resolve.

“Give me five minutes,” Emily said, her voice resigned, the decision made.

He won. He was good at his job.

“Good,” he replied giving a slight nod. “I’ll be waiting for you in the car” His voice was steady, calm, as he turned and left the room, leaving her alone with the weight of the choice she had just made.

The ride to the hangar was excruciating, the car barely moving in the gridlock of DC traffic. Hotch’s gaze was fixed ahead, focused on the road, but as they neared a familiar intersection, his eyes darted - just for a second – on something standing on the right of the road, toward your apartment building.

It was a reflex, a momentary flicker of concern, as if he needed to reassure himself that everything was in its place.

But he wasn’t the only one watching.

Emily caught the movement, her profiler’s instincts picking up on the subtle shift. She turned her head, recognizing the building immediately.

“Y/N’s one of the best profilers we’ve had,” Emily said, breaking the heavy silence. “In just two weeks, she surpassed everyone’s expectations. She belongs in the BAU” Her voice was steady, confident.

“I know,” Hotch replied, his voice flat. It was all he could say because he did agree. He knew you belonged with them. With him.

“Then why aren’t we going to get her?” Emily pressed, her brow furrowing.

“I’m not Unit Chief,” he said, the tightness in his voice betraying his struggle. “I can’t authorize her return.”

Emily shot him a skeptical look. “Oh, come on. I resigned, you requested a transfer, and yet here we are, headed to Milwaukee together.” She let the words hang in the air, then added, “What’s the real reason, Hotch?”

He gripped the steering wheel tighter, staring straight ahead. “That is the real reason, Prentiss,” he said, but his voice lacked conviction, and they both knew it. They barely moved in the traffic, only inching forward, and they were trapped together in this car, with nowhere to hide.

“Have you even asked her?” Emily’s tone was sharper now, unwilling to let him off the hook so easily.

“She can’t,” he said, his words clipped, almost desperate.

“She wants to,” Emily said firmly, her gaze unwavering. “Look, she’s living a life that’s not really hers, and we both know why. She wants to be back with the team, Hotch - our life, not some half-life she’s pretending to be okay with.”

His grip loosened on the wheel, but his face remained his usual stoic mask. “I know,” he said quietly, his eyes flicking to the rearview mirror, trying to focus on anything but the truth Emily was forcing him to face.

Emily softened, just a bit. “Hotch, I don’t like you for a lot of reasons,” she said with a small smile, “but if there’s one thing I respect about you, it’s that you don’t quit. You’d do anything for the team, even if it costs you everything. You’ve never given up before - don’t start now.”

He hesitated, his jaw tightening. “The Section Chief won’t like this,” he said, but even as he spoke, his hand was already turning the wheel to the right, aiming the car toward your apartment. “How did you know I was looking at her building?” he asked, a trace of amusement flickering across his features.

Emily’s smirk widened. “Oh, she didn’t tell you?” she said with a light laugh. “Last Friday, we finished early and Y/N invited me, JJ, and Penelope out for drinks at that bar near her place. I don’t remember much about the apartment building because, well... let’s just say the drinks were strong. But I remember the bar, and it’s just down the street. We all crashed at her place.”

Hotch raised an eyebrow. “And you made it to work the next morning?”

Emily chuckled. “Nope. She gave us the weekend off. I told you, she’s fantastic. Hell, she even mentioned how she’d love to try out that new theory they’re testing in Europe, the four-day workweek. Called them ‘exemplars of virtue.’ I don’t think I’ve ever loved philosophy more,” she said with a grin. “And just so you know, she was always the first one in and the last one to leave. She’s more obsessed with this job than you are.”

A rare, quiet chuckle escaped Hotch’s lips. “Sounds exactly like her,” he said softly, a warmth in his voice that hadn’t been there all drive.

Since he rang your doorbell, Aaron hadn't heard anything but the rhythmic click of heels that was getting closer and closer with every step down the hall, the pulsation of his heart immediately tuning to it and making anticipation grow till everything stopped. He held his breath as you opened the door, cautiously, slowly, revealing the face he’d been waiting to see.

He had first glimpsed your smile - slightly surprised, yet lit from inside by something deeper, a feeling of pride hiding beneath a few loose strands of hair framing your face, the only testament to your long day. Then you moved more fully into the light, no longer half-hidden behind the door, he immediately recognized your own version of uniform – a total black three-piece suit.

The close-fitting vest, the shirt buttoned right up to your neck, but with the cuffs folded up to the elbows that showed those light smudges of blue marker on your forearm - a subtle hint of your time spent writing on the board.

It was a small yet telling difference from the past two weeks, a sign of this old rhythm you'd settled back into. The jacket, hanging neatly on the entryway hook, added to the scene, highlighting that you’d just come home from a lecture. You were still in your heels, you hadn’t even had the chance to slip them off yet.

For a moment, you both stood there, frozen in a strange yet familiar silence. The way you looked at him - unafraid, warmly, and with a hint of pride - made him feel seen in a way he hadn’t been in weeks.

Accepted for who he was – and what he did.

“Hotch” you finally said, and he almost flinched, caught off-guard by the weight of that name. You hadn’t called him that in years. Between you, it was always something different, something uniquely crafted only for the two of you, of your partnership that felt as if it had been woven by fate.

It had always been ‘Partner’, your go-to,

‘Lawyer’ when you wanted to tease him on something, it probably was his personal favorite,

‘C3-PO’ that one primordial on-hit-wonder, thankfully only used once after your first case,

‘Unit Chief’ came later, after his promotion a title he saw you’d always used with pride,

‘Aaron’ only in those rare moments when it was just you two, away from the intensity of the Bureau.

One of the few people who was allowed to call him by his name, Aaron. Always Aaron.

Yet today, you chose “Hotch,” and it didn’t feel like distancing - calling him by the name anyone else on the job could use. Instead, it was a recognition. It was a nod to who he could finally be again - the strong, steadfast, but also overworked Unit Chief.

With a straight face, you extended your hand in a playful, formal greeting, as if you were strangers meeting for the first time. It was a parody of the professionalism that defined your roles, a subtle reminder of the colder side of your work. But you two always had a knack for weaving warmth into even the smallest gestures - like this one - turning formality into an unexpected moment of connection, catching him off guard.

He sighed, a faint smile tugging at his lips as he took your hand, meeting your playful formality with his usual steady, intense gaze. The moment his fingers wrapped around yours, a subtle shift passed between you, sending a shiver down his spine.

“Thank you,” he said, his voice quieter than he intended, his hand lingering in the handshake. There was so much he wanted to tell you - how grateful he was for passing the file to Garcia, for understanding without him having to ask. Yet somehow, the words caught in his throat, and he found himself simply holding on, hoping you could sense everything he couldn’t quite say.

“Of course,” you replied softly, your eyes never leaving his, your smile radiating reassurance as you released his hand, stepping aside to let him in.

Walking down the hallway together, he was struck by a wave of nostalgia, seeing you both in your familiar work attire. So much felt the same, yet somehow everything was different. If he squinted, it was almost like those countless evenings at the BAU, the tailored suits and easy professionalism bringing back memories.

As you walked ahead, he noticed the subtle change in how your suit now hugged your form a bit closer, accentuating your figure. It was as though you'd embraced a different rhythm - lecturing definitely didn't require for you to have a full range of motion chasing unsubs through the mud had.

“I didn’t come just to thank you,” Hotch began, his voice firm, but there was a vulnerability in his gaze as he searched yours for any hint of a response. “I know you’re not satisfied with only two weeks at the BAU.”

You looked back at him, and though you didn’t say a word, something in your expression softened, your eyes reflecting that familiar, unspoken understanding. He could see the weight you carried, and there was no denying that you wanted to be part of the team again. He continued, his tone more intimate now, almost pleading.

“The team needs you, Y/N. And I need my partner back. We had a deal.”

"Promise me that you’ll only leave me if you get tired of me. Otherwise, I’ll always fight to have you back - and you have to let me. Deal?"

Your lips curved into a faint smile as a soft sigh escaped between them. "You and your deals," you whispered, your words laced with a hint of desperation.

He held your gaze, a glimmer of hope surfacing. “I can read you as well as you read me. You pulled me back into the BAU, let me do the same for you. I wouldn’t push you if I didn’t know you wanted it too.”

For a moment, your gaze dropped, a flicker of longing overshadowed by resignation. “There’s nothing I want more than to come back,” you admitted softly, a hint of pain in your voice. “But Peter… he won’t be happy about it.”

Hotch’s jaw tightened, and he nodded, already bracing himself. “Let me handle Peter,” he said, voice low and unyielding. “Just let me try.”

But then, before either of you could say another word, Peter entered, his presence breaking the moment like a shattering glass. “Aaron, everything alright? Why are you here?”

Aaron glanced at you with the corner of his eyes, waiting for even a slight nod, some permission to move forward.

No response.

Unusual.

Instead, your gaze was fixed on a blank spot on the wall since Peter had entered, a detail that unsettled him. He noticed the slight tension in your shoulders, the guarded distance in your posture. A realization dawned on him, a sinking feeling deep in his chest. You were avoiding making eye contact with Peter.

Preoccupying.

Only then you turned to look at him, as if sensing his analyzing eyes on you. As you made eye contact, he saw your expression shift subtly, eyebrows lifting just a fraction. Hotch’s trained eyes caught every detail, the slight tremor in your gaze, the way you held yourself like you were guarding something fragile.

Shame – he read.

He looked at you, his stomach twisting. His profiler instincts connected this moment to the hesitation in your voice during that phone call—the pauses you hadn’t been able to hide. He had sensed something wrong then, but now it seemed painfully clear.

Yet he needed to be sure.

It couldn’t have happened, not to you.

With a slight tilt of his head, he asked you silently, ‘What happened?’

He watched as you exhaled softly, the faintest shudder in your breath. Your eyes glistened, fogging over with unshed tears. You hadn’t once looked in Peter’s direction. That small, vulnerable expression shattered something in him.

Avoidance.

Fear.

That was all he needed to know.

A fierce, uncontrollable rage surged through Hotch, flooding him with a fury he rarely allowed himself to feel. His fists clenched, nails pressing into his palms as every fiber of his being strained against the violent urge to rip Peter from the doorway, to make him feel the weight of every unspoken bruise, every flicker of fear he’d seen reflected in your eyes.

But he forced himself to stay rooted. He had to be steady, composed - for you. This wasn’t just about vengeance, it was about being the pillar you needed, holding back the storm that threatened to consume him.

"Y/N is needed for a case in Milwaukee,” Hotch said, his voice low and unyielding, a hard edge replacing any trace of the diplomacy he had planned. His gaze stayed locked on Peter, cold and unwavering, the words landing like an order, not a request.

Peter’s face tightened, but he didn’t back down. “She can’t go,” he replied sharply. “The contract was clear - just two weeks at the BAU. Those two weeks are up, Aaron.”

Hotch's jaw clenched as he turned to you, his eyes scanning for some sign of how Peter's response had impacted you. Your silent, pleading expression said it all: the unspoken hurt, the vulnerability glimmering in your eyes, became a catalyst to rush a wave of protectiveness through him and once again make the promise to be your shield when his anger boiled over.

Peter couldn’t see it - refused to see it - but Hotch did.

And as he held back the fury simmering beneath his composure, one thought pulsed through his mind: ‘Peter should be grateful for every breath I’m letting him take right now’.

Hotch didn’t flinch, his voice turning colder, each word cutting and precise. “This is pre-existing case. Any agreement with Strauss doesn’t apply here - I’m simply requesting her consultation. That’s her choice, not yours.” There was no warmth in his tone, Peter wasn’t owed that. Hotch leveled him with that piercing, unyielding gaze - one that could cut straight through, leaving a person regretting they even graced this Earth.

Peter turned to you, desperation flashing in his eyes. “Did you ask him to come here?” Hotch noticed something unsettling in Peter’s gaze, a hardness he hadn’t seen in over a decade of knowing him. There was a volatile edge, almost aggressive.

“I thought I made myself clear last night,” Peter continued, his voice taut with anger. “If you go back to the BAU, we can’t build a life together. You don’t have to drag Aaron in here to defend your selfish choices, making me look like the bad guy.”

Before you could respond, Hotch cut in, his voice ice-cold and unyielding. “Peter, if you were as perceptive as you claim, you wouldn’t need to ask her something that obvious. I came here on my own. She had no part in this.” He paused, his eyes never wavering from Peter’s. “Shut up and let her decide for herself.”

Peter’s face twisted with disbelief, and he snapped, “Really, Aaron?”

Hotch’s hand clenched involuntarily, his patience on edge. But as you noticed and found the strength to intervene, your tone steady yet pleading. “Pete, it’s just one case - I’m asking for that much. It won’t impact our life as much as you think.”

“Won’t impact us?” Peter’s voice rose, his frustration spilling over. “What will happen when this case over? When come home too exhausted to even look at me? Too tired to even take off your jacket? How can we build a life when you’re always drained?”

You exhaled deeply, shaking your head, “We’ll figure it out. I’m sure we will.” You turned toward the corridor that led to your bedroom, determination etched on your face. “I’ll be back in five minutes,” you declared, glancing pointedly at both Hotch and Peter. “And if I see either of you with even a scratch on your face, I swear I’ll beat you both senseless.”

Peter opened his mouth to protest, but you cut him off, raising a finger for emphasis, looking at him with a disappointed piercing look on your face. “We are beings graced with reason so let’s engage our intellect instead of our fists. As Aristotle said, ‘Man is by nature a political animal’, which means we should sort out our conflicts through dialogue, not by throwing punches. I would hate to resort to that, so do me a favor and keep it civil, okay?”

Hotch nodded, a hint of a smirk playing on his lips, he definitely didn’t expect a scolding from you in your teacher voice. “Understood.”

“Good,” you replied, disappearing down the hallway.

Afraid that Hotch and Peter would end up in the ER, you packed your go-bag in a frenzy, barely taking the time to change from your suit you wore for your lesson into a looser – too many buttons and too little time. You only swiftly traded your heels for your usual leather loafers, and with no time to style your hair properly, you simply tied the front pieces back to keep them out of your face.

As you returned to the living room, you found Hotch and Peter standing on opposite sides of the room, the tension thick enough to cut with a knife. You approached Peter first to say goodbye, reassuring him once again. You wore your engagement ring prominently, hoping to remind him of the bond you still shared. But he remained silent, avoiding eye contact as you two exited the apartment.

As soon as the door closed behind you, a long sigh escaped your lips, and you looked up at Hotch. “Thanks for having my back,” you confessed, your voice dropping to a soft whisper as you waited for the elevator.

Hotch glanced at you, his expression serious, a flicker of concern passing through his eyes. “Always. Do you want to talk about it?”

You offered a faint smile, appreciating his offer, but shook your head. “Not right now. We have a case to solve.”

His tone remained serious, and you could feel the weight of his words. “Just let me know when you’re ready. I’ll be here. Just don’t use the case a shield to avoid what you went through.”

“I won’t,” you promised as the elevator arrived with a soft ding. As the doors slid open, you both stepped inside, and the momentary quiet enveloped you, a mix of anticipation and unspoken emotions swirling around. Hotch pressed the button for the ground floor, the hum of the machinery filling the silence.

“I need to ask you a favor,” Hotch said, breaking the quiet, his voice laced with a gravity that made you turn, eyes widening in surprise. He hesitated for a brief second, like he was choosing his words carefully, a weight settling between you. “Morgan told me Gideon didn’t show up in Milwaukee, and he’s not answering his phone. Reid... he’s struggling, not handling it well. I’m concerned for him.”

He exhaled, softening slightly. “I know this affects you too, but you’ve always being able to keep focus, to compartmentalize, no matter what’s happening.”

Hotch paused, his eyes brightening up. “Three days into your assignment as Unit Chief, Reid started a philosophy bachelor,” he revealed, the faintest smile tugging at the corners of his mouth. You raised your eyebrows, caught off guard.

Reid hadn’t told you.

“I honestly thought it’d take him at least a week to get actually hooked by your metaphysics,” Hotch chuckled, the sound warm but tinged with bittersweetness.

“He looks up to you, Y/N,” Hotch continued, his voice quiet but certain. “He needs someone he trusts, someone who can get through to him.” His gaze met yours, sincere, and you could see the depth of his worry, for Reid, for the team, for everything this absence had disrupted. “I know I’m asking a lot, especially now… but he’ll listen to you. You’re the one who can really help him through this.”

You held his gaze, feeling the responsibility settle over you. “It’s not too much to ask, Aaron. I know how much it can help to have someone there when it feels like everything is falling apart,” you said, a small, appreciative smile edging onto your face.

He furrowed his brows, keeping a straight face as he pretended to be surprised. “Was that a compliment?”

“To you? Not even close,” you replied, rolling your eyes. Then your tone shifted to serious. “But you need to promise me something in return.”

“Anything,” he replied immediately, and then regretted it as you extended your hand, palm up.

Of course.

He sighed, handing you the car keys, his fingers lingering for a second as if hesitant, you grinned, a spark of excitement in your expression. “Bet we’ll get to the hangar in half the time now?”

He crossed his arms, a hint of a smirk tugging at his lips. “When I said you were a ‘good driver’ nine years ago, I didn’t mean ‘racecar-level.’”

“Please, I’m practically an F1 prodigy,” you shot back, pocketing the keys. “I promise to obey the law. Mostly.”

“They’re called guidelines,” you teased, striding confidently toward the car. “Besides, I remember a certain Unit Chief who used to be my copilot during most of those drives. Didn’t hear any complaints then.”

“Oh, I had complaints,” he replied, trying to maintain his seriousness. “Just don’t take any unnecessary risks,” he warned, though his voice was laced with humor. “I can’t afford to lose my partner on the road, too.”

“Relax, Hotch. I promise I’ll drive like my mom is in the passenger seat,” you replied, smirking as you walked to the car.

“Good,” he replied with a smirk, “because I’m not sitting there - Prentiss is.”

As you slid into the driver’s seat, you greeted Emily with a grin while Hotch climbed into the back, securing himself with an almost exaggerated seriousness.

“How come you’re not driving, Hotch?” Prentiss asked, raising an eyebrow as you revved the engine, giving it an amused look.

“Just keeping the pressure off me,” Hotch replied dryly, crossing his arms. “But I fully expect to hear all the wild driving stories, Teach.”

You glanced back, grinning, eyes on the road. “Actually, you feature in most of mine… Should I start with the one on August 23, 1999, or save the best for last?”

“The best?” He raised an eyebrow, leaning in.

“You know, the one that was… memorable in all the wrong ways.” You shot him a knowing smile.

Emily’s interest piqued, and she leaned forward, looking between the two of you. “Okay, I need to know. What happened on August 23, 1999?”

Hotch’s voice was almost comically serious. “Confidential”, he deadpanned.

---

“Look who’s here,” Reid said gleefully, his eyes lighting up as you, Hotch, and Emily stepped into the Milwaukee police station.

Emily settled into the chair next to Reid, flashing him a grin. “Hey, where do we start?” she asked, already scanning the room for files.

You approached, settling in beside JJ and Morgan, giving a small nod as Reid handed you the case file. “Thank you, Doctor,” you said with a smile.

Hotch entered last, carrying the weight of the room’s attention. He placed his bag on the floor and shook Morgan's hand, who seemed to look visibly surprised yet grateful and relieved to see him.

Then he positioned himself between Morgan and you, standing still on his right, and after a beat, immediately swapped places with you, that subtle instinct kicking in - a sense that something just wasn’t quite right until you stood on his left.

It was a nearly imperceptible movement, yet one that anchored you both. That formation had become natural, a silent tradition. Your right side close to his left - a setup that always allowed each of you to feel covered and focused, knowing where the other would be.

A comfort in the subtle code you shared, where neither words nor looks were needed to communicate an understanding that ran deep. Once positioned, you felt that inner switch flip, both of you immediately present, ready for whatever the case had in store.

Emily, glancing over at JJ, grinned. “How fast can you get us up to speed?”

JJ smirked, holding up a file. “How fast can you sit down?”

As Strauss settled into her seat, the tension still thick in the air, you shared a wordless exchange with Hotch. His eyes, steady and unwavering, held a trace of amusement behind his seriousness, as if to say, “Here we go.”

Your raised eyebrow and slight smirk replied, “Always making friends, aren’t you?”

He tilted his head a fraction, a subtle, almost invisible shrug. “Comes with the job.”

Your expression softened, silently saying, “You think she’ll hold her tongue until later?”

He replied with the smallest hint of a smirk, “If we’re lucky.”

You resisted a chuckle, responding with a quick, subtle nod, “Guess we’ll find out.”

Hotch tilted his head slightly, as if to say, “Maybe you could scare her off with some Aristotle”

You slightly raised your eyebrow, “No need to ask me twice, Lawyer”

---

Hotch reached out instinctively as Strauss tripped on the ramp, steadying her with a gentle but firm grip while she clutched the iron fence to regain balance. “Are you all right? You okay?” he asked, his tone professional but soft.

Strauss’s face twisted in horror, eyes filling with tears as she looked at the body. “I-I stepped on her hair,” she stammered, visibly shaken.

Hotch’s voice remained steady, a blend of professionalism and quiet empathy. “If you need a second, take a second.” He watched as Strauss covered her mouth, attempting to pull herself together.

He continued gently, “This is what it is. Just don't let the public see you break down.” After a beat, he helped her turn back up the ramp.

When his eyes met yours, you gave him a small nod, silently volunteering to handle Strauss ‘I got her, you go ahead with the team’. He acknowledged it with a brief, grateful glance before moving on.

You led Strauss a few feet away from the body, keeping your voice low to ensure no one from the press overheard. “Alright,” you said gently, “we’re going to stand here and pretend we’re discussing the case. Take as much time as you need. Just breathe.”

As she composed herself, you continued smoothly, “The unsub changed the dumping site. He usually used the Third Ward, but it seems the only pattern is choosing areas without much public traffic. See? Look around - do you see any residential buildings nearby?

“No,” she replied. You continued using this technique, asking questions to help her focus and steady herself, calming her down bit by bit.

“Good. Now, one more thing,” you said with a warm, gentle smile. “This might seem unrelated, but you do have children, right?”

“Yes,” she answered, looking slightly puzzled but following along, starting to piece things together.

“Exactly. Say you’re at the supermarket, buying your kids a packet of chips. When you’re putting items in your shopping bag, you likely place the chips on top, right? They’re fragile - otherwise, you’ll end up with just crumbs. But if you’re in your head or in a rush, you probably don’t store them with the same care as usual.” She nodded, still piecing it together but following along.

You continued, "Apply this logic to the crime scene here. The unsub chose a low-traffic area with no prying eyes, yet he left the body right at the start of the ramp. He could have moved it a few more feet towards the wall, and you wouldn’t have stepped on her hair. But he didn’t. So, what does this tell us?"

“He was rushed,” she replied firmly.

“That’s a good observation,” you reassured her with your teacher voice, adding, “Or it could also mean he’s escalating, becoming less meticulous. Which is even more dangerous.” You nodded, acknowledging her insight.

“Go brief the team, Agent Y/L/N,” she instructed, a hint of gratitude in her eyes, you took at as a win.

“Yes, ma’am,” you replied, nodding before turning back to the team. As you walked over, you noticed Morgan, JJ, and Prentiss approaching a man who was rushing closer, his face etched with desperation.

He stumbled toward the police barricade, calling out her name, “Claire!” His voice cracked, filled with a futile hope that maybe, somehow, the officers were wrong - that it wasn’t her lying there, cold and with her heart brutally carved out.

“Claire!” he screamed, the sound shattering the quiet like a final, haunting echo. No matter how well you compartmentalized, this part - the raw ache of those left behind - always managed to somehow creep under your skin, always reminding you of the relentless grief and helplessness in the aftermath of violence. But that was a good thing. It comes with being human.

As you got closer towards the body you overheard Hotch say, “Morgan says you're worried about Gideon,” his gaze shifting briefly to you as you walked over, stopping just inches away.

You leaned over beside Reid, bracing your hands on your knees. Sitting at his eye level would have definitely been more ideal, but given your limited range of motion, this position would have to do.

You could feel Hotch's questioning gaze on you, clearly unaccustomed to seeing you in such an unusual stance - almost like a quarterback before kickoff, it felt so… out of character? Probably that’s what he thought, as he looked at you as if to ask ‘Quarterback?’

You arched a brow back. ‘Either this or a body in my living room.’

His eyes momentarily drifted to the necklace hanging from your shirt before he shot you a deadpan look that implied, ‘Not mine.’ Then he immediately shifted his gaze back to Reid.

Reid glanced up at Hotch, his face clouded with worry. “I keep calling him, but he doesn’t call back,” he admitted, his voice strained with concern.

Hotch’s gaze softened as he thought of Gideon’s familiar retreat. “He’s probably at his cabin,” he said gently, his eyes distant. “It’s where he goes when he needs to… get away.” He paused, then added with a preoccupied look, “Reid, I need your head in this.”

Reid’s lips pressed into a thin line, nodding. “I know.” Hotch gave him one last steadying look before heading toward the car.

“I need you to put your heart into this too,” you said, catching Reid’s gaze as you both walked toward the SUV. “The way Gideon would.”

Reid’s voice dropped, his tone laced with sadness. “That’s… not easy.”

"I never said it would be. Why hand you basic multiplication when I know you can tackle differential equations?" you replied with a sly smile. “But if you bring even a part of Gideon’s approach to this case, show up with the same heart, then in a way - he’s here with us,” you continued “By focusing on what’s present, the essence of what Gideon represents lives through you. Husserl’s phenomenology.”

“Edmund Husserl, the mathematician?” Reid asked, a spark of interest lighting up his eyes.

“Philosopher first, mathematician second,” you jokingly corrected him with a soft smile. “I totally recommend diving into his work. You’d find his ideas on consciousness and experience fascinating…and useful.” You paused, the corners of your mouth lifting. “By the way, since we’re on the topic of philosophy - a little bird told me you’ve started to study for your philosophy degree recently”

He tilted his head, brow raised. “A bird?” he asked, clearly confused.

“Judging by his appearance, I'd say it was a great horned owl - a 6’2” stressed, overworked, and somewhat emotionless owl in a suit,” you teased, a grin spreading across your face as Reid’s eyes widened slightly, recognizing the nod to Hotch.

“I was waiting for the right moment to tell you about it, Teach. I’m sorry,” Reid admitted, his gaze downcast.

You shook your head, a soft smile creeping onto your lips. “I’m not mad, I could never be. But I’ll take it personally if you don’t choose me as your thesis supervisor. And if you graduate with anything less than honors, well… that would just be unacceptable.” A playful glint sparkled in your eyes. “After all, if you choose me, you’re guaranteed honors.”

Reid raised an eyebrow, skeptical. “I thought only co-supervisors could be from outside the university.”

You leaned in, lowering your voice conspiratorially. “I have a friend who used to be a prosecutor who’s exceptionally skilled at bending the law, so you might want to start considering your options.” You grinned, the reference to Hotch hanging in the air like an inside joke. Reid chuckled, shaking his head in disbelief.

The two of you were standing on either side of the SUV; you by the driver’s door and Reid by the passenger side.

With a swift flick, you tossed the car keys over the top of the car. Reid managed to catch them mid-air, almost fumbling. “You drive,” you said firmly, a knowing smirk tugging at your lips.

The gesture wasn’t just about who got the wheel, it was a subtle way to keep Reid grounded, away from his spiraling thoughts. As he took the keys, his expression softened, and he seemed to relax just a bit.

For the few minutes it would take to drive from the crime scene to the station, his focus would be on the road rather than his thoughts. It wasn’t much, but it was enough to buy him some peace, if only for a short while.

---

“David Smith, the name of the child,” you said firmly into the phone as you hurried out of the school, adrenaline pumping through your veins, you’ve already taken out the car keys of the SUV. Reid and JJ followed closely behind, their expressions matching your urgency. “He left school early with the nurse on duty. They’re headed back to his house. She might be the next target. I sent you the address the school provided.”

“Alright, see you at his house,” Hotch instructed, his tone steady and authoritative. “Slow down a few houses before the unsub’s. I’m seeing it’s a low-density residential area, you could be noticed.”

“Copy that, we’ll wait for you there,” you replied, glancing back at Reid and JJ, who were already strategizing their approach as you made your way to the car.

Every second counted.

---

“How's she doing?” Strauss asked, her eyes on Prentiss, who was being tended to by the paramedic, her face bruised but calm.

"She’ll be okay," Hotch replied, his tone steady, though his jaw clenched slightly.

Strauss continued, “You know, I can’t officially approve of how this all went down.” Her words held a warning, her gaze fixed on him.

“The arrest was clean. Breaking up this team would be a mistake.” His voice was controlled, but a flicker of frustration lingered beneath. Bureau politics, always standing between him and the work that mattered most.

Strauss’s expression shifted. “None of you will ever move up the chain of command, you know that.”

Hotch didn’t hesitate.

“Why would I ever want to leave the BAU?” He turned away, needing to separate from her cold rationalizations.

But her words echoed, a slow, unwelcome realization: this life, the BAU, his team - it was slipping from his grip.

At home, he’d face Haley, their marriage hanging by a thread he couldn’t pull taut. He’d have to muster the words, once again, to explain why he needed this, why the BAU was the only stability he had left. He wasn’t just fighting to keep the job, he was fighting to keep himself together.

The job would always be his calling, but a gnawing ache tightened in his chest as he watched his team—specifically you, sharing a laugh with Prentiss. Emily was teasing you about the FBI bulletproof vest you were wearing over your outfit.

“Teach, let me say it: with that vest, you kind of look like a pimp,” Emily grinned, the paramedic finishing up her forehead treatment.

“A pimp?!” you exclaimed, shaking your head in disbelief. “You’re saying this only because you’re dying to try it!” You began to unbutton your vest before even finishing your sentence, playfully handing it over to Emily.

You turned your back as she slid it on, raising her eyebrows and asking for your opinion. “Now you look like a magician at a child’s birthday party” you quipped keeping a straight face, and laughter erupted between you two. Hotch nearly chuckled himself, grateful to see you fitting in so seamlessly.

Working with you again after all these years, witnessing your deepening bond with each team member, was a reminder of what he had missed in his life. The connections, the laughter, always having each other’s back - it all felt like coming home.

What had once felt like a distant vision, a hope he could barely allow himself, was now real: you, him, and the team, together. Hotch couldn’t help but let that settle in, a weight of happiness and something like relief.

He couldn’t imagine giving this up not after the seven years it took to get you back to him. Even if he couldn’t sit across from you at your old desks, at least you could always stand by his side.

On his left.

And him on your right.

“I’m seeing you tomorrow, right?” you asked, catching him off guard with your nearness. He hadn’t realized you’d moved closer, the warmth of your presence both grounding and distracting.

He hesitated. “I don’t know yet.”

You gave him a familiar, disappointed look. “You haven’t called Haley yet, have you?”

Hotch’s expression shifted to something darker, more serious. “I’d rather have this conversation face-to-face.” Then, after a beat, he asked, “Has Peter answered?”

Your half-smile was wry, maybe a little weary. “Which one of my 23 calls?” You always softened things with humor, but he could hear the edge in your voice.

“Any,” he said, irritation simmering as he thought of Peter’s silence.

Your ironic grin said it all. “None.” Hotch scoffed, shaking his head, and you gently deflected. “A part of me kept thinking coming back wouldn’t be the same as it was, that working with you would turn into working for you. That’s scary.” You met his gaze, sincerity shining through. “But actually watching you step into your role, I’ve never seen you more like yourself than I did today.”

He sighed, your words striking a deeper chord. “I really needed to hear that, thank you.” he replied quietly, his voice thick with gratitude. “And… you know, for me, you’ll always be my partner. I hope you still think of me as yours.”

You met his gaze, steady and warm. “I do,” you answered softly, a reassurance in your eyes. “But I still expect all my partner privileges, though.”

A grin played on his face. “Your transfer will be the first paper I file.”

“Caught you!” You raised an eyebrow, catching him in his words. “Filing implies you’re still part of the team, which means you’re morally obliged to show up tomorrow, Unit Chief.”

Hotch’s smirk widened, a glint of amusement in his eyes. “Morally binding? That’s circumstantial at best,” he replied. “You’ll need a statute or at least a binding contract if you’re going to get me to commit. Moral obligations don’t hold up in court.”

You laughed, but he could feel the seriousness in your tone “Call your wife, Lawyer.”

And that’s when he convinced himself.

He was determined to fight for this life, for you and this team - even if it meant returning home to another confrontation. But fighting alone wasn’t possible, it takes two to spark a conflict, and one person couldn’t sustain it.

You can’t fight if you’re the only one left standing in your own home.

It takes two people to start a conflict. One wasn’t enough.

“Haley?” The word felt like a scream in the stillness of his house, yet it came out as a whisper, more an expression to himself than a call for her. The only answer was an echo, his question bouncing back at him.

He had always argued against responding to a question with another question. But there it was - the truth, indifferent to his profiler rules, obeying only its own logic.

In that moment, everything went blank, his mind shut down. For several moments, he struggled to formulate something – anything - but nothing came to him. Then, only one thought broke through the fog, taking center stage in his mind, grounding him.

‘German philosopher, Hegel once said:

every idea – thesis,

inevitably faces opposition - antithesis,

leading to a resolution – synthesis.’

-Hegel for Dummies.

He ascended the stairs, each step echoing the weight of his thoughts.

Thesis: his resolve, the first step upward, filled with hope this was just happening in his head.

Antithesis: the second step, shadowed by doubt and the painful memory of the love he had just lost.

Synthesis: the third step, an ephemeral blending of grief and determination, a bittersweet acknowledgment of what was and what could never be again.

And then again-

‘German philosopher, Hegel once said:

The synthesis then becomes the new thesis,

sparking further conflicts and resolutions in a continuous cycle of development.

Hegel believed that conflict is essential for progress.‘

-Hegel for Dummies.

Another step-

Thesis: “This is who I am”, “No, this is what you do.”

Antithesis: “I’ve never seen you more like yourself than I did today”

Synthesis: …

But what happens when he is left alone, unable to reach synthesis?

‘German philosopher, Hegel once said:

When there is no synthesis, conflict can lead to chaos.

Without a resolution, opposing ideas may continue to clash

without progress,

resulting in frustration,

confusion,

or a breakdown of understanding.’

-Hegel for Dummies.

He should have called Haley at least once.

Maybe then he wouldn’t be standing here, paralyzed in the doorway of the empty bedroom, a haunting silence enveloping him like a shroud. The air was thick with the remnants of a life that felt painfully out of reach.

She had left, taking Jack with her, and with them went the laughter that once filled these walls.

Thesis: He was a terrible father and husband, forever tethered to his job, sacrificing family for duty. He deserved every consequence of his choices - Jack’s first combination of words echoing “Dad—work,” a reminder of his absence, Haley’s betrayal, and the stark realization that his family had slipped through his fingers like sand.

Antithesis: Yet, his work was the only thing that made him feel whole, a place where he could be competent, useful, the only identity he knew how to embrace. It was where he found purpose, and, for a fleeting moment, a sense of self-worth.

Synthesis: Three buzzes from his phone that pulled him back to reality, and he immediately glanced at the screen, his heart racing.

Philosopher:

I noticed Emily was feeling down, so I convinced her to join me at the bar. I told her that the big scar on her head would make for a great conversation starter. (BTW – I was totally right)

Penelope, Derek, Jennifer, and EVEN Spencer - our kind-hearted colleagues - suggested that Emily and I, the re-integrating members, should fund all the drinks in the spirit of “teamwork”. Please come rescue our wallets, we’re at the bar between 12th Street and K NW. I owe you a pint, maybe even two.

No pressure, though - stay with Haley and Jack if you need to. The situation hasn’t escalated yet.

He didn’t have to think it twice, you were all he had left.

---

Aaron arrived at the bar not long after your message, quietly slipping into the group, trying to shake off the hollow feeling that had been creeping over him.

His eyes found you almost immediately, as if magnetically pulled to you, laughing with Emily and the team. But just as he began making his way over, he noticed the entire white-collar unit entering, with Peter at the front.

If he thought he’d hit rock bottom before, he realized now that apparently, there was even a basement below even that. What a perfect timing for a little reunion wasn’t it?

Peter, already a few drinks in, caught sight of you and wasted no time making his way over, his expression tainted with something meaner than usual. “Look who’s here,” he sneered, his voice carrying a sarcastic bite. “The BAU swoops in, disrupts lives, and sweeps my fiancée back into its arms. All so you can play hero.”

The laughter and conversation at the table went quiet as the team noticed the shift in tone. You froze, unsure of what to say, giving him a wary look. “Pete, this isn’t the time or place,” you replied, keeping your voice calm and somewhat quiet, despite the tension building around you.

“Oh, right.” Peter rolled his eyes, a bitter laugh escaping him. “Gotta keep the BAU's image all pristine.”

Peter leaned in closer, his words loud enough for everyone to hear, his gaze lingering on the team around you. “Funny, though, you have all this dedication for them, but no time for… bedtime. You still want this ‘us’ you’re promising me, or was that just a story?”

Oh, he really wanted to punch Peter in the face.

Although Aaron’s face remained impassive, his eyes sharp, his tone calm but lethal. “You know,” he began, stepping closer, “I’ve looked the other way when you’ve crossed lines before. But if you disrespect her like that again, I’ll have no problem spending a night in jail.”

Peter laughed bitterly, turning to him with a mocking smirk. “What, she needs you to fight her battles now? Hate to break it to you, but I’m the one she said yes to, Hotchner. Maybe it’s time you got over it.”

Everything stopped.

The tension inside him turned hot, searing through his last shred of patience.

Aaron didn’t even hear the sounds around him as he moved. His fist shot forward, a flash of rage, finding Peter's face with a controlled, devastating force.

The satisfying crunch of bone and flesh beneath his knuckles felt like long-awaited justice, a release.

Blood trickled warmly between his fingers, and the bar sank into a stunned silence, every gaze fixed on the unfolding scene. Peter staggered back, eyes wide as he clutched his nose, the steady stream of crimson painting a harsh line down his hand.

Derek and Emily jumped to their feet, rushing to Aaron's side, each grabbing one of his arms, pulling him back before the situation could escalate further. “Hotch, that’s enough!” Derek hissed, his grip firm

Aaron shot Peter a glare that could freeze fire. “If you ever speak about her that way again,” he said, his tone barely a whisper but chilling, “I won’t stop at a bloody nose.”

Peter wiped his face with a hand, a cruel smile forming through the pain. “Tough words from someone who can’t even keep his own family together,” he retorted, his words biting, dripping with contempt.

He was dead.

Not today.

He stiffened, a flicker of pain flashing across his face before he shut it down, his expression hardening.

The insult struck a nerve, and he clenched his fists, resisting the urge to strike again.

Spencer, watching the exchange unfold, shuddered slightly, recognizing the dangerous glint in Aaron’s eyes. Even Morgan’s hand, steady on Aaron’s shoulder, seemed to tighten as he held him back.

He felt your hand gently rest on his arm, a warmth spreading through him that caught him off guard. The touch sent a subtle shiver down his spine, a soft but undeniable reminder of your presence, grounding him.

“Peter, that’s enough,” you said sharply, your voice steady despite the emotions roiling within you. “Get away. You’re acting like a child.”

Peter laughed bitterly, his eyes flashing with anger as he backed up, but the look on his face made it clear he wasn’t quite done. “Fine,” he said, wiping his bloody nose.

“I’m done here. Have fun with your so-called family, see you at home, if you still want to.” he sneered, casting one last look around the table before staggering back to his white-collar buddies.

You turned your focus back to him, your hand still resting on his arm. “Are you okay?” you asked, your voice barely above a whisper.

He nodded, exhaling deeply. “I’m fine,” he replied, though his voice held a hint of weariness. “I’m sorry - I shouldn’t have let it get to that point.”

You squeezed Aaron’s arm gently, giving him a reassuring smile. “You didn’t have to do that, you know. But… thank you.”

Aaron met your gaze, his expression serious. “I’d do it again if I had to,” he looked at you, catching the unease that lingered in your eyes as Peter momentarily turned away. “Come on,” he whispered, leaning in close enough that only you could hear. “Let’s get you out of here.”

You didn’t argue, simply gave a nod.

Outside, the crisp night air hit you, grounding you just slightly, though your mind still buzzed with everything that had happened, Aaron kept a steadying hand on your shoulder, guiding you to his car.

Once seated, he let out a sigh, his gaze trained on you. “I don’t want you going back to him tonight,” he said softly, his words holding a quiet urgency. “If he’s already drunk and angry…” He left the sentence hanging, the implication heavy in the silence.

You looked away, taking a deep breath. “Aaron, I can’t just-”

“I couldn’t live with myself if something happened to you because I didn’t insist,” he interrupted, his tone low, leaving no room for you to argue. “You don’t have to stay for good. Just let me take you back to your place so you can gather some things. Stay with me tonight. Just… please.”

His gaze held yours, an earnest plea in his eyes that made it impossible to refuse.

You gave a small nod, and Aaron’s shoulders visibly relaxed, some of the tension slipping away. The drive back to your apartment was quiet, the kind of silence that held too much weight to break. When you returned to collect your things, you admitted to yourself that Peter’s absence was a relief.

---

As Aaron pulled up to his place, he walked you in, stopping to gesture toward the guest room. “You can take this room for as long as you need,” he said, offering you a comforting smile.

Yet there was something flickering in his expression - an uncertainty, a regret he couldn’t quite mask. You sensed it before he said a word.

“Aaron… is Haley alright with this?” you asked softly, instinctively careful. There was something wrong.

He exhaled, his gaze drifting on a blank space on the wall. “She’s… not here. Hasn’t been, actually.”

That couldn’t be true.

He looked at you, the confession raw and vulnerable, his eyes wet. “She took Jack. When I got back after Milwaukee, the house was… empty.”

Your hand flew to your mouth, unable to keep the gasp from escaping. “Oh, Aaron” you whispered. That’s all you managed to say. No words of wisdom, no philosophical theories, nothing.

It felt like the whole world crashed right upon you.

Why?

Martyrdom only held meaning if death served something greater. That purpose had once been enough to bear it.

Now, stripped of that cause, the reality was laid bare: nothing remained but death itself - cold, hollow, and devoid of purpose.

The emptiness sank in, exposing the unrelenting finality that was no longer a noble sacrifice but a bleak, pointless end.

“It’s my fault. I failed them… just like I’ve failed you.” As he said it, you felt the prickling of tears, unbidden and impossible to hold back.

No sobs, no breaking down, just a quiet release of all the pain you’d kept carefully tucked away.

He reached for you instinctively, his hand brushing your arm with a tenderness that broke the silence. “I never wanted this for you. For us. I’m sorry.”

You tried to smile, but it trembled at the edges. “All I ever wanted was to see you happy, Aaron,” you replied, voice thick with emotion. “I thought… I thought you’d finally found it.”

He sighed, the confession heavy in his voice as he looked down, feeling the regret twist deeper within him. “Sometimes, I wonder if I’ll ever be good enough to deserve that kind of happiness you talked about.” The words hung in the air, unguarded. Echoing in the empty walls of his house.

He led you to the couch, poured two glasses, and offered you one. The silence felt almost sacred, each of you sorting through fragments of your own heartbreak, yet finding a strange comfort in the other’s presence.

After a long pause, Aaron cleared his throat. “Here’s the deal,” he began softly, his eyes meeting yours with a rare openness. “I’ll give you all the time you need. No pressure. If you want to talk about anything, all you have to do is ask. Otherwise, we’ll pretend none of this ever happened… until you’re ready to figure it out.”

His words struck you deeply, and your voice came out more vulnerable than you intended. “What if… what if it’s too complicated?” you whispered, gripping your glass as if it could ground you.

“Then we’ll untangle it together,” he replied, his tone steady. “For now, stay here with me. We’ll both take the time we need to figure this out.” He hesitated, then added softly, “You don’t have to face him. And I’ll figure out… my own things with Haley.”

You nodded, your heart aching with a mixture of relief and sadness. “Thank you, Aaron. I… I don’t know what I’d do without you.”

He looked at you with such warmth that for a moment, the weight on your chest felt lighter. “You’ll never have to find out - partners privileges” he replied simply.

You nodded, letting a deep, unspoken understanding settle between you. Slowly, you leaned into him, your head finding a place on his shoulder, and he responded instinctively, slipping his arm around you in a way that was both familiar and unexpectedly tender.

The weight of his arm was warm and steady, grounding you in a closeness that felt just on the edge of something you’d both carefully avoided acknowledging.

A gentle silence wrapped around you, though it was charged with the kind of tension that comes from being close to a line neither of you dared cross.

The simplicity of it, just leaning into him, felt almost too good, as if it could shatter with the wrong word or movement.

The moment felt fragile.

Precious.

“I wish it didn’t have to be like this,” you murmured, barely louder than a breath, afraid that if you spoke any louder, the delicate tension might break.

He sighed softly, and you felt his cheek rest against the top of your head, the warmth of his breath brushing your hair. “I know,” he replied, voice low and heavy, almost like a vow he couldn’t put into clearer words. “But whatever happens,” he added after a pause, “I’m not going anywhere.”

He shifted, pressing a soft, gentle kiss to the top of your head. You let out a chuckle slightly shaking your head, feeling a wave of warmth settle over you, shoulders relaxing further against him.

He pulled back, a smile tugging at the corner of his lips. “Too much?” he asked, his tone teasing.

You grinned, glancing up at him. “Not unless you’re hiding a bottle of tequila around here.”

He chuckled, his arm steady around you. “Tequila’s been blacklisted since ’99,” he replied with a laugh.

“Good,” you whispered, and a soft laugh escaped. The air felt lighter, like a shared secret wrapped in laughter. You leaned back against his shoulder, feeling the steady rhythm of his breathing align with yours, each second deepening that shared comfort.

He sighed, settling in, voice warm with humor. “Banning tequila was one of the best choices I’ve ever made.”

You arched an eyebrow, pretending to consider his words. “Best choice? So, this ranks above the law degree? The Bureau? Working with me?”

“Easily,” he deadpanned, a hint of his own teasing smile. “Even ranks above knocking on your door to ask you to quit teaching.” He paused, his hand resting easily on your shoulder. “And just so you know, your official transfer paperwork to the BAU is sitting on my desk. Unsigned, waiting for your signature, to make it official.”

“Oh, is that so?” you teased, shifting slightly to look at him. “I’d say this transfer back to the BAU is already morally binding,” you said with a grin, “especially since, technically, I’m living here.”

He raised his eyebrows, clearly intrigued. “Is that right? And exactly why does that make it morally binding?”

You tilted your head, enjoying the game. “Because, by the rules of ‘teamwork,’ I’d feel too guilty taking up space in your guest room without helping out on cases. Besides, someone has to balance out your caffeine intake and remind you to avoid questionable interrogation tactics.”

He chuckled, tightening his arm around you just a little. “Ah, moral obligation then. And here I thought you might just be getting comfortable with the arrangement.”

You smirked, leaning your head back on his shoulder, feeling the steady rhythm of his breathing sync with yours, that rare, unspoken understanding in the air. “It’s your word against mine, Lawyer.”

---

Phi's Corner: Thank you @c-losur3 for the lovely bit that inspired the bar scene, hoping it turned out to be just about right.

taglist: @beata1108 ; @cuddleprofiler ; @c-losur3 ; @fangirlunknown ; @justyourusualash ; @kyrathekiller ; @lostinwonderland314 ; @mxblobby ; @prettybaby-reid ; @reidfile ; @royalestrellas ; @ssa-callahan ; @theseerbetweenus ; @todorokishoe24

#aaron hotchner #hotch #hotch x reader #aaron hotchner x reader #aaron hotch x reader #criminal minds x reader #criminal minds #symposiumff

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pomgach · 3 months ago

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nous attendrons ton retour

"We're waiting for your return"

"Having completed the final stop of his tour, Kaito has time enough to see more of England. A little exploration finds more familiar things than he expected. Kudo Shinichi isn't a face he thought he'd see again, not after almost ten years and especially not in a flower shop here. Still, opportunity rarely knocks twice, and fortune favors the bold."

♡. ݁₊ ⊹ . ݁˖ . ݁

Halu!

This is my art piece for @kaishinbigbang ! It’s my first time participating in a fandom event and it most likely won’t be my last! I had a blast collaborating with @tanteikid13 and I’m also happy that we get to see our works come to life! Show some love to them as well! The rollercoaster of emotions as I read their work is quite a ride!

That being said, I cannot express how much I enjoyed taking part in this! Thank you!

!!FIC LINK!!

♧♤

Here's more art that I did for the story!

°❀⋆.ೃ࿔*:･

#ksbb24 #ksbb2024 #dcmk #detective conan #magic kaito #kaishin #kudo shinichi #kuroba kaito #kaito kid

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always-just-red · 2 months ago

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A/N: So I threatened a while back to write MC arresting Sylus since he literally won’t shut up about it. Thought this would be a silly fic but it ended up an angst-driven exploration of how his time with MC is probably finite and ill-fated?? Anyway Sylus is too soft for this, I’m sorryyyy (Sy I love you! I would never do this to you! ‘Didn’t it come from your imagination, though?’ Ssshhhh you don’t know what you’re saying!! 🥰)

To Remain Silent

Sylus x Reader 🩸

Summary: Sylus has told you to arrest him one too many times...

Genre: Emotional rollercoaster honestly? Some angst, some comfort (and a lil spice for flavour)

Warnings/Additional tags: gn!reader, vaguely established relationship, gets a little steamy at the end (mostly kissing tbh), artistic licence applied liberally since this would be WAY too risky for MC to actually attempt 😭😭

| Word count: 2.7k | Masterlist | Opt-in to my taglist here!

Disclaimer: Characters belong to Love and Deepspace. All work is my own, so please don't repost or plagiarise!

Sylus knows this isn’t real.

You watch him through the glass of his cell, and the subtle tint to it lets you know that he can’t watch you back. He’s sat on the single bench inside, leaning against the far wall, his long legs stretched out before him. His hands are cuffed— tucked away behind his back— but he still looks comfortable. More than comfortable: at ease. At home. Bored.

“You think I can’t feel those pretty little eyes of yours on me?” he mutters, head back, eyes closed. “I’m at your mercy, kitten. Are you really only going to look?”

You tap a button on the glass. “You should start taking this seriously.”

He smiles at the sound of your voice, but his eyes don’t open; there’s still nothing to see. “I’m taking it very seriously, sweetie.”

“I don’t think you are.”

The smile turns even more smug: a confession, all by itself. He sits up and leans forward, like someone who’s found a change of conversation to be interesting. His eyes open— managing to find you, somehow, and— can he see you? No. It’s an educated guess, he’s just selling it with confidence.

Leisurely, he rises from his seat and saunters over to the glass. “Let me see you,” he orders, then bargains: “Please? This is so very—” he toes the division— “one-sided.”

You can’t look him in the eyes, can you? This is hard enough without the windows to your soul baring your heart and your mind to him, like they always do. You should have worn those sunglasses he bought you for that undercover assignment. This is what they’re for, right? Hiding.

With a circular swipe of your finger, the glass before you clears and Sylus meets your gaze.

“Hi,” he teases.

You fold your arms across your chest. “Hey.”

“This is quite some effort you’ve gone to, kitten. And all for me, no less.”

“What effort?” you dismiss plainly. “You practically slapped those handcuffs on yourself.”

It’s not an exaggeration: from the cuffs to the ride here, not a single stage of his arrest has been resisted. The closest he’s gotten to a lack of cooperation was when you’d first restrained and dragged him from his study, where he’d been inclined to point out that the bedroom was the other way.

“Well, I didn’t want to cause a fuss,” he smirks. One of his hands is brought forward, and his handcuffs now hang uselessly from a finger. “Tell me,” he says, letting them swing as he holds your gaze, “what am I to expect now I’ve been so masterfully captured?”

You glance at the restraints, unmoved. “That isn’t for me to decide.”

A door behind you slides open, and— right on time— an altogether more impressive presence joins you before the cell. Sylus glances her up and down as the click of her heeled boots come to a stop; he has never met your captain, but he knows her face.

“You really cashed in all your favours, didn’t you, sweetie?” he observes. He turns to address the woman beside you: “We haven’t been introduced. I’m—”

“I know who you are,” Jenna interrupts, her tone as incorruptible as yours.

Sylus’s arm lifts, resting on the glass above you so he can tower over you, despite the partition. “Is that right?” he purrs absent-mindedly, dropping his head so he can speak into your ear. “Sweetie… I thought you could keep a secret.”

He’s goading you into your usual game, but the stakes don’t interest you. “You were wrong.”

You’re at your own table, dealing your own cards. Does he want to play? You think he might. His lips are curving at the delicious prospect of a challenge. You’ve given him a taste of it. He wants more.

Jenna is studying her clipboard, acting oblivious. She senses the impasse. Asks Sylus: “Do you know why you’re here?”

He huffs impatiently. “Enlighten me.”

“Sylus,” you scold.

Red eyes widen a fraction.

You see it.

Good.

…

Sylus thinks this might be real.

You said his name. His real name: the one with sharp, bloody strings attached. The one on all the posters. The one in your precious Association’s archives, linked to stacks of files and crime scene photos, most of which he isn’t even responsible for.

Sylus. You said: Sylus.

It was worthy of a grand reveal— the sort of plot twist that delivered the suspense of so many thrillers— but here you are, speaking it like it’s nothing. Not a slip of the tongue; not a mistake. And it’s different here. He’s not your Sylus. He’s theirs.

Their murderer. Their monster. Their convenient little scapegoat for everything dark and unholy.

The captain is reading him a list, reeling off every crime— each alleged sin. As if he needs a reminder. As if all the time in the world could ever let him forget. “Needless to say, Mr Sylus,” she summarises, “due to the nature of these crimes, you may prove exempt from our standard procedures. A case like this is… unprecedented. Onychinus has much to answer for. You have much to answer for.”

Sylus hasn’t really been listening; it’s all senseless bureaucracy. “You have the wrong man,” he says, because whatever you’re doing— whatever stunt this is— a confession is sure to derail it. You know that, don’t you? You must be counting on it: holding that guilty breath of yours and hoping he’s smart enough to not be Sylus.

You don’t look worried in the slightest. You must have an awful lot of faith in him.

He studies you, waiting for a small, deliberate smile or a moment of weakness. Give him a sign, don’t give him a sign— it doesn’t matter; he’ll find one. His intentions must be clearer than yours, because you step up to the glass to face him.

Do it, your silence says, even though the rest of you is illegible. You want to look? Look.

His eye could light like a crimson fire— could burn the truth out of you— but it won’t. It’s a promise he made what feels like a lifetime ago, not long after you’d met: Your thoughts and desires are yours to give, not his to take.

Even here. Even now. He’s a man of his word, after all.

Impressed? You smile faintly, but there’s no warmth to it. “Captain,” you speak, your eyes not leaving his, “can you give us a minute? Please?”

“Of course,” the woman answers with a nod.

Sylus does not see her go. He hears it: the retreating rhythm of her shoes. He feels it: it’s just the two of you, alone again. Well, the two of you and that ‘hidden’ camera in the far corner of the room. “Whatever game this is,” he grins good-naturedly, his teeth gritted, “it stops. Now.”

“It’s not a game, Sylus. I told you to take this seriously.”

“What are you doing?” he snaps, and that good-natured grin didn’t last very long.

Your hands land on your hips. “My job.” When he scoffs, you continue: “Did you really think this would end any other way? After everything you’ve done?”

He laughs and it’s deeply sardonic. He’s no saint— to try to convince you he was would be a crime worthy of punishments far worse than this. But you know him. You know the line and what stands on each side of it: everything he’s done, yes, and everything he’s been made to take the fall for.

You wouldn’t do this to him. Would you? “You want to play pretend? Fine,” he hisses. He wants to wrap his Evol around that godforsaken camera and annihilate it. “You caught the big, bad boss of Onychinus— congratulations, sweetie. Sure. Let’s say that’s who I am. A man like that has power, right? So what’s to keep him— me— from escaping? Right now?”

“You’re not going to leave, Sylus. Wanna know why?”

He’s sure you’re going to tell him, and you do:

“Because you’re all talk. All smoke and mirrors. You want to go? Go. But there’s not a single person in this building who wouldn’t give their life to bring you back. Someone will catch up to you eventually, and what then?”

“I’ll have a lot of fun, I imagine.”

“You’ll do nothing,” you correct. “Because those people out there? They’re my friends. My family. You hurt them? You hurt me. Make all the threats you want, Sylus— we both know the truth.”

He towers over you, still, but it’s hard not to shrink at your next words:

“You don’t have it in you.”

Your eyes are sharp: whetted with resentment. Sylus is your reflection— your worthy opponent, always— but he just can’t look at you like that.

There’s a quiet hiss as you slide a finger over the cell’s control panel. White, neon light carves through the glass partition: two vertical lines that bleed upwards, either side of him, before bending to meet each-other. The glass between them shimmers, then fades.

Sylus stands on the precipice of the doorway, cool air crawling past him. He stares up at the camera, then down at you. Your arms have folded again as you watch him— a narrative of apathy.

“How about it, Sylus?” you ask bitterly. “Still think you can outrun fate?”

“No.” Not since it started wearing your face. Fate is you, putting a bullet in his heart, and him, waking up so you can do it over and over again. Maybe this is real. Maybe it isn’t. “What do you want from me?” he entreats softly, because you’ll get it— either way.

“Isn’t it obvious?” you sneer, and your hand shoots out, grasping a fistful of his shirt. You use it to drag him out of the cell, closer, lower, so that his face is mere inches from yours.

“No,” he repeats. “Say it.”

Your eyes burn like pyres: so dangerous, so beautiful, so suited to being the death of him. “I want you—” you begin, as they flit briefly to his lips— “to tell me…”

“What?”

“How you cheat at kitty cards.”

Oh. Oh.

You’re going to be insufferable about this, aren’t you?

Sure enough, you drop his shirt and burst into laughter— irrepressibly you again. The fire in your eyes has simmered down into something warm, safe, and comfortable, and— gods— you’re even crying. You’re doubled over, holding your stomach as though it hurts. You lift a hand to wipe your wet cheek. “Your face,” you get out between gasps, “oh, your face!”

Yours is not the only laughter, but it’s the only laughter Sylus hears.

“We so got you, Skye!” Tara’s vaguely familiar voice resounds from an intercom.

There’s some confusing static with it— more tittering voices— and Sylus suspects he’s found himself the star of your colleagues’ after-work entertainment. He puts his hands on his hips as he looks up at the camera. “Is the whole office—”

“Yeah,” you manage, wiping away another tear. “Figured it would be good for morale. Good practice, too.”

“Practice?”

“Mmhmm,” you confirm with a hum. You’ve apparently gotten a handle on the hilarity of the situation, because you approach him with something close to composure. Meditatively, you smooth down the fabric of his shirt. Straighten his collar. “For when we catch the real Sylus one day.”

He captures your wrists; that’s a lot of tenderness for someone who just tried to give him a heart attack. Maybe he’s a little too rough, because you pout at him in a way that makes him instantly soften his grip.

“You ok, Skye?” you enquire with an ironic smile and an adorable tilt of your head.

His thumbs are feathering over your pulse points, and slowly, he leans in to deliver a message, just for you: “If I say no, will you make it up to me?”

…

Sylus knows this is real.

His mouth is on yours and it’s relentless, desperate; you made him wait for it. How long has he been wanting to trap you against the nearest wall, just like this, so he can kiss you until he forgets just how cold you can be?

He’s been very patient. He didn’t roll his eyes or utter a word of complaint when you’d dragged him to join your colleagues for dinner. It was your victory party, your ‘I made you look like an idiot’ party, but he was his usual, charming self, and your friends all adored him for it. They’d spun him the tale of his ‘arrest’— the planning, the preparation, and your lightbulb moment:

“Hey, guys, have you ever thought about how Skye kinda looks like Sylus?”

Only he could understand how wickedly clever it was. His eyes had sought yours as he listened, lazy, content, and so obviously biding his time. You’d smiled at him. He’d smiled back.

And he’d stayed smiling, even after the party was over and you’d had to walk a slightly-tipsy Tara home. She’d refused a taxi, insisted Sylus escort her— oh, and you could come, too! He’d lent her his arm: humoured every squeeze and chuckled at each remark about the size of it. You’d had to swat her away, in the end.

“I’m just teasing, y’know?” she’d giggled as the three of you arrived at her front door. “Skye knows I’m just teasing. You’re such a sweetheart, Skye. Imagine! You— the leader of Onychinus!”

She’d laughed, much too loud for such a quiet street, and with a less-than-subtle wink, left the two of you alone. Which is how you’d ended up here, in an alley around the back of her building, because it was Sylus’s turn to drag you somewhere.

His attentions have moved lower; there’s a subtle clink as his fingers find the clasp of your shirt collar and he peels it back, exposing your neck. His lips leave yours, trailing down, down— past the line of your jaw and over the soft, vulnerable column of your throat. You gasp as he brushes over a sensitive spot, and you could swear you feel him smile.

He’s always been passionate, but this is a different fire, fuelled by something you can’t ignore, no matter how much you want to:

Relief.

“Sy,” you murmur breathlessly, your hand in his hair, tugging gently. “Sy, stop.”

“Mmm?” he acquiesces, voice sinfully low as the cold evening air takes his place kissing your neck. His eyes shine like blood spilt in the dead of night— lingering on you. He looks drunk.

You lift a hand to cup his face and run your thumb over his cheek. “I’ll never let anything happen to you, Sylus. You know that, right?”

Those dark eyes find clarity with your words, full of apprehension for just how naive you can be. The future will turn on you just as quickly as a wild animal someone boasts about having tamed, and aren’t you foolish, thinking you can control something like that?

Besides, that’s his job.

“I know,” he says like he’s supposed to— ever the martyr, following the script. He goes to nuzzle into you again, but your hand is still tight in his hair and he groans as you use it to pull him back.

“I mean it,” you reassert, forcing him to look at you. You don’t care that it’s ridiculous. You don’t care that fate is so hot on your heels that you have to keep running. You’re tired. He’s even more tired.

Isn’t it nice to stop and catch your breath?

Pretend you have time: His gaze is full of faith and oh, the world is going to enjoy punishing the two of you. “I know,” he insists, because this is the second time you’ve fooled him tonight. You feel his hand on your face and you let him kiss you— again, then again— so achingly slow, so arrogant.

The world can wait; he wants to punish you first.

“Do you really want to know—” he distracts as he finds that sensitive spot on your neck again— “how I cheat at kitty cards?”

The pad of his finger is chasing the path of his mouth; it tickles. You whine: “Tell me later, Sy.”

“Ok,” he breathes against you.

Later. There’ll be a later.

Won’t there?

#🖋rach is actually writing #sylus x reader #sylus #love and deepspace #lads sylus #lnds sylus #l&ds sylus #qin che #sylus x mc #sylus x you #lads x reader #lads #lnds #l&ds

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fire-lizard-ro · 7 months ago

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Ratio as a dad (kinda). Written for my dear @pix3lplays (they already saw this when I initially wrote it).

CW: none it’s all fluff (kinda)

Reader gender: no use of pronouns (as far as I remember) but AFAB

Writing under the cut (SFW):

So when you tell him, he doesn't know how the hell to feel. You guys never really had the children talk, but you could tell that he wasn't really ready for that because of a mix of being too busy, not really understanding children, and never really thinking about it.

To him, children are snot-nosed, loud, emotional little gremlins.

But he never thought about children in the context of you and him. A child born of your flesh and blood. Something you have made together through the miracle (or simple science, as Veritas would say) of procreation.

It would take him a while to think of it that way.

Initially, since this is in the scenario where you're already married, I think that he would be fine with it so long as you're happy with it. He does his logical reasoning and thinks, "Oh. I have the means to raise a child and she wants it." So he doesn't really see a problem with it besides perhaps the stress it will inevitably put on you and having to deal with the messy and emotional rollercoaster ride that is children.

At some point while laying in bed with you after weeks of reading prenatal care and child rearing books, he begins to get curious. Curious about what it would really be like to father a child that the both of you made. That's how things start. Curiosity.

Would the child look like you? He would like that if they could resemble his lovely spouse.

Would they look like him? He would also like this as there would be no doubting who the father of your child was. A reminder of how the two of you were undeniably together.

Would they look like the both of you? He would enjoy this outcome the most as it would be the best of both options.

Would they have his intelligence that he prides himself on? Your smile that he loves, even if quietly?

Because of this process of beginning to be curios and thinking about the child yet to be born, it's not hard for him to subconsciously relate good feelings (and chemicals like dopamine and serotonin, he'd think) to the child themself.

You're happy when you talk about the child and what you'll do for them and how you'll care for them. He's happy when you're happy. He's pleased when thinking about how people will be able to see a physical manifestation of your love and belonging with each other. You're happy to be having his child. He's happy about that, too.

While your feelings regarding the child is like a warm spring day or a cup of hot tea just boiled, his are more mild, still. Like your tea, already cooled, or a warm blanket. There are positive feelings involved now, and even he cannot deny it (at least to himself).

He takes care of you well, following the advice of the books and experts to the T. Perhaps a little too closely because it's a bit overprotective. You're his. Which also means it's in his obligation to take care of you well.

But when the child is born... I think there's at least a spark there. I'm not sure it's enough to light that flame quite yet, but now... He realizes that this really is his child. His and yours. He has your pretty eyes but with his color. The curl of your hair and the slope of his nose. Oh. Oh...

This child...

As the years go on and he spends time caring for the child and spending time with them, he begins to find all these little endearing things about them. How they'll seek him out even in sleep. How they'll smile at him happily, the slant of it so much like yours. How they'll crawl and eventually waddle their way to him when they begin to cry... Even just the fact that he spends time with them is enough to grow this bond. And at some point, they're off to school and it's clear they did, indeed, have his intelligent mind. But they're far more soft around the edges. Much more susceptible to the inherent loneliness, boredom, and ridicule, even, that comes with such intelligence.

But... he gets it. He never really thought anyone understood him at that age and for him? It was lonely but he was irritated by it more than anything. He had thicker skin than his child at that age.

So when they come to him about it all, he can only try his best to let them know he gets it even if he doesn't know how to express such a thing.

Ever heard the saying, "Even a beast will love its child?"

He’s not a nice person. His personality is rough and no one would ever think he could be suited to something as delicate as fatherhood.

And yet…

While he's not one for grand gestures, I think the kid would be able to see he cares.

It's in the little things for him.

Talking about the things they're interested in at school.

Telling them about his work and the things he researches. Being patient with them unlike how he is with his students. ("They are grown. But you are not," he would say with a short pat to the head before going back to checking over their homework with care.)

Rewarding them for their achievements, even if it's with something small.

All sorts of small things.

(He'll never admit it, but you have a picture of the two napping while the kid was sprawled against his side, head tucked into his neck.)

Anyways ofisjgeo yeah-

Hopefully this isn’t too delusional goodbye- I was trying to make him a Relatively Good Dad for Pix while also making sure he was still mostly in-character. OTL

#Roro writes #honkai star rail x reader #hsr x reader #dr ratio x reader #dr. ratio x reader #gn reader #afab reader #hsr x gn reader #honkai star rail x gn reader

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sativaonsaturn · 4 months ago

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astro observations about my own placements

virgo sun

people who just get it. laugh at pretty much anything, may not smile much but definitely love to laugh. type of people who absolutely need to say “i told you so” even if it’s in a loving way. good at spending time alone; can hang but if the circumstances are not optimal, we will opt out 😂 definitely the type to do it ourselves if it’s not exactly the way we want (ex: dish at a restaurant isn’t as good as it could be, so we make it ourselves at home) also do not sleep on a virgo, we are silent killers 😂 i’ve found that we also really value people based on merit. so even if we don’t like someone, if they’re hard working or go getters we respect them just for that.

pisces moon

water moons in general experience real emotional rollercoasters. scorpio is like a storm of emotions, cancer like constant rolling waves and pisces like a back and forth between still waters and crashing waves. pisces moons are usually between extremes of numbness and deep feelings. this can vary from moment to moment, week to week, even years apart - especially when we master our emotions (as in being aware of emotions rather than being consumed by them) can be prone to putting others’ emotional needs before their own but can also disregard them and be cold. super intuitive; many have prophetic dreams, can read energies, know what others’ will say before they say it. also people close to us may feel like they’ll never truly know us as we have a tendency to be elusive.

libra mercury

The Diplomat. usually have pleasing voices and know how to talk to people, especially if it’s in the 1st house. great at conflict resolution; will hear everyone out and find a solution. also rely heavily on logic when communicating, really understanding people and want whatever will keep things balanced (can avoid conflict for this reason). like every libra placement, look at both sides of everything but i would say on the scale of indecisiveness it goes: 1. libra moon 2. libra mars 3. libra mercury.

leo venus

a love on fire. there are two sides to this: passion that burns hot and a fire that can get snuffed out just as fast. generous (in every sense) lovers to all loved ones, friends and romantic partners alike. fairly high standards, not as high as virgo venus but definitely know what we want. love to adorn ourselves with carefully picked jewelry, perfume, etc. like we pay extra attention to what complements us (including partners). on the same note, unless aspected negatively, a leo venus will never go for someone who doesn’t want them. we’re very big on being loved, wanted, desired and there’s a lot of pride to consider as well. so even if we really want someone, if it’s not reciprocated or we feel a void/ lacking, we’ll leave. (this goes for any kind of relationship) also very passionate in love, need that back in all our close relationships.. especially romantic.

sagittarius mars

strong minded, have unwavering values (my mercury helps balance this). as sag is ruled by the 9th house, i’ve found that it’s really important that i travel. whether it’s a weekend in another town or a week in another country, it’s essential to feeling sane and grounded. when i haven’t changed scenery for a while, i find that i become restless. new experiences can fill that gap too. like trying a new cuisine or getting a piercing. i find that we tend to view sex as a sport 😭 i personally don’t feel like this is a negative thing; with the right person this can make things more fun/ exciting. have predominant thighs/ hips - can be the fullest part of the body. we can get angry quite quickly but simmer down just as quick, esp if we get our points across or find a fulfilling outlet (like throwing things or working out). also HATE being told what to do. this isn’t to say we can’t take instruction but being given direction where it isn’t needed is a sure fire way to set us off.

sativaonsaturn 🍃🪐

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kanmom51 · 1 month ago

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Are you sure?! Sapporo - Episode 8

I know.

I know it's been a bit and a half.

I know it's taken me time to come here and talk about the last episode.

I've been digesting, totally in the feels, and trying to recover.

The photobook, JM's little piece of information regarding his whereabouts night before Jeju and the pic. OMG, that JK marked by JM pic. The more you think about it the crazier it gets. That they actually did that and that the photo made it's way into the book (not to mention us knowing that JM has that pic he took of JK on his phone). All quite a distraction from me working through my thoughts about the episode. A welcomed distraction, but a distraction none the less.

This last episode we got of their Sapporo trip was an emotional rollercoaster. Not only for JK and JM. The level of Joy on the one hand. Seeing them so very happy. And them allowing us to see even more of them and their happiness. Like JM said:

Thinking again about what he said here... and then going back to this:

Yeah, I know he was talking about their Sapporo trip, but you know that this isn't the first time we saw JM wanting to claim his territory.

I know I don't have to point out where JM was pointing where he was going to be writing "Jimin", right?

So, this too is something JM does at home? Just a thought, lol.

And then those two just had to kill me. I know they were both pensive and sad it was all coming to an end, but JM crying, that just devastated me (because It's JM, and JM struggles so with showing himself so vulnerable).

So yes, it has taken me a second to get my wits together and come back and talk a bit with you about what we had in Episode 8.

When I finished watching the episode for the first time I couldn't help but think:

It's the end of the world as we know it...

Well, not really, because we knew it pretty well, but for those that didn't (or wouldn't see it, or denied it, or lived in a delusion that it wasn't happening) it sure is changed.

And then we get JM and JK just crushing down all those TKK rickety houses of cards (see what I did there?) with the photobook. Absolutely priceless!!

Are you sure?! Episode 8

Filled with romance and sentiment and so much feels. Couplie feels.

This episode, is the one, out of all those it followed, to cement for us, the spectators (all spectators, not only Jikookers), that these two are... drumroll... a REAL LIFE long term ever so loving couple.

No huge ear sucking, hickey showing or sunscreen claiming moments. And yet, this episode differs so much from the ones that came before because the whole aura of it was so heavy in "if it looks like a duck and quack like a duck then it's a fucking couple you idiots, just open your eyes".

This is JM and JK just being themselves albeit Sapporo Jikook are innately different due to timing and place - Japan and last trip before enlistment made this so much MORE for the two of them, and we most definitley saw just how much so at the end of this episode.

But this is also the editors doing, with the company's ok, of course, allowing us to see so much MORE. I do believe, that just like with the hickey finding it's way into memories 2020, this episode, the editing of it, was a conscious decision of both Jikook and the company. Jikook being themselves and allowing us to see more of it. More of them. I can assure you there is much we did not get to see, just like there was much we did not see from the previous trips and episodes, but we were allowed to see MORE in episode 8.

And again, it's not about seeing sus moments, because we definitely got a few of those in this episode. We had some in previous episodes as well.

It's about the MOOD.

it's about the editing allowing for more private moments (emotionally private, couplie private, not necessarily what people love to see or think would be the most suspicious ones, the more obvious ones with sexual innuendos), moments that I am sure happened in the other two destinations as well but were edited out.

But there were still things we weren't allowed to see.

Like when a crying JM goes to wake up JK in the morning.

Too personal. Too emotional. Too private.

Beyond the MORE, it was just TOO MUCH.

And yet we did get Jikook just being themselves and us getting to see it. Jikook just BEING. And it was beautiful. It was emotional. It was intimate. It was so very special.

We got to see them react to the first episode of the show. And although this most definitely wouldn't be the first time we got to see them sit down and watch and react to BTS content, that was always within the context of BTS content and with the other members. I can think of one time we got to see them watching their own interactions during the Black Swan shoot.

But even that had them sitting apart and the whole group present.

This was intimate. Just the two with only a red pillow between them (which I am 100% they put there to remind themselves of where, when and what they are doing). JK holding on to that pillow, to prevent hands from straying? I guess it kept them at bay... at times...

So yes. We see JK and JM (oh boy JM) definitely in the feels. And the different editing. Allowing us to see and feel their intimacy.

And with all that, the whole intimate aura surrounding that whole episode we got some cute and some more obvious moments (those moments you can point your finger at and say "there you go", unlike a feeling you get from just watching the two BEING).

We got so so much in this episode.

We got their usual playful flirting.

One example of many:

I mean, really???

The facial expression while saying it, and the mostly lack of reaction from JM as well. No flinching, no "you shouldn't say stuff like that", nope... just this:

This, to me, is not stressing about JK saying this to him but more about it being said for us to hear.

And I'm sorry, but whichever way you look at it, this is not the reaction you would get from a bro who was just told by his bro to strip.

We got more flirting in the car, at the convenience store, at the accommodations, in the hot tub as well. I will get to it all, don't worry, lol.

We got the touchy.

We also have the full combo of flirty playful and touchy:

We got JM telling us 3 times he was taking and took a boyfriend pic.

We got them calling each other pet names.

We got JM talking about his butt and JK's familiarity with it...

We got JK showing off his BF privileges.

youtube

We got JK trying to uplift JM's mood.

youtube

We got JK telling us all these trips with JM have been the best of his life,

and:

We got JK totally lost, gazing all stary eyed at JM.

Fuck, that was so beautiful!!

I want to go back a second to the clip I shared - what the absolute perfect ending to an absolutely wonderful show. And that little surprise at the end.

Even watching it again now I'm balling my eyes out.

JM rubbing his shaved head... I can't...

😭😭

The one thing that gives me strength is knowing that they are there TOGETHER!!!

#Jikook #Kookmin #Minkook #Jungkook #Jimin #JK #JM #Are you sure? Jikook #Are you sure? Sapporo

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mingi-s-dimples · 1 month ago

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Study buddy or... fuck buddy? - Yeosang

KINKTOBER DAY 8- REQ. BY anon

~"yeosang x reader; please add squirt and virgin reader?"

pairing: yeosang x fem!reader

genre: 18+, college au

summary: anatomy lessons weren't this.. practical in the past.

wc: 2.7k

warnings: college au, friends with benefits, protected sex (we cheered !), cumming, squirting, first time sex, yeosang is a lil gentle boi at first, gets a lil bit rougher throughout the moment, he's a damn tease, aftercare, unedited, completely consensual, making out, for sure forgot something.

Author's Note: Hm. I liked writing this one. Was a lil bit harder at first cause I didn't quite have ideas for the plot but.. the ironic situation was that I got this idea while actually studying anatomy... sigh, to be fucked senseless while in break from studying... slams desk. Anyways! My loves, hope you like it!! 🙂‍↕️💖

Disclaimer: This is a work of fiction and does not represent the reality of the member in any way.

The soft hum of fluorescent lights filled the classroom, the buzz faintly drowned by the chatter of students packing up their bags. Another long day of classes had come to an end, and the weight of exhaustion was heavy in the air. You let out a slow sigh, stretching your arms over your head as you leaned back in the chair. Mind buzzed with information from the anatomy lecture—complex structures, nerves, and muscles all swirling together in a chaotic mess.

Being a medical student was no joke. Between the countless hours of lectures, labs, and the never-ending stream of exams, it felt like there was hardly time to breathe, let alone focus on anything outside of school. Relationships? That was out of the question. Who had time for the emotional rollercoaster of commitment when you could barely keep up with the textbooks?

"Hey," came a familiar voice from beside you.

You turned your head to see Yeosang slipping into the seat next to you, his expression as calm and composed as ever. His light blonde hair fell just slightly into his eyes, and he pushed it back with an absent-minded flick of his hand. Even after hours of classes, he still looked effortlessly put together, which was more than you could say for yourself.

"You surviving?" he asked, his lips quirking into a small smile as he dropped his bag onto the floor.

"Barely," you chuckled, rubbing your temples. "Today was brutal."

Yeosang nodded in agreement, leaning back in his chair. "Tell me about it. Anatomy’s kicking my ass. I don’t know how you’re managing to keep up with all of this."

You shrugged, trying to play it off even though you knew the material was just as hard for you. "You just do what you can, I guess. It’s not like we have a choice. We’re all drowning in the same boat."

He smirked, his eyes drifting toward me. "Lucky I have you to help me stay afloat."

It was a lighthearted comment, but it carried the familiar tone of your casual dynamic. Yeosang and you had developed this strange, unspoken arrangement over the past few months. Friends with benefits, no strings attached, no drama. You both agreed early on that neither of you wanted anything serious. Medical school was already overwhelming; the idea of adding the complications of a relationship into the mix felt like an unnecessary distraction. And honestly, it worked. You kept things simple, fun—just two people who got along well, enjoyed each other's company, and let off steam when the stress of school became too much. You never had sex with him tho. With no one. You thought it would interfere with the feelings between two people, hence you and Yeosang only had make out sessions for now. And he was okay with it. Tho, it was about to tkae a 180 degree turn..

"Yeah, I guess you’re lucky," you teased, nudging him with your elbow.

His grin widened, and he gave you a playful nudge back. "Speaking of which, I was wondering if you were free tonight. You need help with some of this anatomy stuff. We’ve got that exam coming up, and I’m seriously struggling."

"Anatomy?" you raised an eyebrow. "That’s not exactly light studying."

"I know, I know," he sighed, running a hand through his hair. "But if I don’t get this stuff down, I’m screwed. You’re better at this than I am, and I could use the help."

You hesitated for a moment, considering your options. It had been a long day, and you were tempted to just go home and crash, but the thought of studying alone didn’t sound appealing either. Plus, you knew Yeosang needed the help. And, if you were being honest with yourself, you didn’t mind spending time with him—especially in a more relaxed setting.

"Fine," you finally agreed, gathering your things and standing up. "But you owe me coffee or something for this."

"Deal," he said, standing up as well, his smile genuine. "I’ll make sure to have some at my place. You’ll need it."

---

Yeosang’s apartment wasn’t far from campus, and the walk there was peaceful, the evening air cool and crisp as you made your way through the quiet streets. When you arrived, he unlocked the door and ushered you inside, the familiar scent of his place hitting you immediately. It was clean, minimalist, the kind of space that felt uncluttered and calm—perfect for someone like him, who always managed to maintain that same composed demeanor no matter how stressful school became.

"Make yourself at home," he said, tossing his bag onto the couch as he headed toward the kitchen. "I’ll grab us some coffee."

You dropped your things on the dining table, already pulling out the anatomy textbook and notes. It was a massive textbook, the kind that seemed to weigh as much as all your collective stress, but you flipped it open, scanning through the sections you knew you'd be covering.

Yeosang returned a few moments later, setting two mugs of coffee on the table before sliding into the seat besides you. He leaned back casually, watching as you flipped through the pages, his eyes following the movement of your hands.

"So, where do we start?" he asked.

You took a sip of the coffee, the warmth of it soothing after a long day. "Let’s go over the musculoskeletal system first. I know that’s usually where people get tripped up."

For the next hour or so, you worked through the material, explaining the finer points while Yeosang asked questions here and there. Despite the subject matter being dense, the atmosphere between you was relaxed, easy. It was always like this with Yeosang—no pressure, no tension. Just a comfortable rhythm.

But as you moved through the material, you couldn’t help but notice the way his gaze lingered on you a little longer than usual, the way his hand would brush against yours when he reached for his pen or the way his knee pressed lightly against yours beneath the table. It was subtle, but it was there. Familiar.

Eventually, you leaned back, stretching your arms above your head and letting out a long sigh. "Okay, I think we’ve covered enough for now. You should be good for the exam."

Yeosang didn’t respond right away. Instead, he shifted in his seat, his eyes watching you with that same quiet intensity you'd seen before—when the interactions had veered into something less academic, something more physical.

"You’re a lifesaver," he finally said, his voice lower, softer than before. He leaned in just a little, his arm brushing against yours as his eyes locked onto you. "I really don’t know how I’d get through this without you."

There it was—that shift, that unspoken tension that had always existed between the two of you, just beneath the surface. You felt it too, the pull between, the way your casual arrangement had always felt so effortless, so natural. No strings, no complications. Just the two of you, in moments like this, where the lines blurred between study partners and something more.

You met his gaze, heart rate picking up slightly as you saw the way his expression had changed. His hand, warm and sure, moved to rest on your thigh, fingers gently tracing small, lazy circles there. It wasn’t aggressive, just a quiet, deliberate touch that sent a shiver through your body.

"Yeosang," you began, voice trailing off as his hand moved a little higher, his touch firm but not demanding.

"We’ve been studying for a while," he murmured, his voice low and smooth as his thumb grazed the inside of your thigh. "Maybe we should take a break."

"I-" you stuttered, not knowing what to do. You wanted to.. have sex with him, that's for sure. He was a good guy, whom could be even better in bed, you thought. But was it ethical? to fuck your.. best friend? Without being in a serious relationship? Well, in reality, friends with benefits is known for exactly that thing but at first you omitted that detail.. You loved how good you get along with him, all the intimate moments you had, without the proper sexual part. You were a virgin after all..

and you always thought that you'd never fuck him. But was it the same today...?

You never told him this, yes.. You remembered. You never told him you never had sex, either. The reason you were still "friends with benefits" if you could even call making out that, was that he was damn patient with you. You loved that about him.

"W-what do you wanna do?" you asked, seemingly confused but you knew where this was going.

"I mean.. just the usual, if you don't want something more" he said.

There it was. His patience running thin but never actually doing something about it. He was patient. Now, it was up to you. He was contently looking into your eyes, waiting for any sign from you.

Your hand went for his biceps, looking in his eyes. Then, he slowly went in for a kiss, not wanting to startle you. The kiss was needy, lustful, like it has always been. Tongues interlocking and touching, his hands were all over you.

He'd always get turned on from kissing and touching you. It was partly sexual, after all. And he always also got slightly hard, but he'd take care of it by himself later that day. It was.. sketchy, how patient he was. Seconds later you acted on instinct and impulse, but where did the action come from? Your right hand went from his biceps to his thigh, dangerously close to his crotch.

Yeosang stopped for a moment and looked at you, surprised. "Hm? Tell me sweetie, what do you wanna do?" he said, cupping your face. "Tell me" he murmured in a soft tone.

"I-uh" you stuttered.

"Hm?"

You didn't continue your words but you still answered his question. Your hand rode up his thigh, even closer to his crotch. Then, almost acting on instinct, your hand unbuckled his pants. He smirked at your action and leaned in for a slower, sloppier kiss. He smiled against your lips, sending shivers down your spine. He took you in his embrace and placed you in his lap, still kissing you. His hands went traveling, slowly making their way up to your breasts, to which you flinched for a short second.

He stopped.

"Hey, we don't have to do this if you don't feel comfortable with it. We can do the usual" he said in a reassuring tone.

"N-no" you said. "I wanna do this."

"Then.. may I?" he asked.

"Yes " you firmly said, kinda excited for what was gonna happen next.

You went in for a kiss again, your hands carresing his back softly. As you embraced him you started taking off his shirt, his muscles leaving you speechless. He saw your expression and giggled, finding you cute. He also took off your shirt, then he nodded, asking you if he can also take your bra off. You nodded affirmative and he left your chest bare in front of him.

Yeosang embraced you and put you on the desk, pushing away all the anatomy books you were supposed to have started studying by now. He took off your scrubs slowly. Yes, you had a practical that day and you were too damn lazy to go home and change yoursekf befoee going over at Yeosang and you also went right after classes. On the other note, he was wearing jeans cause he had only anatomy classes today. As soon as he took care of your clothes he also took care of his, both of you being left in only your underwear. His cock was already straining against the briefs, where your eyes spent a little too much time to stare at. He didn't say anything, even tho he probably saw you.

He took of your panties and threw them on the floor and looked contently at you. His rifht hand rode up your thigh and went for your folds, being really patient wirh you. He was looking you in your eyes to see any discomfort or sometning. But as soon as he saw that you were okay with it, he used two of his fingers to thrust them in. You moaned softly at the sensation, arching your back in response.

After he prepped you for a couple of minutes, basically already making your legs slightly tremble, he took you in his embrace and took you to his room where he put you on the bed. He softly pushed you back as he kneeled halfway on the edge of the bed. He took his briefs off and his cock sprung out, leaving you agape. He climbed on tbe bed right between you, feeling his length right against your folds.

"WAIT, wait." you suddenly shouted.

"Hm? what happened?" he said confused.

"I have to tell you something-"

What? Tell me" he sounded a bit worried avout what you'd say.

"It's just that, uh- Ah fuck it. I haven't had sex... never." you finally told him. "So please.. be gentle with me...?" you whispered.

Yeosang giggled. "Seriously? This is what you've been stressed about? Don't worry, I'll take good care of you, silly." he giggled and continued.. "May I? I want to make sure you're comfortable and all.." he whispered.

"Y-yes." you shyly said.

He looked at you and observed your expression. He knew you were turned the fuck on. Your folds literally dripping on the mattress, legs slightly shaking from only his fingers and eyes wide to see what he eas about to do.

"You don't know just how much I've wated this... but I care too damn much about you to have pushed the note or make you do something. Thanks.. for trusting me" he smiled against your thigh.

Yeosang stroked his length for a couple of times, then opened the drawer besides the bed. He took a condom out and put it on, making you feel even safer with him. He looked you in the eyes and nodded, to which you nodded back and he slowly pushed himself in. Your back slightly arched under his action, eyes teary and your hands holding onto his hands. He started slowly thrusting, watching you contently.

"Does it feel good to you?" he asked, hands holding your waist thightly.

"Y-yes!" you soflty shouted.

"Then.. mind if I go a little.. rough?" he bottomed down. "You gotta get a taste of how you'll be fucked in the future, sweetie"

You smiled. The little.. joke? you thought of it as a joke, yes, made you smile. He took that as a yes and as soon as he started thrusting a little bit faster, your chest rose up, soft muffled moans could be heard. You started to feel your core getting thighter and thigtber, you kinda new what that feeling was. To be true to yourself.. you haven't had sex with anyone but.. you fingered yourself at least twice since the semester started.

"Yeosang I-" you stuttered.

"Hm?" he was out of it.

"I'm.. c-close" you finally said.

"Me too" and as soon as he finished his words he raised your back up and took you in his embrace. You were now on your fours, back arching against his chest with every thrust. Kisses started trailing along your spine and shoulders, sending shivers down your spine. Within a couple more thrusts you finished, clenching onto him harshly. Surprised, he stopped for a short moment then started fucking you again, even more forcefully. It hurt but oh god... you were right when you told yourself he might be goon in bed. All sort of thoughts were running through your head, your chest slowly falling on the mattress.

He lifted you up.

"I'm not done... yet" his thrusts became sloppier and heavier, panting softly in thr nape of your neck, leaving kisses all over. As soon as his hands found their way to your breasts and pinched your nipples, you moaned loudly and.... squirted all over the place. Yeosang found that damn hot and came as soon as your moan revebrated through his body. He softly fucked you through his high, then came to a stop.

He slowly put you down and pulled out, throwing the condom away. He covered you with the weighted blanket he'd always had in his bed and hugged you thightly.

"...hey. How was.... it?" he spoke first in a soft tone.

"..A-amazing" you said, head still dizzy. "Though.." you continued.

"Hm?"

"I didn't quite expect to.. you know. Squirt..?" you giggled. "You're really something, Yeosang"

A smile rose on his face, "and this is not even everything that I can do" he laughed, teasingly.

"I bet"

"Hah, come on now. Let's get you washed up." he lifted you up and carried you to the bathroom.

NETWORKS:

@blossomnet

@illusionnet

PERMANENT TAGLIST:

@mingleshine @musiclovingfairy @crazylittlebisexual @sanhwalvr @gong-fourz @arki-sha @artistic-rendition @hongjoongtime117 @cypher-03

167 notes · View notes

lalacliffthorne · 1 year ago

Text

🌪 idiot 🌪

Azriel x Reader

summary: a fight gets out of hand, and suddenly, everything's turned upside down

notes: this one is a slight emotional rollercoaster, people, so - you know, prepare. this was actually planned to turn out totally different, but the second I started writing, it just completely ran away with me and basically took on a life of it's own, and who am I to fight that. also. uhm. pretty much half of it is smut. yeah. so. you go have fun. I need a cold shower.

______________________________________________________________

I wasn't quite sure how it had happened.

One second, I had been yelling at Azriel, feeling anger and frustration tear at my chest as the shadowsinger glared at me, rage burning in his eyes as they pierced into mine.

The next, his hands were buried in my hair, his chest pressing into mine as he pushed me backwards and kissed me like a male starving.

Training had been shit. Cassian hadn't been there because he was on border patrol for Rhys, so for once, no one was there to keep Azriel from pushing and pushing.

He had followed me after, his deep voice cool and cutting like his knives when he had counted down the many ways I had failed, would have died in a real fight.

It was always like that - me somehow never being able to do anything right in his eyes. But for some reason, this time, it had been the last straw on a shitty morning, and so it had turned into a screaming match as soon as he had yanked me into his room instead of letting me storm into mine to slam the door into his face.

Well, I had been screaming; frustration and anger and hurt of over a hundred years finally pushing past the surface to unload onto the shadowsinger.

Azriel had not even yelled, but his voice had still grown louder with every word, deep and vibrating with anger as his shadows swirled around him; to egg him on or to calm him, I couldn't tell.

At some point, he had stepped closer, towering over me and just making me angrier as I unleashed every ounce of fury I had bottled up about the way he'd been treating me since the very beginning, either ignoring me like I wasn't even there or reprimanding me, harsher than on anyone else.

It had all spilled out without me being able to hold it back, all of the frustration about how he was treating me laced with the anger and the hurt that was buried deep within as I stabbed my finger at his chest. All the while, he had just stared at me, something indiscernable in his eyes when I had finally ran out of words with a vibrating, angry sound and we both had just stared at each other for a long moment, breathing heavily, my insides twisting with anger.

And then he had leaned down, his lips crashing against mine, and without thinking, I had tugged him closer.

Which had led to where we were now. Azriel's hands stripping away my leathers as my fingers pulled at the buckles of his chest armor, trembling with what I told myself was the rage still burning in my chest. Rage that made me stretch and slip my hands into his hair to tug him down after pushing his armor off his shoulders as I kissed him back, feeling the world sway with the groan vibrating through his body as his hand gripped the back of my neck, tilting my head to kiss me harsher, more feverish, furious and somehow desperate.

Azriel's tongue swirled around mine, his breathing heavy as he pulled back just to tug my shirt over my head. His fingers started undoing my leather pants as his lips crashed onto mine again, messy and hot, and something lurched in my stomach as I scratched my nails down his chest, the deep sound leaving him causing something to twitch in my pulsing lower stomach as I started tugging on his pants.

The back of my knees hit the mattress; Azriel stopped himself from falling onto me when I pulled him with me, his hands pressing into the sheets next to my head, and his hips bucked up into mine.

A wave of heat washed through my lower stomach, my lips fell open, and Azriel groaned into the kiss, his body growing rigid as he rocked into me again.

A whimper tore from my throat when he latched his lips onto my neck, beginning to trail harsh kisses down my throat that made my back arch as his hips started grinding down into mine in a steady rhythm. My insides tightened so harshly, I whimpered again, more breathless as my fingers clawed at Azriel's shoulders and I rolled my hips to meet his.

Azriel's movements stuttered, and a deep, strangled sound broke from his throat. His grip changed, and my heart stumbled to a screeching halt when his rough hand closed around my breast the same moment his tongue ran over the other.

My breath hitched, my whole body turning into a hot, squirming mess when Azriel began palming my chest harshly, licking and sucking at my nipple as soft groans left him. I gripped his hair as I tried to fight the moans building in my throat, his warm tongue lapping over my skin, leaving my eyes rolling back into my head.

Dragging his lips down over my body, his breathing quick and rough, Azriel pulled down my pants and underwear in one, leaving hard kisses on every inch of skin he could reach. But they seemed to soften as his rough, scarred hands wrapped around my hips. His eyes moved up to meet mine, half-lidded and hazy, fogged over with something that made my hips twitch, and a soft whimper left my throat.

Azriel blinked, and something shifted in his expression. His gaze cleared a little as it flickered over my face, and suddenly, his throat worked, his jaw tightening. Then his grip around my hips changed, and the next second, I was flipped over onto my stomach.

My breath staggered, and I could feel something lurch in my chest when the shadowsinger dragged me over the mattress. But then his breath brushed over the back of my shoulder, and when his deep voice sounded next to my ear, it was soft and a little rough as he mumbled: “Hold on.”

Swallowing against the way my throat closed up, I reached out and gripped the headboard, and Azriel's hand pressed down onto my spine almost gently. My back arched, and his other hand tightened around my waist as he pushed my legs apart. Then I felt him shift, heard the sound of his leathers being pushed down, and my mouth parted soundlessly when the tip of his cock brushed over my folds.

Azriel exhaled raggedly as his rough fingers slid through the wetness of my pussy, then he gripped my hips tighter, and a strangled gasp left me when he slowly started to push in.

My head dropped forward, my insides fluttering, and Azriel's fingers dug into my hips, a strained curse slipping from his lips as his cock pressed against my walls, slowly working its way forward inch by inch. He was big, filling me in a way that made small whimpers leave me, and Azriel pressed a curse when my hips bucked back on instinct, his hand pressing onto my back, and I moaned breathlessly when the movement made him slip in deeper.

I didn't know how long it took until he finally bottomed out, but when he did, my eyes were fluttering, my knuckles white around the headboard. Azriel was breathing harshly, his hips pressed flush against mine, and I whimpered just from the feeling of him, so deep, filling what felt like every inch of my body.

Azriel's grip tightened, and his hips rocked harshly into mine. Then he started to move.

Breathing, something that was second nature, suddenly became difficult. Every thrust sent my body rocking forward, and I could feel the strain in Azriel's grip, like it required every ounce of control on his body to keep the hard, steady rhythm. Every thrust seemed to hit deeper inside of me, my body melting back with every harsh rock of his hips. My fingers burned with how tight I was gripping the headboard, my head tipped forward and lips agape without any sound leaving them as my insides fluttered, tightening with every time Azriel rolled his hips to meet mine, waves of pleasure crashing through my body.

The sound of sweaty skin meeting skin mixed with Azriel's harsh breaths, causing my head to roll to the side, breathless moans falling from the back of my throat, and every single one seemed to be followed by a stutter of Azriel´s hips and an even harsher thrust. I could feel my clit throb, my body heaving as I pushed back, back against his deep thrusts, and the movement caused him to hit something inside of me that made my insides coil. A gasp left me, my eyes rolling back, and just as my arms gave out, I was pulled up by my waist.

My heart staggered, stuttering when hands slipped over my torso, rough and calloused as they dragged me up. Then hot breath hit the side of my face, and an arm wrapped around my waist, pulling me flush against a hard, muscled chest.

My breath stumbled, something skipping high in my chest when Azriel's nose brushed against my cheek, arms gripping me tighter. Then his hips pushed forward to meet mine, and my head tipped back.

The new angle caused Azriel to slip in even deeper, and my eyes rolled back the same moment a strained sound left him, grip pulling me tighter almost frantically as he picked up his movements, every steady, hard thrust rocking his body into mine.

A choked sound left me as my insides tightened, my fingers clawing at Azriel's arm wrapped around my waist. I could feel every inch of his skin, hot and slick with sweat like mine as he pressed into me, his hands gripping harshly onto my skin, almost desperately. Something hot washed over my insides, tightening, and Azriel's lips grazed over the side of my neck, a deep grunt leaving him, causing my legs to almost buckle, and I reached out to desperately grab onto the back of his neck.

Azriel's movements stuttered, and my stomach jolted at the rough sound escaping the back of his throat, his thrusts growing harsher and more frantic. Like somehow, that one movement had kicked his control out of the window and he couldn't; wouldn't hold back anymore. His heavy, ragged breaths hit my cheek when he raised his head, and my heart flipped in my chest at the way his nose pressed against my temple, open lips dragging over my skin as his body rocked into mine, every push of his hips seeming to sink deeper, making my eyes roll back further. His hand gripped my breast, tugging and palming until I writhed in his grip, whimpering as I pressed my head back against his shoulder, and my mouth fell open when he hit that spot.

Azriel's body seemed to tighten, every muscle locking in place, and his pace grew desperate. Then his other hand slipped down from where it was gripping my waist bruisingly, and his rough fingers brushed over my clit.

A sound left me, so loud as it ripped from my throat, my nails scratching over his skin, but Azriel didn't seem to care, not when my hips bucked back into him and I could feel my insides tighten, tighten as he started circling my clit, changing between quick brushes and barely there grazes. My legs began to tremble, something white hot building in my stomach as moans and whimpers spilled from my lips as I squeezed my eyes shut and the knot wound tighter and tighter, Azriel's grip tensing like he could sense –

The tightness exploded, and a garbled sound left my lips, so loud, it echoed in my own ears.

Waves of white hot pleasure crashed over me, my hips grinding desperately as my legs shook and I felt myself drip as the whole world shook and heat rushed over me, over and over again as Azriel's hips snapped against mine and his arms gripped me so tight, I almost forgot to breathe. Then I could feel his thrusts stuttering before pushing deep, and Azriel's lips parted with a strangled groan as his body pressed into mine.

I didn't know how long I shook in his arms through the feeling of loosing all sense of who I was, my body melting into a puddle of hot tightening pleasure.

When I finally felt my limbs again, my mind slowly ceasing its spinning, Azriel was still thrusting, slow and steady, his sweaty chest pressed into my back as his grip loosened enough for me to feel the hot spots of skin where his arms had held me. My head lolled over his shoulder as I felt sweat run over my skin and my heart thumping against my chest, and Azriel's hand ran down my side, his hips stilling. I thought I felt him swallow, then he dropped his head and buried his nose in the crook of my neck.

My heart skipped once, but it was harsh as suddenly, dread took over every limb in my body.

Shit.

Azriel's arms slipped away from me, almost gently, and I dropped forward, catching myself on my hands when he slowly pulled out. An involuntary sound fell from my lips at the sudden feeling of emptiness, and something lurched in my chest.

There was an ache spreading rapidly in my chest, and suddenly, my eyes burned with pressure, my fingers shaking.

Shit.

I could feel the mattress move distantly, like Azriel had climbed off, but I couldn't focus, couldn't feel anything but the rising feeling of panic in my chest and the way my limbs started to tremble.

Shit, shit, shit.

Looking over my shoulder, I found the room empty, and something lurched in my chest, bile rising in my throat.

Of course he had left.

I quickly slipped off the bed, darting down to pick up the first piece of clothing I could reach. My body felt sticky, suddenly dirty in a way that made my stomach turn.

The ache in my chest surged as the expanse of what happened rushed over me, and my breath quickened frantically as pressure built in my throat.

I had fucked Azriel. The male that seemed to be annoyed by me more than not, that was either cold and ignoring me or harsh and unrelenting. And it had taken my breath with every second. Had turned the world upside down, had made every fiber of my being tremble with the way he had touched me.

The shirt I slipped over my head was way too big, and its smell hit me like a blow to the stomach. Hastily pulling my underwear back on and grabbing my clothes, I pushed myself to my feet, my knees shaking.

But before I could even take one step towards the door, Azriel appeared in the bathroom door.

My breath hitched, and my heart skipped painfully when he stilled.

For a second, we just stared at each other, my breath trembling as I fought the instinct to bolt and that ache in my chest that grew heavier. My gaze darted over the shadowsinger, the pyjama pants now hanging low on his hips and the towel in his hand that caused something to twitch in my heart in confusion for a second. His eyes looked almost soft as they pierced my own, and for a second, it seemed like a crease threatened to appear between his brows.

I blinked before hastily averting my eyes and mumbling: “I'm sorry, I'll just –“ The sound of my voice almost made me wince, hoarse and small, and I started hurrying towards the door.

But I only made it a few steps before a hand closed around my wrist, gentle but firm, and my heart darted into my chest as my head whipped up.

Azriel's eyes flickered over mine, and for a second, he looked like he was hesitating, a muscle in his jaw shifting. Then he blinked and lightly pulled on my hand, slowly turning me around as his gaze darted over my face, and his throat worked like he was trying not to swallow.

“I just - have to see –“, his deep, raspy voice broke, and my breath hitched when he seemed to take a breath and dipped his head.

My body froze when his nose lightly brushed over mine. Azriel's grip around my arm tightened when he stilled for a second, tension rippling through his wings. Then he bridged the last bit of distance.

A soft, trembling inhale made my shoulders rise when Azriel kissed me, slow and firm and gentle, causing my hand to reach out like instinct to grab onto his shoulder –

I gasped, and my fingers dug into Azriel's skin harshly when something tightened in my chest like a snap.

Heat bloomed under my ribs, right over my heart that fluttered wildly as something pulsed under my skin, something that tugged, pulled me towards the male in front of me who fell completely still, and I knew. Knew he felt it too, knew from the way the pull in my chest grew, like another had joined it, weaving together to form one single, strong bond.

Slowly, Azriel broke the kiss, and when I forced my eyes to open, breathing quickly, he was staring down at me, eyes wide, looking shaken and almost a little fragile.

“You're –“ My voice gave out, and something feverish seeped into the way Azriel's gaze flickered over my face, like he was trying to drink it in, commit it to memory. Then he swallowed.

“Hello, love.”

His deep mumble, rough and hoarse beyond reason sent shivers down my spine, and I felt my lips fall open, my heart rising into my throat as that thing in my chest pulsed, sending a chant through my body.

Mate. Mate. Mate.

I didn't know how long we just stood in the middle of Azriel's room, staring at each other while my heart fluttered achingly and that weight in my chest grew. The setting sun was seeping through the light curtains, dipping the bedroom into a soft, golden hue.

Azriel blinked, and his eyes softened, softened until the ache in my chest caused my breath to hitch when he took a step torwards me, and my heart skipped into my throat when he reached out to gently pry the clothes I still clung to from my grip.

Letting them drop to the ground without even sparing them a glance, Azriel's eyes flickered over my face as I stared up at him in a mix of fear and confusion. Then his hand lightly closed around my elbow, something fluttering high in my chest when his chest bumped into my shoulder, and Azriel gently nudged me towards the bathroom door, his breath brushing over the top of my head when he mumbled into my hair: “Come on.”

The bathroom was facing west like the bedroom, and I lost my breath a little when Azriel carefully pushed me through the door, the windows in the carved walls allowing the golden light to flood the room.

The shadowinger's hand was a gentle weight on the small of my back, just firm enough for the warmth of his palm to seep through the material of the shirt I was wearing. It caused the skin underneath to tingle, and I was almost glad that it slipped away when we reached the sink, because the urge to lean back into him had grown unbearable. Looking up at him over my shoulder, I felt my heart still before something began to rise in my chest.

The sunlight was casting a golden glow over Azriel's body. His face looked like someone had carved it from marble, the warm light causing his brows to crunch together almost indiscernably, emphazising the sharpness of his jaw and cheekbones, the straight line of his nose and his lips while somehow making all of his face look softer. And his eyes – his eyes looked like amber held into sunlight, bright and honey colored.

I missed Azriel stepping towards me, my eyes glued to his face as something thrummed violently in my chest. But then he leaned down; his hands slipped around the back of my thighs, and my heart jumped into my throat.

A soft sound of surprise left me, and I quickly clung to his shoulders when Azriel lifted me onto the counter.

The cold marble sent a jolt down my legs, making me shiver softly. The muscles in Azriel's shoulders shifted under my hands when he straightened up again, his breath grazing over my forehead, and when I looked up at him, his eyes were already on my face, warm in the golden light.

Suddenly, something seemed to close around my throat.

“I'm sorry.” The words left me before I could stop them, in a whisper that was soft and a bit weak, and the weight in my chest grew.

Azriel's brows twitched, and a crease slowly formed between them as he stared at me. Stared and stared until I gently shrugged one shoulder, mumbling: “I know how long you've been waiting for –“

A mate.

His mate.

I swallowed as my eyes flickered over his face, and something ached in my chest even as I tried a soft smile. “I know I was probably the last person you had in mind.”

Azriel stared at me, and there was a harsh tug in my chest, like he was trying to hold something back from rushing down the bond. Then a slow exhale left him, and he pressed his hands onto the counter next to my thighs, dropping his head.

My heart skipped softly in confusion when I stared at his hunched form, his wings twitching almost like he was in pain.

Azriel's fingers curled into fists. Then he straightened up again, running a hand over his face. His eyes found mine, and something flashed through them.

His jaw shifted; he blinked and moved forward, and my breath hitched when his hands slipped over the sides of my neck to cup my jaw. His thumbs brushed over my cheeks as Azriel stared at me, looking almost desperate when he said slowly, his deep, low voice rough: “Never say that again.”

My heart lurched in my chest, and my gaze flickered over his face in slight shock and uncertainty.

A muscle in Azriel's cheek shifted as his fingers flexed slightly, and his voice sounded strangely close to cracking when he mumbled hoarsely: “I should be the one apologizing.”

Suddenly, something blocked my throat, no matter how hard I swallowed.

Azriel's eyes moved over my face, and I could see the moment his jaw set like he was making a decision. Then he said roughly: “I'm sorry. I am so sorry I ever was stupid enough to make you believe I didn't like you. I am sorry I didn't listen when Cass and Rhys told me that I was making a mistake and that I would fuck it all up, and I'm sorry that I was an asshole. I treated you awfully, all because I – was scared.” His voice sounded pressed. “I was scared, because I don't hate you. I do not not like you.” His eyes darted over my face, and the muscle in his jaw worked. “I like you far too much. You make me feel things I have never felt before, want things I've never wanted before. And that scared the shit out of me.”

Azriel's throat worked like he was trying not to swallow. “I wanted to protect myself from what I thought was inevitable heartbreak, because there was no way someone like you didn't have a mate, someone better for you than me. Because if you somehow, miraculously felt the same, it would have been only a matter of time until you found that other person, and losing you after having you would have torn me apart. Even more than just never having you in the first place.” His voice rasped slightly. “So I pushed you away, ignored you.” His eyes searched mine, desperate, pained. “Because I was already in far too deep.”

I stared at him with wide eyes, trying to understand the words falling from his lips as something started fluttering against my ribs, quicker and quicker until my chest ached.

“You –“ My voice broke, weak and slightly trembling, and Azriel squeezed his eyes shut for a second like it caused him actual physical pain. It took away my breath, seeing him like this, every emotion visible on his face, completely off guard and vulnerable.

It was like finally, after centuries - his unmovable mask had dropped.

“I'm sorry.” Azriel sounded hoarse, his low, deep voice vibrating through my very bones when his hands slipped from the side of my neck, dropping to press against the countertop.

“I'm so sorry. I fucked everything up, and you have every right to be furious with me.“ He opened his eyes, and the pain in them took my breath. “When you yelled at me earlier – I realized how much I have actually hurt you. That I had taken my anger and my frustration about myself out on you.” He swallowed, his deep voice weak and rough when he mumbled: “I never meant to hurt you. And I still did. So – yell at me, scream at me, do whatever you want. I deserve it.”

My heart jumped into my throat, something thrumming and fluttering against my ribs as I stared at the stupid, stubborn, beautiful male in front of me. My breath hitched, trembling as I listened to that surging feeling in my chest, hot and wavering. Then I raised my hands, slipping them up his shoulders to cup the back of his neck.

Something flashed through Azriel's eyes as they darted up to meet mine, and my breath hitched at the way his amber iris flickered over my face as he slowly let me pull him towards me.

Swallowing softly, I raised my chin; my nose brushed against his, and I could feel Azriel freeze when I pressed my lips onto his.

There was a surge in my chest, rising and taking my breath away as my heart began to flutter against my ribs, quicker with every second.

Azriel's lips were warm, just like his skin under my hands where they were pressed against the sides of his neck. Then one of them slipped up into his hair before I could stop it, and a soft tremble went through Azriel's body, a quiet, hoarse sound breaking from the back of his throat.

My heart skipped into my throat, and suddenly, something tightened a little in my chest, because maybe just kissing him hadn't been the best idea, and maybe I should have –

I didn't realise I was beginning to pull back until one of Azriel's hands rose to cup the side of my neck. I almost whimpered at the feeling of his rough skin gently pressing against mine, the hum in my chest growing, and Azriel breathed out against my skin. His fingers slipped up to tangle gently in my hair as his lips brushed over mine for a second. Then he leaned in and kissed me, slow and deep, and a small sound built in my chest.

Azriel moved, his free hand sliding up my side to bury in my hair as well, and my fingers started to tremble at the way he tilted my head, his hips pressing into mine as his tongue lazily dragged over mine.

My hands slid down to his sides, my fingers digging into his skin, and Azriel groaned softly and quietly into my mouth, causing the flutter in my chest to grow into a humming, rising feeling.

By the time the shadowsinger slowly broke the kiss, the world seemed to spin, the only steady thing the male in front of me and his warm skin under my hands, his fingers curling into my hair and his hips pressed against the insides of my thighs.

Trying to breathe against my racing heart and the bond thrumming in my chest, I swallowed harshly, feeling Azriel's forehead press against mine and his heavy, ragged breaths hitting my skin. His fingers slowly loosened their grip far enough for his hands to slip out of my hair and to rest at the base of my neck, his thumbs brushing softly over my skin. Then he drew back, and forcing open my eyes, I felt something tumble in my chest when my gaze found his, his amber iris looking hazy in the warm golden light hitting his face.

“You're an idiot,”, I mumbled, my voice soft and rough. "A jerk, and an asshole, and an idiot."

I could feel Azriel's muscles shift under my touch as he swallowed, his wings twitching a little as his gaze darted over my face.

Breathing out softly, I felt something surge in my chest when I stared at him and his beautiful eyes, and my heart skipped when one corner of my lips rose, soft and hesitant and a little wobbly when I whispered: “But I guess you're my idiot now.”

Azriel stared at me, stared and stared as the setting sun enveloped him in a warm golden glow, his gaze swirling with a storm of emotions so tangled it was hard to discern them all. Then a slightly shuddering exhale left him, and his glassy eyes fluttered shut for a second when he dropped his head forward to rest it against mine. His thumbs brushed over my skin as his nose nudged against mine, and I could feel a wave of something so warm and strong pulse through the bond from his end, my heart missed a step.

For a moment, neither of us moved, breaths mingling, Azriel's wings shivering slightly as my thumbs brushed over his skin. Then I mumbled: "Az?"

A soft sound left him at his name falling from my lips, his grip tightening, and I furrowed my brows softly without opening my eyes, muttering: "Why did you bring me in here?"

I could feel the shadowsinger shift, then he pulled back his head, and when I raised my own, something fluttered against my chest as my eyes flickered over Azriel´s face, gods damned beautiful in the golden light, his gaze already dragging over me. Then he blinked and slipped his hands off my skin, and my heart lurched at the loss of contact, but Azriel just picked up the towel and turned on the faucet. Holding the fabric under water for a second, he turned it off again and returned to his place in front of me.

His hips nudged my legs apart, and my breath hitched when his warm, scarred fingers gently tapped against my knee, his eyes bright in the golden light when he mumbled, his low, deep voice like a soft brush down my spine: "You're sticky."

My heart skipped high in my chest, and a soft, croaky laugh broke from my lips as I stared at him, feeling warmth begin to bubble violently in my chest as suddenly, something fluttered against my ribs.

One corner of Azriel's lips turned upwards, and he watched me for a second, his eyes gleaming in the light. Then I lightly pushed my legs apart, and his scarred fingers slipped under my knee, lifting it gently as he began to clean my skin.

Something rose in my chest as I stared at the male before me, his head dipped down slightly and brows crunched softly as his scarred hand carefully bent my leg, the warm towel gently running over the underside of my thigh. A strand of hair was falling over his forehead, and suddenly, my fingers itched to brush it away.

I hesitated for a second, then I carefully tugged at that pulsing thing in my chest.

Azriel´s eyes darted up to meet mine, his grip nearly slipping on my thigh, and I felt something close around my throat.

"I can feel you,", I whispered.

Azriel's gaze moved over my face, and my breath hitched when a light formed in his eyes, bright like the warmth of the setting sun. Then he blinked, and one corner of his lips quirked softly.

"I'm not that big."

My heart skipped high in my chest, and an incredulous snort escaped me, quickly followed by wild giggles as I grabbed the towel from his hand and whacked him into the face, causing a slow grin to spread over Azriel´s face. Suddenly, the world seemed to slow as well as his smile became wider and wider until deep creases formed in his cheeks and his brightly twinkling eyes crinkled at the corners.

My breath faltered, hitched and trembled, and I stared at him, my heart fluttering wildly against my ribs.

"Idiot,", I whispered, and Azriel's eyes twinkled in the warm golden light.

"I know,", he mumbled, soft and hoarse.

My heart skipped as we stared at each other, Azriel's iris bright in the sinking sun and the corners of his lips curved upwards. Then he blinked, softly raising a brow.

"Can I get the towel back or do you want to hit me again?"

Warmth bubbled in my chest, the bond pulsing and surging, and I huffed, barely biting back a stupidly wide smile as I grumbled: "I think I've changed my mind; I'm not sure I want you as my idiot anymore."

Azriel's eyes moved over my face, and there was something in the way he was staring at me, a twinkle in his iris, face pooled in golden light and the hint of a crease in his cheek that made my heart stumble when he slowly shook his head.

"No, sweetheart." His gaze tracked mine, and his deep voice was a little husky when he mumbled: "I'm yours now."

The bond whispered, and something swelled in my chest, warm and fluttering as my throat closed a little.

"Promise?", I whispered and cursed the weakness of my voice. But Azriel just stared at me, eyes warm and steady as he reached out, hooking his pinky finger through mine and squeezing as he mumbled, deep voice hoarse: "Promise."

#azriel #azriel x reader #azriel x female!reader #azriel imagine #azriel/reader #az x reader #az imagine #az/reader #acotar x reader #acowar #acomaf #acotar #lalacliffthorne

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darkbluekies · 6 months ago

Text

The origin of the ocs

Silas Achilleos:

I have always loved to write and read mafia fics. I wrote them before I wrote fanfiction, during fanfiction and now. When I created this account, I wanted a mafia man who's main characteristic was that he was kinky. I didn't like the ones I had read about that bent their partner over their lap for every little thing and that their entire relationship was built on sex. I wanted someone that felt human. So i made him in November 2022.

Silas name comes from a store I used to walk by all the time. I have no recollection of knowing about the name before I saw that store, so unconsiously the name must have come from there. I liked it because it was a name I hadn't been familiar with and I could "mold" the name to whatever I wanted, i had no connection to a certain person. I could make my own. His surname, Achilleos, was chosen because it reminded me of the character "achilles" and how he was untouchable besides one part of his body. Like this, i wanted darling to be Silas "achilles heel".

Silas personality comes from my want of something different. I wanted some humor, some drama, some weak spot. I made him childish, hypocritical, emotional. I didn't want him to be 2d.

Dr Karl Kry:

I have always loved the atmosphere of hospitals. I don't know why. They almost give me "backroom" vibes. I thought that it could be interesting to try to write about a doctor even though I have no medical knowledge. I have always loved to write characters that are weak and dependent on someone, which would work perfectly if I created a doctor. I created him in December 2022.

Dr Karl Kry's name comes from swedish. "Karl" means "man" and "Kry" means the opposite of being sick (not sure if english has the exact word). I thought that it could be fun if a doctor had that surname because only swedes/nordics would be able to get that little joke.

His personality is a bit of a mixture between the sterotypical swede and an opposite to what you think a doctor should be like. He's cold, quiet, doesn't like touch and is very modest while still being very professional and "sweet". He is quite old fashioned and carries traits that were normal then.

King Edmund of Vesanus

He wasn't supposed to be a character. I had gotten inspired to write the "Masquarade massacre/dance with death" oneshot because of a music video i used to watch when i was a kid (Eric Saade: Masquarade) and i wrote the oneshot in January 2023. It quickly became my most liked story so I decided to add him to the characters.

Edmund's name was originally Edward, but I have a character in one of my private novels with the same name and I thought that it would be weird for me if I named them the same thing. I decided to use a similar name and I decided upon Edmund. It sounded like it could belong to a royal. His kingdom "Vesanus" is in latin and means "mad/insane/frenzied" and I thoght that fit him extremely well.

His personality comes from the stereotypical spoiled king imagine, but I also wanted to make him ... human? He is a teenage boy who doesn't know who he is and only knows that he is the crown. He is lost and I think that shows. Edmund is ignorant, spoiled, rude and yet teasing, humorous, childish and caring.

Jerry (Yubin) Kim:

My first girl. She was created as a side character in a kpop mafia fanfiction i wrote back in 2020 and then reaccured in another kpop mafia fanfiction i wrote in 2021, although she was not a yandere back then. I loved her character and knew that I had to add her here.

Her name is special, to me. I don't remember why I named her Jerry, all I know is that I wanted a male name for a girl, and Jerry is a boy name that also feel like a girls name. That is the name she goes by, but her birth name is Yubin, although she doesn't go by that anymore. Her surname is a popular surname in korean, so that doesn't have much behind it.

Her personality is a rollercoaster. When I created her back in 2020, she was a bit different to what she is now. She was much happier, joked a lot, didn't have much darkness in her. She was pretty flat. Now that she's here, she has evolved into a much more human like character, much more rounded. She is a pretender. She feels one thing but pretends to feel different. All her joking persona isn't all real, she is pretty emotional. Jerry has many layers and many emotions she can't understand, she feels a lot of guilt, fear, love and hate, but presents a careless, joking girl to everyone else.

Hedwig Carter:

Hedwig is a character that was evolved from another character I was writing. In the beginning of this account, i tried out different kinds of characters to find the ones I wanted. I was writing a "quiet kid" yandere oneshot because I wanted this typical yandere setting, aka being in school. But I didn't like the character, I already had men (kry and silas) and I wanted it to feel like yandere simulator, so I scrapped that oneshot and created a girl. She wasn't supposed to be rich, but I decided to add it to have more to work with. I created her out on an evening walk in January 2023.

I don't like when characters who are supposed to be "normal" have "non-normal" names. I cannot imagine a girl who goes to school like everyone else having a name like "elowen", "amethyst" etc. i want the name to fit the situation and feel natural. Hedwig is one of those names. It feels wealthy, yet natural. It is distinctive, yet normal. The name Carter came to me when playing the game "titanic adventure out of time" when you have to go down to the cargo and the steward are like "YOURE A CARTER!!!" because the Carters owned the car that was on board the ship and a car in 1912 was expensive and etc. The name just stuck with me and felt like old money wealth, which she is.

Hedwig's personality is meant to be the opposite to Jerry, but they are quite alike too. Hedwig is sweet, innocent and loving. She doesn't like being mean. I wanted a rich popular girl that wasn't rude, entitled or a mean girl. Hedwig has a hard time controlling her emotions and can easily become "hysteric". I wanted an opposite to what's usually done - the rich popular girl is the one obsessed with someone instead of the other way around.

#yandere ocs

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writing-in-the-impala · 11 months ago

Text

Secret Smokes (Part 9)

Pairing: Teacher! Remus Lupin x Reader

Series Summary: When the reader bumps into the new DADA professor on the bridge in Hogwarts she begins to build a friendship with him all thanks to their shared feeling of not belonging and love for muggle cigarettes. Their friendship blooms while they both fight internal battles deciding what is wrong and what is right leading to a lot of fluff, angst, flirting and a rollercoaster of emotions.

Warnings: Swearing, smoking, drinking, teacher-student relationship, angst, jealousy, fluff, smut.

Word Count: 5776

A/N: At the end! No spoilers here, but it's a long one so get cosy.

| SERIES MASTER LIST (All chapters) |

Previous Chapter, Part 9, Next Chapter

Christmas morning began like every year except for the owl. When you made it downstairs there was an owl under the tree from Remus, you picked up the letter and thanked the owl giving it a treat before sending it home. You hadn't heard from Remus since you got home, however you couldn't be upset as you didn't attempt to write to him either. Even though you missed him a lot and you couldn't stop thinking about him life had become quite busy with work, family and your hometown friends. This was the first time you came home and didn't want to flirt with any one or meet anyone as the only person who got your heart to race was Remus. Since you first opened his present you kept re-reading what he wrote, as if you were trying to decipher it. Maybe it was him calling you "dear" and ending it with "yours" that made your heart race, maybe it was simply just the only way to feel close to him. "What's that letter honey?" Your mum asked walking out the kitchen to see you standing holding Remus's most recent letter.

"It's from my friend, I think it's just to thank for the Christmas present I got him."

"Him?" Your mother asked. "I knew those were for a boy she liked!" Your dad chimed in from the sofa. "So who's he?" Your mum asked.

That's when the doubts hit you, you shouldn't get excited by Remus sending you a letter, he's the kind of man you can't tell your parents about. How would you explain to your parents that you got involved with your defence against the dark arts professor and that he's also a werewolf. "Just a friend who's helped me a lot this year. Anybody want coffee?" You asked tucking Remus's letter into your jeans pocket and changing the subject.

When you had a moment after the busy morning you went upstairs to finally open Remus's letter that had occupied your mind all morning. You slowly opened it while sipping on a cup of tea that wasn't as tasty as the ones made by Remus in his office.

"My dearest Y/N,

Merry Christmas. Would it be inappropriate to say smoking or listening to music alone isn't the same? Thank you so much for your present, I've been listening to the vinyl from you on repeat I can't wait to listen to it with you. I hope work is good and your family is well too. Hogwarts is beautiful in the snow I'm glad I stayed but I'll be heading home to York soon - today - so if you would like to reach me please write to:

The Luna Cottage Yorkshire YO22 5AN

No pressure to write however if you do I just don't want you to feel like I'm ignoring your letters.

Yours, as always, Remus"

You wished the letter was longer, that he would tell you more about what he's been doing why he didn't write. You wanted to have a conversation about his day, you decided it was only right to reply to him straight away.

"Moony, Merry Christmas!

I am starting to realise my record collection is boring compared to yours. I'm glad you enjoyed the present, thank you so much for passing on your fathers book, I'm happy to return it to you as soon as I read it as it sounds quite sentimental.

I adore the cigarette tin, I would be lying if I said it hasn't already been useful. The camel and bridge are beautiful however I miss the real bridge.

I'm glad to hear you're enjoying Christmas, don't run to your cottage too quickly enjoy your time in Hogwarts although I do realise how stupid it is to write that as I'm sending it to your cottage.

My family is well and so am I thank you for asking, I do miss the snow in Hogwarts I look forward to coming back after new years.

Speak soon, Y/n"

You sent the letter almost as soon as you wrote it eager to continue this conversation with Remus. You could wait to read his next letter. However it did not arrive for days. Maybe he stayed in Hogwarts you thought, maybe he hasn't had time to send you one, maybe he's too busy...

You waited each day for a letter to arrive but nothing came, New Year's Eve was around the corner and you thought wether to wish him happy new year like you wished him Merry Christmas however you decided against it. The Weasleys had invited you to a New Year's party and you considered not going however you decided maybe it would be good to spent an evening with your school friends as opposed to the home town friends that you saw all Christmas break. The party wasn't at their house but rather a house in London however they assured you pre-drinks will be spent together. You met at their house where you would be spending the night after the party, it was nice to see their parents who always made you feel at home. They asked you many questions about your Christmas break and Molly even gave you a new hand knitted scarf as a gift. You hadn't arrived at their house empty handed either as you had a whole tray of home made cookies from your mum which the Weasley boys devoured. "So what's this party we're going to?" You asked the twins.

"It's one of the order parties but it should be fun." Fred began.

"And if we hate it, it's in central London so we can jump ship." George added.

"And we'll still see the muggle fireworks from there." Fred finished their joint sentence.

"But isn't everyone in the order like 50 now, I want a new years kiss." You complained

"I'm here." George quickly interrupted.

"I'm the hotter twin and I'm here too." Fred took over.

"See you have two options!"George said with a laugh.

"Three we all know dear Percy would kill for a kiss from you." Fred almost whispered so no one else in the family would hear.

"I don't want to kiss him, or you, or you." You said laughing and pushing them away in a friendly way.

"No you want to kiss your teacher." They both said simultaneously making your face go red.

"Shut up. I prefer people my age."

"Don't lie to us the only person our age you want to snog is Sebastian and he's mostly a rebound for your profesor."

"What did you get him for Christmas?"

"It doesn't matter besides he hasn't spoken to me since Christmas."

"But he wrote to you."

"Just to thank me."

"He still thought of you."

"We've gone off topic so who's gonna be at this party or did I waste my new years by agreeing to this?" You bought the conversation back.

"We promise there will be people you'll want to kiss there, you'll have fun."

"We're sure of it."

"Only thing...."

"'Mum is coming."

"WHAT? This is going to be so lame, a party with your parents?"

"Don't worry, we'll still have fun." He said handing you a shot to drink and all three of you necked it down. You got changed and ready to go out, suddenly you were all looking a lot more like you were going to party, the boys wolf whistled you when you joined them in the living room. By this point nearly the whole family was downstairs including Hermione who was also invited as Harry and Ron were going. When you walked into the room Percy's face seemed to go red, you felt bad as you knew his feelings for you but you just simply didn't feel the same about him. You relaxed in the living room for a bit before all of you traveled to the house the party was taking place at.

It was 12 Grimmauld Place. The home of the Blacks. Sirius Black was the only one left living there however he used the house to throw very extravagant parties, that's what Percy told you anyway. When you arrived it was quite littered with people already, and there was a mix of people older and younger, you spent time with the twins at first as you were a bit shy to start talking to so many strangers. As soon as the alcohol started to get to your head you became a lot more social with everyone around, one of your most interesting conversations was with the host Sirius Black who you clicked with immediately, you ended up in quite a discussion about the London firework display and he promised you could go up to the roof for the fireworks at midnight. You were quite enjoying yourself when you noticed Sirius hugging a man who was apologising for arriving late, he was taking his jacket off when you caught a glimpse of him. Remus J Lupin. He was wearing corduroy trousers, a nice clean fresh Oxford shirt that was a pale blue with a dark vest over it and a long black trench coat. You felt the temperature of the room go up and you needed a distraction so you jumped into a conversation with the twins. "Our teacher is here." You stated to them.

"Your teacher more like." Fred stated with a grin on his face as him and George shared a look.

"You knew." You pointed a finger at them both.

"He's in the order." George explained.

"Close friends with Black. And our parents." Fred finished.

"We didn't know for sure if he would come." They both said in response to your upset face.

"He hasn't replied to my letter." You said quietly.

"Well now you can talk in person." Fred said. You could see Remus but he wasn't looking at you, he was happy, he looked a bit tired but not more than usual, he seemed in his element hugging people hello and chatting with them. After about twenty minutes you both noticed each other he gave you a slight wave from across the room and you waved back while speaking to Hermione. The next hour and a half you spent stealing glances at each other from across the room but not talking even when you stood right next to each other, it felt like an unspoken rule. It was hurting you to watch him talk to an attractive girl from the order and laugh with her, a whole body laugh. You felt jealous, and upset that he didn't even acknowledge you past a small wave.

It was only when you were outside having a smoke with Fred that you finally spoke to Lupin. He was the one who started the conversation, you heard him say "No, no, no. I can't believe that you haven't heard of The Stooges, hold on, Y/N have you heard of the Stooges" he interrupted your conversation but you didn't mind.

"Of course, arguably they were the first punk rock band." You said with a small smile, eyeing the girl he was taking to in a judgmental way.

"Thank you!" Remus said to everyone before turning around to face you. "Hello by the way." He has a gently smile.

"Hi professor, I saw you earlier but didn't want to interrupt." You said hugging him hello, he already smelt like he's drank quite a bit as did you.

"You should've." He said gently in a hush tone, eyes quickly flicking down to your lips then back to your eyes, his breath really smelt like fire whiskey.

"You look nice." You replied.

"I was going to say the same about you." The small smile growing on his lips as his eyes scanned your body.

"Who are you so dressed up for?" You pried hoping the answer doesn't hurt you.

"Sirius." He said in a stern tone and continued once he saw the puzzled look on your face. "He said he was going to hex me if I showed up in the same clothes I wear every day. I don't know if you've met him yet but I believe he genuinely would have."

"I have and I agree, I think you're a wise man." You said with a laugh.

"How was Christmas?" He asked changing the topic.

"You know same, same. Spent most of the time working. What about yours?" You said putting your hands in your pockets awkwardly. When you spoke to him it's like the whole world blurred, like no one else was around you even through your were standing outside the house on a street in central London.

"Christ Y/N, I'm sorry I didn't write back." He simply answered.

"It's okay, I'm sure you were busy." You said hiding your disappointment.

"No, no I wasn't." He said with his own frown on his face. "After Christmas there was a full moon and I was knackered, once I regained energy I had so much to do and I didn't dedicate time to writing back, when I could've, I should've and I'm so sorry." He was leaning on the wall for support as if his guilt was weighing him down.

"How's the cottage?"

"It's cosy, I've been fixing things in it, Hogwarts has meant it stands empty with no one looking after it, so things have broken in my absence." He explained.

"I wish you had time to write while you were there, I had so many questions." You said instead of saying you missed him.

"Have you seen Sebastian Sallow over half term?"

"What?" You shot back in confusion.

"Just wandering as you two are close."

"Not that close." You felt weird about his question, his facial expression was hard to read.

"Fair enough." He replied after a moment of awkward silence.

"Why do you ask?" You pushed.

"Because I thought you two were slowly growing into a relationship, you know I just want the best for you." He didn't make eye contact with you.

"What's the best for me?" You questioned.

"It's not me." He said with an intense stare into your eyes.

"So you don't want me to be with you?" You asked swallowing hard from the anxiety.

"Correct." He answered his body inching closer to you.

"But do you want to be with me?" He looked down at his empty glass after you asked him this.

"What was work like?" He asked changing the topic.

"Answer my question." You pushed.

"Answer mine."

"I asked first."

"Y/N... let's change the subject before one of us gets hurt, let's not ruin new years." He said sounding defeated as he finished the sentence you heard the front door open and saw Sirius there with two drinks in his hand.

"Remus! There you are, I made you a drink." He said in a jolly voice. "Y/N, do you want one too?" He said while handing a drink to Remus.

"It's fine I can go get it myself." You said finishing this the perfect opportunity to leave this conversation with Remus.

"Beautiful, let me show you the main reason why being a magic is the greatest thing ever." Sirius said clicking his fingers and your glass refilled itself. Remus just laughed as if this was an old trick.

"How?" You asked in shock.

"Dear old Sirius has enchanted all the glass to be self re-filling because he's too lazy to stand up and pour himself a drink."

"I didn't know this was possible." You expressed.

"It's a dangerous trick." Remus explained.

"As if you don't love it Moony." Sirius said and you have a puzzled look to the nickname but didn't ask more questions. "Now it looks like you two were having a meaningful chat I don't mean to interrupt."

"You're not, I was just about to head inside." You said.

"Sure you were." Sirius said with a wink. "Enjoy the drink moony, let me know how it tastes later!" Sirius said with a wink at Remus and head tilting to you before he left, luckily for Remus you didn't see this. A moment of silence fell upon both of you again before Remus cleared his throat. "You know all the glasses in my office have this enchantment." He said sitting down on the front door steps.

"Liar, why do you always stand up and make cups of tea if they can refill themselves?"

"I find there's something romantic about doing things the proper way, taking a moment to brew a tea and pour it. It feels like it's the right way to do it. When I'm alone I don't bother to do all the mundane but I like to do it with you." He took last sip of the cocktail he managed to already finish and you watched it magically refill itself.

"So I'm guessing you and Sirius are close?" You asked.

"How'd you guess?"

"He called you moony."

"He's my best friend from school, there's not many of us left after the war." Remus began.

"What do you mean us?"

"My friends from school and I used to call ourselves the Marauders."

"That's so lame." You laughed and he had a nostalgic smile on his face.

"I know. But we were proud of it, we were unstoppable, a force to be reckoned with. We used to preform some pranks that created new rules in Hogwarts."

"Not that pillar of morality I thought you were Professor." You winked at him and he laughed.

"Maybe not." His eyes were glued to your lips.

"So what happened?" You asked and his eyes went down to the floor, he cleared his throat and took a sip of his drink.

"We all grew up but not all of us got to grow old. You see straight after school James and Lilly got married, it was a beautiful day. Not long after Harry was born, we felt like we were on top of the world when we were leaving Hogwarts. But the wizarding war kept getting worse, I struggled for work with my condition so I focused mainly on the order, James and Sirius helped me a lot especially with money, I wouldn't have a home without them. We spent most of our days as part of the Order of the Phoenix, and we were proud, we felt like our little group was part of something special. Then the day when Peter betrayed James and Lilly came, and well you know how the story of that day goes." He said his voice breaking a bit a small tear forming in his eye. "After that day the world rejoiced, war was over, he was gone, but he took James and Lilly with them. Peter, the snitch, sold them out. It was just Sirius and I left." You placed you hand on his knee to comfort him.

"I'm sorry-"

"It's okay. I was hurt that day and I was stupid, I distanced myself from Sirius, and from everyone. I saw the world as cruel, I really treated myself like a victim, felt sorry for myself. Sirius, he saved me. Every full moon he would come to the cottage and make sure I was okay, it was only after a year that I found out when he fell asleep and when I was back to my human form he was still around. He explained he'd come in secret every month just to check in on me. He made me realise the world wasn't so cruel after all." Remus glanced back at the house behind him.

You got a glimpse at a new part of Remus, the Remus who lost friends, the Remus who used to be a boy surrounded by everyone he loved, and you understood why now being in Hogwarts he was so much more lonely than ever before. "It's funny when I met you it felt like meeting the marauders for the first time. If only you were around when I was your age, I think I would've- doesn't matter. I'm sorry for dropping my sob story on you like that." Remus said with a heavy breath.

"Moony I love to hear about your past, Sirius sounds very special... I'm glad you have him."

"I love that boy." He said honestly. "He's my brother for life." He said looking back at the house once again. A calm quiet fell upon you both before you took your cigarette tin out of your pocket, you offered one to Remus and he took it "nice tin." He said with a wink. "Where'd you get it?" He asked while you tried to light your cigarette with your lighter, he lit his with magic obviously.

"This guy got me it, I really thought he liked me because it's so special but I realise now he's just kindhearted and cares about people. It's still one of my favourite gifts though."

"What says those are mutually exclusive?" He questioned while you struggled to light your cigarette as your lighter didn't want to work.

"Can you light it for me?" You asked him gently turning around to him.

"Sure, come here." He motioned for you to get closer to him. And you shifted towards him. "Closer." He instructed. You were confused but listened, you were now inches away from him, his cigarette was in his mouth and yours was in your hand. "Put it in your mouth." He said through the cigarette. "Now come here I'll light it for you." He said quietly. So you leaned in and he lit the cigarette with the one in his mouth, your body felt like it was burning, you could smell the alcohol, you could smell him. Chocolate, cigarettes and an undertone of firewood. He placed a hand on your face to stabilise you and you felt that your cigarette was lit. You pulled away from each other and you took a drag with a shaky breath after the moment you just shared.

You felt his hand grab your chin again and turn your face back to his, his cigarette wasn't in his mouth this time, he began to lean in. "Tell me if you want me to stop." He whispered and your heart raced as you leaned into him and your lips crashed. The kiss was full of lust and longing. He had completely dropped his cigarette as both his hands were now on your face, you dropped yours and raised your hands to touch him. You felt him swoop your whole body to the side and you were suddenly straddling him on the stairs of the house. You felt him, you felt how much he wanted you, you began to slowly grind on him to tease him. His hands began to go up and down your back as you continued to make out, your hands went through his hair, something you wanted to do for a very long time. And then you heard it, the fireworks.

Remus pulled away first, shaken back into reality, you both looked into each others eyes for a few seconds. Silence. The look of complete fear and lust in both your eyes as reality crashed back in. "Happy new year dear." He said quietly.

"Happy new year Moony." Your replied and he gently kissed you on the lips with love rather than lust this time. He slowly moved you off him and stood up, reaching out a hand towards you to help you stand up. "Let's head up to the roof, the view of the fireworks is beautiful up there." He said and you gave him a sad look.

"I'm happy to miss it." You almost whispered.

"We can't. Come on." He said reaching his hand out for you to hold and you followed him holding his hand while walking up the stairs and questioning which part he was referring to with "we can't". You headed back inside and as you passed the mirrors on the stairs Remus fixed his hair, he let go of your hand and you walked side by side upstairs entering the roof quietly. Once upstairs he squeezed your shoulder and walked away from you, he started making the rounds while telling people happy new year starting from some members of the order, moving onto the Weasleys and so on. You just stood there watching him. "Happy new year Y/N. We were looking for you." Fred said. "Are you okay?" He said looking at your confused expression.

"I just kissed our teacher." You said quietly. And Fred laughed and George groaned. "Pay up." Fred said to George and they exchanged money.

"You guys bet on this? You bought me here and you bet on it?" You asked slightly annoyed but also amused.

"Only when I left you outside with him." Fred said defensively. "How do you feel?" George asked. "Relived?" Fred added.

"Horny and confused."

"Poor Percy was looking for you, wanted you to be his new years kiss, he won't be happy to find out." George added.

"No one can know." You said sternly.

"Y/N, your secret is safe with us." George said.

"However we will make fun of you for this." Fred stated.

"Constantly." George added.

"Looks Y/N is not paying attention to us." Fred pointed out as you were starring at Remus and Sirius whispering to each other and Sirius glancing over at you.

"We've lost her, next thing you know she'll be married, she won't speak to us. No time for us." Fred joked. As you continued to watch Remus, who now glanced at you, said bye to Sirius and began to walk over in your direction.

"He's coming over what should I do?" You asked in panic.

"You were the one snogging him, not us." They both said.

"Shut up." You replied and Remus was now close enough to hear. The boys turned around and smiled at him with big grins. "Happy new year professor." The both said.

"Happy new year." He replied gently. "Happy new year Y/N." He said to you pretending as if nothing happened.

"Wait so you didn't even say happy new year to each other?" Fred asked and both you and George slapped him to shut him up.

"I should've known. Sirius also knows." He said he's gesturing behind him to a smiling Sirius who waved at you as soon as you looked over at him.

"Obviously." You said with a gentle smile.

"Do you boys mind if I have a word with Y/N?" Remus asked politely.

"Just don't-" Fred began.

"Fred." You and George said in unison. "Alright nice to see you prof!" Fred said laughing and walking away.

Remus lead you off the roof and down the stairs towards one of the rooms. You didn't ask any questions. He pulled you into a room and you straight away began to make out. You explored each others lips before between kissed Remus began to speak "Let's get one thing straight, this can't happen." He then kissed you again and you tried to push out a "yes" between the kisses. "And no one can find out about this." You nodded and he leaned back in to continue. "And if anyone knew you could get expelled and I could lose my job."

"Yes professor."

"Don't. I go crazy when you call me that." He said biting your lip as he kissed you this time and moving his hands around your whole body. "Now tell me if you want me to leave this room and pretend nothing happened, tell me now and I'll leave and we'll go back to just being professional." He said looking deep into your eyes and you shook your head and leaned in to kiss him. "Good." He whispered before kissing you back, after a moment you moved your hands to his belt and began to unbuckle it. "Not so quickly my dear." He whispered in your ear. "What we're going to do is leave this room, you're going to be a good girl and mingle with your friends, while I make the rounds talking to mine. Then when it's late and everyone is saying goodbye you meet me. That way we don't raise any suspicion about both being gone all night." He explained and you nodded. "Good." He said and he kissed your lips gently before leaving the room. You stood in the dark room alone trying to process everything. After a moment you left the room and continued upstairs, on the stairs you a ran into Percy. "Y/N!" He said cheerfully. "Where have you been all evening?" He asked.

"Oh I've been floating around." You replied trying to keep it vague.

"I was searching for you." He stated.

"It's a big house." You simply replied.

"Why did you leave with professor Lupin after new years?"

"Why are you watching my every move?" You felt like your privacy was invaded.

"We're friends Y/N, I feel like this year you've been running around befriending Slytherins and doing tutoring every day we've barely seen each other." He complained.

"You're exaggerating, besides you're the one who always pushed for me to study more, now I am and you're complaining." You were getting annoyed.

"Are you and the Slytherin boy dating? Is that why you've been avoiding me?" He asked a bit too aggressively.

"Percy. Your jealousy is showing, please go home, go the bed, we'll talk tomorrow." You walked past him towards the roof, he tried to continue the conversation but you didn't turn around to reply.

Upstairs you saw Remus chatting to small group of people, he looked so handsome. You started getting involved in your own conversations however you couldn't resist to look over at Remus constantly, and he kept looking over at you. Each time he would smile, sometimes he'd lightly wink. When Molly and Arthur Weasley were leaving you and the twins said you'll come home later in the evening and they trusted you and left you behind. Finally there was very few people left behind and Remus approached you and the twins as you relaxed in the living room. "Sorry to interrupt." He began not taking his eyes off you as he scanned your body, licking his lips.

"Please do." Fred said with a grin.

"Excuse us profesor." George said pulling Fred away.

"Has anyone given you a tour of the house dear?" Remus asked you with his hands on his pockets while looking down towards you. You shook your head and he simply reached a hand out to you to help you up. He began giving you a tour from the bottom of the house towards upstairs, there were still people in the house but very few as it was nearing 4am and most people had traveled home by now. He led you all the way up before he stopped at a room. "And here is my room." He said.

"Your room?" You questioned.

"Well technically the guest room but since it's just Sirius who lives here this room has become my room, I stay here whenever I'm in London." It was mostly a simply decorated room but the small pile of books on the side table made it obvious that Remus stayed here often.

"What have you been reading?" You said picking up the top book as Remus came up behind you putting his arms around you and kissing your neck.

"Does it matter right now?" He whispered in your ear pulling you against him.

"I don't think so." You said as he turned you around to look at him.

"You drive me crazy girl." He leaned in to kiss you. "Do you want to know how crazy?" He asked and you nodded. That's when he grabbed your hand and put it against his crotch, you could feel how huge his cock was in that very moment. "Holy shit." You whispered as a genuine reaction not thinking about what's leaving your lips. Remus smiled and chuckled slightly. "Don't worry, I'll go slow." He whispered and you almost melted into his kiss. After a moment of kissing he gently pushed you against the wall where he pulled your top off and your trousers. He began kissing you from your neck down your body getting on his knees in front of you as he kissed your legs and bit your thong. "I have thought about this moment from the first time I met you. You're more beautiful than I imagined." He said before standing up and kissing you on the lips again and you ran your hands through his hair. He picked you up and lay you down on his bed as he climbed up above you leaning down and kissing you. You reached up to unbutton his shirt and he stopped your hands for a moment.

"I just want to warn you, I have scares." He said, his voice had a twang of anxiety behind it.

"I don't care." You breathed out.

"You don't understand they're bad, I can keep my shirt on."

"Remus don't be ridiculous." You said unbuttoning his shirt to reveal his chest, his scars were deep, layering on top of each other some older than others. You began to trace them with your finger as Remus watched your expression, you then leaned in to kiss his scars. He put a hand under your chin and went back to kiss you as he unbuckled his trousers slipping them off while keeping his lips on yours. He once again moved down to your underwear taking them off with his mouth as he kissed you all the way back up to your lips. "I'm going to go slow but if anything hurts tell me okay?" He confirmed and you nodded. "Dear I need you to use your words for me."

"Yes Professor." You said and it felt like his eyes darkened a little as he slowly slid into you. You could feel how large he was as began to slowly move in and out. As soon as he saw you feel comfortable he began to up the pass, kissing your neck and starting to suck and lick it as you moaned under him. "You're so beautiful." He whispered in your ear as he kissed you.

"Remus you feel amazing." You said as he picked up the pace and moaned in your ear. He held your hands above your head with one hand and kept himself up above you with the other. The kissing turned into bites with kisses as your hearts raced. "Remus I'm close." You moaned out as he was bitting your nipples and still holding your hands above your head. "I want to feel you cum for me." He said as he kissed your lips again and you moaned out in bliss. You felt him fill you right after. As soon as he pulled out he leaned in to kiss you and you kissed him back. "Happy new year." He whispered as he lay down next to you pulling you in your hug him, you skin touching his skin. "Happy new year Remus." You whispered back tracing his scars with your finger and closing your eyes as he lightly kissed the top of your head.

A/N: AHHHHHH finally! Now I can tell you this chapter was the idea that sparked everything, it was the idea of them sitting on those bloody steps and him lighting her cigarette with his own that made me want to write all this. Don't worry it's not over yet, we're only just beginning the story I hope you carry on reading a lot as there's loads more to come as they navigate this situation. Hope you like it!

NEXT CHAPTER | More stuff I wrote

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