#when they become canon THEN YOU WILL ALL SEE

[shomatoriashi]

11/29/24; 03:03pm

dragon!sylus x fem.reader

notes: for all the sylus girlies out there, this is going to be my thirstiest and most self-indulgent dragon!sylus fic (⺣◡⺣)♡ again, this is all just my interpretation and it may not even be close to canon!

warnings: monster f-cking oh my god i can't believe i'm going to do this since i've never written this type of spicy story before 😭😭😭😭😭 i'm sorry if this ends up sucking so bad !! i just want to type out my spicy thoughts hhhhhh

[ minors don’t interact; by choosing to interact with this content, you have consented to viewing something n-fw despite the warnings. ]

night had fallen across your small village, painting the once lively desert in somber hues of blue. with the moonlight as your guide, you drape your shawl even closer to your body to help with warding off the cold air.

as you made your way to the oasis, your mind was filled with anxious thoughts pertaining to your mother. she had once again fallen ill, her frail body being taken over by a fever as she struggled to even breathe while she lay motionless in bed. your heart was filled with love for your mother as you spent the night wiping the sweat from her brow with a damp cloth, not wishing to leave her side.

feeling your presence next to her, her eyes blearily meet with your gaze as a tiny smile paints her expression. "you should...rest..." even with her reassuring words, you refused to leave her side.

yet when your bucket of water runs dry, you knew you had to leave your mother to get more water. you needed to help her with breaking her fever, and in order to do that, you had to get more water from the oasis. leaving the damp cloth across her brow, you told her that you would return soon before setting off towards the crystalline pool of water. each step that you take brings an image of your sickly mother and the thought of how much weaker she had become-

with a click of your tongue, you banish such intrusive beliefs, refusing to even entertain the thought that you would ever lose her. fighting back against the cold, you push forward as you made your trek across the sands, noticing the palm trees and the sight of those ruby red flowers in the distance as they swayed in the wind. anticipation was felt coursing through your veins, your legs now breaking out into a run until you were just a mere few feet away from the crystalline waters of the pond-

but as fate would have it, you were not alone.

settled in the midst of the pond was what appeared to be a winged demon, his wings remaining spread as you felt pinpricks of fear clenching around your heart. your breathing was uneven and heavy as you slowly backed away from him, only to see the demon lift his head, his silvery hair seeming to glow beneath the moonlight.

"your heavy breathing is a dead giveaway." you gasp, feeling your heart jump within the confines of your throat the moment he suddenly appears before you. rufescent eyes gaze down at you in amusement as full lips remain tilted up in a smirk. your eyes trail toward his silver locks of hair and finally noticed the two horns settled atop his head (the image reminding you of a dark and regal crown). from his broad chest to the alluring crimson gemstone settled in the middle of his pale skin-

the demon was equal parts devastatingly beautiful and terrifying to you.

his wings end up engulfing you, trapping your body against his as he takes in a deep whiff of your hair before trailing the tip of his nose against your skin. as he takes in your scent, you were certain that he could hear the way your heart seemed to pound from out of your ribcage.

"yet perhaps what's more distracting than your breathing is the lingering scent of death you have..."

his words succeed in making your heart cease its beat, your fear now replaced with anxiety as you narrowed your gaze at him. "w-what do you mean?"

a look of intrigue was seen settled within his crimson gaze. "there's no need to be so frightened, treasure. you look to be as healthy as a mare... yet someone close to you-"

mother...!

you gripped at the demon's shoulder, allowing your nails to dig into them while your gaze became wild, "my mother... you're referring to my mother. please, can you save her?!"

he doesn't answer your panicked words, but at this point, you were willing to do anything to save the only family you had left-

even if it meant forging a deal with the devil.

"please, i'll do anything for her! if you have the means to save her-"

the demon lets out a deep chuckle, the sound being enough to send almost pleasant vibrations down your spine. using his free hand, he wraps it around your waist, bringing you closer to his naked chest while at nearly eye level with the ruby settled on it. "relax, treasure... if you're willing to do anything, then i suppose i can give you this."

as if it were made by magic itself, he gently pulls something out of your hair, extracting a vial that held a deep red liquid. "give this to your mother, and it shall heal any ailment that she has."

hope erupts within your chest, yet before you could utter another word, the devil whispers into your ear, "remember your promise to me, treasure."

and with those final words, he disappears away from you, leaving you alone with an empty bucket and a mysterious vial. not wishing to wait another second, you rush back to your mother, nearly pushing your body to its limits.

your lungs were burning now when you finally reached home, a quaint little hut settled near the edge of your village. you enter and immediately go to your mother, holding her frail frame closer to your chest as you uncapped the vial and open your mother's mouth, pouring the crimson liquid inside.

she coughs a bit, but manages to swallow the entire contents of the vial. once you were certain the vial was emptied, you toss it to the side, watching your mother with baited breath.

despite your anxiety, you felt your hope continue to grow when there were noticeable changes seen within your mother. the color slowly came back to her skin, her lips no longer appearing ashen and dry. along with those changes, you noticed how her hair slowly became glossier, and as she opened her eyes, it was clear that they were livelier than ever.

"mother...!" letting out chocked sobs, you cling to your mother, basking in her soft coos of your name as she places a gentle kiss against the top of your hair.

and as you sought the comfort of your mother's arms, you remained blissfully unaware of glowing ruby eyes watching your every move.

{ ... }

your life had gotten brighter with your mother by your side, healthy and glowing with vitality. now that you had her back, the memory of the devil and your promise to him became a distant memory-

however, it would quickly become apparent that not even demons would go back on their words.

one late evening, as you were in the midst of making supper with your mother, the sounds of a stampede approaching fills your heart with dread. the commotion doesn't go unnoticed by your mother as her eyebrows remain furrowed in response.

"what is going on?"

you put a finger over your lips, blowing out all of the lit candles as you listened intently to the conversation from outside of your home.

"our king has requested that we find her and bring her to him."

"but of course, as if i would be foolish enough to go against the drake borne from shadows."

upon hearing such a strange title, your mouth goes dry as your mind goes back to that fateful night-

the night the demon had helped with saving your mother from appearing at death's door-

he had remembered after all.

the sounds of footsteps grow louder and heavier, giving you little time to react when the flimsy door of your home was kicked down. dozens of men dressed in suits of armor began crowd around you, and your mother's panicked cries made your head spin.

"it's her, his bride...!"

"get your hands off of my daughter!" your mother's shrill cries echo within your ear as she tried to claw at the men who had captured you.

"get this wench away from us!" the broad man holds you close to his armored chest while tossing your mother a large pouch filled with gold. "take this as a gift from our king... consider it a dowry of sorts."

"you bastard, give my daughter back to me! SHE'S WORTH MORE THAN JUST A MERE FEW PIECES OF GOLD!" your mother cries out to them, about to reach out to you once more when you stopped her.

"no, it's okay... i'll be okay..." you swallow back your tears and meet her gaze, "i-i was the one who made a deal with the devil. h-he saved your life... and i promised to repay him."

a pained expression crosses your mother's features, "w-what do you mean...?"

the knights remain silent, yet still kept you in a tight grip to prevent you from running away, "that night when you suffered from a fever... you were close to dying... and he had sensed that. i didn't wish to lose you, so he gave me this vial filled with a deep crimson liquid-"

"you have been blessed by the shadow dragon's blood, do not let my king's sacrifice go to waste."

you felt your heart break the moment your mother's face crumpled a bit when she realizes the truth, with her hands immediately covering her lips as she watches you being taken away from her.

as they began to carry you out of your hut, you didn't wish to worry her as you cried out, "i'll be back soon... just please... do not worry about me! i'll come home soon..."

the last sight you had of your mother was of her falling to her knees with tears streaming down her face.

{ ... }

tarus city was what they called this place-

and you felt as though you were living in a dream, surrounded by glittering gemstones and polished gold. your eyes seemed to water with each new sight that came to you.

even with all of this beauty, you felt a little numb and homesick-

but a promise was a promise.

your devil held up his end of the deal by saving your mother-

and it was your turn to repay him.

you were broken out of your thoughts and given little time to take in the new sights as you were lead even deeper into the city. while the knights dropped you off in a golden palace, you were surrounded by women who helped with preparing you for their king. your body was stripped of your tattered clothing before being dunked into a luxurious tub filled with water warmed by what appeared to be heated stones. the sweet scent of rose petals fills your senses, putting you in a daze as the other maids worked on washing your hair.

once your body was cleaned, the women placed a thin sheen of rose oil against your skin, making sure that you were glistening before wrapping a sensual dress made entirely of silk around you. the finishing touches were added when they painted your lips in a light pink hue before taking you out of the palace.

and you were given little choice but to follow.

settled in a line, you follow the maidens as they walked across tarus city, keeping their heads down with every intention of bringing you to their king. your eyes take in the townspeople and felt a sense of discomfort fill you at how they were looking at you-

like you were someone that was meant to be worshipped.

your reveries were cut short when the women stopped walking, not daring to enter the gaping cave as they parted, settling your form dead in center as they made a path for you. with your heart racing with fear and anticipation, you step forward into the cave with your head held high.

the deeper you walked into the cave, the more you realized that the man wasn't a demon at all, but a dragon after all. when you were younger, your mother would read fairytales to you pertaining to dragons and how they liked to hoard and collect treasure.

and surrounding you was just that- an infinite amount of treasure.

you had never seen such riches before in your life. from rainbow gemstones and rare diamonds of every size to varying gold coins, it was no wonder that your mother had received such a high 'dowry.'

your eyes continue to scan all across the cave only to stop when you saw a familiar sight settled before you.

the devil's drake's back was facing you, and you watch as his serpent-like tail sways back and forth almost lazily. he lay on what appeared to be a smooth marble tablet, his wings nowhere in sight as he was dressed in his dark armor (was it even armor after all? or were they just a part of his body?)

"your footsteps are noisy, and you breathe heavily." the drake manages to reach out to your trembling form with his tail, wrapping the armored appendage around you as he brings your form down against the marble tablet. you land on your back with a gasp, heart beating wildly out of your chest when the devastating man smirks down at you. you were left gazing up at him through your lashes, watching as he closes his eyes before breathing in your scent, "ah, but it seems as though the lingering scent of death no longer haunts you."

he brings up a heavily armored and clawed hand up to your face, gently caressing at your skin with the back of it. even as your heart began to race within the confines of your chest-

you felt no fear-

only a sense of duty for fulfilling your promise to him all while ignoring the strange ache and tingling sensation felt between your legs.

"there's no need to be frightened, treasure." he leans closer to you, placing his lips against your temple. "sylus... you may call me sylus, for only you can call me by my name."

you shiver in response to his voice, feeling it reverberate throughout your body as sylus keeps his head hidden within the curve of your neck. "mmm, they did a good job, making you appear so utterly delectable for me..."

you gasp when you felt the tip of his tail travel between your legs, with sylus purposely sliding the underside of his scorpion-like tail against your slick folds. the odd sensation makes you writhe beneath him against the marble slab, your gasps echoing throughout the cave as you felt a strange pressure build up from within your abdomen.

"hah...ah... this feels... weird b-but so good." your mind was going drunk and hazy from the pleasure as you looked down to see his tail lazily going up and down your pussy lips, collecting your honeyed arousal. sylus lets out a soft groan before removing his tail.

"you smell so fucking sweet..." you tremble when sylus meets your gaze momentarily before descending upon your form. the tip of his horns gently gracing at the silk fabric of your dress, making paper thin tears in them as it slowly fell away from your form. with you remaining utterly bare for the powerful drake, you tremble as he lets out a guttural groan of your name, settling himself between your legs while breathing in your pure feminine scent.

with your slick entrance so close to his lips, sylus wastes no time diving into you, pressing his lips against your entrance as the sheer amount of pleasure he gifts you reaches almost dizzying heights. your hands grasp at his soft strands of hair, yet when he introduces a finger inside of your heat, you opted to cling to his horns for support.

sylus knew of how soft and pliant your body was compared to him, and he was able to maintain a certain amount of gentleness when he allows his hands to trace at your pussy lips. your sweet taste was all that filled him, and when he gently pinches at your hardened, bundle of nerves, he knew he was on the right track when it came to making you fall apart for him.

your back arches against the marble slab, hands gripping at his horns when you called out his name before allowing the tightness felt in your abdomen begin to snap. something warm and hot rushes out of you, earning yet another guttural sound from sylus as his tongue laps up everything you had to offer.

in the midst of your pleasured haze, you watch as sylus stands back to his full height, his hand gripping at the leather the covers his lower body before ripping them away from him. while watching him, you felt your eyes go wide upon seeing such a magnificently terrifying sight.

you had never once been subjected to witnessing a man's arousal before, watching as his cock goes hard while ready to be mated-

let alone two hard cocks that appeared pulsating with an angry shade of red. clear fluids were seen escaping from the tip, but perhaps what was more interesting were the ridges seen decorating the underside of his cock. sylus catches your wide (and admittedly, scared) eyes and smiles down at you. gently framing at your face with his free hand, he uses his other hand to help with further stroking his two cocks. "erase such expressions of fear treasure, for these exist for the sole purpose of pleasuring you."

sylus purposely leans over your, stroking his cocks against your slick folds. with a shaky sigh of his name, you wrap your arms around his broad back, feeling the strange ache become even more intense the moment sylus continued to rub himself against you. "my bride... my precious bride... i'm going to mark you as mine for all of eternity."

with those final words (sounding very much like an oath), sylus thrusts both of his cocks into your slick heat, making you cry out to him as your body struggled to take him all in. not wishing to overwhelm you with the flurry of new sensations, he keeps only half of his cocks within you, sliding them in a rhythmic, back and forth motion inside of you, making you feel not just every inch of him-

but each individual ridge as well.

the pain of having your purity taken was there, but more so than that was the intense pleasure you felt upon feeling his cock taking over the entirety of your slick walls. with his eyebrows furrowed in intense concentration, sylus works on pumping his cocks in and out of your aching cunt, basking in the squelching sounds that seemed to echo across the cave each time he rammed his hips back into yours.

"ngh, s-sylus!" being a now former virgin, you had never experienced such intense pleasure before, with your release rushing out of you in what seemed like an intense wave. the red hot sensation courses through your veins as you spilled your love juices down each of sylus's shafts, earning a broken groan from him.

"f-fuck, i can't last even a second inside of you!" stilling his hips, your moans quickly morphed into broken sobs when he pumps your womb full of his thick cum, with your aching entrance unable to hold it in as his seed spills out of your core in soft spurts.

sylus ends up landing on top of you, his chest pressed achingly close to your breasts as his cocks continued to pump you full of his seed. the intensity of his own release makes him let out a string of curses as he kept his hands in a fisted position next to your head.

when the twitching finally stopped, you were able to catch your breath, feeling the droplets of sweat running down your brow. it takes a couple of minutes for the post, lovemaking clarity to kick in, with sylus letting out a dreamy sigh of your name. he was ready to pull out of you, yet you had stopped him with your legs now wrapped tightly around his waist.

"wait, don't leave me..." you admit to him with heat felt against your cheeks. sylus meets your gaze while giving you a cocky expression, "oh? is my treasure getting greedy now?"

sylus lets out a rich chuckle before tossing both of your legs over his broad shoulder, making you moan when you felt both of his cocks harden while remaining buried deep inside of you. he begins yet another rapid pace while telling you, "hah, fuck, i wanted to go slow and be romantic with you... i had thoughts of spoiling you as my mate by promising to protect you and your mother... but that'll have to wait. right now... i wish to witness your further descent into impurity as i make you dumb and needy on my cocks..."

needless to say, your now husband and mate had successfully accomplished such hedonistic goals.

end notes: man sylus being canonically a dragon makes me so h-rny for him,,,, i need him so bad someone send h e l p. this is unedited, but my goal is to make all you sylus girles just as needy as i am with this post 🫠🫠🫠🫠🫠🫠

all stories are written by rei; please do not repost, plagiarize, or translate my works!!

[livelaughlesbian00]

A rambly addition to the list:

🔵 I do know abandoning social/ class commentary for alien & robot battles is common for sci-fi. In Arcane they set up a scifi world with an attempt at class/ systemic injustices commentary in season one. They ultimately abandoned that style of storytelling that mainly focused on the characters Vi, Cait, Jinx, and the people & relationships surrounding them in favor of leading up to a massive magical alien robot crossover showdown by the end.

I get that it's LoL so it was likely that a massive fight is how it ends, but the way season 1 went, I thought it would be a Zaun vs Piltover revolution battle, as opposed to an Ambessa vs Piltover & Black Rose at the same time as Viktor glorious evolution fight. For a show that seemed to be so character driven, they put too many new season 2 eggs in their basket while simultaneously having their focus dart around different plotlines and characters.

🔵 Vi having extensive canon trauma from enforcers pre and during incarceration only to easily become so head over heels for one. Even back in season 1, I had some concerns with this CaitVi oppressor x oppressed dynamic. Their power disparity is so large that i wanted work to be done to address that if they got together. In season 2, Despite the microaggressions, Cait taking advantage of Vi's loyalty, and breach of trust, Vi still clings onto her without any apologies from Cait or serious conversations with her, occasionally abandoning her own desire to protect family & community for the enforcer woman she just met. Given the backstory, values, and trauma they set up for Vi, her motivation didn't always make sense and it seemed like they gave up on diving into Vi, making her more of a side character. I say all that as a fellow protective older sister butch lesbian. Having static characters that don't evolve is completely fine, especially when Vi was in jail during her formative years, thus missing the opportunity to develop social skills and values. A big part of her character as a fighter is also searching out self punishment for sure. However *some* significant parts of her character also felt self contradicting in season 2.

🔵 Cait had multiple scenes detailing her rise to and beginning of doubts during fascist puppet leadership. The arc of her fall was pretty damn well documented, even if her climb out of it wasn't done amazingly well. Meanwhile, Vi got an emo 2 minute alcoholism and fighting as self harm montage. That montage did symbolically represent that destructive cycle of self harm and self pity well. But when that montage was done, there were no lingering remnants from her depression fall other than her new emo look. Any signs of her alcoholism vanished and she bounced back to working with Cait very easily, even calling her cupcake when they first meet after Cait attacks Vi again in that valley. Vi's transition out of her slump felt very sudden, especially watching the lack of resistance from Vi during the valley scene where she meets the largest reason for that fall- Cait- again for the first time since she abused and abandoned her.

🔵 Vi having an emotionally vulnerable moment about her sister after it clearly comes across like Jinx is gonna off herself, just to transition within seconds to wanting to fck her toxic enforcer girlfriend in the cell right after was such emotional whiplash. I also hated that there was a strange almost Vi apology to Cait before they fcked. Cait was the one in the position of power and privilege and who committed serious crimes and personal harm to Vi warranting an apology. Cait never actually apologized let alone seriously acknowledged any of her multiple harmful actions. It didn't make sense seeing an older sister who fixated on and wanted to be with her sister for years watch her sister walk away to potentially kill herself and suddenly shift to deeply wanting to fck her on & off again new-ish toxic enforcer gf.

🔵 Jinx said "I'm always with you even when we're worlds apart" for her and Vi's last battle together, but the last conversation they had together before this was Jinx telling Vi to move on, forget about her, and that she deserved happiness. Speaking as a sister, siblings very rarely just bounce back into "you're my sister forever 🤗" after a serious exchange like that. For me, the line came across as a weirdly placed, inorganic "power of friendship" sisterly moment that wasn't necessarily built up to. I've heard that some important scenes got cut leading up to that, but still...

🔵 Writers dedicated almost a whole episode to AU timebomb in the 3 part series finale when there wasn't groundwork for a timebomb *romantic relationship* in season 1 or 2 other than fans shipping them. It was clear that Ekko cared for Jinx, but it didn't necessarily come off as romantic until act 3. I'd argue it didn't need to become romantic. Ekko already had a moment in season 1 where he realized Powder was still there and you don't need romantic love to care for other people's well being. I will say that episode was written pretty well out of all of act 3 and it was a fun AU watch. But in comparison, the writers kept creating conflict for CaitVi in the Acts 1 & 2 scenes they had together with no actual reconciliation or repair work in act 3 to make relationship progression feel real. While timebomb got a whole romance developed in the finale, the romantic relationship that DID exist since season 1- CaitVi- only got 5 total minutes of screentime in the finale.

🔵 Vi's last line being Cait's "dirt under her fingernails" pissed me off. Season 1 Vi was determined that Piltover would respect them one day and throughout season one it was made clear that Piltover saw Zaunites as subhuman. I get the meaning behind that phrase in general is the dirt under your nails keeps you humble or grounded. Except Vi didn't do that at all in season two... there was no discussion over Cait's behavior or microaggressions early on. Cait beat and discarded Vi the moment Vi tried reasoning with her and keeping her accountable following the fight with Jinx. There was no sustained and serious discussion or argument about Cait's fascism atrocities, from Vi or anyone else after the fact. No, that single vague line "we can't erase our past, none of us" was not enough. It felt like the writers wanted Cait to have a long fall from grace, then recover. But there wasn't an actual redemption arc. If they actually wanted her to have one, it felt half assed or not fully thought through. Even if they wanted to redeem her, given the distance they made her fall and how long she was stuck there, there truly was not enough time in the season to pull it off well. If anything, Cait was rewarded with exactly what she wanted (Vi / happiness) at the end without much actual redemption work beforehand. How could Vi be the dirt under her fingernails when they had so little shared screentime or discussion specifically "keeping her humble"? Vi repeatedly crawled back to Caitlyn, all without new boundaries or expectations set. If that phrase was about keeping Cait humble, it's not accurate at all. But if it's solely about Cait not being able to get rid of Vi, it's accurate but it sucks to see Vi follow Cait like a puppy when she microaggressed & attacked Zaunites, mistreated and took advantage of Vi so much with little signs of progression or redemption.

🔵 Ekko and Mel deserved better. I love both of them a lot.

In Ekko's case, he didn't have as much screentime in season 1. It was lovely to see more time for season 2. However a good amount of the most meaningful screentime he got in the finale of season 2 unfortunately felt like a shift to involve a Jinx/ Powder childhood or AU crush, rather than focusing more on his original intent of making Zaun what it could be. The whole tree corruption arc was not revisited and I was sad that I didn't get to see much of him trying to actualize his plans with Zaun in this universe. Him stopping Jinx from killing herself was an alright scene, but some fans found what was meant to be an emotional scene funny because of its reminiscence of that joke "babe don't kys / OMG stop this isn't you". I wonder how that scene would have landed if it were Vi instead. He was the GOAT in that final fight scene though.

As for Mel, the Black Rose plot could have been really riveting. I actually thought it would be the segue into the next project because it didn't feel like it would have enough time this season. But it all felt so rushed and Mel didn't get the screentime she deserved for her scenes to feel fleshed out or to truly explore her relationship to her mother & black rose. She also got sidelined by Jayce or treated poorly by him in favor of Jayce screentime or development with Viktor. Mel really came in clutch at the end, saving Cait and beating Ambessa. But it sucked that she didn't have the screentime or attention to back up that badass main character energy at the end. She deserved more time for relationship and motivation development!

🔵 Netflix advertised a Sevika poster with the caption "Sevika's story continues in act 3" only for her to end up with maybe 20 seconds of screentime and no speaking lines.

🔵 Sevika's ending on the council made no sense. The way they wrote her in season 1 and 2, she would not have accepted a seat on the council. She would have not wanted to be a puppet for Piltover or a puppet for oppressing Zaunites, at least not without *serious convincing*. Especially after her trying to rally people in that square earlier this season. This is a serious values shift that was not shown on screen.

🔵 The Zaunites felt like they were treated as plot advancement devices. All of the characters who did noble sacrifices or died for their people were Zaunites with very little or no speaking lines. Yeah that could have been intentional and symbolic, but it still didn't sit right. The majority of the deaths meant to be seen as noble or viewed as martyrs on screen in the finale were Zaunites. Yes they existed as symbols for the demographic that are sacrificed or impacted most during war, but it felt empty. Zaun really easily joined Piltover given the years of oppressive history from Piltover and despite the ongoing division among Zaunites. People can come together for the sake of survival. However having that happen in Arcane so easily between oppressor and oppressed classes following depictions of Zaun with very similar imagery to West Bank and other occupations with little conflict in the process felt like a strange message to send out given current events.

Arcane was still a fun watch and it paved the way in terms of unique animation quality in the animation industry and animated series. But I won't lie I'm pretty disappointed in the finale because their social commentary, pacing, and balance of their multiple plotlines really fell flat.

This isn't an issue of "show don't tell" because they didn't commit well to either. It's not an issue of "media literacy is dead" because historical and modern social factors inform the media you consume and for many, cannot be removed when watching a series in the time that we currently live. Art impacts the audience in different ways and has the ability to seriously disappoint some people where others were content. It's also not *entirely* Netflix's fault for shortcomings. There is a level of responsibility for the writers to recognize when they were ambitious and cut back or change parts of their story.

We should be criticizing the media that we consume. It helps writers improve. It helps studios like Netflix see that eight 45 minute long episodes are not enough to do your story justice and you shouldn't be regularly cancelling shows or failing to give them more than 1-2 seasons. Arcane clearly needed more time and the writers needed to prioritize their storytelling goals.

- Zaunites dying to help Piltover in battle while wearing enforcer uniforms, even though Piltover did nothing to earn it

- Silco, one of the few pro-Zaun/anti-Piltover characters from season 1, reduced into a mouthpiece for "forgiving those who wronged you" and letting go

- Jinx, one of the few anti-Piltover characters, becoming redeemed by sympathizing with Piltovians, being apologetic for killing Councilors, and feeling like she should die to allow her sister to be happy with her enforcer girlfriend

- Vi not having any problem with her Piltovian enforcer girlfriend gassing Zaun, and reduced to kneeling for Caitlyn's pussy in a prison cell, where she was locked for years as a child by an enforcer

- Jayce telling Viktor that his disease was never a weakness to be cured even though the disease was caused by Piltover polluting Zaun

- Ekko never calling out Heimerdinger's failings as a ruler nor Vi for joining the enforcers (even though he does in the game), and also risking all the Firelights' lives to help Piltover

- Sevika not having any lines in Act 3, never interacting with Jinx or reacting to Isha's death, and also risking her life to help Piltover, a decision which was made off screen

[mono-dot-jpeg]

inextricably bound - viktor, jayce

summary; stuck in a plane above all else but at least you're together

genre/extra tags; oneshot, fluff, bad jokes?, a dash of angst?, czech viktor, jayvik are canon fuck whatever christian linke was saying, just two bros being soulmates in every timeline and they're each others everything (but not in a gay way am i right chat /j), god forbid two dudes be canonically gay in every timeline, sorry im pissed off, im coping with jayvik being gone, OOC jayvik??, i dont know how to write for jayce well, jayvikreader poly sloppy toppy (jk), it's like implied that reader just got pulled in and doesn't know the dramatic moment they had n the astral plane before finally making up., headcanon that the astral plane is almost like being in limbo for death or reincarnation

[reader's gender not specified or mentioned]

word count; 808

a/n; can you tell im mad that there are jayvik non believers? like hate them all you want, but you can't just say that they were just bros and im glad most of the fandom can understand that. am i absolutely greedy for viktor? yes, but im not taking him away from his literal soulmate/twin flame/whatever the fuck gay shit they got going. also i feel like this isnt my best work but anyways enjoy :)

empty.

that's what being in the astral plane feels like. but it's calm. most of your body is engulfed the stars that you once looked up to. now you were part of that. not as a star but as a being. your face is illuminated a white gold shimmer.

"love?" a voice echoes and before you know it, two familiar faces are close to yours.

"vik? jayce?" your voice echoes in the listless space. and it's only then do you register how.. normal they look again.

despite the stars that cover their body and shimmering light of the ethereal, they look like themselves. it was the viktor and jayce you knew. your hands move, your body floating as you hold viktor's face.

"it's you. viktor.." the mentioned male looks at you, guilt and love in his eyes. jayce's hand rests on the small of his back, a silent encouragement for the shorter man. "it's you.." your voice trembles. viktor can't look you in the eye until jayce's hand gently nudges him, and it's only then that he sees the absolute love pouring from your eyes. "i should be more concerned that we're stuck here, but fuck.. i missed seeing you."

you can't exactly cry in the astral plane. your tears end up sparkling and twinkling away and become part of the galaxy you've been pulled into.

"miláček.." you don't even realize how much you've missed his normal voice until now. even if it did have that ethereal echo, it was still him. your viktor. your forehead presses against his for just a moment.

"you... i have a lot to say, but let me be happy for just a moment." viktor tenses at your words, but he relaxes in your touch. you pull away to give jayce the love you missed giving him.

"jayce.. you did so well. more than well. i don't know everything of what you experienced, but you never gave up. didn't know i could be more thankful for you." jayce smiles brightly at your words as you hold his face between his hands in appreciation.

he looks at you with that look he used to give you and viktor when things we once normal. that silly lovesick grin on his face, but you know he can't express how thankful he is for you and him. "i missed you so much, too. you have no idea." he said softly.

"now, with that out of the way, what exactly happened?" the two men look at each other before slowly explaining how everything started and ended with them. and they definitely ended it, seeing as they were taken here by the crystal that jayce held so dear to him. "but why am i here then? i mean, it makes sense for you two to be here. you're basically soulmates."

"don't say that, miláček. we love you too. whether you're in this timeline or not." viktor said gently, floating to you and holding you in his arms. "we won't allow you to think so lowly like that. especially when jayce is around. and especially because that line of thinking does not seem to do well for us. my insecurities blinded me to want to fix everything to a dangerous degree.." he confesses.

"you’re ours whether you like it or not. and it's not like we can find a way to leave here." jayce smiled softly, his large arms wrapped around yours and viktor's shoulders. he hugs you two close, not missing a moment to hold you both in his arms.

"i guess it was really meant to be when i said you're both stuck with me forever." you joked, kissing them on the cheek. "but we're really stuck here?"

after your kisses, viktor starts giving his share of kisses. "it would seem so. not that i'm complaining." jayce joins in on the sweet kissing session, making sure to give as much as he could before you or viktor start telling him to stop. echoing laughter rings out in the empty void. the cold of the astral plane could never make you shiver when you were with the men who did nothing but give you warmth.

"maybe we'll just reincarnate. do you believe in reincarnation?" you asked between kisses. they pause for a moment, contemplating your words.

"eh.. well, i'm sure it wouldn't be crazy to believe in reincarnation." viktor said with the slight tilt of his head, his look silently conveying his uncertainty but uncaring of it.

"if we do get reincarnated, i'll make sure to find you two before anything else." jayce whispered, his face firm with determination and love.

"that's so sweet. and sappy." you laughed lightheartedly.

the two men can't help but join in with their own laughter and just for a moment, the stars twinkle a little brighter as if joining in on the joy.

[rinarin-karimel]

Chapter 431 analysis. why everyone drew the wrong conclusions.

When the first spoiler frames from the volume came out, hell on earth began, some shippers rejoiced at the canonization, others cursed Horikoshi. I was initially going to say that all these wishes of dirty things towards the author are very ugly: at first, when 430 came out, the Katsudeku shippers rejoiced, and the Izuochi shippers wrote Horikoshi curses, and now it's the opposite, and I would like to ask him to behave decently. I was also upset by the leaks, not only because I liked the other ships, but also because I never saw Deku's romantic chemistry with Ochako, and I hate the trope "a good girl is in love with the main character, he doesn't think about her, but in the end they get married" BUT then the whole chapter came out. And no. In the finale, there is no Izuocha as a canonization at all. At all. And it’s not about the ships, but about the fact that many people didn’t understand what the author wanted to say. It's just that some have already gotten wound up and drunk from the "canonization", while others have started to wind themselves up with their disappointment and savor it, pulling things onto it that don't actually confirm their disappointment", that is, we have a crowd effect.

At first, without context, only by spoilers (it has already been confirmed that some of them are false), it seemed romantic in itself. That is, out of context, you can see how the hero notices a girl at a party after the timeskip, and can't take his eyes off her

But in the whole chapter, this page followed this.

And Deku doesn't look in love here, he looks... scared.

What moments before this does this page refer to and parallelize? And these? Deku, Tsuyu notice that Ochako is very ill and she hides her pain, and forces herself to smile.

And this is what parallels this image, which is confirmed by the context of the whole chapter from the very beginning: Ochako is in pain.

8 years of pain and abscess and this is referenced in her conversation with Tsuyu before the party Next: Deku runs to Ochako as he ran after the war: to save her, he saw that his friend needed saving and urgently.

Ochako herself. You might think that this frame is a confirmation that she still loves Deku.

But the whole chapter had a completely different context.

She remembers this moment as if out of a desire to remember it and feel it again, as if wanting to deceive herself that it is still like that. Just pay attention to the frames: Ochako is shown alone in the crowd, her gait is unsteady, she remembers things that happened 8 years ago out of nostalgia and most likely her wishes will be deceived, that she still has this feeling, because she feels empty. That's why she remembers her conversation with Izuku in chapter 428: Ochako longs for salvation again.

In some form, she gets this salvation when in her head she pushes herself on behalf of Toga to live on. In some way, there is a romantic subtext here, Uraraka on behalf of Toga tells herself that she should let her go and try to experience something else, she herself feels a romantic subtext here, remembering her feelings, but are they in love with each other at the moment?

VERY, very unlikely And, so as not to accuse me, I'm not even a Togarako shipper, because I don't like Toga.

Then the fandom carried on and everyone was charged by each other: Izuku left Bakugo and did not go with him to the agency. But A) it goes without saying that he always wanted to be on equal terms with Kacchan, and compete on equal terms, so he wants to quickly become an independent hero. B) and this is the most important thing. The car and their conversation in the car, which was not in the Friday spoilers, and most importantly the context of this conversation.

During the discussion between Kirishima, Katsuki and Izuku that Deku did not agree to work with Katsuki in the same agency, Deku looks at the signed card with All Might and smiles softly and thoughtfully. It would seem: Deku is happy for his friend

But the Context. This is the same card that was next to Katsuki when he died, and Izuku saw him dead. And Izuku considered himself guilty of his death, that he was not there to protect him, he did not manage to arrive in time to save him, he allowed Toga to drag him into the portal, he was distracted, he did not save.

Deku considers himself - guilty. And this is exactly what goes in the context of the conversation about Izuku not agreeing to be with him in the same agency, although he himself once wanted it. Izuku still thinks that he is too Guilty to be near Katsuki. Hence his running away from him, which Katsuki reads as if he is no longer needed.

But who is Deku? The one who was told to keep his heart under lock and key in order to be the heir of One for All. The one who suppressed his emotions since childhood, and made others always believe that he was okay.

And no, this doesn't mean that Deku doesn't care about Kacchan and doesn't love him (in what sense it doesn't matter), Deku thinks that Katsuki would be better off without him and doesn't understand at all how much he hurts Katsuki. Deku - hides his pain after all the traumas of the war still behind a smile on his face, and this is exactly what Uraraka does in the same chapter. That is why Izuku immediately notices that something is wrong with her at the party, because he feels the same way. The very context of how he looks at Uraraka, the guys discuss couples and a happy life, but what Deku remembers before turningon Ochaka? Shigaraki and his injury.

About Deku's blushing: when they clash, he probably blushes because of the sexual context, but during the promise to spend more time with Ochako, this is most likely not the case: it's a promise to save her and shame for himself for not noticing that she needed help earlier, as well as some kind of "self-conviction", when a person tries to convince himself of something that he can handle or deceive himself, his face often heats up: after all, Deku can't "save" himself.

That's why he is the one who reads Uraraka's feelings, their traumas are similar. And as a hero who can't stand aside when someone is in trouble, he runs to give her what she needs: help and salvation. This is not a chapter about the canonization of ships, these are the traumas that haunt them already in adulthood and the story about them.

[kiwriteswords]

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

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

Masterlist || Ao3

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

Pairing: Aaron Hotchner x Female Reader

Word Count: 13.6k

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

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

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

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

But neither of you ever said a word.

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

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

Like you were family.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

But then you shifted.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

You were here, and that was enough.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

It was always more than just tonight. 

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

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

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

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

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

It worked. Until Beth.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

You were another reminder.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

But the calm couldn’t last forever.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Hotch raised an eyebrow. “Lean into it?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Ridiculously lucky,” you corrected with a smirk.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Tag List:

@zaddyhotch

@estragos

@todorokishoe24

@looking1016

@khxna

@rousethemouse

@averyhotchner

@reidfile

@bernelflo

@lover-of-books-and-tea

@frickin-bats

@sleepysongbirdsings

@justyourusualash

[di-42]

Unfortunately once again I've only had time and mental energy for very short fictions that could fit in a commute or two this month. But, as it's always the case, there are a few wonderful gems among these! 

Please don't be fooled by the number of Kudos! Ao3 is not Amazon! 

As always I'll tag the writers whose tumblr usernames I know. If you're a writer and you want your story removed from this list please let me know.

And now, without further ado, let me tell you about the wonderful stories I've read this month, and the things I loved about them! ♥️

November’s Notable Fictions

WIPs:

Wavelengths & Frequencies, by @shadesofecclescakes and imposterssyndrome @maaikeatthefullmoon Rated E, chapters 15/?

This story is such a warm, cozy, comfort blanket. Enemies-to-lovers human AU where Aziraphale and Crowley work as DJ for the same media corporation. They have a history, but we don't know what it is at the beginning. Great story, great humour, great characterisation, great fuzzies, absolutely great banter! I look forward to every update and do a little joyful dance every time I get an update notification. This fiction is becoming one of my all time favourites.

You're The Bad Guys, by Nebz_AlphaCentauri @alphacentaurinebula Rated E, chapters 20/?

Cold war human AU in which Aziraphale is an MI6 agent and Crowley is a KGB agent. Each of them is assigned to a mission in Berlin, from opposite sides of course. Great characterisation, suspense and references to canon.

My own WIP, And I Did, rated E, chapters 14/15 (nearly there!)

In my not-a-summary I say that this is a story about faith, about love, and about choices. Which is true. But I have come to think of it also as my apology dance to Crowley. My headcanon about Aziraphale has always been clear, but at first I wasn't sure about what Crowley would do after the final 15. I didn't see Crowley drinking himself oblivious or taking a road of self destruction. But I didn't know what he would do. Then it hit me, and that was when I started writing And I Did. I knew what Crowley would do. Crowley would do what Crowley does. And what does Crowley do best? This is a story about faith, about love, and about choices. Aziraphale is Supreme Archangel, Crowley is Grand Duke Of Hell, and they have to bring about the Second Coming. And of course they're not talking.

Complete stories:

The Small Ad by ladydragona and SylWritesStuff, rated E, 32k.

To overcome boredom, Crowley offers his services as a hired partner. Aziraphale is need of someone to pretend to be his partner. The rest is history. This is a lovely, hot, and sweet fake relationship fiction. Very interestingly, the POV changes at every paragraph, and because the story has two authors it left me wondering whether one wrote Crowley and one wrote Aziraphale, but kind of in real time.

The Angel’s Gambit, by Augenblickglotte, @dragonfire42 , rated T, 9k.

Aziraphale has been playing chess with the angel of Death for over 1500 years. You'll have to read it to find out why. I loved the banter between Aziraphale and Azrael. 

Percy, by Jackie Thomas (Jakie_Thomas), not rated, 10k.

This is the story that touched me the most this month. It's set 100 years in the future. Aziraphale leads a quiet existence in a cottage. When Adam Young dies of very old age, Crowley picks up Aziraphale to go to his funeral. He doesn't stay after that, and you'll have to read it to find out why. The story does have a (kind of) happy ending. Or a hopeful one, at least. But it digs deep in some of my very real, very human fears. Fear for the planet, fear of growing old, fear of growing apart, fear of everything ending without us ever getting a second chance of fixing things. I really loved this story and will go back to it again. It also gets extra points for reversing the roles of how the fandom usually see Aziraphale and Crowley! Top marks! 

Caramel Delight, by AJ_Constantine, rated E, 16k.

Lovely neighbours to lovers human AU. Crowley is instantly attracted to the new neighbour and his -oh, lord- forearms (and, I mean, who wouldn't?). But he's determined not to make things awkward, they are just friendly neighbours. That's why Aziraphale keeps knocking on his door for more of that caramel sauce Crowley makes so well. One of the tags in this fiction is: Aziraphale is bad at flirting. I very much beg to differ.

One shots and short stories: 

Can I Have Your Number? by AppleSeeds, rated G, 1.8k.

Aaawww. Aziraphale goes to order drinks for him and Tracy, and writes down his number for bartender Crowley. Crowley asked for it, right? RIGHT?? All well that ends well, this story is brief and sweet. 

Angels Don't Blow Their Own Trumpets, by shaggydogstail, rated E, 8k.

This story had me cackle! Crowley poisons himself by accident (well, by trying to be cool, point is he didn't mean to) and there's only an antidote that can save him. Please DO READ the tags for this one. 

Anthony J. Crowley, Retired Demon And Airbnb Superhost, by TheOldAquarian, rated G, 3k.

A selection of reviews by guests who rented Crowley's flat on Airbnb. Very funny! 

Proving One’s Loyalty, by @indigovigilance , rated E, 4k.

Set towards the end of season 1, Aziraphale goes to heaven to speak with a higher authority only to find that Gabriel has taken Crowley prisoner. Aziraphale has to torture him in order to prove himself to heaven. Smut ensues. 

You Can't Un-See A Dog, by Dannye Chase (HolyCatsAndRabbits), HolyCatsAndRabbits @holycatsandrabbits rated T, 4k

This was one of the highlights of my month, fiction-wise! Crowley is summoned by two humans to be offered in sacrifice. Aziraphale knocks on their door within, like, 3 minutes. I just loved this story: The light banter and the interactions between Crowley and Aziraphale are chef's kiss; the adorable domesticity of their relationship shines through in a situation that really is not domestic at all; Aziraphale is being his incredibly brilliant self; AND there's a little mystery-solving thrown in for good measure! Top marks! 

Hold The Phone, by theRavenMuse, rated E, 1k.

Crowley listens in on Aziraphale having intimate moments by himself. But phones work two ways. Lovely and hot! 

Plausible Deniability, by GayDemonDisaster (scrapheapchallenge), rated E, 5k. 

This story was so, so lovely! Set before and after the first failed Armageddon and not season 2 complaint, but to me it really feels like it goes very well with my personal headcanon regarding season 2 in general and the final fifteen in particular: they do communicate and they don't need words. The story itself is about Aziraphale denying to himself that things are happening by pretending it's all a dream. The writer illustrates their deep connection and mutual understanding beautifully. 

The Co-Pilot, by beardo @e-rated-beardo rated E, 4k.

Incredibly hot human AU. Eh, I say human AU… incredibly hot AU. Tony is attracted to Az, but is afraid of acting on it because of what the author describes as an ‘overfamiliar demon’ who sometimes took the wheel for a minute. So he's content to just chat to Az at the pub. Yeah, like Az is ever going to shy away from an encounter with Crowley's inner demon.

Presque Vu, by NaroMoreau, rated E, 9k

Human AU. College student Aziraphale sees his ex Gabriel at a party he didn't want to go to to begin with, so of course he hides in the kitchen. Until his (and everybody's) impossible crush offers to pose as his boyfriend. This story is incredibly lovely and heartwarming!

Masturbation (Doesn't Count As Sex, Surely?), by Hellsgardener @hellsgardener01 (I think it's you?) rated E, 1.3k.

Very few fictions manage to convey such intense feelings of sweetness and hotness alike in such a short tale as this one! Aziraphale asks Crowley if he's ever had sex and reminisces about his own solo experiences.

To Bind Them, by LCwrites, rated E, 5k

Human AU with a lovely enchanted/supernatural/faerie element. Aziraphale is tipsy at Anathema’s Halloween party and when he overhears Crowley talking on the phone he wants to find out what he's up to. But that's not even the half of it.

Our Homeward Steps Were Just As Light, by On1OccasionFork, rated T, 7k.

I've seen this little gem recommended a lot recently, and with very good reason! Human AU where Pepper works in a nursing home. Anthony is a beloved guest prone to causing trouble, Aziraphale is a new guest. It's tender, deep, funny and original. Stirs things in you, a fiction like that. I loved it. Extra points for being in Pepper’s POV.

Hot Blood, Hot Thoughts, Hot Deeds, by Supergeek21, rated E, 3k.

This story was really up my street! Crowley is a vampire in search of a bride. Aziraphale should be scared, but he's too busy being aroused instead. Sweet, funny, and sexy.

A Newsworthy Affair, by @waitingtobebroken rated T, 1k.

A funny, adorable, fluffy fiction told through newspaper ads that the editors of the newspaper never authorised publishing. If you're in need of something to put a big smile on your face, this is it!

Merry Christmas, Hellspawn, by Libbyfay, rated G, 4k.

Beautiful Warlock’s POV fiction. It's the first Christmas since nanny and brother Francis left without a word, and Warlock feels lonely. He goes to what used to be brother Francis’ shed, goes through the box of Christmas decorations and reminisces about the past, until someone knocks on the door. I am quite partial to the few, precious Warlock’s POV stories, and the author does an excellent job at depicting the pain of an 11 year old and that casual, matter of fact way 11 year olds deal with great pain. This story is delicate, and beautiful and deeper than it might seem.

Series:

Wrong Number AU, by GaryOldman, rated T.

This was the loveliest, sweetest, fluffiest series. Best to read  the stories in order to fully enjoy it. In Text From An Unknown Number (12k) Aziraphale text Crowley’s number by mistake. They hit it off straight away, but of course things are never that simple. Most of the story is told via the texts they exchange (between themselves and with others) and it’s amazing how the author manages to convey excitement, feelings and a little angst in that way. I loved this fic, but I feel I have to give a little warning that the Harry Potter series is heavily used and referred to in this story. Sorry, Right Number (2.5k) is the super fluffy Christmassy continuation of TFAUN. Aaaaww, lovely! He's My Wrong Number, (1.6k) is possibly the fluffiest of the three and it's a real treat to read! A very happy ending to the series!

Poems:

DEATH Grinned-HE Didn't Have Much Choice, by @isiaiowin rated T.

Very evocative and powerful poem about Death.

Thinking Of Nanny, by @the-ineffable-dance

Another incredibly beautiful Warlock's POV fanwork to end this list. Warlock is all grown up and goes for a walk in St. James’s Park, where he sees someone familiar. The only complaint I have about this poem is that it was so difficult to read through the tears, really.

[cloudcountry]

SUMMARY: you are forever grateful that mr. chopped is safe.

COMMENTS: some domestic fluff with a side of ambiguous relationships & mutual pining :3 this fic takes place post canon!! i have not actually played the full game yet LOL only the demo so pls forgive if its inconsistent

It’s a morning just like any other, one were you wake up with Mr. Chopped sleeping soundly by your side. Raising from the bed, the blankets slide off your body and crumple around your form. The head beside you furrows his brow at the movement and loss of warmth, groaning as he moves ever so slightly in his sleep.

You smile softly and tuck him back in, placing a gentle kiss on his forehead. The creases of the blanket curl around him protectively, a testament to your affection.

You spare a moment to stare lovingly down at him before you start getting ready for the day. The crowbar propped up against your nightstand goes virtually unnoticed as you slip off the bed and out your bedroom door.

Fixing breakfast is quick as always, a light meal for you and a little something for him. You’re not sure how he eats, being just a head and all, but you don’t question it. It’s okay if you don’t know things, just so long as he’s safe and sound.

As your knife slices through the fruit of your choice, you stare at the utensil and purse your lips. It’s about time you and Mr. Chopped go back and visit Mr. Silvair and Mr. Crawling. Both of them must have missed you so terribly, even if the former doesn’t show it much.

It’s always been easy to lose yourself in your thoughts whenever you’re alone in the mornings like this, but it hardly ever lasts long. Soon enough, you hear the sleepy whining and cooing that could only come from your favorite person.

Abandoning the fruit on the cutting board, you make your way to the bedroom with purposefully louder steps. It’s a habit you picked up ever since he told you he doesn’t like surprises, especially not when he’s sleepy and vulnerable.

Safe. You want that for him.

He lights up when he sees you, shouting a jumbled mix up of greetings and I like yous and want carry, and so you scoop him into your arms and hold him close as his voice becomes muffled in your sleep shirt. Your heart expands, eyes and hands softening at the familiar weight on him, his dark eyes staring up at you over the fabric of your clothes.

“ Precious. ” you say, and he blinks because he does not understand.

You kiss him, brushing your lips over his forehead, and then he does.

He’s quick to yap about the kitchen, repeating words like fridge and fruits and voicing his excitement over your breakfast. You set him gently on the counter and he pouts, but when you feed him a slice of fruit he seems rather placated.

You finish cutting the fruit with practiced strokes and gather together the rest of your breakfast, occasionally responding to Mr. Chopped’s comforting chatter. Every time he opens his mouth, wide enough that it’s almost a bit ridiculous, you end up giggling as you feed him. Each time, those fruit stained lips twist up in a frown. You assure him you’re not laughing at him, that you’re just happy, and he smiles again and proclaims that he is happy, too .

It’s easy to settle at the table and prop your phone up against the vase in the center, pulling up whatever mindless content you feel like watching that day. The vase is full of flowers he picked out just for you, colorful and bright and oh so happy. You’ve found that he’s fond of brighter colors and flashier patterns when you did his hair with your collection of hairclips for the first time. He gravitated towards the ones you barely ever wore, since it was just so hard to find an outfit to match them with...he was delighted when you offered to let him wear them whenever he wants.

A gift. From someone who just wants him to be happy.

“Precious.” you say again, looking over him fondly, brushing his hair away from his face with the tips of your fingers.

He seems pleased, preening under your attention, and you can’t resist scooting closer so he can lean against your thigh. He takes the invitation gratefully, rubbing his cheek against the bare skin he finds there, only gnawing on the flesh a little bit.

You laugh because it tickles, because you adore him and he adores you, because you are happy. And the most lovely thing about it all, is that he is, too.

[epickiya722]

Folks, you're not going to like what I have to say. I just know it and I'm warning you of that. I said it once before, but leaks really do make some folks act out in ways that I can't understand. We ain't even got a full translation and already people are saying this ship is canon and that ship is canon... and whatever else. Jumping to conclusions when you don't even have all the facts.

Look, I'm not saying Hori is the best writer. I'm not saying Izuku and Ochako is a bad ship (it's not, there's worse... a lot worse).

But I do think some people are jumping ten steps ahead and I doubt that they are canon romantically. This isn't me being in denial because I could care less about the ship. It's not a ship that makes me sit up at night and cry and want to punch a wall and harass people. No ship for me does.

So far, from what I can gather from the very little information Izuku wants to see Ochako more because... THEY LITERALLY HAVEN'T SEEN EACH OTHER A LOT. In the last chapter, Izuku states that the class haven't been able to catch up and whatnot because over the years they got busy with their careers. The last time they probably had a proper conversation was in high school.

Izuku and Ochako wanting to meet up more doesn't automatically mean they're going to date. Let's not forget, Ochako is one of the first people to become a close friend of Izuku's in their first year. They clicked because they were so similar. They mirror each other even!

They're best friends if anything and wouldn't you want to see your best friend after not seeing them for a long time?

So far, it just feels that this epilogue is them accepting their own feelings about everything that has happened, like a self-reflection and self-acceptance type of deal.

Sometimes, you realize something about yourself when encountering someone who is like you. That's how Izuku and Ochako are to me.

It takes them identifying with the other to come to terms about themselves.

"But the blushing! The handholding!"

So blushing automatically means "I have romantic feelings for you", is what some of you are saying?

Just gonna forget all the times they and others have blushed out of embarrassment or happiness? That even some characters have the blush stickers to show their sweet innocent nature, like Ochako for most of the story?

Izuku blushed at Katsuki in the final chapter out of happiness, so it can't apply here, too? Why does blushing got to only be used in a romantic sense?

Seeing Izuku blushing looking at Ochako is funny when considering he's holding an (possibly) alcoholic beverage in that same shot. My guy is probably drunk. 😆 Jokes aside, jokes aside.

This is Ochako and Izuku, we're talking about here. They're the Queen and King of MHA characters who blush a lot, no matter what is going on.

And the handholding? In MHA? It happens a lot between characters! It's not like anything new or Izuku and Ochako are going to get cooties.

Look, I might make some people laugh or hate me for this one but when I saw this... I was reminded of this.

For those that don't know, that is from the Predator (1987). Yes, that Predator.

Two characters that have been friends for a long time and just happy to see each other.

We seen this kind of handshake like this before between characters of different and same genders. Either as a greet or as an agreement.

Izuku and Ochako are just agreeing to see each other more and that they should allow themselves to live happy lives. That doesn't mean they're going to start dating and having babies the following week.

"Bakugou is being treated like his wingman!"

Ah, stop right there. Katsuki encouraging Izuku to talk to Ochako isn't like that strange because between Izuku and Katsuki, Katsuki is the one to most likely reveal his emotions. He is more in touch with his emotions than Izuku who while emotional tends to keep everything in.

Katsuki isn't playing wingman. He's playing advisor and someone who has experience with emotions.

Seeing Izuku stumbling over his words and being all nervous trying to talk to Ochako is so in character for him. He has never been too good expressing his emotions.

I doubt Katsuki would be like "go tell her you want to marry her". He is more like "go talk to her, you're friends, remember? Been forever since you had a proper conversation."

It's the same case with Himiko pushing Ochako towards Izuku. She is encouraging her to be happy and not be stuck in the past. Not "go get married".

Happiness doesn't mean you must be in a romance.

Just me, again, but I feel like some people are really just jumping the gun here. If you really are thinking Izuku and Ochako being canon is bad for your ship, that's... I'm sorry, this will be mean of me to say, but that's ridiculous.

A ship being canon shouldn't stop you from enjoying the ships you do like. What ever happen to "ignore canon"? Oh, I guess that becomes irrelevant when you want to cause panic and bash and panic and bash and panic and bash.

Like a handhold like that shouldn't make you feel threatened by that ship.

Just continue shipping your ships! Take it from someone whose favorite ship is of two characters who haven't been seen interacting before.

Even still, with just leaks alone, it doesn't mean they are canon. I have my ships and there's moments in whatever the story makes me ship them but I also don't think every little behavior is meant to be romantic.

The thing I know I'm going to hate about this epilogue isn't even the chapter itself. It's the reactions.

I know some people are going to say this chapter is queerbait and use to it to even go as far as to bash Ochako given she is the woman and it's routine to hate on the woman. It ain't queerbait if Katsuki and Izuku wasn't going to be explicitly a couple themselves. Let's not forget it's Shonen Jump and even though the queer coding can be there, we can't have everything.

Also, I also know that some fans of IzuOcha are going to use this chapter to justify their "authority" of "best ships" and harass people like "my ship is better than yours" and be only concerned about Ochako being a housewife.

I don't think Horikoshi is the greatest human and MHA is a flawless story but some of you are no better to these characters and the story.

[burntheedges]

shadows

Din Djarin x f!reader | 5.4k | ao3 | 18+

summary: you were pretty sure the ship was haunted.

a/n: well, I finally finished it! this is my very late entry for the Monster (S)mash from @quinnnfabrgay-writes and @hauntedhowlett! my prompt: tentacle monster!Din. 😏 thank you to @katareyoudrilling for beta-ing! 🧡

tags/warnings: spooky vibes, flirting, feelings and smut, canon-typical violence (with a bounty), this is a tentacle monster fic and there is smut, so keep that in mind, it's exactly what you think it is, kissing, grinding, fingering, but not with fingers, p-in-v sex, creampie, cuddling, manhandling, except not with hands, if you get my drift, pet names (cyar'ika, mesh'la, good girl), no mention of details for reader other than wearing clothes and being a mechanic

...

At first you thought the Razor Crest might be haunted.

It was the only thing that made any sense. 

Nothing seemed to stay where you put it. Your caf would move half a foot to the right when your back was turned. You’d put your spanner down and lose it, only to look for it and find it sitting atop a crate well out of reach. One morning you woke up and found all of your little trinkets next to your sleeping pad had been shuffled around. You’d squinted at them, suspicious, but none of them had moved again.

You started keeping a sharper eye on things, but you never caught even a glimpse of any movement.

Well. You never saw any of your stuff move, that is.

The first few times you saw… something, you brushed it off as your imagination. You’d probably just been in space too long, right? Trapped on the ship with nothing to look at. Seeing things in the shadows. 

But you would swear to it – something would move just out of the corner of your eye, but when you turned, nothing was there.

Nothing was ever there. Even though the movements sometimes seemed to happen just before you’d find that your stuff had moved around with no warning.

You were starting to question your sanity. You even asked Din if he ever had trouble finding anything on the ship, but he only shook his head. Ok, just a me-problem, then. 

It perplexed you and frustrated you. You found yourself staring at your belongings, tense, as if daring them to move. You were glaring at your ultrasound cleaner when you realized you had no idea how long you’d been doing it and maybe you needed to get out for a bit.

“Din?” you called, sticking your head out of the ‘fresher and looking around for him. 

He grunted from off to your left, but you couldn’t see him. 

“Can we stop somewhere, get some supplies? Before your next job.”

He grunted again, but you could tell he was agreeing that time. You smiled as you ducked back inside the ‘fresher, but the expression was short lived. 

Your ultrasound cleaner had moved three inches to the right. You would swear it. 

…

Din stopped on Hetzal Prime and you took advantage of the large market to stock up on everything you could think you might need, from bacta to fruit to the various bits and bobs you used to keep the Crest in good shape. Din accompanied you for a while before disappearing off into the market on his own.

The fresh air helped. You smiled as you took your time at each stall. When a light breeze rustled your clothing you almost laughed at yourself, thinking about how you’d become certain that the Crest was haunted. Outside on the warm streets of Hetzal Prime, your worries seemed distant.

As you approached the Crest, you smiled again as you walked up the ramp, excited to show Din what you’d found for him at the stall with leather goods. You could tell you were the first one back, though.

When you stepped inside, you stopped and looked around suspiciously. 

Nothing had moved. Everything was exactly where you’d left it. 

You narrowed your eyes as you looked around the ship. “Alright, you,” you said to the Crest, trailing your fingers along one of the walls of the cargo area. “What are you up to?”

The Crest didn’t answer, of course, but you found yourself suddenly on edge, anyway.

“Talking to the ship?” Din’s teasing tone announced his arrival and you turned around quickly, surprised to find him standing at the top of the ramp. 

“How do you always do that?” you said, a bit breathless.

He tilted his head at you. “Do what?”

You shook your head and laughed. “Sneak up on me! Kark, you’re so quiet.” You couldn’t see his face, of course, but something about the angle of his hip and shoulders made you certain he smirked in response. 

He pointed at himself. “Bounty hunter.”

You rolled your eyes and dug around in your bag for his gift. “Yeah, yeah. Ok, Mr. Sneaky Bounty Hunter, I got you something.”

Din took a step towards you. “You didn’t have to–”

“I know, Din,” you cut him off, “but look!” You held out the leather strapping you’d found at the market. “This would be perfect to fix your holster, right?”

He reached out to take the strapping with his left hand while his right dropped down to touch the holster in question, the one with the straps he’d had to reinforce with so much stitching it was more thread than leather, these days. It still looked like it might come apart if you so much as breathed wrong in its direction. 

But Din was still quiet, and you were starting to worry. 

“Din?” He looked up at you, finally and your eyes darted across his visor. “Is it–”

He cut you off by reaching out to grasp your upper arm with his right hand. “It’s perfect,” he murmured, squeezing your arm gently. “Thank you.”

You smiled at him. “Of course. I saw it and thought of your sad holster, I had to get it.” He snorted and squeezed your arm again before stepping around you and moving into the ship. As he did so his hand skimmed down your arm and lightly brushed over yours. You turned to follow him, but your attention was suddenly caught and you stopped. Something had just moved, over in the dark corner of the cargo area – you would swear to it.

“Did you…” you trailed off as Din turned back to look at you. “Did you see something move?”

He shook his head. “Just you.”

You rolled your eyes and brushed past him into the ship.

…

Later that night you laid out the facts in your mind as you stared at the ceiling of the cargo bay on your sleeping pad.

One: sometimes things in the Crest moved without you seeing them move.

Two: sometimes you thought – no, you knew – things would move just out of the corner of your eye, but you could never catch whatever it was in the act.

Three: nothing moved while you were off the ship.

What if the Crest isn’t haunted? you wondered as you started to drift off to sleep. What if it’s me?

…

When you woke the next morning, you were already far away from Hetzal Prime in hyperspace and on your way to Din’s next job. You realized you wouldn’t be able to test your theory that it was you that might be haunted while you were both stuck on the ship. (Not that you had any idea why – or by what – you might be haunted in the first place.)

By the time you reached Druckenwell, whatever was haunting the Crest – or you – was at it again. It seemed to follow you around the ship, just out of the corner of your eye, messing with you. In fact, you could have sworn that last night, just as you were falling asleep, you’d felt… something… brush lightly down your arm. You shivered, remembering. 

When Din came down the ladder, ready for his hunt, you were staring at the pad that had just completely flipped upside down on its own while your back was turned, lying innocently atop one of the crates. He stopped next to you and looked down.

“What are you doing?” he murmured, tilting his head to look at your face. 

You blinked. Oh, nothing, just staring at this inanimate object that I swear just moved on its own and losing my mind. “Nothing.” You turned towards him and looked him over. “How long do you think you’ll be gone?”

Din looked down and reached out to flip your pad right-side up. “No more than a few days. They track everybody's movements here, shouldn’t be too hard to find them.”

You nodded. “Alright. I’ll probably stay here.”

He reached out to grasp your forearm and you blinked again, surprised. “Please,” he murmured, turning towards you fully. “Stay on the ship. Alright? We’re not in the best part of town.”

You nodded. “I will, Din.” His shoulders lost some of their tension and you couldn’t help but smile at him. “I’ll be right here.”

Just a few moments later he was gone and you made sure to engage the ground defenses after the ramp came back up. You turned and leaned against it, surveying the cargo hold slowly. “Alright,” you said to the empty ship. “Let’s figure this out, once and for all.”

…

Nothing happened.

You moved through the ship on full alert, darting your eyes from corner to corner, shadow to shadow, looking for whatever had been haunting you for weeks now. You felt silly for carrying your spanner like a weapon as you did, but you couldn’t bring yourself to put it down, either.

But nothing moved.

It was almost too quiet, too still. Too normal. You realized, now that you were on the ship without it, that you’d gotten used to more than just your stuff moving around. Suddenly the shadows themselves seemed less dark, less deep. Too still. It took the change for you to notice but until now the shadows had seemed, well. Alive. You didn’t realize how often something aboard the ship made the hairs on the back of your neck stand up until whatever it was stopped doing it.

About 36 hours after Din left on his hunt you were lying on the floor of the cargo hold, exhausted from being so on edge, so intensely aware of your surroundings for so long. You stared at the ceiling, wondering if maybe you’d imagined all of it after all. It was possible, you supposed, that everything had moved because of… turbulence. Maybe space wind? Or something. 

Right? You glared into a shadowy corner, but nothing moved. It can’t all be in my head. You needed to sleep. Maybe this will all make more sense tomorrow. 

…

The next day, Din came back.

You were sitting in his seat, up in the cockpit, when your comm beeped. 

“It’s me,” he said, voice low. “I’m coming in. Wait.”

You leapt up, making your way over towards the ladder. When Din told you to wait, it meant he wanted you out of sight while he got the bounty into carbonite. You waited at the top of the ladder until you heard the hiss of the freezer.

“How’d it go?” you called as you slid down the ladder. You turned to look for Din and found him looking at you. You scanned him quickly but he didn’t look any worse for wear.

“Fine,” he nodded. “No trouble.”

You smiled at him. “Good. Where to next?” 

He brushed past you, moving towards the cockpit, and that’s when you saw it. Out of the corner of your eye, just there… you swore something moved in the shadows by the carbonite freezer. Something dark, darker than the shadows themselves. The hair on the back of your neck stood on end. 

But when you turned to look, nothing was there.

You shook your head, frowning, and turned to watch as Din disappeared at the top of the ladder. 

What if it wasn’t you that was haunted, or the Crest?

What if it was Din?

…

You spent the hours it took to get to your next stop, to the next bounty, studying Din. So much so that you were pretty sure he noticed, but he didn’t say anything.

It reminded you of the beginning of your partnership, when you’d first joined him on the Crest. You’d flirted with him, of course, almost from the moment you met. How could you resist? At first you’d even thought he was flirting back.

“Look,” he’d murmured, and you’d wondered if you were finally getting somewhere with this man you couldn't get out of your head. But he’d surprised you. “You don’t want this with me.”

You’d scoffed, disbelieving. “I know what I want, Mando.”

He’d sighed, and you could still remember how tired he’d sounded. How weary. “You don’t even know what you’re asking for. If you want to stay, this doesn’t happen.”

He’d sounded so certain, so firm. You didn’t know him well enough at the time to question it, and now? Now, when you were pretty sure you were actually in love with him?

Now all you wanted was to stay on the ship, and not get kicked off for flirting, of all things. Well, you also wanted to solve the mystery of whatever was haunting the ship. Or Din. 

And now you were staring at him, and even though you worried he might be getting the wrong idea, you couldn't bring yourself to stop.

…

On Socorro, Din asked you to stay on the ship again, and you agreed easily. You had some maintenance to do, after all, and you needed to see if your theory was right.

You realized almost immediately that it had to be.

Din stepped off the Crest, and the shadows… lessened. The darkness in the corners of the ship seemed lighter. Nothing moved, nothing shifted, nothing squirmed in the dark. 

It was Din, after all. 

You spent the next two days trying to figure out what to do about it.

…

You were standing in the cargo area when he came back. 

“It’s me,” he gasped over the comm, and you felt your heart start to race at the tension in his voice, at the way he was breathing so heavily. “Wait.”

You turned, ready to hide, but the cargo bay started opening before you could. You darted towards the ladder, trying to make yourself scarce, but it was too late.

“What’s this, Mando?” said a deep, snarling voice. You shuddered. “Got someone waiting at home, do you?”

You looked and saw Mando dragging a large Trandoshan up the ramp. The bounty snarled at you when you made eye contact. “She’s a pretty one, Mando.” Your back hit the ladder and you froze. 

Din growled. “Shut it,” he said, shoving the Trandoshan forward. But it seemed that’s what the other had been hoping for, because he used the momentum to fall forward, breaking Din’s hold on him. He flipped into a standing position and snarled again. 

The next few moments played out in flashes in your mind.

Din, tensing, readying himself to leap towards the bounty.

The Trandoshan, bending his knees, turning away from Din and towards you.

You, scrambling backwards as the Trandoshan launched himself through the air in your direction.

The sudden roar that ripped from Din startled you and tore your eyes from the bounty to him. 

And that’s when you saw it. Saw them. 

Faster than your eyes could register, shadows erupted around him. No, you realized, they were coming from Din. Smoky black tendrils, slithering from under his armor, snaking down his limbs and outward in every direction, so fast it was like a burst of light. In less time than it took you to fully register what was happening they covered the floor and the walls and sped inexorably towards the Trandoshan. 

He never reached you.

The shadows pulled at him, grasping, wrapping him up in a stranglehold. Your jaw dropped as the bounty’s forward motion was arrested, mid air, and you gasped as he was flung into the carbonite freezer. 

Your entire body was frozen as you watched, as you allowed your eyes to trail along the tendrils of shadows back to Din. Din, who was standing there, breathing hard, holding the bounty in place somehow, but staring directly at you.

“Din?” you whispered, but he looked away and pushed himself forward to freeze the bounty. 

You heard the hiss of the freezer and watched as the shadows started to snake backwards the way they’d come, along the walls and the floor, slithering back under his armor. You watched, transfixed, as he seemed to pull all of the shadows that had just covered the cargo area into himself. 

You stepped closer, mesmerized, and as one tendril passed you you felt it caress the back of your arm before it whipped away. 

You gasped. You knew that feeling. You’d felt it before. 

Din turned around to look at you again, and you noticed he started to reach for you but balled his hands into fists, instead. He looked away. You could see his tension in every line of his body. The last few tendrils were snaking back under his armor when you stepped forward and wrapped your hands around his.

“Din,” you said, voice full of wonder. “You don’t have to hide from me.”

He kept his head turned away as he shook it. 

“Din,” you said, insistent. “Look at me.”

He did, slowly. 

“Is this…” you took a deep breath. “Is this why—“

He nodded once, sharp. You stepped closer. 

“Din,” you murmured, reaching up to cup the side of his helmet in your hand. “I’m not afraid of you.”

He sucked in a sharp breath. “You should be. Cyar’ika—“

“Listen to me,” you said, interrupting him. “I’m not. So this is why? Because you’ve been hiding this from me?”

Din gave in, finally, and reached forward to grasp your hips in his large hands. You could feel them shaking. He nodded again. 

“Don’t,” you whispered. “Don’t hide from me.” You tried to meet his eyes through the visor and hoped, like you always did, that you were successful.

“You don’t know what you’re asking for.” Din’s voice was gravely and rough. 

“I’m asking for you, Din.” You slid your hands up his arms and behind his neck. “Just you.”

He shuddered and let his helmet gently bump against your forehead. “I want to. But–”

You shook your head. “Trust me, Din.” You stepped forward until you were pressed against him completely. “Don’t hide from me.”

For a moment he didn’t respond, and you started to worry that he would pull away from you after all. 

But then he groaned and surged forward, wrapping his arms around you before spinning you and pinning you to the wall of the Crest.

“You have no idea how much I’ve wanted this,” he said, voice deep and dark. You shivered. His hands found your hips again and squeezed. “Wanted you, cyar’ika.”

“Din–” you cut yourself off on a gasp when you felt it. Felt him.

First, the gentlest touch to your wrists. They snaked up your arm and you closed your eyes, lost to the feeling of what you now knew was Din touching you in a way you’d never been touched before.

“Hey,” he said, voice soft. “Look at me. Are you–”

You opened your eyes, and you knew what Din must have seen in them when he growled. 

“Din,” you breathed, feeling hot all over. “More.”

He loomed forward, pinning you harder against the wall of the ship. You felt light touches start to brush against your legs and then your neck. You sighed.

Din’s hand came up to cup your cheek and he tilted your face towards the light. You felt him watching you as you panted. “You like this?” he asked. He sounded stunned.

You nodded. He tightened the grip of the tendril around the back of your neck and you gasped. 

“You like this,” he growled, and then the ship was suddenly plunged into darkness when the lights went out. 

You opened your mouth to protest, but stopped when you heard the unmistakable hiss of his helmet seal releasing. 

“Din?” You breathed, and when he spoke you actually moaned at the sound of his unmodulated voice. 

“I’ll make it so good for you, cyar’ika.” Without warning you felt his lips touch your throat and you gasped. “Let me touch you.”

“Please.”

His hands didn’t move but you suddenly felt him everywhere. Soft touches trailed up your thighs and down to your ankles, wrapped around your back and caressed your neck. You felt one trace your cheekbone and sighed. 

“So soft,” he murmured, face buried in your neck. You felt what had to be a mustache tickle you and smiled. “Everywhere. Just like I knew you would be.”

“Can you—“ you gasped when you felt a tendril snake under your shirt and up your spine. “Can you feel? With them?”

Din nodded into your neck. “Not as much as— it’s not the same. Just… textures. And temperature.”

You marveled at that for a moment. “Din,” you said, and he lifted his head. You couldn’t see him in the dark but you imagined he was looking at you. “I want to feel you everywhere.”

He surged forward and captured your mouth in a searing kiss that took your breath away. 

You’d never been kissed like this. You felt his lips and his hands but then you felt them everywhere else, too. Head spinning, you sank into the feeling of being so firmly held in so many new ways. 

Din broke away and started pressing soft kisses along your jaw that made you sigh. You realized your hands were clutching his cape and let it go, sliding your hands upwards. 

“Your armor,” you murmured. But you stilled when your hands didn’t find anything but flightsuit. “Did you–”

“Yes,” he said, and you could hear his smile. “Faster with a little help.”

You smiled, too. You hadn’t even noticed him taking it off. Your hands continued their slide upwards until you reached his neck. “Can I…”

“You can touch me wherever you want,” Din said, voice low. “I want you to.”

Permission granted, you slid your hands into his hair, marveling at the feeling of touching something you’d never seen. 

“I want you to touch me, too, Din,” you said, and smiled when running your fingers through his hair made him shiver. You felt more tendrils start to snake under your shirt and obligingly lifted your arms. Soon, so quickly it took your breath away, you were standing in the dark in nothing but your underwear with a tall, strong, naked Mandalorian backing you into the wall of the ship.

Din kissed you again, and your mind floated away as he touched you. His hands were on your hips but soft touches, soft but firm, held you everywhere. They snaked across your back, tangled around your legs, twisted between your fingers until you didn’t know where you stopped and he began.

A sudden firm touch broke through the overwhelming onslaught of Din as one lone tendril snaked around your torso and teased at your underwear. You broke away from the kiss and gasped. 

“I’ll make you feel so good, cyar’ika,” he murmured, pressing kisses along your jaw.

“Please,” you breathed, and he smiled against your cheek. Your head was spinning at the knowledge that he was touching you there, slipping closer, while his hands hadn't moved. “Din–” It started with a gentle touch over your underwear, nothing like anything you’d ever felt before. It teased at you, stroking so lightly it made you start to tremble. 

You felt your heart race even faster as you tried to split your attention between all the ways he was touching you. His hands held you firmly by your hip and neck while the tendril slipped inside the band of your underwear and downwards, making you gasp. You threw your head backwards as it started to tease at your slit and only the firm grip of Din’s hand on the back of your neck kept you from hitting it against the wall of the ship. 

The tendril slipped inwards and you whined.

Din began to worry a mark into your shoulder as a soft, unfamiliar touch began to circle your clit. Just as you began to catch your breath, a second one slipped inside of your underwear and began to tease around your entrance.

“Din,” you breathed, and he smiled against your neck. “Please.”

“Mmm,” he replied, and you could hear the amusement in it. “Please what, cyar’ika?” He slid his hand from your hip to ass and gripped it firmly, tugging your hips forward to meet his own. 

“In–” your breath hitched as the tendril that had not let up on your clit, not even for a second, pressed down a bit more firmly. “Inside.” 

Din nipped at your neck as he began to push your underwear down. “My hands are a little busy.” He squeezed the back of your neck and let your underwear fall around your feet.

Your cheeks and neck and chest began to burn with the knowledge of what you were about to say. “Not with your fingers.” Your voice was so tentative, so breathy, it was a wonder it came out at all. 

Din stilled, just for a moment, and then surged forward to claim your mouth in a fierce kiss. When he spoke, his voice was almost a growl. “Good girl.” 

You felt some of the tendrils that had been lightly teasing your thighs suddenly surge upwards and you gasped. Gently but firmly they parted your folds and held you open as a few more tendrils joined the one teasing at your entrance. You shivered.

“Right here?” Din murmured into your ear. “Is this what you want?” One of the tendrils pushed inside, just a bit, and you clutched at his shoulders. He used his free hand to lift your leg around his waist. “Tell me.”

You nodded. “Din, yes, please. Inside.” 

He started with one. It pushed its way inside you slowly and sent your mind spinning. It moved so differently than anything you’d ever felt before, so agile, so soft. A second one quickly followed and they began twisting together inside of you in a way that took your breath away.

It took you a moment to realize Din was still murmuring in your ear. “You feel so good, mesh’la. So warm. So soft.” He pressed soft kisses behind your ear as a third tendril joined the others and you moaned at the stretch. “So good for me.”

You lost track of time as he toyed with your clit and filled you in a way you’d never been filled before. You had no idea how much of him was inside of you, only that it felt perfect and delicious, particularly when he began to massage the spot inside of you that made you see stars.

“Din,” you said, thrusting your hips forward. You could feel it building inside of you. There wasn’t a single inch of your skin he hadn’t touched yet and it was filling you in a way you never knew you needed. 

You whined as you felt it nearing and Din nipped at your ear in response. “Let go for me, cyar’ika. Let go.”

You did, and the pleasure rushed through you like an avalanche, building from the base of your spine, spiraling upwards until it overflowed from you in a gasp. He worked you through it, praising you, until you began to relax in his arms.

Din released his grip on your neck suddenly, but before you could even begin to make a sound mourning its loss, he used it to grab your other leg and wrap it around his waist, pinning you to the wall. His cock was suddenly pressed against you, right where his tendrils still held you open, and you moaned. 

You felt him start to pull out, his tendrils dragging lightly inside of you, and whined in protest. 

“Shh,” he said, kissing you quickly. The tendrils held you open once more and he thrust forward until his cock was sliding against your open, wet pussy. “I’ve got you.”

On his next thrust, the head of his cock notched against your entrance and you sucked in a sharp breath. You could feel his tendrils guiding him in as he slid forwards, pressing onwards until he was fully inside of you. Even after the way he’d just opened you up the stretch was amazing.

He paused for a moment, and you realized you were both breathing heavily and quickly. “Can I–”

“Move,” you interrupted him, and with a full-body shudder, he did.

Starting slow and building to a rhythm that took your breath away, Din began to move his hips. As he thrust forward again, the tendrils caressed you, all over your body. A few of them left cool, wet marks across your skin and you shivered with the knowledge of where they had been.

You yanked his head up by his hair and even though you couldn’t see him, you pulled him forward into a kiss.

Din groaned into your mouth and you clutched at him, thrusting your hips forward to meet his. The tendril that had again started circling your clit began to move just right, and you almost sighed into his mouth, jaw falling slack.

“Din, I–” you were building towards your peak again, somehow, and like he could tell, his hips began to move faster.

He nipped at your bottom lip. “Yes, cyar’ika,” he breathed. “Come for me.”

Once more, you couldn’t help but do as he said. It felt like being pulled over a cliff, floating through the air with him supporting you everywhere, tendrils gliding along your skin and holding you up. You’d never felt anything like it, this full-body caress that held you firmly as you fell. You cried out his name and his hips stuttered once, twice, before he followed you over.

…

In the time it took for your breath to come back, Din maneuvered you both onto your cot and replaced his helmet, so he could turn the lights back on. You let yourself drift as you cuddled into his side, but as comfortable and sated as you were, you couldn’t turn off your curiosity.

“Can I–”

He laughed, and you smiled into his chest. “Ask.”

You weren’t sure where to start, so you went with the basics. “Do they… come from somewhere?”

Din hummed. “Not… physically.” He tugged you closer and you went easily. “I sort of think of them as shadows. Part of my shadow.”

“Have you always had them?”

He nodded as two tendrils started to stroke along your arm. “My parents – my actual parents – taught me to hide them. So I did, even from the Mandalorians. I could tell, even there, that there was no one else like me.”

You tightened your arm around his middle. You had the sudden urge to go back in time and hug little Din. 

“You know, you said no flirting, but I don’t think they got the message.” You looked down at where two shadowy tendrils were lightly tracing shapes along your naked thigh, the one you had thrown over his hip that Din held in a firm grip with his left hand. You could feel a tendril wrapping itself around your ankle while another wound around your waist. Each one left goosebumps in its wake and you shivered at the delicious feeling of all the ways he was touching you. 

He sighed. “I know,” he said, tone wry. “I was trying to stay away, but I’m too used to being alone on the ship. Not worrying about hiding it here. I know where everything is. And then every time I thought about you…” he ran his right hand up your spine and squeezed your thigh with the other. “I was trying so hard not to flirt or catch your attention that I ended up doing… all of that. I had no idea what to do, I was so afraid of you figuring it out. I’m pretty sure I even moved some of your stuff in my sleep.”

You laughed and propped your chin on your hand, leaning on his chest to look at his visor. “Wait,” you said, suddenly realizing what he’d said. “So you can be sitting up in the cockpit and move something down here?”

He nodded, rubbing his hand up and down your back. “I know this ship too well. It’s easier here.”

You bit your lip. You wanted… your next thought felt illicit, even after everything you’d just done together. You wanted to squeeze your thighs together and squirmed against him instead. 

He noticed, of course. “What?” He sounded amused.

“I just… if you can reach me, from all the way up there…” you knew he could see what you wanted. It had to be written all over your face. 

His grip on your thigh tightened. You grinned when he growled. Suddenly the lights flicked off, and you knew he must have done it without you noticing. You heard the hiss of his helmet release and realized neither of his hands had moved from your body. 

You shivered at the desire in his voice, once you could hear it unfiltered. “Oh, cyar’ika,” he murmured, and you felt hundreds of soft, barely there touches ease you into position straddling his hips. “Let me show you."

...

a/n: 👀

[h0neylevi]

Chapter Two

After a major shift, your life has become a series of monotonous routines. Eat, sleep, go to work, repeat. But when you find a man bleeding on the subway with no idea how he got there, things become anything but ordinary.

General content warnings: isekai/parallel universe, modern AU, mentions of blood and canon-typical violence, some light angst, eventual smut.

chapter warnings: brief discussion of human trafficking

word count: 3.2k

“Where did you find him again?”

“On my way home last night on the subway.”

“... And he was–”

“In the full scout uniform, yeah.”

Your friend and fellow nurse, Allie, pauses in the wake of your words, eyes fixed on the door at the other end of the hall where one of the hospital’s doctors took Levi to be examined.

They’ve been back there for over an hour now, and you’re starting to get nervous. If this goes badly, you’re never going to live it down with your coworkers.

“Is he hot?”

Your jaw hangs when Allie’s words register, and you turn back to her with an incredulous look.

“I told you all that and that’s what you take from it?”

She raises her hands up in a defensive gesture. “I’m just saying, if the universe decided to drop a man into my lap that thought he was Erwin Smith, I would take advantage of the situation.”

That, oddly enough, makes you laugh.

“He isn’t Levi Ackerman,” you say once you’ve calmed down. “He probably just hit his head on the way from a costume party and got confused.”

On the other side of the nurse’s station, Allie groans and gets up. “Where’s your sense of adventure?”

“I’m being realistic,” you defend.

“We see weirder things walk into this hospital every day.”

“I think an anime character come to life would surpass anything we’ve ever seen.”

With a defeated little sigh, she grabs a file and rounds the corner. “Well, whatever he is, I have to get back to work.” She taps the file on your shoulder as she passes. “Have fun with Beyblade. Let me know what Paul says.”

Just as she starts down the corridor, the door at the end of the hall opens and Dr. Paul Holloway exits the exam room. His expression is solemn as he gestures for you to join him.

“Thank you again for doing this on such short notice, Dr. Holloway,” you greet him. “Did you find out anything?”

He looks down for a moment at the clipboard in his hand. “Well, the only thing really to note is that he doesn’t seem to know what year it is or where he is, but all of his tests and scans came back normal. Cognition and reflexes otherwise seem to be just fine.”

He rifles through the pages for a moment before continuing. “There are no drugs in his system, and no significant injuries that I could find that would cause this sort of temporary amnesia, so I would have to refer him out to a specialist if you wanted more answers. But as of now, my only guess could be that maybe he was trafficked and escaped. Possibly in a fugue state for so long that he has no recollection of how he got here.”

You listen intently. That wouldn’t explain the clothes you found him in, but it’s worth considering all the same. Large cities were usually hubs for human trafficking. It’s more likely than Allie’s theory at least.

Dr. Holloway seems to sense your thought process. “He should recover his memories soon, but I would suggest maybe filing a police report. I’m sure he has a family out there somewhere who’s missing him.”

You consider it. “Yeah,” you say, nodding. “I’ll mention it. Thanks again, Dr. Holloway.”

“Of course.”

You wait quietly as he opens the exam room door again and beckons Levi out.

He’s just as passive as ever when he sees you waiting. With a departing nod, Dr. Holloway continues down the hall to another exam room.

“So,” you begin, “how are you feeling?”

“Like a test subject,” Levi grumbles, falling into step with you. “Four-Eyes would love this place.”

You turn to look at him. “Huh?”

“Nothing,” he quickly says. “So, are you satisfied now? I can go?”

You walk through the nearby exit door on the side of the building and onto the street.

“Well, Dr. Holloway didn’t find anything wrong, so I guess you’re welcome to go wherever you like,” you say. “But I really think you should go to the police. I think something really bad has happened to you, Levi. They might be able to help you.”

While you speak, Levi looks around, studying the cars as they pass and the tall buildings.

“Somehow, I doubt that,” he sighs. “I think I’m too far from home to go back.”

The recognition that bleeds through his tone makes you curious. “Do you remember where you’re from?”

“It doesn’t matter.” His mouth twists into a frown. “It’s definitely not around here.”

You want to keep pressing but ultimately decide against it. It isn’t as if it’s any of your business, but you feel a sense of responsibility for his well-being. You were the one who found him, and if you have the means to help him get to where he needs to go, you’d be willing to offer. It isn’t as if you’ve got anything else going on in your life, but you can only do so much when he doesn’t want you to pry into his personal life.

“Well...” you trail off, unsure. “I need to get some groceries but once we get back to my place, I can wash your clothes before you leave. That’ll give you some time to decide what you want to do.”

To your surprise, it doesn’t take him long to agree.

“Okay,” he nods. “Let’s go.”

**

The supermarket isn’t far from your apartment, so you get onto the city metro together. It’s a familiar route to you, but it’s clear that Levi isn’t accustomed to the amount of people that cram themselves together into the narrow space at once.

There aren’t any seats when you climb on, so you’re forced to stand together in one of the corner exits. At the very least, Levi remembers to grab onto one of the handrails just before the train starts moving—an action that he still seems to find disgusting despite the necessity.

“What?” you laugh at his pinched expression.

“I think I preferred it the way it was last night,” he remarks, not doing anything to hide his distaste while looking around. “How often do these things get cleaned?”

You blink. “Uh, I don’t know. Probably only when something seriously hazardous happens. Like blood or puke.”

The look on his face only grows.

“Don’t worry. I have sanitizer in my bag. I can give you some when we get off,” you promise. “I never got rid of the habit from covid.”

The way Levi’s brows furrow suggest that he doesn’t know what either of those things are either, but you just shake your head, wordlessly promising to explain later.

Once you’re off the train and back out onto the street, you move to the side to pull the aforementioned bottle out of your bag. Levi watches quietly until you reach and squeeze some of the liquid into his upturned palm.

He lifts it closer to his face. “What is this?”

“It’s sanitizer,” you say, rubbing your hands together. “Just rub it in like this. It kills the germs on your hands that you can get from touching random surfaces.”

He follows your example, albeit a bit more slowly, and you set off again down the street.

The rest of the walk is done mostly in silence. Thankfully, Levi doesn’t seem to mind. He chooses mostly to walk along beside you, occasionally looking up at skyscrapers as you pass them or balk at the occasional interaction on the street. There’s a sense of wonder and curiosity that settles on his face, smoothing out the stern glare that you’ve seen him wear since you first found him on the metro.

It really is like he’s never seen anything like it before, and you wonder again about his history. He doesn’t seem afraid of anything, merely curious as he walks, and he carries himself confidently. Like a soldier…

No, that was Allie influencing your thoughts. There’s no way this man was the Levi Ackerman. Even if he had his hair, his stature, the same sullen expression, and similar mannerisms to ones you’ve seen in the anime. It’s an impossible thought. You’re not even considering it.

“What are you staring at?”

You blink and realize that he’s looking at you now and holy shit, his eyes are even that shade of blue-grey.

You turn forward again just as a crosswalk changes for you to go. “Nothing,” you say quickly. “You just… remind me of someone.”

He doesn’t reply—most likely because he doesn’t care—but you’re grateful that he doesn’t pay it any mind.

But by the time you’ve entered the supermarket and grabbed a cart, your curiosity outweighs your hesitation.

“Can I ask you something?”

Beside you, Levi scans the produce aisle you’re approaching with passive interest. “That depends.”

Ignoring him, you press forward. “Is there some reason you won’t tell me what’s going on?”

You speak and he turns to look at you, his brows furrowed.

“I mean, it’s pretty obvious that there’s more to what happened than you’re letting on,” you continue. “And I know it’s none of my business, but…”

“You’re right. It is none of your business.”

The comment stings more than you expect, but you try to quickly brush it off. You don’t know this man, and in a matter of an hour or so he’ll be gone. You’d promised yourself that as long as he was healthy, you wouldn’t meddle.

But after everything you’ve done for him, it still feels unfair to treat you so dismissively. He acts like you’re a nuisance more than the person who cleaned him up and gave him a place to sleep out of the cold.

The ensuing silence is tense. You push your cart forward, suddenly eager to get out as quickly as possible. The faster you get home, the quicker he leaves. If that’s what he wants after everything you’ve done, he can have it.

You’re moving through the selection of deli cheeses when Levi speaks up again.

“You wouldn’t believe me if I told you,” he says in a low voice. “I wouldn’t believe it myself if I wasn’t witnessing it with my own eyes.”

You look around, following his gaze as it skims over the refrigerated walls of pre-packaged meat and cheese.

“What are you talking about? It’s a grocery store.”

He huffs. “That doctor said the year was 2024.”

You change course, leading the way into an aisle of canned goods. “Yeah?”

It’s quiet for a long moment. Levi’s arms are crossed over his chest as he follows along.

“I don’t know how it happened, but I’m not from here.” He pauses for a moment as you pull some cans from a shelf and place them in your cart. “I’m not from this time.”

You stop for a moment and look at him. On his face is the same look he had the night before, that same sincerity when he told you he’d been looking for some sort of headquarters.

You can’t help it. You chuckle. “You’re talking about time travel.”

“If that’s what you want to call it.”

You continue down the aisle and turn into the next one. “Levi, there’s never been a recorded instance of time travel…ever. It’s never happened.”

Levi rolls his eyes. “See? You don’t believe me.”

“It isn’t about believing you. It’s impossible.”

But even as you say it, you don’t feel entirely convinced that it’s true.

Improbable, sure. Very unlikely. Insane that you’re even considering it, but the more you think about it, the more the pieces seem to fall into place.

The way you found him, his clothes, the way he looks around at everything like he’s seeing it all for the first time. There’s no indication that he has a serious head injury, so you can’t fall back on that anymore. And the trafficking? Well… You’ve been trained to look for red flags, and nothing about his situation seems to fit with that explanation.

Plus, there are the coins you found in the pockets of his clothes this morning. Copper and silver ones bearing symbols you don’t recognize. The silhouette of a woman in a crown.

You’d looked up every conceivable country that you could think of that might fit the bill and nothing had matched.

There’s no way that what he’s saying is true though, right? If you believe him, you’d have to believe all of it—meaning that he is Levi Ackerman and that the events of Attack on Titan are real.

No, that’s silly. In all of recorded history, there’s never been a single event that coincides with the existence of man-eating titans. Belief in giants is a fringe theory not backed by actual evidence.

But, still. Just to humor him.

“What time are you from then?” you ask.

“854.”

You stop and stare at him. “You realize that’s…over a thousand years ago, right?”

With his mouth in a thin line, Levi nods.

You continue to stare, waiting for a break in his composure. The inevitable laugh that will surely come, marking this entire conversation as a joke, but it never comes.

“You’re serious,” you finally say.

Levi blinks. “You believe me?”

God, what do you believe? “I…” You bring your hands to your face. The middle of the pasta aisle is not the place to be weighing the possibility of time travel. “No,” you finally say. “I mean, I don’t know…can you prove it?”

Levi raises a brow. “How am I supposed to prove it to you?”

“I don’t know. You’re the one claiming to be over a thousand years old.”

“I’m not claiming to be—” he cuts himself off with an irritated sigh. “You’re just as bad as the brats back home.”

Something in your patience finally snaps.

You start walking again, needing space. “You know, you could stand to be a bit nicer to me considering all I’ve done for you.”

For a long moment, there’s only the rattling sound of the cart’s wheels as they roll down the aisle.

“I am grateful,” Levi finally says, surprisingly still following next to you. “But I didn’t ask you to interfere.”

“Well, most people wouldn’t have just left a man to bleed all over the metro. I’m sorry I have basic human decency.”

“Basic human decency would have been pointing me in the direction of the nearest sink,” he points out. “You let me sleep on your couch.”

You turn to glare at him. “I’m sorry, are you complaining right now?”

“I’m saying that I don’t like owing people,” he says.

You resist the urge to roll your eyes. “You don’t owe me anything. I would have done the same thing for anyone.”

Levi doesn’t look like he completely believes you, but at least he lets the matter rest. 

He follows you the rest of the way through the store in thoughtful silence.

Left to your own devices, you grab things without thinking, relying on muscle memory to lead you to the items you usually buy. It isn’t as if you deviate much from your favorite meals, so the rest of the process is quick.

By the time you’ve grabbed everything you need, your mood has improved enough that you feel a bit remorseful for doubting him.

Even if it was a weird idea, Levi appeared genuine. Like Dr. Holloway had said, he’d probably regain his memories soon. If he really didn’t remember anything about modern life, he was going to need someone to help him.

Maybe he shouldn’t leave so soon.

It isn’t until you turn around to speak that you realize you’re alone. A quick look around the aisle confirms that Levi’s nowhere to be seen. That’s odd. When had he wandered off?

You begin searching back through the aisles and after a few minutes, you spot him. Standing in front of the long, neat shelves lined with tea and coffee. Something akin to dread settles into your stomach at the sight.

He glances over as you approach and places a box back on the shelf. A beat passes before he clears his throat and says, “I’ve never seen so much tea in one place before.”

“Do you want some?” you ask, glancing at the box he put back—a black tea blend. He doesn’t respond, simply skimming over the labels again with a peculiar glint in his eye.

You don’t wait for an answer and pluck the box off of the shelf. He doesn’t stop you as you place it into your cart.

It’s a truce. An apology and an acknowledgment that you’re helping him all in one.

You turn your cart back around and lead the way toward the front. “I’m all done. Let’s go.”

**

The walk back home isn’t as tense as before, but it isn’t exactly comfortable either.

You keep watching Levi every chance you get. He appears more thoughtful. His gaze lingers just as it always has on the buildings and the people walking past. Cars, billboards, restaurants, all of it.

It’s got to be overwhelming. Not that you're believing him, but if he believes that he isn’t from this time, it has to be a shock to see so many unfamiliar things at once.

“What are you thinking about?” you finally ask.

His expression remains passive as he takes a deep breath, like he’s grounding himself. “Everything just looks so…”

“Artificial?” you supply when he pauses, but the look on his face tells you he’s confused by the word you use. You try again. “Uh, not natural?”

“I was going to say clean.” His voice goes soft as he looks around again. “The air is clean.”

Not sure how to respond, you turn forward and continue down the street.

It doesn’t take much longer to reach your apartment.

Levi helps carry the bags of groceries upstairs and into your kitchen, where he stands awkwardly as you unload everything into their respective spots. Luna, still curious, climbs onto the table nearby, making Levi scowl.

Surprisingly, he doesn’t shoo her away when he decides to take a seat, and he even goes so far as to let her sniff him as he looks out of the window.

You smile when you hear her chirp. A noise that you know she makes when she feels like she’s being ignored.

“You can pet her, you know?” you look over your shoulder to tell him.

He meets you with a bored look. “I know. I don’t want to.”

As if she can understand him, Luna meows again.

After you put the last item away in your fridge, you move to sit at the table across from him.

“So what are you going to do?” you ask.

“I don’t know,” he replies, and for the first time, he sounds truly at a loss.

“Well, you’re welcome to keep staying here for a bit longer,” you say, petting Luna when she slinks over to you. “Until we figure something out.”

His eyes narrow slightly. “We,” he repeats.

You meet his gaze evenly. “Look, I don’t know where you came from or how you got here, but you’re here now and you’re still a human being. As long as you’re open to letting me help, I will.”

He seems to think on it for a moment before agreeing. “There are worse things in the world, I suppose.”

And you think that’s as close to a thank you as you’ll get.

[ruruumin]

young

₊˚ ᗢ canon! alhaitham x gn! reader.

⤷ inspired by this guitar cover of young girl a. 2.4k words.

as the official recordkeeper of the akademiya, the burden of notetaking and historical artifacts rests upon your hands. students and scholars come to you with their discoveries, hoping to be kept alive through history books and beyond. much of their research is rubbish, half-haphazardly put together in an attempt to seem great. 

days stretched out longer than they needed to. work becomes overbearing. it seeps into the corners of your mind. going out with tighnari didn’t help, drinking tea with collei did nothing to soothe the ache in your jaw and hand. a close friend of yours from the same darshan expressed the worries of drinking too much coffee. but nothing was helping. your mind was burning up. your fingers felt like they were on fire. and it couldn’t have been just your pyro vision.

your brain felt like a string being pulled too hard you can hear the vibration wringing the air. you keep your head low in your office, praying to lesser lord kusanali that there won’t be another person coming through those now worn-out doors. you have your hand pressed against your forehead, your eyes peeking through the cracks of your fingers, furiously writing a report upon someone's recent expedition. 

don’t forget to write about how they entered the desert runes. add the part where they stumbled next to the entrance. make sure you indent here. transcribe every part of their dialogue as perfectly as you can. do it as if you were there. these racing thoughts were doing nothing but pulling you back and forth, pushing you toward the edge you could see the bottom of. your breaths felt hot. your skin was sweating. everything was damp and sticky. 

you grip your vision tightly, trying to hold out as much as possible before exhaustion could hit you like a train. in the confines of your office, you think about unspeakable things. what would alhaitham do? that snarky, know-it-all scribe, what would he do in this situation? would he stress out like you are? does he even feel stressed? are you just competing against some robot with no emotions? what if he couldn’t even feel pain at all? why were you thinking of him at all?

perhaps it was all the time you spent in your younger years at the akademiya, having been in the same darshan as him once before graduating and going back to school for a second diploma. maybe it was the way he constantly one-upped you in everything you did. one point off of a test score. one second behind his mile time. hell, he even got the job of acting grand sage so easily, while you had to work your ass off sucking up to the previous recordkeeper. why was it so easy for him to become a scribe and grand sage?

he never had to say it out loud, but the look in his eyes, the turquoise gaze that he leaves you when the doors close, made you all the more furious. 

you wanted his job so badly. being a recordkeeper was the closest thing you could have that was remotely similar to sumeru’s scribe. you might not be able to get the same amount of pay or recognition, but it was something. you could still put your love for writing and history into books. all of it would be great. you could be satisfied. if only you didn’t want more. 

the ticking clock is like a metronome. click. click. click. one sentence down. the next one. click click click. halfway there, if you push a little harder, click, click, click and run through your thoughts one more time, click, click, click, you can finish this in less than an hour. click. click.

what happened to the third click? you look up and see a familiar face staring down at you. his lips were squeezed tightly together into the same thin line you always saw in the classroom. 

“when was the last time you slept?” he asks, raising his hand to your forehead as you lean back in your chair, barely escaping his grasp.

you raise a few fingers, eyes glancing down at your paper. “one… three.. one and a half hours.” he lets out a huff, sounding rather disappointed in your answer. 

“the well-esteemed recordkeeper, unable to keep record of their sleep. how ironic is that.”

“if you came here to taunt me, you know the door is that way.” 

he doesn’t say anything in this instance. no response. no backtalk. he’s so eager to jump on any flaws you exhibited, and suddenly, when you gesture towards the door, trying to be unfazed by his comments, he is quiet. it grosses you out.

“tighnari told me you weren’t doing so well. looks like you've been working on this paper for a while now." he brushes back a few strands of his hair, "you know, you could always ask me for help. as a scribe, i have some knowledge of recordkeeping.”

there it is.

really? tighnari had to tell him? had you known he was going to tell the scribe, you would have never said anything. you want to be frustrated at him but knowing how kind he is, he was surely doing it out of the kindness of his heart. your reply to alhaitham has a sharp, sarcastic tone. 

“what don’t you know? don’t you know everything already?

“stop making it sound like i’m so much better than you.” his response was instant this time.

you grip your pen tightly, fingers trembling at the pressure. that’s what he gets out of all of this? you thought after being academic rivals for so long, he’d know how you feel about him. and the reasons why you’d even villainize him in the first place. was he always this blind? questions were racing through your thoughts again and for once in your life, you wished that the entire world could just disappear so you could have a moment of peace. 

“you don’t understand, alhaitham,” you start, teeth trembling, “i don’t think you do.”

“yes, i don’t understand why you’re pushing so hard. you’re only a recordkeeper, the job doesn’t require much other than documentation. but regardless, i won’t know unless you tell me.”

slamming the pen down, you raise yourself from the chair, slapping him across the face as he looks back at you in utter surprise. the skin on his cheek was beginning to grow red. your entire body felt cold the moment those seven words came out, and yet the anger you felt was warming you up from the inside.

i won’t know unless you tell me.

so ignorant. so blind. that’s what he was. and you despise him for it. 

“only documentation? that’s what you got? i’m just working so hard over nothing, right? this is just some stupid job, it’s not even as special as your lavish one. i’m no grand sage. no scribe. i’m not even a matra. i’m just some lowly recordkeeper that has to write about everyone else’s accomplishments, while i have absolutely none to my name."

you can't control your words. "do you know how many times i have to write your name down? for everything you did for sumeru? for lesser lord kusanali?” 

the air is growing hot, and so is your skin. did anyone leave the doors open? where was the breeze? who turned on the heater? your head was beginning to feel light. “sorry, maybe i’m too stupid for you. not everyone has the mind of grand sage.”

“grand acting–”

“my apologies, grand acting sage. not everyone is like you.”

“like what?” he says, a lower tone following his words, “rational? logical? cool-headed? have you forgotten everything you learned in haravatat? or has switching to a new darshan made your brain forget the lessons our professor taught about burnout?”

you? burned out? those words hover over you like a looming darkness. “you seriously–can’t understand.” 

“understand what?”

don’t say words you can’t take back.

“that i hate you!” a scream ripped through your throat, ah, there it is.

“i despise you. i hate everything about you. you’re so nonchalant about everything, when we graduated, all you could say was ‘oh, thanks.’  even when you’re declared grand acting sage, you didn’t show an ounce of gratefulness or humility. you saw it as some kind of chore when that job–your job! was all i ever wanted!” 

everything was spilling out of your mouth like bile. with your vision heating up to burn the surface of your skin, you fail to see the hurt in his eyes. the flinch his fingers carried, and the way he stepped back at the raise of your voice. 

“so i don’t understand why they gave it to you when you–fuck– you don’t even care! you don’t care about anything! so now i don't even know why i do!” squeezing your eyes shut, you block out all the unnecessary noise that isn’t your voice. “i tried so hard, i switched darshans so i could do more, but the best i could do is be some shitty recordkeeper that can’t even handle a few paperwork.”

"of course the grand acting sage of sumeru can't understand the feeling of being mediocre. after all, you're the perfect alhaitham. grand acting sage alhaitham. sumeru's feeble scribe alhaitham. the know-it-all jackass alhaitham!" you run your fingers through your hair, pulling on it, "fuck, can't you just show me that you're at least grateful that you got the job, the one that i've been working so fucking hard for in the past few years."

“this is a joke.”

you let out a gasp when his hand reaches out to grab you by the face, squeezing your cheeks tightly. “the only person being ungrateful here is you. are you even hearing yourself right now? being a recordkeeper is a huge accomplishment. you’re doing what many sumerians can only dream of doing. graduating from two darshans? how many people can you name off of one hand that can do that? lisa only graduated from one. most of us did. and here you are, having done two.” 

"if it was me in your shoes, having done two darshans back to back, would you say the same thing?"

"hah? of course not–"

"so why are you wasting your breath complaining about yourself?" those words hurt a lot more than you thought they would. but what did you expect? some sympathy after all of this?

a laugh is choked out of you, “yeah, i guess you’re right. i should be more happy that i got this job. after all, i’m just some spoiled brat to you.” his hold tightens up, veins bulging from his wrist. despite the change of tone in his voice, the expression on his face conveys a different feeling. one that is mixed. you don't know how to describe it.

“did you even listen to me?”

“i don’t know. what did you say anyway?” your body trembles. fingers wrapping around his hand, trying to loosen his grip as tears swell. you wish you had the strength to clamp your jaw shut.

“i don’t even know what i’m doing anymore.” 

his turquoise eyes begin to soften. his grip losing its strength. this gives you the moment you need to breathe.

he doesn’t know what to say. for someone so adamant on accomplishing what is seen as extraordinary, you didn't see it at all. to him, you were a ball of sun, a brightly shining star that could never lose its color or flame. seeing you like this is twisting his hearts in ways he cannot fathom.

he thought it would be nice seeing you vulnerable, to see you at your most raw. he always liked how enthusiastic you were about beating him. but he doesn’t know if he feels this way anymore. you, at your wit’s end, despite graduating in haravatat and having experience in a multitude of languages, being unable to come up with a proper response was more than heartbreaking. it makes him feel sick.

and before you can push him away, he wraps his arms around you, squeezing you tightly to his chest. this unexplained action is incomprehensible to you. and you fear that he's doing this out of pity.

the air grows quiet as he’s pensively thinking.

“i’m sorry,” his voice is as soft as a mouse. its timid, something you never thought to hear from the grand acting sage himself. 

“i don’t know if this is what you wanted to hear. but i don’t think of you any less. i’m sorry my actions made you feel that way. being a recordkeeper is a lot harder than i made it out to be. you have to balance everyone's story and make sure they're all written accurately and true.” he is unsure if this is the right thing to say at the moment, but it's the only thing he feels is true.

“i was too harsh on you because i thought it might push you forward. i thought things were the same as they were in the akademiya. but now that we're older, i see that the way i treated you was... more than wrong."

he wants to bite his tongue, humiliation burning through his cheeks like a bullet wound. "there is a lot that you should be proud of. so..." he is beginning to mumble, "don't cry." that last part comes out like a question.

you hesitantly hold onto him, keeping him close to you as if he’s the last person on teyvat. alhaitham, the great one himself, was giving you an apology. a rather heartfelt one too, even if he seemed inexperienced in it. you should be a little grateful he had the guts to tell you rather than pass around notes as he did when you were younger.

you shiver when his hand runs down your spine, moving up and down to comfort you. you could feel your vision pulsate in reaction. your heartrate spiking. if the past you saw where you were now, they’d be mortified. to think you’d be this close to the one person you considered your worst enemy. and despite that, sharing this moment of vulnerability with him was oddly comforting.

it made everything feel okay.

a breath is drawn out of you, one that was flimsy and weak, “i’m scared.”

“what are you scared of?”

“i don’t know what to do,” your words come out shaky, “i don’t know what i’m doing anymore. this job, my feelings…all this work that’s piling up, students who are counting on me, everyone– what am i supposed to do?”

“is there supposed to be a manual?” 

your jaw locks up in an attempt to hold back a laugh. you instead roll your eyes, trying to force him off of you but he remains glued to you, intent on keeping you as close as possible. almost as if you’d fly away if he loosened up a little. maybe you’d burn up like a star, suck the entire universe with you, including him.

“point is, even if you don’t know what to do, there is still plenty of time. if you need to take a break, then do so. travel the world if you have to. leave sumeru and find your purpose.” the last part was more for exaggeration and dramatics. he'd rather die than admit he doesn't want to see you leave sumeru.

he presses his forehead against yours, forcing you to stare into his eyes. “those scholars can wait. it's not the end of the world if they don’t get their measly report written.”

“but–”

“relax. you and i know they’re all pretty whiny. would it kill you to just take a break so you don’t have to listen to them?” his comment finally breaks a snort out of you.

“you’re as good as you are. without you, a lot of what we’ve learned and experienced might get lost. being a recordkeeper is still a very esteemed title. it won’t be hard to ask for a raise.” 

“you joke too much.”

“kaveh says i don’t do it enough.” 

you inhale another deep breath, noting the smell of sage and pinewood on his shirt. it's rather earthy (and you were surprised to know he bothers spraying anything at all.) the gem between his collarbone is flickering underneath the chandelier light in your office. and you could feel the slight tense of his muscles as he adjusted his hold on you.

the words that come out of your mouth feel like needles. “do you hate me?”

“i don’t.”

“even when i said all of those horrible things to you?”

“even so.” his resolution was clear in his answer. 

the burning sensation you felt was beginning to fade away. the flame inside of you finally quelling. you would have never thought in a million years that the man you’ve competed against could make you feel so strange. so conflicted. so unsure. yet at the same time, so secure. 

perhaps, with him in mind, you might be able to take things a lot slower. maybe consider a vacation. you can stop comparing yourself to someone who's on a different path and appreciate what you have already. or at the very least, appreciate yourself, before anyone else. 

you don’t know how to put it into words, so you press your face in the crook of his neck, releasing a content hum. his adam apple bobs with hesitation, his body tensing up as if he’s nervous to breathe in your embrace.

“thank you.”

… 

“that slap really hurt. i think you might need to fetch an icepack for me.”

“i can give you another.” 

“please don’t.” 

[faerybones3]

Me and the Devil

Simon interrupts your prayers. You mistake him for someone else.

simon x fem!reader | read on ao3

2.4k wc

cw: canon typical violence, blood and gore, a bit of religious psychosis for funsies, simon is a dick, religious imagery, simon manhandles you

The only sound you could hear was the hammering of your heart as you sprinted across the street, keeping yourself as low to the ground as you could in order to stay out of sight.

You just had to make it to the church. You knew you’d be safe there.

Rain sloshed around your ankles, soaking your shoes.

You turned a corner and halted, ducking behind a car, when you saw a group of men dressed in all black tactical gear and helmets. One of the men, their leader if you were to guess, was speaking in halting spanish to another man kneeling on the ground before them. You pressed your hand to your mouth to stifle your cry as the leader kicked the kneeling man in the head. 

You didn’t stick around to see what happened next. You knew all too well what happened to helpless women on these streets in the dead of night, and you had no interest in becoming their next meal. If they found you, they would not spare you an ounce of their wrath. 

When at last you came to the large church at the center of the city, you quickly checked the area for threats, and quietly slipped in through the front door.

For the first time in what felt like hours, you felt your body relax. Those men, the ones in all black, had invaded Las Almas, had invaded your home, overnight. In a matter of hours, they had turned the city into a feast of violence, gorging themselves on the blood of your friends, your people. 

But you had made it to the church. You were safe now. You were protected. 

Deft hands gripped the rosary tucked securely into your shirt as you pulled it out and over your head. You wrapped it around your hands as you approached the altar at the front of the church. A large stained glass window loomed over you as you kneeled. You quickly glanced up at it. The image of Jesus, bleeding and dying on a cross, looked down at you. The rain from outside warped the depiction, and he seemed to regard you with a kind of commiseration as you stared into the blue glass of his eyes. 

You bowed your head again and started to pray. 

You were so engrossed in your prayer that you didn’t hear the door creak open several minutes later. 

It was the heavy footsteps that echoed along the walls that finally made your head turn. A hulking figure, shrouded in shadow, stood in the far corner of the room. He blended so well into the darkness behind him that you wouldn’t have seen him if not for the tiny glint of white coming from the area where his face should be. 

You stood from your position on the floor, fearing the worst. 

He mumbled something you couldn’t hear and then began to walk forward. When he stepped into the light, you screamed. 

What looked back at you was something, someone, from your nightmares. Your childhood boogeyman. The one lurking in darkness, who would “get you” if you disobeyed your parents. Hulking and dressed in all black; his face, a mask of ivory bone. The priest would speak of him with wariness, warning you not to believe his false tongue, for his gift of temptation was a siren song. 

And he stood before you now. The devil had come for you. 

He held up his hands as his footsteps toward you quickened. You quickly unwrapped the rosary from around your fingers and launched it at him. It had no effect as it bounced off of his chest, landing with a dull clack onto the floor. Unfazed, he continued his march towards you. You frantically backed away from him, tripping on the steps up to the altar and landing on the heels of your hands. It was all in vain, he was too quick. He caught up to you in two strides and yanked you to your feet. It wasn’t until he covered your mouth with a large, gloved hand that you realized you had still been screaming.

“You need to shut the fuck up,” he said in a low, rough voice.

What had you done to deserve this? Had you offended God in some way? You had always tried your hardest to be good and faithful. Why was he punishing you now? 

Under his hand, you sobbed. Too paralyzed with fear, you couldn’t fight against his harsh grip. Hot tears ran down your cheeks and seeped into the fabric of his glove. The two of you stood like that for another minute, him looking at you with cold, dead eyes, until he spoke again. 

“Not gonna hurt you, but you’ve gotta be quiet. Can you do that?”

He wasn’t going to hurt you? It had to be a trick. But his grip around your face was near suffocating, so with wide eyes, you slowly nodded. 

His eyes squinted from behind his bone-white mask, clearly not believing that you wouldn’t try to scream again, but eventually he dropped his hand. 

You stood stock-still as he stepped away to mumble something into what appeared to be a radio in his vest.

Radio?

A man on the other side answered almost immediately, voice gruff, and you heard snippets of their conversation. Words like “shadows” and “graves” touched your ears in between the grinding radio static. 

“Are you going to kill me?” You asked when you found your voice. 

He mumbled something else into his radio before looking back to where you stood, still frozen, in the aisle. 

“Not really in the business of killin’ helpless women.”

You kept your eyes trained on him as you took a few steps and retrieved your rosary from where it had landed on the ground when you threw it at him. Bunching it in your hands, you glared at him. 

“You don’t fool me, diablo.”

His eyes narrowed at you from underneath his mask. 

“The fuck are you on about—“

Your heart dropped to your stomach as suddenly, a loud boom sounded from the front door of the church. The devil’s head whipped around at the noise. In a single moment, he closed the distance between you, grabbed your arm and threw you down like a rag doll between the nearest pews.

“Stay down,” he growled. 

Having no choice but to obey, you shoved your head between your knees and scrunched down, willing yourself to become as small as possible. 

In the next moment, you heard the sound of the church doors crashing open with a resounding bang. Heavy footsteps followed. 

A booming voice sounded from the other end of the room. 

“Found you, asshole.”

And then, gunshots. 

Bodies thudded to the floor, someone screamed, and the sound of a blade cutting through flesh rang in the air. You clapped your hands over your ears, praying for all the world that this was all just a nightmare that you would soon wake from.

As the noise died down, you craned your neck to look up. Half a dozen bodies littered the floor, looking more like pincushions than people. There, in the center of the room, the devil stood in the middle of it all. With the strength of ten men, he had savagely cut them down as if they were nothing but insects. Bile rose in your throat at the sight, but you quickly forced it back down with a groan.

Assuming the worst was over, you attempted to rise to your feet, only for something large and heavy to crash into you, bowling you over. Your back ached as it hit the cold wooden floor. You cried out in pain and shock. Something, no, someone had pushed you back down. 

Before your brain could process what was happening, a man came into view above you and used one giant arm to pin you to the floor. His other arm was raised above your head, and you noticed the glint of a knife clutched in his hand. 

You screamed. Your arms shot out and you desperately clawed at the man, using all the strength in your body to fight him off. But he was twice your size. You were nothing to him, useless in defending yourself.

His body suddenly went slack as a bullet lodged itself in his throat. Hot, sticky blood poured out of him, leaking onto your face, your nose, your mouth, suffocating you. The knife fell from his fingers and clattered to the floor. His heavy head dropped to your chest and you desperately scrambled to shove him away. You rose on unsteady feet for the second time, gripping the back of the pew for balance. You wiped frantically at your face and your hands came away covered in scarlet gore.

When you looked up, you saw your infernal savior staring back at you, gun in hand. He regarded you for a moment; he seemed to be thinking hard about something. His eyes then raked over your ragged and bloodstained figure, and you felt small and weak under his intense gaze. 

You broke eye contact to retch onto the floor. 

While you spilled the contents of your stomach, he barked something into his radio again and then set to work removing a plate carrier vest from one of the many bodies strewn about the place. As soon as you sat back up, he thrust it into your arms. 

“Put it on, we’re leaving.”

You stared at him for a beat, vest in hand, your breath coming in croaking gasps. Surely he didn’t mean for you to go with him? Was he kidnapping you? 

“Now!”

You flinched. Once again, he left you with little room for argument. You couldn’t stay here; surely there would be more of those men coming now. You could already hear the faint sound of gunshots in the distance. 

The one place you thought you would be safe, now ripped out from under you. 

With shaking hands, you slipped the vest over your head and attempted to tighten the straps, but it didn’t do much good. The vest was huge, and you looked and felt ridiculous in it.

You followed your devil protector out the front door, walking quickly to keep pace with him. He held his gun to his chest, eyes searching constantly for hidden threats. More gunshots sounded in the distance, getting closer with every step you took. 

As you reached the gate surrounding the church, you spotted a man on the outside.

“Ghost!” He yelled when he spotted you both. 

“Soap!” 

Ghost? Soap? What kind of names were these?

Your devil, Ghost, grabbed your arm and mercilessly pulled you along. Once through the gate, he shoved you in front of him and, ever the bodyguard, caged his body around your own as the three of you ran down the steps. 

“We need a vehicle, on me-!” He was so close, you could feel the sound of his shout reverberate through his chest. 

You ran across the street, ducking behind abandoned cars for cover as the boom of gunshots surrounded you on all sides. You had never been more terrified. The only thing keeping your body moving was the adrenaline pumping through your blood and the unrelenting hand gripping your shoulder. 

Up ahead, you saw a truck with the lights still on. The other man had seen it too, and yelled. The three of you sprinted to it. Approaching the truck, the pressure on your shoulder subsided as you were released. He threw open the backseat door, grabbed you again by the vest, and unceremoniously threw you into the back of the truck. 

You landed on the backseat, but quickly rolled over to the floor. You kept your head down as you felt the truck back up, hit something, or probably someone, and then stop. One of the men shouted again and you heard another gunshot. You didn’t dare lift your head to see what had happened. You learned your lesson from last time. 

The truck started moving again and the men remained quiet up front, catching their breath. You didn’t rise from the floor for another few minutes. 

At the sound of you climbing up to sit in the backseat, the second man looked back at you. His eyebrows scrunched up and a brief look of shock passed over his face, as if just now processing your presence. 

“Who the fuck is this?”

Ghost’s eyes met yours in the rearview mirror briefly before he turned his attention back to the road. 

“Civ,” he said quietly.

The man looked aghast.

“We babysittin’ now?”

There was a tense moment between the men. The air in the truck felt stiflingly hot. Your cheeks burned with embarrassment as you remembered the drying blood that still coated your face and body. You wished they wouldn’t talk about you as if you weren’t there, but you bite your tongue. 

“She’d be dead if I left her.”

“She’s no safer with us, L.T.”

Ghost didn’t respond.

You opened your mouth to speak, but an uncontainable giggle burst from your lips as sudden realization dawned on you. 

“Lieutenant,” you said as another, louder laugh escaped you. 

You doubled over, fully cackling now at your own stupidity. Of course he was no devil. He was just a man. How foolish and afraid you had been. 

Of course your God had not forsaken you. He had sent you a savior. Albeit a very strange and terrifying savior, but a savior nonetheless. The devil had not come for you. At least not yet. 

The two men silently watched you as you laughed. Tight concern pinched the face of the man riding shotgun. When your laughter died down, he twisted fully in his seat to face you. There was an almost cautious smile on his face, as if you were a wild animal that would bite him if he made a wrong move. 

“Name’s Johnny, miss.”

You wiped the heel of your hand across your cheek and told him your own name. He nodded politely and turned to the other man. 

“And, eh— Ghost,” said Johnny, gesturing awkwardly with his hand. 

You scoffed under your breath. “Weird fucking name,” you said quietly. 

Ghost’s eyes darted up to yours in the mirror again, and Johnny barked a laugh of his own.

“You sure know how to pick ‘em, L.T.”

[starl1tt]

yall please im tired my multishipper heart is breaking i feel like a child of divorce right now WHY ARE WE FIGHTING!!!

first of all… the epilogue aint even out yet and everyone and they mamas are complaining abt izuocha being canon. first off, nothing is confirmed. a handshake and blushing isn’t confirming anything!! second of all, even if it is canon, so what?!

the argue of it ruining ochako’s character development is not only so untrue, but just plain stupid. a major point of toga and ochako’s interactions and overall relationship is that ochako shouldn’t hide her feelings and that toga showed her that. even if the panel is a love confession, that just continues her character development because hiding her feelings also included her feelings for izuku.

im not saying that there wasn’t a possibility of ochako being in love with toga, im saying that you guys missed one of the most beautiful parts of such a complex relationship. also toga is DEAD. and it happened over 10 YEARS AGO!! She is allowed to move on. Like I’m a Togachako truther okay, but I do believe it could be seen as her pushing Ochako to move on, and also be in touch with her feelings. It doesn’t mean that it couldn’t have happened in another life.

I like the idea of her getting to move on with her life. And finally feeling like she doesn’t have to hide her feelings. Also, she’s at a state where she’s financially and mentally stable. I don’t really see how that would be a bad place to have a relationship.

And on the topic of Izuku, you guys.. and im gonna hold your hand when I say this..

as someone who also ships bkdk

Bakudeku had ZERO chance of becoming canon. Rarely will you see in a shonen anime a well written queer character, let alone queer relationship. You could argue that Toga was, but it doesn’t really seem like that was the idea he had in mind for Izuku.

ALSO IM GONNA SAY THIS AGAIN. NOTHING IS CONFIRMED!!! IM SAYING THIS IN THE POSSIBILITY THAT IT IS CONFIRMED.

also who the fuck made up the rumour that bakugo had a wife? like I have seen NOTHING confirming that out of all of the leaks.

lowkey.. if izuocha does become canon.. horikoshi make krbk canon and my life is yours 🙏🙏

(i love bkdk to death but my 2020 heart will always remain with krbk im sorry yall)

[marquessofendos]

purity culture was a mistake. i miss the days when you could just read a book and there were no morality olympics about it online, you just found people online drawing their ideas of the characters and shipping them with characters from a different book of the same author's the pandemic destroyed fandom spaces irreparably and as a consequence that destroyed system spaces (but they were kind of already fucked and had been fucked since the advent of the "syshop" blog and its owner, who made up rules for validity that tumblr followed like the fucking ten commandments, which you can still see a LOT of in modern sysmed culture - INCLUDING the ""age range for developing DID"" concept) as a result? people see fictives and assume they're not people. they don't treat them normally. we have personally been a victim of one such person who treated our fictives as their "blorbos" rather than the people that they are. stop policing systems when it comes to fandom spaces and related content. systems fundamentally interact differently with media than singlets, especially systems with introjects. i know damn well OUR fictives like looking up art and content of themselves and the individuals they actually had relationships with in their original world, but oops, this world's labelled it "proship" content because unlike in their memories, their partner, who was an adult when they knew them and had been an adult for a while before they even started dating, is portrayed as a minor in this world. let me say that again because i know someone illiterate is going to read this and yell at me. IN THE FICTIVE'S MEMORIES, SOMEONE'S AGE WAS DIFFERENT THAN IT IS IN THIS WORLD. like, say, persona 5 akira - ours was 19 in his memories. NINETEEN. YEARS. OLD. that's even the age he showed up at! the thieves were also all adults, except for futaba sakura. this means his relationship, with goro akechi, who canonically is 19 while akira is 17, was a relationship between consenting adults, due to akira being 19 in his memories. but in this world, after he got here, he had to contend with the fact that he is portrayed as 17 years old by his source. this is an extremely common occurrence in systems, and not really an "extreme" example. you see stuff like this all the time in plurality. much as you see people who are exactly like canon. you see a mix of both. you know akira who i mentioned earlier? yeah, literally everything was the exact same except for the fact that he was 19. he missed a whole year of school due to abuse related issues and was still in highschool. oh well! it let him become a phantom thief and make friends and find a boyfriend and have a happy life. purity culture makes it extremely hard for others to wrap their head around systems being different. "but canon!" nobody asked. nobody cares. an introject is a whole fucking person, not a piece of media on a screen. and hell, even if they're the exact same as the media on the screen, who the hell and fuck cares? they're still a real person. you can't just treat them the same as the media on the screen. this is why applying "proship" and "antiship" to system members falls fucking flat. those are not fictional characters those are real fucking people. you can't judge them at all on the contents of canon, even if they DO fully align with it! it physically CANNOT be a ship! THOSE ARE REAL LIVING HUMANS! the moment people understand that systems interact fundamentally different with media, then we won't have as much of the same problem as the queen described. the moment people start escaping moral purity culture that modern fandom is drenched in, then this will finally be a cold take. which it should already be.

hot take it’s okay to be/have an introject of a problematic character or person that ISN’T canon divergent or whatever. and it’s okay to not constantly apologize for being/having that person. you don’t owe people explanations. “ohhhh but we don’t support their actions—“ ok? nobody needs to know that. you shouldn’t have to explain one of your headmates’ existence every time they meet new people.

[icarusredwings]

Hmhmm I agree it would be interesting to see what would happen if Wade just kinda suddenly regressed really young, maybe something ends up suddenly triggering it and they both have to deal with the aftermath?

Can't really think of anything doing that in their lil home, it could be something that happens while they're out and about-maybe someone says something, maybe they witness something, it just... happens. Could be a positive or negative trigger, either way I'm sure Logan will certainly have A Time and will totally not burst a blood vessel!

The man in the hat.

A truama induced little Wade fix it fic.

Tw: Canon usual blood, violence, murder and cursing, mentions of past child abuse, shutting down.

It didn't usually end up like this. Ussually he would be chasing his husband down by now and yelling at him that he can't commit murder in broad daylight, followed by the lines of "fuckin watch me!" But this time was different.

Why they kept sending these poor guys out near their block every year was a mystery because since Logan's moved in, every single one of them has "disappeared" one way or another. It wasn't rocket science to figure out who's blood was on his clothes when he came home. Let's just leave it at that.

For some reason, here again was another scout leader handing out flyers and collecting donations only 2 blocks from their house, standing outside on the corner of their Bodgea. So, it's not too terrible. They could just go around the other way, it wouldn't be a problem.

"Hey bub, I think I wanna take the other way. See that big fluffy dog you like." He says, but it was too late. Wade had already planted his feet on the concrete, becoming an obstacle to the foot traffic.

"Oi! Move it!"

"Shut the fuck up!" Logan would growl at them, now holding his wrist a bit tighter, tugging.

"Wade? Come on, sweetheart. Do you remember? That big dog?"

He said nothing. Only.. stared. Logan could hear his heart rate quicken, how suddenly nervous and scared he smelt, but... something was different.

Whimpering, he shuts down, balling up right then and there, pulling his legs up to his chest as he clung to Logan's leg.

The scuffy man blinks a few times before realizing "Ooh for fucks sake, right now? You're doing this here!? Out of all the times that you-"

Wade was crying, starting to shake and had his nails dug into his jeans.

"Okay, okay. Come'ere I got you, he wont- aww fuck.." The idiot was walking towards them.

Letting out a little scream, Logan quickly picked him up, holding him tight and shushing him. "Shh, shhh, I won't let him. I promise. You're okay. I got you." He says to him, but mentally, he was panicking. Why was he coming over here!?

Did he WANT stabbed???

As a matter of fact, It seemed that Wade was far too small to even remember his knives, just clinging to him as if the man would take him away.. hurt him.. and hold him down. It's part of the reasons Logan couldn't hold him still when like this, or else he panicked and kicked or stabbed him in the balls.

Mother fucker.. If he was still alive he'd tie him up and let small Wade kill him all over again. He'd stand by, encouraging him to do it and everything. Logans never wanted to do something like that before. Maybe it was the X-men in him. The goody two shoes rule of "No killing" but fuck that. If a grown man could hurt a little kid like that, the kid should get to stab them a couple of times. It was only fair, right?

Through the overwhelming amount of people, the man getting closer, and the fact that Wade was clawing at him as if trying to get as far away as possible, he growled, holding him tight as he walked forward.

"Hi! Would you like to-"

Grabbing him by the collar, he pulled him up off the ground, pulling him close to his face, gritting his teeth. Wade screams again, now sobbing loudly into his shoulder, wrapping his legs around his waist as he shook, utterly petrified.

"If you EVER touch him or ANY fucking kid ever again, I will personally gut you and watch as the buzzards pluck out your inners one by one, you understand!?" Logan snarls, baring those fangs of his.

Quickly the man nods, his hands up. "I-i understand!" Before Logan tosses him to the ground, stomping off with a huff.

"I got him, kid. Don't worry. He won't ever talk to you ever again. Kitty got him." Logan says to soothe him, Hearing his heart still pound, but now Wade was looking at the man scramble to pick up his hat and run away.

Logan could almost hear the moment of clairity when Wade's mind went quiet, trying to process what just happened.

"G-.. got'em?"

"Yeah. Kitty Got'em. Don't worry." He repeats.

The whole way home, Wade stayed like this, Alert and stayed over Logan's shoulder, keeping watch.

"He's not gonna come back, bub. Swear. And if he does, Kitty will kill him."

"....." the silence that follows was that of a curious wonder. ".. pinky palmise?"

"Pinky promise." Locking his pinky to his, Wade settles down, shifting to lay his chin on Logan's shoulder, but still watching.

____

"What are you doing, kid?"

"...." There was no response from wade, who was now looking- scratch that- STARING out the window with such big yellow eyes. Waiting.

Logan sighs, closing the curtian only for Wade to go underneth of it, hands on the windowsill.

"Wade.. I got him. He's gone."

"......"

"Sweetheart, he's not coming back. Pinky promise, remember? Now come on. Eat your food its bedtime soon."

But still Wade didn't move. At least he was off of Logan now, but now he was on the back of the couch, staring like a gaurd dog, watching for the man in the hat.

"......"

"Wade? ... Wade??" Shaking his shoulder a little, Wade jumps, looking at him with scared teary eyes.

He sighs. "... you really aren't going to go to bed, are you? Alright.." With a groan, Logan goes to the door. "I'll be back, don't stay up too late."

Staying up at the window, Wade watched.. and watched.. and watched until finally he saw Logan coming back, bloody and red.

"There. No more man in the hat. Now can you please go to bed?"

From the windowsill, Wade pauses, looking over him.

".......Kitty got'em..?"

"Kitty Got'em." He confirms.

Wade jumps up, running to him only to hug him tightly. Giggling, Wade nuzzles into his chest, thanking him for taking care of it for him.

"Hey.. there you are.. I told you not to worry about it. I said I would protect you, and I did. Now go on. Off to bed with you." He says, squeezing back then patting him. "Go on, shoo. Kitty got'em, and I've got you. You're safe."

Watching Wade run off and close the door, he made his way to the bathroom, beginning to wash off his hands.

'Thank god for red paint..'

[joltiion14]

II episode 18 spoilers, BUT HERE'S A HUUUUUGE RAMBLE

AAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAA

PAYJAY IS CANON PAYJAY IS CANON I'M FLIPPING THE FUCK OUT YAOI WHEN CAN I HAVE WHAT THEY HAVE

ahem anyways

episode 18 had me and my sister at the edge of our seats HOLY SHIT I LOVED THIS EPISODE... KNIFE X MEPHONE4S GUYS GUYS WHO'S WITH ME... ALSO KNIFE'S SACRIFICE TO SAVE MARSHMALLOW CAME FROM SOME FUCKING PEAK CHARACTER DEVELOPMENT. THEY COULD NOT HAVE KILLED KNIFE OFF IN A BETTER WAY THAN THAT. SPEAKING OF SACRIFICES, my boy mepad... MY BOY MEPAD AHAHGSHSHAGHH rest in peace I LOVE YOU MEPAD....

I wanna quickly point out how emotional I got when cobs started threatening and beating mephone4, as a victim of child abuse this hit haaard. they did great writing the dynamic with those two, it felt realistic even in a fictional world. I FELT SO BAD FOR MEPHONE THAT ENTIRE TIME I JUST WANTED TO HUG HIM FUCK YOU COBS.

also I may or may not be a box kinnie now. I GOT SPOILED THANKS TO A THUMBNAIL I SAW OF A LEAKED II18 VIDEO, SO I KNEW BOX WAS GONNA BE IMPORTANT, but holy shit I did not expect them to be one of the most relatable characters the SECOND they came on screen and started explaining their story.

I might get blocked by multiple people for saying this, but since the last 2 episodes, I've been shipping tacophone. HEAR ME OUT. microphone and taco talked things out some, mic forgave taco and understood her and gave her a chance to improve, and so she did, thanks to microphone willingly giving her a chance even after everything. sure, a relationship between the two would be toxic in the previous episodes, and I fully agree. But toxic or unhealthy relationships CAN be fixed if both partners are willing to try and repair their relationship. AND PLUS, THOSE TWO ARE SO CUTE TOGETHER I JUST AAAGHHHH.... I can't get over the fact that soap pulled the "if you hurt her, I will hurt you" kinda thing on taco, once microphone introduced soap to her. I developed a headcanon that mic and soap are like sisters about a year ago and I guess that goes to show some more now

anyways, I CANNOT leave out the fact that SUITCASE FUCKING WON. I FULLY EXPECTED NEITHER OF THEM TO WIN, BUT OH MY GOD DID SHE DESERVE IT. Her and knife both deserved it actually. It's hard to truly decide LMAO

anyways, mephone4 in that episode... I love him your honor he's my new son FUCK YOU COBS. anyways, just like mic and taco, he tried to fix his mistakes with everybody. he apologized to... EVERYONE. Even toilet , who genuinely was someone mephone4 didn't deserve as an assistant considering how much of an ass he was towards him in the earlier season. Even then, toilet stayed with him to the bitter end, and stayed loyal to mephone. And in the end, he got to see mephone4 turn into a better person. Even bad people with the worst backgrounds or childhoods can become better, and that's what Mephone4 did. he apologized, then made the decision to stay away from everybody and give them space after what he did to all of them, and I think that was amazing on his part. He didn't tell them what to do next, and let them all know that they were free, they always were. AND THEN WE GOT THE MASHUP BETWEEN ALL OF THE SONGS IN THE SHOW YEAAAAAAAAA

overall, id rate this episode AND THE ENTIRE SEASON AS A 49/40 (reference heh). Inanimate insanity has been my favorite show for many, many years and I'm so glad it got an ending as good as this one. I will forever be grateful for the show Adam, Brian, Justin and all the rest of the cast managed to create for us. Thank you. PLUS ALL OF MY DREAMS CAME TRUE

except for the fact that lightbulb and paintbrush didn't kiss when can we have that