#at least you’ve slept earlier ^^

[headkiss]

fall right into me

pairing: steve harrington x fem!reader

summary: when something happens to your apartment and you need a place to stay, steve, your best friend, is quick to provide it for you. your prolonged proximity forces you both to realize some things.

word count: 13.6k

warnings: childhood bffs to lovers, absolute idiots in love, mentions of a negative relationship with parents, probably inaccurate descriptions of some things but it’s (say it with me) for the plot!!!

a/n: i know it’s been a LONG time since i’ve posted a long fic so thank u guys for ur patience <3 i had so much fun getting back to it and writing these two, and i hope it’s at least a little bit worth the wait!!! ily :,)

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Your shoes are still wet as you dial the first number that comes to mind: Steve’s.

He picks up on the third ring. “Hello?”

“Hey, Steve.”

“Hi,” you can imagine him on the other side of the phone, leaning casually against the wall, an easy smile on his face, “what’s going on?”

You’re not quite sure where to start.

Coming home from work earlier, you’d been excited to shower and change and lay around for the rest of the evening, your book hanging open in your lap and some mindless TV filling the silence.

The day seemed to have other plans for you, though, because as you walked down the stairs to your apartment—one in the basement of a sweet, older couple’s house who just never used the space and converted it—the carpet had made an ugly squelch as soon as you stepped on it.

You looked down at your shoe against the carpet, at the way its color was darker than usual from whatever water had gotten into it. Looking up, you found a complete mess. A piece of the ceiling hanging open right above your bed, water still dripping in steady drops from the gap, your bedding ruined among many other things.

You don’t know how long you stood there, hand over your mouth, eyes flickering over the damage like you were hoping it would vanish, like it was only something you imagined.

Unfortunately, it wasn’t.

The couple who owns the house came down when they heard you shout for them, unsure of what else to do. They’d both gasped when they came down, and began apologizing for something that really wasn’t their fault before one ran up to call whoever it was they needed to call to fix this and the other comforted you with a gentle “we’ll take care of it, sweetie.”

You nodded, eyes still roaming your space that was now uninhabitable.

It’s an old house, something was bound to happen at some point, you only wished it wasn’t so inconvenient for you. A small leak, you could have handled, but the ceiling practically caving in?

Yeah, it was a complete fucking mess.

Hours later, with the damage assessed and set to take a few weeks to fix up, you’re on the phone with the one person you’d known would pick up.

You fill Steve in on what happened, and his first response is a sigh of, “Shit.”

“Yeah, shit,” you agree. “And now I’m gonna have to live with my parents for a while and I don’t know how I’m gonna go back into that house, Steve.”

If you’re being honest, the couple you live with now was kinder to you than your parents were. You suppose that’s one of the many things that you and Steve have bonded over.

“Just come live with me, instead,” he offers without hesitation.

Steve says it like it’s obvious, a no-brainer, and you guess it should be, since you’ve slept over at the Harrington’s house countless times before. Only, this is different because you’d be staying for a while, because you’d be needing his help, which makes you feel all awkward and guilty.

He’s been your absolute best friend for as long as you can remember, and you’re one hundred percent sure you’d offer the same thing if the roles were reversed, but that doesn’t make it any easier for you to accept, not when you’re already frazzled from the events of the day.

“No, Steve, I’m sorry I’m just being dramatic,” you say, twisting the phone’s cord around your finger. “I’ll be fine, really. It’s just a month, or so, and I don’t wanna be in your way or-”

“When have you ever cared about being in my way, angel?” The pet name he’s called you ever since your ninth grade Halloween party slips out naturally, the way it always does. “Besides, this house is too fucking big for me as it is, and you know my parents won’t be around to care, either.”

“I can’t ask you to let me move in, Steve.”

“Well then, it’s a good thing you’re not asking. I’m offering. It’ll be like that one week when we were twelve and you stayed over for spring break, only longer. It’s perfect!”

There’s a small smile ghosting across your face as you recall the memory he’s talking about. A blanket fort in their spacious living room, sleeping bags and pillows piled inside it along with two flashlights.

You can picture the way he looks on the other end of the phone, his hair a bit messy from running his hands through it during the day, one strand rogue against his forehead, his shoulder leaned carelessly against the wall the way it usually is when he stands. Like he can’t be bothered to hold himself up, like there’s constantly a weight on him.

“Are you sure about this, Steve? It’s really okay if you’re not. I swear I’ll be fine.”

“As if I’m letting you spend multiple weeks back in your parent’s house. You’re staying with me, alright?” His voice is insistent, yet kind, letting you know that he’s being honest, that he means it. “We’ll order pizzas and watch shitty romcoms, ‘kay?”

“You can call romcoms shitty all you want, but we both know you get teary at every single one.”

“Don't change the subject, angel. Also, fuck off,” he says, though you can hear the smile in his voice. “So, you’re living with me, yeah?”

You don’t think you could say no to him even if you wanted to.

“Yeah, alright, Steve. Thank you so much.”

“None of that. I know you’d do the same.”

There’s something beautiful about the kind of trust and ease that comes with a friendship as long as yours. One where you’ve watched each other grow up, awkward phases and all, and stuck together the entire way. There’s no questioning whether or not you’d be there for each other if you were in need.

It’s known, felt. Like a fact.

“Now,” he continues, “I’ll pick you up, okay? Ten minutes, tops.”

“Okay.”

“You need me to bring boxes for your stuff?”

“I’m not sure how much is worth keeping. It’s pretty ugly in there.”

Your voice goes small at the end, because the gravity of it all is really sinking in. You’ll have to replace a lot of stuff. Stuff you don’t have money for right now.

But, you haven’t let yourself cry just yet, so you swallow it down.

“I’ll bring some anyway, then. We’ll figure it out, angel, don’t worry.”

“Thanks again, Steve. See you soon.”

“Ten minutes,” he assures you, then the line clicks.

-

True to his word, Steve arrives in under ten minutes, which isn’t surprising considering the size of Hawkins, but feels reassuring all the same.

You’re sitting on the curb in front of the house when Steve’s BMW pulls over on the other side of the road, and you stand just as he climbs out and shuts his door, rounding the car and jogging over to you.

His keys jingle as he tucks them into the pocket of his faded jeans, his opposite hand coming up to squeeze your shoulder, “You okay?”

The warmth of his palm seeps through your work shirt that you’ve yet to change out of, and you let your eyes fall shut just for a second before looking at his face, “Guess so,” you nod. “Maybe ask me again after all of this?”

Steve’s arm winds itself over your shoulders, tugging you into his side and dropping a kiss to the top of your head, simple as an instinct. “I’ve got you. We’ll get through this, angel.”

We’ll, he says. A team.

You reach up and squeeze his hand and nod, guiding him to the side-entrance leading to your basement apartment.

“I hope you didn’t wear your good shoes for this,” you say.

Steve looks down at his feet and shrugs, “Shoes can be replaced.”

He lets you lead the way down the stairs, his footsteps close behind yours. You wince when you look at the damage again, even though you’d seen it minutes ago. You can't bring yourself to look at Steve, to see the reaction on his face, because you think it’ll just make it all more real.

He mouths the word ‘fuck’ while you aren’t looking, then claps his hands once. “Okay, let’s figure out what we can save, yeah? Where do you want me?”

You’re grateful for his gentle guidance at what to do. “Maybe the bathroom? Everything in there should be fine, so it just needs to be packed.”

“‘Kay. I’ll just go grab some boxes from my car,” Steve says. He squeezes your hand once before heading up the stairs. “I’ll be right back.”

You decide to tackle the worst spot first. Though the place is more like a studio, the side that houses your bed and your closet is the most affected, so you head over there and try to tune out the squish of the carpet beneath your feet.

You’re opening the sliding doors to your closet when Steve comes back, dropping a stack of boxes by your feet and running his hand down your arm softly before heading over to the bathroom to pack for you.

Even his presence seems to be making things a little bit easier for you, and each time he finds a small way to touch you or speak to you, to remind you that he’s there, you’re glad for it.

Half of your closet is a gross, wet mess, but some things are salvageable, which you take as a win. Things might be damp, but at least it’s only water, you suppose. A cycle in the dryer and most things will be wearable again.

Your dresses that are hung get the worst of it, soaked and smelly, and you decide that it’d be easier to get a couple new ones than to try and save what’s there.

Steve checks in every now and then, poking his head out of the bathroom’s doorway to look at you and make sure you’re doing alright, giving you a thumbs up when you look over to him.

You’re not sure how you’d be managing this if you were alone, and you’re thankful that you don’t have to.

The next time he checks on you, you’re by your nightstand.

Sitting atop of it is a framed picture of you and Steve from summer camp when you were around ten years old, maybe younger. Only now, the picture’s stained with water and the frame you’d decorated all those years ago at camp is a splotchy mess.

Where yours and Steve’s handwriting used to be, is now a blur from the water seeping into the wooden frame, the marker’s colors muddy. You frown, picking it up and running your thumb over the edge.

Before you can stop yourself, you’re tearing up, frustrated and sad and tired. Memories like this one are the most special to you, the ones that have kept you going for so long, and just like that, the picture that’s sat on your nightstand since being taken is gone, and it fucking sucks.

“Hey, angel?” Steve calls.

When all you do is sniffle and mumble an “mhm?” in response, he sets the box he’d been packing on the bathroom counter and walks over to you.

He comes up behind you, resting his hands on your upper-arms and peering over your shoulder at the ruined picture.

“It was my favorite one,” you say, voice breaking a little. You wipe your tear away as it trails down your cheek, your own fingertips too harsh against your skin.

Although it’s soaked and splotchy now, Steve knows which picture it is. The one where you’ve both got your neon summer camp t-shirts on, the one where his cheeks and nose are completely sunburnt and you’re both grinning up at the camera from your seats on the ground.

Steve’s clutching a stick in his hand for some reason, and you’ve got your fist tangled in the sleeve of his shirt.

It feels like no time and forever has passed since then.

Steve grabs the picture and pries it gently from your hands, setting it back onto the table and turning you around in his grip to face him.

“We can fix it,” he tells you, his brown eyes all soft as his hands come up to cup your face, thumbs swiping your tears away.

“But the frame-”

“We’ll fix it, angel. I’ll find a way, okay? We can pack it in one of the boxes and figure it out.”

“Steve-”

“Look at me,” he urges you when your gaze flickers to the ground. You listen. “This fucking sucks, I know it does, but you’re strong and I’m here, and we can handle this.”

His voice is quiet, but sure. You search his face for any trace of a lie and find none. He really believes what he’s saying, and he really believes in you.

“Thank you for being here.” You take a deep breath and drop your forehead against the collar of his shirt. “I’m sorry for crying. I know it’s kinda stupid. Most of this is replaceable, it’s just-”

“It’s not stupid,” he says, letting his chin rest atop your head. “You’re allowed to cry. Hell, I’d probably be kicking and screaming on the floor like I'm back in the terrible twos.”

You laugh wetly into his shirt.

“Now,” he says, pulling back and putting his hands on his hips, “the quicker we pack, the quicker we go home. I’ll even let you wear a pair of my good fuzzy socks.”

A smile tugs at your mouth. “Deal.”

-

Steve wouldn’t let you do much of the work after that.

Instead, he simply held up items for you to assess from where you’d been leaning against the wall and packed it into a box if it was a ‘yes,’ or tossing it aside dramatically just to try and get you to laugh if it was a ‘no.’

Once things were sorted through and packed, you loaded everything into Steve’s car—which wasn’t a whole bunch, considering how much you had to leave behind.

You’d refused to let Steve carry the boxes all on his own, though he tried, but he still managed to open the doors for you whenever you made it to his car, even when his own hands were full, too.

By the time you were finished, you were drained. It felt like you’d lived multiple days in the one. An eight hour shift opening at the store, then coming home to a wrecked apartment. All you wanted to do was shower and lay down and not get back up.

Steve knows you well enough to be able to tell when it’s time to fill the silence and when it isn’t, and on the drive back to his place, while your head was leaned against his window, he knew to stay quiet and give you a bit of space.

He turned the radio on, but not too loud, letting the songs hum through the speakers. At every stop sign, he reached over and gave your thigh a light squeeze. Reassuring, kind, somehow exactly what you needed at the moment. Nothing more, nothing less.

You were no stranger to the Harrington’s house, having been there countless times since you were little, but it feels more intimidating now, knowing you’ll be staying. You feel silly for being worried, but you are. Asking for help makes you feel like a burden.

Steve, however, doesn’t let you entertain that thought for long, parking in his driveway and jogging around to open the passenger door for you. “Honey, we’re home!”

“Dork,” you say, though you accept his hand and let him tug you up out of the car.

Grabbing the first couple of boxes, Steve leads you inside and upstairs, right to the guest room across the hall from his own bedroom. The closest one to him.

The house has at least two guest rooms, though you suppose with how little Steve's parents are around, you could consider there to be three. Three spare rooms and Steve puts you up in the nearest one possible. It makes your heart squish in your chest, how caring he is. He doesn’t even have to try, really, the goodness in him shows even when he tries to keep it hidden.

It only takes a few trips down to his car and back before all of your boxes are stacked against the wall. You decide you’ll deal with them later.

Steve runs over to his room and grabs a set of pajamas that you’d left there, and hands them to you. “I figured you’d wanna wash up.”

“You calling me smelly, Harrington?”

“Shut up, I think you smell nice. Usually.”

“Hey!”

“I’m teasing, angel.” He ruffles your hair. You swat his hand away. “You know where the bathroom is, and there should be soap and stuff in the shower already. Just yell if you need something, okay?”

You do know where the bathroom is. You have your own toothbrush in a cup by the sink, a set of travel-sized skin care products in the cupboard behind the mirror for whenever you end up staying over.

It’s funny, you’ve always felt more at home here than at your own parents house, and though he hasn’t said it to you, Steve much prefers this house when you’re in it. There’s a warmth that comes with your presence that makes him ache when it’s not around.

You nod, “Thank you again for letting me stay, Steve. I won’t be in the way, promise.”

“I want you in the way. You know you’re always welcome. This is no different.” He shrugs, “Plus, it’ll be nice having you around. Place always feels so empty when it’s just me.”

“Maybe I’ll just stay forever, then,” you say, tone light and joking.

Steve, completely serious, says, “I’d let you.”

There’s a zip that goes through you when he says it, quick as lightning, something you’ve never felt—or noticed, rather—around him. It throws you off just a little.

“Anyways,” Steve cuts your thoughts short, “I’ll let you get settled. Pizza will be waiting for you when you’re done.”

He leaves the room before you can thank him again, his footsteps retreating and heading downstairs.

You’ve been to his house a million times, so you don’t really feel the need to ‘get settled’ but you desperately need a shower so that’s where you go.

You stay in for longer than you need to, letting the too-hot water run down your neck and back.

When you finally do step out of the bathroom, now clad in your pajamas, and head downstairs, Steve’s sitting on the couch in the living room, the romcoms he owns sitting out in front of the TV for you to choose from, your favorite blanket resting on your side of the couch, and pizza boxes on the coffee table just as promised.

It’s the best thing in the world, you think, to have a friend like Steve.

-

You’ve been staying at Steve’s for a couple of days already, and time seems to fly by a little quicker when you’re there, especially when you’re around him.

He’s taken it upon himself to have coffee ready in the pot for you every morning, one of your favorite mugs already next to it on the counter. You’ve cooked breakfasts together (pancakes one day, where you’d done most of the work, or something simple as toast when you both have to get to work), ordered dinners, and Steve comes home from his shifts with a new movie to watch almost every day.

It’s been so nice. Almost perfect, actually.

This morning, the first day where your shifts happen to be at the exact same time, he’d even insisted on driving you to work. It was an easy yes, considering it wasn’t out of his way at all.

After a short stint of working together at the grocery store in ninth grade, and your subsequent firing from the job after a month of constantly distracting each other on the clock, Tim, the grocery manager, took it upon himself to warn Hawkins not to hire the both of you together.

Eventually, you’d taken the closest you could get which resulted in you working at the arcade and Steve next door at Family Video.

You share a parking lot. Steve already drives you to work most days. You like to put up a bit of a fight just to annoy him.

Though you haven’t worked together in years, and he isn’t far away by any means, you miss having Steve around on days like this. Where the arcade is quiet save for the sounds of the games in the background, where you’re simply babysitting the desk and cleaning things multiple times to try and make the hours pass by.

If Steve were with you, he’d make stupid jokes that you don’t wanna laugh at but do, or coerce you into playing the games while on the clock with the change you find whenever you’re cleaning.

He’d probably trash talk you, and bump your hip with his while playing pinball, and be a sore loser, and for some reason you want him around so bad.

You chalk it up to getting used to spending hours and hours with him, every single day, these past couple of days. Staying with him has made you miss him more, you think.

That’s it.

Meanwhile, over at Family Video, Steve isn’t feeling too different from you.

He’s spent the morning stocking shelves, memories popping into his head whenever he’d come across a movie you loved or watched together, while Robin’s been manning the desk.

Then, when his cart was empty and put back into the back room, he sat on the chair behind the front desk, spinning around until Robin stopped him with her foot and asked what he was thinking so hard about.

Steve caught her up on what had happened with your apartment (you’d told him he could tell her, because she’s your friend too and would find out sooner or later) and how you’d ended up staying with him in his house.

She raised her eyebrows and hummed in a way that was automatically suspicious, because Robin isn’t very good at hiding things.

“What?” Steve asks.

“Nothing.” When Steve only gives her a pointed look, Robin continues, “Well… are you sure that’s a good idea?”

Now, Robin is one of Steve’s closest friends, and him one of hers, and she supports him in pretty much everything that he does even when she teases him relentlessly along the way, but she cares about both of you and doesn’t want to see anyone hurt.

She can read Steve better than he can read himself, probably, because to Robin, it’s clear that he feels more than friendly towards you. And he doesn’t even know it.

When they became closer, it was clear to Robin, even before meeting you, just from the way Steve spoke of you, that there was a spot reserved for you in his life that couldn’t be filled by anyone else.

He would say it’s that of ‘best friend’ but Robin would call it something even bigger than that. Still, even though she thinks he’s an absolute dingus, she’s trying to let Steve figure it out for himself.

Clearly, it’s taking fucking forever.

He looks confused at her question, “Why wouldn’t it be a good idea?”

Robin sighs and resists the urge to drop her forehead against the desk and decides on, “You know what they say: become friends with your roommates, don’t become roommates with your friends.”

“Whoever they are, they’re dumb as shit,” Steve says. “She’s been over, slept over, hundreds of times. It’s not any different, just longer.”

“I guess so,” she settles on. “The rules of the world never really seem to apply to you two.”

“That’s because the rules of the world are also dumb as shit.”

“How would you know? It’s not like you’ve ever tried following them.”

“‘Cause I’m a rule breaker, Robs.”

Steve wiggles his eyebrows. Robin shoves the rolling chair he’s sitting on with her foot, sending it into the other side of the desk with a thud.

“Don’t think that smoking weed in your backyard is enough to call yourself a rule breaker, dingus.”

-

That night, your routine was pretty much the same.

Steve was already waiting for you in his car when you left the arcade, a smile spreading onto his face when he saw you making your way across the parking lot to him, your skirt swishing a little with the breeze.

Rather than go straight home, you made a stop at your apartment to talk things over with the couple who owned the home. They’d met with a builder and plumber about getting everything fixed and wanted to walk you through it all.

Steve came with you and held your hand, and both of them cooed at him and pinched his cheeks and called him a cutie before getting to the important stuff.

After going over what had to be done (rip out the carpet, replace it, fix the pipes and make sure no others were at risk, replace the ceiling, and more you couldn’t even remember already), they’d assured you that they would be taking care of it all. Covering the entire cost.

You probably would’ve argued if not for how little money was in your bank account, and how stubborn you knew these people to be. Instead, you’d squeezed them both and thanked them while your eyes grew misty with tears.

Steve’s hand stayed in yours and squeezed when you sniffled.

He knew, because he knew pretty much everything about you, that these people were kinder to you than even your own parents. That, if this had happened at their house, they would’ve found a way to blame you for it.

You feel lucky to have found that kind of parental love elsewhere, sad that you didn’t know exactly what it felt like beforehand.

After giving the couple Steve’s phone number to call in case they needed you and giving them both another hug, you and Steve headed back home.

Home, you call it. Like it’s yours.

Sometimes it feels like it is.

Later, after you and Steve have both showered and had dinner and gotten comfy in your sweats, you’re back in the living room, Steve shows you the movie he’s brought back this time.

“Gremlins?” You ask, smiling and shaking your head.

“Hell yeah, angel. It’s a classic.”

Steve sets everything up, joining you on the couch after pressing ‘play’ on the movie and adjusting the volume with your guidance.

“So, how was work?” Steve asks during the opening credits. The two of you have a hard time being next to each other and not talking. It’s why you get dirty looks whenever you go to the movies.

“Weekdays are so boring, Steve,” you say, letting your head fall against the back of the couch. “You’re so lucky you have Robin to entertain you during the day. I think I dusted like, ten times at least.”

“Robin is a pain in my ass.” He says. He doesn’t really mean it, because even when she is, he’s glad to have her around. A different kind of gladness than he feels with you. “She kept pushing me every time I sat in the rolling chair. There’s probably a dent in the desk.”

“That’s because you were probably hogging the chair, Steve.”

“What the fuck!” Steve’s smiling when he says it, lacking any sort of anger. “You’re supposed to be on my side.”

Your smile mirrors his, the way it always does. It’s contagious, you think, the way his eyes crinkle at the corner.

Shrugging, you say, “I don’t know, I’d wanna push you around on that chair too, I think.”

“You’d spin me too much. I’d get sick all over you and then nobody’s happy.”

“Don’t talk about barf while I’m eating, Harrington.”

You throw a piece of popcorn at him. It bounces off his cheek and lands on his lap, and he doesn’t even flinch. Steve just picks it up and pops it into his mouth.

When the bowl’s empty, you lean forward and set it on the coffee table before sinking back into the couch, Steve's shoulder brushing yours. You let the warmth seep through your clothes and shut your eyes.

It’s a little more than halfway through the movie when Steve realizes you’re asleep. You’d been quiet, sure, but Steve only thought that meant you were paying attention to the movie.

That was, until your head slipped and rested against his shoulder.

He looked down at you, at the hair falling across your forehead (he smoothed it away gently, so it wouldn’t be in your eyes or your mouth), your eyebrows relaxed and free of any worry, your chest rising and falling with steady breaths.

He thinks of how tired you must be, after everything. Your apartment and dealing with the aftermath both emotionally and physically, working long shifts most days to keep your bank account full.

Steve, though he doesn’t let himself look too deep into it, also thinks of how beautiful you are. Now and always.

Not wanting you to get a kink in your neck from the position, Steve decides to rouse you from sleep as gently as possible. He slips a hand under your head to keep it steady and maneuvers himself to kneel in front of you.

“Hey, angel,” he almost whispers, thumb dragging across your cheek. “C’mon, let’s get you to bed.”

Your nose scrunches and you grumble, but after some coaxing, you blink your eyes open and squint at Steve. You blame your half-asleep mind on the way you nuzzle into his palm. “Hmm?”

“You fell asleep.”

“Oh, sorry,” you mumble.

Steve laughs softly. “Don’t be sorry, I just didn’t want you to be uncomfortable.”

The warmth of his hand leaves your cheek as he stands and holds his hands out for you to grab. He pulls you up off the couch and starts leading you towards the stairs.

You knuckle at your eyes on the way, a tiny smile gracing your face at how sweet Steve’s being. As if you haven’t fallen asleep on his couch plenty of times before.

Still sleepy, you stumble a little on the stairs, but Steve catches you easily with an arm around your waist and a small “Careful.”

He leaves his arm there the rest of the way to what’s become your bedroom, guiding you over to the bed and lifting the covers for you.

Tomorrow, you’ll regret not brushing your teeth or washing your face before climbing in bed. But today, you don’t feel like risking not being able to sleep again if you wake yourself up further.

You’re practically asleep again by the time you’re settled with your head on the pillow as Steve tugs the blankets over you.

You’re just awake enough to feel the light press of his lips on your forehead and a soft “Goodnight, angel” against your skin before he leaves the room and shuts the door behind him.

-

On a random Thursday that you and Steve both have off, he convinces you to let him take you to the mall.

“We should go shopping,” he says when you walk into the kitchen. It’s a little later in the morning, having slept in since it’s a day off, the sun slipping through the window in warm beams.

You raise your eyebrows at him. “Like, groceries?”

“No, like shopping shopping. You know, the mall?”

You lean against the kitchen island, the countertop cool on your back where it touches the sliver of skin between your tank top and sleep shorts. Steve has his shoulder against the fridge, his arms crossed over his chest, the sleeves of his t-shirt tight against his muscles. Not that you’re looking.

You squint at him, trying to find his motive on his face. “You literally buy whatever the mannequins are wearing to avoid shopping.”

“That’s what they’re there for!” The sass in his voice has you biting back a smile. “You need new clothes,” he continues, “and I need to get out of this house.”

“We can do something else, Steve,” you say. “I thought you hated shopping.”

“Well, I don’t hate you.” There’s a pause, Steve’s eyes lowering to that sliver of skin above your shorts. He flicks them back to your face quickly, hoping you didn’t notice, because even he’s not sure what compelled his eyes to wander. “Plus, Eddie called me a hermit the other day and I really can’t stand for that, can I?”

“Ohhh,” you ignore the way your skin suddenly feels warm beneath his gaze, “so you need to make a public appearance to prove Eddie wrong?”

“Exactly. We’ll replace some of the things you lost and restore my reputation. Two birds, one stone, right angel?”

So that’s how you’d ended up at the mall. After Starcourt burnt down, the closest place was a couple towns over, and Steve (as always) offered to drive.

He lets you pick the music the entire way, sings along when you hold your water bottle by his mouth like a microphone, even attempts to harmonize with you which just ends in laughter because neither of you sounded that great.

You’re a couple of stores in, and Steve’s been complaint-free so far—which makes sense, since this was his idea, but you’ve caught him side-eyeing some things, so you know he’s got some remarks in his head he just hasn’t said out loud—and follows you around as you browse. You try not to take too long, because you can’t imagine that this is any fun for him.

“How about that one?” Steve asks, pointing at one of the dresses hanging along the store’s wall.

He’d seen your apartment, though that was a bit ago, and he remembered what you’d lost the most of, along with the type of stuff you like. He pays attention like that, in small, quiet ways that you think mean the most.

He knows you. He cares enough to know you.

“Yeah, that’s really pretty, actually,” you admit.

At your approval, Steve grabs one in your size (which he also just happens to know) and adds it to the couple of things he’d already been holding for you. Every time you picked something up, he was quick to snatch it from you, telling you it was ‘too hard to browse with your hands full.’

After making your way through the rest of the store, you decided to head back to try things on, holding out a hand for the stuff Steve’s holding. “You can wait out here, I’ll be quick.”

“Hold on,” he says, holding the hangers out of your reach. “Why do you think I’m here, angel? I wanna help you pick.”

“Seriously?”

“Yes, seriously. Give me a fashion show, yeah?”

“Oh my God,” you mumble, letting him follow you to the fitting rooms.

They’re hidden behind the back wall of the store, a hallway painted bright blue with pink changeroom doors on one side, and white benches along the other.

“Hi there,” an employee with auburn hair greets you both, her smile wide and kind, though you know it’s a practiced one. Customer service smile. “How many you got there, darling?”

“Oh, um,” you turn back towards Steve, who’s counting the hangers in his hand. “Five.”

“Perfect!” The girl takes the key hanging around her neck and unlocks one of the rooms for you. She takes the clothes from Steve and hangs them up inside for you, then turns to the two of you and says, “Your man can have a seat right here. We call them the ‘boyfriend benches.’”

“He’s not my-”

“Thanks,” Steve says, cutting off your correction because for some reason he didn’t want you to correct her.

Did he… like the idea of being your boyfriend?

Fuck. No. He just didn’t want you to have to explain the whole situation in your rambly way. That’s all.

The redhead smiles again, “Holler if you need anything,” she says before walking off.

You stand there for a second, something like confusion on your face. Did it look like you were boyfriend and girlfriend?

“Come on,” Steve says, snapping the both of you out of whatever that was. “Show me what you’ve got.”

“I can't believe you’re making me do this,” you say, walking into the fitting room and shutting the door.

You try on a couple of sweaters first, and Steve feels the fabric both times, making sure that it’s not scratchy on your skin. Then, there’s just some basic t-shirts that aren’t all that exciting, but Steve says they look nice anyway.

Finally, you get to the dress he picked out.

It really was pretty. A midi-length with a ruffled hem and straps that tie into little bows on your shoulders. You don’t always feel good in your clothes. Sometimes you wish you could crawl out of your skin when you look into the mirror, but right now, you don’t hate what you see.

You actually like it.

“Well?” Steve calls softly from the bench.

In response, you open the door and step out so he can see you.

Steve’s seen you in plenty of dresses—hell, you went to prom together—but for some reason this one makes his heart beat just a little bit quicker. Maybe it’s simply the fact that it looks great on you, or the way you’re smiling shyly as he looks you over.

Or, maybe it’s because he’s the one who picked it.

He stands up, spinning his finger in the air in a gesture for you to twirl. You roll your eyes but do it anyway, and he can’t take his eyes off of you. The hallway of fitting rooms isn’t very big, so with both of you in it, you’re standing toe to toe, the gold flecks in the middle of Steve’s eyes and the faint freckles that dot his nose are visible from where you stand.

As if he can’t help it, Steve lifts a finger and dips it beneath the strap on your shoulder. Not moving it or undoing it, just gliding along your skin where it sits.

“You look beautiful,” he says. His voice goes all quiet and soft when he says it, and his eyes widen a tiny bit, like he hadn’t meant it to slip out that way. It sounded… more than friendly. He clears his throat and steps back as much as he can in the small space, his finger leaving your skin. “I have great taste. Clearly.”

You blink at him, then shake yourself out of it as much as you can. “Yeah. Don’t let it get to your head.” You lift the tag where it hangs by your armpit and look at the price. You gasp and swat Steve’s arm. “Steve! Why would you let me walk into a place so expensive?”

You probably should’ve looked at the tag beforehand, but here you are. Steve, shrugging exaggeratedly, says, “I didn’t know!”

“Okay, I’m gonna change before she comes back. We can make a run for it.”

“We’re not stealing.”

“I know, but they look at you all judgemental when you try stuff on and don’t buy something. Trust me.”

You turn and go back into the fitting room to put on your own clothes, taking a look at the dress in the mirror one last time before shaking your head at yourself.

Steve, however, takes the opportunity to leave you and head back out into the store. He finds the dress easily and grabs another one in your size from the rack and heads to the cashier.

He’s just finishing up, bag in hand, when you walk out and meet him at the front of the store.

“For you,” he says, holding out the bag for you to take.

“Steve…” You grab it and look inside. Your chest aches when you see the dress, your heart suddenly too full and your stomach fluttering stupidly. “You didn’t have to do that. I would’ve been fine with something from the Gap.”

“I know that,” he says, a hand lifting to scratch at the back of his neck. It’s a nervous tick of his, and the thought of him being nervous right now makes you melt even more. “I wanted to get it for you. You looked too pretty in it not to have it.”

Your eyes catch his, and again, something passes between you that you don’t think you’ve ever felt before. A fizzle, a spark.

You rock back on your feet, looking down at the ground before meeting his eyes again. They’re so fucking soft it makes you wonder how lucky you have to be to have him in your life. Being your best friend, driving you to work even when he doesn’t have a shift, offering you a place to stay, buying you a dress.

He’s the sweetest boy you’ve ever known.

“Well,” you twist the straps of the bag around your fingers just to keep them busy. “Thank you, Steve. This is really nice.”

His knuckle traces down your arm just once, featherlight. “You’re welcome, angel.”

You don’t buy anything else after that, instead stopping at the food court for fries, stealing from each other’s baskets, smiling and slapping hands away.

It’s the best day you’ve had in a while.

-

You don’t think anything you do will convey just how grateful you are that Steve has been so kind to you. Always, but especially now. Letting you stay with him and refusing to let you pay rent. (“I don’t even pay rent, and I live here all the time.”)

But, this morning, you’ve decided you’re gonna try.

Steve’s favorite meal of the day happens to be breakfast, which is funny, considering he usually eats something as simple as cereal. He’d told you once that it was because, as a kid, breakfast was the most peaceful of meals, his parents too busy getting ready for work or wherever they were going that he’d have the kitchen table to himself.

Lunch was usually spent at school, and Steve was never a fan of school to begin with. Then there was dinner, which his parents (when they were home) still wanted to have all together. They’d ask him questions and make backhanded comments about every single answer he gave. He never won at dinner.

So, breakfast was, and has remained, his favorite.

You made sure to get up early enough to give yourself time to get everything ready before he wakes up. Steve’s usually the one making the coffee in the morning, and you figured the least you could do was give him a break.

Yesterday, while Steve had been at work, you went over to the Wheeler’s and asked Nancy if you could borrow their waffle maker. She’d directed the question to her mother, who went and grabbed it for you and handed it over with a smile. You promised to take good care of it and have it back in a couple of days.

By the time Steve walks into the kitchen, you’ve already made the batter and set out the toppings—berries, maple syrup, whipped cream—like a buffet. However, he just so happens to come in as you’re swearing at the waffle maker.

“Stupid fucking thing,” you mutter, trying to open it.

Steve smiles to himself before saying, “Morning, angel.”

You jump at his voice, not having heard him walk in. When you turn around, your heart beats for a different reason.

Steve’s still only in his pajama pants, plaid and soft, hanging low on his hips. And he’s shirtless, his chest smattered with hair and his skin a little tanned from the sun. He’s got beauty marks all over, like a constellation you could chart, and his abs are just visible beneath the soft of his stomach. A trail of hair leading to the waistband of his pants and disappearing beneath them.

You’ve seen Steve shirtless plenty of times. Swimming and sleeping over in the summer, in high school when you used to go to his practices, but it hits you harder for some reason this time.

The way his hair is still a mess from sleep, his eyes a bit heavy. The way it feels to be greeting him in the kitchen, cooking breakfast. Intimate. Domestic.

You clear your throat and turn back around to pry the waffle maker open, revealing a slightly burnt but otherwise good-looking waffle. “I’m making breakfast. Coffee’s already in the pot, too.”

He walks over, his chest close to your back as he grabs a mug from the cabinet above you before heading over to pour himself a cup. He looks at the spread you’ve prepared, “Waffles, huh? What did I do to deserve all this?”

“Just wanted to do something nice for you,” you say as Steve walks over to lean against the counter next to you, his hip barely touching yours. “To thank you, in a way. For letting me stay and the dress and-”

“How many times do I have to tell you to stop thanking me?” He says, though his voice is soft and still a bit rough from sleep. “I like having you around.”

“So you don’t want the waffles then?”

“Oh, I want the waffles. I just don’t want you to feel like you have to do anything for me. It’s not some debt you’ll owe me, angel.”

“Want you to know I appreciate you is all,” you say, pouring a new scoop of batter into the waffle maker.

Steve, unsure of what exactly possesses him to do so, dips in and presses a kiss to the apple of your cheek, his lips a whisper away from your skin when he says, “I appreciate you, too.”

Then he pulls away and moves to set the table. Like it was natural.

And it was, in a way. How you moved around each other in the kitchen. You leaning out of the way when he needed to reach something you were blocking, him putting a hand on your lower back when he walked behind you so you knew he was there.

Your cheek still tingles from where he’d kissed it when you bring the plate of waffles to the table, your skin somehow even warmer under his gaze, like he’s still remembering exactly how it felt, too.

You sit in the chair beside Steve, not noticing the way he tugs it a bit closer to him with his foot before you sit down. Soon enough, both of you are digging in. Steve’s got more whipped cream on his plate than waffle (you tell him as much) and you’ve got your berries on the side the way you always do.

Neither of you work until later in the day, and it’s nice knowing that you can take your time. Steve tells you about the advice he gave Dustin about how to be ‘cooler’ in school (he’d told him that being cool is completely overrated, he knew from experience, and that being himself is the most important). You’d told him he was going soft with age.

You talk about anything at all. How Keith somehow manages both of your places of work, how he also somehow does both terribly. The way he says ‘if you have time to lean, you have time to clean’ while literally having Cheeto dust on his fingers. Laughing at each other’s impressions of him.

What the new highscores were at the arcade, what people were renting from Family Video.

You wonder what it’ll be like when you have to leave. When you’re living alone again.

Logically, you know you’ll still see Steve frequently, because he’s your favorite person and you can’t remember the last time you went longer than a few days without hanging out. Still, it’ll be different than right now, waking up in the same space and sharing breakfast and brushing your teeth side by side in the mirror.

You’ll miss it, you think.

Trying not to dwell on something that’s still a few weeks away, you take another bite of your waffle. Steve catches your chin and wipes off a bit of whipped cream from the corner of your mouth, then pulling away and sucking it off his thumb.

He goes back to his own plate without a thought. Like touching you just now was an instinct.

Then, he teases you, “These are a little crispy, angel. Maybe you should stick to letting me make breakfast in this household.”

You kick his leg under the table. “That’s a funny way of saying ‘thank you,’ Harrington.”

He kicks you back, much gentler than you’d been. “Thank you.”

“That’s what I thought.”

When you look at him, there’s an easy, boyish smile on his face.

A similar one stretches across your own lips.

-

Steve has had the thought pop up into his head a couple of times, that maybe he should’ve just asked you to live with him before you ever bought that apartment. Because having you around feels the most right things have ever felt in his house.

And though the circumstances of your moving in with him (temporarily, he has to remind himself), were far from ideal, he can’t lie and say that he isn’t glad that you’ve ended up sharing his space.

The room across the hall will always be yours, even when you move back to your place.

He knows that you feel indebted to him for all of it, but if anyone owes the other something, he feels like it’s him. For everything you’ve ever done for him. Sticking around even when he was an asshole in highschool, defending him to his parents whenever you’d cross paths, simply being the kind of friend he needed.

Even when you’re not around, he can picture your face, the way your smile spreads slowly until you’re fucking beaming. Worse, the way you cried into his chest that day at your apartment.

He remembers the crack in your voice when you spoke about that picture frame from summer camp. Though he hasn’t seen you cry since, or even bring it up, he’s decided he wants to fix it. He’d told you he would.

Dustin wound up roped into his plan: find a similar frame, decorate it the exact same way, and scour the photo albums in Steve’s room for his copy of that same picture.

When he was younger, the photo albums pissed him off, because they were purely for show. Pictures of his family that were all fake smiles. Now, he’s glad for them, because at least he has some good memories to look back on. To know it wasn’t always all bad.

Steve probably should’ve thought that one through, because when they looked through his albums, he was on the receiving end of relentless teasing from Dustin. (“Dude, you have an insane boogie in this picture.” “I was four!”)

He hopes it’ll be worth it.

Dustin was the one who found the picture they’d been looking for, and he cheered and waved it in Steve’s face as if they’d been racing.

Now, after driving Dustin back home, decorating the frame the way the two of you did as kids, trying to make his handwriting look like it did back then (which wasn’t too difficult, ‘cause Steve’s writing still isn’t that neat), he’s waiting for you to come downstairs before giving it to you.

He’d picked you up after your shift at the arcade not too long ago, but he knows you like to shower and change as soon as you get home from work, so he’d taken the opportunity to wrap the frame and have it ready for you.

Steve can hear you singing in the shower, and he knows you’re done when it goes quiet. A few minutes later you’re walking down the stairs in a baggy t-shirt and silky sleep shorts.

His eyes, for some reason, linger on your legs for a second.

He stands up, frame in his hand, when you walk over. “I have something for you.”

“Steve! Stop buying me things. Seriously.”

“This thing was free, so you can’t even be mad,” he says, smiling almost sheepishly.

Your eyes search his face, flickering between his own and dipping down to his lips and his nose and back to his eyes. He looks… nervous.

Steve’s never nervous around you.

“Okay,” you say, shuffling on your feet. “What is it?”

“Here,” he hands you the poorly-wrapped frame. “Open it.”

You scrunch your brows at him once, because you have no idea what it could be. It isn’t your birthday, or any sort of holiday at all. With zero guesses, you look down at the light yellow wrapping paper in your hands and slowly tear it open.

What you find makes your eyes grow misty, tears pooling at your lash line but not quite falling.

It’s your favorite picture, the one of you and Steve in those stupid neon shirts with messy hair and dirt on your hands. Only now, it’s not water damaged, and the frame is new, but decorated just like the old one. You run your thumbs over the glass lightly, smiling down at little you and little Steve.

When you look back up at him, he’s already looking at you, his brown eyes all warm, his smile kind but also worried, waiting for your reaction.

Seeing his face springs you into motion, jumping forward and wrapping your arms around his neck tightly with the frame still in your hand. “Thank you,” you say into his skin.

Steve’s arms move to hold you around your waist without a thought. A reflex. They squeeze you close to him, his nose pressed into your damp hair, smelling your shampoo.

“It’s not perfect,” he says. “But I know how much you love that picture, and I wanted to fix it.”

“Steve. Shut up. It is perfect.”

“I’m glad you think so,” he says, his thumbs running back and forth against your back.

You hug for what could’ve been minutes, but neither of you moves to pull away first. You’re not sure if it’s still considered friendly to stand in each other's arms, breathing each other in, for so long, but you don’t care at the moment.

This is probably the nicest thing anyone’s done for you in a long, long time.

When you finally do pull away, you don’t go far. Your arms stay slung over his shoulders, Steve’s hands framing your hips. His thumbs still dragging those sweet patterns against you.

“I’m keeping it forever,” you tell him.

“You sure?” he asks.

“Certain. You’ll always be my best friend, Steve.”

“You’ll always be mine too, angel.”

Then, your eyes both move to each other’s lips, yours flick back up in a second, startled at their wandering.

Steve, however, is a bit transfixed. He looks at the slope of your cupid’s bow, the way your lips are shiny from your lip balm. He thinks it quickly, like a gust of wind that can’t be stopped: I really wanna kiss her right now.

Fuck. He wants to kiss his best friend.

He blinks a few times, clearing his throat and pulling back, letting his hands fall from your waist as yours slide off his shoulders. He misses the feel of your touch immediately, but he’s too freaked out and confused to do anything about it.

“What are you in the mood for tonight?” he asks, cutting off his own thoughts. “I brought back a horror and a comedy. Take your pick.”

“Mmm,” he picks up two tapes from the coffee table and holds them up for you to choose from. “Horror. Unless you’re too scared?”

“You’ll just have to hold my hand, then, won’t you?”

“I guess I will.”

You look back at the picture while Steve puts the movie into the player. You smile at it every time you see it, because you can still see parts of Steve in him now that were in him then.

His eyes, always kind, the way he smiles when he laughs, and about a half hour into the movie, the way he holds your hand and squeezes it when he’s scared.

-

You’re having one of those nights. The kind where sleep seems to be fighting you.

You worked a closing shift at the arcade, which usually lasts until late considering how long you’re open plus all of the cleaning you have to do afterwards. Today was no different, and despite how much later you finish than him at Family Video, Steve waited and drove you home. He hung out in the arcade with you until close, actually.

You’d think that after such a long day, the second your head hit the pillow you’d be out and breathing steadily. Today, that is not the case. You fell asleep for maybe an hour before a nightmare woke you up. You can’t quite remember what happened, only that you’d been yelling for Steve and he wasn’t there.

Groaning quietly, you rub your eyes and toss the blankets away. You stand up and head down to the kitchen in the dark, hand trailing along the walls to make sure you don’t bump into anything.

Just as you’re pouring yourself a glass of water, you hear the shuffle of sleepy footsteps coming into the kitchen.

“Holy shit,” he says, walking over to grab a glass, one hand on his bare chest. “I thought you were a ghost or something just now.”

You shift out of the way to let him get some water just like you did, taking the second that he’s distracted to look at him. His hair a mess, wearing nothing but his boxers. You take a big sip from your glass.

“I feel like I should be offended right now,” you say, “if you think I look like a ghost.”

“Shut up,” he says, dragging out the second word. His voice being rough from sleep makes his words sound much warmer than they are. “My eyes aren’t awake yet. Nothing to do with you, angel.”

You shake your head, though there’s a soft smile on your face the way there always seems to be when you try to be annoyed with Steve. You tilt your head at him, asking, “Couldn’t sleep?”

He shakes his head. “Been tossing and turning. Just can’t get comfortable, then I got pissed ‘cause I couldn’t get comfortable and only made it worse.”

“You would get pissed at that. Probably slapped your pillow like it was at fault.”

He folds his lips inwards and blinks at you. Because he did smack his pillow and call it a dipshit. “Why do you know everything? Spying on me?”

“Hate to say it, but you’re getting predictable, Harrington.” You shrug, then move to put your now empty glass in the dishwasher. “I know you too well.”

He looks at you, your hair falling across your shoulders, your pajama shorts riding up a little as you bend down. The moonlight slipping through the window seems to hit you perfectly. Like a halo.

Fitting, he thinks. You’re his angel, after all.

“Yeah, you do,” he agrees. Then, “What about you? Why’re you up?”

“Nightmare. Been forever since I had one.”

“You okay?” he asks, trailing a knuckle over your shoulder, pushing your hair behind it.

“Yeah,” you say, skin tingling where he’d touched you. “I can't even remember most of it, but now my brain won’t let me sleep.”

Steve wishes he could’ve protected you from whatever haunted you in your sleep. It’s silly, he knows, to think he might be able to ward away anything that hurts you, but he wants to, nonetheless.

He thinks about how comfortable he is whenever you cuddle during movie night. Your head on his shoulder or his chest, his hand on your back or waist.

So, he blurts, “Why don’t you sleep over?”

You furrow your brows at him, “Um, I’ve been sleeping over. A couple of weeks now, actually.”

“No, I mean, like in my room with me,” he says, suddenly shy at the idea. He’s grateful for the darkness, because he can feel his cheeks warming up. “A proper sleepover.”

You’ve done it before. Shared a bed a bunch of times, but for some reason your heart jumps when he says it. Your stomach swirls as you say, maybe a little too quickly, “Okay.”

Steve’s eyes widen like he’s surprised, just for a split second, before a soft smile takes over his face. He holds out a hand for you to take, “C’mon.”

Soon enough, Steve’s lifting his navy bedspread for you, letting you slip into bed next to him. He stays further away at first, letting you settle and lay on your side the way he knows you always do.

You blame sleepiness—or, maybe, the lack thereof—for the way you reach behind you for his arm and tug him closer, draping it over your own waist.

He obliges, of course, his arm securing itself across your stomach, palm spread out and warm against your sleep shirt. His chest is only a breath away from your back, though he keeps his lower half a little more distanced.

His thumb runs circles over your shirt, once, twice, three times before stilling, his forehead pressing to the back of your neck.

“Goodnight, angel,” he says into your hair.

Your hand splays itself on top of his. “Night, Steve.”

And suddenly your eyes grow heavier, and sleep doesn’t feel like much of a battle anymore.

-

You wake up the most rested you’ve felt in a while. There’s warmth surrounding you, but not the uncomfortable kind. The kind that feels safe.

Somehow, you and Steve are even closer than you’d been when you fell asleep. His arm is still around your waist, his other outstretched and tucked beneath your head like a pillow. His chest is flush to your back, and you can feel it expand with every breath he takes.

Most differently of all, however, is the way his hips are snug against the curve of your butt. And you can feel him hard against you.

Your skin feels even warmer than before when you notice.

Steve hasn’t woken up yet, you don’t think, because the faintest snores are getting puffed out against your shoulder where his face is tucked. His hand on your stomach has worked its way beneath your shirt, though, and his fingertips press against your skin, like he’s fighting to keep you close.

As if you’d go anywhere even in your sleep.

His knee is tucked between your legs, and you’re quickly realizing that it’d be pretty impossible to get out of bed without him noticing. You’re completely tangled together, a knot of limbs somehow fitting together just right. Like two puzzle pieces.

In his sleep, Steve’s mouth presses against the back of your shoulder, and only when you involuntarily shiver at the contact, does he stir.

It takes Steve a bit to really wake up, mumbling words that don’t make sense, scrunching his eyes shut even further before blinking them open. He’s met with the sight of you right in front of him. Body curved perfectly against his.

“Steve? You awake?” you ask, checking.

“Mhm,” he hums.

Then, something that has his cheeks flushing pink, he registers the feeling of his boner pressed against your ass. He shuffles them back enough so there’s space between you. “Fuck. Sorry.”

“It’s okay,” you say. Because he can’t control the way his body reacts while he’s asleep.

“I didn’t think-” he cuts himself off, because he’s not quite sure how to say I didn’t think about the whole morning wood factor or that I’d fucking plaster myself to you when I suggested a sleepover without sounding stupid. Instead, he just repeats, “I’m sorry.”

You twist yourself around to face him, sheets crumpling and twisting as you move. When you settle back onto the pillow and look at his face, at the redness on his cheeks and the tips of his ears, you squeeze his hand that’s now laying between you.

“It’s okay, really,” you say. “It’s, like, anatomy. You’re human, Steve.”

“I don’t want you to think I invited you to sleep in here for some pervy reason,” he says, scrunching his nose when he says it.

“I don’t think that at all,” you tell him. You squeeze his hand again. “We’ve shared a bed like, a hundred times by now. If anything I’m surprised this hasn’t happened already.”

“Oh my God,” he groans, shutting his eyes and pushing his face into the pillow.

“Steve,” you drag out his name, fighting a giggle at the way he’s acting. He’s got a reputation, after all, and how shy and embarrassed he seems to be doesn’t reflect the things you heard about him in high school. He’s changed a lot since then. “It’s seriously fine. We can pretend it never happened. Promise.”

Steve pulls his face from the pillow, eyes catching yours as his fingers squeeze yours back in appreciation. He lets his eyes wander a bit, at the messy bits of your hair around your face from sleeping, the marks in your cheek from the pillowcase, the way your sleep shirt has fallen off your shoulder.

He feels lucky to get to see you this way, right after you’ve woken up. Vulnerable, unguarded, beautiful.

It’s during this small stretch of silence that you realize how close your faces are now. You’re sharing a pillow, his nose not even an inch from yours. Shift forward the slightest bit, and they’d be touching. Your eyes trail down to his mouth, to the visible patch of chest hair and the freckles that dot his skin. He’s already looking right at you when your eyes flick back upwards.

You know Steve, could tell what he’s feeling just from the look on his face, but this is one you’ve never seen before. At least, not directed at you.

Steve moves first, his eyes a little darker than usual, shifting forward slightly, then looking at you. Daring you to make the next move.

“What if we didn’t forget about it?” he says. Quiet and scratchy.

You don’t have time to think before you move forward a bit, too. Your noses brush. “What would that mean?”

Steve doesn’t answer with words. Rather, he moves forward the final bit and brushes his lips against yours in a question mark of a kiss, giving you time to pull away.

You don’t.

Instead, the hand of yours that isn’t still holding his comes up to the back of his neck, gently encouraging him to do it again. His free hand tightens at your waist as he dips in a second time.

It isn’t as tentative now that you’ve urged him on. His lips meet yours more sure, more firm, but still soft against you. Neither of you cares one bit about morning breath, or about what this might change. As if the morning’s haze slows time, minds still a little sleepy.

You’re simply acting on instinct. And this feels too right to stop.

Soon enough it grows more heated, Steve shifting to hover over you, his elbows pushing into the mattress to hold himself up, his tongue sneaking out to lick against the seam of your lips for permission.

Just as you open up for him, the blaring sound of Steve's alarm cuts you off, pulling back with a gasp. He simply leans up on one arm and slams the snooze button—and you laugh, you laugh, at how hard he hits it—before diving back into you.

You feel hot all over, where one of Steve’s hands has moved to cup your jaw, his thumb running delicately against your face as his mouth moves against yours, practically devouring you. Where the blankets are still over your lower halves, trapping in heat. When he pulls back, looks into your eyes, fucking smiles all dopey and pretty, and then kisses you again.

It’s so good, you’re almost angry at yourself for not kissing him sooner.

You kiss until his alarm goes off again and Steve's forced to pry himself away from you, groaning about being on his ‘last tardy warning’ from Keith.

Still, he takes the time to kiss your forehead on his way out, Family Video vest slung over his shoulder, calling a sweet, “bye, angel,” on his way out. His hair’s still a mess from your fingers, and he doesn’t even seem to mind.

You stay in his bed longer than you probably should, blinking up at the ceiling, fingers pressed against your lips like you’re searching for physical proof that everything was real.

What the fuck just happened?

-

It’s been a couple of weeks, and Steve can’t stop thinking about that kiss. He doesn’t know it, but you can’t stop thinking about it either.

Neither of you have brought it up, and things have faded back to normal as if it had never happened. But you and Steve are both thinking the same things without knowing it. How good and natural and easy it felt, how, every now and then, you think about doing it again.

You talk and joke and watch movies and eat meals together the same way you always have, and it’d be so easy to stay that way, to never kiss again. But then, what if you could stay that way and kiss? Wouldn’t that be something close to perfect?

You lay awake thinking about it every few nights. Because, when you really reflect on your life and how intertwined it is with Steve’s, you realize that you’ve sort of always acted like a couple, minus the kissing and sex aspect. You go on what could easily be classified as dates—the movies, lunch or dinner—you cuddle on the couch almost nightly, and you’ve never shied away from physical touch with one another. Held hands, a palm on your back.

You haven’t brought it up with Steve because you haven’t even come to terms with it yourself. Feelings are so fucking confusing and messy and you’d like to have a better idea of what’s going on in your own head before asking him about his.

Meanwhile, Steve has allowed himself to come to terms with it. He’s in love with you.

He’s pretty sure he has been for a while. Months, maybe even years.

It hadn’t come easily, though. It was nights spent similarly to yours, running through interactions you’ve had and the way he felt that one time in senior year when you went on a date with some guy from your math class. Even then, a part of him felt wrong about it, that pit in his gut.

Then there were his shifts with Robin at Family Video where he’d practically spilled everything just to get her opinion. She looked up and sighed “thank you” before saying that it was nice of him to finally catch on.

Had he really been that obvious? All this time? And had he really been that oblivious to his own feelings?

Steve can’t answer those questions. He can’t say when his love for you changed from platonic to romantic, he just knows that it has and he doesn’t think he’ll ever come back from it.

You’re his best friend in the entire world, the prettiest girl he’s ever seen, and he can’t picture himself loving anyone but you so wholly.

He’s fucking terrified of losing you, but he’s also terrified of never telling you how he feels and testing that what if.

So, like a desperate idiot, he knocks on the door to Eddie’s trailer.

Eddie opens it after a minute and what sounded like him stubbing his toe, “oh, hey Harrington. More weed?”

“No, shut up. I need your help.”

“You,” Eddie points at Steve, then at himself, “need my help for something? Are you ill?”

“Okay,” Steve, dramatic and bitchy as usual, sighs and mutters something about this being a stupid idea and turns to leave.

“Come on,” Eddie laughs, “I’m just joking. What’s up?”

Soon enough, Steve’s sitting on Eddie’s couch, Eddie pacing in front of the coffee table like this is a very serious matter, and telling him pretty much everything. Your kiss, the train of thought it sparked.

“Basically I’m in love with her and I have no clue what to do,” Steve finishes, sinking back into the couch cushions. It squeaks as he shifts.

Eddie pauses, tugging at his bottom lip between his fingers, then looks at Steve and says, “You know I’ve never dated anyone in my life, right?”

Steve groans into his hands, “Why do all of my friends have to be losers with no dating lives.”

Eddie ignores that, because he can tell how affected Steve actually is by all of this. How much he cares. He walks over and sits down on the opposite end of the couch. “Have you ever thought of, I don’t know, telling her how you feel?”

Steve rests his elbows on his knees, leaning forward and letting his head hang for a moment before picking it up. “Of course I have, but I’m fuckin’ scared.”

“What’s the worst that could happen?”

“Um, she could reject me and not feel the same way and everything would be awkward because I ruined it and I’d lose my best friend in the entire world.”

“What if she does feel the same?” Eddie asks.

He’s both yours and Steve’s friend, he’s been around the both of you together. He’s seen the way you look at each other. Eddie might not be an expert, but it’s always looked a lot like love to him. He’s pretty sure the chances of you feeling the same are quite high.

“What do you mean?”

“What if she does feel the same and you never figure it out because you’re too afraid?” Eddie says. “Man, don’t you think that risk is worth taking?”

Steve thinks about it, and as much as he hates to admit it, Eddie’s right. He’d hate to always wonder, to lose out on the chance to really be with you when he knows it could be so good.

You are worth the risk to him.

“When the fuck did you become so wise, Munson?”

“Dunno,” Eddie shrugs. “Wanna smoke?”

Steve laughs, “Yes I do.”

-

With Steve gone at work and you off for the day, there’s been too much room for your thoughts to creep in. Too much silence.

You’ve already been thinking about things so much. Thinking about him so much, that in his absence, your mind seemed to work overtime to fill in the gaps.

You thought about the day he picked you up from your apartment, how quick he was to drop whatever he’d been doing and come over and help you and take you home with him. The day he took you shopping and bought you a dress because he thought you looked pretty in it, the way his fingers fiddled with the strap on your shoulder when you tried it on for him.

The day he gifted you a remade version of your favorite picture from summer camp because he knew how much it meant to you, the way you held on to each other afterwards.

How you’d been waiting for him to get home that night he went to Eddie’s, just to make sure he was okay. How when he came in, he smiled at the sight of you curled on the couch, and he kissed your cheek when he walked by like it was the easiest thing in the world.

Your brain knew he was high, you could smell the weed mingling with his cologne on his clothes when he leaned in close, but your heart didn’t care about that. It thumped in your chest the second he leaned in closer, even worse when his lips touched your cheek.

The realization hits you now like a shock, a quick zip of electricity running through your system. You fucking love him.

Sure, you’ve loved Steve practically your whole life, but this was different. You love him, love him. Like, you want to kiss him when he comes home from work and in the morning. You want him to introduce you as his girlfriend and to be able to call him your boyfriend.

You feel stupid for not realizing it sooner, because looking back on things now, knowing how you feel, you can see it written throughout your entire friendship. Holding hands and kissing foreheads and hands pushing hair away from faces.

For a second, you’re purely happy, because you get to be in love with your best friend and it feels as warm and sweet as sunlight. Then, the fear creeps in, and you’re scared. Scared of losing him, of making things weird, of change and doing the wrong thing.

So scared that you start to panic and pack up some of your things in your bag like you’re running away.

Truthfully, you’re not sure what else to do. You’ve never been in love before, you’ve never known it this way—so kind and unconditional. And your parents sure as hell didn’t set a good example for you. They’d fight, and someone would leave with the slam of a door, and then they’d be back and the cycle would continue.

You’re scared and confused and your instincts are telling you to run away even though the only place you really wanna be is with Steve. In his arms.

You’re stuffing clothes into your bag just to keep your hands busy, breathing hard and fast, when you hear the front door open and close. Steve’s quick to find you, his eyes scanning your room and then looking at you. “What are you doing?”

You feel like you might cry just looking at him. His brown eyes worried but warm as always, his hands stuffed into his pockets like he’s nervous.

“I thought you weren’t supposed to be home until later,” you say, hoping he can’t hear the shake in your voice.

“It was dead, so Keith let me off early. I-” Steve furrows his brows, “are you leaving?”

You nod. “I’ve been in your way long enough.”

“I told you, you’re never in my way.” Steve knows you, and he loves you, and he can tell that there’s something going on. That you’re panicked and trying to get away from whatever it is. He cares too much to let that happen. “I want you to stay.”

You want to stay, too. You just don’t know what comes next, and that unknown, the lack of control, of familiarity, it makes your hands shake.

Your mind doesn’t work the same when you’re afraid.

“Give me one good reason why I should stay, Steve. I’ve been taking up your space for weeks and-”

“Because I love you.” Steve cuts you off. He hadn’t planned on telling you this way, he wanted it to be romantic and perfect but he can’t wait any longer. Especially not when you’re trying to run away. “I’m in love with you. And I want you here.”

You immediately stop in your tracks, blinking up at him like you’re not sure you’d heard him correctly. “You- what?”

“I love you. Romantically. And I think I have for a really long time.”

“You’re not high again, are you?” You ask, your eyes a little misty.

Steve walks over to you and grabs both of your hands in his, making sure you’re looking at him, at the sincerity written all over his face, when he says, “Completely sober. I fucking love you and I want you to keep living with me, because this house doesn’t really feel like home unless you’re in it.”

“What about when my apartment is ready?”

He squeezes your hands. “Stay then, too. Stay forever.”

You look up at him, his hair falling over his forehead, his eyes so honest, a tentative smile on his mouth. The only boy you’ve ever loved.

You feel silly for trying to escape this when this is how it’s turning out. Steve had been brave just now, telling you he loves you and he wants you to stay, so you decide to be brave, too.

It’s easier than you thought it would be to say: “I love you, too, Steve. I feel the same. I only just realized it and freaked out. I’m so scared of losing you, is all.”

“You won’t. Not ever.”

You tip your chin up to kiss him after he says it, because you can. You pour your feelings into it, and Steve returns your kiss as if it’s one he’s known for years. It’s slow, and deep, and sweet, and so full of love you’re practically overflowing with it.

The two of you only pull away when you need a breather. Steve doesn’t go far, resting his forehead against yours.

“So what happens now?” You ask.

“Well, we’ve been acting like a couple for a while, I think, so we stay the same. Mostly. Except now I get to call you my girlfriend-”

“Um, I’m pretty sure you’re supposed to ask me first.”

He lets go of one of your hands and pushes a loose strand of hair behind your ear, his knuckle running lovingly across your cheek. “My angel girl, will you be my girlfriend?”

Your grin is wide and lovesick and cheesy and you don’t care one bit. “Yeah, yes I will. Boyfriend.”

“And, being your boyfriend means I get to do this.”

He kisses you once more. And you don’t ever want to not be kissing him again.

𝜗𝜚

thank you guys so much for reading!!! it would mean a whole bunch if you would consider leaving a comment or a reblog and letting me know what you think!! it helps more than you know <3

[hearts4hughes]

HE’S NOT ME | ANAKIN SKYWALKER X READER

note: first writing for anakin! my obsession for him is reawakening, and yk my fav trope is bsf x bsf!reader 🤗

you’re sparring again.

fourth time this week. sixth time if you count the ones that end with him lying flat on his back, laughing, arm flung over his face like he’s hiding something (he is.)

the training room is warm. dusk curls at the windows. your saber slices through the air in a clean arc, but he parries it fast, almost cocky.

“you’re slow today,” he smirks, gaze falling to the way your fingers grip your saber. he shakes his head, trying to free himself from his thoughts.

you glare. “you’re annoying every day.” you lunge at him, your braid whipping through the air with the movement. he simply side-steps you, like he’s calculated your every move.

“true,” he says, and winks.

it should be harmless. you’ve known him since you were both initiates. slept in the same bunks, snuck into the same mess halls after curfew. sparred until your arms shook, until your breathing fell into the same rhythm.

but lately�� something’s off.

his touches linger. his jokes cut deeper. and his stare? his stare burns.

“where were you earlier?” he asks, not even trying to sound casual.

“with quinlan,” you mutter, distracted by the way he circles you now. he’s measured, sharp, a little too tight.

he freezes. “quinlan vos?”

“yeah?” you raise a brow. “he asked me to train. we ran drills.”

anakin’s grip on his saber tightens. knuckles pale beneath the glove.

“he’s not your partner.” his voice is lower now. something deeper, darker sparkles in his eyes. “he’s not me.”

you blink. “are you seriously jealous?”

he doesn’t answer. instead, he lunges. his saber collides with yours so hard it makes your arms tremble.“you think he can protect you?” he grits out, eyes locked on yours. “he flirts. he doesn’t care. not like I—”

he stops. chest heaving.

not like what, skywalker?

“what’s your problem?” you snap, breathless. you throw your saber on the ground, and turn away from him. your arm cover your chest as you stare at the ground.

he drops his saber and steps into your space.

“you don’t get it,” he says, eyes dark and storming. “i see the way they look at you. vos, kenobi, every soldier in the hangar bay. they think they can.”

“can what?” your voice falters. curiosity lingers in your gaze as his muscles stiffen.

then, he leans in. heat rolls off him like wildfire. “touch you. take you. love you.”

you stifle our a dry laugh, absent of any humor. “and you think you’re any different?”

his eyes flash.

“no,” he says, voice breaking open. “i know i’m not. i’m worse,” his voice falters. “but at least i don’t pretend.”

then his hands are on your face, pulling you in like the force itself is dragging you together. and when he kisses you, it’s not soft. it’s not sweet. it’s desperate. possessive. like he’s been starving and you’re the only thing that could ever feed him.

you gasp against his mouth, fingers curling in his hair.

his hand slides down your spine, anchoring you to him, like you might vanish if he lets go.

“you’re mine,” he breathes, forehead pressed to yours. “not theirs.”

you don’t say anything.

you don’t have to.

your mouth just finds his again.

and for the first time, he stops pretending to be your friend.

[gojoest]

“there is never a moment in which i do not adore you” — g. satoru

established relationship, gn!reader, tooth rotting fluff bc i love him terribly and sickeningly, the title quote is from marie antoinette’s letter to axel von fersen, dividers by @/cafekitsune

it is way past midnight when the door clicks open. your ears catch on the barely audible sound of keys being carefully placed on the counter.

satoru is home, finally — after a long day of duties, teaching, meetings and missions, he made it back to you.

and he is being quiet, stepping lightly and silently sneaking in — he doesn’t want to wake you up.

but you are awake anyway, curled up in your shared bed. the shirt he slept in last night clutched against your chest; it smells like him still, and it brings a sense of safety and comfort knowing that he was here this morning, wearing the cloth hugged between your arms; that he took it off and placed it there, on the bed, to wear again tonight.

you know before he makes his way to the bathroom for a quick shower to wash the weight of the day off his body, he will come to give you a kiss. he always does. his lips trace the skin on your cheek ever so delicately, in fact so delicately one could barely feel them even when awake.

but you know, you can feel his breath on you. because you are never sleeping when he does this — just pretending. and part of him knows it — he can easily tell if you’re in slumber or not based on your breathing patter alone that he came to know in his marrow — and his lips curl into a silent smile, soft and loving, grateful to have you wait for him. thankful that there is one person looking forward for his return. that there is a home he can go back to. that there is you.

maybe he also knows that you can never sleep without him. and that the bed feels like an unfamiliar place, the emptiness on the mattress — unnatural. that it makes you restless. that you toss and turn, similar to when you are laid on a new bed you’re not accustomed to, perhaps in someone else’s house or at a hotel, and you can’t fall asleep because it’s not your bed. that you wait, for him to come and make the bed familiar and warm, make it yours again.

maybe this is why he’s been coming back home earlier, or at least trying to, but it’s not always up to him.

“you’re back”, you mutter, turning around to catch him just as he was about to plant a soft peck on the side of your face but paused to take your scent into his lungs. your nose nuzzles against his, arm snaking around his neck and pulling him closer to draw his lips near yours, and the kiss both of you have longed to taste all day finally comes to light.

if yearning was a sound, it would be that of the air you both breath in from the closed space between your faces just the moment before the kiss. the air that enters through your nostrils and lets the scent of the other in, and once it reaches your senses it births a moan in your throats. like that of a thirsty man in the blazing hot desert tasting water for the first time in days.

“you are awake”, he pulls away, but remains connected with you. forehead glued to yours, blindfold off and eyes gazing softly into yours in the dark. he can see you perfectly, and he is afraid to blink. because anytime he does, it robs him of the time he could spend looking at you.

“i just happened to be”, you tell him, fingers gently scratching at his undercut, earning a soft hum from him followed by a “you’re a bad liar, but keep practicing”

you chuckle. he always sees through you.

satoru is leaning over you, avoiding to even sit by your side in his work clothes. the idea of possibly bringing residuals of the curses he’s exorcised that day into the place that he considers closest to heaven is just unacceptable to him. not that he’s ever admitted this, but it’s a pattern you’ve noticed.

but to you it doesn’t matter. you love the mess in him.

you wrap your other hand around him, an attempt to drag him into the bed. “come closer”, you coo.

he is resisting. “i need a shower first — i am sweaty. i smell bad”

“my satoru never smells bad”, you correct him.

he giggles. “you say that because i am your satoru”

“first, there’s no way you can ever be someone else’s satoru. second, please do not ruin my romantic moment — it’s rude”, you pout with a heavy sigh, but playfully.

this time he laughs — he’s missed this banter with you all day.

you can tell by the way his body shivers that he is wavering. his conscience might be in a dilemma right now whether he should break his rule just this once or not, but his muscles aren’t — they always lead him to you by default, like muscle memory. the fight is pointless. this one, he will lose. and he knows it.

and he caves.

the mattress sinks down as his massive self lays himself next to you, taking you into his arms. your forehead buried in his chest, his lips glued to the top of your head — you stay unmoving, in silence. in the dark, but in the warm — just breathing together.

a sigh breaks from his throat when you shift away from him. only slightly though — just to look at him.

“so— where was i before you interrupted my lovely speech”

“you were saying that your satoru never smells bad”, caressing your cheek he reminds you.

“right”, you nod, and then continue — “of course, it is because my satoru is mine — what a silly thing to state the obvious. but also because—“, you pause, charging your lips towards his, not to kiss. but to feed him your love, to pour it from your mouth and into his — “…because, there is never a moment in which i do not adore you”

a smile grows on your lips, but it isn’t your smile — you can feel his lips softly stretch against yours, curl up from the corners — it belongs to him.

and then the smile grows into a kiss, swallowing the love you give him. all of it, hungrily.

“i’ll take the day off tomorrow”, he pulls away, barely.

you smile, “i’ll make breakfast”

satoru thinks he got too lucky with you. and maybe he did.

but so did you, with him.

[vanilleandclove]

carried away; jack abbot x f!trauma surgeon!reader 

fourth of july always has always dampened a stain on your relationship, for the betterment of it, it helps you both understand each other a little bit differently.

warnings: ptsd episode. mass casualty event (mce), pregnancy & pregnancy issues, samira deserves a boy/girlfriend outside of the ed THE GIRL NEEDS NORMALITY AND CARE, aggressive patients, a damn bomb, whole lotta robby yap, langdon goes to rehab but is that really a warning, jack is halfway codependent (man has trauma), there will be a fluffy chapter maybe word count: 4.2k notes: had to search up bizarre stories from the emergency room & ask my immigrant, can do no wrong, dad his crazy stories (radiologist in the emergency department), only for him to ask if i was going to give up film school. if you're unfamilar with emergency depts in america, fourth of july is the peak holiday for injurys and chaos, happy summer for me.

prev - next

“Hey can I use you during the briefing, the Fourth is always a hectic day here, got some new faces and these kids aren’t familiar with how we run things during the summer” Robby asked you as you walked out of the lounge, seeing you lightly waddle as you needed to pee.

“Robby, these kids survived Pitfest- they can handle an independence day- but, sure, let me just handle this real quick” you grunted, feeling your bladder overwhelming full. This time around the life growing inside of you decided to fill and harass your bladder rather than morning sickness. Week 13, you couldn’t wait to get to at least the second trimester. 

You and Jack decided to tell Dana, Bridget, Robby, and Heather. They were the only ones allowed to know, even though it killed Jack to not tell his mom, slowly hurt you to not tell your sister or mom. Heather was ready to throw you a baby shower by the first day, Dana already bought clothes for your little bean. But Jack, Jack was a nervous wreck. Monitoring you closely while you slept and ate, helped you shower as if it was strenuous. He loved seeing your belly grow as small as it did from week 1 to 13. It felt like a year, to him it felt like time slowed just to spare him any worries. 

From babe; 

How’s work? Anything yet? I just fully clocked in lmao, you coming in today? Probably gonna get called in you know how it is every year Not really, this is the first time we didn’t go on vacation Dr. Abbot  Way too early for the teasing honey. I’ll pick you up if I don’t get called in. I love you and bug. We love you too- would love you more if I got lucky tonight. Depends on if you’re a good girl or not doesn’t it?

The most intimate time you’ve both had in 5 weeks was him giving you a foot rub, other than that nothing. You were either too tired and slept in- the pregnancy pillow he got you works wonders, woke up in the middle of the night with indigestion, or you put the lingerie on and then got emotional seeing him- sometimes all the three. You missed your fiancé more than anything.

Upon exiting the bathroom there was Robby grilling into everybody, “Doctor L/n will give you the rundown on how things go surgical wise on today”. 

“Surgery is usually bombarded- it’s a peak day for the entire ED, night shift comes and helps out when they phase in about two to three hours earlier” you announced, you ran this shit as if it were the Navy- courtesy of your man back at home who taught you how his C.O.s talked to him, “We deal with the stroke & heart related issues- I get the more severe cases therefore I am not always going to be down here”. 

You made your way to the board, “Trauma gets a designated 4 operating rooms today, we have three surgeons on call, all trained under me or my predecessor Doctor Greene- bless our lucky asses, Greene comes in to help every Fourth of July” looking directly into everyone’s eyes, Jack’s habit directly rubbed off on you, “Worst we’ve had was Fourth of July 2022, I was up a near 24 hours. We’ve had someone be given a bomb instead of an illegal firework- didn’t detonate, had to call the bomb squad when we were in the OR”.

“20 year old male, Mark Coleman, mom said he bought fireworks in Texas last week only for the fireworks to be an actual bomb- didn’t detonate in the field, bomb squad is already on the way” The EMT ran over to you keeping his voice lowered in order to not panic the crowd, supplying oxygen from the kids intubation, you nodded and ran over to change your gloves as you saw Jack in a woman’s chest cavity trying to stimulate her heart.

“What do you got?” he asked, thinking it would be more interesting, only to be given a concerned and almost scared look from you, “Doctor Shen, take over” John didn’t hesitate to replace Abbot, “Stimulate for another three, if no response send her up with Walsh and Greene”.

He discarded his gloves and placed a hand on your elbow to follow you to Mark, “Have bomb squad come in through the helipad, we can’t afford freaking out anyone down here, we have to operate on the west surgical wing anyway” you told Dana as she nodded.

“Wait, you're operating?” Jack questioned.

“Bomb squad’s going to be in there with me the entire time, I’m the only surgeon available and willing” you looked into his eyes almost as if you were being stern and for your selfish reasons of looking at him, “This is my department Doctor Abbot, don’t question my job, I won’t question yours”.

“I will question it if you’re putting yourself in immediate danger” he told you, searching for the exact feeling you were hiding, fear. 

“It’s my job Jack” you whispered to him before walking off. 

It was a three hour surgery with no one other than your surgical team and the bomb squad on the floor, Greene came in to help if something were to happen to you. Truth was Jack yelled at him over the phone when he told him that you “had it under control”- which you did, Jack barely built up the courage to open up about his war PTSD since he just started going to therapy, you weren’t exactly someone he wanted to handle a bomb extraction. 

When you went back down, he could breathe again, you took your losses as Mark may not be able to speak again as the bomb landed just in the right spot to strain his larynx. 

“There are also a lot of worried parents with children who are the spawns of satan. I had a mom that same year scream in both mine and Doctor Mohan’s face about her son falling into their active fire pit with soot all over his body, minor burns, earned a beautiful punch in the chest” you told them, seeing the smile on Samira’s face as she recalled the memory on the first year of her residency.

“I don’t give a fuck! He is screaming, just take him!” she screamed at you and Samira as you did the exam while explaining to Samira in passing.

“Ma’am there are no burns on your son, enough for it to be surgical or an emergency, we are currently swamped here. We are going to give you three cold compresses and some cream to help, only use Tylenol to control the pain because NSAIDs can be dangerous if he hit his head while falling in” you told her, giving her son a pat on the back as he shook from the bass of her voice as she screamed. 

“You fucking bitch, I pay your fucking wages through all of those fuckass taxes just for you to dismiss my fucking son?”.

You formed a barrier between you and her, making sure Samira wouldn’t be spat on or hit if the mom became even more aggressive.

“Ma’am I can assure you, you do not pay my wage or my coworkers wage, now please take your leave before I have security come and hold you in front of your son- now would you prefer that or the care we just gave you to handle this at home?” you responded, she got in your face only to take a step back and aim directly for your chest, Samira swore she heard a light crack before she screamed for security.

You were fine, winded, but fine none of the less. Jack spent the whole night back at your home kissing the middle of your chest as it began to bruise. You insisted it was because it gave him free reign to play with and admire your tits.

“It’s a hectic day for everyone, best advice I can give to you is phase your main patient load out of here by 4 or 5 pm, firework shows start around that time, by 8 pm you’re hopefully already home and night shift is here, we get all the road accidents here” you told them, “Just like Pitfest, if you cannot find Doctor Robinavitch, Doctor Collins, Doctor Abbot, or myself, the next level of command is to get approval from Doctor Mohan or- Doctor Langdon. Robby, Abbot, and I run things down here, we’ve been doing this together for the past 6 years, today is just one of those days that gets convoluted, now eat and hydrate, good luck”. 

When Frank got back from rehab, Abbot was impressed he put in the work. Heather and you knew he was going to be given his position back immediately and by May Heather had finally completed her residency program- Frank having to make up for the time lost. 

You all had a calm morning, taking a half day to resort for an oncall schedule. By 4 pm you were at home, resting on the couch as Jack made you the lunch you didn’t have time for at work. 

“So far nothing, might just be a quiet Fourth of July” you shouted at him from the living room. 

“Some of my old buddies from the VA invited us down to grill with them at 6, I told them maybe- depends on my wife” Jack said as he brought your food to you on a tray.

“Baby all of them are your age, so old?” you joked, giving him a kiss as he set down your food on the coffee table, “Also wife, Mrs. Abbot hasn’t even been engraved on my social security or Facebook”. 

“Last time I checked you have an Abbot in you”. 

“Unfortunately not in bed” you teased yet again. 

“Eat. Y’Might just pass out if I ravage you before eating” with every dirty joke you gave, Jack’s stoicism would top it. Made for good laughs over the years. Jack made you pass out once from overstimulation, scared the shit out of him, you found it quite sexy that made you feel that good- ever since then, he makes sure you’re hydrated.

You and him were no strangers to calmness in the cusp of afternoons to evenings, especially since you became pregnant, all you both wanted were quiet times like these. By 5:30, you both had showered and got ready for the barbecue Jack promised to attend. Only before you both got the call from Robby and Gloria to come in as there was a shooting at the Fourth of July firework show. Normally, you admired your fiancés punctuality, but he stood there pondering while staring into your soul. 

“You’re going?”.

“It’s a MCE, of course I’m going” you responded, grabbing your spare scrubs you kept hung up and sneakers, you were on your feet all day.

The reality of it was Jack was worried about another miscarriage, worried about you overworking yourself. He put limits where he knew you misconstrued them. 

“You’re being reckless” he blurted out as you packed your bag, you froze from the words that left his mouth, “I’m sorry honey but-“.

You swallowed the heartbreak that came with your fiancé questioning if you had the strength to get through this while pregnant. Swallowed the doubt that he put on you because he was worried, the doubt that only shined to you where he thought you couldn’t do your job while pregnant. The same doubt men put other women through because they think it’s not their place or they don’t belong. 

“We’ll talk about this later” you told him, shrugging him off as you walked away. Jack knew your limits under the guise of understanding you, though as much as it prided you both it had its repercussions such as right now. 

The car ride was quiet and tense, the air thick and both of your throats dry. You wouldn’t argue before work, everything stayed at home. As much as you knew where  his concern came from, you knew if something were to happen, he’d silently blame you in the deepest part of him even if his body rejected that fact. 

You took your leave ahead of Jack, feeling the light jerks of your stomach, there’s a version of you and Jack and you’re carrying it. You felt the weight of your chest as your breasts were sore from the bra and hormones. You saw both Javadi and Langdon outside as they handled triage, giving them the best of luck.

“What happened?” you asked Dana at her desk.

“Shooting at the park, we’re expecting 67 patients in the ambulances, maybe more depending on transport. You okay honey?” she questioned, seeing the tiredness in your eyes. 

“Yeah, some jerks but at least bean is moving” you lowered your voice. Normally, you wouldn’t feel your baby moving until a few more weeks, with your hyper vigilance and rotations to OB during residency, you knew the movement, the little soft jerks. You also knew you couldn’t wait for your womb to move away from your bladder and for the light aches of your hips to stop. “No sign of Greene? He never misses a year”.

Dana shrugged as she called her family, everyone around you called their loved ones as you just shrugged yours off. When Jack came in, it was your instinct to lean into his close proximity, your own way of telling him “I love you” while on the clock. His breath against the skin of your neck and the squeeze he gave your hand, it was going to be a long night. 

“Okay, this is not the first MCE you all have gone through, I hope we all are familiar with the protocol for tonight. Doctor Abbot, Shen, Collins, and myself are going to stay down here at all times. Your number one determinant for surgical cases will go to Doctor L/n, can’t find her? Go to Walsh, we have three fellows courtesy of Doctor L/n on standby in the ORs, send your patients up immediately, they know you’re coming” Robby announced, “SWAT and the police haven’t identified a shooter therefore they will be collecting any and all fragments of evidence taken from patients, upon extraction give it to an attending. Unfortunately, we are the only trauma center nearby, we are putting ourselves at risk for the shooter to arrive here”. 

Jack felt your body tense from behind him, his knuckles finding their way to rolling against your spine to ease tension. You waited a few seconds before speaking up. 

“Any and all cardio, neuro, pediatric, and advanced traumas go to me. Lower grade trauma, general, ophthalmic, and ortho will be split between Garcia and Walsh. Nipples to navel is no-man’s land if you for any reason believe your patient cannot get the most adequate standard of care for the situation, send them to surgery immediately” you told all of them, “If I am not available or are already in an OR, I can work on up to three patients per OR, I’ve done it before, I can do it again”. 

“You’re authorized for neuro?” Whitaker and Santos both questioned you, slowly being tempted to swap to surgery. 

“Neurosurgeons are hard to come by, no one ever wants to hire more because of pay grade. Therefore everyone else has to pick up the slack” you answered, “Doctor Rios is our attending Neurosurgeon, he taught me everything I need to know”. 

“Doctor Mohan and McKay, you’ll be with me and Walsh” you told both of them, “It’s going to be a long night”.

After dismissal you heard the distant sirens from the ambulances, giving Jack enough time to check up on you. 

“He’ll come by, he never misses a Fourth” Jack reassured you as you rapidly typed on your phone to Greene’s wife.

“His daughter’s family was over there, pretty sure they all went” you told him, shaking your head slightly before putting your phone away, “You sure you’re ready for this?”.

“Nothing we haven’t seen”. 

You looked at him once more, you saw the apprehension. Last Fourth of July he worked, a firework went off in the halls and sent him into a frenzy the rest of the night. You were a senior resident, just before you and Jack decided to finally take things seriously. 

“Doctor Abbot we ran out of chest tubes Princess told me-“ you walked into a room filled with blood all over the floor and no one else but Jack who was sunk down to the floor, prosthetic to the side of him. “Jack?”.

He remained quiet as he picked at his cuticles, blood trickling from his hand, there was a deep gash in the palm of his hand, blood flowing more as he flexed his hand. 

“Jack” you took a step closer just before he fixed his eyes on you, bloodshot and pupils blown. His hair was caked in blood, “Baby let me stitch-“.

“No” he spoke up, eyes never leaving yours. Luckily, it was cooled down outside, nothing too serious to begin with minus the car collisions that sent three families here. Jack had worked on one of the moms, the mom whose blood now coated the floor and him. “I couldn’t save him,” he muttered.

Your eyebrows furrowed, taking a look at the leftover chart to see if the mom was accidentally misplaced. Only to realize Jack wasn’t thinking coherently, “Baby, the Jamison’s mom is with Greene. She’s okay, he does thank you for stabilizing her”. 

“I couldn’t save him” a sob wrecked through his throat. You took your chances and got down on your knees, the blood on the floor staining your scrubs, making yourself be at eye level to him. 

You cautiously snapped your sterile gloves off to cup his face with your hands, only after you placed his spare hand on your chest where your heart was beating- erratically from the subsiding adrenaline. The blood from his hand coated your scrubs.

“Breathe with and repeat after me” you instructed, “Your name is Jack Abbot, you are currently in Pittsburgh as an attending emergency physician, in a trauma room with Y/n”.

He lightly breathed, his breath shuddered as he opened his mouth, “My name is Jack Abbot. I am currently in Pittsburgh and an attending emergency physician, in trauma room 3 with Y/n L/n”. 

“I am not overseas in war”. 

“I am not overseas in war”.

He calmed down as you tested it another three times. Upon the third he got up and let you clean and dress his gash. “What are you thinking?” you asked, silently giving him stitches. 

“I’m lucky to be with you”.

You smiled lightly, “You’re lucky it wasn’t Langdon who came in” chortling quietly, “three more stitches and you should be good cowboy”. 

“70 year old male, multiple GSWs to the chest, wife helped stabilize him on the field”.

“Mrs. Greene?” you called out as you walked away from Jack. 

Doctor Peter Greene was the 70 year old male with the 7 gunshot wounds to his chest. His wife, Lisa, was an anesthesiologist up until last year, she was barely 65.

“Oh my god Y/n” she sobbed before engulfing you into a hug, “Please help him” you nodded as you pulled away running off to the trauma bay they held him.

“Send him to the OR now, Samira you’re scrubbing in with me” you directed, “Cassie, Lisa Greene is out there, she’s bleeding from her legs I think she was shot can you check up on her?” both the girls nodded as you wheeled Greene to the elevator.

“Are you sure you want me to scrub in?” Samira asked as you reached the elevator, it was just you two- well three. 

“Samira, I’m pregnant” you confessed as the elevator doors closed on the two of you, “I’ve already miscarried once, I don’t plan on that again, I’m hoping his stubborn ass pulls through so my baby isn’t distressed from me being stressed, you being there is more than enough”. 

She looked stunned from the confession, smiling in the light of the situation, “Do you want me to get an OB down after just to see where things are?”.

“I may need you to sub in so I can sit down once or twice, I’ll be with you the entire time” you told her, just as you reached the third floor. The surgical wing was scattered as you made it to OR 4, your body stiffened up with worry as you realized it was the same OR. 

4 hours, it took you and Samira 4 hours to get every bullet, repair any tissue. You stood standing the entire time, your heels ached, knees slightly wobbly. Luckily, Greene was stable and okay, the ED only lost 2 patients that day, most non-surgical minus laparotomies split between your fellows and Walsh. You gave your graces to Samira as she beamed with joy, her job was her life, but luckily, you convinced her to finally go on a date every once and awhile.

The most important part, you still felt the light jerks. Peeing finally felt like liberation, what you really wanted was a bath and maybe a soda to substitute the craving for wine. You wanted to talk.

“Abbot?” you asked Bridget as her and Dana contacted the hospital officials to open the emergency department again. Bridget pointed up and you gave her a thumbs up. 

There on the roof, Jack was admiring the skyline with Robby. As the elevator dinged, Robby took his leave, giving you a smile and a nod.

“How’s Greene?”.

“Good, he almost woke up from the anesthesia, but other than that, stubborn bastard is asleep in post-op. His daughter came to drop off some clothes and food” you filled him in, the silence found the both of you in an unwelcoming way, “You doubted me today”.

“I did”.

“I became a surgeon at 22, by 27 I was already an attending” you started, “I’ve also was lucky enough to have Greene and Adamson as mentors, you and Robby as colleagues” you boasted, feeling the wind blow through your hair, “But, you walk into a room and patients don’t doubt you for a singular second. I walk in and it’s always a question of if I belong here- it’s not an age thing, that I learned a long time ago” you licked your lips before continuing, “I can feel our baby moving, at 13 weeks, I can feel it, I didn’t before. I think it’s because I’m a doctor, I am aware of the feeling. Let me put the limit on what I can and can’t do”.

Jack finally looked over at you, “I’m sorry” he started, sighing gently, “I feel you walk away and it scares the living shit out of me” raking his hand through his curls, “I feel selfish a bit, knowing you’re out of reach, that you’re upstairs operating and I don’t know what’s happening”.

You smiled at the sentiment of care, “I’m working” you told him, “I’m doing the job I fell in love with when I was a kid. Now my knees and back hurt both from age and the fact that there is a little Abbot in me” you took a second for him to smile, “This job gave me you, gave me some of the best memories I could imagine, I’d bargain the recklessness every single day if it meant I’m ending up with you”. 

He chuckled, moving away from his spot and climbing over the bars to hold you in his arms. He goes on the roof to admire the city, rather than the want to leave it. 

“Sometimes I feel like I’m back out there, fighting”.

“I know. You talk in your sleep a lot” you told him. 

You saved him as much as he saved you.

dividers by @cafekitsune

[minswriting]

spencer reid x fem!reader where spencer buys a circle shaped bed just because he feels like it (or reader could've mentioned it) and they have the most beautiful and passionate sex everrrr !! there could also be a mirror on the ceiling as an extra touch <3 - 🎹

NAILED IT - S.R x Reader

About: Spencer is building a circle bed in nothing but grey sweatpants. The best way to celebrate him getting a new mattress? Sex.

Warnings: NSFW, MDNI, Spencer in grey sweatpants, Spencer’s building a bed frame, post-prison Spencer, reader is so turned on, oral (m), raw sex, p in v, honestly this became self indulgent. i didn’t try too hard with this one so it may not be the greatest lol. no proof read

Word Count: 1.8K

A/N: In light of MGG’s birthday, here is a fun little one shot that is just pure thirsting over Spencer. Borders are made by @cafekitsune !! Please comment and reblog to support your creators!!

There are many positive things you can say about your relationship with Spencer. He’s loving, kind, romantic, caring, and overall the world’s most amazing boyfriend. The functionality of Spencer’s brain was one of the things you adored most about him. He was so highly intelligent that you sometimes forget that with high intelligence comes the neglect of oneself.

And Spencer was known for neglecting himself quite a bit.

Which is why the two of you complete one another. He remembers everything about you, reminding you of your appointments, keeping track of your cycle, and giving you information about topics that you need to know. He was like your own version of the encyclopedia. And you? Well, you reminded him to take care of himself, caring for him in a way that he never really thought to. You balanced one another and for that, you’re forever grateful for your relationship with Spencer.

The only thing that you wish you could change was that damn bed of his. For months, you’ve been asking him to buy a new one. He’s had the same mattress for at least fourteen years, which by the way, the norm for having a mattress is seven to ten years on average. It was a wonder how he didn’t complain about his back hurting all of the time because whenever you slept over, you always woke up sore. And not just from the physical activities you guys participated in the night before. The mattress was old, worn out, and lumpy.

You had asked him a few times to get a new mattress, claiming that he would sleep so much better. And yet, Spencer’s response was always “Yeah but I’m hardly ever home anyways. When I’m not on a case, I’m at your apartment, sweetheart,” and well, it’s not like you could argue with that logic because it was true.

Earlier in the day, Spencer had called you, asking if you wanted to come over and watch him build something. And of course, you said yes, assuming it was a puzzle of some sort and those were always so fun to do together. What you hadn’t expected when you knocked on the door, however, was a sweaty Spencer answering the door in nothing but a pair of grey sweatpants.

That’s how you found out he bought a new bed and was putting it together as you were now sitting at his desk, the chair turned to face Spencer as he concentrated on the task at hand. “Did you know,” Spencer began as he screwed in one of the screws. “that a circle bed gained popularity in the 20th century for its futuristic design?” He asked, shaking his head to get his hair out of his face.

You heard him, of course, you did, you always listen to your boyfriend. But truthfully, you were so busy gawking at the outline of his cock in the grey sweatpants to care. “Oh really?” You replied, tilting your head and biting your lip as you looked at him.

Spencer let out a slightly strained “Mhm,” as he lifted the round metal piece, connecting it to the other. “And there’s a theory that the lack of corners can promote a sense of security and relaxation,” he exclaimed.

It was hard to pay attention. Your usually nerdy boyfriend, who hated anything and everything related to physical activity, was building a whole ass bed and not just any bed, but one of the more complicated beds simply because he loved the vibes of it. God, you felt like a slut with the way your cunt was throbbing, begging to be touched.

When Spencer finally finished building the bed frame, he lugged the mattress on top of it, which by the way, looked to be quite heavy. You audibly whimpered, unable to control the noise escaping your lips as you watched the way Spencer’s muscles flexed. And when Spencer finished, he turned to look at you, noticing the way your thighs were clenched and biting your lip. It wasn’t rocket science to see that you were incredibly turned on right now.

“Are you alright?” Spencer asked, catching his breath as he stood up straight, stretching his back.

You watched the way he flexed before actively looking at his cock. “Mhm,” you said, keeping your gaze on the sweatpants. You swallowed as you thought about having his cock in your mouth. “I think you deserve a treat for your hard work,” you smirked, meeting Spencer’s gaze as you stood up from the chair and walked over to him.

Spencer hummed, grabbing your hand and pressing a kiss onto the back of it before grabbing your hips, and holding you close to him. “Yeah?” He asked, smirking back at you. “And what does this treat entail?”

You let out a tiny giggle, leaning in to gently kiss Spencer’s lips before pulling away, and going down onto your knees. Spencer’s eyebrows rose slightly but the amused smirk on his lips remained. You didn’t hesitate to kiss Spencer’s happy trail, the small bit of hair that blessed his naval area before dropping your head lower, kissing above the waistband of Spencer’s sweatpants.

“Been wanting to suck you off all day,” You breathed out, bringing your hand up to palm him through his pants, causing Spencer to gasp. “You look so good in these pants,” you licked your lips, feeling the way he hardened underneath your touch. “And the way you looked while building the bed.” Without saying anything else, you replaced your hand with your mouth, glancing up at Spencer through your lashes as you mouthed his cock through his pants.

Spencer let out a groan, looking down at you. “God, sweetheart,” He said, swallowing. “Been so needy for me all day?”

You hummed in response, hooking your fingers on the waistband of Spencer’s sweatpants. You pulled away from Spencer’s cock enough to pull his pants down, the material falling to his ankles. And this was how you found out that he hadn’t been wearing boxers this entire time. So you let out a whimper. “You knew,” You exclaimed, looking up at him to see the way he was grinning at you cheekily.

“I may have done it on purpose,” Spencer exclaimed, putting his hand on your cheek and caressing the skin. “I see the way you stare at me in these pants. I thought…why not make a show out of it today?”

“Boo, you whore,” You replied but your tone had no heat in it as you looked back at Spencer’s cock. The tip was already red and leaking precum, a signal of how he had been thinking about this all day. And who were you to deprive your amazing boyfriend of such goodness if he’d been so clearly wanting it all day?

You gripped his cock, dipping your head to lick a strip from the base to the tip, causing Spencer to hiss in pleasure. You swirl your tongue around the tip, licking the slit of his tip a few times, before easing your mouth onto his length. You made it about halfway before stopping, moving your head back up.

Your movements were slow at first, almost teasing. Spencer let out a low moan, closing his eyes as he threw his head back, facing up at the ceiling. “Sweetheart,” he murmured, licking his lips as he focused back on you again. His hand went to your hair, entangling his fingers into the strands.

You got into a rhythm, moving your head faster up and down Spencer’s length as your hand began stroking whatever didn’t fit in your mouth. Spencer moaned loudly, watching you with a look of pleasure. “Feels so good, baby,” he groaned, unable to help the subtle movement of his hips as he thrusted into your mouth gently.

You hummed around Spencer’s cock, causing him to whimper from the vibrations. You could tell he was close with the way his cock was stiffening. And when you expected him to finish in your mouth, Spencer pulled away, removing his cock from your mouth, leaving a trail of saliva. You looked up at him with a confused look. “What-“ You began.

“I’m going to fuck you,” Spencer breathed out, grabbing your hands and helping you stand up. “Want to feel your pussy around my cock. Is that okay, baby?”

You certainly weren’t going to say no. Which is how you ended up christening the new bed with your head buried in the mattress and ass in the air as Spencer pounded into your pussy from behind mercilessly. His thrusts were hard and fast, showing how desperately he had truly craved you. “O-oh my god,” you moaned into the mattress.

Completely unrelated to sex, the new bed was really comfortable and you’ll probably sleep so well tonight.

“You’re so wet, sweetheart, holy shit,” Spencer groaned as his cock moved in and out of you.

The feeling of Spencer’s length inside of you was heavenly, to say the least. After spending the day watching Spencer shirtless and in grey sweatpants, it was needed. And thank god, you were on birth control because you did not bother looking for a condom.

“Feels so good, Spence,” you whined, gripping the mattress below you. Thank god Spencer hadn’t bothered to make the bed yet because otherwise, the sheets would be ruined from your sweat and juices.

“Yeah?” Spencer asked, thrusting particularly harsh, his cock hitting your g-spot.

You let out a very loud moan, one ranging towards nearly pornographic. Your eyes practically rolled back into your skull as Spencer pounded into you. The bedroom was filled with the sound of your moans mixed with the slapping of skin and the squelching of your pussy. “I-I love it so much,” you whimpered out.

Spencer hummed in response, gripping your hips tighter. “Me too, sweetheart,” he moaned.

You could feel yourself getting close with the way Spencer’s cock kept grazing your sweet spot. And with how Spencer’s pace began to be more frantic, you knew he was close as well. It wasn’t long before you were clamping down on his length, letting out a choked-moan before saying his name repeatedly as your toes curled with the most mind-blowing orgasm you have had in a while. Spencer followed suit, burying himself deep inside of you as he came, holding you tightly as he whined your name.

When you both finished, Spencer pulled out, collapsing on the new mattress right next to you. The two of you were silent for a bit, catching your breath. You rolled onto your back, looking up at the ceiling.

And after a bit of quiet, Spencer decided to break the silence. “You know, circle beds allow for more flexible sleeping positions,” he said, glancing over at you. “I’m sure that applies to sex as well.”

“Spencer, is this your way of saying you want round two?” You asked, giving your boyfriend an amused smile.

He grinned cheekily at you, nodding his head before moving himself on top of you. “Do you want to test it out?”

So of course you said yes and the rest of the day had been spent trying many different positions on the new bed. It was safe to say that sleepovers at Spencer’s apartment became more frequent.

[rat6ix]

MINGLE.

Thangyu x loser!male!Reader

Summary: getting rid of an obstacle during mingle leads to nam-gyu and thanos realizing they like you a lot more than they thought.

Warnings: death (obvs), blood, reader kills a guy, loser!reader, threesome, smut (yaaaay), readers a little autistic coded which is my fault lol. drug mentions, theres like a weird holding position thing going on idk what its called, readers apart of the thanos gang (obviously).

This is NOT proofread its 3am 💔

— 🐀

You’d become a member of The Thanos gang after the first vote, you’d pressed X and that caught the attention of Thanos and Nam-gyu. You seemed easy to influence, you kept to yourself and you didn’t talk to people unless you absolutely had to. It didn’t take long for them to figure out why, you acted like you’ve never talked to anyone before. You never looked them in the eye, the floor or a nearby wall looking so much more interesting whenever they talked to you. You stumbled over your words, having to calm down and restart your sentences completely.

You spent most of your time attached to Nam-gyu and Thanos, an O patch now stuck to your front with Thanos’ arm around your shoulder and Nam-gyu’s hand gripping your arm as you walked to a new game. It went pretty well at first, the numbers high enough for at least the three of you to stick together. The last round you stuck with min-su, but by the time you got to a door someone was already in there. You acted on impulse, min-su staring wide eyed at you as you shoved—borderline threw—the guy out of the room you were in and slammed the door behind you.

You were breathing heavily as you leaned against the door, feeling the blood from the now bullet through his head managed to hit you in the neck from the little window in the door. Your face scrunched up with disgust as you felt it drip down your neck into your jacket, but you wouldn’t be able go do anything about it until the game was over so you attempted to ignore it. By the time the round was over you began making it back to Thanos and Nam-gyu, Min-su following close behind.

“What happened to your neck?” Nam-gyu had asked you, his hands finding their way back to you, squeezing you slightly.

You tried to shrug them off by telling them it wasn’t yours so they didnt have to worry about it. Thanos’ eyebrows raised as an amused smile found its way on to Nam-gyu’s face. You shrunk under their gaze, walking a bit ahead of them on the way back to the room where everyone slept. You didn’t catch the look they shared with each other before they turned around and asked Min-su about it. Min-su had told them everything and you knew it by the time you’d gotten back to the room, their eyes never leaving you and those stupid smug smirks on their faces made you wanna disappear.

As soon as you got the chance you left to go to the bathroom, the blood from earlier was drying and it didn’t feel any better than when it was wet. You hung your jacket on a nearby stall so you didnt get it wet but you made sure your shirt was nearby on a sink just in case somebody came in. You almost hit your head on the faucet of the sink when you heard the door open, quickly reaching over to grab your shirt. You felt sort of relaxed when you saw Nam-gyu and Thanos but still a bit embarrassed considering you were still shirtless and water was dripping from your neck to your shoulders and back.

“What do you guys want?” You mumbled, fiddling with your shirt in your hands.

They both made their way over to you as Thanos spoke, “c’mon bro dont be like that.” The fabric of their jackets pressed against your bare skin as you tried not to make eye contact with them, the tiles on the floor suddenly a thousand times more interesting. You shifted uncomfortably at the feeling of the material on your skin but decided to suck it up so you could leave faster.

“We know what you did.” Nam-gyu spoke up this time, his voice low in your ear but you can hear the smile on his face.

You let out a noise of acknowledgment, not sure how to respond to something like that. Before you knew what was happening you were being drug to the farthest stall from the door, barely being able to keep up with their footsteps. Your feet getting stuck on the uneven tiles every now and again. You were pushed into the stall first landing roughly against the toilet, Thanos and Nam-gyu followed quickly after. After the door was closed they turned to you who was already looking up at them, your shirt now discarded somewhere else in the bathroom; you figured you dropped it on the way there.

Your eyes widened as Nam-gyu started unzipping and pulling off his jacket, tattoos now visible on his arms. He threw it on the side of the stall, Thanos doing the same. You tried to speak but gave up as you couldn’t get a full sentence out, your brain running a mile a minute. Soon enough Thanos stood closer in front of you, his hands finding your face as he started talking to you.

“Me and Nam-su really like you man, you’re real good to us.”

You went to go correct him on Nam-gyus name, catching the eyeroll he gave thanos but you were cut off by thanos pulling you up from the toilet and pushing you towards Nam-gyu who successfully caught you so you didnt trip. When you made eye contact with Nam-gyu you noticed how dilated his pupils were, you knew the both of them were on drugs but you were sorta wishing you’d been on drugs, maybe it would help you be a little bolder in this situation.

Sure you could kill a guy during a game but you couldn’t handle about to fuck two of your friends in the bathroom? You gasped as you felt Nam-gyus hands against your skin, both of them under the waistband of your pants and boxers before going to pull them both down in one try. Your cock twitched as it came in contact with the cold air of the bathroom, a stark contrast of how warm you felt at the moment. You saw Thanos smirk in front of you and you figured Nam-gyu had a similar expression. You reached behind you to find the waist band of Nam-gyus pants, not wanting to be the only one naked. You heard a chuckle from behind you and a tease about suddenly growing balls.

Suddenly Thanos made his way close to the both of you, you being pressed between the both of them as they kissed. You weren’t squished for too long before Thanos’ lips found yours and Nam-gyus made their way to your neck. You whimpered quietly as Thanos had made contact with your cock from being so close to you, he only pushed his hips against yours harder when he realized which drew a moan out of you. You could feel Nam-gyus cock pressing against you from behind, a low groan vibrated against your back as you grinded against him.

—

It didn’t take long for you three to figure out a position, Thanos and Nam-gyu both holding you above their waists,supporting your weight as they shoved their cocks in you. Your hands found their way into Nam-gyus hair, him being the one in front of you this time. Thanos laughed from behind you as you tried to hold in your moans only to fail miserably as tears fell down your face. Your pants were discarded on the floor of the bathroom stall somewhere so they didnt get in the way.

You felt like your guts were being rearranged by the both of them, nam-gyus hand eventually finding itself wrapped around your cock causing you to let out a pathetic noise and drop your head against Thanos’ shoulder. Thanos didnt waste any time pressing his lips against yours, the angle making it a little weird but it muffled your moans nonetheless. Nam-gyu mumbled something about you pushing him and Thanos’ cocks together like a fleshlight and you whined in retaliation.

Every once in a while Nam-gyu would squeeze his hand around the base of your cock to make you squirm, he succeeded at that and pulling the most pathetic noises from you which pulled a teasing laugh out of Thanos. You could feel Thanos’ ringed fingers digging into your skin as he held you still, you felt like a sex toy with the way they used you to get off. Nam-guys rings were slipped off at some point, you assumed before his hand was wrapped around your cock because he knew they would feel weird against it.

You moved your hands to hold onto your own thighs so you didnt dig your nails into Nam-gyus scalp, you didn’t want to hurt him on accident. Your grip only tightened as you got closer to cumming, trying to warn them but it only caused Thanos to shove himself deeper inside of you. You let out a half sqeal have moan as you finished, some of it landing on Nam-gyu—who didn’t look impressed— and some of it landing on your thighs. When you came down from your high they let you down, you sat down on the back of your legs before wrapping your hands around their cocks.

It didn’t take long for them to cum, already close from fucking you. most of it landed on your face and chest, groans falling out if both of their mouths as you continued stroking them; only stopping when they were finished cumming. You were a mess and you knew it, only being snapped out of your thought when Nam-gyu started speaking.

“Man i wish i had my phone right now.”

Thanos said something in agreement, you only looked around what you could see of the stall for your pants. When all three of you were for the most part dressed, your shirt and jacket still missing from before all this happened. You quickly found both of them and made your way to the sink to wash off your face and they stayed to talk to you while you finished. You had no idea how they could had such a normal conversation after fucking your brains out not even 20 minutes ago but you were glad it wasn’t awkward now.

—

Belongs to rat6ix

For: @slutforsnow

[navybrat817]

Sergeant Snuggles

Pairing: Bucky Barnes x Female Reader Summary: Bucky wants you to get some much needed rest. Word Count: Over 1.6k Warnings: Fluff, swearing, humor, reader is tired, slight feels (it's me), Bucky Barnes (he's a warning and the best boyfriend, okay?). A/N: I'm tired. I want Bucky to fix my schedule. Again! ❤️Not beta read and written on my phone, so any and all mistakes are my own. Please follow @navybrat817-sideblog for new fics and notifications. Comments, reblogs, feedback are loved and appreciated!

You should’ve taken the afternoon off. You knew that. There was no reason for you to remain in the building beyond your earlier debriefing. The mission you completed was successful, but you hardly slept over the last few days because of it. Describing yourself as tired was an understatement.

But you had a tendency to stretch yourself thin at times and were stubborn, a trait Bucky both loved and fought you on.

The beautiful brunette you were lucky enough to call your boyfriend leaned over in his chair as you stifled a yawn. “That’s the fifth time you’ve done that in the last two minutes,” he whispered low enough to not draw attention.

“Glad you’re keeping count,” you whispered back, feeling his steel eyes linger on you as before he turned his focus back to Steve. At least he didn’t say he told you so after you turned down his suggestion this morning to call in.

You glanced at him out of the corner of your eye, the stubble on his strong jawline catching your attention. He hadn’t shaved in a few days. Hardly slept either. Still looked gorgeous.

How was that fair?

“Just take a break,” he urged, tucking a strand of his long hair behind his ear. “It’ll help.”

“No, I’m fine,” you argued, picking up your drink and downing the rest of it, as if it would give you a boost. “We have a busy day. I don’t have time to use one of the pods.”

S.H.I.E.L.D. had recently built a lounge area for agents to rest and recoup during the day and between missions. Some of the pods were large enough for two people to rest comfortably together. Why not cuddle with your soldier for a short time? As nice as it sounded, you had to get through a few more hours of work.

“I love you, but you’re about two seconds away from putting your head on the table,” Bucky whispered, your heart skipping a beat. It did that whenever he professed his love for you. But you were also feeling a bit grouchy, even though he was only trying to help

“And I love you, but I’m about two seconds away from flipping this table,” you hissed before Steve cleared his throat. “Sorry,” you added sheepishly. It wasn’t his fault the mission cost you precious sleep.

The blonde’s brow furrowed. Like Bucky, he knew you pushed yourself too hard some days. You had to though. You weren't a super soldier like they were. “It’s okay,” he said before he continued.

Exhaustion veiled your normally bright and attentive gaze. The Captain had a commanding presence, yet your eyelids drooped as he kept talking. You weren’t sure if you were able to fall asleep sitting up and you didn’t want to find out. With a shake of your head, you had to try and fight the waves of drowsiness that crashed in your mind and washed over your body.

It was a losing battle. You used to laugh at memes that talked about meetings that could’ve been done in an email, but it didn’t seem so humorous now that you were living it. Why didn't you just stay home?

You jolted when your boyfriend suddenly placed his hand on your thigh and you wished you could say you blamed it on his touch. “What? What happened?” You asked. Did you fall asleep or just zone out?

“The meeting’s over,” he replied, nodding to the now empty room. You hadn’t seen anyone walk out. That wasn’t good.

“Shit.” You rubbed your temple, an ache building in your head. You’d have to apologize to Steve later because there was no way you retained anything he stated. “What time is it?”

Bucky checked his watch with a slight frown. “It’s 10:55.”

Fuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuck that.

“Yeah.” Bucky’s lip twitched in a smile when you realized you said that out loud. “Fuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuck that.”

You huffed, your head cloudy again before you slumped in your chair. There was no way you’d make it through the day, as much as you wanted to try. You were useless in this condition. “Okay. I may need a nap,” you admitted.

He smiled softly as he pushed his chair back and held out his hand. “I had a feeling. That’s why I booked us one of the pods before we got here,” he said. It shouldn't have come as a surprise. He knew you better than you knew yourself. “Let's go.”

You pouted, but took his outstretched hand. “Are you sure I can't just try and suck it up?” You asked, covering your mouth with your other hand when you yawned yet again. “There’s still work to do.”

“And you're not going to finish it right this second,” he stated firmly, the drop in his voice making your throat go dry. He meant business when he used that tone. “You're going to let everyone else handle it, and they can handle it, and you are going to get some rest.”

You loved this man for putting up with and caring for you. “Yes, Sergeant, but I still don't want a nap,” you grumbled, wondering just how whiny you sounded.

He chuckled, the sound making you giggle. It was infectious. “Just twenty minutes. It’s all I'm asking for to start. You worked hard and deserve a nap,” he said, sneaking a soft kiss in when you pouted again. “If you won’t do it for yourself, do it for me? Please?”

Something vulnerable flashed in his eyes before he blinked it away. Nightmares still plagued him and you discovered that he rested easier with you beside him. Your presence didn’t always chase the horrors away, but it helped. Maybe he needed this nap just as much as you did.

What kind of partner would you be if you didn't help?

“Okay, Bucko. For you,” you smiled, leaning into his side as he guided you down the hall. You’d do anything for him. “You know, my caffeine let me down,” you added.

“I know, baby.”

“It’s a betrayal. It was supposed to stimulate me,” you mumbled.

“I know, baby,” he said again, going along with your tired rambling. “But we both know I stimulate better than that ever could.”

“Yeah, you do,” you smiled. He was very good at that. “And this is a good excuse for us to cuddle.”

“As long as you get some sleep, you can have all the cuddles you want,” he promised.

A tired smile touched your lips. “I should call you Sergeant Snuggles.”

It was at that moment that Sam walked by, the smirk on his face telling you that he at least caught the nickname you just came up with. Your gaze flickered to Bucky’s profile, catching the clench in his jaw as he stared at his colleague and friend. It was a sexy look, but now wasn’t the time to think about that. And Sam, the good man he was, didn't say a word. He nodded and went on his way.

Which likely meant he pocketed the nickname to bring up at a later time.

“Sorry,” you whispered, hoping you hadn’t embarrassed him.

Fondness took over Bucky's blue eyes when he swung his gaze back toward you. “Don't be sorry. You can call me whatever you want,” he assured you, taking you into the longue.

The low light created a peaceful atmosphere and you found yourself longing for relaxation as Bucky brought you to the pod furthest in the corner. He helped you in before he climbed in beside you, his massive frame making you feel safe and warm as he held you against him. His fingers moved along your back in a slow and soothing pattern and your breathing began to match his after a minute. It made it easy for your eyes to slip shut.

You still couldn’t believe that you had someone in your life like Bucky. The man did everything in his power to put your needs first and make sure he took care of you. Not because he didn’t think you were strong or capable enough to do so yourself, but because he recognized that you didn’t have to do everything alone. That was why he was your partner.

In work, in love, and in life.

“Thanks, Bucky,” you sighed, wishing you were awake enough to say how much you appreciated him. “Sorry for whining and bitching and being stubborn.”

“You don’t need to thank me and you didn’t whine or bitch. I’ll give you stubborn though,” he said, casually tossing a leg over you before you could move away. If you asked it of him, he’d lay on top of you like a blanket. “Just get some sleep and don’t push yourself today, please. I’ll feel a lot better if you relax.”

You’d feel a lot better, too. “One more question and I will.”

He hummed as he waited for you to speak.

“What's the policy on sex in the pods?” You asked, resting a hand on his chest and feeling his heart start to race. “For future us, for the record. I love you, but we’re not trying somnophilia here today.”

He exhaled a laugh against your forehead before he kissed it, warmth spreading like a balm through your head. “I love you, too,” he whispered. Dragging his lips down to yours. “And I’m sure we can find a way to make it work, but not until you rest, okay? Need you at one hundred percent for that.”

“Yes, Sergeant Snuggles,” you replied, feeling him hold you a little tighter before you finally got some much needed sleep.

I hope this reads well. 🤣 I'm le tired. Love and thanks for reading! ❤️

Masterlist ⚓ Bucky Barnes Masterlist ⚓ Ko-Fi

[chiara8104]

max x reader and they’re new parents and he has to leave reader for a triple header and when he gets back reader is real stressed and is on edge around him from the lack of sleep and he tries to comfort her and keep her at ease since she’s so reactive to everything.

Kinda hurt comfort fic☺️

sleep deprived - max verstappen x fem!reader

a/n: omg I love this idea!! it is so good!! anyway, my first ever fic!! I really hope u guys enjoy!! if u want to be on my tag list lmk!! requests are always open!!

summary: you hadn’t gotten sleep in a while, until your husband Max comes to help you out.

warnings: use of pet names, angst (turns into fluff in the end), some swearing (maybe like once) , NOT PROOFREAD, poorly translated Dutch (don’t come for me!)

———————————————————————————

3:02am. You stare at your alarm clock, groaning when you hear the cries of your baby. You haven’t gotten a wink of sleep since you had your little girl, Violette. It’s been even more difficult when your husband, Max had a triple header this week. You slowly get out of bed, rubbing your tired eyes. Your body was tired, your eyes hurt from the sleep you haven’t gotten, closing desperately to get at least an hour of sleep.

You slump your way to your daughter’s room. She was getting louder, desperate for some type of connection from you. You grab her slowly and carefully, putting her in your arms. You pat her back slowly, shushing her from her screaming. “Why can’t you stay asleep,” you weep softly, you were drained. Your daughter had somewhat calmed down, her breathes becoming softer signalling she had fallen asleep. You breath out a sigh, putting her back into her crib and quickly going back to your bed. You finally had some time to yourself. You prayed Violette would stay asleep this time.

When you sat back on your bed, you hear the same cries you heard moments earlier. You let out a heavy sigh and swiftly went back to her room. Grabbing her and taking her to the rocking chair in the corner of her room. You shush her, but she wouldn’t budge, still screaming. You try everything you can but Violette wouldn’t stop crying. “Max please come home sooner,” you mumble. Slowly your eyes start to close, the rocking of the chair must’ve made you more tired than Violette.

This horrible routine continued throughout the week. You would wake up to Violette crying and screaming as she always would. You had given up on even getting a wink of sleep. You stressed about being a bad mother, not being able to get your daughter to sleep. You tried everything. At this point, it was rare for Violette not to cry.

———————————————————————————

When Max arrived home from the triple header, he was excited to finally see his wife and daughter. He fiddled with his keys and opened the front door. “I’m home!” He yelled excitedly. He couldn’t wait for his wife to jump in his arms, give him a kiss and prepare him for a night full of cuddles. But you were nowhere to be found. Max looked around the whole house until he found you cooped up in Violette’s room, hair a frizzled mess, it looked like it wasn’t washed in days and eye bags dark and defined.

You looked at Max, smiling. “Max, baby, you’re home. Why didn’t you say anything.” Max looked at you contently and sat down next to you. He noticed you were reading a book on parenting. “Baby, why do you need to read this? You’re the best mother a kid could ask for.” He held your shoulder contently. You flinched at his touch and shooed him away, “Max, I haven’t slept in days. Violette has been crying every night.” You look up at him. Your eyes welling up with tears. “No, no, don’t cry. It’s okay I promise.” He wiped your tears from your cheeks. “No, it’s not okay. I’m so fucking tired Max. I need to sleep.” You stand up abruptly and leave the room.

Max followed your body as it left the room looking puzzled. You’ve never been like this ever. The concern of your state was filling Max completely. Until it was interrupted by Violette’s sobbing. Max hears your loud groan and walking back into the room. Grabbing her and leaving. Max followed you out and noticed how you were crying again. “Why won’t you sleep?!” You weep in between tears. Max slowly approached you. “Y/n.” He was ignored. “Y/n!” “What Max? What do you need?” You snap at him. Max paused, breathing slowly. “Baby, you need sleep. Let me take Violette-“ “-no, I need to look after her.” You take a step back. “Y/n, please.” Max took a step forward. Max pauses. He slowly grabs Violette out of your grasp. You rub your now, red, tired eyes. “Y/n, please get some sleep. You need it.” Max says sternly.

You slowly meet his gaze, smiling when your eyes connect. “Thank you.” You slowly walk to your shared room and close the door. Max stares at Violette, “well, I guess it’s just you and me now, huh.” He tickles her stomach, earning a giggle out of the baby. Max slowly walks back to Violette’s room and grabs her little lion plushie. Violette makes grabby hands at the animal and smiles when she receives the small plushie. Max and Violette continue to play with her toys.

———————————————————————————

A few hours later, you wake up. Feeling… well rested? You let out a sigh of relief. You hadn’t slept that well since a few weeks ago. You hear silence. Something you had craved, it was rare when you heard the sound of your own footsteps. You walk to the bathroom, having a slower. Once you are done, you walk to Violette’s room to see Max and Violette sleeping together on the rocking chair. Their breaths slow, content. You smile at them and slowly walk over, shaking Max softly until his eyes flutter open, meeting yours. “Hey you, how are you feeling.” He croaks, voice hoarse from sleep. “So amazing,” you kiss him softly. “I love you so much Max” you pull back softly. He smiles against your lips “I love you too, liebe”

———————————————————————————

authors note: this is my first ever fic! I hope you guys enjoyed!! my requests are always open!

[halcyone-of-the-sea]

Hi, I just found your blog, and I love your Simon's fics! I was wondering if i could please request something where Reader and Simon had broken up bc he thought he put her in danger. After a few months, he comes to her after a mission and they spend the night but he leaves before she wakes up thinking hes doing whats best (and all that angsty jazz 🥲🤭) . A few weeks after she finds out shes pregnant and decides to take on her own, as reader thinks simon wouldnt care. But maybe one of the guys see her heavy preggo and tell simon, and hes fuming and super protective mode is on.

Sorry if it is too specific and for the terrible english. I just have this idea, and i dont think i can picture it right. Anyway, thanks for reading this and for your good work on your fics 💗 hope you have a lovely day

—Digging Gaze

⇢ ˗ˏˋ 5k Drabble Masterlist ࿐ྂ

╰┈➤ ❝ [You indulge in a one-night-stand after you'd both called it quits, only, it leads to more problems. When he sees you again, how will he react to the swelling of your stomach?] ❞

You knew it was the effects of a less-than-gentle breakup, but you should have at least cursed him out before you let him have his way with you on the living room couch. You’d woken up back in bed, alone, and had gotten dropped back to where you had been weeks earlier—stuck in the throws of confusion and hurt. 

Simon had left you, and he never gave you a reason. 

A part of you was heated; pissed off and feeling betrayed by the insult, yet, the rest of you knew that Simon needed to have his reasons—he always did. Even if you didn’t agree with them, and you knew he tended to look at life with a glass-half-empty type of glance. 

So that left you here. 

You were pregnant. 

You’d found out two weeks after you’d slept together for that last time, your cheeks still hot from the memory and your fingers clutching the plastic of a test. 

Pregnant.

It had been a shock, a deep panic. The both of you had been reckless. Stupid. And while you had stared at those two pink lines, you felt a sinking in your gut akin to a drowning ship. Should you tell him? It would be proper, of course. 

But you don’t think you can face him again after you’d awaken to an empty bed—as if your entire relationship had only been about sex and not the deep nights of confessions and soft brushes of skin. You knew Simon Riley better than he probably knew himself.

And you wouldn’t put this on him.

At seven months, you couldn’t walk as much as you could before—and you would huff for breath as you went up the stairs to change the sheets—but who else could do it but you? Shopping also fell to you, and so, you pushed a large cart around and packed the metal basket with cravings and necessities. That was when you fell to a familiar face. 

“Johnny?” You ask, blinking. 

The Scot pauses, turning. His brows furrowed for a moment before a kind smile peeled his lips back.

“Hen!” He comes closer, laughing. “Well, I haven’t seen you in a good minute, then. What have you been up to in all—” 

The man freezes at the sight of your stomach, jaw going slack as you fight an internal war with yourself to say pleasantries and leave. 

“Hell,” Johnny clears his throat. “I guess you’ve been doin’ a great deal.” 

You sigh, shaking your head softly. “Thanks, Johnny.”

“I’m just joking, Little Lady.” The man laughs and waves a hand. “Who’s the lucky man then? I’ll have to meet him one of these days.”

Your face blanks and your lips snap shut in an instant. 

Blue eyes wait for an answer as the silence laps over itself. Slowly but surely, the realization dawns on his face in a tight pull of horror.

“You can’t tell him,” you interrupt his tight gasp. “Not a peep, MacTavish, you hear?”

“What the fuck,” he breathes at you, hand coming up to his mouth as he glances down at your swelling bump. “Holy hell.”

“Johnny,” you snap, his eyes jerk back to you. 

“It’s bloody Ghost’s—”

“You can’t,” you growl, coming closer, “tell him.”

“What do you mean I can’t tell him,” Johnny hisses under his breath, looking at the people passing by and lowering his tone. “You’re pregnant and he doesn’t know!”

“That’s the point,” you ease out, exasperated and feeling drained already. Jesus, you needed to go lay down—your back was killing you. “Johnny,” you breathe, growing softer as you reach out a hand and put it to his arm. He grips it and holds on, looking incredibly concerned. “He doesn’t need to know, okay? That’s a lot of stress on him, and you know what he does for work. Even worrying about me was hard on him, what do you think a child would do?”

“You can’t think like that,” the Scot mutters. “He can help—what, you mean to tell me you plan to do this by yourself?” It isn’t malicious how he says it; Johnny’s worried about you. Incredibly. “Hen, no,” he shakes his head. “No, you can’t.”

“I can, Johnny,” you frown, dread filling your heart. “And I will.”

In the future, you really had to take into account Johnny’s flapping lips when under the spell of alcohol. Maybe you had enough faith in him to watch himself for the last little while of your pregnancy as he had into the latter half of the eighth month.

And then three firm knocks were at your door, and when you opened it, you were face to face with a painted balaclava and frazzled brown eyes.

Those eyes immediately snap down, and not even a word is uttered to your face until then.

The both of you are stone-still. Frozen. Dead to all else. 

You swear it was hours of this—standing in the doorway with Simon’s fingers stiff in his pockets and his chest not even moving in a pulse or flare of his lungs. He doesn’t even blink. 

“How far along?” His voice is monotone. A low drone in the ringing of your ears.

Damn that Scot.

“Eight and a half,” you say quietly. 

Brown eyes shift up to yours. Simon stares, and you see his jaw clench under his balaclava, his shoulders moving. Again a long pause. 

“When’s the next appointment—”

“It’s a girl.” You see his eyelids peel back and halt there, watching you. “In case you care to stick around and see her.”

Cruel perhaps, but it was nothing short of how he acted while leaving you. 

Simon’s hidden face is slack, stuttering silently for a moment as the light fades outside.

“Didn’t…didn’t know,” he grunts out, blinking quickly.

“I know you didn’t,” you utter. “That was the point, Simon.”

“Johnny told me ‘bout it, didn’t believe him.” His brown eyes swirl, breaking. “Thought you’d mention it if you were.” 

“You left,” you breathe. “Why would I reach out to someone that did that to me.”

“M’sorry, I-I don’t…” Simon clears his throat, looking away. His eyes are glossy, fingers moving out of his pockets so his twitching hands can splay out. “Could have explained, but I didn’t know how, Love. I’m not…this isn’t…”

Words fail him just like his ability to explain his emotions. Part of him was angry—angry that you’d gone all this time without reaching out when he could have helped.

A daughter. 

But he was afraid, as well. Terrified. You were in the right and he knew it. Simon didn’t know the first thing about being a father…but then again, you didn’t know how to be a mother, either. 

This was new territory.

“Marry me,” Simon pushes out with a quick force of breath. 

“Wh—,” you choke on air. “What?”

“Let me make it up to you, yeah?” Gloved hands move at his sides, eyes honest but still shiny. “Wasn’t thinking—my fault and I can’t go on if I don’t know you’re safe.” He licks at the corner of his mouth. “...Both of you. Thought leaving would make the best sense, but I was…fucking hell. M’sorry.”

“Simon, there are many more ways other than marriage.” Your anger wasn’t something that could be washed away that easily, even if your heart fluttered at the idea and his apology.

You had more self-respect than that.

“Let me fix this,” he whispers, leaning closer. 

Your hand rests over your stomach, staying there as the minutes draw. Simon waits, nervous and his fingers tap on his thigh. You know he’s afraid. You know he’s nervous about what he could bring home from work, even if those are only his paranoia talking in his ear like a demon. 

You frown. 

You huff.

And you open the door wider.

“The sheets need changing in my room. Get on it.”

The man says nothing before he enters the house and slips off his boots; disappearing into the linen closet.

[weinq]

kiss me thru the phone

idol!anton x reader synopsis: After a concert, Anton texts you late at night. Despite the distance and time difference, a sleepy FaceTime call turns into a tender moment of love, laughter, and longing. genre: fluff, angst if you squint (?) word count: 1.1k authors note: i wanted to make this very angsty and fluff but this is what i’ve got for now. also, I haven't stopped staring at the pictures / videos of Anton from this live, he looks soo good huhuhu~ not proof read! masterlist

It was well past midnight when Anton finally made it back to the hotel; the pulse of the concert was still thrumming in his veins.

He sank into the chair, the weight of the day pressing down on him. Reaching for his phone, he unlocked it and instinctively scrolled to your messages. A smile curled at his lips as he read the texts you had sent earlier. Normally, Anton was glued to his phone, constantly keeping you in the loop. But as the tour stretched on, each stop had become more demanding, leaving him with fewer moments to share with you. He wished he could do more, but tonight, at least, he had this.

y/n: Have fun out there, rockstar~! y/n: Text me when you get back tho :)

A soft laugh escaped his lips. There was a warmth in your messages that Anton couldn’t ignore. He glanced at the city clock on his lock screen—it was already dawn where you were. He knew you would probably be up soon, starting your day. Despite the time difference, a little part of him hopes that you would be awake as he types out a response. 

anton: Just got back to the hotel, baby. anton: I’ll shower and go to bed. anton: I hope you slept well.

anton: Good morning, baby.

He paused for a moment before hitting send, knowing you’d likely still be asleep. He added the last message felt like a gesture of warmth, something to hold onto until you woke up. Not expecting an immediate reply, he set his phone down on the table and headed for the shower, his mind still lingering on you.

As Anton adjusted the shower's temperature, steam began to swirl in the air, enveloping the room in warmth. He stood there, waiting for the water to reach the right heat, his mind drifting. The quiet was interrupted by the sharp ping of his phone— “A message at this hour?” He paused, momentarily distracted. Anton wondered if it was one of the older group members sneaking out for a late-night snack, or maybe a work-related message? But his gut told him it was something else entirely.

He stepped out of the steam-filled bathroom, drawn to the glow of his phone. He glances at the notification on his phone, which to his surprise, it was yours. You had responded. His heart picked up a little as he stared at your message, a grin spreading across his face. Instinctively, his thumbs moved to type, eager to reply.

anton: Why are you awake at this hour? 🤨

He hit send and leaned back, a grin tugging at the corners of his mouth. The minutes seemed to stretch as he waited, anticipation thick in the air. Moments later, your reply lit up his screen.

y/n: I couldn’t really sleep. :( I kept thinking about you, and then… I saw you in my dreams.

Anton’s heart skipped at the thought of you dreaming about him, his smile widening. He paused for a bit, before sending the next message. 

Anton’s heart swelled at the thought of you dreaming about him. He couldn’t help but smile wider, warmth spreading through him. He hated how far away you were, how much he longed to be with you at that moment. His fingers hovered over the screen, a deep pull in his chest urging him to reach out.

anton: If you’ve got time now, lovely, do you want to FaceTime for a bit?

He hit send, the words feeling almost too easy to say—too simple, but exactly what he needed. He missed you more than he’d admit, and hearing your voice was the closest thing to being with you. You responded with a call, and Anton picked up in a heartbeat.

“Hello, baby,” Anton said softly, his voice warm as he gazed at your sleepy, yet smiling face. His heart tugged at the sight of you, so close yet so far away.

“Hi,” you murmured, your voice thick with sleep, still caught in the haze of dreams.

Anton couldn’t help but smile as he set his phone down on the desk and leaned back in his chair. “How’s your morning?” he asked, his voice laced with affection.

“Hmm, not bad,” you replied, rubbing your eyes as you tried to fully wake up. “I’m just trying to shake off the sleepiness, though.” Then you yawned, your voice quieter. “How was the show?”

Anton let out a tired sigh, leaning back further in his chair. “Honestly, I’m kinda exhausted,” he confessed. “The tour’s really starting to catch up to me. But when I’m on stage... it’s like I forget everything. I love performing.” He paused, a nostalgic smile playing on his lips. “I wish you could’ve been there today. Wonbin hyung played this sick solo on his bass. It was incredible. Briize lost their minds—one of them almost fell over the barrier.”

You laughed softly, the sound warm and soothing. “That sounds crazy. I hope she’s okay, though.”

“Mhm, yeah. Wonbin hyung went down to check on her while greeting the fans in the front row,” Anton said, his tone lightening a little.

There was a brief pause as you stretched your arms, making yourself more comfortable. “I think I’ve got a busy day ahead of me,” you said, your voice quiet. “Well, maybe not too busy. I have a work meeting first, and after that, I’m meeting Yumi and Jia for coffee.”

Anton nodded attentively, but his mind couldn’t quite shake the thought of you being so far away. He listened to you excitedly talk about your plans, a small smile tugging at his lips despite the exhaustion that weighed on him.

After you finished, the conversation fell into a comfortable silence—one that didn’t need to be filled. Just hearing each other’s presence was enough, even if it wasn’t the same as being together.

“Anton?” you said quietly, breaking the silence, your voice softer now.

“Yeah?” His voice was gentle, full of warmth as he leaned closer to the screen, his heart tight in his chest.

“I miss you,” you whispered, almost as if you were afraid to say it out loud.

Anton’s heart skipped, a soft smile spreading across his face. The ache of longing was palpable, yet his love for you flooded in, making the distance feel even harder. “I miss you too, y/nie,” he replied, his voice thick with emotion. His eyes stayed locked on yours, as though he could reach through the screen and hold you. “I wish I could kiss you right now. God, I really do.” His words were shy, vulnerable, but filled with such longing. 

You smiled, your eyes locking with his. For a moment, it felt as if you were just a breath away, close enough to close the distance. “Kiss me through the phone” you whispered teasing him with the lyrics of the song, your voice barely above a breath, the sadness of missing him wrapping around your playful words.

[honeypiehotchner]

The Gambit (Hotch x Fem!Reader) -- part twenty-seven

We're gonna ignore that I posted this to the library blog originally 😭 If I wasn't so picky I would've left it but I want to have the chapters themselves on my main 🤣 Ugh! Anyway!

Warnings: GASP playful banter!!!, angst if you absolutely squint (for once), Aaron in pajamas in the dim light of the kitchen (yes that's a warning), FLIRTINGGGGGGG!!!

You can’t sleep. It’s a running theme. 

Only this time, it’s less about the fact that there’s an unsub after you, worse still that it’s someone you might’ve known as a kid, possibly the man who kidnapped you in the first place. This time, it has more to do with the fact that just across the hall, Hotch is sleeping.

Your boss is sleeping just across from you, and not in a motel, no, in a house. A much smaller space. 

Why he chose to sleep even on the same floor, let alone so close, you have no idea. But he’s there. Probably sleeping— well, probably not. That’s a stretch, even for you. He hardly sleeps these days, or at least has hardly slept since you’ve been at the BAU.

You don’t know if that’s your doing or not.

You roll onto your side, again. 

You can’t get what Hotch said to you earlier to stop replaying in your head.

All this time, you’ve assumed that what he did — at least ten years ago, on that first case — was malicious. That he split things up and gave you what you saw as “busy work” purely to get a rise out of you and to even punish you for the fact that you weren’t taking any of his shit. You never would’ve gotten that it was done for a nearly polar opposite reason.

Even mentioning that he saw how much work you were doing — and he wasn’t at all incorrect in that assumption — it was just the fact that he noticed it. That he saw how little sleep you were running on — five hours on a good night — how much coffee you were guzzling, how much shit you were putting up with because, face it, yeah, that job was a piece of shit. You did more work than the head detective, than any of your fellow detectives, and they all knew it. And they all did nothing about it. You never saw a raise, you never saw an ounce of help, no matter how many times you asked for the latter.

The whole time you were there, the only one to slightly do something about it, was an outsider. Hotch.

That whole time, he was trying to help, and you saw that as he thought you were incompetent and not good enough for your job and you fought. 

Of course, it doesn’t help matters that he fought back. 

When he apologized for that, you couldn’t help but be amused. That he was accepting that he didn’t help things by feeding right into your energy. 

No one is at fault here, not really. You were still fairly new at your job, or at the very least, new to trying to be your office’s own profiler. You were insecure; you’ve long accepted that. You were timid at the start; you didn’t believe in yourself. But you were clearly going above and beyond, so much so that you might as well have been slowly killing yourself, and you didn’t care. 

But Hotch did. Hotch tried to help, and you hated him for it. 

Because you assumed he was seeing what you were seeing about yourself. Your warped view that you didn’t belong there, a case of Imposter Syndrome to the highest degree.

And you didn’t want help. Still, to this day, it’s something you don’t want. Something you’re struggling to accept that you need, especially when it comes to everything that is happening right now.

You’re stubborn — but so is he. You’re too much alike, maybe that’s why you struggle to get along, why even tonight, when you were trying to put everything out on the table, finally show your cards, it escalated. It almost went too far again. It would’ve, because you would’ve happily stayed annoyed and frustrated if Aaron hadn’t come back with the pizza and an apology.

You roll onto your other side, again.

At this rate, you’re not going to get even an hour of a poor excuse for sleep, not when you keep moving around like this.

You need a walk. And a glass of water.

You throw the covers off your body perhaps a little too aggressively, flinging yourself out of bed since you have way too much energy right now. You at least try to open your door and creep down the hall to the stairs quietly so you don’t wake Hotch up with your insane insomniac behaviors.

You manage to make it to the kitchen and grab a glass without hardly any noise, sipping it as you lean against the counter.

You’re halfway done with the glass when you get the absolute life scared out of you.

Aaron flicks one of the small lamps on when he enters the kitchen, but the problem is that his footsteps were so damn quiet — or maybe you zoned out — that you had no idea he was there until the light came on.

You scream. He jumps.

“Oh my fucking god,” you hiss and laugh at the same time, setting your glass down in the sink. You have no clue how you didn’t toss the water at him. Your heart races under your palm. “Holy shit.”

“Sorry,” he says, but he’s laughing through the word, and it’s the prettiest and most endearing sound. You can’t help but join him.

“It’s fine,” you say, shaking your head. “Jesus. What are you even doing up?”

“Couldn’t sleep,” he admits. “And then I heard your door open. I wanted to be sure you were okay.”

Oh. Well that…that melts you a little. “Thanks. Yeah, I can’t sleep either. Thought a walk and some water might help. And being scared shitless, apparently. You’re like six foot, why the fuck do you walk so quietly?”

“It’s the socks,” he says, looking down and even wiggling his toes a little. 

You roll your eyes. “Sure, blame the socks. What did they ever do to you?”

He laughs again, leaning his shoulder against the doorframe as he crosses his arms over his chest. He’s so relaxed. It occurs to you then that you’ve probably never seen him so relaxed in your presence. You’re both always so…tense.

“You’re exhausted,” he comments.

“What gave you the clue?”

“You’re joking way too much with me right now.”

“I’m a comedian,” you say, matter-of-factly. “You’ve just never seen this side of me before.”

He raises an eyebrow at you. Between that expression and the way he’s leaning, you’re thankful for the fact that the lighting is so dim. You do not need to explain the feeling that just rushed through you or the face you just made.

“I was thinking about what you said earlier,” you blurt.

Hotch’s expression hardens a little and he straightens up. “Was it keeping you awake?”

“Kind of. Not really. There’s a lot keeping me awake these days, but look—” You pause, inhaling deeply. “I’m sorry,” you say, unaware that you’re even going to start with that until you do. “I wouldn’t have listened to you back then if you had tried telling me that I was stretched too thin and doing too much work.” You shake your head. “I was sleep deprived, addicted to caffeine—”

“More than you are now?”

“Hey,” you feign hurt, smiling a little at him. “I was perpetually grumpy. If you had asked any of the men that I was working with, they probably would’ve said I was a bitch who had a temper and who was never happy or satisfied with anything. Which, isn’t untrue, but, still.” You let out a bitter laugh. “Anyway, I saw you trying to help as you confirming my fears that I was doing too much and it wasn’t enough, and that it never would be enough.”

In the dim light of the kitchen, you can still see the hurt cross Aaron’s face. Hurt on your behalf, not that you’ve hurt him. An ache, for you. Like just hearing the way you thought about yourself is breaking his own heart. You never thought he cared that much.

“I’m glad it wasn’t that,” you chuckle. “I’m glad that it wasn’t malicious and that you were just trying to help. I just wish I had seen that.”

“I wish I had told you,” he whispers. “I wish I had just talked to you.”

“I wouldn’t have listened,” you remind him with a wry smile. 

“We don’t know that though,” he murmurs.

Good point. Because you two never talked. “I know.”

You look around the kitchen, glancing at the clock. Almost four a.m., for god’s sake.

Then you look back up at Aaron, his eyes already watching you, and they’re so soft. He looks so soft here, in his t-shirt and pants, his hair just slightly a mess from tossing and turning just like you. And he’s watching you so intently, like he doesn’t want to miss a thing. When all you’re doing is standing here in your pajamas, exhausted.

“We should get some sleep,” you whisper, hoping it’ll break him out of his trance.

His gaze doesn’t waver. If anything, the intensity grows. “Yeah” is all he says.

You watch him. You swallow. He looks ready to devour you, and you know you aren’t helping because you’re looking at him like you would absolutely let him. “Aaron…”

That does it, somehow. He blinks, looks away from you. He nods, moves out of the doorway. “Goodnight.”

Every bit of your body doesn’t want to leave this kitchen, this moment. You want to stay right here in this comfortable silence, too close to him, too close to doing something you shouldn’t.

But you shouldn’t, so you force yourself away. You force yourself to leave and head back up the stairs, stealing a glance behind you only once you’re halfway up the stairs to see if he’s following you.

He isn’t.

+++

Aaron gets absolutely zero sleep.

Not that he expected to, anyway. He was tossing and turning before he heard you leave your room. He was halfway toward deciding to say fuck it and start his day at three a.m., so if anything, you just beat him to it.

But he wasn’t expecting you to say any of what you said. He wasn’t expecting the two of you to talk about any of it again. He thought that the conversation would stay where it was, and that the two of you would move on and never address it again.

But you did. You brought it up. And you said things about yourself that made his heart twist painfully in his chest.

He has known that you’re too hard on yourself. He has known this for the longest time. He sensed it even before you joined him in his office that day and told him you thought you were being fired because an unsub got away. But to hear that it goes as far back as the very beginning, it’s no wonder you saw his actions as something else. It’s no wonder you thought he was like the rest of your coworkers, the rest of the men you’ve had to put up with.

Even now, you think you’ve somehow failed because an unsub is targeting you. As if anything you went through at the hands of your father is anything but his fault.

It keeps Aaron awake. For longer than he wants to admit.

He crashes at some point, managing around an hour or so of fitful sleep. A power nap, at best, and drags himself into the shower when he realizes it’s almost eight in the morning.

By the time he is out of the shower and dressed, he hears you moving around in the kitchen.

When he enters the kitchen this time, he doesn’t turn any lights on or give you any indication that he’s there. He stays in the doorway for a moment, watching you as you open cabinets and ponder your choices — which are slim. (Apparently, the extent of Rossi’s cooking was dinner only.)

But still you look around, and Aaron watches you move curiously. You’re already dressed, in casual clothes today, so it does something to him, makes his stomach flip and his heart stutters a little. 

You’re so beautiful. He has always known this. He thought it the first day he ever met you because he couldn’t understand how someone that beautiful could look at and speak to him with such disdain — and how you managed to still look beautiful doing it.

Of course, back then, he was married. Albeit in a marriage that was doomed from the start, but still married, so he shoved those thoughts away, told himself he had no business thinking you were beautiful or worrying about what you thought of him. It didn’t matter because you weren’t going to be in his life, or he in yours, because once they left town after that case, he’d never see you again.

Thank goodness he was wrong.

“I can feel you staring at me,” you say without even turning to look at him. “You’re not as quiet in the mornings, you know.”

“Busted,” he chuckles, finally walking the rest of the way into the kitchen. “What are you looking for?”

“Evidence that Italians eat more than pasta,” you joke, shutting the cabinet doors and spinning around. You cross your arms over your chest — Aaron very pointedly does not look down — and lean back against the counter. “None so far.”

“Didn’t Dave get groceries before he left?”

You roll your eyes. “Yeah, a few days ago, but I swear the man never eats breakfast or lunch here.” You pause, still eyeing Aaron in a way that makes him nervous. Because he can’t tell what it means. “Wanna go out with me?”

He nearly chokes. “Excuse me?”

“Out. For breakfast. There are loads of cute cafes around here, Rossi took me to one. We could grab breakfast, get some coffee, take a walk around a park — that one is selfishly for me. I need a walk. I’m going stir-crazy.”

Aaron is still caught up on your wording and your subsequent rambling, but he eventually nods. “Sure. I’ll go find my shoes.”

He wanders around like he has no idea where he put his things before making his way up the stairs to his room. He slides his feet into his sneakers on autopilot, shaking his head to get a grip. He needs to get a grip. Immediately.

The two of you are going out for breakfast because Dave has next to nothing for breakfast food. Not because you just asked Aaron Hotchner out on a date. That is not what this is because knowing you, you’d be explicitly clear if it was. It’s breakfast, coffee, and a walk to clear both of your heads, probably so you can come back here and start looking at more of the case files.

That’s all.

+++

Is this a date? No. Would you be mad if it is? Also no.

So what if you chose that wording just to get a rise out of him? Sue me.

After last night in the kitchen, and all the little things you’ve been noticing but ignoring, all the moments of no personal space, the little touches, the playful words. What if it’s something? 

It’s probably nothing.

Or at least, that’s what you’re telling yourself since Aaron came back downstairs with his shoes on and ready to go, and he hasn’t looked at you once.

It’s probably nothing.

You just don’t know why he won’t look at you.

[exquisink]

pre-jjk0, cult leader!geto, non-sorcerer!reader

you have sensed geto’s unease the moment he strides into the bedroom, hard eyes softening upon seeing you beneath the covers, back turned away from him. you know your days with him are numbered, but he’s made you believe you have a responsibility toward the twins as you have become something like a mother to them.

the bed dips beside you as he settles in, resting a cold hand on the small of your back. you don’t flinch, even if you know what that hand has been responsible for even just moments earlier while disposing of some clients he no longer found any use in keeping alive.

even if he has taken everything you have ever known away, he has never once struck you, though. he has not harmed you, at least, not beating you. he’s always claimed it was ineffective when ultimately, all he wants is your acceptance.

but he doesn’t even accept most of your ‘kind.’ you are just some unique exception.

“look at me, pet. i want to see your face, even if your eyes are filled with loathing.”

you peer over your shoulder, but your eyes remain hardened. his face, pasty, open pores because he hasn’t slept adequately in days, preparing for the war against jujutsu society. it’s appalling actually. that glamor of his is fading.

“i can’t tell you anything you want to hear, geto,” you tell him, impressed how even your tone sounds. probably because you don’t actually fear him. you know what to expect, for the most part.

“i don’t need you to speak. i need you to listen,” he replies, “there is a good chance i won’t survive, should satoru get to me. In fact the probability of me surviving is nonexistent. i’m sure you must be elated to exist in a world without me.”

beyond it, you think, but your lips remain pressed together, firm.

“you’ve sworn to me you’ll take care of my family, because they have all come to accept you, too. an extraordinary anomaly.”

his hand cups your face by your chin. you adjust, avoiding any strain.

“it’d mean the world to me, if i just knew that somewhere in your heart, you feel for me the way i feel for you,” he murmurs, his lips drawing close to yours, barely brushing against them. “i love you.”

“i don’t,” you mutter without hesitation. “i never did and i never will.”

his grip on your chin loosens. he sighs.

“very well. you can’t blame a man for trying. a few more days and i’m gone.”

“and if you’re not?”

he laughs, darkly.

“trust me, pet, i won’t return.”

[sweetsuburbanlegends]

The Jet - Somewhere Over Tennessee

Summary: You and Hotch are the only ones still awake on the flight home.

Pairing: Aaron Hotchner x f!Reader

Word Count: 2.5k

Warnings: put the self in self-insert, descriptions of canon-typical violence, anxiety

A/N: Part of this universe, but each scene can stand on its own.

The wind hissed as the jet cut through the air. The cabin was quiet, save for a deep breath or the unconscious rustling of movement as someone got more comfortable, the leather seat creaking. 

Everyone was asleep, and though you’d tried earlier, leaning back, eyes closed, your nerves were still too highly strung for it. You’d become acutely tuned into the noise that accompanied moving so fast and so high up in the atmosphere so that you felt it shaking your eardrums. 

Instead, you push up the window cover and look out at the steady flashing light on the wing. It’s too dark outside to see anything. You’ll be arriving home close to dawn, might catch the early morning joggers just starting on their trail. 

You think back to the many plane trips you took when you were little, how hard it was for you to settle down enough to rest just a little, spending hours with your books and colouring sheets as your parents slept on each side of you, eye masks on to shield them from the overhead light you kept on. In those moments, you felt like the only person in the world. 

Sometimes, once you got older, you’d worry that it wouldn’t change, that nobody would wake up and this big thing in the sky would keep going until it dropped dead. 

Looking back on it now, it all felt ridiculous. If not anyone else, at least one pilot had to be awake. You wonder why the thought never occurred to you, and even if it had, if you would have found any comfort in it. 

Now, you rely often on sleeping pills, prescribed to you during your third year at Violent Crimes. The journeys you’ve made so far with the team haven’t been so late, and you try to avoid the raised eyebrows that would surely accompany the rattling of a prescription bottle. 

You lean your temple against the cool glass, the faint hum of the engines threading through your bones. The air is stale, thick with the scent of coffee and something faintly metallic, the way airplane air always is. Sleep tugs at the edges of your mind, but it never quite settles, fingers hovering right above your eyelids. The exhaustion is there, weighty and insistent, but stubbornly, your body pushes back against it. 

The curtain is pulled away, rippling. Aaron steps out, standing at the head of the jet as he surveys the cabin. Tucked away in the corner, sitting in the dark, you hope he doesn’t notice you and finds himself a spot to lay down, but his eyes land on you and you resign yourself to your fate. 

Walking over, he turns on the light above and sits across from you. 

“You should be asleep.” 

Biting the apology that leaps up, you only shrug and look out the window. The shining red light on the wing is considerably duller now, an impression of its original intensity. 

There’s a soft thud that draws your attention away. Aaron’s placed a small container on the table in between you. 

An Éclair Affair. 

“I-” you stammer, frown forming as the memories of the frozen foods aisle rush back to you. You’d only been guessing, body and mind too tired for anything more deliberate. “I didn’t think you-” 

The corner of his mouth curls up pleasantly, “There’s a reason I approved your transfer, Agent.” He rips open the casing around the lid and takes it off. Reaching over, he places a spoon in front of you, and picks up one for himself. 

You watch, intrigued as he curls his spoon around the top of the ice cream, and brings it to his mouth. The crippling self-doubt from your earlier weeks on the team had started to fade. Your footing was steadier now. 

Hesitating only for a breath, you take your own and have a taste. The flavour takes you by surprise, flaky pastry and a subtler vanilla than what you usually expected from Ben & Jerry’s. The ice cream is melting around the edges, and you have another spoonful. A bit of chocolate falls under your teeth, cooled from the freezer and crumbling in your mouth. 

“You did well today.” 

It hadn’t been a particularly difficult case, the sleeping team around you was testament to that. Instead, you’d grown a fond appreciation for what things looked like if they went well and correct, the sheer force of nature that was the BAU. Still, despite your slow slotting into their intricate dynamics, you say a little defensively, “That wasn’t the first time I’ve had a gun pointed at my head, Hotch.” 

Aaron’s eyes flick to yours, dark but not unkind, “This was different.” 

Sighing, you hold your next spoonful on your tongue till it melts completely before you swallow. “I’ve seen worse working in Violent Crimes-” 

“Violent Crimes doesn’t prepare you for that.” 

Chaos. No rhyme or reason except for the one known to the unsub. It’s not hard to remember his arm around your shoulders, pressing your back to him as he pushed the muzzle of his gun on your temple. 

“I’ve handled unpredictability before.” 

“Not like that,” he repeats simply. 

Aggravatingly, you knew he was right. What you’d seen before on your old unit assignments had been brutal, but impersonal. The violence was never directed at you, you were only in the way of it. 

Profiling an unsub, over hours or days, led to a certain intimacy that both sides were aware of, an intimacy that could be leveraged against the team. It was never enough to stop the harm, it was most important to understand it. Most of the time, actually, the unsubs encountered weren’t that violent either. 

You knew he’d only grabbed you because you were closest. That anybody else would have been fair game. But there was a desperation in the brief glance you got at his eyes, a twisted hope of maybe being understood. 

Looking down at your hands, you sigh, wringing them together, “He caught me off guard.” 

A few weeks ago you wouldn’t have dreamed of revealing yourself like this to him. Willingly admit your vulnerability, your failure, only give reason in his hands to take you off the team. 

You know better now, that he would have realized it regardless, that you could play pretend at being fine all you wanted, but at the end of the day, you’d be the only one who would suffer from it. 

Following the curve of the spoon with your thumb, you press down insistently, wishing the blunt edge was sharper, wishing you had the strength to make it cut. “I…It’s not going away.” You press your fingers against your temples, there’s some leftover oil on your skin and you try to wipe it away, shivering. The memories plague you, every time you close your eyes, “I should have been faster.” 

It’s not fear, as much as it’s frustration. 

He tsks and you look up, frightened you’ve stepped out of line, “You did everything right.” Tilting his head to the side, he surveys you up and down. You’re about to speak, to protest, when he cuts you off, “You were just the first there.” 

Aaron had been the one to take the shot, a bullseye between the unsub’s eyebrows when, for a brief moment, his grip on you had loosened and you’d moved yourself out of the line of fire. His blood had splattered, hot, against your face. 

Aaron shifts, and he tilts his chin down, shadowing his eyes away from you, trying to gain a distance so he can get closer to you with his words without making you too uncomfortable. You wonder how soon everyone will realize that there was a certain flightiness inherent in your personality, that it wasn’t just nerves that made you this way. 

“You think I should be more shaken up,” you say finally. Failure knolls out in the pit of your chest, vibrating through your veins. 

“I think you are enough,” he set down his spoon. The words hang in front of you, lighter than the air. “There’s no right way to handle this.” 

The sweetness of the ice cream turns sour and you wish for a glass of water instead. 

The worry that’s been pressing against your ribs finally makes it out of your throat, “What if I don’t get over it?” 

Lifting his head, his eyes become clear again and they land on yours, never faltering, “No one does.” He gestures to the people around the jet, “You only move forward, use it to make yourself a better agent.” 

You mull the words around in your head. Their meaning is slippery, though on first glance they’re a walking cliche, like trying to keep water cupped in your hands. 

It’s hard to press forward, to take Aaron’s confidence as your own. Not like this. The words echo in your mind incessantly, plague you with more worries than you’d like to have. 

“I don’t want this to change me,” you say finally, feeling foolish. In the shelter of the early morning, the deep sighs around the jet, it’s easier to talk. 

To your ears, you sound like a petulant child, but you find none of that reflected in Aaron’s face, “It already has.” The harsh truth of it makes you flinch, a byproduct of the day’s events, and he exhales softly, “That doesn’t mean you won’t recognize yourself at the end of it though.” 

“How do you know for sure?” 

You watch him as the words settle, watch the rise and fall of his throat before he says in a gentler tone, “Because I’ve had to believe it myself.” 

The line of his mouth has turned firm, shoulders tensing up. Clearing your throat, you break your gaze and look around, trying to loosen the tight air around you to keep from drowning in it. 

“You know,” you say, studying the half-melted ice cream in front of you, bits and pieces of cake and chocolate floating up. “I don’t think I’ve ever had an éclair before.” 

A beat or two passes, there’s a lacing of gratitude in his voice when he speaks up, “The pastry or the ice cream?” His eyes fall to the container in front of you and he takes another spoonful. 

“Both. I just stuck to the classics, cookie dough, vanilla,” you shrug, watching the condensation drip onto the table. “I always felt Ben & Jerry’s was too sweet, just…trying too hard to be fun,” you gesture vaguely with your hand, gaze falling to the label on the container. 

Aaron lets out a soft breath, his mouth twitching up, “That’s one way to put it.” An odd sense of pride fills your chest at making him laugh, even if an untrained eye would disagree. He lets the silence settle, not in a rush to break it. 

There seems to be an almost imperceptible shift in his posture, a slow loosening as he melts into the chair. “Haley’s the one with the sweet tooth,” he says. When you look up at him, the softening in his tone is reflected in his face, particularly his eyes, gentle and dark. 

The shift from Agent to husband is so apparent it makes your heart hurt. “It only got worse when she was pregnant.” He seems to not be looking at you, but past you, at a third person he can only see, a person from times gone by. It stings being left out of it. “One time,” he chuckles quietly, gaze falling to his hands. “One time, I drove about an hour, each way, to a diner to get a slice of banoffee pie, only for her to barely eat half of it.” 

The image of Aaron, tie-loosened, bleary-eyed and tired, radio droning on in the background, not loud enough to be properly heard, lodges down in the back of your throat, tugs at the strings of your lungs. Your mountain of a Unit Chief, unflinching with a gun pointed at his head, going out of his way for a piece of pie. The things love makes us do and all that. 

It’s so human, so achingly normal, it scares you a bit. Making you wonder when this infallible mask will crack, and who will be leftover to pick up the pieces. Selfishly, you worry about yourself, about the team. What they will do when Aaron falls, when an unstoppable force meets an immovable Hotch, and one eventually has to give way. 

Your eyes soften at the story he’s polished off and handed to you, the dark, the sleep deprivation, the jet, making the both of you more open than you normally are. 

“Anyways,” he says with a deep sigh, something close to grief crawling behind his eyes. “Those days are over now.” 

Swallowing, you venture forward, foot hesitantly placed forward, ready to flee should this be a miscalculation, “How is Haley?” He tilts his head at that, and you’re about to apologize before you push it down, clarify for him, “Being postpartum is hard.” 

You don’t know if you would have had it in you, left alone with an infant, body still shuddering through recovery. Though you’ve only seen Haley once, in passing, with Jack in her arms, it wasn’t hard to know who was the stronger woman. 

His eyes stay trained on you, their presence on your skin unmistakable. It seems you truly have taken it a step too far, confusing what was actually supposed to be a fatherly gesture into something like friendship. 

Yet his voice, when he does speak, is affectionate, home-sick, not truly aimed at you, “She’s alright. Her mother is helping her out a lot.” There’s something weary in his face as he says it, something unsure, the shaky legs of a new-born fawn. He sighs again, breath washing over the table like the ocean, “Some days are better than others.” 

It feels like your inadequacy, your inexperience is singled out. You’re almost mad at yourself, for poking your nose where it both didn’t belong and had nothing of value to say, nothing to be able to help Aaron, his new family standing behind him like a shadow. 

The jet continues to hum, oblivious to your inner turmoil. Someone shifts again, releases a heavy breath. 

Aaron places the lid back on the half-melted ice cream, gathers the spoons, “You should try to sleep.” 

You expect it to be dismal, a subtle disappointment and reassignment to your subordination. Yet, when you finally can see his eyes again, lit through, there’s no sharpness, no sign of the Unit Chief. Hotchner the Relentless. There’s only kindness, and concern, a man willing to drive two hours for dessert looking back down at you. 

“I’ll try,” you murmur finally. 

Reaching up, he turns off your light. 

You don’t watch him walk away, instead turning to find the comfort of the red light again, as it blinks back at you reassuringly. 

Thanks for reading, if you liked it, please consider leaving some feedback! I obsess and re-read reblogs and comments constantly.

[imahyperfixated-artist]

Rest

~————~

Ler:Doey

Lee: Y/N / You :3

Warnings: Mention of Feet tkls(?) vaguely described Injuries

‼️TIS A TICKLE FIC, NOT YOUR THING? GO AHEAD AND CLICK OFF‼️

Matt, Kev & Jack’s colors :3

A/N: First Fic I am putting out there, Inspo came from @conflictedemma little comic of Doey, hope you like it and I’m sorry it’s so short TvT .-👁️‍🗨️🐭🌲

~————~

You sat on one of the beds in the safe haven. Exhausted but too paranoid to do anything but scope out the area. The Doctor was defeated and the prototype was nowhere around at the moment, maybe he got spooked by the Doctor's defeat. Ollie wasn’t responding at the moment but aside from that everyone was fine. The generator was fixed, most of the Critters resting, same with Kissy and Poppy.

For the most part, it was just you awake. You knew you could sleep. But You hadn’t slept in awhile and regardless you just knew you’d be plagued with nightmares. Adrenaline ran through you anyways. you couldn’t sleep, your body wouldn’t let you. So you sat debating what to do.

So many whispers about being hungry from the critters earlier. Why not go find some food, you had nothing better to do. You mounted your Grab pack on your back and went to leave, being quiet as you headed to the Infirmary. Avoiding waking any of the critters. You were just about to leave when two dough arms wrapped around you and pulled you back, Doey looming over you.

“Now where are you going, pal?”

Doey questioned, his tone curious and slightly suspicious. Though You helped his suspicions when you explained, pulling out the notepad you’d found a long while back and writing the explanation. He let go of you and moved to face you properly.

“Ah..well, you’ve been on a looot of adventures lately, friend. Don’t think it’s, ya knows..time for a little break. You just..look exhausted”

Doey suggested, eyeing you up and down. Your eyes were sucken, body littered with scratches and bruises. Your body shook with exhaustion despite your need to move.

‘They look like sh!t…’

‘Kevin!’

“Very exhausted..”

you shook your head, refusing to rest. You should make yourself useful. You had the energy, right? Doey frowned at your answer, your defiance to rest.

“Are you sure? As much as we need food, we don’t need you getting burned out. You’ve already done enough ya know.”

Doey tried again but again you refused so Doey gave in and sighed.

“Alright, fine..but at least let me patch you up first.”

Doey pleaded, giving you a look that made you cave. As long as it was quick.

Doey had you sit on a medical table as he laid out some bandages. He had you take off the Grab-Pack, putting it to the side. He looked closer at the scratches and bruises, running the dough and still mostly soft dough over your skin. He poked and prodded to check for any broken bones or internal pain, starting at your ribs.

That’s when the chaos started to ensue.

You were able to control yourself at first, sitting still and schooling yourself but eventually you started losing that control. Doey gave you a look, raising his eyebrow at every little jump and squeak. He asked if it hurt and shook your head, obviously he didn’t believe you but continued the examination regardless.

You kept jumping at every poke and prod at your ribs. Doey kept asking if you were okay and you kept nodding yes but with every jump and twitch and jolt his belief in that started depleting.

Then you giggled, you had failed to muffle your giggle when he yet again prodded at your ribs. That made him pause.

‘No way…’

‘Oh you’re kidding-‘

‘Aww, They’re ticklish!’

Doey stared at you for a moment, before his face split into a grin.

“What was that, friend?”

You shrugged and shook your head, acting clueless and Doey chuckled, raising his eyebrow again.

“Are you suure you don’t know? Well, if you don’t know, I suppose we should find out.”

Doey stated, gently digging into the spaces between your ribs. you yelp and crumble, giggles quickly bubbling up in your chest and spilling over.

“Does this hurt? And be honest, bud.”

Doey questioned, tilting his head teasingly. You shook your head, pushing at the doughman’s hands, which proved to be difficult.

“No?..what about this?”

Doey questioned as a new hand sprouted from the dough and reached for your tum. Gently prodding into the muscles.

You fell back onto the medical table in light hysteria, trying to push the three dough hands away which was impossible due to the dough texture simply morphing around your attempts.

“I guess not cause you’re giggling..what about your knees”

Doey asked rhetorically as yet another, smaller hand sprouting once more. Squeeze your knees which made you kick out.

“Oh would you look at that, your reflexes are working perfectly! Hmm where should I got next? I could..make sure you have all your ribs or..make sure you didn’t break your foot, that’d be a real shame if you had..”

Doey teased, not stopping for a second. Watching you laugh and wiggle around on the table like squirming would make a difference.

Doey watched with some fondness as you squirmed around and tired yourself out. Adorable. it wasn’t long before you tapped out and Doey pulled away immediately, giving you a moment to breathe before helping you sit up.

“Are you alright? I didn’t go too far, right?”

Doey asked with genuine concern and smiled when you nodded, confirming you were fine. Damn, it had been a minute since you’d laughed like that.

Doey gave you a moment longer to fully recover before he properly bandaged you to which he did give you a couple more pokes and squeeze. When he finished he brought you back to the beds to had you lay down with a blanket. You fell asleep with the other critters, smile plastered on your face.

Doey smiled at the sight, glad he could at least help you. It wasn’t long before he also got some shut eye, staying close by. Ya know, just in case.

[susicheng]

𝜗𝜚⋆₊˚ dm for prices      l.mk

chapter 14 bitchless no more

it felt like you had only blinked before saturday rolled around. you had already bothered ten about outfit options, facetiming him for upwards of 3 hours last night to figure something out. it wasn’t like this was the first time you were going to be spending time with mark in a romantic light. hell, you had slept with him less than a week ago. he had facetimed you every day when you looked half dead over break. there was no way he would get thrown off if you didn’t look perfect today.

still, you wanted it to be perfect. it might have been unnecessary to touch up your lipgloss for what felt like the 12th time that morning, but it made you feel more prepared. for what exactly, you weren’t sure.

a ding from your phone startled you out of your trance, nearly causing you to mess up your dozenth reapplication of pomegranate flavored lip gloss (if you were being honest, it just tasted like regular old lip gloss, but it was the thought that counted). a glance at the notification told you all you needed to know. a simple: “i’m here :)” followed by a “do you want me to come up and get u?” from markly <3. you shot back a quick reply: “who said chivalry was dead. u don’t have to, i’m omw down” before grabbing your bag and darting out of your apartment.

it was difficult to not let your nerves get the better of you during the short elevator ride down to the ground floor. it was just mark, the man you had fallen head over heels for in a little over a month. 

his car was easy to spot, and you slid into the passenger seat quickly, eager to get out of the cold. mark’s bright smile greeted you once you turned to look at him, filling you with a familiar warmth you had craved since the last time you had seen him. the kind of fuzzy warmth that only he could supply you with. 

“ready?” his voice was assured. confident.

“you know i am.” as usual, his voice caused calmness to wash over you again. your earlier nerves replaced instead with excitement. you had forgotten how comfortable you’ve become with him.

. . . 

it became increasingly obvious what your first stop would be. it was cliche, yes, yet somehow still exceedingly romantic. he parked and rushed to get out and open your car door for you, igniting a small fit of laughter between the two of you. snow fell in small flurries as you both began walking, hand in hand, to the ice skating rink mark had decided on. 

getting onto the ice was anything but graceful for the two of you. it had been a long time since either of you had skated. something about your combined inexperience made you think that the day would become a lot more amusing. 

giggles erupted from the pair of you and mark as you both attempted to recall just how to do this. in the end, you picked it back up incredibly quickly, while mark stared on in awe. you were no figure skater (in fact, you were far from it. it was a little bit surprising how easily mark was impressed), but you were able to prevent yourself from landing on your ass every few meters, unlike mark. 

you couldn’t hold back obnoxious laughter as mark fell, again. “mark, didn’t you pick to do this?”

“i really thought i would be better than this.” he pouted as you helped him up.

“you’re cute. i’ll hold your hand.” 

you knew you were not talented enough in the ice skating department to actually be of any help. in fact, holding hands probably just made you at least 10x more susceptible to collectively eating shit. still, it was the thought that counted. and mark was not about to pass up the opportunity to cling to you.

after one too many falls, and at least 12 developing bruises on your body from your crashes, mark decided it was time to wrap up this activity. he removed your skates for you, insisting you shouldn’t have to lift a finger when he’s around to help you (yes, it might have done things to you that were inappropriate for the setting. that’s not your fault). 

by the time you got back to the car, both of your faces were flushed from the cold. you found that it didn’t bother you in the slightest, not when you could admire the pink hue mark’s cheeks had taken on. 

. . . 

paying attention to the direction he was going, you figured out pretty quickly that he was taking you back to his apartment. upon arriving, he led you to his unit (as if you didn’t know where it was) and led you into his bedroom. 

you weren’t sure what to expect for certain, but it was nothing like what greeted you as you entered. littered all across his bed were gifts, presumably for you.

a bouquet of assorted flowers stood out in the center, looking too fresh to have been placed there before mark left to pick you up.

“did you make hyuck set this up while we were out?” you teased, glancing at mark to watch the sheepish expression form on his face.

“he offered…” 

“oh my god, you’re so cute mark.”

you approached the bed, allowing your eyes to wander over the various gifts he had collected for you. a couple of standout gifts included: a suho 1 to 3 album, an exo exist album, and what seemed like a collection of letters tied in a bundle with twine.

“what are these?” you picked the bundle up and held it out in question.

“oh… um. letters i wrote to you while you were back home and while you weren’t talking to me. please don’t read those until you’re alone. they’re really embarrassing…”

you felt your heart catch in your throat at his confession, your fingers lightly grazing the bundle of letters before setting them down with care. turning to face him, you found him nervously scratching the back of his neck, avoiding your gaze.

"mark…" you started, but he cut you off, stepping closer.

"i—look, i know i’m not good at saying this kind of stuff, and you probably already know how i feel, but i just—" he paused, exhaling sharply, his voice softer when he spoke again. "i really like you, yn. like, really like you. and i know we’ve kind of just been figuring things out, but i want you to be mine. officially."

your chest tightened, his words sinking in as the weight of the moment settled between you.

"you’re so stupid sometimes, mark," you whispered, stepping closer until you were only inches apart. "did you really think i’d say no?"

his wide-eyed expression melted into a grin, relief washing over his features. "so… that’s a yes?"

"of course, it’s a yes, idiot," you laughed, your voice shaky from the emotions bubbling inside you.

his lips were on yours before you could say anything else, his hands cradling your face with a gentleness that contradicted the urgency of the kiss. it wasn’t the first time you’d kissed mark, but something about this one felt different—like it carried every unsaid word, every unspoken feeling, and every promise of what was to come.

when you finally pulled back, breathless and with your forehead resting against his, you whispered, "you’re mine, too, you know."

he chuckled softly, his thumb brushing over your cheek. "i wouldn’t want it any other way."

the room felt warmer now, the air charged with something unspoken yet understood. his hands slipped down to your waist, his grip firm but careful as he guided you back toward the bed.

"mark," you murmured, anticipation in your voice.

the way his lips curled into a soft smile before pressing against yours again made you feel like the only person in the world. the kiss deepened, his touch growing more confident as his hands explored the curve of your hips and the small of your back.

soon, the rest of the world faded away, leaving just the two of you tangled in each other, the night unfolding into something intimate and unforgettable.

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[reiderwriter]

I have a hotch request and if you don’t write it I completely understand☺️

So you’re dating hotch for a couple months and you’ve only went over to his house like 5-6 times(so that’s how many times you’ve hung out with jack) anyway, you go to use the washroom or something before you leave to go home and jack asks his dad if you’re his gf and if you’ll be having a sleepover with them (as you’ve never actually stayed there before) and his heart becomes all warm n fluffy

A/N: Hi! I don't usually write for Hotch, but I decided to give it a crack because this fits pretty well for @imagining-in-the-margins KidFic challenge! It was a fun challenge to write, so thanks for the prompt! I changed it up slightly, but I hope you still enjoy it!

Warnings: mentions of anxiety, step-family dynamics, etc.

10 months of casual dinners, midnight strolls, and stolen kisses, and you still weren't ready to accept that you were in love with your boss. 

Aaron Hotchner was a complicated man, and loving him wasn't as simple as your heart wanted it to be. You worked together but rejected any favouritism he may have shown you. You slept together, but you never stayed in his bed. You kissed him, but you never told him you loved him, even though you were sure you did. 

You just weren't sure you were ready to be a stepmother. 

As a child of divorce, you'd been graced with two step-parents growing up, and while neither were story book evil, they weren't exactly the most welcoming either. You'd bounced between your mother and father's houses, trailing duffle bags, afraid to take up too much space for fear of ruining your parents’ newfound and direly earned happiness. 

Jack had the misfortune of being both a child of divorce and having lost his mother entirely too young and entirely too suddenly. 

When you'd joined the BAU, off the back of Haley Hotchner’s death, Aaron had been a man in mourning, a man scarred by circumstance and regret. But he'd been brave, and he'd been loving, and he'd worked so hard to give his son a good life. 

Five years later, and it seemed obvious now that you had at least respected the man from the very beginning, if not pined for him quite openly. 

There was that final hurdle left to cross, though, and you weren't sure if you'd ever be ready to do so. 

A phone call startled you out of your worries as you sat on your couch, dissociating after a long and hard won case. The shrill ring startled you into action as you frantically searched for wherever it was this time that you left your phone. 

“Hello, yes, I'm here, hi,” you said, finally finding the phone abandoned under some couch pillows. 

“Y/N, it's Aaron.” 

“I know, Aaron. Caller ID, welcome to the 21st century,” You couldn't help smiling into the receiver, so smitten with the man your face was just doing whatever it liked. 

“Right. Look, I wouldn't usually overstep like this, but Jessica and I have to go upto Roy's retirement house, he's not dealing too well with the new environments, and all of Jack's regular babysitters are enjoying the spring weather. I'd ask his friends' moms for an impromptu playmate but-” 

“But you'd rather he be with someone you trust? Aaron, it's fine, I'll come over and watch Jack for a few hours.” 

He sighed into the receiver, and after a few more niceties, you ended the call, still grinning like an idiot. 

You were still grinning like an idiot when your earlier anxiety came back and hit you straight in the chest. You'd met Jack before, but you'd not so subtly avoided any kid based conversations and meet-ups for the last 10 months. 

You had no idea how to entertain a nine year old boy, but you decided quickly that you couldn't half ass it. 

The drive to Hotch's house was almost embarrassingly familiar to you now, having been there so often in the past few months. Jack enjoyed regular sleepovers with his aunt and schoolmates so you could enjoy regular sleepovers with his father, a fact that you had to remind yourself to keep private as you knocked on the door. 

“It's open,” Aaron called from inside, and you hesitantly opened the door and stepped in, bag of last-minute toy purchases stuffed under your arm. 

From the door, you could see Aaron in the kitchen, hands deep in soapy water as he washed lunch dishes and pots, sticking his head out to smile at you. 

“Aaron Hotchner, domestic goddess. Who’d have thought?” 

“I'd ask you to keep this to yourself at work.” 

“Of course,” you said, stepping a fraction closer to him. “Anything to keep the mystery alive.”

He leaned in for a quick kiss, and you reciprocated, letting it linger a second as you smiled into his touch. 

Drying his hands on a towel near him, Aaron called across the apartment for Jack. 

“What's up, Dad?” He asked, peeking out of his bedroom door. 

“This is Y/N. She works with me and Uncle Rossi. She's going to take care of you for a while while me and Aunt Jessica and I visit your Grandpa. Come say hi.”

Creeping out of his room slowly, Jack came to stand just in front of his father's legs as Aaron put his hands on his shoulders, proudly showing off his mini doppelganger. 

“Hi, I'm Jack.” 

“Nice to meet you Jack, my name is Y/N.” You stuck out your hand, and he shook it. You noticed how small his hands were, but how strong his grip was. He was confident, but he was still just a small kid, and you were even more motivated not to mess this up. 

“What's in your bag?” He asked, flicking his eyes down to it every few seconds, as if he was itching to stick his nose right into it. 

“Jack, manners, please.”

“It's okay, Hotch. I brought some toys. Your dad mentioned that Santa's gave you a Nintendo at Christmas, and I thought I'd show you a few of my favourite games.” 

His face lit up as he quickly stepped closer to you, hands on the bag as he waited for you to offer it up, now openly ogling the bags contents, knowing it was for him. 

“You didn't have to bring anything, Y/N.” 

“I wanted to make a good first impression.” 

After being dragged to the nearest sofa and sitting through a five minute walk through of all the house rules, urgency exits and remote locations, you were left alone with Jack Hotchner, remotes in hand ready to play Mario Kart. 

“Okay, now all that's left to do is choose the course you want to race on. Which one do you want to play on?” 

Jack had chosen to use Bowser as his character and chosen Toadette for you quite cutely, and you'd quickly finished cart selection, too.

“We should go through them in order, so we complete them all,” he said after a moment of deliberation. 

You giggled at how seriously he was taking it. And then the first race in the Mushroom Cup started, and you were seriously impressed by how quickly he'd picked up this game. Either kids were just better at video games in general, or you had a prodigy on your hands. 

His serious face was a carbon copy of Hotch when he was hunched over paperwork, and he gave you the same quietly disapproving frown every time your character momentarily overtook his. It was adorable seeing the two reflected in one another. 

By the shell cup, you were nearly exhausted, despite having spent the entire time glued to the couch. 

“What do you think about taking a snack break?” You asked, looking over Aaron Jack, who had turned himself upside down on the couch somewhere in the last three matches and was still beating you. 

“Okay. I'll show you where Dad hides the good snacks,” he said, quickly rolling off the couch as if his bones were liquid. 

You, on the other hand, cracked as you stood, the irony not lost on you as you hobbled your way to the kitchen. 

Opening the cupboard under the sink, Jack routed around for a few seconds before returning with a small box of Reeses Pieces, which you gradually accepted alongside a glass of apple juice. 

“You're a good kid, Jack,” you said, ruffling his hair as he playfully swatted your hand away. 

“Yeah, that's what my dad always says.”

“Your dad is a very smart man.”

He nodded and then went back to quietly eating his candy, somewhat lost in thought. 

You weren't sure if you were supposed to ask him what he was thinking about, or avoid the topic and dive straight back into video games, so you just ate your candy, too, standing together in the kitchen, Mario Kart music playing in the background. 

“Do you like my dad?” He suddenly asked, swallowing down one more bite of apple juice. You'd forgotten that kids were the bluntness people on the planet, not yet having learned the necessity of delicately creeping closer to the actual topic of discussions like adults. 

Jack had landed a sucker punch right to your guy, and you were suddenly choking on Reese's Pieces. 

“Umm,” you said, catching your breath again and hoping your embarrassment wasn't plain as day on your face. “Yes, I respect your father a lot, Jack.” 

“But do you like him?” He said again, eyes wide and expectant as he looked up at you. 

“My dad can be a little scary sometimes. I heard some of my friends' moms saying so at Mitchell C's birthday party last week. They said he's scary, but he's so sad and lonely.” 

Your heart sank in your chest as you watched Jack worry about his dad, worry if Aaron Hotchner was lonely or sad. 

“Jack, your dad isn't lonely or sad. He has you, and Aunt Jessica, and-” 

“And you, right? Because you like my dad?” 

“R-Right. He has me, too.” 

“Great. Let's keep playing. The Banana Cup is next.”

As suddenly as it had started, your serious talk with Jack was over and he bounced his way back to the sofa, clicking go on the next race, as you ran to quickly take your place again, too. 

Five hours later, and you were being shaken softly awake, controller still in your hands as you blinked your eyes open. Somehow, it had gotten dark, and both you and Jack had simultaneously fallen asleep on the couch. 

Now Hotch hovered over you, carrying the sleeping boy in his arms as he woke you up. He mouthed ‘coffee?’ and you nodded quickly, sitting up further and grabbing the nearest remote to turn off the Nintendo. 

With Jack situated in bed quickly, you made your way to the kitchen. Aaron joined you after making sure Jack was still asleep, walking up behind you and wrapping two arms around your middle, leaning his head against your shoulder and exhaling. Despite the shiver down your spine, you leaned further into him, enjoying the feeling of him in your sleepy state. 

“How was it?” He asked, a hint of uncertainty in his voice. You were almost sure that he was conducting this conversation from behind as a means of convincing himself not to read into your every movement and expression. 

“It was great. He's a great kid, you know?” 

“So I've been told.” 

“He's worried about you, too. He said the moms at his school think you're scary and lonely. Which in suburban house mom translates to romantic hero, though I don't think he realizes that.” 

You felt the grumble of a laugh behind you, the sound low and comforting as you let your eyes flutter closed again, content in his arms. 

“Jack…misses his mom. Rebecca is great, but he likes talking to the moms at school. Maybe a little too much, I don't know.” 

“You miss her, too.” It was a statement, not a fact. 

“I do,” he said sadly, holding you tighter. “Is that a problem?” 

“No. No, god no. Aaron, I-” your voice broke, and you hesitated slightly, clearing your voice. You squirmed in his grip until he released you enough to face him.

Doing so may have been a mistake, though, as you locked eyes with him and so desperately wanted to kiss him, to claim his mouth with yours, and let him lift you onto his kitchen counters. 

You squeezed your nails into the palm of your hands to ground yourself and took a steadying breath. 

Which was when Jack decided to make a reappearance. 

“Dad?” He said groggily, wiping the sleep from his eyes as you had only moments earlier. 

You quickly broke apart as Aaron smiled disappointedly, almost as if he were expecting the interruption. 

“Hey, bud. Did you sleep well?” 

Jack nodded, tilting his head a little as though still disorientated. 

“Did I fall asleep on the couch?” 

“Sure did. Both of you, actually.” 

Jack looked at you then and smiled sweetly up at his dad. 

“So Miss Y/N is staying tonight?” He asked, suddenly a little excited and expectant. 

“Well, Miss Y/N has her own house, so we can't just expect her to-” 

“Yeah, I'm staying,” you blurted out, cutting off Hotch mid-sentence. He raised an eyebrow at you, but you ignored him and smiled down at Jack. 

“And if you head back to bed now, I'll make some pancakes for you in the morning,” you whispered conspiratorially with the boy, who raced back to his room. 

Before shutting the door fully, he stopped by his dad and tugged him down to whisper level, saying something before yelling goodnight and taking himself back off to his room. 

“What? What was that?” You pouted, pointing an accusatory finger at Aaron. 

“You first,” he laughed back, leaning on the nearby counter. 

“I promised him pancakes in the morning. What did he say?” 

“Oh, nothing,” he said, pulling you closer to him again. “He just said you had an interesting conversation earlier.” 

“Was it the one where he asked me if Mario speaks English, Italian or Japanese, because I couldn't answer that question for sure.” 

“He said,” he leaned down to your ear to whisper the next words. “That you told him you like me. And he thinks you meant like-like.” 

You flushed hot and avoided eye contact. A childish part of you wanted to deny it, to scoff and run away, like you were on the playground and not in a dimly lit kitchen at midnight. But you couldn't.

“I do. But I'd probably say love and not like-like, seeing as though I'm not nine.” 

“I love you, too,” he whispered, noses touching as he descended to capture your lips once more.