#cm: of the silver lining

[emberfrostlovesloki]

Silver Linings [Hotch x Reader]

Photo credits: (@xin-bloomx) Center (@itsthegreenaesthetic) Right (@pennyspearl)

Prompt: During a girl's trip that seems to keep going wrong, the reader’s swimsuit falls apart in the pool and she has to ask the nice man in a suit - Aaron - for a helping hand. Sparks begin to fly when the reader pays Hotch back for his help that morning. 

Pairing: Aaron x Non-BAU!Reader, fem!Reader. The reader uses she/her pronouns 

Category: Fluff/comfort

Word Count: 7.7K 

Content Warnings: Language, awkward situation, mention of drinking alcohol, break-ups/fighting [reader's friends]. Please let me know if I missed any. 

A/N: Hi all! I hope you are all doing very well! This fic is based on a prompt from my July Prompt List (linked). A swimming suit mishap leaves Character A in an awkward position until Character B comes to the rescue. I had fun writing this and trying to make the silly situation seem realistic. My tone in this story is heavily based on the current book I’m reading, A Little Life, so it feels slightly different, that’s why. I did make up some friends for the reader, I hope you don’t mind too much. Please be kind to yourselves this week and do something you love, you are so special. If you enjoy this fic, likes, comments, and reblogs are appreciated! Love Levi - ❤️

List with all stories 

y/n = your name 

y/l/n = your last name 

y/s = your situation (i.e. living/job situation) 

y/f/c = your favorite color 

g/s = gold or silver (whichever matches your skin tone best) 

Aaron woke up with goosebumps on his arms. He groaned slightly, rolled over, and shut off his alarm, disturbing what wasn’t an unpleasant dream. It hadn’t been anything extraordinary, but still, it was nice. Hotch placed a forearm over his eyes as the brightness of the room overwhelmed his senses. As he moved around beneath the covers, the slightly starchy sheets crinkled and made small sounds as the sheets adjusted to his shifting weight on the mattress.

He closed his eyes to add another layer of darkness apart from his arm, which was draped over his eyes. He closed the privacy curtains last night in his room along with the smaller, more decorative white sheer curtains in his hotel as he’d returned from the conference he was attending this weekend. Aaron observed that no matter what hotels he was booked for this kind of thing, two elements almost always remained consistent, the air conditioning was always frigid when he entered the room or woke, and no matter what he did to try and keep his room dark, in the morning, the sun managed to wake him. There were four more minutes of silence before his alarm rang again and he cursed Rossi slightly under his breath before turning off the alarm, swinging his feet over the side of the bed, and fully waking up. 

He took another moment for his eyes to adjust to the light, as his vision cleared, he watched as the smaller white curtains billowed from the air coming out of the air conditioner housed under the window of his room. It was like unseen hands were playing with the fabric, tossing it back and forth. Hotch yawned once, stood, and made his way to the bathroom. He hadn’t overslept which was good. It would give him time to shower and do a proper shave, and if the traffic wasn’t bad, he’d be able to get some good coffee before heading to the first lecture of the day. He never had high praises for the coffee at the Quantico Field Office’s break room, but somehow the caffeine offered at the sad beige-looking conference center in the heart of D.C. was worse.

He could taste the bitter acidity of it on his tongue as he thought about it, so he moved to the sink and washed his face, then brushed his teeth. He relieved himself before turning on the hot water in the shower. As the water came to an acceptable degree, he stripped off the white t-shirt he often slept in, and his boxers, leaving them on a chair near the desk. He walked past the bathroom mirror, already fogging up not taking time to notice of his reflection. He wouldn’t do that until he had to. As he stepped into the shower and closed the glass door around him he felt the aching in his feet and joints. The Friday session had been grueling with lots of standing and walking around and then loads of boring conversations that dulled his brain to hell and back. He was expecting more of the same today and was already dreading it. 

As he cleaned every inch of his body with his lightly scented body wash, his fingers lathered the soap, he ignored the feeling of softness on his stomach and upper legs. Instead, he focused on the muscles he could still feel. His daily wash was like a ritual in grounding. If he had the time or the belief in meditation he might try that, but he never had - even if his therapist had suggested it multiple times. Aaron let his mind wander to the annual Technologies and Crime convention that the Cyber Crimes Unit annually hosted. All of the higher ranking members of the FBI were required to attend, or at least a member of each team. Really, the event was more for the administrators who often stayed in their offices while everyone else went out on the field. Not that those positions and jobs weren’t important, but those agents did seem older and less familiar with technology than some of the younger agents.

Not that he considered himself young, but he at least knew how to convert a PDF into a Word document and how to attach a file to an email. The specific topics being covered this year were AI and fraud, cryptocurrencies, and possible attacks on the failing infrastructure system in the U.S. which had actually been interesting. He chose to attend the sessions that dealt with the legal side of these issues as he had possibly the smartest tech whiz on his team, Penelope Garcia, to cover their backs whenever any technology was concerned. For a moment, when he’d drawn the short straw with Rossi, he considered bribing Garcia to go in his place, but one, bribes weren’t technically legal, and two, Penelope was sure to start fights with the presenters about how they were incorrect about their codes or something, and he wanted to avoid that conversation with Strauss if he could. So, he sighed, packed his bags, and left that Thursday for D.C. 

Aaron finished with his shave, moved back to the bedroom, and dressed. As he slipped on his shoes, he looked over the room. It was nice. It didn’t need to be, but it was. The hotel was some sort of upcycled, repurposed office building that had an open floor plan and industrial exposed architecture. He tried to think about what it must have been like working there before it had gone under. He cringed at the thought and quickly moved out of his room. He made sure to grab his suit jacket and car keys along with his badge. As he moved into the hallway and toward the elevator, he considered the hotels to be very much like hospitals. Bland, cold, hopefully clean. Spaces meant to comfort and emulate home but somehow had an uncanny-valley-esque effect on him. He was suddenly relieved that he was checking out early tomorrow morning. Excited to see Jack and pick him up from his mom’s house. Excited to see his team. There would be relief in the familiar. If this was a flaw of his, he didn’t hate it as much as he hated some of the other things about himself. 

y/n lay flat on her back, letting the chlorine water of the pool, unnaturally blue, wash over her body. The heat of the morning sun wasn’t too hot, yet. She’d hoped the pool would be empty, but a few guys and girls were sitting on the edge, and even more kids with moms who looked tired or hung over. y/n didn’t blame them, she’d be wasted too right now if it there hadn’t been such a bad fight last night between her friends. She was glad then, to be the sober friend so she could stop anyone from doing more than emotional damage to each other. Her reputation as the ‘mom friend’ had seemed to stick past college. She didn’t mind really, she just wished there was one time when she could be fully carefree, maybe have someone looking out for her back instead of doing the same for others all the time. A splash of water from one of the kids cannonballing close to her hit y/n in the face. y/n stood up, adjusted the straps of her swimsuit that were a size too big for her, and waded to the deep end where the boisterous children hadn’t congregated yet. 

y/n closed her eyes and kept one hand on her swim top. The last thing she wanted to do was flash some, and the shoddy construction of her swimsuit didn’t give her much confidence. As she looked up at the blue sky spackled with light grey clouds floating above her, she considered that the trip had been ill-conceived since the beginning and that she really should have seen this outcome in the cards. She had been farther out from her friend group and always had been. All five of them met at college and lived on the same floor in one of the oldest dorms on campus. They ended up taking a lot of the same classes and forming a pretty tight friend group.

Four years later, they’d all moved on to jobs or marriage or another degree. Personally y/n found herself in y/s. It wasn’t wholly bad. She made money and had a place to stay, but in terms of fulfillment and success, she felt like her life was a lot less than many of her friends; their relationships, jobs, and houses. Even the idea of it made her annoyed, not at them, but at herself. She hated pity, especially if she was the one being pitied. “Suck it up, Buttercup” was a phrase she stated a lot, but it seemed harder to do that now while her mind was more empty. Since college, it had been harder for them to all get together as they moved away and started their adult lives. They always texted in the group chat during Spring Break or Summer that they should get together again. Then there would be a slew of anecdotes from their time in uni, pictures from the beach or study abroad, laughter, and nostalgia for a time that seemed ephemeral now that they were older. 

Finally the most active and the planner of the five friends actually made a plan and asked everyone to list good dates when they actually could see each other for a weekend. Just them girls, no husbands, boyfriends, or children allowed. It would just be them and fun in the sun. They’d all made it work because they knew if they didn’t have a meet-up soon, they’d never do it, and even if this was their last hurrah, at least they’d kept their word: ‘friends for life.’ y/n had to fight with her boss for a weekend off at her second job, but she’d accrued the time and had good relationships with her co-workers who said they’d cover her shift if their boss, a real stick in the mud - gave her trouble. Then there was the problem of the ticket prices. y/n didn’t make a lot, and a flight was out of the option. They’d all picked D.C. because it was the closest to all of them combined, and there was a lot to do there, sightseeing, decent food, and such, so y/n had gotten an Amtrack ticket. It took twice as long for her to get to the hotel, but it was twice as cheap, so she was happy even if she was tired. 

Apart from planning problems, the first issue came up when the first girl had to drop out because her kid caught the flu. This woman, Kelly had drawn far away from everyone since her marriage. Only one of their friends, Grace, had gotten an invite to Kelly’s wedding. So it wasn’t a huge deal, even though that thought made y/n feel bad. y/n often wondered if Kelly was happy with her four children, her husband, and her big house out in the suburbs of Maryland. From her Facebook posts, it seemed like it, but it was hard to tell. Then Veronica’s luggage got lost at the airport, or the airport in Denver where she’d had a layover. After she finished complaining over the group's first drinks of the vacation, all four of them, y/n, Grace, Veronica, and Kira went into town and watched Veronica spend an exorbitant amount of money to replace her lost things. She brushed off her causal spending and y/n and Kira’s eyes grew wide at the check out. Veronica sheepishly looked at them and said, “Drinks and dinner on me tonight, gang.” Veronica knew she was much better off than her friends, thanks to her parents. No one in the group was mad about this. Veronica didn’t flaunt her money, or she hadn’t in college. Actually, she’d helped them all out a lot, including buying y/n’s textbooks sophomore year. y/n had promised to pay her back, and after months y/n had saved enough to do so. When y/n presented Veronica with the money, she declined it instantly and told y/n to spend it on something she wanted, or needed. After y/n had gotten back to her apartment, she cried. She wasn’t sure why, but she had. 

The last issue, the big issue that had gotten y/n out of bed early to avoid her friends was a fight between Grace and Kira. It just wasn’t a fight, it was a friendship-ending fight. Of all five of them, Kira and Grace had remained the closest, mostly because they lived in the same town and in the same apartment. They still hung out like all of them used to. They had the same circle of friends and, surprisingly to everyone, the same boyfriend. There was no getting around it. It had started while Kira and Tom were taking a break. He’d slid into Graes DM’s trying to not look shady, acting like he wanted emotional support, but he ended up wanting more, and Grace had given it to him. Then, when Kira and Tom had patched things up, Grace promised herself she’d never do that again, but it turned out she, nor Tom had that much willpower, or decency to stop seeing each other on the sly. The truth came tumbling out of Grace’s mouth in a much less composed way. She’d begged and pleaded to all of them, to Veronica and y/n more than Kira for forgiveness, but everyone was too stunned to do anything for a while. Then Kira started sobbing profusely and then screaming, and that’s when y/n pushed Grace out of the room and toward her own which she was sharing with Veronica.

Not that Veronica couldn’t afford her own room, it was that y/n couldn’t and Veronica had taken pity on her. Again that work pity had popped up, and y/n shook it off. At least there was one person who y/n had little pity for, and that was Grace. It ended up being a long night as y/n sat with Grace and listened to her ramble once she’d stopped crying and moved to the bar in the lobby. After an hour, y/n got a text from Veronica asking to trade places and y/n agreed. Veronica was kind and generous, but not the best with comforting people in the face of big emotions, or any emotions, so y/n told her where she was, swung by their room to grab an unopened bottle of wine she’d bought at the store earlier, and made it to Kira’s room where she spent the next two hours listening and finally tucking her friend under the covers. 

The fallout from the fight last night had effects that changed y/n’s anticipated vacation and catch-up, and greatly dampened her mood. The first was that Veronica had bought Grace an early flight home that morning which would leave in an hour and save them all some awkwardness. Veronica had also bought herself a ticket home as well. The richest of the group had justified her choice to leave early because she was sad about the situation and didn’t want to be sad before she went on her big summer vacation in Italy in two weeks. This had all been explained in the new group chat, sans Grace,  in a load of bright messages that y/n had woken up to that morning. y/n realized this was probably for the best, but it still made her sad. She had hoped for it to be like the old days and it wasn’t. Nothing about growing up and finishing college and getting a job had been what she’d expected, so she didn’t know why she’d hoped for a change this time. 

y/n blinked away the sleepiness in her eyes and sat up on Kira’s bed. Her friend was still asleep and y/n replied to Veronica’s texts saying she’d be at the pool, and to come and see her there before Veronica’s flight left which was shortly after Grace’s. y/n decided to not waste her time off. She’d planned for it and spent money on it, and wanted to have a good time even if it was by herself. y/n had also grabbed her backpack last night with her clothes and the color of her new swimsuit jumped out at her from the other clothes inside. With a smile, y/n grabbed the two pieces and put them on in the bathroom. y/n turned on the bright light and examined herself in the mirror. The swimwear was from SHIEN and not well made, but it looked good on her. It was y/f/c. There were g/s rings on the top and bottom. The two pieces of fabric were connected in the front with a ring and both sides also had rings with straps that connected at the back. The neck closure was just a traditional sting bikini-style top. The two halves of the bottom of the suit were also held together at the sides with rings. With the design of the suit, there was lots of exposed skin, but y/n was comfortable with that; it would allow her to get a nice tan which didn’t happen when she was at work all hours of the day. The rings weren’t real s/g, they were a cheap plastic knockoff.  She left Kira a note with where she’d be and then grabbed a towel, her sunscreen flip-flops, and a tote bag with her essentials before heading out the door. 

y/n was just fully relaxed after being splashed when her senses picked up something she didn’t want to hear. She lifted her head slightly further out of the water so she could hear and it confirmed that Veronica and Grace were walking in her direction. There was a clattering of suitcases on the ground and y/n quickly pressed herself to the side of the pool so that neither of them could see her, or more specifically, so Grace couldn’t see her. y/n did want to say goodbye to Veronica but not at the expense of having to see Grace. She knew that was selfish, but she and Kira were good friends, and y/n hadn’t fully processed what Grace’s betrayal had meant for them as a group yet. It would change the whole dynamic and she didn’t want to hear Grace apologize again, to grovel at her feet. She was angry with Grace and what she’d done. For now, she wanted to be justifiably angry. Plus, if Veronica was leaving early, she could stay hidden, both were forms of coping. y/n’s chest was pressed against the wall and the texture of the pool scratched her skin slightly. She listened as Grace talked to Veronica. She groaned for a while and Veronica reminded Grace that she expected to be paid back for the flight and highly recommended she stay below the radar for a few weeks before talking to y/n or Kira. Grace agreed and then the sound of someone walking away and pulling a suitcase behind them. 

y/n held her breath, not that that was going to do anything, and let it out when Veronica said, “You’re safe y/n, you can come out of hiding now.” y/n let out a chuckle and pushed herself off the wall so she could see Victoria. She watched as her friend ditched her bags and moved to the gate separating the pool from the outside of the hotel and didn’t notice as the ring holding the front of her suit together cracked and the fabric on one side of the suit slowly started creeping down to the opening. Veronica moved to the side of the pool and knelt near y/n who was about to get out of the pool, but Veronica said, “You don’t have to get out y/n. You look like you’re having fun and you should enjoy it.” y/n looked up at her friend and could tell she was being serious. After all, y/n would get Veronica’s perfect travel outfit wet if she tried to hug her goodbye, so instead she asked, “Are you leaving now too?” 

Veronica nodded and replied, “Yeah. You know how crazy flights are right now with all the cancellations and it’s going to be a long wait anyway, so I might as well get there early. It can’t hurt.” y/n nodded along even though it had been years since she’d flown. y/n was looking for something to say apart from bye, but couldn’t find the words. Veronica smiled and said, “I enjoyed catching up with you yesterday, y/n. I promise to come down and see you more often, okay?” y/n nodded suddenly feeling emotional. She blinked rapidly a few times before saying, “Please. I’d like that Ver. I’m sorry it ended like this.”

Veronica snorted and said, “You don’t need to apologize y/n. Grace does. Now, can you promise me something before I go and let you get back to the pool?” y/n nodded not sure what to expect. Ver took a breath and looked over at the street where her Uber would be to pick her up in a second before turning back and said, “Do something fun today. Go out, eat something good, drink something nice. You deserve it.” y/n felt herself soften and the tears recede. She and Ver were not much alike, but Veronica was a good person and could read her well. y/n finally replied, “I will. Promise. Now you’d better go, those four bags aren’t going to carry themselves to the Uber.” Veronica laughed loud and bright as she stood up and replied, “I bet if I paid them enough they would.” As she got to her bags and started pulling them toward the waiting car y/n shouted, “Oh get out of here, and have a safe flight!” Ver gave a final wave and then moved beyond where y/n could see. 

y/n turned around to relax again, and this was when her swimsuit fully betrayed her. The other half of the front ring snapped and it fell into the water leaving her front fully open. If it hadn’t been for y/n covering her chest in embarrassment, she would have flashed everyone at the pool. As y/n gripped the thin fabric to her chest with one hand, she turned around with the other and grabbed onto the wall again. To add insult to injury, her left strap also fell apart, the thin stitching fraying with y/n’s small movements in the water. y/n let out a breath and firmly kept her hand in place as she rested her head on the hand that was holding her to the wall. She thunked her head softly against her arm a few times. Her suit falling apart felt like a metaphor for this trip and her adult life in general. The cheapness of her clothes was a reminder of her economic status that none of her other friends seemed to worry about, even if they should. After a moment of accepting the situation, y/n looked behind her shoulder to see the rest of the pool. For some reason it seemed like the number of people enjoying the water had increased, especially the children present even though she knew it wasn’t possible. No one apart from Veronica had come or gone from the space. y/n took a breath and considered her options. The most obvious would be to just get out of the pool, but now the kids were running around as their moms paid less attention to them. 

The simple choice was to use both of her hands to heave her body from the pool to the side, but that would require both of her hands and would result in her top opening or coming off altogether, and with the kids around, she didn’t want to flash them, or anyone for that matter. The next option was to shimmy all the way around the pool with one hand, make it to the ladder in the shallow end, and climb out that way. However, the ladders were both near couples and she couldn’t bear the idea of having to make her way out of the water with the younger and attractive couples looking directly at her and realizing what was happening. Then there was the option of calling for help, either from one of the younger people closer to her age, or to one of the parents, but everyone suddenly seemed so involved: gossiping, sleeping, reading, scolding a child for running around. Although everyone seemed occupied, it also felt like everyone was also looking at her. Like they knew what was happening and having a little laugh about it at her expense.

y/n turned quickly back to the wall when one of the moms did look her way. y/n closed her eyes and knew she was making up the other people’s reactions. No one really cared about her and that was part of what made her so aware. Where was her mom friend when she needed one? y/n also knew she was tired; she’d hardly gotten any sleep last night and it was wearing her out. y/n wished she wasn’t so self-conscious. With those thoughts, she also tried to think of any other means of escaping her current situation that didn’t involve someone who was at the pool in that moment and she realized she could just wait for someone who seemed less judgy to come outside and she’d flag them down to help her. It’d be embarrassing as hell, but she’d likely never see them again, as she was leaving tomorrow. 

This idea seemed great until it felt like hours before anyone else came outside. The first few people weren’t great candidates. They were either elderly or had kids, or were attached at the hip. y/n was beginning to give up hope and feel the skin of her fingers wrinkle from the water. She was also cold now, half from being in the shadow of the tall hotel, and half from the humiliation of being in such a position. Finally, someone came out of the building’s side entrance and toward the pool. The hotel was really nice, above her budget, and the pool area was buffeted by greenery and an interior courtyard that had a path leading to the parking out in the back. So unless a guest wanted to use the pool, sit in the courtyard, or take the scenic route to their car, there wasn’t much need for the path sitting a few feet from where y/n now clung to the wall shivering. But the man who walked out the door and was quickly getting closer seemed like an apt candidate to help. He looked older, but not too old, and he was moving at a leisurely pace. He was wearing a suit and held a briefcase which meant he was probably leaving to go somewhere important and would quickly forget this inconvenience ever happened to him. 

Aaron took the long way out to his car. Through the lobby and then around by the courtyard and pool. The little courtyard was cute, enclosed by plants with a small fountain in the center of the space. There were benches around the space that would be nice to sit at and have a coffee and read for a while. Aaron assumed the space didn’t get used very often. Not many people came to hotels to just stay on the property. He stood there for a moment enjoying the quiet, the solitude he was sure he wouldn’t find at the conference. Beside the small trickle of water from the fountain, he could hear splashing from the pool. The water looked bright blue and he imagined himself spending a few hours there instead of the cold convention center.

Apart from his qualms about his older body, he would love it, and he could always wear a t-shirt over his trunks. After heaving a sigh, he checked his watch, and if was very much time for him to head out. He was already stalling, so he moved toward the pool. His mind was in another place when he heard someone calling, “Sir. Sir, could you…” Aaron’s head snapped toward the pool when he realized the small voice was calling him. It had to be him because he was the only one there and he was the only “Sir” around. He caught the eyes of a woman close to him. She was on the edge of the pool and he could just see her head and shoulders. As soon as their eyes met she suddenly turned her eyes away and flushed like she was embarrassed about something. Hotch blinked a few times trying to determine if he was the source of discomfort, or if it was something else. 

He finally cleared his head and stepped forward and asked, “Yes. Sorry, can I help you?” The woman only seemed to be more flustered as she replied, “I’m sorry to bother you, but could you get my towel from the chair over there?” and then much more softly, “Sorry,” again. Aaron’s eyes flitted from her to the chair and back. It was an odd request. By all means it looked like the woman could just get out of the pool and get the towel herself. However, Aaron paused here. He never wanted to assume someone’s story even though that was a huge part of his job.

He reminded himself that he didn’t know this person’s background or medical history and that she might not be as able-bodied as he assumed. After all, she had seen embarrassed to ask for help and her avoiding his eyes was indicative of her discomfort about something. Hotch had decided to help y/n before he understood why she had asked for help. ‘Be a gentleman’ Aaron reminded himself. It was what Garcia always called him when he opened the door for her or got her a little treat. He didn’t feel like he deserved the title, but now was his chance to live up to the name. He stepped toward the gate as she said, “I’ve got you. I’ll be right there.” 

There were other people at the pool, but Hotch didn’t pay attention to them. He moved to the chair the woman had gestured at and picked up the white towel that was warmed from sitting in the sun. He moved back toward y/n and as he got closer he realized what was happening. He noticed that only one of the straps on the woman’s suit was attached, and the style was clearly not meant to be asymmetrical. As he moved forward y/n with the towel, he averted his eyes to make sure he didn’t get a look at y/n’s chest which she was covering to the best of her ability. He knelt at the lip of the pool and asked, “Um, how would you like to do this?” 

y/n flushed looking up at the man. He was attractive, more so now that she had a closer look at him and the sun wasn’t shining directly in her eyes. She wanted to nod her head at the stupidity of thinking the man was hot, but couldn’t avoid memorizing the shape of his face in the back of her mind. For a second she wished he was ugly, it would make her situation less awkward. y/n shook her head slightly to clear it before saying, “You can just drop it down. I’ll figure it out. Sorry to have bothered you.” Hotch bit the inside of his cheek and replied, “Don’t be sorry. Stuff happens.” Hotch felt bad just leaving like that and he continued, “I can hand this to you and I’ll turn around. And when you’re comfortable I can help you out if you like. That way you don’t have to cross the pool in a wet towel. No one else will have to know.” He said the last part softly like he understood what y/n was going through; deeper than just in that moment. y/n looked up at him and tried to avoid shaking with how cold she was. The man seemed so sincere that she nodded her head and pushed off the wall slightly as he handed her the towel in her free hand. True to his word the tall man turned away, giving y/n a nice look at his long legs. She stopped herself from leering and pulled the towel under the water getting it wet. She pulled it around her and wrapped it in the front so it would cover her chest. She let her hand that had been giving her privacy for a while rest and it ached with how hard she’d been pressing against her skin. When y/n was happy that the towel was secure to her body, she moved back to the wall and said, “I’m good now.” 

Aaron turned around and knelt back down. y/n looked up at him and said, “You don’t have to do this. You’ll get your suit wet.” Hotch brushed off the woman’s concerns. He could sense the tiredness in her voice and he wouldn’t leave now until he knew she was okay. He did, however, slip off his suit jacket and tossed it onto an empty chair. Then he slipped off his shoes and socks. The warmth of the ground warmed the soles of Aaron’s feet as he crouched down again and said, “There. Now it’s not a problem. Can you give me your arms? I’ll pull you up.” y/n didn’t really think as she nodded and lifted her hands out of the water and into the strong grip of the stranger's hands. Aaron pulled back and up slightly, heaving the weight of the woman and now sopping fabric out of the pool. It wasn’t hard work, but y/n’s knees went a bit slack as she got back on dry land and Hotch quickly moved to hold her under her armpits.

It wasn’t until Aaron had more contact on y/n’s body that he realized she was shivering, but hiding it well. Without asking, Hotch carefully helped y/n to a seat next to the one he’d tossed his jacket on. y/n let him lead her and she watched as he moved toward the towel bin to get her a fresh, dry towel. He grabbed one from the bin and then moved back to y/n whose eyes were on the ground. She felt a bit disoriented but better now that she was sitting down. When Hotch was in front of her again he pulled the new towel’s edge in his hand and moved it to y/n’s chest. He half suggested, half commanded, “Why don’t you slip off the wet towel and I’ll tie this in the back?” y/n nodded listlessly and did as the man said, letting the cold towel fall into her lap. She placed her arms over the dry fabric and she watched as the man moved behind her to tuck the ends of the towel over itself to keep her modest. 

Hotch moved back in front of y/n and rubbed her arms trying to get her grounded and her circulation going. y/n snapped back to herself when she realized that the man’s sleeves were wet, pressed to the arms and skin underneath. She looked up at him and in a clearer voice said, “Thank you so much. Really, I’m fine now.” Aaron stopped his hands midway up her arms and said, “Don’t mention it. You should maybe get inside. Drink something sweet to get your blood sugar up.” y/n nodded and said again, “Thanks so much, this is so embarrassing. Could I pay you back the kindness? If you’re going to be back tonight I’ll grab you a drink at the hotel bar. Or a better bar if you know one in town.” Aaron’s face broke out into a smile and he said, “I’d like that. How about we meet at the lobby at 8:00?” y/n smiled back, suddenly not so cold, and said, “That’s perfect for me.” Hotch stood and started moving to his car, knowing he was late now. As he rolled up his sleeves he said, “I’m Aaron Hotchner, by the way.” y/n waved sheepishly and said, “I’m y/n y/l/n. See you tonight, Aaron.” By the time her words were out of y/n’s mouth Aaron was almost out of sight, but they had a plan and it made y/n feel much better than she had this morning, something she’d have to think about all day. 

Once Hotch got to his car he let himself relax. Yeah, he was going to be late to the convention, but he didn’t care. Others had been late yesterday so he drove toward the coffee shop, he felt lighter now. Better. Something to look forward to tonight. Being able to do something just for the fun of it, something that would be so easy for Morgan, Penelope, or Em was a nice change of pace. It would help him get through what he was sure to be a long day. 

y/n also felt better. Mostly because she’d been seen by someone. It was a stranger, but a kind one. One that hadn’t begrudgingly helped her and then left instantly. No, Aaron had done more than he needed, and even though she felt like a teenager being set up on a blind date, she was excited for the evening. y/n went inside and grabbed a glass of juice from the cold juice bar, an amenity that hotels she normally stayed at didn’t have, before moving back to her empty room and falling into bed. An hour later she found that Kira had texted her and invited y/n up to her room where she went and described what had happened that morning. Kira seemed excited for y/n and even after y/n asked if she was sure it was fine that she left her friend for a few hours, Kira said, “y/n, you should go. Have some fun. God knows you deserve it after last night and this morning. Put on something pretty and get a drink, and just have a good time, okay?” y/n smiled in a way that showed the small wrinkles near her eyes and said, “Alright, I think I can do that. God you would have loved the way this guy looked this morning. Tall dark and handsome. It’s like I won the jackpot or something.” A few moments later Kira and y/n were in fits of laughter as her friend came up with a more and more outlandish way for y/n to get a picture of Aaron without him knowing about it. 

y/n stood in the lobby at 7:55. She was wearing a nice outfit, but nothing overdone. She reminded herself that this wasn’t a date, multiple times, but had given her makeup a good attempt. Kira had helped her make sure it looked good. y/n was sure that this outfit wouldn’t fall apart on her. It was a skirt she’d had for ages and a shirt that flattered her. She paired it with some black tights and creepers, which she kept shuffling around in while she waited for Aaron. The ding of the elevator made y/n turn her head, and she smiled as Aaron walked out. He had changed from his business attire. Now he was in a pair of slacks and a dark polo shirt. The man kept looking better and better each time y/n saw him. She raised a hand and gave a small wave as he walked over to her. When Aaron got in front of her he said, “Hey, y/n. You’re looking well.” y/n was flustered by the compliment and replied, “Um, thank you. You’re looking well yourself. Those dark colors compliment you.” Hotch let out a little breath and watched as y/n eyed the bar skeptically. She looked back at him and asked, “So what’s the plan, Stan?” Aaron also looked over the crowded, overpriced hotel car and replied, “Well, there’s a place three blocks from here that has better and cheaper drinks than… that.” He eyed the bar, and from his periphery saw y/n relax. He wasn’t sure why she calmed, but did add, “That is if you’re comfortable walking with me.” 

y/n took a second to think about what Aaron had said. Not that she was reckless, but she’d done dumb things in the hope of love before. Stupid really given she was a woman. That had been years ago, and she’d been single for so long it had become her norm. This had been helpful last night as her friends looked singleness in the face for the first time in years. It seemed that y/n’s old habits in dating hadn’t fully left her, and only Aaron mentioning that she’d be walking alone with him reminded her how stupid she had been. However, Aaron didn’t seem like the type of man who would harm her. He had helped her that morning and she slowly said, “No, I don’t mind. It will stop me from drinking too much probably which is a good thing. I fly out tomorrow morning, so no drunken foolishness for me.” Aaron smiled and said, “Alright then. We’ll get you back after one drink.” The pair moved outside into the cool air of summer. It was slightly humid and the walk was short. The bar was small and cozy. It was full of neon signs, and although y/n had offered to buy their drinks, Aaron picked up the tab anyway. He got a gin and tonic while he ordered y/n’s favorite drink. She asked for it to be a double as she was only having one. 

They found a table in the corner and y/n and Hotch clinked glasses and each took a drink. There was an awkward pause as neither knew what to say. y/n finally came up with the words she wanted to, “Thank you for this morning. I hope I didn’t make you late for whatever you were heading to.” Hotch let out a chuckle as he replied,” I was happy to help. I was a bit late, but I wanted to be honest. I even got a coffee before heading to the conference.” y/n smiled happy to know she hadn’t been an inconvenience. She always assumed that corporate conferences were boring as shit and asked, “What was it a conference on?” 

Aaron took a moment to think about this response. He rarely started out that he was in the FBI. He found that it garnered immediate distrust with many, so he went with the easier option of, “Tech and AI.” The comment piqued y/n’s interest. Aaron didn’t look like a pretentious tech bro, and he was older than most of the men that she’d seen who were Musk fanatics. She probed for more information and asked, “Oh like ChatGTP is ruining students and enabling plagiarizing, or that The Patriot Act is good and we need for of that for State security?” Aaron hadn’t expected those two options and replied slowly, “More along the lines of the Patriot Act, but mostly cybercrime and cyber security.” y/n found herself relaxing again. ‘So he’s not a tech bro type.’ y/n continued speaking, “To be honest I never fully understood The Patriot Act. We covered it in high school APUSH, but it was at the end of the year and we breezed over it so fast. I just know its bad and scary but even that’s just from people I hear talking about it.” Hotch took a sip of his drink and said, “Well, it’s, complicated, that’s for sure. I could try and fill you in, but it’d take more than one drink for that.” He paused before asking, “So what brought you here?” 

y/n thought about why she’d exactly said yes to her friends. Why did she spend so much money? y/n said, “Well it was supposed to be a girl's trip, but it didn’t end so well. I guess I was hoping to rekindle some of that college energy, but I didn’t. I’m excited to go home if I’m being honest.” y/n stopped talking, realizing she was saying more than she intended. She tried to blink back her emotions and Aaron placed a hand on her shoulder. He understood what it meant to be sad somewhere else, somewhere far from home. Not an earth-shattering sadness, just a longing for something long gone. Something that had passed away with time. He swallowed and replied, “I’m sorry. I hope at least tonight is fun, has been fun?” y/n looked up at him and smiled, saying, “It has, it’s been great. I might actually get another drink, kind of fun. I’m down to learn about The Patriot Act after all.” Aaron couldn’t stop his laugh and caught y/n eyeing the dance floor. After he got her a second drink he’d suggest it, and he’d have a story to tell Morgan for once. If things felt good between the two of them when they got back to the hotel, he might offer y/n his number. He picked up his glass and y/n did too. They looked at each other and clinked glasses again. Aaron started the toast again by saying, “To learning U.S. history,” and y/n said, “To silver linings.” As they finished their drinks, Aaron looked down and noticed y/n’s hand brushed up against his. He moved his fingers slightly and brushed her fingers with his. The night was early and they both had flights in the morning, but there was still time to make it one to remember.

Text Break Banner by @cafekitsune

Tag list: @geminitapestry @silk-spun @potatovoyager @princessjax @samaldonado5 @looking1016 @zoeyredbird1 @alicewonderao3

Want to be added to my tag list? Please check out this post (linked) 

Want to send in a request? Please check out this post, CM Request Post (linked)

[tigerlilypurr]

Jewish wedding crown

DATE 1850-1925

MATERIALS Silver with gilding, and glass

DIMENSIONS H. 8 in x W. 10 in x D. 10 in, H. 20.3 cm x W. 25.4 cm x D. 25.4 cm

CREDIT LINE Acquisition made possible by the Elizabeth E. Bettelheim Family Foundation

OBJECT NUMBER 2015.69

DEPARTMENT South Asian Art

CLASSIFICATIONS Metal Arts

INSCRIBED "I will raise Jerusalem above my highest joy' in Hebrew

MORE INFORMATION

In some Jewish wedding traditions, brides or grooms wore a crown or diadem. This elaborate one from a Jewish community in India was probably for a groom. It speaks to the different cultural spheres its user belonged to. The Hebrew inscription “I will raise Jerusalem above my highest joy” (Psalm 137, 5–6) was recited by the groom in some traditions. This was meant as a reminder of past suffering—the destruction of Jerusalem by the Babylonians more than 2,500 years ago—even at a moment of great happiness. The design of paired birds and the “tree of life” motif are elements often used to adorn Jewish ritual objects. Here they are localized: the crown recalls the form of an Indian turban, the “tree of life” calls to mind turban ornaments (sarpech), and the birds here are peacocks. Jewish communities have deep roots in India. In recent times many Indian Jews have emigrated to Israel and other parts of the world. It is thought that fewer than 10,000 Jews remain in India.

https://searchcollection.asianart.org/objects/20305/jewish-wedding-crown

[cherryheairt]

Your favs as Hozier lyrics

ft. hsr, haikyuu, CM, genshin, castlevania, arcane, aib, hannibal

"There's nothing sweeter than my baby, I'd never want once from the cherry tree"

Men who, though they haven't had the most pleasant past nor have done things they're proud of, find the sweetest joy in being with you. No matter the day, easy or hard, you manage to brighten it and add color to his life. He'd never ask for anything more than you give because you're all he truly needs.

for: alucard/adrian, ushijima, semi, daichi, atsumu, XIAO, DILUC, lyney, wriosthey, welt yang, jing yuan, mydei, HOTCH, viktor, niragi, aguni, frontman/in-ho, your fav

"If I say this is drowning, you tell me I'm walking on water."

You're his silver lining in all possible scenarios. He never looks at the brighter side, instead succombing to whatever is thrown his way and baring it with grit teeth. The moment you're in his world, you teach him that there's more to life than simply living day-by-day.

for: Gi-hun, WILL GRAHAM, Spencer Reid, SILCO, VANDER, trevor, sakusa, tsukki, BLADE, arlan, GALLAGHER, Neuvillette, WANDERER, your fav

"I'm starvin', darlin', let me put my lips to something. Let me wrap my teeth around the world."

He's got a bad reputation, but you've overlooked that long ago. You are the one thing he cares for at his stage in life, and he doesn't mind. He's greedy and selfish, and you've chosen to give yourself to him wholely. He takes and takes, and you give and give, trapped in a cycle of passion and love. Let him consume you, and you shall know his heart.

for: HANNIBAL, SALESMAN, loucha, SUNDAY, sampo, ALBEDO, DOTTORE, pantalone, capitano, ayato, chishiya, your fav

"We lay here for years or for hours. Your hand in my hand, so still and discreet. So long, we'd become the flowers."

In a chaotic life, he found peace in your touch. how long has he waited for one simple break from it all, to take a moment to himself? Your quiet breaths under his ear on your chest, your soft soothing traces down his scalp and spine, your endless hours of soft preaching that he could never get enough of. Yes, his perfect life was a quiet one with you.

for: dae-ho, arisu, karube, jayce talis, KENMA, kuroo, SUGA, TENDOU, akaashi, kyotani, JIAOQIU, veritas ratio, dan heng IL, kaeya, zhongli, al haithem, kazuha, your fav

"I'd rather take my whiskey neat. My coffee black and my bed at three. You're too sweet for me"

His life isnt picture-perfect or neat. He prefers it that way, really. He stays up late, gets up too early, has a routine that works only for him. But somehow you've managed to weasel your way in and adapt to him and his eccentricities. How? He can't be bothered to find out, but his silent gratitude speajs volumes.

for: osamu, KENMA, shirabu, tobio, cyno, heizou, morax, frontman/in-ho, salesman, will graham, your favs

"But you worry some, I know. But who wants to live forever babe?"

Lives dangerously, on the edge of life at all times. You will never hear a boring story–though you wish you might–and though he'd never give up such a precarious lifestyle, he'll always come back home to his baby.

for: BOOTHILL, SAMPO, aventurine, CHILDE, CAPITANO, trailblazer, ITTO, nishinoya, oikawa, SALESMAN, HANNIBAL, your favs

May not be entirely cohesive, just wanted to write SOMETHING. Accidentally became important at work so I'm working 6 days now and can't get anything I want to done writing-wise. let's hope and pray for my manager finding another hire to ease my suffering

[woundgallery]

Jenny Holzer, With You Inside Me Comes the Knowledge of My Death, 1994, Silver snake ring with inscription, sterling silver, 925/000, matt, centrifugal cast, hand-finished, in custom felt-lined wooden case1 5/8 × 3 3/8 × 2 1/8 in | 4.1 × 8.6 × 5.4 cm

[ellswritings]

A Gift for the Victor

CM Punk (Phil Brooks) x Reader

TW: Lots of flirty tension, no smut but it gets pretty intense at the end, mild choking, swapping saliva, foul language, lmk if I missed anything.

Y/S/N- Your Stage Name

Y/H/T- Your Hometown

Y/W- Your weight

Tags: @reebs-luvs-rhodes-and-wrestling

(I’m literally weak for this man. I was debating making a smutty part 2. Let me know if that’s something you’re all interested in 🫶🫶)

✧･ﾟ:*ᴵ’ᵐ ᵇᵉᵃᵘ ᵗᶦᶠᵘˡ (ꈍ ꒳ ꈍ✿)*:･ﾟ✧*

WrestleMania Forty.

One of, if not the biggest night of Y/N L/N’s career. She’s facing Iyo Sky to win the Women’s Championship. She had been fighting for this all year. Fight after fight, promo after promo, injury after injury, and she’s finally here. The entire trajectory of her career comes down to this moment. Comes down to the outcome of tonight.

She wasn’t as nervous as she thought she’d be. She worked hard to get here. Took on opponents that most people thought would crush her, but she persevered. Paul Levesque saw something in her. He still does and always will. She’s a fighter, she’s charismatic, the people love her. Over the past few years it’s been a battle between her and Cody Rhodes on who’s the most loveable face. Perhaps down the road there will be a different story lined up for her, but that’s for the future.

Right now, she has a match to win.

It’s Night Two and she’s going on right after Seth Rollins just lost his match to Drew McIntyre. The Scotsman got a bit too cocky for his own good though, the special commentator, CM Punk, beating the crap out of the heavyweight before Damian Priest came out to cash in his Money in the Bank. He stole the title from Drew, leaving everyone in awe.

However, Y/N couldn’t help but admire the way that Punk completely destroyed Drew after what the man did to him at the Royal Rumble. She and Punk have always had an interesting relationship. Flirty comments exchanged here and there, holding each other’s gaze for too long, teasing touches. It was all a part of their charm, their story.

She also really enjoyed getting under his skin, and he felt the same. Whenever they could mess with each other, in or out of the ring, they would.

Phil especially loved walking up behind her before she would go out for a match, whispering something in her ear to make her squirm, and then sauntering off like nothing happened.

Y/N was thrilled when she found out he would also be commentating on her match. They figured it would be best for press since they have such a close relationship, and their chemistry is off the charts.

She would never tell him of her excitement though. It would simply go to his head and give him a bigger ego than he already has. A small smirk covers her lips as she wraps her hands with white masking tape, putting a black X on each one. She knows this will get quite the reaction from him and the audience. Luckily, her cropped leather jacket covers them so it’ll remain a surprise until she takes it off before the match.

Paul Levesque had been nice enough to allow her new gear for this big match. He said it was time for her to get a bit of an upgrade. She wears a black, form-fitting sleeveless top, made from a breathable, flexible material that allows her to move with ease. The top has a high neckline but features cutouts along the sides, hinting at her toned physique without being overly revealing. Across the chest, her logo is subtly embossed in dark metallic silver, catching the light just right when she moves.

Her matching black shorts are a hybrid between tactical gear and athletic wear—snug but flexible, sitting comfortably on her hips with an angled, asymmetrical belt design. The fabric is reinforced with leather-like paneling along the outer thighs, giving her a sleek, armored look without restricting her agility. Subtle silver and deep crimson accents line the seams, adding just a hint of color while keeping the overall aesthetic dark and dangerous.

She wears sturdy knee-high boots with reinforced soles for impact protection. A few silver buckles line the sides of her boots, adding to the dangerous, almost mercenary-like vibe of her gear.

Her jacket—which is probably her favorite aspect of the new outfit—is a lightweight, cropped leather piece with spiked shoulder accents, a deep crimson lining, and her name stitched in jagged, metallic lettering across the back.

She felt dangerous. It really is true when they say dress for what you expect the outcome to be. And as far as Y/N’ concerned, she’s dressed to win.

She cracks her neck as Iyo Sky makes her entrance, the music blaring throughout the arena. She jumps up and down, warming up her body as she gets ready to take what’s rightfully hers. A small smile graces her face as Joe Anoa’i walks up to her briefly, patting her on the back with a small ‘good luck.’

She doesn’t let him leave without hugging him first. He’s still trying to remain in character like the professional he is, but he can’t help but soften under her arms. He’s watched her grow into the star she is, sometimes being the one to train her, so he couldn’t be more proud of how far she’s come.

“C’mon, don’t get all soft,” he tells her, placing his hands on her shoulders. He looks her dead in the eye, “Let’s see that angry face.”

Y/N laughs, “Joe–”

“Nuh uh,” he shakes his head. “Your ass better start mean muggin’ me right now or I ain’t gonna let you go out there.”

Y/N rolls her eyes, feeling silly as she does as he asks. She scrunches her face up the way Josh and Jon showed her she should and Joe nods his head. “There we go. Now you’re ready.”

As if on cue, her entrance music booms through the arena. Roman pushes her forward and she sends him a playful glare before walking out to meet the cheers and screams of her adoring fans. She immediately falls back into character, smirking at the attention. She revels in it, raising her arms up laterally as she spins in a slow circle. Her hips sway to the beat as she struts up to the ring, but not before stopping to interact with a few fans along the way.

She chuckles lowly, patting the face of one of her many overzealous fanboys. She can see the blush form on his cheeks as she walks away with a flirty wink before finishing her journey to the ring. Everyone in the arena screams the lyrics to her song out, making the moment even more special as she climbs up to the second rope, blowing a kiss out to each and every one of them.

She jumped down from her position and walked towards the center of the ring as Alicia Taylor found her place between Y/N and Iyo. The latter had the women’s championship draped over her shoulder, tapping the center plate with a small smirk. It wasn’t cocky, no, it was a challenge. A dare of some sort.

The stadium lights dimmed as Alicia raised the microphone up to her mouth “The following contest is scheduled for one fall…”

The audience screamed in unison.

“…and it is for the WWE Women’s Championship!”

Y/N shook out her hands as Alicia turned to her.

“Introducing first, the challenger… from Y/H/T, weighing in at Y/W, she is ‘The Untouchable’ Y/N L/N!”

The crowd erupted, the sheer volume vibrating through the air. Y/N exhaled slowly through her nose, soaking it in, smirking as she raised her arms and flexed her fingers, her body already buzzing with adrenaline.

The camera cut to the commentary desk, where Michael Cole, Pat McAfee, and CM Punk sat, all watching intently.

“Listen to this ovation for Y/N L/N!” Cole said over the noise.

“Philadelphia is in love with this woman,” Pat added. “I mean, can you blame them? Look at her—she was built for this moment.”

Beside him, Punk leaned back slightly in his chair, arms crossed, a smirk tugging at his lips. “Yeah, Yeah,” he drawled out. “She might think she’s all that, but let’s see if she can actually get the job done.”

Y/N’s head turned sharply toward the commentary table, locking eyes with him. Her smirk deepened, a silent, wordless challenge of her own. Punk just raised an eyebrow, as if amused.

Alicia’s voice rang out again.

“And her opponent… from Tokyo, Japan, weighing in at 114 pounds, she is the WWE Women’s Champion… IYO SKY!”

Y/N started bouncing up and down once again as she put herself in the correct headspace for this match. It helped immensely hearing the scattered boos in the crowd that came after Iyo’s name.

Every ounce of training, every second of pain and sacrifice had led to this, and she wasn’t about to waste it. As she reached the steel steps, she grabbed the edges of her custom leather jacket, shrugging it off in one smooth motion before tossing it aside.

The second she did, the camera zoomed in on the thick, white wrist tape wrapped around her hands—bold, black X’s drawn over the knuckles.

The moment wasn’t lost on the commentary team.

Pat McAfee let out an obnoxiously loud laugh. “Ohhh, would you look at that? That is a direct shot at our guy over here!”

Beside him, CM Punk, who had been lounging comfortably in his chair, suddenly sat up straighter. His eyes flickered to the screen, landing on the tape, and for a brief second, something unspoken crossed his face.

Michael Cole chuckled. “Now that’s interesting. What do you think, Punk?”

Punk exhaled sharply through his nose, shaking his head. “Cute,” he muttered, a smirk tugging at the corner of his lips.

Y/N turned her head ever so slightly in his direction, smirk firmly in place, and tapped her fists together, making sure he saw the X’s clearly. The smirk on Punk’s face faltered for half a second before he scoffed, leaning back again.

“She must think she’s real creative for that one,” Punk snarks, but Y/N picked up on his attitude all the way from the ring.

She grinned. “Glad you approve, old man,” she mouths.

Pat snorted. “Oh, she’s good.”

Punk rolled his eyes. “Whatever. I’m not impressed yet.”

The bell rang.

Y/N barely had time to react before Iyo Sky came flying at her, a devastating roundhouse kick aimed directly for her head. She ducked just in time, the force of it whipping past her ear, and immediately retaliated with a stiff elbow to Iyo’s ribs. The champion staggered back but recovered quickly, using the ropes to propel herself forward before slamming into Y/N with a handspring back elbow. The move connected cleanly, knocking Y/N back against the ropes, but she used the momentum to bounce off and hit Iyo with a running knee to the face.

The match quickly devolved into a brutal back-and-forth war. Every time Y/N gained an advantage, Iyo countered, the champion’s speed and agility making her nearly impossible to keep down. The strikes were stiff, each kick and punch landing with precision, the sound of flesh meeting flesh ringing throughout the stadium. Y/N could feel the welts forming on her ribs from Iyo’s brutal kicks, but she pushed forward, feeding off the energy of the crowd.

“Come on, L/N!” Punk’s voice cut through the commentary. “You gotta be faster than that!”

Cole chuckled. “A little tough love from Punk tonight?”

“Tough love?” Pat laughed. “The man sounds like a disappointed dad.”

Punk scoffed, arms crossed. “I just call it like I see it.”

Back in the ring, Y/N managed to catch Iyo mid-air as she attempted a crossbody, using her strength to hoist the champion up and slam her into the mat with a gut-wrench suplex. Iyo arched off the canvas, clutching her lower back, giving Y/N the opening to climb the ropes.

“She’s going high-risk!” Cole called.

Punk let out a breath. “Better not miss.”

As if hearing him, Y/N turned her head slightly toward the commentary table, locking eyes with him before blowing an exaggerated kiss in his direction.

The crowd reacted immediately, laughter rippling through the audience, and Pat lost it. “Oh my God! She’s making it her personal mission to mess with you!”

Punk’s face remained neutral, but the slight twitch in his jaw gave him away. “Focus on the match, sweetheart,” he muttered under his breath, though the mic still picked it up.

And she did.

All of her attention went back to Iyo as she landed a perfect cross-body. Unfortunately, it hadn’t tired Iyo as much as Y/N had hoped it would, but she didn’t give up. She never would. Not when the title is practically in her grasp.

The match itself had been brutal, both women leaving everything they had in the ring. However, the next fifteen minutes of it had to have been the worst. The air inside Lincoln Financial Field was thick with anticipation, the crowd hanging onto every move, every counter, every near fall. Y/N’s body ached, her ribs screaming from the relentless kicks Iyo had delivered, but she pushed forward, feeding off the electric energy around her.

Iyo, for all her skill and championship experience, was growing frustrated. Y/N had withstood everything—the rapid-fire strikes, the high-flying assaults, the punishing submissions. And now, as the match neared its climax, Iyo was beginning to make mistakes.

The champion was perched on the top rope, her chest rising and falling with heavy breaths, eyes narrowed as she calculated her next move. Y/N was dazed, clutching her ribs, struggling to push herself to her feet. Iyo saw her opportunity.

With a determined yell, she launched herself off the turnbuckle, twisting mid-air for a moonsault.

It was mistimed.

Y/N had staggered to her feet just a fraction of a second too soon, her head still down as Iyo’s knee connected—hard—against her brow instead of the planned impact to her chest. The sound of bone hitting bone was sickening, an audible crack that made the entire arena wince.

Y/N dropped like a stone.

The referee immediately knelt beside her, checking for movement, but it was the blood—thick and dark—already dripping down her face that sent a ripple of unease through the crowd.

And through Punk.

At the commentary table, he had been leaning back, arms crossed, the usual smirk on his face as he quipped about the match. But the moment that knee landed, his entire body tensed. His smirk vanished. His hands slammed against the table as he pushed himself to his feet, the chair scraping loudly against the floor.

For a split second, he wasn’t CM Punk, the commentator.

He was Phil Brooks, the man who had spent his entire career in this business, who had seen firsthand what a misplaced knee like that could do.

“She’s hurt,” he said, voice lower than before, tighter.

Pat McAfee blinked, clearly taken aback by the sudden shift in him. “Whoa, hey, man—where are you—?”

Punk had already taken a step forward, instinct screaming at him to move, to get to the ring, to do something. His fingers flexed at his sides, breathing shallow as he locked onto Y/N’s unmoving form.

Then, as quickly as he’d reacted, he caught himself.

Realized where he was.

What he was doing.

His jaw clenched, and slowly, rigidly, he forced himself to sit back down. But his posture was different now—leaned forward, elbows on the desk, one hand anxiously rubbing his jaw as his eyes never left the ring.

“She’s bleeding pretty bad,” Cole noted, though his attention had drifted toward Punk now, clearly sensing the change.

Pat, of course, couldn’t help himself. “Man, I swear, if I didn’t know any better, I’d say Punk here was about to—what? Jump in there and save her?”

Punk shot him a glare. “Shut up, Pat.”

Pat laughed. “I’m just saying! Look at you! Sitting here all stiff, like you’re about to sprint down the ramp any second!”

Punk exhaled sharply through his nose, shaking his head as he tried to settle back into his usual nonchalance. “She’s fine,” he muttered, though his eyes betrayed him. They were locked on Y/N, watching as she blinked rapidly, trying to clear the blood that was beginning to seep down the side of her face.

Back in the ring, the referee hesitated, momentarily unsure if he should call for medical personnel, but Y/N pushed his hands away.

"I'm good," she gritted out.

Her vision was hazy, the pain sharp and unrelenting, but the last thing she was going to do was let this end with her lying on the mat, bleeding out.

Punk leaned in slightly at the sound of her voice, his shoulders still tight.

“Come on, Y/N…” he muttered under his breath, as if willing her to snap out of it.

Iyo hesitated, realizing her mistake now, but it was too late to take it back. And Y/N—still dazed, still blinking through the blood—was already pushing to her feet.

The sight of her standing, wiping the blood from her eye with the back of her hand, made the crowd erupt.

Punk let out a slow breath, watching as she squared her shoulders, forcing herself back into the fight despite the crimson streaks running down her face. The sight of it—the determination, the fire—made something flicker in his expression.

Cole chuckled, side-eyeing him. “You can admit it, you know. You’re impressed.”

Punk scoffed, but it was weaker than before. “She still has to win first.”

Pat grinned. “Oh, come on. You were two seconds away from running down there to help her! I’ve never seen you move that fast in my life.”

Punk ignored him.

Back in the ring, Y/N caught Iyo off guard, ducking under a clothesline before hoisting her onto her shoulders in one swift motion. The crowd roared, the energy surging to its peak as she took a single step forward and then drove Iyo into the mat with her finisher.

The ring shook from the impact.

Punk straightened in his seat, fingers twitching slightly as he watched the ref drop to count.

One… Two… Three.

The bell rang.

A moment of silence passed before the realization hit.

She won.

The crowd exploded, the sound deafening as Y/N collapsed to her knees, clutching the championship to her chest.

And then, slowly, blood still dripping down her face, she turned toward the commentary table.

Her gaze locked onto Punk’s.

Tears were brimming at the corner of her eyes as she held her title over her shoulder proudly. She stood up, woozy and shaky as blood continued to trickle down her forehead, but her smugness never faded. The smirk was slow, knowing, as she tapped the title against the X’s on her hands.

Punk exhaled through his nose, shaking his head, but he didn’t look away.

Pat leaned in, grinning wildly. “You okay over there, bud?”

Cole smirked. “Go on, Punk. Just say it.”

Punk rubbed his jaw, leaning back in his chair, and after a long pause, muttered, “She did alright.”

Pat snorted. “You are so full of it.”

But Punk said nothing.

Instead, as the cameras focused on Y/N standing tall, bloodied but victorious, the faintest ghost of a smile flickered across his lips.

That’s when a microphone is handed to the newest champion and it makes everyone in the stadium cry out loudly as she raises it to her lips. “How we feeling tonight, Philly?”

Everyone screams once again making the new champion nod enthusiastically. She didn’t know if it was the high she was on from her win, or the blood loss, but she was no longer concerned about how professional she appeared.

“Yeah, me too!” She calls out with a small chuckle. “Y’know I’ve gotta say I couldn’t have done it without all of you cheering me on like that.” The crowd once again goes ballistic at her kind words. “I also couldn’t have done it without the amazing Paul Levesque giving me the chance to achieve greatness, and for that I am so grateful.” She spins on her heel, walking slowly towards the edge of the ring that’s closest to the announcer’s table. “But there is one person in particular I owe a special thanks to…”

She leans on the top rope, looking over at Punk with the biggest shit-eating grin she’s ever sported. He can’t help but lean back in his chair, eyes bemused as he scoffs softly at her behavior. Blood still oozes down her face, but she couldn’t seem to care less.

“The man who pisses me off more than anyone else in the locker room. Who unfortunately taught me half of my move set, mostly because he’s ancient,” she mumbles the last part but the audience roars with laughter. “The best in the world… CM Punk.”

As the crowd begins to chant his name, Punk shakes his head at her antics. He watches as the woman makes her way out of the ring and walks over towards his side of the table. Her chest is heaving as she continues to try and replenish the oxygen her lungs have lost over the last half hour in the ring.

She looks good, he notes to himself. The new gear she’s sporting fits her body perfectly. It shows off her stage persona perfectly, beautiful but deadly. His eyes trail over her hands, growing slightly fond of the fact she’s rocking his signature look. If anyone else were to have done that, he might’ve lost his mind on the spot, but with her, it’s different.

“Without his incessant nagging, I wouldn’t be here today,” she says into the mic, stopping directly in front of him, never breaking eye contact.

She’s currently towering over him as he’s still sitting in his designated seat. But without warning, he stands from his spot, silently moving forward and wrapping his one good arm around her in a tight hug. Audible coos and whistles are heard throughout the arena as Punk leans forward to speak into her mic.

“Don’t sell yourself short,” he tells her. “You worked hard for it. Paid your dues.”

The crowd was already losing their minds over the embrace—CM Punk, the surly, hard-nosed veteran, openly showing affection? That alone was shocking enough. But as Y/N felt the warmth of his body pressed against hers, the steady rise and fall of his chest, something in her buzzed with exhilaration. Maybe it was the fact he was trying so hard to remain in character, or maybe it’s because she was tired of this cat and mouse game they became so good at playing.

She pulled back slightly, just enough to catch the flicker of something in his eyes before he masked it. He was playing the role, staying in character, but she saw it—a crack in the armor. A slip.

A slow smirk curled at her lips as she tilted her head. “Y’know, Punk,” she drawled, deliberately stepping closer, toeing the line of personal space as she brought the mic back up between them. “I was thinking… since we’re so close and all… how about a gift for the victor?”

His expression didn’t change—at least, not outwardly. But she caught it. The subtle way his jaw tensed. The way his tongue darted out to wet his lips like he was considering something. The way his fingers twitched at his sides like he had to physically restrain himself from reacting too quickly.

Still, he played his part. He always did.

Punk should’ve seen it coming. Should have.

But the moment Y/N took that deliberate step closer, eyes gleaming with something far too playful, far too dangerous, he knew he’d walked right into her trap.

His lips pressed into a firm line as she invaded his space, the warmth of her body nearly brushing against his. He should move—he needs to move—but he doesn’t. He just watches her, that smug little smirk playing at her lips, the kind that made his fingers twitch with the urge to do something drastic.

Like kiss it off her.

No. No, he absolutely was not thinking that.

He cleared his throat, forcing himself to roll his shoulders like he wasn’t already bracing for impact. “What did you have in mind?” His voice was smooth, controlled—CM Punk. But there was an edge to it, an almost imperceptible waver that Y/N caught immediately.

She knew exactly what she was doing to him.

Y/N hummed, tapping her fingers against the mic as if she were thinking. She tilted her head, feigning innocence as her gaze dropped to his lips for just a second—a split second—before flicking back up to his eyes.

“Oh, you know…”

And then—she kissed him.

The moment her lips pressed against his, CM Punk ceased to exist. There was no more character to hide behind. Just Phil Brooks.

A deafening roar swept through the stadium, fans screaming, chanting, reacting with sheer disbelief at what they were witnessing. The cameras caught it all—CM Punk, the man who prided himself on being untouchable, who never ever strayed from his carefully controlled image—being kissed, in front of thousands, by the newly crowned champion.

Phil. Was. Stunned.

For the first few seconds, he didn’t even move. Didn’t even process it. He had anticipated her usual antics—teasing, pushing his buttons, making him squirm—but this? This wasn’t scripted. This wasn’t supposed to happen, this wasn’t supposed to happen—but then her hand curled into the fabric of his shirt, pulling him just enough to make his knees buckle slightly, and suddenly, he was forgetting why he was supposed to stop this at all.

Her lips were soft but commanding, determined, and goddammit, he should push her away, should pull back and scowl and play it off like she hadn’t just sent a bolt of electricity down his spine.

But he didn’t.

For a second—just a second—his hand twitched at his side, instinct screaming at him to cup the back of her neck, to deepen the kiss just enough to make her regret thinking she had the upper hand here.

But then she was gone.

The absence of her warmth made his body lurch forward slightly before his brain caught up, before the noise of the arena came crashing back down around him.

She turned on her heel, already stepping back toward the ring as she raised the mic again, her voice ringing through the chaos.

“See you later, old man.”

The crowd was losing their minds.

Pat McAfee was practically feral beside him. “OH. MY. GOD. SHE DID IT! Y/N L/N JUST KISSED CM PUNK ON LIVE TELEVISION! WHAT UNIVERSE ARE WE IN?!”

Michael Cole was just as incredulous. He was barely able to hold himself together as he laughed loudly, “I– Punk? Any comment? Anything at all?”

He grabbed his headset, sliding it back on with forced nonchalance. “Shut up, Pat.”

Pat cackled. “OH, HE’S FLUSTERED! HE’S SO FLUSTERED! HE DOESN’T EVEN KNOW WHAT TO DO RIGHT NOW!”

Cole grinned. “Are we witnessing the beginning of a WWE power couple?”

Punk pinched the bridge of his nose. “I swear to god, both of you—”

But it didn’t matter.

The damage was done. The moment was out there, in front of thousands. There was no walking this back.

His eyes were locked on Y/N as she stood at the top of the ramp, championship over her shoulder, owning the moment like she’d planned it all along. She looked so damn proud of herself.

And the worst part?

He couldn’t even be mad.

The next few days were nothing short of exhausting. He hadn’t had a quiet moment since what happened at the main event. Whether it was questions from his coworkers, his bosses, or the public, it was never ending. He, of course, handled it with the utmost professionalism, never breaking character, but it was starting to irritate him the way Y/N was handling it with such ease. Like she hadn’t completely blown up both of their careers. Not in a bad way, but the scandal in itself was enough to keep all attention on them for the next few months. Yet she acted like she didn’t have a care in the world.

She easily deflected probing questions and didn’t appear flustered by the event at all. It was infuriating. His jaw ticked as he watched her from the other side of the Gorilla, laughing at something Dominick Mysterio said. Once again, acting as if nothing happened. He watched as the younger male wrestler’s eyes flicked over to him and Phil could only assume the next question that came out of his mouth was about the kiss.

Once again, she deflects the question without much effort. Y/N simply bat her eyelashes at the boy, placing her hands on his chest as if she were fixing his gear before saying something slightly flirty and walking off. Her strategy changed with everyone who asked, and it worked every time.

His feet start moving before his mind can even register what he’s doing. Y/n rounds the corner to no doubt head out to your trailer, but he manages to grab her wrist before she can make it out. Her eyes widen in surprise, but they quickly calm when she realizes it’s him.

“Hey stranger,” she grins cheekily. She made no effort to pull away from his grasp, instead shifting her weight slightly, subtly closing the distance between them.

Phil’s eyes narrowed. “That’s all you have to say?”

She tilted her head, feigning innocence. “What else am I supposed to say?”

“Oh, I don’t know,” he said, voice low, sharp, “maybe something about how you’ve spent the last few days dodging every question about what the hell you were thinking?”

Y/N’s lips twitched, like she was fighting the urge to laugh. “You’re so dramatic.”

He exhaled sharply through his nose, his irritation flaring. “You blindsided me. In front of the entire world. And now, you’re walking around like you didn’t just blow up both of our careers.”

She hummed, tapping a finger against her chin. “That’s funny… last I checked, the crowd seemed to love it. I mean, the reaction was insane. Even the higher-ups don’t seem to mind all that much.”

“That’s not the point.”

She arched a brow. “Then what is the point, Phil?”

His grip on her wrist loosened, but he didn’t let go. “The point is that you—” He huffed, shaking his head slightly. “You’re just—”

Y/N’s smirk widened. “Oh, come on, old man. Spit it out.”

His jaw ticked. She was enjoying this way too much.

And worse? He knew exactly what she was doing.

She was trying to get under his skin. Trying to make him crack first.

But Phil Brooks wasn’t so easily unraveled.

He took a deliberate step closer, forcing her back until she was against the cold concrete wall. His hand finally released her wrist, but before she could so much as breathe another teasing remark, his palms pressed flat against the wall on either side of her head, caging her in.

Y/N’s eyes flickered with amusement—but also something else. Something darker.

She licked her lips. “You know you want to do it again.”

Phil’s brows lifted. “Do what again?”

She didn’t falter. Didn’t waver. Instead, she reached up, trailing a single finger along the collar of his hoodie. “Kiss me.”

His lips pressed into a firm line, his heartbeat betraying his otherwise composed exterior.

“Admit it,” she murmured. “You’ve been thinking about it.”

He scoffed. “I’ve been thinking about wringing your neck, does that count?”

She laughed, soft and sultry, before tilting her head slightly, eyes locked onto his with laser focus. “Come on, Phil. The people want us together. I want you. And we both know you want me.” She leaned up, voice a whisper against his lips. “So what’s stopping you?”

Silence.

For a moment, Y/N thought she had won.

That she’d finally broken him.

Then, he moved.

Leaning in—so, so close—until their noses brushed, until she could feel his breath against her lips.

But just as she started to close the distance—

He smirked. And pulled back.

Y/N blinked, stunned, her lips parting slightly as she tried to process what just happened.

Phil tilted his head, eyes dark, mocking. “You really thought that was gonna work, huh?”

She scowled, irritation flickering across her face for the first time all night.

He chuckled, low and dangerous, before ducking down just slightly, lips brushing against the shell of her ear.

“You got lucky when you caught me off guard at Mania,” he murmured, voice a velvety rasp that sent a shiver down her spine. “But it’s not gonna happen again.”

Then—because he was an asshole—his lips barely ghosted along her jaw, just enough to make her shudder. His hand skimmed her waist, squeezing just once, before he pulled away completely.

Y/N swallowed, hard, struggling to keep her expression neutral as she forced herself to meet his gaze again.

Phil smirked. “You’re gonna have to try harder than that to impress me, sweetheart.”

Then—just as calmly as he’d cornered her—he turned and walked off.

Leaving her there. Flustered. And seething.

“Touché…” Y/N grumbles as she watches him walk off, not bothering to hide the fact she checks out his ass due to the form fitting jeans he’s wearing.

Over the next few weeks, Y/N had slowly been losing her control over her situation with Phil. Originally, she held him in the palm of her hand, she was the one making him flustered, but now it seems he was reclaiming some of that power. She finds herself looking for him in any crowd they’re in and he knows it. He smirks when he finds her eyes searching for him, sending her flirty winks, whispering filthy things in her ear when she’s least expecting.

He’s letting her know that she never truly was the one with the upper hand. He just needed time to adjust and make a game plan, and boy he did.

She remembers one particular instance where she was talking to Damian Priest backstage when her phone buzzed in her back pocket. She pulled it out, giggling at the joke Damian made, but it was short lived as the breath was stolen from Y/N’s lungs.

Oh.

The image staring back at her was sinful.

Phil. Fresh out of the shower.

A towel hung dangerously low on his hips, water still beading down his sculpted torso. One hand was running through his damp hair, pushing it back, while the other held his phone in the mirror. His expression? A cocky smirk, one that screamed I know exactly what I’m doing to you.

And as if the photo itself wasn’t bad enough, the caption?

“Hope you’re staying focused, sweetheart. See you at the interview. ;)”

Y/N’s face ignited.

Her grip tightened around her phone as she struggled to process the absolute audacity of this man.

She must’ve gone silent for too long because Damian furrowed his brows, concern flashing across his face.

“Hey, you good?” he asked, nudging her lightly. “You just turned, like… bright red. Do you have a fever or something?”

Y/N let out a choked sound, hastily locking her phone and shoving it back into her pocket. “I—I’m fine. Just—uh—hot in here.”

Damian raised a brow, clearly not buying it, but before he could press further, one of the producers walked by and called out, “Y/N! You’re on in an hour for your interview. Punk’s already getting mic’d up.”

Y/N swallowed hard.

Of course he was.

Damian patted her back. “Good luck with that. You look like you need it.”

She glared at him before storming off toward the interview set, her mind still short-circuiting from the damn picture.

The interview was with Cathy Kelley, who greeted them both with a bright smile as they settled into their seats. Y/N knew she was supposed to be professional—that was literally her job—but sitting next to Phil, who was clearly feeling himself today, was making it impossible to focus.

He was too close, his body angled toward her, his scent still faintly fresh from whatever expensive body wash he used.

Kelley beamed as she turned to the camera, perfectly composed and ready to dig into the interview fans had been dying to see. “Ladies and gentlemen, I’m here with two of the most talked-about names in WWE right now—CM Punk and Y/S/N.”

Y/N barely managed a smile, still recovering from the photo Phil had sent her. She’d tried to push it out of her mind, but the smug look on his face told her he knew exactly how much he’d rattled her.

“Thanks for having us, Cathy,” Phil said smoothly, his voice dangerously casual.

Y/N forced herself to focus, nodding along. “Yeah, should be fun.”

Phil’s hand slid onto her thigh.

Y/N tensed, resisting the urge to slap it away.

Cathy, oblivious to the slow psychological breakdown Y/N was currently experiencing, launched into her first question.

“So, Punk, you made your big return last year, and a lot of people wondered if you’d still be able to keep up with the current roster. But after the fight you put up in the Royal Rumble match, I think it’s safe to say you haven’t lost a step. How do you feel about your performance?”

Phil pretended to think about it, shifting slightly so his fingers inched higher on Y/N’s thigh. “You know, Cathy, I think I did alright. Besides tearing my tricep, I’d say I held my own. I mean, I’m me. It’s not really a surprise, is it?”

Y/N rolled her eyes. “Oh my God.”

Phil grins, squeezing her thigh out of spite which makes her gasp slightly. She feels a chill run down her spine as he looks completely unbothered. “What? You disagree, sweetheart?”

Cathy laughed. “Y/N, what was it like for you, being part of WrestleMania? And not only that, but winning the Women’s Championship?”

Y/N opened her mouth—only for Phil’s hand to start massaging her thigh ever so slightly, working its way inward.

She barely stopped herself from choking.

“I—it was—uh—” She cleared her throat. “It was amazing. One of the best moments of my career, for sure. I’m really grateful that I was presented with the opportunity.”

Phil hummed in agreement, tapping his fingers against her leg. “Definitely one of the biggest moments.”

Y/N refused to look at him.

Cathy moved on. “Punk, since coming back, you’ve had some… let’s say, heated interactions with some of the younger talent. Guys like Seth Rollins and Cody Rhodes haven’t exactly been welcoming. Any thoughts on that?”

Phil shrugged. “Look, I don’t expect everyone to throw a party just because I’m back. Some of these guys have been carrying the company for years, and suddenly, I show up and steal the spotlight. But hey—” He smirked. “If they don’t like it, they can try to do something about it.”

Y/N muttered, “Cocky bastard.”

Phil heard her.

And instead of ignoring it, he leaned in just enough for his breath to tickle her ear.

“You like it, though, don’t you?” he whispered.

Y/N nearly jumped out of her damn seat.

Cathy, unaware of the absolute war happening beside her, chuckled. “Well, speaking of heated interactions…” She turned her attention fully to them. “We can’t ignore the elephant in the room. The moment at WrestleMania. The kiss.”

Y/N’s stomach dropped.

Cathy smiled knowingly. “The fans have been going wild, and the speculation is at an all-time high. So, I have to ask…” She turned to them expectantly. “What exactly is going on between you two?”

Y/N braced herself, ready to deflect, when—

Phil beat her to it.

“Yeah, Y/N,” he said, voice thick with mock innocence. “What are your thoughts?”

You smug, evil little—

Y/N shot him a look that could kill.

Phil? He just smirked, his fingers idly tracing circles against her thigh, his expression pure amusement as he watched her flounder.

Cathy raised a brow, intrigued. “So, there is something going on?”

Y/N forced a tight-lipped smile. “I think… I think what happened at Mania was—”

Phil’s hand slid higher.

Y/N lost her train of thought entirely.

Cathy tilted her head, waiting for her to finish, but Y/N’s brain had short-circuited.

Phil, meanwhile, just relaxed, completely at ease, knowing damn well she was falling apart.

Y/N’s hands clenched into fists.

He was enjoying this.

Finally, she somehow managed to bullshit her way through a vague answer about the unpredictability of wrestling and keeping the fans entertained.

Cathy nodded, sensing she wouldn’t get a real answer, but her amused expression said it all. “Well, whatever’s going on, I think I speak for everyone when I say we’ll be watching closely.”

The interview ended, and the second the cameras cut, Y/N grabbed Phil’s wrist and yanked him toward the nearest empty hallway.

He let her, still smirking.

Once they were alone, she whirled on him, shoving his shoulder hard. “What the hell was that?”

Phil barely stumbled, still annoyingly amused as he crossed his arms over his chest. “What was what?”

Y/N let out a sharp, incredulous laugh, stepping closer, her frustration boiling over. “Oh, don’t you dare. You were messing with me the entire interview!”

Phil tilted his head like he was actually considering her words. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

Y/N let out a growl of frustration before shoving him again, her hands flat against his chest. “Bullshit, Phil! You—” She gestured wildly, completely losing it. “You—your hand, your voice, that stupid smirk, and then the ‘Yeah, Y/N, what are your thoughts?’ Like you didn’t just spend the last ten minutes scrambling my brain!”

Phil barely reacted, just staring down at her like she was the most entertaining thing he’d ever seen.

“Oh, I’m sorry, sweetheart.” His voice was mocking, his lips twitching with a lazy grin. “Did I distract you?”

She groaned, shoving him again. “You were being a little—”

“Careful,” he warned, low and teasing, as he caught her wrists.

But Y/N didn’t care. She ripped her hands away, pacing as she fought the urge to scream. “You’re playing hard to get now? Now?! After everything?” She turned back to him, rage and frustration and something dangerously close to desire burning in her expression.

Phil just leaned back against the wall, completely unfazed.

And that made her snap.

She grabbed the front of his hoodie and yanked him forward, her teeth gritted. “You think this is funny?”

His grin widened.

“Oh, I think it’s adorable.”

Y/N pushed him again, but Phil caught her easily, his hands gripping her waist as he let out a low chuckle. “You thought you could outplay me, princess?” He clicked his tongue. “How cute.”

Y/N’s breathing was heavy, her hands shaking as she glared up at him, her face inches from his. “You are such an—”

He cut her off.

Not with words.

With his hand, pressing firmly over her mouth.

Her eyes widened, a muffled sound escaping.

“Stop talking,” he murmured, his voice dropping into something dark and smooth.

Y/N’s breath hitched as his fingers slid down, palm curling around her throat. Not tight—just there, warm and commanding, his thumb brushing against her pulse point, feeling how fast it raced.

Then, finally—

He kissed her.

It was hot, consuming, and completely overwhelming. His lips moved against hers with absolute confidence, taking what he knew she’d been begging for. His fingers tightened, his other hand gripping her hip, pulling her flush against him.

Y/N melted for half a second—then fought back, her hands fisting in his hoodie as she bit his lip, just to be a brat.

Phil let out a low groan, then snapped.

He pressed her hard against the wall, his grip on her tightening as he deepened the kiss, his tongue brushing hers, swallowing the smallest whimper she let out.

By the time he pulled back, Y/N was breathless, her knees weak, her entire brain fried.

Phil smirked, his thumb brushing over her jaw. “I’m taking you to dinner tonight. Be ready by six.”

He goes to walk off with that same smug grin, but Y/N catches him again. He turns around, raising a questioning eyebrow as he watches her usually bright (e/c) darken. She yanks his arm back towards her before slamming her lips into his again. His hands move back down to her waist, squeezing the soft flesh there as her hands shoot up into his hair, lightly tugging at the strands which makes him groan into her lips.

The two of them slowly pull apart, a small strand of saliva connecting them, but Y/N raises her finger up, breaking the string. Phil watches as she sucks her thumb into her mouth, cleaning their shared spit off her finger. He feels his jeans tighten uncomfortably as Y/N leans up to whisper in his ear.

“Only if you promise to have me for dessert.”

[mutant-distraction]

A 19th century Japanese incense burner in the form of a praying mantis, iron and gold, with a lining of silver. Dimensions (h x l): 8.9 x 15.2 cm.

The Metropolitan Museum of Art , New York.

[distant-velleity]

new kai oc?!??!?!

MOLI FENG (锋茉莉)

[SSR] Council Uniform

“Weapons and armor don’t make the warrior—discipline and strength do!”

The student council president of Flower Blade Academy. Stoic and disciplined with a stern resting face, she may come off as imposing. However, she aims for improvement, not impossibility, and tries to be reasonable.

she was supposed to be the main helping figure in my event, at the fan school it was hosted at, and she's ruixing's cousin lol--- idk i just think shes neat </3 if u guys want i could post more abt her and her fan school and all that

(voicelines and groovy below)

Birthday: July 7th (Cancer)

Age: 18

Height: 176 cm

Dominant hand: Ambidextrous

Homeland: City of Orchids

Grade: Junior

Club: Xiangqi Club

Best Subject: History of Magic

Hobbies: Tai chi

Pet peeves: Close-mindedness

Favorite food: Pork buns

Least favorite food: Bitter melon

Talent: Swordsmanship

~

Summon: Feng Moli of Flower Blade Academy. I look forward to my stay here. …Rest assured, I’ll try not to be too much of an intrusion.

Set to Home Screen: Thank you for your hospitality.

Home Transition 1: I heard that Ruixing is in Diasomnia. If the rules allow it, I’ll pay my cousin a visit and see if his dormitory lives up to its reputation.

Home Transition 2: The statues of the Great Seven line the main street, dignified and honorable… In the future, I’ll make sure to hold my head high just as they do. 

Home Transition 3: Hm… This campus could use more varied physical education facilities. The mind and imagination work in tandem with the body. 

Home, after login: I’m here representing Flower Blade Academy at one of the largest arcane academies. There is no room for carelessness; I must be extra conscientious. 

Tap Home 1: All student council members are awarded ceremonial swords at Flower Blade Academy; unlike Night Raven College, it used to be a military institute. …Of course, my sword is the real deal.

Tap Home 2: So you have stables on your campus as well… I do recall Silver mentioning something to that effect. 

Tap Home 3: I don’t agree with Coach Vargas’ methods entirely—everyone learns differently and at different paces. However, I do appreciate the kind of instructor who believes in the potential of their students.  

Tap Home 4: I ran into some other students on my morning jog. I was pleasantly surprised—it seems a spirit of self-improvement exists at Night Raven College, too.

Tap Home 5: …Enough. You have my attention. How can I help you?

~

“I’ll never grow complacent—I swear on my honor!”

Home Transition (Groovification): Night Raven College students… are a rowdy sort, aren’t they? Aggressive, competitive, stubborn… Heh. All commendable qualities, of course.

Tap Home (Groovification): Soldiers have to be able to sleep under any conditions, though we’re no real soldiers. That is to say… The conditions in Ramshackle are rather unique.

~

taglist (ask to be added or removed): @thehollowwriter @theleechyskrunkly @elenauaurs @casp1an-sea @nahelenia

@skriblee-ksk @boopshoops @scint1llat3 @nyx-of-night @nemisisnemi

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@taruruchi @oya-oya-okay @kitwasnothere

[punkerpepsi]

okay but have any of you ever entertained the idea of a drew mcintyre around 29 or 30 years old having the hots for 46 years old cm punk?

like, do you see the vision? drew mcintyre being trained by thee cm punk, the guy who inspired him to become a wrestler, the guy who drew admires for always being a man of his word, a man whose inked body shows the experience he has when it comes to wrestling, a man whose character can be seen when he has the mic in his hands.

punk is very patient when it comes to drew, who can be kinda sarcastic sometimes. punk had his phases too, so he doesn't really mind. what he's interested in is the potential drew has. and he wants to make sure drew becomes a superstar, because he is capable of doing it.

but hey, the lines between admiring someone and desiring them can become a bit blurred when you two spend so much time together. drew becomes flirtatious around his mentor. he can't help himself. everything's subtle, like, "you've always been a good looking lad, punk," and punk would just chuckle and say "shut up, drew, go back to work," and drew could see that punk likes being praised and doesn't know how to react to it.

going to the gym together, standing in the ring together, the skin on skin thing that happens when a match starts. eating together, taking walks around chicago together. drew notices that punk pays more attention to him than to the other people he's training, and it makes him feel proud.

his eyes are on me. on me.

punk's a playful dude, engaging in drew's taunts. punk compliments drew, seemingly obsessed with his mysterious nature and sassy remarks. drew likes the silver in punk's beard, the wrinkles around his eyes.

"you still got it in yourself, don't ya, old man?" drew observes, his accent strong. he pushes his hair back, feeling all sweaty after a quick match with a colleague.

punk chuckles. "46 is just a number. this body still has a long way to go, kid."

drew hums, feeling brave. they are alone in the locker room, and punk has a towel on his shoulder. he's sweaty, too, his hair matted to his forehead, his chest flushed. his skin flushes so, so easily.

"yeah? and do you think these numbers would matter if a younger guy like me told you how much he wants to push you against the wall and kiss you until you're out of breath?"

punk licks his lips, shaking his head. "i think i would say it's not right at first, considering i'm mentoring this younger guy," punk contemplates, but then he's walking until he's in front of drew. their height difference is very, very apparent. "but i've never cared about rules, or about what's not right. i would let this younger guy kiss me and touch me, because i want this younger guy too."

[egypt-museum]

Silver diadem of Nubkheperre Intef

This silver diadem was thought to have come from Nubkheperre Intef’s Dra’ Abu el-Naga tomb. Nubkheperre Intef (also known as Antef, Inyotef, and Intef VI) was an Egyptian ruler of the 17th Dynasty of Egypt who reigned in Thebes during the Second Intermediate Period, when Egypt was divided into rival dynasties, including the Hyksos in Lower Egypt.

Further examination indicated that the royal owner of the diadem could no longer be identified. It has sparked some conjecture, thanks in part to the mysterious circumstances surrounding its discovery. A second potential 17th dynasty royal headwear piece has been identified by British Egyptologists, which may have originated with the burial of Queen Mentuhotep, King Djehuti’s wife.

The diadem’s band is 55.5 cm in circumference and is made of 1 to 1.5 millimetre thick hammered silver leaf. Both ends are soldered together. Line patterns have been applied at regular intervals to make a block frieze. The long hanging ribbons are made up of two strips of silver leaves.

Pieces of linen were discovered inside the ribbons. These must be from the wrappings around the mummy’s head, where the jewellery was recovered. The uraeus is constructed of 16 to 18-carat gold. Faïence inlays are formed into the shape of a lotus blossom.

Second Intermediate Period, 17th Dynasty, c. 1647 B.C. Now in the Rijksmuseum van Oudheden, Leiden. AO 11a-2

Read more

[thebeautifulbook]

IMPERIAL INSCRIBED JADE BOOK SET

QIANLONG PERIOD (1736-1795)

‘The sutra book has zitan covers, the front cover incised and gilt with the sutra title Foshuo xianzhe wufudejing, 'Sutra on the Sayings of the Buddha on The Five Blessings', the inside with four rectangular jade plaques of pale celadon tone mounted in yellow brocade frames. The jade plaques are incised and gilt in standard script on both sides with text from the sutra, the first page with the sutra title in a vertical line surrounded by the Bajixiang, 'the Eight Buddhist Emblems', and the last page with one hundred Shou characters. It is fitted in its original brocade box, all within the original zitan box and cover inscribed with the sutra title within a keyfret border in silver inlay.’

7 in. (17.8 cm.) x 4 1/4 in. (10.7 cm.), original brocade cover and wood box. Auction item offered by Christie’s.

source

[juliussilver25]

The Christmas Transformation

Jueun is the epitome of a 20-year-old, soft-spoken, bookish nerd. Standing at 5’8” (173 cm) and weighing just 130 pounds (59 kg), he has a slight, delicate frame that seems almost fragile. His black, straight hair is slightly overgrown, with bangs that often fall into his almond-shaped, bespectacled eyes. His pale skin is smooth and unblemished, a testament to hours spent indoors, away from the harsh Korean winters. Jueun's features are gentle and boyish—full lips, a small, slightly upturned nose, and a jawline that lacks definition but exude warmth and charm.

As for his clothing, Jueun favors comfort over style. On this particular evening, he is wearing an oversized gray hoodie with the logo of a popular anime splashed across the chest. The hoodie dwarfs his thin frame, making him look even smaller. Paired with it are loose, worn-out sweatpants and fuzzy socks decorated with cartoon penguins. His outfit speaks of a quiet, cozy personality—someone who is a self-proclaimed nerd—science fiction books, anime collectibles.  His gaming setup is his sanctuary.

It is Christmas Eve, and Jueun sits alone in his small Seoul apartment, surrounded by the soft glow of lights.

The snow outside paints the city in a serene white, but Jueun’s thoughts are far from serene. His boyfriend, Minjae, had planned to visit, but a sudden work obligation has kept him away. Jueun sighs and adjusts his glasses, resigned to a quiet evening.

There’s a knock at the door.

Jueun frowns. It is late. Hesitant, he opens the door to find a box wrapped in glittering red paper with a tag that simply reads: For Jueun. From Santa. Intrigued, he carries the box to his couch and tears it open. Inside is a single item: a sleeveless silver gym shirt emblazoned with bold black letters, BEAST MODE.

Jueun chuckles. “Is this a joke?” he mutters, holding the shirt up. It is comically large for his slim frame, but curiosity gets the better of him. Shrugging, he slips it on.

The moment the fabric touches his skin, a warm sensation courses through his body. At first, it feels pleasant, like stepping into a hot spring. Then, it intensifies. His arms bulge, veins rising to the surface as his muscles expand. His chest broadens, and his legs thickens with sinewy strength. His reflection in the nearby mirror shifts rapidly: his once-delicate Korean features sharpen and morph, his black hair lightening to a sun-kissed blond of Germanic origin.

As Jueun's body transforms, the physical changes became more startling with each passing moment—and soon, they are accompanied by a rapid progression in age.

His youthful, baby-soft skin loses its smoothness, replaced by the faintest hints of weathering. His face, once round and boyish, begins to mature. Fine lines appear around his eyes and mouth, adding a rugged edge to his striking features. His cheeks hollow slightly, giving him a more angular, masculine appearance.

The changes accelerate. His jawline grows more defined, his Adam's apple more pronounced. Tiny flecks of silver appear in his sun-bleached blond hair, but they only enhance his rugged allure. His body, while still outrageously muscular, takes on the appearance of someone who has spent years perfecting it. His tan deepens, looking less like a sudden burst of magic and more like the result of endless hours in the sun.

His age settles at around 35, the prime of physical maturity. Jueun now stands taller, broader, and exudes the confidence of a man who has spent years living in this perfected body. He looks like a seasoned athlete, someone who has dedicated his life to sculpting his physique.

But the changes to his appearance are mirrored by shifts in his mindset. As the age progression completes, Jueun becomes entirely absorbed in his new self. Any lingering fragments of the shy, thoughtful, nerdy young man fade into oblivion. In their place is an overwhelming, almost mindless fixation on his new muscles and the lifestyle they demand.

He flexes again in the mirror, running his hands over his chest and arms with an almost childlike wonder. “Man, these gains are great,” he says, his deep voice brimming with self-satisfaction.

Jueun’s fascination isn’t just admiration; it is obsession. He can’t stop touching his biceps, testing their firmness, or bouncing his pecs. Each flex seems to spark a new wave of euphoria. His thoughts revolve entirely around working out, lifting heavier, and maintaining the perfect body.

“Bro, I’ve gotta hit the gym,” he mutters, more to himself than anyone else.  His voice deeper and laced with an American accent he didn’t recognize. “I mean, look at me! I’m wasting time just standing here. I need to be lifting, man!”

His glazed-over eyes carry none of the depth they once had. Instead, they reflect the singular focus of someone who’s entire being has been rewritten. Jueun’s transformation isn’t just physical or even mental—it is complete. Memories of his love for video games and late-night conversations with Minjae fade, replaced by fantasies of bench presses, protein shakes, and impressing “babes.”  A Bro who lives and breathes for the gym, his new muscles, and the validation they bring.

Jueun slips on his sneakers—expensive ones that seem to materialize out of nowhere, perfect for a gym session—then makes his way to the door. His new gym bag hangs over one broad shoulder, stuffed with protein bars and pre-workout supplements. He opens the door, ready to head out and show off his godlike physique.

Standing there, bundled in a heavy coat against the winter chill, is Minjae. His eyes widen in shock as they travel up and down Jueun’s transformed body. Gone is the shy, nerdy boyfriend Minjae had fallen for. Instead, a towering, bronzed, blond-haired muscleman stands before him, a vision so unrecognizable it makes Minjae’s breath hitch.

“Jueun?” Minjae whispers, his voice a mix of disbelief and fear. 

Jueun grins, flexing his massive biceps.  “Bro! What’s up?” Jueun booms, flashing a confident, pearly-white grin. His deep voice holds none of the warmth Minjae is used to—it is casual, dismissive. “Oh man, you’ve got to check this out.” He steps back, flexing his massive biceps again for emphasis. you’re not gonna believe this. Santa hooked me up big time! Look at these gains!” He gestures down at his chiseled body.

Minjae stares, his mouth opening and closing as if searching for the right words. “Jueun, what...what happened to you? You look...older. And...what is this?!” He gestures vaguely at Jueun’s impossibly sculpted body.

“Yeah, yeah, I aged up or whatever,” Jueun says with a laugh, brushing off Minjae’s concern. “But dude, who cares? I’m a total beast now. Check out these pecs!” He bounces his chest muscles, grinning as if it were the most natural thing in the world.

Minjae’s voice trembling. “This isn’t you, Jueun. You hate gyms!”

“I love gyms!” Jueun retorts, clapping Minjae on the shoulder, nearly sending him stumbling. “Bro, you should come to the gym with me. There are some fine ladies there who totally dig this. You can work on your own gains, too!  Once you get ripped like me, the babes will go wild for you.”

Minjae’s eyes fill with hurt. “Ladies?  Babes?”  Minjae echoes, his voice trembling.  Jueun, you’re gay. I’m your boyfriend.”

“Gay? Pfft.” Jueun waves a dismissive hand. “Dude, when you’ve got muscles like these, everyone loves you. Trust me, those hotties at the gym? They can’t keep their hands off me. You’ll see—you just need some gains. Then you’ll be just as irresistible as me.”

Jueun adjusts his gym bag, oblivious to Minjae’s despair. “C’mon, bro. Let’s go! The gym waits for no man, and I’ve got a PR to break.”

Minjae watches, heartbroken and bewildered, as Jueun strides out into the night humming a tune about squats and deadlifts. Snow continues to fall, muffling the sound of Jueun’s heavy footsteps.

Minjae stands frozen, clutching the remnants of their shared past. Somewhere in the distance, a faint laugh echoes—a deep, jolly Ho ho ho!

Santa is definitely not getting a thank-you note this year.

Epilogue:

Jueun’s strength and muscularity is on full display as he works out that night.    He exudes confidence and power, dominating the gym with his presence.  No one can resist feeling his muscles striations and definitions.  Jueun revels in being the center of attention!

Happy Christmas to Jueun Santiago @santiago-silver

[rebeccccccaaa]

 My Part of Town

__________________

Aaron Hotchner x Reader

:: After what seems to be a rather confusing and tough case, Hotch finds himself in a dark corner of a club watching the girl he interrogated just days ago captivate him in a way he hasn’t been in years. ::

warnings:: talks about violence (canon type cm kind); reader is described to have tattoos, alt styled extras (not goth specified), etc; age gap (reader is in her mid to late 20s), also slight power imbalance? Idk i tried to write it in way that didn’t make it seem like reader fucked her way into the BAU by making hotch a tiny bit subby/pathetic but idk i put the warning anyway sorryyyyyy, no mentions of y/n, sober reader slay, no contraceptives mentioned so stay safe babies, body positivity, mentioned jack at the end for plot lol but he’s not present in the story, not sure what else i should tag

author’s notes:: i originally wrote this with the intention of a certain type of person in mind (me lol) with the tattoos and stuff, i know not all you readers have such but i thought i’d keep the second pov for fun and interactiveness, so i hope that’s ok with y’all, enjoy!!

___________________

Hotch stood at the bar, a drink sweating in his hand. He hardly drank anything, in fact he just wanted to go home at this point. The room smelt of body odor, cheap perfume, and smoke. He didn’t understand how his coworkers could love going out to such a place like this. It was definitely not his scene anymore, but with much begging from the girls and Morgan, they were able to successfully convince him and also Rossi to go and celebrate the success of this last case. He was surprised to even see Reid enjoying himself. 

He never thought in a million years he'd be back in a place like this. He looked around seeing the girls in a small circle laughing and jumping around, Rossi sat at the end of the bar talking to a girl, who was way too young for him, trying to get her away from hims, and Spencer and Derek were standing at the edge of the dance floor wondering who their next flattery target was going to be. Darting his eyes around, they caught a particularly familiar set of eyes that Hotch couldn’t seem to shake until he walked into the overstimulating room of noise and colors, at least until this very moment.

You grinned at him, facing completely towards him now. You dressed in all black, platformed shoes making you much taller than when Hotch had met you for the first time. The silver and gold reflecting the bright lights that scattered over the crowd from your fingers. Your skin covered ink that surprised him just as much as it did the first time he’d seen your decorated skin. And although you dressed in all black, you seemed to stand out more than anyone else in the sea of bodies. 

Hotch tightened his jaw upon meeting your eyes. Your hips swayed effortlessly to the music that boomed through the room. It was like you were dancing just for him. Teasing him, like you did in the interrogation room where you had first met. You were an enigma to the case. You had come from nowhere, had nothing to do with the unsub or the victims, and yet had almost all the answers the BAU had questions for before they could even begin a profile. 

Hotch began to fidget in a panic when you began walking towards him.

Hotch walked in the interrogation room. File in hand. They were in New York City. The infamous concrete jungle. The case involved a long line of girls in their 20’s; their stomachs gutted and filled with dirt, a small white rose planted in place. They hadn’t a long list of suspects but when a security guard mentioned to Hotchner of a strange girl lurking at the scene of the most recent crime they brought her in as suspect or at the very least, a witness. Walking in the room, a girl sat rapping her ring stacked knuckles against the table.

“What the hell am I doing here?”

“Where were you yesterday afternoon?” Hotch asked.

You stayed silent. You knew the position you were in. You were studying behavioral analysis and criminal justice yourself. 

You were at the crime scene yesterday, you asked questions to the security guard who ratted you out. It would be a waste of time and effort, and especially money, to know that after all those hours of studying, your skills would be useless when it comes to navigating a real case. You needed to see for yourself. So you asked some questions, awkwardly and suspiciously at best, and now you found yourself sitting in an interrogation room for a crime you actually have nothing to do with. 

“Why were you asking questions to a security guard about the victim? You asked, if anything had changed? You indicated that you have seen the previous victims’ bodies.”

“I have,” you said. 

“Why’s that? Was there something in particular you saw that made you ask those kinds of questions?”

“Am I being questioned as a witness? Or a suspect?”

“Why do you feel like you are being questioned as a suspect?” he asked, making you go silent. Hotch took his sign to leave, leaving you to continue tapping your decorated fingers against the table like before. 

“She’s not really saying anything. Her demeanor tells me that she’s keeping something from us but her body language also is calm and collected. She may not have anything to do with the crime but she knows something, and she is not telling us,” Hotch said to Rossi and Spencer who stood watching the interrogation. 

“I called Garcia to look into her background a bit. She’s also a student at the same college all three of our victims attended. So I asked her to cross-check each of their schedules with hers for any overlap and she came up empty. They don’t even study the same major,” Spencer explained.

‘What does she study?” Hotch asked.

“Get this, Behavior Analysis,” Rossi said. 

“Hey! If you’re still lingering behind the window, I got something to say. But send the grumpy one in,” you shouted. 

“She beckens for you, Agent Hotchner,” Rossi teased. 

Hotch walked back into the room. You sat properly in your chair again with your hands folded politely, completely contrasting the way he left you. You had discarded your jacket too.  Hotch couldn’t help his eyes drifting across your decorated skin. It tells him that you were most likely extroverted, confident. Though the psychology behind tattoos can be varied so his interest peaked briefly. 

“What would you like to share?” Hotch sat across from you.

“Have you built a profile yet?” you asked. 

“We have some working theories,” he responded. 

“So do I,” you smirked.

“Agent Hotchner,” you strolled up to him, “What the hell are you doing in my part of town?”

“Your part?” he joked with you.

“Did you finish the case?” you asked.

“Yes, much help from you. Thank you,” he replied.

“What?” you yelled over the music.

“I said ‘Thank you,’” he responded loudly as you did.

“I’m just kidding, I heard you. I just wanted to hear you thank me again,” you smirked, before leaning over the counter to call the bartender. He may have been right about your tattoos making you a confident persona.

“So, what are you drinking tonight, Agent Hotchner?” you asked him.

“It’s just Hotch, and um, I’m not too sure. My coworker ordered me this drink. But I've hardly drunk it.” he complained. 

“Yeah the drinks here are like gasoline, but at least you’re paying for what you get,” you laughed. 

“What about you? What’s your poison tonight?” he asked you, he could feel his shoulders start to relax a bit.

“Coke,” you winked before grabbing. 

“Really?” he asked with curiosity, he figured a girl your age would be drinking the night away while you were still young.

“I’m sober,” you told him. 

“Good for you,” he told you, a smile creeping unsuspectingly on his face. 

“Not all that crazy, I’m starting my thirties soon and graduating next semester so I have to start taking life super seriously since it won’t for me,” you said.

“What makes you say that?” he questioned. 

“Seriously?” you joked, “Look, I knew my appearance was eventually going to affect my career down the line but I believed life is too short to not celebrate your body and decorate it the way you want. The body is a temple, and what’s a temple without art?”

“I think your tattoos are lovely,” he complimented. 

“I think so too,” you grinned, making him chuckle. You liked amusing him. 

“What do you mean by affecting your career? I understand not everyone likes tattoos in the workplace but you can easily cover them up with the right attire, can’t you?” he asked.

“Of course, but why would I want to burn up wearing a turtle-neck shirt in the middle of summer just to please some old fucks who don’t even work personally on the cases we would be working on?” 

“I understand you,” he debuted.

“I can help with that,” he told you, after a small pause between you two.

“What do you mean?” you questioned.

“Well, I can talk to my boss about opening an internship position with the BAU. That way right before you graduate you can have a good reference and experience on your resume for when you start looking for a permanent position,” he explained. 

“Are you serious?” you beamed.

“Yes, you were excellent with my team and incredibly effective. And I think it would be good for you to continue exploring that part of the job, if that’s what you want to do after you graduate,” he told you. 

“Uh, yes! Oh my goodness, if I wasn’t sober I’d take a shot with you right now,” you laughed putting your hand on his chest. 

Hotch could feel the warmth blooming from your hand into his system. His breath became slightly heavier than it was. He doesn’t know what compelled him to do this but he knows you could be very valuable to the team, and working with the BAU would set you up for success after you graduate. Those were the only reasons, right? 

You and Hotch stayed a while at the bar talking and laughing most of the night. You told him stories about your tattoos and he told you stories from past cases. Derek and Spencer had left by then, Rossi was making his way out and the girls were still dancing and laughing as they had been the whole night. Occasionally they would point at him talking to you, they giggle at how unexpected and incredible it was for Hotch to be talking to a girl like you. What felt like minutes was actually hours and you were itching to get back on the dance floor again. 

“Let’s go dance,” you tugged at his arm.

“Oh, no. That's not my thing,” he protested.

“Well, pretend it’s your thing tonight! Come on, I want to dance with you,” you begged. 

“Eh,” he whined.

“Come on, come on,” you dragged him by the arm; it worked since he set his drink down and dragged his feet across the dance floor to bring his body against yours. 

His hands hesitantly went to your hips while your arms instinctively wrapped around the back of his neck. Your chests were pressed against each other and if Hotch focused hard enough he could probably feel your heart beating against his. Maybe you could feel his picking up. Your eyes were closed, like you were trying to focus on only the music but unbeknownst to him you were focusing on his touch. 

Finding confidence, Hotch moved his hands up and down your back. His leg moved in between yours and your hips moved together in sync. Hotch had never danced like this before with anyone. He felt a little lost but you were guiding him well and he was feeling more bold than before. Your fingers started raking through his hair and Hotch couldn’t help but sigh with his eyes fluttering close. It had been a long time since someone had been with him, had touched him in any way that wasn’t a professional handshake or a platonic hug. He had been always busy with work and if not work then taking care of Jack. Haley had been gone for a long time, it almost felt unnatural to feel this way again but Hotch was remembering how good it felt and how much he missed it. 

He let his face bury into the side of your neck and you continued scratching his head, pulling your nails down the back of his neck making him breathe out shakily. You had this man suddenly wrapped around your finger. Hotch became as bold as one could get in the darkness of the club, letting his hands completely cup your behind and pulling your hips impossibly close to his. You pulled slightly away from him before resting your forehead against his. His eyes were only focused on your lips. You turned yourself around, hearing the sigh escape from Hotch when you did, but you made for it pressing your hips against his. 

The girls had taken a break chatting and giggling at the bar. They couldn’t believe the sight before them. Hotch, a widower and single dad grinding up against a woman dressed in black and chains with tattoos up and down her arms and legs in a suit and tie he refused to change out of when he agreed to tonight's outing. 

“I cannot believe what I’m seeing,” Penelope gasped.

“I think I’ve drank too much; I’m hallucinating Hotch having a better time than us,” JJ joked. 

“Oh come on, girls. Leave the man alone,” Emily said before downing the rest of her drink. 

“I would’ve been less surprised if Reid pulled a girl like that,” Penelope jokes.

“Yeah, it’s not so much the situation but rather who. I’ve never seen Hotch like this,” JJ said. 

“You know I can’t deny that,” Emily rang. 

“I think I’m gonna go now, seeing Hotch like this is making me feel things I’ve never wanted to feel from my boss,’ Penelope grumbled. 

“You guys are so dramatic,” Emily laughed. 

“I think I’m actually gonna go,” JJ chimed, “I shouldn’t leave my boys alone all night.” 

“Ok, then let’s all just get out of here,” Penelope chirped, “We should leave Hotch to whatever he plans on doing.”

“I think you mean whoever,” Emily said, as she snapped a picture of you two dancing like there was nobody else there with you. 

“Did you take a picture?” JJ gasped. 

“Oh! He’s gonna kill you!” Penelope laughed out loud.

“Let’s go before he finds out then,” Emily chuckled. 

You and Hotch danced like if the other let go you would disappear never to be seen again. You milked the time you had together in these final hours of the night before the sun set in reality. You could feel Hotch’s lips pressing against your hot skin below your ear. Your chest fluttered and your stomach flipped at the feeling. You were so enthralled in the feeling, you didn’t hear him whispering in your ear. The small puffs of air pulled you from this trance and you quickly turned around to better hear him. 

“Let’s get out of here,” he whined.

“Lead the way,” you teased, pulling gently at his tie.

His fingers entwined between yours pulling out of the disco. You nearly tripped over your platforms trying your best to keep up with the man taking you to his home. He opened the door for you and you practically jumped in the car without hesitation. You couldn’t help the giggles coming from you as you heard the quick steps from Aaron rounding the car. 

The drive to his place was quick, or maybe it was long and you were just distracted. He looked so stoic and determined behind the wheel. Not even your light touches along his thigh, or the unbuckling of his belt would shake the fire behind his eyes. His skin was burning up and his knuckles were white against the steering wheel. Once he got home he was quick to open the door, quick to rid his tie, quick to show exactly where he intended on fucking you tonight.  So quick, he hadn’t bothered turning any lights on. Not that it mattered too much.

You laid roughly on the bed watching Hotch undress above you. You couldn’t help but notice the scars across his stomach, that’s when you noticed the scars along his knuckles; even with how dark the room was. You told yourself you’d ask about it another time. You didn’t want to ruin the moment over something he probably doesn’t want to talk about anyway. You started picking at your rings, twisting and pulling hard and fast to take them off; sometimes they were a bit distracting when you were having sex. 

“No, leave those on,” Hotch gowled, before reaching to you to disrobe your outfit from tonight. 

As he reached for those eye-catching platforms that made you stand out from most of the people dancing in the room, you couldn’t help yourself making a bit of a snarky remark. 

“You want to keep those on too?” you flashed a smile. 

“Don’t threaten me with a good time,” he remarked, before his hands left your ankles to flip you over, leaving the shoes on for both your pleasures. 

He peeled your underwear down your legs. His lips kissing the backs of your thighs softly; if you hadn’t been so overly focused on his every touch you wouldn’t have felt them. He stood tall over you, towering like a stoic statue. His hands roughly ran along your spine making you arch your back deliciously, basking in the fiery feeling. Hips pushing backwards to feel every inch of lust from the man behind you . 

You dropped to your elbows, arching your back even more as you anticipated a craving you’ve wanted since he walked into that interrogation just days ago. If someone had told you then that that man would rutting his hips into from behind like he’d never fucked before, you’d had laughed in their face. But you couldn’t be more satisfied with the outcome of it anyway. 

“Oh, Hotch,” you called out breathlessly. 

He grunted behind you as he slowly inserted himself into you, pressure building like a souffle in the pit of your belly. He grunted again, words incoherent, before you realized he was speaking to you. You hummed in confusion, asking to repeat what he said louder, when his hands threaded your hair and pulled you back on your knees effortlessly against his body.

“Aaron,” he growled in your ear. 

Your hands instinctively went up and behind, holding his face close to your neck and he bit and kissed the soft flesh sensually, goosebumps erupting along your arms. You whispered his name in the darkness that blanketed over, your sense of sound and touch becoming overstimulating. Hotch’s hands roamed your body like you were a delicate glass sculpture, contrasting the momentum of his hips that bruised your skin. 

You could feel the intensity building, and your body beginning to buzz when Hotch suddenly pulled out from you to flip you over violently. You smacked down on the bed again like you had before, a playfully shocked giggle erupted from your belly. Your feet felt heavy over the edge of the mattress from the shoes you still had on. Hotch leaned down, stroking his rough hands along your legs from your ankle to your hips before dragging your hips even closer to the edge. He brought his hand to the back of your knee, bending it before he once again entered you with a delicious burn. 

Your hands reached up cupping the back of your neck to pull him closer to you, his damp forehead resting against yours. Your rings felt ice cold against his burning skin. You could see, barely in the blue black darkness, his chest beginning to become red. His hands, although rough, were beginning to feel clammy but you hadn’t minded not one bit; completely enthralled and aroused in his touch. 

You could feel the sweat building between the valley of your breasts. Your back is heating up from the thickness of the sheets that you laid upon. Even more so obvious when you felt the contrasting cold air that swept between when you arched you back in pleasure. 

“Aaron,” you whispered.

“What do you need?” he asked you.

“Kiss me, Aaron,” you begged.

Without hesitation, his lips found yours in a feverous kiss. Your noses bumping against one another blocking your abilities to breath; but with the heightened passion shared between, breathing seemed impractical in a moment like this. Your breasts grazed softly against his chest, your nipples hardening with the friction as he moved swiftly and roughly above you. 

You moaned in the kiss as did he. Your center pulsing, practically sucking him in with each thrust of his hips. The sounds of sex bounced off the walls. The bed squeaked beneath you; Hotch’s hips rutted into you with no particular rhythm. You hand came down from his neck to grip the sheets and you moaned and whined louder and louder as you inched closer and closer to your climax. Hotch breathed heavily above you before dipping head to your neck. Suddenly, without any warning, his hands roughly grab your wrists pinning your arms above your head. 

“Keep them here, sweetheart,” he groaned, before standing straight up again to roughly grab your hips. His fingers dug into your soft skin, bound to bruise the next morning. His hips snapped in and out, in and out, harder and faster than anyone has ever fucked you before. You squealed and whimpered in ecstasy, pleasure. Your thighs squeezing tightly around his hips desperately holding back to climax. 

“Fuck!” His voice was low and guttural. 

“I can’t hold it anymore; can I come, please?” he begged, he reached for your calf pulling your leg over his shoulder. His mouth instantly kissed and bit like he was a rutting animal. 

“Shit! Yes, yes!” you egged him on. Your climax spilling over, waiting for that little drop of water that would break the dam of pleasure. And once you both reach the highest point, your hands grab at each other desperately searching for some stability of any kind to guide through the crashing waves of bliss. His body slumped forward damn near crushing you beneath his strong body. 

“Holy shit,” you sighed, laughter escaping your lips as you felt your entire body and mind buzz with nirvana. No man had ever fucked you that good and you were a little upset that it was over. Unbeknownst to you, Hotch didn’t have any plans of ending your pleasure; at least for tonight. With heavy eyes and a devilish smile, Hotch slid down your body, placing both of your legs over his shoulders with every intention of wearing you out tonight. 

…

You stood in the bathroom staring at yourself in the mirror with a drunken smile you hadn’t seen in years. You were completely naked. Your makeup ran down your face and your hair was practically a bird’s nest, and yet you stared at yourself with admiration. Hours had passed, every inch of clothing ripped or discarded on the bedroom floor of this man. Your shoes were long gone by this point and you felt your face becoming warm knowing you’d never wear those shoes again without thinking about tonight. 

You had taken a quick shower, since Hotch had let you. He left you with a couple of garments he put aside for you to make sure you felt comfortable. You walked under the shower, letting the hot water engulf you and clean you. You looked around for the first and noticed the small toys in the corner of the bath. You stepped out and saw the small green and blue toothbrush beside another larger toothbrush that was also green and blue. You couldn’t help smiling to yourself. 

You walked back to the bedroom quickly seeing Hotch sitting peacefully on the bed typing away on his phone in the soft warm light beside him. The small puddle of light allows you to better look at him. He looked so handsome and calm, so different from the harsh fluorescent lights of that interrogation room and the blinding colored LEDs from tonight. He looked up at you smiling when his eyes met yours. He chuckled seeing how different you looked now than when you had when he first saw you days ago; hours ago. You climbed into the bed, instantly snuggling into his side like a cat. Your lips kissing and biting playfully along his jawline.

“How old is your son?” you asked quietly. Hotch raised an eyebrow to look at you, he usually kept Jack’s room closed and his toys put neatly away.

“You’re going to be an excellent profiler,” he commented. 

“You're not wrong but also you have matching toothbrushes in the bathroom and rubber duckies in the corner of the tub,” you remarked, giggling.

“Right. That would be the obvious answer,” he chuckled. 

“He’s 10; I’m going to pick him up from his aunt’s place tomorrow afternoon,” he told you. 

“Don’t worry, I’ll be out of your hair by then,” you told him, sinking lower beneath the sheets ready to sleep.

“Don’t worry, I don’t mind it all. You can stay as long as you like,” he whispered. He craved those little domestic moments again that he had been missing for years. He knew he was crazy for thinking about moments like that, moments of you meeting Jack and whatnot despite only knowing you for such a little time, but he was starving for that kind of intimacy again. He will start thinking rationally again when he wakes tomorrow. 

“I think you ought to take me to dinner first before I meet your kid,” you joked.

“I can do that,” he said seriously.

“Really?” you challenged. 

“Yes, let me take you out to dinner next Friday,” he offered. 

“And if you’re working? If you have to leave?” you questioned. 

“Well, you’ll be coming with us, won’t you?” he grinned.

“Oh, right. Ok, then it’s a date, SSA Hotchner,” you smiled widely before pulling him in a kiss. 

“You’re the only one who can call me, Aaron.”

“You swear?” you laughed.

“I swear.” 

[textilecuisine]

"Every kitchen has its silver lining", 60x71 cm, textile art by Bozena Wojtaszek

Visit HERE for more

[bethanythebogwitch]

Wet Beast Wednesday: mummichog

Today's WBW topic is a brave little swimmer that has boldly gone where no fish has gone before. Yes this tiny champion is the first fish to go to space. But you don't need to look to the skies to find these fish fascinating, there's plenty to appreciate even on Earth.

(Image: a mummichog next to someone's fingers for scale. It is about the size of a finger/ It is a small, green fish with a long body, founded fins, and silver specks that form vertical bars toward the rear of the body. End ID)

Mummichogs (Fundulus heteroclitus) are killifish that typically reach 7.5 to 9 cm (3 to 3.5 cm) but can grow up to a whopping 15 cm (6 in). There are two subspecies: the northern and southern mummichogs. The difference between them is very subtle and mostly appears in their eggs, which I'll cover in the reproduction section. Unlike most fish, mummichogs do not have lateral lines. The lateral line is a series of sensory pores that run down the body of most fish and some amphibians. The pores detect changes in water pressure, allowing the fish to sense the movement of water around them. While mummichogs have lost the ancestral lateral line, they still have sensory pores on the face. Mummichogs have a limited ability to change color, which they used for camouflage and possibly communication. Usually, they are olive green to brown, with lighter undersides. Sometimes they will display thin, silvery, vertical bars on the sides. Males change color during mating season, described in the reproduction section. Males also have larger dorsal and anal fins than females.

(Image: a male (top) and female (bottom) mummichog. The male has a shorter, more robust body with a more blunt head. End ID)

While most killifish are freshwater species, mummichogs are oceanic. They dwell in coastal areas of the North American Atlantic coast from northern Florida to Canada. Habitats include intertidal zones, estuaries, salt marshes, and up rivers. Mummichogs can tolerate a very wide range of salinity, from freshwater to almost three times the salinity of regular ocean water. This allows them to swim up rivers, though they usually stay below the head of tide (the point where a river is affected by the tides) and there are a few lake-bound introduced populations. They prefer muddy bottoms with seagrass or plants to provide shelter, but can tolerate other conditions. Mummichogs are shoaling fish that live in shoals up to a few hundred strong. Shoals differ from schools require all the fish involved to be moving together whereas shoals are any group of fish that stick together for social reasons. The shoaling behavior actually helped inspire their name. Mummichog comes from a Narraganset word that means "moves in crowds". Shoaling helps the group find food and avoid predators. A lone mummichog is more likely to be targeted by a predator than one of dozens in a shoal. Shoals also mean more eyes looking out for danger. Mummichogs are opportunistic omnivores that eat algae, small invertebrates, seagrass, fish eggs (including those of their own species), and plankton. During winter, those living on the northern part of their range will bury themselves in mud and hibernate until spring.

(Image: a group of thee mummichogs, two of which are males in mating season coloration. They have more pronounced vertical bars and orange underbellies. End ID)

Life in the intertidal zone is one of extremes and mummichogs have adapted well to extreme conditions. As mentioned above, they can survive in a wide range of salinities. They can also survive a wide range of temperature, from 6 to 35°C (59-86°F) including relatively rapid temperature changes. They survive these temperature changes by speeding up or slowing down their metabolic functions. They can also survive low-oxygen environments and can even survive for a few hours out of water as long as they stay wet. These adaptations allow them to survive in tidepools during low tide. Tidepools are harsh environments. Once a pool is isolated from the ocean, exposure to the sun can heat up the water and increase the salinity through evaporation. Oxygen is used up by all the animals in the pool and that's in addition to the issue of warmer water holding less oxygen that cold water. Mummichogs are very well adapted to survival in these hostile environments. Their ability to survive on land for a while can help in the case that a tidepool becomes too harsh even for them. A mummichog lying on its side can contract its muscles to jump many times its body length. This could help one find a more suitable tidepool or make its way back to the ocean. Mummichogs are also highly resistant to many types of environmental toxins. They can quickly develop resistance to introduced pollutants by apparently modifying their genes. One study found that a population living in a bay polluted with polychlorinated biphenyls and another living in a river polluted by creosote had about 20% of their genes modified when compared to populations living in clean water.

(Image: a mummichog held in someone's hand. This one is very dark with prominent silver bars and a white belly. End ID)

Mummichogs reproduce from spring to fall during high tide. They prefer to spawn during spring tides: especially high tides following new or full moons. They prefer to mate at night, but will in the day if necessary. During mating season, males will become more brightly colored, gaining blueish sides, silvery vertical bars along the sides, and orange bellies. These colors apparently attract mates. Females will signal they are ready to mate by turning on their sides and flicking their tails. Males will pursue females and a pair may swim together for a while before mating. When the time comes, the male will maneuver the female against a rock or plant and grab onto her using his dorsal and anal fins. They then release sperm and eggs together. The eggs of the northern subspecies have sticky filaments on them while the southern subspecies' eggs don't. They will target sheltered places at very high tide to lay their eggs, such as plants, seaweed, rocks, and shells, and the northern subspecies will also lay right onto sand or mud. The eggs will be exposed to the air once the tide goes down and will continue to develop as long as the air is wet enough to keep them from drying out. When the water returns during next month's spring tide, the eggs will hatch. The juveniles spend their first few weeks in the intertidal zone before growing large enough to move to deeper water and join shoals. They become sexually mature around age 2 and can live up to 4 years. Mummichogs can hybridize with the closely related banded killifish Fundulus diaphanus.

(Video: a female mummichog spawning. There are multiple mummichogs swimming in shallow water over a shandy bottom. A female is displaying over a bivalve shell. She repeatedly turns her body sideways over the shell and wriggles. Eventually, a male comes to mate with her. The act of mating is extremely brief and easy to miss, but both fish leave the shell afterwards. End ID)

Mummichogs are classified as least concern by the IUCN, meaning they are not at risk of extinction. They are abundant withing their habitats and capable of living in some of the most heavily polluted streams in their territory. There are rives out there so polluted that mummichogs are the only fish species that live in them. Mummichogs have been introduced to lakes, streams, and drainage ditches outside of their native range to help control mosquito populations. Mummichogs are highly effective predators of mosquito larvae. Aside from a small live bait market, there isn't a commercial interest in mummichogs. Mummichogs are heavily used in science as model organisms for stress and poison resistance due to their small size, tolerance for bad conditions, and ability to thrive in captivity. Their eggs are translucent enough to allow for microscope viewing of the process of development through the larval stage, making them useful for developmental studies. The embryos are also durable enough to be manipulated by lab equipment and survive. Their usefulness in labs contributed to mummichogs being the first fish in space. In 1973, a group of mummichogs and eggs were take aboard the Skylab space station and observed. The adults took several days to adjust to swimming in microgravity, they initially pitched forward too much and swam in circles, but they eventually figured out how to swim normally. Hatchlings on the space station were able to swim normally from birth. Since then, mummichogs have been taken on a few more space missions.

(image: a mummichog laid on its side on a rock. End ID)

[arthistoryanimalia]

#MetalMonday:

Figurine of a mountain goat

Iranian, Proto Elamite, 3100-2750 BCE

Silver & sheet gold, 4 x 7 cm (1 9/16 x 2 3/4 in.)

On view at Museum of Fine Arts, Boston

“This object is one of the earliest surviving Near Eastern sculptures in precious metal. The goat is made of silver and plated with gold on the face.

Incised lines illustrate the texture of the goat's hair and beard. One leg protrudes far from the body, two are held in close, and the last is only visible as an incised outline carefully etched into the figurine's underside.”

additional images via https://collections.mfa.org/objects/155898/mountain-goat

[abyss-strikas]

A follow-up to this post, we have Sean and Nathaniel, the other two midfielders who join Oliver on the main line, and are the backup captains of the Silver Lions. Should anything happen to either Oliver or Trent or both of them, these two will take their places and lead the team during the game (Sean takes over for Trent, Nathaniel takes over for Oliver).

Now, something I realized when I was working on their models is that...they are so small compared to Oliver and Trent. There are two other players that are shorter than Sean and Nathaniel (Both at 170 cm or about 5ft and 7inches), but just so you can see the comparison:

Oh yeah, they're tiny but not that tiny at least, WHEEZE.