amplifyaura

[ssa-dado]

19 - Push & Pull

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

masterlist

Gideon, your mentor, was unraveling.

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

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

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

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

And sometimes, it even worked.

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

You noticed it all.

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

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

It wasn’t planned.

No one spoke of it.

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

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

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

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

He wasn’t listening to Reid either.

Not really.

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

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

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

It wasn’t much, but it was something.

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

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

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

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

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

Too late.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Your heart clenched.

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

And so, you stayed.

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

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

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

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

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

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

Because that’s what partners do.

---

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

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

Peter.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

As if the past few weeks could be erased.

As if Gideon spiraling wasn’t your concern anymore.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

That made him pause.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

It was an intimidation tactic, plain and simple.

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

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

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

It came from you.

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

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

Not confusion, not fear, but understanding.

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

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

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

But you didn’t falter.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

He had done it.

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

You.

Spencer.

His legacy.

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

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

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

He had done his part.

Peaceful.

Grateful.

And finally free.

Today was the day.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

It wasn’t just about work, though.

It was about purpose.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Aaron wasn’t sure he could handle that.

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

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

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

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

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

Of course, he would be proud.

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

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

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

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

There was no way.

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

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

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

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

“Heg!”

Aaron froze, staring at Jack with wide eyes.

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

He couldn’t possibly.

Not Hegel.

Not the philosopher you mentioned the most.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

He couldn’t avoid this conversation any longer.

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

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

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

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

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

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

Aaron swallowed hard.

He couldn’t pretend everything was normal.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Aaron could hear the strain in your voice.

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

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

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

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

And he was right.

Talkative, as usual.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

But that wasn’t why he requested the transfer.

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

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

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

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

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

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

But Peter hadn’t cared.

He hadn’t listened.

He’d just acted.

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

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

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

But how could you answer?

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

---

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

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

Hotch couldn’t look at her.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

So he waited.

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

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

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

So unlike him.

Always present.

Always focused.

But now?

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

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

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

And then came the clarity.

Dark blue ink.

Gel pen.

0.7mm tip.

It was immediate.

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

It had been you.

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

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

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

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

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

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

He didn’t want to be pulled back in.

Not by you.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

And then the phone rang.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Her personal phone.

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

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

Clarity.

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

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

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

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

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

He remembered his father.

The infidelities everyone had known about.

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

And yet, here she was.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

But it didn’t matter.

None of it did.

The foundation they had built together was already crumbling.

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

No joy.

Just finality.

An ultimatum.

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

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

His job.

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

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

Hotch immediately replied “How’s it going?”

---

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Loyalty.

What a word, what an irony.

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

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

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

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

Always had.

He could never be satisfied.

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

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

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

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

I love you – here’s why.

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

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

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

Too late.

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

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

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

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

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

The urgency, the danger, had overtaken everything else.

The case was all that mattered now.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

I love you.

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

I love you.

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

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

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

Jack. His whole world.

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

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

But now he brushed it off.

He didn’t stop, didn’t look back.

He couldn’t.

Not now.

Because the job was all he had left.

Dad. Work.

---

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

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

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

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

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

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

He won. He was good at his job.

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

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

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

But he wasn’t the only one watching.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Accepted for who he was – and what he did.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

No response.

Unusual.

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

Preoccupying.

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

Shame – he read.

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

Yet he needed to be sure.

It couldn’t have happened, not to you.

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

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

Avoidance.

Fear.

That was all he needed to know.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Reid hadn’t told you.

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

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

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

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

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

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

Of course.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

---

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

---

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“He was rushed,” she replied firmly.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

---

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

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

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

Every second counted.

---

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

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

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

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

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

Hotch didn’t hesitate.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

On his left.

And him on your right.

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

He hesitated. “I don’t know yet.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

And that’s when he convinced himself.

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

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

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

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

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

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

‘German philosopher, Hegel once said:

every idea – thesis,  

inevitably faces opposition - antithesis,

leading to a resolution – synthesis.’

-Hegel for Dummies.

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

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

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

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

And then again-

‘German philosopher, Hegel once said:

The synthesis then becomes the new thesis,

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

Hegel believed that conflict is essential for progress.‘

-Hegel for Dummies.

Another step-

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

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

Synthesis: …

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

‘German philosopher, Hegel once said:

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

Without a resolution, opposing ideas may continue to clash

without progress,

resulting in frustration,

confusion,

or a breakdown of understanding.’

-Hegel for Dummies.

He should have called Haley at least once.

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

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

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

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

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

Philosopher:

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

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

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

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

---

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Everything stopped.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

He was dead.

Not today.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

You didn’t argue, simply gave a nod.

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

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

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

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

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

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

---

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

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

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

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

That couldn’t be true.

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

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

It felt like the whole world crashed right upon you.

Why?

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

The moment felt fragile.

Precious.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

---

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

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

[opscurus]

. ignore me . mobile vent .

[pickingupmymercedes]

Can't check out - Lewis Hamilton NSFW

request: "yn and Lewis are secretly dating and yn works in Mercedes, they have an argument and after work yn doesn’t go to his room to sleep, but goes to hers, and Lewis gets even madder and goes to her room, and then you know what happens" - anon

pairing: Lewis Hamilton x Reader!

warnings: unprotected sexual activities, angry sex

Wrap it before you tap it.

wordcount: +4k

a/n: I've had this one half written for a bit but couldn't quite get the switch right, the past two gp's were perfect for it though. Hope you like lovely.

As always, I'm open for feedback, come say hi!

EXPLICIT CONTENT UNDER, -18 DO NOT INTERACT

______________________________________________________________

The door to the engineering room slid open with a soft hiss, and Lewis stepped inside, still carrying the frustration from the debrief. His hand firmly grasped on his phone as his eyes searched the dimly lit space.

Rows of desks and computer screens cast a pale glow over the one engineer still hunched over her workstation—Y/n, her eyes glued to the screen in front of her, fingers dancing over the keyboard.

“Y/n,” Lewis called, his voice low, almost casual, as he approached her station.

She didn’t look up, her focus entirely on the screen. Her jaw was set, brows furrowed in concentration.

Anyone could see the stress in the tightness of her shoulders, the way her fingers moved like they had something to prove.

“Y/n,” he said again, this time with more insistence as he stopped by her desk. “You’ve been here all night. Come with me. Let’s grab something to eat.”

“Can’t, Lewis” she muttered, still not sparing him a glance. “I’m in the middle of something”

Lewis sighed, shifting his weight from one foot to the other. He wasn’t in the mood for this, not after the nightmare of Baku and now Singapore. The car still nowhere near where it needed to be.

He could tell she was taking it personally, that the car’s performance was something she couldn’t separate from her own self-worth, but it was eating her alive.

“You’ve been staring at that screen for hours” he said, his voice softening just a fraction. “Come on, take a break. You’ll think better after some food.”

Finally, Y/n looked up, and her eyes were burning with irritation. “You think this is about ‘taking a break’? Really?” Her voice sharper than he expected.

He frowned, caught off guard. “I’m just saying—”

“I know what you’re saying,” she cut him off, standing up and folding her arms across her chest. “You think it’ll be fine if I take break because you’re just fine coasting through this weekend. But I can’t afford to do that, Lewis.”

“Coasting?” His tone hardened, the frustration he’d been pushing down starting to come up. “You think I’m coasting through this?”

She stepped closer, eyes flashing as she met his gaze. “Aren’t you? I heard what you said in that interview today. You’ve already given up on this weekend. Hell, you’ve probably already given up on this team.”

His jaw clenched. “Y/n”

“I know you’ve got your perfect seat at Ferrari next year,” she snapped, her voice rising, “but I need this job to work for me, Lewis. I can’t just check out.”

Lewis’s face hardened, the weight of her words settling heavily between them. She’d always been the one to back him up, to understand when things were tough.

“You really think that’s what I’m doing?” His voice was quieter now, but there was a simmering anger underneath it. “You think I’m just here, going through the motions, like none of this matters to me?”

Y/n’s expression didn’t waver. “You’re not the one whose career is tied to this car’s performance.”

Lewis stepped back, running a hand over his face, exhaling slowly. “You think I don’t care about the car? About this team?” His voice was tight, but controlled. “You’ve no idea how much pressure I’m under. But sure, keep assuming I’m checked out because I’m not losing my mind over it.”

She didn’t answer, the tension between them suffocating.

“I’ll be at the hotel,” he finally said, voice flat. “I’ll wait for you, if you decide to actually talk instead of throw knives.”

Y/n stood there, staring at the door long after he’d gone, her heart racing, frustration still boiling under her skin.

She hated that he’d gotten to her, but she hated even more that she knew she had messed up.

The soft ping of her phone snapped her out of her trance. Yet another message from Lewis.

Where are you?

It was nearly 2 a.m., and Y/n was now in her own hotel room, but still working.

Her eyes burned from hours of staring at data, her body aching from the tension she carried in her shoulders. She knew she should have stopped hours ago, that the night races in Singapore didn’t excuse her pushing herself this far, but she couldn’t help it.

The car was nowhere, and every setup she ran through still led them in circles.

She ignored the message, her fingers pressing harder into the keyboard, trying to drown out the gnawing frustration.

There were moments where she could forget that outside these numbers, setups, and telemetry, there was more—her life, her relationship with Lewis, her sanity. But tonight, wasn’t one of those moments.

His earlier words still lingered in her mind like a bad taste.

"Coasting through the weekend," she muttered bitterly to herself.

Another ping. She looked at her phone for a second and then shoved it back into her pocket. She wasn’t ready to talk to him. Not that night, at least.

Time passed in a blur, the numbers on her screen blending together until her concentration wavered, exhaustion settling in.

2:45 a.m. A knock at the door.

Her heart sank. She knew exactly who it was.

Y/n slowly walked to the door and opened it, revealing a very irritated and slightly disheveled Lewis.

He was dressed in his sweats, his face drawn with concern and annoyance. His eyes scanned her face, clearly taking in her exhaustion.

“What do you want?” she asked, her voice flat.

Lewis crossed his arms, his jaw tightening. “You didn’t answer my texts.”

“Busy. What do you want?”

He stepped closer; the frustration evident in his posture. “You’re busy? It’s almost three in the morning, Y/n.”

She shrugged, keeping her voice cold. “I don’t have the luxury of clocking out when things don’t go well.”

Lewis’s eyes narrowed. “Not this again, Y/n”

Y/n crossed her arms, mirroring his stance. “I think you don’t get it, Lewis. You’re already halfway out the door. Ferrari’s waiting for you, and you’re just counting the days. I’m the one who’s stuck here trying to figure out how to make this work.”

He exhaled sharply, shaking his head. “You really think I don’t care about what’s happening?”

“I think you’re putting your feelings ahead of everything else,” she shot back, the words laced with bitterness. “I’m out there trying to make something of this car, and you—” She gestured at him, frustrated by his calm demeanor. “You’re here playing the ‘it’ll be fine’ card. It’s not fine, Lewis. It’s a disaster.”

Lewis’s gaze darkened, his voice steady but firm. “I never said it was fine.”

“Might as well have,” she retorted. “You think I don’t see it? The way you’re handling things, pretending it doesn’t affect you, when deep down, you’ve already checked out.”

His expression shifted, the cool, nonchalant mask cracking just slightly. “You don’t know what you’re talking about.”

“Oh, don’t I?” Y/n scoffed, feeling the anger bubble up inside her. She wanted to hurt him the way she was hurting.

“What happened to the guy who fought for every inch on track, the one who wouldn’t rest until everything was perfect? Now you’re here, telling me to relax, to take it easy. It’s bullshit, Lewis.”

Lewis stared at her, his silence only fueling her frustration. She stepped closer, her voice dropping to a mocking tone.

“Where’s the cutthroat guy who would have had me pinned to the wall by now? Instead, I’ve got this—” she waved her hand at him dismissively, “mushy, emotional guy in front of me, trying to make me ‘feel better’.”

Something shifted in Lewis’s eyes, and for a moment, she regretted saying it. His gaze hardened, his jaw clenched, and the tension in the air changed.

“You have no idea what you’re asking for,” he said, his voice low. He was danger.

But Y/n wasn’t backing down now. She wanted to push him, to make him snap, to break through that controlled, calm mark. “Oh, I absolutely do” she shot back, her chin tilting up defiantly.

Lewis’s eyes flickered with something possessive, and in an instant, he closed the distance between them.

His hand shot out, grabbing her by the waist, pulling her flush against him. Her breath caught in her throat as his fingers dug into her skin, his grip firm and unmistakably dominant.

“You think you want that?” he murmured; his breath hot against her ear. “You think you want the guy who doesn’t give a damn? Be careful what you wish for.”

Y/n’s heart pounded in her chest, her body reacting to the sudden intensity between them, but she wasn’t going to give him the satisfaction of seeing her back down.

“Show me” she whispered, her voice steady, though her pulse raced. “Show me you still give a damn.”

And that was all it took.

The last thread of Lewis’s restraint snapped, and before she could even blink, he had her pinned against the narrow table in the small entryway to her bedroom, his hands gripping her wrists, his body pressing into hers with a force that left no room for doubt.

His breath was hot against her neck. His body pressed her into the hard surface, and Y/n could feel the tension in every inch of him—the controlled anger, the dominance she’d just provoked, and the raw desire that lay beneath it all.

She felt the dominance it in the way his hands moved—fast, precise, as if he’d already decided she wasn’t ever in control.

His grip on her wrists loosened for just a second before his hands slid down her body, one hand slipping under the hem of her shirt, fingers grazing the soft skin of her stomach.

His touch was rough but deliberate, and she gasped at the sensation, already anticipating what was coming next.

Lewis’s other hand hooked around her waist, pulling her hips back into him, his body pinning her even harder against the table. “You want this?” he murmured into her ear, his lips brushing the shell of it “You want me to stop being soft?”

She barely had a second to catch her breath before his hand slipped lower, under the waistband of her pajama bottoms.

His fingers found their way instantly, brushing over her clit in a way that made her hips buck against him involuntarily.

“Lewis—” She started to say something, but he cut her off.

“Don’t even think about it” he growled, his fingers working with slow, maddening precision. “You don’t get to talk. Not now.”

Her breath hitched as he continued to tease her, the pressure of his fingers circling her clit increasing just enough to drive her crazy, but not enough to push her over the edge.

He was keeping her on a leash, and it was driving her insane.

“You think I don’t give a damn?” Lewis’s voice was rough, a contrast to the torturously slow rhythm of his fingers. “Is this what you wanted? You wanted me to remind you?”

Her legs trembled as he worked her over, her body arching into him despite the way he had her pinned to the table.

She was already close, too close, and she knew it. She could feel the tension building inside her, the heat pooling in her stomach, the familiar rush of pleasure that came before she—

But just as she just about reached the edge, he pulled back, his fingers leaving her completely.

Y/n gasped in frustration, her body shaking from the sudden denial. “Lewis!” Her voice cracked, but he wasn’t having it.

“You don’t get to come yet” he said, his voice firm, unrelenting.

She was panting, her body already strung so tight it hurt, but before she could protest, Lewis flipped her around, pressing her back into the wall.

His eyes were dark, his expression hard as he lifted her to place her effortlessly onto the edge of the small desk.

Her legs wrapped around his waist instinctively and his hands found her hips, holding her in place as he leaned in, his lips crashing into hers. The kiss was rough, all teeth, his frustration matching hers as their bodies clashed against each other.

But he was still in control, and Y/n knew it. She could feel it in the way he held her, the way his hands moved as if he knew exactly how close he was driving her, how close he was to breaking her down.

He pulled back from the kiss, his breath heavy against her lips. “You don’t get to have it easy” he murmured. “Not after all the shit you said.”

His lips were on her neck then, trailing rough kisses down to her collarbone, his hands sliding under her shirt to cup her breasts. His thumbs brushed over her nipples, the sensation sending another jolt of heat and Y/n’s head fell back against the wall, her lips parting in a shaky moan.

And Lewis wasn’t even close to being done with the torture.

His mouth moved lower, kissing his way down her stomach until he was on his knees in front of her, his hands gripping her thighs, spreading her wide for him. He pulled her pajama bottoms down, discarding them somewhere behind him before his lips found the inside of her thigh, biting down gently on the sensitive skin.

Y/n’s body jerked in response, the anticipation nearly killing her as his lips moved higher, closer to where she needed him

“Please, Lew” she whispered, her voice barely above a breath.

He didn’t answer her. Instead, he parted her with his fingers, his mouth finally descending on her clit.

The sensation was electric, his tongue circling her slowly. Y/n’s hips kept on buckling involuntarily, her fingers tangling in his shirt as she moaned, unable to hold back the sound.

Lewis took his time, licking and sucking in a way that drove her to the edge all over again.

She felt it building, her body shaking as she neared the point of no return, her breath coming in ragged gasps.

And just when she thought she was about to fall over the edge, he stopped, again.

“Fuck!” she cried out, her hands tugging at the wood in frustration, but he didn’t relent.

“Not yet” was all he said, his voice hoarse as he looked up at her, his lips glistening.

She was a trembling mess, her body desperate for release, but Lewis wasn’t giving it to her. He stood up, towering over her as she panted, her chest heaving from the intensity of it all.

“Bed” he ordered, his voice leaving no room for argument.

Y/n stumbled off the desk, her legs shaky as she moved without questioning toward the bed, Lewis right behind her.

He grabbed her waist, pushing her down onto the mattress, his body covering hers as he kissed her again, rough and demanding.

His fingers slid between her legs once more, finding her dripping, and he smirked against her lips. “You think you can take one more?” he asked, his voice mocking as he teased her, his fingers sliding inside her just enough to make her hips jerk.

“I can’t” she gasped, her body completely overwhelmed.

“Too bad” he growled, his lips brushing against her ear. “You don’t get to say when this is over.”

His fingers worked her over once more, slow and purposeful, pushing her to the brink for the third time.

Her body was shaking, every nerve on fire as she begged him, her words slurring in a desperate plea.

“Lewis. Please, I need—”

Finally, when she thought she couldn’t take it anymore, he let her go.

Y/n’s orgasm hit her in waves, her body convulsing as she cried out, her nails digging into his back as she came hard, trembling uncontrollably beneath him.

He didn’t stop though, his fingers still working her as she rode out the intense release, her vision going white from the force of it.

And when it was over, when her body had finally stopped shaking, she was a wreck, panting and boneless beneath him.

Lewis leaned over her, his lips brushing against her ear. “You still want more?” he asked, his voice dark and teasing.

Y/n was barely coherent, her mind fogged with pleasure, but she managed a weak smirk and chuckle.

Lewis growled low in his throat, flipping her onto her stomach. “Of course, you do.”

Lewis didn’t waste a second, his hands gripping her hips and pulling her up onto her knees.

Y/n’s face was pressed into the mattress, her breath still ragged, but she managed to turn her head slightly, catching a glimpse of him behind her, his chest heaving.

“Arch your back, love” he commanded, a low rumble.

Her body, still trembling, responded instinctively. She pushed her hips up, her back arching as she spread her knees wider.

She could feel the cool air on her slick skin, and her body ached with the need to be filled, to have him finally inside her.

But Lewis wasn’t in any rush.

His hands caressed her ass, rough palms running over the soft skin as he admired the way she trembled beneath him. She felt the unmistakable teasing of him collecting her juice with the tip of his dick.

Then, without warning, he brought his hand down sharply against her ass, the loud smack echoing in the room.

The sting was immediate. Y/n gasped, her body jolting forward as her muscles clenched in response.

Lewis chuckled darkly, leaning over her, his chest pressing into her back. “You like that, don’t you?” he murmured against her ear, his breath hot on her skin.

Y/n moaned, her fingers curling into the sheets as she tried to steady herself. “Fuck you” she breathed out, though the defiance was weak, barely a whisper.

Lewis laughed again, his hands gripping her hips tightly as he positioned himself behind her. “Oh, you will.”

And then, without another word, he thrust into her, filling her completely at once.

Y/n let out a loud cry, her body arching even more at the sudden invasion.

He was deep, too deep, and for a moment, all she could do was gasp for air, her hands gripping the sheets as he stayed still.

“Fuck,” Lewis groaned, his voice strained as he gripped her hips harder, his fingers digging into her skin. “You’re so fucking tight.”

Y/n couldn’t form words, couldn’t even think straight as her body struggled to accommodate the overwhelming fullness.

But then he started to move, pulling out just enough before slamming back into her, setting a brutal pace that left her not only wordless but breathless.

With each thrust the sound of skin slapping against skin filled the room. Y/n’s moans mixed with his grunts, her body rocking forward with the movements of his hips.

Lewis was relentless, pounding into her with a force that left her dizzy. His hands moved up her back, fingers tangling in her shirt as he pulled her head back, forcing her to arch even more.

Her face was buried in the pillow, muffling her moans, but Lewis wasn’t having that.

“Let me hear you,” he growled, his hand tightening as he yanked her head back, exposing her neck. “I want to hear every fucking sound you make.”

Y/n cried out, her voice raw as he hit a spot deep inside her that made her entire body shake.

Her walls clenched around him involuntarily, the intensity of it all too much, but she couldn’t stop it. Every thrust got her closer to the edge, and she could feel it building again.

When she was almost seeing starts and her walls kept on clenching around him, he pulled out of her, leaving her trembling and empty.

Y/n let out a whimper of protest, her body aching for him to fill her again.

“Turn over,” he ordered, his voice firm, commanding.

Y/n, barely able to move, managed to roll onto her side, her body weak and shaking from the force of it all. She looked up at him through half-lidded eyes, her chest heaving as she tried to catch her breath.

Lewis didn’t waste time. He grabbed her leg, pulling it up over his arms as he positioned himself between her half-closed thighs.

His eyes locked onto hers, the intensity in his gaze making her stomach flip.

“You still think I don’t give a damn?” he asked, his voice rough, almost taunting as he pushed into her again, filling her completely.

Y/n’s head fell back against the pillow, a loud moan escaping her lips as he thrust into her at a new angle, hitting that spot deep inside her that made her breath hitch.

His hands held on to her ankle, and the way he was angled was driving her crazy, his hips slamming into her ass with an unrelenting force.

“Lewis—fuck—” she gasped, her hands clawing at his arms as he leaned over her, pressing his body into her side as he fucked her hard, each thrust pushing her closer to the brink.

Her moans were uncontrollable now, her body completely at his mercy as he pounded into her. She could feel the tension building again, the heat coiling in her stomach, but this time, she knew he wasn’t going to stop.

He wasn’t going to deny her. Not again.

Lewis’s eyes were locked on her face, watching every twitch, every moan, every breathless gasp as he took her apart. “You’re so fucking beautiful like this,” he murmured, his voice strained with exertion.

She couldn’t respond, her mind too fogged with pleasure, her body too overwhelmed. But her hands reached up, grabbing onto his neck, pulling him down to kiss her.

It was messy, but it didn’t matter. They were both too far gone to care.

Lewis groaned into her mouth, his thrusts becoming more erratic, harder, as if he was losing control. Y/n’s nails dug into his skin, her body trembling as she felt herself teetering on the edge.

“I’m so close,” she gasped against his lips, her voice barely coherent.

“I know, love” Lewis growled, his breath hot against her mouth. “Come for me. I want to feel you.”

With one final thrust, she spiraled, her body convulsing under him as her orgasm ripped through her, more intense than the ones before.

Y/n’s body arched off the bed towards his chest, her hands gripping his shoulders as she cried out, her walls clenching around him.

Lewis couldn’t keep himself for far too long. The way she tightened around him pushed him over the brink, and with a deep, guttural moan, he only had time to pull out, spilling himself over her ass, his body shaking with the force of his release.

For a moment, neither of them moved, their bodies spent and trembling, their breaths coming in ragged gasps.

Lewis then collapsed beside her, his chest rising and falling as he tried to catch his breath. Y/n lay there, completely wrecked, her body still trembling from the aftershocks of her orgasm. Her only movement was her hand stroking his arm, her mind too fogged with him to think straight.

But then Lewis’s hand was on her cheek, gently caressing her skin, and she turned her head to look at him.

His expression had softened, the intensity of before replaced with something tender, affectionate.

“Relax,” he whispered, his thumb brushing over her lips. “I’ll take care of you.”

Y/n’s heart swelled at the softness in his voice, and she nodded, too tired to speak.

She watched as Lewis got up, disappearing into the bathroom before returning with a towel. He cleaned her up carefully, his touch gentle, his gaze focused solely on her.

When he was done, he tossed the towel aside and climbed back into bed, pulling her into his arms.

Lewis gently stroked her cheek as she lay against him, her breathing still uneven, though now from exhaustion rather than anything else.

His thumb brushed over her lips, and he leaned down to kiss her forehead softly, letting out a deep, contented sigh.

"You okay?" he asked quietly, his voice tender.

Y/n nodded, her body limp as she sank into the comfort of his chest. "Just tired."

A small smile tugged at his lips. "You sure you don’t want to sleep?" His hand ran soothingly over her arm, drawing lazy patterns on her skin as he held her closer.

She shook her head lightly. "Not yet. My mind’s still buzzing." Her voice was soft, a little hoarse, but she didn’t regret a second of it.

Lewis chuckled, the sound low and comforting. "Well, let’s calm that buzzing down." He reached for the phone by the bedside, quickly ordering pasta for the both of them. "Have you eaten at all?"

Y/n smiled faintly; her eyes half-closed. "So now you care?"

Lewis arched an eyebrow, lifting her chin so her gaze met his. "Always did, babe." His thumb traced the curve of her jaw, his gaze soft but serious. "I know it’s been tough, and I know I’ve been a prick sometimes… but I do care. About you. About your career. All Mercedes."

Her lips curved into a small smile, her exhaustion making her emotions raw. "I know. I’m sorry for what I said"

"I meant what I said earlier—you’ve gotta find to take care of yourself. It’s not all on your shoulders." he pushed, brushing his thumb across her face.

She closed her eyes, her body relaxing into his touch. "Yeah, maybe you’re right."

He laughed softly. "I’m always right." He kissed the top of her head. "And if it takes rough sex to get you out of your own head… well, I’m happy to help."

Y/n snorted; her face buried in his chest. "Really, Lewis? Really?"

“I care about you, okay?” he said quietly, almost hesitant, as if the vulnerability was something new.

Y/n nodded against his chest, her eyes already closing as the exhaustion overtook her. She was too tired to speak, but she knew. Deep down, she had always known.

______________________________________________________________

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[wileys-russo]

forget me not (2) II l.williamson

part one forget me not (2) II l.williamson

"mum i need to go."

"leah no-" but her mums words were cut off as the blonde clicked end call, fingers flying against her screen until she found your contact, call after call declined until it stopped ringing all together.

she then moved to texting, sending message after message until the 'do not disturb' notification popped up and her stomach heaved, you never put your phone on do not disturb.

her guilt peaked even higher noticing all of the messages above those she'd sent to you in a panic, clearly prior to your graduation and worrying about her whereabouts.

(8) iMessages from; lover girl 💐 hey baby i just arrived, you were dead to the world when i left (shock x) i'm kind of nervous! they just handed out our caps and gowns, its feeling really real now. what if i fall over when i'm walking up?? someone just put that thought in my head and now it won't go away 🥲🥲 i can't wait to just look out and see your pretty face, you can always ground me even without trying💘💘💘 *three missed calls* less just called me, she's leaving soon so i hope you're up and showering! i know you're not the best texter in the morning anyway grumpy 🫶🏻 we have to switch our phones off and leave them in our bags now babe but i'll see you in a little while. still so nervous ah! your support means everything, i love you leah 🩵

even though leah knew you were upset, the fact you hadn't made any attempts to call or message her after her no show only solidified it further for her, the blonde selfishly sort of wishing you had to ease her guilt even just a little.

"fuck!" the girl swore as she threw her phone on the passenger seat, burying her face in her hands with a deep and prolonged exhale. "okay think leah, think." she mumbled to herself, fists balling and rubbing against her eyes until she saw stars, head thumping back against the headrest.

grabbing her phone again she winced seeing the multitude of other missed calls, from alessia, your mum, your aunt, your best friend, all worrying that something had happened to her for her not to show up, the sweet messages from your mum checking in if she was okay hitting her in the stomach in a different sort of way.

"alessia!" she realized, quickly hitting call on the girls contact, feeling like an idiot for not even noticing her friends absence and putting two and two together, this was a brand new low.

"come on!" leah grunted, calling the younger girl easily six times and each one going right to voicemail, finger hovering over your mums contact before abandoning that idea with a shake of her head.

"shit." leah swore again checking your location and noticing you'd stopped sharing with her, biting down on her bottom lip as her knee bounced and her fingers drummed against the wheel wracking her brain for anything.

"fuck me leah where did she say the celebration was afterwards?" the footballer mumbled to herself, eyes squeezing close as she tried to think back, unable to even remember you mentioning your graduation in the last few days, another nail in the coffin of realizing she had been an awful girlfriend to put it lightly.

a sudden spark of hope she grabbed her phone again, clicking into instagram and huffing when both you and alessia hadn't posted anything, searching up several of your friends and families accounts finding the same wall of silence in her way.

growing even more desperate leah clicked into an app she checked maybe once a year, only keeping her facebook active for the sake of her childhood friends.

"thank you aunty gillian, thank you!" leah whispered as a quick scroll of her feed showed your godmother had posted some pictures from the graduation and the post ceremony celebrations, a quick zoom confirming the restaurants name on a menu on the table.

without another seconds hesitation she was putting the address into maps, car roaring to life as she peeled out of the colney carpark at top speed, flying across town and swearing loudly as she seemed to hit every red light in all of london.

"williamson." she barked to the valet as she screamed to a halt in front of the hotel where the restaurant was, throwing the keys at the young boy who didn't even have time to say a word before she was pushing through the double doors and bursting inside.

"m'am im really sorry you can't-" the hostess tried to stop leah as she barreled past, ignoring her completely and hurrying into the restaurant. it didn't take her long to find your closest friends and family on a big table in the corner, alessia spotting her before anyone else did and eyes widening.

though as leah came to a screaming halt in front of them, the table falling quiet as they took her in, still clad in an arsenal tracksuit with wet hair and frantic eyes looking as you would have said had you been present, a hot mess.

"no auntie ava its alright, i'll handle it." alessia murmured to your mum as leah shrank under the scrutiny and harsh glares from your friends and family, nobody impressed with her no show even if they didn't know the full story.

"you need to leave, right now." alessia warned, grabbing the blonde by her bicep and pulling her away from the table, around the corner and out of view. "less please i can-" leah started as the younger girl held up a hand.

"i don't care leah. i've just gotten her to calm down after she's just spent twenty minutes crying in the bathroom after her big day!" alessia warned, leah taken aback by the venom in her teammates tone, the girl normally so sweet butter wouldn't melt in her mouth.

but there was one thing your cousin didn't mess about with, and that was family.

"she cried?" leah deflated, voice barely above as whisper as the taller girl nodded. "yes leah she cried several times, she's heartbroken that her girlfriend didn't show up for her graduation. but rather chose to go to the same training we have four or five times a week, she saw on instagram." alessia growled, poking accusingly at leahs shoulder.

"nope." alessia held up a hand again as leah opened her mouth to pour out another excuse or hurried apology.

"i told you leah, i don't care. she deserves to enjoy the rest of her day, you've ruined enough and done more damage than you can apologize for in the two minutes you've got to leave before i let my brothers escort you outside." alessia warned seriously, jaw clenched and still gripping harshly onto leahs arm.

"but less-" "leah, go."

but right as your girlfriend was ready to get on her knees and beg alessia to get her even one minute of your attention, you came stumbling around the corner in search of your cousin.

"baby-" leah started, falling quiet with a hiss as alessia sharply pinched her and moved to put her body in between the two of you like your own personal security guard.

"you have some nerve!" you laughed, leah frowning at the slur in your voice and the way alessia hurried to catch your swaying body, shooting the older blonde a filthy glare over her shoulder as she steadied you and mumbled something in your ear.

"no i know. i'm done crying over her!" you responded, leah swallowing hard as her knees buckled with how much anger was ablaze in your eyes as your gaze moved back toward her.

"you're a little late." you mocked with a pout, voice dripping with sarcasm as your eyes burned holes in your girlfriends head, trained on her like lasers.

"bubba please if you just-" "don't leah, don't call me that." all the anger seemed to deflate out of your voice at that, the obvious hurt and betrayal in it wrapping around leahs heart and squeezing tight like a fist.

"i don't want to hear the excuses, or the apologies, i don't even want to look at you leah. i have never been so let down or dissapointed, hurt, angry, sad." you listed off every emotion which was wracking your body, pausing for a moment and swaying a little leaning into alessia more.

"i have been there for you, for everything leah. i was there by your side every day when you did your acl, through the rehab and recovery good times and bad. i didn't leave when you yelled, when you snapped, when you hurled insults just for helping because i knew you were hurting and you weren't lashing out at me." you shook your head as leah felt sick to her stomach.

"i was there for you during the world cup. i stayed in england to be there for you, watching my own cousin playing the tournament and living out her dream through a phone screen, not daring to mention the games because i knew you were devastated to miss it." you paused to swallow the tears which brimmed at your eyes.

"i have put up with a lot of shit leah, dismissed a lot of things because i love you. but this...this isn't something i can sweep under the rug and excuse because you're hurting and i want to support you. today i needed you, i needed you to support me and you couldn't even do that." you whispered, wishing you had another drink in hand for a spike of liquid courage which was bleeding rapidly out of the open wounds your girlfriends actions slashed you with.

clearing your throat you continued, tilting your chin up a little higher. "less already took me past our place and i grabbed a bag of stuff, i'm moving in with her for awhile. i don't want to see you, hear from you, nothing, until i am ready leah. i never thought you of all people were capable of hurting me like this, now please go." with that you turned around, stumbling slightly but catching yourself with a sharp inhale and marching back off to the table.

"no. leah you heard her, you need to leave." alessia's hands pressed against her chest as she tried to follow after you.

"like i said, you can go on your own terms leah, or i'll get my brothers." your cousin warned seriously, leahs mouth opening and closing before she gave in with a nod, turning and walking away.

~

"its another one for you!" you looked away from the football match your cousin was currently forcing you to watch, alessia appearing seconds after the bell had rung with another bunch of flowers as you got up with a sigh.

"she's consistent, you've gotta give her that." alessia shook her head as you took the flowers from her, perching herself on the arm of the lounge as your eyes scanned over the card.

"we look like we own a florist shop." your cousin commented, eyes roaming over the countless bunches of flowers littering the living and dining rooms.

"i've texted her telling her to stop!" you shook your head placing down the bunch with a deep seeded sigh, dragging your hands down your face. "what are you thinking?" your cousin asked knowingly as you wandered back toward the lounge, collapsing into it as she spun around on the arm to face you.

"i don't know." you exhaled honestly, face buried in your hands as alessia kicked you gently, looking down with a raised eyebrow. "its been two weeks and i miss her." you admitted honestly, sitting up with a slight grunt.

"but i'm also still really hurt and upset and there isn't an excuse under the sun she could make that would help that go away." you added on, grabbing a throw cushion and pushing your face into it with a scream.

"would you consider hearing her out anyway?" alessia asked, playing devils advocate as you looked back up with another sigh. "yes? no? maybe?" you groaned, laying back down on the lounge in a world of indecision.

"sounds like you want to. but you're a little scared of what that might mean? just hear her out, it doesn't mean you have to go running right back into her arms but it'll mean you're not sitting here wondering what it is she has to say." your cousin read you like a book with a small smile. "i hate that you're always right." you shook your head as alessia chuckled.

"just looking out for my little piccoli ravioli!" your cousin cooed, a grunt leaving your body as she dove on top of you, pinching your cheeks and shaking your head side to side before rolling off of you.

"you know i can very easily smother you in your sleep russo."

none the less you took her advice, reaching out to your girlfriend? ex girlfriend? you weren't even sure what the two of you were at this point given you'd had practically no contact for the last fortnight.

which is how you found yourself a few days later taking a deep breath, hand on the door to the coffee shop you'd agreed to meet up with her at, steadying yourself with a nod before you pushed it open.

you spotted her right away, her eyes trained on the door and hand raising to wave you over the very moment you stepped inside. "i got your usual, sorry the ice melted a little...i was early." leah started with a slight blush as you sat down, pushing the iced latte across the table.

"thanks." you gave her a small smile, taking a sip as an awkward silence settled between you two. "should i start? is that okay?" leah blurted out suddenly, knee bouncing nervously as you nodded and she exhaled shakily.

"i'm not going to waste your time making excuses or apologizing over and over or grovelling." leah started as you quirked an eyebrow and sipped at your drink, curious where she was going with this.

"i'm just going to be honest instead, get right to the point. baby i was a selfish blind asshole, to say the least. i took you for granted. i did not support you even a tenth as much as you did for me. i don't deserve you, i don't deserve a second chance." leah paused, meeting your eyes for a moment as you nodded for her to continue.

"i forgot about your graduation, i didn't care enough to remember despite all the little hints you left me that you shouldn't have even needed to. theres no nice way to say it, theres no excuses for it, no lies. i didn't prioritize you, i didn't respect you or your achievements or put your needs above my own when thats all you've ever done for me." leah sighed, fiddling nervously with her hands in her lap.

"i was so blinded by the joy of being back on the pitch, kicking a ball, being with the girls again. all i was focused on was making the roster for camp, returning back to glory and my captaincy and playing full games for arsenal again." leah admitted, neck and ears flushing hot with embarrassment.

"but nothing, not football not arsenal, not anything, should ever take priority over me being a good supportive life partner and girlfriend. you were right you have put up with so much from me, done so much for me, pushed aside your feelings and your problems to put mine first, and i couldn't even do that for a day when you've done it since the moment we got together." leah continued, shaking her head disappointed with herself.

"love there isn't enough apologies in the world that i can ever say to make up for it. obviously i am incredibly sorry, but you deserve better than words you deserve evidence and action and commitment." you were taken by surprise as leah suddenly stood.

"if you will please please please just come with me for a quick drive i have something for you." she hesitated for a moment before offering you her hand, a confused and skeptical frown on your face as you sized her up.

"its not more flowers, is it?" that caused a small smile to make its way onto the blondes face as she shook her head.

"no, no more flowers."

~

"seriously? leah this is all very weird." you shook your head as she pulled up outside your shared home, a place you'd not stepped foot in for just as long as you hadn't seen your girlfriend for, holding out a blindfold.

"i know i know i know. and i'm sure you don't right now which is completely valid, but i need you to just trust me and put this on." leah bit her bottom lip sheepishly as you sighed, giving her a hard look before snatching it out of her hand.

"no! i've got it." you smacked away her hand which tried to help, tying it up yourself as your heart rate sped up the moment your world was plunged into darkness.

"can i grab your hands? please?" you heard the car door open and flinched a little, nodding slowly as you felt leahs warm hands interlock with your own, pulling you up to your feet as the car door closed behind you.

"step, step, rock, puddle, another step, three more steps, gate." leah announced each reason for moving you, your frown deepening as you realised she was leading you around the side and toward the backyard, ears straining and senses heightened trying to work out what was going on.

"leah!" you huffed as you tripped and almost fell, strong hands steadying you as the blonde winced. "sorry...one more step."

"okay, i'm taking the blindfold off now." leah sighed shakily, and you felt her hands trembling slightly as they fumbled around clumsily with the knot on the back of the blindfold.

but persisting she finally got it, wincing as it slipped away and the sunlight struck you in the face. but that was nothing compared to how high you jumped at the large yell which sounded next, your hand coming to cover your mouth.

"happy graduation!"

"what? this is..." you trailed off, all of your friends and family and colleagues gathered around the backyard, fairy lights strung up in trees and a long table splitting the yard in half decked out with flowers and food and candles.

you tensed as leah grabbed your hands again, moving to stand in front of you with a smile. "i know i ruined your special day by not showing up for you. but you deserve to have your achievements celebrated in a way even half as big and special as you are, and everyone who knows you and loves you agrees, and they're here to show that to you." leah explained softly, another cheer ringing out from the crowd in your backyard as you both looked across with a laugh.

"you organised this?" you asked as leah nodded, letting go of your hands. "i'm not asking you to move back in tonight and forgive me right away. but i hope this is a step in the right direction to me showing you that you mean more to me than anything in the world, and i was such a fucking idiot to take that for granted." leah promised sincerely as your features softened.

"thank you." you caught her off guard by pulling her into a hug, admittedly melting into her taller form as you held one another tightly, your guests all turning back into their own conversations as music started up and chatter floated through the air.

"you're very very welcome. now go and be celebrated!" the blonde pulled away and gently pushed you toward the crowd, smile on her face as you nodded, turning and stepping toward your parents first who cheered and handed you a flute of champagne.

"did you know about all of this?" you tugged your cousin aside around an hour later once you'd made your rounds greeting and chatting with everyone, the sun setting as leah was busy setting up the catering she'd organised for dinner, lia by her side helping out as a fair few of the arsenal girls hung about, good friends with you through both leah and alessia.

"who do you think helped her grovel for forgiveness with the whole family?" alessia smiled knowingly, sipping at her drink. "the whole family?" you asked, eyebrows shooting up in surprise as your cousin nodded.

"mhm, had me gather everyone at your mums place and she stood in front of them all delivering a speech about how much of an idiot she is and how much you mean to her, and how first and foremost she wanted to make up for ruining your day, even if it didn't mean you'd take her back." alessia explained as you glanced at leah over her shoulder, a small smile curling into your lips at the way she helped your nephew dish up his food, chattering away to him and pulling silly faces making him giggle.

"was it brutal?" you asked with a chuckle, alessia wincing. "horribly horribly awkward. nonna ripped into her, then your mum, then my mum, then your brother, then my brothers, then-" alessia recounted as you cut her off with a laugh.

"okay okay i get it, we have a very tight knit family who clearly have my back." you smiled with a shake of your head. "we do. but they all agreed to come, and that when she's not being an insensitive stupid idiot leah is crazy about you." alessia spoke a little more softly.

"go talk to her." your cousin kissed your cheek, slipping her drink into your hand and taking your empty one, pushing at your back encouragingly as you sighed and let your feet lead you over to her.

"hey, can we talk?" you asked, leah practically dropping the plate of food in her hand with a nod, hurrying after you as you made your way up the back steps and inside, wanting a little more privacy than your backyard full of friends and family provided.

"is this all okay? is it too much? did i do too much? less warned me not to go overboard and i know i said no more flowers but obviously theres flowers here and i got catering from your favorite restaurant and it took me days and days to get everyone to agree to come and then-" tired of her rambling you leaned in, pressing your lips against her own and effectively silencing her.

"i-okay." leah blinked in shock as you pulled away, a small smile of amusement on your face. "first of all, this is very very sweet leah, its perfect." you assured with a firm nod, leah visibly sagging in relief.

"second of all...i want to come home, tonight." you held up a hand as the blonde perked up and opened her mouth, snapping it right closed. "this doesn't fix everything leah, i'm still hurt and its going to take time for me to trust you properly again" you warned as the defender nodded eagerly.

"but we can't work on things unless we're together, and i have missed you." you admitted quietly, the words scary to confess but knowing you needed to be honest. "i've missed you so much, like...so so much." leah breathed out shakily making you smile.

"but promise me one thing?" your hands came to cup her face as she nodded.

"no more apology flowers leah for like...a long time." you grinned as leah let out a laugh of surprise, hands falling to your hips and drawing your body into hers, eyes searching you face as you nodded knowing what they were looking for, her lips sweetly pressing a few times against yours.

"i promise."

[rboooks]

Child Support Part 2

Tim watched the other young heroes as they tried to look around the watch tower without seeming like they were. He's been here plenty of times, but the rest of the Teen Titans and a few of the Young Justice hasn't.

Much was due to the older heroes leaving the younger ones alone. Some not taking them seriously enough to welcome them at the big HQ as much as that made his blood boil.

They were taking the same risks. They were fighting the same good fights. Why was their age the main reason they weren't treated equally?

Some teenage heroes weren't part of a team per see, but they always answered when a call was sent. For example, Cass and Steph were present, speaking softly to Static Shock. Damian was standing next to Jon and his little friend Colin who was just getting into the swing of the hero business.

Bruce almost bit through his tongue when Damian told him Abuse would be joining Robin on parol, and he could do nothing to stop them. (Tim felt like he was watching Damian tell Bruce a paraphrased version of "But Daddy, I love him!" and it kept him smiling for weeks)

It was wild to see almost every young hero in one place. He doesn't think this happened since the last time Justice Leauge got mind controlled and almost destroyed the whole world.

"Any idea why we're here?" Kon asks to his right, lowering his shade to stare at the Outlaws. Jason's team stood to the side chatting iddly while cleaning over thier weapons.

Kon's always like their punk point of view, and he knows his best friend wants to go over there to talk to them. If it wasn't for the issue of the clone still being mad about what Jason did at the Teen Titans tower. Almost murder was hard to forgive for people outside the Bats.

"None. All I know is that John Constantine sent out a message to every teenage superhero group calling for a meet-up," Tim responds.

Bart whistles with a grimace on his right. "Must be bad if that guy is asking."

"I heard Hawkwoman tell Superman that she was worried and wasn't sure she wanted anyone of us mixed up in Constantine's mistakes." Cassie chimes in from where she leans on the couch. The three turn to her as she lowers her voice, attempting to keep the others from hearing. "Batman told her off for it."

"Batman did?" Tim asks, surprised.

Cassie shrugs, throwing a bit of her blond hair over her shoulder. "As much Batman can emote anyway."

Yeah, that sounded about right. Though it must have been something Bruce found disrespectful. His dad usually never reprimanded strangers unless they were saying something or doing something that sounded far too much like bigotry to him.

But to apply that to Constantine? Someone, Bruce generally disliked communicating with because the man tended to backstab his contacts? Yes, Constantine wasn't evil, but he wasn't pleasant either.

If Bruce had magical issues, he tended to contact Zatanna first.

Just then, the watch tower's zeta beams activate. Everyone who gathered turns to the teleporting pads where Constantine appears looking, for lack of a better word, absolutely exhausted. Even Tim knows that his eye bags aren't that bad, and he's usually going hours without sleep.

"Oh good, you all made it," Constantine says, sipping from a mug and wearing nothing but sweatpants and what looks like a nightgown. His signature trench coat was nowhere in sight. "I'm going to be quick about this. I need a team of young heroes willing to accept my son into their fold."

The room is dead silent. Constantine sighs. "Look, I've tried everything, but it's like Danny is allergic to laying low. He fought with a demon the other day over a child's doll- which you all know happens. People get haunted! But Danny refused to do it the right way, and now I had to beat off the demon's marriage proposal at least ten times. Not to mention his lack of social skills! No matter which one I stick him in, he can't seem to make friends in school. He got shoved into a locker on his first day! I thought that was an American exaggeration of the telly!"

Constantine pauses and takes a large gulp of whatever he's drinking before continuing his rant. A hand runs through his already messy hair, leaving it in bigger disarray as he speaks. "He's behind in terms of trends and technology cause his other father raised him outside of the typical timelines, so sometimes it's like talking to someone from the early two thousand, and other times it's like he's a modern Victorian era lad. His powers are also all over the place because the ectoplasm in our world is thicker, so when he breathes it in, he losses his control. Just the other day he accidentally made himself fly through our ceiling and almost reach the atmosphere before I was able to bring him back down."

A few of the fliers in the room wince. Jon nods and whispers under his breath, though his voice carries in the silence. "Yeah, been there before. Flying can be scary if you don't know how to come down."

Johns glances around at all the young people, eyes showing a tad bit of desperation. "He's sad all the time now, and I don't know how to help. If working with you could help him make friends, I would be grateful. He's a great kid. He just needs to adjust."

Tim had no idea what to do with this information; how do you respond to arguably one of the strongest Justice League Darks' heroes asking for a play date for his son?

"How old is the child?" Damian's voice rings out. Colin's hand is attached to his sleeve, a slightly nervous smile on the boy's face as he attempts to hide from the staring heroes behind his brother. Tim bets that if he wasn't wearing the domino mask, they would be able to see slight tears in Colin's eyes.

Damian's other hand goes across his body to cover Colin's hand, and Tim fights a shit-eating grin. His eyes lock with Jason, and the two send each other knowing grins. Looks like Bruce did have to worry about Damian having a secret boyfriend.

He can't wait to tease Damian later.

"He's fourteen....or well, physically?" Constantine answers eagerly.

"What does that mean?" Kon asks this time.

"Okay, so he's half human, half ecto-being. He sired him with his other father, Clockwork, which was only four years ago in this dimension, but since he was raised in the Infinite Relemas, times move differently there? " The British man says, and Raven goes rigid.

"Clockwork, as in the most powerful Ancient?" She asks, looking horror-struck when Constantine nods.

Before anyone asked what that meant, the zeta tubes activated again without permission. Someone had hacked into their systems which were ten levels bad. Everyone naturally fell into a fighting stance, only to blink when a teenage boy stepped out with a loud excited screech.

"We're in space!" The teenager runs to one of the windows, pressing his hands and face up against the glass. "This is amazing!"

Tim only relaxes his muscles once Constantine clears his throat. "Chum...what are you doing here?"

"Oh. One of your curse rocks things started proposing to me again, so I ran out of the House of Mysteries. Thought I see what you were up to." The teenager says, turning around with a smile and utterly freezing at the sight of the gathered heroes.

He had dark hair, wide blue eyes, and the most adorable face Tim had ever seen. Not as sexy as Bernard, of course, but darn close. Judging by the looks of anyone attractive to males, most heroes thought the same.

"Um...hi?" He says, offering the Godsmack teenagers a helpless little shrug. "I'm Danny Constantine."

"It is a pleasure, Constantine." Damian marches over to him with all his little twelve-year-old authority. He barely reaches Danny's chest. "I shall look forward to working with you. Are you formally trained in combat or strictly magic?"

"Um...oh, I can throw a punch or two? I'm mostly self taught. I rely on my powers a lot?" Danny fumbles to answer throwing a desperate look at his presumed father.

"No matter. I shall have you begin training. My Beloved also needs to work on his form. There is no shame in this" Damian nods, and Constantine lets out a large sigh of relief. He jogs over to place a hand on his son's shoulder, giving him a one-sided hug

"Yes, Danny, you will join Robin, Superboy, and Abuse on missions. They agree to help you settle and get used to your ghost powers." Constantine smiles. "I'll give me time to discourage all those idiots from trying to trick you into marriage."

"Oh...okay. It's nice to meet you all. Please call me Phantom on the field. Um, are you the team leader?" He asks Damian as the three youngest boys lead him further into the watch tower.

Constantine watches them go with the brightest smile he's ever seen on the man's face. He looks back to the group, who were barely starting to pick their jaws off the floor and makes a shooing motion with his hand. "You lot are dismissed."

Then the man vanishes in a green portal.

There is a ringing silence until Barts blurts out. "I'm pretty sure this is where the Phantom Fan Club first formed. A historical moment."

Tim wants to take a nap.

( Part 1 )

[elexuscal]

Something about the current James Somerton discourse i think is missing when people say: "Why didn't people notice he was a bigot?"

is that he was plagarizing from non-bigoted creators.

i'd watched a handful of his videos. I'd noticed a couple comments that made me raise an eyebrow, and I even wrote a post here on tumblr about how much I viscerally disagreed about his comment about "all the interesting gays died of AIDS". (though i left Somerton's name out of that at the time, wanting to take him in good faith... ugh.)

It's obvious now, in retrospect. When you take away all the things he didn't write, what you're left with is just an ugly dust pile of misogyny, Euro-centerism, transphobia, and acephobia.

But before? When you didn't realise that like 80% of what he said he'd stolen? It was masked by all "his" genuinely thoughtful commentary. If someone makes 7 insightful takes, and then one (1) bad one, you're more likely to think, "that's a mostly reasonable person who holds some things I disagree with".

I'm hardly the first to say it, but the point of Hbomberguy's video is not, "Somerton was a uniquely awful person and everyone who watched his content were idiots for not noticing".

It's:

a) the YouTube algorithm (and online algorithms in general) promote low-quality content farm content over well-researched pieces that take longer to make

b) if something a creator says seems fishy, be willing to dig into it more and double-check

c) Look out for the hallmark signs of plagiarism and corner-cutting in general, like lack of attributions or content being churned out at an unbelievably high rate.

Somerton was a charismatic guy who used his status as a gay man as a shield and took full advantage of our social brains' tendency towards parasocial relationship, while actively tricking his audience by stealing other peoples' words. Don't blame his audience for falling for it. Learn from it.

[666soulz]

rapper!connie first run in with fashionvlogger!reader was…interesting. you answered a question from a fan on twitter who asked if you could style one rapper who would it be? you replied saying, ‘connie springer, his music don’t match his style. he dressing like a regular hood nigga when he should be dressing like a bad bitch with a dark lair. pisses me off.’

eren snorted when he seen the tweet and sent it to connie. at first he was a little offended and was about to clean you right on up, but when he saw the comments agreeing??? he had to find out why your opinion mattered so much. so the the first thing he did was tap that instagram link. 550k followers. hmm. he seen that plenty of his celebrity mutuals followed you. 

                           hollowsoul

followed by thegirljt, gunna, liluzivert and others. 

when he tapped on your pinned photo he almost drooled at your beauty, your body, and the outfit you were wearing.  you indeed had that shit on to the T. connie caught himself scrolling through your feed as his anemic ass shook ice into his mouth. you sure did have a love for all black outfits. 

he taps on that message button and types in two words. ‘style me’ 

your phone lights up as you stir around the meat in the pan. you put your glass of wine down to pick up your phone. 

instagram 

new message 

you tap on the notification and it takes you to the dm. you didn’t really have a shocked reaction, but you were surprised that he even bothered to to dm you. connie was semi private. he has moments where he’s very active on social media then he becomes a ghost. 

‘sure long as your okay with me vlogging’

connie puts his cup of ice down beside his feet warning his dog, Choppo, to not touch before replying to you. 

‘i don’t mind. you free on friday?’

   ‘i am’

ight let’s meet at the outlet mall on Lafayette @ 1 then. you mind if me, my friends, and security come?

 okay sounds good and i don’t mind at all.  see you on friday x

trust me you were less boring in person. connie was lacking in first impression as he was late to you guys shopping date. 

you didn’t mind though, you were right in dior trying on sunglasses. “how these look y’all?” you ask your camera. “i don’t know they’re kinda cunt..” you say looking in the small mirror. you didn’t even notice connie and his crew walking in and walking towards you. 

“i like them.”

you look behind you, seeing connie and his friends. connie took you in while you were distracted and you were better in person. you were in an all black outfit, of course, and you looked fucking beautiful. 

“they’re cute right?” you smile looking up at the 6’1 FINE ass dominican man. one thing that  also irritated you about connie’s style is that it doesn’t emphasize his face. connie face card was something different. He had beautiful features, hazel eyes, low lids, some pretty plump lips, and he was pulling off a buzz cut like david beckham in the 2000’s. not many people can do that. 

“yeah, sorry I was late. had to drop my sister off to her dance practice.” connie says you wave him off, “oh I'm not worried about it. it gave me time to think of what stores i want to go to.” you say taking your glasses off. “hey it’s nice to meet y’all,” you said looking at the two men behind connie. eren and ony. they weren’t a group but they put out some collab albums. those albums were heat, and was always playing when you were working out or cleaning. 

“we’re starting here by the way. can’t go wrong with dior. do you have a favorite fashion brand or designer?” you ask connie as you walked over to the men’s section. 

“uhm nike?”

“nike..? you know what i’m just..i’m just going to pretend you didn’t say that.“ you say shaking your head in disappointment. ony was laughing to himself in the background cause he could hear it in your voice. 

“what’s wrong with nike?” connie smiles as you picked up a dior sweater. “well first off all nike is a sports brand i’m talking about a fashion brand like rick owens, true religion, moschino. 

“what’s a moschino?” connie scrunches his face and he was dead serious. 

“do you know who jeremy scott is? law roach?”

“are these random white people?”

you looked at connie like he was a little lost baby, pouting your glossy lips. “aw you are so cute.” you pinch his cheek. “this is my favorite part. teaching you the ins and out of fashion.” you smile pushing an outfit into his chest. “go try this on.”

connie found out that you were a bossy little thing. if he didn’t like something, “oh well too bad you’re getting it anyways.” ony and eren enjoyed seeing him get bossed around as he was usually the demanding one in the studio. you had fun telling connie stuff about fashion and how to put together a good outfit. 

connie left that outlet with a new wardrobe, friend, and crush. a very big crush that his friends noticed. the way connie blushed like some nerdy school boy every time you’d hype him up. you noticed as well and found it absolutely adorable. 

“do that lil pose that you do. period!” 

you enjoyed Connie's presence. He was a mix between laidback and hyper. like when he got comfortable around you, he got to cracking jokes. even joking you. picking up some ugly ass cowgirl boots and saying, “this looks like something you’d like.” and you’d just give him a little playful glare telling him to not play with you. 

you left Connie with a homework assignment. learn how to use pinterest and make a pinterest board. 

[cherryheairt]

Dragon Dreamer pt. V

sorry for the wait, I'm trying to do a mix of longer and shorter chaps depending on how much time I have. Love yall 🩷

tags- @beebeechaos @hueanhdang @emery-aka-emmy @r-3dlips @watermel0nsugarhigh @delaynew

cw- blood, death

"I'll find her." Cregan promised the she-dragon, not stopping to wonder if it understood his common tongue.

He sat upon Red's saddle, looking out into the dim forest. He prayed of the old Gods that she was only lost.

🗡

Daenys had yet to find her mysterious calling. It wasn't a voice or a message, but a persistent tug in the forefront of her unconscious mind. The snow seemed to fall harder the deeper she continued into the forest. She was unsure which way she had come from, but knew it didn't matter now.

White fortresses of snow grew all around her, trapping her from going any other direction. Squinting, she could barely make out a few feet in front of her face. This must be some cruel game the gods were playing, toying with the Princess before leading her to her doom. Perhaps a frozen lake would be fitting. She wouldn't even know that she was standing in the middle of one until she was frozen in the icy depths.

Or mayhaps a cliff so monstrous that the jagged edges left nothing of her mortal body left behind. Whatever it was, Daenys just wished she would reach it already. Now that she was wide-awake, the cold was getting to her, mentally and physically. Even the well-suited fur dress was not enough to keep her alive forever. She needed fire, warmth.

And what of her most recent vision? Tame in nature, but harrowing to her poor heart nonetheless. Daenys had never seen Rhaenyra so undignified before, flying on Syrax in a dirty, worn dress and covered in soot and sand. Her hair was in a loose braid, clearly one meant for sleep and not council duties. She was searching for something that no one else could find. A dragon, perhaps? Maybe Seasmoke had become active again after his depressive state from Laenor's passing. The grey dragon had always liked Rhaenyra. The married couple often rode their dragons together to spend time away from King's Landing. Daenys was sure it would obey her still.

But that look on her face. The same one she wore after returning from her birthing room, without baby Visenya in her arms. Puffy face, red eyes, downtrodded posture unbefitting of the new Queen. It was all the same in her dream, maybe even worse. Daenys was glad that her mother was with Syrax, for the she dragon would keep her safe no matter what.

She smiled slightly at the remembrance of Syrax, the princess dragoness. Though Morningstar was not born from Syrax's clutch, the two had bonded as if they were truly kin. Daenys had even commissioned an iron star-shaped chain to be the dragonsaddle's chestpiece. Rhaenyra had given Syrax a similar heart-shaped chestpiece in her youth and was happy to see the white dragon doning a matching article.

Daenys suddenly felt a pang in her heart, clutching the star necklace hanging at her neck. Guilty ate at her for leaving her loyal dragon behind. She missed her warmth.

She missed Cregan's, too.

She longed for either's protective embrace in this desolate wood.

"Find me," she whispered to the nothingness. The air seemed to still, freezing Daenys in place. She listened for something, anything. She no longer felt the incessant tug. Her mind cleared.

A crunch of snow was her answer.

But Daenys hadn't moved an inch.

"Cregan?" She asked, louder. "Are you here?"

No answer but the one in the wind, like a solemn wolf's howl.

Another crunch. Another step. Cregan would've answered her by now, surely. He was not one for callous pranks or jests. Daenys wasn't alone anymore. Was this the destination? Her mind's call? Would it be a wise seer, or a vessel sent by the gods to deliver a message? Swallowing, she hoped that the entity was merciful.

A low growl answered her desperate wishes.

A wolf.

Not Dusk.

Shit.

Daenys stilled her breaths, bracing her legs into the snow. What does a weaponless person do in the face of a predator? She'd never been taught such survival methods. The Red Keep's wildlife consisted of garden rabbits and squirrels, and Dragonstone had naught but sea creatures and crabs at its disposal.

Her eyes caught the slow movement of the creatures paw, striking dread straight into her heart. The form was smaller than Dusk, by a lot. Direwolves had a size no natural animal compared to. But this one seemed smaller than an average wolf, too. Perhaps a wolf in its teen years, just recently leaving its pack to stake his place in the world.

It was a slim thing, thick coat not enough to hide its ribs. Poor thing. It was starving, clearly. Daenys would have the heart to help it if only she wasn't the current prey he had in mind.

It was survival of the fittest in this world, after all. A dragon and a wolf. Any person with common sense would declare the dragon the victor before the fight could even start. But what was the blood of the dragon without the dragon? Daenys began to wonder if there was anything special about the Targaryens besides their dragons. They gained no special traits. No endurance, strength, speed. Without Morningstar, was Daenys worthy of her namesake? Lightbringer, the realm lovingly called the beast. Fearsome and powerful, a shame that the dragon will never be given glory like other dragons of history.

The dragon wouldn't be winning wars, protecting Westeros, or even stationed at a House to guard. All because of the rider she was bestowed.

A wolf does not care for blood.

They stared at each other, neither blinking nor moving.

Run or fight.

Run or fight?

Her only two options, and both would lead to her death. It wasn't nearly as merciful and quick as a frozen lake or a jagged cliff would be. No, she would be torn apart kicking and screaming.

If she charged it, would it run or have the courage to meet her head on? No, it would not back down. A starving dog hunts best. A starving wolf cannot risk failure.

What would Rhaenyra do? What would Daemon do?

Rhaenyra might stand her ground, ever the Dragon Queen she was. Mighty and proud, though she wielded no sword or plated armor.

Daemon wouldn't hesitate, drawing Dark Sister from its sheathe, beheading the wolf with a triumphant laugh.

Daenys was neither her mother nor her step-father, though she wished futility to be an image of them.

Cregan? Perhaps he would tame yet another wolf, seeing as he clearly had an affinity.

What would a northerner like Cregan Stark do in the face of a wild wolf? Unarmed, unshielded. Pray? Take the death as the will of the Gods? Maybe.

Daenys Velayron was far from a northerner. Fire and blood hot through her veins, not ice or faith. The way of the dragon was to be unchained, forever standing tall above the realm.

Though, wild animals have no reason to care for heritage or blood. The meat on her bones was all it could see.

A wolf does not care for blood.

Daenys exhaled, long and slow. Run or fight. Fighting a starved wolf meant death, instantly. Running gave her a chance at finding a tree or rock to climb–anything to get her a vantage point.

The choice was clear.

She just needed to act.

To turn your back on a predator was to sign your own life away.

Daenys, ever so slow, unbuckled her fur coat from her shoulders. The grey wolf eyed it, snarling. Its yellow eyes grew brighter, like two harvest moons shining against the fallen snow.

Daenys mustered up all the courage she could manage, heart pounding, throwing the fur coat across the distance to the wolf. Immediately, it took it in its maw and ripped its head back and forth wildly. If it were a hot-blooded prey, the coat would be dead with blood spattered all over the snow.

Daenys ran, wasting no time watching the display.

She hoped to blind it temporarily, but it catching the furs was a better outcome than missing entirely.

She panted, adrenaline coursing through her to give warmth and strength to her limbs. They burned with the sudden exertion. Daenys could hear the wolf throwing the fur away, not being able to gather any sustenance from the useless garb.

It barked frustratedly at her disappearance from his sight, quickly giving chase to the girl.

Daenys could only hear her heart beat out of her chest and the sounds of the snarling chasing her, closer every second. Her eyes flew around wildly, hoping to spot a low-hanging but sturdy branch. Kind of difficult when running at full speed. Screeching at a bite nipping at her heels, she jumped to the nearest branch she could reach, not having any time left to search. Daenys managed to pull half of her body over it before the wolf's teeth were on her skirts, tugging violently.

She cried out as she hit the cold floor, winded from the wall. The wolf planted itself over her, leaving no room for escape, nipping at her face. Her arm instinctively flew to protect her throat and face, resulting in the wolf's jaw clamping right down on her forearm. She screamed in agony, flames of pain running through her arm. She kicked at its flank while it snarled deep and heavily, salivating through her arm. The blood and saliva from her arm dripped down hot streaks to her face, blinding her.

When the wolf let go of her arm, bracing to go for more vital parts of her to end her squirming, Daenys accepted her fate. The kicks had done nothing. It hadn't moved an inch nor showed signs of pain. At least her death wouldn't be completely useless. The wolf would be fed, for perhaps a few weeks until it could find another easy prey.

Above her, the yellow eyes were lit with hungry and drive.

Daenys closed her eyes tight, hoping for the end to be swift.

But, she did not feel the jaws of death.

She felt the hot sting of blood being poored onto her exposed skin. She shot up, feeling the head of the wolf fall onto her chest. In a horrific pool of blood and bone, the wolf's head went to her lap as she sat up. Daenys froze, chest heaving with panicked breaths. She wanted to toss the head off of her, throw up, and cry all at once. But she was frozen with shock.

"Is that you, Princess?"

That was not Cregan.

Daenys lifted her gaze from the head to the voice. A man, tall and sharply built, dressed in all black. Perhaps close to Daemon's age, with a salt-and-peppered black beard and hair.

She could only stare at him, eyes wide with terror and adrenaline leaving her body. The pain in her arm was flaring, only growing as it bled onto the snow. It could hardlt be called snow anymore, the radious around Daenys was pure blood red, including herself. Her hair was dyed red, too, sullying into her usually perfect white. She was sure she would never feel clean again, that the hot blood would remain on her forever.

"My lady, focus on me." His words were stern as he knelt to meet the Princess, a hand on her face.

She listened, looking into his crystaline blue eyes. A northerner, he must be, born and raised. "...Ser?" She whispered, hoarse.

He nodded, focusing her face to his and not letting her gaze drift. "Where are you, Princess?"

The question startled her from despondency, confused. "Where am I? The North?" She asked.

He chuckled at her bemusement. "Aye, lass. Very good. What's your name?"

She felt annoyed suddenly, this man was asking very stupid and obvious questions. He called her Princess, he must know the answer. "Daenys Velayron. Who are you?"

"The man who saved your life. You're very welcome, by the way." He smirked crookedly, chortling when she only narrowed her eyes.

"Seamus Knott, at your service, My Lady. I am sworn to the Wall, though, so I am no Ser." He bowed dramatically, though his bitter smile showed his discontent with his position. Perhaps he was sent to the wall in a way he deemed unjustified. Whatever the reason was, Daenys did not want to be alone with him for long. The Night's Watch was loyal to the crown in respect only. She was content to visit, but only because Cregan would be there to look after her. Theives and rapers were a majority of the Watch, Daenys did not want to take any chances with them.

"Why are you so far from the wall, Seamus?" Daenys asked him, still sitting lamely in her spot.

He raised a brow, "why are you so far from your protector?"

She bristled, curling in on herself protectively. Had he been following them? For how long?

Seeing her demeanor shift, Seamus raised his hands in a show of surrender. "Not like that, your highness. I was simply speculating. A princess so far in the North hasnt happened in a century. You are news to us all. At Castle Black, we were informed that you would be arriving with Lord Stark soon."

It did make sense. Though, only three days had passed since they left–

"Step away from the Princess." A voice growled behind the Knott man. Daenys perked up at the sound, the familiar tone putting her heart and mind finally at ease. Ice was held straight to the back of his neck, a perfect extension of the Lord's arm.

Cregan stood tall and firm with his expression almost unreadable. Would he be angry with her for her recklessness, send her back to Dragonstone? Or perhaps he was more angry with the Night's Watch for spilling private information to all the residents.

"Cregan!" She gasped, trying to stand to her feet but was stopped by a wave of vertigo. Her feet were like water, unable to hold up any weight. She held her head with her uninjured hand, cradling the pain.

Cregan glanced at her briefly, brow furrowing at the state of her, before he stepped closer to Seamus. The tip was a mere inch away from the man's stubbled neck, though the older man paid it no mind. Grinning, "I saved the poor maiden, she'd be dead by now if I 'aden't. Where were you, Stark?"

Cregan's jaw ticked, "How did you find her? We're too far from any houses for this to be considered a mere coincidence." Clearly, he was ignoring the man's words. Probably because he was right. The blood had long cooled in on top of her, leaving the liquid to intensify her shivering.

Seamus looked down at him over his narrow nose, arrogantly sizing the lord up. His blood-covered steel sword was still at his side, clenched around a gloved fist. "I have been summoned weeks ago to head the beckoning of Lord Tully. I received a raven from Castle Black's Commander only a few days ago, informing me of the Warden escorting the Princess to the Wall. I merely wished to ensure our Princess' safety."

Cregan was unmoved. "I can handle that perfectly well. She is under my protection, my watch."

"Your watch hasn't even begun, Stark. You have no idea what it means to serve the wall. Sitting pretty in Winterfell while we work thanklessly for our keep." Seamus sneered, nasty expression twisting his uncomely features.

"Who's fault is that, Knott?" Cregan bit back. Daenys was left confused at their familiarity. Did they know each other?

Seamus' grip on his sword tightened, the leathery squeeze ringing in Daenys' ears unpleasantly. Her ears rang harshly, blood rushing to her head and drowning other sounds out. About to vomit her rabbit up or faint, she did not know. Dusk, who had been loyally by Cregan's legs, now moved to Daenys' side at the flick of his owner's wrist. She placed an unsteady hand on his brown shoulder, allowing him to take her weight as she leaned into his warmth. He wasn't quite as comforting as Cregan had been, but the relief was nice.

Dusk huffed into her ear, though he still stared up at Seamus the whole time. When Daenys fell asleep, the sound of steel sheathing filled her muffled ears.

🗡

She awoke to a weight over her body, bundled like a blanket. The strong scent of iron and wood filled her nose and surrounded her entirely. She opened her eyes to see Cregan at her side, under the cover of a tent. Looking around, she spotted none of her belongings. His tent. He crouched on his knee, tenderly wiping at her wound with a wet cloth. While he was deep in concentration, his brows knit together tightly, a frown dragging his handsome face down.

"Cregan?" He lifted his head to face her, turning his attention from her arm.

He smiled tightly at her, clearly still bothered by something. "My Lady, I'm glad to see you awake." Cregan told her earnestly.

Daenys sat up with his help, allowing his arm to linger at her back. "What happened to Seamus?"

Clenching his teeth, Cregan fought the urge to roll his eyes childishly. "Outside. Dusk is watching over him. I had to tend to you before I deal with him."

She kissed her teeth when she felt the sting of her arm come back. The wound was clean, though deep and raised. It would scar her for the rest of her life, a painful reminder of her dreadful night.

Cregan, noticing her downturned face, lifted her chin to look up at him instead. "It is a warrior's scar, Princess. We have that in common." He smiled more genuinely now as he lifted his sleeve to reveal his bicep, raised slightly with an old white scar, one that mirrored hers.

"Dusk bit you?" She gasped, brushing her fingertips over the scar. Gingerly, as if she thought it would still hurt him.

He chuckled fondly, watching her eyes rack over the scar. "When we first met. I was six and ten when I first became Lord of Winterfell. I was forced to imprison my uncle and his sons that day to take my place. I left for a solo hunt to be alone for a while.

He found me first. The size of a normal young wolf. We were hunting the same dear when I shot it down first. Dusk didn't take to kindly to that," He gestured to the teeth marks. "But I won that fight, gave him a scar to match. He's stayed by my side ever since." Cregan left out the part where he discovered his soul bonded to Dusk's, due to him being able to warg.

Daenys smiled, moving her hand away from his arm. "I'm glad I didn't have to fight Morningstar to get her to obey me." She laughed. Cregan laughed along, white teeth glinting in the light.

Cregan survived a direwolf attack all on his own when he was but a young man. Daenys would have died without assistance against her attacker when she was a woman grown. Clenching her jaw, she started, "I'm sorry for leaving last night. I...wish I could tell you my reasoning, but I don't know myself."

He took her face in his hand, inspecting it long and hard. Her violet eyes were half-lidded, a sign of her exhaustion. They still shined brightly in the day's light like they always did. Two perfect amethysts looking straight at him.

"You did nothing wrong, sweet girl." Cregan's thumb brushed the apple of her cheek, rubbing at the clear skin. She now noticed the feeling of the sticky blood was gone almost entirely, except from her dress. He had washed it all off of her in her unconsciousness. "You couldn't stop it, could you?"

Like he knew everything, Cregan seemed to hold all the wisdom in the world. Perhaps that was the result of being a Lord at six and ten. "I stopped walking when the wolf came." Daenys nodded.

He kept his hand in its place while he took a moment to think. "I should've been there, It's my duty to keep you safe, and I failed. Seamus is right, the creatin he is. If he hadn't come first, you wouldn't have come home to the Queen."

She smiled crookedly, telling him she was not upset. "From now on, I must insist." He focused entirely on her, making her face feel hot from the intensity. "You be with me at all times. In my tent, hunting with me, Hells, even on horseback with me if that's what it takes to keep you safe."

"I do not wish to be your burden, My Lord."

"I wish it," He shook his head, a secret pang in his heart that she hadn't called him by his name again.

"Even while you hunt? I am not quite as stealthy as you, I would just scare everything away."

"I will teach you." Cregan said firmly, leaving no further room for arguments. "We will stay in larger clearings from now on, even if it means walking greater distances. I want Morningstar to be with us as we sleep. I do not trust Knott."

"Speaking of," she started, tentatively. "How do you know him?"

He sighed deeply, reaching into his satchel bag to grab a roll of bandage. While he worked on wrapping her arm, he spoke. "My father and him grew up together. His brother, the Knott heir, warded with my father for some time to learn his Lordly duties. Seamus just tagged along because his father wished to be rid of him. He was a jealous, spiteful person even as a boy. When their father passed, he left everything to his rightful heir Kent.

Seamus killed him when he had not even been Lord for a year. He was sent to the Night's Watch by my father, a worse punishment than death for a man who only cares for titles and power. In the Watch, all brothers are equal."

"I do not want to kill him because he saved your life. I also do not want him anywhere near you." Cregan grit his teeth, frustrated at his torn opinions. He owed the man what he asked of, which was simply to accompany Cregan and Daenys to the Wall. Cregan cursed himself for his own honor, the Lord of Winterfell always kept his word.

"I promise, if he does anything, anything, to make you uncomfortable, I will take care of him." Cregan told her, earning a short nod from the Princess.

He stood, bandage firmly in place, helping her up with a sturdy hand. "Change your dress and wash up, then I will bring you hunting." It was too early to allow her to sleep, he wanted her to sleep tonight so that they may only travel during the day. They had completely lost this day thanks for the circumstances, and he wanted to spend the remaining time doing something useful. Also, he wanted to keep his mind of maiming Seamus where he stood.

While Daenys changed, she grimaced at the sight of blood that had made it way further down her dress. The garment was not fixable without a miracle, so she left it outside of the tent for Dusk to use as a temporary bed. Less weight for Mylo to carry, she supposed. Daenys scrubbed the dried blood from her neck and chest, not yet able to clean out her hair. That would take running water, not a damp cloth.

Stepping outside, she doned a new white dress, lined with grey fur. The sight of grey reminded her of the young wolf, filling her heart with guilt. She hoped he hadn't felt fear or pain in his quick end. She was met with Seamus, standing a few yards away from her tent. He wore a wild and proud grin, baring his teeth to her.

"Princess! You're awake, how delightful." She nodded her greeting stiffly. "I have a gift for you to take home, a proper warrior's trophy for the Queen." He presented the wolf's head from a bag attached to his belt, its yellow eyes still wide open, but holding none of its previous hunger. Daenys gasped in horror, bringing a hand to her neck. Cregan, who'd been waiting near the edge of camp for her, strided forward.

"Is this a cruel joke on your Princess, Knott?" He began, hand hovering over Ice. Before Seamus or Cregan could begin to argue again, Daenys rushed forward to take the pup's head in her hands. Both men stared at her in surprise.

Without saying a word, though she had many specific words for the brute, she gently held the wolf's severed head as she brought it to Morningstar, who had been laying in the edge of the clearing. She looked grumpy already, perhaps because of the direwolve's irritating presence, but purred when she saw Daenys finally coming to her. Daenys sat the head gently in front of the dragon's head, "Daor havor."

"Dracarys." Daenys commanded the mighty dragon, stepping back many paces. The three people, and the curious direwolf, watched on as the dragon scorched the head until it was naught but ash. The snow around the head had melted to reveal black burnt ground. Silence filled the campground. Daenys bowed her head, whispering to herself. "Kostagon aōha iemny sagon forever lēda sir"

She turned to look up at Seamus, who had a strange look on his face. "That was a cruel thing to do, ser. Not to me, but to the poor animal who lost it's life to starvation."

Seamus clenched his jaw at the scorning, never having been told off by a girl, much less a younger one. "Aye, Princess." Was all he said, trodding off to sulk in his own small tent.

Daenys looked to Cregan, who smiled softly at her. "That was kind of you, my Lady."

She thanked him, "could we find a river before our hunt? I wish to rid my hair of this blood before it becomes permanently red."

He laughed jovially, agreeing. "I do not think red hair would fit you. White is your color." He gestured towards her dress, then to her dragon, making her grin warmly.

🗡

Cregan led her to the nearest water source he could find, merely a small stream, but it would work just fine. Politely, Cregan turned away, although she wasn't taking any garments off. She snickered to herself at his chivalrous attitude, refusing to watch a lady wash her own hair. It took a lot of scrubbing and numb fingers before she was finally content, seeing no more red wash out.

"How does this look?" She asked the man behind her, who turned to inspect her. Wet hair still dripping onto her furs, she looked as lovely and youthful as ever. Her hair seemed longer, curls not yet bunching it up. "Beautiful, my Lady." He offered her a hand. Daenys hoped that her cheeks were not visibly red at the simple compliment as she was lifted by Cregan.

He smiled that secretive grin once again, walking ahead of her. "We will set a snare up first. Then, I'll teach you how to make a kill."

Daenys swallowed harshly. The last thing she wanted to do was kill another animal. She knew it was necessary, though. The Gods would not be spiteful for Daenys filling her stomach.

She followed Cregan into the denser part of the woods, carefully stepping in every place he did. After a while of her silence, he glanced behind himself with a concerned look, only to stifle a laugh at her delicate tiptoeing. He shook his head good-naturedly, grateful that she was trying.

Daenys watched him carefully set up a snare with the coil of metal wire in his pocket. They both crouched over it, leaving it in by a rabbithole before moving on to set another. This time, Cregan gently instructed her to do her own. It took a while, almost thrice the time he took, but he never got impaitient with her. Finally, she set the wire to the sticks coming out of the snow, triumphantly looking to Cregan for approval. "You're a natural born hunter, Princess." He declared, watching her smile with pride.

The two sat far from their many snares for hours, sitting against a sturdy pine. No words were needed as they kept a comfortable silence between them, Daenys finding herself struggling to stay awake with the peaceful atmosphere. Cregan glanced to her from her side, placing a hand over hers. He traced symbols, cracked joints, and tapped their fingers together rhymically to a pattern she followed by doing the same back to him. The focus kept her awake, her mind on the new task.

As the sun was near setting, Cregan led her to his snares first, picking up two rabbits and his wires. He whispered Northern words of respect for the animal before swiftly stabbing it in the heart. They inspected Daenys' next, finding one rabbit struggling in it. She hesitated to step forward, only urged on by Cregan. "Here," he handed her his dagger, a fine piece of steel that had a direwolf's head placed on the pommel. She kneeled next to the rabbit, thanking it quietly for its sacrifice. She took a deep breath it, releasing it as she stabbed into the white chest. Daenys paused a moment, grimacing. Blood stained her leather gloves, another reminder of the wolf. He would haunt her forever, it seemed. She clutched the rabbit gently in her arms, holding it like she held baby Aegon and Viserys. Cregan fondly smiled at her. "You did well, Princess." They collected the wire, walking back to the campsite. After wiping the dagger off with a kerchief, she handed it back to him.

Cregan gently pushed it to her chest, shaking his head. "Keep that one on you. So I know you're safe, even if we're apart."

Daenys, awestruck, nodding slowly. This was her first gift from a person that wasn't her kin and not a new dress or piece of jewelry. "I will keep it safe." She grinned up at him, earning a hearty chuckle.

They burned one of the rabbits over the fire, sharing it amongst themselves. It seemed like Dusk had gone on his own hunt, gnawing on the leftover bones of his dinner. While Daenys and Cregan settled into his tent for bed, she felt too tired to be nervous. His comforting scent surrounded her like a blanket, his warmth radiating throughout the tent. He slept without the furs of his cloak, a wonder that Daenys was curious about. Did he run so hot that the chill of night didn't bother him, only needing one fur blanket?

Shaking the thoughts from her mind, Daenys snuggled into the furs he had given her for her own tent, almost grumbling at their lack of distinct scent. The two fell asleep side by side, the purrs of Morningstar soothing them to sleep.

Daor havor - not food

a wolf does not care for blood

Kostagon aōha iemny sagon forever lēda sir - may your stomach be forever full now

beheadings have become a trend in westeros, i see. i just remembered robb's direwolf and how he was grey.

did you catch that double meaning lol

also rip grey wolf, you would have loved being housed and fed in Winterfell by Cregan

I'm thinking that Morningstar is the child of Silverwing and Vermithor since they're a mated pair. We don't know if they produce asexually or not, so idk. Definitely Silverwing's baby though, since she's the only white dragon alive, but when I imagine Morningstar I see a white smaller version of Vermithor, I adore his horn and face design.

Who knows, the dragons seemed to be random colors. Arrax is white and Vermax is green, even though Syrax is yellow and theres no male whites or greens

[canmom]

"don't post links to pirate sites" as a security through obscurity strategy seems... weak. if a pirate site is so obscure that almost nobody can find it, it's also essentially pointless.

but yes, if a pirate site is common knowledge, the feds will be working on destroying it. so the idea is i assume to achieve an intermediate level of obscurity, where you have to have a certain amount of talent for asking the right people or searching the right things to find it. but... whatever capacity for research you are asking people to have on that front, the feds are equally capable of it, and they have a whole lot more time on their hands for tracking down pirate sites! security through obscurity is a losing game for piracy. the perfect sweet spot where people can find your pirate resource but the feds cannot is something of a mirage.

if not that, than what?

the current piracy system involves a few different tiers of accessibility, and various components that are more or less decentralised.

torrents are the most resilient tech because to stamp out a torrent (with DHT enabled) you have to suppress every seed. so, you have big public torrent trackers like TPB; these are well known and rely on hopping domains and redundancy for security. the ratio of seeds to leeches tends to be low, but the number of users is large enough that there will be at least a few seeds out there for most stuff. torrent clients have gotten a lot better at seeding strategies that take into account your seed ratio and what's currently available in the swarm, so if you just leave everything on seed and open your torrent client fairly often (use a VPN though lol), you don't really need to think about it.

then you have private trackers; these operate on an invite basis. the problem with this is that when the pool of users is so small, the odds of a given seed being online are also small. to prevent torrents dying, they gamify it: you get points for seeding and if you don't have enough points you can't download anything until you seed more. to help people get back in the game there will be 'freeleech' events. being active on a private tracker takes a bit of work.

and of course you have to get in in the first place, which tends to require a proven track record of seeding on other private trackers, and some kind of interview with the operators. getting involved in private trackers is a much bigger ask, you have to figure out where to get your foot in the door, and work your way up to the more insular trackers. it's like a mini subculture. it's valuable, but not scalable.

at the top level of inaccessibility is the warez scene. this is a whole subject that i'm not even gonna get into, go read wikipedia. historically this is where the files actually come from, before getting distributed on public trackers, usenet etc. but good luck getting in there lmao, they are understandably quite paranoid.

of course, for stuff to get on pirate sites you need somebody to go the effort of ripping and encoding it. this is where a major point of failure exists. when RarBG went down recently, the biggest loss was not the existing archive of torrent links, which can be backed up - it was that they were very active at converting scene releases into torrents with a decent balance of file size and quality, which then filter out into the various public trackers. that is much harder to replace! but what killed RarBG wasn't even suppression by authorities - according to their statement, it was a bunch of the admins getting covid or dying or fighting in the Russia-Ukraine war, which made the whole operation impossible to continue. so despite the thousands of people who download RarBG torrents, this single point of failure was overstressed and broke.

as far as the ethics of spreading links to pirate sites go... if it's something like a mega drive, yeah, the chances of a takedown are pretty high if it gets noticed! no question. but those things are by nature short-lived; if you want to use that for archival you're building on sand. there's also databases like emuparadise, but there was no saving that through obscurity, it just took Nintendo a minute to bring the case.

in this kind of centralised case, the clock is ticking from day 1. what we want is to maximise the number of people who are able to save copies while it's up, and then some of those people can put it up again somewhere else and keep the authorities playing whack-a-mole. (for a small collection of files, a sensible measure would be to make a torrent and a mega drive side by side, so that people can download the mega drive and then add the torrent to their client to seed if it gets nuked.)

as for torrent sites, the thing is that torrents rely for effectiveness on a swarm that is either very large or very responsible about seeding. if it's a public tracker, it has to be well known or it's pointless. instead of security through obscurity, the form of security for these sites is try to make the resource itself hard to take down - operating the tracker/archive in countries that don't have copyright treaties, maintaining mirrors, and of course distributing as many seeds as possible so the torrent can stay alive even if the site goes down.

the major problem with a dead torrent site is discoverability. if it's harder to find the torrent, fewer people will download it, the existing seeds will gradually go offline, and of course you can't download a torrent that you don't know exists. and while you could imagine a system of broadcasting metadata about a torrent (title, encoding etc.) in a DHT-like way but that would be so vulnerable to fakes and spam. maybe some kind of cryptographically signed 'this torrent is good' declaration is possible? I know certain torrent clients tout discovery features, but honestly I don't know how well they work. I'm sure there are projects that are way ahead of the game than me on this question.

but yeah anyway trying to browbeat people into not sharing links to pirate media is 1. futile, by the time you see it the cat is out of the bag 2. not a sustainable strategy for security. if you wanna lecture people, 'use a VPN and seed your torrents' is evergreen ;p

[rationaliity]

blade, ratio, gallagher, sampo, welt yang, and nanook with a shorter s/o

yeah !!! i'm trying something new-ish !! its all mostly fluffy, gallagher's is slightly suggestive and so is welt's. keep in mind of course that they'll all love you regardless and theyre just giants, so you could be like damn near six foot and still be shorter than them. this aint just for 5'0 people ( although it was written by a shortie so,,, yeah ) GENDER NEUTRAL READER !!!

BLADE —

oh you're shorter than him ?

honestly he doesn't even notice half of the time

it's not like he's always searching for someone who's shorter than him so he can take care of them or whatever

it was just life that you were shorter than him and he wasn't really one to make a fuss about anything

but that doesn't mean that he's absolutely immune to your charms, in any case

sometimes he sees that you're struggling with something and that he can help you

other times he finds you to be rather useful yourself

especially when trying to hide when out on a mission, he finds that your height allows you to be a little bit more conspicuous than him

something that he doesn't necessarily mention, but you've come to expect it at this point

if you're out on a mission together, you can best believe that you're the one sneaking into wherever you are while blade is laid low behind you ready to strike if you failed

he'll always always always praise you for your efforts and your abilities to hide in plain sight from others

not necessarily your height, but just your skills in general

sometimes if you have the time to be a little slow with how you moved about, he'd pull you closer and give you a little kiss on the top of your head

affection wasn't necessarily his thing, but if you were doing such a good job helping him, who was he to deny you

you were putting your life down on the line for the mission. this was something that he never took for granted, even though he often went in head first without caring because he didn't have to put down his life for elio's path. he was actively going down this path to reach that finality, but you weren't. you forced him to go about missions with more finesse, because he was absolutely terrified of failing you. often, he would be there as a backup, ready to spring in at a moment's notice if you needed him to be there. you were shorter than him, so you were usually tasked with infiltration, just like now. you could clearly see the goal - it was right there in reach. but of course, with many things, there was also guards hanging around the area, protecting the gem and keeping you at arm's length away from it. of course, blade wanted to cut everyone down and just take it by force, but he knew that wasn't how you did things, and that cutting them down would mean that there was a high chance that more guards would come running. and he couldn't bring himself to put you in that kind of danger, so he let you make a plan in your head. he watched as you snuck past the guards, using things that would show his taller, larger form as a perfect hiding spot for yourself. when you snatched the gem right under their noses, and you came back to him, he couldn't stop himself from grinning a little bit. " good job, " blade whispered once you were in a private area together, allowed some time off. " maybe your height helps you out in certain situations. " " yea- hey ! are you calling me short ? " " yes, " he leaned over, pressing a gentle kiss on the top of your head. " but it's cute. you're cute. " you let out a quiet little sigh, but you eventually wrapped your arms around him, feeling the man stiffen up in your arms at the sudden contact, but he soon melted within your touch. " mm. whatever you say, bladie. i just don't think you'd be very good at sneaking around. " he chuckled, sitting his head on the top of your head. " i think you're right about that. "

RATIO —

ratio does not and will not care about your height

your physical attributes were never what attracted him to you in the first place

although you being so attractive definitely helped, but he wouldn't openly admit that unless you held him by gunpoint

he liked the breath of fresh air that you brought into his life

how vibrant and charming you were, effortlessly piercing through his walls with such expertise he almost didn't want to trust it at first

but he still treated you how he treated most people, including scolding you when you did something wrong, and scowling when you suggested something that he didnt want to do

however, there was one thing you could do that made him fold ever single time

the way you looked up at him through your pretty lashes, pouting as you tilted your head up to look at him and whispered your little apology

you just looked so.. cute like that, he can't stop himself from letting out a fake sigh of annoyance before telling you not to do it again and ultimately letting you have your way

there was nothing he could do against you, he had no defenses to protect himself against your pouting

especially when you had to tilt your head so high up just to look at him

if he didn't know better he would be sure that you did this one purpose just to get your way

ratio called your name once from downstairs, and you froze immediately in place, knowing that tone in his voice. he was disappointed in you for something, and you weren't sure what it was, but you were sure that you would get your ear chewed out and that you would get another lecture on your behavior. you debated on whether or not you should just give up easily and listen to him, and resign yourself to listening to his lecture, or you could pretend to be asleep and get out of his disappointment for just a little while, but ratio was not a man who forgot, and you knew that well by now. no matter how much you wanted to run, you knew that you had to own up to what you did. after he called you the second time, you slowly walked downstairs, finding him in the living room, his legs crossed as he read a book, his reading glasses on. " you called me, love ? " you asked nervously, sitting beside him. " are you forgetting something important ? " ratio closed his book, resting his head on his hand that sat on the armchair as he looked at you, his eyes narrowed. you thought a moment, before your eyes widened, and you rushed into the kitchen. you'd completely forgotten that you were baking some cupcakes ! what happened ? you found them already taken out, cooling on top of the oven. " o-oh no, i'm so sorry, ratio- " you apologized profusely. you turned around, just to find him right behind you, his eyes trained on yours. " your little mistake could've ended badly, " ratio shook his head, and you could feel the guilt creeping up into you, knowing that you had messed up, and now you were paying for it. " you're very lucky i had an eye on it. " you pouted, feeling both embarrassed and guilty that you'd forgotten something like this, feeling like you were about to cry, the hot tears welling in your eyes. you looked up at him through your lashes, unsure how to convey your sincere regret. " i'm so sorry, veritas. " ratio stiffened for a moment, looking into your eyes, and he felt his resolve crumble. he couldn't be mad at you when you looked up at him like that. his hand found its way on the side of your cheek, gently caressing the side of your face. " just.. don't do it again, okay ? "

GALLAGHER —

oh man he thinks you're cute

your height was just part of your charm

it wasn't necessarily a make or break thing where you were required to be shorter than him

but he had to admit.. you were absolutely adorable when you wanted something from him

particularly when you wanted to kiss him, and the lengths that you would go to get a kiss from him

( one that he was willing to give you, but he would make you work for it a little first. he's a tease like that )

he'd watch you with his arms crossed as you looked up at him and asked him for a kiss

and when he would say come get it, you would stand up on your tippy toes and try to kiss him

but he would just lean backwards so you couldn't reach him

then you would pout, and your brain would think about all that you could do to get that kiss that you so desperately want from him

sometimes you were silly with it, sometimes you weren't

sometimes you would grab one of the bar stools and use that to add to your height to kiss him

sometimes you would just grab him by his collar and pull him down for a kiss

sometimes you would use your charm to get him to cave and finally give you what you wanted

it really just depended on the day, something that he was always eager to find out

" gallagher, " you called out, approaching him from behind the bar, waving at him excitedly. he looked up at you, his hands busied as he cleaned the rocks glasses, the towel in his hand buffing out any fingerprints on the pristine glasses, making them look just as perfect as penacony itself. you'd come to share some good news with him about your own job, but the way his messy hair was in his face made your heart swell just a little bit, and you smiled, looking up at him through your lashes. he knew exactly what you wanted without you even asking, and all gallagher did was hum in response. " sorry, honey, i'm a lil busy right now, " his gaze flickered from the glass in his hands to you, and then back to the glass. " maybe you'll get a kiss later, yeah ? " you pouted, hoping that you wouldn't have to go through this again, but also secretly rather enjoying this little game that the two of you played. you leaned forward, your hand on his shoulder for support as you tried to kiss him, but he just leaned away from you with a small chuckle escaping his chest. " maybe later, babe. " he shrugged you off, and you just let out a loud sigh. " come on, pleasseee ? " you begged a little, before finally deciding that, fine. he can have it his way. you knew the bar would be closing soon, and that no one would be in, probably. so you just hopped on top of the bar, your hand holding onto his shirt to keep him close, your legs spread slightly so he was as close as possible. " i've got to close the bar, " gallagher tried to half-heartedly tried to reason with you, but his hands were already gripping the bar beneath you, and he was already leaning in for a kiss, his lips grazing over your lips. " you know better than this. " the glasses, you figured, could be cleaned later.

SAMPO —

haha what a loser

imagine being shorter than the great sampo koski

your height is something that he will point out every single chance he gets

ooh he's so much bigger and stronger than you, of course you needed him

it only made sense that you were dating him, he was soooo perfect for you in every way

yeah it helped his ego, and yeah he wasn't going to let it go easily

no matter how much you pouted and complained about his inflated ego and sense of self worth

he would dramatically announce that he was going to do something for you

practically declaring to the world how thankful and loving you should be that he was so benevolent to do these things for you

he's just looking for some praise and a little attention, something that you both knew well

and if you point out how much he just craves your recognition, he'd turn into a sopping wet cat

sampo did the thing for you !! you should say thank you and give him a kiss !!

that's how relationships are supposed to work and he did the thing that he was supposed to do

its only natural that he would want a reward for all of his efforts

even if he spent the last thirty minutes teasing you about your height

" you're just so short, " sampo teased, playfully ruffling your hair as the two of you walked down the streets of belobog while you glanced down at the map in your hands, looking for what you had assumed would be a wild goose chase because sampo said that if you found it, it would make the two of you rich beyond belief. of course, there was a solid chance that it was something that he stole and he was just using this as an excuse to be close to you for a little while. seriously, what are you going to do with him sometimes ? you sighed, shaking your head to shrug off his hand from your head, trying not to get frustrated with him, but he made it so hard sometimes. especially with his nonstop teasing and jokes, like he knew that he was getting on your nerves and yet he continued to do exactly what he was doing regardless. " sampo, are you required to make fun of me every single second of every day ? " " come on, now, doll, i'm not making fun of you ! i'm just pointing out a fact ! you need me, right ? you need me and you can't live without me, and you love me so much. " sampo shot you a cheeky little grin, making your face heat up just a little bit. he was right, but he didn't have to say it like that. " samp- " just as you began to speak, the map you were holding blew out of your hands with a strong gust of wind, flying high up in the air, far too high for you to catch it, even though you did try to reach for it. sampo, however, grabbed the map with ease, oh-so gently place it back into your hands. " see, my point is proven by the winds themselves ! you need me to help you when things fly out of your hands ! " sampo declared victoriously, wrapping his arm around your shoulders, pulling you closer into his side while he walked. you let out an audible sigh, but leaned into him, deciding that he had done well enough. " thank you, sampo. although, we're putting this little treasure hunt on hold, and we're going to grab a snack. i'm hungry, and i have a sneaking suspicion that we aren't going to be rich by the end of the day. "

WELT YANG —

welt does his absolute best not to point out the height difference between the two of you

he knew that sometimes height was a sensitive point so he wouldn't say anything that he thought would bring you discomfort

although, secretly, it's a point of endearment from you

especially when he has to help you out with things, like reaching the top shelf or picking you up a little bit so you could see over a crowd

it made him feel useful and helpful, a feeling that he loved

he liked that you didn't hesitate to ask him when you needed help, no matter what it was

because you were his partner, and he loved you dearly

he'd do anything that you needed him to do, happily

but his absolute favorite thing was when he does things for you without you asking

and then he gets to see your happy face beaming at him while you said thank you

and, as a reward for his kindness, maybe you'll stand up on your tippy toes

and use his shoulders to keep yourself steady as you kiss his cheek

and maybe, just maybe, he'd be able to wrap his arms around you and pull you in for more kisses

what ? he doesn't indulge in himself all too often, he deserves it sometimes, he thinks

the astral express had stopped at a world just for a little while to have a small break. after the events of the last world, you all desperately needed some time to rest and take your minds off of these things. the three trailblazer kids were all out and about, no doubt getting into some trouble no matter how many times someone told them just to enjoy their stays. himeko had left to go ' check up on the coffee shops in town ' as she put it, but you were nearly sure it was just to give you and welt some time to spend together alone, since it very rarely happened. there was almost always someone that you had to take care of within the express, and he always had something else to do, too. not that either one of you minded, since you truly did love everyone on the express. you were up early, making a cake for everyone for when they came back. you knew welt was still in the bedroom, probably just waking up. you had made the cake pretty much on your own, there was just one thing that you needed, that you couldn't find no matter how hard you were looking. you just needed to find some candles to make it look special. who cares if it wasn't a birthday ? you finally found them on the top shelf, and you were almost out of options, about to just climb up on the counters to get it. when welt's body pressed up against yours from behind, his hand on your shoulder as he reached up and grabbed the candles you were wanting. " were you looking for this ? " he asked, handing it to you. " yeah ! thank you, you're the best ever. " despite him just giving them to you, you sat the little package down, leaning against his chest, your hands holding onto his arms. " whatever would i do without you ? " " climb up on the shelf to grab the candles, " welt joked softly, leaning down to bury his face in your shoulder, gently kissing the smooth skin. you laughed softly, turning around in the man's arms to face him, your back pressed against the counter. " mm. yeah, you're right. i could've died. " you stood up on your tippy toes, your arms wrapped around his shoulder as you kissed him gently on his cheek. " thank you, welt. for looking after me. " welt hummed, his hand moving up from your waist to your cheek, tilting your head up so he could press a hungry kiss on your lips. you had a little while until anyone was back home, and you two had an idea how you could spend that time while the cake was baking in the oven.

NANOOK —

to be quite fair,, they're an aeon

everything is going to be shorter than them

you could be the tallest person of your race and you would still be an ant to them as long as they were showing themself as the aeon of destruction

for you, though, it was more often that they had a shorter, more human form

with a little less golden blood dripping down their torso, and a little more legs

unfortunately for you, you were shorter than them in this form, too

who would've guess that they'd be huge even in their human form

they don't really care honestly because they feel like mortals like you should be shorter than them anyways

like a fucked up power play kind of thing

they're a god, you're not. of course you should be shorter than them

they're a very serious being, and its very rare for them to crack any jokes

but they will sometimes use your head as an armrest while just talking normally to another

kinda like they were branding you as theirs ?

after all, who's going to mess with someone who the aeon of destruction is using as their armrest ?

they like how it annoys you, but you won't do anything about it

you'll just sit there and pout while they publicly claim you as theirs

" my liege, " phantylia the undying bowed at the presence of her aeon, a sight that almost no emanators go to see regularly. nanook was always doing something, always at the edge of a solar system ready to reign destruction upon it. to see nanook engaging in anything that wasn't ultimately tearing worlds apart with their bare hands was a rare sight indeed, especially for those who didn't travel the cosmos by their side. you would have to be unfortunate enough to come across them, as phantylia was now. when she picked her head up, she finally took notice of the small human standing next to the aeon, and she flinched for a second, as if she weren't expecting there to be anyone there. " oh- my liege, you have- " " company, yes, " they grumbled out, their large hand gesturing to you, although their words were cold as they regarded you. " do not bother to get acquainted. " phantylia nodded, immediately assuming that you were going to be killed by nanook, or they were forcing you to watch as they burned your home world. perhaps, even, forcing you to hold the lighter as they did so. she almost felt bad for you. almost. she wondered if she would be able to toy with you, too. surely nanook would indulge in one of their emanator's whims, no ? before she could voice her question, her eyes flitted towards nanook, and she noticed that they had their arm resting on your head, and your arms were crossing, looking up at them with a pout on your face. " nanook- " you whined, glaring at the taller aeon. " do i look like an armrest to you ? " " no. in fact, you look less than, " they commented dryly, their gaze turning to you, and phantylia swore she saw something akin to affection in his golden eyes. " but i suppose you offer me a little usefulness from time to time. " " all of this time travelling together and you still treat me like a little lapdog, " you shook your head, and although you were still frustrated with them, you turned to phantylia, giving her an almost warm smile. " sorry about that, they're... weird. it's nice to meet you. " the moment nanook's gaze fell upon her, and phantylia felt like she had been sliced through with a hundred blades just for talking to you, her heart retching in terror from the shear intimidation alone, she figured that it was better for her own self that she didn't answer you. when you were alone that day after phantylia left, you were in their arms, watching with mild amusement as people tried the craziest shit just to get their attention. " why do you do that every single time someone approaches us ? you're always picking fights with the people who probably have at least not horrible intentions. " what's mine is mine and i don't share, " they replied plainly, their attention focused elsewhere. " and there's no point in you introducing yourself again if they'll just be dead before you can remeet. "

[httpsghostie]

Can I Call You Tonight?

got this silly idea from a reel, so I'm in silly neighbor ghost mood

summary: you watered simon's dying plants.

wc: 1,2k

warnings: pure fluff, ghost x f!reader

Simon was always working, either buried in paperwork or fighting for his dear life. He couldn’t complain, though, it was the life he chose to have. He’d rented this apartment because it was near his work and as he said, he could always go walking. It didn’t cost much to live in that area, and he believed he didn’t need more than that apartment could offer.

The relatively low cost was exactly the reason you chose this building, it could use some renovation but you were happy to be starting a new cycle of your life. Finally moving out, finally living alone, it was all you could’ve asked for.

Living there was great, you loved it. It was so chill it was almost boring, so when you found this silly thing to do, it became your favorite activity.

Looking diagonally down from your balcony, a neighbor of yours had a few sad-looking plants that could really use some water. That being said, you could give a little hand for them to come back to life. You grabbed your squeeze water bottle and poured down some water on the plants, trying not to wet his entire balcony as you did so.

It became your silly little thing, watering that person’s plant like you were taking care of a child, but watching as it slowly came to life again was priceless. 

And Simon, well, he did notice something was different. As he smoked his cigarette, late at night on the balcony after arriving from his three week duty, he noticed the plant coming back to life again.

“Well, this is odd.”  He said, grabbing his phone from the pocket and taking a picture of it.

“Why did you send me a photo of your plant?” Johnny called as soon as he saw the picture.

“It was dead when I left.” He said.

“Ok?”

“I didn’t water it while I was gone.”

“Ok… so, someone watered it for you?” Johnny chuckled.

“Negative. No one has my keys.” Simon said in a low tone.

“Maybe it revived on its own.” If Johnny could see him right now, he’d laugh at his deadpan.

“I don’t- why did I even text you. Someone could’ve broken in.” 

“And what? Water your plants everyday and leave your stuff behind? Seems unusual.”

“Yeah, whatever.”

“Go rest, Lt, you deserve it.”

Simon stood there for a while, contemplating the events and then deciding he was overreacting. It wasn’t until he woke up in the morning, having slept on his couch, and heard the noise of water running. He jumped on his feet to check if he didn’t leave the sink open, but as he came back to his living room, he was able to see a small stream of water from his balcony.

“Ay, ay.” He opened the door, looking at where the water was coming; your apartment. Your cheeks immediately flushed as you noticed you’d spilled water in not only his plants, but him. You’d been on the phone, leaning on the balcony and holding the water bottle as you scrolled on your social media, and him yelling made you lose balance and drop your phone, and the chain of events unfolded way too fast.

You quickly let go of the water bottle and ran downstairs, only to meet him in his wet shirt, looking at your fucked up phone on the concrete. “I’ll get you a new one, I’m sorry.” He mumbled, turning to face you. “Simon.” He gave you his hand.

“Y/n.” You said with a pout, shaking his hand. You crouched, grabbing your now obviously dead phone and analyzing it. “I’m sorry for… well, for this.” You pointed at the wet patch on his shirt and he smiled.

“It’s nothing, it’ll dry off.” He said, watching as you almost finger punched your clearly not working phone. “Have you tried turning it off and turning it back on?” He chuckled, following you back to the building. 

“Fuck off.” You rolled your eyes at him, but ended up laughing along. “Have you tried putting your shirt on rice?”

“Good one.” He smiled. He was so… handsome. Where was he the whole time you’ve been living there? You two got in the elevator, and he pressed the buttons of his and yours floors. “So it’s you who’s been watering my plants.”

“They were dehydrated. You’re a bad parent.” You said.

“I was at work.” He quickly said, and you mumbled a small ‘oh’. “Anyway, thank you. I was going to throw them out. They look good.”

“No, it’s fine.” You smiled.

“So, give me your number so I can let you know when I get your new phone.” He said as the elevator came to a stop. “Oh, you don’t have one.” He laughed as he watched your expressionless face. “Wanna come to my place to talk about it?”

He held the door open, waiting for your reaction, and immediately smiled as you walked out of the elevator with him. He opened his door for you, letting you step inside, then got in and closed it behind him.

“Make yourself at home.” He said as he passed in front of you, taking his shirt off. Oh, bloody hell.

Oh, fuckfuckfuck. Shit. He was so fine. No, fine was an understatement. His body was definitely sculpted by gods, definitely. He was absolutely breathtaking, he was ripped and toned in all the right places, and the scars on his torso only enhanced his attractiveness. He was the living embodiment of attractiveness.

You blinked desperately, trying to look away.

“Wow, this… this is not-” you choked out.

“What’s wrong with ‘ya?” He asked, coming back with a new shirt in hands and a really, really wide grin. Something about him playing innocent was flipping something inside of you. He made sure to stay right in front of you as he put a dry shirt on.

You looked away in embarrassment, you must’ve been overthinking.

“Want some tea?” He asked, snapping you back to reality. You nodded, and he went to the kitchen. 

You sat on his couch, looking around his apartment, finding a few pictures of people in the army. “You don’t spend a lot of time here, do you?” You asked as he came back with two mugs in his hand.

“What makes you think that?” He handed you a mug.

You pointed at the dusty frame and he walked to your side, picking it up. “Where’s you?” 

“Who do you think it’s me?” He chuckled. There was a man in a skull mask, holding a dog to his shoulder, and your little frown was adorable to his eyes. He pointed towards him, and you made an unsurprised ‘ah’.

“I knew it, the tattoos gave it away.” You smiled, watching as he put the frame down again.

“Yes, they did.” He mumbled, chuckling his way to the couch, where he gestured for you to sit.

“I have to say, you look better without the mask, by the way.” 

“Thanks. It’s uncomfortable to wear it.”

“I believe…”

The next minutes passed with an awkward silence until he finally spoke again.

“So, I don’t know a lot about phones. I suggest we go out together to get you a new one.”

That smooth bastard.

“Like a date.” You said.

“Like me taking you out to get a new phone.”

“A date.” You laughed.

He sighed, rubbing his temple.

“Yes, a date.”

[eph3merall]

there's toxic!chris.. but what about toxic!matt ?

this was so stupid. matt was such a fucking bitch! sure, yeah, you know you aren't the only girl he's fucking. but would it kill him to clean up after himself sometimes? you're sitting on the edge of matt's tidied bed—actively ignoring the red lace bra and tropical smelling perfume bottle you found laying around his floor.

he's stalking out of the shower with damp hair, a pair of low hanging sweatpants and a black tank, with his eyes already roaming over you. immediately he can tell something is wrong and he isn't sure if he wants to even pester you about it, knowing he probably won't even get an answer.

"so, like.. you okay?" are the first words you hear from matt as he shifts around to get comfortable on his bed. he rests his head back against his headboard, a pillow supporting his lower back as he crosses his arms across his chest. your back is to him, and you don't answer.

right. he should've seen this coming. just because you're silent at first doesn't make him stop though, because oddly enough the idea of you being upset (you, his favorite hoe) has his mind reeling and stomach churning uncomfortably so he tried to get you to open up.

he's putting both his hands up when you turn around and snap at him, all annoyed. "god, matt, do you ever know when to leave something alone? obviously i'm fine so why can't you just shut the fuck up?!" he hates to admit how beautiful you look and sound right now, brows furrowed in exasperation and lips parted, screwed into a scowl.

"no, y'know what, i'm leaving." he was too busy staring at your lips and your chest that he didn't hear the words leave your mouth for a second before you're suddenly getting up and gathering some of your belongings. matt is up in a second to wrestle you to face him, hands on your shoulders and shaking furiously.

"seriously, what the fuck is wrong? you haven't ever acted like this, like, ever." you're ignoring him, because he was such a douche. yeah, you get that you aren't special to him but sometimes he really was a fucking bitch. call it jealousy.. you weren't dealing with it tonight. "matt— leave me alone." white hot tears are already springing into your eyes out of anger as well, and having matt see you cry seemed embarrassing enough that it encouraged you to twist and squirm yourself from his grasp.

he doesn't get it until he sees your eyes water, and he's confused nonetheless. does he act though? yeah, because he wasn't thinking. his arms are around you in a second, effectively spinning the smaller girl in his arms to his chest. a ringed hand is cradling the back of your head, tangling into strands of hair.

"what's wrong, huh?" he's mumbling into your head and holding you a little too tight for comfort. but matt didn't want you to leave. so when he felt your body go lax in his arms he loosens up a little, enough so to tug you towards his bed where he lets you lay your head on his chest.

he doesn't exactly expect an answer, and he's not surprised when he doesn't get one. his grip is always firm, as if making you sure you don't somehow get up. because oddly enough, he wants you here. not even to fuck, he just wants you like this—cheek pressed against the material of his black tank and your body on top of his.

you're pissed off still. it's mainly the reason you're giving matt the whole silent treatment shit, even if you know it's a little unfair. he's told you multiple times you aren't the only girl he fucks, that you aren't special in any way. (you are though, he thinks you're special but won't ever tell you) you don't get why this is upsetting you, it's not like you seriously have feelings for him, right?

sighh toxic!matt is such a bitch n he makes me wanna punch something but he's one of my favs

not proofread

more smut coming soon !! idk when maybe when i get ideas and finally finish my masterlist ....

—

©eph3merall 2024

[pickingupmymercedes]

Firsts pt.1 - Lewis Hamilton (NSFW)

Some firsts, like Small firsts, only NSFW version - pt1 / pt2 /

pairing: Lewis Hamilton x Reader!

warnings: unprotected sexual activities, like all sorts.

Also, wrap it before you tap it

wordcount: +4K

a/n: This is part 1, to possibly a 4 part thing. It ran from me and it was getting huge.

a/n 2: Loved all the prompts, thank you for everyone who sent them.

As always, I'm open for feedback, come say hi!

EXPLICIT CONTENT UNDER, -18 DO NOT INTERACT

______________________________________________________________

First time without worrying about protection

"Do you think it’s a good time?" Y/n asked, her voice soft as she looked over at Lewis. The question had been lingering in her mind, and she could tell it was on his too, ever since she told him she wouldn’t be putting another IUD in for a while.

They had spent the day surrounded by Lewis's family—his niece and nephew running around, his mum laughing, the warmth of family life filling every corner of the house. It had been perfect. But it had also stirred something in them, something she couldn't ignore any longer.

Lewis was quiet for a moment, his eyes focused on the road ahead, but she could see the wheels turning in his head. “I’ve been thinking about that too” he admitted, his voice thoughtful. “With you not on any birth control, I mean. It feels like… maybe it’s the sign we’ve been looking for.”

Y/n nodded, the warmth of the sun shining through the window matching the warmth she felt at his words. “It’s been on my mind all day… seeing you with your family… it made me realize how much I want that for us.”

Lewis glanced over at her, his expression thoughtful, but a hint of hesitation in his eyes. “That’s all I’ve always wanted.” he said softly, keeping his eyes on the road. “But…”

"But you're not sure it’s the right time," she finished for him, her voice understanding.

He nodded, his grip on the steering wheel tightening slightly. “It’s not that I don’t want that with you. I do. More than anything. Our own pack running ramped. But with racing… What if I’m not there enough? What if I miss out? What if you’re left to deal with too much?”

Y/n reached over, placing her hand on his, her touch gentle but firm. “I get it, Lew. I really do. And I love how much you care about being there, about being a good father.” She sighted before continuing “I think the decision to not get another iud made me realize how much I actually want this. Our own family.”

He was quiet for a moment, processing her words. The sound of the tires on the road was the only noise as they both let the weight of the conversation settle in.

“You really think we’re ready?” Lewis finally said, his voice low but not lacking conviction at all.

“Yeah” she said after she reached for his hand with both of hers. “We don’t have to rush it, though… let’s see where life takes us. No pressure, no expectations. If it happens, it happens.”

Lewis turned to look at her as they stopped at a red light, his eyes searching hers. “You’re really sure about this?”

“I am” she replied, her voice steady now. “I’m ready to start our family.”

The light turned green, but Lewis didn’t move immediately. He leaned over, pressing a kiss to her hand still resting on his. “Okay,” he said softly. “Let’s see what happens. No more protection, no more overthinking. We’ll take this time and just… let it be.”.”

The rest of the drive was filled with a comfortable silence, their decision bringing a new sense of anticipation between them. When they got home, the atmosphere was charged with an unspoken understanding. But instead of immediately acting on their decision, they spent the rest of the evening wrapped up in each other’s company, the weight of their choice lingering in the background.

The next day, Y/n noticed Lewis watching her more closely than usual. His eyes seemed to follow her every move, lingering on the curve of her hips, the way her body swayed as she walked. It was as if he was seeing her in a new light, imagining her with their child, and it made his heart race.

That evening, as she was getting ready for bed, Y/n caught him staring at her in the bathroom mirror. She raised an eyebrow, a playful smirk tugging at her lips. “You’ve been staring at me all day, Mr. Hamilton. What’s on your mind?”

Lewis smiled, his eyes darkening with desire as he stepped closer. “I couldn’t help it. I’ve been thinking about you… about us. About you carrying our child.”

Her smirk softened into a tender smile as she turned to face him. “And what exactly have you been thinking?”

Instead of answering, Lewis closed the distance between them, his hands sliding around her waist as he pulled her close. His lips found hers in a kiss that was slow, deep, and full of unspoken promises. The need in him was palpable, and Y/n felt it too, a longing that had been building since their conversation the day before.

Without breaking the kiss, Lewis guided her back to the bedroom, his touch gentle but insistent, their clothes discarded piece by piece along the way, until they were finally pressed together, skin to skin, their breaths mingling in the quiet of the room.

When they reached the bed, he paused, looking into her eyes as if asking for permission. Y/n gave a slight nod, her breath hitching in anticipation.

They fell onto the bed together, their movements slow and deliberate. Lewis’s hands caressed her body, his touch familiar and tender, but with a new depth, a new meaning behind it. They were no longer just making love—they were creating something, laying the foundation for the future they both wanted so desperately.

Lewis took his time, kissing every inch of her skin, his lips lingering on the spots he knew made her shiver. “I love you,” he murmured against her collarbone, his voice thick with emotion.

“I love you” Y/n replied, her fingers threading through his hair as he moved lower, worshipping her with every touch.

When he finally entered her, it was with a reverence that took her breath away. He moved slowly, their bodies perfectly in sync, their rhythm a witness to the years they had spent together.

Each thrust a promise, each sigh of their shared dreams they were finally taking the step towards.

“Tell me if it’s too much,” Lewis whispered, his voice strained with the effort of holding back.

“It’s perfect,” Y/n replied, her eyes meeting his, her hands gripping his shoulders as he moved within her. “Don’t stop. Please, don’t stop.”

He didn’t. He kept going, his pace steady, his focus entirely on her. The softness of their lovemaking was intoxicating, the connection between them deeper than ever. Y/n felt herself unraveling, the pleasure building slowly, spreading through her body in waves.

He made love to her like his life depended on it, every touch, every kiss, every movement filled with an intensity that left her breathless.

“Lew…” Y/n whispered, her voice trembling with emotion.

“I know,” he murmured, his lips brushing against her ear as he buried himself deep inside her, his body trembling. “I can’t stop thinking about it. About you… full of me.”

“You’re so beautiful,” Lewis breathed close to her ear when she hissed at how deep his thrusts were, his lips brushing against her skin as he continued to move. “I can’t believe how lucky I am. I’ll get to see you with our child”

“We both are” she whispered back, her voice trembling with emotion. “And we’re going to be even luckier… soon.”

Her words seemed to spur him on, his thrusts becoming slightly more urgent, his breath coming in ragged gasps as he fought to keep his control. But this wasn’t about rushing to the finish—it was about savoring every moment, every touch, every look.

Y/n’s hands slid down to his back, her nails lightly dragging across his skin, urging him closer, deeper. The pressure was building within her, and she knew she was close.

“Lew…” she breathed, her voice hitching with the effort of holding back. “I’m so close…”

“Yeah?!” he whispered; his voice raw with need. “Let go, baby. Let go with me.”

And she did. With a soft cry, she let the pleasure wash over her, her body trembling as she came apart in his arms. Lewis followed a few thrusts later, his own release shuddering through him as he buried his face in the crook of her neck, their bodies entwined, their breaths mingling as they rode out the waves together.

When it was over, they lay there, still tangled in each other, the room filled with the soft sounds of their breathing. Lewis lifted his head to look at her, a lazy, satisfied smile on his lips.

“You okay?” he asked, his voice soft.

“More than okay,” Y/n replied, a matching smile spreading across her face

Lewis chuckled, a mischievous glint in his eye. “You know, I might just stay like this a bit longer. Just making sure it sticks.”

Y/n laughed, a warm, genuine sound that filled the room. “Yeah? You’re really committed, aren’t you?”

“Yap” he said, settling back down and giving her nose a light kiss. “I’ve always been a fan of thoroughness.”

“Looks like I’ve got the right man for the job then” she teased, her eyes twinkling with affection.

Lewis grinned, pressing a kiss to her forehead. “All part of the plan. I want to make sure every moment counts.”

First drunken sex

The warmth of the alcohol buzzed through Y/n’s veins, her thoughts pleasantly blurred, and her body humming. Everything felt heightened—every touch, every sound, every breath.

She couldn’t keep her hands off Lewis; his skin was magnetic, drawing her in closer, deeper. Her fingers, clumsy yet insistent, traced the curve of his jaw, the light stubble prickling under her touch as she pulled him closer.

“Y/n…” Lewis’s voice was soft, slurred slightly, as he tried to focus on her face. His lips were so close, but he wasn’t moving to close the distance. Not yet.

She leaned in, her breath warm and heavy with the scent of whiskey, brushing against his cheek as she whispered, “Lewis... let’s just have fun.” She giggled, the sound slightly off-balance, just like her thoughts.

He raised an eyebrow, trying to keep his footing as Y/n swayed dangerously close to tipping over. “Are you sure you’re not too drunk for this?” he asked, one hand steadying her by the waist.

She waved off his concern with a lazy hand, her other hand sliding up his chest. “Nah, I’m just… tipsy.” She grinned, a mischievous glint in her eyes. “And very, very horny.”

Lewis chuckled, but his grip on her tightened as she nearly tripped over her own feet. “We should take it slow, love” he suggested, though the look in her eyes was making it hard to stick to his resolve.

“Slow?” She pouted, batting her lashes exaggeratedly. “But I want fast, Lew. Fast and… rough!” She tugged at his shirt, trying to pull him closer, but only managing to stumble back onto the bed, pulling him down with her.

He caught himself just in time, hovering over her as she sprawled out on the sheets, laughing at their clumsy tumble. “Okay, you’re actually going to lie down for a bit” he said, his voice tinged with amusement.

Y/n shook her head, reaching up to pull him down onto the bed with her. “Nope. No lying down. Not yet.” She giggled again, the sound more of a hiccup this time. “I’ve got plans for you, Sir.”

“Oh really?” He smirked, trying to stay composed as she tugged him closer, her breath hot against his neck.

“Uh-huh.” She nodded, her fingers working on the buttons of his shirt, though they fumbled more than they succeeded. “But you gotta let me lead, okay? You just… just follow what I say.”

Lewis chuckled, letting her work at the buttons even though it was clear she wasn’t getting anywhere fast. “And what exactly are these plans?” he asked, his voice teasing as he finally reached down to help her with his shirt.

Y/n beamed up at him, clearly pleased with herself as she finally got one button undone. “Well, first… first, we get you naked.” She giggled again, her hands moving more quickly now, though not any more successfully. “Then I get naked. And then…” She trailed off, her fingers freezing as she forgot what she was saying.

“And then?” he prompted, an amused grin tugging at the corners of his mouth as he watched her try to piece together her thoughts.

She blinked up at him, her expression confused for a moment before she burst into laughter. “I forgot what comes next!” she admitted, her laughter infectious as she collapsed back onto the pillows.

Lewis shook his head, laughing along with her. “You’re really something, you know that?”

“Yeah, yeah” she said, still giggling as she reached up to pull him down into a kiss. “And you love it.”

He smiled against her lips, kissing her back gently, savoring the taste of whiskey and the sweetness of her. “I do” he murmured, his resolve weakening as she deepened the kiss, her hands wandering lower, more purposeful now despite the alcohol. “But maybe we should—”

“Shhh.” She pressed a finger to his lips, her other hand slipping under his shirt to trace the lines of his muscles. “No more talking. Just… just touch me, okay?”

He groaned softly as her touch made him shutter, the alcohol amplifying every sensation. “You’re impossible,” he muttered, but he didn’t pull away. Instead, he let her guide him, his hands following the path she set, moving over her body as she arched into him.

“That’s it,” she whispered, her voice breathy with need as she guided his hands lower, her hips rolling up to meet his touch under her lingerie. “Just like that…”

He obliged, though every so often he had to steady her as she nearly lost her balance, the room spinning slightly around them. “You’re sure about this?” he asked one last time, his voice letting through he was having a hard time containing himself.

“Positive,” she replied, her tone leaving no room for doubt. “Just… follow my lead, Lew. Just this once”

He smiled, shaking his head at her persistence, but he let her take control, his hands sliding over her body as she undressed him, their movements clumsy but full of laughter and desire. They fumbled with clothes, bumping heads and elbows.

Finally, when they were both naked, Y/n pushed him back onto the bed, straddling his hips as she looked down at him, her eyes dark with desire and a bit less alcohol then when they started.

“Now, we have fun,” she declared, her voice filled with drunken confidence as she began to move.

He groaned, his hands gripping her hips to steady her as she set the pace. Her movements were a little too fast, a little too unsteady.

“Babe. Slow.” he muttered, though he couldn’t stop the smile that spread across his face as he followed her lead.

“Ops, sorry.” she replied laughing, breathless as she moved against him, her laughter turning into gasps of pleasure as they found a slower rhythm, their bodies moving together in a drunken dance that was both chaotic and perfect in its own way.

Her unsteady pace and fervor kept pushing him closer to the edge far too quickly. He felt the familiar tightening in his lower belly, the building pressure that signaled he was about to lose control. “Y/n, I’m—” he tried to warn her, but she just smirked down at him, her hips grinding harder against him.

“Don’t you dare stop,” she whispered, her tone dripping with mischief as she kept moving, her own desire spurring her on.

He tried to hold back, but it was no use. With a low, desperate groan, he felt himself teetering on the brink.

Instinctively, his hand reached between them, aiming for her clit to bring her over the edge with him, but she swatted his hand away, her voice firm despite the tremor in it. “Nope. Told you, I’m in the lead.”

He could only watch as she took control, her eyes locked on his as she began to rub her own clit, her fingers moving in tight circles while she used his body to reach her pleasure.

The sight of her, the feel of her, it was too much. With a choked gasp, he came, his body shaking beneath her as she continued to ride him through it, her own gasps and moans filling the room.

She was relentless, her fingers working her clit with intensity, using every thrust and grind to push herself closer. He could do nothing but watch, his breath ragged, as she brought herself to the brink. And when she finally tumbled over, her body shuddering with the force of her orgasm, the sound of his name on her lips was the sweetest thing he’d ever heard.

She finally collapsed, her body draped over his, both of them spent and breathless, their hearts racing in sync.

Y/n’s fingers traced lazy patterns on his chest, a satisfied smile playing on her lips as she nestled closer to him.

“I think… I like this tipsy me” she murmured; her voice heavy with contentment.

Lewis chuckled, pressing a kiss to her forehead. “I like anything to do with you.”

First car sex

The sun had begun its descent, casting a golden glow over Malibu Beach as Lewis and his friends wrapped up their day of surfing. Y/n, along with a few others, had stayed behind, enjoying the warmth of the sun and the beach. The sandy heat was soothing, but as they finally packed up, a different kind of warmth was brewing within Lewis.

He had watched Y/n from afar, her bikini clinging to her sun-kissed skin, her laughter mingling with the salty breeze. The way the sun highlighted her curves, the way her body moved with its own rhythm—it had been almost unbearable.

He had to have her, right then, but with the beach full of people and his friends around, he’d had to keep his desire in check.

As they headed back to the jeep, Lewis couldn’t contain his excitement any longer. He took a detour, steering the vehicle away from the main road and towards a secluded overlook with a breathtaking view of the ocean.

He parked the jeep, his gaze already turning to Y/n with a smirk that promised more than just a scenic view.

“What are we doing?” Y/n asked, her curiosity piqued.

“Just thought we could take a little detour,” Lewis replied, his voice low and laden with anticipation. He looked over at her, his eyes smoldering with barely-contained desire, his hands reaching even higher on her thighs as his voice came close to her hair. “You looked incredible at the beach today. The sun glistening down on you.”

Her breath caught at his words, a thrill running through her as she realized what was about to happen. “Are you … now, for real Lew?”

He gave a mischievous grin, reaching for her hands. “If you want it too. But we’ve got to be quick and quiet.”

The back seats were folded down to fit the surfboards, leaving just enough space for them. Lewis had already laid out a towel in the middle of the boards, a makeshift bed for their impromptu encounter.

Y/n’s pulse quickened as she followed him, her eyes locking with his.

“What if we get caught?” she asked, her voice teasing but edged with anticipation as she reached for the hem of his shorts.

Lewis chuckled, his hands roaming over her body as he pulled her closer. “Then we better keep quiet.”

He kissed her deeply, his hands tracing the curve of her back as he guided her to the makeshift bed. The warmth from the sun was still on their skin, mingling with the salty residue of the ocean.

“I haven’t had sex in a car in so long,” Lewis murmured against her lips, his breath hot and heavy. “You’ve got me wanting to do the craziest things.”

Y/n’s laughter was breathless as she tugged at his shirt, pulling it over his head. “I’m glad I’m the one making you feel that way.”

Lewis grinned, his hands deftly grabbing a condom from the bag on the side. He rolled it on, his gaze never leaving hers as he prepared his dick. “You ready?”

Her eyes fluttered up to his eye, a soft moan escaping her lips as she nodded. “Yes.”

He positioned himself before her, catching her arousal with the tip of his member and dragging it up and down her clit. As he entered her, he couldn’t help but groan at the sensation, the way her body wrapped around him, as he made sure to angle his pelvic bone just right to hit that spot within her walls that drove her wild.

Their bodies moved together, their thrusts causing the towel to shift beneath them. The salt from the ocean made their skin slick, with a unique texture to the scene. Each thrust one that made her gasp and moan.

“God, Lewis,” she breathed, her hands gripping his shoulders as he continued to thrust into her. “You feel so good.”

He smirked; his pace steady but increasingly fervent. “I needed this so much.”

His movements aiming to hit that special spot that made her shiver and moan. The confined space of the jeep, combined with the intimacy of the moment, heightened their senses. Her eyes closed, her breaths coming in gasps as she approached the edge of her climax.

“You close, love?” Lewis asked, his voice a strained whisper as he maintained his rhythm.

“Yeah,” she managed, her voice trembling with pleasure. “So close.”

When she finally managed to open her eyes to look at him, he was smiling, his thrusts now slower, more deliberate, as he dragged out every wave of her orgasm.

The pleasure overwhelming, the intimacy of the moment making it all the more intense. They lay tangled together, their bodies slick with sweat and ocean salt, savoring each other.

“Reckon you got one more in you?” he asked, his voice laced with amusement.

She managed a weak nod, her hands gripping the edges of the towel. “I’ll give it my best”

Lewis chucked and picked up the pace “I’ll drag another one, if need be.”  Her moans filling the confined space again, mixing with his own grunts of pleasure.

First sex dream

Lewis stirred awake, the remnants of his dream still clinging to his mind like a hazy fog. His body was warm, a flush of heat running through him as he slowly blinked his eyes open, taking in the soft afternoon light filtering through the curtains.

He was on the couch in their home office, where he’d drifted off while Y/n worked at her desk. But now, as tried to blink awake, he was painfully aware of the tension in his lower body—the unmistakable evidence of a wet dream.

He groaned softly, a bit embarrassed and still undeniably hard. The dream had been so vivid, so real. He could still feel the ghost of her touch, the way her body had moved against his, the way she had tasted.

It was almost as if he could reach out and pull her back into his arms.

His eyes drifted over to Y/n, who was seated at the desk, completely absorbed in whatever she was working on. She had her hair up in a messy bun, a few strands falling around her face. She was wearing one of his old t-shirts, the fabric loose and soft, hiding the curves that had driven him wild in his dream.

The sight of her, so close yet so unaware of the effect she was having on him, made his pulse quicken even faster.

Lewis shifted on the couch, trying to shake off the lingering effects of the dream, but every movement only heightened the awareness of his arousal. He couldn’t tear his eyes away from her—every glance only reignited the vivid memories of his dream.

In the dream, he’d had her spread out before him, her body trembling as he pulled her fourth orgasm out of her, her cries echoing in his ears.

The first two orgasms he’d coaxed from her with nothing but his fingers, teasing and torturing her until she was begging for more, her hips bucking against his hand. The third had come from his mouth, his tongue and lips working together to push her over the edge, her body arching and twisting.

The memory of it was enough to make him groan, his desire for her growing stronger by the second. The way she’d looked in the dream—eyes glazed with lust, lips parted in breathless moans, skin flushed with pleasure—was burned into his mind.

And now, watching her sitting there, so unaware of the effect she was having on him, was driving him to the brink of madness.

“Y/n,” he called out, his voice rougher than he intended.

She turned in her chair, smiling softly when she saw him awake. “Hey, sleepyhead. Had a good nap?”

He swallowed again, nodding. “Yeah, you could say that.”

Her smile widened, and she got up from her desk, walking over to where he was lying. “You look a little off” she noted, reaching out to touch his cheek. “Are you feeling okay?”

The innocent touch made him flinch, his body responding far too eagerly to her proximity. “I, uh… had a dream,” he admitted, his eyes locking onto hers, searching for any sign that she knew what kind of dream it had been.

“Oh?” she asked, her eyebrows raising with curiosity. “What about?”

He hesitated, feeling the heat creep up his neck. How could he tell her without sounding like a complete idiot? The way she was looking at him, so sweet, so concerned, only made the memory of the dream more vivid.

“It was uh… about you,” he said finally, his voice low.

Her eyes sparkled with interest, and she tilted her head, a playful smile tugging at her lips. “Really? What was I doing?”

“I mean, just… stuff.” he said quickly, almost out of breath.

“Stuff?” She laughed, clearly enjoying his discomfort. “Lew?”

He groaned, running a hand through his hair. “The kind of stuff that makes it really hard to sit here and not bend you over.”

Her laughter softened, and she moved closer, her hand resting on his thigh. “Well, why don’t you?”

His breath hitched as she leaned in, her lips brushing against his ear as she whispered, “Was I being a good girl in your dream, or were you making me beg?”

“Y/n…” His voice was a warning, but it came out weak, betraying just how much he wanted her to keep going.

“Come on, tell me” She coaxed, her hand sliding up his thigh, dangerously close to where he was already aching for her. “What was I doing in your dream?”

“You were—” He sucked in a breath as her fingers lightly traced the outline of his arousal through his pants. “You were… coming. Again and again. And I… I couldn’t get enough.”

“Mmm,” she purred, her lips curling into a wicked smile. “And how many times did I come for you?”

“Four.” His voice was strained, the memory of the dream mingling with the reality of her touch. “The first two with my fingers.”

She bit her lip, clearly enjoying this more than she should. “And the others?”

“The third with my mouth,” he confessed, his eyes dark with desire. “And the fourth… you were so close, and I could feel it. So, I just kept going”

“Sounds like quite a dream,” she whispered, her lips brushing against his neck now, her breath hot against his skin. “Maybe we can make it a reality.”

Before she could continue, he was tugging down her lace panties, his fingers already itching to make the dream a reality.

“Lew—” she started, but he was already sinking to his knees on the floor, his hands parting her thighs as he pressed a kiss to the inside of her leg.

“Shh,” he murmured against her skin, his voice thick with need. “Let me make this real.”

And with that, he buried his face between her thighs, his mouth finding her with an eagerness that made her head fall back against the couch. His tongue flicked over her clit, his fingers teasing her entrance, and all she could do was moan as he set to work, determined to pull those same cries from her that he’d heard in his dream.

This time, it was real. And it was so much better.

______________________________________________________________

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[crosbyism]

"but then again this is the guy who’s publically known for loving to eat ass so"

I'm sorry, I thought Nate eating ass was fanon. Are you telling me this is an actual canon fact??

god i love when people don’t realise how much “fanon” around sid and nate is actually canon. it’s like heroin to me. also bc it’s like. 90% of the stuff in fics (which is probably why people assume it’s fanon but. oh boy it’s not. there’s shockingly little fanon around these two, mostly because canon is so abundant).

yes, nathan mackinnon is a known ass-eater. let me direct you to this post, anon. you’re welcome.

other nate (and sid) facts you might not have realised are canon:

nate is a known advocate for therapy. he’s been seeing a sports therapist since 2017

they wear matching clothing all the fucking time, sid has said publicly that he started wearing white sneakers and updated his wardrobe due to nate’s influence (iirc nate might’ve even bought him his first pair of white sneakers? either that or it was a “he told me i need to so i did” situation). they share a tailor. unfortunately i now have to bring your attention to the fact that since they have an alarming amount of matching clothes that they’ve bought for each other, that means that they in fact have to know each other’s clothing sizes off by heart. they also low-key share clothing btw

their families celebrate canada day together and their dads are best friends. in-law behaviour goes crazy

nate did in fact stalk his way into sid’s heart (got the same personal trainer and agent at age 13; built his house next door in 2017; they’ve been spending every day in the summers together since at least 2015. sid cooks for them daily, or at least did pre-pandemic. sid refuses to use nate’s gym tho so they always use sid’s).

nate used to have a fan twitter account more or less where he rooted for the pens. it was active until 2017.

sid and nate regularly go to summer weddings together as each other’s dates. they have done this since, once again, at least 2015

nate has confirmed that he used to have a poster of sid on his wall as a teenager (he didn’t confirm he used to jerk off to it but frankly. i think that’d be saying the quiet part out loud)

when sid won the cup in 2009 and held the parade in cole harbour, nate stood by the side of the road watching it. he was about to turn 14, he was already working with sid’s trainer and agent, and he was about to start attending shattuck (sid’s junior high). due to old pics we also know that this was RIGHT before nate had his first growth spurt and hit puberty. i’m not saying seeing sid with the cup kickstarted nate’s puberty and gave him his first boner but i’m not NOT saying it

nate dated vanessa morgan of riverdale fame in his rookie year. she’s now good friends with elias petersson from the vancouver canucks (this means nothing but i do think it’s a very funny coincidence).

nate schmidt, formerly of the VGK, once failed a drug test (it turned out to be a testing-fuck-up); when nhl players were asked about it natemack iconically said “i don’t think he was sticking a needle up his ass” (i just like this one)

when he was a kid, the one other thing sid wanted to be was a hairdresser. nate, on the other hand, “didn’t have a plan B”

nate is canonically possessive of sid (see: the asg 2024) and sid is canonically delighted by this and into it

they go on so many lunch dates in the summer my dude. they go grocery shopping together. like there’s so many pics of them in grocery stores or out having coffee or weird green shakes

oh i almost forgot, they went on a roadtrip through ireland last year. they’ve been on holiday together multiple times over the years though. done some eurotripping together and stuff. in 2015 they spent three months together, three weeks of which were spent living in sid’s santa monica condo together just the two of them

sid has put up a picture of every stanley cup winning captain in his basement since 2008, when the pens lost in the scf to DET. apparently this serves as motivation for him to win the cup. he notoriously does not watch the playoffs after the pens are out

however, he partied so hard at nate’s cup party he actually closed down the party with his dad. nate is the only non-teammate sid’s ever been seen supporting for a cup run (he’s also never been to his teammates’ cup parties afaik so. there’s that)

also they talked on the phone daily and between periods during nate’s cup run. they also canonically have almost weekly phone dates that can run multiple hours. quote nate “i can’t talk to anyone else the way i can talk to him”

they each have pictures of the two of them together framed in each other’s houses

there’s rumours they’re building adjoining houses on neighbouring properties in cape breton next to a golf course bc apparently being neighbours in halifax isn’t enough or something. this one is as yet unconfirmed by reputable sources though

[muniimyg]

I can’t wait for bbyzia to be a daddy’s girl and jungkook being like know you know what it feels like 🥹

𐙚₊˚⊹ bbydaddy!jungkook (goodnight kisses)⋆𐙚₊˚⊹

series m.list // taglist

note: ohhhh u mean smt like this ?

//

the penthouse is quiet.

the soft hum of the baby monitor barely noticeable as you quietly slip out of zion’s room. you just tucked him in and his little snores start to fill the space as you make your way to the living room. when you step inside, the sight of jungkook stops you.

he’s sitting on the couch, zia resting on his chest. her tiny body rising and falling in time with his breathing. she’s fast asleep, her small hand curled tightly into his shirt. his hand is supporting her head, the other rubbing slow, soothing circles on her back. he’s humming, the same gentle tune you’ve heard him sing to zion countless times.

it’s a rare moment—this kind of quiet. with zia’s schedule finally falling into place, both of you have been able to get some sleep, something you didn’t think possible in those first few months. the exhaustion that once weighed heavy has given way to this warm, peaceful stillness.

your home is so peaceful. it's something you and jungkook have worked so hard to ensure for your family. it's quite beautiful to live in this space.

you lean against the doorframe, a soft smile tugging at your lips as you watch him. the gentle rise and fall of zia’s little chest matching his.

what a man.

jungkook doesn’t notice you at first—too lost in the moment. his head tilted slightly as he watches her.

“hey,” you whisper, not wanting to disturb the softness of it all.

he looks up, eyes warm and sleepy, a small smile tugging at the corners of his lips. he glances down at zia, who’s still deep in sleep, her fingers clutching onto him like she never wants to let go.

“you got her to sleep so fast,” you say, your voice just above a whisper. "she's always so fussy with me."

he chuckles quietly, careful not to wake her. “yeah,” he breathes out, his hand brushing lightly over her back. "i think she likes me."

"she loves you."

"good," jungkook breathes in relief. "thank god."

you hold your laugh in and roll your eyes at him. "you're good at getting zion to sleep too."

"maybe cos he gets to close his eyes and not see me."

"stop," you let yourself laugh. "you know he loves you too."

jungkook snickers. "i know... i'm just not his favourite. this one though... my zia... is it weird that i can feel it?"

you shake your head. "no. i know what you mean. i feel it too."

you take no offense to it.

even when you were pregnant, she was always so active when she heard jungkook's voice. jungkook and zia connected the second she came out. even though she's only 3 months old, she shows so much affection and gravitates towards jungkook in a way you know is so special.

after a few moments, jungkook’s voice breaks the quiet, low and full of wonder.

“can she stay like this forever?”

it’s the softness in his voice that makes your chest ache. the way he says it like he’s holding onto something too precious to lose. you move closer, sitting beside him on the couch, your head resting gently on his shoulder as you watch zia sleep against him.

“if only,” you murmur, knowing these moments are fleeting, but holding onto them all the same.

jungkook leans his head against yours, the warmth of his body grounding you in the quiet of the night. then, he shifts and asks you to take her.

"i'm gonna go kiss zion goodnight. i'll be back for her though," jungkook says. "i have to kiss her goodnight too."

"and then me?" you tease.

"always you."

[iid-smile]

what they call you

gojo, geto, nanami, shoko, toji, shiu, ino

if they were dating you series.

gojo

baby, chimichanga, pookie

baby is simple, and he calls you that regularly. also uses it when he's whining and sulking, trying to persuade you do fo something or forgive him. if the two of you are just starting off in a relationship, then this is where he starts off.

i'm still on my gojo as deadpool saga </3 chimichanga would actually be cute though. chimi for short, ninja if he wants to tease you, 'chimi cha cha slide changa' if he's feeling silly, or some variation of that. at some point, he'd actually want to try chimichangas with you.

pookie seems so gojo... i can't even explain it. if he has instagram but keeps the identity of you private, your codename would be pookie.

geto

angel, beloved, lovely

angel because he would believe you're saving his life. or maybe it's the other way around idk... you'd be there to comfort him when times were extremely low, it's like you're a blessing to him.

to geto, you're definitely a number 1 priority, which applies to every category known to man. you're his beloved because he protects you and never wants you to get hurt.

lovely would sound so lovely from him </3 his voice is smooth, so every time it comes out of his mouth is just heaven.

bonus!!! even him just saying your name holds so much love and value, so sometimes it may even feel a little weird having him say a nickname instead.

nanami

darling, love, dear

the holy trinity of course. honey or sweetheart may or may not pop up here and there, but not as frequently. i can't even make them separate because they all have the same reasoning anyways. all of them just sound perfect. nicknames that show how precious you are to him >>> nicknames that highlight your beauty. i don't make the rules.

actually!!! nanami uses love when he's comforting you. subtle way to remind you that he does love you, no matter how you're feeling or what you think about yourself.

bonus!!! wife. just "my wife." husband nanami is so real for this. we all get it.

shoko

cherry/loosie, pretty, babe

cherry and loosie are cigarette references. it would sound so nice coming from her until you ask what it actually means or why she calls you that. they're usually said when you talk to her on her smoke breaks.

UGH i can just imagine pretty rolling off her tongue when she calls you before doing an operation. i think she'd call you pretty daily too, both noun and adjective, and especially over text.

i don't think she'd really use overly cute nicknames, so babe is just right. mostly used in casual conversation, or if any coworkers are around.

toji

girl/woman, mama, sweet/sugar

toji is a sassy man. if you just nagged or scolded him, would say "okay, girl?" with no regrets whatsoever. says it as if he's innocent too, doesn't even blink an eye, or even care when you (pretend to) get annoyed or offended.

no he doesn't want any(more) kids, but he does call you mama. kinda comes from the time when he would do sneaky links, but you don't need to know that. when you're doing domestic activities like cooking or doing chores, this one frequently slips out. it's on impulse and he can't help it.

not sweetheart, just sweet. if we're basing this off of post mamaguro toji, i think sweet would come from "bittersweet", because he'd probably feel that way after getting into another relationship. sugar just sounds right as well. get it? because it's sweet.

kong shiu

darling, princess, missy/mrs kong

he's a darling guy for sure. the right amount of formal, but he can make it sound like a tease when he wants to. mostly used when the two of you are at home.

shiu would make you his princess whether you like it or not. you're his passenger princess, so it's natural he just calls you princess on it's own. feel free to decorate the seat as well because he'd actually let you.

mmm... mrs kong. he'd start saying that a few months before he proposes to you, and you wouldn't pick up the hint at all. makes an emphasis on it when he says it as well, just because. when you guys knew each other only for a bit but nicknames seemed okay, missy was a top pick. imagine shiu's driving you somewhere and he does a lil glance and calls you missy while talking... mhm...

takuma ino

bubs, sunshine, queen

ino definitely calls you cute things, and this applies to all of the above. bubs, however, is on another level. when he gives you headpats (canon because i said so) he'd drop a compliment and call you bubs on top of that.

would say it when he wakes you up in the morning with a call or text. "good morning sunshine!" hello??? get me a man that would say that to me every morning WITHOUT FAIL (that's also canon because i said so) you'd be the light in his life and he won't let you forget that.

umm.. i have no solid explanation for this, but it feels right yk? ino would treat you like a queen honestly... in his eyes, you'd be at least ten levels above him and he means that.

bonus!!! he always uses loml over text. there's definitely multiple strings of you calling each other loml and seeing who can keep it up for longer in your messages.

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