#aaron peel

[johnsendeavor]

Drabble?

I’ve never done this before but just couldn’t stop writing this narrative of Aaron Peel from Killing Eve fixating on a male for the first time instead of a woman in my head. He is a bit ooc, I apologize. I wanted the male to represent maybe a version of Vilanelle that lacks all of her best qualities.

Warnings: MDNI, Adult themes, rich people sh!t, slight smut, blowjob (I guess)

A man working on Operation Mandalay. A man from an urban area used to the decay of the city the thirst for luxury, a man who bathes himself in exorbitantly expensive luxury goods with his measly salary as a financial analyst. Brought in by Carolyn once the investigation into the Twelve and their killers led to Pharaday and the Peel empire. A man who prides himself in knowing how it all works, how much it should cost and why especially when it comes to information, on people, places, governments.

They meet when Eve goes to meet Aaron, the man coming along hoping to gauge the true value of what the company may hold. Somehow Aaron finds himself entranced, infatuated with this first glance of this male seemingly soft, bored, thirsty for money and luxury. Whether the strong musk of a floral Chanel perfume or the bright Coach leather bag with its perfectly edged curves and subtle insignia. Aaron can see all of it the same way the man does, money, luxury and yet Aaron gets a strange sense of pleasure.

Aaron finds himself confused, unable to comprehend his initial and strong attraction. He wants to understand, he yearns to control it and so miraculously he contacts the male. Aaron reaches out through the male’s private phone provided by M16, yet lacking any concern the male finds himself intrigued. They meet, somewhere drenched in the smell of luxury, people who have never had to work a day in their lives and the male basks in it before Aaron calls his attention, beckoning him to sit.

Aaron just gawks at the male in silence, both unmoving. The male unsure of what to do in an odd sense of calm. Aaron views them, the small twitch in their eye as the sun reflects off a chandelier, as their pinky finger slightly twitches towards the bright sterling cutlery, as the man views him as well peeking through his bangs and eyelashes. Aaron finds himself in awe, stating “I have a trip coming up, come with me.”

The man simply asks “Where?” Aaron confidently answers “Rome.” “How long?” Asks the man which of course give Aaron a slight bit of satisfaction from the man continuously surprising him. “As long as I would like.” The man remains calm almost stoic as a small grin starts to show, “Let’s go then.”

Aaron finds himself for the first time in a long time lacking total control, unable to decide how he wants the man to fit his vision, his ideal of perfection. How does he dress the man, how does he want the man to act, how does he need the man to be.

Aaron finds himself conflicted when he dresses the man in a soft silhouette adorned heavily with silk and fine toile, gold adorning his neck, hair, and hands and yet, Aaron finds himself frustrated forcing the male to disrobe the top piece of his extravagant ensemble. The man slides it off delicately, slowly, almost teasingly in front of Aaron as he shouts “Stop, take it all of.” The man continues to disrobe, taking of the top, the sliding the bottoms off to his knees before stepping out of them and folding them nicely. When he moves to remove his undergarments, a pair of laced adorned briefs Aaron shockingly stutters “St- slower please…” The man continues to slide off his undergarments, stripping fully before stepping towards Aaron.

Aaron Peel a man not of physical affection suddenly holds the man’s shoulder, grazing it while finding himself in blissful pleasure. The man then asks “What else do you want me to do Aaron?” “Head to the bed room, lay down and wait, be still until I arrive.” Taking the task at hand the male saunters to the room provided by Aaron after circling him. He slips pasts the grand doors leaving them slightly propped open, littering the floor to the bed with the gold jewelry and accessories Aaron dressed him in. As he lays down he see Aaron peeking in, unwilling or rather begrudgingly beginning to enter the room. Aaron stands there awkwardly, the man laying in the bed, still and unmoving yet gorgeous to Aaron with the sun glistening on the man’s skin, resembling a porcelain doll.

Aaron stands there a wet spot appearing on his thick slacks as the hand previously out of view comes out a sharp object, not a knife, not a machete, but a sickle. Aaron previously figured for a new adventure he should employ a new tool and toy. The man however remains unwavering. Aaron could not even make it past the edge of the bed before faltering, stumbling in his step laying on the bed with the man’s thighs dangerously close to Aaron as the man looks at ease, intrigued almost adorned with the same small smile as for when they first met one on one. Aaron stills, unable to move, losing control and so the man guides Aaron’s hand holding the sickle to his neck before liking the blade and asking “What do you want Aaron?” Aaron responds uncomfortably for the first time with “I don’t know… I think I want you, truly want you.”

“Then have me.” The man slides the sickle out of Aaron’s hand into his own and cuts Aaron’s clothing off slightly nicking his chest. Aaron never pursuing this type of physical intimacy slowly subdued to this carnal lust allowing the man to continue. The man slowly guided Aaron to lay down. Once Aaron took his place the man slowly adorned Aaron’s neck with small kisses leading down his chest, flicking the cut with his tongue feeling Aaron’s breathe quiver more and more as he lead down to his somewhat already wet member seemingly already having experienced an orgasm earlier.

As the man got lower to Aaron’s erection he continued to maintain strong eye contact multitasking as he started to firmly and slowly stroke Aaron’s cock and fondle his balls. The man slowly moved his mouth closer almost teasing Aaron as he lowly wrapped his tongue around the head of Aaron’s penis starting to provide suction and he slowly hollowed out his mouth to fully engulf Aaron’s length until the man’s mouth was full of Aaron’s girth rather than air. It was not long until Aaron fully came seeming overstimulated and exhausted. The man was not done but Aaron seemingly was. So the man then went to Aaron and laid beside him and before Aaron left consciousness all he could see was his infatuation this man who he had now spoilt, on who was previously hungry for this excess this luxury, he found pride, content. He found himself satiated, he had power over this individual, full control.

- Love John

(I know it’s shitty and it’s not proofread but I had to get it written. Probably only thing I’ll ever write so if you did enjoy I apologize.)

(Was worried about the real ending I wanted to write not being okay on tumblr so it may be lost forever.)

[eatsbooksarchive]

remember when andrew was actively pinning allison down prepared to deliver retribution to her for backhanding aaron and neil’s foremost thought during this incredibly tense situation was how relieved he was to see the darkness in andrew’s gaze because he was finally seeing the real andrew after weeks of nothingness post-easthaven

[sequinsmile-x]

Aaron wouldn’t just peel Emily’s orange for her, he’d tear off all the white pith and separate it into its segments xo

[prehistoricmancunt]

It’s incredible (/neg) to me how many celebrities (and people in general) have fallen for the pro Israel propaganda. You’d think with all the people and money celebs have access to that they’d have people trying to educate them on the actuality of the situation.

Especially when being misinformed means these people will broadcast propaganda to millions of people/fans who will eat up everything they say. Esp people whose platforms are usually ones that would seem to naturally lean toward freedom and against genocide and colonialism??

Like how many people are just hearing the one side and are so afraid of being labelled as wrong or anti semitic that they just refuse to challenge the point of view they’re fed? How can we get through to them that the state of Israel is the one in the wrong?

How can we penetrate the walls of people arming themselves with the most available information as ‘the right’ information, who will claim any point of view if it seems like the majority in an attempt to duck out of controversy?

[2dami2furious]

Going though the character design thread for Miles G and thinking about how the shift from him being Aaron’s sidekick to him being the Prowler makes the story so much more interesting because now him and Miles relate to each other on the basis of having to take up “the mantle”, and struggling with feeling that they are not living up to the standards set by their predecessor.

It also makes much more sense from a design perspective because Miles G is supposed to be spider-man in a universe where he never got bit. Hence the zip line system as a stand in for spiderwebs and his Prowler outfit being purple, the color that you get when you mix red and blue (Spider-Man colors) together. They are quite literally telling us that Miles 1610 and 42 are more alike than initially thought.

[maddie-grove]

Most of my experience with guidance counselors growing up consisted of playing dodgeball with an autism/ADHD diagnosis (they wanted that for me; my mom did not). Although at certain points in fourth and fifth grade I felt like Mrs. C. was hinting at my possible sociopathy.

[samandcheesewinchesterr]

RIP aaron raleigh you would have loved Get Out (2017). you’re not dead but the rest of the world is so that movie doesn’t exist for you 😔

[ebony1442]

My name is in the Bible , is fairly common in popular media, and has a pretty standardized spelling. And yet, when they're not misspelling it, they're using the girl's name that is a homophone.

[the-whispers-of-death]

I broke a nail. Like basically the whole nail. And I did it by peeling a very hard-to-peel banana.

Now my pointer finger on my right hand is down to the nub with only the tiniest hint of the nail edge.

Like I know my nails were longer than usual, but I have never broken a nail like that before today.

[star-soupery]

(last updated sep 14 2024)

i have added navigation tags to all my characters in my main story!!

(except for a few bc i couldnt think of any)

[downthetubes]

Crowdfunding Spotlight: Multiverse of Mystery – Holmes & Watson in every universe, every incarnation, all at once!

The International Association of Media Tie-In Writers, who know a thing or two about adaptations, is currently seeking support on Kickstarter for a Sherlock Holmes short story project, Multiverse of Mystery

The International Association of Media Tie-In Writers, who know a thing or two about adaptations, is currently seeking support on Kickstarter for a Sherlock Holmes short story project, Multiverse of Mystery. While this project is text fiction, do check out the list of creators involved, some of whom I’ve worked with recently during my editorship of Star Trek Explorer, such as Keith R.A.…

[singwhenyoucantspeak]

villanelle really has a way of accidentally ending up in bad situations with creepy ass men

[luveline]

I love Hotch sm. How can someone be so handsome - esp s1 Hotch omigosh! 😭😭😭 Can we possibly get a fic where sunshine!reader (or even bombshell!reader, if you prefer instead!) loves to kiss and cuddle away her grumpy!Hotch’s frowns and scowls? 🙏🏼❤️

“C’mere.” 

“No.” 

“Come here,” you whisper, curling your finger, beckoning your boyfriend into your space. 

Aaron gives you a knowing look but eventually steps forward. He stops in front of you, all business today. He smiles less and less at work as responsibilities pile on, but you remember your smiley coworker. He used to like his job. You still love it, and you love him, but you aren’t unit chief.

You smile, daring him to smile back. 

“Did you want something?” he asks. 

His hair flops onto his forehead. You rake it back. “So long.” 

“I’m thinking about going shorter.” 

“That’s a decision for both of us,” you say, teasing while he stays incredibly still. 

You’d helped him get dressed that morning, pinching his shirt together over his undershirt, buttoning it to the neck, and bending his stiff collar away. You’d thrown the tie over his shoulders and brought it together. Tied it, tucked it, and used it as an anchor to pull him down for kissing. In your bedroom, he’d grabbed you by the face and kissed you ardently. 

Here, he only looks at you. 

“You okay?” 

“I’m stressed,” he says. 

“Can I fix it?” 

“It’s politics,” he explains away. “I’m fine.” 

You check the landing for watchers and tilt your head up to kiss his chin. He laughs softly, head angled down, allowing you better access as you pepper his cheek with kisses. You kiss until you feel his cheek apple, evidence of a smile you can’t see, and when his hand comes to the small of your back you wrap your arms around his neck and hide there.

“Does it get exhausting, being serious?” you ask. 

“Mm… no, not really.”

“I wish you had less of a propensity for misery.” 

“How can I be miserable when you’re around?” he asks, cupping your head to keep you in the curve of his neck. 

Down in the main offices, keyboards clack and phones ring. You’re slightly secluded where you stand in front of the conference room door, but not by much. You honestly don’t care if people see you kissing your boyfriend in work hours —perhaps they should make him less kissable— or holding him when you should be at your desk. They can dock your pay, if they want. 

It helps that Aaron is technically your boss. There isn’t protocol for one half of a couple becoming boss of the other one, so you get to make the rules. 

Or, Aaron does. “Alright,” he says, peeling you away from him gently. “I have things to do.” 

“One last one?” you ask, equally gentle. 

He nudges your nose with his and kisses you. Again, you persevere in kissing until he smiles. 

“No more frowning. You’ll get wrinkles,” you say.

“I have them already.” 

“And they’re contagious.” You frown deeply at him. He manages another smile before he sends you on your way. 

[mystic-writings]

we’re just fine | daryl dixon

PAIRING — Daryl Dixon x Fem!reader

SUMMARY — after the fall of the prison, you find yourself in alexandria, alone. two months later, your family finds their way back to you. 

WARNINGS — angst, canon-typical violence/situations, pregnancy, fluff 

WORD COUNT — 5,000

NOTES — idk what happened to me all i know is i blacked out and then this was made. enjoy i guess

masterlist | navigation | requests are open!

Despite the pure monotonous routine you’d gotten used to during your two months in Alexandria, you couldn’t say that it wasn’t sometimes extremely boring. Your only saving grace was the mealtimes you had with Aaron and Eric at the end of the day. At least they had the sense and experience outside the walls to be able to carry out a conversation that wasn’t about what food you were eating or how the weather was. 

It was why you hated when they went out on recruitment runs. As their roommate, you felt awkward being in the home by yourself when they left the walls; as though you were intruding. You felt that way in a lot of aspects. An intruder on a perfect life that these people had grown used to in the wake of the apocalypse. A life where their only worry was whether or not Aiden and Nicholas would find the right ingredients for the food they’d planned on cooking during their supply runs. 

But there was nothing to be done aside from making a meal for one, eating alone with only a soft classical music CD to fill the silence, and to wait for the couple to come back home so you would have normal people to talk to. 

You were glad for them and the runs they went on, though. Or they never would’ve found you, and you’d likely be dead in a ditch by now. 

Your hand shook as you gripped the handle of your blade, wide eyes searching the pharmacy for any signs of walkers, or people. Being on the road alone for as long as you had been was making you feel like you’d gone crazy. Maybe you had already. 

Sweeping the small aisles, you found no signs of life. Most of the shelves were already empty, likely having been raided during the early days. Still, you grabbed whatever was available to you, shoving it into your bag before ducking into a corner, knees pressed to your chest as you rooted around for one of the final few cans of food you had left. 

You’d been rationing out what used to be a plentiful supply for a few weeks now. One can of food per day, nothing more. A lot of what you had was thanks to the traffic blockages on the highways and interstates you’d wandered along on your way out of Georgia. What used to be two cans a day for almost three weeks turned into one for the past week and a half, bordering on two. 

The lack of food wasn’t your only issue anymore. With no signs of life from your former group, you had every reason to believe that they were all dead. Logically, you knew they weren’t. You’d seen some of them escape in the firefight, yourself included. But without any real way of tracking them down, they were as good as dead. Not to mention the sudden and constant fatigue that the southern sun seemed to give to you, making traveling more difficult than you had originally planned. 

Even with no end in sight, no real indicator that the man you called your husband was still alive, and no true hope for your future, you still persisted. You found places to sleep for the night, whether in abandoned cars or gas stations off of turnpikes. You found just enough food to supply you for a few more days if you managed to stretch it thin enough, and you kept going. 

Just as you were about to crack open a can of corn, the crunching of glass and shuffling of footsteps alerted you to the body that had just entered the pharmacy. Its footfalls sounded too heavy and spaced out to be anything but a human. 

Gripping onto your knife, you held your breath and gently placed the can on the floor. With your bag still on your shoulders, you kept your body crouched and your ears peeled, moving around the person — no, people — moving around the pharmacy. 

“I’m telling you, we’ve already been here. There’s nothing left to take,” a voice reasoned. 

The footsteps ceased for a moment, and you paused, praying they hadn’t heard you. “I know. Doesn’t hurt to check, though, right? I mean, we can’t exactly go back empty handed. Aiden’ll have something to say about it.”

“But we aren’t out here for supplies,” the other stressed, “we’re out here for people, remember? New members?”

“I know,” their partner chuckled, footsteps resuming as they rounded the last aisle. You ducked between the shelves closest to the door, hoping to just outrun them and not have to fight them. There was a pause, a palpable beat, before he spoke again. “But I think we might not be coming back alone.”

A cold chill ran through your veins at the former’s words. He knew you were in here. He’d seen your can of food, or heard your shuffling around the pharmacy. In an instant, you were at your full height, eyes wide as your fingers clutched your knife tighter and you ran, against your better judgment, toward the pair. The blond was the one closest to you, his back facing your front. With as much energy as you could muster, you hooked your arm over his shoulder, dragging him to your chest as you pressed your knife to his throat. It wasn’t hard enough to do any real damage, but you knew that if you absolutely had to, you’d apply pressure. 

“Who are you?” You spat, hand shaking as it gripped the knife. “What do you want?”

“Woah, woah, calm down. It’s okay. We’re not here to hurt you.” The brunet immediately jumped into negotiation mode, putting his hands in front of him. The position reminded you of Rick, oddly enough, and your heart twinged as you adjusted your grip on the knife. 

“Then what are you here for?” You spat. “Like you said, there’s nothing worth taking here.”

The faintest of whimpers escaped the lips of the man you held hostage, dragging both yours and the brunet’s attention to him. “We’re just—” the blond gulped. “We’re recruiters. We have a camp not too far from here. A safe one. We’re looking for people to join us. People who have— have experience, out here.” 

His words, as stuttery and fearful as they were, confused you. 

“I’m Aaron,” the brunet said, keeping his arms up in surrender as he slowly slid the backpack from his shoulders. “That man you have is my partner, Eric. Everything he’s saying is right, and I can show you. I have pictures and a brochure in my bag, if you’ll let me get it.” 

Hesitantly, you nodded. Even if he had a weapon, most of your body was blocked by his partner — Eric. There was a highly likely chance that he wouldn’t try to harm you while you kept his friend in your grip, however weak it was becoming. 

Slowly, Aaron reached into his bag, pulling out exactly what he said he would. With Eric still in your grip, he showed you pictures of the place he and his friend called home — Alexandria. “Look,” Aaron sighed, stepping back a bit. “You seem like someone we could use. You have experience that we lack. Plus, it seems like you’ve been out here by yourself a while. We have walls, food, running water, and proper shelter. And if you decide to come with us, our leader, Deanna, will interview you. If she allows you in and you don’t like it, you can leave any time you want. We won’t keep you there if you don’t want to be, okay?”

With a shaking nod, you let go of Eric, nudging him toward Aaron, who enveloped the other man in a tight hug. “I— I can leave if I want to, right?”

“Of course, you can. No one will stop you, and that’s a promise.” 

It took a bit of getting used to, but you were glad that Aaron and Eric had found you that day. You’d been skeptical of things in Alexandria for the first few days, but you warmed to the entire situation a lot easier than you thought you would. You supposed it was because of how things were at the prison, but even then you weren’t alone.

Aaron and Eric, while not pushing the topic often, had managed to get to know enough about you and where you came from before they’d found you that they considered you a close friend. 

You’d only told them the briefest of answers. That you were with a large group in Georgia from the beginning, that you’d been with one of them for most of that time — even, at some point, considering yourselves to be married, though the symbol you’d had to show it had been lost months ago — and then another group came along and took everything away from you, simply because they could. 

The safety and privacy that the couple provided was something you were more than grateful for, even if you were sure you wouldn’t be able to have it forever. 

Because while Aaron and Eric, along with the rest of Alexandria, provided a structure and a sense of normalcy for you, you couldn’t shake the grief that fell upon you every time you were alone. 

The thought of Daryl being out there, combing every inch of Georgia for you while you were so far away, was enough to bring you to tears. It was another thing to think about the possibility of his rotting corpse roaming the woods in search of something living to eat. The thought that you’d never see him again, dead or alive. That you’d just push through life — however much longer that would be for you — without him, even though he promised you’d never have to go through something like that. 

The thought of your baby never knowing who their father was, and their father never knowing who they were, either. 

You could go an entire lifetime without ever seeing Daryl again, and the idea of it nearly killed you when he was still around. It hurt a hundred times worse now that it was practically a reality. 

The night passed without word from or the arrival of Aaron and Eric. It was common for them to be gone a while at a time — this particular trip lasting almost a week — but you hated sleeping in the house by yourself now. You were so used to waking up to Eric clattering dishes in the kitchen that waking up midday when they were gone only proved how fatigued you seemed to feel nowadays. 

Waking up to a knock on the door wasn’t unusual as of late, but it was certainly unpleasant. You were, however, grateful for the fact that when you were given a room at Aaron and Eric’s, it was on the first floor. 

Rolling out of bed got harder and harder with each passing week, but you managed it anyway. The knocking persisted, and you sighed as you made your way into the living room, shouting out, “I’m coming!”

The knocking ceased, and you pulled on the fabric of your shirt before answering the door, only to find Jessie. “Oh, hey,”

“Hi, hon,” she smiled, and you felt bad for being upset at her moments before. “Pete sent me over, said you were supposed to see him this morning?” 

“Oh, shit, Jessie I’m so sorry,” you said, brushing some stray hair from your face. “I overslept, normally Aaron—” 

Jessie smiled warmly, reaching out and putting a gentle hand on your arm. “I understand, Y/n, no need to worry. Just get dressed and head over to the infirmary. It’s not like Pete’s in any real rush.” 

“Alright,” you nodded, bidding Jessie goodbye and closing the door as she headed down the porch steps. 

Padding your way through the home, you went back to your room, pulling on some fresh clothes before freshening up in the bathroom. Routines like these were simple, but they kept you sane. You’d had something a little closer to it at the prison, but it was nowhere near as nice as it was in Alexandria. 

After eating a small breakfast, you were out of the house and on your way to the infirmary. The streets were quiet, as always, and the sun was anything but forgiving. People smiled and waved, and you did the same, even if you didn’t know half of the people in this place. Even after being here for two months, it was hard to remember such trivial things about so many people. Plus, putting names to faces was never one of your strong suits. 

Stepping into the infirmary, you were grateful for the burst of air conditioning that fell over your body. Smiling, you greeted Denise and Pete, the former of the two sitting on one of the beds as she pored over the book in her lap. 

“Alright, let’s take a look at you. Sound good?” Pete smiled, and you nodded back. 

While you hauled yourself onto the bed, Pete readied the ultrasound equipment. Pulling back the loose shirt you wore, your eyes glued themselves to the obvious, albeit still small, bump you were sporting. 

“Hey, I’m about four months along now, right?” You asked, eyes darting up to Pete, who confirmed with a nod. “That means you can see the baby’s gender, doesn’t it? I remember hearing that somewhere,” 

Pete chuckled, powering on the machine and taking the gel from its holster. “Most of the time, yes. If you want me to look around for it, I can do that. After I make sure everything’s okay.” 

“I really wanna know,” you said, wincing at the cold gel making contact with your skin. “It’d mean a lot. Then I can go full nesting mode. And so can Aaron and Eric, really.” 

The ultrasound went off without a hitch. According to Pete, your margins were clear, and everything looked healthy with the baby. It was always a relief to hear. There was little room for error with these things now that you had scarcely little supplies to work with. Finding the ultrasound machine early on in the apocalypse was a miracle in itself. 

“Okay…” Pete hummed, the wand moving and pressing over your skin. “The kid’s giving me a hard time with this one. And…” he pressed a few buttons, eyes focused on the screen before him. You watched his features intensely, as though his expression would give the answer away before he could say it. Pete’s eyes broke from the screen as he smiled, lifting the wand. “You’re having a little girl. Congratulations.” 

Your heart swelled, a wide smile overtaking your features as Pete handed you a towel. “A girl,” you whispered, eyes locked onto your belly. 

Before you were able to stop yourself, you were once more reminded of the likelihood that you’d never be able to share this with Daryl. Tears welled along your waterline as you sat up, swiping the scratchy cloth across your belly. Whether Pete noticed or not, he made no indications. You were thankful for it, and for him leaving the room to put the ultrasound equipment away. 

When he came back inside, he pulled Denise from her books and into the kitchen to talk, but you paid no mind to them. They were talking too low for you to listen in, anyway, and you were too busy trying to quell your emotions on the makeshift examination table to want to eavesdrop. 

By the time you were ready to leave, Olivia entered the infirmary, eyes scanning the room before landing on your frame. 

“Y/n, they’re on their way back,” she smiled, and you nodded gratefully. 

“They’re okay?”

The woman nodded. “Eric’s a bit banged up, hurt his leg I think, but otherwise they’re fine. And they brought a group. They should be getting here soon.” 

Exhaling a relieved breath, you slid from the bed, bidding goodbye to Denise and Pete as you followed Olivia onto the street. You walked side by side in silence, mulling over what she’d said. 

“You said they brought a group?” You asked, following Olivia up the steps to the house that held all of your inventory. “How many?”

Olivia huffed, brows cinching. “Deanna said it was a big one. That they had a lot of weapons, been on the road a while.” 

Your eyes widened. “A while as in the entire time, or?”

“Not sure,” Olivia shook her head. “All I know is I gotta get the weapons cart to the gate, if you wanna help?” 

“Sure. Should probably be there to get Eric to the infirmary, anyway,” you decided. 

And, sure enough, Aaron helping a limping, sweating Eric through the gate was the first — and for now, only — glimpses of the new group you would get. Aaron smiled apologetically as he spotted you, tucked out of view from the newcomers. 

“What the hell happened to you?” You said, looking pointedly at Eric, who grimaced as you took his arm from Aaron. 

“Roamers,” he sighed. “It’s broken, I think.” 

“You think?” You asked, eyeing the bruising flesh. “I can tell it’s broken. Come on, let’s get you to Pete.” 

Aaron thanked you as you wrapped an arm around Eric’s waist, helping him up the road and back into the infirmary. 

As Pete worked to wrap Eric’s ankle, you couldn’t help but ask questions about the trip. 

“It was a disaster,” Eric groaned. “There were roamers everywhere. Plus, this group, they’re headstrong. Been out there a while.” 

“How many of them are there?” You asked. “Olivia didn’t tell me.” 

“Fifteen,” Eric hissed, squirming as Pete positioned his ankle properly. 

Your eyes widened, throat going dry. “Jesus,” you huffed. “That many of them and they’re still going?”

“With a baby,” 

“Oh my God,” you gasped. Your mind flashed with images of baby Judith, heart clenching. The fall of the prison meant that you never found out exactly who made it out alive, and you never dared to venture the thought of whether or not she did. “They must be some lucky sons of bitches.” 

Eric laughed. “Not only are they lucky, but they’re tough. And really close. I think, once you get used to them, you’ll like them. They remind me of you when we found you.” 

“So, scrappy, hungry, and tired?” 

“Yeah, pretty much,” Eric laughed, and you couldn’t help but do the same. 

“If you need me, I’m four houses down.” Aaron pointed, Rick and Carl following his line of sight. “If I’m not there, Eric or Y/n probably will be.” 

Carl’s eyes snapped back to the brunet, a mixture of confusion and skepticism floating within them. “Y/n?”

Aaron’s brows furrowed at the boy. “Yeah. She’s a friend of ours, came here a few months back. Why?”

“We, uh…” Rick stepped in, a hand scratching at his beard. “We used to know someone named Y/n. that’s all.”

“Oh,” Aaron nodded, stepping away and heading back home, where you and Eric were sitting at the table, sandwiches in hand as you giggled about something he wasn’t aware of. 

Upon his entrance into the kitchen, you stood excitedly and hugged the man. “Glad you’re back okay,” you said, heading back to your chair. “I heard the group you brought was tough.”

“Yeah, they are.” Aaron chuckled, still mulling over the puzzle pieces in his head. “You said you were with a big group before, right?”

“Yeah, why?”

Aaron huffed, glancing at his shoes. “I brought up your name to one of the new members — just a name, nothing else — he said they used to know someone with the same name.” 

Your heart stuttered in your chest, limbs freezing as you were bringing the sandwich to your mouth. Clearing your throat, you forced yourself to put the food back down, looking up at Aaron with shining eyes. “This man, what’d you say his name was?”

“Rick. Rick Grimes.” 

If your heart had been fluttering before, it was banging like a drum in your chest now. Your stomach fluttered, your hand coming to rest on the swell of your belly, hoping to quell the anxiousness. 

“Where are they?” You asked, and Aaron’s mouth only remained agape. “Aaron, where are they?”

“Down the street,” he finally said, voice cracking. “The house on the curb, the one you said you liked.” 

Within moments, your food and friends were abandoned as you practically ran from the home, shooting down the porch steps and down the street. You were thankful that no one was out and about right now, or you were sure they’d think you looked crazy. You didn’t even register a person in your path until you’d already bumped into them. 

“Oh! Y/n, are you alright?” Jessie asked, her hands on your shoulders as her eyes searched your wild ones. 

“‘M fine, Jessie.” You muttered. “I’ve gotta go.”

You gave the woman no time to respond before you were wriggling out of her grip and hurrying down the street. Up more steps, you were greeted by the charming yellow door of the home you’d wished you lived in, knuckles rapping frantically and unyielding on the wood. 

The door finally, after what felt like decades, creaked open. Your heart stopped in your chest as you took in the sight of your husband’s best friend, clean shaven and hair dripping from a recent shower. 

Rick’s eyes flooded with tears as they met your own. In seconds, you were pulling him into your arms, grateful that you weren’t the only survivor of the Governor’s wrath. 

You sobbed into his shoulder, gripping tightly to the clean white shirt he wore. “Rick,” you croaked, “is he—” 

“He’s fine,” Rick whispered, heart breaking when your sobs worsened out of pure relief. “He’s just fine.” 

When you finally found the strength to let go, Rick led you inside. “We thought you were dead,”

“There were times I wished I was,” you said, taking a seat at the edge of the couch. “I was by myself for just over a month. Found some train tracks, lost ‘em, then stuck to interstates, mostly. Got lost in the woods, found a small town, and from there, Aaron and Eric found me. I’ve been here for two months.” 

Rick huffed a laugh, disbelief filling the sound. “Sounds like you had one hell of a trek.”

“I had a car, for a bit.” You shrugged. “Walkers ruined that part. I crashed it into a tree. Stuck to walking after that.” 

“When did you…” Rick glanced down at your swelling belly, forcing a laugh from you. 

Shrugging, you smoothed your hand over your belly. “Four-ish months ago. Didn’t find out until I got here. Been terrified ever since, really. Not knowing if Daryl was out there, if I’d see him again.” 

“You’ll see him soon,” Rick assured you. “He’s talking to Deanna now.”

“And the others?” You asked. “Beth? Judith?”

“Judith is just fine,” Rick said, eyes leaving yours as he sighed. “Beth got caught out in Atlanta. A woman in a hospital killed her.”

Your stomach churned at Rick’s words, guilt crushing your lungs and bile rising in your throat. “Oh, my God,” you whispered, pressing your fingers to your mouth to try and stop yourself from throwing up. 

Rick nodded, resting a hand on your knee. He watched you stand, your arm resting over your belly, beginning to pace the floor before him. 

“I have to… I need to go see the others. Daryl.” And without another word, you were leaving Rick behind in an unfamiliar home, nearly running down the familiar path to where Deanna and her husband lived. 

The group milled about in the small courtyard in front of Deanna’s house, hidden behind the brick walls that fenced it in. Everyone was either sitting or leaning against something, sticking to a tight group, and completely blocking your path to the inside of the home. 

With your mind so set on seeing Daryl, on simply getting close to him again, you failed to register Carol saying your name. Once again, you were pulled from your thoughts only when someone was right in front of you. 

This time, Carol was pulling you into her arms, her grip on your body tight. You hugged her back, despite the sweat and grime that covered her. Soon enough, Glenn, Maggie, Michonne, and Sasha had joined her. You were surrounded by your family, all overwhelmed at your presence, but happy nonetheless. 

When you finally requested to be let go, they obliged, and you finally spotted Judith in the arms of someone you didn’t know. Relief flooded you, seeing the baby healthy and happy as she could be. 

“What happened to you?”

“We thought you were dead!”

“Are you okay?”

“Guys, I’m fine, I promise.” You chuckled through tears. “I’ve been here almost the whole time, and I’m perfectly healthy. The doctor said so this morning.” 

You smiled as Carol’s eyes drifted from your face to your belly, shock overcoming her features, before her smile matched yours. She said nothing, but you were sure everyone else was either figuring it out or partially aware, just based on the interaction alone. 

A loud scoff echoed from the porch door, followed by low, gravelly muttering. Your heart stopped at the familiar voice, before thrumming in your heart like a rapid drumbeat. There, walking with careless ease, picking at his thumbs, was your husband, covered head to toe in layers of dirt and grime. You choked a sob as the group seemed to part around you. 

“Daryl,” you croaked, just loud enough for him to hear it. 

Daryl paused at the top of the steps, his eyes locked onto yours through the hair he’d let grow too long. In a flash, he was down the stairs entirely, rushing to pull you into his arms. You met him in the middle, colliding with his body and bringing you both to the ground. With one hand cupping the back of your head and the other splayed between your shoulder blades, Daryl cradled you close to him, rocking you as you clutched to the leather vest on his back tighter, sobbing in his embrace. 

“I thought ya were dead,” he whispered, fingers digging into your back. “I thought I lost ya,”

A choked sound escaped you as you shook your head. “Never,” you promised. “You could never lose me.” 

“Yer necklace,” Daryl croaked, tucking his face into the side of your head. “I found it, on the tracks in Georgia. Thought ya were gone…” 

“It fell.” You said, words hushed and shaking, as though they were a desperate plea. “Walkers were coming for me, too many for me to take on myself. It snapped off in the fight, I couldn’t go back for it.” 

By the time you felt okay enough to stand on your own, everyone had departed from the courtyard, likely into Deanna’s home. With a vice grip on his arms, Daryl helped you stand. His eyes raked over your face, tear-stricken and flushed with emotion. No matter the state you were in, Daryl could never see you as anything other than utterly beautiful. 

“You’re okay?” You asked, hands gently brushing the hair from his dirt-caked face. “You’re not hurt?” 

Daryl shook his head, leaning into your delicate touch. Hands smoothed over cloth, over skin, dedicating the feeling of your body beneath his touch to memory. He watched your eyes flutter closed as he did so, relishing in the slight pressure of his palms against your skin. They slid down your hips, your waist, and Daryl’s brow furrowed. He’d committed your body to memory long ago — every curve, every bump, every scar. Slowly, and with a hand that was less steady than it had been a moment ago, Daryl’s fingers drifted delicately over your front, eliciting a small gasp when he found what he’d suspected. 

The sound forced your eyes to open, meeting the bright blue of his own, widened in shock. Immediately, your stomach churned and you pulled your bottom lip between your teeth, a habit you’d been unable to shake since high school. 

“Daryl?” Your voice shook. 

“Yer…” he breathed, eyes darting down to where the backs of his fingers rested, the slight swell of your stomach confirming what he’d been about to ask. “When’d you… did you know?”

“No, no…” you whispered gently, shaking your head. “I had no clue when… I didn’t know until I got here. I suspected it on the road, but… no, I didn’t.” 

A shaking breath fell from his lips. “And yer okay? Yer both— both okay?”

“We’re just fine,” you smiled, resting your palm on his cheek. “I promise. Your girls are just fine.” 

Daryl’s breath caught in his throat, a new wave of pure emotion rolling through his body. It seized his muscles, freezing him in place as he struggled for breath and blinked away tears. Girls. He was going to be a dad. He was going to have a daughter. 

“Ya have no idea how much I love ya,” Daryl muttered, his head dipping low, forehead resting on your shoulder. 

“I think I have a clue or two,” you joked, voice as soft as you could make it.

Daryl scoffed, lifting his head and pressing his lips to yours. It was short, shorter than you would’ve liked, but it carried as much love as all the other kisses you’d shared and stolen with the archer over the years. Still, he was here, and he was safe, and so were you. Nothing else mattered except that. 

The horrifying reality you’d thought yourself to be in was nothing but that — a mere thought. For now, you and Daryl were safe. Together. As a family. 

And you knew that, as he slipped the necklace back onto your skin, this time on a leather rope tied tight, there was nothing either of you wouldn’t do to stay that way. 

forever taglist: @mazerunnerrose @theboldandthebootyful @miraclesoflove @heliads

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[cherubkissesx]

tangled limbs

part 2 here!

pairing: spencer reid x bau!female reader

summary: you and spencer are in a secret relationship but you’re sick so spencer immediately rushes to your place after work but he ends up falling asleep, but penelope and derek catch you two.

contents: fluff, sick reader!, talks of throwing up

you woke up that day feeling absolutely terrible but decided to go into work anyways, however just before you and the team were about to go on the jet aaron stopped you and told you to go home.

“what! why?” you said stunned but aaron just shot you a look as if to say “are you serious”. “you look very ill, and it doesn’t ease my nerves to know one of my team might throw up everywhere based on the way you cover your mouth every five seconds” aaron said pointedly.

“you make a very good point sir” you said giving up and walking to go pack up your stuff to leave. “where are you headed?” spencer said subtly putting his hand on your wrist.

“home i feel awful” you said as you yet again find your hand flying up to your mouth in a moment of panic thinking you might throw up but lower your hand when the nausea passed.

“in the politest way possible, you look god awful” spencer said in a soft tone. “gee, thanks” you laugh.

“i’ll see you later.” you said and when there was no one around he planted a kiss on your temple which made your pale complexion flush instantly.

—-

you got changed into your pjs immediately upon arriving home and flop into bed making sure you have a sick bucket at the side of your bed just incase.

practically as soon as your head hit the pillow you fell into a deep slumber. the coolness of your sheets hitting your flushed face felt nice and soothing.

some hours later you awoke startled as you felt someone gently shake you awake. “spence?” you managed to say once you peeled your eyes open. you looked around your room finding that your room was engulfed in darkness. wow how long had you slept?

you check your phone and see it was 11pm that same day, you had slept all day.

“what are you doing here?” you asked softly budging up and patting the now open spot for spencer to sit in.

“i was worried about you” spencer said engulfing you in a gentle hug. “it’s only a stomach bug and maybe a bit of a fever” you waved off.

“shhh let me worry” spencer said lying down and pulling you into his side. “you guys are back earlier than i thought” you said trying to make conversation. “the case was a bust, minimal evidence” spencer said sadly. “i’m thankful i didn’t miss out on much i already feel awful for not being there” you confessed.

“you never take a day off work not in all the years i’ve known you, plus you didn’t really take the day off you were sent home” spencer said reassuringly.

you smile up at him and snuggle into him even more as if no matter how close you were pressed into him it wasn’t enough. he diverts his soft doe like eyes down to yours and kisses you tenderly.

“my breath smells bad” you said giggling. “let me look after you” spencer smiles and runs his fingers through your hair which has your eyelids drooping.

—-

penelope and derek both take turns knocking on your apartment door but there was no answer. “we’ll just use her spare key!” penelope exclaims. “why would you know where she keeps her spare key?” derek asked in confusion. “doesn’t take a genius to figure it out” penelope said and retrieved your spare key from underneath your doormat.

“for an fbi agent that’s this smart she doesn’t think about her safety” derek laughed.

penelope and derek had brought you a care package although it was all penelope’s idea and derek just tagged along, it consisted of homemade soup, face masks, etc.

they made a beeline to your bedroom as it was the only door closed and you weren’t anywhere else. “y/n!” penelope said in a sing song voice.

“i—?” penelope said going to say something but stopped dead in her tracks and so did derek.

the scene they saw infront of them was you nestled in closely to spencer’s side, your head buried in the crook of his nick and his head resting on top of yours. he had a protective arm slung over your body while your hand was resting on his chest. and your legs where tangled together.

“did you know anything about this?” derek asked in surprise. “no! how could she not say anything” penelope whisper shouted.

“i think we should take a picture!” penelope announced excitedly and captured a photo of you two.

“they are never hearing the end of this.” derek chuckled.

[alinathinkstoomuch]

WET INTRODUCTIONS

pairing: aaron hotchner x reader summary: meeting your best friend's dad normally involves crying and flashing him all in the same night, right? based on this request. an | warnings: chat!! jack and reader are both in their twenties 4 this not to be weird, it still feels a little weird 2 me, hotch is however old u fancy him to be, r flashes hotch (just bra!!), activation of the sir kink, crying in the bathroom, r is just a lil lost bless her heart, hotch in that juicy half-zip sweater word count: 2.7k

✧ masterlist

Your shoes were near enough squelching by the time you made it to the apartment—not yours, but Jack’s. At this point, it was the better and closer option, and frankly, the only one that didn’t involve sitting on a train feeling sorry for yourself while dripping on the seat.

The rain had soaked you clean through, turning your clothes into second skin and your hair into a very clingy, tangled mess. No doubt the downpour also had taken it upon itself to act as micellar water, dragging your mascara into streaks that made you look part of a low-budget horror film. Honestly, the entire date might as well have been a paid actor.

You peeled your jacket off as you climbed the stairs, the fabric now three shades darker and twice as heavy. Your scarf followed, limp and defeated. Wet hair clung to your neck, and you pushed it away with a sigh loud enough that Emma, three floors up, probably paused whatever true crime doc she was watching.

Your jacket slipped from your arms an ungodly number of times as you rummaged through your purse, blindly fishing past gum wrappers and receipts while muttering curses at your keys for playing hide-and-seek at the worst possible moment. After what felt like five solid minutes of fighting the universe, you finally found the right key and shoved it into the lock with enough force to scrape your nail.

“I know what you’re thinking,” you said the moment the door opened, “and yes, you were right, but I don’t want to hear any I told you so’s.”

You stepped into the apartment and immediately dropped your bag onto the floor with a sloshed thud. “He was an absolute dick. Like, the kind who stares down your top every time you reach for the menu. And then—get this—he orders three sides and calls it dinner, which obviously meant I had to get sides too or look like I was trying too hard.”

Your shoes were next to go, kicked off somewhere near your bag. “And he kept saying females like some gigantic weirdo. And then—” you paused to catch your breath, hanging your soaked jacket and scarf onto a hook nearby, “he started mansplaining crypto, and that was my cue to get the hell out.”

You turned towards the kitchen, swallowing down the scratchy tickle climbing up your throat. “If I knew dating was going to be this fucki—”

You stopped dead in your tracks.

Because leaning against the counter was definitely not Jack.

Instead, you were met with a much older man, someone who looked far too sensible to be a burglar, yet absolutely like he’d know his way around a weapon if needed, with how he was holding what now looked like a comically small mug.

Ah. Must be Jack’s infamous FBI father.

“I am so sorry,” your words tumbled out faster than your common sense, raindrops hitting the hardwood floor as if to emphasise just how much of a mess you were. “Jack didn’t mention he had company. Not that I called ahead—which, yes, would’ve been smart—but I just needed somewhere dry, and it’s absolutely pouring out, and you must be Mr Hotchner—”

You extended a hand out of instinct, only to catch sight of your chipped nail polish and soaked sleeve. Immediately, you withdrew it again, cringing. He looked like the kind of man who shook prim and proper hands only. Not ones belonging to half-drenched disasters ranting about failed dates.

He said nothing, which, judging by the look of him, didn’t seem like a rare occurrence. His eyes swept over you slowly, like he was scanning for weak points. Lucky for him, he wouldn’t have to look very hard, the whole bane of your existence had always been a weak point.

Still, you silently begged the universe to cut the power, just for a moment, if only to spare you the full force of his gaze.

You swallowed, then cleared your throat as the scratchy feeling flared up again, determined to ruin what little composure you had left. All while standing in front of a man who clearly thought speaking was optional.

After what felt like eternity, he spoke, saying your name with the kind of authority that made you question whether you were being greeted or scolded. “…Jack’s told me about you.”

You offered the best smile you could manage, trying your hardest to ignore the feeling of wet clothes clinging to your skin. “Good things I hope?”

“Some.”

Ouch. Okay. Not exactly the confidence boost you were hoping for, and this probably wasn’t doing much to shift his opinion of you.

You felt a slow drip of water slide down the back of your neck. “I’m usually more… put together…ish,” you added, immediately cringing, again. “And significantly less soaked.”

He glanced at the growing trail of droplets surrounding your feet. “You’re dripping on the floor.”

Yeah. You were hoping to be tonight, just not in this kind of way.

You let out a breath that could’ve passed for a laugh. “Sorry about that.” You weren’t sure if you were apologising for being a walking hazard to the floors you were fairly certain he helped Jack pay for, or for the mildly inappropriate direction your brain had just taken things. “I’ll just dry off and be out of your hair.”

He nodded, and you couldn’t tell if it was meant to dismiss you or quietly judge you. Probably both. Being an FBI agent must come with excellent multitasking skills. Either way, you took it as your cue and made your way to the bathroom, your damp socks squishing softly against the floor as you went.

Inside the bathroom, you cursed—loudly—the moment you caught your reflection. Your makeup had been completely smudged and smeared, looking like some sort of tragic attempt at human abstract art.

And your top?

Completely see-through.

Not just kind of see-through. Full on hello, pink bow in the centre of your bra see-through.

You grabbed a towel and dried off as best as you could, still muttering under your breath. Fixing your makeup was next, though that just meant wiping away the worst of the smudges with a few torn bits of toilet paper.

And then, for the first time that evening, it felt like the universe finally threw you a lifeline. A hoodie hung on the back of the bathroom door, and you claimed it with little thought. Because if you had to walk back out there, you’d prefer not to half-flash your best friend’s father again.

Just as you pulled the thick material over your head, that same scratchy feeling clawed at your throat, this time triggering a full-on coughing fit that left you doubled over, wheezing through the hoodie.

You couldn’t pinpoint exactly when the coughing turned into crying, it just…happened. One minute you were catching your breath, the next you were sitting on the closed toilet lid, your cold hands clumsily swiping at your cheeks, trying to figure out which drops were rain and which ones were tears.

“This is silly,” you whispered, blinking fast as you wiped your sleeve under your eyes. Like you weren’t already soaked enough. “Get it together.”

Your voice cracked on the last word, just in time for a knock at the door to follow, making you wince.

“Is everything alright?”

“Yes. All good,” you called back a little too quickly. “I’ll be out in a minute.”

You turned back to the sink and ran cold water over your fingers. It did nothing for comfort, but it was your go-to trick for reducing the redness and puffiness that came with tear-stained eyes. The shock of the cold made you flinch, but you welcomed the small punishment.

Once your fingertips were numb, you dabbed them gently under your eyes until the worst of it faded. Not perfect. But not obvious. Good enough to do the awkward dance of sorry for barging in on father-son bonding time and also flashing you in the process.

You exhaled, pulled the sleeves of the hoodie down over your hands, and gave your reflection one final, grimacing look before stepping out into the hallway again, slightly drier, but no less mortified.

He was still in the kitchen, his back to you, the clink of a spoon against a mug filling the quiet. You moved carefully, just about to slip past, grab your things, and make a quiet, hopefully unnoticed exit when he turned around.

You froze mid-step, again, and briefly wondered if this was a common side effect of being in his presence…sudden paralysis and poor decision-making.

“I was just—” you started, already edging towards the door, “—gonna head out. Get out of your way.”

Hotch’s eyes briefly fell to the oversized hoodie, now covering what had been a very unfortunate wardrobe malfunction, courtesy of your poor weather-related outfit choices. Then he turned to the window, where the rain continued to lash against the glass.

 “Wait until the storm settles. It’s not safe out there right now.”

You opened your mouth to insist that it was perfect walking to the train station weather, but he cut you off before you could get the words out.

“And you don’t sound great.”

“I’m fine, really. I’ll go home, rest, drink fluids, do all the sensible things. I’m sorry for the intrusion, Mr Hotchner.” You turned, already halfway toward the living room when his voice came again.

“Sit.”

You mentally added following orders to the growing list of things Jack’s father somehow managed to get out of you with minimal effort. With half a nod, you moved towards one of the bar stools and sank down onto it as he turned away again.

Technically, you could’ve made a run for it. A quick sprint to the door, barefoot and humiliated but free. But something about Aaron Hotchner kept you in place. Maybe it was curiosity, maybe it was exhaustion. Either way, you stayed.

“Not sure what time Jack’ll be back,” he said, turning to face you again, sliding a steaming mug across the counter. “He went out to pick up Sophie, but I told him not to drive back until the roads clear.” He paused, then added, “Chamomile with honey. Your throat sounds like it needs it.”

Observant too. Noted.

“Thank you,” you murmured, curling your fingers around the mug. The warmth felt weirdly personal, like something you hadn’t realised you needed until it was right in front of you. It seeped into your hands slowly, and you focused on that instead of the mess of your thoughts.

You took a small sip. Your throat burned a little on the way down, but in a good way. Like it was clearing something out.

“First time meeting Sophie?” you asked, figuring it was safer to bring up Jack’s dating life than circling back to your own train wreck of an evening.

“No. We’ve met a few times.”

Well that ends that conversation. Great.

“He, uh… talks about you a lot, you know,” you added, looking up. “Not like… in a weird way. Just—he really looks up to you. I don’t think he says it enough.”

Hotch nodded again, this time slower. More thoughtful. Like he wasn’t used to compliments being handed to him so directly and didn’t quite know where to put this one.

“Thanks,” he replied eventually.

You winced inwardly at the silence that followed.

“Sorry, I tend to ramble when I’m tired.”

“I’ve noticed.”

“I really am more put together usually. I don’t make it a habit of breaking into people’s apartments.”

“You didn’t break in.”

“That is true,” you agreed, bringing the mug to your lips. “I do have a key. Guess that just makes it legal trespassing.” You glanced at him over the rim, catching the faintest trace of amusement in the lines near his eyes. It passed almost immediately, but it had been there.

“You’re not trespassing. If Jack gave you a key, you’re obviously welcome here.”

“Don’t say it with too much enthusiasm.”                 

That coaxed an almost smile from him, though you didn’t get the chance to study it before he turned away, rinsing something in the sink. You watched him move, orderly and specific, as if even washing a mug came with its own method and order. It made you acutely aware of how much noise you actually took up just by existing.

His shoulders were broad, the fabric of a brown half-zip sweater stretching clean across them. The sleeves were pushed up, forearms lean and steady. There was something beyond put-together about him, like someone who’d never once cried in a bathroom or forgotten to bring an umbrella.

“I’m guessing this wasn’t how you thought your evening would go either,” you sighed, setting the mug back down on the counter.

He glanced at you over his shoulder. “No. But I’ve had worse.”

“Worse than a soaking wet twenty-something crying in your son’s bathroom?”

“Much worse.”

You let out a laugh, confused as to why those two words had managed to alleviate so much of the pressure in your chest. Maybe it was the calm in his voice, or the fact he hadn’t once made you feel ridiculous for the crying, or the soaking, or the rambling.

You went back to quietly ogling his back as he dried his hands until a ding from his phone broke the silence. He reached for it once the towel was hung neatly back in its place.

“It’s Jack,” he said, reading from the screen. “They’re on their way back.”

Your eyes moved to the window, noticing how the rain had eased into something gentler, making you shift from the stool.

“The rain’s calmed down, so I’ll actually get out of your hair now.”

“You don’t want to wait until they’re back?”

You shook your head, stepping a little closer, though you told yourself it was towards the sink, not him. “No, I think the only thing that’ll make me feel better is crawling into bed and not leaving it for the next twenty-four hours.”

He moved a fraction as you leaned over to place your mug in the sink, tugging your sleeves up out of habit.

“It’s alright, I’ll do it,” he cut in, making you pause. “Let me drive you home at least.”

You hesitated, hand hovering awkwardly over the sink. “You don’t have to do that. Really, I’ll just catch the next train.”

He didn’t budge, just continued to look at you in a way that was beginning to make your pulse skittish. “It’s late, and you’re still not feeling great.”

You opened your mouth to argue, to say something about not wanting to be more of a burden than you already had been, but the words didn’t quite form. So instead, you settled on a low, “Okay. If you’re sure.”

He nodded, reaching for your mug in the sink, and you took that as your window to quietly gather your things and slip your shoes back on, still damp, still squelch-adjacent, but you didn’t complain. Not when he'd offered you tea. And a ride home. And not once commented on your see-through top incident.

The drive back was mostly silent, save for your half-mumbled, delayed directions, which he somehow still managed to follow with ease. And then, before you even realised how short the distance had felt, he was pulling up in front of your apartment building, dimly lit and mildly depressing, but yours nonetheless.

You unbuckled your seatbelt and turned to him with a tired smile. “Thank you, again. And I’m sorry for all the trouble.”

“No trouble at all. Just make sure you rest and drink plenty of fluids.”

“Yes, sir,” you said, entirely joking—but froze the second it left your mouth, your eyes flicking to his, instantly regretting the awkwardness of it all. You cleared your throat, grabbing your bag and damp scarf. “Anyway. Goodnight, Mr Hotchner.”

His mouth twitched as if he were holding back a smile, or something that hovered a little too close to one. “Goodnight.”

You: Met your dad tonight after the world’s worst date. You: Also, I accidentally stole a hoodie from the bathroom—will wash and return.

Jack: Yeah, he mentioned. Jack: Wait… what hoodie?

You: Navy one. Found it hanging on the back of the door.

Jack: Yeah… that’s not mine. Pretty sure that’s my dad’s lol.

tags - @fandomscombine @pastelpinkflowerlife @hazzyking @bernelflo @risenqueen1521 @jazzimac1967 @camihotchner @abschaffer2 @ill-be-okay-soon-enough @pacmillo-blog-blog @stilestotherescue @kiwriteswords @anvdala @supersanelyromantic @yourallaround-simp @percysley @wowitsafemale @cinnamoncunt @kajjaka @khxna

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