#but without aaron and their previous life together

[renamusing]

guys chill. there's no reason for ryan to hurry back bc there's literally nothing for robert to do atm. they can't fit him into any sl and he is too big a character to simply come back to "fix" aaron, plus they are already doing that with chas, not to mention rob's return will have a bigger impact if aaron is stable and already seeing someone else (that way they can give us the ultimate fantasy aka affair 3.0) though i think it would be really funny if they threw rob into the whole caleb/kim feud as some shady contact of caleb's who is actually looking to get home farm for himself cause that's what robert always defaults to short of aaron, and then when cain finally finds out who has been helping caleb behind the scenes (bc cain always finds out innit) he goes ballistic and caleb is like "wot now?" and cain is foaming at the mouth "thats aaron's ex!" and caleb shrugs " ex-boyfriend? so?" and cain just shakes his head "no, his husband!" and then in comes robert all smug&smiles trying to hide the fucked up broken person inside ready to make everything worse for everybody :DDDDD

[dreamersworldduh]

HIS AWAKENING — PART 4

MY HEART BELONGS TO YOU

• NATE JACOBS x MALE!READER

SUMMARY — Though Nate has finally admitted his feelings for Y/N, expressing them is an entirely different battle. Used to guarding his emotions behind arrogance and control, he struggles with the vulnerability that comes with actually showing Y/N how much he cares. Every touch, every lingering glance, every unspoken word feels like unfamiliar territory—territory he's not sure how to navigate.

Y/N, ever perceptive, notices the hesitation. While he appreciates Nate's confession, he refuses to settle for half-measures. He wants something real, not just words spoken in the heat of the moment. And if Nate truly wants him, he needs to prove it—not just with declarations, but with actions.

Now, caught between his pride and his undeniable need for Y/N, Nate faces his biggest challenge yet: learning how to love without fear.

WARNING! FLUFF. Swearing.

WORDS! 13.3k

AUTHOR'S NOTE! firstly, THANK YOU all for the birthday wishes. Truly grateful for all of you! Here we are with Part 4 of Nate's journey. We have one more part we get to the finale! Sorry for my absence! Enjoy your reading!

PREVIOUS PART! — TELL ME WHAT YOU WANT

The days following Y/N's confession stretched endlessly, each hour dragging with an unbearable weight. He had thought, foolishly, that he could just push forward, slip back into the routine of his life as if nothing had changed—wake up, go to class, train until his body begged for mercy, collapse into bed, and repeat. He told himself that if he just stayed busy enough, he could pretend that he hadn't exposed his heart to someone who clearly didn't know what to do with it.

But denial only worked for so long.

Because no matter how much he tried to force his world back into its familiar rhythm, Nate was everywhere.

It wasn't just that they still shared a dorm, still moved around the same space like nothing had happened. It was the air between them—thick, charged, filled with unsaid words and stolen glances that only made everything worse. It was the way Nate looked at him, like he wanted to reach out, to say something, but always stopped himself before he could. Like he was stuck in some internal battle that Y/N was no longer willing to be a part of.

So, Y/N made the decision for both of them.

He ignored him. Completely.

No more playful teasing, no more flirtatious banter, no more searching for Nate's eyes across the room when he thought no one was looking. He shut it all down.

Silence. Cold. Absolute.

Each morning, Y/N made sure to be up and out of the dorm before Nate even stirred, slipping into his day without a single word. In class, he positioned himself as far away as possible, resisting the pull of Nate's gaze when he felt it burning into the back of his head. And during practice, he threw himself into training with an almost reckless determination—running until his lungs felt like they might burst, pushing his body to its limits, chasing exhaustion so he wouldn't have the energy to think about anything else.

But none of it worked.

Because no matter how much space he tried to put between them, no matter how much he acted like he didn't care, there was still that persistent, gnawing ache deep in his chest. A hollow reminder of everything he had wanted—of everything he was never going to get.

So, he found another way to distract himself.

Aaron.

At first, it was just a convenient escape—someone to occupy his mind, to fill the quiet Nate had left behind. But then, as days passed and their time together stretched longer, Y/N realized something surprising.

He actually liked Aaron.

Aaron was easy in a way that Nate had never been. There were no games, no mixed signals, no uncertainty. Aaron was confident, sure of himself, and most importantly, sure of what he wanted. And Y/N found that refreshing.

They started spending more time together—grabbing coffee between classes, studying in the library late at night, hanging out on the field when Aaron had a break from football. And with each passing moment, Y/N tried, with everything he had, to convince himself that this wasn't just about forgetting Nate.

Because what was the alternative?

Sit around, waiting for Nate to figure himself out? To decide if Y/N was worth the risk?

No.

He wasn't waiting anymore.

And if Nate had a problem with that?

Well, that was his issue to deal with.

Whereas Nate was sulking.

And he fucking hated it.

The days following Y/N's confession were some of the most frustrating, disorienting, and downright miserable days he had ever experienced. Everything felt off. His routine, his focus, his ability to just exist without feeling like something vital had been ripped away from him.

It wasn't supposed to be like this.

He wasn't supposed to care this much.

He wasn't supposed to feel this empty without Y/N's constant teasing, the sharp-witted remarks that always managed to get under his skin in the best way. He wasn't supposed to crave the late-night conversations, the unspoken tension, the way Y/N could challenge him without fear, without hesitation.

But now?

Now Y/N wouldn't even look at him.

And it was driving Nate fucking insane.

It started the morning after the confession.

He had woken up expecting some level of awkwardness, maybe even an argument—that was how things always went between them. Push and pull, a constant battle of words and wills. That was their dynamic. Their game. He had figured that Y/N would at least acknowledge him, even if it was just to be pissed at him.

But instead?

Y/N acted like Nate didn't even exist.

No sarcasm, no insults, no lingering stares. Nothing.

He had gotten up, dressed, and left the dorm without a single word, without sparing Nate a glance. And Nate had just laid there, jaw clenched, staring at the ceiling like it had personally offended him.

That silence carried into class.

The moment Y/N walked in, Nate spotted him—he always did, like his eyes were trained to find him in any room. But today, his usual seat remained empty. And instead of taking his place beside Nate, Y/N walked straight to the other side of the room, settling into a chair as far away as humanly possible.

Nate felt his fists curl against the desk.

He hadn't expected forgiveness. He wasn't that stupid. But this? This complete and utter dismissal?

This was worse.

And what made it unbearable—what made it fucking infuriating—was that no matter how hard he tried, no matter how many times he told himself to just let it go, to move on—

He couldn't stop thinking about him.

Y/N was in his head. Constantly.

Every time he closed his eyes, he saw him. The way he had looked at him in the shower, face open, raw, unguarded. His voice still echoed in Nate's skull, still made his chest tighten with something unrecognizable, something terrifying.

"Just be honest with me."

And Nate hadn't been able to do it.

He hadn't been able to say the one thing he knew was true. Hadn't been able to force the words past the tightness in his throat, the fear clawing at his ribs, squeezing until he couldn't fucking breathe.

And now?

Now he was paying for it.

And to make matters worse—because of course, it could always get worse—Y/N wasn't just ignoring him.

He was spending all his damn time with Aaron.

It was everywhere. The two of them walking to class, sitting together at lunch, standing too close near the track after practice. Laughing. Talking. Y/N looking relaxed in a way he never did around Nate, his body language easy, open—

And it made Nate's blood fucking boil.

Because that was supposed to be him.

That had been his spot.

And the worst part? The part that made him want to punch something, to wreck anything in his path just to stop the ache in his chest?

Y/N had given him every chance.

Every chance to claim that space, to be the person Y/N leaned on, laughed with, trusted.

And he had thrown it away.

The realization hit him like a sledgehammer, knocking the breath from his lungs.

He had never felt this way before. Ever.

Not about anyone.

And that scared the shit out of him.

Because for the first time in his life—

Nate Jacobs was afraid of losing something.

No.

He was afraid of losing someone.

Of losing Y/N.

And if he didn't do something about it soon—

He might lose him forever.

The soft hum of the diner blended with the faint clatter of dishes and the low murmur of conversation from the kitchen. The overhead lights cast a warm, golden glow, reflecting off the scuffed linoleum floors and the well-worn leather booths. Outside, the neon sign blinked in a slow, rhythmic pulse against the dark glass of the window, its light flickering across the nearly empty space.

Y/N sat alone in his usual booth near the window, absently scrolling through his phone, the words of a fanfic filling his screen. It was a mindless distraction, something to keep his thoughts occupied while he waited. His fingers idly tapped against the tabletop, the distant sound of a jukebox playing an old song making the late-night quiet feel even more still.

Aaron was supposed to be here soon.

It was just a casual hangout—no pressure, no complications. Just an easy night with someone who didn't make his head feel like a battlefield. Someone who actually knew what he wanted, who wasn't tangled up in some unspoken, frustrating mess of emotions. Y/N had been looking forward to it—eager, even, for something simple.

Then—

The seat across from him shifted.

The faint creak of the booth, the sound of someone settling into the worn cushion.

Y/N barely glanced up, assuming it was Aaron. "Took you long enough," he muttered, still reading. "I was about to—"

Then he paused.

Something was off.

The air around him felt different—thicker, heavier. Not the easy, laid-back presence Aaron carried, but something charged. Something that made his stomach tighten before he even looked up.

Slowly, Y/N's fingers stilled against his phone screen. His eyes flicked up—

And his breath caught in his throat.

It wasn't Aaron.

It was Nate.

And he didn't look like himself.

There was no smirk, no cocky tilt of his head, no smugness in his posture like he had shown up just to piss Y/N off. There was no challenge in his eyes, no teasing glint that meant he was gearing up for an argument.

Instead—

He looked different.

His broad shoulders were tense, his hands clasped together on the table like he needed to physically ground himself. The sleeves of his hoodie were slightly damp, the collar darkened where water had soaked into the fabric. His hair was still wet, like he had stepped out of the shower and come straight here without even thinking.

But what threw Y/N off the most wasn't any of that.

It was the look in Nate's eyes.

It wasn't the usual guarded confidence, wasn't the amusement he carried when he pushed Y/N just to get a reaction.

It was raw. Unsteady.

Vulnerable.

And Y/N had never seen Nate Jacobs look vulnerable before.

For a moment, he forgot how to speak.

The words were stuck somewhere in his throat, tangled up with the sudden realization that whatever this was—it wasn't normal. It wasn't their usual back-and-forth, wasn't some impulsive decision Nate had made to get under his skin.

This was different.

"...What are you doing here?" Y/N finally asked, his voice quieter than he intended.

Nate exhaled sharply, his fingers flexing against each other before he forced himself to meet Y/N's gaze again.

"I needed to talk to you."

His voice was low, serious. Like he'd spent a long time thinking about this. Like he had played this moment over and over in his head before finally deciding to go through with it.

And that—

That made something twist in Y/N's stomach.

Because this wasn't just Nate showing up to bother him.

This was something else entirely.

The second those words left Nate's mouth—I needed to talk to you—something inside him snapped taut, his defenses locking into place like a shield slamming down.

Because no.

Because he had already done this.

He had already laid it all out, cracked himself open, spilled every messy, aching piece of his heart at Nate's feet. He had given him the chance to be honest, had waited for him to say something, anything—and all he had gotten in return was silence.

So no.

He wasn't doing this.

Shaking his head, he shifted in his seat, fingers tightening around his phone, making it very clear that whatever Nate had to say?

He didn't want to hear it.

"No," he muttered, eyes flicking back to his screen. "Nope. Not doing this."

Nate's brows furrowed slightly. "Y/N—"

"No." Y/N cut him off, sharper this time. Firmer. "I said everything I needed to say, Nate. Weeks ago. And you—" He let out a short, humorless laugh, shaking his head as something bitter curled in his chest. "You couldn't say anything back. You wouldn't."

Nate opened his mouth, but Y/N wasn't finished.

"I'm not doing this with you," he continued, his voice sharp but tired, like he had spent every ounce of his strength trying to move on, only for Nate to show up and pull him right back in. "You don't get to show up now—now that I'm trying to let this go. You don't get to sit here and act like you suddenly want to talk when

you had every fucking chance before."

His pulse pounded in his ears, his chest tight with the weight of emotions he had tried so hard to bury.

He needed to leave.

He shifted in his seat, pushing his phone into his pocket, already preparing to stand, to walk away before this conversation could go anywhere.

But then—

"I'm in love with you."

The words hit like a sledgehammer to his chest.

The air around them seemed to shift, the world tilting dangerously off balance as Y/N froze, his breath catching in his throat.

Slowly—hesitantly—he looked up.

And what he saw terrified him.

Because Nate wasn't smirking.

He wasn't playing a game, wasn't throwing out words like weapons, wasn't trying to manipulate him or push him into another fight just to get a reaction.

No—

He meant it.

His hands were clenched together on the table, his shoulders rigid, his jaw tight like it had taken every ounce of strength he had to force those words out.

Like he was afraid Y/N wouldn't believe him.

Like he was afraid Y/N would leave anyway.

The diner suddenly felt too quiet.

Too small.

Too fucking real.

Y/N swallowed hard, his fingers gripping the edge of the table as he tried—desperately—to process what had just happened.

Because Nate Jacobs—the Nate Jacobs, the same guy who refused to admit his feelings, the same guy who had let him walk away—

Had just told Y/N he was in love with him.

And for the first time in his life—

Y/N had no idea what to say.

The words sat between them, thick and unshakable, suffocating in their weight.

"I'm in love with you."

Y/N could feel them pressing against his chest, making it harder to breathe, harder to think, harder to do anything other than stare at the boy sitting across from him, the boy who had spent weeks—months—years acting like feelings were something he could outrun.

But now?

Now Nate Jacobs had finally stopped running.

And he looked like he didn't know whether to be relieved or terrified about it.

His hands were still clasped together, fingers digging into his own skin like he was holding himself back from reaching across the table. His broad shoulders were tense, his jaw tight, but his eyes—God, his eyes—were the most unguarded Y/N had ever seen them. They weren't filled with their usual sharpness, their usual challenge, their usual dare you to look at me like I don't fucking own you.

No—

This was something else.

Something real.

Y/N swallowed hard, his grip tightening around the edge of the table, trying to steady himself, trying to process what the fuck was happening.

Because this—this—wasn't the Nate he knew.

This wasn't the cocky bastard who played mind games just to get a reaction, who pushed and pulled until Y/N felt like he was going insane.

This wasn't the Nate who had stood there in silence weeks ago, unwilling—too afraid—to give him an answer when Y/N had practically laid his heart out, raw and bleeding, at his feet.

This was someone else entirely.

And before Y/N could say a word—

Nate kept going.

"I don't want to play games anymore," he said, his voice low, steady, firm in a way that sent a shiver down Y/N's spine. "I don't want to fuck this up any more than I already have."

Y/N's breath hitched, his chest tightening.

Because that—that—was new.

Nate Jacobs didn't admit when he was wrong. Nate Jacobs didn't do this.

But now?

Now he was looking at Y/N like he was afraid he was already too late.

"I want to date you," Nate said, leaning forward just slightly, his fingers flexing against each other like he was holding himself back. "For real. No bullshit, no pride, no pretending like I don't care—because I do."

Y/N opened his mouth, but Nate didn't let him speak.

"Do you have any idea what you've done to me?" Nate asked, voice quiet but intense, like every word had been clawing at his throat for weeks, months, maybe years. "You—" He exhaled sharply, shaking his head. "You fucking challenge me. Every day. In every way. And I hate how much I—"

He stopped himself, jaw clenching before forcing himself to continue.

"I hate how much I love it."

Y/N's stomach flipped.

"I spent years thinking I had myself figured out," Nate admitted, voice rough, like he was choking on every syllable but forcing himself to say it anyway. "Thinking I knew what I wanted, what I was supposed to be. But then you—" His gaze locked onto Y/N's, burning. "You fucking ruined me."

Y/N's pulse pounded in his ears.

Because fuck.

Nate meant it.

"I tried to ignore it," Nate continued, his voice quieter now, more uncertain—which was terrifying, because Nate Jacobs was never uncertain. "I tried to pretend it was just sex, just some stupid thing between us that would go away." He let out a breathless, humorless laugh, shaking his head. "But it didn't go away."

Y/N sat there, frozen.

Completely, utterly frozen.

Because how the fuck was he supposed to respond to this?

To Nate Jacobs—Nate fucking Jacobs—sitting across from him in the middle of a shitty diner, pouring his goddamn soul out like his entire world would collapse if Y/N walked away.

To Nate admitting—out loud—that he wanted him.

That he needed him.

That he loved him.

Nate exhaled sharply, dragging a hand through his hair, his leg bouncing under the table like he was barely holding himself together.

"I don't know how to do this," he admitted, voice softer now, hesitant in a way that made Y/N's chest ache. "I don't know how to be good at this. But I do know that I want you. And if you—"

He swallowed, forcing himself to meet Y/N's eyes.

"If you still want me after everything I've done," he said, voice barely above a whisper, "then I swear to God—I will figure it out."

Silence stretched between them, thick and suffocating.

Y/N was speechless.

For the first time in what felt like forever, he didn't have a quick comeback, didn't have some sarcastic quip locked and loaded, ready to deflect.

Because this—this—wasn't something he could just brush off.

This was Nate Jacobs, sitting across from him, stripped of every layer of arrogance, of every mind game, of every carefully crafted wall he had spent years building.

This was raw. Unguarded. Real.

And it terrified Y/N.

Because he could hear it.

The sincerity in Nate's voice, the way each word felt like it had been torn from his chest, the way he meant it.

But that didn't mean Y/N could just forget everything else.

It didn't erase the weeks of silence. It didn't change the fact that Nate had spent so much time running from this, from him. That he had ignored him when Y/N had laid everything bare, left him sitting in the wreckage of his own emotions, feeling like a fucking idiot for ever believing he had been something more than just an experiment.

So Y/N took a slow, steady breath, forcing himself to think.

To really think.

Because if he was going to answer this—if he was going to open that door again—then he needed to be sure.

He needed to know that Nate wasn't just saying what he thought Y/N wanted to hear.

That he wasn't going to fuck this up again.

Finally, after what felt like an eternity, Y/N let out a slow breath and leaned forward, resting his arms on the table as he met Nate's eyes.

"You say you want this," Y/N started, his voice measured, careful, but firm. "You say you want me, that you love me, that you want to figure this out—" He exhaled sharply, shaking his head. "But Nate, I can't do this if you're just going to say one thing and then do a whole other."

Something flickered in Nate's eyes—something pained—but he didn't look away.

"I've been down this road before," Y/N continued, his fingers tightening against the worn surface of the table. "I've seen people say all the right things, make all the right promises, and then when it actually matters, when it's time to prove it—" He let out a breathless, bitter chuckle. "They don't."

Nate swallowed, his Adam's apple bobbing slightly. "Y/N—"

"No," Y/N cut him off, shaking his head. His voice wasn't sharp, wasn't angry—it was tired. Heavy with the weight of everything he had been carrying. "I need you to understand something."

Nate froze.

Y/N's voice was quiet now, but every word felt like a final, decisive blow.

"I don't do half-assed relationships. I don't do uncertainty. And I sure as hell don't do games."

Nate's hands curled slightly into fists on the table, his body tense like he was holding himself together with sheer willpower.

Y/N exhaled slowly, looking down for a brief second before meeting his eyes again.

"I need to know that if I say yes..." His voice softened, but the weight behind it was undeniable. "You're all in. That you're not just saying this because you're scared of losing me, or because you don't like seeing me with someone else." His gaze sharpened. "That you're saying this because you mean it."

Nate stared at him, his breathing slightly uneven, his entire posture stiff—like he wanted to reach out, wanted to do something, but was forcing himself to stay still.

Y/N let out a humorless chuckle, shaking his head slightly. "Because if I say yes, and you fuck this up again?"

His eyes were piercing now, unwavering.

"Then you lose me for good."

The words were a warning, a final line drawn in the sand.

And now?

Now it was up to Nate to decide whether he was really ready to cross it.

The chime of the diner door rang out, splitting through the thick, suffocating silence like a blade.

Y/N barely had a second to process it before a familiar voice cut through the air.

"Y/N?"

His stomach dropped.

Slowly—almost cautiously—he turned his head toward the entrance.

And there, standing just inside the doorway, was Aaron.

His brow furrowed, his stance casual but calculated, the kind of stillness that came from someone trying to assess a situation before reacting. His expression was carefully neutral, but his eyes—his eyes—flickered with something sharp. Something uncertain.

Something that said he noticed.

Aaron's gaze moved between them, between him and Nate, taking in the scene—the quiet tension, the words still hovering in the air, the way neither of them had moved since the second he had walked in.

The way Nate Jacobs, of all people, wasn't wearing his usual smirk.

No—Nate was watching.

Watching him.

Watching the way Y/N was about to handle this moment.

And suddenly, the weight of it all pressed against Y/N's chest like a vice.

Aaron let out a small, confused chuckle, stepping forward hesitantly. "Uh... did I... miss something?"

Shit.

Y/N's mind snapped into focus, instincts kicking in.

This could get bad. Quickly.

Aaron wasn't dumb. He was far too perceptive for his own good sometimes, and if Y/N hesitated—if he let any part of the last five minutes show—Aaron would know.

And the last thing Y/N wanted was to deal with that right now.

So, he did what he had to do.

He played it off.

Casual. Easy. No tension. No history.

Like it was nothing.

"Nah, nothing major," Y/N said smoothly, forcing a small, dismissive smile as he leaned back against the booth. His body language relaxed, controlled. "Nate just happened to be here, that's all." He waved a hand lazily, brushing it off like it wasn't even worth a second thought. "I was just killing time while I waited for you."

Aaron raised an eyebrow, his gaze flicking between them once more.

And then—

Nate still didn't say a word.

Which was odd.

Because if this were any other time, Nate would've jumped at the chance to be an asshole about this. He would've leaned back, thrown out some smug remark just to get under Y/N's skin, maybe made some insinuation that would get Aaron just suspicious enough to make Y/N squirm.

But he wasn't smirking.

He wasn't gloating.

He wasn't even looking at Aaron.

He was looking at Y/N.

Watching him.

Watching the way he was handling this.

Watching the way he had immediately downplayed their conversation, brushed it under the rug like it hadn't just changed everything.

And that did something to Y/N's stomach that he did not want to unpack right now.

So he forced himself to focus, to keep his expression smooth as he turned back to Aaron with an easy shrug. "You hungry?" he asked, smoothly shifting the conversation. "'Cause I could definitely go for some fries right now."

Aaron hesitated for a fraction of a second—just long enough to make Y/N's pulse spike—before he nodded, though there was still a slight edge to his voice.

"Yeah," he said, his tone lined with something unreadable. "Yeah, let's eat."

And then he slid into the booth beside Y/N.

And just like that, the shift in energy was palpable.

Aaron's presence was solid, grounding, something real in a way that felt jarring after the raw, exposed moment Y/N had just been caught in.

And Y/N—desperate for something to cling to—picked up the menu, pretending like nothing was wrong.

Like everything was fine.

But as he stared blankly at the laminated pages in front of him, words blurring together, he could still feel it.

That weight.

That presence.

That gaze.

Because Nate was still watching him.

Still waiting.

And suddenly—

The food in front of him didn't seem so appealing anymore.

The late-night air was crisp, cool against Y/N's skin as he stepped out of the diner, Aaron right beside him. The neon sign above them flickered weakly, casting red and blue streaks onto the cracked pavement, painting their silhouettes in a haze of color. The hum of a distant streetlight, the faint rustle of wind through the empty parking lot—it all should have felt peaceful.

But the tension in the air was anything but peaceful.

The entire dinner had been awkward as hell.

Not because of Aaron.

Aaron had carried the conversation with ease, filling the silence with lighthearted stories, effortless jokes, and the kind of natural charm that should have made Y/N feel at ease.

But Nate.

Nate had lingered.

Not just physically—sitting in that damn booth, barely saying a word, his presence a heavy, unshakable force—but in every way that mattered.

He hadn't spoken much.

Hadn't thrown out a single sarcastic remark, hadn't smirked, hadn't done any of the things he usually did to get under Y/N's skin.

Instead—

He had watched.

Watched the way Y/N smiled at Aaron.

Watched the way Y/N forced himself to act normal, even though he could feel Nate's gaze on him the entire time.

Watched like he was memorizing him.

Like he was still reeling from the words he had spoken earlier in the night.

Like he was still trying to figure out what the hell came next.

And now, standing outside, the three of them lingering under the dim glow of the flickering sign, Y/N knew exactly what was coming next.

Aaron turned to him, shoving his hands into his pockets, his smile easy, natural—like he hadn't noticed the storm brewing around them. "So... I'll see you tomorrow?"

Y/N hesitated.

Shit.

Not because he didn't want to see Aaron tomorrow. Not because this wasn't exactly what he had wanted—something simple, something easy, something without the constant games.

But because Nate was still there.

Standing just a few feet away, arms crossed, shoulders tense, gaze heavy.

Watching.

Waiting.

Y/N felt it.

Felt the weight of everything between them pressing down on his chest.

Felt the weight of Nate's confession still lingering between them, unspoken but undeniable.

And for the first time since this entire mess started—

He didn't know what to do.

Because if he kissed Aaron right now—right here, in front of Nate—

He knew exactly what it would mean.

It would be a door slamming shut. A blade, sharp and final, slicing through whatever had been building between him and Nate for weeks.

And despite everything—despite the frustration, the constant back and forth, the way Nate had made him feel like an idiot—

He wasn't sure he was ready for that.

Aaron shifted slightly beside him, waiting.

Expecting.

Y/N panicked.

"I, uh..." He let out a small, forced chuckle, rubbing the back of his neck. "I've got, um, morning practice tomorrow, so..." He trailed off, shrugging, keeping his tone casual, light.

Aaron blinked.

Just for a second.

It was subtle, the way his expression barely shifted—but Y/N knew him.

And Aaron knew him too.

He knew that wasn't a real excuse.

Y/N always had morning practice. It had never stopped him before.

But Aaron—because he was Aaron—didn't push.

Didn't call him out.

Instead, he just nodded, offering a softer smile. "No worries," he said easily. "I'll see you later, then."

Y/N exhaled, nodding back. "Yeah. Sounds good."

Aaron gave him one last look before stepping away, offering a polite nod in Nate's direction—

And Nate still hadn't moved.

Still hadn't said a word.

And then Aaron was gone, disappearing into the night, the sound of his car door shutting echoing through the quiet street.

Just like that—

It was just the two of them.

Y/N stood there, his eyes on the ground, his breath slow, steady—

Too aware of the fact that Nate was still watching him.

And suddenly, everything felt heavier.

Because he had lied just to avoid kissing Aaron in front of Nate.

Because he had hesitated.

Because despite everything—despite wanting something simple, something normal—

There was still a part of him that couldn't let go of Nate Jacobs.

The walk back to the dorm was suffocatingly quiet.

Not the kind of silence that wrapped around them like a blanket, warm and safe. No—this was the heavy, leaden kind, thick as fog and crackling with an unspoken weight. It pressed against Y/N's ribs, curled in his throat, stretched between him and Nate like a wire pulled too tight, waiting to snap.

The night air was cool, but not enough to chase away the lingering heat of everything that had happened. Y/N's pulse still hadn't settled, his mind replaying the scene at the diner in jagged, messy fragments—the confession, the way Aaron had leaned in, the way he had hesitated. The way Nate had watched it all with an expression that had been unreadable at the time but now, in hindsight, felt like a warning.

Beside him, Nate walked with purpose, his steps falling in perfect rhythm with Y/N's, his shoulders drawn tight beneath his hoodie. His hands were shoved deep in his pockets, but Y/N could tell—he was gripping his fists. Holding something in.

The silence between them was electric.

Y/N could feel it buzzing against his skin, the weight of unsaid words hanging between them like storm clouds ready to break.

And maybe a part of him wanted to let it stay that way.

Because if they spoke—if they addressed what had happened—there would be no undoing it. No stuffing it back into the box where it belonged.

And yet, just as they rounded the final corner toward their dorm, Nate's voice cut through the quiet like a blade.

"So..." The single word was drawn out, measured, but there was something sharp buried beneath it. "When are you gonna tell Aaron that you're with me?"

Y/N's feet stopped moving.

His stomach twisted, his breath hitching just slightly before he turned his head. He raised an eyebrow, forcing his voice to stay light despite the tension clawing its way up his spine. "Excuse me?"

Nate had stopped too. He stood there, his blue eyes locked onto Y/N's, unreadable, piercing. His jaw was set, his expression carefully controlled, but Y/N knew him too well to be fooled.

"You heard me," Nate said, his voice still even, but firm. "When are you gonna tell him?"

Y/N let out a small, incredulous scoff, crossing his arms over his chest. "And who exactly said that I'm with you?"

Something flickered across Nate's face—quick, sharp, something territorial. It was gone in an instant, but Y/N had seen it. Felt it.

"You are with me," Nate said simply, stepping forward just enough to close some of the space between them. His presence was solid, unwavering, and Y/N hated the way his pulse jumped in response. "You chose me."

Y/N arched a brow, lips curving slightly despite the tension coiling in his chest. "Oh? Is that what I did?"

Nate's jaw tightened, his hands still buried in his pockets. "You didn't kiss him."

Y/N exhaled, shaking his head. "That doesn't mean I—"

"Yes, it does," Nate interrupted, his voice quiet but sure. Unshakable. "You hesitated. You lied to get out of it. And don't even try to bullshit me, Y/N—I know you."

Y/N's breath caught.

Because damn it, Nate did know him.

Knew the way he thought, the way he moved, the way he avoided things that made him feel too much.

And worst of all?

He was right.

Y/N had hesitated.

Had lied.

Not because he didn't like Aaron. Not because he hadn't wanted to try something easy, something simple, something normal.

But because the thought of kissing someone else in front of Nate had made his chest ache in a way he wasn't ready to examine.

But still—

That didn't mean Nate got to just claim him.

Y/N lifted his chin slightly, crossing his arms tighter. "You don't get to make decisions for me, Nate."

Nate didn't flinch. Didn't even blink. "I'm not."

Y/N narrowed his eyes.

"I'm just telling you the truth," Nate continued, his voice lower now, calmer, but no less intense. "You're mine. And I don't give a fuck what Aaron thinks."

Y/N inhaled sharply.

Because it wasn't just the words.

It was the way Nate said them.

Like it wasn't up for debate. Like he had already decided, long before this moment, long before tonight. Like he refused to let Y/N slip away again.

Y/N inhaled slowly, forcing his expression to remain neutral even as Nate's words settled over him like a weight—heavy, suffocating, pressing against his ribs in a way that made it difficult to breathe.

Because—damn him—Nate knew exactly what he was doing.

Every syllable, every carefully measured pause, every unwavering note in his voice was deliberate. Possessive. Like he had already decided, like the matter had been settled before Y/N had even opened his mouth.

Like Y/N was already his.

And the worst part?

A small, traitorous part of him—one he absolutely did not have the time or patience to acknowledge right now—liked hearing it.

Liked the certainty in Nate's voice.

Liked knowing that, despite everything, despite the tension, despite the way they had both spent so long pretending, Nate wasn't pretending now.

But there was another part of him—one much louder, much prouder—that bristled at the very idea.

Because he wasn't some prize to be claimed.

He wasn't going to let Nate just stake his claim without actually proving that he had earned it.

So Y/N exhaled sharply, schooling his features into something firm, something steady, something that would make it very clear that he wasn't about to just roll over and accept this.

He lifted his chin, arms crossing tightly over his chest. His voice, when he finally spoke, was clipped, controlled, unwavering.

"Okay, first of all," he began, each word deliberate, "you don't just get to declare that we're together like you're calling dibs on the last piece of pizza."

A flicker of something—annoyance? Amusement?—flashed across Nate's face, his brown eyes narrowing slightly.

But Y/N didn't give him the chance to respond.

"And second," he continued, tone sharp, "if you really want to date me, you're gonna do it the right way."

That got a reaction.

Nate tilted his head slightly, studying him with that piercing gaze of his, the one that always made Y/N feel like he was being dissected, like Nate was peeling back his layers and looking for something hidden underneath.

"And what exactly does that mean?" Nate asked, his voice measured, unreadable.

Y/N let out a short, humorless laugh, shaking his head.

"It means," he said, stepping forward, closing the space between them, jabbing a finger into the solid plane of Nate's chest, "that you don't just get to call me yours without proving that you actually want to be with me."

Another step closer.

"That you're not just some territorial asshole who doesn't like the idea of me being with someone else."

Nate's lips parted slightly, like he was about to interject, but Y/N wasn't finished.

"You don't get to skip all the important shit," he pressed on, voice quieter now, but no less intense. "You don't get to say 'you're mine' like that magically fixes everything. Like it makes up for all the weeks you spent ignoring your feelings, like it makes up for the way you pushed me away, like it makes up for the fact that I had to be the one to put my feelings on the line first while you sat there acting like none of this meant anything."

Something flickered across Nate's expression.

A crack in the armor.

Guilt.

But Y/N didn't stop there.

"If you really want this—if you really want me—then you're gonna have to do better," Y/N said, voice softer now, but firm, unwavering. "Because I'm not interested in being someone's possession. I want a real relationship. A real boyfriend. Not someone who only wants me now because he couldn't handle seeing me with someone else."

The words hung between them, thick, unyielding.

For the first time since this conversation started, Nate actually looked like he was processing what Y/N was saying.

Like he wasn't just reacting—wasn't just letting instinct take over—but was actually listening.

Actually letting it sink in.

And Y/N just stood there, arms crossed, gaze steady—

Waiting.

Because this was the real test.

Not Nate saying he wanted him.

But Nate proving that he was ready for this.

That he was ready to do it right.

That night, Nate lay flat on his back, staring at the ceiling, the faint glow of his phone screen long since faded into darkness. The room was quiet, save for the steady hum of the air conditioner, but inside his head, there was nothing but noise.

Loud. Relentless. Unforgiving.

Normally, he would have done anything to drown it out.

Mindless scrolling until his vision blurred, blasting music until the bass shook his bones, a workout so brutal it left his muscles screaming louder than his thoughts. He had a whole arsenal of ways to ignore the things he didn't want to deal with.

But not tonight.

Tonight, for the first time in a long time, he let himself think.

And it was uncomfortable.

Because he wasn't filtering it. Wasn't justifying the way he had handled things, wasn't spinning half-truths in his head to make himself feel better, wasn't convincing himself that he didn't care. He wasn't running from the truth that had been there all along, staring him dead in the face.

Because Y/N had called him out.

Not with that familiar smirk, not with that teasing, infuriating glint in his eyes. No, this time had been different.

This time had been serious.

Final.

Y/N had drawn a line. A bold, unmistakable, immovable line. And he had dared Nate to step over it.

No more mixed signals. No more bullshit. No more hiding behind the excuses Nate had always been so damn good at making.

He had made it crystal clear—if Nate wanted him, really wanted him, then he had to prove it.

And that?

That wasn't something Nate took lightly.

Because if there was one thing he hated—more than losing, more than failure, more than the sick, hollow feeling of wanting something he couldn't have—it was being faced with his own shortcomings.

And tonight, as he lay there, his mind racing, he had no choice but to look them in the eye.

So he sifted through every mistake, every misstep, every wreckage of a relationship he had ever left in his wake.

Maddy.

Cassie.

Both of them had been collateral damage in his inability to handle emotions—collateral damage in the way he refused to let himself be vulnerable, the way he twisted love into something toxic just so he could control it.

With Maddy, it had been about power. About control. About making sure he was always one step ahead, always the one calling the shots in their endless cycle of push and pull. He had loved the intensity of it, the fire, the fight. But it had never been about them—not really. It had been about winning.

With Cassie, it had been about ego. About proving something to himself. About using her as an escape, a means to an end, rather than actually caring about her. He had made her feel wanted because he had needed to feel in control of something, anything, even as everything else around him spiraled. But deep down, he had known it wasn't real.

Because the truth was—he had never known how to love someone without twisting it into something else.

He had treated relationships like a game.

Like something to conquer.

But with Y/N?

It had never been like that.

It had never been about control. Never about strategy or winning.

Y/N challenged him. Pushed him. Refused to fall in line the way everyone else did. He saw through Nate's bullshit, called him on it, forced him to be better—or at least, forced him to try.

And now?

Now, Y/N was done waiting.

He had left the ball in Nate's court. Given him the choice—the chance—to prove that he was capable of something real.

Of being something real.

And for once?

Nate wanted to take it.

For once, he wanted to get this right.

No mind games. No power plays. No self-sabotage.

Just him and Y/N.

For real.

So as he turned onto his side, exhaling slowly, feeling the weight of the night settle deep in his chest, he made a decision.

This time—

He wasn't going to fuck it up.

So he started small.

Nate wasn't the kind of guy to make grand declarations, and Y/N wasn't the kind of person to fall for bullshit anyway. So instead of saying how he felt outright, he showed it. Piece by piece, little by little, until there was no mistaking what he wanted—who he wanted.

It started with walks.

Every day, without fail, Nate would find Y/N after practice, waiting outside the locker room or leaning against the fence near the field, like it was coincidence. Like he just happened to be there at the same time. Y/N had side-eyed him the first few times, suspicious, waiting for Nate to make some sarcastic remark or turn it into a joke.

But he never did.

He just walked.

Listened.

Let Y/N talk about whatever was on his mind—annoying professors, upcoming games, his favorite show—without interrupting or making it about himself. The more he did it, the more Y/N started to accept it, his posture relaxing, his voice losing that guarded edge.

Then came the lunches.

Nate would appear out of nowhere, sliding into the seat across from Y/N at the dining hall or nudging him toward a café off-campus, offering to pay but never making a big deal about it. Sometimes he'd bring Y/N's favorite order before he even had the chance to ask, setting it down in front of him with a casual, "Eat."

And Y/N did.

Because as much as he pretended not to notice, he saw the way Nate made sure he ate something after long practices, the way he waited just long enough to make sure Y/N finished before getting up himself.

But the flowers?

That was what really threw Y/N off.

It was after a particularly grueling practice, one of those days where exhaustion clung to his body like a second skin. He'd barely made it back to his dorm, ready to collapse, when he saw them.

A small bouquet. Simple. Fresh. Sitting neatly on his desk like it belonged there.

No note. No explanation.

Just flowers.

Y/N had turned slowly, his expression caught somewhere between amusement and disbelief. "You serious?"

Nate was sprawled out on his bed, scrolling through his phone like he hadn't just upended Y/N's entire evening. He barely spared him a glance. "You said you like flowers."

Y/N frowned. "I said that once."

Nate shrugged, his lips twitching. "I remembered."

Y/N didn't say anything, but he also didn't throw them away. Instead, he picked them up, hesitating just long enough for Nate to notice before setting them on his nightstand.

That was enough.

But it didn't stop there.

It was the little things. The things Y/N would never outright ask for but always seemed to need.

Like Nate remembering his favorite snacks and tossing them at him without a word. Like stealing one of Y/N's hoodies and wearing it just to see how long it would take for him to notice. Like setting a water bottle beside him after practice, nudging it closer until Y/N rolled his eyes and took it.

They weren't big gestures.

They weren't flashy or loud.

But they mattered.

And the more Nate did them, the more Y/N started to believe it.

Started to trust it.

Started to trust him.

And that?

That made every second worth it.

Y/N wasn't the only one who noticed the shift in Nate's behavior.

It started small—so small that, at first, it was easy to brush off as coincidence. The way Nate always seemed to be there, hovering at the edges of his space, never overbearing but always present. The way he walked with him after class, after practice, after late-night study sessions at the library, like it was just something he did now. The way his gaze lingered a little longer, the way his expression softened in moments when he thought no one was looking.

But soon, other people started to take notice.

The first time someone pointed it out, it was Elliot, lounging beside Y/N on the dorm couch, idly scrolling through his phone before side-eyeing Nate, who was sitting across from them, arms crossed, pretending not to listen.

"So," Elliot had said, smirking as he nudged Y/N's knee with his foot. "When did you and Nate become a package deal?"

Y/N had scoffed, rolling his eyes, but before he could respond, Nate had shifted in his seat, fixing Elliot with a sharp look.

"Mind your business," he muttered, voice low, even.

Elliot had just laughed, shaking his head. "See? That. That right there." He gestured lazily at Nate. "You're all brooding and possessive now. It's kinda hot, honestly."

Nate had glared. Y/N had shoved Elliot's leg off the couch. But the comment lingered.

And Elliot wasn't the only one who noticed.

Kat had caught on, too. She had been the one to point out the way Nate's entire body language shifted whenever Y/N walked into the room.

"He does that thing," she had said one afternoon, perched on Y/N's bed as she scrolled through TikTok.

Y/N frowned, tilting his head. "What thing?"

Kat smirked, not looking up. "The boyfriend thing."

"The what?"

"You know." She gestured vaguely, as if that somehow explained everything. "The whole subconscious, territorial, always-aware-of-you thing. The way he adjusts his posture when you're around. The way he watches you when you talk, like he's actually listening instead of pretending to. The way he glares at any guy who so much as breathes in your direction."

Y/N had snorted, shaking his head. "Nate always glares at people."

"Yeah, but this is different." Kat finally looked up, arching a knowing brow. "This is soft glaring. Protective glaring. 'That's mine, don't touch' glaring."

Y/N had waved her off, muttering something about her reading too much into things, but deep down, he couldn't deny that maybe—maybe—she had a point.

Because the truth was?

It wasn't just other people noticing the change in Nate.

Y/N noticed it, too.

Not just in the way Nate showed up for him now, not just in the way he hovered a little closer, but in the things he didn't do.

He didn't push Y/N away anymore.

Didn't throw up walls the second things got too real.

Didn't treat him like some fleeting thing he could keep at arm's length.

Nate had become more affectionate, and it was impossible not to notice.

It wasn't just the small things. The kind of things that might have gone unnoticed if Y/N wasn't paying attention. The way Nate's touch lingered longer than it used to, the way his presence felt constant, like he was always there, always close.

At first, it had been subtle.

A hand on the small of Y/N's back when they navigated through crowded hallways. A knee brushing against his under the cafeteria table, staying there instead of moving away. The absentminded way Nate would hook a finger into one of the belt loops on Y/N's jeans when they stood around talking, like he needed the reassurance of that tiny point of contact.

But as the days passed, it became more obvious.

In the dorm, it was the casual intimacy of it all.

The way Nate would drape an arm over the back of the couch when they watched movies, fingers brushing against Y/N's shoulder like it was the most natural thing in the world. The way he pulled Y/N's hoodie sleeve over his knuckles absentmindedly, like he liked the feel of the fabric between his fingers.

The way he leaned in closer now, his head resting against Y/N's when they sat side by side, his body language open in a way it had never been before.

And when they were alone?

That's when it was the most noticeable.

Because Nate wasn't just affectionate—he was deliberate about it.

He would tug Y/N onto his bed with zero hesitation, lying back like he expected Y/N to stay there, to settle against him like it was second nature. And maybe it was becoming second nature, because Y/N never fought it. Never wanted to fight it.

Nate would run his fingers absentmindedly through Y/N's hair, tracing slow, lazy patterns against his skin, like he wasn't even thinking about it—like it had become instinct.

And in public?

That was where the biggest change had happened.

Because for all of Nate's history of keeping people at arm's length, of keeping his emotions bottled up where no one could see them—he didn't hide this.

Not anymore.

Not when he walked into class and automatically dropped into the seat next to Y/N, his body angled toward him like he wasn't even aware that he did it. Not when he reached out, tugging Y/N's hoodie string between his fingers, toying with it while they talked, his expression unreadable but his touch gentle.

Not when they were lounging around campus, stretched out in the grass or leaning against the walls outside the library, and Nate would let their arms press together, let his fingers brush against Y/N's hand like it wasn't something to be ashamed of.

He wasn't over-the-top about it.

He wasn't flashy.

But the change was there, undeniable, in the way he existed in Y/N's space now.

Like he belonged there.

Like he had no plans of leaving.

Y/N had to admit—he was actually enjoying this new version of Nate.

At first, he had been wary. Skeptical. Waiting for the inevitable shift, for the moment when Nate would revert back to his usual self—closed-off, distant, untouchable. He had expected this to be temporary, a fleeting effort, something Nate would try for a while before retreating into old habits.

But that moment never came.

The other shoe never dropped.

And that? That was almost more surprising than anything else.

Because Nate hadn't just changed in one way—he had changed in every way that mattered.

He was consistent now. Steady. Present.

And Y/N could feel it in the smallest things.

In the way Nate showed up, every time, without fail—waiting outside his dorm in the morning, his hands shoved deep in his hoodie pockets, looking effortlessly cool but also just... there.

In the way he walked Y/N to class like it was second nature now, like it wasn't even something he had to think about. Like he wanted to do it.

In the way he paid attention—really paid attention—to everything Y/N said, even the little things that didn't seem important. Like when Y/N had mentioned offhandedly that he liked the caramel macchiato from the coffee shop near campus, and the next day, Nate had silently set one down in front of him without a word.

In the way he touched him now—not just in the privacy of their dorm, but everywhere.

A hand pressed against the small of his back when they were weaving through a crowded hallway. A knee brushing against his under the table, lingering. A finger looping around Y/N's belt loop, absently tugging.

It wasn't suffocating. It wasn't overbearing.

It was just Nate.

And for the first time, Y/N realized—this wasn't an act.

It wasn't some calculated move, wasn't some temporary performance meant to prove a point.

Nate was actually trying.

And not just for Y/N.

But for himself.

Because the old Nate—the version Y/N had spent months trying to crack open, the version who had kept his emotions locked away like they were a weakness—would have never done any of this.

He would have fought it. Would have pushed Y/N away the second things got too real.

But this version?

This version wanted to be here.

Wanted this.

And Y/N—fuck, Y/N had been waiting for that for so long.

And now that he had it?

He wasn't about to let it go.

The only real competition Nate had was Aaron.

And unlike the others—the people who had flirted with Y/N in passing, the ones Nate had silently glared at until they got the hint and backed off—Aaron wasn't just another guy.

Because Aaron had built something with Y/N.

Something real.

It wasn't just a couple of conversations or fleeting glances across a crowded room. It wasn't a half-hearted attempt to win Y/N over just to see if he could. No, Aaron had been there—talking to Y/N late at night, making him laugh, listening when he needed someone.

And that? That made him a problem.

Because Aaron wasn't going away.

And now, with Nate stepping in—claiming space that Aaron had thought belonged to him—it was starting to get to him.

At first, he had brushed it off.

Had told himself it wasn't serious, that Y/N and Nate were just hanging out, that whatever this thing between them was, it would fade as quickly as it had appeared.

But then he started seeing it.

Seeing the way Y/N leaned into Nate's space without hesitation. Seeing the way Nate touched him without thinking—small, natural gestures, fingertips brushing, shoulders knocking, a quiet kind of possessiveness that Aaron hated because it meant that Nate was comfortable in Y/N's orbit now.

And worse?

Y/N was letting him stay there.

It boiled over one afternoon when Aaron spotted them outside the library—Nate leaning casually against the brick wall, hands in the pockets of his hoodie, watching Y/N with a look that Aaron recognized too well.

Because it was a look that meant something.

Y/N was talking, hands gesturing as he spoke, but Aaron barely heard a word.

Because all he could see was the way Nate was looking at him.

And when Y/N laughed at something Nate said—an easy, unguarded laugh that made something sharp twist in Aaron's chest—he snapped.

He didn't wait. Didn't hesitate.

He crossed the courtyard in a few quick strides, his jaw tight, his pulse pounding, his hands clenched into fists at his sides as he stopped right in front of Y/N.

"We need to talk," he said, voice low, steady, but heated.

Y/N blinked, surprised. "Aaron?"

Aaron ignored the way Nate subtly shifted beside him—didn't look at him, didn't acknowledge the silent tension radiating off him.

Because right now?

He didn't give a shit about Nate.

He needed answers.

And he needed them now.

Soon Aaron and Y/N found a quiet spot in the courtyard, away from the steady buzz of students passing through. The air was cool, the late afternoon sun filtering through the trees, casting shifting patterns of light and shadow across the pavement. Y/N settled onto the bench first, hands clasped loosely between his knees, exhaling slowly as he tried to gather his thoughts.

Aaron sat beside him, posture tense, his fingers tapping against his thigh in a steady, restless rhythm. He wasn't the type to sit still when something was bothering him, and right now? Something was definitely bothering him.

For a moment, neither of them spoke.

Y/N could feel the weight of Aaron's stare, heavy with unspoken questions, with frustration, with something that almost felt like hope—hope that maybe there was still a chance for whatever they had built together.

And that? That made Y/N's chest ache.

Because the last thing he wanted to do was hurt Aaron.

Aaron had been good to him. He had been patient, steady, present in a way that Y/N hadn't expected but had come to appreciate. He had made Y/N laugh, had been someone he could talk to when things got overwhelming, had made him feel wanted in a way that wasn't complicated or suffocating.

And if things were different—if Nate wasn't a factor—maybe this conversation would be going in a completely different direction.

But things weren't different.

And Y/N couldn't pretend they were.

So he took a slow breath, forcing himself to meet Aaron's gaze head-on.

"I don't want to drag this out," he started, voice quiet but firm. "I don't want to lead you on or give you some half-assed excuse, because you deserve more than that."

Aaron didn't say anything, but his jaw clenched slightly, like he was bracing himself.

Y/N hesitated, choosing his next words carefully. "I care about you. A lot. And I meant everything I said before—about enjoying being around you, about feeling comfortable with you. That was real for me."

Aaron's expression didn't change, but something flickered in his eyes—something that made Y/N's stomach twist with guilt.

"But," Y/N continued, his throat tightening, "I think we both know that whatever this was... it wasn't everything it could've been."

Aaron's fingers curled into his palm, a quiet exhale slipping through his nose. "Because of him."

It wasn't a question.

Y/N swallowed hard, nodding. "Yeah."

Aaron let out a bitter laugh, shaking his head as he leaned back against the bench, his gaze shifting toward the sky. "You know, I knew it. I knew from the second I saw you with him that I didn't stand a fucking chance."

Y/N's chest tightened. "Aaron—"

"Don't," Aaron cut in, turning to face him again, his expression unreadable. "Just... tell me the truth. Is he really what you want?"

Y/N didn't hesitate.

"Yes."

And that? That was the most honest thing he had said all day.

Aaron stared at him for a long moment, his lips pressing into a thin line before he exhaled, nodding slowly, like he was trying to make peace with something he didn't want to accept.

"Okay," he muttered, rubbing a hand over his face. "Okay."

Y/N shifted slightly, his voice softer now. "I didn't want to hurt you. I swear I didn't."

Aaron huffed out a humorless laugh. "Yeah, well. Too late for that."

The words stung, but Y/N didn't argue. Didn't try to make himself feel better by saying something meaningless like I never meant for this to happen or you'll find someone else.

Instead, he just sat there, letting the silence settle between them, waiting to see if there was anything left to say.

Eventually, Aaron let out a slow breath, shaking his head before offering Y/N a small, tired smirk. "For what it's worth, I hope he's worth it."

Y/N met his gaze, steady and certain.

"He is."

And for the first time, Y/N felt sure of that.

Though Aaron and Y/N had talked, though everything had been laid out in the open, the conversation didn't erase the frustration burning under Aaron's skin.

He was mad.

At Y/N, sure—but more than that, he was mad at Nate.

Because deep down, Aaron knew that if Nate hadn't inserted himself, if he hadn't stepped in the way he always did, things could've been different. Y/N might have been his. He might have had a real shot at something with him, something solid, something real.

But instead, Nate fucking Jacobs had taken that from him.

And Aaron wasn't the type to just let that shit slide.

So when he spotted Nate in the football gym later that evening—alone, wrapping his hands for what looked like a punching bag workout—something inside him snapped.

The gym was mostly empty, the scent of sweat and old gym equipment thick in the air. The overhead fluorescent lights buzzed faintly, casting a sterile glow over the weight racks and training stations. The sound of a distant treadmill droned in the background, but otherwise, it was quiet.

Aaron didn't hesitate.

He strode forward, his heartbeat hammering in his ears, his anger bubbling just beneath the surface, hot and ready to spill over.

Nate barely looked up as Aaron approached, his focus still on taping his wrists. "What?" he muttered, voice flat, uninterested.

Like he didn't already know.

Like he hadn't expected this.

Aaron clenched his fists, his jaw tight. "You really couldn't help yourself, huh?"

Nate finally glanced up, his blue eyes cold and unreadable. "The hell are you talking about?"

Aaron scoffed, shaking his head. "Don't play dumb. You know what I'm talking about."

Nate held his gaze, unfazed. "If this is about Y/N, then I don't know what to tell you."

Aaron took another step forward, his shoulders squared. "Then don't tell me. Just own up to it. You knew I had something with him, and you still couldn't keep your hands to yourself."

Nate exhaled through his nose, shaking his head slightly. "You had nothing with him."

That was it. That was the last straw.

Before Nate could react, Aaron shoved him—hard—both hands slamming against his chest, sending him stumbling back a step.

The air between them shifted, the tension snapping tight like a live wire.

Nate stilled, his expression darkening, his jaw ticking. Slowly, he straightened, rolling his shoulders back, his entire posture shifting into something dangerous.

"You wanna do this?" Nate asked, voice low, controlled—but there was heat behind it.

Aaron's breathing was heavy, his anger boiling over. "I should do this," he shot back. "Because you don't get to just take whatever the fuck you want, Nate. That's not how this works."

Nate tilted his head slightly, amusement flickering across his face for a brief second before disappearing just as quickly. "That's rich, coming from you."

Aaron didn't wait.

He swung first.

The punch connected with Nate's jaw, the impact sharp, reverberating up Aaron's arm.

Nate barely flinched.

Instead, he turned his head slightly, rolling his jaw, a slow smirk creeping onto his face—like he had been waiting for this.

Then, without a word, he swung back.

The force of Nate's punch sent Aaron stumbling, his shoulder colliding with the weight rack, dumbbells rattling from the impact.

And then, just like that, it was a full-blown fight.

Fists flying. Bodies colliding. Grunts and curses filling the empty gym as they threw punch after punch, adrenaline drowning out everything else.

Neither of them cared who landed the harder hit.

Because this wasn't about winning.

This was about something else entirely—something primal, something angry, something that had been simmering for too long.

And neither of them was willing to back down first.

Y/N was stretched across his bed, scrolling through his phone, when the door to their dorm creaked open. It was late, the air outside crisp with the first hints of evening chill, but Y/N barely looked up—until he heard the faint click of the door shutting and the unmistakable sound of heavy, uneven footsteps.

Something felt off.

His gaze flicked upward, and the moment he saw Nate, his stomach dropped.

Nate stood in the doorway, his broad frame tense, his breathing slightly heavier than usual. The dim dorm lighting cast shadows over his face, but it didn't hide the damage—his bottom lip was split, a thin trickle of blood still clinging to the corner of his mouth. His cheekbone was darkening with a fresh bruise, the kind that would only get worse by morning. His knuckles were raw, the skin torn, like he had been swinging just as much as he had been hit.

Y/N's phone slipped from his fingers, landing on the comforter with a dull thud as he shot to his feet.

"What the fuck, Nate?" His voice came out sharp, alarmed, but Nate just exhaled through his nose, shaking his head like it wasn't a big deal.

"I'm fine," he muttered, voice low and tired as he kicked the door shut behind him.

"Fine?" Y/N let out a disbelieving scoff, already closing the space between them. "You look like you got your ass handed to you."

Nate huffed out something that might've been a laugh if he weren't too damn exhausted for it. "I got a few hits in."

Y/N ignored that, his irritation climbing. He reached up, fingertips brushing along the bruised side of Nate's face before he could think twice about it. Nate flinched—not from the pain, but from the unexpected touch—and Y/N felt his body stiffen.

His lips parted, words sitting heavy on his tongue, but then his eyes caught the raw scrapes on Nate's knuckles.

His stomach tightened.

"Who did this?" Y/N demanded, stepping back just enough to get a better look at him.

Nate hesitated.

And in that hesitation, Y/N knew.

He let out a slow, steady breath, dragging a hand through his hair. "Aaron." It wasn't even a question.

Nate didn't confirm it, but he didn't deny it either.

Y/N groaned, shaking his head. "Jesus, Nate. You seriously got into a fight with Aaron?"

"He threw the first punch," Nate muttered, flexing his fingers, as if testing whether his knuckles were stiffening.

Y/N crossed his arms. "And you just had to throw one back?"

Nate finally met his gaze, something dark flickering in his tired blue eyes. "I'm not gonna let him talk shit and do nothing about it."

Y/N took a breath, steadying himself. "You know this doesn't fix anything, right?"

Nate didn't respond. Didn't need to.

Y/N sighed, rubbing at his temples before grabbing Nate's wrist and tugging him toward the bed. "Sit."

For a second, it looked like Nate was going to argue, but one sharp look from Y/N shut that down real quick. With a low grunt, he finally gave in, dropping onto the mattress.

Y/N turned toward his desk, rummaging through the drawer until he pulled out the small, half-used first-aid kit. He grabbed a clean washcloth, dampened it in the sink, and then moved back to where Nate sat, dropping down into a kneeling position in front of him.

The tension in the room was thick, but Y/N focused on the task at hand.

He started with Nate's lip, carefully dabbing away the dried blood, his touch firm but careful. Nate stayed still, his sharp eyes watching him closely, unblinking, unreadable.

"This is stupid," Y/N muttered, voice quiet as he worked.

Nate huffed out a quiet laugh. "Yeah, well."

Y/N ignored him, reaching for an antiseptic wipe. "This is gonna sting."

Nate smirked slightly. "Not my first time."

Y/N rolled his eyes but didn't argue. He pressed the wipe against Nate's lip, watching as his jaw tensed briefly before relaxing again.

And then—

It happened.

Nate's hands moved without thinking.

His fingers skimmed Y/N's sides before settling around his waist, firm and familiar, like it was instinct, like it was normal.

Like he had done it a thousand times before.

And the truth was—he had.

Y/N barely reacted.

Didn't flinch, didn't pull away. He just let him.

Because as much as things had changed between them, this hadn't.

The quiet, familiar weight of Nate's hands on his waist, the slow, absentminded way his thumbs brushed against the fabric of Y/N's hoodie, the easy closeness of it all—it had always been them.

Even after weeks of distance, of unspoken words, of tension so thick it could be cut with a knife—this? This felt the same.

Y/N swallowed, his focus flickering for just a second before he forced himself to keep working. He dabbed at Nate's cheek, ignoring the warmth curling low in his stomach at the feeling of Nate's grip tightening slightly.

His voice was quieter when he spoke. "You didn't have to fight him."

Nate's thumbs pressed just slightly against his waist, grounding.

"Yeah," he murmured, voice low, steady. "I did."

Y/N pulled back slightly, searching Nate's face for something—an explanation, a reason, anything. "Why?"

Nate was quiet for a beat, his sharp blue eyes scanning Y/N's face, like he was considering how much he wanted to say.

Then, finally—

"Because he doesn't get to talk about you like that," Nate muttered, his tone low but steady.

Y/N blinked. "Like what?"

Nate's jaw tightened, his fingers flexing slightly against Y/N's waist before he let out a slow exhale. "Like you were his," he said simply. "Like he lost something. Like you were some prize that he had a right to be pissed about."

Y/N stared at him.

Because, fuck.

That's what this was about?

Aaron's words?

Nate rolled his shoulders slightly, wincing at the stiffness. "He was running his mouth, acting like I stole you from him, like you belonged to him." His eyes darkened slightly, his fingers curling tighter into Y/N's hoodie. "And maybe I shouldn't have let it get to me, but I did. Because he doesn't get to talk about you like that. Like he ever had a chance."

Y/N swallowed, something thick sitting in his throat.

Because it wasn't just anger in Nate's voice. It was possession. It was certainty.

And it wasn't just about the fight.

It was about them.

Nate took a slow breath, his grip firm against Y/N's waist. "I meant what I said before," he murmured, voice quieter now but no less intense.

Y/N furrowed his brows. "What?"

Nate held his gaze, unwavering. "That I love you."

Y/N's breath hitched slightly, his chest tightening.

Because Nate said it so easily. Like it wasn't something he had spent months denying, like it wasn't something that should terrify him, like it wasn't something that could break him if he let it.

And Y/N—fuck, Y/N didn't know what to do with that.

Nate must have noticed his hesitation, because his grip softened just slightly, but his voice stayed sure.

"I know you think it's too soon," Nate said, "but I don't." He exhaled slowly, his gaze flickering over Y/N's face, like he was memorizing every expression, every reaction. "I don't care how long it's been. I know what I feel. And I know that I'm done pretending I don't."

Y/N opened his mouth, but Nate kept going, his fingers tightening again.

"I'm gonna prove it," he promised. "Every day. Every chance I get. I'm not gonna give you a single reason to doubt me, to doubt this." His voice softened just slightly, but there was still steel beneath it. "I know I fucked up before. I know I wasted time trying to push this away. But I won't do that again."

Y/N's throat felt dry, his pulse hammering against his ribs. "Nate..."

Nate shook his head. "I want you. And not just in the easy way, not just when it's convenient, not just when it's something I can control." His fingers slid along Y/N's waist, a slow, steady movement. "I want you for real."

Y/N inhaled sharply, his heart lurching in his chest.

Because Nate wasn't bullshitting.

This wasn't just some possessive instinct, wasn't just about beating out Aaron, wasn't about winning.

This was real.

And Nate meant it.

Y/N swallowed, his voice barely above a whisper. "You're really not gonna let this go, are you?"

Nate smirked slightly, his grip firm, grounding. "No," he said simply. "I'm not."

Y/N inhaled slowly, grounding himself, and then—before he could second-guess it, before he could let doubt creep in—he leaned in and kissed him. It wasn't rushed, wasn't desperate, but sure. Deliberate. A slow press of lips, firm and real, like a decision being made in real-time. And Nate—fuck, Nate melted into it, his fingers flexing slightly against Y/N's waist before pulling him closer, like he needed the reassurance that this was actually happening.

When Y/N finally pulled back, his lips hovered just above Nate's, his breath mingling with his, his hands still resting lightly on Nate's jaw. A smirk curled at the corner of his mouth as he met Nate's gaze, something teasing in his expression, but something serious behind it. "So... does this mean you're my boyfriend now?"

Nate let out a breathless huff, his lips twitching like he wanted to smirk but was too busy memorizing the feel of Y/N against him. "I better be."

Y/N grinned, brushing his nose against Nate's in a way that was both playful and intimate. "Good. Because I really think we should work on that whole 'I love you' thing." His voice was teasing, but there was weight behind it—acknowledgment of Nate's confession, of the fact that Y/N hadn't said it back yet. Not because he didn't feel it, but because it was something he wanted to mean when he finally did.

Nate swallowed hard, nodding slightly. "Yeah. We should."

Y/N pulled back slightly, his fingers still gripping Nate's hoodie as he arched a brow. "But first..." He gave Nate a pointed look. "If you ever think about skipping straight to sex again before you take me on a proper first date, I will personally make your life hell."

Nate smirked at that, leaning in just enough that their lips nearly touched again. "Oh yeah? Define proper."

Y/N rolled his eyes, swatting Nate's chest before stepping back toward the table, eyeing the food. "Dinner, movie, something cute. I don't know, surprise me."

Nate watched him for a moment before shaking his head with a smirk. "You're such a pain in the ass."

Y/N grinned, reaching for a plate. "Yeah, but I'm your pain in the ass now."

Nate exhaled through his nose, something soft flashing in his expression. "Yeah," he murmured. "You are."

And somehow, that simple statement made Y/N's stomach flip harder than the I love you ever could.

[multifandomficsx]

Nowhere to Hide ( Aaron Hotchner x fem!reader )

Summary: A new serial killer has reared its ugly head, this time in Baltimore, Maryland. You are the lead detective on the case and another body has just been discovered. Realizing that putting all the pieces together by yourself has proved to be more difficult than anticipated, it’s time you had finally called the number sitting in your contacts for a favor. 

W.C: 3.5k

Content warnings: depictions of a crime scene ( descriptions of body mutilation, blood, internal organs, mentions of SA (no description of the act)), strong language

CHAPTER ONE

The morning started the same as every other day. A home brewed cup of coffee, a book outside on your front porch, birds up with the first sight of dawn, same as you. The smell of the hot bitter coffee filled your nostrils as you brought the cup to your lips. A moment of solace before heading to your job that brought you nothing of the sort. The routine you engaged in was the only bit of normalcy in your life, something you depended on to ground you to reality. 

The minute you step into the precinct is controlled chaos. Office phones ringing, the slight drone of the fluorescent lights above you, and the quiet chatter of coworkers. Police officers checking in for the day before heading out on their shift. 

You engaged in none of it, you said your brief hellos and good mornings before heading to your closed off office. Unfortunately, you didn’t have time to stop and gossip with the others, you had work to do. Your office had become a sort of sanctuary, seeing as you spent more time in it than your actual house. The minute you moved in here, you had the room gutted, removing everything from the previous man who so clearly smoked cuban cigars inside, without a window open. The only thing you kept was the vintage rosewood desk. You had bookshelves and cabinets installed matched to the desk. A dark green tufted leather armchair with brass nail trim sat behind the desk, which was situated in the middle of the room. A navy blue plush sofa sat along the blind drawn window which separated your office from the rest of the precinct. An Aubusson rug in deep jewel tones on the floor and to top it off, your prized possession, an archival Tiffany lamp, the glass amber, navy and a deep forest green in hue on your desk. There might be a hidden liquor cabinet somewhere in the room but no one needed to know about that. 

Being the lead detective of the Maryland state police wasn’t exactly the most glamorous of professions. The main sector being here in Baltimore, you dealt with a great deal of crimes sent in by the local precincts. Not to mention The casual and well, not so casual misogyny from the male officers. Especially in the early days of your career. When you got promoted a year and 4 months ago, you were constantly questioned, talked over, and scrutinized. After laying out the details of the case to the officers another lower rank detective would recite exactly what you had just said to make it sound like his own idea, lets just say he got reassigned within a month. Otherwise, everyone else minded their own business. No one questioned you as you started to close case after case. The occasional light flirting from newbies who didn’t know you was entertaining to say the least, watching them retreat with their tails tucked between their legs was satisfying to watch. Not that you didn’t want someone to call your own, but these were boys who knew nothing, excited about graduating the police academy and finally being in the workforce. Nothing about that thrilled you. What was thrilling was your work, that’s what you were married to and that's how it will stay for the time being.

Today wasn’t any different. Three days ago Sarah Cane, 29, was found murdered inside her home. The scene was horrific, one of the worst you had seen in your career. It took the morgue a full day to finally ID the body. To say she was mutilated was an understatement. 

There was something different about this case though, a note was left in the bedroom on the bedside table, completely clean and seemingly out of place. The note contained only the number 2, nothing else. Which of course caused a frenzy within the department, looking for any other murder that had any link to the one in front of you. 

You had just sat down with another cup of coffee and opened up the case file when your phone buzzed. 

“Maryland state lead detective… yes… another?….anything found at the scene?… I’ll be right there.” 

Another woman was found dead inside her home. It’s the second one within the week, just as horrific as the last. It took less than 15 minutes to arrive at the address. Middle class, suburban home, same as the last. The backyard had patio furniture strewn about, the fire pit still smoldering from a gathering held last night. No signs of forced entry. Signs point to both of the victims knowing the unsub, but so far nothing ties them together. Entering the house however tells a different story. Glass on the floor of the kitchen and the dining room chairs thrown about indicate a struggle. The kitchen from what you could tell was the room with the most work done, everything seemed recently remodeled, beautiful marble countertops featuring a breakfast nook which separated it from the living room. State of the art appliances, you could only assume most of her time was spent here. The windows in the kitchen had a clear view of the street, an easy access point to be watched. You notice the abundance of photos featuring friends and family around the home. Outwardly nice furniture in the living room but the make was cheap. 

According to the local officer, they had received a call from her friend, worried when she didn’t show up for work this morning and didn’t answer calls or messages.

 You grimace as you walk through the crime scene. The smell is what hit you first, air thick with iron and the stench of hot internal flesh exposed to oxygen. It was similar to the way hunters would open a deer, iron and the residual heat radiating off of the freshly skinned animal. Blood spray seemed to coat every surface in the bedroom. The blood spray had begun to oxidize, but most of it was still a striking red, meaning you had shown up mere hours after the unsub had left. Overkill didn’t begin to cover the extreme brutality in the room. The poor girl had been gutted and stabbed multiple times. The wounds inflicted on her body were deep and steady, no hesitation marks, a couple deep enough to expose the bone beneath. The line running from her pelvis to the collarbone was jagged and messy, the unsub may have a knowledge of the human body but with the way she’s cut they definitely don't work in the medical field. Her internal organs pulled out, draped on the sides of her body reaching the bedsheets, which were also soaked in blood. The skeleton that was exposed was still intact, all rips were accounted for and it seems like there are no broken bones.  Arms and legs bound to the posts of the bed, no blindfold, clothing removed. Heavily saturated boot prints laden the floor, but with the amount of blood they gathered, it would be impossible to tell the make of the boot. 

“I’m sorry I-” An officer who turned pale, rushed out of the room palm over his mouth. 

And once again a note, too pristine for the mess surrounding it, printed with only one number, 6. Set on the bedside table, the only object in the room without a speck of blood, meaning he took the time to clean it after he was done. 

“ Have evidence come, collect this and take it back to the station for forensic analysis.” you said as you gloved up to start going through the scene. You knew it was no use, the unsub was smart, there was no DNA found on either the last crime scene or the note that came with it. You were hopeful for a slip up anyways. 

You squat down to inspect her hands, no wedding ring, there is blood under her nails, which is different from the last victim. As sick as it was to have hope, there was a chance this was from defending herself and if so, a potential DNA match.

“ Okay, so the MO is the same as the last victim. Both of them are highly successful for their age. We don’t know what she did for work, but to be able to afford a home like this, it’s a guarantee. He likely gets off on seeing successful women reduced to what he believes women should be, subservient, which is why he binds them to the bed, naked. Let’s make sure the forensic pathologist checks for sexual assault. If it’s anything like the last one, it’s sure to be there.” 

Combing around the room, you and your team had managed to find out who she is. Meredith Shetler, 25, lived alone, like you thought. The team grabbed her laptop, before heading back to the station.

The next few hours went by excruciatingly slowly, between having to notify next of kin of the victims death and the fact that you’ve been staring at the two notes on your desk for the past hour trying to draw a connection, wasn’t helping the time situation. First 2, now 6. Did you miss something? Is the unsub on their sixth victim and you just didn’t know it? There was no way they’re on the sixth and you didn’t know about it, not with the level of overkill at the scene. 

You decided to call in her friend to learn a bit more about the victim.

“Thank you for coming in, Darcy. What can you tell me about Meredith?” You said, gesturing to the seat across from you, inviting her friend to sit down.

“ Nothing out of the ordinary, she was a normal person. Went to work, had a social life, dated around.” There was no hesitance in her answer, speeding through with no room for breathing. You smiled gently at her, knowing she was frazzled and upset to say the least.

“It’s okay, just take a breath.” You soothe, before continuing your questioning. She nods as she takes a deep breath. “What did she do for work?”

“She is- was a lawyer” her friend paused before continuing, “ at Johnson and Vargas, they handle financial cases, fraud, unpaid debt, you know. We both work there, I’m just a receptionist though. She was so excited, she had gotten promoted and was finally able to buy a house of her own, which is unheard of for women our age. Definitely the most successful in terms of work, in our friend group. Which is why I was worried when she didn’t come in this morning, even if she’s sick she comes into work, let alone no call no show. I had everyone at the firm call her, I knew something was wrong. I had just seen her last night, we celebrated her winning a big case.” 

You looked down at the case file in front of your desk with the details and pictures of both of the scenes. Searching for something, anything to draw a parallel. “Do you know if Mereith knew Sarah Cane? Or if they had any mutual friends?” 

Darcy took a moment, recalling information, “No, I don’t know anyone but that name.”

“Is there anyone you know that seemed to be not so happy about this sudden leap in her career? Maybe a friend, family?” You questioned, it seemed unlikely that the unsub was close to both of the victims. But the amount of overkill at the scene read as personal. 

“Oh my gosh, no! We were all so happy for her, our group is so supportive of each other. If there was anything happening behind the scenes, I don’t know about it.” 

“ Okay, maybe someone she was dating at the time?”

She laughed lightly at the suggestion and shook her head. It's the first time she let her shoulders fall into a relaxed position for this entire interview. “ Definitely not, she was what we liked to call chronically single, she was always going on dates but those were one offs and she never saw them again. There was no one permanent in her life, not since high school.” 

You scanned her body language quickly, she almost seemed condescending at this moment. She had relaxed as if she was gossiping with a close friend. Her hands unclasped and moved as she talked, indicating that she was comfortable with the conversation going on, like she had said this exact thing multiple times before this. However, based on the profile you’ve built, you were most definitely looking for a male. 

“ You were at her house last night, can you walk me through the timeline and what happened?” 

“Well, I got there around six and everyone trickled in before seven. We had dinner, a few drinks, not enough to be drunk. We sat out by the fire, talked a bit, updated each other on life and then we went home around ten, eleven o’clock. As I left I saw her still up, cleaning in the kitchen through the window, but that’s normal, she’s a neat freak.” 

“Nothing seemed out of the ordinary to you, anyones behavior, perhaps what someone had said?” 

“No, everything was calm. No fights, no side glances, no snide comments. I feel like I’m not being helpful.” The last sentence, she closed up again, arms folded and legs crossed. 

“No you are, thank you. If we need any more information, we’ll give you a call.”

After your team broke into the laptop, you found out nothing that you already didn’t know, besides the fact that she had just just taken out a 10k loan. You wrote this down in your notes as a reminder to dig a little deeper into that. The first victim was an occupational therapist. Their lives hadn’t crossed in any aspect. Both of them single, on a variety of dating apps, social media, and seem to be very active in their social lives as well. 

Four cups of coffee in and you’re the last one at the precinct, as usual. The lights outside your office dim one by one, the only light that illuminated the room was the warm light from your desktop lamp. The computer had been shut off a couple hours ago, giving you a pounding headache. Stretching upwards, the vertebrae in your lower back cracked. You wished you could crack this case, a lead, something. What you wouldn’t give for a packet of evidence dropped on your desk the next morning. 

With a sigh, you started to pack up your things. Neatly storing everything in the desk you take out your phone. Nearly 20 missed messages from friends and family made you realize how wrapped up in this case you were. 

A close girlfriend had texted you, asking if you had wanted to grab a drink after you wrapped up. A drink didn’t sound too bad right now. Might be good to clear your head. 

As you scrolled through your contacts to find her, a particular name popped up that caught your attention. 

Aaron Hotchner.

Your eyebrows furrowed slightly at a memory that flooded back in. It was about 3 years ago, you decided to attend some lectures at quantico. Specifically David Rossi’s interrogation techniques lecture with special guest Aaron Hotchner. Afterwards you went up to speak with them. 

“ yeah, I just became lead detective at Northeast District Police Department in Baltimore, figured I could use a bit of a brush up if I’m going to do this job.”

“That’s remarkable, you can’t be more than 25.” Rossi commented. “It seems like you’re the best in your district, ever think about the FBI instead?”

“ I am 25. People don’t seem to be happy about it but there’s nothing I can do about that.” You continued, “ I’ve put in the hardwork and hours to get there so no one can fault me for that. It’s not a good habit but I’m always the last one at the precinct. I would like to work for the FBI someday. Haven’t quite had the guts to apply for the academy yet.” 

“Hotch here is also our designated night owl, if you ask around people think he lives there.” Rossi jokes, which earned a side eye from Aaron.

“ I don’t live there.” He said, in a hushed, graveled tone. “You should, Doctor Reid is about your age and is already working for the FBI.  Unit Chief Aaron Hotchner.” He stuck out his hand for a shake and you too eagerly returned it. It was just excitement, that’s all. Excited that you had the chance to talk to high profile FBI agents, definitely nothing else. You clocked Rossi’s eyebrow raise at the other man for the gesture but shook it off in the moment. 

“Well, I’ll look into it. Right now I’m eyeing the detective position for the state police but one step at a time am I right?” You giggled a bit, inwardly embarrassed at the girlish laugh that escaped you. “But I’m sure you have a lot to do so I won’t waste your time any longer.”

“ Trust me when I say you haven’t wasted our time. It was a pleasure to meet you.” Aaron reached into his coat pocket and pulled out his card. “If you need anything don’t hesitate to call.”

Your eyes met as you grabbed the card, fingers ghosting over his for a second, before pocketing the card. You casted your eyes downward, still a bit sheepish in your mannerisms, you’ve grown out of that now. 

“Thanks again, both of you.” You said before leaving. 

Your eyes flickered over the number again, there was a chance the number was outdated. A part of you screamed to not ask for help, you’ve been able to solve cases like this before, this shouldn’t be any different. A deep nagging wanted you to prove yourself. 28 and lead detective for Maryland state, you had to do this by yourself. The last thing you wanted was to make anyone believe you weren’t good enough. But nothing is making any sense and the rest of your coworkers couldn’t draw any parallels. Letting out a pained sigh, you swallowed your pride and hit the dial. 

It rang for what felt like an eternity. Maybe it is a different number and you're wasting your time? It’s an unknown number so maybe he wouldn’t pick up, you know you certainly wouldn’t if someone didn’t call your work phone. 

“Agent Hotchner, who is this?” 

Your breath hitched, maybe you should just hang up. His voice caught you by surprise, mostly because you didn’t think he would actually answer his phone, partly because it was exactly as you remembered, just a little more time worn. 

You cleared your throat, making sure you sounded as clear and as professional as possible, not giving away just how tired you were. “Hi, this is (y/n), the lead detective for Maryland state police. We met a few years ago at a lecture.”

“ I remember. Looks like you became what you wanted after all. What can I help you with?” 

You’ll have to focus on the fact that he remembered you three years later at another time. 

“It seems what Rossi had said about you is correct. Late night?”

“ It doesn't seem like you have broken that habit either. I’m finishing up paperwork from the last case. Is there something you called for?”

“ Well, I’m actually working a homicide case right now and I think we have a serial killer in Baltimore. We’ve had two bodies in a week. The scenes are the same, both successful women in their 20’s mutilated with evidence of sexual assault and… we need the BAU’s help.” 

He paused for a moment, “ Okay, send the files over to our liaison Jennifer Jareau, I will forward you the details, the email on my card is still the same, assuming you still have it…” you did, “ and I’ll have the team here in 30 minutes. How early do you want us there?”

“As soon as possible. I don’t think we have very long until another body shows up.” 

“We’ll be there first thing tomorrow morning.”

“ Thank you, agent Hotchner.”

“ Of course. Have a good rest of your night.”

The beep rang through as he hung up on his end. Getting right to work on sending over the paperwork, you couldn’t believe it was that easy. You heard of early detectives fighting tooth and nail to get the FBI to work on their case, but for you, it was just a phone call. Doubt creeps in though as you started to feel like this wasn’t special treatment for you just because you had met and got along a few years ago, but because you were the first woman to hold this position. Did he think you weren’t smart enough to put the pieces together and that’s why he offered the BAU’s help right away? Regret flooded your system for calling him for a favor. 

You had mulled over your decision for long enough that when you looked at the clock, you realized you wouldn’t have time to get drinks with your friends.

[awkwarddaryl]

There is Only Now - Chapter 12

Daryl Dixon x FtM!Reader Pronoun used ➤ "You", same age as Daryl, about late thirties. Song AO3 ➤ here First Chapter - Previous Chapter - Next Chapter

TW (general story) ➤ transphobia, homophobia, abuse, alcohol and drug abuse, mention of suicide, death.

Word count: 1.1k

You were highschool sweethearts, fled your abusive homes together, married. Then, Merle came back into Daryl's life and played a big role in your divorce. For the last three years, during Merle's death anniversary, you kept finding Daryl drinking in this bar. Today was Merle's fourth death anniversary, would you come for him this time? Or did you move on?

A new adorable character is mentioned!

You left to get to Paul and Aaron’s home to spend a little evening together. They could know something had happened because of the strange behavior you displayed for the last few days. You looked sad, and while they desperately craved information on what had transpired, as they could probably know it was about Daryl… They were mainly worried about you, and that had probably been why they had invited you. You decided to watch an old TV show with them, with popcorn on your laps, and lemonade. You were all enraptured by the actions of the different characters, fighting against a horde of zombies in an awful apocalypse world. One character made you think about Daryl a lot, but you tried not letting it put you down. It had been a few days since you had sent your message, without receiving any answer. You understood, of course, but it was still difficult to swallow.

“I would never survive in this. Can you guys imagine just… Having to deal with T shots? I’d die. The idea of hygiene and vaccines not being a thing anymore? How many shitty illnesses we’d catch?” You said horrified after one of the episodes.

“Aw, we’d protect you, I’m sure,” Paul began, “Actually, I’d steal T in pharmacies for you.”

“I feel like you’d go completely bonkers and steal anything from anyone, Paul.” Aaron replied.

He had sparks in his eyes while replying. “You’re right, actually, without the law I could do anything.” And you knew he was dead serious.

You laughed together, and you felt your heart a little bit less achy for an instant.

“You wanna talk about what happened with Daryl?” Aaron said after a pause.

Your eyes went towards your lemonade, taking a large sip before putting the glass on the coffee table. Tears already threatened to overflow from your eyes. Paul got closer to you on the couch to pat your back, trying to comfort you.

“We had a great day. Going kart racing was a good idea, we ate with everyone, it was the best day I had since… I can’t remember the last time I got such a good time, actually.”

They listened to you intently, without a word, and you took some popcorn. Anxiety made you eat.

“Then we went to my home. I know we shouldn’t have but… It was such a good day I think we got carried away.” Your cheeks felt hotter by the second. When you looked at Paul, he was smirking, wiggling his eyebrows. “Eheh good for you.”

Aaron pinched Paul’s flank. “Be serious.” He laughed in response, trying to defend himself.

You smiled at them and their cute stupidity, and brought even more popcorn to your mouth. They had a gift to warm your heart anytime something was troubling you. They were definitely the perfect couple in your eyes. You thought back to the night. “I woke up after a terrible nightmare… About Merle.” You felt your body tense, and Paul must have felt it too, because he rubbed your back some more. “I went to see Daryl, he was smoking, so I knew he wasn’t feeling well either. Then I just… Exploded.”

“Exploded?” Aaron’s brows raised.

“I screamed at him, about how he chose Merle over me, about how much Merle fucked our marriage and our lives. I told him I hated him for abandoning me. I also drank a couple of shots.”

Nobody said anything to that.

You swallowed a hand full of popcorn before wiping your eyes to remove the tears. “I sent him a message about how much I regretted it a few days ago. But I had no reply since. I can’t blame him though, I wouldn’t reply to me if I’d seen myself like this…” Paul took you into his arms, kissing your temple.

“We promised ourselves we wouldn’t be like our parents and… Here I am.”

“You had stuff on your heart sweetie, you’re a faulty human like the rest of us, the divorce was hard on you and the reasons felt unfair. I’m sure he understands and he’ll forgive you.” Paul said.

“Maybe that was a good thing that will allow you both to move on,” Aaron added, “you always hold so much stuff inside yourself all the time, I don’t think it’s bad you finally said your piece. Even if you regret it, that’s how you felt for all those years. I was there.”

“No matter what, we’re here for you.”

You felt tears on your cheeks and hugged Paul tightly. “Thank you guys. You’re the best.”

--

Lying on the couch after the chaotic duo went to sleep, you thought back on Rick’s words to you. How you had to move on. How Merle was dead and wouldn’t cause any more future troubles, and that meant you could let go of it. Of everything. You made a fist with your hand, concentrating all of the pressure, all the things you were holding on to regarding Merle. All the hate, all the fear, all the pain. And you opened your fist, trying to let it go, trying to let him die from your heart and your memory. It didn’t matter anymore, who was wrong, who was right. And you understood the reasons that led Daryl to abandon you, even though it still felt near unbearable to you. You wanted to move past it, you wanted it so much, to release all that tension, all that rancor.

You wanted to live in the present moment, not regretting what could have been. You wanted more days like you had with Daryl. You wanted to laugh with him, to smile with him, to travel with him, to make love with him. You wished it so much it hurt. But you were prepared to be patient, to wait calmy for the day he would forgive you. You had waited for so long already… What would a couple more years be, really? Even though you felt death at your doors sometimes, the existential crisis of knowing your end was inevitable, you knew you still had time. You had to. This couldn’t end like this.

A ringtone startled you, and it took you a couple of seconds before you understood it was yours. You sat down on the couch, looking for it everywhere as you forgot where you had placed it. Anxiety ate at you, someone calling you that late was never a good news, and it meant it was important. When you found it, you stared at the screen: it was Daryl’s name on it.

“… Hello?” You said, feeling weird. Your heart beat so fast you could hear it inside your temples, you even forgot how to breathe.

“Do you still know anything about dogs?” Daryl asked then. “Dogs?” You said, dumbfounded, you felt you needed some context there. “Yeah.”

What the fuck?

[kairiscorner]

i just want what's best for you. — miles 42 x reader

summary: no matter how much miles may love you, you still have to get through his mom for you two to be together. first impressions didn't go so well, and now... now you're starting to think she's right about you. but somehow, you both come to an understanding, and... eventually, an understanding can be made between you two. pairing: miles 42 x gn!reader genre: slight angst + comfort word count: 2,646 request: Could you do a miles (42 or 1610 or both) x reader where his mom isn’t to fond of her but, it’s only because she doesn’t want to see him get hurt. And reader considers breaking up with him and his mom overhears and feels bad. a/n: hello, my lovely anon !! omg i loved writing this ngl, I INTENTIONALLY PUT MORE ANGST HERE THAN I DID FOR 1610 MILES AAAAA please multiverse, don't let this flop PLEASEEEE also SORRY FOR THE CRAPPY SPANISH AND OOC RIO, I TRIED UUEUEUUEUUE BUT I HOPE YOU GUYS LIKE THIS !!

(reblogs are greatly appreciated, it helps get my content out there! if you guys like what you see, please reblog it too <:D)

you had never felt any more intimidated and nervous than you did right now as you sat down with miles' family for dinner. you had partners before and met their parents, it wasn't all so bad; you actually had fond memories of those people and sometimes would reminisce how kind they'd treat you, how they'd welcome you into their families and give you a home away from your home when you'd need it. however, when it came to miles' family... it was so-so.

his uncle aaron, without a doubt, was one of the nicest father figures you had ever encountered in your whole life. he was a sweet man who cared for miles and would, be proxy, care about you, too. he'd tease you and miles when he'd see you two together in the most low-key ways and still make miles lose all his cool and stoic composure around you when his uncle would expose how much he talks about you.

"this kid can't ever go through another day without thinking about you. like seriously, all i did was take him to the convenience store downtown and i see him with all these snacks i've never seen him eat before, snacks he told me he hates with a burning passion. i look at him and ask him why he's got those snacks, and he mutters under his breath... 'these're for them, not for me.' how cute of my nephew, no?" he said with a chuckle as miles glared up at his uncle and pouted at him, with you giggling at the story as everyone but his mother was laughing about that little anecdote.

uncle aaron nudged rio a little, to which she shot him a glare similar to miles' and muttered something under her breath in spanish. uncle aaron sighed as some tension was caught in the air and enveloped the entire dinner table, with no one else uttering another word or sound as you all ate in silence. you felt rio's gaze on you at times while you all ate, and unlike the other mothers you had encountered with your previous partners, she had a gaze that felt a little... judgemental, in a way?

you felt pretty self-conscious as rio looked at you, and you felt yourself jump slightly in your seat when she'd ask you questions about you and her son. she called your name randomly, shattering the silence and causing the hairs on the back of your neck to stand up as you nearly sprang up from your seat in utter surprise. "y-yes rio?" you asked her as she winced, as if she heard a discordant tune when you uttered her first name. without even looking up from her plate, she asked you, "did you know miles got a b in spanish? ay, i'm proud of you, mijo, though... you usually do so much better than that. i'm worried, have you been missing classes recently? and do you know anything about it?" she asked you as she turned her gaze up at you, causing you to freeze up and instinctively shake your head.

miles breathed out a small huff as he tried to think of a reason to give his own mother, who he promised he'd never lie to, as his uncle aaron tried to tell rio that maybe now wasn't the right time to talk about it, but rio told him in spanglish that now was as good a time as any, she had to know if her son was being distracted by... she didn't dare finish that thought. she looked over at you then at miles and raised an eyebrow. "so? is no one gonna tell me anything?" she asked the two of you as you bit the inside of your cheek, feeling pretty intimidated by her right now. "mama, it's nothing, i promise you, i--" "it's nothing?" "oh, no." uncle aaron muttered as he silently excused himself and left the table with his plate in hand, gesturing to you to follow what he did and to seek refuge into the kitchen, away from the mother and son.

you did as he directed and excused yourself, nearly stumbling out of your chair as rio's eyes followed you with a kind of suspicious gleam in those hazel eyes of hers. indistinct conversation and arguments between the mother and son were heard, with the sound of running water, the squeaking and setting down of plates being tuning their voices out as you gratuitously helped uncle aaron wash the dishes. "hey, sorry about them, miles' mom hasn't been in the best mood lately." he muttered to you as you nodded. "i-i understand, aaron. it's really okay..." you murmured back as you both finished, with uncle aaron wishing you a good night as he disappeared into the garage doing who knows what.

as you exited the kitchen, you heard rio's muffled voice from the dining room mention your name, and you walked over in a morbid kind of curiosity to know why she mentioned you when she was scolding miles; though a part of you thought of why, you hoped what you thought of wouldn't be the case. "sé honesto, ¿te estás distrayendo con ellos?" she asked miles with a stern voice as miles looked down at the ground, clearly frustrated, but wasn't about to run his mouth off at his own mother. he shook his head and murmured, "mi amante no tiene la culpa de lo que me ha estado pasando, mama."

rio sighed exasperatedly as she looked at her son in disbelief. "and you mean that? you seriously... look, mijo, no quiero hacerte infeliz, y sé que crees que entiendes lo que es bueno para ti, pero… no puedo permitir que ellos te pongan en peligro. they might... not be a good influence on you." she said with a soft voice as miles looked up at her with an incredulous expression on his face. "mama, you have no idea who they really are." he said as rio kept talking to him, but he stormed off on her. she called for her son repeatedly, but he marched into his room, with her sighing aloud and storming off herself, too.

you felt a heavy weight on your shoulders as your anxieties and worries over what miles' mother thought of you were realized; she doesn't trust you, and she doesn't think you're good for her son. you felt so weak in the knees at that moment, thinking that you would never be able to love miles freely without his mother intervening or trying to convince him you're not right for him, that you're a distraction for him. you didn't want any conflict between the two anymore, so you thought of a way to end their feud peacefully, and the only way that'd work was... one neither of you would particularly like.

you snuck upstairs to miles' room and gently rapped at his door, muttering that you were there, and that you wanted to talk to him. miles opened his door a crack, and when he could confirm it was you, he opened the door wider and gently took your hand in his. "cielo," he greeted you softly with a light squeeze of your hand as he looked at you. "am i ever glad to see you." he said as he led you into his room, with you reciprocating his touch and squeezing his hand back. he gestured for you to sit down on the side of his bed as he sat down, with you following him and sitting down on the plush of his bed.

he brushed a few hairs from your forehead and kept his gaze on you as you looked down at the floor, unsure of how to tell him what you were articulating to yourself in your head; unsure of how he'd take it, if he even will be able to. you sighed a little longer than you planned to, causing miles to pull away from you and have worry drawn on his face as he tried getting a better look at your expression. "cielo, are you okay? did something happen...?" he asked you as you shook your head gently. "nothing, nothing, i..." you began, but you stopped yourself, trying to think of how to tell him all over again as all you could think of at that moment was that: miles' mother doesn't think you're any good for him.

you took a deep breath and faced him with saddened eyes. "i'm sorry, miles, i just... i don't think you should be dating me anymore. it's not because of you, of course not, it's... it's on me." you whispered, with miles feeling like he took a blow to the gut, feeling utterly helpless and confused at what you just told him. he wasn't sure what you meant by 'it was your fault', but he wanted to let you know right now that you weren't at fault, for whatever it was that'd come between you two.

miles appeared a little more hurt and distressed by what you told him, the matter at hand still not sinking in, that you told him you'd break up with him... he couldn't, wouldn't, believe it. "what? amor, what do you mean? 'your fault'? i doubt that..." he began as he tried to reassure you, feeling himself coming undone at the seams and desperate to know why you wanted to part ways with him. was it because he couldn't spend as much time with you as before? because he was too busy with his job as the prowler to be with you? if you only told him, then... then he'd find ways to make it work, not make you feel alone ever again, make up for what he lacked in the past by working hard for you now in the present.

"is it... is it because i'm not able to spend much time with you as before? mi vida, i'm sorry... i'll make up for it, i promise!" he said as you shook your head. "no, miles... it's not your fault. it's mine, even if you don't say it is." you said with a melancholic voice as miles looked at you with feebleness filling his face as he tried to understand how it's your fault for anything. he defended you in front of his mother the best he could, and yet... he'd still lose you in the end, if not the argument.

you couldn't figure out how to tell miles that you didn't wish to break up, you wanted to be with him still, but there was no better way of getting his mom and him to make up if you were still in the picture. you heard his mom say it himself, you didn't seem like a good influence on him, and maybe her behavior towards you was a sign that you really weren't being good to miles, good to his parents, and just... weren't good in general. you sighed, trying to keep the tears from flowing as miles tried to tell you that if you really wanted to break up with him, he'd respect your decision, but... he begs of you to tell him how it's your fault.

you felt your heart throb and your throat flare up as you tried to stifle your cries and sobs. "i'm just, i'm not good for you, okay, miles? i'm sorry... you deserve better." you told him in a quieted voice as you got up and went over to his door, about to leave him and give him an easier time with his family than stay with him and just ruin his relationship with his mom even more.

"espera, mi cielo! hold on a minute, can't we talk about this...?" he called out to you as you opened the door to leave, to keep yourself away from miles to keep him and his mother from getting angry at each other and fighting all over again. however, when you opened the door, you saw a familiar face look back at you, and a familiar voice shrieking in surprise--it was miles' mom, who was eavesdropping on you two. you shrieked at his mom's shrieking, as miles shrieked at your shrieking.

"mama!" miles exclaimed as he saw his mom at the doorway, with her telling the two of you to calm down, and that nobody needs to break up with anybody. "i'm... i'm sorry i eavesdropped, but i came here to... to say sorry, mijo, and... i'm sorry to you, too." she said as she turned to look at you with guilt and shame in her eyes. "you didn't deserve to hear all that... i shouldn't have said that." she muttered as she looked at the two of you. she leaned against the doorway and sighed as she began to speak again, looking around miles' room.

"i didn't mean that you were a bad influence, i just... i default to worrying about what miles could be doing because, you're a teenager, miles--you're both teens and... you both wanna do your own things. it worries me when miles doesn't tell me anything, it makes me feel like i'm failing as a mom when... i'm the only parent you have now." she said in a soft voice as she looked at miles sadly and up at you. she sat down next to miles on the bed and held his hand. "i wish you could just be honest with me." she muttered to him as miles looked at her with sadness in his eyes. "i am being honest with you, mom. you don't even... you don't even know how amazing my partner is, you hardly give them a chance, and that's what hurts me every time." he said as you looked at the two of them.

miles' mom got up from the bed and placed her fingers underneath your chin and lifted your head up to look at her and sighed. "i'm so sorry i judged you too quickly, i just... mom instincts kicked in, and... i got a little carried away and thought i knew what was good for my baby boy, but... i guess i don't know as much anymore. maybe... i'd know him better if i trusted him, if i trusted you." she said with a slight smile on her face as you gave her a slight smile back. "again, i'm so, so sorry for how i was earlier, and... just, in general." she uttered as you nodded. "it's okay, mrs. morales." you told her as she smiled wider and pulled away from you. "y'know what, that just made my evening much better. i think i like you a bit better already. 'mrs.' morales, finally." she said with a slight chuckle as you chuckled back at her little quip, with miles smiling to himself as he finally witnessed you two get along. she let miles keep dating and seeing you, only if he promises to get his grades back up to how they were before.

as his mom left the room, miles told her you two needed to talk, alone. she understood, but reminded him not to lock the door. "lo tengo, mamá, entendido." he said as he closed the door the minute she headed down into the hallway, leaving you both in an awkward silence after you two had 'broken up' a few minutes ago. before miles could say anything, you wrapped him in a big hug, muttering under your breath how happy you were to be with him, that his mom finally accepted you. miles slowly reciprocated your hug, holding you close and kissing the top of your head as he smiled against your hair. he was beyond happy and relieved to know his mom finally saw you as a person he loved, not as a distraction to him or a bad influence, just someone he cared a lot about to devote himself to, someone he wouldn't leave nor let anyone, not even his own mom or uncle, get in the way of him loving ceaselessly.

he gets that his mom just wants what's best for him, but... maybe it was time for him to decide what's best for him on his own, and that'd be to love you with all his heart and stay by your side, never leaving you once because he loves you too much to let you go that easily.

tags !! @ii01vq @luvstarrstruck @maxoloqy @k4tsu3 @solecitoszn @toneystank-3000 @fiannee @popeheywardssecretgf @lovefrominaya @onginlove @meowmoraless

[sequinsmile-x]

Fortis

/ˈfɔː(ɹ)tɪs/ , adjective, Origin: Latin

conveys the idea of strength, power, courage, and bravery

She’d never considered a middle ground. Never thought that there would be something wrong, but that there would be an option to fix it.

-x-

Hi besties,

Is this me putting Emily through something so I can get my head around something entirely different going on in my life? Maybe?

Definitely. But hey, what is fan fic for if it isn't for projecting onto your favs?

As always, let me know what you think <3

-x-

Warnings: pregnancy, infertility, surgery

Words: 4.3k

Read over on Ao3, or below the cut

She’s already awake when he sits on her side of the bed. She’d woken up before him for once but hadn’t moved, had stayed still with her eyes closed until he woke up. She’d laid there as he got out of bed, as he stamped a kiss against her forehead before he got ready for the day, pottering around their bedroom in silence as he let her rest as long as he could. He knows she’s awake. She can tell he does by the way he doesn’t run his hand up and down her arm to slowly draw her out of sleep like he usually would. Instead, he just rests his hand on her shoulder and squeezes gently, the warmth of his palm a stark contrast to the cool air of their bedroom. 

“Sweetheart, we need to get ready,” he says, and she opens her eyes to look up at him, making no attempt to get up. “Our appointment is at 9.” 

She hums, but still doesn’t attempt to move, held in place in the safety of their bed by anxiety and preemptive grief that she’s been carrying around for weeks now like a cloak. A way of protecting herself from what she was already sure she’d be told, as if having her worst fears confirmed wouldn’t devastate her, as if she wouldn’t grieve the life she could have had. 

Very early on in her relationship with Aaron, they’d spoken about kids. The conversation had happened by accident, a question he’d asked without thinking one evening after a tough case with children at the very centre of it. He’d apologised immediately, a rare occurrence where he stuttered over his words whilst she smiled at him like he was the most adorable person on the planet. She’d kissed him and told him she wanted kids, that she always had but that she’d been waiting for the right person, and she made it clear that she was talking about him. 

It all seemed so easy in theory. She knew she could get pregnant; she knew Aaron could have kids, so it seemed like a foregone conclusion. Like something that would just happen for them after they moved into the house they bought together and got married. She booked an appointment with her OBGYN before they started trying so she could have all the information she needed, a little too aware of her age to not talk things through with her doctor first. She had what felt like an endless number of tests, and it was only when her OBGYN referred her to a general surgeon, stating she wanted someone a little more specialised to look at her abdominal scarring, that it occurred to Emily that it might not be as easy as she’d hoped. Today’s appointment was a follow-up with the general surgeon, Doctor Norton. Her office had called and asked them to come in to discuss the results of the scans and tests she’d had the previous week, and Emily had been worried ever since, convinced it could only be bad news.

Ian had wanted to take from her what she’d taken from him, and she was starting to wonder if he might just have achieved it, if he had the final laugh after all, the sound of it echoing out from his unmarked and untended grave to fill the home she shared with Aaron. 

“What are you thinking, sweetheart?” Aaron asks, his thumb running back and forth over the top of her shoulder, and she sighs, shaking her head at herself as she tries to sink further into the bed.

“It sounds stupid,” she says, avoiding eye contact with him as she looks past him, her eyes fixed on the wall as she tugs the covers even higher around her shoulders, trapping his hand underneath it. “But I’ve half convinced myself that if I don’t get out of bed, if I don’t go to the appointment, they can’t give me bad news,” she huffs out a breath, “They can’t give me good news either, however unlikely that feels.” 

“Schrödinger's appointment,” Aaron quips, and she hums, smiling softly when she looks back at him and nods. 

“I always forget that you’re a nerd too,” she replies, grateful when he smiles at her. It’s a flash of them, a moment of lightness in the dark, a beacon of hope she would desperately cling to for as long as she needed to. 

“I’m just better at hiding it than you are,” he says, stroking his thumb back and forth over her shoulder again. “It could be good news.” 

Anger she knows he doesn’t deserve swells in her gut, feels it takes up so much space that she can barely breathe, her lungs cramped with it as she does her best to swallow it down, to not take everything out on the one person who was always on her side. 

“They don’t call you and give you no information over the phone if it’s good news, honey,” she says, her lips pressed together as she tries to control the shake in them, unwilling to fall apart even in the sanctuary of their bedroom until she had all the information. She sits up, forcing the covers and his hand to fall away from her, and she looks at him. “Will you…

She drifts off, unsure she really wants the answer to the question she can’t bring herself to ask. Too afraid of the answer, of what he might say. Before him, no one had ever loved her without condition before, without some part of it hanging on what she could give them. Even her own mother hadn’t, not really. She knew her mother loved her, but it never came with disappointment or anger when she couldn’t be who she wanted her to be. Even now, with everything they’d been through and everything they promised each other, a part of her still doubted her worth to Aaron, and she worried that if she couldn’t give him this, couldn’t give him something they both wanted so much, that he’d end up resenting her for it. 

“Will I, what, Em?” He asks, cupping her cheek to make her look at him. He touches her with such reverence, such love that she isn’t sure if it’s the thing holding her together or the thing that will break her. 

“Will you…still love me if I can’t give you a baby?” 

The question hangs in the air around them, and she watches as he sucks in a breath that looks painful. Her doubt floods his lungs, filling his chest as hurt flashes in his eyes, and she wishes she could take it back as he swallows thickly, pushing down the bitter taste of it as he does what he always does - he puts her first. 

“Sweetheart-”

“And I don’t mean now,” she says, cutting over him, seemingly unable to stop now she’d started, all the very worst things she’d been thinking tumbling out of her now she’d unlocked the box she’d stuffed them all in. “I mean in 20, 30 years from now, when you realise someone else could have given you everything you wanted.” 

“Emily, there is nothing that would make me stop loving you,” he says firmly, and she sighs, opening her mouth to reply, but he stops her. He cups her cheeks, his jaw tight as he rests his forehead against hers, his voice as stern as it ever was with her. “I mean it, Em. We could have our own football team worth of kids, or it could be you, me and Jack for the rest of our lives,” he pulls back to look at her, his hands still on her cheeks. “I love you,” he wipes a stray tear from her cheek, “And you’ve already given me so much. Anything else would be a bonus.”

She swallows thickly, her throat so stuffed full of guilt that her voice croaks when she speaks, “I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have…” 

He pulls her into a hug, one she returns fiercely, her hands in tight fists around the material of his shirt as she anchors herself to him. “You have nothing to be sorry for, sweetheart,” he says, kissing the side of her head, “No matter what the doctor says, we’ll deal with it together, okay? Just like everything else.” 

She nods against him and pulls back just enough to kiss him, her lips stamped against his for a moment before she presses her forehead against his. 

“Okay.” 

___

She knew she was right the moment they walked into Doctor Norton’s office. The doctor’s smile was kind, too kind, and there was a box of tissues on her desk that hadn’t been there during their last visit. It made Emily curse her ability to notice small details, a skill that had saved her life countless times, that had this time dashed the small amount of hope she’d managed to cling on to.

She listens as Doctor Norton tells her that the amount of scar tissue in her abdomen was a concern and that, after discussions with Emily’s OBGYN, they believed that it would inhibit her ability to stay pregnant. It guts her, makes her grab Aaron’s hand so tightly she’s sure it hurts, but he doesn’t flinch. Instead, he sandwiches her hand between both of his, providing silent comfort as he asks the questions she can’t think to ask, so caught up in trying not to fall apart. 

She’d never considered a middle ground. Never thought that there would be something wrong, but that there would be an option to fix it, so when Doctor Norton says they could remove some of her scar tissue laparoscopically to provide some relief, it surprises her. It’s not a guarantee, Doctor Norton is clear on that, but it’s something. Their best chance to give them something they wanted so desperately. 

Any hope it gives her is fleeting, stamped out by feelings she thought she’d long since overcome.  The memory of the long, hard, lonely recovery she’d had in France suddenly overwhelming her as everything around her fades away as if she’s underwater, the conversation around her, about her, muffled and out of focus as she has to remind herself to breathe. If she were asked, she wouldn’t remember the end of the appointment or what Doctor Norton said to her, nor would she remember the drive home. Instead, all she can think of is the scar on her abdomen, of all the damage behind it that she couldn’t see, the damage that might well stop her from having everything she wanted. 

Aaron knows her well enough not to push, and they go through their day like it’s any other one. They work, they pick Jack up from school, and then they spend the evening with him. Emily isn’t sure if her friends don’t notice that something is wrong, if she really is that good at hiding from them, or if they know her well enough to know she wouldn’t tell the truth even if she was asked. Jack senses something, innocent and sweet in his attempt to cheer her up as he snuggles against her on the couch before it’s time for him to go to bed. 

As soon as he’s upstairs, with Aaron in tow - something she’s sure her husband does to give her a little space - she finds herself on the back porch, sitting on the top step as she looks out over the backyard. The yard was part of what had made her fall in love with this house. The realtor had left them right where she was sitting to give them some time alone after their tour, and Aaron had wrapped his arms around her from behind, his lips against her temple as he whispered about watching their kids play in the yard. He’d painted such a beautiful picture of them sitting in the porch swing behind her as the children would run around playing, he talked about a swing set and a kiddie pool they’d pull out of the garage each summer, laughing against her hairline as he quipped they’d always misplace the pump for it and argue over who had packed it away the summer before. It had all seemed so clear then, vivid and bright and beautiful. It was dulled now, ripped and faded like it had been torn to pieces, just like she had been, and she hates that she’s been left to make a choice. Hates that on paper it seems so simple, like the answer would be obvious. 

Her recovery had been brutal last time. Hard enough that more than once she’d wished Ian had simply killed her, that she’d died and the pain was gone along with her. It had taken her to the edge and back more than once, her anger and hatred all focused on a physical therapist whom she’s sure she was awful to. She had no one else. Dead to almost everyone who knew her, forced to recover a continent away from all the people she loved. The loneliness had been as hard as the rest of it, and she wondered when she’d stopped being someone who thrived on her own company, when she became someone who needed other people. 

Her scar aches in a way it hasn’t in years, painful and raw and tingling in a way she knows isn’t real, but it doesn’t stop her from feeling every pull in her abdomen whenever she moves. She rests her hand on it but lets it drop, imagines for a fleeting second how she’d feel to do the same thing if a baby lay beneath her palm, and she sighs, resting her elbows on her knees as she covers her face with her hands. 

She doesn’t know how long she has been sitting there by herself by the time she hears familiar footsteps behind her, and she uncovers her face just in time to see a hot chocolate come into her line of sight. She smiles when she takes it, when she smells the whiskey mixed in with the chocolate. The warmth of it is a nice distraction, the slight burn of the ceramic against her palms something she can concentrate on instead of the ache in her gut. 

“Do you want to be alone?” Aaron asks, his hand on her shoulder, and she shakes her head immediately, turning to look at him as she answers.

“No,” she says, “I don’t want to be alone.” The relief makes her suck in a breath as he sits next to her, initially giving her a little space between them, but she shuffles closer, lets her shoulder knock against his. She hums as she looks at his empty hands, and she holds up her drink. “You didn’t make yourself one?” 

He smiles, and it’s soft and comforting, and she thinks she falls even more in love with him right there and then, “I was hoping I’d get to share yours.” 

She chuckles dryly and sips the hot chocolate before she passes it to him. She coughs a little at the burn of the alcohol, “You didn’t shy away from the whiskey.” 

“Thought you could use it.” He replies before he sips it himself, spluttering a little, “Although, I may have been a little heavy-handed.” 

She laughs, a real, genuine laugh, but the joy fades quickly. Turning to ask in her mouth as she swallows thickly. “I don’t know what to do.” 

“I know,” he says, and he places his hand on her knee, his palm warm even through her jeans, and she grabs it, sandwiches it between both of her own as she runs her thumb back and forth over his wedding ring. “It’s not an easy choice. No matter how obvious it might seem.”

She hums, “If you were anybody else, I don’t think you’d understand that it isn’t easy.” 

He places the hot chocolate down on the porch step and uses his free hand to cup her cheek, encouraging her to look up at him, “Good thing I’m not anybody else then, isn’t it?” 

“Yeah, it is,” she nods, and her chin trembles, everything she’d been holding back all day rushing to the surface, a tidal wave of emotion pulling her under as she sobs. But he’s there, wrapping his arms around her as he pulls her as close as he can, holding her against him as if her life depended on it, and right in that moment, she thinks it might. 

“I’m right here, Em,” he says, running his hand up and down her back as he stamps a kiss against the top of her head, “I’m right here.” 

“I’m so angry,” she says, shaking her head as she pulls back, furiously wiping tears away as they splash down onto her cheeks, burning tracks into her skin she thinks might be permanent, “I’m so mad that this is my choice. That it isn’t easy.” 

“It’s not fair,” he replies, and she thinks it should sound childish, like something a kid would say if they didn’t get their way, but it doesn’t. It wasn’t fair. She’d been through enough, they’d been through enough, and it seemed cruel that life wasn’t quite done kicking them yet. 

“What…what do you want me to do?” She asks, and it’s only as she asks it that she realises it’s just another way of asking what she’d asked of him that morning. A rephrasing of the question that she knew hadn’t been fair even as she asked it. 

Will you still love me if I don’t do this?

He tucks her hair behind her ear, and he sighs sadly, his eyes swimming with tears as he looks at her like she’d hung the stars in the sky. “Em, I can’t tell you or ask you to do something to it that you don’t want to do. I meant it this morning when I said I’ll love you no matter what. Nothing has changed,” he says, wiping another tear from her cheek, “It’s your body.” 

She chokes on a sound somewhere between a laugh and a sob, “Matthew said that to be back in Rome,” she says, her eyes drifting shut as she thinks of it, how young she’d been, how young her friend had been too. When she opens her eyes, she sees the lines on Aaron’s face, the age and the wisdom that was woven into them, and she shakes her head, desperate to stop herself from making comparisons she didn’t want to make. “My recovery in Paris…it was hard. And I know this will be different, that it’s nowhere near as invasive, but every time I think of it…I feel like I’m right back there in that bed in Bethesda, in so much pain I wished I was dead for real.” 

He tightens his hold on her, and she almost apologises for it, but she doesn’t, because she knows that’s not what he expects from her. 

“No matter what you decide, sweetheart, you won’t be alone. I’ll be right here by your side.” 

She hums sadly as she runs her fingers through his hair, “Where you always are,” she says, and he nods. For a reason she doesn’t entirely understand, that makes her decision for her, the confirmation of something she already knew, the final tick on her mental checklist that lets her know she’s ready for this. “I want to do it.” 

He furrows his brow for a fleeting second before he attempts to hide it from her, “Em-”

“I do, I want to.” She says, using the heel of her hand to wipe her cheeks, “I really want a baby with you, Aaron. And I know the surgery doesn’t gurantee anything, and I know it’s going to suck and it’s going to make me a miserable person to live with,” she says, choking on a laugh when he shakes his head at her, “But I want a baby with you and if this gives me the slightest chance then I want to do it. I just need you to promise not to leave me alone in any of it, okay?” 

She knows he won’t, that he’d be there every step of the way just like he had been so far, but she needs to say it. Needs to get her worst fear off her chest so she can breathe a little easier. 

He nods and he pulls her into a hug, his arms tight around her as he kisses her cheek, her temple, anywhere he can reach, his love for her a delicate stamp across her skin. 

“I’ll be right here, sweetheart. Forever.”

___

The first thing she’s aware of is his hand wrapped around hers.

The second thing is the pain, sharp and familiar in her abdomen, and she opens her eyes, blinking a few times as the slightly too bright lights of her hospital room make her groan. 

“Hi, sweetheart,” Aaron says, and she turns to look at him, smiling at the sight of him sitting in the chair next to her bed, the hand not wrapped around hers securing a tiny bundle to his chest, their son. “Are you feeling better after sleeping a little?” 

“Better is a strong word,” she says, huffing out a breath as she tries to sit up but fails, “Can you help?” 

He nods and stands up, his hand tight around hers as he helps her sit up, wincing with her when the movement pulls at her new scar. “Sorry.” 

“It’s okay,” she says, catching her breath as he rearranges the pillows around her. “I did have major surgery this morning,” she quips, smiling softly as she adjusts the hat on the newborn's head when Aaron sits on the edge of her bed. “Can I have him?” 

Aaron leans forward to kiss her forehead, “Of course, Em. He’s yours.”

She feels something she can only describe as relief when her son is back in her arms. She studies his face, a face she’d imagined for 9 months, for much longer than that if she was honest with herself, and she tries to commit it all to memory, well aware he’d change and grow quicker than she’d ever be happy with. 

“He still needs a name,” she says, stroking her knuckles back and forth over his impossibly soft cheek, “Nothing feels…” 

It was hard to put into words, hard to even think of a way that described it. It had been 18 months since the surgery she’d had to remove her excess scar tissue. The surgery had been harder on her mentally than it had been physically. But Aaron had been there. He’d held her hand and brought her snacks and fussed over her in a way she thinks would have annoyed her just a few years prior. It’s what she’d needed, his enduring, limitless love for her, the very thing she needed to recover from things she hadn’t even known she needed to recover from. She thinks that was why the idea of a c-section, something her OBGYN had said was the best option for her from the start, hadn’t made her panic like the suggestion of the scar revision had. 

She wasn’t alone, and she never would be again. 

As soon as they found out she was pregnant, it felt like everything was finally falling into place. Every hard thing worth it when she found herself staring at a test with two lines on it. She took every moment of her pregnancy in her stride, even when it stripped away every single thing that made her feel like herself. And again, Aaron was always there. Wiping away tears when she’d cry over wanting a particular type of food she couldn’t eat, or holding her hand through every appointment. He was there and he was hers, and she couldn’t imagine doing any of this with anyone else. 

They knew they were having a boy from about halfway through her pregnancy, so she’d scoured every book she could find, every website, to try and find something that would suit her son. Now she was looking at him, it felt even harder, impossible even to do something like name a person who she’d love for the rest of her life. 

“Big enough.” He finishes for her, and she nods, forever in awe at how well he knew her. 

“Yeah,” she says, lifting the baby to kiss his forehead, “But we need to think of something. Baby Boy Hotchner might be cute now,” she quips, looking at the hospital band around his ankle, “But I don’t think he’d thank us for it when he has to write a resume.” 

“I don’t think kids at school would be kind about it either,” he jokes, and she shakes her head lovingly at him. He wraps his arm around them both and rests his cheek against the top of Emily’s head. “I’m proud of you, sweetheart,” he says, smiling at her when she tilts her head to look at him. “One day, when we’re so used to saying his name that we forget how hard it was to chose one,” he says, reaching out and cupping the back of the baby’s head, “I’m going to tell him all about his brave mom and all the things she went through just so he could be here.” 

She sucks in a breath, feels it catch on all her ribs as she shakes her head at him, “Aaron…”

“I mean it, sweetheart,” he says, leaning in to kiss her, his hand on her cheek as he pulls back, “I’m so proud of you.” 

She chokes on a sound she can’t name, her control over her emotions and her ability to name them lost months ago, and she nods, her forehead knocking against his for a moment before she looks back at their baby boy. 

“Yeah,” she says, and for once she lets her voice crack, revelling in the love and joy that settles in it, “I’m proud of me too.” 

[cmthingssss]

Under the Blanket - Aaron Hotchner x Reader - Kinktober Day 1

WC: 730

You weren’t exactly sure how you got into this predicament… it was supposed to be an innocent night of watching Halloween movies at your boss's home with the team. You really were more like family than coworkers because of the amount of time you all spent together. Which kind of makes it worse that you were doing what you’re doing right now. As of late, the two of you have been having relations that were better if the team and both of your superiors were not aware of them. It all started on a particularly rough case where you needed some support after. Then your slightly older boss came by your hotel room and proceeded to provide that comfort. And the emotional comfort turned into sexual comfort, and quite frankly, it was the best sex of your life. The difference in age made a big difference here, he basically introduced you to a whole new world of pleasure that you never knew existed, and you, you pushed him to be more adventurous in sexcapades because you only live once and sometimes you can find pleasure in unexpected situations. 

 This is technically Aaron’s fault for inviting the entire team over, you thought it was just you two at first. You were hoping that your first child-free night in a while was going to be more exciting. The first half of the movie, you stayed to yourself, and under your side of the blanket, actually trying to enjoy it, but then you were struck by an ingenious idea. If you quietly had your way with him, the team wouldn’t even know, as long as Hotch could maintain his composure, which should not be a problem for a man as stoic as himself. Towards the midpoint of the film, you scooted over towards your boss-with-benefits feigning being chilly and that he was hogging the blanket. 

Slowly, making an attempt to not be noticed, you slid your hands in the top of his pajama pants. He raised a brow in your direction, but that did not deter you from completing your mission. You began to slowly palm him through his boxers. Aaron looked at you almost pleading, but you were just beginning. Once you got bored, you trailed your hand back up his body to rest on his stomach. Now he was obviously hard and the annoyance was clearly present on his face. You let him sit like that for a few minutes, before returning your hand close to your previous spot. This time, you dipped your hand under the waistband of his boxers and grabbed his dick and wrapped your hand around it. Lazily you began stroking it, gradually picking up speed. Hotch was trying desperately to not make a sound to alert the team of your current situation. He reached down to grab your wrist to aid in your movements. You quickly pulled away and resumed your ministrations on his cock. Once he was reaching his endpoint, you pulled your hand away and placed it into your lap. Instinctively, he whimpered at the loss of contact. The entire team turned their heads toward a very disheveled looking Hotch and a not-so-innocent looking you. 

You immediately put on the most concerned expression you could muster without bursting out in laughter. “Aaron, are you okay? You look a little red.” You moved closer to him and placed your hand on his crimson cheeks. Before he speaks, he clears his throat.

“I’m goo- actually, I need some medication. Y/N do you mind going with me to get some from the kitchen. I’m not sure I have the strength to make it there and back.” You wanted to tell him no, but that made you seem like an asshole, so you got up and walked him to the kitchen. Once crossing the threshold, he grabbed your hips and pressed them into the counter.

“Y/N. You didn’t have to do that to me, especially in front of the team. They definitely know something is up, but at this point I don’t care. Not making any noise was pure torture, and now it’s your turn. You better hope they don’t turn around or they’ll see you bent over the kitchen counter full of your boss's dick. And we wouldn’t want that would we?” He asked in the most condescending tone, and stared down at you darkly. 

[grlsbstshot]

Join us for the next chapter of NEON LIGHTS premiering sat.

Catch up on the previous chapters here. Chapter I // Chapter II // Special Edition // Chapter III

James Lucas sits down with Reese Lane of RHYTHM Magazine! Hear all about life, love, and his upcoming third album -- promisingly titled Painted -- during this exclusive interview!

When he won a Grammy before the age of twenty, James Lucas – born Jameson Lucas to music legend, Anaïs Lucas – knew he was in trouble. He says his ego has always been an issue and didn’t improve.

“I caught myself thinking shit that should have never crossed my mind. That I didn’t need to keep improving. That I was already the greatest. I immediately started chasing gold. It was a high. But I wasn't ready for it...and deep down, I knew that."

He would choose to continue at Howard University, graduating at 21. Instead of returning to Los Angeles, Lucas moved to New York and in four short years, built a stage career -- a departure from his music dreams. 

He led a few off-broadway shows before hearing about one particular musical: Alexander H. He would be cast in the role of Aaron Burr but according to Lucas, he had a much more fortuitous thing happen to him – meeting his music collaborator, producer and songwriter, Ellington Dupree.

“He’s my best friend. I don’t know of anybody who understands music better than he does. He makes me better. And he’s the reason I found my sound. I stopped cosplaying as Ginuwine and Joe. I found me because I wanted to be as good as EJ.”

You know the story from here…Tony award. Grammy award. Moving back to LA to work on his second album with Dupree and then? Massive success with his second album -- titled 2506. Named for his age and month of birth, Lucas found himself exploring different kinds of r&b with an all new production -- provided by Ellington Dupree.

“Everything blew up. It was all a blur when we released 2506. Six Grammy noms, two wins. I didn’t even take the time to soak the moment in. My life had changed and I was just trying to keep up.”

His life changed in other ways on Grammy night. It was the first time he met his on-off partner, singer Imani St. Cirie. The two would go on to embark on a very public relationship for the next two and a half years before abruptly breaking up in early 2023.

The mention of her makes Lucas lapse into silence for the first time in almost an hour of conversation. Despite the rumblings of reuniting, neither star has spoken about the other. Even the reasons for their breakup are closely held secrets – unless you listen between the lyrics.

Reese Lane: Do you not like talking about her? James Lucas: I could talk about Mani all day. But I mean – we were together but now we're not. Reese Lane: And the Instagram situation? James Lucas: ...Do you listen to my music? RL: Yes. Often. JL: Then you understand me and Imani. You get that we're...complicated. RL: Is that what you want? JL: I want her. So...if she calls, I go running. If I call, she comes running. That’s what it means to be complicated as f*ck. It'll always be that way. I don't care who she moves on to – it'll always be me for her. And that's not ego. It's the truth.

And just as he says, there's an understanding of their relationship in the lines of almost every track. Lucas has never confirmed which songs are inspired by his personal life. But songs filled with lost love, longing, and frenzied sex paint the picture of a chaotic romantic life. I tell him so and Lucas laughs...long and loud before agreeing. He relaxes somewhat before escorting me back inside the suite, his new home while he films several films in New York.

Jameson and I enjoy a drink (or several), order pizza, and settle in for another round of questions. He's even more open than before. I ask him to tell me about his next album and he does one better -- he pulls out his phone and plays three tracks. Back to back. Without explanation or asking my thoughts. He says the album isn't done but from what i heard, it's pretty damn close to being that.

The first track he played was a smooth yet assertively playful croon about his love for someone who seems to not be paying him much attention in return. The next is a beautiful ode to a woman he seems to be encouraging to be happy. The last was completed recently he says -- two days ago, in fact -- and it's a moody deconstruction of...himself, his ego, and the way he treated another nameless woman.

I playfully ask if those tracks about his life and Lucas surprises me by answering with a nod. I push my luck and ask again if they were all about one woman. Lucas grins and shakes his head that time, confirming what i've long suspected -- chaotic.

RL: Why is your love life like...that? JL: I don't know. I mean...I kind of do it to myself. I love hard. I love foolishly. RL: So you've been in love a lot? JL: No. RL: Do you believe in having a soulmate? JL: I do. I suspect I have one. RL: Is at least one of those about her? JL: ...Yes. RL: Imani? JL: You keep asking me about her. RL: You two intrigue me. JL: Why? (laughs) We do what everyone else does. We fuck, we fight, we love each other, we hate each other. We get it right and we get it wrong. It's just love. RL: So why be apart? JL: Ask her. She may tell you. RL: I will. Tell me which one is about her. JL: The first. And the last. RL: Which one was the second one about? JL: A friend. I'm actually supposed to meet her at the MOMA in an hour. (smiles) I like you. You don't let me get away with shit. You remind me of another friend. RL: The same one you're meeting today? JL: No. Genie. She's practically my sister. RL: Genie Adesanya? Well, thank you. I'm flattered. You two are still close after the breakup of your parents? JL: I still annoy her just as much. She's my sister. Whether or parents got married or not. She probably wouldn't agree though.

Once again, I'm surprised that he answers so openly. If his publicist was sitting in the room, they might tackle me and throw me out...but Lucas breezes through each question, more honest than anyone would expect him to be. 

"I don't have any shame." he says when I ask why he tells me so much. "I put everything in my music. Why lie? It's all in the music." He's nonchalant as he brushes his hand over his head -- the trademark cornrows he's sported since he burst onto the scene at the age of 19 gone. I ask him about his hair and he gives me a sheepish grin before saying it was for a project but I doubt it.

RL: When do you think the new album will be ready? JL: Soon. I usually finish music way before it's released. I'm just...all over the place right now. RL: Rumors about you appearing in your first film are circling. Plus this upcoming album. How are you juggling it all? Jameson Lucas: Actor & Singer. JL: With a whole lot of prayer. (laughs) I don't know. I will always think of myself as a musician before anything else. I went to school for it, I worked my ass off for that title. I'll never just be a singer. I'm a musician. Everything else is secondary.

By the time we wrap up our conversation, I understand why Jameson Lucas has so many admirers. It isn't just the fact that he's handsome or the fact that he's incredibly charming. Not even the fact that he's tall, can sing like a prince, or that flash of gold you see covering his teeth when he speaks -- it's that he's an open book. Even when you know you shouldn't fall under his spell, you do. And he makes it very appealing to be there.

When he gives you that lazy grin with those blue-green-hazel color eyes while laying across a couch -- the image of virile relaxation -- you can only think of one thing. There's a cockiness about Jameson but isn't overbearing or unappealing. It's the right amount of (in his words) essence. Even when he's crooning about how to teach you 'correction', you can't find it in yourself to hate him. He makes you want it.

Jameson walked me to the door of his suite, holding it open for me as I left -- and insisted on walking down to the lobby with me. He's dressed casually but draws looks all the way down, his long legged stride tempered by the fact that I'm wearing heels and he doesn't want to leave me behind. We part ways outside his hotel -- with an offer to interview him again once the album is out. I take up on it, we exchange contact information, and then he's off. He doesn't slide into a black car and roll the window up. He simply heads off down the street, towards the subway. On his way to a dreamy museum date with some very lucky friend.

[sunflower567]

Callsign: Umbra Chapter 18: How is She

Masterlist

Word Count: 1,452

Edited: ✅

Published: May 30th, 2025

Last update/change: June 7th, 2025

Previous Chapter

TRIGGER WARNING: Mention of suicidal thoughts

Marine Raider Training Center, Camp Lejeune, North Carolina

After Imani’s hasty exit, the meeting came to an end. The task force, along with Miles, all walked outside the administration building. The four of them are discussing what to do next since they have the rest of the day free. But while Ghost was silently listening, he noticed someone coming up behind him. Turning his head slightly, he saw Imani’s brother Miles walking towards them. His eyes were dead set on the masked soldier. 

“Lieutenant Ghost,” Miles greeted, “Is it ok for me to have a moment of your time?”

Looking to Price, who gave him a nod, Simon followed Imani’s older brother to a more secluded area. Simon found himself with Miles near the lake, hidden under the platform the administration uses for graduation. 

“You wanted to speak sir,” Simon asked, respectfully. 

“Please, it’s me that should be calling you, sir,” Miles said softly, “I brought you out here because I was curious about something.”

“Ok.”

“What’s your relationship with my sister?”

That caused Simon to pause for a moment. He doesn’t know what he was expecting, but it sure as hell wasn’t that. 

“I was asking because every time she looked at you, they lingered longer than others. And when she wasn’t looking, you were looking at her.”

Simon was silent. Not because he didn’t have an answer, but because he was a bit conflicted on how to answer it. Were they together? No. But were they more than friends? As of this morning, it is likely to be yes.

But he can’t tell him that. How would that look for her? He didn’t wanna compromise anything for her. Especially in this crucial time in solving the mystery of who is after her. 

Before Simon could respond, Miles sighed, “I’m sorry. It's not right to pry. I shouldn’t have asked you that.”

“It’s fine-”

“No, it’s not,” Miles interjected, “If our dad were here, he’d slap me upside the head for meddling in her love life.” 

That got a chuckle out of Simon, causing Miles to smile softly too. 

“Can you at least answer this for me,” Miles asked, making Simon nod, “Has she been ok?”

Not wanting to cause issues, Simon decided to tell a bit of a lie, “As far as I can tell. Why?”

“Because I see otherwise,” Miles answered cryptically, “I’ve heard of your reputation through word of mouth. And if what they say is true, then I know you see it too.”

“What do I see then, Miles?”

Sighing a bit, Miles leaned against one of the metal poles used to support the platform above. Looking out towards the lake, Miles sighed again. 

“I’m sure from the time you’ve known her, Imani is a very spirited woman. Does things her way. She’s everything any father would want and a woman any man could want to be with.”

That was something Simon could agree on. But Miles's following words had him stunned, “Would you believe me when I say none of us thought she’d make it past her 15th birthday?”

That caused Simon to look at him in confusion, "What?"

“When Imani was 14, she was gone for almost two months,” Miles explained, “Parents said she was staying with Auntie Kate for a while. Something happened during our military ball at school, and she took herself to her house.”

“But you don’t believe that,” Simon finished, noticing the look on his face. 

“None of us did. Me, Malik, Alex, Aaron, Aiden, or our wives, who are the closest to Imani outside of our family. None of us did. Imani wouldn’t have left without telling at least one of us.”

“What do you think happened then?”

“I don’t know,” Miles answered, “Mom, Dad, Auntie Kate, and even Auntie Azia are all tight-lipped about it, even after almost nine years. The only person who can possibly know is her twin, Iris. And I don’t know if you know, but they don’t exactly have a great relationship.”

“Why’s that?”

“No idea,” Miles answered honestly, “The only person who can answer that is Iris. Since she’s the one with the one-sided issue with Imani.” 

“So what does that have to do with now?”

Picking up a small pebble, Miles skipped on the lake. The two watched as it made a reasonable distance before inevitably sinking into the distance. 

“Imani came back different. She was mute. Didn’t talk for months. She was distant from everyone, too. She was hoarding food and never let anyone in too close. But she also made sure she kept track of every single person near her. But that wasn’t all. Sometimes we’d see her cry out of nowhere. Her face was just cold, but tears were still streaming. Couldn’t stand being touched at all. And if you did, she’d explode. Sometimes she’d scream, sometimes she���d be silent.” 

Simon knew those signs all too well. Those were clear signs of a trauma response from abuse. But seeing her family and seeing how much she loves them, it couldn’t have been them. 

But Miles continued on, “And right now, I see a similar look in her eyes. Tell me, is she having nightmares again?”

Simon didn’t say or do anything remotely as a response to that question. Which in of itself was an answer to the observant Miles. 

“Doesn’t surprise me,” Miles sighed, “They always seem to act up during this time of year.” 

“Why are you bringing all this up Miles,” Simon asked again. 

“I know how you military men and women are,” Miles said as he walked closer to Simon, “My siblings and I were raised around y’all after all. I know that speaking up about your troubles isn’t easy for you. The same can be said for Imani.”

“Most soldiers have their secrets,” Simon added. 

“Yes, but not at 14. And not something that would have someone come back mute,” Miles replied, “Imani has demons that she keeps hidden from everyone. So I’m asking. Please. Watch my sister, because I can’t lose her again.”

‘There’s that phrase again,’ Simon thought, ‘What happened for them all to say I can’t lose her again?’

Looking down at his watch, Miles sighed, “Well. I've stayed too long now. I gotta go. Promised the wife and kids that I’d be home in time for dinner tonight.” 

“I’ll walk you back to the airstrip,” Simon said. 

As the two walked in silence to the airstrip, Simon’s mind was reeling from what Miles said. The puzzle pieces were all finally falling, but the major pieces were still missing. What could have happened to Imani to cause her to show that level of trauma? As a victim of abuse growing up, he figured that it was most likely something of that nature, but from whom? And it brings up another question. How bad was it for Vasil to mention it to her and for her and her family to refer to it as ‘the incident’? 

As the two made it to the plane waiting for Miles, they heard a familiar voice in the distance. Looking over their soldiers, they see both Imani and Alpha rushing to them. 

“Don’t tell me you were going to leave without saying bye Mili,” Imani said, using his old childhood nickname. 

“Ugh, that call me that,” Miles faked groan at the nickname he had a love hate relatioship with. 

“But for real, why didn’t you say you were leaving?”

“You looked like you wanted to be alone,” Miles explained, “And I didn’t want to smother you.”

That got an understanding smile from Imani and a small thank you. 

“Well, it was nice seeing you,” Miles said softly with his signature small smile, “Oh, are you going to Mom and Dad’s anniversary dinner? Kia and the kids have been asking about you.”

“I don’t know,” Imani answered honestly, “You know my schedule.”

“I get it,” Miles smiled, “Well, speaking of Kia, I should leave. Don’t want to be late for dinner, and I really wanna lie in my wife’s arms right now.”

“Ewww,” Imani groaned at the image, “That’s my best friend, you nasty!”

With one last chuckle, Miles brought Imani into another hug, “Love you Mani.”

“Love you too Mili.”

Giving her a quick kiss on the cheek, Miles gave Simon one last nod and hopped on the plane he rode here. 

But as they watched the plane rise and eventually vanish from their sight, Simon’s mind never forgot his words, ‘Imani has demons that she keeps hidden from everyone.’

Looking down at Imani, Simon looked at Imani and wondered. What demons can this girl have for her family to think she wouldn’t have passed her 15th birthday?

Next: Chapter 19

[secularbakedgoods]

New story, plus a publishing fiasco

This is a crosspost of my newsletter! If you’d like to get posts like this direct to your inbox or RSS reader, you can subscribe here.

Book publisher Unbound went into administration (functionally, bankruptcy proceedings) last month. They've been behind on royalty payments to authors for a while (and openly intend to keep not paying them for the foreseeable future). It also looks like, in at least one case, they were deliberately under-reporting sales of books to stiff an author on royalties (which they weren't paying anyway).

Even in the world of commercial publishing, this is an act of soul-sucking evil. The author in question, Aaron Reynolds, apparently scrapped an entire book while operating under the belief that his previous one had flopped—when, in reality, it had sold out its print run.

Unbound (now Boundless) has announced they intend to continue operating. I have no idea how. After this clusterfuck, I don't see any author in their right mind signing with them.

New Flash Fiction: "Fifth of November"

From what Jay had heard, people who’d been in war zones tended not to enjoy fireworks all that much—especially when those fireworks were going off randomly in their neighbourhoods. Moran hadn’t said anything about it, but their relationship (for lack of a better word) wasn’t exactly at the trauma-sharing stage.

Jay Moriarty and Sebastian Moran spend Bonfire Night together in this brief interlude, which takes place between "Sebastian Moran Gets Mauled by a Tiger" and "Jay Moriarty Ruins Everybody’s Childhood." You can read it for free here!

This Week's Links

Builder.ai collapses after revelation that its "AI" was hundreds of engineers

For eight years, Builder.ai marketed its "Natasha" AI system as a fully autonomous tool that could build software "as easily as ordering pizza." However, internal documents and employee accounts reviewed by Bloomberg paint a sharply different picture. Engineers in Noida and Bangalore manually coded client projects while being instructed to mimic AI-generated responses.

‘It’s a Weird Time to Be Rich Right Now’

“In times past, wealthy people were considered aspirational figures. Now, it’s more like, ‘If you’re wealthy, you did something wrong. You cannot be a billionaire without being a criminal. The system is stacked against the rest of us.’ And that has gotten louder and louder, and my clients are hearing it, and it’s disturbing to them.”

Tim Friede, Herpetologist

Tim Friede has made it his life goal to help scientists develop a universal anti-venom by allowing himself to be bitten repeatedly by venomous snakes.

---

I think I've figured out how to engagement-bait on LinkedIn. There is no way to use this power for good. Only evil.

-K

[awkwarddaryl]

There is Only Now - Chapter 6

Daryl Dixon x FtM!Reader Pronoun used ➤ "You", same age as Daryl, about late thirties. Song AO3 ➤ here First Chapter - Previous Chapter - Next Chapter

TW (general story) ➤ transphobia, homophobia, abuse, alcohol and drug abuse, mention of suicide, death.

Word count: 2.1k

You were highschool sweethearts, fled your abusive homes together, married. Then, Merle came back into Daryl's life and played a big role in your divorce. For the last three years, during Merle's death anniversary, you kept finding Daryl drinking in this bar. Today was Merle's fourth death anniversary, would you come for him this time? Or did you move on?

Damn I miss riding bikes so much. Also, I know Daryl never does it but… Please wear appropriate outfits when riding a bike!

You were abominably stressed out. You had invited Daryl to do some kart racing with the rest of the group, but once the day arrived, you didn’t know what to do with yourself. It had been about a year since you hadn’t gone to karting, but Daryl didn’t really need to know that. You didn’t want him to think this was an excuse to see him. Even though… Maybe it was an excuse to see him. Was it so bad, though? After so long talking to one another through messages, karting offered the opportunity to see one another without expectation. It also allowed Daryl to renew with the rest of the group.

You had asked Paul about fifty times if the outfit you chose was good enough while testing Aaron’s patience. He was still convinced Daryl would inevitably hurt you in some way. You had explained to him that this hadn’t been the issue at all so far, but he still felt particularly protective of you. At the same time, he was the one who got you back on your feet after the separation and the divorce. You understood well enough that he didn’t really want to reiterate the experience.

You had agreed with Daryl that he would come to fetch you. And so, you were waiting in front of your apartment, checking your phone approximately every two minutes. Hoping to get some news. You hadn’t been able to eat before going out, anxiety making you want to throw up, and you even imagined cancelling the day at the last minute. It had been a long time since you hadn’t seen quite a few people from the group, which added to the anxiety. Nevertheless, the thought of seeing Daryl again in a happy context made your heart beat faster. You had brought a helmet and had dressed up appropriately for the occasion: thick jeans because you didn’t have any leather pants, buttoned shirt under a burgundy leather jacket and gloves. All of this to prevent getting skinned on the road in case of a car wreck.

This was a somewhat lengthy-ish ride compared to what you were used to in the city, one hour, so you preferred to be safe and hoped Daryl had taken the same steps. Rick had proposed you to get you with his car, with Michonne and Carl, but evidently another choice had been made, because Daryl proposed it to you. Besides, you found traveling through motorcycle to be much more pleasant: it was the main reason for choosing Daryl, of course.

Daryl came exactly at the agreed hour in front of your apartment. He made his motorcycle climb over the sidewalk, and you could see he put on a helmet and appropriate equipment for the road. You offered him a sincere smile when he raised the visor, showing his little clear blue eyes, and you approached closer to him. You put on your own helmet, feeling your heart beats with anticipation as you climbed on the bike behind Daryl to sit down. The weather was perfect. The blazing sun would soften with the fresh air on the road. “I’m good.” You said after securing your helmet, lowering your visor. You didn’t dare to grab him, so you held onto the little handles on the side of the bike. He sped up to get back on the road, which filled you with adrenaline. You loved the speed, and Daryl had a knack for giving it to you without taking unnecessary risks.

You went on the highway and you felt the wind on your body, feeling free and happy. Your anxiety evaporated on the road, as Daryl was overtaking slower cars like a professional, and you didn’t imagine having any kind of issue in your life. Everything felt easier, lighter, better. The wind offered a little background ambient sound, and you realized you did, in fact, actually wanted to hold on to him on the road, putting your arms around his abdomen. You waited for Daryl to slow down a bit, then took the opportunity to slide your hands around his hips. You felt the hard surface of his back protection against your torso as you were pressing against him. If the move surprised him, he showed no sign of it. Imperturbable during the travel, you slalomed between cars, finally taking an exit leading to a tinier road.

You stopped at a red light in a little city, and you felt him place one of his foot on the ground. He turned his face towards you, raising his visor. “Ya alrigh’?” You nodded in response, raising your visor too. “You want me to let you go?” “Nah.”

You both lowered your visor when seeing the green light, and you held more onto him as he brutally sped up, crossing the city in no time.

You noticed he didn’t hesitate at all before answering you.

--

You arrived at the circuit after Rick, Carl, and Michonne came out of the car. Daryl stopped where it was possible to park his motorcycle. You got off, removed your helmet, shaking your now free head, an inerasable smile on your lips. You unzipped your leather jacket as you were starting to burn under the sun, then watched Daryl tie down his bike to prevent any theft. You turned towards Carl, Michonne and Rick and saluted them before coming to embrace them. “Hi hi!” Carl had gotten even taller since the last time you saw him. He was towering you now. Michonne was still true to herself, and you had crossed paths with Rick a couple of days ago. He looked tired. You knew he was working on a complicated case. Of course, the attention of the group quickly turned towards Daryl, and you were almost surprised to see Rick getting him into a tight hug, patting his back. It seemed like it stunned Daryl too, who took a few seconds before returning the gesture.

While watching the scene, you couldn’t help but notice that Daryl had put back some of the piercing he used to wear before. One on his ear, a ring on the corner of his bottom lip, and you wondered whether he had put back the one on his tongue. You pushed the memories out of the corner of your mind, trying to stay grounded on the here and now. “Who’s coming this time?” You asked Michonne then, letting Rick and Daryl talk on the side. You noticed Rick looked a little bit sad.

“There should be Glenn, Maggie and Carol, I think. Shane too.” She gave you a pointed look, and you feigned ignorance in regards to what it meant. “Carol’s coming?” “Yeah she loved it the first time. She comes every time now.” “Somehow this doesn’t surprise me, she looks nice but she’s competitive as hell.” Michonne laughed at that. “You have no idea.”

You actually had a few ideas in truth. You had been surprised before and you had understood that crossing Carol or getting into her bad graces was bad news, real bad news. She could be particularly dangerous when she wanted. “I promise I won’t get into a fight with Shane, if he behaves.”

“If he behaves…” She rolled her eyes, because you both knew it wouldn’t happen.

Daryl appeared behind you and hugged Michonne, kissing her cheek, before shaking Carl’s hand. “Ya grew a lot since the last time I saw you, kid.”

The boy looked proud at that, but you looked at Daryl with mocking eyes, a smile playing on your lips. “That’s what kids do… They grow up.” You smiled so wide and so much that you felt your cheeks hurt. You were so happy to be here.

Michonne sighed in response. “And we grow older…”

--

When Shane arrived, he immediately starting taunting you with recent political developments, but you were so happy that it passed you without affecting you, and without you feeling obligated to answer. It seemed to have annoyed pretty much everyone else though, considering it got to a point that Carol asked him – kindly but firmly – that he shut his mouth. Carol looked incredibly ecstatic to see Daryl again. You couldn’t help but feel like you had found your family back. You watched Carl discussing with his uncle Daryl, talking to him about his last car games, the fact he also wanted to learn how to drive a bike, despite the fact that Rick wasn’t particularly fond of the idea. You began your race all together, and you had great hopes that Daryl would beat them. You? You weren’t especially good at racing, and you had absolutely no pretension at winning anything. Competitiveness was not for you, and you had given it quite a try during med school. You raced for the speed, for yourself, not specifically to win.

Next to you, Carol had fire in her eyes, ready to collide with other karts to deviate them from their course. Of course, this was technically forbidden, but she always gave a cute little ‘mom’ excuse and all employees would eat it without banning her. She was talented like that. The rest of the group didn’t mind – except Shane once when he lost – because it made the race spicier. You obviously warned Daryl before the start, because you really wanted him to win. Carol was second in your heart. Not Shane, though, and he was also good at racing. He also attempted to push others off course, but he never got caught.

You all waited in your kart, staring at the red light above. When it switched to green, the entire group put their foot down, launching themselves into the circuit.

You observed Daryl from afar who was getting a head start, Shane just behind him, taking the first turn. You were in front of Michonne, but you knew she would gain ground fast. You often finished last, but you took that place with a lot of pleasure, and it allowed you to watch the rest of the group struggling to get the first place. This time, though, there was Daryl, and you wanted to impress him. So you took the first turn tightly, trying not to get passed by Michonne, then maneuvered as well as you could to get to Carol’s kart. She was still in her warming-up stage it seemed.

Carl was in front of you, and you wondered whether Carol would use her ‘talents’ to throw the boy off course. Instead, she seemed to wait for the good time to overtake him during a turn, going as fast as she could towards Rick. He would inevitably suffer from her special skills soon. The first lap ended as you passed Rick who ‘poorly maneuvered through his turn’, – thank you Carol – and you looked further ahead to watch Daryl fighting for the first place with Shane, as Carol was slowly making her progress towards them. She would probably wait a turn before interfering with the duo for now, considering there were still four laps left. You saw Glenn and Michonne overtaking you on the sides, which took you by surprise, and you attempted to not let them go too far away from you.

--

By the end of the race, Carol arrived second, behind Daryl, but ahead of Shane. She managed to throw him off course cleverly, and you wondered whether she did that because he pissed her off. As usual, losing was not agreeing much with Shane, and he was sulking somewhat. Everybody was used to it. You on the other hand, got the fifth place, which was much better than usual, and everybody gave you their little comment about it. But, of course, the star of the race, Daryl, was getting all the compliments. He was coming back into the group making a powerful impression, and you could see him make a tiny, shy smile with the attention he was getting after all these years.

Your imperfect family, here, together, laughing and happy, not fragmented.

The group asked to an employee to take a picture of all of you together. Once it was done, they shared it on the group message you were on, inviting Daryl on it at the same time. You felt tears threatening to flow from your eyes, listening to your friends discuss. You thought it had been so long since you had felt this happy.

[black-arcana]

See ARCH ENEMY Perform In Shenzhen, China With New Guitarist JOEY CONCEPCION

The Anty Krist YouTube channel has uploaded video of ARCH ENEMY's May 9 concert at NuBond LiveHouse in Shenzhen, China. The show was part of ARCH ENEMY's 2024 Asian tour, which kicked off on April 24 at Musinsa Garage in Seoul, South Korea.

Last December, ARCH ENEMY announced that it had "amicably" parted ways with longtime guitarist Jeff Loomis.

ARCH ENEMY founder and chief songwriter Michael Amott said in a statement: "It's been a joy having Jeff play with ARCH ENEMY for close to a decade, we truly had a blast touring around the world together! We were friends long before we played music together and we remain even closer buddies now, which feels great. We respect that he's in a place and time in life where he needs to step out of ARCH ENEMY and we all wish him nothing but the best moving forward.

"The only constant is change, and this is one of those moments where things had to change a little to move forward in a satisfactory way for everyone involved. With all that said, we are extremely pleased to announce that we have recruited Joey Concepcion as our new guitarist! Joey's a phenomenal talent and has been a friend of the band for a long time, he even filled in for Jeff on a couple of European festival shows back in 2018.

"We have touring and a myriad of other exciting things coming up on the horizon with ARCH ENEMY for 2024 and beyond and are thrilled to move forward, creating the next chapter and keeping the metal flowing!"

Loomis commented: "My time in ARCH ENEMY has come to an end. I have had a great time (9 years!) of playing and touring with them, but now it's time to enter a new chapter in my life. I wish Alissa, Michael, Sharlee and Daniel the very best and consider them all lifelong friends. I'd also like to thank the crew that have always been nothing but kind to me. Their hard work and dedication towards the band is incredible, and we wouldn't be able to put on the great shows without them. Thank you again for all your support over the years and Happy New Year."

Lastly, Joey Concepcion had the following to say about joining the ARCH ENEMY fold: "It's an honor and a privilege to be working with ARCH ENEMY and I'm very much looking forward to shredding stages across the globe together, playing for and meeting all the fans!"

Jeff, who was the main songwriter in his previous group, NEVERMORE, joined ARCH ENEMY in late 2014, but was not involved in the writing for the latter act's last two albums, 2017's "Will To Power" and 2022's "Deceivers".

In a 2018 interview with All That Shreds, Jeff said that he had "a lot of musical ideas" that he was hoping to contribute to ARCH ENEMY in the future. "I did write three or four songs for ['Will To Power'], but they didn't make it, only because it wasn't in the style that they were looking for," he said. "Fortunately enough, I was able to play guitar solos on the latest album, so that makes me happy."

Seven years ago, Amott said that Loomis is "a strong songwriter" in his own right, "but not in the style of ARCH ENEMY, I feel. He's always writing and recording with his own stuff," he explained. "He has a project called CONQUERING DYSTOPIA, he has his solo stuff, [and] he obviously wrote most of the NEVERMORE stuff. I've always respected him, and continue to respect him, as a guitar player — he's amazing and an amazing human being; he fits in perfectly. [There's] a great chemistry [between us]. But, you know, I've always written most of the music, so it's difficult to… I don't really wanna change the sound of the band too much. The band sort of started around my songwriting and my ideas, and those continue to be the most dominant ones, I guess. But, you know, who knows [what can happen] in the future?"

Loomis's second and latest solo album, 2012's "Plains Of Oblivion" was produced by Aaron Smith (7 HORNS 7 EYES) and featured cover artwork by Colin Marks of Rain Song Design, who had previously worked with ALL SHALL PERISH, THE END and XERATH.

[sequinsmile-x]

Receiving & Giving Gifts

Five times the team witness Aaron & Emily's gift-giving skills, and one time they didn't.

The final part of my series of unrelated oneshots, each one dedicated to one of the five main Love Languages.

-x-

Hi friends,

Hope you are all okay!

This one massively got away from me, shock horror I know, and is based on an ask I got about a fic with the team point of view when Aaron and Emily buy each other things, with a focus on the fact Emily is rich af.

Anyway, I hope you enjoy this and please let me know what you think <3

-x-

Words: 5.6k

Warnings: pregnancy, a LOT of fluff

Read over on Ao3, or below the cut

Dave

Dave liked to pretend he knew they were together from the start.

Emily always called him out on it. She’d roll her eyes as she pressed herself closer to Aaron’s side, telling him that he was full of shit as she drank his expensive wine on pasta night. Dave knew Aaron didn’t believe him either, although he was more subtle in his attempts to let him know that, and he was fine with that.

If Dave was honest, he had no idea until Aaron and Emily told them. It made him look back at every moment he could think of over the previous eight months to see if there was anything he’d missed, any sign he’d overlooked. His friends were worryingly good at keeping secrets, something he’d already known about Emily once her past with Ian Doyle had come out, but it was news about Aaron. He’d always been private, always played his cards close to his chest, but Dave had always liked to think he could read him like a book. 

Even now, six months after Emily and Aaron had come clean about their relationship, it was strange to see them together sometimes. They were professional at work, called each other Hotch and Prentiss and kept their distance unless the other was hurt, but outside of work, things were different. They’d always be huddled together somewhere, sometimes lost in their own little world as they had a conversation no one else was privy to. They were soft with each other, tender in a way he wouldn’t believe if he hadn’t seen it with his own eyes. 

It was what they both deserved, the gentle life they both had earned after waging through fire to make it to the other side. 

He smiles as he watches them walk into the office together, how Emily knocks her shoulder against Aaron’s as they walk through the glass doors before they step apart from each other. They exchange a quick look, a soft smile that passes from his face to hers, and then they go their separate ways. - Emily towards their desk and Aaron towards the kitchenette where Dave is standing. 

“Morning,” Dave says, smiling behind his mug of coffee as he lifts it to take a sip. Aaron smiles at his friend and grabs two mugs and places them on the counter. 

“Morning,” he replies, reaching for the coffee pot and pouring it into the two mugs, “You’re in early.” 

“Thought I’d try and beat the traffic,” Dave says, watching his friend as he reaches for the box of Splenda packets, his sleeve shifting up just enough to expose his wrist and the new watch Dave had never seen before. Even at a glance, he knew it was expensive, that it was worth more than anything else he’d ever seen Aaron wear and his smile gets wider, “That’s a nice watch.”

Aaron smiles as he dumps two Splenda’s into Emily’s coffee, “Thanks. It’s from Emily,” he says, a look that always shone in his eyes when he spoke about his girlfriend briefly flashing through them, “She bought it for me because of what happened last week.” 

Dave nods in understanding. Aaron’s watch had been damaged in the takedown of the unsub in their most recent case, its glass face smashed against the floor as the guy made a run for it. Aaron had walked away without a scratch on him, which was something that Emily had made sure the EMTs confirmed before they left the scene. His smile turns into a smirk as he looks at the watch again. 

It was something he’d noticed almost as soon as they told everyone they were together. They bought each other gifts frequently. Aaron would bring Emily flowers. She’d buy his favourite dessert and they’d both pretend it was for her, Aaron’s denial of his sweet tooth long established, and they’d eat it together. They were always small things. Tokens of affection that reminded the other that they were there, that they loved each other. 

This was the first big purchase he’d seen, a rare show of Emily’s wealth that he couldn’t help but smile at. 

“Nice to have the finer things in life, huh?” 

Aaron frowns as he turns to look at him, “What do you mean?” 

“The watch,” Dave says, nodding towards it, “It’s got to be worth $10,000.” 

Aaron’s eyes go almost comically wide as he briefly looks over at his girlfriend, her focus on trying to get her computer working so she could start her day, and then he looks back at Dave, “It’s…it cost $10,000? That’s more than I spent on my first car. A lot more.” 

Dave chuckles and pats him on the shoulder, “Like I said, nice to have the finer things in life,” he says, winking at him, “It pays to have a girlfriend who’s rich.”

Aaron hums thoughtfully before he excuses himself, both coffees in hand as he walks back over towards Emily. Dave watches intently as they have a quiet discussion, Emily’s brow furrowing as she looks back and forth between Aaron and his watch, the flush to her cheeks obvious even from where Dave is standing. 

He finds it amusing until Aaron walks up to his office and Emily turns to look at Dave, her eyes narrowed as she glares at him across the room. He clears his throat and sips his coffee, hoping he’d be able to get through the day without her carrying out whatever revenge she was clearly already planning.

___

Penelope

To say she was delighted when Aaron asked for her help was an understatement. 

She’d actually had to cover her mouth to contain her squeal when he walked into her office, a nervous expression on his face that she’d never seen before, and asked for her help to buy an engagement ring for Emily. 

It’s how she finds herself in a jewellery store with him on a Saturday morning, her body almost vibrating with excitement as she looks in all of the cases, her eyes shifting from ring to ring as Aaron does the same. 

“Where does Peaches think you are today?” She asks as she looks up, suppressing a smile at the slightly bewildered look on his face as he stares at the rings in front of them.

“She thinks I’m with Dave,” he replies, a smile flashing across his face, “Something about helping him build furniture.”

Penelope chuckles, “Does he know about that?” 

Aaron nods as he looks back at the engagement rings in front of them, “He does,” he smiles, a rare smile she only ever saw on his face when he was thinking about Emily, “He’s still trying to get back into her good books after the incident with the watch.” 

She has to suppress a smile at that, pressing her lips together as she fights a laugh at the memory of Dave coming to her, furious and insisting that there was something wrong with the firewall because he was being inundated with marketing emails from companies he’d never heard of. It turned out Emily had signed him up for several different mailing lists to get him back for freaking Aaron out about the watch she’d bought him.

The emails were still occasionally coming through even all these weeks later, and Emily never failed to find amusement in it when Dave would groan in irritation. 

Penelope looks at the watch and smiles, “It’s a very nice watch,” she says, “And we have to get her a very nice ring.” 

He chuckles humorlessly, “Not $10,000 nice though,” he quips, “I don’t have that kind of money, and it wouldn’t feel right to buy a ring with her money.” 

She can see the insecurity that flashes across his face, a moment of vulnerability that was rare in itself but seems even more obvious in the casual clothes he’s wearing, the lack of his suit, something he always wore like armour, making it stand out. She sighs sympathetically and tilts her head as she looks up at him.

“Sir,” she starts, her cheeks going warm when he raises his eyebrow at her, something she knows is a silent reminder that she didn’t have to call him that, “Hotch,” she corrects herself, “Emily loves you. She’d love anything you gave her - even if it was one of those ring pops.” 

He chuckles and nods, his shoulders relaxing slightly as his gaze drifts back to the display case full of rings, “You’re right.” 

“I so often am,” she replies, smiling widely when he looks back at her, “Now,” she says, standing back at the case and looking at the rings with a level of concentration she usually only had at work, “As much as I am a fan of getting the flashiest diamond possible, we both know Emily would want something she could wear at work. So we need to pick something she can wear with gloves at a crime scene.” 

Aaron nods and blows out a slow breath, “It wasn’t this complicated last time.” 

She smiles sadly when she looks at him, “When you proposed to Haley?” 

“I used her mother’s ring,” he says, giving her a rare insight into his life. She doesn’t push, doesn’t ask any more questions in case he stops, she simply stands there and waits for him to carry on, “I was fresh out of college and broke and…she was close to her parents,” he says as he looks at her, “So it seemed like the right thing to do,” his lips curl into a half smile, his dimples slowly appearing in his cheeks, “Emily on the other hand…”

“Isn’t close to her mother,” she finishes for him and he nods, chuckling humourlessly as he looks back at the rings. 

“No she is not,” he replies, not saying anything he knows Emily wouldn’t want him to. His expression changes as he looks at one ring in particular. It was a white gold band with a teardrop diamond. Simple and beautiful and everything Emily would love, “What about that one?” 

Penelope smiles as she leans over the case, familiar happiness warming her from the inside out, “I think it’s perfect.” 

It’s hard to keep it a secret. Love and excitement for her friend bubbling under her skin as she watches Emily go about her days unaware of the upcoming change in her life. She has to stop herself from saying something when Emily tells her Aaron has a date planned but isn’t telling her anything about it, a hint of irritation in her voice Penelope knows she doesn’t mean.

The next morning when they walk into the office, Emily’s smile shining just as brightly as the ring on her finger, Penelope knows it had been a secret worth keeping.

___

Derek

Derek hated the mall. 

He’d never been a fan of them, found them too busy, too loud and the exact opposite of how he liked to spend his free time, but the case with the missing little girl a few years ago had made him hate them even more. 

He planned to get in and out as quickly as possible, a firm plan in his mind to get his mother’s birthday gift and card and then immediately head home. It’s as he’s choosing a card when he hears it, a laugh he’d recognise anywhere in one of the other aisles. He smiles to himself as he goes to investigate, his smile only getting wider when he spots Emily and Jack standing huddled together, a card in the little boy’s hands as he looks at it thoughtfully. 

Derek still felt guilty sometimes about his initial reaction to finding out Emily and Aaron were together. He’d never been one to react to change well, something his mother often told him, and he knew he hadn’t on this occasion. He’d been standoffish, only talking to them both when he had to. It had culminated in Emily yelling at him, her irritation finally getting the better of her as she told him to get his head out of his ass, that she was happy and that she deserved to be. 

It took Aaron getting hurt, a minor injury only a few weeks after they told the team that they were together, for him to realise how much they actually cared for each other. He saw with his own eyes that the relationship he was convinced was nothing more than a fling that would fizzle out was so much more than that. Concern flowing off of Emily like he’d never seen before until she saw Aaron herself, the relief palpable as she threw herself at him only to pull back immediately when he grimaced slightly. 

Ever since then, he’d watch them together when they thought no one was watching. Observe as they focused only on each other. He’d done so at their wedding as the guests slowly left, his eyes fixed on them as they slow danced together on the empty dance floor, letting themselves be led by the love they had for each other in place of the music that was no longer playing. 

He takes a moment to watch her with Jack, her focus entirely on the little boy who now called her Mom. She’d always been good with kids, he knew that, but seeing her as a mother was something else entirely. 

Something that, if his hunch was right, she’d be doing more of soon. 

She’d been different lately. Exhausted all the time but turning coffee every time it was offered to her and turning her nose up at food anytime someone ate in front of her. Penelope had mentioned that she knew they were trying for a baby and he couldn’t help but wonder if their family would be getting bigger soon. 

He clears his throat to announce his presence, “Fancy seeing you two here.”

Emily smiles as she looks up, and she steps towards him, wrapping her arms around him in a hug, “Derek, hi. What are you doing here?” 

He pulls back, “Getting my mom’s birthday present,” he says, winking at Jack, “What about you two?” 

Emily opens her mouth to reply but is cut off as Jack excitedly replies, “It’s Father’s Day soon so we are getting Daddy’s card and present.” 

Derek ruffles the little boy's hair, “That sounds great buddy,” he says enthusiastically, “What are you getting him?”

“We got his cologne because Mom said he smells nice,” Jack replies, not picking up on how Emily’s cheeks go bright red, her gaze drifting to the floor as she avoid Derek’s eye contact and smirk, “And then a picture of the three of us from the wedding,” he carries on, “And then Mom said she’s got him a surprise.” 

Derek smiles as Emily’s eyes briefly go wider before she wraps her arm around Jack, “Come on sweetie, we should leave Uncle Derek to it.”

He shrugs, hiding a smile as he tests his theory, “I have time for a slice of pizza at the food court if you guys do.”

Emily almost turns green, visibly swallowing thickly as she shakes her head, her free hand briefly pressing against her stomach, “That’s okay,” she says, smiling tightly, “We were just there and Jack had something to eat,” she looks down at the little boy, “You ready to go?” 

Jack nods and smiles and waves at Derek, “Bye Uncle Derek.”

“Bye Little Hotch,” he says, fist bumping Jack and smiling when Emily rolls her eyes at him, “Bye, Em.”

“See you at work on Monday, Derek.” 

A month later, when they announce Emily is pregnant, he smiles and then immediately goes to Penelope’s office to get the $20 she owed him. 

___

JJ

“I am so uncomfortable.” 

JJ hums sympathetically at her friend as she sits back in the booth they are both in, a soft smile spreading across her face as she watches her friend rub her hand on her belly, “Your back?”

Emily grumbles as she tries to get comfortable, “Everything,” she complains, shifting again, “I feel so full of baby and food. I have no idea how I’ll cope when I’m further along.”

JJ chuckles and raises her eyebrow at her, “I guess you probably won’t have room for two desserts when you’re further along.” 

Emily narrows her eyes at her, “The cake was good,” she replies defensively, “It doesn’t help that the mattress in our room is a piece of crap.” 

“It’s bad in my room too,” JJ replies, checking her watch, “Where did Hotch get to?”

“He had to stay at the precinct,” Emily says, smiling as she rubs her hand on her stomach again, “I was going to wait but he told me to come get some food. He knows I’ve been eyeing up this diner since the moment we arrived.”  

JJ smiles at her friend, “Well, I’ll always be free to go out and eat with you.” 

She laughs and nods at her, “You’re a good friend,” she winces and rubs a firm circle on her bump, “She won’t stop kicking,” she smiles and sighs contentedly, “She never stops. I haven’t slept properly in weeks.” 

“Totally worth it though, right?”

Emily smiles and nods, her lips pressed together as she tries to contain the joy that JJ knew she still wasn’t sure she deserved, “Totally worth it.” 

They both look towards the diner’s front door when the bell indicating it was open rings, and Emily’s smile gets impossibly wider when Aaron walks in, a large Target bag in his hand. He smiles when he sees them and walks over, kissing Emily as he slips into the booth next to her.

“Hi sweetheart.” 

“Hi,” she replies, kissing him again, “I thought you had to stay behind to work and you went shopping?” 

He clears his throat and JJ finds the flush that tints his cheeks pink adorable and she can’t help but interrupt, enjoying the insight into their lives that she wasn’t privy to, “I didn’t even know this town had a Target.”

He looks back and forth between her and Emily, sighing at the teasing grins on their faces and he smiles tightly, “There isn’t,” he says, passing the bag over to Emily, “But there is one the next town over so I went to get this for you.” 

Emily frowns curiously, “Honey, the next town is an hour away…” She drifts off as she opens the plastic bag, her eyes shining as she pulls a U-shaped pillow out of it, “You bought me a pregnancy pillow?”

He nods as if it is obvious, “You were uncomfortable and the mattress in our room is terrible. I know you have one at home but I thought this could be one we brought on cases until you stay back,” he says, reaching over and tucking some of her hair behind her ear, sneakily catching a tear that JJ thinks he didn’t know she’d seen, “I’ll carry it for you and everything.” 

Emily shakes her head at him and leans in to kiss him, her hand on his cheek as she pulls back, “I love you,” she says, kissing him again, “You’re the best husband I’ve ever had.” 

“I’m the only husband you’ve ever had,” he quips, and she laughs, hugging the pillow to her chest. 

“Well, you’re setting the bar pretty high for your replacement,” she jokes and he rolls his eyes before he leans in and kisses her cheek. 

“I’m going to order some of that pie the sign outside claims is the best in the state,” he says, stepping out of the booth, “Do either of you want anything?” 

They both shake their heads and he walks towards the counter, leaving them alone for a couple of minutes. JJ looks at her friend, at how she’s looking at the pregnancy pillow as if it’s the best gift she’s ever been given, Aaron’s thoughtfulness, the fact he’d gone out of his way without being asked to get her something to make her more comfortable, making it worth more than anything else. 

“You okay, Em?”

Emily looks up at her and nods, her lips pressed together as she tries to control her emotions, a slave to her hormones as she had been for months now, “Yeah,” she replies, chuckling at herself as she wipes another tear from her cheek, “I just never thought I’d have all of this, you know?”

JJ nods and reaches over the table, resting her hand over her friends and squeezing, “I know,” she says, squeezing her hand again, “But if anyone deserves it, it’s you and Hotch.” 

Emily blows out a shaky breath and looks over at her husband, smiling as she catches his eye as he stands at the counter, and she nods as she turns back to JJ, “Yeah, I think you might be right.” ___

Spencer

He was always the first in the office these days.

Aaron and Emily used to get there before him, something he knew was largely down to Aaron, but they didn’t anymore. Ever since Ivy was born 6 months ago they were almost always the last in. The realities of having an infant and a 7-year-old and getting them out of the house in the morning was something that not even Aaron’s efficiency could overcome. 

Spencer sighs as he settles at his desk, his cup of coffee in hand, and he starts to catch up on his paperwork. He greets the team as they come in, always arriving in the same order. First Dave, then Derek, then Penelope. JJ would come next, throwing him a wink as she passed him a pastry she’d bought for him on the way in. She also puts one on Emily’s desk, and it draws his attention to something he hasn’t seen before. 

Just to the right of her computer is a framed photo of Jack and Ivy, the baby girl in her proud brother’s lap, his smile wide as he looks at the camera. Something about it is familiar to Spencer, even though he’s never seen it on Emily’s desk before but it takes him a second to place it. 

Aaron had the same picture on his desk. It was a new feature there too, something he’d never seen before the recent Christmas break, but he’d spotted it the day before when he’d dropped off paperwork in his office. 

“Good morning.” 

He looks up and smiles at Emily as she sits down, a large coffee in her hands as she shrugs off her jacket and yawns.

“Tired?” JJ asks and Emily groans, taking a sip of her coffee.

“Ivy hates sleep,” she complains, turning her chair around, “And she hates anyone else sleeping.” 

“I brought you a pastry.”

Emily groans and tears the paper bag open, “You’re an angel,” she pulls the pastry apart and takes a bite, her gaze drifting to Spencer, her eyebrows furrowing when she spots him staring past her, “You okay, Reid?”

He seemingly snaps out of it, his eyes widening slightly before he clears his throat, his curiosity getting the better of him, “I thought Hotch had that picture on his desk.” 

“Oh,” Emily looks at the framed photo next to her and then back at him, her lips pressed together as she clicks her tongue, “He does.” 

Derek pops his head up, seemingly interested in their conversation now there is a chance to make fun of her, “You have the same photo?”

“It’s a cute photo,” she says, slightly more defensive than she means to be, and she blows out a breath, “We…got it for each other for Christmas.” 

“You got each other the same gift?” Spencer asks, furrowing his brow, “In the same frame?”

Emily pinches the bridge of her nose and sighs, “Yes. We did.” 

Derek laughs and leans back in his chair, “I guess it’s true that couples start to turn into each other after they’ve been together long enough.”

“Shut up Derek,” she replies, narrowing her eyes at him, “My kids are cute and it’s a cute picture.” 

He holds his hand up, barely hiding his smile, “Whatever you say Princess, but the two of you aren’t that far off dressing the same.”

“Actually, Emily and Hotch co-ordinated their outfits long before they were together,” Spencer says, only realising he’d spoken when they all stare at him, varying degrees of amusement on their faces, “His ties matched your shirt often enough I actually thought you were together before you were.” 

He’d never told anyone that he already knew they were together when they told them. He’d spotted them together months ago but kept it to himself, certain that there was a reason Emily and Aaron were keeping it to themselves. Even if he hadn’t seen them, he thinks he would have figured it out. Patterns had started to emerge. They would arrive at work at similar times. They would go to breakfast together at the hotels they stayed at during cases. If one was upset or hurt, the other would disappear alongside them and then when they came back they’d stand a little closer than usual.

He’d never said anything, largely because he knew no one would believe him, but also because he saw no merit in taking their secrecy away from them. It had brought them a kind of peace they both were due, and he wasn’t going to ruin it for them. 

Emily stares at him for a moment before sighing and shaking her head, picking up her coffee and turning her back on them all as she switches on her computer.

“It is far too early in the morning for this.” 

When Aaron walks out of his office, his tie the same shade of red as Emily’s shirt, the team all burst into laughter, something that’s only made worse by his obvious confusion.

___

Aaron & Emily

There were two things Aaron had always known about Emily.

The first was that she was rich. He hadn’t known quite how rich until they got together and she told him. He’d had to sit down afterwards, his eyes wide as she showed him that she could buy their dream house, that she could buy the whole neighbourhood if she wanted. When he’d finally pulled himself together he could see that she was worried, as if knowing this about her had changed his opinion of her. As if anything could make him be anything less than in awe of her at all times. 

The second thing he’d always known about her was that she was endlessly generous. 

She spent money without thinking about it. She bought dinner for the team on nights when cases got away from them, or paid the tab at the bar on a night out. She bought him a $10,000 watch when his broke. She’d paid for Penelope’s medical bills when she was shot, easily picking up the bits that the FBI insurance didn’t cover, and Aaron had learnt after they became a couple that she’d done the same for him too. That she’d paid out of pocket for him to have the best physio in the state so he could recover as quickly as possible. She always did it quietly, was less flashy than Dave sometimes was with his wealth, something Aaron thought must come down to being ‘old money’ rich instead of ‘new money’ rich, and she never seemed to expect anything in return. 

As much as he loved her for it, for the way she so casually loved him and their children, it sometimes made it impossible to buy her gifts that didn’t feel like they were lacking in comparison. She would never make him feel that way. She’d react to any gift from him or the kids like they’d handed her the stars themselves. 

He feels nothing short of annoyed at himself at how long it takes him to realise it’s the homemade gifts that mean the most to her. How her smile would get wider when she unwrapped a mug that had been made at Ivy’s daycare, her eyes shining with tears when she’d traced her fingers over their daughter’s tiny hand prints and then refused to drink tea out of anything else. How she’d kept every drawing Jack had ever given her, even the ones from before she and Aaron got together, and had her favourites framed and on her desk at work. 

By the time their anniversary comes around, he’s worked on his gift for her for weeks. He’d found old ticket stubs and receipts from dates they’d gone on when they were first together. He carefully stuck them down in a scrapbook, pushing through the frustration when the pages would stick together because he knew she’d love it. He puts in an invitation from their wedding that he’d kept back. Pictures of them all drawn by Jack and copies of the first ultrasound images they had of Ivy. 

He knows he’s not an artist, but by the time he’s done, he’s pleased with it. A scrapbook of their life so far together, pages purposely left blank so he could add to it if she wanted him to. Despite liking it, when it comes to their anniversary he’s nervous, anxiety licking at his insides as he slips it into the gift bag he’d bought. 

He finds her on the couch, dressed in one of his shirts and a pair of leggings, a sleepy smile on her face as she tucks her legs up under herself and pats the spot next to her. 

“Come here, honey,” she says, suppressing a yawn, “The kids are asleep, but we both know Ivy won’t be for long,” she smiles as she thinks of the 13-month-old. Their little girl had never been a good sleeper, but they were used to it now and neither of them could imagine their lives any other way, “Let’s exchange gifts and go to bed.” 

He smiles as he sits next to her, leaning in to kiss her cheek, but she turns, capturing his lips with hers instead. He stamps another kiss against her before he pulls back, “We could have gone out, sweetheart.”

She shakes her head and runs her fingers through his hair, “No, this is what I wanted. You, me and the kids. And a home-cooked meal,” she kisses him again, “I don’t need to go sit in a restaurant to feel loved by you.” 

He nods, knowing he doesn’t need anything else either, and then blows out a slow breath and hands her the gift bag, “Happy Anniversary, Em.” 

Her smile gets impossibly wider as she takes the bag from him, stamping a kiss against his cheek as she leans back with it in her lap, “Oh it’s heavy,” she says, reaching into the bag and pulling out the book, “Your gift is a lot smaller by the…” 

She drifts off as she realises what she is looking at, her fingers tracing the outside of the scrapbook before she opens it, a gasp catching in her throat as she turns the pages. Memories of their time together stuck down and on display for her to see. She feels a burning in the back of her eyes, familiar tears that she knew she wouldn't avoid shedding as she continues to turn the pages - pictures and tickets and keepsakes from the last few years staring back at her.

“Aaron…”

“I know it’s not much-” he starts, but she cuts him off, all but launching herself at him as she grabs his face and kisses him, the book trapped between them. 

“It’s perfect,” she says, pulling back just enough to speak before she kisses him again, “It’s…I love you.” 

She’d already preferred homemade gifts. It was as if love was pressed into the very seams of them, time and effort from her loved ones more precious to her than any amount of money ever could be. 

“I love you too.” 

She smiles as she pulls back and reaches behind her, grabbing a small gift bag she’d hidden amongst the couch cushions, “Here you go,” she says, nervously biting her lower lip as she hands it over, “Your’s is homemade too.” 

He smiles curiously at her as she wraps her arms around her knees and hugs them to her chest, the scrapbook now between them, and his heart skips a beat when he feels a long thin piece of plastic in his hands and he already knows what it is before he looks at it. He looks down and chokes on a surprised laugh when his suspicion is confirmed, a positive pregnancy test staring back up at him.

“Em…”

She presses her lips together as her lips shake at the wonder in his voice, “I know technically you helped make this gift,” she says, her cheeks warm as he looks at her with so much love she thinks she could burst, “But I’ll be doing all the hard work and literal heavy lifting, so I thought it counted.” 

“It definitely counts,” he says, pulling her towards him so she’s in his lap, his arms tight around her as he kisses her fiercely, hoping it goes some way to express just how much he loves her, “This is the best anniversary present ever.” 

She nods and kisses him, her forehead against his as she sighs contentedly, her thumb pressing into his lower lip as she gently corrects him, “Best anniversary present so far.” 

-x-

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[rosestars]

TTPD really feels like a total departure from Swift's previous work.

Yes, we still get Jack Antonoff's production and we're know the landscape of Aaron Dessner's creative presence from his work on the previous three albums. But on a song-by-song basis, sonically and structurally, the album is fundamentally unlike her previous work. Taken together, the shape of the album is very different from what's come before.

Very few of the songs on TTPD adhere to the verse-chorus-verse-chorus-bridge-chorus-outro structure Swift lived and breathed in her predominantly pop eras. Here, she's recommitted to fictional narratives and details that are not from her own life, leaning heavily into her internal symbolic language (which I think gives the songs that feeling of density or complexity people are responding to). The songs are more stream-of-consciousness, employing more slant rhymes and some strange meter choices. Far less methodical and organized than her pop music.

It seems like folklore and evermore were kind of testing new waters in this realm. She came back out of that style of writing again with the more familiar song structures in Midnights which, to me, felt like Lover reflected in a darkened mirror—those two albums form kind of a pair in my mind.

Now in TTPD, Swift seems to be committed to the extended experiment she started in folklore/evermore and in that sense, I think we should see this as a kind of turning point in her creative style, similar to 1989. Something that she's been vocal about is allowing artists the space to grow and change organically, without rejecting them because they don't fit into their previous mold. It's critical for artists to be beginners in their craft, to try new things and fail.

In some ways, TTPD should or could be considered a "debut." It's as if she was a watercolour artist and is now trying her hand at oils. Some things work very well and some things feel less masterful, which is what's to be expected when an artist pushes their creative limits. I'm really excited to see how Swift's sound and writing evolves after TTPD.

[religion-is-a-mental-illness]

By: Aaron Terrell

Published: Mar 29, 2024

I started speaking out about the dangers of medicalizing gender in 2019. I had spent the previous two years understanding the subculture that had grown around the notion of transgenderism. Apparently being “trans” was noble. Being “cis” meant you supported the white supremacist patriarchy. Apparently now gender dysphoria was a “cishet invention to pathologize transness”.  Dysphoria was something you had to claim to have in order to access your “life saving” hormones and surgery. It was all foreign and confusing and full of contradictions. I felt like it made a mockery of my “real condition”. See I transitioned in 2010. Grateful for the relief it brought me and not interested in tribes or support groups, I got on with my life “as a man” and didn’t pay much mind to the culture of transition. That is until late 2017 when I re-immersed myself as a kind of religious studies student.  

In addition to studying the culture that had arisen, I spent a lot of time reading stories from detransitioners. The detransitioners’ stories weren’t foreign or confusing. They sounded like my own. A lifelong sense of ‘supposed to be’ the opposite sex, and then learning this meant they were the opposite sex and transition was the only solution. Except it didn’t work. They felt more uncomfortable on the other side. Some felt like they were living a lie and presenting as the opposite sex was an act they no longer wanted to keep up; mentally, physically, or ethically. Unlike the aforementioned religious zealots, the detransitioners were easy to relate and empathize with.

So why did it work for me? And what does “work” even mean in this context? I have no idea. And certainly not for lack of trying to find the answer. I’ve now clocked over six yeas on a deep-dive into gender, dysphoria, detransition, sexology, psychology, etc. and I still don’t know. What I do know is there was no difference between us that could have been discerned by a “gender therapist” prior to transitioning, even back when things were “more careful”. The activists who came of age since 2010 are not just in the gender clinics, they are writing the guidelines for every therapist. They are told that to ask questions that might get to the root of someone’s gender related distress is “conversion therapy”. That “trans people” know what their gender is and to do anything but affirm them is akin to homophobia. We’re told detranisioners are just the rare few who were confused and got their gender wrong. While sad, sure, we shouldn’t weaponize them to punish “real” trans people.

So I am here as a “real trans person” to call bullshit. No one was “born in the wrong body” and sex trait modification is not “life saving care”. Some of us feel it was a net benefit, but recognize it was a serious medical intervention for what is a strictly psychological issue. There is no difference between a “trans person” and a “cis person” other than declared self-identity. If you are reading this, I’m fairly certain you agree. And yet, while attending the 2023 Trans Health Summit, I asked the trans and nonbinary 30 something doctors writing the American Psychological Association’s “Guidelines for Working with Trans and Gender Expansive Patients” how therapists can differentiate between a “trans child” and a “cis child”. I was told only a transphobe would even think to try.

In 2021, I began working with a friend and early gender clinic whistle-blower, Aaron Kimberly, who likewise does not regret transition. Together we launched the Gender Dysphoria Alliance and the Transparency Podcast. The aim of both is to shed light on the experience of gender dysphoria, without all the ideological noise that now surrounds it. Since then, we have gotten countless messages from parents, teachers, administrators, etc. thanking us for speaking out. Jamie Reed credited the podcast with helping her summon the courage to blow the whistle on her gender clinic. People have emailed us to say they decided not to transition or to detransition, crediting our content with them understanding their own motivations better. Mothers have told us their daughters dissisted after being shown the podcast. Personally I suspect that’s because most these girls have no interest in looking like middle-age men and being shown we aren’t cute K-Pop boys has them running from the testosterone. We’re happy to help either way!

However, we have also gotten criticism from Gender Critical activists who feel that by not detransitioning we are advertising transition. I would agree with them on this, if not for the fact of the culture we currently live in. The people with this criticism seem completely disconnected from the realities I described above. We live in a culture that celebrates all things trans while demonizing any investigation into it. There is no shortage of transition encouragement surrounding gender distressed individuals. What there is a shortage of is people telling them the truth from a position of compassion and empathy.

I am grateful to work alongside anyone productively working to interrupt this ideology. But just like how I didn’t need the trans tribes or support groups all those years ago, I don’t need gender critical ones now. If you don’t feel comfortable working with people who do not regret their transition, I completely understand where you’re coming from. I think it’s misguided strategically for the reasons I already mentioned, but I do understand it. I will keep writing and podcasting and trying to sound alarms, alone or with friends and colleagues, and I firmly believe the most productive way to do so is to continue to lean on my standing as a “trans person”.

[thebibliomancer]

Universe X #7

With the Supreme Intelligence, Thor, skinless Aaron Stack Machine Man, and Uatu the blinded Watcher on the cover!

Wait, holy crap, does Aaron have the Ultimate Nullifier?? Don’t point that thing at me!

Are the bubbles in the Supreme Intelligence’s Zordon tube little screaming Supreme Intelligences?

Also, looking at the stitched together version of all the covers, the Supreme Intelligence is covering up giant cosmic Mar-Vell’s crotch. Thank you, the Supreme Intelligence.

Anyway.

To recap in brief: Mar-Vell is leading a revolution in the realm of Death. His living child self is gathering powerful items on Earth. Earth is tilted on its axis and is freezing. Pope Immortus has raised mobs to prevent Reed Richards from curing the mass Terrigen mutations. A cult is gathering pieces of the Absorbing Man. A mysterious man called Mr Church seems to be influencing both Immortus’ group and the Tong of Creel. Aaron Stack has been pondering the multiverse and has dug up the Supreme Intelligence to ask him questions.

I hope some of these plot threads weave together soon so the recap can be shorter.

The issue opens with some more Nighthawk narration over double page spreads, elaborating more on the relationship between Galactus and the Celestials.

The previous universe was destroyed because the Celestials overpopulated. Every Celestial born destroyed a planet or star and… weakened the firmament? Is that how physics works?

Knowing this, Galan decided to become a counter to the Celestials when he was reborn in a new universe as Galactus. He slurps the Celestial yolk out of the egg and leaves the planet intact. Probably not capable of supporting life anymore due to the planet’s energy being stolen by the Celestial. But intact planet means the firmament stays strong! I guess!

I mean, I guess Galactus has eaten a planet and left it intact before. He did that to Silver Surfer’s planet. So more arc welding.

Anyway, the Supreme Intelligence explains that sure, Galactus saved this Earth. But there are many Earths all across the multiverse with their own Celestial growing within. So thats the deal with the multiverse.

But it’s not what the Supreme Intelligence is concerned about. No, the problem, according to the giant green head, is Mar-Vell.

If he gets the complete cosmic consciousness, he’ll have complete knowledge of the whole multiverse and of time. And that will make him a cosmic dictator.

There’s… a weird democracy vs autocracy theme popping up. Weird because the big democracy rep is the Supreme Intelligence.

Anyway, remember that American democracy is dead. And Captain America died not trying to save it but protecting Mar-Vell’s vision of the future. Superpowered beings rule the nations of the world now as monarchs.

Democracy is basically dead and the only person arguing for it is a gestalt intelligence who (spoilers) dies off-panel in this issue and whose death gets a ‘good, fuck that guy’ from Aaron Stack.

Anyway, Mar-Vell and co arrive on the Moon looking for the Ultimate Nullifier and the Supreme Intelligence. Aaron tells them where the Watcher is hiding with the Nullifier and then also immediately tells Mar-Vell he knows where the last piece of the cosmic consciousness is hidden. The piece of information that the Intelligence begged Aaron not to share.

Perhaps unsurprisingly, the last piece of the cosmic consciousness is in the eyes Nighthawk got from Mephisto, which let him see the future. Which Mephisto benefits from without having to interact with directly. Since he’s worried about catching compassion from that sliver of omniscience.

Mar-Vell and co pursue Uatu the Blind Watcher into the depths of his home. Uatu tries to divert them by throwing up big splash page illusions of random things.

I kind of wonder if there were deadline problems with this issue. There’s a lot of splash pages. Not just in this sequence but throughout the book.

Anyway. They corner Uatu. He threatens them with the Ultimate Nullifier but Mar-Vell is like c’mon. Sounds like interfering tbh.

Elsewhere, the Tong of Creel returns to Japan and this time beats Xen and swipes the hand-flail of Creel from Tao.

Leaving only the head of Creel being held in Latveria. Which is currently under siege with the Richards and Grimms running for safety.

Reed leads the group to the chamber with Doom’s time platform only to find it missing (stolen last issue by Mr Church). Without that escape, Reed, Sue, and mini Thing 1 and Thing 2 are cornered in a dead end by the mob.

The uprising in the Realm of Death continues.

Mar-Vell rubs it in Thanos’ face that everyone has kissed Death. Thanos isn’t special.

And he finally, explicitly, states his goal for this uprising. Mar-Vell is going to kill Death.

We are in strange aeons, I guess.

But, hey, we know part of Mar-Vell’s grand plan now!

Speaking of things being confirmed…

Hurt by Nighthawk telling him what a fuck up he made, Gargoyle goes back to Mr Church and tries to break their deal.

Because Mr Church is Mephisto!

World’s most obvious theory has been confirmed!

The plot is coming together. As one would hope, considering this is issue 7 out of 12, plus some specials.

Next post, issue 8. Then, another one of those wacky Universe X specials.