#hey lets just answer all the questions. almost done with his anatomy

[pleafyistired]

since we're almost done with vivisecting him anyways. bones, muscles and skin of john. blood? hearts? might talk abt john tits in this one again hm. no one has answer my question of does this man shit (no i dont mean sweat and co2 i mean THE NORMAL HUMAN WASTE OF PISS AND SHIT DOES HE DO THAT TOO OR DOES HE CONSUME IT ALL SINCE PLANT.) does this man has chest hair if no titties. if hes breedable. does he have plussy (plant pussy)

Bonus: theres also a mushroom skin for the flower job btw. sooo…. magical john's spores anyone?

[apomaro-mellow]

King&Prince 4

"Hey Eddie, what happens if you stick a finger up someone's ass?", Dustin asked.

Eddie choked on nothing and looked up from the map he'd been studying. He cleared his throat and flailed his hands at his young ward.

"The fuck Henderson?"

"I asked Steve about it once but he said he wouldn't tell me yet."

"Steve?!" Eddie got up while slamming his hands down. "As in the prince? As in the one I have locked away in the dungeon as we speak?"

"Yeah", Dustin replied, unbothered by the shadows shifting behind Eddie as his hair began to stand on end.

"I will say this in the simplest terms I can. Stay. Away. From Harrington."

Dustin put down the anatomy book he'd been reading. "But he's not dangerous. At least not while he's caged up. He's got pretty decent knowledge of how to hurt someone though."

"Oh I'm sure. He comes from a long line of people who live to hurt." Eddie moved from behind his desk, leaving the map behind. The fireplace was burning bright, the sun had set long ago and Eddie should have sent Dustin to bed by now, but he liked the company. "You know what his family has done."

"I do, but it's not like he's done it. He doesn't deserve to sleep in a shit hole just because his family is a bunch of assholes", Dustin said.

"And who's to say he isn't just as much of an asshole? Apples don't fall far from trees." Eddie moved to stare into the fire. He had been studying the map of his kingdom to think of ways to move his citizens and creatures. He didn't want to displace people, nor seem like he was conceding the border, but the Harringtons weren't giving him much of a choice.

"Can't you just give him some new clothes? He's literally starting to smell."

"I want you to stay out of the dungeons. You keep it up and I'll tell your mom that you're fraternizing with the enemy."

Dustin let out an offended scoff, upset that Eddie would go as far as tattling on him. Well, he had ways around that. Curious about the royal hostage, Dustin had intercepted the servant going to give him his meal and took over that task. But since Eddie told him he couldn't go anymore, Dustin got someone else instead.

Mike had to be bribed with a book, but he went and asked Steve what was worse, internal bleeding or dying of infection.

"Are you one of Dustin's friends?"

"Just answer the question so I can get outta here", Mike sighed.

"I'm not a doctor. I don't know which is worse. But infection is definitely more gross", Steve said. "Especially if it's on your-"

"On your what?", Mike pressed.

Steve considered how much of a pest Dustin was when he didn't get a straight answer and decided that having a conversation partner so he told Mike what he knew about infections while eating. Mike's jaw never left the floor.

"Eddie was wrong about you. You're so-!" Mike stopped short when Steve looked up at him. "You're uh, you're fine, I guess. Do you know a lot about gross stuff like that?"

"I don't know about a lot. I know a thing or two", Steve shrugged. That name came up again, Eddie. Steve was almost interested enough to ask about him but figured he was probably just someone else in the castle that hung out with these kids. And apparently he was someone they looked up to.

From then on, he had a rotation of visitors to bring him food. Dustin was still around, and he'd met Mike. But now there was also Lucas, who mostly asked about the fighting techniques Steve knew about. He also met Will, who usually came with a list of questions Dustin had but also asked about his kingdom in general. Something about the whole thing caught Steve off guard and he asked Dustin the next time he saw him.

"Does your king only employ children?"

"What? No, we don't get paid, but we should", Dustin rolled his eyes as he slid the food over. "We just live here. Lucas and Mike wanna be squires. And I-"

"Where are all the monsters?", Steve asked.

"You probably mean the demobeasts. They live outside, you know, like most animals." Dustin looked at him like he was stupid. It was a common expression on his face.

"They're not like, crawling around?", Steve hadn't even seen so much as a rat, even here in his cell.

"It's not a wild house", Dustin crossed his arms. "I brought one demodog into the castle and Eddie lost it just because it tore up some scrolls."

"You and this Eddie guy hang out a lot? How come you've never sent him down here?", Steve asked.

"He's pretty busy. Plus, he doesn't like you that much."

Steve didn't need to ask why. He was an enemy prince, after all. So far, only Dustin and his friends had shown him anything resembling kindness. Just a day ago, someone had been sent to 'clean' him. Which was really just tossing a bucket of cold water at him. And even those that knew him beyond his status weren't so loving and warm. It was why Steve wasn't surprised that his family had yet to burst through the doors to save him.

--------------------------

Alric had known long before he got a letter that his son had been taken and by whom. Steve's escorting party had returned much sooner than planned. Many of them injured, but none dead. They had reported to their king the events and just who was responsible. Still, Alric waited for the official word, just to see what that devil of a king wanted in exchange for his son.

It turned out to be a call to end his aggression and enter a truce. A call to discuss the details of the truce more in person. To sit at the same table as equals and figure out how to live harmoniously as neighbors.

He threw the letter into the fire.

Such terms were unthinkable, as was sending a reply of any kind. Alric would allow his silence to do the talking.

When it went on week three without any sort of word, Eddie called his council to discuss.

"What does it mean when a king doesn't care about his prince?", Eddie had asked.

"It's got to be a ploy", Nancy said. "He wouldn't abandon his only son."

"Unless he was some sort of disgrace", Jeff said. "But then again, something like that would have hit the rumor mill already."

"How can a prince be disgraced? They get away with everything", Robin commented.

Eddie was pacing around the table in the council room. "The point is, dear old dad doesn't seem to bothered with this. It's almost like he wants to be rid of him."

"So what do we do?", Jeff asked.

"We need a clearer picture", Nancy said.

"Clearer picture...", Eddie mused, pausing in his pacing. Then he let out a very loud, every exaggerated groan while bending so far backwards his head almost touched the floor. "Time to visit my favorite hostage."

Part 6

Tag Team

@thesuninyaface @only-evanescent @snakeorsquid @ignoremyworld @theclichefortunecookie @goodolefashionedloverboi @just-a-tiny-void

[thoseyoulove]

Could you elaborate on Gabrielle's gender crisis?

Hey! I hope you don't mind, but I'm just gonna use book quotes because they speak for itself:

"She talked for a long time. She said things I didn't understand then, about how when she would see me riding out to hunt, she felt some wondrous pleasure in it, and she felt that same pleasure when I angered everyone and thundered my questions at my father and brothers as to why we had to live the way we lived. She spoke in an almost eerie way of my being a secret part of her anatomy, of my being the organ for her which women do not really have. 'You are the man in me,' she said. 'And so I've kept you here, afraid of living without you, and maybe now in sending you away, I am only doing what I have done before.' She shocked me a little. I never thought a woman could feel or articulate anything quite like this.'"

"It came clear in an instant why she'd done it. She tore off the pink velvet girdle and skirts right there and put on the boy's clothes. She'd chosen him for the fit of the clothes. And to describe it more truly, as she put on his garments, she became the boy."

"But there's no real reason for me to dress that way anymore, is there?"

"She looked down at it, scattering it silently with the tip of her boot, and then she looked up at me, and she was a young man now certainly, the short hair curling against her cheek. But her eyes were closing. She reached out to me and the scissors fell out of her hands."

"Then suddenly she made a low hissing sound, and her body went rigid. She was holding her long tresses and staring at them.

'My God,' she whispered. And then in a spasm, she let go of her hair and screamed. The sound paralyzed me. It sent a flash of white pain through my head. I had never heard her scream. And she screamed again as if she were on fire. She had fallen back against the window and she was screaming louder as she looked at her hair. She went to touch it and then pulled her fingers back from it as if it were blazing. And she struggled against the window, screaming and twisting from side to side, as if she were trying to get away from her own hair. "Stop it!' I shouted. I grabbed hold of her shoulders and shook her. She was gasping. I realized instantly what it was. Her hair had grown back! It had grown back as she slept until it was as long as it had been before. And it was thicker even, more lustrous. That is what was wrong with the way she looked, what I had noticed and not noticed! And what she herself had just seen.

'Stop it, stop it now!' I shouted louder, her body shaking so violently I could hardly keep her in my arms. 'It's grown back, that's all!' I insisted. 'It's natural to you, don't you see? It's nothing!'

She was choking, trying to calm herself, touching it and then screaming as if her fingertips were blistered. She tried to get away from me, and then ripped at her hair in pure terror. I shook her hard this time.

'Gabrielle!' I said. 'Do you understand me? It's grown back, and it will every time you cut it! There's no horror in it, for the love of hell, stop!' I thought if she didn't stop, I'd start to rave myself. I was trembling as badly as she was. She stopped screaming and she was giving little gasps. I'd never seen her like this, not in all the years and years in Auvergne. She let me guide her towards the bench by the hearth, where I made her sit down. She put her hands to her temples and tried to catch her breath, her body rocking back and forth slowly. I looked about for a scissor. I had none. The little gold scissor had fallen on the floor of the crypt below. I took out my knife. She was sobbing softly in her hands. 'Do you want me to cut it off again?' I asked. She didn't answer. 'Gabrielle, listen to me.' I took her hands from her face, 'I'll cut it again if you like. Each night, cut it, and burn it. That's all.' She stared at me in such perfect stillness suddenly that I didn't know what to do. Her face was smeared with blood from her tears, and there was blood on her linen. Blood all over her linen. 'Shall I cut it?' I asked her again. She looked exactly as if someone had hit her and made her bleed. Her eyes were wide and wondering, the blood tears seeping out of them down her smooth cheeks."

/lh

[uvuyai]

—#𝐈'𝐦 𝐦𝐚𝐫𝐤𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐰𝐡𝐚𝐭'𝐬 𝐦𝐢𝐧𝐞

-:+°Genre : it's technically a cracfic but I'll say lime depends on what I write

-:+°Pairings * Byakuya/reader, Nagito/reader, Kokichi/reader,

-:+°Synopsis .» he marks you with a paint brush and black paint.

-:+°Implies // gn! reader, antagonist marking one of your anatomy parts not organs, licking, biting, hickey, 🤷, this came to my mind when i was reading a fic, jealousy, mentions of other characters, spoilers in Nagito parts but okay, possessive nature, i might to the protagonist or random characters that fits,

𝐁𝐲𝐚𝐤𝐮𝐲𝐚 𝐓𝐨𝐠𝐚𝐦𝐢 ♛

—✰┆ You always hangout with Makoto and/or Chihiro than you do with him. You were persistent and oblivious when it came to answering questions other gave you. It was about time he showed you where you belong, well, who you belong to.

"Oh, hey Byakuya." You said waving at him from light beyond afar. Without a warning he grabbed you by the shoulders and pushed you inside his dorm without saying anything in the process. "Hey Byakuya, what's going on?" You asked as he went into his closet to pull out a can of paint along with a brush.

You were confused as hell too why he pulled you in his room.. just to pull out paint..

"Get on the bed and lay on your back." He said with no emotion clear in his face.

"H-huh!?" You had mental shock all over.

"Do I need to repeat myself?" He said tapping his feet in a rythme like pattern.

"N-no, not at all." You said walking towards the bed, laying on your back as you were told too.

You looked at the opposite direction from where he was standing since you were filled to the absolute brim with second hand embarrassment.

You felt the bed sink on both side of your hips to see your boyfriend with his knees on both side of your waist. He was straddling you.

"Raise your shirt up," he said with the same face when he told you to lay on the bed.

You didn't want to disobey since he was a cruel person so you obligated his request and raised your shirt up not too high but above your stomach not showing your bosom.

'Looks like he's observing my stomach?' you mentally asked yourself.

He soon dipped the paint brush into the black paint that was on the floor, letting the access drip into the paint before drawing on your stomach.

It tickled so you started squirming around.

"Stop moving, i'm almost done." He said grabbing your waist with his unoccupied hand to stop you from moving.

"Mnn." You mumbled trying to keep in a laughter.

From what you can tell he was writing his name and a price?

Was he planning on selling you or setting a bounty on you? You seriously started to panicking.

"W-what are you doing 'Kuya?" You said but you knew what he was doing so you asked just to clarify your claim.

"I'm marking what's mine."

𝐍𝐚𝐠𝐢𝐭𝐨 𝐊𝐨𝐦𝐚𝐞𝐝𝐚☘︎

—✰┆Nagito is a quick jealous individual from what you learned from his body language. He was sick, and tired of you hanging out with Hajime than with him most of the time. He doesn't want too loose you to that talentless rat, he already lost three people, well one not fully human. You were an intimidating person but would get soft overtime with certain people.

"Hey, what's up Nagito," you said giving him a low wave as you stood in front of him. Without a single warning he lifted you and threw you ober his shoulder. To what you thought, he was bringing you to his dorm. You were right but you thought he just wanted to cuddle with you. But oh boy, you were wrong.

When you got a chance, you saw he had paint with a brush on top, well slanted within the paint.

He sat on his bed, with you still on his shoulder before pulling you down by your thighs which made you sit on his lap. He started to stare intently into your eyes mumbling something that wasn't intelligible to you.

"Lift your shirt." He said tugging at the hem of your shirt.

"Eh!?" You were in complete shock from what he was saying.

"I though we wer-" "I said, lift your shirt." He said holding the paint brush into his hand.

"I- okay, fine," you said rolling your eyes while lifting your shirt.

He was observing your stomach to have an angle. He started writing on your stomach which tickled which caused to you to move the slightest.

"Stop moving will you?" He said looking up and pausing his writing.

"S-sorry, Nagito." You stuttered.

He was finished writing from what you thought since you didn't feel the brush write on your stomach. That's not until he drew a upside down heart?

"There," he said proudly from his work. "Stand up so I can get a better view.

You groaned but stood thinking he would force you upon something if you didn't stand up.

"Okay, what the hell did you write on me!" You yelled, you asked that since you couldn't see what was written in your perspective.

"I wrote my name, and a heart to show my love for you." He said.

"But why!" You yelled at him still holding your shirt up.

"I'm marking what's mine.”

𝐊𝐨𝐤𝐢𝐜𝐡𝐢 𝐎𝐮𝐦𝐚♧

—✰┆ He may act all tough and hard, but when he see his well know significant other hanging out with others than him, his mask starts to slip and he goes into a rage of jealousy.

He hates ot when you hangout with Kaito, his quote 'best friend '. He thinks your hanging out with him is because your getting annoyed of his silly antics and tricks he plays, but he keeps second guessing himself when it comes to mind.

He always had those crocodile tears when you said you have to go somewhere or overseas.

"Y/N-SAN WHY ARE YOU AVOIDING ME!?" he said yelling into your ear as he jumped onto your back which caused you too stumble a bit.

"I'm not even avoiding yo-" "Nevermind that! Let's go!" He chimed grabbing your hand leading you to god knows where.

You enter his dorm room and saw a can of paint with a brush on the side of it. 'I never guess Kokichi would be into painting.' you thought as you sat on his bed.

"Okay Y/n, raise your shirt will you?" He said tilting his head and giving you a irritated like closed eye smile.

"Hm? Why?" You were completely confused.

"Sigh, just do it for me will you?" He said sighing, his cold breath hitting your chest.

As he said, you obeyed, lifting your shirt up. At one chance you flashed Kokichi.

You saw him dip the paint brush into the black paint, letting the access drip off as he walked back towards you. Without a single warning he pushes you onto your back and started painting on your stomach?

"Uhh, what are you doing?" You asked, you weren't given a clear view of what he was doing.

"I'm almost done Y/n-san," he said woth his tongue sticking out of the corner of his mouth.

"There!" He chimed looking at the work on your stomach he did.

"Something's missing.." he mumbled placing his index finger and thumb on his chin. "Aha! I know," he chimed again.

You soon felt pain in your neck area. He was hovering around that area so you figured he bit their. You hissed in pain as he bit down. After he was done he started licking your neck whoch caused shivers to run down your spin.

"Now it's perfect!"he said dropping the brush as he clases his hands together.

"Uhh, why is this on my stomach?" You asked tilting your head.

"Ugh, I'm just marking what's mine,"

I left you with three cliffhangers 🌝

#SXXHIJKOX 2023® ALL RIGHTS RESERVED

[kedreeva]

Running with the "Steve helps Eddie study for finals" into "Steve quickly discovers that strip-flashcards is not an effective way to get right answers from Eddie" and right into "changing the rules so Eddie has to grab a sharpie and write the right answers down somewhere that he'll remember" and then "I'll remember what part of Steve's skin I wrote this on"

(my inbox is open for ST prompts!)(Previous prompts)

god I remember this discussion lol let's see if I can do it well

------

Steve hasn't done a lot of studying in his life. He didn't need to study to cruise through high school with a solid C average, and he had never planned on needing anything higher than that. He aced a few courses just because they didn't require anything from him, so his GPA was always just a little higher.

But he'd met Nancy partway through, most of the way through if he's being honest, and she had taken notes and made cards and highlighted textbooks. She had played little memory games and made little songs about the things she needed to remember. He tried harder, around her, and even had done a little better.

Which is why when Eddie asks for his help, when he needs to pass two more classes in order to make it out, Steve is all too happy to show him.

Except... Eddie isn't Nancy.

His notes are a mess, completely illegible to anyone that isn't Eddie. He doesn't pay attention to the notecards, and Steve finds him asleep over the textbooks almost every time. He can read an entire Dungeons and Dragons manual cover to cover and parrot back everything inside of it, but he cannot get 2 paragraphs into his history book. Songs almost work, except for the fact that Eddie doesn't know the meaning of singing in his head.

But... Eddie isn't Nancy.

When Steve had suggested Nancy remove articles of clothing for wrong answers, she had balked. She had told him no, and she had meant it.

When Steve suggests Eddie remove articles of clothing for wrong answers, Eddie ends up naked in as many notecards as he has articles of clothing, and the only studying that gets done that night is human anatomy. It only goes slightly better the other way around; he manages to get Steve stripped almost as quickly, and the study session ends.

Steve is at a loss.

Steve is at a loss until he sees Eddie doodling a tattoo idea around his own ankle with a permanent marker.

"Hey," he says. Eddie doesn't have ears like a cat, but the way he doesn't look up, the way his attention shifts with just the slightest twitch of his head, reminds Steve of a cat twitching one ear in acknowledgement. "You have that algebra test monday, right?"

Eddie hums confirmation, and then stops drawing and looks at Steve with a warming smile. "You trying to suggest some flash cards again?"

"Something like that," Steve agrees, and holds out his hand. "Can I see that marker?"

Eddie joins him on the bed and passes him the marker without question. Steve uncaps it, tests it against his skin. It's cold, but not unpleasant, and he doesn't have work the next few days while the store finishes renovations. It could work.

He wriggles out of his shirt, and Eddie's eyes light up in anticipation, but Steve holds out a hand to stop him, marker grasped upright in it. Eddie takes it back with a confused look.

"You have to remember formulas, right?"

Eddie groans. "I've been had!"

Steve rolls his eyes. "You haven't been had. You like leaving marks on me, right?"

"Yeah, with my teeth, Steve," Eddie tells him.

Steve shrugs and sprawls back on Eddie's pillows, arms behind his head. "I don't care how you hold the pen," he says with a shit-eating grin. "But I have a feeling you'll remember the formulas a little better if you're picturing where you've written them on me."

Eddie's breath goes soft, his eyes blinking slowly, and Steve smiles fondly because he knows what Eddie looks like when he loses function for a few seconds. Then Eddie is diving for his math textbook, and a moment later Steve finds himself with a lap full of eager boyfriend.

He scribes his homework onto Steve's skin in ink first and lips second, whispering each one. Steve echoes them, and maybe he actually learns something as well because he knows where Eddie will kiss next by the numbers and letters he recites. He fills in Steve's chest and rolls him over to scrawl all over the lean muscles of his back, down past his ass, onto his thighs.

"Cannot believe you're really going to give me a hard-on for math," he whispers into the soft hollow of Steve's knee, a second before he bites Steve for laughing.

He aces the test on Monday.

[erimeows]

Healing

Ratchet was missing you as he finished cleaning the med bay, sleepiness threatening to take over his sky-hued optics. You were probably in your shared bed, fast asleep like you always were- and you always tried to wait up for him, but never managed to stay awake. Since he’d gotten to earth and met you, he’d gotten used to working late, whether that be helping his teammates with their injuries or doing research on Sari’s key and the organics on earth to help their cause. 

Ratchet couldn’t help but sigh as he thought about you. The two of you had been dating for a few months now, and while he had initially been reluctant to get attached to a human who he feared he’d eventually have to leave, he couldn’t help but be smitten with you. Your relationship was still in that somewhat casual, testing-the-waters stage, but he adored you, and he’d give anything to be recharging next to you instead of cleaning.

Still, he needed to clean the med bay or it would be disgusting and unavailable to use the following day. He was just glad that he was almost done with it.

Ratchet missed you, and he always felt bad for leaving you to sleep alone... Especially after the incident. 

When it had happened, he’d been in shambles, unsure of what to do with himself. It was a month after the two of you had started dating and, in the middle of an encounter with the Decepticons, Lockdown had swooped in and stolen you to take to Megatron for a bounty since you’d been helping the Autobots for a considerable amount of time.

Thankfully, Megatron had wanted you alive, and as a human, you didn’t have any parts or upgrades for Lockdown to want to steal... Ratchet hadn’t dared to say it out loud, but he was just glad that the bounty hunter hadn’t known enough about human anatomy to think about harvesting some of your organs to sell. 

That aside, it had taken almost a whole day after that battle for Ratchet and the rest of his team to find where Lockdown was hiding and take you back, barely getting you back to earth and leaving Lockdown to escape. 

You didn’t talk about it much, and for the most part, you tried to act normal. Things were okay, and you were safe, but Ratchet saw moments where you slipped up. When Lockdown or what happened that day were mentioned, you clammed up, and any time you were left by yourself, you were noticeably upset, almost like you were scared something would happen again or scared to be left alone with your thoughts. 

The red and white bot was snapped out of his own thoughts when he heard footsteps- too light to be a bot’s, but too heavy to be Sari’s- and looked over to see you standing in the doorway. You were in a large t-shirt and some sweats, (h/l) (h/c) hair messy and (e/c) eyes bleary. Ratchet couldn’t tell what it was, but something seemed off about you, so he immediately finished wiping down the last counter and tossed his cleaning rag to the side before approaching your smaller form.

“(y/n), what are you doing up this late?” The Autobot asked, placing a gentle servo on your shoulder.

“I, uh...” You stopped and looked away from him, almost as if you were embarrassed. “Had a nightmare and wanted some company. I figured you’d still be awake. When are you coming to bed?”

Ratchet could only sigh. Of course, you were embarrassed about a nightmare of all things- he’d been the same way for a long time, waking up from recharges in the middle of the night with terrible nightmares wracking his processor, only to sit up and look around to see that he was alone and safe in his empty bedroom instead of on the battlefield watching comrades die like he’d dreamt. 

He’d been embarrassed about his own trauma and feelings for a long time, too, but he knew that in the end, it was better to open up to others rather than let those things fester. So, rather than getting onto you for acting the way you were about it, he answered your previous question.

“Now, actually, unless...” Ratchet stopped. When he had nightmares, if he immediately went back to sleep, he’d go straight back into the dream. It would probably be best to keep you up for a bit and get you in a better mood before letting you go back to sleep. “Would you like to stay up for a bit before going back to sleep?”

“I’d hate to keep you up-” You started, but he quickly cut you off, able to see in your face that you didn’t want to go back to sleep at all and were only trying to avoid inconveniencing him. 

“Come on, I know how it is,” The medic spoke and moved the servo on your shoulder further down so he could hold your hand, intertwining his digits with your fingers. Slowly, he raised your hand up and pressed a gentle kiss to your knuckles.  “I’ll make you some of that, uh... What’s that hot stuff you humans drink?”

“Coffee?” 

“No, the one with the herbs.”

“Oh, you mean tea,” You smiled and gripped his servo as he reached over to turn the lights in the med bay off. “That sounds nice, actually. Thank you.”

With that, the two of you walked into the kitchen, you sitting down at the table and Ratchet getting out a pot to pour water in. It was a weird process, making tea, but you liked the stuff, and he’d seen you do it enough times to understand how it worked. 

While he’d expected for you to stay seated at the table until he finished, it was in the middle of him putting two teabags in the pot and setting it on the stove to boil that you stood up and approached him. Wordlessly, you wrapped your arms around his midsection from behind and buried your face into the cool metal plating on his back. 

“Do you want to talk about it?” He asked and fully turned around where he stood to face you wrap his arms around your body in return. You sighed into his chest. 

“I need a minute.”

“Take as long as you need,” Ratchet tried to be as reassuring as he possibly could, though comforting others wasn’t his forte nor his strong suit. He found himself feeling a bit awkward as he stroked the top of your hair and ran his digits through the tangled locks. “I’m here.”

“Are you... I mean, do you still feel the same way towards me that you did before it happened?” You asked, and Ratchet felt his spark drop.

“What’s that supposed to mean?”

You nuzzled into the red and white bot’s chest as he reached back to turn the stove off in fear that the tea would boil over if he left it unattended. Voice cracking, you started to talk, words spilling out faster than your brain could comprehend.

“I just feel like when we started dating, things were so light-hearted and easy, and then Lockdown took me away and I’ve been so...” You paused to choke back a sob that had caught down your throat, hands desperately squeezing his shoulders and tears streaming down your cheeks and falling onto his chest plates. “Withdrawn? But also needy? I just haven’t been the same, and it feels like I don’t know who I am anymore! I’m used to the nightmares at this point, but now I’m having dreams about you leaving me because I’m too much to put up with and-”

“Hey, (y/n), slow down a bit, will ya? I don’t know what to say here, and y’know I’m not good at this kind of stuff, but...” Ratchet looked at your face with a gentle smile, sky-hued optics pouring into your (e/c) eyes. You blinked up at him with tears still welling up, but he reached down to wipe them away with one of his digits. “I love you more and more every day,” He admitted, almost wanting to stop himself- it had been the first time either of you had said the ‘L’ word, and maybe it wasn’t the best timing, but he needed you to know that no matter what happened, he loved you and would continue to do so. “Nothing that could happen between us or with Lockdown or whoever else will change that. I’m here as long as you want me to be, even when things are hard, because I know you’d be there for me, too.”

You nodded and further buried yourself into him, sobs now racking your entire body- now, though, instead of the anxiety that had been rolling off of you in waves moments before, you seemed to be flooded with bittersweet relief. 

So, he held you for as long as you needed, the tea cold and forgotten by both of you in the pot behind him in favor of each other’s warmth.

And, when you did collect yourself, you looked up at him with the most beautiful smile he’d ever seen and told him that you loved him, too. 

[cinnamonest]

Razor with a fem teacher darling.

Some sweet lil cute lady in Mondstadt that teaches little kids. Older than our boy, maybe 30s, just old enough to be very maternal (and so that she’ll never see it coming of course). Conscripted by the knights to quit her day job and take on the task of teaching the wolf boy how to adapt to human society, how to speak and interact with others. They find that a normal approach overwhelms and confuses him, so they think your way of doing things would be best for someone... on his intellectual and social level.

They let him stay with her several hours a day and practice talking and teaching him things like the most basic words that he may need to know how to read, how to sign his name, basic addition/subtraction etc... He is like a kid in some ways, namely naivete and maturity, so you kinda deal with him as if he was, almost infantile, like giving him little mantras and poems they teach kids on how to remember basic manners/politeness, giving him stickers and other little trinket-y rewards for correct answers, which he cherishes quite a bit.

And he starts coming more and more often, doesn't want to leave, even stays sometimes overnight, and you let him, because you're glad he wants to learn about human life, so you let him sleep on your couch (although he often ends up just curling up on the floor anyway).

He becomes addicted to praise. Since you once taught little kids, you're used to that whole overenthusiasm people give kids, the "wow! Good job! I'm so proud!" And you give that to him too, because you wanna encourage him after all, and you figure he will only understand if you exaggerate the enthusiasm. He gets hooked on that and is constantly trying to earn your praise and approval, will do things and show them to you as he sits there expectantly, waiting for you to say he did good. Dips his head down expectantly, since you normally pet him on the head. Beaming smile and bright, wide eyes.

As such, the way you view him becomes... soft. Dangerously so, not that you’re aware of that aspect of it yet, but in your mind, he’s like a sweet kid, even ironically a bit puppy-like. He’s so sweet, you tell the knights when giving a report on your progress. He wouldn’t hurt a fly.

And then he gets more... comfortable. As all people do in all kinds of relationships, they become less guarded, less careful, less afraid to be open and honest and allow their true self to come out.

You’re forced to become aware of the ways in which he is very much not a kid. Namely physically. One time you told him you had to go for the night and you'd see him tomorrow, but he kept saying you couldn't go yet, he just wants five more minutes! But you sigh and say no, you really have to go, and he huffs and pouts and grabs you by the arm and pins you down. Not yet. Just a few more minutes, he says. You genuinely fear for a moment that he’s about to unintentionally snap your arm, he grips so tightly. You pull, but he doesn’t even budge, you’re not certain that he even processes that you’re struggling, even though you use your full strength. You give a forced, scared smile and ask, hey, remember what we learned about selfishness? And how it's bad? How we can’t force other people do what we want? He hangs his head and says sorry, but seems sad about letting you go. The bruise he leaves lasts over a week. From that point forward, you’re acutely aware of the physical strength he possesses. But still, he didn’t mean to hurt you, he just didn’t understand, you think. He’s still so sweet. He just needs some time.

He likes your attention. That is, he likes to have it. He does not like your attention being given to other things and people. It took you a while to figure out why people would always look so uncomfortable and leave mid-conversation when he was in the room, you couldn’t see how he glared and scowled at people while standing behind you. Once you realize it, you don’t get mad, because it’s not his fault, right? You tell yourself to be patient, just like with the kids. You just have to explain that it’s important to be nice to people. Treat others the way you want to be treated, you say. And how would he want to be treated? Nicely, right? So be nice in the future, ok? He nods, but you get the sense it didn’t really sink in.

And for one thing, you learn he’s, well, appropriately curious about human... love. Relationships. Sex. Very, very curious, and very eager to ask questions. He actually understands and is familiar with quite a bit, you discover (he’s probably witnessed more sex than you have, really), he just doesn’t really know the words, and substitutes as best as he can before you teach him the right words for his... unique terminology, which he uses when describing the things he would like to learn the words for: The thing humans do where they hit each other with their mouths. When the girl-wolf is growing a baby inside and her stomach gets big. The thing mates do together. The white stuff the boy-wolves make, that comes out of their... thing, whatever the word is, tell him that word too, please. Not just wolves, he makes that white stuff too, he clarifies, because he has one of those things, just in case you didn’t know. You... handle it as maturely as you can. You tell him that yes, you’re aware he does, in fact, have one.

But you figure that curiosity is appropriate, he’s a sexually functioning adult, of course he’s curious. He’s fascinated by the female anatomy diagram in the textbook you manage to find in the library, looks at it quite a bit, and, despite your embarrassment, you figure you have a responsibility to make sure he understands. It’s not like it’s wrong, just awkward, so you willingly read the text when asked. Combined with the previous conversation, you soon realize a lesson in... appropriateness is probably needed. That is, since he’s started asking if you have those things too. Does it really look like that? Do those things really have milk in them? Can he feel them? The part of the book that shows the humans mating, why do they do it like that, facing each other? Do they ever do it the way wolves do? Have you done it before? You... have to tell him that he can’t go around asking other people questions like that. It’s not appropriate, you explain, and your job is to help him understand what is and isn’t appropriate. He doesn’t seem to grasp why he can’t ask things like that, seems hurt, like he thinks you just don’t want to, so you have to explain that it’s just... a human social thing.

You soon realize maybe you didn’t explain it well enough. When he keeps staring at your chest, you have to remind him it’s rude. And we don’t want to be rude, right? But he keeps asking why? Why is it bad? He doesn’t understand. When he has a very obvious raging hard-on and just sits there letting it visibly poke at the fabric, you awkwardly chime in that he might want to, uh, cover that up. But he tilts his head because he doesn’t understand why.

It’s only the beginning of such appropriateness conversations. Once when you’re working on something, he wants to show you the work he did, he practiced writing some of those important words. But you tell him to hang on just a minute, I’m working on something important. He doesn’t like that, so he shoves your work off the desk and sends it crashing to the floor. There, now you don’t have to look at all that stuff and can focus on him instead, see? Isn’t his writing good? Aren’t you going to say he did good? He doesn’t understand why you seem upset, but you, having developed an incredible patience in years of working with kids, keep your cool and explain why that’s not nice and why we have to learn to be patient, ok? But you reassure him it is good, put the cute sticker on his paper, and that’s all that matters, he seems happy. You feel like he didn’t hear the important part.

In fact, you were so impressed by the progress in his speaking and intellectual skills that you were a bit blinded to the fact that he’s showing a... concerning lack of understanding some of the more practical social lessons you’ve been teaching.

You swear you’ve said a hundred times now that you can’t just pick up things you want and take them, but he keeps doing it. You had to apologize profusely more times than you can count so the knights didn’t arrest him for theft, but you feel like they’re starting to get tired of the he doesn’t understand excuse.

And you’ve talked about being nice before, you swear, you’ve read several children’s books on the importance of niceness over and over, complete with pictures, and he seemed to like them. And he is sweet, precious even. ...To you. He just needs to work on applying those skills to everyone else, you always tell the superiors. To stop... scowling at people. To stop clinging to you, shyly hiding behind you like a child to their mother whenever someone new comes along. To stop ignoring when other people are trying to talk to him, and to stop interrupting other people who are talking to you when he decides that he wants you to be done with your current conversation and focus on him instead.

And most importantly, you tell them you need to work with him on the little... selfishness problem he seems to have. Stubbornness, rather.  He does not like the word no. He huffs and pouts like a kid, getting sad and sulky. Nor does he react well to being denied anything, and especially not being reprimanded in any way. He sulks quite a bit whenever you get frustrated at him. And he doesn’t exactly... listen. Sometimes he’ll heed your “no,” and sometimes he... does what he wants anyway. You almost get the sense that he thinks that listening to you is optional. As sweet as he is, you become increasingly aware that he very much likes it when things go his way, and can become rather pouty when he can’t get his way. 

It makes sense, you reason with yourself. Do what is necessary to obtain what you want. If you can’t get what you want, use force. Those are the laws of the wild, of survival in the animal world, are they not? He’s just... adjusting. He’s not used to such complex social constructs. Give him time.

He has to learn things can’t always go his way, especially since soon, you’ll have to return to your normal job, and he’ll be left to his own devices. They ruled that he’s improved enough that you’re no longer needed.

You do worry about that a bit. You worry how he’ll manage, and fear he’ll just go back to being a recluse in the woods, since the one thing he didn’t ever make much improvement on was forming bonds and socializing... well, with anyone besides you. You always tried to make him feel like he had a place he was loved and appreciated -- the same you do with the kids.

You always sensed a sort of lonesomeness in the boy. At one point you began to more carefully curate the books you would find to read aloud to him, being sure to leave the ones that featured families in the “don’t read” pile. He would get a sad look on his face and stare wistfully at pages whenever the story contained a mother or a family in any way. Sometimes you would find him flipping through old books at the pictures, looking out the window at children roaming the streets with their parents, and you couldn’t help but wonder how often he thought about what he could have had, if at all, and you wonder if he ever wished he could have had normalcy. You try to be something of a mother figure he never had -- loving, supportive. It’s the least you can do, right? You’ve done plenty of things that you sensed could backfire, but certainly that kindness would not come to be something you’d regret.

And you expected him to react badly to the news that your time together would be ending, but not this badly. You reassure him it’s ok, you’ll visit him all the time! He can come visit you when school isn’t in session! He still seems upset, even tearful. Why can’t you stay with him?

You choose your words carefully. He tends to hear what he wants to hear, rather than what you actually say, so you try your best to be clear. So there’s no confusion... so that he can’t twist your words.

It’s not your decision to make, it’s the board’s.

It’s their fault. They’re keeping her away.

He can visit you any time you’re not busy.

(y/n) will be too busy to play. Too busy with other people.

But you have to go to work, it’s your primary responsibility.

They’re more important than her than me.

He eventually gets quiet, sulks as he does. You sigh and hope he’ll be able to accept it.

... You get the strangest feeling of... premonition as you wrap up for the day. Like something bad is going to happen. You turn to him and remind him that... remember, doing bad things will get you in trouble, right? Hurting people and stuff like that... is illegal in Mondstadt, remember?

He actually becomes very alert at those words, like he’s having a realization. That’s good, you think, he gets it.

The realization was actually the... implication of the words “in Mondstadt.” It’s illegal and wrong... in Mondstadt. He’s not the brightest person in the world, but that gives him an idea. In his mind, Mondstadt isn't the whole region, it's just the city. So outside of the city... If he gets you outside of the city, then, it'll be ok to do anything he wants right? Yes, that makes a lot of sense to him.

So as your days together draw to a close, he asks for one more thing. He visited you so much. Can you come visit him, just once? He wants to show you his home. It'll be fun, you think, you'd genuinely like that. So you smile and agree. You have no reason not to.

[specialagentsergio]

baby kiss it better

summary: When D.C. implements a lockdown order, you and Spencer decide to quarantine together. There’s just one problem—he’s working from home, and his coworkers don’t know about you.

pairing: spencer reid x gn!reader

category: fluff

content warnings: a few swear words, but otherwise it’s just fluff

a/n: ahh, the secret partner trope. how i love it. this is set in 2020, but with the season 5 cast! i was feeling particularly self-indulgent, so i made reader a night shift worker. this is for you, fellow night owls. stay safe out there everyone, and wear a mask!

a/n 2: i don’t actually know what a doctor or physical therapist would recommend for spencer’s knee injury. this is just going on my basic understanding of anatomy (i took a class in it this fall!) and what i've seen on grey’s anatomy lol.

word count: 2.2k

masterlist

Spencer tries not to grimace as he shifts in his chair. Working from home during the lockdown had initially seemed like it came at a great time, starting just a month after his knee injury. Sure, he wasn’t thrilled about having to do almost everything digitally, but at least he wouldn’t have to worry about being mobile.

Unfortunately, that had turned out to be a downside. Tethered to his seat by headphones, he hasn’t been able to get up and stretch his leg properly, and as a result, is experiencing more pain.

It’s only 8:30, but he can already feel it flaring up. It’s been happening earlier every day, likely due to the existing irritation from the day before. Today is Thursday, and he’s miserable—he dreads to think of what tomorrow will be like.

He’s wondering if there’s some way he could get out of work tomorrow when he hears the sound of the front door being unlocked. He looks up to see you pushing the door open with your shoulder, carrying far too many grocery bags than is reasonable.

“Be careful!” he exclaims, watching as you teeter to the side a little. You just wave him off and close the door with your heel.

Working from home may not have been the positive he was expecting it to be, but you’ve more than made up for it. The two of you had decided to quarantine together, and he’s really loved having you around. Granted, you’ve only been here since Sunday, but he’s starting to think that this is going to end with him asking you to move in with him for good.

He hears a thunk as you dump all the groceries on the kitchen table. Then you’re back in the living room, taking off your mask as you walk by so you can blow him a kiss. He presses his knuckles to his mouth to hide his smile.

Usually you give him a proper cheek or forehead kiss when you get home, but the team doesn’t know about you yet. It’s not that he’s necessarily keeping you a secret, he just... likes having you to himself, and he doesn’t really want it to change just yet.

He’s also not looking forward to the pitch Garcia’s voice is going to hit when she finds out he’s been dating someone for over a year without telling her.

“Are you listening, Reid?” Hotch’s voice makes Spencer focus back in on the screen.

“Oh, y-yeah. Yeah, of course. Um, I was just thinking that this choice of rope to bind the victims is interesting.” He doles out a few facts about it, which seems to do an adequate job of convincing everyone that he’s paying attention.

They take a break when the main briefing is over—Jack needs something from Hotch and Sergio has apparently knocked something breakable off of Emily’s kitchen counter. He slides his headphones off and mutes his mic. Apparently that’s a cue you’ve been waiting for, because only a few moments later you’re placing a mug of tea on his desk.

“Green tea,” you say. “Might help reduce the inflammation in your knee.” Then you’re lifting his foot off the small stool it’s resting on and sliding another pillow under it so his leg is more elevated.

“Wh—“ he starts, but you’re already hurrying back into the kitchen. You come back with a baggie of ice wrapped in a dishtowel in your hands, which you place it gently on top of his knee.

“Twenty minutes on, twenty minutes off,” you say. “Then repeat with heat instead, like your physical therapist said. I’ll get the heating pad from the bedroom.”

“Hey, wait.” Spencer snags your wrists before you can walk away again. “How’d you know it was hurting?”

“Oh, I always know,” you reply. “You should have realized that by now.”

He thinks on that as you leave to get the heating pad, sipping his tea. You do always seem to just know, whether he’s in physical pain, a bad case is bothering him, or even if he’s just in a bad mood and doesn’t know why himself.

Not a day goes by where he doesn’t feel incredibly lucky to have you in his life.

“I’m leaving it by this outlet behind you. Have you been doing your stretches?”

He bites his lip, hesitating because he knows you won’t like the answer. But he doesn’t have to say it; you can tell from his expression.

“Spencer. You know you need to be doing them.”

“I know, I do,” he insists. “I just... can’t really get up and do them with these headphones.”

You raise an eyebrow. “Okay, so take them off. Your laptop has speakers.”

“But I don’t want to disturb you,” he protests. Since you work the night shift, you sleep during the day, usually heading to bed around 11 AM. He doesn’t want the noise from the Zoom calls to keep you up. Much like the bullpen in the FBI building, the calls can get rowdy.

“You won’t,” you assure. “I’ll just shut the bedroom door.”

“I guess that works,” he relents. “But I feel weird getting up and stretching in front of everyone. Like, wouldn’t that be disruptive?”

You sigh. “Spencer, I understand it’ll make you self-conscious, but you want full mobility in your knee again, right?”

“Yeah, I do, I get it,” he says sullenly, looking down into his mug. “I need to do the stretches if I want it to heal well.”

“Hey.” You take one of his hands and squeeze it. “I’m not trying to annoy you. I just want you to get better and be in less pain. I don’t like to see you hurting.”

“You’re not annoying me. I guess I’m just... not really used to being taken care of,” he admits quietly.

“Well, I’m gonna fix that.”

The confidence in your voice makes him unable to hold back a smile. “Alright.”

You smile back. “Is there anything else I can do?”

Spencer’s about to tell you that you’ve done plenty when an idea strikes him. He tilts his head to the side. “Well, there is something.”

“Yes?”

“There’s some research—nothing too substantial, but still some—that says kisses can help relieve pain,” he says.

You laugh, but it’s not unkind. “Oh, so you want me to kiss it better?”

“Yeah,” he murmurs, glancing away shyly.

“Okay, then.” You tuck his hair behind his ear and press a kiss to his forehead. “Better?” you ask softly.

He hums. “Better.”

“Good.” You stand back up and stretch. “Well, I’ll be awake for a few more hours, so let me know if you need anything.”

“I will.”

Spencer puts his headphones back on—he wants to wait to unplug them until you go to bed to spare you from hearing anything gruesome—and looks back at the screen to find Morgan, Emily, JJ, and Garcia staring him down. Rather hesitantly, he unmutes his mic and asks, “What?”

Emily is grinning—she looks the more awake than she has all morning. “Is there anything you wanna tell us?” she asks.

“Yeah, Spence,” JJ chimes in, “any new developments in your life?”

“I don’t—” he starts, then it hits him like a truck. He remembered to mute his mic, but the camera was still on. Clearly, they all saw you kiss his forehead. He barely stops himself from hitting his head against the table; he covers his face with his hands instead and groans.

“Isn’t the whole point of all this that we stay away from other people?” Morgan asks, and Spencer doesn’t have to look up to know that Derek has a shit-eating grin on his face.

“People outside of your household,” he corrects without thinking.

“Oh my god!” Garcia shrieks and he winces, pulling the headphones off out of instinct. He’s not the only one—JJ jumps and yanks her earbuds out, and Derek lifts one side of his headphones away from his ear. Spencer hesitantly copies him, putting one half of his headphones back on.

“Jesus, Pen, you scared the shit out of Sergio,” Emily’s saying.

“Sorry, I’m so sorry,” she says, then turns her attention completely to Spencer. “Boy wonder. You’re living with someone and I’m just now hearing about it?”

“I mean, you never asked,” he points out.

“Well, I didn’t think I’d have to!” she huffs. “You usually tell your friends if you’re seeing someone new, let alone living with them!”

“You do, maybe. Emily and I don’t,” he says.

Emily herself shrugs. “Good point. Fair enough, Reid.”

“Besides, we’re not living together,” he continues, “We’re quarantining together.”

“Right, because that’s such a big difference,” JJ teases. He glares at her in return.

Rossi returns to his desk before Penelope can start bombarding Spencer with questions. But there’s no reprieve for him—the man takes one look around and knows something’s up. “Okay, what’s going on?” he asks.

“We just found out pretty boy has a partner,” Morgan sing-songs before Spencer can say anything.

“Oh really?”

“Yeah.”

“And he didn’t tell any of us!” Garcia adds.

Spencer groans again and presses the heels of his hands into his eyes. “This is exactly why I didn’t say anything,” he mutters.

A knocking sound draws his attention away from the call. You’re standing in the bedroom doorway, your hand resting on the doorframe. “You okay?” you ask. “I just heard you groan.”

Spencer mutes his mic again and then leans over so he’s out of the camera’s frame. “They found out,” he sighs.

“Found out what?”

“Found out about... you.”

Realization crosses your face. “They saw me kissing you better?”

“Yeah. I forgot the camera was still on,” he says sheepishly.

“Well, it was bound to happen eventually.” You make your way over to him and take the ice off his knee. “It’s been twenty minutes, by the way.”

“Thanks. So, um...” He picks up the fidget toy you bought him when he was going stir-crazy in the hospital and starts messing with it. “What do you wanna do about this?”

“Whatever you’re most comfortable with,” you reply immediately.

“Okay, good answer,” he says. “But I actually want to know how you feel about this.”

“Well, I’m fine with meeting them, even if it’s just over Zoom. But if you’d rather wait, I’m fine with that, too. Really,” you add when he raises an eyebrow.

“Okay, well.” Spencer looks back at the screen. Hotch has returned now, and even though he can’t hear anything, it’s clear they’re all waiting on him. Best to just do this now, he thinks, otherwise I’ll be hearing about it all day. “How would you feel about meeting them right now?”

You blink. “Um, okay. So long as you don’t mind me looking like I was up all night, because, you know... I was.”

“You look fine,” he reassures. “Uh, just stay put for a second. Let me ask if this is okay.”

He readjusts to sit in his chair properly. He starts to put his headphones back on, but you unplug them so you can hear what’s happening.

“You ready to continue, Reid?” Hotch asks. It’s business as usual with him—if he was told what happened earlier, Spencer can’t tell.

“Well, actually,” he starts, and nervousness bubbles up in his chest. He glances up and you give him a reassuring smile. “Actually, I was wondering if I could introduce you guys to someone first?”

Garcia squeals. “Ooh, sir, please say yes!”

“Just keep it quick,” Hotch says. He didn’t even hesitate—they totally told him.

Spencer takes a deep breath, then gestures for you to come over. You seem a little nervous as well, but you handle it well, walking around the desk and into the frame. “Oh, we should have gotten you something to sit on,” he laments when you lean over the back of his chair.

“It’s fine.” You drape your arms around his shoulders and adjust so your head is on the same level as his. It’s silent for a moment, then you say, “Well, introduce me, silly.”

“Oh!” He clears his throat, trying to ignore the heat he feels in his cheeks. “Um, this is (Y/N). My... my partner.”

The call explodes with greetings, everyone talking over each other. “Slow down, slow down,” Spencer pleads. This is all overwhelming enough—he doesn’t need any excess stimuli.

Once it settles, everyone takes their turn introducing themselves (you already know who they all are, though, as he’s told you so much about them). Then you field a few questions—what you do for work, how you met, what your favorite food is (that was Rossi—Spencer suspects that he wants to know for the first dinner party he can hold after quarantine is over).

It’s going well. Everyone seems to like you, and you’re getting by just fine. Until Garcia asks her question, that is.

“So, (Y/N), how long has boy wonder been keeping you a secret from us?”

Both of you tense. “Uh, you know what, I’ll let him answer that,” you say quickly. “It’s just about time for me to go to bed.”

“Wha—no. No, it’s not. It’s just barley past nine,” Spencer protests.

“Yeah, I’m really tired. I’m gonna try and get some extra sleep today.” You give a little wave. “It was nice meeting you all.”

“Don’t leave me,” he whispers desperately. “Not with that question.”

You feign a yawn. “Sorry, I’m just too tired.”

He watches you go back to the bedroom with a pout.

“Well?” Garcia insists when he looks back at her.

Spencer cringes and preemptively lowers his computer volume.

---------------

tell me what you thought here!

[hey-there-love]

Apologize

Summary: Friday nights don’t have to be lame when Katsuki Bakugo is involved.

Content Warnings: Aged up, NSFW, 18+, Fem oral receiving, penetration, slight anal play, slight dacryphilia, slight spit play, choking, AU, Adult Language, Enter at your own risk.

WC: 3.1K

It was a boring Friday night alone. You were lost in one of your many textbooks studying for a big test on Monday when your phone notified that you had a snapchat. Assuming it was from your roommate Mina, who should have been busy with work, you grabbed your phone.

It was from Katsuki Bakugo. You rolled your eyes and threw your phone onto the pillow. Bakugo was your on and off again friend with benefits. On and off meaning you saw him when it was convenient to Bakugo and Bakugo only. Sadly, you came back each time because you genuinely liked the guy...

Plus it was the best sex of your life.

It was an unfortunate situation to say the least. In the moment when you were with him you were satisfied, but as you got back home you craved more. You were both alike in many ways. Rough around the edges, but soft once you opened up. Goal oriented, focused on your schooling and your futures. A fucked up sense of humor that matched toe to toe. You both came to a mutual agreement that you were meant to be friends early on, but lately you longed for more.

The thing about your situationship with Bakugo was on the rocks since he canceled on you a few nights ago to go out with his friends. Granted you didn’t owe each other anything, but canceling last minute really pissed you off.

After a few minutes of pondering about the Snapchat, you went against your better judgement and opened it.

Bakugo: What are you doing?

You sucked your teeth and debated on messaging him back. Tentatively you set your phone down, deciding to give him a taste of his own medicine and leaving him on read. You stuck your nose back in your textbook. About 10 minutes of note taking had passed and your phone had went off again. You glared and looked at the message.

Bakugo: Don’t ignore me shitty woman.

Your body fluttered. The part of your body that did was undetermined though. You scraped your brain of something wity to say back.

Y/N: What do you need? You’re interrupting my hot date.

He responded instantly, almost as if he was awaiting your response.

Bakugo: An actual date or your hand because you know I’m better than both.

You swallowed the lump that had formed in the back of your throat. He wasn’t exactly wrong. Bakugo was far more experienced in the handiwork than you were, but that’s exactly what a vibrator was for. You snapped a picture of the textbook in your lap and captioned it.

Y/N: His name is Pearson’s Guide to Anatomy and we’re madly in love.

At this point you gave up on studying because you were clearly distracted and laid down. Your message sat on delivered for a few minutes before he finally opened it. This time it was a picture. You looked at instantly. He snapped a picture of his roommate Kirishima grinning in front of the stove with a spatula in his hand.

Bakugo: Come eat and before you say no it wasn’t a question.

You fought the battle inside your brain. You were still pretty upset with him, but you hadn’t ate since breakfast so you were hungry. Plus...sex of course. You opted to send him a short message.

Y/N : Gimme 30 minutes asshole.

Bakugo replied with the thumbs up emoji and sent you into action. You had just taken a shower and thankfully something told you to shave your legs. You brushed your teeth quickly and brushed your hair back into a tight pony tail. Everything you needed was already in your purse. A toothbrush, a pair of underwear, deodorant, a few condoms, a charger, and body spray. ( AN: I always recommend keeping a mini spendanight bag in your purse just in case :) )

You spent a few minutes deciding what to wear before putting on a black lace bra and matching underwear. You opted for a pair of black sweats and long sleeve shirt. It was a little chilly out so you threw on a hoodie. Deciding you were finally ready you sent a message to Mina, alerting her of your absence.

Mina: Wear protection! ;) I get off at 2 if you need a ride home.

You laughed at your best friend’s response and began the short walk to Bakugo’s. There was a little bit of day light left so it was easy to navigate through his neighborhood.

Pretty soon you were standing in front of his building. You pressed the buzzer. Kirishima’s sing song voice sounded through the speaker. “Whooooo is it?” Clearly he knew it was you.

“Kiri let me in! I’m freaking freezing.” You whinned.

“That’s not the passworddddd.” He chided, laughing.

“Let her in dumbass.” You heard Bakugo growling in the background.

“Hey!” Kirishima cried and the door buzzed. You rode the elevator up to the third floor. You rasped on the front door. It was opened abruptly by Kirishima who rubbed the back of his head cautiously.

“Let me guess, he smacked you didn’t he?” You pondered and gave him a side hug.

“Yeah and it wasn’t very manly of him either.” He sighed and hugged you back.

“Keep it up and I’ll do it again, Shitty Hair.” Bakugo called from the kitchen. You shook your head and ruffled his hair.

Kirishima grinned and whispered in your ear, “I’m glad your here, he’s been in a mood all day.” You blushed majorly and looked down as he trailed off into the kitchen. It wasn’t a secret to your friend group what you and Bakugo were. Kirishima and Mina had walked in on you two multiple times, but it still wasn’t embarrassing.

You removed your shoes and padded into the kitchen. The aroma of deliciousness hit your nose instantly. Your stomach grumbled. “See I knew you were hungry.” Bakugo said finishing up the stir fry.

Your wrapped your arms around his waist tightly and laid your head on his back. “Shut up and feed me.” You mumbled.

“You want dinner or desert first?” He replied and rubbed your arm as he mixed up the food in the pan.

“Who said you were getting desert?”

“Please guys! Not infront of the stir fry! It’s innocent!” Kirishima groaned and shoved you two out of the way deciding it was done.

You both shot him a glare as he happily loaded his plate up with food. Bakugo fixed your plate and handed it to you. The three of you sat down on the couch in front of the tv. Kirishima put on a series he just started. You began to chatter about the show in between bites. Pretty soon you were done eating and he gave you a synopsis. Bakugo took your plates to the kitchen.

“Hold on wait, so wait. If he’s an international criminal why did he just turn himself in like that to help the agent?” You questioned, clearly enthralled by the show.

“That’s what I’m trying to figure out! There’s literally 7 seasons of this! I need answers.” Kirishima agreed.

“Bro what if that’s his like secretly his daughter? Like it makes sense why he’s so connected to her and protects her.” You said excitedly, slapping his leg.

“Dude. That actually makes hella sense.” He replied. Bakugo quietly sat down next to you and began to stroke your lower back, signaling it was time to retreat to his bedroom. You looked up at him with pleading eyes to finish the episode. He rolled his eyes and moved his hand to the back of the couch.

Pretty soon the credits rolled at the end of the episode. “I’m going to bed.” Bakugo announced and stood up.

“Ugh, lame.” Kirishima huffed. Bakugo walked into his bedroom without a word, leaving you two on the couch. You both looked at each other and shrugged.

“I’m definitely going to start watching whenever I get home. Text me about it tomorrow yeah?” You asked making your way to the room.

“For sure!” He called after you as you shut the door. You set your bag down next to the bed and sat down to check your phone. You heard the sink running and then the bathroom door opened revealing a shirtless Bakugo. Grey sweatpants hung off of his hips.

You licked your lips slightly as he turned off the lights and slinked to the bed. A candle faintly flicked in the corner, giving a slight orange glow to the room. “Damn that was like pulling teeth, Y/N” he said and laid down next to you.

“What? You weren’t interested in the show? It was good.” You replied, feeling your pulse quicken as he looked up at you through his lashes.

“I’ve been interested in something else for the past hour.” Bakugo sighed and wrapped his strong arm around your waist, pulling you towards him.

“And what would that be exactly?” You questioned and leaned back into the pillows. He quickly moved ontop of you and hovered over your lips.

“Getting inbetween your thighs.” He whispered. You sucked in a breath before his lips landed on yours. It was slow at first. Sweet closed mouth kisses turned into a passionate tongues mingling together. One of your hands began to run its way through his hair while the other traced the expanse of his bare back.

He groaned into your mouth and you pulled his hair lightly. His hand caressed up your neck until it grabbed your jaw holding you in place. Bakugo began to slowly grind against your sweet spot. Causing you to grow wetter than you already were. His freehand began to explore your body, running along your stomach and up to your bra.

Moans escaped as he began to stroke your nipple through the fabric. He lifted you up from the bed and removed your hoodie and shirt in a swift motion, throwing it somewhere off the bed. You weren’t too concerned at the moment of the location. The hand that gripped your jaw made its way down to your neck as he delicately squeezed the side of your throat.

He kissed down your neck until he made it to the area were your breast pooled ontop of your bra. He began to suck on the revealed flesh before pulling it down to free them. “You’ve got such nice tits, babygirl.” Bakugo growled and took a nipple into his mouth.

You mewled at the praise. He began to nip and suck at it, making sure to tweak and pinch the other in the same fashion. You bucked your hips to meet his, adding more friction to the equation. A few moments passed before he began trail down to the hem of your sweatpants.

Bakugo worked diligently sliding them down your legs before laying in between your thighs. You locked eyes as he started to speak, completely in a trance. “Allow me to formally apologize for canceling on you before.” You nodded slowly. He smiled devilishly and kissed your inner thighs.

The teasing was unreal. It made you so hot that you knew your panties were soaked. He planted a light kiss to your clothed clit. Using his index finger he stroked your pussy vertically with the tip. “You smell so good, Y/N. I can’t wait to taste you.” Bakugo growled. He pulled your panties to the side and slipped the finger in. You instantly clenched around him as he began to pump the tip teasingly.

You were a mess. The strokes were torchous, your mind swirled. “Look at you, grabbing my fucking finger and it’s barely even there.” You loved how vocal he was. He slowly pulled his digit out before entering it again, this time deeper inside you. Your juices cascaded down his hand.

“Shit.” Bakugo cursed and tore your underwear off. You were much too distracted to even worry about your thong being shredded. He added a second finger into the mix. He curled them up inside you, finding the spongy spot that sent you crazy.

Removing his fingers he held them up to the light, entranced by the stringy substance that coated them. “Open your mouth.” He demanded. You did as you were told, no questions asked. Bakugo inserted the two into your mouth. You swirled your tongue around and inbetween then, collecting your slick. He groaned as you sucked and bit down.

His mouth attacked your clit promptly. It was a relief you craved. There was no kitten licks about it. His tongue did figure 8’s around your cunt. You were a moaning mess, saying his name without a care in the world that Kirishima could hear you. Then he did something foreign that you never experienced before. His tongue trailed down your pussy until it found your tight, puckered hole.

You weren’t quite sure what was going on, but in the moment it didn’t matter. Bakugo had your trust completely and he knew it. He didn’t go too far though, just kissing and licking it slightly before focusing his attention back on your throbbing pussy. He plunged the two fingers into your hole again, but this time he fucked it.

The lewd sounds that came from your cunt were enough to make you blush. His free hand flew up to your pelvis and began to gently press down causing pressure. “You hear how loud your cunt is babygirl? You sound like your enjoying it.” Bakugo called. He bit down harshly on your thigh.

“Please Bakugo, please fuck me.” You begged, wrapping your leg around his shoulder.

“That’s not what you should call me Y/N. What’s my name?” He slowed down his pumps, but kept the pressure, making the pleasure the same level of intensity as before.

“Katsuki please!” You cried out. He grinned as you.

“I’m sorry Y/N, but I’m not done apologizing yet.” You threw your head back against the pillows as his mouth attacked you once more. His pace began to speed up again. You felt his fingers scissoring inside of you. Your release barreled towards you.

“I’m about to cum.” You whimpered, pushing his head closer to your cunt. His fingers pumped faster than before, hitting your g-spot every time. Your orgasm washed over you promptly as you moaned his name. Your once rigid body melted against the bed. You felt Bakugo climb up your body.

He grabbed your face and made you open your mouth. He spit the saliva and cum mixed fluid into your mouth before running his hand over your breasts again. You were putty and under his mercy.

“Still want me to fuck your brains out?” Bakugo questioned as he stroked himself through his sweats.

“Please.” You breathed out. He chuckled and stood up, removing his pants. His dick sprang free and slapped against his stomach. Precum pooled around the tip. He pulled a condom out of the drawer on the bed side table.

He noticed you staring at him, “See something you like?” Bakugo questioned as he rolled the condom onto his cock. You nodded sheepishly and spread your legs. He shook his head and then nestled inbetween your legs again as he kissed your lips sweetly. He began to rub the tip against your sensitivity, making you jump at the sensation.

“I’ll go slow this time, I promise.” Bakugo kissed your forehead and gently pressed into you, giving you inch by inch. You both hissed until he sank himself fully in your heat. “Shit, you’re always so tight for me baby.” He moaned rested his head on yours.

He began to thrust slowly allowing you to adjust to the pain. Bakugo was not small in the slightest, so you were grateful at the pace he set. He buried his head into your shoulder as profanities escaped his lips. “Fuck, Katsuki. You fill me up so good.” You moaned, scratching his back lightly.

This encouraged him to increase his speed, grinding his hips into yours until he filled you to the hilt. “You are mine. You’ll always fucking be mine Y/N.” He growled, nipping at your collarbone. The declaration made your heart soar, but it also gave you a sinking feeling in the back of your mind.

Bakugo threw your legs over his shoulders as he drilled deep into you. You felt tears prick in your eyes at the sensation as another orgasm began to build. He grasped your face, “Look me in the eyes when you cum because I know you’re close.” You nodded quickly. Tears flowed freely as your mouth hung open. The next orgasm hit you like a brick wall. You were pretty sure you screamed his name that time, but you couldn’t be too sure.

Once your body calmed down Bakugo pulled out, flipped you over onto your stomach and pulled your ass into the air. He slammed back into you. You attempted to jerk forward, but he gripped your hips tight. A loud smack landing against your ass for trying to run away.

You felt his warm saliva drip down to your puckered hole before he used his thumb to swirl it around. Unintentionally, you jerked again. He paused his actions. “You trust me right?” Bakugo panted and rubbed your cheek delicately.

“Yes, of course.” You whinned at the loss of rhythm. Another slap landed on you cheek.

“Okay, run away again,” he stated, “I’m fucking your ass.” That caused you to remain absolutely still. Granted after the experience before you didn’t mind the thought of it, but you we’re too spent for that tonight and you knew Katsuki Bakugo would make good on his promise. He began fucking you again, this time not as rough. He repeated his actions from earlier and teased your ass again before gently pressing his thumb in your tight rear.

You were grateful that you could shove your head into the pillow because the noises that came from you would have woken up the whole building. You mentally reminded yourself to apologize to Kirishima tomorrow. “Shit, I’m really fucking close babygirl.”

“Please Katsuki, please come inside of me.” You moaned, egging him on. That was all it took. His once steady, prominent strokes turned into sloppy thrusts as he filled the condom. Once he steadied, he removed himself as you collapsed. Bakugo rolled the condom off and threw it into the trash before falling in next to you.

You were both panting messes. Once you caught your breath you glanced over at him. “Apology accepted.”

“Shut up, shitty woman.” Bakugo laughed and kissed you cheek.

[mehphoobia]

HERE

Pairing- Tom Hiddleston x Reader (news channel anchor)

Summary- People say falling in love can be a scary experience. Well, that scary experience for you had a different meaning for you.

Warnings- blood, horror, mystery, thriller, suspense (I suggest get a water bottle for yourself)

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"Susan Hive, another 25 y/o was found dead in her apartment approximately at 10:00 am today. Who is the mastermind behind these brutal murders? the mystery is still with the police to crack. The only witness in the case are the walls of the apartment which are covered in parts of human anatomy never seen before just like the other five murders. This is Y/N of NewsToday with cameraperson David on scene." You sighed after finishing your report and looked at the crime scene. The camera person packed his camera and headed towards the van as he couldn't handle the stench. With ripples on your forehead you contemplated your decision. Should you or should you not tell the officers.

But soon you let aside your dilemma. These were brutal murder cases that had everyone shook.

And you had a lead to follow.

"Who are you?" you whispered as you sat in your chair staring at the photo of the deceased Susan Hive with a man. The face was not visible as he wore a black hat and a black overcoat. "Typical" you said gesturing his attire, which was straight out of a murder mystery. Unfortunately, the officers couldn't find him. But the lead you had could directly deliver this man to you.

"North House please" explaining the address to the taxi driver, you couldn't miss his expressions. "You want to go to the North House?" he asked you with genuine concern. "If you are not comfortable, you can just drop me near the curb" you suggested understanding his hesitation. Reluctantly he drove the taxi and there you were. Standing outside the hospital for mental patients. "How much will it be?" asking the driver for the fare you rummaged through your purse.

"I will wait here miss. You can pay me later" he said. Of course, the deaths in this hospital would scare anyone. But you weren't here for the suicides, you were here for the murders.

"I am here to see someone. A Mrs. Hill." you spoke confidentially to the receptionist. "For an investigation, are we?" the receptionist questioned. "It's confidential" you replied with knitted eyebrows. "oh! of course it is." she chuckled.

The receptionist accompanied you to Mrs. Hill's room. She was the oldest patient, who had been in the hospital for for around thirty years. Every patient, every staff member; she had seen for herself. "Are you here for the investigation for Susan Hive?" the receptionist questioned. Your head whipped faster than the wings of a bee. "You knew her?" you enquired. "Yes, I knew all five of them. They were interning under me." she answered.

"Janice Dean" her ID card read. "Of course" you murmured. Ten days back you had found one of the victim's case file from the officers which had something in common. North House, all three of them worked here and now so did Susan Hive.

"Don't worry I won't bug her too much" putting a and on Ms. Dean's shoulder you reassured her. She offered you a tired smile. With that she unlocked the door and you saw Mrs. Hill sitting on her chair.

"He killed another one didn't he?" she enquired in her shaky voice as if she knew it was going to happen. "Yeah. Do you know you he is?" trying to keep your posture, you asked. "No, but I have seen him." she replied. "Black eyes which weren't even his. Long hair which covered his face and the cuts." "Everyone thought, something was wrong in his head. They tried all kinds of medicines but none of them worked. He kept screaming and yelling every day. It would echo you know. The screams. Other patients could feel it too. But the doctors didn't know something." she explained but suddenly trailed off.

"He was possessed" she declared.

"How did he get out. I mean the patient like--" "Demon" she corrected. "We saw a body lying in his room. We thought its him. He had cuts all over his face so it was recognizable. The post mortem reports found out it was one of our doctors. He escaped as his disguise." explained Ms. Dean.

You couldn't get the fact out of your head as you stepped outside the hospital. With quivering hands, you opened the taxi's door. Looking at your condition, the driver ran to the opposite side of the street and bought you a water bottle. "You should go home miss." the driver suggested. "Beverly Hills Apartments please". The driver nodded and drove you home.

Maybe you should tell the police. It was not your job to go after the killer. Of course it would be one of the biggest news article for your company but this, its not worth it. Just then your phone rang. All of that tension and weird feeling in your chest was replaced by a sense of comfort. It was Tom.

"Hey babe! dinner's ready, when are you coming home?" he asked in his cheerful voice. You chuckled and said, "I started right now. Is my kitchen all right?" you mocked. "Uh..sort of. I'll help you clean though" he replied like a child caught doing something wrong. It was comforting to have him in your life. Amidst all of this, he was the exact person you needed. "Love you honey" you said unexpectedly. He could sense your uneasiness and knew your line of work. It can be terrifying sometimes. "Love you too..Hey, I am right here." he said immediately putting a smile on your face.

You met him three years ago. How boring can news conferences be? it was something you knew very well. But it was a little bit tolerable when a hot shot investigating officer suddenly made his way to you. Tom and you immediately clicked. As if you were meant to be. One date led to another and suddenly he started picking you up from your work almost every single day. You remembered he had proposed on your cruise date which had you in complete awe. How could you say no to such a perfect man. His beautiful eyes which were a perfect peek to your universe, his warm embrace and how he fit in your life perfectly made it so much easier. He made it easier.

The sudden nostalgia calmed your nerves and you took a deep breath in. Within no time you were home. You leaped out of the taxi, paid the man and ran to your apartment. As you were going to ring the bell, Tom opened the door and picked you up in his arms. Both of you giggled as he kissed you passionately. With your fingers curling in his long wet hair and his arms coiling your waist, you could melt under his effect and you did.

"Tada!! Fish N chips" Tom declared in his voice that he called his disney voice. You chuckled at his endearing self. Both of you couldn't spend enough time with each other with all these murders. He too was tensed but never showed it in front of you. The least you could do was to help him out. You watched your favorite drama as the both of you ate your dinner.

After the chocolate ice-cream, he got up to get the wet wipe to wipe your face which was covered in chocolate. You were gone out cold because of the tiring day. He picked up the plates and noticed you had run out of kitchen soap. "Back in a few" he wrote on a post it and pasted it on the fridge. He wore his black overcoat and decided to forego his phone and left.

"Tom? babe?" you woke up around five minutes and searched the house. Suddenly the post it note grabbed your attention. You chuckled when you saw it and you knew a lot of unwanted things were gonna be purchased. Who could help it, its Walmart after all.

You saw his phone and found his headphones on the table. He would sit on his chair for hours and listen to his music but he never shared them with you. So you grabbed the opportunity and plugged in his headphones.

"19-21-19-1-14 8-9-12-12" the first song read. Then you realized it was a recording. "Mr Hiddleston sings?" you scoffed as you pressed the play button.

"Ahhh" a woman screamed and with that you immediately grabbed the headphones and threw them. "Oh God" you whined as you rubbed your ears. You played all the five recordings and all of them were similar. Screams. Then it hit you. The numbers were different and were too wrong to be dates. WHAT IF?

"19,S,21,U,19,S,1,A,14,N 8,H,9,I,12,L,12,L" you wrote on a piece of paper. "Susan hill?" you gasped. All the other four recordings added up to the all the other four victims. You sat there staring at the paper.

"It took you long enough" Tom spoke from behind you. You flinched as walked away from him. "Did you?" you asked. "The screams, oh my soul was cleansed" he said as he put his hand on his chest. Tears were rolling down your cheeks as you looked at his face. He was in content, in peace. "Why did you kill them? What had they done to you?" you enquired.

"THEY LAUGHED!!" he yelled. Your eyes widened as you looked at him. It wasn't your Tom, it was someone else.

He was possessed.

"They fucking laughed when I was being experimented on. I cried for help but they were too busy laughing. Fucking bitches" he scoffed. "You know when I made cuts on their skin how peaceful it felt. Slowly, deeply I dragged my knives on their skins and watching them slowly dying because of the pain. So good. They were the ones who cried and screamed and I was the one who laughed." He was a maniac explaining his masterplan. Little did he know everything he said, you were recording it all.

"You think you can run away with it?" you mocked trying to make him spill out. "How will they know Y/N? I am the chief investigating officer." he ran the tip of his fingers on your cheeks. But you didn't waver, he was a demon. "All this time I have been trying to erase all the evidence" he spoke as he turned his back on you.

"But you?" he turned and walked towards you. He bought his face closer to your neck and kissed your neck. If it were any other day, your eyes would slowly close themselves as he would press you against the surface. But today there was nothing but tears. "You are my favorite. I can't leave any witnesses. But don't worry, your screams will live in my recordings. You know how much I love making you scream now don't you my love?" He laughed sheepishly.

THUD THUD. The bang on the door grabbed his attention. He looked at you made a sign with a finger in his lips. Was this the man you loved? Who was he? You thought as you looked at him slowly unlocking the door.

"Ahh LEAVE ME GET OFF" he yelled in surprised as the police officers pinned him on the floor. Slowly you got your phone in front of him which you were hiding behind you and showed him the 911 number. The officers dragged him away but his hooded eyes would not leave your soul.

Two days later, while clearing his room. You found a notebook with all the five victim's name on it which was struck of with a red marker and also five knives covered in dried blood. "Why?" you whimpered as tears made their way down your cheeks. Your company had printed one of the biggest hit ever and were at the top. You were promoted and were appreciated by everyone but at what cost? You were scarred for life.

Back in the North House, Mrs Hill was sitting on her chair as the receptionist were cleaning her room. "Oh no" Mrs Hill exclaimed. "What is it Nana?" enquired Ms. Dean. "Y/N call her!! NOW"

Something was going to happen.

At the prison cell, all the officers were in havoc as one of the security guard was found dead in Tom's prison cell. Hysterical laughs and water droplets echoed through the hallway as Y/N was written on the wall and was struck of by the dead security guards' blood.

You were sleeping when Ms. Dean called you. "Hello" you spoke in your grumpy voice, the sleeping pills were slowly kicking in. "T-TOM!" her line was cut because of the heavy rain. Just then you got a message that Tom had escaped.

"What? where did he go?" you murmured to yourself and then you heard it. The hysterical laughter and the sound of the recording button being pushed.

"I am right here my love" he said.

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A/N: Hey guys, here is my first Tom Hiddleston fic. For the those of you who don't know me personally I am a contemporary dancer and this fiction I had seen being performed on the stage. I loved the suspense and I loved writing it even more. Writing this was a challenge and it was a wonderful experience and I hope you all like this as well.😘

Tom Hiddleston is such a versatile actor and just fits in any character which is the main reason why I love him so much. It was very easy for me to visualize his demeanor in this character and I tried my level best converting it into words. Let me know what you think about this fic.😃

REQUESTS OPEN | MASTERLIST

My requests are open. So ahead and check my masterlist and send me your plots.

Love yourself...you are worth it❣❣

[writing-in-april]

The Melody Lives On

Spencer Reid x Gender Neutral Reader

Summary: Seeing Spencer after so long apart makes past feelings come to the surface again.

A/N: Hey heyy 🥰 this is my third fic for my 1250 follower celebration!! It was based on a request that @imagining-in-the-margins passed along to me- if you want to see a photo of the original request it’ll be on the follower celebration Masterlist! It’s got vague references to the prison arc and is also inspired by Grey’s Anatomy 🥰 Thank you to @lexieshuntingsstuff for getting me back to realizing how much I love Grey’s 😊 Thanks for reading, hope you enjoy, and requests are open!

Warnings: Nothing I guess- unless vague references to the prison arc bother you

Main Masterlist Word Count: 2.2k

“Dr. Y/L/N to conference room A please. Dr. Y/L/N to conference room A please. ” Came through the intercom. I was sitting in the hospital cafeteria munching on crackers while reading a book that I honestly wasn’t paying that much attention to because of how dead tired I was. I couldn’t stifle the groan that escaped me, I didn’t want my first break in what seemed like forever to be cut short.

Besides the fact that my bones and muscles ached I willed my body to move out of my chair despite it’s very prominent protests. There was a line of attending that led outside the conference room, I guess I had been the only one they had forgotten to get the memo out too.

Karev then came up behind me with just as much of a quizzical look on his face as mine and the rest of the attendings- I guess no one knew why we were here.

The only hint that the rest of us got to what was going on inside was when Arizona left the room and said it was some sort of FBI interrogation before she scurried off back towards peds.

As the line dwindled down to just me and Karev with Meredith in the room my mind started to wander to the person that I knew that happened to be in the FBI. Well- I guess I didn’t know him anymore, it had been a decade plus since I had seen him.

Of course said person that I happened to be thinking about happened to be in the room.

As soon as I saw his fluffy hair memories came flooding back. He looked so different now, more mature. But, I could clearly tell who it was; it was Spencer.

We had met just as I had been starting my first year of college. At first I had assumed he was the same, a freshman. Then I had learned that he was actually already on his second PHD- which had been in mathematics if my memory serves me well.

I had admittedly gawked at him at first like so many had done to him as well when they found out about his vast valleys of intellect that seemed to go on forever. When I had asked him to tutor me in my own mathematics course it was for the sole reason of bumping up the grade I had let slip. That was until I had gotten to know the sweet boy who was almost a man, though his baby face definitely did try to fight that fact. Guilt had immediately cropped up within me once I realized how much of a fool I was to not want to get to know him deeper than just the ‘child prodigy’ that everyone knew him as. He was one of the nicest people I had ever had the pleasure to come across, plus his bountiful knowledge made conversations with him extremely riveting to say the least. I remember apologizing to him profusely that first night, that was the first time I had gotten the chance to see the true extent of how sweet his kind eyes could be.

What had first been a simple somewhat feigned friendship to get a good tutor turned into the closest friendship that I had ever had. That close friendship had eventually turned into a romantic relationship one that in my opinion rivaled any of the great classic love stories.

Unfortunately, fate is rarely kind to lovers and what had once been sweet turned sour. It wasn’t any one of our faults, I knew that. But, my blossoming career as a surgeon led me to get an internship in Seattle while Spencer was led to the front steps of the FBI.

Every time I thought back on it I bitterly laughed at the irony of us both being led to Washington, though they were different ones that were on the other sides of the country. I had no animosity towards Spencer and the last time I saw him neither did he. But, the memories stung painfully when looking back on them. They stung even worse when I was faced with the sight of the man who had stolen my heart more than a decade ago and had yet to give it back.

His hair had grown out since I had last seen him, it now curled more around his ears and was much fluffier. The color of his soft curls would make anyone obsessed, mousy brown that shined a little bit of a burnt caramel when the tops of his curls hit the light. He had taken to letting his curls run wild which I had always liked to see when he would wash his hair of the gel he used to religiously put in.

A new addition along with his curls was the scruff he had begun to let grow out a little. When I knew him growing out his scruff a little would’ve been a completely foreign concept to young Spencer. I remember him always complaining about how scratchy it felt when he even let it grow out a little. The scruff also used to seem jarring on his younger face, looking out of place on his boyish face. Now his face definitely suited the scruff.

He had changed a lot indeed, but underneath it all I could still see the Spencer I knew. His eyes held a darkness now that matched well with the fluffy curls and scruff. The darkness that deepened his eyes was attractive for sure, but I wondered what had made the sweet boy become so dark. There was a part of me that wanted to know this Spencer as well, even with the darkness, despite the fact that I hadn’t really known him in so long.

His eyes had been piercing right into my own as I took the sight of him in. Those dark eyes felt like they were reaching right into my soul and hooking their claws in deep to draw me right back into him. Though I can’t say I minded much, being drawn back into Spencer’s warmth sounded like something we may both need.

“Dr.?” One of the men that was in the room with Spencer spoke up to get my attention. They must have been talking while the both of us had zoned out looking at each other.

The older man that spoke to me looked like he may have been a bit too old to work for the FBI. If I didn’t know that Spencer worked for them I would’ve thought Arizona had been pulling our legs when she told us what this was for because Instead of acknowledging the other man I turned back to face Spencer and spoke softly,”It’s good to see you, Spencer.”

“You too.” His voice croaked and was hoarse when he replied. His coworkers looked extremely confused with what was happening, especially the woman with blonde hair that was eyeing me up and down. Though in her position I didn’t blame her, I’m assuming nothing had ever been shared with his coworkers ever since he had joined the FBI about someone that had been in his life all those years ago.

The group of us stood at an awkward standstill for a minute, I was unsure if I was supposed to say anything. I fidgeted a bit uncomfortable with a bunch of eyes fixated directly on me before Spencer decided to speak up to break the tension, “Um- well Y/N- there was a suspect that came here a few weeks ago to possibly find some people that would um- be suitable victims for him.”

I pushed my reminiscing thoughts of Spencer out of my mind just so I could properly answer their questions before hopefully snagging a minute away with him to talk. I wouldn’t lie, seeing him after all these years made my feelings flicker in a way I hadn’t felt in so long. And, it was really nice to hear him say my first name again. He was really the only one to ever make those butterflies in my stomach swell and sparks fly. I had even resigned myself to never feel those wonderful feelings of blossoming love again.

But, perhaps fate had decided to give us a second chance, realizing it had been too cruel to us by pulling us apart.

When the questions ended, which unfortunately I had really been no help to them- the only people that would’ve been able to help with the victims were probably Meredith or maybe Bailey who had been in contact with the poor people who had ended up as victims.

I moved to shuffle out of the room, though I purposefully lingered in hopes of Spencer pulling me aside to speak privately. I didn’t want to do it myself, he was on an important job after all.

My heart skipped a beat when I felt his fingers tentatively wrap his fingers around my wrist. Even from just a soft touch it was evident that his hands were not the same hands that I remembered. They were the same shape, his fingers were just as long and nimble and his palms were just as all encompassing, but there was something different in the way they felt. They felt rougher, covered in more calluses then I would think possible on him. The hands I remembered were baby soft as if they had been untouched by the world. Maybe the calluses were just from him handling the gun I saw strapped to his side, or maybe it was the same thing that had made the rest of him harder.

Even though he was an obviously harder- more damaged man compared to the one I knew I still wanted those callused hands to stroke my cheek again.

The yearning to be with him again had already flickered into a roaring fire just from seeing him with my eyes again and with one soft touch. I didn’t care in the slightest how much the world had changed him. The world had battered and bruised him, probably quite literally from my guess. I wanted to get to know this Spencer, even with the bruises he still filled my stomach full of butterflies and sparked my feelings into a roaring fire exactly like he had done so before.

I turned to face him, a little nervous that he’d tell me that he never wanted to see me again despite the fact that I knew he’d never say that to me no matter how much of a changed man he was.

“Do you want to get a coffee while I’m in town, maybe so we can- um catch up after your shift?” His voice was so soft, almost meek, giving me a little taste of what Spencer had been like and who he still was at his core.

“Yeah I’d like that, Spencer, just have one more surgery and then I’m yours.” His two coworkers that he had come with were giving us both looks like they’d be interrogating Spencer on the ride back. Yeah he definitely had never said anything about me judging by their looks I now cared to look at. I couldn’t blame him, the memories had been painful to look back on myself. But, seeing him now made them tinge with a little bit of sweetness instead of growing more bitter with time.

I pulled out my phone that was in my white jacket pocket and asked, “what’s your number?”

I had his old number memorized by heart easily even after all these years. It was as if I had taken a small portion of Spencer’s eidetic memory just so I could hold onto a number that after over ten years is surely not usable. He gave me his new number with a distinctly D.C area code with a sweet smile on his face. As I left the room to scoot over to the surgery I was due to perform I was sparkling with anticipation- I could almost taste the coffee already.

As I started my last surgery of my long shift, someone turned on the music playlist that I always had on a loop during my surgeries. A song that reminded me of Spencer was the first one that came on the shuffle. It wasn’t one that reminded me of the Spencer I once knew, but the new version of Spencer I had just met.

I focused in on the task at hand just as I always did. Cutting with pristine precision, I worked quickly but diligently. I wanted to get out of here as soon as possible, but I wouldn’t skimp on my work. In the back of my mind I was still giddy like the schoolgirl I had been when I had first met Spencer. I couldn’t wait to get that coffee with him- I wondered if he still liked a gallon of sugar with it. Our first song had ended, but the melody lived on- maybe the melody was strong enough to start another.

—-

Tag list (message me if you want to be added):

All Works:

@shotarosleftpinky @oreogutz @90spumkin @kyra-morningstar @s1utformgg

Spencer Reid/CM:

@calm-and-doctor @destiny-tsukino @safertokiss @slutforthegubes

[winterscaptain]

berry hill.

Aaron Hotchner x Gender Neutral Reader a joyful future fic

a/n: i am so excited to share this one with you. the tropes are PACKED in here, and it was a blast to write. i also realized some time ago that i keep forgetting summaries on my works, so i’m gonna do my best to add those from now on. as always, let me know if there are any mistakes in here! thanks to @writefasttalkevenfaster for helping me today <3  intended for the ‘a joyful future universe,’ but does not require context. takes place in 2011, early season six, prior to the valhalla arc.  words: 12k warnings: language, some vague mention of aaron’s anatomy, alcohol use, when i say slow burn i mean s l o w burn. 

summary: "...and there was only one bed."  - old fanfiction proverb

waldosia (part 2) | absence (part 3) | mean it (part 4)

masterlist | a joyful future masterlist | requests closed! updated: january 5th, 2021

It’s way too late and you know it, but Jack is still on his annual winter vacation with Aunt Jess and the rest of the Brooks clan, so there’s simply no incentive to leave. You’re with Hotch at his desk, kicked back like you own the place, while he sits back in his chair with his hands laced behind his head.

The Montana case wrapped up neatly, and any remaining or incoming paperwork this week is light. Though it is admittedly weird without JJ, Seaver seems to be settling in alright. You’re glad that the team decided to take a chance on her like they did with you. 

“What do you mean he drew on the wall?” You say through a laugh, popping a grape in your mouth. “Are we talking like a crayon mark here and there or a full-on mural.”

“Multi-media mural - glue, paper mache, markers, crayons, you name it and it was there.” He laughs and he takes a grape from your bowl, kicking his feet up on the desk - mirroring you. “I have no idea how he managed it. I was in the house the whole time.”

“Oh my God, he’s a terror!” Before Aaron can agree, your phone starts ringing. You pick it up, smiling as you see the caller ID. 

“Hey Dean!” You stand and give Aaron a ‘sorry, just a second’ finger and step out of the office, leaving the door open behind you. You stay where Aaron can see you, leaning on the rail next to the stairs. You don’t really mean to stay within his eyeline, but it’s habit at this point. 

“Hey babe, I hope I’m not calling too late.” 

“Oh not at all. I’m still in the office with Hotch getting some work done.” 

You catch Hotch’s eye and he mouths ‘Work?’ and you shrug as if to say ‘It’s a loose term.’ He rolls his eyes and steals another one of your grapes. 

“Ah, I see. Late-night work with the hot boss-man.”

You don’t dignify that with a response. “So what’s up?”

He sighs, and you already know what’s coming before he says it. “Something came up at work and I won’t be able to make it to the wedding next week. We’re closing on this huge property in Georgetown and it’s really big for the firm and -“

“It’s okay. I get work stuff, trust me.” And you do. It just fucking sucks. 

“I’m so so sorry to leave you hanging. I know it’s going to be super rough. Maybe one of your work friends can go with you? Maybe boss man? His name’s Aaron, right? Hopscotch or something?” His humor doesn’t make you feel any better, but you promise to keep ‘Hopscotch’ for later.  

You tip your head up to stare at the ceiling and will the tears away from your eyes, blinking them back. “Yeah, I’ll figure it out. None of them knew to ask off work, so if we have a case I’ll be on my own regardless.” 

“I’m so sorry.” 

Two tears fall out of the corner of your eyes, and you turn around, wiping them away. “It’s okay.” 

“I’ll call you day-of to check in, okay?”

Hotch watches you carefully, doing your best to hide your tears from him. Bad news, certainly, but he wishes you wouldn’t hide from him like you do. Or rather, he wishes you wouldn’t try to hide from him like you do. 

He can’t hear the entire conversation, obviously, but he resolves to do what he can to return at least a little of the care you always show him without hesitation, 

“Okay.” You heave an uneven sigh. “I’ll talk to you then... Really - don’t worry about it, it’s fine.” You hang up before he can respond and rest your forearms on the railing. You let your head hang for a second, collecting yourself before you have to face Hotch again. 

You take a deep breath and turn, sitting across from him again. Attempting to restore your good spirits, you kick your feet back up and have another grape. 

Hotch’s voice is quiet. “Everything okay?”

“Yeah,” but your voice breaks. You clear your throat and blink a few more times. 

You can feel him squint at you. “What’s wrong?” 

“Oh, you know.” You sniff, and gesture vaguely as you continue. “My best friend from college was supposed to be my date to a friend’s wedding next week, and the friend getting married also happens to be someone I dated in college so I was really hoping Dean could come with me, and now…” You trail off, realizing you’re rambling.

He’s quiet for a little while, and you shove some more grapes in your mouth to make up for the silence. You know each other so well, but it still feels a little weird to explicitly talk about your personal life in the office. Sure, you spend a fair few weekends together with Jack, but the whole thing is a little embarrassing - and you’re not sure if the worst part is admitting you have an ex-boyfriend from college or you now have to go stag to his wedding. 

“Do you want someone to go with you?” He watches you chew on your lower lip. A long time ago, he decided there was nothing worse than seeing you upset. 

This is the least you can do, Hotchner. First personal weekend in nearly four years, you can at least do what you can to make it suck less. He reasons with himself, but he can’t help the sly thought that sneaks in on the tail end. Being a backup is better than being nothing at all. 

That’s enough. 

You scoff. “Well, yeah. Obviously.” 

He smiles a little, knowing you completely missed his point. “If you wanted…” He clears his throat and looks out the window, and you reply before he can continue. 

“Oh, God, Hotch.” You cover your face with your hands. “Please don’t feel like I’m trying to guilt you into anything. I’ll be fine.” You try to laugh it off, but can’t hide the anxiety in your voice. 

His laugh warms you. “You’re not guilting me into anything. I’m offering.” 

You remove your hands from your face and look at him. There’s an earnest sort of kindness in his eyes, and you find yourself a little short of breath. “Really?”

“Really. I can get the weekend off - things are pretty slow around here. Where is it?” You had trouble reading his tone. Really, he’s just treading carefully. He doesn’t want you to feel pressured, or give away his own selfish motivations.

“It’s, ah,” you stutter for a second, getting your metaphorical feet back under you. “It’s down at Berry Hill Resort, right by the North Carolina border.” Your lip disappears between your teeth again. “It’s about a three and a half hour drive.” 

He opens his phone, and you know he’s checking the map. “It’d be easy enough if we left early and switched in Richmond. I’ll start, if you’d like.” 

You smile at him, wide and genuine. “Hotch, you’re the best.” 

+++

Hotch calls you up to his office, and you swing in, your hand gripping the doorframe. You bite back your greeting as you find him on the phone. 

He beckons you in and you step inside, closing the door behind you.

“...Thank you, sir. I’ll be sure to pass that along to the rest of the unit...You too, sir.” He hangs up and laces his fingers, addressing you. “Question.”

You sit, resting your elbows on his desk. “Answer.” 

“Funny.”

You smirk, and he continues. “I’m not sure if it matters to you, but I have an absurd number of ties. Color preference?”

A huff of laughter leaves you in disbelief. “You called me in here to ask whether or not I want to have a color scheme?”

“Yes,” he says, like it’s the most obvious thing in the world. “A united front, or at least a coordinated one, seems like the best strategy, right?”

+++

Aaron walks down from his office, his phone to his ear. You’re helping Ashley with a consult, walking her through your process just like Emily used to do with you. 

“Hotch usually likes to approach the profile starting with a demographic consideration, but I usually start from physical evidence and -”

A hand falls onto your shoulder, and you look up. “Yeah?”

He pulls the receiver away from his mouth. “Jack wants to talk to you.”

With a shake of your head and a fond smile for Hotch and an apologetic one for Ashley, you put the phone to your ear. “Hey, bud! How’s Grandpa’s house?”

“So fun,” Jack says, almost yelling into the phone. “Aunt Jess has let me play in the snow every day.”

You laugh. “I am so glad.” 

“Dad says you’re busy at work, but I miss you.” 

“Aw, bubba, I miss you, too. You’ll be home really soon, and when you get back we’ll go out to ice cream and you can tell me all about your visit.” You, for just a moment, forget where you are, and you lean back in your seat as if you’re leaning into Jack himself. “Does that sound okay?”

“Yeah, that sounds good. I love you.” 

Your breath catches, and you keep our eyes firmly planted on your consult as you reply. “I love you too, bub. Here’s your dad.” Placing the phone in Hotch’s hand, you return your attention to Ashley and do your best not to acknowledge Aaron as he walks back up the stairs. “So, like I said, Hotch prefers to -”

“Hey.” Ashley stops you with a hand on your arm. “You’re really good at your job.” 

A confused smile pulls at your lips. There’s a question in your eyes, and she answers it. 

“Oh, I just...You’re a good teacher and a good friend, that’s all.” 

“Thanks, Seaver.”

+++

On a rare weeknight off, Emily and you gather at Penelope’s apartment. You’re all sitting on the floor, bottles of wine making an occasional rotation, and a pile of snacks on the floor taking up the space in the loose circle you’ve created. 

“You’re taking time off this weekend?” Penelope sounds almost insultingly surprised, as if the concept never occurred to her. 

You nod. “Yep. First time in four years, so I think I’m about due.” 

Emily laughs and asks. “Where are you going?” 

“I’ve been inexplicably invited to an ex-boyfriends wedding - he’s a friend from college and we were friends before we dated etc. etc.” You wave your hand as you speak, outlining the tedium of it all. “His mom loves me, and I suspect she was the one who added me to the list.” 

“Are you going with anyone? Penelope’s concern is touching. 

“Yeah. One of my college friends was supposed to be my date, but he bailed for a work thing.” All the girls roll their eyes and nod. They get it. “So, Ho - someone else - is going with me.” 

“Who?” Emily narrows her eyes and searches you. 

“Oh come on, profiling is against the rules.” 

She rolls her eyes. “Yeah, okay, sure.” 

“Spill it.” Penelope throws a goldfish cracker at you to emphasize her point. 

You take a deep, long-suffering breath, suddenly missing JJ and her powers of redirection. “Fine. Hotch is coming with me -” you intercept their eager questions “- only as a favor.” 

“That’s very...thoughtful of him.” Emily’s chin tips up suggestively, and you throw Penelope’s goldfish at her. “Who’s idea was that?”

There’s a moment here somewhere, where you realize you’ve just dug yourself a hole you’ll be hard-pressed to get out of. “He overheard Dean bail, and offered. I’m sure he’s just doing it because he feels bad and -”

“Oh, don’t be stupid!” Penelope nearly falls into Emily, giggling. “I can’t believe you two.” 

You throw your hands in the air. “What?”

Both women share a look before looking back at you with identical disbelief. Emily speaks first. “You can’t be serious.” 

Take a deep breath. You’re not that obvious. 

Maybe you are. You’ve only been half-or-completely in love with him for five years. 

Shut up. 

“Serious about what?”

Emily rolls her eyes and finishes her second glass of wine, reaching to refill it immediately. “Nevermind. You’ll figure it out eventually.” 

+++

You’re finishing your last bit of packing, leaving your toothbrush and toothpaste out for the morning, when your phone rings. 

“Yeah?”

“Hey, it’s Aaron.” 

“Ah, my saving grace,” you say with a laugh. “Calling to cancel on me, after all?”

His laugh just isn’t as good over the phone, but it’ll do. “Not even close. Is 6am still good to come get you?” 

“It’s so early.” There’s absolutely no shame in your whine, and you’re rewarded with another laugh. “But yes, that’s fine. That gives us enough time even if we hit some traffic out of the District and into Richmond.”

“My thoughts exactly.”

You look at your suitcase, resting open on your bed. “You’re still okay with this, right? I know I couldn’t grab that extra hotel room for you and I don’t want you to feel pressured or -”

He cuts you off, calling you out by name. “Enough. I offered, remember? I’ll see you at 6. Bring a pillow so you can sleep in the car.”

Your lips pinch, holding back a smile. “Thanks, Aaron.” And he knows you don’t just mean it for the pillow reminder. “I’ll see you in the morning.” 

“Of course. Sleep well.” 

You don’t, but are nevertheless ready with bells on, pillow tucked under your arm, and coffee in-hand at 5:55am the following morning. He looks surprised when he pulls into the driveway and sees you standing on your porch, looking only a little worse for wear. At least your teeth are brushed.  

“Thought you might want this.” You hold out the travel mug to him as he approaches, and he takes it (and your suitcase) from you. 

“Thank you. Jump in.” 

You follow instructions and immediately stuff your pillow between your head and the window as he throws your suitcase in the trunk. You’re forever grateful Aaron drives the same SUVs you all have at the bureau. He claims it’s easier to not think about different car specs, but at this moment you only care about the temperature control and familiar, soft leather seats. Your eyes shut on their own accord, still heavy even after your abbreviated morning routine. 

He slips into the driver’s seat and, with your eyes closed, you miss the way he looks over at you with a barely-there, fond smile. Your sweatshirt is too big for you and your face is adorably smushed into the pillow. 

With a sigh and shake of his head, he places his hand on the back of your seat, backs out of the driveway, and gets on the road. 

The silence gives him plenty of time to think about things he’d rather not address. This favor, for one, is something he’s still trying to reconcile. 

Would I have offered to Emily? JJ? Hell, Dave? 

If any other member of the team had a friend bail out of their role as a wedding date, he’d like to think he’d drop everything and take the weekend to make them feel better, but he knows that probably wouldn’t be the case in reality. He knew you were different, and it frustrated and confused him. 

As often as he acknowledges his love for you - he wishes it would just stop.  

Only a year and change had passed since Haley’s death, and there were still some mornings where he woke up and couldn’t breathe. Jack still had some nightmares too. Those broke his heart more than anything in the world, but he knew you would always pick up if he called - no matter the hour. 

It happened more often than he’d like to admit. 

“Hotch? Aaron? What’s up?”

“I’m sorry to wake you.” 

“Nightmare?”

“Yeah.” 

You’d always talk to him about something or nothing at all, sometimes turning on your bedside lamp and reading from whatever book you were perusing before bed. 

He knows you understand. You were the only one there with him, when he found her body. You were there to take his son out of his bloodied hands. You were there when he was afraid of himself. 

The nightmares still come for you, too, sometimes. There are nights where Haley’s dark blue eyes stare into you, whether your eyes are open or closed. You told him that, once, and he was grateful - grateful that he wasn’t the only one. 

You murmur something in your sleep, about twenty minutes outside of the city. You’re still an hour or more away from Richmond, and Hotch figures he’ll let you sleep if you don’t wake up between now and then. It’s not a hard drive to Berry Hill, and you need the rest. 

Might be good to pick up some food on the way...

He turns the music off, letting the sounds of your breathing and the road wash over him. 

“Aaron.”

He turns, expecting your watchful eyes, but finds you burrowing further into the pillow, a little smile on your face as you remain blissfully unaware of your surroundings. Something warm starts to radiate in his chest as he looks back out at the road, the Virginia countryside stretching out in front of him, around him, and in every direction he can see. The warmth vibrates into his fingertips. He flexes his hands around the wheel, trying to shake it.

He fails. 

You’re not sure how you manage to sleep so soundly in the car. You had tossed and turned all night, thinking only of facing a part of your life you hoped you’d never address head-on ever again. Why you accepted the invitation at all (or why you even received one) was beyond you. 

It must be his mother’s doing. She always loved you, and she did her best to keep your friendship alive much longer than its natural death. 

Exercising control over her child’s life due to an exceptional lack of control and consistency during her upbringing. Relating to her son’s partners to achieve some semblance of intimacy without facing the root of her insecurity that she’s failed as a parent.

The profiling never stopped, it seemed. 

It wasn’t just the wedding keeping you up last night. The thought of spending the weekend with Aaron in an environment where you will inevitably feel (if not look and act) distraught close to the whole time still wears on you. Spending weekends at home, where you sit together with a glass of wine and leftover popcorn after Jack gets tucked in feels different. 

That’s comfortable. That’s safe. This? This is scary. Vulnerable. Burdensome.

Even then, there’s nobody you’d rather have at your side while you face friends you haven’t seen in ages. He’s charismatic, almost entirely unapproachable (when he wants to be), and tall. All those factors should be enough to keep anyone from trifling with you for the duration of the weekend. 

But now, in the car, all those thoughts are far from your mind. Your mind is blissfully dark and blank, your body soothed by the low hum of the car and the smell that follows Hotch wherever he goes - spicy, earthy, and something that reminds you of the air right before lightning strikes. 

The car slows, and the subtle change in ambiance wakes you. You lift your head, finding Hotch turning on an offramp. 

“Are we in Richmond already?” You ask, bleary. 

He smiles. His sunglasses are resting on his nose to combat the rapidly-rising morning sun. “Not yet, but I figured you hadn’t eaten yet.”

You tip your head. He’s right. “I could eat.” 

He glances at you out of the corner of his eye. “You should eat.” 

+++

After food and a top-off for the gas tank, you offer to drive. 

Aaron refuses. “If you drive, I don’t get to pick the music.” 

“I thought shotgun picks the music.” You frown at him, admittedly still a little tired. You’ve shoved your pillow behind your seat and start to sit like an actual human being for the first time that morning. 

“Those are Morgan’s house rules, not mine.” 

“Ah,” you say, sagely. “I see. What are your house rules?”

There’s a smile behind his sunglasses. “Driver picks the music and critically considers any suggestions made by shotgun.” 

Thus, the Beatles’ White Album starts from the top. You can’t say you’re surprised - it is his favorite. You’ve grown rather fond of it yourself, if you’re honest, Though, you’re not sure if you fondness for the album has anything to do with the man beside you - the one who’s hair is soft and floppy in the morning light, the one wearing an uncharacteristically casual ensemble of jeans, sneakers, and a black t-shirt, the one singing along under his breath.

“Why is this one your favorite?”  You hear yourself ask. 

He’s quiet for a minute, as if you are the first to ask that question. Maybe you are. “I’m...not sure. I think it might have something to do with my mom. She bought the record a couple of weeks after I was born in late ‘68, and made sure I had a copy when I got my own record player in my first college apartment.” He shrugs. “It’s been around just as long as I have, and there’s something a little - I don’t know - comforting about that?”

You nod. “I get that.” You’re quiet for a moment, considering all the things that happened in 1982. “Grease 2 came out the year I was born, so I can’t say I share a similar affinity for the pop culture phenomena of my birth year.” 

Hotch lets out a low whistle and a grimace. “That film really was awful.” He waits for your laugh and is rewarded before continuing. “I saw The Who on their final tour that year.” 

You furrow your brow. “Weren’t you like, barely in high school?”

He nods. “We snuck out, a couple of friends and me. It was really stupid and we got in a lot of trouble, but it was fun.” There’s a nostalgic smile on his face. “I have no idea how we managed to get all the way into the District, let alone find tickets, but everything was a little less complicated back then. Buses ran on time, people read maps, and parents didn’t all have cell phones.” He shrugs and shoots you a smirk. “But of course, that’s before your time.” 

You roll your eyes. “Oh c’mon. I’m not that young. I remember the world before the mainstream internet and 9/11 and all that pre-Patriot Act shit. I remember when the Berlin Wall came down, at least.” 

That gets a laugh out of him. “Fair enough.” 

You lapse into silence for a little while, handing him fries from the drive-thru bag when he puts his open palm over the center console. You notice his left hand shift slightly in time with the music, and you watch a little more carefully. 

And I see it needs sweeping Still my guitar gently weeps

I don’t know why Nobody told you How to unfold your love I don’t know how Someone controlled you They bought and sold you…

“Hotch, do you play guitar?” There’s a touch of disbelief in your tone, but you try to hide it for the sake of his pride. It’s not that you think he doesn’t have a musical or creative bone in his body, but you’re rather surprised by the relaxed subtlety of his movement. It was your impression he never did anything without thinking about it, and to see the slight, almost unconscious action sparks a pleasant little flicker of warmth in your chest. 

He shrugs. “I played a little when I was younger. I guess you could say I know how to play, but I don’t claim to be decent at it in the slightest.” His head tips, and you could swear you see an eye roll. “Sean’s always been better at those kinds of pursuits.” 

As usual, he doesn’t seem thrown or surprised by your question and doesn’t hesitate to answer them. After almost five years, he’s used to your keen observations. He’d never admit it, but he expects them - maybe he’s not able to guess at the content of the questions themselves, but he always knows there will be one eventually.

“Have you and Sean always butted heads?”

Aaron snorts, and gives you a simple, “Yes.” 

You’d never met the younger Hotchner, but you’d seen photos and heard tell. From what you understand, he’s a little wilder than his older brother, a little more idealistic and far less practical. Sean seems like someone you would like, but you doubt he would rise to the top of your Favorite Hotchners List - a list with only two names so far, tied for first. 

It’s safe to say Jack and Aaron are hard acts to follow. 

+++

You talk about everything and nothing, when finally, he asks. “So, who is this guy?”

“Ugh.” You tip your head against the seat. “You really want to know?”

“Of course. Isn’t it protocol to brief the team before arrival?”

You snort, immediately regretting your decision to make fun of Strauss over drinks last week. “Yes, sir.” 

He laughs, and you tell him. 

You tell him about Austin and how you met in a random general education class and became fast friends and started dating, talked about marriage and kids and the whole nine yards. You told him about your semester abroad, your traveling, and returning home to find he’d been dating someone else while you were away, without your knowledge. 

“It’s kind of cliche, I know, but it broke my heart in half.” You laugh a little to cover the truth of it. Hotch keeps his eyes on the road, letting you go at your own pace the same way you let him the entire time he’s known you. “I was really close to his family, and we did our best to remain civil and friendly for everyone else’s sake, but we’ve only kept in touch through other people the last few years.

“I think his mom sent the invitation. I mostly accepted because I’d love to see her and Austin’s little sister - I miss them the most.” 

“What are they like?”

There’s a smile on your face as you tell him about them - how Allison likes more cream than actual coffee in her mug, how their mom has the best taste in books and still sends you worn copies of her favorites every once and awhile. 

“It’s good of you to keep in touch.” 

You shrug. “I guess. I mean, I know it’s different, but you have Jess.”

The difference, he decides, is that you are kinder, more patient than he is. Jess would hardly be in his life at all if Haley was still here. He had a hard enough time keeping up with Haley’s family when they were married. Keeping up with them after the divorce? 

There was no way to know, but he can’t remember much affection between them even before Haley’s father decided to hold him personally responsible for her death. 

You notice his preoccupation, and reach out. Your thumb traces back and forth over the skin of his bare forearm. “It’s different now, and it would be different then. There’s no right way to do anything.” 

He exhales in a huff, and you bring your hand back into your lap. “I spent almost twenty-five years knowing Haley. You know that?”

“I do. I also know you spent longer than twenty-five loving her, and probably won’t ever stop.” 

There’s a sigh, and then an elbow on the center console. He leans heavily on it, and you do your best to keep your hands to yourself. “How do you know everything?” He asks. 

You rest your head against the seat and adjust so your body is angled toward him. A small smile crosses your face as you take in his profile - relaxed, his wrist hanging loosely on the wheel, sunglasses resting on the bridge of his nose. “I dunno. I guess I just pay attention.” 

+++

You let out an exhausted exhale upon reaching the room you will share with Aaron for the weekend. One king size bed dominates the room, instead of the two doubles you halfway expected. He recovers faster than you do, shrugging and setting his things down on the left side of the bed, closest to the door. 

Instinctively and completely without previous confirmation, you kind of figured he sleeps on the left side. The realization of that fact is a little unsettling, but you follow his lead and set your suitcase on the stand opposite his, unzipping it and unfolding your garment bag. 

There’s a small part of you that’s pleased by this arrangement. Another part of you shames that part. 

He’s going to think you’re taking advantage of him. 

Are you kidding? He’s a SWAT-trained senior FBI agent. And a lawyer. It’s impossible to take advantage of him. 

Yeah, of course that’s what he wants you to think. 

Do you ever shut up?

Your outfits for the cocktail hour and the ceremony day are all set. So are Hotch’s, apparently. You look over to find him hanging a grey pinstripe suit in the closet you’d never seen before. It looks beautifully tailored, and expensive. 

“Mind if I take up some real estate?” You ask, holding up your handful of hangers. He shakes his head and makes some space for you. 

When you’re all settled, you sit on the bed, still tired. It doesn’t make any sense, seeing as Aaron insisted on driving the entire way. 

“What time is our first obligation?”

You huff a laugh at his rhetoric. “5pm. Cocktails at the hotel bar. Rehearsal dinner after that is wedding-party-only, thank God.” Glancing at the clock, you confirm, “We basically have the day to ourselves until then.” 

He nods thoughtfully before meeting your eyes over your shoulder. “How do you feel about a nap?” 

I love you. 

Shut up. 

You can’t imagine how tired he is - working off minimal sleep and coming off a drive just shy of four hours long. “I feel great about a nap.” 

Aaron’s lips quirk up in a smile, and he picks up a pair of flannel pajama pants from his bag and shuts himself into the bathroom. 

Oh my god. Oh my god. 

You quickly shuck your sweatshirt, suddenly too warm. Standing, you cross to the window and draw the blinds, covering the room in a kind of gentle shade that isn’t quite darkness. You toe off your shoes and slip under the covers, thankful you never really changed out of your pajamas. Curling up facing the bathroom door, you try to stay awake until Hotch returns, but your eyes close of their own accord.

Hotch leaves the bathroom to find the room darkened and you under the covers, dead to the world. He takes another moment to look at you, the way your brow sits smooth and relaxed above your closed eyes, your hands curled loosely in front of your face, the way your breath evenly comes and goes past the curve of your lips. 

Taking the risk, he places his jeans back into his duffle bag and gingerly stretches out on top of the covers beside you. His eyes close eventually, but he can’t remember falling asleep - entirely preoccupied by the phenomenon before him. 

+++

When you stir again, your hands are warm. You take a deep breath and your eyes crack open, finding a sight that steals your breath. Hotch is on his side in front of you, ramrod straight, with your hands clasped between his. Your heads are bowed together - not touching, but close. 

There’s no memory of him joining you in the massive bed, nor any recollection of contact, so he either held your hands on his own, or you found each other in sleep. 

You’re not sure which one makes your heart flutter faster.

Resolving to get a little more sleep, you close your eyes. Only moments later, you feel him stir beside you. You know he’s watching you, and you endeavor to keep your breath even and slow, hoping he can’t hear the racing of your heart. 

He releases one of your hands, and you let it drop down to the cover, praying your fingers don’t twitch. 

You’re proud of yourself when you don’t flinch as his fingers brush butterfly-soft against your cheek, tracing from your brow bone, down your nose and across your lips. Impossibly gentle touches find their way down your temple to your jaw before disappearing. 

His hand closes around yours again and it takes everything you have to keep your breath steady as he presses his lips to your fingers before tucking them back to his chest. When his breath evens out again, you know he’s asleep. 

You open your eyes, thinking it's more than high time to study him for a change. 

He looks years younger in his sleep, closer to your age than his. Even awake, he hardly looks the picture of a father in his mid-forties. His graceful aging is more obvious when his face isn’t drawn up in stress or that aching kind of sadness that lingers around him. 

Curious about what he saw and felt on your face, you follow his path, slipping your hand out from under his, tracing his jaw, his cheek and brow bones, his handsome, straight nose. 

Your finger rests lightly on his cupid’s bow for a moment, his breath rushing slow and warm over your hand. The feeling of his breath stalls yours, and you swallow. The next breath you take is almost a sob, and you press your lips into a thin line. Light fingers brush through the hair at his temples, the sparse, soft silver strands seeming to glow in the low light. 

What you don’t know, however, is that he has taken a page out of your book. Though his eyes are closed and his breath even, he is very much awake, heart pounding. He’s sure you can hear it, or even feel it, with your remaining hand still trapped between his. 

The catch in your breath makes his chest ache. Even then, his eyes remain closed, and he’s mindful of his breath. With the route you take, tracing his features, he realizes with a shock of adrenaline and cold panic that you were probably awake, playing at sleep then as he was now. 

If that was the case, you know how he feels about you. He knows how you feel about him. 

But you can’t. You don’t want to take up space in his life he doesn’t have, space better used to heal, space reserved for his son. 

He can’t. It's too soon. He can’t subject you to the ghosts, the baggage, the long journey to wholeness he’s endeavored to embark upon with only his son at his side. 

The new normal, his therapist had told him, is the hardest thing to find. 

He was sure, then, that it would be easier to find the new normal on his own, but he wasn’t so sure, now. 

You slip your hands away from him entirely and roll over, making play at rising. You check the time on your phone, finding the early afternoon awaiting you. 

There’s a deep breath and a stretching noise, and you turn to find Aaron rolled over on his back, his hands laced behind his head. 

“Good afternoon,” you say, and you’re proud of yourself for sounding normal. 

A smile plays at his lips. He looks like he knows something. “Good afternoon.” 

“So, tonight.” You decide it’s best to move on before anyone admits anything they don’t mean to share. “Do you just want to be ‘work friends’ or do we want to lean into the whole ‘let’s ruin Austin’s life’ thing?”

He laughs a little. “I’m comfortable leaning in if you are.” 

+++

The cocktail hour isn’t as horrible as you thought it would be. Aaron sticks to your side like glue, your right hand firmly placed in the crook of his arm while your left babysits a small glass of wine, more for show than for anything else. 

You hear your name from across the room, and you see a huddle of some old friends and their respective dates. Aaron tips his head down to get the briefing, and you tell him names, relationships, and brief histories as you approach. 

As you expected, he’s warm and charming, taking cues from you as you navigate eight years of catch-up with classmates you remember well and alleged classmates you don’t recognize at all. 

“How did you two meet?” The woman asks (You’re certain she’s someone’s sister - Hotch caught her name while you missed it. Oops.). 

You glance up at Aaron for a second before answering. “We’re in the same department at work.” 

The man with her takes a sip of his drink. Him, you kind of recognize. Casey? Carson? Maybe. “Where is that, again? I can’t remember where you landed after your internship.” 

“DoJ, in Quantico.” 

Leslie, who you met in guided research your senior year, rolls her eyes. “They work for the FBI, Carson, keep up.” 

Carson, that’s it. 

“No shit!” 

A small group has gathered around you, and you shuffle closer to Aaron. He wraps his arm around your waist and steps a little behind you, protective and secure. 

“Shit,” you reply, jostling Aaron with your shoulder. “We don’t have our creds on us tonight, so if you get arrested you’ll have to bail yourselves out.” 

“We also don’t have jurisdiction even if we did, so keep it high and tight and we’ll all do just fine.” Aaron’s voice rumbles through you with a laugh, and you take an overlarge sip of wine. 

He really shouldn’t say things like high and tight with his hand where it is. 

And his hand isn’t really in any kind of questionable location, just resting above your hip with his chest to your back, but it's still more contact than you’re used to. He wasn’t joking about leaning in. 

“There he is!” Carson crows, and your head whips around. You almost lose your balance, but Hotch keeps his feet. A warm hand presses to your shoulder. 

“Thank you,” you whisper. You know he can hear you, and he presses a kiss to your temple. 

“Always.” 

It’s just an act. He doesn't mean it. He can’t mean it. 

Austin approaches with his drop-dead gorgeous fiancee and a smile. 

Aaron releases you as Austin gives you a warmer hug than you were expecting, and examines Hotch over your shoulder. He introduces you to his fiancee (Madeline), and you introduce them both to Aaron. 

“Austin, this is my…” you pause, realizing you never actually established a cover story, letting the implication speak for itself. “Aaron.” You recover with a light laugh, and Aaron pulls you to him with one hand while he shakes Austin’s with the other. 

You try not to smirk at the grimace that flashes across Austin’s face when Aaron’s hand closes around his in a very firm and assertive handshake. “Pleasure. Congratulations.” 

Austin laughs, a little uncomfortable, and stretches his hand once it reaches his side again. “Thanks. We’re really glad you both could make it. Mom will be really happy to see you.” 

+++

“That could have been so much worse.” You shuck Aaron’s blazer off your shoulders and hang it in the closet as he passes behind you. He’d passed it to you when you shivered slightly at the bar and it wasn’t even a point of conversation. It had been second nature to him, draping it over you and placing a hand on your back. The memory pulls a smile from your lips. “Thank you for enduring the mayhem down there.” 

Aaron sits on the bed and slips off his boots. “I can’t remember the last time I went to a social event that didn’t directly affect my career trajectory.” He looks up at you, and his grin makes your heart skip around in your chest. 

You shake your head, walking past him to retrieve your pajamas and toothbrush. “Do you ever want to move up the chain at all?”

“Not really. Something big would have to change to get me to leave the BAU.” He looks at you over his shoulder. “We tried that, remember?”

“I do, actually.” At his chuckle, you continue. “I can’t say that’s something I’d like to relive anytime soon.” 

You move easily around each other, changing into pajamas and brushing your teeth and getting otherwise ready for bed. He’s cute at night, with his pajamas and floppy hair and big yawns. It’s not like you haven’t seen this side of him before, what with all the late nights watching movies with Jack, but it is significant that it’s just the two of you. He’s not Jack’s Dad right now, or Supervisory Special Agent Aaron Hotchner who won’t go to bed until The Case Is Solved, but Aaron. 

Sleepy, charming, funny Aaron. 

Eventually, you throw back the covers and crawl in without thinking about it too much, while Aaron lingers in the bathroom doorway. 

“I really can take the couch.”

You look at him and pointedly turn off the lamp resting on your side table. “We’re adults. I don’t mind it if you don’t. And for that matter, if either one of us is sleeping on the couch it’s me.” 

“Oh?” He asks. “Why’s that?”

“Because as you so astutely pointed out earlier, I am significantly younger than you, and I think my back will fare better than yours after a night of lumpy cushions.” 

The bathroom light flips off, and you hear a scoff in the dark. “Never once did I say significantly younger.” 

“Well, Aaron, ‘before your time’ is rife with implication.” 

The mattress dips beside you, and his form takes shape in the darkness, facing you. Before he can speak again, you cut him off. 

“You know what? Nevermind. I forgot who I was talking to, and I would hate for you to go full-tilt lawyer on me.” You curl up, bringing the covers to your chin. He laughs, and you can almost pretend that this is your life, that you get to fall asleep beside Aaron every night. 

Don’t get comfortable. 

Why not? He’s here, isn’t he?

He is, but not like that. This is a favor for a friend, nothing more. 

You’re both quiet for a little while, listening to each other breathe in the dark. There’s a sigh, and you belatedly realize it came from you. 

“Are you okay?” Aaron’s voice floats to you in the dark, and you nod. “I know this isn’t easy for you.” 

You think for a moment, trying to articulate your thoughts. “Yeah, I’m fine. I just - I really can’t tell you how grateful I am that you’re here with me this weekend.” A hand reaches out, and you find it. 

“Of course. I’m glad I can be here for you.” He means it. The trust you’ve placed in him does not go unnoticed or unappreciated. Your willingness to be vulnerable and funny and so yourself is a precious gift to him, and one he’ll never take for granted. “Thank you for letting me come.” 

I’d like to let you come -

Ew, dude. 

What?

Now is not the time. 

“With that in mind,” he continues, his voice gentle in the dark, “I’m really proud of you. And not in a ‘I’m your boss and you’re making significant progress,’ way. As your friend, I’m really proud of you.”

Your friend. 

He is your friend. 

I know but that…sucks. 

It doesn’t have to. 

There’s something in his voice that almost makes you stupid, but you hold your tongue. “Goodnight, Hotch.” 

He takes a deep breath, missing the way his first name fits in your mouth. It sounds safe there, like you’d never use it against him. “Goodnight.” 

+++

You feel warm and feeling somewhat constricted, but not uncomfortable. There’s weight at your back and an arm around your waist, and you lean into it in your state of half-wakefulness. A little noise leaves the body behind you, almost like a sigh with tone. 

Remembering where you are, you resist the instinct to jump. Hotch is wrapped around you like a koala, his knee between yours, one arm under your head and the other around your waist, face buried into the crook of your neck and shoulder. 

His hair smells divine, and he’s so warm. 

Your theory from yesterday morning seems confirmed - you definitely didn’t fall asleep touching each other, so you must have found each other in the night. The thought warms you, and you close your eyes again.

The ceremony isn’t until the early afternoon, so you have all the time in the world to doze and prepare for the hellscape of the day. 

That’s not a fair assessment. You think, and correct yourself. 

If the prior evening was any indication, things would go smoothly. Aaron was the world’s best wingman. He kept conversation flowing and took your cues without a second’s hesitation. Everyone loved him, and people asked you all night how you met, how long you’d known each other, how long you’d been together. The first questions were easy, but the last one was one you hadn’t prepared for. He, of course, had an answer for all three. 

“We work together.” 

“We met, what? Five years ago now? Maybe a little more?”

“We’ve been partners for almost four years.” 

And...he wasn’t lying. You always paired off with him at work, whether naturally or by assignment. His lack of specifics in defining your relationship both settled and raised your blood pressure, depending on the way you decided to approach it. The words accompanied an affectionate squeeze around your waist or a kiss to the back of your hand. 

You know he’s just playing the part for the weekend and everything will go back to normal when you get home. 

But God, he’s good at it. 

You almost believe him.

He’s still sleeping behind you, his breath fanning slow and even across your shoulder. You’re both fully clothed, but there’s something intimate about it. Sleep, you think, is inherently vulnerable, inherently a trusting state. You two not only managed to fall asleep in the same bed, but woke up tangled together. 

You drop your hand to your waist and rest your hand on top of his, falling back into sleep without too much thought. 

When Hotch wakes, it’s thankfully late. He’s far too comfortable to be in a hotel bed, but quickly realizes it’s not the mattress. You’re wrapped in his arms, and for a split second he almost panics, concerned that you’ll wake to find him glommed onto you like some kind of ridiculous backpack. 

But then he remembers the way your fingers traced his face when you were sure he was asleep, the way you leaned into him the night before - taking shelter in his willing arms. 

He feels your fingers pushed between his, your palm warm against the back of his hand, holding him to you.

He’s fucked. He’s totally and completely fucked. He’s even more fucked to even consider the possibility you’re fucked, too. 

How could you possibly want him? A man nearly fifteen years older than you, with one failed marriage under his belt, an inability to tear himself away from his work, and more than enough trauma to drown in is hardly the ideal partner for someone as vibrant as you, with so much life yet to live.

And yet, it’s so hard to imagine a life without you. Whenever he looks into his future, he sees you there with him. It’s far too easy to let himself fall into the fantasy as you peacefully sleep in his arms with your fingers laced together. 

You shift a little in your sleep, and he arches his back a little, definitely trying to keep you away from...certain parts of his anatomy that are a little more awake than the rest of him. 

Quit while you’re ahead, Hotchner. 

He very gingerly disentangles himself from you, and he’s pleased when he only gets a few sleepy protests in return. The shower is calling his name, for more than one reason including but not limited to the uncomfortable tightness of his flannel pajama pants. 

With one last lingering glance at you, he picks up his toiletries and locks himself in the bathroom for a long (very) hot shower, followed by a much shorter (very) cold shower. 

While he’s gone, you stir and stretch your arms over your head. A little disoriented, you find his side of the bed empty but not quite cold before you hear the running water of the shower. 

What if you just - 

Do not finish that thought. 

You are not one iota of fun. 

Reaching for your bag, you pull your laptop out and get started on some emails. You have a couple from Seaver and one from Emily.

You sigh and pull out your phone. 

“Prentiss.”

“Hey, Em. You wanted me to call?”

“Oh, I just wanted to see how things are going down there.” her voice is the picture of forced nonchalance, and you can almost hear Penelope leaning over her shoulder. 

You laugh into the phone and trace patterns on the bedspread. “Things are going well. Hotch was the perfect gentleman last night, and we have the ceremony and reception today. We head home tomorrow morning.” 

“Has anything happened? Where is he right now?”

“He’s in the shower. And no, don’t be ridiculous.” You shove your phone under your chin and answer all of Ashley’s questions in confident keystrokes. “You and I both know he’s just here because he likes to owe me favors.”

Aaron pauses in the bathroom, in the middle of towel-drying his hair. With a smile, he overhears: “...he’s just here because he likes to owe me favors.” 

He can’t hear the response, but he does hear you when you say. “My God, Em. Would you quit?” 

Ah. So it is Emily. 

“I’m not going to do anything about it because there’s nothing to do anything about...Don’t give me that...You have absolutely no proof...I don’t care if you’re a profiler or not, there is no way you can say with any definitive certainty -” You pause, and your voice drops to a low murmur he can’t hear over the hum of the bathroom fan. 

With a frustrated huff, he ties the towel around his waist and ventures out, entirely aware of his state of undress. 

You’re so glad you drop your voice to finish your thought (“- that he’s in love with me. Don’t be stupid.”) because the door opens and you are immediately confronted with Aaron Hotchner in a towel and every single coherent thought flies out of your head. He smiles a little at you, and something in you melts. 

“Are you good?” Emily’s voice is full of laughter. 

The heat rises in your cheeks and you whip your head back to your laptop, typing just for something to do with your hands. “Yeah, for sure.” 

“He just walked out wearing a towel, didn’t he?”

“Emily, you know I’m not going to dignify that with a response.” You roll your eyes, and miss the smirk on Hotch’s face as he grabs his hanging clothes from the closet.

“So that’s a yes.” 

+++

Austin’s family clearly spared no expense for either the ceremony or the reception. You and Aaron had walked in arm-in-arm to find a spot on the groom’s side near the back. It’s still weird - there was a time where you thought for sure Austin was the be-all-end all for you. 

But here you are, sitting next to Aaron. He’s wearing that beautiful suit that looks even better on him than it did on the hanger (and that’s saying something). As promised, his tie matches your outfit, and you’d be lying if you didn’t say it made your heart all warm watching him put it on. 

The ceremony itself is a blur. You stand and sit when you’re supposed to, and spend the vows with your head on Aaron’s shoulder - playing the role, of course. You take a few unsteady breaths, caught off guard by how affected you are by the ritual of it all. 

You don’t love Austin anymore, not by a long shot. That said, the reminder that you’re not married to anybody but work and rapidly approaching thirty is unpleasant. 

“Are you okay?” Hotch’s whisper doesn’t carry far. 

You nod. “Yeah. Just thinking.” 

“About?”

You shake your head, the soft wool of his suit jacket pressing into your temple. “Later.” 

His cheek presses to your hair for just a moment. He’s not worried about you, per se, but he’s never seen you in this existentially forlorn state before. It’s a feeling he recognizes in himself, but to see it on you makes him feel a new kind of helpless. 

+++

You’re at the open bar, snagging a glass of wine for yourself and two fingers of whiskey for Aaron (the good stuff, of course), when Austin’s mother warmly accosts you. 

“Darling!” 

Against your will, a genuine smile breaks out across your face. “Hey, Laurie!” You set the drinks down and embrace her, the familiar smell of her perfume engulfing you. Suddenly, you feel nineteen years old again. “Congratulations.” 

She pulls back and waves off your good wishes. “Oh, please. I haven’t done anything.” 

You laugh and shake your head. “I beg to differ, but alright.” 

She takes you under her arm and holds you close to her. “So.” Her tone is conspiratorial, as if a great plot is to unfold before you. “Who is that devastatingly handsome man you’ve brought with you to shame my son?” 

“I did not bring him to shame your son, he offered to come when my original date bailed. You remember Dean?”

“Of course. Such a sweet boy. Still married to his work?”

You shake your head. “I would be...hypocritical of me to get upset with him for that. My work at the bureau keeps me plenty busy. If I’m honest, this is the first personal time I’ve used in four years.” 

She squeezes you for a half-second. “I’m so glad you’re here with us.” Her lips purse. “But don’t think you can get out of telling me about that fine, fine man over there.” 

“His name is Aaron,” you start, fighting a smile. “We work together at the bureau and he’s just a friend, Laurie, so don’t get any ideas.”

“Don’t be ridiculous, I always have ideas. Now, introduce me so I can see for myself.” 

With a long-suffering sigh, you grab the drinks off the bar and lead her to the table, where Aaron sits with his fingers pressed thoughtfully to his mouth, his elbow on the table and ankle crossed over his knee. Approaching from behind him, you set the whiskey down where he can’t knock it over and lay a hand on his shoulder. “Aaron.”

He turns, and a broad smile breaks out over his face. You’re sure he’s just being polite - you’ve never seen him smile so much. Offering a hand to Laurie, he stands. “SSA Aaron Hotchner. Thank you for having us. I’ve heard so much about you and your family.”

“Oh no, that can’t be good.” She laughs lightly and takes his hand in both of our own. “Laurie Miller. As I’m sure you know, I have a great amount of love for this one here.” She releases Aaron’s hand and tucks you into her arms again, kissing your cheek. You laugh, tickled by her demonstrative affection designed only to embarrass you. 

“C’mon, Laur. You don’t have to lie for my benefit.”

You try to ignore the fondness in Aaron’s eyes as he watches the two of you, Laurie cooing over you and your successes. She returns her focus back to Aaron. “Sit, sit and tell me what you crazy kids get up to over there in Quantico.” 

Aaron sits and relaxes back into his chair, resting his arm on the back of your seat. You lean forward with your elbows on the table, your hands propping up your head. Aaron’s a great storyteller, of course, and it’s so interesting to watch him talk about work outside of the context itself. He seems to bloom - effusive, charming, and warm - before you. 

When you look at him, it’s as if you’re seeing him for the first time. 

“...Preventing loss of life is always rewarding, and our team is a family.” 

Laurie is clearly enamored, completely drawn into his gentle description of your very-stressful and often-gritty line of work. “It’s so lovely you have so much fondness for each other. I imagine it makes everything much easier.” 

He nods, and glances at you. “It does.” 

Your phone buzzes on the table, and you excuse yourself with a hand on each of their shoulders. 

“Dean, you bastard!” You answer. Hotch’s huff of laughter tells you he overheard it, but he picks up right where he left off with Laurie. 

As you step out onto the banquet hall balcony, almost feel bad leaving him to his own devices, but then you remember all the times he’s been left alone with serial killers and you feel much better. 

“Hey babe! Are you surviving? Are you alone? Tell me everything.” 

You laugh into the phone. “I’m doing alright. Hotch actually offered to come with me. I just stepped out, but he’s in there holding his own well enough.”

“Oh my god. When I said that I didn’t actually think you’d do it!”

“What do you mean?” You look up and out over the property, and the views are simply breathtaking. The moonlight falling across the Virginia landscape almost makes the world look like it’s holding its breath. 

What it’s waiting for... you’re not sure. 

“When I said bring your hot boss to the wedding I was joking. You didn’t ask him, did you?”

You let out a snort and it almost disrupts the peace of the evening. “Of course not. He offered.”

“I have never met a pair of people so fucking stupid in all my life.” 

“You’ve never met Hotch, idiot.” 

“Don’t have to,” Dean says. “I know you are you’re dumb enough for the both of you.” 

+++

When the dancing starts, you’re understandably resistant. The playlist is a playful mix of contemporary and classic music, and you can’t help but laugh when Signed, Sealed, Delivered (I’m Yours) starts to play. 

Aaron stands and offers you his hand. You take his hand without thinking, belatedly realizing his intentions. 

“Hotch, you can’t be serious.” You stop dead in your tracks, but his grip on your fingers stays firm as he looks back at you with a look of humorous disbelief on his face. 

“When have you ever known me to be otherwise?” He tugs you forward, and you fall into his arms with a huff. “Humor me. Just one and I’ll leave you alone for the rest of the night.” 

You glare at him, dubious. “Why don’t I believe you?”

“Because I’m lying.” 

And at the end of the day, you can’t refuse him anything - especially when he smiles at you like that. 

He’s an excellent dancer. Your grip on his shoulder slowly loosens as you grow more comfortable, trusting him to lead you around the dance floor. He holds you tight, his movement playful in a way that’s almost foreign to you. 

You’ve seen him dance exactly once, at Haley’s 39th birthday party, the summer before she died. 

You catch sight of Austin and Madeline on the other side of the dance floor and avert your gaze when you find Austin looking back at you. 

“Hey.” Aaron’s voice is low, almost a laugh.

Your eyes snap to Aaron’s. “What?”

“Relax.” 

“You’re one to talk,” you scoff. 

He rolls his eyes and throws you out by one arm, spinning you so your back is to his chest. “I’m plenty relaxed. You are tense.” 

The feeling of his heartbeat against your back ruins your resolve and you relent. “It just feels weird.”

“What does?” He spins you back out and pulls you close. You try not to be too distracted by the proximity of his face to yours when you land back against his chest, you hand resting over his heart.  

“I just -” you push through your reluctance and admit, “I don’t love him in that way anymore, but it’s super weird to even think that I could have ever thought he was it for me. And now he’s with someone he loves and both of our lives just...kept going after we split, you know?” You shake your head, scattering your thoughts. 

He nods. “I do.”

You believe him. The very concept of his heartbreak with Haley - the separation, the anger, the divorce, her death, the love - is overwhelming. You know he understands. 

The silence that lapses between you is comfortable. 

Yeah, I've done a lot of foolish things That I really didn't mean I could be a broken man Here I am, baby...

When he turns you under his arm, you laugh until you can’t breathe. There’s a smile on his face, too, and there’s something warm and inexplicable about it. You turn the tables on him, turning him under your arm and pulling him back to you.

The song changes to something slower and, true to his word, Aaron keeps you out on the dance floor. You’re exhausted all of a sudden, and your eyes close as you rest your head against his shoulder. 

“Thank you for being here with me.” 

You’re only sure you spoke aloud when Aaron replies, “Of course.”

+++

Your feet ache when you finally call it quits and head upstairs to your room for the night. Aaron’s suit jacket had long since left him, leaving him rolled sleeves and a loose tie with his top two buttons undone. It traveled from the back of his chair to where it now rests, slung over his arm.

You look over your shoulder as you slip your shoes off. “You look positively rumpled, Agent Hotchner.” 

He lets out a laugh, and it makes your breath catch. His laugh always takes you by surprise; it’s much brighter and higher than his speaking register, and frankly, adorable. “It’s past my bedtime.”

“You don’t have a bedtime.” And it was true - you could count on one hand the amount of times you’d known him to actually sleep, especially on a case. You could neither confirm nor deny that he even needed it to function prior to this weekend. 

The thought makes your cheeks a little warm, and you turn away from him, setting aside your pajamas and packing the rest of your items. 

There’s a little chuckle behind you before the bathroom door closes and the shower starts up. 

When Aaron leaves the bathroom, his hair wet and pajamas on, you’re asleep. Curled up on top of the covers, out like a light. 

He flips all the switches, leaving the room in darkness. Creeping to your side of the bed, he reaches over and pulls the covers down, gingerly shuffling your legs underneath, followed by your torso. You stir a little, and catch his hand as he moves to tuck your hands under the covers. 

His eyes close, just for a moment, before slipping his hand out of yours. He’s already dreading going back to his empty apartment tomorrow afternoon. 

That feeling is only amplified when you curl up against his chest as soon as he’s settled under the covers, your leg hooked over his. 

+++

You wake up warm again, and snuggle into the body beside you. Arms tighten around you, and you remember where you are and who you’re with. Unlike yesterday, you can’t pretend to be asleep - when you look up, Hotch is awake, brown eyes looking down at you. 

“Good morning,” he says. 

You tuck your face back into his chest. “I’m sorry - I’m clingy when I sleep.” 

His laugh sings over the crown of your head. “It’s alright. I don’t mind.” 

Don't read into that. 

I’m going to. 

Don’t. 

Fuck. 

“What time is it?” You crane your neck and look at the clock on his bedside table, but you can’t quite see with his arm in the way. 

“Just before nine. We have an hour before checkout. Want to get packed, grab some breakfast, and head out? I’ll drive.”

“You drove here.” You shove at him and sit up. 

He shrugs and you take a moment to admire the tousled, floppy state of his hair. “I like driving.” 

“I won’t argue with that.” 

You sigh, stretch, stand and start rolling. You brush your teeth (twice) and put your clothes back into your suitcase, zipping it up without much trouble. He, of course, takes it off your hands right away and brings the bags to the car while you take care of checkout. 

He meets you outside, sunglasses on, and the sun hits his hair. You can see all the nuances in the black - the touch of silver, the dark browns and reds. They all seem to make a halo around him in the sunshine. “Ready?”

You snap back to attention and give him a wide smile. “Yes, sir!” 

Breakfast is an eventful affair. As soon as you sit down, you get a call from Penelope. 

“Hey, Pen, what’s up?” You look across the table at Hotch with amusement in your eyes, and he smiles, still digging into his eggs benedict like a starving man. 

“Tell me everything.”

“Oh, well we’re just at breakfast, almost on our way back. My laptop is in the car, can I take a look at that for you when I get home?” 

Not now, Penelope, I’ll call you when I’m home. 

She hums, following right away. “You better give me every single detail as soon as you step through the door or I swear I’ll riot.”

With a laugh, you reply, “Of course. You know, it might be easier if you just stop by - I’ll text you when I get home and we can do dinner or something.” You push your food around your plate, trying to ignore the fact that the only person you actually want to have dinner with is right across from you.

“Perfect. Yeah, just text me when you get home babycakes. Can’t wait!” She hangs up promptly, and your eyebrows raise for a half second. 

You put your phone away and shake your head. “She’s very predictable.” 

He nods, looking at you from under his brows. “Indeed.” 

You both continue to dig into your food, not realizing how hungry you are from all your antics the night before. His phone rings next, and it’s Jack. 

“Hey bud!” 

There’s nothing better than the way his voice transforms when he speaks to his son. You hear your name and return your attention to his conversation. 

“...we’re at a wedding this weekend, remember? We got to go to a big party last night, and we’re driving home today… Yeah,” he looks at you, “we did have a lot of fun… I’m so glad you had a good time with Aunt Jess and the Brooks cousins this weekend… You got to go ice fishing? That’s so exciting! Did Grandpa take you?... Awesome, bud… Sounds good, I’ll call you when I get home, okay?... I love you too.”

When he puts his phone away, you ask, “How’s he doing?”

“It’ll be a fight to get him home, that’s for sure.” 

You take another bite of your food. “How are things with Haley’s family? Any better?”

“Not at all. I’m not sure there’s much I can do, at this point. Jess does what she can, but her dad is… not a fan of mine.” There’s a kind of sadness in his eyes, and you almost regret asking.

“I know you know this, but none of this is your fault.” You look into him and hope he can see the sincerity in your eyes, hear it in your voice. 

He thinks for a moment, and you’re almost nervous he’s going to disagree (it’s happened before), but he just meets your eyes and says, “Thank you.”

+++

Hotch lets you pick the music on the way home, and doesn’t say a word when you sing along (sometimes good, sometimes bad). He does occasionally smile a little secret smile to himself, which makes your heart skip around in your chest. 

At a certain point, you turn the music off and sit back in your seat. 

As usual, Aaron knows you’re going to say something long before you say it. “Yes?” 

“I know I keep saying this, but thank you for coming with me this weekend.” Your body shifts toward him, and you can’t seem to tear your eyes from his profile. 

“You’re welcome.” He glances at you before looking back at the road. “Thank you for trusting me not to embarrass you in front of people you haven’t seen in almost ten years.” 

You smile a kind of lopsided sort of smile. “You could never embarrass me.”

He frowns playfully. “That’s not true.” 

“You are exceedingly upstanding, and you just got your hair cut, so the odds are in my favor.” 

“Hey!” He self-consciously runs a hand over the back of his hair. You reach over to shove at his shoulder and you’re rewarded with a laugh. 

“I’m kidding! I like it long.” You look over fondly at him. “It was longer when I first met you, remember?” You’re not sure why you continue, but you do nevertheless. “You started keeping it shorter after the div - well, after.” 

He quirks his brow, the corners of his lips upturned just the smallest amount. “Nobody ever accused you of being unobservant.” 

You grin widely at him and turn the radio back on. 

+++

You’ve never been more disappointed to see your own driveway in your whole life. Hotch pulls in and turns the ignition off, and you sit in silence for a minute. 

There’s so much to think about, and most of it is at least a little uncomfortable. Of course you’re in love with him and he’s your favorite person (and that’s bad enough), but that is even harder to stomach now that you have to go back into the real world. 

It’s easy to pretend that it was real, that it wasn’t just for show to make you feel less awful about the direction of your love life. If anything, now that you’re home, you feel even worse. 

The only person you want is seemingly the only person you can’t have. There’s something so unattainable about Hotch. You’re not sure if it’s his stern exterior or his age or his role, or if it has more to do with how devastatingly handsome he is, but it’s something. 

Aaron wishes he could do anything else, than leave you here at home. Nevertheless, he sighs and gets out of the car. You follow him around back, though you’re not really sure why - he takes your suitcase and insists on carrying it all the way to the door. 

You stand there, fumbling with your keys, feeling more and more like a character in a romantic comedy with every passing second. Aaron sets your suitcase on the ground and covers your hands with his. You look up at him, and he leans toward you, pressing a gentle, chaste kiss to your cheek. 

“Thank you for inviting me.” 

All you can do is nod, with a tight, closed-mouth smile. 

“I’ll see you tomorrow,” he says

“Bye, Hotch,” you call to him as he trots back to the car. “Thanks again.” 

He turns toward you, puts his sunglasses on, opens the door, and says, “Anytime.” 

You wave with the tips of your fingers and slide into your house. Your back to do the door, you slide down to the floor and cover your face with your hands. 

Fuck. 

tagged: @arganfics @quillvine @stxrryspencer @agenthotchner @wandaswitxh @hurricanejjareau @fics-ilike @ange-must-die @ughitsbaby @rousethemouse @criminalsmarts @dr-reid-ismyspiritanimal @shrimpyblog @genevievedarcygranger @ssaic-jareau @saintd0lce @good-heavens-chris-evans @angelsbabey @gublergirls @writefasttalkevenfaster @venusbarnes @vintagecaptainspidey​ @micaiahmoonheart​ @ogmilkis @thatreallyis-americas-ass​ @marvels-agents100​ @newtslatte​ @risenfox ​@mrs-dr-reid​ @captain-christopher-pike​ @joemazzello-imagines​ @pinkdiamond1016​ @sebbybaby0​ @pan-pride-12​ @hotchlinebling​ @lee-rin-ah ​@sunshine-em​ @word-scribbless ​@jdougl-love​ @sageellsworth05​ @emmice9 @nohalohoseok @giveusbackourbucky​ @bauslut @yourlovelynewsbian @sparklingkeylimepie @aili28 @kingandrear @reader4027 @spnobsessedmemes @rogers-mouth @dreila03 @forgottenword @aaronhotchnerr @ssa-morgan @hotchnersgoddess @buckybau @phoenixfyre374 @sana-li @tegggeeee @abschaffer2 @ssacandi-ass-prentiss @songbird400 @dontkissthewriter @ellyhotchner @a-dorky-book-keeper @lotties-journey-abroad @mrs-joel-pimentel-23-25 @laneygthememequeen @ahopelessromantic @violentvulgarvolatile @andreasworlsboring101 @mooneylupinblack @ssareidbby @violet-amxthyst @zizzlekwum @lcvischmitt

[thatoneteadrinker666]

This was meant to be a short story to help me feel better since I was feeling sad and wanted comfort but then something happened and now it’s long. Enjoy I guess wheeze

Warning: soft and safe vore

Soft hugs reader insert (BBH and reader)

Your body quivered violently as you sat under a tree, holding your knees, watching rain drip from dark green leaves. Some drops pooled together to form falls bigger than you. That wasn’t too hard, seeing as you were tiny, just bigger than a crayon. It was embarrassing, really, how you managed to get yourself into these situations. Normally you could get home and wait for the effect to wear off. This thunderstorm was making sure you didn’t plant one step towards home today. For whatever reason, the universe had decided you were going to be stranded outside, far from your cozy house in the grasslands.

You whimpered as thunder nearly split your delicate eardrums and covered your ears.

“Oh, you poor thing..”

You yelped and immediately covered your mouth with your hands.

“Oh my goodness, I didn’t mean to scare you- I’m sorry-“ You squinted in the direction the voice was coming from and saw.. nothing. It was pitch black. Not a-

And suddenly glowing white eyes hovered just above you, seeming to be almost worried. You opened your mouth to scream again and was met with a soft smile. Robes fell around you as this thing sat down just in front of you.

“What are you doing out here? In the cold?” Framed by red rimmed cloth, a friendly face peered down at you, brow wrinkled with concern.

“B-Bad?” You managed to stutter out, grabbing your shoulders and holding yourself. BadBoyHalo. A friend. Someone you knew. Someone you trusted. Oh good. You were safe.

Bad beamed. For once you were elated to see some fangs. You knew those fangs; you saw them all the time. Bad smiled a lot, and those smiles were enough to make you grin yourself.

“Yes! Yes, I’m here. What are you doing out here? You muffinhead.. you’re not supposed to be out here at night.. it’s dangerous at night. You’re just as bad as-“ Bad rubbed his face, shaking his head. “Never mind.. you’re shaking...we should fix that..”

You just watched as he talked, still shivering. You’d forgotten about the thunder and lightening, being so happy to see Bad, so the sudden flash and rumble caught you off guard and sent you scrambling towards the demon. You huddled up to his middle and covered your ears.

“Hey- what’re you-?” Bad peered down and sighed. “Poor thing.. it must be so loud for you...”

At that moment, his stomach growled quietly. You stiffened up but refused to move, much too cold to retreat now. A clawed hand curled around you and held you close to his warm body.

“You’re so cold.. I need to get you back.. you’ll freeze out here. That’s the last thing we would want.” He rubbed his chin. Bad perked up as an idea hit him. “Listen, I know this will look scary, but you will be perfectly safe. You need to rest and get warm and that’s not gonna happen out here. I promise you’ll be just fine, alright?”

You blinked up at him, too tired and cold to think about what he was inferring. The rush of adrenaline you’d gotten earlier was fading fast. You just wanted to nap. So with a slow nod, you leaned into the warmth.

Bad had done this before. Being a non human, he had a couple different pieces of anatomy. One of those was a storage stomach, used to examine incoming food for poison. The other was a fun little fire sac that supplied his warmth; he was toasty for a reason. Bad planned on storing you away from the cold rain and wind and frightening thunder. It didn’t seem too hard. You’d be completely safe the entire time. He felt bad hurting anyone who didn’t deserve it. And you certainly didn’t deserve it.

Carefully he scooped your frail body up and brought you up to his face. A slightly forked tongue wrapped you up and pulled you into his dark, humid mouth. Soft flesh pulsed around you, slathering saliva over your skin to prepare you for your trip down.

The demon couldn’t help but purr at your sweet, delicious taste. Saliva flooded his maw. Yum… he closed his eyes, feeling his tummy clench hungrily. While he didn’t want to hurt you; no no not at all- he was absolutely starving. Sort of forgot to eat dinner and well… here he was. Bad hesitated before tipping his head back slightly and letting you slip smoothly down his throat.

The second your body felt the soft warmth on it, it shut down. You were quite sure you had passed out, but then if you had, why could you still feel the silky touch of the demon’s maw…? And why were you asking questions that you weren’t sure you wanted the answer to?

Bad lowered himself down so you would slide into his storage stomach without trouble; he didn’t want you to wake up because of the sudden fall. That wouldn’t be good. And you were soon tucked away safely within the demon, who rose and began to walk back to civilization, where it was safe and sound.

[herstarburststories]

You Have A Home

Pairing: Sam Winchester x Reader

Summary: After a call from Y/N, Sam comes back town to help -- and brings Dean with him.

Requests: N°1 heyhey, could you do a Sam x reader where they went to college togehter and later meet again and they realise their feelings for eachother...xx + N°2: can you do a college sam headcanon with medicine student reader

A/N: This was fun! The monster here is mentioned in season 6, when the boys ask Bobby for advice on how to kill it. This is my first Samgirl long imagine, with Dean being the flirty he is. I wrote this almost one year ago, so it's more crude and I'm nervous to be posting it! And my piece for @cajunquandary 's 600 challenge, my prompt was monster of the week. Dividers by @talesmaniac89!

Dean's eyes remained on the road when the bitter statement left his body, tangled with a wry chuckle, “I can't believe you are still in touch with those people.”

“Those people?” Sam arched elbows, slightly skeptical by his brother's tone, “They were my friends, Dean.”

“Sammy, all our friends? Dead. They all die. Or worse.” He glanced at him for a moment, pursing his lips together. It might not be an easy assignment, but was part of the job. Sammy had tried to run away plenty times and always came back, when would he understand? “We don't get to have friends. You should've learned that.”

“They are not our friends, they are my friends. Also, they don't know about the hunting life, they aren't in harm.” Sammy hissed once the other locked his green eyes on the road again. Dean sighed, moving one hand away and up from the steering wheel in a rendition gesture.

“Whatever you say, man. I'm just warning you, this doesn't usually end up good for them.”

Sam scoffed, Dean could get on his nerves sometimes, “We saved many people that got to have a good life.”

“Yeah, but those people didn't know us before that. I told you when you left Stanford--”

“I didn't keep contact, okay!? I just... I just still have a phone that they have the number of. No social media, no calls on birthdays.” Nervously gesticulating, he added, “I know how to keep them safe, Dean.”

“So, old friend?” The eldest Winchester asked after the few minutes of silence that followed Sam's outburst, “Female old friend?”

“Yes. (Y/N) (Y/L/N).” Dean smirked, and Sam to rolled his eyes at his behavior, “Keep it in your pants.”

He'd let out a malicious laughter before turning on the radio, the first guitar sounds of AC/DC playing in the background.

“I think you'll be the one not keeping it, Sammy.”

“Hello?” The woman in nothing but a towel who had opened the door greeted them with a question, her brown eyes glaring at the two men with clear confusion.

Dean had no shame to check her out, innerly celebrating that she was still wet from her shower. Perhaps visiting Sam's friends wasn't that big mistake. “Hey, you.”

She grimaced at Dean for two seconds before turning her attention to Sam again, sudden recognition written on her face.

“Sam? Sam Winchester?” He nodded, smiling that light-hearted boyish grin at her. Not caring about her dressings, she just threw herself at Sammy, hugging him tightly. “I missed you!” She pulled away only to hit his shoulder. Her short stature didn't match Sam's, but he'd still make a grimace at her attempt of slap. “Why didn't you call? God, your hair grew a lot. Listen, I have some scissors.”

“Tried that, didn't work.” Dean interrupted their reencounter, trying to get in the conversation. An usual lopsided grin on his face, “Dean Winchester, Sam's brother.”

“Layla, Sam's friend.” She gave him a friendly smile in return, opening space for them to pass through the door before closing it, “Come in, I need to change in clothes.”

“I wouldn't even dream of that. Seriously.”

Layla would just wiggle one of her brows at Dean's comments, not impressed by it, “Ele é sempre assim? (Is he always like this?)”

Thankfully, Sam still remembered a bit of his friend's native language. He just chuckled, managing to apologize for Dean's typical Dean behavior, “Unfortunately. Sinto muito. (I'm sorry)”

“(Y/N) is in the kitchen. I'll be right back.” Her accent was thicking stronger duo the comfortability around Sam. Excusing herself, the caramel skinned girl leaded upstairs.

“What did she say?” Dean asked, side glancing at the path Layla had just gone on, not even sure of which language she'd just spoken, much less what was said. Sammy didn't bother replying, satisfied to grin at his obvxion brother. “Dude, come on!”

“Sam!” A well-known voice filled the room as the image of (Y/N) appeared in front of them, dressing your loyal cook's avental. You didn't think twice before jumping on Sam. “I missed you, giant!”

He, like always, caught you with a light-hearted laughter, “I missed you too, cupcake.” You two spent a few moments like this, enjoying each other's warm and long lost touch, until Dean cleared his throat. You finally went back to the ground, embarrassed by having a stranger to see that level of intimacy between you and Sam, “This is Dean, my--”

“Handsome brother. Hello, cupcake.” Dean was so going to tease Sam for the rest of his life for it.

“You really live up for Sam's description.” You giggled, heading towards the kitchen “Come in, I'm baking.”

“So, you and Layla still live together?”

“Most of the time, yes. You know how she is, comes and goes. Never wanted to stay in a place for too long and got a job that supported that.” The boys followed you, Dean examining the kitchen and trying to discover what you were cooking through the smell, while Sam couldn't take his eyes on you, “Apparently, just like you.”

Even though your back was facing them as you checked the food, the bite didn't pass unnoticed, “I had to leave, (Y/N)”

“I understand that, Sam. But you never called or texted. It was like I--” You quickly corrected yourself, “We never existed for you.”

“It's not like that.” Sam sighed, how could he justify? He knew you wouldn't buy a simple excuse. You were smart, and knew him too well to swallow a 'I went on a trip with my brother and just decided that college wasn't my deal' and leave it for that.

“I'm here!” Layla declared, arriving into the room with an excited smile, it was good to have the gang back together. Although, the tangible tension almost made her go back to the shower, “Am I interrupting something?”

“A sitcom DR.” Dean answered with sarcasm, spreading his figure on the chair when you turned around with an apple pie in your hands “What about we talk about the ca-- Is this pie?”

“We heard a scream followed by a loud roar and (Y/N) stayed near the camping part because there was still a signal and I went looking for who it was. When I got there, the thing ran away. Jorge's body... No human did that. His chest was cracked open irregularly, as if it was done by an animal and his heart looked weird. Like it was squeezed and drawn on up somehow?”

“We got a Samia.” Dean stated, relaxing on his spot. Some sault, rosemary and fire would do the job just fine, “Let me guess, it left a clawn near the body or inside it?”

Layla nodded, “Right in the chest or what lasted of it.”

“Are you okay? Finding the body in that state.” A comprehensive manner englobed Sam's question, whom noticed the normality with his friend described finding a shattered body.

“Just some guts.” She shrugged, a grimace was all the reaction they'd get. Crying wouldn't help, neither being terrorized as they expected her too. “I've seen Grey's Anatomy enough not to care about it.”

“Well, I'm literally a medicine student and I am still not okay with that. Especially after you made me go and check the body.” You argued, glaring at your best friend who'd only roll her eyes in response.

“I needed a professional to say if he was dead or not!”

“You need a therapist.”

Dean got up, looking straight at Layla. Time to play the hero in shining armor, “Don't worry with that, we will take care of it.”

Frowning, you were the one to respond, “Do you work for the police now or?”

“Are implying that we investigate it by ourselves?” Your best friend added.

Dean couldn't believe his brother. How the fuck did he let them get inside without saying they didn't know about the hunting business? It was a luck shot that they didn't think much when he said Samia.

“Nope. Not you two. We will do it.” The blonde one said, pointing at them with a smirk.

“I agree, we will do it.” Layla replied, matching his taunt smile.

“Sam, I'm not letting you and your brother do it by yourself. Jorge was my professor, I knew him. Besides, we found the body.” You got on your feet and crossed your arms, waiting for a response. Sam always had a sort of hero complex, ready to help no matter what, but there was no way you'd be letting him go into danger with his brother. Getting in your dormitory to kill a cockroach back then or facing an idiot during a bar fight to protect one of your friends was something, but this? They were talking about looking for an assassin. What if something happened to him? You were the one who called. All on you. The thought of Sam getting hurt for any reason was unbearable, but because of you? You weren't willing to do that.

“You would be in danger, (Y/N). You both.” He tried to explain, internally hoping you'd accept his reasoning and let it go. Sam didn't want you to become one of the friends who knew about this life, you deserve more. He already lost one woman he loved in this city, he couldn't lose another.

You huffed in frustration, “Just like you will!” 

“It's different.” As he was terrified of, you insisted. Arms crossed still and eyes locked with his, determined to get something from him. Sam was smart enough to know that you would keep it going. Perhaps he could give you a short explanation, “Me and my brother, we are used to this. We hunt things like that.”

Layla tilted her head to the side. The way Sam talked remembered her of animal hunting, although she highly doubted that was the case, “Little more explanation?'”

“Monsters are real. Vampires, werewolves, spirits. The list goes on. Call us crazy. Roll the credits.” Sarcasm saltered every word of Dean's as he gestured up and down with a cocky smile. Everyone glared at him, a special furious look from his brother, “What? I thought they knew what we did and that's why she called.”

“Sam?” Your voice was fragile when you said his name, a demonstration that you would believe him through the fear of the truth, but that he had to say it.

Sam laid his hazel eyes on you. God, how he wished he didn't have to confirm anything, to break your vision of world so abruptly, “Dean is right. Supernatural things are real. I know it sounds--”

“Unbelievable? Problematic? Scary?”

“Yeah, all of them.” Sam offered you a humorless smile, then holding your hand the way he used to when you were nervous about an exam, “But I wouldn't lie to you, cupcake.”

The silence was broken by Layla opening a bottle of Whiskey, pouring them for the three people in the room besides herself. You rolled your eyes at your best friend, while Sam wore a tiny smile and Dean was astonished.

Noticing the eyes glued, the latina just shrugged “What? If you are gonna tell me that Dracula is real and you are a sort of Buffy's apprentice, then we will need some alcohol.”

“Why did you call?” Sammy asked, his brows knotted together, mouth slight open as he waited for your response. “You didn't know what I did. And he wasn't my professor at Stanford. Then why did you call, (Y/N)?”

You could make up a hundred excuses. Lie and say he was the one friend besides Layla that you had somehow a way to get to. Appeal to the excuse of 'I felt something weird about the death and you said I should call if I ever had a problem of any kind'. But for as much as you felt horrible for using a death as a pretext for calling him, that was partially the truth. You already had put yourself into a mess of monsters and a drained heart, it couldn't be scarier than being honest to Sam and to yourself.

At least, you hoped so. But your heart was rushing like when you saw Jorge's body. Jesus, when did love become so morbid?

You took a deep breath, oxygen barely achieving your lungs, and then started to talk.

“I wanted to call you the minute that you left, Sam. I almost did a million times.” You answered, looking down at the bottle of a sort of plant that he was putting in a dark green bag. “I thought about what you could be doing, what was so important that you couldn't send me a message. But you just didn't want to call, I guess.”

“I wanted to call, of course I did.” You scoffed at his statement, looking up to match his eyes, “(Y/N), I'm serious.”

“You didn't even come to Jess' funeral, Sam. Layla said that maybe you needed to leave to clear your mind, that was too much to deal with. But I was so worried, and sad and confused and I wanted to talk to you because you would understand, you always did. About anything. And I wanted to give you some sort of comfort, but--” You lifted your hands and shrugged your shoulder, a broken chuckle leaving your body. “But you weren't here.”

“You stopped leaving messages after two weeks. Calling was gone when it made a moth.” You sniffed. Sam's lips curved into a pure, cautelous grin. God, he was always so sweet. “The emails took two months.”

“You were never good with dates. I gave you a calendar in your freshman week.” Your teeth met your lower lip. He didn't answer, only nodding at your affirmation, omitting the fact that he still had the calendar between latin books and pieces of newspapers, “Yet, you remember all of it.”

Sam leaned forward, holding your hand with all the delicacy you would expect from a sculptor. It had been too long since he hugged you, and his touch made all your skin tickle with warmth. “I missed you too, (Y/N). I thought about you all those years.”

“So, Cupcake?”

"Let's focus on the case, Dean."

“Then you can go back and eat your cupcake?” He remarked with a grin. His brother just huffed, pointing the flashlight through the trees, “So, Layla…”

Sam rolled his eyes, like he usually did when Dean started being too Dean for his liking, “Dean. The case.”

Before he could make another teaseful comment, a roar invaded their audition. The hunters gave each other a quick glance before heading towards the direction of the noise.

Shaking the salt and rosemary mixture in his hands, Dean smirked, “That's it. Time to shine, cupcake.”

“I have to admit. Being patched up by a doctor is better than by Dean.”

A surprised, half relieved laughter came out your body as you finished another stitch on Sam's arm. That boy was unbelievable; openly talking and making jokes about his brother, who was also being patched up by your best friend in company of a bottle of whiskey, while he spoke about Layla's name being a rock song. You were working on a large wound on his shoulder-- which you were sure that was full of dirt from the forest.

Medicine student, but I'll take that complement.” You winked at him, gaining a soft grin from Sammy, “I was expecting more blo-- Why are you smiling? I'm touching a recent wound. It doesn't look dangerous, but I'm sure it is supposed to hurt. A lot.”

Sam's answer came out easily, the bare, vulnerable truth: “I'm happy you are here.”

You looked at him, his hair longer than before, but the soft simper remained on his face. You bit your lip to hold a giggle; her heart dared to hope. What he expected when he said things like this? A quiet contentment spread through his expression while he watched your reaction.

“You should have come home sooner.” 

His mouth formed a line, “I don't have a home, (Y/N). It's just Dean, me and the road now.”

“No, Sam.” Shaking your head lightly, you intertwined your fingers with his. His life was dangerous, you couldn't afford the luxury of waiting even more to share what you had finally admitted to yourself in the moment he walked through the door. It didn't seem like the easiest, simpler situation. But the only hard thing you couldn’t go through was to be away from Sam Winchester. He lingered on you for years, you were done letting him run away. It was time to hold his hand and walk together. “You should've come home sooner. To me.”

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[mggpleasedontlookhere]

reid’s anatomy

summary: spencer gets a gunshot wound while working in the field and gets transported to the hospital you work in as a 4th year resident. 

word count: 2,325                                                                                             reading time aprox: 9 mins

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Gurneys, lights, flying commands, and patients. The trauma room was my favorite place to be, other than the OR of course, it felt like a second home. But nothing compared to the home I had when I laid in Spencer’s arms. 

I was currently working in the trauma room, triaging the patients as I did my rounds. I dismissed a few individuals that had minor injuries, while discovering various accidents that required solutions as small as stitching up a patient to booking an OR for an emergent surgery. 

“Honey can you move your toes for me please?”

In front of me lay my latest patient, a 5 year old boy who had been pushed off of a swing set and had happened to land on his ankle. His cheeks were painted red from the crying he had previously done, a thumb cemented into his mouth as he continued to suck on it for comfort. His mother sat beside him, panic evident in her eyes, although she kept an amiable expression to reassure her son on his well being. 

The boy shook his head frantically, earning a break in composure from the mother. She reached out and folded her hand over her son’s and held on tight to it, with a tight-lipped smile on her face. 

“You’re going to be okay Timothee, mommy’s right here sweetie”. The mother squeezed her son’s hands continuously, looking to me for answers.

“Your son- well Timothee here seems to have sprained his ankle” I explained in layman's terms, lifting up the boys ankle to locate where the injury occurred.  “The issue here is that he seems to have an eversion ankle sprain and has fractured his deltoid ligament, which is more uncommon than a inversion ankle sprain, since the deltoid ligament is close to impossible to fracture”. 

As I finished my description, the mother returned her attention to her son, massaging his head to console him. “We-well it’s just a sprained ankle right? It can heal. My husband has had multiple sprained ankles from how much of a klutz he is” She joked in attempt to lighten the mood. Despite her attempts, there was more news to deliver.

“I wish it was much more simpler than that” I sighed, motioning for the on-call nurse to come over. “Due to Timothee’s young age, my biggest concerns are the development of his bones, considering the fracture he had suffered and that the nerves responsible for motor skills in his legs might have been severed. In most adult cases, the individual is able to recover because the durability of the bone had been fully realized from age. But, Timothee here is at risk of deformation of his osseous matter” I doefully confessed, a small pit forming in my stomach while delivering his diagnosis. 

As the mother’s face dropped, I turned to the nurse telling her to call Neuro and Peds, then asked her to file the paperwork. I looked back at the small family with a sigh, placing his chart at the end of the bed. 

It was moments like these that make me envision the life I’m going to have with Spencer if we ever decided to have children together. Despite our young age, I couldn’t help up configure an idealistic future than only composed of me, Spencer, and 2 or 3 little children running around us in glee. 

“The nurse will be back with the pape-” 

I was cut off by sirens and a magnitude of shrilling voices shouting commands. These were the indications of an incoming trauma. I turned around to peak for a second with the possibility of wanting to check on another case, but the interns and 2nd year residents had beat me to it. 

My focus remained on the child in front of me, checking his vitals from time to time, while eavesdropping on the commotion behind me. 

“We’ve got a caucasian ma...federal...with a GSW in the thoracic cavity, with intercostal tears”. Most of the sentence was muffled by the loud wheels of the crash cart, residents fumbling around, and the attendings yelling orders at the scene. I turned around to witness the chaotic scene, only to be meet with heads full of hair and some that didn’t actually have hair at all. 

Geez, I wouldn’t want to be the guy with the GSW to his chest

In emergent surgery, GSW’s were the most lethal in the clinic as most of the time the patient is either too late or the bullet had caused multiple complications in the patient, causing distress in the body. The tricky thing about GSWs were that they were different every time, it was almost always a different procedure depending on the location. 

I nodded goodbye to the perturbed mother, earning a tight lipped smile and a nod back. I turned to walk towards the nurses station when suddenly I was paged to trauma room 3. I rushed over to the area, sanitizing my hands before walking in. A privacy drape hung from the lower abdomen of the individual, with nurses and residents scrambling to keep his vitals stabilized.   

I faced the trauma nurse as she explained the patients situation. “We’ve got a caucasian male, seems to be 25-35 with a GSW in his thoracic cavity with no exit wound, the bullet is possibly lodged in the pericardial cavity” She spoke in haste. 

“Push 10 of Norepinephrine and call Cardio” I stressed, rushing out of the room to find another resident to scrub into the surgery as I wasn’t finished with my rounds yet. 

On my way around the nurse’s desk I noticed a familiar face that sat glum and slumped over in his chair, well it was more like a familiar group of faces. My steps slowed in order to get a better view to confirm my suspicions, then shuffled over to determine what the occasion was. 

“Hey Morgan-hey guys” I furrowed my eyebrows at the group, my worry peaked at the numerous melancholy expression that they wore on their faces. Despite my observations, there was one face I noticed was missing from the ensemble. 

Spencer. 

A chill ran up my arm, which was usually an indication of something wrong. In spite of the unfavorable pit in my stomach, I was at my workplace where everything usually puts me on edge, so I pushed it aside. 

“Where’s Spenc-” 

My words faded out into an uncomfortable silence when Morgan lifted his head to face me and in his eyes were the deepest of browns, anguish pooled in his irises, similar to the look I gave to the mother of the patient I was treating previously. I glanced at the rest of the team, who wore a identical stares. 

My stomach had churned and twisted into knots. The chill that had ran up my arm traveled to my legs, all the way to the tips of my toes. Everything felt like it was moving in slow motion, I could feel my heart still and my fingers twitch. The overhead lights of the clinic became overwhelmingly bright and a nauseating sensation began crawling up my throat. 

“Y/N-” Morgan began as I stared at him wide-eyed. He grabbed one of my hands and wrapped it in between his rough and sweaty palms, but I tensed in the midst of it, while adrenaline ran up my veins. 

“Reid, he’s...we-we were workin- I...he’s” 

Despite his attempts at an explanation, he wasn’t able to complete any of his phrases as I yanked my hand out of his grasp and bolted towards the trauma room. I heard my name being called in the background, although it became a voice of a phantom as my surroundings became impaired with the sounds of my heartbeat, the loud thuds my feet made as I raced towards the room, and the anxious thoughts that flooded my mind. 

I pushed into the room, only to see a bed was missing. I bee lined to where the residents were, pivoting around the various carts that decorated the room. “Where’s that patient with the GSW in his thoracic cavity? What resident was assigned on his case? What was his name?”. The words spewed out of my lips like a waterfall, earning alarmed looks from the residents. 

“Um, he was transported to OR 3″ One of them explained with naive looks on their faces. 

“Yeah, they’re in surgery right now with Dr. Burke and Dr. Montgomery” Another one added. 

“What’s the patient’s name? Do you remember?” I responded, prying them of all the information they knew. The residents peered at each other dumbfoundedly, looking at each other for answers as if they were taking their MLE exams again. 

“Dr. Y/L/N, no offense but you’re not on this case” One of the residents added with a condescending voice. 

“Dr. Mallory, if you don’t answer me in the matter of 10 seconds, I swear I will go to your senior resident and have you be doing scut for the rest of your medical career” I retorted. Fear was evident in all their eyes, I knew my eyes were brimming with multiple emotions, condensing into nothing but a fiery and aggressive tone.  

“Sp-spencer Reid, Ma’am” A quiet voice spoke up in the group. I nodded a small thank you to the individual and ran to the OR where they held Spencer. 

When I got into the prep room, I grabbed a face mask and entered the OR, witnessing a man’s body, the love of my life under heavy anesthesia and tubes wired up to his chest. Before I could speak, the attending spoke up and questioned me of my presence. 

“I-i was wondering if I could scrub in sir” I replied. “I-I, um, heard that there was in upc...incoming trauma for a GSW and I was wondering if I could scrub in” I repeated. 

“You already said that Dr. Y/L/N” 

“I understand sir, but I-” 

The attending than turned around exposing the sight of Spencer’s chest being retracted open. My entire body ached at the sight, the lifelessness of his body creating an image in my head that couldn’t compare to the images Spencer would see of his victims. I cringed and turned away, tears threatening to spill from my eyes, but I knew I couldn’t let myself go, especially if I wanted to be included in Spencer’s operation. 

“Dr. Y/L/N, with all respect, I know you’re one of the best residents we have in this hospital and I know you’re a phenomenal doctor” The attending explained, letting one of the other senior residents take over for a moment. “But, I also know who this is laying on my table. For this case, you’re not his doctor, you’re family, and I need you to trust that I am able to do my job, as you do yours” He concluded, signaling to one of the nurses to take me out of the OR. 

I nodded hesitantly, following the nurse out of the room, my eyes still locked on the individual that lay on the table. After the nurse had went back inside, I sat on the ground with my hands on my lap, staring at the abyss of the hallway. 

Our future depends on if a single man can maneuver his scalpel with enough wisdom and efficiency. The father of my future children lay on the cold metal table, where I used to find comfort and power in when saving someone else’s loved one. Who knew there would be a time where the roles were switched. 

Who knew that no matter how many years you’ve trained, how many books you’ve read, and the degrees you’ve obtained to save people’s lives, you could still be powerless against what life throws at you. The worst part is the irony that comes with tragedies. I spent a quarter of my life learning how to save people, yet I sit here purposeless when someone that I live for is struggling to stay alive. How malicious is that. 

Tears began streaming down my cheeks, although my expression hasn’t changed. The wetness that enveloped half of my face was the only thing that reminded me of the reality that I was in, keeping my consciousness grounded momentarily. 

I swear my heart pauses, everytime I hear a change in the monitor that indicated Spencer’s vitals or a command that the attending would spew out to the helping resident. I was completely fixated on everything that was happening in the room adjacent to me, disregarding the entire atmosphere that lay in my vision. 

It wasn’t until large legs halted in front of where I was crouched down. I didn’t bother looking up as my thoughts clouded my sensibility. The figure then sat down to my level, I could feel the individual’s eyes boring at my blank visage. I felt a large arm pull me closer to the individual, only this time I realized it was Morgan who had come to console me. 

Awaiting a pursuance of some sort of speech that’s supposed to bring me clarity or amenity. But to my dismay, only the loud presence of silence filled the gap of our exchange. That’s when my emotions began to seep into my skin, filling my heart with heavy matter, making it close to impossible to keep up my facade. 

A whimper escaped my lips while I laid on Morgan’s shoulder for the time being, only for the rest of my somber to follow. I cried in defeat, holding onto the clutches of Morgan’s shirt as he gripped onto the back of my head, massaging it in the process. 

I felt droplets hit the top of my head and a wetness forming rapidly. Weak sniffles emitted from the man above me, betraying his collected composure. We both sat here together with heavy hearts, waiting for what seemed like an eternity. 

We both sat in silence waiting to see if his colleague was alive and if my everything was still breathing. 

-

Pt. 2

A/N:

Pt. 2 coming soon! most likely tomorrow. I was going to write the whole thing today, but frankly, I just need a fresh mind.  

Part 2 out now

[metalheadcowboy]

Billy tried to avoid flying at all costs. Not because he was afraid of the actual airplane part, but rather because it meant he had to face his worst enemy, the TSA scanners.

Ever since he started transitioning, without fail, every time he walked through one he would set it off whether it was his binder, or packer, or whatever. Even after he got top surgery, packer or not, his crotch would set off the machine because it didn’t match the ‘male’ anatomy the person running the machine selected for him. And if the dysphoria itself wasn’t enough it was just plain embarrassing having to answer all their questions and get pat down in front of everyone.

So, yeah, Billy didn’t like flying, but when Steve invited him on their family vacation to Barbados in the summer he wasn’t going to just say no.

The days leading up to the flight made him unreasonably anxious, literally practicing in the mirror what he was going to say to the security officer who told him to step aside for a pat down. It was almost so much that he couldn’t even be excited about the trip, anxiety overtaking him. Not to mention that he wasn’t even out to Steve’s parents yet and they had kind of freaked about him being gay, and just recently got over that, so what would they think of all this? Shit.

The morning of the Harrington picked him up at the ripe hour of 4 AM to catch their flight, Billy practically shaking in the backseat while Steve sat next to him, happily listening to the vacation playlist they made together in his headphones. Maybe he should have confided his worries in Steve, but he didn’t want to bring down his excited vibe.

When they got to the airport of him hoped that this time would be different, that in some odd stain of luck the machine would be kind to him and let him through without giving him the red light and angry beeping. Those hopes would quickly be crushed when Steve went through with no problems and then it was his turn.

He emptied his pockets of his wallet, phone, and whatever other crap he had stuffed in there. Then, he stepped up to the machine, looking at it as if they were about to face off before the lady ushered him through.

Beep! Beep! Beep! Beep!

Of course.

“Sir, can I get you over here.” A male security guard asked, both wanting to make way for other people to get to their flights and wanting to check him out. He looked over shamefully at Steve and his parents waiting for him far enough away so they couldn’t hear the conversation but he could still see the annoyed look on Mrs. Harrington’s face.

Billy sighed, begrudgingly walking over to the security guard and a few of his colleges awaiting his arrival, “Listen,” he started, trying to act calm around the three men who were all somewhat taller than him, “If I just tell you I’m transgender up front will you let me go?”

The security guards all just kind of looked at each other, judgement clear in their expressions, “We’re not allowed to do that.”

“That’s bullshit!” he complained, eyebrows scrunching together in anger.

“We can try scanning you again as a woman-”

“Please don’t,” Billy looked back over at Steve who was giving him those big doe eyes, soft and full of emotion, “Fine, just fucking pat me down.” He held his arms out and spread his legs like he knew what they were gonna ask him to do, because he did. 

As the security guard patted him down he only seemed to get more and more confused as he went down.

“Hey, watch it,” Billy warned when he got to his groin, feeling like the guy was checking him out more than he usually would. He was expecting to get yelled at but the guy just moved on with the search.

After he was done he was expecting to get to go back to Steve and his family, but-

“Scan ‘em as a woman!” the security guard called out to the woman running the machine, loud enough so that everybody could hear. He felt everybody’s eyes on himself, but mostly Steve’s parents as they looked on in confusion.

“What the hell!” Billy yelled, scowling at the guard with fire in his eyes. He had half a mind to punch that menacing smirk right off of his face but he knew the kind of trouble he’d get in for that.

He felt tears brimming at the corners of his eyes as they held up the line to scan him again. With clenched fists he walked through and the machine accepted him. He felt a sudden dread settle deep within his gut, looking at Mr. and Mrs. Harrington connect the pieces in their head as he collected his things.

“Have a good vacation Mr. Hargrove.”

“Fuck you.”