#i’m going to try writing on weeknights more and see if that helps

[ageofbajabule]

Dawn of Love | Chapter 2

Josh Kiszka x F! Reader

Word Count: 7k

Warnings: Arguing, Fluff, Anxiety, Self doubt, Making out, Alcohol consumption, Partying, Talk of Virginity,(no 18+ in this chapter. be on the lookout for the next one), (also please let me aware if I miss any, I always try and double check as I do my final edits)

Series Masterpost

Read Chapter 1 if you haven’t!

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AN: I just want to make a quick note! I would like to try and have a new part posted on Saturday’s. I can’t promise that it will be updated every Saturday, but just know that I put a lot of thought and work into this. Hence why it may take a little longer than normal. I also work 3rd shift so I try and write in my free time as much as I can. Thank you all for being so patient and understanding❤️

March 2014

It had been a month since the dance, and since Josh and you had officially become a couple. Throughout the month, Josh has been nothing but sweet. Leaving you little notes in your locker, doing the same in return. It was hard only having one class together, so you were only able to see each other during lunch and poetry.

You spent most weeknights together and spent every weekend together - whether you were at his place, or he came over to your house. You had been helping him more on his film as it finally completed and you both were getting ready to present it to everyone you cared deeply about.

“Sunshine! Can you hand me the hard drive please?” He turned towards you, as you grabbed the hard drive, placing it in his hand.

“This film came out really well Josh.” You smiled softly, kissing his cheek.

“Couldn’t have done it without your help mama.”A blush crept on his face as he chuckled softly.

“So my family is going to come over Friday night to watch the film with all of us.” You smiled nervously.

Your dad always thought the film dream you had was silly, but you truly had a passion for it like Josh had. And it often resulted in arguments with your father. You had applied to different colleges for a filming and photography degree. With Josh’s help of course, he had applied to most of the colleges you did too.

“Has your dad said anything…” He trailed off, unsure about how to go with the conversation.

“Well we didn’t argue if that’s what you’re trying to ask.”

He stood up wrapping his arms around you in a hug. “He’ll eventually see how important film is to you. You’re going to be amazing.” He smiled, kissing your lips softly.

You kissed him back, then pulled away slowly hugging him tightly before parting away.

“Come on, we should probably head out to the garage. Jake wants to get another practice in order to be ready for Saturday’s gig.” He rubbed your arm.

You nodded, following behind him out to the garage. You opted on sitting on the couch, sitting next to Valerie - the girl Jake had recently started going steady with.

“Hey!” You smiled softly at her,

“Hey Y/N! Are you excited for Saturday?” She shifted her attention towards you.

“Yeah, this will be the first gig I see them perform. It’ll be a very different atmosphere.” You rubbed your hands together.

You and Val had sat there watching the guys play a couple songs from their setlist they had made up. Josh always made you proud no matter what he did, but seeing him perform with his brothers was something else.

The week had gone by, and Friday was here already. Your poetry class felt longer than usual today, Josh and yourself sat in the back of the classroom. Mr.Zawalski had wanted to finish the film Beowulf, so you and Josh decided to just watch the film as you wrote notes back and forth to each other.

Is your family still planning on joining us tonight?

Yeah, but my dad has been in a mood the past few days. :(

It’s okay, he’ll open up eventually. I think this film will show him. :)

I’m just glad I have your support <3

Of course Sunny, always <3

Then Mr.Zawalski turned the lights on in the classroom, causing everyone to groan from the harsh lighting adjustment. You folded your note between you and Josh stashing it into your folder.

“Do you want a ride home?” He smiled at you,

“If it’s not an issue, I don’t want Jake getting his panties in a bunch like the other week.” You giggled remembering them bickering about practice.

“He can suck it. I just don’t want my baby to ride the bus.” He smiled, wrapping an arm around your shoulder, walking over to your locker to gather your things to head home.

“Josh…”

“What’s the matter Sunny?”

You melted at his nickname for you. It always drove you crazy, no matter what.

“I just. I’m really worried about my dad’s reaction. Especially because I think I’ve decided on where to go for college…” You walked out to his car with him, Jake hadn’t gotten to the car yet.

“I know how much his support means to you Y/N… And I want you to know that you will not disappoint him. Just show him how much this means to you.” He rubbed your shoulders.

“And you not only have your mom and sister’s support, but you have mine, the guys, my sister and even my parents.” He chuckled softly, caressing your cheek.

“Sometimes I feel like I’m making the wrong choices…” You put your head down in his hand.

He lifts your face up to meet his gaze. He pushes a piece of your hair behind your ear.

“Sunshine, you’re not making the wrong choices. You’re following your heart. And that is most important.”

He smiled, leaning forward and placing his lips against yours softly.

“Can we go?”

You two pulled away to see the voice coming from Jake, leaned up against the car chuckling softly as he watched the scene in front of him.

You blushed and nodded, getting into the passenger seat. While Jake sat in the back and Josh got in the driver's side.

Josh then dropped you off at home, after reassuring him you would be at his house later to watch the film you both worked on. Walking into the house, you could hear the television playing the news as your father sits in his normal spot on the couch, staring at the tv intently. Your mother on the other hand was finishing up the days work of cleaning the house, while your sister sat in the living room doing her homework while trying to ignore the sounds of the tv.

Walking into the mud room you set your things down, taking your shoes off and walking into the living room sitting down.

“Hi pumpkin.” Your dad smiled at you softly.

“Hi dad, how was your day?” You smiled bringing your knees up to your chest wrapping your arms around them.

“Oh it was good, how was your day?” He turned the volume of the TV down.

“It was good…” You smiled softly,

“What time must we be at the Kiszka’s tonight?”

“Josh wants to start the film at 7. It’s about an hour long…” You chewed the inside of your cheek nervously.

“An hour? Wow… I’m impressed.” Your father replied in a sarcastic tone.

“Yeah. It was going to only be a 30 minute film. But Josh had insisted on using an idea of mine to the film and extend it.” You placed your feet, getting ready to stand.

“Pumpkin… I just. I don’t know-“

“Honey! Someone is on the phone for you.” Your mom yelled for your dad, giving you the chance to leave the room.

You felt tears at the brim of your eyes. You had decided to take a shower, to make yourself feel somewhat better and get ready for tonight.

It was around quarter to 7 and your family was ready to head over to Josh’s. You had packed a small bag, considering you would be staying the night to help the guys tomorrow for their gig.

Your sister and yourself got in the back of you dad’s pick up, as your mom got into the passenger side. Your dad drove off to make the way to the Kiszka’s.

Upon arriving your dad had gotten out, helping your mom out of the truck while you and your sister followed behind them. Your father knocked on the door, and Kelly had answered it. “Hey! Welcome, come on in. Karen is finishing up making drinks and getting popcorn ready.” He motioned for everyone to file in.

You had immediately made way to Ronnie’s room setting your bag in there to make your parents aware you would in fact not be staying in Josh’s room tonight. Not that it would matter, since you would be sleeping in the basement anyways.

Walking out of Ronnie’s room you ran into Josh - making him fall back a couple of inches from the sudden impact.

“Oh, sunny. You scared me.” He chuckled, clenching his chest.

“I’m sorry Joshy…” You giggled, grabbing his hand rubbing circles.

“It’s okay mama.” He smiled, kissing your cheek.

“Josh… I don’t think he’s going to like it. He was ready to go on about how film isn’t a good career choice…” You sighed.

“Y/N. You are going to be amazing. Don’t let one person’s judgment dictate your dream.”

He caressed your cheek looking into your eyes - giving you one of his most reassuring smiles he could muster.

“If anything, only you can judge your choices. No one else.”

“Thank you… Thank you for being so understanding about everything.” You sighed feeling a little bit of relief, grabbing the hand that rested on your cheek, squeezing it gently.

“Now come on, we have a film to show.” He giggled dragging you downstairs to the living room with him.

You opted to sit on the loveseat with Josh, while your parents sat on the big couch with Karen and Kelly. Everyone else made themselves comfy on the floor or pulled a folding chair from the closet.

Josh had held your hand the entire time while the film played. Rubbing circles into your hand to keep you calm as he could tell you were tense from what your father would think of your work.

Once the film had finished everyone in the room was cheering and clapping on the film. You smiled, hugging Josh tightly.

“My god, you kids are going places!” Karen shot up from the couch hugging both you and Josh.

“Thank you mom.” Josh smiled at her,

“Thank you Mrs. Kiszka. It means a lot.” You smiled softly, looking over her shoulder to see your parents making their way.

“Sweetie, you are absolutely brilliant. Amazing work to both of you.” Your mom smiled, pulling you and Josh in for a hug.

“I’m proud of you pumpkin. You as well Josh.” He smiled, sticking his hand out to shake Josh’s hand.

The two of them shake each other’s hands smiling back at one another. Kelly had chimed in congratulating the two of you on your work. Then you had walked your family out to the truck to say goodnight before heading back into Josh’s.

“Thank you guys for coming and watching it. It really means a lot to me.” You smiled softly.

“Sweetie, you will always have our support. No matter what!” Your mom kissed your cheek, hugging you tightly.

“I still think you should reconsider your major…” You dad put out flatly, giving you a deadpan look to show that he wasn’t budging about this matter.

“Dad…” You groan,

“Y/N… I just. I want you to be realistic here. How many directors or filmmakers are successful right away?”

“Just say you don’t believe in me dad. It would hurt a lot less…” You felt the tears forming in your eyes.

“It’s not that I don’t be-“

“Really! Cause it sure seems like it… All my life I was trying to figure out who I truly am and what I want to do with my life. And the moment I do, it's not good enough for you! I’ve always done everything to make you happy dad, it’s my time to do what makes me happy…” You spit out at your father as you wiped the tears away that spilled out of your eyes.

“Y/N, we will continue this discussion at another time.” He said sternly.

“No, I’m tired of discussing this. I’ve made up my mind of what I’m doing with my life. Whether I have your support or not…” You turned on your heels,

“I’ll be home Sunday afternoon…” You then walked into Josh’s house shutting the door behind you.

Running to the guest bathroom, locking yourself in there quietly crying to yourself - until you heard a soft knock.

“Sunshine…”

“I’ll be out in a minute…” You sighed softly.

“I’ll get us some hot chocolate, okay?” He said through the door.

“Okay…”

You heard him shuffle away, as you turned to look at yourself in the mirror - wiping away the tears that were there. You resituated yourself making your way to the kitchen.

“You okay mama?” Josh was finishing up making the two of you hot chocolate.

You nodded, “I’ll be okay.” You smiled at him as he handed you a mug.

“You can talk about it whenever you want. Not now, but whenever you’re ready.” He smiled and kissed your forehead softly.

Morning came pretty quickly, and was filled with absolute chaos. The guys ran around making sure they had everything they needed for tonight's gig. Going over setlists, and making sure everyone’s gear was in tip top shape.

“Jake everything is loaded up. It’s going to be fine!” Josh pinched the bridge of his nose.

“You don’t tell me that everything is going to be fine. This is the first real gig we have! This is the start. This is my dream!” He yelled at him.

“Really Jacob? It’s not just your dream.” He threw his hands up,

“I didn’t mean it like that…” He sighed,

“I understand how important this is to you Jake. I really do. But you need to loosen up, being all tense and worried doesn’t make things better for yourself.” He patted his shoulder.

“You’re right, I’m sorry… It’s just. I don’t want this to affect how we go about this road…” He rubbed his face.

“If it makes you feel any better, Val will be there!” You chimed in, smiling softly.

Jake chuckled, nodding his head. “Yeah, that does…”

You smiled softly, dragging Josh with you. “Listen, I know you guys are going to be amazing tonight. And you’re going to kill it!”

Josh smiled as a blush crept up on his face. “Thank you, sunny…”

“Anytime Joshy…” You giggled, kissing his lips softly.

Jake suggested he drive over to Fischer Hall, while Val sat in the front and you and Josh sat in the back. Sam and Danny had rode over with Kelly and Karen, with Danny’s parents to follow them.

You all arrived about an hour before they would start so they had time to set up, and get everything in tune before the show started for them.

After everyone was settled, people had started to come into the small venue. You offered smiles to the guys.

“You guys are going to be great.” You hugged them all, then once you made it to Josh a blush crept onto your cheeks.

“You guys act like you never kiss in front of us…” Sam started laughing with Danny.

“Shut it Sammy.” Josh snipped at him, then turned towards you smiling, kissing your lips softly. You kissed him back then pulled away.

“Break a leg handsome.” You giggled softly.

Josh chuckled and went with the guys onto the stage. They lit the room up with their presence making everyone cheer them on.

You sat by the parents with Val - cheering the guys on with them.

After they performed a couple songs they finished their small set. Getting a great response afterwards makes your smile widen. You saw Josh coming over to you all flustered.

“That was amazing!” You giggled.

“It was exhilarating.” He chuckled, “Let me help the guys clean up and we can get out of here.” He smiled and ran off to help the guys.

April 2014

The twins' birthday was coming up on Wednesday. But Karen wanted to throw them a party this weekend, since they were turning 18. She had stressed how important it was that her babies have a great party, and one to remember. You have been helping out in any way.

It was hard to keep it a secret from Josh, you hated to keep secrets. But this one was just for a surprise party - so one secret wouldn’t hurt.

It was Tuesday the day before the twins' 18th birthday. Josh has been completely asking you all the questions about what you had planned. And of course you had to tell him he would have to wait and see.

“But sunny…” He groaned, walking to your locker with you.

“No ‘buts’ Josh. I’m not saying another word about your birthday.”

You opened your locker, seeing a bouquet of flowers and a note - blushing, you picked up the note reading….

To my sunshine, will you go to prom with me?

You turned to Josh, “Yes.”

He smiled, pulling you in for a hug kissing your lips.

“I know it's a month away… And I should’ve asked sooner.”

You stopped him, “Josh, it’s okay. I’ve had my dress since the beginning of the month.” You giggled softly.

“Oh, okay… I guess that's some relief.” He laughed nervously.

“And I think my mom may have already sent your mom what I was wearing. So I think they already had an idea that we would be going together.” You shook your head at their antics.

“I’m glad they’re ahead of it.” He kissed your cheek.

“I’ll see you later mama.” He winked and made his way to his morning class.

It was finally Josh and Jake’s birthday, you all decided on skipping school and going on a hike. Classes lately haven't been filled with many lessons considering you graduate in the beginning of June. And missing a day wouldn’t hurt, you just wouldn’t let your parents find out.

You all made it look like you were heading to school, but changed route and went towards where the boys family lake house was. Once arriving you had gotten out of the car, looking at the house.

“She is something…” Josh came up beside you chuckling.

“I’ve never seen anything like it.”.

“We like to come up and get away… Helps us get creative, or just to clear our minds. But we spend most of our summer days here.” He rubbed your arm.

“Well, I’m sure it’s lovely. But I’d really like to get on this trail that Jake and you were talking about.” You kissed his cheek softly.

He shook his head and walked over to Jake grabbing his gear. You did the same, tightening your laces to your shoes, and putting your bag on your back.

“So how long is this trail exactly Jake?” You stood up, soaking in the fresh air.

“About 2 miles, so a 4 mile hike today.” He smirked at you.

“But the view is nice when we get to the end of the trail. See’s over the lake and everything.” Josh chimed in.

“You might just have to carry me on the way back down.” You giggled grabbing the small lunch bag.

They both started walking on the trail, following in between them. Jake played music from his bluetooth speaker. The trail was pretty flat for most of the first half, then the other half the trail got a bit uneven and mainly stones created a path.

You felt absolutely winded, it wasn’t exactly hot out. But the temperature today was enough to make you sweat from the hike. You were a little behind Jake and Josh, it's not like you grew up in an environment to partake in hiking trips. But you wanted to spend time with both of them.

“Y/N, you alright back there?” Jake turned around, smiling softly.

“I’m okay, this is just new for me. I’m not like you monkeys…” You giggled softly.

“We’re almost there, sunny.” Josh came down beside you, rubbing your back.

“Just drink some water.” He pulled out a water bottle and opened it for you.

“Thank you…” You smiled softly, taking a couple sips from the bottle, closing it up and following them the rest of the way.

Once you made it to the end of the trail, there was an overpass that looked over the lake. It was beautiful, Josh wasn’t lying.

You set your bag down pulling out the big blanket to set on the ground, and pulled out the sandwiches you made for them. Handing them out, they smiled and said their thanks munching away. You sat down eating away at yours.

After finishing your sandwiches you had pulled out a small cake that you somehow managed to fit in the cooler. You pulled it out putting some candles lighting them, walking over to the twins.

“Happy Birthday to you!” You giggled softly.

They both sat up smiling, then blew the candles out.

“Thank you, Y/N!” Jake smiled,

“Thank you, sunny.” Josh blushed smiling softly, he kissed your cheek.

“Of course! I don’t know what I’d do without you guys.” You sighed softly, setting the cake on top of the cooler, cutting slices up for them.

Jake then pulled out a joint that was pre-rolled. “Shall we?”

Josh nodded timidly, “That depends….did you actually get some good shit for once?”

“The shit that knocks you on your ass? Yes, yes I did.” Jake chuckled, lighting it up. He took a couple puffs before passing it along to Josh.

Josh took a couple hits, then passed it to you. “You don’t have to if you don’t want to.” He smiled softly.

“I do, I just… Never have…” You looked down ashamed of yourself.

“Hey, it’s alright. All you do is place it between your lips, inhale a little then exhale.” He handed you the joint.

You nodded your head, doing as he said. You exhaled, and coughed a good bit as Jake grabbed the joint from you.

“She’s a champ!” He chuckled softly, patting your shoulder.

“Woohoo sunny!” Josh smiled, kissing your cheek.

Saturday came, and you had opted to take Josh out for brunch to get him out of the house for his mom to set up for the party. Jake was already out with Val for the morning and early afternoon, making it easier for her to decorate the house.

“So what does Sunshine have planned for me today?” Josh chuckled as he buckled himself in the car.

“Brunch, maybe a little walk around downtown? And then cake at your place.” You smiled at him as you buckled yourself, putting the car in gear to drive.

Josh took over the aux in the car, immediately playing his playlist. He started off by playing John Denver’s Sunshine On My Shoulder. You gave him a look, shaking your head slowly.

“Oh come on sunny!” He grabbed your hand and kissed it softly.

“It’s a song I can dedicate to you now, until I write a good one about you…”

“You’ll write me a song…” You blushed,

“I’d write you a million…” He smiled softly, then began belting out to the song.

Sunshine on my shoulders makes me happy

Sunshine in my eyes can make me cry

Sunshine on the water looks so lovely

Sunshine almost always makes me high

If I had a day that I could give you

I’d give you a day just like today

If I had a song that I could sing for you

I’d sing a song to make you feel this way

The drive to downtown was nice and filled with laughter and singing. Josh’s voice always blew you away, he was just a beautiful person to be with.

You stopped by a local diner, heading in to sit at a booth. The two of you had ordered your favorites, and ate in bliss. Enjoying each other’s time with one another, after brunch. You two decided to walk around downtown. It was only 2pm and you have another hour and a half to kill before making your way back to the Kiszka’s.

While walking downtown Josh pointed out a record shop, pleading you to go in with him.

“Okay! But we can’t spend the whole day here.” You giggled as he was practically dragging you in.

He chuckled, walking into the store with you. It was a pretty big store with a wide collection to choose from.

You went to the disco section, immediately searching for a copy of ABBA’s self title. It was the only edition you needed to complete your collection. You had all their other pressings available, but every time you went searching you had no luck finding it.

And to your avail, there is no self title available. You sighed, looking over the rest of the selection of great disco vinyls.

“What’s wrong, sunny?” Josh came up behind you rubbing your arm.

“Still no luck in finding the self title of ABBA…” You groaned looking up at him.

“We’ll find it one day.” He chuckled softly, kissing the top of your head.

You nodded and made way to find a couple records for him, you had already had his gift wrapped up and in your car. But another gift of two wouldn’t be an issue, you thought to yourself as you grabbed two of what would definitely be Josh’s favorites.

You had checked out with a pressing of An Evening with John Denver and a pressing of Port of Morrow by The Shins. Josh had a very interesting music taste, and you loved that about him. He was always showing you different indie artists, as you showed him your favorite rock artists.

After having a successful shopping spree in the record shop, it was finally time to head back to the Kiszka’s.

“Come on Josh!” You smiled, watching him check out.

“So what did ya get?” Josh whispered in your ear, coming up behind you, wrapping his arms around your waist. Holding you flush against his chest.

“You’ll see later.” You smiled softly, getting into the car and heading back to his place.

When the two of you had arrived, Jake and Val had pulled up too. Perfect timing you thought to yourself. You gathered the small gifts you had for both Josh and Jake. Heading to the door with them.

You let the twins enter the house first, hearing everyone yell ‘Surprise!’ and ‘Happy Birthday!’ The twins chuckled, smiling softly at everyone present.

“Thank you everyone!” They said in unison.

You came in behind them with Val. “Did you know about this?” Josh asked you, smirking.

“I may have helped your mom…” You giggled softly.

For the next hour or two, everyone was socializing and eating. Karen knew how to make a feast for any special occasions. You truly enjoyed her cooking, in fact you found it better than your mothers.

You handed Jake his gift, allowing him to open it. He unwrapped it, revealing a Jimi Hendrix ‘Are You Experienced’ vinyl.

“Holy shit! Are you serious Y/N! Thank you!” He smiled and gave you a hug.

“It’s nothing, really.” You smiled softly, hugging him back.

“It’s not nothing! This is very thoughtful, thank you.” He then went back to sit next to Val opening her gift.

Josh then pulled you into the basement, away from everyone. You smiled, handing him his gifts sitting on the couch next to him.

“Happy Birthday, Joshy…” You blushed watching him go through the shopping bag from today’s finds.

“Sunshine! These are great!” He smiled, then went to grab the one that was wrapped.

“This one was a little bit harder to find… I’m not going to lie, but you kept talking about it. And I just had to deep dive…” You chewed your lip nervously.

His eyes lit up, as he tore the wrapping paper off. Revealing an original pressing of John Denver’s self title. Josh hadn’t been able to find a copy at all, and it was driving him nearly insane.

“Y/N… This…” He smiled looking at you, placing it on the table in front of the two of you.

He cupped your face in his hands kissing your lips softly.

“I love you…”

He said it. He said it first… You had been worried to have said it too soon, or too late. But, right now was the perfect time for it to have happened. You felt your stomach flutter from his words.

“I love you too…” You giggled, kissing his lips softly again.

May 2014

Prom was here. And to say you were stressed, was an understatement. You had recently completed your admission to Michigan State University after discussing with Josh your plans for the future. He was beyond excited for you and had also enrolled into Michigan State.

The two of you would be pursuing the same degree, therefore you would have pretty much the same courses. You were happy that you wouldn’t be completely alone at college, and that you would have someone you know there.

All morning you had been waiting to get your hair done, then your makeup to follow suit after your hair was done. Your mother was making sure everything for your senior prom was going smoothly. Even though you had reassured her multiple times that you were okay and everything was fine.

Hoping she isn’t like this for your wedding one day…

After leaving the salon, you headed back home to finish getting ready. All that was left was the dress. It was absolutely stunning - opting for a print color, you had decided on a sky blue gown.

It was strapless and flowed beautifully, though it wasn’t a ball gown, but it stood out from most dresses that were available for this prom season.

You slipped it on, then put your heels on. Looking at yourself in the mirror, putting on your necklace and earrings. Giving yourself a final touch up on your lipstick, then making your way down stairs.

Your mother was at the bottom of the steps, waiting for you to take you to the golf course where Josh and his family would meet you to take pictures together. You had wished Josh could’ve picked you up beforehand, but didn’t want to cause an argument.

As you were heading out the door, your father followed behind helping you into the car making sure your dress didn’t get caught in the door. You smiled buckling yourself, as your parents drove to the course.

Once you had arrived, you got out meeting Josh and his family. Along with Jake and Val’s family, it was a beautiful sunny day for prom. Most cases it had rained on prom for others in the past, but today it didn’t.

“You look extravagant sunshine!” Josh smiled, holding your hands in his kissing your cheek softly.

“You don’t look too bad yourself.” You giggled softly, then Karen came over handing Josh and you, the corsage and boutonniere set. It was white rose assortment again, like it was for the Valentine’s dance. You giggled softly remembering that night.

“What is it, sunny?” Josh smiled as he slipped the corsage on your wrist.

“Just remembering our first dance together…” You blushed, as you helped pin his boutonniere to his tux. He smiled, and kissed your cheek softly.

“Alright kiddos! Come on, time to get some pictures of you all.” Karen smiled, getting her digital camera out, your mother did the same.

The two of them kept taking pictures, in front of the ponds, the trees, the garden. You name it. You were already exhausted and the fun of the evening hadn’t even started.

“Mom, I think that's enough pictures…” Jake groaned, fidgeting with his tie.

“Oh alright! I just can’t believe my babies will be graduating in two weeks!” Karen cried out teary eyed, as the twins pulled her into a hug.

Prom was what you expected it to be. Another dance in which everyone dressed to impress. The only thing that made it sentimental was that it was the last dance for your class. Sure you only had a handful of friends, but you were all going to different schools and some were even moving out of state to pursue their dreams.

Jake had gotten invited to an after party, inviting you and Josh to join him. In which the two of you couldn’t turn down. But before heading over to the after party you had stopped home to change into a more party-like fit, and an overnight bag to stay the night at Josh’s.

Your parents had been more lenient about you staying over at Josh’s considering they trusted him and yourself. But they also knew that they couldn't necessarily control your life as much, as you were turning 18 right after graduation.

Pulling up to the party, Josh and you had driven over with Jake. Val couldn’t join as she had cheer practice in the morning for her upcoming competition. The house was a lakehouse that wasn’t too far from the Kiszka's lakehouse. It was about the same size, maybe a tad bit bigger.

But after all it was Gabe Sanders throwing the party - his parents were loaded with money. The house was filled with probably the entire senior class, and anyone who attended the prom. The music was loud, there was alcohol everywhere. Definitely a different vibe then what you were used to.

“It’s gonna be alright Y/N, it's our senior year after all! And besides I’m sure we’ll go to some college parties.” Josh chuckled softly, rubbing your waist to comfort you.

“I don’t know, I guess it’s just because I’ve never really attended parties like this before.” You quipped walking into the house.

The scene in front of your eyes was like straight out of a movie. People were crowded everywhere, red solo cups in everyone’s hands. Couples lounged together not caring that people saw them hooking up. You made your way to the kitchen with Josh, as he got you a cup of Tequila Soda.

Josh had been around alcohol more frequently than you, so he already had an easy drink to go for. You smiled softly as he handed you a cup, taking a sip you felt the alcohol run down your throat feeling the burning sensation.

“It’s good isn’t it!” Josh smiled softly,

“I’ll manage.” You giggled softly, as he threw his arm around your shoulder.

The rest of the night Josh and you had a couple drinks, definitely now under the influence. He decided to take you to a bedroom upstairs.

Josh and you hadn’t even gotten past 2nd base yet - it’s not that you weren’t ready to take the next step, you just were scared of what he wanted as well. It’s a topic the two of you haven’t generally come across yet. But in the end you knew that when the time was right, it would happen.

The two of you giggled as you made way to the bedroom, kissing and whispering sweet nothings to each other. The two of you sat on the edge of the bed unsure of what to do next. Nervous as all ever, Josh rubbed your shoulder reassuringly.

You smiled and pressed your lips against his, deepening the kiss with him. His hands rubbed your waist, while your hands were tangled in his hair.

Then you heard a floorboard creek,

“Oh my god!” You knew that cracky voice from anywhere.

“What the hell Sam! How did you even get into this party?!” Josh turned away from you, shifting his attention towards his little brother.

“Because the older ladies love me Joshua…” He wiggled his eyebrows.

Josh then picked up a pillow chucking it at Sam.

“Get out Samuel!” His face was beet red.

Sam zipped out of the bedroom, shutting the door on his way out. Josh sighed softly, turning back towards you.

“I’m sorry about that, I should’ve locked the door.” He chuckled nervously.

“It’s okay Josh, really… Besides, I think it's best that our first time isn’t under the influence…” You trailed off, caressing his cheek with your thumb.

He nodded, “You’re absolutely right, sunny… I want our first time to be more meaningful and at a proper setting.” He kissed your cheek softly.

“Come on, we should probably leave soon. Especially before Sam gets into any trouble…”

Josh stood up, putting his hand out for yours. Taking his you intertwine your hands walking downstairs to regroup with Jake and Sam heading back to their place.

June 2014

The last two weeks of school had dragged, it felt longer than usual. But alas, graduation was here. The morning felt absolutely hectic and long, as your mother was frantic on planning your graduation party. Why did she have to have it the same night as graduation, beat you. But you didn’t want to upset her and not have a graduation party.

The assigned seating was based on height, those graduating that were in choir were separate from the rest of the graduating class. Therefore Josh was in the choir section, leaving you and Jake to sit by yourselves. You and Jake were a couple rows away from one another. Then you were next to your good friend Mallory.

The ceremony was a complete bore, talking about how to make sure all the choices you make in life are never taken for granted. And to always remember where you’re from…

Before you knew it, everyone was placing their tassels onto the other side of their caps.

“Congratulations to the 2014 Class of Frankenmuth High!”

The principal smiled, clapping his hands. All of the students threw their caps in the air, catching them afterwards. You found Jake and Josh immediately after the ceremony hugging them tightly.

“Oh sweetie!” Your mom was in tears, flailing her arms to wrap you into a hug. You smiled softly at her, hugging her tightly. Soon after your father engulfed you into a hug.

“Congratulations pumpkin! You’re a high school grad!” He kissed the top of your head.

“Thank you guys…” You smiled softly, going to hug your sister Olivia.

“Congrats sis.” She smiled softly,

“You’re up next…” You giggled, squeezing her more into the hug.

Josh made way back to you after finding his family, he pulled you into a tight hug, kissing your lips softly. You blushed, kissing him back softly in front of everyone, pulling away.

“My mom wanted to get some pictures of all of us.” He chuckled softly.

“What a great idea!” You mother chimed in, standing next to Karen to get pictures of you two and then Jake to join as well.

“Come on now! Smile!” Karen had motioned for you and Josh to pose.

He pulled you by the waist, keeping his hand rested on your hip drawing circles with his thumb. You smiled, placing a hand on his chest taking what seemed like a hundred pictures.

“Alright, one more couple picture then a group picture! Don’t be shy now.” You mother giggled, then Josh and you giggled kissing each other softly for one last photo.

Jake had then joined in, making you stand in the middle like a twin sandwich. You ruffled his hair a bit, fixing his cap and then posed for a couple more pictures that suited both the parents' liking.

“Okay! Can we please go, don’t want to be late to my own graduation party….” You giggled softly.

Your mother gasped, “Oh my god! I almost forgot... Let’s hurry home and get you ready!”

The graduation party your mother had planned for you went well. Part of your graduating class showed up to join the fun, which included games of cornhole, horseshoe, and some good ole campfire songs.

As the night drew nearer, everyone had left the party leaving you to help clean up with your mother. Josh had also stayed behind to help clean up, where Jake had gone to take Valerie home.

“Thanks for helping…” You smiled, tying up the trash bags.

“Of course sunshine, I’d help anytime.” He flashed a smile at you.

The smile you loved most, when his eyes crinkled and his dimple was visible. You’ve started to notice more little things about him, the things you had grown to love even more about him.

The way he laughed, the way he talked, the way he looked while peacefully sleeping after a long night of band practice. The way his hair rested, just above his shoulders… The way his honey golden brown eyes stole your breath away. He always knew how to make you smile, and how to make you laugh. He wasn’t just any ordinary guy. He was Josh. Josh had become a safe space for you…

And he had no clue how much you loved him… How much you care for him, and how much he meant to you. Josh was like a missing puzzle piece that fit your puzzle to life that you were trying to figure out. And there he was all along.

After taking the trash out to the trash cans, Josh had asked you to go on a drive with him. And which of course you agreed to go.

“Where exactly are we going?” You giggled softly, as he sped off to wherever he had planned.

“Just trust me!” He smiled softly, rubbing your hand with his thumb reassuringly.

A 20 minute drive later, you had pulled up to what seemed to be an abandoned cabin. You got out of the car, waiting for him to join your side.

“You’re not planning on killing me, are you?” You looked at him.

“Now what kind of gentleman would I be to bring you all the way out here to do such a thing.” He chuckled softly, earning a giggle from you.

“So… What’s special about here?” You looked at him questioningly.

“This is where I come to get away and have time for myself… I’ve always been drawn to this location. Whether it's the energy that resides here or whatever higher being is calling to me… I don’t know…” He rubbed the back of his neck nervously.

“Josh…” You placed a hand on his cheek, rubbing it softly. “There is no need to get nervous or shy around me…” You kissed him softly.

He pulled you in closer, kissing your lips back softly.

“I just… I love you, and figured I’d show you a spot that could be ours… and perhaps, one day we can buy this land and make this a cute winter holiday home.” He chuckled nervously.

“Mr. Kiszka wants to get a holiday home with me?” You blushed, poking his chest softly.

“Perhaps one day… When the time is right of course.” He smiled, grasping your hands softly intertwining them. “One day, I’ll make you mine forever…”

“You’re sunshine forever…” You smiled softly, leaning in to kiss him once more.

The start of your summer break had just begun. And there was so much left to experience before starting college. You were nervous to say the least about starting this new chapter in your life. But having Josh by your side helped ease the anxiety. Or would it…

.

.

.

Taglist-

@lyndszee @laneygvf @sacredthefran @starcatcherry @fkfearandliveyourlegend @hi-hi-hello11 @gretnavannfleet @themoreyou-love @gvfmuse @meetingthestardust @myleftsock @jordie-gvf-admin @radmads-gvf @twistedmelodies @thunderstomp-and-tequila @sinsofstardust @jakesdogss12 @vanillabear27 @dharma-divine33 @holybananafuck @thecoldwind

[ambrossart]

I’ve worked out a new writing schedule

After a little talk with my husband, we have finally come to a mutual agreement and understanding. On weeknights, I get two hours of uninterrupted writing time and, unless we’ve already made alternative plans, weekend mornings/afternoons are reserved solely for writing. We even went out and bought a little sign for my door so that he knows I’m busy. 😂

Honestly, it’s been a bit of a struggle getting my husband to understand my need for privacy while writing. In the past, he would pop in every fifteen minutes to hang out and see what I’m up to, and that was so disruptive to my writing process. My husband didn't get that. I still don’t think he fully “gets” it, but he’s gonna try his best to be more respectful, which all I can ask for.

With that being said, the new chapter of Paper Men is coming along. I’m not as far along as I would like, but I am putting words on the page. Right now, I’m fighting a losing battle against anxiety and perfectionism, so I’m offering myself a compromise/challenge: I will give myself until Wednesday and whatever I have, regardless of the length, regardless of the quality, is getting published. It may be short. It may be boring. Hell, it may be absolute GARBAGE and not even make the final cut. But it’s gonna get published here, as is.

Oh my god, just thinking about that scares the crap out of me. Like, it’s actually making me physically ill. But I wanna do it. I desperately want to get out of this toxic mindset that every draft needs to be as polished and perfect as the final draft. It’s a major hindrance to my writing. How can I expect to move forward when I’m constantly going backwards?

So far, nothing has helped me break free of this. I’ve tried special drafting devices that discourage editing. I’ve tried apps. I’ve tried scheduled writing sprints. Nothing has worked.

So maybe this is the solution. Maybe I need to force myself out of my comfort zone and let people read a truly rough draft.

We’ll give it a shot and see what happens.

[janiceloreen]

(Warning: medically explicit, and to serve a reminder to men that this post is no laughing matter, and the issue cannot be ignored, so please take very good care of yourself in good health!)

I said I was going to write more posts,……..but it was two months ago. Greeting 2023 was not all I expected and it came down to simply a medical halt in my family. Two days after Christmas, my husband started to not feel well, and complained of a dull soreness “down there” (groin/penis area). I took a look at his area and knew this wasn’t good. The area was red and swelling. Husband went to see the doctor the same day in the afternoon. The doctor was a lady, and without checking his area and ordering bloodwork, she jumped to conclusion that he has STDS and told him to “stop sleeping around”. He looked at her in disbelief, as he saw she gave him a bad judgmental, rude manner attitude. So, she did not do much for him but to send him home and get better. By New Year’s Eve, it got worse that he got admitted overnight at the local small town hospital for IV antibiotics and monitoring. By morning, on New Year’s day, i had to drive my husband to the city hospital 2 hours from home (don’t worry, my boys are old enough to care for the house, and my neighbours checked on them like as if there are no parties being held) to be seen by a urologist. I stayed by his side.

Within 4 hours in ER, with ultrasound and CT scan completed, the urologist/surgeon came to see my husband and told him he needs an emergency surgery that night as the scan showed the unexplained injury to his penis and scrotum and the swelling from UTI that needed to be brought down to normal. My husband’s cousin texted me to come to her house in the city for supper while he underwent surgery. She and her family had the guest room ready for me to stay overnight. The surgery lasted three hours to repair the damage as well to drain the infection. So his cousin and I went back to the hospital that night to see my husband as he was out of recovery from surgery and wheeled to his own room. It seemed that while he was happy to see his cousin and talked a lot with nurses, he didn’t seem to remember I was here. I try not to let it bother me, so I had to prepare myself to be a caregiver to him.

That night, I didn’t sleep well at all. It wasn’t the guest bed that was not comfy. It was dreams of changes in routines that I have to put way more effort to helping my husband recover. By morning, my husband’s cousin put together cranberry juice and snacks to keep my husband happy and occupied in the hospital for a few days. Husband wanted me to go home and care for our boys while he was in good hands of nurses who changed his dressings twice a day every single day. He spent a good six days in hospital until discharge day as I drove back to the city to take him home. The local pharmacist prepared the prescriptions for him upon getting home. Everyday, he has to have his dressings changed to keep his incisions clean and infection free. In week mornings, he has to go to the homecare office to get his dressings changed. Weeknights and weekends, he has to go to the local hospital for the nurses to change his dressings. I had to drive him twice a day, which threw me off on the routines. He was the breadwinner of the household, and because he cannot work until further notice, I had no choice but to go back to the workforce on a part time position, cleaning rooms at a luxury chain hotel. Would you believe I lost 60 pounds in a month, cleaning up to 15 rooms within 8 hours per day? Not sustainable on my weight loss, but at least I’m not a heavy woman now.

I’ll continue my story as bed is calling me.

[bumbleklee]

just read your unplanned pregnancy hcs and first of wow second could you maybe write a continuation to them like maybe during the pregnancy or once the baby (or babies they could have twins) are born. Albedo's had me appdiisodhs like i need answers and i need some closure lmao

sorry this has taken so long anon, been a crazy couple of weeks lol. part 2 to this

diluc's is kinda short bc his ended on a happy note (o´∀`o)

before reading: reader is written as afab and goes by they/them pronouns but feel free to change it to whatever you want in your head, pregnancy, babies

diluc

he adjusted the best he could when you decided to keep the baby

neither of you were expecting a child anytime soon but like you said before, maybe it was a sign

and with diluc's status in mondstadt, no one even batted an eye wrong in his direction

in fact, you were showered daily with gifts or food from the townspeople of mondstadt (there was a rumor that some thought you were bearing an heir to the invisible throne of mondstadt)

in the rare occasion someone said something negative about the pregnancy, usually someone drunk at the tavern, diluc was quick to shut them down

After you gave birth to your babies (yes, you had twins), you thought the overwhelming support from the people of Mondstadt would stop. Instead, it only increased.

When you and Diluc entered the city, each holding a baby, you were always crowded right away. Elderly woman would knit your babies clothes and the young teenagers offered babysitting services. It should have been overwhelming but since your pregnancy was unexpected (having twins was even more unexpected) the extra help was greatly appreciated.

Woodworkers built you cribs for free and shop owners happily donated extra stock for your children.

After a long day in Mondstadt, that was supposed to be a quick trip, Diluc collapsed on the couch. He had both babies in his arms, cuddling them to this chest, while you carried multiple bags full of goods.

"People are so generous," You huffed out, putting the bags down and falling back next to Diluc, "Almost too generous."

He laughed tiredly and readjusted himself so you could snuggle into his side. "It's better than them being hateful, right?"

You nodded in agreement, "Much better."

zhongli

he was right about no one crossing him during your pregnancy

when you went for walks around liyue around, people turned their heads and paid no attention to you

to zhongli, that was delightful - no one cared

to you, it was uncomfortable

you had mortal friends in liyue who had gotten pregnant after marriage and they were praised from strangers on the streets and given free food or wisdom from elders

but not you

You were almost to term when Zhongli wanted to take you out to dinner at the Liyue Pavilion. Childe had given him a hefty check as a Christmas gift and Zhongli wanted to spend it on you and your unborn baby.

The restaurant was packed for a weeknight and Zhongli left for a moment to use the restroom. You sat at the table, absentmindedly rubbing your belly and shoveling noodles into your mouth.

"Isn't that the town whore?"

The words made you freeze. You heard the voices behind you and refrained from spinning around and glaring at the young women.

"It is! I heard this is the third time she's gotten knocked up and her boyfriend wouldn't let her kill it this time!"

"Boyfriend? She's not even married? I would be so ashamed to have her as my daughter - her poor family."

You stopped eating then. The women giggled and their voices faltered away. Your hand stopped rubbing your belly and laid there, your other hand clenching your chopsticks.

You didn't even realize you were crying until Zhongli came back to the table and alerted you.

"Oh, um, hormones," You lied, dropping your chopsticks to roughly push away your tears. Your sniffled and looked up, dabbing at the corners of your eyes to try and stop the tears. "I'm really not hungry anymore. I'll meet you outside, okay?"

You struggled to stand up and once you did, you waddled outside of the restaurant. You tried to pull your cardigan over your belly but since you were so far along, there was no way to hide it. It felt like the world was caving in on you. People could be so cruel.

Suddenly, you felt two arms wrap around you, pulling you into warmth. You smelled Zhongli's scent and clutched onto his shirt, letting even more tears fall.

"A worker told me what happened after you rushed out," He whispered into your ear, "I'm sorry."

"Why are you apologizing?" You sniffled.

"I wasn't there to protect you from them."

You looked up at Zhongli and he wiped away your tears. "Can we go on a vacation?"

When you said vacation, you didn't mean a week away to the beach. Honestly, you didn't feel safe in Liyue and you certainly didn't want to raise a baby in a city this strict.

"Of course we can," Zhongli said, immediately knowing what you meant, "Have you even been to Mondstadt?"

albedo

the minute you returned home on that eventful day, albedo began packing your bags

he knew what the knights were capable of and frankly, he didn't fully trust them right now

you were on the road by night and within two weeks (horses and carriages did wonders to help you), you had safely arrived in fontaine

you stayed in the country for your entire pregnancy and when your son turned a year old, the three of you started your journey back to mondstadt

When you stepped inside the gates of Mondstadt, you swore you could hear every hushed whisper rush into your head. Albedo stood firmly by your side, his hand on the small of your back as he urged you to continue walking towards the headquarters.

Your son wiggled in your arms but you didn't put him down. Until you knew exactly what was going to happen with the Knights, you weren't going to let your son out of your sight.

Fortunately, both Kaeya and Jean were doing paperwork in her office when Albedo knocked. He walked in first and they jumped up, extremely concerned with his absence.

You hesitantly walked in after Albedo and your coworkers stared for a moment.

"Wow," Kaeya said, "You did have the baby."

"We did," You confirm.

There's an awkward silence. No one knows what to say since the last encounter with each other ended so horribly. Jean is the one to finally speak up, "I think we owe you two an apology."

Kaeya nods in agreement. "After you two left, we realized we may have been too harsh on you both. We are getting to that age, after all."

Albedo glances at you from behind his shoulder and you smile softly to him. He turns back to Kaeya and Jean, "We'd like our positions back in the Knights of Favonius."

"You never lost them," Kaeya cheekily says. Albedo nods his head again, not wanting to say the wrong thing. You step forward and rub your son's back, getting his attention. You introduce him and Kaeya bends down towards the baby, "Why, hello there."

Your boyfriend cautiously watches from a distance as his friend dotes on his son. Eventually, Jean comes over to meet the child too.

If you thought about the situation hard enough, you still got upset. But seeing Kaeya and Jean love on your son instead of exiling him made you feel a lot better. Of course, you wished it didn't go down the way it did but the past was the past.

And as Albedo reached out to squeeze your free hand, you knew he felt the same way.

[astoryisaloveaffair]

Fix You - Chapter 1: When the Wheels Come Down

Pairing:  Frankie ‘Catfish’ Morales x Fem!Reader

Fic Summary: Frankie finally bites the bullet and hires a babysitter to take care of his daughter for guys nights. What he finds in you is the love, support, and family he's always needed. And nothing will take it from him.

A/N: I've never written fic before and I don't know what I'm doing, so please be kind. I just have too much love for Frankie and not enough places to put it. This idea was sparked by the amazing @frannyzooey (please check out her fic "Weeknights" because it's *Chef's Kiss*). The story I'm writing will have a similar trope but will be going in a different direction. I’m posting this for Pedro Pascal Appreciation Week on Tumblr, and Character Appreciation Day for 7 Days of Pedro on Twitter. I will be getting into deep shit, so heads up for: legal age gap (10-15 years), substance abuse, depression, PTSD, legal issues, graphic drug-related violence, and slow-burn smut. 

Read on Ao3  

Spotify Playlist

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Suggested Song: "Wheels" by Foo Fighers Chapter Warnings: Mention of substance abuse

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“Fish, you canceling again?!” Frankie could just about see the disappointment on Will’s face as if he stood right in front of him.

“I know, I’m sorry. We don’t sign off on the custody agreement 'til next week, and she needs me to take her tonight. Date night I guess.” He says bitterly. “Maybe next time, okay?”

“Yea man, okay. I can’t wait ‘til this shit is signed. You barely get to see Gabi as it is right now.”

“Me too. I’ll talk to you later. Tell Benny I’m sorry.” said Frankie, hanging up the phone with a sigh and rubbing his eyes.

Coming home from South America had been tough. Too much for her, especially after his previous drug charges. Leaving pissed her off enough as it was, even if he was trying to do it for their family. Once she found out about Tom, the utter colossal fuck-up the mission was, and his relapse, well, she couldn’t even stand to look at him. Objectively, he couldn’t blame her. He could barely look at himself. He knew he was a mess. An absolute, broken mess. He could hardly stand to think about it. But it still hurt. He’d needed support, and she no longer wanted to provide it.

The money coming back into the picture helped, but by then, she’d already left. Even though he understood why, he was still bitter. He didn’t tell her they went back to get it. She left him, and she took Gabi, she no longer had any rights to it, in his opinion. They’d all agreed to keep the cash pretty quiet. They didn’t want to make it easy for any straggling Lorea henchmen to find them. Santiago had left for Australia to find that girl who’d helped them, and Frankie stayed in his little cottage off the river. Only Benny and Will had splurged, they had bought a nice place near the beach. Frankie was working hard and committing to his sobriety, trying to fight his piloting suspension, and working honestly at the airport directing air traffic to give him something to do and keep him occupied. It wasn’t ideal, he wasn’t able to fly, but he got good hours and it stimulated him well enough for now. He needed to get his life back on track. Lying in bed all day hadn’t made anything better, it had just made him more sad. He needed to focus. Get Gabriela back. See the guys more. Get his pilot license re-awarded to him. Stay sober. Be okay.

Frankie was missing seeing the team. There had been one immediate positive from their stint in South America. They were all tighter than they’d ever been. It was like they were all back in the military again, leaning on each other for support and companionship. Frankie didn’t want to go back to not seeing them often.

Where do I even look for a babysitter? He thinks to himself. He wants to get a head start, and not knowing how long it would take to find someone suitable, he immediately opens his phone and pulls up his internet browser, but he quickly becomes overwhelmed by all the different sites and apps. He could repair and pilot a helicopter, but damned if he knew how to register on a fucking babysitting app.

“Fuck it.” he grumbles, and tosses the phone back onto his couch. He turns his attention to Gabi, happily sitting on the floor, playing with some blocks. The sight of her always soothed him.

“Whatcha think Baby girl, should we get you a friend to hang out while I see Uncle Benny and Uncle Will?” She turns to him and smiles the lopsided grin he loves so much.

“Yes. Tank you.” She replies, as if he was asking her if she wanted her milk.

“Okay” He chuckles, “Lets get started.”

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

W A N T E D

Babysitter needed

Friday nights, twice a month

Must be able to stay late and be flexible

Must be able to handle overactive adorable little girl and her disorganized father

Grad students only please

Please call or text Francisco Morales at 555-0199

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

“Okay…” Frankie sighs. That should be good, I think.” He grabs some thumbtacks out of his old military issue backpack and tacks the ad onto the bulletin board in the last building on campus. After giving up on attacking the problem online, Frankie decided to take up his pediatrician's suggestion to check out some of the college campuses in the area. He figured a student would have an open enough schedule and also be in the need of some extra cash. He opted for a graduate student, he didn’t want someone too young, or a partying type taking care of his kid. Someone more serious, that’s what he needed. Someone responsible. Someone cool.

He didn’t know what to expect really, but he definitely wasn’t expecting a response so quick. Within the hour, he got a call.

“Hi,” your voice breathes nervously into his ear. “Um, I was calling about the babysitting job...is this...Francisco?”

“Hey, yes. Yea, I’m Francisco. You’re interested in the job?” Frankie asks.

“Yea, um, you said you needed Fridays? In the evenings I’m assuming, right?”

Shit. I forgot to put that in the ad, Frankie thinks to himself. “Yea. The evenings. It would be a two weeks on, two weeks off kind of deal. I might occasionally need you on-call also, if this works out.”

“Ok, where do you live?” You ask.

“I live over in Mandarin. It’s a house, so you won’t have to worry about parking. Do you drive? I need someone who can drive.” Damn, I should have mentioned that too, he thinks.

“Yea, I have a car. You didn’t put the pay on your ad, did you know what that would be?”

Frankie holds himself back from smacking himself in the face. God DAMMIT. I’m fucking terrible at this. He thinks for a moment, leaving a short awkward silence. “Uh, I was thinking like $20 an hour or something, if that sounds good…” he tapers off.

“Yea, that sounds great! Did you want to maybe meet for coffee or something face to face to see if this would be a good fit? Before I meet your daughter?”

“That’s actually a really good idea, though I’m already pretty certain this will work out,” Frankie says, impressed with your initiative.

“Mandarin area you said, right? There’s a Starbucks near there, is that okay?”

“That works. How does Saturday at two sound?” He proposes.

“That’s good for me, I’ll see you then.” He quickly tries to stop you before you hang up.

“Wait, um...I didn’t get your name.”

“Oh!” You giggle and tell him, and Frankie can’t help but smile at the sound of your laugh. “I’ll see you Saturday, Mr. Morales.” He hears the click of you hanging up and finds himself still smiling as he lowers his phone. You sound...perfect. Sharp, to the point, but warm and down-to-Earth. Hopefully, perfect for Gabriela. He was excited to meet you.

You were annoyed. This was the LONGEST red light you had ever sat at in your entire life. You didn’t want to be late, it would send a bad first impression, and you really wanted this job. You hear your phone ring and you quickly pick it up to make sure nothing has changed with your appointment.

“Hello?”

“Hi, it’s Frankie...Mr. Morales. I’m at the coffee shop already, can I get you anything?”

You blink, surprised for a moment at the offer, then quickly thank him and tell him your usual order before saying a quick goodbye and hanging back up. Noticing the light has finally turned green, you toss your phone back on the passenger seat and go, mumbling under your breath at the car behind you honking their horn. Apparently having to wait five seconds before hitting the gas was too much for some people.

Six minutes later, you finally pull into the Starbucks parking lot, right on time. You walk in, looking around the empty store for someone to match the deep baritone voice you heard over the phone. All the way on the left, at a table against the window, sat a scruffy looking man in a battered trucker cap, a flannel shirt, and some jeans. He was bending over his cellphone, completely absorbed in whatever he was looking at. That must be you, ‘Frankie’… you think, and you slowly walk up to him, stopping a few feet from his side of the bistro table. He doesn’t seem to notice you’re there. You take a second to look closer at him. His flannel shirt is thick, unbuttoned, and looks weathered, like he’d had it a long time and wore it outside frequently. The gray t-shirt he wore underneath was stretched out at the neck, worn in and comfortable looking. His work boots were streaked with mud, the jeans frayed at the hem, their fronts stuffed behind the tongue of his boots. As you moved your eyes up to his face, you are struck by the uniqueness of his features. Pointed chin, strong hawk-like nose, and a dark, scruffy, and endearingly patchy beard. His hat read “Standard Heating Oil”, and had stains and rips scattered all over it too. His hair looks soft and clean, a very nice cool dark brown, long and curled at the ends, flipping out against his neck pleasingly. Everything about him says to you, this is a low-maintenance man. You relax instantly.

“Mr. Morales?” You say, and he jerks in his seat before quickly looking up at you guiltily, haphazardly thumping his phone on the table.

“Oh, shoot! Hey...you scared me a little.” He chuckles, embarrassed. You laugh a little too, the moment understandably awkward, as first meetings often are with a potential employer. He stands up and repeats your name, and you nod, meeting his gaze and getting a better read on his eyes. They’re friendly, but also kind of sad, and the color of the hot cup of black coffee he has in front of him.

“I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to scare you.”

“It’s okay, I guess I should have been paying more attention.” He huffs a small laugh and gestures to the chair across from him, with your order waiting on the table.

“Thanks again for getting me a drink.” You say as you sit down.

“You’re welcome, it was no problem.”

Your eyes stray to his moving phone screen and you can’t help but ask, “What is that you’re playing?”

He rubs his hand on the back of his neck shyly. “It’s a stupid game called ‘Tilt to Live,” he says, picking up his phone and showing you the screen. “See, if I tilt it towards your direction, then it’ll kill me.” He plays for a second to show you, then quickly puts his phone back down as if suddenly remembering this was technically a job interview. “So,” He says abruptly, “What year are you in with your school?”

“I’m about halfway through second year, about two years until I finish.”

“Cool. I don’t want to have to find a new babysitter in a few months, especially if this works out.” He says cautiously, giving you an out in case you weren’t looking for something long-term.

“No, if we are a good match, then I would want this to be a long-term deal.” You confirm.

He looks down for a minute, trying to remember the questions he’d prepped for you, cursing himself for being too lazy to write them down. He finally grasps two at once and spits them out abruptly. “What’s your class schedule look like? Would staying late ever be an issue? Sometimes I’m with the guys til’ last call.”

You smile and pretend not to notice he seems just as nervous as you were earlier. “Um, most of my classes are in the early to mid afternoon, though I have an early-ish one twice a week. I can fit my future semesters around your schedule. Staying late won’t be an issue. I don’t live too far from here, so it’s definitely not a problem. And if you need me to be on-call, I’m flexible, especially if there’s an emergency.”

He leans back in his chair and stretches his arms up a little, revealing a little glimpse of tummy that you try your hardest not to look at. “Do you have any questions for me?” He asks.

“Yea, can you tell me a little bit about your daughter?”

“Oh. Yea,” He grimaces slightly at forgetting to even mention his child. “Her name is Gabriela.” He tells you, and he smiles softly. “She’s two years and three months, and she’s...she’s everything. She’s the best thing that’s ever happened to me. She’s really social, she loves to laugh, almost TOO much, and she’s really into cartoons right now, so I hope you’re into that.”

“Not a problem for me, I like Disney and all that stuff.” You say.

“Good, because I’m running out of movies. I don’t know what to show her anymore, I don’t know any of the new stuff.” He huffs a quick laugh.

This piques your interest. “Well what’s your favorite Disney movie?”

“Me? Hm.” He draws his scraggly eyebrows together and leans his chair back precariously on its back legs, hooking an ankle around the table base to keep from falling backwards as he thinks. “No one’s ever asked me that before. I like The Jungle Book a lot. Oh, and there’s one with a little fox and a puppy, that one’s really good.”

“The Fox and the Hound?” You ask. He nods. “I love that one too. Makes me cry like a baby though, when she leaves him alone in the forest.”

“The fact you’ve seen it makes me feel less old, that’s awesome. Don’t tell anyone, but it makes me cry too. What’s your favorite?” He asks. You tell him, and he nods. “I think I’ve seen that one, but I’m bad at all the names.”

“Well, don’t worry, I can supplement.” You assure him. “Gabriela will be completely taken care of. And I’ll help keep you organized too.” You wink at him teasingly, referencing his ad. He huffs another small laugh. You notice that when he smiles, the skin around the outer corners of his eyes crinkle endearingly. You lower your eyes back to the table top and sit back in your chair as a short and more comfortable silence falls between the two of you while you both try to think of any other questions you might have.

“So, Mr. Morales, you said something about a joint custody agreement. Can you tell me more about that? As much as you can, I mean, I don’t want to pry.” You ask cautiously, not wanting to cause any discomfort.

He nods. “Call me Frankie, please. My ex-wife and I divorced a year and a half ago. She’s re-married and took full custody of Gabriela, but we are signing a fifty/fifty agreement next week.”

“Wow,” You replied, “That was fast. That she’s already re-married I mean.” You quickly clarify.

Yea…it was.” He says softly, briefly looking down and furrowing his brow. You suddenly feel guilty for asking him to talk about it. “Anyways, we’ve been trying to set up these terms for like six months. We finally agreed to a two week on, two week off deal. So, your first shift would probably be in two weeks. Does that work for you?”

“Yea. Will I need to speak or meet with your ex-wife to make sure she's comfortable?” You ask.

“No. She can go through me, you don’t have to deal with her.”

“Okay. Well, is there anything else you need to know? Are you saying I have the job?”

“It’s yours,” He confirms, and you try to contain your excitement. You were so exhausted with job hunting, this one sounded too good to be true. “I’ll see you in two weeks, and we’ll see if this is a good match.” He stands and reaches his hand out for you to shake. You take it firmly, remembering what your dad taught you. Firm handshake means business. His hand is large in yours with little callouses all over. Warm, tan, and friendly hands, with broad palms and thick fingers. Hands that had clearly worked hard.

“Okay, I’ll see you in two Fridays, Mr. Morales. I mean….Frankie.” You correct yourself. He smiles warmly at you, and you turn to pick up your bag, give him a little wave, and walk out the door.

Shit. He’s fucking adorable, you think to yourself as you walk to your car.

Frankie watches you walk through the parking lot to your car, relief spreading warmly through his body. He’d been so nervous for some reason, he hadn’t really known what he was looking for, but somehow, you filled every subconscious requirement he had. You were going to be perfect for Gabi. Charming, friendly, kind of cheeky, and...you were pretty. Really pretty. But that was irrelevant. Completely irrelevant. Irrelevant for Gabi and irrelevant to him. He pushes the thought away, stands up, shoves his phone back in his pocket, grabs his keys and tosses his empty coffee cup in the trash as he heads to his truck.

Chapter 2

[yamigooops]

Break My Heart

pairing: oikawa x gn!y/n genre: pure angst warnings: just angst really, I just wanted to write something sad lol words: ~2k

“Tell me you've never loved me Tell me that it wasn't real Just say you've found somebody else I wanna know the way it feels (Break my heart)” - Break My Heart by Hey Violet

a/n - time to break all your hearts, this had me tearing up while writing so hopefully it does the same to you so I'm not the only one hurting >:')

You were done, you’d had more than enough. You lay in bed, alone, for the fourth night in a row, waiting for your boyfriend of two and a half years to come home, and you were sick of it. Reaching over to turn on the light beside the bed, you picked up your phone to check the time. Almost 2 am. He should have been home an hour ago at the very latest.

With a huff, you threw the sheets off your body, sitting up. You rested your forehead in your hands, elbows braced against your knees. What else could you do? You’d told him so many times you’d lost track that he needed to try harder, that you needed more from him if this relationship was going to work. But he always brushed you off, assuring you that things would get better.

But they weren’t.

You sent a text to your best friend, knowing they’d be up at this time anyway, and asked if you could come to spend the night. You wanted him to know how it felt to go to fall asleep in an empty bed, just like you had done so often lately. Receiving an affirmative text from your friend, you rose and started to pack a bag for tomorrow.

Your mind raced. Did he even want to be in this relationship anymore? Did you? He had been putting in the minimum effort as of late, spending the vast majority of his time at training or going out with his friends and teammates. It seemed he had more time for everyone other than you, and you weren’t sure you could take it anymore. You almost wanted him to end it, almost wanted to get in a fight about it just to have him show anything other than nonchalance about the situation.

You had been so lost in your thoughts you hadn’t heard him come in, unaware of his presence until he opened the bedroom door. “Y/N? What are you doing up so late?” The smooth silk of his voice shocked you in the silence of the room, making you whirl around to face him.

There he was, Oikawa, in all his glory. His tanned skin bore a sheen of sweat, and his chocolate hair was mussed, from the wind or something else you had no clue. He looked worn out, though that could have been from practice or going out to the club. You wouldn’t know, since this was the first you’d seen of him since he left this morning to go to practice.

You clutched the sweatshirt you were holding to your chest, subconsciously shrinking back from the tall man. You weren’t expecting him to come home until after you had left, now it would be all that much harder to leave. “Um, hi Oikawa,” you muttered, taking a deep breath. “I’m going over to Y/F/N’s place for the night.” You were surprised you got the words out, almost caving at the thought of getting to spend even a little time with your boyfriend, even if it was at two in the morning.

“Why would you do that?” He cocked his head, looking genuinely confused. A small pout formed on his features, and you could tell he was genuinely a bit upset about it.

“Well, I-“ you broke off, not knowing what to say. “We were talking, and they invited me over, and since you weren’t back yet I thought I would go,” you lied. You weren’t sure why you did though, the angry part of you said you should have just told him flat out that you were upset with him. But the peacemaker in you won out, unwilling to cause a fight where it wasn’t necessary.

“But it’s a weeknight, why wouldn’t you just wait until the weekend? Don’t you have work in the morning?” He set his gym bag down on the bed, unzipping it to remove his dirty clothes from practice.

You gulped, mind flying as you came up with a cover. “They, uh, they’re having a bit of a breakdown right now, I was going to go over help them calm down.” You resumed packing your bag, placing each article of clothing inside carefully as you felt his eyes on your back.

“C’mon,” he whined. “I feel like I’ve barely seen you all week, can’t you just stay? We can cuddle. Usually, you’re asleep by the time I get home, so I’ve been missing out.” The pout was back in full force as he came up behind you to snake his arms around your midriff. He placed a kiss on the back of your head before resting a cheek on your hair.

“Yeah, we’ve barely seen each other all week,” you reiterated, something igniting in your chest. “And whose fault would that be?” The words came out before you could stop them, sharp as knives.

He stiffened against you, arms loosening. “Y/N, I have practice every day but Sundays, you know that,” he replied, a bit defensively.

You pulled out of his grasp, picking up your bag and placing it on the bed. “Yeah, and what about when your practice is over? Hmm? Where do you go then? From 6 to 2 in the morning?” You couldn’t stop the anger from bubbling over, your chest burning with it. Now that you’ve started, you couldn’t stop yourself. “Are you just hanging out with your friends instead of your girlfriend? Are you going out to the clubs?” Your tone was pure venom as angry tears welled in your eyes. Dropping your voice to a whisper, you hissed out the last thought in your mind. “Are you seeing someone else?”

He gaped at you, lips parted and eyes wide as he comprehended what you had said. “Am I- what?!” His voice raised at the end in indignation. “You think I’m cheating on you? You think that’s the kind of man I am?”

“What else am I supposed to think when I’ve gone to bed alone for the last four nights in a row?” You cried, tears blurring your vision. “Torū, I’ve barely seen you at all this week, tell me you wouldn’t be suspicious too!”

He froze, eyebrows coming together slowly. “No, I don’t think I would be,” he defended. “I have quite a bit of faith in you, and it hurts me to know that you have so little in me.” His voice cracked slightly on the last word. You brought your hands up to press the heels into your eyes, hoping to do something to relieve the pressure building behind them.

“My point isn’t to call you a cheater, Torū, all I meant by that was that I have no idea what you’re out doing because you don’t talk to me!” Your voice grew thick with emotion, face growing flush as you raised your arms up to clasp your forearms above your head, eyes still screwed shut.

“Y/N, I’ve just been spending time with the team, that’s all,” he replied exasperatedly, and you heard the soft thump of his clothes falling into the hamper. “I’m sorry if I haven’t been spending enough time with you, but there are other important people in my life besides you!”

His words left you silent, and you opened your eyes to look at the ceiling, head tilting back slightly. The lump in your throat grew, making it unbearable to swallow back the tears that slipped from the corners of your eyes.

“If they’re all so important,” you whispered, “then maybe you don’t need me anymore.” You released your arms, letting them fall to your sides as you came to meet his gaze. The sight almost shattered your heart.

He looked at you like a lost child, mouth agape and hands clenching and unclenching at his sides. Were those tears in his eyes? You couldn’t tell from the distance between you. He reached up to run a hand through his hair, letting it rest on the back of his neck. “So… what are you saying Y/N? Hmm? Because I’m not sure at this point,” he breathed, eyes meeting yours and filled with emotion.

You took a moment to get your thoughts in order before responding. “I guess what I’m saying is-” you hesitated, unsure if you should continue. Could you continue with this relationship? Were you happy with him anymore? “I want you to break my heart. It’s already on its last leg and I just need you to cut the last strings because I don’t think I can do it by myself.”

There was a look of pure agony in his eyes. His hands went limp at his sides, and his shoulders fell. “Y/N I-” His voice cracked with emotion. “I don’t think I can do that." He took a step toward you, then another, until he stood just a few inches away, looking like he wanted to wrap his arms around you but refraining. “Why didn’t you tell me sooner?”

All you wanted was rest your head against his chest, cry into the soft fabric of his shirt and act like you were still in love with him. But you couldn’t, not anymore. “I was scared that if I talked to you about it, then that would make it real,” you whispered into the space between, eyes stuck on the collar of his shirt and unable to meet his.

There was a pause, silence overcoming the two of you and thickening the air around you. You could practically hear his brain working to come up with a response that wouldn’t kill you, and you almost broke and fell against him. But you didn’t, couldn’t.

“I don’t think I could ever bring myself to break your heart,” he murmured, words smooth and soft. “But if you need me to cut whatever ties you have left, I’ll do it, even though it kills me. Whatever you need, I’ll do, even if it means I have to lose you.”

It was then that you gathered the courage to meet his eyes, and the moment you did you regretted it. Tears slid down his angled face, shining in the soft light of the lamp. Your heart crumpled, nearly unable to handle the fact that you were doing this to him.

You allowed yourself to reach up and rest your hands on his cheeks. “I’m so sorry,” your thumbs ran beneath his eyes in a useless attempt to wipe away his sadness. “I never want to hurt you, but this just isn’t working anymore, and my heart can’t take it. I’m sorry.”

He leaned down to rest his forehead against yours, eyes shut, and lower lip drawn between his teeth. His hands came to rest lightly on your hips, fingers wrapping into the material of your shirt. “I know, I know,” he assured you softly. “Things haven’t been the best between us lately, I know that now, but still-” Your hands snaked around his neck, effectively pulling him closer. His lips came to press against your forehead, and the feeling almost made you melt into him. “I’ll always love you Y/N, but if you need me to cut ties, I’ll cut them.”

The feeling of his breath against your skin brought on a fresh wave of tears as you nodded. “Thank you, Torū,” you murmured, fingers running through the short hair at the nape of his neck. “Thank you for everything, I mean it.”

He sighed, pulling you against his chest as his arms encircled you fully. “I know, Y/N, you’re welcome.”

consider buying me a coffee for exclusive writing

[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

[sunflovverharry]

Sweet Time

a/n: soo, I took the liberty of changing the pov in the song to be from harry’s perspective instead of the oc’s, but i’m quite happy with how it turned out. i recommend you listen to the song this fic is inspired by while reading as it might give some more depth to what’s going on inside harry’s head than what i already give throughout the story. Thank you for reading and please reblog if you enjoy it xx

This fic is a part of @harrystylescherry playlist fic challenge which i’m super excited to be part of! Remember to read the rest of the entries and show your support <3

Pairing: Harry x OC Delilah Warnings: Angst, fluff, language Word count: 4.7k

It seems bad luck runs through all of Harry’s relationships. The three he’s had that lasted long enough to be considered serious all ended because of the same reason - Harry’s fame. Mixing their jealousy of the women media connected him to; and anger that he couldn’t be with them every time something important happened made him exhausted. His girlfriend was supposed to support him in every way possible, just as he would support them and know that if he could spend more time with her, obviously he wouldn’t be flying to god knows where for who knows how long. It clearly wasn’t enough for his exes to know that if he could, he would, but his life isn’t run only by himself. He has managers and a record label who tells him what to do and when.

**

Lucie had been ringing his phone for the last hour without any answer and it surely must have pissed her off because the texts she sent after weren’t pleasing to say the least. Harry had been in the studio for a while and his phone had been silenced so he could solely focus while creativity was rolling through him. He had told his girlfriend that he would be unavailable for most of the week with writing and recording as much as possible, but he’d call or text whenever he was free. Thinking she had understood, he didn’t care to text her right before entering the studio to tell her she wouldn’t be able to get a hold of him for a while, but after seeing the texts he thought to himself he should’ve texted her.

“Why the fuck aren’t you answering??” “Harry you better answer your fucking phone this instance or we’re over!” “Seriously Harry what is more important than me, your girlfriend!!” “Are you with another woman???? ANSWER ME YOU FUCKING DICK”

No, it wasn’t the first time Harry had been subject to her angry texts, probably drunk off her ass and having no one else to be mad at. He knew he shouldn’t put up with the way she’s treating him, but when they’re together she acts completely different. She never raises her voice at him or asks who women he’s seen with are. They always enjoy their time together, cuddling on the sofa while watching a movie or going to her parents’ for a Sunday roast. Though she’d never be seen cleaning or cooking, telling Harry that it wasn’t her job to do so when he could have maids and chefs.

Even his mum had told him she wasn’t what he needed in a girlfriend. A snobby, gold digger who has jealousy and anger issues ultimately wasn’t someone he had time for. Those texts were what made him decide that he had to end the relationship now, before it’s too late.

A week later he made it home from Los Angeles and he wasn’t surprised to see Lucie running towards him after hearing the car doors slam outside. She always acted as if nothing happened while he was gone. He couldn’t believe he had wasted almost a year on this girl and before she could get any closer to him he told her they were done. Yes, it sucked to tell someone they weren’t wanted any longer, but it was the right decision in the end and his mum would surely be happy he got rid of her.

**

A year after breaking up with Lucie, his third girlfriend (who honestly might have been a little too into his fame and money than he realized at the time), he met Delilah. To be honest, Harry had told himself that he wanted to stay single and focus on himself and his upcoming album, but Delilah threw his plans out the window after only a month of dating - or what he called “just friends getting to know each other”. Delilah on the other hand called them dates and could only hope it would expand into something greater than that.

**

Harry had been sat in the restaurant they were meeting at for half an hour, hoping Delilah wouldn’t be much longer. He was grateful she had texted him to let him know she’d be running later than expected as the traffic was crazy and she had to stay at work an hour longer than anticipated. If she hadn’t let him know, he’s sure he would have cried from the embarrassment.

Not knowing how much longer she’d be, he called his mum. Her voice had always calmed him down and that’s exactly what he needed at this very moment - sitting alone in a restaurant at a table for two in a secluded corner waiting for what might be the prettiest girl he’s laid eyes on.

“Hello my sweetness. How are you?” They got into talking about Harry’s surprise trip home for his sister's birthday in a couple of months. Anne and Harry were planning a surprise birthday party for her and it wasn’t something he’d ever want to miss. After minutes of talking about the surprise and anything else popping up into the conversation, Anne asked what he was doing. It wasn’t that he had hidden the fact that he had a new friend on purpose, but he supposes that he wanted to keep this one private - even from his mum who knows everything going on in his life.

“Just having dinner with a friend who’s running a tad late which is why I called you.” He wasn’t sure he was able to keep the excitement out of his answer. Though Delilah was only a friend and he certainly wasn’t looking for another relationship that would end up breaking, he already liked her more than he probably should.

“Oh, I see. A friend friend perhaps?” Anne snickered, knowing that if she pried long enough, he’d have no choice but to spill. This time it wouldn’t happen though as he saw Delilah walking towards the back of the restaurant and the table where he was seated waiting patiently for her.

“Sorry, mum, my guest has arrived. I’ll call another day, love you.” Harry didn’t hear the ‘love you’ his mum said back to him before pulling his phone from his ear and hanging up. Pocketing his phone while standing up, he smiled at Delilah who looked stressed but beautiful in her very classy outfit paired with some killer heels and Harry didn’t even want to think about how much they hurt her feet.

When they both finally sat down, the chatter never died down and the wine never stopped pouring.

**

It took a while before she earned Harry’s trust, but it was proof that he did trust her when he invited her over to his house for the first time after five months of dating. She had proved to Harry that she took his privacy seriously and she, too, wanted to keep whatever it was they had going on between only the two of them. Almost as if it was something sacred, and really it was.

Harry had been over for movie nights and dinners at Delilah’s plenty of times, even going as far as staying over a handful of times. She gave him complete reigns of what they did and never pressured him into going out in public and there wasn’t a suspicion (that Harry knew of at least) of why he didn’t want to go any further than light groping and making out before pulling away. When he wanted to talk to her, she would be there for him.

**

Delilah had her legs thrown over Harry’s thighs and his hands were lightly massaging her feet tired from a long day at work. They had ordered pizza from what Harry called ‘the best pizza place he’s ever been to’ and when Delilah took her first bite she couldn’t help but moan at the explosion of taste in her mouth. It really was the best pizza. This was only her second time hanging out at Harry’s house, only wanting to come when he invited her as to not invite herself into his most private space.

Harry had shot her a message earlier in the day asking her if she’d like to come over after work seeing as it was a Friday and therefore the night didn’t have to end as early as a weeknight. Of course, he didn’t tell her that, but he wanted to have the option open for her to stay the night if he felt comfortable enough by the end of the night to ask her.

Delilah could Harry’s head was spinning in all directions while mindlessly continuing to rub her feet, up to her legs. She could positively say none of her exes had ever given her a foot massage, making Harry look even better in her books (though he didn’t need it, he was already better than any of her expectations and she could only hope she reached his expectations).

“What’s wrong, sweets?” She had taken up the nickname for him after hearing his mum call him something similar, but not wanting to steal her nickname for him. Harry smiled every time she called him that, loving the feeling he got in his stomach from how it sounds coming off of her tongue.

“Just thinking and going in circles round my head.” It didn’t give away anything other than he was stressing or worried about something Delilah had no idea what it could be. Sitting up, she planted a kiss to his cheek before smashing their cheeks together in a tight hug - all she wanted was to be there for him if he wanted to talk, or just sit in silence together. Hopefully he’d have the guts to throw her out if he wanted to be alone.

Harry giggled when she didn’t let up her strong hold around his neck, not nearly enough to choke him, but enough to hold him in place. He turned his head to look at her quickly before melting their lips together in what can only be described as an expressive and intense kiss. Delilah didn’t know what he was trying to express, but it must be something good with the way he’s pulling her onto his lap, their lips never separating more than a second.

“Would you want to stay the night?” He had gone through every pro and con in his head, but Delilah showing him she was there for him without trying to pull anything out of him made up his mind. There was no doubt he wanted her to stay at his place for the night and he’d drive a hard bargain for her to even think about saying no.

There was no need for a bargain though, Delilah nodding her head quickly before pulling him in for another kiss, or two, or three. She wasn’t worried about not having pajamas here or her toothbrush or her trusty face cleanser. None of it mattered even slightly, when all she could think about was how much trust Harry was putting in her. For a minute there she was the happiest she’s ever been and as Harry’s nerves subsided he was the happiest he’s ever been.

The couple went for a short drive to Delilah’s apartment to pick up some essentials, as well as the supermarket to buy ingredients for breakfast in the morning (and new bathroom essentials to keep in his bathroom for times when she would stay the night). By the time they got back to Harry’s, they were ready to hop into bed - a bed she had yet to try out, but was sure would exceed all her expectations.

Harry was tucked into his bed on the side he regularly slept on when Delilah walked out of his ensuite, ready to lay down right next to him. Knowing from the past times they’ve shared her bed that he’s a big cuddler, she was excited to see how much more comfortable and cuddly he’d be in his own bed.

**

Though Harry felt safe and trusted Delilah enough to share his house with her and have her sleep over, something was still holding him back from asking the big question that they both probably knew should have come earlier. Even his mum was unsure why he hadn’t asked her yet or let her meet the woman he’s spending all his time with.

By the seventh month of dating, she was starting to question herself. If she wasn’t doing anything wrong and he still trusted her, why would he not have asked her to be his girlfriend already? She thought it was pretty clear to everyone that knew about their ‘relationship’ that she wouldn’t say no.

**

“So, Delilah, how’s it going with Harry?” She was out for drinks with her best girlfriends and the only ones she had told about Harry - except her parents, of course. It was an unwritten rule to not talk about boy trouble or anything of the sort on their nights out, but it was clear Delilah’s head wasn’t in it. Something had to be up with her and the only thing her friends could think of, was Harry.

“We’re good. He’s feeling safe and comfortable with me. We’re going to his mum’s next weekend to relax before he leaves.” Her voice was definite and if her friends didn’t know her they wouldn’t think anything was wrong with their relationship. Delilah spends a lot of time with him and the past month she’s slept over most nights, even on the days she’s had work the next. Harry had cleared out more space for her in his bathroom vanity and closet - which he knew was way larger than what he really needed, but had still managed to fill with no problem.

Delilah sipped on her drink as she went back into her head, thinking about how tonight was just like any other day. Harry will pick her up exactly ten minutes after she calls to tell him the night is over, he’ll hold her thigh on the drive back to his home while she talks his head off about nothing. When they arrive home, they’ll do exactly what they always do when she stays the night - wash their faces together, brush their teeth and while Delilah finds her outfit the next day Harry goes to get a water bottle he always keeps in the fridge that they will share throughout the night. It’s become routine and the domesticity around it makes Delilah’s heart flutter.

“Have you had the talk about going official? Becoming boyfriend and girlfriend? I thought maybe he’d asked by now with how you’ve been. I mean, you basically live there by now.” Lyla tried to pull out the thoughts swirling around Delilah’s head without being too invasive if she really didn’t want to talk about it.

“I don’t know honestly, I think we’re doing great and I’m so happy with him. I don’t want to force him if he isn’t ready, but it’s been seven months and he hasn’t said anything about making it official no matter how much it feels like it already is. I can’t imagine he doesn’t feel the same. It’s pretty obvious what we’re doing is exactly how it’s like being in a serious relationship.” She braced herself and let it all out - all her thoughts about not making it official yet or how domestic their relationship has become over the past couple months. She would be indescribably sad if Harry wasn’t to actually feel like she thinks he does and that might be the reason why she hasn’t had the guts to be the one to initiate the conversation.

**

The next couple of weeks went by smoothly for the pair. With Harry being gone for most of it, she had a lot of time for herself to go through her feelings and get the chance to figure things out. She tried to hide her - what felt like crushed - feelings from Harry, not wanting him to pry for her to open up and ruin everything. She agreed with herself that if they had to do things slower than normal because Harry needed the time to get there, then that would be okay as long as he actually would get there one day. There was also no way she could leave the man behind just because he’s been hurt in the past and is now - overly - precautious. The very least she could do to save what they had was to try and help him realize that she wasn’t going anywhere and didn’t want anything but the best for him, and she wanted to be the best.

Delilah came home from work to Harry cooking a storm in the kitchen late one afternoon after he came back to London. It wasn’t that she didn’t know he could cook that surprised her, no, he was always making them dinner - with or without Delilah’s help. What did surprise her though, was the romantic set up in the living room that she had never seen before.

**

Harry was in deep concentration standing over the stovetop where he had vegetables boiling, along with the chicken he’s grilling. It’s getting close to done when he heard his front door open and he didn’t bother turning around, knowing it could only be one person - Delilah. The girl he’d been obsessed with for the past eight months. But, fuck, he was terrified of getting infatuated with someone again, only having been burnt by it in the end previously.

There was something so raw and new with this one, though, such a breath of fresh air for him. It was like he was supposed to go through those bad relationships to end up here - with the perfect fit for him. She never took it to heart when he couldn’t be there for some things, having to leave the country for weeks at a time, but encouraged him to go, have fun, text me when you land. The first time she told him so, he was speechless and couldn’t move his feet for seconds before he got back to earth.

The first time he slept over at her place was pivotal for him and him realizing where this could go, and that was over six months ago. He had told himself to take it slow, enjoy the moment and not do anything because he felt it was the right time. The right time was usually never right in the end because he still wasn’t ready. If he were to lead a relationship with Delilah it would have to be on his terms, mostly because he didn’t want this one to go wrong. This potential relationship with the girl of his dreams was something he needed to get right. If that meant waiting a little longer to make it official, move in together or start a family - now he’s really thinking far into the future - then he would do so because he knew in the end it would save them both from heartbreak.

Ever since him and Delilah got closer his mum saw a change in him, though the insecurities and unease he had from former relationships were still haunting him. The first time he voluntarily spoke to his mum about her, she told him to follow his heart and only time could tell if she was the one for him. The last time he spoke about her, Anne told him he had to do something, because even though they act as if they’re together, she doesn’t have the security blanket of love that she needs to stay with him. That really set fire to his plans - knowing he had to do something about it before it was too late.

Therefore he ended up deciding on making her dinner and putting in effort to show his romantic side that she hasn’t seen a lot of was the way to go. He wanted to go all out for her to show that this is what he wants and he feels safe and secure enough in himself and them as a couple to make it official. It’s what he craved.

He heard Delilah’s feet softly moving on the hardwood flooring to get from the entry to the kitchen. He also knew she had smelt his cooking and seen the rose petals, candles and blankets scattered all over the living room. There was no doubt she was suspicious over the reason for his doings, but at the same time she held back and waited for Harry to make the first step.

“Hi lovey, dinner is almost ready. You want to change into something comfy before we eat?” Harry only turned around for a single second to try and see if her face could tell him anything about how she’s feeling.

“Smells delicious. Be back in a tick, sweets.” The grin creeping out from his lips couldn’t be stopped after hearing her call him his favorite nickname. He hopes it means she’s happy with him. While Delilah changes upstairs in their - pretty much - shared closet, Harry dishes up the plates and finds her favorite red wine to drink with the meal. Right as he finishes putting everything in its place, she descends from the staircase and Harry finally takes a moment to admire her. He finds her beautiful in a pair of leggings and one of Harry’s hoodies she decided to steal. Before getting completely lost in her beauty, he coughs and reaches his hand out to tell her to come sit with him on the floor in front of the sofa.

Harry wanted to wait until they had finished their meal to bring their relationship up, hoping to enjoy their little impromptu - on her end at least - date night before getting serious. Delilah was smiling and wouldn’t stop gushing over his surprise making him feel better about what was to come. He was sure she would say yes, but the little doubt he had left in him wouldn’t go away until he got his answer and knew for sure.

Later in the evening, they were still sitting on the floor, talking about their days and upcoming events. Harry’s hand was running along her legs thrown over his lap and hers were holding the wine glass recently filled up again when he felt the need to get everything off his chest.

“Darling. I know I’ve taken things slow with you, slower than we both probably wanted, but I hope you know I haven’t been stringing you along for nothing. Tonight I wanted to show you how much you mean to me and how much I’ve grown to care for you. I hope you knew that anyway.” Harry was smiling at her while coming clean with all his thoughts and feelings.

“I’ve loved the naturalness of how we’ve moved through our friendship. Nothing with you has ever felt forced or uncomfortable, maybe because you let me take my time and have control over what I can. I can’t tell you how much that has meant to me and I want you to know that it hasn’t gone unnoticed. The domesticity around us feels so easy and I hope that doesn’t ever change. Because we’ve been acting as if we’re together, it kind of slipped my mind that we’re not, but tonight I wanted to ask you, finally, if you want to make it official and be mine?”

**

After making it official, there was nothing holding them back from each other. They were together as much as their lives allowed them to be and Delilah even surprised Harry by going to his first show on tour in Los Angeles. He thought she didn’t get the time off of work to be able to come, but Delilah knew he wouldn’t be upset with her lying about it when in the end it would make him happy. They had been official for six months at the time and were practically inseparable. Neither of them knew how they would do with the distance over a longer period of time compared to the two to three weeks he was usually gone for before coming home. Sure in themselves and what they had, they knew they’d get through this, too.

**

Delilah hadn’t gotten the chance to surprise Harry much over the past year since she got to know Harry, unlike how he had managed to surprise her quite a few times. They were often small, but thought out and always showed her how much he appreciated her. For the longest time; she had been thinking about how she could surprise him without him finding out - and her chance came landing right into her hands with him going on tour. She called Jeff the minute she thought of it, the day after Harry asking her if she would be able to come out for a couple of days during his tour, preferably the first show.

Jeff and Delilah had managed to keep the secret from Harry for over a month with Jeff buying her a plane ticket for the day his first show was. She got picked up by a driver at the airport and drove straight to the Forum to catch him on stage singing his heart out. Though she was only able to see him for the last fifteen minutes of his first show, it was exactly what she imagined - Harry dancing around the stage, singing to a crowd so loud she thought her ears might lose hearing.

Right before Harry was set to come off stage, Delilah was guided through the backstage area to Harry’s dressing room where he would finally see her and hopefully get surprised. She was sitting on the black leather sofa with her hands fiddling in her lap as she waited the short while. It was clear he was getting closer as the loud screams got quieter. Excitement, nervousness, happiness, restlessness. They were all feelings running through her, the anxiety easier to feel when she finally heard his laughter moving through the hallways and she knew he was only meters away from her.

Only seconds later she saw the door handle jiggle before the door opened just a crack as he was still standing in the hallway talking to someone Delilah couldn’t quite distinguish. Finally, he pushed the door further open and he was turning toward her, no idea someone would be waiting for him, nevertheless, his girlfriend he thought was stuck at work back in London. His eyes landed on her and for a while, he just stood in front of her still in the doorway thinking he was seeing things. When he understood that she was actually sitting in front of him his eyes couldn’t help but glaze over while shutting the door - he wanted this moment to be between him and his girl, no one else. Harry practically ran toward her, thinking he couldn’t get to her fast enough, and Delilah just about managed to stand up before he threw himself at her.

For a long time they stood on his dressing room floor, Harry’s arms around her neck and Delilah’s around his waist as they held each other close. Both of them had tears rolling down their cheeks, not from the three weeks they had been away from each other, but the sentiment of her actions. All the small things she had done for him since day one, waiting for him to feel comfortable and ready to dive into what they hoped would be a future together, always asking before doing something he might not be okay with, being too kind and gentle with him, always, and lastly her surprising him on tour. Something suddenly clicked in his head as he smelled her cherry blossom perfume he loved so much - this was it; Delilah was it for him, it was she he had been waiting for to come into his life after going through too many shitty relationships and breakups. There was no way he would let this one go when she understands him and loves him for everything he is (though they hadn’t said that yet - Delilah being afraid to scare him away and Harry wanting to wait until one day it slipped and came naturally).

Delilah, too, felt the same. She knew he was it for her - showering her with the affection and tenderness she needed from someone she wanted to spend the rest of her life with. They were perfect together and if taking it slow was the way to go with Harry then she would continue to do so forever, making sure he is always comfortable and safe with her.

**

Thank you for reading, will hopefully be back with another chapter of my fwb series soon <3

[yuckydraws]

If it's alright with you and if you're still doing the writing prompts, would 4 with Red be alright? That adorable skele needs all the help to go back home 🥺

Of course!

4 - “Can you take me home?”

(CW: alcohol)

•••••••••••

It’s been a while since you’ve gotten a drunk call from Red. You were brushing your teeth and getting ready for bed when he called you mumbling absolute nonsense and puns.

And flirts?

Weird.

You both were just friends after all. No matter how much you wish you were more. You just can’t bring yourself to tell him, you don’t want anything to change between you both if he doesn’t feel the same.

You sigh as you listen to his continued jokes through the speaker.

“Where are you?” You interrupt his laughter.

“where do ya think doll?” He sasses.

“Grillby’s?” You guess.

“bingo! you ge’ a prize! a kiss from yers truly~” He flirts. You sigh again.

You wish he meant that.

“Why didn’t you call Boss?” You ask, choosing to ignore his comments.

“didn’ wanna talk to him.” He answers.

“Does he know where you are?” You ask.

“fuck he ain’t ma babysitter.” He grumbles. So no. Boss doesn’t know where Red is, he’s probably in bed asleep and oblivious to his brother’s whereabouts. You start to put some shoes on, not bothering to change out of your pajamas. You don’t plan to be at Grillby’s for long.

“Being a concerned brother is different then a ‘babysitter’.” You remind him. Honestly, they wonder why they aren’t as close as they could be? The two don’t ever talk to each other.

“…”

“I’m coming to get you.” You say with finality, grabbing your keys and heading out the door.

“‘kay.” He answers lamely.

You stay on the phone with him the entire time (on speaker of course, as you are driving) mostly just listening to him being ridiculous. The drive there feels longer with the worry sitting in your chest.

You wish he’d be a little more responsible when he drinks.

But at least he called you, instead of trying to “take a shortcut” while drunk. Alcohol and teleportation cannot be a good mix.

You pull into the parking lot, park, hang up the phone, and slip out of your car. You immediately shiver at the cool air that bites you through your thin pajama pants.

Walking in, the warm atmosphere created by the fire bartender himself quickly hears you up. You find the bar pretty full for a weeknight. The monster regulars all turn to you when you walk in, chortling and chatting amongst themselves as they recognize you and see what you’re wearing.

Whatever.

You aren’t concerned with them. Instead of offering them any of your attention, you walk with purpose to the bar where Sans is resting his head.

Getting closer you hear him mumbling.

“can’t believe they hung up on me…”

You poke his shoulder, and he slowly turns to look at you. Recognition lights up he face and he smiles at you.

“i was jus’ thinking about ya~” He winks. It’s very slow.

“Uh huh. C’mon bone boy.” You pull on his arm. He grumbles but let’s you pull him into a standing position. You give an apologetic glance to Grillby, which he dismisses with a wave of his hand.

The bar patrons burst out in laughter and teasing as you pull him out of the bar. Red simply glares, which seems to quiet them.

You miss the warmth of the bar as you get outside, instantly shivering. You walk faster with Red in tow, but he plants his heels and starts to protest. You turn to look at him.

“yer cold? i could warm ya up~” He flirts, leaning closer to you. You shove at his face as you try not to smile. He giggles at your actions and loses his balance, as his body the equivalent of a noodle at this point.

Falling on his boney butt he blinks.

“Oh my stars I’m so sorry! Are you okay??” You blurt out, guilt filling you. You hold out a hand to help him up. He just stares at it, then you, and grins.

“damn doll, ‘m falling for ya already…”

You deadpan.

Nope.

You retract your hand, standing up straight.

“I’ll be in my car.” You tell him, before leaving him on the pavement.

Sliding in the front seat, you sigh.

You just want him to mean it.

Heat and music fill the car as you turn the ignition. Relaxing into the atmosphere, you rest your head on the wheel and wait for it.

It takes a few songs for it to happen.

A small knock on your window.

Rolling it down, you glance and see just what you expected.

Red leaning on your car with a dopey drunk smile.

“can ya take me home, doll?”

You roll your eyes and unlock the doors.

Watching as he slowly makes his way to the passenger side, you shake your head an smile.

You love him.

You wish you could tell him.

[lambourngb]

day 1 who do you think you are - character recs

Creator’s Week 2021 for @roswellnewmexicocreate - Day 1 : Character Recs

This is my favorite fandom event, and my third year doing it. The last year was really difficult, and fanfic more than ever was my escape from it.  Shout out to all the writers, commenters, and lurkers who kept fandom going during it.

Rosa Ortecho:

heal it or break it all apart by @adiwriting​ : (7,600) All Rosa’s ever done is break things. Her entire life she’s destroyed everything she’s ever touched. So it’s really no surprise when she comes back that her powers do the same. Alternatively- 4 times somebody tries to get Rosa to seek help with her powers and one time she decides to help herself.  GEN

why i like it: I pretty much love whatever Britt writes, but in the light of how season 3 is going, I found myself returning to this fic more than a few times. She really captures the fierce but vulnerable Rosa in this beautifully.

Kyle Valenti:

at every occasion i’ll be ready for a funeral by @bydayornight  (1,330) Kyle goes on a vacation after the events of 3x04 and meets an unlikely beach companion. GEN

why i like it: Christine has become one of my new favorite writers, and has been a season 3 coda writing machine. Here is where we all would like Kyle to be - lounging on a beach without a care in the world (with that RNM twist! lol)  She also does a brilliant job with the Kyle and Michael vibes here.

Maria Deluca:

Butter(bar)flies by @andrea-lyn​ (4,447) When all of Maria’s people fly away for new opportunities, she needs to find new ones. The lost decade and what should have been. MILUCA

why i like it: Manda has written some of my favorite stories, and even has dragged me into Ted Lasso, but this little lost decade AU is one of my favorites. She captures the flirty vibe of season 1 Michael/Maria, and inserts it into a time when it really makes sense to me for that a friends-with-benefits-relationship should have begun, to give weight to a choice for Michael. Maria is wonderfully characterized here, and it really makes it clear how a real love triangle should have been structured.

Liz Ortecho:

heart of lightning (a roswellian tale) by @bitch-ass-aliens​ (20,095) When Ser Elizabeth Ortecho of the Roswellian Court is sent by Queen Isobel to retrieve the heart of the missing King Maxwell from a fearsome lightning dragon guarding it, she knows success could bring her one step closer to completing a quest of her own. Ten years ago, a mage named Ophiuchus curse her sister with eternal slumber, and Liz has been searching for him ever since. Saving the king could be the key to learning Ophiuchus's true identity and saving Rosa. But the dragon is not what it appears to be. Soon Liz finds herself needing to guard her heart from feelings forgotten long ago as she and her friends journey back to Roswell, King Max by their side, with more than just the fate of Rosa hanging in the balance. For Ophiuchus's plans are bigger and more dangerous than any of them realize. ECHO

why i like it: This was part of the RNM Big Bang last year and as a fellow participant, I did my best to read and feedback the other submissions, which meant reading something that wasn’t Malex 😂🤯 - suz made it easy, writing a beautifully detailed medieval AU that retold the story of Rosa, Noah, and Max’s S1 sacrifice, through the amazing POV of Ser Liz. This story had everything I love about Liz- her devotion to her family, her bravery in doing hard things, and her love for Max.

Max Evans:

highway to the sun by @angsty-nerd​  (22,236) Noah’s heart is failing, and Max is on the verge of death. His final wish is to see Liz one last time, so he and Michael road trip to Los Angeles so that Max can say his goodbyes. ECHO

why i like it: Another part of the 2020 RNM Big Bang - Instead of a focus on Liz in this Echo story, we’re deep in the psyche of Max Evans, who is trying to tie up loose ends before he dies. I love the atmosphere of the road trip, the sadness of the clock that Max is trying to run out, and the whole Michael/Max brotherly bond in this story. It’s got all the sweet elements of some of my favorite romantic dramas - like “Beaches” or “Dying Young”, but mixed with the sci fi of RNM. Even though it was written pre-season 3, I really love how it ties up season 2 here.

Alex Manes:

i’m just like my mother, we both love to run @meneatyoghurt​ (5,211) After what his dad does, he runs and runs and runs. A look at Alex's relationship with running, from track and field to leaving Roswell. MALEX IMPLIED

why i like it: Alex is one of my favorite characters on RNM, mostly because of how hard he tries in spite of his flaws. I love a good story that focuses on why it’s a struggle for Alex to be present, and doesn’t shy away from the fallout of his actions. This is a gorgeous look into Alex and his tendency to run to feel safe, and how that affects his relationships, and why he wants to stop. I just have a lot of feelings about Alex, especially after reading this.

Michael Guerin : 

looking for yourself out there by @haloud (6,670)  It’s early; it’s a weeknight. Michael can only be here to get blasted or for Marco himself, and both of them know it.It’s been a while since this was a game, for Michael. The flirting he did with Maria was something else, a class all her own. Sex, and the lead up to sex, for the longest time was either life-or-death or it was a helpless, hopeless lashing out for any human contact. (It was either Alex, or it was Maria, or it wasn’t.)So this is nice. MICHAEL/OTHER

why i like it: I privately think hal understands Michael Guerin like no other, and their fic is just a delight for anyone who wants to look under that macho cowboy exterior to see him. One of the things we both agree on as Michael Guerin fans, is that Alex is not the male exception for Michael. And while the show will probably never deliver a Michael/OMC storyline like they have with Max/Jenna, Isobel/Blair, Liz/Heath, Alex/Forrest - that’s what fanfic is for and this story is so satisfiying. If you don’t come away from this story loving Marco and wishing he was real... I don’t know what to tell you. I was so inspired by it, I wrote my own Michael/OMC story.

Isobel Evans:

future starts slow by @foramomentonly​ (4,799) The bartop is sticky, but Maria's skin is clean and soft.This is how it starts. Brushes of fingers as Maria passes over a glass of wine; her cool, dry hand cupping Isobel's wrist as she reads her palm; Isobel's fingertips pressed to Maria's temples, wisps of curls caught around her knuckles as they practice combining their powers. MARIBEL

why i like it: It’s just facts that Maria and Isobel have incredible chemistry, their banter is off the charts, and I love this sexy story of Isobel approaching Maria for more after they’ve been circling each other for a while. It’s a gorgeous look at two strong women who very rarely let down their guards, but for each other, they do. The sex is really hot, but I think what lingers most with me is how this story rewards the swan dive of hope, Isobel after a lifetime of “being who she should be” becomes who she wants to be, a woman who loves fiercely but not destructively. Of course, Maria is no wilting flower here, which makes it all the sweeter.

If you like any of these recs, please leave a comment on the story- a ‘this was awesome’ is enough to propell an author into the stratosphere with happiness, so don’t worry about coming up with a unique, never before shared insight- sometimes a keyboard smash and emogi makes all the difference! 

[whentherewerebicycles]

my scruffy girl 😭 with some fluffy legs for jamila

sleep update: I slept nine hours last night and feel a little groggy but otherwise pretty good. new sleep med continues to be amazing at helping me fall asleep quickly and naturally—I take it 45-60 min before bedtime and by the time bedtime rolls around I physically can’t keep my eyes open anymore and am dozing off reading. I’m not sure it’s the best at helping me sleep deeply through the night but I’ve figured out some strategies for helping with that… I leave the closet light on so the dogs can get on and off the bed without waking me and then I wear an eye mask so the light doesn’t bother me. not a perfect solution but far fewer nighttime sleep interruptions! I do sometimes get morning-after groggy hangovers so I may try halving the dose for a week to see if that helps. but idk man even if sleep isn’t perfect it’s such an incredible weight off my shoulders to know that I’ll be able to fall asleep without any problems every night. I don’t think I realized how much anxiety and dread I’d built up around lying down and spending hours trying to fall asleep!! so I’ll take it I can absolutely live with the parts that aren’t perfect.

mmkay might as well also do some health-related thinking aloud. I’ve really slipped back into some unhealthy eating habits the last six months or so (although still so much better than before 2019!!) and I’d like to do a bit of a reset there. I think I might start rereading how not to die as a plant-based refresher and then, huge sigh, I do think I need to set aside some time on sundays to do all of my meal prep for the week. I want to eat more vegetables and I want to start bulk-preparing rice and grains so it’s easy to make quick meals during the week. but I think to do that I need to actually sit down and do some research on easy vegetarian meals that can be thrown together quickly on weeknights. and I also need to invest in some good heavy duty Tupperware… I feel like I am constantly buying Tupperware and I have NO idea where it all disappears to??

and then exercise… I’m good about walking about an hour every day but I’ve totally stopped running or skating and I only bike very casually around my neighborhood. weirdly I think it’s easier for me to exercise in the summer because my walk leaves me sooo sweaty and gross that I have to shower again anyway, so it’s mentally easier to just be like well ok I’ll walk and then tack on a run or a skate. but I think I might again sit down and do some actual planning around how I want to scale up activity. I’d like to do it VERY gradually, like building in a 10 min run at the end of a walk or building in a 20 min bike ride once a week in the mornings or something. I might also explore ways to attach it to writing out of the house, which is another habit I’d like to build… like maybe I bike somewhere 15 min away, write on my phone or iPad for a while, and then bike home. and agh I know I need to start building in light strength training sigh I’ve been saying that for years but throwing my back out a couple months back really drove home for me how weak my core and upper body are. idk I just gotta think about it. my parents are super into Pilates these days so maybe that’s an option to explore.

bleurgh okay what does the day hold! it’s really nice out right now but will be kinda hot later, so this would be an ideal time to get up and do something outside. my spring break writing project is going okay… I think the concept is working but I’m definitely out of the new project honeymoon phase and into the frustrating ‘aghh why is writing SO HARD’ phase. mmm okay. I will scroll for 10 min, then get up to shower so I can’t just lie in bed all day. then I will WRITE OUTSIDE and maybe leave my phone somewhere so I’m not distracted by mindless scrolling.

[sisterspooky1013]

Only One Choice, Chapter 6

Read it here on AO3 / Tagging @today-in-fic

Mulder stands at the coffee pot in the bureau break room, pouring a mug full of the shitty burnt bean water and thinking back to the look on Scully’s face as he told her about the Icy Cape X file.

Valerie had always shown interest in his work, but she had her limits. She listened politely, but if he mentioned details like black nodules she made a face and told him he was going to ruin her dinner. It’s understandable that people would be turned off by the nitty gritty of his work; heck, even the Gunmen ask him to tone it down sometimes. But Scully displayed only fascination and curiosity. He suspects he could tell her about the Tooms case and she’d be more interested in discussing the plausibility of a one-hundred-twenty year old man than she’d be disgusted that he stuck his hand in bile.

“Who is she?”

He turns to see Agent Kissop, one of the more senior analysts on the team, smiling at him over her bifocals.

“I’m sorry?” he asks.

“You’ve been staring at that coffee pot with a shit-eating grin on your face for the last ten minutes. Only reason a man does that is if he has a lady on his mind. So who is she?” Kissop asks pointedly.

Mulder blushes and her smile broadens.

“I’m glad to see you putting yourself out there again, Agent Mulder,” she says with a maternal pat to his arm. “Sweet guy like you deserves to be with someone who makes him happy.”

He smiles politely and escapes to his desk, disappointment gripping his chest. He’s got someone on his mind, alright, but he’ll never be with her. Trying to put Scully out of his thoughts, he logs in to check his email. Among requests for updates on various cases, a message from HR about his 401k, and a reminder not to store entire gallons of milk in the shared refrigerator, he sees an email that makes his heart leap into his throat.

He swallows hard and opens it, hoping against hope that it is what he thinks it is.

From: dscully@fbi.gov

Sent: July 1, 1996 11:36am

To: fmulder@fbi.gov

Subject: X Files

Hi Mulder,

I hope you enjoyed the rest of your sunday.

If the offer still stands, I’d love to take a look at those X Files of yours. Perhaps one weekend? It’s hard for me to squeeze anything in on weeknights with my commute to Quantico. It just occurred to me that I don’t know where you live, either.

Anyway, let me know. Take care.

Scully

If Kissop thought he was smiling like an idiot before, she should see him now. He feels like doing a fist-pump, or a touchdown dance. Oh god, she’s going to come by his apartment, he needs to clean. What if Priscilla takes one of her colossal stinky shits while Scully’s there? Jesus Christ, he’s getting ahead of himself.

He hits reply and spends forty-five minutes writing and rewriting his response.

————

She’d written the email the moment she got to the office at 7:00 am, then left it in drafts for hours, re-reading it and changing a word here and there, adding and removing different parts. Should she sign it “sincerely, Scully,” or maybe “regards, Scully”? Or should she sign it Dana? He doesn’t call her Dana.

Maybe she shouldn’t send it at all. Isn’t it inappropriate to meet with a male coworker alone in his apartment, given that she’s engaged? But this is about work. It holds scientific significance. She wants to see the files, not Mulder. Right?

Finally she couldn't take it anymore and hit send, immediately going to her outbox to see if she could still call it back, but it was too late. Now all she can do is wait. Wait, wait, wait. She checks her email compulsively between classes and autopsies. What if he never responds? Finally, just after 1:00 pm, it arrives.

From: fmulder@fbi.gov

Sent: July 1, 1996 1:19pm

To: dscully@fbi.gov

subject: RE: X Files

Scully,

I’d admonish you for discussing this via a monitored channel, but then you’d remind me that I very specifically told you to email me.

I’m free this Saturday, if you’d like to come by. Anytime is fine, but let’s say 6 so we can justify having a drink. I hope you’re partial to shitty beer.

I live in Alexandria, at 2630 Hegal Place, apartment 42. Don’t let the dilapidated exterior fool you; it’s a very respectable slum.

Talk to you soon,

Mulder

She bites at her lips, trying to fight off the flush of delight she feels as she reads his reply over and over. Should she just admit that she has a giant crush on him? Probably. It’s not illegal to have a crush as long as she has no intention of doing anything about it. Maybe his apartment will be filthy, or plastered with Star Trek paraphernalia, and it will effectively quash her affection for him. She can only hope. She hits reply, and this time doesn’t hesitate to send it right away.

———

Her reply is waiting for him when he returns from his lunch break, and he smiles before he even opens it.

From: dscully@fbi.gov

Sent: July 1, 1996 1:31pm

To: fmulder@fbi.gov

Subject: RE:RE: X Files

Mulder,

Forgive me for neglecting to speak in code. Perhaps we should establish one for future need?

Saturday at six sounds great. Who told you about my affinity for low-quality malt beverages?

I’m not overly concerned about your questionable neighborhood. I may not be a field agent, but I’m still typically armed. Consider that a warning.

See you on Saturday,

Scully

He leans back in his chair, his love struck-face shining up at the ceiling like a full moon. Why he is torturing himself by spending more time with her he doesn’t know, but he can’t seem to resist.

————-

“What about October thirteenth?” Ethan says, and she turns to look at him, confusion pulling at her face.

“What about it?” she asks.

Her mind was wandering again as they chatted over chicken and rice. Wandering back to Mulder, to their email correspondence and their plans for Saturday. Plans she hasn’t shared with Ethan.

“Dana, are you okay? I feel like you’re not listening to me,” Ethan replies with a wounded tone, his expression equally concerned and hurt.

She sets her fork down and takes a deep breath. “I’m sorry, Ethan, I’m just distracted by some work stuff. What’s happening on October thirteenth?”

She focuses on giving him her full attention.

“For the wedding, Dana. The church is available October thirteenth. It’s a Sunday.”

Suddenly she’s not hungry anymore.

“Oh. Um, okay. Why do we need to get married this year, again? Isn’t that a pretty short engagement?”

He makes a quizzical face. “I guess...when you realize you want to spend the rest of your life with somebody, you want the rest of your life to start as soon as possible?” he offers with a soft smile.

When Harry Met Sally is one of her favorite movies and he knows it. She can’t help but feel a swell of affection for him, with a hefty side of guilt.

“October thirteenth sounds perfect,” she says with a forced smile and a squeeze of his hand.

Ethan beams. “Great. I’ll go by and put a deposit down to hold it for us. We have a date, babe, that’s big progress!”

She holds the smile steady, excusing herself to the bathroom as soon as he stands to clear the table.

That night he goes down on her for an eternity, and she is sure that she is the absolute worst fiancée that has ever, or will ever live. She does not deserve this man’s love, but she wants to. She’ll try harder.

[becausethathappens]

Will you please write a super angsty fic where Link is freaking out because he thinks the wedding vows he has written aren't good enough and Rhett helps him go over them and make corrections and says they're perfect but also, just says the vows he would say for Link if it was them like it should've been because he's heartbroken and Link can tell but their hands are tied and they don't know what to do so they soldier on without saying a word, but wordlessly communicating lifelong love and misery and everything, maybe comfort as well?

i'm really really sad and i can't shake it off and i really want some good angst and hurt/comfort and i really love you, maura, you're awesome

I don't do unhappy endings, anon. I'm confident you don't either. In fiction or otherwise. So, pardon this if it’s not what you expected.

Please enjoy? This was done a little hastily to share it with you (and I should be writing other things per usual) but I've had a rough week and I want to hopefully make someone smile. (I have way angstier stuff in the drafts and I will be sure to get those out eventually, too.) You’ll feel better soon.  🤞  Thank you! 💞

-———————-

now or forever

4k - Rhett writes Link vows.

If you were my boy, Blue

I’d bathe you in honeys (sp?)

I’d sing write you a love song

I’d shoot you a star**

If you were my boy, Blue

There ain’t nothing in this life I wouldn’t give

From my heart, to my toes, to my fingers, my nose (**)

Whatever it takes just to watch you live 

continue to ‘ ’ grow with you like a vine ‘round a rose 

If you were my boy, Bue

I wouldn’t want you all for myself

There’s no star bright enough to match your lightin’

In sickness, blue, so certainly while we have health

Hand in hand, no longer fightin’

What’s destiny (**)

You and & me

If you were my boy, Blue

I'd marry you

&

Thank God for Rhett. Giving him, delivering him, blessing him with Rhett.

Link is in the middle of a spiral (what he’ll later recognize as a panic attack) when Rhett arrives, the eve of his wedding. Bailing him out of this with pen, paper, and a smile.

Link has always been good at improv.

Though Rhett tended to find the words to start. These were his own vows and Link has been putting time to sit and start them off for weeks. Now that he has to, he’s dumbfounded, despite being deeply in love.

Amidst all the planning and chaos, writing his vows was such a given that Link left it as priority sixty-seven on a list of many more.

Unfortunately, even as busy as they’ve been, that list was shredded with the “who gifted what” tracking sheet (both literally, accidentally, and figuratively) back around the bridal shower and it’s been anarchy ever since.

So he thanks God for Rhett, who’s here, to stop another needless disaster from happening.

That same generous God, however, watches him plagued with thoughts of utter devotion at Rhett’s willingness to drop everything on a weeknight and rush over to help Link find his words.

His lyrics, really, is what Link has in mind. Since they used to write songs together and this felt much the same. He’s been floundering all night and now that Rhett’s here, he knows he’ll at least get what he needs done. Even if it’s not all he wants, right now.

That same God seeks judgment on his every decision or flinch against His will, for any reason, to spite him.

For this reason.

He wants to smush Rhett’s face and kiss him. Deeply. He doesn’t.

Even if there were sometime in the past that he could get away with a platonic smooch, now he can’t. He simply could not prevent that from escalating.

So, he merely tightens his grip on the wrinkled scrap paper in his hand and scrunches his eyes.

“Why can’t it be you up there…” Link bemoans, loudly, in his frustration.

Rhett’s eyes widen, in horror, and Link slams his other hand at his mouth, rolling his eyes. “Not like - I mean - why can’t you go say my lines for me. You’re so much better at this kinda thing.”

“Let me read what you’ve got,” Rhett says.

After some review, Rhett sighs, not unkindly and sits down next to Link. “Let’s just talk through what you’re trying to say because, yeah, this reads like liturgy.”

“Ain’t is supposed to? It’s in a chapel!”

“What do you like about her?” Rhett asks, ignoring his nitpicking. “Christy?” Rhett stares at him, waiting, too upset for Link to chastise but clearly wanting to.

“She’s patient,” Link says, reminded by the similar. Rhett folds over the book to an open page and clicks the pen in his hand, writing that down. “A-And she’s kind. Like considerate, ‘specially with babies and little animals. Sh-She does this thing where she immediately drops to their eye-level to make sure they don’t feel unheard or seen. Probably ‘cause she’s always been so tall…”

Rhett’s still writing.

“Then when I’m sick, she forces me to rest. You know I hate that,” Link says, voice rising a little, at the memory. “But you know I need that. You won’t be the last to make me stop and smell the roses or take a break, once in a while.”

“Her hair, write, her hair - the way it looks in the sunshine. Like warm caramel with flecks of gold. She’s a vision, an angel. Especially when she’s wearing all white, like,” Link says, pausing to point to Rhett’s undershirt and pale grey sweats. “Makes blondes look ethereal-like, always has.”

“Oh, and her voice. Sometimes, the way her accent catches, well, you know she don’t like to sing like us, never has, but when she says certain things, asks a question the right way - it’s music. The way it harmonizes with my answer, reminds me of singing, reminds me of us.”

Rhett keeps writing, quiet, and focused.

After a short time, Link can’t stop and wants to crane over to see what he’s come up with. Rhett hands it over after crossing a final “t” somewhere on the page.

“Those’re good, Link, but I think you need to keep closer to what I wrote, leave out the stuff about me.”

“Stuff about you?” Link asks, having spoken in a stream-of-conscious style, Link forgets most of what he even said

Rhett looks away, shakes his head.

Distracted by the desire to read the rest, Link abandons the lingering questions he has about Rhett’s suggestion and response.

“These are great, man, thanks,” Links says, pushing a soft hand into Rhett’s side.

His eyes scan to the bottom where Rhett’s added a few lines about the journey, the marriage, all the ceremonial aspects of the day for him to close with, but then something more.

Something about him.

Rhett catches him catch it and looks further away. “I know Christy pretty well, too, y’know. Y’all are just alike, in that way. She might need some back-up vows, to have and hold.”

Link reads them.

“You know, just in case.”

Link looks up and tries to laugh.

He doesn’t laugh.

He goes back to reading them.

Rhett shifts uncomfortably, touches the back of his neck, and shuts his eyes.

“Rhett, these ’re…”

“I know, bo, you can forget ‘em,” Rhett excuses, still not meeting Link’s gaze. “You want me to… I can rewrite the others on a different - I can turn the page and write ‘em there so you can just…”

“Hey, hey,” Link interrupts him, mad at Rhett putting down his best friend, and eager to explain his actual thoughts. “Rhett, these are perfect. These are… I’m sad I can’t say anything as nice in return to you.”

Rhett finally looks up to acknowledge that and their gaze heats and lingers.

“Not that I…” Link stutters to clarify. “Y-You’d have to be a - if that’s something that was gonna - you know - if that was gonna work…”

His mind does it’s usual jump to a visual for the worst case scenario depicting the implication he stumbled across. Him out eight grand on the wedding. Not to mention a wife, a family, a future, a faith -

a friend -

Link gulps, pushing that back away, pushing them both forward, in his estimation.

It’s too much to bear to think about for another second. When he glances at Rhett, he can’t get a read on his face what he thinks about it, and that’s scary enough for him to want to abandon the concept altogether.

“Christy’s gonna love them.”

It’s enough, saying his fiancée's name, to ground him again. Enough to make it okay for him to grab Rhett’s palm and squeeze it in thanks, between them.

Rhett’s made his choice to give up on film school.

Link’s made his choice to give up on whatever schoolboy obsession he has with monopolizing all of Rhett’s days and nights. 

He’ll stick to the days or every other weekend, however they can still fit time together, is fine by him. This ceremony, tomorrow, feels as much about his graduation from friend to husband, and all that that entails.

They’re adults.

They both know there’s a lot of sacrifices to be made and this feels like the first time he’s really acknowledging how hard they’re going to be to make. He hopes they’ll still see each other.

He hopes their kids will get along.

He has a lot of hopes.

All of them involve Rhett.

There’s a lot he should write down for when Rhett finds his own bride to wed.

Link notices, suddenly, that Rhett is crying. The same part of him that's nearly broken the headwind of these conflicting emotions turns back to comfort him.

“Hey, don’t cry,” Link soothes, realizing he’s also still holding Rhett’s hand.

“‘M sorry,” Rhett intones, the words bubble up and out of him simultaneously, sounding like water draining in a filled sink. “And the night before your wedding, good Heavens.”

“Hey, I’ve been crying all week,” Link says, waving a hand at the stress that planning a wedding has kept put on him. “Nothing I haven’t seen in the mirror.”

Rhett laughs, rubbing a thumb over his own thigh in a way that brushes upwards against the place Link’s clasping his hand. Link nearly pulls his hand back, thinking Rhett’s trying to get him to sense his want for space, but when he meets his eye it’s clear he’d like nothing less.

“I think I’m just -” Rhett starts to say, trailing off. The light from the lamp on the far coffee table is the only thing on in the room. Link drops his gaze a few inches to try and see more of Rhett’s downturned eyes as he hems and haws. He squeezes their hands together, again, this time clasping it more firmly, still pressing Rhett’s large palm down from above. “I think I’m just a li’l jealous, is all.”

It’s the quietest admission he’s heard from Rhett since he told him he failed their chemistry mid-term in eleventh grade.

Link is also so lost at the innocence of the admission that he can only think of follow-up questions. “Of me?”

Rhett looks at him for a long, long minute and finally, when Link’s gaze remains confused for the whole length of the pause, he shakes his head, no.

Then he waits. 

He waits for Link to realize what he means.

But he’s still waiting when Link, oblivious, moves onward trying to comfort Rhett, instead of understanding him fully.

The tension in the room is palpable as Link talks, but only to Rhett, it seems. Only Rhett pictures air bags being deployed in a car safety video as metal hits cinder block. Only Rhett moves his hand, though it’s all it takes to dislodge them from each other completely.

“I know you’re gonna make an amazing husband some day.” Link is saying.

Rhett’s hand aches where cool air now surrounds it.

“I know your wife is gonna get to hear you say such wonderful things about her.”

Rhett wipes his hand of the misunderstanding on the cotton of his pants.

“I know she’s gonna say the same kind of things about you, when it’s your turn up there.”

Rhett mourns the idea that this would ever be requited.

“I know she’s gonna love you, just as much as I do, so she’ll have plenty to say.”

Rhett looks away, wiping the last of his tears from his eyes. 

 “I’ll make sure she has plenty of ideas where to start.”

Rhett pats Link’s leg, in camaraderie, and nods.

And that’s it. They shoot the shit, they make a plan to meet up at a donut place for the groomsmen’s breakfast to thank them for their help, before the ceremony, and they’ll talk things through if Link’s feeling jittery still. Then Rhett’s gone.

It’s not until the next day at eleven on the dot (everyone has an agenda to follow and every moment is accounted for) that Link understands Rhett’s pain.

His mother straightens his tie and flattens the edges of his suit. “You’ll wanna know I heard Christy looks like an angel in her dress, from the girls upstairs.”

“Those actual angels you been talkin’ to, Sue?” Rhett jokes, where he’s twisting his cummerbund around every so often, bored.

“Very funny, honey,” Sue ribs back. “From the cousins, Beth and Hailee Sue. Remember they’re friends with the hairstylist you got to do the curls for Christy’s hair, today? She was over last night getting Christy ready for bed with how to wash and dry it a special kind of way. They were there, too.”

Link starts to tune her out, since there’s a lot on his mind, but then she says more.

“She says the hairstylist was talking about how jealous she was of Christy, all night, getting to marry you,” Sue relays.

“Oh, mama, please,” Link dismisses. The compliments he’s been getting have felt faker than the toupee on his uncle Bruce. That girl has never even met him. “I’m the only person here people should be jealous of, who would be jealous of Christy,” he says, trailing off, muttering his reasoning as he did. “Marrying a trainwreck like me.”

Link looks up in the mirror where some of his friends continue to mingle in various states of undress. Rhett is already dressed, however, and staring straight at Link like he’s been caught with a hand in a cookie jar.

Link’s about to ask what’s wrong when he remembers his words. Then looks again over the planes of Rhett’s face.

Last night’s words slam back into his mind and Link’s mouth drops open.

The church organ belts out an opening flurry of notes before Canon in D begins playing loudly through the sound system built into the rafters above them. Link looks up to see one of the church staff at the door instructing them to join the bridal party to line-up.

Link’s mom dashes off to where she’s paired with her nephew, Link’s favorite cousin, to be escorted down the aisle.

Rhett sees Link’s face rushing through a wash of emotions from a distance, he nods to the staffer in silent understanding that he’ll handle it, and then they’re alone.

He walks up to Link and takes his hand. He squeezes it.

“Hey, you gotta go. We gotta go. It’s showtime,” Rhett insists.

Link looks around like a bomb went off, since in some ways it did, and he doesn’t know what to do.

Rhett seems to pick up on that. He squeezes Link’s hand again.

“I’ll get over it, Link, it’s okay,” Rhett whispers, on the verge of desperation.

That confirmation is enough to fully shatter Link.

Only for a moment. 

The music continues and Rhett keeps his hand hold.

They are adults. They are in love. They have to marry. 

None of these things can be helped.

“I’m gonna be so jealous of Her, too,” Link whispers back. He squeezes Rhett’s hand one last time, as they part.

They leave.

They walk straight.

They part again.

Until later.

They move houses and cities and states.

They move mountains, inside and out.

They move together.

Much later.

They join again.

They run crooked.

They return.

To one another.

Link has spent years worrying a ring that means too much to too few people.

In the beginning, when he cries himself to sleep at what he thinks has been the mistake of a lifetime, it’s His talisman. It reminds him of the expectations upon this life he’s made.

As the years pass, however, the adherence to the bogeymen of their childhood’s rules wears thin. It starts to strictly represent love and patience.

Sacrifice.

It begins to feel like a burden. A representation of what’s been lost, not what’s been found.

He contemplates taking it off, but believes that to be a betrayal of all that it stands for to the people he stands for. 

Then, one day, (surely mid-spin) he hears Rhett tell a story about wanting to change his ring.

He watches the silver twirl as Rhett explains.

He believes he was rushed into a certain type of marriage and a certain type of life by a certain type of person.

It’s a life that he’s grown to love but the ring represents a union forced by custom and not one that’s grown through devotion. 

His ring reminds him of that too often to be good for him.

Link twists his again at the admission.

So, Rhett’s thinking about replacing the ring.

Link returns home that night in a stupor. He’s sure he said one too many things to Rhett to emphasize how wild it felt to hear him talk about changing rings.

Any memories of that day, their wedding, bring up a rush of emotions that he’s never been good at sorting through.

Today’s admission makes him feel the same spur to make use of idle, betrothed hands he feels when he cleans the fridge.

He wants to clean the slate.

He finds an old DVD copy of their wedding ceremony that he paid to have converted from miniDV some years ago. Now he struggles to find a place to watch that DVD. How quickly time has flown by.

Eventually, he ends up in his son’s room - no one’s home for the remainder of the night but he and Christy - now, he’s sitting on a bean bag, squinting at the game console’s controller trying to get the joysticks to move to “play” on screen.

The ceremony bursts to life and, like it was yesterday, Link’s nerves fizzle awake.

About halfway through the video, Christy finds him like that and sits down next to him in a thwump absorbed mostly by the stuffing of the chair.

They watch themselves smile happily at each other and Christy takes his hand.

“Should I be happy or scared to find you alone watching this on a Saturday night?” she asks, wryly, squeezing his palm.

Link doesn’t know what to say. He’s caught up in Rhett’s bygone script being spoken on screen. Words about Christy and about Link that were not their own, declared loudly in front of the congregation.

“I don’t know,” Link admits, shrugging. He doesn’t. He squeezes her hand back.

“You wanna tell me what’s eating you?”

Link hesitates, but relents. He wants that clean slate, after all. “Rhett’s getting his wedding ring replaced.”

“Replaced?” Christy asks, balking.

“Replaced, yeah,” Link responds, sure he didn’t misspeak.

“With what?” she asks.

“Oh, some new one. Fancy thing, very cool, made of trees or something. Honestly he wears the other one, the slick black one more than his wedding band half the time. He says it feels like the old one? It’s the kind of ring you get in a bauble at a vending machine crank. So, he wants a new one.”

“Jeesh,” Christy says, making a face at the screen. The camera catches Rhett stealing glances at the couple, then at the crowd, beaming at all with unbridled pride.

“Wouldn’t you be mad if I did that?” Link inquires, still baffled at the idea.

“Well, no, but don’t you love your ring? Heirloom and all that,” she says.

Link cringes. “Yeah, yeah. Honestly, I do.”

“So?”

“So, I still kind of want to and I’m not sure what that means.”

They watch the screen together.

“Do you wanna stay married?” she asks, in a small voice.

“Yes,” he breathes out.

There’s a long pause.

“To me?” she asks, her voice even smaller.

“Yes,” he breathes in.

She squeezes his hand, her confidence built back up. She begs him to join her.

“And him?” Christy whispers.

They both look the screen, the lens centered on the two of them, but their gaze is mutually torn to where Rhett stands wiping a tear from his eye at Christy reciting the last of the vows that he wrote her. Wrote him. Wrote them both.

She squeezes his hand again.

“Yes,” he breathes out.

She leans her head on his shoulder.

“You should probably get another ring, then,” she jests. “We shouldn’t have to share everything.”

The slate is clean.

There’s a lot he wants to say to Rhett about it, but just as before, he’s relied on Rhett to give him the right words to say. So, instead of words, he starts wearing Rhett’s ring.

Then, a new one, when he realizes he can match him separate from the other, all told. Have something of Rhett’s, all to himself.

In his unspoken push towards something more, their hands now match along with their steps, as they walk forward.

On the last week in July, they get ice cream at the fifth place that month to mistake them for husbands, but the first one he hears Link crow an affirmative in response.

Rhett waits for him while he triple-tips the cashier (for the guess) and pays for their cones.

“Bad joke,” Rhett says, softly, but firm.

“Who’s kidding?” Link parries back, a smirk dancing it’s way across his lips.

Rhett watches him with a wistful look of disbelief.

“Link, we’re married,” Rhett warns him.

Link shrugs. “I know. I’m just waiting for you to figure that out and minding my ice cream here, all right?”

He’s got a mouthful of vanilla bean and extra cookie crumble, the next second, so his vow ends there.

Later, at home, Rhett startles Jessie awake when he fully realizes Link’s words.

He shakes her awake. He shakes them both awake.

“I’m in love with Link,” he says, like it’s a confession.

She kisses him because so is she. So are most people.

“What’s wrong?” she asks.

Rhett repeats himself.

So does she.

They stare at each other under the cover of silk and moonlight.

“We’re married,” Rhett whispers, touching his hand to hers. Their rings clink, new and shiny.

“Yeah, and so are we,” she whispers back.

They fall asleep smiling.

The next day, Rhett sneaks up behind Link while he’s working and causes him to spill his cup of coffee. He gets the stink eye for only a minute because it’s the same length of time he can stand Link’s grumpy mug before he has to swoop down and kiss him on the lips.

“You figured it out,” Link says, grinning.

“I did,” Rhett chirps as he kisses Link more.

They take a car to their house. It’s filled with their love and the history of it; before, during, and after.

“What’s this?” Link asks, dazed in their post-sex glow, naked and alive.

He spots an old chord book of theirs from last time they wrote music.

“Oh,” Rhett says, bashful. “I came looking for you here this morning, hoping you slept over again, but, uh,” Rhett stalls, looks away and tries to take the songbook from Link’s hand. Link pulls it far enough he can’t reach. “You were already at the job.”

“And?” Link asks, using his spry, sinewy body as an advantage to slink away from the bed out of Rhett’s grip. He still has the book in hand.

“Those are your vows,” Rhett explains.

Link looks down and squints, confused. These aren’t the vows that Christy read at their wedding. He’s seen that video only a few months back and is sure of it.

“Our vows,” Rhett whispers, explaining further, at Link’s puzzled look.

“It’s a love song,” Link notes, marveling at the gesture. What it means to a young version of himself that once felt like they had surely cut out and mourned the possibility of this - all of this - ever happening. To have that thought coexist with the image of a nude, hulking tree trunk of a husband laid before him smiling up adoringly felt panoptic.

“So are you.”

Link begins to cry.

“Play it for me.”

Rhett wipes his cheek.

“Get my guitar.”

They sing twice more that night, always in harmony (not always in lyric), then spend the rest of their lives together doing much the same.

[some-kindofgnome]

Kinktober #3: Hallucinate: Mirio Togata

In which you and Mirio assume (incorrectly) that you’re way too wholesome for the campus bar. 

Characters: Mirio Togata x f!Reader

Warnings: smut (18+ please!) nightclubs, aged up characters, mentions of drinking, mentions of breakups, tipsy dry humping, strong language. 

Notes: Title inspired by this song. Feel free to rock out. Today’s prompt is “Thigh Riding”! As always, all characters depicted in this story are adults and, in this case, of the legal drinking age. 

Additionally, if you liked this story, feel free to tell me what you think! I’m new to writing on Tumblr, so I’m open to all forms of commentary, suggestions, and feedback. 

Ride on- and happy Kinktober!

Kinktober Masterlist

(edit: guess who’s an IDIOT and didn’t paste the whole story in? Updated....) 

“I’m going to throw up.”

Those words ring alarm bells in your head that they might not have on a weeknight. Your best friend is one too many shots deep and the lights at this club flash so brightly, they’d nauseate anyone unfortunate enough to stare too long.

But you see the firmness of sobriety in her expression as you check her over. In fact, her gaze is turned entirely elsewhere. And then you realize what she’s spotted.

“Don’t look now,” she hisses, grabbing your shoulder before you can spin around. You haven’t been drinking quite so heavily as she has, but you’re far from subtlety. It doesn’t matter, anyway. You don’t need to look to see who it is. The only reason you’re here anyway is because she’s determined to “win” her breakup.

Whatever that means.

If it were up to you, you’d be spending your Saturday curled up back at the apartment, taking advantage of a night with the place to yourself by spending the whole thing with…

“Mirio,” you sigh, spotting his blonde head bobbing above the crowd as he sidles his way back toward the two of you. He agreed, the absolute angel, to come out with you tonight. And he’s been taking good care of you. Just like always.

He appears in full, popping out from behind a couple dancing as closely as you wish you were. You know this kind of place isn’t normally your thing, but he’s wearing this burgundy button-down and you think maybe it wouldn’t be so bad if you were here just the two of you.

He spots you and grins, and suddenly he’s your sweetheart again and you bet he’d catch you if you swooned right into his arms.

“Let’s see… ah, gin and tonic,” he mumbles, passing you the highball. Drinking these will always make you think of him now. On your first date you let him try your gin and tonic and he hated it so much he nearly choked. He’ll never understand your love of the obscenely strange-tasting drink.

But he buys them for you anyway.

“And vodka cranberry, hold the vodka,” he chuckles, passing a red-tinted glass full of ice over to your friend. She takes it, but she’s pouting.

“I said hold the cranberry,” she insists.

“Yeah… The bartender wasn’t so sure that was a good idea,” Mirio replies, and you can tell by the look in his eye that the bartender had nothing to do with it. You move close and grab his hand behind your backs, squeezing.

Smart move, you wish you could tell him. Unfortunately, you’re still not sober enough for subtlety and your friend rolls her eyes, pretending to gag into her cranberry juice.

“That’s it,” she quips. “I can’t take you two tonight. Don’t wait up, I’m not coming home if it’s gonna be alone.”

You call to her, but she’s cut through the crowd before you can even reach out. Like iron gates the crowd closes in around you, and the best you can do is turn back to your boyfriend. Luckily, he looks just as sheepish as you do.

“Don’t worry, baby,” you plead, throwing an arm around his neck. You know for a fact that your friend thinks the world of Mirio. But she was with her ex for a long time. And a breakup that nasty had turned her harsh and bitter. Maybe she wasn’t coping as well as she might have. You were ready to ride it out.

You just hoped Mirio wasn’t letting it get him down.  

“My phone’s on,” you murmur in his ear, a silent promise that if she needs you you’ll be there, but there’s no reason to go after her tonight. She came here with one mission- and nothing is going to put that on hold. If you know your best friend, you can guess that much.

His hand slides into the small of your back out of sheer habit, but it sends a little shower of sparks up your spine. You haven’t forgotten how good he looks tonight, nor how good he smells now that you’re pulled so close.

“Wanna dance?” You push your lips against the tender spot between his jaw and his ear and he chuckles all deep and loving, the sound vibrating against your palm as you brace it against his solid chest.

“Might as well,” he rumbles and you shiver all over again. His hand slides from your back to your hip, the other one tracing up and down your side as you start to move your hips.

Suddenly he’s gone from golden retriever Mirio to incurable flirt Mirio, shooting you a smirk so devilish you know you’re going to hell. He grabs your hand and spins you, pulling your back flush against his front.

“Have I told you what that dress is doing to me?” He purrs, making you keen. You’re not even shy about it as you start to slowly rock back and forth, matching the thrumming bass around you. You love dancing close to him like this and based on the way his hands roam across your front, he does, too.

“Bad,” you scold playfully. The dark satin of your tight dress is starting to ride up your thighs, helped along by the path of his fingers as he traces his palm from your thigh to your ribcage.

“I mean it,” he groans, shifting a little behind you. He pushes one thigh forward, sliding his knee ever so slightly between yours. You can feel where this is going, but you’re of no mind to stop it. It wouldn’t be the first time you got a little frisky in public. And you’re far from alone, underneath the low-slung ceiling of this shitty college town club.

“You got any idea how pretty you are?” He presses.

“You do your best to remind me,” you mumble back. You can’t take facing away from him any longer and spin in his arms. You twine your fingers in his hair and pull him down to you. Hard. He lets out a low grunt as you kiss him harshly and his hands slide immediately to the curve of your ass.

Stinker.

It feels like you’re in a new relationship with him all over again, making out in the middle of the dance floor like this. You’re both tipsy- you can taste the whiskey ginger on his tongue- but you’re in love and you don’t give a damn who sees.

“Mirio,” you gasp, gripping tighter at his hair as his mouth escapes yours to trail down your jaw.

“So sweet for me, princess,” he mumbles.

“Baby,” you whimper, tighter this time. The ache between your legs refuses to be ignored, burning urgently with every breath he puffs along your skin.

He grabs you by the upper arm, taking you a few paces forward. You lose your sense of direction for a moment, but when you come back to yourself, you’re against the rough cement wall of the place. The cool grooves dig into your skin, but Mirio’s kissing you again before you have time to care.

This time it’s carnal- a bruising press of lips as his tongue licks forward like he could swallow you whole. One hand plants itself on the wall beside your head, the other holding your shoulders against the wall. You lean into it as best you can.

You love this.

He’s never been shy about loving on you in public, but you can tell that it’s the whiskey driving him this far forward. You’re too desperate and horny to care, though, and you twine your fingers in his golden hair one more time, combing your fingers lovingly through the gelled strands.

He doesn’t give you much time to adjust before that denim-clad thigh is pushing forward again, shoving itself between yours and pushing your dress even higher around your hips. You’re not sure who’s looking but you know it’s got to be somebody.

“Lemme take you home,” he mumbles against your lips.

“Can’t,” you choke, “c-can’t wait that long.”

You tilt your hips down against his thigh, firm and strong. He can bear your weight easily on it, but you keep your toes on the floor even as you start to rock yourself against his jeans. There’s something about the angle he’s holding you and the fabric between your bodies and the desperation of your arousal that’s catching you just right. And the familiar sensation hits you- you might actually cum if you keep this up.

He seems to catch on at the same time, pulling his face back a fraction of an inch with an expression of thrilled shock settling into it. He barely hesitates an instant before he’s on board, though, pushing his knee higher and ducking his head into your neck.

He attacks the skin there, licking, sucking and nibbling away at the spot where he knows you’re sensitive. That sends fresh shivers through your body that rattle down your spine and land with a splash in the pit of your stomach, shooting more pleasure between your legs where you’re unapologetically grinding your clit against his thigh.

Whatever insignificant scrap of underwear you picked out tonight isn’t doing much to keep you covered and you’re sure you’ll be mortified when you inevitably leave a spot on his jeans but you’re both too wrapped up in each other to care much now.

“Miri-“ you start to groan. That all-too-familiar wave of pleasure has started to build, and you’re chasing it like your life depends on it. You grab for his shirt, forcing him against you with a jerk.

“Are you gonna cum for me right here, princess?”

That’s a blow you’re not ready to withstand. Instead of answering him, your peak hits you hard and fast. You seize in his arms, your fists crushing the fabric of his shirt as you whine into his ear and come, high and shallow against his thigh.

You come back to yourself slowly, sagging against the wall as he peppers kisses along your collarbone. He carefully lets you down- one foot at a time, holding you by the hips to make sure your legs don’t give out.

“Y’okay?”

You tilt your chin up to look at him, breathless and flushed. On some level, you can’t believe that just happened. But one look at the glint in his eyes and you’re not so shocked anymore. Your man has a dirty side, and you’re the only one who gets to see it.

“I just came on your jeans,” you pant, making him chuckle.

“So that wasn’t a fever dream?” He’s teasing you, nuzzling the tender spot on your neck where you know he’s left a mark. You might have cared, if you weren’t in so deep with him already. Hook, line and sinker. You don’t care who sees.

Probably a good mental state to occupy, when half the club just saw you dry-humping each other against the wall.

“Can we go home yet?” You mumble. You’re hazy and pliable now, sleepy and weighty and ready for bed. Or, at the very least, to be alone with your boyfriend.

“Yeah,” he replies, taking a softer, tender tone with you. You reach up and touch his cheek, stroking your fingertips lovingly along the angle of his jaw. You really do love him. More than you ought to, at this point in your relationship.

But he smiles down at you, and you see the same feeling reflected in his gaze. He bends his head and captures your lips- soft, almost chaste, if you weren’t still basking in the afterglow- then nuzzles his nose against yours.

“Yeah, I think we can.”

[pastelwitchling]

Based on @djchika’s art. I asked for permission to write this, and they were kind enough to accept. So here you go.

***

Michael was drunk. No different from how he usually spent a weeknight at the Pony, but this time, he had come in to find Alex already there, sitting at a small table with Forrest, their heads huddled closely together. Smiling.

Alex never smiled around Michael. Not anymore, not since . . .

So he’d glared at the airman’s profile, waiting for him to notice, but either Alex couldn’t sense the cowboy’s angry, hungry eyes on him, or he just chose not to acknowledge him. And Forrest was still touching his arm and holding his hand and sneaking some kisses to his cheek, which made him laugh harder.

Hence, the shots.

Maria would’ve probably cut him off at any moment, but she took one glance at Alex and Forrest together across the bar, and a resigned understanding settled in her expression. She left Michael his alcohol and a sympathetic pat on the shoulder, and was off.

It was probably around one in the morning, when Forrest’s hand had slid to Alex’s waist, that Michael straightened, and a stupid, dangerous idea struck. Michael remembered trying once to grab onto Alex’s arm at the Pony, to ask them if it was really over between them. Or when Alex had taken his wrist at the reunion his first night back. Those miniscule moments was all he had to remember. Forrest got to hold Alex’s hand in public and kiss him and ruffle his hair and touch his body. Forrest got to have everything Michael had always wanted from Alex; to unapologetically love him in front of the world.

Even when he’d been trying so hard to be someone he wasn’t with Maria, he’d imagined a day when he would be able to sit at the bar with Alex at his side, sling an arm around his shoulders and kiss his ear, his temple, his jaw. To take in the sound of his giggles and touch him until he could do nothing but beg Michael to take him in the bathroom stall.

Damn, he thought, shoving away another empty shot glass. His vision was getting blurry.

But something sharpened when Forrest’s hand fell to Alex’s hip, and Alex’s eyes darkened, his tongue sticking into the corner of his lips. He knew that look. Alex wanted him, and he knew that Forrest wanted him back. And who wouldn’t?

But not Alex. Not tonight. Not in front of Michael.

Before he realized what he was doing, Michael was out of his seat, storming up to the small table with a steadiness he didn’t think he should have. Rage had cleared his senses, and when Alex looked up at Michael approaching, he couldn’t help but feel a wave of satisfaction that no one but him could hold Alex’s attention for long and make him forget about their surroundings.

Forrest blinked when he’d gotten close enough. “Oh – uh – hey, Guerin?”

Alex narrowed his eyes at him. “What’s wrong with you, why do you look like th—AH!”

His words cut off as Michael crossed to his side, leaned down, put one hand under Alex’s knees and the other behind his back, and picked him up and slung him over his shoulder. Forrest leapt to his feet with wide eyes and a few people who were still there looked over curiously.

“What the hell?!” Forrest demanded.

“Are you crazy?!” Alex raged, pounding his back. “Put me down, Guerin!”

Michael used his telekinesis to keep Alex upright so that his weight wasn’t all on Michael’s shoulder and his stomach didn’t hurt. With only a lasting glare at Forrest, Michael turned and left the bar with Alex over his shoulder. Forrest followed.

“Guerin, I swear, if I wasn’t afraid of hurting Alex,” Forrest tried. “You can’t just take people, and – would you put him down already?!”

“Get away from here, Long,” Michael said coldly. “I’m keeping Alex with me tonight –”

“Keeping me?!” Alex gaped. “I’m not a baseball, Guerin!”

“Put him down,” Forrest warned, “or I swear –”

“Yeah?” Michael whipped around, getting in Forrest’s face. “What’re you gonna do? Hm?”

Forrest’s eye twitched, but he wasn’t backing down. He already knew what Michael could do to him, but he seemed to care about getting Alex back more. His jaw clenched.

Alex seemed to be able to feel the tension in Michael’s body because he immediately said, “If you lay a finger on him, Guerin, I’ll never talk to you again.”

Michael tightened his grip on Alex, keeping him secure and close. Somewhere in the back of his mind, he knew this was a terrible idea, that Alex might never forgive him. But he didn’t care. He kept his hold on his airman.

After a moment of silence, Alex said, “Forrest, head back, I’ll deal with Michael.”

Forrest frowned. “But, Alex, he can’t just –"

“I’ll deal with it,” he reassured him.

Forrest didn’t look happy about it, but he shot Michael a glare, told Alex that he’d be waiting for his call, to know he’d made it home safe, and drove off.

Finally, Alex said into the silence, “He’s gone. Can you put me down now?”

Michael swallowed, the realization of what he’d done coming in small waves, but he clung to his resolve. He brought his arm tighter around Alex’s back. “Y-You’ll just leave.”

A pause, then, “No,” he said more softly. “I won’t. Guerin, put me down.”

Michael hesitated, then carefully set Alex down. The airman stumbled back and Michael followed. Alex rubbed his stomach, heaving.

“Crap,” he said. “How drunk are you?”

He shook his head. “I – I had . . . some drinks . . . I don’t remember.” A shaky inhale, then, “Don’t hate me.”

Alex sighed, pinching the bridge of his nose. “I could never hate you. What were you thinking?”

“He was touching you, Alex,” he defended. “I’m only allowed to touch you.”

Alex searched his face, and looked away, swiping a hand across his eyes. “You can’t drive back tonight,” he said. “Give me the keys.”

Michael pulled the keys out of his pocket, placing them with absolute trust in Alex’s palm. Alex nudged his chin at the truck.

“Get in,” he said, before he opened the door and slid into the driver’s seat.

Alex was going to drive his truck. He didn’t let Max or Isobel drive his truck, but something about Alex driving it made Michael wonder how he’d never thought of asking the airman to do it before.

He bit his lower lip and did as he was told, watching as Alex handled the ignition and wheel like he’d spent his whole life driving this beat-up truck. As they pulled out of the Pony’s parking lot, Michael found he was in the same position he’d been in at the Pony. He couldn’t look away from Alex’s profile, admiring the way his lips pinched at the corners, the way light bounced off his eyes, the way his straight messy hair fell over his brow.

“Didn’t you stare enough at the bar?” Alex asked.

Michael rested his head on the seat, his eyes half-lidded. So Alex had known he was watching. “Does it bother you?” he said.

“Would it make any difference if it did?”

“You really think I don’t care what you think of me?” Michael said. “You’re my life, Alex. You’re all that matters.”

Alex said nothing for a long moment, his lips pursed. “It doesn’t bother me.” He seemed to hesitate. “But I don’t want you to . . . get your hopes up. I’m with someone else.”

“For now.”

Alex glanced at him. “You can’t say things like that. I didn’t say it to you when you were dating Maria –”

“I don’t care,” he said simply. “I don’t care how chivalrous you were, Alex. That’s not me, and I’m not gonna pretend like seeing you with someone else isn’t killing me like you pretended it wasn’t killing you.”

A moment, then –

“Stay with me tonight.”

Alex shook his head like Michael’s demand didn’t surprise him. “I have a boyfriend –”

“I love you more than he does.”

“I’m not sleeping with you –”

“You don’t have to!” he said immediately. “Just – just stay with me.”

Alex bit his lower lip, his brows pinched, and not for the first time, Michael wished he had Isobel’s power and could see into his mind. They finally pulled into the junkyard, and Michael kept his eyes on Alex, willing his answer to be yes.

When they parked, Alex stepped out first and pulled out his phone. Michael knew he was calling a cab or someone to come pick him up.

“No!” Michael covered his hand with his own. “Alex, come on, I’ll – I’ll let you take the bed, I can sleep on the floor – don’t leave –”

“What’re you talking about?” Alex said with a sigh, taking his phone back and typing into it. “I’m just telling Forrest that I got home safe.”

As he put in his message, Michael stared. He felt something, pride or satisfaction or just pure joy, rise in his chest, and he didn’t dare say anything else. After Alex got a reply, he pocketed his phone and rubbed his temples.

Michael chanced reaching for him. “Alex –”

Alex took his wrist. “Come on,” he said. “I’m exhausted.”

Michael let him lead them into the airstream, his heart climbing into his throat. Alex sat on the edge of the bed and patted the spot next to him. Michael sat in an instant, his cowboy hat forgotten on the counter. He pressed their thighs together and leaned in close –

“Don’t,” Alex warned. “You told me to stay the night, so I’m staying the night. But that’s all I’m doing.”

Michael pressed his lips together and nodded, swallowing past the lump in his throat. He reached for Alex’s prosthetic.

“Do you want me to –”

“I’ve got it.”

“I can give you some sweats.”

“No need.”

“But –”

“If I go back smelling like you, Forrest will know I was here.”

Michael looked down. “O-Okay. That���s okay.” He bit his lower lip, then pulled his shirt over his head. Then he took his pants off.

“What’re you doing –”

“I sleep naked,” he said.

Alex looked away, his eyes shut as his face turned red. Michael felt a dizzy satisfaction. He touched the buttons on Alex’s flannel.

“I could – help you with –”

“No,” Alex said. “I’m fine.”

“Okay,” Michael said quickly. “O-Okay, just – just c’mere.”

Before Alex could argue or say he didn’t want to lie down, Michael wrapped his arms around him and pulled him in against him. He heard Alex’s soft gasp as his hands curled to fists against his chest, and he nearly blacked out. To feel Alex’s body against him, his touch, to be engulfed in his scent –

“I love you,” he said. “I love you so much.”

Alex closed his eyes as if he didn’t believe Michael, and for a terrifying second, Michael thought he would choose to leave again, but then he leaned in and wrapped his arms around Michael’s waist, his face in Michael’s collarbone.

“Go to sleep, Guerin,” he said. “We’ll talk in the morning.”

Michael slowly tightened his hold on Alex. “You’ll stay here?”

A pause, then –

“Go to sleep. I’ll be here when you wake up.”

[princess-of-riviaa]

Secrets

Pairing: Clark Kent x Reader

Summary: Superman saves you on the darkest night of your life. A year later, your best friend and colleague Clark Kent makes a confession.

TRIGGER WARNING: mentions of depression, attempted suicide

Warning(s): angst(ish), oral (m receiving)

Word Count: 3,170

Your mind is silent, empty. All you can think about is the ground below you, growing ever closer with each passing second. Your instinct is to scream, but the way your stomach is in your throat and the wind burns your lungs, you have no air to scream out. This is it. This is how it ends. Your arms flail around you desperately, your body determined to stop the fall, but you keep moving towards the ground anyways. The ground is twenty feet away. Ten feet. Five-- 

Something wraps around you. You can’t see what it is, nor can your brain move fast enough to process what’s happening, but suddenly you’re moving up, up, up--back to the roof you jumped off of.

You struggle to breathe as you’re set down on the roof, your heart beating so fast that your head is spinning. You were seconds away from dying. You should be dead right now.

Why aren’t you dead right now?

You look in front of you. A red cape waves in the wind. You recognize the man in the blue suit the way anyone would. Superman.

“Are you alright?” he asks, his eyes scanning your body with protective worry. “Did you slip? What are you doing on the roof?”

You put your hands on your knees, struggling to calm your breathing. Every muscle inside of you is tensed. Your brain still can’t process the fact that you’re not dead right now. You should be.

“Why the hell did you do that?!” you scream at him. Tears pour down your face faster than you can stop them.

“You were about to die,” the hero in blue tights tells you, like you’re an idiot who has yet to realize that.

“That’s the point!” you cry out. “I didn’t slip!” Nothing about this was accidental.

His face falls when he realizes your meaning. The look he gives you… it’s too vulnerable a look for a stranger to give.

“Don’t look at me like that. Someone else probably needs saving. Go somewhere you’re wanted.” You don’t mean to be a bitch, but you’d worked so hard to get to this point. To come to terms with your death, to plan it all out, even to act it out. And at the very last second it all went crashing down.

“I’m not leaving until I know you won’t try to do this again,” he says.

You want to scream in his face. He’s ruined everything!

He steps towards you, but you take two steps back. He holds his hands up, showing you he’s not going to try anything, and says, “Let me take you to the ground, and then I’ll leave.”

You’d much rather punch him than let him carry you to safety. But the look on his face is stubborn and you know he’s not about to leave you alone until you agree. So you huff and nod your head.

He closes the distance between you. Something about him feels familiar, almost… safe. His arms wrap around you, pulling you tight against him so he won’t lose his grip, and only then do you realize how strong he is. You feel his biceps dance against your back as he adjusts you in his arms. It almost takes your breath away. If you were someone else--if you had enough hope to think about these things--you’d be attracted to him. There’s something about how his black waves of hair resembles the night sky, while his bright blue eyes look like the sky at high noon, that pulls you in.

Superman picks you up easily, lifting you like you weigh no more than a feather. His grip is tight around you as he slowly lowers the both of you to the ground. It’s breathtaking--his flight, his strength. As soon as your feet touch the ground of the parking lot, he lets go of you and moves a respectful distance away.

“What’s your name?” you find yourself wondering.

He smiles at you. “Superman.”

You shake your head. “No, I mean your real name. Who are you?”

All he says is, “I’m just a man that believes, wholeheartedly, that the world is better off with you in it.”

“You don’t even know me--” you begin, but he’s already gone, a shooting star in the night sky.

…

ONE YEAR LATER

The sound of your glasses clinking is drowned out by the noisy chatter of the restaurant around you. You take a long sip of your wine, feeling Clark’s gaze on you as you do.

“Rough day?” he jokes.

You shake your head and set your glass down, returning to your food. “Just the opposite. This article is going to put us on the map. Your writing is going to make us famous, Clark Kent.”

“I couldn’t have done it without you,” Clark insists humbly. “We’re a team.”

Your cheeks begin to burn with how much you’ve been smiling. It’s mind blowing to think how much your life has changed in just eleven months. A year ago you were lost, fighting against your depression and losing, and now you’re a successful woman living in the city. You run a yoga class on weeknights and buy a new book for your collection every paycheck. You’ve really learned how to take care of yourself.

“Can I say something, as a friend? I don’t want it to come across as weird,” Clark says, playing with his fork nervously.

Your stomach knots. “Uh, yeah. Go ahead.”

“It makes me really happy to see you like this,” he confesses. “You’re always smiling lately, you really brighten up the office.”

You feel your cheeks burn. You’d been expecting him to say something bad. But of course he didn’t; this is Clark. He’s the sweetest man you’ve ever met. You’re very happy you’re friends with him.

“I am happy,” you admit. “Things have really turned around for me this year.” You hesitate, wanting to tell him the one thing you’ve never told anyone, but you’re afraid. He won’t look at you the same after you tell him. No one ever does when you mention depression.

“What is it?” Clark, ever the mind-reader, notices that you’re holding back from him. “You look like you want to say something.” He reaches across the small table and holds your hand. A spark of heat shoots up your arm, making your heart race.

You’ve had feelings for Clark for a while, but you’ve forced yourself to keep things professional. You work together on a lot of investigative pieces. You can’t afford to have a fling, end it poorly, and then lose a coworker. But that doesn’t mean that every time you two take the elevator in the morning, you don’t feel a heat between him and you; or that every time his hand accidentally brushes yours, the touch doesn’t register in your core, making you ache for more.

“It’s me,” Clark says, giving you that smile that always makes you give in to him. “You can tell me anything, you know.”

You hesitate. “It’s just… nothing. Never mind. Don’t worry about it.”

But he shakes his head insistently. “If it’s bothering you this much, it’s clearly not nothing.”

So you tell him. About your failed suicide attempt. About your run in with Superman. About how you held a grudge against the beloved hero for several months because for such a long time, you regretted not dying. You regretted staying alive. And then, when you finally got the help you needed through regular therapy sessions, you felt like you could breathe again. Like this entire time you’d been drowning under ten-foot waves and you can finally come up for air again. And now you feel like you owe Superman everything, if only you knew who he was.

Clark doesn’t let go of your hand the entire time you talk. His touch manages to soothe you enough to make you tell him everything. He waits until you’ve gotten everything out before saying anything.

“You really want to know who Superman is?” he wonders.

You nod. “I want to pay him back. Or thank him at the very least.”

He hesitates. “Can I show you something?”

You nod. “Of course.”

“It’s at my apartment,” he warns. “Are you comfortable with me taking you there?”

You’ve known Clark long enough to know he’s not trying to trick you into anything. And even if he was, you wouldn’t object, not that you’d ever tell him that. But you nod.

Clark pays for the meal and you walk to his car. As you turn to grab your seat belt, though, your skirt rises up. You tense. A sliver of your black underwear is revealed and you look up to see Clark’s eyes locked on your legs. He’s silent as he swallows and suddenly the air between you is heated, stiff. You quickly pull your skirt back down and do your best to laugh it off, though it just comes out breathy and tense. Clark doesn’t mention it though, much to your relief.

His apartment is a quick seven minute drive from the Italian restaurant you’d just finished eating at. You’re both quiet throughout the drive, the walk to the elevator, and the ride up to his floor. But it’s an easy silence, one only people who are very close can experience.

Clark hesitates outside his apartment door. “What I’m about to show you… it’s an important secret. I trust you enough to show you, and I think you need to know this, but I ask that you don’t tell anyone.”

You raise an eyebrow. “Are you showing me your prized Pokemon collection?”

But he doesn’t laugh like you’d expected him to. He’s very serious about this, you realize.

You nod. “Of course, Clark. You don’t have to worry about me saying anything. But now you’ve got me dying of curiosity, so please open the door.”

He does. You’ve been to his place before--when your deadlines have crept up on you and you magically had to pull one-thousand words out of your ass by midnight, Clark’s place became the place to be--and you know your way around to know that he’s leading you to his bedroom. You grow a little uneasy, if only because this is very much starting to feel like a trap. But Clark walks right past his queen-sized bed and towards his closet.

“I just… try not to freak out,” Clark says as he pulls something out.

You frown as he turns to face you with a folded shirt in his hands. It’s a deep blue and made of what looks like latex. You’d have no idea what is or what importance it holds--if it weren’t for the red-and-gold S engraved in the middle. But you still struggle to comprehend what he’s showing you.

“So you’re… a secret Superman fanatic?” you guess.

Clark laughs. “Not exactly.”

You refuse to believe what he’s trying to tell you. “Clark, I need you to spell it out for me.”

You watch him take off his glasses and hold the outfit up to his body. It’s… off-putting is the first word that comes to mind. He looks exactly like Superman. But that’s impossible. If Clark were Superman, you would’ve figured it out by now. You’re not an idiot, nor are you blind. But he looks like a different person without those glasses. And with that costume held up to his body…

“Clark…” you manage to get out, still refusing to believe what’s right in front of your eyes.

“You know what I’m trying to tell you,” he insists.

Part of you doesn’t want to believe it. Clark is your partner-in-crime, your friend… Superman is some stranger that ran into you on the worst night of your life. You don’t want to combine the two. You want to keep Clark--who practically embodies everything good about your present life--as far away from the reminder of the broken thing you used to be.

But you have to ask… “Who are you?”

Clark just smiles and says, “I’m just a man that believes, wholeheartedly, that the world is better off with you in it.” The same words Superman had spoken to you eleven months ago.

Your legs cave in on you. Luckily you land on the edge of Clark’s bed. You’re silent as your brain finally begins to accept all of this. Clark watches you carefully, trying to gauge your reaction. He finally moves to sit beside you. Though his thigh brushes against yours, sending heat to your core, his presence is friendly.

“I want to know what you’re thinking,” he says.

“You’ve known,” you finally get out. “You’ve known this whole time--you’ve known since before I started working at the Daily Planet. Everything I told you tonight… you knew this whole time! And you lied about it!”

You rise to your feet and move to the corner of the room, suddenly needing to put as much distance between you as possible. You’re mad at him--no, you’re livid. He’s been lying to you since the day you met him. You try to push back angry, hot tears from rising to the surface but they come anyways.

“Y/N…” Clark says, his voice breaking in a heartbreaking sound. He moves towards you.

You back up until your back hits the wall. “You’re a liar!”

“I never denied finding you that night,” he says, still continuing to move towards you. He moves slow, though, treating you like a scared animal. “I didn’t lie about it.”

“You deceived me!” you argue through your tears.

Pain flashes through his eyes as you yell at him, and though your instinct is to hug him and tell him whatever he needs to hear to feel better, you ignore it. “I’m sorry. I couldn’t have you knowing--”

“I was pissed at you!” You’re unable to stop your voice from rising with every word, growing desperately louder. “I was mad at you for saving me for so long! I hated you! Don’t you get that?” You move towards him and shove his shoulders. He stumbles back, surprised that your anger has turned violent. “How could you do this to me?!” You shove him again but this time he expects it. His feet are planted firmly on the ground and you don’t even make him move an inch. When you go to hit him for the third time, he grabs your wrists and holds them against his chest. You can feel the warmth radiating through his shirt, feel the solidness of his chest.

“Do you hate me?” he asks, looking deeply in your eyes.

“Y-yes,” you sob out.

But he knows that you’re lying. “Do you hate me, Y/N?” He enunciates each word slowly this time.

You step towards him again, but instead of hitting him you just rest your head on his chest. The only person you want to talk to when you feel this upset is Clark; he’s always the one to talk you off the ledge, to get you thinking logically instead of emotionally. So you don’t know what to do when he’s the one making you feel like this.

He brings one hand to the back of your head, cradling you against his chest, while his other begins to rub your back. “I’m sorry,” he whispers. “I never wanted to hurt you. But no one can know who I am.”

“Then why me?” you sob into his chest.

“Because…” he begins, then pauses.

You lift your head up just enough to meet his gaze. Only then do you become aware that there’s no distance between you. Your bodies are pressed tight against each other, your mouths inches apart. His breath tickles your face, sending shivers down your spine.

“Because what?” you force yourself to ask, struggling to find your voice.

He answers by kissing you. You freeze. Never in a million years would you have seen this coming. There’s no way Clark is as attracted to you as you are him. And yet here you stand, being kissed like you’re oxygen and he’s craving a fresh breath of air. As soon as the shock fades, you kiss him back. Your hands tug on his flannel, pulling him even tighter against him. When he pulls away from you, you’re both breathless.

“Because I love you,” he admits.

Love. That’s what he feels for you. It’s not just lust, not just a crush. Your heart races when he says those words. You must be dreaming. There’s no way this is happening.

“I’m sorry if that ruins things between us,” he says, “but I needed you to know. I’m good at keeping secrets, but I didn’t want to keep that one.”

You kiss him again. His hands tug at your hips, pressing your body tight against his. You gasp when you feel his erection press into you. Before you can talk yourself out of it, you bring a hand to his growing erection and palm him over his jeans. He groans into your mouth and the sound registers deep inside of you, making you drip with arousal.

You pull away from him and fall to your knees. His lustful gaze is locked on yours as you undo his jeans and pull them down enough to reveal his aching member. You practically gasp at his girth and length. There’s no way you can fit all of him in your mouth. But you try anyways, first with teasing licks up the length of his shaft and a few sucks on his balls. He groans as you open your mouth and take him deep inside of you. His cock brushes against the back of your throat and you gag but resist the urge to pull away from him. With the way he’s looking at you right now and the sounds he’s making, you’d happily gag on his cock. You place your hands on his thighs to steady yourself as he places a hand on the back of your head and begins to fuck your mouth.

Clark has never been anything but sweet and gentle. But right now, with how he’s fisting your hair and shoving his cock deeper inside of you, you feel like his own personal whore. And you love every second of it.

“Fuck,” he groans out. The sounds he makes has your toes curling and your heart racing when you remember that you’re the one making him fall apart. You feel powerful, beautiful, even as he uses you like this. “I’m gonna come soon… you gotta stop or I’m… gonna come down your throat.”

You moan at the thought. The vibrations of your voice register deep within him and two thrusts later he releases his seed down your throat. You swallow all of it, loving the salty, bitter taste.

“I think that’s the best blowjob I’ve ever had,” he admits, his cheeks a light pink from his orgasm.

You smirk up at him and get off the floor.

Clark nods to the bed. “Mind if I return the favor?”

***

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