#love that Dave was sympathetic until this moment

[sequinsmile-x]

hotchniss fluff!

i can’t stop imagining emily holding aaron’s face between her hands and smothering him with kisses all over it🥹

hiiiii

so this kind of fits the prompt, face squishing included, and I hope you like it!

-x-

Love Drunk

Emily breaks a tooth and Aaron looks after her once she's had it removed.

Words: 2k

Warnings: Mentions of dentistry

Read over on Ao3, or below the cut

She blames Dave from the start. 

It happens at family pasta night, a regular occurrence with the team since Emily’s return from Paris. Aaron couldn’t help but feel like an exhibit at a zoo at them ever since the team found out about his and Emily’s relationship, the way they were around each other outside of work a curiosity to their friends. 

On one level, he couldn’t blame them. They made each other softer, he knew that. Their rough edges eroding away at each other, smoothing down all of the things they had endured over the years. It made them affectionate, always seeking the other out, her hand reaching for his and his chest pressed against her back. They exchanged soft kisses every now and again, a subtle reminder that they were together, that they had survived to make it to this. 

He understood his friends' curiosity, the difference between Hotch and Prentiss and Emily and Aaron was stark, but he would like to eventually be able to kiss his girlfriend around them without being smirked at. 

Aaron has his arm slung over her shoulder, keeping close as the team all spoke about their weekend plans as they stood at Dave’s kitchen counter whilst he cooked dinner for them. Emily laughs at Derek, her sarcastic response to his comment said around a nut she’d popped in her mouth, helping herself to the snacks Dave had put out to keep them happy. 

She gasps, her hand flying to her jaw, “Motherfucker.” 

“No cursing in front of the kid, Prentiss,” Dave replies, smiling at her as he tilts his head towards Spencer, who sighs deeply. 

“How many times do I have to tell you I’m 30?” He asks, sounding defeated, his sigh only deepening as Derek and JJ both pat him on the shoulder, barely covering their laughter. 

Aaron turns Emily in his arms and looks at her, his concern deepening as she seems to press her hand a little firmer into her jaw, “Are you ok, sweetheart?” 

“I think I cracked a tooth,” she replies, using her tongue to press into the tooth in question before she places her thumb and forefinger in the back of  her mouth, grimacing as she pulls out a sliver of tooth, “God fucking damn it.” 

He winces on her behalf and cups her jaw, rubbing his thumb delicately over where she’d been touching it moments before, “Does it hurt?”

She shakes her head, “Not really, not yet anyway,” she turns to Dave and narrows her eyes at him, “This is your fault.” 

“My fault?” He asks, raising his eyebrow at her, “You’re the one who was eating all the snacks.” 

“Because you’re taking forever to cook, as usual,” she complains, groaning as she absentmindedly rubs at her jaw, easing an ache that hadn’t appeared yet, “I hate the dentist.”

“Everyone hates the dentist, peaches,” Penelope says sympathetically as she rubs her back. 

“Actually, approximately 36% of people fear the dentist, which means 64%...” Spencer drifts off as Emily glares at him, and he clears his throat before sipping his wine, “Never mind.” 

“Do you want to go home, Em?” Aaron asks softly, drawing her attention back towards him. He places his hand on her waist, his thumb tracing small circles just below her ribcage, and she smiles, gently shaking her head at him.

“It’s ok, I won’t be able to see a dentist until Monday at the earliest anyway, might as well stay and have some fun.” 

Aaron frowns, his concern flickering again as he intently looks at her face for any sign that she was playing the situation down. It wasn’t unusual for her to do that, to minimise her pain, especially since Paris, and he no longer wanted to be someone she did that in front of. 

“Are you sure?” 

She nods and leans forward, pressing a quick kiss to his lips, “I’m sure.” 

“Emily can just stick to a liquid diet,” Dave cuts in, pushing a bottle of wine closer to her, “It won’t be the first time.” 

She narrows her eyes at him, “Shut the fuck up, Dave.” 

___ 

“Mr Hotchner?” 

He looks up from the floor, his eyes fixed on it since Emily had been taken in for her procedure, and he meets the eyes of the dental nurse who had met them when they arrived. He stands up, clearing his throat as he does so, pushing down anxiety that made him feel a little ridiculous. 

She’d survived much worse than a tooth extraction, he knew that. She’d battled monsters by herself and by his side for years and come out the other side, but he hated seeing her in any pain at all, even something relatively minor in comparison. It always made him think of when he’d visited her in the hospital before she was moved to Bethesda. He was still wearing his suit from her funeral. She was awake, but groggy, and had since told him she’d convinced herself she’d dreamt that he’d come to see her. 

“Is she ok?” He asks, and the dental nurse smiles kindly at him, nodding before she responds. 

“Everything went to plan and you can take her home,” she confirms, tilting her head towards the room Emily was in as they walk to it together. She hands him a slip of paper, the aftercare instructions he’d already memorised printed out for him, “She’ll need to keep the gauze she has in there for a few hours but then you can change it. Soft foods for the first couple of days and regular painkillers and she’ll be fine in just a few days. She’s…” the nurse drifts off and clears her throat, “Taken well to the medication.” 

He frowns, wondering what that might mean, but nods, “Thank you,” he replies, folding up the piece of paper and slipping it into his pocket. The nurse opens the door to the room Emily is in, and the relief Aaron feels is palpable when he spots his girlfriend. 

She turns to look at him, her smile wide and half her face swollen, her eyes clearly dazed even from across the room, “Aaron!”

He clears his throat to cover a laugh at her enthusiasm, her words muffled by the gauze stuffed in her mouth. 

“Hi sweetheart,” he says crossing the room to press a kiss to her good cheek, “How are you feeling?” 

“I am so good,” she replies, the words mixing together. “I missed you.” 

He does chuckle this time, and he sits next to her on the gurney she’s sitting up on. She rests her head against his shoulder and sighs. He presses a kiss to the top of her head, giving himself a moment to breathe in the scent of her, the comforting smell of her shampoo, as the final bit of tension in his chest eases. 

“I missed you too,” he says, pulling back to look at her, “How is the pain?”

“It’s ok,” she replies, shrugging half-heartedly. She grabs his face, squishing his cheeks together as she smiles at him, “You’re so handsome,” she turns to the nurse and looks at her, “Didn’t I say he’s handsome, Lindsey?” 

Aaron looks at the nurse, who was apparently called Lindsey, his face in his girlfriend's grip, which was still surprisingly strong given how high she clearly was on pain medication. Lindsey smiles before she presses her lips together in a blatant attempt not to laugh and to maintain her professional integrity, and suddenly he realises what she had meant about Emily’s reaction to the medication. He can’t help but wonder what else Emily had said in the time she’d been in observation, but if high on pain medication Emily was anything like drunk Emily, he’s sure he, and their sex life, featured heavily. 

“He’s very handsome, Emily,” she replies placatingly. 

“Right? And he’s all mine,” she says moving his face side to side, “And like I told you, he’s fucking excellent in bed. Or on the couch. Or his-”

“Ok,” he says cutting her off, finally able to get her hand off his face, linking his fingers with hers and squeezing tightly, “Let's get you home, sweetheart.” 

He stands up first and offers his hand to her, grateful when she takes it without argument. Even with his support, her footing is still a little unsteady as she stands, and she leans into his side. 

“Here is her medication, and some spare gauze,” Lindsey says, handing over a small paper bag to Aaron who takes it gratefully.

“Thank you so much.”

Lindsey nods and opens the door, allowing Aaron to guide Emily through it before she follows them out, “If you have any questions don’t hesitate to call.” 

He nods in response, but most of his focus is on getting Emily to walk in a straight line out of the dentist's office and into the parking lot. He helps her into his car, checking she’s buckled her seatbelt properly as he would usually do for Jack before he climbs into the driver's side. 

“I’m going to have to change dentist,” she mutters, her head resting against the window. 

He looks curiously at her, “Why’s that, baby?”

“Lindsey has a crush on you.” 

He’s sure if she didn’t have half her mouth full of gauze and a significant amount of pain medication in her system that she would have sounded jealous, maybe even intimidating, but it just comes across as adorable - something he wouldn’t dare to say outloud even now.

He shakes his head and laughs, “Do you think that’s maybe because you kept talking about how good our sex life is?”

___

“I’m hungry.” 

Aaron kisses her forehead before he slips out from under her to get her a snack. As soon as they’d got home from the dentist she’d wanted to nap, something he happily encouraged, and he sat on the couch with her head in his lap as she slept. 

“Anything you want in particular?” He asks as he walks towards the kitchen, smiling at her as she sits up, “Nuts, maybe?”

She glares at him, although it’s somewhat diminished by the swelling on one side of her face, “Not funny.” 

“Sorry, sweetheart,” he replies, “Yoghurt or apple sauce.” 

She seems to contemplate it for a moment, “Apple sauce.” 

He gets her snack as requested and walks back to the couch. He sits next to her and tears the lid off of the snack before getting a spoonful of it and offering it to her. She looks at him, her response silent, nothing more than a raised eyebrow that lets him know if he even tried to feed her she’d kill him, and he clears his throat, passing over the spoon and the apple sauce. 

“Sorry,” he says, smiling fondly at her, watching as she grimaces whilst she eats, “So, I’ve got to ask, what’s your plan for getting revenge on Dave?” 

Even though he knew, logically, it was bad luck more than anything that had led to Emily’s tooth cracking, he knew her well enough to know she wouldn’t let Dave forget that it happened. That her not-so-veiled threats to get revenge as they left his house the other night would come to something. 

“Oh, it’s already in motion, honey,” she replies nonchalantly, taking another mouthful of apple sauce.

He narrows his eyes slightly, humming before he responds, “Do I want to know?” 

She smiles devilishly at him, lopsided from the local anaesthetic she’d been given, convincing him even further that it was likely best he didn’t find out.

“Well let's just say,” she says, brandishing her spoon around, “He won’t need to take anywhere near as long to cook in future.” 

Aaron watches her for a few seconds, wondering if she was going to divulge any more details, and when she doesn’t he sighs and places his hand on her thigh. 

“I can’t believe I’m going to ask this, but what did you do?” 

Her eyes sparkle, and he’s sure he has never been more in love with her, “I bought him Italian Cooking Lessons for Beginners.” 

-x-

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#hotchniss fanfiction #hotchniss #aaron hotchner x emily prentiss #aaron hotchner fanfiction #emily prentiss fanfiction #hotchniss fan fic #aaron x emily #emily prentiss #aaron hotchner #hotchniss fanfic

[tomhollandnet]

[Article may contain mild spoilers.]

“The show, at heart, is a psychological thriller; it is a [series] that navigates this incredibly complicated criminal case with twists and turns at the end of every episode,” Holland said.

But he also acknowledges that the series delves into other genres like whodunnits. As an actor, he said, “it’s really challenging to try and find a way to navigate all of those different genres,” but that “I really like problem solving. It’s one of the aspects of the job I enjoy most.”

Holland’s job is to make the audience sympathize with him and believe that someone with his stature and mannerisms would never willfully harm innocent people. And, since the story is largely told in flashbacks, this meant assessing Danny’s movements both before and after his arrest.

“His physicality was a really important part of bringing him to life,” Holland said. “He has a vast spectrum when it comes to his different types of physicality for different situations … He’s an incredibly volatile character with incredible highs and devastating lows. And I loved playing him in the middle; I thought the subtleties of that character were so fun to try and figure out.”

The actor understood that his own body type allowed for some of this. Best known for playing the also-frequently-socially-awkward superhero Peter Parker in the Spider-Man and Avengers movies where his character is often referred to as “the boy,” he conceded that “I’m a small person; like you put me next to [physically larger Marvel actors] Chris Pratt and Dave Bautista, I look like their son.”

But, with Danny, the actor said “I just wanted him to feel little.” For the scenes when Danny’s in high school, he said, “he does come across like he was the smallest kid in school.”

The British actor also worked with dialect coach Rick Lipton to find the right cadence and accent for a child with this background who also grew up during the 1970s and in the New York City suburbs.

“We went through so many different versions of his voice; some where he was a little more nasally at times and then he was really soft spoken at times,” Holland said, “and we found this middle ground that was tricky because it was somewhat similar to that of Peter Parker. So we decided to really slow down his cadence.”

Seyfried’s Rya also comes into this story with something to prove, and it’s not just Danny’s innocence. A single mother working in a man’s world, Rya becomes hugely invested in Danny’s case.

Seyfried said she prepared for the part by watching a lot of Jane Fonda movies from that era, like Klute and The China Syndrome because “I needed some empowered, late ’70s, ball-busting, unapologetic-woman vibe. And she nails that.”

“My character’s so empowered in a lot of ways and and doesn’t let the men in her career bury her,” Seyfried continued. “She’s the most insanely curious and compassionate woman. And she’s really exactly what Danny Sullivan needs. And it’s fate that they meet, and its fate that she’s allowed to come on board and investigate what’s really going on from a really sympathetic and empathetic place.”

But Rya is not perfect and there are moments, like when she’s working until 10 p.m. and just realizing that her son is still up and watching TV, that are pretty much asking some audience members to judge her.

“She knows a healthy relationship with her son; she knows what that looks like,” Seyfried said. “And she’s not going to give up her dreams to stay at home because she knows that that’s not healthy either.”

The actress, who has two children with husband and actor Thomas Sadoski, added that “it’s bananas that it still seems like we’re not equipped yet as a society to accept both parents being out having job.” (Sadoski also appears in The Crowded Room, playing police officer Matty Dunn).

Other forms of parental guilt and conflict are seen in Emmy Rossum’s portrayal of Danny’s mother, Candy (something the actress and real-life parent also felt, especially since she found out she was pregnant with her second child while filming this show’s penultimate episode).

As the flashbacks travel to the present day, The Crowded Room shows Candy go from a devoted mother who struggles to be there for her son to a stressed out and dead-eyed nurse who sees no way out of her marriage to a man she hates (Danny’s step-dad, Will Chase’s Marlin).

Rossum has worked with age makeup on projects like Peacock’s Angelyne, but said that aging her character over a 10-year-span for The Crowded Room wasn’t so much about getting older. Even though the character at the end of the series is younger than Rossum is now, she said you can see the “wear and tear of smoking, stress, and addiction.”

“We watch as the family secrets and decisions and mistakes that she makes have a really lasting impact on their lives and ended up shattering the bond that is the most profound to her,” Rossum said and added that audiences will see “the parallels that we learn about mother and son and how they’ve both learned how to survive what she calls a cruel world.”

She said she and Holland “talked a lot about how to play denial; how to know something and also not know it at the same time. Because the very state of consciously knowing that thing would be so deeply unsettling and uprooting to your existence and your life and your sense of yourself.”

The crux of Danny’s case lies with his friend Ariana (Sasha Lane), a character he claims actually pulled the trigger but is now MIA. Flashbacks show Ariana revealing to Danny that her childhood was just as dark as his, although she has a more of a keen fight-or-flight response.

Lane, who has a history of doing dark programming with movies like American Honey and has also been outspoken about issues that she’s gone through in her personal life, said that she didn’t feel any added responsibility to do a show like this because “I have to remind myself that, if I were to say that to myself, it might make me feel like giving myself too much weight.”

However, she said “a big part of the reason that I pushed so hard to be a part of this, and wanted it so bad, is because I knew that I would give the care and the passion to someone like Ariana that I felt she deserved.”

She and Holland also like what the show says about our biases toward who we naturally perceive to be innocent or guilty. The trailer sets up a theory that Holland’s Danny is a serial killer and Ariana is one of his victims. In the series, attorneys argue over whether Danny is being given more leniency and attention simply because of his race and gender.

“You’ve always got to dig a little deeper [because] there’s always something that you, yourself, are never going to be aware of about another individual,” she said. “It doesn’t matter how deeply, and how openly, they’ve spoken about something. It doesn’t matter what you were physically seeing in front of your face. You will never have someone else’s personal experience.”

#tom holland #the crowded room #interview #tcr press #articles #tcr spoilers

[tusken-apologist]

What do you think about how the new canon has been treating Tusken people?

I think this is a nuanced issue. For the most part, I’m cautiously optimistic about saying that it’s pretty good thus far (post Mandalorian)

The Mandalorian was a pretty good depiction. They’re portrayed less as props to make bad things happen to the protagonists as in earlier canon and more as a distinct people with a culture and language. I loved the sign language addition, and the episode with the Krayt dragon had me so happy, I love those dragons. Kinda sad we never saw that tribe again, but— that’ll add to a point later

TBOBF was it’s most interesting when it explored and humanized the tribe he was with. It was respectful… until the moment when they killed off all of the characters. I understand that storytelling often has characters die, but the way they were killed so unceremoniously before we truly got to know them left a bad taste in my mouth.

But one part that canon particularly lacks as of recent are Tusken *characters*. We’ve had sympathetic instances, yes, but all of them have been either unnamed or under developed. Most were killed or never seen again after their story was done

The Tusken child and the Warrior from TBOBF were sympathetic, but they lacked things that most characters have. They lacked names and personal motivations and in the end, they were just killed off. We don’t really know who they are, and that’s kind of sad. Legends wasn’t perfect, but there were some attempts at making Tusken characters— A’sharad Hett of course comes to mind, but there are others.

I worry with Disney’s track record, any actual character will lean into harmful stereotypes of indigenous people, or even more depictions that are disrespectful of Islam and people from SWANA. News flash, we really don’t need more of that! I honestly don’t want A’sharad Hett in canon, because I don’t know what Dave Felony would do to him.

This is kinda rambly and not-very-organized, so I apologize if you expected something concise. Unfortunately, things with Disney are never that simple.

#star wars #tusken raiders #the book of boba fett #the mandalorian #a'sharad hett #not sure what to tag this with #just tell me if I missed anything

[corancoranthemagicalman]

ah there’s that Supernatural writing we’re all familiar with.

#love that Dave was sympathetic until this moment #sigh #spn #tw misogyny #I guess

[mischiefmanaged71]

You Are In Love - Hotch x Reader

Summary: Part 3, following Tolerate it

Author’s Note: reblog if you liked it, comment your thoughts and let me know if you want to be tagged in future works! Send requests in my Inbox! Masterlist is pinned on my page!

Pairing: Aaron Hotchner x fem! reader

Warning: angst

Word Count: 2.3K

After witnessing all of the effects of his words, Hotch remained in a state of uncertainty as the guilt laid its worst on his conscience. The mellow waves of her behaviour were obvious to everyone over the past couple days. Aaron had taken a step back, following through with her wishes until the end of the case when Rossi closed the door to his office. 

“So…”

Hotch threw the case file on his desk, “What?”

From the pointed look as Rossi raised his eyebrows, Hotch sighed and pursed his lips. 

“We both know what I’m referring to. What are you going to do?”

“I don’t know.” He shook his head, “I don’t know what to do, Dave.”

Rossi moved closer, “Tell her.”

His heart jumped as he looked at Rossi, scanning his eyes as he finally registered what he said. “Tell her what exactly?”

“You know-” pausing as Aaron shook his head.

“Aaron,” Rossi met his gaze, “You deserve this. Don’t think for a second that you can’t possibly care or move on, from-”

“...From Haley?” Aaron paused, allowing the message to come out into the open. Dave nodded his head, offering a sympathetic smile.

“I’m not sure what to say-there’s so much I haven’t said.” he furrowed his brows, standing in front of his desk. 

His eyes wandered to the open blinds as he caught sight of Morgan and Y/N at their desks as they worked. An ache grew in his stomach at the thought as his body stilled, staring out the window. Rossi followed his sight and sighed, rubbing his forehead as he wandered closer to Aaron and halted.

“Start at the beginning.” Rossi encouraged, “That’s always the easiest path.”

“She doesn’t want to speak to me.” Aaron looked up.

Instead, Rossi offered him counsel, “All you can do is try.”

“The beginning…” he trailed, glancing out into the Bullpen.

“When you realised you were in love.” and Aaron’s heart swelled in his chest as he stared with uncertainty and exhaled deeply. 

***

Penelope brushed a hand over Y/N’s shoulder, bringing her attention back as she passed her a cup of coffee. Y/N offered her a thankful smile as the cup warmed her cold hands and they exited the cafe. An impromptu visit from Pen into the Bullpen brought them here as Y/N had finished her work for the moment and could use the desperate escape from the attentive stares of her team. The ache from the glances at Hotch’s office were a present reminder of the tension between them and she’d rather work to put distance there than sit in silence as the overwhelming urge to cry was imminent with one look.

“Hey,” Garcia’s voice brought her attention back, “I know as your best friend-and I really hope you consider me your best friend because it would be awkward for both of us if you didn’t.” she laughed, earning a smile from Y/N as she sipped her coffee. 

“Of course, Pen. There’s no one else.”

Penelope smiled, winking at her “Glad we clarified what we already knew.”

“I’ve just-we’ve all noticed you’ve been a bit different recently and I just wanted to make sure you’re okay.” Garcia’s eyes pleaded, hoping to assure Y/N of her worries without offending her, nervous as Y/N’s face dropped and she stared at her “And please don’t say you’re fine, because I know you’re not.”

Y/N paused, glancing up from the ground and Penelope as she came up with an answer. She swallowed her anxiety, attempting a joke and a smile, “It would be too easy to dismiss your worries, Pen.” 

Garcia mustered a sad smile, “I mean, it’s me. I can tell when somethings up.” 

With a gesture, Y/N urged them to move along and walk back toward the BAU, looking for where she should begin, “I'm just torn, I guess-Hotch’s criticism hit me hard after that case where I talked down the unsub.”

A sigh left her, “I mean, I see where he’s coming from, but-” she shook her head, holding back the tears from escaping, “He had no idea of how his words affected me-I don’t really think he does.”

“Oh, sweetheart…” Garcia whispered, “Have you talked to him about it?”

Y/N laughed sardonically, “Oh, I’ve already said everything-he said everything.” as Garcia paused for the moment of silence as Y/N exhaled deeply and grabbed her coffee tightly. Her breath hitched as the BAU building became closer in their sight.

“Better question,” turning to look into her eyes, “Are you looking into this as an Agent or as yourself?”

Y/N shook her head in confusion, “What do you mean?”

“I mean,” Pen emphasised, “Are you upset with SSA Hotchner, your boss, for criticising your actions, or are you upset because it was Aaron?”

Her eyes widened, mouth gaping at the insinuation as Garcia fumbled with her words.

“This is not me insinuating anything, because that would be incredibly rude-but, no one can deny there’s something there…Do you hope there’s something there?” Garcia asked, gauging Y/N’s response as she seemingly froze up, trapped in thought.

“I-I don’t know. I’ve-I’ll always care about A-Hotch.” she corrected herself, “I’m upset because I thought we understood each other well enough. I thought he trusted me and, maybe, just maybe he cared enough to see me.”

“And…” Penelope drawled.

Y/N blinked, coming back into focus as they stood in front of their work, “And what?”

“You’re a profiler. Profile.”

Y/N shook her head, “You know we don’t do that, Pen.”

“Do you really think we all follow the rules we put up?” she challenged, encouraging her to continue, “Look at all of the signs.”

With a roll of her eyes, Y/N recalled the signs of evident concern as Hotch’s eyes found their way back to her, assessing her as she walked into a room. His questions, rather than berating were thoughtful as he made sure she was okay with moving forward. The seat reserved just for her on the jet. The game of cards and the room that seemed to always suit them for cases they had to stay longer for.

“What are you going to do moving forward?” Penelope asked.

“I don’t know, Pen. I’ve-I can’t deal with it right now. I need time to think.” following through the doors just as Garcia tailed her and they took the elevator back up to their floor. A silence passed over them as they sipped their coffees and waited through the trip.

“What would I even say?” drawing Garcia to Y/N’s distant stare at the doors, “My chest feels tight. I feel nauseous and anxious all at once. Is that normal?” 

“You’re in love.” “Garcia’s eyes widened as a smile glided on her face, “Start by admitting it to yourself.” 

“Am I?” She questioned, pausing to regard the whole situation as the doors opened and they wandered toward the double glass doors into the Bullpen. Y/N paused in her spot, looking through the glass as her heart pounded in her chest, eyes darting to Garcia as an anxious smile found her face. Even from this distance, she could catch a glimpse of Hotch’s office as he paced the room while he spoke on the phone. A sad smile grew on her face as the tears clouded her vision, words of what if laying on her tongue.

Pushing through the double doors, Y/N and Garcia wandered toward her desk. Morgan came into sight, a mug in his grip as he smiled at them, “Ah, I see how it is, I’m no longer good enough for coffee runs…” he teased as Garcia smacked his arm.

“Sometimes we need girl time.” she retorted, “While I love having you around, distance makes the heart grow fonder, don’t you know?”

“Oh really?” a smirk growing on his mouth as he stared into Garcia’s eyes, “Well then, I guess, I’m a little too close for that to be true right now.”

“Actually…” Garcia trailed off, earning a chuckle from Morgan who moved to his desk. Y/N watched the entire encounter, a soft smile gracing her face at the sweet exchange. She gathered her things, tugging her bag onto her shoulder at the end of her half day. Granted leave for a few days was just what she needed to gather herself and truly think over the whole situation. Garcia’s eyes trailing behind her cause Y/N to follow toward Hotch who stepped out of his office. She stares right up at him and forces herself to hold herself together. 

“Y/N,” he called out, but she ignored the stares as she gripped her bag and said her goodbyes.

He tried again, “Y/N,” and she almost stopped in place as her heart jumped at the plea. With a dip of her head, she forced herself to keep moving. 

“-I’m sorry.” Hotch almost fumbled over his words, his thoughts rushing in tandem with the stammer of his beating heart. He saw her freeze, her back turned to the room as she paused.

Her breath hitched at the sound of his voice, the tone of his voice was as close to anguish as he spoke. A warmth burned her neck as she turned and witnessed the room watching her.

A silence cut through the room as she ignored their stares and focused on just him. Garcia smiled, slyly slapping Morgan’s arm as Y/N held Hotch’s gaze and slowly wandered forward. Confusion filled her at the change of behaviour and the very public nature of his apology. Y/N glances around the room, begging for the people to continue around them as if this isn’t happening right now. She searched for a bit of privacy, sighing as the noise of work began. Climbing the steps, Y/N quickly walked to Hotch as he hovered above her and she forced the words from her mouth, “Can we take this in your office?” 

He nodded, relieved that she wanted to talk as he allowed her to walk in first before following. 

Shutting the door behind him, he felt the tension seal as Y/N waited, seemingly in thought.

“I know we’ve both said a lot of things already, but I’m not so sure I’ve made it clear.” Hotch inhaled, unsure of how exactly to speak the thoughts of many moments, “My concerns are one of a supervisor, but also someone who cares about you deeply.”

“I truly never meant to hurt you, Y/N, and I hope you can understand that…” he trailed off as she finally made eye contact with him for the first time. At this close distance, Aaron felt his heart leap as she searched his eyes. And Y/N finally saw it in the way his hands trembled. The tears were evident in his eyes as he breathed and spoke again.

“I won’t lose you. Not in the field, to a bullet. Not when I can do something about it.”

Y/N froze, “What made today any different?Why this moment-” she questioned.

“I love you.” he blurts out, interrupting her as her face softens and her grip on her bag slackened. Her heart swells in her chest as he utters those words and she searches for inconsistencies in his words. The focus and steady voice clue her in to the truth of his words. Aaron’s confession as they stood there in his office.

“I have loved before. I’ve lost enough-this job has already taken enough from me. I couldn’t bear to lose you too.” Aaron breathed, “I wouldn't survive it.”

He waits for her response, “What makes you think we would ever work?” she questions, gauging the look in his eyes as she wanders over. She can feel the warmth of his breath on her cheek.

“I know because you’re who I'm constantly thinking about. My eyes always seem to look for you in a room. The way my heart stutters when you’re around and-and how I would rather take all of your pain away if it meant you were happy.” Hotch smiled sadly, “I’m sorry for what I said and I’d like to make it up to you-if you’ll let me.”

And she can see it in his eyes and the silence as he waits for her.

“No one has ever said anything like that to me before.” she shook her head.

“I-I understand, I do. I- I guess I just have one question. How can I be so sure to trust you, Hotch?” She asked.

“Start by calling me Aaron.” he offered.

“You don’t need to be so afraid that I’ll leave, Aaron.” She tested out the name, settled with the way she adores hearing and using it. “I’m not planning on going anywhere.”

“I’ll learn to fight my ghosts.” he agreed, leaning his face closer to her as if he were to lean his forehead against her own. “Does that grant me an answer?”

She stared up at him, “There was something missing the entire time. I could feel it-and now...” A smile grew across her mouth as she leaned into him, “My heart aches when I’m away and I think you're the reason.” 

The weight lifted off his shoulders as Aaron gently joined their hands, leaning against her forehead. “I’ll make sure to remedy that.” he grinned at her as the butterflies fluttered in her stomach at the smile he sent her that always seemed to make her feel weak at the knees.

TAGS

@whoreforbau @laisy @eternal-silvertongued-prince @ready-4-fanfiction @iamtheskyewalker @itsmytimetoodream @arizonalovesher @kajjaka @captainbarness

#hotch x reader #aaron hotchner x reader #aaron hotchner #hotch #criminal minds #criminal minds x reader #hotch x reader series

[uncpanda]

A Different Kind Of Valentine’s

AN: Day 2 is starting with a pairing I’ve never written before Derek Morgan x Reader. I’m really excited with how this turned out! 

Prompt: Valentine’s Day with kids. 

“You know, our Valentine’s Days used to be much different.” 

You look up at your husband from your seat on the bed, “It used to be only the two of us.” 

Derek grins, “And now we have the gremlins.” 

You point at him, “Hey, I went through labor, which means I’m the only one who gets to call them gremlins.” 

He holds his hands up in mock surrender, “Still, baby girl, do you miss it? Those Valentine’s dinners with candle lights, me in a nice suit, and you in that gorgeous black dress I love?” He takes your hand and presses his lips to your palm, “What about dancing for so long our feet hurt the next day?” 

You thread your fingers through his and pull him closer. You reach up your neck and pucker your lips and he smiles and takes the hint before kissing you. You then pull him down on the bed next to you so he can somewhat pull you into his lap. 

“I loved our romantic Valentine’s days. And let’s be honest, it was more my feet hurting the next day than yours.” 

He closes his eyes and smiles, “I do love you in heels.” 

You roll your eyes, “But, we have two kids now. You have to travel for work, and I’d rather spend time as a family. Because watching you squish all three of our babies into your lap and read them a story is just as romantic as those dinners. Watching you be a great dad is sexy Derek Morgan, and don’t you forget it.” 

He kisses you again, “I love you baby girl.” 

“Love you too babe.” 

There’s a moment of silence before he says, “I do have a request for next valentine’s day though.” 

“What’s that?” 

“Can we not spend it in the hospital. I like you in one piece.” 

You grimace and look down at your leg which is now in a cast. “I can’t believe I tripped over legos.”

Derek laughs, “Not your fault, you were carrying a laundry basket.”

“I know but Hank and David were so sad when I broke that building they had built.” 

He kisses the top of your head, “I think they were worried about their mama.”  

That was true, both of your boys had been clinging to you until Dave and Krystall had 

shown up to babysit while Derek took you to the emergency room. Then it had been all about Uncle Dave and Aunt Krys. 

When the doctor finally clears you, you’re given crutches and Derek guides you out to the car. The drive is filled with teasing between the two of you, and when you finally get home you’re exhausted. 

Dave smiles at you, “So it was broken?” 

“Unfortunately. I’m in a cast for the next four to eight weeks.” 

Krystall gives you a sympathetic smile, “That’s no fun.” 

“Neither is us ruining your Valentine’s Day. I’m so sorry.” 

She brushes off the apology, “Nonsense. We were sitting at home drinking wine and reading.” 

Dave smiles, “We had just as much fun here playing legos. By the way the playroom is a mess. Don’t look in there until tomorrow.” 

Derek grins, “Thanks man.” 

“Anytime Morgan.” 

Your husband walks them out and you start hobbling up the stairs, “What are you doing?” 

You grin down at him, “Checking on the gremlins.” 

He starts climbing behind you, “We better not end up back in the emergency room.” 

You ignore him and the two of you peek in on the boys. They’re both fast asleep, and safe, and loved. And that’s what’s important. Derek’s arms wrap around you and he presses a kiss to the top of your head, before whispering in your ear, “Time for bed Mama.” 

He helps you change and get settled before going to change himself. When he comes back he’s carrying a marker. Your brow furrows and he grins before tossing the covers away. 

“Derek Morgan, what are you doing?” 

He smirks up at you, “I didn’t get you a Valentine, so I’m making one.” 

“On my cast?” 

He nods and you watch as he draws a heart with both of your initials in it. When he’s done you smile at him, “Smooth Agent Morgan. Very smooth.”

He crawls up the bed to lay beside you and you kiss him. When you pull back you ask, “And what can I get you for Valentine’s day?” 

He smirks, “Once the cast comes off I would love to try for a little girl.” 

“A little girl hunh?” 

“Yep. We need a little princess.” 

“I thought I was the princess.” 

He smiles and says, “No baby girl, you’re my heart and soul. My forever Valentine.”  

#derek morgan #derek morgan x reader #derek morgan imagine #derek morgan and reader #valentines day #uncpandachallenge! #criminal minds reader insert #criminal minds #criminal minds fanfic #david rossi

[so-writing]

Sugar, Honey, Ice and Tea - Matthew Tkachuk (16)

Notes: minimal editing you know. also, did you guys think they were going to have a good date?! 

all parts

-

What could go wrong?

It was an excellent question with an even better answer:

Everything. Everything could go wrong and it absolutely fucking did. 

You had been sitting, in a dress a little too tight and high as the sky heels that were insanely uncomfortable, for about twenty minutes when Matthew rolled into the restaurant. He was dressed in a tee shirt and joggers, clothing entirely too casual for the venue, and you could tell he’d been drinking.

“Sorry I’m late, had some stuff to do.”

You ignored the slight slur in his voice as you tried your best to smile at him, “you’re here now,” it was clipped but he didn’t notice.

“Yeah, yeah, definitely,” he pulled his chair out and plopped into it, completely ignoring you as he dove into the bread sitting in the middle of the table. 

“You’ve got to be fucking kidding me, Matthew.”

He had downed two pieces of bread by the time you spoke up and after you did, his eyes stayed on the food in his hands. 

“You ask me out on a date, show up drunk and underdressed, and pay more attention to the appetizer than to me, this is such fucking bullshit.”

You were seeing red, and it wasn’t just the color of the carpet beneath your heels. He laughed to himself and continued to smash on the bread as you fished your phone out of your purse and ordered an Uber. 

This was a mistake and you should have known better. 

You were pretty sure Matthew didn’t even realize you excused yourself from the table and left the restaurant but you made sure to stop your server on the way out and order three bottles of the most expensive wine in house before you left, ensuring he was left with an extravagant bill. It was petty, but you couldn’t care less. 

++

The cookies and the nighttime city views were nice but they were just another one of those fleeting moments where Matthew acted like a human with real emotions. Showing up for the date drunk and dressed in casual clothes had you seething and you spent the entirety of your ride back to your apartment with you fists clenched so tight your fingernails left little crescent shaped indents in your palms. 

“He’s a fucking asshole, Onyx, he’s such a fucking asshole and that was his last chance. It’s like, he’ll do one nice thing only to follow it up with something so shitty it’s like he didn’t even do the nice thing in the first place.”

Unamused, Onyx continued to lick his paws and ignore your rant. You huffed at this, “You’re a shit listener, bud.” 

Your cat might have been a shit listener but you knew someone that wasn’t.

I know it’s late, you started a message to Brady, but your brother is such a fucking dick and I had to remind you of it.

Your phone was ringing less than five minutes later.

“I know you had a date tonight, what the fuck happened?” 

“Hello to you too, Brady.”

“Hi. What happened?” 

As you recounted the evening’s events to the younger Tkachuk brother, the irritation you felt earlier in the night began to make its way back into your head and based on Brady’s responses, you weren’t the only one in a bad mood because of the way things went down.

“You’ve got to be fucking kidding me? He’s really self-sabotaging the fuck out of this and I almost want you to tell him to kick fucking rocks permanently.”

“I’m ready to do that, honestly. It was so fucking embarrassing. The wait staff were all giving me those sympathetic looks and whispering to each other while I sat at a table by my fucking self until he got there and made me look even more stupid. I got dressed up, I made a fucking effort and he made a mockery of the entire ‘date.’”

“I know, I don’t blame you for being pissed. He’s not usually this bad at dealing with women, he doesn’t have a shit ton of game but he’s handled this whole situation with you absolutely fucking wrong.”

The two of you talked for a little longer before saying your goodbyes and ending the call. You weren’t sure what was going on between yourself and Matthew anymore but it was obvious that it wasn’t working out and after tonight, you were tired of it. 

It was time to put whatever this was to bed for good. 

Grabbing your phone from the coffee table, you leaned back against the couch and sent Matthew a text message: Hey Matthew, so tonight didn’t go as planned and it’s fine. I think it’s best for us to just have a professional relationship anyway. If you need to contact me, you can email me whenever. See you at work.

It wasn’t the most eloquent message you’d ever typed but hopefully it would get the point across. You read it one final time before pressing send, and as soon as ‘delivered’ appeared under the bubble, you blocked his number.

*

He woke up to the sound of a blaring alarm and a splitting headache. He also realized, after a few moments of finding his bearings, he wasn’t in his own bed. 

“Good morning, sunshine.” 

It wasn’t a voice he wanted to hear, “morning Eden.”

“I’m curious, Matty,” she leaned over and pressed a kiss to his cheek, “why were you at a such fancy place in such shitty clothes?” 

“What are you talking about?” 

“When you called me, you were at that fancy French place downtown by yourself. When I got there, you were deep into a bottle of expensive wine at a table that was clearly set for two. What’s going on?” 

Her voice was sickly sweet but despite his pounding headache, Matthew knew there was something accusatory hidden behind it. 

“I was celebrating.” 

“Celebrating what?” 

She was digging a bit too deep for someone that was just a casual hookup and it was starting to piss him off.

“The end of our arrangement.” 

He ignored the pain in his temples and pulled himself out of bed, grabbing his phone from the bedside table. Making his way through her apartment to put on his shoes and get the fuck out of there, he ignored her whining behind him. 

“Bye Eden,” he said before slamming the door on her and heading out into the cold Calgary air. 

It wasn’t until he went to order an Uber that he realized he had a bunch of unread text messages, most of them from Brady, but only one from her. 

Opening the text from her first, his heart sank when he read it. What the fuck had he done? 

As his Uber headed toward his apartment, Matthew read over the texts from Brady and, thought he couldn’t really remember the night before, it was pretty fucking obvious that he had ruined everything.

He had ruined everything and there wasn’t really even anything to ruin yet. 

Matthew took the elevator to her floor and slowly made his way down the hall toward her door, they were off today, she was most likely home. He stopped in front of her door but he couldn’t bring himself to knock. 

He was the one that left her sitting alone in a restaurant looking like a million fucking dollars while he showed up late, drunk and underdressed. Peanut butter cookies and his best version of puppy eyes weren’t going to fix this. She wanted a strictly professional relationship and Matthew had to respect that, especially after all the shit he’d put her through. 

The sound of the elevator hitting his floor pulled him out of his thoughts and he noticed a bag sitting in front of his door. As he approached, Matthew noticed the logo on the bag and a piece of paper taped to it. 

“You left without these, figured you’d want them because you paid. Got your address from the reservation application. I hope you can figure things out, that girl you were supposed to meet was an absolute catch. Dave, wait staff.” 

As if he needed reminding. Two bottles of the expensive wine she had spite ordered sat in the bag. Matthew unlocked his apartment and took them inside, pulling them out of the bag and throwing the note away, only to tape a new one on one of the bottles. 

*

You hadn’t planned to check your email at all but work was work and you loved your job. It was the usual shit and you promised yourself this was the last time you would refresh until you closed your laptop. 

A message from Matthew Tkachuk popped up, sent seven minutes ago. No message content but the subject read: I’m sorry, check your door.

You were off your couch faster than you cared to admit. 

“What the fuck,” you said to yourself, grabbing the bottles of wine and bringing them inside. 

They were easily recognizable. It was the wine you ordered on your date with Matthew and you were shocked to see them sitting outside your door. What was most surprising though, was the note attached to one of the bottles. 

‘Please take these as a gift, from a Flames player, to a very appreciated, supported and loved Flames staffer.’

*

If all she wanted was a professional relationship, Matthew would be the best damn coworker she’d ever had.

He placed the bottles gently on the floor and decided against knocking, choosing instead to go back up to his place and send her a ‘professional' email.

#Matthew Tkachuk #Matthew Tkachuk imagine #matt tkachuk #nhl imagine #hockey imagine

[skiyoosmi]

– caramel frappucino | 22

marga’s notes. because no one deserves to be confronted just through texts ♡ i recommend y’all to listen to the songs below while reading cause… the feels!! + some of the lyrics fit in their story :((

♪ CHAPTER PLAYLIST ♪

tokyo by joseph & maia | i can’t make you love me covered by dave thomas junior | still feel it all by maro

previous | masterlist | next

Every chime of the small bell hanging by the café’s glass doors had your head snapping up, anxiety plastered on your face while doing so. Sweat kept on forming on your palms as time seemed to tick slower. I probably look like a fool looking at every new customer right now, you thought as you looked around the area, nervous that he might’ve already arrived and you just didn’t notice it yet. Too occupied with your unnecessary thoughts, you have failed to notice the figure making its way towards you, hands deep in the pocket of his denim jacket.

“You look like a mess,” his monotonous voice told you, chuckling by the end of his statement as you gasped and sat up straight, acting as normal as possible. Your somewhat sympathetic eyes followed his figure as he took a seat in front of you.

“Don’t look at me like that. It’s still too early to break my heart, you know?” he joked although there was a stinging pain that passed in his heart as he said that… but you don’t have to know that, he thought.

The café was quiet; too quiet that as more seconds pass by, the faster your heart beats. If you were to be honest, you didn’t know where to start. You didn’t even know how you have gathered enough courage to meet him today. After what Tooru had told you last night, you hadn’t even slept a wink. You just couldn’t.

“Uhm… so… Tooru… uhh,” you stuttered, mind going blank as you tried to form your words that you have practiced so many times while you were in the bathroom, getting ready a while ago. What in the world are you doing, [y/n]? Speak! you internally screamed, already imagining yourself regretting your decision by the end of the day.

“I know. He told me that he told you,” he softly spoke, giving you a small smile of reassurance; just like what he’s been doing in the past years and with that, you felt your heart shatter as your thoughts flooded you once more.

How could you have not noticed it? Looking at him, you could see it now – the eyes that stared at you lovingly; the hand that twitches every now and then as it longed to touch you, or pull you close; the smile that held back so many feelings; and the heart that holds his love that was solely kept for you… how could you have not noticed it?

“I’m sorry,” you whispered as you felt tears welling up. Frustration grew inside you when you heard him chuckle. How could he even manage to laugh right now? You had no idea how he did it. In your case, guilt surged in your insides as if it was an ocean threatening to swallow you whole. If you could shrink yourself into oblivion, you would probably do so.

Slowly, he reached over your hand that was neatly folded together on the table, caressing it with his thumb as he held onto it tightly. You were sure that if anyone who doesn’t know both of you sees you, they’d probably think you were just another couple out on a simple date but no. You two were best friends who fell in love with each other, both in wrong times. You were two young adults who danced in fate’s hands, clueless that you were being played by time.

“Don’t say sorry. It wasn’t your fault. It wasn’t anybody’s fault except time, [y/n],” he told you, lightly squeezing the hand he held. You sniffed a little bit, finally gathering the courage to look back at him after your short turmoil.

“I should’ve told you…” you both said at the same time, catching each other off guard. Light chuckles turned into a fit of giggles as you shook your heads at your silliness. Unbeknownst to the two of you, your thoughts matched one another’s while you had your lovely moment. You were made for me, but not in ‘that’ way, you both thought; hands still intact with each other.

“I expected you to be more… crybaby,” he commented after a few moments of talking. You sadly smiled after releasing a deep breath.

“I had my crybaby moment last night already,” you shrugged as you fiddled with your fingers out of nervousness. The deafening silence has returned once more as Hajime stared at you, rather longingly… but again, he thought you don’t have to know that.

“Stop being so guilty, you baby. It’s not our fault time was against us,” he softly spoke with reassurance and comfort.

“You like that Sakusa now, don’t you?” you meekly nodded, an eyebrow rising at the sudden query.

“Then be happy with him.”

You opened your mouth to say something against his statement, only to be shut down as he held his hand up. When it comes to Hajime’s firmness, no one can go against it; not even you, his sole weakness.

“Don’t think about me. I’ll be fine soon… having this closure with you… it’s enough for me,” once again, the small wound in your heart burst open and soon, tears formed in the corner of your eyes while you hastily wiped them off. He was too kind, too pure for this world, even for you. He whispered a quiet ‘stop crying’ while wiping the salty liquid that escaped your eyes.

“W-what did I do to deserve someone like you?” you whimpered, not even caring if the other customers looked at the two of you weirdly.

“W…what can I do to repay this kindness?” you asked him as you looked with a pair of melancholic eyes.

“Just spend this day with me like what we normally do… then be happy.”

And you did. From going to an amusement park, watching a movie and at some point during your friendly date, he managed to ask you one of the questions that kept him up from his sleep as well.

“So… uhm… I may or may not have read one of your texts with Sakusa about the strawberry ice cream,” he muttered, sheepishly scratching the back of his head as he looked at you, who in turn, shrugged.

“I used to love it; you know? Those boxes of strawberry milk you got me throughout middle and high school. It gave me the hope that maybe, I was special to you too…” you softly told him while you both walked along the park, having had enough of the rides that almost made you two puke your internal organs out. “… until third year came when I accepted that it won’t happen; we will never happen. Anything that had strawberry in it tasted bitter. I felt bitter.”

He never said anything back and soon, you found yourselves eating dinner in a fancy restaurant that he told you he’d been saving up for to take you someday.

Little did you know, Hajime’s heart has been erratically beating due to the fact that the time he dreaded neared as you were almost done eating. You were already at your desserts and soon, he will have to say goodbye; not as your friend but as your lover. As soon as the day ends and tomorrow comes, he will – finally – have to let you go.

“In our next lives…” you looked up from the caramel custard you were poking with your teaspoon as he spoke up. You hummed, signaling him to continue, unaware of the gulp he took while trying to formulate his next words.

“In our next lives, I will love you first… I will make you happy and I will give you the love you have always deserved. For now, be happy with Sakusa in this timeline.”

The walk to the train was quiet, but no longer the same quietness you hated that morning – it was comforting, it felt like home as you walked together hand in hand, no pain lingering around your hearts as you both accepted your fate.

“Well, today was… fulfilling, Haji. This… this is my ride ho–”

“I’ll take you home. Let’s go,” he announced as he pulled you inside the train packed with office workers who were dying to go home and rest. You wonder why he suddenly thought of taking you all the way to your house. He literally has to travel for another hour because of this, you internally screamed while glaring at him for his impulsiveness.

“Stop glaring at me. It’s only right that I take you home for the last time,” he spoke, not even bothering to look at you. How did he know you were glaring? You honestly have no idea.

Thirty minutes later and here you both were, walking side by side along the empty street leading to your home. His firm statement back in the restaurant lingered in your mind as you remembered how it struck your heart when you heard it. Because of that, you didn’t even know how to respond and remained silent. Still, he held no sadness nor remorse in his face, only a determined look that almost convinced you that it will happen soon.

As your simple house came into view, you both stopped, knowing that he has to go back to the station now or else he will have to wait another thirty minutes for the next train to arrive. He was quick to ruffle your hair, silently bidding his goodbye.

You knew that if one of you speaks at the moment, you were sure as hell that one of you will also go into full-blown crying. But you know what? Damn this all, you thought.

“Iwaizumi Hajime!” you yelled as soon as he was about twenty steps away from you. You could see him stiffen but slowly turned around. You didn’t care if you woke some of your neighbors; you could deal with their complaints tomorrow.

“In our next lives, I will choose you… you better find me, okay, Haji?”

Tears were spilled from both of your eyes as he solemnly smiled and nodded, choosing to mouth his reply. Nonetheless, you understood it with your whole heart.

“I’ll come to you… so please wait for me.”

#haikyuu smau #haikyuu x reader #sakusa smau #sakusa x reader #haikyuuwritersnet #sakusa kiyoomi #haikyuu imagines #haikyuu scenarios #haikyuu social media au #haikyuu headcanons #haikyuu #sakusa imagines #sakusa scenarios #sakusa social media au #sakusa headcanons

[delaber]

Three-Point Perspective (Part 2)

Rafael Casal x Reader x Daveed Diggs

Note: Guys! When I wrote Three-Point Perspective, I wasn’t planning on adding a second part to it but the amount of support was so overwhelming that I just had to do a sequel ...And let me tell you; I am so glad you guys wanted it because this was so much fun! I have never been more challenged with a story-line, portraying emotions, changing perspectives, and just the plot in general. I have never never never changed a story-line as much as I did for this one, haha! Crazy amounts of shout-outs and thanks to my amazing mate @einfachniemand​ for listening to countless of ideas, for feedback on several snippets, for being supportive af, and for telling me “yeah, no, that doesn’t work. Back to the drawing board.” Thank you boo! You are amazing! A huge thanks to @theatrenerd86​ for starting off this sequel by providing the settings - and for just being the most supportive human being ever! Mwah! Also a huge thanks to the rest of you for your endless support! I love this community! (Oh, and anon; thanks for the (quite old, sorry) prompt but I didn’t do it for Rafa (sorry once again)). Let me know what you guys think!

Words: 13.8K

Warnings: Oh my goodness, I don’t even wanna get started... Blood, heartbreak, angst (my three tropes)

Rafael

Rafa almost tripped over his own two feet as he stumbled over to the bar and desperately ordered a large whiskey shooter. He was having a hard time keeping calm; his heart was beating fast in his chest, his throat closing in on itself, his hairline soaked in panic-sweat. He needed to put what had just happened in the very seat he was standing in front of at a distance. His hands were still itching to punch something! He needed the fucking drink!

The bartender had barely stopped pouring Maker's Mark into a small glass before Rafa quickly grabbed it and chugged its contents down his throat, desperately trying to block out what he had just witnessed.

Your tongue in his best friend's ear.

Diggs' hand sliding up your thigh.

The sensual smile you'd worn as Diggs had whispered promising words in your ear.

"Oh god," Rafa groaned as he recalled your excited smile as his best friend had escorted you out of the bar, his hand dipping uncomfortably low on your hips.

Desperately clutching the now empty whiskey glass, Rafa tried relentlessly to push away the image of what you and Diggs probably were in the midst of doing right now. Oh shit, oh no... His chest was stinging, his stomach aching horribly at the thought of you and Diggs fucking. Oh god. He tried to shift his focus to the burning sensation down his esophagus instead and quickly ordered another shooter.

It didn't take long before the bartender had placed another glass of golden-brown liquid in front of him that he quickly downed in one go, thinking about how stupid he was for not having acted on his feelings for you earlier. He had had eight fucking years to do so after all?! Why the fuck hadn't he just pulled himself together and called you up?! He wanted to punch something! He wanted to get fucked up! He wanted to call someone and get them to deliver a big fucking bag of blow - but he settled on a third shooter.

He gulped down the whiskey as the aggression subsided and was replaced by the same type of jealousy-induced heartburn that he had felt earlier that night. Fucking Daveed Diggs and the way he always seemed to be able to wrap women around his little finger! In eight minutes, he had managed to do to you what Rafa hadn't managed to do for eight years. Fuck him!

A fourth whiskey went down Rafa's throat as the jealousy was replaced by hurtful pangs in his chest; shit it hurt to think about you and Diggs together. Rafa knew that you had had a few men in your life since the summer in the taco truck, and even though it had stung to see pictures of your romances on Instagram, it didn't hurt half as much as seeing his best friend escort you out of the bar.

He ordered another whiskey. And another one after that. And then an entire bottle of Jameson just to recall the taste of your lips that night on top of the skate ramps all those years ago. Quickly, Rafa gulped down most of the bottle, his eyes watering from the sharp taste of alcohol on his tongue, but no matter how much he drank, he still wasn't able to get image of you and Diggs out of his head. It had etched itself on the back of his eyelids, somehow becoming clearer and clearer with every gulp of fiery liquid.

It didn't take long before he had reached the half-way mark on the bottle of Jameson, completely lost in constantly checking his phone to see if you had tried to contact him to tell him that Diggs by some miracle had blown his shot. You hadn't. And even though Rafa doubted that you would, he still couldn't put the phone away.

He was fumbling about on the screen as he accidentally found Diggs' name on the list of contacts. Completely lost in contemplating whether or not he should call him up and tell him to stay the fuck away from you, he jumped a little when he suddenly felt a soft hand on his shoulder. For about a mili-second, Rafa believed that the soft touch belonged to you, but as soon as he had whipped around in his seat, he felt the disappointment cloud his mind as he was met by his make-up artist Janelle instead. "Oh, hey," he spoke in an uninterested tone of voice, his words a little slurred from the amount of whiskey he'd been drinking.

"Rafa, honey, are you okay?" She looked at him with kind eyes, "you seem a little out of it."

"I'm great," he slurred into his whiskey glass before emptying it for what felt like the 100th time that night, "I'm fucking perfect! This night's just absolutely fucking perfect."

Janelle furrowed her brows and pushed the bottle of Jameson out of Rafa's reach, "is it because of Daveed and -"

"- DON'T say her name," Rafa warned, his voice turning to a low drunk growl afterwards, "I don't want to think about it."

Janelle sat down on the empty barstool next to him and sent him a slow nod, "yeah, I was afraid this might happen..." she sighed and sent him a pitiful look.

"That what might happen?" Rafa drunkenly mumbled, trying to avoid her gaze.

"Honey... I've seen the way you look at her," Janelle whispered and reassuringly put her hand on Rafa's arm as she searched his face for any kind of affirmation. Rafa groaned and met her eyes shortly before she softly added, "- and I've seen the way Daveed looks at her too."

Rafa gulped to keep the slowly forming lump in this throat at bay, "...so you don't think it's just a one-night thing?" He croaked in a small whisper, the pain in his chest suddenly twice as hurtful as before.

Janelle shook her head slowly, shooting Rafa a careful look.

"And - uhm," Rafa cleared his throat "- do you think that - uh - she's into him as well?" He added in a whisper, his face involuntarily screwed up as he was afraid to hear the answer.

"I don't know, honey," Janelle said diplomatically and pulled him in for a tight hug, inaudibly giving away that she definitely thought so. Rafa appreciated Janelle's attempt to salvage the situation and let her comfort him for a couple of seconds before she slowly let go of him again, sending him a heartfelt look in the process. "Do you want to talk about it?" She asked.

"No..." Rafa mumbled and reached for the bottle that Janelle had pushed away moments before.

She grabbed his arm and forced it down in his lap instead, "why don't you leave the bottle and instead call it a night, boo? You've been drinking quite a lot already."

Rafa gulped a little and realised that she was right. Nothing good would come from sitting at the bar, drowning his sorrows in cheap whiskey. "Yeah," he groaned as he ran a hand through his damp hair, "yeah... You're right. Might be a good idea..."

"Go grab your jacket. I'll call you a cab, okay?"

"Thanks," Rafa mumbled before scrambling to his feet, swaying a little from side to side. He managed to balance himself and stagger over to the coat check where he retrieved his leather jacket and slowly pulled it on with great difficulty.

"I got you," Janelle was suddenly behind him, helping him pull the jacket up his arms.

"Thanks," Rafa mumbled as he pulled on the collar to rearrange the leather over his shoulders.

"You wanna say bye to the rest of the crew?" Janelle piped from behind him.

He shot a quick glance across the room and towards the table that his friends were occupying. "I better set an example," he mumbled even though he'd rather be sitting in a cab on his way home right now.

With his arm around Janelle, and her hand on his chest to steady him, Rafa walked over to his co-stars, putting up his best attempt at a cheerful smile, "I'm off guys. Have a lovely evening," he slurred drunkenly.

He thought to himself that he was doing a tremendous job of hiding away his hurt feelings until he noticed their stiff smiles. Suddenly, he realised by the sympathetic looks they were all shooting him from their seats, that they were well-aware of what was going on. Rafa quickly scanned their silent, pained faces one by one until Alessandro - one of the leads - finally spoke up, "see you Monday boss!"

Annoyed with their pitiful eyes, Rafa mumbled a, "see you Monday, bruh," and turned around, facing Janelle again as the others awkwardly looked away. It made him feel stupid.

"Cab's outside," Janelle tried to smile and pulled him in for a hug, "are you going to be okay, boo?"

"I don't know," Rafa croaked truthfully against her neck and let her pull him just a little closer.

"Call me tomorrow, okay?" She let go of him, "We'll do something fun."

"Okay," Rafa slurred, his eyes stinging as he turned away from her and towards the exit.

Slowly, he stumbled out of the bar and hopped into the yellow cab outside, closing his eyes desperately in the backseat, trying to block out any thought of you and Diggs but failing horribly. The ride home was the longest drive of Rafa's life, his thoughts sporadic and unorganised but all centred around the same thing: what would he come home to? Had you and Diggs gone to your place? Or to Diggs' place that he just happened to share with Rafa? Fuck, he almost couldn't bear the thought of coming home to meet Diggs balls deep in you on the couch. Rafa would never purposely punch Diggs, but if he came home to face that, he wasn't sure he'd be able to hold back his itching fist.

"He's your best friend," Rafa mumbled to himself as a reminder, hoping to calm himself down, "he's your best friend. He didn't know. He's innocent... - well apart from fucking your girl..."

Everything inside him was on fire.

"You alright back there, mate?" The cab driver shot Rafa a look in the rear-view mirror, apparently concerned about the whispered words, he'd heard coming from the backseat.

"Yeah," Rafa replied unenthusiastically, a little annoyed that everybody seemed to be so concerned with him - but he eventually stopped thinking out loud.

For the remainder of the trip, the driver kept his mouth shut too but annoyingly enough constantly checked in on Rafa in the rear-view mirror.

Rafa was relieved when the driver finally pulled over outside his home and paid him quickly, slamming the car door shut with much force, hoping to alleviate some of the all-consuming itch that he felt deep in his bones. Little did it help. He still wanted to punch something.

Rafa turned his attention towards the house and gave out a short sigh before he started swaying up the paved pathway in the small yard, briefly stopping before he reached the front door. He prayed that you had taken Diggs to your place and not the other way around. He couldn't handle being faced with his worst nightmare - and especially not after having had so much to drink. Right now, he couldn't account for how he'd react.

He stood with his key in hand for a while, scared of what might come, but eventually realised that he would have to go inside at some point. With a deep sigh, he slowly slid his key in the lock and turned it around, his palms sweating terribly. He felt his heart sinking down to the bottom of his stomach when the key didn't meet any kind of resistance, and he realised that the door was already unlocked.

Fuck... Diggs had taken you here.

With a burning sensation in his chest, Rafa quietly pushed open the front door and stepped inside the small hallway, closing the door behind him with a small thump. He closed his eyes and threw his head up against the wooden door, forcing himself to relax by taking three deep breaths - a technique he had learned from his mother when he had been nervous about doing spoken words for the first time at fifteen.

He focused on his breathing for a few seconds and after having exhaled a third time - already more relaxed than before - he opened his eyes and took in the room. He immediately saw that the floor of the narrow hallway was decorated with several pieces of discarded garments strewn randomly about on the stone floor.

Diggs' pants. Your dress. Your bra.

"No..." Rafa groaned quietly as he took in the pieces of clothes with a hard gulp, the tears stinging in his eyes when he realised what he was being confronted with. "No, no, no!" he buried his face in his hands and took a deep breath to get himself under control again. His entire chest was on fire, the taste of stomach acid thick on his tongue. Everything around him went quiet as he heaved in a big gulp of air, wishing that he had stayed sober tonight. This was all getting too much; he couldn't control it. He was too drunk.

He took another big gulp of air, and was just about to slowly exhale when a soft sound hit his ear canal... It was coming from the other room.

A moan.

A sweet, heartfelt, sensual moan.

From a woman - from you...

It was the result of a sincere reaction to something that had brought you immense pleasure. A moan that someone else had brought to your lips. A moan that Rafa's best friend had brought to your lips.

Fuck! The itch in his hands that he had felt for quite some time now suddenly became too much and he punched the wall hard, causing an old, framed picture of him and Diggs to fall down, the frame shattering in several pieces on the cold stone floor. He stared at the broken shards of glass for a few seconds, torturing himself by carefully listening for more of your sweet moans echoing throughout the house.

They didn't come, however. The entire house was suddenly completely silent. Thank god.

Slowly, Rafa squatted down to brush the glass-dust off your dress, the silky fabric soft between his fingertips as he pulled the dress to his chest, thinking about what it would feel like to be the one to pull it off you.

Without warning, however, the silence in the hallway was broken by another loud moan coming from Diggs' personal space and Rafa was quickly brought out of his trance. He had to get out of there! He would go to a hotel or something! Anything to get away from the sounds you were making for another man!

Slightly panicked, Rafa shuffled to get to his feet, but overbalanced and fell forwards, his left hand immediately softening the blow as a reflex. From the moment his palm hit the floor, Rafa felt a sharp pain in his hand, but didn't realise that he had cut himself before he rotated his elbow and saw the huge piece of broken glass that was prodding out of his palm. "You're kidding me," he groaned as he tried to focus on the glass shard before he grabbed it tightly and forcefully pulled it out of his skin, the warm blood immediately running down his hand as a terribly sharp pain started pulling at his fingers. "OH FUCK!" he exclaimed a little louder than he had intended to, unable to hold back in his inebriated state.

Pressing in on the wound to try and get it to stop bleeding, he hurried to the bathroom and quickly located an old towel that he wrapped tightly around his bloody hand. "Shit! Oh fuck that hurts!" He groaned loudly and slid down the wall, his ass hitting the cold floor with a small thump. He could hear hushed voices coming from Diggs' personal space next door, and he realised that he had no idea what hurt the most; the thought of you lying in there wearing nothing but your panties, or his throbbing hand that had already bled through the old towel.

"Shit," he mumbled to himself as he replaced the old piece of cloth with a clean one, "ah fuck it hurts!" He hissed and tried to push the wound shut to get it to stop bleeding. It helped for a few seconds before the gash opened back up, fresh blood spilling out again. Just looking at it made him dizzy, and he realised that he couldn't handle this on his own. He was too drunk. He needed help. Embarrassed by himself and the situation he had put himself in, he took a deep breath before calling out the name of the last person on earth he wanted to see right now, "DIGGS!"

The hushed voices from the other side of the wall died down completely. They'd heard him. Still, there was no response to his cry for help. Meanwhile, the second towel around his hand was soaked through as well. What if he was about to bleed out? What if he was spending his last moments, pathetically heartbroken on his own bathroom floor?

"DIGGS!" he tried again, this time a little more panic to his voice.

The entire house was quiet still, and Rafa listened intently for few seconds before he finally heard an angry voice calling from the other side of the wall. "WHAT?"

"Diggs, I need your help!" Rafa called back, embarrassment flooding his voice.

"I'm kind of busy in here, Rafa!" Diggs bellowed back. Rafa had never heard him sound so annoyed before.

"Come on, man... I'm serious," Rafa let out a loud groan as he took in the bloody rag that was wrapped around his hand.

He heard cursing and shuffling on the other side of the wall and a few seconds later, the door to the bathroom finally swung open, revealing a very annoyed Daveed Diggs who was trying to hide away his boxer-clad erection with the palm of his hand.

Upon seeing how Diggs was already hard and ready to fuck Rafa's girl, there was no doubt: The pain in Rafa's chest definitely exceeded the pain in his hand.

Daveed

Daveed could not believe how lucky he was! He had barely closed the front door behind him before you had pulled him in for a string of sensual kisses in the dark. His lips were moving fiercely against your warm skin, your head lolling backwards as you panted and let him press you up against the wall in the hallway. He loved the sensation of your fingers tangled in his long hair as he attacked your neck and jawline with rough, affectionate kisses. You let out a small impatient pant as he untied the bow at the side of your dress, giving himself easier access to your beautiful build underneath as the dress opened up completely.

"Fuck, you look absolutely amazing," he cupped your ass and pressed his pelvis closer to you with a groan.

Your small fingers desperately undid the buttons of his shirt and Daveed quickly shrugged it off, finally standing in front of you in nothing but his dark blue slacks. His lips quickly resumed their positions on your neck where he immediately started sucking and nibbling at the sensitive skin while running his hands all over your torso.

Your fingers desperately found the button of his slacks and Daveed felt the tight sensation of his pants against his crotch disappearing slightly as you brought down the zipper and slid the slacks over his hips. Your small hand was palming him through the cotton of his boxers, and he couldn't stop the groan that fought its way all the way from his stomach and up his throat. He heard you chuckling incredulously above him as you let your dress fall to the ground before you dropped down to your knees in front of him, determinedly pulling his boxers down over his thighs.

Daveed's mind went completely blank when he felt your hand cup his balls while your wet mouth found the tip of his straining erection. Your warm breath against him had him let out an involuntary groan, and when your plump lips kissed his engorged head, the sensation sent a shiver all the way up his spine. He pulled your hair away from your face and held it in a loose ponytail on the back of your head, your eyes interlocking with his in the process. Even though you had him between your teeth, the submissive look you sent him had him feeling incredibly in control! Without giving up eye contact, you kissed his head twice before placing a long, wet lick at the tip of his erection, immediately sending hard vibrations throughout his entire body. "Fuck," he groaned and caressed the side of your face when you wrapped your lips tightly around his head, sucking a bit at the tip.

"Mmmh, pull my hair!" you panted around him and he immediately tugged on the ponytail, buckling his hips closer to your face, desperate to feel the ecstasy of warm, wet, tightness around him again. To Daveed's relief you immediately obliged and slid your lips almost all the way down to his base and back up again, releasing him with a small pop.

"Oh fuck!" He let out a groan as he looked down into your huge, submissive eyes, slowly stroking your cheek. You repeated your motions, your tongue wet and soft against him as you bopped your mouth along his length, his hips meeting you half-way, "yeah, that's it, baby, just like that," he panted softly as you kept gazing up at him, upping the tempo and bringing him all the way down your throat with a slight gag, reminding him of how big he was.

Daveed had received many blowjobs over the years but never in his life had he felt more worshipped and desired! You were massaging his balls lovingly as you brought his length down your throat, hollowing your cheeks and making him feel completely taken care of as you focused solely on his pleasure and enjoyment.

He was just about to let go and cum down your tight throat before he reminded himself that he'd have to take it easy if he wanted to last long enough to fuck you. And holy shit, how he wanted to fuck you! He knew he was very good with his hips and hands and he wanted to bring you pleasures that you'd never even dared dreaming of before.

It was hard to do, but eventually he managed to pull himself out of your wet mouth and you to your feet with a gruff, "come here!". He unclasped your bra and tossed it aside before he pushed you up against the wall, took your nipple in his mouth, and ran his fingers along your lace-covered folds. You let out a soft gasp and he repeated the motions of his fingers while attacking your neck and throat with toothy kisses. You were panting and moaning underneath him, your hand still stroking his erection lovingly.

"Okay, okay, okay, you gotta stop," he licked the shell of your ear with a low chuckle, "I still have so many things I want to do to you," he smacked your ass and you let out a small whimper when his palm came in to contact with your skin.

Slowly, you let go of him and carefully caressed his abs instead as he re-claimed your lips. The kiss was deep and soft, and it made the straining sensation in Daveed's erection even more unbearable, but he was patient enough to not touch himself.

After a few minutes of intense, passionate kissing, you pulled your face away from his and looked up at him with a dark look in your eyes, "well, are you going to do something about it? Or are you going to just leave it at talking?" You chuckled against his skin.

"Don't get cocky with me," Daveed smiled and hoisted you up in his arms. You let out a small yelp, but still threw your legs around his waist and let him carry you to his bedroom while licking his ear. He carefully positioned you with your back against the mattress of his bed and hovered above you as he put his lips to your collarbone, slowly kissing his way down between your breasts, over your stomach, and stopping when he reached the top of your panties. He sat himself down on his knees in front of you, sending you a hungry look as he ran his fingers over your body. You looked him square in the eye and raked a hand through his curls, pulling his head back slightly. The anticipating look you were sending him made his erection twitch between his legs, but he still didn't touch it. Instead, he licked his lips and kissed the laces between your legs. "I love this colour on you," he growled against the thin fabric. He could feel you shiver underneath him as he pulled the red laces down your well-shaped legs, caressing your inner thighs lovingly. "Mmh," he hummed as you spread your legs for him, your fingers still tangled in his hair. Your chest was heaving up and down in a slow, steady rhythm as he placed small kisses on your skin, his tongue just barely grazing you. He enjoyed the way you closed your eyes and dipped your head low as he repeated this motion a few times.

Slowly, he slipped his tongue inside your folds, your lips gently spreading for him as he tasted you. You gasped slightly when he reached your clit and gave it a small flick before he slowly ran his tongue over you again. You were panting above him, your fingers caressing his scalp as your face was screwed up in pleasure. Daveed couldn't look away even if he wanted to!

He caressed the back of your legs with his hands before he had his fingers join his tongue at your core. Slowly, he inserted a finger into your wet heat and was rewarded with a deep moan escaping your lips. Desperate to hear you again, he inserted yet another finger, letting his digits and tongue work in unison until you finally let out another deep moan.

He could tell you were close to letting go completely, and it was all working out so nicely, your chest heaving up and down faster and faster as you moaned loudly for him, your nails finding their way to his scalp, pulling his face closer to you - when clash!

Out of nowhere, a loud shatter was heard from somewhere in the house. It sounded like glass breaking, but Daveed was used to Rafa's clumsy ass, so he ignored what he assumed was his best friend returning home after his night out.

Daveed did, however, feel you freeze slightly underneath him, and you pulled back the moan that had been just about to escape your lips and replaced it with a, "what was that?!" a slight panic to your voice.

"Relax, it's probably just Rafa," Daveed whispered and resumed his movements.

"What's he doing here?" You panted slightly but not as sensually as before.

"He lives here," Daveed growled against your skin, annoyed by the fact that your attention was suddenly directed at his best friend instead of the very pleasurable things he knew he was doing. To make sure that you forgot about Rafa, Daveed brought out the big guns and put his lips around your clit, vibrating them while his fingers worked their way in and out of you. It worked expertly, and it didn't take him long before he'd earned himself another loud moan coming from you. You looked as if you were completely lost in the sensations, he was causing you - but not for long, because suddenly a loud "OH FUCK!" from Rafa rang throughout the house. It was followed by hurried footsteps as Rafa ran to the bathroom that was located next to Daveed's personal space.

Daveed felt you shuffle underneath him as you put your weight on your elbows and closed your legs slightly, craning your neck as you looked towards the wall that Daveed's personal space shared with the bathroom. You had a concerned look in your eyes that Daveed chose to ignore. Instead, he kept going with his fingers and tongue, but you weren't moaning anymore.

"Shit! Oh fuck that hurts!" Rafa exclaimed loudly from the other side of the wall.

"Don't you think you should go check on him?" You asked quietly, your eyes still glued to the wall.

"No," Daveed said curtly, and tried to get you to lie back down again so he could continue. You didn't budge, however. You were more interested in the loud groan that was escaping Rafa. You let out a nervous laugh as you once again heard him cuss and groan from the next room.

"Ignore him," Daveed panted as he spread your legs apart again, his tongue immediately finding your core, and he was rewarded with a gasp from you. He had just started moving his fingers inside you again when he heard Rafa call his name loudly from the other side of the wall.

"DIGGS!"

Daveed froze for about a mili-second before deciding to ignore Rafa and continue moving his fingers inside you instead.

"Go talk to him," you chuckled and raked a hand through his hair, suddenly totally unaffected by his movements,

"He can wait. I'm far too busy," Daveed let his tongue run over you again, once more losing himself in your wonderful wetness.

Rafa however, pulled him back to reality by yelling out his name a second time, "DIGGS!!" causing you to slightly close your legs one more time.

"You're kidding me..." Daveed muttered under his breath as his face was forced away from your wet centre. "WHAT?" he ended up bellowing back to his best friend on the other side of the wall.

"Diggs, I need your help!" Rafa kept calling.

"I'm kind of busy in here, Rafa!" Daveed bellowed while looking into your amused eyes.

You were chuckling slightly, "he needs you. Don't you think you better...?" You sent Daveed a charming grin while nodding towards the door, "he sounds quite drunk..."

Daveed shot you a pained look.

"Go," you chuckled, "I'll still be ready for you in here when you come back. Don't worry."

"Come on man... I'm serious," Rafa bellowed through the wall.

"I'm going to murder him for this!" Daveed groaned in an annoyed tone of voice and got up on his feet with a loud groan. He quickly located a pair of boxers and packed away his erection before storming out of the room, closing the door to his personal space shut behind him.

He found Rafa sitting up against the wall in the bathroom, his eyes swimming with alcohol. "What, bruh?!" Daveed demanded as he locked eyes with him, "what's so important that it couldn't wait until morning?"

"...Were you sleeping?" Rafa slurred while looking like a total fucking idiot as his drunk eyes scanned Daveed from head to toe.

"Of course I wasn't sleeping! I was in the middle of eating pussy when you ruined it!"

Rafa looked as if he was about to throw up, "...you're about to fuck her?" He slurred.

"Yes?! So make whatever you want to say quick, 'cause I got a soaking wet woman waiting for me on my bed!"

Rafa looked up at Daveed with a pained expression but kept his silence.

"I swear to god, if you don't speak up now and tell me what the hell made you call me out here, I'll kick your ass!"

Rafa sighed heavily, looking as if he was about to tell Daveed someone else's secret but eventually croaked, "I hurt myself," while holding up his left hand that was wrapped sloppily in a blood-soaked towel.

First then, did Daveed notice that there were several splodges of blood on the bathroom floor. It made him drop the attitude slightly, "Jesus fuck Rafa, what the hell did you do?" He groaned and crouched down next to him on the floor.

"I knocked down the frame in the hallway," Rafa slurred and let Daveed examine the deep cut in the palm of his hand, "cut myself on the glass."

"You did a thorough job," Daveed mumbled with a sigh as he lifted the towel to check out the gash that was still bleeding heavily, "come here, run some water on it. I'll find some bandages." Daveed turned on the faucet and helped Rafa find his balance as he quickly pulled him to his feet. He could tell that Rafa was struggling to stand still as he swayed back and forth while leaning in over the sink, playing a bit with the jet of water. Daveed sent him an annoyed glance; he did not have time for this! "How much did you have to drink after I left?" he asked, the irritation practically oozing out of him as he looked for the first-aid kit in one of the cabinets.

"I dunno," Rafa mumbled sleepily as he watched the water clean the blood away from his hand, "a lot?"

"Yeah, so I'd guessed," Daveed mumbled to himself as he located the first aid kit and quickly pulled out a couple of rolls of gauze. "Come over here," he urged Rafa to sit down on the edge of the tub next to him.

Rafa gave out a small grunt and turned off the water, before turning towards Daveed with lazy movements. Daveed had to bite his tongue to avoid telling Rafa to hurry the fuck up!

Rafa's ass had barely touched the white ceramic of the tub's edge before he lost his balance and vigorously swayed back and forth a few times, finally catching himself by throwing his hand up against the sink, leaving bloody handprints all over the bathroom in the process.

"Jesus Christ, Rafa!" Daveed groaned, he did not want to deal with Rafa's drunk ass right now, "look, I'll help you with your hand but I'm not cleaning up out here!" He said harshly.

"Then don't!" Rafa muttered as he slowly slid down to the floor with a loud groan, sending Daveed and irritated look in the process.

"Come on; give me your hand," Daveed demanded, determined to be done as fast as possible so he could get back to you.

Rafa held out his arm and Daveed rotated it to look for more injuries and noticed that Rafa had bruised his knuckles quite badly too, "...have you been in a fight?" He furrowed his brows.

"Just fix my hand, okay?!" Rafa shot Daveed an annoyed look, "Make it stop bleeding!" He slurred and gestured to the blood that was already dripping from his fingertips again.

Daveed gave out an irritated grunt as he started wrapping Rafa's bloody hand in gauze, "sit still!!"

"Oh fuck," Rafa groaned as Daveed slowly draped the gauze over the sensitive wound, "fuck it hurts."

"Quit your whining!"

There was a knock on the bathroom door and Daveed slowly looked up from Rafa's bloody hand and towards the door instead. You were poking in your head, looking curiously at what the two men were doing, your hair a big mess. "Is everything alright in here?" You asked carefully as you stepped inside, tugging on the oversized shirt you'd put on to cover up your naked body.

"Rafa cut himself - and apparently he's too drunk to handle it alone," Daveed rolled his eyes so Rafa couldn't see. He registered your amused smile just before he turned back to the hand in his lap, immediately noticing the small change in Rafa's flexibility as opposed to before you had stepped in. His fingers had somehow gone weirdly stiff, and by further inspection, Daveed realised that Rafa's entire body was suddenly tense, the muscles in his jaw continuously flexing and relaxing, flexing and relaxing. Still, Rafa didn't bat an eyelid, he didn't even emit a single sound. He was just silently staring at you, his eyes going up and down your front, his breathing hard and heavy. Daveed shot him a weird look out the corner of his eye. What the fuck was going on with him? He had definitely had too much to drink...

"'s that my shirt?" Rafa slurred to you as he took in your attire.

Daveed briefly looked up at you and realised that the oversized t-shirt you were wearing were indeed Rafa's favourite Raiders shirt that Daveed had borrowed the other day. Rafa had a weird look on his face, and it looked as if he was about the say something crude to you, so to diffuse the situation, Daveed spoke: "let it go, bruh," he said in an uninterested tone of voice before he quietly turned back to wrapping the bleeding hand. Why the fuck would Rafa care if you were wearing his t-shirt or not?? He didn't mind Daveed wearing it.

"Oh..." he heard you say softly from the doorframe, "Raiders... I'm sorry. I didn't realise."

"Yeah, no. Don't be," Rafa said softly and Daveed was just about to give his best friend a mental pad on the back for having enough sense to bring his attitude around so quickly, but then he added an "- it looks good on you!" in a flirty voice that vexed Daveed so much that he felt a slow anger bubble in his chest. He let go of the bleeding hand and straightened his back as he looked over at Rafa with a hard look. He could not believe that Rafa had the nerve - the audacity! - to act so disrespectfully! What the fuck had gotten into him?! He had been a huge cock-block to you and Daveed and now he found it suitable to be flirting with you???

Daveed had to take a deep breath to calm himself down, in the meantime reminding himself that Rafa was drunk as fuck and probably not even aware that his words could be misinterpreted as more than just friendly... Therefore, he purposely ignored his best friend's impudent behaviour and instead made sure to keep his eyes down low so he could concentrate fully on wrapping up the bleeding hand, determined get the fuck out of there as fast as possible so he could get back to slipping you his famous techniques.

The wound in the palm of Rafa's hand was still bleeding quite heavily, and it didn't take Daveed long to realise that he needed more gauze to make the blood stop dripping onto the floor. "Shit," he muttered under his breath and looked over at you, "baby, can you get me more gauze out of the cabinet?"

You whipped your gaze away from Rafa's face, your eyes immediately finding Daveed's. The look in your eyes instantly shifted from something that Daveed couldn't quite place to soft and cute, a small goofy smile slowly erupting on your lips as you scanned his face. You didn't say anything, just sent him a curt nod before you quietly turned to the cabinet, looking for the first-aid kit on the bottom shelf. As you bent over in front of him, your t-shirt rode up high and Daveed got a beautiful glimpse of the red laces under the hem of the t-shirt you were wearing. Your panties were hugging your ass nicely, and for a moment, he forgot about the bleeding limb in his hand - all he could think about was touching you again! He wanted to snap the useless piece of fabric between your legs in two and delve his tongue into your wet heat, bringing you untold pleasu- ...he suddenly felt Rafa's fingers do a small involuntary twitch in his lap and he realised that his best friend was checking you out too, his mouth hanging slightly open, his eyes glued to your ass.

What the fuck was the matter with him? Had the roles been reversed, Daveed would never have checked out Rafa's girl!

Angry with his best friend, Daveed gave Rafa's arm a small smack while sending him a threatening look, daring him to keep staring at your ass. When his and Rafa's eyes interlocked, Rafa's face curled up in a sour expression but he quickly fixated his gaze on the floor in front of him instead, probably realising that Daveed could knock him out easily.

Meanwhile, completely innocent and oblivious to what had just happened behind your back, you stood up straight and handed Daveed two extra rolls of gauze before resuming your position in the doorway.

Apparently, Rafa had learnt absolutely nothing from Daveed's silent threats and immediately went back to staring at you again. Daveed contemplated shooting Rafa a verbal threat as well but decided against it when he realised how absolutely pathetic his best friend looked. He was drunk as fuck, his eyes all foggy and glossy. Daveed would confront him about his disrespectful behaviour tomorrow.

Still, the fact that Rafa was staring intensely at you while you were only wearing the slightly oversized t-shirt and your beautiful, beautiful panties underneath, made Daveed uncomfortable as fuck, so he worked double speed on Rafa's hand to get you away from the bathroom faster.  Luckily, with the fresh supply of gauze from you, it only took him a few more minutes before he was done with the wrapping, a sigh of relief travelling through his body as he finally let go of Rafa's injured hand.

The tension in the bathroom could be cut with a knife and Daveed took a deep breath to calm himself down before breaking the silence by saying, "Look, I can bandage this to keep it from bleeding all over, but you need to go to the hospital for stitches or something."

"Mmh," Rafa grunted beside him, clearly not pleased with the situation. His eyes were glued to you, and he was wearing a certain hungry look on his face as he drank you in - and Daveed realised that Rafa definitely was aware of what signals he was sending.

What the hell was going on inside his pea-sized, idiot brain? Did he want Daveed to punch him? Daveed was just about to grab him by the collar when he heard you piping from the doorframe, "...I can take you."

...what? Daveed immediately turned his attention to you and saw the soft look you were sending Rafa as you continued, "I can drive. I almost didn't drink tonight."

What?! You liked Rafas stares?!

"You'd - you'd do that?" he heard Rafa whisper from beside him, a soft smile erupting on his best friend's lips.

Daveed didn't like it. He thought to himself that it looked as if the two of you had developed a secret language in the time it had taken him to wrap Rafa's hand. What the hell had he missed out on?

"Of course," you nodded slowly, your eyes still interlocking with Rafa's, "Let me just grab some pants, okay?"

"Yeah, okay," Rafa whispered, a hopeful look on his face, "thanks."

What the fuck was going on between you two?

Daveed watched you send Rafa a small smile, your face flushed. The sexual tension was thick between the two of you, and Daveed felt the jealousy burn in his chest as neither of you were looking away from the other. How the fuck dare Rafa flirt with the girl that he had brought home?! How dare he send you those hungry looks?! It was itching in Daveed's hands to do something about the long, continuous gaze between you and in his frustration, he curled his fingers and accidentally pressed on Rafa's wound, making him hiss in pain as he shot back an angry look. Daveed was far too busy looking over at you, however. You finally had your attention directed at him - and not Rafa - your eyes huge and doe-like, looking as if you'd just woken up from a trance. He shot you a look as if to say 'what the fuck is going on?' and you gulped guiltily.

Suddenly realising that he finally had the full attention of both you and Rafa, Daveed spoke up in a voice that was much more strained than he had intended, "Nope! Not gonna happen! Uh-uh, absolutely no fucking way," he shot his best friend a hard look, "Rafa you can take a cab!" he turned his attention back to you, "Baby go back to bed, I'll be there in a second!"

He noticed your eyes skating between his own face and Rafa's and he sternly let out a "he'll take the cab, okay!" He didn't like the way you were looking at each other, and he still very much intended on fucking you tonight no matter how big of a cock-block Rafa was being!

He was trying to catch your eye, but you had your gaze firmly placed on Rafa again, seemingly unable to look away. Daveed noticed how you let out a small gulp as Rafa shot you a careful nod as if giving you permission to leave.

What the hell was going on????

He also noticed the long glance the two of you shared before you gently closed the door behind you as you exited the bathroom.

What! The! Fuck!

Daveed felt his chest bubbling over. He had never felt this way towards Rafa before, but his best friend had never looked more punchable! Automatically, his fingers once more pressed in hard on Rafa's wound.

"Ah! Dude what the fuck!" Rafa yelped loudly.

"What the fuck was that all about?" Daveed spat, "you're flirting with my girl!"

"She's not your girl just because you brought her home for one night, Diggs!" Rafa hissed angrily through gritted teeth.

"What the hell are you talking about?!" Daveed felt as if his eyes were bulging out of his skull, "She's crazy about me! You should've seen the way she was begging for it at the bar!"

"Yeah, I saw everything," Rafa said slowly with anger in his eyes, a low growl to his voice as he drunkenly staggered to his feet, "I saw exactly how you swooped in and thought you could erase eight years of history between me and her!"

"What the fuck are you talking about?" Daveed hissed before his voice turned to frustrated yelling, "Rafa, you have no history with her!" he too stood up, so they were eye to eye, "you made out with her once eight years ago and now no one else is allowed to touch her?! If you wanted a shot with her, you should have done something ages ago!"

"I did do something ages ago! I kissed her!"

"Yeah! And then you had eight years of nothing! You didn't even talk to her! How the fuck was I supposed to know that you wanted to kiss her again???"

"You could have asked me!" Rafa yelled frustratedly.

"I could have asked you?! Come on, man!! You're thirty-three years old for fucks sake! If you wanted something to happen with her, you should've engaged yourself!"

"I was planning on doing so tonight!" Rafa hissed angrily, "and she would've said yes if it hadn't been for you!"

"No she wouldn't!" Daveed was minutes away from pulling out his own hair. How could Rafa be so thick?! "Don't you think that something would've happened by now if you both wanted it so badly?"

"Did you not see how she was eye-fucking me just now?" Rafa yelled angrily, sending Daveed a hard look.

Daveed let out a low growl, "yeah, meanwhile I was minutes away from actually fucking her! If she really wanted you, don't you think she would've given you more signals than a few pitiful looks because you're drunk and hurt? She doesn't want you, man!!"

"Fuck you!!!" Rafa spat angrily and shoved Daveed in the chest causing him to stagger backwards as he was pushed out of balance.

"What the fuck's the matter with you!" Daveed spat as he took a step closer to Rafa, balling up his fists and sending him a threatening look, "you really want me to beat you up?"

"Do whatever the fuck you want with me as long as you stay away from her!" Rafa yelled and gave Daveed another hard shove in the chest. His eyes were bloodshot and Daveed had never seen him this angry before.

"What the fuck's gone into you?" He yelled louder than before, "she clearly doesn't want you! Why can't you just let her go?!"

"Because I'm in love with her!" Rafa yelled loudly, spit flying everywhere. His eyes were huge and aggressive.

Daveed took a step backwards and stared at his panting best friend as his angry words sank in. Rafa's nostrils were flared, and it looked as if he was about to punch Daveed in the face.

...Rafa was in love with you? Daveed could punch himself! Why hadn't he seen it before? Of course Rafa was in love with you... He took a deep breath to calm himself down before he quietly spoke: "Yes - well I'm crazy about her too..."

Rafa was still panting heavily, his nostrils still flared as he shot Daveed a hard look - but he didn't say anything.

They had feelings for the same girl... Daveed frustratedly pinched the bridge of his nose as the realisation sank in; a girl had come between them. How high school... "Shit," he said quietly, "what do we do now?"

Rafa shot him a dark look and answered immediately: "you back down!" he said harshly but not as aggressively as before.

"I'm not going to back down, Rafa," Daveed answered him quietly. He full-on intended on making you his no matter what Rafa's feelings were.

"I've been in love with her for eight years!" Rafa spat angrily but he had stopped yelling, "You have for eight minutes! Don't you think it's more fair that you let me have a shot?!"

Daveed was getting more and more frustrated by the second but was happy that Rafa had chosen to use those exact words: "Exactly Rafa! You had eight years! You sat on your hands for eight years and you expect her to come running to you now? You expect me to let you have a shot? You've had millions of opportunities to do something!"

Rafa's face was still wild but his tone of voice was quiet and determined: "you saw the look she just sent me!" he said darkly.

Daveed had to give it to him; the way you'd been staring at Rafa had confused him too: "Listen, I don't know what the fuck that was, but if she had any feelings for you at all, why would she go home with me?" He said quietly, "why would she take off her clothes for me and not you?"

Rafa shook his head back and forth as if refusing to believe the argument, "No..." he croaked, "please don't say it like that, man..."

"Bruh..." Daveed sighed, "I'm sorry it is this way, but I don't know what else to tell you." He felt bad for Rafa but he wasn't going to back down. No chance.

"Please don't fuck her," Rafa pleaded quietly. His heart obviously broken.

"You know I'm not going to guarantee you that..."

"Just... Let me talk to her first."

"What do you expect to gain from that?"

"She wants to talk to me too..."

"Maybe - but it won't go your way. She's lying naked in my bed right now! She made her decision, bruh."

Rafa looked pained. He was clutching his chest with his eyes screwed shut, a small tear rolling down his cheek, "fuck!" he quietly worded before he fell to his knees in front of the toilet and threw up.

You

"I'm going to murder him for this!" Daveed pulled himself away from you and on to his feet, desperately looking around the room for something to wear. He finally pulled out a pair of clean boxers from his closet, pulled them on, and hurried out of the bedroom to see what was going on with Rafa. He had sounded very drunk and even though you had been slightly amused by his constant swearing throughout the house, the sound of glass smashing combined with his drunk cries for help, had also left you a bit nervous that something serious might've happened to him. What if he had cut himself badly and Daveed couldn't handle it alone? Rafa was your friend too after all. You had to make sure everything was all right with him.

Quickly, you jumped from Daveed's bed, pulled on your panties, and looked around the room for something to wear that could cover your body as your own dress had been discarded during the make-out session in the hallway. You quickly located a black t-shirt that was casually thrown over a chair in the corner of the room and pulled it over your head, grateful that it covered you all the way down to the top of your thighs. Ready to leave Daveed's bedroom, and with your hand already on the doorknob, you took a brief look at yourself in the mirror to make sure you were decent. You tried padding down your messy sex-hair but the sound of Rafa hissing in pain from the other room had you abandon any thought of trying to fix your looks - Rafa's injuries seemed much more urgent. Forcing your eyes away from your own reflection, you opened the door to the hallway instead and listened for their voices.

"Just fix my hand, okay?! Make it stop bleeding!" you heard Rafa slur from the room next door. He was clearly very drunk.

"Sit still!!" Daveed growled.

It sounded as if they had the situation under control and you were just about to go back to Daveed's bed and wait for him there when you heard Rafa exclaim, "Oh fuck! Fuck it hurts!"

It made you do a U-turn on your heel and you decided to check in on the two men to see if they were in need of any extra help. Softly, you knocked on the door but didn't listen for an answer as you immediately poked in your head and took in the scene in the small bathroom: the two men were sitting next to each other; Daveed on the edge of the bathtub with Rafa's bloody hand in his lap while Rafa was splayed on the floor looking very drunk. Both of them were looking directly up at you with equally soft expressions on their faces. Daveed's eyes were loving as he silently apologised for having to help his best friend clean up. Rafa, on the other hand, was staring up at you with a sorrowful look on his pale face, his eyes huge and red-rimmed, his Adam's apple bouncing up and down in his throat as he gulped hard.

The tension between them was thick, the air cold. Both of them clearly equally annoyed with the other.

"Is everything alright in here?" You asked quietly as you pushed open the door and stepped inside, tugging on your t-shirt to prevent it from riding up.

"Rafa cut himself..." Daveed rolled his eyes so only you could see before he continued, "- and apparently he's too drunk to handle it alone," he shot Rafa an annoyed sideway-glance before he turned his attention to the gauze and Rafa's blood-covered hand in his lap.

You watched Rafa send Daveed an equally irritated glance, looking as if he was biting his tongue to keep himself from retorting something nasty. He had probably already realised that he needed Daveed's help to get the wound to stop bleeding and that he wouldn't get it by being crass. So instead, Rafa silently let Daveed wrap his hand as his eyes slowly found yours, his expression immediately changing from annoyed to soft.

You sent him a small reassuring smile and a goofy expression emerged on his drunk face when he happily reciprocated it. You let out a small laugh at his expression and he blinked a few times, looking as if he was saving the sound on his mental hard drive. His foggy eyes were softly gazing up at you with a soulful look, and he looked drunk but cute as he took you in, a weird undertone in his gaze that you couldn't quite place. It was a look that you recognised from somewhere, but not from him - from someone else. You scanned his face one more time, raking your brain to find out from where you knew the gaze, he was sending you, but it wasn't immediately clear. Suddenly however, you realised that it was the same look that Daveed had sent you several times over the last couple of weeks. It was a look of longing.

Softly, you cocked your head at him, and he sent you a small, sad smile in return, his green eyes kindly taking in your face before they travelled down your body, ultimately landing on your chest. You immediately folded your arms, and he looked back up into your eyes, your eyebrows now arched in an unimpressed manner, silently tell him that he'd been caught staring red-handed. His face screwed up in a painful expression and he paled a bit before he quietly slurred, "'s that my shirt?".

Unaware of what he was talking about, you looked towards the mirror above the sink on the opposite side of the bathroom wall, and when you caught your own reflection, you realised that he hadn't been staring at your chest. He'd been staring at the logo on the t-shirt. The Raiders logo - his football team. You weren't wearing Daveed's shirt. You were wearing Rafa's.

You'd seen him in it multiple times - hell, he'd even worn it the night you'd kissed on top of the skate ramps. You remembered because every so often your mind wandered back to that night. Played it on repeat. Rafa's hand on your thigh as Stevie Nicks' voice rang in the background. Your tongues intertwining. The stubble on his chin soft between your fingertips. The scent of his warm cologne. The thought of your passionate kiss that summer night eight years ago was enough to make a warm feeling appear in your stomach.

Still looking at yourself in the mirror, you let your arms drop to the side and took in your own reflection. The t-shirt was a few sizes too big for you and it covered you like a short dress, just barely reaching below the red panties you were wearing underneath. The Raiders logo took up most of the front of the shirt and the logo curved nicely along your breasts and waistline, making the oversized men's shirt actually look as if it'd been tailored to you. You liked this look. You actually looked good in Rafa's t-shirt.

From far away you heard Daveed's voice, "let it go, bruh," and it pulled you back to reality.

"Oh... Raiders..." you said quietly, unable to pry your eyes away from the way the t-shirt was hugging your curves. No wonder Rafa was staring at you. You had gone home with his roomie, yet you'd put on his shirt - and you even looked good in it. "I'm sorry. I didn't realise," you croaked.

Rafa was looking as if he was thinking about the same thing as you, and for a second you were afraid that he might get angry about the fact that Daveed's flirt was wearing his beloved Raiders t-shirt, but he just softly said, "yeah, no. Don't be. It looks good on you..."

You didn't react to his words but merely stared at yourself in the mirror as the memories of your Tacos Locos summer once more flooded your mind - and you slowly felt a dull ache in your chest when you looked back at Rafa's pained expression and realised that maybe there was a reason for his look of longing, his quiet, pained reaction to seeing you half-naked in his shirt when you'd gone home with his best friend. He probably wasn't as cool with you and Daveed as Daveed had let on. Maybe your suspicion about why Rafa had invited you to join his production was right after all...

Oh no.

The thought of kissing Rafa again had grazed your mind several times in the period of time between his phone call offering you the job, and your first day on set where you'd been introduced to his best friend for the first time. Daveed, however, had immediately pushed every sensual thought of Rafa out of your head and had instead replaced them with unholy thoughts about himself. The sexual attraction that you had felt towards Daveed for the past month was insane and you were definitely crazy about him! ...Still, you wondered if he was the type of man, you'd still fantasise about eight years after having shared a passionate kiss in the dark. The same way you so often had found yourself fantasising about Rafa.

...had you just made a huge mistake?

Rafa's cheeks paled considerably as his gaze constantly shifted between your face and the Raiders logo. He was clearly affected by the fact that you were wearing his shirt and nothing else, and it looked as if he was having a hard time sitting still. The tender yet hurtful look he sent you made you feel horrible about yourself and all the decisions that had led to this exact moment. What if things had been different back in the taco truck eight years ago? What if he had actually taken you home after one of your late nights out? And what if Daveed hadn't been so persistent in hooking up with you over the last couple of weeks? If he hadn't been so smooth and charming, would he still have been able to swoop in right before Rafa? Or would you eventually have gone home with Rafa instead?

Would it feel more right to be sleeping in Rafa's bed tonight?

Oh no...

"Shit!" Daveed's voice brought you back from your panicky train of thought. You looked over at him, his face sweet and innocent as he was helping his best friend recover, and you realised: no, it wouldn't feel more right to be sleeping in Rafa's bed tonight. But it would feel just as right as sleeping in Daveed's.

"Baby, can you get me more gauze out of the cabinet?" he continued.

Baby. It had slipped out of him. He hadn't even realised it... The caring, handsome man in front of you had called you baby and you couldn't help but send him a small smile as it had made you soft. You were baby to him.

Rafa had a reaction to the pet name too: he looked as if he was about to murder Daveed.

Desperately trying to untangle yourself from the situation you had put yourself in, you turned over to the cabinets and pulled out more gauze, promptly handing it over to Daveed before resuming your position in the doorframe.

Immediately, you and Rafa went back to staring at each other again, both unable to look away. The looks he was sending you were deep and longing, his eyes pained as he grew more and more tense with each passing second. He looked as if he wanted to touch you, to kiss you, to hold you tight. Shit.

Your eyes were flickering fast between the two men: both of them sweet and handsome. Both of them crazy about you. You couldn't decide whether or not you had made a mistake by choosing to go home with Daveed tonight.

Daveed broke the tension in the small bathroom when he in an irritated tone of voice said, "Look, I can bandage this to keep it from bleeding all over, but you need to go to the hospital for stitches or something."

Rafa let out a small grunt without looking away from you. It looked as if he wanted to tell you something but was unable to with Daveed being present. It was heart-breaking.

You liked Daveed very much but realised that you had to talk to Rafa as well. You had to hear what he had to say, "...I can take you," you piped up in a voice that was weirdly nervous, "I can drive. I almost didn't drink tonight."

"You'd - you'd do that?" Rafa said in a whisper and sent you a warm look.

"Of course," you nodded slowly, suddenly desperate to talk to him, to hear his thoughts, "Let me just grab some pants, okay?"

"Yeah, okay. Thanks," Rafa said quietly, his pained expression now completely replaced by a hopeful one.

Daveed had definitely noticed that something was going on with you because the annoyance was practically seeping out of him though he was trying his best to keep calm. He did something to Rafa's hand that had Rafa hissing in pain and shooting Daveed an angry look with his lips pressed together in a thin, white line.

Your eyes whipped over to Daveed as well. He was sending you a hurt look that said 'what the fuck are you doing?' and you gulped guiltily. Had he realised that you were unsure about what to do with the two men in front of you?

"Nope!" Daveed said loudly, shaking his head vigorously, "Not gonna happen. Uh-uh, absolutely no fucking way. Rafa you can take a cab!" he shot Rafa a hard look before he turned back to you, his eyes soft, but his voice full of irritation, "Baby, go back to bed, I'll be there in a second!"

There it was again. Baby. You looked into Daveed's soft brown eyes that were looking pleadingly back at you, your knees immediately weak. Slowly, you let your gaze wander a bit to the left and met Rafa's huge green eyes too. They also made you feel incredibly soft.

Daveed noticed your gaze drifting over to Rafa and harshly interjected, "he'll take a cab, okay!"

Rafa sent you a slight nod as if to say that it was alright for you to leave, and that he could handle Daveed and his bleeding hand on his own. Meanwhile Daveed was staring at his best friend with a murderous look in his eyes. You realised that they had to resolve some stuff too, so even though it hurt in your chest, you slowly turned away from the two men, and walked back to Daveed's bedroom. Just before the door to the bathroom closed behind you, you heard the beginning of an argument between the two friends: "Ah! Dude what the fuck!" Rafa yelped loudly.

To which Daveed angrily responded with a "What the fuck was that all about? You're flirting with my girl!" It was more a statement than a question.

You sat awkwardly on Daveed's bed, unsure of what to do now. Daveed had noticed the long looks between you and Rafa. Shit. Even though you hadn't intended it, you had still managed to turn them against each other.

You could hear their angry voices from the other side of the wall, but you didn't want to listen in on their private conversation, so you put your fingers in your ears. Their shouted words were not meant for you. It was a desperate conversation between two best friends, and even though you could've easily followed their screaming match, it didn't seem right to do so. Desperately, you pressed in on your ear canal and started humming softly to tune out most of their angry words. Still, snippets of their loud conversation penetrated your ears.

"Rafa, you have no history with her!" Daveed was yelling before Rafa's voice was heard a few seconds later: "Did you not see how she was eye-fucking me just now?" followed a little while later by a loud "Fuck you!" from Rafa and an angry "you really want me to beat you up?" from Daveed. They kept yelling loudly at each other, but you tried not to decipher their angry words as you found them private. There was a reason why they had sent you out of the bathroom after all.

After a few minutes, their angry yells finally died down completely and were instead replaced by muffled words in normal voices that you couldn't make out even if you tried. You slowly removed your fingers from your ears, instead burying your face in your hands, angry with yourself for having let it come to this.

Their muffled voices could be heard for a few seconds before the sound was disrupted by someone retching.

One of them was throwing up, the other completely silent. You listened intently for a few seconds to see if you could make out who was throwing up, hoping that the other would say some words of comfort, but neither of them spoke, and after about a minute of silence, you heard footsteps approaching the room you were lying in. The doorknob twisted and Daveed entered the room slowly, his eyes full of pain as he took you in. He sat down on the bed next to you, panting hard, obviously very upset about the entire situation. It hurt seeing him like this. And it hurt thinking about Rafa lying alone in the bathroom. You dried an annoying tear away from your cheek and just barely managed to reset your face before Daveed looked up at you with a sad smile. You did your best to look casual as if you hadn't got the faintest idea of what their screaming match had been about. You acted as if wearing Rafa's shirt meant nothing. Seeing his pained expression had done nothing. Hearing him sob in the bathroom made you feel no ways.

"Everything okay?" You asked Daveed carefully.

"Yeah," he grunted.

"How about Rafa?" you said quietly. Even the sound of his name hurt in your chest.

"He's..." Daveed's words died in his throat as he frustratedly buried his face in his hands with a deep sigh.

You gulped, "is he okay alone out there?"

"Can we please not talk about Rafa right now?" he said slowly.

"Yeah..." you nodded quietly, "come here," you folded your arms around his chest, hugging him tight. He pulled you on top of him and hugged you back, his strong arms squeezing you, bringing you comfort as if he knew what you were going through as well. You sat like this for a few seconds, your arms wrapped tightly around each other comforting the broken feeling you both felt in your chests until his lips slowly found their way to your neck, leaving sweet, sensual kisses to the side of your throat.

"Look," you said quietly, pulling yourself away from him and looking into his chocolate brown eyes, "it's not that I don't enjoy this, but I just think it's for the best if I go home."

"What? No?" Daveed looked up at you with a pained expression, "come on, we can't let Rafa ruin our night," he groaned and moved closer to you but suddenly paused, "unless you don't want to of course. I don't want to force you into anything," he looked carefully at you and you understood why. He wanted to make sure that you were comfortable with the decision you were making. Comfortable with him.

It made you realise that the fact that you were lying in Daveed's bedroom half-naked, meant that you had made your choice long ago. You needed to stick with it.

"Yeah, okay," you said and moved your lips close to his, kissing him softly.

"You have no idea how happy that makes me," he groaned against your lips and you felt him breathe a sigh of relief as if a weight had been lifted off his shoulders. He quickly pulled Rafa's t-shirt over your head, and harshly threw it onto the ground next to the bed. You couldn't help but think of the symbolics in his heated gesture.

His warm hands immediately found your breasts and he started running his fingers over your nipples with a low growl. You enjoyed the confident, hungry look he sent you as you were once again bare-chested in front of him. He moved his face closer to yours, "I still fully intent on making you feel good and make you let loose a little," he repeated his words from earlier that evening with a smile and carefully pushed you down on the bed, a warm shiver travelling up your spine with his words and movements. He hovered above you before his lips started pressing small, peppered kisses to the side of your throat, his one hand running down your stomach and dipping down between your legs, making you gasp softly. His lips moved over your collarbone and down between the valley of your breasts, taking one of your nipples in his mouth, and making you arch your back against him, as you felt his erection pressed up between your legs. He groaned as he pushed his boxer-clad erection closer to you, looking down at you with an erotic spark in his eye. Your fingers found his soft hair and you raked a hand through his curls and reciprocated the look he was sending you; dark and sensual.

You were both getting lost in the sensations you were causing each other when you were interrupted by the sound of Rafa retching and his heart-breaking sobs from the next room. It made your stomach ache horribly and you interrupted the kiss with Daveed, looking towards the wall to the bathroom instead. "I'm sorry, I can't just leave him alone with that..."

"What? You're not serious?" He looked at you with a disappointed look on his face.

"Listen to him," you said softly, as Rafa let out another heartbroken sob.

"He'll be fine," Daveed responded harshly before he resumed kissing your throat.

You pulled your face away from him, raking a hand through his hair one more time, "he's your best friend. Do you really want him to be alone right now? He sounds so heartbroken."

"Trust me - you do not want to deal with him right now."

Rafa retched loudly.

"I'm sorry," you kissed Daveed briefly, "but I have to make sure he's okay. I'll be back in a second."

Daveed let out an irritated grunt but eventually let go of you so you could crawl down from his lap. You quickly found the Raiders t-shirt on the floor and pulled it over your head, exiting the bedroom in a swift motion.

You knocked quietly on the door to the bathroom and found Rafa lying on the floor next to the toilet sobbing quietly. "Rafa, honey, are you okay?" you said softly as you sat down next to him and carefully put your hand on his chest.

He took a deep breath and looked up at you with wet eyes. The gaze he sent you was bloodshot, but he wasn't as pale as before. Throwing up some of the alcohol had definitely done him some good. "Hey," he whispered in a raspy voice as he put his good hand on top of yours, closing his eyes again taking three deep breaths. You noticed that he didn't answer your question.

As you pulled your hand away from his chest to fix him a glass of water, he groaned at the lack of touch and sat up straight, sleepily resting his head on the edge of the tub, looking at you with tired, sad eyes.

"Are you done throwing up?" you asked him as you handed him the glass.

He took a big gulp and nodded "I think so... Listen, can we talk?"

You sent him a small smile, "tomorrow, okay?" you didn't want to cause him anymore heartbreak tonight, "let's get you to bed," you held out your hand.

"Yeah, okay..." he took your hand and let you pull him to his feet. He was still very drunk, so you had to help him with his balance, your arm tightly wrapped around his waist, "come here," you chuckled and walked him to his room with his arm draped over your shoulder. As soon as you entered his personal space, he threw himself down on the bed with a loud groan.

"You're not going to disrobe?" you chuckled at him.

"Yeah, no... I don't care right now," he said and closed his eyes, "I just want to sleep... Let this absolute shit night be over."

You guiltily shook your head and forcefully pulled off his Chelsea boots and socks.

"Are you trying to get me naked?" He joked sleepily from the bed; his eyes closed.

"I'm trying to get you comfortable," you chuckled, "you have to take off your shirt and pants yourself."

Rafa groaned but sat up straight before he pulled his shirt over his head. His eyes were still closed, and his long hair was falling in unruly strands around his face. He looked exhausted as he undid the button on his pants and slid them off himself, plumping down on the bed afterwards.

"You don't think I'll bleed to death, do you?" he groaned and lifted his bandaged hand a little.

"I'm absolutely positive you won't," you chuckled at him, "if it's still bleeding tomorrow, I'll take you to the hospital, okay?"

"Okay, can't wait," he smiled sleepily and gave out a quiet snore as if he'd briefly fallen asleep. He was lying flat on his back which gave you time to study the tattoos he had on his chest and forearms. Some of them you didn't like, others were beautiful. He had one on his pec that you'd never seen before.

"If I love you, I have to make you conscious of the things you don't see," you read out loud, looking at his chest.

Even though Rafa had his eyes closed and looked as if he was just about to fall asleep again, he knew what you were talking about and softly tapped the tattoo he had on his pec, "that's right," he slurred with a small smile. For the first time since he'd cut himself, he looked as if he was peaceful, and you tugged one of his long strands of blonde hair away from his eyes and behind his ear instead. Your fingers lingered on his cheek for a second and he kissed your palm with a small hum, "that means that I have to make you conscious of the things you don't see," he whispered before he drifted off completely.

"Alright Rafa," you chuckled quietly as you ran your fingers through his soft hair. He had started breathing heavily, already fast asleep, "thanks for explaining the words of your tattoo with the exact same words!" You got up from the bed and quietly closed the door behind you as you walked out into the hallway.

You'd only walked a few steps towards Daveed's room when the meaning behind Rafa's sentence hit you and you froze in place. Inside your head, the written words of the tattoo and Rafa's whispered words played on repeat. He hadn't explained the tattoo to you. He had told you that he loved you.

He loved you. Rafa was in love with you.

And you were walking towards the bedroom of his best friend. You turned your head slightly, looking towards Rafa's room. Should you go back to him? Or continue to Daveed? You were completely frozen in time, desperately looking between the two bedroom doors on either side of the bathroom in the hallway, realising that even though you might have been lying naked in Daveed's arms only minutes before, Rafa's words hurt so much in your chest that your decision-making was far from over.

Rafa's room was to the left. He had just confessed his feelings for you. Or, he didn't just have feelings for you; he was in love with you. Probably had been since your summer together in the taco truck. You wouldn't say that you were in love with him, but there was definitely raw, heated attraction towards him on your part as well, or you wouldn't still be thinking about your drunk kiss in the dark eight years ago, the way he was always able to make you laugh, his soft, green eyes. It hurt in your chest to think about how you'd potentially wasted eight years without him by your side. If you went to him, you'd either finally be able to stop thinking of him as 'the one who got away' and actually engage in something romantic with him - or you'd see that eight years of absence might have grown the heart so fond that you had put him on a pedestal that he couldn't live up to.

Daveed's room was to the right. He was waiting for you in there, probably ready to fuck you so good that you wouldn't be able to remember your own name. The preview he'd given you earlier tonight had definitely shown you that he was able to bring all your sexual fantasies to life! And you had craved his touch for so long, to feel his strong hands on your body as he slid into you while whispering sweet words in your ear. You and him definitely had some insane potential - not to mention the fact that he was already calling you baby! He was so crazy about you that you were baby to him! - but did you feel the same emotional attraction to him? Or was the warm feeling in your stomach whenever you looked at him all due to sexual attraction? Could you and he ever become more than raw passion?

No matter what, you'd have to choose between them. You couldn't have both. With whomever you chose, you'd never be able to have the other.

Carefully, you weighed both your options; left or right? Rafa or Daveed?

You started at both of their doors, unsure about where to go, but eventually made a decision. With a deep breath, you stepped closer to the wooden door, grabbed door handle and stepped inside, softly closing the door behind you as you took in the handsome man on the bed.

Tagging: @exrthangel @theatrenerd86 @lonelydance @ohsoverykeri @summerofsnowflakes @ramp-it-up @alexander-hamilhoe @honeysucklechocolatedrippin @riiyy @mysearchforgratification @janthony-stan @sillyteecup @biafbunny @einfachniemand @cashskid @namelesslosers @simpinforu​ @diggsbeatriz​ (Imma keep tagging you unless you say something lol).

....No spoilers in the comments please :-) 

#rafael casal x reader #rafael casal #daveed diggs #blindspotting #battle of the bay boys #rafael casal imagine #rafael casal fanfiction #bay boys #they gon fight #sorry rafa #sorry diggs #sorry reader

[sealbatross]

I ended up loving this version more, so of course its time to break down Emotions-Why in “Great Comet Original Cast Recording”™.

Disclaimer: POV of someone who has A. read the book, B. listened to the Broadway version, C. knows nothing about music, and D. is attracted to SAD.

So, uh. Long unwarranted appreciation ramble post below :’)

Prologue ----- I love Dave's voice for Pierre. It's so distinctive - more despicable (for lack of a better word) than classically noble which I find very endearing. And it makes him stand out more… (I'm dumb and only realized Pierre sang the first couple of lines after listening to this version).

Pierre -----

"I used to be better..." *CLICK* "HUUUHHHHHHHHHNNNN OHHHHHHHH PIERRE"

I love the clicking noise here so much. Like the cocking of a gun.

Moscow ----- Marya is less… dramatic (which is hilarious on the Broadway version), but having slightly less of an exaggeration helps her feel more human.

(Ok but I do love “while I Ḵ̵̘̫̋͂̅̎̃̒͛̃N̸̛̫̼͕̣͔̜̥̹̔͛̉̒̏̒̍̄̀͛̒̆̈́̍İ̵̢̧͔̩̦̯̥̉̎̐T̷̩̫̟̗̤͆̈́͊̾̔” from Broadway)

The Private and Intimate Life of the House ----- Prince Bolkonsky saying his friends are all dead hits hard. This makes the estrangement between Mary and the Prince tragic from both sides. It also further validates Mary's disgust at herself for wishing harm upon her father.

“my money, my house” - this is all that the old Prince has left from the life he's lived - “I’ll spend it how I want” he says angrily... And then the sudden turn to panic from forgetfulness and failing body. It’s easier to see where he’s coming from, and very reflective of the consequences of aging. This is played for some laughs on Broadway instead (very good chuckles mind you).

Natasha and the Bolkonskys ----- Natasha is more unsure... like she's trying to gather courage by saying

"I know they’ll like me Everyone has always liked me"

, and consequently, she is more sympathetic. Broadway Natasha is very peppy and seems to absolutely believe in “I know they’ll like me” - which makes the impending rejection humorous and more consequent.

Broadway Natasha, in contrast to Mary’s timid salutation says “Hello” happily and confidently, which gives Mary something that she can respond to with dislike (in the context of listening only to the album, no visual on appearance etc.). Meanwhile, in the Original, Mary and Natasha both have timid “hello”s and seem to be on the same page (until the inner monologue GOES OFF (the twist is wonderful in both)). This makes Original Natasha’s situation seem more tragic - Original Natasha did nothing (personality-wise) to trigger Mary's rebuke. It just happened as a consequence of their positions in life.

Original Prince Bolkonsky was more clever with his mocking of Natasha. In a way that stings poisonous due to the uncertainty, treating her like a child, mocking her intelligence in understanding his intention of offence:

“Excuse me my costume, this dressing gown— I did not know, my poor. girl.”

No one else ----- Original cast of this song holds more weight because of Natasha’s temperament (again). Broadway Natasha gets over the slight with the Bolkonskys quickly - she's already smiling one line into "No One Else" right after she supposedly burst into tears. Making this song seem a turn of mind from one subject to another rather than a consequence of the previous event.

In the Original casting, however, Natasha remained much softer and more sombre until she described in detail what she loves about Andrei - (childlike eyes etc.) like being cheered by a friend’s imagined presence... like when you’re having a horrible social interaction when waiting for a good friend - and the friend finally shows up.

The Ball ----- Bway Natasha seems very happy when she sings “I will love you Anatole” (which always hurts regardless) but the Original Natasha doesn’t seem too happy singing this - as if this is going against her will… like it’s her funeral... You’ve probably noticed a pattern - Natasha being sadder / not always smiley and peppy allows me to sympathize better with her. The more sympathy the more personally emotional her downfall = tear time.

The Duel ----- Original Pierre sounds like he really means to pour everything into his mouth. You can hear the depravity.

Pierre and Andrei ----- Original Andrei’s gentle and even tone matches the not-dwelling-on-it-too-much of book Andrei (from what I can remember). Then “coldly, maliciously” comes after like a twist. And the whole mood of the scene shifts in a neat way. That being said Broadway Andrei has wonderfully conflicted emotion in his voice that is just👌

Pierre and Natasha ----- The Original has a faster tempo and is thus happier. Less dramatized. Like a normal meeting between two people, not a finale pour-your-emotions-out moment. Yellow. Sunny. Mid-afternoon through the windows. Softer. Smiling Pierre thinking it ridiculous that Natasha would think her life over.

Meanwhile Broadway - an immediate feeling of blue and moonlight, and cold. The echo in Pierre’s voice. Pierre is very emotional, much fear, much sad. Lots of trembling and emphasis. ~did you love that BAD MAN~~ ~~ DON'T CALL HIM BAD~~~ mmmm that's good. Oh, the pacing is so good.

Anyways.

I love the Original cast Pierre's speech. It isn't so classically (I've been using this word a lot) emotional. It's… sheepish. And hits differently.

P.S. The style of this musical makes so much sense after reading the book. It's got this matching humour acknowledging the little defections of people, and how emotion and chance and misunderstanding drives our lives.

Shoutout to the music too, it bends to support the emotion of the story. If it's dissonant it's because it's portraying a conflict in these people. If there’s a boss fight, then there is boss fight music.

Also, Broadway is…. Well, better for Broadway, it's more dramatic and with a lot more funny moments. It also has a clearer and cleaner portrayal of the characters which is great for first-time viewers and group party watching. The Original is more nuanced/not as clear and good for the crying-at-home-alone experience. And I know which of these I am.

Congrats on making it all the way down here, I'd love to hear any of your thoughts!

#great comet #im sorry lmao #i just love it #war and peace #feel free to leave any thoughts #im currently knee deep in this musical #my rambles #taking a break from Dust and Ashes animatic for a second

[benedictscanvas]

just you and i - spencer reid x reader

Pairing: Spencer Reid x Reader

Word Count: 2.7k

Warnings: this is a fluff fest without reprieve - read at own risk

A/N: I cannot stop writing fluff, I swear. Sorry all y’all angst lovers, but it just isn’t my scene. Here’s a super self-indulgent wedding fic since I’m not feeling my best and wanted to imagine a wedding with Spence where not everything goes to plan - in the best way. Enjoy loves! :)

---

It wasn’t that you were panicking. Not as such. You’d wanted to marry Spencer for a very long time, had been waiting for this moment for longer than you ever hoped you would have to because your jobs had postponed your own wedding no less than four times. But now, as you sat in your wedding dress alone and looked out the window, watching people arrive just hours from the big moment, your heart rate spiked.

It turned out there was a lot of people that you didn’t even know you’d invited that were showing up to celebrate. It was sweet of them to come...but it was also completely ridiculous and overwhelming when you had no idea so many people would be here.

Curse you for leaving most of your wedding planning to other people.

Your bridesmaids had left you to some alone time, Emily suggesting that it might be nice for you to have a moment alone to take in the magic of the day. It had been a sweet thought at the time, but now you were beginning to rethink it.

Without much thought, you dialled your favourite number and waited.

“Is everything alright?”

He answered on the first ring and sounded just as flustered as you felt. You supposed it wasn’t exactly normal to call your future husband on the morning of your wedding.

“Of course, sorry Spence, everything’s fine,” you breathed, quick to reassure him, and you heard his breath of relief with a twinge of guilt, “I- well I just-”

He heard the tone in your voice as clear as anything.

“I’m coming to find you.”

His voice was hushed, and you warranted that Derek was probably with him. He hung up quickly and you put the phone down, wondering whether this was a good idea. But you’d never been one for superstition and you knew that you were going to spend the rest of your life with the man you loved whether everything went well today or not.

Before you knew it, there was a knock on your door. He was only down the hall of the hotel after all. When you opened the door, you saw him with his hand over his eyes and you grinned, pulling him into your room before any of your bridesmaids could see and reprimand the two of you.

“I won’t look if you don’t want me to,” he said worriedly, still clamping his hand tightly over his eyes. You laughed, slowly pulling his hand away from his face and letting it fall limp by his side. His eyes were still screwed shut.

“Spencer,” you murmured softly, watching him with a smile that was as fond as it could be. He looked so pretty, “Would you please open your eyes for me? I’ve already looked at you and, damn I’m glad I have.”

He was grinning, just like you’d wanted.

“That’s not the superstition, the whole point is that the groom isn’t supposed to-“

“Baby,” you muttered, taking his face in your hands with all the tenderness you held for him, “Please?”

He opens his eyes and now he looks infinitely more pretty than he did before. His eyes sparkle as he looks at you with a love you never truly believed you’d find and winds his arms gently around your waist.

“You look beautiful, angel,” he whispers, only for you, his voice choked. You try to hold back your own tears as you kiss him, pulling him into you with fervour. When you pull away, you keep him close, temples pressed together as his lips graze your ear. You shiver.

“Why are we having a wedding, Spence?”

That probably came out wrong. His closeness is gone quickly and it’s all you can do not to clamp him back to your chest again. His eyes are wide and the fear within them is plain as day.

“What?”

“Oh god, sorry, that’s not how I meant that to come out...at all,” you struggled for the words, feeling all your earlier anxieties piling on top of you again, “I want to marry you more than anything in this world Spence, you know that, but why did we agree to have a wedding? And such a big one too!”

He was relaxed again, thank goodness. You decided you really needed to stop scaring him shitless on what was guaranteed to be the best day of your shared lives.

He considers your question properly before he answers. It seems he comes to the same conclusion that you do.

“Honestly? I don’t know. I think we got swept up in what everyone else wanted.”

“Right?” you agreed, “It’s like just because we have busy jobs means that we basically went along with what everyone suggested. We were so stupid!”

“So stupid!”

He laughed and you joined him in it. This was what you wanted for your wedding. Just you and Spencer. Simple. It was what you wanted for the entirety of your marriage.

“You know what I would’ve been happy with?” you ask, a playful smile on your face that he just can’t resist as you reach for him again, winding your arms up and around his neck while his encircle your waist with all the warmth in the world.

“What’s that?”

“You. Me. The conference room. Couple of strings of fairy lights.”

“That’s it?” he asked, still with that smile on his face that was formed of awe. Awe that all you really wanted was him, that all he really wanted was you. He would never get over it.

“And cake, of course, I’m not a monster,” you said with a giggle as you let your forehead fall forward onto his chest, “I just want to be your wife, Spence, and I didn’t imagine doing it with the entirety of Penelope’s contact list out there.”

“Did you see Kevin arrive?”

“Kevin’s here?” you asked indignantly, then with a sigh, “I’ve spoken to him twice in my life, I’m pretty sure.”

“Three times,” Spencer says, because of course he remembers and you swat him gently for correcting you, even though he knows you love it, “He’s even got a plus one.”

You buried your head as far into Spencer’s chest as you could manage with a loud grumble. He laughed at you softly before pressing a placating kiss to the top of your head, and another for good measure. Another just because he wanted to.

“You know who else is here?” you asked, picking your head up to look at him again (you missed his face), “That woman from the case in Dallas. You know, the one that Penny liked and jokingly invited to our wedding over the phone?”

“You’re kidding.”

“I watched her walk in a few minutes ago….with a plus one.”

“No way,” Spencer breathed and you nodded pointedly. You loved gossiping back and forth with him like this. It made you forget where you were, what you were wearing, how itchy the back of your dress was, “How many plus ones did Garcia give out?”

“By the looks of it, everyone got one. The plus ones have their own plus one for fuck’s sake!”

There was a pause as Spencer smiled at your outburst, until you were smiling back at him and soon you were kissing all over again. It didn’t take much. Your hands are in his hair, rooting themselves in the strands, as his splay themselves across your back and leave goosebumps in their wake. Every nerve ending is on fire and suddenly you know exactly what you’re going to do next.

You pull away from his suddenly, despite his silent protest as one hand comes up to cup your cheek and bring you back to him, eyes still closed. You stay firm, plant your hand on his chest until he opens his eyes to look at you. He still looks like he just wants to kiss you senseless.

“I have an idea,” you propose slowly, running your hand up his chest, to his neck and back down again, “Feel free to shut me down, though.”

He tilted his head, a grin worming its way onto his features.

“Shut you down? Never.”

---

You’d gathered up the team with whispered voices and hurried gestures. Sneaking around corners and insistent shushing when they tried to argue with you. Eventually, you had everyone gathered in one of the rooms of the hotel, a few floors above where you were set to get married.

“What the hell are you two doing?” Derek hissed at you, when you and Spencer stood in front of them all, hand in hand, just grinning, “You’re getting married in-” he checked his watch, “-just under 2 hours. Unless you’ve called it off?”

He only said it to rile you up but it worked. You grabbed hold of Spencer’s arm with your other hand and snuggled up to his side as you glared at Derek.

“Of course we haven’t, idiot,” you glowered, which only made him chuckle, “But we’re not getting married here.”

Penelope looked like she might be about to faint.

“What?!”

“I’m so sorry Pen,” you said sympathetically, “You’ve done such an amazing job with everything but...it’s not us, you know? There’s so many people here!”

“Yeah, all your friends!”

“The woman from Dallas?” you asked and she pressed her lips together.

“Okay, fair,” she said quickly, “But I just wanted two of my favourite people to have the best day ever full of the very best people ever!”

“And we will,” you insisted with a smile, “But just, not quite yet. We’ve got a plan first.”

“A plan?” Dave asked, looking exasperated, “You’ve not cared about the details of this wedding for months, but now you have a plan?”

You and Spencer looked at each other. Grinned.

“Pretty much, yeah,” Spencer said, breathless.

There was a collective groan from the whole team.

---

By the time Emily and JJ had been sent into the venue to retrieve every spare string of fairy lights they could, Derek and Hotch had hung them between the trees and Rossi had come around to the fact that he’d be delivering the wedding outside rather than inside, everything was perfect. Any sense of panic had vanished. You’d kissed Spencer goodbye half an hour ago, and now you were stood arm in arm with Hotch a little way from the clearing you’d found in the woods.

There were woods right next to your venue, it seemed. How perfect. And just out of view of all the guests that were now waiting impatiently. Despite how many horrible things you’d all seen happen in woodland areas over the years, it didn’t matter now. These woods were pristine and new and about to become yours forever.

“Ready?” Hotch asked you quietly, nudging you out of your trance. You beamed at him.

“You know how long I’ve been ready for this,” you chuckled, emotional already.

He had tears in his eyes too. The softie.

“Then let’s do this.”

You walked until you were in the makeshift aisle. And everyone who needed to be there, was there. Particularly? Spencer.

Right there at the end of the aisle. In the tuxedo you’d already seen him in, but with new tears in his eyes and a watery smile. You laughed despite yourself, already crying. You swore you wouldn’t. He laughed too. You even made a joke about pulling Hotch along with you, desperate to get to the end of the aisle, to which everyone laughed, JJ through some pretty loud sobs. You’d never have made that joke if this wasn’t just family.

An eternity later, you were facing Spencer, hands held tightly in his. Both crying. Everyone was now. Rossi had to compose himself before beginning his speech. You hardly heard it. You were looking at Spencer. All you wanted to do was look at him forever and ever.

Rossi hurried through everything he was going to say. He’d been promised he could do it properly when you made it to the actual ceremony, which you were still going to do, because you couldn’t fathom telling everyone in that hall that you wouldn’t be attending your own wedding because you’d rather not have all of them present for it.

When it came to the vows, you decided to come up with some on the spot, just for this little special version of your wedding. You could do the regular vows later. This mattered now.

“Doctor Spencer Reid, to use your full title,” you giggled as everyone laughed, and Spencer squeezed your hands with an elated grin. He still hadn’t stopped crying, “I didn’t know there was a feeling like this until you walked into my life. You quickly became my entire world, before we even started dating. I just adore you. All of you, every bit. I can’t wait to- to do the whole of life with you. I-I love you so much.”

The awkward phrasing of your last sentence was mostly due to the fact that you were quickly breaking down. Spencer was crying at your words, right there in front of you, so how were you supposed to do anything but cry with him. He wiped your tears with gentle, trembling hands.

“I love you so much,” he said shakily, clearing his throat to carry on, “There was a time, as you all know, when I definitely thought I was just one of those people who ends up alone.”

You sniffled at that, because it was one of the least favourite things that he tells you about sometimes.

“Spence,” you whispered, smiling sadly at him and he shook his head with a smile.

“What I’m trying to say, is that my world was black before you came into it. But none of that matters now. All that really matters is that this is actually happening, with our family around us, and the rest of our lives ahead. Having a soulmate, in the traditional sense, is a ridiculous thing to claim, but it’s ridiculous to me that someone like you truly and unconditionally loves someone like me, so maybe we all need a bit of ridiculous. You’re my soulmate, Y/N. I love you more than anything. Our life together will be…”

It was him who was choked up now, unable to finish his sentence. You could still hear JJ sobbing in the background, but now she was joined by Penny and Derek. Derek was a mess. Hotch was doing better, but only marginally.

“Perfect,” you muttered, taking his face in your hands, “Our life will be perfect.”

He swooped in quickly, tears still fresh on his cheeks, lips on yours and hands on your hips before you could register it. You pulled away quickly and shook your head at him with a laugh.

“Not yet Spence!” you cried, laughing along with Rossi beside you who could barely contain himself.

He looked a little put out. His hands were itching to grab you.

“Sorry,” he muttered lowly, like a scolded child and you placed your hand on his face to remind him. Just a few moments, my love.

It didn’t take long, but it felt like you were waiting a lifetime for Rossi to tell Spencer to kiss you, finally kiss you. He was worth the wait. Worth every wait. His arms tightening around you, he managed to lift you from the floor despite the weight of your dress, and you giggled against his lips.

“Wife,” Spencer mumbled. Breathless. Wonderfully breathless. You found your breath had left you too, especially when he said the word. You were his wife now.

“Husband,” you chuckled as he put you down gently and you tuned back into the world around you, the cheers and hollers from your BAU family, the now familiar sound of sobbing mixed with joyful laughter. You held Spencer’s hand as you turned to face them with watery smiles. Squeezed it in your own and received a tight squeeze in return.

This was what you wanted. Simple. Just you and Spencer. Forever.

(you eventually made it to your actual wedding, and did the ceremony all over again in front of everyone, even though you were already married. an extra secret between your family, and an extra moment too. you didn’t always get a lot of moments)

(besides, why marry the love of your life once when you could marry them twice?)

#spencer reid x reader #spencer x reader #criminal minds x reader #criminal minds #criminal minds fluff #criminal minds imagine #spencer reid

[bau-baby]

the ultimate loss. 1/?

aaron hotchner x gn!reader

Summary: Haley was your friend, and you’re dealing with her loss, just as Aaron was. When the grief subsides, what happens to you and Aaron?

Word count: 1,880

warnings: grief, loss

(A/N): Because it took so long for me to finish this, I decided to end my suffering of trying to figure out where to take the storyline within this fic and get to work on a part 2. Sorry for the wait!!

W.S. Gilbert wrote, “It’s love that makes the world go ‘round.” And if that’s true, then the world spun a little faster with Haley in it. 

You remember the first time you saw the Hotchner family unit in their own element. It was definitely a sight for sore eyes. The total admiration and love Haley and Aaron had both for each other as well as their son, Jack, was unmatched. You were out in their backyard, sitting and watching Jack run around while chatting amongst yourselves, hearing old stories from before your time at the BAU. Your friendship with Haley only grew from there.

Haley was my best friend since we were in high school. We certainly had our struggles, but if there’s one thing we agreed upon unconditionally, it was our love and commitment to our son, Jack.

You were there for them through all the hell that led up to the divorce. You watched as Haley tore herself up for thinking of leaving and saw how Aaron buried himself in his work to distract him from the problem. You knew that Haley loved Aaron and that Aaron loved Haley all the same. It was just a matter of the time the job took away from them, and ultimately what was best for Jack.

Haley’s love for Jack was joyous and fierce. That fierceness is why she isn’t here today. 

After the divorce, you tried to visit Haley often, filling her in on how the team and Aaron specifically were doing. You’d help out with Jack, and he ended up adoring you and your visits. Haley grew to you quickly as well. Sure, you were friends before, but your caring nature made you two become much better friends outside of the connection you’d had with her being the boss’ ex-wife.

A mother’s love is an unrivaled force of nature, and we all can learn much from the way Haley lived her life. 

The fear in her eyes when you went in with SWAT to get Haley and Jack was something you’d never seen from her before. She was one of the strongest mothers you knew. She did everything to make sure her son was happy. When she got to the hospital, you saw how she talked with Aaron. You saw the twenty-year-old smile lines shine through to their faces, and you realized that you had missed their lifetime of being together. Sure, you had the hilarious retellings of high school and college-age Aaron, but you think they lived through a whole other world before you showed up. 

Haley’s death causes each of us to stop and take stock of our lives to measure who we are, and what we’ve become. I don’t have all those answers for myself, but I know who Haley was. She was the woman who died protecting the child we brought into this world together, and I will make sure that Jack grows up knowing who his mother was and how she loved and protected him and how much I loved her.

You never realized how close not only you and Haley were, but how close you and Aaron were until after Haley and Jack were put into WITSEC. You and Aaron kept each other sane while they were gone, and you both worked just as hard on finding George Foyet. You’d spend late nights at Aaron’s apartment pouring over the details of the case, hoping something will jump out of the files and tell you where he’s hiding out and what he’s planning, but to no avail.

If Haley were with us today, she would ask us not to mourn her death, but to celebrate her life. She would tell us… she would tell us to love our families unconditionally and to hold them close ‘cause in the end, they are all that matter.

You were in an SUV by yourself, racing against the clock to get to Haley and Jack as you listened in on the call before you. You could hear the strain in Aaron’s voice, the way he had to keep everything at bay to keep a somewhat strong front. You heard Haley as she cried, making Aaron promise to tell Jack about how she and Aaron loved one another and loved him, and to tell Jack of times when Aaron wasn’t so serious. You made your own promise then, a promise to keep Haley’s memory alive in Jack, and to make sure both Aaron and Jack are taken care of. 

When the three shots rang out, you put your foot to the floorboard and sped to Fairfax. You knew Aaron was doing the same thing. You had to make sure that he and Jack made it out of this alive, and had to put Foyet away for all the pain and suffering he caused. 

I met Haley at the tryouts of our high school’s production of The Pirates of the Penzance. I found our copy of the play and I was looking through it the other night, and I came upon a passage that seemed… appropriate for this moment. “Oh dry the glistening tear that dews that martial cheek. Thy loving children here in them thy comfort seek. With sympathetic care, their arms around thee creep. For oh they cannot bear to see their father weep.”

You see the car Hotch used in front of his old family home, and you dash inside the house, brandishing your gun as you checked the house. That’s when you hear the sound coming from the formal dining room area, a harsh thumping and loud sobs belonging to Aaron. You see him over what used to be Foyet, and you run to him, pulling him away.

“He’s dead, Hotch! He’s gone! You’re okay!”

He breaks down crying from there, an inconsolable man crying at the feet of his ex-wife’s killer. 

-----

Something you never thought you’d have to do was not only bury a friend of yours but also comfort her inconsolable husband and kid. As Aaron spoke of Haley and all that she was, you stood off his left shoulder, a hand resting on Aaron’s shoulder as well as Jack’s.

You just stared down at the casket, tears staining the top of your coat. There wasn’t a dry eye as you all listened to a mourning husband who was sharing more of himself right now than he ever has or will again. 

You feel a small hand tug on your sleeve, and you look down to see Jack staring up at you. You crouch down, taking your hand off Aaron’s shoulder. 

“What’s up, buddy?” Your shaky voice asks, even though you tried to keep an even tone.

Jack doesn’t even speak, he just wraps his small arms around your neck and burrows his head into your shoulder. You hold a hand on the back of his head, hoping and failing to hide him from the harsh reality in front of him.

When the service ends and you’re all passing Aaron and Jack, you hang back for a second to look at all the roses on Haley’s casket before walking over to the sullen-eyed man.

“I just wanted to say that if either of you ever needs anything, I’m a phone call away,” You crouch down to be at Jack’s level, “Take care of your dad, okay buddy?” He nods, looking up to his dad. You stand back up and spare one more look at Aaron before walking over to one of the few cars left by the curb. 

-----

JJ gets the one call you dread as you sit around the table, all not-so-subtly glancing out the window to Aaron and Dave throughout your time conversing. The entire team then shifts their gaze to you, variations of sad, knowing looks gracing their faces. They all know that you and Aaron have been close since you joined, so they always looked to you when someone needed to talk to the big boss man.

To save you the embarrassment of being under their gaze, Morgan sends you out to grab Rossi while also realizing you’ll end up talking with Aaron.

The cool air that hits you as you step out onto the patio mirrors a lot of what this day and all the days you’ve lived without Haley have felt like. 

“Rossi, they’re calling us for a case. No other teams available, unfortunately,” You say, sending a sad look to Aaron as you say it.

“Aren’t you comin’ kiddo?” Rossi says, already making small steps towards the door.

“Yeah, uh, I’ll catch up with you guys in a few,” You say as you angle your body towards Aaron. 

“You should really be with the team, they need you,” Aaron says, his eyes taking particular interest in the railing in front of him.

“Aaron, I’ll be there when they need me to be, just like I’m here when you need me to be. Right now we’re both struggling with a loss, and the team understands that,” You say, reaching over to rest a hand over his, “Let me help you, grieve with you. Please.”

He sighs, and you can feel and hear the tears in his voice as he asks, “Can-” he sniffles, “ Can you help me keep my promise?” 

A look of confusion dashes across your face, trying to figure out what promise he was referring to. Then, you recall Haley’s words you heard in the SUV, her final words, making Aaron promise that he will show his son how he and Haley loved.

A small, earnest but sorrowful smile settles on your face, “Of course, Aaron. I’ll spend the rest of my life helping you keep that promise, and I’m sure the rest of the team will too.”

He finally moves from looking out at the world away from the patio to looking at you. He pulls you in for a hug, and you can feel the tears come down on your shoulder. He stays like that for a long time, even after the tears are gone. He finally pulls back and sniffles, reorienting himself. You knew that he was vulnerable, he just hated showing it.

“You really should go, the team needs you for the case,” Aaron says, not wanting to push you away, just taking his time to grieve. You relent, nodding your head.

“Don’t hesitate to call if you need anything, and I mean it, Hotchner,” You say, a playful sternness in your tone, even if you were genuine. You see him give a small smile as you make your way back inside.

You both were grieving. He lost an ex-wife whom he still loved, a friend, and the mother to his young child. You lost a friend who was more like a sister, and someone you cared so deeply for.

Both of you could hear the faint bells going off in the back of your head, alerting you of something you couldn’t- wouldn’t- address.

Too much, too soon.

That’s all that anything was these days. Too much, too soon.

But, as with everything in life, sometimes you have to face things head-on. Needless to say, that virtue was not something that came easy to you or Aaron.

But what was to happen when those bells started ringing a whole lot louder?  

#aaron hotchner x reader #aaron hotchner x reader fluff #aaron hotchner x reader angst #this took forever #don't even get me started on the formatting #the ultimate loss

[whump-town]

A Cumbersome And Heavy Body

Chapter One: Tired Of This Body

Summary: Stubborn until the very end, Aaron Hotchner isn't going to go down without a fight. It's just getting hard to tell the difference between fighting them and fighting the cancer.

Word count: 7,883

Author’s Note: ugh... well, here it is. Don’t be afraid to send me hate mail or leave a comment. I love it when I make you guys sad (in a loving way of course) :)) good luck you little shits and may the odds be ever in your favor (FYI, they’re not)

Warning: the subject of this fic is cancer and it’s treatment, cursing, maybe out of character (idk, man. hotch is weird)

I've grown tired of this body Cumbersome and heavy Tired of this body Fall apart without me

“I understand you’re here with concerns of a mass you found—”

He was shaving. The mirror fogged from his shower and the room heavy with steam. Leisurely, he’d wasted time getting ready. That particular morning, he’d gotten up before his alarm and he was happy for the distraction of the near-boiling water pouring over his back while the cold tile bites into his shoulder. An easy stress-reliever before the day fully starts.

Dragging a cool rag over his face he’d caught sight of a slightly swollen place on his chest. He’d dropped the rag in the sink and gently probed the area. He’d expected the sting of a bruise, not a knot of hard lumps.

It wasn’t a bruise.

“I regret to inform you—”

He hadn’t even known there were lymph nodes in the chest.

“Can you take your shirt off for me, sir?”

There’s a whole staff of people fluttering and dodging his eyes. A blur of motion as they work around him. Of them all, Hotch has already developed a soft spot for. Dr. Fitz and the glasses that are too big for his face despite his attempts to make them fit his face. There are rubber bands wrapped around the earpieces to push them tighter around his head and a piece of tape holding one of the lenses in. It’s strangely endearing.

No matter how many times Hotch tells Dr. Fitz that Aaron works just fine, he still nervously throws in the courtesy. He’s just like Reid and it’s that thought that makes him both comfortable and so unbearably alone.

With a nod, Hotch tugs his shirt out from where it’s tucked into his pants. The cold air hits his bare chest and he holds his breath for a moment, shivering slightly before he takes control once again. Foyet’s scars are on broad display for the whole room but, to their credit, none of them blink. They’re not here to dissect the scars covering his body or take stock of the weight he’s put on.

He just goes where he’s pulled. If he flinches when they touch him, no one comments. It’s for the better, mostly.

“The tattoo is going to guide the external beam radiation at your tumor,” Dr. Fitz explains once again. His hands tremble slightly as they hold the little needle in his hands. “It’s just three dots.”

Hotch nods, his mouth a little too dry. This whole process a little too much. He nods his understanding, fists clenched at his side to force himself to show no outward reaction. It doesn’t bother him as much as it should those dots are going to be with him forever. His first and last tattoo.

Forcing a steadying breath, he glues his eyes to the ceiling. It stings but it’s not unbearable. The needle digs into his chest, pushing the ink in. It’s the second and third dot that get him. His skin is getting hot, sore enough to make him gunt as the last one is placed.

“Not nearly as fun as a normal tattoo,” one of the other doctor’s observes. Hotch, blinking back tears, looks over at his other doctor. A woman whom he’d never have figured the “tattoo” type. His brain is a little preoccupied, worn down. He’ll get over not profiling her very well, he just might not forgive himself for the slip-up.

Hotch just… grunts. Not a real answer but the easiest.

He’s offered a hand up but he doesn’t take it. Shoulders sore and arms weak, he pushes himself up. Leaning to the side when his head starts to pound, his mouth really, really dry.

“Alright—” a cold gloved finds his shoulder. “You’re just panicking,” he’s reassured. “You need to breathe. In through your nose and out through your mouth.” The hand squeezes his shoulder but he keeps his eyes squeezed shut. It feels like he’s going to pass out. But… he doesn’t. He breathes as instructed and slowly, the room calms back down.

As he peels his eyes open, chest tight and hands trembling, he finds the room still every bit as busy as it was before his little fit. The world really doesn’t stop.

“Are you sure—,” Dr. Fitz twists and worries his hands. Obviously, he’s worked himself up too. Probably blaming himself for Hotch’s reaction. He should have let him take a break or warned him a little better. “Most people find it helpful to have someone here,” Dr. Fitz observes. “Do you— Do you want to call someone?”

His eyes drop to the floor, his mind-- Haley. She would be here. Cracking jokes and poking at his side. Things used to be so much easier with her around. There was this magic about her, a drug her presence doped him up. She would light the room up and hold his hand. She’s not here, though. She’s dead and he’s having a hard time convincing himself this isn’t some sort of penance.

Snuffing out a light like her, it was bound to have its consequences.

They’ve marked him and with his advanced stage, he’s got an aggressive treatment plan, and the radiation starts tomorrow. So, no. No, he doesn't want to call anyone. He just wants to serve his time. Besides, who would he call?

JJ? With two children of her own and a painfully busy schedule.

Reid? His mother occupies his mind as is.

Morgan? He’s grappling with a relationship with Savannah, attempting to salvage all of the complex things life has thrown at him.

Dave? Hasn’t he already lost a child? The last thing he needs is to sit here for any given amount of time and watch this.

And he’d never, never put Garcia through this.

“No,” he rasps, laying back down. “I’m okay.”

He closes his eyes and when a single hot tear runs down his cheek, he doesn’t wipe it away. I’m okay.

I’m okay.

There aren't immediate side effects and he’s not sure if that’s a relief or worse. He’s anxious, nearly sick with nerves. Would it not be simpler to just get sick already? To throw up or get sore or just— anything.

The machine hurts his ears. Fifteen minutes of lying perfectly still gets hard after about two minutes. The whole process exacerbated by the way the low hum of the machine makes his head feel like someone’s digging at his skull with an icepick through his ear.

He’s assured he shouldn’t start feeling any symptoms for a few days. Likely not until the second week of treatments.

It takes five days for a stitch in his side to take his breath for a moment, doubling over as he struggles to breathe for a moment. Chest tight and head fogged. They just add another pill bottle to the other whole collection he’s accumulated on his nightstand.

It feels like there’s an elephant sitting on his chest. A hand gripping a fist full of his hair and dunking his head back under the water. Ties binding his wrist to the bed. A knife buried in his side.

It feels like the ground he’s standing on is rumbling, shifting beneath his feet and at any given moment it’s going to pitch him forward. A free fall and he doesn’t know if he’s ever going to land on his feet.

He’s staring at the ceiling. Fists gripping the sheets as his stomach twists and churns. Swallowing around the uncomfortable burn in his throat, he turns his head to the side. Watching the movements just outside his bedroom window. Jack’s outside, kicking his soccer ball, and waiting for Daddy to come to join him. Hotch, will have to join him sooner rather than later. Even with the yard fenced in, anything could happen out there.

Funny. Just a few weeks ago, anything could have been blown under the rug with “at least it’s not cancer”. Now he’s plotting his will out in his head, making sure he covers every little thing. Who will lead the team? Where will Jack go? Can Jessica handle arrangements and should he start preparing the comfort letters now?

In the face of it all, he’d thought he could accept this. Life goes on. Things happen. He doesn’t want to die. All of those poems, the books, and the lies. “Do not stand at my grave and weep. I am not there. I do not sleep.” Well, that’s right shit, in his opinion. What comes next? Not light. Not hope. His body will succumb to cancer leaving behind the carnage of his actions.

Hodgkin's Lymphoma…

He’d known, in that morbid way his thoughts tend to twist, that he shouldn’t get his hopes up. That it would be silly for the doctor to smile, sympathetic to his plight, and advise him to talk to his therapist about this new progression of paranoia. For a pat on the back. Instead, he got the cold examination table under his back, and the nurse giving his trembling hand a squeeze as the needle had plunged into his chest.

It’s all been a haze since that phone call. Since the confirmation. Now he’s got more blood tests scheduled for Monday. That’s what his life is now. Radiation for fifteen minutes for four days a week. On the fifth day, he gets blood work drawn. They check for enzymes and cells. He doesn’t really care to understand.

He should. Don’t mistake the careless, numb ache thinking about all this gives him for complete inattention to detail. It’s just a little much for one person.

Hotch finds himself wondering what Reid would tell him about the whole process. Statics that would knock the wind from his lungs and odds that would make him feel just a little better. That he’s too old and too stressed out. That radiation aimed at his chest can harden his arteries and increase his already high chances of a heart attack. That he should have seen this coming-- his father died at 47. Lung cancer. A heart attack.

He should have seen it coming.

“Daddy?”

He has to lean into his nightstand as the ground warps beneath his feet. “I’m coming,” he manages, closing his eyes and blindly hoping that his door is shut and Jack can’t see him. He wishes he’d smoked more. Indulged in Dave’s cigars. Gone drinking with Derek. Danced like Penelope. Fuck, smiled more.

He didn’t even know there were lymph nodes in the chest. He’d gone to law school. Spent his early adulthood learning to read complex course material and how to cry softly in a room with another person less than five feet from him. Maybe he should have studied Biology… but then he’d just have to come to terms with the fact that this whole mess was bound to happen. Predisposed. Genetic and environmental.

His fault.

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

Six in the morning is not a typical time to be fielding calls from concerned police officials. “He—Hello?”  Which, now that phone is tucked under his chin, and the call answered, he realizes that he should have checked the caller ID. As stated, is it six in the morning and he doubts anyone too important is calling him at this hour.

Unless, of course, his luck has finally run out and yet another political disaster has occurred. Leaving him to clean the wreck.

The other end makes a strange noise before he’s greeted with, “--finally! I was almost worried you wouldn’t answer!”

Oh.

Emily.

“Morning,” he greets, rubbing his eyes with the palms of his hands. He’s a little too grumpy for this right now but she’s obviously called for a reason, her happiness seeping into tone, and he’s not going to purposely ruin that. How many hours ahead is London, again? Why is she awake?

“I was worried,” she admits. He can hear her working, the drag of her pen across paper, and the shift of the leather chair she’s sitting in. Even her keyboard clicking away as she multi-tasks. “Your last letter was nearly two weeks ago. Is everything good at home?”

Home. He smirks, she’s been overseas now for several years. Yet, she still refers to Virginia as home. The thought makes him shake his head. He’d never draw the conclusion out loud to her but he can imagine that little slip-up is one of the reasons that her on-again-off-again boyfriend Michael grows frustrated with her. It’s not her fault. It’s an understandable mistake but it certainly reflects a certain tone for her affections of London.

Her preferences.

“They’re fine,” he answers, evenly. “Jack’s doing well in school. Dave’s stopped hounding me about potential love suitors.” He pauses to splash water across his mouth, preparing to wash his face. “Garcia enjoyed last month’s tea flavor, what was it-- raspberry?”

He places his phone on speaker and sets it on the shelf above his sink. Ducking his head, he listens to her while he washes his face. Going about the habitual process of shaving. A comforting thing he’s always done. He’s got no preference when it comes to facial hair. A beard is just as easy as a clean face. It’s about shaving. It’s soothing. It’s one of the few things that’s remained constant in his life.

She’s talking-- he thinks about how the weather in London has hit a point in the season that she doesn’t particularly like. Raining and cold. That she wants to come home but she isn’t sure she should. Will she really be able to tear herself away from the Virginia weather? From them?

He’s half-way done shaving when his eyes drift to his shirtless chest.

He wonders how many times he shaved, how many mornings did he wake up before he realized-- before he saw the tumor or the lump or mass or whatever the hell the medical term is. He lowers his head, sighing in defeat but mostly anger. How’d he let it get to this?

“Anyways,” she sighs. Sounding every bit as tired as he feels. “How is home? How are you?”

He looks at himself in the mirror. His head is absent of reason. No logic or forethought.

“I have cancer.”

-------------------------------- Everything about Aaron Hotchner is traditional and simplistic. It’s not a bad thing. In the years that she's known him, she’s grown fond of that. It makes him predictable and reliable. Something that happens infrequently in people the older that she gets. A part of her does feel wrong for clinging to that, to him, but she cherishes his friendship. Through the ups and downs.

Their means of communication are letters. Once a week she can expect to find two to three pages of neatly written updates on her family across the pond. He’ll ramble about anything in those letters and that’s what she enjoys about them the most. There is no hesitation to tell her what he thinks. In those letters, she can find Aaron. Incredible soft, thoughtful Aaron.

It’s been two weeks since he’s sent a letter. Not to sound clingy but she’s kind of hurt. More so, she’s nervous to find out what’s taking up so much of his time. He’s routine with his responses. Almost every Thursday night she can curl up with his newest letter and a glass of wine and read about the BAUs newest adventure. It’s always a bonus when throws in his subtle little “I” statements. I miss you’s come rare but when they do happen it’s nice.

Sighing, she caves. It’s Friday, she hasn’t heard from him in two weeks, and she misses him. By the time she has his contact picture pulled up and the ring tone dialing-- his goofy picture from his badge grinning at her-- she realizes that her eleven am is his six am. Just as she’s starting to think he won’t answer it goes through.

“H--Hello?” he sounds like shit. Over the course of the last year, she’s managed to forget what he sounds like. His voice is startlingly deep which does surprise her just a little.

“Finally!” she mumbles. “I was worried you wouldn’t answer!”

He yawns and it makes her smile. “Morning,” he grumbles and she can hear him scratching tiredly at his face. She feels guilty for waking him up for only a moment. That is until she remembers he gets up at six. So it’s likely she called right after his alarm clock went off.

Tucking her phone between chin and shoulder, she turns her computer on. Settling in behind her desk and getting to work. “I was worried,” she tells him. Not sure if she’s meaning to sound mad at him for not sending his “everyone’s alive and well” letter or mad that she doesn’t know how he is. He’s thrown her off her routine. “Your last letter was nearly two weeks ago. Is everything good at home?”

Her worry bleeds into the statement but he’s too tired to feed it or make fun of it.

She can hear him huff softly, an almost laugh.

“They’re fine,” he answers softly. His voice is drowsy, “Jack’s doing well in school. Dave’s stopped hounding me about potential love suitors.” She hears the tap run, he pauses, and she can hear him splashing water on his face. “Garcia enjoyed last month’s tea flavor, what was it-- raspberry?”

She smirks, it was raspberry. Although, she doubts Garcia liked it as much as he says. She’s not a huge raspberry fan. Besides, Emily had sent that tea with one specific tea drinker in mind: him. The thing about Hotch is, he’s traditional, but he’s also complicated. That’s just Hotch for “I enjoyed the tea you sent”.

Really, she’d just wanted him to be introduced to more teas than his just his simple black tea. Be more creative. Have some fun.

“I’m glad Garcia liked the tea,” she says with a smirk. “She’s been texting me all week.” Pictures, texts, and a few Snapchat. Emily doesn’t entirely know how to use Snapchat yet but she’s getting the hang of it. “You guys being grounded is relaxing, I’m sure, but that woman’s got way too much time on her hands.” Emily shakes her head at the thought. Lovingly, of course.

“Anyways,” she runs a hand over her face and she lets out a sigh. “How is home? How are you?”

There’s a long pause on his end. All his busy movements coming to a halt. It makes her heart pick up its pace, her gut twisting. Suddenly, that knee-jerk thought, that stupid thought that something might be wrong feels true. She’s just about to say his name when his voice cuts through.

“I have cancer.”

Her first reaction is oh. At least she was right.

That is immediately followed by-- oh fuck.

“Are you…” she swallows thickly, work forgotten. “Have--” Where does she even begin?

He clears his throat, “Hodgkin's Lymphoma.” He answers without her actually having to ask. It feels to get it off his chest, literally. To tell someone. “I guess--” he makes a choked sound like the shock of this news is setting in again. “They have to put, uhm, ink to locate the right place. So, I… I have a tattoo of sorts now.”

She laughs a half-pained sound. “I’m sure Morgan doesn’t consider it to be a tattoo,” she manages around the tightness of her throat. She cringes at the thought, ink and a needle just digging into his flesh. Cancer invading his body.

He doesn’t say anything for a moment but when he does, she understands the silence.

“I haven’t told them.”

As much as she wants to be mad at him, she shouldn’t really expect anything different. He’s painfully shy and private. God knows if she hadn’t found him half-dead in the hospital after Foyet, he’d have gone as long as possible without telling them. He certainly wouldn’t have told them while still hospitalized.

It’s the same lack of forethought that goes through them, a moment of blindness. He’d felt the weight of restraints pulling his limbs down when the admissions had left his lips. She feels only conviction, “I’m coming home.”

It catches him entirely off guard.

She winces when he starts coughing. His first symptom since starting radiation. It’s a horrible sounding dry cough that makes her lungs ache just to hear.

The coughs fold him over, the force at which they leave his mouth is painful. What is it that makes coughing so painful? That’s never made much sense. It’s just air, right?

“Hotch?”

He rubs at his sternum, trying to externally soothe the muscles. “I’m okay,” he chokes. Shakily, his right-hand bears his weight as his left turns the faucet on. With his palm, he manages to sip a few mouthfuls of water. It just doesn’t stop the coughing. “I’m okay.”

She highly doubts that. There’s not a single thing about what she just heard that sounds “okay” by anyone standards-- certainly not his. “Are you going to work like this?” she asks. It’s hard to believe he’d allow himself to be seen in any state that isn’t tip-top shape. On that note, she also knows that way too good at putting on a show, and, for profilers, the team sucks at making that distinction.

The anger that evokes in him is undue. Admittedly, he overreacts. “I said I’m fine,” he barks. “I don’t need you checking in on me, Prentiss. I don’t need you here, too!” To watch. It’s bad enough, okay? That he’s going to have to tell his six-year-old son that he’s dying. Each morning a little more than the last and some days feel like he’s already half-lowered into the ground.

And the others. Reid and those sad eyes. The way Morgan won’t be able to look at him, just avert his gaze and storm out of the room. Dave’s crushing hug and JJ’s silent tears. Garcia… He can only imagine the raging in-betweens of what the news will do to her. Stress baking cookies he won’t be able to stomach. Knitting him hats, sweaters, and blankets with feverish vigor that he won’t be able to escape.

He could use one of Garcia’s love knitted blankets right about now.

Forcing himself to take a deep breath, he relaxes his tight grip on the sink. Knuckles paled and fingers aching.

“Sorry,” Emily finally manages after the long moments of silence.

Hotch hangs his head, biting his lip hard to stop the flow of emotions trying to work their way up. “No,” he rasps, thickly. He sniffles, scoffing when he rubs his eyes with the back of his wrist, finding tears. “That was… inexcusable. I’m so sorry,” he leans down, body in half as he rests his forehead against the cool porcelain of the sink.

This doesn’t even feel like his body anymore.

“Aaron?”

There are tears streaming down his face, he’s too tired to fight them off. “Hmm?”

“I’ll see you soon.”

He hums in agreeance, unable to trust his voice.

“Take it easy, okay? I love you.”

The line dies before he can hasten out a reply.

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

She’s been waiting on a reason to leave London for longer than she’s willing to admit.

Her dying friend proves to be reason enough.

Clyde has obvious mixed feelings but he can’t hold her back. He and Hotch had gotten set on the wrong foot. The rivalry between the two men is childish but endearing. Almost nothing has made her feel as loved as the proud smiles they both wear when she greets them. Clyde overwhelmingly pleased he’d won her back to London and Hotch smug she’ll travel hours to come to see him (she hadn’t done that for Clyde).

Almost nothing beats that.

“Emily!”

Her eyes are scanning the crowd before her, searching for her mismatched ragtag family. Sore thumbs, bobbing up and down in the crowd, they wave her to them. She notices he’s not there immediately.

“Princess,” Morgan sighs her name into her hair and she turns her face into his shoulder. Drawing in the strength she can feel wavering with a new wave of anxiety washing over her. It helps that they’re here. Derek’s arms wrapped around her after what feels like a lifetime away.

It’s only taken her three decades but she’s found her family and she’s not letting anything drag her away this time.

Garcia pushes at Morgan, causing a choked laugh out of them all. “Stop hogging all the Emily-lovings!”

Morgan smirks, trying to hide the relief swelling in his eyes like tears. He gets one more good look of her, eyes combing over her before parting with a sad smile. Relieved.

There’s a blur of motion. She’s pulled to each of them.

Garcia hugs like she’s trying to crush ribs and Emily lets her.

Hugging Dave brings tears to her eyes. Fuck, she’s missed them.

“Don’t make me chase you,” Emily threatens when she spots Reid near the edge. Pulling him close she rests her head against his shoulder, happy when he squeezes her back. “I’ve missed you, boy wonder.” Her genius. Just as scrawny as when she left him. She doesn’t want to do that again anytime soon.

Dave claps his hands together, grabbing one of the three bags she’d dropped. “Let’s get lunch, kiddos. We can talk about London.” He winks at Emily and she knows that this is going to spin into a conversation about potential love interests. She hasn’t had love on the brain in a while.

London… not everything she wishes it was. Cold and rainy. Relentlessly.

For the first month, she was over there, all she wanted was to come home. She just kept waiting for the rain to ease up. Then there should be that wet, hot humidity that clings to everything. She’d hated that before but now she’d just give anything to have it. For Reid to drag her out for coffee and the sun to bring out the chipper inflection in Garcia’s voice.

How the sun looked on Jack and Henry’s little head when she’d run around the park with them.

Fuck London, she’s just glad to be home.

“So,” she’s allowed them their fill of questions. Things about INTERPOL and if she’s still leaning heavily on take out food or if she’s managed even the faintest bit of finesse concerning cooking (she hasn’t). Leaning onto her elbows, she asks the question that’s been bugging her for hours. “Where’s Hotch?”

Dave leans back in his chair and JJ’s the first to crack. Of course, her poker face just isn’t that great. Her eyes move to Dave, concern written across her face. They might not know but it’s not that hard to figure out they know something isn’t right.

Reid shifts uncomfortably, averting his eyes, and focus.

“Your guess is as good as ours,” Dave informs her. He settles back in his chair, arms crossing on his chest. “He’s…” he sighs tiredly. For a moment he just shakes his head. Rubbing a hand over the coarse hair on his face and then rubbing at his eyes. “He’s Aaron,” Dave mumbles. “Complicated and… reserved.” He looks at her now, zeroed in on just her. Just them.

Her heart races at just the thought of them knowing.

JJ clears her throat. She distracts her worry with rubbing her nail at the glass. “He says he’s at meetings,” she tells Emily. “Says--” she shakes her head, flustered. Upset. Pulling in a breath, she shakes softly as it comes in. “Every day, he sends me an update email. Just a list of things he expects to get done for the day or places he might be.” JJ tucks a strand of her hair back from her face. “Our jobs circle around each other, a lot. It makes my life easier if I can find him without running all over the place.”

Morgan turns his head, away from the conversation. Wishing to be uninvolved but unable to escape.

“He’s lying,” JJ concludes. She worries her lip with her teeth. “His lists are…” her eyebrows furrow as she struggles to say exactly what she means. “Last week,” she says with a nod, having come up with her perfect example. “He said he’d be in a meeting. Didn’t tell me where, he always tells me where.” Her eyes scan over the table, looking for more. “Something’s wrong and he won’t tell us.”

Morgan huffs, shifted now so that his arms are wrapped tightly around himself. His legs crossed, even. Distant. “I don’t see why we don’t just let him be.” His tone betrays what he’s really feeling. That anger and the vulnerability. His words are reflexive. He’s always pushed away when things get tough.

Emily wants to rise to his defense or to say anything but she can’t.

“Reid went into his office yesterday--”

Reid flinches. The memory or the feeling, he draws himself in. Shielding himself from whatever is being said.

Garcia looks down at her lap.

“He was asleep at his desk,” Dave finishes, despite seeing just how uncomfortable Garcia and Reid look. “Out like a-- Asleep like he hadn’t rested in a while. It took-- I had to shake him awake. He was warm to the touch and shaking.” Dave looks down to the table. “Shaking. He was weak and I’d known,” he looks up, frowning sadly. “I’d known something was wrong before but whatever is, we’ve got to get to the bottom of it.”

The bottom of it… God, they’re going to be devastated.

Lunch brightens. It’s forced to when the conversation shifts to the children. To Henry starting fourth grade and Jack’s in middle school now. Since when did those babies grow up?

Sooner than maybe she’s ready for it, she has to leave them. She’s too tired, too jet-lagged.

And maybe… Maybe she’s ready to bother Hotch. To reacquaint herself with his grumpy, silent nature. Isn’t it silly to think she’d hated him once?

Now she knows where his house keys are hidden.

The key hits the lock and she realizes how this might not be as great of a plan as she had planned it to be. “Hotch,” she calls into the dark. She peaks around, hoping if he’s home he’s not on edge. She’s seen him hypervigilant, she knows this is an awful plan. Even calling ahead might not have been enough. So, it’s more than brave for her to just come barging in.

She puts her back near the coat rack, still hunched into herself in case he comes barreling around the corner. He doesn’t. “Aaron?” His car is out front, despite the darkness of the room suggesting the house is empty. The blinds are drawn shut, blocking all-natural light into the house. The air is cool. “Aaron if you’re here please, please don’t shoot me.”

Shutting the door behind her, she progresses into the living room. The creaking of floorboards draws her attention to the other side of the house and she spots him.

He comes around the corner of the hall, from the direction of his room. Tired eyes move up to find her, his lip quirks into half a smile. “Emily,” he greets under his breath. He’d heard the door open but the binds weighing his wrist and ankles to the bed had been too much for him to lift. Pained and slowed, he’d made his way to figure out who was home.

Certain it’s not Jack, he should have had a little more trepidation about coming out here to investigate.

She approaches him slowly, soaking in every line and angle of his body. The way he’s favoring his right side is a new thing but the crescent moons under his eyes are a comforting familiarity. Pulling in a breath, she drags her eyes all the way up to him. He’s lost some weight and it just makes his cheekbones that much more hauntingly sharp. It draws attention to the scars on his face, thin and aged.

With a smile, she shakes her head at him. “Just as ugly as when I left,” she informs him.

He smiles tiredly, sighing at her playful taunt. It makes the hug she pulls him into relieving. The aches and chills he’s felt all day lessen as she wraps her arms around him. Something about the way her hand cups the back of his neck while the other rubs his up along his spine.

She’s standing on the tips of her toes, stretching to get to him. He leans down into her, closing his eyes. She just holds him that much closer. Against her, she can feel the beating of his heart. The way his nerves had amped his heart rate up and now, as the beat slows, the way he calms under her touch.

“How are you?” she asks quietly. They pull apart and she feels the absence of his warmth immediately.

He pulls in a weak breath, one he lets out a strangled cough. Shakes his head and offers a shrug. “I’m okay,” he assures her.

She doesn’t fail to notice how his right hand shakily reaches out to steady him against the wall. They’ve never agreed on the definition of okay and, so, it’s not that surprising they wouldn’t now.

Burying a cough into the elbow of his arm, he starts to tremble. His breathing takes a heavy quality as he stands there. It takes only a moment for him to draw himself up to his full height,  swallowing down against the pain and forcing his body to bend to his will. If she didn’t know better, nothing would look wrong at all.

“Can I get you anything,” he asks, clenching his teeth to keep steady despite how exhausted he feels. “How long are you staying?” He knows she won’t actually answer that first question, so he steps by her and lets her follow him into the kitchen. Hyper-aware of the way he moves his body. Trying to look normal instead of stiff.

She follows him, watching for clues in the slips of his armor. One of the many benefits of having known him so long and knowing him well is that he can’t get much past her. “I’m staying for as long as I’m welcome,” she replies. It’s better than the truth, that she’s staying until he’s better.

He appreciates her choice of wording even if the truth is still there underneath it all. Leaving him the burden of the situation, which is considerably worse.

He sticks with a simple hum of understanding, knowing she’ll understand it as such. “Staying where,” he asks. Suspecting he already knows the answer. “Here?” He fills two glasses with water, desperate to soothe his dry mouth. Turning to her, he offers the first glass.

She accepts the glass without comment. “I didn’t think about where,” she lies, smirking over the glass rim at him. He shakes his head but doesn't comment. “Here would be good though.” She looks up at him and he shakes his head with a smile. “It would!” she defends. “I know you miss me and I could help around with Jack. If you won’t admit to it, I know he will.” Her smile twists mischievously, “besides, he’s my favorite Hotchner and I’ll make time to spend with him regardless of where I stay.”

He shakes his head but he’s already formulating how to move the guest room around to accommodate her. There’s not much in there. A bed with some regular looking sheets and two or three boxes of random things.

Putting her glass down on the counter she sighs. “We don’t need to worry about that right now.” Nodding her head back towards the hall she says, “you look miserable. Go to bed.”

He realizes that while she was talking he’s slowly started leaning more and more on the counter. Accumulating a lean to ease the aches wracking his body. She’s right. He looks miserable because he is. He’s exhausted.

“Do you need to take any medication?”

He shakes his head, not letting it bother him when she tucks herself against his side. Allowing him to lean into her. He doesn't but the warmth her body brings is pleasant enough to keep him going. 

He took everything he needed this morning. The medicine for the radiation rash he’s developed across his chest, the preventative pills for the fibrosis that might build in his lungs because of the radiation, and a whole other list of things he can’t really remember. He just has the bottles on his nightstand and knows that most require two dosages.

His bed is warm and soft, his eyes closing against his will. Logically, he knows he shouldn’t let her see him like this. This is his battle and he doesn’t want to burden anyone else with it. There’s a comfort in sharing, though. Rather it be the brush of her fingers on his forehead, pushing back his crazy or the kiss she presses to his temple before whispering “get some sleep, Hotch”.

And, honestly, he’s tired of being alone.

“Emily?”

She turns in the doorway.

“Thank you.”

Someone has to be here. She wants to be here. “You’d do the same for me.”

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

Legs crossed, hair pulled into a half-assed knot atop her head she watches him curiously. He’s up an hour later than she’d expected. No coffee to go along with the egg he has for breakfast. Between them, they have an entire morning spent without nearly a word. Just a simple, “do you want an egg?”

He gets ready but not for work.

“What’re you doing?”

She gets ready too. For what, she’s not sure, but she’s interested none-the-less. Even if she thinks she knows the answer. It’s very interesting, she thinks, to step into the living room and find him staring dumbly back at her. No, not interesting. It’s fun.

Stepping around him, she pulls her coat off the rack. “Isn’t it obvious,” she asks, slipping her feet into the boots. “I’m coming with you.”

Flannel and jeans aren’t his typical go to but it’s a relaxed look. One she finds she doesn't hate.

He crosses his arms on his chest, eyebrows furrowed and a stern frown in place. Startlingly in control for a man she watched choke down half an egg before calling it quits. He hadn’t even had coffee. Now he shifts his weight, left to right. “Emily this isn’t--” he just stands with his mouth open. After a moment he shakes his head. “You don’t want to come.”

So it is treatment.

She pulls her jacket tight around her shoulders and without comment pulls his down too, offering it to him.

He takes it with a sigh, shaking his head, but pulling the sleeves over his flannel. With a sigh, he grabs his keys off the counter. He points a finger at her, looking every bit the father scolding a troublemaking child. “You’re not coming inside the hospital. It’ll be an hour. You’ll drive someplace else. I’ll text you when it’s done.”

She smirks, pleased she’s won this round. Placing two fingers to her temple, she gives him a mocking salute. “Aye-aye captain!” Today, she won’t push. He’s come this far, weeks into his therapy. If he needs some time, then he needs time. Just so long as he knows she’s here now.

Leaving him is harder than she anticipated.

She takes his seat, half-listening as he stands at the door.

“There an outlet about five minutes North,” he says. He watches her move the seat around. Trying to drag the seat closer to the steering wheel so she can actually reach the pedals. “It’ll give you something to do. There’s a bookshop up there too. I-- I take Jack there.” He runs a hand over his hair. “A coffee shop and a smoothie stand and--”

She catches sight of the grey through his hair. Looking away, she clenches her jaw. Worry the edge of the steering wheel. “Aaron,” she finally stops him. “I can take care of myself for an hour. I’m a big girl.”

He shakes his head, ducking to so she can’t see the blush creep up his cheek. “Right,” he manages. “I’ll be back in an hour.”

She nods, “an hour.” She waits until she can’t see him. Those doors closing behind him. Swallowing him whole. It’s just an hour.

She was gone for an entire year. More than that really. Years. What are years to a single hour?

The coffee shop is quant. She can imagine him here. Tucked away within the stacks of books. Reid would like it here. The covers are old but, she thinks with a smile, he’d find something, not to date. Seeking a classic and turning away when it’s not in its original translation. That’s where Garcia has always been his balance. She’d pull him from a rant and sit him down with a cup of tea.

How had Emily ever left them?

Her hands tremble as she runs a finger over those old book backs. Mostly, she wonders what Hotch must be thinking. Heaven or hell. If all the work they’ve put into this job will account for anything at all in the end.

If it’ll hurt.

Her phone goes off. Done. Simple enough.

“I brought you a smoothie!” She’s got his sunglasses on when she pulls up. Not even offering to get out of the driver’s side.

He’s hurting more than he cares to admit. Tired and the rash on his chest burns. Seeing her pull up, he’s glad she doesn’t do more than hook her finger into the sunglasses and peer over their edge at him. Climbing into the car he takes one look at the smoothie and shakes his head. It’s dark green and even if he were hungry he’s sure that isn’t very good. “No thank you,” he mumbles, leaning back into the seat. He tilts his head against the rest.

She’s not really in the mood for arguments. More so, he’s just gotten out of treatment and all he’s had is an egg. “You’ll drink it,” she informs him, putting the car in drive. “Maybe not now but eventually.”

He grunts. Doubt that. If he’s going to manage to stomach anything, it’s not going to be that. Besides, he’d got plans: take a nap. That slowly goes down the drain.

Emily turns up the radio, humming along to a song he doesn’t recognize.

Turning his head, he watches her drive. He hasn’t told her yet but he’s very thankful she’s come back. Even if he’s slightly tainted the return with… She’s here taking over his life. Worming her way into his spare bedroom. Force-feeding him weird green smoothies. He doubts she’ll stop there.

“Hotch?” He doesn’t wake up when she shuts the car off. From there on, she’s gentle. Careful as she extracts herself from the car. “Aaron,” she rubs his shoulder.

He pulls in a small breath, turning slowly to her. Half-lidded eyes find her, confused.

When they left the house he’d looked better. Better than now. Not so exhausted.

“You fell asleep,” she informs him, backing up as he sits up. He has to use the seat to get there but he makes it happen. She waits back for him, letting him take his time getting out of the car. All while holding that damn smoothie she’s convinced she’s going to make him drink.

He’s rubbing the sleep from his eyes when his phone goes off in his pocket. She turns at the door, waiting. He motions her on with a wave, taking the call. “Agent Hotchner speaking.”

She stops for a moment to watch him pull in the whole persona. Not Aaron who just fell asleep in the car but Hotch the rock. It’s sad, really, how quickly the one consumes the other.

She’s reading on the couch when he comes in.

He doesn’t say anything as he slips past, going back towards his room. He comes right back out. The loosely buttoned flannel is forgotten, replaced by a suit across his thin shoulders. Once, those suits had pronounced the sharpness of his body. The way his shoulders sit strong and straight. Now, that jacket doesn’t even look like it belongs to him.

“Where are you going?”

He only glances at her, ducking his head back to the task at hand-- putting on shoes.

She gets up off the couch, flipping the book text down. “Aaron,” she comes around the side. “You can’t go out there.” To work. It’s not healthy to go out there. He had fallen asleep on the ride home, not even twenty minutes ago. He won’t manage out there.

He turns to her as she steps into the room, scowl in place and a look of indifference pulled between them. All the protection he can garner for himself. “It’s not up for debate,” he replies. As if this is out of his control. He just can’t help but think it would be easier this way. It would hurt less, dying out there. A coherent death. He’d feel it. Quick and overwhelming.

But coherent. He’d know.

Not in a hospital. More machine than man. Unable to speak or too weak to think.

It would be better to die a hero.

“Aaron,” she calls, he’s just walking away. “You’re being unreasonable.” She wants to scream. To shout at him or grab him the collar of that oversized dress shirt and shake him. Force him to realize that he’s being stupid. Does he think she’s stupid? They both know this is self-destruction. Skipping treatment. Going into the field. All for this stupid image that he’s convinced himself is necessary. For who? Huh?

It’s better to suffer around people you love than to have them bury you. The only burden is the weight of your casket across their shoulders.

He turns, teeth clenched. Jaw set. “Am I?” he asks. His face has darkened, his cheekbones drawing his cheeks in. “I’m going,” he informs her, “regardless of whatever it is you have to say.”

He won’t look at her. That’s how she knows that no matter how illogical he’s being, he knows exactly what he’s doing. Back turned to her, he stops for just a moment. He knows this isn’t what he should. That this is neither his best option nor the right choice. Still, he opens the door. Stepping out he turns his head, eyes cast to the side. “I--” he shakes his head, he doesn’t know.

Before he can shut the door she calls his name out, fear overriding the anger. “Aaron,” she clenches her fists at her side. “Please be safe.”

His adam’s apple bobs in his throat as he swallows thickly. Glancing at her, he nods his head. At least he has the decency not to lie to her. To pretend this is anything but foolish and a death wish. He shuts the door behind himself without another word.

Leaving her standing there.

Waiting.

She’ll still be waiting that night when Reid calls her. Incoherent.

“I-- I don’t know what’s wrong Emily! He won’t-- He’s bleeding and I--I… He said to call you.”

She shouldn’t have let him leave.

@laiba-the-person, @emily-hottie-prentiss, @unionjackpillow, @clockedstar, @baumarvel, @blakeprentiss, @qvid-pro-qvo, @aaron-hotchner187, @ssalavellan

#tw cancer #haha assholes #I bet you thought I wouldn't hit you with a cliffhanger #emily is super involved in this chapter but the next chapter has lot more of the team in it #aaron hotchner hiding medical issues like he would #stubborn ass #you gotta love him tho #aaron hotchner #criminal minds #criminal minds fanfiction #emily prentiss #derek morgan #david rossi #jennifer jareau #penelope garcia #spencer reid #bau

[prentissinred]

Already Gone

Rated T Pairing: Aaron Hotchner x Emily Prentiss  Word Count: 1k  AO3

AU - At the end of season 7 episode 24, Rossi hosts the wedding of Aaron Hotchner and Beth Clemmons. 

[If you want angst, stop with Part One. If you want the HEA, see Part Two]

Part One: Already Gone

It was the perfect night, windless and balmy. The caterers bustled around the mansion, carrying trays of carefully crafted hor d'oeuvres to the handful of guests. Lanterns strung over a set table, a petaled aisle, a flowered archway.

The news had come from Rossi. It wasn't planned, a spontaneous question asked in the high of surviving a too-close brush with death. She had said yes, of course. And his friend of nearly 20 years had offered to host the celebration the following night, because why wait? The invitation was accompanied by a sympathetic, “I know it’s not easy, but he’d want you to be there.”

So she came, dressed in one of the few dresses that he hadn’t seen before, one that didn’t hold a lingering memory. It was easy at first to ignore the reason they had gathered, commiserating with Penelope about her romantic woes, embracing JJ and Will who had experienced their own near-tragedy today. A plastered smile on her face, even a laugh when the conversation called for it. She'd been perfecting this part for the last few months; tonight was just her final curtain call.

It wasn’t until he exited the house to join his guests, donning a crisp black suit and a tie she didn’t recognize, that she felt all the air leave her body. She watched him from a distance, shaking hands with Dave and Anderson, his head tipped back in laughter. He looked...happy. Peaceful. Every logical part of her wanted to feel proud that her friend — because that's what he was before anything else — had found someone. Someone good for him and good for Jack.

He caught her eye just then across the manicured lawn, and suddenly, it was like someone had scrubbed her skin raw, exposing every wound she had taken care to hide. It took all she had to not double over with the pain. He frowned, because even with every kind of distance between them, he could read her better than anyone else.

"Emily, you okay?" JJ's voice broke through the fog.

"Uh, yeah," she tried to cough the lump out of her throat. "Just- will you excuse me?"

She fled to the house, looking for refuge. An offer that she had only briefly contemplated solidified with every step she took. By the time she reached the study, the decision stood resolute in her chest. A lifeline she held onto with everything she had.

She didn't need to turn around to know the exact sound of the footsteps that had followed her into the room. Facing the collection of leather-bound books, she announced into the air in a voice stronger than she felt, "I'm leaving."

After a beat, he asked, his voice painfully neutral, "Easter?"

She turned, the answer clear on her face. "The London office."

"That's...big. Congratulations."

"Thank you." Her next words tasted dry, like they had rolled in chalk in her mouth. "And congratulations to you and Beth."

They faced each other like strangers, like lovers, like friends, neither of them sure how to bridge every intimate moment of history between them.

Finally, he asked, "Why?"

She scoffed, "You know why, Aaron."

"No, I really don't. I thought...things were getting better?"

She stared at him disbelievingly, the sheer ignorance of his question flaming her anger. "No, it's not better. Everything's changed. I've changed. I- I can't ignore that anymore."

"And you think leaving is going to fix it?" His tone held an edge that felt accusatory.

"I don't know," she answered truthfully. "I just know I can't stay here anymore."

He held her gaze for a second that felt like hours. It seemed like he wanted to say more, but instead, he nodded and turned his back to her, an acceptance that she had left his life long before this night.

It was the finality of it all, the knowledge that this would likely be the last conversation they would ever have, that caused her to ask the question. "Why?"

He didn't turn, his hand holding the doorknob with just a sliver of space exposing them to the outside world. "What do you mean?"

"Why her? Why now?"

"What do you want me to say?" He moved out of the entryway, the oak door falling closed behind him once again. "Because I'm tired of waiting to be happy. Because she makes me happy." Two steps closer to her. "Because you said no."

She had. She had said no. An anniversary she had forgotten, her mind occupied by lilac freesias and shadowy figures, until she came home to an apartment filled with lit candles and a small velvet box. And what could she have done except give him a teary refusal, her heart shattering at the pain in his eyes, her only solace that this heartbreak would keep him alive. She felt a familiar rage burn through her for everything Doyle had snatched away, followed by an unbearable grief for the future she would never get to have.

"That wasn't...you know that wasn't..."

"Wasn't what, Emily?" A year's worth of hurt and mistruths woven into a conversation that should have happened months ago but instead was happening on the day of his wedding. "You didn't trust us, didn't trust me, to protect you. To understand why you did what you did. I don't know how you could think so little of me." He stepped closer still.

"How can you say that? Everything, everything, I did was to keep you safe. I would have died before I let him come after you and Jack." Less than a foot of space separated them now. "I loved you. I love you."

Anguish flashed across his face, but he schooled his features just as quickly. "It- it's too late for that now."

"I know." The tears she had been carefully holding back now flowed freely. His hand came up to her cheek, and she leaned into the painfully familiar touch as his thumb wiped the moisture on her cheekbones.

Then his hand was gone, following the rest of him headed determinedly to the door.

She stopped him one last time, a pleading whisper. "Aaron?"

"Yes?"

"I'm sorry."

His final words to her before he exited her life were, "Me too, Emily."

She didn't stay for the ceremony. Didn't speak to anyone else as she wound through the house and escaped into her car. She immediately dialed the last number on her phone and was never more grateful to hear the voice of her new life on the other side. "I'm in."

#the angst is real #hotchniss #aaron hotchner #emily prentiss #beth clemmons #hotchniss fanfiction #Already Gone

[autisticsupervillain]

Queen of the House

Theme: The House Always Wins ~ The Stupendium

Oh my, how I've been looking forward to this. Vriska Serket is basically a rorschach test applied to an entire fandom in mass. Between all the potential character flaws, interpretations, and sympathetic qualities I could use to make her evil, I almost had too much to work with. Well, make her evil-er at any rate. Or, at least, make her the main antagonist. Because, with the way this is going, I might just make a few sympathizers out of you guys.

So, how does Vriska Serket, fandom darling and author's pet extraordinaire, become the big bad of the story she insisted that she was the hero of? Well, crank up Megalovania, ladies and gents, because you're about to find out~

When the story ended, Vriska had everything she ever wanted.

She had mended her relationship with Terezi and gotten to pursue a proper friendship with her. She had gotten the praise she always thought she deserved, as a savior and a Goddess to Earth C and it's people. And, she'd finally gotten a taste of that little paradise planet that John had given her a glimpse of.

And Vriska found that she really wasn't enjoying it.

There was the part of her that missed the old rivalry that she had with Terezi. The endless cycle of revenge, as destructive as it was, was one of the things the kept her motivated and happy, in a strange way. There was the part of her that felt she didn't deserve all the praise she'd gotten, the part she'd revealed to John after she murdered Tavros. The guilty, humane part of her. And, there was the part of her that didn't enjoy Earth. That didn't want to live a subdued peaceful life. Not when there was adventure to be had and treasures to be won. The bored, bloodthirsty side of her.

Vriska wasn't the other side of Terezi's coin anymore. Vriska's recklessness and selfishness weren't being counterbalanced by Terezi's brilliance and sense of ethics because the two just weren't the same people they were back then. The dynamic was just... off now. Now, Vriska was the coin. Two conflicting sides of pride and guilt that she didn't really know how to address.

See, the Gods put some rules in place to keep themselves from interfering to much with the lives of consorts and carapacians. They're more like celebrities than rulers, the citizens of Earth C are mostly just left to rule themselves. So, whenever a war picks up or politics get divisive, the Gods stay out of it.

Vriska really wants to get involved though. She feels like these opportunities are the best chances that she'll get to work out all of her conflicted emotions she has about her new life. It satisfies that growing itch for adventure and conflict that she has, that bloodthirsty boredom that misses her life on Alternia and her life in the game. And, it also appeals to that lingering guilty side of her. If she really wants to be a hero, really feels guilty about what she did, shouldn't she prove? Shouldn't she step in and earn all the praise she'd been getting? Actually become a hero?

Of course, every time she does bring up getting involved, she gets shot down.

The reasoning given is that, well, they're gods. If they step in to solve tge people's problems, the people will become reliant on them, which is a bad thing when they're arguably not qualified to do. They're not professionals, they're just traumatized teenagers with no real adult guidance. Winning a war is one thing, but solving poverty? Getting involved in politics? Preventing those wars to begin with? That's not something they have the life experience to do, and, if they get involved and start solving people's problems for them, it's what they'd be expected to do, which is a bad combo.

Dirk, Rose, Karkat, even Vriska herself. They're all people who thought they could handle the weight of the world on the shoulders and, when they couldn't, it had disastrous consequences.

Vriska always grumbles, but she concedes the point. Instead, she tries to find other ways to scratch that itch. She tries to go hunting and adventuring with Jake, but finds she can't stand him. He's far to cheerful, chatty, and oblivious, but, worst of all, there are those things about him that remind her just a bit of John and Tavros. Things that she can't quite put her finger on about him but make her uncomfortable none the less. She quickly stops attending these little hunting trips with him.

Vriska then tries to go to Aradia. She wants in on those little multiverse adventures that Aradia had been going on with Sollux, but Aradia slams the door in her face before Vriska can get three words out. Vriska makes a scene and pounds on the door for half an hour before Aradia opens up again.

Aradia explains that, no, she doesn't hold a grudge against Vriska for what she did. Sollux does.

"iit wa2 2uch a 2pur of the moment thiing for you, wa2n't iit? makiing me kiill her. iit wa2 a petty, iimpul2iive act of 2piite, ju2t liike everythiing el2e you do. ii don't thiink you even thought twiice about kiilliing aradiia untiil 2he beat the 2hiit out of you. but me?"

"ii heard her voiice. and ii heard iit on repeat iin the back of my thiinkpan every niight after ii kiilled her. every niight... untiil 2he came back..."

"2o, no, vrii2ka, ii don't forgiive you, and ii don't know or want two know about whatever bull2hiit you hammered on our front door for. now get out of our hiive."

As Vriska sulks her way out of their hive, she again feels those two conflicting responses coming from her pride and guilt. One part of her is indignant. Because it had been just another night for her. It had been just another shitty thing she'd done to someone who pissed her off. Who was Sollux to complain? She was the hero, she saved the day, it should be water under the bridge. She didn't save everyone by being nice, now did she?

But, then her guilty side speaks up. No. She hadn't saved the day like that. But Tavros sure did.

That thought just leaves her feeling more conflicted, bitter, and guilty than she ever did before. In a huff, she storms over to John's house.

Vriska had been expecting, partially even hoping, for his house to be in ruins. In her mind, John's life before the game had been the ideal human life. She thought a lot harder about how John's life turned out compared to how her life did than she'd like to admit. John was one of the few people who could break through her stubborn egotism, after all. So, she'd assume he'd be pretty tired of this new life too, seeing how it effectively stole his old "perfect" life from him.

But, she doesn't find that. Instead, she finds John... perfectly content with his new lidmfe and completely uninterested in finding new adventures.

John had friends. Close friends who knew what he was going through and understood how hard on him everything was. Jade, Dave, and Rose always took time out of their days to check on him, talk to him, be there for him. Even Karkat did his part to help John take the enormous weight of the world off his shoulders, help him settle down and start over so he could be happy again.

Yes, John was nice enough to take Vriska to some dark part of the multiverse if she asked, but she didn't want that. That ugly, prideful part of her was upset that he wouldn't have to rely on her, yes, but mostly, she just didn't want to be pitied. For John, who'd found happiness, family, and love in this new 'boring' world of theirs to tear himself away from all of that to just give her an adventure, would be nothing more than an act of pity. And, in Vriska's eyes, she just couldn't use him like that.

So, Vriska collapses onto her bed that night, and dreams of a way she could easily fix these weird, conflicted feelings she has. Vriska never knew who she was, that's why she was so bad at confronting herself.

But, she knew who she wanted to be, and that person was Marquise Spinneret Mindfang.

And that's who Vriska saw standing before her as she woke up in the dreambubbles.

Vriska fangirls at the sight of her and Mindfang basks in all the attention. Vriska even lists off exact feats Mindfang performed in her journal, leading her Ancestor to boast that she's preparing for an even grander adventure. One that could decide the fate of Paradox Space itself.... and she wants Vriska to join her.

This is everything that Vriska could dream of. At this exact moment, all that inner conflict melts away. Mindfang, the Dreaded Spider of the Sea herself, the person who Vriska centered her entire life around, is offering Vriska the chance to join her. In that moment, both sides of the coin are satisfied.

Vriska gleefully accepts the offer.

Mindfang explains the problem, stating that the battle against Lord English had left a tear in Paradox Space, a wound that threaten to grow until it ripped Paradox Space apart. In order to combat it, she needs to find some Rogues of Life to heal the wound and seal it back together. Without any way to control where she's going in the dreambubbles, Mindfang wouldn't be able to find any without a lot of luck... which is where Vriska comes in. Mindfang never got the chance to unlock her aspect like Aranea and Vriska did, she never got a copy of Sgrub, so she needs her descendant.

Vriska is both ecstatic to be so important and disappointed about not being called on to battle some powerful supervillain or something. Mindfang reassures her that she'd be more than happy to take her to fight a few dangerous villains after the important quest was taken care of, all while heaping on the praise. I wouldn't waste your time with some 8ooooooooring healing quest. I've seen what you can do. I know my descendant deserves 8etter than that."

So, Vriska uses her luck powers to lead Mindfang to several Rogues of Life, whom Mindfang mind controls each time. Vriska questions this, but Mindfang insists it's more practical to just ensnare them and apologize later than try to convince them to tag along. Vriska accepts this, even as the guilty part of her points out how that Tavros did a much better job at getting people to join him just by talking to them.

After Mindfang decides they've gathered up enough Rogues of Life, Mindfang uses the Rogues to reassurect herself and them back on Earth C, allowing Vriska to wake up and meet up with them. Once that's done, Mindfang takes Vriska aside and thanks her for being so helpful.

Before decapitating her, stating that Vriska wasn't needed anymore.

While Vriska is resurrecting, Mindfang orders the Rogues to drain the life out of Earth C and funnel it into her, killing countless thousands before Vriska recovers and attacks her. Mindfang is amped enough for Vriska to be forced to use her Ancestral Awakening form to defeat her, all while she tearfully demands to know why Mindfang has done this. As Mindfang glares up at her descendant with a look of bloodparched rage, she spitefully spits out her motivation for her actions.

What you need to remember is that Mindfang was just a version of Aranea who grew up in a more hostile, deadly environment, where all her character flaws could fester. In effect, she has Aranea's ego dialed up past ten.

While Mindfang was content to be dreaded, terrifying pirate in life, it wasn't until her death that she saw the true nature of the multiverse.

She saw Vriska's adventure, watched her life from beginning to end, and realized how insignificant her own role was. Vriska was saving the multiverse, traveling between timelines, battling demons. Vriska became a God, one who was worshipped by an entire planet. All while Mindfang held no real relevance. She wasn't even a background character, she was a backstory character. A means of giving Vriska motivation and nothing more.

Mindfang was a dreaded pitate, but only on one planet in one timeline. Which is hardly as speck in the vastness of the multiverse. And Mindfang felt entitled to more.

The problem is, she's effectively Aranea, but worse. While Aranea tried to make a story that didn't involve her all about her, Mindfang decided that a story that didn't involve her shouldn't exist at all.

Mindfang was going to suck all the life force out of Earth C, before using the absorbed energy to destroy the Alpha Timeline. With no Alpha Timeline to hold it together, Paradox Space would fall apart, erasing everything that ever was. It would be the most important act ever committed. No one could be more important than Mindfang if no one else existed.

In that moment, Vriska Serket died.

Vriska Serket, the one who paralyzed Tavros. Who blinded Terezi. Who murdered Aradia. Who created Bec Noir. Vriska Serket, the egotist, the murderer, the manipulator, and the abuser, died.

Every reason that Vriska had to exist was glaring right up at her, wallowing in a defeated pile of spite, pride, and ego.

Vriska stared blankly as Mindfang died, completely lost. Vriska didn't know who she was or who she wanted to be anymore.

Vriska walks the desolate Earth, the lost Rogues trailing behind her now that they had no where else to go. With so much of their energy wasted on amping Mindfang, there's little they can do to repair the damage done to Earth C.

Vriska searches desperately for her friends, to no avail. Most of them, she can't even find the bodies of. In some cases, such as with Sollux and Aradia, that gives her hope. Maybe they weren't on Earth C during the attack, maybe they're alive. Most of the time, though, it just serves to make her feel more hopeless.

Vriska never finds out if Terezi survived or not.

Vriska does find John's body however. Several months into her search, she found John, Dave, Jade, Rose, Jane, even Karkat inside a run down home. Vriska remembered being surprised at how lively it was once.

The bodies are to rotten for the Rogues to heal in their current state, but at least Vriska knew John died happy. The rotting birthday cake on the table was proof enough of that.

Vriska would never find any surviving Gods. But she would find survivors.

Eventually, after several years of searching, Vriska and the Rogues would stumble across a small town of consorts, slaving away at all hours of the day in mines and farms. They were being exploited by raiders, forced to provide for their ever growing gang or be killed. So Vriska decides to confront them.

The raiders are awed to see one of the "Old Gods" still alive and kicking, but they do not back down and bow in reverence as Vriska would partially expect. The world has turned into an empty, rotting place, so everyone is operating under the idea of kill or be killed. While the raiders are clearly intimidated, they're not going to give up without a fight and they make it clear that they will fight Vriska and her group to maintain control of what little resources they've managed to seize.

Vriska could crush these raiders easily. In the past, she happily would have. But now? She just doesn't want to kill what little life is left on Earth C, especially seeing how they'll likely need every hand on deck if Earth C is ever going to be habitable again. She wants to better now. She wants to do good.

So, Vriska challenges them to game. She makes up a card game on the spot and challenges them to it. If the raiders win, Vriska and the Rogues leave, allowing the Raiders to go on as normal. If Vriska wins, she gets control of the settlement, with the Raiders becoming her muscle. The Raiders agree, seeing it as a better alternative to a fight they knew they couldn't win, and they inevitably lose when Vriska rigs the game in her favor with her luck powers.

Vriska spots an opportunity to rebuild Earth C and, using the raiders as her enforcers, sends her forces out in search of more resources and settlements. Her goal is to unite Earth C under one banner so that everyone can pool their resources into making the world habitable again. As such, all settlements found are immediately "persuaded" to join and those that resist are dealt with by Vriska herself, using that same card game scam.

It takes several decades, but Vriska gradually unites the world and makes it livable again. However, she has no interest in returning Earth C to the way it was, as a bunch of different countries with their own worldviews and opinions. She remembers how often wars broke out and how she wanted to get involved but couldn't, so she decides to sude step that problem entirely.

She creates a new world order, centered around the card game scam she used to conquer the world to begin with.

How it works is that, when people get out of school, they immediately go into the work force in order to get enough money to participate in the Gambler's Den. Those who win big in the Den get House Dollars, which is the currancy that allows people to buy their way up into the world. But better homes in nicer neighborhoods, where food is cheaper and taxes are more lax.

Those who manage to get to the top of the Gambler's Den have to challenge Vriska to the game. If they win, they get let into the House. A paradise eerily similar in aesthetic to John's old neighborhood, wherin the citizens have Vriska's ear, meaning they get some say in how Earth C is governed and run. If they lose, they go right back to the bottom again.

Naturally, the whole system is rigged. Not only can Vriska simply decide wether or not she loses with her luck powers, she has the game's rigged. If someone gets far enough to catch Vriska's attention, she had them spied on and looked into. If Vriska likes them, she has the automatic game machines rig the games in their favor and send them straight to her so she can decide whether they go in the House or not. As "Queen of the House", the Housr and the Gambler's Den are rigged in her favor on every level.

Thing is, Vriska isn't trying to be an evil dictator here. She genuinely thinks this is a step up, as it's what the people themselves seem to want. Of course, the people aren't going to argue against anything she does because she's literally their only remaining God and she rebuilt civilization, so it's not like she's a good judge of that. Basically, her two halves are finally working in tandem. She's soothing her conscience by finally giving the people what they "want" and she's appeasing her ego by rigging everything in her favor and convincing herself and the world that she's doing what's best for everyone. Her compassionate side is leading the dance for once, sure, but that's still leading her down the same path.

The two sides of the coin are identical. It's a rigged coin. And both sides lead to Vriska justifying her own despotism.

Of course, she's not stopping there. Vriska wants to protect her people from all threats, just as she did when she was rebuilding Earth C. By rigging the Gambler's Den so that her most ideal subjects are forced to join the military, Vriska is able to create an army that she uses the conquer the universe. Meanwhile, the Rogues are sent into the dreambubbles to try and find the ghosts of her dead friends so they can revive them or, failing that, find other God-Tiers who can join their cause.

It's a few years after Vriska discovers a way to cross into other timelines and decides to start preemptively conquering the multiverse that she finds her friends again. The Rogues immediately bring John back to life and Vriska enthusiastically hugs him. The two embrace for a solid minute before Vriska decides to bring him up to speed.

John is... horrified.

After he finally managed to reunite with most of his friends in the dreambubbles, they'd heard tell of an evil empire born out of the main timeline that had begun subjugating the multiverse. John and friends joined the resistance against it... but they never thought Vriska was the one who created it.

Vriska tries to justify herself, but it just leads to an ugly, tearjerking arguement.

"I'm doing this for you! 8ecause I want to 8e like you! 8ecause I want to live in a world like yours. You showed me that I could 8e happy, good even, in a more caring world. It's not my fault the things I have to do to protect this stupid paradise planet! I want to 8e a good person, John! ....8ut... I have to 8e a hero...."

John teleports back to the dreambubbles, distraught that Vriska won't see reason. Vriska, meanwhile, readies her armies for war.

They'll see reason. They all will. Then... they can be friends again. They can be happy... in way Vriska was never allowed to be. But, until then, she had duties to attend as Queen of the House.

#villainstuck #vriska serket #queen of the house #john egbert #terezi pyrope #aradia megido #sollux captor #marquise spinneret mindfang