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vivalabunbun · 1 year

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Do I Meet Your Qualifications Now?

Summary: A promise made long ago resurfaces during a night of drinks with colleagues.

Word Count: 8.2k (now this is the longest fic I’ve ever written)

Tags: Alhaitham x Fem!Reader, Smut(r18), NSFW, MDNI, Modern AU, Childhood Friends AU, Office au? kinda, Mutual Pinning, Fluff, slight dubcon, slight angst, mentions of office sexual harassment, creepy boss, mentions of marriage, slight yandere!alhaitham, slight mentions of breeding maybe? Jealously, possessive!alhaitham, you enjoy drinks at a tavern with the sumeru boys.

Authors note: This is my first smut in a long long time, I just thought about how alhaitham’s bottled up emotions will one day bubble over, inspired by a small ramble of mine lol. Enjoy.

side note: here is a small continuation after this story

You needed a drink, something strong enough to forget about your growing workload that your paycheck no longer justified. With each new stack of paperwork that reached your desk, the resignation form became increasingly more appealing. You were drained by the time you clocked out at 6 pm, after having to attend 4 meetings throughout the day, all of which could have been a simple email.

“No no, this company has good 401K matching, paid time off, and dental included. 401K and dental, 401K and dental.” You chanted to yourself, trying to steel your resolve against throwing your two weeks' notice in the face of your manager who has been pushing more and more of his work onto you.

All while having the gall to be flirty. As if that ugly gold band wasn’t visible on his finger. Your cheeks hurt after having to hold your business professional smile for the past eight hours. The moment you stepped foot beyond those sliding glass doors, massaging your sore face with one hand.

‘It should be happy hour now, better get a spot at the bar now,’ you thought as you took off your stiff blazer.

You swore one day you’ll catch a cold from constantly subjecting your body to the dramatic shift of your tundra of an office to the sauna that was Sumeru’s climate. Ugh, stupid professional dress code, and stupid you for deciding to wear your new heels today. The back of your ankles felt raw despite the thin layer of your stockings reducing some of the chafing.

As the saying goes, thank god it was Friday, even though you couldn’t take a half day like so many of your co-workers, you were just glad to finally be out of sight from your manager with wandering eyes.

Pushing in the wooden doors to the tavern, you were quickly engulfed in the busy hustle and bustling of servers delivering rounds of glasses to rowdy tables and the hearty drunk laughter of flushed faces.

‘Damn, it’s this crowded already.’ You felt your shoulders drop, ‘should I just pick up some wine on the way home then?’ Another sad weekend spent in your stuffy apartment, great.

Just as you were about to turn on your heels, you spotted a familiar flash of blond hair. Was that Kaveh? You squinted your eyes to focus on that spot of blond through the wave of patrons.

“HA! I’m telling you there is no way that shrewd man got his position without some sort of shady dealing. I bet he’s got some dirt on some higher-ups.”

Yep, that was definitely Kaveh, you immediately recognized that dramatic shrill in his voice. You heard it many times during your college days together, increasingly so whenever he had an architecture final due. He was at a large table, there seemed to be plenty of room for one more person. Swiftly, you made your way through the crowd to tap the blond man on the shoulder, disrupting him mid-rant.

“Kaveh? Oh my god, it is you. It’s been so long. How’ve you been?” You feigned surprise.

“Oh? Oh!” His eyes lit up with recognition. “My college savior! How’ve you been? Come, sit down and drink with us!”

Score, you’ve successfully secured a seat at the tavern. Thus, you avoided wallowing in self-pity alone on your beaten couch. You meet eyes with two unfamiliar faces, the trio seemed to have been setting up a game of cards before you joined, or before Kaveh began to rant about whatever he rants about.

After a quick round of introductions and placing your order for a glass of sweet wine, you were quickly acclimated to their conversation. Tighnari was a part of the research and development team, while Cyno was the head of company security ensuring no classified information gets leaked to competitors. Kaveh, you already knew was the star of the architecture design department.

It felt nice being able to relieve stress about redundant company policies and gossip, or at the very least it was entertaining to hear Kaveh whine nonstop about them.

“Ah, I still just don’t understand how that man got the position of head secretary. I swear he has it out for me, he refused to process my request for approval because ‘it was outside of his working hours’ and because of that my project got delayed a whole week! There is no way he climbed the ranks with that work ethic!”

You did not even have to ask who the subject of Kaveh’s dismay was, it was quite obvious to the 3 of you at the table.

“Just because I can manage a healthy work-life balance, does not mean my work ethic is mediocre. My work hours are clearly posted outside of my office, it seems that literacy has decreased.” A husky voice rang out from just behind your chair.

You felt a slight shiver run up your neck, leaving a trail of goosebumps along its journey. He was here, the main antagonist in Kaveh’s rants has finally shown his face.

“Oh, ‘Haitham? It’s rare to see you come out of your shell of books.” You looked over your shoulder at the towering man as he loosened his tie. Scooting a bit closer to Cyno, making more room for him to sit at the last seat.

“It is a surprise to see you here as well, did Kaveh drag you out to play a game of cards… or perhaps did he want you to foot his tab.” Alhaitham gave the blond man a slight side-eye before returning his attention back to you.

“Hey! I can hear you!”

“It was intentional, couldn’t you tell?”

“You-”

You let out a light giggle from behind your wine glass, noticing the sliver-haired man’s eyes turning back towards you.

“Did you want to sample a bit of the wine? It’s sweet.” You offered your glass to him, hoping he didn’t notice the slight shiver when his long fingers brushed against yours as he accepted it. You tried to keep your face as polite as possible, not allowing your eyes to wander down along his neck as he took a sip.

“Not bad,” he placed your glass back down in front of you. “Boss, this is good wine. I would have the same, please.” He turned his large body slightly as he called out to the tavern owner.

Allowing you to see just how well that button-down shirt fitted his form, the top button seemed to be holding on with all its strength.

“I thought we were all grown enough to not be entertained by mindless gossip,” Alhaitham remarked towards the table.

“Not at all, we were just curious about the raising star of the company,” Tighnari commented.

“There’s nothing special to talk about, I just arrive and do the task I have to before I clock out.”

“It’s a bit odd for a man that lacks ambition to land such a high role within a year.” Cyno followed up, his eyes holding a hint of suspicion.

“ It’s really nothing complicated. I’ve even rejected some promotions, the work of a secretary is simple, that’s why I wish to keep things this way.”

“Ah, he’s humble-bragging now.” You hear the tan man beside you mutter as he crossed his arms.

You also couldn’t help but feel the sting of jealousy as well. While you were proud of your childhood friend having success in his carrier, he advanced much faster than you even though you got a two-year head start.

“Ugh, how did you stand this egomaniac for so long.” Kaveh harshly set his glass down, directing the question at you.

Seeing this as an opportunity to tone your childhood friend down a few, you couldn’t help the slight grin that spread across your face.

“Well, he’s always been this way,” you swirled your glass, “I guess I just got used to it.”

“Makes sense, attitudes like his tend to develop at tender ages.” Tighnari vouched.

“He was so cute when he was younger. This man used to pull on my sleeve and beg me to read Aristotle to him.” You stole a quick glance over your wine glass.

“Oh? You two go that far back?” Cyno inquired.

You hummed in confirmation as you took another sip, “I guess it’s partially my fault for not correcting him back then. But he used to have the chubbiest cheeks, I couldn’t help but be swayed. Who would’ve known that once that cuteness faded, all that’s left is a mulish man.”

You heard Alhaitham tsk in annoyance at your jabs, crossing his arms as he leaned back in his seat.

“Clinging onto the past will serve no benefit towards the future. Frankly, it’s a foolish thought.”

You hid the sting in your heart with a teasing smile, hoping that it reached your eyes as well. He was right, the past was gone and over with, with little to no bearings on the future. The same stood with your relationship, childhood friends, and nothing more.

Alhaitham had the looks, the stellar career, and was already a homeowner while being four years your junior. Even with your head start on life, it felt as if you were constantly behind him, trying to catch up. You knew one day he’ll leave you in the dust, so it is for the best that you let go of this one-sided crush.

“Oh? Then I guess I’m released from that childhood pact then. How freeing.” You let out a slight laugh before taking a larger sip of your wine. You should probably order another glass, maybe two actually.

The stoic man raised an eyebrow at your statement, “and what do you mean by that.”

“Aw, it looks like little ‘Haitham forgot,” you pouted. However, you could not let this opportunity to tease him slip away.

Setting down your glass, you turned to face everyone gesturing a hand toward Alhaitham. “You see, when we were still children. He walked up to me with a flower and asked me to marry him when we grew up.”

Instantly piquing the attention of everyone at the table.

“Pfft, there’s no way that happened.” Kaveh let out a hearty laugh, waving his hand as if dismissing that notion.

“Best believe it, he ignored me for a week when I told him no. Only ‘forgiving’ me after I gave him extra sweets and promised to think about it again in the future.” You supported your face with one hand.

“So I guess you are to blame for his apatheticness? Traumatizing him so young? I’m starting to sympathize with you, Alhaitham” Tighnari scoffed.

“Well, I apologize for my shallow taste when I was a child. I used to dream of being carried off into the sunset in a white dress by my groom.” You dramatically sighed.

You mockingly patted Alhaitham’s arm, feeling the solid muscle hidden beneath the fabric tense up then relax at your sudden skinship.

“Before he became an absolute tree, this guy used to be half my size and weight. Which is why I rejected him back then, I didn’t want to crush my groom to death at our wedding.”

Just what were your intentions when you brought up that childhood memory? Alhaitham was racking his mind, trying to pinpoint a motive, too distracted to be bothered by the snickering that permeated throughout the table.

Your hand, which still lingered on his arm, brought pulses of heat along his skin, the hair at the nape of his neck pricking up from the sensation.

“On the topic of marriage, have you gotten any luck so far? Found anyone special yet?” Kaveh tucked his hands under his chin, as he rested his elbows on the crowded table.

“Ugh, Kaveh, stop you sound like my fucking mother.” You brought your hand up to your temple. Alhaitham’s skin immediately craved your touch again.

“I’m taking that as a ‘no’ then.”

“Obviously, gosh, every time I go to visit my parents it turns into an interrogation of why I didn’t come back with a ring on my finger.” You took another swig of your wine.

“Is that so?” Kaveh prodded, wanting the conversation to continue.

“Honestly, at this rate, I won’t be marrying for love. I’ll be marrying to shut my parents up.”

“Oh? And what would a husband candidate need? To be able to carry you off to the honeymoon?”

“Har har har, Kaveh, very clever.”

“Okay, now seriously.”

“Well, obviously he needs to get along with my parents.”

Just earlier this evening Alhaitham had responded to a message from your mother, telling him how thrilled they were to receive his housewarming gift basket. Your mother wishing that more young people were as considerate as he was towards his elders.

“And I would prefer someone attentive.”

Alhaitham did not even have to think when ordering coffee for you. A mocha with two shots of expresso, oat milk, and an extra drizzle of chocolate syrup. When it gets closer to the holidays, you liked to add one pump of peppermint syrup.

He also takes note of how your words tend to get more graphic once there's alcohol in your veins.

“What about income, you want a man with 6 figures? 7?”

“Ha, if my husband made 7 figures I’d run him a warm bath with rose petals, the house will be spotless, and have dinner set on the table at 7 o’clock sharp. A girl can dream, it would also mean I won’t have to see that ugly bastard’s face again.”

Roses were nice. However, lavender was much better for baths to relax the muscles. After 3 years Alhaitham was confident that he could renegotiate his salary. He knew that your organization skills violently oscillates between an absolute disaster to professional house cleaning service depending on how stressed you were. Your cooking though was always guaranteed to be delectable, 7 pm just so happened to be his preferred time for dinner.

Pause, wait a moment-

“Huh? Is your manager still bothering you? Isn’t he already married? What a sleazebag.”

“Tell me about it,” you were rubbing your temples more aggressively. “I’ve thought about staking my pen through his hand if he tried to place it on my shoulder again.”

“Would you like me to file a report to HR?” Cyno looked over at you with concern and sincerity.

“Thank you, but I’ve already tried. They said until there was hard evidence of such behavior they can’t move on with an investigation.”

“Ugh, it’s always HR protecting the top dogs once again. Seriously, I’m not even from the same department but even I can feel that slimy gaze of his whenever he looks at you. Makes me want to burn my skin off in the shower, how you withstand that is beyond me.” Kaveh, rested one over his chair, dramatically making a face to show his disgust.

Your manager, yes, it’s been noted on several performance reports that his productivity has been on the decline. Perhaps, an additional report from Alhaitham about the suspicious disappearance of funds under your manager’s supervision would warrant a full-scale investigation.

That fool had his wife listed as his emergency contact, the ashen-haired man wondered if he would detail her husband’s harassment of young women in his department to her.

“Let’s move on to a different subject, shall we? I’d be damned if my Friday night is ruined by thoughts of that man.” You rubbed your thumb along the stem of your glass, a nervous habit of yours he noted.

And with that, the drinking continued to pour, as Cyno and Kaveh began a round of cards. If you weren’t so distracted by Kaveh’s theatrical whines of how Cyno should take an easy on him, you would’ve seen the look that promised no good on Alhaitham’s face. Its true intentions are well hidden behind a stoic face.

“You would think he would have learned his limit by now.” Alhaitham couldn’t help but scoff at his housemate.

The blond was absolutely hammered, slurring his words as if they were some encrypted message. Upon seeing the state that Kaveh was in, everyone unanimously agreed to call it a night. Cyno and Tighnari supported him as Alhaitham went to the edge of a sidewalk to hail a cab.

“Are you not going to ride in the same taxi as Kaveh? You’re both going to the same destination no?” You inquired, looking up at him after he gave the directions to his house and cash for the trip.

“And what, get puked on during the ride? Kaveh is a big boy now, I’m sure he’ll manage. Besides…” His teal eyes quickly trailed up your legs.

Your stockings accentuating the shape of your legs as they beckoned his attention towards that pencil skirt with a cheeky leg slit. Not revealing enough to be chastised as unprofessional, but oh so tempting.

“It’s more important that I see you get home safely. Now, come.” He turned his back towards you, heading in the direction of your apartment. Not wanting to be caught staring at you.

Throughout the walk the two of you were silent, but it was a calm silence that can only develop from a place of comfort and familiarity. The clicking of your heels and the taps of his dress shoes filled the air between you and him like a metronome. Alhaitham made sure to remind himself to match his pace with yours, lest his longer legs pull him far ahead of you.

Finally arriving at the entrance of your apartment complex, you swiped your keycard to unlock the heavy security door. Perhaps it was because of the alcohol in your system but it took all of your body weight to pry the metal door ajar. You felt a small hand on your back, stopping your pitiful attempt.

“You’re going to strain your back, here, allow me.” Alhaitham’s voice was so close to your ear that you sore the vibrations tickled it.

Stepping aside, you allowed Alhaitham to grasp onto the side of the door as he swung the door open as if it weighed nothing. He took hold of the handle, meeting your eyes as he gestured you to enter. You felt a bit stupid for struggling so much with the door in front of him, so you quickly shuffled inside as he followed right behind you. Strolling through the lobby you finally arrived at the shiny doors of the elevator.

“Well, I guess this is goodnight.” You looked up at Alhaitham as you pressed the call button.

You heard the ding of the elevator arriving… only for the doors to not open.

You pressed the button again, it dinged again, and again… then the light of the elevator flickered out. Great, just your luck, the elevator decided to break down now of all times. Further embarrassing you in front of Alhaitham. Even though his face remains stoic as ever, he probably thinks your place is shabby.

“Ha ha, what a way to end a night. I guess I’ll be taking the stairs… You should call a cab to get back now.” You cringed a bit on the inside, why did you sound so awkward?

The stairwell door creaked open with all the grace of nails dragging down a chalkboard, the noise almost causing a headache to form as you begin your ascension up the gray stairs.

Only for your 6 flight journey to be halted at the second step as you stumbled. Once again, those new heels you were so excited to wear decided to rear their nasty face. Luckily, you were able to catch yourself on the solid hand railing. Sighing to yourself, you prepared to clutch onto it like a lifeline for the rest of your trek.

Suddenly your body felt weightless as two solid arms hoisted you up, and you felt your figure way too close to a warm, built frame.

“W-what are you doing??” Your hands were flailing as you did not know where to place them.

“Quiet, it’s past midnight and your voice is bouncing off the walls. Do you want a noise complaint?”

“That wasn’t my question! Haitham put me down I can walk!!”

“Oh really? Did you seriously not notice how many times you’ve been tripping and stumbling on your way back? It’s safer for me to just carry you, unless you prefer tumbling down the stairs.”

“N-no! I-”

Alhaitham seems to be ignoring your plight as your slaps on his shoulder and arms elicited no reaction. His firm grip on your body did not let up as he effortlessly ascended the stairs, even shifting your weight a bit when he went to open the door to your floor.

You were stone-cold sober at this point but your face was hot and flushed when Alhaitham finally placed you back down on your own feet at your apartment door.

You couldn’t muster up the courage to thank him let alone even look at him, in case he sees the obvious red tint on your cheeks. Keys fumbling in your hands as you tried to line it with the keyhole, a small click and turn of the brass knob has your apartment ajar.

What do you do now? Is this the final goodbye for tonight? Should you take a cold shower to purge these overwhelming emotions?

“Um… would you like to come inside for a glass of water?” You spoke those words before you could think it through. Great, you just prolonged your suffering, great job.

“Sure.” And much to your dismay Alhaitham agreed.

His teal eyes lazily observed the plush throw pillows on your sofa along with the soft blanket hastily thrown over the back of it. Alhaitham could hear you bustling in the kitchen as you prepared a glass of ice water for him.

In stark contrast to his own walls, yours was crowded with many photos like a timeline of your life. A soft smile tugged at his lips as he observed a photo strip taped onto the side of your college graduation portrait.

It was a cheap strip of laminated plastic from some mall photo booth, but your smile was radiant as you had one hand squeezing his face trying to get the stone-faced boy to crack a smile.

“Here, it’s on the house.” You clinked the frosty glass onto the coaster in front of him.

He felt the sofa dip a bit more as you plopped your body on the other side, letting out a content sigh, probably finally being able to feel your feet again. He knew those heels caused you great discomfort, but he almost wished for another glimpse.

“Thank you.”

Once more a comfortable silence encased the air between the two of you. Somewhere along the line, your hand found its way to his gray locks, gently running your fingers along his scalp.

“What shampoo do you use, ‘Haitham? Your hair is always so soft and voluminous. I’m kinda jealous.” He heard the amused quip in your voice.

He both yearned and despised whenever you pet his head. As your fingers continued to rake through his ash hair he couldn’t help the rush of blood that flowed south. Yet, a pang of annoyance was felt in his chest. ‘You still thought of him as a kid’ was the message he decrypted from your actions.

“Whichever brand is closest to me at the store. Or whichever bottles Kaveh left in the shower.” Alhaitham leaned a bit more into your touch.

“Tsk, of course.” He could hear the smile in your voice.

There was no end benefit to be gained from his feelings towards you. In fact, his life would’ve been so much easier if only his brain didn’t release dopamine the moment he hears the slightest mention of you.

As a person who prides himself on his objectivity and factuality, he could not explain why you were an outlier that skews his rationality.

The peaceful moment was shattered by the sudden pierce of your ringtone, the name that flashed across the screen caused Alhaitham’s eyes to narrow.

Manager Kimiya

The manager who has been the source of your frustrations, evident by your conversation back at the bar. Why was he calling you this late? Alhaitham observed the grimace on your face as you quickly retracted your hand from his hair, picking up the phone as you excused yourself back to the kitchen.

Why were you answering his call?

You were speaking in a rather hushed voice, even with Alhaitham straining his ears to try and hear just what was so important to warrant a phone call so late at night.

“Yes, of course…. No… I see… okay… yes… I understand… yes, goodnight to you as well.”

Before Alhaitham could stop himself, he found his form behind yours at the kitchen counter as you finally ended your call. Frown present at the corners of your lips.

“Why did he contact you this late?”

Your body flinched in surprise. Ah, so you did not even notice his presence behind you. As his teal eyes stared down at your smaller frame, he could feel the clawing of a green-eyed monster tugging against the restraints Alhaitham so carefully bounded it in.

“No reason, just work stuff… mostly.”

Mostly? Alhaitham pushed down at the monster, trying to bottle the disgusting foreboding envy.

“Why did you answer?”

“I just told you, Haitham. It’s for work.”

Alhaitham’s teeth ground against each other as he clenched his jaw. The monster was thrashing around violently.

“You didn’t have to answer.”

Your eyes closed in annoyance as you opened your mouth, a snarky reply ready to be thrown his way. Only for it to be stuck on the tip of your tongue as Alhaitham’s arms grasped the counter at either side of you. Pinning you between the cold granite top and his towering frame.

“Are you interested in him?” There was a dangerous edge to his low voice.

“Did you have too much to drink?” You whipped around in disbelief, annoyance dripping from your tone.

Your face was very close to his, nose almost touching, breaths brushing against each other’s lips.

“Answer the question.” His voice deepened further, a dark glaze over his eyes.

“I don’t.” You narrowed your eyes at him, inching your face closer as if to prove a point.

Alhaitham’s restraint of the beast began to slip. He needed a moment to grasp back onto it, to regain control. No, he could not wait any more, not one second longer.

It was as if all the past decade's worth of pinning that kept him up at night came rushing out. Bursting through the walls that Alhaitham spent years building to contain them.

It all rushed out in a messy, heated, and disgusting wave that washed over him and drowned his rationality as he slammed his lips into yours. Capturing the soft flesh into an all-consuming kiss. It was ugly, yet it felt so beautiful. So all consumingly beautiful.

Your brain was trying its best to regain itself as you recovered from the whiplash, you were kissing Alhaitham. His larger frame pushes your body up against the kitchen counter, cold stone pressing up against your burning skin. His tongue brushed against your lips hungrily, asking out of courtesy for permission. Your lips parted, allowing him access as your fingers tangled into the hair at the nape of his neck.

It was almost animalistic the way he devoured the air from your lungs, your head began to float as pleasure trailed up your spine. You harshly tugged at his ashen hair to break the near-airtight lock your lips were tangled in.

Barely getting two much-needed breaths in as your eyes connected with lustful teal before lips clashed once more. You tasted the sweet wine that still lingered on his tongue, the sweet taste of crossing a dangerous line.

Alhaitham released your lips then dived back into trail kisses from your glistening lips to down your face and neck. A pleased whimper escaped as you titled your head to the side, allowing him more access to your sensitive spots.

You now had two arms thrown around his neck, back arching as his large hands began to rub your thigh over the thin fabric of your stockings. The heat from his palms and the friction creeping up to your core. You felt the suction of his mouth against your neck causing you to press your chest more into his as you whined.

Two hands firmly gripped onto each of your legs then harshly parted them, allowing for Alhaitham’s solid torso to press up against your pulsing core. You couldn’t help the slight roll of your hips against his abs, your poor cunt begging for a crumb of attention.

The air was too hot, tension too thick, Your skirt now all bunched up as his fingers skillfully unbuttoned your shirt. You replicated his actions as you clumsily groped at his chest to locate the buttons of the dress shirt, your senses graced by the plushness of his pectorals.

It was animalistic the way Alhaitham was claiming your skin with his kisses, every now and then marking the tender flesh of your breast and neck. ‘Fuck, how can simple kisses feel so good’ was the thought running through your hazy mind, pressing his head more against you. A hardness making itself known against your neglected wetness. Excitement spiking up inside you.

“Wrap your legs around me.” He commanded.

You obediently did so, locking your ankles together behind his back, intentionally rubbing your cunt against his trapped erection. Alhaitham straightened his posture as he scooted your bottom off the counter, large hands digging into the flesh of your ass then firmly squashing your core against hardness.

The sudden movement causes you to let out a gasp. He shot you a look, warning that he did not have the patience to be teased.

Effortlessly he carried you into the bedroom, kisses still desperately being exchanged the entire time. Tossing you onto your messy sheets, he took a moment to admire how absolutely wrecked you looked. Cheeks flushed red, lips glossy from mixed saliva, eyes teary yet burning with desire. If you looked like this from simple kisses, he couldn’t wait for what you’d look like during the main event.

With you now on your back, more vulnerable, it gave him the opportunity to finally strip the blouse off your body, exposing more of your skin. Feeling a tug at his shirt.

“You too…”

When you asked so shyly with those pouty lips, how could Alhaitham refuse? A silent game began, as for every piece of clothing one shed, the other would follow. Your bra, his belt, your skirt, and his slacks were now littered across your floor. Hands greedily groping at each other's flesh, a large hand cupping your breast as your hand dipped to rub his bulge through his boxers.

“Excited?” Your confidence was boosted when you felt a small wet patch on the fabric.

“You’re one to talk.” He scoffed.

Hand releasing your breast to grope the contour of your pussy through your ruined panties. Harshly pressing against your eager clit, a moan tumbled out of your mouth. Alhaitham dropped his head right next to yours, baritone voice against your ear,

“See, you even soaked through your stockings. Just how wet are you?”

Long fingers began to trace along the slit of your cunt, lazily rubbing a circle on your clit before tracing back down. Your legs wanted to clamp down on his cruel hand but with his body pinning you down it was impossible. The message was clear, you were at his mercy.

“What do you want?”

A simple question he asked you, but your pride would not let you answer. That bastard knows what you want, your cunt was practically sobbing for something to be buried deep in it. But he still continued his slow, torturous movement, eyes locked on your expression. You faced away from him, unable to handle the intense glaze on your flushed face.

“Eyes on me.” His other hand squished your cheeks as he turned your face back.

Teal and orange eyes piercing into yours, you wanted to protest, he was being so mean. His perfect face only had a slight flush, while you were certain yours was a mess. Alhaitham must have sensed this as he nudged his thumb into your mouth, letting it rest against your pink tongue.

“Come now, use your words. What do you want?”

Pride be damned, the burning sensation between your legs overtook your reasoning as his other hand was now harshly circling your sensitive bud.

“Y-you.” You moaned around his thumb.

A smug look was now plastered on his handsome face, you weren’t sure if you wanted to slap it or pull him into another kiss.

“Good girl.” Looping his fingers into the waistband of your stockings, harshly tugging them down the length of your legs.

He definitely ripped them, but your brain was too busy processing the words he just called.

Shifting your body more onto the bed, he pried your legs open, giving him a direct view of your drenched panties. Snapping back into reality and suddenly now worried about your modesty you reached a hand down as if to shield your desire from his observant eyes. A quick slap to your hand echoed through the room.

“It’s a bit late to be embarrassed now.” The same hand pushed the ruined fabric to the side before a long, thick finger was thrusted inside.

Your head jerked back at the sudden intrusion, barely being able to bite back a moan. Your aching cunt now had a taste of what it craved so desperately, but now it only craved more. Something thicker, longer, heavier. It wanted more even as Alhaitham slipped another finger in with minimal resistance. Scissoring the digits inside of you, exploring deep inside as slick drooled out.

You tried to suppress your moans by biting down on the thumb that still lingered in your mouth. He sucked a breath through his teeth at your actions.

“Be nice.” He ordered, tearing his thumb out of your mouth at the same time as his fingers from your cunt.

His two fingers coated in your juices were then shoved into your gaping mouth, giving you a taste of yourself. Wordlessly you maneuvered your tongue against his fingers, cleaning the slick from the thick digits. His cock twitched when he felt you welcome his fingers deeper into the gummy walls of your mouth.

Alhaitham wanted to play with you more, to tease your clit and pussy until it was swollen and soaking the sheets below. However, right now, he did not have the patience as the length in his boxers raged angrily. Perhaps, if his plan goes well he can save that desire for another time.

He chuckled to himself, this is what you do to him, you turn him into a man so consumed by lust he would not even stretch you out with good foreplay. Your cunt felt wet enough, he could see how drops of slickness were trailing onto the sheets, you were ready for him. Finally releasing his member out of its confinement, he let out a small hiss that the feeling of his sensitive head rubbing along your slick folds.

“Wait,” you got up on your elbow as another hand pressed against his toro, halting his movement.

You swiftly reached over to your nightstand, digging through to find the box of condoms. You took a foil package out, turning back to Alhaitham you handed it to him. You did your best not to look at his member, but it was hard to when it was just that intimidating. On lonely nights, there were times you imagined what that tall, buff body hid beneath the layers.

‘Would the condom even go over it?’ you wondered as Alhaitham stiffly ripped open the foil. Fortunately, the condom was able to encase his length, you patted yourself on the back for getting the variety pack.

“Heh,” Alhaitham’s hands grasped the sides of your hips. “You were prepared.”

It could’ve been your imagination, but his calm tone felt forced. Almost as if he was angry, but Alhaitham never got angry at you.

“What’s the ma- AH!”

The concern died in your throat when the entirety of his length was thrusted into you. Your cunt clenching around him, not wanting to let go of the deep satisfaction of finally being full. Alhaitham let a quiet moan through his clenched teeth, pulling out halfway then snapping his hips back into yours.

Your hands desperately latched onto your sheets, twisting and pulling the fabric to try and ground yourself. The stretch had you stumbling over your words, never had you felt this full. He felt so heavy inside of you, deliciously dragging against your quivering walls.

Alhaitham followed the intrusion with a few slow thrusts, the squelch of your cunt welcoming his length sounded through the heavy air. The grip on your hips turned unyielding as his pace shifted, his hips settling on a punishing pace against your poor masochistic cunt. Moans leaving your lips without regard for your neighbors.

“Were you expecting this tonight?” He ended his sentence with an especially deep thrust.

You barely heard him over the wet slapping of skin, mind focused on how good it felt when his tip rammed into that one spot. Alhaitham noticed how your cunt contracted when he hit a particular place, quickly angling his hips to strike your weakness again, then again, and again. Each time he did you would let out a cry, tongue lulling out of your mouth. At this point, his fingers are for sure leaving purple marks.

“Is that why you were at the bar?” He continued.

The green-eyed monster clawed its way up inside him, if he had not gone to the bar earlier by chance, would you have shown this sinful face to someone else?

A voice at the back of his mind called for him to take you lovingly, to slow his pace, to caress your face with his hands and kisses. But the voice of the beast whispered in his ear to ruin you, use you to further his own pleasure, to pound the shape of his length into you. Yes, perhaps if he did that then no other man could ever satisfy you.

“So, who did you plan to take home?”

He thrusted his tip deeper, you swore it was hitting your cervix now. Breast bouncing along with his violent pace. A thumb dug into your swollen clit suddenly causing you to throw your head back as your mind came dangerously close to the edge of sanity. A delicious tension begins to form in your core.

“Answer. The. Question.” Each word was followed by a harsh thrust, as your bud was pinched between his two fingers.

“Ah- ah!” Was the only reply you could muster.

Alhaitham stilled his motion deep inside of you, heavy, thick member resting right up against your cervix. Fingers now cruelly rolling your abused clit in its grasp, making your toes curl and back arch.

He could feel your walls convulsing around him, begging for more of his punishing thrusts, not wanting the tension to dissipate. But he didn’t want to give that to you, not until you give him what he wanted.

“Who. Who are you thinking of? Are you imagining being pinned down like this by them?”

Your lust-hazed eyes looked into his with confusion, brain barely able to string together a coherent thought to process his question. As if he asked you the most elaborate philosophical question.

Even with your mind nearly liquefied by the heat of pleasure and vision blurred from tears, the self-loathing in his eyes was obvious. Releasing the sheets from your iron grip, you cupped his face as you pulled him into a soft kiss. The first of the night.

“Y-you ah!” You moaned against his lips.

His hand stilled for a moment, then quickly regained its pace rolling the bundle of nerves. His lips chased after yours, shallowing your moans as he pinned your body more into the mattress.

“Say it, confirm it.” A trail connecting your lips as he pulled away.

“Alh-ah! Alhaitham!”

A switch was flipped as his hips sprang back into motion, the push and pull rocking the bed as your hands found refuge on his broad shoulders. The tension only grew in your core with every blow against your weak spot in tandem with the circles he was grinding into your bud.

“Alhaitham! A-ah Alhai-yes, right there!” Shamelessly moaning out his name like you did on those desperate nights with your own fingers.

Your toes were curling painfully from the pleasure currently engulfing your entire body, your cunt full and hair a mess. Arching your body more into his solid figure as his unforgiving pace continued to abuse your grateful walls.

The wet slooshing of your slick as your hole welcomed his member over and over again no longer embarrassed. You were growing close, the ball of tension in your core was so close to snapping, you wanted sweet release so badly.

“P-please! Ah! Please!” You begged for him to let you fall into cloud nine.

Quickly understanding your plead, Alhaitham continued his the motion of his hips, making sure to strike that spot with more force as his thumb rubbed your clit faster. He dipped his head down to kiss along the edge of your tear stained face. The sensation of his teeth sinking into your neck was the catalysis that finally pushed you off the edge.

Your body pressed itself taught against his, walls clamping down like a vise around his member as the orgasm ripped through your body. Strangled moans against his ears as your vision turned white.

He removed his thumb from your clit, now even redder and swollen, as he bit more into your neck, the sensation of your walls trying to milk him dry almost brought him over as well. However, he couldn’t let it end so fast, not when he had fantasized about this moment for years.

He forced himself to drag himself out against the tight grip of your walls, then used his body weight to thrust back into you to continue with his rhythm. He felt his own release approaching as he stared at how your eyes were rolled to the back of your head.

‘Would you notice if I were to rip the condom off?’ He wondered as you were still on cloud nine, but your body still responding to his moves.

‘Would you even care? Would you want it too?’ The thought of painting your walls in white and watching as your cunt drank up his thick cum filled him with a dark desire.

He wanted to fill you with his essence, to claim you as fully his from the inside out, to steep into every fiber of your being. His hands found purchase on your hips again as he pinned your frame below him, thrusting deeper than he had ever before into you as he spilled himself into the latex.

His body shook against yours as he panted from the exertion.

The creaking of the bed stopped as Alhaitham pulled back to press sweet kisses to your temple, coaxing your consciousness back to reality. Using his fingers to wipe away the tears that still leaked from your eyes, as your pupils came back into view. Returning from their trip at the back of your head. There was a moment of stillness, as pants echoed through the air, breaths overlapping and caressing another.

You felt him shift, pulling his length fully out from your gummy walls. Your cunt clentched at the sudden emptiness. You watched as he grabbed a few tissues from your night stand, then proceeded to roll the filled condom off, disposing it into the paper.

You shut your eyes, chest still heaving at the exertion you had just put your body through.

The sound of condoms shaking against their cardboard box made your eyes snap back open. As you watched the ashen haired man shamelessly pull another foil package out of the container.

Oh… The night was still young.

The bright and pitched chirping of the birds outside stirred you from your slumber. Oh god, your hips were so sore, you questioned whether or not you would make it out of bed.

Two arms firmly encompassed your waist, pressing your back against the warm source of the pain in your hip.

As much as you hated to admit it, Alhaitham looked angelic when he was asleep. Usual stone face now relaxed and soft, the sunlight drawing blurred shapes along his skin and hair through your curtains.

You wanted to brush the hair out of his peaceful face, fingers reaching out then freezing as the reality of last night hit you.

You two had crossed the bold line that was drawn in the sand, now standing the cold ocean of the unknown. The questions of what your relationship had turned into violently crashed into you like unforgiving waves as you feel yourself beginning to drown in self-doubt.

Was this a one-time thing? A closeness you will never experience with him ever again? Was this the final chapter of the story of you and Alhaitham? Did you ruin years of trust and friendship?

The questions began to become overwhelming, you needed to get up, to just get somewhere to clear your mind.

Slowly your tried to shimmy yourself out of his firm hold, carefully trying not to rouse him from his slumber. Only for your plan to come crashing down as his arms tightened around you, halting your motion.

“Stay.” An uncharacteristic softness present in his tone.

You stilled your body, heart pounding so hard against your chest you were certain Alhaitham could feel it too. Just like how you could feel the rhythmic beating of his against your back.

His deep breaths brushed against your neck as he buried his face into the crook. Tension now hung in the air, but who was going to be the first to break it? Mustering up all the courage you could gather,

“Alhaith-”

“I found you a nuisance when I was first introduced to you.” He began.

You felt your heart sink at his confession, but he continued.

“The way you dragged me out to play, fed me snacks, and especially when you pet my head. I found it all annoying… It was annoying because it would cause me heart palpitations, my breath would hitch, and my face would flush. I thought I had caught a sickness from you, a sickness that made me addicted to your presence.”

Your heart was now jumping as if it wanted to burst from your chest, he buried his face deeper into your neck.

“Then one day I read a book that detailed my exact symptoms. Do you know what the diagnosis was? Love - an intense, deep affection for another person. That day when I proposed with that small weed, I discovered that I was in love with you.”

You froze, almost not believing your own ears.

“Well of course back then I did not meet your qualifications. I hoped that the sickness would disappear. No actually, I used to pray to gods I don’t believe in that they would take you out of my head, where you always seemed to haunt . They must have cursed me because as time moved on, my illness just got worse. It began to border on mania, madness. So, please listen.”

He turned your body in his arms so that you were staring right into his eyes, a hopeful and sincere glimmer present in the saturated teal.

“I love you, I adore you, I wish to wake up every morning to you in my arms just like this. I want to walk through life hand in hand with you. Your parents hold me in high regard. I will get a mocha with two shots of expresso, oat milk, and extra chocolate syrup every morning for you, I can even learn to make it. If you are worried about finances, if this company doesn’t agree to my raise by the end of two years I will search for another position that will.”

His fingers intertwined with yours as he brought your knuckles up to his lips, pressing a gentle kiss to the back of your hand.

“And I am confident in my ability to carry you no matter what wedding dress you dawn. So do I meet your qualifications now?”

His teal eyes looked into yours, yearning for your answer. Your eyes were wide and lips frozen. You were waiting to wake up in your messy sheets alone, fully clothed, and for the other side of the bed to be cold. This had to be a dream, this couldn’t be real.

However, the hot tears that clouded your vision and dripped down your cheeks felt too real to be an illusion. The look of adoration in his eyes was too genuine to be conjured up by your pitiful imagination.

“Could we… Could we take this slowly?” You whispered, squeezing his hands.

“Of course. I’ve waited for over sixteen years, I can wait a little longer.”

You buried your flushed face into his chest, he let your wet tears soak into his skin as he kissed the crown of your head. Embracing each other as if the other could disappear.

“I love you too.”

Fin~

DON’T PLAGIARIZE, TRANSLATE, OR REPOST MY WORKS ON DIFFERENT PLATFORMS.

#al-haitham x you #alhaitham x y/n #alhaitham x reader #yandere alhaitham #alhaitham smut #genshin smut #genshin x reader #genshin impact x reader #genshin imagines #alhaitham imagines #genshin impact x you #genshin impact scenarios #alhaitham scenarios #al haitham x you #al haitham x reader #alhaitham fanfic #alhaitham fluff #genshin fluff #vivalabunbunfics

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scalingsvt8thusiast · 18 days

Text

Wait for your love (angst)

summary: you wait in silence, waiting for wonwoo to finally love you

inspired by Ariana Grande's We Can't be Friends (AKA Wait for your love)

a/n: I wrote this in a fever dream, some suggestive themes but nothing much apart from that. It's a 2 part fic. so look out for part 2 I guess :D

I didn’t think you’d understand me

You remembered the first interaction you had with Wonwoo. You had asked him for help with some maths question back in high school.

“I don’t think that’s the right answer…” You whispered, watching him flush red as he rummaged through his pencil case clumsily looking for his eraser.

“My maths isn’t very good!” He cried, erasing the answer that was so far off.

“Oh! How about we try this!” You stuck your tongue out as you worked on the question using another method.

The both of you flipped to the back of the book to check the answer. You remembered the look of awe Wonwoo gave you when your answer was right.

Wonwoo was the quiet kid, the one who sat at the last row of class, always looking out the window, not paying attention in class. He wasn’t a star student or an athlete so on the popularity scale he was basically non-existent. You weren’t far off either. Pigtails and braces meant you weren’t much higher than him on that god-forsaken scale. But that’s what brought the two of you together.

After that first interaction, you started warming up to your quiet seatmate. You joined him in the cafeteria, asked him out on study dates, even dragging him to his first hangout. You liked to think that he just accepted his fate, the two of you were destined to be friends.

Somewhere along the line of your friendship, you started developing feelings for the scrawny boy. You couldn’t pin point exactly when or what caused your infatuation. You just remembered realising his facial features were so sharp, his shoulders were so broad and his hands were so large and warm. Was it when your hands met in the popcorn tub during the Star Wars reruns at your local cinema? Was it when you stared too deeply into his eyes during a round of cards? Was it when he picked you up and ran a whole lap around the park to prove a point?

You couldn’t remember. But it felt like you had been liking him for the longest time.

I’ll wait for your love

Everything changed after graduation.

The break before university was due to start, you had gone off to stay with relatives in Paris while Wonwoo had gone off to stay with his brother in Seoul. The two of you were scheduled to attend the same universities, even scheduled to live together. It was only natural considering how long you two had been friends. He would arrive from Seoul first and you were due to arrive 2 weeks after, just in time for the first day of school.

You were thoroughly surprised by the boy man who greeted you at the front door.

“Wonwoo?” You said, blinking rapidly.

Where was the scrawny, skinny boy you were familiar with? Who replaced him with this tall, handsome and extremely well built man?

“Y/n!” Wonwoo beamed at you, immediately helping you with your bags.

You were momentarily taken aback by his voice. His high pitched, nasally voice had developed into a deep baritone.

“How was Seoul?” You had managed to croak out, still dumb struck by the massive change your best friend went through.

“Great. I actually met quite a few friends in the same uni.” Wonwoo’s eyes held an excited glint.

You hummed, wondering how your anti-social and shy friend had managed to become a social butterfly.

You should have known that was the first sign of the inevitable downfall of your friendship.

Throughout the next few weeks, you were busy trying to get settled into your new life while Wonwoo was busy partying his life away. He would leave each night and return at wee hours of morning.

You remembered the first time you went to pick him up.

“Y/n,” He drawled over the phone.

You turned to check the clock, it was 4AM. “Wonwoo?”

“Can you come-,” A loud cheer erupted in the background. “Can you come get me?”

“Oh, ok!” You said, pushing your blanket aside. “Text me the add-,”

He hung up.

DING

You received the location from him.

Trying to look as presentable as possible, you hopped into your car. Driving to your best friend with Google Maps as guidance.

You arrived at the party, expecting Wonwoo to be waiting for you by the road, ready to leave. But he was nowhere to be found. Wonwoo wasn’t waiting for you in front of the house, he wasn’t even standing with the groups of people near the front door.

You tried his phone again but you were sent straight to voicemail. You jumped out of the car and went into the house. You tried your best to push through the multitudes of drunk people, looking for your best friend. Finally you found him, playing beer pong and boy, did he suck.

“Won?” You said, coming up next to him.

“Y/N!” He shouted, throwing his arms around you, dragging you into his chest for a hug.

“Won, let’s go.” You coaxed, your nose crinkled from the strong stench of alcohol.

“Everybody!” Wonwoo bellowed, “This is my friend! Y/N!”

You were horrified as everybody turned to look at you. You gave an awkward smile and squeezed his arm.

“Wonwoo, let’s go, please.” You begged, you had a class in 2 hours and you wanted to get home in time for at least 1 more hour of sleep.

“But y/n, you just got here!” Wonwoo whined, he pouted.

“Oh God, Woo, please.” You implored, biting your lip. You weren’t comfortable, you didn’t know anybody here and you had an overgrown child hanging onto you.

“Okay,” Wonwoo quipped. “But only because you asked nicely.”

That was how you managed to get your housemate home.

Wonwoo never apologised. He didn’t speak to you the whole week, he kept himself shut in his room while you went about your day. You tried knocking on his door, offering some food you had made but he never responded.

After that incident, you noticed that he would do it more often. He would call you at odd hours of the morning, asking you to come pick him up, flirt with you then subsequently pass out on the couch.

You found yourself getting hopeful. You deluded yourself into thinking that Wonwoo was doing this because you were the only person he trusted. You just had to wait a little longer for him to realise his feelings for you. You just had to wait.

“Y/n, I love you soooo much,” Wonwoo slurred, you had slung one of his arms around your shoulder, walking him to your car.

“Won, please.” You said, trying your best not to be effected by his empty words. You pushed him against the car while you fumbled for your car keys.

Suddenly you felt your world spin, when it stopped you were face to face with your best friend. Wonwoo had flipped you over, your back now pressed against the car, his arms to your sides, caging you. His face was a whole ten centimetres away from yours. You could feel his breath on your face, your heart beat rapidly rising, one of your hands gripping his bicep to keep yourself steady.

“Y/n, you’re so pretty.” He muttered, he placed a hand on your cheek. His eyes were on your lips. His tongue licking his own.

“You’re drunk.” You whispered, you used all your strength to push against his chest.

He didn’t move. Next thing you know, his lips were on yours.

That was how you lost your first kiss to your best friend.

You cling to your papers and pens, wait until you like me again

After that kiss (wherein he subsequently passed out on you), Wonwoo seemed to avoid you even more.

He no longer called you when he needed a ride home, instead his friends would send him home. You had met 3 of his friends: Mingyu, Vernon and Seungcheol. They each seemed to take turns dragging Wonwoo’s drunk ass into the house. Surprisingly they would all be sober each time. Which made you wonder if Wonwoo just had a habit of calling random people to send him home.

“Y/n?” Wonwoo’s voice came.

You shot up from the dining table, you had just been busy revising for your upcoming tutorial. Wonwoo never spoke to you, so this was a shock.

“I was wondering,” He cleared his throat, “could you help me with this?”

You blinked, he was holding a few pieces of paper.

“Sure!” You chirped, a little too cheerily.

Of course you would help your best friend. It didn’t matter that he hadn’t spoke to you in months. It didn’t matter that he had ignored you when you tried to wave at him on campus. It didn’t matter that he pretended not to know you among his new friends.

Wonwoo was your best friend, so you were going to bury your feelings and help him.

“Thanks.” He smiled.

That smile that made your stomach do a summersault. That smile that threw you back to your teenage years, when he would smile at you and only you.

It became a routine. He only spoke to you when he needed help with work. Even though you weren’t in the same course as him, you found yourself studying up on what he needed, just so you could help him.

You found yourself staying up late, studying for both your finals as well as his finals. Just so when he came home the next day from some party, you could help him.

You helped him because that was the only chance you had to speak to him.

You helped him because that was the only time he showed you any attention.

You helped him because you loved him.

Just wanna let this story die

Wonwoo brought a girl home.

It was 4AM in the morning, you were cramming for your exams the next day after looking through Wonwoo’s materials for his tutorial the day after. You could literally feel your head overheating with all the knowledge you were shoving into your brain. You stood up, deciding to stretch out your unused muscles when you heard the front door open. It was opened with so much force that the door banged onto the wall, causing you to jump.

“Wony!!!” You heard a voice, it wasn’t that low voice you so loved from your house mate. It was a high pitched squeal which you were sure your house mate could not have produced.

A yelp could be heard followed by loud shushes.

You pushed your door open a smidge, peeking out into the hallway.

You blood ran cold.

Right by the front door was Wonwoo, making out with a girl.

You could feel a lump growing in your throat as you shut your door. You closed your eyes, trying your best to erase the sight. The image of your best friend’s lust-ladened eyes, arms encircled around another girl, lips on hers was burnt forever your memory.

You felt yourself crumple against the floor. Your stared blankly into space for what felt like hours. The pit in your stomach grew with every second that passed. When you finally found the energy, you crawled over to your bed. Tears seeped from the corner of your eyes as you buried your face into your pillow. Trying to muffle the loud moans and groans coming from the other room. You brought a hand to your mouth, trying not to make a sound as you cried yourself to sleep.

So for now it’s only me, and maybe that’s all I need

“He’s a fucking asshole.” Chan cursed.

You smiled weakly at your friend. The two of you sat in a booth at Chan’s favourite bar. You didn’t drink but he did. Chan had forced you out after you refused to leave your room for weeks.

“He knows you have feelings for him.” Chan hissed. “There’s no fucking way he doesn’t.”

You shrugged. After much pestering, you had finally relayed everything to Chan. Everything. From when you first met Wonwoo to when he brought a girl home.

“I thought I would wai-,” You voice came out as a whisper, ashamed.

“Please don’t tell me. Wait?” Chan finished for you, tilting his glass of beer towards you.

“Yup.” You said with a sigh.

“Why wait for someone like him? Why wait for someone who doesn’t even care about you?” Chan said, sounding angrier and angrier by the second.

His question stung. Deep down, you didn’t want to admit it, but you knew Wonwoo didn’t care about you. You knew he was just using you, keeping you around only because you made his life convenient.

“Move out.” Chan demanded.

“What?” You blurted, “Chan, I can’t just move out!”

“Yes you can.” Chan pointed to himself. “Move in with me, I have a spare room!”

“But what about Wonwoo?”

“What about that asshole?” Chan rolled his eyes.

“I can’t just leave him like that.” You said, exasperated. You weren’t about to leave your best friend alone.

“Why not?” Chan argued. “You think he won’t do the same to you? He’ll drop you the first chance he gets, y/n.”

You felt tears well up in your eyes. You loved Chan but there were times when he was too blunt.

“Chan, please.” You whispered, tears started rolling down your eyes.

“Ok, I’m sorry.” Chan immediately panicked. “I’m sorry I said that.”

He moved to sit next to you, rubbing your back as you sobbed into your bowl of fries.

You moved out the next day, without so much as a goodbye to your childhood friend.

a/n2: not very good at writing, quality is absolute crap imo considering i wrote this in under an hour. anything you guys think I should improve in lmk!

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ptersparkers · 1 year

Text

reckless (aaron hotchner)

summary: After two years with the BAU, you get the feeling that Aaron Hotchner isn’t your biggest fan. That’s too bad, because you really like him.

notes: hello. this is singlehandedly the longest fic i’ve ever written (like 21.7K words). i didn’t intend for it to be this long and i tried to see where i could break it up, but i think it flows better if it’s in one piece. happy reading! x

(edit: adding in that the reader is fem)

a huge thank you to @hotchsdoormat for being the best person alive and for listening to me rant about this piece. love u forever.

warnings: typical criminal minds speak, kidnapping and mentions of broken arms and ribs and typos, probably.

***

Years of dreaming of becoming a federal agent for the Behavioral Analysis Unit led to the beginning of an illustrious career solving crimes and traveling across the country. It had only taken guest lectures by none other than the BAU themselves for the idea of catching killers and outsmarting them to do so to seep its way to the back of your mind.

You just wish you liked your job.

You like your work. You like walking into the office with a sense of purpose and you like profiling bad people and saving the good ones. You even like the shitty coffee that never seems to run out and you don’t mind the early call times and the sudden departures.

What you don’t like, however, is your boss. But you know that’s just because he doesn’t like you.

In your two years with the BAU, you don’t think you’ve ever seen Aaron throw a smile in your direction if it wasn’t meant for someone standing next to you. Two years of Aaron being dismissive and choosing to sit farthest from you in the conference room and on the jet. Two years of watching him foster friendships with your coworkers without sparing you a second glance. But work is work.

You’re an outsider. It’s almost what you expected.

Emily’s the first one to tell you that you don’t need to take it personally. Her rocky start with the BAU and stories of learning that trust takes time eased your worries for a while, but Aaron never seemed to give you the time of day aside collaborating with the rest of the team. Everyone says he’s notorious for being stoic and intimidating, but you don’t see it that way. In your mind, he loathes you.

Which is unfortunate, because you liked Aaron the most.

The guest lecture had sent you into a spiral of researching recently closed BAU cases and watching hours of press conferences led by Aaron. You appreciated the way he spoke about his work. He spoke about it like it was his due diligence and you liked that he treated each victim and their loved ones with grace and kindness.

It kills you to know that he doesn’t trust you despite doing your best in the field. Your six month review approached and you passed with flying colors, earning a short-lived celebration from Erin Strauss before she exited Aaron’s office. But he kept quiet the entire examination, aside from putting his own input with how you acted in the field. He said you were diligent, followed orders well enough, and could listen to directions. It was the most you’d ever heard Aaron speak about you, but the swell of pride didn’t last long.

Sometimes people compare the two of you when it comes to your worth ethic. Last ones to leave, can’t be bothered when focused, and the need to excel in your career field while downplaying your contribution. Perhaps the need to do good in the world catapulted you into considering a role where you’d be actively helping others instead of a career where it would be too late.

But every time you sit at your desk, opposite of Aaron’s office, you find yourself frowning. The blinds are always closed and you always wondered if Aaron could feel you staring at the emblem on his door when you wondered how you managed to keep your job.

“I can hear your brain all the way from here,” Derek says, leaning against the stall of your desk. You avert your eyes from the door to his voice. “What’s going on in that pretty little head of yours?”

“Nothing,” you say.

Derek gives you a look. “I know it’s not nothing, sweetness.”

“Just tired,” you lie, “I slept poorly last night.”

Your gaze focuses on the files in front of you and Derek looks between you and Aaron’s office. He does his best not to let you know it’s been affecting him too; everyone’s noticed how Aaron’s been giving you the short end of the stick and that his wavering trust hasn’t disappeared like it had for the rest of them. It doesn’t do any good for team morale.

For a moment in the beginning of your time with the BAU, you think he’s asking you to prove yourself. You’re new, you need to get used to team dynamics, and you need to prove yourself capable before he can trust that you’d have everyone’s back. You understand that.

What you don’t understand, however, is why he treats you like a first-day agent after your contributions.

“Alright,” Derek says, knowing better than to pry you out of your work. “Coffee?”

“Please.”

He leaves you momentarily when Aaron steps out of his office. You try not to look up, but it’s hard to ignore him when your desk is pointed in front of his door. He’s wearing a classic black suit with a red tie, belt and shoes to match. You know what the look on his face means–there’s a case.

“Everyone in the conference room,” Aaron pointedly says.

Derek finishes pouring two cups of coffee and brings it over to the room where he sees you sitting in front of the screen. You thank him for the cup as he sits beside you and Reid gives you a small ‘good morning’ before everyone files into the conference room and their attentions are focused on the faces on the screen.

“Two children have gone missing in Los Angeles, California,” Penelope begins. “Gracie and Olivia McCormack, four and six respectively, were last seen in their shared bedroom last night and LAPD has contacted us to help find them.”

“Looks like the mother reported going into their bedroom to wake them up, only to find them missing,” you say, frowning.

“Is the father in the picture?” JJ asks.

“Jaqueline, the mother, divorced Scott McCormack before her youngest was born,” Penelope informs.

“New flame?” Emily wonders.

“Yes ma’am. Logan James.” Penelope presses a few buttons and Jaqueline and Logan appear on the screen. “This is where it gets tricky.”

“It looks like both Scott and Logan were abusive towards Jaqueline during their marriages,” David reads from the file.

“Jaqueline’s pretty familiar with the local hospital,” you mutter.

“We can talk about the file and start to strategize on our way to LA,” Aaron says, packing his file in his go-bag, which is already in hand. “Wheels up in thirty.”

***

The six hour plane ride doesn’t feel as nauseating as you had predicted. Your second cup of coffee sits on the table in front of you as your file is displayed on the surface, along with everyone else. Departure wasn’t terrible, mild turbulence followed but nothing you couldn’t handle. The armrest becomes your best friend on these flights.

“Did Scott kidnap Gracie and Olivia because he wants his kids?” Derek says aloud.

“Most likely,” Reid adds. “Scott’s a migrant construction worker. I can’t imagine anyone letting him raise two children without a steady home or income, though.”

“So he’s angry at the loss of his children and wants them back,” Aaron says. “Garcia, does Scott have any background of domestic abuse prior to his marriage with Jaqueline?”

“One count of domestic battery with a former girlfriend, but his childhood tells us a whole different story.”

“What is it, babygirl?” Derek beckons.

“Scott was born to heroin addicts and they’d leave him in hotel rooms for days while they tried to rob local convenience stores for money, presumably for their next high. Poor kid, he never stood a chance.”

“Damn,” Derek says, shaking his head. “I can’t imagine growing up like that.”

“He was put into the care of his grandparents on his mother’s side until he was six and–oh, ouch–he apparently caused too much trouble for himself that his grandparents gave him to the foster care system.”

“I can imagine that abandonment took a toll on Scott,” JJ says.

“Take the kids away from Jacqueline as punishment,” adds Rossi. “Makes sense, especially when Jacqueline was the one to file for divorce.”

“What about Jaqueline’s marriage with Logan? Haven’t we established that Logan was abusive during their marriage?” you ask.

Aaron raises his eyebrow. “What about it?”

“I think it’s important to consider him in all of this, Sir. If Logan was abusive to Jaqueline throughout their marriage, maybe Scott sees this kidnapping as some sort of effort to save them from harm.”

All eyes are on you now. It makes your skin crawl and you hope you don’t say the wrong thing.

“Go on.”

“If Scott really did take his kids, I don’t know if he did it to get back at her by kidnapping them. It makes more sense that Scott would want to save his children from an abuser. I mean, he knows what it’s like to live with abusive and absent parents. What if Scott wants to protect his children from suffering what he went through?”

“Interesting,” Dave hums. “You’re theorizing that Scott considers this kidnapping as rescuing?”

You nod. “It makes sense. Maybe he has some animosity towards Jaqueline for letting Logan into their lives and retaliates by taking his children away from her because he thinks he’s saving them.”

“Let’s not jump to conclusions,” Aaron says pointedly.

“I’m just spitballing,” you say. “I’m not trying to step on anyone’s toes.”

“Well, let’s keep it that way.”

You shut your mouth and revert your eyes back to the file that’s in your lap, desperate for any minute distraction it can give you. The rest of the team is stunned in silence and Spencer tries his best to fill in the awkward silence by reviewing all of the facts that have been listed in the report.

At this moment, you feel small. Aaron’s dismissive attitude makes you feel somewhat inadequate at your job and you find it difficult to remind yourself of all the cases you’ve helped close when your boss has just undermined your work in front of your colleagues.

His coldness towards you is what you don’t get. Aaron has a reputation for maintaining professionalism, which you can appreciate, but it seems like his stoic tendencies extend far beyond keeping it civil in the workplace. It feels like you’ve been isolated and boxed out from day one and despite having gotten to know the rest of the team on a deeper level, you still walk on eggshells around Aaron. It makes you wonder why he hired you at all.

From the other side of the plane, Aaron takes a seat in an empty chair and looks out the window pensively. He knows he’s being hard on you and he knows it’s unfair that he’s treating you much harsher than the others, but Aaron knows that it’s for the best.

When you walked into his office for your initial interview, there was no doubt that you were the perfect candidate to fill in the role as a new profiler. Your past experiences had clued you into profiling and he promised Strauss that your addition to the team would benefit the BAU as a whole.

And Aaron was right. Cases were closing at a higher rate than previously, your quick thinking and problem solving skills aided the capture of many prolific criminals, and it almost felt like you’d been with the team since the beginning.

What Aaron didn’t account for, however, was developing feelings for you.

All it took was a simple undercover operation to see you in a completely different light. The unsub had targeted women who looked like you and you were more than ready to step up to the plate to catch him. It took seeing you in a sleek black dress to make Aaron’s heart lurch out of his chest and make him feel like he was a teenager in love all over again, and he hated it.

He hated feeling this way towards his coworker. For weeks, his mind bounced around the idea of what it might cost the team; your respective positions might cause an interference because of the dating policy set in place and how it would look from the outside. Aaron didn’t want to jeopardize your career by making it seem like you were providing unprofessional favors if news were to come out that you were romantically linked with him. He didn’t want your career to be damaged just because he couldn’t keep it in his pants.

Moreover, Aaron hadn’t felt like this towards anyone since marrying Haley.

He had dated casually but never thought about the possibility of anything serious coming out of it. Aaron thought he might’ve come close to it when he had dated Beth for a while, but her career taking her across the country made him realize how unstable his life already was. Dating became a question of who gets along with Jack and the rest of his family and who is able to handle his frequent absences. His marriage to Haley showed Aaron the downside of traveling all the time and he’d be damned if he made that mistake again.

The idea of liking you in any capacity that wasn’t professional scared Aaron to death. He hates that he’s willing to find any excuse to walk by your desk or strike up a conversation with you if time permitted. He hates that his mind often wanders to a life of domesticity with you. The only logical possibility for him to combat his feelings for you is to keep you at arms length and treat you like he would any of his coworkers, which means keeping your personal lives separate and maintaining professionalism at all times.

It works a little too well and Aaron doesn’t realize it. He misplaces his anger—the frustration of knowing he can’t have you the way he wants you—and you’re at the receiving end. Aaron thinks he’s doing his best by delegating and separating you from him in the field, but he doesn’t realize that it’s causing professional tension because you constantly think you aren’t doing enough to help the team solve cases and catch criminals.

Aaron spends the rest of the flight looking over reports the precinct sent over before the plane lands in Los Angeles. You elect to keep your nose buried in your reports for the fear of looking like you aren’t working hard enough.

***

The Los Angeles weather has cooled down when you land and Aaron has ordered everyone to head to the precinct first thing after touching down. The detectives are kind enough to reserve a room for all of you to work out of and you waste no time setting up the white board with the missing girls and timeline of the abduction.

The stakes are high and you can feel the tension in the room. You aren’t a stranger to cases like these and you know that everyone is trying their best to keep themselves together for the sake of the department and the family of the victims. You try not to read into Aaron’s coldness to you too much. You’ve convinced yourself enough times that it’s the stress of the job and being away from his home that keeps him running on pure stress and adrenaline to prevent you from overthinking your position on his team.

Aaron has you and Spencer stay behind in the precinct to work on the profile and piece together a timeline of the abduction, and you’re more than grateful you don’t have to spend time in the field with him. The relaxation enters your body the section you see him step out of the precinct and Spencer can’t help but pry.

“You okay?” he asks.

You turn around from the white board and your sleeve smudges the freshly written text. The annoyance bubbles up in your chest and you hastily erase the mess you created and rewrite it before turning your attention back to Spencer.

“Stressed out, but otherwise I’m good.”

He pauses. “You’ve seemed that lately, though.”

“Can you blame me?” you ask defensively. “Our job isn’t exactly low-stress.”

“It’s just that every time Hotch enters the room, you stiffen up and you seem to lose your voice, and you play with your nails. It’s your biggest tell, actually.”

You give Spencer a pointed look. “Reid, I did not ask to be profiled.”

“Sorry,” he relents. “I just…look, I care about you and I hate seeing that you feel like you can’t share your ideas with us. Is something bothering you?”

You know Spencer knows. You’re sure the team knows why you’re apprehensive about your work and second guess yourself every time you bring forth a new theory or concept. But it’s hard to admit it out loud when all you’ve done is complain about him in your head and push your feelings aside for the sake of solving cases.

But you know Spencer has always looked out for you after the first time you took a bullet for him a week into the job after barely getting to know each other. It’s the same way that he looks out for you in the field, protecting your cover and being the first to volunteer partnering with you when Aaron asks. He’s keen and perceptive, and you know you can’t hide your feelings from him unless you want to jeopardize another relationship with your coworker.

“I feel like Hotch doesn’t like me,” you say earnestly. “And I mean it in a way that seems almost personal.”

“He’s been pretty distant,” Spencer adds.

You shake your head. “It feels like he doesn’t trust my judgment or values what I have to say unless one of you backs me up. I can’t really tell you when I started to feel this way, but I’ve always felt like I have to walk on eggshells around him or else he’ll fire me.”

“No one’s going to fire you,” Spencer reassures. “You have an exceptional skill at finding unsubs and getting into their heads. It’s quite impressive how you’re able to put yourself in their shoes.”

“Thanks, I think,” you say with a laugh. “But you saw what happened on the plane. Hotch shot down my theory and told me not to jump to any conclusions even though I was just theorizing. I feel like he doesn’t want to listen to what I have to say because he doesn’t think there’s any value in it.”

Spencer pauses. He sees your grip on the dry erase pen and knows how frustrated you feel. He knows you, the way you think, your work ethic, and just how badly you want to save these girls. He also knows how to distract you from your own feelings.

“Then tell me about your theory,” Spencer chides.

“Scott might’ve taken his children as a form of punishment against Jaqueline. Sure, I think that’s a plausible theory to go off of, considering she was the one who filed for divorce. But he was never abusive towards the girls, whereas Logan was abusive to all three of them.”

He smiles when he knows it’s working.

“So you’re thinking that Scott is trying to rescue Gracie and Olivia from further abuse?”

“Yes,” you confirm. “As a parent, I can’t imagine tolerating a stranger abusing your kids. Maybe in Scott’s mind, Jaqueline was allowing Logan to abuse them without realizing he was doing the same to her.”

“The wife had full custody of the kids too,” Spencer adds, opening a case file. “He was only allowed supervised visits with a social worker present if she allowed it to happen and in the time they’ve been divorced, she hadn’t let Scott see them since she and Logan got together.”

“Okay, so Scott had enough and wanted to take matters into his own hands. If his ex-wife won’t take care of the kids and neither will her new husband, it’s up to him to take care of the girls.”

“It looks like Scott’s had a problem with authoritative figures his entire life,” he says, frowning. Spencer turns the case file towards you. “His grandparents were physically and emotionally abusive and social workers did nothing about it. Looks like he was also a truant during his time in foster care.”

“Get this. He’s been fired from multiple construction sites because he couldn’t follow orders,” you read.

“Jacqueline was also the breadwinner of their relationship. I think Scott resents people who hold authority.”

“Scott wants to raise his kids,” you say, snapping your fingers. “It’s a rescue mission because he thinks he can raise them better than she can.”

Spencer grabs his phone and dials Aaron.

“What is it, Spencer?”

“Y/N and I talked more about her theory on the abduction. I think she’s right.”

Aaron doesn’t say anything. You’re almost sure he’s going to tell you to change the profile.

“We’ll meet you at the precinct in fifteen.”

***

You consider yourself lucky that Spencer backs your theory with claims and evidence. Your voice wavers multiple times when Aaron asks you to make your case, and the way he’s looking at you makes you doubt yourself.

But everyone comes to the realization that you’re right. A few conversations with Jacqueline and an interrogation with Logan convinces Aaron that your theory had been the correct one all along. You should feel happy, but you don’t.

You feel like you have to piggyback off of your coworkers and get them to support you before you can make your case heard. You feel like the smallest person in the room when you stand next to seasoned profilers who you’re sure Aaron values more than you. The weight of the world is on your shoulders and you carry it with you every time you formulate new ideas you want to share with the team.

But you don’t dwell on this too long.

Aaron has Spencer comb through security footage of local gas stations while Emily and David talk to Scott’s most recent employer. Derek and JJ are searching his last known whereabouts and searching for the girls, which leaves you and Aaron.

You’re barely able to hear his command. He wants you to talk to Jacqueline and try to coax more information out of her while he connects with Penelope about financial records and possible places he’s hiding the girls. She’s your age and he figures you might connect with her better than JJ did.

Jaqueline is understandably crying when you walk into the room. You hand her a box of tissues upon entering and she doesn’t say anything. She starts to open up after you tell her about yourself, your nieces and nephews, and you show her photos of them to prove yourself. You let her know you’re not a mother and can’t imagine the immense pain she’s going through, but you know what it’s like to care for people and how much it hurts when something bad happens to them.

Slowly, Jaqueline begins to talk. You ask her about her relationship with Scott and Logan, and all the important places that hold significance between the two marriages. She lists off a few and you make a note of it for later. Aaron calls you from the interview when Jaqueline has started to close herself in. He lets her go and gives her his business card in case she wants to talk, but tells her they’ll be in contact soon.

He doesn’t say a word about the interrogation. He just tells you to see if Derek and JJ need help canvassing more area.

Two days later and the team is nowhere near finding Jaqueline’s children. Scott’s previous employer had less than stellar things to say about him and you’re beginning to panic at the thought of your ability to catch him and save the girls. Penelope calls with a development and thinks one of two locations is where Scott might be hiding the children. His trailer in East LA or a small house a friend of his owns.

Aaron dispatches Dave, Emily, and JJ to the trailer while he commands you, Derek, and Spencer to follow him to the house. It’s located off of the freeway off the beaten path and you have a bad feeling about what’s about to happen.

Aaron’s driving like he knows something you don’t. You’ve taken a seat in the back with Spencer and listen as Derek points Aaron in the direction of the house. It’s getting dark outside, the sun is just barely above the horizon, and you know everyone has to be quick in order to save the girls if they’re in the house.

LAPD officers drive behind the SUV. Aaron pulls over and you can hear the gravel underneath the tire. You swing the door open with all your might and draw your gun out as the rest of the team does, following Aaron’s orders to follow behind him as they explore the house.

It’s quiet. Too quiet.

The floorboards creak underneath you and Aaron tells you he’s going to clear the back of the house while you take the front. Everyone calls a distinctive ‘clear’ and you’re about to breathe out of frustration and ask Aaron if they’ve found the girls at Scott’s trailer when you hear the faint sound of someone crying from behind you.

You’re careful not to step too loudly despite the hardwood floors. Derek finds you and calls out your name but you put your finger to your lips and he silences himself. The sound of feet shuffling sounds incredibly quiet, but you swear you can hear footsteps somewhere behind you.

Spencer and Aaron join the two of you after hearing silence despite calling your names. Derek tells both men to silence themselves as you walk about the room, unsure of what you’re looking for. For the most part, nothing looks out of place. That is, until your hand falls on a set of books that feels much too hollow to contain any pages.

“What is it?” Derek asks from behind you.

“I don’t know…I think this is a false backing.”

And you’re right. You pull the books to reveal a small hidden entryway that’s dark, and it looks like it doesn’t lead to anything. Aaron’s halfway through telling you to let another police officer look through the crawl space because you have to take off your vest and gun to fit, but you’re not hearing it.

“Hotch, I’m the only one who’s small enough to fit through here,” you say. “I’m shorter than the rest of you and all of you are men. I don’t think Gracie or Olivia want to see someone who looks like their dad.”

“She’s right,” Spencer mumbles. You don’t wait for Aaron’s approval, venturing into the crawlspace.

Gracie and Olivia are understandably scared until you tell them their mother’s waiting for them at the police station. You help them out of the small room they’ve been kept in and notice how relatively furnished it is–a mattress, blankets, pillows, and coloring material–and make note of how your profile was right.

You don’t spare a glance at Aaron, too invested in making sure the children are safe with EMTs while they’re being checked for harm. Olivia asks you to stay with them and holds your hand, and you don’t bring yourself to leave them. When the EMTs let you know they aren’t injured and can visit the police station without going to the hospital, Aaron reluctantly lets you accompany both of them back to the precinct.

It’s well after dark by the time both children leave with Jaqueline. JJ and Emily have worked out a deal with local police to keep them under surveillance and protection until Scott has been captured and are instructed not to let Logan near the three of them for the time being.

You aren’t able to say goodbye to the three of them, instead recounting your story to the local detective who needs your statement for the paperwork while it’s fresh in your memory. You’re on a high after seeing the two girls reunite with their mother and the entire team congratulates you on a job well done when Aaron storms into the office, angry.

“Y/N, go back to the hotel.”

Aaron stands tall, his hands on his hips and his mouth etched in an angry frown. His voice is low and you can’t believe the words you’re hearing.

“To the hotel? Hotch, you can’t be serious.”

“You made a reckless decision to abandon your gun and vest. That could have gotten you killed,” Aaron says. “You are not capable of working under pressure.”

“You told the entire team to use our instincts and that’s exactly what I did. I saved two little girls, for God’s sake.”

“You are hot headed and have this overwhelming urge to prove yourself when nobody cares how well you perform,” Aaron says angrily. “The entire time you’ve been with the BAU, you’ve barely contributed aside from piggybacking off of someone else to reach a conclusion.”

That, you know, is a lie. Aaron just wants to hurt you.

“At this very moment, you are incompetent and can’t hold yourself together for the sake of the victims and their families.”

“We have to catch Scott.”

“You can’t do your job, go back to the hotel.”

“That’s not fair.”

“I don’t have to be.”

“Hotch.”

“I want you gone, Y/N,” Aaron says firmly. “Go back to the hotel or hand in your badge.”

Unbelievable.

You don’t spare Aaron another glance. Your feet carry you out to the lobby and your breath is so uneven that you need to step aside into an empty interrogation room to calm yourself down. Your jaw clenches and you ball your fists to gather some sort of relief, but you don’t find it. Instead, your nails dig into your palm until it turns white and you let go, exiting the room without another word.

The keys to the SUV are still in your pocket. You don’t necessarily care that the team will have to squeeze into the remaining vehicles and you don’t care enough to let one of them know you’ve made it outside.

Your hands shake when you reach into your pocket. The warmth of the metal is familiar and your hand pulls it out when a stray tear falls from your face and splashes onto your cheek. Hastily, you enter the car and slam the door shut and lock it when you feel yourself overcome with sadness and anxiety.

The tears fall freely at this point and you bow your head to the steering wheel, your breaths hot and mouth wet from crying. The back of your sleeves are soaked as you try to wipe away your tears to no avail and your vision becomes too blurry to drive.

You allow yourself a few minutes to cry. The sound of your gasps echo throughout the care and your shoulders feel heavy with every sob. The weight of the world is truly on your shoulders now and you aren’t sure if you have a job when you go back to Quantico.

But you pull yourself together and drive back to the hotel. It feels much longer than it needs to be and you sit in the driver’s seat for a moment when you park the car. You hate that you feel incapable of being a member of the team without Aaron breathing down your neck. You hate that you can’t live up to his expectations and that you try to in the first place. Working at the BAU wasn’t supposed to be a nightmare.

You exit the car and lock it behind you, another stray tear escaping. You feverishly rid yourself of the tear and walk to the entrance of the hotel when you feel someone grabbing you from behind and an acute sense of pain at the base of your neck.

It’s black after that.

Back in the station, the local police have distracted themselves with their case files and other happenings while the rest of the team looks at Aaron in shock. Spencer's looking at the empty space where you stood and Emily is looking at Aaron like he’s grown a second head.

“Are you serious?” she begins. “Hotch, we need everyone on this. We need Y/N.”

“She’s too hot headed,” Aaron replies.

“Oh yeah?” Derek chimes in. “And how about you?”

“This isn’t about me.”

“You know damn well that Y/N adds as much value to this team as the rest of her. Two years with the BAU and stellar reviews from the board has proven that. Why are you still treating her like a first-day agent?”

“Y/N needs to learn to let go of her ego,” Aaron retaliates. “I don’t need to explain myself to any of you.”

“You’re wrong about her not contributing anything,” Spencer says. It surprises Aaron to hear Reid defy him on your behalf. “For the cases that we’ve worked on with her, she’s been the one to take lead on the preliminary profiles for most of them. Some of our biggest leads have come from her.”

Aaron breathes and doesn’t say a thing. He looks at his team and knows they don’t approve of his choice to send you back to the hotel, but he stands by it. David looks at him like he’s almost disappointed in him and JJ holds his stare.

He knows why he’s being extra hard on you. He knows he’s pushing you to your limit by keeping you at arm’s length. Aaron doesn’t want to admit that he sees you as anything other than his subordinate and coworker, but he does. He doesn’t want to be the reason why you don’t advance within the bureau and why there might be a future workplace ban on relationships. Even if he disagrees with how you handled things tonight.

Aaron doesn’t communicate any of this with the team while he stares them down. Instead, he fixes his posture and clears his throat.

“Get back to work.”

***

When you come to, you’re acutely aware of the handcuffs around your wrist.

The air is cold and you realize you’re bound to a pole in a barn, and you’re not sure where you are. Everything is suddenly hazy and your vision blurs until you blink rapidly with the hope that you’ll regain full consciousness.

The first thing you can feel is a headache. Your head’s pounding viciously and you wince at the pain, inadvertently tugging in your wrist and against the handcuffs. The metal is cold and it sends a chill up your spine when you realize you’re alone. You try your best to recite what you can sense over and over again in your mind.

The air is cold. You’re sitting on a hard floor with straw and other debris around you. The air smells like manure and hay. You can hear crickets and wind blowing just outside of the barn, and you can see hardware tools towards the back of the building.

The influx of emotions that creep into your chest is enough to make any person an anxiety-ridden mess. Your heart feels like it’s going to lurch out of your chest with every second that passes by because your reality becomes more real; this isn’t a nightmare you’re desperately hoping to wake up from.

“Look who’s awake.”

It’s Scott.

He flickers the lights on and that’s when you realize he’s holding a gun.

“You took quite a while to wake up, actually. I’ve been waiting here for two hours wondering when you’d return to the land of the living.”

Scott dons a smirk that you wish you could wipe off with both of your fists. His right hand grips the gun haphazardly and he waves it around as he gestures while speaking, and the fear of dying has finally crept into the forefront of your mind.

“Where are we?” you ask.

“South of Los Angeles,” Scott replies. “Far enough that your little team won’t find this patch of land.”

“Why’s that?”

His smirk widens when you stay quiet.

“You know, Agent, I find you interesting.”

“There’s nothing remotely interesting about me,” you say. You try your best to remember the profile and give him what he wants. He hates authority and between the two of you, you legally have all of it. So, you downplay yourself,

“I beg to differ,” he laughs. Scott takes a step towards you and you recoil. “I’ve been watching this investigation unfold because I need to keep tabs on what’s happening so that I don’t get caught. It’s worked so far, but you were just lucky to have found my little girls.”

“We found them because you made a mistake,” you chide. “You slipped up.”

Scott’s smirk turns into anger, and he takes another step towards you.

“I made a mistake because I wasn’t thinking far ahead, Agent.”

He takes another step and he’s by your thigh. Scott bends down to your level and you’re aware of how close his gun is to your abdomen, and you pray that you don’t say the wrong thing.

“I wasn’t thinking far ahead because I couldn’t see the bigger picture. But it came to me a few nights ago when I realized that you and I are people that don’t naturally get to be in the spotlight.”

Scott caresses your cheek and you shudder underneath his fingertips. He retracts and stands up, pacing back and forth in front of you.

“See, you and I are people who don’t get enough credit for our work. All it took was one moment watching your horrendous boss dismiss you for your work. I knew you’d be the key in getting my girls back to me.”

“What are you talking about?”

Scott leans forward. “You’re smart enough to figure it out.”

Unfortunately, it comes to you quickly.

The team had gathered around the house that Jaqueline and Scott had lived in when they were married. Penelope had clued the team in on this location. A new couple lived in that house with no connection to Jaqueline and Scott but you thought it was worth checking out.

Aaron disagreed. That house hadn’t been occupied by either of them for years since they got a divorce but your gut had been telling you to visit the property to look around for extra clues that might’ve turned up. Your insistence angered him, who accused you of disobeying orders, and it was David who had to intervene and remind Aaron never to leave any stone unturned.

Reluctantly, Aaron ordered the team to the house and you successfully convinced the new owners to let you look through their property with the promise that nothing would be disturbed. Two hours into searching and Aaron was ready to write your mishappenings in the file report when he returned to Quantico, but your sudden interest in the backyard piqued everyone’s interest.

You had discovered a well-hidden doorway to an underground room. The new family would’ve never seen it, as it was tucked away with roots and other invasive plants that covered the wooden doorway. When you and Morgan entered the space, it was clear that Scott had been there recently.

Unbeknownst to you, Scott has been hiding out a few houses down watching everything unfold, including the way Aaron distrusted your judgment. He’d been using that bunker as a living space, careful to work around the new family so as to not get caught. It was far enough that they couldn’t see him from where the windows were placed unless they were out in the backyard the same as he was.

“Remember now?” he asks.

You nod, complying. “You watched my boss reprimand me for wasting everyone’s time.”

He nods. “You and I are overworked and underappreciated. We don’t get credit or recognition even though we deserve it.”

“You knew we’d find Gracie and Olivia.”

Scott’s jaw locks but he agrees.

“I knew there was no way I’d be able to get to my girls in time to move them someplace else. So, I let you find them because I knew that I’d have no other chance to get them back if you arrested me.

“Then I followed you all the way back to the precinct so I could keep tabs on you and see where you were staying. It was just my luck that I happened to hear your boss yelling at you because of an open window. I knew my chance was when he ordered you to go back to the hotel.”

“How do I fit into all of this?” you ask.

“You, Agent, are going to help me get my kids back from Jaqueline and cover for me.”

“No chance in hell.”

Scott doesn’t like that answer. He lunges towards you and tugs on your hair, enough to make your scalp feel like it’s being set on fire.

“You don’t have a choice. I want my kids back and you aren’t in the position to make any demands.”

He doesn’t say much after that. Scott looks into your eyes with a murderous expression before letting you go. Your head hits the pole behind you because he pushed you away with enough force that it makes you dizzy again.

“We’ll talk tomorrow,” Scott says from the barn’s entrance. “I need some sleep and so do you.”

He doesn’t uncuff you and you’re left wondering how you can sleep when you’re being held captive.

***

When the team leaves the precinct, everyone is too drained to continue talking about the case on the ride back. They’d only been there two hours after you left but Aaron gets the feeling that the rest of them aren’t happy with him dismissing you.

The ride is silent and everyone retreats to their rooms respectively. He tries to forget the aching feeling in his chest and goes to sleep.

He wakes up to a cold sweat.

Aaron’s still not happy what perspired last night. He nearly made the choice to knock on your door and apologize for being harsh in front of the team and the local police, but he doesn’t. It’s better to put distance. It’s how he rationalizes how he’s treating you because he’ll fall apart if he imagines the consequences of being in a relationship with you.

You’re the first thing he thinks about when he wakes up. He’s surprised he didn’t hear you knocking on his door to give him a piece of your mind, but he was too tired to consider that you didn’t.

His clock reads six A.M. and he’s sure the rest of the team is waking up and heading to the police station like he is. Aaron feels more tired with each day passing and it feels like his body is on autopilot mode with how fast he’s able to change and get to the precinct.

The team trickles in one by one and everyone makes their coffee before picking up where they left off last night. Penelope had sent the team a list of possible places that Scott might be and Aaron wants to cover as much ground as possible.

When he’s more awake, he mentally groups the team and the other police officers to search each property.

He stops when he realizes you’re not in the precinct.

At first, Aaron feels annoyed because he thinks you’re late. It isn’t completely out of character for you, as he’s watched you stumble into the office a few minutes before debriefing. Still, he prays that you’ll show up so everyone can move on with their day.

But you don’t come in. Every person that walks through the door isn’t you and Aaron’s annoyance becomes a question of curiosity with fear at the end of it.

“Where’s L/N?” Morgan asks from beside him.

“Probably slept in,” JJ snorts. “She sleeps like a brick.”

Everyone laughs at her comment in good fun because they know it’s true. You’re a heavy sleeper. But Aaron isn’t convinced. Something doesn’t feel right to him but he can’t quite place what it is.

He gives it another ten minutes. Aaron’s bouncing from leg to leg, anticipating your arrival. He’s waiting for you to hastily apologize about not hearing your alarm and he’s waiting for you to jump right where you left off because of your tardiness.

But you never walk through the door.

“Something’s wrong,” Aaron mutters. Spencer nods at his disheveled expression from where he sits and Emily looks down at her phone.

“I know she’s a heavy sleeper but there’s no way she’d be twenty minutes late with the stakes this high,” Emily points out.

JJ walks out of the room the BAU is occupying and inquires with everyone outside if they’ve seen you come in, but all of them say they haven’t seen you since last night. JJ walks back into the room with shaking hands and she’s almost reluctant to tell Aaron that nobody has seen you yet.

Emily tries to call your cell phone one more time with no luck. Aaron sends Derek to check on you at the hotel and doesn't bother to respect the speed limit on the ten minute drive to the hotel from the station. The receptionist is more than willing to give him a key to your room when you don’t answer your phone.

When he walks in, he notices that you aren’t sleeping in the bed. Your room is clean. The bed is made and there’s no indication that you slept in it last night. Your go-bag is perched on the table and a few clothes are haphazardly thrown on the chair beside it. Nothing seems out of place.

It’s when he walks back outside to return to the station that he hears a phone ringing from the bushes. Derek walks towards the sound and his breath catches in his throat when he realizes the phone is yours. He curses and picks up the phone to see Emily’s contact.

“L/N?”

“It’s me,” Derek says through your phone. “L/N’s not here and her phone was tossed in the bushes.” Metal catches Derek’s eye. “Wait a minute.”

He walks forward with caution and his heart drops when he realizes it’s a discarded needle and your gun right next to it.

“What is it?” Emily asks from the other line. She hears Derek sigh and she knows it can’t be good.

“It’s a needle and her gun, Prentiss. L/N not showing up to the precinct and her belongings being discarded can’t be a coincidence.”

From the police station, Emily panics. She hangs up when Derek lets her know he’s coming back and her panic rises when she sees her teammates looking at her quizzically. The lump in her throat grows when she realizes everyone is looking at her for an answer.

“Did you find her?” JJ asks. Emily doesn’t speak for a second.

“Morgan found her cell phone in the bushes by the front of the hotel,” Emily explains. “He also found a discarded needle...and her gun.”

Aaron’s attention shifts from the file he’s holding to Emily, who’s fidgeting with her hands.

“Her gun?” Dave asks for clarification. “Found outside of the hotel room?”

Emily nods. “Morgan picked up L/N’s phone and said he found it tossed aside.”

“And none of us saw her when she left the precinct?”

Nobody says anything.

“I think she’s been kidnapped,” Reid says abruptly. “None of us saw her when we got back to the hotel nor when we arrived at the precinct. Scott must know Y/N was the one who rescued his daughters and he’s either kidnapped her out of revenge or because he wants them back.”

Aaron doesn’t like that answer.

His hands feel warm and his heart is racing too quickly for his liking. Aaron can feel his exterior start to wither away with the realization that you’ve been kidnapped and he doesn’t second guess himself when he calls Penelope and asks her to track Scott’s cell phone and to triangulate his last known location.

This is now a rescue mission and he hates that you’re the victim.

The team doesn’t spare a second in finding a third location he could’ve taken you too. Penelope foregoes any of her other responsibilities to find you and Aaron can hear the frantic pace of her keyboard typing as she speaks. Derek and Spencer are visiting locations that hold significance to Scott in the event that he’s returned, but Aaron's doubtful that he’d make that mistake.

It’s when JJ explains what’s happening to the lead detective does Aaron feel like his world is crumbling around him. He’s put himself at arm’s length so much as to push you away from him and right into the arms of the unsub, and he feels like he might pass out in the middle of the precinct.

Emily and Dave pick up how quiet Aaron’s been ever since Penelope hung up. He’s too busy staring at the white board and it doesn’t help that your handwriting is all over it. Aaron’s throat is dry and he’s a second away from starting to blame himself for your disappearance, but he knows that he doesn’t have enough time to feel sorry for himself if he wants to find you.

When Derek comes back and tells the team there’s been no luck in finding you, Aaron’s heart sinks. He’s running out of options and he knows his head isn’t where it should be, but he can’t help it. Aaron does his best to keep himself composed when Spencer tries to piece together your timeline and he hates that they’re treating you like a abduction victim because you should be in this room with them. Instead, you’re God knows where and Aaron doesn’t bring himself to imagine that you might be dead already.

It’s Spencer who makes the connection between you and his children. He theorizes that Scott must’ve been present when you had rescued the children and kidnapped you for one of two reasons: to exact revenge or to force you to help him get his children back. JJ suspects that it’s the latter because of your profile. Scott wants to get his children back and he’d do anything to do it.

Dave wonders why Scott would risk kidnapping a federal agent and how he knew you’d be at the precinct or the hotel, and Spencer doesn’t hold his tongue when he said the only common link between the two of you is the way you’d both been treated by your superiors.

The room goes quiet and Spencer thinks he’s overstepped, but he doesn’t regret his choice of words.

Everyone looks at Aaron, who’s been silent the entire time. He thinks about how angry you were last night and how he convinced himself he didn’t see you shed a tear as you passed him. The guilt of sending you home and not checking in on you when he got back to the hotel is eating him alive because you’ve been missing for twelve hours and nobody knew about it.

“Reid’s right,” Aaron says. He feels his voice start to break. “We know why he’s taken L/N but now we need to understand how he’s going to use her in order to get his children back.”

Aaron’s phone rings and he’s grateful for the distraction. Penelope informs them of a house that was paid in all cash and purchased under a false identity a few months ago, and confirms that it was Scott who paid for the property after speaking with the realtor and showing her a photo. Aaron wastes no time ordering the team to head to the house and he feels like he’s running out of time when Penelope says the property is seventy miles from the precinct.

The ride to the property is agonizing. Aaron’s grip on the steering wheel is lethal and he’s swerving between every car with the hopes that he’ll reach you in time. Emily’s sitting in the passenger seat and she knows there’s nothing either of them can do except hope that you’re alive and well.

“We’ll find her,” she says after a long period of silence. “You know L/N. She’s strong and won’t go down without a fight.”

Aaron hesitates to speak. He gulps and he feels like his mouth is far too dry to hold a decent conversation because while he knows that Emily’s right, he can’t help but feel utterly hopeless on the freeway while you’re being held hostage by Scott.

“I shouldn’t have told her to go to the hotel,” Aaron says. “I should’ve left it at reprimanding her for going in alone. We could’ve avoided all of this.”

“You of all people know you couldn’t have predicted that Scott would’ve done,” Emily said. “It wasn’t in the profile. Neither of us could’ve predicted that he’d kidnap L/N.”

“I know.” Aaron signals and passes three cars who are driving far too slow for his liking.

He’s silent again, which doesn’t surprise Emily. Aaron sits in the driver’s seat, a million thoughts racing to the front of his head but he can’t seem to choose the right words to speak. He knows how unfair he’s been to you and all the anger and frustration about not being able to be with you has transpired into this mess he’s found himself in. He should’ve never let his feelings get to this point nor let his frustration shift from the forbidden relationship onto you.

“I’ve been unfair to her,” Aaron croaks. He hears the crack in his voice as it starts to falter, but he keeps talking because he thinks he might go insane if they sit in any more silence. “I’ve pushed her aside and made her second guess herself as an agent of this team all because I couldn’t keep my feelings in check.”

“What do you mean?” Emily asks. Aaron sighs and he grips his steering wheel, embarrassed that he’s been an unfair leader and that he’s admitting it to one of his colleagues.

“L/N is an exceptional agent and it’s no wonder why I fell for her.”

Emily’s quiet and Aaron’s sure he’s made a mistake by confessing that to her. He wishes he could take it back and lie instead of being honest with his friend, but he can’t take back the words he’s said. And he stands by it.

“I’ve been so busy trying to pretend like I don’t have feelings for her but every day I’m scared that something like this could happen to her. I hate it when she’s reckless and disobeys orders because I’m afraid that it’ll get her killed.

“I know what it looks like on the outside to see me and my subordinate in a romantic relationship. She’s young, career-driven, and I’d hate to stand in the way of whatever’s next for her. I don’t know how to act around her and I thought that pushing all of this down would help me lose feelings for her, but I haven’t.”

“You sound like a teenager,” Emily says. It shocks him and when he looks at her quizzically, Emily chuckles. “What, you think I couldn't see how hopeless you were when it came to L/N? Hotch, you’re like a kid in a candy store when she’s around. The rest of us were ready to start placing bets on you two until you started giving her the short end of the stick.”

He feels awful. Aaron’s guilt causes him to flex and rev the engine.

“I never meant to hurt her,” he confesses. “But that doesn’t matter now.”

“What matters is that we’re on our way to rescue her and there’s nowhere else she could be,” Emily reassures. “Scott wants his kids back and he knows they’re in LA county. There’s no way he would risk taking her somewhere else when he doesn’t have Gracie and Olivia.”

“Right,” Aaron says, clearing his throat. Neither he nor Emily need to chide him for how he’s been treating you. He knows he’s wrong and Emily knows it too.

“L/N is the strongest out of all of us. She’ll make it through this.”

Aaron has a sneaking suspicion that Emily’s trying to convince herself, but he doesn’t say anything.

When the team reaches the property, it’s notably quiet. The next neighbor is two miles down the road and Derek’s ready to search the house when Aaron steps out of his vehicle.

“More backup’s two minutes out,” Aaron explains, “but we’ve got enough people to start the search. Reid and JJ, check the backyard. Prentiss and Rossi, check the house. Morgan, you’re with me. We’re checking the garage.”

Aaron orders the police officers to check elsewhere before he and Morgan make their way to the garage. With his gun and flashlight in his hands, he approaches the enclosed space with caution and his heart spikes with anxiety. Before he can think about the worst that could happen, two police officers manage to open the garage door as he and Derek search the place.

It’s empty.

Aaron curses under his breath as they check the confined space but find nothing out of the ordinary. The rest of the team relates the same information and Aaron feels like he’s losing hope because he doesn't know where else you could possibly be.

“Guys, there’s a barn across the landing,” comes JJ’s voice from the communications line. “There’s a truck parked outside and I’m willing to bet it’s Scott’s.”

Aaron’s heart stops beating for a moment.

“We need to search that barn,” Aaron commands. “Everyone pull your resources and let’s head out.”

It feels like slow motion to him, the way he diverts his attention to the barn that JJ pointed out. He feels like he’s watching the scene unfold in front of him from another person’s perspective and desperately prays that you’re in there, safe and alive. The grip on his gun is falling from how his hands are trembling but he reminds himself that he has a job to do.

Dave touches the hood of the car and says it’s warm, which means Scott is most likely inside of the barn. The lead detective is ordering his team to secure the back entrance and surround the building so that Scott has no place to run and Aaron instructs his team to do the same at the front. Under hushed voices, he can almost make out the faint scout of scuffling coming from behind the large wooden doors and feels his throat close.

Then he hears a gunshot.

Everyone rushes inside and he’s overcome with dread when he walks inside. Aaron’s heart is racing; he can feel the grip of his gun slipping because of how unsteady his hands are and he’s nearly tripping from all the hay that he’s stepping on. He fears the worst when he enters and does his best to prepare himself to see your lifeless body.

But you’re laying on your stomach with a gun in your hands.

You don’t process the ringing in your ears until Aaron moves beside you to reach for the gun in your hands. He’s tossed it aside and maneuvers you to check for any injuries. Aaron glances at your face and notices a deep bruise forming on your left temple with scratches and smaller bruises adorning your face, and he hates it.

He hates that your body and face is covered in Scott’s blood. He hates that your hands are still shaking with fear. He hates that there’s nothing he can say or do that will make everything better for you.

The shirt you’re wearing is covered in Scott’s blood spatter and you’re barely able to process that you’ve most likely broken a few ribs. You don’t say anything. The overwhelming urge to cry resurfaces and this time, you don’t stop yourself.

Aaron catches you before you hit your head onto the ground and moves his body to sit behind you. You’re stationed between his legs, your back pressed against his chest as you slump over and grab his arm for support as your tears wet his dress shirt. Aaron foregoes all standard procedure and lets you cry in his arms instead of calling for the EMT to whisk you away from the hospital.

You don’t care that your cries are almost louder than the ambulance sirens. Your adrenaline makes the blood pump loudly in your ears and you grip onto Aaron like you’re afraid Scott will come back to life and kill you if you let go.

His free arm is secured around you. Aaron’s eyes become glossy as each second passes by and his heart breaks in two when he hears your continual cries.

“You did so good,” Aaron whispers. “So good. You’re safe now.”

Aaron doesn’t let the EMT get close to you when you’re trembling in his arms. He tells them to wait a moment and they try to argue with him, but they relent when they see Aaron’s stern expression. His voice cracks when he tries to speak upon hearing your soft whimpers. Your eyes are screwed shut and Aaron strokes your hair as you bury yourself further deeper into him.

Dave and Spencer canvas the scene and look around for anything out of the ordinary to report. Derek's speaking with the EMTs while JJ and Emily are patiently waiting with blankets and bottles of water for you. But you don’t get up. Your legs feel numb from sitting down and Aaron’s grip on you is so tight that you feel like you’ll fall back down if you try to stand up.

Your sobs have turned quiet and you almost feel like you’re at peace. But then you remember your bruises and the blood still on your body. You remember Scott’s body and find yourself crying even harder.

“Let’s get you to a hospital,” Aaron says in your ear. “We can get you cleaned up and on your way home. Does that sound good?”

His voice is like honey. Sweet.

You nod and you try your best to sit up to no avail. Aaron tries to help you up and the EMTs catch you before you can fall back onto the ground. He reluctantly lets the EMTs take you to the ambulance where JJ and Emily are waiting. He watches as they drape a blanket over you and as you’re wheeled up into the vehicle. Emily offers to follow you to the hospital and JJ steps away, letting the ambulance drive off.

Aaron doesn’t process anything. He doesn’t hear the sirens, the police chatter, or Dave approach him with a concerned look.

“She’s gonna be okay, Aaron.”

Dave’s voice is nothing but a hollow shell to Aaron. It feels like an empty promise even though he knows you’re going to make it out alive. Still, Aaron doesn’t say a word.

“Let’s go meet her at the hospital.”

***

The doctor explains that you’ve suffered a concussion, a couple of bruised ribs, a broken arm, and a grazed bullet wound. You’ll be relatively fine, but Aaron’s heart is racing and can't get past seeing you covered in blood to pay attention to anything the doctor is saying. He hasn’t had time to beat himself up for sending you back to the hotel without accompaniment and he hates that the guilt is crashing in on him when you need him the most.

Aaron looks down at his sleeves and they’re covered in blood, dirt, and your mascara. He stares down in shock and his mind flashes to the barn, and he realizes it’s the first time he’s ever seen you cry before. It breaks him.

The doctor explains that they needed to sedate you because of your sudden adrenaline rush. Your shock had caused you to lash out when a nurse had grabbed your wrist, and through your clouded judgment, you’d swung at him with all of your might. Your fretful apologies made you uncontrollably sob afterwards and the nurse could only look at you with sympathy.

Two hours later, the team was still waiting in the waiting room. Under the guise of wanting to get you something to eat other than stale hospital food, Aaron leaves to buy you a meal. But he needs to get ou and get fresh air before he suffocates.

Aaron’s guilt eats him alive. He walks aimlessly towards a deli and scolds himself over and over again for making you drive to the hotel unsupervised. In hindsight, Aaron knows his personal feelings came into play when he berated you for your recklessness. He knows he was unfair to you because he would’ve done the same thing if he were in your position.

When he returns, Dave’s looking at him like he knows what he’s thinking, but doesn’t say anything. Aaron appreciates his friend’s concern but the guilt doesn’t relent. He fidgets in his seat and tries to calm his spiking anxiety but nothing seems to work. His mind retracts to the moment he found you covered in Scott’s blood and your cries are enough to make Aaron feel like he might shed a tear in front of his teammates.

His thoughts are disrupted when he sees your doctor approach the group.

“She’s a little out of it,” says the doctor, “but she’s conscious. You’re all welcome to say hello, but only for a few minutes.”

When the doctor directs the team to your room, she explains what happened after you reached the hospital. Aaron can’t process anything she’s saying. His ears are ringing and he feels like everyone around him is talking too loudly for him to be able to hear anything the doctor is saying. All he can pick up is “dehydrated” and “concussed.”

Everyone hastily walks to the room you’re in. JJ files into the room first. It takes Aaron a few breaths to find the courage to step inside of the room and he’s sure Emily’s the one who helped him take the first step.

“What’s the prognosis?” your croaked voice asks. JJ sniffles and laughs at the same time, and the rest of the group watch you try to prop yourself up.

“How you’re able to joke at a time like this is beyond me,” JJ gushes. She takes a pillow from the bed and helps you sit up.

“What, a few broken ribs and a concussion? I’m lucky the bullet only grazed me.”

Nobody laughs but you can tell they’re trying their best.

Aaron towers over everybody easily and he’s in between trying to catch your gaze and trying to avoid it. Emily hands you the sandwich from the local deli and you waste no time, opening the wrapper and letting the aioli slide down the side of your mouth.

It’s easily the most adorable and most heartbreaking thing Aaron has ever seen.

“Slow down, Tiger,” says Derek. He grabs a nearby napkin and wipes the sauce away while you smile sheepishly.

“Sorry,” you mutter, taking slower bites. Spencer’s next to hug you and you welcome the way he refuses to let you go.

Everyone looks at you under the harsh lights of the hospital room and you feel like you’re being observed. The sedative you’d been given is enough to make you feel somewhat normal because no matter how hard you try to panic over the last few hours, you can’t.

You feel like you’re numb to your experiences and the pain Scott inflicted. Staring at your team feels eerily normal and you almost forget that you’re sitting in a hospital gown with enough injuries to put you out of the field for a few months.

“You broke my heart, kiddo,” Dave chimes in. He grabs your free hand and gives it a gentle squeeze, accompanied by a kiss to the back of your hand. JJ pulls you into a mother-like embrace, kissing the crown of your head. You lean into her touch and Aaron wishes he were the one comforting you.

“I feel like shit,” you confess. “I woke up feeling groggy and I feel like I’m about to pass out.”

“We’re so glad you’re okay, Y/N,” Emily says.

“Thanks, Em,” you say. You take another bite. “This sandwich is good.”

“Aaron bought it,” Emily speaks.

You look at him. It’s the first time you’ve acknowledged his presence since he walked into the room.

“Thanks,” you mumble behind the sandwich. “I could eat five of these.”

“I don’t want to deal with you puking on us,” Spencer jokes, and it makes you feel somewhat normal.

You don’t like feeling as though you’re a delicate piece of glass that’s close to being dropped. You hate feeling useless and pitied. Everyone’s looking at you with sad eyes and it makes you feel like you’ve let your colleagues down, even though you know there’s nothing you could’ve done to prevent what transpired.

“I’m really sleepy,” you say, haphazardly throwing the wrapper on the table next to you. It isn’t a lie, but you say it with the hopes of being alone.

“We’ll be back in the morning,” JJ says. She looks at the clock in front of her and doesn’t realize that it’s four in the morning. You squeeze her hand when her eyes well up. JJ wipes her eyes and blinks her tears back and you lean against her side.

Aaron can’t help but stare. You look so vulnerable at this moment and you’re doing your best to keep yourself awake, but the sedatives are making you drowsy. The team says their goodbyes and reluctantly trek back to the hotel, but Aaron can’t bring himself to walk into the building once he’s parked.

“Get changed,” Dave says after a brief moment of silence. Aaron looks at him in confusion. “Take a shower, eat something from the vending machine, and go back to the hospital.”

“She doesn't want me there,” he says slowly.

“She’s asleep,” Dave dismisses. “She’s not going to know you’re there and I’m sure she’ll want to see a familiar face when she wakes up.”

“I’m not sure I’m the person she wants to see.”

“You were the first person she reached for when we entered the barn,” Dave explains, “and I know you won’t be sleeping a wink tonight unless you’re by L/N’s side. Go get changed and get back to the hospital, Aaron.”

“I just–”

“I know you feel guilty. Whatever feelings you have towards her never went away and that’s why you’ve been so hard on her.” Aaron’s not surprised that he’s picked up on this habit. “I don’t have to agree with how you handled it, but what matters is that she’s alive and she’s resting. We got her back, Aaron. She’s here and Scott isn’t.”

Aaron knows Dave is right. He thanks him for being a good friend and trudges back into his hotel room, hastily freshening himself up before returning back to the hospital.

***

You wake up later in the morning with little to no recollection of how you got there. You feel extremely out of it, like someone removed a ton of bricks from your chest after keeping it there for a fortnight. You look to your left and see a window that shows you a gloomy D.C. morning. You look to your right and see Aaron Hotchner slumped over in a seat, asleep.

This wakes you up. You’re blinking the sleep out of your eyes when you realize he’s snoring. It’s soft and unassuming, but you don’t remember the last time you’ve ever seen him sleep.

The chairs must be uncomfortable, too. You do your best to sit up—which is when you notice the sling on your arm—and manage to prop yourself up on the pillows until you’re sitting upright. Aaron stirs in his sleep at the sound but he’s still asleep.

You’re not close enough to reach him and wake him up. You aren’t sure that you want to either, for the fear that he might start telling you a laundry list of all the things you did wrong throughout the case.

The doctor from last night walks in and knocks on your door, which shifts your focus. Aaron’s still asleep and the doctor, who reintroduces herself as Dr. Aguta, gently walks around Aaron and to your bedside.

“How are you feeling?” she asks you while holding a clipboard. You notice her colorful print skirt first and it’s a contrast to how grey it is outside.

“My head hurts,” you say with a croak. It’s the first thing you’ve said since you woke up. “And I realized my arm’s broken. But other than that, I feel fine.”

Dr. Aguta gives you a pleasant smile. “I’m glad to hear that you’re doing okay. The sedatives we gave you last night seemed to help ease your pain, though I’ll be giving you a prescription for the rest of the month when it wears off.”

She hesitated before speaking again.

“Do you remember why you’re here?”

Unfortunately, you do. You remember Scott, the gun, and Aaron coaxing you to go with the EMTs. It’s mostly a blur and you can’t remember the details but you remember enough. The softened expression is a dead giveaway and Dr. Aguta doesn’t press any further.

She sees your gaze shift to Aaron, who still hasn’t woken up.

“He came last night and insisted on staying with you,” Dr. Aguta informs. “Typically I’d only let immediate family stay overnight, but your boss seemed extremely worried about you.”

“He did?” you ask. It’s news to you.

She nods. “When I saw him for the first time last night, I could tell he’s a man of few words and the leader of your team. But last night he was a stuttering mess and I let him stay overnight with the condition that he doesn’t wake you.”

You don’t say anything. Aaron’s mouth is partly ajar and you know he’s going to wake up with a lot of back pain from how he’s positioned. Dr. Aguta performs a routine check up on you and lets you know that you’ll be discharged from the hospital the following day. You thank her profusely and she can only give you a reassuring smile. You ask her to wake Aaron up for you just before she leaves.

Aaron blinks and remembers he’s not in the hotel. Dr. Aguta excuses herself to give the both of you privacy and he sits upright, stretching his back unpleasantly.

“Morning,” he says, clearing this throat. “How do you feel?”

You’re getting tired of answering this question but you humor him.

“Better,” you say honestly. “Aside from my broken arm and concussion.” Aaron’s gaze shifts to your arm and he almost winces.

“Did you sleep well?”

“For the most part, but I think the sedatives had more to do with it than anything.”

“Good, I’m glad.”

An awkward silence falls over the both of you. Aaron desperately tried to pull himself together by waking himself up and you’re fiddling with your hands. You noticed he’s changed since you saw him last night, now in slacks and a quarter zip, and you don’t remember the last time you’ve ever seen him look so casual.

Aaron’s trying to think of the right words to say. As your boss, he wants to tell you that none of this was your fault and there’s nothing you could’ve done to prevent it from happening. He wants to tell you he shouldn’t have ordered you back to the hotel, not without anyone accompanying you.

But as someone who has deep feelings for you, Aaron wants to say he was scared to death and thought he might lose another person he cares for. His anxiety skyrocketed through the roof when he saw what you had done to Scott and he wishes that you didn’t have to work through this trauma.

But he doesn’t say anything. You watch as he swallows and you know his brain is working overtime by how often he pulls his eyebrows together. You don’t have it in you to be angry at him like you were the night he sent you away. The sedatives, along with your exhaustion, leaves little room for anger.

“I’m getting hungry,” you say to break the silence.

“I can get something from the cafeteria,” he offers immediately, touching his pocket to make sure his wallet didn’t fall out.

“That would be nice.” You’d be lying if you said you weren’t touched by the offer.

Aaron leaves for a short while and you try your best to process what just happened. He chose to stay with you overnight. He offered to buy you breakfast. You didn’t think Aaron would care for you like that.

He comes back a while later and apologizes for both the sandwich (that looks haphazardly made) and the time it took, as there was a long line. You thank him politely and eat the meal, and you’re grateful that you have anything to eat at all.

Aaron watches you and feels like he’s invading your personal time. He bought himself a fruit cup, knowing Dave would reprimand him for not eating if he were able to buy something.

“I shouldn’t have told you to go back,” Aaron says softly. You almost didn’t hear him say it. “I shouldn’t have gotten mad at you. I did the wrong thing and it got you kidnapped.”

You don’t tell him that it’s okay, because quite frankly he’s right. He shouldn’t have sent you home, but you know it’s not his fault that you were abducted.

“It’s not your fault that Scott took me,” you say matter-of-factly. Aaron can sense what you’re trying to say and his eyes hang in shame. “But I’m alive. I’m going to have one hell of a transition back to work, but I’m alive. I’m here. That is, if I still have my job.”

Aaron’s eyes snap to you.

“The job is yours for however long you want it,” he says immediately, and he means it. “What you did was reckless but I can’t say I wouldn’t do the same thing.”

This makes you smile a little and Aaron soars when he sees it.

“I didn’t mean what I said back at the precinct either, Y/N. You’re a fantastic agent and we’re lucky to have you.”

There are a million things you want to ask him. Why have you been second guessing me? Is my work not satisfactory enough? Why did you stay in the hospital with me?

But you don’t. There are too many things you want to say to Aaron that it ends up turning into a frustrating mess every time you think of the right question to ask. Aaron doesn’t seem to notice your lack of conversation. Or if he does, you think he’s trying to fill the awkward silence like you are.

“I don’t mean to be a burden,” is what you settle on. “I don’t purposely challenge your authority or how the team operates. I know I haven’t been here as long as everyone else but I like to think I make enough contributions.”

“You do,” Aaron says. “You aren’t a burden.”

You don’t believe him. “I just…lately I feel like I've been getting in the way of things.”

“You haven’t.” Aaron means that honestly but you don’t pick up on it. “You’ve shown immense critical thinking and problem solving skills. This case alone has proven that.”

You don’t disagree with him, but your mind reverts back to Scott and you start to deflate.

Aaron knows he needs to apologize for how he’s been acting towards you. The abduction and his guilt is eating him alive and it forced him to be truthful with himself about how harsh he’s been treating you upon realizing he likes you more than a colleague should. But he doesn’t know whether this moment is appropriate or not. Ever the professional.

Both of you are saved by Dave showing up unannounced. He’s dressed casually too, with jeans and a sweater for an unusually cloudy day in Southern California. His knocking brings both you and Aaron out of your heads.

“Hey, kiddo,” Dave laments. He enters the room after you beckon him in and gives you a gentle hug on the side that doesn’t have your sling. “I won’t ask how you’re feeling because I’m sure you’re tired of that.”

“Thank you.”

“But I did want to check up on you,” Dave continues. “The rest of the team are slowly waking up, I imagine.” He turns to Aaron. “I assume we’re grounded here until Y/N can fly back.”

“That’s right,” Aaron says. “Tell the team they have the rest of the week off. I don’t think Strauss wants us spending more of our budget on flights.”

“Already done,” Dave says with a smile. “You had us worried for a while there.”

“I’m sorry,” you apologize, even though you know you have nothing to be sorry for. “I didn’t mean to make any of you worry about me.”

“We always worry about you, kid. It’s our job.”

“Are the girls okay?” you ask him.

“Safe and sound. That’s actually why I came to visit, other than to check up on you.”

You blink out of confusion.

“Jaqueline called the precinct and asked to speak with you,” Dave explains. “Long story short, she got in contact with me and wanted to know if you’d be willing to speak with her. She wants to thank you in person.”

The thought never crossed your mind. Saving her children had always been your first priority, even when Scott threatened to kill you if you didn’t help him. You’re not a mother by any means, but Jaqueline is around your age and you have plenty of nieces and nephews to get an understanding of how difficult this whole ordeal was for her.

And if you were being honest with yourself, you wanted to make sure Jaqueline would be okay.

“Absolutely,” you say immediately.

“Y/N, are you sure?” Aaron asks. “You just got to the hospital.”

“I’m sure,” you confirm, turning your attention back to Dave. “They can come visit me here if they’re willing to. I don’t think I have it in me to go to the precinct.”

“Of course,” Dave says with a small grin. It’s almost like he knows this will heal the both of you. He leaves the room and tells you he’ll be back later this afternoon.

Aaron sits in silence and he’s in awe of your resilience. He’s sure it’s the shock and sedatives talking, but he’s always known you to be someone who puts other people first.

“I should call Strauss and let her know the situation,” Aaron says. “I’ll be back in a little bit, okay?”

“Okay,” you say, and you’re strangely reluctant to let him go. But you do anyway and he walks out of the hospital room, leaving you with your thoughts.

***

Dave lets you know Jaqueline is here with the girls a few hours later.

“Agent Y/L/N?” a voice says from beside you. The young mother knocks on the door as two children hide behind her legs. You beckon them inside, with Aaron and Emily supervising from beyond the threshold.

“Jaqueline,” you say, propping yourself up to seem more presentable. “Hi. It’s great to see you.”

“I’m sorry for barging in like this,” she apologizes, but you’re already waving her off when you see the two children emerge from behind her. “I wanted to thank you in person. For saving my kids.”

“It’s no problem,” you downplay.

But Jaqueline shakes her head and rushes to grab your hand. She pulls away when she thinks she’s crossed a line, but your grip is devastatingly tight when you squeeze hers. Jaqueline looks at you and tears slip from her eyes, and her children hug her legs like they know something’s wrong.

Jacqueline composes herself and brings Gracie and Olivia in front of her, who each have hand-decorated thank you cards made of colorful cardstock paper, stickers, and glitter. Your heart swells at the gesture and you will yourself not to alarm the family in front of you with your tears, so you promise yourself you’d cry when they leave.

“Hi, Munchkins,” you greet. “What’s all this?”

The girls shyly give you the cards, the eldest taking initiative to put them in your hands.

“Thank you,” she says quietly. “Mommy says you were very brave and saved us.”

“We drew these last night!” the younger one exclaims. “Mommy let us stay up late because we couldn’t sleep, so we made these for you.”

“They’re beautiful,” you compliment, looking at the colors below you. Jaqueline hasn’t let go of your hand. “You girls are very talented.”

“Thank you,” the young one says bashfully. “I hope you get better soon.”

Your heart swells and Jacqueline squeezes your hand again before letting go. You watch her lips flutter and as her children become preoccupied with their dresses, Jaqueline surprises you again.

“Would it be alright if I called you from time to time?” she asks. “To let you know how we’re doing. That we’re okay.” You reach for her one more time.

“I’d love that,” you say honestly.

Jaqueline doesn’t say another word, but the look of gratitude and her quivering lips is enough to make all the hurt from the past few days disappear.

You watch as they leave the room and as the young girls save goodbye. David escorts them to the front of the hospital, which leaves Aaron awkwardly standing in the threshold with his body leaning against the doorframe.

Aaron watches you. Your eyes glaze over and the cards in your hand are slipping through your fingertips, and your lips move as if you’re trying to find the right words to say. But nothing comes out. Aaron listens as your breathing becomes shallow and watches a stray tear slip from the corner of your eyes.

Before he can think, he rushes by your side and envelopes you in his arms.

He’s sitting on the edge of the bed, somewhere between wanting to give you enough space and wanting to pull you against him. Your fingers are tight on his forearms when he hears your labored breathing become erratic and as your tears soak the fabric of his t-shirt.

Aaron takes the liberty of moving you in front of him, his back against the pillows you were sleeping on. He looks at your frail body in front of him; you always carry yourself as a strong-willed, independent agent on the field, and now he sees that he mistook your brazen character as recklessness when it was false bravado.

His heart aches when your grip on him tightens. Aaron reaches out to move the cards to the side table and pulls you against his chest, thankful that this bed is barely enough to fit the both of you. Aaron notices your craned neck, bringing the hand that isn’t wrapped around your frail figure to your head and gently moves your head to his chest.

Your soft whimpers are enough to make Aaron’s heart break all over again.

“You’re an amazing person,” Aaron says. “You are selfless, caring, and generous.” His words compel you to cry even harder and Aaron lets you weep in his arms until your eyes are dry and you’re hiccuping.

Aaron doesn’t let you, not for a second, feel embarrassed about breaking down in front of him. His thumbs are drawing soothing circles on your arm and he’s wiping away your tears with a tissue, allowing you to unravel before him.

Your dry heaving doesn’t bother Aaron, but he coos into your ear and tells you he’s going to get you a bottle of water when you grip his arm. He pries your fingers off of him and melts when you snuggle your head closer to him, but he knows you’re thirsty and the best thing he can do for you is keep you healthy.

“I’ll be back in two minutes,” he promises. “I’m all yours after that.”

You nod reluctantly and let him go. The bed feels empty when he leaves and you feel pathetic for hanging onto him like he’s your lifeline, but you don’t care. You just want to be held.

True to his word, Aaron comes back a few minutes later and uncaps the bottle for you. A soft ‘up’ utters from his lips and you sit up straight. He brings the bottle to your lips and tilts your head back enough to let the water slide down your throat.

Aaron puts it aside when you’ve signaled that you’re done and slides into the spot next to you once again. He puts his arm around your shoulder and brings you to his chest again.

You don’t tell him, but you feel his heartbeat. It’s irrationally fast and you don’t know what to make of it. You tighten your hold on him as you start to fall asleep and you miss the way Aaron rocks you to sleep.

***

When it’s time for your discharge, you’re feeling better than you did a few days ago. The team welcomes you back on board once you’ve been cleared to fly and it feels like nothing’s out of place.

JJ bought a bunch of pastries from a local cafe and everyone (save for Aaron because he was with you the entire time) has written little messages on a decorated card. It’s Spencer who frets over you the most, bringing you cups of tea and asking if there’s anything he can do to ease your pain. You’re quite touched.

You know you’re in no shape to drive home when you land. Your dominant hand is broken and your car sits in its designated spot, no doubt gathering dust and debris. The team is tired from the trip and everyone checks in on you one by one before leaving, and you don’t know how you’ll get home until you realize your car keys are still in your desk drawer.

Aaron watches you for a moment. He notices your apprehensiveness and the way you look at your car keys, and he puts two and two together. Before he can register what he’s doing, Aaron’s making his way to you and offering to drive you. You start to tell him you don’t need a chauffeur and that he should go home instead, but he’s more worried that you might hurt yourself inadvertently. He persists and you reluctantly say yes because you know he’s right. You could barely open the door to the building, let alone drive home.

The car ride to your apartment is quiet, save for the sounds of cars passing by on the freeway and the sound of gravel underneath the tires. You look up at your apartment complex when you tell Aaron the code to get into your garage and he parks in the visor spot after you’ve directed him.

The sling on your arm is a nuisance and you already can’t wait to get it off. You’re able to unbuckle yourself with your free hand and you’re surprised that Aaron opens the door for you.

“Thanks,” you mumble.

“It’s not a problem.” You can tell he means it.

When you get to your apartment, you’re somewhat surprised that you haven’t lost your keys. You struggle to put them into the lock correctly with your non-dominant hand and Aaron can see the quirk of your eyebrow and how you’ve bit your lip out of frustration.

He fears he’s overstepping. He takes the keys out of your hands gently and opens the door for you anyhow.

When you walk inside, you don’t think you've ever felt happier to see your small one bedroom apartment. Aaron sets your go-bag on the kitchen counter and you stand still for what seems like an eternity until he brings you out of your haze and encourages you to change out of your clothes and take a shower.

But you don’t move. You stand in the middle of your living room and stare blankly out of your window, unable to appreciate the breathtaking view of D.C. like you always do. Your throat feels dry and your feet feel like they’re permanently planted on the hardwood floor beneath you.

Aaron comes to stand beside you and he leaves distance between the both of you. He looks at the sight before him and makes a comment about how he’s jealous of your view, but not even that gets a reaction out of you.

“I don’t want to be alone,” you mumble after a long pause. “I-I can’t be by myself right now.”

Aaron knows Jack is at sleepaway camp for a school trip and doesn’t get back for another few days. He doesn’t have to think about keeping you company so you don’t feel alone.

“I can stay with you,” he offers. “I’ll sleep on the couch.”

You turn to look at him and the offer is enough to bring tears to your eyes.

Aaron sounds so soft, caring, and unlike himself. Your heart tugs at his caring nature and you’re overwhelmed with the notion that he’s caring for you like he cares for your colleagues.

“Please,” you croak.

Aaron nods. He puts his hands on your arms and ushers you into the hallway and you point him in the direction of your bedroom. He’s acutely aware that this is the first time he’s ever been in your apartment, let alone in the room you sleep in, and tries not to dwell on it for your sake.

“You should take a shower and sleep,” Aaron suggests. “It’ll help clear your head.”

You follow Aaron’s lead. He guides you to your dresser and you grab an extra change of clothes and he accompanies you to the bathroom next door.

“I’ll be in the living room if you need anything, okay?” he says. “Don’t be afraid to get me.”

“Okay,” you say meekly. Your voice is far too dry to speak normally.

Aaron closes the bathroom door and you avoid looking at yourself in the mirror. You’re sure you look like a mess, despite being taken care of in the hospital back in Los Angeles. But you feel sticky from the flight and the sudden change in temperature, and you want nothing more than to cleanse yourself of the memories from LA.

You remove the sling from your arm and try your hardest to take your clothes off but you find it exceptionally difficult with your arm being in a brace. It hurts to lift your arm and you nearly cry out of frustration and exhaustion when you realize you can’t take your shirt off by yourself.

Embarrassed, you contemplate on showering with your clothes on, but ultimately know you’d need to take them off anyway. You open the door and call for Aaron, and you hear his steps as soon as you do.

“Are you okay?” he asks when he realizes you’re still in your clothes.

“I can’t, um, take my clothes off,” you say, clearing your throat. “I can’t bend my right arm and my left one is extremely sore. I can’t take my fucking clothes off.”

Aaron isn’t offended by your defensiveness. He gathers that it’s your coping mechanism because you feel embarrassed, but Aaron doesn’t care. He doesn’t say anything but he nods like he knows what you’re going through and you have a suspicion that he might.

“I’ll close my eyes and take your clothes off for you,” Aaron says. He says it in a way that’s so sincere but it still makes your cheeks redden at the innuendo. Aaron tries to ignore it because he feels a blush coming.

“It’s so pathetic that I can’t do this by myself.”

“It’s not pathetic,” he reassures. “You have a broken arm and your body’s still in pain. Let me help you.”

You don’t say anything and Aaron takes it as a cue to move closer. True to his word, he puts his arms on your waist and turns his head away from you, careful to not hurt your broken arm. He maneuvers the fabric until it’s free from your body and he’s acutely aware that he’ll need to touch you in order to take the rest of your clothes off.

Aaron’s surprised when you move his hand to the button of your slacks. He clears his throat while you look up at the ceiling and bite your lip, pretending that the situation you’re in is completely normal to keep yourself from blushing too much. Aaron’s fingers work on the button and he’s careful not to put his hands where it’s inappropriate. He almost laughs at the thought, considering he’s your boss and he’s helping you take off your clothes.

You shimmy out of your slacks as Aaron slides it down your legs. He blushes at the thought of what’s to come next and swallows hard. Aaron returns to his stance and finds his neck is sore from craning, so he keeps his eyes closed and faces you.

“I’m sorry,” you apologize again. “I-I don’t think I can unclasp my bra.”

You wince at your words, but it’s true. You tried to reach behind you when Aaron worked on taking off your pants, but the ache in your shoulder was too much.

Aaron doesn’t say anything and you’re afraid that he might leave you. He’s so quiet that you can barely hear his breathing and you look at his closed eyes and see that his jaw is clenched. He mumbles and you’re barely able to catch it. Aaron lifts his hands to find your shoulders and you nearly shiver underneath his warm hands, despite the fact that your body might be just as hot.

Aaron reaches behind you and searches for your clasp. You can feel his fingers on your back as he feels for it and he’s incredibly aware that your gaze is on him. It takes all of his willpower not to open his eyes. He’s imagined undressing you before, but not like this. Aaron’s fingers find the clasp and he’s slow to undo it, afraid of tangling the metal.

You feel yourself free from its constraints and Aaron slowly moves his fingertips from your shoulders and down your arm. You comply the best you can with your sore arm and your broken one, and your breathing hitches.

Aaron ignores how fast his heart is beating when he hears your bra drop to the floor. His mind is in overdrive and he bends down again, his fingers immediately coming to your waist and gripping them with gentle care. You look down at him and your mouth is wide open with your jaw hanging when you realize he’s on his knees in front of you. Aaron’s fingers hook on the material of your underwear, but you can’t bear to see him take them off.

“Wait,” you say, squeezing your eyes shut momentarily.

Aaron forces himself to keep his eyes closed and he can hear your shallow breathing. His fingers are wrapped around the fabric of your underwear and suddenly he’s aware that it’s an intimate piece of clothing. Aaron’s cheeks redden and he’s desperately hoping you don’t notice.

“I can do it,” you say. Your voice wavers and you aren’t sure that you won’t be in pain when you take them off, but seeing Aaron on his knees with his hands practically down your underwear is too much for you at this moment.

“Sorry,” he apologizes, clearing his throat. His fingers detach themselves and he abruptly stands up. Aaron keeps his eyes closed still.

“No, it’s okay,” you say, and you mean it. “I really appreciate you helping me out…I’m sure this has crossed a lot of boundaries.”

Aaron wants to tell you he doesn’t mind it one bit, but he holds his tongue to refrain from making you uncomfortable. His eyes feel heavy and he stumbles when he stands up but catches himself when he feels the doorknob behind him.

“Like I said, I’m here if you need anything.”

Aaron stands still for a moment and it feels like the both of you had the air knocked out of your lungs. He doesn’t want to overstep or make it seem like he’s taking advantage of your vulnerable state, so he exits the bathroom and closes the door behind him.

You lock it immediately and pin yourself against the door. Your heartbeat is irrational and you turn the water on, fixing it to your desired temperature. Bending to take your underwear hurts and your shoulders feel like they’re about to pop off, but you manage.

You’re acutely aware that Aaron’s in your living room, no doubt trying to rid himself of the awkwardness. You aren’t sure if you’re grateful at what transpired because while it’s enough to help you forget about Los Angeles, it makes your cheeks flare into a hot mess and you feel uncomfortably turned on.

Aaron, too, feels the same way. He feels filthy sitting on your couch and results in pacing around the room. His shoes are discarded by the door and it feels all too domestic. Aaron’s tie is suddenly too tight so he tugs on the knot to loosen it. He rids himself of his suit jacket and places it neatly on the arm of the couch, and thinks about anything but you, naked in the shower. His slacks feel a little too tight, so he takes out his phone to check his email. It works for a while,

A while later, Aaron realizes you’ve walked out of the bathroom and you’ve managed to change without his assistance. You comment about how the shower loosened your muscles and you were able to get your clothes in relatively painlessly, but all he can think about is how cute you look in an oversized shirt and sweatpants.

He’s too preoccupied admiring how undone you look because it’s the complete opposite from how he sees you at work. In Quantico, you’re somewhat put together, always wearing appropriate office attire and taking your caseload with grace while the rest of the team complains to no end about the amount of paperwork that needs to be filed.

Now, you’re standing in front of him with wet hair and an old shirt that has lost some lettering. It’s domestic and Aaron loves it.

“I’m sorry, I didn’t even think about offering you the bathroom,” you say timidly.

It’s nerve wracking for you to be in Aaron’s presence because of what happened a few moments ago and because you’re not sure why he’s been so nice to you. It’s fresh and strange at the same time, as you’re used to him looking over your shoulder.

But you don’t feel like he’s being domineering.

“I’ve got a few shirts that might be your size,” you announce. “And a bunch of sweatpants too.”

Aaron’s heart flutters at how welcoming you are considering all that happened to you, but he’s also found himself standing with jealousy when you mention that you have men’s clothing. Are you dating someone? Does he know he’s there?

“I love thrifting and sleeping in big shirts,” you explain, overcompensating for how awkward you feel to be standing in front of your boss looking like a disheveled mess. “I tend to thrift for clothes in the men's section because you guys have really good clothes for dirt cheap.”

Aaron’s worries are quelled and he doesn’t know why he feels so relieved to know you aren’t seeing anyone.

“That would be great,” Aaron says.

You nearly skip to your room and huff at your awkward demeanor, pulling out a large shirt from your dresser and a pair of sweatpants you hope is big enough. When you walk back to the living room, Aaron is still standing in the same spot and you’re somewhat touched that he’s nervous to be in your apartment.

“You can change in the bathroom,” you instruct. “Take as long as you need. There’s an extra toothbrush on the counter and a towel on the rack.”

Grateful, Aaron scurries into the bathroom and you walk away before you can think of imagining him getting undressed. Instead, you busy yourself by fetching extra blankets and pillows for him. There’s an extra thick blanket in your closet and you pull two pillows from your bed, unsure if Aaron’s the type of guy to care about his pillow count. You find yourself stumped for a moment, each hand two with pillows as you debate on how many to give him, before you realize how idiotic you must seem if someone were to take a peek inside your head.

You settle with two pillows.

You’re fixing a cup of tea for the both of you when Aaron walks out of the bathroom fifteen minutes later. You know he likes to drink chamomile tea on the plane when you’re coming back from a case late at night. You’ve seen him make it a million times. It feels weird to be making him a cup, but you figure it’s the least you could do after he helped you change out of your clothes.

“I made you tea,” you say lamely, setting the cup down on the opposite side of the kitchen counter. Aaron walks towards you and he feels the hardfloor beneath him and how hot the mug is when he touches it. Thinking about this distracts him from your broken arm and the swell of guilt he has in his chest.

“Thank you,” Aaron says.

“I put in a little bit of honey. I hope it’s not too much.”

Aaron raises his eyebrow. “How’d you know I liked honey in my tea?”

“You drink it a lot on the plane,” you explain. “I see you make it a lot. You always scold Spencer every time he puts too much of it in.”

He can’t help but smile, but he hides it behind the cup.

Neither of you say anything. You don’t know what more you can say. The words cause you to choke every time you think about what happened back in Los Angeles. Realistically, you know there’s no way Scott can hurt you anymore, but it doesn’t stop you from panicking at the thought of being alone in your apartment.

But you look at Aaron, who’s looking at you, and you’re able to let your guard down for a little while.

“Thank you,” you muster. “For taking care of me back at the hospital and back at the barn. It…it meant a lot that you stayed.”

“Of course,” he says a little too quickly. “You’re a member of this team and your safety is my top priority.”

Your gaze drops to the floor. You aren’t sure what you were expecting. An apology? A confession? Truthfully, you don’t know what you want to hear from Aaron but it hurts knowing that he views you as just another colleague.

“I’m sorry that I haven’t made you feel that way in a long time,” Aaron starts when he realizes you’ve grown quiet. “A member of the team, I mean.”

“I-I just felt like I should’ve been doing more,” you confess.

“You’re doing everything right, Y/N. You’re an exceptional agent and an outstanding person. Any part of the bureau would be lucky to have you.”

“Yeah?” you ask quietly.

“Absolutely.” Aaron means in.

You finish your tea and it all becomes too much for you. The pain of your arm is quelled by the medication your doctor prescribed and Aaron helps you open the bottle. It makes you feel silly that you need someone else’s help to do something so simple and you feel your frustration get the better of you.

“I’ll be out here if you need anything, okay?” Aaron reassures. “Please don’t hesitate to wake me up.”

“I promise,” you say and it’s one you’re planning on keeping.

You close the door behind you and turn off the lights. It feels weird to be in your apartment because you feel like everything should be back to normal, but it isn’t. In your years with the BAU, nothing as serious as this kidnapping has ever happened to you. You’ve been trained to deal with kidnappings before and how to talk to the victims and to the survivors, but you’ve never thought you’d have to deal with the aftermath yourself.

You can’t sleep on your side because of your cast and your body feels like it’s constantly being run over by a stampede. The soft mattress is a contrast of how stiff your body feels and it all feels like it’s too much.

Aaron can’t sleep either. He’s been staring at the door for the past thirty minutes as he tries to fall asleep. His phone is plugged into the wall behind him and he checks in with Dave, who texted him as he drove you back to your apartment. Aaron briefly thinks about Jack and his heart softens for a moment, but then he hears your soft cries from the room.

Aaron lies completely still and hears your whimpers. He hears you sniffle, blow your nose twice, and he’s acutely aware of the fact that he has no idea what to do. He has half a mind of barging into your room to comfort you until you’re asleep, but he doesn’t want to overstep his welcome more than he already has. Aaron feels frozen on the couch and doesn’t know if you’re too nervous to ask him for comfort.

He’s surprised when you walk outside. You don’t turn the lights on and he can barely make your face when you step into the moonlight. But you look frail, broken, and like you’ve been tormented by your memories. Aaron hates that.

“Aaron?” you call out. Your voice is small and his heart cracks. “Can you keep me company?”

Aaron doesn’t need to be told twice.

He lifts the blankets from his legs and follows you into the bedroom. You sit on the edge of the bed and sniffle. Aaron sits next to you and carefully puts his arm around your shoulders, pulling you into his side.

It’s comforting and it aches. The pain of trauma and knowing that your life will never be the same again makes it seem like you’re never going to recover. Aaron doesn’t say anything, letting you cry into his shoulder and ignores the way your tear stains have soaked through the fabric.

He’s imagined being in your apartment before; he often wonders what your decor looks like and how often you spend time here. He’s imagined cooking breakfast for you before you wake up, making you cups of your favorite tea, making the bed after you’ve both woken up, and kissing you goodbye when you walk out the door. Being in your bedroom like this feels too intimate, but if he was being honest with himself, Aaron doesn’t really mind it. He likes that he’s the person you choose to lean on. He feels like this is the first step in holding himself accountable for how he’s treated you in the past.

Your shoulders are shaking and Aaron does everything he can think of to coax you through your sadness. He whispers praise and allows you to cry when you keep apologizing for your behavior, and he keeps telling you that he’s not going anywhere.

When you manage to calm down, you’re tired. Aaron lets you climb underneath the covers and tucks the blanket under your chin. His hand brushes your skin and he blushes, though he’s sure you can’t tell because of how dark it is. Aaron bids you goodnight and starts to walk back to the living room but you reach out for his hand before he gets the chance to leave. He turns around and feels your soft grip on him.

“Could you sleep with me?” you ask. “Or at least stay with me until I fall asleep?”

“Of course,” Aaron says. He throws all caution in the wind and starts to walk to the other side of the bed and he’s surprised when you open the covers for him.

Your mattress is soft and your blankets smell like you. He tries not to think about it and leaves space between the both of you.

“Did you know I joined the BAU because of you?” you ask in the darkness.

“What?” Aaron says of shock.

You laugh lamely. “You guys held a few seminars at my alma mater and I knew then what I wanted to do with my life. I applied to the academy the next fall.”

Aaron doesn’t know what to say. His cheeks are hot and you’ve rendered him utterly speechless. In your tired state, you push yourself as comfortably as you can until the back of your head is leaning on Aaron’s chest, mindful of your broken arm.

Aaron’s stunned and his body stiffens. But he thinks of all the times he’s thought about laying beside you like this and decides that he’ll cherish it as much as he can. His arm snakes itself underneath you as he tugs you closer, and he whispers a soft goodnight.

***

D.C. is a little cloudy when you wake up. The light peeks through your blinds and you’re made aware of the man sleeping beside you when you realize your face is buried in his chest. Your good arm is beneath you while the other is on top of the blanket. Aaron’s arms are encircled around you and when you feel his warmth.

You don’t rush to wake him up. Being here with him somehow feels right despite the part of your brain telling you he’s your boss and nothing more. But Aaron wouldn’t stay with you if he didn’t want to, right?

Part of you thinks he’s doing it just because he feels guilty. You know that there’s some truth to that, but you wonder if it’s the only reason he elected to take care of you. But you decide it’s too early to think about this. Instead, you close your eyes and bask in Aaron’s warmth, and fall asleep again.

This time, Aaron wakes you up twenty minutes after you fall back asleep. His arms are numb from your weight and he feels like he might try to kiss you if he doesn’t wake you up.

Your eyes flutter open and you bury your head in his neck. Aaron doesn’t bring himself to push you off of him. He pulls you against him and the both of you lay in silence for what feels like an eternity.

Eventually, Aaron has to leave because Jack’s coming home from a sleep away camping trip. He apologizes a thousand times over because he knows he said he wasn’t going anywhere, but you tell him that Jack is more important. An unrecognizable expression flashes across his face before he’s out the door, promising you that he’ll call to check in once Jack’s home.

And he does. Aaron calls you a few hours later when Jack’s in the shower and asks you how you’re feeling, if you’ve taken your medication, and if he needs to do anything for you. You decline for his help despite desperately wanting him back in your apartment.

When night falls, Aaron lets Jack stay up an hour later than usual. They’re watching cartoons from the nineties when Aaron gets a sudden idea. He pauses the television and turns to Jack.

“Do you remember Y/N?” Aaron asks his son.

“Of course I do,” Jack says. “She’s the one who buys me snacks when I come to visit you.”

“That’s right, buddy.” Truthfully, Aaron didn’t know you’ve continuously done that for Jack. But he rolls with it.

“Is she okay?”

Aaron knows Jack can tell something’s up.

“Not really,” Aaron replies honestly. “She got hurt real bad in our last case and broke her arm.”

Jack opens his mouth in surprise. “Oh no. Do you think she’ll get better soon?”

“I hope so. She needs a lot of help right now because she lives alone.”

“Well she can stay with us until her arm is better,” Jack says as if it’s the most obvious solution in the world. Aaron can’t help but smile through his shock.

“I’ve gotta ask her first, but I think that’s a great idea. That’s actually what I wanted to ask you.”

“It’ll be fun!” Jack exclaims. “Me and Y/N can watch cartoons while you’re at work and she can help me with my homework. She’s nice like that.”

“Yes she is,” Aaron says, nodding.

“Do you think I should make her a card so she feels welcomed in our home? I think I have leftover paper and glitter. Girls love glitter.”

“Y/N would love that. I’m going to talk to her first and if she agrees to stay over, you can make her a card.”

“Yay! This is gonna be the best sleepover ever.”

Aaron’s ecstatic that Jack’s receptive to the idea. He calls you the next morning and proposes the idea of staying at his place until your cast comes off. When you lament how long that’ll be from now, he insists and tells you Jack was the one who came up with the idea.

You can’t say no to Jack.

Aaron helps you gather belongings from your apartment and tells you that he’ll drive you back here or pick you up any time you want or need to. You double check that you’ve packed enough clothes for a week.

It’s a gradual and awkward start. You feel out of place as you try to navigate his apartment and where he keeps everything, not wanting to feel like you’re already welcomed in his home. But Aaron keeps reminding you that his home is your home and you don’t need permission since you’ll be here for a while.

Jack is sweet, too. He helps you by telling you where everything is stored and goes so far as to hold your hand while doing so. He insisted on tucking you in while you slept in the guest bedroom just to make sure you were comfortable on your first night, and you thought you might start crying in front of him.

At first, you walk on eggshells. You tiptoe around the boys and feel like a burden when Aaron brings home dinner for three or when he buys extra groceries, especially when he refuses to let you chip in. Jack tries to ease your worries after sensing your discomfort by asking you to build legos with him and you do your best despite the pain in your arms.

Aaron reminds you of your medication (and in turn, Jack asks you if you’ve taken your pills), cooks your favorite comfort meals, and drives you to mandated therapy sessions whenever he has the time. It warms your heart at how helpful he’s been since you know how busy he is typically, and you’re not sure what to make of your emotions.

Time passes by and suddenly staying with Aaron feels somewhat normal. You’re off of work until your arm is healed and you’ve seen your therapist a number of times, and you know you have a couple of months of doing whatever you want until you go back into the field. Against the advice of Strauss, you continue to help with cases and the paperwork load so Aaron can spend more time with Jack.

Gradually, you start to feel comfortable when you’re alone. You use his kitchen, clean his dishes, and busy yourself with tidying Jack’s messes. You explore his neighborhood and have found a few cafes and restaurants you’d like to try out. You feel more comfortable lounging on his couch instead of keeping yourself in the guest bedroom.

It feels domestic and you can’t tell if it’s a good or bad thing. There’s still so much left unsaid, including how you’ve felt being his subordinate prior to your abduction. Aaron’s apologized over and over again, has given you time to heal from it and chooses not to ask for forgiveness in lieu of letting you find it yourself. It means a lot. Deep down, you know Aaron isn’t a bad person. You just wish you knew why you were different.

A week turns into two, then into three, and soon enough you find yourself caring after Jack. You feel useless if you sleep in and start waking up early to make breakfast as best you can for everyone (limited to cold breakfasts until you start to feel confident using your dominant arm when it’s out of the sling). Aaron walks into the kitchen to see you making oatmeal one day and you’re worried that you’ve overstepped, but he thanks you profusely.

Jack waddles in and he takes the oatmeal without question and asks if you can put brown sugar and fruit in it. You look around and see apples and blueberries, and Jack chooses the blueberries. He watches as you fix him a bowl and eats his breakfast in silence.

It becomes a routine for you after growing tired of doing nothing all day. Helping Aaron’s around the house as best you can, working remotely on cases, and spending time in his neighborhood feels like you’re recording.

Jessica, Jack’s aunt, has been informed of your stay by Aaron. You’ve met her before in passing but have never spoken to her in depth before staying with Aaron. She picks him up and drops him off, making small talk with you about her life and about your work. It goes so far as coffee dates when she’s available and it feels like your life is getting back on track.

Meanwhile, Aaron realizes he’s bit off more than he can chew when he sees you every morning. He hears your morning voice and finds himself wanting to wake up to it every day. He sees the way you are with Jack, how thoughtful and helpful you’ve been, and thinks it’s where you belong.

And it hurts. It hurts to know that all of his suppressed feelings are suddenly coming to the surface.

Your cast is coming off later today and you’re due for another mandated therapy session and a psychological evaluation before you’re able to return to work. He’s elated, but that means you’re okay to return to your apartment and he’ll have to get used to the house being empty.

Aaron’s parked his car at Quantico and he glances at you in the passenger seat. Your arm sling and cast are gone and you look as good as new, but he’s reluctant to step out of the car. You look back at him, hands fiddling in your lap.

“Thank you for taking care of me,” you begin. “I don’t know what I’d do without you and Jack.”

“You’d be just fine,” Aaron assures. “But it was nice seeing you recover. Is your arm doing okay?”

“It’s like I never had a broken arm.” You flex it in front of him for emphasis. “My shoulder’s still a bit sore but I think my physical therapist has expedited the healing process.”

Aaron smiles. “Good. I’m glad.”

A brief moment of silence falls between the two of you before you both get out of the car. Your therapist had asked you whether or not you were ready to integrate yourself back with the team and was scheduled to supervise your initial day back in the office. You’re apprehensive, however, because you know that you never perform well if you’re being watched closely.

JJ’s the first to greet you when you walk through the doors. The office smells the same and it looks the same, but it doesn’t feel the same. You spend a few extra seconds embracing JJ and gather that she needs this hug more than you do.

Everyone files in and it’s barely eight in the morning. David congratulates you on recovery, Derek and Penelope bombard you with jokes that make your stomach hurt, Emily shows you photos of Sergio upon your request, and Spencer gives you a side hug and tells you he’s glad you’re doing better.

The therapist arrives soon after and you’re on your best behavior without making it seem like you’re trying to be.

In the end, she permits you to return back to the BAU with the promise of continuing therapy. She refers to you to a few others and tells you that you should try to go in at least once a week, or however frequently your job lets you. You’re clear to fly, yield your gun, and you’re reinstated as a profiler with the BAU.

Aaron drives you back to his place to pick up your belongings before he drives you back to your apartment. He and Dave had been kind enough to drive your car back to your place, where it’s been sitting untouched.

The ride is filled with music from the eighties and you’re so elated from your first day back at work that you don’t mind singing in front of Aaron and pretending you’re shredding on an electric guitar. He takes his time getting home, taking the long way instead of the direct route, and he doesn’t think you notice. Aaron hopes you don’t.

But he arrives at his place and Jessica’s greeting you at the front door, happy to see you’ve recovered before she goes home. The sun has barely set and Jack walks out behind his aunt, asking you what’s for dinner.

You’re stunned for a moment as the realization that this all ends tonight. Staying with Aaron, falling into a life of balancing work and domesticity comes to an end when he drops you off at your apartment. Jack’s tugging on your elbow and Aaron scolds him because you might still be in a little bit of pain. He apologizes sweetly.

Aaron beckons you inside where you've started to pack your belongings. The luggage you've brought seems smaller than when you brought it, as you find it difficult to pack everything. You make the bed and set the room as you found it (to the best of your recollection), and you’re ready to put your shoes on when Aaron rounds the corner.

“I was thinking we could have one last meal here.” He clears his throat. “To celebrate your recovery.”

You don’t hesitate. “I would love that. I finally get to show you my cooking skills.”

Aaron smiles and Jack runs to your legs, beckoning you to the kitchen. You settle on making oven baked chicken with mashed potatoes and honey glazed carrots, all of which Aaron had in his refrigerator. Jack asks how he can help and you’re touched when he brings a stool to perch on, and you tell him he can help you by rinsing the potatoes.

Aaron offers to help and you look at him with a silly grin, letting him prepare the carrots while you prepare everything else. Halfway through the process, Jack becomes somewhat irritable because of hunger and because the entire kitchen smells like a Thanksgiving feast. But he relents and waits for the meal to be done when you tell him the food always tastes better when it’s cooked longer.

You almost forget it’s your last time with Aaron and Jack when you eat your meal together. You forget it when Jack insists on ice cream for dessert and when Aaron makes you a cup of tea just the way you like it. You forget about it until Jack asks his father if he can be there when he drops you off at your apartment.

Your heart breaks a little. Aaron agrees and lets you grab your belongings while he buckles Jack in the car. Your luggage is in the trunk by the time Aaron is done and he opens the passenger door for you before getting in the car himself. Jack talks the entire ride, thanking you for dinner and lamenting how much he loved spending time with you. Aaron’s grip on the steering wheel is tight and he doesn’t think his heart could swell any bigger.

Eventually, the boys walk you up to your floor and Jack lunges at your abdomen after the three of you have walked into your living room.

“I’m gonna miss you,” Jack mumbles in your sweater.

“You’ll see her around, buddy. She’s not leaving the team,” says Aaron.

“But I’ll miss Y/N at home. I like spending time with her there.”

You and Aaron share a look. You can’t tell what he’s thinking but you know you’re unable to control the influx of emotions that will eventually spill out of you when they leave.

“Me too,” Aaron says quietly.

They leave soon after that.

You spend an hour crying in your living room and you haven’t unpacked your suitcase. Living with Aaron and being so close to him made you realize how your feelings for him, albeit complicated, have always been there.

You love him. You love his generous nature. You love the adoration he has for Jack and for his team. You love how he knows your beverages of choice and how gentle he’s been with you. You love the way he says your name and you love that you feel right at home with him.

It’s ten o’clock when you grab your phone and you know Jack’s been asleep for at least an hour. You dial Aaron’s contact and in your anxious state of mind, nearly regret your actions. But he picks up and you hear the sweet melody of his voice through the phone. Your voice falters at first, but you push through them anyway. You’re sure Aaron can hear your voice post-crying because of how raspy your voice is, but you don’t care.

You tell him you think you love him and it’s not because he’s been taking care of you. You pour your heart and soul into this speech and you panic when he doesn’t say anything.

“This’ll be one hell of a story we tell Strauss.”

And you laugh. You laugh because you know Aaron feels the same and you laugh because facing paperwork and recounting this conversation to Strauss doesn’t seem like the most frightening thing in the world anymore.

But just for good measure, Aaron tells you he loves you too.

***

AAAND WE’RE DONE X

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soreddieforit · 29 days

Text

@croptopjames happy birthday to the one and only jfp <3

jegulus | 933 words | trans reg & themes of gender identity and transition

Regulus felt his cheeks heat up as he snapped out of his daze and met James' eyes. He was wearing a knowing look, "Oh, I'm definitely keeping this," James declared, his smirk widening. "Especially if it gets this kind of reaction from you every time."

Regulus’ room was a disaster. James had finally coaxed him into sorting through his old clothes, only managing after he bribed him with promises of kisses and takeout afterwards. The closet had all but exploded, leaving piles of clothes scattered all across the room. With ‘yes’s,’ and ‘no’s,’ and ‘maybes’ occupying every available flat surface, Regulus was sure he hadn't seen the darkened wood of his floor in hours.

Sat on his bed, he watched as James dug through his dresser for another shirt. He let out a thoughtful hum as he grabbed two, throwing one over his shoulder and holding up the other: an awful plum-colored blouse. His mother had bought it for him—form-fitting, smothered in ruffles, and, in her words, “the perfect blouse for a sophisticated young woman.”

Regulus thought it was the ugliest fucking shirt he had ever seen.

“Ugh,” Regulus wrinkled his nose in distaste. “Absolutely not, that thing is a monstrosity.”

James barked out a laugh, amused at the disgust evident on Regulus' face, before flinging the shirt into the rapidly growing ‘no’ pile. He grabbed at the one resting on his shoulder.

“And this one?”

It was worn, fabric soft from years of wear. The dark green and gray had dulled, now just muted shadows of their original hues. The words printed on the front, cracked and creased, read ‘Hogwarts Women's Rowing’. It had been his favorite shirt for a long time. His parents had always been on him to join something– a club, a team, an honor society. If he was honest, he only chose rowing because it kept him out of the house the longest.

And he's so grateful he did, because it brought him Pandora. He suffered through early morning rows and long race days, soreness in his body and blisters on his hands. But every discomfort was worth it for the times he and Pandora would steal an extra hour to lie in the sun by the Great Lake, laughing until their bellies felt as sore as their arms. Worth it for the times Evan would cram them into his shitty jeep and drive them to their races so they didn't have to take the bus. Worth it, most of all, for giving him the first people with whom he could be honest—really, truly honest.

"I don't want to get rid of it," Regulus admitted, a hint of reluctance in his voice. "It was my favorite, but—I’m not ready to wear anything that might make people mistake me for a woman. Not for a while, at least.”

James nodded. He turned the shirt around, head tilting slightly as he considered it. “How about I hold onto it for you? That way it's not gone, just... repurposed.” He looked up at Regulus with a wicked grin. “I bet I could pull it off.”

Regulus couldn’t help but scoff as James began to pull on the shirt. “I’d like to see you try," he challenged, amusement evident in his voice.

But as James stretched out his arms and did a little spin, Regulus wasn't laughing. Instead, he felt his heart swoop. A familiar mixture of fondness and arousal swirled in his gut at the sight of James. Glasses knocked a little lopsided from pulling the shirt on, pajama pants hanging low on his hips and socked feet– it was a picture that made Regulus go warm with affection. But, it was the shirt that really kept his attention. Visibly too small, the letters strained as they stretched across the width of his chest. The hem of it hitting right below his navel, exposing his hip bones and the trail of hair leading down from his belly button. Regulus felt all the breath leave his chest. “C'mere,” he said softly.

James shuffled over to him. “Good?” He asked, a hint of uncertainty in his tone.

Regulus shook his head, he was in awe of James. “Better than good. It suits you much better than it ever did me,” he mumbled, voice low and distracted. Reaching out to place his hands on James' waist, he absentmindedly dragged his thumbs back and forth over his hipbones, eyes stuck to the sliver of skin peeking out from beneath the shirt.

“My eyes are up here, love,” James gently teased, his voice laced with amusement.

“I lied,” Regulus deadpanned, “you actually look ridiculous.” But his face was betraying him, unable to fight the smile spreading across it.

James hummed in response, the smugness in his tone unmistakable. He was clearly enjoying every moment of this.

"Oh, shut up," Regulus groaned playfully, his hands gripping the exposed skin at his waist to pull him down. James yelped in surprise before their lips were meeting in a kiss filled more with laughter than anything else. But then James was deepening it, and Regulus let himself be kissed breathless. After a moment, he gently pulled back, hand tenderly stroking through James’ hair.

"Thank you," he whispered, his hand tracing a path down James' neck, over his shoulder, and along the length of his arm until their fingers intertwined. "For being here, for—everything. Everything that you do for me."

James responded with a gentle squeeze of their hands, his eyes meeting Regulus’. "Always, love." His voice was soft but firm in promise. And there it was again, his heart swooping in his chest as James pressed a kiss to his temple. "Always."

#i initially had other plans for my submission #but i went in a diff direction thanks to the transphobe in my dm's. enjoy the fluff of jamie and his trans bf!#also literally dont ask me why i picked rowing i have no idea LMFAO #jegulus #regulus black #james potter #croptopjames #jegulus fic #jegulus microfic #marauders #starchaser

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dontcallmemiki · 1 year

Text

Both Steve and Eddie are famous. Steve is an actor and Eddie a musician. They are married, but no one except their friends knows because their circles don't overlap at all. But the world changed, so they decide its time to let the world know about their happiness.

It was a long discussion between Steve, Eddie and their managers. They've been together for so long, married for almost one year.

The most important question was how to let it out into the world.

In the end they decided to take it slow. Start to wear their wedding rings, stop dodging questions about relationships, let the world know that there is someone in their lifes.

The first one to tell the world he wasn't a single man was Steve.

It was in one of his interviews for a new movie he was starring in. It started with the boring questions

'How do you feel about the movie?'

'Are there some characteristics that you share with your role?'

'Is there something you would change about the script?'

And then it came. The personal questions.

'So... you are turning 37 this year..' The interviewer says

'Don't even mention it.' Steve laughs.

'...And all your fans are wondering if there is anyone special in your life?'

'Oh yeah' Steve says casually, as if this wouldn't be in the headlines in a few hours.

'Oh really?!' The interviewer exclaims, suprised.

Steve smiles sheepishly, raising his left hand. 'We've been actually married for almost a year. '

Everyone in the studio gasps.

'Really? And who is the lucky person?'

Steve smiles, looking at his ring fondly. 'I would like to keep that a secret for now.'

The news is all over the magazines, everyone trying to find who's Stve Harringtons spouse.

It starts to be Steves and Eddies evening ritual. Going through the magazines and Internet forums, reading out the most bizarre theories.

No one is getting even close.

Eddies time comes two months later. He's in an interview with his band after a new album release. They discuss the songs, which they like the most, which took them the longest to finish....

Then the interviewer starts to talk about their image. How it changed through the years.

'Well.. but there is one thing that hasn't changed much in years. Ed Munsons rings.'

Eddie wiggles his fingers to show them of.

'The fans are curious about them. Could you tell us where you got each of them and what they mean to you?'

So Eddie does, leaving the most important for the end.

'And this one..' He twists his wedding ring. His bandmates give him encouraging pats on the back.

'This one is my wedding ring.'

The room is silent for a few beats, everyone in the production looking surprised.

'Oh wow...' The interviewer says evidently taken back. 'And who is the lucky woman?'

Eddie grins 'Oh no no no. I'm married to a man.'

The interview then continues, Eddie brushing off every question about his spouse.

The news are everywhere after that. The theories are even more crazyer than Steves - Eddie being very touchy person doesn't help.

It takes another few months until Steve and Eddie have opportunity to continue with their 'coming out'.

Steve has taken a main role in a movie for which Eddie makes soundtrack.

It all comes to an end at a premiere screening. They sit two seats from each other, barely interacting.

The audience gives the crew plenty of questions about the movie until one person asks:

'Both Eddie Munson and Steve Harrington recently got married and both of their spouses are unknown to the public. Could I ask you, are your spouses here for the screening?'

Both Eddie and Steve try to not laugh while answering that, yes their spouses are, in fact here.

And it's only after the screening that they stand next to each other to take a photo, hands around each others waist in a way their rings are visible.

Eddie whispers into Steves ear close enough for his lips to touch his skin 'I bet they still won't figure it out.'

And he's kind of right because no-one at the festival notices. It's the fans that see it on the photos and are like 'wait a second....they are wearing the same rings? And they both got married around the same time? Hold up...? We actually saw them hang out few times?'

Steve and Eddie officially announce their relationship after the movie is officially out - still enjoying their evenings of reading the speculations (they like to share with public their favourite ones)

#steddie #stranger things #eddie munson #steve harrington #steddie au #there is no upside-down #both are famous

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atinylittlepain · 1 year

Note

Love your writing! I love the Unexpected universe, could I please request a really angsty Joel story where baby Miller gets sick nothing extreme, just a colicky baby but because of what happened to Sarah it just brings all of Joel’s fear to the surface? Please add some fluff spice with reader trying to comfort him and cute baby and dad moments?

aw man, i got a bit carried away with this one, i hope you like it <3

Unmet Expectations

dad!joel miller x f!reader

joel miller masterlist

When baby miller gets sick, Joel gets stuck in the past, leaving her feeling lonelier than ever before.

warnings | 18+ angst, hurt/comfort, grief, sick baby oof, smut at the end

a/n | this one is long, and rather emotionally charged, but with a happy ending of course for our Unexpected Expectings fam :)

....................................

There isn’t much sleeping going on in the Miller household. Except for Ellie, who has the good fortune to be out in the garage, away from the seemingly endless crying. It started a little over a month ago. She had settled Libby down for her afternoon nap, only to be promptly startled by her girl’s shrieking wail, a sound she would become all too familiar with as time progressed and it became clear that they have one very colicky baby on their hands.

At first, she thought it was just her girl having a bad case of gas, but after a few hours of useless burping and rocking, she started to understand this was something else entirely. Joel came home that night from the stables to find her sitting on the floor of the nursery, tears in her eyes and Libby still screaming in her arms. She wasn’t sure what was worse in that moment, the sound of her girl’s continuous cries, or the look of sheer terror on Joel’s face as he knelt down next to her. He had run across town right then and there to get Suze, who could only advise them to keep their girl comfortable and fed with the reassurance that this sort of thing typically only lasts a month or two.

It’s been the longest month of her life. Libby is nothing if not consistent, quiet and sweet as a lamb in the mornings, but around one o’clock every day, the crying starts, and it doesn’t stop until late into the night. Ellie has been a saint, and Maria too. Staying with her in the afternoons, keeping her sane as she tries to calm Libby down. Joel, however, is a different story. Since all this started, he’s become silent, unreadable. Much like how he was when they first met.

He takes Libby at night, giving her something of a break when he wordlessly takes her off her hands. She finds him most mornings asleep on the floor of the nursery, pressed right up against the crib, one of his arms usually hung between the wooden slats, keeping contact with their girl who always manages to wear herself off into sleep. It’s the only indication she gets from him of just how much he cares because otherwise, he’s become completely shut off, and it’s starting to freak her out more than Libby’s incessant crying.

They don’t talk anymore. He leaves early for shifts, and when he comes home, usually after dusk, he takes Libby and holes away in the nursery. She had tried to join him a number of times, but the steely look he always gave her kept her hovering at a distance, usually dozing in and out of sleep sitting in the hallway right outside the room. She can hear him in the night, the low thrum of his singing just barely detectable below Libby’s cries, and it breaks her heart that he won’t let anyone else see that part of him, especially not her. She’s grateful for how he takes over with Libby, but it feels like it’s no longer them, no longer a team. She’s surrounded by people who care, but it seems like the one person who matters most is slipping away, and she’s never felt more lonely in her life.

“I’m uh, picking up patrol today with Tommy. Might not be home till later.” Her hands still where she had been scrubbing one of Libby’s bottles in the sink. It’s the most he’s said to her in weeks. She turns around to look at him, his gaze wandering anywhere but to hers.

“I thought you weren’t doing patrol shifts anymore.”

“They’re down a man today. Just a one time thing.” There’s a lot more she’d like to say, but she can’t get any of it out, not when it feels like she’s talking to a complete stranger. So instead, she just nods, turning back to the sink before the tightness in her throat can spill over into tears. She hears him let out a long sigh behind her.

“I’ll um, see you tonight then.” She sniffs, only answering him with a jerky nod. The sound of his boots thudding away, the open and close of the front door, is a relief that she feels guilty for.

…

“Are you sure you don’t want me to stick around? It’s no sweat, really. Dina will understand.” She offers Ellie what she can of a smile, easier said than done with her other girl screeching directly in her ear as she rocks her back and forth.

“That’s alright, Ellie bean. You’ve been a huge help already this afternoon, but Joel should be back soon. You should go, have fun.” By the furrowed look on her face, Ellie doesn’t seem to buy that, but she nods.

“Um, ok. Well, you know where to find me– i-if you need me or anything.” She nods and Ellie turns to leave, but seems to think twice of it before turning back to her.

“Are you guys– are you guys ok? You and Joel?” Her heart drops at the question, but luckily Libby chooses that exact moment to raise her screaming to a new decibel, effectively distracting the both of them enough for Ellie to offer her one more anxious smile before heading out.

She sighs with the close of the front door, continuing to try to soothe Libby as she walks upstairs to the nursery.

“I know, Libs. Tell me about it, huh?” She sits down in the rocking chair, shifting her squirming girl to cradle her in her lap. When she glances at the clock, she realizes it’s at least an hour past when Joel should have been home. She feels terrible that she doesn’t feel much at the realization, too sleep deprived, too frustrated, too utterly hopeless to muster up much more than faint concern as Libby continues to wail.

She sits like that for a few hours, through Libby’s ceaseless cries, the relentless noise lulling her into a sort of daze. And then, a miracle. For the first time in a month and a half, Libby stops crying before midnight. Her girl lets out a few sleepy coos before dozing off in her arms, and she has to stop herself from laughing in pure relief as she lays her down in her crib. Stepping out into the hall, she slumps back against the wall, but her peace is short-lived when she realizes that Joel still isn’t home and it’s now much later.

It’s the final straw that finally sends her reeling as she crumples over, her hands on her thighs as she starts to heave in a silent sob. It feels like she can’t get any air in, taking quick gasping breaths that she tries to stifle, not wanting to make any sound and wake her girl up. Her mind is blaring a shrill alarm of two words, over and over again. He’s gone. Under any other circumstances, she might be able to rationalize, to not jump to the worst conclusion. But she’s running on fumes, and her mind can’t shake the thought that she may have lost him tonight. And then she starts to think about that morning, how she hadn’t even said goodbye, and it sends her down to her knees, collapsing over herself in a silent wail.

She’s completely caught off guard when a warm palm comes to her back, jerking away from the touch and pressing back against the wall.

“Hey, hey. It’s me– it’s just me.” He kneels down in front of her, palms cupping her cheeks as he tries to coax her to look at him, but she’s still inconsolable, a sobbing mess. His face falls when she won’t calm down.

“What’s wrong? Is it– please don’t tell me it’s Libby.” The frantic edge to his voice cuts through the fog enough for her to shake her head.

“No– she– she’s fine– she’s sleeping. I thought– I thought you were gone– I thought I lost y-y-you.” She’s a shuddering mess of words, breaking down in another silent sob before she can say anymore. Joel’s hands slide down to squeeze hers, dipping his head down to catch her watery gaze.

“I’m not gone– we just had some trouble with one of the horses, alright? Just got back a little late. I’m right here.” She’s with it enough to let out a bitter laugh at his choice of words, her sobs finally dying down into breathy shudders.

“No you’re not.” His face crumples in confusion as he sits back on his haunches.

“What?” She sighs, scrubbing her eyes with the heel of her hand.

“You might be here physically. But I have no fucking clue where you’ve been in your head ever since– ever since Libby got sick.” As she says it, she finally starts to connect the dots. Joel has been acting the same way he acted when she told him she was pregnant, when he tried to get Tommy to take Ellie to Salt Lake City, when she got shot back in Boston. Joel’s been acting the way he acts when he’s scared.

Part of her wants to comfort him, to tell him that she knows, that she gets it. But the other part of her is too far gone in the flood of frustration for that, and instead she lets that righteous anger wash over her.

“I told you that I couldn’t do this without you, that we would do this together. We’re not in this together anymore, Joel. You don’t talk to me anymore, and lord knows you haven’t touched me in at least a month. Am I that repulsive to you? The fucking mother of your child?” His eyes are wide, jaw slack at her words.

“That ain’t what this is about.” She scoffs.

“No, I know what this is about. But, jesus christ, Joel, you aren’t the only one who’s scared right now. We’re supposed to be there for each other, that’s what partners do. They do it scared, together. But you won’t let me in, and you clearly want nothing to do with me.”

“That’s not– I don’t– it’s–” He stops his own stumbling, letting out a ragged sigh. She just shakes her head.

Before either of them can say anything else, a cry resounds from the nursery. But it’s not like the shrieks they’ve grown accustomed to. This cry is quieter, more needy than distressed. She gets up with a sigh, not looking at Joel as she walks back toward the nursery. Joel is right on her heels.

“Let me, I’ve got her.” She whips around on her heel at his words, holding her palm up between them as she tries to steel her expression.

“Don’t.”

He doesn’t.

…

She wakes up the next morning in a crunched tangle on the twin bed in Libby’s room, her girl still sleeping like an angel in her crib. After a diaper change last night, Libby had again stopped crying, another hopeful sign that the colic is finally lifting. She doesn’t have much room to celebrate it with the way the fight she and Joel had last night is occupying her mind. Though she supposes it wasn’t really a fight, more just her falling apart on him. A cool guilt creeps up her spine. She shouldn’t have lashed out at him like that, but she knows she couldn’t hold it in any longer either.

Libby still asleep, she slips into their bedroom, an awful relief that Joel is nowhere to be seen. She’s not ready to face him yet.

She gets cleaned up, just barely dressed when she starts hearing fussy coos coming from across the hall. Morning light slides syrupy and gold across the nursery floor as she picks Libby up from her crib. This happens like clockwork, and it’s her favorite part of every morning, sitting down in the rocking chair, Libby’s tiny palm pressing against her sternum as she latches on for her breakfast. Even right now, with her mind swirling in worry, watching the contented flutter of her girl’s eyes as she suckles is enough to soothe her.

He clears his throat, and she glances up just briefly to see him standing in the doorway.

“I think we might finally be done with the colic.” As she speaks, she keeps her eyes focused on Libby, her ears pricking to the shuffle of his bare feet as he comes closer into the room. He stays silent, but she can feel his eyes watching her as Libby turns her head away. She gets up with a sigh, still not looking at him as she bounces lightly side to side, rubbing her girl’s back after readjusting her shirt.

“I can burp her if you want. Save you a shirt.” She finally looks at him as he speaks, worry clear in the crease between his brows. Part of her wants to be petty, to tell him that she’s got it and shut him out. But she also knows that this is him trying, so she gives him a small nod, gently passing Libby off to him. He’s been good with her from the start, and now is no different as he holds her to his chest, shushing her fussy whimpers as he lightly pats her back. She can’t help but smile at the sight, leaning up against the crib as she finally holds his gaze.

“Made coffee, if you want some. Pot’s probably still warm.” That’s a peace offering if she ever heard one. She hums, nodding noncommittally in response. It’s clear that Joel has something else to say.

“Could we– could we talk?” He sounds so unsure of the question, his brow all twisted up. She’s already thawing, offering him a smile and a nod.

“That one will conk right out when you’re done burping her. Let’s talk after you get her down, alright?” He sets his mouth in a thin line, his eyes still soft as he nods. She passes by him with a sigh, her palm resting for a moment on his bicep as she presses a kiss to Libby’s crown before slipping out of the room. She really needs that cup of coffee.

Spring is finally thawing out the winter freeze, and it’s just sunny enough to sit on the back porch with a warm mug and a sweater. It isn’t long before he joins her. She notes the way he keeps a sizable distance between them on the bench seat.

“Sarah was colicky too, y’know.” She hadn’t been expecting that, turning to look at him. He’s leaning forward, his elbows resting on his thighs as he cranes his neck back to meet her gaze.

“Was she?” He nods, letting out a breathy laugh.

“Scared the living shit out of me. Her mom– well, she wasn’t much help. Pfft, pretty sure I cussed out the doctor when he told me I just had to wait for it to pass– wait for Sarah to get better.” He studies his hands, fingers flexing as he continues.

“She cried and cried– just like Libby. I stayed up with her every night and just about lost my mind. Knowing she– my baby, my girl– was in so much pain and there was nothing I could do. It was torture.” She brings a tentative palm to his shoulder, feeling him slacken under her touch as he finally looks at her again.

“I’m sorry, darlin. I got stuck in the past and left you here to deal with the present.” She sets her mug down before scooting closer to him to sling her arm over his shoulders, feeling relief when he lets her tangle her other hand with his.

“I accept your apology. I just wish you would’ve talked to me. I know you don’t think I can understand– and I probably can’t, at least not entirely. But I can’t even try to if you don’t let me in.” She rests her chin on his shoulder, feeling the rise and fall of his sigh.

“I know you’re right– I do. It’s just so fucking hard. I just– I’ve gotten real good at running away from it– just shutting it down. Talking like this feels damn near impossible.” She leans back, coaxing him to look at her.

“We knew this wasn’t gonna be easy. And we said we’d get through this together. Joel, you can’t shut down like that– you just can’t. I– we need you too much.” He swallows hard, nodding at her words, and she can’t help but brush his wavy hair out of his face, resting her palm on his cheek afterward.

“You talk to me, huh? And I’m gonna try so hard to understand. I promise.” She stamps her words with a kiss, pressing her forehead against his as they both let out a sigh.

“Gonna do better by you, darlin. Not gonna disappear on you again.”

…

“It’s magic, right? It’s gotta be magic.” Joel quietly laughs at her whispers, both of them looking down at their girl who is fast asleep in the settling night time by some sort of miracle. Libby had done so much better the rest of the day. No more relentless shrieking or fussy squirming. It was like a switch had been flipped, and she and Joel are just hoping it stays that way.

He places his palm between her shoulder blades, head tilting toward the doorway. She gets the hint, both of them quietly padding out of the nursery and across the hall to their own bedroom.

“Are we actually gonna get to sleep in our own bed tonight?” He smiles at that, lifting his hand to brush his fingers along her cheek. He’s being careful, she can tell. All day he’s been quiet, but close, taking the day off of shifts to stick by her side. She knows that this is his way of apologizing, his way of trying, and she’s grateful for it.

Whether or not they’re showering together has become a sort of litmus test to determine how their relationship is doing. They haven’t done this in a month, and she only realizes how much she missed it, missed him, when she finally gets her hands on him again, running her soaped-up palms along the broad expanse of his back as he faces away from her under the warm stream of water. She smiles at the groan he lets out when she presses her fingers into that spot between his shoulder blades that’s always knotted up, working the kink out before slipping her palms further down. A breathy chuckle thrums in his chest when she slides her palms down the strong curve of his ass, stepping in closer to wrap her arms around him and trail her hands up the soft muscle of his stomach.

“What’re you doing back there, mama?” She can hear the smile in his voice, and revels in the shudder that runs through him when she presses a kiss to the nape of his neck.

“Taking care of you. You gonna let me?” She feels the huff he lets out in the rise and fall of his shoulders, quick to turn in her hold and steal one, two, three kisses before she can press on his chest to get him to let up. His hands fall to her waist, squeezing at the swell and pulling her into him, chest to chest. His cock rests hot and solid against her thigh.

“We take care of each other, huh?” His words bloom warm in her chest and the smile she offers him is the biggest relief. He reaches behind her to grab the bar of soap, lathering up his hands. It’s a strange contrast, the roughness of his palms and the tenderness of the press of his skin against hers as he trails over every inch of her body he can reach. She gets both, and she knows it’s a gift.

His touch begins to linger and stutter, squeezes left to his favorite parts of her, his grin growing smugger with each shudder he coaxes out of her.

“We’re wasting water. Maria’s gonna kill us.” He groans low at that, laying a harsh squeeze to her ass that she yelps at.

“That is the last thing I wanna think about right now.” She breathes out a laugh as he corners her against the tiled wall. She barely manages to flip off the water as he presses against her, licking hotly into her mouth. With a light tug to his damp waves, he pulls away, both of them panting in the humid bathroom air.

“Can we at least get dried off? The last thing I want is one of us slipping and cracking our skull open.” Joel grumbles at that, shaking his head as he steps in closer. However, with the step he takes, his back heel slips out causing him to stumble into her as they both struggle to stay upright. They’re a tangle of limbs as they find their footing, her arms wrapped over his shoulders and his around her waist. Looking at each other, all they can do is laugh.

“Would it kill you to tell me I’m right every now and again?” She teases him, a crooked grin as she stays wrapped up in his arms.

“You’re right– you’re right– you’re right. There, will that do, darlin?” He punctuates each repetition with a chaste kiss to her lips, leaving her laughing as he jostles her in his hold. She hums lightly.

“Hmm, I suppose. For now.” He huffs at that, retaliating with a hard smack to the curve of her ass that has her jolting in his grip, causing them both to stumble about in the shower again. They’re fools for each other, only for each other.

Drying off is made all but impossible by the way they stay glued to each other, and their skin is still damp when they finally make it to their bed, toppling into the sheets still tangled up in kisses and sighs and wandering hands. Joel coaxes her onto her back, settling between her legs as he trails a hand down to her cunt, dragging a brazen swipe through her heat that has her arching up into her touch.

“Joel, please– no teasing tonight. I just– I need you, baby.” He shushes her with a kiss, fingers languidly circling her clit.

“You’ve got me, darlin– not going anywhere, huh? Gonna give you what you need.” She has to bite back a whine at the loss of his touch, but it’s only a fleeting desperation as he presses the throbbing tip of his cock up against her entrance. Though it’s been a while, they move well together like they always do, bodies in complete communion as she draws her leg up along his waist, opening up to him as he presses his hips forward. He stills with his hips hilted into hers, his forehead pressing into her sternum with a ragged sigh.

“Fucking hell– missed you so bad, mama– s’not fair how good you feel– not gonna last like this–” His voice is hoarse, broken by sweet agony, and she tries to soothe him with a smattering of kisses to his hairline, drawing him to look up at her.

“It’s ok, baby. Just wanna feel you– feel so perfect, Joel. Can you move for me?” She presses a kiss to the crease between his brows and he chases after her lips, groaning into a deep kiss as he rolls his hips back only to snap them forward again. He swallows the gasp she lets out at the deep grind of him, her nails digging into his shoulders as he guides them into that familiar push and pull.

In just the few months of having their girl, they’ve learned how to keep quiet, all breathy sighs and muffled kisses, but she’s having a hard time holding back her high-pitched whimpers at the way he’s thrusting into her, punctuating each snap of his hips with a hard grind that strokes a spot inside her that’s already tilting her over the edge of pleasure. But it starts to become too much when Joel brings his fingers back to her clit, drawing stuttering swipes that have her spasming around him.

“C’mon, mama– let go for me– want it so bad– that’s it, darlin–” his praises become muffled noise as she comes, her heels now digging into his ass where her legs are wrapped around him, clutching him as he fucks her through the rolling high. Joel is quick to follow, pulling out of her with a harsh groan and sloppily stroking himself a few times before his warmth is smearing across the plush of her thigh. It's a far cry from the heated trysts they used to engage in, hours on end of tangled passion long traded in for these little bursts of love that she cherishes just as much, if not more.

He collapses next to her, slumping on his back, his arm crossed over himself to keep his palm splayed over her stomach. She rests her hand on top of his, tangling their fingers together as they both catch their breath. But, there isn’t much time to revel in the moment when soft cries start to carry from across the hall. She can’t help but smile as she looks at him, and he lets out a sigh.

“Go get cleaned up, mama. I’ve got her.” He punctuates his words with a kiss, leaning over and brushing his fingers along her cheek. They share a quietly murmured “love you,” and she idly watches him get up, the soft pull of his muscles as he slips on a t-shirt and a pair of boxers before padding across the hall to Libby’s room.

They don’t get to sleep in their own bed that night. After getting cleaned up, she trails into the nursery, finding Joel quietly singing to their girl in the rocking chair. He glances up at her, but keeps singing, his voice low and sweet, lulling Libby back to sleep in his arms. With their girl tucked back in her crib, they wind up in a close tangle on the twin bed.

It's the best sleep they've gotten in a month.

#unexpected expectings #joel miller fanfiction #joel miller angst #joel miller x you #joel miller #joel miller x reader #joel miller fluff #joel miller smut #joel miller au #joel miller one shot #tlou fanfiction #the last of us #tlou

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jo-harrington · 5 months

Text

Promotion (Eddie Munson x Store Manager!Reader)

Pairing: Eddie Munson x Fem!Reader

Summary: You take a Tuesday night off to surprise Eddie at a Corroded Coffin show and you both get more than you bargained for.

Previous Part: Team Building

Warnings/Themes: AU where the Upside Down doesn't terrorize Hawkins. Reader works at the Claire's at StarCourt. Eddie works at TapeWorld. (Do I need to say this anymore?) Fluffy, a little angsty, culmination of a lot of big feelings on both Eddie and Readers parts.

Note: I have been working on this part. Since January 15th. This has always been (and if you've read Peak Sales Hours you know) the way they finally reveal their feelings for one another. DAMN TOOK THEM AND ME A REALLY LONG TIME. The idea has evolved a little, but I hope the wait has been worth it. (Really gonna suck when we go back to the 2 parts of the story where they...aren't together yet but I promise both of those parts will be worth it and it's gonna make a few things towards the end of this part make sense...) We're almost at the end.

You can find my masterlist here for more featuring our resident Store Manager and all of my other Eddie stories and writing.

Please do not interact if you are not 18+.

Enjoy!

---

“Nice fake, kid,” the gruff bartender scoffed, taking a quick glance over your ID. “Illinois huh?”

“Yeah, Illinois,” you insisted. “And it’s not a fake.”

“Whatever,” he sighed. “Enough of you kids home from college, I can’t keep up. In for a penny, in for a pound. What can I getcha?”

You ordered then turned to survey the ambience of The Hideout.

Bars weren't typically your scene.

You really didn't have a scene, if you were honest. Work and school had been your life for the longest time. If you had a social life, it was garage beers with your friends back home, or going out with coworkers after a really difficult holiday season or something. Your old Store Manager had certainly forced you to join her at dive bars and parties now and again. And now, you guessed...outings with Eddie and his friends.

When he had first told you about Corroded Coffin and their gigs, he said that the Hideout wasn't typically busy.

"It's like...like Cheers, you know? A place where everyone knows your name," he explained that first night you two had hung out. "Off the highway, used to be the local watering hole for everyone at the plant to wet their whistle after quitting time, according to Wayne. Lately, not as much.

"But the owner lets us play every Tuesday and it's good if we want to make it big someday. Even though right now it's really just...you know, a few regulars who tolerate us and clap if they're sober enough."

This, though, was most certainly not a few regulars.

Just like the bartender had said, there were a lot of kids home from college for Thanksgiving week, looking to get away from their families for a night. They'd already been milling about StarCourt; you'd seen a lot of unfamiliar faces. You wondered if this was just a convenient place to get a drink with friends now that they were back; it wasn't like the bartender was really taking anyone's ID seriously, real or fake.

Everyone was here for a good time, regardless. An old house-turned-bar with a few tables, mostly occupied, and a pool table that a group of guys were crowded around. Only a few open spots at the bar, one of which you had claimed for yourself.

It wasn't a club, it wasn't really even a bar.

It was just...kind of a shithole.

But if you were to remove all the people who were here tonight who didn't seem to fit in anyway, you felt it was the perfect venue for Corroded Coffin.

The stage was small and makeshift and illuminated by the many neon signs on the adjacent walls touting Coors and Old Style and PBR, and even though you were a little ways back you could easily enjoy the show.

You were actually planning to hang back anyhow. You usually closed on Tuesdays so you wanted to surprise Eddie.

He had mentioned, way back during your first Sunday night hangout, that you should come and see the band if you were ever free. You had brought up your schedule to him then, and immediately felt bad when he looked a little disappointed. And even more so the dozen or more times you tried to bring up the topic again, especially as you spent more time with him and his friends. Music was something you two had quickly bonded over, so you were hoping you could come and support him. But he never took the cue and never extended the invitation again.

It took a lot of bribery to get Mindy to take the Tuesday shift, and thankfully with the impending holidays, she had some time-off needs of her own. So a little quid pro quo and you had your night off.

Not to mention a covert trip to Tape World to grab one of the flyers for the show, disguised as a run to the bathroom, when you had lunch together a few weeks ago. Eddie's manager Kyle always let him have his homemade flyers on the counter when he was Manager on Duty, but they always went home with Eddie after his shift was over.

"I just have this bad feeling," he admitted to you once. "That someone would come in just to fuck with them, you know. At least while I'm there, I can...I don't know. Protect them." You understood, having been witness to how shitty some of the people in Hawkins were to him. You had dealt with bullies before, and it had gotten better for Eddie in the past few months but...he was still cautious and you didn't blame him.

So now, sitting here in this crowded bar, sipping kind of bad beer, wearing one of your brother's band tees that must have gotten mixed up with your shit from your last visit home, and waiting for the boys to appear "on stage," you felt happy that you'd be able to show Eddie just how much you cared for him. How much you wanted to be there for him the way he'd been there for you the past 6 months.

How worth...all of it he was.

And the other boys. Of course.

Eddie was the only one you wanted to kiss though.

He was the only one you wanted to do any of those sweet, sickening...ahem...sexy...things with. You really had wanted it all since you met him, and you'd gotten your taste and that was enough to smolder and turn your craving into an actual thirst.

Unfortunately, what you'd hoped was mutual attraction...never went anywhere, so friendship it had stayed.

You could always indulge in your little crush-fueled fantasies after you hung out. As pathetic as that was. Especially when you realized he was a touchy kind of guy. Hugs at the ready whenever you wanted them and even sometimes when you didn't. Hands always grabbing your shoulders to shake you when he was trying to make a point. He'd popped the arm rest up when you went to the movies so you could put your head on his shoulder. And then he would cover your eyes with his hand whenever there was something especially gorey or steamy on the screen.

"Otherwise, I’ll have to wash your eyes out young lady," he mocked with a very stern voice to mock your overprotective father, who Eddie had met once.

And on one of the toughest days of your life when his attention had fully been on you so how he remembered your dad enough to get his voice down like that...

You shook your head to release you from your thoughts as you noticed Gareth and Jeff haul in Gareth's drum kit from some back hallway and onto the ramshackle stage.

It wouldn't do to get lost in your daydreams when they were about to perform. Because yeah, Eddie was always doing things like that-- remembering things you said off-handedly, surprising you with things he thought would make you laugh or smile--and you tried to do the same for him, but coming to see one of his performances was gonna be different.

It meant more than quoting his favorite movie or getting him that snack he liked at the gas station.

This was his dream.

And you wanted to be fully present for it.

A couple people clapped kindly as all four boys took the stage and Eddie said a quick, slightly shy "hey" into the microphone, clearly unused to the crowd. You let out a tenuous whoop, and Eddie squinted in your direction and waved, but with the haze of cigarette smoke lingering in the air and the bustle of bodies that swarmed the bar to refresh their drinks, you doubted he could see who it actually came from.

So maybe you would need to worm your way up eventually. Maybe.

Once they started playing, though, you knew you would have to.

They were...

Well...

Ok they were not the best, but they were certainly getting there. They could be something great if they took the time, and you knew that was a high priority for the boys.

You didn't know what you expected though.

Certainly not like something professionally recorded or the one or two concerts you'd been to with friends over the years. Surely something closer to the bands that played during street fairs or the local venues back home.

Corroded Coffin was something in-between. Eddie's proficiency at the guitar and his overly confident stage presence once he got going, paired with Jeff and Dave who matched his energy with their endless strumming and head banging and enthusiastic vocals. And of course Gareth on the drums, who kept them in line as though he was simply amplifying the beating of his heart.

They were...one-of-a-kind.

It was a sight to behold and had you enraptured by their entire performance.

And you were surely not alone, as there was a good bit of applause after every song--none louder than you, you hoped--that caused the boys to preen with the attention. Especially Eddie, who would showboat if more than 5 people clapped.

"And now," he rumbled into the microphone, voice a little croaky, as the others set up a thrum of drumbeats and repetitive notes on their respective instruments. "Lend me your ear as I weave a tale of adventure and destruction."

You shifted on your stool with a grin, excited to see this. He'd explained it to you, how he and Jeff had been working on these little attention grabbers...stage patter...in tandem with his campaigns for Hellfire Club.

"Being a frontman is more than just singing, it's about...captivating the audience."

He told you it would make more sense once they had some more original songs and not just covers. But they were still working on it.

Thus, Eddie began talking about Lord of the Rings, of all things. Of a great journey with perilous consequences if the Fellowship were to fail, of the jaunts through Rivendell and encounters in Khazad-dûm and finally the terrible task on Mount Doom.

"And none of it would be possible without..." he started plucking at his own guitar strings, running his fingers up and down the frets, creating a haunting sound in place of a harmonica. "The Wizard."

You jumped from the stool and let out a whoop, beer sloshing over the rim of your glass and onto your hand. But it didn't matter, because when Eddie's eyes zeroed in on you, he beamed brightly and it was magical.

The moment would be burned into your brain forever, the way his big, void-like eyes got all round and soft and those lips stretched over his teeth to grin, lines carving deeper into his face in a look of sheer joy. And then glanced back down at his Sweetheart as he began to play his best performance of the night.

Or so you thought, but you were a little biased.

You were torn away from the performance as someone took the glass out of your hand and pressed some napkins over your beer-soaked skin.

"Here, watch out, you spilled some on the floor too," a deep, teasing voice said. "Jules, can you grab some more napkins?"

"Yeah. For sure."

"You Corroded Coffin's number one fan or something?" the guy asked as you kept trying to look back at the stage. You looked at him and felt uneasy. He was tall but unremarkable and had a plaid shirt under a denim jacket, a few patches similar to ones you'd seen adorned on Eddie's battle vest. He seemed like someone who might enjoy the music but there was a glint in his eyes and a smirk on his mouth that seemed...off to you.

"First time hearing them," you tried to dismiss. "Thanks for the help."

His friend or...maybe date returned with a stack of napkins and she handed them to you with her own tight smile, latching herself to his side.

"I thought it was music time, not story time," she joked snidely as you dropped the napkins on the floor to clean up the spill. "Are we gonna get out of here soon Mick?"

"Yeah don't worry," he patted her shoulder and then looked back at you. "So, not number their one fan. You dating Munson or something then?"

Jules let out a laugh.

"None of your business, who are you again?" You put on the hard city exterior you grew up with--the one that often clashed with your tight-knit community and customer service exteriors, each an interchangeable mask—and turned away from him, glad to put some distance between you.

You asked the bartender for another beer but there was already a bitter taste in your mouth and you knew you wouldn't enjoy the drink.

Mick and Jules…

---

You were happy when everyone gave them an outstanding applause at the end of the set, but the boys were quick to dismantle the stage after a stern look from the bartender.

Eddie had tried his best to have an encore performance.

"Come on Phil." He batted his eyelashes enticingly. "You know you love us."

"This isn't Madison Square Garden," Phil ran a finger over his throat. "You'll run up my electric bill."

"Make sure you tip your bartender everyone," Eddie quickly announced with a mock salute, then pulled the plug on their equipment and dashed offstage.

Dave, Jeff, and Gareth made their way back in sometime after they broke down their equipment, as some the crowd started to dissipate, and were ecstatic to find you at the bar.

"It's seriously so busy in here," Gareth exclaimed after he chugged his Coke and belched obnoxiously. "I don't think we've played a crowd like this ever."

"I don't think we've seen this many people in the Hideout ever," Dave gave you a hopeful grin and pressed his hands together in prayer. "You sure you don't want to buy us a round of beers to celebrate?" You pushed his shoulder good-naturedly but got them a round of the cheap, watered down stuff nonetheless.

"Ok and listen, I was supposed to do the intro to The Wizard," Jeff started, hand on your shoulder as though he was telling you a secret. "But I chickened out. I don't think I would have been able to do it with all of these people here."

"You would have crushed it," you reassured him. "Next time."

"No, because Eddie destroyed it up there," Jeff hollered. "I almost forgot the chords, he was so good. You seriously need to come to Hellfire one time...or Eddie can have a special session over Christmas break. That was on par with a Munson Death Monologue, if I ever heard one. Right guys?"

"Where is he anyway?" you asked.

Instantly, all three boys got nervous and it had you on edge.

"The bathroom."

"Just having a smoke."

"Had to restring his guitar."

They fumbled over each other with their excuses.

"Don't make me pull the mom card," you crossed your arms over your chest and glared at them. "You know I hate that shit."

"Only the freshman call you mom," Dave attempted to deflect.

You rolled your eyes and simply turned on your heel and exited the bar. You heard the three of them bicker as you walked away.

"Nice cover shithead."

"Me? What about you? Restring his guitar?"

"Fuck off."

When you got out to the parking lot, you heard talking. Bickering, much like the boys had been inside.

"...I'm trying to give you a compliment."

"A backhanded compliment isn't a compliment."

Eddie's voice. And another one.

You didn't want to interfere, but you were from the midwest and as a result, you were nosy.

And Eddie was your friend, if he needed help, you'd be there for him.

You rounded the corner of the building and saw Eddie sitting in the open side door of the van, cigarette smoldering between his fingers as he gestured wildly while talking.

"I don't know why you think you can just show your face here," he told the other guy.

Mick...the guy who'd helped you out inside.

"Come on Ed," he scoffed. "This doesn't have to be painful for either of us. I moved on, so can you."

"That's right Mickey, you moved on," Eddie argued. He dropped his cigarette to the ground and stomped on it aggressively. "You decided it wasn't worth it to be my friend anymore and you and Jack moved on."

Mickey and Jack. Eddie's old friends, the former members of Corroded Coffin.

He'd told you about them...in passing. You never really got the full story from him, you never wanted to pry. But seeing this guy...now...

"You decided not to be friends anymore, when we wouldn't throw our futures away for a stupid garage band! And look, two years later and you're still here? Heard my mom say you're still at Hawkins High too. Look at you, Ed. A waste of fucking space."

Well you didn't know whether to walk away or butt in and give the guy a piece of your mind.

It was a good thing that Eddie got to his feet and got right into Mickey's smug face.

"Go fuck yourself Mick." His hands planted on Mickey's shoulders and he shoved his old friend a few feet. Not to knock him down, enough to disrupt his balance though.

The aggression left Mickey then, and even from where you stood you could see his eyes go wide.

"Come on Eddie," he whined. "I didn't come out here for this. I've got friends in there and I told them I could get weed. Julie's in there."

"Julie fucking Williams," Eddie rolled his head back and let out a sardonic laugh.

You vaguely realized why Jules had sounded familiar. Jason Carver had mentioned her way back when, when he tried to play the macho protector act.

"He was sniffing around this girl Julie Williams a few years ago too..."

"She still got her claws in you?" Eddie continued. "You here to rub it in my face that you're still with her too? High School Sweethearts and all of that?"

"Stop being an asshole. I made them all come and sit through your stupid show, Eddie. You should be thanking me."

"Thanking you?" he scoffed. "You...you're just rubbing salt in the wound now Mick. Throwing me a bone thinking I’m hard up for cash. Bringing people along cuz no one would come to our shows way back when, so now I gotta know that the only way they would, is if you bribed them with weed? And Julie? Julie only fooled around with me, dated me, so she could get closer to you and you fell for her like an idiot."

"I don't know why you care Eddie, I saw your girlfriend in there. Besides, you two were never dating. So if anyone is the idiot here, it's you."

"Fuck off, Michael," Eddie muttered, turning his back to his former friend. "If you want weed, go to Rick."

There was a beat and you watched Eddie's still back and Mickey shuffling on the gravel drive, looking simultaneously like he wanted to say something, and regretting that he even said anything in the first place.

Finally, he stalked off, hands shoved in his pockets.

You ducked against the side of the building to avoid being noticed as he passed and headed back into the Hideout.

You didn't know what to do. You didn't...yeah you were nosy, but you knew you should have probably walked away when Eddie told him to go fuck himself the first time.

Still...then no one would have been out here for Eddie now. Even after all these months of getting closer to him, months of friendship and learning more and more about him, all it took was an overheard conversation to make the pieces click. You needed to make sure he was alright because that...that hadn't been good.

He'd already been in some kind of state of constant self-deprecation when you first met him, you didn't want him to fall back into it because of some asshole. You understood now why Jeff had been so protective of him at the start. You were that way now. You wanted your friend to be happy.

To see how much he mattered. That's why you came tonight in the first place.

At the sound of something crashing in the back of the van, you shuffled back around the corner and got closer.

"Fuck," he muttered pathetically. "Fuck, fuck, fuck."

There was the twang of a string on one of the guitars snapping, and then Eddie's heaving breath.

"FUCK!" He turned around and kicked at the gravel, and it sprayed across the lot before landing at your feet. He ran his hands through his hair and stopped at the sight of you.

You froze too, unable to stomach the sight of his red, tear-filled eyes and the wetness of his cheeks illuminated by the streetlamp overhead.

"So uh," he sniffed and quickly ran the cuff of his sleeve across his nose. “Dunno if you heard but that was my old friend. Who's dating...well I guess she wasn’t my girlfriend. So she’s not an ex either.”

He rolled his eyes and hung his head pathetically.

“I’m sorry,” you muttered and took a few steps closer. “I’m sorry that they did that to you. Both of them. All of them. You deserve so much more than that.”

“Do I?” He scoffed. “I’m a freak, a loser. Too stupid to finish high school or get out of this town.”

“Stop it!”

"No, Mickey's right. My stupid band, my stupid friends."

"I'm your friend, am I stupid?" you asked. You knew it was a little shifty, trying to turn this onto you, but you needed him to see that he was being...well...

Stupid.

"Maybe," he shrugged.

"And Jeff? And Dave? And Gareth?"

"Maybe."

"Fine," you pointed back at the Hideout. "But those people in there...they couldn't have all been Mickey's friends. They clapped for your stupid band. Are they all idiots too? Freaks. Losers."

"Maybe."

"That was a really good crowd, you were great up there. I was so surprised. So impressed."

"Well you shouldn't be."

"Eddie," you said in a chastising tone.

He mimicked you in a childlike fashion, said your name in the same tone, and then ran his hands over his face and groaned.

"I don't want to let him get to me like that," he shouted into the sky. "I don't...want my stupid, dumb, shithead old best friend to get to me like that. To act like it's some favor he's doing me by rolling back into town and bringing some people to my show. When it still should have been our show. Together.

"I had to very nearly give up on all of my fucking dreams because our friendship wasn't worth it to him. Because he pretended to grow up. He...he barely got accepted into a college. He was going to take classes at Tri County and keep working at Bradley's forever and we were gonna have this band and make it big one day and now..."

He trailed off and heaved.

"And now?" You pressed after a few minutes of silence.

"And now..." He waved his hand dismissively. "I don't know...nothing I guess."

You put your hands on your hips and scowled at him.

"And now you have friends in there that actually support your dream, who actually believe you've got a chance as a band. Jeff's a better best friend than Mickey. And you've got a job at TapeWorld and have Kyle and the guys there. They all believe in you. What did you tell me a couple weeks ago? Kyle wants to see if he can make you an ASM after you graduate?"

"Yeah."

"You've got...a future...and new dreams...just like Mickey does," you tried again. "Losing old friends is hard. It's a hole in your heart that doesn't ever go away.

"My high school best friend moved away and I don't talk to her anymore. We had...maybe one phone call after she went off to some out-of-state school. It hurt when I tried to call her and she never made time for me. But...then I made other friends. It's not the same as her, but sometimes it's better. Because I have Jen, and the girls at the old store and now this store and now I have...now I have you too.

"You're better than my high school best friend ever was. Tell me I'm not a better friend than Mickey...whatever his last name is."

Eddie's face went gaunt then, his eyes evaded yours and immediately went down to his feet, hands wrapped around his stomach defensively, like you wounded him.

You breathed heavily for a few moments and then softened.

Maybe you went a little too hard.

"Eddie, I'm sorry, I..." You backtracked a little. "I know I don't know the whole story. I just...I want you to know how much I value you as my friend."

"Stop saying that!" He shut his eyes and scrunched his face.

"What? You need to hear it! I know it's hard to hear how good you are--"

"No," he opened his eyes and took a step back, holding his hands out beside him, as though he was offering himself up for the slaughter. "Stop saying that you're my friend."

"But I am your friend!"

"But I don't...I don't want you to be."

Your eyes went wide this time and your mind raced.

At first you just...you thought this was him saying he didn't want to be friends anymore. Maybe you'd overstepped boundaries and had gone too far. The little insidious self-conscious voice inside of your head told you that you were dumb and too stupid to realize all the signs of him pushing you away. Overanalyzing every interaction for some indication that he didn't want you there.

But then he kept talking and you realized you were dumb just not dumb in that way.

"I...I have...kind of always thought you were pretty," he let out a dry laugh. "Well...actually I thought you were awful...way, way back...at the beginning before I even knew your name. I thought...wow it's another mean popular pretty girl coming to tease me and make my life hell. Only...you didn’t. You’re not mean and you're not a popular girl."

"And I'm not pretty," you joked.

"But you are," he disagreed. "And you didn’t make my life hell. You're everything I...well...I know this is gonna ruin everything. So fuck it. But I have the biggest, stupidest crush on you and everyone fucking knows about it and won't stop teasing me about it and I thought...after that night at the trailer that maybe...you know, you felt the same way. That we were just two dummies. I got my hopes up. I was coming to ask you out that Friday. I even skipped school."

Your heart skipped a beat, thinking about that night.

About that kiss and about...

"And then your grandpa..." he trailed off. "And how could I bring anything up after that? I just needed to be a good friend. Be there for you, like you're always there for me. Just like you're here for me tonight.

"Sweetheart, do you know how fucking happy I was to see you back there?" he asked, eyes big and round and wet with tears. "Shit you took a Tuesday night off?"

"Of course I did," you laughed. "I told you way back at the beginning I could move things around."

"Yeah but..."

"I get it," you nodded and then felt your heart ache with longing. "Eddie..."

"So no," he continued sadly. "I don't want to be your friend anymore because I just...want you."

He backed away a little, on weak legs as though he had been wounded. Especially when you took too long to process all of your thoughts and he probably took it as rejection. He turned back to the van to try and finish packing everything up.

And your mind finally caught up to your body.

Eddie liked you and he wanted to...not be your friend anymore because he wanted more than friendship.

Right? Was that it?

Fuck, why had you been so...

You walked right up to him and grabbed him by the sleeve and turned him around.

"If you're an idiot," you told him, vulnerably. "Then so am I."

You surged forward and captured his lips with yours.

It was...admittedly not like a John Hughes movie. It was sweet for a second and your heart was soaring and then his nose bonked into yours and you both broke into a little bit of laughter.

"You're not that good at kissing," Eddie teased.

"Me?" you guffawed. "It was your nose."

"Maybe we're just both out of practice," he suggested.

"Yeah." You reached out and shook him by his vest. "One uh...maybe extra high kiss on your couch two months ago is not the warmup we needed."

He smiled at you.

"Hi."

"Are we both just...stupid?"

"Yeah I think so."

"How long has Mindy been mocking you?" he asked.

"Pretty much since Day 1. Kyle?"

"Before Day 1," he ran a hand through his hair and blew a frustrated breath through pursed lips. "He was the one who told me I should go up and ask you out."

"No he didn't!" You slapped a hand against his chest and stared at him incredulously.

"Scouts honor." He crossed over his heart. "So uh...you wanna try again?"

Eddie waited for your little nod before he pressed a kiss to your lips. His hands sought your waist and pulled you closer to him, body flush with his as your hands became trapped on his chest. You grabbed him by the vest and held him to you.

It was sweet exploration at first, lips tentative and pliant. Then tongues got involved, painting your tastes sweetly to the seams of each other's mouth, taking turns until they gained the courage to dance together.

Before long though...you both got a little impatient and you were pressed up against the side of his van, one hand in his hair as he kissed down the side of your throat, fingers plucking at the neckline of your t-shirt to gain more access to skin.

"Didn't know you liked Pantera," he muttered and licked back up the length of your throat then lightly bit the softness of your jaw. "S'this Jimmy's shirt?"

"Please don't say my brother's name right now."

You gently pulled him by the hair and led him right back to your lips to shut him up.

Sweetness turned into impatience, where 6 months of friendship and unrequited feelings were released--for real this time. Eddie's body slotted between your legs, hands roamed, giggles turned into moans, and just as he was about to scoot you into the van for some private time away from the elements of the Hideout Parking lot--

"Whooo..."

"Mom and Dad, sitting in a tree..."

"K-I-S-S-I-N-G."

--the guys exited the bar and found you in your...compromising position.

Eddie, ever the gentleman, made sure your shirt was on the right way and your hair not...too disheveled before turning to shoot his friends with the most scathing glare.

"Alright you fucking pervs," he shouted. "Nothing to see here."

"Are you kidding?" Dave exclaimed. "This is like...Christmas."

"Yeah, about time Eddie," Jeff clapped a hand on Gareth and Dave's shoulders. "We were about to start a bet to see if it was even gonna happen."

"It was Wheeler's idea," Gareth confessed.

"Of course it was," Eddie rolled his eyes. "Little rat."

"Mike's nice," you poked Eddie in the side and he jumped. "Stop picking on him so much."

The guys all started their whooping and hollering again until you sent your own dead stare their way to shut them up.

Eddie shouted for them all to pile into the van, and once they were all inside he turned to you and awkwardly stuck his hands in his pockets.

"So," he ran his tongue over his lips nervously. "Uh...I mean...that was nice."

"It was," you beamed. "Changed your mind about if I'm a bad kisser?"

"Yeah, oh," he nodded vigorously. "I...yes...I mean, no. You're a really...good kisser."

"Not so bad yourself Casanova."

"So we gonna...do that more often?"

You both burst out laughing and then jumped as someone inside the van honked the horn.

"You wanna come to Benny's with us?" Eddie thumbed over his shoulder. "Post-show patty melts? Kind of a tradition."

"Yeah. I'd love to."

"Kay, we'll see you there then."

"Sure."

He was about to back away and head towards the driver side of the van, and you back to the front lot to get into your car, when he swept in and cupped your face with his hands. Thumbs running gently over cheekbones, lips gently ghosting over yours.

And you couldn't help but think as you covered his hands with yours, this was definitely a perk you were going to take advantage of in this...

Relationship?

...promotion from friend to something more.

---

Next Part: Peak Sales Hours

#eddie munson #eddie munson x reader #eddie munson fluff #Eddie munson angst #Eddie munson fic #Eddie munson headcanon #stranger things fic #stranger things fluff #store manager verse

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syoddeye · 1 month

Text

useless, part three

Part three (and the finale!) of my submission to @glitterypirateduck's O, Captain! Challenge. As a reminder, I rolled a d100 to select three prompts. I finally used my third prompt.

42. The story spans over a period of 10 or more years

14. Opposites attract

66. Price or Reader is auctioned off for a date as part of a fundraiser

cw: one pregnancy mention (Reader does not get pregnant, has never been pregnant)

Read Part One, Part Two. Tag list: @v1x3n @kiranezra

~4.2k words, Price x f!Reader. This is the most self-indulgent shit I've written in awhile. Please enjoy.

It's past midnight when you limp through the front door of your flat, dropping belongings and articles of clothing alike, shedding both the weight of personhood and your eighteen-hour day. You set your keys down on the end of the counter, ignoring the thin folder for the umpteenth time. James will undoubtedly text about it in the morning, his patronizing messages more reliable than any alarm clock. A half-hour commute home, and you didn't even glance at your phone in fear of accidentally seeing another email from his lawyer. Solicitor. Whatever.

Hamhock slinks out from his lair beneath the bed, weaving between your ankles when you drag yourself into the bathroom.

"Hello Hammy," You whisper, eyeing the newer crop of gray hairs near your roots with a weary neutrality. Definitely the fundraiser's fault. Your hair started to change long before this year's planning began, but this is the longest period you've gone without dyeing it. One thing to thank James for. Not only did his departure give you a crystal clear focus, it freed you from his ridiculous expectations. He'd've commented the moment he spotted the wisps of silver, then casually worked something like anti-aging cream into the conversation.

The prick poisoned the well, and now the only man in the world for you currently lies at your feet. How it should've been from the start, really.

After checking the orange menace's automatic feeder, you slip into bed, allow him to assume his nocturnal throne—your armpit—and plug your phone in one-handed. Your eyes glaze over at the sight of notifications, thumb swiping by muscle memory, and set an alarm. With two weeks left until the big day and more than a hundred unsold tickets, you need every moment you can get. You sigh, counting the tasks of the day ahead instead of sheep.

You'll sign the divorce papers tomorrow.

Naomi practically forces the granola bar into your hands. The assistant stage manager and the props lead—the younger woman is the glue to your glue. A newer fixture at the Bramble Theatre, she was you to an extent, maybe a decade ago: fresh-faced, eager, and optimistic.

"I didn't like how you were looking at the wax fruit."

"We should swap the oranges for plums. Or pears."

"We've been through this. The oranges fit the palette, from the paintings to Dotty's–oh, quit pulling my leg."

You grin, then jut your chin at the stack of slips in her hand. "Are those the waivers? Did all the volunteers sign?"

"Yes, I can post headshots today on socials, so that should boost sales."

"Good. That's one fire extinguished," Rubbing your temple, you lean back in your chair. "I feel gross about it, though. I mean, we run shows that are hundreds of years old, but a date auction? Why don't we raise a guillotine out front and sacrifice effigies to raise money?"

Naomi blinks and whips out her phone. "...Okay, one, I'm noting the effigy idea for next year, but two, the auction won the vote, and everyone participating volunteered."

You grimace. "I know, it's just–"

The sudden opening of the door to your shoebox office interrupts. Theodore, business manager, director, and occasional movement coach, bursts in. Everybody's a multi-hyphenate.

"Terrible news!"

Wonderful. A new fire. You squint, chewing, and watch Naomi try to stifle a laugh valiantly. "Whatever could this be about?"

The older man slams his palms onto your desk, his layered pendants tinkling. "I've punched the numbers, including a best scenario, stars aligning–"

"Teddy. Out with it."

"–we're going to be £40,000 short. Even if we sell out, even if we raffle off the company like cattle, we are circling the drain!"

The tired amusement leaves your body, and in its wake sits a five-digit number and the distant idea to schedule a salon appointment.

The annual fundraiser for the theater, your hard-won home, is a dramatic, demanding, and near-disastrous event every year. The theater has continuously operated a hair above the red, but the laundry list of expenses from the last year cannot be ignored. The new light rig, the stage flooring replacement, the curtain repairs—they never stop. Sponsors and grants only go so far.

Originally, you took this job for its laughable but slightly higher pay and because running around like a madwoman between four gigs at a time wasn't as thrilling or charmingly bohemian as it was in your twenties. Your livelihood depends on the playhouse's success. And the economy. And the general public's attitude toward the arts. All wildly variable. It made you resourceful, and already, you were composing a mental list of people to politely bully for pledges promised in years past. You need time and a phone charger.

"Teddy," you set the half-eaten granola bar down. "Go get ready for afternoon rehearsal. Naomi, cover for me today?"

"'Course."

Theodore swipes his spindly fingers over his brow, nodding fervently at your resolve. "If anyone can pull it off, it's you. Do tell if there is anything yours truly can do." With a flourish, the director departs your office, but Naomi lingers.

"You know if it's donations we need…"

You shake your head, immediately knowing what she intends to suggest. "Out of the question."

"But think of her–"

"I'd rather debase myself and resort to dinner theatre."

"I'm just saying–"

"Naomi," You stress. "I am not calling my mother."

She frowns. "Desperate times call for desperate measures. Are you really so proud you wouldn't leverage your family's connections to save the Bramble?"

It makes you pause. As usual, she's right. Irritatingly so. You could take another salary cut, but you'd need to find a flatshare, a humiliating idea. Hammy wouldn't survive it, the sensitive thing. You sigh and dismiss her with a wave.

"Fine I won't rule it out. But I'm going to shake down half the city first."

An hour later, you've managed to secure a percentage. Not too shabby, but far from the goal. You take a break to read James's team's latest, vaguely threatening missives and entertain the idea of withholding your signature until he makes a donation. What's a little extortion in the name of art?

You know it's wrong to delay this ugly process. How close relief is should you simply sign the papers. But it's another failure, another black spot in your life's ledger. Another dream crushed beneath the boot of reality. With a wave of bitterness, you type out a curt reply, ensuring you will sign the papers and ask them to arrange for a courier tomorrow.

Naomi's suggestion takes advantage of your mind's lethargy, testing the strength of your will and stubbornness. The last time you phoned your mother was months ago, on the anniversary of dad's death. The old man took his last bow five years back, and it destroyed the last bridge between you and your formidable mother. In retirement, she still holds court with major political players stateside…and across the pond.

Before you let your loathing catch up, you pull up her contact card and dial. It's after noon in D.C., the middle of the week. You might get lucky and reach her voice–

"Is everything alright? You're not in the hospital, are you?" Her donnish, sharp voice hurtles you through time and space to your teenage years.

"No," You answer with gritted teeth. A headache waits in the wings. "No, I'm fine, mom."

"Then why are you calling?"

This is why dad handled conversations. You stand, swiftly shutting the door to your office and locking it. "Can't I just call my mom?"

"Of course. Historically, you do not," There's a low murmur of chatter in the background. She's at a luncheon or at the club. "So I assume there is a reason."

Having an ex-ambassador for a mother is a joke. All that practised charm for everyone else in the world, none of it reserved for you. "Okay, yes, there is a reason."

"Thought so. Well, darling, what is it? Is it James? Don't tell me you're pregnant."

You return to your desk and eye the bottle of bourbon on the corner. "No. James and I are divorcing, remember? This is about my work."

There is no acknowledgement of the separation. Instead, your mother pulls the phone away from her mouth, excuses herself from wherever she is, and the background noise dissipates.

"Your work."

"Yes, the Bramble? Look, we're two weeks out from our big annual fundraiser, and–"

"Oh, you need me to write a check." The clicking of her heels halts abruptly, and if you didn't know any better, she wilts. "Fine. How much do you want?"

Your face heats with a mixture of frustration and embarrassment. "I am not asking for money. If you would stop interrupting me…Ugh, mom, I need help contacting some of your old friends here. If there's anyone you know looking for tax deductions or a pet project to brag about, the Bramble is in a bad spot financially."

In the past, whenever the theatre and, by extension, your chosen profession came up, your mother took the opportunity to lecture. She reminded you of the wasted opportunities she afforded you. She brought up your old schoolmates and their current positions. And most insulting of all, she always, always compared you to a certain soldier. Bracing yourself for her monologuing, you reached for the bottle.

"Why didn't you open with that, darling?"

Your fingers close around empty air, and you nearly pitch out of your seat in surprise. "What?"

"Send me the information. I've been meaning to reconnect with some old friends. When is the fundraiser?"

"In two weeks," You repeat, scrambling to pull up your email on the ancient desktop. "Tickets are–"

"Email it. I'll book my flights today and let you know when I'm getting in."

Your hands hover over the keyboard, and your neck protests the angle it bends to keep your phone lodged between ear and shoulder. "Oh, no, mom, you don't need to come."

"Nonsense. I'll, of course, make my own donation, and as a donor, I ought to see where my money is going."

Christ. For the Bramble, you remind yourself and exhale. "Okay. You do that. Listen, I have to get going…but mom?" It kills you to say it. "Thank you."

"You are very welcome. Oh, this will be so much fun. I haven't visited since before your father. You know, on the topic of reconnecting, I happened get an email from the Prices the other day, and John–"

There it is. You kick into fourth gear, rattling off your exit. "I've really got to run. Thanks again mom, send me your flight info. Love you. Bye!"

You feel like you've run a marathon and dodged a bullet. And yet, as you send the email and file the waivers, your mind snags on your mother's words. On a name. His name. It's not the first time your unhelpful brain's waylaid you with a trip down memory lane. Admittedly, it's happened more since James asked for the divorce. Most nights, if it isn't life's stresses hounding you, it's an endless parade of what-ifs behind your eyelids.

What if you studied economics instead? What if you stayed in America? What if you hadn't gone to that stupid New Year's party? What if you hadn't kissed John? If you didn't get on the train?

The people in your circle frequently speak about living life without regrets. It's a romantic notion and a highly unrealistic one.

Your phone buzzes—Naomi. You're needed. Pushing the past where it belongs, back on a dark shelf, and head out to put out another fire.

Three days before the fundraiser, your mother lands in London and hosts you at her hotel for dinner. Playing catch-up is a professional sport with a whirlwind of names you barely remember and memories you remember very differently.

You pick at dessert, listening to another story.

"–and he was so insistent that that school of yours was a breeding ground for monsters, and I told him, isn't that what's needed in today's society? People need thick skin in politics and business. You'll be happy to know, though, he bought four tickets to the fundraiser."

You don't remember who you're talking about but smile and nod. It's a tough pill to swallow, your mother's success at rallying old friends with deep pockets. Teddy's practically in love with her despite having never met her, popping his bald head into your office to sing her praises whenever another pledge arrives.

Your response is rote. "That's wonderful, mom. Thank you."

She prattles on for another half hour before you decide it's time to return home to Hamhock and burn the midnight oil on the fundraiser's date auction. You asked the company for fifty-word bios and actors, bless them, struggle to contain their self-praises. When she finally pauses to take a sip of wine, you rise. "I should head home, lots to do–"

Ignoring you outright, her head turns, and she grins. "There you are!"

Following her gaze, your brow lowers in confusion until you clap eyes on a trio headed in your direction in the company of a server. Very briefly, you consider the melodramatics of matricide. You've been set up.

Mr. and Mrs. Price look well for their age, puttering toward your mother. They are greyer and a little shorter, but the warmth is there.

John, however…

The universe is intent on humbling you.

The hair is the first thing you notice. Short, kempt, and annoyingly a dark shade of brown. It's crept southward onto his face in a beard of a choice style. There is comfort in the finer details that clarify as he nears. He hasn't escaped time's passing with a face marked by crow's feet, frown lines, and forehead furrows. Beneath his shirt, there's a slight suggestion of a belly, though, with his thick arms and the narrowing of his waist, he's clearly a wall of muscle.

The worst part is how infuriatingly kind his smile looks. It's the beard. Softens him. Once an arrogant prick, always an arrogant prick.

John rumbles your name in a whisper, reeling you in for a polite peck on the cheek. "You're a sight for sore eyes."

You're years beyond fifteen and twenty-five, but how swiftly the impulse to snark resurfaces is alarming. Maturity tempers you. "You look good, too."

After a few minutes of greetings, the two of you are tasked with heading to the bar to fetch drinks. Wholly unnecessary what with a server, but it's a clear command to let the 'adults' talk for a spell. Nevermind being shy of forty. John's quick to try conversation when the order's in.

"You haven't changed a bit," He observes, leaning against the bar beside you.

"Now there's something a woman wants to hear after a decade." You huff, casting your eyes across the restaurant, finding it difficult to look at him. The dark blue of his sweater makes his eyes pop.

"Fourteen years, actually," He corrects. "Drinking martinis, actin'…"

You snort. "You're half right. The Martini half."

His elbow gently knocks into yours atop the bar. "Apologies. My mother told me you'd been in My Fair Lady last summer."

That draws your attention. "No. The theater put it on, but I'm the stage manager. I haven't been on stage in ages." Your eyes flicker to the table, then back to him. Heat crawls up your collar. What other information has your mother passed along? Glancing down at your bare ring finger, you turn the conversation. "Not so different from a Captain, I reckon. How's that going?"

John squints a little, and his mouth pulls into a familiar smirk, tugging at old strings in your stomach. "Can't complain."

"Riveting stuff," He chuckles at that, a deep rasping sound, and you find yourself grinning. "Don't suppose that bit of clandestine, secret agent-type shit your mom's talked about?"

"Secret agent?"

"Yeah. Mentioned it in a Christmas card maybe three years ago?" You smile triumphantly into your glass. Seems both your mothers have a penchant for dressing up the truth.

His jaw works a tick, and something heavy passes behind his eyes. "Well, 'm not. Not exactly."

"Let me guess. If you told me, you'd have to kill me?"

He refocuses some, and a short laugh leaves him. "Something like that."

It's all painfully familiar, but it feels different with a little more life under your belt. His mere presence keeps you on your toes, yet you haven't felt this comfortable in months. For all the history and tension, talking to him is easy. A silence passes, the drinks arrive, and you ferry them to the table.

The night passes better than you expected when you first saw the Prices. They express belated condolences over your father, you chat about the fundraiser, and John politely navigates questions about his work. It frightens you when he briefly mentions Piccadilly to know he'd been there in the carnage. Part and parcel of military life, you guess.

"John, be a gentleman and walk her to the station," His mother chides as the five of you congregate in the hotel lobby.

"He doesn't need to do that," You hastily say. Not again.

"'Course."

There is something dreadfully giddy to how your parents wish you both goodnight.

At least you do not need to take his arm this time. Still, there is no way John isn't thinking about that night. Not when that look of quiet desperation he wore is seared within your memory. It's silly, but you peeked at his hands earlier, and like yours, they're naked.

You break the silence to fish. "How long are you on leave?"

"A week. Got in yesterday."

"Do you normally visit your parents?"

"Often."

Doesn't mean there isn't a woman in his life. 'Often' is not 'always'.

"Visit anyone else? Friends?"

He chuckles. "Sometimes."

You roll your eyes. "You know, you haven't changed much either. Aside from the beard and smoker's lung. Still a stunning conversationalist."

John smirks down at you. "Picked it up in the army."

Oh, yes. He remembers.

The conversation lulls, and the walk is short. You figure John's keen on a repeat when he wordlessly escorts you to the platform. But today's not a holiday, and the station is reasonably busy. He watches like a hawk, nonetheless, when you check the time.

"Brings back memories," He quietly comments.

Nodding, your thumb rubs where your wedding band used to rest. "Sure does." You respond and meet his gaze.

You studied theater, moved back to London, went to the party, and kissed John. You didn't regret those choices—only one.

The invitation flies out of you as your train emerges from the tunnel.

"Do you want to meet Hamhock?"

"He's…certainly orange."

"Don't rush to spend all your compliments at once," You glare, arms full of Ham, then coo at the cat. "John's jealous because he's going grey in the beard."

"I am not."

"Saw them on the Tube. Can't those from me," You tease and set the cat down, giving your kitchen a quick glance. A silver lining of work eating up your schedule is that you last cleaned two weeks ago, and it's held.

"What're those on your head then?" He gestures with a finger and toes off his shoes.

"Details of a person ageing gracefully." You play it confidently, but part of you holds a breath.

He hums and sidesteps Hamhock. "Suits you. It's pretty."

Maybe inviting him over is a mistake. The bolt that runs through you from the compliment pokes at something you thought buried. "What a gentleman," You try to inject as much sarcasm as possible, but your voice quivers. "I'll be right back. Sit tight?"

You leave John in the kitchen to retreat to the bathroom to regroup. Come on, you scold yourself over the basin for getting worked up. It's just John.

And yet, what remains of your confidence perches on a cliffside at the sight of John pointedly staring at the folder of your copies of the divorce papers on the counter. Fantastic.

His small smile is genuinely sympathetic. It's enraging.

"Y'know, I knew you were married…When I didn't see a ring at the hotel, though, I wondered."

Your chest tightens, and you shove the folder into a bookshelf. "Yep. Finalized the divorce two-ish weeks ago."

You're not in the mood to be reminded of your failures.

"Sorry it didn't work out," John murmurs.

"That's life. That's how it works sometimes," You exhale, then force a smile. "Want a drink? Bourbon? Wine?"

He lets you change the subject, and you let him have a glass of whiskey.

You sit on opposite ends of your short couch, Hamhock acting as a gentlemanly barrier. The conversation rekindles itself after a few fingers of liquor, and eventually, John migrates to the floor, idly playing with the cat. You confide in him about your worries about the event and whether the funds raised will be enough, and he listens. There is no condescension, no bulldozing. Not a trace of smugness at all when he makes suggestions. You don't realize how you've slipped into an old, practically ancient formation until he peers back, eyes creasing from laughter. You're fifteen again, and it is useless to deny it – you are regrettably in love with John Price.

"Can I confess something?" He suddenly asks as your cat waddles off with a catnip toy in his mouth.

Your heart lurches. "If it's a crime, I'm a terrible conspirator."

"No. Nothin' like that, but I lied earlier." He chuckles, craning his neck to look over his shoulder. "My mother didn't tell me about My Fair Lady."

"What do you mean?"

John turns sheepish. "I came an' saw it when I was on leave last summer. Thought I'd surprise you, but I got to the theater and lost my nerve."

Instantly, you pick through scraps of memories from the production. There is no way you would have known he was in attendance, not with how hellishly busy you are.

"You, Captain John Price, lost your nerve?"

Color blooms high on his cheeks, and he turns on the floor, rubbing his neck. "I knew you're not acting but I didn't know how to mention it without soundin' like a prick." His eyes look soft. Different from how they looked that night in his parent's garden. Steady, unwavering, but soft. "I know I'm not good with words. I seem to have a talent for making you angry. But I really am happy to see you. Didn't think I'd get another chance after how I bungled it all those years ago at the train–"

At your grown ages, the angle of the kiss is inadvisable. The two of you fix it without parting, and his hands cup your face when you're finally standing toe-to-toe.

He touches your foreheads together when breathing becomes necessary. "Change anything?"

You don't answer. You lead him to your bedroom and exile the cat.

The fundraiser goes off with a predictable amount of hitches. The caterer is an hour late and forgets half the hors d'oeuvres. The bar runs out of red wine early. Two actors from the children's company slap-fight on stage. Nothing you, Naomi, and Teddy can't fix with elbow grease and stage magic. The caterers re-course. Naomi calls in a favor from her bartender girlfriend. And the children forget their quarrel when they're called upon to defeat Captain Hook.

What you are not prepared for is one of the actors calling out sick, leaving you one date short for the auction. You waste an hour trying to convince one of your fellow techies to step in.

Naomi corners you when you stress-eat a comically tiny piece of toast swiped from a tray.

"You know, if one person is all we need…"

"Your girlfriend won't be mad?"

"Ha-ha, don't get cheeky. C'mon, isn't it time you got back out there?"

You suppress a smug smile. Naomi has no idea. Nobody does. You've gotten back out there and then some.

"Did I not tell you I was grossed out by the auction?"

She's relentless. "Are you really so proud you wouldn't debase yourself a little for the Bramble?"

"Absolutely not."

You'd said it with such conviction, so it's a puzzle when you find yourself waiting in the stage wing, makeup hurriedly refreshed. It takes all your courage and grace not to stumble to Teddy's side when he calls your name. He improvises an introduction on the fly, and you nearly laugh when you realize this is the first time you've been on the stage, under a spotlight, in years.

The bidding opens, and you hold your breath, letting it go when a few unfamiliar voices call out numbers. A humbling embarrassment clutches you by the throat. But then a paddle raises more confidently in the front row. The light is bright, but you know whose hand hoists it high.

He collects you at the end of the night as you lock up.

"There's my prize."

You can't stop the grin that splits your face. "It's just a date, John."

"Yeah, doin' things a bit out of order, aren't we?" A glimmer of his younger, puffed-up self shines through, and his hand envelops yours.

As you walk, your elbow digs into his ribs, "What will our mothers say?"

"That a big deal to you?"

"To some people."

"Well, love, you're not 'some people'."

#ocaptainchallenge #john price #john price x reader #john price x f!reader #price x reader #price x f!reader #lieutenant john price #cw alcohol #i love love #i love corny shit #i needed to write something soft okay?#lightly edited bc i don't think i'll have time to write tomorrow and the deadline is tomorrow!

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bubbles-for-all-of-us · 1 year

Text

Little drop of your love

requester: Can you possibly do a Azriel X reader where they are newly mated and the IC and them go out at Rita’s and someone hits on her?

a/n I had so much fun writing this it's almost illegal...

warning: mention of sexual themes, creeps in the club

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It has been a month. A whole month since you last saw your family. The mating frenzy has been so intense, since you and Azriel accepted the bond, that even Azriel has positioned all of his works. There was no way you two could be without one another for longer than five minutes. If it wasn't him between your legs, then it was you on your knees looking up at the spymaster or Azriel with your legs over his shoulders as he ate you out. Never before had you felt such a strong desire to be this close to him. Even with him buried deep inside you, you still felt like he wasn't close enough. It's like you wanted to crawl inside his skin. Somehow completely melt inside him and just becomes one body and soul.

In the beginning, you couldn't care less that it was just you. That's all you wanted, and you cursed Rhys out for interrupting you two. Even the thought of Azriel being anywhere but in your bed made you physically sick, as if you were going to die if he spent a moment elsewhere. But as the weeks passed and the initial craziness faded, you two spent more time laying in bed laughing and cuddling. That was when you realized how badly you two neglected your friends. You knew deep down that they would understand, and in the worst-case scenario, you two might just get teased. Maybe get a prize for being all up on each other for the longest time. Yet it still made your heart ache a little. You missed the girls. And boy, oh boy, how many stories you had to share with them. Not to mention that you missed messing around with Cassian. He had always been like a brother to you. Yeah, an evening just getting wasted with him and talking absolute nonsense was long overdue.

So when Feyre gently knocked on your mental shields, you had to hold yourself back from screaming from excitement. The rest of the family was planning a trip out for a night at Rita's. You two were invited, of course, and as Feyre said, that would allow everyone a chance to celebrate your mating bond since there was no time for that prior.

"Az, come on, I want to put on something nice and have fun with our friends." You, of course, agreed to the offer without informing Azriel about it, leaving him all grumpy in bed now. "You've been wearing my clothes, ain't that nice?" His hands were once again resting on your hips as he laid practically on top of you, nibbling at your neck from time to time.

"Yes, but I miss our family. Don't you?" He has always been a huge family man. There was not a single family dinner or gathering that he missed. You knew he loved them without a doubt, so this was still the mating bond speaking from within him. "You weren't complaining about that an hour ago", "Azriel", the male-only laughed, hiding his face in the crook of your neck as you squirmed beneath him.

But after long hours of trying to sway him your way and thanking him for agreeing afterward, you managed to convince him to finally go out. And in all honesty, who was he to deny your wishes? Azriel was ready to do anything for you if that would make you happy. You were his priority now. His mate. His equal. The other half that he had wanted to find for so long.

Azriel felt like a whole new man. Even Cassian had pointed out that his brother was smiling more. Well, at first the general had asked if he wasn't sick, earning a vulgar gesture from the shadow singer. But everyone could see just how happy and full of life Azriel had become once you stepped into his life. One by one, you broke through all of his walls and, with your gentle and slow love, showed him a whole new meaning of life.

Azriel was happily sitting by the fireplace, smiling to himself, thinking of all the memories you two had shared when he heard the sound of your high heels approaching. And all he could do was let out a low growl as you gave him a little swirl while biting your lip. "I think we won't make it out the door," Azriel said, taking hold of your hand and spinning you around one more time, admiring how the black material of the dress, accompanied by white pearls, fitted your body simply perfectly.

"We're matching," your hands had come up to rest on his chest, feeling the soft material of the black shirt he was wearing, "And it's honestly rude how you manage to look so sexy with just a shirt and a couple of undone buttons," smacking his chest playfully, you moved to pull away, pouting slightly. "You're the sexiest when you're naked, but this is outrageous," bringing you closer to him. Azriel placed a loving kiss on the crown of your head, "You look breathtaking, my love."

Smiling brightly, you wrapped your hands around his neck. Even with high heels on, you barely got to meet his lips without stepping on your tippy toes. Azriel leaned in, pressing his lips against yours, not caring about the red lipstick you were wearing. Within seconds, the kiss got more passionate, and Azriel's hands started scrunching up the material of your silk dress. "Az, you'll mess up the dress before we even get there," you grumbled, pulling away from him. Brushing your fingers against his lips so you could wipe away the red tint covering them. "Good, they know you had some action before you came there, and they'll stay away," you shook your head, rolling your eyes as you two walked out.

The club was stuffed when you got there. And with you being out for the first time in quite a while, the sea of bodies and the drumming of the music instantly made you want to step away as an overwhelming amount of stimulation flooded your senses. Azriel instantly draped his hand over your shoulders, bringing you closer to him. His other hand held yours as you two stepped forward. He could feel your emotions loud and clear. Sending some comforting strokes of love through the bond, feeling as your body instantly became less tense as his body pressed to yours.

It was a question in itself. But somehow, through all of the sounds, you heard the loudest shriek that Mor had let out once you two came into view, immediately running your way. Feyre and Nesta follow one step behind as they all embraced you. Once you were practically swallowed by the females, Azriel stepped aside and went to join his brothers, who both had the biggest smiles on their faces. "Look who finally graced us with their presence," Rhys chirped, handing Azriel a glass. "Reeking of sweet, sweet sex," Cassian added, earning a shove from Azriel in return as the two males laughed. "I'm surprised she's walking", "I'm not an animal, Rhys", the spymaster gave his high lord a look before turning his attention to you. You haven't yet crossed the distance towards the private nook. The girls still twirling you around as if you were the most unseen creature ever. Azriel would have asked them to stop and leave you alone, but the smile on your face as you all giggled among each other is what stopped him. His lips curve up as he watches you.

"Come on, we need it in millimeters", "And don't forget the details", "No, tell me if he's into some kinky stuff", they were all talking over one another, and you found yourself laughing so hard your cheeks started to sting. "Should I be concerned that all you bunch care about is my mate's cock?", you teased them in return, earning multiple eye rolls and growls.

"It's for research!", Mor whined from beside you. "Fine, he has the biggest wingspan for a reason. Never seen anything like that in my humble life," you said, Nesta fell back on the plush material of the sofas as the girls once again erupted into fits of laughter. "Does he treat you well, though?" Feyre took a hold of your hand, squeezing it softly. "He's perfect," you said, turning your attention to the boys and instantly catching Azriel's gaze. Even while he was still talking with his brother, his eyes didn't seem to leave you. "I feel like a princess. He's the best." Smiling at your high lady, you leaned into her embrace.

As the night went on, more and more drinks were poured, and saluted by everyone. You were sitting on Azriel's lap, his hand loosely wrapped around your lower body, as everyone watched Cassian peel his shirt off as he performed quite a lap dance for Nesta. It was hard to tell the difference between her wanting to kill her mate and just wanting to rip the rest of his clothes off.

"Someone needs to save his poor soul," Azriel laughed in your ear, kissing your exposed shoulder, "I'll go get us some drinks and grab him a water," Azriel was almost up when you pushed him back down on the seat. "I'm perfectly capable of doing that on my own", the spymaster shot you a warning look before you leaned in kissing him softly, biting his lip as you pulled away. Azriel cursed under his breath just as you walked off, smirking like a cat.

Most of the people in the club were wasted. It shouldn't have surprised you, given how late it was. But that also meant that the club was starting to get less stuffy. The crowd was still big, but at least it felt like there was a tiny bit more breathing space. You shouted your order to the bartender, who complimented you in return. Wishful fool, you thought to yourself as you smiled at him, grateful that he turned away to mix the different liquors without a second glance. You were still laughing to yourself, thinking how badly you were going to tease Cassian tomorrow, when you felt someone come to stand next to you. You would have ignored it, but the closeness of the stance made you frown as you turned to look its way.

The male was pretty tall, but nothing compared to Azriel. Light hair, bright blue eyes. Ah... Everything you hated the most in males. You stepped to the side, but he took that as an opportunity to catch a hold of your hand, making you turn his way. "What a pretty flower has landed on my way," you cocked your head to the side, "More like you landed yourself here," the male whistled back, a smirk on his face. "And she has an attitude. Do you carry that into the bedroom as well?" Your eyes went big as you gaped at him, "Excuse me?", "You heard me, you like to be a little brat?", his hands gripped your waist as he pulled you closer to him, your hands instantly came up to push against his chest so he wouldn't get too close. Turning your head to the side as you closed your eyes. But not even a moment later, the hands were ripped off of you, as you fell into someone's embrace. Looking up, you saw that it was Cassian, who now looked way soberer than he did a few minutes ago. Returning your gaze to the front, you noticed Azriel's back, wings already perked up as he towered above the male.

"Oh little lad, I would step aside if I were you," Rhys warned him, knowing that this could escalate rather quickly. "Maybe you should mind your business; I was getting some," Azriel stepped forward, lifting the blonde by his shirt. "I will send you flying into pieces if you say even a single word," the shadow singer grunted through his teeth. You tried to reach for him, but Cassian wrapped his arm around you, bringing you closer to his chest. You tried to protest, but you knew that it was mainly for keeping you safe in case Azriel completely lost his cool. Not only to protect you but also Azriel, knowing that he would never forgive himself if, in the heat of the moment, he hurt you by accident.

The shadows were swirling all around the place. The poor male's feet were dangling in the air as Azriel glared at him. And if looks could kill, the sorry fuck would be six feet under. "You ever decide to touch my mate ever again, and I'll make you eat your own hands, understood?" The male only nodded his head, squirming in the tight grip of the spymaster. "I asked you a question, shitass!" Azriel roared, making the glass bottles at the back bar shake ever so slightly. "Yes, I'm so sorry, please," the male pleaded, almost crying. Azriel threw him across the room without a second thought as he turned to you.

Cassian instantly let go of you, stepping aside, as well as raising his hands up. Yet Azriel didn't miss a chance to also growl at his brother. You took a hold of your mate's hand, dragging him into the back room for some privacy. Luckily, the place was empty as you closed the doors behind the two of you. Azriel was still breathing heavily. You knew, you could tell from the way he was clenching his fist that he was fighting against the urge to go back there and beat the daylight out of that male. You approached him, stepping in between his legs, your hands running through his perfectly made hair. Azriel let out a deep breath as he nuzzled his face into your stomach, hands gripping your sides as he breathed in your scent.

He needed to ground himself. To pull himself out of the blinding rage. He refused to be violent in front of you. Of course, you knew what Azriel did. You knew that very well, but that didn't mean that he wanted to welcome his dark side into day-to-day life. "I'm all okay. I'm here with you," you mumbled softly, thankful for the dimmed-out music that allowed you to keep your voice nice and soft. "He...", Azriel spoke, but his voice died down as he clenched his jaw tightly.

"He's a doomed creature with a death wish," you said as you gently nudged Azirel's head up to meet your gaze. "You could have been seriously hurt. He could have... ", "I'm here, you saved me, and I'm alright," you said, placing both of your hands on either side of his face as you bent forward, resting your forehead on his. "I promise that I'm fine, Azzy," yet his eyes still searched you as if he was trying to find a lie in your words. Shaking his head, he pressed himself closer to you once again. You ran your fingers up and down his neck, scratching him ever so slightly.

"We should have stayed at home," Azriel groaned, but you quickly cut in, "That's not true. We had a fun night, and we'll continue to do so," you said, pushing him back into the soft pillows as you moved to straddle his lap.

"What do you think you're up to, sweet girl?", he asked, but you only smirked as you pressed your finger to his lips and said, "Saying thank you to my knight in shining armor." The darkness in his eyes was replaced with a lustful look as he moved his hand under the skirt of your dress. Eyes going big as his fingers came in contact with your bare hips. A mischievous smirk paints your lips as you lean forward, leaving kisses on his exposed chest. "It's your lucky night, little bat. I came bearing gifts," the shadow singer only shook his head as he flipped you two over, "You're so going to pay for this, gorgeous."

#azriel x reader #rhys x reader #cassian x reader #azriel x you #acotar imagine #acotar x reader

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bsxcrxts · 10 months

Text

comfort

Luke Skywalker x fem!reader

MINORS DNI. AGE IN BIO TO INTERACT WITH MY WORKS.

word count: 5.4k longest oneshot I've ever written whoops

Contains: Luke being sad and hurt, mentions of blood and bruising (not in detail), reunion between reader and Luke post-Dagobah training and Cloud City duel, angst just due to the whole situation in general, a whole lot of tension, blowjobs, inappropriate use of the force, unprotected sex (don't do this irl unless you want a baby idk what to say), somewhat subby/needy Luke, he's pathetic. a wet cat of a man in this and I love him

A/N : This is self-indulgent, soft, nasty, and probably poorly researched. Reader's not a nurse or a doctor, just a concerned gal with a crush, and Star Wars medicine is made up anyway. I have no idea why she's on the Falcon at this point but fuck it, we ball!

You find yourself trailing after Luke in an effort to get him to rest; whatever the hell he just went through in Cloud City initially had him almost feverish, tossing around on the cot in your little makeshift medbay and muttering about things you didn't understand, things about Ben and lies and Vader. But when he sensed the latter, he shot out of bed and right back into the cockpit of the Falcon, open wounds be damned, apparently.

He just doesn't quit, you thought to yourself, momentarily enamored with his strength and somewhat miffed he's left, but then your stomach sank as you also realize you don't even know how bad the rest of his injuries even are.

You and Leia had managed to fit him with the stabilizer on his right arm before she had to excuse herself to help navigate the Falcon away from the Imperial Fleet, and you didn't get much further on assessing Luke before he snapped out of whatever fervor he'd been in and followed her. You didn't run after him, too busy trying to scour the pitiful excuse of a medkit on the Falcon for more supplies and knowing it would be a lost cause anyway– he can be incredibly headstrong when it comes to helping his friends. But you've made the jump to hyperspace now, you've felt the engines shift. It should be safe, and you're pretty sure he should really, really rest.

Creeping into the cockpit of the Falcon, you see Luke slumped in one of the second-row seats, clutching a blanket around himself. He's not speaking in hushed tones to himself anymore, but in the blue light of hyperspace, his eyes look so tired. You lay a gentle hand on his shoulder.

It's not the first time you've touched him in months, but it feels like it is– you had cradled him in your arms for a moment when Leia ushered him into the room for the first time a half an hour ago, but Luke wasn't focused then, and he definitely wasn't well enough to hold conversation with you. And the last time you saw him before today was many moons ago, before he left to become a Jedi.

Luke's face snaps up to yours. Your hand is warm and welcoming on his arm, and he wants more than anything to lean into your touch, but he still feels uneasy, like he's unsure if that would be okay with you, for some reason. The recent revelations about his parentage have left him uncomfortable with himself, even if you don't know yet. If you'll ever know.

Meanwhile, your eyes rake over his features. His lip is split and he has a gash and an impact mark across his cheekbone just under his left eye. The reunion between the two of you is soured by defeat and injury, but despite yourself, when he gazes up at you, part of you insists he looks good. Really good. You linger too long on the cut on his mouth before you force yourself to snap out of it.

"Hey," you whisper. For some reason, you're embarrassed. You haven't spoken to him in a long time.

Luke has the audacity to crack a tiny smile up at you from where he's sitting, just for a moment. He breathes out your name and leans his head against your side where you're standing next to him.

"I have a headache," he says, more like he's thinking out loud than anything. It's an excuse he's made for himself to lay against you even for the briefest time, but it's also true. His head pounds.

Luke pulls away and lifts his face back up to look at you again. There's an emotion that you've never seen before behind his eyes. "Sorry," he says quietly, like it's an afterthought. Only he seems to know why he's apologizing.

"You should go lay down again. I-I can help you with the rest of your injuries and you can rest," you say.

"You’re right," Luke sighs, and stands up shakily. He doesn't stumble, but you put a steadying hand on his back anyway, just to remind him that you're there.

The short walk back to his cot is silent. It's awkward. You know you shouldn't ask about what happened, that Luke will tell you when he's ready, but you don't know what else to say, so you say nothing.

When you do start speaking, your words just sort of tumble out. You're talking to fill the space. Luke has never been this quiet before.

"Here," you gesture, "sit on the edge of the bed. I know I said you could lay down, but I'm worried you're concussed, so maybe you shouldn't fall asleep. You said you have a headache. Do you think you have a concussion?" you ask, as if he'd know.

For his part, Luke just shakes his head at you. "I'll be alright," he insists. He doesn't know if he believes it, but he can't think of anything else to tell you to make you feel better.

Right, you think. Stubborn. Luke occasionally has a sense of over-confidence about himself, you've seen it when he talks about piloting or whatnot, and he's never been wrong about his limits, just cocky, but this time it seems almost put-on, like a show. You let it slide.

"I know," you say, and softly smile at him. When he halfheartedly returns your smile, it pulls on the cut on his lip, and you remember why you're here.

You retrieve a wet cloth and start dabbing at the sticky, tacky blood decorating his face. You take his chin in your other hand, and Luke closes his eyes while you wipe at the near-dried blood. His eyebrows knit when you get too close to a bruise, but he doesn't outwardly complain, and you move on swiftly.

Your heart is beating far too quickly given Luke's condition. He is seriously injured, and clearly went through something not only physically horrible but also mentally taxing back in Cloud City, but he's gorgeous right now.

The way his hair is parted and tousled reminds you of what he's looked like in the past, under much more pleasant circumstances. You don't know what you are to Luke; you have an absolute raging crush on him and he obviously likes you too, but he leaves to go off on his own. A lot. The two of you never talk about it. If you acted on your arousal, it actually wouldn't be the first time you'd have slept with him after he narrowly escaped death, but this feels... different.

Luke breathes out a little sigh as you glide the cloth across his cheekbone. Your stomach ties itself in knots, and you freeze.

He notices that you've paused your ministrations and opens his eyes, looking up at you expectantly. His eyes are the clearest you've seen from him today, and just as blue as always. You panic a bit, hoping he can't perceive your inappropriately-timed desire.

"I need to grab some bacta," you mutter, and remove your hand from his chin.

This time when you return, he keeps his eyes open.

Luke can sense something from you, but he isn't sure what. His relationship with the Force isn't in the best shape, but he knows you've been thinking very hard about something and he's almost afraid to find out what.

“You must be sick of taking care of me," Luke ventures as you carefully apply the bacta gel to a cut on his forehead. "Ever since you got to know me, I just keep getting hurt.”

He says it in that tone he uses when he's making a dry joke that isn't a joke at all.

“Hey, I’ll always help clean you up," you reassure.

"At least both sides of my face will be even now," he continues, referring to the scarring on his left side from the Wampa attack earlier that year.

"You look– you look good," you stutter out, finding yourself shy again. Luke doesn't even take the compliment before he keeps going.

“You’re not put-off?”

“By what?”

It's quiet. Luke doesn't answer. You realize he's talking about the fact he lost his hand in the battle. You sink down to sit next to him, forgotten bacta pack dropped to the floor.

"Luke, no, I don't think–"

“He said some things about me…" Luke trails off, and you know the unnamed he in that sentence means Vader. "I’m worried I’ll turn out like him. That I’ll fall to the dark side. But I can’t stand by and do nothing, I can’t,” he insists, passionate.

“You’re not like him."

Luke looks down at his feet, unconvinced.

You lean over and kiss his cheek, meaning to comfort him, watching a blush spread over his features.

"You're not him, okay?" you reaffirm, face feeling heated. Your hands slide over his arm and down his back in a reassuring motion. You intended to pull away to get more bacta, but Luke leans into you.

"Can I–?" he asks softly. You nod, and he catches your mouth in another kiss.

He's overeager, teeth clacking against yours as he licks into your mouth and tries to get as close to you as bodily possible. In contrast, you try to stay gentle, refusing to even playfully nip at him like you otherwise might. The gash on his upper lip splits open anyway, sending him a shock of pain that should stop his motions, but he just groans into your mouth and keeps kissing you.

"You're bleeding!" you exclaim as taste blood and break away from him.

"S'okay," Luke whines, protesting your concern. It's evident how much he doesn't want to stop; he follows you as you pull away, tilting forward. You ignore the rush of arousal flooding your system at his shameless display and grab a bit of gauze and press it to the scrape.

"Look, it's fine. See?" Luke asserts when there's hardly even a few drops of his blood on the cloth as you remove it. Obviously vying to kiss you again.

It's hard to resist him and his pleading puppy-like eyes. You press a quick peck to his forehead.

"Hold still," you say, "I need to put a bit of bacta on that so it heals." It's the justification you're using, because if he keeps kissing you, you're going to lose control and the little scrape will never heal. Luke decides to give in to you as the voice of reason.

"There," you state when you've finished with his face. "Now..." you trail off, eyeing the gashes through the fabric of his fatigues and once again feeling bizarrely nervous, "You should. You should take your shirt off next."

"Right," he sighs, feeling unsure. He reaches up with his left hand and starts undoing the fastens on his shirt.

"I could help you?" you offer softly.

"Sure," he nods.

You gently help him out of his shirt, careful of the cut in his upper left arm and scrape across his elbow that tore through even the fabric of the shirt. The shirt is falling apart, burned in places and ripped in others, and you sort of drop the fabric off to the side, unsure if it's salvageable.

When you look back up, the breath feels like it's been punched out of you.

Luke was always lean, a scrappy sort of muscular but this is new. You remind yourself you haven't seen him in months and that he's been off doing stars-know-what during his Jedi training. Behind the bruises and scrapes, he's built a bit of muscle, more defined than last time. Your eyes dart across his body; his arms alone have you biting your lip, feeling more butterflies in your stomach than ever before.

Luke catches you looking at him, catches you eyeing him up and down like you'd like to devour him, and he just gazes back at you. The blush on his cheeks from earlier never went away.

You convince yourself to slow down and wipe the dried blood off his arms and torso. There's no way to avoid how close the two of you are; you've practically wormed your way into standing between his legs as you dab bacta on the cuts and bruises that litter his midsection. Shamefully, you think about how good he smells, sweat be damned.

Luke audibly groans when you slide your hand across his shoulders in preparation to hold his arm up while you apply the medical salve. Your fingers dig slightly in to his sore musculature and he can't hold back.

"Sorry," you choke out, "want me to stop?"

"Mm-mm. Feels good, actually."

You feel another crack in your resolve form as you slather bacta along his cuts and bruises.

Luke is far enough gone himself, and you try not to notice. His breathing rate increased the second you started touching him, and he knows a hard-on would be ill-timed right now, but he kind of doesn't care that he can feel a tent beginning to form in his pants. It's a welcome distraction from the absolute shit day he's had, and he really, really missed you. The feeling of your hands on his body is unparalleled, so welcome and warm.

The logical choice of waiting even a day in order to prevent his wounds from re-opening is losing appeal for him.

You, however, continue to grasp onto logic. Not meeting his eyes as you finish applying the bacta, you step away from him and turn to fiddle with the medkit.

“Okay, I think it's alright for you to lay down now. I’ll go so you can rest," you say. You don't want to leave him, but it's the responsible thing. You'll go lay in your own bunk and mind your own business. He's hurt, he needs repose, he–

“Don’t go.”

Not turning around, you go to answer. “Luke, you need—"

“I need you,” Luke insists, desperately. He reaches out and grabs your wrist lightly, like he moved without thinking.

It's very calculated, however, when you turn around and he raises your hand to his cheek and plants a kiss on the palm of your hand.

"Please?" he breathes, eyes wide, looking up at you and begging. His hand hasn't left yours where it rests on the side of his face.

“Oh, baby,” you sigh adoringly, your heartbeat in your throat and your determination to let him alone long gone as you return to stand in between his spread legs. You'd normally settle down on his thighs and grind against him, where you know Luke likes you best, but right now you're sure to be gentle as you can. You're a bit worried about whatever unknown bruising could be beneath the pants he didn't even get off before he couldn't resist you anymore.

“Kriff, it’s been so long. Missed you,” Luke mutters against your mouth between kisses.

"Yeah?" you ask, losing the brain capacity to answer coherently as Luke buries his face in the crook of your shoulder and sucks a kiss into the juncture of your skin.

Any gentle peck you try to give Luke turns dirty as he doubles down in passion every time, almost refusing to let any kiss end until the two of you are gasping for air. He's desperate to touch you, and yes, your hands are cradling his face and he loves it, but you're still somewhat leaning away from him, standing over him as he sits in front of you. He wants.

It's accidental, what happens next. You feel a sudden pressure against your lower back that nudges at you until you tip forward, catching yourself just inches before you would have fallen against Luke, your knee coming to rest in between the junction of his legs. In your new position, he immediately grinds his hard cock on your thigh, the drag of his sizeable length suddenly against you. It's accidental, but it's what he needs.

You break the kiss and gasp. The Falcon hasn't shifted out of hyperspace and you're not off-balance.

"Baby?" you inquire, the question unspoken. Did you just use the Force to move me? Many of Luke's abilities are new. If it was him, it was a recent development, at least in your experience.

"'m sorry," Luke whines, "I didn't mean to– I don't know what happened," but even as he says it, he's practically fucking himself against you, the strain of his bulge in his khaki pants borderline painful.

You're too turned on to even admonish him. You wouldn't if you could. You liked it, liked how his growing desire for you was overwhelming him to the point of losing control.

"Need me that bad?" you tease.

You hardly expect a response, but Luke keens and thrusts hard against your leg, his cock aching and his voice catching on a moan. "Ah-h!! Angel, I told you I do," he mewls. The flush on his face is as red as you've ever seen him.

“Let me take care of you,” you coo as you sink down onto the floor. Unable to resist, you shove your nose against Luke's clothed cock, inhaling his scent and mouthing at him over his disgusting khakis.

"Oh that's– you don't have to–" Luke starts, squirming.

"Want to," you answer, kissing and licking at his bulge until the fabric covering him is damp, from his dripping cock or from your mouth, you aren't sure. His dick throbs, straining painfully against his clothing. "Wanna see your pretty cock even more though," you continue.

You don't have to tell him twice. He scrambles to unzip his pants and you help him, pulling his flushed cock from the confines of his underwear. It bobs against his stomach and smears pre-cum across his torso, across his newly-defined abs. Unable to help yourself, you lean up and lick a bit of the pre-spend off of him, which only makes his erection kick and leak more.

You place an open-mouthed kiss to his cock as you move lower, and then take him into your mouth.

"F-fuck! Your mouth, oh, you ffeel s' ohh," Luke exclaims, incoherent when you first take him into your throat, fisting the rest of his cock in your hand as you bob up and down on him. He almost thrashes, hips jerking forward and hand coming to rest in your hair, not pulling just there, a guiding weight that has you moving at an even pace, sucking at the head of his cock and popping off of him every once in a while to kiss the underside or tip of his member and make him writhe underneath you. Your cunt clenches around nothing when he moans or squirms for you.

As you slide your mouth off his cock, a string of saliva still connecting you to his tip, his body jerks. He fucks his cock against your lips and his hips stutter against your mouth, like he can't take one second without you.

"Stars, baby, like my mouth that much?"

"I like all of you that much."

His declaration is unbearably hot, and you reward him by deepthroating him as far as you can take him, throat constricting around him and your eyes watering.

Luke inhales sharply, surprised by your sudden action.

“S-stop.”

“Is something wrong?” you ask, pulling off of him, immediately conscious of his delicate state and concerned he's started bleeding or something like that.

“'m close. Almost came,” Luke admits shyly, looking off to the side and not meeting your eyes. He still isn't quite comfortable with how fast his body finishes with you, even though you've told him several times how much his eagerness and sensitivity turned you on.

“That's the point, right?” you affirm lightly, running a hand up his thigh. "You wanna cum in my mouth?"

Luke looks at you, blushing fiercely. “I don't wanna cum yet at all," he whines, softly guiding you up from your kneeling position on the floor. He kisses you, absolutely claiming your mouth before he nuzzles his face into your neck, "I don't want this to be over," he confesses, and he sounds both desperate and a bit sad.

"Doesn't have to be," you say, settling into a somewhat more dominant role, but keeping your tone is still gentle. He's liked it in the past when you take the lead, so you try it out. "Tell me what you want."

The shift in your attitude has Luke suddenly shameless, pressing himself bodily against you until the two of you can't honestly get any physically closer.

"I wanna be inside you. I-inside your pussy,” he whines.

His words send shockwaves up your spine and you bite your lip, clenching around nothing.

"A-and," he chokes out, rutting against your thigh like he's an animal, "I want you to make me wait."

You won't make him clarify the last part. You're plenty aware that's his way of asking you to edge him, to control his orgasm so he doesn't finish 'too soon', a game you've played before with him, and he's already shy about it. It makes sense right now, especially since you're basically letting him use you like a distraction from the absolute shit day he's had, that he doesn't want this to end.

"Ask me nicely," you urge.

"Please can I fuck your pussy?" Luke gasps.

"Fuck yes, oh my god," you answer, kissing him and shoving your pants and undergarments off and straddling his lap. "Need your fingers first though. C'mere," you grab at his hand and pull his digits along your slit.

Luke almost wants to groan in protest, feeling suddenly very impatient, but he practically chokes as he runs his fingers through your wetness. His eyes roll back in his head when he slips a finger inside of you, shocked at your state of arousal, and you loosely wrap your hand around his dick. He starts grinding against your hand immediately and you know you're going to have to slow him down eventually if he wants to last.

"Shit, u-um," he throws his head back to look up at you. "You're soaked. Just f-from having your mouth on me?" he ventures, feeling like he needs reassurance in this moment for some reason.

“Mm! Been– been getting like this since you started making those cute noises while I was patching you up.”

"Yeah?" Luke is soaking the praise up, working his fingers in and out of you and across your clit with as much focus as he can. He's inexperienced with his left hand, but you'd never guess. Your cunt is dripping around him down to his wrist.

"You make such perfect sounds, baby," you promise him. "Ah-h!" you exclaim when he brushes up against that spot inside you, "fuck, baby, keep going."

Luke nods against you. "Keep talking? Please?" he asks, so sweetly.

"I never get used to how big you are. You have such a pretty cock, Luke. Helping me first so I can even think about taking it."

He sinks two digits to the knuckles into you cunt and presses hard on your g-spot.

"Ohh-!! Baby!" you shout, caught off guard. "You're so good– so good, such a good boy f' me."

"C-close," he whines. He's already that far gone, even from this uncoordinated dry-humping half handjob, face a mess, dick literally twitching in your hand from the praise you're directing at him. You take your hand away from his cock since he asked to be denied. He makes no move to stop his motions on you, so you let him finger you open with his hand and play with you for a while longer.

When he's calmed down a bit and you do sink down onto him, your combined juices make a disgustingly lewd wet noise and you both breathe out moans. There's still a stretch; Luke is bigger than most, and you haven't had anyone since he left. You haven't had anyone else since the first time with him, at all.

“I-I was bad," Luke suddenly states as you work to take his length inside your dripping core. Any position takes work to fit his cock in your cunt, but riding him takes the most.

“Oh honey, no, you feel amazing for me,” you reassure, both remembering his insecurity earlier and thinking about how full his cock is making you feel.

“Nno I– don't mean. I mean..." he breathes and pauses, "I thought about you whi-while I was training. I wasn’t supposed to."

"What do you mean?" you ask gently.

"Not 'posed to have attachments. Feelings," Luke gasps, thrusting up once into your soaked cunt before his hips settle into a slow grind. He's toying with the edge of your shirt that you forgot to take off earlier, running his hand tentatively under the seam. He's shy, not meeting your eyes again even though he's literally inside you right now. In a way, you understand that he's confessing something very secret to you and you're reeling a bit.

'Missed you," he says earnestly for the second time this evening when you don't say anything back right away. His gaze finally lands on yours and something is electric in the air. He's practically given you his love confession several times in the last hour but this feels different.

"I don't think that's bad," you say, barely above a whisper. "Not at all. I missed you too," you kiss him again, rolling your hips.

And then, “What’d you think about?” because you can't resist.

Luke's hips go back to a stuttering pace, alternating between grinding up into you and the occasional rogue thrust, like he's holding himself back.

"Uh-uhm," he falters, fighting self-consciousness at sharing his fantasies, but the words start spilling out of his mouth anyway, "The way you smile at me when you're f-flirting. What it feels like to kiss you. A-and I thought about your hands and what they feel like on me. When you hold me, or... or when they're wrapped around- ugh m-my cock."

You gasp, but Luke continues without pause.

"How I wanna fuck you slow in bed in the morning. I'll be good. I-I can make it good f' you. Worth waking up early for," he promises. It's startlingly domestic, but before you can linger on it, he keeps going. "Missed your– haa, ah, your pretty tits, too."

"What about them?"

"How gorgeous they are. How you look when you don't wear a bra. C-can't look away."

"You wanna see?" you ask, surprised he hasn't asked you to take your shirt off earlier.

Luke whines, eyes hooded as he nods. "Please."

You practically throw your shirt off and unclasp your bra in record time.

You shift, pushing your chest towards him where he sits, as a desire to give him everything he's ever wanted burns inside of you. He deserves it. He's supposed to have been solely concentrated on learning to be a Jedi– and he clearly has been training– but on top of it, all he's admitting to focusing on not only just some ancient mystic wisdom but also on you, too. You think you love him.

You run your fingers across the nape of his neck and pull on his golden locks, guiding him towards your tits.

You roll your hips against him, pussy clenching around him as he sucks your nipple into his mouth, rolling the bud over his tongue and moaning with every breath.

"Fuck! D-don't move like that. I-I'll cum. M'gonna cum."

"Want you to," you say, but you stop your motions anyway.

"N-not yet," he chokes out. "You haven't– I want it to be good for you," drooling against your tits.

“Stars, you're so sweet. Look how good you’re being for me right now,” and he is being good. He’s being so good, so considerate, and your pussy involuntarily tightens around him again at the thought.

"O-oh shit, I can't take it, I c-can't fucking take it," Luke voice shakes, and in an impressive show of strength for his current state, he pulls out of you and flips your positions so you're laying on the cot and he rests on his knees between your thighs. He doesn't push back inside you; his cock rests against your clit, and he distracts you by leaning down to kiss you for a moment. It's his way of stalling; you know he needs a moment to hold back from finishing.

Even though it feels nice, the contact is not enough, not when you've had a taste of him inside your walls already, and you let yourself paw needily at him, trying to get him to slip in.

"You're as bad as I am, aren't you?" Luke huffs lightly, amused.

"Yeah," you breathe "I just want you, so bad."

“I– I thought I might've sensed that,” Luke says, almost sounding smug momentarily, happy with your response, "through the Force, but I- I wasn't sure if it was just my own desire," he drops that absolute bombshell on you before he mercifully slips back inside you and sets a rapid pace. Your hands fly above you to brace yourself against the wall of the nook.

"S-shit! Baby! Y-you can hear what I'm thinking?"

Luke groans, dropping his head and trying to formulate a coherent response. "Kind of. It's more like I feel... intentions, if you think really hard about something, I-I can sense–"

Your eyes flutter closed, and the way your cunt tightens around his dick cuts Luke off completely. You're rapidly spiraling towards your own high, his words and his cock wrecking you.

All your energy goes into projecting as much lust as you possibly can at him; you're running through every fantasy you've ever had, every dirty thought about him that's ever crossed your mind in an effort to get him to pick up on your emotions. It works, and Luke has to catch himself with his hand before he collapses on top of you.

"Haah, ahh," he whimpers, "That's- that's- y' feel like that about me?" he asks, his eyes rolling back in his head. He's positively losing control, his hips grinding into yours as he pounds into your pussy.

"Yes," you insist, "god, Luke, you fuck me so good, don't fucking stop."

Luke's cute little whines are coming more frequently, his thrusts more erratic, but he doesn't stop. You know him well enough to know he's not going to be able to hold off much longer, his hair sticking to his forehead with sweat and his thighs nearly shaking with effort. Your own high is rapidly approaching.

"Close?" you ask.

"Y-yeah, been close," Luke answers with a bit of humor. “Please let me make you cum first. I just wanna make you cum first,” he cries out, pussydrunk and unable to think of anything other than his and your impending orgasm.

He sits upright again, pulling you in one swift motion by your hips to meet his, then rubs at your clit, circling you. The last inch of his cock slotting into you and the extra stimulation is the only thing you needed to push you over the edge, grinding down on him and yelling his name.

When you come down seconds later, you're met with Luke's gasping moans and begging. He's lost any self control he was able to display before, falling apart in front of you and inside you.

"Ah-haah, fu-fuck, fuck! Gonna cum, am I allowed– can I cum inside you? Please can I cum in you?" he reaches for your hand and intertwines your fingers in his.

"Oh Luke, give it to me, baby, please!"

He groans, accompanied by a nearly incoherent mumbling of your name as he spills inside you, hand squeezing yours. His cock gives a jolt inside of you and the feeling of being filled by his spend makes you topple over the edge again, overstimulated. There's so much of his cum that you feel it drip down your thigh before he even pulls out and you wonder when the last time he let himself cum was at all. He curses and cries out under his breath when you tighten around him a second time, aftershocks still traveling through his body as he collapses next to you in the tiny alcove of the wall.

"Love you," he confesses in a hushed tone as he settles there against you, his face tucked shyly into your shoulder.

"Love you back. You have me," you answer with a quiet confidence. When he looks at you, you see the tiniest pinpricks of tears in his eyes.

"Hey," you run a hand along his back, "it'll be okay."

"Yeah," Luke nods against you. It will be.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

A/N: I don't know how clear I've made it but when I was writing this I was imagining reader and Luke having a sort of on-again-off-again thing (due to the whole Jedi training and extended amounts of time apart) in the past, and that she'd mayyyybe also "comforted" him after Hoth, mayhaps one day I write a prequel to this fic? idk yall know me and following through so no promises lol

#luke skywalker smut #luke skywalker x reader #becca's bs #not proofread #poorly researched and probably poorly written LMFAO #enjoy. this took me so long for no reason #if there’s inconsistency in so sorry

454 notes · View notes

devilishchaos · 10 months

Note

Heyy idk if u take requests but can u do where the reader have a girl with ruben and they’re celebrating the ucl win on the pitch etc and the their child starts playing with ronny and they assume that the girl and ronny have a tiny crush on eachother yk cute moments etc🙏🏼🙏🏼🙏🏼

Moments like this | Rúben Dias Imagine

Rating / genre: pure fluff

Pairings: Reader x Rúben Dias

Warnings: use of pet names "babe", "baby"

Word Count: 1 059 words

AN: Hello! idk if I take requests, I received this one and this is my first ever request, I loved it and thank you so much. <3 I unfortunately don't speak portuguese so I used google translate, if you find any mistakes don't hesitate to let me know. On another note - I absolutely love Ronnie and everybody from City! I kind of added a little bit more plot so I hope it is okay and I also made it kinda long, like why am I like this? but hey I loved working on this, so I hope you enjoy it :) x

p.s. while I was working on this Mr. The Sexiest Man Alive posts this picture..like sir, are you trying to unalive me or sth..respectfully tho..Rúben stop playing with me and let me have your kids <3 :p x

This is a work of fiction. The story, names, characters and incidents either are product or the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual events or locales or persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental.

“Is your missus here tonight?” John asked his best mate Rúben, from across the room, as all Manchester City players were getting dressed in their kits and were preparing to attend the Uefa Champions League final tonight. Rúben turns away from his locker, trying to brush out a crease that had formed in his shorts.

“Yes, she flew with the kids. They landed, like two hours ago.” He tells him, going to the mirror to begin fussing with his hair, even though he would just be pushing it back out of his face anyway. “This puts even more pressure. I’m basically obliged to perform well.”

“She flew alone with two kids for what four hours?” Bernardo joins the conversation, grinning at Rúben. “She is a wonder woman.”

“She definitely is!” John agrees, walking over to pat Rúben's shoulder comfortingly but he shakes his head, already nervous at the idea of his kids watching him. After the loss in the final 2021 and in the semi’s in 2022, Rúben promised his family to win the next time around. And now it was hitting him hard - he never breaks his promises. The pressure was definitely skyrocketing through the roof.

It all happened very fast. You needed a couple of seconds to process that Rodri in fact had scored a beautiful goal. Which meant that City took the lead 1-0. There were approximately 20 more minutes and if City were able to handle the tension, that meant that the guys would complete a treble. You knew what that meant to them, to Rúben. Everything was at a very high stake. Your stomach was in knots and your leg bobbed up and down with anxiousness as you were looking at the clock, counting down the seconds until the end of the match, until the referee's final whistle.

After what felt like the longest extra time that you’ve experienced in a match it was finally over, when the end of the match was announced everybody in the VIP sector (the families of the players) stood up and raised their arms in joy, cheering in excitement.

“George. Azlia. Come on! Let’s go congratulate daddy!” you took them by their hands and somehow managed to get down to the pitch.

The three of you push your way through the crowd on the soccer field. It was hard for you to see the way in the ocean of bodies. Then John taps lightly on your shoulder and points at a gap you can pass through. That’s when you see him. He has his back turned to you, engaged in conversation with a staff member. He doesn’t see you, but it’s like he feels you coming, and turns around, his gaze landing to you. Without looking back at the man behind him, he excuses himself and starts making his way over to you.

“Papai!” George screams as he breaks away from your hand and runs to your husband, obviously he can't contain his excitement anymore. Rúben kneels down to be on the same level as him and he runs straight in his arms. You picked up Azlia as she was struggling to keep up with your pace with her little feet, because you wanted to get to Rúben faster.

As you finally reach him you walk right into his open arms, your hands fisting his jersey. It feels so good to be holding him.

“You did it! I’m so, so, so proud of you, amor! You did so good! I’m so happy for you! A treble, wow..unbelievable!” you said quite loudly in his ear with a smile that hurt your cheeks.

You raised your head a little and he bent down a little, so you could share a kiss. As you pulled away, you gave him a kiss to the side of his mouth and ran your fingers through his hair at the nape of his neck.

“Eu te amo, meu amor.” he said to you, looking directly into your eyes wanting to look into them forever.

Not breaking eye contact you replied just a heartbeat later “Te amo mais.”

“Da-da,da-..” Azlia babbled in your arms, reminding you guys of her existence.

“Eu também te amo, princesa.” Rúben said as he kissed her chubby cheeks.

The awarding took place very quickly. You moved away with the rest of the wives, girlfriend and family members of the players and found yourself jumping from conversation to conversation. Everyone was so excited. Except the kids. They didn’t understand what was happening and just ran away the second the ceremony was done.

You were frantically looking for Azlia when you felt two big, strong hands on your waist, bringing you into a hug from behind.

“What are you doing, love?” Rúben asked with amusement.

“I’m looking for Azlia! I can’t find her! George ran away with Roman and Riaan, and I swear Azlia was standing right beside me and now she is gone.” you said while turning in his arms, to face him.

“Baby she is a one-and-a-half-year-old, with tiny little legs. How far can she go?” he chuckled, as you continued to search for her with your eyes.

“Oh, there she is. Taking pictures with the other kids.” you finally spotted her, taking a picture with Kyle, his sons and Ronnie.

“Baby, chill. These kids are having the time of their lives. They can’t stay in the same position for more than 10 seconds. Look at them running around!” Rúben assured you. That made you smile, but not as much as when you watched Ronnie chasing Azlia around and the two pig tails on top of her hair were bouncing with every step she took.

“Aww, look babe, Ronnie is showing Azi his medal. How cute!” you pointed at them for Rúben to see.

“He is now putting his medal on her..” Rúben stated quite shook “Yo, Foden, watch your son!” he then shouted in Phil’s direction, who stood all the way to the other side of the pitch.

“Rúben! Oh my God! Baby..they are kids..” you hit his chest lightly, bursting into a fit of giggles.

“I have a medal, too..I’m gonna go show it to her.” and with that he left you watching him attempt to come close to Ronnie and Azlia, but when they saw him approaching them - they ran away laughing.

#ruben dias #ruben gato dias #ruben dias fic #ruben dias imagine #ruben dias imagines #ruben dias x reader #ruben dias x you #ruben dias x y/n #ruben dias fluff #football imagine #football imagines

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captain-mj · 11 months

Text

Home Video

Soap and Gaz find mysterious home videos in Price's garage

Price had enlisted Gaz to help him do some spring cleaning of a garage he had and Gaz had complained to Soap who had immediately volunteered to help them. Price had been less than thrilled that Gaz had invited Soap to help go through his personal things, but he could admit the garage was huge and filled to the brim so maybe it was fair.

The three men stepped into it and Gaz groaned. “It looks like a hoarder has lived here for a couple of years!! How did this even happen??”

Price looked sheepish at least. “Yeah… So long story short, I uh… just shoved things in here for the longest time.”

Soap and Gaz stared at him for a few minutes before Price sighed. “Okay, maybe I am a bit of a hoarder. But that’s besides the point. I want this cleaned.”

Soap examined it for a few minutes before sighing. “Alright, I volunteered. Not going to complain.”

“Cool. I’ll be back in an hour.”

“What??” Soap whipped around.

Price sighed. “I’ll give you both twenty pounds. You don’t need to get all of it cleaned, just some of it okay?”

“Alright, Captain.” Gaz sighed and stepped into it. Soap got to work right next to him. Luckily nothing was gross, mostly just dusty, but items of all sorts were just… scattered. Everywhere. Clothes, children’s toys, model planes, military memorabilia and weirdly a box of christmas lights. Occasionally they’d get lucky and find a box. Soap noticed one of them had marker on it and it was filled to the brim with vhs tapes. Unlike everything that was boxed where it was clearly stuffed in there, these were neatly organized by year. He flipped the lid back over to see the label again and actually read it this time.

“Tommy and Riley.”

Soap frowned and tried to wrack his brain for any memory of who that could be. He was pretty sure he knew all of Price’s relatives.

His mom? Dead but her name was Brenda.

His dad? Dead but his name was Charles.

No siblings. So no nephews or nieces. And not a single person that Soap could think of who would be named Tommy or Riley.

“Gaz. I found something.” Soap picked up one of the older looking ones. It had a label, but it was smeared to hell. He could vaguely make out an S and IRTH.

“Soap, you’re not going to believe this.” Gaz lifted up a VCR player.

“It’s clearly fate.” Soap said immediately.

“Exactly, we gotta watch them.”

It took them a few minutes to set up in Price’s living room, but they managed to get everything up and running and they popped a tape in.

There were four people. A blond lady, a dark haired man and their two sons, presumably. One of them looked like the spitting image of his mom with blond hair and the other was more ginger. The two boys were clearly excited.

The lady lit a few candles on the cake in front of them. “How does it feel to be four Tommy?” She asked and her voice was so soft. It had a Manchester accent that reminded him a little bit of Ghost, but there was also a clear London influence.

Tommy, the blond one, smiled up at her. He was missing a few teeth. A few more than the average kid his age, but maybe he just lost a bunch of his baby teeth at one time. “Cake!”

She laughed and the other kid, who didn’t look much older, rolled his eyes. “Tommy! Hurry up and blow out the candles!!”

Their mom ruffled his hair. “Hey, now, a little patience okay? Make a wish and blow out the candles.”

Tommy seemed to think long and hard before blowing them out.

The man spoke for the first time and Soap’s heart jumped. It sounded like a scratchy version of Ghost’s voice and Soap did not like it. “What did you wish for kid?”

“For Simon to stop being a jerk!” Tommy poked his brother hard.

“Since you said your wish, it’s not going to come true!”

“Simon, stop antagonizing your brother.”

Simon stuck his tongue out at Tommy while Soap had a mental breakdown.

“Simon Riley.” Soap put it together. “Oh my God, it’s fucking Ghost!” Gaz shifted, staring at the tiny kids on the screen.

Soap watched the two of them squabble while their mom cut the cake. She smiled, but when she came a bit more into view, he noticed her arm was bandaged and it clearly hurt a bit to move it. Their father stayed in the same position, arms crossed over his chest and a bored look on his face. The video ended after a moment and Soap popped another one in.

Gaz looked like he was going to say something for the briefest of moments before just watching them with him.

The next one was similar. Just holiday stuff. Simon didn’t look very happy in this one, staring off in the distance for most of it. He winced when his dad hit his shoulder and quickly rubbed his arm like it hurt. His mom handed him a gift though and he beamed.

“There’s my good boy.” She ruffled his hair as he unwrapped the present. He was methodical, undoing the tape so he could take the wrapping off without tearing it. Soap was fascinated.

Gaz grabbed a video from further into the box and they were met with a teenage Tommy getting ready in a mirror. With skull makeup. It was uncanny, the only difference between the two being their eyes. Tommy’s were a bright green. Simon stood next to him, slightly shorter than him. At first, Soap thought he had to be sitting down, but no. He was in fact slightly shorter.

Simon leaned into his younger brother, makeup covered the bottom half of his face, making a giant fake Glasgow smile that Soap felt was a little ironic considering Ghost had a real one.

“You done?” Simon’s voice had just started to deepen, sounding a little more like the voice Soap was used to hearing over comms. It definitely sounded younger though, clearly a teen. He also looked like a teen, mostly thanks to him wearing dorky sunglasses and a leather jacket that didn’t fit his shoulders right.

“Give me a second, Si.” Tommy grumbled, voice still cracking a little from puberty. He looked annoyed as he once again tried to get the lines straight. He finally managed and looked proud of himself. “How do I look?”

“Like a loser.” Simon responded but he smiled at him. Tommy rolled his eyes and picked up the camera. The two of them left then with him carrying the camera around. Both of them were talking about something and then they set the camera in the back of a car. Their dad climbed into the driver’s side and he looked at Simon in the front seat.

“Why are you wearing sunglasses?”

“Uh…”

His dad took them off his face and Simon’s eyes were very red. There was also some bruising where it looked like he had been decked.

“Are you high?”

“Yeah. Got some weed from Jason. You want some, dad?”

His dad laughed. “Course you’d get high on something like weed. Nah, I’m good. Got some needles in the back.” He ruffled Simon’s hair who smiled, relaxing into his seat.

Soap looked at Gaz who looked just as taken back by it. Simon fixed his sunglasses and they continued going to wherever they were going. His dad put on the radio and they all three belted out the 90’s rock.

Soap wondered if Simon still listened to it. Did he sing in the car when they weren’t around?

Once he got out, he saw that their dad also had skull paint on and he looked even more like Simon than Tommy did. He looked at the camera for a moment before hitting Tommy rather hard for it to be playful. “Fucking idiot, you ran the battery down. I swe-” The camera clicked close.

Soap decided to pick the next one, since Gaz obviously had bad taste, and he got one that was on the complete other side of the box. He slipped it in and sat next to Gaz eagerly.

An adult Simon and Tommy. Simon must’ve finally gotten taller because he was now several inches taller than Tommy. They were at a concert and clearly high on something, but they looked happy. Soap couldn’t argue that. Tommy kept glancing at Simon, clearly wanting to say something but Simon didn’t acknowledge it. The video went out for a bit, some shitty rock band playing live in the background.

“Hey Simon?”

“Yeah?”

Tommy paused before shaking his head. “I’m so-”

“Don’t be. Stuff happens. As long as it wasn’t you that got hurt.”

“But your ribs…”

“I’ll be fine. I’m your older brother. It’s my job to protect you, ya know?” Simon smiled and it looked sad.

They changed that one rather fast.

It opened to a group of fish. They were all moving about slowly.

A small child started to talk. “Did you know sharks are older than trees?

“Really?” Ghost. Soap recognized his voice right away. “I did not know that.” He sounded like he was smiling.

“Also, scientists can age sharks like a tree too!”

“No way. How could they do that?”

“They count the rings on their vertebrae.” The camera turned to them. Soap wasn’t sure who was holding the camera, but he didn’t really need to. Simon was standing there, unmasked and wearing a short sleeved shirt. His arms were covered in little tattoos and on his shoulders was a small kid. Tiny little hands were buried in Ghost’s hair to keep himself stable. “But they have to hurt the sharks to do that.”

Simon smiled, looking like the absolute gift he was. “Yeah. We don’t want that. If I meet any sharks, I’ll just ask their birthday, huh Joseph?”

Joseph smiled and they looked exactly like each other. Simon took him off his shoulders and started walking to the camera person, swinging Joseph back and forth as he walked. There were scars on his face already. Soft ones along his mouth. But he looked so pretty. So young too. Rather young to be a father, though the way he talked with the kid and the fact that there didn’t seem to be anyone else, it made sense.

Was the person holding the camera the mom? Were they married? Just dating? Were they still together? Ghost was also on leave. Was he with her right now?

Soap had never really… thought of that. He should’ve, but stuff like that doesn’t always come out during conversations with soldiers. Ghost was a lone wolf though, so Soap always assumed he was completely alone.

How old was this kid now? Based on the age, he assumed the kid would be a teen now, right?

Simon threw the kid in the air and caught him, hugging him close to his chest. He laughed. Genuinely. It was so sweet sounding. He smiled right at the camera.

“You two look cute!”

Simon blushed. “Ah, it’s all the little guy.”

“Yeah, that’s fair.”

Joseph kicked his feet and Simon put him down. He clinged to Simon’s hand as they walked. Simon was clearly about to say something but the video ended.

Gaz looked at Soap. “Ghost is a dad??”

“Oh my God, Ghost is a dad.” Soap echoed, staring at the now blank screen. “He picked the name Joseph though. What a boring name.” He looked away and hoped Gaz wouldn’t catch his expression.

Ghost was a dad and never told him? He understood everyone else. Price obviously knew. But why not tell him? They were close he thought!

Gaz popped another one in while he was distracted. It was from the same section so it was more about Joseph. All of the focus was on the kid actually. Where before, the camera was just pointed in their general vicinity, someone was clearly holding the camera to make sure to capture everything.

Joseph tore open his presents with a fierce ferocity, grinning. He grabbed the legos and immediately looked at Simon who was just off to the side.

“Ya gotta help me build them!!”

Simon nodded. “I will, don’t worry.” He smiled at him. His hair was buzzed like the standard military cut. The rest of the birthday went with most of the focus on Joseph, who looked even more like Simon than before, and occasionally a pretty lassie with red hair.

Soap got an answer to who was behind the camera when Simon smiled at him. “Cute kid right Tommy?”

“Fucking cutest.”

“Swear jar.”

“Kill yourself, Simon.”

Simon laughed and Beth smiled at the camera too. Joseph seemed oblivious to the adults around him, still trying to tear open another present.

The next video was a little more confusing. There was jostling and it was just Tommy. He set the camera down for just a moment to fix himself. After making sure his rather casual outfit was straight, he picked up the sign that had a simple “Sergeant Simon Riley” painted on it. He held it up immediately and beamed, completely forgetting the camera on the seat.

Simon slowly made his way over. There was a very pronounced limp and he was holding himself like he was in a lot of pain. Tommy looked worried, but he grabbed everything and they got a glimpse at the bandages. They were wrapped all the way around Soap’s throat and were across the bottom half of his face. Dark circles under his eyes gave away how exhausted he was.

“Hey, Si… you okay?”

Simon blinked slowly before nodding. He went to take another step but Tommy quickie got under his arm, offering support. The camera went off.

“Price might be here soon. It’s been close to an hour.” Gaz pointed out, but Soap could see it. The curiosity for more. More answers, more information, more of seeing Ghost not be… Ghost.

“Just one more.” Soap grabbed another one from that side of the box and popped it in.

He could tell as soon as it started playing that something was wrong.

Simon looked… exhausted. He had a medical mask on and a hoodie, yet still seemed to be shivering. His eyes were another factor. They shifted around frantically, clearly afraid of something, even though he was in the exact same home he had been in.

The camera was from an odd angle, like someone was recording him from a different room.

Joseph slipped past the cameraman and Soap saw an older woman’s hand reach out to grab him but it was too late. Joseph stood right in front of Simon and all of his attention was immediately on him.

“Hey, Joseph.”

“Do you want to watch movies with me?”

There was a pause. The kid had certainly aged, must’ve been at least a year since the last one, but he was still so young. A baby in the grand scheme of things.

Simon slowly scooted over to make room but Joseph still sat right next to him, invading his personal space as children often did. He put on a movie himself, it looked like a Disney one, and started talking.

“Mom said you used to watch movies with me all the time, especially when I was little. She said you worried about dropping me so you only ever held me if you sitting down.”

Simon shrugged. “You were tiny. Still are.”

“Hey! I’m 5 now!”

“Still tiny. Worried I’d… hurt you somehow.”

“Mom and Grandma said you’re scared now. Is it because you think that again?”

Simon slowly reached up and pushed his hood back. His hair was far longer and not evenly cut. Soap could see where there was scarring along his throat as well as the edges of bandages that went under his mask. “No. I don’t think I’d hurt you.”

“Good. So you’re going to keep watching movies with me right?”

“Yeah. I’ll always watch movies you, kid.” Simon didn’t relax as Joseph cuddled up to him. Even after Joseph fell asleep, he stayed stiff.

The person holding the camera moved closer and Simon immediately moved his head to look at her. He was afraid for just a moment and his hands immediately covered Joseph to protect him first.

“Hey, Mum.” Simon’s eyes were tired, but… they weren’t Ghost’s. There was a spark of something there that wasn’t present in Ghost’s.

“I knew he could cheer you up.”

Simon let out a tiny huff and his eyes started to close. Her hand gently cupped his cheek and he finally relaxed. “There’s my good boy.” She whispered softly and he let out a shaky breath, like he was trying not to cry. He fell asleep after a few minutes and she tucked them both in.

“You kept them?”

Soap and Gaz both screamed, looking up at Ghost who seemed impassive. There was nothing in his eyes to indicate anything, let alone something as trivial as how he was feeling.

Price grimaced. “Yeah. I had planned on giving them back to you when I found you in Mexico, but you were in such a bad place I decided to wait and then I just never found a good time.”

Ghost nodded and watched as his Mom set the camera down on the counter as she did her hair. She must’ve forgot the camera was still on.

“You’re a dad?” Gaz asked, much braver than Soap ever could be about it.

“Joseph is my nephew.” Ghost explained, not taking his eyes off the screen. She pulled away to start making tea, humming a Beatles song as she did. She must’ve heard something because she disappeared suddenly and then was leading a shaking Simon in. He held on to her, looking more like a lost kid than a 6’4 adult man.

“Sit down, love.”

“She had sixth sense for when I had nightmares. Even when I was a kid.” Ghost sounded delicate. It was new. Price gave them a signal to keep quiet. “When I came home, I had them so often, but she would always be there. Usually with a cup of tea or she’d try to push me back to bed.”

She started speaking again and Ghost went quiet, just like the version of him on the screen, he hung on every word. “You’re okay. You’re right here with me, okay?”

“Okay…”

“Whatever happened, whatever they said, you’re alive, safe at home. We all are, alright Simon?”

Simon nodded slowly and tried to grab the cup she set down in front of him. His hands shook too hard, the liquid spilling on to his fingers. He winced and she quickly took the cup from him to set it down. She made sure the burns weren’t too bad before smiling.

All at once, she remembered the camera and quickly grabbed it. “Oh i was supposed to be recording Joseph but he ran off to play with you and I just got so…” She shut the camera and the video ended.

Ghost stared and Soap saw it. The tiny flicker of sadness. Soap grabbed his hand, deciding to try to be brave.

“What happened to her?”

“Same thing that happened to Joseph and Tommy and Beth. They’re a bunch of gravestones.”

“Seems they really cared about you.”

“...Yeah. They really did.”

#call of duty #call of duty modern warfare #call of duty modern warfare ii #cod #cod mw2 #simon ghost riley #johnny soap mactavish #captain john price #kyle gaz garrick

720 notes · View notes

bradshawssugarbaby · 5 months

Text

Home For Christmas - Jake Seresin x OC

A/N: This is my entry for @bellaireland1981's Winter RomCom Writing Challenge, with the trope childhood friends. I was watching a lot of romcoms last night and felt inspired, it's definitely heavily influenced by 13 Going on 30, Just Friends + Sweet Home Alabama. (I realize only one of those is set in the winter, but I digress). I'm debating a part two/epilogue as well, if anyone is interested! Also super proud of this one, because it's the longest fic I've ever written.

pairing: Jake Seresin x OC

warnings/content: none, lots of fluff and pining. Jake's been promoted to Captain. Probably a lot of inaccuracies.

word count: 7.7k (literally my longest one yet, I'm sorry)

tagging anyone who might be interested: @littleenglishfangirl, @floydsmuse, @sailor-aviator, @mamachasesmayhem 🤍

December, 1999

“Jake! Jake, wait up!”

“Run faster then, I gotta get home before the street lights come on or my mama’s gonna be so mad she won’t let you come over tomorrow!”

“Jake, your mama’s not gonna say no to me comin’ over and you know it.”

“Jenna, how you ever gonna keep up with me when I join the navy and start having to run a few miles every day?”

Jake turned around to face you for a moment, running backwards with a grin plastered on his face, his baby-faced cheeks red from the cold, his green eyes full of mischief as he watched you try and keep up with him. His sandy blonde hair stuck out slightly from underneath his Dallas Cowboys baseball cap, a handmedown from his older brother that he rarely left home without since Matt had given it to him. He stopped running, placing his hands on his knees as he tried to catch his breath, the cold air stinging his throat as he panted. You finally managed to close the distance between the two of you, raising an eyebrow as you panted, your own cheeks ruddy from the combination of cold winter air and physical activity.

You and Jake had been best friends as long as you could remember. In eleven years, you couldn’t name a single time where the two of you had as much as had a disagreement, or went more than a few hours without talking to one another. Your mothers had been best friends in high school, and you two were destined to be best friends since birth - born four days apart in the same hospital, living on the same street and having your first play date at 10 and 7 days old. Jake was four days older than you, and he never let you forget it when it came to matters where age or maturity played a role. However, where Jake had four days more experience in the world, you had multitudes more experience in dealing with hardship than any eleven-year-old child should have.

Where Jake had the picture-perfect family - a mom, a dad, an older sister, an older brother and him, all living in perfect harmonious happiness, never as much as a doubt as to whether or not there was love in his household, you had the opposite. An absent father, an only child, and a mother who worked two jobs to try and make life better for the two of you, you spent almost every waking minute with Jake and his family, not only as an escape to experience the happy, blissfully carefree life he lived, but also, as a favour to your mother, with Mrs. Seresin often volunteering to care for you when your mother had to work late or work on weekends.

You were at the Seresin home almost every night, with Jake’s mother fussing over her best friend’s daughter, helping her lifelong friend however she could in guiding her little girl, you acting as the surrogate daughter that part of her had always wanted. Jake’s father trying to fill in the blanks where your father had lacked - offering to coach sports teams and including you in games of catch with Jake and his brother, taking you and the boys to get new baseball gloves or soccer cleats when needed, taking the three of you for ice cream after a big achievement in life. Jake’s 16 year old sister, Bethany, would take time to do your hair in the mornings before school whenever she had a chance, offering to do it in all the fun styles she and her friends wore, the kind you were often envious of, passing you old tubes of lip gloss she had lingering around in her backpack on your way to school, encouraging you to use them to your hearts content. Even Matt, who at 14, thought his brother and his brother’s friends were the most irritating beings in existence, had offered you old sports jerseys of his that no longer fit, teasing you the same way he’d tease Jake, treating you like the little sister he never had.

Until this past summer, you found yourself wishing most days that Jake’s family would just adopt you, let your mother move in with them and the two of you could just officially be a part of their fun, bustling family that served as your cheerful escape from life. However, when elementary school ended in June with middle school looming around the corner, Bethany had pulled you aside to talk to you about the transition between schools.

“You know, middle school is…different. It’s not bad. It’s just…things change sometimes. You and Jake might start going on dates with people from school, and it might change your relationship. It happens,” She’d said matter of factly, not mincing words as she shrugged her shoulders, fixing her frosted eyeshadow in the mirror before turning to face you again.

“You might even develop feelings for each other.”

At the time, her words didn’t hold meaning for you. You and Jake had been best friends since Jake was four days old. Your moms were best friends. You practically lived in their home. There was no way things could change between you. You could never have a crush on Jake. He was Jake, the boy who would hide under his mama’s kitchen table with you and a flashlight, swapping baseball cards with one another, the boy who, when you were six-years-old, you’d witnessed eat an entire package of Oreos, then laughed at as he proceeded to throw up an hour later from the sheer volume of chocolate-vanilla sandwich cookies he’d consumed that day. Jake could never be someone you’d have a crush on. He was your best friend. That would never change.

It was two weeks later when Jake had been on the baseball diamond, pitching an inning of Little League with you in the stands watching on. His baseball cap had been flipped backwards to mimic one of his favourite major league players, his green eyes narrowing in concentration with every pitch he threw out. His golden blonde hair poked out the front of his baseball cap, much like it was doing today, on this cold January evening. His focus was on nothing but baseball, while yours was on everything but when it came to him. When he happened to look your way during the game, you felt a weird feeling in your stomach - a bubbling sensation, like nerves that couldn’t be settled. Your cheeks flushed, turning a pale pink as they became warm to the touch, reddening slightly as you felt Bethany’s gaze fall on you, a grin forming on her face as you proved her right about how your feelings were evolving for Jake.

Since that day, you’d found yourself continuing to crush on him, each day your feelings grew deeper and more intense than the day before. At this point, you almost swore you could see yourself marrying him one day. You had to admit, you knew everything there was to know about him, you always had fun with him, and he was always happy to see you - you were convinced you two could be as happy and as in love as his parents were someday when you and Jake got older. You’d never tell Jake, you just hoped and prayed that he’d realize one day that he felt the same way about you as you felt about him. You knew there was always the chance that it might not happen, but you didn’t want to think about that. In fact, as far as you were concerned, you hoped that there was never a day where Jake didn’t love you as wholeheartedly as your little eleven year old self loved him.

❆ ❆ ❆ ❆ ❆ ❆

Present Day

“Jake, please, come back. I miss you,”

“I miss you too, Jenna, I’m coming home to you. It’s always been you.”

The ear-piercing screech of your phone’s alarm blared from your nightstand, interrupting your dream as it screamed at you. You rolled over in bed, groaning as you clumsily stuck your hand out, feeling around on the wooden side table for your phone to silence it and allow yourself a few more moments of peace and quiet before you had to start your day. The last think you wanted right now was to let this dream slip away on you - it was the closest you’d ever find yourself to Jake professing his love for you after all these years, and you clung to it whenever it cropped up in your mind as you slept.

Jake had always been the one-who-got-away for you. You spent your entire middle school years trying to hide your feelings for him, refusing to break until he said how he felt first. You were 13 when he got his first girlfriend, Tiffany Donaldson, a girl in your class. Tiffany was pretty and popular, something that you couldn’t claim for yourself in either case - growing up with Jake, you were seen as more of a teammate or a sister-figure than anything else, despite his sister’s best efforts to help you shake that connection somewhat. After Tiffany, you two had begun high school, and Jake made the football team, and the baseball team. As the school’s star runningback and starting pitcher for the varsity team, Jake was popular beyond words. No one could hold a candle to him, and as his popularity soared because of his athletic prowess in school, you faded further and further back into obscurity, the limelight falling from you and onto someone new each time Jake began dating another girl. Eventually, by the time graduation rolled around, you and Jake had all but fallen out of touch with each other outside of family get-togethers shared between your mothers.

You had just worked up the courage to tell him your feelings at the graduation party Jake’s parents had thrown for you both, convincing yourself that it was perfect timing - Jake had accepted an offer at the University of Texas at Austin, keeping close to home as he planned to study finance, his secret talent having always been math. You’d accepted an offer to study communications at the same school, and with both of you remaining local, it would be the perfect time to tell him how you felt and attempt a relationship with him, or so you thought.

Before the words could even leave your mouth, Jake was excitedly pulling you aside at the party, stopping outside of his childhood bedroom, the place where the two of you had often played as kids. His green eyes were full of excitement as he looked at you, causing your heart to race as butterflies fluttered in your stomach, making it hard to concentrate on his words. You almost didn’t hear him when he spoke, you were so transfixed on him. If the news had been anything else, you probably wouldn’t have even registered what he’d said the first time. You could still hear the excitement in his voice as he told you his news, and still feel the ache in the pit of your stomach as his words fell on your ears.

“I got accepted! I’m going to the Naval Academy, Jenna, can you believe it? I’m going to serve in the Navy, just like I always wanted. I’m going to be the best aviator they’ve ever seen. Just you watch.”

Jake’s voice was practically buzzing with excitement as he’d told you his news, and it took everything you had in you to not fall apart as he spoke. While you knew he’d always dreamed of being a naval aviator, as long as you could remember, the news hit you like a ton of bricks, unexpected and hard as it rendered you speechless, leaving you nodding your head and smiling like an idiot while inside you wanted nothing more than to scream out how you felt. You knew this could never work out between you now. Your chance was gone, moving away to Maryland and joining the Navy before you’d even had a second to realize what was happening when he spoke.

That was 17 years ago, and the moment still haunted you from time to time, more than you’d like to admit to anyone. At first, you’d kept in touch with Jake and his family, seeing Jake when he came home for holidays and such at first, but then, as you and Jake began entering your first romantic relationships as adults, you found yourselves including each other less and less in your lives. With each boyfriend you had, you realized more and more that you could never love them the way you loved Jake -he’d always be your first love, regardless of how he felt in return. When Jake graduated, he’d been stationed at NAS Lemoore, swapping Maryland for California. You’d still hear the odd update from your mother, who remained in touch with Jake’s parents, but otherwise, you didn’t ask much about Jake’s adult life. You knew he’d never married, that he’d become a Top Gun graduate, and held true to his word about becoming one of the greatest fighter pilots in the United States Navy, but other than that, you knew little about his life now. Last you had heard, last Christmas, he’d been stationed in San Diego.

You sat up in bed, yawning and stretching your body out before heaving a heavy sigh and shaking your head to rid yourself of thoughts of Jake. You were preparing for a trip back home to Texas for the holidays, spending three weeks back with your mother, part of you wishing and longing for Jake to be visiting his family at the same time, while the other part of you prayed he was staying in California or serving a tour so he wouldn’t be able to be there while you were. It had been close to 15 years since you’d seen him, and the last thing you needed was to be reminded of how you strongly you felt. You didn’t need the help from seeing him. The memories of him were more than enough to keep you clinging on.

Your phone rang and with bleary eyes, you picked it up, pressing the green button to answer the call.

“Good morning, sweetheart!” Your mother practically sang out in a voice that was far too cheerful for anyone to have at this hour.

“Hi mama, what’s up? My flight doesn’t land until this evening.”

“Well, I was talking to Mrs. Seresin about Jake, Matt and Bethany…” Your mother’s voice trailed off as she spoke, and you felt your breath hitch in your throat at the mention of Jake.

“Mhmm?” You responded as you stood up, balancing the phone to your ear with your shoulder as you folded a sweatshirt and set it down neatly on the bed, waiting to be packed.

“It turns out both of us are having our kids home for Christmas! Bethany’s coming down from Dallas with her husband and their little ones, and Matt’s coming from Oklahoma City with his fiancee, and Jake’s flying in on leave from California. He’s made his way up to Captain now, you know, Jenna. He’s made quite the career for himself.”

“Mama, I don’t need a sales pitch on why Jake Seresin is the perfect man for me, ok? He hasn’t seen me in years. He probably wouldn’t even recognize me if he saw me.”

“You never know. But I expect you to dress nicely for their Christmas party. You and I have been invited to join them, and I already said you would gladly be attending.”

“Of course you did. So Jake will be there, then?”

“I think his flight lands just before yours does today, actually. His mama and I were actually discussing if we should just carpool together to pick you both up like back when you two were in school together. Remember that? We used to take turns carting you kids back and forth from home to school.”

“I remember, mama. Don’t worry.”

“Anyway…we were talking and it turns out, Jake happens to be single.”

“Mama, why would I care that Jake’s single?” You replied, trying to sound as level-headed as possible.

“Please, Jenna. You really think I don’t know about this crush of yours you’ve been harbourin’ for years?” You could hear the laughter in your mother’s tone as she spoke, and it stung, almost as though your feelings had betrayed you.

“Mama! I haven’t had a crush on Jake in years. Not since he left for the Navy.”

“Of course not…just, do me a favour? Wear something nice for that Christmas party, ok?”

“Sure, Mama, whatever you say.”

You finished the conversation with your mother and let out an exasperated sigh as you tossed your phone onto your bed beside you. You had to be at the airport in three hours, leaving you little time to completely reconfigure your wardrobe for the next few weeks at home in Austin. Peering into your closet, scanning the items as they sat on wire hangers in the tiny space, you frowned, realizing that nothing was worthy of a reunion with Jake after all these years. At the back of the closet, you found a black, form-fitting sweater dress that you hadn’t worn in years, but, as you held it up to yourself in the mirror, you figured it could work. Part of you hoped this reunion could be the thing that’d remind Jake of what he was missing out on for the last 17 years.

As you finished packing your suitcase, you zipped it closed with a sigh, shaking your head as you tried to calm your nerves before getting yourself ready for your flight. There was a chance you could see Jake at the airport, and you knew you had to look your best, just in case.

❆ ❆ ❆ ❆ ❆ ❆

The flight from Chicago to Austin was the most painful three hours of your life. You tried to focus your attention on anything but Jake, but every movie saved on your phone, every book on your tablet, and every thought that crossed your mind was filled with him. You tried reminding yourself that he could be a totally different person from who he was when you were 18. That he could look completely different, act completely different - that he may not even know who you are anymore. The thought of Jake forgetting you was suffocating, closing in on you a little bit more every time it creeped into your mind. You took a deep breath as you departed the plane, your eyes scanning the crowd for your mother as you gripped your carry-on. Your face went white as a sheet as you saw her standing with Mrs. Serensin, both of whom waved frantically with excitement as they saw you.

“Jenna! It’s been so long, darlin’, how have you been? Your mama’s told me lots, but I feel like it’s no substitute for getting to see you in person!”

“Hi, Mrs. Serensin! I’ve been ok, how have you guys been? Haven’t seen you in about, 15 years? I think I saw y’all the one visit after Jake shipped out, but I haven’t been home much for the holidays, Mama’s usually up in Chicago visiting me.”

“We’ve been good, Bethany has two boys now, Easton and Dylan, and Matt’s met this girl, Alexis, she’s wonderful, a real sweetheart. He’s gettin’ married next summer. “

“Oh, that’s great news!” You replied cheerfully, fighting the instinct to bite your lip as she failed to mention where Jake was at in life.

“We better get going, Julie, Jake’s plane’s about to land,” Your mother said as she grabbed Mrs. Seresin’s arm excitedly, nodding her head.

“Oh, I thought Jake landed earlier?”

“He was meant to, but his flight got delayed, he’s landing in a few minutes now, I think.”

You nodded your head slowly, reluctantly following behind as your mom and Mrs. Serensin led the way to Jake’s terminal, biting the inside of your cheek as your eyes followed the signage as you walked past. You tried your best to focus on something, anything, but your nerves but so far, your nerves were winning. You were terrified. What if Jake hated you for not staying in touch? What if he forgot all about you? What if you were the last person he wanted to see? What he if came through those doors with a surprise girlfriend on his arm?

“Ma!” You heard a voice call out. You looked up to see a tall, handsome man with neatly combed blonde hair, piercing green eyes and sunkissed skin. His naval uniform was still perfectly pressed without a crease on it somehow after his flight, and he looked perfect. You knew in an instant that it was him.

“Ms. T?” He chuckled as he shook his head, pulling back from his mother’s embrace as he gave your mother a heartfelt hug, before pausing as he looked at you, a warm smile on his lips as he nodded his head, his blonde eyebrow cocked upwards in surprise.

“Jenna?”

“The one and only,” You shrugged with a smile as you tried your best to play it cool, forgetting for a moment that at 35 years old, you shouldn’t be getting tongue-tied and start giggling like a schoolgirl over a crush. The mere fact that you still had a crush on Jake was enough to make you feel like a fool.

“It’s nice to see ya, Jenna,” Jake nodded as he wrapped his arms around you, enveloping you into his embrace. You breathed in the scent of his cologne, notes of whiskey and cedarwood encircling you as his grip remained tight, yet comfortable around you, as if he was hugging his long lost friend, which, he was in a sense.

“Nice to see you too, Jake,” You nodded once as he pulled away, a soft smile on your lips as you looked at him, trying to commit this moment to memory before it drifted away on you.

You swore out of the corner of your eye, you saw your mothers exchange a look with one another, a secret signal to one another, as if a master plan of theirs was underway, and everything was beginning to come together before their eyes.

As the four of you headed out to the car together, you caught yourself repeatedly stealing glances at Jake. He hadn’t changed hardly at all since you saw him last, apart from gaining some muscle, and his cheekbones and jawline becoming a bit more defined as he’d aged. He looked incredible for 35, if you didn’t know him, you likely would have guessed he was barely 30, and you couldn’t help but feel yourself fall deeper with each stolen look at him.

“So, you’re Captain Seresin now then?” You raised an eyebrow as you looked at him, hoping to break the silence brewing between the two of you.

“Yeah, this past April! I didn’t expect to get it, to be honest.”

Jake’s cheeks reddened as he smiled at you, trying to appear modest as he spoke of his accomplishments in the Navy since you’d last seen him. He had always used to have an ego so big that it’d rival some of the aircraft around in size, especially as a teenager - he was good and he knew he was good when it came to sports. It was part of what drove the two of you apart, but around you? He was modest like he always had been before, acting embarrassed by the achievements he’d otherwise never shut up about. If you didn’t know any better, you’d almost think Jake was nervous around you. Jake Seresin, the only service member on active duty with multiple confirmed kills, the US Naval Air Force Captain who’s served for the last 17 years without as much as a scratch on him, the man who graduated top of his class from the Top Gun program, where only the best of the best are selected to participate. Jake Seresin had no need to be nervous about impressing you. He could have impressed you by simply looking your way - but for some reason, he was nervous around you, reduced to a blushing, modest mess.

❆ ❆ ❆ ❆ ❆ ❆

“Jake’s such a lovely boy,” Your mother said as she sipped her morning coffee, eyes fixated on the news program on her television set.

“He’s 35, mama, he’s hardly a boy now.”

“Fine, Jake’s a lovely man, he’s still just as sweet as I remember him being when he was young. He comes back to visit whenever he gets a leave and stays for a few days, and he always stops by to say hello - he even asks about you sometimes.”

“He asks about me?”

“He sure does, he asked Julie about you the other day, in fact. He was asking if you’d be home this time at Christmas. Seems you two always come back to visit on opposite schedules and never run into each other. He was saying he’d like to see you again, Jenna.”

Your mother’s words hung in the air for a moment. You took a sip from your coffee mug and furrowed your brow as you thought it over. You dismissed your mother’s words as nothing more than an attempt to set you and Jake up on a date, one that you figured Jake wasn’t going to be a willing participant of.

“Oh Mama, hush, he probably just said that to be polite because he figured I’d be coming home for the holidays anyway.”

“Jenna, why are you always so stubborn?” Your mother frowned, shaking her head as she let out an exasperated sigh.

“I’m not stubborn, I’m just…practical. I’m the only one who seems to realize the fact that Jake and I haven’t seen each other in 17 years, Mama. We’re not the same people we were when we were 18. He could be a serial womanizer with a series of broken hearts left behind waiting for him in California for all I know. He could have 17 kids by different women, or be a serial killer, Mama. I literally know nothing about him anymore.”

“Jenna Elizabeth Taylor, you’re just being ridiculous now,” Your mother frowned as she shook her head, sighing, “I think Julie would have mentioned it if Jake was a father, and do you really think he’s the type to go around breaking hearts for fun? Besides, how could he be a serial killer if he’s busy flying around on missions all the time?”

“You’re missing my point, Ma.”

“No, Jenna, I think you’re missing mine,” She sighed, setting her mug down on the table as she pursed her lips, “My point is, I know you’ve been holding out for him for years. He’s asked his mama about you, he’s been asking if you were coming home, he stops in to see me whenever he comes home - do you really think he’d do all that if he didn’t still feel something for you?”

“Mama, I’m not going to make a fool of myself and throw myself at him, contrary to what you think would work.”

You heard the sound of someone clearing their throat, and when you turned on your heel, you stood face to face with Jake, now sporting a fitted pair of acid-washed light denim jeans and a burnt orange Texas Longhorns football jersey and a brown corduroy bomber jacket shrugged on over top. His blonde hair peaked out from behind his beloved baseball cap, you’d swear it was the same one he’d been wearing since he was 15 if you didn’t know any better, this hat looked like it had been through hell and back.

He’d let himself in through the unlocked front door, almost certainly at your mother’s previous insistence or invitation. His cheeks were blushing again, his green eyes darting between the two of you, a blonde eyebrow cocked upwards as his gaze landed on you.

“Throw yourself at who?” He chuckled, flashing a set of perfect white teeth your way as gave you that same grin that he always did when you were kids. It was the kind of smile that always got him out of trouble, and sometimes, into trouble, depending on the situation.

“No one,” You said quickly, shooting your mother a warning glance as you shook your head, a few strands of light brown hair falling free from your half-assed ponytail that you’d thrown it up into the night before for bed. You realized that Jake was now standing in your mother’s living room while you were sporting an oversized old Texas Longhorns tee and a pair of sweatpants - not ideal attire for seeing a man you were attracted to in, regardless of your protests about your feelings to your mother.

“Right,” Jake nodded his head, but the tone in his voice told you he didn’t quite believe a word you were saying, “I know this isn’t a great time, but Ma wanted me to check and see if you and Ms. T were still able to make it tonight, she wanted me to ask in person, and she wanted me to see if you needed my help bringing anything over, she said you were bringing your famous taco dip, Ms. T? I can bring the dish over now for you if you’d like, Ma’s cleared out the fridge of anything that isn’t a necessity for the party so there’s tons of room.”

“Sure, Jake, honey, it’s in the fridge, Jenna can show you where, I just have to run upstairs and grab something to send to your mama’s with you,” Your mother said as she stood up, heading off up the stairs quicker than you could say a word, leaving you and Jake alone in an awkward stance, nothing but the sound of the morning news to fill the silent void between you, until Jake cleared his throat again before pointing his index finger towards the kitchen.

“In here? I’m sure I can find it if you need to go upstairs and get changed.”

“I’m fine, not like you haven’t seen me in pajamas before, Jake.”

“Well, in my defense, last time we were like, 12.”

“I’m sure you’ve seen a woman in an oversized tee and sweatpants before,” You shrugged nonchalantly, pretending to be completely unbothered by the fact you felt like you were dressed like an absolute slob right now.

“Alright, lead the way then,” Jake nodded as he followed behind you.

You felt his eyes make their way down your body, and you swore you could hear him muttering something under his breath as he sauntered into the kitchen after you. You couldn’t make out what he had said, but it sounded almost like a “Jesus Christ” before he coughed and averted his gaze as you turned to face him. You opened the fridge and grabbed the dish containing your mom’s taco dip before setting it on the counter for Jake to take home. You raised an eyebrow at Jake as you caught him staring in your direction, a look of bewilderment on his face.

“You good, Hangman?”

“Hmm?” Jake said as he shook his head, an awkward laugh escaping his lips as he raised an eyebrow at you, “How did you know my callsign?”

“Because it’s on the back of your jersey, genius.”

Jake raised an eyebrow as he looked down, as if he’d forgotten what shirt he was wearing today. He nodded his head and laughed as he ran a hand through the back of his hair, scratching the back of his neck as he looked back up at you.

“Yeah, yeah I’m good. Just, uh, jet-lagged, I think.”

“Jet-lagged? Isn’t only two hours behind us in San Diego?”

“You can still feel jet-lag with a two hour difference, Jenna.”

“I’m not stupid, Jake, I know that, but you seem…distracted? Not tired.”

“I’m fine, honest,” He nodded as he shoved his hands into his front pockets, looking around the kitchen as you checked the fridge for the extra shredded cheese and green onions your mother had prepared the night before to top the dip she’d made.

“Suit yourself, Jake,” You laughed as you set everything out on the counter for him and nodded, “If you give me five minutes to get dressed, I’ll help you bring it over.”

“Five minutes? God, I remember you taking 30 minutes to get ready when we were kids.”

“I was 12, it was 2000, I needed more time to perfect my lip gloss routine. Now I just have to put something warmer and nicer on than a t-shirt and sweatpants.”

“Fair enough, I can wait here. Your mama said she’d back down in a minute with something for Ma anyways.”

“Right, I’ll be back down in five.”

You turned around and headed back up the stairs, sighing softly to yourself as you entered your childhood bedroom, opening your suitcase as you grabbed out a pair of jeans and a vintage crewneck sweatshirt. You tidied your hair up into a neat ponytail before heading back down the stairs to meet Jake, who was currently talking to your mother in the kitchen, his body leaning against the counter as he spoke. Jake looked up at you, straightening his posture as he saw you. He picked the taco dip up from the counter, along with the reusable shopping bag your mother had packed up of the extra ingredients. Sitting on the counter next to the food was a gift, perfectly wrapped with a gold bow and a tag written out in your mother’s sleek handwriting. Jake’s mother and yours had always exchanged gifts with one another, and it warmed your heart in a sense to see the tradition still carrying on for them.

“So, you enjoy living in Chicago?” Jake asked, watching you as the two of you headed back from your childhood home, Jake having insisted on walking you back so you could spend some time catching up, even if just for a few minutes. .

“Yeah, it’s a change of scenery. It’s different from Austin for sure. How’s San Diego treating you?”

“It’s pretty good, I like being on the beach. I do miss home sometimes though,” He laughed softly, giving his shoulders a gentle shrug as he looked around at the street you grew up on, just a couple of blocks away from his own childhood home.

“I mean, yeah, I miss my mom sometimes when I’m in Chicago, but, I know it’s easier for me to come home and see her than for you to come home and see your family.”

“Jenna? Can I ask you something?”

“Mhmm?”

“Do you…do you regret leaving for Chicago?”

“No, I wouldn’t be where I’m at now if I hadn’t left. I have a really good career in public relations, and I’m happy with where I’m at professionally. I wouldn’t have gotten that if I stayed in Austin, just like you wouldn’t have gotten as far in the Navy if you hadn’t gone to Annapolis.”

Jake stayed silent for a minute, his eyes looking everywhere but at you, avoiding your gaze. You could sense tension between the two of you. The Jake you knew growing up was never awkward, and never stopped talking - had he really changed that much since he’d left? You couldn’t see the Navy taming him to the point where he became reserved, Jake had always been so outgoing, so full of self-pride that it often came off as cocksure arrogance, but most of the time, it was out of sheer disbelief that he’d made it that far. You looked to him, his hands firmly in his pockets as he let out a huff, his breath turning to vapor in the cool December air.

“I should really get going,” Jake nodded slowly, checking his watch as he looked back towards the street, “I promised Ma I’d help her set up.”

“Right, right, I’ll see you in a couple hours? Mama and I’ll be there.”

“Perfect, I’ll see you then,” Jake nodded, a warm smile on his features as he turned to start heading back.

You let out a heavy sigh, mentally kicking yourself as you realized you’d just let another opportunity to tell Jake how you felt slip away from you. As you headed up to your bedroom to get ready, moving quickly to dodge any questions from your mother, who was probably desperate to hear how your alone time with Jake had gone.

You shut the door behind you, sighing again as you sat at your old vanity table, brushing through your hair and sectioning it with a claw clip as you began straightening it, trying your best to calm your nerves and make a decision on how you were going to approach Jake. You wanted to tell him, desperately, how you felt, but, part of you couldn’t help but cling to the fact you might regret it. That you might be disappointed and find out that Jake never felt the same about you, and that he never would. Or that he’d be in a relationship with someone else back in San Diego, someone prettier, younger, smarter, better.

On the other hand, did you really want to commit yourself to never telling him how you felt? Letting the door shut on the one man you’d loved the longest, the most, and the hardest in your lifetime? Could you really be happy with anyone else? What if something happened to Jake while he was serving and you never got the chance to share how you felt? What if, somehow, there was the off chance he felt the same way about you?

As you finished your makeup, taking a deep breath as you looked yourself over in the mirror, you nodded your head. You had to tell him. There was no way you could let him go back to San Diego without knowing. You couldn’t let this go unsaid any longer, if for no other reason than to give yourself closure. If he rejected you, you could move on - or at least, try to. You could finally let go of your feelings and meet someone, and try your hardest to love them with the same enthusiastic, all-consuming love you felt for Jake. If he felt the same way, you’d apply for a job transfer to Los Angeles as soon as possible, because a three-hour drive was much more manageable of a commute to see him than a flight from Chicago to San Diego.

This was it, you were going to finally do it. You just needed to get Jake alone.

❆ ❆ ❆ ❆ ❆ ❆

“Oh, Jenna! It’s been so long, how are you?”

Bethany’s voice was sweet as honey as she spoke, wrapping her arms around you in a warm embrace, as if she’d been missing you for years and the sight of you reminded her of just how much.

“I’m great thanks, Beth, how are you? Your mama said you have two boys now? Easton and Dylan?”

“Yeah, they’re 6 and 4, they’re little handfuls like their uncles, but I guess that’s to be expected when you’ve got Jake and Matt as influences for you. My husband’s not much better.”

Bethany laughed as she gestured towards Jake playing with Easton? Or was it Dylan? Jake’s unmistakeable toothy grin plastered on his face, his green eyes alight with joy as he lifted his young nephew up, tickling him, the young boy’s laughter filling the air as Jake continued to make him laugh. Jake looked up to see you with his sister, smiling as he set the boy down on the floor, ruffling his hair with his fingers before making his way over to you.

“Jenna! Hey, I’m glad you came.”

“Told you I would, didn’t I?” You laughed, shrugging your shoulders as effortlessly as possible as you tried to play it cool, praying no one saw through the front you were putting up.

“Hey, Jenna, can I…can I talk to you for a sec?” Jake asked sheepishly.

You couldn’t mistake the look on Bethany’s face, biting her lip to hold back a grin. You caught Jake giving her a stare that could make any person stop dead in their tracks, his green eyes practically piercing through his older sister as she tried not to laugh. As you nodded your head, raising your eyebrow at the scene unfolding before you. You followed behind Jake as he led you upstairs to his old childhood bedroom. When he opened the door, you were confronted with an overwhelming sense of nostalgia. Old pictures adorned the wall, some including you and Jake as children, with ice cream covered smiles and skinned knees, baseball uniforms and halloween costumes, missing teeth and messy curls.

“Ma hasn’t changed anything since I left home, I don’t even think she’s bought new bedding for this room.” He chuckled as he looked around the room, his large hands placed firmly on his hips as he stood in the doorway.

“Still sleeping with those baseball player sheets you had as a kid?” You teased, eyeing the comforter on the bed, neatly made and pulled together, a sign of Jake’s time in the navy.

“You know it, I’m still a big kid, really,” He laughed, nodding his head as he pointed to a picture on the wall before looking over at you, “Remember this one? Your 7th birthday party, I think I snuck an extra little bit of frosting off your birthday cake and my mama almost killed me. She told me I had the table manners of a barn animal.”

“You did, you used to chew with your mouth full too.”

“I grew out of it at least. I’m a little more civilized now.” Jake replied with a smirk, shrugging his shoulders as he turned to face you, his chest rising and falling as he took a deep breath before exhaling sharply. You could see Jake chewing at the inside of his cheek, nodding his head as his eyes met yours.

“I have to tell you something, ok?” He finally said, sighing heavily.

“I’m listening, Jake.”

“I should have told you this a long time ago, but…I love you.”

You sputtered for a moment, eyes wide in shock as he spoke. He frowned, clearly expecting a better reaction than what you’d given him. Jake shook his head and took your hand in his, stroking the back of your hand gently with his fingers, which were almost surprisingly soft and smooth to the touch.

“I don’t care if you don’t feel the same way. I don’t care if you just wanna be friends after hearing this, because even though the truth is, I'm scared to be your friend, I would rather have you in my life as a friend than not have you in my life at all. The last 17 years have been spent missing you and wishing I’d said something before I left. That I’d kissed you or held you, or said something, anything to you.” He frowned, nodding his head as he looked to the ground before continuing to speak, his voice beginning to tremble with emotion.

“I was stupid to just go and leave things there, but I’ve been paying for it ever since. No other woman has ever compared to you.”

Without another word, you gripped the front of Jake’s football jersey, using it to give you leverage to pull him in closer, your lips crashing into his just as he looked up at you to see what you were doing. Any initial hesitation either of you felt melted away into the kiss, your lips moving together passionately, Jake’s hands trailing their way down your sides to rest on your hips, pulling your body in closer to his. When he finally pulled away to catch his breath, he maintained a small distance between the two of you, speaking in a low whisper as he watched you bite your now puffy, kiss-bitten bottom lip.

“Is that your way of telling me you feel the same way? Because if you do, I want to take you on a date. And I don't care if it's in the day, or at night, or whenever, as long as it's a real date. And I wanna sit there and tell you how beautiful I think you are, Inside and out. How you’ve always been the most beautiful girl in the world to me, without a doubt. And I wanna have babies with you, and I wanna marry you, and I wanna tell you every day that I love you and I always have." Jake nodded, his cheeks blushing as he scratched the back of his neck again, waiting for your response to his rambling feelings.

“Jake, I’ve spent the last 17 years of my life waiting to hear you say that.”

“I know, I’m sorry, Jenna. I’m so sorry I made you wait.”

“Promise me something, Jake?”

“Anything you want, pretty girl.”

“Promise me you won’t make me wait that long again? I’m not sure I can wait another 17 years for you to ask me to marry you.”

“Jenna, I swear to you, I’m not making you wait for anything ever again. I’d marry you tomorrow if I didn’t think my mama would have me committed for running off to get married three days after our reunion.”

“You’d marry me tomorrow?”

“With bells on, babe. With bells on. I’d marry you right here, right now, in my beat up Longhorns jersey, and drive off into the sunset with you in my truck if you wanted.”

“I don’t know about that, Captain Seresin,” You smirked, raising an eyebrow at him as you felt his hands caress your sides, “As tempting as that sounds, we do have 17 years of lost time to make up for.”

“And I intend to make up for every single second of that with you, Jenna. Here, Chicago, San Diego, I don’t care. I just want you. All of you, completely and totally.”

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