The Ocean's Daughter
the ocean's daughter
victoria de angelis x fem!reader
synopsis: while on holiday in italy, an encounter derails your life enough to make you pack up on a whim and move to the very city in which you first saw her — the ocean's daughter.
warnings: swearing; alcohol consumption; drowning as a metaphor; my terrible attempts at roman dialect & italian; mild, fade-to-black smut (please dni if this makes you uncomfortable, or is not the kind of content you signed up for :))
word count: 5.7k
a/n: after a brief (okay, so, nine months) lapse in writing for måneskin, i am back!! i hope you can forgive my lack of interaction with you all, as my first year of university was a busy one. please take this fic as an apology and an attempt to wheedle my way back into your hearts <3
⭒
The problem with beautiful people in foreign countries is that there is absolutely no way you might ever run into them again, even by pure coincidence.
But you couldn’t get her out of your head.
Walking along the shoreline as the sun set over an unnamed beach on the Italian Riviera coastline, the light turning her skin and her hair to gold, the whole world forgotten as she reached out a hand to touch the waves which crested at her side, as though the ocean were walking with her. Everything was golden at this time of day, but nothing shone like her.
And oh, how she delighted in the life about her, as though this day, and every day hence, were the best of her life.
It was not an unnamed beach on the Italian Riviera coastline because you could not remember its name, or had never known it, but simply because it was so small a stretch between the colourful buildings hiking up the cliff face that no one had thought to name it.
You thought of it now as her beach, the woman you’d seen, illuminated in sunlight like it loved her too much to let her go, if even for a moment.
La sua spiaggia.
You hadn’t spoken Italian, until you’d come back from Italy and enrolled in Elementary Italian at the public university close to where you lived.
You couldn’t get her out of your head — the way she’d laughed, made her way along the shore and sung as though she was speaking to the water, its rush and flow, a tempest contained within each wave.
Now you were in class every Wednesday night, repeating sentences and sounding as stupid as could be, but you forewent every shade of embarrassment for determination, and never had you been so fixated on anything in your life, to gain understanding of the language in which this woman had spoken. Because it seemed to you that the waves had composed their melody in the image of her voice, and you wanted to know how to speak like that, to be the waves beneath her fingertips.
You knew you sounded crazy, and possibly were crazy, but for some unfathomable reason, you didn’t care.
You couldn’t get her out of your head, and so be it. You were happier for it, the memory of her flirting with the sun, the sun blushing deep in the evening sky. And who could have blamed the sun? You would have blushed too.
When the night grew dark earlier in winter, you curled up on the sofa with a blanket wrapped around you, and watched Italian movies without subtitles.
Most of the films were dramas, often romantic, because these were the most easily accessible in any language.
In summer, you sat outside in the garden and drank wine, listening to a radio that played Italian music.
Most of the music was mellow, but occasionally, the host announced some sort of rock band, and amidst the quiet calm of traditional ballads, you relished the uncomplicated anger and infatuation of the rock music. There was something accessible to that, too. Something universal and simple.
It was the simplicity you appreciated, perhaps mostly because there was little of it in learning a new language. That which is sparse is precious, like the sunlight in her hair at the end of the day. Like the moments in which she had been in your life, so quickly gone, like a dream grasped at in waking.
Had she ever been there at all?
She had. You held onto that memory like a lifeline.
Every day, it got you up in the morning. Silly, for something so small to have an impact so great, and yet, it did.
There she was, in your mind, every time you thought you could no longer take what the world threw at you. Smiling, the sun setting on the water.
Dancing, the ocean’s daughter.
⭒
A year down the line, and you were back aboard a plane. You’d bought your ticket and packed your bags and were heading back to Italy, this time for good.
Each day, you’d spent hours learning, practising, perfecting, but one could only go so far in a classroom setting. All the people you knew who spoke more than one language had said the same thing, the same thing that your teachers had said: the best way to learn was through immersion.
You’d spoken at length with your work superiors, and they had verified that it was no trouble for you to work remotely. Having nothing you would miss too much in your homeland, you’d decided it was time for a change, and a new start, at that.
What better way to start anew than to cast yourself into the abyss of the unknown, off to a place you’d never lived, to speak a language you’d only just learnt to speak?
To find a woman you didn’t know, for but her laughter and her golden hair.
At this thought, you laughed a little yourself. In part, you recognised the madness of your endeavour. But mostly, your vision was too foolishly rose-tinted, with dreams that dallied only just out of your reach, and you thought that if only you could reach them, all would be right.
Such was the nature of a dreaming heart, a hopeful mind. Had you been a character of Greek myth, it would have been your Achilles’ heel.
The city lights glittered outside of your window.
⭒
You collapsed on your bed with a heavy sigh. It was of tiredness, it was content.
Beyond the window, the black sand beaches of Cinque Terre shimmered in the setting sun, the town alight with the fiery light of evening. The turquoise ocean turned tangerine in the fading day, and you thought almost that you could hear the water lapping against the rocky edges of the cliff face upon which the village was built.
Riomaggiore.
Built up like biscuit tins in a hundred different colours, abundant in boats constructed for fishing and places meant for sitting and looking out over the wide world. There was a quiet age in the winding streets, lined with plants and people, buildings as old as time.
It smelt of salt and bread, lemon and olives and basil, of the best pesto you’d ever tasted — at the bar tucked away beneath residential balconies, between stone-paved streets — of wine and sea air. It prickled on your lips.
With those thoughts lingering in your head, you decided it was time for dinner, and got up from the bed to change.
Afterall, it was almost nine o’clock, and therefore the perfect time to eat.
⭒
You ended up at a quaint little place with wicker chairs and wooden tables, crowded beneath parasols that remained up in the evening as much as in the day. Amongst these parasols were strung warm paper lanterns which made all beneath them glow, continuing the endless sunshine of summer into the night.
Having been shown to a little table in a corner, with a view of the darkening ocean, you ordered a glass of wine in Italian clearly more fluent than the waiter had expected.
“Parli molto bene l'italiano,” he complimented you. He then proceeded to ask, in a conversational manner, where you were from and what brought you here, to which you answered with continued fluency, and he replied again how good the accent was with which you spoke.
You carried a companionable conversation with the waiter for a handful of minutes, until he apologised for not yet having brought you your wine, and also for having other tables to attend.
He brought your wine after a short interval, along with a small decanter of water, and a basket of bread with oil and balsamico.
With this acquired, you sat back in your chair and contemplated the menu. It was written entirely in Italian, indicative of a restaurant not much frequented by tourists. You were pleased to realise you had no trouble reading it.
After a while, however, you began to struggle. Not because you didn’t understand the words on the card before you, but because you felt the tingling sensation of someone’s eyes on you.
Tilting the booklet slowly, you peered over the top of it in what you hoped was a surreptitious manner.
But when your eyes fell upon the other pair in question, you all but dropped the menu to the ground.
Because leaned back in a wicker chair only two tables away, sunglasses perched atop her blonde hair beneath the cover of the table parasol, was the one person you’d come here hoping, beyond all reckless and silly hope, to see in the first place.
The ocean’s daughter canted her head, and tipped a finger against her lips.
“I know you,” she said, in careful English.
You sputtered, “Pardon?”
She smiled enigmatically, with a soft-curving mouth and gently crinkling eyes that were lit in a way that betrayed mischief, or some secret knowledge.
“I know you,” she repeated. “You were on the beach, last time I was here.”
You blinked, searching for something to say. Anything, to respond vaguely in the affirmative, without giving away exactly how much you had thought about this golden stranger since you last had seen her. “You don’t live here?”
“Not in Riomaggiore, no.” She smiled again. “I’m from Rome. But you’re not from here, either.”
You laughed. “What gave it away?”
She was drinking Peroni from a bottle, and at your question, she picked this up, stood, and swept over to your table. She sat down in the chair across from you.
“There,” she said. “Now we don’t have to shout at each other.”
Mildly surprised at her coming to sit down with you, and with your question still hanging in the air, you stared at her.
“Just a good guess, is all,” she answered finally, lifting a shoulder. “And, you answered naturally in English.” She reached out her hand. “I’m Victoria.”
You shook her hand and gave her your name. Her skin was soft, a blushy pink. Her eyes churned with the colour of the waves that had danced beneath her fingertips a year ago.
“Well, Y/N, what brings you to Riomaggiore for the second summer in a row?”
“I could ask you the same,” you countered.
Victoria leaned back again. She had a curious look in her eyes that you couldn’t place.
“I asked you first,” she said wryly, folding her arms. The strength in her grace was not lost on you; doubtless, her arms were strong.
Mirroring her action of earlier, you sipped your drink. So went the saying, ‘imitation is the highest form of flattery,’ but not only that: you knew that mirror neurons had a direct link to the brain chemistry involved in romance.
You’d pushed the first pawn across the chess board. The next move was hers.
“For the pesto,” you replied.
She laughed succinctly. “And here I’d thought you’d come here for the same reason as me.”
You raised your eyebrows. “Which was?”
The corner of her mouth turned up slowly. “To find you, of course.”
She lifted the glass bottle to her lips. Her eyes did not leave yours.
Oh she’d moved her piece all right.
You looked out over the sea so as to not look at her, to not reveal how her words had affected you. But of course, in the sea, you saw her.
Abruptly, the waiter returned, saving you from making a response. He seemed surprised that there were two patrons where before there had only been one, but he took it in stride and asked whether you’d had time to consider the menu.
You nodded, but it was Victoria who spoke first.
“Avremo la pasta al pesto, per favore.”
The waiter looked between you, “Entrambi?” Were you ordering the same thing?
Victoria looked at you, in askance.
You squared your shoulders. “Certo,” you told the waiter.
“Bene,” he said, and informed you that it would not be a long wait. Then he left.
You turned to Victoria. “How did you recognise me? I was just sitting on the beach.”
“You were staring at me.”
Recalling that day, there had been many people staring at her. You told her as much.
“Yes,” she agreed, “but none so beautiful as you. I would have noticed you anywhere.”
You baulked at this. Victoria was the kind of person people noticed. You were not.
“You’re a little intimidating, you know,” she said, to which you frowned. “I think that’s why you think people don’t notice you.”
Then, as though privy to your thoughts, she expanded upon her own. She seemed to have a knack for reading you.
“You think people don’t notice you, because they don’t necessarily talk to you. But I think they don’t talk to you, because they are intimidated. I could not imagine not noticing you.”
You felt a little light-headed at her words, an unfathomable thrill washing over you like a tide. “Then you are the first person brave enough to speak.”
Victoria’s eyes glinted puckishly. “I take pride in that.”
The sun sank farther in the sky, turning the water red and rouging Victoria’s cheeks till tiny freckles stood out beneath her eyes, over her nose, upon her lower lip. She smiled coyly, and you realised you were staring again.
“Sorry,” you mumbled with a half-laugh.
“No,” she shook her head. “Look at me all you like.” A gentle breeze ruffled her hair, and she pushed the fringe from out her eyes. You nearly reached over to do it for her.
“Makes me feel warm,” she said quietly, like a confession.
Paradoxically, there were goose bumps raised along her arms.
“You look cold to me,” you responded.
She wrinkled her nose. “Sea air, sun going down, no suffocating heat like Rome in the summer.”
Standing, you shrugged off your cardigan and side-stepped the table, reaching her side. She watched you move in silence.
“May I?” you asked, holding out the cardigan.
She opened her mouth to speak, then closed it again. Nodded.
You sank halfway into a crouch, and draped the garment over her shoulders, pulling the edges around her to meet at her throat.
Suddenly, time had slowed to a dripping treacle, and you were hyper aware of her eyes tracking your movements, eyelashes low on her cheeks, of the rise and fall of her chest, breath suddenly shallow. There was a slight flush to her skin, though it was golden, touched by sunlight. Those faint freckles on her face traced a speckled path down her neck, over her collarbone and farther still, past where the open collar of her shirt fluttered over her breasts — only just hidden by the white cotton fabric.
“My eyes are up here, cuore,” she said smugly, and the clichedness of the line shattered your trance as the fever of embarrassment rose beneath your skin.
“Yes, I — ”
“Pasta al pesto per due?”
You started at the voice of the waiter, practically falling into your chair as you stepped back to your side of the table.
Victoria seemed unfazed. “Sì, grazie mille,” she smiled up at him.
The waiter smiled tightly as he set down the plates. “Parmigiano?”
“No, grazie,” you said, wanting him simply to leave as soon as possible and spare you further embarrassment.
“Più vino? Birra?”
“No, no, grazie.” You did not want more wine. You wanted him to leave. Now.
Victoria was leaned back in her chair again, still beaming. “Prenderò un'altra birra, per favore.”
“Certo,” said the waiter, and left, equally as fast as you’d wished him to.
You were leaning your forehead on the palm of your hand, still reeling from the embarrassment of the waiter witnessing your fawning over Victoria.
But you took a breath and composed yourself, picking up your fork for something to do with your hands.
“So, tell me about Rome,” you inquired of Victoria, without looking up from your food.
But she gave a little laugh, and before you knew it, her hands were over yours.
You looked up.
“Not like that, cara.” She took your hand, and stabbed the trofie — pasta pieces wound into long, tight coils — properly. “And when it’s spaghetti or linguine, you twist, no spoon.”
She let go of your hands, but you felt the warmth of them still. You could scarcely remember how to breathe with the sound of your heartbeat in your ears.
She picked up her own fork and speared the pasta.
“You can call me Vic, if you like,” she said. Then, “Rome. Hot, this time of year. Lots of tourists.”
You laughed, partly because the way she had phrased it was amusing, and partly to diffuse the sudden tension which had come between you just before. “You dislike it that much?”
“No, I was just being realistic. But I suppose you want the sun-soaked boulevards and flowerpots and music.”
“Doesn’t everyone?”
Victoria nodded. “And there is that too. Rome’s a little bit of both. Isn’t everything?”
“Both optimistic and pessimistic?”
She pointed her fork at you. “Exact.”
“Exactly?”
She narrowed her eyes. “Shut up, I know I’m not fluent in English.”
You swallowed your pasta, waving a hand. “I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to seem like I expected that of you. But I also didn’t want to assume that you weren’t fluent just because you’re Italian.”
A strange expression came across Victoria’s face, something between surprise and admiration.
“Thank you,” she answered laconically, her voice soft as though her gratitude should have been secret.
Once more lost for words, you could do nothing but nod, and push another pile of trofie onto the tines of your fork.
The two of you ate quietly for a while — because Victoria suddenly could not look at you, and you still knew not what to say. The wind blew through the cobblestone corridors of Riomaggiore, and stars in the sky began to replace the sparkling of the ocean surface by sunset. You could smell mingled spirits and spices, hear laughter and chatter in a dozen different languages. The chatter was different; the laughter sounded the same in every language.
Victoria’s fork clattered to her empty plate, momentarily startling you.
She took a breath. “Do you want to do something crazy?”
You put the last piece of pasta into your mouth, chewed, swallowed, your heart beating fast at the unspoken promise held by her words. “Like what?”
“Like leave, now that we’ve finished eating.”
Your eyes widened, and you lowered your voice. “Victoria, if you saw me, a tourist, leaving a restaurant after finishing dinner, you’d be horrified. This is Italy. You don’t just leave after eating.”
The smile that twisted your insides graced her pink-red lips again. She leaned forward, and your eyes darted involuntarily to her mouth. Her eyes were a thousand different shades of blue.
“Told you it was crazy.”
Then she straightened up again, stuck a hand into her pocket, retrieved a bundle of plastic Euros, placed them on the table beneath a glass, and once more extended her hand to you.
There was a command in the action, and you obeyed.
When her hand was in yours again, it felt like sanctity, a warm flush spreading through your body at her innocent touch.
She drew you up from your chair, and before you knew what was happening, she was holding your hand like the memory of her that had held you enraptured for a year, and you were running through the streets of a seaside village, your footsteps loud, your laughter resonant in your belly, in your chest and your lungs, upon your lips.
You ran and ran, hand in hand, and if anybody had asked, you wouldn’t have known how to explain the energy which had suddenly made a rollercoaster of your veins.
The streets wove and turned like a labyrinth, like a web, and all these strings ran in one direction: to the sea.
It was only when there was sand in between your toes that you realised that you had reached the end of the road. You kicked your shoes off without a thought, as Victoria discarded her borrowed cardigan into the sandy dunes.
And then she was pulling you toward the rushing waves and the dying sun ever and ever closer to the horizon, and the water was sloshing up over your ankles, your calves.
Another laugh burst forth from your chest, and you turned to splash Victoria.
She shrieked, because the day had been hot, but the water was still cold, and the difference was jarring.
When she looked at you, her hair was soaking wet, bangs dripping down her face like the water that had made her makeup run, and somehow, she was even more beautiful now, in what should have been ruin but instead was triumph, like every grain of sand on her hands was residual stardust from her soul, though still was nothing when compared to the light in her eyes. The laughter was still warm in your chest.
She shivered, and your moment of trance shattered like sugar glass. You took her hand this time.
“Come on,” you said, leading out of the water like she was Venus born of a Botticelli vision. “Let’s go dance this cold away.”
Against your own, her pulse fluttered, and her clammy palm in yours, with its calloused fingertips and short-cut nails, was suddenly the most important thing ever entrusted to you.
You swallowed, before letting go of her hand to put your shoes back on. She sat down beside you.
“Y-you like to dance?” Her wide eyes were wider beneath the smudged makeup. The devious glint in them was gone as she shivered, the sun nearly gone now.
I could learn to love anything if I was with you, you thought. It was a dangerous thought, to be told. You dared not speak it aloud.
You pulled on your cardigan, but only to drag the sleeve down over your wrist and press it carefully under her eyes, blotting away the remnants of mascara.
Her eyes closed slowly, and you breathed in tandem to the sound of the breaking waves.
You tugged off your cardigan again, and set it around her shoulders once more before she had the chance to protest.
When she opened her eyes again, her lips parted too. She might have leaned in, if you hadn’t spoken then.
“When in Riomaggiore…” you murmured, and were rewarded with her gentle laughter.
Victoria stood and pulled you up. When you were fully on your feet, she nearly lost her balance, but you caught her arms before she fell to the sand, and instead she fell against your chest.
Her breath was on your collarbone, laboured — presumably from the adrenaline rush of the ground disappearing from beneath her feet. Her fingers were against your back, curled to keep herself standing.
Already your thoughts were gone from the beach, from the light still left on its shore, deep now in the midnight dark that would soon follow, fast-forwarded to a fantasy, of her body against yours, every part of her as soft as the skin of her palms, and flushed a pretty pink, her open mouth against your collarbone, your fingers in her hair, her fingers on your back drawing the visceral, unspeakable sounds from your mouth.
The seaspray brought you back to reality.
But apparently Victoria’s thoughts had been lost as well, because now it was not her breath on your collarbone, but her lips, and you weren’t dreaming that she was kissing you there.
Your breath had gone shallow in the space of milliseconds, and her mouth moved up to linger on your neck, your jaw, your cheek. Her arms were wrapped around you, and that open-collared shirt was against your chest, warmth bleeding from her to you.
Finally you could take it no longer. You took her face in your hands and pressed your mouth to her mouth.
When you kissed her, she tasted of salt and wheat and sugar. Her lips were soft and warm as the summer air, and when your fingers tangled in her hair, her hands were on your elbows and your heart was in your mouth.
You were kissing a stranger in a foreign land, and you felt as though you’d known her forever, disintegrating in her arms like salt in the sun as her kiss came up to meet you like a wave, and you couldn’t remember the right way to breathe. There was nothing left to your identity for but the memory of what it was to kiss her, and else nothing mattered. You would not have cared, if this ocean’s daughter had drowned you. You would have gone willingly to that watery grave. And had she tried to leave you, you would have traded your soul to have even a moment more of hers.
Because here it was: your heart, exposed in how you held her, how desperately you kissed her.
How much you adored her, after knowing her so little.
She angled her head and her teeth bruised your lip as she deepened the kiss, eliciting a gasp from you. You thought she might have laughed — softly, behind your mouth — a quiet, secret laughter meant only for your ears, and new heat surged through you at the thought.
She was only kissing you, and yet, she was tearing you asunder. Pulling you apart at the seams with only her touch.
“Vic,” you breathed, and it was all you managed.
You were staggering back, falling against the sand, and she was pressing evanescent kisses to every square centimetre of your skin, and you’d never felt so alive in your life, with the heat of her body against yours and her pulse against your own like a metronome gone rogue.
“Fuck dancing,” she murmured, between kisses. “I want you.”
Her words were like an open flame to oxygen, burning inside of you.
Her lips touched your earlobe. “Do you want me?” she whispered.
“Yes,” you replied, heart thundering.
And you had been trying to play down your attraction to her, to hide it so that she wouldn’t see how much everything she did affected you — when she bit her lip and you wished it was your teeth instead of hers, that coy smile she always turned to the ground like she knew exactly what it was doing to you, her long fingers drumming on the table, already in time with your pulse.
And now there was nothing subtle about it.
Her hand was in yours, and you were running again, up into the town, pushing her against an alleyway wall to steal a kiss as she asked,
“Mine or yours?”
“Unless you’re one street over too, then mine is closer.”
Her laughter tickled your lips, seaspray in the wind. “That eager?”
“You kissed me first.”
“Touché,” she whispered, her breath coming sharp and short against your mouth, sticky with her lipstick, warm with her scent, her touch.
The last of the climb to your rented rooms was a stumble, Victoria pressing messy kisses to your shoulder, into the crook of your elbow, as you fumbled for your keys and tried, impossibly, to keep quiet.
By the time the two of you stumbled through the door, she had unbuttoned your trousers, and had your blouse in her fist. You reached for her and found yourself bare for but your bra and underwear, while Victoria retained only her white shirt and panties.
You paused.
Slowly, as her chest rose and fell, she took your hands and guided them to the buttons at the ridge of her breasts, and slowly, you unbuttoned the few remaining, tantalising buttons of her white shirt, letting the garment fall to the ground like a flag. Like surrender.
You stared at her for heartbeats, in awe of how she breathed and obsessed with the way she moved.
Then, as though she could wait no longer, she crushed you against her and kissed you, sucking your lower lip into your mouth and biting down, evoking from you a desperate whimper, for anything more of her that you could get — all of her, if she would give it to you.
You drew back from her lips to kiss the rest of her, pushing her into the mattress to press your mouth to every bit of skin you could find. When her fingers found your hair and pulled, your kiss left a bruise on her neck, and then her shoulder, before she pushed you down on the mattress and your thighs apart.
Her palm was already there for you when you groaned, and you felt her smile of satisfaction against your mouth when her fingers brushed over your clothed folds.
“God,” she murmured, “you’re so pretty when you know what you want.”
You managed only a hoarse whisper in return. “Then give it to me.”
She laughed and it tickled your skin, and then your bra was gone as well, and her fingers were curled around the elastic of your underwear. She took too long for your liking, and you pushed her hand, leaving yourself exposed to her mercy and the cool night air.
But she was merciful if nothing else, this ocean’s daughter, and her fingers were inside of you before you could utter another plea.
Already she needed no guidance, played you like the strings of a harp with a flick of her wrist and those long, gently curling fingers.
Her eyes never left yours, half-lidded in the same haze you felt cloud your mind when she touched you, when your back arched up from the already untidy sheets, when her other hand travelled up your thigh and your stomach, finding a resting place beneath your breasts as she pushed you into the bed, held you there as you writhed.
When you came, you pulled her down with you until the moon sank into the sky as well, until the sun dawdled once more on the horizon.
And perhaps, you thought, this was where the moon and sun went in those small hours of the night when neither could be seen by those still awake on Earth — they were together, entwined in a beautiful, impossible duality of silver and gold, at last unfettered by human imagination.
⭒
You didn’t remember falling asleep, but you remembered Victoria. Remembered her breath as it whispered against your legs, her lips the inside of your thighs. Already, the memories were imprinted upon your mind like whorls of sand, and on your tongue the salt of her demise as she’d gasped beneath your touch with her head tipped back in ecstasy — and god, she had been so unfathomably pretty. Endlessly so.
Now, you reached out to touch her, to sweep the gold strands from the eyes of your very own gold dust woman. But the sheets were empty.
Fear gripped your heart in a sudden vice, that she should have left you with so little, so early, so soon.
But the light trailed her still in the wake of morning, and as your eyes followed it, you found her outside, leaning against the railing of your balcony, summer-sunshine hair falling down her back, her legs still bare though her upper half was hidden by your cardigan — and oh, how good she looked in your clothes. You wanted to see her like that all the time.
Slipping out of bed, you took a leaf from her book and tugged on her long white shirt, before pattering out onto the balcony.
She turned at the sound of your approach, and smiled sleepily. Her hair floated atop her shoulders, over her back and her chest in waterfalling waves, blonde strands twining messily and yet perfectly in what could easily have been sunbeams, returning to her as though she were the very star they had awaited all along.
“Buongiorno,” she murmured. The wide blue sky arced above her head, and the streets below your balcony had begun to crescendo in the sounds of waking, the morning routines of a thousand strangers beneath your feet, the waves washing ever over the shores in their ethereal clockwork.
“Morning,” you replied. It appeared she was only wearing your cardigan and her underwear, and in her shirt and your own underwear, you were no better. Your heart filled with lightness at the thought that she should be so uninhibited in your presence. No one had ever been so easily open with you before.
She held out a hand as you drew nearer, and you slid your fingers into hers. Before you could react, she pulled you flush against her, wrapping her arms around you and kissing you, ardently but achingly slow like the dawning day, lips tender but her hold on you fierce, as though she could not have let go had she tried.
Her hand came to rest on your cheek, her thumb brushing over your lower lip.
“I want you to know,” she said breathlessly, “that this is not all I wanted from you. I just couldn’t help myself.” Your pulse quickened, the strings of your heart tying themselves in knots. “I want everything of you, if you want that too.”
A smile found its way to your face, and you wound your fingers through hers. She looked down at your intertwined hands, and you fell apart a little at the fond look on her face.
“I do.”
Her hands slid to your waist as she came to stand behind you, with her chin leaned on your shoulder and her gaze returned to the view beyond the balcony, though you felt her lips briefly touch the space between your neck and collarbone.
The daughter of the ocean, in your arms at last.
You knew little about her, still. But summer held many days yet, and when she turned and smiled at you in the sunshine of the new day, you knew that she would give every day to you, if only you asked.
⭒
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Word Count: Around 3k?
Genre: Supernatural fluff. Lots of fluff.
Ah, Midterms. A time full of stress, essays, and coffee-filled nights of last-minute studying. It was around midterms and finals that you did a lot of people-watching. Four-hundred years on the blue and green marble you called home had given you more than enough time to master almost every subject. You were currently working for your seventh PhD and then you had no idea what you were going to do. But that was the magic of being immortal, wasn’t it? You didn’t need a plan, really. Just something to do now.
You smiled as you walked into your favorite class, Creatures of the Night: The Relationship Between Vampires and Werewolves. You had taken this class every single year for the past century. You had made it through seventeen teachers, about half of them vampires and the rest werewolves. The class itself was always about half and half and for the first part of the class, there was always a clear division. A clean split down the middle that separated the Wolves from the Vamps. But eventually, as the groups learned more about eachother, the line got a little blurred.
Keep reading
Daichi’s baby sister is a Kawaii~Girl YouTube sensation. Everyone adores her innocence and adorable personality. She’s the embodiment of baby, even more so than Hinata and Yamaguchi. So when you mix a tiny kawaii babie with daddy issues and a tall dominant cat with a fuckboy personality you end up having the perfect recipe for chaos. It doesn’t help when the Babie has the worlds most over protective family.
••••••••••••••••••••
💚Ask And I’ll Add You To The Taglist💚
🖤Relationship: Kuroo x Reader🖤
💜Authors Note; (1) Specials are random silly little scenarios I will be posting to keep up with the plot (2) Not all chapters are SMAU some of them are genuine writings- SOMETIMES THE SPECIALS WILL BE THE WRITING CHAPTERS- [Also if there are any ⚠️Warnings⚠️ for chapters they will be posted at the top of each chapter don’t worry]. (3) Please bare with me, this is my first SMAU and first real story in general. (4) I hope you enjoy this and please comment and share <3💜
~When The Captain Meets The Babie~
•••••••••••••••••••
📱The Accounts📱
•The Crows Nest•
•The Cats Cradle•
•The Independents•
•Fans & Other•
••••••••••••••••••••
Mid-Summer
~When The Boys Find Out About His Sister~
~When His Sister Is A YouTuber~
~When The Prince Takes The Babie Shopping~
~When The Babie Meets The Crows Nest~
~When Babie Meets The Cats Cradle~
~When YouTubers Collab~
~When The Captain Cant Meet The Babie~
~When They Take Her To The Training Camp~
~When They Meet Babies Daddy~
~When The Captain Meets The Baby~
••••••••••••••••••••
Autumn
~When The Captain Meets The Babie~
~When Babie Isn’t Really Baby~
~When Babie Is Smart~
~When Babie Helps The Team~
~When Babie Has Secret Admirers~
~When Babie Becomes Popular~
~When They Celebate Her Favorite Holiday~
~When The Prince Is With The Babie~
~When The Captain Is Jealous~
~When The Captain Has A Crush~
••••••••••••••••••••
Winter
~When The Captain Has A Crush~
~When The Ex-Girlfriend Returns~
~When Babie Isn’t Straight~
~When The Ships Are Made~
~When They Can’t Go Home~
~When Babie’s Family Doesn’t Approve~
~When The Captain Is Heartbroken~
~When She Says He Said~
~When The Plot Thickens~
~When The Captain Falls In Love~
••••••••••••••••••••
Spring
~When The Captain Falls In Love~
~When The Captain Has A Secret Admire~
~When Babie Doesn’t Approve~
~When Babie Has A Crush~
~When Babie Breaks The Rules~
~When They Sleep Together~
~When Babie Has A Broken Heart~
~When Babie Leaves Daddy~
~When It’s Graduation~
~When Babie Is In Love~
••••••••••••••••••••
Summer Again
~When Babie Is In Love~
~When The Adults Move Out~
~When The Captain Is Daddy~
~When Babie Has A Nightmare~
~When Mom and Dad Find Them~
~When Babie and The Captain Fall In Love~
~When The Lolipops Love It~
~When The Family Approves~
~When The Babie Meets The Captain~
~Babie Girl~
••••••••••••••••••••
Specials
~When You’re Not Your Best Friend’s Favorite YouTuber 🤡~
~Nines And Dabi~
~“Oh My Gosh I Have A Pink Fridge!”~
~Turning My Boys Into Aesthetics~
~Training Camp Mini Series~
~Prince and Princess Photoshoot~
~But Like Imagine Halloween~
~Meeting Babie’s Family~
~Meeting The Captain’s Family~
~When The Old Choose The New~
~“I’m Sorry, Daddy!?”~
~When Daddy Is The Sugar Baby~
Not Your Wife [Aaron Hotchner]
![Not Your Wife [Aaron Hotchner]](https://64.media.tumblr.com/661faac331a1e4aa936f0143758187b3/2bc02177f1e24a9a-14/s500x750/d99ad5ccc7ce233b9501ee4282272bf16d053daf.gif)
Pairings: Aaron Hotchner x fem!Reader
Characters: Aaron Hotchner, Derek Morgan, Penelope Garcia, Jennifer "JJ" Jareau, Jason Gideon, Spencer Reid
Words: 11.6K
Summary: They say in college you can find many things, but the most important thing you found was your best friend
Warnings: Typical Criminal Minds violence, vague descriptions of murder scenes, swearing, some allusions to sex, non-sexual nudity, alcohol consumption, nightmares
A/N: Oh my God! I am so excited to finally post my first technically second Criminal Minds fic and honestly, I'm planning for it to be the first of many. Please let me know what you think in the comments! I'm always looking for feedback and I can't wait to give you guys more Hotch content :)
![Not Your Wife [Aaron Hotchner]](https://64.media.tumblr.com/ff9c85c6dfd2c62a4c9c1d4d0b3a012c/2bc02177f1e24a9a-8c/s500x750/b97f0b5961ec551ec67f2a8acad682832ed27460.png)
First day of class, freshman year. A new start at a new school with new people and new classes. It was just the kind of revamp you needed to start your adult life. No more taking math because it was required, no more stupid group projects (you hoped at least those seemed to follow you wherever you went) and most importantly you wouldn’t have to see even one person in your graduating class.
With much excitement you entered your first class, taking a seat upfront, there was no way you would risk not being able to see the notes on day one.
Seemed as though someone else was of a similar mind to you, picking the seat right next to yours and pulling out a notebook and pens.
From first glance you could tell he was organized, dressed casually but nicely, his raven-coloured hair combed and styled. Yet he didn’t say one word to you even after getting his things set up.
“Not good at starting conversations?” you asked and his head shot up.
“Hmm, oh sorry,” he apologized. “Guess my mind was wandering a bit,”
“First day jitters, count me in on that one,” you nodded. “You're not from around here?”
“No, but I’d venture a guess and say neither are you,”
“That would be correct,” you said, taking a sharp inhale, but stretched your hand out towards him. “I’m (Y/N),”
He took it and his lips quirked up slightly, “Aaron,”
“Aaron, sounds like a debate team name, were you on the debate team?”
The boy scrunched up his nose like he didn’t want to admit you were right and you smiled triumphantly, pointing a victorious finger at him.
“I knew it! You totally were,”
“Am I really that easy to read?” he asked.
You leaned back in your seat, looking over into his soft brown eyes,
“I mean isn't that why we’re taking the class? To learn to read people? Understand how their minds work?”
“Okay now this is just a shot in the dark but are you a psych major?” he asked sarcastically and you rolled your eyes.
“And you’re not?”
“Haven’t declared yet, we’ll see,” he shrugged. “Might drop the class cause I have a really annoying seatmate,”
“Wow, real smooth Aaron, first day and you’re already picking on people,” you rolled your eyes, but couldn’t help but let out a chuckle, he followed your lead.
The class slowly filled up with more students and when the short arm of the clock hit 11 the teacher didn’t waste a second to start his lecture.
Aaron may have been organized, but behind that exterior was someone with a cheeky and mischievous spirit. In the middle of the lecture, not really a portion that one would need to pay attention to, the teacher had gone off on a tangent, he scribbled something on a piece of paper in his notebook and passed it off to you.
You looked at him curiously, taking the paper from between his fingers and unfolding it to read what it said.
Pick a person and make them a backstory if this guy talks about his racist aunt in Italy for one more second I might die
You tried to hold back a chuckle, turning over the paper and writing
Guy in the red shirt, middle row, got here on a football scholarship and is only taking the class so it can keep his GPA high
You tried to furtively slip the paper back to Aaron and he took it, giving it a read and glanced in the direction you discreetly pointed to with your finger before doing the same thing he had instructed you to do.
By the end of class that seemed to be all you were doing and you missed half the notes as a result. The teacher dismissed you all and you were packing up your bag with your textbook and notes.
“Well, I missed half the class thanks to you Aaron, that might be worse than a group project,”
“You have no regrets, I see it in your eyes,” he retorted.
“Fine, but you owe me,” you said, taking his pen from behind his ear and grabbing his notebook, opening to the first page and scribbling down your name, phone number, and apartment building. “Be there at eight o’clock, I can order pizza and we can go over what we missed together. Deal?”
Aaron smiled and nodded.
“You got a deal (Y/N),”
—
“Aaron Hotchner this is all your fault!” you exclaimed, walking straight into the apartment and tossing down a transcript on the table.
Aaron peeked his head out from the washroom and came into the living room wearing a pair of pants, no shirt and a towel in his hands to dry his dripping wet hair.
“Let me see that,” he reached his hand out and you picked up the transcript, putting it in his hand. “(Y/N),” his eyes looked up at you, head still tilted down towards the paper. “These are A’s,” he noted. “Most people would say that a good thing,”
“Yeah not me,” you grumbled.
“I don’t think I’ll ever understand you,” he shook his head, then proceeded to continue to dry his hair with the towel, its normal neat appearance nowhere to be seen.
“It’s my parents,” you said finally. “They’re going to want me to move back now that my grades are good… because it’ll be ‘easier’ to transfer into the big shot university,”
“Do you want to go back home?” he asked, his face trying to block out any emotions of disdain, but it was still obvious enough for you.
“Not in the slightest,” you shook your head. “Can't leave you here alone can I?” you pressed your lips in a thin line and nodded.
“Just um...can you give me one second?”
You nodded and Aaron jogged over to his room, grabbing a t-shirt and slipping it on and then going into his closet and pulling off his high school grad sweater from the hanger. It had only been two years since he graduated but the sweater was already well-loved because it seemed to have passed hands frequently, it was just as much yours as it was his.
He came back out of the room, the sweater in his hands. He glanced down at the embroidery and the school logo before reaching out and handing it to you.
“If you leave you’re probably gonna need something to keep you warm on the plane,” he said. “Go on (Y/N) I know you want it,”
You ignored the sweater in his hands, instead, rushed into his arms and allowed him to pull you into a tight hug.
“You’re gonna help me find a way to say right?” you whispered.
“Of course,” he nodded. “How else am I supposed to get through studying for McClerick’s midterm next year?”
“I’m sure you would do fine without me Mr. I’m gonna be a lawyer,” you poked. “I’m pretty sure your grades are good enough that they’d just let you into law school now,”
“Still got a little ways to go,” he chuckled. He was about to pull away but you squeezed him a little tighter.
“Not yet,” you shook your head. “Just a little longer,”
He nodded and tightened his grip around you again, pressing a kiss to the side of your head.
“Alright, come one, we had plans tonight, the semester’s over we need a break,”
“Aaron Hotchner needs a break? Sounds like bullshit,” you shook your head. “More like I need a break and you’re humouring me,”
“That would be correct, I have an evaluation for some higher-level courses in a few weeks, but that can wait for a night,”
“You see this,” you poked him in the shoulder, “This is why we’re best friends,”
“Because I forsake my studying for you?”
You nodded, linking your arm with his and dragging him out the door, “Yeah for you that’s the highest honour,”
He let out a small chuckle and nodded his head.
“And for that, I’ll let you chose the movie,”
Aaron grinned triumphantly, already knowing what he was going to pick, you missed his little smile and were instead paying attention to the directions to get to the nearest Blockbuster.
When you entered the store he broke away from you, heading straight for the action/adventure aisle and scanning around for his favourite movie.
“You know if you pick that one you’re gonna have to wear the hat,” you pointed to him while looking for some snacks and treats to buy.
“Hat or no hat, we’re watching it,” he came back, with two movies in hand, “And the second one if we have time,”
“We just got the third one too kid, haven’t brought it out from the back yet,”
“Really?” Aaron’s eyes lit up. He turned over to you, as if to ask permission to get the third installment in the series.
“Oh go on,” you rolled your eyes and he did a small victory dance in his spot while the cashier went to the back to go grab the movie. “What is it with you and Indiana Jones, I mean they’re no Star Wars…”
“Don’t even start (N/N),” he pointed warningly at you. “You’re telling me you never wanted to go off to different countries and look for buried treasure?”
“Nah I’d rather fight my dad in space with a lightsaber,” you retorted and he let a snort slip past before you both burst out laughing.
“Alright, Raiders of the Lost Ark, Temple of Doom, and The Last Crusade,” the man rang the three through the till along with your snacks. “And you guys college students?’ he asked.
You and Aaron both nodded.
“We’ve got a discount going on, if you can show me your student card I can give you 25% off,”
“And that’s why I carry this bad boy around,” Aaron looked at you knowingly while pulling the card out of his wallet.
“Oh this bad boy,” you picked up the card before the cashier could, pointing to the image on the card.
He had decided when it was time to go in for photos that it would be best to wear a white collared shirt with a red tie, his glasses that he rarely even wore to class and that wasn’t the half of it. The photographer had snapped the photo before he even gave him the chance to do a proper smile and his hair, well that was another story. It was at that awkward point where it was longer than he normally wore it, but not long enough to merit a cut. Maybe that time it did though because now that look was completely immortalized in that photo.
“What! The outfit is smart,” he huffed, and snatched the card back from you and gave it to the cashier who tried his best not to snort at the image.
“See, even Mark can’t keep it together, you look ridiculous, honey,”
Aaron sighed and you wrapped an arm around his shoulder, taking the bag from Mark and paying for your stuff before going back to the apartment.
Aaron set up the TV while you went in search of the hat.
“Aaron where did you put it?” you asked, scouring his room for some sign of the hat.
“Check the back of the closet under my hopes and dreams,”
“Oh stop being so dramati-found it!” you exclaimed excitedly, running back out to the small living room and placing the hat delicately on his head. “There we go, now you’re really Indiana Jones,”
He looked at you from underneath the rim of the hat and you tried to hide the grin that was coming across your face, but it was proving to be quite the challenge. And for a short moment, you forgot that all this might be over soon. You would be back home, studying at the humongous university your parents wanted you to go to. Right now it was just you and Aaron, two best friends doing stupid things and you never wanted that to change.
—
“Oh my God! Oh my God!”
“Aaron did you-?”
“I got them!” he put down the phone on the table. “I won the tickets!”
“No way,” your face lit up with excitement.
After five hours on the phone and a lucky answer to a radio host's question, you were both the very happy owners of tickets to see Dire Straits, in concert, live. It was going to be your last big blowout before the school year started. A celebration of you being able to stay, finish your junior and senior year together. All in all, it was going to be a blast.
The night was filled with loud amazing music and you didn’t think you had ever seen Aaron smile that wide. You had the unfortunate affliction of being shorter than the people in front of you and it was quite tricky to see the stage, but as usual, Aaron came to your aid, somehow, despite the lack of room, getting you on his shoulders so you could clearly see the band as they performed on stage.
“Have you been lifting?” you asked with a laugh as he rolled his eyes.
“Maybe,” he shrugged and slapped his arm lightly.
The song ended and they started to transition to the next one and you both recognized it immediately.
“This is our song!” you exclaimed.
The smooth guitar, bass, and keyboard filled the stadium and you carefully rested your hands on Aaron’s head, your chin placed on top of them. He squeezed your legs gently where he held them and if you closed your eyes and concentrated enough you could hear him singing along softly, a couple of beers he had probably aiding his confidence to let the song slip past his lips.
You had never seen him sing sober, mainly because he refused to, but every time you got the chance to see him let loose you savoured it. He was strung up too tight for his own good.
It was a wonderful close to the evening, almost too quiet and calm for a concert, but you were both still on that high as you drove to the motel.
“That. Was. Awesome!” you grinned as you stumbled into the room.
“I didn’t think it would ever happen but it did,” Aaron shook his head in disbelief. “I want to keep listening to their music like it’s playing over and over in my head,”
“Lucky for you I brought this,” you grabbed your stereo from your bag with some CDs.
“Oh you’re the best (N/N),” he hugged you and kissed your forehead.
“Ew you’re all sweaty,” you laughed.
“So are you!”
“Which is why I’m taking a shower,” you noted. “Don't break my stereo or scratch my CDs,” you warned.
“Wouldn’t dream of it,”
Aaron set up some music while you grabbed some pyjamas and went into the washroom to rinse off. For a moment you were a little concerned as the volume got louder thinking he had turned it up (it was already late you didn’t need to get yelled at) but when you saw the shadow on the other side of the curtain you peeked past and saw the door was open and Aaron was looking for something by the sink.
“Aaron! I’m trying to take a shower! A little privacy maybe?”
“Eh nothing I haven’t seen before,” he waved you off dismissively and you reached out to slap him while calling him an asshole. He chuckled, knowing he was right and you huffed under the water and turned it off reaching out to him.
“Towel please,”
He passed you the towel and you wrapped it around yourself, hopping out of the shower and joining him in brushing your teeth so you could get ready for bed.
It was cheaper to get a room with one bed and on a college student’s budget, it worked best for the both of you to split the cost of one room rather than two (or one with two beds for that matter, textbooks were expensive).
So a good fifteen minutes later, the music was turned off, Aaron was out of the shower and you were both under the covers of the bed, squirming around and trying to find a comfortable position.
“(Y/N) stop kicking me,” he whined while you pushed away from him.
“You’re like five hundred degrees, seriously I’m gonna burn up if I touch you,” you fired back.
“Stop taking all the blankets!”
You groaned and gave up, lay off on your back and stopped pulling the blankets, having Aaron tug a little too hard and fall off the side of the bed.
“This is what we get for being on a college student’s budget,” he groaned.
You sat up on the bed and gave him a hand that he used to pull himself back up, sneaking under the covers and wrapping an arm around your waist, pulling your back to his chest.
“I know you get cold at night, maybe being five hundred degrees isn’t so bad then,” he mumbled and you smiled softly to yourself, not wanting to admit it, but the nights you slept best were the nights where he was by your side, there was no doubt about it.
—
You chewed the inside of your cheek, sitting across from Aaron on the couch,
“Okay I didn’t want to tell you because I thought you might get mad,” you explained.
“Mad about what?”
“You know how you’re moving back to Virginia. To go to law school?”
He nodded his head, “I wasn’t really sure what I wanted to do, but then I figured teaching might be a good run for me, so I applied to do my joint graduate and Ph.D. studies at the University of Virginia, and I was looking for work so I could make myself of some use… I didn’t really think anything would come up from it, but,” you handed him the envelope, a job offer as a consultant with the BAU. “I’d work with the FBI so I guess that might mean we could work together, who knows maybe I’ll bring you over to the dark side,” you joked nervously.
“Why would I be mad?” he smiled. “(Y/N) we could work together, be on the same campus, but wait-I thought you didn’t like profiling?”
“No see that’s where you were mistaken,” you chuckled. “But you sure you’re okay with this I don’t want it to feel like I’m pushing on your school or-,”
“(Y/N) are you even listening to yourself, we’ve been trying to find a way to stay in contact after graduation, you don’t think living in the same city might do the trick?”
“So you think I should accept it then?”
“For completely selfish reason yes,” he nodded, “Please accept it,”
You laughed softly to yourself, you hoped he would never change.
“I will,” you said but raised your brows. “On one condition,”
“(Y/N) I swear to-,”
“You have to take the night off to celebrate with me. It’s been four years Aaron come on you deserve a night to yourself,”
“A night to myself would be going to bed early, a night with you is a very different story,”
You rolled your eyes and stood up, headed for the kitchen and grabbing two beers from the fridge.
“Come on, do you want me to take the job or not?”
He pressed his lips together and reached out a hand for the drink, silently agreed to the deal you practically forced him to take.
Aaron was rarely a heavy drinker, tonight not being one of the nights that he indulged himself, instead, watching you down drink after drink with amazement just as to how much your personality seemed to be accentuated by the alcohol.
He was slightly buzzed, just at that point where the night might feel a bit like a hallucination, but still lucid enough.
You on the other hand were a sight to see.
“I cannot be-lieve I dropped my parents for you, how goddamn baller is that?!” you exclaimed, stumbling over to the couch and pointing at him with your beer bottle in hand. “See that’s friendship Hotchner,”
“Sure is,” he chuckled with a nod, sipping some more of the alcoholic beverage.
“I bet when ya go to lawyer school everyone’s gonna call ya Hotch,” you said. “Watch me, I’ll be right,”
“Hotch,” he hummed. “That’s not bad, I don’t mind that,”
“But I’ll still call you Aaron,” you poked his nose with a giggle, that made him smile.
“And I wouldn’t want you to call me anything else (N/N), you hear?”
“Mhmm,” you sighed loudly, “Aaron I wanna do something,” you whined.
“What do you wanna do (Y/N)? You’re drunk off your ass, I’m too buzzed to drive,” he listed the facts.
“Wait a sec,” you grinned wildly, standing up and running to his room, stumbling all the way there and coming out with a familiar hat. “You wanna know what I can do now cause of you?”
“What?” he asked, leaning forward.
“I could probably recite half of Indiana Jones by heart, I think I know all of Marion’s lines,”
“Well I know almost all of Indiana’s, prove it,” he dared.
“Okay, my scene though,” you said, tossing him the hat. “They’re in the boat, right before the Nazis get there. All alone in the room,”
Aaron put on the hat sitting on the couch, watching as you walked over to him, coming to his side.
“Wait...I don’t need any help,” he quoted from the movie, wanting to see how well you delivered the lines.
“You know you do,” you insisted, leaning forward slightly. “You’re not the man I knew ten years ago,”
“It’s not the years honey, it’s the mileage,” he watched as she reached out to lay him back on the couch so she could pretend to take care of his wounds.
“You are-,”
“Please I don’t need a nurse,” he was practically smirking, watching the look in your eyes, so determined to deliver the scene exactly as it was shown. “I just want to sleep,”
“Don’t be such a baby,” you pressed, a hand on his chest.
“(Y/N) leave me alone,” he slipped up, using your name instead of that of the character.
“What’s this here,” you pointed to a spot on his collarbone. In the movie, Indiana sported a cut and bruise there.
“Go away, ah! Yes, it hurts,” Aaron hissed, the inflections practically ingrained into his mind. “Ow!”
“Well, goddamn it Indy! Where doesn’t it hurt!?”
Aaron’s voice was caught in his throat, he knew what came next, were you...were you really going to do it?
“Here,” he pointed to his temple, you leaned in and pressed a soft kiss there. “Here,” he pointed again to another spot. “Here’s not too bad,” his voice stretched into a whisper, your lips against his jaw.
You moved away, waiting for him to give the last sign, and he did, pointing to his lips and mouthing ‘here’.
You leaned in, and unlike the movie your lips only ghosted his, leaving him with the faint taste of beer and an imprint. The faintest imprint of you.
He would close his eyes, almost squeezing them so tight hoping that maybe it would help him feel them more, but they remained the ghost of a touch that pulled away.
“See I told you,” you grinned, pulling away from him. “And that’s all thanks to you. I’ve probably watched that movie thirty times in the past four years. Hell Mark even gave us a copy after we rented it for like the fifteenth time,”
Aaron gave you a smile, it was small but a smile no less.
“I-I’m a bit tired,” he noted. “I think I might head to sleep. You should stay the night though I don’t want you walking home like this okay?”
You nodded. “I’ll take the guest bedroom. Probably about time I hit the hay too,”
You wrapped your arms around him one more time before making your exit to the room, leaving Aaron alone with a memory that would turn into a faint fever dream. Something he never realized actually happened.
—
“Okay we’re gonna need all hands on deck for this case,” Aaron noted, placing the files on the table.
“Does that mean-,”
“That Dr. (L/N) is in the house? I think yes,” you grinned, walking into the conference room through the door, high-fiving Morgan underneath the table before making your way to your best friend and pressing a kiss hello to his cheek.
“(Y/N) come on we’re at work,” he nudged you.
“Then call me Doctor, Agent,” you raised your brows and the group let out some chuckles and a few eye rolls.
“What’s it gonna take for you guys to just get over yourself and bang it out? You’re practically an old married couple already,” Garcia wiggled her eyebrows and twiddled her pen between her fingers.
“Guys,” Aaron said warningly. “We need to focus,”
While he turned around to face the board you motioned at them to play nice pointing to your bag to say that you had something to show them later.
That was probably half the reason they loved you so much, every single time you came to help with a case, without fail, you would bring along either an embarrassing story or memento from your college days, making SSA Hotchner just a little less serious.
The case was big, that was for sure. A lot of victims which is probably why they needed more help, if things were disorganized it was harder to find a connection, a link in the victimology.
In the beginning, everyone was motivated, ready to get some new information, brains buzzing with thoughts, but by the evening when it seemed things were getting nowhere was when it hit hard. They needed a little boost in morale and you knew just how to give it to them.
Since the case was out of D.C. you stayed at the BAU office in Virginia. Everyone, besides Aaron and Gideon, was gathered in the conference room, tiredly flipping through numerous files and making notes.
“Hey guys,” you said quietly, passing around some coffee and tea.
“Why are we whispering?” Morgan queried in a soft voice.
“Glad you asked Derek,” you grinned, pulling out a card from your purse and placing it on the table. “Pretty sure this was during sophomore year student card, poor Aaron thought he was looking good,” you chuckled.
“Hotch wore glasses?!” Garcia gasped, grabbing the card while the others also fought for a look.
There were soft chuckled and giggles pointing to the image until there were shushes and you sighed,
“He’s right behind me isn’t he,”
They nodded and before anyone could act he came up to them and grabbed the card out of Morgan’s hand giving you a pointed look, his eyebrows in that signature furrowed expression on his face.
“This, seriously (Y/N),”
You couldn’t hide your smile, simply shrugging,
“They needed a bit of a pick me up,” you said simply.
“I didn’t know you wore glasses,” Reid piped up.
You could tell Aaron was biting back a smile, trying not to show how stupid he thought he looked, but then again you always did have a knack for profiling him.
“I did, got contacts the year after,” he explained. Looking quickly at the group then at you he sighed, knowing what he had to do, “You guys promise it’s gonna motivate you and you won’t get sidetracked?”
Everyone seemed to nod their heads vigorously while his hold lingered a while longer, tracing the edges of the ID.
He placed the card back on the table, sliding it over to the group before walking towards the door with a faint smile on his lips.
You stopped him quickly, giving him a look before he simply turned his head to the group of smiling profilers. It was a hard job, they would take a moment of laughter where they could get it and he wasn’t about to take that away from them.
The years working had changed you both, some for the better and maybe others for worse. For one Aaron’s strings seemed to be strung up even tighter than before. He found it hard to relax almost always on edge, thinking about what was to come next, the next case, his next steps. But every once in a while the kid you knew back in college would come out to say hello and you felt lucky that it was always when you were around. You brought out his young side, reminding him of where he came from, the intro psych class that started it all.
While everyone had their focus drawn back to the files, his card sitting on the centre of the table you quickly pushed yourself up on the top of your toes and pressed a quick kiss to his cheek.
“Don’t work too hard. Okay, Aaron?”
“No promises (N/N),” he placed a hand on your shoulder and squeezed it before leaving the room and going back to his office to make some calls.
You let out an exhale before joining in on reading the files. It was going to be a long night.
—
“Are you sure this is how you want to spend your time off? Didn’t your sister invite you to go to Barbados with her?” Aaron asked while carrying a few boxes from the garage to the living room.
“Nah we both know when she says that my parents will be there and then that’ll just ruin my vacation,” you shook your head. “Plus we both know you are not getting any of this done without my help,” you motioned to the boxes of old things littered across the living room. You might say he was a borderline organized hoarder but you knew better than that. He was just more sentimental than he let on and each little trinket had some special meaning.
Music was playing softly in the background while you practically forced Aaron to get rid of some piece of trash from high school that he insisted was important for some reason or another.
“Oh Aaron we’re keeping this,” you grinned, pulling out a very familiar hat that had not surfaced in a while.
“What do you mean we (Y/N) this is all my-Nooo,” his jaw dropped as he caught sight of the cowboy hat, his protest elongated in surprise making you almost fall over in a fit of laughter.
“Come on SSA Hotchner I know the kid in you loves it,”
You spun the hat on your finger before jumping onto and over the couch to put it on his head before he could protest. He gave you the face he gave the team when he was unimpressed with their shenanigans and you scrunched up your nose in delight, he almost looked like the kid who became your best friend, sending you back ages.
“Oh look at you,” you grinned, holding his face in your hands as you stood taller than him on the couch.
“Not impressed,” he said simply and you just waved him off with a roll of your eyes.
“Aaron you’re so serious! Loosen up a bit!”
“I am not!” he retorted as you stepped away.
“Are too,” you stuck your tongue out childishly at him.
“I can be loose, I’m not uptight,” he muttered to himself, taking off the hat and placing it on the couch.
“Then prove it,” you raised your brows, making your way over to the stereo and flipping the track until it reached the song you were looking for, your song. “Sing it Hotch,”
The man shook his head and you nodded yours as if you knew that’s what was coming. You turned around to pick up another box but stopped when the music transitioned into the lyrics and you could hear Aaron’s voice, clear as day along with the lead singer of his favourite band.
“I wonder where you are tonight, you’re probably on the rampage somewhere. You have been known to take delight, getting in somebody’s hair. You always had the knack… Fade to black,”
You spun around, a bright smile on your face as you saw him with a duster in his hand, being used as some sort of mock microphone. He tossed it aside and motioned for you to come closer, taking your hand in his, spinning you around so your back was pressed against his chest, arms crossed as he held your hands to your waist, swaying side to side as he continued to sing.
The amount of surprise in your expression probably couldn’t be put into words, it was rare to hear him sing even with a few shots of tequila in him first. He must have really wanted to prove you wrong.
You had danced with him before, you were friends, it was something you had done on many occasions, but for some reason, this time around it felt more personal. He was holding you the way you had seen him hold his girlfriends, singing your song quietly in your ear, doing all this for you.
And maybe you felt a twinge of jealousy, all those girls who got to be near him, hold him, kiss him. They got to experience that other side and a part of you wanted that badly because deep down you knew Garcia was right, you were like an old married couple. All those girls got a piece of him while you were just his best friend. Just the person that took care of him, just the person that loved him unconditionally. At least for now (as in the past seven to ten years), Aaron wasn’t focused on dating, not when work took over his life.
You leaned into him, only a little bit more, wanting to savour the feeling of being close to him.
His voice faded away but the music kept going for a while longer and you couldn’t help but let out a half-hearted chuckle.
“What? Was I off-key?”
“Nope, just think maybe you should have been in musical theatre, I would pay to see you on Broadway,” you teased and he didn’t even wait a moment to squeeze the sensitive part of your waist making you squirm. “Aaron! Don’t taser me!”
“You asked for it,” he said in a sing-song voice and you managed to twirl yourself back around, accidentally pushing yourself into his chest and sending you both down on the couch, laughter echoing around you.
You laid your forehead down on his chest and sighed while he gently rubbed your back, moments like these being those things that kept you both going when work got tough when it seemed like there was no more good in the world.
Because even when the world got you down you still had your Indiana Jones.
—
You woke up abruptly, a scream caught in your throat as you pushed yourself up on the bed, clutching the duvet covers until your knuckles went pale.
Your mind was racing, not wanting to come down from the nightmare, images, words still flashing through your mind, voices in your head that would only get louder, and louder, and louder.
With a shaky breath you grabbed your phone and keys, and a hoodie, you didn’t even realize it but it was the one Aaron had given you, his high school grad hoodie.
Your body seemed to be on autopilot, driving a few blocks away from your townhouse and parking your car in front of another set of doors.
Climbing out you knocked lightly, as if you were hesitant about what you were doing, your hands gripping onto your arms as you shook, a little too violently for the warm summer night.
You didn’t hear a sound coming from inside so you raised your hand again to knock, more assured, but the door swung open, revealing a confused and tired Aaron wearing only a concert t-shirt and a pair of boxer shorts whose face immediately softened when he saw the state you were in.
“I-I-,”
“Shh it’s okay,” he assured you. “Come here sweetheart,”
You walked into his open arms, letting him tuck you under one shoulder as he closed the door before wrapping the other around you and letting your tears soak his shirt.
“Do you want to talk about it?” he asked and you shook your head desperately.
You all wanted to say the job didn’t get to you, it didn’t upset you, but there were always those triggers, those things that would set you off, eat at your very core. And no matter how close you and Aaron were sometimes you needed to keep that to yourself. He understood that.
But after a few minutes of just standing there and letting you hold him, he decided you needed to get back to bed, there was no point in fighting the exhaustion. So he took your arms from around his waist and wrapped them around his neck, taking hold of your thighs afterwards and picking you up so you were pressed flush against him.
Your legs found a comfortable spot wrapped around him and resting on top of his hips while he walked up the stairs, holding you like a child.
You thought he might take you to the guest room you normally stayed in when it was late, but he headed straight for his room, the covers already pulled back on his bed when he laid you down and climbed over you to the other side, turning off the bedside lamp.
Even though it was especially warm for a night outside, Aaron’s home was freezing (probably because he was always overheating), so he came close and wrapped his arms around you, your legs tangled together in a mess like things on the forest floor. He pressed a kiss to the top of your head, squeezing you tightly as he whispered,
“You’re gonna be alright. I’m here. I’ve got you,”
Over and over again until the words were stuck in your mind and all you could say to yourself.
You were gonna be alright. Aaron was there. He had you.
And you said it to yourself over and over until you believed it, or believed it enough to fall back asleep.
—
“Hey Aaron, what’s up?” you asked, pressing your cell phone to your ear the next day. Your students had just left your classroom and you were done for the week, but if Aaron was calling that probably wouldn’t be the case.
“Are you feeling better?” he asked and you took a deep breath and nodded,
“Yeah, I’m alright,”
“Good, good…” he trailed off. “Um we have a case, it’s in Denver. The higher-ups are wondering if you might come with,”
“Yeah sure, I’ll grab my bag and meet you guys at the airport,” you confirmed. “Aaron,” you started.
“Yes (N/N)?”
“Have you eaten anything today?”
You swore you heard a snort on the other end of the line, and you knew that was only because you were definitely 100% right.
“Aaron you’ve got to stop skipping breakfast, coffee on an empty stomach isn’t good,” you mumbled practically to yourself, grabbing your bag and slinging it over your shoulder. “I’m picking you something up on the way there okay?”
“Okay,” he nodded.
“And no more coffee until the plane,”
He sighed loudly and you mocked him by repeating the sound, “I’ll see you, Aaron, don’t take too long,”
Hanging up the phone you made your way to your car, stopping by a Dunkin Donuts and grabbing some iced coffees for everyone plus breakfast for Aaron.
You were first to the airport (as usual the university was closer to it than the office), and made yourself comfortable on the jet. Around ten minutes later the rest of the team came up and hellos and case files were passed around.
You motioned for Aaron to sit in the seat next to you, grabbing the bag of food and placing it in front of him.
“Eat Hotchner,” you instructed and he peeked into the bag with a slight frown and you held up another bag and showed him. “Eat the food first then you can have a donut and coffee,”
“Oh my God Mrs. Hotchner much,” Morgan chuckled.
“What? He doesn’t take care of himself, someone has to,” you rolled your eyes. “But come on, fill me in what’s the case about,”
“Killer’s targeting married couples,” Aaron said before taking a bite of his bagel. “Oh is this herb and garlic cream cheese?” he asked you quietly and you just patted his back.
“Anything specific that the police have found yet? Like connections between the couples?”
“They’ve all been together since college, but that seems to be the only thing we’ve seen so far,” Morgan explained.
“Did you know that 28% of married couples actually meet in college?” Reid added a small anecdote. “But although the percentage is interestingly high the rate of divorce is also higher between couples who have gotten together in college or high school,”
“But these couples were still together, the ones that managed to stand the test of time,” you noted. “Maybe the unsub’s stressor was a failed relationship, something personal that hit a nerve. If he can’t have it neither can anyone else. I would say it’s safe to rule out a sexual sadist for the time being, especially if there’s no sign of assault on the victims,”
“There’s been very little evidence left at the scene,” Gideon added. “We’ll get a better sense of things when we get there,”
“I’ll take (Y/N) and Morgan to the crime scene. Gideon, you take Reid and JJ to the FBI office and we’ll meet you there,” Aaron instructed and you all nodded.
“Derek, be sure to have Garcia on the line, we might need her to dig up records while we’re there,” you instructed and he gave you a nod.
Aaron nudged your side and you looked over to him, his eyes pointing to the empty paper bag that held the bagel and the muffin.
“You’re such a baby,” you chuckled with a sigh, reaching over to your side and pulling out the, thankfully, still warm coffee along with a donut. “But I got your favourite,”
Aaron opened up the box but glared at you when he saw what was inside.
“Your favourite donut is vanilla glaze with rainbow sprinkles?” Reid asked while the rest of the group tried to stifle chuckles.
“Alright, time for a Hotch story,” you clapped the table and leaned back in your seat while Aaron groaned, it was too early for this. “When Aaron and I were in college he was a perfectionist, still is, I mean look at this little overachiever,” you jokingly pinched his cheek between your finger and he continued to give that look with his furrowed brows. “Anyways, we had this shitty teacher, God I hated her,” you sighed.
“McClerick,” Aaron sighed and you nodded.
“She gave him a C+ on his midterm and he almost lost it. But there was nothing he could do about it so he got piss drunk and ate only,” you grabbed the donut right out of his hand. “You guessed it, donuts with vanilla glaze and rainbow sprinkles,”
“Oh Hotch,” you heard Garcia’s voice over the monitor and you all turned to look at her, sitting in her office. “Honey that can’t be healthy,”
“It wasn’t,” you shook your head. “He got sick and I had to nurse him back to health. Anyways, any important news for us Garcia?”
“Only that I did some more background checks on the victims and it came up that they all went to college in and around Denver,”
“So maybe our unsub has or had connections at the colleges,” Reid commented and you nodded in agreement.
“We’re making our descent so we should be able to get a better sense of things once we hit the crime scene,”
As promised, not before long you were all packed in cars, headed to your respective areas of the city.
The last murder happened in Aurora so straight from the large, albeit, oddly shaped airport you drove into the city and directly to the crime scene. That’s always how it was with the job, no time to get adjusted, just go, go, go.
When you entered the crime scene there was a minimal mess, not a lot of blood spatter, very controlled.
“Unsub used a gun and not a knife, that’s another tick away from a sexual sadist,” Morgan noted. “Most commonly used weapon for them is a knife, blunt force trauma, some way to get their hands dirty, it’s what gives them the release,”
The room was neat, tidy actually, the only spot of displacement being the two dead bodies, one on the bed, the other on the ground, both fully clothed in pyjamas.
You looked through the bookshelves, noticing the many volumes of encyclopedias, books on by-laws, mainly a lot of stuff to do with law, to be honest.
“Hey Morgan, call Garcia and put her on speaker,” you asked and the man obeyed your instructions, holding up the phone for you to hear.
“You’ve reached the goddess of infinite wisdom, how can I assist you mere mortals?” you smiled softly to yourself at Garcia’s classic antics.
“Hey darlin’,” you called over the line. “Can you ring up Josh and Lindsay Hardman for me, I want to see what these guy’s jobs for, hobbies, get a better sense of what we’re looking at,”
“Alright, umm, says here the husband was a lawyer, a prosecutor, and the wife was a professor at the college they graduated from” she started. “Husband liked concerts, classic rock by the looks of it, that's all that’s on his social media. He and his wife seemed close, all of their pictures are together too,”
“Tell me more about the wife,” you asked and you could hear faint clicking on the line before,
“Aha, she was a psych major, teaching master’s classes on abnormal psych,”
You tensed, this felt a little too familiar. A little too close for comfort.
You looked up at Aaron who seemed to have the same feelings as you, then Morgan who was the only person brave enough to say something on the topic.
“Well no one’s saying it so I’m just gonna get it out there… but this sounds like you guys,”
You nodded, taking a deep breath, “I think I need a minute, thanks, Penny,”
“Anytime my love,” she responded and Morgan hung up the phone while you left the room. You could hear Aaron say something to Morgan and soon his footsteps followed you until you reached the car, leaning against it.
“Are you alright?”
“Fine, just needed some air. To clear my head,” you nodded.
There was a moment of silence before he piped up, “You know we’re not really at risk here (Y/N) because we’re-,”
“Not together I know,” you nodded. “Doesn’t mean it isn’t scary as shit when you see a victim that’s just like you,” you admitted. “He’s a lawyer Aaron, a prosecutor who likes classic rock,”
“There are a lot of prosecutors who like classic rock,” he tried to counter, but you shook your head, that wasn’t the point.
“Feel however you want Aaron, but there’s no escaping the truth that either this,” you pointed to the crime scene “this is either a coincidence or we should be legitimately concerned,”
Aaron nodded with a sigh, “You’re sticking with me this case,” he said. “You don’t have the clearance to carry a firearm so I don’t want you out of my sight, understand?”
“Aaron,” you turned to him, “Look at me Aaron, look at me,” you whispered and his eyes finally met yours.
“Don’t keep it in here,” you pointed to his chest. “Do you understand?”
He nodded and quickly turned his head to make sure no one had their eyes on you before gently holding the back of your head and pulling you in so he could press a quick kiss on your forehead. A very minor comfort given the situation, but you were at work, you realized the significance of his actions and you took that to heart.
Morgan came out of the house giving you both a nod saying he’d gotten what he needed and huh could reconvene at the FBI office.
The rest of them were already set up in a conference room, a board with all the details of the victims and what they could currently gather from the unsub.
“This one’s creepy,” Morgan said as you entered the room. “Very very creepy,”
“What do you mean?” Reid asked.
“The victims just have a similar story to Hotch and me that’s all,” you waved them off, not wanting to cause unnecessary worry among team members.
“Maybe that comes to our advantage,” Aaron suggested. “You take the two of us and create some sort of victimology from that,”
“I thought we had a rule,” you whispered to him. “No profiling each other,”
“They’re not profiling us,” he said. “Just trying to get into the unsub’s mind through looking at us,”
“Is that not weird to you?” you asked. “Cause it seems a little weird,”
“We can use it if we have to,” Gideon said, not wanting the conversation to have to go much further. “For now I think our victims will give us plenty of insight into the unsub,”
And so the discussions continued, but you decided to take a step back from the psychology and went to go find JJ, maybe you could be of some assistance to her. You could feel Aaron’s eyes burning into your back as you turned to leave and with a few strides he was blocking you.
“Where are you going?” he asked.
“To find JJ, don’t worry I’ll be inside the bureau,” you swallowed thickly. “Drink some water, okay?” you said noticing his dry lips.
“Alright, just check in with me when you’re done,”
You nodded and left the room, seeing JJ in front of a computer speaking with Garcia on the phone no doubt.
“Hey JJ,” you tapped her shoulder and she turned around nodding and putting Garcia on speakerphone.
“Garcia I’ve got (Y/N) here with me,” she said.
“Oh hey sweetheart, you doin' alright?” she asked and you coughed,
“Could be better,”
“Yeah, she was just telling me about the victims, must have been a bit of a spook,” JJ noted.
“It’s definitely uncomfortable,” you nodded. “But I’ve been reminded I am of ‘no real risk’ and you know how I cope with this,”
“You take care of everyone else,” JJ nudged you. “Especially Hotch,”
“You can’t tell me he doesn’t need it though,” you poked.
“Yeah that man can be hopeless sometimes,” Garcia added.
“A little oblivious too,” you chuckled. “For a profiler, that’s a special combination,”
JJ wrapped an arm around your shoulders and gave you a squeeze and you didn’t hesitate to lean into her side. Even though you were older than most in the group you still found a lot of comfort in their company. They were like your younger siblings.
“Do you want me to fight him?” Garcia asked. “Cause I think I could take him,”
“You wish,” you snorted. “He can carry me up a flight of stairs without batting an eyelash,” you said thinking back to last night. “I think you might have a bit more trouble than you think. And it’s alright. I’ll be okay,” you tried to assure them. “I’ll just be Mrs. Hotchner without the tax benefits,”
You figured there wasn’t much use in trying to hide your growing feelings for your best friend, after all, they had been present for some time now and in a room surrounded by some of the best profilers in the world, you wondered if the rest of them caught on, but chose to stay silent. And Aaron, he was another story altogether. For the life of you that was the one part of him, you couldn’t read, so you would just mull over your own love hoping that knowing he loved you as a best friend was enough, even though you had never said it, and neither had he.
“(Y/N),” you could hear Aaron’s voice pulling you out of your thoughts. “I’m going to speak to the victim's parents, are you up to join me?” he asked.
“Yeah, I can come,” you nodded, pushing yourself up. “Bye you two, don’t work too hard,”
“Wouldn’t dream of it, sugar,” Garcia’s voice rang through JJ’s cellphone and you chuckled lightly, taking your place by Aaron’s side and exiting the building and heading for one of the standard-issue SUVs.
You didn’t talk much during the ride, opting for silence with the radio playing in the background. You could sense his eyes flicking to your side often, maybe he wanted to say something, reassure you, but it was possible that part of the reason you were on edge was from your nightmare.
Before you knew it your hand was reaching out to his that was resting on the gear shift. He looked down when he felt the soft touch and carefully lifted his hand and entwined his fingers with yours, placing it on his thigh, his thumb tracing the veins along the back of your hand.
“Aaron, stop frowning,” you said gently. “You’ll get wrinkles,”
“I think it’s a little too late for that,” he joked and you pressed your lips together in a small smile. “You still think I’m handsome though,”
“Very,” you nodded, but you weren’t sure how much of a joke it was. Whether it was the nerdy overprepared college student or the serious Unit Chief, Aaron Hotchner knew how to pull off a look.
“Alright, I can do most of the talking this time around, jump in when you feel comfortable. They’ve already been informed of the murder so at least we won’t be breaking the news,” he instructed and you nodded, finally loosening your grip on his hand and slipping it back into your lap, missing its softness and warmth.
You both left the car and knocked on the door, waiting for the answer. When it came there was a sweet older lady with puffy red eyes. You assumed she had probably been grieving her son and daughter-in-law up until that moment.
“Hello ma’am, I’m SSA Aaron Hotchner and this is Dr. (Y/N) (L/N),” he introduced. “We’re with the FBI, we’ve come to ask you a few questions about your son and daughter-in-law, is that alright?”
“Yes of course,” she sniffed, opening up the door and allowing the two of you to enter the household.
Her husband sat on the couch a box of tissues placed close by and you and Aaron took your seats across from him.
“Can I get you two anything?” she asked.
“Oh no that’s quite alright,” you spoke up. “Your help is more than enough,”
She nodded and took a seat next to her husband, taking a deep breath and nodding her head for you to begin your questions.
“Do you think you could tell us a bit more about Josh and Lindsay?” Aaron asked. “What were they like as people, how did they interact with others,”
“J-Josh was determined,” his father started. “He was a top student through all his studies, that’s how he met Lindsay,”
“Psychology wasn’t his forte but he wanted the class...thought it would help him get into law school,” his mother said. “She tutored him and they became friends. Did everything together,”
“Did they-um did they have many friends? People they interacted with?” you asked.
“Just people from work on both ends, but they enjoyed going out and doing things together, concerts, movies, the likes,”
“And is there anyone you can think that for any reason might wish them harm?” Aaron added.
“No...everyone-everyone loved them,” she choked on her words and it made your heart break.
“I’m sorry,” the husband said. “but I don’t think there’s any other way we can help,”
You nodded and pulled out your card from your pocket.
“If you can think of anything don’t hesitate to call,”
The rest of the day seemed to move by in a blur, and before you knew it you were sitting in your hotel room, a bathrobe wrapped around your body as you relaxed in your chair with a cup of tea.
You could hear the shuffling in the room next to yours along with the sound of papers shuffling, right near the desk. Those walls must have been thin.
You slapped the wall,
“Aaron you better go to sleep right now!” you called and you could almost hear his heavy sigh from the other side.
Grumbling, you pulled out your phone and messaged JJ.
Come to my room I need a drinking buddy.
A few minutes later, there was a knock at your door and expected JJ, but when you opened it you saw Aaron on the other side. Frowning, you looked up at him, then down at your phone.
It seemed like you had texted the wrong number, and instead of a girl's night, you had just cornered yourself in with the person you were trying to get away from.
Well maybe getting away was a little strong.
“So you tell me to go to bed then you text me to come and drink with you. Sending some mixed messages Dr. (L/N),” he raised his brows.
“Just get in here,” you rolled your eyes, and opened the door wider for him to enter.
He came inside, not even hesitating to make himself comfortable on the bed, his back pressed to the headboard and arms crossed over his chest.
His tie and jacket must have been discarded in his room because he only wore his white button-down, the top few undone, and dress pants.
“Alright, pick your poison, it’s on me,” you said, opening the mini-fridge and displaying the alcohol inside.
“Forget the booze (N/N), come here,” he even reached out for you with his hand.
“Why Aaron?” you asked, stepping only to the edge of the bed. He came to meet you, on his knees up to the corner of the mattress. He was still a great deal taller than you,
“Because, you told me not to keep it in here,” he pointed to your chest. “This case...it’s unsettling,” he offered. “And I just want to hold my best friend for a little bit to forget about it,”
Best friend.
There it was again those two words that stung so badly, but the two words you kept clinging onto for dear life because it’s what was holding you to reality.
“Alright,” you caved immediately, “But-,” you said stepping away before he could get you firmly in his hold. You went over to your bag and pulled out the sweater, handing it to him. “Get comfortable first, you’ve been wearing this all day,” you tugged at his shirt.
He untucked his shirt from his pants and undid the buttons, sliding off the material from his arms while you held out the hoodie for him to slip his head into. After all those years it still fit you both surprisingly well.
You took his shirt to put on a hanger and bent down to check and see what pyjamas you had packed when you remembered that they were still in your dryer in the laundry at home.
“Shit,” you muttered.
“What is it?” Aaron asked, coming up to your side.
“I don’t have any clothes to sleep in,” but your eyes flicked to the collared shirt, it would be big and comfortable on you, at least you hoped it would be.
“I saw your eyes (Y/N), do you want to use the shirt?” he asked.
“Well it’s all I’ve got right now isn’t it,” you shrugged. “Go on Hotchner, turn around, nothing to see here,” you added while untying the belt of your robe.
“Nothing I haven’t seen before,” he teased as he obeyed your wishes and you rolled your eyes at his antics. It felt like coming back from the night of the concert all over again.
You slipped off the robe from your shoulders allowing it to drop on the ground while you quickly put on his shirt and buttoned it up, missing the top few just like he had earlier.
Before you could say a word his arms were wrapped around you and you quickly spun around to hold him face to face.
“You always looked nice in my clothes,” he gave you a low chuckle and you savoured the sound. Something you rarely heard anymore.
He pulled you towards the bed, sitting again with his back to the headboard, only this time, he placed you in between his legs while you leaned your back into his chest. Breathing in you could faintly smell his cologne on the shirt of his you wore and before you could even recover from the immensely satisfying feeling it brought you could feel his nose and lips on the top of your head.
You steadied your breathing, mind drifting back to the case for a moment. They said you were safe because you weren’t together, but every single day it felt like you were his wife in every sense but the word.
—
“(Y/N) you’re staying here I don’t have time to argue with you on this!” Aaron was frustrated, no even angry, but you weren’t going to let that stop you from trying one more time.
The unsub had been located, he was holding another couple hostage at the university, he devolved fast, just like you had predicted he would. Despite everything, you thought you could still talk him down. Maybe get him to come in peacefully where no one would have to die.
But Aaron was determined not to let that happen, especially after the letter.
“Aaron listen to me please! I’ve taken so many hostage negotiations courses it would make your law degree look easy, just let me come with you! I’ll wear a vest!”
“(Y/N) he knows who you are,” he said firmly. “Even though whatever is going on in his mind is clearly fractured he was of sound enough mind to target you,” he pointed to your chest, but not in the soft manner he had done only mere nights before. “You’re staying here. That’s it, end of discussion,”
“Aaron-,”
“End of discussion,” he repeated. “In the field, I am your boss, and it’s my job to look out for your safety. I’m not taking this chance (Y/N), do you understand,”
“Yes,” you muttered.
“I said, do you understand?”
“Yes sir,” you spoke up, your mouth going dry and he nodded, walking away from you to get into the car. “Fuck my life,” you said the minute you entered the conference room where JJ was sitting, listening to the chatter going on over the communications.
“That bad huh?”
“I really need to get licensed to carry a gun then maybe he’ll let me fucking do something for once,” you rested your elbows on the table. “I just wanna go home JJ, I’m so tired,” you sighed, resting your head on the wood in defeat.
She placed a comforting hand on your back while you continued to listen in, waiting for more details, listening to what was going on.
But after a certain point, things became fuzzy until the radio clicked and things went silent.
“Did they-?” you asked.
“Everyone’s safe,” she assured you and your heart felt relieved, but that’s when the exhaustion kicked in.
From then until you got onto the jet was muddled. JJ was by your side the entire time making sure you were getting to where you needed to be and the minute you entered the plane and your head hit the couch you were knocked out cold.
“You think I was too hard on her?” Hotch said softly to Morgan who sat next to him, playing a game of solitaire.
“On (Y/N)?” the man bit the inside of his cheek and sighed. “Maybe a little, but I think she understands where it’s coming from,”
“What do you mean where it’s coming from, Morgan I’m her boss-,”
“But you’re also someone who cares for her deeply. You don’t need a profile to see that,” he said firmly. “And she cares for you too, in so many ways Hotch,”
“I know,” Aaron nodded, glancing towards his folded hands in front of him before his eyes flicked to your sleeping frame on the chair. “I know,”
—
When you entered the BAU’s office in Quantico late that night you thought you might see at least a few team members lingering but the only lights that were on were those in Aaron’s office.
You were just there to drop off the files, if you didn’t do it now you would forget later. Entering Aaron’s office, he stood leaning against the front of his desk, glancing down at some papers and scanning them, his eyes running back and forth furiously.
You coughed and he looked up, noticing you were there and immediately put his files down.
“I came to bring these back,” you said. “Before I headed home,”
“Thanks,” he said, taking them from your hands. “You know...about earlier...” he trailed off.
“Yes,” you nodded motioning for him to continue.
“I just,” he chewed on the inside of his bottom lip. “Out there, when we’re out in situations like that, your safety is my top priority,”
Your safety.
Not the teams.
Not his.
Yours.
It sounded like something a spouse would say and before you could even filter what you were saying it came out.
“I’m not your wife Aaron,”
That made him frown. He looked at you curiously, his features softening when he saw the way you looked, almost hurt having to say that.
“W-What prompted you to say that?” he asked, genuinely curious.
You took a deep breath, throwing your hands up in the air and letting them drop to your sides with a shake of your head.
“I don’t know Aaron, you tell me,” you said. “I come and bring you food when you forget to eat, you’re on the other end of the line when I have a nightmare. I make sure you go to sleep early, you try to make sure I don’t die when we’re out there,” you listed. “Doesn’t this all sound to you like something people who are more than best friends would do for each other?”
Aaron listened avidly, hanging on to your every word.
“A-And I don’t know whether you’re trying to make me confused but I don’t understand why you hold me the way you do, why you make me smile, why do you look at me with your eyes shining like that Aaron? Because I keep doing all these things for you, I keep dragging you away from your job every once in a while so you can remember there’s a world out there that’s not filled with murder, and rape and the worst humanity has to offer, but I do all that...I take care of you...I’m your wife in every single way except one,” your lips were trembling at this point and you could see that look in his eyes, the one he got when he wanted to hold you, help you, protect you and say everything would be okay. “Wifes get love, Aaron. And I love you, but do you… do you love me?”
“Of course,” he whispered, without so much as a thought, finally pushing away from the desk, coming to stand in front of you, centimetres away.
You were no stranger to closeness with Aaron Hotchner, but this felt different. Again, it felt more personal. It felt like everything you ever wanted.
His hand came to cradle the side of your face, thumb wiping a tear away from your cheek.
“I’m so sorry,” he whispered. “I’m so sorry I didn’t tell you, that you didn’t know,”
You sniffed, nodding your head, your hands now pressed between your chest and his.
He brought your face closer to his until your foreheads were pressed together before he said,
“I want to say it for you, out loud so you know it,” he started. “And I want to kiss you so I can show it,”
You nodded your head again, feeling his lips brush gently against yours, a faint distant memory coming back from years ago, the taste of beer somehow still present on his tongue, but before he fully pressed his lips to your he whispered,
“I love you,”
And his lips were finally on yours. When they parted you almost whined, but he took your face, cradled in his hands and said it again,
“I love you,”
This time his lips met the corner of your mouth.
“I love you,”
Your cheekbones, two on each side.
“I love you,”
The tip of your nose, making you tilt your head up once more to align his lips with yours.
“I love you,” he said one more time, pressing his lips to yours so firmly it made your knees wobble and go weak.
You and Aaron had always made a good team, this was no exception. His lips moved with yours in such a rhythm, in such synchronicity one would almost think it was rehearsed, but you just knew each other that well. That was part of who you were.
In the end, there were plenty of things you had done and would come to do for Aaron Hotchner, the same from him to you, but by far your most favourite was getting to say I love you.
if you enjoyed this fic please consider reblogging! it's the best way to help creators get exposure!
special thanks to @itsalonglongwaytobasingse and @writingtoforgetreality for helping me with this one and letting me ramble about it 24/7
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by members: namjoon seokjin yoongi hoseok jimin taehyung jungkook maknae line bts
by theme: poly hybrid vampire soulmate college mafia exes yandere (soft) royal abo sports general (doesn’t have a particular theme)
masterlists
An assortment of Ghost hcs @lady-necropolis and I created sorry if they’re awkward and poorly written I’ve never done this before
Relationship hcs:
Terzo
Likes seeing his s/o in his clothes, has a very “what’s mine is yours” attitude. Also he thinks it’s hot.
He likes to play with his s/o’s hair when he’s stressed or they’re stressed or whenever he possibly can. And if they have long hair he braids it. @lady-necropolis actually wrote a fic based on this ! It’s really good 🥰.
Very fun to be with because of his confidence and extravagance, definitely brings a shy s/o out of their shell and brings out their best side.
However a lot of his confidence is probably him putting on airs and he will let his s/o see his soft and vulnerable side, probably talks to them about his worries at 2am lol
Copia
Love language is touch, has to be constantly touching his s/o partially bc he’s touch starved and he just likes to check that they’re still there partially for reassurance. He is very fragile ok.
Very needy and requires a lot of reassurance but he is very worth it.
Texts his s/o constantly (as long as they don’t mind, he doesn’t want to be a nuisance)
Very patient and understanding with his s/o and happy to hear about and help with any problems they may have if he can.
Family hcs:
They all know each other inside out, including which buttons to press to annoy each other and how to calm each other down.
Terzo’s love language is “collecting” things from his brothers and s/o he wanders into their room and takes their clothes and little things that remind him of them so he can have little pieces of them wherever he is, they know he does this but they don’t mind.
Because of this he’s happy to share his wardrobe with his s/o and his brothers.
Secondo is the dad. He dads everyone, including terzo even though he’s only 3 months younger. He’s such a dad he even dads primo.
Terzo loves his big brothers but is closer to secondo. He has definitely slipped up and called him dad before, hes even said it in front of Nihil. Nihil didn’t even notice.
Terzo definitely slept in secondos bed a lot when they were younger, they were a comfort for each other.
If you want to hurt terzo you have to go through secondo. He is very protective.
The emeritus brothers adopt copia. Secondo dads him (obviously) and he loves it, he absolutely thrives.
Secondo teaches him swear words. He also taught terzo.
Secondo has definitely berated sister for being a bad mother to copia , he will not stand for this shit. Overhearing this conversation is how copia found out, he didn’t mention it to anyone it was a very stressful realisation for him.
General hcs:
Terzo
Loves baths, loves bath bombs. He smells really really nice.
Has the biggest bed, very luxurious and comfy. His room is also very lavish and fancy, it’s much nicer than copias. Sorry copia.
Doesn’t get angry too often but when he does he literally explodes he is a ball of rage he will break things and yells very very loudly.
Gets pep talks from secondo when he’s feeling self conscious or worrying about something.
You get excellent gossip about him from secondo and primo, they know everything.
Primo
Practically raised secondo as he’s a lot older and Nihil was useless.
Has some really sick vintage band shirts, terzo definitely steals them and wears them.
Knows about copias parentage before copia does. Before anyone does actually (except sister obviously)
literally cannot be lied to, no really one knows why but it’s impossible.
Knows everything about everyone, no one knows how
Secondo
Tall. Ridiculously fucking tall, man is a tree.
Bullies terzo for being small, doesn’t mean to hurt him though because he does love him (secretly)
Only person who knows how much he loves terzo is terzo (and probably primo again, can’t hide things from him)
Will not for the life of him use chapstick. He crusty.
He’s usually quite grumpy but he is absolutely terrifying when angry, if he gets angry run just fucking run.
Only person able to calm him down when he’s raging is terzo. Or his s/o but terzo is really the only one brave enough to try. (He has to hug him while he’s storming around so he has to be very fast and very sneaky)
Only copia has ever seen him cry and it doesn’t happen very often, copia was very young so secondo doesn’t think he remembers. (He does)
Copia
He’s very in touch with his emotions and cries a lot. He literally wears his heart on his sleeve. He had to try very very hard to get it under control after becoming papa because it’s too dangerous to be so open.
Angry cryer, always cries when he’s angry and it frustrates him. It ends up making him cry more and he does not appreciate it.
Chinese is not his favourite food, sister doesn’t know enough about him to know what it is. Hell, he didn’t even know until he went on tour and could fully be himself for the first time and not the person he is at the ministry.
Angst hcs
Terzo was furious when he was fired, had a full on screaming match with sister and Nihil, probably threw something at Nihils head.
He had to be restrained and dragged away by primo and secondo and he was still screaming insults at them in Italian all the way down the hall.
Copia saw it being Nihils right hand man, he probably cried as he was very shocked and stressed and he just doesn’t. Know. What. To. Do. He felt awful seeing terzo like that and being unable to stand up for him. Went to his rooms afterwards and apologised. Lots of tears from both of them.
There are more but my brain is fried rn lmao but if anyone likes these expect future posts !!!
Family
Warning for descriptions of illness, self-hate, violence and destruction.
Technoblade catches a fever as he moves his base to the far north. Fortunately, his father finds him. They talk.
///
Technoblade glared at his reflection in the ice.
Hunter. Warrior. Weapon. God. The undying and undefeated. The Blade.
He rubbed at his sore eyes, attempting to take in his less than ideal appearance. His hair didn't have the right luster to it, dry and limp in its braids. Sweat beaded down his dull pink skin. Even under his thick cape and the radiating heat of netherite armor, his body shook with chills.
His pride battled with his practicality, and as it often did, practicality won.
Technoblade, in all his undying and undefeated glory, was sick.
All those sleepless nights, days straight spent traveling across the ocean to transfer all his materials to his new base (in an isolated village, in an isolated frozen wasteland) must have taken their toll.
That made sense. Recognizing this, Techno made the conscious decision to stand up and walk back to the library he'd converted into headquarters. He did not get that far. After a wobbly start, squeezing his eyes shut against the throbbing of his head, peeking them open and watching the world swim, he took a few steps and tripped over his own hooves- faceplanting in the packed snow.
He laid there for a while. Just thinking.
The Blade, felled by no man. Oh, no other warrior could ever lay a hand on him. What killed him in the end, you ask? He died of the sniffles, in exile by his own brother.
Man, this sucked.
Techno tried to push himself up but the weakness in his arms made them shake and give out after a few seconds. The library wasn't that far, was it? He squinted into the swirling snowflakes and frigid air, through the fading colors of the setting sun to the vague shape where the building should be. He could make it there before nightfall if he thought this through carefully. A plan of attack was in order.
A tactical combination of rolling, scooting, and crawling. At precise intervals so he wouldn't critically tire or injure himself, complete with more squinting around to check that he was moving in the right direction. As cold as he felt he knew that the netherite armor would prevent hyperthermia. That gave him time, but he still wanted to be inside before dark. You can't exactly fight monsters when you can't stand. Like hell The Blade was going to die to a zombie.
It could've taken an hour, it could've been ten minutes. But at last, Techno pulled himself into the library with a groan, the door shutting behind him with a gust of wind.
The rough wooden planks cut into his cheek yet the overwhelming tide of exhaustion that swept over him banished any thoughts he had about his situation. His eyes fluttered closed as his stomach turned inside out.
He did not sleep.
He stayed very, very still, and could only be glad he'd made it out of L'Manburg when he did. What would Tommy say if he saw him like this? He'd taunt and mock him as if Techno hadn't sat with him though dozens of sick days just like this when they were younger. Hadn't taken care of him, told wry and teasing jokes to cheer him up, tucked him in and gave him water and thin broth even when he fussed and moaned about it.
Sometimes he felt like Tommy'd forgotten everything he had done for him over the years.
Techno swallowed back a lump in his throat, shifting just a bit to be a little more comfortable on the floor.
There's a certain way time moves when you're sick. Extraordinarily slowly, like sap running down the side of a tree- occasionally fizzing out like someone switching the stations on the radio. Except half the stations are static and the other half are blinding agony.
He thought he could hear the ice cracking, somewhere under the howling of the storm out there. Something crackled and popped in his ears, and they twitched at every tiny noise, each disturbance in the air they could detect. Which- admittedly- was not a lot. Your senses aren't the best when you're sick, Techno discovered. He never really had been sick himself before, it was always him and Phil nursing Tommy or Wilbur or Tubbo. For a long time he doubted piglins could even get sick in the overworld.
Apparently they could.
Technoblade risked a quiet huff, more of and exhale than anything. The nausea rose and he winced.
Now he was hot. Sweaty and sticky and gross-feeling. Normally when he thought of hot, he thought of the Nether- the place he was born. Normally the heat was welcoming. But the heat in the Nether was dry and settled in your skin, comfortable and enveloping. This felt like something was trying to claw its way out of him, and it didn't mind tearing him apart to do it.
Well, best of luck to whatever it was. Technoblade had decided, back when he first got away to this village- hell, far before then- that no matter what, he would keep going. No matter what he sacrificed, no matter what others tried to take from him, no matter what they thought and no matter what thoughts came from his own mind- he would survive. Techno decided that he wasn't going to die. So, this fever was just going to have to deal with that.
It must've been in the thick of the night. Pitch-black outside, you couldn't even see by the stars with the blizzard and the clouds. No one would find him.
So his eyes fluttered closed.
He fell into a light sleep, shallow and empty. The weightless and shapeless feeling of passing through a portal, the in-between of dimesions.
When he stirred again, the ache in his stomach slightly more manageable, though his bones were heavy like bedrock and his mind was a mess of cobwebs.
He stirred, and his hand gripped fabric, blankets on the floor beneath him. His cape wasn't hooked around his shoulders but draped over him, his netherite armor nowhere to be seen.
Techno sat straight up even as every fiber of his being protested. His ears perked, eyes scanned the house, heart pounded in his ribcage.
"Easy, easy... it's just me."
The door opened and closed again.
He narrowed his eyes at green and black robes teasing the ground, socks and sandals trailing snow into the house.
Technoblade sighed, wheezed, let himself fall back into the pile of comforters.
Philza kneeled beside him and pressed the back of his hand to Techno's forehead. "Definitely a fever, buddy. Just relax." Technoblade grunted in response, and Phil smiled. "I noticed you don't have a bed in this new base of yours, so I took the liberty of making you one. Where would you like it?" His eyes twinkled, grey-blue like the early morning sky, and the wrinkles in his face deepened a bit as his smile grew wider.
Techno made a weak gesture to some corner of the library. Philza patted his shoulder and stepped away.
He fidgeted in the blanket pile, eyes trained on Philza's movements. He wasn't afraid- not really, but still he wondered how Phil found him. He'd traveled so far north, covered his tracks well, slipped into the slow and quiet village without so much of a whisper of his presence.
"I was just in the area, wanted a moment to myself, you know? I happened to spot a piglin crawling through the snow in the distance. I wasn't sure, so I asked around a little. Turns out the villagers are worried about you too." Philza placed the bed down and scooted it to fit in the cubby between Techno's chests. He turned with a raised brow.
Ah. So, he must've spoken outloud. Technoblade muttered to himself and glanced to the other side of the room. Phil chuckled and approached, leaning down and hooking an arm around his shoulders. "Let's get you on a real bed, hm? Sleeping on the floor's no good for your back." Being pulled to his hooves made Techno's head spin. He tried to shake and push Philza off.
"I... can handle this... myself." His voice was hoarse and his throat was scratchy, tongue dry. Phil gave him some room and he immediately stumbled- the wood grain swirled and spiraled like a mixed drink and the chills were back. Philza caught him, leading him calmly to the bed, scooping up all the blankets from the floor into his arms and setting them beside Techno on the mattress.
"Sure you can. I'll get you some water." Phil took a glass bottle from the bag on his hip and stepped out of the library-base, leaving Techno alone again.
Technoblade turned over in the bed, burying his face in the pillow. "I have a reputation to keep..." He mumbled into the cushion. Everything felt so heavy. Someone could've piled end stone on his back and he wouldn't have noticed.
Maybe having Philza here was for the best. Better him than anyone else, if it had to be someone.
He must've drifted off at some point, because the next thing he knew Philza was tapping his shoulder to wake him up, murmuring to him as he let Techno drink from the filled bottle. The water was still slightly cold, and Techno could almost taste the edge of frost and earth in it. He grimaced a little at the bitterness.
"I know, I know, it's not the best. I'll get you better tomorrow, some soup and some more pillows. How's that sound?" Phil drew away the bottle and laid Techno's head back on the bed. Techno made a noncommittal noise, frowning.
Philza chuckled. "You don't like someone taking care of you- I get it. You've grown so independent now. But everybody needs a hand once in a while."
Their eyes met, Phil's gaze so gentle, full of a warmth that looked strange to him after all this time. Philza held the contact only briefly before returning to tasks around the house (some kind of tidying up), and Techno was grateful for that.
He mumbled to Phil's back, " 'M just glad it was you who found me and not Tommy..."
Philza paused but didn't turn to him. "Oh? Why's that?" A hesitant curiosity in his voice.
Shifting in the blankets, Techno scoffed, shallow and breathless. "Cause he'd... he'd laugh at me. Tommy always... always laughs." Always laughs in that sharp and annoying way of his- Techno, well, saying Techno hated the sound would be a stretch (he only hated one thing), but it wasn't high on his list. Maybe he liked Tommy's chuckles more, because they sounded like Phil, because they meant he was really okay for a moment and Techno didn't have to worry about him putting on a false bravado that would just end up hurting him more with his stupid, biting laughter.
"What makes you think he would?" There was a stiffness to his shoulders, hands flat on the crafting bench. Phil's long blonde hair should be tied back. Either it was stuffed into his robes, or... or he cut it for some reason. Techno felt his lip twitch downward, but he decided to focus on Phil's words instead.
Because Tommy making fun of people was so wildly out of character. He would've laughed himself if he didn't feel so sick and dead-ish. "You, heh, you think that he wouldn't?" He'd taunt him and then he'd leave. That was a Tommy thing to do, wasn't it? Do his childish mocking playground routine and then peace out. On to another person to scream at and another adventure to kill himself on.
Phil hummed, and Techno could hear the smile in his voice. "Oh, he absolutely would laugh, without a doubt." After a moment the amusement in his tone softened into sincerity. "He'd still take care of you though."
The creaking wheels in Technoblade's head came to a harsh stop. He blinked.
"What... makes you think he would?"
Philza didn't answer for a moment. Then, quietly, he did. "Because you're his brother, Techno. He loves you."
He loves the power I give him, Techno wanted to spit back. Tommy just loved using him as a threat to others, since they were little, since he noticed others weren't scared of a short, loud blond kid, but they were scared of a big piglin with a sword.
It had always been that way. Tommy bragging and talking it up, with Techno standing just behind him, a hulking and menacing shadow and shield. Silent and violent.
It had always been that way. Until Techno left, of course.
"Doesn't act like it," He said, quiet and drained.
Now Phil turned and walked over to him, kneeling once more, a sorrow and a fondness in his face. "He's always been like that. Tommy's young, and he's stupid, and he's headstrong. But he loves his family, you have to give him that." He fixed the blankets around Techno. "That means you."
The frozen wind outside battered against the library windows. Technoblade wasn't afraid, or angry, but something bubbled up then, puke or outrage or the lingering stinging pain of betrayal. He gripped Philza's arm-
"I'm not- I'm not anything to him, nothing, just a... a tool. Something to, to threathen people with. To use to do his dirty work!" Shapes swirled and shifted colors in his vision; he felt fire on his skin and ash in his lungs. "I told him, I told him my code, I told him what I wanted, exactly who I was and what I would do... what did he do? Did he listen to me? No! I tried- damn it, we tried it his way! I used my words Phil, I told him..." But no, Tommy didn't listen, Tommy never listened, only ever listened to what he wanted to hear... maybe, maybe Tommy did love them but he loved them wrong, and he loved his doomed nation and broken, posioned ideals more.
Phil used his free hand to hold Techno's, curled tightly into the fabric of his robe. "I know you did, son, I know..."
A growl rumbled in Techno's throat and he pressed his eyes shut. "And when it didn't work, I did it my way. He didn't like it my way." Tommy never liked it his way. "It was peer pressure the first time... you know, all those people telling me, I didn't make that choice... I didn't!" He remembered, Schlatt bellowing in his ear, all those eyes watching, Tubbo's eyes, his wide and teary eyes... "But I lived with it, Phil, I've lived with it every damn day since."
"I know you have." Just a soft reassurance as Phil rubbed circles into the back of his hand.
"We fought about it, we had the conversation, we used our words and we used our fists and we used them and they didn't work." They were supposed to work, why didn't they work? Something was supposed to work. "They didn't work and he was still so angry! Supposed to stay in the pit, I said, it stays in the pit... it didn't stay in the pit, Phil, it crawled back up with us and it's following him and eating him alive..." Tommy let the thing out, maybe it was already out and following him, either way it was there, and it was hungry.
"He's trying, Techno. He's angry, and it's his responsibility to deal with that anger. It's not your fault." Philza's voice almost cracked, it got all whispery and fragile and it hurt.
Technoblade shook his head, a wild look in his eyes. "And he's letting it! He let it eat him up and let it eat his country up and eat Wil up and eat everything up... but it's so much bigger than him, Phil, it's angry, it's eating everything up. Is it eating me up, Phil?"
"No, Techno, it's not. You're away from L'Manburg now, you're cold and you're sick but you're safe."
He laughed, shaky and fading like aftershocks from an earthquake. "Safe, safe... I thought we were safe. The war was supposed to happen and the war was supposed to be over and we were supposed to be free." Free, free... how stupid was he? He trusted them, he trusted Wilbur, he trusted Tommy, he trusted them like he always did. He left to get away from it and he came back and fell into it all over again.
"I let them in my base, Phil, my secret base... I let them in and they ransacked it! I checked, I checked just a few days ago and so much was gone! So much more than I gave! But that's just what they do right? They take and they take and they take!" They give nothing back, they use him and throw him out, and Technoblade says nothing, said nothing because he didn't know what to say, because words always failed him. But violence never fails him. "They killed my cows, Phil! They took stacks of emeralds and they killed my cows and they waltzed all over the place like they owned it!"
"That sounds awful, Techno, I'm sorry..." Philza's voice trailed off, as if he'd run out of comforts to offer. And that was fine.
"And then, and then, and then..." His grip went slack. His face burned and hurt and went red but he didn't cry, no, he didn't cry. "They took my armor and my weapons and after the war I helped them win they took it all and spat in my face. They made a government! A new government!" He hit his fist against Phil's chest, his jaw clenched so tight, his palms white and red from his claws pressing in. "Just right in front of me, just declared Tubbo president, just let him give his little speech and laughed in my face, Tommy always laughs..."
Phil moved to sink his hand in Techno's hair, brushing through the loose parts with his fingers. "They didn't understand everything you did for them, they fought for their country back and they took it, and they didn't think about you. I'm sorry."
Technoblade took a sharp breath. "And Wil..."
And Phil's face hardened, tense and pained. "There's nothing you could've done for Wil, Techno. He was too far gone."
"Nothing, nothing... nothing but ash and smoke and blood and fire." They listened to him, for once. For a single moment they stopped and stared. They wept, so terribly afraid of him, and fought bloody and dirty through their tears. And Wilbur, in the cloud of soot and agony he'd brought upon these people he was supposed to love and to lead, he begged Phil to kill him with a smile on his face.
"It was a horrible day, Techno."
With that sentence, sinking down as light as a feather yet unimaginably heavy, Techno let his head fall into Phil's chest. "All gone and what to show for it? Nothing, nothing... the minotaur fell and the city was swallowed up in dust and rubble."
Philza held him. "New L'Manburg looks beautiful, Techno."
"New L'Manburg is built on bones and death and lies and betrayal, Phil, it's poison and it's a curse and... and it's eating itself up..." His voice, sapped of the energy from before, was just a breath in the air.
"Tommy will be fine, Techno."
Technoblade felt the tears as deep cuts down his cheeks, felt them soak into Phil's robes. "Tommy hates me, Phil. I just don't know if he hates himself more." A person had to hate themselves, to do all the things Tommy did, to see everything that became of it, and to try the same thing again.
"And he chose this, he chose this 'government' and these laws and to follow this same path that drove him into the ground before..." He said, dizzy and numb, "...and I shouldn't care. Shouldn't bother me, not my problem, shouldn't worry about it, shouldn't think about it..."
Phil smiled, so much sadder this time. "But you do."
"But I do and I don't."
"Because you love him."
"I love him and I hate him."
Techno looked at Tommy and he saw a little boy. Maybe that was just him being an older brother. Maybe it was because Tommy was still childish and crude. Maybe it was because Tommy had suffered so much- the revolutions, the exile, the war and the bloodshed and the betrayal- he never quite got the chance to really grow up. And so Tommy hung onto that bit of reckless youth he had left, and Techno held onto it the same. That didn't give him a free pass. But... it made sense.
Technoblade was his brother, afterall. With Wilbur gone they just had each other.
Philza, their father, their anchor, their beginning and their end (literally in Wilbur's case), smiled again and ruffled his hair.
"Well, that's just part of being part of a family, isn't it?"
Techno thought about that, he thought about that hard, and he must've thought about it too hard because the world started dimming and turning to black. Philza held him and soothed him as he fell into a light sleep, shallow yet somehow fulfilling.
Anime-Inspired RPG ‘Plus Adventure’ Features a Familiar Heroic Cast
https://indiegamesplus.com/2018/11/anime-inspired-rpg-plus-adventure-features-a-familiar-heroic-cast
Hot for Teacher (Professor! Tom Hiddleston x fem! Reader Oneshot)
Summary: After being private about your relationship, your professor boyfriend, Tom Hiddleston, introduces you to his students.
Word Count: 2K
Warnings: Some thirsty comments and cursing, but no smut. Established relationship and lots of fluffy moments. Grammar and spelling mistakes that slipped past me. Reader not being a student and being an Adult Adult (tm). A big fancy ball because I decided not some hum drum party was gonna do. (I'm the writer, I can do what I want). I rip off YouTube comments and Ana Huang and stuff I see on Tiktok and Instagram.
A/N: For @holdmytesseract's request! I am sorry this took a while due to stuff happening, but here it is!!!
A03//My Ko-Fi//My Etsy Shop//Masterlist//Wattpad
Taglist: @asgards-princess-of-mischief @jennyggggrrr @five-miles-over @fictive-sl0th @ladycamillewrites @villainousshakespeare @holdmytesseract @eleniblue @twhxhck @lokisgoodgirl @lovelysizzlingbluebird @raqnarokr @holymultiplefandomsbatman @michelleleewise @wolfsmom1 @cheekyscamp @mochie85 @fandxmslxt69 @skittslackoffilter @mischief2sarawr
You always visited the campus coffee shop on Mondays at 10 am to overhear students being thirsty for your boyfriend. You couldn’t help but stifle a giggle at their comments. They were leaving their English Literature Survey class. Only they weren’t discussing books.
“Sooo nice of him to lower the word count for the essay, he knows it’s a lot.”
“Holy crap, did you see how tight his shirt was today? I could practically see his titties.”
“He needs to quote Shakespeare again. I think I’m developing a kink.”
“If I caught my girl in bed with Professor Hiddleston, I’d tuck him in.”
“If I was at the club and Professor Hiddleston was hitting on my girl, I’d start to cry…because he didn’t choose me.”
“I’m a hardcore lesbian, but Professor Hiddleston is on my cheat card.”
“I’m a hardcore asexual, but Professor Hiddleston is so hot that if I had to get pregnant I’d want him to do the honors.”
You sipped up your drink, sitting in a far corner. Smiling bright as you heard them. Stifling a laugh so hard you could feel your drink always threatened to snort out of your nose. You would cup your face, ensuring they didn’t take note of you. Even get out the notes app on your phone to type them down. Not that you’d ever show him.
He was their hot Professor. But to you, he was just Tom.
Just Tom. A boyfriend who cared for you respected you, and listened to you. Who did the bare minimum and so much more. They didn’t know his flaws, living with each other's smells and body odors and functions and insecurities. And the little, beautiful moments that made you all the more in love with him. How you would both go to bookstores and geek out after certain works, make a mess in the kitchen trying a new recipe, or stay in your pajamas until 1 pm watching something on the TV. Did they know how loud he snored at night? Or how sensitive his neck was? Or that he was fidgety if he sat too long?
Then one of them said “His girlfriend is one lucky ass bitch. I wonder what she’s like?”
“Oh…he hasn’t said anything about a girlfriend, do you think…he’s single?!” one asked.
They all shot up like meerkats with big smiles.
You froze, only staring quietly at your drink.
Tom didn’t talk about you in class. Nothing. Nada. Goose eggs. They didn't know you existed.
So far you were sure they were not little homewreckers- not successfully, at least. You trusted Tom and he trusted you and his students respected his boundaries. But he blocked them on social media so they wouldn’t dig anything about him. Tom was a private person and he wanted that to be respected by his students.
When you both met to hang out and make dinner later that evening- his special Spaghetti bolognese recipe, he gave you a hug and kiss on your head.
“Oh, you missed a spot!” you teased.
His eyes crinkled beneath his glasses.
“Oh- uh,” he voiced out.
You dived in to kiss him on the lips, his beard scratching your chin.
“How are you?” he asked.
“Oh, just fine. Your students were…wondering about me today. I saw them at the shop.”
“They didn’t recognize you?”
“No- they don’t know what I look like. Or about me, period…we’ve kept it that way…”
Both of you got into the kitchen, rolling up your sleeves and preparing the pasta and sauce. It smelled of garlic, onion, and olive oil, making your stomach rumble. How easily smelling that in a kitchen could solve all of your problems!
He smiled at you. Then, as the pasta was set to boil in the pot, he turned to you. His sleeves rolled up (making you giddy inside) and his face was a little flushed from the heat of the steam from cooking.
“My angel, I don’t want to keep you in hiding- and you shouldn’t.”
“Tom, what do you mean?” you asked. You stirred the sauce, then tapped the spoon and set it on a jar for attempted cleanliness.
I love you. And this is a part of my life…would you like to meet them? I promise you, they won’t hurt you. I won’t let them!”
He went up to hug you from behind and you watched the simmering food.
You paused, taking in a breath. What were you afraid of? Were you ashamed of Tom or being with him? No, not a bit.
You turned around to face him.
“They’re college kids. They’re basically puppies…I think I’d like to meet them.” you agreed
--:::------::------------------->◇<--------------------::------:::---
You both decided what event it should be that you would meet them. There were events called Bookish Balls that were all the rage now. It was a prom for adults. Proms where everyone dressed like fantasy characters and showed off costumes and even cosplays. It was everything from complex armor to a dress with some elf ears on.
You knew he had a Shakespearean-era outfit from a play he did that he kept you just had to find the right look. It would be more exciting and less creepy then if you jumped on them at the mall like a pair of stalkers.
And the ball looked like fun.
You and Tom both arrived. He was in his Shakespearean garb and crown. You had your own outfit- you adored it. You couldn’t help but look at each large mirror you walked by as you walked down the dim hallways with carpeted floors.
All the students were talking about it- tickets were 60 percent off for students. Since they were all raving about these hot new fantasy books between their required reading of Dickens. They all rattled their iced coffees like maracas and gossiped and shared pics of their outfits on their phones every day before class according to Tom. Most of them would all be there.
Little did they know their Professor was going to be there, as well as his girlfriend.
You both arrived at the fine, fancy hotel. Tom was dressed in his leather doublet and pants with a large cape and a grand crown. Ever the king. You had splurged on the fancy outfit you wanted badly- and you felt as if you were a heroine in a story as you walked through.
“You look stunning- they’re going to adore you,” Tom assured you.
You hoped so. If they met you and humiliated you in some way tonight or after, you would move to Antarctica and learn to speak penguin.
Taking his arm and feeling like royalty, you both went down the fine large building. You saw people gathered. There were some stage lights and the large gala room had trees with flowers everywhere as well as thrones, little game booths photo booths, and a banquet. And, of course, a packed dance floor. A live band played. Many people wore crowns and wings and elf ears and were dancing away with zeal. Women twirled their ballgown skirts with smiles so big it lit them up. Many flicked their capes dramatically or wrapped around them like blankets. There were fairy lights and glitter everywhere and there were photo ops and even a costume contest. It was in full sway.
Including a crowd that included Tom’s students. They jumped up in time to the song, breathlessly singing along to every word.
Tom held out your hand, both of you feeling like the king and queen looking over their jubilant subjects. You both walked down. Hoping your outfit looked as nice on you as you hoped it would.
The song was entering its last chorus. The student's backs were turned and their capes and wings were bouncing as they danced. They hadn’t noticed you yet.
He went to his group of students and cleared his throat. At once they turned their heads.
They looked at him and then you and their jaws dropped.
Tom said.“hello, here is Y/N, my beautiful, amazing girlfriend.” He then leaned you in and gave you a kiss on the cheek.
All of their eyes bugged out of their skulls and jaws dropped like broken nutcrackers among them.
You were worried the girls in the group would glare at you like they were going to rip out your stomach intestines.
But instead, all of them collapsed into a collective “AAaaaaawwwwwww, hello!” and “What?! WHAT?!” Their eyes flitted toward Tom in tight leather (who wouldn’t?) and you in your presence.
You went up like in any social situation. You gave them a smile- warm, genuine, polite, and friendly.
“Hi there, it’s nice to meet you- I heard all about you guys!”
You shook their hands. You got to meet them and learn names- Kelly, Hailey, Jessie, Emily, Daniel, Isaiah, Chase, Cameron, Kat, Miranda, Edgar, and so many more your head spun. But you eventually got it with practice.
But they let you dance with them. Be relaxed and have fun. It moved from a band to a playlist of all the classic dance songs. The band blasted Single Ladies and the girls invited you, dragging you in. You tried to copy the moves from the music video, but couldn’t quite and they all burst into laughter anyway.
It then slowed down- it was a ballad, the Cody Fry song about falling in love being like a symphony.
“Well…could I have a dance with my lady?” Tom asked, holding out his hand.
They gasped and looked at you.
“Oh, what a gentleman! I’d be delighted!” you said, accepting his hand.
They let you and Tom have a slow dance- how handsome he looked in the light, beaming at you. They smiled as if they were watching a rom-com at the end. There were no angry glares- at most, some looked a little reflective and sad. But none dared interrupt the moment with you and Tom.
Would they hate you after seeing the affection?
If so, they shut their mouths and minded their beeswax about it.
There were loads of pictures- you were willing to take some (they were seeing you as the surrogate Adult Adult more than their adults) and they included you in some, including some selfies.
Tom excused himself and returned with even brought you a little plate of food. a plate full of little sandwiches, cheeses, and fruits. You both rested your feet and shared some, feeling their eyes on you. For dessert, there were some gooey brownies that melted in your mouth. Tom eagerly grabbed some, his large hands packing as many brownies as he could.
But you realized his beard had streaks of chocolate brownies on it, you burst into laughter and you heard some giggling from the students too.
“Oh, let me take care of that!” you offered.
You got out a handkerchief and wiped it off of him. You definitely heard “awwwws” in the distance. Looking at it, his beard was now clean.
“There you go! But dashing as always!” you said.
He held your hand and kissed it. The “AWWWWWS” got louder in the back and you both had to suppress your laughter.
Rejoining the students, you saw them less as little judges or would-be homewreckers. You got to talk to them. Maybe you judged them harshly- you remembered being in college when you were that young too. Of course, they grumbled about the coursework sometimes and you gave your own insight.
“Oh- you’re seriously reading Persuasion? Oh, just wait! Austen takes some time to get used to when you read her stuff- read them slowly and you will catch onto what’s happening! The yearning in that one is beautiful” you encouraged a distraught Hailey.
You even discussed what fantasy books they were into and got some more recommendations for your ever-growing TBR. And at the end, every last person in the crowd gathered and danced. You and Tom joined the students with big grins and aching feet, but you wouldn’t stop until that last song ended its phrase. No drama. No pettiness. And no hiding. No fear. Just people at a party. Young and happy and alive.
--:::------::------------------->◇<--------------------::------:::---
The other morning, you were back at the coffee shop. Waiting on them. Soon enough, they arrived in their band, though you remained in the corner.
“I couldn’t believe he had a girlfriend!” Daniel gasped.
“Really?! I’m not! A man that fine can have his pick,” Kelly commented.
They began to all get iced coffees and gather around.
“She is gorgeous- didn’t you see her at that ball!? And she’s super nice!”
“Yeah…I want them to be happy and he seems so happy-”
“Oh, he is cheesing after her- you saw how he smiled?! And how he got the plate for her? Like, he’s a walking green flag!”
‘She’s so lucky!
“Listen, I am glad they’re happy…I just wish it were me…”
They all sighed and agreed,. You waited for that whole vibe of that phrase to blow away.
Then, quietly you walked over.
“Hello everyone,” you said.
They gasped and turned heads.
“YN! YN, hi!” one boy, what was his name- oh yes, Cameron!-said.
“Oh, I just wanted to pop by,” you added.
Then, Emily stood up. She got out a chair from one table and moved it over to where everyone sat .
“Do you have anywhere to be? You can…you can join us! You’re welcome to!”
You smiled at them and took a seat.
Hiii
So....
Country Levi AS a little league coach!!
He would be so good at looking after the kids. You'd provide the orange slices and drink. Levi would be so encouraging to the little ones. If they get hurt, he'd clean them and give them first aid treatment. They'd give him hugs and thank him. They'd say at school that Mr Ackerman is their hero 💕
He'd love the little uniforms and would stay up into the night sewing some things on them. You'd sleepily check on him, then help him out a bit because he's so excited about their next game.
He'd be so damn proud when his team wins. Levi isn't pushy, he's all about helping them and pushing them, but having fun is important!
Best part would be him hitting some balls if he's a baseball coach and seeing the kids light up in pure happiness at him hitting the balls very far away.
Jelly hello! This is SO cute and even if you don't know much about baseball how could you not want to help him help the kids?
Modern country Levi would love sports! Maybe not watching them a lot, but playing them! And after you volunteer at the local grade school and here of the budget cuts that include some of the outdoor activities, when you tell Levi about this he has a plan and gets to it!
Boys and girls are welcome, it's okay if they're not great as long as they practice and try, because they'll get better with hard work!
They love seeing you come with him because your snacks are the best! Nice refreshing orange or peach slices, watermelon, cold water. After you find out if any kid has any allergies you put together safe trail mix bags too. Plus sometimes baked goods like cookies or cupcakes. All the sweet "thanks Mrs Ackerman!" has you head over heels in love with all of them and your husband! If they try to rush off with food in their mouth you call out to them to slow down because you won't risk them accidently falling and it's not something they think about.
During practice if one of the kids tries to slide into home and falls a little too hard or someone misses a ball and gets bumped with it instead, Levi always makes everyone take a break to check in with them. First aid kits are always handy and Levi smiles when he sees you've refilled it with colorful tape and superhero band-aids. The kid gets their choice of color and pat on the back. "You did good, but he careful, yeah? Can't have you covered in pink tape." He jokes with them. If you are able to be there and watch you are right there with him helping the kid clean up and dry any tears. "Listen to your coach, he's always got your best in mind." You pass out water bottles and make sure everyone is hydrated and give an extra apple slice to your patient. You suddenly get a hug and have barely pulled away when Levi gets one too. It makes you soft seeing his smile as the kid gets back out there to try again thanks to his encouragement.
Back to those cupcakes? You are all about helping Levi earn money for equipment and uniforms. Bake sales it is! Levi is up with you helping make everything and the next day the kids sit outside busy places to ask passerbys for contributions. They would donate anyway but now that these delicious sweets are involved the kids raise more money then needed. You and Levi are sitting close by keeping an eye on things telling them what a good job they're doing, again handing out water bottles if it's getting to warm and having the kids take turns sitting in the shade with you if it's sunny. You always make extra cupcakes because it's easy to sell out, and this way they can take home any extras, which they love!
Once all the materials come in to make uniforms you're up late with Levi sewing the team name "Scouts" on the front with last names on the back. When you yawn Levi suggests you go to bed. "It's my project really. You've done so much, go to bed."
But you shake your head. You won't hear of it. "You might be the coach but as Mrs coach it is my duty and my right to be tired in the morning to make sure these get done." Levi grins and stops to come over and kiss you and soon you have to gently push him away because otherwise no more uniforms would get personalized tonight.
The kids get so excited at seeing their uniforms for the first time and cheer when you and Levi put yours on as well. They all have shiny new helmets and both you and Levi have a coaches cap. Their parents have all chipped in too so all the kids have new running shoes and extra bats and balls. Everything is coming together nicely!
And Levi is all about the team aspect of the game and having each others backs. And though he likes to win it's not the most important. But that won't stop him from getting excited and jumping up and down with you when one of the kids steals a base or one that kept having trouble hitting the ball gets a good enough one to get to first, and the one that fell trying to slide, now gets the game winner on the same type of play.
Hugs and cheers all around, hoisting kids up on shoulders! But even when they win Levi keeps it quick so they can form a line and show good sportsmenship and shake the other teams hands and tell them good job.
"Quite a team you have here coach." Says coach Smith from the next town over. "Couldn't do it without her." Levi points over to you, while you are telling the kids from coach Smiths team "good game, you played great!"
"Care for a rematch?" He'd play against Levis kids anytime who have been so polite and respectful. "Sure! Maybe we can have a practice one day!"
And then it's off to get pizza and ice cream and the kids form a line to get temporary tattoos and you and Levi put on matching ones too, and everyone takes a group photo, both in their uniforms and later on without hats while you're all celebrating. They want you in there too!
All the kids and parents chip in to get you and Levi something nice as a thank you and put in notes showing their gratitude and you're a sobbing mess and Levi proudly displays the special "words best coach" trophy on his desk.
And when you rent a bus to take a day trip to go play with Coach Smiths team, all the kids insist he and Levi throw and bat against each other and and thrilled at seeing how fast they run and how hard they hit. Everyone tells you to get in there too and while you're not the best, you've learned a thing or two and get a hit in. It's not exactly a homerun like the coaches have been getting, but the kids cheer just as loud at seeing Mrs Ackerman play.
And as you're handing out snacks to both teams members and you're getting twice as many thanks as usual, Levi speaks to Coach Smith about forming an adult team as well.
"Only is she's coach and makes us cookies." Erwin jokes about you. But, jokes on him because you are happy to do not only this, but introduce him to a friend who could just wind up becoming Mrs Smith.
Can you imagine an adorable baseball themed wedding with you and Levi in the wedding party? And everyone playing a quick game in their reception outfits with the kids now present before seeing the new happy couple off on their honeymoon.
In the years that follow as the kids get older and you and Levi welcome new kids, the other ones never forget those years with you two and always come back to visit.
mr & mrs park.
synopsis : in which the task of killing your enemy is abruptly put on a pause when you discover their cute little secret.
pairing : mafia seonghwa x reader.
theme ( s ) : romcom, angst, action & smut.
word count : 50K ( i- )
there are three things you need to know before you read this.
one, you screwed up.
two, it wasn’t supposed to be like this.
three, you’re holding onto a revolver.
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