A Film By Peter Parker

Y/N: We have fun, don’t we, Five?

Five: I have never been more stressed out in my entire life.

F. R. I. E. N. D. S

Not sure how spot on I'll be about writing these but I'm willing to try 😊

Chandler Bing - requests open

Friends Secret - another request from @malfoys-demigod Chandler is secretly dating Joey's little sister. The rest of their friends know except her brother.

No More Games - request from @crimesolvin friends to lovers where they both have liked each other and are definitely really close friends, but both are terrified to admit it till something happens to reveal it

Assisting Crush - Request from @achromaticerebus super cheesy chandler fluff where reader lives on the floor below and has been secretly crushing on chandler and the elevators are out of order. Everyone has to use the stairs for the day, but reader has a sprained ankle or crutches so he helps her out.

Ross Geller - requests open

Romantic Rooftop - Request from @mimi33p Ross and y/n are hanging out on the rooftop because they both can't sleep and then Ross ends up confessing his love for her

Joey Tribiani - requests open

Relationship Lie - request by @ohjava. Joey help Chandler and Monica hide their relationship. But the reader hears Joey say he slept with Monica, even though they're dating. Will he be able to clear the confusion before she leaves him.

Protective Bing - request from @malfoys-demigod Reader is Chandler’s baby sister. Joey and the reader are secretly dating. But her brother finds out and goes protective big brother on his roommate.

Green Sibling - He is dating Rachel's sister but olny rachel knew about it and the others find out after a big suprise from Y/n.

Part 2 - request from @tyrionsprincess29

I want a Mini Us - request from @bvbwestfall where everyone's doing there own thing after the season finally and Joey goes to the central perk learning his girlfriend wants a baby because she's almost in her thirtys

Tag List - just ask to be added

@rosie-posie08 @lover-of-books-and-tea

𝐥𝐨𝐯𝐞, 𝐚𝐧 𝐚𝐛𝐬𝐭𝐫𝐚𝐜𝐭 𝐜𝐨𝐧𝐜𝐞𝐩𝐭 | 𝐚𝐚𝐫𝐨𝐧 𝐡𝐨𝐭𝐜𝐡𝐧𝐞𝐫

You learn how to be someone’s girlfriend. Or, 5 times Hotch raises your expectations (+1 time you raise his).

7k words, new established relationship to established relationship, lots of fluff and some small angst, hurt/comfort, fem!reader, civilian!reader, calls him aaron, basically hotch treating you well

༺༻

1. Soup. 

"Are you hungry?" Aaron asks, hands at the neck of his shirt as he loosens his tie. 

You've never seen him do that. It's a lot to take in.

"A little, are you?"  He's lucky that you remember to answer.

His smile lights you up inside and out, a warm, casual quirk. "Famished." 

"Should we make something?" 

He turns from the doorway and moves into the kitchen. You have to twist on his couch to see his movements. 

"No need. I should've asked if you like it, but I made vegetable soup. The kind with mini dumplings." 

You look down at your legs and squeeze your thighs together until your knees tap. You're too shy to go and meet him where he's standing, but perhaps sitting and having him wait on you is arrogant. And awkward. 

The couch is plush under your hands as you stand. You'd slipped off your shoes at the door, and your socked-feet slide over the tiled floor of the kitchen as you make your way to his side. Aaron lights the stove, atop which stands a tall cooking pot. 

"When did you have time to make that?" you ask, soft with awe. 

"I knew you'd be coming over. I started it this morning." 

"And if I didn't like it?" 

He turns his gaze to yours, pot lid held aloft. "Then I would've ordered in for us. You're sure this is okay?"  

You've never had somebody cook for you before. Homemade, fresh ingredients, and the intricacy of the dumplings too, it all impresses and amazes you. You feel very special. Like you're worth all the effort. 

"I'm sure. More sure if you let me try it." 

His laugh startles you for its rarity. "Okay. It's not done," he warns. 

"Just to taste it." 

He stirs the warming soup with a big spoon for half a minute, the heat on high, before scooping up some broth and holding it above a cupped palm. "It's probably not very hot," he says. 

Oh, you think, excited and sick with nerves at once. He's going to feed the soup to me. 

Something out of a movie, something you didn't know people actually did for their significant others, Aaron waits for you to open your mouth and offers the spoon. You slurp and feel heat rise to your cheeks at the clumsy sound. 

"Aaron," you say, soft and obsessed after you've swallowed, "it's really nice. You made that yourself?"  

"I can cook," he says defensively. 

You lick your lips, giggling. "I can tell. That was really good. Though it was definitely too cold." 

"Mm. It has to cook through some more. Reduce. Do you want to shower?" He puts down his wooden spoon, head tilting to one side gently. He assesses your expression, and brings a curved hand to settle over your cheek. The tip of his index finger kisses the delicate skin under your eye. "No, maybe not. You look tired." 

You probably shouldn't say something like that to your brand new girlfriend (you scream internally at the word, every single time since he asked you a week ago) but Aaron speaks factually. You don't think for a second that there's any malice there, any hidden critique. His words shine with concern. 

"It's Friday. I'm always tired at the end of the week." 

His hand falls to your shoulder. "I can imagine." 

"You can go shower, if you like. I'll watch the soup." 

"I need one, huh?" 

He must know how well-kept he looks even now. You're not sure you've ever seen him dishevelled. 

"Definitely need one," you try to tease. It comes out murmur-quiet, and Aaron takes pity and kisses your cheek. 

He leaves to shower and you 'watch' the soup — you stand at the stovetop and soak in it's emanating warmth, stirring it every now and then to prevent the bottom from burning. The shower runs muffled from the bathroom, and your mind wanders as it tends to do. It's an undeniable fact that Aaron is naked right now, the thought opening an avenue of images you've been trying not to think about all day. It's your very first time spending the night after a couple of weeks of dating, and now you're together, if Aaron wants to have sex tonight you'll say yes. He's handsome, and his build suggests a certain… tenacity. 

His hands would convince you alone. Big hands. 

You look down into the simmering pot of soup and smile harder than you have any right to smile. He's done everything right, all the romance; he'd asked you out clearly with no doubt of his intentions, which had shocked you; he'd brought you a bouquet of flowers on your first date, which had delighted you; and he hadn't tried to take you home, which had surprised you. 

Modern romance often doesn't feel very romantic. Things with Aaron are different. 

Hell, he's so sweet he probably won't make a move unless you make one yourself. 

You'd prefer to be squeaky clean tonight, you've decided, just in case. When he gets out of the shower, you'll tell him you've changed your mind.

The shower shuts off. He appears a little bit after that, in new clothes, towel around his neck and feet either side of your own as he sidles in for a damp and quick cheek kiss. 

"Sorry I took so long. Are you ready to eat?" he asks, taking the spoon from your hand to give the soup a big, gran stir. 

"Actually, could I shower?" 

If he's surprised at your changed mind he says nothing, only turns down the heat of the stove. "Of course you can. Come on, I'll show you how it all works." 

His 'come on' is accompanied with a guiding hand at the small of your back. You let yourself be guided. The heat of his touch fills your stomach and doesn't abate, no matter how cold you run the spray. 

2. Phone calls. 

It's the week after that when you're supposed to be spending the night again. You're excited for two reasons, the first and smallest being that he had been what you thought and more in bed, that itself an expectation raised, and it had felt like connection at its brightest — he'd been sweet, and he'd been rough but never, not ever once cruel. A perfect night. The second, and biggest, is that he's honestly just the nicest person you've ever met. He's your boyfriend, a phrase you don't say in front of him because he's admittedly older than you, and you can't imagine he calls you his girlfriend. Partner might be more apt. He's your boyfriend and he's openly fond of you. Openly more than that. It's new to be doted on as ardently as he dotes on you. 

He touches you like he can't believe he's touching you. He talks to you like you're gold dust, all smiles and laughs heavy with admiration, and he listens. You've never felt listened to in the way you do when you're with him. 

So many conversations are just one party waiting for the other to stop talking until it's their turn. You think, maybe, Aaron would let you talk for hours. He would listen the whole time. 

In summary, you're basically thrumming with excitement to see him again. You've missed him some, but mostly you've spent the week bouncing off of walls waiting for the next time you get to talk to him. 

His text is disheartening, to say the least. 

Hey, honey. I have to cancel our plans tonight. I'm sorry, and I'll explain as soon as I get the chance. Please take care of yourself for me until I can.

It doesn't make you mad. While it is extremely short notice, and your heart hurts to the point of frustrated tears, you know it isn't his fault. He's been clear about his job at the FBI and what that means for you both. How it will without a doubt pull him away from you during dates, the middle of the night, special occasions, the works — this had been after a small disclosure about his commitment to his son, Jack, and how he's a father first — and how it will definitely cause some strain. 

"But," he'd said, "I want you, and I want this to work. So if you can be patient with me, I'll try to make it worth it." 

He's been successful every time. After he'd cancelled your third date, he'd quickly rearranged it and apologised with a modest but beautiful bouquet of flowers. 

Somewhere between the fifth and sixth date, you hadn't seen him for two whole weeks, and every worry you'd had about his intentions had been abated by a steady stream of encouraging text messages and the occasional photograph. Nothing crazy, but sweet things, like the cookies he and Jack had made that night, captioned, I'd save one for you if I thought Jack would let me, or a sunrise in a different state, captioned, This looks like the dress you wore to Lemaira. 

Later that night, you're unhappy and frowning still, a small carton of ice cream freezing your fingers to the cardboard and a spoon in your mouth when your phone starts to ring. 

You aren't expecting it to be Aaron. You aren't in the habit of calling one another, even though you'd secretly wished he would while he's away beforehand. 

It's nearing eight o'clock. 

"What time do you call this?" you joke, smiling despite yourself. Again, the excitement that comes with talking to him wells at the surface. 

"I know, I'm sorry," he says, sounding very tired. 

You slouch down into your couch cushions, ice cream on the armrest, remote for the TV on your chest. You click the volume button down, down, down until the TV's near silent. 

"I'm kidding, mostly. Are you okay? I've been a little worried." 

Understatement of the century. You know sudden cases of violence often draw him away from Virginia, but this had been sudden sudden. The lack of information had made you think the worst, worse than serial killer and bombers and hostage situations. You'd thought Aaron was in danger himself, and then you'd tried to suffocate that thought. He'd never worry you like that even if he were. 

"I'm fine. Sorry to miss you tonight." 

"I'm sorry to miss you too," you say, voice disjointed, too earnest. You scramble to hide the depth of your feelings. "Where are you?" 

"I'm in St. Louis. Where are you?" 

You laugh, curling onto your side with the phone pressed up against your ear. "Where am I? I'm at home." 

"What are you doing?" 

"I was watching TV." 

"Yeah? Did you eat anything yet?" 

You think to the takeout you'd bought and shoved in the microwave, not hungry at the time but knowing knowing would be. "Not yet. Why are you asking?" 

"I want to know." 

"I told you in my text I would take care, Aaron." 

"Honey," he says, pet name like a warm palm over your heart, "my definition of taking care and your definition are very different. Promise me you'll eat something."

"Of course I will. Easy promise." You scratch the couch fabric absent-mindedly. "Have you eaten?" 

"Yes," he says, the sound of a closing window in the background. "It's awful how much take out I eat. All these cases, there's never any time to cook real food." 

"Why, what did you have? And surely there's some uber healthy options out there, like, a chickpea salad-" 

"That costs thirty dollars? I'm not struggling, honey, but we both know that's obscene." 

You're laughter takes on a giddy quality as you cross your leg over the other, picturing his smile as his laughter echoes breathily down the line. You really, really wish he were here right now and that you were having this conversation face to face. You know he'd smile and try to hide how smug he feels at making you laugh. His hand would reach over any gap to touch some silly part of you, forearm or collar or the skin under your ribcage. 

"Are you okay?" You say his name to drive the point home. Your voice is quiet — you're hesitant to offer, worried you're crossing a boundary. "Aaron, I know you don't like bringing it home, but you aren't home, so… I'm here." 

"I know. It's nothing I want you to worry about, there's an ongoing situation here, bomb threats coming in quicker than the local P.D can handle. They need us to vet them and figure out if any of them are real." 

You think about it for a few seconds, the silence small but not uncomfortable. If you were under that kind of pressure, you'd be hurting. Chest pains, anxiety shakes, a migraine. 

"You'll be safe?" you ask. 

"Always. I'm not in any danger. And I need to get home, I owe you a Friday." 

"You do," you mumble. 

There's the creak of a box spring mattress, and the sound of a lamp being clicked. On or off, you don't know. When Aaron speaks, his tone is dulcet and hushed but distinct. You feel it in your chest. 

"Tell me about your day," he murmurs. 

You lay it all out for him in detail. He can barely reply when you hang up, sleep thickening his affectionate, "Goodnight, honey." 

3. His bleeding heart.

"What kind of kid were you?" he asks.

You look up from your notebook, surprised. Aaron has been silent for what feels like an hour now, laid out on the picnic blanket with your sweater bundled up under his head while the sun warms your skin. 

"I was…" You let your pen roll into the centre of your notebook and close it. He's laid his paperback flat across his chest. You think he might be very interested in the answer. "It was a long time ago, but I think I was lonely." 

He nods like this is what he'd been expecting. "Me too." 

It's a gorgeous day out. The sky is a light, bright blue with few clouds. They block the sun occasionally, providing a short and bittersweet shield from the heat. The grass surrounding is shockingly green, rippling in the breeze. 

"You were?" you ask. "What were you like?" 

"I was quiet." 

"That's not surprising," you say mildly. 

"No, I guess not." 

You abandon your notebook and lay down beside him. Worrying what you look like from this angle, you cover your jaw with your hand and turn toward him ever so slightly to show you're listening. 

"I liked affection. I remember my mom used to say I was a siphon for it. I'd be all over her, and she'd have nothing left to give anyone else." 

"That's not true," you deny. Every ounce of affection that you given him, he has returned tenfold, and that's inspired a lot of kindness in you, for him and for the world. "You're like an amplifier, if anything." 

He smiles to himself and turns his gaze skyward. "I wish we'd met before." 

"Me too," you say, leaving little room for debate.

"You're so kind," — he adorns you with each word like a gift, a tiny star of praise — "I think you're the kindest person I've ever met." 

He laughs. It's a catching sound, contagious as anything. You giggle with him and shift closer. Your arms touch, your hips. 

"Baby," you murmur, almost lamenting, "d'you ever think your ability to see the good in people is- It's indicative of the good in you... You've given more of your life than most to keep other people safe. That's the kindest thing a person can do." 

He tangles your hand with his where it had been resting on your stomach. You're pretty sure you can feel every line of every fingerprint as he works your fingers together, a snug fit like one of those wooden brain teaser puzzles: How do you pull these two pieces apart? From the outside, it looks impossible!

"I think I'd be different, if I'd met you before. I'd be kinder," he says. 

You can't agree with him. It's obvious who he is. You know more about him now than you ever have before. His late wife, how she'd been the best mother they ever made. His son, and how he moulds Aaron everyday into a better man. His friends, who trust him, who adore him. All these people have a hand in who Aaron is now, and while you wish you'd been around from the start, now will have to do.

"You're plenty kind," you say. Understatement of the century. 

"Sorry," he says with a laugh, "With you-" He cuts himself off, head-shaking from side to side as he pulls your joined hands up slowly. 

Your arm bends and then turns as he pulls it toward his face. He unlinks your fingers to steer your forearm, aligning it flat over his lips. The first kiss is a surprise, light like the feathered edge of a flower petal, and the second isn't dissimilar. 

The third melts you, veritably, the parting of his lips emphasised by the dull scratch of teeth against your pulse, the wet heat of his tongue. Three becomes four, and a final fifth, crescent moons pressed into your skin like he's trying to tell you something. 

You've no clue what. You likely couldn't say which way the world turns, not when he's kissing you. Not like this. 

Aaron has an acute ability to talk without talking. Hello's and thank you's and I care about you's woven into quick kisses, the swift squeeze of his hand over the slope of your shoulder.

These ones say something you don't want to speak aloud, lest you jinx it. 

The sunlight fades. A big grey cloud covers the sun.

"I think it's gonna rain," you say. 

A raindrop splashes in Aaron's eye. 

"Fuck," he says, which is hilarious, because he never swears in front of you. You hadn't known he cussed at all. 

The downpour is slow and then sudden, spitting rain dotting over you both like a fine mist as you stand, a thicker, faster outpouring chasing your heels as you hurry to the car. You realise you can't outrun it even if you sprint, and so you stop, Aaron's hand in yours tugged like a rubber band. He bounces back into your chest with the picnic blanket under his arm, your books tucked somewhere inside. 

He doesn't ask what you're doing. He's made the same deduction as you, or maybe he trusts you, or maybe he's indulging you. 

"Your hair," he laments. 

"Doesn't matter," you say. 

You lift your chin up for a kiss. Aaron ducks down to give you one. A raindrop runs down the bridge of his nose to the tip of yours. 

4. In sickness. 

You insist that it wasn't the rain that made you sick, but honestly there's no way to tell. You'd kissed for slightly too long, and the rain had been surprisingly cold. Now you aren't very well, and you have to cancel Aaron's sleepover. 

You hold out as long as you can, but come Friday afternoon it's clear you aren't getting better. You wake to a text from Aaron, two texts, and it makes you smile through shivery coughs. 

I can't wait to see you tonight. Do you need anything before I get there? Miss you. Sent 6.26AM.

Is everything okay? Sent 9.17AM. 

Usually you'd have answer his morning text within the hour. 

Hi, I miss you too, so much, but I don't think we'll be able to see each other tonight. I've got the flu :( I'm sorry. And sorry I couldn't answer your message until now, I was sleeping. 

It's another hour before he answers. You rouse from your gross snotty stupor to squint at the phone. It's surprisingly long. 

I'm sorry it's taking me so long to get back to you, things are tense here right now. You don't have to be sorry for either, I'm glad to hear you're resting. You could have told me you were sick. Is it okay if I come and see you tonight anyways? I would love to check on you. Don't rush to answer, and call me if you can. 

You call him with reservations. 

"Is this a good time?" you ask weakly, forgoing a hello. 

It takes him a little while to speak. You assume he's leaving a room, closing a door. "Now's fine. How are you?" 

"My throat hurts and it's a little hard to breathe, but I'm sure I'll live." 

"You've been to see a doctor?" 

"It's not that bad." 

He sighs. "You sound tired. And sore. Why didn't you tell me you were sick?" 

"You don't have to baby me, I'm really okay." 

"Have you considered that I'd like to baby you?" 

Not really. You can't imagine anyone would want to deal with you. You're a mess, you look awful, you don't smell great, and you're not good company. You can't think of a single reason Aaron would want to be anywhere near you right now. 

"No," you say, "I hadn't." 

"I'd love to look after you." 

"You could be doing something fun with your Friday. You could see Jack." 

"Jack's going to Kings Dominion. And Fridays are our day, you being sick doesn't make me want to see you less."

You hadn't said that, but he'd inferred it. Of course he had. 

You and Aaron decide that your sleepover will go ahead after all. Or, he persuades you very gently. You spend three hours doing tasks that should only take one. You shower, you clean your room, and you do the dishes. By the end of it you're sweating enough to need another shower but you aren't a quitter, so you open the freezer and stick your head in, hands braced against the refrigerator door. 

You're excited to see him. You always are. Too bad you look so wiped out. 

It's almost 6.30 when you hear his knock on the door. You'd been waiting for him and started dozing at the kitchen table, your neck a mess of twisted nerves, your hand numb from supporting your head. You shake it out and open the door, sheepish. 

"Hi," you croak out. 

He has a lot of stuff with him. His familiar overnight bag, a briefcase, two grocery bags, and a bouquet. 

"Aaron, why," you moan, covering your face with one hand as you move back down the hall to let him in. 

"Not the greeting I'd hoped for." 

"I can't greet you, I'll make you sick." 

You get all the way to the kitchen and think, triumphantly, that you've escaped his 'greeting'. He puts the flowers down carefully on the kitchen counter as you try to come up with a thank you that doesn't make your eyes burn. The grocery bags are placed without ceremony on the floor, and his overnight bag falls onto the kitchen chair. You watch him unbutton his rain spattered coat, and your triumph fades when he peels out of it and instantly reaches for you. 

"Aaron," you mumble, stepping into his arms. He knows you can't say no to a hug, not after a week of not seeing him. 

"I missed you," he says, arms around your back, lips at your temple. "You're running a temperature." 

"It's not that bad. 101." 

"Honey, 101 is bad." 

"Not as bad as 102." 

"Not as bad as 102," he concedes. You can hear his voice rumbling in his throat, and feel it in his chest and yours.

He takes as much of your weight as he can, leaning back so you're forced to arc forward. Your face slips into his neck, and you're thinking, this is what it's like? To be held, sick, with nothing to give? It feels good.

"Please tell me the next time you're sick," he murmurs. 

You definitely will. If this is what it's like, roaming, cautious hands over your shoulder blades, a strong nose stroking lines against your warm forehead. 

"Thank you for the flowers." 

It's squished against his skin but he hears it. "You're welcome. Do you want me to put them in a vase?" 

"I can do it." 

"I think that might defeat the purpose. They're a gift, not an extra chore." 

"Nobody ever got me flowers before you, so it doesn't feel like a chore at all." 

He encourages your face back enough to look at you. You have to mouth breath on him because your nose is all stuffed up, and it is not something you're happy to do. You look down so he can't feel it. 

"I'm gonna do something really cheesy, and you can tease me about it later, okay?" 

You look at him from under your lashes. "'Kay." 

"Close your eyes," he whispers. 

You let your eyes shut. Aaron cradles your face in both hands and pulls your face toward his chin, in your rough approximation. 

Heat fans against your eyes. He kisses your eyelids, the left and then the right, the most gentle press of his lips you've ever felt. 

"It's killing me to see you like this," he says, and you're grateful for the pinch of humour behind it. "Couch or bed?" 

"Couch. I wanna watch a movie with you." 

"Good. I wanna watch a movie with you, too." 

Aaron does everything. You're too tired to notice, but when you're better, you'll add it all up. He makes you dinner and breakfast and lunch and enough for the day after that, too. He trims down all your flowers and places them in a vase on your window sill. He recleans your room, cleans your bathroom, and plays nursemaid diligently. He makes you take your temperature in front of him, and then he fawns and makes you hug an ice pack, stays the night again when he's supposed to go home. 

It sucks, but your temperature falls, and when your insides stop cooking themselves you start to feel better. On Sunday morning, when he has to leave, you feel the strange pang of being cared for unconditionally like the wind being knocked out of you. He'd done all of that because he cares about you. He'd wanted to see you fed and well and happy, and he hadn't gotten anything out of it in return. 

5. The test-drive.

"Hi, Jack," you mumble, rubbing wetness out of your sleep-heavy eyes. "Good morning." 

"Good morning," he says cheerfully, of his father's disposition. 

"Did you," — you yawn wide and turn your face so neither of them can see — "sleep well?" 

"Yeah, thank you. Why are you so tired?" 

Aaron's standing at the stovetop making oatmeal. You stand at the counter beside it, hips touching but facing opposite ways. "I'm still getting used to your dad's bed." 

It's true. There's something about someone else's mattress that makes you ache. 

"What is it about my mattress you can't get along with?" Aaron asks in good humour, adding a generous pinch of salt to the saucepan. 

"It's more comfortable than mine," you say with a self-satisfied laugh. 

Aaron pecks your damp cheek and skirts around you to fill three identical bowls of oatmeal next to three identical glasses of orange juice. Jack cheers when his portions are placed in front of him, and he digs in even though it's ridiculously hot. 

Aaron had explained once that he's basically trained Jack to eat it scorchingly hot by accident. Years of oatmeal straight off of the hob versus a growing boy with no patience. You watch in awe as Jack scarfs it down. 

You and Aaron are doing this thing. You've called it the test-drive in your head. He wants to see how well you and Jack get along, likely, and how well you handle living together, too. (Though you absolutely don't think you'll be moving in together quite this soon.) That's your working theory. He'd asked you if you'd be interested in staying for the week a month ago, and you had, and it had been a dream. This is week two, and it seems to be going just as well as the first. 

It's definitely revealing. To see each other's routines. And an adjustment. You have to see all the gross stuff, no avoiding it. 

Though stuff you might consider gross he enjoys. Like watching you put on body lotion, he'd loved that more than words could express. And watching him shave, you'd loved that more than you'd thought you would. You'd sat on the lip of the tub and he'd listened to your morning murmurings, half asleep and excited as always to talk to him about everything. 

Getting to know Jack more has been a joy, too. You've met him nowhere near as many times as you would've liked and done family things: bowling, pizza places, the movies, a baseball game. 

Eating breakfast together is way more fun. Especially because Jack likes you. 

As soon as you sit down he starts to tell you about school. You listen, sipping your orange juice while you wait for the oatmeal to cool from lava. 

After breakfast, the three of you head back to your respective bedrooms to get dressed. 

That's something else you adore, you and Aaron undressing and redressing together in the space in front of his closet, the intimacy of casual nudity, and the way his hand closes around your hip to move you out of the way of his shirts. 

You're pretty much inseperable until you get to the car park. A firm believer in kids receiving as much love as they can from everybody, you offer Jack a hug before you part ways everytime. Sometimes he says yes, though most times he says, "Thank you, Miss Y/N, but my hug quota is full." 

Today, he squeezes your waist really hard and says, "Have a good day bye," like it's one word.

"Have a good day, baby," you tell him, laughing as he jettisons into the passenger seat of Aaron's car. 

Aaron usually gives you a swift kiss and goodbye like his son. Today, he brings his hand to your neck. You stare him straight in his dark eyes as he does, marvelling the shock of straight lashes outlining each one, and the permanent wrinkle between his brow from frowning. 

Placing two hands on either shoulder, you use his frame to rise on tiptoes and kiss it. 

"Don't frown too much today, okay, handsome? Have a good day." 

He cups your face in both hands as your heels touch the ground. His hands are warm, kind as he pushes both palms over your cheeks and your ears. He covers them, and your heartbeat amplifies, a thumping sound fighting his skin. Then he slips his fingers behind your ears and the roaring fades. 

"I love you," he says. 

You beam at him. "Really?"

"Really. I love you, honey. Have a good day."

As if. If he thinks he can walk away after dropping that on you he's got another thing coming. 

You throw your arms around his neck and all your weight into his front, almost barrelling him over. You have to stop yourself from wrapping your thighs around him, 'cause then he really might fall over. 

You dig your face into his neck, searching for something, for the perfect place to rest your cheek. "I love you, Aaron." 

There isn't a chance in hell he didn't already know it. 

"I got you something," he says. 

You laugh in surprise and tighten your hold on him. "Why? This is gift enough." He loves you. It bounces around in your chest. 

"Because I'm not stupid enough to miss what I have right in front of me." 

You lean back so you can kiss him, ignoring his hand as it reaches into his pocket. 

"Baby," you say, a hair's width from his lips. You kiss him again for a second, thrilled, but curiosity pulls you back. "You have it now?" 

He takes a step away from you and reveals the box in his pocket, long and thin. It clicks open on a silver hinge, and inside velveteen lies a simple chain.

"Is that a diamond?" you ask, breathless. The stone at the end of the chain shines like nothing you've ever seen before. 

You don't know a thing about them other than that they're expensive. You can't see Aaron Hotchner of all people buying a fake. 

"A small one," he says modestly. 

Your eyes burn. You're happy to the point of tears but you refuse to cry. 

"And it's for me?" you ask. 

He laughs and you laugh too, the sound slightly sniffly. 

"Of course. Do you want to wear it?" 

"Now? Yes, more than anything," you say, smiling hard, cheeks appled and aching. "Are you serious?"

"More than anything." 

Corny, you think desperately. Do not cry, that's so cheesy. 

"Are you sure you don't want to wait until my birthday?" 

He gestures for you to turn around, the chain hanging from his finger. You turn, feel his hands brushing against your neck as he lays it across your chest and pulls it together behind your nape. 

"Your birthday gift is better than this." 

Better? You could burst. 

The clasp closes and he rubs his hands down the backs of your shoulders. 

You turn back around, face dipped to your chest in efforts to see the necklace. It's short but long enough to spot the diamond hanging under your collar. 

"I've never had a diamond, before," you mumble, hands pressed to your chest. Your heart bumps under your hand. 

"Thank you," you say, looking up, "baby, you didn't have to. You don't have to get me stuff like this, it's a lot." 

"I don't think it's too much. You give gifts when you're grateful. I'm grateful to love you." 

He's expecting you this time, unwavering when your arms slide over his shoulders. You breathe in the smell of his skin and he does the same, his face pressed to the top of your head.

Jack is late for school that day. You apologise to Aaron more times than you can count, and every time he only smiles and says, "It's okay. I love you." 

+1 

Aaron misses your first anniversary. 

It's a very important date to miss, and you have a right to be upset. 

But. 

You always knew from the very first date that this was something that could, unfortunately, happen. You'd been lucky to get him for your birthday, luckier still to see him on his own and treat him with the delights he deserved. You'd figured eventually something would happen to throw a spanner in the works. 

What you aren't expecting is the lack of anger. 

You aren't mad at him, not one bit. It would be okay if you were, even though it's not his fault, because this is so big. You're celebrating the best year of your life alone, and that's no fun. You and Aaron had planned to go away, two days in a fancy hotel, Jack with Jessica and no worries. 

He can't ignore a bomb threat in the capital, and he wouldn't want to. 

You know a missed anniversary is a lesser weight than innocent people dead. You know Aaron wouldn't be able to forgive himself if he didn't go. You know he regrets leaving you on such an important day. 

Maybe one day, you'll be angry with him. Today, you only miss him. 

I love you. I'm sorry. I'll be back very soon. Happy anniversary. 

He sends that after a grovelling, short phone call, in which you assure him that it's fine. Your voice is tight with tears, you miss him like crazy, and he hears it though you try to hide it. 

I will make it up to you. 

You don't have any doubts. 

You feel a little sorry for yourself, and then you send him a text of your own. 

I love you, so don't be sorry. Get back safe and sound and consider yourself forgiven. Happy anniversary, my love. 

Followed with what's likely too many hearts for good measure. 

Still, still, he doesn't believe it's okay. You know he's human, and he loves you, and that makes it easy to predict how he's feeling — worried that you're angry, worried that you'll leave him, worried this won't work for you. 

And you're only human yourself. You can't say how you'll feel in another year, or two, or five. You can't imagine how depressing it might be to miss the holidays and birthdays and anniversaries with him year after year, but you want to be patient. You want to forgive him for the things he has no hand in, and you do. 

You get a visitors pass for his office once you're cleared and take the elevator up, checking your text messages for the fifth time, just to make sure. 

I'll be home in a couple of hours, the plane touches down in two. Love you. Sent 4.53PM. 

It's the day after your anniversary, a Monday, and it's nearly 7PM. You smile at people you've seen in passing the few times you've visited his office before and don't bother trying to sit in Aaron's office, knowing it's locked while he's away. You travel the spare steps and sit at the top of the landing, hands clutching the neck of the bunch of flowers you're holding nervously. The cellophane crinkles. 

You hadn't answered him. It was cruel to leave him hanging, but you didn't expect him to come home so soon. He's too damn good at his job. 

The elevator doors open in the quiet. Barely anybody lingers now in the late hour, and the voices of the BAU echo. 

Spencer sees you first. Morgan second. They stop at the beginning of the office. 

Aaron sees you third.

You spring to stand up on your feet, and then you feel very tall and very seen and descend the steps rather than draw more attention. 

"You said seven," you say, not sure what else to say, not with people watching you. "This is definitely closer to eight." 

Aaron thankfully isn't too proud to speed walk to you. Your heart skips as you meet him, flowers crushed half to death as he gets his arm behind your neck, hooking your head in the crook of his elbow. 

He kisses you roughly. Heat floods every inch of skin, your breath rushes out of your nose with a sigh. 

He pulls back. 

"Happy anniversary," you say quietly, smiling at the sheer relief in his eyes. 

"It was yesterday," he says, quiet too. 

"Happy one year and one day, then." You push him away from you gently. "Don't suffocate your roses." 

"You got me flowers." 

"You get people gifts when you're grateful," you parrot. 

He takes a step back and accepts the flowers. On the message card, you've written, bashful and clumsy and adoring, I'm grateful to love you. One year and more. 

He moves the bouquet into one hand and wraps you up in another huh, firm-armed, chin over the top of your head, though he intersperses his embrace with dainty kisses pecked from one temple to another. 

"You aren't mad?" he asks, worried about the answer. 

"No," you say honestly. "Not mad. Missed you like crazy yesterday, but I get you today. I can make it work." 

When you break apart a second time, you both buckle under the weight of his colleagues watching.

"Thank you," Rossi speaks up, grand and wry, "we thought we'd have to endure his moping for at least a week. Your understanding spares us all." 

"Nice, Dave," Aaron says. 

"I've got your paperwork, Hotch," Morgan offers. 

Aaron has the good sense to accept it before Morgan can change his mind. His friends say goodbye, and Aaron pulls you by the hand back to the elevator bank. You couldn't wipe the smile off of his face if you tried. 

The elevator doors have barely closed when he's leaning down to kiss you again. 

"Thank you," he says. 

"You really don't have to say thank you," you murmur, bumping your shoulder with his. "You got home safe. That's all that matters." 

His next kiss is bruising. The sound of cellophane crushed between you makes you laugh. He kisses you through it, his smile pressed feverishly to yours, over and over and over.

༺༻

thank you for reading! if you enjoyed please consider reblogging, i promise it makes a difference to me <3

House of Cards

pairing: chishiya shuntarou x fem!reader genre: angst (i love angst i'm sawry), unrequited love (but is it really), pining wc: 6.1k warnings: niragi, spontaneously written at 2am and under the influence, chishiya is emotionally constipated, is chishiya ooc here idk summary: in which you've known chishiya before borderlands and he isn't so fond of seeing you at the beach ao3 link > PART 2

The first person you saw after the first game at the Beach was Usagi. You ran to her as soon as you saw her by the pool.

“Have you seen Arisu?” She asks you as soon as you let go. You shake your head in worry, your head immediately looking around and searching the crowd for the familiar shaggy mop of hair. 

“There!” She exclaims and you both push through the crowd to get to him. He sees both of you approaching and screams your names in delight.  

“Arisu!” You grin as you approach him. You immediately wrap your arms around him. He pats your back.

“You’re both alive.” He lets out a sigh of relief. You nod and let him go.

He and Usagi stare at each other with shy smiles, making you roll your eyes. You stood in between them awkwardly.

“Please just hug it out. I’m practically begging at this point. I wish the game just killed me if I knew I will have to see this shit.” You cross your arms and walk away from both of them while both of them follow you, no doubt still shyly smiling at each other while talking.

You sat on one of the pool chairs and Usagi sat on the edge of your seat. Arisu sat on the other chair beside yours. 

“Ann was trying to test me,” Arisu says as he sat down on the edge of the beach chair, talking about the game he was in.

“When in Rome, do as the Romans do,” Usagi replies while you nod in agreement. 

A girl in a blue patterned two-piece swimsuit enters your space and sits beside Arisu. She was tall, pale, and pretty and with some kind of stick in her mouth. The three of you follow her with your gazes.

“Your girlfriend?” She asks and nods at Usagi. She was talking to Arisu.

“What?” Arisu reacts, clearly caught off-guard.

You roll your eyes again but watch the exchange with a grin.

“You’re wrong,” Usagi denies. 

“You clearly like each other. Why not date?” Kuina shrugs and then continues. “You’re never gonna know when you’re going to die.” 

Whatever Arisu, Usagi, and the new girl were talking about, you tune it all out with your thoughts.

It was harsh but true. People always say, if the world was ending, they’d live to the fullest. In Borderlands, every day is your last day. You think back to Chishiya. If he was here, how would he treat you? Pain struck your chest at the thought. 

Will he ever look at you the way Arisu looks at Usagi? All this time, you’ve been hanging on to your life hoping you’ll return to him. But is it worth it? Will he even like it when you come back? 

“What about you?” 

The girl looks at you with expectant eyes.

“What was that? Sorry, I zoned out.” 

“You got someone to go back to the original world? I’m Kuina, by the way.” She gives you a sweet smile.

You nod, thinking of the nonchalant platinum blonde. “Yeah. I think so.” 

She was about to ask more when a loud voice halts the entire celebration.

“Hey, stop playing that tacky music!”

Armed men enter the area. You recognize some of them as the men who tied you up when the three of you were caught spying on The Beach. Everyone stops partying upon their arrival, you even see some holding their breath. 

“It’s the militants,” Kuina explains to the three of us. “If you want to live a peaceful life at the Beach, avoid getting involved with them.” 

She begins to explain who the militants are and what they do. The muscular man named Aguni is their leader. They’re who are in power on the Beach along with Hatter and his devotees. A conflict could happen between the two groups at any time. You don’t doubt it. Such two different powers will clash inevitably.

Aguni and his militants stop by the four of you. He was looking at Arisu who avoided his gaze.

“What happened to your friend?” The question was for Arisu again. You raise a brow. You’re beginning to notice a lot of people knowing Arisu. He must’ve been in a game with the man back when he was with his friends.

Arisu stayed silent, a glimpse of his defeated self, lying on the ground passing by you. 

“I see. He died.” Aguni states the obvious. “What a shame only the small fish survived.” 

You frown at the clear insult to your friend.

“Do you know each other?” Kuina whispered to Arisu.

Aguni then flits his dark gaze to Usagi and then to you. You suddenly felt naked in your black two-piece swimsuit. But it’s not like you to cower. So you look back at him with the same dark but angry gaze. 

“You,” he points at the arrogant-looking man with the gun over his shoulder. “Bring those women over.” 

The man quickly moves to his feet, about to grab Usagi first. Arisu stands up in a heartbeat, shouting his protest.

“Stop it. Don’t get involved!” Kuina holds his arm as he stands up. 

Usagi stays planted in her seat and you stand up, fists in anger and on your sides. 

“Our boss said he wants a taste of both of you.” He says with an ugly smirk on his face. With you being closer, you could see the multiple piercings on his face. You feel nothing but disgust for this man.

The man grabs Usagi’s arm again and both Arisu and you stop him. 

“Stop it,” Arisu repeats, standing in front of you and Usagi.

“What? Had to have two chicks to yourself? Don’t you know sharing is caring?” He asks Arisu and then asks Aguni. “What should we do about this guy?” 

“Break his legs so that he’ll die in the next game.” 

Your eyes widen at the words of the militants’ leader. You quickly felt fear for your friends. God, is this really gonna happen to the three of you? 

The pierced man orders the militants to bring the both of you to Aguni while he grabs Arisu.

The tattooed man with a sword approaches you and grabs you by the arm. 

“Fucking let me go.” You struggle against his hold, tugging your arm from his digging grasp. 

Arisu escapes the pierced man’s hold and is about to head back to the both of you when the militants block his way. He can’t do anything. You can’t do anything. You were outnumbered and no one will save you. 

You stare down the bald tattooed man, not letting him see your fear. 

You look around, desperate for an opening or an idea to save the three of you. The people only look at the situation closely. 

There was only one name in your mind. Chishiya. You have to get out of here for Chishiya. You have to make it out alive somehow. 

“Is this a fight?”

The crowd made a way and came in the Beach’s number one, Hatter. 

“Back off Hatter, this doesn’t concern you,” Aguni spoke up. 

“I can’t do that. As Number One, I’m obliged to maintain order at the Beach.” He says dramatically, looking afar. Then he looks at the militants once again. “Can you let off the newcomers in my account, Aguni?” 

All of the residents of the Beach watch as the tension between the two leaders rises. It was Hatter who first breaks the stare down and looks at the pierced man.

“Niragi?” He directs the question to him. So his name is Niragi, you thought. It’s best to avoid him. He reeks of danger and you are seldom wrong about your intuition. 

Niragi looks away. “I only take orders from my boss.”

Hatter clearly takes offense at the man’s answer and looks at Aguni again with dark eyes. “Then let me ask your boss.”

He stares down at Aguni again, faces inches away from each other. “Who’s your boss, Aguni?”

Aguni doesn’t look at Hatter, staring ahead in anger. Then he turns to face Hatter. Everyone waits for the tough-looking man’s answer.

“It’s you, right?” 

Hatter seemed pleased with his answer and whispered something to him. Aguni then makes his way out of the scene. You successfully tug your arm out of the militant’s grasp, glaring at him and moving away. 

“All executive members are to gather in the meeting room!” Hatter announces to everyone. 

The militants rush out of the scene and Hatter watches as they walk away.

“Arisu, you’re coming too.” He orders without looking at him, still eyeing the gunned men who have their backs turned to him. “I heard your potential from Ann. Follow me.”

Arisu looks at Usagi and then at you. You nod at him, assuring silently that the two of you will be okay. 

“I’ll be back,” Arisu promises to Usagi who was still sitting down. 

Your male friend follows Hatter and Usagi trails behind him in worry but stops after a few steps. You follow her and place a hand on her shoulder, staring at the back of your friend who was to be in a meeting with the executives. 

“Usagi. He’ll be fine.” You tell her in comfort, mostly telling it to yourself too. 

You turn back at Kuina, about to ask her if she knows where they’re going. 

But what you saw froze you in your place, dropping your hand from Usagi’s shoulder. 

You felt your heart drop to your stomach. That white jacket. That platinum blonde. Those cat-like eyes. Your eyes must be deceiving you. It can’t be. 

“Shuntarou.” You sang as you entered the Doctors’ lounge room. 

He was alone and it was so quiet you can hear a pin drop so you don’t miss how he audibly sighs. You giggle, well aware of the fact that you annoy the shit out of him. You sit across from him. He was reading some patient information with three books stacked on the coffee table in front of him. 

As usual, he doesn’t even express his negative welcome with words. 

“I bought you something,” you wave the paper bag in front of his face in excitement. 

It didn’t surprise him. You always do this. Whenever you were out shopping, you had to buy him one thing. It was an unspoken rule you set for yourself. And it could be anything—no price range, no rules. One time, you bought him a plant. It died in three weeks. So, you set another rule for yourself, only inanimate objects as gifts.

You set the paper bag down and take out the box inside it. You know he won’t bother opening it in front of you so you open it yourself. 

As you take off the lid, you excitedly say, “Tada!” 

His eyes flit to the content of the box for a second and then to you before going back to his patient’s papers. He never says thank you for any of your gifts but you don’t really mind. He didn’t ask for them anyway. But you know when he likes the gifts. It’s how you know more about him. He’ll never tell you what he likes or dislikes so it was up to you to figure it out. 

“It’s nice, isn’t it? Can you wear this when we go on our date?” You press him as you take out the white jacket from the box. 

It wasn’t a date. But he doesn’t deny it so that was enough for you. 

Before he answers (but you doubt he would), the door of the lounge opens and walks in Nakamura Hina. She was your senior in med school and a great doctor. She’s also one of Chishiya’s co-workers. 

She’s nice and she never showed you anything bad but you sense that she doesn’t like you. You didn’t mind. There was a pretty long line and you don’t plan on opening the doors to any of them. 

“Y/N, you’re here,” she states the obvious and gives you a tight strained smile. Her eyes flit over to Chishiya. 

“Chishiya, Mr. Yamamoto wants you in his office to talk about the patient.” 

Without saying a word, he was already on his feet, not even sparing you a glance and following Nakamura out the door. You stand up too.

“I’ll head out too! Remember what I said, okay?” 

He doesn’t even acknowledge you and kept on walking. Hina was looking at you with pity in her eyes. You’ve grown accustomed to it. That was your reputation anyway–the rich girl always hanging around Chishiya Shuntarou. 

When they were out of the door, you slump back down your seat and groan. 

Before leaving, you fixed your gift back in the paper bag and set it down next to his things. 

You hope he’ll wear it, at least. 

It’s Chishiya. Your Chishiya was beside Kuina. 

He was staring ahead of you so you purposefully blocked his sight, forcing yourself to be in his sight. It was so you to force your way into his life.

If he looks at you, then it’s real. He’s real.

His gaze drops on your face but as soon as his eyes meet yours, Usagi speaks.

“Y/N? What’s wrong?” 

This made you look at her. “It’s—,” you look back at him but find yourself gazing at a crowd with no Chishiya or Kuina in sight.

He’s here in Borderlands. 

Scared to be alone in such a dangerous place, Usagi and you slept in her room. You lie on your backs and side by side on her bed. Inches away from each other, you could practically feel Usagi’s anxiety reeking off and unto you. 

“Do you think Arisu’s fine right now?” Usagi finally thinks out loud.

You sigh. “He can handle himself.” You pause and think about the man you considered your friend. “He’s smart, isn’t he?” 

You feel her genuinely smile beside you. “It’s definitely one of his strengths.” 

“So you like smart guys too?” You tease her. “I get it,” you add, thinking about a certain genius doctor you know. 

“Too? What does that mean? Your type is smart guys?” She gets excited and faces you on her side, leaning her chin on her palm and putting her upper weight on her elbow.

You purse your lips. “I’m not telling you.”

She shakes you and whines. “Come on. Tell me.”

You grin and lean on your elbow too, now facing each other like two teenage girls in a sleepover. Doing this felt like ages ago. You used to gush over Chishiya to your girlfriends who clearly felt annoyed and tired of it. But right now, Usagi was waiting and is so excited for you to tell her all about the guy you liked. It reminded you of how life used to be so simple. Now, romance was a luxury no one can afford in Borderlands. 

“He’s a doctor.” You start. “We’ve known each other since we were kids. Our parents were coworkers and friends.” 

“I was in med school too. We were both there together. It’s kind of an unspoken thing that we’re arranged to be married. I hated studying medicine. So I didn’t really pursue it after college.” You pause, thinking about much easier times. “Chishiya, though, he’s good at everything. He’s smart and he’s so cool. He isn’t like anyone I've ever met.”

“So it’s him? The person you’re going back to after Borderlands?” Usagi asks, sweetly and in awe.

You gave her a sad smile. “That was the plan.” 

Her brow furrowed and formed into a frown. “What do you mean?” 

You lie back down, looking up at the ceiling with tears in your eyes. It’s a good thing the lights were off. “I saw him tonight. He’s here.” 

“He’s here?” She doesn’t hide the shock in her tone and you nod. “Why didn’t you go to him?” 

“It’s weird.” You admit. “I’m kinda scared.”

It’s true. You were scared. At first, you were shocked but then you were scared. Chishiya were in the same deadly games you’ve been in. Needless to say, they were traumatic and insane. You don’t doubt that he won all those games but still, you were scared. One wrong move is all it takes sometimes. He could die any day here in Borderlands instead of him waiting for you in the real Tokyo. And would he care about you here? Without the threat of your parents knowing their daughter’s every move?

“You’re scared of your boyfriend?” She huffs, trying to lighten the mood.

“That’s the thing. He’s not my boyfriend,” you answer with a sad voice. “I was just this girl who chased him around. I didn’t mean a thing to him. I’m scared that he won’t care about me here.” 

Usagi places a hand on top of mine. 

“I’m sure he will. You’re hard not to care about, Y/N.” 

You slept that night with a heavy heart. You’ve come a long way in the games. You sacrificed, killed, and bled just so you can come back to a life that was not even worth living for a man that was fighting for his life in the games as well. 

It scares you a lot because as much as you do not care about what happens to you, you know that you’ll die for him. You realize that your feelings for him run that deep. You love him that much. 

That very night, you realize that your goal in Borderland has changed.

It wasn’t to go back to Chishiya. It was to make sure that he gets out of here alive. Even if meant your damnation, you’ll gladly take it. 

The next morning, Arisu, Usagi, and you went around the Beach to gather information. There wasn’t much. You learned that there weren't any games beyond Tokyo and it wasn’t accessible at all. Whoever leaves Tokyo or the country, a laser shoots them from the sky. 

The three of you assume that the only real way to get out of here was to play the games. 

“I’ll go to the annex basement,” Usagi says as the three of you walk outside the building. “I’ll go get some food supplies and any weapons that we can use.” 

“I’ll go with you,” you tell her. She nods at me. “I’m going to look for someone I know.”

You spun and nodded at Arisu. “I’ll look for some more information if I can, in case we need it.” 

The two of you separated from Arisu and did what you told him you will. You didn’t find Chishiya. You didn’t think it wise to ask the residents of the Beach about his whereabouts because it wouldn’t be wise for them to know about your association with him. None of these people can be trusted.

When the three of you met up once again, Usagi began to tell Arisu that the Beach had gathered quite a large number of firearms and it was guarded. 

“As long as they have those firearms, Hatter is dangerous,” Usagi worried.

You nod. “The militants too. They overpower us.” 

Arisu stops walking, thinking deeply. Usagi asks him what’s wrong but he walks again and looks out the window. 

Out there, the residents of the Beach we’re partying like there’s no tomorrow. 

“The Beach,” Arisu starts. “A utopia built upon charisma. However, maybe that’s just our imagination. A utopia doesn’t exist in this world.” 

Usagi and you look at each other, confused at your friend’s mumbling.

“Usagi. Y/N. I’d like to talk to you about something.” 

He stares at the two of you deeply in the eye, waiting for your answer intently. 

You let out a loud huff. “Why? What’s got you serious all of a sudden?”

You were mad. You found Chishiya on the rooftop with Kuina. How dare him tell Arisu to specifically leave you out of his plan? 

“Y/N?” The tall woman was the first one to see you approaching with heavy breaths and clenched fists. 

“Why would you tell Arisu to leave me out of the plan? What if something happens to the four of you? What am I supposed to do?” You protest in anger. 

“Kuina.” 

He only says her name but Kuina understands him. She gives him a nod and taps you on your shoulder before heading inside and out of the rooftop. 

“I want to help. I want to leave here too,” you plead with him and take his hand. He pulls it away from your grasp and your heart doesn’t miss to ache because of that action. 

“What is so valuable about your life outside Borderlands, anyway?” 

“What?” 

“You spend all day swiping Daddy’s credit card and drinking with your fake plastic friends. And when you’re bored of them, you come to the hospital to annoy me.” 

“Why are you saying this?” Tears well up in your eyes. It’s not that he was lying. All he said was true. You know that you do, in fact, annoy him. You don’t forget the evident irritation on his face whenever he sees you approaching before Borderlands. 

You couldn’t help it. Even if the life you had before was dull, there was something about him that pulled you in. You know that he never liked you despite the association of your parents to his. But to hear it tonight, right when you’ve only asked him if you could be a part of his plans—that you want to help him leave The Beach and out of Borderlands.

“Just go back to your room, Y/L/N.” 

Stupid. Worthless. Annoying. That’s what he thinks you are. You’re too stupid to be in his oh-so-great plans to leave The Beach. You’re worthless in his and your own life. Most of it all, you were nothing but a nuisance to him. He doesn’t even think of you as a friend. He just thinks of you as someone whom his parents thrusted to. 

You agree it’d be better if you weren’t sent to this world with him. But you were. 

“I’m serious. You’ll mess up my plan,’ he even adds. 

“Why would I do that? What about the games I played? Do you not think I’ve won them with my hard work?” 

He makes a tsk sound, staring ahead. It was chillier on the rooftop than expected and your long-sleeved shirt wasn’t enough to shield you from the cold. But you endure it for him and for this argument. 

“No. You’ve won games on your own.”

“Then why?” You plead. “Why do you think I’m incapable?” 

“I don’t think you’re incapable.” 

“Probably not. But you think I’m nothing but a burden to you.”

“You are.” Typical. Unfiltered and cruel truth comes out of his mouth.

“Then you should just let me die in the games I will be in. That way, you’re free of me forever. You’d be able to come back to our life, Chishiya. I know it. I just want to help you. Because I—, even if I’m not your friend, you are mine.” You rarely call him by his last name. The only other times were when it was necessary so you don’t doubt that he felt the coldness in your voice when you uttered his name. 

‘Because I love you’, you almost let out. 

You don’t wait for his answer and turn around, leaving him alone on the rooftop with his uncaring face and his hand inside the pocket of his white jacket. 

While his other hand, the one you held in yours, twitches against the cold breeze of the night. 

As Shuntaro’s childhood friend, his unfiltered words were nothing but old news to you. Every time he’d push you away and tell you mean things in disguise of cold harsh truth, you won’t deny that you feel a pang of pain in your heart for a millisecond. But, as aforementioned, with the years you’ve known the nonchalant cat-man, you’ve learned to tug that feeling away as soon as possible. 

Right now though, you find yourself exhausted dealing with him. 

Now, your feet have carried you to Arisu’s doorstep instead of yours. Despite knowing Chishiya before Borderlands, you weren’t brought here with him. You had your first games alone. That’s when you found Usagi and then eventually, a distraught and defeated Arisu lying on the street. 

You spent most of your time in Borderlands with him and Asugi. The three of you joined The Beach together. Who would’ve thought you’d find your long-time crush and friend here as one of the executives?

But before knowing he was here, all your thoughts consisted of the guilt of survival. After all the games you were in, why have you survived? You didn’t deserve it. You don’t consider yourself a good person. You were high on privilege and you basked in it. Your life was pointless with no real hardship.

You’ve confided in Arisu when these thoughts occur. It wasn’t because he was good at comforting you. It was because he understood. He told you he lived a similar life before Borderlands. You picked each other up when he lost Karube and Chotta. 

You knocked on his door while hugging yourself in one arm. Your head was all scrambled and there was an aching pain in your heart because of Chishiya.

“Y/N?” 

Arisu opens the door to you with tears streaming down your face. His hair was shaggier than usual and he could barely open his eyes. You felt a bit guilty for waking him up so late at night.

“What happened?”

And then you spilled everything to him—the talk with Chishiya and the way you felt about the blonde. You told him how you felt cast aside on the plan to steal the cards.

In the dark of Arisu’s room and on his bed, you tore open your heart in front of him. Your friend sat quietly on the side, listening while rubbing your back in comfort. 

It’s ironic how Arisu felt more like a friend than someone you knew for more than a decade. To Chishiya, you were nothing but a burden. Just someone who his parents wanted him to be associated with. His father is a great doctor and a good friend of your father, the owner of multiple hospitals all over Japan. 

And you, you were studying medicine as well but you never particularly felt attached to it. It felt like something you had to do. You were supposed to inherit all of it anyway. 

You don’t consider yourself intelligent but you had good grades up to high school. It was during college that you started to drift away. 

Little do you know, your parents didn’t think you were capable of handling all your businesses from the start. That’s why they chose Chishiya. He was put in the same classes as you from high school up to med school. It was never spoken of but both of you know—Chishiya was being put beside you to marry you and have him take over the company. Chishiya Shuntaro, the genius child. 

It was what your parents wanted. It was what his parents wanted. It was what you learned to want. It was what he never wanted.

No, he did want your father’s position. He was always drawn to power and control. And he will get it. But you were the weight that had to come with it. It hurts but it’s the truth. 

You clung to him for a long while. But a person can only take so much. Maybe he finally had enough. Without your parents in Borderland, he was free of your childish antics. If you die out here, you know that your parents will still take him in. In fact, maybe they’d be glad that they’ve gotten rid of you. It was nothing but a formality after all—just to say that the next owner is still of your father’s blood. 

Despite all that, you love him. You love all of him. You love him even if he looks bored to death when he’s with you. You love him even if he straight up refuses to teach you the lessons you have a hard time on, only to give you his notes right after and even quiz you on them. You love him so much that you accepted being treated like you were worthless and nothing but a pretty display of a daughter by your father so you can have him. If Chishiya wanted to be selfish, then so can you. If he has your position as chairman, then you’ll have him. It’s only fair. He can be happy with his power and miserable with you and you can be happy with him and miserable with your life. 

Chishiya is a complicated person. You know that deep inside, he has learned to care for you. Even for a little bit. Well, that’s what you try to believe.

“I’m sorry for waking you up.” You say to Arisu when you are done venting. 

Arisu smiles and sighs. 

“Our plan, Y/N. It’s dangerous and I understand him.”

You sniffed and paused. “You think I’m incapable too?”

His eyes widened and he shook his head violently. “No. No. That’s not what I meant.” You chuckled at his troubled facial expressions. 

“I meant that if I cared about someone, I wouldn’t want them in danger.” He explains himself. 

You went quiet after those words. Was it possible? Was it possible that Chishiya was ignoring and pushing you away in Borderlands because he… cared? 

You don’t want to hope… but god do you want to. 

“He hasn’t seen you in those games. You are more than capable, Y/N. I know it. But I know that if I had the option, I won’t risk putting my friend in danger.” 

You nod, taking in his words with understanding. You want to believe that Arisu was right. You want to trust Chishiya. But could you? Do you really know the man behind the rose-colored glasses you wear when you see him? 

“Okay,” you sigh. 

That night, you stayed with Arisu in his room after arguing with Arisu to let you sleep on the couch instead of his bed. You only didn’t want to risk seeing Chishiya if you went back to yours, especially when his room was a couple of doors down from yours. And you were too tired that you just wanted to crash. 

As you stare at the ceiling of the room and feel the digging of your shoulder blades and hips on the couch, you think about the person you and Chishiya were before Borderlands. It hasn’t been long but you’ve already found yourself comfortable with sleeping anywhere, not bathing for days, and hardly eating anything at all. You hadn’t faced any of these hardships. 

Arisu was already awake when knocking on his door woke you up from your slumber on his couch. You stirred yourself awake and stood up from the couch. 

“Kuina,” you hear him say as he opens the door. 

You rise to your feet and head to the door. Kuina’s stare lingers at your recently woken-up form but waves at you and greets you anyway. You wave back.

Kuina whispers something to Arisu and he nods then looks back at you. “Y/N. You can follow Kuina after you’ve fixed yourself, okay?” 

You hate this. You felt like a child being taken care of. 

Kuina guides you outside the building after being holed up inside your room for the day. It seemed like the plan was a success and you were just waiting for the others.

You tap your foot repeatedly to aid your nerves. Kuina stood beside you quietly, chewing on her stick. 

“It’s really hard not to have a smoke right now,” she sighs and talks to no one in particular. 

“What’s taking them so long?” you couldn’t help but ask. 

As if on cue, Chishiya walks out of the building with his hands in his pockets. You frown when there was no one who followed him next, no sign of the shaggy-haired boy and the athletic girl you’ve grown to love.

“I guess it’s time to say goodbye to this too.” Chishiya removes the band from his wrist indicating his ranking among the executives. 

You follow him with your gaze but look behind him from time to time. 

“Where’s Arisu? Usagi?” You ask him, worry evident in your tone. 

Chishiya stares at you, looking at you with those unfeeling and unemotional eyes. You stare back at them, trying to decipher what he means. And then it hits you.

“No,” you breathe out. 

You look at the girl beside you who hung her head low, not being able to look at you.

“Kuina?” Your voice weakened. 

Your heart sunk to your stomach. Anger filled your senses and for the very first time ever, you felt hatred for the man in front of you. 

“You sacrificed them?!” 

He looks away. “It was the only way.” 

“They’re my friends,” you complain with a heavy heart. “Arisu is my friend.” 

“I feel really bad for them, Chishiya,” Kuina adds. 

His gaze flits back to you. “Oh, is that why you ran to your friend’s room for the night after our argument?” 

How did he know that? But why does he care?

“Yes. Because unlike you, he gives a shit about me.” You answer with spite. “How could you do this to him? To me? Is this why you didn’t include me in the plans? Because you know I’ll stop you?” 

Chishiya doesn’t answer for a while. Silence fills the void between the two of you. Kuina stays silent by your side, watching the scene unfold with her eyes. 

“Then go.”

His words held no emotion as he stared at you deadly.

“I betrayed them so we can go out. The three of us. But if you want to go, then go. Help them. I don’t care.” 

You look at him and then back to the building. Arisu and Usagi were probably being held by the militants right now. You’ll be outnumbered and caught. But what were you going to do? Go with Chishiya and leave them to die? You thought about the awful things they would’ve done to the three of you if it wasn’t for Hatter stopping them and you felt sick to your stomach. This was not the game. You aren’t supposed to kill and betray unless you were forced to in a game. 

Arisu and Usagi are your friends. Chishiya is your friend. You’ve never had real friends before, at least no one really felt like they were. Arisu and Usagi were the first people who made you feel like they were happy to be your friend. 

You can’t leave your friends. 

“You have the cards, right?” You ask him.

He smirks. “Of course, I do.” 

He says it with confidence like he has the ticket to the way out of Borderlands. With this, he was so sure that you’d have to come out with him. So you can go out. That was what he believed you wanted—that you wanted to go back to your life before. 

But he was wrong. 

“Then you’ll be fine.” 

His eyes widened for a second before they turned to something different. They weren’t as dark or lifeless as they usually are. Instead, you could almost see a hint of surprise and maybe even hurt spread across his eyes. 

You jump to him and wrap your arms around the man. How many times have you hugged him? You could probably count it with your hands. So you take it in, close your eyes, and try to engrave the feeling in your brain.

“Take care of my parents and the hospitals, yeah?” You whisper in his ear and hold on for five more seconds before completely letting him go.

“Kuina, look out for him, please?” You ask the tall girl but don’t wait for her answer.

Chishiya still stares at you, unspeaking. You look at him one more time and give him a sad smile with tears in your eyes before turning around. You’re afraid that if you look back again, you’ll run to his arms once more and cry about how much you love him.

He doesn’t care if you do. It’s better for you to leave him.

He has the cards now which means he’ll be fine. He can get out of here. If there was someone who can, it was him. 

He has no purpose for you anymore and you’ll only be a burden. 

With that, you run back inside the building. 

© wolfvmin. please do not copy, translate, claim any of my works. my works are cross-posted only in ao3 under the name vantantae. thank you.

hello dark mode users :)

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🔭

It’s More About Looks Than Skill (X)

Pairing: Ryuk/Reader

Summary: Ryuk finds himself gaining feelings for Light Yagami’s best friend, but she doesn’t know he exists. When he makes the grave mistake of touching her, he makes things a lot more complicated.

Notes: New year new chapter, but let’s hope I update more frequently than that now lol. Please leave me a kick in the ass so I stop procrastinating, thanks! And also big thank you to the immense support. Love you guys <3

Let me know if you’d like to be added to the tag list! If I wasn’t able to tag you, please check your settings and send me another ask.

Chapter X

She really couldn’t help herself. What sane person wouldn’t start screaming the second they hopped onto a Shinigami’s back and started flying? She clung onto Ryuk’s neck for dear life, her legs wrapped around his middle while his wings flapped them higher and higher until they’d reached a thick level of fluffy clouds with the dark sky above them. There, the wings stopped flapping, and she found herself gliding through the air, her hair being pulled back by the gentle breeze. She realized how harshly she was squeezing Ryuk, and quickly loosened her grip to a point that she was still comfortable she wouldn’t be able to accidentally let go.

“I’m sorry,” she murmured in his ear. It was actually very beautiful, now that she took a good look around her. Below the white, she could see all sorts of lights from the city flickering through, as if they were mirroring the stars above.

“I can take it. I just wasn’t expecting you to scream, is all,” Ryuk replied gently, “I thought you wanted to fly?”

Keep reading

He may be a bad guy but that's my babygirl🫶🏾 Yes, he committed multiple crimes, should be locked up in jail, and is a red flag but he's hot as fuck with a face card that never declines.

everything happens for a reason - zuko x fem!reader // masterlist

⇦ back to masterlist ⇦

status: wip, tag list is open!

summary: As a servant in the Fire Nation, you’ve learned that life is often unfair. But as you venture through a tumultuous relationship with a certain prince, you come to realize a very tricky lesson: everything happens for a reason.

warning(s): angst, hurt/comfort, hurt without comfort, threats of death, parental death, betrayal, there is a lot of sadness but that comes along with a zuko fic lmao. there is a happy ending though! i promise 

timeline | playlist | ao3

current wc: 114,915

CHAPTER 1 . I am not your concern

CHAPTER 2 . And out of the blue, I fell for you

CHAPTER 3 . I feel so much, I get carried away

CHAPTER 4 . The night was full of terrors and your eyes were full of tears

CHAPTER 5 . I can go anywhere I want, I can go anywhere just not home

CHAPTER 6 . The thing about forever is that it’s a fucking lie

CHAPTER 7 . I think my ways are wearing me down

CHAPTER 8 . Used to do these things so effortlessly, somehow

CHAPTER 9 . I fell in love with a war, nobody told me it ended

CHAPTER 10 . I hate you for what you did, and I miss you like a little kid

CHAPTER 11 . Memories, where’d you go?

CHAPTER 12 . Living in the state of dreaming

CHAPTER 13 . But there was one thing missing, and that was the moment I knew

CHAPTER 14 . How could you be so reckless with my heart?

CHAPTER 15 . I thought I had you figured out

CHAPTER 16 . I miss you more than anything

CHAPTER 17 . And maybe I don’t quite know what to say

CHAPTER 18 . Don’t speak, I know just what you’re thinking

CHAPTER 19 . Can we go back to the world we had? With a love so sweet it makes me sad

CHAPTER 20 . Guess it’s true, I’m never getting over you

CHAPTER 21 . Meet me in the afterglow

CHAPTER 22 . I’ve been waiting on you

CHAPTER 23 . You’re coming back, and it’s the end of the world

CHAPTER 24 . Finally, I have found a way to be happy

Spark| Masterlist

(Gif is not my own! Original poster @thehungergamesrenaissance​)

Total Word Count: 20.7k

Chapter 1

Chapter 2

Chapter 3

Chapter 4

Chapter 5

Chapter 6