Summary: a strawberry popsicle gets you and Remus all worked up
includes: smut(18+) food play, sweetness, 3k words
The summer air was thick and heavy, sticking to your skin no matter how still you lay. Remus’s room was the coolest place in the whole house, with the curtains drawn to block out the afternoon sun.
You were curled up on his bed, wearing one of his old grey t-shirts and a very short pair of shorts. It was the only way to feel even a little bit comfortable.
The only thing making the heat bearable was the strawberry popsicle you were holding. It was bright red and dripping a little as you licked it. The sweet, fruity taste was cold on your tongue and it felt so good. You took the whole tip of it into your mouth, letting the icy flavor melt away the heat for a moment. It was very, very satisfying.
Just then, the door to the bedroom swung open. Remus walked in, looking tired from his day, but he stopped in his tracks the second he saw you. His eyes went wide as he took in the whole scene. You were laying out on his bed, looking beautiful and comfortable in just his shirt. His favorite shirt, actually.
His gaze traveled down your legs to the shorts, which had ridden up a little. He could basically see the pretty baby blue underwear you were wearing right through them.
Then he saw the popsicle. He watched as your lips wrapped around the red, icy treat, and you gave a little suck. The sight of you, in his bed, wearing his clothes, sucking on something so innocently, made his body react instantly. He felt a sudden twitch in his pants as his cock began to get hard. It was a surprising jolt of desire that shot through him, making his mouth go dry.
He cleared his throat, and you opened your eyes, pulling the popsicle out of your mouth with a soft ‘pop’. A little drop of red juice ran down your chin.
“Enjoying yourself?” he asked, his voice a little rougher than usual.
You just smiled, a slow, knowing smile. “Trying to stay cool. Want a bite?” You held out the popsicle to him, but he didn’t move to take it. His eyes were locked on your lips, on the red stain the popsicle was leaving behind.
He shook his head slowly. “I think I’d rather watch you,” he said, taking a step closer to the bed. The air in the room suddenly felt a lot more charged, a lot hotter than before, and it had nothing to do with the summer weather.
"Well, you're missing out," you said, your voice a little breathy from the cold treat.
He just laughed, a low, warm sound that vibrated through your chest as he sat down on the bed next to you. The mattress dipped with his weight, pulling you slightly closer.
"Where did you find this shirt?" he asked, his voice a low murmur. He hooked his finger under the hem of the t-shirt, the rough pad of his fingertip brushing against your bare stomach and sending a shiver through you. He used that grip to pull you in even closer, until your thighs were touching.
You continued to suck on the popsicle, letting the sweet, icy juice coat your tongue. You gave him a slight shrug, trying to act casual even though your heart was starting to beat faster. "It was in your very neatly folded laundry basket."
He smiled at you, but it wasn't just a simple smile. His eyes were dark, fixed on your lips as you slowly pulled the popsicle out of your mouth. Watching you suck on it like that was doing things to him. It should be innocent, a simple way to cool down, but seeing your lips wrapped around the red, sticky treat had his pants straining so much he thought the seams might split. A raw, primal urge to pin you down right now and show you something else much better to suck was fighting to get out. But he held himself back.
Instead, he slowly ran his hand up from your waist, his fingers tangling gently in your hair before he cupped the side of your face. His thumb stroked your cheekbone. "You're so beautiful, you know that, right?" he told you, his voice thick with an emotion that was more than just simple affection.
You giggled, a nervous, fluttery sound, and leaned in. You pressed a gentle, sticky-sweet kiss to his lips, intending it to be quick. But the moment your lips met, something shifted. He deepened the kiss instantly, his mouth moving against yours with a hunger that took your breath away. The taste of strawberries mixed with the familiar taste of Remus, and your gentle kiss melted into a heated make-out session.
You knew exactly what you were doing. You've seen the way Remus gets, the way his eyes go dark and his jaw gets tight, just from watching you suck on a simple lollipop. So when you saw those perfect, red strawberry popsicles, a wicked little plan started to form. You thought, why not enjoy something sweet and cool to beat the heat? But you also knew that by the time you were done licking and sucking that icy treat, you'd be getting a hell of a lot more than just a sugar rush.
His other hand gripped your hip, yanking you flush against him. You could feel it, hard and needy, pressing into your thigh. A little whimper escaped your lips. The popsicle in your hand started to melt, dripping sticky red onto the sheets, but you didn't care. His kiss was too hot, too demanding.
"Don't let it melt," he growled against your mouth, his voice stern. He pulled back, his lips moving down to your neck, leaving a trail of fire. "I have an idea."
He snatched the popsicle from your numb fingers. Your hands flew to your shirt, pulling it over your head as he hooked his thumbs into your shorts and tugged them down.
"Lay down," he ordered.
You did, shivering as you were left in just your bra and panties. He knelt over you, his eyes dark with lust. He took the popsicle and traced a line of icy, sticky sweetness down your body, from the swell of your breast to the edge of your underwear. The cold made you gasp and arch your back.
Then he lowered his head. You watched, breathless, as his tongue followed the path he'd made, licking the sticky, melting ice from your skin. He lapped it up slowly, from your panties all the way to your chest, sending jolts of pleasure through you. When he was done, he moved back up, his mouth crashing down on yours, letting you taste the sweet strawberry on his lips.
He flung the popsicle across the room. It hit the wall with a wet, splattering thud, leaving a streak of sticky redish pink. "I'll clean it later," he growled, his voice a low rumble that vibrated through your chest. "Right now, all I want to do is fuck you."
His words sent a jolt straight through you, and your hands flew to his shirt, your fingers fumbling with the buttons. You needed him, needed his skin against yours, a desperate, clawing need that made your whole body tremble. You could feel the slick heat pooling between your legs, your panties growing damper by the second, the ache so intense it was almost painful.
He understood your frantic need. He broke the kiss, his dark eyes burning into yours as he yanked his own shirt over his head, revealing the hard, lean lines of his chest. You arched your back off the bed, your hips rolling, searching for any kind of friction to ease the throbbing emptiness.
His hands shot out, pinning your hips down to the mattress with an iron grip. "Just wait," he commanded, his voice a seductive purr that made your core clench.
He moved down your body, his gaze fixed on the apex of your thighs. His fingers hooked into the delicate fabric of your baby blue panties. They were dark now, soaked through with your arousal, and he groaned low in his throat as he slowly peeled them down your legs. The cool air hit your bare cunt, making you shiver.
He settled between your thighs, and you held your breath. He didn't dive in right away. Instead, he pressed the softest, most torturous light kisses against your slick, swollen folds. His breath was hot against your skin, and the teasing was almost enough to make you scream.
"Remus," you moaned, his name a desperate plea on your lips.
That was all the encouragement he needed. He stopped teasing. His mouth latched onto your clit, sucking hard and fast. A sharp, helpless cry tore from your throat as your back bowed off the bed, your hands flying to his hair, tangling in the soft strands. He ate you like a man possessed, his tongue swirling in tight, merciless circles around the sensitive bundle of nerves before flicking it rapidly. He alternated between sucking hard and lapping at you with the flat of his tongue, driving you closer and closer to the edge with every expert motion. The pleasure was overwhelming, a white-hot tidal wave building deep inside you, and you knew you wouldn't last long under his ruthless, talented mouth.
When he finally pulled his mouth away, the loss was so sharp, so sudden, that a desperate, broken cry escaped your lips. The cool air hitting your soaked, sensitive flesh was a shock. He looked down at your glistening cunt, a dark, possessive glint in his eyes, and brought his hand down in a soft, stinging slap. The sharp contact made you jolt, a fresh wave of heat flooding your core.
"Patience, love," he murmured, his voice a husky rasp that sent shivers down your spine.
He moved off the bed, and you watched, your breath held tight in your chest, as he unbuckled his belt and shucked off his pants. His boxers came down next, and his cock sprang free, thick and heavy, curving up towards his stomach. You always forget just how big he is, the sheer size of him enough to make your mouth go dry and your inner walls clench in anticipation. A low, guttural moan was pulled from you at the sight alone.
He crawled back over you, caging you in with his arms. He took himself in hand, running the thick head through your dripping folds, coating himself in your slickness. The teasing pressure against your clit made you whimper. Then, he aligned himself with your entrance and began to push in.
The stretch was slow, deliberate, and exquisite. He filled you inch by agonizing inch, the burn of it melting into a deep, aching pleasure. You couldn't stop the sounds tumbling from your lips a continuous stream of whines and moans as he seated himself fully inside you, so deep you could feel him in your very bones. He paused, letting you adjust, his forehead resting against yours.
Your hands flew to his hair, your fingers tangling in the soft strands at the nape of his neck. You gave it a rough, desperate tug, a silent plea for more. The possessive gesture made him groan deep in his chest, and he dove down, capturing your mouth in a searing, punishing kiss. He began to move then, his hips pulling back slowly before surging forward again, setting a languid, torturous rhythm that was designed to drive you mad.
But the slow pace didn't last. His control snapped. He slammed into you, hard and deep, the force of it knocking the air from your lungs and causing you to cry out into his mouth. He swallowed your sounds, a triumphant smile playing on his lips as he picked up his pace, his thrusts becoming faster, harder, more demanding. The sound of skin slapping against skin filled the room, mingling with your desperate moans and his ragged breaths.
He leaned down, his lips brushing against the shell of your ear. "You feel so fucking good," he whispered, his voice a low, dirty rasp that sent electricity straight to your core. "So tight and wet, all for me. Is this what you wanted, sweetheart? For me to fuck you like this until you can't remember your own name?"
His words were gasoline on a fire. The coil in your stomach tightened to an impossible degree, winding up so fast and hard it was almost painful. Your whole body trembled, your thighs shaking as you teetered on the precipice of a blinding release. He could feel it too the way your walls were fluttering and clenching desperately around him, pulling him deeper.
"Me too, sweetheart," he panted, his thrusts becoming erratic, losing their rhythm as he chased his own end. "I can feel it. Let it go. Come for me."
His permission was the final trigger. Your orgasm crashed over you like a tidal wave, a blinding, all-consuming pleasure that stole your breath and shattered your vision. Your back arched off the bed, a silent scream tearing from your throat as your cunt clenched around him in rhythmic waves. At the same moment, you felt him pulse deep inside you, a low, guttural groan rumbling in his chest as he found his own release, his cock twitching as he spilled into you.
He collapsed on top of you, his body a warm, heavy, welcome weight that pinned you to the earth. You were boneless, spent, your mind a blissful blank. All you could do was lie there, your chest heaving, matching his ragged breathing patterns. You traced your fingers through his sweat-dampened hair, your heart hammering against his. As the world slowly came back into focus, you could hear him whispering against your skin, over and over, how much he loves you.
you and Remus were a secret thing back in your 4thyear at Hogwarts but then Remus started dating another girl leaving you heartbroken, you've tried to move on over the years but nothing seemed to work, after you guys gradated Hogwarts and the war being over Remus starts visiting you at your place of work.
includes: 9434words, a representation of a first love and a yearning situationship, nerdy interest in superheroes, a very long fic,
You met Remus in your 4th year at Hogwarts, when you were seated beside him in Potions. That hadn’t been the plan. The plan had always been Sirius Black. He was everything people whispered about in the corridors: handsome, tall, effortlessly charming, and dangerously good with words. The kind of boy every girl wanted and every teacher sighed over. Getting close to Remus was supposed to be nothing more than a strategy, a stepping stone to getting closer to Sirius.
But plans had a way of unraveling.
At first, Remus was just convenient. Quiet, polite, always willing to help when you leaned over and asked about a recipe or an ingredient. You told yourself it was temporary. That once Sirius noticed you, Remus would fade into the background like a forgotten chapter.
Instead, he became the chapter you couldn’t stop rereading.
You and Remus never really existed in public. There were no loud laughs in the Great Hall, no arm in arm walks through the courtyard. Your world together was made of small, hidden moments: whispered conversations over simmering cauldrons, stolen glances when no one was looking, and late nights sneaking into the common room when everyone else was asleep. You’d sit close, voices low, talking about everything and nothing.
“Hey, Lupin,” you giggle in a whisper as you drop onto the common room couch beside him, casually tossing your legs over his lap like you always did during your secret little meetings.
“Hello, love,” he replies softly, his hand immediately finding your leg, rubbing it in a gentle greeting.
He always called you love and darling, and every time he did your heart fluttered and your knees nearly gave out. You never got used to how easily one word from him could undo you.
“I have a question,” he says after a moment.
Your stomach tightens. “Like… what?” you ask, trying to sound calm.
“We’ve been talking for a long time now,” he begins, studying your face, “so why do you still call me ‘Lupin’?”
You hesitate, then decide to be honest.
“Honestly, Lup— I mean, Remus… you intimidate me. A lot. You just make me nervous, and… yeah.”
He raises an eyebrow, clearly surprised, then gently says your name in that way that always made your breath hitch.
“I like when people find me intimidating,” he admits quietly. “It keeps things simple.”
His hand slides a little higher on your leg, not possessive, just warm and reassuring.
“But you,” he continues, eyes softening, “you’re one of the few people I wish didn’t find me scary or intimidating at all.”
But now all of those moments were just memories, tucked away in the past.
Because not long after the night he told you he wished you didn’t find him scary, he was sitting beside Nina Village.
Nina.
The annoying, know-it-all Muggle-born who just happened to be effortlessly beautiful. The same girl who had disliked you since first year for reasons you never understood. Seeing them together made your chest tighten in a way you weren’t prepared for. They were laughing, leaning close, and when he reached across her to help with her potion, your stomach twisted. It sent a shiver down your spine and left a bitter taste in your mouth that ruined your appetite for the rest of the day.
At lunch, your mind wouldn’t stop racing.
How long had this been going on?
Were they talking while you and Remus were sneaking around at night?
Had you ever really meant anything to him?
The thoughts piled up until your head throbbed and your food sat untouched.
“Sorry, guys,” you muttered to your friends, forcing a weak smile. “I don’t feel too good. I think I’m going to take a nap.”
You stood and headed for the Great Hall doors, desperate for air, for distance, for anything. But as you reached to open them, your heart stopped.
The Marauders were there.
And more specifically Remus and Nina.
They were holding hands.
Your breath hitched painfully in your throat. You didn’t even let yourself think. You just pushed past them, tears already burning in your eyes, your vision blurring as you ran. You barely registered their voices or the way Remus might have called your name. You just needed to get away.
You found the nearest bathroom, locked yourself inside a stall, and finally broke.
You cried over Remus.
You cried over how much Nina had always seemed to hate you for no reason.
You cried because you felt like you were never enough.
And most of all, you cried because you felt so incredibly stupid for crying over a boy you had only known for three months.
But it wasn’t just any boy.
It was Remus Lupin.
And no matter how hard you tried, you couldn’t pretend he hadn’t meant everything to you
Years had passed, and he still hadn’t spoken to you since that day. Sometimes you wondered if you were going mad, because whenever you and your friends walked through the halls of Hogwarts or sat in class, you swore you could feel his eyes on you. You could almost see it in your peripheral vision his stare lingering, heavy with something unspoken. But the moment you turned to look, he would already be facing her, his girlfriend, smiling softly, leaning close, acting completely devoted. It made your stomach twist and left a bitter taste in your mouth every time.
You tried to move on, just like your friends suggested. You really did. That was how you ended up dating a Hufflepuff boy named Kevin. He was sweet and gentle, the kind of person who always tried his best. He was just… awkward. He never quite knew how to hold your hand without overthinking it, or how to speak to you without stumbling over his words. And in a way, that was endearing.
You liked him. You truly did.
But no matter how hard you tried, your feelings for Remus always crept back in, quiet and persistent, overshadowing everything else. No matter who you were with, some part of your heart still belonged to him, and it refused to let go
Now that you had graduated from Hogwarts, Remus wasn’t always on your mind anymore. Not like he used to be. The ache had dulled with time, softened by new routines, new dreams, and the life you were building for yourself.
You and your friends had opened a cozy little bookshop in Diagon Alley, a place that blended the best of both worlds. One side held enchanted tomes and spellbooks, their spines glowing faintly with magic, while the other showcased Muggle novels and poetry, stacked neatly on warm wooden shelves. The shop always smelled of parchment, ink, and freshly brewed tea.
“Hey, Amelia, can you please go get me those new bookmarks we have in the back?” you called.
She cocked her head at you. “Wait, did we get the ones that grow flowers, or the ones that stick to the page and never fall out?”
“The flower ones. The anti-falling ones don’t come in till next month,” you replied.
“Aye aye, captain,” she said, saluting dramatically before scurrying off toward the back.
That was when you heard it the soft jingle of the bell above the door.
You looked up instinctively.
Two men stepped inside, and one of them was carrying a baby. You recognized him instantly. James Potter, unmistakable with his messy black hair and that confident, easy grin, cradling a little boy who looked exactly like him, right down to the wild tufts of hair already trying to defy gravity.
Your breath caught.
And then your gaze shifted to the other man.
Your heart dropped straight to your toes.
It was Remus. Freaking. Lupin.
Older, a little more worn around the edges, but still unmistakably him. The same gentle eyes, the same quiet presence that once made your chest feel too tight and too light all at once. For a moment, the world around you faded the shelves, the counter, the cozy warmth of your shop until all you could see was him standing there, just a few feet away, after all these years.
You didn’t know what to think or do, so you just stared, frozen like you were fifteen again, watching him walk the halls of Hogwarts. Your eyes followed them as they moved toward the children’s section.
“Lily said to get him some Muggle children’s book about a train, but I forgot what it’s called,” you heard James say casually.
Your stomach flipped. You immediately turned around and pretended to busy yourself with the shelves behind you, straightening books that were already perfectly aligned, smoothing your hands over spines that didn’t need smoothing. Anything to look occupied. Anything to avoid looking at him.
“We’ll just ask a worker. Look, there’s one right there,” Remus said.
Your heart dropped straight into your stomach.
Of course. Of course they would come to you. You had sent the only other employee to the back for bookmarks. Freaking bookmarks.
“Excuse me,” James called.
You heard their footsteps getting closer. Your pulse thundered in your ears, your hands starting to shake as you gripped the edge of the shelf. You felt like you might actually throw up all over the display of Hogwarts history books in front of you.
“Yes, how can I help you?” you said, forcing your voice to sound steady as you turned around.
That was when Remus finally realized.
His eyes met yours, and everything in his face changed. His expression fell, not in shock, but in something softer… heavier. Like he’d just been hit with a memory he hadn’t been ready for. His mouth opened slightly, then closed again. It was as if all the words he might have prepared over the years vanished the second he saw you.
“Merlin…” he breathed quietly.
James looked between the two of you, instantly sensing the shift. “Uh… do you two know each other?”
You swallowed. Hard.
“We had a class together,” you said, too quickly, too carefully.
Remus nodded, still staring at you like you might disappear if he blinked. “Yeah. potions.”
There was a pause. A thick, aching pause filled with everything that had never been said.
James adjusted the baby in his arms, trying to lighten the moment. “Right, well… we’re looking for a Muggle children’s book. Something about a train? Lily insists it’s important.”
You forced a small smile, grateful for the distraction. “You’re thinking of The Little Engine That Could or maybe The Polar Express. Both are popular.”
Remus finally found his voice, though it was quiet. “You work here?”
You nodded. “I own it. With some friends.”
His eyebrows lifted slightly, genuine admiration flickering across his face. “That’s… amazing. It suits you.”
Your heart squeezed painfully at the softness in his tone.
“Thank you,” you said, barely above a whisper.
For a moment, neither of you moved. The years between you felt like a fragile glass wall close enough to see through, too thick to cross without breaking something.
James cleared his throat. “So… train books?”
You gestured toward a nearby shelf. “Right this way.”
As you spoke with James, kneeling slightly so his son could see the colorful covers, you could feel Remus’s eyes on you. You didn’t have to look to know. His chest rose and fell slowly, a little too slowly, like he was trying to keep himself calm. Nervous. That was the word for it.
You frowned inwardly.
Why would he be nervous?
And then it clicked.
Nina.
Of course. It had to be Nina. She had always hated you, and she had always been insanely jealous whenever Remus was around another girl. The memory hit you without warning.
Back in fifth year, during Potions, you had asked Remus to borrow his notes because you’d missed a class. He’d smiled and slid his parchment across the table without a second thought. Before you could even thank him, Nina had leaned over, her voice sharp and sugary all at once.
“Why are you giving her your notes?” she’d said, wrapping her fingers possessively around his arm. “She should learn to be responsible on her own, don’t you think, Remus?”
The room had gone quiet. You remembered how your face had burned, how you’d pushed the parchment back toward him.
“It’s fine,” you’d muttered. “I don’t need them.”
And Nina had smirked, satisfied, while Remus had looked like he wanted to say something but didn’t.
Another time, in the courtyard, you’d laughed at something he said in passing, nothing important, barely even a conversation. Nina had appeared out of nowhere, slipping between you and him, looping her arm through his like you’d been the one intruding.
“Come on, Remus,” she’d said loudly. “We were talking.”
You hadn’t even been talking.
So now, years later, watching the way his shoulders tensed and how careful he seemed not to stand too close to you, it made perfect sense. He wasn’t nervous because of you. He was nervous because of her. Because he couldn’t be seen talking to you. Because this was the last place he probably wanted to run into someone Nina already despised.
And now here he was, trapped in your bookstore.
At least, that’s what you told yourself.
James laughed as his son tried to grab a book with a bright red train on the cover. “I think he’s chosen for us.”
You smiled politely, handing it over. “That’s a good one. Simple story, lots of pictures. Perfect for his age.”
Remus shifted slightly, like he wanted to speak but wasn’t sure he was allowed to. His eyes flicked to James, then back to you, soft and conflicted.
You kept your focus on the books and the baby.
Better to pretend none of it mattered.
Better to pretend this was just another customer interaction.
Even if your heart was beating like it was fifteen again.
Your friend’s voice broke through the air.
“Hey, where do you want me to put these bookmarks?”
She came out from the back holding the box full of flower bookmarks, and the second her eyes landed on the scene in front of her, she froze. Just slightly. James Potter. A baby. And then Remus. Standing there, tense, watching you like he didn’t trust himself to look away.
You and her had been friends long before Hogwarts, long before Remus, long before Nina. She knew everything. Every late-night rant, every forced smile, every time you pretended you were over it when you weren’t. So the shock on her face made sense.
You swallowed and spoke quickly, hoping she’d read between the lines.
“Actually, could you help them check out? I’ll go put these away.”
Your words were normal. Your eyes were not. They were pleading.
Please. Get me out of this.
She understood instantly.
“Yeah, of course,” she said, easy and smooth, as if nothing was unusual at all.
She took over at the counter, turning her attention to James and the baby, giving you an escape without making it obvious.
You slipped away to the far side of the shop with the box of bookmarks, your heart thudding hard against your ribs. You focused on the shelf, on lining them up neatly, on breathing.
But even as you did, you knew.
You didn’t have to look back to feel it.
Remus was still watching you as you walked away.
It’s been a few days since the whole Remus situation, and honestly, it’s all you and your friends have talked about since. At this point, it’s less gossip and more a full-time hobby.
“You should’ve seen him, Alice,” Amelia said dramatically, waving her hands around. “He couldn’t stop staring at her like she was Merlin’s personal gift to Earth.”
You snorted, shaking your head. Right on cue, Alice swept over, clearly ready to add fuel to the fire.
“Oh, I can imagine,” she said with a scoff. “I never understood why he was with Nina Village.” She exaggerated Nina’s name like it personally offended her. “Like, yeah, she’s pretty but she’s vile. She once cussed me out because my potion ingredients kept rolling toward her. Like sorry my beetle eyes have free will?”
You laughed. “Justice for the beetle eyes.”
“I wonder if they’re still together,” Amelia mused, leaning back in her chair.
“They have to be,” you said casually.
“Why?” Alice and Amelia asked at the exact same time.
You sighed like this explanation physically exhausted you. “I mean, Amelia, you saw him. Nervous. Awkward. Looked like he wanted to Apparate into the sun the second he saw me.”
Amelia just stared at you.
“…Are you stupid?” she asked bluntly.
You blinked. “Excuse me?”
“No, seriously,” she pressed. “Are. You. Stupid.”
You raised an eyebrow. “Where exactly are you going with this?”
“He was nervous because he’s still in love with you,” she said, like it was obvious. “He was probably imagining your future together. Two babies. A tiny cottage. Reading Muggle books about trains before bed.”
You stared at her like she’d just lost her mind.
“You’re absolutely unhinged,” you said, pointing at her.
“And yet,” Alice added, grinning, “not wrong.”
You chuckled and lightly tossed an empty box at Amelia as all three of you burst out laughing
DING.
The bell above the door rang.
You froze.
Because standing there, looking very real and very inconvenient, was Remus freaking Lupin.
The moment he walked in, the world seemed to slow. The air felt heavier, thicker, like it took more effort just to breathe. And then his eyes found you. Instantly. As if some invisible thread had always existed between you, pulling him back no matter how much time had passed.
You felt his gaze before you even fully looked at him. When you did, it was already too late. He was scanning you, taking you in, and your heart betrayed you so violently it felt like it might break free from your chest. You hated it. You hated that after everything, after all this time, he still had this power over you.
Without hesitation, without dignity, you turned and rushed to the back like a frightened schoolgirl. Your hands were shaking. Your stomach churned. Your chest burned with every breath. You leaned against the wall, pressing a hand over your heart like you could physically hold it still.
Why did he still do this to you?
You had dated other guys. You had laughed with them, kissed them, tried to convince yourself that they were enough. And you hadn’t even truly dated Remus. Not officially. Not properly.
So why did three months with him feel heavier than every relationship that came after?
Because he wasn’t just a boy. He was the boy. Your first real crush. The first person who made you imagine a future that felt warm and safe and real. The first one you ever wanted to choose you back.
And he hadn’t.
He had chosen someone else. Someone who hated you. Someone who made your chest tighten just by existing. And still—still—your heart had never learned how to let him go.
With every other boy, there had been a quiet lie sitting in your chest. A soft, guilty whisper that said: You are not him. You were never him.
It was cruel. It was unfair. It made you feel small and ashamed. How could you still want someone who had never been yours? Someone who had walked away so easily?
Your eyes burned, but you refused to let the tears fall. You felt ridiculous. Weak. Embarrassed. Like a girl who should have grown out of a love that was never even hers to begin with.
And yet…
Your heart didn’t care about logic.
Because the truth was devastating in its simplicity
No matter who you dated.
No matter how hard you tried.
No matter how much time passed.
It had always been him.
Time seemed to stretch endlessly, each second dragging by like it had a personal vendetta against you, until a voice finally broke through your spiraling thoughts.
“He says he wants to speak with you,” Alice said from the doorway, her tone a strange mix of excitement and apprehension. You weren’t sure if she was happy for you… or scared for you.
You didn’t know what to say. What could he possibly want to talk about? You’d always convinced yourself that what you and Remus had shared was just limerence an intense crush blown up by circumstance. So why would he want to speak to you now?
“I’ll be out in a second,” you murmured, trying to sound casual even as your hands trembled. You took a deep breath, straightened your shoulders, and prepared yourself.
And then you saw him.
Your stomach twisted into knots you didn’t even know were possible. You hadn’t gotten a good look at him when he’d been with James—fear had pinned you in place, and every instinct had screamed don’t look, don’t breathe, don’t exist. But now… now you could see him, really see him.
He was still the most handsome person you had ever laid eyes on. His face was a map of small scars, each one telling a story you would never know, and a few larger ones that only made him seem more rugged, more human, more… breathtaking. Even with all the imperfections, he was beautiful.
Your mind raced. What could he possibly want to talk about?
“You… wanted to speak to me?” you asked, trying and failing to make your voice sound casual. It came out brittle, like glass.
He hesitated. “Uh… yes… um…” His words faltered, lost somewhere between thought and tongue.
“I’m here to… buy a book,” he finally said, almost like a question.
Of course. A book. You were literally standing in a bookstore. Your brain hit rewind and facepalm at once. You had overthought this entire situation to death. The truth was painfully obvious: he had requested you because you had helped him the other day. That’s it. Nothing dramatic, nothing life-altering. Just… you, doing your job.
And yet… even with that simple explanation, your heart refused to calm down.
“What kind of book?” you asked, the words tumbling out a little too fast, a little too stiff. Smooth. So smooth.
He blinked, clearly just as unprepared as you were. “Uh… anything really,” he said, scratching the back of his neck like he always used to when he was nervous. “What do you… suggest?”
Great. Now the pressure was on.
You stared at the shelves like they had personally betrayed you. Your mind went blank, then started racing, then tripped over itself. Say something normal. Say something not embarrassing. Say something that doesn’t expose your entire soul.
“Well, um,” you began, shifting your weight, “I’ve actually been really into… muggle comics lately.”
He tilted his head slightly, curious.
“Superhero ones,” you added, then winced. “By Marvel.”
You felt heat rush to your cheeks. Of all the things you could’ve said—ancient magic, tragic poetry, historical wizarding literature—you chose colorful books about people in tights saving the world.
He didn’t laugh. He didn’t tease. If anything, he looked… intrigued.
“Really?” he asked softly. “That sounds kind of brilliant, actually.”
Your heart stumbled.
“They’re fun,” you said quickly, trying to sound casual. “And dramatic. And… comforting, in a weird way.”
He nodded slowly, like he understood that more than you expected him to.
“Can you show me where they are?” he asked.
Your chest tightened, but not painfully this time. Not like panic. More like warmth.
“Sure,” you said, almost too quietly. “Follow me.”
You stepped out from behind the counter, leading the way through the narrow aisles. At first, it was painfully awkward the silence stretching, your footsteps too loud, your hands unsure of where to rest. But after a few seconds, it softened. The tension melted into something gentle, something familiar.
It felt strangely natural, walking beside him again. Like slipping into a rhythm your heart had never truly forgotten.
“Okay, so,” you said, clasping your hands together like you were about to present a life-changing lecture, “these are your starters. The Fantastic Four.” You pulled one out and held it up. “Honestly? My personal favorite. They’re dysfunctional, dramatic, and somehow still manage to save the world. Very relatable.”
Remus tilted his head. “Are you saying I should emotionally prepare myself?”
“Absolutely,” you replied, dead serious. “If you’re not a little attached by page ten, I’ll question your humanity.”
That earned a small laugh from him, soft and warm, and your heart did something very inconvenient.
“And then,” you continued, sliding a few more out, “you’ve got your classics. Superman. Wonder Woman. The ‘I’m powerful but also deeply emotionally burdened’ category.”
“Sounds familiar,” he murmured.
You glanced at him, catching the tease, and smirked. “Careful, Lupin. You’re one tragic backstory away from being recruited.”
He chuckled, rubbing the back of his neck again. “I don’t think I’d survive in tights.”
“You’d survive,” you said lightly. “I make no promises about pulling them off, though.”
His smile widened, just slightly, like he wasn’t sure whether you meant it as a joke or something else.
You moved down the shelf, pointing out a few more. “These are more action-heavy, these are funny, and these…” you paused, tapping a particularly chaotic-looking one, “are for when you want emotional damage with a side of explosions.”
He nodded thoughtfully. “You’re very convincing. I feel like I’m being gently manipulated.”
“That’s called excellent customer service,” you replied. “It’s a gift.”
He watched you as you talked, eyes warm, attentive, like every word mattered. It made your knees wobble just a little, but you ignored it, straightening your posture. Professional. Calm. Unaffected. Totally unaffected.
You talked for a while, about muggle comics, about ridiculous plot twists and overpowered heroes, laughing like none of the past had ever happened. Laughing like he hadn’t broken your heart when you were only fifteen. It felt wrong. And yet… it felt terrifyingly right.
It was strange how natural it all was. As if the years between you had folded in on themselves. As if no time had passed at all. Your hands were clammy, your pulse uneven, but there was a warmth in your chest that you hadn’t felt in a long time. A soft, dangerous comfort.
Your heart and your mind both seemed to ache for this stupid, fleeting, three-month almost-relationship. Something so small, so unfinished, yet it had carved itself into you deeper than anything else ever had. It made no sense. It made you feel foolish.
And still, you wanted it.
Still, you missed it.
Then the memories tried to creep in. The past. Him. Her.
Your stomach twisted violently. Just the thought of that chapter of your life made your chest tighten, like the air was being pulled from your lungs. It made you want to disappear, to outrun every memory tied to him, to shake off the version of yourself that had hoped for something more.
You smiled and laughed with him, but inside, your emotions were at war. Part of you was glowing with comfort and familiarity. The other part was screaming, reminding you how fragile this feeling was, how easily it had once been taken away.
It was terrifying how quickly your heart remembered him.
How easily it slipped back into wanting what it never truly had.
“Okay, so…” you started, immediately realizing you were about to ramble but being completely powerless to stop it. “These are your starters. Like, the Fantastic Four—honestly, my personal favorite.”
Remus smiled and nodded at you like every word you were saying was made of chocolate and magic and pure importance. It was wildly unfair.
“And then you’ve got your basics,” you continued, gesturing a little too enthusiastically. “Like Superman and Wonder Woman. Classic. Iconic. Emotionally devastating in the best way.”
You moved along the shelf, pulling a few out to show him. “And these ones are more action-packed, these are more funny, these are… chaos, but in a good way.”
He didn’t interrupt. He just watched you, that soft smile never leaving his face. It made your knees feel weak, like they were reconsidering their loyalty to your body.
You cleared your throat, trying desperately to remember that you were a professional. A bookstore employee. A very serious, composed adult.
“So, um,” you said, straightening slightly, “this is basically our entire comic section.”
Inside, you were screaming. Outside, you smiled politely, pretending your heart wasn’t doing cartwheels every time his eyes met yours.
different add more make it a litttle more flirty banter but niche
“Okay, so,” you said, clasping your hands together like you were about to present a life-changing lecture, “these are your starters. The Fantastic Four.” You pulled one out and held it up. “Honestly? My personal favorite. They’re dysfunctional, dramatic, and somehow still manage to save the world. Very relatable.”
Remus tilted his head. “Are you saying I should emotionally prepare myself?”
“Absolutely,” you replied, dead serious. “If you’re not a little attached by page ten, I’ll question your humanity.”
That earned a small laugh from him, soft and warm, and your heart did something very inconvenient.
“And then,” you continued, sliding a few more out, “you’ve got your classics. Superman. Wonder Woman. The ‘I’m powerful but also deeply emotionally burdened’ category.”
“Sounds familiar,” he murmured.
You glanced at him, catching the tease, and smirked. “Careful, Lupin. You’re one tragic backstory away from being recruited.”
He chuckled, rubbing the back of his neck again. “I don’t think I’d survive in tights.”
“You’d survive,” you said lightly. “I make no promises about pulling them off, though.”
His smile widened, just slightly, like he wasn’t sure whether you meant it as a joke or something else.
You moved down the shelf, pointing out a few more. “These are more action-heavy, these are funny, and these…” you paused, tapping a particularly chaotic-looking one, “are for when you want emotional damage with a side of explosions.”
He nodded thoughtfully. “You’re very convincing. I feel like I’m being gently manipulated.”
“That’s called excellent customer service,” you replied. “It’s a gift.”
He watched you as you talked, eyes warm, attentive, like every word mattered. It made your knees wobble just a little, but you ignored it, straightening your posture. Professional. Calm. Unaffected. Totally unaffected.
“So,” you finished, gesturing to the shelf, “welcome to the muggle superhero corner. Enter at your own risk.”
“With you as my guide,” he said softly, “I think I’ll manage.”
You talked for a while, about muggle comics, about ridiculous plot twists and overpowered heroes, laughing like none of the past had ever happened. Laughing like he hadn’t broken your heart when you were only fifteen. It felt wrong. And yet… it felt terrifyingly right.
It was strange how natural it all was. As if the years between you had folded in on themselves. As if no time had passed at all. Your hands were clammy, your pulse uneven, but there was a warmth in your chest that you hadn’t felt in a long time. A soft, dangerous comfort.
Your heart and your mind both seemed to ache for this stupid, fleeting, three-month almost-relationship. Something so small, so unfinished, yet it had carved itself into you deeper than anything else ever had. It made no sense. It made you feel foolish.
And still, you wanted it.
Still, you missed it.
Then the memories tried to creep in. The past. Him. Her.
Your stomach twisted violently. Just the thought of that chapter of your life made your chest tighten, like the air was being pulled from your lungs. It made you want to disappear, to outrun every memory tied to him, to shake off the version of yourself that had hoped for something more.
You smiled and laughed with him, but inside, your emotions were at war. Part of you was glowing with comfort and familiarity. The other part was screaming, reminding you how fragile this feeling was, how easily it had once been taken away.
It was terrifying how quickly your heart remembered him.
How easily it slipped back into wanting what it never truly had.
As you rang up the comics, the space between you settled into a quiet that felt heavier than words. Not awkward. Just… charged. You could feel his eyes on you, like he was trying to memorize the way you stood, the way you breathed, the way you existed. It made your chest tighten and your thoughts blur together.
“Well… is that all?” you asked softly, your voice lingering in the air longer than you meant it to.
Remus smiled and nodded. “Yeah.”
He turned like it was nothing. Like it was easy. Like walking away hadn’t once shattered you.
Your heart dipped, just slightly, but enough to hurt. Watching him leave felt like being fifteen all over again, like reliving the moment you realized how effortlessly he could go, how easily he could choose something else.
And then he stopped.
“Actually—”
You looked up. He had turned back, hands in his pockets, eyes uncertain. “The real reason I came here is because…” He trailed off, swallowing, like the weight of his own words scared him.
You laughed softly, trying to ease the tension. “Well, spit it out.”
He smiled at that, shaking his head like he couldn’t believe himself. Then, quieter, more vulnerable:
“I was wondering if you’d like to go out sometime. Maybe dinner… or Butterbeer?”
For a second, the world vanished.
Your heart slammed against your ribs like it was trying to escape your body. There was no way this was happening. No way. Every feeling you’d ever buried rushed back all at once the flutter in your chest, the electricity in your skin, the childish excitement that used to bloom whenever he asked to meet you in the common room, whenever he smiled at you in the halls like you were a secret only he knew.
It was the same feeling. Exactly the same.
“I would love to,” you said, breathless but certain.
“Tomorrow,” you added quickly, before fear could catch up. “Butterbeer. The Leaky Cauldron. Around three.”
His face lit up. “Great,” he said, almost laughing in disbelief. “It’s a date.”
And then he was gone.
The moment the door closed behind him, reality hit you like a spell to the chest. You spun on your heel and bolted toward the back, practically tripping over yourself.
“I—” you started, and that was all it took.
Your friends erupted. Screaming. Gasping. Hands flying to mouths. Pure chaos.
“You’re lying.”
“No way.”
“ARE YOU SERIOUS?”
You were all squealing like you were fifteen again.
You had absolutely no idea what to wear. None. Your room looked like a tornado had gone through it, and you stood in the middle like the victim of your own overthinking. You really did feel like a nervous little schoolgirl again, heart racing, mind spiraling, replaying every possible outcome like it was a final exam.
“Come on,” Amelia said, leaning against the doorframe, eyeing you up and down. “Those jeans make your butt look amazing. Like, honestly, if I were a guy—”
“Thanks, Ames,” you cut in, half-laughing, half-panicking, “but I’m not convinced these are the jeans.” You peeled them off and tossed them onto the bed, where they landed on top of what had to be at least thirty other rejected pairs.
Alice watched you from the chair, gently bouncing Neville on her hip. “Well, you do eventually have to choose something,” she said calmly, like you weren’t having a full emotional breakdown over denim.
You groaned and dramatically flopped onto the bed. “I don’t even know why I’m overthinking this,” you muttered into your pillow. “He probably just wants to catch up. I should wear something casual. Normal. Effortless.” You lifted your head. “But nothing I own feels casual enough.”
Amelia was already digging through your closet like she was on a mission. Then she paused.
“Oh,” she said softly.
You looked up. In her hands was a shirt you hadn’t seen in years. Your Hobgoblins shirt. Faded, soft, and somehow still fitting like it was meant to stay with you forever.
Your heart stuttered.
You remembered everything all at once. Fourth year. The way you’d begged your parents to let you get it that summer. The way Remus’s eyes had lit up when he saw it. How you used to lie together on the common room couch late at night, music shared, whispering about lyrics and concerts you’d never go to, pretending the world didn’t exist outside that little bubble.
Back when you were a “thing.”
Back when everything felt simple.
You slowly sat up and took the shirt from her. It felt warm in your hands, like it still carried echoes of those nights.
“I think…” you whispered, almost afraid to say it out loud, “this might be the one.”
Amelia smiled knowingly. “With those jeans.”
You nodded. It wasn’t too dressed up. It wasn’t too casual. It was you. And somehow, impossibly, it felt like fate had been hanging in your closet this whole time, waiting for the right moment to be found again.
You stood outside the Leaky Cauldron, staring at the door like it might bite you if you touched it. Your mind was racing so fast it felt dizzy. Every doubt you’d ever had was screaming at once. This is a bad idea. This is amazing. This is terrifying. What if it ruins everything? What if it fixes everything?
You hated how nervous he made you. More nervous than anyone you had ever dated. More nervous than your first kiss, your first heartbreak, your first real disappointment. He still had this power over you, and that scared you more than anything else.
You closed your eyes and whispered, “Three… two… one.”
Then you walked in.
And there he was.
Standing near the bar, hands tucked into his jacket pockets, looking like he’d been waiting longer than he wanted to admit. When he saw you, his face lit up instantly with that same big, soft smile. The one that had ruined you at fifteen. The one that felt like warmth and safety and heartbreak all tangled together.
It hit you all at once.
You remembered the first time you’d seen it.
You’d made some stupid joke in the common room about how he looked like a confused puppy when he studied, and he’d tried so hard not to laugh. His lips had twitched, his eyes had softened, and then that smile had broken free wide and unguarded, like you’d just given him something he didn’t realize he needed.
You’d gone quiet that night.
Not because you were shy.
Because your heart had just fallen in love without asking permission.
And now it was happening again.
Seeing that smile after all these years felt like stepping into a memory that never really ended. Your chest tightened, but not painfully. It was almost comforting. Almost familiar.
“You look really nice today,” Remus said, smiling at you.
And then you watched the exact moment he realized what he’d just said.
His eyes widened slightly, his smile faltered, and pure panic flashed across his face. “I—I mean, you look nice every day. Not that you don’t normally look nice. You’re really pretty, I just— I don’t think you look bad on a normal day, I mean—”
He stopped himself, clearly realizing he was only making it worse.
It was actually… kind of adorable.
You laughed softly and reached out, your fingers brushing his upper arm like it was the most casual thing in the world. Like your heart wasn’t racing. Like that tiny touch didn’t send a spark through both of you.
“It’s okay,” you said gently, still smiling.
He looked at you, visibly relieved, but now just as nervous and giddy as you felt. Like two teenagers standing too close, pretending their hands weren’t shaking.
“Remus,” you said softly, tilting your head toward the tables, “let’s just go sit down.”
He nodded quickly. “Yeah. Yeah, okay.”
He led you over, pulling out a chair for you with that same quiet, thoughtful gentleness you remembered. And as you sat across from each other, it felt less like a first date… and more like a continuation of something your hearts had never really finished.
You sat together for hours, the Butterbeer slowly disappearing between nervous sips and soft laughter. At some point, time stopped feeling real. It felt like you had slipped into a pocket of the past, where nothing hurt and nothing had ever gone wrong.
You told him about your life. About Amelia and Alice. About how chaotic your days could be and how warm your nights felt when you were surrounded by people who loved you. You talked about Neville, your godson, and the way your heart had nearly burst the first time he wrapped his tiny fingers around yours.
Remus listened like every word mattered. Like he was collecting pieces of you he had missed.
Then it was his turn. He spoke about the Marauders, about how they were still just as reckless and loud as ever. About James and Lily’s son, Harry, and how fiercely he already loved that boy, like he was something precious the world needed protecting from. His voice softened whenever he said his name.
You laughed. You teased. You planned.
“Maybe Neville and Harry could meet someday,” you said casually, like your heart wasn’t fluttering at the thought.
He smiled. “I think they’d get along. Cause trouble together.”
“I hope so,” you said quietly. “They deserve that.”
It all felt… easy. Comforting. Like slipping into a conversation you had only paused, not ended.
But there was one thing neither of you touched.
Her.
Nina.
The space where her name should have been sat between you like a fragile glass object. Invisible, but heavy. Present in every pause. Every shift in tone. Every moment where your laughter softened too quickly.
You both avoided it instinctively. Like speaking her name would shatter whatever fragile peace you had built. Like it would remind you both of the hurt, the choices, the past that still lingered in the shadows.
So you didn’t say it.
And neither did he.
The day slipped by like a dream. Laughter, soft smiles, shared memories. It felt like the universe had finally decided to be kind to you. Like maybe, just maybe, this was what healing looked like.
And then the door to the Leaky Cauldron opened.
Fate has a cruel sense of timing.
In walked Nina… with her equally sharp-tongued friend trailing behind her, the one whose name you never bothered to learn because she had never been worth remembering. The warmth around your table vanished instantly, like someone had blown out a candle.
You and Remus noticed her at the exact same moment.
The air shifted.
The magic broke.
Your chest tightened as you watched his posture change. His shoulders stiffened. His eyes followed her movements. And in your mind, the worst conclusion formed immediately: Of course. She’s still the one he watches. She’s still the one who matters.
Your heart cracked quietly, painfully.
But what you couldn’t see was the truth behind his eyes. He wasn’t longing. He wasn’t drawn. He was horrified.
Because the moment she walked in, it felt just like the past. Like the night everything had fallen apart. Like the moment something fragile and precious had been stolen from him. He wanted her gone. He wanted this moment back. He wanted you.
Yes, he had loved her once. But that love had been sharp, suffocating, and poisoned with pain. Their relationship had been built on chaos and control, not comfort. And standing there now, watching her walk in with that familiar intention in her eyes, he knew exactly why she was here.
To ruin this.
To ruin you.
Before you could say a word, before you could even understand what was happening, Remus stood abruptly. The chair scraped against the floor, loud and jarring.
You looked up at him, confused, your heart pounding.
“Remus?”
He didn’t answer. He didn’t look back.
He walked straight toward her, every step fueled by something fierce and unresolved, leaving you sitting there dazed, trembling, and terrified that the fragile, beautiful moment you had just begun to believe in was already slipping through your fingers.
You sat there for a moment, frozen, watching them from across the room. You couldn’t hear what was being said, but you didn’t need to. Nina was smirking, that same cruel, knowing smile she’d always worn like armor. Remus looked tense, his hands clenched, his voice clearly sharper than he meant it to be.
Then her eyes flicked toward you.
That sly, poisonous look made your stomach twist. It was the same look she used to give you in the halls at Hogwarts, the one that said I win without a single word.
You stood up quietly. You didn’t want to see this. You didn’t want to feel like this again.
As you walked toward the door, her friend “accidentally” bumped into a passing server. The tray tilted, and before you could react, cold drinks splashed all over you, soaking your clothes.
Just like Hogwarts.
Like the time they “tripped” in the corridor and spilled pumpkin juice all over your books. Like the time your robes had been ruined before class and Nina had only laughed. Like the way they always managed to make you feel small without ever getting in trouble for it.
You closed your eyes briefly, jaw tightening. You hated them. Truly, deeply, with every fiber of your being.
You pushed the door open and stumbled out into the night, your steps uneven from the Butterbeer and from the weight in your chest. The world felt muffled, distant. You didn’t hear anything around you. You just walked.
Tears slid down your face, silent and unstoppable.
You felt stupid. Naive. Like you should have known better than to believe in something soft and hopeful again.
Then suddenly—
“Y/N!”
You stopped.
You turned just as Remus ran up to you, breathless, panic written all over his face.
“I’m so, so sorry,” he said quickly. “I didn’t expect her to come here tonight and ruin our date.”
You stared at him, stunned. Everything had happened too fast. The joy. The fear. The heartbreak. The hope. It was overwhelming.
Part of you wanted to be fourteen again. To pretend none of this existed. To hide in the safety of ignorance and daydreams.
“She’s an asshole,” he said fiercely. “That’s why we’re not together. Please believe me.” His voice softened. “I want to try things with us… like I should have all those years ago.”
More tears slipped free.
“Please,” he whispered. “Let me make it up to you. Come to my place. We’ll watch a movie or something. Don’t let her ruin this like she ruined so much of my life.”
He lifted his hands to your face, gently wiping away your tears with his thumbs. His touch sent electricity through you, lighting every nerve, every memory.
You wanted to say no.
You wanted to run.
You wanted to protect yourself from a heartbreak that still haunted you.
But your body betrayed your fear.
You nodded.
And without another word, you followed him to his car, clothes still damp from the drinks, heart still soaked with emotion, knowing you were stepping into something dangerous… and wanting it anyway.
The drive back was surprisingly… normal. Almost peaceful. Like nothing terrible had just happened. You slipped back into conversation as if the night hadn’t cracked open for a moment. You talked about planning a playdate for Neville and Harry, imagining them running around and causing harmless chaos. You told him more about the bookstore, the regulars, the way it smelled like paper and magic and quiet comfort. He listened, smiling, like he was trying to memorize every part of your life he had missed.
Before you even realized it, you were there.
Remus’s flat.
Your heart gave a small, traitorous flutter.
He unlocked the door and stepped inside, motioning for you to follow. “I’ll be right back,” he said, already heading down the hall.
You stood there alone for a moment, taking it all in. The place was so him. Warm lighting. Soft colors. Books stacked in uneven towers. A few old records leaning against the wall. It felt lived in, gentle, thoughtful. Like a reflection of the boy you had once known and the man he had become.
He returned holding a clean shirt. It made your chest tighten immediately.
“Since yours got ruined,” he said softly, “here. Use mine.”
It was his version of your Hobgoblins shirt. Same band. Same faded love. Different size, different history. The meaning hit you harder than you expected.
You smiled, taking it from him. “Thank you.”
“You can get changed in my room,” he said. “I’ll start the movie.”
You nodded and walked down the hallway, your heart pounding louder with every step. When you opened his bedroom door, the scent hit you instantly. Sandalwood and chocolate. Warm and comforting and unmistakably him. It wrapped around you like a memory you didn’t realize you had been missing.
This might be my new favorite smell, you thought faintly.
You changed slowly, carefully, almost reverently. When you pulled his shirt over your head, it felt unreal. Like crossing some invisible line. Like stepping into a dream you’d once been too scared to believe in.
You looked at yourself in the mirror.
And that was when it truly sank in.
You were in Remus Lupin’s flat.
In his room.
Wearing his shirt.
The boy you had obsessed over.
The boy who had broken your heart.
The boy who had walked back into your life only days ago in your bookstore.
And now here you were.
It felt impossible.
And yet, it was so painfully real.
When you walked back into the living room, your heart nearly melted. The movie was already playing, the lights dimmed just enough to feel cozy, and a bowl of popcorn sat between him and the empty spot on the couch. He looked up when he saw you, his face softening instantly.
He patted the cushion beside him. “Come here.”
You didn’t hesitate for even a second. You sat down quickly and, without thinking, swung your legs over his lap like you used to years ago. The movement was so natural it shocked you both.
For a split second he froze.
Then his face broke into the biggest, most familiar grin.
“You still do that,” he said quietly, like he was smiling at a memory.
“And you still let me,” you teased softly.
His hands rested against your leg, warm and gentle, like they had every right to be there. It felt like the last conversation you’d ever had before everything fell apart… only this time, nothing was ending.
You watched the movie in peaceful silence, stealing glances at each other when you thought the other wasn’t looking. The world felt small and safe, like nothing bad could reach you in this tiny bubble of warmth and shared breath.
Eventually, without even realizing it, you shifted closer. Your head found his shoulder naturally, like it had been searching for it the entire night. He stiffened slightly at first, then relaxed, lifting one hand to gently brush his fingers through your hair.
Slow. Careful. Like he was afraid you might disappear if he moved too fast.
Your heart soared.
You felt safe.
You felt wanted.
You felt home.
Your eyes grew heavy, your body melting into him as the movie continued to play unnoticed in the background. His fingers kept tracing soft patterns through your hair, grounding you, calming you, promising you silently that this moment was real.
And before you even realized it, you had fallen asleep on his couch, your head resting against his shoulder, wrapped in a peace you hadn’t felt in years.
The next morning, you woke slowly, warm and comfortable, not quite sure where you were. Your head was resting against his chest, rising and falling gently with each breath, and his arm was wrapped around you, his hand settled firmly in the middle of your back like he was afraid you might roll away and disappear if he let go.
It took a second for reality to sink in.
Remus Lupin.
His couch.
His arms.
He stirred before you could pull away. “Good morning,” he murmured, smiling sleepily down at you.
Your heart fluttered. “Morning,” you smiled back.
“Did you sleep well?” he asked softly.
You giggled and nodded. “Like a rock.”
Then your eyes drifted past him… to the clock.
Your soul left your body.
“Oh my God.” You shot upright so fast the warmth vanished instantly, leaving the air feeling shockingly cold. “Oh my God, oh my God—”
“What? What’s wrong?” Remus jumped up too, panic flashing across his face.
“The bookstore opens in three minutes!” you cried, scrambling for your shoes and sweater like your life depended on it.
He blinked. “Three—what? That’s impossible—”
“I’m late,” you groaned, already halfway to the door.
“Are you okay?” he asked, stepping toward you, concern written all over him.
You paused. Just for a second.
He looked hopeful. Nervous. Soft in that way that made your chest ache.
“Will you be back?” he asked quietly.
You didn’t even think.
Your hand lifted to his face, resting against his cheek like it had always belonged there. “Of course,” you whispered.
And before fear could stop you, before logic could interfere, you leaned in and pressed a light, fleeting kiss to his lips.
Instant regret.
Instant warmth.
Instant chaos.
You both froze.
Your faces flushed at the same time, eyes wide, hearts racing like you’d just crossed a line neither of you knew how to name yet. It was too soon. Too bold. Too honest.
And yet… neither of you pulled away in disappointment.
He smiled, soft and stunned, like the world had just tilted in a beautiful way. You backed toward the door, mortified and breathless.
“I’ll see you later,” you mumbled.
He lifted his hand in a shy wave. “Yeah… later.”
You rushed out, half running to work, half running from the realization that something fragile and wonderful had just begun again and this time, neither of you wanted to let it slip through your fingers.
-oh, remus would be so obsessed with you. the kind of quiet, lovesick type who can’t help smiling every time you walk in wearing something pink and sparkly.
-whenever he sees anything with pink leopard print, he buys it on the spot no hesitation. he just knows it would look incredible on you, and he can already picture your smile when he gives it to you.
-he’s always admiring your hoop earrings, trying to pick a favorite pair but never managing to because they all suit your face so perfectly. sometimes he stares a little too long, and when you notice, he gets all flustered and starts rambling about how “it’s just fascinating how circles—uh, hoops—look good on you.”
-he secretly loves how your aesthetics completely clash. you’re all rhinestones and glitter while he’s cardigans and tea stains. people might say you look like total opposites, but he knows that’s what makes you work you balance him out, and he brings you calm. together, you’re weirdly perfect.
-he can’t get over your sunglasses collection. like, he genuinely doesn’t understand why you need twenty pairs when they all kinda do the same thing yet he finds it endearing how passionate you get explaining why that one has the right shape or that one has the right amount of sparkle.
-he’s so relieved you’re more into stars than moons. not because he doesn’t love moons but because stars remind him of you bright, warm, impossible to ignore, and somehow everywhere he looks.
-he always insists on holding your cute patterned bags when your arms get tired. and even though he tries to act casual about it, he secretly adores the way people look at him scruffy remus lupin carrying a rhinestone-covered handbag like it’s the most natural thing in the world.
-sometimes he teases you about your glittery nails or the sound of your bangles clinking, but every time, it’s followed by a soft smile and a quiet “you look beautiful, by the way.”
-he swears your lip gloss has a gravitational pull because somehow he’s always drawn in for a kiss and afterward, he pretends to complain about being covered in glitter even though he secretly loves it.
-and when you’re both together him in his cozy sweaters and you sparkling beside him it’s the perfect mix of chaos and calm, like moonlight bouncing off disco lights. he wouldn’t trade it for anything.
Contains: Lots of writing ,No Ross and Rachel(that's gonna be a whole other fanfic), gay yearning, Confusion on sexuality
From the very first time you set foot inside your cousins Monica and Ross’s childhood home, you noticed her, Rachel Green. She was always there, effortlessly glowing, her laugh spilling into the air like something you wanted to bottle up and keep forever. At first, you were just the tag-along kid, two years younger, never quite old enough to be included in whatever Monica and Rachel were doing. They’d close the bedroom door, giggling about secrets you weren’t allowed to hear, and you’d sit outside in the hallway pretending not to care, even though you desperately wanted to be part of their world.
At the time, you thought it was just the sting of being left out, the way little kids always want to be part of the older kids’ world. But the truth was, even then, something about Rachel pulled at you in a way you couldn’t explain. Your heart would leap when she said your name, your stomach would twist when she laughed, and you found yourself orbiting around her like she was the sun and you were stuck in her gravity. It wasn’t just a childish crush or wanting to play with your cousin’s best friend, it was the start of something bigger, something that would stay with you long after those afternoons in Monica’s bedroom faded into memory.
But time doesn’t stop for anyone, and everyone grows up. Somewhere between childhood and now, things shifted. You weren’t just the younger cousin anymore, you were grown, with your own life, your own place, and somehow you ended up in the same apartment building as Monica, Chandler, and the rest of their circle. Which meant, of course, that Rachel was suddenly everywhere again.
Coffee runs in the morning. Late-night hangouts in Monica’s apartment. Movie nights where Rachel would curl up on the couch next to you like it was the most casual thing in the world while you sat there trying to remember how to breathe.
And the worst part? You didn’t understand any of it. The racing pulse, the butterflies in your stomach, the way your eyes always seemed to find her first in a crowded room, you told yourself it was platonic. That it was just leftover fondness from when you were kids. You clung to that excuse because the truth was too terrifying to face: your feelings for Rachel weren’t simple, weren’t easy, and they definitely weren’t just friendly.
“Heyyy, guys, how’s it going?” Joey’s familiar voice rang out as he walked into Monica’s apartment like it was his second home, which, at this point, it basically was.
You were sitting at the kitchen table, hunched over a bowl of cereal, half-focused on Phoebe’s story about some eccentric neighbor she’d once had. Rachel sat beside you, legs crossed gracefully, sipping her coffee. Just her being that close made it hard to concentrate on much of anything. Across the room, Ross and Chandler were sprawled on the couch, watching some random TV program that wasn’t interesting enough to hold their attention. Monica, true to form, was fussing around with a cleaning rag, polishing surfaces that didn’t need polishing.
“Hey, Joey,” you said with a little wave, spoon in hand.
Joey’s gaze immediately locked onto you, and his face broke into that mischievous grin you’d learned to fear. He pointed dramatically. “Ahh, just the girl was looking for.”
You blinked, lowering your spoon. “That… sounds terrifying.”
Rachel chuckled beside you, tossing her hair back as her laugh filled the room. It was light and effortless, the kind of laugh that made your chest ache because you wanted to be the reason for it. God, you’d sit through a thousand of Joey’s schemes if it meant hearing that sound again.
Joey ignored your mock horror and strutted closer, resting his hands on the back of your chair like he was about to interrogate you. “So,” he began, drawing it out dramatically, “there’s something that’s been bothering me for a long time.”
The others stirred, sensing entertainment. Monica paused her scrubbing midwipe. Chandler turned down the volume on the TV. Even Ross looked over with faint curiosity.
You narrowed your eyes. “This can’t be good.”
Joey grinned wider. “I’ve known you for, what, five years now? Five! That’s like… half a decade!”
“Very impressive math, Joey,” Chandler deadpanned from the couch, earning a smirk from Monica.
Joey waved him off and leaned in closer, eyes twinkling. “And in all that time, I’ve noticed something. Something weird. Something shocking.”
You groaned. “Just say it.”
He drew it out anyway, milking the moment for all it was worth. “I don’t think I’ve ever ever seen you go on a date. Not once!”
The room fell into stunned silence for a beat before suddenly erupting into noise.
“Oh my God, that’s true,” Monica said, straightening up. “You’ve never once brought someone here.”
“Wait.. seriously?” Ross frowned like this was the most fascinating discovery of the year.
“I thought maybe you were just super secretive about it,” Phoebe chimed in, tilting her head curiously. “Like maybe you’ve got some mysterious double life. Are you secretly married?”
Rachel’s head turned toward you, her brows lifting in surprise. Her lips curved into a small smile, and suddenly you were acutely aware of how warm your face felt.
You laughed nervously, holding up your hands. “Okay, wow, group ambush. Love that for me.”
But your heart was pounding for a very different reason. Because if they only knew the truth the real, complicated, impossible truth that every time you thought about dating, your mind went right back to the girl sitting next to you with the coffee cup in her hand and the soft smile on her lips
“I just don’t do dates,” you said flatly, shrugging like it was no big deal.
“Bullcrap!” Joey shouted immediately, pointing at you like he’d cracked the case. “Everybody dates! It’s, like, the law of nature. You eat, you sleep, you date. Boom!”
“In Phoebe’s words,” he added, turning to her for backup, “you need to find your lobster.”
Phoebe nodded sagely, pressing her hand to her chest. “It’s true. Lobsters mate for life. I saw it on Discovery Channel.”
You sat frozen, desperately searching for something anything that would get Joey off your back. “What about that one guy? From the coffee shop?” you blurted.
Immediately, Phoebe wrinkled her nose. “You mean the weird dude with the long hair? The one who kept trying to buy you coffee and take you out, but you rejected him every single time because something was, quote, ‘off’ about him?”
Ross, without even glancing away from the TV, chimed in like it was his duty: “It’s whom.”
Everyone ignored him.
“Okay, but come on,” you argued weakly. “Who just buys a random person coffee? That’s weird!”
“A lot of people do,” Chandler deadpanned, not even looking up.
You groaned, burying your face in your hands. “God save me,” you muttered, only half-joking.
There was a pause. A strange, charged silence. Rachel hadn’t said a word through the whole exchange, but when you peeked at her through your fingers, you caught her looking at you with that thoughtful, faraway expression she sometimes got. Like her mind was running a mile a minute, putting puzzle pieces together.
Then she set her coffee down and leaned forward a little. “What if,” she said carefully, “we go on a double date this weekend?”
Your heart stopped cold. “A double date?” you repeated, sitting up. “With… who exactly?”
Rachel brightened, like she’d just cracked the code to all your problems. “There’s this guy who asked me out, and I was going to say no because honestly, I didn’t feel like going but he said I could bring a friend. He’s taking me somewhere really nice, and his friend will be there too. So why don’t you come? You’d be perfect!”
She said it like it was the greatest idea in the world, like she was doing you this huge favor. But all you could think about was how the word “date” felt different when it came from her lips how your chest squeezed painfully at the idea of sitting across from Rachel at dinner while pretending to be interested in some guy you didn’t care about.
Against your better judgment, you heard yourself say, “Why not.”
Rachel’s entire face lit up like the sun had moved into Monica’s apartment. Her smile stretched impossibly wide, eyes sparkling, cheeks flushed, and you had to remind yourself to breathe. Honestly, if you got this reaction every time you agreed to anything, you’d say “why not” a million times over.
“Great! I’ll let him know!” she said, practically bouncing as she darted across the room toward Monica’s landline, grabbing the receiver like she’d just won the lottery.
You let out a soft groan, letting your spoon clink against the bowl. The thought of going on a date with some random guy made your stomach twist, but then you caught sight of Rachel watching you over her shoulder, her grin so bright it hurt in the best possible way. And suddenly, it didn’t matter. You’d go on this date. You’d survive the worst man alive, just to see her this happy.
Before you could even sit back, Joey leaned across the table, eyes wide and teeth flashing. “YES! That’s my girl! Go get ‘em, tiger!” giving you a good slap on the back.
“Wait, wait, wait,” Chandler piped up from the couch, voice dripping with sarcasm. “You’re actually going on a date willingly? This is a historic event. Somebody get a camera.”
You groaned but couldn’t help the small smile tugging at your lips. “Thanks, everyone. Really. I’m sure the date go… perfectly.”
Joey grinned, giving you a little fist pump. “Perfect? Ha! It’ll be amazing. And if it isn’t… well, you’ve got us, right? We’ll mock him mercilessly afterward.”
Rachel, meanwhile, had the phone pressed to her ear, already chatting animatedly. She glanced at you, her eyes sparkling, and your chest tightened. Somehow, this disaster of a double date now felt like the best idea in the world.
*Time skip to the day of date*
You were a complete mess. The kind of mess that came from nerves curling tight in your stomach, leaving your hands clammy and your brain spinning. You had never actually been on a proper date before. Sure, in high school you had a couple of boyfriends, but high school boys never planned real dates. Hanging out in someone’s basement with chips and a movie didn’t exactly count.
Now here you were, standing in front of your closet like it was the final boss of a video game. You knew the restaurant was supposed to be nice at least that’s what he’d said but just how nice? Cocktail dress nice? Heels-that-hurt nice? Or was it more of a sundress-and-cardigan kind of vibe? Every outfit you pulled out either felt like too much or not enough.
And that was the problem you weren’t even thinking about what he might like. You should have been. That was normal, right? To dress for the date, to impress the guy. But no matter how many dresses you held against your body in the mirror, your mind kept circling back to one impossible thought: Would Rachel like this?
The truth was, you wanted her opinion more than anyone’s. You wanted her approval, her smile, her effortless way of making even the most chaotic outfit work. You were practically hopeless without her. And as much as you wanted to figure it out on your own, deep down you knew the only person who could save you from spiraling tonight was… Rachel Green herself.
Before you could talk yourself out of it, you grabbed your bag, stuffed your phone and lipstick inside, and marched across the hall to Monica’s apartment. You didn’t even knock like a normal person you barged in, arms full of rejected clothes, hair a frizzy halo from your outfit war.
“Okay, you need to save me before I completely lose it!” you blurted the second you spotted Rachel lounging on the couch, her legs curled neatly underneath her, glossy magazine in hand.
Monica looked up from her coffee, lifting a brow in that here-we-go-again way, but Rachel’s eyes those gorgeous bluish-green eyes widened in instant delight.
“Oh my god,” she gasped, already tossing the magazine aside like it had never mattered. She bounced up from the couch with a burst of energy, hair catching the light as she moved. “You need help with an outfit!?” Her squeal was half-question, half-celebration, like this was her Olympics.
You sighed dramatically, clothes spilling out of your arms. “I’m hopeless.”
Rachel grinned, practically clapping her hands together. “Hopeless? Sweetie, you came to the right place.”
And with that, she slipped seamlessly into full Rachel Green mode. One second you were standing in the doorway, and the next she had you positioned in front of Monica’s mirror, holding tops and dresses up to your chest with laser focus. She moved around you with an ease that was dizzying picking up a blouse, discarding it, reaching for another.
But you couldn’t keep up. Not because of the speed, but because of her.
Every adjustment sent a new wave of heat rushing through you. The way her fingers brushed your collarbone as she straightened a neckline. The way her nails grazed your shoulder when she tucked your hair behind your ear. The way she smoothed fabric against your chest with both hands, her touch warm, careful, almost intimate.
You could smell her perfume soft and floral, like jasmine and something warmer underneath. It clung to her sweater, her hair, the air around her. And every time she leaned in close, that scent wrapped around you until it was all you could breathe.
“Hmm… this one’s cute,” Rachel murmured, biting her lip thoughtfully as she studied you in a fitted dress. She tilted her head, eyes sweeping over you in slow assessment. “But I think we can do better. You’re too pretty to blend in tonight.”
The compliment landed like a shock, stealing the air from your lungs. Too pretty. She said it so casually, like it was a fact and not the most dangerous sentence you’d ever heard. Your eyes darted to Monica, but she was still at the table, pretending not to watch, stirring her coffee like she hadn’t just witnessed your heart practically burst.
Rachel tugged gently on your wrist, pulling you closer as she reached for another option. Her fingers slipped down your arm in the process, leaving goosebumps in their wake. She didn’t notice, but you felt it everywhere.
And in that moment, a thought crashed into you, terrifying and impossible to ignore you weren’t nervous about the date because you cared what your date would think. You were nervous because all you cared about was what Rachel thought.
The guy waiting for you tonight didn’t matter. The only approval you wanted the only smile that made your chest ache was standing right in front of you, hair falling into her face as she fussed with your hemline.
And God, you weren’t sure how much longer you could pretend otherwise.
You and Rachel were the first to arrive, and the restaurant immediately reminded you why you normally avoided fancy places. Crystal chandeliers glittered above perfectly set tables, polished silverware gleamed under soft lighting, and the low hum of classical music made it impossible to ignore how out of place you felt. You shifted nervously in your chair, suddenly hyper-aware of every crease in your clothes, the way your hair refused to stay in place, and the slight tremor in your hands.
Rachel, on the other hand, seemed completely at ease. She perched across from you with that effortless poise she always carried, flipping through the menu as though she’d dined in Michelin-starred restaurants every day of her life. Every so often, her eyes met yours, and she’d grin a tiny, teasing curve of her lips that made your stomach tighten in ways that had nothing to do with hunger.
Just as you were beginning to convince yourself to calm down, a waitress approached, smiling warmly. “Hi! So, how may I help you, lovely couple?”
Your heart dropped straight to your shoes. Couple? The word echoed in your head as your hands grew sweaty and your cheeks heated. You looked at Rachel, expecting her to look mortified, expecting some judgment but instead, she simply laughed. That light, melodic laugh of hers made your chest constrict and your mind scramble.
“We’re actually waiting for our dates,” Rachel said casually, still smiling, as though being mistaken for your girlfriend were the most normal, amusing thing in the world. The waitress’s face turned pink as she mumbled an apology and scurried off.
You exhaled shakily, trying to force a laugh. “How could she think we’d… a couple?”
Rachel tilted her head, her eyes sparkling with amusement. “Well… we are both pretty girls,” she said, winking at you. “I can see how she got confused.”
Your chest sank another inch, your thoughts scattering. Was she teasing? Complimenting? Both? You couldn’t tell. She leaned forward slightly, elbows on the table, eyes fixed on yours like she was daring you to respond.
You opened your mouth to respond but couldn’t find anything sensible. Your thoughts were a mess of don’t make it weird and why does she have to be so gorgeous? Instead, all you managed was a nervous laugh. “Right… totally..”
Rachel laughed again, a small, quiet laugh just for you, and leaned over slightly, nudging your shoulder. “Relax,” she whispered, as if she could read your panicking mind. “It’s just a double date. Worst-case scenario, we’ll laugh at the guy together.”
You blinked at her, heart hammering. Laugh with her, you thought. The idea made your chest ache in the best and worst way. “Yeah… laugh together,” you muttered, trying to sound casual.
Then, Rachel’s gaze shifted toward the entrance, her eyes widening just a fraction. “Oh.”
Following her line of sight, you saw your date walking in. Your stomach twisted into knots, your palms slick, and suddenly all your confidence evaporated.
Rachel’s expression softened, almost mischievous now, and she leaned forward again, whispering in a conspiratorial tone, “Don’t worry. I’ve got your back. I’ll make sure you don’t embarrass yourself too badly.”
You swallowed hard, trying to muster a normal smile. “Thanks… I think.”
She grinned, leaning back in her chair, eyes sparkling, and added teasingly, “And just so you know, if this guy turns out to be a total disaster, you’re stuck sitting with me anyway. So really, it’s a win-win.”
You could only laugh nervously, your heart thudding in a way that made the restaurant, the fancy table settings, and even the very idea of this date fade into the background. Because Rachel Rachel sitting there across from you, calm and beautiful, teasing you like she always did was suddenly the only thing you could focus on.
Your date’s name was Jacob though honestly, by the end of the night you weren’t entirely sure whether you should call him Jake or stick with Jacob. Either way, he gave off that unmistakable vibe of a guy who had peaked in high school and never really let go. He spent the entire dinner talking about himself, his “baby” as he dramatically called it his motorcycle. From what you could gather between his endless rants, it was big, black, shiny… basically everything he thought made him the center of the universe.
Every time you tried to add something to the conversation, he’d interrupt, segueing into some story about how he had revved it up that morning or how he polished it so it sparkled. You forced a polite smile, nodding along, trying to focus on the tiny reprieves like when you could steal a glance at Rachel across the table.
And there she was, radiant and completely relaxed, sitting opposite her own date. From the looks of it, he was a far cry from Jacob. She laughed freely at his jokes, her hand brushing lightly against his shoulder, the way she did when she was genuinely enchanted by someone. Your chest twisted painfully. Seeing her smile like that it wasn’t just annoying; it made your stomach drop, your heart ache, and, unreasonably, a little spike of rage twist through you. Just moments ago, she had been smiling at you that same way, and now… now it belonged to someone else.
“Hello? Lady? I’m talking to you!”
The sharpness in his voice jolted you out of your spiral. You blinked at him, momentarily stunned. “Excuse me?” you asked, narrowing your eyes.
“Did you just refer to me as… lady?” he said, as if he had just uncovered some cosmic truth.
“Well… you haven’t really told me your name, so I just assumed I could call you that,” he shrugged, like it was completely reasonable.
You choked back a laugh or maybe it was a groan. “Well, maybe if you’d stop talking about your bike for two seconds and let me speak, you’d know my name,” you shot back, fighting to keep your composure.
Jacob leaned closer, placing his hand boldly on your thigh. “Ooo, you’re fiery. I like that,” he purred, as though you were supposed to melt under his charm.
That was the last straw. Your stomach twisted with disgust and frustration, and before you could think twice, you shoved his hand away and pushed yourself up from the table. “You know what? I’m done.”
Storming toward the door, you ignored his stunned protestations. Behind you, you could hear Rachel’s gasp, and you knew she was watching but there was no time to explain, no time to calm down. Your heart still thumped from seeing her laughing with someone else, from the sheer audacity of Jacob thinking that putting his hand on your thigh was charming.
You burst out into the night, the cool air hitting your face like a slap of clarity. Rachel’s voice called your name softly from inside, but you didn’t turn around.
This is exactly why you didn’t do dates. Men were… gross. All of them. They strutted around sweaty and shirtless, like showing off chest hair was somehow impressive. They prided themselves on being loud, obnoxious, and completely oblivious to the world around them. Your hands curled into fists as you stormed down the sidewalk, replaying Jacob’s every terrible story, every awkward, self-absorbed move.
“Y/N!”
Rachel’s voice cut through your thoughts, bright and concerned. You turned to see her jogging toward you, hair bouncing with every step, eyes wide and worried. “Hey! What’s going on? Are you okay?”
“I… I can’t do this,” you admitted, letting the weight of the night spill out.
“Do what?” she asked, quick and soft, stepping closer, her eyes searching yours.
“Dates!” you exploded, gesturing wildly. “Men are… ugh, they’re rude, gross, and so full of themselves. And then he he called me ‘lady’! Like that’s supposed to be flattering! And don’t even get me started on him putting his hand on my thigh… I can’t!” You took a deep breath, trying to calm your chest, but it kept hammering anyway.
Rachel’s eyebrows shot up, but she didn’t laugh or judge. Instead, she leaned just a little closer, her shoulder brushing yours, and said softly, “Wow… that sounds terrible.”
“It was!” you groaned, pacing a bit. “And the worst part… I felt stuck. Like, there’s no way to be polite without… I don’t know, letting him keep talking, letting him think this is okay!”
She nodded, keeping her voice gentle. “I get it. I mean… you shouldn’t have to put up with that. I’d be losing it too.”
You sighed, running a hand through your hair. “I just… I don’t know why I even bother. Half of them are exactly like that. The worst. And now I’m just… done.”
Rachel reached out, resting a warm hand lightly on your arm. “Hey… it’s okay. You don’t have to do this alone, you know. You’ve got me right here.”
Her touch sent a jolt through you, and you felt your chest tighten. You looked at her, and she gave you one of those small, easy smiles that somehow made the world feel calmer. “Thanks… I mean it. Really,” you whispered.
Rachel leaned closer, tilting her head slightly. “You know… it’s okay to feel frustrated. Especially after a guy like that. But maybe… you just need the right company. Someone who actually listens.”
You swallowed hard, your eyes catching hers, and for a moment, all the chaos of the evening the terrible date, the awkward smiles, the fake charm faded into the background. All that mattered was her, standing there with her hand on your arm, calm, steady, and entirely… you.
“You’re a good person,” she added softly. “I mean it. And I like being around you when stuff like this happens. Even if it’s just to vent.”
Your heart skipped. “Yeah… I like that too,” you said quietly, almost without thinking.
She smiled again, a little teasingly now, her fingers brushing just slightly against yours. “See?” she murmured. “Maybe dates aren’t so bad… when you’ve got a friend watching your back.”
You laughed softly, shaking your head. “Yeah… a friend.” But your chest still throbbed in a way that made you realize maybe, just maybe, this night wasn’t about the worst date it was about her.
You and Rachel decided to walk back to the apartment, taking a slow, easy pace. The city lights painted the streets in warm yellows and oranges, and somehow the night air made everything feel softer, calmer, like the chaos of the restaurant was miles away.
As she walked beside you, you couldn’t help but notice the little things how her hair caught the streetlights and flowed behind her, how her eyes sparkled when she laughed at something only she found funny, how the tip of her nose crinkled in that way that made you want to smile too.
“I remember when I first met you,” she said suddenly, her voice soft, almost nostalgic.
“Really?” you asked, glancing at her, trying to catch the hint of a smile on her lips.
“Yeah,” she said, a laugh slipping out as she remembered. “I came over to hang out with Monica, and when she opened the door, there you were, just following behind her. You were adorable.”
You blinked, surprised, the memory flickering in your mind. You were probably eight, and Monica and Rachel were ten. “Adorable?” you repeated, feeling your cheeks heat up.
Rachel grinned, tilting her head. “You had this little Cinderella dress on and a tiara,” she said fondly. “You wanted me to dress up with you, but Monica didn’t want us hanging out with her… ‘baby cousin.’”
You swallowed, remembering the sting of that rejection, how disappointed you had felt when they wouldn’t include you. “I… I always looked up to you,” you admitted quietly. “You were always so pretty, and I just wanted to be… like you.”
Rachel stopped walking for a moment, turning to face you. “Really?” she said softly. “I thought the same about you. You were brave, funny… adorable, even back then. I wanted to be you too.”
Your chest warmed at her words. Somehow, in that quiet night air, with her standing just a few feet away, it felt like time had folded in on itself. It wasn’t just childhood memories anymore it was here, now, and electric in a way you couldn’t quite name.
Finally, you arrived at the apartment building. You reached for the door, holding it open for her like a reflex you didn’t even have to think about.
“Why, thank you, gentle man,” she joked, her voice lilting and teasing.
You chuckled, shaking your head. “You’re welcome, milady,” you replied, letting your words play along with her humor.
She laughed, the sound like wind chimes in your ears, and you felt a little flutter in your chest as she stepped through the doorway. You walked in right behind her, shoulders almost brushing, and for a moment, the city outside, the awful date, everything from beforeit all melted away.
It was just you. And her. And a quiet, lingering sense that maybe, just maybe, some nights were meant for memories and closeness, even if they started in the most chaotic way.
“I had fun tonight… even though my date was the worst,” you admitted quietly as you both walked into the apartment, still carrying the remnants of the night’s tension.
Rachel glanced at you, her eyes soft, and smiled. “I had fun too… but I always have fun with you.”
Your chest tightened at the words. “You mean a lot to me, Rachel. So… thank you for tonight.”
She paused for a moment, then reached out and tucked a stray strand of hair behind your ear, her fingers brushing lightly against your skin. “No problem, sweetie,” she said gently, her voice carrying that warmth that always seemed to melt something inside you.
The combination of a few drinks from your date, the lingering adrenaline, and Rachel’s closeness made your heart race in a way that was both thrilling and terrifying. You didn’t even realize it until you were suddenly leaning in, her eyes locking with yours, and your lips met hers.
The kiss startled you at first, and you pulled back a fraction, blinking at her as if trying to process what just happened. You scanned her face, searching for any reaction, any hint that maybe this was a mistake.
Instead, Rachel’s smile widened, and before you could think twice, she leaned forward and pulled you back into the kiss. It deepened immediately, turning into something heavier, more urgent. Her hands rested on your waist, fingers digging in slightly, and you instinctively tightened your grip, pulling her closer to you.
“Y/N… oh my gosh,” she whispered against your lips, her voice trembling slightly. The warmth of her breath, the softness of her lips, the way her body seemed to mold perfectly against yours it was intoxicating.
You’d kissed guys before, plenty of them, but none of them compared to Rachel. None of them had this… pull. Her lips were impossibly soft, her hair so easy to wrap your fingers in, her body fitting against yours like it had always been made to. Every touch, every motion, sent electricity shooting through your veins.
For a moment, it felt like the world had shrunk to just the two of you just the heat between your bodies and the quiet intensity of the kiss. But then… reality crashed back in.
“Hey! How was the date?”
Joey and Chandler’s voices rang from the hallway, and the sudden interruption sent both of you tumbling apart, gasping slightly for air.
Rachel laughed softly, straightening her hair and brushing it off her shoulders, giving you a casual smile like nothing had happened. “Good,” she said, almost too calmly, and then looped her arm through yours. “Come on, let’s get inside where we can actually… talk.”
As you followed her into the apartment, your heart was still pounding, your mind still buzzing from the kiss. And somehow, somehow, you knew this night wasn’t just about surviving a terrible date anymore. It was about Rachel. And the way she made everything else fade away.
Not in the best-friends-since-interns, twisted-sisters kind of way. No, yours was different. You loved her in the way that made you ache to run your fingers through her beautiful, long black hair, just to feel her relax beneath your touch. You loved her in the way that made you want to hold her so gently, as if she might shatter if you weren’t careful.
The only problem was cruel and simple: you were a girl, and Lexie Grey was Lexie Grey, the straightest girl you had probably ever met. At least, that’s what you told yourself. Every look, every laugh, every brush of her arm against yours reminded you of everything you could never have.
And yet, no matter how many times you tried to swallow it down, the wanting stayed. It lingered in your chest, soft and relentless, filling every quiet moment you spent near her.
You heard her before you saw her quick footsteps echoing down the hallway, hurried but familiar. Then, just like always, Lexie appeared, her cheeks slightly flushed, her eyes bright, and that beautiful, toothy grin spreading across her face. It was the kind of smile that could undo you in an instant, the kind that made the busy hospital around you blur into the background.
“Hey, Lexie! How was your surgery?” you asked, keeping your tone casual, like your heart wasn’t flipping wildly in your chest.
She slipped her hand onto your arm without even thinking, holding on the way she always did when she was near you. It was such a small, ordinary gesture, something she had done a hundred times before. But to you, it never felt ordinary. It felt grounding, like you were the one thing she reached for in the chaos, and that thought alone sent a warmth rushing through you that you had no way to hide.
It had started years ago, back in your first days as interns.
Since then, it had become her thing. Crowded hallways, stressful days, moments when she needed to steady herself her hand would find your arm, her smile would find you. And every single time, your chest would tighten with the same impossible feeling, one you could never say out loud.
Because to her, it was probably just habit. But to you, it meant everything.
“No, no, it went fine it’s just… at one point the patient lost so much blood, I thought I was going to lose him and it was—”
You cut her off softly, already seeing the weight in her eyes.
“No need to explain. I understand,” you said, your voice steadier than you felt.
Her lips curved into a small smile, one that made your chest ache. “Are you free tonight?” she asked, so blunt it almost caught you off guard.
You tilted your head, pretending to think, dragging out the moment like you had a thousand other things to do. She laughed, finally letting go of your arm. The absence was immediate your skin still burning where she’d touched you. You ignored it, though your heart refused to.
“Yes. I’m free. Painfully free,” you said, trying to sound casual but failing to mask the truth in your voice.
“Good. Joe’s tonight. I’m dying for a little fun,” she said, her tone more pleading than she probably intended.
You hesitated again, just to hold on to her attention for a little longer.
“Don’t make me walk away,” she warned, but there was a softness in her eyes that told you she didn’t want to.
“Yes. I’ll be there,” you admitted at last.
Her pager suddenly beeping, pulling her away from you.
“Perfect,” she breathed, and before you could say another word she wrapped her arms around you. The hug was too brief, too fleeting, and then she was gone running off with her pager, while you were left standing in the echo of her warmth, wishing the night would come faster.
The rest of the day dragged on painfully slow. You were stuck in surgery with Callie, assisting on a fractured femur, but your focus was anywhere else. You kept sneaking glances at your watch, counting the minutes.
“Got somewhere to be, L/N?” Callie asked, her voice carrying that sharp authority that always made you straighten up.
“No, ma’am,” you lied without hesitation.
She arched an eyebrow, and you knew right then she wasn’t buying it. With a sigh, you gave in. “Lexie asked me to grab drinks tonight… and I’ve been looking forward to it,” you admitted, trying to sound casual, though your heart gave you away.
“How come?” Callie pressed, holding the femur steady like she had all the time in the world.
“She’s my best friend. We haven’t hung out in a while, so I’m… excited,” you explained, though it came out more like a nervous question.
Callie chuckled under her mask. “Best friend? Please.”
You turned to her, offended. “What’s that supposed to mean?”
She gave you a look that cut straight through. “Listen, I’m gay. Which means I have the radar. And there is no universe where you aren’t completely, hopelessly in love with Lexie Grey. Honestly? Even the straightest person alive could see it.”
Your mouth went dry, and before you could even react, the nurses were nodding like Callie had just announced some undeniable truth. Heat crept up your neck until your whole face was burning. Nobody had ever put your feelings into words like that out loud, in front of everyone. It left you speechless, exposed in a way that terrified you and thrilled you all at once.
Callie’s tone softened, just slightly. “Look, I know Mark’s planning on asking Lexie out again. And I love him, I do but I’m Team You-and-Lexie all the way. So here’s the deal I’ll finish this surgery. You? You go scrub out, head to Joe’s, and finally tell her how you feel. You have to confess before its too late.”
You sputtered, “Shut up,” half embarrassed, half laughing, but your hands were already moving faster than ever. The second you stripped off your gloves and finished scrubbing out, you didn’t waste another breath you were out the door, heart pounding, on your way to her.
When you walked into Joe’s, the noise of people talking and glasses clinking filled the air, but all you saw was her. Lexie. She was sitting at the bar, her hair falling loose around her shoulders, her cheeks a little pink from laughing.
And then you noticed him. Mark Sloan. He was leaning close, his big hand brushing over her shoulder like he had every right to touch her. She laughed at something he said, tilting her head back like he was the funniest person in the world. Your stomach dropped.
Was this it? Did you wait too long? Callie’s words came back to you—Mark was going after Lexie. Your mind spun so fast you almost turned around and left.
But then she looked up and saw you.
Her face lit up instantly, her smile stretching wide like she’d been waiting for you all along. She called your name and waved you over, her whole body seeming to brighten at the sight of you.
You walked across the room, trying not to think about how Mark’s eyes followed you, that little smug grin on his face. You slid into the seat beside Lexie, close enough to smell the fruity drinks she’d been sipping. She leaned toward you, just a little unsteady, and pushed a glass across the counter.
“I’m sorry,” she said with a small hiccup, “I already started. Mark came with me, and we just had a drink or two.”
For a second, you wanted to be upset she hadn’t waited. That she had come here with him. But then she looked at you with those wide, warm eyes, and it was impossible to feel anything but soft around her. She was too beautiful, too much like the only thing that mattered in the room.
So you smiled, picked up the glass, and told her it was alright before downing the drink in one go.
When you set it down, she was still watching you, smiling like you were the one she wanted there all along
A couple more drinks in, the alcohol started to hit you harder, but it wasn’t the booze that made your chest ache—it was watching Mark Sloan flirt with Lexie all night long. He sat close, leaning on the bar like he owned it, flashing that smug smile, tossing out lines that made her laugh. It was unbearable. Every word out of his mouth was something you’d wanted to say for years. How smart she was. How pretty she looked when she smiled. How she made the room brighter just by walking in.
It was gross, the way he did it so effortlessly, but the worst part was that he was saying the things you’d been too afraid to tell her yourself. You clenched your glass, your mind spinning with what-ifs and should-haves.
Finally, you couldn’t sit there anymore. The air felt too thick, your chest too tight. “I think I’m gonna go to the bathroom,” you muttered, standing up quickly.
Lexie looked up at you instantly. Her face was flushed, her smile a little lazy from the alcohol, but her eyes her eyes were clear, sharp, and fixed only on you. Before you could take another step, she stood too fast, bumping the edge of the table. A couple of glasses wobbled, one tipping over with a loud clink as liquid spilled. She giggled, steadying herself.
“I’ll come too,” she said with determination, ignoring the way Mark raised a brow and smirked behind her.
You didn’t argue. You couldn’t. You just led the way, weaving through the crowd until you reached the back hallway. The bathroom was quieter, the sounds of the bar muffled, leaving just the hum of distant music and the rapid thud of your own heartbeat.
When you pushed the door open, Lexie followed you in, swaying slightly on her feet. She let out a small laugh as she brushed against your shoulder. Then, out of nowhere, her hand was in your hair, fingers twisting gently like she’d been wanting to touch you all night.
“You’re amazing,” she said suddenly, her voice soft but so certain it made you stop breathing.
Your cheeks burned instantly. You let out a nervous giggle, trying to play it off like she was just being tipsy. “Thanks, Lexie.” You pushed the door the rest of the way open and held it for her, forcing your smile to stay casual, even though your chest felt like it was on fire.
But she shook her head firmly, her hand slipping from your hair to your arm as she stepped closer. “No,” she said, voice breaking slightly with emotion. “I mean it. You’re amazing, Y/N. You are the most gorgeous, talented, kind surgeon I’ve ever met.” Her grip tightened on your arms as if to anchor herself, her wide brown eyes locking on yours. “You don’t even see it, but… you’re everything.”
The words slammed into you, tearing down every wall you’d been hiding behind. Callie’s voice echoed in your head, her warning replaying like a mantra: You have to confess before it’s too late. Mark’s smug smile flashed in your mind, the thought of him stealing the chance you’d been too scared to take.
The alcohol burned away the fear, leaving only one truth you couldn’t wait any longer.
Before you could stop yourself, you leaned in and kissed her.
It wasn’t slow, it wasn’t careful. It was raw, desperate, messy. Her lips were warm and tasted faintly of fruity cocktails, her breath catching in surprise before she melted into you. Her hands tangled in your hair, pulling you closer, and you let out a shaky breath against her mouth. Years of silence, of holding it all back, crashed into this one moment.
Lexie let out a small laugh into the kiss, then deepened it, pressing harder, hungrier. She stumbled and you grabbed her by the waist, steadying her, only for her to hook her legs around you, trusting you to hold her up. You stumbled back together, slamming into the side of a stall. The metal door rattled loudly as you pushed inside, half-blind with need, lips never leaving hers.
It was clumsy the kind of kiss that left you breathless, half laughing, half-dizzy. Her hands tugged at your shirt, your fingers dug into her hips, and the two of you moved like you’d been holding this in for far too long. Every second felt stolen, reckless, dangerous. And yet, it was perfect.
For the first time, you weren’t imagining what it would be like. You were living it
Your lips found the delicate skin of her neck, tracing a slow path downward, savoring every soft sound she made as you pressed her back firmly against the cool stall wall. The closeness of the space made everything feel hotter, more urgent the way her breath hitched when your mouth lingered just beneath her jaw, the way her fingers curled tightly into your shirt as though grounding herself in you.
“You’re so pretty, Lexie…” you murmured against her skin, your voice low and reverent. “Your face, your body… your soul.” Each word was half a confession, half a plea, tumbling out between kisses that grew deeper, more desperate.
Your hand slipped beneath the hem of her shirt, the warmth of her skin radiating against your palm as you slid upward, finally cupping her breast. She arched into your touch with a quiet gasp, and you couldn’t stop yourself from muttering more compliments against her lips, your words breaking apart with every kiss.
Her answering moan echoed in the small space, her voice rising as she whispered your name, breathless and wanting. Then her hand slipped down, fingers pushing past your waistband until they hovered just over your panties. The anticipation sent a shiver racing through your body, your knees threatening to give out under her touch.
“Lexie…” you panted, the sound almost a whimper as your mouth trailed lower. You nibbled gently at the swell of her breast through the fabric of her bra, teeth grazing her skin in teasing bites before soothing them with your tongue. Her body trembled beneath you, every movement, every sigh, pulling you deeper into her.
The way she looked at you in that moment eyes dark, lips parted, her chest rising and falling in uneven breaths made you want to worship her, to give her every part of yourself until there was nothing left between you but heat and want..
The bathroom was filled with nothing but your mingled breaths and the soft sounds of lips and skin. Every moment felt like it might spill over, like you were seconds away from losing yourself completely in her. You wanted to worship her, to drown in her every kiss, every touch deepening the quiet ache in your chest that told you this wasn’t just lust.
But then the door creaked open.
You both froze instantly, your heart leaping into your throat as footsteps echoed against the tiled floor. Lexie’s breathing was still ragged, loud in the silence, so you instinctively pressed your hand over her mouth, holding her gently but firmly against the wall. Her wide eyes locked on yours, her chest rising and falling quickly beneath your palm.
The sound of running water filled the air someone washing their hands, humming faintly to themselves. Time stretched unbearably as you stayed perfectly still, Lexie’s hot breaths searing your skin through your hand. Her body trembled against you, not just from fear but from the pent-up intensity of everything you’d been sharing only moments ago.
Finally, the faucet clicked off, the paper towel dispenser rattled, and the door swung open again. Silence returned, thick and heavy.
You slowly lowered your hand from her mouth, your touch lingering against her lips before you pulled back. Both of you exhaled at the same time, shaky and unsteady. Gently, you let her feet slide back down to the floor, your hands smoothing over her shirt as if fixing the wrinkles could erase what just happened. She straightened your collar in return, her fingers brushing lightly against your throat, both of you trying to compose yourselves though the flush in your cheeks gave you away.
For a moment, you just stared at her the world holding its breath. You leaned in and pressed one last kiss against her lips, softer than all the ones before. It wasn’t hungry or desperate, but tender, overflowing with everything you couldn’t put into words. It was an I love you without ever saying it aloud.
When you pulled away, searching her face for some sign that she felt the same, Lexie’s expression softened for only a second. Then, without a word, she stepped past you, her hand brushing against the stall door as she walked out.
You stood there alone, the taste of her still on your lips, the ghost of her touch burning on your skin. The bathroom was silent now, but your heart pounded loud enough to fill it. That kiss had been a promise, but the way she left you
The day had started off… normal. Well, as normal as it ever got for a profiler. Derek was hovering over Spencer’s desk, teasing him relentlessly about god knows what this time, while JJ leaned over Emily’s shoulder, showing off the latest baby photos of little Henry. And you? You were buried in a mountain of paperwork that should’ve been done weeks ago, a painfully typical day. But then a thought hit you, sharp and sudden
Where the hell is Hotch?
You’d seen him earlier, right when you arrived at the office. You carried his usual coffee black, no sugar, just the way he liked it and handed it to him with a small smile. It was a ritual you’d kept for the past six years, ever since you’d started working with the FBI, but especially for him. He’d glanced up from his paperwork, that familiar half-smile tugging at the corners of his mouth, and muttered a quiet “thanks” before diving back into whatever case had his attention that morning.
But ever since then… nothing. He’d retreated into his office, closed the blinds, and didn’t come out. Not for anything. Not for calls, not for meetings, not even for the endless parade of donuts someone had thoughtlessly brought in. That man must have the bladder of steel, because that coffee was at 7 a.m., and it was now 2 p.m.
You bounced your leg nervously under your desk, your mind running in circles over whether you should just go up to his office. You had a few papers you needed to run by him anyway it wasn’t like you were barging in for no reason but the thought of confronting him about hiding away all day felt… weird. “Just ask him why he’s holed up in his office all day,” your brain teased. Stupid. Absolutely stupid.
After an exhausting back-and-forth in your head, you finally grabbed the papers, shoved them into a neat little stack, and took a deep breath. Walking up to his office, you plastered on your best version of confidence fake, but believable and reached his door. You knocked your signature four times: tap, tap, tap… pause… tap, the last one softer, just enough that he’d recognize it was you.
From inside, you could hear the shuffling of papers and the low hum of a printer, but then a sharp, slightly panicked voice cut through the muffled noise. “One minute!” Aaron barked, the tension in his tone making your stomach knot. Something was definitely off.
The door cracked open slowly, just enough for a narrow strip of the office to be visible. Then Aaron’s face appeared in the gap, cautious and unreadable, his eyes sweeping over you in a way that made your chest tighten. He didn’t say anything right away just studied you, his expression unreadable, like he was profiling you for something you didn’t understand.
That lingering look had you suddenly, stupidly, aware of yourself. Your clothes, your posture, the way you were holding the stack of papers a little too tightly. It wasn’t like you were out of dress code you weren’t. But the sharpness of his gaze made it feel like you were. Like maybe your blouse was too casual, or your heels too loud on the floor, or maybe God forbid you had coffee on your shirt and hadn’t noticed.
“What do you need, Agent?” His voice was low and even, but there was something in it that made your stomach twist. Calm, precise, controlled the kind of voice that made you aware of every inch of your own body, of every heartbeat. You had heard it a thousand times, but it never failed to steal your focus, pulling your thoughts into places you definitely shouldn’t be thinking about in an office.
You fumbled with the papers in your hands, suddenly very aware of the way your fingers gripped the edges too tightly. “I… um, I just need to run these by you,” you stammered, words spilling out faster than you intended. “If you’re not busy… which you probably are, I mean, that’s why you’ve been in here all day… I can come back later. Sorry for-” You cut yourself off, realizing you were rambling, and took a small step back as if retreating might erase the heat in your cheeks.
But then that voice again. Slow, deliberate, cutting through the room like a knife and all he did was say your Name.
You froze mid-step, every nerve in your body screaming, and suddenly the papers in your hands felt heavier than ever.
“I’m free now. Come on in,” he said, but there was a faint hesitance beneath the words, almost imperceptible, yet enough to make your chest tighten. You stepped past him swiftly, a little too fast, and made your way to the desk, placing the stack of papers down with a soft thud. You muttered quickly, trying to keep your nerves at bay, explaining what the papers were about, why they needed his attention, your words spilling over each other in a rush.
By the time you finished, you turned around and froze. He was standing there, just… there. Right in front of the door, arms relaxed at his sides, but his eyes locked on you, unblinking. Your stomach sank. He wasn’t supposed to be… like this. “Hotch?” you asked cautiously, your voice higher than you intended. His gaze seemed to travel over you in a way that made your skin crawl and tingle at the same time.
Maybe you were imagining things. Maybe it was just the nerves. You swallowed and tried again, louder this time, “Hotch?”
Finally, he snapped out of it, blinking as though waking from a trance. “Huh?” His voice was steady, but the flush creeping up his cheeks betrayed him. Pale, paler than usual, and the faintest tinge of red dusted his cheekbones. His expression was… different. Not angry, not confused just caught, like he’d been caught off guard, and now there was a tension in the room that made your heart hammer.
You realized, with an odd mix of panic and heat, that the air between you had shifted. Every professional instinct you had screamed at you to keep your distance, to focus on the papers, on the work. But something in the way he looked at you the way his gaze lingered a beat too long made that impossible.
“Did you hear anything I said?” you asked, taking a tentative step forward. Something about the tension in the room, the way he had been standing there, frozen and distracted, gave you a strange surge of confidence. You straightened slightly, shoulders back, letting your presence fill the space between you.
“Yes… yes, I did. Something about the paperwork,” he admitted, his voice low and uneven, his eyes darting away instead of meeting yours. You noticed the slight gulp he swallowed, the faint twitch of his jaw.
“Okay, good,” you said, trying to keep your tone casual, though your heart was hammering. “Are you… okay? You seem a little… I don’t know, off right now.” Another step forward, shrinking the space between you, and his cheeks deepened in color. He looked away, shifting slightly, and you realized how much your blouse emphasized your breasts. It couldn’t possibly be that… could it? Your brain tried to rationalize, but his reaction made it impossible to ignore.
“I’m fine,” he said, clearing his throat quickly, but it came out as a cough, betraying his attempt at composure.
“Are you sure? You look a little pale… and flushed,” you added, leaning closer, your words brushing against the tension in the air. The scent of your perfume mixed with the lingering aroma of vanilla sprinkle donuts from earlier, a smell he’d memorized long ago because, secretly, he’d bought donuts for the whole team knowing it was your favorite. That scent alone seemed to short circuit him, and you could see the subtle tremor in his hands as he adjusted his posture.
“Just… getting over a little flu,” he muttered, forcing himself to clear his throat again. He finally moved, stepping past you to sit at his desk, avoiding eye contact as he focused on the papers you had brought.
“So… I just sign here?” he asked softly, you nodded and he gestured you to go sit on the couch, As you did, your skirt shifted slightly, riding up your thighs just enough to draw your attention and maybe his without meaning to
Even sitting there, trying to appear professional, you felt the silent pull of the moment the way the air seemed to crackle between you, heavy with unspoken thoughts, subtle glances, and the kind of tension that made the simplest interaction feel like walking a tightrope.
There was a long pause, the kind of silence that pressed against your ears and made the air feel heavier. You could hear the subtle rustle of paper, the scratch of his pen as he signed the documents. Each second stretched out, and when you finally heard the soft, final click of the pen hitting the last page, you exhaled quietly, convinced the interaction was over.
But then he spoke, cutting through the quiet like a sharp blade. “Why do you bring me coffee?”
You froze, half way standing up to grab the papers from him His eyes met yours, steady and intense, and he handed the signed papers back without another word. “Pardon?” you asked, blinking, unsure if you’d heard him right.
“Why do you bring me and only me coffee?” he repeated, his tone calm but loaded, like the words themselves carried weight.
You let the question hang in the air for a moment, feeling the tension coil in your chest. Then, with a small, almost embarrassed sigh, you tried to shrug it off. “I just… know how you like your coffee,” you said, forcing a casual tone and waving one hand lightly.
His gaze didn’t waver. Once again, he looked you over, slowly, deliberately, from your head to your toes. The intensity of it made your stomach twist, a strange mix of nerves and heat, as if he could see right through you. You shifted slightly, suddenly aware of how exposed you felt under his eyes.
Then he asked the question that made your pulse skip a beat: “Is that a new outfit?”
You blinked, momentarily thrown. You were wearing the skirt you’d just bought that past weekend, paired with a blouse that was cut a little more revealing than usual but you hadn’t thought anyone would notice, let alone him. Heat crept up your neck and cheeks, and you swallowed hard, trying to keep your composure.
“Yes… I got it this weekend,” you admitted, forcing yourself to keep your voice steady. Your hands fiddled with the edges of the papers, tugging at them as if they could act as a shield against the intensity of his stare. You caught yourself taking a slow, deliberate breath, trying to calm the sudden awareness of every glance, every unspoken thought hanging between you in the quiet office.
The room seemed smaller somehow, charged with tension you could feel in your chest, and the normal sounds of the office the hum of the air conditioning, distant voices down the hall faded into the background. All that existed was the two of you, the signed papers between you, and the unspoken questions lingering in the space, thick and heavy with possibility.
“Why are you asking, Hotch?” you asked, tilting your head and raising an eyebrow. You watched him swallow, the movement of his Adam’s apple oddly hypnotic, his hands tightening slightly at his sides. Every small gesture seemed amplified in the quiet of the office, and the faint flush creeping across his cheeks did not go unnoticed.
“Do you… like it?” you added, spinning slowly, letting your skirt flare just enough to catch the light. Your blouse highlighted your chest, and your movements weren’t overt but enough to make the tension in the room tangible. He looked away for a split second, then back at you, his expression taut, unreadable, but his pale cheeks betrayed him.
He muttered your name softly, and you tilted your head, holding his gaze with a small, teasing smile. He took a step back as if creating distance would help, repeating your name again. You caught yourself noticing every micro expression the twitch of his lips, the way he held his breath, the tension in his shoulders.
“Are you… nervous, Hotch?” you asked, letting a laugh slip through, light but daring. His eyes snapped to yours instantly, intense, controlled but you could see the faint trembling of his jaw.
“No,” he said firmly, though the flush in his cheeks and the subtle shift of his weight told a different story.
“Are you sure? You’re not nervous about anything big cases, meetings… or maybe a date?” you teased, letting the words linger in the air. He shook his head, stiff, trying to mask the reaction that made your pulse quicken.
A bold surge of confidence hit you, and you stepped closer, letting your presence fill the space between you. You leaned slightly forward, lowering your voice so only he could hear: “Or… am I the thing making you nervous, Aaron?”
He froze. You could see it in the way his shoulders tensed, how his eyes flicked briefly to the window, then back to you, wide, sharp, and unguarded. The room felt suddenly smaller, every detail magnified—the hum of the ventilation, the subtle scent of coffee lingering in the air, the soft brush of your skirt as you shifted.
For a long moment, neither of you moved. The unspoken tension stretched taut, a charged line between you, every subtle gesture weighted with meaning. Your papers in hand, your pulse hammering, and his steady, controlled presence made the silence feel alive alive with something neither of you could, or wanted to, break.
He saw the curtains were closed, making the office feel private, just the two of you in this bubble away from everyone else. No one would see this unprofessional exchange between two coworkers who were definitely more than just coworkers. He took his chance and leaned closer, pressing his forehead gently against yours, letting the closeness speak for what words couldn’t.
You laughed softly, the nervous energy between you thickening, and reached up to ruffle his hair, tugging lightly in a playful way to pull him into a kiss. Papers lost and forgotten now in the ground “You don’t know what you do to me,” he said, chuckling, his voice low and warm. You smiled, leaning in just a little, the atmosphere charged with teasing intimacy.
He kissed you back, not just any sort of kiss a kiss like he was dying for you all day, (he was he’s been dying to kiss you since the day you walked into the building) like this was the last time, like if he were to stop you would disappear in his hands.
He guided you carefully toward the couch, and you both flopped down, laughing quietly at your own boldness. You guys stay like that for a bit, Just you two passionately making out on the couch. it was extremely unprofessional for both of you but neither of you cared. The tension built as you leaned in for quick, lingering touches small nudges, playful brushes of hands each moment leaving both of you flushed and grinning.
But of course, your little session of private closeness was interrupted by the faint sound of footsteps outside. You both froze, hearts hammering, eyes meeting in shared panic and amusement. Reality had intruded, but the playful tension remained, lingering like a promise for the next moment you’d be alone together.
A sharp knock echoed at the door, making both of you jump as if you’d been caught in some spy mission.
“Uhm… Hotch? I need you to sign a couple of these papers,” Spencer’s timid voice called from the doorway.
You both scrambled upright, hearts racing, fumbling to straighten your clothes and fix your hair as best as possible. Papers were adjusted, skirts smoothed, shirts straightened anything to look like nothing out of the ordinary had happened. Aaron opened the door, trying to look perfectly calm and professional.
And then… you froze. The entire team was standing there, peeking in with wide eyes, grins barely restrained. No one had actually seen anything, but everyone knew profiler instincts were practically a sixth sense, and the subtle tension in the office between you two hadn’t gone unnoticed.
Spencer blinked innocently, adjusting his glasses, and JJ gave a slight, knowing smile. Derek smirked like he’d just won the lottery. Emily raised her eyebrows and gave you both a slow clap.
Aaron’s jaw tightened slightly, the kind of stiff, controlled tension you’d seen a thousand times in the field but this time, you could practically hear the threat level rising.
You cleared your throat, trying to sound casual, but your voice came out squeaky. “Uh… paperwork,” you muttered.
Spencer tilted his head. “Right… sure, paperwork.” He didn’t look convinced.
Derek, never missing a beat, leaned closer to Emily and whispered loud enough for you to hear: “Well, well… looks like someone finally got caught in the profiler’s web.”
JJ tried and failed to stifle a laugh, and Emily just shook her head, smiling knowingly. You shot Aaron a panicked look, silently begging him to handle it without completely losing his composure. He gave a tight-lipped smile and gestured for Spencer to hand over the papers, but the corners of his eyes betrayed him he was already preparing for the teasing that would never end.
As you walked back to your desk, you felt the weight of a hundred unspoken jokes and glances, knowing full well that from this moment on, any casual team interaction could easily turn into another round of playful mockery. Derek had already started plotting. Spencer would never look at paperwork the same way again. And you and Hotch? Well… let’s just say your “private office sessions” had officially been noticed
Summary: During a hectic day at the BAU, you and Aaron find a moment of respite in the break room. As you share a cup of coffee, you open up about your dreams, fears, and aspirations, forging a deeper connection and understanding between you.
Contains: Fear of frog, spoiler about Haley, talk about a case,
As the plane gently touched down on the runway in Quantico, Virginia, you couldn't help but let out a sigh of relief. It had been an exhausting and emotionally draining case in New York, where a sadistic killer had been terrorizing the city, preying on his victims' deepest fears.
Stepping off the plane, you were greeted by the cool evening air, which carried a hint of the approaching autumn. The breeze played with your hair, gently brushing against your face, as if nature itself was trying to soothe the lingering unease from the case.
You couldn't help but crave a dose of caffeine after such an exhausting week. With your energy levels running low, your first instinct was to head straight to the break room for a revitalizing cup of coffee. To your surprise, it seemed that Aaron Hotchner had the same idea, as he quietly joined you in the coffee room.
As you fired up the coffee maker, the late hour casting a quiet ambiance in the room, you turned to Aaron Hotchner and offered, "Would you like a cup?" It was just the two of you, making the interaction feel more intimate. He nodded appreciatively, his reply a simple "Yes, please." With a nod of your own, you began pouring the coffee into the cups.
"One sugar, please," he requested, and you obliged, adding the sweetener to his drink. As you handed him his cup, your eyes caught a glimpse of his hand, still showing signs of the injury he had sustained while apprehending the unsub. Concerned, you gently gestured towards his scraped-up hand and advised, "You should put something on that."
"I'll be fine," he replied, his voice carrying a hint of reassurance, his chest subtly puffing out with resilience. After a few moments of silence, both of you savoring the warmth of the coffee, you couldn't help but speak up, your tone tinged with sadness. "What a way to die, death by your biggest fear," you mused, shaking your head. As you stared into your half-drunk coffee, “I know” he sighed, understanding the weight of such a fate.
A soft chuckle escaped you as you remembered your own deepest fear. "I'm scared of frogs," you admitted. His eyebrow arched curiously, his gaze fixed on you, intrigued by your unexpected revelation.
"Frogs?" he asked, stunned by the revelation. He had witnessed you fearlessly confront and outmaneuver dangerous unsubs, engage in playful battles with Derek, and undertake numerous daring feats that most people wouldn't dare to attempt. Learning that you were scared of frogs caught him off guard. You groaned and sank into an empty chair, seeking comfort “don’t laugh at me”. Aaron leaned back against the wall, studying you with genuine curiosity.
"I'm not laughing at you," he reassured you, lifting his coffee mug to his lips. "I'm just curious why frogs?" he inquired before taking a sip of his drink. Your rapid explanation followed, your words spilling out in a rush. "I don't know, I just always have been. I remember when I was young and would visit my great aunt and uncle's cabin. There were always frogs, and they just freaked me out. I once refused to leave the cabin the entire time I was there because of the frogs." Your voice held a mix of nostalgia and slight embarrassment.
He chuckled softly, appreciating the unique quirk that was your fast-talking. Many people had criticized it as a flaw, complaining that they couldn't understand you. But to Aaron, it was one of the things he adored about you. He always managed to keep up and grasp the essence of your words, appreciating the authenticity in your rapid delivery.
"How would that even work?" Aaron asked, a hint of curiosity in his voice. "Like being killed by frogs?" He nodded in confirmation,
"Maybe they lock me in a room full of frogs, I don't know," you shrugged, trying to imagine the scenario.
"How about you?" you asked, genuinely curious. "What about your deepest fear?" The words lingered in the air, bouncing around in his mind. Memories flooded back to Aaron—memories of his late ex-wife, Haley, and the unimaginable pain he felt when she was taken from him. He had always believed that losing her was his greatest fear, but now, standing here with you, it was different.
"You," he blurted out, not fully realizing the weight of his words. Your eyes widened in surprise, your heart skipping a beat. The man you had secretly liked for so long, the one who remembered your favorite food and surprised you with it at lunch, was afraid of you?
"Me?" you whispered, your voice barely audible. The revelation left you speechless, a mixture of emotions swirling inside you. You couldn't believe what you were hearing.
"No, no, no," Aaron quickly interjected, his gaze fixed on his cup as he absentmindedly stirred his drink. His movements were restless, his thoughts racing. "I mean... I'm scared of losing you," he admitted, his voice barely above a whisper. The vulnerability in his words struck a chord deep within you, and you realized just how much he cared.
This case made him realize he couldn’t lose you, he needed you.
"Oh," you managed to say, your voice filled with a mix of surprise and anticipation. The air hung heavy with expectation, and for a few seconds, an awkward silence enveloped the room. You could feel Aaron's gaze on you, waiting for your response. Your mind raced, trying to process the enormity of the moment. Did he feel the same way you did all these months?
"Aaron?" you spoke softly, rising from your seat and taking a step closer to him. He hesitated, still avoiding direct eye contact, his focus fixed on his drink. Gathering your courage, you gently reached out and took the cup from his hand, placing it carefully on the counter. The gesture was both comforting and symbolic, conveying your desire to be fully present in that moment.
"I'm afraid of losing you too," you confessed, your voice filled with sincerity. His eyes finally met yours, searching for confirmation and reassurance. "Really?" he asked, a glimmer of hope and vulnerability shining in his eyes. You nodded, a genuine smile gracing your lips as you looked at him.
"More than your fear of frogs?" you tilted your head playfully, “well” you squeaked, teasing him gently. His chuckle filled the room, a sound that warmed your heart. In response, he lightly shoved your shoulder, a playful gesture that conveyed his affection. But then, he surprised you by pulling you closer, bridging the gap between you, and connecting your lips together.
In that moment, the world around you seemed to fade away, leaving only the two of you immersed in a profound and heartfelt connection. The kiss spoke volumes, expressing the depth of your feelings for each other and sealing a new chapter in your shared journey.
Summary: The entire BAU team notices the undeniable chemistry between the reader and Hotchner, but the two remain completely oblivious. The team decides to play matchmakers, setting them up to push them closer together and finally make them realize their mutual feelings.
Contains:Fluff, Early season characters, flashbacks, setting people up
The BAU team had seen it all - gruesome crime scenes, twisted minds, and the darkest corners of humanity. But there was one thing they couldn't quite decipher the undeniable chemistry between their esteemed leader, Aaron Hotchner, and a member of their own team, you. It was a spark that lit up the room whenever you guys were together, but somehow, you both remained completely oblivious to it.
As you and the rest of the BAU team gathered for the morning briefing, your eyes immediately gravitated towards Aaron, as they often did. Today, however, there was something different about him, and it didn't take long for you to realize what it was. He was wearing a new suit, a perfectly tailored navy ensemble that hugged his frame in all the right places. The fabric accentuated his broad shoulders and defined physique, making him look even more commanding and confident than usual.
Unable to tear your gaze away, you found yourself captivated by the way the fabric stretched ever so slightly across his biceps, revealing just enough of the strength and power hidden beneath. It was as if the suit had been designed specifically to showcase his muscular arms, drawing attention to every flex and movement. The sight sent a jolt of electricity through you, igniting a spark of desire you hadn't anticipated.
Lost in your own thoughts and the captivating sight of Aaron Hotchner in his new suit, you failed to notice the subtle glances exchanged between Spencer and Derek. Unbeknownst to you, the two agents had picked up on your prolonged gaze directed solely at the unit chief, bypassing the usual observations of the other agents in the room.
As the meeting came to a close, the team members filed out of the briefing room, each heading towards their own desks. But you, on the other hand, had become accustomed to a different routine. You practically shared an office with Aaron Hotchner. He always welcomed you to sit on the couch in his office and work alongside him. This had become an almost everyday occurrence, so it was no surprise to anyone when you made your way to Hotch's office once again.
But it also came up with a perfect opportunity to plot on how to get you guys together.
"I don't get how they don't see it," Derek voiced his thoughts, a mixture of puzzlement and amusement evident in his tone. "They're both so in love with each other."
Spencer nodded in agreement, a knowing smile playing at the corners of his lips. "It's quite obvious, isn't it? The way they look at each other, the way they support one another. Their feelings are palpable."
Before they could delve further into their musings, Elle interjected, her curiosity piqued by their conversation. "Are you guys talking about Hotch and L/N?" she chimed in.
Derek chuckled, glancing at Spencer for confirmation. "Yeah, we are," he replied, a mischievous glint in his eyes. "It's like they're the only ones who don't realize it."
Elle leaned against the nearby desk, her interest fully piqued. "But why? What's keeping them from seeing what's right in front of them? there both such good profilers."
Spencer sighed, contemplating the complexities of human emotions. "Love can be a strange thing," he began, his voice tinged with a hint of wistfulness. "Sometimes, it takes an outside perspective to recognize what's truly in front of us."
Derek nodded, his gaze fixed on you and Hotch, He was smiling at a joke you had said. They all notice he only really smiles with you or when your around
"We should do something about it," Derek suggested, a mischievous spark in his eyes. "Help them realize what's right in front of them."
Spencer nodded, a small smile forming on his face. "A well-planned intervention might be just what they need. We'll have to be discreet, though. They're both private individuals."
Elle joined in their plotting, her excitement evident. "Count me in. Let's create the perfect opportunity for them to acknowledge their feelings."
Just as they were about to delve further into their discussion, Penelope walks into the room, her vibrant energy filling the space. "Did someone say intervention?" she exclaimed, a mischievous grin adorning her face. "Count me in! I've got some tricks up my sleeve that will make their hearts flutter."
JJ, who had been listening from the doorway, joined the group with a knowing smile. "I've been thinking, and I believe we should take a more unconventional approach. Let's trick either Y/N or Aaron into a situation where they have no choice but to confront their feelings."
Derek raised an eyebrow, intrigued by JJ's suggestion. "What do you have in mind, JJ?"
Little did you or Hotch know that a group of determined individuals had come together, plotting and scheming to bring you closer. With their support, guidance, and a touch of trickery, they were determined to pave the way for a love story that had been waiting to unfold.
You finished up your work in the office earlier than expected, and a sense of disappointment washed over you. However, before you could voice your thoughts, Hotch looked up from his own work and asked, "Done already?"
You nodded, a tinge of sadness evident in your expression. "I think so," you replied, trying to come up with a way to prolong your time together. You cherished these moments with Hotch, away from the prying eyes and interruptions of the rest of the team.
"I think I'll double-check to make sure everything is right," you said, giving the papers on the table a light tap. "Go right ahead," Hotch encouraged, a faint smile playing on his lips as he looked at you intently. His gaze, usually reserved for intimidating unsubs, held a softness that made your cheeks flush with a rosy hue.
As you pretended to review your work, your mind raced with ideas to extend this precious moment. Little did you know, your teammates had conspired behind the scenes to give you both a nudge in the right direction. Unbeknownst to you, Penelope had hatched a plan to lured you and Hotch into her tech office.
Just as you were about to suggest a break or find an excuse to spend more time together, the door to Penelope's office swung open, revealing Garcia who seemed in a panic state. "It's urgent," she said cryptically. "We need you both in here right away."
As you walked to her office, you noticed that the rest of the team was also present, wearing secretive smiles. Penelope's eyes twinkled mischievously as she closed the door behind you and Hotch. "What's going on, Penelope?" Hotch asked, a hint of suspicion in his voice. The team members positioned themselves strategically around the office, blocking any possible escape routes.
Confusion washed over you as you realized something was amiss. Before you could react, the doors locked automatically, trapping you and Hotch inside. The computer screens in Penelope's office flickered to life, displaying a slideshow of heartwarming and candid photos of you and Hotch.
As the images unfolded, your heart skipped a beat. There were stolen glances, shared smiles, and moments of genuine camaraderie captured by the team's watchful eyes. The photos showcased the depth of the connection you and Hotch shared, even when you weren't aware of it.
There was one image where you and fell asleep on the jet and your head rest in his lap and his hand was gently stroking your hair another photo where you guys are in his office and he was tucking your hair behind your ears you can still remember those moment so well
*flashbacks*
After a long and emotionally draining mission in Washington that had ended with a heartbreaking outcome, you felt defeated, tired, and in need of solace. As you sat with your head against the wall , fidgeting with your fingers in your lap, Aaron quietly approached you. "Hey," he greeted, his voice filled with genuine concern.
"Mm," you mumbled in response, barely lifting your gaze to meet his. His sympathetic look pierced through your walls, and he gently took your hands into his own. Slowly, he said your name, trying to capture your attention. "It's not your fault. She was dead before we even arrived."
You let out a heavy sigh, finally looking up at him. "I know," you admitted, your voice carrying the weight of the mission's outcome. "It's just..."
"Just what?" he probed gently, encouraging you to share your thoughts.
You paused, feeling the weight of your exhaustion. "I don't want to talk about it. I'm just so tired," you confessed, wishing for a moment of respite from the heavy burden you carried.
"Then go to sleep," Aaron suggested matter-of-factly, as if it were the most obvious solution in the world.
You chuckled softly, the weariness evident in your tired laughter. "But I don't want to wake up with a sore neck. Sleeping on a jet isn't as glamorous as it sounds."
Aaron's gaze traveled around the jet, assessing the state of your teammates. Derek was lost in his music with his headphones on, Elle was sound asleep, JJ engrossed in a book, and Gideon and Spencer were deeply focused on their chess game. They were all distracted, or so he thought.
"Then lay your head on my lap," Aaron suggested, his voice almost shyly. Confusion washed over you as you looked at him, unsure if he was being serious.
"Are you being for real?" you questioned, your voice laced with a mixture of surprise and curiosity.
He nodded, a small smile tugging at the corners of his lips. "Well, it would be more comfortable for you, and you wouldn't wake up with a sore neck," he explained, his concern evident in his eyes.
Reluctantly, you agreed, not because you didn't want to, but because it felt oddly intimate for a boss and agent returning from a case. As you laid your head in his lap, his fingers immediately began to stroke your hair, and in that moment, you both found solace and comfort in the simple act. Aaron reveled in the softness of your hair, wondering what it smelled like, but the thought was quickly pushed aside as you both became lost in the moment.
Unbeknownst to you, JJ had finished her book and now observed the tender scene unfolding before her. She smiled softly, silently appreciating the unspoken connection between you and Aaron. The team may have been distracted, but JJ's watchful eye captured the quiet intimacy
As you sat together in the BAU office, working late into the night, the room filled with the sound of typing and the soft hum of the air conditioning. The case had been a particularly challenging one, leaving you both mentally and physically exhausted. The tension in the air was palpable, and the weight of the world seemed to rest upon your shoulders.
Aaron glanced over at you, his gaze filled with concern, noticing how tired you appeared. Your hair, usually neatly tucked behind your ear, had fallen forward, framing your face. With a gentle and almost instinctive gesture, he reached out, his fingers delicately tucking a loose strand of your hair back behind your ear.
The touch was so tender, so full of care, that it sent a shiver down your spine. In that fleeting moment, time seemed to stand still. His touch, though brief, spoke volumes, conveying a silent message of support and understanding. It was a small act, but it held a depth of affection that went beyond mere friendship or colleagues.
As his fingers brushed against your cheek, a warmth spread through your entire being. It was a simple gesture, but it meant more to you than words could express. It was as if he knew exactly what you needed in that moment - someone to acknowledge your fatigue and offer a comforting touch.
you also didn’t know that Derek hadn’t gone home yet and secretly snapped a photo from where he was.
*end of flashbacks*
Some other photos were normally seeming photos but as you look closer you can see they way you two look at each other, like the other person had hung stars just for them
*flashbacks*
Hotch had walked over to where you were getting some coffee, the two of you sharing a lighthearted conversation that had quickly turned into a playful banter.
Hotch's eyes sparkled with amusement as he recounted a particularly amusing anecdote. His laughter was contagious, and you found yourself joining in, the sound of your shared laughter filling the room. In that moment, it was as if the weight of the world had lifted, leaving only the joyous connection between the two of you.
As your laughter subsided, you found yourself caught in the depth of his gaze. His eyes, usually filled with determination and focus, now held a softer, more tender expression. There was a moment of silence, an unspoken understanding passing between you.
You marveled at the way his eyes crinkled at the edges when he smiled, the way his lips curved upwards with a warmth that reached his eyes. It was a sight that you cherished, a glimpse into the side of Hotch that few were privileged to witness.
Hotch's voice broke the silence, a touch of vulnerability coloring his words. "You have a beautiful laugh," he confessed, his voice hushed as if sharing a secret.
A blush crept up your cheeks at his words, a mixture of surprise and delight flooding your senses. "Thank you," you murmured, your voice barely above a whisper. "Yours is pretty amazing too."
A genuine smile tugged at the corners of his lips, his gaze locked with yours.
like before you both had failed to notice Penelope who had walked by and notice your two
*end of flashback*
Another photo was of you and Hotch sleeping on the same bed at a hotel.
*flashback*
As you entered the hotel room, you realized there was no other rooms available since Spencer and Derek were sharing, and JJ and Elle were sharing as well. The options were either to share a bed with Gideon or Hotch. "You can sleep with me—I mean, sleep in the same bed as me," Aaron said, catching his mistake, his face turning slightly red. You smiled at the thought and playfully replied, "Okay, I'll sleep with you," giving him a wink as you walked by. His heart seemed to skip a beat for a moment.
As expected, there was only one bed in Hotch's hotel room, originally intended for him alone. But on that particular day, you felt extra flirty. Throughout the day, you had been giving him subtle compliments and touches, creating a tension between the two of you that could be cut with a knife. So when it was time to sleep, the air in the room was thick with anticipation.
"So, um, which side of the bed do you want?" Aaron asked, his mouth feeling dry as he realized he would actually be sleeping beside you. "I'm not picky," you replied, grabbing your pajamas and heading into the bathroom to change. Upon returning to the room, you noticed that Hotch had also changed into his sleep attire—a grey tshirt and black sweats. Your mouth practically watered as you looked at him, feeling a surge of attraction.
He was looking through some paperwork for the case you were working on as you slid into bed next to him. "What's going on?" you asked, genuinely curious. "It just doesn't make sense," he huffed in frustration. "This unsub is a coward. He's messy, unorganized. Why hasn't he messed up or turned himself in yet?" You sighed, contemplating the case. "I don't know either, but we'll find out once we wake up," you reasoned, taking the paperwork and placing it in the nightstand beside you.
"You're right, you're right," Hotch acknowledged, getting comfortable in bed. There was a small gap between the two of you, the kind that would be expected between a normal boss and agent sharing a room. But you both knew that your relationship was more than just that. "I'm always right," you playfully replied, getting closer to him, subtly hinting for him to wrap his arm around you. At first, he hesitated, but as soon as you fell asleep, he couldn't resist any longer. He wrapped his arms around you, pulling you close, finding solace in your presence before drifting off to sleep himself.
While you both slept peacefully, Elle and Spencer entered your hotel room to inform you that the unsub had turned himself in. Seeing the adorable and cuddly state you both were in, they quickly snapped a photo before quietly exiting the room, leaving you two undisturbed.
*ends of flashbacks*
Laughter erupted from the team members as they watched your surprised expressions. "We've had enough of you two tiptoeing around your feelings," Derek declared with a chuckle. "It's time to face the truth."
JJ chimed in, her eyes sparkling with playful determination. "These photos are proof of the connection you two share. It's time to acknowledge it and admit your feelings."
You and Hotch exchanged a mixture of embarrassment and amusement, your cheeks flushed with a rosy hue. The evidence was undeniable, and the team's well-intentioned intervention had brought your hidden emotions to the forefront.
As the weight of the unspoken emotions hung heavy in the air, you found yourself unable to tear your gaze away from Hotch. His eyes, filled with both surprise and vulnerability, mirrored the whirlwind of emotions swirling within you.
With a deep breath, you took a tentative step forward, your heart pounding in your chest. The room seemed to shrink, narrowing down to just the two of you. Hotch, his expression a mix of anticipation and longing, met you halfway, closing the distance between you.
"Hotch," you began, your voice trembling with a mixture of nerves and determination. "Seeing those photos... it made me realize something profound."
He nodded, his eyes never leaving yours, silently encouraging you to share your heart. "Tell me," he whispered, his voice a gentle caress.
Your gaze never wavered as you poured your soul into your words. "I can't deny it any longer," you confessed, your voice filled with a newfound strength. "The connection between us... it's undeniable, Aaron. It's like a force of nature, drawing me closer to you with each passing day."
A soft smile played at the corners of his lips, his eyes brimming with tenderness. "I've felt it too," he confessed, his voice barely above a whisper. "The way my heart skips a beat when you walk into a room, the way your smile lights up my world... it's been impossible to ignore."
A surge of courage welled up within you, emboldening your next words. "Aaron, I'm in love with you," you declared, your voice filled with a mix of vulnerability and passion. "Every fiber of my being yearns for you, and I can no longer imagine my life without you by my side."
His breath hitched, and his fingers, trembling with emotion, gently traced the contours of your face. "My love," he murmured, his voice filled with a depth of emotion that resonated deep within your soul.
In that moment, everything else faded away, and it was just the two of you, wrapped up in the rawness of your love and the shared understanding of the journey that lay ahead. The team's intervention had brought you together, and now there was no turning back.
With your hearts beating in synchrony, you closed the distance between you, enveloping each other in a tight embrace. The world around you blurred as your lips met in a passionate and tender kiss, sealing your love with an electrifying surge of emotion. It was a moment that surpassed all expectations, a culmination of all the stolen glances, the secret smiles, and the unspoken words.
As you broke apart, your foreheads resting against each other, tears of joy glistened in your eyes. The future might still hold challenges, but with your hearts intertwined, you knew that together, you could conquer anything that came your way. And so, hand in hand, you embarked on a new chapter of your lives, ready to explore the depths of your love and create a future filled with endless possibilities.
You've known Ash for nearly his whole life, when his grandmother got ill, you were the main female figure in his life
He was well aware that he didn't have a biological mother, but he knew how a mother would behave. He noticed how other children with mothers treated their sons when he first started school.
He noticed how mothers would kiss their son's heads goodbye and called them "Sweetheart," "My Boy," and other names, You were the closest thing he had to a mother.
So he clung to the thought, he would make sure nothing bad happened to you and that he would attempt to help you with everything. He had to stop himself a few times from calling you mom because he was afraid you'd think he was soft.
Fez was gone doing something, so it was just you and Ash at home, you were in the living room watching TV. "My boy, can you come here?" you called as you heard Ash walk through the kitchen.
Everything was silent all of a sudden, and you became concerned. "Ash?" you questioned. You carefully stood up and headed to the kitchen, where you found him standing still.
"Yo dude, You good? " You chuckled nervously. He didn't answer you, but he did run up and hug you. You didn't realize what you called him. It was like second nature.
You were at a loss for what to do, so you simply hugged him back. "What did you want?" he questioned as he backed away from the hug. "Oh uhm, do you want to watch TV with me? think the ugly ass show Riverdale is on though," you said.
"Sure!" He smiled as he rushed to the couch, and you just stared at him, surprised by his behaviour. "Well, are you coming?" he asked, turning back to you, You nodded going back onto the couch.
You guys finally had some alone time because Ash was with his friends, Fez didn't have any deals, and the store was closed since it was a holiday. You sat on the couch watching as Fez smoked a joint; it was always alluring and it turned you on.
like a lot...
"Everything good, ma?" Fez asked as he noticed you shifting in your seat. "I'm fine," you mumbled. "Alright then," he replied softly as he took a deep hit from the joint. Smoke billowed from his mouth as he spoke about his last deal.
"Fuck," you moaned quietly, your thighs clenched and your gaze fixed on him. You stuck out your hand, and he gave you a confused look, "Are you sure?" He asked. You nodded, climbing onto his lap. You brought his hand with the joint near your mouth so you could smoke out of it.
"What are you doing?" He chuckled nervously. You don't respond; instead, you blow the smoke in his face and take another inhale, then you kiss him and blow the smoke into the kiss. Fez looked at you, stunned after the kiss broke.
"Shit that was hot" He licked his lips, He grasped your waist, and drew you in for another kiss, but this time it was full of want and hunger. He began nipping and sucking on your neck, leaving purple markings that are gonna be visible. As you moaned, you arched your back, causing the joint to fall and fall to the floor.
"Fuck I love you," he said as he ripped open your top and began kissing your breasts. "I knew you were hot, but fuck the smoke thing you did was so fucking hot," he confessed, and you responded with moans.
"Fuck Fez," you cursed as he yanked your pants down and began running his hands over your clothed cunt. He glanced up at you, his blue eyes scanning your entire face as it let out obscene moans.
"Can I?" He asked for your consent, "Fuck yes!" You arched your back, trying to get him to touch you again. He instantly pulled down your underwear and licked a stripe on your cunt. "Fuck you're wet."
He sucked on your clit with two fingers inside of you, as he worked on his pants with his free hand because they were getting too tight.
You gasped from the loss of contact as he took his fingers out of you to fully undress, "Fez please," you begged. His chain dangled in your face as he hovered above you, running his thumb along your lips. "Patience, Ma," he said as he bit your ear.
He held you as he slowly pushed his dick inside you, You hissed at the pain, "Just wait it be over soon" Fez whispered in your ear and soon enough the pain subsided and pleasured filled your body,
"Please, Fez, move," You told him digging your nails into his back. He immediately began slamming into you, and you didn't hold back any moans because it was just the two of you at home.
You grasped the chain swinging in front of your face and pulled him closer to you, nibbling on his neck and scratching at his back, creating marks. He growled into your ear as he began sucking on your neck as well, saying, "Fuck if you keep doing that, I'm going to cum inside of you."
"Please do," you moaned, a knot forming in your belly. "Fucking hell!" you cried. "I'm coming!" he shouted, burying his face in your neck. 'Same, fuck!" You yelled, and both you and him came at the same time.
dededos
jbbartram-illu
dailybridgerton
origamiaround
areudirty
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