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luveline · 6 months

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I don’t really have a request I just love anything you write💗 maybe something with girly!reader?

thanks lovely💗

Spencer wrings his hands behind his back, shifting from one foot to the other unhappily. He hasn't felt this nervous since he was young —his PhDs have acted as a shield for years now. Even if he doesn't know what to do, he physically cannot be stupid.

He feels pretty stupid. Less when you look up, smile blinding and sticky with gloss. He's thought about how it would feel to kiss you before and he tries desperately to push the thought away now, his hands shaking where they're hidden.

"Hey, Spencer Reid," you say, lightly teasing as you wave him toward you. "How are you?"

"I'm good."

"Yeah?" You gesture at the empty seat in front of you. "Are you having lunch?"

The bureau cafeteria is less of a cafeteria in the kitchen sense and more of a staff room, though hot food is served at the very back. There are couches toward the patio of an outdoor area to the left. You sit at one of the tables near the doors. The air is cold around his ankles as he sits with you.

"No, I– I came down for coffee, but the jug is empty." It's a bad lie. Luckily you have no idea that there's a kitchen in the BAU offices. "You're not?"

You turn your laptop screen to him. "I ate my lunch at my desk. I'm just catching up with my show." Your laptop has stickers around the screen, silver shiny stars and tiny pink hearts that look like they're made of jelly. There's a closed bottle of nail polish resting near the keyboard. "And I'm gonna touch up my nails, too. They're always chipping."

"They look perfect to me," Spencer says.

You beam at him, beatific, so, so pretty, he could die. He might. "Thanks, honey. You'd look cute with painted nails, have you ever thought about it?"

Spencer honestly forgets about his nails. He should take better care of them. He thinks about hiding them under the desk. "I don't think I could do it."

"No one's good at it, at first. I'd paint them for you, if you wanted. I have a couple of things in my bag."

Spencer's relieved to present freshly trimmed nails to you for painting. Your polish is a light blue colour, milky, and he assumes it'll be the one you use on him, but you decide to ruin his life, taking his hand into one of yours. You hold his fingers in a way that presents the nail as you brush cuticle oil around the edges of his nails with a small pen brush. You chatter as you do in your way, all sweet and gentle in mirror of your touch.

He's proud of himself for keeping his cool. To have you touching him for so long, so kindly, to have your attention, it has him squirming with a mixture of pleasure and horror. He wants to be seen by you but he doesn't know if he likes what you're looking at.

"You have really lovely hands," you say, using the tip of one of your nails to scrape stray wet polish off of his skin, "do you play piano?"

"You can tell?" he asks.

"Pianist's fingers," you say. "That's a thing, isn't it?"

"I haven't played much since I was younger. I got distracted by other stuff."

"Maths," you surmise. "And criminology?"

Everything. He pushed away a want for human connection with books and education until it got too much. Even the wisest of honeybees will brave heavy rain for a beautiful flower, and that's sort of how he feels about you. He knows it's stupid, knows it's doomed, but he couldn't not try to speak to you. You're the prettiest girl he's ever seen, all your lip colours and shimmery eyeshadows, the chirpy way you talk, the earnestness of your please and thank yous.

Your hands. The silver ring on your index finger dotted with tiny pink stones. Your bracelets. The smell of your perfume and your soft sweaters.

"Done," you announce, an uncharacteristic hesitance to your tone. "Are they okay?"

You've done a perfect job. "They're so neat. Thank you. I– I love it."

Your eyes linger on his hands. "I love when guys wear nail polish. You're even handsomer now, it's crazy. I didn't know it was possible."

Spencer should have more style for sure, but he asks you to dinner right then and there.

You smile until the lashes kiss in the corners of your eyes and say yes. This new place opened just around the corner from your apartment, and you've been trying to drum up the courage to ask him all week. When Spencer hears that he almost passes out.

#spencer reid #spencer reid x reader #spencer reid x you #spencer reid x y/n #spencer reid x fem!reader #spencer reid imagine #spencer reid fluff #spencer reid fanfic #spencer reid oneshot #spencer reid scenario #spencer reid drabble #spencer reid fic #spencer reid fanfiction #criminal minds fanfiction #criminal minds #criminal minds fic #criminal minds x reader

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ramyeonpng · 2 years

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This week in work (or school), I’ve taken a huge step away from more common data analytic techniques that focus on mashing psychology into numbers. I’ve taken a step towards qualitative analysis, which involves the organization and presenting of written and oral data to pull out themes that might be useful. I think in both we get the most complex, rich picture of the human mind and how it interacts with the world - with the other, we’d be missing out on the strengths of each technique.

#AcademicChatter

#academic chatter #phd chat #phd #grad school #stats

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oddfurball · 2 years

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My PhD journey has not been easy. I do not talk publicly what it took to be where I am but I am so proud that today my hard work has paid off. My first author paper is under review and now available as a preprint. We developed a new contrast agent to change the world of diagnostic imaging for patients.

https://www.biorxiv.org/content/10.1101/2022.09.01.506234v1.article-metrics

#phd candidate #phd life #academic chatter #academic challenges #phdresearch #phd #research #academia #firstauthor

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bvidzsoo · 5 months

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Your desire

⬦Sugar daddy!Seonghwa⬦

TW: suggestive

Word count: 3,9k

A/N: I hate the grip Ateez has on me, I have never ever written so many drabbles or whatever, I'm a long story kinda gal but here they are...torturing me. Anyways, Seonghwa went ahead and posted on IG today and when I saw him my mind instantly went omg that's some sugar daddy vibes, idk why, don't ask, thank you. Feedback is very much so appreciated! Enjoy!

I really would have never imagined a year ago that I would be attending such an event like this one. It was even shocking to myself. But it looked like I was the only one who felt out of place as the people surrounding me seemed to know each other as they indulged in small talk and friendly chatter as if they were old friends catching up. The silky dress felt too tight against my skin and I couldn’t help but pull on it, hoping by some miracle that it would loosen up and wouldn’t wrap around my ribs as it was trying to suffocate me. The little golden purse I clutched in my hands tightly was expensive, too expensive, an item I could’ve never afforded by myself. I wasn’t into fancy things, so even if I could’ve afforded it at some point in life, I still wouldn’t have purchased it. The faces of people seemed to merge into one as I took a sip of my champagne, smiling politely when the older man next to me pointed his glass in my direction before taking a sip himself. I wished I were invisible, but the red dress and the red matching lips only placed me in the spotlight. And if it weren’t for my outfit, being by the side of Park Seonghwa, a successful and young CEO, definitely put me in the spotlight. I could feel the curious gazes of men and women alike, even the envy as some whispered as Seonghwa and I glided through the crowd, wanting to reach the bar. He said he needed something strong, perhaps some whiskey, as the people around us were giving him a headache. Currently, we were conversing with an elderly pair who were big names in the makeup industry, Choi San having joined us not too long ago. He was a rising CEO, almost always in the spotlight, as his magazine was becoming bigger and bigger, visited by more and more celebrities lately. He was Seonghwa’s biggest competitor, constantly challenging him publicly and often mentioning him when it had nothing to do with Seonghwa. Choi San liked to provoke people and taunt, living off of the hate and attention directed his way. I didn’t need to have a PhD in psychology to spot all these things, it was clear as day as he flashed his white teeth in the direction of the elderly pair, bragging about last month’s issue and how much money it made. The elderly pair didn’t seem too impressed, but they congratulated him before diverting their attention back onto Seonghwa, who was patiently waiting for San to stop his theatrics. If I wouldn’t have known Seonghwa so well, I would’ve never known he was irritated, his jaw barely clenched, grip just a little too tight on his glass of champagne. I quietly cleared my throat, getting his attention. His round eyes watched me, face devoid of any emotion, but the glimmer in his eyes assured me that he was feeling fine. I offered him a small smile and his cheeks twitched before he looked away, focusing back on the elderly pair. They were laughing about something I didn’t bother paying attention to, eyes falling on an already staring Choi San as I took another sip of my champagne. It almost made me choke; I couldn’t deny that he was a good-looking man, but I only had eyes for Seonghwa. At least for now.

“I’ve heard about the deal you made with an American firm,” San spoke up with a smirk, one eyebrow raised in Seonghwa’s direction, “Congratulations, breaking through on the American market isn’t something easy.”

Seonghwa chuckled, but it lacked humor, “San, when I made my breakthrough on the American market you were still running around, trying to find a headquarter for your company.”

The elderly pair laughed at the very harmless jab, but San’s smirk slightly faded, annoyed by Seonghwa’s comeback. He was probably right, but I wouldn’t know, I have never been interested in their world of business.

“You look gorgeous, Y/N.” The sudden shift of conversation made me tense as the eyes of four people fell on me, San’s a little hungrier than the rest. I forced a smile on my face, grip tightening on the glass of champagne. I wished the dress didn’t show as much cleavage as it did, and that my hair wasn’t in a low bun, unable to cover my shoulders, “Isn’t that necklace—”

“The latest Saint Laurent Teardrop Chain Links Necklace?” Seonghwa raised an eyebrow before taking a sip of his whiskey, “It is, San. And it’s custom made.”

San’s eyes fell back one me and I cleared my throat, feeling awkward, as the elderly lady eyed me a little bit suspiciously, I felt obliged to speak up, “It’s not something I usually wear, but Seonghwa insisted.”

“I think I have seen that dress on a magazine cover, not too long ago.” The elderly lady noted, eyes narrowed at me. I felt like they could tell how poor I actually was compared to them. It felt like a paper with the words ‘intruder’ was glued to my back and everyone was staring, pointing their fingers at me, or whispering vile things. I gulped, but before I could speak up, I felt an arm sneak around my shoulders, squeezing my arm lightly.

“You have seen it right, then, Mrs. Eom, it was on my magazine.” Seonghwa said with a smirk, sending me a wink which made me slightly blush. The day he saw it on the mannequin he sent me a picture and texted me that he’d get it for me. I refused, because it was truly too much and it also cost a lot, and also, I didn’t really have a fitting event where I would wear it to. So, I guess Seonghwa had to do something about that and that’s how I was dragged along to this fundraiser for disabled people. This wasn’t something which had been in the contract I have signed two months ago, but I didn’t dare bring it up when Seonghwa showed up to my apartment in the morning, holding two designer boxes and a designer paper bag. He said he didn’t have time to have breakfast with me, but he expected to see me in the evening, wearing everything he handed me. Before I could accept or refuse him, he was running off, phone at his ear as he spoke to someone important. I could only sigh and hope for a dinner in a very fancy restaurant, instead I found myself at a place infested with very important and insanely rich people. I was sure I even saw the prime minister like half an hour ago.

“Oh, delightful!” Mrs. Eom exclaimed, but no emotion came through her voice, eyes watching me almost accusingly. Why did an old hag have beef with me when she didn’t even know me? Before I could say something inappropriate, Seonghwa gave my shoulder another squeeze, swiftly taking his arm off my body. He seemed to know me well too, a glance at my face and he was able to tell what I was feeling and thinking. We hadn’t spent too much time together in these past two months, but it felt like we understood each other on a deeper level, beyond words even. I looked around as the orchestra started playing, the front of the room slightly clearing as people made place for those dancing. My eyes fell back onto Seonghwa, and as his eyes were trained somewhere else, I dared staring at him openly. He was an absolutely gorgeous man, breathtaking even. His black hair was slicked back with three strands framing the right side of his face, longer strands than the others poking around on his nape. His shoulders were relaxed yet his posture was straight and proper. His silky black shirt, with three buttons undone at the top, was tucked inside his black dress pants, an Yves Saint Laurent belt keeping his outfit together. The black velvet coat reached just bellow his thighs and his Yves Saint Laurent shoulder bag had been disregarded a while ago at the table we sat at. Despite my obvious staring, Seonghwa remained oblivious to it, however, San didn’t. His eyes were narrowed and lips pulled into a grin as we made eye contact. My cheeks burned and I quickly averted my eyes. Catching feelings wasn’t written into the contract, or what would happen if Seonghwa and I did fall for each other, a thing which was far from happening. I wasn’t in love with him, but I had eyes, and I found him extremely attractive. Whether he was dressed up or wore something casual, Seonghwa always looked spectacular. As a waiter passed with a tray in their hands, San quickly placed his empty glass on it and cleared his throat, interlacing his hands in front of himself.

“Miss Y/N, may I have the honor to dance with you first tonight?” San’s eyebrows were raised as he looked at me with a smirk and I stared at him without a reaction. Was I allowed to dance with him? Seonghwa was right next to me, he certainly wouldn’t like that. And I didn’t want to dance with him either, he sometimes made me feel very uncomfortable with his unnecessary comments and over the top compliments. But before anyone could interject, San took two steps towards me and then grabbed my left hand carefully, a smile erupting on his face, “Come.”

And before I could refuse him, he was pulling me after himself, making me hand my purse over to Seonghwa in a hurry as San lead the way to the dance floor. I felt awkward as curious eyes watched us, some people greeting San as we passed by. His grip turned firm and I could feel my palm get sweaty as I braced myself for what was to come. It couldn’t be that bad, besides, I would only dance with him for a short amount of time before I would excuse myself to the bathroom in hopes of getting away from him. San stopped in the center, facing me with a charming smile, sharp eyes watching me closely. I cleared my throat and placed my hand on his shoulder, allowing his hand on my lower back to pull me closer towards himself. I slightly tensed, but willed myself to relax in his arms. I didn’t quite enjoy dancing with Seonghwa’s competitor and biggest rival, especially not when I knew how much distaste Seonghwa had towards San.

“Fancy seeing you here tonight, Y/N,” San spoke up as he swayed us to the slow beat of the orchestra, “I didn’t think you’d attend such an event.”

San didn’t know what type of relationship was between Seonghwa and I, but he has seen us together quite often, always bugging Seonghwa whether I was his girlfriend or not. I most certainly wasn’t.

“It came as a surprise to me as well.” I admitted quietly, focusing on not stepping on San’s feet or on my own dress. The high heels were also slightly uncomfortable, I couldn’t help but be hyperaware of every move I made.

“So, Seonghwa didn’t plan on bringing you along, huh?” A satisfied smirk made it onto San’s face and I sighed, looking over his shoulder.

“He most certainly did since I’m here, don’t you think?” I couldn’t help but slightly snap, sending him the smallest glare as we made eye contact.

“Of course,” San chuckled, pulling his eyebrows up, “he wouldn’t want to leave behind his eye candy.”

His comment didn’t sit well with me, but I just bit the inside of my cheek and let it go, not wanting to give San the satisfaction of seeing me annoyed. He waited a few more seconds, probably thinking I was formulating my answer, but when the silence continued to stretch on, San chuckled to himself, looking amused as I dared take a glance at him.

“Everything you’re wearing tonight is quite expensive, isn’t it?” He continued, eyes running over my frame. It certainly felt uncomfortable as I could easily spot the lust in them as his eyes stayed a little too long on my exposed collarbones.

“Yes, they were expensive.” I hummed, looking over his shoulder when San glanced at my face.

“Bought them yourself?” His tone feigned innocence, but the smirk on his lips made it obvious that he was prodding and jabbing, “Didn’t think a university student could afford all of these things, to be honest.”

I gulped as my throat felt suddenly dry, heartrate picking up. Of course I couldn’t afford what I was wearing tonight, two months ago I could barely pay rent and the tuition fees for my course at the university. Seonghwa seemed like an angel in disguise at the time, however, lately I’ve been feeling guilty for accepting all of his money instead of trying to make some myself. In my defense, my itinerary was so packed I could barely find a place which would hire me even half norm, it was frustrating.

“Some of these were gifts.” I opted to answer, clearing my throat when San’s fingers slightly dug into my lower back, pulling me even closer to himself. Our bodies were almost touching, his musky scent invaded my nostrils. I certainly didn’t like it.

“You know,” He spoke up again, eyebrows furrowed, “Seonghwa is quite known for changing partners after like…half a year, I guess his standards are too high or something. Unless…”

My heartbeat paused for a second as I looked San in the eyes, “Unless, you’re not his girlfriend but his whore—”

“I think you’ve spent enough time with Y/N for a lifetime, Choi San.” The sudden harsh voice made me flinch as I carefully peeled myself away from San, heart beating like crazy as I turned my head. I was met with a furious looking Seonghwa, kind eyes pulled into slits as he glared San down, jaw clenched. I noticed the people around us glancing our way, and when my eyes fell on San his chest was puffed out and eyes challenging as he stared down the taller man.

“Seonghwa,” I whispered and curled my fingers around his bicep, getting his attention, “He’s not worth causing a scene, let it go.”

His eyes bore into mine as I heard San scoff at my words, but before he could open his annoying mouth and say something else, Seonghwa gripped the hand I had around his bicep and peeled it off, hand slipping to my wrist as he turned around and took off, steps hurried. I struggled to keep up with him in my high heels and even ran into someone, having to hastily apologize as Seonghwa wasn’t stopping anytime soon. I noticed the direction we were storming in, the restrooms. I gulped and realized Seonghwa was angry and needed time away from everyone, probably to give me a lecture and break off the contract we had. I could only hope he wouldn’t ask for the money back; I couldn’t remember if that was a clause or not in the contract. We rounded the corner and Seonghwa kicked the door of the restroom open with his foot, shoulders raising and falling rapidly as we entered the men’s restroom. A guy, who looked like security, was washing his hands, pausing when he noticed us.

“Sir—”

“Get out.” Seonghwa’s voice was low as he glared at the poor security guard, who seemed to be speechless for a few seconds.

“This is the men’s restroom—”

“And I said, get out.” Seonghwa emphasized his words again, staring daggers at the unbudging security guard, seemingly a glaring match breaking out between them. My nerves were rising, and I tapped my heel against the floor, biting my lower lip when nobody moved.

“Seonghwa.” I called out for him, but he didn’t look away from the security guard. However, the man broke his staring contest and looked at me, taken aback.

“Park Seonghwa?” He asked amazed and as I nodded, he quickly bowed his head and scurried out, making me let out a long sigh. My shoulders slouched forward as I pulled my hand out of Seonghwa’s, which made him whirl around and look at me with a sharp stare. I gulped and suddenly felt small underneath his eyes as his fury was directed at me only.

“I’m sorry, I didn’t want to dance with San, but I don’t think I had much of a chance,” I found myself explaining quickly, “And I didn’t want to cause a scene which would damage your reputation.”

Seonghwa took in a deep breath before releasing it, jaw clenching, “You’re not my whore, Y/N, you’re my sugar baby.”

I bit my lower lip, the term still making me feel slightly uncomfortable. I don’t think I could ever get used to it. I looked at the floor as Seonghwa sighed loudly again, realizing that he was angry at San and not me, having overheard his words.

“Yeah, I know.” I muttered as I saw Seonghwa’s polished shoes come into view as I was still looking down.

“You didn’t want to come tonight and I forced you into coming, I’m sorry.” His voice was soft and he looked guilty as I looked up at him, eyebrows furrowing.

“You didn’t force me, what are you talking about?” I asked confused.

“I saw how uncomfortable you were feeling all night.” He explained, playing with the rings on his fingers, “I also should’ve chosen a dress less revealing knowing your preferences, I’m sorry for that too—”

“Seonghwa, this dress is gorgeous!” I said with a chuckle as I pointed at it, hands shimmying down my hips, “Albeit a bit too revealing, and too expensive, but it’s beautiful and I appreciate your gesture, I hope you know that. Regardless of how I’ve been feeling tonight.”

Seonghwa gulped and took a step closer, eyes running over my frame before he looked back up into my eyes, “You are gorgeous, not the dress, Y/N. That’s just a piece of fabric.”

My cheeks flushed at his words and I averted my eyes shyly, feeling Seonghwa’s soft fingers grip my chin as he made me look at him again. He stepped even closer and his warmth wrapped around me, fruity scent enveloping me and making me shiver. Seonghwa certainly noticed as he studied my face for a reaction, but I was trying hard to contain the fluster I was feeling and my frantic heartbeat.

“Our contract is coming to an end next month,” Seonghwa whispered, as if he was afraid anyone would hear us, there was nobody but us inside the spacious and marble covered restroom, “Let’s extend it for another six months.”

“Six months?” I asked surprised, remembering well that Seonghwa’s contracts only lasted for three months. He hummed and nodded as he closed the gap between our bodies, tilting my head slightly up. It was rare that he stood so close and held me so boldly. We were rarely physical with each other, the occasional hand holding and kisses on the cheeks happened when I was feeling down or Seonghwa was feeling tired, and we made out a couple of times here and there when we were drunk. The contract made it clear that everything had to be consensual and if one person refused, it shouldn’t be brought up until they were ready to talk about it or made it obvious that they wanted it to happen. Seonghwa was a respectful and well-mannered man, there were few others like him, if none at all. My lips slightly parted as Seonghwa’s eyes fell on my lips and I closed my eyes when he started leaning in slowly, lips pressing against mine carefully, experimentally. It was so light that if I were to pull away, it felt like it never happened, but instead, I pressed myself firmly against him, Seonghwa’s hand coming to hold the side of my face. Our lips moved slowly against each other, testing, searching, savoring the other’s lips. My hands rested against his chest as his free hand went to hold my waist, slowly slipping to the place where San held onto earlier, my lower back. This time, goosebumps erupted on my skin and I slightly shuddered against Seonghwa as his long fingers dug into my skin, his lips picking up pace. I matched his feverish kisses, desperately wanting to tangle my fingers into the hair against his nape, but not wanting to mess up his hairstyle, so instead, I gripped the collar of his velvet coat, my other hand going around his shoulder. Seonghwa pulled me into himself totally, chests pressing together painfully as he sucked on my lower lip, carefully pressing his tongue against my mouth. I understood what he wanted and parted my lips for him, granting him access as he tilted my head up even more, hands clutching onto me firmly, his tongue carefully exploring my warm mouth. He tasted like the whiskey he had been drinking, and cherry. He loved cherry candies; he had probably eaten one not long before. My nose pushed against his cheek as our tongues tangled together, lapping at each other, a fire ignited inside me as my hand slipped up to his nape. Before I could second guess myself, I allowed my fingers to tangle into the short strands and I tugged on them, Seonghwa’s hand abruptly slipping down to my ass as he gave it a firm squeeze, making me gasp into his mouth. He took that momentum to suck on my tongue and suddenly my knees felt weak from the lack of air, but not just. I could devour him right here, but that wasn’t very lady like, nor too smart. Anyone could enter the restroom anytime. And despite the urgency in Seonghwa’s kiss, he sucked on my lower lip as he pulled back, pressing his forehead against mine. He was panting and I had to wipe the corner of my mouth as saliva threatened to drip down.

“Let’s do six months.” I rasped out, in the process of catching my breath. As I opened my eyes, I watched as Seonghwa’s teeth was attached to his plump lower lip, a deep hum leaving his throat as he agreed with my final answer.

“Good, I’ve still got a lot to offer to you.” He said as he opened his eyes and a smile instantly appeared on his lips. And then, his finger was rubbing underneath my lower lip and the corner of my mouth, chuckling as my own eyes fell onto Seonghwa’s unnaturally red lips. It made me blush as I allowed him to fix me up, hand giving my ass another squeeze, making me gasp as I jumped. The amused smile disappeared from his lips as a pleased smirk took its place.

“Let’s dance?” He asked and I nodded wordlessly, mesmerized by his voice and eyes as Seonghwa took a step back, hands falling from my body as I detached myself from him too, gulping nervously. He extended a hand and I placed my palm in his, fingers intertwining as he lead us towards the door.

I wouldn’t mind having Seonghwa as my sugar daddy for another six months, not if he would kiss me again and again like he kissed me tonight.

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fangedtracks · 2 months

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bad day for the milo fuckers out there. just got another incredibly dorky shirt 👍

#phd chatter

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sweatervest-obsessed · 5 months

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Okay.. hear me out the song 'Stick Season' by Noah Kahan... for a fic like her and spence break up and she can't move on from him...

Oh you mean my FAVORITE NOAH KAHAN SONG???

Absolutely girlboss.

It ended up being 3.5k, so please please enjoy!!

(it's a gn! fic btw)

You must have had yourself a change of heart like Halfway through the drive Because your voice trailed off exactly as you passed my exit sign Kept on drivin' straight and left our future to the right

Everyone in the BAU hated letting Spencer drive. It was a fact of the universe. It wasn’t because he was bad at it, in fact he was quite a good driver. But whenever he would drive, it was constant chatter, constant rambling, and sometimes, it would be in between NPR segments where Spencer would correct someone or pause to discuss interesting facts that he knew.

So when Spencer offered to drive the team to the hotel across town, no one had the guts to say no. It was some random town in Vermont, in the middle of October, some weird string of murders throwing another small town into disarray. He was in the middle of describing the science behind why certain leaves change into certain colors when his voice died out.

They were at one of two stop lights in town and they were stopped at one of them. Spencer was looking diagonally across at some random coffee shop, and Derek could not, for the life of him, figure out why Spencer was looking over there.

“Reid? Hello.”

“It’s her.”

“Who?” Derek followed his line of sight again and realized what Spencer was looking at, well, who he was looking at.

You.

“Oh my god. Isn’t that…”

Spencer nodded his head.

“Why is she…”

Spencer just stared at you. “I don’t know.”

You were now leaving the coffee shop, cup in hand and small brown bag in the other. Spencer could probably guess what was in both.

“Green light Reid.”

The two of them started to move again, but neither of them spoke on the way to the hotel. It was almost unbelievable that they hadn’t seen you in over two years and yet here you were, in some random town that had a serial killer.

Now I am stuck between my anger and the blame that I can't face And memories are somethin' even smoking weed does not replace And I am terrified of weather 'cause I see you when it rains Doc told me to travel, but there's COVID on the planes

“No no. Lucille. You don’t understand. He was like, nerdy hot. And I fucked up big time.”

Lucille snorted and handed you the blunt in her hand. “My love, my life. I bet you, he was the problem.”

You scoffed and took a hit. “Yeah right.”

Lucille raised an eyebrow and crossed her arms. “You’re not still in love with the guy are you?”

“When you put it like that it makes me sound pathetic.”

“Oh girl no, you are, aren't you.”

You sighed and took another hit—a long inhale this time to compensate.

“Sweetie, you are WAY too good for him.”

You laughed. “Mr three PhDs, four Bachelors, and FBI? Yeah. I don’t think so.”

“Weren’t you Mrs FBI?”

“That’s Miss FBI to you. Mrs is reserved for happy married stupid people.” You grumbled and closed your eyes.

“Wow.”

“Wow What.”

“He was really the one wasn’t he.”

You nodded. “I really thought….god I’m so stupid.” You stood up and started pacing along the porch of your house.

Once you and Spencer had broken up, you needed to get out of there. There had to be somewhere where he couldn’t touch you, couldn’t find you. So you closed your eyes and pointed to a random spot on the map. Then when you realized you pointed to Las Vegas, you sat down and wrote down what you knew about Spencer, then tried to find somewhere that he had the lowest percentage of going.

And Fairlee seemed like the right place. There was nothing for him out here.

Except for you.

But Spencer didn’t feel that way. Not anymore at least.

You had taken up teaching, obtaining your teaching certificate up in Vermont and becoming one of ten teachers in the high school (which supported any child in a half hour radius).

It wasn’t hunting down serial killers, but it was still fulfilling.

That’s how you met Lucille. She was another teacher, in need of a roommate, and the rest is history.

“You’re floating away again.”

You snapped back to the conversation. “Sorry. Just. Really thought we were going to get married and be with each other and shit but.”

“But?”

“He wasn’t ready. You’d think three years knowing one another and being friends, and then another three years of dating would, you know. Add up to something.”

“I’m sorry sweetie.” Lucille took your hand and squeezed it tightly. “He doesn’t deserve you.”

“Yeah…maybe, I don’t know.”

She squeezed it again. “Tonight’s the night Damian invited us all down to the bar to hang out, I know we said no but…might as well get free drinks out of a guy who will never get the hint. Free booze, boost of ego. You’re young, you’re hot.”

“I see what you’re doing.” You smiled down at her. “But it’s raining and I’m not in the mood to get soaking wet just from walking from the house to the car then the car to the bar….”

“Pleaseeeee.”

Just as you were about to answer, a pair of headlights turned onto your driveway.

You’d know those stupid fucking headlights anywhere.

“Who do we know that drives a black suburban?”

Lucille shrugged. “I don’t think we know anyone who has one in town, why? Is that what the car is?”

You nodded, your stomach dropping.

“Luce. Hide the weed.”

“Why, it's not Tom and you know he’s over here every—-“

“Now. Luce.”

She furrowed her brows as the headlights stopped in front of the house. She quickly grabbed everything and went into the house.

You stood on the porch, in your pajamas pants, and a sweatshirt, hands in the front porch.

The car turned off and you watched as three figures got out of the car and walked up to the porch, freezing as they looked at you, the rain pouring down on them.

“Why are you here Hotch?”

The man was frozen,and he looked over at Emily, who was just as baffled to see you.

“Y/n?”

“Why are you here?” You asked again.

“Why are you here?”

“This is my home Em.” You stepped back a couple of steps and gestured for them to come up onto the porch so they don’t have to stand in the rain anymore.

Spencer was silent the whole time, not taking his eyes off of you.

The three of them moved up the porch and went towards the door, but you blocked them.

“You need a warrant if you want to enter my house, Hotch. What are you doing here.”

“We need to speak to Lucille Walkner.”

“Why.”

Emily raised her eyebrows, and crossed her arms. She was used to how stubborn you were, but being on the receiving end of it was something she was not a fan of.

“It’s in regards to the string of murders y/n.”

You raised your eyebrows. “I can guarantee you that I have been with Lucille every moment of every day for the past two weeks.”

“We’re not accusing her, we’re just asking—“

You cut Emily off. “Asking her questions. Yeah. I know how this goes. In case you forgot or something. It hasn’t been that long. Why do you need to speak to her.”

“Because she was the last person seen with the most recent victim.”

You looked at Spencer for the first time since he got here. “So was I. But somehow you failed to mention that as well. You’re losing your grip, Doctor.”

The group had never heard your voice so flat, so strict, so full of disdain. It was easy for you to treat him like he was the villain. He felt like one. He was one.

“Y/n.”

You broke your staring contest with Spencer and looked over at Hotch. “Get a warrant and come back tomorrow.”

And with that you walked into your house and locked the door behind you. Feeling a bit more bitter than usual, you turned off the porch light too.

They all stood out there. Dumbfounded.

And I love Vermont, but it's the season of the sticks And I saw your mom, she forgot that I existed And it's half my fault, but I just like to play the victim I'll drink alcohol 'til my friends come home for Christmas And I'll dream each night of some version of you That I might not have, but I did not lose Now your tire tracks and one pair of shoes And I'm split in half, but that'll have to do

When the BAU showed up at your door with the proper paperwork the next morning, both you and your roommate were at work, twenty minutes away.

Your sense of humor still intact since you managed to leave a sticky note for them:

At work. home by 4.

But that didn’t stop the caped crusaders of the BAU.

When they showed up at the school to interview you and your roommate, Lucille went first, recounting the night all three of you went out to one of three bars in the town, and then when you offered to drive her home, she insisted on calling her own roommate. When you watched her get into her roommate's car, the both of you went home.

When you recounted the same exact story, you both were released for the day.

“Heard you were a pain in the ass yesterday.”

You stopped in the hallway and turned around, facing Derek Morgan. “What do you want, Agent.”

“Woah woah what’s with the formalities.”

You rolled your eyes. “Derek. I’m really not in the mood. I fit the victimology of the asshole on a murder spree, and the team acted like I didn’t fucking know that. I’ve also realized you haven’t connected the fact that all of them are dating or sleeping with the police force.”

“All? We only knew two of the five—“

“Because half of them don’t want to admit that they’re cheating on their wives, and the other half don’t want to admit they’re dating anyone regardless of marital status. Not a single one of the victims were married.”

Derek just stared at you. “Touchy subject?”

You closed your eyes. “I still have a gun license Derek. Don’t make me use it.”

“Too soon?”

“Yeah Derek. Too soon.” You sighed as he pulled you into a hug.

“We miss you y’a know. It’s not the same.”

“I’m sure.” You squeezed him tightly.

“And I’m serious. We haven’t found anyone nearly as good as you have been.” He whispered, kissing your head. “Your desk is still empty. Hotch won’t let anyone sit there. I think he’s hoping you’d come back. I think we all are.”

“I can’t even look at him and it’s been two years” you whispered trying not to cry.

“I know.” He just squeezed you. “I know.”

“God I just….”

Derek pulled you into an empty classroom the second he felt your body tense up. There was one thing you hated more than crying, and it was crying in public. Once the door to the classroom was closed, he pulled you back into the hug, letting your tears pour down his shoulder.

“God I thought I’d never have to see you people again.”

Derek chuckled. “Clearly you didn’t read your contract. It’s required that you’re supposed to see me at least seven times a year and if you don’t, I hunt you down.”

You laughed through your tears and sat down on one of the desks. “You wish.”

“I do.”

“Be serious Derek.”

“I am.”

You sighed and looked up at him. “Well. Now you know where I am so. Come and visit me I guess.”

“Oh I plan on it gorgeous.”

You used the sleeve of your sweater to wipe away some of the tears still clinging to your cheeks.

“He misses you too.”

“Derek….”

He knew it ws dangerous territory, but he had to let you know—He needed you to know how it was affecting everyone, even though it’s been two years. “He does.”

“Why would you tell me that Derek.”

“You have to–

“Have to what Derek. I don’t wan—that’s a lie. What I would fucking give to be back in DC; back at the FBI. But I can’t do it Derek. I can’t go back.”

“But–”

“No.” You backed away from him, out of his arms. “I’m not going back.”

“Please.” Derek watched as your back straightened and your eyes hardened. You didn’t want to talk about it anymore. You were just starting to move on. Fuck. He watched as you closed yourself off again.

“Do you need anything else agent or can I go.”

“Y/n…”

“Then goodbye Agent Morgan.”

So I thought that if I piled something good on all my bad That I could cancel out the darkness I inherited from dad No, I am no longer funny 'cause I miss the way you laugh You once called me forever now you still can't call me back

Unexpectedly, but expectedly, the killer was caught. He was some sort of religious nut who had decided that “immoral sinners” be put in your place.

That was something you did not miss: the misogynistic murderers.

But the BAU was getting ready to leave. You were grateful that they had come and protected the community you had grown so close to, but the thought of them knowing where you were made you nervous.

You knew Penelope most likely tracked you from time to time, and you weren’t trying to live completely off the grid/untraceable. But seeing them in person, watching them run around your town, was nerve-wracking.

Seeing Spencer fucked you up the most though.

He looked okay; or better than you at least. He was completely and utterly okay, and it bugged the shit out of you. How could he be okay, how could he move on and be happy without you, while you are stuck still trying to locate the remaining pieces of your shattered heart.

To Spencer, you were a wonderful experience. But to you, Spencer was everything.

The BAU had left, no goodbyes were in order since you had fulfilled your goal of attempting to burn every bridge you had. It was painful, but you just couldn't help it. They reminded you of Spencer. Everything reminded you of Spencer.

Lucille watched as you slowly transformed back into that lost person from two years ago. Your smile never reached your eyes. You drank just enough to be concerning, but not enough to continuously push the boundaries of alcoholism. Your face was pale. You never laughed or cracked jokes any more.

All you could do was think of Spencer. Waking up next to him, his arms around your waist. The smell of his apartment, the rides to work, the glances from your desk to his desk. It was all just too painful.

There were moments where you would pick up your phone and sometimes it felt like the world was against you. Derek posted a picture from some sort of day off, and suddenly you didn’t follow him anymore. Or, if you opened NPR, Doctor Spencer Reid was the headliner in a speaker series at Georgetown in blah blah blah. So you stopped listening to the radio.

Every since he stepped out of the car in your drive you, you’ve wanted to call him. You’ve wanted to hear him speak to you like he did, to love you like he did. You wanted to call him and hear him apologize and tell you everything was going to be okay and this was all just a big misunderstanding and you were his forever.

But you had a feeling that if you called, he wouldn’t pick up.

Oh, that'll have to do My other half was you I hope this pain's just passin' through But I doubt it

One Year Later…

Time flies. Leaves change. Life moves on.

But suddenly it's back to October and you find yourself in a new town, somewhere completely different. Another fresh start. Maybe this one will stick.

But then you get a call.

And it’s from Erin Strauss, offering you your job back, and your hesitation gave her all of the information she wanted to hear. You had three days to make a decision.

Do you continue to run from place to place, hoping and praying that maybe someday you’d be able to feel like you deserved to be loved again. Hoping that someday someone might actually want to stay. They might want you to stay.

Do you stay in this new town, and get attached to the people, making new friends, reminding you of the old ones, and hoping that it will be enough to fill the holes in your skin.

Do you continue to teach. Do you continue to shape minds even though it’s not something you had ever dreamed of doing. Especially when it feels like you’re trying to force your body into loving something it doesn’t.

Do you go back to the FBI–the BAU.

Do you ignite the flame in your chest and let yourself enjoy the chase. LEt yourself be happy with your job and treasure every moment you get to catch the bad guy.

Do you accept the job and move back to the desk you belong at, surrounded by your friends. Once again in a building you call home, letting your guard down for the first time in three years.

Do you let your guard down and talk to Spencer and watch yourself undo all of the progress you had made. Watch as your resolve crumbles and your heart aches and you can;t even breathe around him because it hurts to see him.

Do you give up and follow him around like some lost puppy and beg for him to take you back so maybe you’ll be able to melt your waxen heart and be happy again.

You don’t take the job. You never hear from Erin Strauss again.

Sometimes in your sleep, you can see what your wedding would have looked like. The venue, the florals, your outfits and shoes. Your closest friends and family by your side as you commit your soul to be bound to his.

But every time you get to the I Do’s, Spencer says yes.

It hurts because you never even made it that far.

You didn’t even get an engagement ring.

All you got were pitiful looks and sympathetic glances while Spencer rambled on about how much he didn’t understand marriage or want children–not that you did, but you would have liked for it to have been a discussion between the two of you.

You would have liked a lot of things.

Sometimes, in your dreams, Spencer proposes.

It never leaves your mind, watching as he publicly declares his love for you. Apparently, that was too much to ask for.

And I'm split in half, but that'll have to do Have to do

The pain of waiting to be loved feels like you’ve but split down the middle, letting yourself melt apart. The skin, no matter how hard you try, can never be stitched back together, and even if you manage to get some back, it scars over, reminding you for the rest of your life how unloveable you feel.

Maybe you’ll get lucky and someday you can learn to live with never being truly whole again.

Since Spencer owns half of you, and you will never be whole without him.

Part 2

#spencer reid fanfiction #spencer reid x fem!reader #spencer reid x y/n #spencer reid x you #spencer reid imagine #spencer reid x reader #x reader #spencer reid fanfic #spencer reid angst #spencer reid x reader fluff #dr spencer reid x reader #spencer reid x reader angst #Spencer reid angst #spencer reid oneshot #spencer reid x self insert

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unluckyhoneybee · 3 months

Text

A big brain (Auston Matthews)

A reunion with your colleagues makes Auston doubt himself. Auston M. x Phd!Reader.

Note: I was thinking of making a few blurbs about this if anyone has requests, but life is busy right now so I can't promise anything (not many long pieces)

There was something on his eyes that you couldn't identify. Auston was looking around the room, watching people and smiling politely when he had too. But he had barely spoken. You were trapped in a conversation, it seemed to be too important although you couldn't concentrate well.

"YN, what are your expectations now?"

"Hmm" You looked at Arthur, your project director.

"Now that we have received the funds"

You smiled and nodded. "Well, I'm waiting for the permits and hoping to start the field work as soon as possible"

"They are on the way" Arthur smiled at you.

"Really?"

"I talked to them a couple of days ago"

Auston saw you from afar. In second, your eyes lit up. Suddenly, you were smiling so brightly it was contagious. But it only made him want to sink on the seat.

"Really?"

Arthur nodded. "You are starting next week, YN"

You gasped and covered your face. Instantly, your eyes looked for him and Auston felt his chest warmer. The good news were obvious. He wanted to be there by your side and hold your hand. But for some reason, he saw you thank the paople around you and scape.

Your heels echoed through the chatter when you walked to him. There were tears in your eyes. Happy tears.

"Auston"

He caught you right when you hugged him, slightly stumbling on your shoes. With his arms around you and his hand flat between your shoulder blades, plus all the joy in your veins, you squeaked and squeezed him.

Auston chuckled a bit and looked around, cheeking to see how people had reacted. A couple of your mates had warm smiles, a few others looked with judging eyes. Only Auston's glare was needed for them to look away. If his girl was happy, no one would have a word on it.

"Aus" You moved back and cupped his face. "We have the funds. I'm starting next week"

Auston's eyes opened like plates and his heart rate picked up. The joy on his eyes was so visible that you could only kiss him. It was heartwarming to see the person you love celebrate your wins.

"Oh, YN" He hugged you tight and tucked your face on his neck. "I'm so proud of you, you fought so much for this" He kissed your temple and caressed your hair.

The rest of the night was bliss. Auston had stayed by your side, his hand always carefully placed on your hip and a polite smile on his lips when your mates talked to him. For everyone, he was the proud boyfriend, for you, Auston was faking. But not his happiness or pride for you. You could see how genuine his feelings were when he looked at you.

You saw his tie fall to the floor and him walking into the bathroom without even noticing. With a sigh, you picked it up and moved it between your fingers. What was going on? Was it the team? Was it a new injury he hadn't told you about? Were there problems back at home in Arizona?

You took your shoes off and knocked at the door. It was half open and you could see his reflection in the mirror, but you wanted to give him space. He was washing his face and his shirt was gone.

"Come in" He said while drying his face.

You walked in and closed the door behind you. "Hi, babe"

"Hi" He left the towel aside and leaned on the counter. Auston knew what was coming. Your concerned glances hadn't gone unadverted.

You took a deep breath and hugged him from behind. He always loved it when you did that, your body was way smaller and you were kind of hidden behind his reflection. Only your arms around his waist showed on the mirror. You kissed the dagger between his shoulder blades and your hand traveled up to his chest, right above his heart. It was beating fast and his skin was warm.

"What's wrong?" You whispered and laid your head on his shoulder, eyes closed and all.

Auston took a deep breath. He had fucked up your night. The dinner with your co-workers, mentors, the project´s directors, ...

"Aus..." You kissed his shoulder and gently nuzzled your nose on his neck. There were no further intentions, just loving comfort.

One of his hands covered yours for a few seconds before bringing it to his lips.

"I love you" He muttered on your skin.

Your stomach twisted and you lifted your head trying to get a look of his expression. Dead serious.

"What happened?" You wanted to retrieve your hand from his. You trusted him like mad, there wasn't a single person who held it like him. He had you on his hands.

"Nothing. Nothing happened" He said, his voice cracking halfway.

Finally, you moved back. His warm skin was suddenly burning you. "You are scaring me"

Auston lowered his head and cleared his throat. Oh how scared he was of saying his!

"You should be with someone else"

For a while, everything stopped. Your hands were shaking and your mind moving too fast. Meanwhile, Auston was still, not moving and barely breathing. He couldn't get himself to look at you.

"Why do you say that?"

Auston gripped the marble hard, his knuckles even turned white.

"Because... Because who am I? Have you seen the people around you?"

You blinked confused and walked to him. A gentle hand was enough for him to give you space. You found your space between his body and the counter and laid your hands on his chest.

"What do you mean, Auston? Why are you saying this?" This wasn't common for him. He was Auston Matthews, he was laid back and confident, he was one of the best.

"You are a genius" His hand came to cradle your face and by pure instinct, you leaned into his touch. "You are so intelligent, you are getting so many things right. You got the whole group funds for a project" Auston breathed deeply. "I'm just a hockey player, babe. You could have someone like you, with a PhD, your same interests, someone you can talk to about your research. I don't have a big brain like yours, baby" His voice was weak and his eyes sad. It truly broke your heart.

"I don't need or want any of that" You whispered. "I need you so much" You sat on the counter and brought him closer. "I need my hockey player" You pecked his lips and hugged him. "If it wasn't for you, I would have gone crazy, Auston. I need you in my life, you bring so much light and happiness to it. I don't want a researcher or someone like me, I want you"

His hands fisted your dress, now without fear of ruining your outfit. He wasn't sure where this insecurity was coming from, but he hated the feeling. It was a different kind of vulnerability.

"And... Don't even dare to say you are not intelligent, Matthews" You said pulling back a bit. "Because this big brain of yours can make amazing things on the ice. You are not less intelligent than me" You pecked his lips again.

He didn't seem super sure of it.

"Okay?" You kissed his nose.

"It's just... You talk with them and I can barely understand what you say..."

You rolled your eyes with a chuckle. "I still don't know what a power play is about"

He smiled and after a couple of seconds laughed. "I like you how you are, I wouldn't change you for anyone"

"No matter how many Nobel prizes they have?"

"Not when my boyfriend is one of the best hockey players in the league"

Auston brought you closer, completely stepping into your space and wrapping you in a tight hug. "I don't know what got in me" HE muttered on your hair.

"It's alright, we all have our moments" You said and tucked yourself on his neck. "Just talk to me, I don't like when you pout and look like a lost puppy"

Auston kissed your temple. "I love you"

"I love you too, Aus. So much."

#auston matthews x reader #am #fluff #but angsty #fic

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decamarks · 2 years

Text

EVERYONE SAY HI TO MY GOOFY OC. her name is professor tuckamore and she's the worst ever.

After a trip to Cinnabar Island, Tuckamore's course of life was changed forever. She saw something on the coastline that shouldn't have been there—something that shouldn't have existed at all. After finding no plausible explanation for what it could've been, she took to Pokemon research herself, forever searching after that forbidden variable.

Basically, Tuckamore researches (or TRIES to research) the in-universe equivalent of glitches, glitch Pokemon, and random number generation. The effectiveness of her methods tend to vary wildly and mostly involve doing stuff that makes absolutely no sense to anyone. When they inexplicably end up working, no one really knows to make of it. Her team includes a Porygon-Z, two Chatot, and a Bad EGG. more fun facts about her beneath the cut...

Lives in Sinnoh

Unknown where she got her PhD from, or if she has one at all

Has a Porygon-Z because duh, and 2 Chatot because of Gen 4/5 RNG Chatter manipulation. All her Pokemon are Normal-type birds. BIRD/NORMAL. MISSINGNO JOKE

Her Bad EGG just showed up one day. She has no idea what it is or what to do with it, but she's afraid of angering it.

Tuckamore cracked the code of her reality's random number generation. The discovery that everything is predetermined and can be both predicted and influenced by seemingly nonsensical actions permanently altered her outlook on life, and she sought to use this knowledge for the greater good. Unfortunately, no one believes her, because flipping a coin on a Poketch app for an hour straight to somehow change the course of reality sounds completely stupid.

Has seen the Mystery Zone. Didn't come back the same.

Once rode a bicycle at record-breaking speeds in the middle of Jubilife City. There WERE injuries involved. For some reason, explaining to the authorities that she was "tweaking" did not help her case.

Refuses to return to Kanto—says she's afraid of "breaking reality"

Her Chatot try to sit on the Bad EGG to warm it up. She has to chase them away with a broom because god knows what would happen if that thing hatched.

Her Chatot's Chatter sounds exactly like when you blow into the broken microphone of an old DS. It's just this horrible screech.

#pokemon #porygon-z #my art #there's a lot you can do with the idea that glitches actually exist in the games they appear in #and tuckamore is the stupidest thing to do with that idea. so she's great #p.s. i wasn't trying to give her gaster eyes i swear to god. that just happened and i didn't realize it until i was done with the model #3D art

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sushiwriterhere · 11 months

Text

one: description & objectives

flight path

summary: "It’s then that it occurs to you that he might be doing a sort of calculus that means that even though you might win this battle, you’re going to lose the war." rating: teen+ (eventually explicit, 18+ mdni) pairing: jake 'hangman' seresin x f!reader word count: ~3.3k warnings: enemies to lovers!, college au!, eventual smut, hangman being hangman, no use of y/n. notes: dedicated to @waklman this ones for u bestie. i have the rest of the fic planned, just gotta write :) pls pls pls let me know what you think! masterlist here tagging: @roosterbruiser @gretagerwigsmuse @joaquinwhorres @sometimesanalice @seresinsweetie @bobfloyds @theharddeck @sebsxphia @jupitercomet @dempy @gigisimsonmars @sunsetsimpsblog @shanimallina87 @djs8891

“Your project partners are as listed in the PowerPoint, please do not come crying to me about who you’ve been selected to work with, I will not be changing it. Your project ideas are due two weeks from today.” You can feel the dread filling your body as you scan the list of names on the slide in front of you.

The further along you get, the sicker you feel. Each person you know who could at least be somewhat trusted to pull their weight, is partnered. Anyone who’s even slightly normal, is also partnered. And not with you.

The room fills with chatter as people stand to leave class and seek out their project partners, but all you can do is sit and stare at the name next to yours. Lifting your head to scan the lecture hall, you watch in abject horror as Jake Seresin, toothpick ever present between his perfect teeth, lifts a hand ever so slightly and wiggles his fingers at you.

You turn to the TA who always sits next to you, and put on your most flattering smile in hopes of a miracle, “Grace, I know Professor Simmons just said we couldn’t, but is there any chance—”

She laughs lightly, cutting you off, “Sorry kid, nothing we can do. Strict orders. But it shouldn’t be so bad, Jake’s second in the class y’know. I’m sure you two will come out on top.”

Gritting your teeth together, you barely manage to keep yourself from explaining to her that that’s precisely the problem.

You and Jake had met in freshman year intro to mechanical engineering—ENGR-M 101 to be exact. It was a larger lecture hall, but you’d ended up sitting next to the boy and his group of frat brothers. They were joking around, calling each other ridiculous nicknames, and you hoped you’d be able to avoid them throughout the rest of your time.

You were an unassuming kid when you started college, far away from friends and family, and really only focused on becoming the top of your class so you could get into the best PhD programs possible. If MIT and Stanford weren’t an option for undergrad, they’d certainly take you with a perfect GPA and stellar recommendations. Becoming the best aerospace engineer, the best engineer overall, in your class wasn’t just a goal, it was your destiny. You realized that focusing so hard on academics really meant that, well, social life would be lacking. But besides, the STEM dudes were usually an odd bunch—you briefly considered joining some sort of campus club before the options overwhelmed you and you decided to try and volunteer in a research lab. It could be turned into a paid position. And, grad students could be your friends.

But in that moment, you met your nemesis. Really, it felt childish to say it like that, but Jake Seresin seemed to derive a special sense of pleasure from tormenting you.

He’d introduced himself on that bright August morning with a winning smile, an extended hand, and a gentle Texan twang, “Jake Seresin. Nice to meet ‘ya.”

You shook his hand firmly, remembering the importance of men taking you seriously, and responded with your name.

His response made clear exactly what his personality was, “Think you’ll survive the weed out? I’ve heard this professor’s a real hard ass, and I’m planning to be top of our class.”

“He’s perfectly reasonable in the lab; and I’m sure he will be here too.” You had sniffed, not exactly trying to sound haughty but not trying to be subtle about the fact that you’d already gotten a head start on the resume work already.

The smile that spread across his lips was poisonous, as if he’d figured you out just in that instance, “I see my competition has my work cut out for me.”

And with that, he turned back to his friends, ignoring the way your face seemed to warm a thousand degrees. You weren’t his competition, you were sure you were leagues ahead of him. The stereotypes about hot-headed, ignorant, frat boys traveled, and you weren’t a fool.

That light tension in your initial interaction had, frankly, spiraled into something drastically out of proportion and lightly legendary. Every class you had with him, you fought for who was going to set the curve, whose in-class answers were better. And at some point, the details of the first interaction faded and were replaced simply by how he had made you feel: like a bug under a microscope, but also like he was pulling your pigtails and taunting you.

So that was the beginning of a long saga in which you now find yourself facing the cruel reality of an entire semester where your grade depends on the very person whose entire life mission seems to be to take you down a peg. Which, frankly, you consider to be ironic because if there is anyone with an ego the size of the planet, that is Jake.

You keep your eyes trained to the front of the room as you shut your laptop and slowly begin packing up. You can’t really afford to avoid him, because this professor’s whole schtick is ensuring that all engineering students aren't terrified of social interaction. Hence, a semester-long project of ‘intimate’ work with a peer.

It would be fine, except Jake isn’t moving either. He continues to sit and chat with his friends (somehow also engineering majors and frat bros?) while occasionally glancing up at you to see if you’ve moved. His smirk never wavers.

You steel your nerves, and decide that this won’t be the time he gets to you. You have to work with him? Fine. But you’ll take the lead, make sure it’s on your terms. No military themed projects, that’s for sure.

“Well look who it is, part two of the dream team.” Jake’s voice carries through the emptying lecture hall and you distantly hear some snickers, but his face remains almost impassive.

You can read the mocking undertone, you aren’t stupid. So you stand slightly awkwardly off to the side as his friends disperse slowly around the two of you. The only friend of his that you know by name, much less respect, Bradley Bradshaw, sends him a warning look and says hi softly as he passes you. Despite the fact that Jake’s standing in a lower row, he’s still slightly taller than you when he stands to his full height, backpack over one shoulder.

“Jake.” You grit out, trying to mask your displeasure. You’re sure it isn’t working.

“Sweets, it is a joy to see you.” His easygoing smile does nothing to make you feel at ease, in fact, you think it might be giving you high blood pressure.

“I will choose to ignore the fact that you seem to not know my name, and ask that we meet as soon as possible to start on this.” You cross your arms and turn around to start up the stairs, and you hear him hit himself on a desk in his rush to catch up to you. Serves him right.

He seems only slightly deterred by the fact that he just did the adult equivalent of smacking your shin with a scooter, and he keeps his stride even with yours. It’s your luck that you two actually have your next class together as well, something about senior requirements.

“You’re being unusually nice to me. Scared that your grade’s on the line?” He teases, only slightly distracted by his phone which he’s typing furiously into.

You round on him, and he grinds to a halt while you brandish your metal water bottle at him, “I take my grades very seriously, Jake Seresin, and I will not have you goofing around and sabotaging us just because you find glee in my suffering.”

Very cautiously, like he’s actually afraid you might hit him, he grabs the bottom of your water bottle and lowers it so it isn’t at his eye level. Then, he has the audacity to salute you. Not a corny one, but one that looks like he’s spent hours practicing it in the mirror when he’s doing his military nonsense. At the very least, he doesn’t snap his feet together, so he manages to save himself from looking like the world’s biggest dork.

“I pinky promise that I will not sabotage our project because I find it funny. I do also care about my grades y'know.” You exhale just slightly, and you turn back around to start walking again.

“Good to know you at least take something seriously,” You mutter under your breath, recalling all the times he’s breezed into lecture rooms right as the second hand indicates it’s the start of class.

He manages to catch your muttering, despite your best efforts, “I’m basically first in every engineering class we have, you cannot actually be questioning my academic prowess.”

Something curls in your chest, as you snap back, “Basically first?”

His laugh carries as you two finally exit the building and march through the quad. You can feel everyone’s eyes on you. It isn’t an exaggeration to say that despite the size of your university, people know about your rivalry.

When you get to your next lecture, Jake plops himself down right next to you, trapping you in the aisle unless you take the long way out. You bristle at the proximity and glare at him, trying to mentally will him into leaving you alone. He seems not to get the message as he fully unpacks and manages to irk you even further by using the shared arm rest.

You almost completely lose your mind when you finally decide to change seats despite the one next to Jake being your unofficial-official seat, and your professor chooses that exact moment to start class.

Ignoring Jake through the lecture isn’t actually the hardest thing in the world. He wasn’t lying when he said that he took classes seriously–you notice that he takes diligent notes, keeps his online shopping and texting to minimum (that’s nothing to say for his frat brothers who seem to be intent on keeping their groupchat on fire), and doesn’t bother you. He keeps his elbow on the arm rest between you two, though.

When there’s only a few minutes left and the professor notices that he’s losing everyone, you feel a poke. You ignore it and grit your teeth as you attempt to maintain your composure. Jake pokes you again.

It takes all of your mental strength not to straight up just yell at him in the middle of a lecture hall, and you turn your head slowly to make eye contact with him. He’s wearing a shit-eating grin and it makes you even more annoyed.

“Can I help you?” You whisper quietly, “I’m trying to focus here.”

Jake just keeps smiling and responds, “Library after this? We can have lunch.”

Then he has the audacity to wiggle his eyebrows in a way that makes you raise yours at him. He seriously bothered you for this? The same man who insisted he would take the project seriously is trying to distract you from paying attention in one of your most difficult lectures.

In an instant, you remember that pissing him off completely probably isn’t the brightest idea, and even though you can already tell you’re going to spend most of this semester completely and constantly ticked off with him, you know you’re capable and you don’t want to have him drag you down completely. So, instead, you nod somberly at him, and turn back to the front.

He seems surprised by your reaction but doesn’t push it, thankfully.

Once the professor dismisses everyone, Jake once again takes his time putting everything on his desk away and finally standing to leave. You think you could’ve done a hundred physics problems before you two are leaving the lecture hall. Nearly everyone else has already left, and you just find that to be another reason to be irritated with him. This semester is going to be a million years long.

“Oh please, Jake, spare me the hyper nationalist histrionics.” You think this might be the fourth time you’ve rolled your eyes in the last two minutes as you and Jake argue about your project topic.

The two of you have claimed a table in the far corner of the second floor and spread textbooks, notebooks, and various supplies over it. Thankfully, there aren’t that many witnesses to the absolute hurricane of materials and the arguing that’s been varying in pitch for the countless minutes since you got here. You’re considering strangling him.

(Yes, you had argued about where to sit. You insisted on a study room on the fourth floor where it was quiet and you usually studied. Jake had won out only because of the fact that the fourth floor was a silent floor and “we’re probably going to yell at each other and I really don’t feel like getting on the librarians’ bad sides this early into the semester.” Five minutes after he said that, you’d raised your voice loud enough to make several people turn their heads– “Urban sustainability shows our versatility as engineers, asshole!”)

You only have two weeks to decide, and even that’s a stretch. These deadlines are fake in your mind–topic should be decided within three days to ensure maximum time for research, analysis, and polishing of the final product. You’d perfected your timeline second semester of freshman year and you were not about to deviate because Jake couldn’t understand that not everyone had their head so far up the Navy’s ass all they could see was its intestines.

So far, the only ‘work’ you and Jake have managed to get done is to argue about the ethics of the military industrial complex as well as, in his words, why you are not in fact a hippie just because you don’t approve of a bloated military budget. (“How much does one pilot’s helmet cost?”) Lunch is abandoned in front of you, a few containers of the sort-of-decent cafeteria food from the basement.

Jake seems determined to ensure the two of you spend the next sixteen weeks turning yourselves into cadets, or whatever the hell they’re called, and you could not care less. In fact, you absolutely cannot care less because you are not going to do research on the military and a deep dive into urban sustainability projects is the only option. Navy or Army or whoever be damned. You’ve already told him as much at least three times.

“You just said the word histrionics. Who even says that.”

At the very least, you can take comfort in the fact that he looks just as annoyed as you probably do. His usually unshakeable, smiley demeanor is gone, replaced by a look on his face that says he’s probably regretting being so cheerful about calling the two of you a “dream team”. He leans back in his chair so he’s only on the back two legs and you bite your tongue at the urge to chastise him for the extremely juvenile behavior. Someone’s mother clearly never terrified them at age five about putting their head through the windows behind the kitchen table.

“I say that, Jake, because I’m an adult with an adult vocabulary. And as an adult, as the adult, I’m deciding that we’re not doing some stupid shit about the Navy.” He narrows his eyes at you and you can see the gears turning.

“Okay, well, I’m also an adult and I don’t say histrionics.” It’s a weak comeback and you both know it, but he seems more preoccupied by whatever plan he seems to be thinking through.

It’s then that it occurs to you that he might be doing a sort of calculus that means that even though you might win this battle, you’re going to lose the war. You open your mouth to start arguing again, but this time about the project topic, when he holds up a palm to stop you. Now you’re not just considering throttling him, but wondering how aggravated assault can be explained away on graduate school applications.

“Okay, how about we compromise. We can do our project on fuel efficiency of a few types of Navy aircraft. That way I get to do the military and we can talk about the environment. It’s not exactly urban planning but,” He waves his hand around, gesturing wildly, “It’s some sort of planning.”

For a moment, you think he actually might be trying to compromise. But instead, you narrow your eyes. Jake Seresin isn’t nice, least of all to you. And he certainly doesn’t believe in compromises.

You stand firm, “I am not doing any project that involves the Navy. Or the Army.”

“National Guard?”

You almost leap across the table at the laughter that shakes his entire body. Instead, you sit and you seethe, considering how much clout you have in the department to get someone to convince your professor to let you switch partners. Or help you get away with murder.

Once he stops laughing, he settles easily back into his chair and then folds his hands together so he can rest his chin on them, a serious expression coming over his face, “How about a deal, sweets?”

Sirens immediately start going off in your head. Bad, bad, bad. You are not making a deal with the devil. But, some part of you is curious, what will he ask from you to let you take the lead on this?

“Go on.” You narrow your eyes at him, and gesture for him to continue.

“You have to come to at least five parties this semester at my invite, and stay for at least three hours, I’ll know if you don’t, and we will do the project the way you want it. I ask for three thousand words to talk about the military, give or take.” The twinkle in his eyes is mischievous in the worst way and it sets you on edge.

“What’s the catch?”

“What do you mean what’s the catch? An offer’s an offer, sweets.” He holds a hand out for you to shake but you shake your head at him.

“I wanna negotiate.” Jake raises an eyebrow at you (does he do his eyebrows?), but gestures for you to continue anyways, “I will come to exactly four of your stupid parties, and stay for two hours, no more. We do the project my way and you get two thousand words.”

You can tell he wants to say yes when he sits up in his chair, but then you realize that he’s getting too good of a deal so you cut him off, “Actually, no military or flight deviations. I hate parties.” You wrinkle your nose in displeasure.

“Zero is a hell of a lot smaller than three thousand, sweets.” A crooked grin spreads over Jake’s face and you make a mocking face at him. “And I know, but it’ll be good for you. Socializing with normal humans is good for the soul.”

“Okay well, our page limit is thirty, and that’s 7,500 words double spaced. Not including diagrams and footnotes, so I don’t want you eating up all my research space with military crap,” Jake scoffs when you say “my” but holds out his hand anyway.

“Fine. Four parties, two hours, project your way, one thousand words?” He wiggles the fingers of his outstretched hand like he had earlier in the day and you stare at it for a moment before deciding, what the hell.

Shaking Jake’s hand makes you realize that’s the first time you’ve ever touched him.

#jake seresin x you #jake hangman seresin x reader #jake seresin fic #jake seresin #jake seresin x reader #top gun: maverick fanfic #top gun: maverick fanfiction #top gun: maverick fic #top gun: maverick #jake 'hangman' seresin #hangman x you #hangman x reader #no use of y/n #flight path universe

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ptersparkers · 1 year

Text

scenes from a diner (three)

summary: a small diner off of a freeway exit becomes a sacred meeting place for you and aaron hotchner.

notes: at this point, this lil series is just me living in my own head. some of you asked to be tagged so i hope you enjoy! x

warnings: typical criminal minds violence and typos, probably.

series masterlist

***

“No way,” comes Betty’s voice from the other end of the line.

You’re sitting in your office on campus, waiting for your next meeting with a student. Betty’s also a PhD candidate (albeit in a different department), but she’s not on campus today. It’s one in the afternoon and you know she gets off of her shift in an hour. It mustn't be busy if she’s able to hold a conversation with you. If there’s one thing you hate about Betty, it’s that she doesn’t have any classes on Friday.

“Yes way,” you reply, putting your head between your hands.

While you didn’t end up dreaming of Aaron when you fell asleep, he was your first thought when you woke up and you were sure you were going crazy. You remembered the way he looked in his button up, the way he loosened his tie, and the way he walked you to your car when the night ended. You could see him through your rearview mirror as you drove out of the parking lot and it took everything inside of you to keep driving.

“He’s such a gentleman,” Betty says through the phone. She sighs for dramatic effect and you can hear faint chatter and the bar music in the background. “God, your life is literally a Nicholas Sparks book.”

“Hey, I’m not complaining. I’m seeing him again today.”

“Shut up,” Betty squeals. “Like, are you guys going on a date?”

“We’re meeting back at the diner,” you explain. “We haven’t even exchanged phone numbers, Betty. I don’t think we know each other well enough to go on a date.”

“That’s what dates are for,” she emphasizes. “To get to know each other. You know, like dating.”

It’s easy to lose yourself in your daydreams, particularly when Aaron’s involved. This is all so new to you; the idea of a perfect gentleman entering your life seemed like it would happen to anyone but you. Your ideas of romance from your childhood bring themselves to the forefront of your memory and you find your mind wondering about what could be.

Even with Betty’s encouraging comments and Aaron seemingly interested in you, you’re a bit shocked that this seemingly fairytale-like chance encounter happened to you. You’ve never felt quite in your own skin when it comes to relationships and have had your fair share of moments where you’ve quietly stepped off to the side because people have approached your friends. The awkward high school days of watching your friends experience their first dates, kisses, and romances have never been lost on you. People chalked it up to being a late bloomer, but a small voice in the back of your head told you otherwise. Aaron wanting to spend time with you just as much as you wanted to spend time with him is a strange feeling, but it’s not unwelcomed.

You hum. “I guess. But it was really late and we were both tired. At least one of us said something.”

“I will beat your ass if you don’t get his number this time,” Betty says. “I’m serious, Y/N. This could very well be the start of something great. Magical, even.”

Oh, Betty. She’s a romantic.

“We’ll see,” is all you offer. “Sometimes I feel so awkward around him. Did I mention that he works for the Behavioral Analysis Unit?”

“No way! Isn’t that what you’re studying for?”

“Close,” you chide. “I don’t think I want to work for the FBI but they use a lot of analytical tools that I’m writing about for my dissertation.”

“If that isn’t reason enough to jump his bones, then I don’t know what is,” Betty replies. “It’s like the universe pushed you two together for a reason. He catches bad guys and you can pick his brain.”

“I don’t know about that. We spent most of last night working anyway.”

“At the same table,” Betty points out.

“We somewhat got to know each other. He told me he's from Seattle and moved to D.C. to escape the rain.”

“I don’t blame him,” Betty says. From the way she tuts, you can tell she’s grimacing on the other end. Betty’s not a fan of heavy downpour.

“He asked about my family,” you say quietly.

“Oh, I’m so sorry.”

“It’s okay,” you reply with a shrug. “I mean, he didn’t know.”

“Yeah, but after years of hearing you talk about people asking you about your family out of the blue, I can imagine it gets hard.”

“You’re not wrong.”

You hear a knock at the door and see your next appointment pop their head in and you motion for them to come inside.

“I’ll call you later,” you say, hanging up the phone when she makes a point to tease you about Aaron once more.

You push your feelings aside for now.

***

By the time it’s three o’clock, you’re walking into the diner. It’s a bit more packed than usual for a Friday afternoon, but you pay for a cup of coffee (Jade, your least favorite former coworker, is working the register and she makes you pay for all of the coffee you consume) before taking a seat at the next available booth. Another waiter you don’t recognize brings you your coffee and you politely thank him.

You decide not to pull out the stack of papers you have left to grade. While waiting for Aaron, you absentmindedly scroll through your phone (Instagram is your favorite way to pass the time) and make a mental note of things you need to buy from Target when the weekend approaches. It’s a long list and you grimace when you think about how much money you’ll eventually be spending.

It’s fifteen minutes past three and you’re starting to worry. You figure he’s running late from a meeting or something else of equal importance, but you sit anxiously in your seat that has become warm.

You curse yourself for not asking for his phone number last night. You rationalize that Aaron had been the one to ask to see you again, and that has to mean he genuinely wanted to see you again, right? Another ten minutes goes by and you’ve become a little annoyed at his lack of appearance and stare at everything between the kitchen and the people sitting in the booths. You look ahead at the entrance with every chime of the doorbell and you’re constantly disappointed when you don’t see a pristine suit-wearing gentleman walk through the doors.

You try not to let your insecurities get the better of you, but your mind flashes back to every instance where you felt like you were short from being the girl people wanted to get to know. It’s hard to think otherwise when it seems like everyone meets the love of their life while you’re forced to watch from the sidelines.

Rudy walks by your table a minute later and he shoots back to you when he passes your spot.

“Hey, kiddo!” Rudy greets. You give him a closed-mouth smile and try not to let your disappointment show. He’s holding a few dirty plates in one hand and fishes inside of his shirt pocket for a small white card and hands it to you.

“What’s this?” you ask.

“Aaron stopped by the diner a little bit ago and said he had to leave town,” Rudy explains. “He told me to give that to you when you came.”

Rudy leaves after you take the card from him and you sit back in your seat with a small frown. This must be the intense workload Aaron talked about.

You see the FBI’s insignia on the card, as well as his office’s phone and extension. You’re apprehensive about whether or not to give him a call because you don’t want to bother him while he’s at work, but if Aaron told Rudy to give you his business card, it must mean he wants to. That’s what you rationalize to yourself.

Frankly, you sit with the card in your hands for a few minutes, trying to come up with the best plan of action (which you realize is useless, considering nothing bad will come out of calling the number). Would it be rude of you to call him while he’s at work? Is he expecting you to call him? What if he gave Rudy his card so he’d never have to face you again?

You realize the last thought is just your fear of rejection talking, so you dial his number and his extension. It goes to voicemail.

You wonder if you’re bothering him by calling him. Maybe he declined the call because he was busy. Or maybe he didn’t have his phone on him. Maybe he didn’t want to talk to you at all. You try to push self-deprecating thoughts out of your head.

His email sits below his phone number and you pull out your laptop and craft a message before you can think about it.

‘Aaron,

I hope you’re well. I’m sure receiving this email from me is going to come off as a bit strange, but I figured you might expect one from me since you told Rudy to give me your business card. I tried calling your office extension but it went to voicemail. So email it is.

Anyway, hi! I’m currently sitting in the diner and it’s a bit more crowded than I anticipated. The coffee’s burnt, but I suppose that’s what diner coffee is.

I’m not sure where you are but I’m going to assume you’re in a meeting or working, and you can’t step away from your office. It’s okay, though. I’ll have enough coffee for the both of us.

Best, Y/N’

You reread the email and change the structure of each sentence before ultimately deciding that there’s no “perfect” message you could send him. It reads decent enough, less formal but more formal than familiar. You type his email, double check that you typed it currently, and send it.

You choose not to obsess over your inbox to see if he emailed you back. Instead, you get to work and keep your promise about drinking coffee for him and for yourself.

***

Betty’s on her way to your apartment after a brief agreement to go out on a Friday night.

Before she arrives, you check your email once last time. It’s been gnawing at you all afternoon and you’re pleasantly surprised that you made it two hours without checking your inbox. The anticipation gets to you as you sit on your couch with your phone in your hand, and your heart leaps out of your chest when you see his name.

‘Y/N,

I’m well, thank you for asking. I’m sorry about standing you up today - my team and I had to travel out of state for a case we got called into. Part of the job intensity. Sorry again.

As for your email, I don’t think it’s strange. Happy to hear from you, especially since I left you stranded at the diner (again, I apologize). I hope the coffee was as good as can be and that you got some work done.

I’m not sure when I’ll be back, but I’d love to get a cup of coffee with you soon.

All the best, Aaron’

You feel your cheeks heat up. You’re slightly disappointed that you didn’t see Aaron today but your worries are put to rest when you realize he was preoccupied with work. You know it’s presumptuous of you to think he might be blowing you off (considering neither of you know each other that well), but it makes you feel better nonetheless.

You type out a response.

‘Aaron,

All is forgiven. I hope you and your team make it back safely. No need to apologize.

Phew! Glad to hear that you’re not weirded out. I typed out a million drafts before deciding to just send you an email…I think Rudy could tell I was overthinking it. I don’t mean to bother you at all.

As for coffee, I’d love to.

Looking forward to it, Y/N’

You send the email and close your phone when Betty texts you that she’s on her way up. Feeling bold, you unlock your phone and reply to your previous email with your phone number and tell him to give you a call or text you when he has the time.

Betty’s knocking on your door and you can already smell the scent of Thai food from behind it. Aaron’s email is long forgotten when you dig into the meal and the both of you decide that, after this long and strange week, it’s the perfect opportunity to pretend you have the energy to party like undergrads again.

It’s nightfall when you and Betty find yourselves in a familiar bar near your apartment. The bartender, Mike, seems a little too interested in Betty and keeps supplying the both of you with free drinks. It’s enough to make your head spin in the best way and Betty’s not exactly denying the attention either.

You’re on your third drink (not including the shots you took at your apartment) when your phone rings. The both of you are sitting in a relatively quiet part of the bar, so you don’t make the effort to walk outside to take the phone call. When you look at the contact, you don’t recognize it.

“Hello?” you say into the phone.

“Y/N?”

It’s Aaron.

Oh God, it’s Aaron.

You aren’t sobering up any time soon, that much you know for sure. You’re still dizzy, even though you’re sitting on a stool and your back is against the wall. Betty’s at the bar, flirting with Mike and trying to get the next round for free (again) as you’re finishing your drink from the little plastic straw. You know you’d spill on yourself otherwise.

“Hi,” is what you offer. Your inebriated brain can’t handle your awkwardness. “Oh my God, hi Aaron.”

Did your voice go up two octaves?

Aaron chuckles from the other side.

“Hi, Y/N.” God. The way he says your name makes you swoon. “I wanted to call and apologize for standing you up.”

“Don’t be sorry,” you say a little too quickly. “It’s fine, really.”

“I feel bad that I wasn’t able to tell you before I left. It got a little crazy at work.”

“I’ll bet,” you reply. You finish your drink and can hear the slurping of the ice.

“Are you out?” Aaron asks, amused. You’re sure you can hear the teasing tone in his voice and you know you’re going to hate yourself for being drunk while talking to Aaron on the phone when you wake up.

“Me and Betty are at a bar near my place,” you say, slurring your words. “I had two drinks, no three? Plus a lot of alcohol at home.”

Aaron’s laugh is deep and it sends you into a wave of pleasure.

“Betty?” he asks.

“My best friend,” you explain. “Since I moved to D.C.”

“I hope you and Betty are having a great night,” he muses. “Can’t say the same for me, though.”

You pout. “Why not?”

“Too much stress,” he says. “Nothing I can talk about right now, but let’s just say I’ll have my fair share of paperwork when I get back.”

“All the more reason to see you at the diner, Aaron.”

Oh God, were you flirting?

You hear Aaron chuckle. His laugh is so attractive, but you don’t tell him that.

“Sure is,” says Aaron. “I anticipate being home in a few days. Maybe we can meet at the diner when I’m back?”

“I would love that, Aaron.”

You don’t know what you hate more, the fact that you can’t stop saying his name or the fact that he clearly knows you want to see him. Your drunk-mindedness doesn’t let you linger on it for too long.

“I’d love that too.”

You see Betty approach the table with two glasses in hand.

“Who’s that?” she asks.

“Betty, I presume?” Aaron asks from the other line.

“Yes,” you say as Betty raises her eyebrow in confusion. You turn to her. “It’s Aaron.”

“Like, hot Aaron?” she squeals. You pull the phone away from her and your cheeks redden. You pray that Aaron didn’t hear that.

“Betty, please shut up,” you plead. Betty just laughs and takes another sip of her drink, pushing yours in your direction. You put your phone back to your ear. “I’m sorry, Betty’s a chatterbox when she’s drunk.”

“You’re one to talk!” Betty exclaims from beside you.

“It’s okay,” Aaron laughs. He doesn’t let you know that he heard her comment to save you from embarrassment. “I’ve gotta go, but I’ll call you tomorrow.”

“Goodnight, Aaron,” you hiccup.

“Get home safely, Y/N. I’ll see you soon.”

***

taglist: @darkenwolfie @ssamorganhotchner @realdirectionx <3

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