#“he will remember this day for a very long time and so will his country” DAMN RIGHT WE WILL!!! | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

aleburton · 23 hours ago

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Alexandra’s gleaming brown eyes narrowed, sharp as a blade poised for battle. “Interesting,” she mused, her voice laced with challenge as she lifted a manicured finger to comb through a silken strand of her dark chocolate tresses. At the end, she twisted it absently, her full lips pursing in a slight, almost taunting smirk. “You must be referring to your good friend Alice. I don’t know any other redheads.” It had been years since she’d last touched a bottle of hair dye, years since she attempted to shed the wild, impulsive girl who once burned so brightly, too brightly, under Zach’s shadow. Their first breakup had been a reckoning, a brutal wake-up call that forced her to strip away the remnants of who she had been with him. No more reckless decisions, no more desperate, love-drunk mistakes. She vowed to return to her foundations, to sculpt a life untouched by chaos.

Days spent in ballet studios and Pilates classes, nights wrapped in the glitzy haze of Luxe, serving champagne to the ultra-rich, finding her amusement in turning down their desperate advances or sparring with those who mistook her sharp tongue for an invitation. But no amount of reinvention could erase him. No change in hair color, no meticulous application of makeup, no carefully curated wardrobe could purge the imprint he had left behind. He was woven into the very fabric of her being, stitched beneath her skin, pulsing through her veins like an unshakable curse. Back then, there had been no escape. No undoing them.The only way out had been to run, far, far away. To claw her way through dozens of therapy sessions until she could finally breathe without the weight of him pressing against her lungs. And yet, here they were. And she could feel it. The slow, insidious unraveling of all her carefully built walls.

Three thousand miles apart. Her gaze roamed his, drinking in the familiar warmth, tracing the peculiar constellation of golden flecks scattered within his irises, stars she had memorized long ago. What if she had stayed in Los Angeles? Laid low instead of vanishing altogether? Sought refuge at her father’s Malibu chateau, letting the salt air purge the toxins from her body. The substances, the self-destruction, the corporeal addiction to him. Would they have found their way back to each other? Promised, in earnest, to be better this time? Or would they have spun in the same vicious cycle until one of them shattered beyond repair? A faint, unbidden smile ghosted across her lips, lost in the labyrinth of her own thoughts. Had they ever truly stood a chance? The moment splintered as his words hit her. An implication that a man needed deep pockets to ever win her heart. Her brows lifted in surprise before she shoved him back playfully, amusement flashing across her face. “That is not true,” she protested, her voice full with laughter.

“What does a wallet have to do with being madly obsessed with someone? That’s all I ever wanted. Someone to be absolutely enthralled by me.” She paused, her head tilting, a glint in her eye. “Though…it helps.” A soft giggle escaped her as memories stirred, curling at the edges of her consciousness. Conversations from another lifetime, that night in the hotel room, wondering if they would have liked each other had they met before it all. Before fame and destruction, before the world carved them into what they had become. Before Zach had been anything other than a boy, wide-eyed and hopeful, underprivileged but overflowing with love. Love his mother had never accepted. He laughed as she recounted summer afternoons at the country club pool, where she shamelessly flirted with the lifeguards, her swimsuit patterned with frogs or monkeys. She couldn’t quite remember. He scoffed, shaking his head, chastising her for wearing something so juvenile. She only grinned, unbothered. When he confessed his childhood crush on his babysitter, she rolled her eyes and teased him for being such a cliché.

His voice dipped, prying about her first date with Andrew. She shrugged, her gaze flickering away, scanning the crowd. “It was a little more simple than that,” she admitted coolly, the teasing edge in her voice gone. “He didn’t have to try as hard.” She would have continued, would have told him about how Andrew sent the largest bouquet she had ever received, how he planned a quiet dinner followed by an evening of black and white films, something she had always adored. But before she could, the moment was shattered. A mop of platinum hair wove recklessly through the crowd, moving with drunken determination straight toward them. Alexandra stiffened instantly, her spine straightening to its full height, the extra inches from her platform heels only adding to her imposing stance. She felt Zach tense beside her, his energy shifting, muscles coiled as if bracing for impact. Luke. She could smell the alcohol on him before he even spoke, though the half-drained whiskey glass dangling from his fingers made it all too obvious.

His eyes were hollow, swallowed by something dark, something dangerous. Her brows knit together as she studied him. This wasn’t just drunken arrogance. This was something worse. And then, without hesitation, he struck. His words were like knives, sharp and unrelenting, slicing through the charged tension between them. He slurred aggressively, and Alex barely had time to register the weight of his threats before glancing toward Zach. She scoffed quietly, but her pulse hammered in her throat. Was she hearing him correctly? She didn’t care what Luke thought of her, but Zach had far more at stake. A physical altercation between two Label artists would be a PR disaster, and after all the effort Zach had put into repairing things with Andrew, she wouldn’t let it be undone by some drunken asshole looking for a fight. Luke’s gaze slid toward her, raking over her in a way that made her stomach twist with regret. She wanted to erase every moment she had ever spent near him, every second of weakness that had allowed him into her orbit. His whiskey sloshed over the rim of his glass, spilling onto the floor, barely missing the hem of her velvet dress.

Alex exhaled sharply, stepping forward. “What the fuck —” she started, then caught herself, lowering her voice to a stern whisper. “Are you trying to blow your contract before it’s even in your hands?” Luke didn’t answer because Zach had moved. Not lunging, not reckless, but with a very quiet intensity. Luke’s lips curled into a smirk before he threw his head back, laughter cracking through the air like a whip. “Me? I’m the joke?” he scoffed, his gaze bouncing between them, his grin twisted with something almost manic. “Look at you two. Full of fucking secrets. So many fucking secrets.” The tip of her tongue pressed against the inside of her cheek. She felt it in his voice, in the way his words slithered toward her like bait. A direct taunt. Luke took another step, raising a hand and leveling a finger at her like an accusation. “Wanna play a game? For old time’s sake?” He was sinister, making a mockery of nostalgia. “Little truth or dare?” A slow, deliberate pause. “Alex…” he hummed. “Truth or… truth?” Her entire body went rigid once more as he inched closer.

“Did you or did you not,” he drawled, “make a phone call to a certain someone… for a certain something?” She didn’t let him finish. Didn’t let him humiliate her. Without thinking, her hand shot up, knocking his finger away with a firm slap, hard enough to send his whiskey glass flying from his grip. It hit the ground with a loud shatter, shards and amber liquid pooling at their feet. “Go fuck yourself,” she snapped, her voice like ice. Luke barely reacted. He let out a wheezing laugh, unmoved, as if he’d expected exactly that. Alex didn’t wait. She shoved past him, using the full force of her petite frame to send him stumbling back several inches. His laughter followed her, a grating sound that crawled under her skin. “What’s the matter?” he called after her, voice dripping with mock innocence. “Not interested anymore?” Alex kept walking, refusing to engage, refusing to give him the satisfaction of seeing her break. Luke only shrugged, glancing back at Zach with a diabolical smirk, “It’s just a game,” he murmured.

Zach’s eyes tracked her movements as though locked onto a target; the run of her hands over her hourglass frame, the tilt of her face as she gazed on at Kylie. Her face changed, and Zach was struck by the alienness of the look. This version of Alex that Kylie unwittingly received, Zach had never been the recipient of. And he never would be. The dark-haired seraph was removed and appreciative, calculated and intentional. A throb of something like guilt or maybe even a thrill clenched its fist around the base of his throat. The danger he was toying with was too great to truly fathom. It expanded beyond his eyeline so as to be entirely obscured from comprehension at all. He liked it this way. This way, he got to hone in on the details, to luxuriate in them and feel the way his pulse got faster from them; the curve in her brow, the simmering smug smirk on her lips. Briefly, his attention wandered to see what she saw. Those bouncing curls, the laugh that travelled any distance. He cocked his head curiously, seeing her in that moment as something entirely separate from himself. Blonde, beautiful, petite. He recognized these things as Alex listed them, and she was correct, they were a draw. But many women ticked such boxes. There was something else, something intrinsic…

Alex withdrew him from his thoughts with a quip. He laughed, quietly and contained, but in earnest. "Oh, no. Not everyone is that fucking ballsy. Or stupid," his mischief glimmered. The day she had launched that wine bottle across the room at him had been the same day he had first lost his fucking mind. Truly, honestly abandoned all his senses. It had been bloody and awful and left scars that lingered to this day. But… he couldn't deny he missed something about it. The fervor. Nothing had made him so mad since. He had never felt so much, all at once, since the day they had walked away from each other. For better or for worse. He wondered if she pined after it, too. The all-consumption. The feeling of being lit on fire. “Not yet, anyway,” Zach muttered. “But there’s always room for improvement.” He needled at the plush, unpunctured balloon of their tryst. Something could surely make Kylie snap. He didn’t doubt Alex could well be that something. His dimpled tongue rolled behind his teeth, pushed up against the clamped porcelain.

The exact opposite of me. His attention snapped to her, subtle but sharp, and for a moment he said nothing as he trod around upon the question of her sincerity. How she truly felt about what she’d uttered. Because it was true. It was the very crux of what had made him cave – determination to banish Alex from his mind, after a year of being haunted, of waking up from his dreams shaking and aching... – that Kylie was her opposite. What better to rinse him of her memory than someone who was nothing like her? Zach wondered if Alex understood the absolute intention of that decision for him – but then she confessed, to a degree, that she had done the same in choosing Andrew. Zach sort-of smiled, ruminating on the irony of it all. “Running a million fucking miles from each other,” he mused with a cruel laugh. Then he eyed her. “Or maybe just 3,000,” he slipped, thinking of her Manhattan penthouse. Alex met his eyes keenly. His eyebrow raised expectantly. An energy thrummed between them, almost visible as it throbbed against the atmosphere.

Aubrey. Zach laughed, sudden and a little rude. They still ran into each other on occasion. She moved in any circle that allowed her to indulge in total debauchery; in sex and hard drugs and four-day benders, in drama and violence and frenemies. Zach’s previous unwillingness to banish her entirely had always been his proximity to these same things – or rather, his dependence on them. She was, like certain drugs, not his preferred vice but a reliable one to numb whatever needed numbing. Though on the surface it appeared she was determined never to change, never to grow, Zach knew there had been a shift in her since the days they'd been close. He knew this because when the time had come, she had let him go without leaving claw marks. Her presence would always be a reason for him to go back under, and he couldn’t go back under again. She knew it. The goodbye had been silent. However, when it came to Alex, with the clarity granted by distance he understood the lingering disdain. She may have forgotten her name for a moment, but she hadn’t forgotten the feeling.

“That’s funny,” Zach chimed. A lone dimple materialized upon his cheek. “If you were to ask me then, or now, I’d always say my real weakness is redheads.” As though Alex as she was now couldn’t bury him if she so wished. It was easier to pretend she only had that kind of power over him in the past-tense. He felt a distinct pang, a sudden urge, to push his fingers into her hair. He smiled, biting down on his tongue inside his mouth. “I’d say your thing must be fat wallets, but to be honest, I don’t think any man without the bank account to spoil you would waste their time on the approach.” He smirked. “You look like you cost a lot of money to win over.” It wasn’t an insult, though maybe it sounded like one. He chuckled. “Oh, tell me, did your first date with Andrew out-do ours?” Ours. His tongue got a little stuck on the word. But before she could get more than half-way through her response, a tall, incorrigible presence encroached upon their conversation, strapped with a vexing confidence.

Luke hadn’t even said a word before Zach popped up from his relaxed slouch upon the bar, alert like a guard dog, ready to bite. “Lovebirds,” he slurred, eyes drooping with hard liquor and whatever else. It wasn’t uppers. What shit was he on now – opioids? Zach kind of laughed, which visibly irritated Luke. “What’s funny?” he assailed, though it was sluggish. “Is it that I could blow up both your spots in 5 seconds, if I wanted to? Or an inside joke? Tell me the joke, Zach.” Zach’s teeth ground together as he breathed out through his nose. Not angry, not yet. Not raging. But bubbling. Luke, in response to his silence, turned his eyes to the petite brunette at his side. “Alex? Come on,” he goaded. The contents of his drink sloshed over his glass as it thrust toward her, narrowly missing her dress. Zach took a subtle step forward. “Let me in on the joke. For old time’s sake.” Zach shook his head, simmering down from irritation to something sadder. His face screwed delicately as though having smelled a foul smell, overrun with the sensation that he was watching something truly pathetic unfold. “Christ, Luke,” he began to dismiss, hand searching for Alex’s elbow in preparation. At any given moment, he suspected they may have to flee the scene. “You’re a fuckin’ joke.”

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agentstarkid · 9 months ago

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MAKING HISTORY! 👏

joshuaduerksen1 scores his, aix.racing's, and Paraguay's first podium-finish in Formula 2 🥉

— Formula 2 (Formula2) on instagram

#“he will remember this day for a very long time and so will his country” DAMN RIGHT WE WILL!!!#i'm so fucking proud of him #ALEXA PLAY COMO TE QUIERO PARAGUAY BY LOS ROLLER'S 🇵🇾🇵🇾🇵🇾#joshua durksen #joshua duerksen #f2 #formula 2 #f2 featured race #imola gp 2024

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aureatelys · 1 month ago

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nobody does it like you do

pairing: dbf!aaron hotchner/fem!reader rating: explicit w.c.: 10k.... a/n: dbf!hotch party ended months ago but im still here

summary:

You don't mean to start something with your dad's best friend during your summer break.

c.w.: 18+ MDNI PLSSSS, dbf!hotch yippee, no y/n, reader is mid-20s and hotch is mid 40s, reader is kind of a brat and also very sexual and forward :), car sex, handjobs in car, v fingering, dom/sub, dirty talk, light degradation kink, size kink if u squint, light choking at the end!, unprotected sex, tbh some plot to mostly porn

read below or on ao3 here <3

You’re nearly half-naked when you first meet him.

It was the first morning back at home during your summer break in your first year of your Master’s program. You hadn’t been home in several months, blaming your rigorous coursework and the full-time job you had, but luckily you were able to use nearly a month’s worth of PTO to coincide with your summer off.

You had gotten in late after flying across the country, but your body still woke up like clockwork just before 9 am.

Currently, as you make eye contact with the tallest and most attractive man you have ever met while wearing a tank top and shorts that barely covered your ass, you couldn’t tell if that was a blessing or a curse.

You had heard your dad rave about what basically sounded like a crush he had over the phone for nearly a year. Aaron Hotchner apparently works with your father at the FBI, albeit in a different department, and they hit it off at a recent gala by discussing golf, expensive scotch, and being annoyed about the latest budget cuts. One Saturday at the country club’s golf course later, your father was hooked, and Aaron has been over at the house nearly every weekend since.

You remember your dad saying something about how he’s hardworking, better than he is at golf, and much nicer than he looks. He didn’t say anything about how hot he was.

You were stumbling out your bedroom and rubbing at your eyes when you had nearly run into him on the way to the bathroom. You’re still waking up, but you see the genuine surprise and something like want on his face before it’s gone, a neutral expression taking over his handsome features. The clench in his jaw betrays him.

“Excuse me,” he says. His voice is low, deep in a way that sends a shiver down your spine. “I was just heading into the restroom.”

You blink at him, your mind still not having not caught up yet. “Uhm.”

“I can just go to the one downstairs,” he says, giving you an easy smile. It makes him look even more devastatingly attractive and you feel dazed. With that, he turns on his heel and makes his way back downstairs without another word.

You distantly hear your father downstairs calling your name and asking if you’re awake. You feel rooted to the spot, flustered.

You try your best to go through your normal bathroom routine, but your heart still hasn’t calmed down yet. It’s been a while since you’ve dated and even longer since you’ve slept with someone, thus you’ve had a lot of quality time with yourself recently, so seeing the way this older man reacted to you was enough to have you preening a bit. You weren’t imagining it, right?

You tell yourself that you’re feeling lazy after a long day of traveling and not wanting to change yet as you head downstairs into the kitchen, absolutely not hiking your shorts up a little and shimmying your tank top down.

“Good morning,” you chirp as you step into the kitchen. Your dad is already sitting at the dining table, most likely finishing his second cup of coffee, and his face lights up when he sees you as if he wasn’t the one to pick you up from the airport late last night. Aaron is standing in the kitchen next to the coffee machine, pouring into a travel mug.

You ignore the way you can feel Aaron’s dark eyes rove over you; the top of your breasts nearly threatening to spill out, your hard nipples poking through your top, and the curve of your ass peeking out from underneath your shorts.

“Morning, pumpkin,” your dad says cheerily, clearly oblivious to what’s going on between his friend and his own daughter. “This is Aaron, he works at the Bureau with me, I told you about him?”

You vaguely remember when you stalked through his Facebook profile several months ago after your father was tagged with him multiple times. The pictures of him were always blurry, never giving you anything to go off of.

As you stand next to him in the kitchen and crane your neck up to look at him, you realize the pictures really don’t do him justice. He’s handsome, almost boy-ish with the way his hair is clean and not gelled down like in the pictures, flopping in front of his forehead. He’s wearing a tight red polo, showcasing his broad shoulders and forearms in a way that makes you want to drool a bit. His brow is pinched, jaw tense, and you almost think you can hear his teeth grinding when he attempts to keep his eyes on your face and not on your chest.

“Nice to meet you, Mr. Hotchner,” you say, giving him an innocent smile. You ignore the mug your dad must have left on the counter for you and stand up on your tiptoes to retrieve one from the overhead cupboard.

You feel a rush of exhilaration when you hear Aaron suck in a breath at the way your tank top hikes up your stomach. When you turn back to him, because he is technically in the way of the coffee machine, you catch the way his eyes sharpen and the way his hand grasps at the edge of the counter, knuckles turning white.

And then it’s gone, just like earlier, replaced with something almost professional, probably the same expression he makes when something ticks him off at work.

Interesting.

“Aaron is fine,” he says, stepping out of the way of the coffee machine and then holds his hand out for you to shake.

You can feel your dad watching you, so you make an effort to tone it down a bit. You put your hand in his, swallowing when you notice just how large his hands are and the way he grips you a bit tighter than what would be considered professional. When you look back up at him, there’s something almost like a smirk tugging at the corner of his mouth.

“Nice to meet you, Aaron,” you repeat. It’s worth it to see a smile grace his face, replacing that smirk, and causing something fuzzy settle in your chest.

When he lets go and makes his way to sit across your dad at the table, you ignore how your hand suddenly feels like it’s burning.

“We’re about to head to the golf course here in a couple of minutes if you wanted to join?” your dad asks as you pour your coffee and sit down at the head of the table.

You hum and experimentally kick your feet out in Aaron’s direction to where he sits to your left. You make contact with his knee, and you watch almost gleefully as Aaron just barely jumps in his seat. He doesn’t make eye contact with you, just quietly sips at his coffee. It really shouldn’t turn you on the way it does. “I’m okay, I was just planning on hanging out here and catch up on my shows.”

“You sure, pumpkin? I know it’s been a while since you were out on the course but…”

“I think that’s exactly why I shouldn’t come with you,” you laugh. You pull your chair up closer to the table, making it look like you were just trying to get comfortable, when really you just wanted to cop more of a feel of Aaron’s thighs.

“Alright, alright,” your father says, putting his hands up in defeat. “But don’t forget about the retreat later this week with the guys.”

You pause from where you were just about to dig your toes underneath his thigh. “Retreat?”

“I told you about it when I picked you up last night!”

“I think you forgot that you picked me up at one in the morning and I was half-asleep in the car,” you roll your eyes. “But of course I’ll go with you.”

“Great!” Your dad says with that big smile on his face that always makes you feel nostalgic. You don’t really want to go, was honestly just planning on relaxing at home, but if it makes your dad happy and you get to spend more time with him, then you’ll do almost anything.

And if Aaron’s coming too, then well…

Your dad gets up to put his mug in the sink and starts making his way out of the dining room. “You ready to go, Hotchner?”

“As ready as I’ll ever be,” Aaron says, a barely detectable rasp to his voice that has you hiding a smile in your mug.

You’re about to put your foot down when you feel thick fingers circling your ankle and lifting your leg up until your ankle is resting on Aaron’s knee. You nearly squeak in surprise, but the look on Aaron’s face stops you.

He would look calm, composed even, if you didn’t pay attention to the way his eyes have darkened. His brow is pinched, lips pressed into a thin line, as he tightens his grip on your ankle and asks in a low voice “What kind of game are you playing here?”

Not expecting confrontation, you don’t know what to say. Your breath gets stuck in your chest, something about the glare he’s giving you keeps you rooted in your chair.

Because there’s really only two options here. He’s your dad’s best friend, at least 20 years older than you, and you really have no business in sexually riling up this guy you’ve never met before until today. You can apologize, give him a genuine and friendly smile, and go back to your room and pretend this never happened and you weren’t just throwing yourself at some hot older man.

But there’s something about Aaron that you can’t quite put your finger on. You wonder what it would be like to see him without those walls he undoubtedly keeps up all the time, see him come undone. You can tell from his Facebook pictures that he’s a bigshot of some kind, always wearing a fitted suit and not a hair out of place. You can see that now, in his pressed polo and matching belt, that he likes control, his skin nearly thrumming with it. And that’s something you’ve always enjoyed playing with.

You noticed the lack of a wedding ring on his finger, and the way he’s gazing into you now. The hot trail his hand leaves behind as he starts running up your shin, past your knee, and grip at the meat of your thigh says all you need to know.

“What game?” you say, innocently. You even play it up a bit by batting your lashes at him.

His grip on your thigh tightens, and it feels so good, and it’s been so long, you resist rolling your eyes back and instead spread your legs just a bit underneath the table.

“Your father didn’t tell me you were such a brat,” he mutters.

“What he doesn’t know won’t kill him,” you say, hoping you don’t sound as out of breath as you feel.

Aaron doesn’t say anything at that, just hums thoughtfully. You don’t have a chance to backpedal, redirect the conversation if you were reading the whole situation wrong, before he’s placing your leg back on the floor with a gentle hand on your ankle and getting up.

“We can talk more about what you want to do after school later,” he says, raising his voice a bit in an effort to appear like he wasn’t just groping you underneath the table.

You almost don’t hear what he says because your gaze is fixed on the obvious tent in his khakis. Your mouth nearly waters, and just knowing that you’re having the same kind of effect on him as he has on you has heat pooling between your thighs.

You shake your head, resisting the thoughts of throwing yourself on your knees in front of him and taking him in your mouth right in the dining room. You grin up at him and, in an impulsive decision that you’re secretly proud of, you reach over to put a hand on his thigh, dangerously close to his crotch.

“Absolutely, Mr. Hotchner.”

Your smile grows wider at the stormy glare he gives you before he heads out of the dining room, imperceptibly adjusting himself in his pants. Your eyes follow him out, cheeks nearly starting to hurt from how hard you’re smiling because damn, does his ass look good.

It’s your summer vacation, you may as well have some fun, right?

Since then, you’ve barely seen Aaron.

You had made Aaron and your father sandwiches, knowing they’d be home by the afternoon. You tried not to let the fact that you were upset, disappointed even, show on your face when your dad came home by himself and told you that Aaron got called for a case.

You knew from your dad that this was a normal occurrence for Aaron and that they’ve both gotten used to it. So many times there would be a gala or a party at the house and he would be called away to chase down a murderer or a rapist or a combination of the two.

You tried not to let it get to you, because seriously, you just met him, but also, it’s not like he owes you anything. But you really hoped that he wouldn’t miss the retreat later that week. Just imagining spending time with him in your lone hotel room was enough to make you dizzy.

So, you distracted yourself. You caught up on your emails, watched those shows that had been piling up in your watch later list, and spent time with your dad at the golf course or whatever else he wanted to do that day. It was nice spending your summer vacation with your dad and catching up on what he does at his boring administrative job and the lack of both of your love lives.

By the time Friday rolled around, there was still nothing but radio silence from Aaron, at least you assumed since your dad hadn’t mentioned him. You almost wish you had asked for his phone number before he left, but it wouldn’t have done you any good to waste a whole week sitting by your cellphone, waiting for a probably dry text from some guy.

A really hot, older guy that definitely has control issues and could toss you around like a ragdoll.

You’re throwing your bag in your car’s backseat and was about to admit defeat, that maybe he really wasn’t going to make it, when a black Range Rover comes skidding down your street and into your driveway.

“There he is,” your dad said in a sing-song voice, sounding about as giddy as you felt.

Your breath catches in your throat when you see him stepping out of his car, because how the hell is it possible for a man to look so attractive doing something so mundane?

And then your eyes nearly bug out because he has his suit jacket hanging from his arm, a duffel bag in the other, and is wearing a white dress shirt so tight that you could see the bulge of his biceps and the softness of his stomach.

“Sorry I’m late,” Aaron says, jogging up to where you and father were. “We just got back a couple hours ago.”

He looks at you then with those pretty brown eyes, looking genuinely apologetic, and the disappointment that you were afraid was going to take a permanent place in your chest gently unravels.

“It’s no problem, Hotch,” your dad waves him off. “We’re still waiting for some of the other guys, so you made it just in time.”

“Great,” Aaron breathes in relief. “I’m going to go change then, I’ll be right back.” His eyes flit towards you again, and you would’ve missed it if you weren’t still staring at him. They’re piercing, undoubtedly beckoning you to follow him, and there’s a hint of a smirk tugging at his mouth.

You feel a rush of excitement shooting through you as you watch him head towards the front door, eyes fixated on his hips. There was no clearer sign than that one, though you try not to roll your eyes fondly at the fact that your dad evidently did not notice as he goes back to playing Tetris with his bags in the trunk.

You wait a couple of minutes, pretending to play on your phone, and then exclaim “Oops, I almost forgot my phone charger! I’m going to run upstairs and get it.”

Your dad just gives an “Okie dokie, sweetie,” and then his phone rings with who you assume is one of his friends you’re waiting for.

You try to not sprint to the front door, instead taking a deep breath and walking in what you hope looks like a normal pace. However, as soon as the front door clicked shut, you run up the stairs, hoping Aaron chose your bathroom rather than the one downstairs.

Not spotting him waiting outside the bathroom, your heart nearly drops out from underneath you, however you notice the closed door and the soft golden light from underneath telling you that you were right.

You were right and maybe you weren’t imagining things. He knew you would listen to his unspoken instructions and follow him. You weren’t a profiler like him, not an expert at studying other people’s body language, but there was nothing fake about the fact that he got hard at your dining room table and you had only known each other for 10 minutes that Sunday.

The click of the door opening disrupts your thoughts. You’re about to grin up at Aaron, say something cute like how you’ve missed him or something more playful like asking why he hasn’t called you.

But you don’t get the chance because you’re suddenly being pressed up against the wall, warm hands on your hips, and Aaron’s soft mouth pressing into yours.

He swallows your gasp, his fingers inching up the hem of your tank top to touch the skin of your waist and kisses the life out of you. His lips are chapped and he tastes fresh, like he had a breath mint on the drive here, and the thought that he had that foresight just for you makes your knees weak.

He kisses you deeply, not even bothering to start gentle like so many other boys have tried before, and it’s overwhelming and not enough at the same time. You’re helpless to kiss back, your body finally catching up, and your hands come up to tangle at the soft strands at the nape of his neck.

He hums against your lips at that, his hands starting to move underneath your shirt to trace the swell of your breasts through your bra. It tickles, and you squirm a little and huff a laugh against his mouth before you can help it.

Before you could apologize and tell him to stop tickling you, his hands press your hips harder against the wall and his lips break away from yours. You attempt to chase him, because you were definitely not done making out, when Aaron tuts at you.

“Behave,” he warns lowly, but he has a full-blown smirk now. His eyes are dark, pupils blown, and his lips red and glistening. He looks so unbearingly sexy when he’s reprimanding you, he just makes it so easy for you to tease him.

“Or what?” You ask, smiling up at him. You watch as his smirk falters, brows furrowing, and something like frustration and exasperation blooms on his face.

“You’re ridiculous,” Aaron breathed, before he’s leaning in and pressing open-mouthed kisses along your jawline and down your neck. He scrapes his teeth against the spot where your shoulder and neck meets and your knees actually buckle this time, something like a strangled moan coming out of your mouth and catching you by surprise. “Looks like you do know how to watch that mouth of yours.”

Any snarky comeback you have dies in your throat because you did not expect Aaron to have that kind of dirty mouth on him. Molten heat starts to pool at the bottom of your stomach, between your thighs, as he slips the strap of your tank top down your shoulder to trace your collarbone with his lips.

“Aaron…,” you whisper, letting your hands fall from his nape to grab at his shoulders, trail down to grope at his biceps. The sleek muscle you can feel even through the fabric of his polo that he changed into, tensing and flexing as he pushes at you, sends your mind reeling.

“What is it, sweetheart?” he mutters against your shoulder, his warm breath and the pet name making you feel paralyzed. “Cat got your tongue?”

Your eyes roll back as you feel him biting a mark onto your chest, right underneath your collarbone, the pain and pleasure tingling all the way down to your cunt. You say something unintelligible, brain feeling muddled, because holy shit.

“Hey pumpkin, did your find your charger? We have to get moving!” You hear your dad’s voice from downstairs and barely swallow back a gasp before Aaron’s hand is pressed over your mouth to quiet you. You hate that that does absolutely nothing to help the growing arousal between your thighs.

Aaron’s eyes meet yours. His eyes have gotten impossibly darker, soft hair falling against his forehead. The wild desire and excitement are clear on his face, but he raises his eyebrows at you to signal you to behave before he lifts his palm off your face.

“Coming!” you yell back at him, hoping the strain in your voice isn’t as obvious to him as it is to you.

Aaron hums, something smug playing at his lips. “Maybe later.”

And it’s ridiculous. Aaron Hotchner, stoic Unit Chief of an FBI unit, best friend of your dad, and 20 years older than you just made out with you so hard that your knees buckled and made a joke about making you come?

You huff a laugh, pushing at his shoulder so you can wriggle out of his grip. He lets go immediately, stepping back to give you several feet of space, and you try not to think about how you already miss the heat and weight of his body against yours.

You’re about to run downstairs, an excuse about realizing you already packed your charger on the tip of your tongue, when Aaron is circling his fingers around your wrist. You look back at him curiously, because as much as you want to, there definitely isn’t time for him to ravage you in your bedroom.

He looks much more composed now, more like his professional SSA Aaron Hotchner self, but you catch the way his eyes linger on the way your shorts ride up high and the soft expanse of your thighs. “I’m serious. We’ll finish this later.”

And it’s the way he doesn’t pose it as a question, but rather a guarantee. Like nothing is going to stop him from having his way with you.

The thought of being completely at Aaron’s mercy has you breathless, feeling a flush rise on your face and your pulse between your legs. He has you stunned speechless, because you’ve never been with someone who has made you feel complete and utter want. You look at him now, chest imperceptibly heaving and making that olive green polo tug across the wide expanse of his chest, you realize that he may just ruin other people for you completely.

Your throat clicks when you clear it, and you only feel a little embarrassed when Aaron doesn’t hide his smirk at you. All words have died in your throat, so you nod instead, hoping that he will take that as an answer.

If possible, Aaron looks even more smug at that.

“Good girl.”

The drive to the hotel where the retreat is being held is only 2 hours away, which would’ve been perfectly easy, if you weren’t stuck in the car with Aaron.

You were planning on driving your own car with the top down, wind in your hair, and music blasting. You wanted to spend at least part of your summer vacation doing girly summery things, such as driving into the night with your hair whipping your face and feeling the humidity making your tank top stick to your back.

You also thought you would have time to yourself to think about Aaron and what the hell you got yourself into.

Instead, because you can’t tell if the universe loves or hates you, you have to take Aaron’s Range Rover because everyone else’s cars are packed full, and your dad wouldn’t let you drive by yourself. You tried not to show the excitement bloom on your face when your dad told you, but by the pointed look that Aaron gave you, you didn’t do a very good job.

So, it’s just you, Aaron, and the incredibly tangible sexual tension between you.

The first 30 minutes was easy. It took a while for everyone to find the correct route and there was a lengthy discussion over the phone about whether anyone wanted to stop anywhere for any reason. Eventually, you and at least 4 other similarly lavish cars made it onto the highway.

Aaron was silent for most of the phone call, saying that he didn’t have anywhere he wanted to stop at, and was just looking forward to the fancy clawfoot tub the hotel advertised on their website. You threw a glance at him at that, wondering if he was trying to tell you that he wanted to fuck in the bathtub, but nope. His eyes were firmly on the road, both arms on the steering wheel like a responsible adult or whatever.

You weren’t sure how he was able to act like nothing happened—like you weren’t about to let him just fuck you up against the wall in your childhood home, because currently, you felt like you were about to jump out of your skin from the nervous energy thrumming through you.

You fully ogle him now since it’s not like you have anything to hide. Even his side profile is attractive, but at this point you’re not surprised. Everything you’ve been noticing about him has been steadily driving you wild; the sharp cut of his jaw, the faint traces of stubble, and the way his hands are gripping the steering wheel so tightly his knuckles are white.

You watch the bob of his Adam’s apple as he deadpans “You’re staring.”

You grin at him before you could help it. “It’s not my fault you’re so handsome. They should study you in art classes, maybe you can even get naked for it?”

The snort that comes out of Aaron’s mouth is sudden, and by the way his eyebrows pinch together like he’s thinking hard, he notices as well. “You really are insatiable.”

“You say that like we’ve even done anything yet,” you mutter, mostly to yourself, turning your head to the window to stare at the sun setting. It would be nighttime by the time you got to the hotel, but you’re already sleepy and debating taking a nap while Aaron drives.

You jump when you feel his hand on your thigh, large and warm. You’ve had other men put their hand on your thigh while they drive and it’s nice, maybe even comforting at times, but with Aaron, the action feels darker. It feels more possessive, heated, and just the sight of his huge hand squeezing the flesh of your thigh has you unconsciously squeezing your legs, trapping the tips of his fingers between them.

“Can you behave?” he wondered out loud. “Because you’re not showing me that you can until we get to the hotel.”

The challenge is clear in the deep timbre of his voice, nearly condescending in a way that makes your breath quicken. You vaguely thought about what he had planned for you at the hotel, luckily you had a whole room to yourself since none of your dad’s friends’ daughters wanted to come. You don’t necessarily blame them—you probably wouldn’t have come either if it weren’t for Aaron and the undoubtable promise that you will have the best sex of your life.

And you do want to wait, honestly. But right now, watching the way his biceps flex in the golden light and remembering the way he desperately grabbed at your hips has you rethinking.

So, you give him an innocent smile, reminiscent of the one you gave him earlier this week, and take a hold of his hand to intertwine your fingers together. The action is slightly risky, implying something about your relationship that neither have you discussed. You may be overthinking it, worried that Aaron would think you’re jumping to conclusions, but all of your reservations disappear when Aaron’s hand squeezes yours and brings your joined hands to rest in his lap.

He gives you a soft smile, one you’ve never seen before that makes your chest tighten, and turns his gaze back on the road.

The following 10 minutes are quiet besides the soft roar of the engine and the gentle hum of the radio. The sun setting washes the interior of the car with a warm gold, and you can’t help but notice the way both of your hands, still clasped together, just look so good together. Like you perfectly complemented each other.

You blame it on the fact that you’re starting to get bored when you wiggle your hand to free yourself from Aaron’s grasp to run your fingers along the top of his hands. You trace each knuckle before tracking the visible veins with a light touch, your fingers running up his wrist and to his forearm. The dusting of hair is soothing when you place a firmer hand onto his forearm, gripping it, and your heart thuds in your chest when you notice your thumb and middle finger can’t even touch each other.

He's just so big. His arms, his hands, his shoulders. The way he can so easily overpower you, manhandle you, domineering in a way that makes you want to act out even more just to see what he would do.

He throws you a curious glance when your hand moves up to his bicep, squeezing and feeling.

“Just touching,” you say, and then Aaron’s eyes are back on the road.

The next thing you do is completely spontaneous, out of character for you even, however you know being impulsive is what got you here in the first place.

You place your hand on his crotch.

He doesn’t jump because, of course not. If anything, he was expecting it by the way he just gives you another curious look. Your eyes are instantly drawn to the way his tongue flicks out to wet his lips and the sudden clenching of his jaw.

“Still just touching,” you repeat and turn your focus to your phone with your free hand, leaving your other hand in his lap.

You scroll mindlessly through several different apps for a couple minutes, not even reading anything because you’re too stunned with the fact that Aaron didn’t say anything or remind you to be on your best behavior. Your hand is still precariously placed on his crotch, the seam of his jeans warm against the palm of your hand.

You start scrolling more intently now, reading the entirety of at least every other post, before you start tentatively rubbing your fingers on where you can definitely feel the head of his dick through his pants. Aaron inhales sharply, so quietly you almost don’t hear it, and it’s all the permission you need.

You start pressing more firmly, grabbing him through his jeans to the best of your ability and tracing the line of his slowly hardening cock through the rough material. You grope at him, nearly shamelessly now, and it takes all of your willpower to not throw your phone to the backseat and jump into his lap.

Instead, you place your phone at your feet and turn your body towards him. His back is ramrod straight and his hands are grasping at the steering wheel like his life depends on it. If anyone passing by looked through the window, they would just assume that Aaron was one of those extremely attentive drivers. However, up close, you can see the tense line of his jaw, the way his brows are pinched together, and the way he’s attempting to hide the way he’s starting to breathe heavily through slightly parted lips.

It's intoxicating, and you want more.

Your hand begins to move up his zipper to the top button of his jeans. His eyes dart to you then, craning his neck slightly to look at you but also making sure to keep his eyes on the road, as if the road is even that busy.

“You really can’t listen, can you?”

That condescending tone again makes your brain nearly short-circuit. It’s like a dam breaks because suddenly you’re leaning over the console, making your breasts nearly spill out from your tank top, and you want him in your mouth and coming down your throat if it’s the last thing you’ll ever do. “Can I?”

“Can you what, sweetheart? Use your words.”

Christ. “Please, can I suck on your cock?”

He hums nonchalantly, as if you can’t see the way he shifts in his seat or the way he’s hurriedly unbuttoning his jeans with one hand. “’Please?’ Looks like you do have some manners.”

And then he’s taking his cock out and you nearly combust on the spot. He’s not fully hard, but you still want nothing more than to feel him on your tongue.

You’re just about to unbuckle your seatbelt to throw yourself into his lap before he stops you by placing his hand over yours.

“Not your mouth, we don’t want other people to know what a dirty girl you are. Use your hands,” he says, nonchalant again in a way that makes your heart race and the ache between your thighs grow.

Although the idea of being caught with your head in his lap and cock down your throat suddenly sounds extremely appealing in a way you’ve never thought of before, you have no choice but to listen and follow his instructions.

You hesitatingly wrap your hand around him, watching in near fascination at the drop of precum that leaks out. He’s big here too, satisfyingly thick and warm in your hand. You move your hand up to smear the wetness around him and then start a steady rhythm of pumping his cock.

A strangled groan comes out of Aaron eventually, and you watch as he attempts to throw his head back in ecstasy while still watching the road with half-lidded eyes. The wide expanse of his pretty throat tempts you, imagining what it would be like to pepper kisses up to his tense jaw to help him relax.

He’s fully hard now, precum steadily leaking out and coating the palm of your hand. You attempt to vary your actions; twisting on the upstroke, squeezing when you’re at the base, or tracing your thumb against the head of his cock. The loud squelching noise makes you feel embarrassed and hot all at the same time, the way it’s drowning out the radio’s music. Your mouth waters as you watch the head of his dick disappear in your fist, wishing you could taste him or see the sheer bliss on his face as he fucks your mouth.

“You couldn’t even wait to get your hands on me, could you?” Aaron murmured, nearly sneering at you. “I bet if I let you, you would let me pull over and fuck you here on the side of the road.”

You swallow nervously, clenching your thighs and trying to ignore the obvious wetness you can feel in your own panties. You squeeze him harder, enthralled by the feeling of his hot flesh against you, and breathlessly whisper “I would.”

He hisses at that, nearly bucking his hips up to follow your hand. “You would let me fuck you anywhere I want.”

It wasn’t a question, but you still feel compelled to answer. “Yes.”

Just then, Aaron’s phone rings from the phone mount on the dashboard. Dread and something awfully similar to delight prickles at the back of your neck when you notice the caller ID being your father. You’re about to retract your hand until Aaron gives you a look out of the corner of your eye, almost like a glare, before his own hand is hot over yours to keep you there.

“Keep going.”

Before you can think of a snarky remark, Aaron swipes at his phone to answer.

“Hotchner.” Nonchalant, casual, as if he doesn’t have his leaking cock in the hands of his best friend’s daughter.

“Hey Hotch, we’re coming up on a great burger joint here in a couple of miles and I wanted to see if you guys were alright with that? I think we lost you.”

You must have been extremely distracted because you’re just now noticing you can’t see your father’s car ahead of you anymore. There are only a few cars on the highway now after finally passing all the city traffic, now driving through a somewhat rural area. You don’t blame yourself after all, because how often do you find yourself giving handjobs to hot older men in their cars?

“I was actually thinking of pulling over at a rest stop, someone’s not feeling well.” Aaron cranes his neck, raising an eyebrow at you.

Even in the darkness of the summer evening and the sparse streetlights bouncing off the dashboard, the pure and primal desire swimming in his eyes is clear and causes a flush to rise to your face.

“Yeah, it must have been lunch,” you attempt to joke, hoping that the rasp in your voice doesn’t give you away. You feel Aaron’s cock twitch in your hand.

Your dad hums through the tinny speakers. “Yeah, you don’t sound so good.”

You notice the car slowing down, not realizing that you were pulling up to a secluded area of a rest stop, right underneath a tree. You glance out the window and take in the fact that the nearest car is over 10 spots away and the closest streetlight is burnt out. You think of the discreet dark color of the car and the tinted windows. Anticipation curls at the bottom of your stomach.

“We’ll let you know when we’re back on the road.” And then Aaron immediately hangs up, parks the car, and leans over the console to kiss you with a hand cradling your cheek.

He cuts to the chase again, kissing you so deeply that your head spins. His mouth is soft but he’s assertive even like this. His hand moves to the back of your neck, taking a hold of you, and your mouth opens in a moan before you can stop yourself, allowing Aaron’s tongue to brush against yours.

When he pulls back, something like a needy whine erupts from your throat. You don’t realize that your hands moved to grasp at his polo, leaving Aaron’s cock free and pressed against his stomach.

“You drive me crazy,” Aaron mutters, brushing a lock of hair behind your head. His gesture and words are impossibly soft, a complete contrast to how he was kissing you, making your breath stutter in your chest.

“You drive me crazy,” you whisper breathily. “Please fuck me?”

He huffs a laugh at that, something you’re slowly starting to become familiar with, and tightens his hold on the back of your neck. There’s nothing soft in his eyes anymore. “Get in the back, now.”

You scramble to get out of the car, legs nearly shaking. The summer humidity is cloying, suffocating, and you rush to open the door to crawl in the backseat.

The seats are just as large and plush as up front, however there’s definitely more foot room that you’re sure Aaron will appreciate. You’re waiting in the middle seat, legs tucked underneath you, as you watch Aaron tuck himself back into his jeans and step out of the car with an air of nonchalance that somehow makes him even more attractive.

When he opens the door to climb into the back, your eyes meet and you suddenly feel frozen to the spot, because he starts to encroach into your space, nearly predatory. There’s a glint in his eyes as he places his hand on your back, lowering you so you’re laying on the seats. You unconsciously spread your legs so he could situate himself between them, and the feeling of his large and warm body between your thighs has you hitching them up on his hips.

“You don’t know how long I’ve been thinking about this,” Aaron murmurs before ducking his head to press his mouth against your jawline, down your neck, and finally finally sucking a mark where your shoulder meets.

You exhale a shaky moan, bringing your hands up to run down his back and feel how wide his shoulders are and how you can feel his muscles tense as he moves. The wet heat of his mouth, his obscenely large hands on your hips, and the way his figure nearly engulfs you is mesmerizing.

He pulls back to take a look at you, thumb coming up to press into the mark he made and putting light pressure against your neck. There’s something wild and possessive in his eyes, his lips parted like he can’t believe what’s happening. “There you go. Now you’ll remember who you belong to.”

It feels like your breath is knocked out of you and replaced with something equally possessive. “Are you going to fuck me or what?”

Something dark passes over his face. “And here I thought you were going to behave.”

Before you could say anything, Aaron is swiftly lifting your tank top up and over your head, throwing it somewhere towards the passenger seat, and groping your tits. He thumbs at your nipples, watching in awe as you arch your back and push your chest further into his hands. The sudden sensation, pleasure zinging up your spine, after being teased for an entire week is dizzying and you want to drown in it.

“You’re so needy for it, aren’t you?” Aaron says, casually, as he pinches at your nipples. You choke on your moan, the initial sting melting into pleasure that makes you feel drunk. “You’re practically begging for my cock.”

“Yes,” you manage to gasp out. Your hands scramble at his shoulders, running up to tangle the soft hairs at the nape of his neck between your fingers. “I need your cock inside me.”

He leans down to suck one of your nipples in his mouth, deft fingers continuing on the other. His mouth is so deliciously wet and hot, expertly licking around you in a way that’s slowly unraveling you, and you shiver when you think about where else his mouth can be of use. Your eyes nearly roll back in your head and you cant your hips up desperately in an effort to gain some sort of friction against the nearly overbearing ache between your thighs.

His hands come down to press your hips down in an effort to make you stop squirming and you feel him shift until his knee is pressing between your legs and against your pussy through your shorts. The feeling of his warm hands on you and the seam of your shorts rubbing against your clit causes an embarrassingly high-pitched whine to escape your throat.

“You’re teasing me,” you pant, tugging at his hair experimentally.

Another raspy groan erupts from Aaron and, if possible, you feel hotter. His mouth detaches from your nipple and you instantly miss the hot heat of his mouth, until he says “And what if I want to taste that pretty little cunt of yours?”

Imagining Aaron pressing open-mouthed kisses against your thighs, breathing hotly against your panties until he’s pressing his tongue against you, smearing even more wetness around until you’re nearly dripping onto the expensive upholstery has you whimpering. Your mind races as you imagine him pulling your panties aside so he can press his soft mouth against you, licking and lapping at your pussy like you’re a five-course meal, sucking on your clit until you’re screaming his name and begging him to stop.

No words come out, mind nearly melted just at the thought of Aaron looking up at you from between your thighs and his mouth on your cunt. Instead, you let out a breathless moan and attempt to grind down against Aaron’s knee, chasing the little stimulation you can get.

Aaron licks his lips as he watches you, eyes dark and predatory. “You would like that, wouldn’t you?” His thumbs briefly traces your hips, and you nearly miss the tender touch, before he’s hooking them into the waistband of your shorts and tugs them down. “But we don’t have time for that, so I’m just going to fuck that needy pussy of yours.”

It took quite a bit of wriggling and Aaron hitting his head against the roof of the car to get your shorts and panties off of you, and you’re about to joke that this was an exercise in of itself, until Aaron is settling back between your legs with his own legs crammed underneath him. You suddenly realize Aaron is still wearing all of his clothes, polo wrinkled and pants hanging loosely at his hips, while you’re completely naked and vulnerable, desperate and needy like he said.

His fingers dance across the soft expanse of your thighs until he presses a finger against you, so close to where you need him. You breathe unsteadily and have to close your eyes, suddenly feeling overwhelmed, when Aaron gently grazes between your folds. “Fuck, you’re so wet for me, honey. Is this all for me?”

You nod rapidly and push your hips down in an effort to tell him to hurry the fuck up.

Aaron tuts at you. “What did I say about using your words?” And then he’s forgoing your clit completely and pressing a thick finger inside.

You gasp, eyes shooting open and meeting his from where he’s watching your face so intently it would’ve been intimidating if you didn’t feel white-hot pleasure take over your body. “Yes, I’m wet, just for you,” you rush out.

He hums, satisfied. “Just for me, right?” He begins thrusting his finger inside of you, and the feeling of being filled and something finally happening has you arching your back against him again, soft whines escaping your mouth before you can help it. The lewd noises from your sopping pussy rings out in the small space of the car, jarring, but it just makes you feel hotter.

“Yes, yes, yes,” you babble, attempting to rut your hips down to meet his thrusts, steadily growing in pace. Your hand shoots down to take ahold of his forearm, nearly distracted at the veins popping out, when you feel a second finger prodding at you. “Please just fuck me already, I’m ready.”

You watch Aaron’s mouth form what has to be a reprimand, scolding you for being so desperate, but then it closes and forms into something softer even as his gaze is fixated on his thick fingers thrusting in and out of your pussy. He leans in and kisses you before you realize, just a soft press of his lips against yours. When he pulls back, he’s still wearing a faint smile, and tucks a stray strand of your hair behind an ear. It’s all so painstakingly affectionate, you feel at a loss for words again but for a completely different reason you can’t name.

“How can I say no to you?” he mutters, almost to himself, and it shocks you to your core.

He doesn’t wait for a response and pulls out a condom from his back pocket. You watch as he’s about to tear the foil packet open, thoughts turning over and over in your head, before you exclaim “It’s fine, I’m on the pill.”

He pauses and stares at you, serious based off the pinch of his brows. “Are you sure? I don’t mind…”

“I’m sure,” you say, throwing your arms around his neck so you can run your fingers through his hair. And you are absolutely sure, confident, because you know the cherry on top of this whole experience would be feeling his cock spill in your pussy and filling you up. “I want to feel you.”

You watch as he groans, closes his eyes, and leans his forehead against yours, staring at the flutter of his long eyelashes. “You are killing me, sweetheart.”

You let out a breathless laugh. “Are you kidding me? I can say the same for you.”

Because if you thought Aaron looked good wearing a suit in those blurry pictures on Facebook, it doesn’t even compare to how he looks now. His polo tightly stretched over his shoulders, slightly disheveled from where you were grabbing onto him, belt unbuckled and pants hanging deliciously half-open from his hips, and hair tousled, the gel maintaining his professional appearance giving way to make him look younger. He’s so unbelievably hot you almost believe you’re dreaming.

You watch as he pushes his jeans and boxers down enough to where his cock pops out, the head a sympathetic dark red from where he must’ve been achingly hard this entire time. Before you make another attempt to have him in your mouth, he’s pushing in, stretching you deliciously open and making you grip harder at the hair at his nape.

“Fuck, you’re still so tight for me,” Aaron grunts, his hands flying to grasp onto your hips.

Although you can feel him sink into you, inch by inch, you’re mesmerized by the sharp focus on his face, the pinch in his brow and eyes clenched shut. As if he’s trying not to throw away all abandon and pound into you, and the thought is so intoxicating it makes your head spin.

“Oh my god,” you mumble. He bottoms out, his cock finally pushed all way in your pussy, and he’s much bigger, thicker, than you realized. It feels so, so good—being filled up with his hard cock, his hips pressing against your thighs as they splay out the way you’ve been dreaming of for the past week.

“You okay?” Aaron asks, gentle again, and before you could answer, he’s pulling back and thrusting back into you.

A gasp wretches out of you and your hands scramble at his back, pulling him down because you need him to be closer, need his large body pushing down on you and making you take him.

He lets you, giving you a mockingly sympathetic look, and leans down to press an open-mouthed kiss against your jawline. He starts a steady rhythm then—thrusting in and out of you and knocking the breath out of you. “You’re going to take my fat cock, baby? I know you’ve been begging for it all week; you need it so bad, don’t you?”

Jesus Christ.

Words escape you again, instead, your mouth hangs open as you attempt to nod in response. Even though the car’s AC was blasting, you were covered in sweat and sliding up the seats with every thrust of Aaron’s hips. You definitely weren’t complaining, probably wouldn’t even be able to because sounds you didn’t even know you were capable of making kept coming out of you, eyes nearly permanently rolled back in your head. It felt so good, you didn’t think fucking could ever feel this good, but Aaron continues to exceed expectations.

You hitch your legs up his hips higher and let out a high-pitched whine at the change in angle, hot pleasure zinging up your spine. Aaron grunts, something dark and masculine that makes you preen, and his hips start snapping harder, faster.

“Look at you,” he murmurs lowly right into your ear. “Being fucked so good you can’t even speak.”

He shifts again, hands hooking underneath your thighs and, with your nod, presses your knees to your chest until they’re next to your ears, legs dangling over his shoulders. You wrap your arms around your thighs, holding them in place, and your eyes nearly roll back into your head when Aaron’s cock slides even deeper into your cunt with a wet sound. He feels heavenly, even despite not having touched your clit at all.

He fucks you relentlessly and you think your brain has melted out of your ears because you just take it. The sound of his skin slapping against yours, the litany of groans and praises that fall from his lips, and your nonstop whimpering gasps is heady. You don’t even care if you can’t come just from him rutting into you alone, it feels too fucking good.

He sits back up, not once breaking his brutal pace, and makes unwaveringly intense eye contact with you. “My beautiful girl takes my cock so well, making such pretty noises. I can’t wait to fill this pussy up with my come.”

You really did not expect Aaron to have the dirty mouth he does, but again, you’re not complaining. Instead, you bring one of your arms down to snake between your thighs where you’re absolutely soaked in your combined wetness and sweat to circle your clit. The added stimulation, finally, has your thighs shaking and your pussy clenching around him. You squirm a bit, because his belt buckle has started to dig into you from where his pants are pooling around his knees, but you’re suddenly so close.

“Fuck, Aaron…”

He licks his lips at that, starts to fuck into you faster somehow. He knocks your hand aside to replace with his own and you absolutely mewl when you feel the rough callous of his thumb gently circling your clit, impossibly slow. “Is my good girl going to come? You’re going to come all over my cock, sweetheart?”

Your heart is pounding in your ears, and you can barely detect the strain in Aaron’s voice, like he’s close too. “Yes, yes, please,” you stutter, feeling your gut tighten and sweat breaking out on the back of your neck. “Harder.”

Aaron lets out a shaky laugh. “Since you asked so nicely.”

And then he’s rubbing your clit mercilessly, almost too rough if your nerves weren’t already so close to snapping. You let out a string of strangled whines, your hands coming up to hold onto Aaron’s free arm for dear life. You’re so wet that his fingers just glide over you, the wet noises of him fucking into you getting you hotter, making the coil in your stomach wind tighter, but it’s still not enough.

You watch with half-lidded eyes as Aaron lifts his right hand from where he was definitely leaving bruises on your hip to place at the base of your throat. Your eyes widen but you don’t stop him because the feeling sends your mind spinning, realizing that you have placed so much trust in this man and he’s thoughtful enough to care for you, treasure you, and fuck you so hard he’s definitely ruined you for anyone else.

His eyes are impossibly dark, hair falling into his face, and you meet his gaze unblinkingly as he puts light pressure on your throat. “Come for me.”

You don’t know if it’s the hand on your neck, his cock frantically fucking into you, or the soft baritone of his voice that has you pushing over the edge. You come with a choked gasp of his name, hips and thighs shaking almost uncontrollably. You swear your vision whites out because you don’t think you’ve ever come so hard in your fucking life.

You distantly hear Aaron grunt your name, feel him fuck into you desperately and erratically. He lets go of your throat, you secretly already miss the weight of his hand, and he clutches at your hips as he chases his own orgasm. It doesn’t take long for his hips to stutter, coming into you with a guttural moan that sends a shiver down your back. He grinds his hips into you, like he’s making sure he’s giving you every last drop he has, and the thought has you whimpering.

You stay like that as both of you catch your breath. Your thighs and hips are starting to ache uncomfortably, pussy sore in a way where you know you’ll be feeling it tomorrow, but you watch the way Aaron runs his hand through his hair to get it out of his eyes so he can lean in to kiss you, and it’s all worth it.

He pulls out slowly, dick twitching half-way inside of you when you moan at the empty feeling. You feel his come instantly start to drip out of you and onto the seats, and the dangerous glint in Aaron’s eyes has you squirming, heat licking up your back.

“Are you okay?” he asks, leaning over to open the console and hopefully rummage around for a hidden towel. You hope he doesn’t pull out old and scratchy fast-food napkins like the ones you have crammed in your glove compartment.

You laugh breathlessly, slowly dropping your legs down to dangle a bit more comfortably. “More than okay.”

He comes back with a pouch of wet wipes, slightly used, and you’re surprised at the sudden twinge of jealousy you feel when you imagine why he has wet wipes ready in his car and how many other women he’s fucked in his expensive car.

He’s thorough in cleaning you up, chest rapidly rising and falling as he continues to catch his breath. As if he can read your mind, he looks up at you curiously with no trace of the stern persona he had when he was fucking you mindlessly. You had thought you hid your jealousy well, however you find yourself glaring at the wipes in his hand.

He gives you an achingly sweet smile, a surprise dimple making an appearance, and leans over you where you’re still sweating all over his backseat. “Every parent has wet wipes in their car.”

You feel your cheeks heat at being caught, that he somehow knew you were drowning in the sudden onslaught of jealousy clawing up your chest. “I didn’t say anything.”

“You didn’t have to.” He throws the used wipes on the floor to pick up later, and then he’s wrestling around with you until you’re somehow laying on top of him across the seats, both of your legs bunched up and tangled together.

You’re sticky and sweaty, and Aaron has nearly sweated through his polo, causing it to cling to his chest in a way that has you wanting to put your hands all over him. So, you do, running your palms up and down him so intently that it gets a chuckle out of him.

“All of your clothes are still on.”

“Well, I was a little busy.” Oh, he’s a little cheeky after sex.

Both of you are laying in comfortable silence as you still catch your breaths, Aaron moreso than you, when his phone goes off where it hasn’t moved from the phone mount. The bright light causes you to squint, and you turn to press your face into Aaron’s chest with a whine. “Don’t pick up.”

“Alright, alright,” Aaron says despite him making no moves anyway to get up. He cranes his neck to get a good look at the caller ID and you can feel his body stiffen. “It’s your dad.”

And just like that, a bucket of cold water is splashed over you. You just had sex with your dad’s best friend in his expensive Range Rover in some sketchy rest stop.

You must have froze as well because then Aaron is running a hand up and down your back, making you shiver. He’s trying to comfort you, you know that, but honestly your thoughts immediately melt into other things that rely on his hands on you. Like pushing your head down between his legs. Maybe he’s right and you really are insatiable.

“Come on, let’s get going.”

The car ride the rest of the way to the hotel is mostly silent between you two, the only noises being the wind deafening you and your hair slapping into your face since he rolled the windows down.

To air out the stench of sex in the car, you remember.

You would almost think Aaron was mad, the way he didn’t try to make conversation with you, and you knew that you would be spiraling if it wasn’t for the fact that he held your hand in his lap the entire time.

You probably wouldn’t be much for conversation anyway—you’re already trying not to let your mind race about what you were going to do.

You’re only here for a couple of weeks, you go to school across the country, and technically, this was only supposed to be a summer fling. You don’t technically need to tell your dad about what happened.

You turn to look at Aaron, unabashedly. His hair is still tussled, thanks to your fingers, and there’s sweat beading along his forehead from the summer humidity. You stare at the sharp slope of his nose, the way the lights from the highway reflect in his dark eyes, and you’re suddenly wracked with the feeling of not wanting to let him go.

He squeezes your hand when he notices you staring for too long. He turns to you, most likely seeing the desperation on your face. He misinterprets it, thinking you’re running over what you’re going to tell your father over and over in your head. He has no idea that you want to keep seeing him, that you want to make this work somehow, whatever is between you two.

“We’ll figure it out.”

When you notice his gentle smile, the methodical way he runs his thumb over the back of your hand, you believe him.

#aaron hotchner x reader #aaron hotchner x y/n #aaron hotchner x female reader #aaron hotchner fanfiction #criminal minds fic #aaron hotchner fic #dbf!hotch #aaron hotchner smut #dbf!aaron hotchner #mine #hiiiii #aaron hotchner x you #aaron hotchner x fem!reader smut #aaron hotchner #aaron hotchner x reader smut

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omgellendean · 4 months ago

Text

So, Sacha Baron Cohen recently endorsed Kamala Harris in a fittingly racist islamophobic manner, by bringing back his character Borat. Yes, it's 2024.

Anyway, here's a 2022 investigation of SBC's vile Zionism and connections to the USA and Israeli intelligence, as well as an insight into the role of the US-American cinema as a propaganda tool.

Article: https://www.mintpressnews.com/closer-scrutiny-reveals-close-state-power-sacha-baron-cohen-really/279355/

Archived link: https://archive.is/7dSTL

Some quotes:

When asked about the national security state’s role in shaping pop culture, the former intelligence officer [John Kiriakou] said that it is “far more cynical” than most people realize, explaining:

” There is a branch inside the CIA’s Office Of Public Affairs whose job is solely to work with Hollywood Studios. This is something that the FBI has been doing since the 1940s. They’ll cooperate and give the red carpet treatment to any Hollywood studio that’s willing to make the CIA look good. “ [...]

In the end, “Brüno’s” production company did interview someone they claimed was a terrorist (in the Letterman interview, Baron Cohen described the man as such eight times in the space of three minutes). However, the person in question – Palestinian grocer and NGO worker Ayman Abu Aita – vigorously denied he was a terrorist at all. He claimed that Baron Cohen had told him the interview would be about his peace activism and that his life and business had been destroyed as a result. Abu Aita sued for nearly $100 million. The case was settled for an undisclosed sum in 2012. [...]

Even from an early age, Sacha was reportedly obsessed with the Jewish state. “He was very Zionist, very involved in Habo,” recalled one friend, referring to Habonim Dror, a left-wing Zionist group of which he was a member. Others remembered him as “a very nerdy, very funny, Israel-oriented guy” who went to live on a kibbutz in his youth. He appears to idolize Shimon Peres, traveling to meet him in 2012 and sharing quotes from the former Israeli president on his social media accounts. Peres, of course, oversaw the genocide of Palestinians in 1948, attempted to sell nuclear weapons to Apartheid South Africa, and carried out the ethnic cleansing of the Galilee region. [...]

Unsurprisingly, Baron Cohen has also campaigned fiercely against the Boycott Divestment and Sanctions (BDS) movement, presenting it as viciously antisemitic. “Boycotting? Yeah, fantastic. As long as they are Jews, it is alright. I’m not a racist, but keep the Jews out,” he said, in an attempt to satirize their position. [...]

Much of the movie is actually spent “on location” in “Kazakhstan,” where Borat takes the viewer around an unimaginably poor-looking village, making fun of how backward “his people” are. There are no Western egos or ignorance being punctured here. In fact, it was shot in a gypsy encampment in Romania, where locals were paid around $3 each to be humiliated by a man who spoke to them in a language they did not understand. The villagers were told they were appearing in a sympathetic documentary highlighting their lives. “Borat” made over $262 million at the box office. [...]

The racism was further amplified with the 2020 release of “Borat Subsequent Moviefilm.” Within the first two minutes of the sequel, Borat informs us that Kazakhstan has canceled their traditional event, “the running of the Jew,” but fortunately his country still has Holocaust Remembrance Day, “when we commemorate our heroic soldiers who ran the camps.” Borat also received an award, which he stated will be “put in our national museum along with other treasure we have confiscated from Jews.” [...]

In actual fact, as many have pointed out, Kazakhstan was a haven for Jewish people during the Holocaust, not a perpetrator of it, saving thousands of Jewish lives by taking in people from Eastern Europe and other states of the U.S.S.R. Today, the country is commended by Jewish groups as a model of tolerance. It is also, notably, not a helplessly sexist nation; Save The Children ranked it higher than the United States in its list of best countries to grow up female.

This is a rather inconvenient truth for the Israeli state-building project Baron Cohen supports. Ironically, perhaps the most shocking and newsworthy case of exposing bigotry Baron Cohen has documented has never been revealed. While in character as Brüno in Jerusalem, Baron Cohen was beaten nearly to death by an enraged crowd of homophobic Israelis, who, angered by his camp and sacrilegious attire, started stoning him, on camera. Baron Cohen was reportedly “nearly killed.” Kiriakou told MintPress that Baron Cohen told him that a rabbi even spat on him. It was the only time in his career that he broke character and desperately yelled that he was an Israeli Jew, not a homosexual foreigner. The comedian fled for his life and found refuge in a nearby store bathroom. This footage has never seen the light of day. Perhaps it sends the “wrong” message.

#celebrities #sacha baron cohen #racism #homophobia #zionism #usa #imperialism #politics #cinema #culture #films #propaganda #links #articles #my post

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posh--bee · 7 months ago

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hotel room revelations || Spencer Reid

pairing → Spencer Reid x Reader

summary → While on a case, you have to not only share a hotel room but also a bed with the BAU's resident genius Spencer Reid whom you have had a crush on since he first joined the FBI. When you wake up during the night with his arms wrapped around you, previously hidden feelings come to light and you realize that your unrequited feelings for him might not be so unrequited after all.

warnings → sharing a bed, love confessions, early seasons!Spencer, insecure!Spencer, misunderstandings, friends to lovers, reader is part of the BAU, no descriptions or pronouns used for the reader, no y/n used

author’s note → I love the "there was only one bed" trope so of course I had to write it with my beloved genius. I'm so happy to finally finish another fic again so let me know what you think about it! <3 (forgot to post this fic and now my cm obsession fizzled out, oops. But I know it will come back to haunt me sooner or later)

word count → 5.2k

When you wake up in the middle of the night, you’re not too happy about it and not sure who or what to blame for it.

You grumble your dissatisfaction without opening your eyes and the warm body behind you freezes.

Now you’re a little confused and you try to fight off the urge to just drift off again so you can actually form a coherent thought because you don’t remember going to sleep with someone else by your side last night. But thinking is still a little difficult when you’re half-asleep and it takes you an embarrassingly long time to even remember if you’re in your own bedroom right now or in another state in some sort of hotel room because of work, so your memory is not the most reliable source of help at the moment.

The someone behind you still holding you in their arms seems to get a little impatient and tries to slowly move away from you again but you don’t let them, instinctively grabbing their hand that is resting softly against your stomach and interlacing your fingers with theirs to keep it there. You hear a startled little sound close to your ear and feel the someone behind you going rigid, even holding their breath in surprise. Feeling bad about spooking your bedmate so suddenly, you apologize by soothingly stroking up and down their arm that is draped over your waist before going back to holding their hand. You don’t want them to let go of you even though you’re still not quite sure who exactly they actually are—but you’re still working on that.

What you do know, however, is that they’re warm and holding you in a gentle embrace and that you feel very safe and secure in their arms. And that you don’t want it to end.

You smile to yourself in satisfaction when you feel the someone gradually relaxing against you once more and you can finally pick up that derailed train of thought of yours to figure out where you are and why you’re not alone in bed.

But that’s when the someone behind you decides to speak up and solve the mystery at last.

“I… I’m really sorry, but I have to move. My arm’s completely fallen asleep…”

Oh. That’s right.

His voice is quiet, timid even and still laced with sleep, and suddenly you’re feeling a lot more awake than just moments before, your heart immediately picking up speed as you remember how you and Spencer ended up in the same bed together.

You’re currently in a little hotel room in a city halfway across the country because of a case JJ had presented you the day before. Five bodies with a sixth person still missing and the local police had decided to ask for the BAU’s help to stop whoever is responsible for these crimes. Spencer and you started to work on the geographical profile while the rest of the team drove to the scenes of crime and talked to the victims’ families. After working until the middle of the night but without making any considerable progress anymore, Hotch decided it was time to go to the hotel, rest, and return to the case after a good night’s sleep.

The hotel was pretty booked already when you boarded the jet so when you arrived at last in the lobby, exhaustion already weighing heavy on your shoulders and your eyelids dangerously heavy, the team was told they had to share rooms and even ended up with a room with a double bed instead of two single ones.

When JJ first announced this little circumstance at first, you really couldn’t care less. Somehow, your tired brain didn’t really consider that you would be one of the people staying in the room with a double bed and much less who would be the other person with you. But when Morgan sauntered over to you, letting the key ring spin around his finger, a wicked gleam in his eyes, you knew nothing good would come of it.

With a smirk he pressed the keys into your hand and announced that you and Spencer would be the lucky pair to share the room with the double bed, giving you a wink that made you want to kill him just a little bit. Morgan knows very well about your little, not all that serious crush on your coworker and makes a point to tease you about it whenever he can, which, unfortunately for you, is very often. Your only consolation is that Spencer is too oblivious to pick up on it even though Derek makes sure everyone and their mother knows how you feel about the young doctor. He obviously claims it’s only because he’s playing cupid and can’t stand the two of you dancing around each other for eternity, but you know for a fact that he’s obviously doing it for his own entertainment as well. Besides, playing cupid only gets you so far when only one person has feelings for the other one—which you’re painfully aware is the case for you and Spencer.

With an especially dirty eyeroll you grabbed the keys and turned to look at Spencer who gave you one of his signature tight-lipped awkward smiles. He didn’t look very happy at the prospect of having to share not only a room but also a bed with you and you tried your hardest not to take it personally. You know Spencer values his personal space so having to spend this and the following nights with another person next to him is nothing to look forward to for him—even if it’s with a good friend.

You masked your disappointment and bruised feelings with a small smile of your own and led the way toward the elevators at the end of the hotel lobby, pointedly ignoring Morgan’s teasing voice telling you to have a good night. You silently swore to yourself that you would get back at him for all of this when the case was solved and over, but right now you were more worried about surviving the next few nights of having Spencer so close to you yet completely out of your reach.

Dealing with your unrequited feelings for the young doctor on a daily basis wasn’t always easy for you but you contended yourself with being his coworker and friend even though it hurt more than you cared to admit. In the beginning, you hoped that your feelings would go away if you just ignored them—after all, it was just a stupid little crush on your adorable and dorky new coworker. But as time went on, and you were still plagued by an eruption of butterflies in your stomach whenever Spencer smiled at you, or accidentally brushed your hand with his when handing you a pen or a cup of coffee, or just stood near you for an extended period of time, you had to admit to yourself that your feelings for him were far more serious than you anticipated at first. The thought of just confessing to Spencer had crossed your mind a lot at this point, to get it off your chest, but the possibility of him rejecting you and losing one of your best friends in the process scared you too much to actually go through with it.

And before you knew it Spencer went on a date with JJ and made out with a gorgeous blonde actress in her pool and flirted with pretty barkeepers, and that was proof enough for you that keeping your feelings to yourself was the right course of action which didn’t mean it saved you from heartbreak or feeling sorry for yourself.

You started to distract yourself with alcohol and attractive strangers between cases, collecting fleeting memories with partners who never really helped you forget the one person who was always on your mind and in your heart. You went on like this until you could hardly look at yourself in the mirror anymore, feeling disgusted and ashamed of yourself, knowing that it would only get worse but still not stopping, telling yourself it was the price you had to pay for not having to spend the nights all by yourself. It was until you drunkenly stumbled into the apartment of yet another stranger, hurriedly opening buttons and zippers, carelessly tossing clothes to the floor, giggling when the stranger’s lips connected to yours despite feeling sick to your stomach. You saw it only when the stranger moved to press open-mouthed kisses to your neck; a photo of the stranger’s family, beautiful children and an adoring partner smiling brightly for the camera, and you wondered if you would ignore this too now that you have seen it, like you ignored the noticeable mark on the stranger’s finger where a wedding ring was clearly missing.

You felt faint when you pushed against the stranger’s shoulders, almost falling over your own two feet leaving the apartment only to find yourself in a part of town you were completely unfamiliar with in the middle of the night. Not knowing what else to do, you called Morgan who picked you up sitting on the curb, looking and feeling pathetic with tearstains on your face. He simply raised his eyebrows at you and wordlessly helped you into his car before driving back to his place. There, he gently wrapped you up in a blanket and cuddled with you on his old sofa for the entire length of three feel-good chick flicks all while alternating between handing you spoons of ice cream and tissues to dry your tears, listening to you in the early hours of the morning spilling your guts to him.

Thankfully, he never talked to you about that night again and you were grateful for it; otherwise, you would probably die on the spot from all the shame and embarrassment it would trigger in you. You had still apologized for inconveniencing him like this, staring at his shoes while stumbling over your words, fingernails biting into the palm of your hands. But Derek acted like he didn’t know what you were talking about, flashing you one of his defeating handsome smiles and you knew that all was good between you two, he was still your friend and didn’t think any less of you, so you pulled him down to press a grateful kiss to his cheek.

It didn’t however save you from Derek wiggling his eyebrows at you whenever Spencer and you sat pressed shoulder to shoulder absorbed in case files or when the two of you would share headphones on the jet while returning home. You are used to it by now, simply sticking your tongue out at him or giving him the finger when Hotch and JJ aren’t looking, earning a good-natured laugh from Derek and a confused glance from Spencer, who, to your relief, never quite understands what the constant teasing between you and the older agent is about.

So yes, after seeking pointless comfort with strangers until the point you almost didn’t recognize yourself anymore, you now are at a point where you would say that generally, you are just fine with knowing that Spencer would never see you as anything other than a good friend and coworker.

But after an exhausting day working on a grueling case, having made close to zero progress on it, and having to share a hotel room and a bed with Spencer only to wake up to him holding you in his arms, you really wish the universe would give you a break one of these days so you could take the time to get over your feelings for your genius friend once and for all.

You sigh quietly, willing your racing heart and those malicious butterflies in your stomach to calm down before letting go of Spencer’s hand, trying your best to ignore the pang of disappointment. The feeling only worsens when Spencer moves away from you, carefully putting some distance between yourself and him, taking all his warmth with him and you can’t help but to curl into yourself at that.

You feel him settle on the other side of the bed, already missing his touch even as fleeting as it was, feeling wide awake and wondering how you will ever fall asleep again tonight after that—and the nights still to come.

“I’m so sorry for ambushing you like that,” Spencer’s quiet voice cuts through the silence of the room, his bashfulness palpable with every word. “I didn’t mean to make you uncomfortable.”

“You didn’t, Spence. Don’t worry.” Quite the opposite, but you keep that thought to yourself, opting for lightening the mood instead. “You didn’t make me uncomfortable. I mean, I had to share a bed with Emily before and I woke up to her having me in a chokehold so I prefer having you as my bedmate by a mile.”

You’re blessed with a little laugh from Spencer, your body relaxing against the unfamiliar mattress but still missing his closeness from before. You feel him shift on his side of the bed and can’t help but wonder if he too was more comfortable with holding you in his arms. But you quickly dismiss this silly thought of yours, knowing that indulging in false hopes and wishful thinking doesn’t save you from the reality that Spencer just doesn’t feel the same way as you.

“But I’m serious. You didn’t make me uncomfortable,” you reiterate after a moment of silence between the two of you, slowly turning around for a more comfortable position which isn’t in the slightest related to the fact that like this you are facing Spencer now. You can’t really make out his features in the darkness of the hotel room but maybe it’s for the best. Otherwise, you probably would give into the temptation of reaching out and brushing a few unruly curls of his behind his ear, your fingers softly lingering on his face just a tad too long.

“That’s—I’m glad…” His voice is quiet, almost distant, and you wonder if he’s already drifting off to sleep again. You couldn’t blame him for that. The day the two of you had was long and wearying, coming into work just to be presented with gruesome pictures from various crime scenes, discussing the UnSub’s profile and MO while being on the jet before being introduced to police officers and grieving family members alike, getting to work without a single break on your mind. If it wasn’t for these inconvenient feelings of yours that caused your heart rate to resemble that of someone who just ran a mile, you would probably feel as exhausted as Spencer is. But in your case, sleep is currently not really something you can think about when all you want is to curl up in his arms like before, feeling warm and safe and happy until the harsh reality of the next morning catches up with you again.

“Still, I’m sorry,” Spencer then whispers into the darkness, your name leaving his lips in a soft sigh, and you frown. There’s really nothing he has to apologize for and you want to tell him as much, but he’s faster than you, his words coming out in a self-conscious rush.

“I’m sorry that you are stuck here with me. I know you’d prefer being with Morgan instead and I’m sorry that he’s being such an idiot about all of this.”

Now you really don’t know what he’s talking about. What does Derek have to do with anything? But Spencer doesn’t let you voice your thoughts, only to confuse you even more.

“I-I know you like Morgan so you were probably hoping that he would just assign this room to himself and you, and I really don’t get why he’s so set on acting like he doesn’t have feelings for you as well. I get he’s not really someone who does relationships but he’s lucky that someone special like you is in love with him so—”

“Spencer, stop—” you suddenly interrupt this agitated rambling of his, trying to wrap your head around the fact that he’s somehow convinced you have feelings for your fellow agent. “Wha-What are you talking about? I’m not in love with Derek Morgan. We’re friends, but that’s really all there is to it. What on earth makes you think that I like him like that?”

You push yourself up on your elbow in your bewilderment, the sheet that covers you and Spencer falling from your shoulders in the process. You quickly turn around, turning on the light by your bedside, not believing what nonsense you just heard. Dumbfounded, you look at the genius lying beside you, his expression confused and apologetic in return.

“I’m—sorry?” he starts while sitting up slightly so the two of you are at eye level, his voice hesitant and uncertain. “I just thought… The two of you are always together, even outside of work, on the weekends. And you have all these little private jokes with Morgan and conversations that always stop whenever someone else gets closer. And he always makes you laugh and flustered, so I just figured—you know, that you like him more than just a friend or a coworker.”

He takes a deep breath and looks away, his fingers fiddling with the hem of the stiff hotel sheet while you can only stare at him open-mouthed.

“And I figured that he’s an idiot for not realizing that he’s the luckiest man on earth to have your heart.”

The silence in the dim hotel room stretches on while Spencer pointedly avoids meeting your eyes and you continue to stare at him, your mind still trying to process that he is convinced about your feelings for Morgan when your heart only belonged to Spencer for a long time now, when you wish for nothing but to wake up in his arms like you just did every day for the rest of your life.

You reach for him and grab his face, holding him in place when he’s startled by your sudden action and the intense eye contact, his eyes widening in confusion and shock but you don’t care. You can’t. There’s a sudden need in you for him to understand how wrong he is about your alleged feelings for Morgan, to make him see the truth that was always right in front of him.

So you resolutely look into his eyes, ignoring the subtle trembling of your fingers against his soft skin and the ringing of your own heartbeat in your ears. You’ve experienced explosions going off right next to you, you’ve cornered armed serial killers and ran into possibly lethal situations without a second thought, but somehow you’ve never been as fucking sacred as you are right now. You could ruin everything you have with Spencer with what you are about to say, but you can’t keep it in any longer. You need him to know how you feel about him, how you’ve felt about him for so long now.

“Spencer Reid, you listen to me. I am not in love with Derek Morgan, I never was and I never will be. I can’t believe you’d think that when I’ve been pining for you for literal years now! It’s always been you, I need you to know that. From the moment I saw you standing next to Gideon with that stupidly adorable sweater and that awkward smile of yours, I knew I was done for. So I never want to hear you say that I have feelings for Morgan when I’m in love with you!”

Your voice is shaking throughout your little speech, but you make it to the end, intently staring into Spencer’s eyes who looks back at you with such a stupidly shocked expression that you would’ve laughed at him if not for your heart beating so wildly against your ribcage that it physically hurt.

The silence that follows your confession is oppressive and all-consuming, and you let go of Spencer’s face so he doesn’t fall victim to your nervous urge to sink your fingernails into something. Instead, they bite into the skin of your forearms as you hug your midsection, watching the young genius open and close his mouth multiple times without making a sound, his eyes blinking rapidly.

Dejectedly, you nod to yourself, already putting together a list of romantic comedies in your mind Morgan will have to endure together with you while you pathetically sob into his shoulder, tissues and ice cream keeping you company on your little coffee table in front of the TV.

You didn’t really expect it to end any differently, but it still hurt more than you anticipated. Your eyes begin to sting and you close them, stubbornly fighting the urge to cry. You have enough time for that later, preferably when you’re not sharing a room with Spencer anymore and the case is over, so you take a couple of deep breaths to calm yourself before opening your eyes again.

Spencer is still looking at you with wide eyes, a noticeable blush adorning his cheeks. Any other time you would find this discovery incredibly endearing, but right now, with your heart in pieces and dangerously close to crying, it only reminds you that you can’t take your words back, that now he knows how you feel about him and that your relationship with him will never be the same again, even if the two of you stay friends.

You manage a meek smile that Spencer doesn’t return, and you wonder if his silent reaction to what you revealed to him could be a blessing in disguise after all. You want him to say something, anything, to you but at the same time you don’t know how well you and your bruised heart would handle hearing him say that he doesn’t feel the same way about you out loud.

What you do know is that you can’t stay here any longer, you need to get out of this room, out of this situation, now.

With one last look at Spencer, you avert your eyes, your voice quiet, tinged with regret.

“I’m sorry,” you whisper before sitting on the edge of the bed, your back now to him, only tilting your head back to speak in his direction. “I’ll ask the others if I can stay in one of their rooms for the night.”

You move to stand up and that’s what snaps Spencer out of his daze at last, hurriedly reaching for you before you can get up, much less process what is happening, one of his large hands on your arm while the other is cupping your jaw tenderly, almost hesitantly. The kiss he pulls you into then is the opposite of that. It’s urgent and desperate and completely steals your breath away, your heart leaping into your throat and your stomach lurching in confused delight. Still, it takes you a moment to kiss him back, entirely too overwhelmed to react, but when you do it’s just as urgent, just as desperate. Your teeth clank together slightly but you ignore it in favor of meeting Spencer’s tongue with your own, your head beginning to spin. You’re not sure if it’s from the kiss or the lack of oxygen but you really can’t care less about that at the moment, especially not when you swallow the appreciative groan that falls from Spencer’s lips as one of your hands finds its way into his curls and pulls not all too gently on them.

The kiss only breaks when you’re certain the two of you are running out of air completely but still Spencer whines quietly at the sudden loss of contact, following your lips until the hand in his hair tugs him back. You placate him with a quick peck to his nose before concentrating on calming your heavy breathing and frantically beating heart, your forehead softly resting against his.

You don’t protest when Spencer starts to pull you closer to him, letting him wrap his arms around you and guide you to settle in his lap, your head now resting on his shoulder, humming in contentment at the kiss he presses to the top of your head. You don’t say anything for a while, having no need for words, not when you feel Spencer’s heart mirror the rhythm of yours as you place your hand on his chest.

You look up at him when he covers your hand with his own and brings it to his lips, pressing a kiss to the palm of your hand that makes your skin tingle pleasantly. His eyes swim with emotions but he doesn’t look away as you try to decipher all of them even though his blush reaches from the tip of his ears to somewhere underneath the soft shirt he wears. Your fingers itch to pull the collar of the shirt down a little, just to see how far that blush really goes when he quietly clears his throat, the bright smile on his pretty lips faltering slightly.

“I’m sorry for—for not saying anything just now. I couldn’t—I wasn’t sure you really meant what you said, I just couldn’t believe it wasn’t some sort of joke.”

You shift in his embrace, ready to repeat what you have said, to express what you feel for him until he is sick of hearing your voice, but before you can even open your mouth, he quickly steals a kiss from you, and then another one, effectively shutting you up and looking quite proud of himself too when he meets your eyes again. So you have no choice but to let him finish what he has to say like you always do, always giving him time to collect his thoughts and listening to him when he is ready to share them with you.

“But I know you would never lie to me, especially not about something like this and only then did I realize we could’ve been doing this years ago if I hadn’t been such an idiot and too blind to see what was in front of me all along because—because I’ve been in love with you for a long time now too.”

The smile that spreads on your face is so big it hurts your cheeks, radiant enough to challenge the whole sun and you have to twist your fingers into the front of Spencer’s shirt to pull him down to you so you can feel his lips on yours again. They’re soft and warm and real and when you part again the laugh that bubbles past his is like music to your ears, sending a pleasant shiver down your spine.

You lean further into him and his arms around you tighten in response, enjoying the comfortable silence in this unfamiliar hotel room for a little while longer before gently speaking up again.

“You’re not an idiot Spencer. How could you have known when I’ve always been too scared to say anything? But now I did and we’ve finally found each other, and from now on we can make up for lost time. What do you say, my pretty boy?”

The adoration shining clearly in his brown eyes tells you everything you need to know and you move in to kiss him once more, preferably without ever stopping again, but suddenly Spencer tenses against you, making you look up at him with a quizzical look.

You can’t stop the little groan that escapes you at his next words.

“You and Morgan—did you really never—?”

As your genius worries his bottom lip between his teeth you really wish Morgan would finally stop being a part of your conversation.

“I—I believe what you’ve said, that you don’t have feelings for him,” Spencer continues, “but I’d understand if at some point, you know—because the way you are around each other—"

“Spencer. Let’s not do this again,” you have to interrupt a second time this night, but not unkindly. “Yes, even though I have feelings for you I have slept with other people, but it never meant anything to me—in fact, it just made me feel so, so horrible. And when it comes to Morgan—he and I are friends and that is all there is to it. It’s true I spend a lot of time with him, that we have a lot of little inside jokes and private conversations just for our ears, but do you want to know what the one common factor is with all of these things? It’s you, Spence.”

You emphasize your words with a kiss to his jaw, easing the tentative look he gives you by gently running your fingers through his soft hair.

“Most of the time I spent with Derek was just me whining about how much I wish you were mine and how unfair it is how adorable you look whatever you do and how smart and kind and pretty you are, and that you probably tried to kill me when you wore your glasses to work every day for some time. It’s honestly a miracle Morgan didn’t also develop a crush on you by sheer proximity to me, like through osmosis. He had to listen to me for years pining about you so he gets back at me for it by teasing me relentlessly about you, so I’ll have you know that all of our funny little private jokes are actually at my expense. My point is, even if Morgan would’ve wanted to start something with me—which he never did by the way—, he, and those other people too, never stood a chance because I only ever had eyes for you, Spence.”

“Oh.”

Spencer shakes his head in disbelief but he’s grinning like a fool with his cheeks and ears painted cherry red. He’s quick to hide his face in your hair, too overwhelmed by the sincerity in your voice and you think that now your genius finally, finally understands. But still, you would continue to reassure him about your feelings if his insecurities should get the better of him again, understanding that he doesn’t doubt you but that the voice in his head sometimes isn’t the kindest to him and that everything about this is very new to him.

You close your eyes, your head resting comfortably against his shoulder until you’re on the brink of falling asleep, the comfortable and content silence of the hotel room and the steady rise and fall of Spencer’s chest steadily lulling you to sleep. After the long day you’ve had and the excitement of this night, exhaustion has now caught up with you and if the big yawn that escapes Spencer is any indication, he is feeling its effect as well.

You’re vaguely aware of Spencer reaching over to turn off the bedside lamp before moving the both of you to lay down together, shifting and coordinating limbs until you’re both comfortable with him holding you in his arms, his hand resting softly on your stomach and your fingers interlacing with his.

You smile to yourself, knowing that from now on you’ll have the privilege of falling asleep like this every night—in the arms of your beloved genius.

#spencer reid x reader #spencer reid x you #spencer reid fluff #spencer reid #spencer reid one shot #criminal minds #criminal minds x reader

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stellewriites · 3 months ago

Text

very much inspired by a post i’ll link at the bottom to avoid spoilers

i love putting john price in situations

simon had known price for over a decade, had served under him as his lieutenant for a good portion of it, so he was pretty confident in answering yes when asked if he thought he knew the captain well.

he could acknowledge he wasn’t as close as say laswell may have been, but he knew that price’s wife was not common knowledge around the base either.

he’d pieced it together over the years on missions; catching the odd comment shared over coms; the glint of a ring around his neck; the odd teased mention of her when they sat in the rec room after barely scraping through a tough spot, when price needed the company as well as the silence ghost offered before returning to the real world.

it was how simon knew the sergeants were staying when price let slip about her one day. because he doesn’t let anything slip, wouldn’t, especially about her.

“got anyone at home waiting for you, sir?” gaz asked as he sighed impatiently over the coms, hour three of silently waiting and watching had finally gotten to him.

“i do,” price said simply, not offering any further information. ghost could imagine the amusement tugging at his daft facial hair as price refused to continue without prompting and simon smiled under his mask when he heard johnny scoff next to him before chiming in.

“c’mon sir, give us a wee bit more’n that,” he weedled. “when’d ya meet? is she nice?”

john hummed, the sound low and crackly over the radio in their ears. “met when i moved.”

“oh, a real meet-cute type thing, eh?” gaz teased.

john ignored him. “wouldn’t say she’s nice, soap. she’s more than that. ‘nice’ is your aunt’s new wallpaper; you have permission to shoot me point blank if i start calling her nice.”

“what is she then?” ghost piped up. this was the chattiest john had ever been on the subject and he was going to take advantage.

john went silent for long enough that the three men thought that was it, the end to their sharing session and knowing more about their captain outside of work. simon chewed the inside of his cheek.

“she’s devoted,” john whispered finally before his voice firmed. “heads up, team, movement 2 o’clock. anyone got eyes on the target?”

—

it was months later when she was brought up again, the team thinking. nothing of it until price’s phone pinged in his pocket enough times to pique johnny’s interest as they prepped to leave.

“that the wife, sir?” he asked.

john huffed, didn’t bother checking his phone as he turned and shook his head. “she’s clingy, but she doesn’t bother me when i’m at work.”

“how’d you know?” gaz asked. “could be an emergency.”

“‘n’ how’d you get her to agree tae tha’?” soap followed up quickly, having had issues with his own flings petering out when he was distant and slow to reply.

“been with her long enough now it’s routine,” john said simply. he checked his weapons before heading for the exit. “helo in 5, be air ready.”

—

the mission had gone to shit, and they were stuck hidden in a building that looked like it was 10 seconds away from collapsing under a brisk wind when ghost finally felt his patience snap.

it was no one’s fault, but being stuck in another country with no back up and a target on their backs for an extra three weeks wasn’t ideal and johnny’s insistence on playing cards at every opportunity to keep his idle hands and mind busy combined with gaz’s tinny whistling had made for the perfect scenario to grate on simon’s patience quicker than anything else ever had.

“tell us about her. ya wife,” simon asked, his gaze slipping across to john, watching him pick at his nails. his cuticles were red and raw from four days of agitated fidgeting since they’d ran out of cigars and cigarettes. every so often simon caught him pat his empty pocket before he’d remember and huff heavily through his nose like a bull.

john closed his eyes at the mention of his wife and sighed. he started his description without protest or hesitance. “shes soft spoken. christ, you’d hardly know she was there half the time, she’s so quiet. but she’s firm. stands her ground no matter what,” he chuckled. “don’t think i’ve ever won an argument against her.”

kyle laughed and ghost closed his own eyes, trying to picture what he thought the captain’s wife might look like. pretty certainly, but was she tall, plump, did she have an endearing gap between her front teeth, did she keep her hair short or long?

“she’s a bit of a homebody,” john admitted bashfully, unaware of simon’s drifting thoughts. “but i can’t say i mind it.”

“not wanting to leave the bedroom much when yer back?” johnny joked, hissing when ghost punched his thigh.

john just smiled placidly, eyes still closed. his eyebrows pulled down as he gushed, “god she’s gorgeous in red. wears it every time i come home.”

“lucky bastard,” gaz huffed.

“yeah.” john nodded and finally opened his eyes. “yeah, lucky.”

“you’ll be back with her soon, cap,” gaz reassured him when he saw price swallow thickly.

“thanks, gaz. now who’s taking first watch tonight? soap?”

—

john was quiet on the plane ride home, not unusually so, but ghost noticed the difference all the same.

he was pensive perhaps, worried what his wife would say when he finally got home a month later than scheduled, uncontactable the entire time. ghost could understand to a certain degree that john would have more important things on his mind than what his three subordinates were going to do as soon as they stepped foot on home soil, so he didn’t push when john ignored the few threads of conversation thrown his way by their younger sergeants. instead he nodded when john said a quick goodbye as they all parted ways in the airport.

simon could only assume john was the same all the way home in the cab that dropped him outside of his little three bed house.

he didn’t see however how john hesitated at the door to his home that evening. how he gripped the front door keys tightly in his fist, shook as he stared down at his feet instead of letting his eyes drift and catch on the windows, and felt as though he could crack a tooth from how hard he was clenching his teeth.

he finally opened the door when he thought the neighbours might begin to get worried and stepped inside, flicking on the lights as he went.

it wasn’t until he got to the kitchen that he found her.

stood bare foot, silent, eyes wide and pleading, blood seeping - always seeping. would it ever stop? would the blood ever end? - through her white pyjama top, his top that she’d borrowed for the night, and trickling down her bare legs.

her mouth opened and she visibly struggled for breath, but no sound escaped even as her tongue wagged on the floor of her mouth, lapping at the backs of her teeth as all words escaped her.

he swallowed back bile.

“hello, sweetheart,” he choked out. “sorry i’m late.”

the blood pooled at her feet, the panties she wore were seeped a dark purple from the viscus liquid dying the dark blue material and the shirt stuck to her front. john had remembered loving seeing her like this in a morning, had always thought she looked best in as little clothing as possible.

“i know you hate it when work keeps me busy, but it was unexpected. we were caught—“ a high screech, not dissimilar to that of a whistle that only a dog could hear, pierced through his ears and cut his words short. he curled in and covered his ears, but he knew it would do no good, he should’ve known better than to talk about work around her.

not after what had happened last time he got back late after overtime.

tears prickle at his eyes and the sound abruptly stopped. he’d never questioned why it seemed to be only him that could hear her protests, why his neighbours never mentioned a shrill cry every so often from his home. he had always said she was made for him and that had apparently translated literally into the afterlife.

he looked up at her again - it was best not to ignore her he found. it only made her angry.

“it won’t happen again,” he promised wetly. “i did my best to get back as soon as i could, i promise, sweetheart—“ he choked on his words, biting back a sob. she watched unblinkingly, silent except for the wet squelch of her feet on the laminate.

they both knew he wasn’t apologising for being late this time. he got like this sometimes, when her agonised face and mangled body was too much to bear after a long mission and the guilt bore down like a physical presence.

he couldn’t help but think if he’d gotten home even just an hour earlier he might’ve been able to save her, to have kept her company instead of leaving her on the floor alone and cold, maybe he could have caught the bastards that had hurt her while he was still travelling back from deployment after agreeing to hang back and finish his paperwork there and then instead of emailing it across.

he reached a shaking hand forward and blew out a ragged breath when his hand met nothing but frigid air. but when he brought his hand up to his face he could smell the copper tang of his dead wife’s blood on his skin. the stench unwashable, cloying, but if he concentrated hard enough it ever so faintly smelt like the vanilla perfume she used to wear.

“was telling the lads about you, love,” he forced an empty chuckle as he walked around her to the kettle and went through their usual routine. “think they might’ve fallen a little in love, not that i could blame them.”

he ran a hand over his face and gave himself a moment to let the tears fall as his palm hid his eyes. her silence was the worst part of it all, but he could see the glaring red of her in his peripheral when he dropped his hand to the counter.

it wasn’t pretending his wife was still alive if she was right there at his shoulder, was it?

“looks like i’ll need to grab you some more pg tips, sweetheart,” he said and poured the boiling water into two cups, sparing a glance over his shoulder at his wife. “we’re almost out.”

post link

#idk if this is as good as i wanted it to be or pictured it to be when i first had the thought but i like it anyway!!#john price #price x reader #john price x reader #uhhhhhh spoilers after these tags #main character death #tw mcd #cw mcd #tw gore #cw gore #it’s mild #also mention of a break in and violent murder of reader sorryyyyyy

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willowsnook · 2 months ago

Text

miscommunication

can I get a salami and lettuce wrap please? tyyyyy <3

oscar piastri x coworker!reader

she isn’t you

—————————————————-

“I just don’t understand why we’re making a switch so late in the season,” you complained to Lando as you walked through the halls of MTC with him.

“It’s because I’m a handful,” he said cheerfully and you rolled your eyes. “I’m trying not to be insulted right now by you, but you’re making it hard.”

Snorting, you looked over at him. You both had just been informed that, effective immediately, you would be his PR manager moving forward, and Oscar would be getting someone new.

“You know I don’t mean it like that,” you argued. “We spend so much time together anyways.”

“Oh, I know. You’re just upset you don’t get to be around your crush,” he said, and you stopped him, crossing your arms over your chest.

“I do not have a crush on him,” you said, eyes narrowed. “We are just friends.”

Lando smirked and you knew he had you. Okay, so maybe you had a little crush on Oscar, but who could blame you? He was attentive, kind, and very easy on the eyes.

“Uh huhh,” he drawled. “Please, I think everyone is happy now that we don’t have to watch the two of you obliviously flirt with each other anymore.”

“Whatever,” you muttered, following him into the cafeteria. You spotted Oscar sitting at a table with an unfamiliar girl, listening intently to whatever she was saying.

You and Lando made your way over there, sitting down at the table.

“Hey guys,” Oscar said. “This is my new PR manager, Stacy.”

You introduced yourself before subtly sizing her up. She looked like she was a couple of years older than you but was very pretty, which irritated you. To make it worse, she had an Australian accent.

“Are you from Australia?” Lando asked and she nodded.

“Yeah, not too far from where Oscar is from,” she replied.

You felt a twinge of jealousy as Oscar's eyes lit up at the mention of his home country. He and Stacy immediately launched into a conversation about their shared experiences growing up in Australia, laughing at inside jokes you couldn't understand.

Lando caught your eye and raised an eyebrow, clearly noticing your discomfort. You forced a smile and tried to focus on your lunch, but couldn't help glancing up at Oscar and Stacy every few seconds.

"So, how long have you been in PR?" you asked Stacy, trying to join the conversation.

"Oh, about five years now," she replied with a dazzling smile. "I've worked with a few different teams, but I'm really excited to be with McLaren. And of course, to work with Oscar."

She shot him a playful look, and he grinned back at her. Your stomach churned at the interaction and you stood up quickly, everyone looking at you in surprise.

“I just remembered that I have a meeting soon; I’ll catch you guys later,” you got out, and Lando shook his head in embarrassment for you.

—————————————————-

Lando actually was a handful to manage PR-wise, so your days were a little busier than they had been. You and Oscar hadn’t really talked much in the past couple of weeks, mostly because of how busy you were, and you were kind of avoiding him. It seems like every time you saw him, he was talking to Stacy and if you watched him smile at her one more time, you might die.

You had never been the jealous type, so these feelings were very confusing. You guys weren’t even dating, for God's sake.

It was after the sprint race in Brazil that you ran into Oscar as you had stepped out to see how bad it was raining.

“Hey, you looked good today,” you said and he smiled down at you.

“Thanks,” he replied. “I haven’t gotten to talk to you in a while.”

“Oh I know, I’ve been busy with Lando,” you said and he frowned.

“You two seem to be getting close,” he commented and you shrugged, turning back to watch the rain.

“He’s a handful.”

Oscar chuckled softly, leaning against the wall next to you. "Yeah, he can be. But he's a good guy."

You nodded, feeling the tension between you two. The silence stretched on, broken only by the patter of rain. You wanted to say something, anything, to break the awkwardness, but your mind was blank.

"So, how are you liking working with Lando?" Oscar finally asked, his voice careful.

You shrugged again. "It's fine. Different from working with you, of course."

"Different how?" he pressed, and you could feel his eyes on you.

"Just... different," you said lamely, not wanting to admit how much you missed working with him. "How's it going with Stacy?"

Oscar was quiet for a moment. "It's good. She's very professional."

"That's good," you replied, fiddling with your hands.

“I think they might move qualifying to tomorrow,” he said, and you nodded in agreement, seeing that the rain would not let up. Maybe we could grab something to eat when we get back to the hotel?”

“Yeah that sounds good, I’ll ask Lando if he wants to join, Stacy can come as well,” you said and his brows furrowed.

“Uhh-yeah, okay,” he said. You were too busy in your own head to hear the frustrated sigh he let out.

Dinner was torture for you as you watched Stacy shamelessly flirt with Oscar and you laid your head on Lando’s shoulder while watching the show. After that, you could tell something was irritating Oscar because anytime Lando said something, he either didn’t respond, glared at him, or gave a short reply. After paying the bill, you walked back with Lando, thinking about the night.

“What’d you do to piss him off?” You asked and Lando gave you an amused look.

“You didn’t notice the pattern?” He asked and your face scrunched up in confusion.

“What are you talking about?”

“He was perfectly fine until you leaned into me and then it was like a switch went off,” he said.

“You’re jumping to conclusions,” you muttered, not wanting to acknowledge any truth to that. “He was flirting with her all night, I don’t know why he would have cared.”

“She was flirting,” Lando corrected and you waved him off. “You drive me insane.”

“Likewise buddy.”

————————————————————————

Brazil on Sunday was a disaster, and Lando’s comments to the media that followed sent you into a spiral. You worked on a clarification statement for the rest of the night, and by the time it hit 10 p.m., you were exhausted. Finally, making it back to the hotel, you saw Oscar playing on his phone while waiting in the lobby.

“What are you still doing up?” You asked, moving to sit next to him on the couch.

“Waiting for you,” he said. “I knew you were going to be there late so I just put in a food order.”

Your heart fluttered at his thoughtfulness. "You didn't have to do that," you said softly.

Oscar shrugged, a small smile on his face. "I wanted to. It's been a rough day for everyone."

You nodded, feeling the exhaustion settle into your bones. "That's an understatement."

Just then, the hotel staff brought over a tray with covered dishes. Oscar thanked them and turned to you. "I hope you're hungry. I got us some pasta and garlic bread."

The smell of the food made your stomach growl, reminding you that you hadn't eaten since breakfast. "Starving, actually. Thank you, Oscar."

You both dug into the meal, eating in comfortable silence for a few minutes. It felt nice to just be with him, no distractions or other people around.

"So," Oscar said after a while, "how’s Lando?”

“Disaster,” you said sadly. “I called Max earlier to talk to him, I’m not sure what to do. I’ve never seen him like this.”

“Me either,” Oscar said thoughtfully. “He beats himself up way too much.”

“I agree,” you said. “How do you do it?”

“I know what’s in my control and what’s not,” he said and you nodded along. “And I also use the people around me to lean on.”

At the last part, he looked deep into your eyes, and you blushed, looking down at your food.

“I’ve been avoiding you,” you blurted out and he looked at you in surprise.

“I know,” he said, waiting for you to continue.

“I don’t like seeing her with you,” you admitted, looking anywhere else.

“She’s my PR manager,” he said confused. “Are you jealous?”

You didn’t respond to that and the corners of Oscar’s mouth lifted slightly.

“You of all people know that I have to spend time with her,” he pressed, not realizing the real root of your jealousy.

“Of course I know that,” you snapped, frustrated. “Doesn’t mean I have to like it. I miss getting to hang out with you.”

“She isn’t you,” he said, reaching out for your hand. “We have a good relationship, but it’s not like ours. I’m still here.”

You felt your breath catch in your throat at his words and the gentle touch of his hand on yours. For a moment, you just stared at your intertwined fingers, trying to process what was happening.

You felt a warmth spreading through your chest at his words. "I've been so stupid," you said with a self-deprecating laugh. "I let my jealousy get the best of me and I pushed you away."

"Hey, it's okay," Oscar said, squeezing your hand. "I probably should have made time for you sooner.”

“You’re my best friend Oscar,” you said, pussying out of confessing, and for a second, a deflated look flashed on his face before he recovered.

“You’re mine too,” he said with a forced smile.

——————————————————-

Back at MTC, you were in a good mood. Having seen Lando in the morning, you felt reassured that he was good. You stepped outside to take a walk after lunch when you overheard two voices from around the corner.

“You know what I still don’t understand?” You heard Stacy ask someone.

“What?” You heard the voice of the office administrator respond.

“He requested that she be moved from being his PR manager. I was originally supposed to come on as Lando’s but Oscar asked the team to switch it.”

Your blood froze as you eavesdropped, a million emotions running through your head. He didn’t want you to be his PR manager anymore? Betrayal washed over you and you felt tears fill your eyes. Subconsciously, your feet led you to keep walking to the parking lot and your car. When you shut the door, everything broke loose, and you rested your arms and head against the steering wheel as you cried.

God you had been so stupid. How could you have been so stupid to even entertain the possibility that he felt the same way?

Lando saw you walking towards your car and followed, knowing that you both had to be in a meeting in ten minutes. He pulled open your passenger door, thinking he could scare you, but he was caught off guard when your tear-soaked face looked over at him.

“Y/n, what’s wrong?” He asked, panicked, and that only made you cry harder. Leaning over the console, he grabbed your shaking body, pulling it into his chest. He rubbed your back as you cried into him, soon slowing down to only sniffles.

“He asked for me to switch to be your PR manager rather than continuing to be his,” you told Lando as you pulled out of his arms.

Lando gave you a confused look, “what do you mean?”

“I overheard Stacy telling someone that she was supposed to work with you, but Oscar wanted to make the switch,” you said, trying not to cry again.

“That can’t be true; he has just as big of a crush on you as you do on him.”

“Obviously not,” you laughed bitterly.

“But what about Brazil? He waited up for you.”

“Guilty conscience maybe,” you justified and Lando frowned. “I’m going home, will you tell everyone I just wasn’t feeling well?”

Lando nodded before squeezing your hand and leaving.

As he walked back into the building, he was on a mission. He had already texted someone that you and he were missing the meeting. Oscar was talking to a mechanic on the floor, and Lando walked quickly towards him.

“I need to talk to you,” he said coldly and Oscar was taken aback by his teammate's bluntness. The mechanic looked awkwardly between them before muttering that he had something to do and scurrying off.

“What’s up?” Oscar said.

“Did you request that y/n be moved to work with me?” He asked directly and Oscar’s eyes widened, caught way off guard.

“I did,” he said slowly. “How do you know that?”

“Y/n just told me,” Lando replied, crossing his arms. Oscar instantly paled, looking at Lando with disbelief.

“No,” he whispered softly. “How does she know that?”

“She overheard someone talking about it,” Lando told him, more gentle this time.

Oscar sunk into a nearby chair, putting his head in his hands.

“What did she say about it? y/n,” He asked quietly and Lando sighed, sitting next to him.

“It was hard to understand her because of how hard she was crying,” he murmured, and Oscar squeezed his eyes shut. “I don’t understand why, though, I thought you liked her?”

“I do like her; that’s the problem,” he confessed, looking over at Lando. “I talked to HR, and they told me the only way I could pursue her would be if we didn’t work together directly.”

Lando’s eyes widened in realization and he laughed humorlessly.

“You are such an idiot,” he breathed out, amazed by Oscar’s stupidity. “Why didn’t you tell her?”

“I wanted to,” Oscar snapped. “But then it happened, and she was avoiding me, and then she basically friendzoned me in Brazil, so it was never a good time.”

“Oh my god mate, she’s been in love with you since forever,” Lando complained.

Oscar's head snapped up, his eyes wide with disbelief. "What? No, that can't be right. She told me I was her best friend."

Lando groaned in frustration. "Because she was scared to tell you how she really felt! She's been jealous of Stacy this whole time, thinking you two were flirting."

Oscar ran a hand through his hair, looking stunned. "I had no idea. I thought she was getting closer to you and..."

"And you were jealous," Lando finished for him. "You two are both idiots."

"Where is she now?" Oscar asked urgently, standing up.

"She went home. She was pretty upset," Lando replied.

Without another word, Oscar took off running towards the parking lot. Lando called after him, "You better fix this, mate!"

Oscar's heart was racing as he sped towards your apartment. You had been lying in bed on top of your comforter for the past 20 minutes, staring at the ceiling. Someone knocked at your door, and you ignored it, but they wouldn’t stop. Flinging open the door, there was Oscar. His heart broke at the sight of you, swollen eyes but still a fire in them.

“You are the last person I want to fucking see right now,” you seethed, and he flinched back. It would be easy for him to turn around and leave and have you hate him for the rest of your life. But he was done wasting time.

He pushed past you, grabbing your arm and dragging you to the living room, forcing you to sit on the couch in front of him. You crossed your arms over your chest, waiting for him to speak.

“I asked for you to be removed as my PR manager,” he stated.

“I know.” You replied sourly.

“I was told that it was the only option to continue down the path I was on,” he said, and your anger faded into confusion.

"What path?" you asked, your brow furrowed..

Oscar took a deep breath, running a hand through his hair nervously. "The path where I could pursue you romantically without it being a conflict of interest."

Your eyes widened in shock, your arms falling to your sides. "What?"

"I've had feelings for you for a long time," Oscar admitted, his voice soft. "But I couldn't act on them while you were my PR manager. So I requested the switch."

You sat there, stunned into silence. Your mind was racing, trying to process this new information.

"But... Stacy..." you started, still struggling to understand.

Oscar shook his head. "There's nothing between me and Stacy. She's just my PR manager, I told you that. You're the one I want to be with."

“Why didn’t you just tell me?�� You asked softly. He sighed, moving to sit next to you.

“Why didn’t you just tell me?” He countered and your face flushed.

“Fucking Lando,” you muttered. “You’re like a robot Oscar, how was I supposed to know you felt the same way?”

He considered this for a moment before reaching over to grab you and pull you into his lap. Your head settled in the crook of his neck as you relaxed.

"I'm sorry," Oscar murmured, his breath tickling your ear. "I should have been more open with you. I was just so scared of ruining our friendship if you didn't feel the same way."

You pulled back slightly to look into his eyes. "I've been in love with you for so long, Oscar. I thought you could never see me as more than a friend or coworker."

His hand came up to cup your cheek, thumb gently stroking your skin. "I see you as everything, Y/N. You're my best friend, my confidant, the person I want to share all my successes and failures with. And now, I hope, something more."

Your heart was pounding as you leaned in closer, your noses almost touching. "Something more sounds perfect," you whispered.

Oscar closed the distance between you, pressing his lips softly against yours.

#f1 imagine #f1 x reader #oscar piastri imagine #oscar piastri

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kaiser1ns · 2 months ago

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#. NOTHING EVEN MATTERS

featuring 𝗶𝘁𝗼𝘀𝗵𝗶 𝘀𝗮𝗲 𝘅 𝗳𝗲𝗺!𝗿𝗲𝗮𝗱𝗲𝗿

fluff. you had one more week with sae before he left for spain and it was those moments that you both would miss very much.

For as long as you can remember, you've always been with the Itoshi brothers—from the moment you woke up to play football and get popsicles, to when your mom tucked all of you under the soft blanket that Rin always stole for himself, leaving you and Sae to cuddle together under a separate one.

Now, years later, not much had changed.

The three of you squeezed into the small bed, the room was dark except for the faint moonlight seeping through the curtains. Rin was already knocked out, sprawled out like he owned the bed, occasionally letting soft snores. Meanwhile, you lay there, wide awake, staring at the ceiling.

"If I score a goal against you tomorrow..." you whispered, not wanting to wake the younger sibling. But knowing him, he was probably too deep in his dreams to notice. You turned your gaze toward Sae, to your embarrassment, he was already watching you, his teal eyes shining as you felt your cheeks heat up and were grateful that it was dark. "Would you stay here instead of going to Spain?"

Sae sighed, you’d asked him this before, countless times. He didn’t answer immediately, knowing how much you wanted him to stay. And honestly, a part of him didn’t want to leave either. But his dreams were calling him, even if it meant leaving you and his brother behind.

He remembered how you'd tried to score a goal, how he always held your hand afterward and led you to the beach as you munched on the icy popsicles. He always let you win the stick game, grinning when you got another sweet treat as he sulked. This was the day you kissed his cheek, confessing that you liked him and would miss him more than anything.

“I won’t be gone forever, you know,” he said softly, shifting under the covers, pulling you closer until your head rested against his chest. His fingers brushed against your hair, and you felt his lips press a gentle kiss there. "Why don't you move to Spain instead?" His question was sudden, and you blinked up at him in surprise. He wasn’t serious, was he?

"At thirteen?" you whispered back, trying not to laugh. "I don't think that’s an option." You couldn’t just pack up and follow him to another country. But a part of you desperately wished you could.

Sae smiled, a rare and precious smile that you are going to remember forever. “Doesn’t matter how old you are. If you’re with me, nothing else matters.”

You wanted to respond, to tell him that you’d follow him anywhere if it were possible.

"Don’t think too much,” he murmured, his voice soft against your hair. “You’re going to beat me tomorrow, right? So stop worrying about Spain.”

The warmth of his arms, the rhythm of his heartbeat, and the soft rumble of his voice lulled you into joining Rin in Dreamland. Without realizing it, you drifted off to sleep against him. Sae noticed immediately, his gaze softening as he looked at your peaceful expression.

He chuckled, his chest rising and falling beneath your head. "I like you too..." he murmured to himself, though he made no effort to move you. His eyes drifted to the creaky bed that somehow still held the three of you after all these years. How hasn’t this thing broken yet?

But in the end, it didn’t matter. Because the world stops when he puts his arms around you. As long as he could hold you close, even for a little while longer, he promised himself that no matter how far he went, no matter where life took him, you would always have a special place in his heart.

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finelinefae · 10 months ago

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the game [tennisplayer!harry x tennisplayer!y/n]

synopsis: y/n's desperate to play tennis and who better to coach her than her rival

word count: 6.7k

contains: enemies to lovers, set at a boarding school, jealous h, slow burn, angst, tennis rivals

a/n: this is the very first part of a new series that i am soooooo beyond excited to be writing !! it will most likely have 4/5 parts <333 enjoy !!!

. . .

Crestwood Academy was a prestigious boarding school with a mission to cultivate excellence in its students, many of whom went on to achieve great success in their respective fields. Nestled amidst rolling hills and lush greenery, it welcomed only the most accomplished families into its esteemed halls.

Y/N had attended Crestwood Academy since she was five, thanks to her father, who owned a country club and could afford the tuition. Her parents, strict and focused on success, were determined to give her the best education possible so that she could be the very best. Her face was always buried in a book or spending her days in the library, right up until the very last minute of its opening hours.

It was her final year at Crestwood Academy before graduation. Y/N had been set on passing all of her exams at the top of her class so had been working extra hard. She studied English, maths, all three sciences, Latin, French and History as well as tennis.

Y/N's parents had always urged her to pursue a career in the top industries. Despite her efforts to feign interest in that direction, her heart had always belonged to tennis ever since she first took up the sport at Crestwood.

She had competed plenty, winning all the academy trophies and medals. Her parents would visit whenever she competed in finals and congratulated her on winning but saw it as nothing but a hobby to participate in when she wasn’t studying.

However, Y/N couldn’t deny herself the rush of playing knowing she’d have to part with the sport once she graduated. The career path of becoming a doctor was already laid out for her by her parents but she felt destined to follow a different path.

Despite the fact she had applied to dozens of schools to study medicine, she still had one more option that had nothing to do with science at all.

Every year, the academies hosted their own version of a grand slam in which the winning player received a scholarship and three years' worth of training from one of the top tennis academies in the world. Y/N longed to be at the top with the greats and she knew that this competition was the only way she could get there.

For the most part, Y/N had been self-taught. She watched videos online and took notes from the Wimbledon matches she’d see on the television. Crestwood only had one sports coach who focused most of their time on the football team so if she was going to win the scholarship, she needed the very best.

She sat on the bleachers, her book open in front of her, but her attention was drawn to the man on the court. The player’s movements were fluid and powerful, each action deliberate and precise. Yet, it was another man who held her gaze—a figure with an impassive expression, focused solely on his player.

When the match was over, Y/N slammed her book shut and walked towards the court after the players shook hands. Her eyes looked down at the limp in his step as he walked towards the cooler to grab a water bottle.

It had been a while since she had last seen him. She remembered the proud look on his parent’s faces when he was pulled out of Crestwood eighteen months ago and went on to win a grand slam in Australia. She could still feel the intense jealousy that filled her as she watched the match on television whilst studying for her chemistry test that he was also supposed to sit had he stayed.

Now he was here, back to his roots and maybe it had been fate because what she was about to ask him would determine her own path in the tennis career she longed for.

His hair was slightly longer now, his brunette, touseled curls were swept to the side in a loose, dishevelled manner. He wore sunglasses to cover his eyes from the sunlight and a navy tracksuit paired with white vans.

Seeing him brought back the once competitive emotions she had whenever she’d see him strut about the courts every lunchtime but she’d have to suppress those emotions, especially for what she was about to ask him.

“Excuse me, Harry?” Y/N called out.

He took a water bottle from the cooler and flicked off the cap before holding it to his lips and gulping it down. Y/N waited, crossing her arms as she did. “I’ve been waiting for you to show up.” Was the first thing he said.

Y/N didn’t know what to say. It was unexpected to know that he had been waiting to see her, “I didn’t know you were part of the furniture on these courts,” He smirks and Y/N’s jaw ticks. “And you still sit in the exact same spot on those bleachers, to what? Admire me?”

Y/N bristled at Harry's cocky remark, her irritation bubbling to the surface. "Hardly," she retorted, her tone sharp. "I have better things to do than waste my time watching you play."

Harry chuckled, his smirk widening as he leaned against the cooler. "Is that so? Then what brings you here?" he asked, his tone laced with curiosity. “Come to get an autograph?”

Y/N squared her shoulders, determined not to let his arrogance get under her skin. "I was actually hoping to talk to you about something," she replied, her voice steady despite the nerves fluttering in her stomach.

Harry raised an eyebrow, his interest piqued. "Oh? And what might that be?" he inquired, his gaze piercing as he studied her intently.

Taking a deep breath, Y/N gathered her courage and suppressed her pride, "I want you to coach me," she blurted out, her words hanging in the air between them.

Harry made no effort to hide the surprise on his face but it quickly melted into a cocky smirk, “You want me to coach you? I thought you hated me?”

“I do,” She replies quickly. She’d hated him ever since he had humiliated her in a battle of the sexes tennis tournament when they were young despite the fact she had little chance of winning against him anyway. “But I don’t have to like you to recognise your talent and right now you're the best and only coach I can get if I’m going to win that scholarship,”

Harry’s eyebrows furrowed slightly, “Your parents still want you to study medicine?” Something flickered in his eyes that Y/N couldn’t put her finger on.

Y/N wasn’t going to give him an answer even though it was obvious, “This is the only chance I get to escape it,” She mutters, “I wouldn’t ask unless I was desperate.”

He glanced around before taking a step forward. She was tempted to step back at the same time but she didn’t want to seem intimidated by him so stood her ground. From this proximity, she noticed how much taller he was compared to her - almost an entire foot.

“What’s in it for me?” He asked.

Y/N knew he’d ask which was why she spent so much time figuring out what she could tell him to make it worthwhile. “I know about your injury,” She says and he stills.

“Everyone knows about my injury.” He grumbles.

It had been a spectacle in the world of tennis. The new grand slam winner loses out on his second after a fatal injury at the French Open. Y/N remembered seeing him rolling on the ground, holding onto his leg as paramedics ran onto the court to aid him.

“People think you’re a one-hit wonder since you’re out for the season,” His jaw clenched as she spoke, “But if you coach me and get me to win, I guarantee you’ll be out on the court again - back where you belong,”

“You think an academy league game can get my back onto the court?”

“No, but it's a start and maybe I’ll be competing alongside you the next time you’re playing.”

There was a moment of silence as Harry absorbed her words, his gaze searching hers for any hint of insincerity. Finding none, he let out a heavy sigh, the tension in his shoulders easing slightly. "Fine," he relented, his voice tinged with resignation. "You want me to coach you? Prove you’re worth coaching.”

He walked over to the barrel of tennis rackets and picked one up. Y/N narrowed her eyes, remembering the last time they had played against each other and how embarrassed she was afterwards.

“But you’re-”

“One game won’t hurt,” He said before she could finish.

She followed, her steps purposeful as she reached for a racket, flipping it over in her hands as she strode to the other end of the court. Despite being clad in her school uniform—a pleated skirt, white shirt with the school crest, and loafers that threatened to slide off her feet—she was determined to prove herself. She'd show him she was worth his time, that she was a far better tennis player than he gave her credit for.

As they took their positions on opposite ends of the court, the tension between them crackled in the air. Y/N gripped her racket tightly, her focus sharp as she prepared to face off against Harry once again.

The first serve sliced through the air, the sound echoing as the ball hurtled towards Y/N. She moved with fluidly, her muscles tensing as she returned the serve.

Harry's response was swift, his movements confident as he returned the ball with a well-placed shot that left Y/N scrambling to keep up. Even with his injury, he still held the precision of a professional. But she refused to back down, her determination driving her to match him shot for shot, rally after rally.

The game intensified as they traded blows, each point reflecting their skills and determination. Y/N's heart pounded in her chest as she fought to keep pace with Harry, her mind focused solely on the ball. Both Y/N and Harry vocally exerted their energy through grunts and cries as they hit the ball with all their energy.

Despite her efforts, Harry seemed to anticipate her every move. But Y/N refused to be outdone, drawing on every ounce of strength and skill as she fought to gain the upper hand.

As the game progressed, Harry's skill and experience began to overthrow her. His shots were close to perfect and strategic, leaving Y/N struggling to keep up. Despite her determination, she found herself falling behind as Harry continued to dominate the match.

In the end, it was Harry who emerged victorious, his final shot landing just beyond Y/N's reach with a satisfying thud. As the ball bounced out of the court, Y/N knew that she had been outplayed.

She rested her hands on her knees, hunched over as she tried to regain her breath. She couldn’t help but feel disappointed that she’d lost despite the fact she was at a disadvantage anyway.

Harry’s shadow fell over her but she refused to look up just yet. He spoke anyway, “You’ve gotten better since the last time I saw you,” He spoke, holding a cold water bottle in front of her face.

She took it, the plastic crackling under her fingers, “You can just say you’re not going to do it,” She mumbled, unscrewing the cap and taking a swig of water.

“I’ll coach you,” He says, “Meet me here at 6 pm tomorrow.”

Y/N finally looked up, her mouth parted, only to find his back facing her as he walked away from the courts.

. . .

Harry had no idea what he had agreed to in coaching Y/N at tennis.

He sat in his luxurious apartment ten minutes away from Crestwood Academy, surrounded by furniture wrapped in plastic or still in cardboard boxes.

He sat on the couch with his feet resting on the coffee table in front of him and a glass of whiskey in his hand. The TV was playing quietly in front of him but his mind was on the girl he had spent the majority of his life competing with.

She had grown since the last time he had seen her before he graduated and left the country to compete in the Australian Open. Her long, tanned legs were on show beneath the grey school skirt she had been wearing. He couldn’t seem to get the image of the visible muscles in her calves out of his mind as she moved across the court to hit the ball during their impromptu tennis match.

Despite their personal differences, Harry couldn't resist her. There was an undeniable thrill in riling her up, in watching her reactions to the smallest digs. They had once been friends, back when Y/N would trail after him on the playground, eager to understand how to hit a ball with a tennis racket. But as she began competing in school competitions, she quickly learned that beating him was an impossible feat.

He wasn’t surprised to see her watching him on the court today, in fact, it amused him. Whether she liked it or not, he would always look out in the bleachers for her whenever he’d play during his time at the academy. Her reactions were what kept him going, some might even say made him better.

But, he couldn’t deny the fact that he was surprised to see her so brazenly asking him to coach her. He could tell by her reaction that it was killing her inside, to be coached by him when all she’d done was pick apart his technique, but it was clear she was desperate and Harry knew it was because of her parents.

Harry had had his fair dose of strict parentage. When he was told he could no longer play tennis for the season, his parents shipped him straight back to Crestwood to finish his final year since he never actually graduated.

He loathed them for it, barely saying a word to them as they paid the rent in cash for his apartment and left him with boxes to unpack on his own. He knew they were disappointed in him despite the fact the injury was no fault of his own, they could barely look at him as they left, closing the door behind them.

It was embarrassing. How could he have gone from being at the top of his game to the very bottom? Now he was back in the place he had turned his back on, feeling like he was back to square one all over again.

Harry’s thoughts were broken by the sound of his phone ringing. The name of his best friend since he was born lit up the screen.

“What?” Harry answered the call, his train of thought forming a particular level of intolerance in him.

“Hey, is that any way to talk to your best friend?” Mitch replied along with the sound of loud chattering in the background because he always had to be somewhere with someone.

“Sorry,” Harry huffed, “Long day.”

“Already? You’ve not even started classes yet,” Mitch chuckled.

“Don’t remind me,” Harry hadn’t even begun thinking about being back in classrooms and having to put up with kids his age berating him with questions he didn’t want to answer. Tomorrow would be his first day back and he was dreading it.

“C’mon now, don’t be too glum about it, haven’t you missed me?”

“No,” Harry lied.

“I know you well enough now to know when you’re lying.” Mitch laughed down the phone.

A hint of a smile grazed Harry’s lips, "Whatever," he replied, his tone gruff but lacking conviction. Despite his attempt to feign disinterest, a part of him couldn't deny the truth in Mitch's words. There had been many moments he had experienced after leaving school when he missed the company of people his own age. Everyone around him was older than he was and spoke to him as though he was some prized trophy that needed to be handled with caution. He’d spend evenings by the pool by himself, watching the sunset and wishing his friends were there to celebrate his win with him.

"I'll take that as a yes," Mitch teased, “I know the boys will be happy to have y’ back and I can introduce you to Sarah. I think Molly Brown still has a thing for you as well by the way, talks about you all the fuckin’ time.” Harry listened to his friend ramble about all the things he had missed in the last year or so but his mind seemed to travel elsewhere.

His eyes wandered around the room, his ear still pressed to his phone, until they landed on an open box with a picture frame resting on top. He recognized the photo immediately, even without picking it up, because he had kept it hidden in his old dorm desk. In the picture, a group of eight students—four boys and four girls—smiled at the camera, with Harry standing at the back and Y/N right beside him.

. . .

Y/N slammed the door of her locker shut after pulling out her workbooks for her next class. Students bustled down the hallways of Crestwood Academy, wearing their navy blazers and uniform for another week of school.

“Have you seen him yet?” Sarah, Y/N’s best friend, came out of nowhere and stood in front of her.

“Seen who?” Y/N remained indifferent even though she knew who Sarah was referring to.

Everyone had been talking about Harry since she had walked into school from her dorm room this morning. It was the main topic of conversation, everyone’s eyes darting around the hallways to try and find him.

“You know,” Sarah nudged her, “The boy you’ve spent most of your life in a one-sided rivalry with?”

“One-sided? It’s a mutual hatred,” Y/N argued.

Sarah gave her a look before continuing, “I texted Mitch twenty minutes ago but he hasn’t replied. I know I’ve met Harry before but this is the first time I’ll be meeting him as Mitch’s girlfriend and I don’t want it to change anything.”

Y/N’s eyes softened, “Sarah, just because he’s the winner of a grand slam doesn’t make his opinion of you any more important. Whether Harry likes you or not, everyone knows you and Mitch are perfect for each other.”

Y/N remembered the first time her friend had told her she was seeing Mitch. He had taken her out to dinner a few times and Sarah had come back to their shared dorm swooning and unable to stop herself from rambling the rest of the night about how romantic and funny he was.

Y/N had never experienced anything like that in her life, too busy focusing on tennis and academia to find herself in relationships, but she was happy her best friend was happy and that was all that mattered to her.

“I know but he’s important to Mitch. They’ve been best friends since infants and… that’s not all I’m worried about,” Sarah looked at Y/N pointedly.

“What?”

“Now that Mitch and I are together, that means we’ll be spending more time around each other which also means…” Sarah didn’t have to finish her sentence for Y/N to understand what she was trying to get at.

“Oh n-no! No way! Sarah, are you being serious right now?” Y/N whined, “You want me to get along with Harry just because you’re dating his best friend?”

“You don’t have to but it would be nice if you did,” Her voice trailed off at the end, her eyes looking at her pleadingly, “I’m not asking you to be best friends, I’m just asking you not to chew his head off when we’re all in the same room together.”

Y/N wanted to argue and tell her she wouldn’t be able to chew his head off anyway because she needed him to coach her for the scholarship but an arm slid around Sarah’s waist and interrupted their conversation.

Sarah grinned, turning to look up at her boyfriend who was now standing beside her, “Hey babe,” Mitch smiled.

“You’re here,” Sarah craned her neck to kiss his lips, “I texted you forever ago and you never replied.

Mitch scoffed, “It was twenty minutes ago and I didn’t have time to check my phone, too busy dragging this one through the front gates.”

Out of the corner of Y/N's eye, another figure appeared. She didn’t have to look to see who it was, the sudden surge of annoyance within her already gave them away. Her head tilted to the left to look up and see Harry.

He was wearing his school uniform, the same way he always did before he left for Australia. His shirt was untucked, and the top button was undone revealing a gold chain and a white vest underneath, his grey trousers were ironed with not a crinkle in sight and his navy blazer hung casually behind him, hooked by his middle finger.

Y/N’s eyes shifted behind him to find people whispering to each other and groups of girls giggling as they walked past. It was nothing new to see girls getting riled up over him but it had become more intensified now that he had gone abroad and made a name for himself. Despite his injury preventing him from playing, Y/N was certain that even if Harry had lost every game and embarrassed himself on live television, people would still adore him.

“Hey Harry,” Sarah offered a kind smile.

“Hi Sarah, nice to see you again. Glad to know Mitch was in good hands whilst I was away,” Harry clapped his friend on the shoulder before turning to Y/N.

“Only the very best,” Mitch pulled Sarah into his side before motioning to Y/N, “You remember Sarah’s best friend Y/N right?”

“Hmmm, aren’t you the one who lost the Junior tennis competition to me a few years ago?” Harry smirked.

Y/N's jaw clenched, but she managed to force a smile. "I could be, but aren’t you the one who they recorded rolling around on the floor like a big baby at the French Open last year?" Her retort was sharp, aimed directly at Harry.

Harry's eyes narrowed in response, a flicker of annoyance crossing his features. Y/N felt a sense of satisfaction at having gotten such a reaction from him. "Welcome back to Crestwood," she added, her tone dripping with sarcasm.

Mitch and Sarah exchanged weary glances, sensing the tension between Y/N and Harry.

"Quite a welcome. I’ve already been asked to coach someone and I’ve only been back a week," Harry remarked, his gaze still fixed on Y/N, who met his stare with a glare of her own.

"You have?" Mitch frowned, his confusion evident.

"Who?" Sarah asked, equally perplexed.

Harry's eyes remained locked on Y/N, giving them their answer. "You asked him to coach you?" Sarah questioned her confusion mirroring Mitch's.

Y/N shifted uncomfortably under their scrutiny, "Yeah, I did," she admitted reluctantly, her gaze flickering briefly to Harry before returning to Mitch and Sarah.

"Why would you ask him to coach you?" Sarah asked, her brow furrowing in confusion, “You argue all the time,”

Y/N hesitated, “I need to win the scholarship to the tennis academy in London and Harry’s the only person here who knows how to play the game.”

“Glad to know I was the pick of the bunch,” Harry’s voice dripped with sarcasm.

“I thought you were applying to go to UCL?” Sarah frowned.

“I was but you know how much the game means to me and my parents refuse to believe it’s more than just a hobby. This is the only chance I’ll get to prove them wrong and the only option to get me out of studying medicine.” Y/N explained.

Sarah’s eyes softened, she too was no stranger to how strict Y/N’s parents could be. “Which is why she needs me,” Y/N felt the weight of his arm rest across her shoulders, “Right, love?”

Y/N spun around to face Harry, eyes sharp, “Don’t call me that,” She hissed, seeing the satisfied grin on his face.

He shrugged, “But I always call you that,”

Ever since they were teenagers, when the rivalry first began, Harry had opted to calling Y/N ‘love’ knowing how much it riled her up. To some, it was a term of endearment but in the world of tennis the word ‘love’ meant one thing.

‘Nil, ‘Zero’, ‘Loser’.

Y/N hated the way he spoke it too - accentuating each letter of the word to drag it out for as long as he could just to annoy her further.

She stepped forward, “Call me that one more time,” She threatened.

“Or what?” He tilted his head to the side.

“Guys seriously, break it up,” Sarah intervened, “Aren’t you supposed to be getting along if you’re going to be spending more time together.”

Y/N hated the thought of it but knew she was right. If she wanted Harry to coach her, she couldn’t go around screwing things up by arguing with him. If he was going to coach her at the sport, she’d have to coach herself in controlling her attitude around him.

“C’mon Sarah, let’s go to class,” Y/N hooked arms with her best friend, wanting to get as far away from him as possible.

“Oh okay, bye Mitch.” Sarah kissed her boyfriend before she was dragged down the hallway in a hurry.

Harry watched as Y/N practically sprinted down the hallway with Sarah in tow. He felt the need to call out of her for one last dig just so she would turn around and he’d see her face before she rounded the corner, “See you on the courts, love.” He called down to her.

As he had hoped, Y/N’s head whipped around to glare at him along with her middle finger, “Asshole!” She called back.

Harry chuckled to himself, “That face,” he murmured.

Mitch placed a hand on Harry’s shoulder, “You’ve got it in for yourself with that one, lad.” Mitch said.

“Tell me about it,” Harry replied, his eyes still on the place he’d last seen Y/N.

Maybe returning to Crestwood wouldn’t be so bad after all.

. . .

With Harry back, Y/N had suspected the day would be a drag with everyone constantly bringing him up in every conversation, but the first half of the day had gone well. Y/N was easily used to her classes by now and was still top of the class in all of them.

During lunch period, Y/N always sat with Sarah in the library where they’d catch up on what they missed out on each other’s lives or study during exam season. It was nice to have some reprieve during the school hours and whenever she was with Sarah, Y/N could talk for hours and hours.

Now that Sarah was dating Mitch, Y/N and Sarah would spend their lunch with his friends in the lunch hall. Y/N didn’t mind it so much having grown used to being around Mitch’s friends despite their loud and boisterous personalities.

However, today she was dreading the fact that now her lunchtimes would also include being around the person she wanted to spend as little amount of time with as possible.

“Can’t we just eat in the library today? Please?” Y/N pulled on the sleeve of her best friend's blazer as she begged her to turn back in the direction of the library. She could already picture Harry’s annoying smirk the closer they got to the entrance of the lunch hall.

“Y/N you’re being dramatic. It’s just an hour, I’m sure you can survive being around him that long.” Sarah continued to tug her down the hallway.

“Sarah I already have to spend enough time as it is,” Now that she asked him to be her coach. The more the day went by the more she was starting to regret her decision.

Sarah spun on her heel, “Think of this as practice then,” Her eyes looked past Y/N’s shoulder, “Look, there they are,” She moved past her and beelined towards their table where Y/N saw Mitch, Jake and Adam already sitting along with that head of brunette curls that Y/N just wanted to tear out every time she saw him.

Sighing, she followed Sarah and approached the table responding to everyone’s friendly greetings until she got to Harry, “You’re in my seat,” She spoke after realising all the seats were taken.

Harry didn’t bother to look around, that stupid grin plastered to his face when he looked up at her, “Am I?”

Y/N gritted her teeth, “Yes,”

“Hmm,” He swivelled around to look at the back of the chair, “I don’t see your name anywhere.”

A wave of chuckles rippled around the table but Y/N had yet to find the amusement in it. “She does always sit there, H.” Mitch chuckles, “Just grab another chair from a different table.”

Harry leant back against the seat and crossed one leg over his thigh, “But I quite like this seat.”

“I’m not moving until you get out of my seat,” Y/N crossed her arms, refusing to give in to him.

“Well you’re going to be stood up for a long time and y’ need those legs for later,” Harry smirked, “Or you could just sit here,” He unfolded his legs and motioned towards his lap, “Still your seat.”

Y/N’s jaw clenched but before she could respond, Adam chuckled and stood up, “Here,” He picked another chair up from an empty table and set it down next to him, “Y’ can sit here Y/N.”

She was tempted to refuse and continue to nag Harry for the rest of lunch but decided against it, not wanting to waste her energy on him. Her eyes softened at Adam’s kindness, “Thanks, Adam.” She sat beside him.

Harry’s smirk seemed to falter when Y/N sat down, watching as Adam looked at Y/N even as she turned to face the others.

“Is that Molly Brown looking at y’ again Harry?” Jake, who Y/N considered the loudest one of Mitch’s friends, leant over the table to speak lowly to Harry even though it was impossible for him to ever be so quiet.

Harry forced himself to look away from Adam before he burnt holes into him. “She’s been after him since fifth year,” Mitch chuckled.

“Y’ think you’ll let her have it this year, H?” Jake takes a spoonful of his lunch and swallows it down.

“Have what?” Sarah frowned, confused.

“Nothing you need to know about, babe,” Mitch replies, opening her waterbottle for her after she silently handed it to him.

“I’ve never been interested in Molly,” Harry quickly replies but his ears prick when he hears Y/N laughing quietly with Adam.

“Mind if I take my chances then?” Jake asks, “I’ve always wanted to date a cheerleader,”

“Yeah, yeah, whatever,” Harry shakes him off, “What about you Adam?” He gets the attention from both Y/N and Adam as they look up, “Don’t you have a thing for Molly?”

Adam furrows his brows, “Molly Brown? Maybe in like third year,” He chuckles, “I’m not interested in anyone at the moment.”

Harry wants to laugh in his face, “Y’ sure about that?”

Adam frowns but Y/N quickly interrupts them, “People are allowed to have other interests you know.”

Harry feels that rush of excitement when she speaks run through his body, “Is this a touchy subject for you?”

Y/N scowls, “No, I’m just saying Adam doesn’t need to be interested in girl’s all the time.”

“Well maybe Adam can speak for himself,” Harry quips.

“Lord save me,” Jake mumbles and Sarah laughs.

“Well what about you? Have you managed to sink your fangs into anyone?”

“What’s that supposed to mean?” Y/N gapes, “I’ve dated plenty of people,”

The image unsettles Harry but he takes the opportunity to tease Y/N further. "Plenty of people, huh?" he echoes.

Y/N's cheeks flush slightly, "I mean... well, not plenty, but a few," she stammers.

But Harry doesn't let up, "Oh, really?" he presses, "Care to share? I'm sure we'd all love to hear about the few men who you’ve tempted."

Y/N shoots him a glare, knowing full well that Harry was onto her. "I... uh, well," she stumbles over her words, searching for a way to change the subject.

But before she can respond, Adam jumps in. "Come on, Harry, give her a break," he glowers.

“Yeah, Y/N’s just waiting for the right guy and there’s nothing wrong with that,” Sarah pipes in, always one to have her best friend’s back.

Harry raises an eyebrow, his gaze flickering between Y/N and Adam before settling on Y/N, who shifts uncomfortably. Sensing the tension, Mitch swiftly changes the subject to something else.

. . .

After lunch, Y/N made her way to her next class with Adam walking alongside her. Out of all of Mitch’s friends, she got on the most with Adam to the point where Sarah was constantly pestering her over considering a date with him but Y/N didn’t see him as any more than a good friend. He was quiet and kept to himself for the most part, excelling in the arts and playing bass guitar in a band on weekends. Y/N enjoyed the calmness he brought to the group especially with the others being so loud all the time.

“What do you think?” Adam asked, holding the strap of his backpack in one hand as it hung over his right shoulder.

“What do I think about what?” Y/N frowned.

“You know, Harry being back. I know you two didn’t always get along,” He explained.

Y/N scoffed, “If it weren’t for the fact he’s coaching me for the Academy Slam, I would be praying to whatever God that’d listen to send him back to Australia,” Which was also the furthest possible country he could be away from her.

Adam chuckled, “He told us earlier he’d be coaching you,”

Y/N scowled, “I bet he couldn’t get enough of it,”

“Actually he seemed pretty happy about it. We haven’t seen him that happy since he got back from Australia.”

“Really? Maybe that injury did something to his head,”

“What makes you hate him so much anyway?” Adam asked.

Y/N sighed. It was a question she heard often but never had a solid answer for. She couldn't quite explain why she disliked Harry so much. Maybe it was because he had things she wanted, and jealousy often turned into hatred. But there was something more, something she couldn't quite pin down.

Despite her dislike, Y/N went to all of Harry's matches, and she watched them on TV too. Even when she tried to stay in her room, her legs seemed to move on their own, taking her to the courts to watch him play. She hated that part of her rooted for him, and she couldn't figure out why. Maybe it was because Harry had been the first person to teach her how to play and she felt some sense of loyalty to that but she had no perfect answer even though she wished for one.

“His face annoys me,” Y/N says.

“That’s it?” Adam snickers.

“I don’t know,” Y/N shrugs, “We’ve always had this rivalry that stemmed out of nowhere but I can’t even remember how it started.”

“You don’t have feelings for him do you?” The question came out of nowhere and took Y/N completely off-guard.

"What? No!" Y/N's response came out a little too quickly, and she hoped her cheeks hadn't betrayed her by turning red.

Adam shrugged. "Just making sure," he said casually. "You know, some people get them mixed up—love and hate."

Y/N furrowed her brow, genuinely puzzled. "How is that even possible?"

"Well, they're both intense emotions, aren't they?" He mused. "And sometimes, when you feel strongly about someone, whether it's love or hate, it can blur the lines between the two."

Y/N pondered his words, a sense of unease settling in her stomach, "No way," she replied firmly, shaking her head. "I may not like him, but there's definitely no love there."

Adam chuckled, sensing her defensiveness. "Alright, that’s good," he said with a grin.

Y/N felt a hint of a smile on her lips, “What does that mean? That’s good?”

Adam shrugged, still smiling, “Jus’ saying,” He spoke and Y/N laughed.

Her gaze flicked from Adam's to Harry, who stood in the hallway with Molly Brown, her brunette waves tied up in the perfect, slicked back ponytail. Hoping to slip by unnoticed, she quickened her pace, but it was too late. Harry's eyes locked onto hers, then shifted to Adam. She caught the subtle twitch of his jaw before he pushed off the wall, ignoring Molly, and strode toward them.

Adam must not have noticed Harry coming towards them because he quickly bid goodbye so he could rush to his literature class. Y/N picked up her pace but Harry was already by her side, “Do you like him?” Harry asked.

“Who Adam? Well let’s see, he’s nice and smart and doesn’t feel the need to open his mouth every five seconds unlike some people I know, so yeah I do like him.”

Harry scoffed, “He’s a little boring don’t you think?”

Y/N rolled her eyes at Harry's comment, a retort already forming on her lips. "Nice of you to say that about your own best friend," she quipped. "Makes me wonder what you say about me."

Before she could say anything more, she gasped in surprise as Harry tugged on her hand and swiftly spun her around until her back was against the row of lockers. Her heart raced as he stepped forward, blocking her in, and dipped his head closer to hers.

"I think we need some ground rules for this whole coaching thing," Harry murmured, his voice low. "If you're planning on winning, I recommend using your time more wisely instead of wasting it on nice boys."

Y/N's breath caught in her throat as she processed his words. "Is that a rule or are you asking me not to date anyone?" she managed to ask, her voice barely above a whisper.

"Both," Harry replied, his tone unwavering.

Her mind raced, unsure how to respond, "What about you then?" she countered.

"Is that a personal request?" Harry's smirk widened, his gaze locking onto hers. "Because I'm the coach, and I set the ground rules so anything you ask me to do is because you want me to do it."

Y/N's heart pounded louder in her ears as Harry's proximity sent heat coursing through her, "It's only fair," she replied, her voice barely audible.

Harry chuckled softly. "Fine, if it makes you happy. But I’m not interested in dating nice girls or boys anyway," he remarked with a smirk.

Y/N swallowed, her curiosity piqued. "What are you interested in?"

He smirked, "The game," he replied cryptically.

With that, he moved away from her, his eyes lingering on her lips for a moment before he turned and walked down the hallway, “See you tonight, love.” He called back.

As the sound of his footsteps faded, Y/N stood there, stunned and unable to move. She was grateful that no one had witnessed the exchange as she pulled out her compact, trying to compose herself and hide the flush of embarrassment that coloured her cheeks.

As she hurried to class, already five minutes late, Y/N couldn't shake the intensity of her encounter with Harry. Sitting by the window, her mind wandered as the teacher lectured the class, her gaze drifting to the courts outside where she'd soon be training with him this evening.

This coach-student dynamic had unlocked a new territory between them, something unpredictable that Y/N had no choice but to delve into for the months ahead.

Yet, it was her only choice. Harry was the only way she could win and she’d push through whatever feelings she had to get what she wanted.

She’d play the game, just as he wanted her to.

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flowerandblood · 3 months ago

Note

Hi, for the ask game you’re making

Glass cuts deepest

🖼️ Museum

🍁 Autumn

💐 Care

🎃 Jealousy

😬 Semi-public sex

🍓 Sexual tension

Congratulations on the milestone 😊!

The Art of Body

[ professor! • Aemond x student! • female ]

[ prompts: museum, autumn, jealousy, care, sexual tension, semi-public sex ]

[ warnings: unprotected sex, smut, mention of sexual trauma ]

A short written as a celebration of my 4000 followers milestone as part of this ask game, which is part of Glass Cuts Deepest story.

Rino Stefano Tagliafierro is the animation artist of François Boucher's "Leda and the Swan" 1740 [post by eucanthos]

______

"Are you sure? I don't want to force you to do anything. It's the middle of the school year, I'm sure there'll be a lot of people there." Wright muttered, looking at him with uncertainty.

He felt frustration, knowing what she meant by people.

Women.

The truth was that since they had been engaged, he had gradually but successfully managed to simply pretend that he didn't see them. When they were in a restaurant or on a walk he would focus only on her and on talking to her, often holding her hand – it made him feel safer, like when you are looking down a great precipice while holding on to the railing.

He was very proud of himself when one day they went to the cinema together to see an animation they both really wanted to watch – it turned out that there were women sitting on either side of their seats. Wright wanted to back out and just leave, recognising that they didn't need to see the film at all, but he was tired of running away all the time.

When they sat down, he shifted in his seat as close to Wright as possible, not wanting the person sitting next to him to touch him – his fiancée had been leaning over his ear throughout the screening, asking if everything was okay, and he only nodded.

He couldn't remember much of what he saw – he was unable to focus as he felt only the rapid pounding of his heart and the cold sweat on his back.

When they left the cinema, he felt relieved, but also proud, because he had done it – even though he felt sick a few times and wanted to vomit, he had endured and nothing had happened.

He felt that he was slowly ready to just go out to people and not wonder who he was passing on the way.

"I want to go there. It's the biggest museum in our country. We've been talking about it for a long time." He said, putting his black turtleneck over his head and sighed, seeing that he had ruined his elaborately styled hairdo by doing so.

Wright noticed this and involuntarily reached into his hair, trying to comb it properly again with her fingers.

He swallowed hard, simultaneously frightened and pleased that she had touched him so suddenly – he repeated to himself at times like this that he trusted her, her familiar scent and the warmth of her skin affecting him in a calming way.

"If you say so. Maybe you're right. I've wanted to see this place for a long time too." She admitted finally, and he smiled with satisfaction, looking at her out of the corner of his eye.

"Give me a moment. I need to change." She said, opening his wardrobe, looking in it probably for one of her dresses.

Some part of him wanted her to change in front of him – she never did. On the other hand, he dreaded it – he had never seen her naked – not completely.

He had never seen her bare breasts or buttocks, only felt them beneath his hands when he put his hand under her shirt.

He swallowed hard as she threw him a warm smile and locked herself in the bathroom, feeling both relieved and disappointed.

He waited patiently for her, and when he heard her come out, he froze – her floral dress was fastened from the front with large white buttons, a fluffy, light-coloured jumper over her shoulders. She had said something to him, probably that she was ready, but all he could think about was that she hadn't put her bra on.

He could easily see the shape of her nipples under the material and something about the sight frustrated him.

Why should others look at something that even he couldn't see?

He wanted to say it, but before he opened his mouth he thought it was unfair – he himself wouldn't want her to dictate what he could and couldn't wear, and he thought his remark might be rude.

"Let's go." He said finally.

It took them a couple of hours to get there – during this time Wright had bought them tickets for all the exhibitions online, so they wouldn't have to wait in long queues at the box office. He liked how organised she was – the fact that she always helped him and didn't leave everything on his head.

He felt he could rely on her.

When they got out of the car, they ran ahead, holding hands – an intense autumn rain had broken up all around them, which meant that by the time they reached the main entrance, they were all wet.

The security guard scanned their tickets and pointed the way they should follow – after a while, their eyes were met by spacious, bright, richly lit halls with walls filled with paintings by great artists, with sculptures of wood, bronze and marble all around them.

His fiancée approached one of the medieval statues depicting the Beautiful Madonna and Child, the one they both knew well from their art history textbooks.

"Look! It's even more beautiful than in the pictures." She said cheerfully, quickly grabbing her phone, taking pictures of the sculpture.

He, however, stared at her dully, seeing the wet material of her dress clinging to her skin, her nipples clearly outlined, popping from the cold.

He felt both irritation and desire at the sight, his manhood pulsed softly in his trousers, expressing his desire to touch her.

He grunted and turned his head away, walking over to one of the baroque paintings hanging on the wall, trying not to think about it.

I'm sexualising her too much, he rebuked himself in his mind, feeling a kind of shame by doing what he himself would never want to experience again in his life.

He regained his good humour and walked with her through the long corridors filled with art, stopping constantly at some artefact – they talked about everything, delighting in the workmanship and details together, while criticising what they didn't like.

He felt an unpleasant twinge in his stomach again when, standing at one of the sculptures, he saw that the man standing opposite them was looking straight at Wright's breasts – he would have thought he was being oversensitive again if it hadn't been for the slight smile of satisfaction on the man's lips, which told him that he was pleased with how much was visible through the thin material of her dress.

He didn't know why, but he grabbed her wrist and tugged at it, pulling her the other way, frustrated and enraged.

"What happened? Did someone touch you?" She mumbled, following him obediently, thinking it was all about him, as usual.

He stopped and looked at her, his heart pounding like mad in his chest.

"Did you have to dress like that? Everyone's looking at you." He hissed, but immediately regretted his words – Wright blinked and shook her head, horror and discomfort in her eyes, as if what he had said had caused her pain.

"What do you mean? I don't understand. After all, my dress doesn't even reveal my cleavage." She said resentfully, looking down, only after a moment noticing what he and everyone else had seen.

She looked at him again and pressed her lips together, covering her breasts with her jumper and her hands, as if the sight of them was something disgusting, worthy of condemnation.

He felt a sting in his heart at the sight – at the thought that she felt it was her fault that other men were looking where they shouldn't.

He swallowed hard and grabbed her hands, lowering them down, making her involuntarily reveal again what she had tried to cover up only moments before.

"– forgive me – I shouldn't have said that – it's just – fuck – I just I have a hard time with the idea that someone else might be... looking at something that even I couldn't see –"

"After all, you can look at it." She whispered, speaking so that no one could hear her. "Even now, if you want to."

"Now?" He muttered, surprised by her words.

What did she mean?

"We can go to the toilet and lock ourselves in the cabin. Our first time was like that too. You did it because the area around you didn't remind you of the place where you faced something bad. About the bed." She reminded him, and he swallowed loudly, realising it was true.

He looked down once more, at the thing he wanted so badly, and nodded slowly.

"Okay."

He felt like a little boy, unable to look at her in shame when the toilet door closed behind them. Once they made sure they were alone, they hid in one of the cabins and just looked at each other for a while.

He felt his heart thump harder in his chest as her hands slowly rose to the buttons of her dress – he watched in disbelief as she began to undo it one by one, his erection twitching and swelling in his trousers, aching with desire at the sight of her bare skin.

When she reached the height of her belly, she stopped and her hands dropped – her dress was unbuttoned, but revealed only a small line of her naked skin – he could see that she was breathing heavily as was he, panting with excitement.

Involuntarily, he took one slow step towards her, then another – his large hand rose uncertainly to the height of her chest and pushed the material of her dress aside in a gentle, lazy motion. He sighed deeply, immediately covering what he saw with his fingers, feeling himself breathe through his mouth out of lust – he looked into her eyes as her hand closed over his, encouraging him to sink deeper into the structure of her plump, soft bosom.

He leaned in and kissed her, unable to withstand the tension he felt inside – his lower abdomen was filled with a wonderfully familiar, warm, tickling sensation that made his length completely hard. He pressed his hips against her abdomen, rolling them back and forth, trying to somehow soothe the need for closeness and tenderness that only she could give him.

"– feels good? –" She breathed out into his mouth, letting their lips caress again and again with the sticky clicks of their saliva, the skin of her breasts wonderfully warm and swollen, melting beneath his fingers.

"– pull down your panties –" He instructed, and she moaned softly into his mouth, immediately obeying his command.

He let her go for a moment, dealing with his trousers, only to release his heavy, painfully swollen erection – as soon as her underwear landed on the ground, he grabbed her in his arms and lifted her, so that her breasts were at the level of his face.

They both cried out as at the same time his lips closed over her hard nipple and the head of his cock opened her wide – he gasped in pleasure, feeling how warm and moist she was, but not seeing anything that was happening from her waist down, covered by the material of her dress.

"– ah –" She mewled as his arms embraced her in a confident hug and pressed her body against the cold tiles, trying to keep her balance as he sank all the way into her body with one, sure thrust of his hips.

"– be quiet or I'll stop –" He threatened and they both froze when they heard someone enter – his cock pulsed inside her greedily as he simply continued with her in that position.

He felt her hands tighten in his hair, her hot pussy squeezed his manhood hard as his tongue swirled around her little nipple, teasing and sucking on it alternately.

He grunted quietly as he felt her begin to roll her hips – some part of him wanted to stop her, hearing that someone was still inside, however the other, more animalistic part of him just wanted to pound into her – and that's what he did.

He heard her squeal softly and she immediately pressed her face against his hair, trying to deafen the sound, as their naked bodies began to slam against each other with loud, sticky smacks of her moisture. He was no longer interested in whether or not the person inside knew what had just taken place – all he could focus on was their heavy, ragged breaths, the wonderful, growing tension in his loins, the squeeze in his testicles testifying that he was close.

He couldn't contain the low growl of delight that passed in vibration across her breast, couldn't contain how desperate he was, couldn't contain what euphoria possessed him at the thought of looking, smelling, touching her naked body, experiencing nothing but bliss.

"– Aemond –" She mumbled softly into his ear, so that only he was able to hear it – her small fingers clenched on his body allowing her to keep her balance and take what he was giving her, as shocked by what they were doing as he was.

All he could think about was how warm and wet she was, how easily she welcomed him deep inside her, how much she wanted him even though they had been together for so long.

The level of trust he held in her made him able to focus only on pleasure, and after a few messy, loud slaps he came inside her with a gasp of relief.

Her nails digging into his shoulders and hair made it almost painful when he felt her body shake with an aggressive, intense orgasm, causing her to stifle a moan with difficulty, making a quiet, whimpering sound.

"– shhh – shhh, little one –" He whispered, still deep inside her, feeling his manhood and her fleshy walls pulsing in one united rhythm, snuggled into her soft, warm chest.

The touch of her bare skin, her heart beating beneath his cheek was so wonderfully intimate, personal, sweet.

Why hadn't he done this before?

They were both relieved when they heard the sound of the water being drained in the other cabin, then the door opening and someone's footsteps indicating that they were alone.

"– Aemond – my legs are aching –" She mumbled, still crossing her calves on his back, supported only by his hands that held her buttocks.

"– just a little longer –" He muttered, pressing his face harder into the silky structure of her plump breasts.

Just a little longer.

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delphi-shield · 5 months ago

Text

instant connection .ᐟ.ᐟ

di!leon x reader - long-distance relationship - part 1

next part

leon's a liar.

he doesn't mean to be. he tells you he works in security because it's easier than explaining the shitshow that is the DSO. you'll ghost him in a few messages anyway - and if you don't, he'll do the honors.

leon. 6'0''. works in security at no. undecided on kids. doesn't drink, doesn't smoke, long-term relationship, open to short. his first picture is of him throwing a peace sign to the camera, hair immaculate. (he'd had to crop out the hideous monster, a writhing mass of flesh and teeth, and now bullets. leon had realized very quickly that most of his selfies were ones he sent to hunnigan and ranged from drowned cat couture, 'forgot my umbrella today' to 'i'll help you train if you want to be a field agent, you're missing out', encouragement in the same frame as his latest monstrosity.)

the only thing completely true on his profile is his name and his status as a non-smoker and newly minted teetotaler. (according to his sobriety chip, he hasn't touched a drink in eight months. he keeps it in the same pocket he used to stash his flask in.) he's probably six foot in his shoes, he figures. that's only a half lie. 'undecided' should be 'unlikely', but that hadn't been an option in the drop down menu. his therapist says he needs to keep himself open to happiness, not to hold his dreams under water and drown them the moment he dares to have hope. it sounds kind of like bullshit, but undecided is the closest he's letting himself get to optimism for the time being. it's the same deal with long-term, open to short - blind optimism undercut by what he knows life has in store for him.

companionship isn't in the cards for him, not in any meaningful way, and that's fine. you get used to it after a while. it dulls out, gets hazy, only really creeps in on lazy weekends when he leaves the window cracked, swept in on sweet-smelling spring breezes.

it's one of those days when he opens his dating app to review his scant few likes. he clears the cobwebs from his profile only often enough to keep it active (there's that hope again). activity was few and far between, usually saved up to have claire or hunnigan go through his options and point out red flags that he would gladly sail right past - but that day, a cavern had opened in his chest. he only knew how to fill it with validation.

you were half-way across the goddamn country. you'd probably liked him weeks ago when you were passing through. seemed like a safe enough bet. more than likely, you'd never respond. even if you did, this would never work out. the distance was crazy.

so of course he messages you.

all right, what's wrong with you?

kind of a weird thing to say to a stranger, but you take it in stride and turn the question back on him when you respond an hour and a half later, the notification so surprising to him that he has to reel back through your profile to see what he's actually dealing with.

the distance makes it safe. there's a buffer between you. unspoken, mutual understanding that this is impractical and a waste of time.

the messages get more frequent. the stilted conversation melted to daily updates, and he'd exchanged phone numbers with you out of convenience. the app was a pain in the ass. he didn't want to get guff for being on a dating app during work hours, but texts were easily hand-waved. daily pictures escalated to weekly calls, which mutated into scheduled movie nights. there were a host of classics he needed to show you. his contribution to society was making one more person culturally conscious of leon s. kennedy's greatest hits.

leon remembers exactly where he was when you'd sleepily confessed that you weren't talking to anyone else. posted up in a hotel in belgium, getting ready for his operation. it was the middle of the night for you. the day loomed ahead of him, loaded with hostility and viscera. you were half asleep. he could have told you anything and you would have hummed and forgot it, nestled into your pillow. he tells you the truth instead, that he'd deleted the app you'd met on, that you're the only one he's talking to as well. it's the closest to commitment he can do and you take that promise to your dreams.

since then, he warns you when he'll be away for a 'business conference', unlikely to respond.

(conference sucked, he messages you from his hospital bed. he's fresh off assignment chest wrapped tight in bandages. he'll be out in a few hours. nothing serious. part of him aches to reassure you about something you didn't even know you had to worry about. execs tried to eat me alive out there.)

leon realizes he's fucked when he pays more attention to you, pinned to the top right corner of his laptop, than the cheesy horror-comedy you'd picked out for movie night. one hand itches for the bottle and the other itches for you, imagining what it would feel like with your weight dipping the mattress next to him, how his hand might fit against the arc of your hip - the movie on the big screen, not his laptop, still ignored in favor of watching you.

"are you even paying attention?" your voice crackles over the speaker, competing with the honking of a clown nose. he's lost the plot of the movie, doesn't quite understand where all the clowns came from (outer space, he thinks, but that would be ridiculous). he's too busy replaying your voice in his head, imagining it slower, sleepier, pressed into his shoulder.

"yeah, of course."

"uh-huh," you hum doubtfully.

you encourage him to pay attention to the next scene, pointing as if that will do anything when there's so many miles between you. something about the practical effects. he tries, honest to god, but his eyes keep drifting up to you.

he's not a monster. he waits til the movie is over to spring his stupid idea on you. leon respects the sanctity of film, the intimacy of showing your favorites with another person and the anxious hope that they'll understand the piece of you you're trying to share with them.

but he can't get the idea out of his head, and he'll make it up to you with a thorough analysis of the movie next time you have a movie date because if he doesn't say this now he's going to pussy out.

"listen, i was thinking," he ruminates, taking his time to chew his words. plenty of time to back out. leon's grown good at identifying what sort of anxiety is brewing in his gut - perks of the job - and he knows he'll kick himself if he back out now.

"that's rare."

"hilarious. i'm serious, i've been thinking. i've got some time off built up. if i don't use it by the end of the year, they don't pay it out. company's a bunch of cheap asses."

he's talking in circles and you've already reached the ending. he leans a little closer to the screen, hopes the look in your eye is glee and not fear.

"so..." leon trails off. plenty of room to back out. if you don't grasp this he'll just ask for travel tips and lick his wounds somewhere warm and tropical.

but you don't offer that. you sit up a little straighter. he swears that's a smile that you're fighting to keep down. "so...how soon are you thinking?"

casual. nice.

"as soon as possible." less casual. shit. "i was thinking a week. is that--?"

"that's great. can you let me know the dates?"

"yeah. yeah, of course."

this is going too well. too smoothly.

leon takes a breath, combs his fingers through his hair.

"we are talking about me coming to visit, right?"

you laugh at him. he's never been so happy to be laughed at.

"yeah, leon. you're coming to visit."

"just making sure."

it's impractical. it's unlikely. his therapist is going to have a field day next session. he still hasn't figured out what to do when you find out that 'security' had been a very misleading description of his work, or when you figure out that he's only 5'10'' on a good day. none of it is fair to you, he realizes, but booking his flight is his first step in trying to do right by you.

"i'll pick you up from the airport," you insist.

"i want a sign with my name on it."

"i'll put 'kennedy' on it and wear a suit and sunglasses so people think you're a big deal."

"i kind of am a big deal."

you roll your eyes. "oh, my mistake."

if only you knew that was the truth.

dividers from @/adornedwithlight

#leon kennedy x reader #leon s kennedy x reader #leon kennedy x you #leon kennedy fluff #resident evil fluff #resident evil fanfic #resident evil x reader #hiding my brave yet controversial headcanon in the tags: leon is a virgo #leon kennedy fanfic

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vintagegeekculture · 3 months ago

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I remember a friend of mine had some LPs that were Star Wars themed disco albums, and it brought back a very weird memory from back in the 70s (yes, I'm old!) of listening to a Star Wars disco mashup on the radio. What was all that about? I also remember something like that for Close Encounters, too.

You remember correctly, and this went on for a long while. In 1983, disk jockeys around the country played a record that involved an Ewok rapping the plot of Return of the Jedi in Ewokese. This made it to #60 in the Billboard Top 100.

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This is hard to explain to people who weren’t there….but in the wake of Star Wars in the late 70s and early 80s, scifi was so beloved and mainstream that the orchestral music for nerdy scifi and fantasy movies about outer space were remixed and sampled into Giorgio Moroder-esque Italo-Disco dance numbers. And the most astonishing thing is, instead of being consigned to convention acts the way “horse famous” Brony dubstep acts are, this received national airplay on the radio, reached the pop music charts, and were played in discotheques. And incredibly, this continued for years and expanded from Star Wars into Star Trek, Wizard of Oz, Black Hole, Close Encounters….

All of this was the work of one specific person: Meco (or Dominico Monardo). The term “ahead of their time” is thrown around a lot, but Meco really was: a combination producer-songwriter and Italo-Disco pioneer in the style of Giorgio Moroder, he did several things that are now absolutely standard: he used remixes and sampling before hiphop made that standard for musicians, he wrote “fandom music” on a Moog synthesizer decades before Bronies turned their conventions into cringey dubstep concerts with songs like “Everypony Dance Now.”

It's stunning to me that Meco has not been rediscovered, considering every single trend in the culture essentially went his way.

The most startling thing about Meco’s Star Wars disco album, the one that got the ball rolling on this trend, is this: I always assumed it was some kind of cash in created by a record label mandate, a label executive’s completely cynical choice to hop on a hot new trend. That isn’t a crazy thing to think at all, since Star Wars is and always has been the most merchandized and sold out scifi property ever. But it wasn’t! You see, it was all the product of a single man’s specific vision: Meco had to convince his record label to make the record because they were skeptical.

When Meco went to see Star Wars in 1977 on Opening Day (what an experience that must have been) with his friend and fellow Italian chest hair/gold medallion enthusiast Tony Bongiovi, he was already an experienced producer-songwriter who had worked with Gloria Gaynor, Diana Ross, and formed DCA, the Disco Corporation of America. If you've ever listened to Diana Ross's "I'm Coming Out," Meco actually played the trombone solo in that song. Seeing the Star Wars movie for the first time, though Meco thought the movie was nothing short of a religious experience. Originally, he wanted to do Star Wars music as a b-side on a Gloria Gaynor album, but expanded the idea into an entire album.

In Meco’s own words:

"When I think about what I did, nobody came to me, nobody said 'Meco, why don't you do this.' Nobody says 'Here's some money go make a record of this movie.' It was just my own... It was magical, it was just out of this world when all that happened."

Not only did this album hit platinum, not only did it actually outsell the Star Wars soundtrack, his remix of the Star Wars theme also went to #1 in the charts. It’s actually the best selling instrumental single of all time. A record, that, incidentally, it holds to this day.

Dick Clark, host of American Bandstand, had this to say about Meco:

"In 1977, Meco Monardo accomplished something no one else has ever done to the best of my knowledge. He was the first one in history to out-sell the soundtrack of a motion picture with his own distinctive version of a film's music. The music was totally danceable, and broke new ground. It's no wonder the STAR WARS THEME went to # 1. I loved his treatment of music from THE WIZARD OF OZ. Again, Meco created something innovative. The fun and the excitement gave a whole new feel to that totally familiar and well-loved music."

Like a lot of studio producers, Meco had an insane work ethic and hit when the iron was hot: he did an album about Close Encounters that exact same year, but also did a Star Wars Christmas Album, one of the strangest pieces of Star Wars kitsch around.

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One of the most interesting things about the Star Wars Christmas album is that one of the songs, “R2D2’s Wish You a Merry Christmas” is the first professional vocals by John Bon Jovi, who was Meco’s friend Tony Bongiovi’s seventeen year old younger cousin (he was initially known as John Bongiovi). It's incredible to hear a squeaky voiced teen Bon Jovi on a kitsch album about a robot Christmas.

1978-1979 was really his best year. Meco made an Italo-Disco remix album entirely devoted to Superman, and at this point, Meco had the pull to get access to John Williams's sheet music for the score before the music even came out. In my personal opinion it's the best of them because he has to recreate it entirely with his own instruments, leading to a very unique sound.

He also did an album based on the Wizard of Oz:

And a combination album of Star Trek/Black Hole. It's probably the earliest remixing date of Goldsmith pieces of music: the Motion Picture Theme (which is now associated with the Next Generation - hearing it done in Italodisco is uncanny) and the Klingon Theme:

Incidentally, I think the design here of the Meco Enterprise, which had to be modified for legal reasons, would make a wonderful canon starship if anyone wants to be inspired by it. It reminds me of the same concept that would be used in the very next film for the Reliant-class of ships.

Meco eventually retired from music in 1985, but unfortunately he is no longer with us, as he passed into the next dimension in 2023. I think he showed us that creativity is often about transformation, and was inspired to make his art by a legitimate awe of space, the cosmos, and human imagination that the scifi movies of the 1970s and 80s provoke.

#meco #disco #star wars #star trek #70s

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sharlleglerg · 7 days ago

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some funny parts from lorenzo & arthur’s interview by autohebdo:

Could you share an anecdote that would help us understand what Charles was like as a child?

Lorenzo: Arthur and I might have different perspectives because I’m nine years older than Charles. My best friend was Jules Bianchi, and we spent a lot of time fooling around on a circuit, having fun, and testing all kinds of karts and tires. Charles was always in the middle of it all and wanted to do the same as us. Even back then, he was extremely competitive, always trying to race against the older kids and beat them. He had the same qualities that define him today: elegance and class in his approach. He is ultra-competitive, but in a fair way. I’ve seen him break tennis rackets, but always out of frustration with himself rather than others. He’s a very fair player.

Arthur: Umm… fair play? Maybe not so much with me! (Laughs) Especially when we played PlayStation—he always gave me the broken controller! That little prick! (Laughs)

Charles became a pianist, and Arthur, you also play music. Who is the best musician in the family?

Arthur: In the beginning, Charles was terrible at piano, I have to say! (Laughs) I remember the first time he touched a piano at our country house—someone was teaching him a song. I was behind him, and he was struggling a lot. Then, I took over and played the song perfectly on the first try. (Laughs) So he gave up and switched to the guitar, which was an even bigger disaster!

Lorenzo: Especially for us!

Arthur: Acoustic guitar, electric guitar… he tried everything! (Laughs) But he eventually got better. He later returned to playing piano, learned much faster, and now he’s actually very talented!

But who is the best musician?

Arthur: We play very different styles. I prefer classical music, while Charles plays more calm, nostalgic songs—he likes that kind of atmosphere. (Laughs) In terms of technique, we are quite similar.

Lorenzo: I’ll be the judge since piano isn’t really my thing. Arthur has perfect pitch, meaning he can replay any song quite easily. He never wanted to take piano lessons, which disappointed our grandmother, who would have loved a great pianist in the family. But Arthur never liked the idea of sitting next to a teacher for long hours. So on one hand, Arthur has a natural talent but only plays when he wants. On the other hand, Charles worked hard at it, especially during the COVID lockdown in 2020, and he’s become really impressive, considering how busy he is!

Between the two of you, who is the best uncle to Leo, Charles’ dog?

Arthur: I think we’re both not great uncles!

Lorenzo: We tried our best, but Leo is a very spoiled dog. He demands a lot of attention—he doesn’t sleep alone and isn’t exactly the cleanest. I decided to take care of him during the day but not at night. He’s adorable, but not always easy to manage!

Arthur: He goes crazy every time he sees me, but I’ve never actually taken him home. I’m the fun uncle—I only see him for the good times! (Laughs)

#charles leclerc #arthur leclerc #f1

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yourownutopia · 1 month ago

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Ultraviolent Heart

╰┈➤You know how it ends. From the very beginning, you carried that knowledge like an inescapable burden, a quiet ache that shaped your every choice. Yet you stayed—for him. Jin Woo—your confidant, your light in a world of darkness—could never walk with you to the very end. But you couldn't take it anymore. It was too much to bear. So, you leave - knowing your place by his side was never meant to last.

Left behind is Jin Woo, with questions no one will answer and a gaping void where your presence once was. You are gone, and yet the emptiness you leave lingers longer than any memory. ༊*·˚

Crywolf - ULTRAVIOLENT [adrenochrome] ⋆ ˚｡⋆୨୧˚--~

Your heart is torturing me.

Knock.

The dull sound of his fist striking hard stone echoed through the air.

Once—not too hard.

Twice—with more force.

Three times—before the rigid concrete wall could no longer withstand the immense power of the Shadow Monarch. Cracks spread across the structure, and where solid stone once stood, now a large, gaping hole remained, with Jin Woo’s hand at its center—much like the gaping hole in his heart.

The overwhelming anger he felt threatened to consume him entirely. Beru flinched violently, fear creeping up his limbs as his master’s eyes glowed dangerously. He had brought bad news—perhaps the worst Jin Woo had received in a long time.

"Search more thoroughly."

The black-haired man’s voice cut through the silence like his blades through flesh. Yet, despite his usual composed demeanor, his voice quivered with rage.

Beru wanted to point out that it was a pointless endeavor. If you were still there, he would have already found you. But his master would not accept that answer.

"Yes, my king," Beru replied reverently before retreating into the shadows, leaving Jin Woo alone in his fury.

This couldn’t be true. No one could simply vanish without a trace. And yet, it seemed that was exactly what had happened.

A thousand miles an hour again.

It had been a week, and none of his shadows could locate you. Even the Hunter’s Association had been unable to find any information about your current whereabouts. There wasn’t even a hint that you had left the country.

But giving up the search would mean it was over. It would mean that a part of him was gone forever and that the memories you shared were nothing more than illusions.

He clung to the last shred of hope he had because, no matter how furious he was with you, he desperately wanted answers.

And all that stays with me

How could you do this to him? He had trusted you so much, and you had abandoned him in the most cowardly way possible—without a word. No goodbye, no note, no message—as if you had never existed. And with that, you had torn a massive hole in his heart.

The anger began to ebb, only to be replaced with a suffocating fear—a fear that had gripped him time and time again in recent days.

Is the fear inside my gut.

It felt as though he was bleeding out, choking, drowning in place. As though his heart was overflowing with pain, longing for your warmth and softness, and all the things he had never been able to say—the things you had denied him. The fear that he would soon no longer remember you gnawed at his soul.

Memories were all he had left of you, yet even they were beginning to fade. What did your voice sound like again? Your beautiful face, once so vivid in his mind, was now blurring. Were you only a beautiful dream from which he had now awakened?

You're the fear inside my gut -‘๑’-

Two years had passed since you had been pulled into this world—the world you knew so well, almost like the back of your hand. The world that had accompanied you through so many sleepless nights as you eagerly read each chapter on your smartphone.

But just as you were about to finish the story, with the last chapter ahead of you, the universe intervened. You were pulled into the story yourself, long before Jin Woo set foot in the double dungeon.

You became Player 2. The system welcomed you like an old friend, and you quickly adapted. At first, you wanted to return home, but the system refused your departure with a single window:

[You can only leave the game when you truly want to.]

And, evidently, you didn’t truly want to leave. You wanted to stay, to experience firsthand the world you had come to know so well. And so, you stayed—with the goal of making life a little easier for Jin Woo, as though that was your purpose.

Starting as a C-rank mage with a few healing spells, you participated in every raid Jin Woo was involved in, which quickly made you friends. He had admired your strength from the beginning, just as you had admired his courage and determination.

Unfortunately, you couldn’t always lend him a helping hand. Every time something story-relevant occurred, no matter how you tried to intervene, it would inevitably happen anyway—only the timing or the path there would show minor deviations.

Whenever this happened, the system would display a message:

[The story will not change.]

The system made it painfully clear that you had no influence over key story elements. And though you had never had issues with the system before, these moments felt like mockery—a cruel reminder of your limitations.

No matter how heavy your heart felt or how deeply you wished you could change things, events unfolded as they were meant to. Ultimately, all you could do was make Jin Woo’s journey a little lighter, which he accepted with gratitude. The two of you were like light and shadow—one could not exist without the other.

You’ve been my reason to breathe

Not only were you an incredible team in battle, your abilities complementing one another seamlessly, but everyone who knew you—or even those who didn’t—could see that you belonged together. He trusted you; you were the light in his life. The lifeline that kept him from drowning in a sea of darkness. The one who reminded him he was still human whenever he no longer felt like one. The one who had held his trembling hands whenever he needed it—even after those hands had taken lives.

You were the one who stayed with him through so many nights, just to keep him from being alone with himself. The one his shadows respected and whom Beru grandly referred to as "his queen."

His shadows had known from the start how Jin Woo felt about you. But he feared telling you, terrified that it might drive you away. No heartbreak in the world could compare to the thought of you no longer by his side.

Of course, you had noticed, probably much sooner than anyone else. How his behavior changed—how his cheeks would flush whenever you complimented him. How he sought your company more often, how his voice would falter when you came close. Things that had always been intimate but normal between you suddenly left him flustered.

How deeply you wished you could give in to it, but you knew better. There was no happy ending for the two of you. You knew it, and the system knew it—perhaps that’s why it had never responded to his advances. Only Jin Woo remained blissfully unaware, while you locked your feelings away and buried them deep.

The gravity that pulls me in

Despite your efforts to keep him at arm’s length—to keep yourself at arm’s length—those moments grew more frequent. Moments when your gazes lingered a second too long or his hugs lasted just a little longer than necessary. Moments when his hand found yours, and your fingers intertwined. Moments when the two of you lay side by side, silently watching the stars, just to have an excuse to share the night.

It was almost impossible to push him away when he looked at you with such tenderness, smiling at you as though you were all he needed. The thought that the two of you didn’t have a chance began to fade into the background, and as long as the system didn’t intervene, everything felt fine.

I can't escape the weight of your ultraviolent heart

Until that day.

-‘๑’-

The Jeju Island raid had been about two weeks ago, and life had returned to normal. People mourned the fallen S-Rank hunters but celebrated the victory of reclaiming the island. You hadn’t participated in the raid yourself, only watched from a distance—at least until the moment when Hunter Cha was injured and Jin-Woo rushed to her aid.

The thought sent a pang straight to your gut.

What disgusting and pathetic thoughts to have. After all, Cha had nearly died—you knew that all too well. And yet, you struggled to ignore the stabbing pain in your chest, which worsened when she showed up at the guild's office building.

As usual, when there was nothing to do, you lay sprawled on the couch, your head resting lazily on Jin-Woo's lap while he scrolled through his phone.

At first, Jinho had been a little taken aback by the closeness between you two. But he’d quickly adjusted to the fact that his two best friends behaved like a couple—despite not being one.

Suddenly, a knock came at the door, and Jinho looked up from his computer.

You were momentarily confused before realization struck. You’d spent so many days here that you’d completely forgotten about when Hae-In was supposed to arrive. If it were up to you, you would’ve bolted; the less interaction with her, the better. But that would’ve raised too many questions.

You felt Jin-Woo shift, and you immediately sat up, unwilling to give the wrong impression. The black-haired man gave you a confused look as your warmth left his lap—though he made no move to get up himself.

“Who could that be?” Jinho asked, heading toward the door. You could already hear her soft voice as he opened it.

“Is this Mr. Sung’s office?” she asked quietly. When the door opened fully, all eyes fell on the blonde beauty in the doorway.

She wasn’t just pretty; she was immensely strong. Not stronger than you, but far more graceful in everything she did. She was perfect in every way, much to your dismay.

Her eyes widened briefly when she saw you, but she quickly masked her surprise with a polite cough.

Jin-Woo had now risen as well, his gaze cool and appraising as he looked at the young Hunter whose life he’d saved.

“What brings you here, Miss Cha?” he asked, his tone cold—devoid of the softness he reserved for you.

The blonde hesitated for a moment before stating that she wanted to join the guild.

Jin-Woo’s expression didn’t change, though Jinho looked like he’d just been hit with a bombshell.

This wasn’t a surprise to you, of course, but the words still felt like a blow to the stomach.

Less than five minutes later, you found yourself sitting across from Hae-In on the sofa. Jin-Woo sat beside you, once again asking why she was there. The blonde reiterated her desire to join the guild, causing Jin-Woo to frown in confusion as she sipped nervously on a cola. She dismissed his speculations, her cheeks growing redder with every passing moment as she avoided eye contact.

It was almost ironic how Jin-Woo, despite his overwhelming senses, had no clue that Hae-In was flustered. Of course, you knew better. She wanted to be near him because, unlike others, he smelled good and intrigued her. And you had to accept that.

When her face turned beet red and she began fanning herself nervously, Jin-Woo paused and asked again why she was going to such lengths to join the guild.

“I want to live a comfortable life. Is that so wrong?” she replied softly.

Jinho popped up behind you, whispering, “The Hunters Guild must’ve overworked her.”

Jin-Woo’s eyes darted to you, silently asking a question: What do you think?

Of course, you hated the idea. You didn’t want to lose him to her—but what could you do?

Your contemplative expression and brief hesitation were all Jin-Woo needed. He turned back to Hae-In and rejected her request.

Your eyes widened, staring in disbelief at the black-haired man. This wasn’t how things were supposed to go—the conversation wasn’t over yet.

Hae-In lowered her head, her hands clasped tightly in her lap.

“I understand,” she murmured, looking utterly dejected.

Panic surged through you. What was happening? A deviation?

“W-wait!” you blurted out, drawing everyone’s attention. Hae-In’s gaze flickered with hope, while Jin-Woo raised an inquisitive brow.

“P-please give us five minutes, Miss Cha,” you said, quickly standing and grabbing Jin-Woo’s hand to drag him into the adjacent room.

Almost disappointed when you released his hand, Jin-Woo looked at you as the door closed behind you.

“Why are you doing this?” you asked, hands on your hips.

He seemed genuinely confused by your question.

“What?”

“Why are you rejecting her?!” you demanded.

Jin-Woo shrugged, his expression indifferent.

“I don’t want her in the guild,” he said flatly, his gray eyes avoiding yours.

He wanted to tell you that you were more than enough for him—that she was unnecessary. But saying so might’ve been too much in this situation.

“This is a one-time opportunity!” you argued, hoping he’d use his brain for once.

“I have you. We don’t need anyone else,” he countered, his cheeks tinged pink.

What the hell was he saying?

No, things couldn’t go this way—it would disrupt the entire timeline. Your thoughts spiraled.

“Then… have her fight Beru!” you blurted out. Jin-Woo stared at you, dumbfounded.

“And why would I do that? She’ll lose,” he said, still not understanding why this mattered so much to you.

“Then it’s a win-win. She doesn’t feel rejected, and you… get rid of her.”

He seemed to consider your words for a moment. From his shadow, the winged ant manifested.

“What do you think?” Jin-Woo asked.

The insect clicked its mandibles excitedly.

“Kekeke, that’s a wonderful idea, my queen,” it replied, clearly far too enthusiastic.

Why could you understand it? No clue. It was probably because you were also a Player, and Jin-Woo had drilled it into Beru from the start that he should listen to you as well. Besides, you liked him—and he liked you.

You looked expectantly at the Shadow Monarch, whose lips curved into a smile as he turned back to you.

“If it makes you happy,” he said, placing a hand on your head. A soft blush spread across your cheeks.

-‘๑’-

"Why the hell?!" you asked the moment your feet touched solid ground again.

You, Jin-Woo, and Hae-In now stood in the middle of the training arena. You hadn’t wanted to be part of this situation in the first place, and when the black-haired man had pulled the blonde closer, it had sent a sharp pain through your chest. You wanted to leave. But Jin-Woo had grabbed you by the wrist and brought you here, knowing that words alone wouldn’t convince you to stay. For once, he had chosen to be selfish.

Clearly irritated, you pulled yourself free from his grip and moved away from the two of them, seeking refuge at the edge of the arena. You trusted Beru to avoid accidentally hurting you, but the ant could be reckless in battle.

Jin-Woo watched you walk away, his mouth opening as if to stop you, but you were already storming off. This would have consequences later...

While Jin-Woo and Cha retreated to the armory, you were finally alone with your thoughts for the first time that day. Worry gnawed at you. Everything was unfolding differently than the story you remembered. Was it your fault? Had you interfered too much? If so, why hadn’t the system reacted? And if not... then what was the reason? Something was terribly wrong... but what?

Your mind drifted back to the manhwa, trying to recall the exact details of the events. Yet they eluded you. Meanwhile, the two hunters returned. Cha was now equipped with a weapon, and Jin-Woo stood several meters away. It wasn’t until Beru’s overwhelming aura enveloped your senses that realization struck.

This wasn’t right... She was supposed to face Igris first.

Before you could voice your concerns, the battle had already begun.

The fight went horribly wrong. Beru had lost control, and if Jin-Woo hadn’t stopped him, he would have torn Hae-In apart. The arena lay in ruins, and the black-haired man stood protectively in front of the blonde, while Beru fell to his knees, apologizing profusely.

Slowly, the conversation from the manhwa came back to you. She would tell him that she was interested in him.

I’ve been splintering apart

Badump.

Your heartbeat grew louder in your ears as the other sounds faded into the background.

Badump.

Your heart clenched as your eyes remained fixed on the two of them. They looked good together... too good.

Badump.

Panic slowly but surely crept up your limbs. You didn’t want to be here when she said it. You didn’t want to see it. You didn’t want to face the truth. You had known it all along, but you had willingly ignored it. They were meant to be together.

Badump.

Breaking open from the start

Your breaths became shallow, and your pounding heart grew louder as you watched Hae-In’s cheeks flush pink. Soon, you would see his eyes light up as he realized why Hae-In had taken on all these burdens. The pain in your chest made it hard to breathe, and you felt tears welling up in your eyes.

Badump.

You couldn’t take it anymore.

You didn’t even hear the black-haired man call your name as you bolted out of the arena. The cold air outside whipped against your face.

But you didn’t get far. A warm hand gently grabbed your wrist and pulled you back, forcing you to stop.

“Hey!” His voice was both frustrated and worried—clearly not understanding why you had left without a word.

“Let me go, please,” you said softly, tugging lightly to reinforce your words. But Jin-Woo didn’t loosen his grip. If anything, he held on tighter to keep you from walking away.

You bit your lower lip, holding back tears. You avoided looking at him, unable to face the concern in his eyes.

“Hey... it’s not your fault this happened. I shouldn’t have let her fight him in the first place,” he said, his voice quieter now. Was that it? Did he think you felt guilty?

The evening continued its quiet work, slowly but surely extinguishing all the colors. Deep blue blended with pale orange where the last warriors of the sun made their final stand.

Gates of heaven are closing

Much like your emotions, fighting against the encroaching darkness—the images of the two of them vivid in your mind.

“That’s not it,” you replied, your voice strained.

Jin-Woo’s concerned expression hardened further. Was it... because he had dragged you here against your will?

But that wasn’t it.

Your throat felt tight, and you swallowed hard.

“That wasn’t fair of me... I’m sorry, I—” Jin-Woo began, but when he saw your face, the words caught in his throat.

Your expression was equal parts hurt and angry. Your [E/C] eyes, usually so bright with joy, were brimming with tears.

Why was this idiot here and not with Hae-In? Had he left her standing there? Why was he making it so hard for you to do the right thing?

His eyes widened, and his heart sank into his stomach as he took in your pained expression. What was wrong? What had he done?

“Why aren’t you with her?” you managed to ask, your voice trembling. Jin-Woo reflexively released your wrist in shock. What? Who?

You seized the opportunity and ran, leaving Jin-Woo momentarily speechless as his mind raced.

Did you mean Hae-In? Why should he be with her? That made no sense to him at all.

Until suddenly, realization struck. Could it be that...? No. That couldn’t be it.

He quickly caught up to you, your gaze fixed stubbornly ahead.

“Stop,” his voice was calm, and his tone commanding, but you had no intention of listening.

When you ignored his second plea, he firmly grabbed your wrist once more.

The protest died in your throat as he pulled you into his chest, trapping you in a warm embrace.

What did you do in my head?

His scent filled your nose, and the warmth of his body spread through your limbs as hot tears streamed down your cheeks.

Why?

Jin-Woo held you tightly against him, one hand on your waist—the other buried in your hair.

“Wha—” you began, your voice trembling, but he silenced you with a soft sound.

“Because I want to be with you,” the black-haired man murmured into your hair, before gently pulling you away to look into your eyes.

The cool gray of his eyes softened, as it always did when he spoke to you, catching your [E/C]. But this time, there was nothing playful in his gaze. He was serious.

Jin-Woo noticed the confusion written on your face.

One of his hands found its way to your cheek, a warm tingling spreading across your skin as he cupped your face.

What are you doing?

“You asked me why I’m not with her,” he explained, gently wiping away a tear that had escaped from the corner of your eye. He had never seen you cry before, and he didn’t like the sight. Especially not if he was the reason.

Weren’t you laying in my bed

He had never intended to tell you, but he couldn’t keep it inside any longer. It had to come out. You needed to know how much you meant to him—that she didn’t matter and that you were everything he had ever wanted.

“I just want to be with you,” he repeated, his voice trembling ever so slightly. He leaned down slightly, as if even this close wasn’t close enough. His breathing quickened as the sun’s rays fought valiantly against the darkness creeping over the sky.

Your heart pounded wildly, and your thoughts raced. Your palms grew sweaty, and you felt as though you might faint at any moment. The tension between you was palpable, begging for resolution.

You wanted to bridge the remaining inches, to tell him how you felt—to throw all your plans out the window.

Jin-Woo took a deep breath.

“[Y/N], I lo—”

[The course of the story remains unchanged.]

The window that flickered behind the black-haired man for a fraction of a second was a knife in your heart, now riddled with cracks, as you reflexively pressed a finger to his lips, stopping his sentence.

He fell silent immediately, looking at you in confusion, his heart hammering wildly in his chest. Had he misread the signs after all?

Telling me I was chosen

“Don’t,” you whispered softly—your voice barely audible, but he heard it clearly.

If he said those three words, it would be over—there would be no turning back. If he said those words, you would break. If not now, then eventually—when fate ran its course. Because if you had learned one thing, it was that the system would find a way.

His throat tightened, and his chest constricted.

"I can’t—" you began haltingly, stumbling over your words. You couldn’t think of a single sentence that would make this situation any less painful for him.

You lowered your gaze, feeling Jin-Woo give up. His embrace loosened, and his arms fell limply to his sides.

You didn’t want to do this, but you had no choice. There simply wasn’t a happy ending for the two of you. Happiness together wasn’t meant to be.

Jin-Woo was hurt—he couldn’t believe how wrong he had been.

"I’m so sorry," you whispered before daring to look into his eyes one last time—eyes filled with anguish—before you turned and walked away.

-‘๑’-

The following weeks were quiet. Too quiet.

Jin-Woo and you hadn’t spoken since. Both of you were waiting for the other to take the first step, but neither of you dared to break the uncomfortable silence.

For Jin-Woo, the situation was clear: you didn’t return his feelings and wanted distance, just as much as he did. Yet it still felt wrong.

Your presence had taken over his life; he saw your shadow everywhere. Your absence had left a gaping hole, and the simplest things no longer brought him joy. Even Jinho was dejected. His shadows, too, felt the emptiness your absence had created in his heart—his inner turmoil and recklessness as he threw himself into battles reflected it.

Beru, in particular, wasn’t happy about your absence and kept asking after you until Jin-Woo firmly explained that you wouldn’t be coming back. The insect accepted it, albeit with a heavy heart.

Now I don’t even know you, and that’s the best part of it

Weeks turned into months, and Jin-Woo had regained much of his strength. He had grown more ruthless, focused solely on his goals. He had achieved so much, but none of it mattered if you weren’t there to cheer him on.

Neither the recognition from the Hunter’s Association nor the countless media articles praising him to the skies brought him any satisfaction. It wasn’t your recognition, so he didn’t need it.

He buried his heavy heart behind a wall of indifference, but he realized he was drifting further and further from any semblance of a normal life. He was rarely home, found himself in increasingly precarious situations during battles, and noticed how little he cared.

No matter what he did, nothing could fill the void.

It simply couldn’t go on like this, so he decided to do something he usually resisted.

He resolved to ask Hae-In on a date.

All I know, you’re the only thing that I see in color

While Jin-Woo threw himself into leveling up, you had shut yourself away at home for some time. Jin-Woo’s wounded face was burned into your mind; after all, it was the last thing you had seen of him.

Guilt gnawed at you, sapping your strength and will to move forward.

You had lost weight, only left your home for absolute necessities, and spent most of your time sleeping. You cried so much that you began to believe you had no tears left.

Every fiber of your being missed him.

His voice.

His scent.

His laughter.

Even his reprimanding tone when you and Beru got into trouble.

Everything about him. Your heart cried out for him, whether you were awake or asleep.

This heart is torturing me

A sigh escaped your lips as you stared at your phone screen—the numerous missed calls from Jinho had gradually become fewer, but he never gave up.

More guilt.

But what could you do to fix this? Calling Jin-Woo? Just tell him the truth? Maybe that would be the fairest way…

Countless times, you had typed his number into your phone, only to stop yourself at the last second. The fear that he wouldn’t believe you was too great. Or was it the fear that he would believe you?

You shook your head and stood up. This couldn’t go on. You had to talk to him, at least one last time—to come clean before you returned home.

You couldn’t bear the silence between you anymore.

The only pain I understand

Your eyes widened as you stared at the TV screen. A photo had just appeared on the display—your hands instantly dropped the paper cup you’d been holding, spilling the hot coffee it contained onto the ground.

With your mouth slightly open, you stared at the screen, which was displayed in the shop window of a store you had just been walking past.

You had stopped in your tracks as the image suddenly changed, revealing a paparazzi photo.

It showed Jin-Woo and Hae-In, with his arm around her shoulders.

Maybe it didn’t mean anything—maybe it was all just a big misunderstanding—but in your current state, you didn’t want to hear any of it.

Your heart had already cracked when you had to reject his feelings, but this time it felt as though it had shattered into a thousand pieces.

Your mouth went dry, and you couldn’t form a single coherent thought.

You stared at the picture as if hypnotized.

You half-expected a spiteful inner voice to appear, taunting you and telling you it had been right all along—but it stayed silent.

I can't escape the weight of your ultraviolent heart

You tore your gaze away from the screen, and your legs started moving on their own.

Faster.

Much faster.

As if you could somehow run away from it, as if these images wouldn’t follow you for the rest of your life.

Your body instinctively reacted to the pain in your soul, numbing it.

The pain ebbed away, leaving behind an emptiness that took over, shielding you from breaking down—at least for the moment.

When the door to your apartment finally closed behind you, shutting you away from the public’s eyes, every bullet hit you at once.

Your stomach churned, forcing you to vomit into the sink.

Your body doubled over, and you clung to the edge of the counter until the shaking subsided, until you rinsed your mouth and collapsed to your knees, clutching at your chest in anguish.

Your body trembled uncontrollably as you screamed out the pain you had been holding back for so long. You screamed until your voice grew hoarse, until no words could escape your throat anymore.

How had it come to this? Why had he entered your life if he was never meant to stay? Why was the universe so cruel? What had you done to deserve this?

It’s a poison in my gut

It took an eternity for your body to stop trembling and the sobs to subside. Your tears dried up, your body too exhausted to produce any more.

You sat on the floor, your back against the wall, drained of all strength. Your head throbbed, and every trace of willpower had left your body.

Weakly, you lifted your hand and swiped downward in the air.

[Do you really wish to leave the game?] [Yes] / [No] [Yes]

Jin-Woo woke with a silent scream from his nightmare, his hand outstretched, his heart pounding wildly in his chest. His breath came in ragged gasps as he sat bolt upright in bed, his eyes darting frantically around the room.

A few seconds passed before he realized he was in his bedroom. The full moon shone through his window, bathing everything in silver light.

It was just a dream…a damn nightmare. But it had felt so incredibly real.

His hand clutched at his chest, which ached under the crushing weight of emotion. He had seen your tear-streaked face as you looked at him, whispering a faint, “Goodbye.” Relief washed over him as he realized it had only been a dream. He rubbed his eyes, only to notice the glimmer of tears on his hand under the moonlight.

But it still felt so real - he felt so hollow, as though a giant hole had opened in his chest. As if something was terribly wrong. His mind wandered to you once again, missing the warmth of your Presence once more. He was sure you had seen the News, the speculations and rumors about his relationship with the blonde S-Rank - but they were all false. He only wanted to shield her from the Spotlights, since it was him who dragged her along in the first place. The Date with Hae-In was a welcoming distraction from fighting in a Dungeon, but it felt all wrong. It just made him realize once more, that it was you he wanted by his side - as lovers or friends, he couldn't care less. He just wanted you.

His resolve hardened: tomorrow, he would visit you and ask for your forgiveness, hoping you would be willing to forgive him. Hoping the empty feeling would finally disappear, that he would be whole again.

With that thought in mind, he drifted back to sleep. But the emptiness remained.

You’re the only thing that I see in color.

[part 2]

‧˚₊•┈┈┈┈୨୧┈┈┈┈•‧₊˚⊹⋘ 𝑙𝑜𝑎𝑑𝑖𝑛𝑔 𝑑𝑎𝑡𝑎... ⋙‧˚₊•┈┈┈┈୨୧┈┈┈┈•‧₊˚⊹

𓆩ꨄ︎𓆪 ᴄᴏᴍᴘʟᴇᴛᴇ! ꨄ︎ ︶꒦꒷♡꒷꒦︶ Wow, this story just came to me while I was on the bus, listening to music…what can I say—I had to write it down before it was too late!

English isn’t my first language! I hope everything was understandable and legible.

since y'all are just suckers for drama, there will be a part two~ But first, feel free to read my series! A Jin Woo x Shadow! Reader story. [Shadowborn] Thank you for all your support! likes, reblogs & comments or just reading <3 .'*•.¸♡ I really appreciate it <3 ♡¸.•*'

♡¸.•*' ˋ°•*⁀✎ 𝑢𝑡𝑜𝑝𝑖𝑎

#Solo leveling #solo leveling x reader #jinwoo sung x reader #angst #jin woo x reader #songfic #one shot

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