#Because I am just so thoughtful & totally didn't just think of that right now.

[save-the-villainous-cat]

"Surely, there must be a reason for your visit," the villain purred. They put their elbows on the table and their head on their hands, cupping their own cheeks. "Unfortunately, I don't believe you're visiting just to see my pretty face."

The hero cocked their head.

"Why not?"

The villain looked effortlessly attractive. They always did, but today from this angle, in this pose, with those clothes…The hero’s brain betrayed them over and over again. Every now and then, their thoughts circled around their nemesis, even if they didn’t get to see each other that week.

Or perhaps, especially then.

"Because you only ever show up when you want something from me," the villain said. Although their smirk was of flirty nature and although their hand was reaching for the hero again, the disappointment in their voice didn't go by unnoticed.

It was true. In the same sense that avoiding eating the forbidden fruit was true.

The villain touched the hero's shoulder. "...you got some lint here..."

It was a poor excuse to touch them, but the hero preferred it when their nemesis had to justify it. They preferred building walls around themselves and denying this part of their personality — this horrible part that wanted the villain.

They enjoyed the flirting. The soft touches. But there couldn't be more than that.

"You know I'm busy," the hero murmured. They grabbed the villain's wrist before they could pull back their arm. "But I can totally understand if you miss me. I will arrange something."

"You make me sound desperate."

"Aren't you desperate for me?"

"Oh, please. As if I want you in that way," the villain said. Under the table, their foot was already trying to find a way to the hero's bare shins, contradicting their words easily.

Admittedly, the hero couldn't help but feel guilty. It was true that they had come to the villain once again to beg for information. It was also true that they avoided them unless it was absolutely necessary.

It was a stupid habit. A pathetic one. Something the hero had picked up in their childhood, something that had manifested when they had decided to become a hero.

No one was allowed to get too close. Least of all their supposed nemesis. Even if that nemesis wasn't a threat on the battlefield anymore. For now.

They couldn't recall when the flirting had started. The villain had always been someone very talkative, someone who could talk for hours. And apparently, in some way, this had rubbed off on them.

"Everyone in this city wants me in that way," the hero mumbled.

And it surprised even themselves that they’d said it out loud. For whatever reason, they tried to get some jealousy out of the villain. It wasn't fair to the villain, the hero knew that. It wasn't fair to flirt and make all sorts of promises, just to disappoint them in the end.

The hero was a mess, they could admit that much. People getting too close always hurt.

It was always too painful.

"I suppose they want all the perfect parts of you. The flawlessness." The villain smiled and swayed their head from left to right. The hero looked at them, trying to ignore their increasing heartbeat. "I bet no one wants all those ugly details. All those late nights, those bloody hands, that emotionless shell around you…"

Suddenly, the hero's eyes widened.

They hadn't come here to be humiliated. Or to be insulted. They knew they very far from—

"But, just so you know. If I was into you and if I wanted you in that way, I'd adore those parts. I would adore and cherish them. Because I would have chosen you with every single thing that comes with you." The villain winked and the hero's throat dried out. "You are not closer to perfection than any other human being. And I am probably the only person in this city who not only notices but also accepts this."

The hero's hand was in theirs and they led it to their lips, pressing a soft kiss to their enemy's knuckles.

The hero couldn't think. They couldn't…could not really…

"But we were talking about something else, were we not?" the villain asked.

The hero couldn't answer. They felt like crying.

"The information you wanted?"

"Oh…yeah, yes. Sorry. Long night."

Both of them knew that was a very cheap lie.

[front-facing-pokemon]

[seaslimes]

Finally have a queue system that works for me. AKA 10 posts across two hours. Good luck to anyone. Hope you like seeing silly stuff on your dashboard.

[pyrriax]

i think i'll spontaneously combust when i hit 20k posts on this blog. what the hell. (my queue is putting in the work. also the multiple reblogs of the same posts because i have a Point to make.)

[mad-hunts]

as far as jack could tell, jervis was really out of it; and it made him wonder it was due to something that had happened while he was out with his father, or when they'd gotten here. perhaps both. jack gnawed on his bottom lip, his eyes darting to jervis's hands, which were flexing like he was struggling with something. an eyebrow rose as jack contemplated asking whether he needed some pain medication.

since he didn't receive an answer to his question yet, jack figured he might as well introduce himself. ❝ uhh, well, you don't have to talk to me if you aren't feeling up to it. my sister told me that you fainted in front of her out there — so, i understand if you're still feeling sick. my name is jack, ❞ he scratched at the back of his neck as he continued to observe jervis. whenever the man tried to get up, jack approached him and was about to caution jervis that maybe he shouldn't by lightly touching his shoulder.

but he remembered matilda telling him something about the other really not liking to be touched, so he merely was going to verbally tell him. up until jervis laid back down himself, anyhow. jack couldn't hold himself back from frowning at his poor present state before venturing out of the room with a 'i'll be right back.' and indeed he had been, with two different vials, alongside a few syringes to inject into that IV bag: should jervis want to be medicated. jack figured it'd be easier to just do that rather than forcing him to swallow anything.

he placed those also on the table before tilting his head at the quote jervis had said until it clicked a few seconds later, ❝ that's a quote from through the looking glass, isn't it? and one that the red queen said in the story if i remember correctly. she was basically teaching alice that staying in the same place is falling behind, right? ❞ jack squinted his eyes at that before a thought came to mind. a soft snort left him, but one that was done of an innocent sort of amusement rather than malice. ❝ that is a kind of roundabout way of talking about survival of the fittest. but hey, lewis carroll was all about the whimsy of things, i guess. and its no big deal. ❞

jack pretended not to see the tears that the other shed for jervis's own sake. the blood on his lips was something he couldn't ignore, no matter how hard he tried, though. jack grabbed a washcloth from his pack and held it out towards's jervis's hand. once it was out of his hand was when jack set down that teacup, the slightly too long stripped pants he wore swaying across the ground. ❝ mm, you and dad were both asleep for nearly four hours. sure — i don't think that's silly at all. i keep something on me all the time from when my brother, julien, was still around. ❞ the bracelet he showed the other on his right wrist then seemed to be made up entirely of tiny conch shells.

julien was a big fan of the sea, which jack thought made his death all the more crushing. after seeing the state that the stuffed animal was in, he figured that that bunny must've been really loved; though it didn't really matter by whom it was. the end result was the same, as love changes you. jack knew this well as he'd never wanted anything more than to be embraced by the warmth of it.

he quickly shook that thought off, only to grab the two vials he got from the fridge once more. ❝ eh... the four hours actually went by rather fast. ❞ jack cleared his throat then, ❝ you know, i couldn't help but notice that you aren't looking so hot still, and so i grabbed some meds for you. but i won't force you to take them. i have a pain reliever as well as something that relieves vertigo. are either, or both of these, something you want? ❞

Eigengrau.

A faint hum buzzed in his ears; his mouth was so dry it felt like he’d swallowed a wad of wool.

The thin sheet beneath him brushed his fingertips as Jervis flexed his hands, cracking his eyes open a sliver. The room tilted, everything blurring at the edges. Ah… so he had fainted. Just as he’d suspected. No glasses, then.

"Hey. Ahh, you're awake… That's awesome. How are you feeling?"

The new voice was barely a whisper, young and uncertain—belonging to a boy, maybe sixteen or eighteen by the timber. Was this another of Barton's assistants, a friend of Matilda’s, or perhaps her brother? Jervis couldn’t quite remember; hadn't Barton mentioned something about having more than one child?

He winced, his body feeling heavy, leaden; aching everywhere. Slowly, he exhaled and tried to push himself upright—tried being the keyword. The effort brought only a wave of vertigo, dizzying and blue-hot, making his vision swim.

… ohh, god…

He swallowed thickly, curling into himself. Something wasn’t right. His glasses and gloves weren’t the only thing missing. He was in his socks, jeans, and a now damp charcoal t-shirt, his body slick with cold sweat. His graying auburn curls clung to his neck in tangled ropes. His boots were beside the cot, his messenger bag on a desk across the room. His overcoat and maroon button-down were draped over a chair.

A flicker of discomfort in his right arm. Burning. Tugging.

Jervis glanced down at the source: a plastic tube. A peripheral IV catheter.

"Ah, you know... 'It takes all the running you can do, to stay in the same place,'" he muttered, his voice clipped and hollow; Bermudian accent casual, almost detached. He turned his eyes to the boy; offered him a faint, strained smile. "Keeps things interesting, I suppose... but I appreciate your concern, lad."

He lifted his fingers to his cheek, feeling the moisture trickle down—salt on his lips. Tears, sharp and stinging. Jervis flinched and quickly scrubbed them away with the heels of his hands.

Cold metal pressed into his spine, tight around his neck—the chain with his and Sylvie’s wedding rings twisted against his skin. He must’ve been thrashing in his sleep. There was blood on his lips.

"Forgive me…" His vision swam as he watched the boy set a teacup on the small table beside the cot, just within view. "But I'm afraid I've rather lost my sense of time. How long has it been since I…?" He paused, his voice barely steady. "... if... if you don’t mind, could you please reach into my coat pocket? You'll find a small cuddly toy. A rabbit..." He rubbed his mouth, lowered his eyes. "It sounds foolish, I know... but it... it was my daughter's, you see..."

The boy nodded, moving quickly to retrieve the toy from Jervis’ coat pocket, and placed it on the table beside the teacup. The bunny was missing one of its button eyes, its white fur faded and matted. A pink satin ribbon around its neck was frayed and tattered.

“Thank you,” Jervis said hoarsely. “I must have been out of it for quite a while.”

[ilydeku]

teacher izuku has a girlfriend??

Regardless of the joy and spur he expelled towards the students, Izuku knew how to maintain the steady hand of keeping the class under set composure. Nothing but the intent to teach and the will to learn, an equitable relationship between the two—and it was no question. Being the most loved and favored teacher had its perks, and grandiose respect was one of them.

But no matter how mature a student has grown, having fun will always reign somewhere along their focal point. Even if that fun means encouraging their teacher in his love life.

"...-because a good relationship between your teammates makes for optimal communication, conduct, and cooperation," explained Izuku, pointing from one spot on the board to another, well immersed in his lesson. "Now, considering quirk-"

"Speaking of relationships, are you in a relationship, sir?" A student, a frivolous girl, teasingly pipes in sudden interest. Plenty of students amongst the grade claimed a crush on Deku-sensei. Of course they did: he's sweet, very tentative and understanding to all his students individually, and takes his time to really help and engrave the knowledge he possessed for them to become the best future heroes they could be. That, and mostly his physical charms. So wouldn't it be in his best interest to have a girlfriend?

Little did Izuku know that this inquiry marked the beginning of his first uncontrollable havoc.

For a moment, he hesitated, pausing midway on the convoluted diagrams drawn on the whiteboard. A strange question, but he thought nothing much of it. He turned around and crossed his arms, lazily pointing the expo marker to the girl.

"I'm gonna pretend I didn't hear that. Unrelevant, didn't see a hand raised-"

"Aw, but sir!" She draws out, slumping back in her seat. "Are you?"

Some students began to look at each other and exchange a few grins until the room began to slowly increase in volume and erupt into unintelligible chatter.

"Ahem."

The room fell into silence accordingly, but he could clearly read the expression on everyone's faces. The class was still waiting for his answer, the way they stared and leaned over their desks in anticipation. Izuku sighs and turns back to the board.

"...no, I'm not in a relationship. Moving on, the information I've drawn-"

"Really?" The girl cuts in matter of factly with a tilt of her head. "But aren't you and y/n talking??"

A chorus of engrossed 'oohs' echoed across the room and a very subtle, but defined shade of pink dusted his cheeks at the mention of you. He turned around again and attempted to regain composure of the class.

"Everyone settle down-"

"Y/n L/n? Isn't that (hero name)?? I think she's in the top 20's now."

"Yeah! I've seen her drop by the school a couple times during lunch!"

"Now that I think about it, Deku-sensei does have her come in as a guest speaker a lot..."

It was just one after another, the addition of suspicions and theories now bringing the truth to the surface. Izuku swallowed.

A loose black band around Izuku's wrist caught another student's eye and they stood up and pointed in excitement. "Look!! Deku-sensei has hair ties on his wrist!! Hair ties!!"

"Kids, please...-"

"Wow..I've never seen your class this rowdy before, Izuku!!" That voice. His head snapped toward you in surprised, totally flustered about the situation. The entire class went dead silent and turned to you, standing at the entrance of the classroom. You wave at his kids with a smile and stroll over to Izuku's desk, dropping off a bag of some sort. He watches you endearingly.

"You forgot your lunch at home, silly."

"O-Oh did I? Haha, sorry y/n. Thank you. You're on break right now, right?"

The students watched you both like a show, taking in the interaction, the body language, the words. There's no doubt you two were a thing right? Deku-sensei and (hero name)!!

And just then, you confirmed it with simple kiss on his cheek.

"Bye, Izuku! Be nice to the kids, hm?"

"You know I always am!!"

As soon as the classroom door clicked, the class burst into awe.

"WHY DIDN'T YOU TELL US???"

[rin-may-1103]

The Wrong Robin Au (part two?)

Previous | Master Post | Next

"Alright, kid." Danny sighed as he walked back into the motel. "tell you what, you tell me everything you think you know about me and bats, and I'll be Robin. Deal?"

Tim's eyes widen in surprise, "wait, really?" he asks, dropping the third Oreo he had been trying to balance on Sam's forehead. Sam snored, her nose twitching in agitation for a moment before going back to normal.

Tim leaned back, keeping an eye on her. "do you really mean it? you'll come back and fix him?"

Danny sighed, "I can't promise that I'll be able to fix him, but I can promise to do my best."

Tim nodded his head, "That's all I ask." then the kid stood up, holding his hand out for Danny to shake, "We got a deal, Robin."

Danny smirked, unable to keep a straight face at how cute the kid was being. Reaching out, he shook his hand.

"Right, first things first. Who's Batman, and why do you think so?" Danny asked, making his way over to the table. Tim followed behind him, his face brightening up in excitement.

"Bruce Wayne of course," Tim cheered, plopping down onto the chair across from Danny.

Of course, another rich fruit loop would be Batman. Why not? What's next? Lex Luther was Superman's archnemesis? Oliver Queen cosplayed Katniss Everdeen?

"I thought Dick Grayson, Bruce's ward, was Robin at first. It had made sense, or at least mostly did but I wasn't completely sold on it. I only really thought it was him because Robin was able to do a quadruple backflip, and only Grayson's family was able to do that. but then I saw you! and it makes perfect sense!" Tim smiled excitedly, leaning forward as he continued.

"You were able to do the flip, AND you acted just like Robin did! Dick doesn't act like Robin in public, or ever really. But you do! You did the flip, you make puns! you even bit that one mugger!"

Danny blinked before slowly nodding his head; Well, at least his personality wasn't going to be a problem. "right, makes sense," not. it did not make sense, but who was Danny to crush this kid's hopes. also, how long ago was this? because Danny hadn't done the flip this time... he's definitely bitten a criminal or two over the past two weeks, but the flip? that had to have been back when he first got his powers... he vaguely remembers his parents dragging him around the country on some trip Vlad set up for them.

see, it was totally Vlad's fault.

"and who was the second Robin?" Danny asked, leaning back and crossing his arms.

"Bruce's second kid, Jason Todd," Tim replied, not smiling anymore. "The Joker killed Robin over in Ethiopia. Jason went missing and was declared dead around the same time."

"Right," Danny coughed, glancing away from Tim. "and what else do you know?"

"Well, I know Commissioner Gordon's daughter, Barbara, was batgirl..." Tim trailed off with a wince, obviously not liking the conversation anymore. Danny had to agree, the whole class had been informed about the dangers of Gotham City. Barbara Gordan had been one of the examples they used.

"I know that you're using a fake name!" Tim suddenly added, looking more lively now. Danny blinked before sighing, "Yeah? and why's that?"

"you used your bat training to make a fake identity to throw Bruce off your trail! That way you would have more time to settle in with your new team! and it worked for a while, that is until he caught up to you and your team. it doesn't seem he knows about this identity, so you've been using it ever since Jason's death. because you're mad at him."

"and why am I mad at him?" Danny asked, tilting his head back to stare at the ceiling. Just what had he gotten himself into?

"because he didn't tell you about Jason's death." Danny glanced back at the kid, watching as he looked away and out the window. "just like he didn't tell Dick..."

had he finally connected the dots? had he finally realized he got the wrong person?

"why would he not tell you two?" Tim asked, turning to look up at Danny. Danny shrugged, turning to look back at the ceiling. "grief makes people do things they never would have before." like becoming a billionaire and spending twenty years scheming on how to murder a single man. or it could make them more obsessed with their work.

Danny knows Greif, he's had to deal with it for years now. It's the only thing he understands about why Batman has changed so much. Greif, especially for someone you love? It changes you, it holds onto your heart and never lets go. It can drive you insane if you let it.

"he was so caught up in his own grief he didn't realize that there were others who needed to grieve with him."

"Oh," Tim replied.

they sat in silence for a moment before Tim spoke up again.

"I know where the Batcave is."

Danny blinked. Right. Batman. Batcave. the bat-themed vigilante had a secret lair and it was a cave. That checked out. At least it wasn't in the basement.

"yeah?" Danny prompted, "And where's that?"

"under the manor," Tim replied, crushing any and all hope Danny had for Bruce Wayne.

It was official. All billionaires were fruitloops. Danny didn't care if they didn't all have secret basements, they were fruitloops.

Next

[punkshort]

Home

Pairing: (Hallmark) Joel Miller x f!reader

Summary: You finally move in with Joel and Sarah.

Warnings: language, fluff (the cheesy hallmark kind), established relationship, reader has a previously explained nickname, smut (18+ MDNI), oral (f!receiving), unprotected piv sex

WC: 4.8K

Series Masterlist

Dividers by the lovely @saradika-graphics

Joel was nervous. He never really got nervous, but that particular day, he was nervous.

Sure, it was a big step in your relationship. Or maybe it was because months ago when he asked your father's permission to marry you, he promised he would wait until you moved in together.

And now, that day had arrived.

Where did the time go? He swore it just flew right on by, time that was filled with memories of dinners, parties, dates and holidays together. He hadn't planned what he would say and he felt woefully unprepared. He hadn't even talked to Sarah about it yet.

Just because today is the day you're moving in doesn't mean today is the day I need to ask, he thought to himself. Still, it was a big step. A big, symbolic gesture on both your ends. One that screamed, I'm in this for the long haul.

"Mornin', babygirl," Joel said sleepily as he entered the kitchen, Sarah already sitting at the table in front of an empty bowl and scrolling quietly on her phone.

"Hey," she responded distractedly. He poured himself a cup of coffee and looked around the room. It would be the last morning in his kitchen that didn't include you, and the thought made warmth bloom in his chest and excitement flicker under his skin.

"Big day," he said, but Sarah only nodded. "Y'know, been meanin' to talk to you 'bout somethin'."

She pulled her gaze up from her phone and cocked her head to the side. "Yeah?"

He nodded and took a deep breath before sitting across the table from her. He told her it was about you and she sat back in her chair.

"Bucky?"

He nodded, the silly nickname coming from his daughter's lips that only previously came from your immediate family making him smile.

"You know I'm cool with her moving in, we talked about it months ago. I think it's great. She's amazing and we have so much fun-"

"It's not that," he said, cutting her off before he lost his nerve. "One day - and I ain't sayin' today - but one day, I wanna ask her to marry me."

Sarah just continued to stare blankly at him, so he continued.

"I love her so much, babygirl. She means so much to me, 'n so does her family. I can't imagine my life, our life, without her."

"Yeah, duh," she replied, giving him an incredulous look. "Obviously if she's moving in I figured that would be the next step."

He frowned. "You did?"

"Dad," she whined, rolling her eyes. "I'm seventeen now. Soon, I'll be in college. I want you to be happy. I don't want to worry about you being sad and alone when I'm gone."

"Gee, thanks," he scoffed over his mug, and she giggled.

"What I'm saying is, I think it's great. Go for it. She'll totally say yes."

He scratched the back of his neck nervously. "Yeah?"

Sarah gave him a deadpan look. "Yes, Dad. She's moving in with you. She's not expecting friendship bracelets."

He smirked and looked down at his coffee. One thing was checked off the list, now he had to think about when and how he would ask you.

It was a long day.

You hadn't even lived in Texas for a full year yet but you managed to accumulate a lot more shit than you thought. Fortunately, between Joel, Tommy, your dad and Josh, your brother in law, all the furniture was quickly unloaded. The time consuming part was working out the angles in hallways and stairs. Since Joel and Sarah already had more than enough furniture, the two of you decided to put your old couch and television in the basement, an idea which Sarah excitedly jumped on board with.

You could hear the men grunting and talking through different ideas on how to get your couch into the basement all the way from Joel's - your - bedroom upstairs with Sarah.

"I am obsessed with this purse," Sarah sighed, tossing a red leather Michael Kors tote over her shoulder. Prior to living in Texas, you lived in New York City and had created quite the collection of designer clothes and accessories thanks mostly to your ex-fiancé. Since moving, you found very little use for most of it and your style evolved to one that was much more relaxed and comfortable. More you.

"Keep it," you told her as you opened up a box of your bathroom things. She gawked at you while you began to drag the box towards the bathroom, already smiling to yourself as you thought about Joel seeing all the girly face masks and perfumes cluttering his once rather masculine space.

"Are you serious?"

You glanced up at her and shrugged. "Sure. I haven't used it in a year and I have plenty more. It's all yours."

"Oh, my god," she murmured, holding the bag close to her chest. "Thank you!"

You grinned and pulled out bottles of shampoo and conditioner. "Don't mention it."

There was a loud thud that came from the basement and you both froze, waiting to hear panicked calls for help, but after a moment laughter erupted amongst the men and you both exchanged looks of relief.

"I bet Dad that Uncle Tommy would be the one to hurt himself," she told you, crouching to help unpack more of your toiletries.

You laughed and shook your head. "You're probably right."

Glancing at the time, you stood up and weaved your way through the boxes littering the floor to grab your wallet laying on the bed.

"Would you mind calling in a couple pizzas for delivery?" you asked Sarah, handing her your credit card. She nodded and patted down her pants.

"Shoot. I think I left my phone in my room," she said as she headed towards the door. "Ronny's Pizza, right?"

"Yeah, that's good," you called after her before stubbing your toe on a half empty cardboard box. "Shit," you muttered angrily, then squat down to scoop up what was left in the box and get it out of your way.

Wrestling with an armful of socks and bras, you carefully made your way to the dresser and yanked open a drawer. You mistakenly had opened Joel's underwear drawer instead of the one he had emptied for you, but right as you were about to close it, something caught your eye. Was that...? Slowly, you reached forward and nudged a pair of boxers out of the way so you could get a better look.

Your eyes went wide and your heart jumped into your throat when you saw the small, black velvet box nestled between his things. The fingers holding up the pair of underwear began to shake and you nervously swallowed the lump in your throat.

Maybe it was a class ring.

Maybe it was a piece of his mom's jewelry he saved for Sarah.

Or maybe it was a fucking engagement ring.

You heard creaking on the stairs and you quickly dropped the boxers back over the box and slammed the drawer shut. By the time Joel entered the room, you had successfully found your drawer and were halfway done putting your clothes away.

"Hey, darlin'," he murmured, sidling up behind you. He buried his nose in your shoulder and slowly circled his arms around your waist.

"Hey, yourself," you replied, hoping your voice sounded normal and he couldn't feel your heart slamming in your chest. Already got the ring he had said to you drunkenly the night before your sister gave birth. "How are things going down there?" you asked, trying to refocus and get your mind off what you just saw.

Joel breathed in deep and began to sway you both back and forth. "Good. Everythin's all set. Got a nice man cave set up now."

You giggled and closed your drawer before turning around in his arms. "Man cave, huh?"

"That's right," he said softly with a grin. "Gonna be great in 'nother month when football season starts."

"I don't know, I think Sarah was already making plans to have her girlfriends over down there. Might cramp your man cave style," you told him, arms draping loosely around his neck.

"'S'alright, I just give her a hundred bucks and let her borrow the car and then it's all mine," he murmured, pressing a soft kiss against your throat. "Be nice to have some privacy down there, too," he added, tilting his head in the other direction so he could give the other side of your neck the same attention.

"Yeah? Privacy for what?" you teased, chin lifting up to give him better access. You felt him chuckle against your skin.

"For anythin' we want," he replied, tearing his mouth away from your shoulder so he could brush his lips gently over yours.

"Mmm, like board games?" you asked, giggling when his lips froze and his face pulled away, giving you a look of disbelief.

"Is that what we're callin' it?"

You nodded and stretched onto your tiptoes so you could kiss him again.

"Okay, the pizza'll be here - oh. Gross," Sarah said when she appeared in the doorway. You pulled away and grinned while Joel looked over his shoulder with a frown.

"Gross?" he repeated, voice laced with disgust. "Seein' me happy is gross?"

Sarah rolled her eyes as she navigated the minefield of boxes in the room to hand you back your credit card. "Is this what it's gonna be like now? You guys sucking face in every room?"

"Hate to tell you, kiddo, but it's always been that way," you told her as you dropped your arms from around Joel's neck to take your card back.

"Pizza?" he questioned excitedly as if he just processed what Sarah said, and you nodded.

"Figured you guys would be hungry."

Joel groaned in delight and wrapped his arms around you once again, making you laugh.

"Alright, gimme a second to leave at least," Sarah said, turning towards the door as quickly as possible, but not before you caught the smile on her face.

"Hey, can I give you a hand?" Tommy asked as he entered your kitchen. You could hear Josh, your father, Sarah and Joel laughing in the living room with the television on in the background.

"Oh, Tommy, that's so sweet but I got it. You've done so much already today, thank you for your help," you said with a smile as you continued to clean up the pizza. Tommy leaned against the counter and watched you move around his brother's kitchen like you had been there your whole life, and he couldn't help but smile.

"You look right at home already," he told you, making your cheeks warm. You pulled out some foil and shrugged.

"I've stayed over a couple times, what can I say?"

He chuckled and continued to watch you work quietly for a moment.

"Say, what'dya think 'bout you and Joel goin' on a double date with me and Maria?"

"Oh, I would love that!" you exclaimed, meeting his gaze briefly as you moved towards the fridge. "Must be getting serious if you're ready to introduce her to family, huh?"

"Yeah, I think so," Tommy said, shyly looking down at the tile floor. "She's so pretty. Smart, too. And funny. We have such a great time together. I'll tell you, I ain't ever remember feelin' this way 'bout a girl before."

Your jaw hung open in shock after you turned away from the closed fridge. "Tommy! This is... amazing!"

He scratched the back of his neck and grinned. "Yeah, it is," he agreed warmly.

"He botherin' you, baby?" Joel asked as he strolled into the kitchen with a beer in his hand. He shot you a wink right after Tommy gave him the finger.

"I was just telling Tommy we should go on a double date with him and Maria," you said, leaning into the hug he gave you. Tommy gave you a thumbs up behind Joel's back and you smiled over his shoulder, knowing intuitively that his brother would tease him mercilessly if he knew Tommy was the one with the idea instead of you.

"Oh, yeah?" Joel asked, pulling back to look at Tommy. He nodded.

"Yeah, sounds like fun. Maybe grab some drinks down at Mike's. Play some pool."

"Alright. Set it up, can't wait to meet her," Joel told him before squeezing past you to get another beer from the refrigerator.

The men spent another hour or so relaxing in the living room while you and Sarah did the best you could to clear up the remaining boxes in your bedroom. You did rather well, too. By the time everyone was ready to say good night, you only had two boxes left, both of which you stacked and shoved into a corner to deal with the next day.

You were looking forward to collapsing into bed after a long, eventful day when Sarah asked if she could go to the movies with a few of her friends.

"Please, Dad? School starts up in a couple weeks," she begged, and Joel didn't have the heart to tell her she didn't need to bother to beg. He handed her some money from his wallet and she rushed up to her bedroom to get ready, announcing her friend Katy would pick her up in twenty minutes.

"Strange how Katy knew to pick her up before I said it was alright," Joel told you with a fake look of confusion. You laughed and plopped next to him on the couch, resting your head on his shoulder while he flipped through the channels on the television.

You wrapped your hand around his bicep and snuggled in closer as he wavered back and forth between two different action movies. When you really thought about it, it was funny. Your life was so different just a year ago. You were engaged to someone else, living in New York City, wearing expensive clothes and dining at restaurants you didn't really care for but your fiancé did, so you pretended to like them, too. Now you were living a completely different life. One of comfort and love and joy and you had never felt happier.

As if he could read your mind, Joel lifted his arm and tugged you closer by the shoulders, then planted a kiss on the top of your head, further emphasizing how perfect your life seemed now.

"I'm coming downstairs now! Stop making out!" Sarah warned as she stomped down the steps. You stifled your laughter and Joel shot her a scowl.

"We're just watchin' TV."

"And I'm just covering my bases," she said with a grin, holding her hands up in surrender. A faint beep came from the road and she grabbed the purse you had given her earlier that day and said, "don't wait up!" over her shoulder before the door clicked shut.

"Don't wait up?" Joel repeated with a snort. "She's seventeen goin' on thirty."

You giggled and gazed up at him from your place against his side. "You wanna play some board games?"

He looked confused for a moment before the realization dawned on him.

"Hell, yes."

The basement looked nicer than you expected. It wasn't completely finished but there was an area Joel had built a wall around and painted years ago. He had installed a drop ceiling and some laminate flooring but he never got around to actually doing much else with it until you moved in and had extra furniture. An area rug from your old apartment was in the center of the room, your old couch resting on top and your television was placed on your entertainment center across from the sofa. You had some floor lamps and end tables you could arrange in the space later on but for now, it was nice.

But all that didn't really matter that particular day. Not when your shorts dangled around one ankle, which was slung over the back of the couch, your legs spread wide as Joel kneeled on the area rug, his fingers gripping your hips as his tongue feverishly lapped at your pussy.

"Fuck, Joel... I'm close," you whined, hand clawing at his hair, your hips grinding shamelessly against his face. He just groaned, eyes fluttering closed as he drank you in, your scent engulfing him, absolutely loving the way you fell apart under his tongue.

"Joel," you gasped, mouth hung open as your gaze fixed on the top of his head. "Joel, d-do t-that thing-" you moaned loudly, cutting yourself off when he repeatedly grazed his teeth over your clit while working two fingers into your cunt, curling them so they pressed against that one spot he knew drove you crazy each time he dragged them in and out.

A moment later, your body went rigid and tears sprung to your eyes as you came, ragged groans melting into quiet little whimpers until he finally pulled away from the center of your thighs. His eyes were dark and wild as he panted for air, watching you with a cocky smirk as you struggled to come to your senses.

"Gonna let me fuck you now, baby?" he murmured, his pants already pushed halfway down his legs. You nodded in a daze, thighs trembling still when he stepped out of his jeans and kneeled onto the couch. He hovered over you, pressing his thick length against your pussy while he bent forward to bite and suck at your throat.

You gasped sharply and grabbed his shoulders when he first entered you. The initial stretch always took your breath away, regardless if he made you come first or not. You came to crave that feeling, those first few seconds of intrusion that made your mind go blank and your heart stutter before your body made room for him and relaxed. And because you knew he loved to hear it, your mouth found his ear and you whimpered, "so big," and you smiled when you heard his responding growl.

A few days before you moved in with Joel, you laid awake at night in your apartment, thinking back to your relationship before him. When you moved in with Will, it seemed like something shifted almost immediately, and not in a good way. The spark fizzled out as you adjusted to living with one another, putting up with each other's quirks and bad habits. Logically, you knew that spark was dying before you moved in together but at the time, you didn't want to admit it. But anxiety still crept up and you wondered if the same thing would happen with Joel.

What a stupid thing to worry about.

What you had with Joel was so different, it was hard to describe. But it was a feeling, something deep inside that couldn't be denied. This was special. This was unlike anything you ever experienced before and it was foolish to try to compare it to anything else.

As if you needed further proof, Joel sensed your mind had drifted elsewhere and he nipped at your lower lip to draw your attention back to him.

"What's wrong?" he whispered when you met his gaze. His hips had slowed down, worried you were uncomfortable and didn't want to say it. You slowly smiled and draped your arms around his neck, looking up at him with such love and adoration that he couldn't stop himself from smiling in return.

"Nothing's wrong. Everything's perfect," you told him. You tugged him down so you could give him a kiss, then mumbled, "you're perfect," against his mouth.

Joel flushed and shook his head gently, resuming his steady pace. Sometimes he had a hard time believing you were real. He spent a good chunk of his adult life thinking he would never find true love and after a few years of loneliness, he grew to accept that. He threw himself into his work and focused on raising Sarah but when he met you, it was like everything changed. He couldn't stop thinking about you to the point where he would have been content with just getting to know you better, but the moment he first felt your lips against his, he knew he didn't stand a chance. But when he first made love to you, it was all over. He knew within seconds he could never let you go, and he never did.

"You're the one who's perfect. God, so fuckin' tight," he groaned, flexing his hips with a little more force. You rewarded him with a sweet little moan and tipped your head back into the couch. "That feel good, baby?" he breathed, watching with pride as you writhed underneath him.

"Yeah," you whispered before sinking your teeth into your lower lip, skin already red and sensitive from where his own teeth had laid claim. "Again. Harder, Joel," you pleaded, and his eyelids fluttered as he tried to slow down his own orgasm that was already growing all too quickly.

He gave you what you wanted, hips snapping into yours roughly. Your whole body rocked beneath him, breasts bouncing free under your thin T-shirt, jaw slack and back arched so beautifully he had to look away before he came too soon.

"Oh, fuck, Joel," you whined, face pinching as he forced another orgasm to the surface with each powerful thrust.

"You like that?" he murmured, his dark eyes raking over your body greedily. "Tell me, baby. C'mon, wanna hear it."

"Yes," you whimpered, eyes still screwed shut, "feel so fucking good, Joel, fuck... so... so deep, I want more." You took in a deep breath, your release so close you could taste it. "More... don't stop, please... I-I need..." you were rambling now, unable to form a full sentence, barely aware you were saying anything at all and fuck, did he love being the one to make you do that. Make you lose control and give in, putting all your faith and trust in him to give you what you want. To make you feel good.

"I know what you need," he said through gritted teeth, then grabbed ahold of your hip and ground himself roughly against your cunt. Your eyes flew open and he smiled when you cried out, clenching around him after only two or three passes over your clit.

You were whispering his name mixed with something else incoherent as you came down and he couldn't hold himself back any longer. He slammed into you over and over, eyes fixed on the way your pussy strained around his girth, his cock all shiny and slick with your arousal and he came with a loud groan, thrusting into you deep and slow until he was spent.

His arms began to tremble so he slowly lowered himself down to rest the side of his head against your chest and instantly, your hands came up to card through his hair. He sighed and closed his eyes, soaking in your gentle touch as his heart began to slow.

"Do you think it will always be like this?" you asked softly, fingers still threading through his curls.

"Yeah, I do," Joel replied, eyes still shut as he nuzzled into your chest.

"Good. Me, too."

Maria was fun.

You knew immediately you would get along. Her sense of humor and her carefree attitude completely contradicted her profession as a newly appointed Assistant District Attorney, and you absolutely loved how full of surprises she was, especially how good she was at pool.

"Y'know, we just let you girls win," Joel teased when he put his pool cue down.

"Oh, yeah? Is that why I heard you and Tommy talking strategy on my way back from the bathroom?" you shot back. He grinned and tugged you into his chest, kissing the crown of your head before releasing you.

"C'mon, Tommy. Losers buy the next round," he said, giving his younger brother a playful shove. Tommy squeezed Maria's hand and gave her a warm smile before following Joel to the bar, leaving just you two to find an empty table. Maria spotted one right when a group of four were standing up to leave and she grabbed your arm, practically dragging you across the crowded floor to snag it before someone else did.

"Good eye!" you told her when you slid into the booth, the green, plastic cushion underneath you essentially useless after years of being flattened and never replaced. The table was sticky from spilled beer and droplets of hot sauce, so you each got to work yanking handfuls of napkins out of the dispenser at the end of the table and squirting hand sanitizer over the tabletop to clean the area as best you could.

"I don't think Tommy told me how long you two've been together," Maria said, her eyes lifting to search the bar for your dates.

"Uh, eight months or so," you told her, "we met right before Christmas."

She raised her eyebrows and smiled. "I would have guessed much longer. It feels like you know each other so well."

You could feel your cheeks warm from the compliment. It was clear to you what you had with Joel was special but it was always nice to hear others could see it, too.

"What about you and Tommy? He's been keeping you a secret but I want to guess... two months?"

"Three, actually," she corrected you. "We both agreed to take things slow. I had just gotten this job and I knew I would be putting in long hours, I wasn't really sure if I had the time to devote to a relationship but he stuck it out. I really thought he was going to bail when I kept having to call it early so many nights and cancel dates last minute but he's a trooper."

You leaned across the table and wiggled your eyebrows at her. "That's 'cause he really likes you."

She giggled and waved you off but you could see the delight in her eyes.

"I'm serious! I've only known him for as long as I've known Joel but from what I was told, Tommy didn't bring girls around often. Especially lately. You must be special," you teased, making her smile widen.

Unbeknownst to you, across the bar, Tommy and Joel were having a similar conversation.

Now that Tommy had a few beers in him, he was more open to telling his brother about Maria and how happy he was with her.

"I'm tellin' you, Joel, I think she's the one," he was saying, slamming down an empty shot glass next to Joel's on the messy bar top.

"I like her, she keeps you in line," Joel quipped, taking a sip from his beer to chase the shot of whiskey. "Girls are gettin' along real good, too."

Tommy nodded and looked across the bar. "And how's things goin' with you two? She wanna move out yet?"

Joel laughed and shook his head. "Nah, it's only been two weeks. It'll probably take at least a month 'fore she realizes she made a mistake," he joked.

Tommy chuckled but caught the fond look in Joel's eye when he thought about you.

"So, you think this is it for us?" he asked, and Joel glanced up from his beer. "We finally found the ones?"

The corner of his mouth pulled up into a smirk and he nodded.

"Hope so." Then maybe he was feeling a little braver, or maybe it was the alcohol, but he added, "got the ring already, be a little tough tryin' to take it back."

Tommy's eyes bugged out of his head. "You - what?"

Joel sucked in a deep breath and nodded. "Yep. Had it for a while now. Asked Paul 'n everythin'."

Tommy's mouth opened and closed like a fish, completely stunned.

"And Sarah?"

He nodded and took a nervous sip from his bottle. "Talked to her, too. She's thrilled."

Tommy broke out into a huge grin and tugged Joel into a quick hug before pulling away and giving him a playful shoulder shove. "So when are you gonna do it?"

Joel sighed and looked around. "I don't know. When it feels right, I suppose."

"Shit," Tommy replied, rubbing his chin. "Gonna be a hell of a year."

Joel nodded and looked down at your drinks sitting on the bar. "We oughta go find the girls."

"Yeah," Tommy agreed, shaking his head like he was snapping out of a trance. He reached for Maria's drink while Joel grabbed yours but before they began to weave their way through the bar, Tommy stopped him.

"Congrats, brother. I'm happy for you."

"She didn't say yes yet," Joel reminded him with a raised eyebrow, but Tommy just shrugged.

"She will."

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[petew21-blog]

Friends with benefits

Two long time friends Trent and Brett. A classic story. Met in kindergarten and have been friends since. Grew up together. Spent their holidays together. Graduated together. But then stopped seeing each other as often. Why? Because adult life ain't easy. Brett had to find a job while Trent got into college, graduated and on top of that became a fitness influencer. Brett started his Twitch account and became a gamer, which he had time for, cause how he was constantly doing a different job, depending on what he could find. But both of them always took some time off for a beer with their buddy.

This is Trent

Although he doesn't appear like that, he is a 24 year old male with young looks

On the other hand Brett is also young, but his looks are a bit more mature. Maybe it's because of all the hair

This is Brett

So hairy.

Normal guys, right? Well something was about to change very soon

Friday, August 2nd, 5 PM

Brett:"Hey, dude. Wanna grab a beer later tonight?"

Trent:"Yeah, sure. I am down. Is 8:30 ok? I gotta finish a video"

Brett:"Oh yeah, totally fine. See you then"

Friday, August 2nd, sports bar, 8:33 PM

At the bar Brett waits patiently, only his leg is slightly shaking. Trent comes in through the door. It's kinda funny, cause Trent used to be really insecure and not confident. Now he looks basically like a god. But still, he has this cute shy looking guy whose face doesnt match his body and the fact that he's 24. Brett was kinds jealous, most of the people that didn't know him always thought he was older because of his looks. Trent had the opposite problem. Always had to show ID whenever he went. Yet Brett was probably more jealous about his life in general. He finished school, took great care of his body, which now could help him hook up with anyone he would set his mind to.

Brett:"Hey, maaaan. How are you doing?"

Trent:"Heyyy. Yeah good. You know, single influencer life, haha"

Brett:"The ladies must be driving you crazy"

Trent:"If only it were just ladies. Haha. You should see the messages some of these gay dudes keep sending me. It's insane"

Brett:"You tell me. They always send random shits to my chats while playing. But it's mostly dumb kids."

Trent:"I think we should find you a date for tonight"

Brett:"Nahhh, fuck it. I'm not in the mood. I just wanna chat with my bro."

After a few beers

Brett:"Shut up, you did not!"

Trent:"I swear. She came on to me without a word."

Brett:"So what did you do?"

Trent:"You think I put up a fight? Haha"

Brett:"Maaaan. I want this stuff to happen to me to. That's so hot"

Trent:"Come with me to the gym then, I bet more chicks woukd be into you if you would gain some muscles"

Brett:"You calling me fat?"

Trent:"No, just saying that all that body hair would be good to match with a good body. You're just a walking gorilla right now"

Brett:"Oh shut up twink! Haha"

They finished their drinks, said their goodbyes and went home.

Brett felt amazing. He really needed to get a beer with his best friend. He came back home, sat behind his computer and searched Dark web. He already knew what he was looking for. He wanted to mess with Trent. Just a another one of his pranks. All he needed was Trent's personal item. He found the body swapping website. He read the rules and conditions and filled out his and Trents name. The only next step he had to follow was to go to sleep. And so he did. Only taking off his shirt in the process and collapsing on the bed. Not even brushing his teeth

Brett woke up feeling better than ever. He was used to have a hangover by now, but today he felt great. He opened his eyes and immediately noticed the different sheets. He looked around. This is Trent's place.

Brett:"Trent?" he said, but he heard Trent's voice.

He turned around to get up

His body. He has a different body

Brett:"Holy shit. It worked" he said amused. He looked down at his now soft chest. He got up

Brett:"Oh wow. getting up is so different when you have these hard muscles"

He went to the nearest mirror. And there he was. Trent in his glory. Brett was so happy right now. His prank worked. He is now inside of his best friends body. And the pranks probably won't stop there. Now he can mess with him all he wants. But not now.

He looked from top to bottom how tall and slim his body was. "Almost no hair anywhere. Lucky guy"

He took Trent's phone and snapped a photo to send it to Trent in his body. He knew it would take a while for Trent to wake up so he proceeded in his exploration.

He felt his curly hair. "How come you don't even have widow's peak? So unfair" He traced his jawline, now with tiny baby hair that Brett wouldn't even call a beard. But his sight was now caught by those nice Calvin Klein's. He looked around as if there was someone in the room with him who would judge him. He pulled on the waistband

Brett:"Just as I thought. Also shaved" he grabbed his new dick, that was getting harder and harder by the second, when suddenly his phone received a notification. he let go of his dick

It was Trent. Brett:"Haha, this is gonna be good"

There was a photo of Brett's body, observing his hairy armpits in shock

Trent in Brett's body:"Hey. Got any idea why I am a gorilla now? And why that gorilla looks exactly like you?"

Brett:"Surpriseee. And fuck you"

Trent:"So this is your doing?"

Brett:"Yeah, I kinda wanted to prank you somehow for all the pranks and the gorilla jokes. Joke's on you ape man"

Trent:"Fuck you. So this is reversible?"

Brett:"Sure, man. No worries. We'll meet tonight at the bar again and chat how our day went?"

Trent:"I don't know how to feel about this, bro"

Brett:"Just try enjoying being another person"

Trent:"Do you realise there are some no go things including intimate stuff and hygiene?"

Brett:"Sure I do. I'm already holding your dick in YOUR hands right now"

Trent:"Dude! Not cool. I meant more stuff like shitting etc. But yeah, this too."

Brett:"I gotta say Trent. You have a very nice dick"

Trent:"I'll comment on your size when I find it in the bushes I guess. Have you never heard of trimming?"

Brett:"Keeping it natural, baby face"

Trent:"Fine, let's see each other tonight at 8, ok?"

Brett:"Enjoyyy" Hangs up

Trent:"Jesus, this guy. I hope he doesn't fuck up something or someone"

Starts observing himself. "I must say, It feels good to look like a mature man and not a teenager. All of this hair. And the moustache is hot too. I could never grow this thing"

Trent looked down and had a mischievous thought. "Well, Brett. Since you have already held my dick, I think it's time to step it up. Gonna see if you can last longer than I do" Trent said with a smile and whipped out his new hard hairy dick

Saturday August the 3rd, bar, 8:04 PM

Brett is sitting amused in the bar, eating chips on the table and drinking beer. Winking at the ladies looking at his direction.

A waitress came by his table:"Want another?"

Brett noticed his old incoming body:"Sure, and another one for my friend who just arrived. Thank you, sweetheart" he said as his flirtatious look almost seduced the local waitress

Trent:"You need to stop!"

Brett:"What? I was just flirting"

Trent:"Not that. Stop eating those chips. God knows how many calories you ate already"

Brett:"So you don't mind that I was flirting with her?"

Trent:"Nah, I don't care. I jerked off your dick for like the fifth time half an hour ago"

Brett:"What? You beast. I would have never expected that. Cool. You have a really good dick to jerk off too. I didn't expect to shoot so far tho. Made a bit of a mess"

A couple off bikers started eavesdropping to their conversation and turning heads

Trent:"You might want to quiet down, or we're gonna get beaten up for mistakenly speaking like gay guys"

Brett:"But you gotta admit that my body is not so bad, right? All the hair and everything. You like it"

Trent:"It's not bad, but I prefer being in my own body. I'm used to it."

Brett:"Ok, I'll pretend I didn't hear the part before about masturbation. But what do you say? We didn't even have enough time to see what the life is like in our new bodies. It's only been a day"

Trent:"And your point is?"

Brett:"Let's stay swapped for a while. We can swap back anytime we want. It's reversible. We know almost everything about each other, so pretending to be the other one will be easy. You'll just teach me your workout routine, I'll show you... what games to play and how to set up a livestream and we'll figure it out"

Trent:"Livestream? That's all you got?"

Brett:"Come on, man. We got nothing to loose"

Trent:"I don't know man. It's gonna be complicated. I agreed to leave for a few weeks to work at one of our gym branches in another city. And now you'll be the one that has to go. I think now is not the best time"

Brett:"So? I can update you about everything. We can chat all the time. We can call. And I got nothing to do. Actually, you might need to find some job for those few weeks. And there's never gonna be a better time then now. We're single, ready to mingle. So let's enjoy that month"

Trent:"You wanna stay swapped the whole tíme I'm gone?"

Brett:"Yeah, I'll be a fitness instructor/viral star and you'll ne enjoying my chill life"

Trent:"Chill life. Man, you won't even recognise your life when we'll swap back"

Brett:"So you agree?"

Trent:"Yeah, what the hell. I'll be a gorilla for a month"

Brett:"Deal. Now, let's see if you'll have a better game in finding a hookup then me"

Sunday, August 4th

Brett sends a text to Trent:"Why do I feel like my body still hasn't gone through puberty?"

Trent:"Piss off. Yours looks like it went trough yours several times."

Brett:"Nah, gotta be honest. I'm really enjoying this lean figure and hairless body"

Trent:"And my dick..."

Brett:"Haha, yeah and your dick. How are you doing in my body?"

Trent:"Feels pretty weird to be so hairy, but gotta admit it's a nice change. Like... feeling so manly"

Brett:"Yeah, but tip for that hairy stomach. Don't cum on it. It's really irritating to get cum from it"

Trent:"Never had the issue in my body, so yeah. Thanks for the tip"

Brett:"No problem. I had to try it out in yours haha"

Trent:"Doesn't this feel kinda gay to you? All the dick and jerk off talk. Appreciating each other's bodies"

Brett:"Nah. We're exploring, man. Who knows if we ever get that chance. Gotta enjoy it"

Wednesday August 7th

Trent:"How are you settling in?"

Brett:"Yeah. Pretty great. I just jerked off to some porn"

Trent:"Ew. I mean the appartement"

Brett:"Whooops. Sorry. Right. Yeah it's nice. Very clean. Very modern"

Trent:"It's yours only for a month so don't destroy anything there"

Brett:"It's kinda poetic right. New appartement, new body, new job"

Trent:"I don't see anything poetic about me playing games in front of a camera"

Brett;"Dude you have to. My fans are gonna wonder what happened to me"

Trent:"Fine. I'll log in tonight. By the way. Dude your feet smell so much when you work out."

Brett:"Work out? You took my body to the gym?

Trent:"Yeah. I had to show off these bushes somewhere, right?"

Brett:"Ahhh thanks man. Looking good"

Trent:"And I think oke girl was checking you... me out"

Brett:"If you can score than go for it. I'm actually late for a date. Or... how do you call it if you're just gonna have dinner and fuck?"

Trent:"Standard hook up man. Please be safe. Wear a condom. And watch our foe those carbs, man."

Brett:"Sure thing, bye"

Monday, August 12 th

Brett:"Dude do you like ever have to shave your face?"

Trent:"Sure I do. I just don't have to do it so often as you. Btw can I please shave off this moustache?"

Brett:"Absolutely not. You'll learn to love it and appreciate it. Just like I will your baby face"

Saturday, August 17th

Brett:"I have to admit I really love showing off your muscles man. I have been doing it constantly at every occassion. So many people turn their heads to take a peak"

Trent:"Yeah I get it. It helps with the confidence a bit"

Brett:"A bit? I feel like I can beat any fucker whk crosses me"

Trent:"Brett, please don't beat anyone in my body"

Brett:"Just kidding, man. How have you been"

Trent:"Well I tried being consistent with the gym. I think your body is doing pretty well"

Brett:"Daaaamn bro. I look good. You really do take care of my body really well"

Trent:"I was actually thinking I could offer this for money. Swapping with people, doing their routines and then swap back. But that's a talk for another time after we swap back"

Brett:"Yeha, sure. Cool idea. Anyway... how was the streaming?"

Trent:"I don't know, man. I think they are desperste for me to say your catchphrases, but they are so cringe."

Brett:"Nah, you have to do that. That's how you get into Tiktoks and become viral"

Trent:"Honestly. I can't wait to get back to my body and to my life back. So we will swap on September 2nd?

Brett:"Yeah. I suppose. Depends how the work will be etc. Anyway I gotta go man. Talk soon"

Trent to himself:"It feels like he's avoiding me with amswering more and more. Trent rubbed his hairy chest, recalling his sweet soft pecs that he missed.

Thursday, August 22nd

Trent:"Hey, man. How is it going?"

Friday, August 23rd

Trent:"Hey. I just wanna know if you're ok. I just wanna talk about the reversal."

Saturday:"please call me back as soon as possible"

Sunday, August 25th

Brett:"I'm ok"

Trent:"What the hell happened?"

Brett:"Nothing I just felt like I needed a break from phone and that stuff"

Trent:"Brett you didn't answer the phone for 4 days"

Brett:"Ok, I was avoiding you, cause I kinda fucked up and was afraid to tell you"

Trent:'What did you do? Is my body ok?"

Brett:"Yeah your body is unharmed. Nothing that bad. We just had a party in the appartement. Broke the TV and... I had unprotected sex with one girl. She didn't know if she was pregnant or not. So I was waiting. And congrats. You're not gonna be a dad"

Trent:"Brett..."

Brett:"I know. I'm so sorry. Won't happen again. Promise. I just got drunk once and it led to this. I'll be good now"

Trent:"Please, don't do anything anymore. I want to switch back"

Brett:"Nah man. We still gotta week to finish. You said until September 2nd."

Trent:"I didn't know you'd do something like this"

Brett:"Please Trent. I'm begging you. Just that one week"

Trent:"Fine. But don't do anything else!"

Sunday, September 1st

Brett:"Hey. Are you packed yet?"

Trent:"Hey. Not really. I planned on packing tommorow. You can come and help if you got time"

Brett:"Sure. I'll come by"

Monday, September 2nd

Trent arrives to the appartement. Brett is on the couch playing video games

The TV is new and there is a PlayStation on the table

Trent:"You didn't tell me you got back into gaming and that you bought all this."

Brett:"Yeha, I missed it. I thought to myself that you'd like it too. So I bought it. By the way. You should see how the fans dig it"

Trent:"Fans? You're live streaming in my body?"

Brett:"Yeah. The gamers are so into it when I'm flexing in the spare time. I even got a viral Tiktok already!"

Trent:"I think we should swap back, Brett. My life is out of your control now."

Brett:"I'm just using all the goods, man. You don't like my body anymore?"

Trent:"Stop changing the subject. I want to swap back"

Brett:"Ok... but on one condition"

Trent:"You want money?"

Brett;"Nah I want to have sex with my body. I want to have sex with you."

Trent:"You have lost your mind"

Brett:"Oh come on. Admit it, that you thought about it. Who gets the chance to fuck their body? To watch their body in the most animalistic moments from somebody else eyes?" Brett flexes his biceps to let Brett watch

Trent:"Brett..."

Brett stands up and goes towards Trent

Brett:"You know you want to kids thus face. To suck this hard dick" he says holding tightly his hardening bulge

Trent:"I... I do. I want to suck my dick"

Brett:"Atta boy"

They begin making out. The fast movements heading towards the bedroom could be described as chaotic, but for them it was a dance of passion. Brett was ripping his old clothes from his old body was all over his body, kissing his neck. Sucking each part of his skin

The kissed even more

Brett began to be more dominant. He gripped Trent's now receding hairline and pushed him down to suck his dick. Trent was choking. But did his best to swallow most of the shaft he now had. He had his dick in his mouth. He couldn't believe it. He is straight and he is sure of that. But this is absolutely different

Brett took his old body by the neck, choking him. "Say you love being in my body"

Trent:"Brett I can't breathe"

Brett:"Fine, let's do this the hard way"

He turned him around. Trent now on all fours. He knew what was coming, but he wasn't ready

Brett spit in his hand and spread it all over the head od his dick. Ready to penetrate his old hairy hole

Trent:"Brett wait... I... Ahhhhhhhh". Trent screamed in pain

Brett:"Yeah. Sorry about that. I'm just so horny. I love your body, Trent. I love every inch od it. Admit you like mine"

Trent:"Brett, please slow down"

Brett:"Naaah, you'll get used to it in a sex"

Trent:"Please, get lube or something"

Brett spit again to where his dick was penetrating Trent's ass. Brett:"Should do it"

Trent was still in pain, but now a new feeling was making him feel better. The pain was now... pleasant? He wanted to feel more. With every thrust from Brett. He felt like shitting himself and cumming at the same time

Brett:"Admit it. Admit you love being in my body" he sped up. Thrusting painfully.

Trent:"Yeah.... yes..."

Brett:"Louder"

Trent:"I do... I love your body. I love being you"

Brett:"Ahhhh. I'm gonna cum. Turn around. I want to cum on your chest"

Trent turned around. He could feel cum leaking from his dick. And now he saw his old face like he never did before. Brett was so into it. His face was full of lust, rage and mischief.

Brett:"Ahhhh. I'm cumming!"

The cum shot all over Trent. Not only on his chest, but also on his mouth and face

Trent watched in awe what just happened.

Brett:"Whew. That was a ride wasn't it? First gay sex. Am I right?"

Trent:"Brett... I?"

Brett:"Oh sorry. I have to catch my breath. You look so funny with my cum all over you. Haha. By the way. I'm glad you love your new body. You get to keep it"

Trent:"Brett, you said we would swap"

Brett:"Yeah I did. That's true. But after this little 'cum over your face' and 'dick in your ass' we made it permanent"

Trent watched in shock as his old body was still standing on top of him. Breathing rapidly and laughing.

Several months later

Hi my name is Brett. Welcome to my only fans channel. If you got any hairy request, hit me up

Brett in Trent's body:"Well this is just pathetic. Man, I knew you'd crumble. But this just seems you lost your mind"

Trent's massive colleague came next to him:"Hey, bro. What are you looking at?"

Brett:"Just looking how one of my friends threw away their life, kinda sad. But whatever. Their life, not mine"

Friend:"Hey, wanna grab a beer later this evening?"

Brett scanned his friend from top to bottom and smiled:"Sure thing. Be there at eight"

Brett thought about switching it up a little. That body would be amazing. But then he turned around and looked at himself in the mirror. And flexed

Brett:"Nah. I'm Trent. And I'm keeping this body"

A request from messages (another one who waited for a LONG time, sorry guys) for @swappwas

Hope you like it :)

P.S. written late at night on a phone with a very irritating autocorrect, so please excuse the mistakes

[hyhkai]

∾ manwhore, mansplain, manipulate | sb

[ 🐬 ] — after having the displeasure of meeting the most annoying, son of a- nevermind, mansplaining cockalorum of your college, who you couldn't have figured to be the pervert type, and who you realize is also a dunce after he won't leave you alone though your annoyance was always written on your face, it's clear, it's obvious he'll only get shoo'ed away at one cost. or at least you think he will, since you've had enough of his bitchy attitude.

cw : PUBLIC, arguing, annoying clingy soobin, soobin's personality in this is quite the opposite from his real one, handjob, degrading crazy amounts.

a/n ; DO BLEACHERS EVEN HAVE SPACES BEHIND THEM, in this they do I couldn't care less, fuck, the title is the male version of gaslight gatekeep girlboss, and I totally made this plot on the spot while writing please.

you almost slammed the pen down onto the desk in a class so quiet that you could hear the clock ticking if paid attention to enough, looking behind after soobin poked at your back for the third time this class. "what. just what is it that you want from me?"

"nothing." he said, placing his head down on his own desk. those eyes may be doe, but they're like a siren to fucking run.

this is the kind of boy who makes you feel special, then ghosts you.

the cute kind of those, too.

"then don't poke me like that" you mumbled, turning your head ahead. you swear if it was possible for you to punch him if he even tried to talk to you during this class again, you would.

he's always been so... desperate, it's that he wants something from you but won't say it out loud, won't use his calculated words.

"y/n," to which he got no response, so he resorted to shaking your chair.

"what the f-" you looked back at him, a look of disappointment, anger and annoyance all over. "fuck you."

"I wish." he mumbled, looking into your eyes with no regret of what he just said.

"oh, wow." you said, and smiled without wanting to. "you're crazy."

"i know, right?" he shook his head in sarcastic thought. "I am kind of crazy."

"now please if you stay quiet, l could pay attention." and to your surprise, he stayed quiet throughout the entirety of what was left of the class. no poking, no chanting your name like a mantra. but it was not a reaction you'd usually get from soobin, he's always been the guy to fuck around with no remorse. and that is, very obvious, he is a dunce.

he's dunce enough to not even realize he is one.

class done, bag packed — you just wanted to get out and go back to your house, eat and sleep like you'd usually do, or like to do. but, alas, there was one thing hindering your peace and happiness — choi soobin. this one heck of a man who would fuck any object that is a good fleshlight alternative, a man who'd be happy from just fingering you.

and that, to you, is a problem.

how can a guy, with a face like that — a build like that, keep on poking and poking and poking at you until you've had enough and slap him across the face, just to get off on it? it's asinine.

so when you're walking out of the building, annoyed that your bag's strap keeps falling off your shoulder — and you spot him on the bleachers, there's one thing you make a mental note of.

change your route to the exit, please.

he almost jumped three stairs down when he saw you, lollipop clung onto his mouth's roof as he swirled it around.

"hey!" he lifted his hand in the air as a way of waving at you.

the loser's back at it again.

you didn't even look, didn't even glance at his figure that can only be described as perfect as he grabbed your bag. it got snatched right away because of just how loose you kept it on your shoulders.

"i said hey." he said again, looking at your exasperated, pretty face when you turned around.

"give that back, loser." you retorted, turning around, your head tilting forward with every word.

"sorry, what?" he said, putting a hand behind his ear to hear you better.

the fucker is now mocking your height? he is mocking your height? him?

"i said, give that back." you said, closing your eyes for a while so you can imagine smacking his face. "give me my bag back."

he laughed at your demands, looking in the direction of the building and right back at you.

"no"

you didn't realize before this that a single word can also hold so much meaning and depict just how much of an absolute motherfucker a man can be.

"no? no?! seriously?!" you looked up at his face that was only giving you realization after realization that he's a slutty bitch. "what do you want from me?"

he suckled on his candy for a while, looking as if in deep thought. but to no surprise with his next statement. "not much, really."

oh really now? not much? it's so obvious since the day he saw you, that in his mind he thought it won't be long until he's going to have you in his lap. is that not too much to ask for?

"just a bit of your time, is all." he continued, looking at the badges pinned on the front of your bag.

“You can’t for one second act like a man can you? You're such a cunt!” you feel like you could rip out your hair with how frustrating he's being. with the amount of cockiness he thinks he's so cool to be binding his personality with, you could beat him up with no regrets. "what do you want from me?! attention? tutoring? pussy?—"

"yeah."

"what?" your face contorted when he responded to the word that was merely a mockery of his wants and needs. "huh." you clicked your tongue. of course your assumptions about him only wanting to get his fill were true.

you grabbed his arm and pushed him further back, until the two of you were behind the bleachers. he didn't react to your very aggressive methods of traveling until you stopped.

"what the fuck are you doin—" he attempted at a protest as he dropped your bag to the ground, but was ultimately shut up with you pulling his head down vehemently and crashing your lips against his, and even though you're the one who initiated the kiss, his response is more enthusiastic than any guy you've ever gotten with — and it's so sloppy, it's unexpected from a boy with lips as plush as his.

maybe it's wrong to do this, maybe it's right, but it's the only way to stop this boy who's been wanting to fuck you for months now. "is this what you wanted? huh?" you asked, looking up at him, his locks of hair between your fingers as he looked at you with lips parted. you took advantage of his state, putting your thumb in his mouth, pressing against his tongue.

"hng—" his hand, as if by ultra instinct, crawled to your waist. maybe it's a form of affection, or maybe he's a desperate slut. "who told you you could touch me with your crusty hands?"

he sucks and licks on them, surprising you as you feel his tongue swirl…fuck, how badly did you misread him? he's liking it?

he couldn't respond, this wasn't the way he'd expected to end up today at all — but hey, he isn't complaining. you rubbed your knee against his crotch, pinning him against the back of the bleachers.

please, someone don't be here.

"keep your mouth open." he was holding back his urge to bite down onto your thumb, as the stiffness of his body finally gave out and he stood straight up. you fed him your index finger, pressing your knee against his crotch again, rubbing as your brain went airplane mode. this isn't the best way to stop his bullshit, no, but you like it this way. him, on the other hand? he loves it this way, the slut is just too shy to admit it.

"awh, the manwhore is too shy to talk back now?" you pulled your fingers out, bubbles and strings of saliva on the pads of your fingers when your hands slipped into his pants after unzipping them, and you felt just how horny he can get in a span of a few minutes. he's enjoying this.

"um, so— holy shit— wh—” hes stumbling over his words. his hands are limp to protest against you, and his cock is too hard for him to protest against you.

you clasp your hand over his mouth, weakly, but he stills shuts up his ramble and jumble of words, blinking at you from above, with those god damn pretty eyes.

"shut up. just shut up. i bet you jerk off your stupid dick all night thinking about me, fucking whore."

his eye twitched at the statement, but he still does. "please fuck me." he requested while being muffled and jumbled.

"I am," you said as a matter of fact, tugging at his cock slowly. "I'm touching you, soobin."

"but, not completely." and this just showed how much of a demanding brat he is, not satisfied with the bare minimum friction he's getting.

"tch, tch, such a desperate man. aren't you happy a girl like me is touching your disgusting dick?" pressing your thumb on his tip to which his eye twitched, trying to grab your wrist to stop the pressure.

You could feel his breath on your neck—hot and heavy, which makes you feel things, to your demise — makes you wet, as you moved his hand out of the way for you, and after slight resistance, he pathetically lets you, followed by a whimper following shortly after when you start to slowly palm him. The moment you feel it twitched, you halt your movement, removing your hand from his crotch all together.

"h-hah.. h-huh? yeahh... yeah— fuck, please please, touch it properly, please—" he finally broke, letting out a whine he wishes you didn't hear, but judging by the smirk on your face, you definitely did. and it was hot— fuck, it was the sexiest thing he's ever done.

"ugh, I don't have all day for this." you shook your head, stretching the waistline of his bottoms forward and shoving you hands down again.

"holy fuuccck." he whispered, marvelling at the touch of your nails on the underside of his tip.

you twisted your hand as you jerked at his tip, causing his knees to bend an inch and his hips to buckle, closing his eyes shut. "shut the fuck up, soobin. don't need any student hearing you getting your cock jerked off, do we?" to which he mindlessly nodded, his head thrown back against the harsh metal that's probably heated up from the summer rays.

"fuck, fuck, fuck," he cursed under his breath, head tilting side to side every now that then, his chest heaving up and down. you squeezed his dick with your palm, causing his eyelids to squeeze. this sight has your panties in a bunch, but you can't show him that.

you press harder, his breaths knocked out of him, a slight squeak by the end that has his ears turning red and heated. you looked down at the sight of your hands shoved down his denims. "hah, do you not know when to stop annoying a girl? when to quit with your antics, and be a good boy? do you have no shame?” you mock, feeding his desire to be degraded that you're sure he has from the way he's reacting.

"is this— fuck, h-hah, is this the way you put all annoying guys in their place?" he questioned, managing to flutter his eyes open. he looked at you from the corner of his eye, trying to hide his face that was turning pink.

you laughed at the question, still looking down, index finger nudging his balls. "maybe it is. will that stop you from being an absolute annoying slut? will it?"

he couldn't respond, of course he couldn't — he's busy marvelling at the feeling of your warm, soft hands so all he could do was shake his head vehemently in a no.

what a slut!

"of course it wouldn't, pathetic whores like you only think from their dicks. you're a shameless bitch, soobin."

he couldn't protest, couldn't respond to the insults thrown at him — he's breathing is so messed up now his back is rubbing up and down the metal. "I'm gonna— I'm—" and he came in his pants, which will surely be a disaster for him to wash out afterwards.

you pulled your hand out, disguising your arousal with disgust at the sight of cum on your fingers, which you scrubbed off on the pockets of his pants, lifting your bag off the ground and throwing it on your shoulder. "keep being annoying."

i can write a whole fic explaining why I should give up on writing. okay goodbye. thank you for reading my garbage <3

[toruro]

— ✧ the cake in the back

pairing. choi seungcheol x reader

description. cheol is a regular at your bakery, and it's all because his son loves the banana bread you make—at least that's what he tells himself. it also doesn't hurt that you're cute. and polite. and totally someone he'd like to fuck.

genre. smut, fluff

tags. rich dilf cheol, bakery owner reader, or4l (f receiving), car s3x, kitchen s3x, pet names (angel), cr3ampi3, aprons ... hehe

w/c. 3.8k+

a/n. IGNORE THE TITLE OKAY I THOUGHT IT WAS FUNNY. look i know it's corny and i literally am writing this on a whim but happy father's day

"soobin's not with you today?" your voice is cheery and gentle when you greet your regular.

mr. choi smiles and shakes his head. "shocking, i know," he laughs in that deep and velvety tone that has you bouncing up and down on the balls of your feet out of pure giddiness.

"a pleasant surprise," you reply, putting on some gloves as mr. choi approaches the counter. it's near closing, and it's around that time of day where people usually don't come in as much, so you've been alone and just cleaning up the space yourself. "what can i get you, mr. choi?"

the handsome man chuckles, flicking his wrist as he pushes some hair back, the reflective surface of his wrist watch (that you definitely don't want to know the price of because it might just make you pass out) glinting under your bakery's warm lights. "thought i told you to stop calling me that. seungcheol is much better considering ..." he searches for the words for a moment. "... we see each other so regularly," he concludes.

"i've got to maintain some level of professionalism, don't you agree, mr. choi?" you tease. "the regular, i'm assuming? two banana breads?"

"you already know it."

grinning, you nod and pull up a box. "how's soobin? i haven't seen him or you in a while. i'm starting to miss my favorite customer."

"i'm sure soobin would be flattered to hear that. he's doing well, i couldn't bring him today since he's got a swimming class this evening," seungcheol explains, pulling out his wallet that's donned in some brand name that looks so expensive you don't even know how to pronounce it. you move down the counter grab some of the bread which is on your far left, and he walks down on the other side to match you, keeping up the conversation.

"ah yes. he seems to be around that age to start learning. better now than never, honestly. my younger brother didn't learn until he was older and it did not seem easy," you say with a giggle, bringing out the tongs to grab two small loaves.

seungcheol nods in agreement. "that, and i'm planning on taking the two of us on a vacation spot in a few months ... not sure where yet, but soobin's been wanting to go to a beach location for ages," he tells you, and your heart swells.

the image of soobin and seungcheol, goofing around on a beach send a warm feeling through your body. it's also maybe an added plus that there's a flicker in your mind of what seungcheol would look like in nothing but swim trunks, skin shining from the water under the beaming sun, dark hair splayed across his forehead.

you wonder what he's hiding beneath that plain, beige t-shirt of his. his arms are somewhat exposed, and from just the little bit of muscle that peeks out and flexes when he moves around, you think you can safely assume he's got much more going on in the places where your eyes can't reach.

realizing he's still right in front of you, you blink down hard as an attempt to pull yourself back into reality, eyes flickering up at the handsome man in front of you.

"s-sounds fun," you say honestly, packing the bread and handing it to him over the counter. in this moment, seungcheol catches sight of the apron you've got on. it's light pink and hugs your figure so nicely, he can't help but comment on it.

"new apron, huh?"

shyly, you look down and nod. you hadn't expected him to notice. "uh, yeah. my employees got it for me as a birthday gift, actually."

seungcheol furrows his brows as he hands you his card so you can charge him. "it's cute. was your birthday, um, recent?"

you nod casually, tapping at your machine for a second before handing back his card, trying to ignore the way his comment first comment has your stomach flipping and flopping around. "yeah, it was a few days ago."

"i'm sorry, i didn't know," he says sincerely, causing you to frown.

"hey, don't worry about it. it's not something i expect my customers to know and—"

"let me treat you to something," seungcheol says abruptly, cutting you off mid-sentence. he realizes after that it's a bit rude, but something about the way you brush him off as just a customer makes him feel the need to prove you wrong.

"i—i'm sorry?" you ask, and for a moment seungcheol almost mistakes your confusion for apprehension, but then he drinks in the way you look up at him curiously, lips slightly parted, and he relaxes.

"you're closing soon, right? let me ... treat you to something," he repeats. "a coffee or something, if you don't mind."

"oh, i can't possibly impose like that, especially when you've got to pick up soobin and—"

"i wouldn't be offering if you were imposing. he's getting picked up by my friend anyways—his son and soobin are going to have a play date and stuff and—" he's rambling, seungcheol knows that, but he can't seem to care. "basically what i'm saying is you don't have to worry about that. seriously. wait—not that i'm forcing you. you can totally say no, i just ..." he sighs, "don't want you to say no because you think you'll be imposing. 'cause you won't be."

when you smile brightly up at him, eyes glittering and laugh cheery, a wave of relief washes over seungcheol. "i—thank you for the reassurance. i'd love to get coffee, but i do have around twenty more minutes before closing and i still have some stuff i need to clean up and i'm not sure if you—"

"i'll wait." he pauses, then adds, "and help."

you're a bit apprehensive at first—a customer helping you out with closing? but you're quick to learn that once cheol has his mind set on something, it isn't the easiest to pull him away from it—and right now cheol is determined to treat you, as he put it.

the next forty-five minutes is spent with you directing seungcheol around your bakery. he's a surprisingly fast learner and before you know it, all the pastries are loaded in the back, the dishes are cleaned, your floors are swept, and suddenly you find yourself outside of your shop with the doors locked, standing next to seungcheol who watches with you a clouded expression.

"thank you so much for the help," you say bashfully. "you're already taking me—" is it too soon to say he's taking you out? oh well, what's done is done. "—taking me out. isn't this a little too much?" you joke, wiggling your brows.

seungcheol chuckles and shakes his head, pulling his eyes out of his pocket and twirling around the chain around his fingers. fuck, he has really nice fingers—

seungcheol's voice interrupts your thoughts "do you have a car or—"

"i usually take the bus home," you explain, rocking back and forth on your feet. cheol frowns, but doesn't say anything. maybe he can fix that, but that's an thought for another time as he points at his suv, all black from top to bottom, with tinted windows and full black wheels.

there's a silence that envelopes the two of you when you slip into the passenger seat, placing your work bag on the floor. seungcheol is already in the driver's seat, key stuck in but not turning on the engine just yet.

you glance between the sight of your bakery out the window, and back at seungcheol who already has his gaze on you.

"you're going to have to be transparent with me for a second," seungcheol says seriously, locking eyes with you as you shift your body to face him. "and i want to make sure we're on the same page about ..." about whatever is going to go down.

you bite down on your lip, and even though cheol knows you're doing it absentmindedly, he can't help but feel his pants grow tighter at the way it puffs up when your teeth release it.

"i ... i think you know we're on the same page," you reply shyly, shifting a little in your seat to try and make up for the silence.

"you want this?" cheol clarifies, one eyebrow cocked up.

a feeling of pride swelters in his chest when you reply without hesitation, "i do." and then a bit more quietly, you add, "i, uh, have for a while."

now cheol usually likes to tread lightly; he doesn't want to mess around and is great at keeping his dick in his pants but there's just something about the way you look at him so cutely.

you look at him like you know all the nasty things he wants to do to you, and you bat your eyelashes like you don't care—like you'd let him. like you'd take every damn thing he gives you without a single word of complaint, and it's driving him crazy.

again, cheol is great at keeping his foot on the brake, but then you swipe your tongue over your bottom lip and suddenly he's slamming his feet on the accelerator.

wrapping one hand around your neck, he pulls you to smash his lips onto yours. it's a gentle kiss—tentative, as if you're both testing the waters. pressing against each other as your faces tilt, your hands find purchase in his hair when cheol laps at your bottom lip. that's where it all takes off.

the kiss turns from innocent and sweet to sloppy and fast within a matter of moments and suddenly you're grappling at his arms, his hands are searching for your tits, gripping at the flesh and before you know it, you're being thrown to the back.

seungcheol nearly slams your back down onto the seats, your loose shirt riding up your stomach in the process to reveal the lower half of your bra. "fuck," he mutters, low and under his breath in that raspy sort of way that has your clothes feeling too hot and your cunt too empty.

"seungcheol," you moan, unbuttoning your work pants and shoving them off your legs, along with your panties in one go, leaving your wet cunt open and bare. he doesn't take a moment to shuffle back and bring his face down to be level with your core, eyes looking up at you with some kind of mischievous glint that has your stomach churning.

with a bit of hesitance, he places a soft kiss over your clit, watching you carefully to see how you react. when you whine and arch your back against the leather seats, he figures that that reaction is good enough, and this time lets his tongue out, swiping it against the throbbing bad.

"sweet," he murmurs, lips moving down against your folds. the movement and vibrations send sparks through your core and up your spine, and you shudder at the feeling as one hand flies down to grip at his dark hair. "so fuckin' sweet," he repeats before diving his tongue back, swiping it up and down between your folds.

"ah-h-h, seungcheol—fuck," you whimper when he presses the wet muscle flat against your drooling hole, continue to circle around and tease you. fervently, cheol—to put it bluntly—makes out with your cunt. digging his face in between your legs, his nose brushes against your clit when he adjusts his neck to lap and suck against unexplored areas, leaving you mewling into your arm as you try and sit still for him.

there isn't much room in the back, and to be frank, your limbs are in an uncomfy position, and you can only imagine the strain cheol is feeling, bent over and legs in an awkward position when he holds your hips and pulls you closer so he can smother himself in your pussy. he doesn't seem to mind though, lifting his head every few moments to grin up at you with hazy eyes, glossy lips, and a drenched chin, off-handedly commenting something dirty about how nice you taste, how he could live between your legs, how you're driving him fucking insane.

it's the meticulous flicks of his tongue, the deep and guttural words that escape his honeyed lips, and the girth of his fingers when he finally plunges them into your warm cunt that bring you to your edge. it only takes a few rubs and curls against your aching walls before your shaking, crying out his name as you thrust upwards, holding his face down so you can grind against him.

and he whispers the words, "cum angel," so sweetly—a complete contrast to the way his tongue is scooping up all your arousal—and so you cum like you never have before.

fuck my life, you think to yourself as the waves of your orgasm finally hit you. cheol rides you through the high, and he does it good. so good, you're left breathless when he pulls away from your cunt with a dopey smile and feather light kisses all up your thigh and stomach, and then finally your lips.

"my place?" he asks, stroking your cheek gingerly as you blink up at him. and when you nod hazily, he pats you lightly, helping you back to the passenger seat before helping you slip on your panties and pants back on. this time, when cheol gets back into the driver's seat, he places one hand on the steering wheel, the other secure over your still quivering thigh. "relax angel," he murmurs, and you can't help but burn at the gentle words. this can't be the same man who ate you out like you were damn piece of cake just moments earlier.

the drive is quiet, but not uncomfortable. if anything, you're fucking enthralled. when he stops at a red light, cheol looks over at you and when your eyes meet you can't help but giggle together until you're cheeky, grinning mess by the time you pull up to his house.

parking in the lavish drive way, cheol tells you to hold on for a second, getting out of the car and making his way to your side, to open the door for you.

"i didn't know that this what you meant by coffee," you giggle, stumbling out next to him and letting him wrap an arm around your waist to help you up the steps to his house. it's a beautiful estate, really, but you aren't too focused on admiring the luxury right now—you're much more interested in what's to come between you and cheol.

and you're about to find out soon enough because as soon as he opens the door, lets you in, and closes it behind you, cheol's hands are all over you. with your eyes closed as you two engage in a hot mess of tongue and teeth and lips, your rocking back and forth in his arms, his legs leading to you to some place you're not really aware of until you feel something hard and cool press against your lower back.

"wear the apron," cheol tells you firmly when he pulls away, pressing you against his cold stone counter. you knit your eyebrows together in confusion, but let your bag that's still on your shoulder drop onto the counter, taking out your apron without hesitation.

it's now that you realize you're in his kitchen. if you weren't in such a ... intimate setting, you would have admired the design, the appliances—all of it. perhaps you'd even wonder what it's like to bake in here, cooking up soobin's favorite banana bread with cheol by your side and—you save those thoughts for another time.

"w-why?" you murmur in response to cheol's request, as you pull the apron out, pulling the pink strap over your head, tying it behind your back as the ache between your legs begins to creep up on you again. cheol's big hands find purchase on your hips again, holding down you down with a firm grip as he turns you around and pushes your back down.

"'cause," he grunts out, and you nearly moan when you hear the sound of his belt unbuckling and fabric rustling as he shoves his pants and boxers down. it hardly takes a second before his hands are at the hem of your own pants, yanking them down and giving you a moment so you can step out of them.

you wiggle your ass around for a second, turning to look back at cheol with pleading eyes and ask him to just fuck you already, but then he locks a hand under your jaw, cupping the underside of your face and pulling it up so your back arches into his touch. you can feel the angry, hard head of his cock prodding against the plush of your ass and the feeling of him brush against you has you whining.

"patience, angel," he coos, pressing his face next to the shell of your ear and placing a soft kiss on the crown of your head before easing his way through your folds. you can't even see him but you just know he's big—fat length rubbing up and down your folds as he coats himself in your arousal as you whisper incoherent pleas for more.

"cheolie ..." the nickname slips from your lips with out as much as a brainless thought but it has cheol's head rewiring.

"fuck, say that again," he demands, snaking the hand that's not holding your face down your back until it's gripping the cute little bow of your apron.

you hum as you feel him tugging at the fabric, jerking your body backwards and pushing your cunt harder against him, the fat tip brushing against your sensitive clit. "cheolie!" you mewl again, and you're really not expecting the way he jams his cock into you in one go. not that you're complaining of course.

'cause how could you complain when he's stretching you out so nicely? when his cock is so long it's already hitting kissing your cervix and hitting spots inside of you that you didn't even think were possible to reach? when he's so deep that his balls are pressed against your burning core and his pelvis is flush against your ass?

"you feel so good," cheol moans, and you squeeze around him even tighter when you hear the low, gruff words escape his lips. "this pussy was made for me, huh?" he breathes out with a chuckle, as he pulls out halfway before pulling the strings of the apron so your core meets him halfway, slamming his cock back into you.

"oh god," you moan loudly, eyes rolling to the back of your head as you try and swivel your hips against his for some added stimulation.

"gonna think abt this every time you wear this, won't you?" cheol grunts, twisting his fingers around the bow in the back so he hold onto it tighter.

the thought runs through your fucked out mind for a moment; you're gonna have to walk into work tomorrow, and if you're wearing the apron, you'll have to sit through the day knowing that you had cheol's cock buried inside of you under this same fabric—if you aren't wearing it, you'll have to come up with an excuse for your lovely employees as to why you're not wearing their precious gift.

which option you're going to go with, though, is swept from your mind when cheol sticks a finger into your mouth and presses down on your tongue as he fucks into you harder.

what a moment, you think. getting railed on the counter of a man who you always thought was out of reach. your insides feel like jelly as his fat cock runs against your walls, veins and curves pressing and dragging through you as heat envelopes you.

and as his thrusts increase in force, you start to realize that cheol is nothing if he is not relentless. just when you think you've whimpered his name so much you think you might lose your voice, he's ramming into you harder, punching the air right out of your lungs as broken moans and squeaks that have him losing his damn mind.

"what a fuckin' angel, creaming me cock so well," he praises, yanking you back and forth at an unforgiving pace to match his calculated thrusts. you feel like you're being thrown around in the best way possible, body throttling every time his hips crash against your ass and cause you to lurch forward and arch your back even more.

and as he goes on, the rub of his cock against you, the press of his balls against your clit, his hand in your mouth and pressing against your jaw—it's all so much and so fast and so good until you're shaking and thrashing in his hold.

"mmf—cheolie, wan' cum," you choke out when you feel his cock twitch inside of you.

"yeah? my pretty angel's gon' cum on my cock?"

"yeah-huh," you answer dazedly, body jerking back and forth as his hips snap more haphazardly now, but still hitting that one sweet spot that has your vision going bleary. "can i cum, cheolie?"

and you ask him so fucking sweetly, he can't hold it in anymore, dazedly grunting out something along the lines of, "yeah, angel, cum f'me," before he spills his hot seed inside of you. the sensation of his cum painting your walls white is the final thing you need before joining cheol with your own orgasm, clenching around him so tightly that it has him gripping down on your hips in a way that you know you'll have bruises tomorrow. not that you mind.

how could you, when you just had the most mind blowing orgasm of your life with the hottest guy you've ever met. as you twitch against him, cheol finally pulls himself out and you whimper lowly at the feeling of being empty even though you know you'd probably pass out if you had his dick in you any longer.

gently, cheol strokes your back and caresses the taught muscles, untying the apron that quite literally had you in a chokehold, letting it fall from your figure. "'m sorry," he murmurs into your neck, placing a soft kiss on your shoulder, "was i too rough?"

"n-no," you say, face burning when you realize just how croaky and fucked your voice has become. cheol only laughs at you as you dig your face into your hands as you mumble bashfully, "it was ... great." you're slightly embarrassed, yes, but when you catch the look of endearment on cheol's face, you start to think twice.

as you both attempt to even out your breaths, cheol looks down at you panting against the counter, cum spilling out of your fluttering folds. vaguely, he wonders what you'll look like in a bikini in the bahamas. huh, he thinks, maybe he'll have to ask soobin if it's okay to bring an extra certain someone with them on their vacation this summer.

a/n. how i managed to get this out in one day i don't know. the cheol effect i guess. anyways, hope u enjoyed!

tags. @xcynthiaaa @synthetickitsune @leejihoonownsmyheart @dahliatopia @gyuswhore @hoeforcheol @5xiang @hajimelvr @miriamxsworld @blinkjunhui @lixiel0ver @josefines-things @mimisxs @kawennote09 @bbyjjunie @rubyreduji @marzmeltdown @todorokiskitten (strikethrough could not be tagged)

[a-aexotic]

HEYYYY! So like every other mf on the planet right now I am in my hunger games era!!

Please could you write a Finnick x Reader where she is selected for the quarter quell (Maybe in her games she was lethal and killed like 10+ people?)

And when Katniss shoots the arena in catching fire she gets taken by the capitol (Like Peeta) and they torture her and shit? Then Finnick and her get there reunion she’s all like battered and bruided and it’s dead sad? Not sure if this made sense because i’m half asleep and dyselxic but let me know😭🤣

Maybe he says “It’s okay baby i got you” ??? x

hey of course i can! i hope u enjoy it babe <3 its a tiny bit long! my apologizes

cw's: angst, mentions of killing/dying, typical thg stuff, torture, ptsd, lmk if i missed anything

You were one of the youngest victors alongside Finnick, being only 15 and having won your games. You were also from District 4. You won the 68th Hunger Games, a few years after Finnick.

When you were reaped, Finnick and Mags were your mentors. Finnick came off as self absorbed and arrogant but once you started talking to him, the more you realized that was total bullshit. He wasn't how the Capitol portrayed him, he was much more caring and compassionate. He was very sympathetic to your situation, having gone through the same things.

During your time in the arena, you were one of the most ruthless tributes of all time. In the beginning, you were easily overlooked. The tributes weren't thinking that you were going to be much of a challenge because of your size and the way you carried yourself.

But that was exactly how you wanted to be portrayed. You tricked the Careers into thinking you were some naïve little girl, stabbing them in the back (literally) the first chance you got. The Capitol loved the turn of events, cheering you on.

When you had come back home, you had finally understood the intensity of what you had done. You had killed a whole group of people, ending their lives permanently. Those people had lives and family who loved them, and now they're gone because of you.

You suffered through months and months from never ending nightmares. Even getting consoled by your mother didn't help anymore; she doesn't understand. You didn't even feel worthy of food anymore.

You closed off Mags and Finnick when you had come home, driving yourself into isolation and depression. You rarely went out anymore, eating one meal a day and slept more than 80% of the day. Even sleeping couldn't mend the eternal tiredness you had, the void that filled your body.

Finnick had felt more than responsible for your pain. He gave you time before he realized he was just adding to your pain. Even when you didn't communicate back to him, Finnick visited you every day. He gave you advice and told you what he had went through after the Games as well. Eventually you opened up more to Finnick, and slowly, he had become your best friend.

He had told you that numbing it wasn't going to make it go away. He reminded you that you had him and Mags to help you with this process, and that you weren't alone despite of how you felt.

He helped you regain your sense of purpose again, your self image again. Finnick had singlehandedly helped you rebuilt your sense of self again.

He saw a part of you in him, that scared 14 year old boy who was trying to go back home to his parents. He never wanted anyone to feel that, especially you.

He promised you that he would never let anything bad ever happen to you again.

During your Victor's tour, Snow had suddenly deemed you desirable by the Capitol, wanting to sell you as he did with Finnick. Finnick couldn't risk getting involved, wanting to protect his family.

Every night in the Capitol, you were always consoled by Finnick. Every time you had to do a favor, you remember walking to Finnick's room to sleep, not baring the thought of having to sleep alone in the cold bed. He was always there, holding your hand comfortingly as you both slept.

The Capitol adored you both, nicknaming you the princess and prince of Panem. The more time you spent with Finnick, the more the media had speculated a relationship between the young victors.

You and Finnick had connected in many ways. Both having the same trauma, it was easy to talk to him and for him to understand how hard it was.

You and Finnick eventually got together a few years later, then getting married (in secret, of course) almost right after. You were both deeply in love.

Finnick found solace in the thought of always having you by his side, remembering that no one could tear you apart. That was until the Quarter Quell was announced.

You and Finnick were sitting at the edge of the couch, listening to Caesar's words carefully as he explained that this year's Hunger Games was going to be very different.

When it was announced that there will be only be Victors in this year's games, you heard dropped. You looked over at Finnick and he shared the same terrified look on his face.

--

When Annie's name had been called, you without any second thought, put up your hand. "I volunteer as tribute."

The crowd gasped and you looked over at Annie and you could tell she was a bit relived but still scared nonetheless. You immediately embraced her tightly, letting her let out a small sob. "It's okay, you're okay."

Mags looked just as terrified and you took her hand. When Finnick's name was called, you felt your stomach drop. Not only were you back in the arena, but you were with Finnick.

You looked over at Finnick and he looked prepared to fight. You both stood up and he grabbed your hand, raising it up in union.

The trainride to the Capitol was pretty uneventful. Finnick had wanted some time to think about the plan and so did you. A part of you knew what he was planning; he kill everyone else in the arena and then eventually himself, all for you.

As you sat on the bed, you felt the sadness and anger turn into numbness. No amount of crying was going to stop the Quater Quell and you had to be smart.

You didn't want to survive without Finnick. You were either winning with him or dying with him. Life would be meaningless without him.

Finnick knocked on your door slightly, before walking in. You looked up at him and he gave you a small smile. He took a seat next to and took your hand.

"I have a plan."

"Finnick, I know what you're thinking, and no. You're not killing yourself for me."

Finnick looked defeated. "One of us has to survive, Y/N. For Annie. For Mags."

You look a deep inhale, looking away from Finnick. "I don't want to life without you, everything would lose all it's meaning without you."

Finnick felt his heart burst into two pieces as he squeezed your hand. You felt your eyes watering again and you couldn't help but let out another quiet cry as Finnick pulled your head in, as he embraced you tightly.

"Shh, it's okay. I promise, I won't... I won't leave you."

--

It had all happened so fast, you couldn't even comprehend what had just happened. One moment, you were with Finnick trying to find Johanna and Katniss and suddenly there was big loud boom. You were relieved for a moment; Plutarch's plan had worked. Until you realized how far away you were from the others.

You were wandering, trying to find anyone until you heard people behind you. You turned and then you saw some unfamiliar faces; suddenly, your vision went black.

Then, you woke up in a white room. You felt like your stomach had dropped out of your body once the realization hit you; the Capitol captured you.

You were strapped down to a bed and you couldn't move or shake it off. The severity of the situation had hit you; even if by some miracle you did escape, where would you go? How would you find your way to 13 and back to Finnick?

You knew how ruthless the Capitol was to everyone who disobeyed them. Your worst fears had come true and there was no getting out of here.

You heard the door open and you saw some Peacekeepers come in and then you saw the person you dreaded to see most; Snow. You felt like your whole had come crashing down, how could this nightmare become any worse?

"Hello, Y/N."

You didn't respond, resorting to stare at the wall in front of you instead.

He tutted disappointedly. "Out of all the tributes, you were the one I expected least to be involved in this mess. You are the Princess of Panem... What a shame."

You still hadn't replied and you hadn't dared to look at Snow. Months and months you spent trying to heal the trauma he had caused you, you were sure if you had to look at him now, you would break.

"I want to take mercy on you, dear Y/N. If you tell me everything you know about the rebellion, I will make sure the Peacekeepers are gentle with you."

You shook your head. "No."

He let out a small chuckle. "Sorry, I couldn't hear you. What?"

"No." You said again, louder.

He hummed in disapproval. "Okay then, you leave me no choice. You are going to regret this."

He nodded to the Peacekeepers and walked out of the room. You were then met with Peacekeepers, loosening the straps then taking you to another room.

If Snow knew one thing about you, it was that being only physical with you wouldn't hurt you enough. He had to hit you were it hurt most.

They threw you in the seemingly vacant room and immediately locking it. You were confused until you heard it.

"Y/N, help me!" Finnick's voice screamed. "Please, help me! Get up and do something, they're killing me! Please."

You looked everywhere in the dark room, trying to find the source. It kept going.

"Y/N, please! Help! What the hell are you doing, just sitting there? You are such a disappointment!" The voice started shouting. "We should've just left you to died in the arena! You are useless!"

Now this was something new. Your body was filled with panic and fear and even though you knew it was fake, you felt like you were going to throw up from all the noise.

Suddenly, Annie's voice came in as well. Then Johanna's. Then your mother's. There was nonstop noise filled with screams for help, shouting with disapproving messages. Your body couldn't handle it; it was so overwhelmed with fear that you started shaking on the ground, putting your hands on your ears but that did little to nothing.

You wanted it to stop. It was too much, you were trembling. It felt like days, just sitting there in that room listening to all those demeaning voices of your loved ones. You couldn't even think straight anymore.

It was so bad you had started to pound your head on the ground, screaming and crying. You had have enough. And then, it all stopped. Silence was foreign for you; your ears were ringing.

You were sitting on the ground, almost lifeless as the Peacekeepers took you away. Your eyes hurt from the tears, your body sore, your ears ringing and your head was pounding.

But you knew that was just the beginning.

--

You were asleep in bed and you were awakened by the door opening, you instantly jolted up. You looked over to see a group of masked men in front of you and you had started to tremble again, silent tears rolling down your face, thinking that the Peacekeepers had come again.

"No, no, no." You started to mumble to yourself.

A man came up to your and took your bruised hand slowly, rubbing it gently in silent empathy. That was the first soft touch you'd felt in a few weeks and it almost stung.

"It's okay, you're safe now. You're going to 13 now."

You had to blink a couple times, trying to process what he said. Was this a dream? You went to pinch yourself but it was real life.

He then helped you up but you couldn't help but stumble; your legs were weak, you couldn't remember the last time the Peacekeepers let you walk for this long.

As you got into the hovercraft, you saw Annie. Your eyes widened as you both ran up to each other, embracing each other. She had started to cry a little bit and so did you.

That was when it hit you. You were going to see Finnick. You were going home. You started crying into Annie's shoulder as she held you. "We're safe now, we're safe."

You had seen Johanna as well but she didn't seem too responsive. Neither did Peeta. You fell asleep on Annie's shoulder on the ride back and for the first time, you actually felt yourself drifting off calmly.

--

There were lots of doctors and nurses looking at you and asking you all sorts of questions and you tried your best to answer them. You were still in shock; you were safe. They couldn't hurt you anymore.

"Y/N?" You turned around to see Finnick. You immediately got up from the examiner's table and ran into his arms, your eyes starting to water up again.

"Finnick," you sighed slowly. You pulled away, putting your hands on his face and touched him as if he wasn't real.

"Are you.. Are you really here?"

"Yes, I'm really here." Finnick looked at you and suddenly his voice transported you back into the dark room. You quickly twisted out of his embrace and his expression changed.

His voice was back and you heard all of the nasty things he had to you. You back away, stumbling into the examiner's table and your breathing became heavy. "No, no, no, please-please go away. No."

You slid down to the floor and you closed your eyes, putting your hands on your ears and rocking back and forth trying to get that voice to stop.

Finnick ran up to you and put his hands on your knees, trying to get you to look at him. His heart broke in half; he didn't know what the Capitol had done to you but now he knows it has something to do with him.

Of course the Capitol would try to ruin him. His eyes started to tear up at the sight of you, in so much pain and panic.

You opened your eyes, Finnick in front of you. You started to cry some more before Finnick slowly went up to you, wrapping his arms around you.

When he had started wrapping your arms around you, your instinct was to push him away but his warmth was welcoming and safe and you started to focus on his touch. The voices slowly drifted away, the sounds of your silent sobs only being heard.

You then gave into Finnick's touch, falling into him and putting your head in his chest as he caressed your back gently, shushing you.

"It's okay baby, I got you. You're safe now, they can't hurt you."

[yesihaveaobsession]

What is Love?

Alastor x female reader

Summary: Alastor consumes a love potion and becomes in love with the reader (you)

Warnings: Al is very touchy.

A/N- RAHH 🇺🇲🔥 Happy Fourth of July y'all!! To the ones who do celebrate! Consider this a gift <3

Where to start? Alastor wasn't paying attention to what was in his 'oh dear' mug. The last time he checked, there was deer blood, but the next thing he knew, a shiver went down his spine, and everything was all lovey-dovey, especially when he looked at you. His "soul mate." He thought you were a goddess; he saw you in a new bright light. He felt like all his darkness that was held within him, the weight that was on his shoulders were suddenly lifted he had a love potion.

You were totally oblivious and were reading a book in the foyer on the couch. It was a literature classic "The Great Gatsby" You honestly forgot you had it and decided to read it again. That's when he walked into the room over to you with the biggest smile. You didn't pay attention because he was stealthy, your eyes continue to move from left to right.

“Ah, there you are, my dear!” he exclaimed, his voice tinged with an uncharacteristic giddiness. “I’ve been searching everywhere for you.”

You looked up from your book, surprised to see Alastor acting so…enthusiastic. “Oh, hi Alastor. Is everything alright?”

“Everything is perfect now that I’ve found you,” he declared, taking a seat beside you, perhaps a bit too close for comfort. His eyes, usually sharp and calculating, were now soft and filled with an intense adoration that made your heart skip a beat.

“Are you feeling okay?” you asked, concern evident in your voice.

“Never better!” he replied, his grin widening. “In fact, I’ve never felt more alive. Tell me, darling, what are you reading?” He leans in closer, looking at the book. Showing him the cover and it to be "The Great Gatsby." Although he's heard of it, he wanted to hear you talk. So you were explaining its plot briefly. Alastor listened intently, hanging on to every word as if it were the most fascinating story he’d ever heard. His behavior was both endearing and slightly alarming.

“Alastor, are you sure you’re not sick or something?” you pressed, noticing the unusual flush on his cheeks. You placed your hand on his forehead, feeling to see if he was warm or not.“I assure you, my dear, I am in perfect health. In fact, I think I might be…in love.”

What did he just say? Love? Alastor is in love with you? Your eyes widened in shock. “What?”

“Yes,” he said, leaning closer, his voice dropping to a whisper. “I’m hopelessly, madly in love with you.” That would explain why he was acting weird, but this wasn't just madly in love with you. You put two and two together. His eyes lighter, a lighter and brighter red. You could've sworn you saw practically hearts in his eyes when you were explaining the book. He was under a love spell. But how.

You knew he probably wouldn't tell you so you would have to love it over. So you turned your body to face him, and he was watching your every move. You placed your book aside and scooted closer to him, your eyes softening as you gazed into his. Slowly, you raised your hand and gently cupped his cheek. “Alastor,” you said sweetly, “you’re so wonderful. But I can’t help but wonder, what brought this on?”

Alastor's expression, along with his smile, turned dreamy. As he leans into your touch, his eyes hald- lidded. “Oh, my dear, it’s as if the universe itself conspired to bring us together.”

You smiled, your fingers lightly tracing his jawline. “That sounds so magical. But surely, there must be something that sparked this, don’t you think?” That's when Charlie and Vaggie walked in, and they turned into shock.

You sigh and look over at them embarrassed, you say."Alastor is under some type of love potion. I don't know how, but he's in... love with me." You say the last few parts slowly.

"Oh. um." Charlie said as she looked at Alastor practically in your lap and his face inches away from yours.

"I'm trying to love it out of him." Turning your attention back over to him and turned on your charm. He sighed blissfully, his resistance melting under your affectionate gaze. “Well, if you must know, I did come across a rather interesting potion earlier…”

Your heart skipped a beat. "Where did you find it."

"At Rosies."

You leaned in closer, your lips brushing against his ear. “Can you show me where it is? I’d love to see it.”Alastor shivered at your proximity; his resolve completely undone. “Of course, my love. Anything for you.” He poofted it, and it appeared in his hand held empty.

That's when it started to ware of and he realized how close he was to you and he pulled away, trying not to show how embarrassed he was.

"Are you alright?" You ask. He stood from the couch straightened out his jacket and his bowtie and tuned back over to you keeping his hands on the flaps of his jacket.

"My apologies, my dear, now if you excuse me, I have some tasks that have to be done." He turned into his black shadow and disappeared. You, Charlie, and Vaggie look at each other loss of words. Alastor was seen in his Radio Tower. A part of that wasn't just the potion he actually had feelings, but he wasn't going to let you know.

He wasn't going to let you know that he knew it was a love potion and he was the one who put it in his deer mug. It wasn't just a dream. It was realer than ever.

[ashtxrie]

submitted 11:59 pm

— alternatively, enhypen maknaes as your typical high school crush!

PAIR. high school! enhypen maknaes x gn!reader (rest under cut) GENRE. fluff, high school au, bullet points WORD COUNT. 1.8k total HYUNG LINE VER.

김선우 — kim sunoo

candy hearts, spotify playlists, good morning texts, easy laughter, crescent smiles

in high school, sunoo's known as being super friendly and sociable

and because of that, he has a ton of friends

like he basically knows everyone

you and sunoo have definitely talked before, and you may have had a teensy tiny crush on him from your... downward of five interactions

he's kind of like your hallway crush!

however, you DON'T know that he has had a crush on you for FOREVER

like a MASSIVE one! SINCE MIDDLE SCHOOL

and his friends are SICK AND TIRED of hearing about it

man's dedicated because he really saw you in every single one of your phases and STILL decides to like you. he's a real one

he's so whipped like he's hitting up the group chat (named "en- gang" by riki btw) at 1 in the morning being like

"GUESS WHAT?!!! she smiled at me today ☺️ i forgot to tell you all"

everyone is so done

"did you talk to her though"

"NO. i'm getting there"

"all you did was make eye contact for the past month be srs rn"

so one day jay and jungwon (your mutual friends), who were in the same english class as you both, were feeling DEVIOUS

it was the fall semester final project, and it was supposed to be worked on in teams of 2 to 3

"bro you are NOT working on it with us the love of your life is literally RIGHT there"

jay and jungwon took matters into their own hands and forcefully excluded sunoo ("you guys are so fake")

so now, with no other option, he had to approach you!

"do you have a group already? if not, we could work together?"

wait wtf he didn't say that

hey....

it was YOU???

you approached him first??? he was SHOCKED

tried to play it cool but his smile gave away how happy he was

"yes!!!! let's work together!!!!! :)"

the project actually went so well he has literally never been happier typing away on that document every night

updates the group chat periodically too

"when we were working on the google doc at 2 am in the morning our cursors went over each other’s & it was like we were holding hands :>>"

"how do i unsubscribe"

"you're just mad because you've never been in love <333"

secretly sunoo's thanking his friends though because now you guys are basically close friends!

while doing the project together you started talking about school, friends, life, and everything in between

talking with you just seemed so natural, and sunoo wonders why he was so afraid of it before

i'd like to think that with you, sunoo doesn't feel the need to always put on the bubbly and outgoing side of him

sometimes, he can just be quiet and calm sunoo with you, and the silence feels so comfortable and safe

you start hanging out more and more, and soon you've met so many people through sunoo that they think of you whenever they think of him too

it's like a package deal!

throughout this time he's still madly in love with you btw

he just wants to take things slow! he didn't want to scare you away or anything

and yes, the gc is STILL getting their daily sunooyn Down Bad News Network

"today during lunch she gave me a yakult bottle, i think she’s starting to like me back! :D"

he does Not know you've liked him all this time

the mutual pining is crazy

he (finally) confesses after a whole YEAR

he's super nervous about it, has possible plan b's scripted and sat through 30 minutes of youtube subliminal audios the day before for extra good luck

after he says his whole heartfelt confession, he gives you this handwritten letter with all of his favorite moments with you in the past year, complete with spotify codes next to each one that links to a specific song he thought of at the time

you teared up a bit because oh my gosh it was so cute he was so cute and your heart just melted

you told him you've liked him since forever too and he was FLABBERGASTED

you both also reveal that you've BOTH had hidden spotify playlists dedicated for each other???

let's just say that even years later, the 'en- gang' group chat would NEVER let sunoo live down his digital footprint

양정원 — yang jungwon

strawberries, honors classes, coming of age, familiarity, inside jokes, paper rings

your childhood best friend

who just so happens to also be mr student council president, king of extracurriculars, resident academic powerhouse

and also a LITTLE SHIT about it

since elementary school, you've got some friendly (and not-so-friendly) rivalry going on

"we both know who’s going to get the higher score for this chem final” 

“yeah, and it’s going to be me”

“NAH” 

but the drive you get from the competition is really what brought you guys together

it's what keeps you motivated, it's what keeps you going

and he's funny! (though you'd never admit it)

because yes, you're both trying to beat each other for the top spot in class rank

but you also get each other

you've been study buddies since the beginning of time, and he keeps the two of you accountable

sometimes he's TOO responsible

"jungwon don't let the pomodoro timer dictate you life can we PLEASE take a snack break right nowww"

"we literally did that FIVE MINUTES AGO"

outside of studying he's really chill though

one summer he started to get really into alchemy of souls and you binged the series twice together, effectively destroying both of your sleep schedules right before school started

he just loves existing in the same space as you tbh

definitely loves calling you for hours during the school year, whether to review for an upcoming exam or to just have the two of you do your own things while connected on the phone

it's pretty common for the two of you to fall asleep while on call with one another

late night yapping sessions (hello??? his weverse addiction??)

he feels like he can just let his responsibilities go and you're the only person who really understands him and everything he does and why he does it

lowkey.... he also just wants to make you proud :(

he was so happy that one time you offhandedly mentioned how you've seen and appreciated all the hard work he was putting in for one of the school events

when he eventually confessed to you, everything just made sense

like the way your eyes always lingered on his bright smile when he showed up on your doorstep at the crack of dawn

and how even when you tease each other, you never miss how he would reach for your hand with his own before retracting it hurriedly as if changing his mind

now, oh he just makes you feel so loved

texts you at random times of the day just because, sending you the most random images and captioning them with "us"

he's still got the silliness in him though!

"i want to try every strawberry with chocolate combination with you <333"

西村力 — nishimura riki

neon lights, school dances, sunglasses, finger guns, playful banter, shared hoodies

honestly he's just at school for the vibes

however, he DID take homecoming very seriously

with one goal in mind: to DOMINATE the dance floor

and dominate he did.

he partied in the USA so hard that by the end of the night, everyone was talking about that freshman who left everyone speechless at a HIGH SCHOOL DANCE

among those witnesses of how riki out-danced the entire school population, were you

and you thought he was literally the coolest person ever

fast forward two years, and you're a junior now

it's all good! you've definitely outgrown your month-long admiration of the Guy From Hoco

but yo what guess who sits right next to your seat in class???

it's the Guy From Hoco himself

honestly, you're a pretty chill person so you turned to him and were like "hey aren't you that guy that got famous back during hoco freshman year?"

but now? he’s EMBARRASSED to admit it

"oh uhhh that wasn't me haha"

boy bffr you would know his face anywhere

you kind of gave him a questioning look and shrugged

"oh well, i thought it was really cool though"

he instantly backtracks, because you thought it was cool and NOT an aura loss????

"wait i think i remember now haha that WAS me!!!"

you guys match energy so well tbh

he started to catch feelings for you because of how funny you were and how you two just clicked, but he was stuck in denial FOREVER

"I DON'T CHASE I ATTRACT" (desperate)

heeseung also tried to give him "rizz counseling" but that just ended up with them both saying "mb gang" at everything

which was..... not very rizzy!

you had convinced him to audition for the competition dance team at your school, which he obviously made

he texted you the day he got in too, typing in all caps in everything which he NEVER does

"why would you scream about things in caps lock when you can be cool and nonchalant" YEAH SURE RIKI

updated all his social media bios to @[school]varsitydanceteam the moment he got the acceptance notif

“[name] is my instagram bio tuff”

“WHY ARE U ALR PUTTING IT IN YOUR BIO"

"because i’m committed and it lets them know i’m part of a professional community"

(heeseung told him that it would show his commitment to the sport and thus his potential to commit to you.)

at this point, riki was ready to fire heeseung and switch to jake as his ghostwriter 💀

but little did he know, you started liking him too once you saw how genuinely hardworking he was when he has a goal

like those hours he spent on call with you asking if you thought this one move was clean enough?? he really put in his all (he also wanted to impress you)

you kind of had the idea that he liked you back, because let's be honest he was being a bit obvious about it

the way he almost choked when you hugged him congratulations??? he looked DAZED for a whole hour

you had to confess to riki because his heejake rizz courses consisted mainly of heeseung and jake arguing about whose approach was better

even when you two became a couple, you still had teasing as a love language LMAO

"HAHA 🫵🫵 YOU'RE SO SHORT i still love you though <3"

it's just how he shows his love, but he also loves draping his arm across your shoulders when walking around

made sure to emphasize to heeseung and jake that this was all his doing and they did not help him at ALL

but let's be real, YOU were the rizziest of them all

and riki agrees <3

TAGLIST : @star-sim @boyfiejay @jlheon @jwsdoll @dimplewonie @suneng @en-gelic @mygnolia @asteria-wood

[sanjisboyfie]

suguru's needless jealousy

geto suguru x male reader

being suguru's boyfriend and all of his friends (shoko and satoru, basically - man's does not really have friends like that) not believing how he could find such a wonderful, caring boyfriend like you.

it kind of pisses him off, actually. because he knows how lucky he is to have you, obviously he knows, he's the one dating you. he's the only one who knows just how fast his heart races whenever he sees you. he's the only one who gets that really warm feeling in his chest when you so much as look in his direction. he's the only one who gets to hear you whisper, "i love you," to him and practically send him spiralling with just those three words alone.

but whenever you walk into the classroom, shoko and satoru both think he's gotten memory loss in his sleep because they're both gushing about, "waahhh, suguru, your boyfriend's a total babe, why'd he settle with you? he could have anyone he wanted!" or, "suguru, you better be treating [name] with the utmost respect, he deserves the best for being such a sweetheart!"

you are the one that always kindly brushes their compliments off, taking a comfortable seat next to suguru, who pulls you closer to him by tugging on the leg of your chair towards his. there's a small frown on his face, but it washes away the moment you rest your hand on top of his.

with that simple touch, he'll tiredly tell the two of them to just shut up before focusing all of his attention on you. and that frowns melts into a lovesick smile as he hangs off of every word that leaves your lips.

-

however, satoru one day takes the teasing too far. for suguru's taste, at least. you had run off to grab the three of you drinks from the vending machine. unfortunately, the one near the common area was broken. despite satoru having the ability to fix it, he was being a hardass and refusing to.

this made you have to almost walk around the entire campus just to get the drinks for them.

satoru was going on and on about how considerate you were, both as a friend and boyfriend. suguru didn't mind that much. he loved to praise you for your actions no matter how big or small - especially to those around him.

it was his own subtle, greedy way of saying, "look at my boyfriend and all he does for me because he loves me, yeah, i am the luckiest guy in the world~"

obviously, when he does sing your praises they aren't as obvious as that. they're subtle, inconspicuous.

or, another way of phrasing that would be, not as obvious as gojo satoru makes his admiration for you be.

like suguru said, he doesn't mind when others sing your praises. you deserve the recognition for being so kind. but, in his humble opinion, it almost sounded like satoru was just yearning now.

yearning for his boyfriend. seriously, of all people...

it made a tick mark appear on his forehead as he thought about it.

"and, and! did you see the way he was so eager to just go grab them for us? even though he doesn't have to, [name] is always putting others before him. he's really a great guy, i bet he's an amazing boyfriend too, suguru! god, you're one lucky man!"

suguru's eye twitched, "i know, i am lucky, he treats me really well,"

"well, you better treat him well too, or else who knows! he might ditch your sorry ass," it was obviously a joke, with the way satoru's mocking laugh echoed after he said that, it was very obviously a joke.

but suguru was already at his limits in dealing with satoru's bad jokes.

"oh, so you can sweep him off of his feet after he ditches me, right?"

satoru stilled at the comment, looking at suguru as if he were crazy. but before he could shout about how out of pocket suguru was being, he was cut off, "you've been dick riding my boyfriend for the past ten minutes, satoru, is there something you wanna say to me?"

satoru's blue eyes blinked owlishly, "are you seriously saying what i think you're saying? are you a dumbass?"

"i don't know, you tell me. you're the one that was sounding like a desperate school girl trying to get noticed by her crush, not even ten seconds ago,"

now satoru was just offended! god, he can't even sing your praises without a jealous suguru breathing down his neck.

[name] control your man or else i won't know what i do to him for pissing me off, was the only though in satoru's mind.

"don't be such a dick just cause you're jealous, dude," satoru warns, only making suguru's eyes glare at him even more - as if he were insulted.

"i'm not jealous," suguru weakly defended, making satoru only roll his eyes.

when you returned a couple seconds later, satoru took his juice from you, placed some yen to pay you back for it into your now open hand, and walked off.

"huh? i thought satoru was going to wait with us here for shoko?"

"change of plans, he and shoko are gonna meet up elsewhere. they said we could have the time together for some couple business or something," suguru easily lied, not at all feeling bad for doing so either.

with how often shoko and satoru were complimenting you for how selfless you were, they surely wouldn't mind you spending personal time with your own boyfriend, aka him, aka geto suguru.

"oh, if it's alright with them, let's go!" you cheerfully smiled, unscrewing the cap of your juice and linking your arm through suguru's. "what's the plan for today then, babe?"

suguru almost melted at your touch and pet name for him. he gazed down at you lovingly, shrugging his shoulders with a smile on his face, "anywhere you wanna go, prince, i'll just follow along,"

you pout at his lax attitude, but sigh and choose a random arcade to spend your time in. he nods in approval, allowing you to drag him through the streets of tokyo with a smirk on his face.

you were his and he was yours, he thought to himself. he held your hand in his now, walking through the dimly lit arcade with you two closely connected with each other.

he was the one you were spending time with the most, not shoko or satoru. he was the one that got the teddy bear you won for him, not shoko or satoru. and he was definitely the one you were kissing, not shoko or satoru.

they can sing your praises for being a perfect boyfriend and tease and degrade his status as yours as much as they want, but at the end of the day, their words mean nothing as he's the one who's truly winning.

after all, it's his bed you sleep in at night and he's the one who gets to have you be the first thing he sees in the morning.

suguru felt stupid for even being the slighest bit jealous of satoru's words earlier. he doesn't even know why he was jealous. because satoru was so obviously admiring you? because it sounded like satoru was noticing the little things you did just how suguru did?

how could suguru even feel jealous about little shit like that, when you're the one saying the sweetest words about him being your boyfriend.

(don't praise him too much, though, his heart may stop at your endearing words. seriously, his face feels like it'll explode with how heated his cheeks get and how erratic his heart beat can go.)

[mrs-weasley-reid]

TEN'S A GOOD NUMBER

Aaron Hotchner x psychiatrist!reader

Sypnosis: After Aaron's traumatizing encounter with Peter Lewis, he's sent to you, but who knew a profiler is the worst patient you'll ever have? Warning: enemies to lovers— ish(?) angst. a dash of fluff. light mentions of death and trauma. a few curses. went ballistic— it's lengthy, so pace yourself. A/N: loosely follows Mr. Scratch timeline for three seasons.

Monday, May 4, 8:34 AM

Aaron Hotchner sits across from you.

He studies you in every detail like he's about to take an exam, and you're the topic.

The weight of your scribbles—light, almost featherlike. Ink leaves a soft trail of words, a map of your thoughts, your perception of him.

The speed of your hand. Swift and elegant. Each movement portrays a scene in a movie. As if they're telling a quiet story, your story he is yet to unravel.

The way you deprive him of eye contact.

What are you hiding?

Why can't you look him in the eye?

The occasional nod to remind him that you're listening—not like anything's coming out from his end.

In conclusion, just about everything you do, really.

To Aaron, you're a cheat sheet. His way back to the field, to work—the part of his life that cannot be halted despite the need for a break.

"Your hand is heavier," Aaron vaguely goads.

You silently stare at him, waiting for the rest of his thoughts to spill out of his mouth.

"Usually, you write like you're afraid to puncture the paper, but just right now, your strikes are deeper. Your grip on your pen is also tighter. Am I annoying you?"

Creative.

You think to yourself as he rakes his eyes down the canvas of your face, blank and land of nothing but mirroring eyes.

Although you prefer Aaron's comment about your new lipstick and how it makes your skin glow—something about your prospect of finding a lover—fifteen minutes into your session. You didn't peg him as a man who knows his lipstick shades, but you stand corrected as he says coral with the utmost confidence for a man who wears his tie like a choker.

Aaron does it all the time. Every five minutes, he says one thing he's noticed about you and then proceeds to zip his mouth, denying you details about him like you're some hired criminal paid to torture the King's hidden fortune out of him.

And as per your entertainment, you'd do something out of your character to throw him off. If you can laugh at his gullibility, you would.

His goal is to intimidate you. Pressure you. Make you tick like every other serial killer he's encountered. Because he'd really rather be across an unsub than you. Aaron would rather be the one to ask questions and not you. In his eyes, you're no better than a small-town detective ignorantly interrogating a serial killer for a cheap gas station robbery, unaware of the skeletons in his closet.

At this moment, Aaron ponders why he agreed to meet with you once a week only to sit in almost absolute silence for about an hour, then go about his day like he hadn't just wasted minutes of his—and your—life.

It's always the same.

He arrives, flaunts his profiling skills for an accumulated total of twelve minutes, and then sits across you like a rock for the remaining forty minutes.

Aaron could've talked more, but...

He despises you.

Well, not you, per se. He despises the profession, and you just happen to choose it as your career. Nonetheless, Aaron generalizes and includes you on his list.

He finds it unnecessary and a waste of one's valuable time. Presenting a series of well-thought-out facts that he's sure Spencer Reid will enjoy. A list of reasons why talking to a psychiatrist isn't as helpful as people perceive it to be.

Aaron spits the words 'family' and 'friends' for the sake of ease and comfort as if he doesn't flinch at the words 'your father' and his face hasn't been frozen into a permanent stern. Because why talk to someone who doesn't know you when there are people who know you best? He lies through his teeth. He lies to himself.

Then, there's you.

You don't know him enough to trust his lies.

"Profiling me won't get you cleared," you state out of the blue. "This is our seventh session, and you haven't said anything." You add, finally lifting your gaze.

Aaron feels taken aback. He'd never encountered a shrink with such pride at their job—they managed to infuriate him. You infuriate him.

Now that you've granted him the wish—your eyes meeting his—it's having an effect on him instead. One that he wishes he didn't feel creep under his skin, stimulating the anxiety he's worked hard to ignore.

Still, Aaron squares his shoulder, "Nothing is wrong with me," He claims like he's not feeling the pit of his stomach churn with every word. "I'm only here for the formalities." He says.

"Ahh," You deadpan, pulling your eyes down on your clipboard. Hushed scribbles echo in the room. "Is that what you told, Dr. Briar? Or Dr. McCormick? Stiles doesn't seem to remember you at all—"

"They deemed me fit to go back to work, which you don't seem to realize." Aaron cuts you off. He doesn't notice the slight lilt of his voice. How a vein peeked on his forehead as he furrows his brows.

You have an effect on him, and Aaron's in strong denial.

"How?" You lean a bit, propping against your lap. It's the first time he's ever let himself tear out of his 'I don't break' shell. You consider it a crumb of a breakthrough and a laughable stain on your pride.

Challenging his stability—you raise your brows—makes him tick.

A faux frown draws on your face—patronizing, "Did you play a staring contest, and they lost against you?" You notice the little twitch of his eye masked as a blink.

It's a little unprofessional to provoke your patient, but you do, anyway.

This one's been particularly adamant about manipulating you into permitting him back to work like you were born yesterday. You think it hilarious how smug he's been for the past six sessions. It is as if you didn't spend almost half of your life devoted to the study of behavior. Like you hadn't figured out his plans from the get-go.

Profilers. They catch a criminal out of idea of sorts, and they think they can read everyone. It makes you want to laugh while pointing at him.

Aaron stares at you with his usual stoic expression, intimidating eyes filled with unforeseen horrors, and a straight mouth that's no use in your four walls.

He decides then that he hates you with a passion.

You feel a vibration on your wrist, "Would you look at that? Your time's up, Hotchner." You withdraw, straightening your back as you scribble yet another word Aaron is curious to know.

If he only knew you're not really writing anything new about the nature of his mental state or anything legible at all, you imagine Aaron exploding like a stack of case files blown by harsh wind.

But can he blame you when he's given you nothing to write?

"Agent Hotchner," He corrects with gritted teeth. Aaron's jaw clenches as he pierces his gaze through you. His hands intertwined with each other as if he's preventing himself from clawing at you.

You smile at him, "In this room, you're just Aaron Hotchner. A patient. A case." You know the specific word will piss him off, much less the motherly tone you paired it with.

A tactic. Unlike him, you don't need a team of agents to get a rise out of a culprit. The bare idea of you, a stranger who has access to his life on a piece of paper, is enough a stimuli to get an individual aiming at your neck.

"So, between you and me, I think you should start talking if you ever want to fly to wherever city your team wanders in. The longer you take, the less progress we make, and the less progress you make, the more possible that the bureau will assign a new psychiatrist for you." You say nonchalantly, letting his anger lead him right into your trap.

The words float like small fire specks of dust, both dazzling and dangerous to the eyes. Getting assigned to a new psychiatrist is like getting an easy case directly handed to Aaron. However, it also means he'll have to restart his psych evaluation process, and he knows firsthand how time-consuming that is.

"But, then again, who knows? Maybe the next fella will let you slide like the others did. Or you'll have to attend a series of sessions again for a lengthy psych evaluation. I've got friends too, you know? They might do me a favor and make your life more… difficult." You're bluffing. In no way, shape, or form will you jeopardize his health, even if Aaron's the most stubborn patient you have ever met in your lifetime.

His nose flares as he stands up. You know that he's done and murdered you in his mind at the way he's glaring at you with invisible daggers, but you play it well and act blameless.

Aaron marches out of your office with blazing hatred. You watch as he dulls every vicinity he's stepped into like death taking a stroll. A part of you is apologetic to his colleagues. They'll be having one hell of a day.

Retreating back inside your office, you plop on your chair behind your desk as a heavy sigh escapes your lips.

You stare at Aaron Hotchner's patient chart.

"What am I going to do with you?" You ask rhetorically in the air.

Aaron Hotchner is—for you at least—a special case. A case so intricate you had to be careful how you'd tread the water, wary of its fragile ripples.

When Aaron's chart landed on your desk, you immediately knew that he'd be toilsome. He'd make it his goal to skip the talk and jump back onto another case. The same routine he did with his old therapists and psychologist, anyone that was able to write a note and say he's fine when he's really not—never have been for a long time.

You already had enough patients on your plate, but you just couldn't say no to your favorite Italian patient; you only had one. You're the best bureau-mandated psychiatrist. His words, not yours.

Then, again, you never fail to mentally brag about how easily you read Aaron just from his chart, his image, and the first step he took to get inside your office. You read him like an open toddler's book, a piece of cake.

During the first session, you learn how badly Aaron's last case had affected him. The intonation of his voice. The way he'd shake his hand, your hand. His scorn. His fiddling fingers.

It's amazing how he's managed to divert his anger towards you instead of the man who traumatized him.

Melodic ringing snaps you out of your trance.

Aaron Hotchner might just get what he wants.

Sunday, May 10, 11:51 PM

A sniffle tickles your nose as you lay flat on the carpet floor of your apartment.

Your face stings from tear stains, and you muse how horrid you must look after your makeup runs dry. Your chunky heels were still on. In a minute or two, you expect one of your feet to cramp.

The day has been hostile towards you.

The mind, which used to be an oasis of positive thoughts, has gone draught. Sleep begins to blur your vision, and you don't hesitate to let it take over.

Until a bombarding knock jolts you up.

"I'm here! I'm here! Calm down!" You shout as you swing the door open. A familiar man stands in front of you with a dour face. Your eyebrows narrow tightly, "Mr. Hotchner—"

"What did you write?!" Aaron badgers as he storms inside your apartment like he owns the place. He pivots on the balls of his feet once he's reached your living room, glowering at you with scalding fury. "I was relieved to know that you released me from your care and looked forward to my clearance. So, tell me why a random therapist called me this morning to confirm an appointment I didn't even know I had. What did you write on my report that I have to go through this again for the second time? Is dealing with your sick games not enough? I'm fine. I know I'm fine. I'm straight in the head to go back in the field. I aced the psych evaluation questions. Your sessions are the problem. You're the problem." His ears, face, and neck are burning red. If he's a cartoon character, you imagine he'd be steaming with smoke by now.

Quite surprised; you're standing speechless. You're watching Aaron like he's a crazy old hag yapping about the Revolutionary War and how she hates not having the power to shoot every redcoat for the sake of rage.

You head towards your sofa, taking a seat.

Aaron examines you in confusion, furrowing his brows.

After a moment, you look at him expectantly. "Don't be shy, Mr. Hotchner. By any means—" you nod towards the armchair across you, glancing back and forth between him and the empty space "—continue with your thoughts. You already started. Might as well let it all out."

He only clenches his hands inside his pockets as he bores holes into your head.

What a sad little man.

You scoff in your mind.

You lean against the back of the sofa, tilting your head to meet dagger-like brown eyes aiming at you. "No? Suit yourself, then." You shrug, feeling the soft cushions under your palms.

"Let me remind you that I'm a federal agent, and I can make your life a living hell if I want to." He threatens, glaring at you as if the twitch of his eye is enough to make you combust into thin air.

But all you see is a child on a tantrum, deprived of getting what he wants.

"Answer my question. What. Did. You. Write?" He growls.

Silence coats the two of you.

His heavy breathing fills the deafening air. Your nonchalance fuels his hatred more than ever and the sentiment is beginning to emit from both ends. It takes a lot out of you to think of multiple ways to sprinkle some salty sense onto him without stinging his wounds.

One thing you learned well enough in time is how good Aaron is when pushing someone's buttons. A perk of his prosecutor days and seasoned by his bureau career.

He's just troubled.

He's just in denial of his own pain.

You chant the words in your head—uncertain of its purpose. Detachment ironically detaches from your senses like old velcro.

"You're not the first agent in my office, Mr. Hotchner. And frankly, you should be thanking me for taking you in. Unlike your old therapists, I actually read through your chart and took the time to understand you to the best of my ability. I cared—" Shocked as he is, your eyes subtly widen.

Before you can continue Aaron speaks over you, "I do not care about your pity. What I wanted was for you to do your damn job and clear me back to work. But that's just little to no pay for a shrink, isn't it? You need messed up people to stay messed up so they can continue knocking on your door." A clear hint of a demeaning smirk flashes across his face.

The sheer irreverence makes you dizzy. The calm snaps, banishing kindness and composure out the window. And rage knocks on your door.

"That's the problem. You don't care. You don't care about yourself." Your tone is sharp—stern.

You knew. You knew from the moment his file thudded on your wooden desk. The moment SSA David Rossi charmed his way to get your favor. You know that Aaron Hotchner does what he believes is right. Not because the unit chief title has gotten in his head. No. Not the slightest. But because he only cares about his values and people.

And you're neither.

It's not you to hold grudges. So, you had it down and set before you accepted Rossi's request. You had it tattooed in your mind that no matter how sharp-tongued and insensitive the man before you might be, he's still just a man under the weight of the world's greatest horrors.

You cannot break. You're not allowed to break.

Pieces of you shatter at the realization that some patients under your care inevitably slip away from your fingers. How your promised oath to do no harm did nothing—not enough to stop the monsters that haunt the world. Not enough to stop you, Aaron's psychiatrist, from dumping your own frustration onto him the same way he's currently doing to you.

But you're not Aaron's psychiatrist today. You're not anything today. You're not on the clock. And no one except Aaron—to your demise—will ever witness such an ugly sight. If ever he shuts up about his dilemma, that is.

"I did my job exactly as I should." You declare, licking the bottom of your lips. Damned the Hippocratic Oath. You wonder if the healing gods will forgive you.

You really shouldn't say the words that are about to leave your mouth, but you've been taking whatever hostility he's got for the last two months; the capacity has reached its limit. A little bit of harshness wouldn't hurt, would it?

"When are you going to admit that the reason you can't sleep at night is not because of all the serial killers you claim I prevent you from catching?" You finally stand. You are a few inches shorter, yet you have never felt taller than you do right now.

You grit your teeth as you move closer to Aaron, almost a breath away, tiptoeing. "When will you admit that the mighty SSA Aaron Hotchner, unit chief, doesn't blink, not once, because he's afraid he'd become the very thing he promised to put away." You raise your brows, challenging him.

Aaron's face morphs into bewilderment and perturbation. His brows are sewn shut. His jawline pops out as he grinds his teeth.

Resentment. Fury. Vexation. Chagrin.

All Aaron felt was anger.

Antagonized.

A walking tower of pure acrimony, finger-pointing towards the innocent.

"Don't you dare compare me to those— I'm anything but." He towers over you, losing his words through the stream of lividity flooding all over his senses.

"Do you really believe that?"

Aaron studies your face. It's different. It's raw and maimed. A squeeze of guilt whispers, but he shoves it quickly.

"What did you write?" He asks once more, earning a scoff out of you.

You step back, staring straight into his glare. Crossed arms tight against your chest. Brows rest over your deadpan eyes.

"While SSA Aaron Hotchner is proficient at his skills and rather placid in physically and mentally challenging situations, I strongly recommend further evaluation in psychotherapy as his emotional capacity is at its limits. The stress accumulated from the job itself has given him little to no time to allow himself the indulgence to properly process certain impacts of the stimulus he encounters on the job. Will update after further observation. Is what I wrote… so far."

You pause.

"Aaron Hotchner is an insufferable, pompous idiot who's afraid of nothing but himself. He is incapable of stepping off his pedestal and refuses to cooperate while complaining about the consequences he himself caused. He has been through enormous trauma. It will be torture to try and help him cope properly. I do not want him in my care as he is a danger to his own progress, and I don't want any part of it. Is what I wanted to write."

Silence.

For him to reflect.

For you to breathe.

Aaron's frozen before you. A pale statue bleached under the moon's harsh reality. Words that used to be superficial insecurities float in the wind of truth, forming into a cage he's sentenced for life.

Your fuse still runs—a long time coming from two months of his deliberate disrespect. The silence annoys you, so you break it. "Excuse my hostility. No one's invaded my privacy and barged into my household at such an unreasonable hour before." The impassive smile on your lips can haunt anyone.

Maybe you've gone too far.

Maybe it's evil to say such blunt things to someone fragile.

But Aaron started the countdown. He lit the fuse. Now, you're exploding right before his eyes, reaping what he sowed. And he's forced to eat up all the debris.

His eyes twitch, scanning your face for any sign of bluff, any sign of fallacy. Any sign that he successfully pissed you off and your words were nothing but overwhelmed impulse.

"I—" he closes his mouth, then agape. Any sign. Aaron will take anything besides the forthright expression on your face. He inhales, "I'm sorry." The sound dies before it can roll off his tongue.

It's like watching a bully shrink into the tiniest man who's ever lived.

Okay, maybe you were a little bit brutal.

You gulp as guilt creeps along your veins, wishing that someone out there would just do you both a favor and snipe you out before the embarrassment settles.

Drawing in a gentle breath, you take another step back from Aaron with a delicate voice, "You're not starting a new evaluation, but you're not done either. I transferred you under someone else's care because of personal reasons. My life doesn't revolve around you, Mr. Hotchner. So, if you have nothing else to say, go home." Your eyes drift to the vast selection of objects in your living room to diffuse the growing pity you can't help but harbor.

Only then does Aaron discern his impulsivity. Internally arguing with himself as he allows himself to look at you. One thing he's never done since the moment he met you with screwed brows and unwavering bias. His gaze instantly softens like a thick fog around him finally dissipates. Like he's achieved a clearer vision.

The first thing he notices is the state of your face. The dry mascara that drew faded stripes down your cheeks. Your puffy eyes are now faint pink, but he recalls them being red when he arrived.

Then Aaron brings his attention to your black dress. It's a simple formal, mesh midi dress, but he admits how it elegantly fits you. But he doesn't say it aloud because there's only one reason why you'd wear such an article of depressing clothing.

As if your words and his own realizations aren't enough, he gets a glimpse of the clock on your wall that reads 12:03 AM.

His blood suddenly stops flowing—skin clammy and pale. Aaron's lightheaded from guilt and penitence.

Without another word, you lead him towards the door, swinging it open. The past 24 hours already drained you, and Aaron just about made it fifty times worse. All you wanted was to get a shuteye.

Aaron swallows the shame and makes his way out. Before he leaves, though, he turns to face you once more. Genuine curiosity pinches his brows.

"Why didn't you just clear me out like the others did if I was such a difficult case?" The word tastes bitter in his mouth. What used to be a desired flavor turned rotten on his palette.

He asks with utter softness, leaving you skeptical to respond.

"Same reason why you kept attending my sessions even though you clearly hated it." You slightly close the door, only leaving enough space for the two of you to see each other.

He looks at you like the answer's all over your face but written in some foreign language he's not familiar with. Aaron barely opens his mouth when you answer the question in his mind.

"You needed a place where you can just be."

The door shuts.

Friday, June 19, 11:02 PM

"I didn't know where to go."

You pore at Aaron Hotchner with nothing but a flimsy robe to prevent his imagination from going rampant—and dirty.

It's eleven in the evening. It's been one month since you last saw him. It's been a month since he barged into your apartment like an entitled brat. It's been a month since you let your emotions take over. It's been a month since the two of you revealed parts of yourselves either of you don't dare think of.

A month and no contact.

You didn't wonder; just hoped and prayed that Aaron finally finds it in him to let go of the emotional turmoil that's torturing the soul out of his body.

Sighing, you step aside and let him in, closing the door behind you like it's normal to stop by one's ex-psychiatrist's apartment in the middle of the night without prior notice and, most importantly, without meter to run the minutes he's inconveniencing you.

Aaron walks in, and the heavy humidity of arousal immediately hits him.

Oh.

Well...

If he had something to say, Aaron kept his mouth shut. He is at fault for driving straight to your place like he's your bestest friend. So, he doesn't mention it, ignoring the fact that you're barely clothed.

Besides, after your last interaction with him, Aaron's certain he didn't have any prerogative in how you'd like to spend your Friday evening.

"Take a seat. I'll be with you in a minute." Your steps are light behind him—feet nimbly grazing the wooden floor.

He turns to face you but quickly averts his gaze to avoid the glistening sight of your thighs. "Thank you..." He does his best to sound normal, choking in between syllables.

Aaron begins to regret his decision. Though, not enough to leave your place.

You disappear in the corner of the hallway. Allowing Aaron to finally release the breath he didn't know he was holding.

With you out of sight, his mind deliberately wanders...

What were you doing?

Aaron shakes his head vigorously like a worm under a storm of salt. The thought is undiscovered—untouched territory, forbidden to be exact. Should he form such thoughts, he'll do it somewhere else or rather about someone else.

Just as he caters to the sudden dizziness caused by his action, a man, half-dressed, walks past him, cursing under his breath and buttoning his shirt. Aaron's eyes widen a little, keeping his stoic face.

Oh, that's what you were doing.

Ick—as Aaron would like to call your visitor—had brown and curly, unruly hair. He was tall and definitely had a face, which, Aaron assumes, is nothing like the one he envisioned you're attracted to.

Somehow not a pleasant discovery compared to what he attempted to imagine—you, alone.

Ick looks at Aaron with a scoff echoing out of his throat, "Oh, what a surprise! She's a slut." He states smugly.

"Or she just wants someone better." The words spill out without hesitation, fired on sight. Aaron doesn't know where the boldness came from as he leans against the seat with a cocky smirk on his face. Definitely no more perplexed than the uncertainty of anger boiling inside of him. He glares at the man either way.

The man scoffs again before leaving with a couple more insults that Aaron thinks he's lucky to whisper, or your visitor would've left your apartment in an ambulance.

Ick slams the door, shaking the vase on the accent chest by the entrance.

Where did that come from?

He's questionably not as big of a hater as he was before, but Aaron can't determine the motivation that made him act the way he just did with a person who has business with you, which he should have no interest in.

Moments later, you come back, fully clothed, in an oversized hoodie and a pair of wide-leg linen pants. Comfy and a 180 contrast on how you dress at work, plus the garments you had on minutes ago.

You make a beeline to your kitchen, "Water or scotch?" You holler out, opening cabinets with a creek on their hinges.

The question is rhetorical. You place a glass with brown liquid glinting under the warm ambient light on the coffee table in front of Aaron, then plop on the armchair across from him, catering your own glass.

He stares between you and the glass while you kiss yours, never breaking your gaze. You hum in delight, making a popping sound with your lips.

Aaron opens his mouth and then closes it, falling into a cycle like a fish underwater. How should he explain himself? How does one explain why they're bothering their ex-psychiatrist past working hours? After making a scene a month ago? He swallows the thick void in his throat.

"Don't talk, just drink. Sit here for an hour. Then, go home." You say, opening up a book that's been sitting on the table since he arrived.

Aaron feels a surge of relief. He reaches for the drink and lets the smoky taste trail down his throat without hesitation. He wouldn't have guessed you as a fan of scotch—or anything not clear or fruity. This is the first he's seen you without some sort of filter he can't read through, and the observation prints you under a new light.

The silence comforts him. The occasional scrape of paper against paper with each flip of a page provides him reassurance. The company he finds within your presence gives him solace.

You let him be. Asked no questions, reading in peace like he was just any other friend who needed company.

He does as you said. Indulging in the hour of tranquility and stillness. His nerves tame. And he forgets why he went to you in the first place.

Why did he go to you?

Of all people. Of all the friends he brags about. The family he cherishes. His feet dragged—drove him to you.

The onerous unit chief chose to wander to your front door, sipping scotch as he enjoyed the silence and absence of others' guilting worry and constant craving to make him feel better when all he wanted was peace and letting the ache pass in gradual acceptance.

By the end of the hour, you call him a cab with the instructions for him to pick up his car the next day.

Aaron slept effortlessly that night.

Saturday, October 24, 9:24 PM

Aaron expected some sort of rejection or for you to slam the door close, or worse, ignore him as soon as you see his face through the peephole.

One can only tolerate a couple of unannounced visits from an insufferable ex-patient, right? He's surprised you haven't called the cops on him.

He skims your face for any sign of irritation or annoyance as soon as you reveal yourself behind your door, standing next to it to give him way. Aaron saw nothing but impatience.

You knit your brows, slightly tilting your head at his frozen build outside the frame of your door. "Well? Are you stuck or something? Get in, Hotchner—" You turn before you can even finish talking, disappearing down the small entryway.

He turns deaf for a moment. Your voice rings in his ears as if a bomb had just popped the only working drum he had left.

Hotchner.

Agent.

Mister—

Just Hotchner.

One simple change, and the light above your head suddenly looks brighter.

Like he's found something good. Something he can say he knows. Something he can trust(?)

"Don't forget to take your shoes off and shut the door!" You holler from the living room—unfazed.

Aaron flinches, snapping out of his trance. He wonders where you'd gone to, furrowing his brows, and yet enters your apartment with the permission you'd given him. He closes the door, pivoting on the soles of his dress shoes as he tentatively takes them off per your instructions.

He emerges back in your peripheral while you stare at the screen on your laptop, blue-filtered glasses back on. Your fingers hammer on the keys, soft sighs slipping past your lips every once in a while.

You glance at Aaron when his figure stays at the corner of your eye, cupping a coffee mug between your hands. "There's fresh coffee if you'd like. Are you hungry? I don't usually eat dinner, so I have nothing ready to eat, but I can whip something up." You blow over the surface of caffeine, and steam wafts on the tip of your nose.

"No—" He shakes his head, scoffing in confusion, "I'm sorry—"

"Apology accepted," You muffle into the mug.

Aaron's brows connect tighter, and his forehead creases. He looks at you like he's under an illusion, a hypnotic dream he can't quite distinguish.

"Hold on," He hoists his hand up as if to pause a scene in the movie. "I'm very confused. What is going on? Why are you being… casual and nice?"

"You say it like I'm incapable of human decency." Your back makes contact with the cushion of your sofa, pulling your legs close to your chest while one hand holds the handle of your mug. You roll your eyes when Aaron only stares at you, "Are you uncomfortable? Do you want to leave?"

Aaron shakes his head.

"Problem solved, then?" Confusion is still fresh on his blank face. You mentally smack your forehead. "There are patients who lack temporal sense, but turning them away when they clearly need immediate tending to would be a form of negligence on my part. So, feel at home." You theatrically stretch your arms, offering every corner of your space as his own.

"But I'm not your patient anymore. I've been back on duty for weeks." Aaron informs. Although he finds a place for his go bag on your floor.

If you didn't know any better, you'd assume he's about to stay for a sleepover—coming to your apartment late at night.

You wrinkle your nose, "Okay?" You look around as if someone else is in the room with you two. "Is that why you went here? You wanted to brag?"

Three months.

Aaron's been back to his usual routine for the past three months. And it's been four since he drank scotch on the very couch you're comfortably in.

A chuckle.

The sound tickles your ears, filling you with unexpected pride.

"No," Aaron shakes his head as the chuckle resonates through his chest. "I… I don't really know why I came here, if I'm being honest." He swallows air.

You nod, setting your laptop back on your lap. "Like I said, you're free to feel at home. Scotch is in the third cupboard. Coffee's in the pot. I've got some stuff to take care of, so help yourself." Your eyes are already fixed on the screen, hands jumping from one key to the other.

With your permission, Aaron ventures into your kitchen. Neat. Clean. Cozy. He somehow imagines you cooking as a hobby.

He settles for coffee. Asking you from the kitchen island if you'd like a refill—which you took without a thought, hoisting your cup up—and taking out a couple of his files to get a head start on his paperwork. He wasn't allowed to bring them outside the bureau's building, but it didn't matter at the moment.

Your apartment becomes a haven.

Aaron, for the first time in years, feels comfortable to slouch. He had no collection of when and how, but turns out he'd changed into a quarter-zip and one of his pajamas tucked in his go bag through the hours.

The two of you silently took care of your own thing until 1 AM strikes, and a yawn pulls you back into the earth.

You turn your head towards the kitchen to find Aaron scribbling over your kitchen island. He's sipping coffee—a fresh batch he made not long ago.

Stretching, you make your way past him. After placing the mug into the sink, you lean against it, crossing your arms as you stare at him. "Ten."

"What's that?" Aaron halts on his seat, lifting his head to look at you.

"I'm granting you ten visits," You announce.

"And that means?.."

Your face deadpans, and he does well at stifling a smile. "You can come here whenever you want—need, but only for ten free visits. It doesn't matter if it's late, too early, or unreasonable. I'm allowing you to knock on my door whenever you need. Any more than that, you have to attend my sessions in my office, where I get paid."

"What's the catch?" Aaron entwines his eyebrows, straightening his back as he props on the edge of the counter.

"No catch. Just one condition," You shift your weight on your other leg, "Don't come empty-handed. Food, drink, things, a person, anything. Bring something." Your brows hang on your forehead, anticipating any type of response.

Aaron weighs his choices. Calculated every possible outcome and benefit. He meets your eyes again. Index and thumb rubbing the growing stubble on his chin.

"Ten's a good number," He says as he nods.

Wednesday, March 2, 7:31 PM

Eleven months pass by in the blink of an eye.

It's the seventh time Aaron showed up without warning, and by this point in whatever acquaintance you two had, you aren't fazed or surprised anymore.

The fourth time he knocked on your door, he was carrying a hefty price of whiskey. An odd reason for a psychiatrist and a former patient to bond with, but you had no qualms about sipping neat whiskey that night.

At first, he stayed for an hour. Then, an hour turned into three. One time, a case hit too deep, and three became seven, but that only happened once—all you remember was a Wednesday night.

"Are you okay?"

Gentle sighs escape shivering lips. Tears pooling deep inside sockets.

One sharp sniff breaks it all.

You sob under Aaron's worried eyes as your grip on the knob almost snaps it off the door.

His brows twists and he reflexively yanks you by the back of your head into his chest, bringing you out of your apartment and into the complex's hallway.

"What happened?" He carefully inquires while he rests his chin atop your head.

You're a mess in his arms. Uncontrollable whimpers muffled in his soaked chest.

Aaron suggested that you two step inside for more privacy and heat, but he didn't complain when you two stayed frozen in the end of winter evening.

When it stops. The suffocating ache. You lightly push yourself off him, wiping the leftover tears off your cheeks—half of it already dampened his shirt.

Fifty-three minutes and seventeen seconds.

You cried to the point of dehydration.

"Sorry," you mutter, eyes down. "We should go inside if we don't want to catch hypothermia." You sniffle.

"Oh, we don't want that," Aaron attempts to joke, closely observing whether you'd react to it.

You didn't.

He closes the door behind him, following your figure as you practically drag yourself to your unofficial designated spot on the sofa.

"I know I'm the last person you'd want to hear this from, but would you like to talk about it?" He bites his inner cheek.

Nothing.

You only mold yourself into a ball.

Aaron hesitates whether to stay or leave you alone. It's true that you said he's welcome anytime, but you're definitely in no condition to entertain his own problems when you can't even look him in the eye the way you would, no matter how insufferable he is.

But he can't just leave you by yourself either. Nothing is stopping him, but he's not cold-blooded enough.

"It's not easy," Aaron fractures out of his trance at the sound of your small voice. You look at him with a tight-lipped smile. "This job, I mean."

You inhale a sharp breath, tucking your lower lip between your teeth. "I can be hopeful, positive, supportive… Everything to prove that a better life is possible, but at the end of the day, it's not my choice." You wryly chuckle. "It's the patient's. It's your decision to want to feel better. To want to change. To want to live—" You choke, and the tears flow once more.

"It's not about me, but I can't help feeling like a failure." Sobs spill off your lips, gasping for air. "I was supposed to make everything better. I was supposed to heal everyone and save everyone from whatever monster was hurting them. She said she's never felt so much better. She said it's the first time she felt so peaceful for years, Hotchner. She said she was looking forward to our next session. But she just… I didn't—" You gulp—struggling. "I didn't catch it. I didn't catch her lie. And hours later, I get a call from her mother telling me she— she died." Your hands shakily clasp your mouth to push the sobs back, but you fail.

Aaron doesn't know what to say.

But he knows what to feel.

He knows it well.

The guilt. The shame of never living up to your own promise. The pain of losing someone you swore to keep safe.

Then, it hits him like a wrecking ball.

How difficult of a patient was he before?

Has he ever made you cry before?

It's a stretch that you'd ever shed a tear over his stubbornness, but Aaron hopes you never did.

Because he's never seen anyone care so much despite getting all the hate. Despite taking all the blame. You stood your ground and became other people's foundation. You became their comfort.

You became the only thing that gave him serenity.

With the little time he's known you—a total of 43 genuine friendly hours—Aaron can testify in heaven that they had mistakenly dropped you into the earth. And he's never felt blessed to have someone like you. Never felt lucky enough to find someone with who he could feel broken as much as he could but never needed to save face.

So, he's heartbroken for you. And guilty that more than half of the time you'd known him, he made your passion a miserable experience.

And also guilty of developing feelings for you.

Saturday, August 13, 4:16 PM

"I'm not playing favorites, but your tech analyst definitely deserves better than being cooped up in the bureau's building." You say, plopping on the sofa with a soft bounce and a squeak from the coil spring.

Aaron hands you a glass of bourbon while sipping his own. Eyes fixated on the board on your coffee table. "I have no other choice. It's the only way to keep her safe. Unless you're willing to adopt her, I don't want to hear it." He chuckles, connecting his brows at the sight of your winning streak.

You two are playing Scrabble. It was Monopoly twenty minutes ago, but along the lines, you learned how butt-hurt a six-foot and two-inch man can get. Not an enlightening experience. It would have been two stars if you had to rate it.

So, you switched to Scrabble.

And Aaron is losing again.

Boy, were you so entertained.

He just came back from a fairly short case from Los Angeles. The case is not heavy or mentally draining—according to Aaron, but Jack's at a two-day sleepover, and Aaron has no idea how to spend the rest of his day—turning down Derek Morgan's and David Rossi's invitation to grab a drink at O'Keefe's with you in mind.

Aaron leans on the back of his seat. You don't know when your reclining armchair became his designated seat, but you noticed how lax he is in it and didn't question it further.

Months and months of relaxing stillness in your home—only ever full of bizarre surprises and irresistible joy whenever Aaron knocks at your door. With no means of communication or ever seeing each other at either workplace, Aaron's visits are welcomed but never fully anticipated. Thrilling.

Spelling the word 'loser' on the board with triple points, you bite the tissue inside your lower lip. "Maybe you can play Scrabble with her. Who knows, maybe you'll get lucky and win." You grin smugly at him.

Aaron gapes at you with a mixture of disbelief and merriment. He looks down on the flat entertainment, then back to you as he blinks. "You're cheating." He declares, pointing an accusatory finger at you.

A hearty laugh Aaron's never heard before roars out of you, and it's melodic to his ears. The meringue light spills through the forgotten open blinds of your window, painting your face with a dreamy filter. Aaron feels dizzy at the sight.

Your smile is contagious, and out of nowhere, his heart starts to pick up as if he'd caught whatever illness your radiant lips had by only staring at it. The loose hair over your forehead frames your face differently—different good. Like you'd been glowing, and the watts in your core mysteriously increased, so you're as bright as the sun and as warm as its light.

"You're just a sore loser. Suck it up, Hotchner." You shake with mirth, casually running dainty fingers along the curve of your ear.

"Aaron," He blurts too fast, too soon—too late to take back.

With a nonchalant shrug, you rephrase, "Suck. It. Up. Aaron." Much more emphasis and friskiness.

You tease him more about his lack of greatness in board games compared to his undeniable talent in every case the BAU encountered. But Aaron's already dazed by your lips calling his name.

Without either of you realizing it, 4 PM became AM.

Talk about abusing one's privileges. Aaron's moderately good at that. You conclude he's simply a strutting opportunist.

After the longest winning streak you've ever had in your life, you and Aaron decided to take a much-needed break and fell into silent reading—or, in your case, grooming your schedule for the next five months.

Midnight strikes along the grumble of Aaron's stomach. You two were too quiet. It echoed all over your apartment. Both of you fell into an obstreperous fit of laughter for another hour, stopping for a minute in between only to laugh some more as soon as you met each other's eyes.

Now, it's four in the morning. You're busy munching on Chinese takeout from a 24-hour restaurant Aaron called in. He claims he has handsome privilege courtesy of the owner, which you mockingly laughed at, to his dismay.

"I'm still terrified." He blurts.

The case must've been very difficult, then. He lied yesterday. However, at this point in your friendship, you expect him to do so, even if it's obvious.

You'd long given up on coaxing Aaron to talk about the case that brought him to your office. Or any other cases that got him knocking on your door at the most unreasonable hour. You thought that the best you could offer him was the comfort that no matter how beaten up he looked, you'd ask no questions and let him sort his boggled mind until he was ready to talk about it.

Looks like tonight's the moment. It only took more than a year, so it is not a big deal—to either of you, at least.

He looks at you when you remain quiet, silently asking for your permission. You nod, and he continues, "What Peter Lewis did to me was terrorizing. I always wonder whether I'm making the right decision or sending my agents straight to their deaths. I second guess. I'm scared that a part of him is still in my head, driving me to make a fatal mistake." Aaron starts playing with his food, poking an orange chicken with his chopsticks.

The memory brings a tangy taste to his tongue, and Aaron can't help but cringe. It's the first time he's ever talked about Peter Lewis. Granted, Aaron spoke about the event numerous times but never about how it made him feel. Never how it broke him.

Is it weird to say you're a little proud of Aaron?

Of course, you don't tell him that. Not out loud. You know he knows you're proud of him. And that's enough said.

With a few audible chews—caused by a carrot bit stuck between your teeth—that somehow doesn't piss Aaron off, you swallow the food and draw your lips into a thin line. You place the chopsticks on the side, wiping the rim of your mouth.

You know he's watching you. Anticipatingly waiting for a response for anything other than the silence he's accustomed to.

"Breathe," You gently instruct, clear enough for him to hear but not too loud for Aaron to jump in shock.

And he does.

His shoulder blades rise and fall into a soft rhythm. Aaron was holding his breath, and you knew. Of course, you knew.

"Do you know the purpose of defense mechanisms?" You quiz him, earning a nod from Aaron, and yet no following answer. "You were already mad at me even before we met. And for what? Nothing concrete, I'm sure."

Aaron was about to object, but you raised your hand to stop him, "I'm not trying to attack you. All I'm saying is that rather than being in denial, you displaced your frustration on someone else less threatening—me."

Silence.

"I'm sorry—"

"I'm not done, shush!" You close your fist to mute him, cutting him off.

Aaron subtly rolls his eyes. He started doing so on his fifth visit when Aaron brought Jack and a few video games.

He told you that Jack's heard about your interest in a couple of games and wanted to play with you, but you know damn well Aaron bought the game for himself. Nonetheless, you entertained them by teaming up with Jack and obliterating Aaron. He vowed never to play against you ever again, at least not to your face.

"I would never know the pain and suffering that you went through. And somehow, even with that fact, a part of your life was in the palm of my hand. You had no control, but I did. So, instead of understanding the why, you hated the wrong who. And it's okay."

You take a sip from your straw, and a bubbly sensation fills you. Your tongue glides over your lips as you lean against the counter. "In short, for a man who's been through a lot, you know how to cope." A shrug ends your sentence, grabbing another bite of chow mein on your plate.

"Yeah, right," Aaron scoffs. The sincerity in your voice sparks something in him. It's giddy and tempting. But he can't possibly show the smile that's itching to spread his lips.

But his nonchalance may have triggered something in you because Aaron doesn't expect your next move. His neck felt like a snapped glow stick after you manually turned his head to face you—grabbing him by the space between his neck and chin. Aaron widens his eyes in the process.

"Listen here, you stubborn poopy head." You start, forehead creasing.

Aaron badly wanted to poke fun at your poor, intimidating skills, but he realized you didn't need any pointers just by the glare in your eyes.

"Peter Lewis got to your head, but that doesn't mean you were weak to let him. Yes, you fought through the influence of the drug heroically. Yes, you saved your agents and, most importantly, yourself. But it's still okay to be scared. It's okay that you feel broken. Who says broken things aren't great?"

It might be the sleep deprivation that's hitting Aaron, but he's very much enjoying your little fuse. How your words meant nothing like how you sound.

"That silver watch of yours—" you glance at his wrist "—has been broken for years, but I bet if you pawn it, it'll be more valuable than me. Antiques are expensive because they have unique histories. They survived beaten up, scratched, damaged, but still as beautiful as ever."

You're rambling, explaining more than you need to. Felt obligated to drill in his mind that despite the bad things, Aaron remains good. You're uncertain—clueless—as to why you felt the need to prove his praiseworthy, almost as if you're trying to convince yourself rather than him.

"From my observation, you're a sharper profiler despite all the things you went through. A part of you suffered and died in that house and many houses before. Of course, you'll be broken. You're a human being, Aaron. Act like one for Pete's sake!"

"I don't know whether you're being nice or mean." He chuckles with a mischievous grin, marveling at the way your eyes narrow as you look at him.

"I liked you better when you didn't talk." You tut, rolling your eyes.

For a moment, your senses heighten, and the simple brush of his hand against the skin over your wrist, as he takes your hold off him, sends billions of electricity throughout your body.

Aaron smiles—genuinely. "Thank you," He says softly, clearing his throat. His hand is still tight around your wrist. "You simply could've slammed the door the first time I knocked, but you always let me in. I appreciate you tolerating me."

You laugh, retracting your hands off his skin before you melt in his grasp. "I did not let you in the first time. You barged in like I'm some fugitive." You fix your posture on the stool beneath you, looking away.

His chuckle wakes the butterflies in your stomach, and you shove them right back down by stuffing your mouth with food.

Your eyes catch a glimpse of the time, "Y-you better go home and change before your son wonders why his father smells like Chinese food for Sunday brunch. Jack's a big fan of good 'ole syrupy pancakes, there's a good one by the bureau's building. Better hurry up and pick him up." It's amazing how much you almost choked and stuttered as you spoke, hoping that Aaron wouldn't question the way your demeanor changed.

Aaron takes one last bite before towering next to you, "Let me clean up. It's the least I can do for imposing half of your weekend." He insists, swiping the styrofoam off your hands.

"Glad you got manners," You nod approvingly, earning another chuckle from him, making sure you gave him enough space to move around without brushing any part of your body, or you wouldn't know what the brewing feeling in your chest would make you do.

You mindlessly peer at Aaron's broad shoulders and dark hair that looks so soft you wonder if it'll melt with your touch. You blink, catching yourself mid-swoon.

After a few minutes, Aaron bids you goodbye and you wish him well, asking to relay a short message to Jack.

"I think you're only nice to me because of Jack," He jokes, pivoting on the heel of his shoes to get one last glimpse of you.

You give him a tight smile, raising your brows as you shrug.

One visit left.

Thursday, May 5, 12:51 PM

The news said Mr. Scratch escaped prison. Peter Lewis is out and about, no doubt, planning serious harm against Aaron. You turn the TV off. The image shrinks into a small diamond spark 'til it leaves a dark screen.

Ninety-eight beats per minute are your normal, but you surmise it's about a hundred and twelve at the moment as your mind anxiously ruminates your not-so-favorite-unofficial patient's well-being.

You glance at your phone, debating whether to give him a call, but even if you gain the guts to do so, you don't have his number. Who knew that refusing personal contacts would backfire? Aaron can knock anytime, you said. It doesn't matter whether he texts or calls before, you said.

Now, you have no means of contacting him, and you refuse to resort to his ways—going through his file like he went through yours.

It's a shitty feeling.

You keep your fingers as far away from your mouth as possible, afraid you'll bite your nails to its quick. If Aaron was with you, he'd say something annoyingly witty about how your anxiety's too easy to read, and you'd be bantering back a remark about his tells that not many notice but sure slightly pisses him off that you know him like the back of your hand.

Eyes dart in the direction of your entryway, waiting for any distinctive sound only Aaron makes whenever he closes the door like a teenager coming home past curfew.

"This is driving me crazy!" You ruffle your own hair, rubbing your face in frustration.

Tempted to wait outside your door for Aaron to arrive, in need of a company. A once-in-a-lifetime bone-crushing hug, given by yours truly. Or open up the 1997 Old Forester bourbon on top of your shelf that Aaron's been eyeing for a year.

You need to know if he's okay. You need to see that he's okay. Physically, mentally, and emotionally okay.

No one ever knocked.

Friday, November 18, 2:33 PM

"Aren't you curious?"

You look at Rossi, "About?" Your eyebrows pinch together. You backtrack the entire session in your mind, trying to remember if there is anything you are supposed to be curious about.

There's none.

Rossi turns to face you, a hand emerging out of his pocket. "You're not curious where he's been? I've known him for years, and I've never been more curious about his whereabouts 'til now." The hand waves around as each syllable flows, and slices the air every emphasis he makes like a conductor of his emotions.

He usually talks with his hand whenever he's emotionally troubled, attempting to make a point to himself, justifying that his feelings are reasonable.

David Rossi has been your patient for years; you can write any and everything about him into a best-selling book.

"You said it yourself, Dave," You shrugged with your arms. "You've known him for years. He and I saw each other a couple of times during our physician-patient interaction. Any interaction we had after is just the two of us drowning in silence."

Aaron never knocked that day.

He hasn't redeemed his last visit for the past five months. While it isn't the longest time he's never stopped by, you're bitter about it.

You couldn't sleep for a week after Peter Lewis escaped prison. You were afraid that Aaron's name would flash across any type of screen or mark a headline on every article and newspaper. You had to take anxiety medication to stop your body from trembling whenever the thought of him crossed your mind.

It was hell.

The utter hopelessness and lack of courage teared you apart. The strangeness. The nonexistence. You don't reckon a conversation with Aaron that involves you and him. Only you or him or whatever depressing topic comes up. You're not even sure if you had actual conversations. Always wallowing in silence while sipping either scotch or coffee.

But you two had a deal. No catch. Not even feelings. Developing one for Aaron did not cross your mind when you granted him the power to bother you at any running time.

All of it is to say you wish you had known Aaron's last visit was, in fact, the last.

Rossi squints, "You're telling me the quietness you shared didn't matter? That his company didn't benefit you the same way it did for him?" He stands tall, pleased with his words.

It did.

Of course, it did.

And you loved every second of it.

Even if you realize it too late.

But you won't say that to Rossi. Or to anyone ever.

A sigh drops your shoulders. You give him a blank stare, letting his question hover for a moment. "What do you want me to say?" You continue packing up your things on your desk, breaking eye contact.

If you knew David Rossi like the back of your hand, David Rossi knew you like every family of the victims he managed to save.

Worried.

Heartbroken.

Hurt.

Aaron never told Rossi about any interactions with you after he was released from your care. It's information Rossi's only ever heard a confirmation from you. But he knew it from the moment Aaron came to work after his first session with you and couldn't seem to get the specific idea of you out of his head.

"We're doing everything we can to catch Peter Lewis. Aaron will be back, I promise."

Pause.

You fight your every single sense to remain composed. Hearing Aaron's name instantly made you crumble. The sound of it hitting your chest with such force you had to bite the tissue behind your closed lip. You badly wanted—needed to cry and throw a tantrum.

The inner ends of your brows lift up as you nod, "Good for you... and for him. I'll see you in two weeks, Dave." You dismiss, walking around your desk to push him out of your office.

"Wait, wait! Just listen!" You retract your hands off his back and let him face you. "He's okay. He and Jack are safe somewhere I, unfortunately, don't know." He tries to meet your gaze—successful. "But! But that's a good thing. Not knowing where he is while in protective custody is good. Safe. I just thought you'd want to know."

You nod, "Certainly a good information, Dave. But not really necessary." Your tongue subtly swipes the bottom of your lips. "Aa—Agent Hotchner was a patient. Anything outside of that is not my business." Liar.

Rossi tucks his mouth into a thin line, nodding. "See you in two weeks, kid."

Tuesday, March 27, 6:12 PM

It's a nice Spring.

Your hair dances like the breeze is music as you trudge back to your apartment against the rush hour sidewalk traffic.

A year and a half.

You moved to a different place since then.

Moved on— from something that never existed, but really, your old complex just ran out of business.

You couldn't possibly move on, even if you wanted to.

"Good evening, Mrs. Willows," You smile at the old lady as she steps on the base of the stairs.

Mrs. Willows was old, close to ninety. And she's the best landlady you've ever met.

She smiles back, "Oh, just in time!" She waddles towards you, scraping the soles of her flats against the creaky floorboards.

"Did you need anything, Mrs—"

The old lady doesn't let you finish when she yanks you back up the stairs. Confusion fills you, but if you are being honest, you're more amazed by her speed. You didn't know it was possible for her to have that much energy.

"There's this handsome boy knocking at your door earlier. So, I let him in."

You dig your feet on one of the steps, halting her. "Mrs. Willows, you let a stranger in my house?" Your brows knit.

She looks at you, "Well, I figured it's one of your patients." She shrugs.

"I wasn't expecting any home visit today." You announce, peeking at the top of the stairs. "And I would've been home if there was…"

You excuse yourself, cautiously walking towards your door. The floor plan is different from your old apartment. But everything still felt the same.

The anxiety of a random stranger going through your place left you rushing to the living room. You don't exactly let any random patient inside your home. It's usually the profilers that seem to have a liking to you that lucked the privilege to visit your home at any given time.

"I'm sorry, but you're gonna have to set an appointment at the clinic—" you abruptly stop, blinking.

Aaron Hotchner.

He's sat on the armchair, only lifting his gaze after he'd closed the book you were reading before you decided to step out to run some errands.

He is wearing a navy blue quarter zip sweater and a white shirt, peeking from under. It's paired with loose-fitting gray casual pants. Like his closet had an upset stomach and threw up all over him.

The bags under his eyes are almost invisible. It used to be a tint of greenish purple. A proof of his late nights and stressful days. He's caught up with sleep for a while now.

His hair, a little longer than you're accustomed to, somehow made him look young and boyish. Probably why Mrs. Willows referred to him as a boy.

It's quite an image. Not one you'd expect to see upon opening your front door, but you mentally admit liking it.

He looks refreshing and well-rested.

"I heard you started your own practice?" He didn't mean to form it as a question, tongue-tied by nervousness. He flashes an awkward, subtle smile, dipping his hands into his pockets.

Your lashes flutter like butterflies gliding through the soft wind of Spring, except you're struggling to go against the breeze, winded by the city pollution.

"H-have you eaten?" You ask, snapping out of your trance as you head to the kitchen. Great. A question for a question. You're as nervous as he is, and you don't feel the need to hide it, though you aren't inclined to admit it.

He chuckles, and it still makes you melt after a year of trying to remember how it sounds, "That's your first question? Not 'What are you doing here?' or 'How did you find me?'" He follows you to the kitchen, it's a lot smaller than the one at your old place but you had a dinner table now, which still feels like an upgrade.

You turn and face him, leaning against the counter, "I'll just charge the entire team on their next visit. But I have a feeling David's the culprit." You blurt, earning raised brows from Aaron. "Oh? They didn't tell you? Your team unofficially designated me as their psychiatrist. I guess they also kept an important information from you." You twist on your feet to focus on the produce you carefully picked in hopes someone would join you for dinner.

But you didn't expect Aaron to be that person.

"Are you mad at me?"

"No!" You almost stumble as you spin back to face him. "I'm in no position to be mad. If a patient doesn't need my services, then I have no say." You lick the lower of your lip, biting it as soon as your tongue glides past. Heat pooling in the back of your eyes.

Aaron steps closer, "I didn't mean to—"

"I told you I'm not mad."

"You're really going to lie to an FBI profiler?"

"Former," You correct him, sniffing as you fight the tears from rolling down your cheeks. Your head's tilted up, almost facing the ceiling. Anger and frustration hammer into your chest.

He rolls his eyes, trying to catch yours. "Former, right." He parrots with a little more sarcasm. "I'm sorry I didn't tell you anything... I needed to make sure Jack's safe." He softly speaks, making sure you understand every syllable.

It's your turn to roll your eyes, blinking and letting a tear fall in the process. "You don't have to apologize for protecting your son. I'm not evil, Hotchner. I'll do the same thing for my family. I'm completely indifferent about your disappearance, and i-it's allergy season. I'm fine." You wipe the tear stain off your face.

"I missed hearing you say my name like it's a foul word." Aaron smiles so brightly you thought you were dead and some divine was just using his image to guide you across.

"Seriously? That's what you took from it?" You shake your head, turning your back to him once more. "I feel bad for Jack now that you're a full-time father."

Aaron laughs, and by definition. "Oh, he's had enough of me." His eyebrows jump on his forehead, drifting his eyes aside as if he's replaying every instance Jack's complained to him.

You laugh, too. A full hearty laugh that seems to source from the casualty between the two of you despite the irritation you felt.

It's still the same. The ease. The effortless flow and connection despite anxious nerves. It felt like talking to an old friend you've known longer than you are alive.

You nibble on your lips, "So? You're off protective custody, or do I have to call you Brad?" You quiz airily, back still facing him to hide any form of amusement that's forming on your facial features.

"Brad?" He scoffs, crossing his arms and knitting his brows. He sounds about offended as if you'd disrespected his entire bloodline.

"Yeah, you look like a Brad to me." You remember a story from the women in the BAU. One that they happily shared one evening at Rossi's before they all begged to be added to your list of patients once you start your private practice.

Aaron lets out another scoff. "No, I'm just Aaron. Aaron to everyone. Aaron to you." He grumbles something under his breath that you don't hear, but a clear indication of his disapproval regarding the name.

You stifle a giggle, "Well, just Aaron. Consider yourself lucky that I got a free slot. I would've been with a patient by now." You state.

"Am I really just a patient to you?" Aaron inquires from behind you. He attentively observes for any subtle movement or expression in your voice. There's a longing look in his eyes that you aren't aware of. A frown drops his lips as he adds, "I at least thought we were friends."

"Mm," You hum a chuckle, "More like my stalker. But sure, we'll go with yours... friends—"

He spins you by the waist, and you're not sure if your initial thought of dreaming is ending anytime soon as your body tenses under his hold.

A small yelp squeaks out of you, hands flying behind you on the counter as if to hold yourself up from your wobbly feet. And you're certain both of you can hear the loud pulse on your carotid.

"Hotchner, what the hell?!" You chastise, pulling back, but to no avail. Caged and pinned by his strength, and you're too baffled to react accordingly.

"I'd like to redeem my tenth visit." Aaron smiles from ear to ear. You never thought it possible for a stern-faced man to ever grin this wide. To ever be this bright and bubbly.

Aaron keeps the two of you that way for a few minutes. His face is a few inches from yours. You can hear him calculating in his head.

Only the busy street outside and one of your neighbor's loud TV fills the silence.

"Your pupils are dilated." Aaron grins mischievously. He further scans your face, the same way he did when he used to be your patient, reading you like it's his job to know every micro-movement and expression you make.

Your eyes widen, "Stop—" Your voice barely comes out, breath hitching halfway through your throat. "—profiling me." The space between you and his body feels suffocatingly good. It's making you dizzy.

"Usually, you're composed, but you can barely look me in the eyes." His hands remain on your hips, and every twitch of it makes you stiff like a statue. "Am I making you nervous?" He quips wittily.

Like a switch, your heart rate steadies, and his image becomes clear.

It's Aaron Hotchner.

Just Aaron, he said.

Warmth surges through your veins. You stare at the grin on his face.

Your head tilts, and you blink excruciatingly slow. "Are you trying to ask me out, Hotchner?" You mirror the trail of his eyes like a map.

Aaron beams like he'd won the lottery. Sending you impulsive thoughts such as kissing the smile off his face.

It's tempting and nauseating.

And if he doesn't stop, you just might.

"Ten."

Your eyebrows merge in confusion, "What?"

"Ten dates," He breathes as he looks you in the eye. "Let me take you out on ten dates. Then you can decide if I'm just one of your many stubborn patients or if I can be more. Let me make it up to you in ten dates. Please." He implores, hopeful, or rather knowing that you'd say yes.

And he'd be right.

All you want at that moment is to say yes.

But teasing him won't hurt, at least not you.

"And what's in it for me?" You try your best not to smile as you taunt him.

Aaron rolls his eyes, but his grin tugs the corner of his lips up. "You get unlimited access to me?"

"Wow, that's... very compelling." And you burst out laughing, folding on your stomach as you lean against his chest. You inhale, "Sorry, I expected better negotiation. Uh, any catch?" You say between chuckles.

He shakes his head, "Just one condition," He's chuckling now, too. Not immune from your contagious giggles. "I spend most of my days with you. Even if it's just sitting in silence. I want it to be with you." He lets go of one of your hips and tucks a strand behind your ear.

The giggles die down a bit, gazing at him with reverie. You nod after a few seconds, squeezing his arms. You lift yourself, tiptoeing, closing the gap.

You leave a quick, soft peck on his lips, smiling as you get back on your feet.

Aaron smiles, and you're as ecstatic as he is.

Another nod fills your chest with utter joy as you breathe in euphoria.

"Ten's a good number."