#Fabric Interconnect

[serpentface]

Retconned Wardi firearms- a basic handgun, a highly decorative ceremonial handgun (belonging to Faiza), and a lance-gun.

Gun tech has officially been nerfed down to hand cannons (press F) (this has been a long time coming but I'd been fallacy of sunk costs-ing myself out of retconning).

Handguns are held similarly to a shotgun, with the butt pressed into the user's shoulder, one hand gripping under the barrel, and the other free to ignite the gunpowder. These represent the most advanced firearms in contemporary usage, both in make and in their use of uniform iron projectiles built to match the gun's bore for greater range and efficiency. Lance-guns are the more basal form, usually larger and mounted with the pole held over the shoulder, and are most effectively used by two people (one to hold and aim, one to light the gunpowder).

The spread of firearms is currently mostly limited to the Eastern Inner Seaway peoples (with some additional distribution via overland trade), and actual manufacture of hand cannons and gunpowder at Significant scale is limited to the region's core powers.

The reason for this limited spread is partially due to specific elements of the technology's history. Gunpowder was first synthesized by Burri alchemists and considered to be the discovery of the legendary divine weapon + solar fire of the deity Inanariya, and its formula (along with techniques for ideally refining its components) remained a closely guarded state secret. It was used predominantly in priestly contexts to generate flame and explosive sounds (in conjunction with earlier practices of generating multicolored flames with use of other chemicals), then integrated into combustible weaponry in the forms of fire lances, which would eventually develop into early handcannons.

The treatment of gunpowder as a guarded sacred or semi-sacred substance continued with Wardi adoption, where knowledge of its making is considered a closed rite. It's name (inya tsatsul or just tsatsul, a derived adoption of the Burri iñazatsūya) still reflects a divine solar association (the Burri word means 'sun's thunder', the Wardi 'inya' invokes the sun, 'tsatsul' is an adapted loanword and has no meaning independent of the substance itself), though its priestly use is now predominantly associated with the firearm'ed Odonii (rather than priests of the solar Face Inyamache). The composition of gunpowder can no longer be regarded as a Secret by any means, though efforts to obscure the methods of its creation are still moderately successful and has kept knowledge of gunpowder manufacture more limited than the total sphere of firearm usage itself.

The actual strongest limiting factor of firearm usage is the rarity of natural saltpeter deposits necessary for making gunpowder. The practice of actively producing saltpeter via nitraries has not been developed anywhere in the setting, and all is instead obtained via natural sources. These sources are rare and limited within the current spread of firearm technology, and result in gunpowder being a limited and expensive substance to produce. The weapons themselves are also very expensive to manufacture (a good quality steel SWORD is far too material-cost prohibitive for most people to own), particularly high quality firearms designed for use with standardized ammunition.

These guns are also very basal, and logistical difficulties in their use (weight, very slow loading and firing speed, high visibility, Relatively low reach and accuracy) along with the restrictive cost of production has kept firearms far from rendering conventional weaponry, armor, and projectiles obsolete (even within the societies that have access to them). They are still, however, very devastating in use within their contemporary context, particularly in that high quality guns have a longer range than the best arrow-based projectiles, and utterly negate most contemporary forms of armor at close range.

[turiyatitta]

The Cosmic Symphony

Rethinking the Chain of EventsIn the realm of philosophy, we often view the universe as a logical sequence of events where causes lead to effects, neatly arranging our reality into an orderly timeline. This classical cause-and-effect paradigm has long governed the way we think about the nature of existence. But what if we looked at this differently? What if cause and effect were more than just a…

[ssa-dado]

24 - Logos

Aaron Hotchner x fem!bau!reader Genre: fluff, hurt/comfort, SMUT Summary: A few weeks ago, Aaron had read a passage from Plato's Symposium - "And when one of them meets the other half, the actual half of himself... the pair are lost in an amazement of love and friendship and intimacy, and one will not be out of the other's sight, even for a moment." He hadn’t fully understood it. Not until he found himself sitting on your couch at 3 a.m. Warnings: + 18 MINORS DNI (I will ground you) alcohol consumption, some cuss words here and there, VERY GRAPHIC AND DESCRIPTIVE SEX because I'm a weirdo, it's basically porn with philosophy (not in the middle of it - of course - I'm not that weird), dirty talk, unprotected sex, piv, oral sex and a lot of pining. Hotch is a whore. Word Count: 18.9k Dado's Corner: I don’t know, I’m both proud and deeply insecure about posting this. It’s my first time writing smut. Ever. I have no idea if it’s good. No idea if it’s too much or too little - if I over-explained things or if I didn’t explain enough. It’s their first time actually sober, and they’re supposed to be a little cringe - uncertain, hesitant, not entirely sure what to do with each other or where they fit and that’s deliberate. I wanted it to feel real - flawed, messy, something that isn’t just perfect and seamless, but human. There’s good and bad, there’s laughter and uncertainty, there are tears of joy and tears of fear. And I just hope it feels like something.

masterlist ; mandatory first part because if you skip this, you'll be utterly lost and it's not my fault

In Stoic philosophy, logos represents the rational principle that governs the universe, uniting logic, physics, and ethics into a cohesive worldview. It is the divine reason permeating all existence, structuring nature according to order and necessity.

In Stoic logic, logos manifests as the foundation of rational thought, guiding human reasoning toward clarity and truth. Mastery of logic enables individuals to distinguish between valid judgments and deceptive impressions, ensuring alignment with reality.

In physics, logos is the active, organizing force (pneuma) that sustains and directs the cosmos. Everything unfolds according to its rational design, making the universe an interconnected, purposeful whole rather than a realm of randomness.

In ethics, living in accordance with logos means harmonizing one’s will with nature’s rational order. By cultivating wisdom, self-discipline, and virtue, individuals align their actions with universal reason, achieving tranquility and moral integrity in a world shaped by necessity and change.

Happiness is a complex concept - or at least, it became one once thinkers like Aristotle started overanalyzing it.

He distinguished between fleeting pleasure (hedonia) and deeper fulfillment (eudaimonia), and ever since, that debate has been stitched into the fabric of western culture.

Now, most people unknowingly follow this hierarchical model of happiness, never realizing it originated from a handful of bored, existentially troubled men desperately trying to intellectualize their own misery.

Maybe that’s why it’s considered completely normal to ask if someone is really happy - because centuries of philosophy decided that happiness alone isn’t enough – it had to be the right kind of happiness.

And yet, even you weren’t immune to that trap. Because standing there, dancing with Aaron, you admitted to yourself that you were, in fact, truly happy.

Not just for yourself, but for him - for the man who, for the first time since signing his divorce papers a few months ago finally looked light. Not weighed down. Not lost in some invisible battle in his mind. Just… happy.

And the moment felt so sweet, a microcosm where locking eyes with each other was ordinary conduct in such close proximity, where neither of you felt the need to temper that undeniable - if slightly terrifying - undercurrent of chemistry.

Just the understanding that this was safe, that this was allowed.

And somehow, that made it even sweeter.

Not just the warmth of it, not just the effortless way you fit into this tight space together, but the inescapable fact that your probably borderline-manipulative plan to drag him out of his self-imposed exile - had actually worked.

"Now you have to tell me how you managed to get not only Rossi but Hotch to join us tonight, sweet Teach - what kind of sorcery did you pull?" Penelope beamed, not even giving you a second to breathe after you’d opened the door to your apartment.

Ever since she got shot and still struggled with being alone in her house, the two of you had built this little ritual - getting ready together, spending a few hours just the two of you in your apartment before a night out.

A win-win, really, considering you also took your time settling into this place, figuring out how to make it feel like home. Penelope had even been the one to help you unpack your very last box, and now this little tradition had taken root.

She brought the wine, you experimented with vegan appetizers - some more successful than others - and the two of you would rant, gossip, and talk about everything and nothing. But, most importantly, Penelope took on the herculean mission of wrangling your ridiculously high-maintenance team into one place for a night out.

It was a diplomatic nightmare. The venue had to be quiet enough for Spencer but still have music good enough for Derek, serve whatever mocktail JJ was obsessed with that month, and somehow accommodate Emily’s inevitable last-minute curveballs - which, incidentally, was how Spencer found himself at a drag show for the first time.

Shockingly, he’d been asking to go back to that bar ever since.

You, meanwhile, were more like Penelope’s unpaid secretary. She desperately needed one, given the sheer level of effort it took to coordinate this mess.

"You asked, and I delivered," you said, shrugging. "Told Rossi that Hotch was coming, told Aaron that Rossi was coming too - he actually turned out to be much easier to persuade."

"I wonder why… oh, right," Penelope sing-songed, eyes gleaming. "Big Bossman has a soft spot for you, smiley little thing."

You rolled your eyes. "The fact that we’re friends doesn’t change that he is infuriatingly stubborn once he makes up his mind. So annoying."

"Nine years of ‘friendship’" Penelope quipped, stretching the word out suspiciously.

"Actually, it’s ten," you corrected, sipping your wine as you settled onto your kitchen stool.

Penelope gasped - full dramatic hand-to-chest gasp. "Oh my STARS and MOONS! Ten years?! And you didn’t tell me?! What did you do? What did he do? Just the two of you , alone somewhere private, existing in your natural secretive habitats like the little pretty, reserved, woodland creatures you two are… especially now that he’s divor-"

"Whoa, whoa, slow down, Pen!" you cut her off before she could run that train straight off the rails. "How many times have I told you we're-"

But no. She didn’t let you finish.

"Oh, Teach!" she grinned, eyes sparkling enough to concern you. "I was just suggesting you two do something to celebrate… something you two love to do. You know, stay up all night bonding over files… bending over files…"

You choked.

Actually choked.

Wine went straight up your nose, burned your throat, and splattered all over you, going everywhere.

Your counter.

Your floor.

Your poor, innocent, pristine white pants.

Penelope screamed - but not in horror, in absolute, unhinged delight.

"OH MY GOD," she cackled, slapping a hand against your back like that would somehow help you breathe again. "I HAVE NEVER BROKEN YOU SO FAST."

You wheezed, still coughing. "Penelope-"

She wiped a fake tear from her eye, grinning. "Oh no, sweet pea. You absolutely just got - wait." She paused mid-celebration, tilting her head as if she had just made a discovery.

Then, in a tone far too calm for the amount of damage she was about to inflict - "Much like I imagine Aaron Hotchner could do."

A horrible, inhuman noise clawed its way out of your throat - your last dying breath, probably.

Penelope lost it. Full-body laughter, already snatching a towel but making zero effort to hide the criminal glint in her eyes.

"I’m just saying," she went on, barely containing herself, "you and Mr. Tall, Dark, and Emotionally Repressed have this whole agonizingly slow-burn, will-they-won’t-they, tragic yearning thing going on, and you know I’m right."

You groaned, dabbing furiously at the stain. "There is nothing slow-burn about a decade-long friendship."

"Aha! So you admit it’s a burn!" Penelope beamed, pointing at you like she had just cracked a conspiracy wide open.

The more you dabbed, the worse it got - just like this conversation, apparently. "Oh, no, I never-”

"All I’m saying is," she steamrolled over you, completely unfazed, "the energy you two radiate is so thick I could slather it on a bagel. Toasted chemistry. Smothered in slow-burn spread. One time I saw him look at you like you personally hand-crafted happiness from scratch just for him. Like you reached into the fabric of the universe and said, ‘Here you go, Hotchner, a reason to believe in joy again.’"

You paused, glaring at her. "That is insane."

She ignored you, fully in the zone now. "And don’t even get me started on the way you look at him when he isn’t paying attention."

You looked at him completely normally. Totally neutral. A textbook, regulation-approved gaze.

Even Anderson looked at him with more fervor than you ever did - and as far as you knew, he wasn’t even into men.

You scoffed, crossing your arms. "And how exactly do I look at him, Penelope? Enlighten me."

She grinned - dangerously - and leaned in like she was about to drop the biggest bombshell of your life. "Like you already know what he looks like naked and are trying very, very hard not to think about it."

You froze.

For exactly half a second - which, unfortunately, was half a second too long.

Penelope’s entire face dropped. Eyes huge. Mouth hanging open. A moment of stunned silence. And then-

"OH. MY. GOD."

Your stomach plummeted. "Penelope, don’t-"

"OH MY GOD. YOU DID."

"Penelope," you tried again, desperately attempting to rein in the chaos - but, to your credit, you did at least try to keep your voice level.

"JESUS, MARY, AND EMILY PRENTISS, YOU TOTALLY DID THE HORIZONTAL TANGO WITH AARON HOTCHNER. YOU SNEAKY LITTLE MINX. HOW DARE YOU HIDE THIS FROM ME?!"

"Penelope, for the love of-" you started, but of course she chimed in again.

"WHEN?! WHERE?! HOW?! DETAILS, WOMAN!"

You exhaled through your nose, dragging a hand down your face because there was no getting out of this.

"Once," you muttered. "Nine years ago."

Silence.

Then, with the most scandalized expression you've ever witnessed on her face, she shrieked, "ONLY ONCE?!"

You threw your hands up. "Yes, only once! And never again."

"WHY ONLY ONCE?!" she shrieked, as if you had just admitted to committing the single greatest injustice known to mankind.

You exhaled, bracing yourself, hoping that a little honesty might finally get her to calm down. "Because, at the time… I might have had a bit of a crush on him. And we were coworkers. And it wasn’t exactly… ethic-"

"FUCK THE ETHICAL!" she screamed, thrilled by the sheer scandal of it all.

You should have seen that coming."Penelope!"

She flailed her arms so violently she nearly knocked over her wine glass, eyes wide "You had a crush on him?! ON HOTCH?! AND YOU ONLY DID IT ONCE?! Oh, I cannot with you right now. You are so infuriating sometimes! You have the emotional restraint of a saint, and I do not mean that as a compliment."

"We were both drunk, and it was a mistake. It happened, we moved on, and that was the end of it. We’re friends, and that’s all it’s ever going to be." you said, unwavering. " Honestly, I don’t even think about it anymore - sometimes, I even laugh about it."

Penelope squinted, gears visibly turning in that devious head of hers, already cooking up something absolutely unhinged. "Mmm-hmm. Okay. Fine. Sure. Let’s pretend I accept that. But-"

Oh no.

"-if it were to happen again, hypothetically speaking, do you think it would be even better now that he’s aged like a fine, expensive, top-shelf wine? And, and, anddd - follow-up question - on a purely objective, scientific level - how would you rate him? You know, visually?"

"Penelope!" you groaned, but unfortunately, your traitorous brain had already started answering the question.

Yes.

And no comment.

"Okay, okay, fine, no ratings," she huffed dramatically, rolling her eyes so hard you were surprised she didn't sprain something. "But-"

This was it. Your moment. Time to end this madness with a good old, firm, satisfying -"No."

But, of course, that would have been too good to be true.

She continued "-would you say he's more on the impressively sized side or-"

"Penelope, please." You were already suffering.

She waved you off like your dignity was a minor inconvenience to her scientific research. "Listen, I’m just saying," she went on, tone now fully deranged, "the man carries himself like he’s got something to be confident about. Big hands, big energy, big…"

You froze. "Do not finish that sentence."

"BIG, HUGE D-"

Time to draw the line.

You shot up so fast your chair went flying, rattling against the floor as you grabbed your phone.

Penelope screeched. "Wait - what are you doing?!"

You scrolled, thumb unwavering, and hit call. "Giving you a direct source."

Her soul left her body. "NO. NO, YOU WOULD NOT-"

You absolutely would.

And you did.

"Come on," you said, completely deadpan, as the dial tone rang. "It’s just Aaron."

Penelope malfunctioned. She glitched like a corrupted file. She stared at you, horrified, mouth moving but no sound coming out.

"He’s just 'Aaron' to you?" she whispered, her hands flailed before slamming onto the table as if physically stabilizing herself. "No last name? No title? Just oh, you know, my casual little ex-lover, Aaron? Just ‘hello, this is a man I have been biblically familiar with, Aaron?’ Just ‘we had sex nine years ago, and now he’s simply Aaron, like we’re old college roommates and not two people who have seen each other naked’"

…Hmm. Well. Yes?

To be fair, you’d never really thought about it before. It just… happened. One day, he was Hotch, then - sometime after that night - he was Aaron. And after that, you never really stopped.

No big discussion, no conscious decision - just a shift so seamless that you hadn’t even registered it until right now, in this very moment, with Penelope practically having a full-body breakdown in your kitchen.

Not important. Moving on.

Because, frankly, you had bigger concerns - like how you were about to experience instant, irreversible consequences for your actions, since the call, after one, two, three rings-

Connected.

"Hello?" His voice came through the line - slightly huffed, a little breathless, like he’d just moved across the room.

"You took a while to pick up," you said casually - a joke, a throwaway comment.

There was a pause. A beat.

And then, in that deadly flat, unbothered tone of his, he answered, "I was still in the shower."

You froze.

Penelope froze.

Somewhere, on the opposite side of your living room wall, your elderly neighbor Mrs. Lee - who had been subtly not subtly eavesdropping through the thin drywall of your apartment - probably froze.

You could feel Penelope vibrating beside you, gripping your arm so tightly she was cutting off circulation, meanwhile, your brain was running in circles, slamming against metaphorical walls, and screaming into the void because-

Aaron in the shower.

Aaron, freshly out of the shower.

Aaron, picking up the phone, standing there, probably half-naked, hair wet-

No. Nope. Absolutely not.

You leaned back against the counter, schooling your expression into something completely unfazed. "Well, now I feel bad for interrupting."

"I doubt that," he said dryly. "Is something wrong?"

"Not at all. It’s just that Penelope had something very important to ask you," you said, glancing over at her with the most innocent, borderline sadistic smile you could muster.

"I - what - no, I don’t-" she sputtered, frantically shaking her head and waving her hands.

Aaron, still completely unaware of the impending disaster, said, "What is it, Penelope?"

Dead silence.

Garcia looked like she had been struck by divine retribution.

"Go on," you mouthed, biting back a grin. "Ask him."

She opened her mouth. Closed it. Opened it again.

Nothing.

Just the sound of sheer existential regret.

"Garcia?" Aaron prompted, his tone patient, if slightly concerned.

"I - um - hi, sir Sir," she finally managed, voice several octaves higher than usual. "I - I just - well, you know - um. How was your shower?"

You slapped a hand over your mouth to keep from screaming.

Aaron, completely unfazed, just answered like this was a normal human interaction,"It was fine."

"Good! That’s great!" Garcia blurted, nodding furiously at no one in particular. "Love a good shower! Love hygiene! So important! Huge fan of cleanliness! Showering - what a concept! Water? Incredible. Soap? Revolutionary. Scrubbing? Life-changing. Anyway, I have to go bye!"

And then she hung up so fast it was a miracle she didn’t break the phone.

You just stared at her.

She just stared back.

Then, in perfect sync -

You both screamed, laughing.

"You traitor!" Penelope wheezed, still half-laughing, half-mortified.

"You were the one who wanted answers!" you gasped, nearly crying from laughter.

"Not from him directly!" she shrieked, burying her face in her hands like that could somehow reverse time - but she was laughing anyway, because this was, undeniably, the funniest and most horrifying thing that had ever happened.

"Well, I just saved you the effort," you teased.

She ripped her hands away from her face, wild-eyed. "You made me ask our boss about his shower."

"You made me listen to your entire dissertation on whether or not he’s impressively sized - I feel like we’re even."

You still somehow winced thinking back about it.

She groaned, collapsing against the counter. "I will never recover from this."

"Oh, I’m sure you absolutely will," you said, reaching for the wine bottle. "Do you want more wine?"

She lifted her head just enough to nod. Begrudgingly.

You poured, sliding her glass across the counter. Then, with the kind of magnanimous generosity only wine-fueled chaos could inspire, you added, "And - because I am a good friend - I will allow you one question about that night. One. With a detail."

Penelope snapped upright faster than the speed of light, gasping. "Oh, this is the best day of my life."

You chuckled, shaking your head, sipping from your own glass too. "Make it count."

She took a deep breath, steadied herself, and then, she leaned in and whispered- "Was it at least good enough that you'd do it sober?"

You nearly choked, again. "Penelope!"

She lifted a hand. "No, no, no, this is a very fair, very respectable question."

Sure, a question that required another sip of wine to be answered, especially because at this point you literally had nothing more to lose. "Penelope, I would do it sober, wide awake, fully caffeinated, after eight hours of sleep, in a well-lit room, with a legally binding contract ensuring I’d remember every single second."

Penelope screamed.

"OH MY GOD," she wailed, collapsing onto the counter. "THIS IS MY NEW FAVORITE NIGHT."

You took another sip, completely unfazed, as she flailed so hard she nearly launched herself off the stool.

"I NEED TO LIE DOWN," she gasped, gripping onto the counter for support. "I NEED TO CALL EMILY. JJ – OH SWEET LITTLE JJ – SHE’S IN NEW ORLEANS SHE DOESN’T EVEN KNOW”

"You need to calm down," you deadpanned.

She pointed at you, accusatory, still half-breathless from screaming. "You were gonna take this to the grave. You were gonna let me die not knowing this. ME. PENELOPE GARCIA. The person who has kept all of your secrets and asked for nothing in return except unfiltered chaos."

"I was absolutely going to take this to the grave," you confirmed, refilling your wine.

She let out a dramatic gasp. "YOU MONSTER."

You shrugged. "You survived."

She slammed a hand on the table. "You know who wouldn’t have survived?"

You tilted your head. "Who?"

She leaned in, eyes glinting. "Aaron Hotchner."

You made a low, strangled noise in the back of your throat.

"Oh, he absolutely wouldn’t have survived if he knew this just came out of your mouth," she continued, giddy, thriving off the absolute chaos she had unleashed. Then, dead serious - "Text him right now and tell him."

You slammed your wine down. "I am definetely not texting him that."

"Why not?!" she howled.

"Because I told you - I’m never doing that. Ever. I’m serious. If I could go back in time and relive that sober? Sure. But not. Now."

She narrowed her eyes, assessing, calculating.

"Okay, okay, alright then - next question." she said too fast, taking a sip like she was preparing for battle. "Do you think he’d do it sober?"

You opened your mouth - but nothing came out. Because you hadn’t actually thought about that before.

Penelope gasped so loudly that you were surprised the walls didn’t shake. "OH MY GOD, YOU DON’T KNOW."

"I-"

"OH MY GOD, WHAT IF HE THINKS ABOUT IT, WHAT IF HE REGRETS NOT DOING IT AGAIN."

"Penelope," you said slowly, carefully, " you know what? I have reached my limit. This conversation is getting put away. We are going to the bathroom, I am curling your hair, and we are talking about something else."

"You know, Teach," she mused, stretching luxuriously as she grabbed her wine glass. "You have a really weird way of showing love."

You took a slow sip of wine, watching her over the rim of your glass. “I agree - it’s because I hate you just as much as I love you, PG. Opposites aren’t really opposites, you know? They kind of fold into each other - love, hate… same fire, same burn. Maybe that’s why it’s so hard to tell where one ends and the other begins.”

You were actually proud of this philosophical pearl of wisdom. Penelope? Not so much.

She cut you off immediately. "Oh my GOD, this explains so much. This is exactly why you and Hotch looked like you were about to fuck in the middle of the bullpen yesterday."

"PENELOPE."

She pointed at you, completely unbothered. "OH NO NO NO - I was sitting there, minding my own business, when suddenly you two were arguing about the profile like you were in some kind of battle for dominance, standing way too close, talking way too low, making way too much direct eye contact."

"We were disagreeing about the profile."

"YOU WERE HAVING A MENTAL THREESOME WITH THE PROFILE BETWEEN YOU."

You let your head drop onto the counter.

She kept going. "It was totally foreplay - and then, mid-argument, he even took you to his office."

You lifted your head just enough to glare at her. "We went to his office to continue the discussion in private."

"Sure..." she grinned, skipping toward the bathroom. "Fine, fine. But just so you know," she threw a look over her shoulder, "if Hotch ever does take you to his office for anything other than work, I expect a full report."

Oh fucking hell.

"I hope your curls come out uneven," you muttered, grabbing the curling iron.

"I hope you get stuck in an elevator with him," she shot back.

You narrowed your eyes. "I hope you trip in your heels tonight."

She grinned wider. "I hope Hotch sits across from you at the bar and just stares at your lips the whole time."

You scoffed. "I hope your mascara smudges so bad you look like a raccoon by the end of the night."

She perked up. "I hope you two sneak away to the bathrooms at the bar, and you have to keep quiet while he-"

"PENELOPE."

She continued, undeterred, "I hope he backs you up against the bar, leans down all serious like he’s about to tell you something important - and then just whispers the filthiest thing you’ve ever heard."

"I hope you break a heel on the way there and have to borrow one of Morgan’s sneakers."

"I hope he offers you his jacket and you realize it still smells like his cologne and suddenly you’re thinking about it again."

"I hope you stub your toe so hard you rethink everything."

"I hope he says your name in that low voice of his, and for a split second, you remember exactly what he sounded like nine years ago-"

"I hope you spill something on your dress and have to go home early."

She cackled, victorious. "I hope you wake up in his bed and don't regret a single thing."

And maybe, exactly because the two of you had this conversation, you shouldn’t have agreed to go to the bar together in a single car – hers.

You should have seen this coming.

Indeed, as you and Aaron made your way back to the bar, drinks in hand, you spotted Derek and Penelope approaching with a very specific look on their faces.

Derek clapped a hand on your shoulder and said, "Teach - Babygirl had too many drinks to drive, I’m bringing her back home, can-"

Aaron didn’t even let him finish.

"I’ll give the professor a ride," he said immediately, smooth, confident, like he had already made up his mind before Derek even spoke. "You go, Morgan. See you tomorrow morning."

You barely had time to process how utterly inevitable this was - how there was no escaping the tension that had been building up all night until the very moment you stepped out of his car and reached your apartment door.

And then - Penelope smirked.

The smuggest, most self-satisfied, most evil little smirk in existence. You hoped, deeply and sincerely, that this wasn’t her plan all along - but judging by the way she waved so innocently as Derek dragged her away, eyes twinkling like the devil himself-

Yeah. You were doomed.

You were doomed the second you and Aaron stepped out of the bar and, with zero effort, he pushed open the massive, heavy wooden door like it weighed nothing at all. Casual. Effortless. Like he hadn’t even thought about it.

Just naturally stepped aside, one hand braced firmly on the doorframe, the other resting lightly against the door, waiting – watching - as you walked past him.

You were even more doomed when you reached his car and - of course - he opened the passenger seat for you too.

Didn’t even let you reach for it yourself.

Just beat you to it with ease, pulling it open - but instead of walking away immediately, he lingered for half a second longer, his hand still resting on the handle, holding it just firmly enough so he could be the one to shut you in himself.

Like this wasn’t already a lost art. Like this was just how things were supposed to be.

To top it all off, he got in, and as he backed out of the parking spot, his arm reached behind your headrest, fingers resting exactly there, his body leaning in just slightly closer as he turned to glance over his shoulder.

You had never wanted to fight for your life more.

Not because of the closeness.

Not because of the way his short-sleeved polo shifted, muscles tensing subtly, biceps flexing just enough as he turned the wheel -

No.

It was because he chose this exact moment to mutter, in that low, distracted, completely serious voice, something about the structural failures of public infrastructure.

"Parking lots aren’t properly illuminated," he murmured, half to himself, half to you, as he pulled out of the space - leaning in just enough for you to be wrapped in the warmth of his woody cologne. "Streetlamps are too far apart - against regulation. Visibility’s compromised."

You blinked.

It was so incredibly Hotchner of him to be thinking about streetlamp regulations at a time like this that you nearly lost your mind.

But you couldn’t even react, because then he turned on the car radio. And instead of some normal, pre-set station, it booted right into his most recent activity.

Which meant - of course - it immediately picked up in the middle of whatever custom CD he had been listening to on the way to the bar.

You had exactly one second to register the unfamiliar tune before it clicked - this was from whatever Broadway musical he was currently obsessed with.

Oh, he was such a loser.

You turned your head toward him, but Aaron - unfazed, unbothered - simply reached forward and turned the volume down to a casual, background level.

Like this was all perfectly normal.

Like you hadn’t just caught him.

"Aaron." You bit back a smirk.

He kept his eyes firmly on the road, expression unreadable. "Hmm?"

"Which one is this?" you asked, already knowing the answer but needing him to say it out loud.

"Wicked," he muttered. Then, quickly -"I can change it."

"Oh no, no, don’t you dare, Hotchner." You chuckled, settling in. "Always wondered what your music taste sounds like."

He exhaled deeply. "It is not only this-" he started, trying, truly trying to make you understand the complexity of his other music tastes, to defend his honor, but – they just started singing. And he knew.

He knew.

You were never going to let him live this down. Better off saving his breath.

Hilarious, and the best part? He didn’t even know he was.

Halfway through, you tilted your head, listening. "So this whole song is about two girls absolutely hating each other because they’re complete opposites, but they’re forced to be roommates?"

"Pretty much, yes." His answer a little too quiet, and - though he tried to hide it - deeply embarrassed.

You grinned. "It kinda sounds like they have a crush on each other," you commented, trying your best not to notice how his fingers tapped the wheel, completely in rhythm with the song, while his face remained perfectly composed - extremely normal about something he so clearly wasn't at all.

"That’s the whole point," he said, deadpan, keeping it short.

"Oh “ You blinked. “Do they get together at the end?"

"Unfortunately not." He sounded so genuinely bitter about it that you nearly laughed. "They become best friends, though."

Though, judging by the way his gaze flicked toward you for half a second, he wasn’t entirely sure if you were still talking about the musical - or something else entirely.

Especially when you simply hummed, turning to look out the window. "Best friends."

"Yes. Best friends." His fingers tightened on the wheel.

And damn if you didn’t let the silence linger just a beat too long.

"They don’t get together because they’re completely different, so they’re not compatible?" you asked, your voice just a little too earnest.

"Not because of that," he started. "It’s because one of them becomes a political fugitive and is declared a national threat, while the other is essentially forced into being the corrupt government’s PR puppet."

Ah. Okay.

There was no possible way to explain it in a way that didn’t completely kill the mood - impossible, really. But he tried anyway.

"Although," he added, keeping his voice even, measured, like this was not something he had many thoughts on, "they do have a really dramatic goodbye, where they sing about how much they changed each other’s lives and how they’ll never be the same again."

He felt you turn toward him, and though he kept his eyes on the road, he felt it - that shift in your attention, God knows on what, though.

"Best friends," you repeated.

He gripped the wheel just a little too tight. "Best friends," he confirmed, again.

A beat. A pause. Too long.

"And you think it would have been better if they had been together?" Your question landed way too heavy, like you knew exactly how much weight it carried.

Like you knew exactly how his mind worked, how he had spent far too long thinking about this, not just in the context of some musical, but in general.

He exhaled, keeping his eyes fixed ahead, but his grip tightened again.

And then-

"Fuck yes," the words left his mouth way too fast.

So fast that he heard you laugh before he even saw you smile from the rereview mirror of the car.

And God - that laugh.

It wrecked him.

Not because it was loud or sudden, but because it was yours. Because it was real. Unguarded. Effortless. Because it was him that pulled it from you - and it was then, in that moment, that he knew.

He was so, so fucked.

Because this wasn’t new. This wasn’t some sudden realization, some reckless thought that had just wormed its way into his mind out of nowhere.

It had been there. For a long time. Ten whole years.

He had just never let himself look at it too closely.

Because if he did - if he let himself really think about it, about how he felt like he was burning alive every time you looked at him like that - it would be too much.

It would consume him.

And he could not, would not, risk this unless he was absolutely sure.

Unless he knew you wanted him too.

Unless he knew you burned for him the same way he was combusting for you in real time in this car.

And that terrified him, because he was not sure.

Because you laughed like it was just funny.

Because you smiled like this was just a conversation.

Because you did not look wrecked.

Not like he felt.

So instead, he cleared his throat, steadied his grip, and forced his voice into something casual, distant - yet still, somehow, not completely backing down. "You think they should have ended up together too, then?"

Not ‘do you think I’m wrong’.

Not ‘do you disagree’.

But  - you think so too.

Like some small, cowardly, pathetic part of him needed to hear you say it.

There was a pause - not a long one, not anything noticeable if he wasn’t paying attention. But he was.

He was paying attention to everything.

To the way your breath hitched just slightly, to the way your fingers twisted at the hem of your sleeve, to the way you turned your head to look at him.

“Obviously.” You gestured toward the radio. “You don’t harmonize so effortlessly with someone you’re just calling a ‘friend.’ That’s literally just denial with extra steps.”

He almost told you that harmonizing perfectly was the entire point of musical theater. That it was scripted, practiced, designed to fit together.

That it didn’t mean anything.

But he didn’t, because he knew what you meant. “So you believe in that?” he asked, voice steady, casual, like this was just another discussion.

You raised an eyebrow. “In what?”

His fingers tapped against the wheel, once, twice – thoughtful - before he finally spoke. "That some people are just... deluding themselves."

The shift was small, but he felt it. Your smile didn’t falter. Your posture didn’t change. But something in your expression - in your eyes specifically - shifted.

It was dangerous, talking to you like this.

Because you noticed too much. Because you understood more than most. Because you saw through things - through people - with a clarity that was often unnerving.

Especially when it came to him.

Especially when he wasn’t sure he was ready to be understood like that.

It was your job, afterall.

"Oh, absolutely," you said easily, your tone way too light for his liking. "People are the most oblivious to themselves. We exist in a perpetual state of contradiction - endlessly chasing clarity while fiercely protecting the illusions that comfort us. We reshape our own realities, bending them to fit the narratives we can live with, refusing to confront the truths that feel too heavy - even when they’re staring right at us."

And didn’t he know - hadn’t he always known - how precise you could be with words in moments like this? The moments where he wasn’t, the only moments where he wasn’t precise at all.

How effortlessly you could thread meaning into silence, weaving it into something he could either acknowledge or ignore.

How your gaze lingered just a fraction too long, like you were offering him a choice.

And he didn’t know whether to turn away from it - or step straight into it.

Because for once, he couldn’t read you and that terrified him.

He had spent his entire life seeing through people, understanding them before they even understood themselves.

Yet here he was, in the quiet of his car, in the space between you, not entirely sure who you were talking about.

And he wasn’t sure if he wanted to know.

So he did what he had always done.

He lived with it.

With the sound of his heart thundering louder than the music - louder than your occasional singing along when something familiar played, or the rhythm of your voice alternating with his as you both filled the car with conversation about everything and nothing.

Each block closer to your apartment building felt like a loss, something slipping through his fingers before he even had the chance to hold onto it. He was already mourning the night before it was over.

And neither of you seemed to want it to end, given how relentlessly the talking continued, stretching time as far as it would allow.

It wasn’t until half an hour later that it even occurred to either of you that you were standing outside in the cold, leaning against the driver’s side door, your arms wrapped around yourself in a futile attempt to keep warm. He was still in the car, window rolled down, engine still running, caught between staying and leaving.

It made him ache, interrupting you mid-sentence to point it out. “You’re shivering,” he said quietly, apologetic, as though he were to blame for the biting chill in the air.

It made him ache even more when, instead of brushing it off or saying goodnight, you invited him upstairs, at how his jacket was discarded somewhere along the short path to your building’s entrance, now draped over your shoulders along with his arm, pulling you closer.

It was ridiculous how, even with two jackets on, the only thing keeping you from freezing was his arm.

What was even more ridiculous - hideous, really - was how he should have been the one freezing, left in nothing but short sleeves, yet somehow, standing there with you wrapped up in him, he’d never felt warmer in his life.

So warm that he didn’t even notice the chill of the night.

So warm, in fact, that he didn’t even need the blanket you handed him when you both settled into your living room, waiting for the heating to kick in. He let it drape over his lap out of politeness more than necessity, as if pretending to care about staying warm.

Now, you sat on opposite ends of your couch, shoes abandoned by the door, both of you leaning on the armrest closest to the other, legs angled toward one another, the space between you steadily narrowing. Distance itself felt like an insult, your arms resting along the back of the couch so you could still face each other, still hold onto the moment that neither of you wanted to let slip away.

And he didn’t dare lose sight of your eyes.

It was in that exact moment that a memory surfaced—some weeks ago, sitting alone in his living room, reading Symposium, a book he only picked up because he had seen you so engrossed in it on the jet. Because he had wanted to understand what had captured your mind so entirely.

And everything that followed - a whole night of texting, deep conversations neither of you ever brought up again, like always.

His eyes had analyzed the book twice, dissected its structure, its meaning. And yet, only now, in the absence of it but in your presence, did he finally understand that one passage.

"And when one of them meets the other half, the actual half of himself… the pair are lost in an amazement of love and friendship and intimacy, and one will not be out of the other's sight, even for a moment."

He understood.

Because he couldn’t look away from you - not now, not ever.

The world outside was so quiet that every word exchanged between you felt magnified, as though the universe itself had leaned in to listen. And when even your whispers felt too loud, you shifted closer, scooching toward him on the couch.

Just a few inches at first.

And then he did the same.

You moved again. Then so did he.

And suddenly, your crossed leg was draped over his, the fabric of your tights brushing against his jeans as naturally as if it had always been there. His left hand settled somewhere near your knee - hesitant, not gripping, but resting. Shy.

The ticking clock on the wall was the only tether to the concept of time, because what he’d assumed to be ten, maybe fifteen minutes revealed itself to be a full hour.

3 A.M. And neither of you seemed to care.

By then, his hand had already found the courage to rest between your thighs, still safely on your knee. Though it didn’t take long before his thumb began moving on its own, tracing slow, idle patterns over the thin fabric of your tights.

He didn’t say anything about the way your foot brushed his calf, or how his name on your lips sounded softer in the early hours. Or at how all of this mutual care betrayed his mind, cracking open a small window to what it could have been.

Yet somehow, it felt far more like a glimpse of what it could be.

“Aaron,” your said, soft enough that it sounded more like a thought than a spoken word.

It wasn’t a question. It wasn’t even a statement. It was just his name. Him.

And somehow, that made it all the more devastating.

You hesitated, your eyes dropping to where his hand rested on your knee. He followed your gaze, and in that moment, even though he’d memorized every fleck of color in your irises, their absence felt like a loss.

So dull that his thumb stilled its movements across your knee under your inspection, as if the simple acknowledgment of the two of you now might shatter everything.

He braced himself for a shift - for the game you always played, where lines were drawn, and walls went back up. Where the closeness between you was something fleeting, fleeting enough to pretend it never existed.

But then, you looked back up.

And instead of retreat, instead of scolding or teasing or anything he expected, there was something else entirely. “I really don’t want this night to end.”

He wasn’t sure he’d heard you right, but the look in your eyes left no room for doubt. You weren’t just talking about the night… and neither was he.

But he didn’t know how to give you the honesty you deserved without completely unraveling, not until his thumb resumed its gentle movements on your knee - more to selfishly steady himself than anything else.

“Neither do I,” he admitted finally, even if each second was daring him to say more, to close the space between you entirely. But he didn’t move. Couldn’t. Not yet.

It was you who moved first.

Plato said that ‘At the touch of love, everyone becomes a poet.”

Maybe he was right, because as your hand slid down his arm, it felt like a verse being written. The way your fingertips barely grazed the surface of his skin, tracing the map of his veins with a tenderness you hadn’t realized you possessed, pretending the warmth under your fingertips didn’t make your stomach tremble, until finally, your touch lingered on his knuckles.

A pause, hesitant. Then, almost instinctively, you laced your fingers with his. It felt... inevitable. Natural in a way that terrified you.

“Didn’t expect you to be this warm,” you murmured, your voice light, almost teasing, though you couldn’t hide the way it trembled.

You finally found the courage to meet his eyes. Hazel. Searching. Devastating.

And you weren’t afraid of what you saw, you already knew. What terrified you was that, with one touch, you might have unraveled something too fragile to survive.

His gaze fell to your joined hands, his thumb gliding softly over the back of yours, speaking in the ineffable language of touch.

“I didn’t expect to feel this… right,” he said, the words so quiet they felt more like a confession than a statement.

The smallest smile tugged at your lips, and you leaned in just a little more. “Aaron…”

And that was it.

Whatever restraint he’d been holding onto slipped away entirely. Before he could overthink it, his hand came to rest against your cheek, his calloused palm cradling the softness of your face.

Gentle. Steady. Tender.

The contrast was almost startling, culminating in the soft whimper that escaped your lips as the cold metal of his watch grazed your neck. And so, apologetically, his thumb began to move, tracing gentle patterns along your cheek, as though committing every curve, every subtle shift, to memory.

You didn’t pull away.

Instead, your hand slid to his wrist, holding him there, your thumb tracing the same delicate patterns along his inner wrist, matching his movements with the same ease that echoed in the way you ordinarily mirrored each other’s posture, each other’s language.

His gaze flickered to your lips. “You have no idea how hard it is to stop myself here,” he just said, now without a hint of regret, not when your eyes searched his with the same intensity he felt pulling at his chest.

“You don’t have to,” you whispered, the words so soft they barely reached him, but he heard them as clearly as if you’d shouted.

His breath came shallow now, his gaze searching yours, as though looking for any sign of hesitation.

But there was none. Only the quiet, unspoken truth reflected back at him.

And so his other hand found your waist, pulling you closer - so close that, without thinking, you moved to straddle him, your knees settled on either side of his hips.

“I-” he stammered, as he looked at you wide-eyed tilting his head back slightly, before shaking his head, a breathless chuckle escaping him.

“Sorry,” you blurted, heat rushing to your face as you realized just how intimate the position you’d claimed truly was – the cruelty of not having even thought about it once before moving, how it was the only way to still communicate with his eyes.

“No,” he said quickly, almost shy, but the way his thumbs brushed your sides betrayed how much he didn’t want you to move. “Don’t apologize. I just wasn’t expecting it...” he trailed off, though you didn’t miss how his gaze flickered to your lips more than once.

“…Are you comfortable?” he asked softly, his eyes wandering across your face.

It wasn’t just a question; it was a moment stretched taut, as if he was buying himself time, wanting to keep this moment balanced on the edge of the razor for just a little longer.

On this space of tenderness, where care outweighed desire, where everything still hung in the balance, where there was still time to hold back, to savor the precipice, waiting for one of you to risk it.

You nodded. “Very.”

The smallest, warmest smile flickered across his lips. “I’m happy you are,” he murmured.

How could he be even so sweet? How could he, in the middle of this - when your body was pressed so close to his - still be so considerate, so cautious, so Aaron?

How could his hands, now steady on your waist, have only settled there after he’d murmured a careful, overly-polite, “May I?”, the formality of it, juxtaposed with the intensity of his touch, was enough to make you giggle.

“Please don’t smile at me like that when you’re this close,” he said, his voice dropping to a low rasp, his gaze fixed on your lips.

You couldn’t help but grin wider. “Why not?” your fingers brushing lightly against his jaw.

“Because,” he began, his lips twitching up, “it makes me forget how to think.”

Crazy, really. The idea that Aaron Hotchner, the most precise and methodical man you’d ever met, could forget how to think. Thinking was practically the core of his being, wasn’t it?

Cogito, ergo sum. I think, therefore I am.

Because if forgetting how to think meant losing himself, then you were the cause. You had undone him.

Shaken the core of a man who had carved his entire existence around reason – or at least, tried to fool everyone into thinking so. And now, here he was - disarmed by nothing more than a smile, a touch, and the mere proximity of your lips.

If existence is rooted in thought, and Aaron’s thoughts were consumed entirely by you, did that mean his existence was yours to hold? Did that mean, right now, he existed only because you allowed him to? Couldn’t be that.

Still, how dizzying it was to consider how quickly you’d become his undoing – yet, perhaps what was even more terrifying was the way he seemed to welcome it.

“You’re not wrong,” he murmured, his voice quiet but steady, like a confession meant just for you. His dark eyes searched yours, their intensity almost overwhelming. “You do undo me.”

Your breath caught. “How did you even manage-”

But he didn’t let you finish. His forehead pressed softly against yours, his nose brushing yours in the faintest of touches.

And so your eyes closed together, as if the nearness alone was too much to bear, especially when his lips hovered so close that you could feel the warmth of his breath.

How paradoxical it was that you both desperately craved each other’s mouths, yet now, in this unbearable closeness, neither of you could summon the courage to take the last step.

How you continued lingering in the tension, your breaths mingling, your bodies pressed so close that those strong hands of his, still firmly on your waist, urged you even further onto him.

Neither of you wanted to bear the responsibility of what came next. What was about to happen. What was meant to happen. It wasn’t a game anymore. You were done waiting.

You wanted him. Now.

You were ready - to let it all go.

“Aaron,” you whispered, looking into him.

And as always, he seemed to be the only one who understood you, he began to trail kisses across your face, soft, slowly, taking his time.

Your temple.

The side of your right eye.

The curve of your cheek.

Down to your jawline.

Then, he traced his way back up, planting one final kiss at the very edge of your mouth.

When he pulled back, intoxicated, his eyes found yours - wet, shining, unguarded, just like his.

“Please, ask me to stop,” he whispered, his voice breaking, his eyes already glistening with unshed tears.

“Aaron, I can’t,” you murmured, the words trembling on your lips as your breath mingled with his, the space between you growing thinner with every passing second.

The moment.

How do you measure a moment like this?

One tick of the clock. Two tears slipping free from both of you. Three uneven heartbeats, each louder than the last.

And then, finally, he closed the distance.

You should have probably expected that your first kiss would taste like salt, the tears trailing down your faces mingling somewhere in between and masking the real sweetness of it. How the flavor of each other’s mouths was obscured, just as you’d both hidden your true feelings for so long.

It was so cruel in its irony, yet somehow, it fit so perfectly that neither of you could bring yourselves to care.

Because his lips were too soft against yours for your own good, the gentleness of his hand gripping the nape of your neck pulling you closer, while the other rested against your tear-streaked cheek, damp from both the lingering press of his lips moments before and your tears.

When he finally pulled back, it wasn’t to retreat - it was to cradle your face, his thumbs brushing away the tears that wouldn’t stop falling, even as his own streamed freely, unchecked.

And as much as you wanted to keep going, to lose yourself in the solace of his mouth, something greater pulled you both in.

Without hesitation, you collapsed into each other’s arms, clutching tightly as though the world around you was slipping away, tears soaking into the other’s shoulders.

Was it penance? For realizing too late how simple this could have been? For all the wasted years, the missed chances, and the pain endured in silence?

Or was it just acceptance -that only now were you both ready to bear the weight of this, to hold each other completely, to disappear into one another?

Maybe that was the point.

Because in that embrace, unplanned and unbidden, came a feeling so familiar it ached.

That same resonance in your chest, the same connection of that first time you ever held him like this, nine years ago in your old apartment, when his walls cracked just enough to let you in.

And so the memory bleeds into the present, and it’s almost unbearable how much has stayed the same, and yet, how utterly everything has changed.

That stupid Hegel wasn’t wrong: the synthesis always becomes a new thesis, a cycle repeating itself. The moment was reborn, again and again, every time.

But damn, how it changed with every turn.

The same, yet entirely different.

The weight of then. The depth of now.

It was all there, in that fleeting, aching embrace. Not just holding on to each other, but to every version of yourselves that had come before - and every one still waiting in the future.

Even as the moment began to fade, as you pulled back - both drawn by the undeniable hunger to find each other’s mouths again - the synthesis was already shifting, reshaping into something new.

Another storm, another struggle, another antithesis loomed ahead, but always, always, the cycle reached for a new synthesis. And Hegel, damn him, was right again.

The cycle never ends.

But neither, it seemed, did you.

Competing with each other, as always.

Neither of you willing to back down, both so eager to claim the other that it became impossible to tell who started the second kiss, it just… happened.

This time, there was no softness, no hesitation - just urgency. Your hands tangled in the back of his hair, pulling him closer, keeping him right where you wanted him, while his hands gripped your lower back.

The moment your lips parted, offering him the faintest invitation, he deepened the kiss without even thinking it twice. His tongue slid against yours with so much hunger you were intoxicated, only for you to interrupt with a sharp bite to his bottom lip.

He growled at the challenge, he had to one-up you, returning the favor by sinking his teeth into your jawline, as if to stake his claim all over again, a sound so low and primal it seemed to vibrate straight into your skin, making you gasp and tighten your hold on him even more, eager to hear it again.

Damn him and his competitiveness.

You couldn’t help but meet it head-on, your hands roaming over the taut muscles of his back, feeling every shift, every flex as he moved against you.

He broke away briefly, not to stop, but to catch his breath as his lips found new territory. From your mouth to your jaw, and then down to your neck, your head tilting back reflexively, granting him even more access.

He smiled against your skin, insufferable even now, and when his lips returned to yours, that grin only widened. You kissed him again and again, but since his stupid smile kept getting in the way, you ended up kissing his teeth more than once.

Damn him.

And yet, you found yourself smiling like a fool, because how could you not? There was no way you could be making him feel this way, yet here you were - both of you lost in it, pushing and pulling, both refusing to surrender.

The more you had of each other, the more you wanted, never satisfied, never close enough, as though the only way to end this ache was to somehow crawl into each other’s skin.

And so, blame the position.

Blame the dress you’d chosen tonight, skimming your thighs, leaving so little to the imagination as it rode up with every shift against him.

Blame the way your kisses had shifted, growing hungrier, messier, more tongue than lips, more heavy breathing than words.

Or blame his new-found obsession to place wet kisses on the spot just behind your ear just to hear you gasp, while he had the audacity to hum into your neck, utterly satisfied with himself, like he was savoring your every reaction to the exquisite work of his mouth.

Blame his body, the way he pressed against you, his hands sliding from your waist to your hips, then lower, settling on your ass with a grip that didn’t make the things any easier.

Blame the way his growing bulge rubbed against you through the rough fabric of his jeans, the friction hitting exactly where the ache was blooming, pulling shudders from deep inside you.

Blame all of it - the kisses, the position, the maddening press of his body against yours - because it only made you more desperate.

The carnal realization of just how badly you wanted him, left you unable to stop. Your hips moved instinctively, grinding against his hardness, the rhythm of your kisses syncing with the desperate roll of your bodies.

Thank God his jeans were dark, because you were sure by now your arousal was leaving its mark on him, soaking into the fabric, leaving evidence of just how far gone you were – and if he noticed, if he felt it, the way his grip tightened on your waist told you he didn’t care.

If anything, it spurred him on, pulling you closer, holding you tighter, neither of you could stop moving.

The worst part? You didn’t want to. Not even a little.

What was even worse than this? The fact that Aaron, ever the master of timing, felt the need to comment on the obvious.

“You know what you’re doing, don’t you?” he asked breathless, lips flushed and slightly swollen from yours.

No shit, Sherlock.

You didn’t hesitate. “Aaron, do I look like I don’t know exactly what I’m doing?”

That even managed to earn a chuckle from him – speaking of victories - “Just… wanted to make sure you’re alright with this pace. We’re not exactly taking it slow, you know?!” he rasped, as his hands slid up and down the sides of your hips.

No shit, Sherlock, part two.

Was he worrying about you or himself?

You tilted your head, searching his face, the faint crease in his brow, the way his eyes softened as soon as they were met with yours. “Aaron,” you cupped his cheek. “Do you want to take it slow instead?”

Shit. What if you’d misread him? What if this hesitation wasn’t about concern for you but second thoughts about the entire thing? You hated yourself. How could you even think that-

“Not really,” he admitted, his lips curving into the most kissable smile. “I just… don’t want you to regret this. I’d wait forever if you asked me to, but right now…” His words faltered, his gaze dropping to your lips. “Right now, I don’t think I can. But only if you want it too.”

Oh God, how considerate he was.

Oh God, how much you never trusted anyone as him, how safe did he make you feel, how it almost brought tears to your eyes because you’d forgotten what it felt like to be looked at, cared for, wanted like this.

Oh God, how much you didn’t want to respond with words, to just take his hand, guide it between your legs, and let him feel exactly how much you needed him.

But words it was, then.

“I do, Aaron,” you said, taking his hands in yours. “I don’t think I’ve ever been more sure of anything. I want this. I want you. But…” Your lips curled up. “Not on my couch. Could we maybe hold out until the bedroom?”

Ah, yes. Turning 30 had officially made you someone who prioritized the longevity of their furniture over their sex life.

How responsible.

How tragic.

And yet, neither of you moved. It took a second - or two, or three - for both of you to gather the energy to even try standing after spending what felt like an eternity tangled up on your poor, overworked second-hand couch…

…a poor overworked second-hand. Hm. Now there was a pattern.

You hated yourself a little for how evil the thought was. Poor couch, poor him.

Not that it wasn’t true. But still - evil.

Still nearly as evil as the absolute disaster you’d made of his hair with your hands while you were making out. A fitting match for the flush on his face and the state of his half-untucked polo, which you’d been yanking at so fervently it was a miracle it hadn’t come off entirely.

Speaking of things you couldn’t stop noticing, the sight before you now was definitely a huge… huge walk with him to your bedroom. Because surely your hallway hadn’t been this long before.

Or maybe he was thinking the same thing, because just as you reached the doorway to your bedroom, he turned you, your back pressing against the wall before you even had time to push the door open.

You didn’t expect him to be this passionate – and desperate, when his mouth was back on yours, claiming you in a kiss so hot and wet it that the wetness surely wasn’t exactly isolated to your mouth at all.

You gasped, caught completely off guard, and that was apparently all the invitation he needed to slip his tongue deeper into your mouth, tasting you, claiming you, and it was so good that you barely managed to catch your breath, let alone remember the damn bedroom door.

“Aaron-” you managed between breathless kisses, barely stringing the words together.

As if you could talk.

As if you could pretend to hold any moral high ground here when your leg was already wrapping around his waist, pulling him closer. And oh, he was there - all of him. Thick, hard, and pressing against you.

He groaned into your mouth as his hands slid lower, gripping a handful of your ass, “I know,” he muttered, his voice rasping against your skin. “I know. The door.”

Oh, but why did his voice have to sound like that - so low, so wrecked… so unfair.

Anyway, the door.

Not that it mattered, apparently, because he didn’t move. His lips found your neck, kissing and nipping at the sensitive skin there, as his hands kneaded the flesh of your ass like he couldn’t get enough.

“You’re not exactly working on it,” you managed to gasp, and oh, you were so proud of yourself for having the strength to bicker with him even now, even like this.

Of course, Aaron, being Aaron, couldn’t resist biting back.

You felt the curve of his lips against your neck, he chuckled as his teeth grazed the hollow of your throat. “Well,” he murmured, returning to nip at your earlobe. “What about you?”

The man was infuriating. And hot. And so completely overwhelming you could barely think straight.

“I’m very busy right now,” you managed to counter, though what you really meant was that your back was far too occupied arching into him, practically begging for more.

At least he somehow found the self-control to pull back after what you could most graciously describe as an obscene amount of very enthusiastic dry humping. You were both so doomed. His hands steadied you just long enough for him to fumble for the doorknob.

And then the second you crossed the threshold, all bets were off.

His lips - no, his mouth - were on yours again, the kiss so heated it was more teeth and tongue than finesse. Probably because it hit you both at the same time - the realization of just how painfully simple it would be to strip the other bare.

His polo? A quick tug away from being tossed aside. Your dress? One little zipper stood between it and the floor. No barriers. No obstacles. That was all it would take.

And it was as if he read your mind because without a word, his hands found your waist and spun you around, pulling you back against him.

You barely had time to gasp before his head dipped to your neck, as his fingers found the zipper of your dress way too easily without even having to look. Just before he moved it, he paused. “I might’ve left a mark.”

Oh no, what a pity…

“Make it two,” you whispered, your voice trembling as your hand slid into his hair, pressing his head right where you wanted it.

And because Aaron apparently took instructions very well when they suited him, he bit down, his teeth grazing your skin just enough to make you shiver, the sharpness of it immediately soothed by the warm drag of his tongue.

The sound you made was embarrassing - breathless and high-pitched – that only seemed to spur him on, since in less than a second, the dress was pooling at your feet, leaving you bare save for your tights and underwear.

Mismatched underwear.

A good lace bra - at least there was that - with the most comfortable white cotton grandma pants you could have pulled from the depths of a multipack that were, by how the things have been going now, almost certainly transparent. Perfect.

Not that any of this was supposed to happen, of course.

You hadn’t exactly planned on getting laid by your… what even was he? Your best friend? Your boss?

An objectively gorgeous man with dark eyes that burned into you, whose voice could make your knees completely weak? The person you’d been quietly, stubbornly, and stupidly in sexual tension hell with for a decade?

He was all of that. He was none of that. He was Aaron, and whatever Aaron Hotchner was to you, you hadn’t planned on getting laid tonight. Or this morning. Or whatever ungodly hour it was now.

But plans didn’t seem to matter anymore.

Not when his hands were sliding over your body like you were something he’d wanted for so long that touching you now felt like the only thing keeping him tethered to reality.

Not when his lips found yours again, claiming them in a way that made you wonder how either of you had ever survived without tasting each other.

And certainly not when the moment your back hit the mattress of your bed, his full weight pressing into you fully, how your legs opened instinctively, welcoming him, pulling him closer, your body arching into him like it was chasing something only he could soothe.

He pulled back just enough to look at you, his eyes dark and heavy-lidded, scanning your face like he was trying to memorize every detail. “God, you’re so beautiful,” he said softly, his voice rough but sincere.

“God, you’re so clothed,” you shot back without thinking, your quick wit betraying you yet again, unsure whether to curse yourself for ruining the moment or to thank your sarcasm for always wanting to keep things… balanced.

But instead of appreciating your humor or giving you the satisfaction of stripping him, the insufferable man had the audacity to bypass your comment entirely.

With a swift motion, his hand reached behind you, unclasped your bra, and tossed it somewhere into the abyss of the room without so much as a second glance.

You blinked, momentarily stunned, a flush creeping up your neck at the brazenness of it. “I was referring to you, Hotchner.”

“Eventually,” he murmured, his lips brushing yours before capturing them again in a kiss that effectively cut off any protest you might’ve had. Clever man.

And so he started his descent, a study in patience, still hopelessly romantic about it, as if the situation weren’t already infuriating. Because even though you knew for sure he could feel the way your nipples had hardened against him, he still took his time.

Kissing his way down your throat, spending far too long mapping out the curve of your collarbone with his mouth, fingers just hovering - like he wasn’t already touching you everywhere.

And then, finally, his hands moved. Possessively. His palms covered your breasts, kneading them in a way that sent sparks ricocheting through you, his lips pressing a single, scorching kiss right in the middle of your sternum.

That did it. That had your thighs clenching on instinct, a desperate attempt to manage the growing fire low in your belly.

But you refused to let a sound escape.

Oh no. You weren’t about to give him that satisfaction. Especially not when he got to enjoy the full view of you laid out beneath him while you were left with only the delicious flex of his biceps.

Biceps, which, while spectacular, were not the bare expanse of his back. Not the firm ridges of muscle you knew were under that godforsaken polo, the one thing keeping things uneven between you.

He seemed to catch on to the game you were playing, though, because without warning, his mouth closed over one of your nipples, his tongue swirling over the sensitive peak so perfectly that it had your breath catching in your throat.

At the same time, his fingers found the other, pinching, rolling, teasing - the combination so damn lethal when paired with the languid flicks of his tongue, sending shocks straight to your clit.

Still, you bit your lip, stubbornly holding back the sounds he so clearly wanted to pull from you, even if the ache between your thighs was unbearable now - a dull, insistent throb that begged, no, pleaded for attention.

Attention that the insufferable man was withholding.

Or, unlike you, he simply didn’t want to rush… damn him. He was making it impossible to keep up the charade.

Because every flick of that damned talented mouth of his - now moving onto your other breast - every brush of his fingers, every sound he made against your skin that revealed just how hungry he was of your flesh, was undoubtedly designed to unravel you, piece by piece.

Every piece, that is, except for your poor, neglected, throbbing clit.

And of course, he was enjoying every second of it. Smug bastard.

“You know,” he murmured against your skin, his lips still grazing your nipple, “sounds are appreciated.” …Oh, fuck him.

“So is nudity,” you managed to snap, though your voice trembled, betraying just how close you were to falling apart.

He stilled. Lifted his head just enough to meet your gaze. And then he smirked.

Ah. That smirk. Never a good sign.

Especially not when paired with the way his hands started working your tights down - so slowit was almost unbearable. Always careful, always considerate Aaron. But God, right now, you wanted him ripping them off you.

His gaze swept over you, his eyes instantly darkened as they dettled on the on the damp patch at the center of your underwear.

“You’re soaked,” he murmured, his voice dipping lower, rougher, as his thumb grazed over the edge of the fabric.

Before you could process how pleased he was with himself, he spread your legs further, settling himself between them. His fingers dug into the soft flesh of your thighs, pinning you down, and he started trailing kisses along your inner thigh.

From the knee.

Oh, come on.

Still, you hissed at the contact, at the way his mouth devoured your thighs like he was savoring every inch of them.

Like this, this was what he lived for. Worshipping you.

And the way his lips moved, how drunk he looked as he worked his way upward, kissing, sucking, biting - just enough to make you twitch, the way his breath shook when he exhaled against your thigh - it only made it worse.

The closer he got, the more impossible it became to hold back the sounds slipping from your lips.

And then - one last kiss, right there, where your thigh met your core.

“Fuck, you’re so wet,” he murmured, and before you could even think about responding, his tongue flicked out, tasting the arousal that had trailed up to where his mouth lingered.

Oh. What a whore.

“You’re such a who-” you began, but the words barely escaped before he bit down lightly on your clothed clit, sharp enough to send a jolt through your entire body and rip a strangled cry from your throat.

Your reaction must have been exactly what he wanted, because his fingers replaced his teeth immediately, pressing against you through the thin, damp fabric.

“Oh, there you are,” he murmured, dragging his fingers down the length of your slit. “For a second, I thought I wasn’t doing it right.”

You scoffed, or at least you tried to. The sound barely made it past your lips before breaking into another sharp, breathless cry as his fingers rode back up, pressing against your clit in slow circles, the cotton barrier dulling the sensation just enough to drive you insane.

One, two, three strokes - then you stopped counting, too caught up in the feeling of him until he finally tossed the fabric aside, making you feel the cool air against the wet heat of your core, but he didn’t move.

Didn’t touch.

Just -

"You're a goddess."

He stared for so long that you started to wonder if he was waiting for you to say please, some kind of power play. 

Your lips curled slightly as you lifted your chin. "If you think I’m going to beg you now, Hotchner, I’m absolutely not.

Apparently, you had never been more wrong in your life.

Because his head snapped up so fast it was almost comical - except for the way his entire face flushed. Not just with arousal - well, yes, definitely with arousal - but with something else.

The way his mouth parted slightly before he swallowed, his throat bobbing, his gaze flicking away for half a second like he had to collect himself, undoubtedly made you think-

"I was actually…" he cleared his throat, "asking for permission."

Oh. Oh. Apparently, someone couldn’t hide being a bottom for more than a few minutes.

Aaron ‘Attitude’ Hotchner? Gone. Reduced to sheepish glances and waiting for permission like a damn Victorian gentleman the second he actually looked at your cunt.

Hilarious.

"You have it," you murmured.

That was delicious.

And because he was so whipped, he didn’t just dive in immediately. No. Of course not. He had to come all the way back up first, had to kiss you before anything else.

And then he was gone. Gone from your mouth, gone from your chest, gone from anywhere but exactly where you wanted him most.

The very first swipe of his tongue across your folds obliterated any coherent thought, reduced your world to this - to the wet heat of his mouth, to the steady press of his hands holding you open, to the obscene sounds of him devouring you.

There was nothing but him, the way his tongue curled against you, the way his lips closed around your clit with just the right amount of pressure, the way his name tumbled from your lips and melted into the deep, guttural moan he let out as he first tasted you.

And honestly, you couldn’t decide what was hotter - the way his sounds came in perfect harmony with your own cries, or the fact that he was so vocal while eating you out, like it brought him just as much pleasure as it did you.

And it probably did.

Because he lapped at your dripping cunt like a man starved, frantic, desperate, moving with such a hunger that made your fingers dig into his hair, gripping tight like you could somehow hold on to reality through him.

But he didn’t want space. Didn’t need it. If anything, he leaned in further, groaning low against your soaked, swollen cunt, letting you drip down his chin as if he loved the way your arousal was entirely coating his flushed face.

Loved being drenched in you. Loved ruining himself on you.

“Aaron-” your voice broke, your hips jerking up into him, needy. “God, your tongue is unreal.”

And oh, he heard you, loud and clear.

Because his immediate response? Teeth. A quick, sharp graze of his teeth against your clit, followed by a suction so deep, so overwhelming, it ripped a scream straight from your throat.

Fuck him.

“Your-your mouth is unreal,” you stammered, correcting yourself, because apparently, he wasn’t letting you off the hook without acknowledging his full range of talents.

Smiling against your skin - as if it wasn’t blatantly obvious that he had a praise kink, too.

“Sorry,” he said with a kiss to your inner thigh as his thumb kept working on your clit. “I just thought you were a thorough one, Professor.”

What a whore.

“Oh, fuck you for calling me ‘Professor’ like it doesn’t turn you on just to say it,” you shot back.

 “Oh, it does,” he admitted with no shame whatsoever. “I just wish you could feel how much.” His gaze flicked down, daring you to follow it - to the thick, aching bulge straining against his pants, so hard it had to hurt, so obvious it made you clench around nothing.

How cruel of him.

“Keep talking to me like that, Aaron, and I’ll crush your head with my thighs,” you warned, voice shaking, hands fisting into the sheets because he was still teasing, still circling with his thumb instead of putting his damn mouth back where you needed it most.

“Please do,” he said.

And then he gave you exactly what you wanted. His tongue plunged into you, pushing past the unbearable emptiness, giving you something to clench around, something to grind against, something to drown in.

And because he was, apparently, crafted to be the most infuriatingly perfect thing to ever exist - his nose pressed against your clit with every movement, sending white-hot jolts of pleasure through you so intense your legs tried to snap shut around his head.

He was faster. Stronger. Hands tightening against your thighs, keeping them spread as he pressed you further, pinning you down so he could devour you properly. And when your thighs twitched again, reflexive, desperate-

"Stay open for me."

That awful, awful sound. That little flick of his tongue against his teeth, a wordless tsk of disapproval - he did it every time, every single time, and it should have pissed you off but instead, shot straight through you, coiling low in your belly, leaving you breathless, made you arch into his mouth, made you-

"Still, please," he growled, more desperate now, fingers tightening like the control freak he so obviously was. Apparently, the man simply could not function if his so-called work space wasn’t perfectly in order.

Some things never changed.

“You’re such a hypocrite, it was-” Your breath caught on another roll of his tongue, hips jerking up against his face. “It was you who begged me to-”

"Mm," he hummed against you like he was thinking about it, his mouth hot and slick as he pressed deeper, let his tongue flatten. "And?"

…And then his lips closed around you, sucking just right, and you broke. You felt it coiling, tighter, tighter, low deep in your stomach.

"Aaron, I'm so close."

"I got you," he murmured, suddenly warm, suddenly gentle - because despite all the arrogance, the smug little smirks, he was nothing but a softie. All bark, no bite. Well… except for the other kinds of bites. "Don’t worry. Let go."

Then his tongue flicked - once, twice… and you were gone.

Shattered apart, trembling beneath his mouth, your fingers tangled in his hair, yanking, desperate. The pleasure hit sharp and fast, so intense it almost hurt, your muscles locking up as wave after wave crashed through you.

But he didn’t stop. Not until you’d come on his face just one more time.

So his tongue was back on you before you could even recover, dragging you higher, keeping you there, refusing to let you go. His mouth was relentless, but his fingers - God, his fingers.

How many times had you daydreamed about them? How many nights had you imagined the way they’d feel sinking inside you, stretching you open, fucking you deep and slow until you couldn’t think?

A reasonable number of times. That’s what you told yourself.

So it only made sense that you were impatient now, desperate to feel them inside you instead of just ghosting along your soaked folds, teasing, tracing, dipping in just enough to have you thinking, finally -

Only for him to pull away again, just as fast.

“Need some help finding it, Hotchner?” you bit out breathlessly, your voice dripping with sarcasm despite the whimper it ended on. “Don’t be embarrassed. I can guide you if-”

Before you could finish, one thick finger thrust deep inside you, cutting off your words with a strangled moan.

“I think I’ve got it,” he said smugly… oh, he definitely did.

The stretch of just one finger had you reeling, but then he added a second without hesitation, the fullness making you gasp. Two of his fingers felt like three of yours, stretching you perfectly, pressing against spots you didn’t even know existed.

“Fuck, Aaron,” you moaned, gripping the sheets as he started to move faster, stroking that perfect spot again and again until your vision blurred.

“You like that?” he asked, his voice so low and rough that made your toes curl, unable to respond if not with a whimper.

“Yeah, you do,” he murmured, his lips brushing your thigh as his fingers curled deeper, pressed just right, dragging a broken moan from your lips, his own voice dark with approval. "God, you’re so wet."

Your cheeks burned because well, wasn’t he right?!

The evidence of it was everywhere - slicking his fingers, his hand, his face, and the way he said it, so casually, like he was just stating a fact, only made the heat in your belly coil tighter.

"Damn, you’re so fucking good," you gasped between shattered breaths.

“Mm, so is this cunt,” he shot back between licks, groaning as he felt you flutter around his fingers.

What a dirty, dirty mouth. And damn, if he did he put it to use.

It didn’t take long. Barely a few more thrusts of his fingers into your slick, throbbing cunt, barely a few more drags of his tongue against your clit - before he had you unraveling completely.

Your body seized, back arching clean off the bed, a sharp, helpless cry ripping from your throat as you came so hard you almost sobbed.

He didn’t stop.

His fingers kept fucking into you, curling just right, stroking deep, drawing out every last shudder, every last desperate moan. His tongue never left your clit, flicking, sucking, keeping you there, forcing you to take every wave, every aftershock, dragging you through it until your thighs trembled around his head, until you were whimpering, pleading, too overstimulated to handle another second.

Only then did he finally pull away, lips gliding up your body, dragging sticky, open-mouthed kisses along your stomach, your ribs, your breasts, until his weight was pressing you into the mattress again, until you were surrounded by him, the scent of sex thick in the air, his mouth still hot and wet against your skin.

"God, you’re a fucking vision when you come," he murmured, voice husky, lips brushing over your jaw as his hand slid up to cradle your face.

And then he kissed you.

Deep, filthy, his tongue sweeping into your mouth without hesitation, letting you taste yourself on him, letting you feel the slick mess he’d made of you, the evidence of how thoroughly he had devoured you.

Romanticism truly was dead.

“Still too clothed,” you whispered, voice low, teasing, as your fingers trailed from his jaw down to his chest, nails scratching lightly over the fabric of his polo, feeling the heat of him beneath it. Annoyingly in the way.

“You’re very welcome to change that now,” he huffed, smirking, giving you another quick, teasing kiss, the barest brush of his lips over yours.

Who were you to refuse?

Your hands moved swiftly, gripping the hem of his shirt and tugging it up, over his head, before tossing it somewhere behind you - who cared where? That would be his problem in a few hours anyways.

And oh damn-

If you thought the polo highlighted his frame, without it he looked absolutely massive. His chest, his shoulders, the way his muscles shifted beneath his skin - it was almost unfair how goodlooking he was.

You leaned in to kiss him, letting your fingers roam all over him - probably lingering a little too long on those broad, perfect shoulders. Honestly, you were doing your best not to bite them.

Mostly. A little nip didn’t count, right? Surely it was allowed. To test. It wasn’t your fault they looked like they could carry the weight of the world - and you - without breaking a sweat. But of course, he couldn’t know that. He couldn’t know that his shoulders alone were making you go feral.

So you distracted him the best way you knew how - your lips pressing against his neck, soft at first, teasing, before nipping lightly at his pulse point, teeth scraping just enough to earn you a sharp inhale.

Still, even as your lips worked to keep him occupied, your thoughts betrayed you.

You were sure you’d implode the moment you saw his back - the way those muscles would shift and flex. Just the thought of it had your pulse racing. Thankfully, he was still facing you, so you had a little more time to live. But not much, considering the way your mind still found a way to betray you.

Because now all you could picture was his weight on top of you, pressing you into the mattress, pinning you down with no way out. Now all you could feel was the phantom stretch of him, the way he’d fill-

Right. His jeans. Still in the way. Still ruining your life.

You swallowed hard, forcing your hands to move lower, fumbling with his belt and zipper. If your hands trembled, you’d blame it on how hard you were trying not to stare at the thick bulge beneath the denim. Trying being the keyword, because at this point - you weren’t better than a man.

His jeans hit the floor, leaving him in just his boxers, making it quite difficult to ignore the outline of him anymore - thick, hard, already straining against the fabric, the damp spot at the tip teasing at just how ready he was.

Your pulse pounded in your ears as you glanced up, silently asking if you could take things further. He gave a small nod, his eyes dark and heavy-lidded, and that was all the encouragement you needed.

Your hands turned momentarily shy as you hooked your fingers into the band, slowly tugging them down. He sprang free, thick and hard, flushed at the tip, already glistening with slick arousal, and God, you swore your mouth went dry and then wet all in the span of a heartbeat.

You couldn’t stop yourself from murmuring, “God,” as your fingers wrapped around him, thumb brushing over the swollen, leaking head, smearing the wetness there, spreading it over the burning skin.

The reaction was immediate.

His head tipped back, his grip on your hips tightening, trying hard not to just rut into your fist like some desperate, touch-starved needy thing. But he was trembling , his self-control fraying one slow stroke at a time as you worked him over, your fingers squeezing around the slick head before dragging back down his length.

"Fuck," he muttered, the sound wrecking you, shooting straight between your legs.

“You’re so-” you started, but the words failed you. What could you even say? You were too distracted by the weight of him in your hand, the way he twitched against your palm and the way the thick vein along his shaft throbbed with every stroke of your hand.

All you knew was that you wanted him in your mouth. Wanted to drag your tongue along that vein, wanted to feel the heavy weight of him on your tongue, wanted to take him down until tears pricked the corners of your eyes. The need burned in your gut, tight and relentless, but still, it wasn’t enough. Because as much as your mouth ached for him, the fire between your thighs was worse. So much worse.

“Aaron,” you breathed, voice shaking as you looked up at him, your fingers still wrapped around his cock, still stroking him, enjoying the way his chest rose and fell with every movement of your hand.

His eyes - dark, heavy-lidded - met yours, his breath coming uneven, jagged, as he rasped, desperate, "Take whatever you want."

“I want you.”

Aaron groaned, his lips twitching into something that might have been a smile if he wasn’t so wrecked with desire. “Come here,” he murmured, as he leaned down and kissed you. And God, what a kiss.

Before you knew it, he had you back on the bed, his body hovering over yours, his broad shoulders framing your view of him. He settled himself between your legs, his mouth moving to your jaw, then down to your neck, at the point there was no doubt in a few hours you’d wear a turtleneck to work.

Still, he paused, hovering just above you, his lips brushing against yours as he asked one more time, “Are you sure?”

At this point, if you weren’t aching for him, you might’ve had the patience to be sarcastic. Something like, No, actually, I’m not sure. Let’s both get dressed again and see if that helps.

“Aaron, I’m literally begging you,” you said, exasperated, though you didn’t miss the glint in his eyes – if he just wanted you to beg him he could have simply asked. You would have never said it out loud but at least he could have tried…

“Just making sure,” he said so softly his voice seemed even deeper than it already was, but his hand slid between your legs, fingers gliding through your folds, and the way he groaned when he felt how wet you were made you shudder.

“God, you’re soaked,” he muttered, almost to himself, as if confirming what he already knew.

You didn’t think it was possible to be more turned on, but apparently, Aaron Hotchner could always prove you wrong.

And ever the hopeless romantic - because apparently, he was so much of a kisser - he kissed you again. It wasn’t fair, honestly, how good he was at this, how much intention he poured into every press of his lips , every flick of his tongue, every sharp little pull at your bottom lip that had your hips rolling up against him. It was infuriating.

"I’m on the pill," you gasped between kisses, cutting straight to the point because at this rate, you were about two seconds away from losing your mind.

"Good," he murmured, his lips ghosting over yours again. "That’s good."

Of course it’s good, Aaron. As if you were trying to create another insufferable Hotchner. One man who could argue his way out of anything was already more than enough for the world.

He shifted, aligning himself at your entrance, the thick head of his cock pressing against you, dragging through your slick folds with just the slightest roll of his hips. The stretch, even in just the promise of it, had you gasping into his mouth.

“Tell me if it’s too much,” he rasped, his forehead pressing against yours, still searching for any sign of hesitation. Classic Aaron.

And because he was Aaron, of course he kissed you again, stealing what little breath you had left as he began to push inside.

Holy fucking-

Your nails dug into his shoulders as he filling you inch by inch, his cock sinking in with a slow, thick glide that made your head tilt back into the pillow, your mouth falling open as sounds escaped your lips - a moan, then a gasp, and a whimper.

When he bottomed out, buried to the hilt, so deep you swore you could feel him in your stomach, you swore you might break, and you loved every second of it. How the hell did he even feel this good?

"Jesus Christ," he gritted out, breath hot against your jaw.

He paused, his cock throbbing inside you as he let you adjust, his lips ghosting over your jawline with kisses so soft they felt almost reverent, as though the slight ache of the stretch was something he needed to apologize for.

“God, you’re so tight.”

You involuntarily clenched down around him in response, "Fucking Christ," he groaned, his forehead dropping to yours for a moment. “You’re going to kill me.”

And fuck, if the second he started moving you weren’t utterly determined to hear every name of every deity from his long-lost religion tumble from his lips, as long as it meant he kept thrusting so deep inside you – making your breath catch from the mere drag of him pulling his entire length out before pushing it back in.

“Fuck Aaron, you feel so good,” you gasped, your hands tightening on his biceps.

And damn him, because he loved it - loved your praise so much that a low chuckle rumbled in his chest, even as his breath came uneven, ragged. “Fuck, you look so beautiful from here,”

He leaned in, his hips still moving, his lips brushing against yours just enough for you to feel the heat of his breath, to taste the promise of his kiss. “You’re perfect,” he whispered, making your legs wrap around his waist, pulling him closer, needing him deeper.

The shift in angle made his next thrust hit you in a way that tore a cry from your lips. He must’ve felt it - the way your body tightened around him, the way your nails sank into the strong muscles of his back, leaving red lines in their wake - because his pace quickened, each thrust better than the last.

And damn it if he didn’t fuck you so good.

“Right there,” you gasped, arching your back as the head of his cock hit that spot “Oh, Aaron-”

“God, I love how you say my name,” he rasped, his forehead dropping to yours as he planted a kiss on your temple between thrusts.

Sweat beaded on his forehead, dampening the dark, thick strands of his hair that clung to his face, his brows furrowed all concentrated, his cheeks flushed, jaw tight, and God, if he wasn’t the most beautiful thing you’d ever seen.

How stupid, how utterly reckless, it was to feel yourself falling for him all over again. And not just falling - but plummeting, freefalling into the abyss of him. Exactly now, exactly like this - when he was buried so deep inside you that it felt like he was carving himself into your soul.

How shallow, how ridiculous, to let your pupils blow wide with hunger, to let your chest ache with something too tender, too raw, while your body burned for him like this.

Because it wasn’t just the way his hips buckled into yours, wasn’t just the rhythm of his thrusts, wasn’t just the stretch and fullness that made you gasp. No, it was the way his name tumbled from your lips like it was the only word you knew, and the way he rasped your name back, hoarse and desperate, like it was his prayer.

The wet slap of his hips meeting yours, the creak of the bed beneath you - it was way too loud for the early hours, you knew that. Too wild, too shameless, probably waking every neighbor you had, giving them the privilege of hearing his name tumble from your lips and yours from his.

But how could you care? How could you even think about anything beyond him, especially when he shifted suddenly, leaning back and lifting your legs over his shoulders?

“Like this,” he muttered, his voice rough and breathless. His hands gripped your thighs, steady, holding you in place as he adjusted himself, his cock driving deeper - God, how was it even possible to feel this full?

His next thrust stole the breath from your lungs, and the one after that made your vision blur, leaving you gripping the sheets, then the bedframe, his arms - anything you could reach.

“I got you,” he rasped, his tone softer now, and if it weren’t for the fact that he was absolutely wrecking you, you might’ve laughed at how he said it. So casual, so reassuring, like he wasn’t currently fucking you out of your mind.

And then, just to make sure you were well and truly destroyed, Aaron leaned down and pressed a kiss to your trembling leg. A kiss. Soft and lingering, like he wasn’t simultaneously driving into you with enough force to make you think about it for days. A true gentleman, really. Absolutely chivalrous.

“Oh, fuck you,” you managed to gasp, your voice shaking as your nails dug into his arms.

He smirked, his hips snapping forward harder, making your back arch off the bed.

“I believe I already am,” he shot back smoothly, and damn him - despite the situation, or maybe because of it - you laughed.

The sound made him pause for a fraction of a second, his brow quirking as his lips twitched into something softer, something that could almost be called tender if he wasn’t currently wrecking you.

He leaned in, clearly intending to kiss you - except you were still laughing, leaving him kissing your teeth instead of your lips.

“You’re ridiculous,” he muttered against your mouth, his voice filled with faux exasperation, as if it weren’t entirely his fault. But the way he looked at you, his eyes soft and sweet despite the hunger blazing behind them, made it clear he wasn’t serious at all.

“I really hate you,” you managed to say, still laughing, the words breathless and shaky.

“Liar,” he countered smoothly, his lips curving into a grin of his own before he kissed you properly this time, slow and deep, stealing the air from your lungs. “You’ve never hated me at all.”

You opened your mouth to argue, but the next thrust silenced you, sending a bolt of pleasure straight to your core, leaving you gasping instead of speaking.

“Yeah,” he rasped, his voice thick, his eyes locked on yours as he watched you fall apart beneath him. “That’s exactly what I thought.”

Bastard. Oh, how he’d pay for this. Just… not now. Not when the heat in your stomach was building too quickly, you could already feel your toes curling, your legs trembling where they rested on his shoulders.

“Aaron-” His name spilled from your lips in a broken cry, your hands clutching at him desperately, your body trembling beneath him.

“I know,” he rasped, his forehead pressing against yours, his breath hot and uneven as it fanned over your lips. “You’re close. I can feel it. Fuck, you’re squeezing me so tight.”

And then, just to destroy you completely, he spat on his fingers. The sound alone sent a shiver through you, but watching him, seeing the way he reached down and slid his slick finger to your clit, circling it, left you utterly wrecked.

That alone was so unfairly hot you were surprised you didn’t come on the spot just from seeing it.

“God,” he groaned, his hips keeping the same rhythm as his fingers worked you over, the combination of his cock driving into you and his fingers basically breaking you apart. “I’m close too. Come for me. I want to feel it - I need to feel you.”

And there was no stopping it. The pressure snapped all at once, a tidal wave of pleasure crashing over you, leaving you shaking and gasping for air. Your body clung to him like he was the only thing keeping you tethered to reality, your nails digging into his back as your orgasm ripped through you.

“Aaron,” you cried out, his name falling from your lips in a broken, desperate plea as your cunt clenched around him so tightly that it pulled a guttural groan from his chest.

His movements stuttered, his rhythm faltering as he buried himself deep one last time, his head tipping back, lips shaping into your name.

You felt him spill inside you, the hot rush of him filling you, the heat prolonging the throbbing waves of your own climax, as your body convulsed with the lingering echoes of pleasure. It was too much. Too raw. Too perfect. The kind of climax that left you completely destroyed, your mouth falling open as you tried and failed to even catch your breath.

Your limbs felt boneless, your heart was about to burst out of your chest, a haze in your head. Wow.

Aaron’s thrusts slowed, his movements becoming languid as he guided you both through the final waves of pleasure, his hips rocking into you softly.

When he finally stilled, he stayed inside you, his body collapsing onto yours, every muscle undone, spent, his breath hot against your neck. His skin was slick with sweat, his weight pressing you into the mattress, and fuck, you never wanted him to move.

A slow, lazy kiss landed on your shoulder, his lips lingering there for a second before he murmured, "Are you okay?"

Really?

A laugh bubbled up before you could stop it, as your fingers threaded through his beautiful damp hair. “Okay?” you echoed, still struggling to breathe, still feeling the aftershocks of him inside you. “Aaron, I think you might’ve just killed me.”

He huffed out something that could’ve been a laugh if he had the energy, and just because he was perfectly positioned - completely wrecked, head buried against your shoulder, practically melting into you - you pressed a soft kiss to his forehead.

It felt almost paternalistic, sure, the kind of kiss that came with the smug satisfaction of having him completely undone over you, like he might fall apart if he even tried to move. The salt of his sweat clung to your lips, a stark contrast to the bitter taste of the tears you’d swallowed earlier. It felt better - so much better.

Aaron sighed against your skin, lips twitching like he wanted to smile but was too exhausted to bother, he pulled out, leaving you wincing at the sudden emptiness.

He sat back on his heels, his gaze dropping to the mess he’d made of you, and for a moment, you swore he looked almost proud. But, of course, because Aaron fucking Hotchner couldn’t let you have five uninterrupted minutes of post-orgasmic bliss without switching into Mr. Practical, he tilted his head and said, “You should probably clean yourself up.”

You blinked at him, deadpan. “Wow. Romance is truly alive and well.”

He grinned just enough to make you want to hit him and kiss him at the same time. “Where do you keep your towels?” he asked.

“Wow,” you muttered, flopping back onto the bed. “Absolutely fantastic. I give you my soul, and in return, you turn into a housekeeper.”

“Don’t be so dramatic,” he said, leaning down to press a kiss to your temple before standing and stretching.

And, of course, because the universe hated you, he looked absurdly good doing it. Broad shoulders, sweat-slicked skin, and the faint red lines your nails had left down his back. God, his back. Huge. Muscular. You really wanted to-

“Dramatic?” you scoffed, snapping yourself out of the borderline feral train of thought. “I just had the best orgasm of my life, and now you’re asking me about towels. What’s next, changing my bedsheets?”

He shot you a look over his shoulder, that infuriating smirk still tugging at his lips. “Best?” he echoed, his tone dripping with mock surprise. “Did I hear you correctly?”

You groaned, “God, you’re unbearable.”

“No, no,” he continued, turning back toward you, his smirk widening into something dangerously close to smug. “Say it again. Best orgasm of your life? Because I recall giving you three - you might need to pluralize that.”

Oh, how cocky he was. You grabbed the nearest pillow and chucked it at him, unfortunately the man also had perfect reflects. “So, where are these towels?”

“In the bathroom,” you muttered, gesturing vaguely in its direction. “Third drawer on the left. Please, by all means, go do your very important post-coital housekeeping.”

He chuckled as he made his way to the bathroom, and you watched him go, biting your lip as your gaze drifted lower. Because of course you looked. How could you not? The way his muscles moved as he walked, the strong lines of his back leading down to that quite flat yet perfectly sculpted-

“Stop staring,” he called over his shoulder without even looking back.

You scowled, sitting up and grabbing the other pillow to hurl at the bathroom doorway. “I wasn’t staring!”

He was no fun.

“You know,” you called after him, unable to help yourself, “it’s a shame you’re so good in bed, because you are the single most annoying person I’ve ever met.”

“Funny,” he shot back from the bathroom, his voice echoing slightly. “You didn’t seem too annoyed about it five minutes ago.”

Not that you had been even a little annoyed when you woke up right into his arms - despite the fact that you distinctly remembered falling asleep holding him.

“How much time do we have?” you murmured, your words muffled as your head stayed nestled against his chest.

“You’ve got 1 hour... I got half” he chuckled, then continued “I need to head home and get changed.”

But his arms instinctively tightened around you, like he wasn’t quite ready to let you go just yet. Like he could pretend, just for a little longer, that there was still time.

“How amazing would Agent Hotchner be if he just called to say we had the weekend off?” you said, tracing patterns of his flexed bicep tighetened around you.

He chuckled softly, the vibration of it rumbling beneath your cheek. “I doubt Agent Hotchner even has the strength to get up and take his phone from his jacket.”

“Well, since I’m feeling so generous, I could go and hand it to him,” you offered with faux magnanimity, but before you could move, his hand slid to the back of your head, pressing you back into him, while the other hand gripped your waist.

“Stay,” he said too softly for your own good.

You smiled against him. “I could stay longer if we didn’t have to go to work, you know...”

He chuckled again, this time shaking his head in amusement. “Nice try, sweetheart.”

Your head lifted slightly, an eyebrow raised. “Sweetheart?”

And there it was.

Fuck.

Was this the time to tell you? That if he’d been smitten before, now he was utterly undone? That despite making a living solving puzzles, he couldn’t think of a single scenario in which he wasn’t yours?

It was logic, wasn’t it? A proposition is true if it’s reflected in reality.

And this was his truth: he was yours. Irrevocably, undeniably yours.

There wouldn’t be a more evident fact - not until the marks you’d left on his neck and chest faded away. But even then? He would still belong to you.

Damn the stoics for being right.

“Sorry,” he said, as though the endearment had slipped past his guard.

Before he could say more, you tilted your head up and kissed him, catching him completely off guard. His startled expression was so genuine that you couldn’t help yourself - you kissed him again, determined to wipe it off his face.

His lips curled into a smile against yours, and when you finally pulled back true to form, he couldn’t resist deflecting. “If you’re trying to charm me into giving the day off, I’ll save you the trouble - it’s not going to work. Even if you keep kissing me.”

You laughed and leaned up to give him another kiss. But this time, you didn’t stop there. You moved down, pressing wet, open-mouthed kisses along his jaw. “I just want to make sure you understand the opportunity you’re blowing here,” you murmured into his skin, your lips ghosting over his pulse.

“The reports aren’t going to fill themselves,” he replied, though his voice lacked conviction.

Oh, neither was your cu-

“You sure about that?” you teased, nibbling gently at his collarbone as your hand trailed lower, brushing over where something was definetely starting to grow in between his boxers, making him hiss.

“What’s the matter?” you asked innocently, your hand now resting over his hardening cock, feeling the heat of him through the thin fabric.

“Maybe it’s the fact that you’re devouring my neck at seven in the morning,” he managed.

“Devouring? Not yet.” Your lips descended again, this time grazing over his collarbones, the faint scrape of your teeth dragging along his skin. When you bit lightly at his chest, his sharp inhale was all the reward you needed. “But don’t worry, I plan to.”

His mouth opened like he was about to fire back, but before he could, your hand slipped beneath the waistband of his boxers.

You stroked him slowly, dragging your thumb over the slick head, smearing the precum as if you had all the time in the world. “So,” you started lightly, as he cussed at your touch, “what are you going to do with the hour we have left?”

He tried to respond, he really did.

“I-” His breath hitched when your tongue darted out to trace just above his lower stomach.

“Well?” you pressed, lifting your head to look at him, your grin so sweet it could’ve killed him. “Breakfast? A shower? Or, you know, something else?”

“Breakfast sounds…” He barely managed to get the words out before his voice broke entirely, his body jerking slightly when your tongue flicked out to tease the tip of his cock.

“…like a good idea,” he finished weakly, though you weren’t convinced he even knew what he was saying at this point… better like this anyways.

“Good,” you hummed, dragging wet kisses along his length, while your hand kept moving, stroking him slowly, savoring the way his cock twitched in your hand. “So, Aaron, what do you feel like having for breakfast?”

His head fell back against the pillow, a low groan escaping him as his fingers tangled in your hair. “God,” he rasped, the word dragged out of him so pitifully it was almost tragic.

You grinned against his skin, looking up at him. “I’m pretty sure that’s not in my fridge,” you replied deadpan.

“Sweetheart…” He was absolutely desperate as your kisses moved lower, your tongue tracing a path along the underside of his cock.

“Hmm?” you hummed innocently, as if you didn’t notice the way his grip tightened in your hair or the slight tremble in his thighs.

He didn’t answer - but his phone did instead.

The sharp buzzing from the pocket of his discarded jacket in the living room shattered the moment.

Both of you jerked back, adrenaline ripping through the haze, already halfway off the bed before you even thought about it.

It was clumsy, both of you scrambling, bumping into each other as you stumbled toward the sound, breathless for entirely different reasons now.

Aaron got to it first, answering with the efficiency of a man who had switched back to work mode in an instant.

The call clicked on, and a voice - male, urgent - filled the room. "…The two bodies. The man died from a gunshot to the head, though he was stabbed multiple times post-mortem. The woman died from stab wounds."

You stilled.

Aaron’s face hardened. Rocher’s victims.

The ones he had been taunting you with.

"Agent Hotchner, there’s one thing…" the agent on the other end hesitated.

Aaron’s eyes sharpened. "What?"

"These bodies were killed exactly fifteen days ago," he said.

Aaron froze, you felt it at the same time he did - fifteen days ago.

You and Aaron had been interrogating Rocher exactly fifteen days ago.

He hadn’t killed them himself. He couldn’t have.

You were both there.

Your eyes met his, and for a split second, neither of you spoke.

“He had a partner,” Aaron said, his arm sliding around you instinctively, pulling you closer before you even realized you were starting to breathe too fast.

“Did you manage to identify the victims?” he asked.

“Yes - the man’s name is Michael Fowler, 34, a lawyer, junior associate at Madison & Green. The woman is Renee Hudson, 22, student at Columbia University, enrolled in the faculty of…”

You didn’t even know why you tensed so much.

The answer was obvious before he even said it.

“…philosophy.”

The call ended, but the silence left behind was louder than the voice on the line had been.

And in that silence, you could hear everything - the inevitability of it, tangled with the sound of the tears slipping down both of your faces.

And when your gaze flicked to Aaron, when his arm instinctively pulled you closer, you knew - without a word, without a glance – you’ve been both staring at the exact same spot on the wall.

Because it wasn’t just the age gap.

It wasn’t just the coincidence of numbers.

It was what made it undeniable.

A lawyer.

And a philosopher.

And the way your broken voices found each other in the quiet, harmonizing each other’s names in perfect, unintentional sync, just a few rushed heartbeats later.

Almost like in the musicals.

Almost sweet.

taglist: @beata1108 ; @c-losur3 ; @fangirlunknown ; @hayleym1234 ; @justyourusualash ; @khxna ; @kyrathekiller ; @lostinwonderland314 ; @mxblobby ; @oxforce ; @percysley ; @person-005 ; @prettybaby-reid ; @reidfile ; @royalestrellas ; @ssa-callahan ; @softestqueeen ; @theseerbetweenus ; @todorokishoe24

I sincerely apologize - but the cockblocking was absolutely necessary. Otherwise, they'd never keep their hands to themselves. Honestly, with a job like this, interruptions are basically a given. If I had a nickel for every time these two got cockblocked by a phone call, I’d have two nickels - which isn’t a lot, but it’s weird that it happeend twice.

Ahem... so, uh, let me know what you think... of this. All of this. I need your feedback because I am currently gnawing at the edges of my enclosure

[foreverisntenough]

‘Act II’

Summary: Attraction is like a gravitational pull that is undefinable and unavoidable. Unbeknownst to you, Jude had been keeping an eye on you since he caught a glimpse on his best friend’s girlfriend’s Instagram but he’s been loving his single life. You always were independent and know how to swim on your own but maybe you have been just treading water. Could the tides change on a holiday in Greece when you finally meet? It might get a little rocky but maybe you could be his paradise.

Index

Warnings: This series is 18+ MDNI

Note: Thank you for reading! Please be sure to like, comment, or message me what you think of the series! ‘Act II’ is interconnected to the 'You’re Mine' and 'Ours' Series but can read it independently.

Chapter 3 - Mr. Madrid | ‘Act II’

word count - 12.4

(bare with me my french is rusttty)

The soft hum of the plane's engines filled the cabin, a gentle, rhythmic sound that lulled most of your friends into a quiet, sleepy state on the flight from Greece back to the north of England. The lights were dimmed, casting a warm, golden glow over everything, creating an intimate atmosphere that felt worlds away from the hustle of the airport just a few hours before. You and Jude were nestled together in a secluded corner of the cabin, the luxurious seats providing a cocoon of privacy. But instead of sitting in your own seat, you were curled up in Jude’s lap, your body pressed against his in a way that felt both comforting and electrifying. His arms were wrapped around you, holding you close, the heat of his body seeping into you, making you feel warm and safe. The flight attendants had long since stopped passing through, leaving you in a pocket of stillness, as if the world outside your small bubble didn't exist. The intimacy of the moment was heightened by the darkness outside the windows, the only light coming from the small reading lamp above them, which cast a soft halo around your heads. You tilted your head back slightly, looking up at Jude with a smile that was equal parts playful and content. His hand was resting on your hip, fingers tracing lazy, absentminded patterns against the fabric of your joggers. You could feel the strength in his hands, the possessiveness in the way he held you, as if he didn't want to let you go-like he was afraid this moment might slip away if he loosened his grip even a little.

"Comfortable?" Jude murmured, his voice low and quiet, sending a shiver down your spine.

"Mmm, very." You replied, your voice soft as you shifted slightly in his lap, feeling the warmth of his body beneath you. You nestled closer, your cheek resting against his chest, your fingers playing with the collar of his shirt. "I could stay like this forever." You told him earnestly. Jude chuckled, the sound rumbling in his chest.

"I wouldn't mind that." He said, his hand slipping in the waistband of your joggers teasingly, his fingers brushing against the bare skin of your stomach. The touch was light, teasing, but it sent a spark of heat through you, a reminder of the chemistry that had been simmering between you since that night on the beach. You looked up at him again, your eyes dark with the same unspoken desire that had been growing between you throughout the holiday.

"What are you thinking about?" You asked, your voice taking on a sultry edge as you traced your fingers along the line of his jaw, your touch light but suggestive. Jude’s eyes darkened in response, a slow, lazy smile curling at the corners of his mouth. "I was thinking," he began, his voice a low murmur that sent another shiver of anticipation through you, "That maybe this doesn't have to end when we land." Your heart skipped a beat, your pulse quickening as you read the meaning in his words. 

"Oh?" you breathed, your lips brushing against his ear as you spoke, the nearness of him making your head spin. "And what do you suggest?" Jude’s hand slid further up your thigh, his fingers grazing the top hem of your lace panties, a touch so light it was almost maddening.

"Come with me to Spain," he said, his voice rich with promise, his lips brushing against the sensitive skin just below your ear. "We could... extend our holiday. See how well we do together in the real world." He cooed. 

"Spain, huh?" You whispered, your fingers gripping his hair, pulling him closer until your lips were almost touching. "And what would we do there, Jude?" You felt a rush of excitement and something more…something that felt dangerously close to hope. He smiled, a slow, wicked smile that sent your pulse racing. 

"Oh, I have a few ideas," he murmured, his voice dripping with insinuation. His hand moved higher, his fingers brushing just where you wanted him most, his touch sending a jolt of pleasure through you that made you gasp softly. "For starters, l'd finally get you all to myself. No distractions, no friends around... just you and me." Your breath hitched as he pressed a kiss to your neck, his lips soft and warm against your skin. 

"And what else?" You asked, your voice trembling slightly as his fingers continued their slow, torturous exploration. Jude chuckled softly, the sound vibrating against your skin. 

"I think you know exactly what else," he whispered, his breath hot against your ear. "Imagine waking up every morning in my bed... No rush, no interruptions. Just us, enjoying each other, exploring everything we've been holding back." His words sent a delicious shiver down your spine, the idea of spending days, nights, every moment with him making your blood run hot.

"That sounds... tempting," you breathed, your hand sliding down to rest on his chest, feeling the steady beat of his heart beneath your palm. "But are you sure you can handle that, Jude? Just the two of us... no escape?" Jude’s hand tightened on your thigh, his eyes locking onto yours with an intensity that made your heart skip. 

"Oh, I'm sure," he said, his voice low and sure. "The question is... can you handle it, Y/N?" You smiled, a slow, seductive smile, as you leaned in and kissed him, your lips soft and teasing against his. Why didn’t you just go straight to Spain? It was valid question but then Jude would’ve had less time with you, and less time to work up the courage to ask you to come back with him. Jude’s flight time was doubled but at least he was bringing you home with him now.

"I guess there's only one way to find out." You spoke hushly against his lips. The flight back from Greece to England was a whirlwind. As soon as the private jet touched down, you felt the eagerness of getting back onto another plane, your mind was already elsewhere. Spain was calling, or rather, Jude was. The plan to switch destinations wasn’t the most practical, albeit not the most environmentally friendly choice either, but there was no denying the pull to be with him. As you disembarked, Whitney was her usual playful self, teasing you the moment your feet hit the tarmac.

 "Switching flights to follow your heart, huh? So you don’t need me to keep you company while you wait for the next jet back to New York?" Her grin was infectious, but before you could even think of a witty comeback, Jude was behind you, his lips trailing soft, lazy kisses along your neck. It was a wordless response that left no room for doubt—you weren’t going anywhere without him. Whitney raised an eyebrow, her teasing turning into a knowing smirk. "Alright then, I see how it is. Safe travels, lovebirds." She winked and walked off with Trent who was immediately in her ear asking for more details that she didn’t have and frankly, you didn’t either, leaving you with Jude, who hadn’t let go of you since you landed. You knew this choice was impractical but it was what you wanted. The thought of being anywhere else felt wrong. As the private jet bound for Spain awaited you both, there was a comfort in knowing that you were choosing this. Choosing him. The moment felt right, even as you boarded the plane, hand in hand with Jude, ready for more of each other. The gentle hum of the airplane engines created a soothing backdrop as you rested in Jude’s lap once again, your fingers still lightly tracing the patterns on his shirt. The intimacy of the moment felt fragile, like a delicate balance between the comfort of your closeness and the unspoken tension hovering in the air. You shifted slightly, turning your gaze back up to Jude’s face. His expression was relaxed, but you could see a flicker of something more in his eyes—something that mirrored the uncertainty you felt in your own heart. You took a deep breath, gathering the courage to ask the question that had been nagging at you since the end of your holiday.

“Jude,” You began softly, your voice barely above a whisper, “can I ask you something?”  You mused a bit more shy than you would’ve hoped. He looked down at you, his hand absently stroking your hair. 

“Course, angel,” he replied, his tone gentle, though you could sense the underlying tension in his voice.

“Why didn’t you… you know, sleep with anyone else while we were in Greece?” You hesitated for a moment, then pushed forward with a question you had to know the answer to. Jude’s confessional about you being a big factor in choosing to come on the trip had weighed on you. You weren’t sure if it was all a ruse or if he was serious. Jude’s hand stilled in your hair, and you could feel his body tense beneath you.

“I… I don’t know,” he admitted after a long pause, his voice uncertain.  His brow furrowed slightly, as if he was searching for the right words. Jude was no longer swayed by the moonlight, bottles of wine, and the bliss post sex. “I guess I thought I would. That was kind of the plan, you know? Have some fun, no strings attached…” He explained. You nodded, a small, tight smile on your lips. You knew exactly what he meant, and it made your heart ache a little. This had all started as something casual, something easy and uncomplicated. But somewhere along the way, it had changed.

“I mean. I know I was the convenient option but why didn’t you?” You pressed gently, needing to hear his answer even though you weren't sure if you were ready for it. You being down the hall was convenient for Jude, but it wasn’t like he would've had a problem finding convenience elsewhere. 

“A very sexy convenience.” Jude quipped with a smug smile but your expression didn’t crack. You were serious. Jude sighed, running a hand over his hair, clearly struggling to articulate his feelings. “I don’t know, Y/N,” he repeated, frustration creeping into his voice. “I thought maybe it was just because we were spending so much time together, and I figured it would go away… but it didn’t. Every time I thought about being with someone else, it just… it felt wrong. Like I wasn’t supposed to.” His words hung in the air between you, heavy with meaning. Your heart pounded in your chest, the vulnerability in his confession striking a chord deep within you. You could see the confusion in his eyes, the way he was grappling with emotions he wasn’t used to feeling.  A part of you felt guilty because he made it sound like you forced him into hooking up with you and told him he couldn’t get with other girls. Sure, you probably would’ve been a bit hurt but you didn’t say that. Another part of you was confused when he said he thought it ‘would go away.’ You couldn’t decide if that was a good thing, a bad thing, a jab maybe? You weren’t sure so you stayed quiet. “I… I guess. I guess I just wasn’t interested.” Jude continued, his voice quieter now, as if admitting it to himself for the first time. “I don’t know what it is about you but you’re different. You make me feel things I’m not used to feeling, and it’s… it’s scary as hell.” Your eyes narrowed. You could see Jude struggling to accept the fact that his silly idea to fuck his best mate’s girlfriend’s friend had back fired when he had caught feelings. You felt a lump form in your throat. To no surprise you were feeling just the same. You understood exactly what he meant. The way your heart raced whenever he looked at you, the way your entire world seemed to narrow down to just the two of you whenever you were together. But that only made it scarier. You had always prided yourself on being independent, on protecting your heart from getting hurt. And now, here you were, on the brink of something that could tear it all to shred, either be beautiful or devastating.

“I’m scared too if that makes you feel any better, Jude,” you whispered, your voice trembling slightly. “I’ve been trying to protect myself, to keep my distance, but… it’s not working. The more time I spend with you, the harder it gets.” The problem you and Jude were having was that your bodies and emotions were betraying you. Neither of you were looking for a relationship. Neither of you thought you wanted more except deep down that’s all you could think about. Jude’s arms tightened around you, pulling you closer as if he could shield you from the fear you were both feeling. 

“I don’t want to hurt you, Y/N,” he murmured, his voice thick with emotion. “But I don’t want to lose you either. I don’t know how to explain it, but being with you just feels… right.” Jude explained. He knew his playboy lifestyle was in great jeopardy when he invited you back to Spain with him. He didn’t want to let you go, he didn’t want you fucking anyone else but he didn’t know if he could give you a relationship. The thing was, you didn’t want to let him go, you certainly didn’t want him fucking anyone else and you also weren’t sure you could give him a relationship. You were on the same discombobulated messy page. You closed your eyes, resting your forehead against his chest, trying to steady your breathing. Both of you well aware a situationship would only result in someone’s feelings getting hurt. The fear of getting hurt was almost overwhelming to both of you but god was the sex good. 

 “We can just hang. You know? No big deal.” You softly told him, your voice barely audible. You opted to keep the massive issues that were rapidly rising to stay under the surface. Jude leaned down, pressing a gentle kiss to the top of your head.

“Good by me.” He told you, his voice full of raw apprehension. “No pressure, hmm?”  You nodded, your heart pounding in your chest. You wanted to believe him, to trust that you could navigate this together. But the fear was still there, lurking in the back of your mind, in his mind, reminding you both of how much was at stake. If you caught feelings, real feelings, past a holiday fling, if you ever found yourself truly in love with him and then he left… you weren’t sure you could manage. Your best friends were dating, your pretty damn sure they’d get married and you would have to stomach seeing Jude’s stupid pretty face still but future you be damned you wanted this now.

“Okay,” you whispered, your voice shaky but determined. Jude smiled, a small, reassuring smile that made your heart ache with hope. You sat like that for a while, wrapped in each other’s arms, both of you feeling the weight of the moment. 

When you arrived in Madrid it was very clear that you were now on Jude's home turf. The massive Adidas ad you passed on the way from the airport to his home serving as a glaring reminder of just that. As you drove,  the car turned a corner, and suddenly, the massive billboard of Jude loomed over you. You couldn’t help but smirk, turning to Jude with a teasing glint in your eyes.

“Wow, what a model.” You drawled, nodding towards the billboard. “Mr. Madrid himself. What a welcome, Jude.” You fell into a giggle. Jude chuckled, rubbing the back of his neck, a faint blush creeping up his cheeks. 

“Yeah, well… welcome. You’re in my city now.” He pointed out the window to a kid wearing a Real Madrid Bellingham jersey.  You laughed a little more, the playful banter easing the nerves you hadn’t realized were there. 

“Clearly. Can’t drive one block without being reminded I’m in the Jude Bellingham’s city.” You emphasized his name. Jude’s smile grew, a mix of pride and embarrassment, as he glanced out the window at the towering image of himself. 

“Well, I hope you don’t mind being reminded a little more while you’re here.” He draped his arm around you in the back seat of the car and pulled you into him. 

“Oh, I don’t mind at all,” you teased, you wiggled in his embrace to get more settled before reaching for his hand to give it a squeeze. “As long as the real thing lives up to the hype.” You cooed. You and Jude were seeming to have an issue where you were actively saying you didn’t want anything more but you were instinctively acting as if you were in a relationship. He shot you a look, one filled with a mixture of amusement and something deeper, something that made your heart skip a beat. 

“Trust me, I never disappoint.” He quipped with a wink and you were pretty sure that your heart may have stopped beating for a moment. When you got out of the car, the air was warm, the sky a cloudless blue, and the city seemed to buzz with an energy that reached all the way out to Jude’s private neighborhood outside of it. The buzz mirroring the tension between you. You’d just spent a blissful, yet confusing, week together on holiday, filled with stolen glances, flirty banter, and nights spent tangled up in each other. Now, back in reality, at least Jude’s reality, you were unsure of where you stood. As you walked through Jude's front door, you couldn't help but feel a knot form in your stomach. You didn’t know how to label what you were, if you were supposed to label it —friends with benefits, something more, or just two people afraid to confront your feelings. Jude seemed equally unsure, his usual confident demeanor replaced by a hesitant awkwardness as you entered the house. "So," Jude began as he set your bags down in the entryway, his voice lighter than usual, "what exactly do we tell my mum about why you’re here?" He asked with a childishly smile thinking the circumstances were slightly funny. 

“Erm… We could just say I'm just here because of Whitney and Trent,” You suggested, your tone half-joking, half-serious. You bit your lip, trying to hide your nervousness with a casual shrug. Jude chuckled, though it sounded forced. 

“Yeah, because that makes perfect sense. 'Oh, Y/N’s just tagging along all the way back to Spain with me because her friend is dating my friend.' That won’t sound weird at all.” You both laughed, Jude pulled you into a hug, the air between you remained thick with unspoken words. Your heart raced as you tried to find the right thing to say. Why was this so complicated? You had been so open and relaxed with each other just days ago, but now it felt like you were walking on eggshells. Denise Bellingham entered the room just then, her smile warm and welcoming. 

“Well, well, well,” she said with a playful tone, “look who decided to finally come back home… and with a friend.” Her eyes widened a little inspecting you head to toe but she kept her sweet disposition. “Hi sweetheart, I missed you.” Denise gave Jude a hug while you watched on in a panic. Of course Jude had told Denise you were coming but it still felt pressure packed. “Hi hun, I’m Denise, it’s nice to have you with us. You’re friends with Whitney?” She asked kindly after she gave you a quick hug. 

“Hi, it’s really nice to meet you. Yeah, Whitney's plus one on the holiday and I guess in life but I’ve been replaced by T lately.” You giggled trying to act as natural as possible. “Thank you so much for letting me come stay.” You awkwardly got out not wanting to lose your manners despite the circumstances. 

“Oh, it’s no trouble at all. Happy to have you” Denise replied, her eyes twinkling with a hint of mischief. “You’re gorgeous, hun,  I’m sure Jude doesn't mind stealing you as a plus one of his own, right?” She raised an eyebrow to Jude, her subtly trying to deduce what your and Jude’s relationship was thinly veiled. Your cheeks flushed, and you laughed nervously. “Just coming to visit Madrid. I haven’t been in ages. Figured who better a tour guide than the boy plastered on every building in the city.” You giggled a little. Denise gave an unconvinced nod, clearly not believing a word of it. 

“Of course. But whatever the reason, I’m glad you’re here. It’s been a while since Jude brought a girl home. Maybe he just needed some time with Trenty to get his head on straight.” She teased, her voice light, as she pinched Jude’s side. 

“Mum.” Jude groaned, shooting her a look of mild exasperation, though his lips twitched with a smile. “I don’t need anything from ‘Trenty,’ thank you.” He shook his head less impressed with his mum’s infatuation with Trent. Although you were still fixated on who or when Jude last brought a girl home. 

“Oh, hush, Jude.” Denise waved a dismissive hand at him, her grin widening. She turned back to you, her expression softening. “Really, though, Y/N, you’re always welcome here. It’s nice to have some new energy in the house.” She said sincerely. You muttered a ‘thank you’ feeling genuinely touched by Denise’s warmth. It was a stark contrast to the guarded front you often encountered, and it made you feel unexpectedly at ease. Denise winked at you. “Go unpack and settle in. Jude, show Y/N to … or I don’t know… you can sleep wherever you’d like. Dinner will be ready in a little.” Denise cooed and you felt anxiety wash over you. You really hadn’t thought too much about the sleeping arrangements. You were always fine meeting parents but a mum outright knowing you were sleeping with her son while you very clearly had just met and were not in a relationship… It wasn't a great look. Jude rolled his eyes good-naturedly, taking your hand in his, grabbing your rimowa in the other to lead you upstairs.  As you walked through Jude’s home, you couldn’t help but marvel at the luxurious space. The house was modern and expansive, with clean lines and sleek architecture, all accented by large windows that let in the warm Spanish sunlight. The pool outside shimmered invitingly, framed by rolling green hills that stretched as far as you could see. It felt like stepping into a dream, where everything was perfectly curated yet still managed to feel like a home. You followed him through the hallways, your footsteps muted by the plush carpets beneath you. The walls were adorned with minimalistic art, a few pieces of Jude’s memorabilia but it was subtle, the decor was understated yet sophisticated, just like him. 

“Sorry about that. My mum can be… a bit much. She thinks she’s chill but she’s just… I don’t know.” Jude muttered not really anything in particular in a whisper leaning in close to you as you walked. 

“No, she’s great, I get it. She just cares about you a lot. It’s nice to see.” You shook your head, smiling.  Jude’s expression softened, his thumb brushing lightly over the back of your hand. 

“Yeah, she does but if it wasn’t already clear upon invitation you will be staying in my bed. My room’s on this side of the house. Mum’s is on the next floor and the opposite side so no stress, yeah?” Jude explained and even though it wasn’t your favorite thing to think about he was right, no stress. You looked up at him, your heart fluttering at the sincerity in his eyes interwoven with a bit of mischief. As you continued up the stairs, the awkwardness seemed to fade, replaced by a sense of possibility that neither of you were quite ready to define, but both of you were willing to explore. When you entered his bedroom, you were struck by how calming it felt. The space was large but not overwhelming, decorated in dark neutral tones that exuded warmth and tranquility. The bed, dressed in soft linens, was the centerpiece, inviting and perfectly made, you were pretty sure he wasn’t the one who had done it. The room carried a subtle, woody scent, like cedar and sandalwood that smelt just like him, making you feel instantly at ease.

“This is really nice,” you murmured, taking it all in. Jude smiled, setting your bags down gently by the wardrobe.

 “I’m glad you like it. I do too.” He laughed. You walked further into the room, running your fingers lightly over the polished wood of the dresser, then over to the large windows that offered a stunning view of the pool and the hills beyond. 

“No, like it’s really nice,” you said, turning back to him. He stepped closer, his presence warm and reassuring, just like the room. 

“I know you said that.” Jude chucked. “Even nicer when you’re in it though.” He cooed. You immediately rolled your eyes at his cheesiness. Jude flopped onto his bed with a playful grin, patting the space beside him. "C’mere, lay down with me," he invited, his voice light and teasing. You shook your head, trying to suppress a smile.

"Jude, we cannot. It would be so blatantly obvious to your mum right now." You reminded him, raising an eyebrow. Jude groaned at you being so mindful of his mum, clearly disappointed.

“You’re killing me here,” he muttered, though his tone was playful. You couldn’t help but laugh at his reaction, shaking your head once more.

“Well, someone has to keep you in line,” you teased, enjoying the way his frustration melted into a grin. He laughed, the sound warm and carefree, before sitting up and wrapping his arms around you, pulling you into a hug. 

“You’re right, can’t risk getting caught… at least not yet. I want you here for more than just a day.” He joked, his breath tickling your ear as he held you close. After a moment, he pulled back just enough to look at you, his eyes softening. “How about we go downstairs and watch some TV instead? Keep it PG for you.” He laughed. You nodded. “But just know I’m impatiently waiting till you let me bring you back up here.” He teased, feeling the comfort of his embrace.

"Patience is a virtue, baby. I’ll make it worth your while later. I promise.” You whispered, before you let go, leaning in close, your lips brushing against his ear.  A shiver ran through him, and he let out a low chuckle. 

"Now that's something to look forward to," he murmured, his voice a little huskier, the hint of anticipation between you electric. You went downstairs and plopped yourselves in the living room on an expansive velvety sage couch. As you nestled into the warmth of Jude’s embrace on the couch, the cozy atmosphere around you was momentarily interrupted by the sound of your phone ringing. Glancing at the screen, you saw it was your mum calling. You answered with a smile, your voice subconsciously shifting into French as you greeted her.

“Salut, Maman! Comment ça va?” [Hello, Mum! How are you?] You cooed sitting up a bit more. Jude flinched a bit taken aback by the switch of languages. You had said you barely knew Spanish, you said nothing about being fluent in French. Jude could hear your mum's affectionate murmur on the other end of the call. “Tu me manques aussi.” [I miss you too!]  You responded, your tone softening as you settled back down into Jude’s side. “Je suis en Espagne en ce moment. Juste à l'extérieur de Madrid. C’est magnifique ici.” [I'm in Spain at the moment. Just outside Madrid. It's beautiful here.]  Your mum rarely knew where you were but she cared enough to call and ask. Your mum asked you why you were in Spain so you glanced up at your reason why, Jude, who was watching you with a curious smile, though he couldn’t understand what was being said. “Ah, Maman, il s’appelle Jude. Il est… bon,” [Ah, Mum, his name is Jude. He's... good] you said, a shy smile playing on your lips. Jude raised an eyebrow playfully, clearly picking up on the way your tone softened when you had just said his name, even if he didn’t understand the words. “Moi aussi,” [me too] you agreed. “Je te raconterai tout plus tard, d’accord?” [I'll tell you everything later, okay?] You told your mum you’d tell her about him later although you probably wouldn’t. Your mum and you were open about a lot, boys always being a hot topic but you be weren’t sure how you would explain Jude. “Je t’aime aussi, Maman. À bientôt.” [I love you too, Mom. See you soon.] You ended the call and placed your phone on the coffee table, feeling the weight of Jude’s gaze on you. He looked at you with that same curious expression, like he was trying to piece together the parts of you he hadn’t yet discovered.

“So... are you French?” he asked, his voice tinged with a hint of surprise, but also amusement and a little laugh. It was clear he was learning something new about you that fascinated him. You nodded, a soft smile on your lips.

“Well… Yeah.” You laughed. “I am. My parents are French, but they moved to the States when I was born but we moved back to Paris and then I went back to the US for Uni.” You smiled. You were a little confused because you thought maybe this would’ve come up already or somehow Jude just should’ve known. Jude grinned, his eyes shining with interest. 

“I never would’ve guessed, but it suits you. The way you speak—it’s beautiful,” he murmured, his voice laced with admiration.You felt a blush creep up your cheeks at his words, and you shifted slightly in his arms, feeling more vulnerable than you had moments ago. 

“Thank you,” you replied softly. “You know, I sometimes forget that you don’t know everything about me yet. I just feel... so comfortable with you.” You smiled back at him. Jude’s hand found yours, his fingers lacing with yours in a gesture that was both reassuring and intimate. 

“I’m glad you do,” he said, his voice tender. “You make me feel the same way. It’s like... I don’t have to try so hard around you. It just feels right.” He sheepishly admitted. “

You looked up at him, your heart swelling with a mix of emotions—comfort, affection, and something deeper that you were still trying to define. “You know you’ve got layers, I'll give you that.” Jude laughed trying to snap back to something more lighthearted.

“I’d say you do too. You’re not exactly just throwing on a jersey every weekend.”  You admitted, your voice muddied in a giggle. Jude’s thumb brushed over your knuckles, his touch gentle and reassuring. His eyes holding yours with a sincerity that made your breath catch. In that moment, as you sat there wrapped in his arms, you realized just how much this connection meant to both of you. What were you two doing? There was way too much emotion happening for this situationship and that emotion continued after your lazy afternoon post traveling. You sat at the dinner table late that night, your heart racing. You were trying your best to focus on the aroma of the food Denise had prepared, but your mind was a whirlwind of thoughts. You were torn between the undeniable warmth you felt as you watched Jude interact with his mum—how his eyes softened when he spoke to her, the affectionate way he teased her, the easy smiles he shared—and the rising panic of sitting across from Denise, Jude’s mother, for the first time. Denise was exactly as Jude had described her: warm, witty, and welcoming. But still, you felt a little out of place. After all, the real reason you were in Madrid wasn’t exactly something you’d share over a family dinner. It wasn’t that you and Jude had agreed to continue exploring whatever was going on between you or even that you were considering some sort of future together. No, the reason you were here, at its most basic, unfiltered truth, was because you wanted to keep having sex. And you definitely couldn’t share that with Denise. 

“So, hun,” Denise began with a warm smile, “You said you hadn’t been Madrid for a little bit… 

Have you been here often before? Can’t get enough of the Spanish sun?” She asked. You shifted in your seat, trying to suppress a blush as Denise turned her attention to you. You smiled nervously, tucking a strand of hair behind your ear. You could feel Jude’s eyes on you, almost as if he was silently urging her to say the right thing. 

“Yeah, I’ve come on holidays, or just visits in general. Sometimes my dad’s work took him here and I’d tag along. Jude had told me there were some must do things I apparently have been missing out on though so,” you added quickly, trying to sound casual, although Jude thought your comment was an innuendo. A cheeky smile grew on his face believing he was a thing you needed to do in your time in Spain. And while that was true, you weren’t telling his mum that.  “When Jude extended the invitation, I thought it would be nice to explore a bit more”  Denise nodded, seeming to accept your answer, but there was a twinkle in her eye that suggested she wasn’t buying it completely. 

“I see,” she said, her voice light and teasing. “And of course, having a personal tour guide like Jude must make the trip even better, right?” You laughed softly, a bit too quickly, and took a sip of your wine to hide your nerves. 

“Yeah, yeah, he’ll be a great guide, knows the language… I don’t” You managed, glancing over at Jude, who was watching you with an amused expression. You could tell he was enjoying your discomfort a little too much.

“Eh, don’t know your spanish is arguably better than mine.” Jude chimed in, leaning back in his chair with a grin. “Doesn’t have that brummy charm to it, sure, but it’s good.” He winked at you. “You know, Mum, I’m just trying to make sure Y/N gets the full Madrid experience. Can’t let her leave without seeing all the sights.” He spoke to his mum despite his eyes being locked on you. Denise chuckled, her eyes shifting between you knowingly. 

“Well, I’m glad you’re here, Y/N. It’s nice to see Jude spending time with someone who keeps him on his toes.” She cooed. Your cheeks warmed again, this time with a mix of embarrassment and affection. You really appreciated Denise’s kindness, but you were acutely aware of the awkwardness of the situation. You wished you could just relax and enjoy the evening, but the truth of why you were here—why you were really here—hovered in the back of your mind like a secret you were desperately trying to keep. As the conversation continued, you found yourself caught between moments of laughter and tension. You loved watching Jude with his mum, the way he softened in her presence, the way he seemed to genuinely enjoy making her laugh. Hearing stories about him and his brother made you miss your own. It was sweet, endearing even. Yet, every time Denise looked at you with that knowing smile, you felt a jolt of panic. You knew Denise was cool, but how cool could any mum be when it came to their son’s “friend” who was really just around for… extracurricular activities? Denise poured more wine into your glass, her smile never wavering. “I hope you’re enjoying dinner,” she said. “I’m glad you could join us. It’s always nice to have good company around. Always thought it makes every meal even better.” Denise mused. You smiled back, grateful for Denise’s warmth but still feeling the weight of the unspoken. 

“Thank you, Denise. I agree. Good company is essential to any good meal but this has been delicious. Steak always pairs really great with Vega Sicilia as well.” You blabbered before picking up your wine glass. Denise’s eyes widened, taken aback by the comment. She didn’t even think you had seen the wine bottle so she was surprised by your call out. Jude chucked to himself. Clearly your pass at ‘liking wine as much as the next person’ was a farce. You knew from the first sip and that white label spotted from the corner of your eye what wine it was. “This is all wonderful. I’m really happy to be here, so really thank you.” And you were happy to be there, despite everything. You were happy to be here, with Jude, in this strange in-between place you had found yourselves in. You just hoped you could keep everything else under wraps a little longer. After dinner you returned to the comfort of the sage velvety couch nestling back into Jude's arms, feeling the warmth of his body against yours as you both relaxed on the couch. The soft hum of the TV played in the background, but your thoughts drifted back to the sun-soaked days in Greece, thinking you wouldn’t mind if you and Jude were cuddled just the same but in bathing suits on the beach.

 "I think I really miss Greece." You murmured, your voice filled with a hint of nostalgia. "The drinks, the sunsets, just the vibes. I hate when holidays end." You giggled. Jude tightened his hold on you, pressing a kiss to the top of your head.

 "Yeah, really good holiday. Don’t think I’m sad it’s necessarily over though." He smiled, his voice soft and comforting. "Best part of my holiday came back home with me." You smiled, feeling your heart flutter at his words. There was something about being with Jude that made everything else fade away.

 "You always know just what to say, huh?" You teased lightly, but your voice was tinged with sincerity. It actually made you a bit nervous he seemed to have these lines written for cinema at the ready. Jude's hand began to trace slow, lazy circles on your back, his touch growing bolder with each passing moment. 

"I mean it though," he said, his tone deepening. "I’m really not complaining. I might even think you look sexier in Spain than you did in Greece." He smiled at you with lust burning behind his eyes. The heat between you began to build, the air around you thickening with unspoken desire. His hand drifted lower, sending a shiver down your spine. You could feel his breath quickening, matching your own as the tension grew.

"Jude..." you whispered, your voice a mix of longing and hesitation. You turned your head slightly, your lips brushing against his jaw. He looked down at you, his eyes dark and full of intent. 

"Besides, your holiday isn’t over. I plan on extending it right here," he suggested, his voice rough around the edges. Your breath caught in your throat as you met his gaze, the intensity of the moment pulling you in. You nodded slightly, your body already responding to his closeness, the world outside the two of you slipping away. As Jude’s kisses grew more urgent on the couch, you felt your resolve crumbling. You tried to voice your hesitation, your words coming out in breathless gasps. 

“Jude, wait... we need to slow down,” you managed, though your own hands betrayed you. They continued to roam over his body, your lips eager to meet his. Your mind was racing faster than your heartbeat. This was what you had come to Madrid for—a chance to be close to Jude, to continue your passionate connection. Yet, as your bodies pressed together, a sudden and sharp ache struck your chest. The intensity of the moment and the emotions swirling within you became almost unbearable. You pulled away, your breath ragged, your heart pounding not just from the physical exertion but from a deeper, more unsettling realization. The room seemed to spin for a moment as you tried to ground yourself, your eyes focusing on the familiar yet suddenly distant features of Jude. Your thoughts spiraled. ‘Is this what Jude does?’ You wondered. ‘Does his mum know about all this?’ ‘How many girls has he returned from holidays with.’ The questions collided in your mind like a storm, leaving you feeling exposed and vulnerable. How many women had been here with him before you? Were you just another fleeting encounter, another notch in his bedpost? The discomfort you felt was more than physical—it was emotional, raw, and real. The intimacy of your situation suddenly seemed tainted by a sense of insignificance. You felt a pang of self-doubt and regret, an acute sense of having misjudged the situation and your place within it. “Jude, I… I need a moment,” you said, your voice barely a whisper as you gently pushed him away, your own emotions threatening to overwhelm you. You stood up, your movements shaky, trying to regain your composure as you stepped back from the couch. 

 “What’s wrong? Did I do something?” he asked, his voice laced with genuine worry. Jude looked up at you, confused. You shook your head, struggling to find the right words amidst the turmoil inside you.

“No, it’s not you,” you said, your tone heavy with a mix of sadness and frustration. “It’s just… I need to think.” Sensing your shift, Jude immediately pulled back, concern etching his features.

“Y/N, talk to me. What’s going on?” Jude reached out to you, his hand brushing yours gently. Why all of a sudden did this matter so much to you. You’d never had a problem with hook ups before. Why did any of this matter? Tears stung your eyes as you fought to hold them back. As Jude’s touch grew more insistent on the couch, your mind started racing. You weren’t sure if it was the thought of his mum being in the house or the nagging question of whether you were just another one of many women he brought home. You felt a tightness in your chest, a lump forming in your throat—an unfamiliar ache that almost made you want to cry. You never cared like this before. 

“I just… I don’t know.” You tried to steady your breathing, feeling foolish for getting so worked up. “I don’t know why I’m feeling like this,” you admitted, your voice trembling. You weren’t sure you had ever halted a hook up you wanted as bad as this one. Jude sighed, running a hand over his hair as he looked at you earnestly. He pulled at your arm for you to sit next to him although he allowed for some distance between you both now. 

“I don’t know how to say this…” He took a deep breath. “ I don’t know what we’re doing or where this is going, but I like you. A lot. And as confusing as it is, I care about you. I don’t just bring anyone home to meet my mum, I want you to know that.” You bit your lip, feeling a mix of relief and embarrassment. He didn’t tell you everything he was feeling because he wasn’t quite sure he wanted to acknowledge it but there was a shift in the air between you—like the tides were changing, pushing you both closer to something neither of you were quite ready to name. As you both settled a little further apart on the couch, the air between you felt charged with something unspoken. Jude reclined against the pillows, his arm casually draped around you, but there was a tension in his posture, like he was trying to find the right words. You felt it too, a knot of nerves tightening in your stomach as you stared at the ceiling, trying to make sense of the confusing emotions swirling around in your head.

“So…” Jude started, his voice low, hesitant. “This… whatever this is… it’s kind of crazy, right?” You let out a small, awkward laugh, nodding in agreement. 

“Yeah, it is. I mean, we haven’t even really talked about what we’re doing here… you know besides the sex.” You awkwardly explained, not sure if it was something he wanted to hear. 

“Exactly. I mean, it’s not like… we’re not looking for anything serious, right?” He turned his head to look at you, his eyes searching yours for some kind of reassurance. You felt your heart skip a beat, unsure whether you were relieved or disappointed by his words. 

“Yeah, totally,” you replied, trying to sound casual, even though the thought of keeping things light made your chest ache. “Neither of us needs to complicate things right now.” You hummed.

“Right,” Jude echoed, but there was a slight tension in his voice that made you wonder if he was just as unsure as you were. He reached for your hand, lacing his fingers with yours, the touch sending a shiver down your spine. “But… we’re obviously into each other. I mean, that’s pretty clear.” He tried to rectify things. You nodded, biting your lip as you tried to ignore the flutter in your stomach. 

“Yeah, that’s obvious.” You cooed. Jude’s thumb gently stroked the back of your hand, and the small gesture made your breath hitch. 

“But then there’s this thing, right?” he continued, his words careful, almost cautious. “Like, if we keep… doing this, it might not just going to stay casual.” He hesitantly admitted both of you very aware you were walking a very fine line.

“I know,” you confessed, your voice barely above a whisper. You could feel the weight of what he was saying, the unspoken acknowledgment that this was more than just a fling. “It could get a little messy.” You slowly added. He nodded slowly, his gaze dropping to where your hands were intertwined. 

“But it’s hard to stop, you know? Like, we know where this is headed, but we keep… we keep ending up here.” He whispered with sincerity but a bit of desire. The honesty in his words made your heart clench. You knew exactly what he meant. Every time you were with him, the pull between you was undeniable, even though you both kept trying to convince yourselves that it didn’t have to mean anything more.

“Yeah,” you agreed softly. “It’s like… we’re playing with fire, but we can’t help it.” You tried not to smile. You also tried not to kiss him because that’s what you wanted to do right now. He looked so patient, so kind, his lips perfectly pouting, mocking you with how good of a kiss you would get.

“And we know that if we keep going, it’s only going to get more intense. More… complicated.” Jude’s lips curved into a small, almost bittersweet smile. You met his gaze, feeling that familiar tug in your chest, that longing that you both were dancing around but not quite willing to confront.

“So what do we do?” you asked, your voice barely a whisper, as if saying it out loud would make everything too real. Jude was silent for a moment, his thumb still tracing gentle patterns on your skin. 

“I don’t know,” he finally said, his voice thick with uncertainty. “I don’t want to stop, but… I don’t want to mess this up either.” He shyly told you, thinking honestly was best. You nodded, your heart pounding in your chest. 

“Same. I mean, I’m not looking for a relationship or anything serious, but… this doesn’t feel casual either.” You sighed awkwardly hating that you even said the word relationship. He let out a soft breath, shifting closer to you, his warmth seeping into your skin. 

“I guess we just… see where it goes? No pressure, no expectations. Just… take it one step at a time?” You felt a wave of relief wash over you at his suggestion, but it was mixed with a lingering unease. You both knew it wouldn’t be that simple, but it was the only option that didn’t involve walking away. 

“Yeah,” you agreed, trying to convince yourself as much as him. “One step at a time.” You softly smiled. Jude leaned in, his lips brushing against your temple, the contact sending a shiver down your spine. 

“And for now… we just enjoy it,” he murmured, his voice low, almost daring you to argue. You turned to face him, your breath catching as you met his gaze. The tension between you was palpable, the air thick with the promise of what was to come. 

“Yeah,” you whispered back, your voice shaky with a mixture of anticipation and trepidation. “Let’s enjoy it.” The words hung in the air between you, a tentative agreement to keep playing with fire, knowing full well that you’d both get burned. But as Jude’s lips found yours, the heat of the moment drowned out any lingering doubts, leaving only the electric thrill of what you both knew was inevitable. His lips felt better than you could’ve ever imagined at that moment.

“Maybe we should… move this somewhere more private,” you suggested softly, your heart still pounding but the anxiety slowly ebbing away. Jude nodded, his expression softening as he stood up, offering you his hand.

As the sun dipped below the horizon it casted a soft glow across the room, you sat cross-legged on his bed, staring blankly at your laptop. You had spent a few more days loving this messy little holiday extension with Jude and a few more nights wrapped up in him and in his sheets. The words blurred together on your screen, your mind too distracted to focus on anything but the tangled mess of emotions you found yourself in. The feeling of Jude’s t-shirt against your skin and his lingering scent on it only making matters worse. You had never meant for things to get this complicated, but here you were, caught up in something that felt far more serious than you had ever intended. Every time you tried to push the thoughts away and get back to work, your mind drifted back to Jude. How did you end up here, in his house, tangled up in something that was supposed to be casual, but now felt anything but? You sighed, closing your laptop and setting it aside, feeling the weight of the situation pressing down on you. When Jude finally returned home, it was late. He looked exhausted from his workout, his hair damp with sweat, his movements sluggish as he kicked off his shoes and dropped his bag by the door. You offered him a small smile as he walked into the bedroom, but the air between you was thick with unspoken words.

"Hey, angel." he cooed softly, pulling his shirt over his head and tossing it into the laundry basket. His voice was tired, and you could see the weariness in his eyes.

"Hi," you replied, your voice just as soft. There was so much you wanted to say, but you held back, unsure if tonight was the right time to have another heavy conversation. Jude glanced at you, sensing the tension in the air. 

"How was your day?" He asked, though you both knew that was just small talk, a way to avoid the real issue. He came towards you and cupped your cheek.

"Fine," you answered, shrugging. "I tried to work, but... my mind was kind of elsewhere." He nodded, understanding without needing to ask more.

“Yeah, I get that." The room fell silent, the only sound the rustling of sheets as Jude climbed into bed beside you. You both laid there for a moment, staring at the ceiling, the weight of the day pressing down on you. Neither of you seemed ready to dive into another conversation about where this was going or what you were doing.  But as you shifted closer to him, seeking the comfort of his presence, Jude turned onto his side and pulled you into his arms. The familiar warmth of his body against yours, the steady rhythm of his breathing, soothed the tension that had been building all day. You closed your eyes, inhaling his scent, feeling a sense of calm wash over you. For a while, you simply lay there, wrapped up in each other, neither of you saying a word. It was enough just to be close, to find solace in each other's arms without having to define what you were. The comfort of his embrace eased the knots in your stomach, the doubts and uncertainties melting away in the quiet intimacy of the moment. But even as you settled into his embrace, the proximity and warmth between you started to stir something deeper. Jude's hand slid up your back, his touch sending a shiver down your spine. You felt the tension shift, the air between you thickening as his lips brushed against your neck, his breath hot against your skin. You turned your head to meet his gaze, your eyes locking with his. There was a hunger there, an unspoken need that neither of you could deny. The conversation that had been avoided all evening seemed to dissolve into the background, replaced by the heat building between you. Without a word, Jude leaned in, capturing your lips in a slow, deliberate kiss. The tenderness of his earlier touch gave way to something more urgent, more intense, as his hands roamed over your body, pulling you closer. You responded in kind, your fingers gripping his hair, your body arching into his. The kiss deepened, growing more passionate as you both gave in to the desire that had been simmering beneath the surface all day. His hands moved with purpose, sliding under your shirt, tracing the curves of your body, igniting a fire that spread through you like a wildfire. You felt his weight shift as he moved over you, his kisses trailing down your neck, your collarbone, leaving a trail of heat in their wake. The earlier hesitation, the unspoken tension, seemed to vanish, replaced by a desperate need to be closer, to lose yourselves in each other. Things heated up quickly, the room filled with the sounds of your breathing, the rustle of sheets, the quiet gasps and moans as you both gave in to the moment. Jude shifted you so that you could feel his hard on, only the thin material of single layers of clothing separating you two. 

“You want to be a good girl f’me tonight?” He whispered as his hand snuck up your torso until he tortuously toyed with you stroking underneath your tits. You nodded desperately.  All the questions, all the doubts, melted away, leaving only the overwhelming desire to be with him, to feel his touch, his kiss, his body against yours. He pulled you on top of him, letting his tired body relax beneath you. His hands held you by your small waist before trailing lower and gripping onto your ass not without a firm slap. 

“Please. I want to be a good girl for you.” You pouted at him as you sank you hips down rubbing yourself against the tent in his boxers. “You feel so fucking good.” You moaned before he pulled you down to him for another kiss. He smugly smiled letting his hands slid under the tiny silky shorts you were in, squeezing and massaging your ass. Hi hands making quick work to get under your shorts, forcing your thinly covered pussy to grind against his throbbing erection.

“Yeah, be a good girl f’me. Show me how good you can be.” He bucked his hips up into you whilst pushing you to sit back up. His hands traveled from your ass back around to your waist, easing your his shirt up and over your head. You watched his pupils dilate when he drank in your naked form. You gasped as his thumbs played with your nipples. In swift succession he removed his hands from your boobs, grabbed your leg and flipped you over to be underneath him. You loved when he took control of you. He smirked looking down at you. He guided your leg up so your foot was next to his head and began placing slow kisses against your ankle bone working all the way down your leg to your core. He ate you mercilessly for what felt like an age and three orgasms later that had you whining that you needed him. "I need you too, baby, fuck, feel how wet you are." He told you, taking your hand and placing it between your legs. "Touch yourself, angel. There you go. Play with that pretty pussy for me, hm?" His deep voice vibrates in your head, sending a fresh rush of lust through your veins. Judes exhaustion from his workout dissipated and evidently he was on a mission of some kind because his hands pushed your legs against your chest, knees over his shoulders, fast. He positioned you, just how he wanted to fuck you, slapping  his heavy cock against your clit. He rubbed the tip of his hard cock leaking precut against your sopping wet folds. You shifted beneath him to pick your hips up allowing him to guide himself inside with ease. Greedily, he bottomed out in a swift thrust. You gripped the sheets in an attempt to ground yourself at the sudden stretch. The feeling was enough to wipe your mind clear of anything other than him and how he was making you feel. “I know, I know, doing so good f’me though.” He kissed your lips gently as you adjusted. It felt like every time you fucked Jude it was the first time. You just couldn’t get used to his size and you didn’t want to. You craved this. He kissed down your neck as he pulled out slightly before easing back in slower, fully burrying himself one more. 

"Feels so good. You always feel so good.” You whined. Jude gave you a devious smirk in return, giving your tender neck a break and resting his forehead against yours while he flexed and undulated, putting his abs, back, entire body into it, hitting spots deep inside of you that you didn't think were even there.

”No one fucks you like I do, baby. No one will ever fuck you as good as I can.” He told your harshly as he began to rail into you harder and faster. You were moaning his name incessantly. “I know, angel. Take my cock so well. Hmm?”  

“Uh-huh,” you moaned, letting your eyes close. Your head tipped back onto the pillow with one hand squeezing your own nipple. As the minutes passed Jude kept his strokes steady and rough as you desperately whined for a release. He would edge you again and again because he was entranced by the way your tits were bouncing, the sound of wet pussy, his balls slapping against your ass, the way your legs wrapped around him tighter, dragging your heel down his muscular back. Every part of this was textbook definition of what Jude considered perfect sex. It didn’t get better than this 

“Good girl,” he groans the praise, pinning your hands above your head as he rammed his hips against yours, your cute moans and squeals sounding like literal music to his ears. “Just like that, fuck baby.” He moaned watching the way his length disapeared inside your pussy. You tipped your head back further as his pace became more relentless. Your jaw slack, eyes closed tight.  “Fuck!” the timbre of his voice wavered, he was embarrassingly weak in you.

“Oh, oh my god, Jude. I’m… I’m going to cum” You mewled and he felt dizzy from the sound of his name from your softly parted lips. “I’m cumming.” You couldn’t ask for any sort of permission any more. This was uncontrollable pleasure rifling though you. Your muscles tensed as white hot pleasure coursed through you.

“Yeah? Cum f’me angel.” Jude bit his teeth into your neck as his one of his hands dropped to squeeze your already sensitive nipples. “Mmmm such a good fucking girl.” He groaned as you cried feeling himself barreling close to his own release the way you were squeezing his cock now. Your body succumbing to pure euphoria and seeing whites but that wasn’t enough for Jude. He wanted more from you. His hand found its way between your legs as he began tracing harsh figure eights against your clit. You gasped as your hands desperately clung to his biceps digging your nails into his arms. “Gonna cum. Where do you want me to cum. Tell me now.” He demanded. You cried out ‘inside’ with a ‘please.’ A cheeky smile pulled on his face as he nuzzled his nose against your cheek in a juxtaposed and tender moment. ”Atta girl.” He cooed smugly. Jude had you fucking dick whipped in a matter of days and it was only getting worse the longer you spent with him. He shifted to push your ankles back towards your head, folding you in half. He fucked you like you had never been fucked. Both his hands held you down. His mind had gone blank. The only thing on his mind was you. He painted your walls with his release continuing to thrust over and over again.  He groaned as he felt your pussy convulse almost involuntarily into another earth shattering orgasm. Both of you completely spent. You laid there for awhile until he pulled out. He smiled at the sight of his cum slowly dripping out of you. He swiped his fingers through your folds but you we’re quick to grip his wrist tightly stopping him. 

“Enough.” You giggled, his laughter marrying yours in the thick air as he plopped beside you pulling you into him after he promised to clean you up in a moment. When you finally came to, both of you breathless and flushed, the intensity of the moment lingering in the air. Jude's forehead rested against yours, his breathing heavy, his hands still cradling your face as if he couldn't bear to let go. Neither of you spoke, the silence thick with the weight of what had just happened. But as you lay there, still wrapped up in each other, you knew that tonight had changed something between you. Whether or not you were ready to face it, the connection between you had deepened, and there was no going back now.

The next  morning was serene, the soft light filtering through the curtains and casting a golden glow across Jude’s room. You had been up for hours, already having completed a workout, indulged in your full skincare routine, and taken a long, hot shower. By the time you were dressed and ready for the day, Jude was still sound asleep, tangled in the sheets, his dark curls splayed across the pillow. Your alarm began to chime, breaking the peaceful silence. Jude groaned, pulling the pillow over his head in protest.

“Angel….” Jude mumbled. “Baby…” he groaned. “Turn it off, please," he mumbled once more, his voice thick with sleep. "It’s one of my last days before footie starts. Let me sleep in.” He complained. You chuckled softly, moving to silence the alarm. 

"It’s also one of your last days with me, Judey." You reminded him, your tone light but laced with a hint of sadness. Jude’s heart squeezed at your words. The reminder that your time together was fleeting stung, and it made him reluctant to fully wake up and face the day. When he finally opened his eyes, they were immediately drawn to you. The morning light played off your skin, making you look even more radiant, effortlessly stunning in a way that took his breath away. You were already dressed in Dior shorts with a knit corset top, a simple but stylish outfit. Your hair pulled back and your skin seemed to glow from your meticulous skincare routine. 

“How long have you been up?” He asked you with a strained voice. You gave him a knowing look. He knew you woke up early. This wasn’t shocking news. Jude couldn’t believe how beautiful you were, especially in the early morning light. As he continued to stare, his thoughts drifted back to the previous night. The intimacy you’d shared lingered in the room, the memory of your touch and the way you’d let him explore parts of you that you rarely allowed others to.  It had been a powerful moment, one that deepened the connection between you, even if neither of you was ready to fully acknowledge it. 

“You’re gorgeous, you know that?” He looked up at you with a tender expression, Jude reached out, his hand finding yours. He gave it a gentle squeeze, his thumb brushing over your knuckles. You hummed appreciating the compliment. “Stay in bed with me, hmm?” He cooed pulling you closer to him, his hands dropping to palm your ass 

“Tempting but no.” You smiled. “Come on. Please get up from bed, you promised!” You dramatically pouted at him. 

"Where am I taking you?” He asked, his voice still heavy with sleep but laced with sincerity and a light laugh.  His words hung in the air, filled with the unspoken tension that had been simmering between you since the beginning. You smiled softly, your heart doing a little flip at his touch and the way he looked at you, as if you were the only thing in the world that mattered.

"Barrio Salamanca. You need to wake up, sleepy boy. You’re forgetting everything you told me last night." You replied, your voice just as soft riddled with a giggle, your fingers curling around his hand. "Because I was really looking forward to today just the same way you were really looking forward to last night.” You raised your eyebrow at him.  Jude sat up slowly, the sheet falling from him revealing a delicious deep v as he propped himself up on one elbow. He studied you for a moment, his gaze intense and full of something you couldn’t quite place—something that made your pulse quicken and your breath catch. In the post sex haze Jude began to ramble on about just how much he loved cumming inside you and that he’d buy you anything you’d like tomorrow now today, if you let him do it again. And so you did. You went three more rounds after that first one before you went to bed.

"I was looking forward to it and I’m gonna look back on it very fondly.” He gave you a devilishly handsome yet cheeky smile, his tone teasing but with an edge of vulnerability. "You should look forward to today. A day out in Jude Bellingham’s city with Jude Bellingham…  lucky you.” He smirked. You laughed, the sound light and genuine, easing some of the tension that had been building.

“Lucky me.” you admitted, your eyes sparkling with mischief. Jude chuckled, shaking his head as he pulled you closer, his hand wrapping around your waist. 

"You know," he began, his voice low and husky as he leaned in, "I wouldn’t be opposed to getting into a little more debt.” He laughed pulling you a bit harder towards him. 

"You are plenty indebted to me," you teased back, leaning into him, your lips brushing against his ear. "But after last night, I think I deserve to be spoiled a little, don’t you?"

You giggled. Jude’s breath hitched at your words, the playful tone in your voice doing little to mask the deeper emotions that were swirling beneath the surface. His heart raced as he thought about what you had shared, the vulnerability, the connection, and the unspoken promise that lingered between you.

"Yeah," he whispered, his lips ghosting over your neck as he pulled you even closer. "I think you do." For a moment, neither of you moved, the air thick with tension and unspoken words. The memory of last night was still fresh, the way you had let him in, both physically and emotionally, had changed something between you. It was a line that had been crossed, one that neither of you could pretend didn’t exist anymore. Finally, you pulled back slightly, your eyes meeting his. "So, are you ready to get up now?" you asked, your tone light but with a hint of challenge. Jude smiled, his hand sliding up your back, his touch warm and comforting.

“I suppose we should get up. We do have plans, I promised, after all." His voice low and full of promise. You nodded, a soft smile playing on your lips as you leaned in and pressed a gentle kiss to his lips. You pulled back, standing up, your hand still in his. Jude watched you for a moment longer before he finally moved, sliding out of bed and standing beside you. He wrapped his arms around you from behind, pulling you against him as he buried his face in your neck, inhaling your scent deeply. "Today’s going to be a good day," he murmured against your skin, his voice full of determination. You leaned back into him, closing your eyes and savoring the moment.

"I think so too," you replied softly, your heart full as you stood there, wrapped in his arms. As you both got ready to head out, the memory of last night lingered between you, a reminder of how much things had changed, and how much you both wanted to hold onto what you had, even if neither of you was quite ready to admit it yet. Shopping in Salamanca with Jude felt like something out of a movie. The neighborhood was breathtaking, a place where Madrid’s vibrant history met the height of modern luxury. The streets were wide, lined with trees whose leaves danced in the gentle breeze. Elegant boutiques with polished glass windows displayed the latest fashions, while the scent of freshly brewed coffee wafted from the nearby cafés. Jude guided you through the streets with a casual confidence, his hand resting on the small of your back. You couldn't help but admire the architecture—grand buildings with ornate facades, some of which had stood for centuries, now housing some of the world's most prestigious designers. The sun bathed everything in a golden light, making the whole scene feel almost surreal. 

"Shall we? C’mon I told you I’d buy you anything. You held up your side of the deal let me do mine. I know ‘anything’ to you means Chanel.”  His voice was light but with a hint of something more serious. As you passed by Chanel, Jude paused and nodded towards it with a smile. 

"I was kidding, Jude. I don’t need a Chanel bag. I have Chanel bags" You emphasized the plural with a soft laugh, shaking your head picking up the bag hanging off your shoulder. “It was sex… I was kidding.” You couldn’t drop your smile but he wasn’t laughing. He looked at you with those deep, serious eyes, the kind that always made your heart skip.

“Yeah, but it was very very good sex. I know you don’t need one. But I want to get it for you. Because I want to, not because I have to." The sincerity in his voice caught you off guard. Jude had always been generous, but this felt different—more personal. Your heart practically exploded at the thought. You could afford the bag on your own, of course, but this wasn't about the price. It was about the gesture, about him wanting to spoil you just because he could. The bag, which you might have once seen as just another luxury item, now felt like the most special thing you’d ever own. Inside the store, the world seemed to slow down as you selected the bag, with Jude watching you closely, his gaze soft and warm. When the clerk handed it to you in its pristine packaging, you couldn’t help but smile, feeling a mixture of excitement and gratitude. Leaving the store, you and Jude found a quiet café just off the main street, nestled between two elegant buildings. The outdoor seating was shaded by large umbrellas, offering a perfect spot to people-watch while enjoying a coffee. You sat down, placing the Chanel bag carefully beside you, its significance still making your heart flutter. As you sipped your drinks and chatted, the atmosphere around you slowly began to shift. You noticed a few glances in your direction, whispers spreading among the other patrons. It wasn’t long before you realized that Jude had been recognized. Unlike you, he seemed completely unfazed, accustomed to the attention that came with his fame. But for you, the sudden shift in energy was unsettling. Jude, ever in tune with your feelings, noticed the moment your comfort started to waver. He reached across the table, taking your hand in his and giving it a reassuring squeeze. "Home. Hmm?” he offered gently. You nodded, grateful for his understanding. Jude signaled for the check, and before you knew it, he had paid the bill and stood up, coming around to your side of the table. He helped you with your things, then wrapped his arm around your shoulders, pulling you close as you left the café. As you walked down th double stone street, his hand never left you, a protective and reassuring presence. “Had enough of being out. Want you back home with me now.” When you were finally alone again, away from prying eyes, he whispered once more in your ear as you got into a car. 

"Good," you teased, "because I want you all to myself. Tired of sharing." You giggled, a warmth spreading through your chest as you leaned into him. Jude grinned, his eyes sparkling with a mix of affection and something deeper.

 “I’m all yours,” he replied softly, his voice filled with a sincerity that made your heart race. It was moments like this where it was abundantly clear you two were lying to yourselves about not wanting more. Once back at the house, you both walked through the door with an ease that came from spending time in each other’s company. The luxury of the place still hadn’t lost its charm on you, but now it felt even more like home because you were there with Jude. As the door closed behind you, shutting out the rest of the world, you felt a sense of peace settle over you.

•

🪩🫶❤️‍🔥🍹🌞🍒 Thank you for reading! Please like, comment, or message what you think of the chapter 🍒🌞🍹❤️‍🔥🫶🪩

Next part - Chapter 4 - Oldest Friend xx

[pascalpvnk]

only need ten

pairing: jackson era!joel miller x afab!reader

summary: this brain rot post by @chaotic-mystery

word count: 0.8k words (i'm impressed with myself)

warnings: 18+ MDNI, established relationship (not specified), swearing, needy Joel, porn with a smidgen of plot, no physical descriptions of reader, smut (unprotected p in v, fingering if you squint, creampie)

a/n: it's been aaages since i've started and completed a fic in the same day! anyways, barely edited and quickly beta'd by me, all mistakes are my own. i hope you enjoy! xx (divider by @/saradika)

The snooze button fell under the weight of your palm as your alarm clock beckoned your consciousness. You settled yourself back into your spot, cuddling into the massive man pressed against your back, his arm draped around your frame. A groan vibrated into your neck as Joel pulled you tighter against him. He caged you in like some kind of wild animal.

“Darlin’,” he rasped, the usually deep timbre of his voice reaching half an octave lower. “Just turn the damn thing all th’way off.”

His nose buried deeper into the side of your neck, his hips shifting against your own. Oh. His cock was straining against the thin fabric of his boxers, nudging at your thigh.

“Joel,” your whine muffled by your pillow. “I have to leave in fifteen minutes, I can’t be late for patrol again. We have to be back in time for Sunday brunch.”

“Only need ten, baby,” he drawled in a hushed tone, hooking his thick fingers beneath the waistband of your panties. “Please?”

His lips ghosted along your jaw, his beard prickling against your skin. Your eyes were somewhat adjusted to the darkness of your bedroom, but you couldn’t see the needy man behind you. So when his teeth dragged against your jawline, it completely caught you off guard. Arousal immediately seeped through your underwear, clouding your logical thinking as you nodded in response to him. 

Wasting no more time, Joel pushed your panties down the expanse of your legs, keeping them hooked on one of your ankles. The rough pads of his fingertips teased your entrance, collecting your slick and depositing it to your clit. He traced small, calculated circles along the sensitive and swollen nub. 

“Fuck, sweetheart. Already s’wet for me,” Joel grunted, shuffling behind you and replacing his fingers with the ruddy tip of his cock, lining himself up to spear into you. He slowly stuffed it into your weeping pussy, drawing desperate groans from both of you.

A calloused palm slid under your shirt, landing atop one of your breasts as Joel’s cock bottomed out inside of you. It was quite a pinch since you were so short on time, but your core quickly adjusted to the familiar body. Moans slipped between your lips as he continued to fuck you slowly, but Joel wasn’t having it.

“Baby, ya sound s’pretty,” he sighed with pleasure. “But you’re gon’ wake up the whole neighborhood. Won’t hear the end f’it from Ellie.”

“Can’t help it,” you panted. “Y’feel so good, oh fuck.”

Joel’s hand wriggled out of your top, planting it on your jaw to turn your face. He swallowed your whimpers and cries of pleasure with his lips enveloping yours. His hips continued their lazy pace as your own hand came up to lie overtop his massive one. Sweat from his torso smeared onto your back as your bodies and souls connected as one. 

“Yeah, keep squeezin’ my cock like that, sweetheart. Make a mess all over me,” he groaned against your cheek, kicking the duvet off of your overheated bodies. Maneuvering his leg between yours, he got your leg swung over his thigh, giving himself deeper access into your begging cunt. Each pass stimulated your g-spot, your walls fluttering around his length.

“I’m so close,” you cried as quietly as you could muster. Your breath hitched with every snap of his hips, your impending orgasm tumbling quicker and quicker towards you. A call of your lover’s name was stifled by his palm, the bicep it was interconnected to bulging under your ear. His now free hand found its way back to toy with your throbbing clit. Your walls spasmed around him, his cock twitching in response.

“Christ. Gon’ fill you up, baby. All mine,” he slurred, his grunts and pace picking up as he chased his own high. It was your turn to suppress his volume. A passionate kiss was exchanged, enough to send Joel over the edge and paint the inside of you like his personal canvas. 

Kisses and soft touches continued for a moment after Joel turned you toward him, clammy foreheads pressed together tenderly. Whispered ‘thank you's and ‘I love you's were pressed into your cheek, neck and shoulder before Joel reached down to capture your panties. He pulled them back up your legs and covered your sex, trapping every drop of cum he gave you. 

“Just a reminder f’who took care of your pretty pussy until ya get t’come back to me,” he mused. Joel helped you get bundled up for your first below freezing patrol shift, getting your jacket zipped up, boots tied and stocking cap secured before sending you off with a ‘be smart’ and warm kiss on your forehead. 

The walk to your post felt ten miles long with how behind you were, your boots leaving behind tracks in the fresh layer of snow. There was no way of hiding your true excuse, you reeked of sex and sweat, but you'd be lying if you said it wasn't worth it.

“Eight minutes late again! Grace period is up, I'm afraid,” Tommy chirped as you approached, a shit eating grin plastered on his face. Only ten minutes your ass.

to stay up to date on when I post fics, follow @pascalpvnk-writes and turn on notifications! i hope you enjoyed <3

[blissfulvixen]

Light Energy Characteristics

Becoming a woman with light energy, both in character and demeanor, involves cultivating positivity, kindness, and compassion. Here are some steps you can take to embody this energy:

1. Practice Gratitude: Cultivate a mindset of gratitude by focusing on the positive aspects of your life.

2. Radiate Positivity: Choose to see the good in people and situations and strive to spread positivity wherever you may go.

3. Be Kind and Compassionate: Practice empathy and understanding and lend a helping hand to those in need.

4. Live with Integrity: Be true to yourself and your values. Act with honesty, integrity, and authenticity in all aspects of your life.

5. Embrace Lightness and Joy: Seek out activities and experiences that bring you joy and uplift your spirit. Surround yourself with people who radiate positive energy and inspire you to be your best self.

6. Practice Self-Care: Take care of your physical, mental, and emotional well-being.

7. Forgive and Let Go: Practice forgiveness and let go of resentment and negative emotions.

8. Spread Love and Joy: Small acts of kindness and compassion can have a ripple effect and make a big difference in the lives of those around you.

9. Connect with the Universe: Recognize that we are all interconnected and part of something greater than ourselves.

Light Energy Aesthetic

Makeup

• Radiant Skin: Start with a luminous base by using a lightweight foundation or tinted moisturizer.

• Soft, Ethereal Eyes: Opt for soft, neutral eyeshadows. Apply a shimmery eyeshadow to the inner corners of your eyes.

• Glowing Cheeks: Sweep a soft, peachy blush onto the apples of your cheeks.

• Natural Lips: Keep your lips soft and natural with a sheer lip balm or gloss in a soft pink or nude shade (or clear).

• Glowing Highlight: Finish off your makeup look with a luminous highlighter applied to the high points of your face, such as the cheekbones, brow bones, and cupids bow.

Outfit

• Light, Airy Fabrics: Choose clothing made from light, airy fabrics like chiffon, silk, or cotton to create a soft and ethereal look.

• Soft, Feminine Silhouettes: Look for pieces with ruffles, lace, or delicate embellishments.

• Pastel Colors: Incorporate soft pastel colors like blush pink, baby blue, lavender, and mint green into your wardrobe.

• Accessorize with Sparkle: Add a touch of sparkle and shine to your outfits with dainty jewelry, embellished hair accessories, or metallic accents.

• Flowy Layers: Layering lightweight pieces like cardigans, dusters, or sheer kimono jackets.

• Comfortable Footwear: Opt for comfortable footwear like ballet flats, sandals, or espadrilles.

[gardenladysworld]

Starbound hearts

Status: I'm working on it

Pairings: Neteyam x human!f!reader

Aged up characters!

Genre/Warnings: fluff, slow burn, oblivious characters, light angst, hurt/comfort, pining

Summary: In the breathtaking, untamed beauty of Pandora, two souls from different worlds find themselves drawn together against all odds. Neteyam, the dutiful future olo'eyktan of the Omaticaya clan, is bound by the expectations of his people and the traditions of his ancestors. She, a human scientist with a love for Pandora’s wonders, sees herself as an outsider, unworthy of the connection she craves.

Tags: @nerdylawyerbanditprofessor-blog, @ratchetprime211, @poppyseed1031

Part 7: To long

Part 8: To chat

The room was quiet, save for the faint hum of the outpost’s systems and the occasional beep from a monitor in the distance. You lay in bed, freshly showered, your hair still damp against the pillow. The lights were dim, just enough to cast faint shadows on the walls, but your mind was far from at rest. Sleep refused to come; your thoughts anchored back in the clearing.

You stared at the ceiling, your chest rising and falling in the steady rhythm of someone trying to will themselves into relaxation. But your heart had other plans. It kept pulling you back to him—to Neteyam. His golden eyes, always so sharp and intense, had a way of looking right through you. And when they softened, when they focused entirely on you, it was like the rest of the world didn’t exist.

Your lips pressed together in a faint, self-deprecating smile. You were an idiot, weren’t you? Falling for someone so completely out of reach. You’d told yourself it was impossible, that whatever you felt was just admiration or gratitude for his kindness. But it wasn’t. It hadn’t been for a long time. You loved him. More than you had any right to.

And that was the crux of it. You had no right to feel this way. Neteyam was Na’vi—a future olo’eyktan, no less. He belonged to a people whose traditions you couldn’t fully understand, whose world you were merely a guest in. A guest who couldn’t even breathe the air without a mask. You laughed softly, the sound bitter. How could you even entertain the idea of belonging here, let alone by his side?

Na’vi mated for life. That thought twisted something deep inside you. Mating wasn’t just a bond to them—it was sacred, something blessed by Eywa herself. And you? You weren’t Na’vi. You weren’t even like Jake Sully, who had become one of them through Eywa’s grace. You were just a human, stuck in a fragile body on a planet that could reject you at any moment.

Your hand drifted to your chest, fingers brushing over the fabric of your shirt as if you could somehow calm the ache there. You’d left Earth nine years ago, trading the polluted skies and dying ecosystems for the chance to study the beauty of Pandora. Six years in cryosleep and three years of working for the RDA. At the first year, the science had been enough. You were fascinated by Pandora’s ecosystems, the intricacies of its interconnected life. But that wonder had slowly been eclipsed by something else.

When you first arrived at the village with Norm and Max, the Na’vi had been wary of you. Understandable, really. You were a new face, an outsider. But over the last 2 years, things had shifted. You’d become close to a few of them—especially the Sully family. Kiri’s sharp wit, Tuk’s boundless enthusiasm, and Lo’ak’s constant teasing had become fixtures in your life. Jake trusted you. He considered you a friend, just like Norm and Max. Even Neytiri, who still watched you with quiet reservation, no longer bristled when you were near.

And then there was Neteyam.

You closed your eyes, as if that could block out the image of him. But it didn’t. His face was burned into your mind—those piercing golden eyes, his smooth blue skin marked with faint bioluminescent patterns, the sharp line of his jaw. His ears betrayed him constantly, flicking with emotion he probably thought he was hiding. His tail too, swaying or twitching in ways you’d come to recognize. Every movement was a language of its own, and you found yourself obsessed with understanding it.

He was so different from you, yet you couldn’t help but love him. You didn’t even know when it had started—when admiration had turned into affection, when affection had turned into longing. But it was there, undeniable and all-consuming.

You sighed, rolling onto your side. You tried to think about something else—anything else. Ethan’s smug face popped into your mind, and you grimaced. Of course, you’d dealt with men like him before. Men who thought they had a right to your attention, who didn’t take a polite smile as a no. He was irritating, sure, but compared to some of the creeps back on Earth, he was almost laughable.

Still, it wasn’t Ethan that lingered in your thoughts. It was the way Neteyam had looked at you, the protective edge in his voice when he’d spoken to Ethan, the unspoken promise in his golden eyes when he asked if you were all right. It was the way he crouched beside you, his massive frame somehow comforting rather than intimidating. It was the way his presence made you feel... safe.

And that was dangerous. Because safety made you want more. It made you imagine things you had no business imagining. Things like a life where you weren’t just a human in a strange world, where you weren’t someone who could be sent back to Earth on a whim if the RDA decided you weren’t useful anymore. Things like a life where you weren’t just a guest in his world but a part of it.

But that wasn’t your reality. Your reality was this: You were a scientist, working on Pandora to collect data and hopefully secure enough money to live comfortably on Earth when you went back. That was the deal. That had always been the deal.

So why did it feel like your heart had other plans?

Your hand tightened briefly in the sheets before you released a slow breath. No matter what you felt, no matter how much you wished things could be different, you couldn’t change who you were. And you couldn’t ask him to change who he was. All you could do was cherish the time you had with him, however fleeting it might be.

Despite it all, your heart refused to let go. I love him more than I should, you admitted silently. I can’t help how I feel. The rational part of your mind screamed at you to stay away, to protect yourself from the inevitable heartbreak that came with such forbidden love. But every glance, every shared moment, only deepened the connection, making it harder to deny.

The night stretched on, each passing minute a testament to the silent battles you fought within yourself. The forest outside was alive with sounds, but inside, all you could hear was the echo of your own heart, yearning for a love that defied the boundaries of two worlds.

The canteen was alive with the usual morning bustle—scientists exchanging chatter over coffee, the hum of machinery filtering in from the adjacent labs, and the clinking of utensils against plates. You sat in your usual spot near the corner, staring blankly at the plate in front of you. Ham and eggs, your usual breakfast, but today it felt like it might as well have been rocks and dirt. You poked at the eggs half-heartedly, your mind elsewhere.

The night hadn’t been kind. Sleep had eluded you, leaving you restless and tangled in thoughts you didn’t want to admit out loud. Every time you’d closed your eyes, you’d found yourself back in the clearing, replaying Neteyam’s gaze, his voice, the way he crouched beside you like you were the centre of his universe. It was infuriating, how much space he occupied in your head.

Around you, the morning buzz of the outpost continued unabated. Scientists and technicians moved in and out, some chatting animatedly, others immersed in datapads and tablets. The smell of coffee and breakfast lingered in the air, but none of it seemed to penetrate the fog in your mind.

You startled slightly when someone plopped down onto the bench beside you, the metal creaking under their weight. Turning, you saw Kate from the xenobotany team, her curly blonde hair pulled back into a messy ponytail, and her green uniform jacket unzipped over a tank top. She squinted at you with her bright blue eyes, her freckled nose wrinkling slightly as she gave you a once-over.

“Wow,” Kate said, resting her elbow on the table and propping her chin on her hand. “You look like you wrestled a thanator and lost.”

You sighed, leaning back in your chair. “Thanks, Kate. Always a confidence booster.”

Kate tilted her head, narrowing her eyes. “Seriously, what’s going on? You look exhausted.”

You hesitated, debating how much you should tell her. Kate was your friend, one of the few people in the outpost who really got you, but even so, how could you explain the knot of emotions twisting inside you without sounding ridiculous?

“It’s nothing,” you said after a moment, poking at your eggs again. “Just couldn’t sleep.”

Kate snorted. “Yeah, no kidding. You’re quieter than usual, which is saying something. Usually, I can’t shut you up about plants or... I don’t know, the latest drama at the Omatikaya.”

You winced slightly at the mention of the village but tried to play it off. “It’s... complicated,” you finally said, your voice low. “I’ve just been thinking about a lot of stuff.”

“Stuff,” Kate echoed, her brow furrowing. “Like Pandora stuff? Earth stuff? Or”—her smirk returned—“someone stuff?”

Your cheeks flushed, and Kate’s eyes widened. “Oh my God. It’s someone, isn’t it?” She grinned, setting her coffee down with a dramatic flourish. “You’re going to tell me everything.”

You groaned, burying your face in your hands. “Kate, it’s not... It’s not like that.”

“Oh, it’s exactly like that,” she said, nudging your arm. “Come on. I won’t tell anyone. Who is it? Someone from the team? Max? Norm? Ethan?” She shuddered at the last name. “Please don’t say Ethan.”

“Of course not Ethan!” you exclaimed, glaring at her. “He’s annoying, yeah, but he’s not why I look like a walking corpse.”

Kate tilted her head, her expression skeptical but curious. “So what is it, then? Because you’ve got that look—you know, the one where you’re thinking way too much and probably overcomplicating everything.”

You hesitated, your fork idly scraping against the plate. “It’s nothing, really. Just... thoughts.”

“Thoughts,” Kate repeated, leaning closer as she narrowed her eyes. “Uh-huh. And these ‘thoughts’ have you staring at your food like it personally offended you? Sure, totally normal.”

You couldn’t help but laugh softly, the sound more genuine than you expected. “I’m fine, Kate. Just tired, that’s all.”

“Good,” she said, standing up and grabbing your tray. “Come on. You’re spending the day with me.”

“What? Why?” you asked, blinking in surprise.

“Because you clearly need a distraction,” she said matter-of-factly. “And because I need help finishing the final report for our xenobotany project. You’ve got a sharp eye, and I could use the company.”

You hesitated, glancing at the tray in her hands. “Kate, you don’t have to—”

“Yeah, yeah, I don’t have to. But I’m doing it anyway.” She gave you a pointed look. “You’re welcome.”

Despite yourself, you smiled, warmth spreading through your chest. “Fine. But don’t complain when I point out all the mistakes in your data.”

Kate smirked. “Bring it on, plant nerd.”

The lab buzzed quietly with activity, a steady hum of equipment and the occasional beep from monitors filling the air. You sat at one of the workstations, your gloved hands carefully sorting through a tray of samples while Kate worked beside you, her own focus split between her tablet and the conversation you were having.

“So,” Kate began, glancing at you over her screen, “remember the time back on Earth when the RDA made us do that ridiculous safety training for zero-gravity environments? You know, just in case we somehow ended up floating in space like lost balloons?”

You laughed softly, shaking your head. “Don’t remind me. That one guy couldn’t even handle the harness without freaking out.”

Kate snorted. “Oh, yeah. He passed out after, what, five minutes? Meanwhile, you and I were doing somersaults and pretending to be astronauts.”

“That training was pointless,” you said with a grin, placing one of the samples into a storage container. “They spent more time teaching us how to pose for PR photos than anything actually useful.”

Kate leaned back in her chair, tapping her pen against her tablet. “Classic RDA. Always more concerned with appearances than practicality. Like that time they made us wear those awful orange vests for lab safety. Because, you know, glowing like traffic cones is totally helpful in a controlled environment.”

“Or when they made us document every single piece of equipment we touched for a week,” you added, rolling your eyes. “Including the pens.”

Kate groaned dramatically. “Don’t remind me. I think I filed fifty reports on just the clipboard.”

“Oh, and remember that time on Earth,” Kate said suddenly, breaking the silence, “when they made us go through those absurd safety drills for ‘Pandoran conditions’? Like, as if any of us would actually outrun a viperwolf.”

You snorted, setting down a petri dish. “Oh, yeah. And they had that guy in the thanator suit chasing us around like it was some weird theme park attraction. What was his name again? Ted?”

“Steve,” Kate corrected with a grin. “And he took it way too seriously. He growled at me when I tripped over a cone.”

“I swear they just wanted to scare us into signing waivers,” you said, shaking your head with a laugh. “Like, ‘Hey, Pandora’s dangerous, but don’t worry, you’ll be fine if you duck and cover.’”

Kate chuckled, leaning back in her chair. “Yeah, because that’s going to stop a banshee from snatching you out of the air.” We looked the moss almost for a minute before Kate broke the silence again. “Do you ever think about Earth?” she asked, her voice casual as she held up an another sample of bioluminescent moss, her pen tapping against her chin.

“Sometimes,” you replied, glancing up briefly. “But not often. There wasn’t much to miss when I left.”

Kate chuckled softly. “Yeah, I get that. Remember the air quality reports? ‘Moderately breathable.’ Like, what the hell does that even mean?”

You laughed lightly, shaking your head. “It means, ‘Congratulations, you might not die if you step outside, but don’t take deep breaths.’”

Kate snorted, setting down the sample. “And don’t forget the food shortages. ‘Synthetic protein blend, enriched for maximum efficiency!’ Translation: tastes like chalk.”

“Hey, at least it was efficient,” you teased, smirking.

“Efficiently disgusting,” Kate shot back, rolling her eyes. “Honestly, I don’t know why I didn’t sign up for Pandora sooner. Even with all the RDA bullshit, this place is a dream compared to Earth.”

Your gaze shifted to the vibrant green sample in your hands. “Yeah,” you murmured. “It’s strange, isn’t it? How we traded a dying world for one we barely understand.”

Kate nodded, leaning back in her chair. “And the RDA still finds a way to screw it up. Did you know they once sent us a manual on how to handle ‘aggressive plants’? As if we’re supposed to, what, reason with them?”

“‘Please stop trying to eat me,’” you quoted mock-seriously, holding up a hand as if addressing the moss. “‘I’m just here for science.’”

Kate burst out laughing, the sound echoing through the lab. “Exactly! And don’t even get me started on their idea of ‘adequate safety measures.’ They send us out into the jungle with flimsy exo-masks and hope for the best.”

“At least they gave us guns,” you joked, though the humor in your voice was faint. The reality of the danger outside the lab was never far from your thoughts.

“True,” Kate said, sobering slightly. She studied you for a moment before leaning forward, resting her elbows on the table

The two of you fell into an easy rhythm, joking about the absurdity of RDA protocols and the bizarre training sessions you’d both endured. It felt good to laugh, to let the weight of the previous night’s thoughts slip away, even if only for a little while.

“Pandora’s quirks still surprise me, though,” Kate said after a moment, her tone shifting slightly. “Like that moss I found last week? The one that glows when it rains? How does that even make sense?”

“It’s Pandora,” you said with a shrug. “Half the stuff here doesn’t make sense. Like those plants that snap shut when you touch them.”

Kate grinned. “Oh, the ‘angry flowers’? Yeah, I love those. They’re like, ‘Don’t mess with me, human.’ Honestly, I feel that on a spiritual level.”

The conversation shifted naturally, Kate recounted a time she’d accidentally spilled a sample of Pandora’s sticky, glowing sap on her hair and had to shave half her head. You retaliated with a story about a time Norm had tried to explain the mating habits of Pandora’s tree frogs and somehow turned the entire lab into a giggling mess.

“And then he just gave up and said, ‘Fine, laugh all you want. But when the tree frogs start singing, don’t come crying to me.’” You mimicked Norm’s exasperated tone, earning a burst of laughter from Kate.

“Classic Norm,” Kate said, wiping a tear from her eye. “Seriously, though, I don’t know how we’d survive without some humor around here. Pandora may be beautiful, but it’s weird as hell.”

“Tell me about it,” you agreed, glancing at a strange spiny plant specimen glowing faintly on the table. “Half the flora looks like it’s from a dream, and the other half looks like it’s trying to kill you.”

Kate nodded sagely. “Pandora: come for the views, stay for the constant existential terror.”

As the lab hummed softly with the steady rhythm of machines and the occasional hiss of a sterilizer. Kate was perched on a stool nearby, fiddling with a pipette and jotting notes on a datapad. The faint scent of disinfectant and freshly opened specimen containers lingered in the air, blending with the ever-present hum of the outpost’s systems.

“Remember that time back when I almost got fired for questioning the nutrient distribution protocols in the hydroponics bay?” Kate said suddenly, breaking the silence.

You snorted softly, glancing at her. “You mean when you called the lead technician a ‘glorified cucumber farmer’ in the middle of a board meeting?”

Kate grinned, leaning back against the counter. “Hey, I stand by it. That guy had no clue what he was doing. I saved that entire crop from dying because he didn’t account for pH fluctuations.”

“And nearly got yourself blacklisted in the process,” you added, shaking your head with a small smile. “I’m still amazed you managed to get a spot on the Pandora team after that.”

“Please,” Kate said with a dramatic wave of her hand. “The RDA needs people like me. They just don’t like admitting it.”

You chuckled, turning your attention back to the specimen under the microscope. The delicate, bioluminescent threads of a Pandoran moss glowed faintly, their intricate patterns mesmerizing. “Still,” you said after a moment, “Earth feels like another lifetime ago, doesn’t it?”

Kate nodded, her expression softening. “Yeah, it does. Sometimes I miss it. Not the pollution or the overcrowding, obviously. But, you know... the little things. Coffee that didn’t taste like it came from a machine. Real pizza.”

“City lights at night,” you added, a wistful smile tugging at your lips. “Even if they were so bright you couldn’t see the stars.”

Kate sighed. “Yeah. Though I guess Pandora’s kind of made up for that. I mean, who needs city lights when you’ve got an entire forest that glows?”

You nodded, your gaze drifting toward the window. The dense jungle beyond the glass felt like a world away, both breathtakingly beautiful and impossibly foreign. “It’s funny,” you said softly. “I came here thinking I’d leave Earth behind, start over. But sometimes it feels like the more I try to settle in, the more I realize I don’t belong here either.”

Kate’s eyes flicked to you, her brow furrowing slightly. “Okay, that sounded heavy. What’s going on with you?”

You hesitated, your hands stilling over the sample you were preparing. “Nothing,” you said quickly, but your tone betrayed you.

“Don’t give me that,” Kate said, setting her pipette down and crossing her arms. “I’ve known you long enough to know when something’s eating at you. Is it not Ethan, right? Because if it is, I’ll gladly lock him in the specimen freezer for a few hours.”

You laughed softly despite yourself, shaking your head. “No, it’s not Ethan. Well, not really. It’s just... everything.”

Kate tilted her head, her expression softening. “Talk to me.”

You took a deep breath, trying to find the right words. “It’s... hard to explain. I left Earth to get away from all of that—away from the dying planet, the endless corporate grind, the feeling of being stuck in a place that was falling apart. I thought Pandora would be different. And it is, in so many ways. But I still feel... out of place.”

Kate frowned slightly. “Out of place how?”

You nodded, your gaze lingering on the fern. “Yeah. I thought coming to Pandora would be like stepping into a dream. And it is, in a way. But... I don’t know. Some days it feels like I’m still on the outside, looking in.”

Kate glanced at you, her brow furrowing slightly. “What do you mean?”

You hesitated, shrugging as you carefully placed another sample onto the table. “Just... you know. Being human here. The masks, the protocols, the constant reminders that I don’t belong. It gets to you after a while.”

Kate studied you for a moment before leaning forward, resting her chin on her hand. “Okay, that’s not what’s really bugging you,” she said, her voice teasing but pointed. “So, what’s wrong?”

You hesitated, focusing on a data pad in front of you. “Nothing,” you said lightly, though you knew it didn’t sound convincing.

Kate leaned back, crossing her arms with a knowing look. “Oh, come on. Don’t give me that. The ’nothing’ has a name, doesn’t it?”

You froze for a fraction of a second, and Kate’s grin widened. “Or wait... is the ’nothing’ tall and blue?” Kate’s grin widened, and she nodded toward your wrist. “And he gave you that bracelet, didn’t he?”

Your eyes flicked to the simple band of beads and twine snug around your wrist, a soft heat rising to your cheeks. “I... It’s just a gift,” you said quickly, your voice a little too defensive.

Kate leaned in, resting her chin on her hand as she studied you. “Uh-huh. Sure. A casual gift from a Na’vi who just happens to hang around you more than anyone else.”

“It’s not like that,” you muttered, your fingers brushing over the bracelet unconsciously, heat crept up your neck, and you shook your head quickly. “No! It’s not... I mean—” You stumbled over your words, and Kate’s laughter burst out, full and unrestrained.

“Oh my god, it is! I knew it!” she said, her tone triumphant. “You’ve got it bad, don’t you? For one of the Sullys, no less. Neteyam, right?”

“Kate,” you hissed, glancing around to make sure no one was within earshot. “Keep your voice down!”

She only laughed harder, her grin wide as she leaned in closer. “Relax, no one’s listening. But seriously... Neteyam? I mean, I can’t blame you. He’s gorgeous, even if he’s... you know, not human.”

You buried your face in your hands, your cheeks burning. “It’s not like that.”

Kate raised an eyebrow. “Oh, really? Then why are you blushing so hard?”

“I’m not—” You groaned as you practically slammed your forehead against the table, you almost started praying for a hole to open in the ground and swallow you. “It’s complicated.”

Kate snorted. “Oh, please. I’ve seen the way he looks at you. And the way you look at him. You’re practically glowing right now, and it’s not because of the moss.”

You groaned, burying your face in your hands. “Kate, stop.”

“Hey, I’m just saying,” she said, holding her hands up in mock surrender. “It’s kind of adorable. Forbidden romance on an alien planet—it’s like a holo-drama waiting to happen.”

You peeked at her through your fingers, torn between exasperation and amusement. “You’re impossible.”

“I know, but you love me for that.” Kate reached across the table, her hand resting briefly on yours. “Just... don’t shut yourself off from something good, okay? Even if it’s complicated. Especially if it’s complicated.”

You nodded slowly, your voice quiet as you replied, “Thanks, Kate.”

She smiled, leaning back in her chair and picking up another sample. “Anytime. Now, let’s finish this project before Norm comes in and lectures us about deadlines.”

As the two of you returned to work, Kate’s words lingered in your mind, a quiet echo against the backdrop of your thoughts. Complicated or not, you couldn’t deny what you felt—and maybe, just maybe, you didn’t want to.

Part 9: To see

[crescent-likethemoon]

From Palestine To The World, October 2024 by Queers In Palestine.

Language: Unworded by colonial violence, resisting erasure

After a year of an ongoing genocide, ethnic cleansing, attempts of expansion by the Zionist settler-colonial project, and of our ongoing steadfast global revolt, we are delivering a message from Palestine, to the world, while words cannot convey the depths of our collective trauma or the radical resistance we embody. Words collapse as we bear witness to the destruction of bodies, lands, histories, and futures. Language can no longer hold the weight of our suffering, our rage, our endless grief. It cannot do justice to our feelings and experiences. While capitalism and colonialism’s forces of death and destruction are wounding the world, we are still determined to deliver our voice, we are still moved by the force of life, and will always move with and towards it.

Palestine and Lebanon: One land in grief and struggle

The Zionist colonial entity still exists because colonial and imperialist powers are supporting and funding it. These are the same powers that produced the Sykes-Picot colonial agreement that fragmented Palestine, Lebanon, Syria and Jordan and other Arab nations in 1916 by enforcing borders on our lands. We live with the implications of these systems. We deeply embody the knowledge of this violence, and have been trying to warn the world that these powers neither see our humanity nor respect our sovereignty. The world’s promises of justice and accountability through colonial international laws and institutions only reproduce violence and harm with no transformation. The very existence of these colonial powers is built on the (social) death and exploitation of others. The same tactics of annihilation that have been used in Gaza since last October are now also used in Lebanon. They are reaching us all––from surveillance tools of political repression, to weapons for direct killings. From corporations to other colonial structures, if we do not dismantle these systems, they will continue to consume us all.

Zionism: Threat against humanity

Zionist settler colonialism has been perpetrated against the land of Yemen, Lebanon, Syria, Iraq, and Palestine. But it does not stop there: Zionism is a global threat. While Palestine is used as the Zionist entity’s testing-ground to develop technologies of oppression (including cyber invasions and technological warfare) to control the people and suppress resistance worldwide, these Zionist inventions are exported and used for state violence to further colonial, imperial and capitalist expansion. The Zionist entity’s influence extends to geopolitics and resource extraction across Latin America and Africa––from mining projects in Namibia, to diamond extraction in Angola, and ‘Cop City’ in the USA–– and its aggression can only be contained through struggle and abolition.

The myth of individualism and separation

Individualism is an instrument of the systems of (neo)liberalism, racial capitalism and colonialism. It is designed to destroy our collectives and community practices through fragmentation and separation––from each other, the land, the planet and universe, and from ourselves. The illusion of separation denies our autonomy, our sovereignty over our bodies and land. We resist this colonial myth of individualism that serves oppressive systems. We are interdependent and our struggles are interconnected and intersectional––there is no such thing as individual liberation. No one is free, until we are all free.

On the path of abolition and transformation

Our reality, and our queer, feminist, radical truths, cannot be quantified. They cannot be reduced to data, to screens, to consumable images. The genocidal violence we face and resist everyday, is not an event to be documented. This deep rupture is a tearing apart of the fabric of life that demands something more than mere speech. It demands action and transformation. And it necessitates abolition. Abolition not just through the dismantling of prisons and the destruction of all carceral systems—but the refusal of all structures that seek to imprison and kill our bodies, our desires, our lands, our futures. Abolition is a direct confrontation with the forces that seek to erase us on the path towards life-affirming and systemic transformation, it is to radically imagine and build a different future from the present.

Hope as a radical practice

Our bodies ache with exhaustion, our spirits bruised by the relentless weight of oppression. In this land stolen from us, where we live the genocide in our every moment, hope is a radical practice. We are warriors, survivors, rebels. We will not be extinguished. The world’s indifference is a betrayal––we know that. We will not allow our disappointment to consume us. Fuelled by our collective rage and grief, we unite and empower us. Still amidst these difficult times, we channel our hope as a collective force of resistance to the very foundation of these unjust systems, in Palestine and everywhere. We will not only survive this genocide, we will thrive––reclaiming our stolen land and building a future free from the chains of patriarchy, colonialism, capitalism and zionism.

Constant transformative struggle towards collective liberation

One year later, we continue to call for the world to:

Be radical, feminist, queer, intersectional, decolonial, and abolitionist in our resistances: fuelled by rage, love and longing for justice, transformation and collective liberation.

Resist the hegemonic colonial narrative: do not stop talking about Palestine with your kin, queer siblings, friends and community. Challenge the colonial and Islamophobic framing of Palestinian and racialized voices as antisemitic.

Escalate all forms of disruption of the colonial and capitalist systems enabling this violence. Rage and strike against the use of your labor and tax money to fund, support, and endorse settler colonialism and genocide. Fight against governments and hold them accountable for their military, diplomatic, economic, and political relations with and support to Israel.

Rage and grieve as radical forces for change: together we channel our anger and grief towards a world free of Zionism and all other systems of oppression.

Radically imagine a different world and put this imagination into practice by organizing to fight current systems and build the future from the present.

Always re-membering: honoring those we have lost, and standing steadfast in resistance by all means possible.

[aventurineswife]

Stages of Shadows: Chapter 5 - Center Of It All

The air was thick with tension, heavy with the sterile chill of recycled oxygen. [Name] stirred awake, their body stiff and aching. Their last memory was of falling—falling into chaos, pursued by shadows that seemed to mock their every step. Yet now, they found themselves in an unfamiliar place: a dimly lit chamber with an angular aesthetic of polished steel and muted lights.

"You're awake," came a smooth, velvety voice.

[Name] turned their head to see her—a figure dressed in an elegant coat, the fabric adorned with intricate, spider-like patterns. Her posture was relaxed, yet there was an undeniable sharpness in her demeanor. She sat perched on the edge of a sleek console, her legs crossed, her expression a mixture of amusement and intrigue.

"Where… where am I?" [Name] croaked.

“Somewhere safe,” she replied, her voice both soothing and unsettling. “For now. You're in the care of the Stellaron Hunters. Congratulations.”

The words didn’t feel comforting. If anything, they were laced with an underlying menace.

Her gaze shifted to the door, and the silence in the room was broken by the entrance of others. First was a tall figure, his presence filling the room with an intimidating aura. His eyes scanned [Name] with a detached, dispassionate intensity. The weapon he carried, a fractured sword, seemed to pulse with an ominous energy.

Behind him walked a woman, her teal-tinged hair glowing faintly in the dim light. She moved with the quiet precision of a soldier, her eyes sharp and calculating as she surveyed the situation.

Lastly, a young woman entered, her movements fluid and confident. She smirked as she glanced at [Name], her eyes gleaming with a mixture of amusement and challenge. She was holding a device in her hand, its screen flashing with streams of data that seemed to shift in ways only she understood.

"Kafka," the first man said bluntly. “Why is this one still alive?”

[Name] tensed at the words, but Kafka only chuckled softly.

“Patience, Bladie. They may yet prove useful,” she said, turning back to [Name]. “Elio foresaw your arrival. That’s why we intervened.”

“Elio?” [Name] asked, voice trembling.

“You’ll meet him soon enough,” Firefly interjected, her voice soft but edged with steel. “For now, you should explain yourself. Why were you involved in Stages of Shadows?”

[Name] blinked in confusion. “Stages of Shadows? I… I was just trying to— Nevermind that! Robin, Sunday—”

At the mention of Robin’s name, the atmosphere shifted. Kafka’s calm exterior flickered for a moment, revealing a flicker of something more dangerous beneath. The others, too, seemed to react—Silver Wolf’s smirk vanished, Firefly’s brow furrowed, and Blade’s gaze became even more piercing.

“So it’s true,” Kafka murmured. “Robin is… gone.”

[Name] felt the weight of their stares pressing down on them. “I didn’t kill her. I would never—”

“You say that,” Blade interrupted coldly, “but you’re still alive. And in this universe, survival often comes at someone else’s expense.”

Firefly stepped closer, her eyes narrowing. “Do you realize what Robin represented? The resonance of her music, the depth of her connection to the people—she wasn’t just another contestant. Her death disrupted something… larger.”

[Name] looked between them, their confusion mounting. “What are you talking about? Robin was my friend. She—she was everything good about that stage. I couldn’t save her, but I didn’t kill her!”

Silver Wolf snorted. “Well, you’ve got a lot of explaining to do. But before you spill your sob story, let’s make one thing clear.” She tapped her device, and a holographic display flared to life. It showed a web of interconnected events, with [Name]’s name glowing ominously in the center.

“You’re at the heart of something big,” Silver Wolf continued. “Your decisions, your survival—it’s all too… convenient. Don’t think for a second that we’re going to trust you.”

The door hissed open, and a new figure entered. His presence commanded immediate attention—an enigmatic man whose voice seemed to carry the weight of inevitability. His eyes, calculating, locked onto [Name] with a knowing gaze.

"You must be wondering why we saved you," He said, his voice smooth and deliberate. “The truth is simple: I foresaw it. Every moment, every choice you’ve made has led you here. You are a piece on the board, and the game is far from over.”

“What game?” [Name] demanded.

Elio’s gaze sharpened, and for a moment, [Name] felt as if their very soul was being dissected.

“The Stages of Shadows,” Elio replied. “It is not just a competition. It is a stage for fate itself—a confluence of paths, where choices ripple across the fabric of the universe. Robin’s death, Sunday’s distrust of you, your involvement with us—they are all threads in a larger tapestry. And you, my dear [Name], are at the center of it all.”

As Elio spoke, Kafka stepped closer to [Name], her expression softening into something almost empathetic.

“Robin believed in you,” Kafka said quietly. “That alone makes you… interesting. But belief can only carry you so far.”

Blade’s grip tightened on his sword. “We should test their loyalty. If they betray us—”

“We’ll know.” Firefly finished grimly.

Elio raised a hand, silencing them. “Trust is not given lightly among us, [Name]. But you have something we need—a perspective, a path forward. Prove yourself, and you may yet survive.”

“How?” [Name] asked, their voice trembling.

Kafka smiled, her elegance masking the sharp edge of her words. “We’ll start with something simple. You’ll accompany us on our next mission. Consider it a trial by fire. And who knows? You might even enjoy yourself.”

As [Name] sat there in their chamber, their mind swirled with questions and doubts. Who were the Stellaron Hunters, truly? What was their connection to Robin and the Stages of Shadows? And most importantly, could [Name] trust them—or were they merely trading one danger for another?

Only one thing was certain: the game was far from over, and the next move would be theirs.

As [Name] wandered the dimly lit corridors of the Stellaron Hunters' base, their thoughts were a chaotic mess. The weight of Elio’s words still lingered in their mind, heavy with the implications of what they had heard. The Stages of Shadows… it’s all been orchestrated, a game of fate itself, they thought. Their heart sank at the realization—Robin’s death, Sunday’s distrust, and their own survival were all parts of something far larger than they could have ever imagined.

They needed to get their friends out. They couldn’t let them remain trapped in that twisted competition. But as they roamed the base, lost in the maze of steel walls and humming machinery, they found themselves questioning everything. What kind of people were these Stellaron Hunters, really?

It wasn’t long before they stumbled upon a strange door at the end of an otherwise deserted hallway. The room beyond was dim, its lights flickering erratically. The air inside felt different, heavy, as if the very atmosphere had absorbed the sorrow and dread of countless secrets.

[Name] stepped cautiously inside, eyes scanning the room. Their breath caught in their throat as they noticed a large, transparent tube in the center. Inside the tube was a person, suspended in some kind of gel-like substance. They were unconscious, their body motionless, a faint glow surrounding them. It wasn’t a simple containment chamber. This was something else entirely—something far more sinister.

Before [Name] could take another step toward the tube, the soft echo of footsteps broke the silence. A figure appeared in the doorway.

“Curiosity has its consequences.” came Kafka’s voice, smooth and cold as ever.

[Name] stiffened, their hand instinctively moving toward the door, but Kafka stepped into the room, her presence as commanding as it was unsettling.

“You shouldn’t be here,” she continued, her eyes flicking toward the tube with a subtle glance of distaste. “This is not for your eyes. Come with me.”

[Name] hesitated, their mind racing with questions, but Kafka’s expression didn’t change—there was no softness, no warmth in her tone.

“I know you’re eager to understand everything, but there are things here you’re better off not knowing,” Kafka said, her voice now laced with a trace of something else. Something dark.

Without another word, Kafka turned and walked toward the exit. [Name] was left with no choice but to follow, the unsettling image of the person in the tube lingering in their mind. What was it? Who were they? Why were they kept in such a state?

As Kafka led [Name] back down the sterile hallways, the weight of her words hung heavily between them. This was not just a base—it was a prison, a place where the Stellaron Hunters held more than just enemies. They held secrets, and those secrets were not meant for people like [Name] to uncover.

Kafka glanced back at them, her expression unreadable. “You have a lot to learn, [Name]. But some things are better left unknown.”

For a moment, [Name] thought they saw a flicker of something softer in Kafka’s eyes. A shadow of doubt, perhaps? But before they could contemplate it further, she turned down another hallway, leading them away from the room—and its horrifying contents.

The mystery deepened.

As Kafka led [Name] deeper into the heart of the Stellaron Hunters’ base, [Name] could feel the weight of the situation bearing down on them. Every step echoed through the cold, metallic halls, and their mind raced with the enormity of what they had just discovered. The base was not just a fortress—it was a tomb, a place where lives were twisted, discarded, and forgotten for the sake of something far darker than any game.

The Stages of Shadows was no mere competition; it was a death trap, an entertainment meant for the cruel amusement of those who watched. And now, [Name] was in the thick of it, caught between the dangerous allure of the Stellaron Hunters and the responsibility they felt to save their friends—and clear their name. The image of Robin’s face, her trust in them, and her final words haunted them. ‘I have to prove Sunday wrong. I have to prove I didn’t kill her.’

“Kafka,” [Name] said, voice firm despite the whirlwind of emotions inside. “I’ve been thinking.”

Kafka paused, glancing at [Name] with a raised brow. She said nothing but the slight curve of her lips betrayed a hint of curiosity.

“If I’m going to be working with you,” [Name] continued, stepping closer, “I need to make a deal. If I’m going to help the Stellaron Hunters—if I’m going to risk my life for you—then you help me first.”

Kafka’s eyes narrowed slightly, but she remained silent, waiting for them to continue.

“I want to save my friends,” [Name] said, their voice steady now, the resolve clear in their eyes. “I want them out of the Stages of Shadows. I want to expose the truth. I want everyone to know what that competition really is—and how dangerous it is. I don’t care what It takes, but if I’m going to help you, you have to help me prove Sunday wrong. I didn’t kill Robin. I could never… I couldn’t save her, but I didn’t kill her.”

Kafka studied [Name] for a long moment, her expression unreadable. The silence stretched between them like a taut wire. Finally, she spoke, her voice low and measured.

“Fine,” she said simply, her gaze sharp. “But you should understand something—trust doesn’t come easy here. We don’t make promises lightly. But if your goal is to disrupt The Stages of Shadows and get your friends out, we’ll do what we can. As for Sunday… he’s a man of conviction, but even conviction can be shaken with the right evidence.”

[Name] breathed a quiet sigh of relief, though they knew the road ahead would not be easy. It would take more than just words to convince Sunday—and the rest of the world—that they were innocent. But with the Stellaron Hunters’ help, they might stand a chance.

“Thank you,” they said, their voice soft but filled with determination. “Robin… she trusted me. She said her last words to me were to protect her brother—to take care of him.” They felt the weight of those words deep in their chest, the promise still burning. “I’ll do whatever it takes to make sure her brother is safe. I owe it to her.”

Kafka’s eyes flickered with something unreadable, but she nodded slowly. “Your loyalty is noted. Keep that promise, [Name]. It will matter more than you realize.”

The conversation hung in the air, both a pact and a warning. Kafka didn’t offer reassurances, but there was something in her demeanor that suggested she understood the gravity of what [Name] was asking. The deal was made, and now it was time to see if they could hold up their end.

“Now,” Kafka said, turning on her heel, “we have a mission to prepare for. The first step toward saving your friends and proving your innocence begins now.”

[Name] nodded resolutely, their heart set on their path. They knew what they had to do. But the shadows of the past still lingered—Robin’s trust, Sunday’s disbelief, and the looming dangers of the Stages of Shadows. There was no turning back. The game was on, and they were ready to play.

[Navigation]

[emmathecasualauthor]

@jilymicrofics Prompt 1: Evolution

This will be a series of fluffy Jily Microfics. Not necessarily interconnected, but most can be read in the same universe if you wish.

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Contrary to popular belief, it wasn’t love at first sight when James Potter met Lily Evans on the first train ride to Hogwarts. 

Actually, in those early days, he thought she was rather annoying. He’d tease her, and she’d give it right back. For years, it was a game–one he thought he was winning. He’d ruffle his hair just to see her roll her eyes. He’d say ‘alright Evans?’ with a sarcastic grin, and she’d scoff like it was the most irritating thing in the world. And if she had something sharp to say about his antics he’d be ready with a smug retort.

But somewhere along the way, the rules changed. The rules had changed. Suddenly he was wrapped around her finger, and Lily hadn’t even known it. 

Maybe it was third year, when she’d comforted him after the loss of his mum. Maybe it was fourth year, when she called him an arrogant git but then spent an hour helping him with his potions homework anyway.

Maybe it was fifth year, when she’d punched Mulciber in the face after he’d attacked Mary.

It was slow, gradual, like the turning of seasons. So subtle he didn’t notice until he was already deep in it. He doesn’t know exactly how it’s happened. He just knows it has. 

James watches her sleep beside him now, curled up in the sheets and heavy blankets of his four–poster bed. He reaches for her hair, brushing it off her face, fingers trailing over her warm skin. He follows the strands of her hair down to where they fall over her bare shoulder, and James is mesmerized by the way they catch the soft glow of the enchanted lanterns hanging just below the canopy of fabric that covers them. She shifts slightly, murmuring something incoherent in her sleep, and James stills, afraid to wake her. It’s moments like this that make him wonder how he ever thought it was a game. How he ever thought he had the upper hand.

Because he’s hers. Completely, irreversibly, without question.

Unable to stop himself, James leans forward, pressing a featherlight kiss to her temple before settling back against the pillows. Lily stirs, then, eyes fluttering open just enough to find his. She smiles–sleepy, soft, the kind of smile that makes his heart stutter, and she moves closer to him, tucking herself against his chest like it’s the most natural thing in the world.

"Alright, Potter?" she mumbles, voice thick with sleep.

James smiles back, completely, utterly lost in her.

"Yeah," he whispers. "More than alright."

And honestly, he thinks as he holds Lily against him, it doesn’t matter when it happened. It just matters that it has.

[apollo-fizz]

I love thinking about IEYTD because OUGH that line in the very first intro?

“We’re playing a game, you take from me, I take from you.”

It’s so true. Zor is playing this intricate game of chess with Zoraxis as their pieces, and The Agency as their opponent. They play John Juniper like a pawn, ever moving their game. They take the Phoenix—if only for a moment. They convince Juniper that if he plays along to this scheme he’s convinced he’s the star of, it’ll be the greatest role he’s ever seen. But that was a simple game. A child’s puzzle compared to the greater web of lies.

Prism gets played, too. She’s a piece captured by Zoraxis, and taken to make masterpieces. Zor now has access to ending the game right then and there, but The Agency’s hero—their game ending piece—swoops in at the last minute. No matter, they still had Prism thinking she knew the full plan for long enough to convince her she was important. They let her make her robots. They let her make powerful moves. They convinced her the simple problem was bigger and bigger until she felt wanted enough to give her Telekinesis information over. And then they tore down the facade, just like they did with Juniper.

See, in amongst all of this, I like to think Zor’s plan was so infinitely bigger than the pawns they play can realise. It’s this ever interconnecting web of lies, secrets and pieces moved in the dark. I guarantee people who think they know everything—people who think they’re Zor’s right hand—such as The Fabricator, that powerhouse with seemingly everything under her control, only knows what Zor wants her to know.

Ollie—who, yes, doesn’t play a large role in Zoraxis, I know, but let me continue—worked frequently alongside Kinesium and dangerously volatile information, and yet knew nothing. They knew absolutely nothing about the evil Zoraxis was doing. They’d been isolated from the world and the truth.

I wonder if some of their plays included dropping hints. Dropping information right into The Agency’s lap. Zor progresses the game intentionally—moving a core piece away, giving a pawn away freely—because it really is just a game to them. Anything to keep it going. Anything to keep it interesting.

And so, to summarise, my point is, Zor is holding all of the strings. Zor is the only one with knowledge as to what goes on behind the scenes. Zor is the only one with full knowledge of every Zoraxis plan and play. They are the only one who knows everything, and the game will keep being played until it is won.

[caligvlasaqvarivm]

Disorganized aspect thoughts (read my writing on classes here)

like classes, they're equal and opposite.

time/space - existence. both aspects concern themselves with the very fabric of reality. In time's case, it is the minute, the details, the past and future, the discrete, and struggles. in space's case, it's concerned with the macro, the big picture, the present moment, the interconnectivity of all things into a greater whole, and resolutions. a time player knits together the nitty-gritty of a plan. a space player keeps track of the larger goal.

breath/blood - movement. both aspects concern themselves with the direction of the party, both ad a whole and between individuals. in breath's case, it's concerned with freedom and choices, movement and flight. in blood's case, with bonds and pacts, tying down and keeping still, stalwart in the face of opposition. a blood player keeps the party together. a breath player brings the party somewhere new.

light/void - materiality. both aspects concern themselves with that which can be known. In light's case, it's concerned with the concrete, the factual, the fortuitous, and clear communication. void is concerned with that which cannot be known - secrets, subjectivity, emptiness. the spaces between, the silence, and the infinite promises it holds before it's collapsed into the known. a light player illuminates that which is salient. a void player dwells among the infinite possibilities of the unknown.

mind/heart - causality. both aspects concern themselves with cause and effect. in mind's case, it is concerned with the external - logic, actions, societal ramifications, karma, and justice. in heart's case, it is concerned with the internal - feelings, motivations, identity, the soul, the self, and acceptance of all as they are. a mind player keeps track of right and wrong, and how people will act. a heart player keeps track of identity and motivations, and how people will feel.

life/doom - journeys. both aspects concern themselves with the cyclical paths all entities undertake. life is concerned with beginnings, continuations, exploitations, healing, growing, and pushing through. doom is concerned with endings, laws, suffering, acceptance, peace, leisure, and letting go. a life player summons the strength to push through and adapt against all adversity. a doom player brings all to their proper conclusions and gives all a place to rest.

hope/rage - beliefs. both aspects concern themselves with truth and fantasy, and imposing their will upon the world. hope is the aspect which makes fake things real, makes the impossible possible, is associated with magic and divinity. rage, then, is the aspect which deems real things false and banishes them - "tearing down false truths" - and turns the possible impossible; it is associated with physical sensation and devilry. a hope player imposes their will on the world by making real what they believe in. a rage player imposes their will on the world by banishing that which they refuse to acknowledge.

-----

example classpects, although i must include a caveat: classpects are deeply personal to the character they're applied to, and thus, even two people with the same classpect can manifest two entirely different skillsets. these are only some suggestions for how the combinations might shake out.

rogue of time | one who steals time for others / one who steals from time for others. a rogue of time is a force of change and upheaval; while they can travel through time, doing so is highly instinctive, and they often find themselves lost as to why they travelled to when they did, even as their instincts draw them to the exact right moment to disrupt the status quo - and they can often disrupt time for the worse, if not given clear direction and communication. More unique to this combination is the rogue's ability to steal directly from time, able to appearify past and future objects and entities at will, or to steal time away for others, able to reverse aging and injuries, or prevent accidents and harm, by stealing past and future, respectively.

knight of space | one who wields space / one who leads with space. a knight suffers from crippling insecurities, and in the case of space, this may lead to them shirking or denying the interconnectedness of all things that they instinctively feel. the relationship of a knight and their aspect is a straightforward one, that of a soldier and weapon or tradesperson and tool, so a knight of space will have fairly "standard"-seeming abilities - teleportation being the big one, but size manipulation, barriers and borders, and all other physical properties. with space's focus on interconnectedness and the larger goal, the knight takes on the frontline role of ensuring the party is united in the correct direction, always aimed in the proper direction.

seer of void | one who comprehends void / one who guides with void. a seer generally tends to struggle with blindness, both literal and metaphorical; so much the worse for one whose sight is aimed at the nothingness. already prone to feeling so burdened by their sight that they choose self-destruction, a seer of void must receive careful guidance from their party in order to understand the abyss they are gazing into. once given this direction, the seer will be an incomparable guide in unknown places, having an instinctive grasp of the ebbs and flows of nothingness, able to set the party on paths where nothingness is absent. a seer of void is well-equipped to deal with emptiness, nothingness, or eldritch madness that would normally drive others insane. Moreover, no secrets are truly secret to a seer of void; although such things are often unspeakable by nature, when the time comes for a secret to be known, the seer will always have a feel for how to bring that knowing about. "Lost" is never actually lost when a seer of void is present.

prince of light | one who destroys light / one who destroys with light. Princes are often the most psychologically maligned and self-destructive party member, and thus, a prince of light will embody ignorance, misfortune, and/or incommunication. What's worse, if their psychological problems are left unaddressed, they may wind up destroying precious knowledge, fortune, or lines of communication for the party as a whole. However, brought back into the fold, the prince, first of all, has access to deadly lasers. But also, they can crush arguments with facts and logic, and are especially skilled at using light to crush misfortune or banish uncertainty, paving the way for sure victory.

heir of heart | one who is beloved by heart / one who awakens to heart. an heir tends to start out privileged, and an heir of heart especially begins the game having won the hearts of their team members. However, this is also a danger to them - being naturally gifted with their aspect, and not having done much introspection to learn to control it, an heir of heart often winds up subsumed by the desires and identities of those around them, left unable to make choices for the party's benefit, or even their own. they must interrogate why they are so beloved, and what it means to be beloved, in order to protect from the consuming force of heart, and to learn to share their inheritance. An heir of heart can often take on the role a blood player would typically have, as they're uniquely suited to bringing understanding between their teammates, as they share the bonuses granted to them as a heart player amongst their party. they naturally charm their opponents, and are well-suited for political maneuvering or de-escalating hostilities. moreover, being a heart player typically allows them to achieve Ultimate Selfhood sooner, often during the game itself, the benefits of which are conferred to their party, as the party is granted a guide with knowledge of all timelines, whose heart is big enough to fit them all.

sylph of mind | one who nurtures mind or creates a land of mind. sylphs already struggle with a tendency to luxuriate within their comfort zone, becoming aloof to the outside world - a sylph of mind is especially dangerous in this regard, as mind is concerned with karma and justice. a sylph of mind who does not have their worst tendencies kept in check will designate themselves judge, jury, and executioner of the party, imposing their own sense of values upon their teammates and making enemies of those who do not conform. However, if they are pulled out of their comfort zone and forced to come to a realization that their own values are not absolute, the sylph can instead become a trusted moral backbone to the party instead, capable of providing constructive guidance, and dare i say, cognitive-behavioral therapy, in line with their tendency to be nurturers and healers. a sylph's passive abilities are incredibly powerful; with a sylph of mind on the team, the party never has to worry about foes equipped with mental attacks - mind control, mind reading, or whispering madness. if something of that nature does somehow manage to infiltrate the sylph's area of control, it's trivial for the sylph to banish it - one does not mess with a sylph within their own territory.

thief of breath | one who steals breath from others / one who steals with breath. thieves are selfish mavericks by nature, playing a dangerous game with the patience of their party, and a thief of breath finds it all-too-easy to earn their teammates' ire. by stealing breath - that is, choices and freedom - a thief of breath can control their victims. what's worse is that, by granting themselves that stolen breath, they grant themselves the power to determine the party's direction. thus, the thief must be confronted and made to address the reasons they desire such control. once turned toward the party's best interests, the thief of breath is a powerful force of freedom and liberation - so long as they have a say in things, no prison can hold the party, and no obstacle is insurmountable. the thief's ability to steal breath is also literal, as they're capable of asphyxiating foes, or using vacuums to their advantage - for example, the air bubble of a pistol shrimp. Moreover, once they've amassed a store of stolen breath, they can do nearly anything with it - blowing their enemies away, masking their scent, slipping in and out of tight spaces. At least, until they run out, and they have to replenish their stores.

witch of blood | one who manipulates blood / one who achieves dominion through blood. a witch of blood starts the game surrounded by an excess of bonds - but with no clear idea of how to change them. Often an "outsider," a witch is prone to following the whims of their naive hearts without fully interrogating the ramifications of their actions - in the case of a blood player, this means setting up or destroying relationships. this naivety makes them easy to manipulate, and they will often be taken advantage of by external forces, and, their gullibility left unchecked, will lead to them perpetuating harm - which is especially bad for witches, who have such powerful active abilities, and set the tone for the world they create. The same abilities that make a witch of blood capable of singlehandedly destroying a party's interpersonal relationships also makes them the ultimate matchmaker, once they've learned to sort right from wrong. otherwise, their abilities are quite literal - a witch of blood can manipulate literal blood, and also instruments of binding, like ropes and chains. there doesn't exist an enemy a witch of blood cannot incapacitate, provided the witch is fully-realized. interestingly, as they preside over bonds, witches of blood can actually act as a breath player, weakening bindings just as easily as they can strengthen them. with a witch of blood on the team, the party is truly stronger together - and the witch can ensure that they stay that way.

maid of doom | one who distributes doom or manages with doom. maids begin the game oppressed, if not outright enslaved, and the maid of doom especially has been designated one of the universe's sufferers. maids have an unbelievable influence on the party, managing from the backlines, and if these malicious external influences aren't addressed, a maid of doom will doom their party, dispensing their aspect according to the whims of their master. However, if they are able to free themselves, then a maid of doom is one of the most powerful possible party managers. doom is concerned with rules and proper processes; as such, a maid of doom knows that there's a place for everything, and ensures everything is in its place. they can also bring suffering without injury, which is sometimes useful for snapping a sylph out of their comfort zone, or showing a thief how it feels. after all, doom players provoke sympathy, either for themselves or for others, and oftentimes, pain is needed for growth. As doom is also associated with silence and rest, a maid of doom is also uniquely gifted in providing comfort and compassion to those who are in pain, providing them the space to grieve and cry, and soothing them that everything will eventually be at peace. the fact that doom is associated with pain and death means that it is one of the most powerful combat options available to maids, as the mere act of dispensing it can cause great damage to their foes - alternatively, they can grant the foes silence and peace, putting them to sleep. the last of their duties is to bring all things to a close - when the maid of doom says they all lived happily ever after, they fucking mean it.

bard of life | one who allows the destruction of life / one who allows destruction through life. the bard is the class of making the impossible, possible, and this is especially powerful when paired with life's tendency toward forward progress against all odds. however, bards tend to be shaped by the worst of the society from which they come, and the harmonious pairing of bards and life can easily work against the party, allowing for the destruction of not just their literal lives (while bypassing godtier immortality), but also for all that life stands for - beginnings, forward progress, healing, and the surmounting of challenges. A particularly maligned bard of life can cause the destruction of all the party's progress entirely, including all future progress. On the flip side, if the bard is taught a new way of being, there is no state of ruination that cannot be overcome. Their ability to allow destruction through life means that life will find a way, dammit. Even if the bard is the last one standing, their class will grant them some miracle by which the rest of their party can return, so long as the bard keeps living. the bard of life can either be the ultimate dead end, but, like nature reclaiming the most barren wastelands, they can also be the symbol of ultimate perserverence.

page of rage | one who earns rage or inherits the mantle of rage. pages start weak, with infinite potential, but long, arduous journeys of self-improvement to reach that potential; this almost seems contradictory when it comes to rage - is the page meant to learn how to be angry? Well, yes, but more importantly, the page must learn how to be honest with themselves. rage is concerned with truth and the destruction of lies - but what that truth and what those lies are are malleable. unrealized, the page of rage will likely spark a massive conflict by misdirecting their anger, or deeming the wrong things to be true, which can tank an entire party. however, if they are capable of surmounting the emotional issues that plague them, a page of rage is practically capable of warping reality. rage does not bring anything new into being, but it DOES take "false" things away - and these things can range from illusions, to disguises, to propoganda, to governmental policies, to the lies we tell ourselves, to game mechanics, to other entities' abilities, to the laws of physics - a similar powerset to a prince. moreover, as the aspect ruling physical sensation, a page of rage operating at 100% will be delivering the most brutal smackdowns on any team. a page of rage is an unbelievably dangerous foe, capable of laying bare all embarrassing things, uncovering all secrets, and denying all falsehoods - if only they're able to reach that point.

mage of hope | one who invokes hope or is drawn to hope. a mage of hope seems, at first, like the ultimate boon to a party - a "prophet" capable of literally speaking hope into existence. However, great danger lies in this incredible power - mages are often tainted by extreme self-loathing, which in turn, muddies their visions, and causes their prophecies to be self-destructive, if not destructive to the party - so much the worse when hope turns fake things real. A mage of hope can speak their darkest, ugliest, cruelest thoughts into existence no matter how improbable, or even impossible, such circumstances would normally be - and, in fact, they're naturally drawn to doing so. it would actually not be odd for a mage of hope to be the party's biggest problem until they were able to address their self-loathing and move on from it. Once this is done, then that incredible ability to prophesy the most impossible circumstances, and make them come true, becomes something that works in the party's favor. does this seem overpowered? hope is kind of just like that; it's considered an exploit in paradox space canonically, which is probably why it's balanced by only being given to the most pain in the ass classes. other mages would be constrained by their aspects - mages of doom can only predict dooms, and mages of heart can only predict feelings and matchmake; a mage of hope has no such restrictions, as hope is magic, divine intervention. The only requirement for a mage of hope's prophecy to come true is that the mage believes in it.

[mint-yooxgi]

Intoxicating - Yandere!Fennec Fox!Jeongin

Yandere AU & Hybrid AU - First Person POV

Genre: Mature, Smutty Themes, Internal Monologue

Pairing: Jeongin X Implied Chubby!Reader

Words: 1,665

Warnings: Implied masturbation and dirty thoughts. This is a Yandere story, it will contain themes such as stalking, violence, obsession, possessive natures, and just general overall creepiness and swearing. You have been warned.

A/n: So, here it is! The first of what I'm deeming are the 'Feral Drabbles' hehehe. This one is a bit tame to start since I'm feeling things out, but I'd really love to know what you all think of it! Like I said, I'm trying out a new style here, so I really hope you all like it. As always, feedback is greatly appreciated! Enjoy!~

The First of The Feral Drabbles

You’re intoxicating. 

Did you know that?

Of course you did. Why else would you always wear that scarf I got you, only to casually ‘forget’ it at my place? 

You know how much you drive me crazy. It’s like you want me to scent you.

Really, you can’t blame me. The soft pastel pink of the material was practically glaring at me from the hook near the front door. I had to move it before it drove me insane.

Where better to keep it than in my bed? Where you should be.

The fabric is knitted, and quite smooth to the touch. Not as smooth as your skin beneath my fingertips, but it’ll suffice for now. It has to. 

My imagination can only do so much.

Oh, how I long for the day to feel you falling asleep in my arms. Sure, you do it sometimes even now, but it’s not the same. 

No. Right now, we’re only friends. Friends who have an undeniable chemistry with one another. Friends who clearly want something more.

You can feel it, too, right? The way our lives are interconnected. You and I, we’re meant to be. Besides, I know what I do to you. You’re not as subtle as you think.

I hear the way your breath hitches when you catch me staring at you. I’m sure you can see the emotions in my eyes, even though I try and hide them. The love, the desire, the sheer desperation I harbour for you knows no bounds, and I’m afraid I will never stop.

I want you, and I want you to want me, too.

I know you do. I can smell the way your scent shifts the slightest bit when I do certain things. I catch you staring when you think I’m not looking. I see the way your eyes linger the slightest bit longer when I roll up my sleeves, or even come out of my room with my shirt unbuttoned. Your breath stutters slightly when I wear that cologne you like, and I notice how you lean into me more when I do. 

It makes me so happy to know I can affect you in these ways. I’ll let you in on a little secret, too. I do it for you. 

It’s all for you.

I know you like it when I smile, it sets your heart racing. I also know you enjoy when I run my fingers through my hair.

Do you wish it was you? Do you also want to know what it feels like to have you pulling at my hair? I bet you’d be so gentle at first, cautious even. That is, before you’re gripping it and pulling me into you to get exactly what you want from me. 

Whatever it is, I don’t mind. As long as you only did it with me, I don’t care what you do. Use me, please me, love me, just whatever you do, never leave me. You’re not meant to be anyone else’s but mine. Just as I’m not meant to be with anyone else but you. 

I’m yours, Baby. Forevermore.

Fuck, I wish you were here right now. I wish you could see what you do to me. I wish you could see how hard you make me, my cock throbbing from just the thought of you. Really, it’s embarrassing, how much precome leaks from the tip, my whole body aching for your touch. I want you to see how desperate I am for you, clinging onto that scarf for dear life. Maybe then I could bury my face in that delectable cunt of yours instead.

I bet your lips feel so soft and supple… god, I want you all for myself.

Would you like me playing with that pretty pussy of yours, Baby? Would you want me to finger you while you stroked my dick? Would you let me eat you out while you sucked me off? Or, would you prefer to have total control? I’d let you tie me up any time you’d like, Baby, as long as I got to do the same to you. I bet you’d look so pretty spread out on my bed, and all just for me to see.

Fuck, I’d start slow. Simply trailing my fingers over your body to get you accustomed to the faintest of my touch. Maybe I’ll blindfold you, too. If you let me, of course. I hear dulling certain senses can make others that much more sensitive… Regardless, I’d make sure to treat you right, and I wouldn’t be done until you’re a trembling, moaning, blissful mess.

I want you to scream my name, and my name only. After all, it’s going to be the only thing you’ll be able to remember.

I’ve smelt you, too. You’re not subtle. I know when you get turned on. I’m beginning to recognize all those little telltale signs that alert me to your every need, and then I watch you carefully when I emulate those same stimuli that turn you on. It makes me so happy when I see those plush thighs of yours squeeze together from something I’ve insinuated. It lets me know everything that I need to. Everything important.

It’s working.

God, I want to feel you around me. I want to feel your naked body pressing against mine. I want your legs wrapped around my waist, pulling me closer with every thrust I give into that tight little wet cunt of yours. I want your nails raking down my back and drawing blood, claiming me as yours in every primal way you know how. I want all of this, and so much more as your velvet walls spasm around my dick from another earth shattering orgasm only I could give to you.

My body is yours. It’s only fair that I offer it all to you.

You make me so desperate, Baby. I can hardly ever think straight when you’re around. Half of the time, I’m overcome by the need to make you mine in every way possible, and the other half I’m dreaming about our future together.

That’s just it, isn’t it? 

Our future. 

Us.

Together.

No one else.

I am made for you, Baby, and you are meant to be mine. 

Mine, and only mine.

Oh, where should I put my claim on you? 

I wonder…

Your neck? It’s always been begging for me to mark it; to rub my scent all over it and let everyone know that you’re mine and I’m yours.

Hmmm, or perhaps your thighs? The tender flesh has always tempted me beyond belief. I’d love to toss them over my shoulders and just drown in that dripping cunt of yours, but perhaps some other time…

You’d like that, wouldn’t you? Me, spending hours worshipping every part of your body that you’ve always wanted someone to please. I’m not lying when I say I could get lost in you.

Maybe, I’ll bite my mark on that soft stomach of yours. Maybe then you’ll start showing it off more for me to admire.

Then again, I don’t want anyone seeing what should be for my eyes only.

You’ll understand, right? How no one else gets to adore you like I do? How no one else is allowed to admire your ethereal figure, and worship your very being like I will? I’m all for showing you off, and making others jealous of what they can never have, but certain demonstrations from My Goddess are for me, and me alone.

Oh! I know! I’ll put my claim on you just above your collarbone! It’s the perfect area. You can show it off whenever you want, and I can tease you by resting my chin on your shoulder when you don’t. After all, if that were the case, only we would know it’s there. It’s perfect.

Just like you.

I should warn you, though, I do have quite a bit of stamina. Of course, I’ll cater to your every need, but I might have to be a little selfish, too. Selfish in the way - the best way - when I say that you make me insatiable.

I bet your moans sound so cute. I want to know what you sound like when you whine for me, when you’re begging me to please you in all of the ways I’ve only dreamed of. I want to make you come with a smile on your face, pleading for me not to stop. To never stop.

I wouldn’t. Not in a million years.

I will say though, that yes, I am an eager lover, but I also never want you to be uncomfortable. I’d take care of you in every and any way I know how, using whatever means necessary. Always. 

You’d never have to worry about anything. Not while I’m here to take care of you. Besides, a little birdie told me that you rather enjoy knowing your lover gets off to the thought of you. I’m always ready and willing to put on a show just for you.

Only for you.

Fuck, I could tell you about what I’m doing right now. What I always do when I think about you. Then, maybe, you’d be compelled to replace my hand with your own, teasing me even further while taking care of me like I’ve always fantasize about. It’d be the perfect mixture of passion and condescension. A thought I’ve always been into, but only with you.

God, I want you so badly, Baby. I wish you were here, letting me fuck you raw instead of me desperately fucking into my hand longing for the warmth of your pussy. Or maybe, you’d want to fuck me. Whatever the case, I’m all for it. Maybe then my teeth would be sinking into your own flesh and claiming you as my own instead of this stupid scarf.

It’s not enough. It will never be enough.

But what can I say? 

You’re just that intoxicating.

[tiredfoxtf]

Drop the mecha lore pls

Okay, sure.

Some time ago on the planet happened that can be only described as a world-wide cataclysm. All around the world started appearing herds of monsters, some of them resembled humanoids, others looked more like distorted animals, some were shaped like objects. They seem to be born overnight and started attacking people and cities instantly. Moreover, they seem to posses some special magical powers to them in addition to their monstrous appearance. Which of course caused a massive chaos all around the world. Didn't help the fact that most of them seemed massively unimpressed with bullets and bombs, chemical and bio weapons. There was always an option to nuke them, but you would be nuking millions of people with the monsters and there was no guarantee it would work in the first place. Fortunately whatever caused the arrival of the monsters also changed something about some people. A small percentage of population had received a mark somewhere on their bodies that gave them similar abilities to those of monsters.

Fast forward to much later in the world's timeline and there aren't many of human settlements left, they still exist as huge interconnected infrastructures that are few and far apart. Everyone is just trying to live as happy life as they can. Research connected both monsters and special marks to strange structure of the fabric of the world that turned out similar to music. The monsters were results in it's distortion and foul sound, so they started to call them Discords. And people who received a mark could resonate with the sound of the universe and channel it's special properties, so they were called Resonators respectfully. Resonators are pretty much the only people who can make a valiant effort at stopping and destroying discords. And they do, they maximize their output with a specially designed mechanical individual robots, that channel their own energy and frequency. It allows for less people to cover a lot of ground. Of course it's incredibly tasking on the person and absolutely doesn't help that discords never leave for long. So basically each megalopolis structure has an elite teams that fight off large quantities of enemies coming around almost on daily basis.

The Discords seem to be attracted to negative emotions generated by people: their fears, their sadness and anger, their despair. So they always try to reach them and devour everything. But it also seems that the people that were killed by discords become discords, their bodies dissipating into the sound waves and transforming. However resonators if killed have a slightly different things happen to them. It's like they become possessed, unable to think for themselves and their appearance slightly changing, but not drastically. Many believe that unlike normal people, if retrieved, they could be brought back to normal. Also yeah, death isn't really permanent as long as you have a body you can connect with a right frequency, very useful, knowing that not many people are resonators and not so easily replaced.

Anyway yeah that's the lore. If it's too similar to something else you might know, don't care, it's a silly au.

[codenamesazanka]

i always loved the Geten Himura reveal and blurb of backstory because it really rounded out the world of bnha. imo. It was a relatively tiny detail, but it showed that problems were deeper and more complex than just Bad Man, because many things were interconnected, and how tragedies can occur due to those chains of intersections.

Like, the fact that the Himura were traditional wealthy landowners was significant, because it meant they were the exact sort of old-money conservative douchebags that would hate change, that would marry cousins to keep their bloodline pure, that would raise children with the expectations to sell them off in arranged marriages. And because they were an old landowning clan, they would've had influence over local village politics - so is it any surprise that villages would be awful towards heteromorphs, when the village leaders or elites were people who rather marry their cousins than 'taint' their bloodline with outsiders and possibly have a kid with a heteromorphic quirk?

It meant Rei was always prepared to not marry for love, but be married to someone rich, and stay in that marriage no matter what, for the sake of her family. I don't know how low the Himura fell, but given that they're a big landowning family, they probably weren't 'starving in the streets' poor and in need of cash for survival, but rather didn't have the money to support their previously comfortable lifestyle. Rei kept in contact with her mom, but the mom could offer no support when Enji turned abusive - whether it was because the mom was also trained to be a traditional housewife and thought this was all normal, or because the mom needed the daughter to keep up a lifestyle, it's all fucked up. And plus, the marriage broker in Chapter 301 also mentioned "Himura women" like there's bunch, and there probably were - Rei's sisters or cousins also getting married off for money, also stuck in this clan-obligation-duty-dysfunction-web.

Enji was the asshole Rei ended up marrying, and everything that happened is his fault, but there very much could've been five other wealthy assholes that her parents had lined up for her to meet. In fact, Enji could've been a particularly useful idiot for the Himura - at the time, Enji was only 21, 22 years old, only having reached the age of majority the year or two before; his father was dead, so he's the head of his household, so they don't have to worry about pesky in-laws; he was probably nouveau riche from his Hero career, so he had no idea of old clan politics; he wanted a quirk marriage, which fit perfectly with their blood purity ideology; and he wanted a kid immediately, sealing the deal. Enji's selfishness matched beautifully with Himura's own messed up issues.

And so the problem isn't just Enji, and it didn't affect just Rei, it's a whole thing. And I so always thought this reveal added so much to the landscape of HeroAcaWorld, where quirks didn't only brought new problems, but exacerbated old prejudices and inequalities, entrenching them even further into the fabric of society. And it would've been fascinating to see how Heroes would have to deal with that.

[santoschristos]

The 9 Octaves of Chemical Elements teach us is that everything in the universe is interconnected. We learn about levels of existence or consciousness, drawing parallels between music, chemical elements, and spiritual principles.

Music as Universal Language

Music transcends cultural and linguistic barriers, embodying a form of communication that resonates on an emotional and spiritual level. Just as musical notes can harmonize to create beautiful melodies, the elements of the universe are seen as interconnected forces that contribute to the greater whole.

Vibrational Frequencies

Every element has its own vibrational frequency, much like musical notes. Sound and vibration are used for healing and meditation,everything in existence vibrates at certain frequencies.

So what are The 9 Octaves as Levels of Existence?

1. Physical Realm: The first octave represents the physical elements (earth, water, fire, air) that compose the material world. This is the foundation of existence where everything is tangible and measurable.

2. Emotional Realm:

The second octave corresponds to the emotional aspects of life, where feelings and energies are exchanged among beings, resonating with the vibrations of the surrounding elements.

3. Mental Realm

The third octave represents the mind and intellect, where thoughts and ideas form. This realm can be likened to the creative process in music, where inspiration arises and manifests.

4.Spiritual Realm:

The fourth octave embodies spiritual awareness and consciousness, where individuals seek to connect with higher truths and the essence of the universe.

5.Intuitive Realm:

The fifth octave symbolises intuition and inner knowing, where individuals tap into their instincts and the deeper wisdom of the universe.

6. Collective Consciousness:

The sixth octave represents the collective consciousness of humanity, where individual experiences contribute to a shared understanding and unity.

7. Cosmic Connection:

The seventh octave symbolises the connection to the cosmos, aligning with universal laws and the greater mysteries of existence.

8. Transcendental Realm:

The eighth octave represents transcendence, where individuals move beyond the physical and emotional realms, seeking enlightenment and unity with all that is.

9. Unity and Oneness:

The ninth octave embodies the ultimate realization of oneness, where the illusion of separation dissolves, and individuals experience themselves as part of the larger fabric of existence.

Understanding these octaves lead us to a greater sense of integration of self, as one recognises the interplay between the physical, emotional, mental, and spiritual aspects of life. Just as musical harmony creates a beautiful sound, aligning these realms lead us to a more harmonious existence, fostering peace, love, and understanding.

This framework encourages awareness of the interconnectedness of all beings and elements, promoting a sense of responsibility and stewardship for the planet and each other.

The 9 Octaves of Chemical Elements are a powerful metaphor for exploring spirituality, consciousness, and the unity of existence through the lens of music and vibration. Understanding and embodying these principles help us to a deeper connection with oneself and the universe.

Music is the highest vibrational frequency

— Liliana Da Cruz

Image: Walter Russell - Periodic Table of the Elements, consisting of 9 Octaves, showing 2 dimensional representation of a 3 dimensional concept of a 4 dimensional Reality, “The Universal One”, 1927.