#Fake it confidently and no one will notice I guess | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

kiwriteswords · 2 months ago

Note

Could I please get a fake dating or like Hotch jumps in to be Reader's date for a wedding or something story?

Everybody Loves Somebody

Masterlist || Ao3

AN: I keep telling myself that I want to post something every day of December, so let's see if I can keep this up! This one I fought myself back and forth if I liked it, so I hope you guys do! I also need to update my masterlist...like bad.

Pairing: Aaron Hotchner x Female Reader||Word Count: 13.5k

Tags/Warnings: Female Reader, BAU Reader, Hotch and Reader are Best Friends, Reader is being breadcrumbed by another guy, insecure reader, reader does not know her worth, weddings, mentions of alcohol in a wedding setting, smut, smut with feelings, smut that you have to use your imagination for in some points, not specified, but unprotected sex, one-bed-trope, romance, fluff, angst, eluding to reader being in toxic relationships before, hurt/comfort.

Sypnosis: At a wedding filled with laughter, romance, and unexpected revelations, You and Hotch find yourselves navigating the fine line between friendship and something more. What starts as a favor soon becomes a night of quiet truths and unspoken emotions, as the two of you grapple with feelings that can no longer be ignored.

Aaron Hotchner had long considered himself an observant man. It was, after all, an essential trait in his line of work. But when it came to you, his closest friend and confidant, observation was more than professional—it was personal. He prided himself on knowing you better than anyone else, even if the knowledge sometimes brought him a frustrating ache he didn’t dare examine too closely.

That ache flared again today as he glanced across the bullpen to where you sat at your desk. To the untrained eye, you were simply busy—typing emails, jotting notes, occasionally furrowing your brow in concentration. But Hotch knew better. The tight set of your jaw, the way your leg bounced beneath your desk, and the fact that you hadn’t laughed at any of Morgan’s jokes all afternoon—those were your tells. Something was wrong.

He waited until the team dispersed for lunch to approach. You didn’t notice him until he leaned against the edge of your desk, his arms crossed, and gave you one of his signature looks—the kind that said he was waiting for answers.

“What?” you asked, feigning innocence as you glanced up at him.

Hotch raised a brow. “You’re upset.”

You scoffed lightly, turning your attention back to your computer. “I’m fine.”

The evasion only confirmed his suspicions. “You’re not fine,” he said softly. “Talk to me.”

For a moment, you hesitated, your fingers hovering over the keyboard. Then, with a sigh, you leaned back in your chair and crossed your arms defensively. “It’s nothing, Hotch. Just... plans fell through, and I’m annoyed. That’s all.”

But it wasn’t nothing. He knew exactly what—or rather who—was behind this.

“Let me guess,” he said, his voice hardening despite himself. “It’s him.”

Your silence was damning.

Hotch felt his stomach twist. He hated this—hated how that man, who didn’t deserve an ounce of your time, could still have this hold on you. It wasn’t the first time he’d seen you like this—hopeful one minute, crushed the next. He clenched his jaw, reigning in the frustration that wasn’t entirely directed at the man.

Hotch remembered every instance in painful clarity.

The blown-off phone calls. The texts left unanswered for hours, sometimes days. The signs of interest one day, only for them to vanish into disinterest the next. It was a cycle so predictable it made Hotch’s blood boil, not just because it hurt you but because you still held out hope every time that this time would be different.

And then there were the worst moments—the ones that left marks even you couldn’t brush off.

There was the time you’d shown up to work after a rare weekend off, a hopeful sparkle in your eye as you mentioned that things finally seemed to be turning around with him. Hotch had wanted to believe it for your sake, but he’d barely had time to hope before you confided—over lunch in the BAU’s break room—that the man had stood you up for dinner, citing a “misunderstanding.” Hotch had gripped his coffee mug so tightly he thought it might crack.

Through it all, he’d stayed quiet. He’d been your friend, your colleague, your confidant. He’d listened when you needed to vent, offered advice when you asked, and let you lean on him when the weight of disappointment became too much. But inside, he’d been screaming.

Screaming at the man who couldn’t see the incredible person standing right in front of him. Screaming at himself for letting it go on for so long without saying more.

“What happened?” he asked, forcing his tone to remain gentle.

You sighed again, this time heavier. “My friend from college and grad school, Annie, is getting married this weekend. I had a plus-one, and—well, he was supposed to come with me.” Your voice wavered just slightly. “But he bailed last minute. Said he couldn’t make it because he’s ‘too busy.’”

Hotch’s jaw tightened further. Too busy? The excuse was laughable, infuriating, and so painfully predictable. He hated seeing the way you tried to downplay your disappointment as if his latest betrayal were somehow your fault.

“I don’t get it, Hotch,” you continued quietly, staring down at your desk. “I thought things were finally going somewhere this time. But he’s always—” You shook your head, blinking back tears. “I don’t know. Maybe it’s me. Maybe I’m just—”

He wanted to tell you why. Wanted to tell you that you hoped because you were good, because you believed in people even when they didn’t deserve it. He wanted to tell you that your hope was one of the things he admired most about you—and the thing that tore him apart when it was weaponized against you.

“Stop,” Hotch interrupted, his voice firmer than he intended.

You blinked up at him in surprise.

“This isn’t about you,” he said, holding your gaze. “It’s about him. He’s a coward who doesn’t see what’s right in front of him. You deserve better than this—better than him. You do this because you care. But he doesn’t deserve it.”

You smiled weakly, but it didn’t reach your eyes. “Thanks, Hotch. But it’s not like I have a backup plan. It’s just one weekend. I’ll survive.”

Hotch watched as you tried to bury your hurt under a mask of indifference, but it didn’t fool him. He wasn’t sure when he made the decision—it was instinctive, like every protective impulse he felt when it came to you.

“Then let me go with you,” he said, the words spilling out before he could overthink them.

Your eyes widened. “What?”

“I’ll go with you to the wedding,” he repeated, his voice calm and steady. “If you’ll have me.”

The stunned look on your face made him wonder if he’d overstepped. But then your lips curved into a genuine smile—a rare one that he hadn’t seen all day.

“You’d really do that?” you asked softly.

He nodded, his own lips twitching into the smallest smile. “Of course. That’s what friends are for.”

You laughed—a light, incredulous sound that made something warm bloom in his chest. “Aaron Hotchner, my wedding date. Who would’ve thought?”

“It’s a first for me, too,” he admitted, his tone light but sincere. “But I promise, you won’t regret it.”

For the first time that day, Hotch saw a flicker of hope in your eyes, and he silently vowed to make good on his promise. Because whether you realized it or not, you deserved someone who saw your worth—someone who would never dream of leaving you hanging.

And if that someone couldn’t be him, he’d at least make sure you saw what it was like to be treated the way you deserved, even if just for one weekend.

Aaron Hotchner wasn’t sure how it had happened, but somehow, agreeing to accompany you to this wedding had become the most complicated logistical endeavor of his week. Which, considering he led a team of profilers tracking violent criminals, was saying something.

He sat across from you at the round table in the break room, a notepad in hand as you went over the details for the weekend. You were in full planning mode, leaning forward, your fingers tapping rhythmically against your coffee cup.

“So,” you began, grinning. “The wedding is in Stafford. I already booked a room because I wasn’t sure how late I’d stay, but now that you’re coming, I can probably cancel that and just—”

“You should keep it,” Hotch interjected.

You raised an eyebrow, your grin morphing into something sly. “Aaron, are you worried about your reputation? Afraid of being seen walking out of my hotel room in the morning?”

His lips quirked into the faintest smile. “I’m worried about getting enough sleep and having to share a room with someone who steals the covers.”

“Wow,” you deadpanned, pretending to clutch your chest. “Accusing me of being a cover thief without evidence. Profiling me already, Hotchner?”

“Call it an educated guess.”

Your laugh was light and easy, the sound wrapping around him in a way that momentarily made him forget you were planning this trip because someone else had let you down. He knew better than to dwell on that, though, especially now that you were in good spirits again.

“So,” you continued, brushing a strand of hair from your face, “you’re driving, right? You’ve got the serious FBI Dad car that won’t break down.”

Hotch raised a brow, unsure what quick-witted joke you were making at him. “FBI Dad car?”

“Yeah, you know,” you teased, gesturing vaguely. “Sturdy, reliable, no-nonsense. It practically screams, ‘I’m an authority figure, and I have juice boxes in the back seat for emergencies.’”

He chuckled softly, shaking his head. “I’ll take that as a compliment. Yes, I’ll drive.”

Before you could respond, Morgan’s voice drifted in from the hallway.

“Sounds like we’re right after all,” he said, loud enough for both of you to hear.

Hotch turned to find Morgan, Prentiss, and Rossi standing in the doorway, all wearing expressions ranging from smug to amused.

“Right about what?” Hotch asked, narrowing his eyes slightly.

“Oh, nothing,” Morgan replied, but the grin tugging at the corners of his mouth said otherwise.

You leaned back in your chair, crossing your arms and raising an eyebrow at the trio. “Okay, spill it. What conspiracy theory are you cooking up now?”

Prentiss smirked. “Oh, it’s not a conspiracy. Just a little… friendly office speculation.”

Rossi, ever the instigator, folded his arms and leaned against the doorframe. “Let’s just say there’s a reason the betting pool has been so active lately.”

Hotch blinked, confused. “Betting pool?”

“On what?” you asked, your tone equal parts curious and incredulous.

Morgan didn’t miss a beat. “On when you two were finally going to get together.”

For a moment, there was silence. Then, simultaneously:

“What?” Hotch said, his voice clipped with disbelief.

“Excuse me?” you said, your tone higher and filled with mock outrage.

The trio in the doorway looked utterly unfazed.

“Oh, come on,” Prentiss said, rolling her eyes. “You finish each other’s sentences, you bicker like an old couple, and don’t even get me started on the way you look at each other.”

You snorted. “The way we look at each other? What is this, a rom-com?”

Hotch held up a hand, his expression stern but his tone baffled. “This is absurd. We’re colleagues and friends. That’s it.”

Morgan raised a skeptical brow. “Friends, huh? You’re going to a wedding together. And if I’m not mistaken, Hotch just volunteered to drive—sounds pretty couple-y to me.”

You leaned forward, resting your elbows on the table. “Oh, Derek, sweet, sweet Derek,” you said, your voice dripping with exaggerated condescension. “Are you trying to tell me that I can’t ask my best friend to be my date to a wedding without it being some grand romantic gesture?”

Morgan grinned. “Not saying it, just calling it like I see it.”

Hotch sighed, pinching the bridge of his nose. “This is ridiculous.”

Prentiss gave him a mock-serious look. “It’s not ridiculous if it’s true.”

“It’s not true,” you and Hotch said in unison, which only seemed to amuse the team further.

“Uh-huh,” Morgan said, exchanging a knowing look with Rossi.

Hotch turned to you, his lips pressing into a thin line. “They’re crazy.”

“Oh, 100%,” you agreed, giving him a quick, conspiratorial grin. “But let’s not correct them. Let’s just let them spiral into their own delusions. It’ll be fun to watch.”

Prentiss smirked. “You know we can still hear you, right?”

“Then you’re welcome for the entertainment,” you shot back, standing and grabbing your coffee cup.

As the team finally dispersed, still laughing and muttering amongst themselves, Hotch shook his head, bemused.

“Unbelievable,” he muttered.

“Hey, look at it this way,” you said, bumping his shoulder lightly as you passed. “At least now you’ve got a reputation as a fun wedding date. That’s gotta count for something, right?”

Despite himself, Hotch felt a small smile tug at his lips. “Right.”

Hotch arrived at your apartment a few minutes early, the morning sun casting long shadows across the quiet street. He adjusted the cuffs of his suit jacket while waiting, catching himself fidgeting—a rare occurrence. He told himself it was because of the unfamiliarity of the situation, not because of you.

When you finally emerged, his breath hitched. You were dressed simply but elegantly, exuding a confidence that he found himself noticing more than usual. As you approached the car, you waved with a teasing smile.

“Wow, Aaron, I didn’t think punctuality extended to wedding duty,” you quipped, opening the passenger door.

He smirked as you slid into the seat. “You make it sound like this is an interrogation.”

“Depends. Will there be a polygraph at the reception?” you shot back, buckling your seatbelt.

Hotch chuckled softly, pulling away from the curb. “Let’s hope not.”

The silence between you was comfortable as the car rolled onto the highway. Hotch found himself glancing at you out of the corner of his eye. You were scrolling through your phone, your brow furrowing in that way it always did when you were deep in thought.

“So,” he began, breaking the quiet, “what’s the plan for the reception? Do I stand in the corner and look intimidating, or are you expecting me to charm your college friends?”

You turned to him with a mock-serious expression. “You’re under strict orders to charm, obviously. What’s the point of bringing you along if you’re just going to brood in a corner?”

“I don’t brood,” he replied, raising an eyebrow.

“Oh, you absolutely brood,” you said with a grin. “But don’t worry—I’ll coach you. Step one: smile occasionally. It won’t kill you.”

Hotch shot you a dry look. “I’ll take that under advisement.”

Your laugh was light, but it held an edge of something deeper—something that lingered in the air between you like a static charge.

After a beat, you shifted in your seat, your voice softening. “You know, you really didn’t have to do this. I would’ve survived.”

He glanced at you, his expression unreadable. “I know. But I wanted to.”

Your eyes met his, and for a moment, neither of you said anything. There was something in your gaze—a mix of gratitude and something unspoken, something he didn’t dare put a name to.

“Well,” you said, your voice tinged with a sly edge as you broke the comfortable silence. “If we’re doing this, we might as well make it fun. Tell me, Hotch—how’s your dancing?”

Hotch glanced at you, arching an eyebrow as his lips quirked into the faintest smirk. “Impeccable.”

You blinked, your grin faltering in mock surprise. “Wait, really? You can’t just say that and not elaborate.”

“I don’t think there’s much to elaborate on,” he said, his tone light but confident. “Years of events, fundraisers, and... the occasional gala. I can hold my own.”

For a moment, you simply stared at him, then let out a sharp laugh. “Oh, this is going to be fun. The FBI’s most stoic agent is secretly a Fred Astaire in disguise? Who knew?”

Hotch chuckled softly, shaking his head. “Don’t get your hopes up. I didn’t say I was flashy.”

“Flashy is overrated,” you replied, leaning back in your seat. “Grace, timing, presence—those are the real markers of a great dancer.”

“And you’d know this how?” he asked, shooting you a sidelong glance.

You shrugged, feigning nonchalance. “I took some lessons in college. Turns out I have two left feet, but I’m a great judge of talent.”

He smirked. “Two left feet? I find that hard to believe.”

“Believe it,” you said, grinning. “So, looks like I’ll be depending on you to keep us from embarrassing ourselves on the dance floor.”

“I think we’ll manage,” he replied, his voice steady but laced with a quiet warmth.

There was something in the way you looked at him then, your teasing smile softening just enough to give away the unspoken tension humming beneath the surface. Hotch forced his attention back to the road, though his mind lingered on the way your presence seemed to fill the space around him so effortlessly.

“You know,” you said after a moment, breaking the silence with a playful tilt to your voice, “if you’re this good at dancing, I’m starting to think I’ve been seriously underestimating you.”

“Is that so?” he asked, his tone carrying the faintest hint of a challenge.

“Yeah,” you replied, tapping a finger against your chin in mock thought. “What other hidden talents are you keeping from me?”

Hotch smirked, but instead of answering, he let the question hang in the air, his silence calculated.

“Oh, come on,” you pressed, laughing lightly. “You can’t just drop a bombshell like that and leave me hanging.”

He shrugged, his expression unreadable but his tone unmistakably amused. “Maybe I like keeping you guessing.”

You scoffed, shaking your head. “You’re infuriating, you know that?”

“So I’ve been told.”

Your laugh filled the car again, bright and unrestrained, and Hotch allowed himself a small smile. It was moments like this—when the walls between you seemed to lower without effort—that he felt the tug of something deeper. Something he’d long ignored, even as it grew impossible to deny.

As the miles stretched on, the banter gave way to quieter moments, but the tension never left. It simmered beneath the surface, in the way your knee brushed against the center console, in the way his name sounded when you said it, in the way his gaze lingered on you just a little too long at every red light.

By the time you reached the venue, Hotch found himself gripping the wheel a little tighter, his usual composure shaken just enough to make him wonder if this was really just about being a good friend.

And judging by the way you looked at him as you stepped out of the car, he suspected he wasn’t the only one wondering.

By the time Hotch pulled into the parking lot, the late morning sun hung high in the sky, casting a golden glow over the small boutique hotel nestled on the edge of town. He stepped out of the car, grabbing your overnight bag from the trunk and trying not to notice the way your dress caught the light as you smoothed it out.

The lobby was quaint, adorned with rustic charm, and the check-in process was quick. Hotch couldn’t help but notice the faint blush that crept up your cheeks when the receptionist handed him a single key card.

“Enjoy your stay,” the woman said with a knowing smile, though Hotch couldn’t decipher if it was genuine or merely part of her routine.

As you both stepped into the elevator, you glanced at him, your lips twitching with amusement. “So, any guesses on the room situation?”

Hotch gave you a sidelong glance, his voice steady. “I’m sure it’s fine.”

But the moment the door to the room swung open, he realized "fine" was a stretch.

There it was. The single bed. Large and neatly made, taking up most of the modestly sized room.

You stopped in the doorway, your bag slung over one shoulder as you surveyed the scene. “Well,” you said after a moment, turning back to him with a raised eyebrow, “this is cozy.”

Hotch cleared his throat, stepping inside and setting your bag on the chair in the corner. “It’s practical,” he said, though even he didn’t believe the words.

You smirked, closing the door behind you. “I didn’t realize practicality came with a built-in proximity test.”

He gave you a faint look, his lips twitching despite himself. “If it’s an issue, I can take the floor.”

“Oh, don’t be ridiculous,” you said, brushing past him to set your phone on the bedside table. “We’re both adults. I think we can survive one night.” You looked back at him and had almost a nervous laugh, “Plus, I have to prove to you I’m not a sheet thief.”

The confidence in your voice didn’t quite match the flicker of something else in your eyes—nervousness, curiosity, or perhaps the same undercurrent of tension he’d felt since the drive.

“Well,” you continued, shaking off the moment as you dug through your bag, “we don’t have much time before the ceremony, so I’m claiming the bathroom first. Try not to miss me too much while I’m gone.”

Hotch chuckled softly as you disappeared into the bathroom, the sound of running water quickly filling the room. He loosened his tie, sitting on the edge of the bed and glancing around. The space was neat, understated, with soft lighting that made everything feel strangely intimate.

He caught himself staring at the bathroom door longer than necessary, then stood abruptly, running a hand through his hair.

When you emerged a few minutes later, your face freshly washed and your lipstick reapplied, you looked radiant. Hotch found himself at a loss for words, though he masked it by stepping into the bathroom with a curt, “Your turn to wait.”

The cool water on his face did little to clear his mind. By the time he stepped back into the room, fully composed, you were seated on the edge of the bed, slipping your shoes on.

“All set?” he asked, his voice steadier than he felt.

You glanced up at him, your smile soft but teasing. “Ready when you are, Fred Astaire.”

He smirked, grabbing his jacket and gesturing toward the door. “After you.”

As you walked ahead, Hotch allowed himself a brief moment to exhale, the weight of the growing tension settling over him like a second skin. The day had barely begun, and already, he found himself wondering just how long he could keep his thoughts—and his feelings—in check.

The sun filtered through the trees, casting soft, dappled light on the guests as they made their way toward the outdoor ceremony space. Hotch walked beside you, the sound of gravel crunching underfoot filling the brief silence. He couldn’t help but glance at you as you adjusted your dress, the soft fabric shifting gracefully as you moved.

“You look...” Hotch began, his voice quieter than usual. He cleared his throat, glancing ahead at the clusters of chairs. “You look incredible.”

You turned to him, surprised. “Hotch, was that a compliment? Are you feeling okay?”

He smirked, his lips twitching. “I’ve been meaning to tell you all day,” he admitted, his gaze steady now. “Just... took a bit of courage.”

Your playful grin faltered slightly, your eyes softening as they met his. There was a flicker of something in your expression—something unspoken, almost vulnerable. Before you could respond, a voice cut through the moment.

“Oh my God, is that you?”

You barely had time to turn before a woman approached, her enthusiasm unmistakable. She was around your age, with bright eyes and a warm smile that radiated familiarity.

“Wow, it’s been forever! How are you?” the woman gushed, pulling you into a quick hug.

Hotch stepped back slightly, his hands tucked neatly into his pockets as he watched the exchange.

“I’m good,” you replied, your voice friendly but a bit guarded. “Hotch, this is Taylor. We were in the same program in grad school. Taylor, this is Aaron Hotchner.”

Taylor’s eyes lit up as she turned to him, her smile widening. “Oh, Aaron. You must be her boyfriend!”

Hotch blinked, the words catching him off guard. He opened his mouth to respond but paused, glancing at you as you froze slightly, your lips parting as if to correct her. But something stopped you—curiosity, maybe, or hesitation.

Instead, Hotch smiled faintly, extending a hand. “It’s nice to meet you,” he said, his tone calm and composed, deliberately sidestepping the assumption.

Taylor shook his hand enthusiastically. “I’ve heard so much about this wedding. You’re both going to have such a great time! Anyway, I should grab my seat before I lose it. So good to see you again!”

She darted off, leaving the two of you standing there in her wake.

You turned to Hotch, your brow raised. “Boyfriend?” you asked quietly, your voice low enough that only he could hear.

Hotch glanced at you as the crowd began to settle into their seats, his expression calm but with a glint of dry humor in his eyes. “Is ‘boss’ better?”

Your lips quirked into a smirk as you shook your head, letting out a soft laugh. “Touché.”

The ceremony began before either of you could say more, but the weight of the word lingered between you. Hotch tried to focus on the officiant’s words, the soft rustle of leaves in the breeze, and the quiet murmurs of the gathered crowd. But his mind kept drifting back to your reaction—and to the flicker of a thought he didn’t dare voice.

Maybe the assumption wasn’t as far-fetched as it seemed.

Hotch settled into his seat beside you as the ceremony began, the soft murmur of conversation fading into a respectful silence. The bride and groom stood at the altar under an archway adorned with delicate flowers, the golden light of the late afternoon casting everything in a warm, dreamlike glow.

He tried to focus on the ceremony, the gentle cadence of the officiant’s voice blending with the rustle of the trees. But your presence beside him made it difficult.

The chairs were close together, the space between you almost nonexistent. He could feel the warmth of your arm just brushing against his, a subtle contact that sent a current through him more powerful than it should have. You shifted slightly, your knee brushing his, and Hotch held his breath for a moment, willing himself to remain composed.

When the officiant spoke about love—about commitment, vulnerability, and the courage it took to give yourself fully to another person—Hotch found himself watching your profile instead of the couple at the altar.

Your expression was soft; your lips curved into a faint smile as you listened. There was a light in your eyes, one that made his chest tighten unexpectedly. You looked beautiful, yes, but it wasn’t just that. It was the way you seemed so present, so genuine, so effortlessly yourself.

And for a moment, he let himself imagine.

He imagined reaching for your hand, letting his fingers curl around yours in the quiet simplicity of the moment. He imagined what it might be like to sit beside you at a ceremony like this as something more—more than friends, more than colleagues. The thought was fleeting but potent, leaving a weight in his chest he couldn’t quite shake.

When the bride and groom exchanged their vows, their voices filled with emotion, Hotch stole a glance at you. A soft smile played on your lips, and you leaned forward slightly, your focus entirely on the couple.

“It’s beautiful, isn’t it?” you whispered, your voice so quiet he barely caught it.

He nodded, his throat tightening. “It is.”

Your gaze flicked to him briefly, your smile widening just a fraction before you returned your attention to the altar.

The ceremony continued, the romantic atmosphere growing thicker as the couple’s love story unfolded in front of the guests. When the bride’s voice cracked with emotion as she promised to love her partner for the rest of her life, Hotch’s gaze shifted back to you.

You were blinking quickly, your hands folded in your lap, and Hotch recognized the subtle effort to hold back tears. It was a side of you he rarely saw—vulnerable, unguarded—and it stirred something deep within him.

Without thinking, he let his knee press more firmly against yours, a quiet gesture of solidarity. You didn’t pull away. Instead, you tilted your head slightly toward him, your shoulder brushing his for just a moment.

By the time the ceremony ended, with cheers and applause filling the air as the bride and groom shared their first kiss, Hotch found himself acutely aware of every inch of space between you—of how close you were, yet still not close enough.

As you turned to him, your eyes bright with unshed tears and a soft smile lighting up your face, Hotch realized he’d never been less composed in his life.

The cocktail hour unfolded in the garden, a charming space strung with delicate fairy lights and buzzing with soft laughter and the clinking of glasses. Guests mingled near tables laden with hors d’oeuvres, the scent of fresh flowers mingling with the crisp evening air. Hotch stood by your side, his hands resting lightly in his pockets, watching as you stared out at the crowd, your expression thoughtful.

You hadn’t said much since the ceremony ended. It wasn’t like you to be quiet for so long, and he could see the internal battle playing out behind your eyes. Your shoulders were slightly tense, your gaze distant as you watched couples and old friends chatter happily around you.

“Everything okay?” he asked softly, his voice low enough that only you could hear.

You glanced up at him, your lips curving into a faint smile. “Yeah. Just… thinking.”

Hotch didn’t press. He knew you well enough to know that if you wanted to share, you would. So, he waited, his presence steady and unintrusive as you worked through whatever was on your mind.

Finally, you let out a soft sigh, leaning slightly against the high-top table between you. “You ever watch something beautiful—like that ceremony—and feel… I don’t know, happy for them, but also kind of… sad?”

He tilted his head, his brows furrowing slightly. “Sad?”

You nodded, your fingers idly tracing the rim of your glass. “Not for them, of course. They were perfect. It’s just…” You hesitated, then let the words spill out, your voice quieter. “It makes you wonder if that kind of thing is in the cards for you, you know? If someone could ever love you like that—unconditionally, fully. If someone would show up for you, every single time.”

Hotch’s chest tightened at your words. He could see the vulnerability in your eyes, the doubt you were trying so hard to mask. For a moment, he was at a loss for what to say—not because he didn’t know the answer, but because the truth came so quickly and easily that it startled him.

He straightened slightly, his voice steady as he replied, “It’ll happen for you. And when it does, the guy will be the luckiest man in the world.”

You froze, your glass halfway to your lips, your eyes snapping to his. The disbelief on your face caught him off guard, and he realized too late how much he’d revealed.

He cleared his throat, quickly adding, “Not that I’d know, of course. Divorced, widowed, single father—not exactly a stellar track record.” He offered a small, self-deprecating smirk. “I’m hardly an expert on what works.”

You blinked at him for a moment, then burst out laughing. The sound was light, genuine, and for a brief moment, Hotch felt a flicker of relief that he’d managed to deflect.

“Wow, Hotchner,” you said, your laughter fading into a warm smile. “Way to lift me up and immediately knock yourself down.”

“Just keeping things balanced,” he replied, his tone dry but his eyes warm.

You shook your head, still smiling, but he could see the wheels turning in your mind. Your expression softened, and for a moment, he wondered if you were going to say something else—something that might push the conversation back into deeper waters.

Before you could, a cheerful voice interrupted.

“Oh my God, there you are!”

Both of you turned to see a small group of your college and grad school friends approaching, their smiles wide and their arms outstretched as they greeted you enthusiastically.

Hotch stepped back slightly, letting you take center stage as they enveloped you in hugs and started chattering all at once. You lit up in their presence, your wit and charm on full display as you bantered back and forth with them effortlessly.

And though he stood quietly on the periphery, Hotch couldn’t help but smile. Watching you like this—vibrant, confident, and so fully yourself—he couldn’t imagine a world where someone wouldn’t see what he saw.

But as he met your gaze briefly across the group, catching the subtle flicker of something lingering in your eyes, he knew the conversation wasn’t over. Not yet.

The introductions at the cocktail party unfolded with an ease that surprised even Hotch. One by one, your old college and grad school friends greeted him, their initial curiosity about the date you brought quickly melting into admiration. He’d never thought of himself as particularly charming—polished and professional, yes, but charming? That was usually Morgan’s department.

But as he exchanged handshakes and polite banter, he could feel their approval growing. They teased you relentlessly about him, their questions playful and occasionally pointed. And you, ever quick-witted, deflected with a grace and humor that kept the mood light, though your blush betrayed you more than once.

“He’s even more put-together than you let on,” one of your friends teased, nudging your arm.

“Don’t let it fool you,” you replied, smirking at Hotch. “He’s secretly a pain.”

Hotch raised a brow, his tone dry but warm. “Only when necessary.”

The group laughed, and you glanced at him, your smile softening in a way that made the noise around him fade for just a moment.

If your friends noticed the subtle looks passing between you and Hotch—the way your eyes lingered on him or how his posture seemed to relax in your presence—they didn’t say anything outright. But their knowing smiles spoke volumes.

By the time the cocktail hour wound down and everyone was ushered toward the reception hall, Hotch felt more comfortable than he had in weeks. He hadn’t expected to enjoy himself, but with you by his side, the evening felt lighter, more vivid.

The reception began with all the hallmarks of a joyous celebration: a lively band, glasses clinking in toasts, and the soft glow of candles casting a romantic haze over the room. Hotch and you were seated at a round table with some of your friends, their easy chatter filling the gaps between the speeches and the plated courses.

At first, the chemistry between you and Hotch was subtle—a shared glance during the bride and groom’s first dance, the way his arm brushed yours as he leaned closer to hear you over the music. But as the evening progressed, it became impossible to ignore.

“Are you going to dance?” you asked, your tone teasing as you sipped your wine.

“Eventually,” he replied, his lips twitching into a small smile. “Are you?”

You tilted your head, your eyes sparkling with mischief. “I don’t know. That depends. Are you going to make me dance alone?”

Hotch leaned slightly closer, his voice low enough that only you could hear. “I’d never let you dance alone.”

The words hung between you, the air charged with something unspoken yet undeniable. For a moment, neither of you moved, your gazes locked in a way that made the noise of the room fade into the background.

One of your friends called your name, breaking the spell, and you turned with a quick laugh, brushing off the moment as though it hadn’t happened. But Hotch noticed the way your hand lingered on your wine glass, the slight flush creeping up your neck.

As the reception continued, the moments between you grew bolder. A comment from you that lingered just long enough to feel intimate. A brush of his hand against yours as you both reached for something on the table. The way his gaze followed you when you stepped away to talk to someone else, his focus sharper, more intent than he realized.

By the time the band struck up a slower tune, Hotch found himself standing, offering you his hand before he could think twice.

“Care to dance?” he asked, his voice steady but softer than usual.

You blinked up at him, surprised for only a moment before your lips curved into a smile. “I thought you’d never ask.”

As you took his hand and allowed him to guide you onto the dance floor, Hotch felt a quiet certainty settle over him. Whatever lines had existed between you—coworkers, friends, allies—were beginning to blur. And for once, he wasn’t in a hurry to redraw them.

Hotch turned to face you, his other hand resting lightly at your waist as you settled your free hand on his shoulder. The contact was light at first, almost cautious, but as the music swelled, he felt you relax, your movements fluid as you let him guide you through the gentle rhythm.

“You weren’t kidding about being a good dancer,” you teased, tilting your head to meet his gaze. “Where’ve you been hiding this talent?”

Hotch smirked faintly, his lips twitching upward. “It’s a rare occasion that calls for it.”

“Well,” you said, your voice soft but tinged with mischief, “consider me impressed.”

He didn’t respond immediately, his focus shifting briefly to the way your hand fit so perfectly in his, the way your eyes lit up even under the dim glow of the candles. Finally, he said, “You should be. I don’t make exceptions for just anyone.”

Your laugh was quiet, a warm ripple that he felt as much as heard. “Is that right? I should feel honored then.”

“You should,” he replied, the faintest hint of a smile still playing at his lips.

The conversation lulled, but it wasn’t uncomfortable. The silence felt full, weighted by the unspoken tension that had been simmering all day. You swayed together, your movements perfectly synchronized, and for a moment, Hotch allowed himself to forget everything else—the cases, the team, the boundaries he usually held so firmly in place.

As the music slowed further, you tilted your head, your eyes searching his. “What are you thinking?”

Hotch hesitated, his gaze holding yours for a beat too long. “That you shouldn’t doubt what’s in store for you,” he said quietly. “Not after today.”

Your brows furrowed slightly, confusion flickering across your face. “What do you mean?”

He paused, considering his words carefully. “You deserve what you saw at that ceremony. Someone who shows up, who doesn’t hesitate. And when it happens, it’ll be because they know just how lucky they are.”

Your breath hitched, and for a moment, he thought you might pull away. Instead, you blinked up at him, your expression unreadable but undeniably softer. “Hotch—”

Before you could finish, the music swelled into its final notes, the moment broken as the song came to an end. Couples around you began to clap politely, the spell of the dance slowly lifting.

You stepped back slightly, your hand lingering in his for just a moment longer than necessary. “Thank you,” you said, your voice quiet but sincere.

Hotch nodded, his throat tight. “Anytime.”

As you turned to head back to the table, Hotch stayed where he was for a moment, watching the way your shoulders seemed a little more relaxed, the way you glanced back at him briefly before rejoining your friends.

He exhaled slowly, his hands falling to his sides. Whatever line you’d both been toeing all evening had grown impossibly blurred, and he wasn’t sure if it was something to step back from—or cross entirely.

The soft hum of conversation and clinking glasses surrounded Hotch as he followed you back toward the table, the energy of the reception lively yet intimate. Before either of you could sit, the bride approached, her radiant smile lighting up the room. Her white gown swayed slightly as she moved, the sparkling embellishments catching the light.

“There you are!” the bride exclaimed, her voice warm and effusive as she wrapped you in a quick hug. “I’ve been looking for you all evening.”

“Hi, Annie,” you said, your tone fond as you pulled back. “You look stunning. Everything about today has been absolutely perfect.”

Annie beamed, her hands clasping yours. “Thank you. But ook at you! And you must be...” She turned to Hotch, her expression curious and eager.

“This is—” you began, but Annie cut you off before you could finish.

“Oh, I knew it!” Annie said, clapping her hands together and glancing between you and Hotch with unrestrained glee. “I always said you’d find someone who looks at you the way he does. You deserve it so much. After everything you’ve been through. Terrible guy after terrible guy. I’m so happy for you.”

Hotch froze for a fraction of a second, her words catching him completely off guard. He glanced at you, noting the way your eyes widened slightly, a faint blush creeping up your neck.

Annie, oblivious to the tension she’d just created, kept going. “I mean, honestly, it’s about time. Look at you two—you’re such a beautiful couple. And the way he watches you? Like you’re the only person in the room? Come on.”

Hotch’s lips parted, his usual composure slipping as he scrambled for a response. Should he correct her? Deflect? Or...

Instead, he did neither.

“You’re right about one thing,” he said, his voice steady but quieter, as if weighing each word carefully. “She deserves everything. More than anyone I know.”

His gaze lingered on you as he spoke, watching the way your expression softened into something he couldn’t quite name. For a moment, Annie’s chatter faded into the background, the room seeming to grow smaller around the three of you.

You opened your mouth to respond, but Annie’s delighted laughter filled the silence first. “See? I knew it,” she said, her tone triumphant. “I knew you’d get that fairytale ending you always talked about wanting.”

Hotch smiled faintly, his hands slipping into his pockets as Annie hugged you again. “Thank you for coming,” she said, her voice still warm as she pulled away. “It means so much to have you both here.”

You nodded, your voice unusually soft. “Of course, Annie. We wouldn’t have missed it.”

Annie turned back to the dance floor, leaving the two of you standing there, the weight of her words hanging heavily in the air.

For a moment, neither of you spoke. You glanced at him, your brows knitting together slightly as if you wanted to ask something but weren’t sure where to start. He’s sure from the array of comments he’s thrown at you tonight or the charged energy building between you, you must have a few.

Hotch offered a small smile, his voice low. “She’s a good friend.”

“She’s... enthusiastic,” you said, a weak laugh escaping you.

“Enthusiastic,” he repeated, amusement flickering briefly across his face. “And observant, apparently.”

Your blush deepened, but before the conversation could go any further, another group of your friends waved you over from the bar, calling your name.

“I guess we’re popular tonight,” you said, your tone lighter as you gestured for him to follow.

Hotch nodded, trailing behind you, but his thoughts lingered on Annie’s words. He wasn’t sure what had prompted him to agree with her so openly, but as he watched you laugh with your friends, something told him he wasn’t wrong.

You deserved everything. And perhaps, just perhaps, it wasn’t impossible to imagine being the one to give it to you. He was just glad he could try, even if it was just for tonight.

The energy in the room shifted as the bride announced the bouquet toss, her cheerful voice drawing a crowd of eager participants to the dance floor. Laughter and playful shouts filled the space as single women jostled for prime positions, their eyes gleaming with competitive determination.

You, however, stayed firmly rooted at the edge of the room, leaning casually against a table with your arms crossed. Hotch stood beside you, holding the glass he was nursing on the table.

“Not interested?” he asked, glancing at you, a teasing flint in his eyes.

“Not a chance,” you replied, your tone wry. “I’m perfectly fine over here, out of the line of fire.”

Hotch chuckled softly. “Strategic decision. I can respect that.”

You grinned, turning your attention back to the bride, who was hyping up the crowd with exaggerated gestures. The band struck up a playful tune, and the anticipation in the room reached its peak as Annie turned her back to the group, bouquet in hand.

The toss was dramatic, the bouquet soaring high into the air in a perfect arc. The crowd erupted into shouts and cheers as hands shot up, grasping for the bundle of flowers.

But no one caught it.

Instead, the bouquet ricocheted off a hand, sailed over the group entirely, and arced straight toward you.

You barely had time to react before it bonked you squarely on the head.

Hotch blinked, momentarily stunned as the bouquet bounced off you and landed unceremoniously on the table beside you. There was a beat of silence before laughter erupted around the room, the crowd clearly amused by the unexpected trajectory.

You stared at the bouquet, your mouth slightly agape, before looking up at him, your expression caught somewhere between mortification and disbelief.

“Seriously?” you said, your voice rising just enough to carry over the laughter. “I wasn’t even participating!”

Hotch’s lips twitched, his amusement barely contained as he raised an eyebrow. “Looks like fate had other plans.”

“Fate needs to work on its aim,” you muttered, grabbing the bouquet and holding it up like evidence in a court case.

Hotch allowed himself a full laugh, the sound rare but genuine. “Or maybe it’s trying to tell you something,” he teased, his voice lower as he leaned slightly closer. “Metaphorically speaking, of course.”

Your eyes narrowed at him, though the corners of your mouth betrayed the start of a grin. “Are you enjoying this?”

“Immensely,” he said, his tone deadpan but his eyes gleaming with humor.

You shook your head, muttering something about cosmic irony as you placed the bouquet back on the table. But Hotch could see the faint blush creeping up your neck, and the way your lips curved into a reluctant smile despite your feigned indignation.

As the laughter in the room began to settle and the bride called for the next event, Hotch leaned slightly closer to you, his voice quieter now.

“For what it’s worth,” he said, his tone softer but no less teasing, “I think the roses suit you.” He pulled a few petals from your hair.

You shot him a look, but your smile widened, and for a brief moment, the space between you felt smaller than ever. “I’m more of a sunflower girl,” You played along.

The band’s leader tapped the microphone, his cheerful voice cutting through the chatter of the reception. “All right, folks, this one’s for the happy couples out there! Join us on the dance floor for one last dance before we call it a night.”

Around the room, couples began to rise, hands intertwined as they made their way to the dance floor. The lights dimmed slightly, casting the space in a warm, golden glow. Hotch stayed in his seat, his gaze drifting to you as you sipped the last of your wine, clearly intent on remaining at the table.

He set his glass down with deliberate precision and stood, extending his hand toward you.

“Come on,” he said, his voice calm but firm.

You looked up at him, your brow furrowing. “What are you doing?”

“We’re dancing,” he replied simply, his tone leaving little room for argument.

Your lips parted in surprise. “Hotch, that’s for couples—”

“According to your friends,” he interrupted, his lips quirking into the faintest smirk, “we’re a couple tonight. Might as well play the part.”

For a moment, you stared at him, clearly torn between amusement and incredulity. But then you sighed, setting your glass down and placing your hand in his. “Fine,” you said, standing with exaggerated reluctance. “But if this ends up being another metaphor, I’m blaming you.”

Hotch chuckled softly, leading you to the dance floor. The band struck up a slow, tender melody, the kind that wrapped itself around you and seemed to quiet the world.

He turned to face you, his hand resting lightly on your waist as you settled your free hand on his shoulder. The contact was familiar now, but this time, the air between you felt heavier—charged. You moved together effortlessly, swaying in time with the music, your steps perfectly in sync.

“See?” he said quietly, his voice just loud enough for you to hear. “Not so bad.”

You rolled your eyes but smiled, your fingers tightening slightly on his shoulder. “You really are impossible, you know that?”

“I’ve been told,” he replied, his tone dry but his expression softer than usual.

The conversation lulled, and for a moment, there was nothing but the music and the quiet sound of your breaths mingling in the space between you.

Hotch’s eyes dropped to your face, taking in the way your lashes cast delicate shadows on your cheeks, the faint flush that lingered from the evening’s laughter and wine. You looked up at him then, your gaze meeting his, and the intensity of the moment hit him like a wave.

“You’re staring,” you said softly, your voice tinged with nervous amusement.

He didn’t look away. “Maybe I am.”

Your breath hitched, and Hotch felt your hand shift slightly on his shoulder as though you were steadying yourself. The tension between you was palpable now, a tangible thing that neither of you seemed willing—or able—to break.

“You’re full of surprises tonight,” you said, your tone quieter now, almost tentative.

Hotch’s lips quirked into a faint smile. “So are you.”

The song began to wind down, the final notes stretching into a soft, lingering cadence. The room seemed to grow smaller, quieter, as though it held only the two of you.

As the music ended, Hotch realized he hadn’t let go of your waist, and you hadn’t stepped back. For a brief, breathless moment, you both stayed where you were, the silence between you heavy with possibilities.

And though neither of you said it aloud, the line between what you were and what you could be had never felt thinner.

The walk back to the hotel room was quiet, the air between you and Hotch humming with the kind of unspoken tension that had lingered all night. The elevator ride was no better; you stood beside him, close enough that your arm brushed his, and though neither of you spoke, the weight of the evening seemed to settle in the confined space.

By the time the door to the room clicked shut behind you, the silence was thick. You slipped off your shoes with a sigh, placing them neatly by the door as you turned to him with a tired but genuine smile.

“Well,” you said, your voice soft, “that was... something.”

Hotch nodded, setting his jacket neatly over the back of a chair. “It was.”

You glanced at him, your smile tilting into something teasing. “That’s all you’ve got? Just ‘it was’?”

He smirked faintly, loosening his tie. “I think the bouquet toss and the dance floor antics speak for themselves.”

You laughed, the sound warm and familiar, and Hotch felt his shoulders relax slightly despite the tension coursing through him. He watched as you moved to your bag, pulling out a pair of comfortable clothes before disappearing into the bathroom.

The sound of running water filled the room, and Hotch took the opportunity to change into a plain T-shirt and sweats, folding his dress shirt with precise care. When you returned, your makeup washed off, and your hair pulled back, you looked softer somehow—more yourself than you had all night, and it hit him with a quiet force he wasn’t prepared for. Sure, he’d seen you in casual clothes before, but something about the soft cotton clothes, the clean face, and the messy pulled-back hair…it was a sight that warmed him somehow.

“You’re up,” you said, gesturing toward the bathroom.

Hotch nodded, slipping past you and closing the door behind him. The cool water against his face did little to calm his thoughts, and when he looked at his reflection in the mirror, he found his usual composure slightly fractured.

By the time he returned to the room, you were already under the covers, your head resting against the pillow as you scrolled absentmindedly through your phone. He hesitated for a moment, the sight of you there—so comfortable, so familiar—stirring something deep in his chest.

“Are you going to stand there all night?” you asked, glancing up at him with a raised eyebrow.

He huffed a quiet laugh, shaking his head as he moved to the other side of the bed. Sliding in beside you, he was acutely aware of the space—or lack thereof—between you. When was the last time he shared a bed with someone?

The room fell into a soft silence, the dim light from the bedside lamp casting long shadows against the walls. You set your phone down, turning onto your side to face him, your expression unreadable but open.

“Thanks for tonight,” you said quietly. “For coming with me. For... everything.”

He met your gaze, his voice steady but softer than usual. “You don’t have to thank me. I wanted to be there.”

Your lips quirked into a faint smile, your eyes searching his as though you were trying to decipher something you weren’t quite ready to name.

For a moment, neither of you moved, the silence stretching but never feeling uncomfortable. Hotch could feel the warmth of your presence, the subtle weight of your gaze, and it was enough to make his throat tighten.

“You’re staring again,” you said, your tone light but tinged with something quieter, something unsure.

“Maybe I am,” he admitted, his voice barely above a whisper.

Your breath caught, and Hotch felt the space between you shrink—not physically, but emotionally, the air thick with everything unspoken.

“Why do you do that?” you asked after a moment, your voice quieter now.

“Do what?”

“Look at me like that.”

Hotch hesitated, his throat tightening as he searched for the right words. “Like what?”

You huffed a quiet laugh, shaking your head. “Like you’re trying to figure me out. Like you already know something I don’t.”

The corner of his mouth twitched, his voice soft but steady. “Maybe I do.”

You blinked, your breath catching just slightly, and Hotch felt the air between you grow impossibly still.

For a moment, neither of you moved, the silence crackling with tension that neither seemed willing to break. Then, as if pulling yourself out of the moment, you let out a small laugh, your tone turning lighter.

“You’re an enigma, Aaron Hotchner,” you said, your smile faint but genuine as you turned onto your back, breaking the spell.

He exhaled slowly, his gaze lingering on you for a moment longer before he reached over to turn off the lamp. “Goodnight,” he said, his voice quieter now, more thoughtful.

“Goodnight,” you replied softly, your words carrying a warmth that settled over the room like a blanket.

As the darkness enveloped them, Hotch lay still, the steady sound of your breathing filling the silence. The unspoken connection between you—the moments that had lingered and stretched throughout the evening—felt as tangible as the bed they shared.

And though he knew crossing the line between friendship and something more was fraught with uncertainty, Hotch couldn’t shake the quiet realization that maybe—just maybe—you were worth the risk.

Hotch stirred awake in the dark, the faint glow of moonlight spilling through the curtains casting soft shadows across the room. For a moment, he wasn’t sure what had woken him—a sound, a shift—but then he became aware of the warmth pressed against him, the steady rise and fall of your breathing.

Somehow, in the night, the two of you had gravitated toward each other. His arm was draped over your waist, his hand resting lightly on your hip, and your head was nestled against his chest. Your hand, delicate and warm, had found its way to his side, clutching the fabric of his shirt as if anchoring yourself to him.

He froze, his breath hitching as he registered the intimacy of the moment. Every instinct told him to pull away, to put space between you before you woke up, but he couldn’t. He didn’t want to.

The soft scent of your hair drifted up to him, and without thinking, his thumb began to trace small, absent circles against your side. The simple act sent a rush of warmth through him, a tenderness he couldn’t quite contain.

You stirred slightly, your body shifting just enough for him to realize you were waking up. His breath caught again, his heart thudding heavily in his chest as he waited—half expecting you to pull away or panic.

But you didn’t. Instead, you tilted your head up, your eyes blinking sleepily in the dim light as they met his.

Neither of you spoke. The silence between you was thick, electric, the air charged with a tension that felt almost unbearable.

Hotch’s hand stilled on your side, his palm now resting against the curve of your hip. He watched you closely, his eyes searching yours for any sign that he should pull back. But you didn’t move away. If anything, you seemed to lean into him, your gaze softening as you stared at him in the quiet.

His chest tightened as he felt the weight of everything unsaid hanging between you. The feelings he’d been trying to push aside for months—years, maybe—were suddenly impossible to ignore.

And then, you moved.

Your hand slid upward, hesitating briefly before coming to rest against his chest. Slowly, tentatively, you shifted closer, your lips brushing his in a kiss so soft it sent a shiver down his spine.

For a moment, neither of you moved, the kiss tender and delicate, as though you were both testing the boundaries of something fragile and new. But then he felt your hand tighten against his chest, and his restraint broke.

Hotch deepened the kiss, his free hand sliding up your back to cradle the base of your neck, his fingers threading gently through your hair. Your lips parted for him, and the kiss grew more heated, more insistent, as though all the tension that had built between you over the years was finally finding its release.

You shifted closer still, your body pressing against his, and Hotch couldn’t help the quiet sound that escaped him. He felt your hand slide up to his jaw, your fingers brushing against the stubble there as you tilted your head to deepen the kiss even further.

It was slow but consuming, a meeting of everything unspoken and everything undeniable. He couldn’t tell where he ended, and you began, the lines between friendship and something more completely and utterly erased.

When you finally pulled back, your breaths mingling in the dark, your forehead rested against his as you looked up at him with wide, searching eyes.

“Aaron,” you whispered, your voice soft but steady, filled with something he couldn’t quite name.

He swallowed hard, his fingers still tangled in your hair, as he let out a shaky breath. “Say my name like that again,” he murmured, his voice low and rough, his lips curving into the faintest of smiles.

You laughed softly, your hand brushing against his cheek as you leaned in again, this time with more certainty.

And as your lips met his once more, Hotch felt the last of his walls crumble, leaving only the quiet, undeniable truth: he didn’t want to hold back anymore. Not with you. Not ever.

Hotch’s pulse quickened as your lips met his again, this time with a heat that left no room for hesitation. The kiss deepened, slow and deliberate but charged with the kind of intensity that came from years of unspoken longing. Your hand slid from his jaw to his chest, your fingers splaying against the fabric of his shirt as if grounding yourself in the moment.

He couldn’t think, couldn’t breathe. The world outside this room ceased to exist, leaving only the two of you tangled together in the dim light of the night.

When your leg shifted, brushing against his, a low sound escaped his throat—a soft, guttural hum that he hadn’t meant to let slip. You froze for the briefest moment, your eyes flicking up to his, and the sight of you—so close, so vulnerable, so his in that instant—was almost too much.

“Is this okay?” you whispered, your voice breathless and tinged with something fragile, like you were teetering on the edge of disbelief.

Hotch cupped your face gently, his thumb brushing over your cheek as he nodded. “It’s more than okay,” he murmured, his voice rough with emotion.

You smiled softly, and he couldn’t stop himself from leaning forward, pressing another kiss to your lips. This one was slower but no less fervent, his hand sliding from your face to rest against the curve of your waist, pulling you closer.

Your body shifted against his, your hands wandering—tentative at first, but quickly growing bolder. One hand curled around the back of his neck, your fingers tangling in the short hairs there, while the other slipped beneath the hem of his shirt, your palm pressing against the warm skin of his chest.

Hotch’s breath hitched, his own hands growing less restrained as they skimmed your back, tracing the line of your spine. The soft, sleepy rhythm of your breathing was broken by quiet, barely audible gasps as his hands found the curve of your hips, pulling you flush against him.

“Aaron,” you murmured against his lips, the sound of his name sending a shiver down his spine.

His lips left yours, trailing a path along your jawline to the soft curve of your neck. He felt the way your body arched into his touch, the subtle press of your hips against his igniting something deeper, something he could no longer hold back.

“You have no idea,” he whispered against your skin, his voice low and uneven, “how long I’ve wanted this.”

Your fingers tightened against him, and when he pulled back to look at you, your eyes were glassy, your lips slightly parted. “Me too,” you admitted, your voice barely above a whisper.

His restraint was unraveling with every second, every touch, every soft sound that escaped your lips. But he forced himself to pause, his forehead resting against yours as he took a steadying breath.

“Tell me to stop,” he said softly, his hands stilling against your waist even as every fiber of his being begged him to keep going. “If you need me to, I will.”

You shook your head slightly, your fingers brushing against his cheek as you leaned up to kiss him again, slow but filled with unmistakable intent. “I don’t want you to stop,” you whispered, the words a quiet promise.

Hotch exhaled shakily, his lips capturing yours again as he shifted, rolling onto his back and pulling you with him. The weight of you pressed against him, the warmth of your skin beneath his hands—it was everything he hadn’t let himself dream of, and now that it was happening, he couldn’t imagine ever letting it go.

The kisses grew more urgent, more consuming, the sleepy haze between you dissolving into something sharper, hungrier. His hands roamed your body with a reverence that bordered on worship, memorizing every curve, every tremble, every quiet sigh that spilled from your lips.

Hotch’s breath hitched as you shifted over him, your hands braced on his chest for balance. The delicate weight of you, your thighs straddling his hips, was intoxicating in a way he hadn’t anticipated. Pressing your center against him, a breathy groan left his lips. His hands found their way to your waist, his fingers splaying across the soft fabric of your shirt as though memorizing every detail of this moment.

Your hair fell slightly into your face, and you looked down at him with a mixture of nervousness and desire that sent his pulse hammering in his chest. He met your gaze, his eyes dark and searching, trying to convey everything he felt but couldn’t say aloud.

“Are you sure?” he asked, his voice low, the words a quiet plea for confirmation. He knew after this there was no going back.

You nodded, your smile soft but steady as you leaned forward, your lips brushing against his in a kiss that was equal parts tender and heated. “I’ve never been more sure,” you whispered against his mouth.

The kiss deepened, slow and deliberate at first, but quickly growing more fervent. Your hands moved to his shoulders, gripping him as though anchoring yourself to him, while his hands slid upward, pulling your shirt over your head and tossing it to the side.

For a moment, he simply looked at you, his gaze tracing the lines of your body, the soft glow of the moonlight making your skin seem almost ethereal. “You’re beautiful,” he murmured, the words spilling out before he could stop them.

You flushed under his gaze, but instead of shying away, you leaned down, kissing him again with a new intensity. Your hands found the hem of his shirt, tugging it upward until he helped you remove it entirely. The cool air brushed against his skin, but all he could focus on was the warmth of you, the way your touch left a trail of fire in its wake.

As the last remnants of clothing were shed, the barrier between you dissolved entirely. You settled back over him, your bare skin pressing against his, and he let out a low, shaky exhale as his hands gripped your hips, steadying you.

“God, you have no idea what you do to me,” he admitted, his voice rough with emotion as he looked up at you.

You smiled softly, your hands resting on his chest as you leaned down to kiss him again, slow and deliberate, as though savoring every moment. “I think I’m starting to figure it out,” you murmured against his lips, your voice filled with a quiet confidence that made his chest tighten.

Hotch’s hands guided your movements, his touch firm but reverent, as though you were something precious—something he didn’t want to break. The connection between you was electric, every touch, every kiss deepening the bond that had been building for years.

As your bodies moved together, the world around you faded completely, leaving only the quiet hum of your shared breaths and the unspoken promise that whatever had changed between you tonight was something neither of you could—or would—ever take back.

As you rocked against him, his breath hitched, and he couldn’t stop the quiet groan that escaped him. “You’re incredible,” he murmured, his hands cupping your face as he pulled you down into a kiss that was as tender as it was consuming.

When you pulled back, your gaze locked with his, your expression soft but filled with intensity. “I never knew it could feel like this,” you admitted, your voice quiet but raw with emotion.

He swallowed hard, his thumb brushing against your cheek as he whispered, “Neither did I.”

The words hung between you for a moment, the weight of them adding a new depth to the passion that had overtaken you. And as you moved together, Hotch felt a sense of completeness that he hadn’t known he was missing—something he realized, in this moment, he could never let go of.

Hotch’s breath came in uneven gasps, his body attuned to every shift of yours, every quiet sound that spilled from your lips. His hands gripped your hips, his fingers pressing into your skin just enough to guide you, to hold you steady as you moved together.

“You’re incredible,” he murmured again, his voice thick and low. His eyes traced the line of your jaw, the way your lips parted as you moved, your body responding to his in a way that made his pulse race.

Your hand slid up his chest, your fingers curling lightly around the base of his neck as you leaned closer. “I don’t think you realize,” you said softly, your voice trembling with emotion, “what you’re doing to me.”

His lips curved into a faint, breathless smirk as he leaned up, capturing your mouth in a kiss that was deep and consuming. “I think I have an idea,” he murmured against your lips, his voice a husky whisper. “But I wouldn’t mind hearing it.”

You laughed quietly, the sound trailing off into a soft sigh as his hands slid up your back, pulling you closer. “You make it hard to think,” you admitted, your tone teasing but edged with something deeper, more vulnerable.

“Good,” he replied, his hands shifting to cradle your face, his thumbs brushing against your cheeks. “Because right now, all I can think about is you.”

Your eyes met his, and the intensity of your gaze made his chest tighten. “I want this,” you whispered, your voice trembling slightly. “I want you.”

Hotch exhaled shakily, his forehead resting against yours as he slowed your movements, savoring the connection between you. “You have me,” he said quietly, his voice steady but filled with quiet intensity. “You’ve always had me.”

Your lips parted as if to respond, but instead, you kissed him again, your fingers threading through his hair as you pressed closer, deeper, until there was no space left between you.

The rhythm between you was slow but deliberate, each movement, each touch, carrying a weight that neither of you could ignore. It wasn’t just passion—it was everything you hadn’t said, every unspoken feeling finally given form.

When you pulled back slightly, your breath brushing against his lips, Hotch found himself gripping your hips just a little tighter, grounding himself in the reality of you above him. Your skin glowed in the faint moonlight, and the look in your eyes—dark, heavy with desire—took what little restraint he had left and shattered it.

“Aaron Hotchner,” you whispered, your voice breathless, a mix of teasing and reverence. “You’ve been holding out on me.”

He let out a low, quiet laugh, his hands sliding up your back, his fingers tracing slow, deliberate lines. “I could say the same about you,” he murmured, his voice rough as his lips brushed the curve of your jaw.

You shivered under his touch, your lips curling into a small, wicked smile. “Are you saying I’m full of surprises?” you asked, your tone playful, your hips rolling against his in a way that made his breath catch.

Hotch let out a soft groan, his head tipping back against the pillow as his hands found their way to your thighs. “I’m saying,” he said, his voice low and filled with heat, “that you might just be the death of me.”

You leaned down, your lips hovering just above his, teasing him with the barest of touches. “I guess that makes us even,” you whispered, your words trailing off into a kiss that was anything but tentative.

The kiss deepened, your movements growing slower, more deliberate as your hands roamed over him, pulling him impossibly closer. Hotch’s fingers tangled in your hair, tilting your head to deepen the kiss, his other hand tracing the curve of your back in a way that made you arch into him.

“You feel incredible,” he breathed against your lips, the words spilling out before he could stop them. “Like you were made for me.”

As the room filled with nothing but the quiet sound of your breaths and the faint rustle of sheets, Hotch couldn’t help but marvel at how natural this felt—how right it was to have you like this, in his arms, every unspoken word replaced by the undeniable connection between you.

And as the tension between you reached its peak, he realized with startling clarity that this wasn’t just a fleeting moment—this was something neither of you could ever undo. And he didn’t want to.

For a long moment, neither of you spoke. Your face was still buried against his neck, and he could feel the rapid thrum of your heartbeat gradually slowing against his chest. Hotch tilted his head slightly, pressing a soft kiss to your temple, his lips lingering there as he tried to find the right words for what he was feeling.

It wasn’t fleeting. It wasn’t casual. It was something far deeper, something he hadn’t allowed himself to believe he could feel again.

You stirred slightly, shifting so you could meet his gaze, your hair falling messily around your face. Your eyes searched his, and the vulnerability there—soft and unguarded—made his throat tighten.

“Well,” you murmured, your voice quiet but tinged with a nervous laugh, “that just happened.”

Hotch’s lips twitched into a faint smile, his thumb brushing lazily against your back. “It did,” he replied softly, his voice steady despite the emotions threatening to bubble to the surface.

You blinked down at him, your brow furrowing slightly. “Are you okay?” you asked, your voice carrying a hesitance that tugged at his heart.

He shifted beneath you, his hands settling on your hips as he met your gaze. “I’m more than okay,” he said, his tone quiet but firm. “Are you?”

Your lips parted slightly, your gaze flickering between his eyes as though trying to read him. Slowly, a small smile tugged at the corners of your mouth. “Yeah,” you said softly, nodding. “I think I am.”

The tension in his chest eased slightly, but his thumb continued its soothing motion against your hip. “Good,” he murmured. “Because I don’t—” He paused, exhaling quietly. “I don’t want this to be something you regret.”

“Regret?” you echoed, your smile widening faintly. “Hotch, do I look like someone who regrets this?”

He let out a quiet huff of laughter, his fingers tightening slightly against your skin. “No,” he admitted, his voice lighter now. “But I had to make sure.”

You leaned down, brushing your lips against his in a kiss so soft it made his chest tighten all over again. “You’re impossible,” you whispered against his mouth, your tone teasing but filled with affection.

“And yet, here we are,” he replied, his lips curving into a smirk as he kissed you again.

You laughed softly, resting your forehead against his as your hands slid to his shoulders, your touch light and lingering. “Here we are,” you repeated, your voice quieter now, almost reflective.

Hotch let the silence stretch for a moment, his hands tracing gentle patterns along your sides as he memorized the feel of you against him. Whatever this was—whatever it had turned into—he wasn’t going to let it slip away.

“You should probably get some sleep,” he murmured, his voice tinged with humor as he glanced toward the faint glow of the bedside clock.

“Sleep?” you teased, raising an eyebrow as you shifted slightly, your lips brushing against his jaw. “After all that? I’m not sure that’s possible.”

Hotch chuckled softly, his hands sliding up to cradle your face. “I’ll take that as a compliment.”

You grinned, leaning into his touch as your eyes softened. “Good. You should.”

As the quiet settled over the room once more, Hotch let his eyes drift closed, your body still pressed against his, your warmth anchoring him in a way he hadn’t felt in years. For the first time in what felt like forever, the world outside could wait. All that mattered was here and now, with you.

Hotch wasn’t sure how much time had passed, the quiet rhythm of your breathing against his chest blurring the line between minutes and hours. His hand rested against your back, his fingers tracing slow, idle patterns along your skin, grounding himself in the reality of your presence.

“You’re quiet,” you murmured after a while, your voice soft and drowsy, the words more of a thought spoken aloud than a question.

He glanced down at you, your head still resting on his chest, your hand lazily draped over his ribs. “I’m just... thinking,” he admitted, his voice low, the weight of the night settling over him in a way that felt both overwhelming and comforting.

You tilted your head up to look at him, your expression sleepy but curious. “About what?”

His fingers paused for a moment, resting lightly against your side. “About how different this feels,” he said honestly, his eyes meeting yours. “How right it feels.”

Your lips parted slightly, your expression softening into something vulnerable, open. “It does,” you agreed quietly, your hand sliding up to rest against his chest. “It scares me a little.”

Hotch’s chest tightened at your words, but he leaned down, pressing a gentle kiss to your forehead. “It scares me too,” he admitted, his voice steady but filled with quiet emotion. “But not enough to make me stop.”

You smiled faintly, your fingers tracing small circles against his skin. “What does this mean?” you asked, your voice barely above a whisper. “For us?”

Hotch exhaled, his hand moving to tuck a strand of hair behind your ear. “It means I don’t want to go back to what we had before,” he said softly. “Not after this.”

You blinked up at him, the weight of his words settling between you. “Me neither,” you said after a moment, your voice carrying a quiet strength.

The room fell into a comfortable silence, the unspoken understanding between you growing stronger with each passing second. Hotch shifted slightly, pulling you closer against him, his arm wrapping around your waist as if to keep you there, to keep this moment from slipping away.

Your fingers curled against his chest, and you tilted your head up, your lips brushing against his in a kiss that was softer now, slower, as though sealing the unspoken promise you’d just made.

When you pulled back, your eyes searched his, a faint smile tugging at your lips. “I guess we’ll figure it out,” you said softly, the words carrying a quiet certainty that made his chest tighten.

“We will,” he replied, his voice low but firm.

Hotch lay awake long after you’d drifted off, your body warm and relaxed against his. The weight of what had happened between you lingered in the air, a heady mix of tenderness and an undeniable shift in the foundation of your relationship.

He let his fingers trace idle patterns along your back, his touch feather-light as he memorized the curve of your spine, the subtle rise and fall of your breathing. For years, he’d been disciplined in keeping the boundaries of your friendship intact, maintaining the line that separated what was and what could never be. But tonight, that line had dissolved completely, leaving in its wake something deeper, something that felt achingly right.

You stirred slightly, letting out a soft sigh as you nestled closer to him, your hand sliding across his chest as though instinctively seeking him even in sleep. His chest tightened, a quiet warmth spreading through him as he pressed a soft kiss to your hair.

He’d spent so much of his life thinking he wasn’t allowed to have this—not after everything he’d been through, not after the sacrifices he’d made. But with you, it didn’t feel like he was taking something he wasn’t entitled to. It felt like finding something he hadn’t realized he’d been searching for all along.

Tomorrow would bring its own questions, its own complications. The team would notice the shift between you, and the world wouldn’t wait for you both to navigate whatever this had become. But for now, in the quiet sanctuary of the room, with you tucked safely against him, Hotch allowed himself to just be.

And as the first light of dawn began to creep through the curtains, he held you a little closer, silently vowing that whatever came next, he would be ready. Because for the first time in a long time, he felt whole. And he wasn’t about to let that go

Hotch’s gaze lingered on your sleeping face, soft and unguarded in the early light. A quiet determination settled in his chest, stronger than anything he’d felt in years. You deserved to know—without question or hesitation—that you were worth everything. Worth the quiet moments and the stormy ones, the laughter and the tears, the time and the effort. Any man too blind or foolish to see that had only done him a favor, because now, you were here with him. And he would never take that for granted. He would make sure, every single day, that you never doubted your worth again. Because with you, Hotch finally understood what it meant to have something—and someone—he could never let go. And he wouldn’t let you forget it.

Tag List:

@zaddyhotch

@estragos

@todorokishoe24

@looking1016

@khxna

@rousethemouse

@averyhotchner

@reidfile

@bernelflo

@lover-of-books-and-tea

@frickin-bats

@sleepysongbirdsings

@justyourusualash

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vultbae · 7 months ago

Text

hot boy delivery ✩

college!art donaldson x female reader

↳ summary: Tashi's handsome alleged boyfriend knocks on your door and asks for her since she's your roommate. But she's not there, so you'll borrow him for tonight.

↳ warnings: smut (minors dni), tipsy sex, mentions of cheating but isn't, porn with plot, mean!reader at the beginning.

↳ notes: yall know the drill english is not my first language! so sorry if anything doesn’t make sense

word count: 5.7k

Stanford isn't what you would call a party school; there isn't an endless rage circuit or binge drinking regarding students –or at least the ones you know. So when you decided to enroll in college, you knew any unpleasant symptoms like headaches or fatigue would be caused by academic all-nighters and no hangovers as you believed years ago. It was a deal-breaker, but it was Stanford at the end of the day.

Your parents had enough funds to bring to the table independence privileges most college students don't have, for example, living off-campus."¿Why would I decline this unusual offer?" you thought at the time, giving in to the advantageous idea of complete autonomy and no supervision—you had seen places around the Palo Alto area, cozier and more stylish than any archaic-looking dorm room Stanford had to offer for a few thousand dollars a year —six to seven, to be exact.

Somehow, you had ended up on the shithole you had been attempting to dodge for so long. Your best friend, Diana, had gaslighted you into believing that coexisting in the same place with other young people is one of those stimulating aspects of attending college. Heck, rowdy dorm parties, popping Plan B's, snorting coke from someone's fake boobs!

Bullshit. Diana had gotten into Stanford, too, and all of your thrilling anticipations of rooming with her vanished when she had to rescind her offer due to the scarcity of financial aid. She ended up committing to Virginia State University. At the other fucking end of the United States.

You had promised Diana to go above and beyond to fulfill those wild ideas about college. Guess what? Now, you were forced to live in a rusty dorm without your extravagant Palo Alto apartment, your best friend, and rooming with a weirdo.

And, of course, you still hadn't snorted coke out of anyone's fake boobs.

"Oh my god," you breathe out with a sigh of annoyance. You let the back of your head fall over the headboard of your bed as your hands reach up to rub your tired-looking eyes; your laptop is lying on your lap, screening the article you have to read for some core course. It's almost seven o'clock, and you are about to surrender and take a twelve-hour nap.

You can't, though. Your eyes roam around and descend on your roommate's side: empty, noiseless, as if there wasn't someone there two hours ago. The apathy in your facial expression is prominent as you notice the cluttered desk, bed blankets hanging off, and wrinkled clothes over the floor. "How disgusting," you think, shaking your head and facing your laptop again, pushing it off your legs this time.

Your roommate was indeed something else. After swallowing against your will the miserable fact that you wouldn't room with Diana, your parents had already paid for Stanford on-campus housing, and it is what it is. A month before moving to California, you had seen the name of your designated roommate for the freshman year, Tashi Duncan.

You are not confident about the sort of woman Tashi is. Although you had been cordial and accommodating with her —even though you didn't want a roommate, she is not what you would call a friend. Tashi is a tennis player, apparently a very talented one, since many people around campus ridiculously fangirl over her —but you don't know if it's because of her model-like physical complexion or her sports talent. Well, it's not like you care. But despite sharing a dorm room, Tashi's interactions with you are minimal and curt, and conversations with her are typically one-sided. She rises early and evaporates for the rest of the day.

Doubtful, you pick up your Nokia from the nightstand and quickly text her, "Wya?" to feel responsible –she has never done it, though. Since you live in an on-campus residence, entry isn't monitored until eight p.m. during the week, and you already know she won't arrive by that time. She probably won't arrive at all.

The anxious chewing on the bottom of your lip ceases when your phone vibrates with the "I'm staying at Art's x" message popping on the screen. A mix of relief, bliss, and sovereignty surges from your body's core. You don't know who Art is, but you've heard Tashi talk about him a couple of times, so you assume he is her boyfriend, sneaky link, or whatever freaky shit she would be up to. You briefly contemplate the text, instantly replying, "take care :)" and waiting for her not to respond.

You sit there, stunned for a hot minute, considering the countless activities you could do now that you are —and will remain—all alone. Mild daylight peers through the opened curtains, although it's getting dark. Your head slightly turns to the two-lite slider window between both beds, revealing the distinctive greens of the trees that reach your view—a typical Stanford campus panorama.

The bedroom is ample; the floor is covered with cheap deep blue carpeting, and the walls have been sealed with a matte layer of pearl white. Your mural side is preciously decorated: polaroids, stickers, and decorative leds shimmering in a warm yellow tone adequate for winter, while Tashi's side is... three posters: two from random tennis players and a large Spider-man one. "What are we, ten-year-olds?" you murmur, eyes rolling back, exasperated as you sit in the sight of the oversized picture.

You really can't get what is so amusing about Tashi.

Your phone rings suddenly, and you sense your muscles twitch at the unexpected ringtone clashing against the lifeless four walls. A big "Diana" is written in black letters, blaring at you, which is a good sign of an enjoyable night. With no second thoughts, you pick up.

"¡Hey girl!" are the first words you hear from your best friend.

You haven't seen her since the summer break –four months ago–and time hasn't been your ally in terms of missing your friends. Diana and you always intended to attend college together; nevertheless, you can't predict anything about college. Now, she resided in Virginia, while you did in California.

"I've missed you so fucking much," you grin against the phone, talking with enthusiasm. You stand up to walk to the shared kitchen, "how's everything been in Virginia?"

Diana scoffs at your question. "Do you for real think I called you to talk about boring-ass Virginia?" she mockingly complains, sarcasm dripping out of her voice. "The real question is, how's everything been in Cali?" she adds, half screaming the last two words.

Your humorous facial expression morphs into a disgraceful one. "Well, mediocre if you take out the fact I live in this dorm. Otherwise, pretty shit."

"At least it's a Stanford dorm," Diana points out, giggling.

"Well, you are partly right," you answer, now supporting your arms over the kitchen table, "I just wish it was my dorm at least and not Tashi's, you know."

"Right, your roommate; what's the deal with her?" she asks.

¿What's your deal with her? If this were a frankness competition, you'd undoubtedly roast her without needing to lie. Sharing an apartment with an entitled asshole who thinks she owns the place makes it challenging.

"She's not my type," you let out, sighing. "I've been trying to talk to her for God knows how long, and she doesn't give a shit," you pause to breathe through your nose, trying to keep your cool. "Like, I can't understand. Do you know how many people would love to room with me?"

Diana's gasp nearly pierces your eardrum, "She's such a bitch!"

"Yes! She is," you interrupt her, squeaking out your words. "Also, she brings dudes or the same dude, I don't know, like at least twice a week. She doesn't even care if I'm sleeping; what if I throw water at them next time?" you inquire decisively, not caring if your words sound nonsensical.

"You do you, girl," your friend says, slightly chuckling, "I assume she is not there now, isn't she?"

You hum. "She isn't. She is at some dude's place. So that means I have the dorm for myself."

"Don't you care if she is safe or something?" Diana queries, almost instantly biting back a groan in response to your silence. "Yes, I know she's an asshole, but at least you should know. Some guys nowadays are creeps."

"I do, I do..." you hastily assure, your voice tone appeasing your friend's worries. "I do know the guy's name is something like Art, and I could find out his last name if I scroll through our chat. I'm pretty sure it's her current boyfriend. I've heard her talk about him."

"My God, that girl has some real action!" she hollers; a burst of mocking laughter spills out of her lips. "What about you, though? I miss hearing hookup stories from your side. Don't waste your time; Stanford has hot ass guys!"

And she was right. The amount of handsome guys around campus was not minor.

"You know what?" you say, pointing at the air as if you were talking to Diana in person, "I'm not even going to reply to that comment. I've been so focused on-"

Your words are cut off by urgent, loud knocks coming from the main door, "The fuck?" you think. Your jaw clenches but abruptly loosens as you realize Tashi can't be here after her presumptive schedule; you don't expect anyone.

And also, there's a rainstorm outside.

"Was that knocking on the door?" Diana asks, and your attention goes back to the call. You hum in response.

"Yeah, and I'm not expecting anyone." you reaffirm while your hand reaches out to your little notebook, where you keep all the emergency numbers. You sigh out a frustrated "fuck" when you realize you don't have the number of the security guard downstairs. "I should check through the peephole; it's probably a dumbass mistake anyway," you add, trying to sound unbothered.

¿Who the fuck would sneak into an all-student residence? For what, to steal? You haven't bought groceries for two weeks. It would be a shitty investment of skill.

And obviously, you curse yourself under your breath for being such an exaggerated bitch. But, seriously, who would visit you? Not even the wildest of your friends would wander across campus at night with this weather.

"Call me when you do it. I have to do some homework now," Diana demands, and you are snappy to obey and hang up the phone.

You stay still, eyes stuck on the main white door. A minute passes with absolute silence encircling you until you hear the identical frantic knocking again. Same tempo, everything.

"Goddamn, relax," you murmur to yourself.

It takes a couple of steps forward for you to approach the door and a single step to the front to see through the small peephole.

Your eyes wince slightly at the sight of a boy you've never seen in your life standing outside. You even feel the need to comically scratch your head as you notice a short-arm cast dressing up his right arm; how bizarre. "¿Is this mother-fucker trying to rob me?" you talk to yourself, making sure he doesn't hear you. Obviously, he'd predict any regular person to open the door without a doubt –"Poor boy, he's wearing a cast."

"He's too hot to be a thief," your mind suggests. And yes, he is. If you are one hundred percent honest, he seems like he would study at Stanford. He looks kind of familiar, even. You can't clearly analyze his features due to the lack of lighting in the hallway, but when his head tilts to the side, a sharp shadow forms under his jawline, and his blonde curls bounce along with his moves.

You text Diana again. "hot boy at my door x"

Although suspicion is gnawing at the back of your mind, you open the door. With a gentle twist of your wrist, you turn the knob clockwise and cautiously swing the door inward. The hinges creak softly, and the chilly air from the hallway rushes in, sending a shiver down your spine.

Your eyes narrow in recognition —and confusion—for a beat. A lightbulb suddenly flickers on in your mind.

"Hey..." the guy in front of you greets you softly and politely, his voice barely above a whisper.

You have seen his face around, but you can hardly remember his last name—Dawson, Davidson? Something like that.

"...Is Tashi around?" he asks, his voice carrying a note of desperation.

Your gaze rakes down his figure. He's wearing a Cardinal performance polo from Stanford and thin black polyester shorts, both soaked—presumably from the storm roaring outside. His chest rapidly rises and falls with each breath, and as if by carnal instinct, your eyes delineate the muscles of his abdomen tightening; the outline of his six-pack is visible through the soaking polo clinging to his torso. Tiny water beads accumulate along the strands of his blonde hair, glistening, growing heavier, and descending onto your doormat with soft plops.

He's hot as fuck, you think. Straight out of one of those cliché Teen People magazine covers. But it's not only his physique. Something about how he stands there, dripping wet, vulnerability mingling with his athletic build, piques your interest. It's sort of contradictory and sexy as fuck.

Your eyes drift down to your own outfit—pajama shorts and a crop top. It's not too practical, considering the chilliness from the residence hallway drives your nipples to react against the thin material of the top. His gaze falters for a second, lowering to your bare midriff, and you catch the way his cheeks redden. You hear how he chokes with his saliva.

But it’s bizarre, too. His functional—left—hand is grasping a large Smirnoff Ice bottle by its neck. Your features smooth out at the sight of the clear glass bottle containing one of your favorite low-alcohol cocktails.

It's a raw lure, just like the owner of the bottle.

But it's still bizarre. Because why is this hot-ass guy holding a delicious-ass drink standing outside of your dorm?

You pull your gaze away from the Smirnoff bottle. "Aren't you supposed to be hiding the booze?" you blurt out, raising a finger to point at the bottle.

Maybe your tone was too sardonic, or it was the uncaring disregard of the Tashi question because the blonde guy's face reddens in a deep shade of crimson —again—spreading rapidly from his cheeks to the tips of his ears. Aw, he's embarrassed. His eyesight shifts to the bottle, and he acts as if the bottle magically spawned in his left hand.

But you don't wanna spook the doll away.

You audibly clear your throat, trying to rectify your rudeness. "And no, Tashi's not here," you add, attempting to depict kindness and capture his attention again.

He stays silent. As the rosy hue of his cheeks vanishes, you can sense he's building up the courage to keep interrogating you. "Do you know where she is?" he timidly asks, gliding the bottle under his left arm as if trying to hide it now that his plans are ruined.

The guy's smoking hot but fricking awkward. It doesn't make sense. He's six feet tall, lean, handsome, and muscular; why is he acting all timid? He's standing past your doorframe, practically asking for clearance to trade words with you. It doesn't make sense.

"Yeah, she's staying with this Art guy. Maybe you know him," you say, gaze unconsciously disembarking again on the Smirnoff bottle.

The guy's eyebrows furrow and his blue eyes dart back and forth as if digging for an answer hidden in your dorm. His facial expression gradually shifts from puzzlement to realization and then to frustration.

"Son of a bitch..." he mutters under his breath, his voice laced with malice.

You raise an eyebrow, feigning amazement. "Sorry?"

It makes you wanna chuckle at the sudden, humorous switch in his expression.

He inhales sharply, his blue eyes scintillating with sadness and something deeper, perhaps a sense of betrayal? You don't know. "Are you sure Tashi's not here?" he questions again, the tone of his voice hardening. "I'm Art."

The prior flickering lightbulb turns into one illuminating your memory's dim corners. His facial features now have a name: Art Donaldson, another celebrated first-year tennis player. There aren't many Art's around, so the first time you heard his name —even before Tashi— falling out from one of your closest friends' lips on campus, you should've known it was him.

So if he’s Art, that means Tashi lied.

Shit. Tashi's cheating on this guy.

You hope he doesn't notice because you know a flicker of darkness is dancing across your eyes as the seed of an idea takes root in your mind.

A smirk curls your lips as you relish the scrumptious irony. "Oh, you're Art? The one Tashi talks about all the time?" you say, voice dribbling with mockery.

He doesn't respond; he just looks at you with those piercing blue eyes. But then he speaks, "Yeah, I guess..."

You seize the moment, reaching out and stealing the bottle of Smirnoff from beneath his arm. "Well, I guess I'll take this," you say, twisting the cap open and taking a long sip. "You won't need it, right?."

You know exactly what chord you want to strike.

Art's jaw tightens, his face a mix of irritation and helplessness, but he doesn't oppose. You can see his struggle and even sense how his mind races to make sense of the situation. He was expecting Tashi, who was not his girlfriend yet, but he had arranged this to get to know her better. Instead, he's faced with you—an unexpectedly attractive challenge.

And, of course, he wanted it. There was the initial shock at finding you instead of Tashi, but an undeniable attraction stirred something profound within him —a foreign sensation he hadn't felt before. And he's by no means a virgin or a "lame-ass," as Patrick would call him from time to time. Art knows how to have fun. But he's used to the upstarting idea that women must be salivating over merely hearing his name. That's why he obsessed over Tashi Duncan; she is dominant.

But of course, fucking Patrick had to take her tonight.

You lower the bottle, wiping your lips with the back of your hand. "Or maybe you shouldn't go back to the rain," you say with a shrug, "you could come inside in case Tashi comes back, and I'd think about sharing the Smirnoff with you."

He hesitates.

You step aside, holding the door open wider. "You don't wanna go back to the rain, don't you?" you add with a mischievous grin.

For a heartbeat, he stands there, his resolve wavering. Then, with a resigned sigh, he steps forward, crossing the threshold into your college dorm like a lost puppy.

You close the door behind him, drawn to let out a scream when he's not looking after how things were interestingly evolving. The room grows warmer for Art and you, the atmosphere thick with tension and unspoken intentions from both sides. You take another sip of the Smirnoff, savoring the lemony taste.

"Make yourself comfortable," you express, gesturing to the modest common area where the kitchen is. Art follows your lead, his movements stiff from the water and his arm cast.

He's about to push back the strap of his black Adidas duffel bag to roll it down his right arm —cause he was holding THAT and the Smirnoff bottle, when he turns to you and, contemplating his words, he speaks, "Do you think I can use your shower?"

"You would do it anyways if Tashi was here instead of me, so..."

Art takes that as a yes.

The bottle of Smirnoff sits nearly empty on the wooden night table beside your bed. Although you had explained earlier to Art that Smirnoff ice was "inoffensive alcohol," it hadn't failed to cultivate an effect of tipsiness in both of your warm bodies. Art's initial awkwardness had been disbanded by the bitterness of the alcohol coursing through his veins. And your mean facade had shifted into a more loquacious, sarcastic, and bold one.

The common area had grown colder. In one instance of exorbitant bravery, you offered to move to your room— Art had said yes way too fast. The space was cozier and filled with your personal touches.

Art is sitting on your bed, the back of his head supported against the wall, while you lie on your stomach beside him, propped up on your elbows, attentively hearing as he converses about another obscene anecdote of his. The dim yellow lighting from the led lights from your side of the wall casts a soft glow over both of you, making you equally horny and exhausted —the calming sound of the rainstorm outside didn't help.

Art had changed into a grey T-shirt with "Stanford Tennis" printed across the chest. His strawberry blonde hair is nearly dry and slightly tousled...

The rich, warm sound of Art laughing fills the room and clocks you out of the trance. "...I swear, I walk in and see Tashi doing some nasty, weird thing to him. The next morning was hell for him. I couldn't believe he was into that type of shit."

"God, was she pegging him?" you giggle, covering your eyes with the palms of your hands.

Art chuckles, shaking his head. "You don't want me to get more explicit."

You pout playfully. "Don't be an asshole. Tell me."

Art raises an eyebrow, intrigued, half-smirking. "Why are you so interested? Are you going through abstinence?"

The truth is yes but against your will. The bad thing is that you can't filter the information spilling out of your mouth whenever you drink.

"Depends. Are you gonna bully me if I say yes?" you ask, looking up at him with a teasing glint in your eyes.

The rhetorical question prompts Art to tilt his head, confused. "I'm not a playboy myself. And also..." he slightly lifts his right arm with the cast, alluding to it. "After my injury, I can't do much."

Your thoughts started tumbling over each other in a chaotic mess. You started picturing too many scenarios where Art would still be able to fuck with the arm cast on. The amount of vivid, fleeting mental scenarios internally summoning the attention you couldn't provide right now makes you feel physically ill and euphoric.

"That is not true."

He giggles again, a sound that causes your heart to flutter despite your mind warning you about potential word vomiting. "Well, I can't even jerk it off. Is that enough for you?"

"Not really. There's plenty of stuff you can still do. Ask someone to give you a blowjob or something," You suggest, way more convinced of your comment than you should.

Art’s natural smirk fades as he processes your sentence, his eyes squinting as if he's about to test something. He's holding back a chuckle, "That's a wild thing to say to someone you met two hours ago."

You roll your eyes in feigned annoyance, "Don't tell me you are one of those people who think sex is taboo."

"Hey, no, I'm not." He raises his left hand in front of you, palm open and facing outward. "Asking someone to suck my dick is just gonna give me a fat restraining order."

At this point, the notion of reality has altered for you. Not much, but to the extent things that would commonly make you pause and reconsider your life choices now seemed perfectly reasonable, even hilarious. "Asking this guy I just met to fuck me? Awesome!" You think. You feel an overwhelming sense of camaraderie, a genuine tie to Art, fueled by the shared silliness of the circumstances and nasty anecdotes of this so-called Patrick.

"Oh, please..." You wave your hand carelessly as if waving away his absurd comment. "Who would put a restraining order over that?"

"What would you do if someone asked you to suck their dick?"

But, before replying, you push yourself up onto your knees. The bed creaks softly as you shift, and you slide your legs out from under you, moving to sit cross-legged on the bed.

"So?" he insists as you finish changing your position.

"Oh my god. Well, it depends on who's asking."

Your last words hang in the air between you and Art, electrifying and charged with suggestive tension. Predisposing yourself to Art's potential lack of boldness, you let the tipsiness strip away your remaining self-respect. "If you asked me, I wouldn't say no," you add.

Your words cut through the alcohol-induced haze like a sharp blade, leaving Art momentarily sober. It's difficult for him to think properly. It feels like a thick fog full of thoughts and bitter rememberings encircles him, but you cannot see it.

He helplessly daydreams about the scenario where this is Tashi instead of you, tossing salacious remarks at him and attending to whatever crap he chooses to say. But it isn't. He doesn't know you properly; he hasn't seen your serve or even how you hold a tennis racquet. And you haven't seen much from him either.

Patrick doesn't know about you either. His Patrick, with the captivating smile and the big-dick aura. The one that has been setting him up with women forever, as if he couldn't do it on his own.

That's how he realizes the attraction towards you —even if purely carnal, is authentic and unpretentious. It's not polluted with anything else. You aren't flirting with him because you eventually want to mess around with Patrick.

There's bone-deep curiousness humming through Art's veins, but he won't fuck up the first time a gorgeous girl wants to fuck him.

"Then I guess I should ask you," Art states, attempting to maintain his voice steady as his heart plummets.

You lean in closer, your faces now inches apart. The dim glow of the led lights casts a golden hue over your skin, making the moment feel even more surreal for Art. “Good, 'cause I have wanted to do you since you knocked on my door."

The familiar aching warmth starts to pool at the bottom of your abdomen as Art's lips attack yours, parting them with easiness; you kiss him fiercely, savoring a mixture of Smirnoff Ice and spearmint. Art kisses you like he's starved of it; he slips his tongue inside like he has been patiently deferring his devilish invasive thoughts. He is, damn, a wonderful kisser. Flawlessly proportional: immodest, licking into your mouth, so sexually arousing, at the same time so tender, holding you close with such courtesy it makes you want to scream.

With the strength of his left hand, he draws your body closer to his, deepening his mouth as much as possible on yours. The contact makes your stomach jolt, tardily falling into account you are blending Art's masculine scent with yours. Art's upper-body muscles harden at the ecstasy, and the subtle contour of the veins on his arm arises on his skin, popping out as he possessively grasps your waist.

Between wet kisses, his mouth quakes as he lets out a hushed chuckle, "Wait, is it true... what you said?" he mutters into your mouth and raises your chin, taking a pair of hot seconds to look at you straight in the eye.

You relish the sensation of his fingers racing down your waist and descending on your hips, gently squeezing; your hands are holding onto the nape of his neck, caressing his skin. You kiss him again and roll his bottom lip between your teeth, "I've never wanted to fuck anyone so bad," you husk into his ear, words purring as you teasingly lick his ear lobe, lowering the wet kisses until you end up licking down his throat. You trail soft, open-mouthed kisses down his skin; your nails scratch lightly over his back, folding at the sensation of his warmness capturing yours.

Art swears he's about to pass out.

You swing one leg over his lap, carefully straddling him. Art wastes no time, lining his hips with yours, pressing and grinding, compelling your body to feel small in his presence; the mean grip of his hand drops to the end of your back, slowly running down your sides to cup your ass over your pajama shorts, slowly plunging his fingers on your skin. Quick, discreet moans slip out of your mouth, each one driving Art to his edge. The hardness of his cock pushes against your pussy, making you gasp between kisses.

Your cheeks prick with heat as you hear a clap sound, a slap against someone's skin: your skin. Art spanked your ass rough, and you could anticipate the red handprint remaining in your butt for a couple of hours. His hand smacks again, grasping the over-sensitive plush of your ass at the end, making your muscle throb, "Art!" you whimper, squirming.

"Don't be too loud," he whispers against your neck, demanding.

Art's lips trail down your jawline; his breath catches in his throat every time the aroma of you transits to his chest. You tilt your head back to grant him better access, and your vision goes fuzzy as you discern Art's teeth sucking and biting on your neck, "...d-don't mark my neck," you add between whimpers, piercing his eardrum in the most sensual way imaginable.

"Can I mark this, then?" he snaps back, his right-hand cupping one of your tits over the material. The lustfulness creeping through your body evolves into dizziness, changing how your heart palpitates.

You overtake him and take your crop top swiftly without wanting to see him making extra effort. You audibly gasp when he determines to bury his face between your tits, his thumb and pointing finger skillfully rubbing and then rolling your nipples between his fingertips.

You are so fucking overwhelmed. Art realizes, and with a wicked smirk plastered on his face, he gives a low coo, "You are so sensitive-"

"Shut the fuck up," you cuss softly, thrusting your chest out, slightly arching your back at the filling sensation. A slimy coverage of saliva grows over your left nipple; Art's mouth works over your bud, flicking with his tongue, making you impossibly wet, "Art, please, I need-"

"Need what?" he glances up at you, neglecting your nipples coated in spit, the cool breeze clashing against your skin and prickling your dermis with goosebumps.

You pant under your breath as his fingers play with the waistband of your shorts. You grab his hand and put it away, "I'll take care of you."

Your gaze descends to admire the outline of his cock, pushing against the thin fabric of his shorts. "Let me taste you," you beg, tracing a finger down his chest and reaching the waistband of his shorts.

"Pretty convenient since I can't do much, huh?" Art suppresses a laugh.

You don't say much. You come off his lap to drag him to the end of the bed, feet touching the carpeted ground. As you sink lower, you unconsciously smile at the things you will tell Diana tomorrow.

You squat down on your feet, your hands positioned on Art's thighs, supporting your body in case you lose balance. You palm his clothed dick, rubbing your fingertips against the slim layer of clothing, anticipating how much you'll be able to fit in your mouth; you shoot Art an incredulous look, enjoying his heavy-lidded, lustful grimace.

Your fingers hook around the waistband of those goddamn shorts, sliding them down, along with his underwear. In one fluid motion, his cock springs free with his reddening, glistening tip slapping against his stomach.

You think this is the perfect situation to overpraise him. You assume these guys love it. Tennis players with a big ego —and a big dick.

"You are so big, Donaldson," you praise, prolonging the word so seductively and not breaking eye contact with the blonde guy. You admire him, captivated by how his Adam's apple twitches; he gulps.

Your fingers wrap around his length, gripping his base, starting to stroke, gingerly moving from base to tip, stopping to rub his swollen tip and spread pre-cum along his shaft, simulating lube. His muscles tremble at the touch, yanking at your hair. You dart your tongue out, flattening it, licking his cock up and down, kitten-licking his thick tip and sweeping your lips across it, loudly slurping the shiny, gooey substance leaking from his dick. Art's torso feels deficient in oxygen as you lock eyes with him, simultaneously stroking his cock mercilessly, sucking on his head; his lungs ache for air.

You bob your head slightly, and your mouth opens wide, taking him further and increasing your pace. Your mouth is warm and wet; he can't wait to stretch other holes if you feel exceptionally good like this.

"How does it feel?" you take a look at Art's journey, who has his head thrown back. You want him so bad to praise you back. When his head returns to its place, you meet eyes with him and give a tantalizing squeeze to his cock, eager for more reaction. His fingers jump to run through his hair, exasperated.

You don't —and can't know that Art is holding it back already. He's been holding it back since the moment you straddled him, and he could feel the warm wetness of your pussy over his throbbing dick.

In desperation, he pushes your head, positioning your lips straight over his dick, "Please, princess," you obey and put it inside your mouth again.

He lets out a groan when his tip hits the back of your throat, making you gag. You try to relax and breathe through your nose, allowing him to hit it constantly, deep-throating his length, drooling over his cock, swallowing around him. He strains his hips forward, tugs your hair, and essentially fucks your throat without requiring you to do anything but suck and be good for him.

His breathing becomes erratic, and you feel the muscles of his legs unconsciously twitching. He's close.

When his hand on your hair pushes you up, you resist and stay there for longer, anxiously waiting for his cum to hit your throat. With a rough jerk of his hips, you finally taste his sperm filling your mouth. You swallow it.

"Shit," Art mutters, hyperventilating and staring at you with heavy-lidded eyes. "You just made me reconsider if I'm still precocious."

You laugh, shaking your head. "Or maybe I give good head?"

After catching his breath, his eyes fall over your figure. There's something so amusing about you, and it's definitely not the remaining mix of cum and spit over the corners of your mouth.

It's just you.

The rain continues to fall outside, a steady rhythm that matches the pulse of his heartbeat. It wasn't the post-nut clarity that made him philosophical, but he can genuinely feel that the only thing that matters is how amazing he has felt around you.

Art breaks the silence. "Let me take you out tomorrow night."

#art donaldson #art donaldson x reader #challengers #challengers fanfic #challengers fic #fanfic #patrick zweig #tashi duncan #x reader #challengers x reader #female reader

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zyafics · 10 months ago

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PLAY FAKE | 02

MASTERLIST (Series)

Pairing — Rafe Cameron x Female Reader .ᐟ

Summary — When Rafe needs to secure a girlfriend for his father to see him as a viable candidate for Cameron Development, he enlists the help of a bartender who wants nothing to do with him.

Content — 18+, smut, angst, depictions of jealousy + aggression, emotional turmoil, mild descriptions of violence, and usage of drugs.

You didn't want to ask Rafe for help.

You never like doing it in general. The concept is foreign to you and it makes your skin crawl with a sense of dread, but you were desperate.

He hasn't come back to your bar in a while; probably off finding a new replacement for a fake girlfriend. Before, you hadn't given it much thought. You did decline. However, now, you wish he hadn't found one yet. Now, the offer sounds appetizing given the situation you're in.

You need to get in contact with him. You knew that showing up to the Tannyhill estate would raise questions but you didn't know where he would be. An idea suddenly popped up in your head and you decided to scroll through social media and find the nearest Kook party. You found one, just uploaded fifteen minutes ago, at Topper's house.

Parking in the street, you stare at the party in full swing. It has been a while since you've been to a party—too focused on working full-time at Sailor and taking care of your siblings—and the idea of going in unnerves you. You were still in uniform, well, it's something you try to wear everyday to get tips. A simple black crop top and a mini skirt. You find it ironic that you were at least dressed for the part.

Leveling some confidence, you push open the creaky door of your old car and head inside. It is absolutely crowded with people, with girls and guys drinking and dancing outside in the yard, near the pool, on the porch. Your eyes glaze over every single one of them, trying to find the one person you hope would be here.

You find Rafe near the back porch of the mansion. He's with a couple of his buddies, Topper being among them, and a girl on his arm as he holds a beer with the same hand. You weren't surprised in the slightest. This was his plan after all. You were just surprised by the feeling in your stomach.

The lick of jealousy you didn't understand where it came from.

You step up. His friends were the first to notice you, scanning over your body that you wish you had worn a jacket over yourself. When you are just in front of him, his gaze finally focuses and meets your gaze.

"Can we talk?" You ask, sparing no attention to the girl on him.

He scoffs, "fuck off."

Of course he's going to be an asshole. You didn't bother with entertaining his comment by grabbing his arm, pulling him up. You knew you didn't have the strength to take him completely so you were pleasantly surprised when he assisted and got up. He even pushed the girl to the side as you dragged him off to somewhere quiet.

Well, as quiet as the live party can be.

"What do you want?"

His words are sharp and harsh, but you expected nothing less. You figured something happened—that's why he entertains his vices, right?—and plus, you told him that you wanted nothing to do with him. If anything, he has a bit of justification to be pissed.

But that doesn't mean you would accept it.

"I was going to talk to you about your offer, but seeing as you're being too much of an ass, I guess I should come back another time," you snap, turning around to head out because fuck him. You weren't going to take it. You had other things to do. You would be forgiving, perhaps, if he actually talked to you about his problem but to be a dick off the bat? Not a chance in hell.

"Wait," he grabs your arm before you move far and this contrasts the strength you hold. One hand and a lazy attempt to hold you in place. "What do you want?"

He said that somewhat nicer.

You turn back with a glare, contemplating what to do, before remembering what's at stake. You're already here. Might as well get it over with.

"I'll do it." You say, your voice coming out smaller than you intended. It’s so embarrassing to ask for help. It feels even more so to backtrack into something you said you couldn't—wouldn't—do. "Be your fake girlfriend, I mean."

The corner of his lips quirks into an amused smile. Even in his drunk state, where his blond hair is darkened from the humidity of the space and his eyes glossed over, you can't help but admit how attractive he is. "Couldn't stay away, could you?"

"I'm not trying to be the next Mrs. Cameron," you snap, feeling the need to clarify. "But, I do need the payout."

His eyes narrow. "Thought you didn't want it?"

"I don't," you answer. "It's something else."

He tilts his head to the side, studying you. "What?"

Sighing, you wished you could talk somewhere more private. But, this truly is the best place you can get him. "When you get your father's company and start doing all the Kook bullshit of hosting charity events, galas, and dinners, I want you to use Sailor as your drink caterer."

It sounded like a good deal when you thought of it. You didn't want the money because you don't know how long this little facade is going to last. You needed something stable. You need something that would benefit you in the long-run. Since Sailor has been slipping off the profit margins and you've been dealing with some trouble regarding its ownership, you figured the business from all the catering would boost it up. It would give you status and credit. It would benefit you long after this engagement with Rafe ends.

His eyes look thoughtful of the idea. You wonder how he's calculating, how he's weighing the options about whether to accept your negotiation or to decline—telling you he already found a replacement. You hope it wasn't the latter. You needed this.

"No."

You clench your jaw. Of course. The one time you sought out help, instead of cleaning up the mess yourself, you got shut down. It's embarrassing.

"Fine." You say, ripping your arm out of his grasp and heading straight to the exit. You want to leave as soon as possible and use the time you should've spent going here to actually come up with a solution. It was a wasted effort on your end. You make a mental note of that.

Just a few steps short of the exit, some guy nearby grabs your arm and holds you in place. "Where you going, pretty?" He slurs his words, his eyes cascading down your body that you wished you pulled down the length of your skirt. "I didn't get the chance to talk to you."

You try to rip your arm off of his but his grip is firm. "Leave me alone."

"Come on, pretty," he gets closer, his intoxication reeking from his breath that you had to turn your head to avoid the smell. "I can make you feel real good."

Your hand clenched by your side while the other places a palm directly on his chest, trying to place some distance between you and the stranger before you commit to your next move. "If you don’t leave me alone—"

It happened in a flash. One minute he's holding you, the second he's getting knocked back with a punch delivered straight on the mouth.

You look up to see Rafe, his knuckles clenched and redden while the beer he was cradling had dropped on the ground into a million broken pieces. His breathing heavy while his eyes are a little distant, lagged out.

"Rafe," you call out, but before he gets the chance to face you, the drunk stranger comes staggering back with a punch in return. The crowd gasps and quickly moves out of the way as a circle forms, Rafe and the man trading swings.

No one is helping them. No one is attempting to. Rafe is significantly more drunk than the stranger, his footing is slightly off, and the drunkard is getting in more decks on Rafe's face.

When Rafe tries to duck from a delivery, the guy does directly to his stomach and it causes him to topple over with a grunt.

Having enough, you step forward and grab the stranger's shoulder. He turns around with a look of confusion—just in time for you to deck him as hard as your hand can swing, right in the face.

"Shit!" You swear under your breath, the blow rippling back and returning straight to your fist, aching.

The stranger staggers back, his back hitting the floor while you grab Rafe. You don't know where you're going, you don't know the layout of this house, but pushing through the crowd, you find an empty bedroom and slam the door close with a lock.

Thankfully, it had a bathroom attached to it. You set Rafe on the mattress as you flick the lights on and search for the cabinets for any aid. Rafe's bottom lip is busted, there's a cut on one of his brows, and bruising forming against his jawline. You don't even want to think about the mess on his knuckles.

Finding a first aid kit, you step back to see Rafe laid out against the mattress, his eyes closed. You rush to his side, afraid he has a concussion and he's falling asleep.

"Rafe!" You shout, hitting his cheeks with the back of your hand in light taps, causing his eyes to flutter open. "You can't do that."

Willing himself back to a sitting position with your assistance, you set the first aid kit to the side as you attempt to help him. Using your hands to cradle his face, you assess the damages.

"Where'd you learn to punch like that?" He asks, the heat of his gaze follows you as you remove your touch.

You shrug. "You need to learn two things growing up in The Cut," you hold up a finger, "how to deliver a good right hook,"

You pause for a moment.

Impatiently, he prompts. "And?"

You hold up his gold signet ring and his watch. "How to take advantage of a drunk."

He scoffs, snatching his things out of your grasp as you laugh, releasing some tension in your shoulders. "Pogue." He sneers.

"Kook." You retort, but there's a lightness in your tone.

Rafe says nothing as you return to your search through the aid kit. When you find what you were looking for, you start on his face, first cleaning the cut around his brow.

He hisses at the sting, but allows you to continue. It was an awkward position to be in, sitting beside him as you try to clean the damage, and he must've noticed how irritated you were getting with his constant shifts away from the pain. Without a word, he grabs your waist and pulls you into his lap with one swoop, both legs on either side of his waist as his hands settle on the small of your back.

"Better?" He questions, raising a brow.

You don't say anything, attempting to adjust your skirt rising up to your hips, before you nod.

Cleaning the wound, you tilt your head to examine what your next step should be. It's hard to figure out because the bruise is slowly forming and while the cut may be small right now, it's going to be nasty tomorrow.

To ease some tension of the silence, you prompt with a conversation. "You got into another fight with your dad?"

He stiffens under you, clenching his jaw. "What makes you say that?"

You feel his eyes trained on your face, but you refuse to acknowledge it. "Because you're out here getting drunk instead of getting wasted at my bar."

Rafe smirks. "Miss me?"

"No, it was good for business." You say, matter-of-fact, and the look on his face dies off. You feel guilty. Adding on, you rectify, "and, you would've had someone to talk to. I don't think the people around here are offering that."

He says nothing, watching you work. You exchanged the bloodied pads for some ointment.

"It's just about Sarah again." He mutters, almost like he didn't want you to hear but knowing you would. "Same shit. Same golden child."

You nod, finally flicking your gaze down to his. His blue eyes are so prominent now, so clear, you wonder if you could get lost in them.

Rafe doesn't disclose any details like he normally does. When he goes on long tangents about the problem. It must've been bad. So, you lower your hand and cup his face, tilting his face to meet yours. "Want to talk about it?"

He swallows hard. "I don't want to talk."

"What do you want to do?"

"Fuck." He answers without a thought, the ability to shift into a fuck-mode is easier than digesting his feelings. You laugh, inappropriately, dropping your hand from his cheeks. You're about to push yourself off his lap—having bandaged him up—and let him go find his next hookup, but his grip on your waist tightens.

He doesn't say anything with that move, and you tilt your head at him.

"I thought I was below your level?" You tease.

"Yet, you're sitting on my dick right now," he says, eyes following yours. "What do you think that means?"

While you're not directly on him, you can feel his hard-on swelling under his pants, lightly grazing against your core, and causing a small ache between your legs.

"That you're horny enough to go for a Pogue."

He scoffs, lowering his hands to your ass and palms the flesh. Your eyes flutter close at the moment. "Who knew you were hiding such a nice body behind that counter?"

"You just haven't been paying attention."

"I am now."

His hands lowering to your hips, slowly pulling you down his lap, realigning your cunt until it sits directly on top of his zipper. He leans forward, his hot mouth against your ear. "If I tell you to grind on me, would you do it?"

You place a hand on his chest, trying to ease some space between the two of you, but your attempt was weak. Some part of you didn't want to leave.

"You're pushing it."

"What if I told you it would make me feel better?" He whispers, his fingers trailing up your skirt, against your bare thighs, leaving goosebumps in its wake. "That you can consider it part of your deal."

Your breath hitch in surprise. "You're saying yes?"

"I was going to," he pulls back to meet your face, "but you ran away."

"You said no to me," you remind him.

"To rile you up," he says, like an asshole, and you scoff. "Didn't think you would just leave like that."

"Maybe you should give me clear answers then."

"Fine," his breath is right in front of yours. "I want you to ride me."

Your eyes trail his face, your hands finding his shoulders. You know you shouldn't. You know if this is supposed to be fake, why do you feel a deep, carnal urge for him. If this happens, it opens the door to other things. But, something in you softens. He did get a bruise for you. He did defend you. He's in pain and you're in need.

Maybe you could use each other.

Slowly, your hips roll against his. The look on his face hints at surprise that you took the bait and causes you to smirk, gripping his shoulders harder when you find the hard cock lined against your panties. You press down.

"Fuck," he groans raspily, "just like that."

The praise lights something in you. "Like that?" You repeat, pushing yourself against his jeans, rubbing up and down, that you can feel him grow harder and harder against the seams of his pants. He nods shakily. "Is it making you feel better, baby?"

He knows you're taunting him, using his words, but he fucking loves it. You're listening. For once, you're not actively trying to spite him and knock back—but willing, to him.

"That's right," he compliments, his gaze following your body as you are starting to find a rhythm against him. Your movements are getting sloppier. "Just what I need. A Pogue who listens to whatever I fucking say."

You nod vigorously, feeling your wetness growing against your panties, drenching the material enough to leak through and rub off against the front of his pants.

"God, look at you," he muses in your ear, glancing down, and a chuckle leaves his throat. "You made such a mess."

"Feel so good," you moan, you tip your head back as the friction of his jeans feels incredibly perfect against your swollen clit.

"Come on, sweetheart," his grip around your waist tightens, afraid with the way you're moving, you're going to fall off. "Ride me."

You follow his direction, quickening your pace as low groans and rasps leaves his lips at the sensation you're making him feel. The sound is like drugs to you, fueling you, because you want to desperately help him arrive at his own climax.

You wrap both your arms around his neck, grinding ruthlessly against his lap. Leaning forward, you dip your face into the crook of his neck. "Come on, Rafe," you whisper into his ear, closing into your own orgasm. "Come for me."

As you came with a moan, your movements didn't stop. Your legs ache, begging to stop, but you want him to get there too.

"Fuck, fuck," he moans at your aggression, at how hard you're pressed against him, moving against him, it's a mesmerizing sight. "I'm coming."

You feel it against your core. The subtle twitch of his dick under the jeans. The faint wetness under you, mixed with your own cum, produces a small smile against your lips.

You slow your grind, pulling back, just to meet his eyes clearing from their post-orgasmic haze, and his grip has weakened significantly around your body. When you stop completely, you push yourself off of him, finding your feet on solid ground with wobbly legs.

"Better?" You tease, to which he nods weakly through heavy-lids. With a satisfied smile, you turn around and head for the door.

"I'll see you on our first date."

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Navigation — Part 01 | Part 02 | Part 03

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livelaughlovesubs · 4 months ago

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~ 05.10 - Sigma ~

Dom!reader x sub!Lamb!Sigma - reader is gender neutral

Warning: lamb hybrid, teasing, dirty talk, breeding kink (once mentioned), heat circle, fingering, handjob, dacryphilia, ears stroking, biting, implied stalking, sigma didn’t really give his permission..? (His mind wasn’t clear), overstimulation, sub-space, mind break

~ Word count: 5.6k ~

Nini!rant: I LOVE SIGMA AHHHHH

Kinktober list 2024

Sounds of chips clattering echoed through the casino, alongside the irritating chatter of the high-class people. Each and every one of them held a glass of champagne in their hand, cards in their other one. The atmosphere was stuffy yet elegant, a lingering sense of seriousness wouldn't leave. It was to be expected, one wrong move at any given time at any of the tables could mean your downfall. The chandelier's light shone brightly, like a second sun, illuminating every corner of the sky casino.

Among this grandiose hall full of players, there was a man who stood out more than anyone. He wasn’t an extraordinarily lucky or good player, in fact, he was the dealer, the one managing the game. It might be due to his skills with cards, or that confident smirk he wore that seemed awfully fake to you. Who knows, it could even be his unusual hair color. White and light lavender, split cleanly in the middle, a combination you haven’t heard of til now. When your eyes scanned over his outfit, you noted every little detail about him.

How rare for someone to catch your interest like this, you had to get to know him. His clothes were formal, but his sleeves were way bigger than the normality, it’s good for hiding cards. That cotton candy-like hair of his reached his waist, it was loose and cut in a weird manner. Somehow it still looked good, in its own unique ways.

“Who’s his barber…” You whispered under your breath, unsure if you were impressed by that barber's luck or ability to communicate. Through sheer luck or skill, he somehow managed to convince the man that it looked normal.

The scent of Parfum tickled your nostrils, a woman to your right turned over to you and said, “Him? Oh, it’s the manager of this fine establishment.” She smiled sincerely, praising that man, “I respect him for granting us this lavish lifestyle.” She appeared very friendly, though you couldn’t help but wonder why she suddenly talked to you.

The girl noticed your hesitant look and flinched, “Didn't you ask who he was? Ah..! You weren’t talking to me, I’m deeply sorry!” Then she ran off, without giving you an opening to say thanks, she was probably too embarrassed by the situation. Sure, you were a little awkward at first since you didn't realize she was talking to you, nonetheless, you wanted to ask her a bit more about that amazing manager everyone appears to like. How did you know that? He had made quite a name for himself.

Well, there is nothing to be done now, guess you’ll have to find out more through other sources. Contrary to what you expected, after meticulously asking around, no one could provide information about him that you didn't already know. His name was Sigma, and where he came from is unknown as well as his last name. How he acquired his current position is also hidden in the dark. He’s known to be refined and hard-working, but that is all they know about his personality.

“It’s strange how little information there is about him, considering his reasonably large popularity." You mumbled under your breath, he was a tough one. Though that difficulty only made you more curious about him, was there more to this simple man? Some might ask what you'd gain from investigating him like this, and honestly, you didn’t know. Rather, you just wanted to know more about him. After ‘observing’ (watching his every step) him for almost two months now, you’ve picked up on some of his habits.

Despite his great reputation, he does cheat during work at times. Not due to bribery, but to help the unfortunate ones. And every time he’d do that, he’d look a little nervous afterward, probably at the possibility of getting caught and ruining the high expectations he has to carry around. “But he still helped that old geezer.” You whispered, smiling to yourself. He was a kind soul, too nice for being a casino manager, a title that’s often associated with being greedy for money.

Another thing that you noticed was how he’d take a day free about every two and a half weeks. So, 16-17 days. It was a strange way of having a vacation, and to be fair you thought he wouldn’t rest at all considering what his character was like.When you tried to find out what he does in his free time, you were met with no results. An absolute zero. He’d spend the entire day in his room, and have his guards block the entrance. You weren't even allowed to walk by his door, not like it would have led you to somewhere meaningful.

Now let's ask a question, what could he have done the entire time? Did he enjoy a perverse hobby during these days, or why did he have to keep it so secure? Nevertheless, since this was a dead end, you became more engaged and determined to find out the reason behind it. Which is why you finally approached him after all this time, instead of watching from afar.

Sigma had long noticed your sharp stares at him, quietly following him around like a shadow. His only concern was, why did you do this? He was responsible for making everything work, so he was quite observant as well. All this time he worried that it would turn out to be dangerous for him and his casino, yet you didn’t do anything, only staring at him like a beast eyeing up its prey. So consider him surprised when you suddenly sat down at the table he was dealing and asked to join the game.

He was so suspicious of you the entire time, eyes finding themselves on you whenever he was caught off guard. Despite all that, he still didn’t make any mistakes, that man took his job very seriously. Now that you were up closer to him, you realized you didn't give his beauty enough credit. You wondered if he was actually Modeling in his free time or other things under similar categories. Perhaps he posed vulgarly for some photoshoots?

That could make sense considering he has a reputation to uphold, so if anything unpleasant gets revealed he won’t be able to continue doing this job. Ah, look at that, your mind has wandered off to some dirtier subjects again. You wondered, surely this angel-like appearance of his isn’t only a facade? In the end, you couldn’t help but chuckle, startling the boy and your opponents. Why were you laughing, was it a bluff or a cry for help?

Sigma considered himself very loyal to his customers, he dedicated himself to them, yet he can’t seem to read you at all. After spending all that time among people, learning about them and their body language, he still couldn’t understand the purpose behind your actions. There was just no way you were watching him for no reason, right? Even now, you weren’t paying attention to the game on the table, those sharp eyes of yours were only on him, on his every move.

What the heck… that’s almost creepy, he thought, gulping down a lump that was stuck in his throat. He tried his best to ignore you, but who could possibly do that when you were staring at him so intensely? Can’t you focus on the damn game? You were going to lose at this rate. Contrary to what Sigma predicted, you won in the end. Surprise and irritation were written all over his face, he couldn’t believe it with his own two eyes when he knew that he gave the cards fairly.

Was it luck? Probably.

You were just a fortunate player, that was the only answer. While Sigma was still lost in thoughts, you started striking up a conversation with him. “So, manager? The mood is fantastic tonight as well, isn’t it?” You commented, putting your elbow onto the poker table and stabilizing your head with your hand. He stared at you blankly, not responding even after you praised him, “Thanks for your hard work.” And here he was, wondering what you were going to say. At least he knows you are not a rude person?

It took a while before he gave you a reply, probably because he was taken aback. Then the male smiled gently, wearing the same trained and calculated expression as always as he said, “I’m glad you feel that way, y/n, it is my greatest honor.” You chuckled, so he knew your name. Did he do a background check on you? My, you didn't realize you appeared so dangerous in his eyes. A smug grin was plastered on your lips while you spoke, “Our manager is a blessing from the heavens, eh?”

He blinked at your statement, a little flabbergasted at your bold words. Can he take that as a compliment or sarcasm? Before Sigma could deal the cards for you, you stood up and left. Turning your head over your shoulder while waving to them, especially the pastel-haired guy goodbye. “That was my last game for today, I’ll see you tomorrow.” You didn’t even bother asking if he would be dealing tomorrow as if you knew he would. Have you learned his schedule already?

After this game he’ll need to do another background check on you, he won’t allow anything that harms his ‘life’ to remain at this building. But guess what? He was still unable to find anything about you, other than your personal number, room, and name.

To his dismay, you also started bugging him every single day. The moment he’d step into the hall to do his job and show his face, you’d be sitting at the table he’s responsible for. How did you do that anyway, can you predict the future or something? Was that perhaps your ability- no, don’t think about something so troublesome.

He can't deal with it, he is too scared for that. If he could, he would have banned you already, sadly he didn’t find a single misdeed from you, there was nothing. It would be too unreasonable to throw you out for no reason, it could ruin his reputation. What a pain in the neck you were, couldn't you just leave him alone? How bothersome, as if he didn't have enough on his plate already, did you have to barge into his peaceful life like that?

This cat-and-mouse game continued for the next two weeks. With you being near him as often as you could, and him trying to avoid you at all costs. That’s not even the most scandalous part, no. No matter what you played, you kept winning, your lucky strike was in the double digits now. The other customers began to encourage you and be on your side, and with that, it will be even harder to kick you out now.

Damn.. why can’t things go his way? If it was Fyodor, he would have definitely come up with a way to deal with this. That undeniably intelligent man would have manipulated you for sure, and got you to leave on your own accord-

What’s stopping him from doing that?

Sure, Fyodor was way better than him in all possible aspects, but it doesn’t mean he can't do it, right? He isn't useless after all. It has to be a watertight plan though, one that wouldn’t hurt the image of his establishment. By the looks of it, you were only interested in him, no matter what the reason might be. So if he causes you to feel uncomfortable or upset, you’ll definitely go away, right? Wait, for that wouldn’t he need to get close to you first? Doesn’t matter, as long as he can get rid of you, you were giving him the chills after all.

That’s why he began opening up to you as well, answering your teasing questions with a humble attitude. Sometimes he'd tell jokes himself. His change didn’t go unnoticed by you, heck, it surprised you how he became so playful out of nowhere. Though, that was alright with you, in truth, you liked spending time with him. You’d also ask him to join the game and show off his skills from time to time, and today was the first time he agreed. Were the two of you actually making progress in this relationship?

Until now both of you have only been testing the waters. Sweet, you thought to yourself, he was so gorgeous you were like a moth drawn to his radiance. So seeing him reciprocating your attempts caused you to believe he was returning your efforts. At first, he said he’d only participate in one game, then that one game turned into two or three and suddenly you’ve been gaming until midnight. While chatting with him, you tried to make him feel comfortable, which is why you kept filling his glass.

Surprisingly, he actually continued to drink, so you thought he must like it a lot, which is why you kept pouring more and more. After you guys hit the midnight mark, Sigma could barely hold his cards anymore. Even so, he was still winning the game, which could be because the other guys were totally wasted and you let him win to see his eyes lighten up so adorably.

Well, even if you enjoyed this fun night a lot, it was time to end the party. You can’t let the dear manager lose his precious reputation because of you. Otherwise, the guests might make fun of him, for getting drunk and sleeping on the floor. Gently, you poked his cheeks. His skin was very soft. Then, you wrapped his arm around your shoulder and dragged him to his chamber. Looking over him did have some gains, you knew a lot of new things about him. For example, you knew where his room was.

First, you opened the door with the keycard Sigma had with him, and then you threw him onto the bed. “That should do it.” You mumbled, about to leave when he wrapped his arms around your waist. “Huh? Are you awake?” That shocked you, almost enough for you to push his hands away due to your reflexes. “Dun- go… m’ cold... you're warm." He stumbled over his words, saying them funnily like a drunkard would. “What?” You asked, even though you knew you wouldn’t get a logical answer out of him.

“Mhhnmmm~ stay..?” Sigma looked up at you through heavy eyes, his cheeks all red due to the effects of the alcohol. It sounded very inviting indeed, but you had to think about it. Wouldn't it look bad for you to come out of his room the next day? Yet he didn't let go of you, no matter what. In the end, you decided to stay, since you were too tired to go back to your room anyway and he wouldn’t loosen up his grip for the love of god. That’s the story of how you ended up spending a night with him, a rather innocent one at that.

All you two did was cuddle since the manager suddenly got awfully clingy and wouldn’t keep his hands to himself. The next day though, things went a little differently. Actually, you’ve been awake long before him, but you couldn’t get up and leave, ending with you staying and pondering over what his reaction would be once he sobers up. He’ll be mad, right? He might even kick you out of the Sky Casino. An audible sigh left you and you turned to look at him, staring at his sleeping face.

He looked very peaceful, sleeping so soundly while using your now sore arm as a pillow. It was something you’ve noticed for a long time now, but he was breathtakingly beautiful, at least in your eyes. You brushed a lock of hair from his face and tugged it behind his ear, that gesture somehow woke him up. His eyes twitched and he groaned a little, furrowing his brows. “Ughh…” So this will be the moment you'll have to confront him, you have to prepare yourself mentally for his screams-

“Ah-ahh… y/n..? Please, I’m feeling so hot.. help me ooout.” Sigma whined, sitting up and squeezing the blanket between his fingers, eyes pressed tightly shut as he took a minute to get used to the light. “Huh.” You accidentally let out, staring at him with wide eyes. Out of nowhere, tears collected in the corners of his sockets while he inhaled rapidly, his cheeks were also heating up and his entire frame was shaking. Why was he blushing like this, were these the aftermaths of a normal hangover, or did he get a fever?

The first one seemed unlikely, yet the second one... did you accidentally keep the blanket to yourself and thus made him freeze? God, what to do? What a pitiful guy. All your worries were blown away the moment he started taking off his clothes and uttering in a moany voice, “I-I want to ughh.. do it with me, please… can you, y/n?” Did you hear him right, what the heck was he blabbering on about? You thought your senses dulled due to the alcohol, you must be hearing it wrong.

Then he repeated it again, this time sounding even more desperate. “Please, t-touch me, please..” At this point, he was already half naked, shirt hanging down his shoulders and pants discarded somewhere. He reached his arms out to you, holding your neck and pulling you closer to him. As soon as you were close enough, he trapped you with his legs, wrapping them around your waist. Afterward, he whispered more of his desires into your ear, “fuck me.. please, I-i dunno why m’ like this.. it hurts.”

A shiver ran down your spine and your stomach curled, shit if he keeps doing that you won’t be able to hold back. “Hey, easy there- aren’t you just still drunk?” That didn’t make sense at all but so were his actions. Maybe he was having a fever dream and these were his hidden fantasies? Nevertheless, he almost got you. “I-I’m not drunk.” Sigma pouted as he said that, rubbing his face into the crook of your neck. “Yea yea.. of course.” You didn’t sound very convinced, so the boy explained it to you, “I think,,, it’s t-time for my heat..?”

You blinked then blinked twice. Excuse him what? Heat? He wasn’t some animal or monster, was he? So why would he- As if Sigma heard your internal monologue, a pair of fluffy white ears alongside a tail popped out of his head and backside respectively. These features looked akin to a sheep, though somehow smaller. “How is this possible?” You wondered, after seeing it in reality you couldn’t deny this anymore. If he is currently in heat.. then it’d make sense why he’d take a break every sixteen days.

Though it was still unbelievable, considering the circumstances. Was it a side effect of his ability or something? You wanted to ask, but he kissed you first, pressing his soft lips against yours. “Ah.. mhmm- ngh..!” Sigma moaned into the kiss, something as innocent as this was all it took for him to become all whiny. Even though he took the initiative to beg you, you were still hesitant about it. Somehow it didn’t feel right fucking him when he wasn’t in his right mind, it was as if you were taking advantage of him.

After breaking the kiss, he held you even closer to him, almost as if he was scared of you leaving. Another minute passed and you made up your mind, reaching for his crotch. There was a darker patch on his pants, some kind of liquid seeped through the fabric. You haven’t even touched him, yet everything was all sticky and slippery already, if it wasn't for the noticeable bulge one could mistake him for a girl.

With careful movements, you slipped your hand past his waistband, slowly trailing down his pelvis. “UhmM…” he gasped at the coldness of your hand, then tried to muffle his noises, lips sealed tightly into a thin line. Your freezing fingertips brushed over his erect dick, the temperature was quite different compared to your hand. To think a simple kiss was enough to bring him to this state, poor thing, he won’t be able to handle you.

Then you wrapped your hand around his shaft, squeezing the base a little, “hnngh..!” which immediately yearned you a whine from him. “How cute.” You whispered against his neck, planting kisses on his skin. The gentle motion tickled him, and his body jerked slightly. "D-don't tease me..." Sigma groaned, glaring at you with needy eyes. After riling him up so much, you had to help him get off properly, didn’t you? The other hand was on his cheek, holding his face in place as you devoured that little lamb.

Since, in the end, all of your actions became more aggressive.

At first, you were only giving him a slow-paced hand job, running your palm up and down tenderly. Now, your hand was moving so fast, jerking him off so eagerly that he was shaking in his seat. “Ah.. hiiHhnn~!! That feels to-good..." Sigma admitted between rapid gasps, his breath was ragged and uneven. His heart was also pounding in his chest, all due to the feeling of your skin on his. Just that alone was enough to ignite a fire within him, causing his body to heat up, burn, and be on the verge of exploding.

Was this the effects of his heat, since it’s the first time someone is helping him with it? Other than just moving your hand, you’d also stop at times to tease him or run your thumb over his precum-covered slit. Each time you’d do that, he’d end up twitching hopelessly while more pre covered your hand. A sharp and loud moan would also slip from him, encouraging you to continue. Sticky and disgusting strings of filth would stick to your fingers, making a mess everywhere.

You weren’t sure if you were going overboard or not, considering how messed up he already looked. His face was as red as a tomato and eyes all teary, lips swollen from the previous kiss while he trembled all over. Originally, you were planning on getting him off like this before leaving, but then he just had to say some dirty words to provoke you. “I wa-want ahhh~ more.. fuck me, breed me.. anything♥︎♡” it didn’t take too long until he craved something more intimate than a simple handjob.

The heat was created for one purpose only after all, for mating. So of course he wouldn’t be satisfied with only this. You were mildly aroused yet also skeptical, should you really do it? If yes, then you'll have to prepare him first, which is why your slick-covered fingers slid away from his cock and instead moved downwards until your middle and index finger found his puffy hole. The little lamb jumped at your cold digits that were poking around at his entrance, shivering while you rubbed him there.

“UhhNNhg- d-don’t tease.. stick it in already..!” He almost sounded angry now or frustrated with you. Hands bawled into fists while he waited as patiently as he could, eyes begging you to hurry up. “What’s with that look in your eyes, are you impatient little lamb?” You teased him, watching as he gritted his teeth at you. “I-if you know then.. stop playing.” At this point he couldn’t feel his legs anymore, that was how weak and hot he had become.

Feeling your fingers play with his most embarrassing parts like that was lewder than he expected, he almost wanted to crawl away and hide. Especially: Why did you insist on annoying or teasing him like this? Just get on with it already! To his surprise, you actually did, carefully pushing your finger inside him. Due to how wet they were from his fluids, you didn't need any lube to insert them inside him. The first chuckle went in smoothly, then the second one, until your entire finger was buried inside him.

You started off with one since you didn't want to overwhelm the boy. “Ah-hnNgh.. yes, just like tha-that mhHh..!” He threw his head back already, moaning around your finger. For a second you thought he did this often, because he took your finger suspiciously well, now you were almost sure. Is he already feeling good just from being stretched? That means he's a talent or just a total slut. “Please, moreeee~ !!” Sigma begged you with a melodic voice, his eyes sparkled as he pleaded. In conclusion? He's probably a whore, though who were you to refuse him?

Soon, a second finger joined in. It pushed past his tight muscles and rubbed against his spongy walls. His insides were warm and wet as if he was inviting you to go deeper. You curled your fingers upwards, trying to find his prostate, the sweet spot that would turn him into a mushy little brainless lamb. After a little search, you eventually found it by accident, brushing over this stretchy and special place. “MhhHMM..!? Wa-wait! It feels go-good there, uh-ughmm♡..! What is,, that..?" ” He clenched his fists again, before loosening his grip up and crawling at your back instead.

His question was somehow very innocent, you didn't expect that response. On a side note, those heavenly moans he let out were so perverted, they could have been straight out of a porno. You licked your bottom lip, admiring his pretty features. His long hair that was spread on the king-sized bed, his beautiful face which was slowly getting defiled by you, and his twitching body that was trying to get used to the pleasure you provided him. Truly adorable.

“I’ll go faster now, alright?” You gave him a heads-up before fingering him sloppily, thrusting your fingers in and out of him. His rim would clench around you so erotically each time your finger went deep inside him, creating squelching sounds. Since you’ve found his weak spot already, you started rubbing that spot at every chance you got, basically abusing it. In the beginning, you were only thinking about helping out this manager, but now you were pretty entertained by his reactions.

If you moved only a little differently, he'd already moan and whimper with a different pitch. Damn it, you wanted to fuck him so bad, even though your consciousness is holding you back. Your fingers felt so nice inside him, they were hitting all the right places that he liked. How come you knew his sweet spots as well? And why were you this skilled? It was simply too much for him to handle! All these overstimulations would only cause him to go numb, brain getting fucked out by your touches.

“NghHh.! Yo-you, mHmm, hah.., it’s so good..♡♡” The little lamb was already spouting random nonsense, nails digging into the skin on your back while his eyes rolled to the back of his head. Every time something felt especially nice, his tail would flicker around and ears twitch mindlessly. A pained smile spread around your lips, trying to ignore the chilling sensation of his scratching you. You poured all your energy into pleasuring him, this helpless yet adorable thing.

Despite him scratching your back pretty intensely, you couldn’t bring yourself to tell him to stop. He was only doing this because you were fucking him too well, after all. So you continued to ignore it, in contrary, you fingered him as fast as you could, while your other hand jerked him off at the same time. "HNGhhh- ahHHh, y/nNN!! Y/nn- MHmmm.?!"

What were you thinking?! He won't be able to take much more, really! Heck, he’ll pass out again if you continue—!

“Ah, p-please, pleaseee~! Ughnhh..! Too much- too fa-fast, too harrrd..~♡♥︎!!” What was happening to him, why did his stomach tighten just now? It felt strange as if something was going to come out soon. So many sensations he had never experienced before were swirling inside him, like a whirlpool, it was exhilarating. The way all this pleasure and electricity was traveling through his veins, carrying this heavenly ecstasy to every corner of his body was too much for the boy to handle!

Sigma gasped and whined at that feeling, also at your non-stop pounding. What were you trying to do, poking his insides so much, did you want to rearrange his insides? It's times like this when he feels like he finally saw your true nature, you were like a beast that was about to swallow him whole. God dammit, all of this bliss was rendering him unable to think properly, he could only clench onto you while whining into your ear about it being too much.

Pretty diamond-like tears streamed down his flushed cheeks, mouth agape from his heavy breathing. He looked absolutely pathetic and miserable, so ruined that you wouldn't be able to recognize him in his current state. If having his clothes lying around all disheveled wasn't proof enough, one look at his fucked out face would convince anyone. Even you noticed how his hips trembled and wriggled whenever your finger was filling him up to the brim, you couldn't tell if he was wriggling away or trying to force you deeper inside.

Many shivers and shudders were coursing through his body, ending with him tightening his rim or dick twitching uncontrollably. He must be close, but this soon? Aw, he must have been pent up, what a cute boy. “It’s alright, you can let it allll out~ don’t resist.” You leaned down and whispered into his ear, turning his thoughts into pure chaos. His ear reddened, if that was even humanly possible, and a breathy whine escaped his dry throat. “NghhHH… aAGhhrr, pleaaase♡♡♥︎…”

Now his little tail was wagging around like a dog's, and his tongue was hanging out just like a puppy as well. Should you doubt his identity as a sheep? Gosh, what were you going to do with him, he was way too adorable for his own good. Suddenly, you caressed his white lamb ears, in the process you got some of his precum that was still on your fingers onto his fur. His ears were so soft to the touch that you were amazed.

Then you became bolder and bolder, rubbing the base of his ears or kissing them, licking and biting the tip even. You'd do a large range of things, can one describe it as multitasking? But your favorite activity must be observing his face, watching as he falters and crumbles from your touch. The sight of his face twisting into a dumb and senseless expression was so perverted and erotic, you found it very beautiful.

It was fine for you to indulge like this though, after all, sigma enjoyed all of it. Truly, everything you did to him felt so pleasurable he wondered why he didn't explore these things earlier. Of course, he'd never admit all that to you, since it's way too humiliating, but he was still a pretty prideful man. You were amused, you hadn't had this much fun for what felt like an eternity. After this play, you'll have to thank him, and possibly make him yours.

Hearing his sweet moans and gasps, as well as watching his melting expressions... well, it had been mentioned before already, you adored doing exactly that. While you kept admiring his beauty and gorgeous appearance, you didn’t even notice how his voice gradually increased in volume, signaling his upcoming orgasm. “Ah-hUhhh.!! I-i’m, mHnm- it’s co-coming oouuUUTT, yyy/nNNNNN～♡♡♥︎!!”

Before you could react to his words, he shot out his sticky cum, splattering that thick and filthy thing everywhere. It got on your hands, clothes, and thighs. As well as his belly, chest, legs, or the once-clean bed below him. The poor cleaning service, they'll have to work hard to get this out of the mattress. "Shhhh, it's alright, you did great." You reassured him, pulling your finger out of him after slowly letting him ride out his high. Then you held him so gently he could start crying again.

You didn't expect him to be the emotional type after sex. "NHhh, MHHh-hNGg, y-y/n.. ah..♡ it was so go-good..." A chuckle slipped from your lips, he was complimenting you when he could barely keep his eyes open. Really, how adorable does he want to be? God, you wanted to fuck him so bad that another shiver ran down your spine. "Hey, sigma, do you have enough energy to-" Suddenly you stopped mid-track, eyes widening a little when you realized the situation.

The boy was half-asleep already, eyelids shut and unconscious. "Oh dear, such a weak lamb you are." You commented, but as expected, he didn't give a reaction. Was it really so good that he passed out right after cumming? Guess today isn't the day, fine, that only means you'll have to resume this another time. Doesn’t this mean… you finally have something to look forward to in life.

Another giggle escaped you when you remembered today was a work day. This means he’ll have to miss work because you fucked him too hard. Huh, that has a nice ring to it. Afterwards you leaned down to kiss his forehead, before whispering sickly sweet, “Fine by me, I'll devour you another time then, little lamb.”

Tags: @showtime-ss @thisisnotangel @ghostgoosygoose @i-dont-fooken-know @chuuya-brainrot @allyfoxglove @thigh-o-saur @fallenthemisticalyingyang @fem-dom-roze

Nini!rant:

This was recommended to me by 🎀 anon! I never knew before that lambs go into heat every 16-17 days for about 30 hours. The usual behavours of a sheep/lamb in heat are: nudging, kicking, or pawing with the front legs, low stretching, and pushing. Who would have guessed sheep’s are such horny animals?

If I remember correctly, female lambs start becoming fertile at six - eight months, and male lambs at four - six months. But there were times were the little male lambs impregnated their mothers at the ‘ripe’ age of two months- damn

So, a sheep can give birth about once or twice a year, since they are pregnant for five to six months (I believe), and their fertility rate starts going down once they are seven years old.

477 notes · View notes

kousanosgf · 2 months ago

Text

men, minors dni

sevika x prostitute!reader

sometimes life gets worse, before it becomes better. luckily sevika ready to help you with it.

a\n: i hate how half of this fandom makes "sexy sevika in a brothel" jokes. this was written with the strong despisement for anyone who supports swork and thinks that it's freeing in any shape or form. it's NOT a light one, i'd say, so please be careful with the content you're consuming. also inform me if i should change something about the tags or tws

tw: mention of suicide, not explicit describtion of SA, drug abuse

tags: angst, hurt\comfort (kinda?), no smut (idk if i can call it sfw, sex is mentioned but not with sevika), happy ending

whispers run through the main hall, they won't stop repeating for half an hour at least, every worker and guest is too excited or nervous to be in the haunting dog of zaun's presence. "she's here". "sevika came". it won't be surprising if someone suggests placing a bet who she'll choose next, now that her favorite girl is dead.

well, that's the thing really, you couldn't care less for anyone in here and especially sevika. your best friend is dead and you can't even mourn her properly, because there's always "clients demand our full attention, girls, don't forget that" and "no alcohol or drugs, unless our guests want it, girls". there's numbing pain tugging at you heart, making you want to vomit every time you have to think of your loss and there's no way to drink yourself to oblivion to not feel all this.

so far, the night was calm. the only man for the night left you alone an hour ago after mindlessly fucking you face down into the mattress for couple of minutes and disappearing as soon as he finished. you could only hope for it go as smoothly but luck wasn't on your side for some time now. a shadow looms over before you notice who it belongs to.

you raise your eyes. sevika. "of course," you think, "cause the day needs to get worse".

"are you free?" she asks bluntly. no greetings, no small talk. that's normal really, manageable. it's usually way worse when the client wants to spill all their heartache or frustration before what they actually came for.

"not even gonna buy girl a drink?" you try to put on your prettiest face, smiling coyly and frowning in a fake pout, hoping she'll let you get at least a bit drunk.

"no, come on". she just turns around and heads towards the second floor to the private rooms.

a scream dies somewhere on a tip of your tongue, leaving sour taste.

you have to hurry after her, people as powerful as sevika hate nothing more than to wait and there's no reason to get on her bad side. it's nerve wracking, scary even, to guess what kind of client she will be. there're not much women who come here and not one of them has ever chosen you. a risk of sevika getting frustrated and dissatisfied with your inexperience is high and definitely not what you want since if the customer is angry then madame is angry and you'll be punished in some way.

you take a look at sevika again, following her step by step. she holds herself with great confidence, understandable for someone with such a status, broad shoulders, perfect posture, full heavy steps that make people move out of her path.

you reach the room finally, dreadfully. sevika sits down in the chair waiting for you to lock the door. as you do so, you turn back to her, sliding the straps off your minidress down.

"wait, no." sevika stops you. "i'm not here for this. just sit down." she gestures to the bed and you follow her orders, confused but not daring to ask.

the silence follows. you sit in your place trying not to breathe too hard, a blank expression on your face, while sevika thinks something through.

"you knew yana?" you basically jump in place, hearing your friend's name. "i mean... she was your friend?"

"she is my friend." you snap unexpectedly even for yourself but don't correct the words or make an attempt at apologizing no matter how dangerous that move is.

the corner of sevika's lip rises a little in a smirk but it's gone as fast as it appeared.

"she's dead." "doesn't change the fact that she's my friend." gods, why can't you shut up.

there's a pure rage boiling inside of you. it's painful when no one in this fucking place took time to acknowledged her death. another whore killing herself, what's the news really? but this... it's worse, the way sevika seems more amused with the fact than, you don't know, at least sad that one of her favorites is no longer here.

silence again. sevika studies you like she's trying to find something. the gaze is different from what you usually get from customers, burning, suffocating glances of men who look you over, imagine what you would look like naked under them before making there choice and passing several bills to madame.

"you have a lot of friends here?" what the fuck is she on about?

"i don't run my mouth if that's what you need."

"that's not what i asked." the smirk again. "but whatever."

she lights a cigarette and makes a few puffs. as the smell reaches you, you can't help but scrunch your nose, never appreciative of the smell. as she sees your dissatisfaction, she clicks her tongue and reaches for the ashtray, putting the cigarette down.

"here's what we gonna do. i'll sleep here till morning and you just... i don't know, do your thing? sleep too?" she waves her hand in the air.

you have to take a moment before her words actually lock in. "what?" sevika doesn't strike you as the type to use some euphemisms when she talks about sex, "sleep" here actually seems like she means it.

"you heard me. i already paid for the whole night if you're worried about it." she gives no further explanation and just leans back, dropping her head on the chair and closing her eyes. it's better not to disturb her. there's not much to say or do for you so you just sit there for a while, listening to the steady breathing and fall asleep yourself, not ready to give up a prospect of a calm night. when you wake up in the morning, sevika isn't there.

she comes and goes. for the last two weeks sevika visited you almost every day. the nights go basically the same. nothing much happens, though she becomes more and more chatty with every meeting.

you know her favorite food, know how her day went, know what she thinks about every chem-baron. in return sevika knows what're your favorite flowers, knows what your childhood was like, knows how you got into the brothel.

she's always so nonchalant about her questions, trying not to make a big deal out of it, like she's simply asking to fill the space. but working in a place like this teaches you read people easily and it becomes clear very quickly that sevika is actually searching for something. you're not sure if it's safe to give her the information she wants to hear but it's been too long since you had a person to talk to. it becomes easy to pretend like she actually interested in your stories and opinions.

she also now sleeps in a bed with you, leaving her place in the chair on the third night when you offer it yourself. she's one of those people who can fall asleep on a whim anywhere and anytime, you guess. or she's just very good at pretending.

and when she does fall asleep you lie awake, looking at her, replaying everything she said earlier in your head, trying to make sense of it, of her.

you get caught eventually. one night she just opens her eyes as she wakes up (if she's slept at all) and looks straight at you. both of you lie on your sides, facing each other. nothing is said for good five minutes, she's studying your features as well as you do hers in a dim glow of the lamp post outside the window.

"wanna know a secret?" sevika finally breaks the comfortable silence, a light smirk on her lips. you nod your head slowly, not breaking the eye contact.

"i'm getting you out of here."

the sentence doesn't register, so you have to ask her to repeat it.

"i'm getting. you. out." she says again, slowly, dividing the words.

you rise up swiftly, leaning yourself on the elbow. "you're not funny." of course it's some twisted joke, what else could it be. anger ready to overtake you easily.

the smirk grows wider on her face. "im serious, sweetheart."

that's when she tells you. probably the craziest thing you've ever heard. her visits to the brothel were never for any sexual pleasures, mostly getting intel for her and, by extant, silco's plans. till couple of months ago when she took on a mission of getting such a business out of zaun.

yana was suppose to be one of the first women who sevika and her team would save. they were late in the end.

"why didn't you tell her?" you ask partially frustrated at the coincidence of circumstances and sevika. if only yana knew that the help was on the way, she would still be alive, probably free from her prison. instead she just couldn't handle the life she thought she's bound to till her dying day or when she'll become old enough for madame to throw her out on the streets cause she wouldn't bring enough money.

"i was afraid to risk it, she was too unstable to be trusted such an information for a long term." sevika sighs heavily, dragging a hand through her face. "that was a wrong move on my end."

"and yet you're telling me this two weeks later? there were no guarantee for you that i wouldn't do the same."

"i... had to take a gamble. i knew basically nothing about you before. yana did share some stories but that wasn't enough to ease my anxieties."

you talk and talk and talk. about yana, about your life here. you throw question after question to her and she doesn't seem to get tired of answering you.

"why me? or why... not everyone at once?"

"it's impossible to do this in one go without much practice. look at this as us dipping toes in the water."

"so i'm a guinea pig?" sevika opens her mouth to argue but closes it immediately, realizing that you're only teasing her.

"no, you're something i can fix. give me a week more, okay?" she says it with such confidence in her voice that you got nothing else to do but to believe her.

sevika comes every night now, trying to take as much as she can of your working time so others won't get to you. there's a slight tug of guilt somewhere in your heart, because there's probably girls in the brothel who need this more, who can handle less than you, who just got here and weren't that much ruined with the way people treat them like some meat to jerk off to.

"your arm."

you look over yourself. it is an old bruise that got her concerned, one of the clients getting too harsh. you don't remember much, he let you have a blunt, you didn't ask of what, before everything occurred. it's yellow already, few days more and it'll disappear.

"fuck. probably smudged my makeup somewhere."

sevika's look is heavy, fixed on the spot.

"it's nothing, don't worry."

"it's not nothing." she's now looking straight into your eyes, there's a dangerous fire gleaming and it's impossible to hold her gaze so you just look to the side, noticing her fingers digging into an armrest. it is not nothing, you both know that. but all you can think of is that you would love to feel sevika's palm on you, covering the damned bruise, letting you dream it was never there.

no, you deserve to run as much as the next person. and it's not like you're gonna be the only one. like sevika told you, it's only the beginning.

"good news", sevika says and there's a smile on her face. you're not sure if you ever saw her smile. not a grin or a smirk that she gives everyone here but a genuine, warm smile. she looks lovely with it and you can't help but smile too back at her, not even knowing the reason.

"like what?"

the morning air is cool, autumn starts to take the reigns of nature. there's only a set of underwear and a nightgown on you so you shiver and hug yourself. you couldn't take any of your belongings, she said yesterday night, when she finally announced that it's time to set the plans in motion. some kind of big cloth, a poncho, you regester not as fast as you'd like to, lends on your shoulders, warm from the body heat of it's owner.

"sorry, that's all i got for now. need to get to the safe house, have actually some clothes for you."

you nod dumbfounded and just follow her. everything feels like a dream really, that about to be ripped away and you'll simply wake up back in the room that smells of head numbing incenses, ready to greet another customer.

you look over the clothes she gave you, simple pair of brown jeans, a black turtleneck and a jacket. the jeans are a size too big for you but nothing a belt can't fix.

"the plans to get you out changed so quick, i completely forgot to buy something your size."

"was it for her?" you don't need the answer, you know it already.

"yeah."

there're tears falling down that you can't control. you cry silently, turned away from sevika. you're not sure if she actually doesn't notice or just wants to give you space when she finally says "alright, gonna step out for you to change, meet me in the kitchen when you're ready."

as she takes a step to the door you lounge yourself at her, grabbing calloused hand and tugging it to your waist, looking for contact. now only you can do is cry, your sobs becoming louder and louder, your throat hurts like hell, you won't be able to speak later for sure.

there's a stream of "thankyouthankyouthankyou" coming from your mouth, your body basically presses inside sevika's. she doesn't answer. her other hand gently covers the crown of your head, guiding your tearful face to her chest and she lets you rest it there.

#arcane #sevika #sevika x reader #sevika x y/n

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kaboom--bitch · 2 months ago

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"I think I'd notice if you were a system, I've never seen you switch or any signs saying you would be one"

Because people don't notice until they look for it. Singlets just assume we're having a weird day. Or we're sick. Or we're tired. Or we got a headache all of a sudden. Even though we're fairly covert from an outsiders perspective IRL, or if we're trying to mask, the people who care can usually tell that something is different.

People who actually know and understand and believe that we're a system will learn. They'll be able to see things change, at least some of the time, even if those signs are so so tiny. If singlets are supportive, they can notice the signs that are there pretty surprisingly quick, down to being able to guess who's fronting for us on occasion.

People who are sceptical from the beginning won't be actually paying attention. People that fakeclaim others tend to be looking for reasons to not believe you. Obviously systems vary in how they present and not every system has to present in a way that's noticeable, which absolutely doesn't make any of them fake. But if you do think your system is noticeable and people are saying you must be faking because they could never tell, then it's very likely they're ignoring the signs in favour of their own agenda. If their mind is closed, their eyes might as well be too. Don't let that break your confidence.

#alterhuman #plural #pluralgang #cdd inclus #plurality #actually plural #pluralpunk #plurpunk #systempunk #syspunk #cdd system #actually did #osddid #dissociative identity disorder #plural system #plural pride #quoigenic #op

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songbirdseung · 5 months ago

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love potion / lee heeseung - requested

at Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry, Lee Heeseung and you have always been rivals, each determined to outshine the other in every class, duel, and academic challenge. their heated competition has been the talk of the school since their first year, with neither willing to back down or admit any weakness. but when a special project forces them to work together, they begin to see each other in a new light. wc 14k genre hogwarts au, academic rivals au, enemies to lovers warnings im not a potterhead, so if my references or knowledge is off, i apologize thank you anon for the request

you were calmly making your way through the crowd toward the bulletin board, where the top students in astronomy would soon be announced. head held high with the confidence that your name would remain at the top, you moved forward as the other students stepped aside. you nodded in silent thanks, then waited for the results.

"well, isn't it my best friend, yn." of course, it was him. you looked to your left, offering the tall male a fake smile.

"heeseung."

"yn."

your enemy, your arch-nemesis, your rival—lee heeseung. a gryffindor with a knack for pushing your buttons and getting under your skin. he never missed a chance to challenge you, always eager to knock you off your pedestal.

"my favorite ravenclaw, ready to step down a rank?" he teased, his chuckle following as you rolled your eyes.

"still dreaming?" you nudged him, turning your attention back to the board.

you and heeseung had been the top students in your year since your very first day at hogwarts. your rivalry was as old as your time at the school, with each of you trying to outdo the other in every subject, every exam, and every challenge that came your way. both of you were fiercely competitive, and your battle for the number one spot was legendary among your peers.

yet, despite the constant competition, there was a mutual respect between you—an unspoken acknowledgment of each other's talent and determination. but that didn’t stop either of you from doing whatever it took to come out on top. today was no different, and as the results were about to be revealed, the tension between you was palpable.

"let's see if the results speak for themselves," you muttered, eyes locked on the board as the names started to appear.

"i guess we'll find out," heeseung replied, his tone teasing but with an edge of anticipation.

as you stood there, waiting for the results, your mind drifted back to your first year at hogwarts—back to when this rivalry with heeseung began.

it had all started in your first potions class. you were both twelve, eager to prove yourselves, and it didn’t take long for sparks to fly. professor snape had just finished explaining the day’s assignment, a simple potion to test your skills. you were confident, already preparing your ingredients with precision, when you noticed him glancing your way.

“think you can manage this without blowing up your cauldron?” heeseung had whispered, his voice dripping with sarcasm.

“worry about your own potion, heeseung,” you shot back, not even bothering to look up. but the challenge in his tone was unmistakable, and you felt a surge of determination to outdo him.

the class had been tense, the air thick with unspoken competition. every movement he made, every precise cut of his ingredients, only fueled your resolve. you’d both finished your potions at nearly the same time, and when professor snape evaluated them, he had given you both identical marks—top scores, of course. neither of you had been satisfied with the tie.

from that day on, it was a constant game of one-upmanship. every assignment, every test, every chance to prove who was the better student was met with the same intensity. your interactions were always tense, filled with sarcastic remarks and thinly veiled insults, but there was something else there too—an undeniable spark that kept you both on your toes.

as the memory faded, you found yourself back in the present, standing next to heeseung once again. the tension between you was still there, just as it had been from the start.

the results began to appear on the board, each name materializing in glowing script. your eyes scanned the list, heart pounding in anticipation. then, you saw it—your name, right at the top where it belonged.

a breath of relief escaped your lips, quickly followed by a triumphant smile. you had done it. again.

right beneath your name, heeseung’s appeared, just a point behind you. so close, yet not close enough.

heeseung’s eyes narrowed as he took in the results, his usual smirk faltering for just a moment. “looks like you’re still holding on,” he said, the edge in his voice impossible to miss.

“just barely,” you replied, unable to resist the dig. “maybe next time, heeseung.”

he let out a short laugh, shaking his head. “we’ll see about that. enjoy it while it lasts.”

you met his gaze, the familiar mix of rivalry and respect sparking between you. there was no need for more words; the scoreboard had spoken. but as you turned to leave, you couldn’t shake the feeling that this battle was far from over. heeseung was nothing if not persistent, and you knew he’d be back, ready to challenge you again.

the following week, the rivalry between you and heeseung only intensified. it was an unspoken rule now—every class, every moment, was a new battleground.

in defense against the dark arts, professor lupin had just paired you with heeseung for a dueling exercise. as you stood across from each other, wands at the ready, the air was thick with tension. the rest of the class watched in anticipation, fully aware of the competitive history between the two of you.

“expelliarmus!” heeseung was quick, but you were quicker, deflecting his spell with ease before countering with a well-aimed “protego!” the duel was fast-paced, each of you pushing the other to the limit, neither willing to back down. the room buzzed with energy as your classmates murmured, eyes glued to the battle unfolding before them.

it wasn’t just in defense against the dark arts where the competition was fierce. in every class, you and heeseung were neck and neck, always vying for the top spot. whether it was transfiguration, potions, or charms, the two of you were constantly being compared—by your peers, by the professors, and even by yourselves.

“excellent work, miss yn,” professor mcgonagall would say, only to follow it with, “and you too, mr. heeseung, as always.” there was no escaping the constant comparisons, the subtle remarks from professors who couldn’t help but pit you against each other.

your classmates had started to place bets on who would come out on top in the next exam or who would win the next duel. it was as if your rivalry had become a sport, a source of entertainment for the entire school.

as the duel between you and heeseung reached its peak, a burst of laughter erupted from the back of the room. jay, jake, and ni-ki, heeseung’s closest friends, had been watching the entire time, their eyes glinting with amusement.

“you two are at it again,” jay called out, his tone teasing. “honestly, yn, you’re going to give heeseung a complex if you keep this up.”

jake smirked, leaning against the wall with a casual air. “or maybe it’s the other way around? heeseung, don’t tell me you’re going easy on her.”

heeseung shot them a look, a mix of irritation and amusement flashing in his eyes. “as if. you know i never back down from a challenge.”

ni-ki, the youngest of the group, couldn’t help but add, “this is getting good. professor lupin should just let you two go at it every class. way more interesting than the usual lessons.”

you rolled your eyes at their comments, but couldn’t help the slight grin that tugged at your lips. their banter was all part of the routine now, just like your rivalry with heeseung. still, you weren’t about to let their remarks distract you.

“you might want to focus, heeseung,” you said, your voice dripping with mock sweetness. “i’d hate for your friends to see you lose.”

heeseung’s gaze snapped back to you, the competitive fire in his eyes reigniting. “oh, i’m focused,” he replied, his tone low and determined. “let’s see if you can keep up.”

with that, the duel resumed, your wands clashing with renewed intensity. jay, jake, and ni-ki continued to make their remarks, laughing and egging heeseung on, but you tuned them out. all that mattered was winning—proving that you were still the best, even with the added pressure of an audience.

the room seemed to hold its breath as you and heeseung traded spells, each trying to outmaneuver the other. you could feel the eyes of your classmates on you, the whispers and murmurs growing louder with each passing second.

finally, professor lupin stepped in, raising his wand to separate the two of you. “enough, that’s enough,” he said, though there was a hint of a smile on his face. “excellent dueling, both of you. i think that’s enough excitement for one class.”

you and heeseung lowered your wands, breathing heavily but refusing to break eye contact. jay, jake, and ni-ki applauded, their laughter filling the room as they moved to join heeseung, slapping him on the back and throwing more teasing comments his way.

“nice try, yn,” jay said with a grin. “but you know heeseung’s just getting warmed up.”

“we’ll see about that,” you replied, your competitive spirit as strong as ever. you knew this wasn’t the end—far from it.

class ended, but the tension between you and heeseung lingered like a storm cloud. as the students filed out of the classroom, you gathered your things, feeling a simmering frustration that you couldn't quite shake. heeseung, flanked by jay, jake, and ni-ki, was the last to leave, and you could feel his gaze on you as you shoved your books into your bag.

"you really think you can keep this up forever?" heeseung's voice cut through the air, stopping you in your tracks. you turned to face him, your eyes flashing with anger.

"what’s that supposed to mean?" you snapped, your patience wearing thin.

heeseung stepped closer, his expression hardening. "you act like you're invincible, yn. like no one can touch you. but newsflash: you’re not unbeatable."

you took a step forward, refusing to back down. "and you act like you're the only one who can challenge me. but you’re always just a step behind, aren’t you?"

jay, jake, and ni-ki exchanged glances, sensing the rising tension but staying silent, their eyes flicking between you and heeseung.

"maybe it’s time you realized that being at the top isn’t just about grades," heeseung shot back, his voice low and edged with frustration. "it’s about how you handle the pressure, how you treat the people around you. and from where I’m standing, you’ve got a lot to learn."

the words stung, and you felt your cheeks flush with anger. "and what about you, heeseung? always so smug, always so sure you’re going to knock me down. newsflash: you haven’t succeeded yet."

heeseung’s jaw tightened, and for a moment, you saw a flicker of something more—something almost vulnerable. but it was gone as quickly as it appeared, replaced by the familiar competitive fire.

"we’ll see about that," he said, his voice barely above a whisper. "this isn’t over, yn. not by a long shot."

you glared at him, your heart pounding in your chest. "bring it on, heeseung."

with that, you turned on your heel and stormed out of the classroom, leaving heeseung and his friends behind. the echoes of your argument lingered in the hallway, a testament to the fierce rivalry that defined your time at hogwarts.

as you stormed down the corridor, trying to push the argument with heeseung out of your mind, you heard hurried footsteps behind you. before you could turn, sunoo, jungwon, and sunghoon appeared at your side, concern written all over their faces.

“yn, wait up!” sunoo called out, his tone softer than usual. when he caught sight of your expression, his eyes widened. “what happened? you look like you’re about to hex someone.”

jungwon shot a worried glance at sunoo before focusing on you. “was it heeseung again? we saw him talking to you after class.”

you let out a frustrated sigh, running a hand through your hair as you tried to calm yourself down. “yeah, it was heeseung. who else would it be?”

sunghoon, always the calm and collected one, placed a reassuring hand on your shoulder. “you can’t let him get to you like this, yn. he’s just trying to mess with your head.”

“i know,” you muttered, but the anger still simmered beneath the surface. “it’s just—he gets under my skin so easily. he acts like he’s always just one step away from beating me, and it drives me crazy.”

sunoo, ever the empathetic one, frowned. “but you always come out on top, yn. you know that. heeseung’s just trying to throw you off your game.”

jungwon nodded in agreement. “and we’re here to make sure he doesn’t. you’re better than him, and you know it.”

you couldn’t help but feel a bit of the tension ease at their words. they always knew how to pull you back from the edge, reminding you of your strengths and why you were the top student.

“thanks, guys,” you said, managing a small smile. “i just… i don’t know why he gets to me like this.”

sunghoon gave your shoulder a gentle squeeze. “because he’s your rival. it’s natural. but remember, we’re all in this together. we’ve got your back, no matter what.”

sunoo grinned, his usual brightness returning. “and if heeseung gives you any more trouble, we’ll deal with him. right, guys?”

jungwon and sunghoon both nodded, their expressions determined. “absolutely,” jungwon added. “you’re not alone in this, yn.”

their support brought a wave of relief, and you felt the anger start to dissipate, replaced by a renewed sense of determination. with friends like these by your side, you knew you could handle whatever heeseung—and the rivalry—threw your way.

“thanks,” you said again, this time with more confidence. “i needed that.”

“anytime,” sunghoon replied with a smile. “now, how about we grab something from the kitchens? nothing like a good snack to take your mind off things.”

sunoo’s eyes lit up at the suggestion. “great idea! let’s go.”

the next morning, you sat in transfiguration, trying to focus as professor mcgonagall addressed the class. but your mind was still replaying the argument with heeseung from the day before, the tension between the two of you lingering like a dark cloud.

“today, we will begin a special project,” professor mcgonagall announced, her stern gaze sweeping across the room. “this project will require you to work in pairs, combining your knowledge and skills to complete a challenging task over the next few weeks.”

the class buzzed with excitement and nervous whispers as students exchanged glances, already wondering who they’d be paired with. you exchanged a quick look with sunoo, who was sitting beside you, silently hoping you’d get paired with one of your friends.

professor mcgonagall continued, her voice cutting through the chatter. “i’ve taken the liberty of assigning the pairs myself. the purpose of this project is not only to test your abilities but also to challenge you to work effectively with others.”

your heart sank at the mention of assigned pairs. you braced yourself, hoping for the best but expecting the worst.

“yn,” professor mcgonagall’s voice rang out, and your stomach tightened with anxiety. “you will be paired with… heeseung.”

a collective gasp and a few stifled giggles spread through the classroom as your worst fear was confirmed. your eyes darted to heeseung, who was sitting a few rows away. his expression mirrored your own—shock, followed by a flash of irritation.

sunoo, sitting next to you, shot you a sympathetic look. “i can’t believe this,” he whispered, his voice filled with disbelief.

“there must be some mistake,” you muttered under your breath, but you knew there wasn’t. professor mcgonagall’s decisions were final, and there was no way out of this.

heeseung’s friends, jay, jake, and ni-ki, exchanged amused glances, barely containing their laughter. ni-ki leaned over and whispered something to heeseung, who responded with a roll of his eyes and a barely concealed grimace.

“i expect both of you to put your differences aside and work together,” professor mcgonagall added, her tone leaving no room for argument. “this project is a significant part of your grade, and i trust you’ll take it seriously.”

you swallowed hard, trying to keep your composure as the rest of the pairs were announced. by the time professor mcgonagall finished, your mind was racing with a thousand thoughts, all centered around the fact that you were now stuck working with heeseung.

as class ended, you gathered your things slowly, dreading the inevitable conversation with him. you could already feel the tension building, the animosity between you growing thicker by the second.

heeseung approached you, his expression unreadable. for a moment, the two of you just stared at each other, the weight of the situation hanging heavy in the air.

“well,” he finally said, his tone clipped. “looks like we’re stuck together.”

“it’s not like i’m thrilled about this either,” you shot back, your frustration bubbling to the surface. “but i’m not about to let this project tank my grade, so let’s just get it over with.”

heeseung’s eyes narrowed slightly, but he nodded in agreement. “fine. but don’t think for a second that i’m going to go easy on you.”

“i wouldn’t expect you to,” you replied, your voice firm.

despite your protests and the obvious tension between you and heeseung, there was no escaping the inevitable. the project was set in stone, and you both knew there was no way out of it. after class, professor mcgonagall handed each pair a parchment detailing their assigned project. as you and heeseung opened yours, the complexity of the task became immediately clear.

“ancient magical artifacts?” you muttered, scanning the details. “we’re supposed to research, analyze, and present our findings on three different artifacts from the restricted section?”

heeseung frowned, clearly not thrilled either. “and we have to perform a demonstration of how they were used in their time? this is going to be a nightmare.”

“it’s not like we have a choice,” you replied, trying to keep the frustration out of your voice. “we’ll need to go to the restricted section as soon as possible to get started.”

heeseung glanced at you, a mixture of reluctance and resignation in his eyes. “yeah, I guess so. let’s just get this over with.”

the two of you made your way to the library, the tension between you palpable. as you walked in silence, you couldn’t help but reflect on how strange this situation was. after years of rivalry and animosity, you were now forced to work together on one of the most challenging projects either of you had ever faced.

in the library, you approached madam pince, the stern librarian who guarded the restricted section with an iron fist. after showing her your parchment and explaining the project, she reluctantly allowed you both access, though not without a sharp warning to handle the books with care.

once inside the restricted section, you and heeseung began the painstaking process of searching for information on the artifacts. the atmosphere was heavy, the air thick with the scent of old parchment and dust. as you leafed through ancient tomes and scrolls, the silence between you grew more uncomfortable by the minute.

finally, heeseung broke the silence. “look, we need to split this up if we’re going to get anywhere. how about we each take one artifact to research on our own, and then we’ll work on the third together?”

you looked up from the book you were skimming, considering his proposal. “fine,” you agreed, though you couldn’t help the edge in your voice. “but we need to make sure we’re thorough. this project is going to be tough, and i’m not about to let my grade suffer because of sloppy work.”

heeseung shot you a sharp look. “i’m not sloppy, yn. i know how to handle a project like this. just focus on your part, and i’ll focus on mine.”

you sighed, biting back a retort. the last thing you needed was another argument. “fine,” you repeated, turning back to the book in front of you. “let’s just get this done.”

as the hours passed, you and heeseung worked in near silence, occasionally exchanging a terse comment or asking a quick question, but mostly staying in your own worlds. the artifacts you were researching were fascinating—each one held powerful magic and a rich history—but the tension between you and heeseung made it hard to focus.

by the time you’d gathered enough information to start working on your individual parts, the sun had begun to set outside, casting long shadows across the library. you closed your book with a tired sigh, glancing at heeseung, who was still deep in his research.

“we should call it a day,” you said, breaking the silence. “we can start writing up our findings tomorrow.”

heeseung looked up, his expression unreadable. “yeah, we’ll need to if we want to stay on track.”

you both gathered your things, and as you left the library, the weight of the project—and your partnership—settled heavily on your shoulders. it was clear that this collaboration was going to be anything but easy. the animosity between you and heeseung was still there, simmering just beneath the surface, but now it was mixed with something else—an uneasy alliance, born out of necessity rather than choice.

as you walked back to your common room, you couldn’t help but wonder how you were going to survive the next few weeks. the project was complex, the stakes were high, and you were stuck working with the one person who always seemed to bring out the worst in you.

but despite the tension and the challenges ahead, one thing was certain: you weren’t going to let heeseung beat you. not now, not ever.

the next few days were a blur of bickering, frustration, and barely suppressed anger as you and heeseung tried to navigate the complexities of your project. from the moment you met up in the library each day, the tension between you was almost unbearable, and it didn’t take long for the disagreements to start.

“we need to focus more on the historical context,” you insisted one afternoon, your voice rising in frustration. “the way these artifacts were used is just as important as the magic they contain.”

heeseung rolled his eyes, clearly not in the mood to agree. “we can’t get bogged down in the history, yn. the practical applications of the magic are what really matter. if we don’t demonstrate that, our project is going to fall flat.”

you shot him a glare, feeling your temper flare. “and if we ignore the history, we’ll miss the whole point of why these artifacts are important in the first place. it’s not just about the magic—it’s about the people who used it and how it shaped their lives.”

heeseung crossed his arms, clearly not convinced. “fine, but we can’t spend all our time on that. we need to strike a balance, or we’re going to run out of time.”

“then maybe if you’d actually listen to my ideas instead of dismissing them, we wouldn’t be wasting so much time arguing,” you snapped back, your patience wearing thin.

heeseung’s eyes narrowed, and for a moment, you thought he might argue further. but instead, he took a deep breath and seemed to force himself to calm down. “fine,” he said through gritted teeth. “let’s focus on the history for now, but we’re going to need to move on to the practical demonstrations soon. agreed?”

you hesitated, still feeling the sting of his earlier dismissal, but you knew he was right about the time constraints. “agreed,” you muttered, though your frustration was still simmering just beneath the surface.

the rest of the afternoon continued in much the same way, with the two of you struggling to find common ground. every decision—whether it was about the structure of your presentation, the content of your research, or the approach to your demonstrations—seemed to turn into a battle of wills, with neither of you willing to back down easily.

“i think we should use the hand of glory for our demonstration,” heeseung said during one particularly heated discussion. “it’s one of the most powerful artifacts we’re studying, and it’ll make a big impact.”

you frowned, shaking your head. “it’s too dangerous. we don’t know enough about how it works, and if we make a mistake, we could end up causing real harm. the bezoar stone is a safer option, and it still has a lot of practical applications.”

“safe isn’t going to impress professor mcgonagall,” heeseung shot back, his tone sharp. “we need to take risks if we want to stand out.”

“and what if those risks backfire?” you countered, refusing to budge. “we’re not going to get any points if we end up in the hospital wing because of a careless mistake.”

the argument dragged on, neither of you willing to concede, until finally, heeseung threw up his hands in exasperation. “fine, we’ll go with the bezoar stone, but you’d better make sure it’s impressive.”

you bit back a retort, knowing that continuing to argue would only waste more time. “i will,” you said curtly, turning back to your notes.

something began to shift as you and heeseung spent more time together. the initial days of your partnership were filled with nothing but tension and stubbornness, but slowly, almost imperceptibly, you started to notice things about him that you hadn’t before.

one evening, while you were both deep in the restricted section of the library, you watched as heeseung meticulously transcribed information from a particularly ancient text. his brow was furrowed in concentration, and there was an intensity in his eyes that you hadn’t seen before. it was clear that he was deeply invested in the project, despite his earlier dismissive attitude.

“you’re really into this, aren’t you?” you found yourself saying, unable to keep the surprise out of your voice.

heeseung looked up, momentarily startled by the lack of sarcasm in your tone. “of course i am,” he replied, a bit defensively. “just because we don’t see eye to eye on everything doesn’t mean i don’t care about this project.”

you nodded slowly, feeling a small flicker of respect for his dedication. “i guess i just didn’t expect you to be so… thorough.”

heeseung shrugged, but there was a hint of pride in his expression. “i take my work seriously. especially when it’s something as challenging as this.”

you didn’t say anything more, but as you turned back to your own research, you couldn’t help but think about how different heeseung was when he wasn’t trying to one-up you. beneath the rivalry and the bravado, there was a serious, determined student who was just as passionate about his studies as you were.

over the next few days, you began to notice other things too—small details that hinted at a side of heeseung you hadn’t seen before. the way he’d quietly stay late in the library, long after you were ready to call it a night, making sure every detail of your project was perfect. the way he’d occasionally offer a rare word of praise when you made a breakthrough, even if it was grudgingly given. and the way his expression would soften, just for a moment, when he thought you weren’t looking, revealing a vulnerability that he usually kept hidden behind his confident exterior.

in turn, you sensed that heeseung was starting to see you in a different light as well. you caught him watching you sometimes, a thoughtful look in his eyes, as if he was reevaluating everything he’d thought about you. when you made a particularly strong argument or came up with a clever solution to a problem, there was a flicker of something like admiration in his gaze, though he was careful to hide it most of the time.

one afternoon, while you were both working in a quiet corner of the library, you noticed heeseung struggling with a particularly complicated spell that was central to your project. he was trying to recreate the effects of the spell using a detailed diagram, but no matter how many times he tried, the results weren’t quite right.

“here,” you said, surprising both of you as you reached out to help. “let me see.”

heeseung hesitated for a moment, clearly not used to accepting help from you, but eventually, he handed over the parchment. you studied the diagram for a moment, then adjusted a few key elements, altering the flow of the magical energy.

“try it now,” you suggested, handing the parchment back.

heeseung glanced at you, then at the parchment, before nodding. he carefully followed the adjustments you’d made, and this time, the spell came together perfectly, the magical energy aligning just as it should.

he looked at you, a mix of surprise and gratitude in his eyes. “how did you…?”

“you were overthinking it,” you explained with a small shrug. “sometimes the simplest solution is the best one.”

heeseung stared at you for a moment longer, and you could almost see the gears turning in his mind as he processed what had just happened. then, to your surprise, he offered a small, genuine smile—one that lacked the usual competitive edge.

“thanks,” he said quietly, and for the first time, it felt like he was speaking to you as a person, not just as his rival.

“don’t mention it,” you replied, feeling a strange warmth in your chest at the unexpected moment of connection.

from that point on, the dynamic between you and heeseung began to shift, bit by bit.

it was another late night in the library, the kind that had become all too familiar over the past few weeks. the moonlight filtered through the tall windows, casting long shadows across the room as you and heeseung worked in relative silence. the only sounds were the soft scratching of quills on parchment and the occasional rustle of pages being turned.

you had been at it for hours, piecing together the final sections of your project. exhaustion was beginning to take its toll, but neither of you was willing to call it quits just yet. there was too much at stake, and the deadline was looming ever closer.

“we’re almost there,” heeseung said, his voice low and slightly hoarse from lack of sleep. “just a few more details to iron out.”

you nodded, stifling a yawn as you scribbled down some final notes. “yeah, but we need to make sure everything’s perfect. professor mcgonagall isn’t going to go easy on us.”

heeseung snorted softly. “she never does.”

for a while, you both worked in comfortable silence, the earlier tension between you having dissipated over the course of your collaboration. it was strange how the rivalry that had once defined your interactions had gradually given way to a kind of mutual understanding. you still didn’t always agree, but there was a new level of respect that hadn’t been there before.

as the clock ticked closer to midnight, you leaned back in your chair, rubbing your tired eyes. “i can’t believe we’re actually going to pull this off.”

heeseung glanced up from his work, a faint smile tugging at the corners of his lips. “yeah, who would’ve thought?”

you chuckled softly, the sound a little weary but genuine. “certainly not me.”

for a moment, you both just sat there, the weight of the past few weeks settling over you. it had been an intense and challenging journey, one that had pushed both of you to your limits. and now, as the project neared completion, there was a strange sense of camaraderie between you—something that felt almost foreign after years of animosity.

“why do you push yourself so hard, yn?” heeseung’s voice broke the silence, catching you off guard. “i mean, we’ve been competing for so long, but i never really knew why you’re so driven. what’s your reason?”

you blinked, surprised by the question. it wasn’t something you’d ever expected him to ask, let alone something you’d planned to share. but there was something about the quiet intimacy of the moment, the exhaustion and the late hour, that made you feel like maybe—just maybe—you could let your guard down, if only a little.

“it’s… complicated,” you began, your voice hesitant as you searched for the right words. “i guess it all started with my family. they’ve always had high expectations, you know? being a ravenclaw, there’s this constant pressure to be the best, to excel in everything. my parents—they were both top of their class when they were here, and they expect the same from me. i’ve always felt like i had to prove myself, to show them that i’m just as good, if not better.”

heeseung listened quietly, his expression thoughtful as you spoke. you could see a flicker of understanding in his eyes, like he was beginning to piece together parts of you that he hadn’t seen before.

“it’s exhausting,” you admitted, feeling a little vulnerable. “sometimes it feels like no matter what i do, it’s never enough. so i keep pushing myself, hoping that maybe, one day, i’ll finally be able to meet their expectations.”

there was a long pause, the silence between you filled with unspoken emotions. then, to your surprise, heeseung spoke up, his voice unusually soft. “i get it. i mean, it’s different for me, but… i get it.”

you looked at him, curiosity piqued. “what do you mean?”

heeseung hesitated for a moment, as if debating whether or not to share. but then, he sighed, running a hand through his messy hair. “my family’s different. they’re not as focused on academics, but… they’ve always been there for me, supporting me in everything i do. i know how lucky i am to have that, but it also means i don’t want to disappoint them. they’ve sacrificed a lot for me to be here, and i feel like i owe it to them to succeed, to make the most of the opportunities they’ve given me.”

you listened, surprised by the honesty in his words. it was a side of heeseung you hadn’t seen before—one that was driven not just by ambition or competition, but by a deep sense of responsibility and gratitude.

“so that’s why you’re always so determined,” you said quietly, beginning to understand. “it’s not just about beating me or being the best—it’s about making sure your family’s sacrifices weren’t in vain.”

heeseung nodded, his expression serious. “yeah, something like that. and i guess… it’s also about proving to myself that i can do it. that i’m not just coasting on their support, but that i’m actually capable of achieving something on my own.”

you both fell silent again, the weight of your shared stories hanging in the air. it was strange, this newfound understanding between you—like a fragile bridge built over years of rivalry and competition. but as you sat there, side by side in the quiet library, you realized that maybe, just maybe, you weren’t so different after all.

“we’ve both been carrying a lot, haven’t we?” you finally said, your voice soft.

heeseung nodded, a faint smile touching his lips. “yeah, we have. but i guess that’s what makes us who we are.”

“rivals,” you said with a small, rueful laugh.

“and maybe something more,” heeseung added, his tone thoughtful.

you looked at him, a little startled by his words, but there was no teasing or challenge in his expression—just a quiet, genuine honesty that you hadn’t expected.

“maybe,” you agreed, feeling a strange warmth in your chest.

as the days passed, the dynamic between you and heeseung continued to evolve —a subtle undertone of respect that hadn’t been there before.

you found yourselves falling into a rhythm, one that surprised you both. there were moments when you’d catch heeseung watching you as you worked, his expression unreadable, as if he were seeing you in a new light. at times, you’d notice yourself doing the same, observing the way he methodically tackled challenges, his determination unyielding.

it was during one of these moments, late at night when the rest of the castle was asleep, that you first began to acknowledge the shift between you. you were both hunched over the same ancient tome, deciphering the intricate details of a particularly difficult spell. without thinking, you leaned closer to see better, your shoulders brushing against each other.

“here, try adjusting the incantation this way,” heeseung suggested, his voice low and steady as he pointed to a line of text. “it should help stabilize the magical flow.”

you followed his suggestion, altering the incantation slightly before attempting the spell again. to your surprise, it worked perfectly, the magical energy aligning just as it should.

“that actually worked,” you said, looking up at him with a mix of surprise and appreciation. “nice catch, heeseung.”

heeseung gave you a small, almost shy smile—one that lacked the usual competitive edge. “thanks. you know, you’re not half bad at this either, yn.”

the unexpected compliment caught you off guard, and for a moment, you weren’t sure how to respond. eventually, you settled for a simple, “you’re not so bad yourself.”

the exchange was brief, but it marked a turning point in your partnership. there were still disagreements and moments of tension, but they were now balanced by a growing sense of camaraderie. you found yourselves working more smoothly together, each of you beginning to trust the other’s judgment in ways you hadn’t before.

during one particularly challenging task, you even surprised yourself by seeking out heeseung’s advice willingly. you were struggling with a particularly tricky potion that was integral to your project, and after several failed attempts, you finally turned to him.

“i can’t seem to get the consistency right,” you admitted, frustration creeping into your voice. “the potion keeps separating, no matter how carefully i follow the instructions.”

heeseung leaned over to inspect your work, his brow furrowing in concentration. “let me see… i think you might be adding the crushed bezoar too early. try mixing it in after the potion reaches a simmer.”

you followed his suggestion, and sure enough, the potion began to come together perfectly, the ingredients blending smoothly.

“how do you do that?” you asked, a mix of admiration and curiosity in your voice. “you always seem to know exactly what’s going wrong.”

heeseung shrugged, but there was a hint of pride in his expression. “i’ve always been good with potions. i guess i just have a knack for it.”

“well, it’s impressive,” you admitted, feeling a twinge of respect for him. “thanks for the help.”

heeseung nodded, his expression softening slightly. “anytime.”

as the days continued to pass, these moments of mutual respect and understanding became more frequent. you found yourself looking forward to the time spent working together, even if you were still reluctant to fully acknowledge it. there was something comforting about the way you could challenge each other, push each other to be better, without the usual undercurrent of animosity.

but despite the growing bond between you, neither of you was quite ready to admit it out loud. the rivalry that had defined your relationship for so long was still there, lingering in the background, and old habits were hard to break. you were both too stubborn, too proud, to fully let go of the competitive edge that had always driven you.

yet, even as you continued to trade barbs and challenge each other, there was a new undercurrent of something else—something that felt almost like friendship, though neither of you would have dared to call it that. it was still too soon, too uncertain, to fully embrace the change. but the first signs were there, undeniable in the way you worked together, in the way you’d begun to see each other as more than just rivals.

one evening, as you were packing up your things after a long day of work, heeseung hesitated before speaking. “you know, yn… we make a pretty good team.”

you paused, surprised by his words. for a moment, you considered brushing it off with a sarcastic remark, but something in his tone stopped you. instead, you found yourself nodding, a small, reluctant smile tugging at your lips. “yeah, we do.”

heeseung smiled back, and for the first time, it felt like a genuine connection—one that went beyond the rivalry that had defined your relationship for so long.

as you both left the library that night, walking side by side through the quiet halls of hogwarts, you couldn’t help but wonder what the future held for you both. the rivalry was still there, but it was no longer the only thing that defined your relationship.

one evening, as you were both working late in the deserted classroom you’d claimed as your project base, the air was thick with tension. the amulet lay on the table between you, glowing faintly with an eerie, pulsating light. you had just finished deciphering a particularly complicated series of runes when heeseung spoke up.

“we need to be careful with this next part,” he said, his voice low and serious. “the spell to activate the amulet’s power is extremely sensitive. if we get it wrong, it could backfire.”

you nodded, feeling a knot of anxiety form in your stomach. “i know. but we’ve come this far—we can’t stop now.”

heeseung met your gaze, and for a moment, you saw the same determination mirrored in his eyes. “agreed. let’s do this.”

you both took a deep breath and began the incantation, your voices blending together as you carefully followed the instructions you’d painstakingly translated from the ancient text. the air around you seemed to hum with energy, the light from the amulet growing brighter with each word spoken.

but just as you reached the final phrase, something went wrong. the amulet’s glow intensified suddenly, flaring with a blinding brilliance that made you both flinch. a high-pitched whine filled the room, and before you could react, the amulet exploded with a burst of uncontrolled magic.

you were thrown back by the force of the blast, crashing into the wall behind you. the impact knocked the wind out of you, leaving you gasping for breath as the room spun around you. through the haze of pain and disorientation, you heard heeseung shout your name.

“yn! are you okay?”

you forced yourself to sit up, wincing at the sharp pain in your side. “i’m fine,” you managed to say, though your voice was shaky. “what about you?”

heeseung was already on his feet, his wand drawn as he surveyed the chaotic scene. “i’m okay, but the amulet—” he broke off, his expression darkening as he pointed to where the artifact had been moments before.

the amulet was now hovering in midair, surrounded by a crackling aura of unstable magic. the runes etched into its surface were glowing with a malevolent light, and the energy it was emitting was growing stronger by the second.

“we have to stop it,” heeseung said urgently, his voice tight with fear. “if it releases all that magic at once, it could destroy the whole room—and us with it.”

you nodded, your mind racing as you tried to think of a solution. “we need to contain the magic, redirect it somehow before it builds up too much.”

heeseung’s eyes darted around the room, and you could see the wheels turning in his mind. “i think i can create a barrier around it, but i’ll need your help to stabilize it. can you do that?”

you nodded, pushing yourself to your feet despite the pain. “i’ll do my best.”

working quickly, you and heeseung moved into position, your wands raised as you began casting the necessary spells. heeseung’s barrier started to form around the amulet, a shimmering dome of protective magic, but the unstable energy was resisting, threatening to break through.

“it’s not holding,” heeseung gritted out, sweat beading on his forehead as he fought to maintain the barrier. “i need more power—now!”

you didn’t hesitate, channeling your magic into the spell he was casting. the strain was immense, the pressure of the wild magic pushing against your combined efforts, but you held on, focusing all your energy on keeping the barrier intact.

for a few terrifying moments, it felt like the magic would overwhelm you, like the barrier would shatter and unleash the full force of the amulet’s power. but then, slowly, the chaotic energy began to stabilize, the violent pulses of magic subsiding as your spells took hold.

finally, after what felt like an eternity, the glow of the amulet began to fade, the crackling aura dissipating as the magic was safely contained. you and heeseung maintained the barrier for a few moments longer, just to be sure, before finally allowing it to dissolve.

as the room fell into an exhausted silence, you both stood there, breathing heavily, your hands trembling from the effort. the amulet now lay on the floor, inert and harmless, the danger passed.

“we did it,” you said softly, your voice filled with a mix of relief and disbelief.

heeseung nodded, his expression a mix of exhaustion and something else—something that looked almost like admiration. “yeah, we did. you were incredible, yn. i couldn’t have done it without you.”

you met his gaze, feeling a strange warmth in your chest despite the lingering fear and exhaustion. “we make a good team,” you admitted, the words coming easier now after everything you’d just been through.

heeseung smiled, a genuine, unguarded smile that you rarely saw from him. “yeah, we do.”

the days following the incident were marked by an undeniable shift in the way you and heeseung interacted. the rivalry that had once defined your relationship felt less intense, as if the near-disaster had forced you both to re-evaluate what truly mattered. neither of you brought up the magical mishap directly, but it hung in the air, a silent acknowledgment of the bond that had formed during those tense moments.

you noticed it first in the way heeseung spoke to you. gone was the sharp edge to his voice, the ever-present hint of competition. instead, his tone was more measured, even respectful. it was as if the experience had softened something in him, allowing a different side to emerge.

one afternoon, as you both sat in the library reviewing notes, you caught him glancing at you out of the corner of your eye. when you looked up, he didn’t immediately look away, instead holding your gaze for a moment longer than usual.

“about what happened,” heeseung began, his voice unusually quiet. “i’ve been thinking… maybe we’ve been going about this all wrong.”

you raised an eyebrow, curiosity piqued. “what do you mean?”

he sighed, running a hand through his hair as he searched for the right words. “we’ve spent so much time trying to outdo each other that we never really stopped to consider what we could accomplish if we actually worked together. i mean, look at what we did the other night. we barely made it out of that mess, but we did it—because we were working as a team.”

you nodded slowly, his words resonating with the thoughts that had been swirling in your mind since the incident. “yeah, you’re right. it’s strange… after all these years of competing, I never really thought about what it would be like to be on the same side. it’s… easier than I expected.”

heeseung smiled faintly, a hint of amusement in his eyes. “easier? coming from you, that’s saying something.”

you rolled your eyes, but there was no real annoyance behind it. “don’t get used to it.”

he chuckled, the sound surprisingly warm, and for a brief moment, the usual tension between you dissolved, replaced by something lighter, almost friendly.

as the days went by, this new dynamic began to take root. you still challenged each other, still pushed each other to be better, but there was a noticeable difference in the way you approached it. the sharp edges of your rivalry had softened, making room for something more collaborative.

one evening, while you were both working late in the library, the conversation drifted away from the project and onto more personal topics. it started innocently enough, with a question about favorite books, but soon, you found yourselves sharing more than just academic preferences.

“you know,” you said, leaning back in your chair, “i always thought you were just this arrogant gryffindor who enjoyed making my life difficult.”

heeseung laughed softly, shaking his head. “and i always thought you were a stuck-up ravenclaw who couldn’t stand to lose. guess we both had the wrong idea.”

“yeah,” you agreed, a small smile tugging at your lips. “it’s funny how things turn out.”

heeseung’s expression grew more serious, and he hesitated for a moment before speaking again. “there’s more to it than that, though. i’ve always felt like i had something to prove, like i had to be the best at everything to… i don’t know, be taken seriously, i guess. and competing with you—well, it made me push myself harder.”

you listened quietly, sensing that this was something he didn’t often talk about. “i get that,” you said after a moment. “i’ve always felt the same way. being the best is a way of proving to myself that i’m worth something. but i think… i think i’ve realized that there’s more to it than just winning.”

heeseung nodded, his gaze meeting yours with an intensity that made your heart skip a beat. “yeah. maybe we don’t have to be rivals all the time. maybe we can just… be.”

the simplicity of his words struck a chord with you, and for the first time in a long while, you felt the walls you’d built up around yourself start to crumble. the rivalry, the constant need to prove yourself—it all seemed less important in the face of the connection you were beginning to forge.

“maybe we can,” you agreed softly, a tentative smile crossing your face.

as the conversation continued, you found yourselves sharing stories, laughing at old memories, and even confiding in each other about your hopes and fears. the change was subtle, but undeniable. you were no longer just rivals, no longer defined solely by your competition. you were two people who had been through a lot together, who were starting to see each other in a new light.

you found yourselves meeting up more frequently, not just in the library or classrooms, but in quieter corners of the castle where you could work without interruption. at first, it was strictly about the project, but gradually, your conversations began to drift into more personal territory.

“i’ve never really asked,” you said one evening, as you both sat by the fire in the ravenclaw common room, books and parchment spread out before you. “why do you push yourself so hard in school? i mean, i get the competition, but it seems like there’s more to it.”

heeseung looked up from his notes, surprised by the question. he was silent for a moment, as if weighing how much to reveal. “i guess it’s because i’ve always felt like i had something to prove,” he admitted, his voice quieter than usual. “being the eldest son in my family comes with a lot of expectations. and at hogwarts, it’s like… it’s my chance to show that i’m capable of more than just living up to the family name. but it’s exhausting sometimes.”

you nodded, understanding all too well. “i know what you mean. for me, it’s about feeling like i belong. growing up, i was always the odd one out, the bookworm who didn’t quite fit in. being at the top here—it’s my way of proving that i’m good enough, that i deserve to be here. but yeah, it can be lonely.”

heeseung looked at you then, his gaze softer, more empathetic than you’d ever seen it. “i never thought about it like that,” he said quietly. “i guess we’re more alike than i realized.”

the shared understanding created a new kind of bond between you, one that extended beyond academic rivalry. over the next few weeks, your study sessions became more frequent, and your conversations grew deeper. you found yourself looking forward to these moments, enjoying his company in a way that surprised you.

the shift in your dynamic didn’t go unnoticed by your fellow students. whispers and sideways glances followed you in the hallways, and more than a few knowing smiles were exchanged when you and heeseung walked into the library together.

“well, well, look who’s finally getting along,” one of your ravenclaw classmates teased as you passed by. “i never thought i’d see the day.”

you rolled your eyes, trying to brush off the comment, but you couldn’t ignore the slight warmth that crept into your cheeks.

heeseung, however, seemed unfazed by the attention. “let them talk,” he said with a shrug as you both settled into your usual spot. “they’ve got nothing better to do.”

but the teasing wasn’t limited to just your house. in gryffindor, heeseung’s friends were just as quick to notice the change.

“so, heeseung,” jay drawled one afternoon as they sat in the common room, “you and yn seem to be spending a lot of time together these days. should we be expecting wedding invitations soon?”

heeseung shot him a withering look, though his friends could see the faintest hint of a smile tugging at his lips. “it’s not like that,” he muttered, but the way he avoided their eyes made them exchange amused glances.

“sure, sure,” jake chimed in, grinning. “it’s just a project, right? nothing more.”

“you guys are impossible,” heeseung sighed, shaking his head, but there was no real irritation in his voice. if anything, the teasing felt oddly comforting, a sign that even his friends could see the positive change in him.

over time, the teasing became a constant background noise, something neither of you could completely escape, but you found that it didn’t bother you as much as you thought it would. if anything, it only highlighted how much things had changed between you and heeseung. you were no longer just rivals locked in a never-ending battle for supremacy. you were… something else, something that neither of you had quite figured out yet.

and as the days went by, you realized that you didn’t mind the change. in fact, you were starting to welcome it.

as the end of the term approached, hogwarts was abuzz with excitement for the upcoming winter ball. the great hall was already being transformed, adorned with shimmering icicles and twinkling fairy lights that gave the castle a magical, ethereal glow. students chattered eagerly about their outfits, their dates, and the promise of a night filled with music, dancing, and festive cheer.

you, however, hadn’t given much thought to the ball. between your classes, the ongoing project with heeseung, and the unexpected shift in your dynamic, your mind was already occupied with enough complications. the idea of finding a date just seemed like another task on an already overflowing list.

that changed one afternoon when you found yourself alone in the courtyard, enjoying a rare moment of quiet. the crisp winter air nipped at your cheeks as you flipped through the pages of your book, trying to ignore the cold as you immersed yourself in your studies.

“yn?” a voice called, pulling you from your thoughts.

you looked up to see felix, a cheerful hufflepuff with a wide, friendly grin and an air of perpetual optimism. you’d always liked him; his bright energy was infectious, and he had a way of making everyone around him feel at ease.

“hey, felix,” you greeted him, closing your book and offering him a smile.

he seemed a little nervous, shifting from foot to foot as he approached. “um, i hope i’m not interrupting,” he began, glancing down at your book.

“no, not at all,” you replied, curious about what had brought him over. “what’s up?”

felix took a deep breath, as if steeling himself. “well, i was wondering… have you decided who you’re going to the winter ball with yet?”

the question caught you off guard. you hadn’t expected anyone to ask, especially not felix, and for a moment, you just stared at him, trying to process what he was saying.

“i… haven’t really thought about it,” you admitted, feeling a bit flustered.

“well, if you’re not going with anyone yet,” felix said, his grin widening as he took the plunge, “i was hoping you might consider going with me.”

before you could respond, a familiar voice cut through the air, laced with an unmistakable note of possessiveness.

“actually, she’s already going with me.”

you turned to see heeseung standing a few steps away, his expression calm but his eyes flashing with something that looked suspiciously like jealousy. his appearance was so sudden and unexpected that you found yourself momentarily speechless.

felix blinked, clearly surprised by the interruption. “oh… really? i didn’t know you two were—”

“we are,” heeseung interjected smoothly, stepping closer to you and giving you a look that was both challenging and expectant, as if daring you to contradict him.

you opened your mouth to protest, to correct him, but the words didn’t come. instead, you found yourself caught between the two of them, your mind racing to make sense of the situation.

felix, ever the good sport, chuckled awkwardly and raised his hands in surrender. “well, that’s settled then. i guess i’ll have to find someone else to go with,” he said, his tone light, though there was a hint of disappointment in his eyes.

“thanks for asking, though, felix,” you managed to say, still reeling from the sudden turn of events.

he gave you a good-natured smile. “no worries. see you at the ball, then.” with a final nod, felix turned and walked away, leaving you alone with heeseung.

the silence that followed was thick with unspoken words. you turned to heeseung, who was watching felix’s retreating figure with an unreadable expression.

“what was that about?” you asked, your voice tinged with confusion and more than a little annoyance. “i never agreed to go with you.”

heeseung finally looked at you, and you saw a flicker of something vulnerable beneath his usual confident facade. “i know,” he admitted, rubbing the back of his neck in a rare show of uncertainty. “but i couldn’t just let you go with someone else.”

you frowned, trying to make sense of his words. “why not?”

he hesitated, his gaze dropping to the ground before he spoke again. “because… because i wanted to go with you.”

the simplicity of his confession caught you off guard. for a moment, you didn’t know how to respond. you’d always seen heeseung as your rival, your equal in so many ways, but this was different. this was him, standing before you, stripped of the usual bravado and letting you see a side of him that you hadn’t fully acknowledged before.

“heeseung…” you started, unsure of what to say.

“look, i know it’s sudden,” he continued, his tone softer now. “and i know we’ve had our… issues. but things have been different between us lately, and i just thought—well, maybe we could try being something other than rivals, even if it’s just for one night.”

you studied him for a long moment, searching his face for any sign of the arrogance that usually defined your interactions. but all you saw was sincerity, and something that looked an awful lot like hope.

“okay,” you said finally, your voice quiet but firm. “i’ll go with you.”

his expression brightened, the tension in his shoulders easing as he let out a breath he didn’t seem to realize he’d been holding. “really?”

“really,” you confirmed, a small smile tugging at your lips despite the confusion still swirling in your mind.

heeseung’s answering smile was one of pure relief and genuine happiness. “great. i’ll… i’ll meet you at the entrance hall before the ball?”

you nodded, the reality of the situation finally sinking in. “yeah. sounds good.”

with that, heeseung gave you one last look, a mix of excitement and something else that made your heart flutter unexpectedly, before turning and walking away.

the next weekend, you found yourself in diagon alley, flanked by sunoo and yuna as you wandered through a boutique filled with elegant gowns and robes. the winter ball was fast approaching, and the three of you had decided to make a day of it, searching for the perfect outfits to wear.

as sunoo and yuna enthusiastically pulled dresses off racks, debating colors and styles, you found your thoughts drifting to heeseung. ever since he had asked you to the ball—if you could even call it asking—you hadn’t been able to stop thinking about him. the way he had looked at you, the way his voice had softened when he spoke… it was all so confusing.

“yn, what do you think of this one?” yuna’s voice broke through your thoughts, and you turned to see her holding up a shimmering navy gown with delicate silver embroidery.

“it’s beautiful,” you replied automatically, though your mind was elsewhere.

“but is it you?” sunoo chimed in, giving you a knowing look. “you’ve been a bit out of it today. something on your mind?”

you hesitated, not sure how to put your jumbled thoughts into words. “it’s nothing,” you said, trying to sound casual as you flipped through a rack of dresses.

“it’s obviously not nothing,” yuna pointed out, setting the dress aside and crossing her arms. “you’ve been spacing out all day. is this about the ball? or maybe… who you’re going with?”

you sighed, realizing there was no point in trying to hide it. sunoo and yuna knew you too well. “it’s heeseung,” you admitted, finally voicing the name that had been circling your mind. “i can’t figure out what’s going on between us. one minute we’re rivals, the next we’re working together, and now… now he’s asked me to the ball. but i don’t even know if he really likes me, or if he’s just messing with me.”

sunoo exchanged a glance with yuna, and they both gave you a sympathetic look. “have you thought about just asking him how he feels?” sunoo suggested gently. “it might clear things up.”

“or maybe you could try to figure out how you feel first,” yuna added, her tone soft. “it sounds like you’re just as confused about your own feelings as you are about his.”

you let out a frustrated breath, running a hand through your hair. “i know, but it’s just… complicated. he’s always been my rival, my competition. i don’t know how to deal with this sudden shift.”

“come on, let’s sit down for a minute,” sunoo said, taking your arm and steering you toward the dressing room area. yuna followed, concern etched on her face.

once inside the small, cozy room, sunoo and yuna guided you to one of the plush benches, sitting on either side of you. the soft lighting and quiet atmosphere provided a much-needed break from the overwhelming swirl of emotions you were feeling.

“yn,” yuna began, her voice soothing, “it’s okay to be confused. you’ve been dealing with a lot lately, and it’s only natural that your feelings might be all over the place. but whatever you’re feeling, it’s valid. you don’t have to have everything figured out right now.”

sunoo nodded in agreement, resting a comforting hand on your shoulder. “and if heeseung really does like you—and it sounds like he might—then he’ll understand that this is new territory for you both. you don’t have to rush into anything. just take it one step at a time.”

you looked between your two friends, their warmth and understanding providing a balm to your frayed nerves. “thanks, guys,” you said quietly, a small smile tugging at your lips. “i guess i just needed to hear that it’s okay to not have all the answers.”

“of course it’s okay,” yuna said, squeezing your hand. “and whatever happens, we’ll be here for you. whether you end up with heeseung or not, we’ve got your back.”

sunoo grinned, his usual playful demeanor shining through. “and hey, if heeseung gives you any trouble, you know we’ll take care of him.”

you couldn’t help but laugh at that, the tension in your chest easing a little. “i’m sure you will.”

the night of the winter ball arrived, and hogwarts was transformed into a winter wonderland. the great hall was adorned with twinkling lights, enchanted snowflakes drifting down from the enchanted ceiling without ever touching the ground. the sound of soft music filled the air, setting the stage for an evening of magic and memories.

you stood in front of the mirror in your dormitory, adjusting the soft, flowing fabric of your dress—the very same navy gown yuna had suggested. its silver embroidery shimmered in the candlelight, complementing the simple yet elegant look you had chosen. despite your earlier doubts, you couldn’t deny that you felt a mix of excitement and nerves fluttering in your stomach.

“you look amazing,” yuna said, smiling as she fixed the last few strands of her hair in the mirror beside you. sunoo, dressed in sharp robes, gave you an approving nod.

“heeseung’s not going to know what hit him,” sunoo teased, winking at you.

you rolled your eyes, though you couldn’t help but smile. “let’s just hope he doesn’t trip over his own feet when he sees me.”

with a final deep breath, you made your way to the entrance hall, where students were gathering before entering the great hall. you spotted heeseung almost immediately, standing off to the side, talking with jay, jake, and ni-ki. he looked up as you approached, his gaze locking onto yours, and for a moment, it felt like everything else faded away.

heeseung was dressed in dark, tailored robes that accentuated his tall frame, his hair neatly styled. but what caught your attention most was the way he was looking at you—something warm and appreciative in his eyes that sent a shiver down your spine.

“you look… wow,” heeseung said, his voice almost a whisper as you reached him. he seemed momentarily at a loss for words, a rare sight for someone usually so confident and quick with a remark.

“you don’t look so bad yourself,” you replied, trying to ignore the way your heart was pounding in your chest.

his friends took the opportunity to make themselves scarce, offering you both knowing grins as they wandered off into the crowd. you and heeseung were left standing there, the unspoken tension between you suddenly feeling much more tangible.

“shall we?” heeseung asked, offering you his arm with a slightly awkward but endearing smile.

you hesitated for only a moment before accepting, looping your arm through his. together, you made your way into the great hall, the soft strains of music growing louder as you entered the beautifully decorated room. chandeliers glimmered overhead, casting a warm glow over the assembled students, who were already beginning to pair off and dance.

for a while, the two of you simply walked around the edges of the hall, exchanging polite conversation about anything but the real question hovering between you. you couldn’t help but notice how heeseung’s arm stayed close to yours, how he seemed to be making a conscious effort to stay by your side.

finally, after what felt like an eternity, heeseung stopped and turned to face you, his expression a mix of nervousness and determination. “do you… want to dance?” he asked, his voice softer than you’d ever heard it.

“i’d like that,” you replied, surprising even yourself with how much you meant it.

he led you onto the dance floor, the soft strains of a waltz beginning to play as you found your place among the other couples. heeseung’s hand rested lightly on your waist, his other hand holding yours with a gentleness that contrasted with the fierce competitor you were so used to seeing.

the first few steps were tentative, both of you trying to find your rhythm. it was awkward at first—heeseung’s foot nearly caught on the hem of your dress, and you stumbled slightly as you tried to keep up with the music. but then heeseung let out a quiet laugh, the sound light and warm, and you found yourself laughing too.

“maybe we’re not cut out for ballroom dancing,” you joked, your nerves easing as you looked up at him.

“speak for yourself,” heeseung shot back playfully, his smile widening. “i’m just getting started.”

with that, he spun you gently, and you couldn’t help but smile at the way he seemed to be enjoying himself. the awkwardness began to fade, replaced by a strange but pleasant feeling of comfort. you found your rhythm together, your steps more in sync with each passing moment.

as the music swelled, you felt something shift between you. there was a new understanding, a silent acknowledgment that things were different now. it wasn’t just about competition or rivalry anymore—it was about enjoying each other’s company, about recognizing the connection that had grown between you.

when the song finally ended, you found yourself still in his arms, neither of you making a move to pull away. the applause of the other students was just background noise as you looked up at him, your heart beating a little faster.

“i had fun,” heeseung said softly, his gaze holding yours.

“me too,” you admitted, realizing that you meant it more than you ever thought you would.

for a moment, it seemed like he might say something more, but then the next song started, and you both became aware of the other students around you. with a slightly bashful smile, heeseung stepped back, releasing your hand reluctantly.

“should we get some punch?” he suggested, trying to break the sudden tension.

“yeah, that sounds good,” you agreed, though a part of you missed the closeness already.

as you walked off the dance floor together, you couldn’t help but feel that this night had marked a turning point. the rivalry that had once defined your relationship was beginning to fade, replaced by something new—something that was still unfolding, but felt like the start of something important.

as the night wound down and the last notes of music faded into the background, the students began to filter out of the great hall, their laughter and chatter filling the corridors of hogwarts. you and heeseung lingered near the entrance, neither of you in a rush to return to your respective common rooms. the night had been unexpectedly wonderful, and neither of you seemed ready for it to end.

“want to take the long way back?” heeseung asked, his voice quiet, as if not to disturb the magic of the evening.

you nodded, feeling the same reluctance to let the moment slip away. “sure.”

together, you slipped out of the main entrance and into the cool night air. the grounds were bathed in the soft glow of moonlight, the stars twinkling brightly in the clear sky above. the castle loomed behind you, its silhouette majestic against the night, but your attention was focused on the path ahead and the quiet presence beside you.

for a while, you walked in comfortable silence, the only sounds the gentle rustling of the trees and the distant hooting of an owl. it was peaceful, almost surreal after the bustling energy of the ball.

“tonight was… different,” heeseung finally said, breaking the silence. his voice was thoughtful, as if he were carefully choosing his words.

“yeah, it was,” you agreed, glancing up at him. “but it was nice.”

“it was,” he echoed, a small smile playing on his lips. “i didn’t think we’d end up having fun, to be honest.”

“neither did i,” you admitted with a chuckle. “i guess we’re both full of surprises.”

heeseung laughed softly, the sound carrying in the stillness of the night. “i guess we are. you know, i always thought we’d be stuck as rivals forever, constantly trying to outdo each other.”

“me too,” you said, your tone growing more reflective. “but maybe that’s just how we needed to start. it’s how we pushed each other to be better.”

heeseung nodded, his gaze fixed on the stars above. “and maybe… maybe there’s more to us than just competition.”

you felt your heart skip a beat at his words, the implication hanging in the air between you. “maybe,” you said softly, unsure of what else to say.

you continued walking, the silence between you now filled with unspoken thoughts and questions. there was a new understanding between you, something that felt fragile and new, yet powerful. it was as if the night itself was holding its breath, waiting to see where this newfound connection would lead.

as you approached the point where your paths would diverge—him to gryffindor tower and you to the ravenclaw common room—heeseung slowed his steps, turning to face you.

“i’m glad we did this,” he said, his voice sincere. “i’m glad we… got to know each other a little better.”

“me too,” you replied, meeting his gaze. “it feels like a new beginning.”

heeseung smiled, a genuine, warm smile that reached his eyes. “yeah, it does.”

there was a moment of hesitation, as if both of you were waiting for something more to be said, something that might tip the balance of whatever was happening between you. but then, with a small, almost shy nod, heeseung stepped back.

“goodnight, yn,” he said, his voice gentle.

“goodnight, heeseung,” you replied, a soft smile on your lips.

The days following the winter ball were a confusing whirlwind of emotions. Your interactions with Heeseung had become charged with an unspoken tension that neither of you dared to address. The rivalry that had once defined your relationship seemed to be fading, replaced by something much more complicated. You found yourself drawn to him in ways you never expected, but the fear of the unknown kept you on edge.

Every time you were together, whether it was working on your project or passing each other in the corridors, there was a lingering sense of anticipation, like something was about to happen. It was both exhilarating and terrifying. The way he looked at you had changed—there was a softness in his gaze that hadn’t been there before, but it was always coupled with an underlying tension that kept you both on guard.

One afternoon, you and Heeseung were in the library, surrounded by stacks of ancient books and parchment. The project was almost complete, and with it, the excuse to spend time together was coming to an end. Heeseung was unusually quiet, his focus seemingly elsewhere as he absently flipped through a dusty tome.

“Are you okay?” you asked, breaking the silence, your voice softer than usual. You’d grown accustomed to his company, and the thought of something being wrong between you gnawed at your insides.

Heeseung didn’t look up. “Just thinking,” he replied, his tone distant.

“About what?” you pressed, sensing that whatever was bothering him, it had to do with more than just the project.

He finally met your eyes, but instead of the warmth you had come to expect, there was a hardness there, something defensive. “About how maybe we’ve been wasting our time on this project. I mean, what’s the point? It’s not like we’re going to change anything.”

His words felt like a slap in the face, cutting through the fragile connection you had been building. You had poured your energy into this project, but more than that, you had opened yourself up to him in ways you hadn’t done with anyone else. And now, it felt like he was dismissing all of it.

“What are you talking about?” you asked, trying to keep the hurt out of your voice. “We’ve been working hard on this—together.”

Heeseung’s expression was unreadable, but his voice was laced with frustration. “Yeah, together,” he repeated. “But maybe we’ve been too focused on this… on us, and not enough on what really matters.”

The implication behind his words stung deeply. It felt like he was saying that everything between you—the late-night study sessions, the shared glances, the subtle shifts in your dynamic—meant nothing to him. Your chest tightened, and you felt a surge of anger rise up, mingling with the hurt.

“So you think this was a mistake? That we were a mistake?” you asked, your voice trembling as you struggled to keep your emotions in check.

“No, that’s not what I—” Heeseung started, but the damage was already done.

You stood up abruptly, your chair scraping loudly against the stone floor, drawing the attention of a few nearby students. “If that’s how you feel, then maybe we should just finish this project and go back to being rivals,” you snapped, the bitterness in your tone making it clear how much his words had affected you. “It’s clearly all we’re good at.”

Heeseung’s face fell, and you could see the regret in his eyes, but your hurt and anger were too strong to let him off the hook that easily. Without another word, you gathered your things and stormed out of the library, leaving him sitting there, looking like he wanted to take back every word he had just said. But it was too late. The fragile connection you had begun to form was shattered.

The days that followed were some of the hardest you’d experienced at Hogwarts. You threw yourself into your studies and Quidditch practice, anything to distract yourself from the gaping hole that had been left by your fight with Heeseung. Sunoo and Yuna noticed the change in you, but they gave you space, sensing that you weren’t ready to talk about what had happened.

But no matter how much you tried to focus on other things, your thoughts kept circling back to him. The hurtful words he had said, the regret in his eyes as you walked away—it all replayed in your mind over and over again. You had never been this affected by someone before, and the realization of just how much Heeseung meant to you was overwhelming.

You missed him. You missed the way he challenged you, the way he made you laugh even when you didn’t want to, the way he looked at you like you were the only person in the room. But more than anything, you missed the way he had started to let you see the real him, the parts of himself that he kept hidden from everyone else.

In Gryffindor Tower, Heeseung was going through his own turmoil. He hadn’t meant to hurt you, but his fear of what he was feeling had driven him to push you away. It had been easier to fall back on the familiar role of rivals than to face the truth: that he cared about you more than he had ever cared about anyone else. But now, with you gone, he was left with nothing but regret.

He replayed your argument in his head, wishing he could take back every word. He missed you, more than he thought possible. The way you challenged him, the way you made him want to be better, the way your presence had become something he looked forward to every day. He couldn’t ignore it any longer. He was in love with you, and the thought of losing you was unbearable.

It took several days of wrestling with his emotions, but eventually, Heeseung knew what he had to do. He couldn’t let things end like this, not when there was still so much left unsaid.

It was late in the evening when you returned to the Ravenclaw common room after a grueling Quidditch practice. Your muscles ached, and all you wanted was to collapse into bed and forget about the day. But as you stepped through the entrance, you were greeted by an unexpected sight.

Heeseung was standing by the entrance, his posture tense and his eyes locked on you the moment you walked in. He looked like he hadn’t slept in days, his usual confident demeanor replaced by something much more vulnerable.

“YN, wait,” he said, his voice almost pleading as he took a step towards you.

You hesitated, your heart pounding in your chest. You weren’t sure if you were ready for this conversation, but something in his expression made you pause.

“What do you want, Heeseung?” you asked, your voice guarded. You couldn’t afford to be hurt by him again.

“To apologize,” he said quickly, his voice filled with urgency. “And to explain.”

You crossed your arms, trying to maintain your composure. “Go on.”

Heeseung took a deep breath, as if steeling himself for what he was about to say. “I didn’t mean what I said the other day,” he began, his voice filled with regret. “I was… scared, confused. This whole thing with us, it’s different, and it caught me off guard. I’ve spent so long thinking of you as my rival, as someone I needed to beat, that I didn’t know how to handle it when I started feeling… something more.”

His words hung in the air, and you felt your heart start to race. You had suspected, hoped even, that he might feel the same way, but hearing it out loud was a different matter entirely.

“So you pushed me away,” you said, your voice softer now, the hurt still evident but mixed with something else—understanding.

Heeseung nodded, his expression pained. “Yeah, and that was wrong. I’ve been an idiot, YN. The truth is, I’ve come to care about you—a lot. More than I ever thought I could. And the thought of messing that up scared me, so I tried to pretend like it didn’t matter, like we didn’t matter. But we do. You do.”

You could see the sincerity in his eyes, the vulnerability that he was laying bare before you. Heeseung, who had always been so confident, so sure of himself, was now standing in front of you, admitting his fears and his feelings. It was a side of him you had never seen before, and it made your heart ache with both sadness and hope.

“You really hurt me, you know,” you said, your voice trembling as you let yourself acknowledge the pain he had caused.

“I know,” Heeseung replied, his voice filled with remorse. “And I’m so sorry. I don’t want to hurt you, YN. I want to be with you. Not as rivals, but as… something more. If you’ll give me another chance.”

There was a long pause as you stood there, processing his words. The anger and hurt you had been holding onto for days were slowly melting away, replaced by a warmth that you couldn’t ignore. Heeseung had hurt you, yes, but he was also the person who had challenged you, who had pushed you to be better, who had made you feel things you had never felt before. And as you looked into his eyes, you realized that you didn’t want to go back to the way things were. You wanted to move forward—with him.

Finally, you nodded, a small smile tugging at your lips. “I think I’d like that,” you said, your voice soft but filled with hope.

Relief washed over Heeseung’s face, and he let out a breath he didn’t realize he had been holding. “Thank you,” he said, his voice filled with gratitude.

Before you could respond, he stepped forward and wrapped you in a tight, warm embrace. It was the first time he had ever hugged you, and it felt like everything had finally fallen into place. All the tension, all the rivalry, all the confusion—it all melted away in that moment, leaving only the two of you, standing together under the soft glow of the common room’s enchanted candles.

As you rested your head against his chest, you couldn’t help but smile, knowing that whatever came next, you were ready to face it together. And as Heeseung held you close, you knew he felt the same.

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