#I'm on Fire

[munchymunchkin]

[ideksams]

continuation of my last artwork but with yor (twiyor fankid)

i'm absolutely speechless at how fast i drew to this level 🥹 i only meant to sketch but it just kept going and going... oh how i looove this! it's the craziest feeling to be such a fan of what your art is, but then isn't that why we draw fanart? haha!!

[bettyfrommars]

Look at our I'm on Fire boys! Wayne "Uncle" and Eddie "War Machine" Munson😭 By the incredibly talented @dr-aculaaa

Commissioned by the amazing @texasblues

[dandelionnfluff]

Hello friends!

I finally finished my bind of I'm on Fire by the lovely @bettyfrommars 🧡

This is my favourite Eddie fic. Waiting and reading a new chapter of it truly helped me with my mental health at the time. It was a perfect escape from reality.

I wanted to bind this to show Betty how much her words truly helped me. Betty is also the one who made me feel welcomed to this community🧡 always cheking if I'm still here. She is truly a great friend to have.

To the bind:

Let me tell you that just about everything that can go wrong, did. This bind was a struggle! 😂 I'm trying to be more graceful to myself as this bind had a lot of firsts for me. First time using bookcloth, first time using Htv on the covers, first time foiling all of the chapter titles and first time sewing the headbands by hand.

I trim my pages with a knife and of course with this I fucked it up😅 had to do a lot of sanding and they're still kind of a mess. I burned some htv, had to individualy iron each letter on the front cover and spine..

That being said, even as everything is a bit wonky and all, I'm still ever so proud of it.

Fic by @bettyfrommars

Bind by me (@dandelionnfluff )

Typeset by me (@dandelionnfluff )

Beautiful artwork in the typeset of Eddie, Wayne, Steve & Astrid is by the talented: @dr-aculaaa

Edit. Ok, so I tagged the wrong dr-aculaaa🤦🏻‍♀️ it's fixed now!

[whiskey-bumblebee]

I'm On Fire

Pairing: DBF!Aaron Hotchner/Reader (gender neutral, I think!)

Word Count: 2730

A/N: I got towards the end and realized there was way too much I wanted to pack in here, so I think I'm going to do a part 2! Let me know if you'd be interested! <3

Warnings: older Hotch/younger reader, a brief scene of hotch getting off on his own, inappropriate relationships <3 I think that's it?

Your soaked clothes cling to your body as you stand in the pouring rain. Cars pass you, occasionally honking, leaving you sighing. Your dad was meant to pick you up from practice half an hour ago.

A familiar car nears the curb where you're standing, and you squint into the headlights, holding up your hand to block out some of the brightness.

Great, you think. Now I'm going to get kidnapped.

The car pulls over, and you take a step back. The window rolls down and you're met with a familiar face, leaning over the passenger seat.

"Get in," He calls.

Mr. Hotchner. Aaron.

You hesitate for a moment, looking around. It's dark. For all you know, your dad isn't coming at all.

You sigh and open the door, taking a seat. You're completely soaked, and you cringe at the way the rain drips onto the leather upholstery. You drop your bag in the footwell.

"I'm sorry," You say before anything else. "I'll get you a towel as soon as we're at my place."

Mr. Hotchner doesn't react, looking you over carefully. "Are you okay? It's freezing out there."

You nod. "I'm okay. My dad was..."

"Late," He finishes, his jaw clenching as he flicks the indicator on.

"Have you heard from him?" You say hopefully.

He shakes his head as he merges seamlessly into the traffic.

"Home?" He asks.

You nod. "Thank you, Mr. Hotchner."

"Aaron," He corrects, a slight sharp edge to his voice. "I've told you that you can call me Aaron."

You wrap your arms around yourself, the cold suddenly hitting you now that you're not able to walk around to keep yourself warm.

"Fuck," You murmur under your breath.

Aaron looks you over again. "Bad, huh?"

You will yourself to stop shivering. Fucking embarrassing, being soaking wet and now you're shivering like a dog. Pull yourself together.

You shrug. "Was out there for about half an hour."

"Half an-" He glances at you quickly, then back at the road. "Where's your dad?"

"Probably with his new girlfriend. He's not home much."

You glance at his wedding ring. For a moment, you wish that your dad was more like Mr. Hotchner. Dedicated, loyal. Reliable.

"How's Mrs. Hotchner?"

He clears his throat. "She's alright."

You look at him, the way his grip has tightened on the wheel, his brow furrowing, his shoulders closer to his ears.

"You're lying," You say softly. "You can talk about it, if you want."

He shakes his head. "Don't worry about it. We all have our things," He looks over at you, putting on a smile. "Right?"

You nod. "Right."

A while later, you arrive in front of your house. Aaron waits out front for you to let yourself in. You walk in, and he realizes that all of the lights are off. He waits in the driver's seat, feeling that something's wrong. Sure enough, you walk back out, looking at him sheepishly. He gestures for you to come back out to the car.

"This is awkward, but my dad's not home and there's nothing in the fridge. Could you take me to a drive through?"

He looks at you for a moment.

"Do you want to come to mine? I don't like the idea of you being home all by yourself. It's late."

It's your turn to look at him, trying to find the right way to phrase it.

"I'm not sure Mrs. Hotchner would understand..." You start, and he sighs, but nods. You're right.

The rain is still pouring down, so he gestures for you to get into the car. He presses a few buttons on his phone and you press your lips together.

"Hi, honey," He greets his wife. You look at his ring again. His wife.

"I was just driving home and I got a call from Gideon. He wants us back at the office to start on another case," He explains, turning his head away from yours.

You feel your heart beat faster. Why? Stop. Stop that.

"I'm sorry," He says, and there's real guilt in his voice. You chew your lip. He's lying for you. You almost interrupt to tell him to stop. You'll be fine. But then he's staring at the phone and the car falls into silence. She hung up on him.

"What do you feel like?" He says, and you can tell he's trying to sound upbeat.

"Maybe Mexican?"

He nods. "I know a place."

In all honesty, you'd been expecting him to take you to a Chipotle, or a Taco Bell, something quick and easy, then drop you home again. Instead, you find yourself outside a food truck, where Mr. Hotchner greets the owners by name.

"I forget, are you vegetarian? Is this okay?"

He points at an item on the menu and you nod enthusiastically. It sounds delicious.

While he's ordering, a drunk man lurches towards you. Without thinking, you grab onto Aaron's arm, pressing your body against his. He reacts immediately, pulling you closer.

"Hey," He says authoritatively, and his face sets into a stern look that you've never seen before. He looks lethal. The guy holds up his hands and walks away. You relax, taking a step back.

Aaron pays, and the two of you walk back to his car.

"You okay?" He asks, opening your car door for you.

You nod and slip into the car. He walks around the front of the car, glancing over his shoulder.

He places the food on your lap and starts driving again.

"I don't think..." He clears his throat. "I don't think I should wait for your dad at your place."

You look at him for a moment, trying to understand where his discomfort is stemming from. You're both adults. Yes, he was friends with your dad, but you knew each other well. You'd seen him around often, and spent time alone occasionally. Once or twice he'd driven you home, although those times were planned, not spur of the moment like this was.

"I think I need to change," You say slowly, trying to find a solution before you finish your sentence. "It's really cold."

"Oh, I..." He glances in the backseat quickly. "I have some clothes in the back?"

You nod. "Okay."

You unclip your seatbelt and slip into the back seats as Aaron drives down the highway. He tries to protest, but you're gone before he can get a word out.

"Where are you going?" You ask, eyeing him in the rearview. He keeps his gaze contained to the strip of glass, where he can see your eyes and little else.

"Oh." He looks at the signs hanging over the highway. "Home, I guess. I wasn't thinking."

You duck for a moment, pulling his shirt over your head. For a moment, you fumble with a few of the tiny buttons, doing most of them up.

"Do you want to drive for a while? We could wait until we hear from him?"

"Sure," You reply, touching your hair to see how damp it still is. It feels cool to the touch, but you'll shower in the morning, reset it from the unexpected 'wash'.

In the end it's 3am when your dad texts you back. He apologizes and says he'll be home around lunch. Aaron rolls his eyes when he thinks you're not looking, but you notice.

At some point after that, you must have fallen asleep, because you notice that Aaron has draped his blazer over you, and you have a definite stiffness on one side of your neck from where you'd rested it against the window.

You swear you hear seagulls, and you look around.

"Where are we?" You say, looking out over the water.

"Delaware," He replies, a hint of humour in his voice. "Rehoboth Beach."

"Don't you have work?" You yawn.

"Don't you?" He teases.

You shake your head. "Day off."

"I just kept driving, thought it's been a while since I'd seen the ocean."

You nod, and continue to watch the sunrise over the ocean.

He could retire here, he thinks. The charming seaside houses and hotels, the boardwalk, the sand dunes, the purplish blue of the ocean in this light. It's a beautiful place. The seagulls provide a soundscape unlike any other he's heard. It reminds him of Seattle, in a way, but fresher. The local coffee shop towards the end of the street, the lone jogger taking a quick run before work.

"How about a swim before we head home?"

"Are you kidding?" He says, voice taking on a higher tone as he responds to what he assumes is a joke.

"We came all this way," You shrug. "Seems like a waste not to."

"I don't have a swimsuit with me."

You gesture out at the empty beach. "I don't think anyone will mind."

He shakes his head. "That's..."

"Be crazy," You say, grasping his hand in both of yours. "You just drove to Delaware instead of going home. Something tells me you need some crazy."

He looks at you, dead serious for a moment. You know you've hit the nail on the head. He pulls his hand back from yours, but nods.

"Alright. Last one to get in buys coffee."

"Deal," You grin. Immediately, you tug off your (his) joggers and open the car door, racing to the shoreline.

"No fair!" He calls out. "I'm in a suit!"

He hears your radiant laugh carried back to him on the surprisingly warm breeze, and you look back at him, smiling widely, hair tousled by the wind. He wishes he had a camera.

He takes off his pants slowly, and the same for his shirt and undershirt. He leaves them folded on the driver's seat and tucks the keys in the nook just above one of the wheels.

"I hope you know my coffee order," You tease, sending a wave of water at him as he finally joins you.

His white button up has gone completely transparent in the water, and he thinks you look like a goddess in it. He tries not to look, but he notices your nipples showing through it. Your wet hair emphasizes your facial features, drawing emphasis to the planes of your face, and he thinks he could watch you all day long, the golden tones of the sunrise lighting you like some wondrous painting.

You lie back in the water, letting yourself float. For a precious, fleeting moment, your worries melt away into the water. Your absent father, your uncertain future... In this moment, with the sun on your face and the smell of salt in your nose, you couldn't be happier.

When you open your eyes and find your footing in the sand again, you see that Aaron is doing just the same; laying back and floating with his eyes closed. For a moment you think of kissing him, and take a step closer. Just as you do, he opens his eyes and stands up.

"You're right," He says, and you look at him questioningly. "I needed this."

You nod, then run your hand over your arms. They're decidedly chilly.

"Home?"

He nods. "On the way, you can tell me your coffee order."

It's all explained away easily enough, and what can't be explained can be cleaned or hidden.

You: a "friend" ended up picking you up and driving you to pick up some Mexican food, hence the leftovers. The white button up is tucked away in the back of your closet, rinsed in the bathroom sink so nobody noticed it in the laundry basket. You were home and in bed by the time your dad made it back home.

Him: the "case" ended up being a dud, but unfortunately Aaron had been halfway through the paperwork when they found out. He pays for the 24 hour car wash in cash, vacuuming the sand out of every crevice. He was starving, so he picked up some takeout on the way home, which is why the car smells like food.

It's almost too easy to slip into your new life of 'crime'. The lies come too quickly, fresh secrets blossoming in clandestine gardens.

It's 2 am when Aaron wakes up, drenched in sweat, with a pounding headache. He's so warm he thinks he must be running a fever, but when he checks with the thermometer, he sees that he isn't. He uses a cool washcloth to wipe down his face.

When he walks back into his bedroom and sees Haley lying there in the dark, he tries not to wish it was you instead. He tries to erase the images his mind had spun in the silver threads of a dream, the way your mouth had dropped open so prettily for him as he eased into you. He tries. He really does.

He scrawls a note to Haley on the notepad on his bedside table, slipping it onto her bedside table so she'll see it when she wakes up.

Didn't sleep well. I'll call in sick when I wake up.

Around 9, he wakes, panicking at first when he sees the time, then remembering he was planning to phone it in. He sees a note on his bedside table, folded into quarters. He'll read it in a while, he thinks. Haley's gone off to work by now.

When he closes his eyes, the images he'd earnestly tried to erase last night came pouring back. You were under him, in his shirt, looking up at him with your trademark smile, ready to burst with a witty comment or bubble of laughter.

He squeezes his eyes shut again. No. This is bad. Your friend's daughter. She's half your age.

It's just a thought. She never needs to know. You're not really doing anything, let alone anything wrong.

He slips his left hand into the front of his joggers, palming himself, surprised that he's already half hard. For a moment, he runs his other hand over his chest, his stomach, then reaching down, stroking his upper thighs, cupping his balls.

It only takes a moment of remembering you on the beach to make up his mind, and he starts fucking his fist, gritting his teeth. It'll be quick and dirty. Just to get it out of the way. Then he'll be over it.

He comes, hot and wet over his fist and his stomach, and he groans softly. He wipes his hand on his skin and reaches for his phone. He feels like he's at law school again; this messy barely-a-man, jerking off, calling in sick to work, ignoring his responsibilities for one day of peace.

"Gideon," He says. "I know, I know. I'm fine. I won't be coming in today."

He glances down at his stomach, still coated in come. He thinks about how your stomach would look... Shower.

"Tomorrow," He says quickly, not fully sure if he's answering the question. "It's a personal day, I'm not sick."

He hangs up without listening to the rest. He doesn't want to know the case details, the people he's neglecting by not showing up.

When he puts the phone back on his nightstand, he remembers the note, and picks it up, expecting to be greeted with some vague sentence of marital pleasantries.

Aaron. This isn't working. I'm not sure what else I'm supposed to say. I want a divorce, is that it? I want more, Aaron. I want the man who promised to love me on my best and worst days. I want a baby. I'm going to stay with my sister. Next time you're out of town on a case, message me so I can come get my things. I don't care about the house or the money. I can't do this anymore.

Before he knows it, he's at Rehoboth Beach. He looks out at the water and he's not sure what to do. He rests his head on the steering wheel, then realizes it's incredibly painful to bend down so low, and glances at the boardwalk. The town is shabby-looking, the paint peeling from the sea air. The coffee shop is shuttered, a 'for lease' sign in the window. The jogger's face is heavy, exhausted. There's debris in the dunes, the remnants of a night of teenage drinking, he's sure. The light of the sun on the ocean is too harsh.

Worst of all, his passenger seat is empty.

[arttsuka]

I couldn't not draw anything with them for Valentines day 💖 Here's a song for them 💝

These two drawings are not supported to be together exactly but I drew them so close that I couldn't take separate photos :/ (they are technically together but not next to each other. Imagine them being in their own offices while receiving these gifts)

Oh well.

[glittergroovy]

I'm on Fire - Bruce Springsteen

[lesbianjudasiscariot]

[tilbageidanmark]

Born in the USA, photographed by Annie Leibovitz.

[ofthirtynine]

I got a bad desire.

[adamnsey]

[bettyfrommars]

perv!eddie x fem!reader

thank you to my darlings @onegirlmanytales and @mrsjellymunson for requesting some perv Eddie from me, since I was begging for it. Decided to go with biker!eddie. I wrote this really fast, it is so silly. Just to clarify, I do not consider "perv" to be a negative thing, especially not in this instance. I think it's very adorable behavior.

18+only, masturbation, smut fantasies, dirty talk, ejaculation, armpit kink, reader owns a cardigan

wc: 784

The first time you met Eddie and rode in his tow truck, you left something behind, and it wasn't until a week later that you realized it was missing.  It was a lightweight cardigan that seemed to go with every outfit, but after a while, you gave up looking, and figured you must’ve left it at the library, or at the park, perhaps.

Eddie noticed it that same night on his way home; it was slumped down between the passenger seat and the door.

The material was dark and soft, and the first thing he did was smell it.  A tentative, quick sniff at first, but then he closed his eyes and pushed a handful of the material against his mouth and nose as if it were a breathing apparatus, sucking in deep.

He remembered the way the swing of the door shutting you in the cab earlier that day sent a shockwave of your smell over to him, catching in his throat, making his mouth water.  

That sweater was his excuse to see you again, and he clutched it close, making his way up to his apartment above Munson’s Garage.  

The next night, he took a shower, sat down in the comfy chair adjacent to the TV to have a beer, and your cardigan just so happened to be on the arm rest---so he decided to smell it again.

There were subtle notes of whatever perfume or lotion you wore embedded in the fabric, as well has hints of laundry soap, but then, there was something else.  The natural pheromones released from the pores in your skin, but also…

He lifted up the sleeve of the garment to follow the shoulder seam down to the curve of the spot he wanted, and then he breathed in a few greedy pulls.

Oh, fuck, right there. 

That bit of sweat, and twinge of body odor after a long day at work and being stranded by the side of the road in the sun.  The way he imagined the crease of your inner thigh might taste after a long night of fucking.

Shirtless, with wet hair hanging down his shoulders, he took hold of his growing length inside his boxers, pumping himself a few times.  

One-handed, he flipped your cardigan inside out to get closer to the scent, to get closer to you.

He imagined licking the sweat from between your breasts after you rode him good and hard, and then letting his tongue work deep inside your pussy, spreading your legs further.

“Just like that, baby? You want to cum on my tongue? You’re so good for me,” his voice was muffled as he spoke into the material, imagining his face buried in your sweetness. 

Fist moving faster on his uncircumcised foreskin, his hips bucked up, precum dribbled out, and he groaned your name.

“I want to be inside you too, baby, fuck, so bad,” he said aloud, answering your imaginary plead, giving his hard shaft a few long strokes.  “But not until you cum for me.  I want to taste you.”

In his mind, he imagined feeling that tight bud at the top of your slit getting taunt under his sucks, and then you are pleading with him that you were close.  You’d be clutching onto his hair, saying his name over and over, until you eventually lost control, arching up of the bed, heels kicking on the mattress.

His hips shot up off the chair and they vibrated there, frozen, his hand jerking at the tip, imagining working you through your orgasm.

He dropped the sweater from his face and then, breathlessly, he imagined plunging his cock inside of you, diving down into your eager arms as you kissed him, burying himself in your still fluttering walls.

“OH fuckkk you feel so good,” he hissed, throwing his head back as his warm release leaked over his hand and onto his belly. “That’s my girl, that’s my fucking girl.  Take every last drop.” He huffed, stroking the wetness as long as he could before it got too sticky, squirming in his seat, pretending to linger inside you.

In the aftershock of it all, he pulled his boxers up and felt almost embarrassed.  What would you think of him if you knew? 

Regardless, he had every intention of returning the sweater to you, but time went on and he forgot.

No, that’s a lie.  He consciously decided to keep it.

About a year later, while helping him pack up his place, you’d find it tucked in the far corner of his closet.

“Baby,” you ask, holding it up by the shoulders so that it unfolds slowly in its crinkled state.  “Why do you have this?”

[ineffabildaddy]

For TMI Tuesday, the word is “eyes” for the I’m on Fire WIP 👀

“There’s a man in this town who owes me a favour. His body is quite similar to my corporation, and his ‘effort’… I can assure you, it is something to behold.” Aziraphale paused, then, as the tip of his tongue wetted his bottom lip. “I thought he might… know you. So I could watch.”

Crowley clamped the flex of his thighs together tightly, his cunt flaring with a need so white-hot that it made him whine, soft and sweet and pleading.

“I could instruct him, perhaps. Tell him how I would have you.”

The golden kaleidoscope of Crowley’s eyes flashed darker as he blinked. “Tonight?”

“If you so wished.”

thank u for asking this!! i'm sad now that i don't have time to write this atm because it's calling me😭

ccing @captainblou @ineffable-rohese @bildadshusband @blumroland @queer-reader-07 @adverbian for showing interest previously hehehe

[dandelionnfluff]

Had to film some of that foil shine for you all🤩 Could you ever guess that I like shiny things?

Fic by @bettyfrommars 🧡

Artwork in typeset: @dr-aculaaa

I post more of the binding process and book stuff on my instagram. Feel free to follow along. You'll find me there as: @dandelionbinds 🧡

[whiskey-bumblebee]

I'm On Fire (Chapter 2)

Pairing: DBF!Aaron Hotchner/Reader

Word Count: 2470

Warnings: older Hotch/younger reader, cheating, daddy issues, a little bit of angst

Taglist: @littlepeanut03 @rosaline-black @moonmark98 @yuly @jazzymariexoxoc @frogoko @morgthemagpie

You're staring at the kitchen sink, a full glass of water on the counter to your left. Alone again. It's been days since you've seen your dad.

You let your head rest in your hands as you prop your elbows up on the counter. Aaron had left his number in your phone when he dropped you back home after your late night drive. You were using every ounce of strength not to call him.

It had been a week or so since that night, or morning, you supposed, since you'd watched the sun rise together, when you teased him for his Spartan taste in coffee and breakfast food. You hadn't heard anything, and you were starting to think it must have meant nothing to him. You were nothing but his friend's daughter. Another thing to take care of, like the unmown grass, or filing taxes.

Despite how little you seemed to mean to him, you couldn't stop replaying your conversations in your mind. Although you'd been sleeping for much of the time, when you were awake, you'd talked about everything. He'd opened up about Haley, the way that their marriage was slowly disintegrating because of their different goals, his difficult work schedule. He'd hesitated before telling you another piece, unsure if it was even appropriate to mention it to you.

"She's started..." He sighed. "She's started trying to tamper with the birth control we use. She hasn't refilled her prescription for the pill in a while and..."

He turned away from you as much as he could, fixing his gaze on something on the left of the horizon. His voice dropped to a low whisper.

"The other night when we were... You know what I mean. She tried to pull off the condom. A week ago I was looking in my bedside table for one of my watches, and the condoms were all over the place. The drawer was sticky, so I picked up one of them," He paused again. "It had a hole in it. I thought okay, leak, I'll just throw this one out. But I looked at one of the others, just in case, and..."

"Oh my god," You said softly. "Aaron, that's not okay. If someone I was dating did something like that..."

You felt your jaw clench. How fucking awful was that? Trying to trap him with a baby? It was one thing to try and convince him, to try and save their marriage, to talk about why he was hesitant, but it was a different thing entirely to start taking matters into her own hands. It would obliterate the last of the trust between them. It was sick.

He'd talked a little about his college years, but his playful smile told you there was a lot he was holding back.

"C'mon, Seattle in the 90s? You must have gotten up to no good," You said, trying to eke out some information. "Concerts, weed, girls?"

"I focused on studying," He said, and pressed his lips together.

"You're lying again. That's one of your tells," You pointed at his lips. "You go like this."

You mimicked his expression, the physical manifestation of withholding information or some emotion.

He looked over at you and laughed. "You'd make a good profiler."

"Profiling," You said dreamily. "And you get to travel all over the place. What's it like?"

"It's hard work," He said slowly. "A lot of the time it's unpleasant. But I like to think we make a difference."

"Could you profile me?"

He looked over at you, his expression serious.

"It's not like astrology, or palm-reading" He said. "You might not like what I have to say."

"I won't hold it against you," You replied. "I'm sure none of it will really be new to me. I spend a lot of time thinking about who I am and how I got here."

"You're independent, probably more than you should be, but that says more about your father than it does about you." He paused, taking a breath, and looked over at you again, sadness in his eyes this time. "You're constantly reading the people around you, or at least me, trying to figure out what they're thinking."

You nodded. "It's not just you."

He pulled into the drive through, joining the long line of cars queuing for their morning coffee. For a moment, you thought about how the two of you must look to anyone who took a second to look through the windscreen or one of the windows. You, in a salt-starched button up shirt. Aaron, in a faded blue t-shirt and the joggers you'd been wearing a few hours before. A strange pair of lovers, or maybe just a strange pair.

"The reason you read everyone is because you use it as a pre-emptive defense mechanism. If you know how everyone is feeling, you can adjust your behaviour to avoid making anyone upset."

"Oh," You said. "So that makes me... a psychopath, or something?"

Aaron chuckled and shook his head, looking at you properly now that the car was safely stopped. "No. It makes you like a lot of other women."

"Oh," You said again, somehow feeling even more dejected. "Just ordinary."

He shook his head, reaching across the centre console to wipe some salt from your cheek. "You're far from ordinary."

"Next in line," Came the staticky voice from the speaker. "How can I help you?"

"What do you want?" He whispered.

"Something sweet," You replied. "And a bagel."

He relayed the information to the disembodied voice.

"Is that all?"

"No, could I also get a black coffee? No cream, no sugar, and do you have a bacon and egg sandwich?"

"Sure. Drive up to the next window."

"Thank you," Aaron replied, shooting you a conspiratorial smile. Why did you feel like you were getting away with something?

"Mr. Bacon and Egg," You teased.

"What?" He replied, reaching for his wallet. "Nothing wrong with the classics."

There was a knock at your door, and you jumped. Your dad?

You took a big sip of water before making your way to the door, then peered through one of the little glass windows to see who it was. With a sigh of relief, you undid the deadbolt. Aaron.

"Is your dad home?" He looked you up and down, but there was no hunger in it.

Your brow furrowed. "No."

"We need to talk," He said, letting himself in, locking the door.

Your stomach dropped through the floor. Here it comes. He's going to tell me that I've been coming onto him and it needs to stop. Head heavy with shame, you let your body fall to the couch and looked down at the rug. He's married, how did you think this was going to end?

"Haley's leaving me."

You looked at him, waiting for the next sentence. None came.

"Aaron," You breathed. "I'm so sorry."

"I went for a drive," He said. "To the beach. In Delaware."

There was a long silence, and he walked to the kitchen and back, bringing you the glass of water you'd abandoned.

You took another sip, looking down at the floor again.

"I..." He took a seat beside you.

You looked at him, searching his face.

"I can't read you," You said softly. "You need to tell me."

He looked deep into your eyes, no doubt seeing the feelings you had for him. You couldn't put words to them yet, but you had a feeling your eyes were telling a story your heart hadn't yet been able to commit to. "I didn't like the beach."

Agony tearing through you, you broke the eye contact, rubbing your face with one of your hands. What had you expected?

He took your hand in his, pulling it from your face. His grip was rough, but it was nothing compared to the confusion and pain radiating through your body.

"No," He said insistently. "I didn't like the beach because... It wasn't the beach. It was you."

You looked at him hopefully, praying to every god whose name you'd ever learned that your heart was right to start beating wildly, full of anticipation.

He whispered your name, his hand coming to the side of your face as the space between you seemed to shrink.

"Haley wouldn't mind," You whispered.

"She wouldn't," He replied, his face close enough to yours that certain syllables sent his lips brushing against yours. He rubbed his nose against yours, waiting to be seized by a sudden rush of morality. It didn't come.

You closed the gap between you, taking his chin between your thumb and forefinger, sealing your lips to his. For a moment you stayed like that, just pressing your lips together, not moving, hardly breathing.

Then it was like lightning- his lips moving against yours, his weight starting to shift on top of your body as you slipped beneath him, your hands moving to cup his back, hips dropping open to accommodate his body in this new position. The harsh noises of your breathing between frantic kisses, the wet sound as your tongue just barely left your mouth, tracing over his lips. A thud as his hand met the arm of the couch, supporting his weight. And if that all was lightning, the electric lick of light across a bright sky, the rest was apocalypse, the hounds of hell breaking loose as your bodies settled against each other, his tongue snaking across your lips, testing the seam of them, whether you'd let him in. You tugged his bottom lip between your teeth, running your tongue across the slightly swollen skin as you released his lip.

You settled into a rhythmic tempo, swaying against each other like the waves on the shore, the push and the pull like something divinely inspired, driven by the moon, something of a greater magnitude than mere magnetism. Something like gravity.

When you broke away, it was all changed. Even from this distance, hardly an inch away from him, you knew the world had tilted on its axis. You became aware of the sound of children playing outside, the ring of a bicycle's bell. You were certain that if you walked outside, you'd see them riding their bicycles straight into the sky, or the birds would be flying upside down. The warmth of the sun would radiate from the ground, and the tickle of the grass would rain down on you.

Your eyelashes seemed like monuments as you blinked slowly, attempting to clear your vision. When you opened your eyes, nothing had changed. There he was. There you were.

The sun warmed your bare skin as you curled into Aaron's chest. Something about the kiss had been draining, as beautiful as it was, and you'd led him upstairs to rest. He traced shapes on your back.

"That was intense," He said, finally.

"I'm tired," You said, suddenly feeling like you might cry.

"I shouldn't stay."

You tilted your head to look up at him, taking a moment to appreciate the way that he looked in your bed, his short dark hair contrasting with your cream-coloured pillow.

"You could," You said.

He shook his head.

"I thought you said Haley left?"

He nodded. "She did. But your dad could come back any minute."

It was your turn to shake your head. "He won't be here until Tuesday. He stays at her place from Thursday night until Tuesday morning so they can have weekends."

"Generous definition of weekend," He scoffed. "He should take better care of you."

"He makes sure there's food when he comes. And besides, I can take care of myself."

"You shouldn't have to," He said softly, stroking your cheek with the back of his hand. His voice was filled with fondness, and you broke his gaze so you could rest your head against his chest again.

"You take care of me," You whispered.

"I could," He whispered. "You deserve to know what it feels like."

There were butterflies in your stomach. You lay like that for another hour, waiting to decide what to do. There was no clear path forward, you knew that much.

"I should go," He murmured. "I have some errands to run before everything closes for the night, and work in the morning."

"What are we going to do?" You said softly, sitting upright.

He sat up too, swinging his legs out of the bed.

"What if this is it?" He replied. "The simplest thing to do would be to leave it here."

"Aaron," You said, your voice breaking. "I couldn't live."

You reached for your phone.

"Can I take a photo of us? So at least I know it wasn't a dream?"

His mind flicked to Penelope, and her incredible capacity for unearthing files from anywhere. Your phone was far from secure, and he just couldn't risk a photo like that ending up somewhere it shouldn't.

He shook his head. "It's too risky. No one should find out about this."

You sighed, looking over at the wall, the last of the day's light filling the room with light, although it was limited to a square in the shape of the window.

You took him by the chin, pulling him gently into the light.

He laughed.

"What?"

"Hell of a metaphor," He said, shaking his head with a small smile.

You raised an eyebrow at him, but he shook his head. You dropped the subject and gestured at his shadow on the wall, the silhouette of his head.

"How about this?"

You leaned into the light, leaving your silhouettes facing each other.

He nodded. "That works."

Careful not to let your phone cast a shadow, you framed the shot and looked at him while he looked at you, both of you fighting back wide smiles. Your phone clicked softly, and you checked to make sure the picture was okay. You nodded and showed it to him. He smiled and kissed your forehead, wrapping an arm around you.

"This isn't going to be easy," He said.

You took one of his hands in both of yours, and looked at him seriously. "I don't need easy. I do need you."

You both sat there for a moment, letting your words hang in the air and permeate your skin.

"God," You breathed. "I can't believe you said what if this is it? I couldn't leave things here. I'd die."

"How about this?" He said, echoing your words from earlier. You followed his gaze as he looked down at his hands. He slipped off his gold wedding ring and placed it on your bedside table.

"My promise this isn't it."

You looked at him, tears forming in your eyes, and nodded.

He took your hands in his, and pressed a kiss to them before enclosing them completely in his.