#Italian chef fingers kiss | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

prythiansprincess · 1 year ago

Text

my collar.

pairing: theodore nott x reader.

song inspiration: she's my collar by gorillaz (feat. kali uchis)

author's note: sometimes theo just needs to be put in his place and i'm more than happy to deliver that 😏

It was heinous.

It was criminal.

It was downright torturous.

Your boyfriend leaned over, his lips grazing your earlobe as he lowered his voice to a husky, seductive tone. “Are you okay, principessa? You seem a little distracted.”

Crimson colored your cheeks as you straightened against the wingback chair, clearing your throat while you looked around the table, which was currently occupied by your closest friends. All of which were none the wiser to the effect Theo had on you tonight.

“I’m fine,” you squeaked out.

“Really?” Theo drawled, sliding his hand down your thigh and squeezing firmly. “Because you haven’t stopped shaking your leg since dinner started. A shame. Malfoy flew in a private chef from France. He really wants to impress his girl. I know what that’s like.”

You inhaled sharply as his hand trailed higher, his rough and calloused fingers slipping underneath the slit of your dress. “Teddy, please…”

“Begging already, dolcezza? I thought we agreed to save that for the bedroom.”

The teasing and taunting, the push and pull, the cat and mouse routine between you and Theo had been constant all night. Punishment for turning down his proposal for a quickie before dinner. It was hard enough to say no to Theo on a normal day, but declining your boyfriend’s proposition of hot, frantic sex while he looked absolutely sinful in a custom three piece suit was nearly impossible. Not to mention painful.

Still, if you’d taken him up on the offer, you most likely would’ve never made it to dinner. You couldn’t do that to Draco. He needed emotional support. Tonight was his first time integrating Hermione into your friend group and you promised that you’d do everything in your power to make her feel welcome.

With a sigh, you pried Theo’s fingers off of your thigh. “Behave, Theodore.” Your boyfriend pouted like a petulant child. “Draco needs us.”

You nodded towards the blonde who looked equally panicked and appalled while Blaise recounted embarrassing stories to Hermione. The golden girl seemed amused by the antics, but Malfoy was anything but.

“Save him before he ruptures a blood vessel,” you murmured to your boyfriend. For good measure, you batted your lashes up at him and gave him a look that he couldn’t refuse. “Please, baby.”

Theo sighed, mumbling in Italian under his breath. “Gentlemen. Care for a cigar?”

Thankfully, Zabini’s plan to embarrass the hell out of Draco was momentarily forgotten. Crisis averted. Draco shot you a grateful look, knowing that you were most likely behind the save. Salazar knows that Theo would’ve delighted in the effort of sullying his oldest friend’s reputation if he hadn’t been distracted.

The boys rose from their chairs, excusing themselves from the room. Theo lingered beside you, dipping his head to place a kiss right underneath your jaw. He sucked lightly on the sweet spot and smirked as you melted against him. The bastard was playing dirty.

“You owe me for that, cara mia.”

Desire bloomed in your core, flooding heat through your body as you peered at your boyfriend. You couldn’t help but admire him in his suit. The midnight blue fabric draped over his tall and lean figure like your own personal gift and the deep stormy color brought out his eyes. You flushed as he turned, training his intense gaze on you like he was savoring the sight. With a cheeky grin, Theo shot you a wink before slipping out the door.

Beside you, Pansy tutted in disapproval. “Get a hold of yourself, Y/N.”

You flushed as Hermione bit back a grin. The curly haired witch patted your hand. “You have my sympathy. When I first saw Draco in a suit, I nearly spilled wine all over myself.”

“See, Pans. I’m not the only one,” you murmured in self-defense. “I can’t help it.”

Pansy shook her head, her glossy bob grazing her chin. “You can and you will. Don’t let Nott turn you into a simpering mess. The Y/N I know would bring a man to his knees.”

Hermione nodded in agreement. “I think Pansy’s right. You should show Theo who’s really in control.”

You smirked as an idea started forming in your head. “You’re more devious than you look, aren’t you, Granger?” Hermione flashed you an innocent smile, which made you laugh. Draco had his work cut out for him. You liked her all the more for it. “You two have a point. Maybe I’ll give my boyfriend a taste of his own medicine tonight.”

Once your mind was made up, the three of you moved on to more important topics. You were fascinated to hear about Hermione’s work on curing lycanthropy while she was equally curious about the proposed laws that you were in the process of bringing before the Wizengamot. The bill was a passion project of yours because it would give rights and protections to muggle born wizards and witches that had never been afforded to them before. You were ready to fight tooth and nail to see it come to fruition.

Needless to say, you were a little too passionate about it. The last time Rita Skeeter interviewed you under the guise of bringing light to the cause, you nearly strangled the sneaky little witch for taking more interest in your romantic relationship than the work you were trying to achieve. You were glad that Pansy worked her high society charm and publicity experience to diffuse the situation.

In the end, she bribed and threatened the proper people to have the story killed. It was a blessing in disguise since you ended up giving exclusive rights to the Quibbler, which was now spearheaded by your old classmate Luna. She truly did the story justice. As a bonus, her tenacity seemed to have caught the attention of the pickiest witch you knew. No matter how many times Pansy denied it, you knew your friend was smitten.

“Babe, you should take your own advice and just ask Luna out already.”

Your friend nearly choked on her wine. Hermione watched the interaction with an amused expression. Her lips curled into a mischievous smile as she turned over to Pansy. “I happen to know that you’re just her type.”

Never in your life had you seen Pansy Parkinson blush that furiously. She caught herself, holding her head high in that aristocratic way of hers. “Of course I’m her type,” your friend declared in a haughty tone. “I’m everyone’s type.”

You and Hermione looked at each other before bursting into a fit of giggles. Pansy cracked a smile and laughed along. The three of you were in full hysterics by the time the boys came back.

Theo slipped back into his seat, squeezing your shoulder gently. “What’s so funny, dolcezza?”

“Girl talk,” Hermione answered on your behalf. “It’s not for you boys to hear.”

You nodded in between giggles. “What Granger said.”

Draco groaned. “Bloody hell, they’re unionizing.”

Your boyfriend raised a brow. He placed his hand back on your thigh, resuming the torturous contact from earlier in the night. “Keeping secrets from me now, Y/N?”

You plastered a saccharine sweet smile on your face. Theo observed curiously as you peeled his fingers from your leg before firmly holding his hand. “I thought you liked a little mystery, baby.”

Theo swallowed thickly as you leaned in to whisper in his ear. He held his breath while you pressed your palm against his chest, twirling his tie between red painted fingernails. You lowered your voice into a dark, seductive tone. “Have I told you how good you look tonight? I could just eat you up.”

Lust blown eyes stared back at you, those familiar piercing blue irises completely swallowed by darkness. Theo shifted in his seat as his gaze dropped down to your mouth. You flashed him an innocent smile before releasing his tie and returning to the conversation happening around you. You could feel that burning gaze on you as you laughed and talked with Pansy and Mattheo.

For the rest of the dinner, you kept up the nonchalant act. You mustered every ounce of self-control within you and rebuffed all of Theo’s advances. Every time he leaned in for a kiss, you gave him your cheek instead. When the group moved to the sitting room, you walked by his side instead of leading the way because you knew Theo would take advantage and smack your ass when no one was looking. To his surprise, you slapped his backside with a sly little smirk, causing him to glance over at you in shock.

By the time you were seated on the expensive velvet couch, Theo was practically jittering. His knee bounced beside you as Hermione continued telling you about the Paris trip Draco had planned. Without looking at him, you placed a hand on your boyfriend’s leg and stopped his anxious bouncing. He sighed beside you, no doubt pouting like a petulant child. Yet you didn’t give him the satisfaction of acknowledgement, which only made him more desperate.

“Let’s get out of here,” Theo whispered into your ear. “You can devour me all you’d like, cara mia.”

You shook your head. “We haven’t even gotten to dessert yet, my love.”

When Draco brought out a spread of chocolate covered strawberries, the opportunity to tease Theo even more quite literally presented itself on a silver platter. You pinched the ripe fruit between your fingers before wrapping your lips around it. Theo watched with rapt attention as you took a slow, deliberate bite, making a whole show of sucking and licking off the chocolate. He gripped the armchair so hard that his knuckles turned white from the strained effort.

You bit back a smirk as he crossed his legs and tried not to groan. It was obvious that you had the upper hand now. Theo was barely paying attention to whatever anecdote Enzo and Mattheo were rambling to him about. Those electric eyes were trained on you as you picked up another strawberry.

“Want a bite, Teddy?” you asked lovingly. “They’re sweet.”

Theo sucked in a breath before nodding slowly. He didn’t trust his voice at the moment. You offered the fruit to him, cradling his cheek gently as he wrapped his lips around the strawberry in a suggestive manner. Theo kept eye contact as he sucked the white chocolate off. You stared back, smiling sweetly as he devoured the fruit in one bite. He seemed frustrated at your unaffected expression, but you were determined not to break. You were going to come out on top tonight. In more ways than one.

Usually, the two of you would be the first to leave. You rarely made it through an entire night without Theo dragging you into the floo so you could tear each other apart back at your shared flat. Tonight was different though. You lasted all the way through midnight, forcing yourself to laugh and chat with your friends as you ignored your boyfriend’s fuck me eyes from across the room.

For that, you made sure you were the last to leave. Theo was convinced he was slowly dying. As soon as the two of you stepped through the floor, your boyfriend scrambled towards your direction, itching to get his hands all over you.

You stepped out of his reach and shook your head. “I didn’t say you could touch me.”

Theo looked utterly confused. “I’ve never needed permission before.”

You chuckled darkly. “You really think I’d reward you for acting like a brat all night? You’re going to learn that it’s a bad idea to tease me like that in front of all of our friends.” Theo gaped at your words. “Now, sit. You can use this time to think about what you’ve done.”

“Dolcezza, please —“

”Did I fucking stutter, Theo?” You jutted your chin to the bed. “Sit. I won’t tell you again.”

Judging by the look on his face, Theo was stunned at the sudden change, but you knew your boyfriend well enough to notice that he was entirely turned on by it too. He settled on the edge of the bed, watching in anticipation as you made your way over to the vanity table. As slowly as possible, you took off every piece of jewelry one by one. The diamonds glittered brightly as you removed them from your neck, ears, and fingers.

A tense silence settled in the room while you pulled the pins out of your updo, sending your hair cascading over your shoulders. Theo squirmed in place, groaning at the sight. You knew that seeing your hair down was his weakness.

“Baby,” he pleaded in the darkness. “Can I touch you?”

You cut him a disinterested glance over your shoulder. “You can help me take my dress off.”

Theo sighed in relief as you sauntered over to him. His slender fingers struggled with the zipper, eager to tear the fabric off of your body. You met his gaze through the mirror, giving him a stern look.

“Slow, Theo. You need to be patient.”

Your boyfriend swallowed thickly, struggling to reign himself in. He concentrated on undressing you slowly, his hands shaking slightly as he pulled the zipper down. He cursed under his breath when your dress pooled around your feet, leaving you in nothing but a little lacy green set — his favorite.

The struggle was evident in his expression. His gaze raked over your body, settling on the spiky heels that you purposely kept on. The red soled stilettos clicked against the wooden floors as you closed the gap. You smirked as you settled between his legs and tugged on his tie.

“Your turn,” you rasped while Theo gazed at you with pure hunger. “Let me undress you now.”

“Okay,” Theo murmured, dazed and confused as you unbuttoned his shirt.

He hissed when you raked your nails over his chest and made quick work of his tie. Theo started unbuttoning his shirt, but reeled back when you swatted his hands away. Your boyfriend gazed up at you expectantly, letting his hands fall neatly to his sides while you took over. Without much effort, you expertly unbuckled his belt and kneeled before him to help him slip out of his pants. Once he was stripped down to his boxers, your eyes flickered back to his face.

“Get on the bed,” you commanded.

Theo was mesmerized, inching backwards towards the headboard on his elbows, but keeping his attention on you as you crawled on the mattress with your heels still on. Your boyfriend was completely under your spell as you brought your face close to his, your hair tickling his chest while he eagerly drank you in.

“What do you want?”

“I want to kiss you,” he answered without hesitation.

”Then learn to ask for it.”

Theo nodded, biting his lip. “Can I kiss you?”

You raised a brow, utterly unimpressed. “Try again, Theo.”

He chewed on his bottom lip, canines sinking down. “Can I kiss you, please?”

You smirked, pleased with the magic word. “Good boy.”

Something dark flashed in Theo’s expression. Your words seemed to awaken a new level of lust and desire within him. The praise gave him a rush that he had never felt before. Theo surged forward, his mouth slanting over yours eagerly. He tasted like wine and strawberries, heady and sinful while he kissed you deeply. His tongue slipped past the seam of your lips, demanding entrance. You granted his request, licking the roof of his mouth as you battled for control.

Theo welcomed the challenge, groaning into your mouth as he pulled you into his lap. You straddled him and tugged at his hair as you flicked your tongue over his bottom lip, licking and sucking until he groaned with need. Theo took liberties without your permission, his greed getting the best of him as he grinded his hard length against your ass.

You weren’t going to reward his impertinent behavior. You promised to teach him a lesson tonight. Theo gasped as you bit down on his bottom lip before raising his arms above him. He blinked in confusion as you bound him to the headboard with his own tie. It all happened so fast that by the time he noticed, it was already too late.

Theo tugged at the restraints, squirming underneath you. “Please, cara mia. I want to touch you.”

You sighed in disappointment. “Then you should've asked.”

His biceps flexed as he struggled, the veins on his forearms stark and prominent against his olive skin. Panic filled his eyes when he realized that there was no getting out of his binds. “I’m sorry. I got greedy. Please untie me, principessa. I’ll be good, I promise. I’ll make it up to you.”

Theo sounded desperate. You traced his swollen lips with your fingers and tugged at his messy brown waves. His eyes were wild as you straddled him. “Oh, you will,” you drawled, flashing him a devious smirk. “After I’m done with you, you’ll learn not to disobey me, my love.”

Your boyfriend panted heavily as you kissed down his chest, sucking and nipping at his flesh in a punishing manner. He was barely breathing as you trailed further south, licking a stripe down his torso. Theo whimpered as you pressed sloppy, openmouthed kisses along his abdominal muscles, leaving hickies in the shape of your initials on his skin. You continued taunting him with your mouth, flicking your tongue along his sinfully delicious happy trail like you had all the time in the world. When you grazed your teeth against his v-lines, Theo tugged at his arms so hard that the headboard rattled.

He was practically in tears as you palmed his cock through the fabric of his underwear. Theo held his breath as you toyed with the band of his boxers, hooking your fingers over the fabric before sliding it off his long legs. His eyes rolled back while you pumped him, applying just the right amount of pressure to have him writhing against your touch.

A desperate little whine slipped past his lips as you licked at the head of his cock, swirling your tongue over his tip and slurping up his precum. His moans filled the room when you took him down your throat, holding his hips down so he can’t fuck up into your mouth like he wants. Theo cursed in Italian as you pumped him with both hands, all the while sucking down and hollowing your cheeks to suction him in.

“Fuck, bella. I’m so close,” he whispered in a hoarse voice. “I’m going to cum.”

You withdrew your hands and your mouth at that moment, making him whine and groan from the sudden absence. Theo’s eyes flew wide open, tears filling his vision as you shook your head in disapproval.

“I thought I told you to ask,” you chided. “If you want to cum, use your words.”

“Please, please, baby, I’ll do whatever you want —“

”I know,” you said before settling over him and sliding off your panties. “And what I want is for you to get me off. Think you can help me with that, Theo?”

“Yes, yes. Just untie me and I will. I’ll make you feel good, dolcezza. I promise.”

“Oh, but you can do that right here, right now. With your hands tied.” Theo groaned as you grinded against him, spreading his precum and your slick over him. He moaned when his cock rubbed against your swollen clit with the perfect amount of friction. Theo was bewildered, his breaths coming out in ragged spurts.

“Be a good boy and let me use you as my fuck toy. You can do that, can’t you, Teddy?”

There wasn’t a single coherent thought in his mind. Theo felt the words escape him as you grinded against him. He felt dizzy. His cock was so hard that it hurt and he couldn’t even think straight. You hummed, brushing a finger over his balls before cupping them in your hand.

“Use your words, pretty boy.” Theo blinked back, unable to speak. You grabbed his jaw roughly, forcing him back into focus. “I asked you a question. I expect you to answer.”

Theo whimpered before nodding weakly. “Use me, dolcezza. I’m yours.”

You smirked in satisfaction. Theo groaned as you rubbed your pussy against his cock. When his shaft brushed against your clit, his eyes rolled back so hard that he was convinced he could see the vacantness of his empty mind. You rode him hard and fast, using his body to get you off. The depravity of it turned him on even more. The blood rushed out of his head at the dominance you exhibited. You were utterly selfish, taking what you wanted when you wanted it, and he was so fucking aroused at how cruel his girl could be.

You raked your nails over his chest as you balanced, teasing him with your wet folds without letting him feel you. Theo bit his lip so hard that the action drew blood. You licked away the crimson droplets and he sighed against your mouth as you gave him relief, sloppily kissing him while you moaned his name. He could tell you were getting close by the way you convulsed above him and he cursed as your pussy squelched against his cock.

Theo was in awe as you cried out, cumming while you screamed his name. You slowed the roll of your hips as you lost yourself over to the orgasm, denying him of his own again. Your juices trickled down your thighs and pooled against his stomach. At that point, his cock was so sensitive that it throbbed painfully. Theo was in shambles, his wrists raw and red from tugging so hard.

“Please, please, baby. Let me fuck you. I need it. I need you. I’ll die if I’m not inside you.”

You chuckled, brushing the salty tears pooling underneath his pretty eyes. “Pathetic. Are you begging for me, pretty boy? So desperate to fill me up, to feel my pussy hug around your cock while you pump your cum inside of me, hm?”

“It hurts so bad,” Theo whined. “Please, I’ll do anything. Anything you want. I’ll get on my knees and beg. Please, principessa.”

“Look at you crying for me,” you cooed, caressing his cheek. “Poor Teddy. You’ve been so good. Let me take care of you now.” You soothed him with praises as you untied his arms.

You kissed his wrists as Theo sighed in relief. “Do you want to touch me, baby?”

Theo nodded shyly, which made you smile. His large, rough hands carefully gripped your hips. He looked to you for approval, making sure to check with you for every little thing. You only nodded, dragging his hands up to rest on your breasts. He busied himself with your bra strap, breathing raggedly as he freed your tits from the fabric.

“Can I touch them, please?” Theo asked earnestly.

“Is that all you want?”

“No,” he answered honestly. “I want to kiss them. I want to suck them.” His gaze flickered to your amused expression. “Please, baby.”

“Go ahead. You earned it, pretty boy.”

Theo wasted no time, kneading your tits while kissing down your cleavage. He gasped in surprise when you sank down onto him, nearly sobbing in relief when he felt your pussy hug around his cock. His shaky little breaths seeped into your skin as you took inch after inch, making yourself comfortable on his lap as he sheathed himself inside of you. Theo whined when you lifted your hips until only his remained inside of you.

“Don’t whine, Theo. Be thankful that I’m fucking you instead of punishing you.”

He rested his head on the crook of your neck, attempting to ground himself. “Thank you, baby. I’m grateful. I don’t deserve it, but you’re so good to me.”

With a proud smile, you slammed down to take all of him again. Theo was rendered speechless and his mouth fell open as you bounced on his cock. Desperately, he scrambled to catch your perky breasts into his mouth. Your boyfriend sucked on your tits, swirling his tongue around your nipples. You moaned as he nipped at you, tensing when you yanked him by his hair.

Theo stared at you, waiting for direction. Knowing that you had this much control over him made you clench. In your relationship, Theo tended to take on the dominant role, but now that you knew that your boyfriend was more than open to being submissive, you were ready to explore this new dynamic.

“I like this side of you,” you murmured, kissing down his jaw and neck. His breath hitched as you slowly rolled your hips. “So obedient. So willing. So submissive.” A shiver shuddered through him as you wrapped your fingers around his neck. “Tell me who you belong to, Theo.”

“You, baby,” he rasped. “Only you.”

“Show me,” you commanded as you squeezed his throat. It was enough to make Theo feel dizzy, momentarily cutting off his oxygen. “Fuck me like you mean it.”

The desire to please you overwhelmed him. All thoughts of his own pleasure faded. It was secondary to the need to hear you praise him, to validate him, to call him your good boy. He hooked his arm around your waist, shifting his hips to fuck into you at a deeper angle. You moaned above him as your bodies melded together. Sweat, sin, and sex permeated the air while he worshiped at your altar.

Theo watched his cock disappear between your folds, his gaze flickering from your pussy to your face, eager to know if his actions pleased you. You brushed his hair back, gentle and loving, while you talked him through it.

“That’s it, Teddy. Fill me up.” Theo thrusted as you bounced, groaning as he hit the sweet spot that made your body sing. “Just like that. Fuck, it’s so good. You’re so good, baby.”

Your forehead dropped to his, rewarding him with sweet little kisses every time he hit the spongy spot that had you seeing stars. He relished in your compliments, felt himself craving it like a drug. When your pussy clenched around him to signal your release, Theo continued to fuck you through the orgasm. There was a reverent glimmer in his eyes like he was witnessing something holy when you came.

Theo could feel his own release nearing, but he knew better than to cum without asking. It was abundantly clear to him that you were in control tonight. “Can I cum? Please, principessa?”

“Of course you can,” you replied with a blissed out smile. “Good boys get to cum.”

He held his breath, feeling warmth spread throughout his body. “I’ve been a good boy?”

“Mhm,” you murmured, pulling him in for a soft kiss. “The best boy.” Even though you were sensitive and overstimulated, you made sure to reward his good behavior. Picking up the pace, sliding easily up and down his cock thanks to your wetness, you whispered the words that you knew would push Theo over the edge. “Now be a good boy and cum inside of me, baby.”

Theo cried out with a shout, shuddering underneath you as he shot hot ribbons deep inside your pussy. You could feel his cum filling you up, warm and wet as it trickled out. He panted against your neck as his cock twitched inside of you, releasing his load with each pump. As he emptied himself out, Theo slowed, his body collapsing from the intensity of the orgasm.

When he regained consciousness, he was flat on his back. Theo blinked away the white spots in his vision. It felt like his soul had left his body entirely. He had cum so hard he passed out. As he rejoined the physical realm, Theo opened his eyes to find you cleaning him up. You were so sweet and gentle, the complete opposite of the selfish lover you’d been just a few moments ago. It warmed his heart to know that you’d always take care of him no matter what.

Theo smiled as you kissed his forehead. A small whimper escaped his mouth as you pulled his boxers over his legs, his cock still sensitive from the intense sex. You whispered sweet nothings into his ear, soothing him as you brushed your fingers through his hair. Theo cuddled against your side and sighed happily.

“Holy fuck,” he whispered.

You giggled, pressing soft kisses all over his face. “Did you like that?” You asked, teasing your boyfriend. “It seems like you did.”

He hummed against your skin, brushing his lips against your neck. “Fuck, I think you just unlocked a new kink for me.” You chuckled at his words. “That was so fucking hot, baby.”

“You know, I was trying to teach you a lesson,” you mused. “I didn’t quite expect you to enjoy getting degraded this much.”

“Degrade me whenever you want, dolcezza.”

"Really?" you hummed, musing on his willingness. "How far would you let me go? If I broke out a leash and collar, would you have stopped me?"

You were half-joking, but the eager expression on your boyfriend's face told you that he was more than willing to make your suggestion into a reality.

"Don't threaten me with a good time, cara mia." Theo wrapped an arm around your waist, tugging you closer. "I'd crawl to you on my hands and knees if you asked. If you're the one asking, there's nothing I wouldn't do."

The power definitely gave you a head rush. As much as you relished in the hold you had over him, you tucked the knowledge away for later. There was plenty of opportunity to act out all your dirtiest, filthiest fantasies, but for now, you were more than content to snuggle with the love of your life.

You smirked, nipping at his jaw. “That’s my good boy.”

#i want to put him in a pretty little pink collar #theo nott #theo nott smut #theodore nott smut #theo nott x reader #theodore nott #theo nott x you #theodore nott x you #theo nott x y/n #theodore nott x reader #theo nott imagine

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winterscaptain · 20 days ago

Text

like a family.

Aaron Hotchner x Gender Neutral Reader a joyful future fic

a/n: it's soooo late but i will blame the brain damage (lmao). i am SO excited to share this one with you all and throw us back into the mean it era for a while!! we'll be living here for the next few weeks and i am working on a lot of revisions!! to orient us: this is the first case back from suspension!

maybe we get two fics this week as a treat?? i'll throw up a poll.

words: 13.1k content advisories: canon-typical violence, case discussion (acid attacks), language, emotional confrontation, mentions of PTSD and grief

summary: “love implies anger. the man who is angered by nothing cares about nothing.” – edward abbey. october 19th, 2011

Hat, blazer, shoes, phone, wallet, keys…

“You have everything?” Aaron asks.

You hesitate, patting your pockets, feeling around in your work bag. “Trying to…figure that out.” Your speech is halting, distracted, as if you can’t quite remember the rhythm of this.

It’s been a long time since we’ve had to do this. Four weeks? Five weeks?

You glance at him. “We’re definitely looking at a case this week, right?”

Aaron nods. “Pretty bad, looks like. I've been monitoring a few, but we’ll see where Garcia sends us. My guess is Oklahoma.”

You pull a face. “Okay.”

You take a breath and walk over to him, pressing your full weight to his chest. He huffs a little laugh, warm and familiar, and kisses your forehead.

“We have to go,” he murmurs, hands settling on your shoulders. Gently, he unglues you, holds you at arms length. His thumbs brush little circles over your coat, like a tether.

“You love your job. We love our jobs. Right?”

A beat.

“Right.”

+++

You share a little smile before getting into your respective cars, lingering in the moment just a beat longer than necessary.

It’s been a blissful (and, at times, excruciating) few weeks without work. Stepping back into reality won’t be easy.

Aaron’s face is unreadable at first—calm, collected. But then, just before he reaches for the door, his jaw shifts. Just slightly. A reflex, like he’s forcing something back into place.

You’re not sure if having this much uninterrupted time together has been good for you, or for whatever this relationship is becoming—but at this point, there’s very little that could fuck you up further.

The separation, the boundaries, will be good. Structure. Distance. Something that’s just yours.

He exhales through his nose, his fingers flexing once at his side before closing around the car handle.

You pull your door open, mirroring him. Baby steps.

+++

“Look, master of all things Italian, I am having a Fellini festival at my house this weekend and I must serve the beautiful food of his country.” You turn as Penelope and Dave walk in, no doubt discussing the pancetta disaster in her little green tupperware.

Dave makes a face. “Maybe you should show a Disney film and stick with burgers.”

“You know, Rossi,” Derek says, “you could always give Penelope a cooking lesson.”

“Oh, my gosh, that would be amazing. That would be like-- that would be like the Iron Chef meets the BAU.” She pauses, her voice creeping higher. “And we could do it at your house.”

“I don't have a house, I have a mansion.”

You roll your eyes. When you look at Spencer to share the moment, he avoids you. There’s a little flash of hurt in your chest and you do your best to smother it. Everyone is clearly handling things differently and you’re trying not to take things personally.

It’s not about you.

A folder lands in front of you, and you feel Aaron pass behind you.

"Alright, let’s get started."

The sound of his voice—low, steady, too steady—sends a little shock up your spine.

The impact he has on your heart rate isn’t reasonable or fair—you see him all the time, heard those words hundreds of times, but the added clandestine knowledge makes it so much worse.

It’s the undeniable weight of him in the room, the heat of his presence, the way he exists in your periphery like a living problem. Your heart takes off at a gallop.

And it’s not just knowing him, now. It’s knowing how his hands feel, how he breathes and the sounds he makes when he’s close, how his pulse jumps when you kiss the scar on his jaw.

Plus, I know what’s hiding under those suits…

Stop!! Focus!

It’s knowing too much—and having to act like it means nothing.

You fight to keep your breathing steady. You can feel the heat creep up your neck.

The best outcome you can hope for is that nobody’s paying attention to you.

Aaron smirks out of the corner of your eye. He knows.

Well. Somebody is paying attention to you.

Bastard.

You ignore him. Well. As best you can. Eventually, he schools his expression—a fraction of a second too late. Like he almost forgot himself, just for a moment. But then the mask comes back, smoothing over the smirk, the glances, the heat. He takes a small, almost imperceptible pause before opening his folder, treating it almost like a little milestone. He’s focused, now, centered.

You flip through as Penelope starts, noting the freshness of the paper. There’s new information on this case since this morning.

“You are jetting to Durant, Oklahoma, because in the last three days, two women have been found dead after being sexually tortured and then blinded with a sulfuric acid solution.”

Yikes. He was right.

Your body is still reacting to Aaron. Your brain is already spiraling into the horrors of the case. And in that moment, you hate how both things can exist at once.

“Abby Elcott is our first victim.” A photo of a young woman appears on the monitor. “A nineteen-year-old art student. She was headed to campus for an advanced drawing class. She'd been missing for two days.” Garcia clicks again and a few more photos appear. “Same goes for our second victim, Beth Westerly, seventeen. She had just finished her coffee shop shift and was on her way to a barre method class.”

“Low risk,” you note. “Hard targets.”

Aaron exhales through his nose, slow and measured, before adjusting the way his hands rest on the table.

Derek agrees. “And physically similar.” He looks at Penelope. “How close are the two abduction sites?”

“Five miles apart at bus stops. Abby’s cell was found near one, Beth’s scarf near the other.”

“Where are the dump sites?” Spencer asks.

“One in an alley, the other in a field.”

JJ’s brow crinkles, her finger supporting her temple as she works through the details. “So he stapled their eyes open, then he blinded them.”

“It's about power and control,” Derek suggests. “Maybe he didn't want them to watch while he hurt them.”

“Or it could be about shame,” Spencer replies. “Perhaps the unsub is disfigured himself. Blinding the victims leaves them helpless, lost, totally dependent. It may be a manifestation of how he sees himself in this world.”

There’s something loaded, a hidden meaning in his words, and a strange look passes over JJ’s face. You glance at Aaron without moving your head, trying to be subtle. His tongue passes over his lower lip and he swallows. It’s an acknowledgement.

Later.

Emily tips her head. “It is a form of enucleation, just without the scalpel.”

“His face is the last they see before darkness,” Dave says grimly.

Damn. That’s dark, Dave.

Aaron compiles the papers in front of him, closing the folder. He clears his throat once before speaking again—unusual, for him. “Garcia, come up with a list of jobs that would give the unsub access to sulfuric acid.” He looks up, meeting everyone’s eyes around the table. “The rest of us, wheels up in thirty minutes.”

You hang back, letting Aaron leave before you start packing your things.

“You good?” Derek asks. His eyes are creased, concerned.

You nod quickly, too quickly. “Yep. Just nice to be back. Happy to be back into the swing of things, you know?”

“Uh huh,” he says, skeptical, but not pushing. He doesn’t completely buy it. His gaze flicks over you, assessing, before he adds, “Anything else going on? Seems like you ran a mile before coming in this morning or something.”

Your breath hitches—not much, just a fraction—but enough that you have to actively steady it before responding.

"Not sure. Feeling a little jittery, but that’s normal after some time away, right?"”

He shrugs, still watching you, but lets it go. You’re left with Emily and JJ, who are looking at something on JJ’s phone, heads bent close together.

You smile a little. It’s good to have her back.

You grab a few random papers—something, anything—and cross the bridge, stopping outside Aaron’s office.

You don’t need to speak. You don’t really even pause. Just a meaningful glance—a beat too long, a breath too deep.

He clocks it immediately. His eyes track yours, and something in his expression flickers. Acknowledgement. Understanding.

You keep walking.

You get down to your desk. Folders in, loose papers out. You don’t really care what they are, but you make a show of it, slow and methodical. Just in case anyone’s watching.

You take them to the copy room.

Sixty seconds later, Aaron joins you. The door clicks shut behind him.

You barely wait a breath. Your body moves before your brain does—a step forward, then another, and then you’re pressing yourself into his chest, arms winding tight around his waist.

He exhales as he catches you, his hands finding their place, firm and sure. One at the small of your back, the other settling between your shoulder blades. He doesn’t say anything—just holds you close, steady, solid.

“Are you okay?”

You nod. “Just a hard transition.”

“Yeah.”

You’re quiet for a minute, content to melt into his arms, let all your stress drop out of you through your toes. “I miss you.”

He hums. It’s almost an amused sound. “I miss you too.”

“It’s silly, because you’re right here, but -”

“No, I get it. Not the same as being at home.”

You sigh into him. "No, it’s not."

He holds you just a little tighter for a moment—just long enough to tell you he means it.

Then, a breath. A return to center..

"Alright," he murmurs, softer now. "Fake copy that file, and I’ll meet you at the jet."

+++

There’s a thin layer of tension coating the inside of the jet, but it’s easy enough to ignore if you try hard enough.

Spencer shoulder-checks JJ on his way to put his bag away and you watch, stunned, as he does absolutely nothing to help her as she stumbles, nearly falling into you in the bank of seats by the table. You catch her and let her grab your hand to steady herself.

“Thanks,” she says. It almost sounds sad.

You shake your head. “Don’t worry about it.”

She offers you a thin smile and you realize her jaw is tight, her smile only reaches her eyes by the barest amounts. You flip your hand, catching her wrist as she pulls away, and meet her eyes.

The guilt is eating her up, and Spencer isn’t helping.

It’s okay.

She shakes her head, but smiles as if to reassure you, wrapping her fingers around yours and squeezing once. You hold her gaze.

I gotchu.

You know she knows. She softens and leans against Emily’s chair, studiously ignoring Spencer as he sits just about as far away as he can get without completely excluding himself from the group. You shift as the rest of the team joins you, taking a place on the arm of the sofa between Aaron and Spencer.

“Victimology is very similar,” Aaron says, almost to himself. “Blond-haired, blue-eyed teenage girls.”

“Local PD believes they were abducted close to nearby public transit stops,” JJ adds. You look through the maps, noting the routes of the buses common to both stops. There’s only one, and you file it for later.

Emily holds up a picture of one of the victims. “When was this photo taken?”

“Beth was caught on a bank surveillance camera three hours before she disappeared,” he gestures to the other photo in her hand. “That’s a recent photo of Abby.”

“So, she wasn’t found in the same clothes she was abducted in?” Emily asks.

You lean forward. “Maybe the ones she was wearing were burned by the acid?”

“It’s possible,” Spencer says. “Sulfuric acid can turn human flesh into soap.”

Gross.

Aaron turns to Penelope on the monitor, “Garcia, any recent similar cases in the surrounding area?”

“Actually, yes. Two months ago a prostitute and a runaway were both found raped and killed and they had stab wounds to their eyes.”

“Could this be an escalation?” You ask.

JJ’s brow furrows. “Maybe he practiced on high-risk victims first.”

Derek finishes her thought, “And then advanced to chemical enucleation.”

“Isn’t that a rare paraphilia?” JJ’s question is one you also had.

You almost expect Spencer to answer, being the expert on all things odd or weird or otherwise rare, but Emily answers instead. “Well. the chemical part is. It would exacerbate the pain.”

Dave makes a comment about Ed Kemper and surrogates, but it’s nothing new. Surrogate murder is almost cliche at this point among serial killers with a specific victim profile.

Aaron makes assignments and you land with JJ and Spencer, headed to the abduction sites when you land. You watch as JJ attempts to connect with Spencer like you had this morning, but he pointedly looks away from her, studying the file in his lap with a tight set of his mouth.

This is going to be a long day.

+++

“So, Beth got off the bus here and headed northwest toward class,” you recap, using the map and tracing your finger along the path. You look down the sidewalk as the three of you walk her last route, seeing an average amount of foot traffic and plenty of witness opportunities.

JJ seems to read your mind. “It’s amazing no one witnessed her abduction.”

“I was think-”

Spencer cuts you off. “Emily was buried six feet under and wound up in Paris, so I guess anything is possible, right?”

Yeah. His attitude this morning? Definitely not about you.

“So, that’s what this is about,” JJ says flatly.

Spencer carries on as if she hasn’t said anything at all. “Maybe our unsub's a little bit like Bundy. He feigns injury in order to get her to help him.”

JJ tries again and you feel more and more like an unwanted witness by the moment. JJ cuts him off with her body, stepping in front of him. “Look, Spence, if you want to talk about this -”

He continues to talk over her, “Maybe he tried other tactics, like, ‘Wow, you're really pretty. You should be a model. I can take your photo.’”

She looks at you with a mixture of hurt and incredulity. You take a big breath and shake your head.

It’s not worth it right now. He’s not ready.

Regardless, she persists. “I’ll take that as a no.”

“Either one would disarm her,” Spencer says.

You step halfway between them, hoping to create a subtle buffer. “Charm is quite the killer.”

“So are tears.” He carries on, hardly taking a breath between thoughts. “Whatever his ruse was, the unsub mostly likely used it to get her into his vehicle.”

“Well,” you answer. “If Abby was last seen at a bus stop a few miles away, then he definitely has a means of transportation.”

“Hopefully the disposal site will tell us more.” Spencer’s already walking away before he finished his thought, leaving you and JJ looking dumbly after him.

After a second, you remember your purpose and follow, JJ on your heels.

+++

You meet Derek and Emily at one thrift store Aaron sent you to and you split up to cover more ground. You share a significant, loaded look with Derek, who then comes up with some way to rearrange Aaron’s assignments. He keeps JJ and Reid together, swapping you for Emily.

You’re thankful, and your mission is successful. You and Derek find Abby’s clothes, hawked or traded for the items she was wearing when her body was found. The clerk identifies them, confirming that they were genuine 80s vintage sold at his store.

Helpful, indeed.

On the way back to the station, Derek surprises you with an unrelated question. “So you’re pissed at him, right?”

You look over at him, driving (to this point) in silence. “Hm?”

“Hotch. You’re pissed at him, too, right?”

You weigh your options. You could exaggerate how upset you are, citing and harkening back to Aaron’s return (leaving out the sex part), or you could be honest. You split the difference.

“Well, I screamed at him a bunch when he got back. I’m less mad now than I was then, but that’s not a high bar.” You shrug. “I’m more upset about Pakistan than Emily though, if I’m honest.”

Derek nods. “I get that.”

“I know that wouldn’t be the case for you,” you continue, “since you were there when she, you know.”

“Yeah.”

You sit in silence for a minute. “So, how pissed are you?”

“I’m not happy, I can tell you that much.”

You resist the urge to parrot him. I get that. “Right.”

“Do I think it was a stupid and hurtful choice? Yeah.” He sighs. “Do I get it on some level? Also yeah. I mean -“ He huffs. “I can also understand the position they were in, you know? I mean, I wasn’t unit chief for long but there’s a lot you can’t -“ He cuts himself off. “I get it. I do. I’m still mad.”

You nod. “That’s fair. And I think I feel the same way. I get it, but that doesn’t help me be less-pissed, you know?”

“Yeah.” He pauses. “I’m worried about Reid.”

Your mouth twists. “Me too. There’s a lot of anger there and it’s leaking like a shitty faucet.”

Derek shakes his head. “He’s not like us, you know? He’s not good at stuffing his feelings -“

“Not that that’s an admirable quality, or anything,” you add wryly.

Derek laughs lightly, deflecting. “No, but it can help with stuff like this.”

“Right.”

The two of you sit in silence after that.

+++

Aaron looks over his shoulder from the board when you and Derek walk in, a little crinkle in his brow. “Where’re Reid and JJ?”

“With Emily,” you answer. When you get closer you murmur, “I’ll tell you later.”

He nods and turns back to the board, writing labels in his blocky handwriting. “I’ve asked the chief to assemble his shift change officers for a profile delivery,” he says, only loud enough for you to hear. “Do you think we have enough?”

“When Dave and the others get back from the dumpsite, I think we will. Three victims, we have the pattern and can deliver our conclusions from there.” You look over at him, studying the board with your arms crossed, and you know your face softens when your eyes meet.

It’s so cheesy. So lame. But damn it, he makes you so happy.

Disgusting.

The eye closest to the board pinches in a lightning fast wink and you smother a bigger smile as Derek joins you, putting his notes under the photos of Abby and Beth.

“We getting ready for profile delivery?” He asks.

“Mhm,” you answer. You mark the latest dump site on the map. “Just waiting on the others to get back.”

+++

Before the profile delivery, the team holes up in one of the conference rooms to comb through the findings so far. It’s…rough. To say the least.

Spencer makes another little snide comment. You inhale deeply through your nose, jaw tightening. He’s been like this for days, snapping at JJ, sniping at Aaron. You’ve ignored it. Over and over.

Your fingers tighten around your pen. The back of your neck prickles.

Breathe in. Hold. Out.

JJ speaks, her voice light but thoughtful. “Could there be something he’s not getting from the women in his life? Something he’s missing?”

“Wonder what that’s like,” Spencer mutters under his breath, but the sharp edge in his tone makes it clear he doesn’t mean the unsub.

Your pen slams onto the desk with a crack. “Goddamn it, Spencer. That’s enough.”

“What?!” He says, his voice crawling up a couple octaves. “What did I say?” He has the gall to look offended that you called him out.

“What haven’t you said?” You throw your hands and sit back in your chair. Hot, ugly anger flares in your sternum and you simply don’t care that the rest of the team is staring at you in various states of shock and concern. “You’re being mean. You’re being mean and pretending like you aren’t and I’ve fucking had it.”

He has the nerve to look indignant. “Wh-”

“Don’t you think I’ve heard - that we’ve all heard - the innumerable little chirps and passive aggressive bullshit you’ve said to JJ and Hotch since we got back?”

“They aren’t innumerable,” he snarks.

You raise your eyebrows. “Oh. So we’re acknowledging them now? And counting them? That’s nice.” You can hear your last name leave Aaron’s mouth as a word of warning. You ignore him. There’s silence for a moment. You cross your arms. “Are you going to say anything else, or are you done? I’m sure either of them would be happy to discuss it with you—if you acted like a grown-up.”

“Bullshit!” Spencer spits. “They -” he points at JJ and Aaron, whose faces are hard and hurt. “- weren’t acting like grown ups when they lied to our faces.”

“They were, actually.” You sound petulant, but you can’t really bring yourself to feel bad about it.

“Oh, really?” It’s not a real question, but you’re happy to provide him with an answer.

“Yes, really. It was the right thing to do. It was the only thing to do.” Your voice is louder than you want, and you’ve straightened in your chair, jabbing your finger into the table.

Spencer’s eyes harden. “So, you’re not mad at them at all, right? Academy hotshot, child prodigy that you are, right? Who defends every fucking thing that comes out of Hotch’s mouth, right?”

Ouch.

You get quiet. In your peripheral vision, you see JJ cover her mouth to cover her jaw dropping to the floor. Derek plants his hands on the table, moving to stand, and you wave him off. This is not worth Derek being on Spencer’s shit list too, especially not on your behalf. There’s thunder behind Aaron’s carefully controlled expression, and you know he’s holding back his worser instincts. Emily looks down at the conference room table and it only adds to your anger that she looks ashamed.

She has nothing to feel bad about.

Beyond that, the jab about Hotch isn’t worth mentioning. Plus, it really hurts. “I’m pissed, Spencer, but I am not -” and regrettably, your volume increases with every word, “- shortsighted and selfish enough to think that my feelings are more important than things that matter, like-“ You gesture vaguely, “I don’t know. Emily’s life and safety and international security.” You stand, pushing yourself out of your chair. “Grow up.”

Silence. A charged, suffocating silence.

No one speaks. No one moves. Aaron’s mouth is a firm, thin line. JJ looks stunned, almost hurt. Derek's hands flex against the table, like he’s deciding whether to step in. Emily won’t look up at all.

You turn on your heel and walk out, letting the door shut behind you. Hard.

Outside, the air is sharp in your lungs, but it doesn’t cool the anger burning under your skin. You take in a deep breath, then another, but your pulse still hammers in your throat.

The fresh air outside does nothing to cool you off, but you do gulp down several breaths before you hear the door open and shut behind you again. You know who it is. Though, given Spencer’s comment, you kind of hoped it was Derek.

“You didn’t have to do that,” Aaron says.

“I wasn’t kidding. I’m fucking sick of it.” You can’t look at him. You’re already embarrassed. You’ve never yelled at Spencer like that, let alone in the middle of a conference room that may or may not be soundproof. At best, it’s unprofessional. At worst… “You should write me up now and save yourself some time when we get home.”

Aaron steps up beside you, leaning against the railing, his shoulder brushing yours. “I’m not going to write you up.”

You sniff.

“I’m not going to write Reid up, either.”

Your mouth twists. “We’re all mad. I get it. Some of us are just professional enough to shut the fuck up about it.”

“Right,” Aaron says. You can hear a laugh in it, though his face doesn’t change. “Like we’re professionals.”

“You know what I mean.”

He sobers. “I do. I tried talking to him about it but I’ll try again. It’s not fair, to JJ in particular. He’s lashing out at her - it’s targeted and I’ve about had enough of it myself.” He pauses for a moment. “I just want to make sure you’re okay. It’s been a while since you’ve lost it like that.”

Hot tears prick at your eyes. “I’ve never lost it on Spencer like that. Any of them, really.”

“Just me, huh?”

Your eyes flash to him for a moment, the side of your mouth tipping up. “That’s not fair.”

“It’s not. But it does tell me you care.”

You take a big breath and the burning behind your eyes melts away to a simple headache. The heels of your hands scrub into your eye sockets until you see color behind your lids. “Give me five minutes and I’ll be back in to apologize.”

“Take your time. You don’t have to apologize now, or ever, honestly.” He adds the last bit under his breath before continuing. “I’ll separate the two of you for the day and see where we land.” He taps the railing twice and shifts his weight to leave.

“Aaron?”

He turns back, looking at you, half-turned toward the door “Hmm?”

You look at him, your lower lip disappearing into your mouth, hoping he understands. With the smallest of smiles, he reaches out and briefly (briefly) squeezes your bicep and turns, disappearing into the station.

+++

The conference room is silent when you come back. You sit down and pick up your pen, forcing yourself to twirl it casually between your fingers. Aaron already planted himself in the chair beside yours, his breathing even as he marks up a copy of one of the reports, his right hand splayed over the paper.

Spencer spins in his chair, a folder in his lap. Emily tapes the latest photos to the whiteboard mechanically, her eyes following her hands just a second too late.

Dave sits in the corner, his ankle propped on his knee, his hand supporting his face. He looks at you, his eyes the only thing moving. His eyebrow twitches.

You shake your head. It’s fine.

Derek stands and taps your shoulder. “I’m going for a drive and I could use your eyes on this before we go for profile with the shift change.”

You nod and stand, grabbing your coat, recognizing the effort for what it is. At least Derek’s attempting to be subtle about it.

The door doesn’t quite slam when you get into the car, but it comes close. You cringe a little and settle as Derek rounds the back bumper, checks the trunk, and hops in.

There’s silence as he pulls out of the station parking lot and gets onto the four-lane out of town.

“So, where are we going?” You ask. You hope you don’t sound too cross, but you’re not even sure how you’re feeling right now, if you’re completely honest with yourself.

Derek turns onto the highway. “Out. Figured it would be nice to get out of there for a minute.”

You pull a face. “Was it that bad after I left?”

“No,” Derek says. He sounds convincing but you’re not sure he’s that good. “But I think everyone could use a little space.”

“From me, you mean.”

“Including you,” he says, glancing over briefly. “There’s a lot of bad blood in there. Thought you might need a break.”

You’re quiet for a minute. “Was I too far out of line?” You do your best not to sound like you’re begging for affirmation or whining too much, but it may be a lost cause. “I know I’ve never really lost it like that on any of you except - well.” You cut yourself off. “I just want to make sure I wasn’t too ridiculous or overblown or anything.”

Derek shakes his head. “Reid was out of line, and I’m not surprised you called him on it. You didn’t say anything untrue or hurtful.”

“Favor wasn’t returned, obviously.”

“Yeah… that was…” Derek lets out a breath. “I’m sorry.”

“You didn’t say it.”

A moment of silence passes.

“I don’t defend Hotch that much do I?” You ask, your voice small. It’s not sudden, but Spencer’s comment unlocked some not-so-hidden insecurity that everyone can see through you, that you play favorites and Hotch is the recipient of most of your affection in the field. It doesn’t feel true, but you’re not sure if your perception is warped.

Derek reaches over and clasps your shoulder fondly. “No. We can always count on you to have his back, but it’s not like it’s a punchline or anything.” He pauses. “Why? You worried about what he said?”

“I dunno,” you say, shrugging. “It just struck a nerve and I wanted to check.”

“It struck a nerve because Reid meant to lash out.” Derek’s eyes stay on the road, but his voice is calm. Too calm. “It was meant to hurt your feelings.”

Your throat tightens. “How do you know?”

He shrugs, easy and confident. “Because it’s not true. You push Hotch just as much as you back him up.” He glances at you, a knowing glint in his eye. “You do it because you love him.”

Your stomach drops. The words hit you with the force of a sucker punch, and for a moment, you can’t breathe.

Am I that obvious?

Derek continues on blithely, as if he’s said nothing of consequence. “It would be like if someone threw Garcia in my face. I’d jump in front of a moving train for her, so what?” He shrugs and you try to relax. “It’s fine to be close to people, to go out of your way to support them.” He glances over. “You good?”

“Yeah,” you answer, too quickly. “I’m fine.”

A smile curves at the edge of Derek’s mouth. “Your secret’s safe with me, kid. Though I’m not sure how much of a secret it is anymore.”

This is not helping your adrenaline situation. You turn on the seat warmer and shove your hands under your thighs to hide their shaking.

“What secret?”

Derek throws you a sardonic look. “C’mon. We all know there’s something going on there.”

You shake your head and you just know it’s not convincing. You weren’t prepared for this. “Nothing more so than usual. Hotch and I have always been -”

“If you say ‘close,’ I’m gonna pull this damn car over.”

You just frown at him, hoping it plays at confusion. To your chagrin, Derek sighs and takes the exit, getting back on the highway in the other direction before speaking again.

“One of these days,” he starts, “you’re going to have to figure out what to do about that. Just -” He huffs. “- just be brave, okay?”

You're quiet. Any attempt to protest would just be damning, and any attempt to explain what you have, in fact, already done about that would nullify your attempt to have something (for once) that’s just for you and Aaron.

And, of course, you can’t mention that what you have ‘done about that’ includes, but is not limited to, Aaron himself.

Sigh…

Derek surprises you, reaching over again to make contact. You hold his offered hand in two of your own. Maybe some tremors are warranted, now.

The police station is in sight when Derek speaks again. “Is Hotch going to write you up?”

You shake your head. “He’s not writing Reid up either.”

“Good,” Derek replies, releasing your hand so he can park, “best to keep this in-house.”

You hum your assent and move to unbuckle your seatbelt, but Derek stops you, demanding your eyes with his hand over yours. You look up at him.

“Remember what I said, okay?”

You must look lost, because he clarifies.

“Be brave. It’ll be okay. You were brave with Spencer today and -”

You scoff and he grabs your hand.

“I’m serious. You stood up for yourself and for JJ and Hotch. You did the right thing.”

“Really?”

“Look - I don’t completely disagree with Reid and I am plenty mad at them, but there’s a way to go about it and that’s not it.” He pauses, making sure you understand. “I’m proud of you.”

+++

When you and Derek return, the rest of the team is ready to deliver the profile.

Aaron addresses the assembled officers, introducing the team and giving a brief primer on the case and its scope for those who haven’t been on shift since you arrived. “We’re here to help your department and assist in narrowing your subject pool.” He pauses, briefing them on how the profile delivery works and how to apply it.

With a jolt, you realize it’s been several weeks since you’ve seen him perform this standard task. The last time you saw him deliver a profile, it was before Pakistan, before… everything.

It’s surreal.

You don’t know it, but Emily catches you watching him, an unfathomably deep affection in your eyes and a soft smile on your face. She takes a note and tries to see what you see, but instead catches him catching you, meeting your eyes with a dubious kind of teasing in his own. You startle and drop your eyes. He looks back at the officers, a smile threatening at the corner of his mouth.

…Interesting.

“We believe the unsub or unknown subject that we're looking for is a white male in his 40s,” Aaron says, kicking you all off. “This is someone who's reacting to rejection by a woman when he was teenager in the 1980s. He's punishing his victims for their reactions to him by taking away their senses with sulfuric acid.”

Dave adds on. “We believe our unsub could possibly work part-time as a janitor or a mechanic, which would give him access to this chemical.”

“And after studying the disposal sites, we think it's likely that he is homeless,” Derek says. “Now, how do we typically react toward the homeless? We judge them by their looks and smells. It's that same negative reaction we believe that a woman had toward the unsub at some point in the eighties.”

“The unsub's fixation on this woman is now all-consuming,” you add, gesturing easily and casually to your audience. These presentations have become easier over the years and feel second-nature now. “It caused him to develop Obsessive Love Disorder, characterized by compulsive and dysfunctional behavior focused on the object of the unsub’s fixation. He most likely has tunnel vision and believes that she holds the key to his happiness.”

“He will stalk her in an attempt to win her back,” Emily adds.

JJ jumps in next. “He will do whatever it takes to be near his love interest. But her rejection will spiral him into a depression.”

“Which would lead to rape and murder of the surrogates who represent her.” Reid cuts straight to the point, driving it home. “And it's only a matter of time before this rage and anger causes the unsub to go after her directly.”

Aaron thanks the assembled when everyone’s done presenting their findings, and makes himself available for questions.

+++

You rest your temple on your finger as you look over Emily’s notes, combing through anything you may have missed. The rest of the team is out at the board. You’ve decided to place yourself in exile at this point, not trusting yourself to behave well enough for mixed company.

“Spence, we have to talk about this,” JJ says, following Reid into your conference room at a decent clip as he blusters into the room, haphazardly collecting and gathering folders to his chest.

Oh, shit.

“I don’t want to talk about it.”

JJ persists. “I get it, okay? You're disappointed with the way we handled Emily.”

“Listen, I have a lot going on, all right?” Spencer says, still avoiding her.

“You know what I think it is?” She asks. “You're mad that Hotch and I controlled our micro-expressions at the hospital and you weren't able to detect our deception.”

And that’s my cue to… get the fuck out of here.

You gather the notes and slip out of the conference room, taking refuge at Aaron’s side. You can’t hear JJ or Spencer clearly anymore and it feels better that way. Sure, you’re all privy to way more than normal colleagues, but this feels uniquely private. It would be intrusive for you to stay, especially after your little display only an hour or so ago.

You’d almost feel bad for Spencer if he weren’t piling it all on himself.

“Spence!” JJ calls after him as he backs out of the conference room. “I’m sorry.”

“It’s too late, alright?” He turns and tries to leave, passing you all at the board.

Emily’s fingers worry the corner of the report she’s holding. “Reid…?”

Everyone’s eyes follow Spencer as he takes your worn path out of the station. When the door closes behind him, the rest of you turn back to JJ, whose lashes are wet. She looks devastated. She takes a breath and turns, hiding from everyone’s eyes.

You swallow and look at Aaron, feeling useless and helpless. He’s still watching JJ, his face hard.

+++

“It would have had to have been a woman very close to the unsub to make him react this way,” Aaron says.

He stands at the corner of the table, Dave and JJ seated on either side of him. You stand over Emily’s shoulder, occasionally watching the door.

Spencer’s been gone for hours now. All of you have texted him, but he’s only responded to Hotch to confirm he is, in fact, alive.

“Then why go after surrogates?” You ask. “Surely with someone so close, he wouldn’t have to sublimate his rage?”

Aaron tips his head and takes a breath to answer, but Reid’s reappearance stops him short.

“I don't think we're dealing with a typical homeless person. He's good with chemicals, owns a car.” He walks to the head of the table, by the board, and addresses all of you. “I think the only mistake in our profile was assuming there was something wrong with his physical composition, reducing him to some sort of stereotype.”

Welcome back?

JJ blinks a few times and casts her eyes downward, studying the wood grain. There’s shame and sadness leaching from her every pore. Your eyes bounce from her to Aaron, whose eyes are on Spencer. Careful. Watchful.

“You think it's only his mental state?” Dave asks.

“I think this guy might be smart enough to use his disability to his advantage so he comes across as harmless.”

Derek nods, considering it. “Then when he's alone and the victim rejects him, he goes off.”

“What if he doesn't live on the street?” JJ asks, her tone flat. “What if he's in a halfway house?”

Aaron already has Penelope on the line. “Garcia, I need a list of halfway houses and mental health centers in the unsub's comfort zone.”

She provides five, and Aaron narrows it further to two with parameters related to the 80s.

He sends Derek and Emily to the first, and assigns you and Dave with him for the second.

That leaves Reid and JJ alone. Here. In the station.

“What about us?” JJ must have the same thought, because she sounds a little worried.

“Stay here and check ViCAP for similar M.O.s and signatures.” Aaron pauses as she leaves her chair, taking the long way around the table. “Reid,” he says in a tone that brokers no room for argument. “If you want to be mad at someone, be mad at me.”

“I can't. I didn't come to your house crying for weeks.”

Reid’s voice is brittle, laced with something harsher than hurt, and it lands like a slap as he glares at you. The accusation is clear—you aren’t as devastated as him, as wrecked, as broken. Maybe you don’t care as much. Maybe you’re weaker for forgiving so quickly, for understanding.

And then, before you can even take a full breath, he’s gone—fast, too fast, like he couldn’t get away from you quickly enough.

Aaron hasn’t moved, except for his eyes—still locked on the door, his jaw tight, unreadable.

You take a breath, roll your shoulders back. “For what it’s worth, I did come to your house crying for weeks.”

Your voice is lighter than you feel, edged with something that isn’t quite humor, but isn’t bitterness either. You’re not sure what it is, really—only that it sits deep in your ribs, thick and unmoving. It’s the thing keeping you from committing fully, probably.

Aaron finally looks at you. Really looks at you. His eyes soften.

“And I’m not that mad at you.”

“I know.” He pauses. “Thank you for being so… understanding.” You know he wants to say more, but there are eyes and ears everywhere.

One side of your mouth tips up as you stand. “Anytime.”

+++

You’re back before Derek and Emily. Their spot was further and you’re sure Aaron sent them to that one on purpose. The extent of his awareness when it comes to interpersonal strategy can only be chalked up to his background in law. You’re just glad he’s using his powers for good now.

He gets a call from Derek, who must report back on his findings. He shares yours as well. “We got eleven from the one we visited.”

Eleven possible suspects, in addition to however many Derek and Emily found. You check your watch. It’s been the longest day of your life so far, you’re pretty sure.

“Send your names to Garcia. Have her cross-check them against jobs that use sulfuric acid.”

Aaron hangs up and you continue walking down the hall, posting up on the other side of Dave.

“How’s Reid?” Dave asks.

“He's angry and frustrated. I'm surprised everybody isn't.” He looks meaningfully at you. You shrug.

Dave also offers a shrug. “Some of us had an inkling.”

You look incredulously at Dave, your eyebrows furrowed. “There’s no way.”

“What?” He asks. “I'm good at what I do.” After a pause, you’ve corrected your face and he turns more directly to Aaron. The three of you form a little triangle. “So, are you gonna get psychological counseling for the team or handle it internally?”

You can see the wheels turning before Dave even finishes his thought, noting the dangerous glint of amusement in Aaron’s eyes. “No, I think that if we all just got together, maybe a cooking lesson at the home of one of one of our founders -”

“Oh no,” Dave says, cutting him off. “Not you, too.”

“It could boost morale,” you add, unhelpful in the extreme.

Aaron nods. “I think it’s almost a guarantee.”

“Is this an order?” Dave asks, seeming to accept defeat.

“No, it's just a - it's a very tempered suggestion.” There’s humor in his entire demeanor, and you find yourself grinning.

Dave repeats him sardonically before walking away. “Tempered suggestion.”

You rejoin JJ and Spencer, who appear to be working in tense silence over the ViCAP reports. Aaron assigns you and Dave to call families and get a sense of your eleven possible unsubs. It’s tedious work and half of them don’t pick up.

Dave looks over at you, tipping his head toward Spencer. “Sure you’re not sick of us?”

You let out a short, breathy laugh, flicking your gaze toward him before returning to your work. “Never.”

Rossi hums, rolling a toothpick between his fingers. He leans in slightly, dropping his voice just enough for the words to slip in under your radar.

“Not everyone would’ve turned that down, you know.”

You don’t ask what he means. You don’t need to.

You don’t look up, your tone dismissive. “Didn’t want it.”

That should be the end of it. And maybe it is—for you.

But Rossi’s eyes flicker past you, toward the figure standing a few feet behind you. Hotch had approached, unnoticed, in the middle of the exchange. He doesn’t say anything. Doesn’t interrupt.

Just… stands there.

Watching.

And for a split second, Rossi catches something flicker across his face.

“So we interviewed the 19 people released from the group home,” Derek says, returning with Emily. “None of them fit the profile.”

You sit back, dropping your phone on the table. “We’re trying to reach families but it’s slow going.”

One of the local detectives comes in with a new file. “Tammy Bradstone's parents just filed a report. Their daughter didn't return from homecoming.”

“Her face is similar to our three vics,” Emily says.

JJ’s face is sober, still a little watery from her rough afternoon with Spencer. “She's about the same age.”

“Well, the after party where she was last seen was smack in the comfort zone,” the detective says.

+++

The interviews with Tammy’s friends stretch long into the night, exhaustion creeping into every syllable, every note scribbled too hastily. It was already late before you started—now, it’s edging into cruel.

After Tammy’s boyfriend, you drop your head onto the table, exhaling in a slow, deliberate breath, fighting the yawn clawing at your throat. The words on your notepad blur.

A chair rolls back. Aaron leans forward, his voice even but softer than usual. “Alright. That’s enough for now.” He rubs his temple briefly before straightening. “Morgan and Prentiss, you take the parents’ house in the morning. We’ll keep going with interviews here.”

"Leave your phones on," he adds, already moving toward the door. “But get some rest.”

You drive with Aaron and Emily back to the hotel, taking the backseat to avoid any unnecessary temptation for your taxed and tired brain.

“Goodnight,” Emily says. She steps out of the car and opens her arms. You step into her embrace and lay your head on her shoulder, holding her tight. You close your eyes and breathe her in, letting the peace of her presence settle you.

Aaron walks ahead to give you and Emily some time, turning back to wait for the both of you.

You pull back from her, holding onto her arms with affectionate hands. “Goodnight, Em.”

“Calling the boyfriend tonight?”

“He’s not my boyfriend.”

Emily stops, tilting her head at you, skepticism written all over her face. She lets the silence stretch just long enough for you to feel it. Then—

"Right." A single nod. Her eyes flick to Hotch, standing a polite distance away, and then back to you.

"Not your boyfriend." She pauses, her voice suddenly laced with amusement. “Is that for your benefit, or so that Hotch won’t fly into a jealous rage?”

“Like he’s capable of that. Or would have any reason to.” You roll your eyes and firmly, but with humor, repeat yourself. “Goodnight, Em.”

She idly wonders if you’re terrible at lying, or terrible at being in denial.

+++

To your shock and awe, you get a text from Aaron before bed.

11:13pm Check outside your door.

You make a face.

11:13pm Why?

Your fingers hesitate on the door handle, your phone still in your other hand.

The response is almost immediate.

11:13pm Don’t you trust me?

"Jesus." You roll your eyes but open the door anyway.

Aaron is already stepping inside before you can react. The door clicks shut behind him, sealing you in together. He doesn’t speak—just reaches, slow and deliberate, pulling you in. His hand runs up your back, warm and grounding, before he exhales into your skin.

The shift in the air is palpable—he’s here. He’s yours. He’s… close. So close.

Your head tilts, your cheek finding his chest, and you close your eyes.

“This is risky business, Mr. Hotchner,” you murmur, a smile in your voice.

He leans back just enough to take you in. “I missed you.”

“We’ve been spoiled,” you remind him softly. “We just need to get used to it.”

He sighs. “Yeah. I just…I wanted to say goodnight.”

“Did you, now?” You ask, leaning into him. Your tilt your head up, teasing him a little.

His arms tighten around you and he smiles a warm, gentle smile. “Yeah. I did.” He pauses, swallows, and wets his lips. “I also wanted to kiss you a little.”

“Just a little? - mmph!”

His mouth is already on yours. Your hands find his chest, wind over his shoulders, your wrists crossing as you settle against him, your bodies flush.

You don’t think you’ll ever tire of kissing him, of being in his arms. You can feel him smile against your mouth, his touch slow and indulgent. One hand finds your waist, slipping under your shirt, his thumb stroking your skin. The other pulls you against him, spread over your lower back, the curve in your spine.

For a split second, you consider ruining the moment—reminding him that somewhere out there, a teenage girl is still missing. But if that were the bar, you’d never have a good day again.

And you’ve learned this much: there will always be something, always someone having the worst day of their life.

It doesn’t mean you’re not allowed to have really good days, too.

He pulls away just enough to plant a chaste peck on the center of your mouth before resting his forehead against yours. You breathe him in—the warmth of him, the spice. His hair has been ungelled all week, and you love the way it flops over his forehead.

“I love you,” he says.

That’s another thing you’ll never get tired of.

“I love you.” you whisper. “So much.”

He hums and nuzzles into you, his nose brushing yours. “I think I’ll have to sneak out of here, but I would like to stay.”

“I know,” you whisper, your arms slipping, your hands coming to rest on either side of his jaw. “We’ll be home soon.”

+++

You’re in the middle of an interview when Hotch pulls you. You join him in the hallway with Dave and Spencer.

“They have a lead on Ben Bradstone, Tammy’s uncle. Morgan and Prentiss are with the parents and we’re trying to get a message to him.”

“What do we need to do?” You ask, mirroring him and crossing your arms.

He checks his phone. “I just sent you and Dave the addresses to the mechanic shops where Mr. Bradstone picks up shifts. Reid, you go with Rossi.”

+++

You pull up behind Dave and Spencer at the Bradstone house, getting out of the car and jogging up the drive following your field trip. Derek opens the door.

“Any luck?”

You answer. “He hasn’t been to either of the shops in the past two months -”

Spencer cuts you off. “But the one on Fourth said a bunch of car batteries had gone missing.”

You and Emily share a grim look as the house phone rings.

“Wait,” Emily says, her hand up to stop Mrs. Bradstone from answering.

Derek’s phone starts ringing scant seconds after the house phone. You’re almost certain it’s Penelope. He pauses, listening, then confirms, “It’s him.”

Emily gestures toward the phone, her tone gentle. “Okay, go ahead. Just like we talked about.”

Lyla picks up the phone with shaking hands. “Hello?..” Her breath catches in a sob and you know it’s not entirely fake. “Matt got arrested…They think that he hurt Tammy.” She pauses, shuddering and steeling herself. “Oh, God, Cy. I need you…I just--I--I need you to, uh, come over here and-” Emily reaches over, a note in her hand. Lyla reads it and nods, her voice turning almost mechanical. “I need you to talk. I need you to… hold me… Yes, I - Hurry. I have no one else to turn to.” She hangs up and bolts to her bedroom, trying to recover. “He’s coming.”

“You and Prentiss stay with them,” Dave says, gesturing to you and Spencer. “Morgan and I will get the front.”

You watch from the living room as Lyla meets Cy on the flagstones in the front yard, watches her shake as he embraces her. She doesn’t wrap her arms around him, stiff and uncomfortable.

“Cy Bradstone! FBI!” Derek appears from the side of the house. “Put your hands where I can see them! Let me see your hands!”

Dave gets closer. “On your knees, now!”

You get Hotch on the phone.

“Hotchner,” he says.

“Aaron? We’re coming in with Cy. I think you’ll need your A-game for this one.”

+++

You stand with Emily and Derek in observation, your arms crossed.

“We need to know where Tammy is, Cy,” Aaron says. He’s in there with Dave, who stands in the corner.

“We've looked in your car. There's no sign of her.” Dave is half in shadow, lurking on the side of the interrogation room without any lights.

“We know this isn't about Tammy,” Aaron says. “This is about your love for Lyla.”

“Lyla?” Cy asks. “Lie-la!”

Dave starts the mid-game, prompting Cy to share information he wouldn’t otherwise. Aaron backs him up, prompting him along. Dave gets closer as you watch, affirming Cy’s worldview and redirecting his anger toward Lyla.

Eventually, he agrees to tell you where she is. On one condition.

You make eye contact with Aaron as he escorts Tammy’s father into interrogation. You sure?

His expression is sober, serious. We’ll be right there.

Your skepticism may have been well-placed. Aaron and Dave both have a hand on Mr. Bradstone’s shoulders as he lunges across the table at his brother, who laughs maniacally at his brother’s anger, hurt, and fear.

Good God.

You and Derek head toward the cars, pending an address. You buckle in, your vest already on.

“Ready?” Derek asks. “It could get bad in there.”

“I’ll be okay as long as we find her alive,” you assure him. “And even if we don’t, I’ll handle it.”

You’re a little more explicit than you normally would be, but Spencer’s shoddy communication has brought that out of you in the last couple of days. The address appears on your phone, Derek broadcasts it on the radio, and you're off. A follow up text appears, moments later.

2:47pm Be safe.

You reply before stuffing your phone in your pocket.

2:47pm Always.

When you get to the house, Tammy is alive, but unconscious. Holstering your gun, Emily calls for medics and you look at the shelves full of tapes, pulling box after box with Derek.

You don’t envy the PD or the prosecutor in this case.

+++

You don’t realize how forlornly you’re staring out the window until Emily sits beside you. You’ve been so focused on not looking at Aaron too much or sitting too near to Aaron or touching Aaron too much or laughing too hard at what he says--

“You alright?”

It’s exhausting.

You snap out of your reverie. “Yeah. Just thinking.”

She almost laughs. “It’s funny to see you so eager to get home. He must really be something, huh?”

You don’t reply right away, but a little smile pulls at the corner of your lips. “I guess.”

Emily scoffs and you catch Aaron’s smirk behind his tablet. “You guess?”

“What do you want me to say, Em? Is it a crime to like the person you’re seeing?” There’s no heat in it at all and you grin at her.

Aaron’s expression morphs into something damn-near theatrical for him, looking mock-critical before he shakes his head as if seriously answering your question.

You bite the inside of your cheek to keep from breaking, keeping your face as neutral and serene as you can manage. He managed to conduct that entirely within your peripheral vision, sitting a couple rows away, just over Emily’s shoulder.

“Well, it’s kind of a big deal, right? Like, when do any of us date?“

That’s a fair point. “Okay, true. But just because we don’t have lives doesn’t mean you get to harass me, though.” You raise your eyebrows, challenging her.

“Oh,” she says through a sardonic laugh. “I totally think it does.”

+++

Eventually, you retire to the (shockingly unoccupied, except for Aaron) couch. You stretch, laying down, your travel pillow under your head. Aaron shifts, making a move to get up, and you wave him off.

“Don’t bother,” you tell him, closing your eyes. “There’s plenty of space.”

He murmurs his thanks and you’re chuffed by your “normal” act. He sounds very casual, as if he doesn’t care either way. You’re impressed. You both know your lines. The blocking, however, could use some work.

With that in mind, you make sure there’s respectable distance between you and Aaron. You have to, at least, give the impression that you tried.

You shift in your seat, curling deeper into the couch cushions. Your slipper socks slide against the leather. Absentmindedly, in what could only be coincidence, your leg extends just enough—just barely—to brush against the outside of Aaron’s thigh.

You feel the shift in his breathing before anything else.

Predictably, he doesn’t move. He doesn’t shift away. Doesn’t even acknowledge it. But the weight of the contact lingers, warm and solid, grounding you more than the couch cushions ever could.

Derek, Dave, and JJ have settled, snoozing peacefully at the table. Spencer has exiled himself to the little bank of seats furthest away from you.

You hear someone - presumably Emily, pass you and sit by Spencer. She’s making the rounds, apparently.

Aaron murmurs to you once she’s out of earshot. “Are you asleep?”

You shake your head, burrowing deeper into the couch cushions. He sighs and rises, rummaging around in one of the storage areas. Moments later, you’re covered with a blanket, your feet tucked in. He takes his seat next to you once again and settles, his arm up on the back of the couch.

“Get some sleep,” you murmur. You’re not sure how audible you are.

A hand pats your calf, and you know he’s ignoring you.

After a while, you really do fall asleep, the security of his presence beside you lulling you into the dark.

+++

You finish getting ready, walking into the bedroom where Aaron is slipping his belt through the buckle, tightening it with a practiced tug. The worn, gray knit polo stretches across his shoulders as he moves, soft enough to touch, fitted enough to remind you just how unfairly broad he is. The silver watch on his wrist glints under the lamplight as he pulls on the leather.

"Ready?" His voice is low, steady—far too casual for the way his eyes flick over you. “We could drive separately, but I think they’ll buy that I gave you a ride if you don’t feel like taking two cars.”

You step closer, your fingers skimming along the leather of his belt, slipping the excess into the first loop. His muscles tense, just slightly, under your touch. His breath stays even, but his eyes drop—watching your hands, sharp and focused. Not quite surprised. Just… aware.

Your smile widens. "As opposed to what?”

He looks up, masking amusement with mock consideration. “That we’re keeping this grand secret from them that will surely confirm their sincerely held belief that we’ve been sleeping together for ages?”

You hum, tapping the belt at his hips once before letting go. “I think a ride is a much easier pill to swallow.”

You lean in to press a soft kiss to his cheek, just the barest brush of your lips against the warmth of his skin. When you move past him, he follows—like he always does, like he always has.

Then, with infuriating ease, his palm finds your backside. A light swat—just enough to get your attention.

You spin fast, forcing him to stop short—his chin retracting, his hands raised in a wordless show of surrender. But his smirk gives him away.

"You keep that up," you warn, tilting your head, “and we’re gonna be late.”

His smirk deepens. Slow. Knowing. "Promise?"

Your stomach flips. You roll your eyes and turn back around, grabbing your coat off the back of the couch. “You drive me nuts,” you tell him, poorly covering your body’s response to him.

Aaron passes you on his way to the door, close enough that the warmth of him lingers. His voice is silk and smirk, low enough for just you to hear.

"As long as I’m driving, baby.”

You aim a glare at his back. He only chuckles, opening the door for you like the gentleman he pretends to be. But just as you pass, his hand catches you—just a single finger hooked at your shoulder. The warmth of his touch is barely there, but it pins you in place.

You glance up, a question forming on your lips—but you never get the chance to ask.

Aaron tilts his head down, catching your mouth in a kiss that is sweet, slow, and utterly consuming. His palm slides to your jaw, his thumb brushing over your cheekbone, as if he’s memorizing the shape of you before stepping into the role of Aaron Hotchner, Unit Chief (Even on the Weekends), again.

You exhale softly, a pleased little sound slipping from your throat as your free hand spreads over his chest—broad and steady beneath your touch.

He doesn’t pull away quickly. No, he lingers. Like he’s the one trying to make this last. Like he’s just as reluctant to leave the warmth of home behind.

When he does finally pull back, his lips barely leave yours, his forehead brushing against you as he murmurs, “That should hold us over for a few hours, yes?”

You inhale, eyes still closed, willing your heart to slow. Then, with a smirk you don’t really feel, you shrug and throw on your jacket. "If you say so.”

Aaron huffs, rolling his eyes like he’s unaffected—but you can see it in the tight set of his jaw, in the flicker of his fingers like he’s fighting the urge to pull you back. He locks the door behind you, ushering you into the car. He’s a real gentleman about certain things - ensuring you never touch a door handle again seems to be one of them.

Aaron’s hand finds yours the second he’s settled in the driver’s seat. Palm up. Waiting. Like it belongs there. You don’t squeeze, don’t fidget. Just let the heat settle between your fingers, a quiet tether in the space between you as the houses blur past the windows.

When you pull up to Dave’s, you release him without a word.

By the time you step onto the driveway, you’ve put enough space between you to avoid any hint of suggestion.

You reach the door first, knocking and letting yourself in. “Hello!”

“In here!” You hear JJ and Penelope chirp in unison and you toe your shoes off, heading toward the kitchen.

Dave has several stations set up, and to your untrained eye it looks like you’re making carbonara. He has a demo colander of pasta on the counter, pancetta and eggs out, and three bottles of (very) nice wine on the island near the barstools. You take a seat next to Penelope and Aaron leans on the one beside you, standing behind it. He reaches for a wine glass, setting it in front of you and uncorking the bottle.

As he pours (generously), you give Penelope a hug and clasp JJ’s hand around Aaron’s back.

“Thank you,” she says, meeting your eyes. “I know this week wasn’t easy and I really appr-”

“JJ, if you tell me you appreciate that I did the right thing, I’m going to spit in your wine.”

She snorts. “Alright, fine. But seriously.”

You take your wine glass by the stem and swirl it a bit, offering it to Penelope for a toast. After you clink glasses, you’re immediately chastised.

“Wine goes with the pasta! No drunk cooking.” Dave appears out of nowhere, a slotted spoon in his hand.

You pull a yikes face and place your glass back on the counter, folding your hands in your lap. Aaron clears his throat, hiding a laugh.

“Thank you both for being on time,” Dave says, looking at you and Aaron. “It’s nice that some people are punctual.”

You share a look with Aaron and he smiles, shrugging. Almost weren’t, but that’s fine.

“Hey!” Penelope says. “JJ and I were punctual!”

“No,” Dave replies. “You were early, which is also rude.”

Penelope rolls her eyes as you hide a laugh behind your hand. Emily arrives, looking very elegant in her black shawl, and takes a place at the end of the bar, leaning on the counter. JJ pours her a glass of wine and warns her in advance that she’s not allowed to drink it.

Derek arrives moments later, swinging his keys. “We getting this thing started, or what? “It’s freezing out there.” He comes up behind you, resting both hands on your shoulders. “I dunno,” he says, dragging it out. “You check the weather in LA today? Might’ve been nice—surf, sun, fancy coffee—”

“Are we waiting for Reid?” You ask, pointedly ignoring him. Derek presses a quick kiss to your temple, then Penelope’s in turn, before finding a place to be on the other side of Aaron.

Emily’s mouth twists. “He said he wasn’t sure if he could make it.”

Aaron almost turns his head to look at you, a small crease between his brows as the conversation flows around you.

“Well,” Dave says, “We can always catch him up if we need to.”

He takes his place on the other side of the kitchen island, rolling his sleeves and washing his hands. You offer Aaron a little smile and stand, leaning on your chair and mirroring him. When Dave’s done with his little pre-show, he starts.

"Cooking," Dave announces, dramatically tossing a towel over his shoulder, "is the most sensual art form."

You instinctively reach for your wine glass. Hotch coughs into his fist—probably to hide a laugh and remind you to keep your wine right where it is. You pull your hand back with a little grimace.

Dave spreads his arms, gesturing to the neatly arranged ingredients. "And these—" he flicks his wrist with the air of a seasoned maestro, "—are my paints."

Penelope, to her credit, tries to keep up. "So, your hands must be brushes."

Dave points at her. "Don’t interrupt."

You bury your laugh in your hand. Emily’s shoulders shake.

Your lips disappear into your mouth as JJ and Emily snort little giggles. Penelope ducks her head and you bump her shoulder. She bumps you back.

“In a pot of boiling water we cook our spaghetti until it's al dente, firm to the tooth.” He passes out the pasta and you take some, splitting your share with Aaron. He taps his pasta with yours in a little toast, sending you a subtle wink.

“Here you go”, Dave continues, passing more to JJ and Emily. “Everybody pass it around.” When everyone has some, you take a little bite. “See? Feel the texture.”

“Now…” He turns, headed to the stove. “In a large pan, we fry up our pancetta,” He shows you his work, the pancetta and onions sizzling in the pan. “Keeping a sharp eye that the edges are crisp.”

“But careful not to burn the onions,” Aaron says, a little pasta still in his mouth.

“Bravo, Aaron!”

He lights up at the praise, sharing a smile with JJ.

“We saute until translucence,” Dave continues, poking the pancetta with his wooden spatula.

The doorbell rings and your head whips around with Emily’s.

“Uh-” Derek holds up a hand to stop both Dave and you from moving toward the door as Dave brings the finished pancetta and onions to the pasta. “I got it.” Derek stands and heads to the door. Rossi thanks him in Italian and immediately makes a vaguely Italian noise in JJ’s direction as she attempts to sip her wine on autopilot.

She freezes, her eyes widening as she guiltily replaces her wine glass on the island. Both you and Penelope smother laughter. You snort, and Aaron’s smile widens.

“Now, we mix in the eggs…” He demonstrates with each mentioned step. “The parmesan… The spaghett… And parsley.” He presents you with the finished dish, tossing it with the tongs. “You see, it's all about timing and rhythm. And if you don't feel yourself doing it properly, please, order a pizza.”

“Sorry I'm late,” Spencer says. To your surprise, he takes the spot next to JJ’s offering her a small, warm smile. Something feels cozy in your chest.

“Yeah,” Dave says, making a play at exasperated. “And this is why I cook alone.”

Emily raises a tentative hand. “So, uh, when do we get to drink the wine?”

“Almost there,” Dave replies. “Okay. We start at the beginning. You eat what you cook, I'll supervise, but we're gonna do this all together, just like a family.”

“Okay now?” JJ asks, her eyebrows raised.

Dave tips his head and grabs his wine glass. “Now. Salud!”

The entire team takes turns tapping glasses, and ‘Saluds!’ abound. You clink Emily’s, bringing your wine to your lips just as you shift backward—

Right into Aaron.

You feel it instantly, the solid warmth of him against your back, his chest barely brushing your shoulder blade. His hand finds your belt loop, an almost imperceptible tug, guiding you just enough to ease you forward—not pushing, just placing. The motion is so smooth, so practiced, that to an outsider, it looks like nothing at all. But inside, the shift leaves a ghost of heat where he touched you.

You force your body to stay loose, taking another sip of your wine as if you didn’t just feel the deliberate pressure of his fingers hooking into denim.

Meanwhile, Derek is already herding you and Aaron right back together, nudging you toward the station for the pancetta and onions.

“Alright, dream team,” he says, a little too casually. “Make yourselves useful.”

Aaron barely reacts, stepping into place beside you, reaching for a mixing bowl as if nothing is out of the ordinary.

You follow suit, grabbing an unlit match from the cabinet and holding it between your teeth as you start on the onion.

“Does that actually work?” JJ asks.

You nod, talking around the matchstick. “As long as you ‘reathe through your ‘outh, it works.”

“Cool!” Penelope says. “How?”

“S’encer!” You call, needing all of your focus to not slice your fingers or breathe through your nose. The onion’s bite still sneaks in at the edges of your vision, making your eyes prickle.

Spencer, ever helpful, jumps in. “The end of a match is very absorbent to both odors and other airborne chemicals. When you breathe through your mouth, the tear-jerking enzymes in the onion fumes are absorbed into the end of the match. Therefore, it creates a filter of sorts between you and the onion.” He pauses. “You may need more than one match, though. They stop working in a few minutes.”

You reach blindly for the matchbox, but before your fingers can graze it, Aaron beats you to it, setting it beside your cutting board without a word.

You turn your head just slightly—just enough to see the corner of his mouth twitching.

“‘Ank you,” you mumble through the matchstick.

“Mmhm,” he replies, already moving to his own cutting board, dicing pancetta into thin, even pieces.

He’s too close—not inappropriate, just… unavoidable. The excuse of limited counter space is a weak one, but you both commit to it. His left arm brushes your right with every pass of his knife, his rhythm perfectly matching yours, neither of you needing to adjust.

He finishes first—because of course he does. You shove aside a thought inappropriate for mixed company.

Scooping his diced ham into a bowl, he reaches toward you—his fingers just barely brushing your lips as he pulls the matchstick from between your teeth and replaces it with a fresh one. You get right back to work, rolling your knife over the diced pieces, dicing them nice and small.

“That should be sufficient,” he says, like it was purely transactional.

For a moment, he lingers, watching you clamp it between your teeth with absolute seriousness, your brow furrowed in concentration. Something about it—your stubborn commitment to such a tiny, ridiculous trick—makes the corner of his mouth twitch. It’s painfully endearing, in a way he’d never admit aloud.

But if he let himself, he might’ve smiled.

Your lips twitch, fighting a smirk. Careful.

He takes your diced onions next, dropping them into the bowl with the pancetta, neatly sealing them into a baggie before tucking it into the fridge.

It’s seamless, effortless, the way you move around each other, like you’ve been cooking together for years.

Luckily, Dave’s kitchen is big enough for the six of you to move freely, taking sips of your wine as you cook. When the prep work is done, Aaron steps just behind you, just past you, his hand briefly finding your lower back as you dump the pancetta and onions into the pan.

You both pretend you don’t notice.

But that’s the problem, isn’t it? For two people who aren’t supposed to be interested in each other, your reactions to each other have never been proportional.

Across the kitchen, Dave catches it all.

He’s been watching—casually, of course, a sip of wine here, a flick of the spoon there—but he sees the way Aaron’s fingers hesitate just a beat too long, the way your eyes stay on his as the new matchstick slides between your teeth. He sees the small tell in Aaron’s posture, how he angles toward you like it’s second nature.

Derek chops absentmindedly, lost in conversation. He glances up to check in with the rest of the team, paired off on their own individual tasks.

Derek pauses mid-chop, watching as Aaron’s hand ghosts along your lower back in a casual, absentminded gesture. His touch is feather-light, almost not a touch at all, guiding you to the side as he reaches for the olive oil.

Emily looks up, following his gaze, catching just the tail-end of the moment. The way your movements align just a little too naturally. The way neither of you react. Her brow furrows, her grip tightening slightly on the knife handle.

Nothing overt. Nothing damning. But there’s something…

Different.

"Do you see—" Emily starts, voice low.

"Yep," Derek mutters, still watching.

For years, the tension between you and Aaron had been palpable, practically another living thing on the team, as obvious as a flashing neon sign to everyone but the two of you. Your colleagues had watched you hover in each other’s orbit, lingering glances, excuses to be near each other, the charged silence of things unsaid and left unacknowledged.

The unspoken yearning, the infuriating, barely restrained pining—gone. Excuses to be near each other have turned into excuses to be as far as reasonably possible. No more loaded eye contact or restrained body language; no more carefully measured inches of distance that still somehow felt too close.

Emily and Derek exchange a look.

"Huh," Emily murmurs.

"Yeah." Derek shakes his head slightly, glancing back down at the parsley.

Penelope’s head turns, oblivious in the extreme “What?” She says, too loudly. Derek and Emily shush her, but you look over anyway.

“Hm?”

“Nothing,” Derek and Emily say in unison, finding a little tupperware for their parsley. They place it next to the other parsley dish, standing back for now. Penelope looks confused, but you just shake your head.

Nosy.

Aaron removes the pancetta from the heat, bringing it over to the trivet. “Pancetta’s ready for pasta!” He says, stepping back.

“Almost done!” JJ calls over her shoulder. She’s testing some of the spaghetti, letting it dangle off her finger to cool it off before she takes a bite.

You bring over the eggs and invite the others to help you separate, laughing as the egg whites get all over your hands as you let the egg yolk sit in your palm, the whites running through your fingers and into the sink. Derek offers a bowl and you plop the egg yolk in, letting Penelope have a turn.

Looking over your shoulder, you shoot a smile at Aaron and idly threaten him with your eggy hands. He holds his hands up, blindly reaching behind him for a towel and throwing it at you. With another laugh, you catch it and get the egg white off, your hands soon returning to their clean, dry state. You throw the towel back at him and he whips it over his left shoulder with a wide smile.

When the eggs are all separated, the pasta is finished. Spencer dumps the hot water and pasta through the waiting colander in the sink. Emily grabs some pasta with the tongs, dropping it in the pan with the pancetta and onions. Penelope and JJ grab the eggs, mixing it while Spencer adds the parsley. You grab a healthy amount of parmesan and sprinkle it over the top, looking to Dave for approval.

“Bravo, bambini!” He says. “Grab a plate, serve yourselves. Good work.”

The mood is jovial and playful as you all get settled at the table, reaching over each other and pouring more wine. JJ asks for some bread and you pass it over, pouring olive oil and balsamic vinegar in one of the little dishes and passing it over as well.

Aaron spots you, taking the oil bottle from you and filling the dish nearest him. Despite your best efforts, he landed next to you.

Your shoulder brushes his as you reach for the salad. He leans back automatically, giving you space, but there’s the briefest of moments where neither of you move. You recover quickly, picking up the bowl and passing it to Penelope.

“Sorry for the reach, Hotch,” you say, as nonchalantly as possible.

(You fail.)

“No problem.”

(He does too.)

"Hey—" You smack Derek’s hand as he nabs a bite of your pasta. "You have your own!"

"You let Hotch take some," he fires back, pointing.

"I did no—" You turn—just in time to catch Aaron swiping a crispy little piece of pancetta off your plate and popping it into his mouth.

Your jaw drops. "Oh my god!"

Aaron, chewing, raises an eyebrow like he has no idea what you’re talking about.

"Aaron Benjamin Hotchner," you declare, scandalized. "You keep your hands to yourself."

Something lights up in his eyes and you level him with a glare.

Penelope “oohs” at him. “You just got middle-named, sir.”

Aaron lets out a laugh and shakes his head, taking a sip of his wine. You feel wholly undignified and thoroughly attacked. Even then, your lack of dignity came at a fair price. Spencer is smiling, and better yet, smiling at you and JJ and Aaron in turn.

Worth it.

+++

tagging: @chronicallybubbly @derekluvbot @jhiddles03 @soupyamanda @percysley @duchesschameleon @ssaic-jareau @viennasolace @youngcowisland @beyscape @reidfile @littlemisskavities @acidicbloody @sochalant @lessonincanvases @froggiefruitcake @realtrashcan

#a joyful future #tali talks cm #tali writes fanfiction #aaron hotchner imagine #aaron hotchner x reader #criminal minds #alright that's enough tags lmao

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softaestluv · 1 month ago

Note

i dont know if you do hurt/comfort, so if you dont you can just ignore this I wont mind, but I was wondering if you could do a Soap x reader who just cant except that they got injured badly on a mission and now can’t do the things they would normally do? For example, maybe thee reader has nerve damage in their legs now from an accident and can’t stand for long without their being a lot of pain, but still tries to take long showers, run on the treadmill, take the dogs on walks, cook for long without sitting, etc. and johnny is just worried about them and tries to take care of them, insisting that he could help take some of the pressure off them.

sorry if this doesnt make sense, my native language is Italian

It’s a distant memory, but Johnny can still picture your face scrunched in agony when he closes his eyes, the way you snarled in pain when he tourniquet your leg. The months of therapy and rehabilitation, remembers all the successes and failures.

It wasn’t easy when one day to the next it seemed as your recovery was abysmal. But you were stubborn, resilient, cursed in the face of challenges. He was by your side the entire time, through your good days and bad days. Took leave so he could be there during your entire recovery— something you weren’t completely fond of.

You didn’t want him to put his life on pause just because of an injury you received, but he reassured you everytime— ‘Bonnie, ye are ma life.’

Now, all that remained was lasting nerve damage, seemingly simple tasks became strenuous. It drove you absolutely mad; once a high ranked official in the special forces reduced to a burden.

Johnny tried to let you be for as long as he could, didn’t want you feel as if your independence was stripped from your hands. But he could only watch you struggle for so long, couldn’t stand the grimace on your face when you had been standing for extended periods of time, when the nerves pinched at your muscles and made you strained.

You always tried to brush it off like it was nothing, that you could handle it— ‘Johnny, I’m not a baby now. I’m fine.’

But you weren’t.

He could tell by the way you clenched your teeth, grinding them to shreds or when you would narrow your eyes and curl your lip while cooking as if the food personally offended you. The way your back stiffened, shifting from foot to foot, digging your fingers into the side of your thigh when you thought he wasn’t looking.

Johnny tried to vocalize his concerns, offer to cook dinner instead— ‘Johnny, you don’t know how to cook for shit.’

Warmed you a bath instead of a shower— ‘The water gets cold too quickly in a bath, Johnny.’

Tried to tell you to stop working out, let him walk the dogs, told you to come to him when you needed help, that he was there to take the pressure off you. But you scoffed in his face, too prideful to accept.

So, if you would not listen, Johnny tried to help you in subtle ways. He couldn’t cook for shit, but mama MacTavish? Well, she was practically a chef. Spent quite a bit of his free time learning recipes from her.

The first few times he tried to cook for you, it went terribly wrong, ended the night with fast food and a burnt ego. But he didn’t stop until he was able to cook dinner for you most nights.

Then, you didn’t say anything when a shower bench appeared in the shower one day. Only pressed a soft kiss to his cheek after you found it, but that was enough, had him beaming from ear to ear.

You did get quite frustrated when he kept hiding the dog leashes. So, he suggested the two of you take them to a dog park where they could roam free instead of walking them. They could run their energy out, and all you had to do was sit and watch from the bench.

Those were the easy obstacles; stopping you from working out proved to be difficult, especially when you insisted you needed to because it helped your leg. But he started working out with you, kept an eye on you, so he could make you take breaks by taking turns— ‘Jist want tae be yer gym buddy, hen.’

That’s not to say you didn’t challenge his aid in other ways.

“I don’t need your help. I’m not weak,” You had snarled when he tried to place his arm on your back one day, silently urging you to use him as leverage.

“Love, I never said ye were weak. Never thought that, not for a second." He reassured, thick brows furrowing together.

You didn’t say anything more after that, pulled his arm back around your waist, and banded yours on his shoulder. They were small victories, but Johnny would take them with welcoming arms if it meant it helped you.

#cherris requests #i hope you like it #cherri writes #softaestluv #call of duty #cod #cod x reader #john soap mctavish x reader #john soap x reader #soap x reader #soap cod #john soap mactavish #soap call of duty #fluff #hurt/comfort #fanfic

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fadingdaggerr · 1 year ago

Note

first off, omg I absolutely love your writing. You're literally my favorite author on here. Second, the pictures you choose for each one shot are *chefs kiss*

Moving on from that, I was wondering if you could do a melissa schemmenti one shot inspired by the song "casual" by chappell roan, and with a happy ending? or the song "red wine supernova"?

I've been meaning to do it myself but I so don't have the time or motivation right now😭

and now? (18+ minors, dni)

pairing: melissa schemmenti x gn!reader

summary: melissa craved you, you craved melissa. what you crave from each other seems to differ depending on the season, based on both casual and red wine supernova by chappell roan. | 6.1k

includes: angst!!, fluff, no pronouns/gender mention for r, emotionally constipated mel and r, self sabotage from r, happy ending

warnings: unhealthy relationship dynamics, alcohol consumption (minimal), marijuana use (minimal), verbal fighting, afab reader (no mention of breasts in ref to r), smut throughout (oral, fingering, toy use, mel and r receiving), lots of praise

translations: sfigata (italian - loser), τουαλέτα (greek - restroom - pronounced too-ah-leh-tah)

note: on this episode of “sol complains about their inability to write under 4k words and then immediately writes 6k+” N E ways. the goal of this was to sort of have mel's perspective be carried by red wine supernova and reader's perspective to be more along casual. thank you for trusting me with your prompt/idea, i'm very honored <3

The moment she saw you, she knew she had to have you.

Tipsy at a housewarming party, uninterested in everyone around her, Melissa almost calls it a night. She only agreed to be here because Shauna said ‘a small get together,’ not ‘having half of Philly in the kitchen alone.’ Weaving through the room, she attempts to find someone she knows to say goodbye to, but her search is halted by yelling from the foosball table.

In the living room, Dominic is accusing someone of cheating. At foosball. Amused, she walks further into the room to watch, seeing Dominic miss the ball too many times to not be an effect of alcohol, and he groans towards the ceiling.

He angrily spins the handles he’s holding, jostling the table, “stop fucking cheating, dude!”

“I’m not fucking cheating, dude,” the other player responds, laughing through the answer. Hiking it onto her tiptoes, Melissa peeks over shoulders to see you, a little grin on your face that also drops the joint hanging from your lips.

“Bitch, yes you are!”

Without a second to even blink, you push the rods in your hands forward, hard, making the metal ends roughly hit Dom’s hip. Leaning over the table, you blow smoke towards his face with a sarcastic smile, “don’t call me a bitch. Thought you knew better, Domi?”

“Yup,” he responds through a wince, “yup, wasn’t thinking. Sorry.”

Through a chuckle, you take another hit from the near-roach, eye flicking up at the sensation of being watched intently. Red hair sticks out in the crowded room, green eyes sticking out more. Subconsciously, you do a once over of her, meeting her eyes.

Voices, music, the people around you, they all faded away. All you saw was Melissa. All Melissa saw was you.

Your whole body goes on autopilot, trying to get you to her as quickly as possible. Dominic tries to get you to play another round, an attempt to redeem himself, but you wave him off, not taking your eyes off the object of your attention as you snub out the joint against the game table. It takes borderline shoving almost everyone out of your way before you finally get to her. Any thought of leaving early flies out Melissa’s brain, disappearing as you enter her orbit.

It’s all a blur from the center of the living room, to the back of it, to the locked bathroom with you on the counter. How she got here, she doesn’t know, nor care. All she can focus on is your hand gripping her hair and the taste of you on her tongue. The blessing and curse of music beating through the wall fills her ears, thankful it covers the moans coming from you for any partygoers, but angered she can barely hear them.

Melissa can’t dwell much when your thighs begin to shake around her head, the hand not in her hair was nearly clawing the wall. From the whines that she manages to hear through thigh-shaped earmuffs and bass boosts, she can tell you’re close, the bucking into her mouth quickening with the motion of her tongue. Melissa’s alternating of figure-eights and sucking on your clit is your downfall, struggling to contain the loud groan that desperately wants to rip from your throat.

Languid motions slow, making you squirm from overstimulation before you’re pulling her back up to your lips. You almost give right back in when you feel her groan against your lips, tasting yourself on her as she dominates the kiss, all teeth and tongue. She was addictive, your new drug of choice, one you don’t want to let go of soon.

Melissa leaves the party with your number in her phone, and your taste imprinted on her tongue.

—☽—

Melissa can’t even wait two days before she texts you, just saying it was her, chewing her thumb as she waits for a reply. Eight minutes and three seconds later, not that she’s been silently counting or anything, her phone buzzes.

hey beautiful. was wondering when i’d hear from you.

You were at her door within a couple hours, almost running over your coworker as the workday ended.

The first month of this arrangement, this is all it is. Melissa texts you a simple Are you free tonight? and you show up at her front door, grinning as she pulls you in by the collar of your shirt. She rarely takes her time with you, immediately sucking at sensitive skin and cupping your sex through your underwear, dragging her teeth down your throat. Moans and whining coming from you only spur her on. You barely make it to the couch before her fingers are working their way inside you.

It takes weeks before you can contain yourselves enough to make it to her bedroom, though your clothes are scattered from the front door to the stairs, Melissa’s black thong caught on the bannister. An altogether miracle you even make it onto her bed.

The redhead has a damn near obsession with eating you out, bold hands holding you down as you squirm, groaning into you as you grind into her face. It’s the first and last thing she does every time, before she kisses you goodbye, all soft and sweet. The two actions are so wildly different, rough and dominating followed by gentle and caring. How could one not become a fiend for the attention only she can provide?

Another month passes, and it’s almost routine. Melissa calls, you run. Melissa says jump, you ask how high. Melissa tells you to take off your shirt, it’s off before she finishes her sentence. Melissa gets you off, you leave before you’ve even caught your breath.

The expectation of you leaving drops one night when she catches the dazed, sleepy look in your eyes one night. For the first time, she lets someone spend the night. With her arm around your waist, you speak quietly into the air, “would you wanna go on a date sometime? A real one, I mean.”

Her arm retracts from your body, turning to lay on her back, “c’mon, baby. That’s not what this is, we agreed.”

Suddenly, you’re glad she’s not pressed against you anymore, breath uneven, “yeah, yeah. You’re right. Nevermind.”

You don’t bring it up again. She doesn’t try to hold you again. Your visits include dinner and wine before she dines on you and coffee before you leave in the morning, but nothing more. It tastes bitter in your mouth.

Four months in, and you find yourself splayed across her couch with the redhead buried between your thighs, fingers making sparks roll through your core. Hard knocking broke through, both of you stare at each other with wide eyes. A second round of knocking throws you into motion, scrambling to put your jeans back on, Melissa hurriedly cleaning her fingers with her mouth. Just before she opens the door, you stop her to fix her hair, immediately turning back to throw yourself on the couch.

When Melissa opens the door, all you hear is, “took you long enough.”

“Fuck d’ya expect showing up unannounced?” Melissa matches the annoyed tone of whoever’s at the door, moving aside to let them in. Blond and tall with the same Schemmenti resting-murder face. This has to be Kristen Marie, the ‘sfigata ass sister’ Melissa mentions from time to time.

“The hell are you?” The blond looks at you, no attempt to hide the judgment behind her eyes. A quick glance to Melissa, who’s glaring back, tells you to lie. You introduce yourself only as one of Melissa’s friends, the mention of knowing Shauna, however, seems to make Kristen less defensive. A sigh of relief leaves the redhead, you hadn’t been caught. A sigh of disappointment leaves your own lips.

Weeks later, Melissa’s phone rings while you’re both chopping vegetables for dinner. She mutters an apology as she pauses your conversation, showing you the contact Mama on the screen. You pretend to zip your lips with a little grin, going back to chopping the bell peppers she tasked you with.

“Hey, Ma,” Melissa says into the phone as she puts it between her ear and shoulder, freeing her hands to chop the onion. “Nah, just making dinner. I can’t stay on long, I got company,” she bumps your hip with hers, laughing at whatever her mother says before answering, “no, weirdo, not that kind of company… I’ll ask, hold on.”

Putting her phone to her chest to cover the speaker, she asks, “my mother would like to know if you’re a complete freak?”

“Contextually, yes and no,” you say, reveling in Melissa’s bursted laughter, “but tell her no.”

“No more than I am, Ma,” she says when she brings her phone back to her ear, pinching your ass as she stifles a laugh while her mom keeps speaking. The hand around your heart has pink acrylics.

In the passing months, a change you weren’t expecting comes, and you hope that if you don’t acknowledge it, it will stay this way. An undercover Eurydice.

Most nights, Melissa barely let you get out a greeting before you were pinned against the door, lips on your, hands roaming under your shirt. Some nights she was slow, gentle, loving almost, taking her time and kissing every inch of you. Those nights made it hard to separate the feelings you have from the ones she dances around talking about.

There are other days though, your favorite days. Ones like tonight, where both of you are exhausted and just want to no longer exist to the world. Instead, you feel as though you’re in your own world out here on her back porch. You peek over at Melissa as you take a hit from a joint you packed before driving over, eyes closed, Melissa doesn’t see you.

Watching closer than you should, your eyes stay on her as she moves to take a sip of the Cabarnet you bought only for her. The way her lips kiss the glass, how she licks her lips to never waste a drop. If she asked, you’d gladly kiss away rogue droplets of wine. She’s beautiful, truly beautiful. She knows it, but she doesn’t really believe it, always rolling her eyes when you mumble it against her thighs. You wish you could tell her whenever the thought crossed your mind, every time you look at her. Exhaling, you turn away, mouthing a silent fuck to yourself. Bringing the J to your lips, you try to keep from being caught.

Melissa’s head drops, propping her chin on her shoulder with droopy eyes, “can we just sleep tonight? ‘M slipping into a coma over here.”

You chuckle, copying her pose, rose-tinted eyes flitting over her, “sounds great.”

For the first time in five months, Melissa holds you as you both fall asleep in the center of the bed.

You love these nights, ones where you can pretend Melissa is just as much yours as you are hers.

A cruel, ten month anniversary gift of sorts comes in the form of a friend in the hospital cafeteria.

Your phone pings where it sits in your scrub shirt pocket, your chest tightens.

Melissa: I’ll be home around 6, if you’re free tonight.

The grin on your face is not unnoticed by your friend as she sits back in front of you. Shauna taps the table to get your attention, “that your girl?”

“She’s not my girl,” you mumble, typing out a reply to Melissa.

when am i not free for you?

Shauna scoffs, speaking under her breath, “like you actually think that.”

You place your phone back on the table with a little force, “what’s that supposed to mean?”

“She’s just using you, honey,” Shauna blurts, “you’re at her beck and call, and all she wants is sex. And I know you, that’s not what you want.”

“And what do I want, oh wise one?”

“Her,” she replies. “I’ve known you too long to not know that you’re in love with her. I’ve also known Mel long enough to say that she is going to break your heart.”

You kiss your teeth, “what do you know about what Melissa wants?”

Shauna doesn’t appreciate your defensive attitude, so she gives you the hard truth, “she said this whole thing is just casual. Pretty stress relief, I think were her exact words.”

You are stress relief, nothing more. Another ping.

Melissa: See you then baby.

—☽—

When you arrive on Melissa’s doorstep, you desperately want to turn and run, save yourself before you feel any more. The equally desperate need to be near her knocks for you, but when she answers, you can barely meet her gaze. Green eyes flick from your face to your wringing hands, pink lips shifting to a frown.

“What’s bothering you?” Melissa asks gently, locking the door behind you. When you shake your head, struggling to kick your shoe off, her arms wrap around your waist, chin on your shoulder. She feels you stiffen, pouting to herself, “I know something’s wrong, you look like Eeyore in torrential downpour.”

You huff a laugh and lean against her, “just… stress.”

“Hmm,” glossy lips press to your neck, soft and slow, “want me to get rid of some of that?” The feeling of her hands on you is so convincing, it overrides what you know you should do. Turning in her arms, you press your lips into her and let her take control.

Her mouth wraps around your nipple, thumb slowly torturing your clit as her fingers work you through your third orgasm. From the twitch of your hips, she knows you’re at your limit, carefully removing her fingers from you. Greedy hands tug at her, pulling her to your lips as you flip your bodies, straddling her hips. Traveling down, you delight in her whimpers as you suck at her skin, leaving behind marks comparable to the wine she loves.

Your hands spread her legs, taking your rightful place between them. Sensual, slow, loving kisses down her soft stomach, all leading to where she needs you most. Her hips buck as you get closer to her center, breath tickling her pearl. With a flat tongue, you fulfill her wish, licking a stripe from the base of her slit to her clit, moaning into her. Hands harshly grip your hair, tugging when you suck on her clit. Your own hand slides from her strong thigh to her plush breasts, toying with her nipples as you devour her.

Husky pants draw from her throat, pitchy whines breaking through when your fingers begin to toy with her entrance. Neither of you care about the phone ringing from the nightstand. All you can hear is hoarse moans of oh god and please, faster, all you feel, taste, and smell, is Melissa. You both peer to the nightstand when it rings again, desperately trying to ignore it. A second finger enters Melissa as her attention falls back on you, her eyes meeting yours as she moans, fueling your desire.

A third ringing of the phone almost makes her scream, and tapping your shoulder with vigor to stop you before the phone is forced to ring again. You quickly, and gently, retract your fingers, allowing Melissa to shakily reach for her phone. The blood drains from her face as she looks at the screen, staring at you where you rest on her thigh, answering with a gulp.

“H-” she clears her throat, “hey, ma.” Your eyes almost bulge from your head. “I was in the middle of a shower, sorry,” she gets out quickly, nearly laughing at herself and you purse your lips to contain your own giggle, “well, the kids had a project with glitter, had to get it off.”

“Get something off,” you mumble quietly, pressing a kiss to the junction of her hip. Melissa playfully smacks your arm as she listens to her mother, pressing her finger to her grinning lips.

“Well, I got a friend over right now…” Friend. “Yes, the freak,” she chuckles warmly, patting your hand before her hand freezes on yours, “oh- I… can ask.” Her eyes leave her lap, now looking to you, “wanna go get dinner at Cirillo’s? My parent’s treat.”

Your eyebrows rise, “do you… want me to go?” You’ve met Kristen Marie, and only quickly ran into her cousin Vinny, but her parents were a whole other story.

“Wouldn’t have offered otherwise,” it feels genuine. You nod.

Arturo and Giorgia Schemmenti are exactly who would expect Melissa’s parents to be. Giorgia shares suspicion openly on her face, Arturo, on the other hand, has a resting smile. You think in the moment, you’ve got them figured out, but the way they unblinkingly look when you speak terrifies you, as if they’re analyzing every breath you take and every twitch of your hand. Silent prayers from both you and Melissa ask they don’t realize you were forced to wear one of her shirts, having arrived to her place in an ancient sweatshirt from your backseat.

You answer every question they ask you, although confused on the need to grill you so closely. What do you do for work? How many siblings? Ever gotten a speeding ticket? How’s your relationship with your parents? Do you have any sexually transmitted diseases? Thoughts on Reagan? Ever cheated on one of your past partners? MRI technician, sir. Two brothers. Twice, one on my way to school, one on my way to the hospital for my grandmother. Not great, I guess? No, ma’am, I get tested every two months. Hope he’s in hell. No, God, no.

“Lord, you two, let up. We haven’t even gotten the tzatziki yet,” Melissa says, laying the drinks menu down on the table.

“Just trynna get to know your friend, Meli,” Arturo turns his attention to you, “swear, all the girl does is talk about you, and I still know nothing.” The ringed hand at the edge of the table clenches, knuckles white.

You just shrug, “afraid I’m not that interesting.” I’m just a friend.

You miss how Melissa looks at you, brows turned up as she glimpses your sad smile. However, you feel a warm hand go to your thigh, squeezing gently. When her parents' attention diverts to a large party walking in, she whispers in your ear, “I don’t like when you talk about yourself like that, you’re very interesting. Should know, I’ve studied every inch of you for hours.”

It takes a deep breath and every ounce of strength to not wiggle in your seat. Reprieve comes in the shape of a definitely stoned server, lucky bastard, and reprieve is taken away when he tells you that food may be a little delayed due to the rush. Melissa’s parents nod with understanding, you nod with fear bubbling. A delay means longer here, with Melissa’s hand on your thigh with her parents speaking about everything and nothing from across the table.

It’s getting harder and harder to focus with Melissa’s fingers drawing little patterns over your jeans, skin burning beneath her touch. Peering over at her, you can see an almost-hidden mark from early, the easy smile on her lips as she talks to her dad, she’s perfect in your eyes. In this lighting, it’s hard to look away from her, orange-hued lights making her look golden.

Rising from your chair, you just give a quiet, “I’ll be right back.” You turn to walk towards the restrooms, desperate for space away from judging hazel and green eyes across the table. Melissa watches your direction, excusing herself too, following where you disappeared under the sign reading τουαλέτα.

In the short hallway, she grabs your wrist before you enter the door, pulling you to the family room to the right. Locking the door, she places her hands on your hips, “are they freaking you out? I’ll tell them to knock it off, or we can go, say you’re on call or something.”

“No,” you say, place your palms against her shoulders, “it’s just overwhelming, all the questions, your dad asking for my credit score, I don’t know.”

“You didn’t have to tell him,” she chuckles, hands dipping to your ass.

You shiver from her touch, leaning into her, “it’s a good score, though.”

“It is,” you barely hear her words as she presses her lips to yours, all the energy from earlier still running through her veins. Your hands slide down her arms to her hips, pushing her back towards the sink. We’ve been here before.

Hopping up, she settles against the porcelain and opens her legs to let you stand between them. Keeping your lips on hers, you quickly unbutton her jeans, forcing the zipping down. You know her like the back of your hand at this point, know how to touch her to make her writhe and release around your fingers, you’re utterly devoted to her pleasure.

The previously ruined orgasm comes back quickly with full force, her clenching around you quickly. Her lips leave yours, shoving her face into your shoulder to mute her moans. Lips brushing the shell of her ear, you circle your thumb over her clit and whisper, “God, you are so beautiful. C’mon, baby, cum for me.”

Teeth chomp into your shoulder as her writhing becomes erratic against your hand before slowing as she relaxes against you. Her breathing evens out, quicker than you expect, her face becoming unreadable as it lifts from its hiding place. Surprisingly, she stays silently leaned against you as you wash your hands, letting you fix her hair before you fix your own.

Arturo and Giorgia seemingly notice nothing, believing the excuse of a busy line, one visible from your seats. If they don’t believe you, they don’t give anything away, though their questions ease up once the food comes. It must be a Schemmenti thing to be quiet for the first few bites of food, taking in every flavor. It’s endearing.

Both Schemmenti’s hug you, to even more surprise, telling you how delightful it was to put a face to a commonly brought up name. Melissa pinches the bridge of her nose before hugging her mother, mumbling something to the woman before embracing her father.

The entire drive back to her house, you can’t find it in you to speak, too lost in thought. Melissa talks about you, often, often enough that her parents wanted to meet you. Why would they question you so much, especially if you’re just their daughter’s friend? Wanting to know about your ‘past’ relationships, as opposed to what, your… current one? It hits you embarrassingly late, as Melissa pulls into the driveway: her parents think she’s talking about you because she’s dating you, and think she just hasn’t officially told them. All you can do is turn and look at her, bewildered.

Hand on the key in the ignition, Melissa turns and looks at you, “I don’t know about you, but I’m exha- What?” When she doesn’t get an answer, her face screws with worry, “what’s wrong, baby?”

Blinking rapidly, you scan over her face, “you talk about me to your parents.”

“Well I’m with you a lot, it's natural to talk about you,” she says like it’s obvious, turning off the car.

“Enough that your parents wanted to meet me, know about my family and dating history?”

Her face hardens, and you wish you’d never spoken, her voice demands respect “well, they got the wrong idea. Being nosy is in their blood, being right isn’t.”

“Okay,” you’re exasperated.

“You and I, this isn’t a relationship, no expectations, no attachments. Just good, old-fashioned sex between friends,” Melissa says slowly, brow raised, “capisce?”

“Yeah…Capisce,” you say, stepping out of the car, pulling your keys from your pocket.

“What are you doing?” Melissa says, realizing you aren’t behind her as she goes to the front door.

You turn and face her, standing in the open car door, “I’m going home. You want no attachments, I can’t give that to you anymore.”

She steps down from the bottom step, “Baby-”

“Don’t. I don’t want you to be in something you don’t want, you want casual, Melissa. Stress relief,” her eyes dart to you at the wording, your eyes look down to your feet, “what I feel for you, it’s beyond that, beyond what you want me to feel.”

“You don’t know what I want,” she gets closer, hand reaching for you, but you brush her off.

“I’m all you want until I want you.” When she doesn’t reply, you sit and close the door, pulling out of the driveway with Melissa staring where you’d stood.

—☽—

Two weeks of radio silence. This is the longest in the near year you’ve spent with Melissa where you haven’t seen one another. Last time it was four days after you brought up a date for the second time, six days before that when she found out that Kristen Marie called you when she was drunk and needed a ride home from God-knows-where, begging you to not tell Melissa, accidentally blurting it herself.

You wish you didn’t miss her, her laugh, the smell of eucalyptus shampoo, her touch, her eyes, her hands, her smile, her little dance when she takes food out of the oven. She was all that surrounded you for so long, it’s all you know. It feels wrong to be without her, but it hurts to think about her. Salt entered the wound when Shauna dared to mention Melissa going on a date with some vending machine guy, immediate regret when you got up and left soon after. You're thankful to not hear of him again.

Another week passes, and as a month gets closer to passing, the hole in your chest has yet to heal over. Your phone buzzes next to you where you blankly watch the documentary that was playing.

From Shauna: i fucked up. apologies to ur door in advance

To Shauna: thank u for the context

From Shauna: i poked the ginger bear

From Shauna: by poked i mean chewed out

To Shauna: again, i fear the context has yet to appear

From Shauna: yelled at ur ex-mommy for treating you like a toy from spencers

To Shauna: i’ll pass on your apology to my door in my will

Comedic timing is a very real thing, hard knocking on your door, clearly both fists meeting the wood.

Ripping the door open, you stare down a tired-eyed, yet irate, Melissa, “unnecessary. I have a buzzer.”

“And I have a Cost-Co card,” she says, pushing her way into your home.

“What are you doing here?”

Hands on her hips, she turns and faces you, “your- I’d say our, but not right now- your friend just chewed me a new one about leading you on. Leading you on?! As if we didn’t have an arrangement, no feelings, just sex.”

“An agreement that I ended! Because I got feelings! It wasn’t just sex for me, it stopped being just sex a long time ago,” you never thought you’d be raising your voice at her like this, “I tried to tell you, all those dates I offered, everything I’ve ever said to you, I meant all of it. And what do I get? No, baby, we’re casual. So, I tapped out.”

“Because we were casual! There’s supposed to be no feelings here!”

“Then how’s that vending machine guy, huh? He’s been having conversations with just your tits for months, and he got a date, but where is he now?” She flounders. “Did you take him home? Or try?” She nods imperceptibly. “I would bet my whole life savings on the fact he probably couldn’t even get you wet, let alone make you cum. How right am I?”

Her lips tremble, “that’s not the point.”

“Just a question, needs an answer.” Melissa shakes her head, confirming your suspicions. “Why are you actually here, Melissa?”

Emerald eyes look into yours, emotion swirling through them as she asks quietly, “do you still have feelings for me?”

You won’t lie, you never can with her, “haven’t wavered once.”

Carefully, Melissa steps slowly into your space, hands coming to your sides, “I’m stupid. So fucking stupid. I thought all I wanted was sex, but when you left and I tried to just make myself… move on. It didn’t feel the same, being alone doesn’t feel the same. It’s so stupid and cliché and stupid that it took you leaving me to realize… Fuck, I feel like a Jane Austen character.”

Weary hands rise to her face, holding her with a special reverence, “I need to hear you say it.” The magnetic pull between you brings you into her, lips only an inch from her own.

Fingers grip your shirt, “I… I love you. I have since you told the Jehovah’s Witnesses to eat a bag of locusts and ass on Christmas Eve.”

The little smile that plays on her lips, clearly picturing the memory, it heals something in you. Brushing your lips against hers, you mumble, “I love you, too. ”

The kiss she presses to your lips is so different from any other you’d shared, but the desperation brings you back to that first night in the bathroom. Tongues graze, and a fire is ignited. Spinning her, you walk her back towards your bedroom, a place she’s only been twice in the last year.

Falling as her knees hit the bed, she takes you with her, and you gladly take your place. Just as the last time you were with her, you straddle her waist, continuing to kiss her with all the emotion you can express. Ringed fingers tug at your shirt, begging for contact. You don’t deny her, nor yourself, pulling her shirt off of her after yours, both lost on the floor. Jeans fly to meet them soon after.

Lips, tongue, and teeth clash as you fall into the feeling of each other’s skin. Moving down, you nip at her neck, sucking roughly on her pulse point to leave a mark. You continue your mission down her chest, leaving red splotches across her breasts. Always so sensitive, Melissa arches into your affections, groaning when your tongue swirls around her nipple, leaving a string of saliva that connects you to it as you pull away.

Shifting lower and lower, giving her abdomen attention, soft kisses trailing down. Your lips trail over silvery stretch marks, following as they lead you to her plush thighs. Teeth wrap around the waistband of her thong, eyes glancing to her as a silent request of permission.

“Please, baby,” her voice airy and whiny as she basks in the affection you so readily give her.

Pulling down her thong, tossing it to the side, your eyes fall to her pussy. Lips blooming in arousal, clit swollen, begging for a touch it hasn’t received in too long. You press a gentle kiss to her pearl, hearing another whine pass her lips, hips bucking slightly for you.

How you missed her. Your tongue licks up her slit, gathering the wetness that accumulated there, dancing up around her clit. A divine taste so feminine, so uniquely Melissa, you moan into her as you grip her thighs, working your tongue into her opening. Dusty purple nails dig into your hand, and you flip your wrist to interlock your fingers, feeling her squeeze tightly.

Your tongue leaves her, much to her dismay. Blown out eyes follow your reach to the nightstand, a clear bottle of lube procured. Your lips press to hers again as you spread the lube across your fingers and lower your hand to her entrance, replacing the contact of your tongue. Throaty moans leave her lips, more, please. Slowly, your ring finger joins the middle, allowing her a moment to adjust before quickening your motions, moaning yourself at the feeling of her cunt gripping your fingers.

“You’re so beautiful,” you say against her lips, “so beautiful.” Teeth pull at her bottom lip, making her groan into your mouth, kiss going sloppy.

“I- oh- I love you,” Melissa answers through a moan, grinding against your thumb on her sensitive bud. A particular curl of your fingers makes her silently scream, soothed by your gentle mouthing of her neck.

Your index finger lines with her slit, “can you take more?”

She nods quickly, forcing your lips back to hers as a third finger stretches slowly, moans turning squeaky. All you can hear is the airy moans and the wetness of her pussy taking your fingers, sparking a warmth in your lower stomach. You can feel how close she is, how her walls refuse to let go, how her eyes flutter as they roll back.

In a sudden moment, your fingers stop, pulling from her. Her head snaps up, eyes immediately on you, “what are you doing?” God, the glassy look in your eyes almost breaks your heart.

“Hold on, gorgeous,” you say, pressing a quick kiss to her chest. Leaning over to the nightstand again, still straddling Melissa’s waist as her hands hold yours, you blindly reach into the drawer, searching for a familiar object. Finding the small, flat toy, you sit back against her, holding it to her eye level. Catching your drift, she nods, legs widening as she sits up slightly against the headboard.

Pressing the vibrator against her thigh, you turn it to the middle setting, feeling her jump a little at the sensation. Slowly, you slide it closer to her clit, using your free hand to slide one of her legs till it’s propped up. Lowering yourself, you press your clit against the top of the toy, keeping it pressed between your heat and hers, both of you moaning in unison.

Rolling your hips, a breathless moan leaves you, ducking your head as your eyes close in ecstasy. Sharp nails dig into your ass, pulling you down further, moans crescendoing. It feels like you’re too far from her, immediately dropping to press your lips to hers in open-mouthed kisses, whining against her lips as she holds you to her. Using her thigh for leverage, you use your own leg to press harder to her cunt, rolling against her in a way that forces her teeth into your shoulder.

The strong vibration against your clit and Melissa’s presence alone has you holding on by a thread, and from the way the redhead is holding onto you, you know she is too. Putting your weight fully on your right hand, your left grabs Melissa’s, tangling your fingers together. Her lips move languidly across yours, tongue dancing with yours rather than fighting for dominance, something she never did before. The emotions of it all and the coil snapping in your stomach, your forehead drops to her shoulder, panting as you feel your climax approach.

“Baby, ple-oh-please,” the hand creating crescent-shaped dents in your back shifts to your hair.

“I gotchu, let go for me,” your teeth tug at her earlobe, “cum for me, beautiful.”

A final, hard roll of your hips sets you both alight, moaning as you cum in tandem.

Both of you squirm as the toy works against you still. Lifting off her, you remove the toy from its place against her, turning it off and placing it on the nightstand to be dealt with later. Lowering yourself, you come face to face with her pussy, swollen and wet and beautiful. With gentle strokes, you lick her clean, taking your time to savor her taste.

Melissa’s husky moans spur you on, lapping up to her sensitive clit. Barely suckling on the nub has her tensing again, her grip on you doesn’t let you go far, not that you were planning on it regardless. She cums on your tongue, giving you a taste once more. Sweet decadence.

Easing your way back up with loving kisses up her body, laying on your side next to her, chest to chest. Your legs stay tangled together, no space exists between you.

The hand not in hers rises to her face, pushing loose, wild hair away, caressing her cheek. Melissa turns her head to press a kiss to your thumb, her own hand coming to your wrist.

“I love you,” she says, “I really, really do.”

You stroke her cheek again, “I love you, too.”

“I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have treated you how I did,” her eyes water, “I don’t have any excuses. I’m just so sorry, baby.”

“Well, we’ve got all the time you want with me to make it up to me,” you say, pressing a kiss to the tip of her nose.

She smiles weakly, “I want all the time with you.”

Your lips press to her lips this time, “then that’s what you get.” Leaning across you, Melissa puts herself on your lap, her favorite place to sit. Face hovering above yours for only a moment, she tucks herself into the crook of your neck, keeping her weight on top of you.

Sticky with sweat, the scent of sex around you, the tracing of nails up and down your sides, dancing over your ribs. Nothing has changed and everything has. You have always been Melissa’s, she has always been yours, now you finally have each other. Warm breath over your neck evens out, the lost sleep and recently lost energy catching up to her. You, however, you are invigorated.

For the first time in a year, you get to hold your Melissa.

kudos to anyone that can find all the song references and the singular lisa ann reference that is so small u will miss it

as towa bird says: scissor your friends!

feed back appreciated as always <3

#melissa schemmenti x reader #melissa schemmenti #abbott elementary #lisa ann walter #lgbtq fanfiction #lesbian #lgbtq

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tgmsunmontue · 3 months ago

Text

Season to Taste - 41/42 WIP

Explicit Hangster - Celebrity Chef Bradley and Naval Aviator Jake Seresin who have a relationship spanning the globe before they realize how tightly bound they are to one another.

PROLOGUE/1 2 3 4 5 6 7 8 9 10 (interlude) 11 12 13 14 15 16 17 18 19 20 (interlude) 21 22 23 24 25 26 27 28 29 30 (interlude) 31 32 33 34 35 36 37 38 39 40 (interlude)

CHAPTER FORTYONE

“So… I gotta ask. Why do you call him Leo?”

“It’s how he introduced himself��” Jake says with an easy shrug, and across the room Vi is snorting into her glass of wine, and Maverick is looking curious.

“In my defense, I didn’t think I’d ever meet you again…” Leo says, and Jake grins. Leo doesn’t hesitate, kissing Jake’s cheek again. He knows the other Daggers are seeing a side of him he doesn’t often expose when he’s working, the side that is saved up for his family and Leo. And occasionally Javy and Phoenix and sometimes Fritz. Less often though.

“Wait… When did you two meet?”

“2008.”

There are collective exclamations of surprise at that and Jake laughs, because it’s a lifetime ago.

“No way have you been with him since 2008…” Javy says and Jake gives him a conceding nod, because no, of course he hasn’t. Hell. He didn’t even come out to Javy until after DADT had been repealed. Only his family knew.

“We met again in 2016. In Texas. At the farmers market my family goes to. Bumped into each other. Literally.”

“Jake was his Cinderfella…” Vi says from across the room, and Jake snorts, because that name will never not be funny to him.

“Vi… come on.”

“No wait, I want to hear this,” Fanboy says, looking invested, and Jake guesses that other than Fritz, Javy and Phoenix the others don’t really know him that well.

“Bradley here is called Leonardo by all my family. Our family.”

“Wait. I thought you said you were Hangman’s cousin…”

“I am.”

“I am so confused right now.”

“Okay. Short story time,” Vi says, clapping her hands together, and Jake knows she’s had to explain how their family is connected so many times now that she has it down to a fine art. He’s interested how she’s going to include Leo in her story though. “Bradley moved to Italy when he was eighteen and pretty much got adopted by the Gallo family, and my uncle Leandro just started calling him Leonardo. Leo.”

“Rooster… Gallo…” Phoenix says, and she’s rubbing at her face and looking at Vi warily, and then looking at Jake and he just raises an eyebrow, not quite sure what’s going on there, but no doubt Leo will figure it out and tell Jake all about it.

“Gallo like in… gallows?”

“No, gallo is Italian for rooster. Anyway, Leo becomes part of our family. My uncle Leandro and aunty Silvia never had children, so Bradley is their son.”

Leo ducks his head at that, and Jake knows he’s got complicated emotions around his own parents, and his relationship with Maverick and Admiral Kazansky. Knows he loves Leandro and Silvia fiercely, along with the entire Gallo family.

“Anyway,” Vi stresses, bringing attention back to her. “These two met, shared a dance and then Jake ran away into the night, leaving behind a heart broken Bradley…”

“Fuck off, I wasn’t heartbroken…” Leo mutters and Jake lets out a laugh.

“You left him hanging? Wow Hangman…”

“A dance huh?” Omaha asks, putting air quotes around the word dance and Leo laughs beside him but Jake is flipping him the finger.

“Get you mind out of the gutter Omaha.”

“Ah. Hence the Cinderfella moniker…”

“Yes. Anyway, fast forward eight years and they bumped into each other at a farmers market in Texas and the rest is history. Been together ever since. They’re disgustingly in love. Any questions so far?”

She looks like she’s daring the rest of the squad to say something and Jake grins, lets himself lean against Leo’s body and get wrapped in his arms, because yeah, disgustingly in love pretty much sums it up for him.

“Good. Now it get’s a little confusing. Our great-great grandfather Leonardo Seresin had four children,” Vi says, holding her hand up and showing four fingers. “A son, the eldest, twin girls, and then another daughter. With me so far?” Nods all round, and then Vi holds up her other hand with three fingers. “Great. Then over here we have the Gallo family. Three kids. Oldest is a daughter, then two sons. These three Gallo siblings marry the three eldest Seresin offspring.”

Jake lets himself zone out a little, has had it explained so many times now, has had to explain it himself, has seen the family tree and photos… yeah. He knows how they’re all related. He’s more interested in watching the Daggers as they listen with avid curiosity, looking between Jake and Vi and then Leo and every time they pass over Leo they seem to do a little double take and Jake realizes it’s because of who Leo is. Famous. It hits him then and he starts a little.

“Wait… fuck. My sisters. They all know don’t they?”

“Know what?”

“How famous you are.”

“Yeah, right from the beginning. Maria really tried to drop some hints…”

“Oh fuck… the recipe books… the film crew you brought in for my mom’s videos… oh my god. I’m an idiot.”

“No… I just don’t think it was important enough for you to care about. You figured out that Ice and Maverick were part of my life without me telling you. That’s a lot more important to me.”

“I asked Olivia if she was a fan, and she said yes… they’re never going to let me here the end of this.”

“Yeah, you’re probably right.”

“I’m just… You know what? I’m just going to pretend I don’t know. Doesn’t change anything anyway.”

“I know…” Leo says, and he’s looking at Jake with such blatant adoration in his eyes he feels his stomach swoop, because this is the man he’s going to marry. “Love you.”

“Love you too.”

… … …

Bradley doesn’t think he’s felt such a huge gamut of emotions in such a short period of his life ever before. From believing that Jake and Mav were both missing, presumed dead, to them being alive, the relief and joy, then the sick churning in his gut over telling Jake about Ice and Mav, only to find he already knew… then to being seething mad from reading the report. And swinging back around to relief.

He doesn’t want to let him go, the afternoon apart has more than tried him and he’s worked through the worst of his anger over Jake and Mav’s idiocy. At least Ice will deal with Mav. He refocuses back on the conversation, isn’t quite sure what Vi has just said but glad he’s been able to pass off the explanation to someone else so he can just hold Jake close.

“Holy shit. Really?”

“So when we went for that meal in Italy that time…? That was all your family as well?” Phoenix is asking Vi, and she’s studying Phoenix over the rim of her wineglass.

“Yes,” Vi states, and Bradley isn’t quite sure why her tone is that sharp, but he’ll ask later.

“I’m still confused.”

“Not your family bro, I’d just give up.”

“Oh my god… Seresin’s Sauce. That’s… you actually made that for him. It’s actually his ketchup. We just thought he was all ego…”

“Hey!” Jake objects.

“Sure did.”

“I gave him so much shit about falling in love with a guy who puts sauce on everything…” Vi says, Bradley laughs as Jake gives her the finger. Glancing at his watch he presses his fingers into Jake’s side gently.

“Want to come help me in the kitchen?” Bradley asks. They both know that Jake isn’t likely going to help, that he usually just keeps Bradley company. Unless he’s adamant about cooking for Bradley, Jake is happy to let him do everything. Bradley likes it that way, but right now he wants to make out with him a little without an audience.

“Wait, can Hangman actually cook?”

“Yeah, he’s a decent cook,” Bradley offers and Jake looks smug. Bradley is overwhelmed with relief that he’s here and he’s okay.

… … …

Leo pulls the door to the kitchen shut very firmly behind them and then leans forward to press a hot urgent kiss against Jake’s mouth. He’s being so careful of Jake’s injuries, it’s sweet, but Jake is definitely feeling better, even if he’s not going to be up for anything close to what he wants to do. He’s already well aware that he could happily go to bed right now if it was a choice. But it’s not. Leo’s fingers skate down his ribs, settle gently on his hip and he lets himself just enjoy being close, in his space again.

“Missed you this afternoon.”

“Yeah. Missed you too. Glad we’ve got this time together right now. And I get to meet your friends…”

“Mmm. Bunch of assholes.”

“You fit right in then huh?”

“Yeah, but so will you.”

Then Leo is pulling back and Jake can see the organized chaos behind him and –

“That is a fuck load of food…”

“Yeah well. You know me…”

“You cook when you’re stressed. And angry. And to show your love…”

“And when it’s one person who is the cause of all of that?”

“Shit… I’m sorry baby…”

“Not your fault. Some of it was definitely self-inflicted. Here. Take this out and pass it around…”

“What, am I your waiter now?”

“Just want to see your ass…”

Jake laughs but does as he’s told.

… … …

“Three months? You’ve got leave for three whole months?”

“Did you miss the bit where we nearly died?”

“Don’t you dare fucking joke about that Jake…”

Jake snaps his mouth shut and presses a soft kiss to Leo’s forehead in silent apology.

“Three months… you don’t think you’ll get sick of me?”

“Nope. Don’t think that’s possible.”

“Ugh. Don’t say it like that. I’ll take it as a challenge…”

“I can think of other things to challenge you with…”

“Yeah?”

“Yeah. Once you’re all healed up that is…”

“Ugh. Spoilsport.”

“Yeah, you passing out or busting stitches would be really sexy. Such a turn on…”

Jake pulls a face, because he knows Leo has a point but he already feels better, just tired.

… … …

Bradley knows Ice has pulled strings and not just about the fact that the have a wedding date in February next year, with guaranteed leave for every single person that Jake and Bradley want there who happens to be Navy. He also guesses that Mav’s promotion to Admiral and subsequent retirement is the work of Ice’s meddling, but Bradley cannot find it in him to care. He’s glad, so glad, that Jake and the others have formed a permanent detachment based between Fallon and Corpus Christi.

There are still periods when they’re apart, but it’s easier somehow now. Able to put faces to all the names that come from Jake’s lips. Also Fritz doesn’t hold back with his requests for baked goods, and Bradley is more than happy to keep the man who saved his godfather and future husband’s lives in baked goods. He’s in a group chat with Coyote, Phoenix and Fritz, and he gets a whole lot more of candid shots of Jake at work, the type he knows Vi has been supplying Jake with for years. It’s nice to have it finally reciprocated.

The one thing with having a wedding date set, is the sudden number of opinions he’s apparently meant to have on flowers, or table settings, or guest lists. He and Jake have discussed it, and while neither of them care, they’re also aware it’s a big event for their friends and families. It’s definitely part family reunion and Bradley is glad for them all, waves away everyone’s concerns when they say they’re hijacking the wedding. As long as he ends up married to Jake at the end of the day, it’s fine. Saying the don’t care though is a sure-fire way to wind everyone else up though.

One thing he does care about is something he wants to have made for Jake, as a wedding present

… … …

He’s back home in Texas, curled up in their bed, a weekend of leave and being in Corpus Christi means a weekend with Leo and he couldn’t be happier.

“So, they’ve given us a shortlist of songs to consider for our first dance…” Jake says, and he knows his sisters are getting a kick out of organizing his wedding, not having to worry about a budget because Leo simply handed over his fucking credit card. An asshole move Jake couldn’t say anything about because he’s still pretending he has no idea just how famous Leo is. He knows he’s on borrowed time for that though, because he’s pretty sure Maria is onto him. “So we have to pick a song to dance to, and a song to walk down the aisle to…”

“I’ve… uh. Actually got a song in mind. If you don’t have any preferences?”

Jake blinks and shakes his head.

“No. No preference. I really… I didn’t dream of this day or anything. I’m looking forward to calling you my husband, but I didn’t plan out my wedding…”

“Yeah. No. Neither did I. I just… there’s this one song I’d like, if you listen to it and don’t mind. You might think it’s too cheesy…”

“I don’t care if it’s cheesy. If you want it, you get it…” Jake says, because so far this is the first thing Leo has expressed an opinion about, including the food, which Jake had thought he’d definitely have opinions about. Instead he’s simply passed it all over to Leandro and Silvia , both of whom have taken the job on with glee. Maria and Olivia are in heaven. Jake’s glad to be out of it.

“Come on… cue it up and play it for me.”

Leo does as instructed and Jake listens, and yeah, it’s very old-school, and he’s definitely not going to say no. It’s sweet, reminds him of their first kiss over fifteen years ago and where they are now and what they want together. However he’s going to be a little bit of an asshole about it.

“Am I the bride in this scenario?” Jake asks, sliding his body against Leo’s with a grin, gets a responding grin, Leo’s fingers gripping his ass. Yep. Time for round two.

“I mean, you could be in your dress whites…”

“Pfft. I’m not wearing my whites,” Jake says, and it’s automatic. He doesn’t know why, really, but in his gut he doesn’t want his uniform on when he gets married.

“Mmm, you look so good in them…”

“I know, but that’s not the point. You want one of us to be in white you can wear your chef whites…”

“I don’t want to wear my chef whites!”

“Well, I don’t want to get married in my uniform!”

Just like that the mood between them has soured and he doesn’t even know why. He’s annoyed more at that, the not knowing the reason and he sits up and scrubs at his face.

“I… I’m not asking you to. I just said you look good when you do wear them…”

Jake shakes his head, because he knows that, both that he looks good but also that Leo isn’t asking him.

“I just… I’m going to go for a run. I’ll be back.”

He presses a quick kiss to Leo’s mouth, because he’s not angry or upset but he’s something and it’s unsettling.

… … …

He’s fucked up, he doesn’t know how. But he’d played the song, and Jake had seemed fine with it, and then he’d made a comment about Jake’s dress whites, and it had been a joke… maybe that’s where he’d fucked up. He needs to talk to Vi, and he hurries down the hall to her room, knocks and then pushes it open and another bad decision.

“Augh!”

“Shit!”

“Cazzo!”

He pulls the door shut and stares at it briefly before turning abruptly toward the kitchen. He doesn’t usually drink but this might warrant it. However he’s still just standing there staring at the wines when he sees movement in the corner of his eye and Vi is there, tying a robe closed.

“You needed something?”

“Sorry. I… didn’t think you had company.”

“Well, I didn’t think I’d see you up for air before dinner. So… Cosa c'è che non va?”

“Uh… I think Jake is getting cold feet.”

“Nope. That boy’s feet are on fire. Next.”

“No seriously Vi. We were just… talking. And then he said he had to go for a run.”

“Talking? About what?”

“First dance song and what we were going to wear… Uh. Do I know who is in your bedroom?”

“One issue at a time. Did you tell him he had to wear something?”

“No. I don’t care what he wears! He looks good in everything!”

“He does, and he knows it. What’s the issue?” a familiar voice asks and yeah, his hunch was right.

“Uh… Phoenix. Natasha. Hi.”

“Hi Bradley.”

“Um. Sorry about… before.”

“It’s fine. We should have used the lock. Vi just seemed to think you’d be distracted for a while.”

“And usually Vi would be right…” Bradley mutters, because as much as he wants all the gossip right now and when the hell this came about, he’s quietly freaking out about where Jake is and more importantly what he’s thinking.

“So… Hangman’s left you hanging again. He’ll be back. That man is many things, and stupid about you is one of them.”

“I just want to know what I did wrong so I don’t fuck up again…”

“You said first dance song and what you were going to wear. What did you suggest he wear?”

“I made a joke about his dress whites… but that’s all it was. I don’t care what he wears.”

“Huh.”

“What?”

“Could be nothing, but…” she shrugs, lips twisted in something as she looks at Vi and then away again. “We both served under DADT. It’s hard to be loyal to your service while also being true to yourself. For all Hangman’s ego and confidence now, I can’t imagine it was the same before DADT was repealed. Maybe it was, I didn’t know him then…”

“Huh,” Bradley says, because of course he hadn’t thought about that for Jake. He’s thought about it for Ice and Mav of course, but Jake and him have never been together under DADT. DADT has never had any impact on him at all. He doesn’t know if that’s the answer, but it’s still enough to ease his immediate panic. Jake had kissed him. It’s fine. He’ll be back.

… … …

He’s dripping sweat, cursing himself for going running in the near midday heat. He should know better, but he’d needed to clear his head and he thinks he has it figured out. And he thinks he can explain it to Leo as well, which is the most important part. He pushes open the front door and heads directly for the kitchen, needs water but also it’s where he expects to find Leo likely stress cooking. Except he’s not there and he stares at Phoenix silently as he downs his bottle of water. This is his fucking house. Well. Leo’s. But still.

“What the fuck are you doing here?”

“Having sex with your cousin.”

“Not right now I hope…”

“Wouldn’t you like to know…”

“No. I really wouldn’t. Is Leo…”

“In your room. Go talk him off the ceiling,” Vi says, stepping into Phoenix’s personal space and he’s not going to show any outward sign of surprise.

“Thought you’d have better taste Vi…”

“Fuck you Bagman.”

“No thanks!” Jake replies.

“Ho un gusto perfetto,” Vi mutters with narrowed eyes and Jake snorts. Yeah, he guesses she does have perfect taste. He gives them a jaunty little wave and heads away toward his room; pushes open the bedroom door and presses it closed behind him. Leo is lying in the middle of the bed completely naked and Jake’s mouth floods with saliva at the sight.

“Fuck… could eat you up.”

“Yeah? Not going to stop you.”

“Leo…”

“Jake… I’m sorry. I don’t know what I said, or did…”

“Shit. No. I… no. Nothing you did. I didn’t mean to make you think it was. Fuck. I’m sorry. I didn’t want you to think it was you. Was just… messy in my head.”

“It’s fine, I figured out it wasn’t me. I’m sorry too. I don’t care what you wear. I just… I want you to be happy. You could wear a paper bag for all I care…”

“It’d give you easy access at least…” Jake jokes, and Leo snorts and Jake leans down to kiss him, feels hot and sticky with sweat, but that’s exactly what Leo wants to do to him. “And I figured it out I think. I… my job is important to me, but it isn’t all of me. It isn’t part of my relationship with you. I don’t… I don’t want to have it there on our wedding day.”

“Okay. That's fine. Good. I wouldn't ever want you to agree with me just to make me happy.”

“Have I ever agreed with you when I didn’t actually?”

“I don’t know, maybe you have…”

“Nah baby, not worth the trouble. We’re perfect just the way we are.”

“Yeah, we are.”

FORTY-TWO

------- ------- -------

For those of you that like this additional information the song Bradley has asked for is (Today I met) the Boy I'm going marry by Darlene Love, released in 1963.

Today I met the boy I'm gonna marry

He's all I've wanted all my life and even more

He smiled at me and, gee, the music started playing

"Here Comes the Bride" when he walked through the door

Today I met the boy I'm gonna marry

The boy whose life and dream and love I wanna share

For on my hand, a band of gold appeared before me

The band of gold I always dreamed I'd wear

When we kissed I felt a sweet sensation

This time it wasn't just my imagination

Today I met the boy I'm gonna marry

He's just what I've been waiting for, oh, yes

With every kiss, "Oh, this is it", my heart keeps saying

Today I met the boy I'm going to marry

#Season to taste #Hangster #Sereshaw #Top Gun Maverick fanfiction #AU

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starhvney · 1 year ago

Text

𝐇𝐎𝐌𝐄 𝐂𝐎𝐎𝐊𝐄𝐃 𝐌𝐄𝐀𝐋

𝐏𝐀𝐈𝐑𝐈𝐍𝐆: mystreet laurance x fem!reader

𝐒𝐔𝐌𝐌𝐀𝐑𝐘: after your reserved dinner date fails last minute, you and your husband decide your anniversary is better spend together in the privacy of your home.

𝐓𝐀𝐆𝐒: fluff, established relationship, laurance and reader are married

𝐂𝐖: you both get slightly tipsy off of wine, suggestive ending

𝐀/𝐍: laurance please become real please i’m

𝐌𝐀𝐒𝐓𝐄𝐑𝐋𝐈𝐒𝐓

laurance sighs, shutting the door of your shared home with a bit more force than normal. you two had returned sooner than expected, and not by choice. with your anniversary coming up, laurance had told you to relax and leave the planning to him. when this evening came, he had the both of you dress nicely and escorted you to the car, before driving the two of you to a fancy restaurant.

he had approached the host stand with an excited look in his eyes, asking her about the reservation he made. the excitement was not shared, as the hostess gave him a stressed look.

“i’m so sorry sir, whoever made the bookings last week overlapped the days and now we’re completely packed. you probably won’t be able to get a table tonight,” she explained, her styled hair frazzled after probably getting yelled at all night by unhappy customers. “we can reschedule you if you want to come another day, and you’ll get a discount. i’m so sorry.”

laurance only shook his head, jaw clenched in irritation. “no, it’s alright, we’ll come back another time. i hope the rest of the night goes well for you.”

he proceeded to apologize to you on the way home, with a pout permanently etched on his features for the whole ride.

“hon, it’s okay! it’s not your fault.” you insist again.

“i know, but i just… wanted tonight to be special for you.” he groans, approaching you and hugging you to him with an exasperated sigh.

“it’s special just being with a man who cares about me so much.”

he rolls his eyes, still unsatisfied. you huff out a laugh at his sassy response, leaning up on your tiptoes to give him a short but sweet kiss. you feel his shoulders slightly untense as he leans down, chasing after your lips and frowning when you lean back.

“why don’t we make something nice here? i doubt that restaurant could beat your cooking anyways.” you suggest with a small grin.

the hopeful look on your face was contagious as always to him, causing him to subconsciously smile back.

“i’m pretty good, but i think you may be biased.” he chuckles, cheekily leaning down to kiss you again before turning you around by the hips to guide you towards the kitchen.

“alright then, what’s on the menu mrs.zvahl?” he questions, his voice lifting smugly at the title.

“i don’t know mr.zvahl, you’re the chef here.”

“i’m asking you what you want, silly.” he snorts, lightly veering you to the side as he inspects the fridge for ingredients.

“why don’t we honor your italian genes and have some pasta.” you poke his side and lean next to him.

he side eyes you with an unimpressed look, though the mirth shining in his eyes couldn’t be masked by his sarcasm. “if you want pasta, you can just say it.”

he turns his attention back to the fridge, humming as his fingers idly tap on its door. his eyebrows raise before he turns back to you.

“chicken alfredo?”

you nod with an excited smile, ducking under his arm to grab the rosé wine. laurance gathers the ingredients while you fill two glasses, before hoisting yourself up to sit on the counter.

watching laurance cook always mesmerized you. he did it with such ease, never hesitating to recall measurements or nervously checking if he was doing something right. he just knew. he was so confident about it, and it was so… attractive.

you glance up at his face only to realize he’s looking right back at you, his eyebrow raised as his lips turn down in a held-back grin. he totally caught you, but he doesn’t mention it as he turns his attention back to the boiling pasta and the chicken he’s pan-frying.

“can you hand me the italian seasoning?”

you nod, grabbing the mason jar with a sliver of masking tape on it labeled ‘italian’ and handing it to him. it was his own personal mix of different herbs and spices, and somehow it was better than any store-bought one you’d tried.

after helping him season the chicken, you slide off the counter and take a few generous sips out of your glass, humming and mindlessly trailing your hand along his back before you pace around the kitchen. along the wall is a small collage you had made a couple months ago, with pictures starting from when the two of you met in high school to your honeymoon trip.

you smile fondly at the flash photo of your younger teen faces. laurance has his arm tightly wrapped around your neck as he pulls you into a hug, his cheek pressed against yours as he cheeses into the camera. you shyly smile next to him, hands placed against his shoulder as you hug him back. you giggle to yourself at the memory, remembering how your heart had thudded in your chest as he pulled you in for the picture.

you don’t realize how long you’ve spent gazing at the timeline of pictures before you turn back, realizing laurance had already drained the noodles and mixed together the ingredients for the sauce.

“so, chicken alfredo for dinner, and what’s for dessert?”

“you’ll find out,” he replies, the seductive rasp in his tone much too suggestive for the statement to be about an innocent surprise.

you nearly swish some of your wine out of your glass as you take another sip, cursing how your husband manages to fluster you even after all the years of dating and marrying him. you brush it off with a nonchalant hum, cuddling up next to his side again.

you go to take one of the delicious-looking noodles, earning you a sudden smack to your behind before your hand even reaches the inside of the pot.

“don’t,” he scolds in a teasing tone, “it’s not done yet. you’ll spoil the effect of the final product.”

“you’ll spoil the effect of the final product,” you mock him in a nerdy tone, finger raised in the air.

he leans down, lightly biting your cheek as he holds you in place. you squeal in response, smacking his chest before he draws back, leaving a bit of saliva on your cheek. you groan dramatically, wiping it off with your sleeve and pouting up at the man. he only challenges you with a “can i help you?” look, before leaning down to give you a sweeter kiss on the cheek and getting back to the final touches on the meal.

“go sit. i’ll bring your plate for you.”

you huff, before grabbing his glass for him and setting it at the table. from the dining seat, you watch as his arm and back muscles move and pull against his dress shirt, the sleeves rolled up to his elbows and tie loose. his dirty blonde hair hung over his eyes as he focused on plating your dinner, before he shook it out of his face and balanced both of your plates in his hands as he brought it over.

he sits across from you, face morphing from his serious and focused expression to a proud grin.

“see, why would i need a five-star restaurant when i have my own personal chef,” you muse, tapping his leg with your foot under the table.

he rolls his eyes, before trapping your legs between his.

“so that’s why you married me. i get it now.”

“oh whatever,” you wrinkle your nose at him. “so dramatic.”

you have to hold yourself back from scarfing down the whole meal at once as you practically salivate before and after every bite. you spend your meal in random chatter, feeling yourself grow warmer and cozier as your wine glass slowly loses its fill.

when you’ve had your fill you get up, slinking around the table and making yourself comfortable in your husbands lap. he gladly scoots back, adjusting his hips and resting his hands on your hips.

“thank you for dinner,” you smile, before leaning in to give him a deep kiss.

he groans, panting up into your mouth as you feel something hard begin to press against your thigh. as soon as you pull away his arms hoist you up into a bridal carry as he stands up, the chair scraping against the wood flooring and utensils lightly clanging together from his sudden movement. you quickly steady yourself as you cling onto his shoulders, giggling as he quickly makes his way towards your bedroom.

“thank you in advance for dessert.”

#aphmau mystreet #mystreet x reader #mystreet #x reader #mystreet laurance #aphmau laurance #laurance x reader #laurance zvhal x reader #laurance zvahl

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bitterkarella · 11 months ago

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Midnight Pals: Ssussspicionsss

[mysterious circle of robed figures] Elon Musk: eyyyy i just thinka you should post somethinga besida da transphobia, si? Musk: lika da strega bambino! Musk: da people lova da straga bambino! [chef's kiss]

Rowling: wow elon maybe you're right Rowling: maybe i should take a break from transsphobia to talk about the sssix other booksss that i'm planning to write Rowling: becaussse there are sssix other minoritiesss that have really been pissssing me off lately

Rowling: [counting off on her fingers] sssso my next books are gonna take down the transss, the queersss, the dissabled, young people with blue hair, hoodie ssscum, and fattiessss Rowling: they've all had it too good for too long

Rowling: thank you for having this conversssation elon Helen Joyce: oh no! the dark lord is in trouble! Rowling: i'm fine Allison Bailey: elon musk is attacking the dark lord! Rowling: thatss not whatss happening Jesse Singal: mommy needs our help!

Helen Joyce: how dare you speak to the dark lord like that! Joyce: you will regret this day, elon musk! Joyce: we are, even now, just asking questions about your larynx size on mumsnet Musk: mama mia!

Musk: ey whatsa matta for you? Joyce: wow elon that italian accent seems to be suspiciously averaging in the 75 htz range and i'm hearing a lot going below 50 Bailey: very suspicious Julie Bindel: [tape over mouth] mmf! Bailey: that's right julie Bailey: you sure said a mouthful!

Joyce: i can't believe that elon musk is actually trans! Joyce: why else would someone get bored listening to a constant, never-ending 24/7 stream of transphobia? Rowling: wow i never thought of it that way Rowling: but you're right Rowling: it is the only logical explanation

Musk: issa notta true! i hata da trans people justa as much as you! Musk: my son, he tella you the same! Musk: [falsetto voice, hiding behind couch] eyyy its me, elon musk jr! my cool dad issa real transphobic! ga ga goo goo! i amma NOT a sock puppet! don't a look back here!!

Rowling: you lied, elon! you and your naturally occurring sssmall gametesss, the mark of a lying AMAB! Rowling: but Rowling: if elon was sssecretly transss this whole time Rowling: ANYONE could be ssecretly transss Rowling: any one of you could be a traitor!

Rowling: everyone iss ssusspect! [camera slowly pans around circle] Jesse Singal: Allison Bailey: Helen Joyce: Julie Bindel: Jed the sled dog from John Carpenter's The Thing (1982): Maya Forstater:

#midnight pals #the midnight society #midnight society #jk rowling #elon musk #helen joyce #jesse singal #allison bailey #julie bindel #maya forstater #jed the dog

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nicnak20 · 2 months ago

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Fake:

*A fake dating scheme starts to become real when the participants feelings become real.*

Laura and Mick were the kind of couple that seemed to exist solely to make everyone else feel inadequate. They were perpetually tanned, always laughing, and had a habit of recounting their ‘amazing’ dates and ‘perfect’ understanding of each other with an almost theatrical flourish. For Yn, who was perfectly content on her own but occasionally felt the societal pressure of coupledom, Laura and Mick were an occasional, but persistent, thorn in her side.

It wasn't that Yn disliked Laura per se, but there was an undeniable competitive edge to their interactions, stemming back to their college days when they were both vying for the same internship. Laura had gotten it, of course, and she hadn’t let Yn forget it since. Now, years later, the competition had morphed, subtly, into relationship status. Laura, with Mick perpetually by her side, exuded an aura of romantic superiority that Yn found increasingly grating.

This particular Tuesday, over lukewarm coffee and overly sweet pastries at their usual cafe, Laura and Mick were at it again.

“Oh my god, Yn, you missed out!” Laura chirped, flipping her perfectly styled blonde hair over her shoulder. “Mick took me to that new Italian place downtown last night. Bellissimo, darling, truly bellissimo. The ambiance, the pasta, the wine… it was just… chef’s kiss.” She made a dramatic kissing gesture with her fingers.

Mick, a burly man with a booming laugh, chimed in, “Yeah, we even danced after dinner! Right there on the street corner! Spontaneous romance, that’s us!” He winked at Laura, who giggled and leaned into his side.

Yn forced a smile, stirring her coffee a little too vigorously. “Sounds… lovely,” she managed. Inside, however, a little spark of defiance ignited. She was perfectly happy being single, focusing on her career as a graphic designer, enjoying her friends, and painting in her small, cozy apartment. But hearing Laura and Mick’s saccharine pronouncements always seemed to chip away at that contentment, leaving behind a strange, uncomfortable feeling.

“So, Yn,” Laura continued, her tone laced with a faux-innocent curiosity that Yn knew was anything but. “What have you been up to this weekend? Anything exciting?”

Yn’s mind blanked. She had spent her weekend happily reorganizing her art supplies and binge-watching a documentary about marine biology. Not exactly ‘dancing on street corners’ material. The pressure to say something, anything, mounted. In a flash of impulsive folly, fueled by a sudden, uncharacteristic desire to wipe that smug look off Laura’s face, Yn blurted out, “Actually, yes! I had an amazing weekend too. My… boyfriend… and I went hiking in the mountains. It was breathtaking.”

Laura’s eyebrows shot up. “Boyfriend?” Mick chuckled, a low rumble in his chest. “We didn’t know you were seeing anyone, Yn.”

Yn felt her cheeks flush. She had dug herself a hole. But she was already committed. “Yes,” she said, a little more confidently this time. “It’s… relatively new.”

“Oh, do tell us everything!” Laura’s eyes sparkled with an almost predatory interest. “What’s his name? What does he do? We must meet him!”

Yn’s mind raced. She needed a name, a persona, something. Then, an image flashed in her mind – Nicholas. Kind, warm, gentle Nicholas. Her friend since college, the guy who always had a funny anecdote ready, who listened intently when she needed to talk, whose presence was as comforting as a warm blanket on a cold day. He was perfect. Well, perfect for this ridiculous charade, anyway.

“His name is Nicholas,” Yn said, her voice sounding a little shaky even to her own ears. “He’s… an architect. And he’s… wonderful.” She added the last detail with a touch of genuine feeling, because Nicholas was wonderful. Just not in a romantic way, at least not for her… or so she thought.

Laura and Mick exchanged a look, a mixture of disbelief and intrigue. “An architect, huh? Fancy!” Laura said, drawing out the word. “We should all go out sometime! A double date! You, Nicholas, Mick, and me!”

Yn’s heart sank. A double date? She hadn’t thought this through at all. But she had already come too far to back down now. “That sounds… fun,” she said weakly, forcing another smile. “Let me… check his schedule.”

As soon as she could politely excuse herself, Yn practically fled the cafe. Panic bubbled in her chest. What had she done? She was going to have to actually ask Nicholas to play along with this crazy scheme. And what if he said no? Or worse, what if he said yes, but it was painfully awkward and embarrassing?

Taking a deep breath, Yn pulled out her phone and scrolled through her contacts until she found Nicholas’s name. She hesitated for a moment, then pressed the call button.

Nicholas answered on the second ring, his voice warm and cheerful as always. “Yn! Hey, what’s up?”

“Nicholas, hi,” Yn said, trying to sound casual, despite the tremor of anxiety in her voice. “Listen, I need to ask you a huge favor. And it’s kind of… ridiculous.”

“Ridiculous favors are my specialty,” Nicholas chuckled. “Lay it on me.”

Yn took another deep breath and plunged in, explaining the entire ridiculous scenario – Laura and Mick, their bragging, her impulsive lie, and the double date proposition. She braced herself for laughter, or disbelief, or even a flat refusal.

Instead, there was a moment of silence, then Nicholas said, “Wow. Laura and Mick, huh? Sounds… intense.” He paused again, then, to Yn’s utter surprise, he said, “Okay, I’m in. I’ll be your fake boyfriend.”

“Really?” Yn asked, barely daring to believe him. “You will?”

“Sure,” Nicholas said, his voice still light and easy. “Why not? It sounds… interesting. And besides, it’s you. I’m always up for an adventure with you, even if it’s a slightly bizarre one.”

Relief washed over Yn, so potent it almost made her weak in the knees. “Thank you, Nicholas,” she said, her voice thick with gratitude. “You’re a lifesaver.”

“Anytime, Yn,” Nicholas replied. “So, when is this double date from hell happening?”

They spent the next few days planning their fake relationship backstory. Nicholas, ever the funny and creative one, came up with elaborate (and hilarious) details about how they ‘met’ at a pottery class, bonded over their shared love of terrible puns, and had a tradition of making each other breakfast in bed every Sunday (a detail Yn quickly vetoed as being a bit too intimate for a fake relationship backstory). They agreed on a simpler, more believable narrative, focusing on their shared interests in art, hiking, and their similar quirky sense of humor.

When the day of the double date arrived, Yn felt a strange mix of nervousness and excitement. She met Nicholas outside the restaurant, a trendy bistro with exposed brick walls and soft lighting. He was even more handsome than she remembered, his brown hair neatly styled, his brown eyes sparkling with amusement. He was wearing a crisp blue shirt that made his eyes seem even brighter.

“Ready to face the music?” Nicholas asked, offering her a warm, reassuring smile.

Yn took a deep breath and nodded, linking her arm through his as they walked into the restaurant. Laura and Mick were already there, at a corner table, radiating smug couple-dom.

“Yn! Nicholas, darling, you made it!” Laura chirped, her eyes scanning Nicholas with open curiosity. Mick just nodded, sizing Nicholas up with a slightly competitive glint in his eye.

The initial awkwardness was palpable. Laura and Mick launched into their usual routine of boasting about their perfect relationship, their exotic vacations, their shared hobbies, their mutual adoration. Yn and Nicholas exchanged amused glances, silently communicating their shared exasperation.

But something unexpected happened as the evening progressed. As Laura and Mick continued their self-congratulatory monologue, Yn and Nicholas found themselves turning more and more to each other. They started talking about their actual lives, their work, their passions, their funny anecdotes. Nicholas’s warmth and humor, which Yn had always appreciated, seemed amplified in this slightly surreal setting. He was genuinely interested in her work, asking insightful questions about her latest designs, making her laugh with his witty observations about the other diners.

Yn, in turn, found herself noticing things about Nicholas she hadn’t paid attention to before. The way his brow furrowed slightly when he was concentrating, the gentle way he touched her hand when he made a point, the genuine kindness in his eyes when he listened to her. He wasn’t just playing a role; he was being genuinely kind, warm, and engaging.

As the evening wore on, the dynamic shifted. Laura and Mick’s bragging started to sound hollow and forced, while Yn and Nicholas’s easy laughter and genuine connection seemed to fill the space around them. They were actually having fun. Real fun. The kind that made Yn’s stomach flutter and her cheeks flush.

At one point, Laura, noticing the shift in attention, tried to steer the conversation back to herself and Mick. “So, Nicholas,” she said, leaning forward, her voice dripping with saccharine sweetness. “Tell us, what’s it like dating our Yn? Is she high maintenance? A drama queen?”

Nicholas’s eyes flashed, just for a moment, with a protective spark that made Yn’s heart skip a beat. He turned to Laura, his smile still warm but now with a definite edge. “Yn is amazing,” he said, his voice firm and sincere. “She’s kind, intelligent, funny, and incredibly talented. Dating her is… a privilege.” He turned to Yn, his brown eyes locking with hers, and added, softly, “And definitely not high maintenance or a drama queen. Quite the opposite, actually.”

Yn felt a jolt, a current of something electric passing between them. It wasn’t just acting anymore. There was something real in his gaze, something that mirrored the unexpected feelings that were starting to bloom within her.

The rest of the evening passed in a blur. Laura and Mick, sensing their spotlight had been stolen, became increasingly subdued. Yn and Nicholas, on the other hand, seemed to exist in their own little bubble, their conversation flowing effortlessly, their laughter ringing out genuinely.

When the double date finally ended, and Laura and Mick had made their exit with forced smiles and pointed goodbyes, Yn and Nicholas stood outside the restaurant, under the soft glow of the streetlights.

“Well,” Nicholas said, turning to Yn, his voice a little softer now, a little more hesitant. “That was… interesting.”

Yn nodded, a slow smile spreading across her face. “Interesting is an understatement,” she said. “It was… actually kind of amazing.”

Nicholas chuckled, then his gaze turned serious, his brown eyes searching hers. “Yn,” he said, his voice gentle, “about this… fake boyfriend thing.”

Yn’s breath hitched. She knew, instinctively, where this was going. And she wasn’t sure if she was ready for it, but at the same time, she desperately wanted it.

“Yeah?” she whispered, her heart pounding in her chest.

“It… stopped feeling so fake halfway through dinner,” Nicholas confessed, his cheeks flushing slightly. “You know, when I said dating you was a privilege? I… I actually meant it.”

Yn’s eyes widened. She could feel her own cheeks burning now. “Nicholas,” she began, her voice barely above a whisper. “I… I think I felt it too.”

He took a step closer, his hand reaching out to gently cup her cheek. “Yn,” he murmured, his thumb brushing softly against her skin. “I’ve been… fond of you for a long time. Long before this ridiculous fake dating scheme. I just… never thought…”

He trailed off, leaving the unspoken words hanging in the air between them. Yn leaned into his touch, her own hand reaching up to cover his. In that moment, under the soft streetlights, with the echoes of Laura and Mick’s self-absorbed pronouncements fading into the background, Yn realized that the most genuine, most wonderful relationship she could ever hope for had been right in front of her all along, disguised as a kind, warm, gentle, funny, and utterly wonderful friend named Nicholas.

“Maybe,” Yn whispered, her eyes searching his, a hopeful smile blooming on her face, “maybe we should make this… fake dating thing… real?”

Nicholas’s smile widened, lighting up his entire face, making his brown eyes sparkle with joy and something deeper, something more profound. “Maybe,” he echoed, his voice filled with tenderness. “I think that’s a really, really excellent idea.”

And as he leaned in to kiss her, Yn knew that this wasn’t just about proving something to Laura and Mick anymore. This was about something much bigger, much more real, and infinitely more wonderful. This was the beginning of a real love story, born from a ridiculous lie, but blossoming into something beautiful and true. And it was, quite simply, perfect.

#nicholas alexander chavez #nicholas alexander chavez one shots #nicholas chavez #nicholas chavez fanfiction #nicholas chavez imagine #nicholas chavez x reader #nicholas chavez x y/n #lavender baby #nicholas chavez imagines

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dr-demi-bee · 7 months ago

Text

Day 1-----------------------Read on A03---------------------------

Pairing: Miri x Gale Prompt: Against the Kitchen Floor Modern AU, Fluffy, Married life, NSFW

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The front door of the Dekarios house swings open with the blustering winter wind as Gale and Miri trudge in from their biweekly date night. They pause to kick the snow from their boots and shake the flakes free from their hair. Their cheeks are flushed pink from both wine and the chill. Despite the weather they both enjoy making their usual trek to the busier downtown to enjoy dinner and dancing.

“-I’m telling you, I could make a substantially better tiramisu,” Gale iterates for the half dozenth time as he hangs up his coat.

Miri puts a foot up against their bench to start unlacing her tall boots, shaking her head with a lopsided grin. He’s been hung up on this all night - dessert was hours ago at this point.

“And I fully acknowledge you are an exceptional chef,” Miri returns, “But you are not a master baker.”

Gale huffs, taking her coat from her to hang in the closet beside his. “I am perfectly good-”

“Liebchen, please,” Miri huffs back, catching his face between her hands before he can tirade further, “You know I absolutely adore the magic you work in our kitchen. But you cannot convince this Schwarzwälderin that you’re a baker extraordinaire.”

Gale pouts, and she can already seen that gleam in his eye. The man can never be wrong or less than the best at anything he touches. And while usually he’s right - this is one of those things that is her forte. And she can already tell he’s going to be a menace in the kitchen for who know how long as he attempts to perfect and outperform the exceptional dessert they just enjoyed at an Italian restaurant.

He’s surprisingly quiet as they finish disrobing their winter gear - hanging up scarves and gloves, earmuffs and hat.

Miri’s half-tempted to believe he might drop it as they make their way down the hall and he curls an arm around her waist. Gale leans down, pulling her close to press sweet kisses to her temple and cheek - his lips pleasantly warm against pink, chapped skin.

But he’s gone as soon as he came, veering to the left and leaving her suddenly bereft just as she means to pull him in for something deeper.

Miri halts, staring after his back. Infuriatingly handsome devil that he is, Gale is sauntering through their living room, unbuttoning the cuffs of his nice button up and rolling his sleeves up to the elbows. Absurd how attractive he can make that look, really.

“And where are you scurrying off to? Sir, the bedroom is that way,” Miri calls, planting her hands on her hips and jerking a thumb towards their little slice of paradise. The place he’s been promising to take her for the last several hours. With nonstop flirting and innuendo and less than chaste dancing. That place.

But he just grins over his shoulder at her as he rounds the sofa and keeps going. “The kitchen, my love.”

Miri sputters a confused scoff. “I’m sorry, was three courses not enough for you?”

Gale scoffs and chuckles, dismissing her concern with a wave. “To bake, Mir, not to eat.”

He saunters into the kitchen, readjusting the tie of his hair blown loose from the winter winds and his hat, and pulls on an apron. The nice one for baking that crosses in the back and has all the pockets. Her apron.

“Baking.” Miri repeats deadpan. Gale only looks up at her with that smarmy, confident smirk of his - not phased a bit when she narrows her eyes across the room at him and props clawed fingers against both hips. It’s not a question when she says, “You want to bake. Right now.”

“That’s right,” he returns, pulling one of her nicer cookbooks down from the narrow shelf beside the double ovens. Almost totally ignoring her as he fingers his way through the index.

The lythari crosses her arms, rumbling a low warning growl. She glares at him from the entryway of the hall to their room. Where they should be going right now.

“Dr. Dekarios, you get the hells out of our kitchen right now.”

“This’ll only take a moment, love, I promise.” He’s already switching to a different cookbook - somehow dissatisfied with the last pâtissier and moving on to the next.

“No, it won’t,” Miri rebuts. Nothing he says will ‘only take a moment’ ever does. “Neither one of us needs an entire tiramisu in this house.”

Gale doesn’t seem perturbed as he starts pulling containers of dry goods from the pantry and setting out mixing bowls and equipment. He even hums the tune of the last song they danced to, a little sway and shimmy in his steps.

Miri grows increasingly impatient as she watches him. She can’t tell if he’s being deliberately cheeky or if he’s really just set on the idea of perfecting a tiramisu on a random Friday night in Nightal.

And then those long fingers start shifting the equipment in her little corner of the kitchen and she’s moving into action. Her tights and tea length skirt swish and flutter as she storms her way into the kitchen.

“Gale Dekarios, it is eleven pm and you are a full wine-bottle deep, you are not going near my stand mixer.”

“Hush, it’s fine-” Another dismissive wave over his shoulder as he rereads a line from the recipe book he’s laid open on the counter. Not even glancing back at her as she approaches this time.

“It is not fine-” Miri growls with simmering irritation. “Gottsverdammt-”

She reaches her arms around his middle and starts walking him backwards. His arms pinwheel out with alarm, making it clear it was probably hyperfixation and not mischief waylaying their evening rendezvous.

“Mir! What in the hells are you doing-” Gale sputters when she spins him about and takes the mixing spoon and measuring cups from his hands.

“Seizing the reins of our date night back from your ego,” Miri answers in a low, calm tone, “I am not waiting for you to make an overly elaborate baked dish on our first night with no morning obligations in ages.”

“That’s precisely why there’s time to try my hand at a new recipe,” Gale argues, making to pick up the instruments she had just sent down.

“No, that’s precisely why you and I have plans already,” she counters, grasping his wrists to stop him.

“Miri. Don’t be silly.”

She gives him a glower, and before he can fight back she’s spinning him about and pulling her apron over his head. Gale sputters and flounders, but she tosses it across the room.

“Gale.”

“My love,” he returns, giving her a petulant frown with a concerned pitch of his brows. Miri growls and his eyebrows raise. Her hands move up to grasp his waist firmly, running her claws over his shirt in a gesture he knows all too well. His cheeks go a little pinker. “Ah.”

“I’ve had enough of your teasing tonight, Liebchen,”She murmurs softly, sliding a leg between his. He grasps her by the shoulder blades and it’s a soft pantomime of their dance - yet decidedly something hotter boils underneath.

Gale’s pulled in to the dark, heavy heat of her gaze as she looks up at him. The warmth in his stomach that had ebbed on the walk home was roaring back to life. Enough to have him dazed by her. By that low, heady sound of her growl - that predatory sound she makes when she wants.

“Oh,” Gale breathes. The fervor of his mind settles - thoughts of recipes and mascarpone fizzling away, replaced with his most pressing need. His purest desire and most heated passion. His wife.

His thoughts are swept from him almost entirely as Miri sweeps her leg beneath his and takes his weight into her arms. In a quick move more gentle than it has any right to be, Miri’s lowering him onto his back on the floor.

Gale lets out a ragged groan when she strips her tights and straddles his waist.

“Impatient, my love?” He murmurs.

“You’ve no right to ask that, Liebchen,” Miri breathes as she leans over him, her hair waterfalling over her shoulders to spill beside them. Those dark pupils could swallow him whole as they roam his features. “Not with the way you’ve been teasing tonight.”

Gale huffs a soft chuckle, his expression softening to grin up at her. “Well. I had the delight of spending the evening with the most gorgeous lythari you’ve ever seen. Can you blame me?”

“Oh, I can and I am,” she purrs back. Clawed fingers are making quick work of the buttons of his shirt, parting the fabric quickly to paw at the skin of his chest. Gale huffs another soft laugh and slides his hands up her thighs and beneath her skirt.

When he reaches the bend of her hips his brows raise, one arching in cheeky question. Miri only raises her eyebrows back with a sultry, knowing smile. Gale lets out a low groan in reply, his fingers squeezing and kneading greedily at her flesh.

Miri in turn undoes his belt with a quick flick of nimble fingers. When she palms him through the fabric Gale’s head tips back with a heavy moan.

“Ah, my love-”

“Hush, Gale,” Miri returns with a smirk. She tips his head back down with one hand and closes the distance between their lips hungrily.

They dance and slide together in a symphony of groans and heavy breaths. Nipping and licking and kissing their way through the passion of the evening, patience and bedroom long forgotten.

Miri pries his trousers free of his hips and just as quickly guides him inside her waiting heat. They moan together in delight, ragged prayers of one another’s names.

Gale grips possessively and desperately at her hips as she rocks and slides on top of him, praising her as he helps guide her rhythm. Her hands hold tight to his shoulder, press against his chest. The soft sounds of her cries as she grinds that sweet spot against him has him gasping. Every sound that falls from her lips a sweet symphony that never fails to set his body ablaze.

Each rolling bounce of her hips sends sparks through him. She cries out breathy moans against his lips, his neck, as she kisses him haphazardly, barely able to hold it between panting breaths. Miri's legs tremble softly as she rocks her hips against his.

Gale’s panting her name, whispering those sweet praises she loves to hear. So good, so sweet, so perfect, gorgeous, lovely, everything, everything, everything-

It’s not a desperate flash of fireworks as they finish together. It’s the intimate rocking, clutching cries of husband and wife holding each other in a sweet embrace more primal and soul-forged than anything else. The gasps of shared breaths, foreheads pressed together and whispered I love yous.

There will be time for desperate passion when they make it to the bed.

#hey thats under 2k wow I did it #gale dekarios #gale of waterdeep #galemance #primalweave #gale x miri #oc: miri #dr d's blurbapalooza #my writing #kinktober #flufftober #bg3 fanfic

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wolfiemcwolferson · 2 years ago

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So...he's a little pre-race drabble for the racing gods. I have no idea what this is. It's not what I was meant to put out. I was possessed by the holy spirit of RPF, Mr. Gasly himself.

It had been a joke.

Joris had signed him up for it before the ink had been dry on his divorce paperwork as his maman would say. Even though he hadn’t physically signed anything. It was like a…PDF signature. Digital and depressing. Like their entire marriage had been.

Charles thinks that Joris really had done it for a bit and then it had gone too far and before he knew it, he was on a plane to Paris to meet with producers and then he was signing NDA’s and getting fitted with wardrobe and someone that sounded vaguely Italian was cutting his hair even though he kept telling them that his maman did just fine.

He wasn’t…opposed to the whole thing of it - although reality television was a joke, he knew that he wasn’t going to find his soulmate on a TV show, but he was experiencing. He was learning about his sexuality and he was out and he was going to maybe get a couple of brand deals out of it.

Probably cry at least once. He was prepared for that.

One of Lorenzo’s friends from uni had done a very low budget Italian version of Love Island and three of the guys from his Villa were in his wedding and Charles could honestly use some gay friends! His friends from Monaco were trying, but it was hard for them to understand sometimes. He had married a woman after all. He had made a life with her for years and then he had just -

So, yeah. He had walked into this whole thing knowing that it was going to be an experience - one he wanted to take with both hands and that he would try and come out of with dignity and then on the first night, Pierre fucking Gasly walked in and Charles was done for.

He tries to make friends in the house. And he thinks they make progress every day.

He likes to work out with Peter - the guy from Denver who moved to France for university and never left. He attempts to learn to cook from Esteban - the chef who owns two of his own restaurants. He watches movies with the two friends from Italy who talk to each other in Italian constantly and he thinks he’s making friends with them.

But then someone comes in from a date and he just…crumbles.

He kissed me, someone will say and Charles will burn up with rage, his face red and blotchy and he never ever ever congratulates them or asks them questions because he can’t stand it. He can’t stand them and he knows that it’s ridiculous because there are…fifteen men left in this house and only one of them will leave with Pierre, and it’s only been two weeks of this, but Charles cannot stand it - feels as though Pierre is his.

He can feel the cameras on him and he knows that when he leaves the room in a hurry, they’re following him.

He can already see the narrative that’s being developed about him.

Bratty and silly and naive.

He knows the mic’s pick up the way Pierre leans in and says his name so softly and the camera's see the way that Charles’ blushes and it’s so stupid because there are so many accomplished, wonderful men here and Charles is not special, but…

Pierre makes him feel like he’s special - like what they have is special and even though they’ve had a handful of minutes together…Charles knows that he and Pierre could be…

Well, they could be great.

There are eight of them left and Charles is on his second one-on-one date.

Not just his second one-on-one, it’s the second in a row.

Charles has only seen one season of this show - that he watched frantically all in one night two days before his flight - but he doesn’t think it normally happens like that and the only reason Pierre had been allowed to do it was because he had asked Charles during the rose ceremony in front of the other guys.

It’s confirmation for what he already knows. That he and Pierre have something together. The way Pierre looks at him, the way he listens to him, the way he laughs with him, the way his fingers always stray south when he’s kissing him…

They’re on a boat - mic’d up, sitting in front of food they can’t eat.

The boat is docked and Charles would be annoyed by that normally because he loves the sea and he loves to go and he thinks that’s half the reason they’re on this date - a two hour drive through France in the back of a car is all worth it for this moment with Pierre - that Pierre arranged because Charles had talked so fondly about his families boat in Monaco.

Charles is talking softly about Monaco and his brothers and Pierre stops him, “Cha,” he says, running one finger down Charles’ cheek, “Can I have a minute? I hate to call cut, but I need to go and have a talk with production.”

The bottom drops out of Charles’ world.

You only call cut when something bad has happened. That was what they had coached him on when he started. You get to call cut, but only if it’s really really really bad, and Charles thinks Pierre is about to send him home.

That’s the only reason he would call cut right now.

They had been kissing, Pierre’s fingers tucked into his goddamn waistband and then he had pulled away to ask about Charles’ family and…he’s realized he has no feelings for him whatsoever, but wants to save him the embarrassment of a rose ceremony after he -

“Yes,” Charles backs away from him, “Of course.”

He can feel the cameras again, hyper-aware of the way this is all going to get edited.

Desperate. He’ll be painted as desperate and ridiculous and he just cannot breathe and he -

“Charles -” a producer says, and Charles waves him off as he stands, feeling like he might puke, leaning over the side of the boat, trying to draw in breath the way Joris had taught him.

He should go and tell them he wants to go home.

That’s the dignified thing to do.

He thinks that’s allowed. There’s an eject button on this too, but that’s only for big big big emergencies and this might be that.

He was just so silly. To think he and Pierre had a connection - that he was feeling like he and Pierre could be in love - that they could have a real future.

Charles was thinking about moving to Paris. Uprooting his entire fucking life to be close to Pierre’s practice because -

He hears his name being called again as he stumbles towards the sliding door that Pierre had disappeared behind.

There’s a kitchen and a lounge and that’s where the camera and production crew are hiding and he knows that’s where Pierre is and he is just going to tell them all that he needs to go home right now, but he gets to the door and freezes.

Pierre is in profile and he has one hand on his chest and there are tears streaming down his face.

A rather severe looking producer is wagging a finger in Pierre’s face and Charles is suddenly full of rage because how dare he make Pierre feel like that? This is Pierre’s show and he gets anything he wants and -

“I don’t want to go back to the house tonight,” Pierre pleads, tapping his chest. “It’s Charles, it has to be him.”

The producer - Jacques, Charles thinks - pats Pierre on the shoulder like he’s a child. “There are still weeks of filming left. You could change your mind. I know he is nice. Charles is very sweet and he is testing well, but you have such a great connection with Esteban. Don’t you want to see that through?”

Charles is frozen in place. He wants to hear everything. He wants to know everything happening, but the producer that was in his face earlier is shooing him away from the door, back to his spot with a cross look on his face. “You cannot repeat any of that,” he says firmly.

“Repeat what?” Charles echoes back and then waits in agonizing silence until Pierre remerges some time later. He looks stressed and tired, but he sits down next to Charles, placing his hand on his thigh and apologizes to him for the interruption.

Charles leans over and kisses him instead, open-mouthed and too much for fucking television, but Pierre’s fingers are so tight on his waist and he knows somehow that this is it for him.

He’s not walking away from this thing with a couple of brand deals and some friends.

He’s walking away with Pierre.

He doesn’t tell him until their honeymoon.

Pierre in a white linen shirt with too many buttons undone and Charles in a pair of swim shorts he is sure don’t belong to him and a boat that Pierre is renting from some PSG player.

Charles is laying between Pierre’s legs - despite their size difference, it’s the way the two of them prefer to be - Pierre splaying his hand on Charles’ bare chest, Charles hands on Pierre’s thighs, letting the hair run between his fingers.

It reminds him of their last night together before the final rose ceremony. Pierre and Charles had spent the night together in that sterile white suite, but most of the night had been spent like this - on the lounge chair on the balcony covered in the hotel duvet. Talking. Just so much talking.

Away from the cameras for the first time and in love.

And even then Charles hadn’t told him because he was scared of it - there had been a piece of him that had wanted to hold it back. In case…

He tells him now. Maybe because there’s no one else. Maybe because they’re on another boat.

“I heard part of your conversation that night.” Charles twists, cheek on Pierre’s chest. “The night of our date on the boat. You said that it had to be me and -”

Pierre grips his face too hard and forces him to twist around, coming to his knees so he can move and they’re face to face - Pierre’s eyes are blazing and Charles is breathing too quickly - he’s all too familiar with that look.

“You heard me?” Pierre demands. “I told them all that I loved you and you heard me?”

“No!” Charles says, “You - you only said that you didn’t want to go back to the house and that you wanted me and then Jacques told you that you had a connection with Esteban and then I didn’t hear anything else. I had to go and sit down -”

But he doesn’t get to finish. Pierre is kissing him hard and unrelenting and Charles is still trying to catch up.

“Pierre -” he mumbles, pushing on Pierre’s shoulders, “What?”

“I wanted to end it that night.” Pierre tells him, fingers coming away from his cheeks to grip Charles’ chin. “I asked them to end it because I didn’t want anyone else. I only wanted you.” He heaves a breath. “You’ll see when the season comes out, but we were…they were so angry. There’s barely a season after that night. I wasn’t…I knew it was you.”

“You never said -” Charles starts, but Pierre is too strong and he flips them, pinning Charles to the cushions.

“Fuck, I love you and I have loved you since I laid eyes on you.” He sinks his teeth into Charles’ collarbone and Charles forgets he was going to protest.

“I love you,” he says instead.

Pierre soothes the sharp bite with his tongue. “Going to love you forever, Charles.” And then softer, “Husband.”

#piarles #is there a French Bachelor #idk but this is that #a French Gay Bachelor #in my head Pierre is a doctor and Charles works worked at a nonprofit in Monaco and he married wealthy #pre racing drabble sacrifice

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faegoddessog · 1 year ago

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Woman in Red Ch. 8/17

Chapter 8: Be My Guest

Series Summary: She's a very successful woman who can't seem to find a partner that can keep up with her. He is just wanting to find someone who likes him for HIM, not his fame. Neither of them are prepared for what hits them when she walks into that coffee shop.

Chapter Warnings: Explicitly mature content, 18+ only, outdoor nudity, Unprotected PiV (play safe ya'll!), butt plug, masturbation, vaginal fingering, unprotected anal sex, unrequited shower sex.

A/N: In this story, I make no mention of birth control or condoms or STI's. Please, darlings, please love yourself enough to protect yourself appropriately when you have sex. <3

Message me or leave in in a comment if you'd like to be added or removed from my tagged list!

@purejasmine, @slowsweetlove, @richardslady121, @austinbutlerslovers, @tadpoleteef

Here is the Woman in Red Masterlist

Here is the link to all my posted work: My Dirty Little, and not so little Stories.

Chapter 8: Be My Guest

Aya hears Austin’s stomach growling when she opens the bathroom door.

“Geeze, I heard that from over there,” her arms drape around him from behind.

“Yeah, I’m a growing boy you know,” he smiles, playing off the age gap, “do we have dinner plans for the evening?” he asks.

“Of course, let me text…,” she grabs her phone, tapping with one hand, not finishing her sentence. Austin waits patiently, lightly rubbing her forearm.

“OK, Dinner will be here in ten minutes. Hmmmm, whatever will we do with our time.” Aya tosses her phone and presses her mouth to his skin. She kisses down to that sensitive spot at the crook of his neck. She sinks her teeth in just enough and sucks. Her fingers play lightly at his nipples. Gooseflesh trails down his arms.

“Oh, Mmmmm,” Austin’s eyes flutter closed. He had forgotten how triggering his neck was. He reaches around behind him and pulls her into his lap, cradling her.

“You are incorrigible,” he whispers, hand on her jaw, “I fucking love it.” His mouth is on hers. His full lips softly playing on hers.

They stay here, softly lost in one another. Their lips and tongues tender, languishing in sensation.

‘Ding, ding’ goes the door chime. Austin pulls away from her confused and looks towards the bedroom door.

“So,” Aya sits up, nonplussed that someone just walked in her house unannounced, “you can either stay in here until she leaves, or put clothes on, she’s only 18 so… .”

“Who.. what?” Austin reaches for his clothes, he definitely missed something.

“Oh, sorry I must have had that conversation in my head,” she makes a face, grabbing a pink tank and pulling it over her head, “I do that sometimes. I have employed my neighbor's daughter to make us dinner. She takes care of Kato during the week and when I’m gone.” She steps into a maxi skirt, “She is a fantastic chef and as soon as she is out of culinary school I am going to hire her as my full-time personal chef.” She starts, barefoot, down the hall.

“Oh, well I’m gonna use the restroom, then I’ll be out.” he calls down the hall, “Personal chef?” he murmurs, wondering just how wealthy she is.

When he steps out, a feast has been laid out on the marble bar of the kitchen. A dark haired teen, diminutive in stature is unloading the last of her bags. She is telling Aya the dishes at breakneck speed and with nary a breath taken. Austin leans on the wall just inside the hallway, listening and trying to follow along.

“Sea scallops, obvi, and beef carpaccio with the Italian olive oil you brought me. God that is amazing stuff. Lobster ravioli with mushroom reduction, Yes it’s THE wine.” she shimmes her shoulders excitedly. “I know you SAY you don’t like it, but I brought a nice beluga caviar service, just in case it changes your mind, plus your date might like it. Really, Aya, you don’t know what you are missing. A nice cheese plate with some goat and sheep’s cheeses too because I know how you are. Then for dessert I tried my hand at basque cheesecake. I think it’s ok, but you tell me. Then I was debating some dark chocolate truffles, but they totally didn't work. I don't think I’ll ever be a chocolatier, so, knowing you need chocolate, I whipped up my dark chocolate mousse with raspberries. Who do you have over? I thought you didn’t bring dates here? They must be special. Oh hi Kato,” she follows the movement of the cat, turns and sees Austin leaning with arms crossed.

“Oh HI! I’m…. “ she pauses, “Wait… you’re…“ Her mouth falls open, rendering her magically silent. The girl looks at Aya in astonishment.

“Austin, this is Bee,” Aya introduces her.

“Nice to meet you Bee,” he waves, his voice soothing. Dammit, his sister is right, he slipped right into 'fan mode.'

“You too, Austin, ” she recovers her voice, “Damn Aya,” she casts a sidelong glance at Aya, “You cougar, you.” Then back to Austin, “Listen, if you like my stuff, you owe me a selfie.” She smiles.

“You can have one right now if you want,” he says with a little smile.

“Oh no, I want to know if you like my food first,” she smiles, “I have priorities.”

“You let me know if you want me to come clean up,” she says to Aya, waggling her eyebrows. Then she whips back to Austin, pointing at him threateningly, “You had better treat her right or else.”

“Yes Ma’am,” he says, nodding seriously.

“Good… enjoy you two!” and she walks out the front door.

“Wow, she’s…” Austin starts.

“A teenage girl,” Aya shrugs, “But just wait until you taste her food.”

They ate out on the deck under the stars. He was astounded by each and every dish. Truthfully, it was better than some of the fancy Micheline star places he’d been. Aya doesn’t touch the caviar and neither does he. He doesn’t mind caviar, but he is planning on putting his mouth on hers later.

“Text Bee and tell her I owe her a whole bevy of selfies.” he says after tasting her mousse.

Aya just laughs.

Bee comes back to clean up, getting pics of him eating her food, a few selfies and an autograph. He helps her clean up, he just can’t help being polite and sweet. “I like him, you should keep him,” she says to Aya as she leaves.

Aya’s eyes go wide and her lips press together, “Bye Bee” she says tight lipped and trying not to laugh.

Bee just giggles and walks out.

Austin pours the end of the bottle of wine into their two waiting glasses and motions for her to lead the way. He watches as she peels off her tank top and tosses it on the couch. With a coquettish glance over her shoulder, she walks outside.

“I love being naked outside,” she says as she grabs a glass from his hand, sipping.

He glances around, her back yard is completely secluded with vegetation on either side. The ocean beyond was down a steep embankment of rock.

“I don’t think I’ve ever been naked outside,” he sets his glass down and peels his shirt off.

She raises her eyebrows, and looks pointedly at his lower half.

He shrugs and pulls his joggers off, leaving them in a puddle on the deck.

A randy smile crosses her lips. She tilts her chin towards the couch.

He sits down, wine glass in hand, sipping.

He gives her skirt the same look as she sidles up to him. She puffs out a breath with a slight shake of the head. She drains her wine glass instead. She gathers the hem of her skirt in her hands and straddles his thigh. He knows she has nothing under her skirt, he watched her put it on for christ’s sake. But the feel of her nakedness against his thigh is still exhilarating. He wasn’t quite hard before, but he can feel his balls tighten under her skirt. She was right to leave it on, sexier this way.

Aya settles down, knees on either side of his hips.

“Sasha, dim the lights please,” she speaks as though to someone in the house. The lights lower, even the outside ones

“Who is Sasha,” Austin looks side to side nervously, painfully aware of his nudity.

“It’s the house, silly,” she grins, “I like the whole smart house thing, so I named it. Makes it more fun.”

He huffs out a laugh and shakes his head in slight embarrassment. His hands slide up her thighs to her sides, moving with the expansion and contraction of her ribs. His thumbs are under her breasts and he can feel as much as hear the vibration of the low, sexy ‘mmmm’ rumbling in her chest. He pulls her to him, flexing his quads.

She is licking and biting her lip, looking down at him. Good lord he is agonizingly fine.

“Now for the real dessert,” she murmurs into his mouth just before she kisses him.

She pushes away only to let him pull her pussy lips back again over his muscular thigh. She pulls away from his lips with an audible smack. Her head falls backwards as the moon peeks out from behind a cloud, bathing her prominent tits in ethereal silver light. She looks fae. He wouldn't be surprised if she sprouted wings, pointy ears, and horns at this point. Her panting increases as does her hip movements. He is mesmerized by her use of him, even just his thigh.

“God I want to fuck you more,” the words slip from between his lips.

“Do you now,” she purrs, looking down at him, her eyes seeming to glow. “And how do you want to fuck me more,” she mimics his tone and cadence for the words ‘fuck me more.’

She moves to straddle his whole lap, his cockstand pressed between them, the fabric of her skirt catching on his tip.

“Any way and all ways,” he gathers it in his hands, the stretchy waist of the maxi skirt easily allows him to pull it over her head. “That’s better, I like you naked,” he lightly runs his hands down her frame.

He angles his hips, pressing forward and up. She lifts up, but not high enough to capture his long cock, only paint the shaft with her juices. His face is a mask of torture.

“Do you want this pussy, Austin?” she asks, her hands lock behind his neck.

He looks up at her, hunger in his eyes, “Yes, yes I do.”

He knows he sounded a little desperate, but he just doesn’t care. It doesn't matter that he was in her an hour ago, he wants her again. When her hot pussy blissfully envelopes his hard cock, he realizes he might never be able to get enough of her. She is a Venus that needs to be worshiped at all costs. He refuses to take his eyes off hers as he flexes his glutes, pressing into her. Her forehead creases, little mewls of pleasure squeak from her. It just makes him want to fuck her harder.

So he does.

Her ample tits bounce as he thrusts into her. He bites his lip. Lord she feels so damn good, looks so damn good, is so damn good. He’s gonna cum if he keeps this up.

He fills her to the brim, ramming into her over and over. She holds herself up just a bit. She could cum like this. But then she remembers something.

She rises to her feet, pulling off him mid thrust. His eyes flash with frustration for a millisecond.

“I believe you promised me an ass fucking, Mr. Butler.” Her voice is sultry and smooth.

His chest expands slightly, whether from exertion, the abrupt cessation of his pleasure, or the way that she said ‘ass fucking’, she doesn’t know.

He wasn’t going to remind her, wasn’t going to force her to make good on his mad threat from last weekend. He is actually slightly embarrassed that he even said it in his frenzy of dark mojo. Thank the lord for the bottle of wine they had already consumed, liquid courage and all.

“I did, are you cashing in on that promise now?” his eye brows raise. He’s not well versed in anal, he’s tried it once or twice, but he’s never had a partner that really was into it.

“Oh yes,” she breathes out, running her finger tips along his shaft, “if you are ok with that.”

“I am,” he nods, his dark self flaring up, “ but I might need some guidance, I’ve not done it much and not with much success.”

“I got you, Austin.” she holds out a hand. “C’mon,” she leads him toward the still open glass doors of her bedroom.

“Just so you know,” she stops in the doorway, “it’s my plan to make you lose your mind.”

Austin nods, capturing his rich bottom lip between his perfect teeth.

“In that case, I should inform you that I want to make you forget everything but my name when you cum,” he winks.

“It’s Austin, right?” she teases.

He purses his lips in a smile and narrows his eyes, but says nothing.

She walks to the drawer beside the bed, reaches in and pulls out a clear bottle with a pump top.

“You ok?” she asks, she’s not sure why.

“Oh I’m more than ok,” he whispers, stepping to her and leaning into a passionate kiss.

Aya hands him the lube, ”I'll be back in a few. when I do, you’d better have that cock lubed and ready.”

“Oh, I’ll be ready,”‘ Austin promises, his voice barely above a whisper.

She disappears into the bathroom.

He smiles, shaking his head to himself.

“Jesus, that woman…” he murmurs. He is so turned on, she just hits things in him like no one else ever has.

He positions himself by the open door, so he’ll be silhouetted by the low lights outside. He stands sideways, his hand full of lube, waiting to hear her bathroom door open. He knows how to put on a show, if nothing else. He knows just how magnetic he can be, and he wants her dripping the moment she sees him playing with himself.

Aya steps into the bathroom and blows a long breath out into the mirror. “Fuck me, he is so unbelievably hot.’

She hurries to clean herself inside and out. She brushes out her long hair. She debates slipping into a pair of red crotchless panties and a red lace crop top, but then remembers him saying he liked her naked. She pulls out her pretty steel butt plug. She is about to lube it up and push it into her ass, then she has a thought. If HE puts it in, he will be well on the way to losing his mind. She smiles deviously.

She walks out with it and a towel in her hand, Austin is standing, back lit, in front of the door. His lean form is situated with his side to her. His back is arched, hips pushed forward so his cock juts out. The entire front of his body is outlined in the sparkly lights from the deck as he strokes himself slowly. She can hear his breathy moans.

“Oh… my,” she is barely audible and stopped in her tracks, “You are so fucking sexy.”

Dropping the towel on the bed, she quickly closes the distance between them, pressing her mouth to his in desperate need. His free hand wraps around her back, feeling just as needy.

“You are…” she hesitates, panting slightly, “are you trying to make me lose control, Austin?”

“Oh yes,” he growls into her mouth, pleased at her reaction.

She almost loses it, almost shoves him down on the bed to ravish him. Almost slides her legs on either side of him. Almost pushes herself onto that gorgeous cock. Almost. She takes a big breath, tensing her jaw. She is determined to stay in control of herself.

“Come over here,” she hooks a finger around his and leads him to the bed, ready to play her own card in this game of sexy one-ups.

“I need to stretch my ass a little, if I’m going to take,” she runs two fingers lightly over his lubed cock, ”this magnificent thing. So I got out my favorite butt plug." She holds it up for him to see, "I hope it's big enough." She holds it down near his hard cock, comparing the sizes. His breath catching in his throat is all the response she needs. She climbs on all fours on the tall bed and holds up the plug.

“Do you want to? Or shall I?” she says with a wicked glance over her shoulder.

“Oh, well,” his eyes widen, taking it from her. “I’ve never… but I’ll try.”

“Be my guest,” she leans over and switches on a string of hanging lights that adorn the back of her bed. They give enough light, but keep the mood sexy. She leans her head down, ass up, opening her legs wide.

“Good lord that is a sight,” he murmurs.

He drips lube onto her exposed asshole. It’s a little cold, as is the steel, but it feel oh so good as he rubs it around in the lube and against her tight ass.

“Just go slow, Austin.” she says

“Yes, Ma’am.” he starts pushing.

She inhales sharply, her mouth open.

He pushes harder then relents, her ass pushing it back at him.

“Oh god yes,” she moans, fisting the sheets.

He smiles, ‘who’s gonna make who lose all control?’ he thinks.

“Fuck me with it.” she says, looking over her shoulder, eyes hooded in desire.

Oh Dammit. She is too hot all bent over and just the right height, he could fuck her just like this. No he will fuck her, just like this. He slides the plug in and out, going deeper each time. As it nears the drop off point, her ass grabs it and pulls it from him.

“Fuuu-uu-uu-uck” she says, rocking her hips, letting the weight settle.

“God that is hot, babe,” he breathes, hand caressing her round cheek.

She pulls herself up on her knees and turns around to look at him with a lopsided smile, “‘Babe?” her tone questioning. She shakes her head, she is not doing a good job of managing expectations here.

“Uh… well…um,” usually quick with a retort, his brain is completely derailed with how sexy she is right now. On her knees, looking over her shoulder, her hand fondling her own ass. Her hair flows down her back, begging to be wrapped around his fist.

“You wanna fuck me with it in…Babe?” her words are slightly taunting, but her body, eyes and tone say something completely different.

He crumbles at the sexy, wanton look on her face, not even registering her tease. “Oh, yes Ma’am,” he hears himself say.

She smiles, knowing she just knocked another notch from his self control.

”How do you want me, Austin. You want to be able to see it? Play with it?” This is not her first rodeo, she knows men.

Holy hell how does she know exactly what he is thinking?

“I want you in every way, darlin’”, the way ‘darlin’ drips from his lips all southern-like is intoxicating. What’s better is that he doesn’t even seem aware that he’s doing it.

She is suddenly too turned on to care what he calls her. They reach for each other, lips crashing together hard and passionate. His hand captures her breast, her spine twists to meet him. The heat in the room blazes between them.

His cock is throbbing and he can’t help but hump against her hip. Fuck he needs her and right now, to hell with control. He pushes her back onto all fours and then manhandles her by the hips, pulling her back to meet him. The silver steel of the flange glinting at him in the tiny fairy lights. He rubs his lubed tip in her wet folds, groaning at the warmth. He nudges forward into her clit just a bit while pressing the stopper with his thumb. If the shaking of her hips and her soft throat-born moans weren’t enough to clue him in, the arching of her back and the pressing of her ass toward him was.

Holy shit, she had forgotten how much she liked being tossed around like this. Then to feel his tip entreating entrance? Fuck she wanted him now, control be damned. Her clit and ass pulse together straight into her core as he touches them. He pushes, slipping his head into her wet folds.

The bulge of the plug presses against him. Like the plug going into her ass, once his head gets past the roundness, he feels sucked in as her pussy contracts around him. He can feel it slither up his spine. It doesn’t stop until he is deep in her. Even then she seems to want to draw him deeper. He jostles the plug slightly. He can feel it moving against him, feel the vibrations as he taps it. Her moans of pleasure egg him on.

She is so… full. His cock deliciously stuffing her pussy. Her ass hugging the steel of the plug.

“Please, Austin, fuck me, please,” she moans. She means it, and she also knows that one of the two best ways to make a man go crazy is to show him how needy you are for him.

“Begging for it, huh?” he teases her, pulling back “Ok, but only if you cum on my cock, can you do that for me darlin’.”

Fuck, there it is again, that hint of southern gentleman laced with the promise of dirty deeds.

“Uh-huh, just, my god, fuck me, I need you,” her breathy voice pleading. The other way to drive a man to delirious passion is to cum for him, on him, in front of him, because of him.

He chuckles behind her ear and wraps her hair around his fist, making her wait. Then he thrusts quickly, using his grip on her hip for leverage.

She squeals out a tiny ‘oh’. He thrusts again and again, his growl reverberating low in his chest.

Reaching between her legs, she can feel him entering her and how dripping wet she is. His rhythm gets steadily faster, harder. Her ‘oh’s get louder, more explosive as each plunge into her clicks her gears tighter and tighter.

She knows her body well. One minute on her clit will set her off. She lightly flicks her swollen nub.

“You are so fucking hot under me. No one could even come close to how fucking sexy you are.” He means it too. Austin is not new to women. He knows the effect his voice has, using it to tell a woman just how sexy he finds her is his secret weapon. And good lord, Aya takes the cake on being sexy as hell.

“Oh fuck I’m gonna…” she groans. She is suddenly shivering; arching and curling her spine in an explosive and sexy version of cat/cow. Her pussy is clenching and unclenching on his cock. She fucks herself on him. Low wordless, moans flow from her. He comes perilously close to creaming her pussy. The pressure from her plug is almost too much. Luckily she jerks off of him to lay face down on the bed, panting and shivering.

He smiles knowing he made her cum first. He can't help but reach out and tap the plug, she groans and twitches.

Then, unexpectedly, she says, “Pull it out, I need that cock.” She lifts her hips up to him. He pulls on the plug, slow and steady. She is rubbing her pussy, her fingertips peaking out from between the bed and her cunt.

“Fuckyes, fuckyes! Oh. My, God!” she almost cums again as it suddenly slips out. He puts it on the bedside table.

She rolls over, her eyes clouded with lust, her arms open. “Come’re” her voice sounds almost angry as she crooks her fingers at him.

She envelops him in her arms, pulling him down, desperate to feel his body along her own. Her mouth is greedy against his. She wraps one leg around his waist and pushes against the bed with the other, flipping them over.

She sits up on him like a tiger in the jungle, ready to pounce. She pumps lube into her hand, then wraps it around his cock. She looks for all the world like she is stroking her own cock between her legs. It’s deliciously provocative.

“You sexy mother fucker, I am so … oh .. god… you,” she says with a shaky breath. He is a fucking muse under her.

His hands clamp down on her thighs as his hips lift up into the friction of her hand

“Oh yeah? Well I …. You… are… fuck,” his cock bounces in her hand.

Neither of them are able to form full sentences. The lust is thick and palpable.

She nods at him, raising an inquisitive eyebrow. He nods back, not trusting his tongue. He is nervous. She reaches behind her with a lubed hand, smearing it on her asshole.

“Hold still,” her voice is commanding "I'll have to go slow at first." 'Torturously slow', she thinks.

He’s never seen anyone so hot as she is at this moment. She leans forward, holding herself up with one hand on his shoulder. The other holding his cock tight against her hole. It takes everything in him not to flip them and rail her into the mattress. But he is willing to take orders, especially from her. He can feel her sphincter tight around his head as she slowly eases down onto him. He is shaking, trying to control his body from thrusting into her. Her ass is unbelievably tight, he didn’t know it would feel this good.

Holy hand grenade, he feels so damn big in her ass. She is breathing though the stretching, she knows if she can get him in and relax, she will adjust. Panting out little breaths she finally makes it down his cock. She pauses there, forcing herself to relax with long breaths.

“You ok?” he asks, trembling. He is so sweet.

“Yeah, just give me a minute,” she breathes,”you are… big.”

A red blush rises to his cheeks and he huffs out a breath, looking down and away.

“Are you being shy?” her eyes narrow playfully as she leans forward slowly, moving on him. “Austin, darling, your big, gorgeous cock…” she can’t help but moan, “...is b- buried, in my tight, little, ass. There is no room for shy now, sweetheart.

Apparently they call each other pet names now.

His jaw is set as he looks up at her through his long eyelashes. His tight little moans accent her movement. He is determined to not thrust as she slides up and down on him a few more times.

She stops with him deep. His face is scrunched up trying to keep himself in check. Even so, he is utterly breathtaking. She leans down to kiss him. He involuntarily moans at the forward movement.

“Oh look at you, all that control,” she taunts him, a slight panting to her breath, “when I know you just want to ramrod into me until you fill me. You wanna watch my pussy grasp at nothing as you fuck my asshole? You can, I’m ready for it now.” she whispers in his ear.

“Oh… you vixen. I may ruin you,” the glint in his eye sparks as his lip curls into a smile, his hands clamping down on her hips.

“I dare you to try.” she smiles slyly at him. It’s always better at this point, when they can take control.

For a split second, Austin considers teasing her back. Pushing her off him and not giving her what she so clearly wants. But where is the fun in that? He locks his hands onto her hips and in one motion, rolls her over in the big bed still buried in her ass.

“What I want, is to watch you come undone on my cock,” he tries an experimental slow thrust into her.

“Oh I will, OH! “ she moans below him with her head back, tits pushing forward, wrapping her legs around his waist, pulling him further into her.

“Ohmigod.. so tight,” he moans as he rides her slowly. “Can I… are you?… fuck it’s so good, Aya.” He is lost.

“Yes and yes…” she nods, “and you are right, it is.” God he feels so fucking good.

He continues to move slowly, just luxuriating in the sensations. His arms thread under hers, his hands cup her head. He shakes a little as he pushes in, inhales as he pulls back. It is so completely intimate.

She is giving herself over to it, matching him breath for breath. Her fingers digging into his bulging upper arms. It feels so damn amazing. All her senses are focused on the friction. On the in and out of his cock. It winds her slowly tighter and tighter. She is about to reach between them to get to her clit.

“I want to see it,” he says simply and suddenly.

He sits back on his wide knees, pulling her with him. Her hips tilt and he nearly slips all the way out.

“Oh fuck it’s so good Austin!” she moans loudly as he pushes back in.

“Fuck that is hot” his fingers casually pet her wet labia, exploring. Her pussy is engorged, open and willing. Her clit is glistening, beckoning for his touch. His eyes are glued to their joining.

“Oh lord, Austin,” she clenches, even the lightest touch magnified.

He watches her pussy wink at him, he smiles deviantly. Pushing his cock deeper.

“I’m gonna finger this pretty pussy now,” his voice is deep and authoritative, “and you are gonna cum.”

With a nod, she feels his ring and middle finger slide easily into her dripping pussy. He begins to steadily work her. Her eyelids flitter as he pushes and pulls his cock in her stretched asshole. His opposite thumb trails down her inner thigh and alights upon her clit, tracing a soft circle. It feels beyond amazing.

“Oh, oh, oh” each separated by a panting inbreath. She opens the eyes she didn’t realize she had closed to see him staring at her. His nostrils flaring with lust. He looks dark and predatory. Patiently, steadily and inch by inch ensnaring her into orgasm.

She is like a mythological siren under him. Every whimpered vowel, every heave of her chest pulls at him. Her very being seems to be begging him to abandon his steadfast approach and just have at her ass. He will, he tells himself, as soon as she cums. He will pound his cum into her. It won’t take that long, she feels so damn divine. It’s like her tight little hole makes him feel bigger, more sensitive. It’s wild.

Her breath begins to come in rapid gasps. Her hands grasping the back of her knees. She curls up, body straining to cum.

“Please harder! Fuck me harder!” she begs.

He refuses, keeping her on that sweet edge for just a little longer. His thumb, however, can’t help but flash across her clit.

She is poised at the brink, in that maniacal place of almost. She wonders, in the back of her mind, if she’ll pass out before she cums, what with all her panting. His cock fills her ass over and over. His fingers burrow in her pussy, are there three now? Then his thumb sparks across her clit and there is no more precipice to balance on, she is cast into the abyss. Her whole nervous system ablaze, lit up with his cock, switched on by his fingers.

“Austin, Austin, AUSTIN YESSS AUUUUUS-TIIIN!!" she screams from the depths of her soul.

He’d heard women scream his name before, on the street, in bed, at red carpet events. He had never heard his name quite like this. It was primal, like a wild incantation. It triggered him deep in his primitive brain. It pried opened an inner damper as she squirted all over his hands. LIttle flecks of moisture peppered both their stomachs, her inner thighs and the root of his cock. His wet fingers dig now, into her thighs. His body let loose, he rages into her, slamming his hips against her ass.

She keeps screaming “YES! YES! YES!”

He was right. It doesn't take long, or does it? Time has lost all meaning, only reaching the edge and leaping off it with her matters. She thrashes, trapped under his demanding body. She cums and cums, Jesus how much.

Finally he thrusts deep, pumping his cum into her shaking ass. His ‘ugh’ begins as a whimper and cascades into a deep vibrating growl. His hips give a final jerk into her.

With the sudden cessation of his thrusts, Aya can feel his cock throbbing in her ass. She pants, strung out on vivid pleasure. Her eyes flutter open to see him above her, head hanging forward, his mouth hanging open. His fingers still clamped onto her thighs and shaking. He lifts his gaze to hers. They are both just shocked at how good it is. They stare at one another each trying to find a way back, an anchor point. She moistens her lips, dry from moaning and panting. The corner of her mouth lifts in a half smile. He returns it, licking his own lips. He moves to back away and pull out.

“Wait!” she grabs his hands and he freezes, “go slow.”

He nods, looking down at her empty swollen cunt. She reaches between her legs, rubbing her clit side to side with rapid strokes. He pulls out so slowly. It feels so fucking good, her pussy clenches, releases, clenches, releases. She shakes, cumming yet again, spine undulating. Her voice hoarse with moaning. When he is out, she curls up on her side, eyes closed, breath shaky.

“Hey,” he curls up in front of her, “you ok?” He has no idea if this is normal or if he hurt her.

She nods, trying to recover her breath. His arms wrap around her, holding her steady. She presses her forehead to his chest, needing the grounding.

“Yeah, that was just… intense and fucking amazing,” she finally says.

“Mmm hmm,” he nuzzles into her hair, inhaling her scent.

“Come on, we need to shower after that,” she says after several minutes.

“Hmmm, yeah,” his voice is sleepy in her ear, but he pushes himself to sitting.

Aya goes first, just wanting to wash her body, not her hair. Austin slips into the big walk-in shower with her, soaping up her back. She turns around to kiss him, his soapy hands gliding over her torso.

“Lord you are gorgeous Austin,” Aya says, ”It feels like a travesty, to have you in my shower and not have the energy to fuck you, that’s twice now.”

“You take my breath away, Aya,” he says simply. “It’s ok, we can take a rain check on hot shower sex.” Again with the promises of more to come.

Aya is standing in the doorway, the cool night air raising goosebumps on her naked skin. Moonlight streaming in. She turns to see Austin step out of her bathroom, a towel wrapped around his waist. Yup, a total travesty.

She had offered him one of the guest rooms, but he said he preferred to sleep with her. She liked the idea of his beautiful self merely an arms reach away all night.

“If I wake you by riding your morning wood, will you mind?” she says both cheekily and seriously.

“Not unless you mind me doing the same,” he smiles.

“It IS the best way to be woken up, that and ba- ay -ay con,” Aya yawns.

As he curls around her from behind, Kato balled up at their feet, she thinks just how good this feels, how much she has missed having something like this. Before she drifts off, she quietly smothers her inner voice, the one that is reminding her of personal vows made long ago.

Austin feels her deep breaths, feels her fall asleep. He gently brushes her hair away from her neck. It’s been a long time since he felt anything like this. Like a kid in love. Sure, he’s cared about those others, but this feels next level.

‘Why am I having these feelings? Jesus, who is this woman?’ he thinks to himself. ‘It’s just an orgasm-induced oxytocin release, Austin, calm down,’ he tells himself. ‘Yeah but no,’ is his internal rebuttal, ‘I don’t think it’s just that. She is so… I don’t know… just...more. Maybe it’s just the newness of it all. Well, I can either run for the hills, or wait and see how this all plays out.' He shakes his head, heaving a big sigh, just before a well deserved sleep overtakes him.

#austin butler #austin butler smut #austin butler fanfic #austin butler fic #one sexy mother fucker

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