#You die or you live freely

[autemimperator]

"Marquis Vincent Bisset de Gramont: your insubordination knows no bounds. You are in violation of your contract. You will be destroyed."

- @jw-adjudicator

Dear Adjudicator

How pitiful, the Table needs to also realize that the Myrmidons are bossed around by me. Not them. They don’t take orders from the Table, because is it them supplying my little army with their fucking weapons? Bah, non. The forces of the Table are people too, it’s funny and amusing to see those numbers of agents dwindle.

— Thank you, Marquis de Gramont.

[choccy-milky]

ty to @icedmatchawoatmilk13 for sending this to me! i may have gone a bit overboard but this was so much fun to fill out/think about BAHAHA💖 ill still never get over how perfect the song sarah smiles is for them...the lyrics AND the fact that its an alliteration...im gonna do an animatic about seb and clora to that song one day i swear 😩 ((blank template by oakwolves!))

[inkblotdemon]

loved this redditor's analysis of Inflammatory Writ

[cobra-creampuff]

spike trying desperately to be buffy's sugar daddy except not requiring the sugar just because her shitty service job bums her out and he can't bear to see it

[4bsurdcreature]

[bixels]

The final TF2 issue really got to me. Spoilers, but it’s the reveal that all of this suffering and murder and war over gravel and shitty land was for nothing but senseless, bottomless hatred. That the administrator can’t even remember where this revenge plot started as she flashes through different false memories of her parents’ deaths. There was never a tragic backstory or justification, only terrible people doing despicable things. And despite how crass and stupid and unserious TF2 is, the story subverts every expectation by showing the survivors and inheritors willingly breaking the cycle. Ms. Pauling lies to the administrator and chooses not to save her, and finally lets her die. (Hurts even more if you read into the subtext that Ms. Pauling is in love with the administrator.) She lets the final cache of Australium go and walks away from the burden and legacy of a century-old bloodfeud. Hale lets Gray’s daughter go and live her life freely. Spy is the first to arrive at Scout’s house and meet his big family, finally takes off his mask, and helps with the kids. Even Merasmus exhaustedly makes peace with himself and Soldier and chooses not to curse him or something. There’s nothing to finish, no promises to keep, and no one to avenge. The only thing to do is break the cycle and walk away.

It feels odd how happy and warm everything is, but it feels so right and earned. These bloodthirsty, awful, violent men were expendable cogs in a machine of endless violence, and they found a way out. It’s a genuinely great message about letting go the past that burdens you and finding the will and a way to hit the bricks, change, and be happy. Maybe they don’t technically deserve happiness, but they’ve got it nonetheless, and they’re not gonna let it go to waste. They’re still all crazy and violent, but on their own terms now and with people who love them! Smiles.

[carol-ing]

Going into a main tag for anything is always like. I literally don't like any of you.

[ama0310]

A Pawn Once More

Character: Haymitch Abernathy

Requested: No

Type: Angst/ Fluff

Summary: For years, Haymitch has kept his biggest secret buried—his love for the one person he couldn’t afford to lose. But when the Quarter Quell announces that tributes will be reaped from the pool of Victors, his worst nightmare becomes reality.

A.N: Scene from Catching Fire. No, I haven't read Sunrise on the Reaping, so please, No Spoilers. It's a Female!Reader.

Age Gap: Haymitch is 41 and Reader is in her 20s (preferably 25)

Part 2: Here

"Ladies and gentlemen, welcome. As you know, in every Quarter Quell, we do things a little differently. To commemorate the 75th Hunger Games, the third Quarter Quell, we have decided to add a new twist to the tradition."

"The tributes will be reaped from the pool of existing victors."

The air was thick with the screams and desperate cries of your family, their voices echoing in your ears as your own face twisted in horror. This wasn’t how it was supposed to be.

After surviving the 66th Hunger Games, after securing your place in history and your district’s fleeting pride, you were supposed to live out your life in something resembling peace. You’d be called back each year to mentor, yes, but never again would you be dragged into the arena. Never again would you face the bloodbath.

But now? Now you were nothing more than a pawn again.

You had to leave. You had to run. Your little brother’s tiny fingers clung desperately to you, his sobs vibrating through your chest as your mother—your mother—threw things in fury, her heartbreak spilling over. Every instinct told you to stay, to comfort them, but you knew better. You had to leave or you’d lose your mind. Or worse, you’d drag them down into your nightmare.

You ran. The pounding of your feet against the dirt was deafening, a frantic rhythm of escape, but your body couldn’t outrun the reality clawing at your soul. You ran until your legs gave out and you collapsed, crumbling to your knees, gasping for air. It wasn’t supposed to be like this. It had to be alright. It had to be. But deep down, you knew it wasn’t.

You wiped away your tears, your breath ragged and uneven, thoughts spinning wildly. Out of the eight victors from your district, only you and one of your mentors were women. And you weren’t about to let your mentor go through the Games again. There was no chance. You knew the nightmares she’d endured, the scars that marked her body. Like you, she had survived, but she wasn’t as capable as she once was when she won during the 47th Games. At least you still had a fighting chance.

Your mind turned to your family next. You just needed them to promise you one thing. They couldn’t watch. They couldn’t watch you die. It was the only mercy you could give them. You couldn’t let them see that.

Your death would rip them apart, you knew it. Your mother would be left without her daughter. Your brother would grow up without his older sister to protect him. Your father, already a shadow of the man he once was, would be broken, lost in the absence of his “princess.” And Haymitch—Haymitch.

The thought of him hit you like a physical blow, your heart constricting in your chest. He’s a victor too. A chilling realization gripped you like ice in your veins. He could be reaped. He could be sent to fight.

Tears spilled freely, hot and relentless, as you gasped, your breath stuttering. The weight of it crushed you. He could be reaped. And that terrifying thought shattered you more than the fear of your own reaping ever could.

You let out a scream—gut-wrenching, heart-shattering—your body shaking as it tore through you. It was a sound so full of anguish, so desperate, it seemed to rip apart the very fabric of the world around you. Haymitch. He could be reaped. And with that, all your nightmares, every awful memory, every twisted fear, came to life.

-----

“Get me that damn tablet,” Haymitch barked, shoving his way through the train car in search of the device. His mind was a tangled mess, his body still buzzing from the alcohol he’d consumed in an attempt to dull the gnawing pain. 

The last few days had been a blur, but he could still feel the sharp sting of the announcement ringing in his ears. The tributes... the victors... and his own twisted fate. He should’ve been focusing on how he’d somehow managed to cheat death. Instead, his mind was consumed with one thing—and one person—from District 5. You.

When the announcement came about the victors being reaped, he hadn’t reacted with surprise. No, he’d gone into a frenzy. He’d torn apart his house, broken everything in sight, and drunk himself into oblivion. His fingers had clutched his most prized possession with a desperation he couldn't explain—a beautiful gold chain, wrapped tightly around his finger, holding the most precious ring. 

The night before, Katniss had begged him—no, pleaded—for him to volunteer for Peeta during the reaping. He had agreed. Not because he wanted to, hell no. But because he had to be there if you were reaped. And now, as Peeta decided to take matters into his own hands, Haymitch found himself thrust into the role of mentor. It infuriated him. He didn’t want this. He didn’t want you in the arena again.

The other districts should’ve already been reaped by now, and his mind was frantic, itching to know if you had been chosen. Unfortunately, he’d been trapped in the mentor role, unable to watch the reaping unfold. Now, though, he was pushing everyone aside, his hands shaking as he aggressively swiped across the tablet screen, searching for answers.

“What's his deal?” Katniss scoffed, watching Haymitch swipe frantically at the tablet.

Effie, doing her best to keep the secret Haymitch had entrusted her with, attempted to downplay his urgency. “Oh, he’s just trying to see which victors got reaped. Don’t worry about it yet.”

“I can’t find it. Turn on the damn video on the TV,” he snapped, his patience gone. Effie scrambled, finally finding the footage and flicking it on.

As the video began, Haymitch subconsciously started playing with the gold band around his neck, his fingers caressing it absently as his heart hammered in his chest. The room fell silent as the broadcast began—District 5’s reaping.

"Welcome, welcome," the escort’s overly cheery voice rang out, her ridiculous outfit blinding in its absurdity. "As we celebrate the 75th anniversary and the 3rd Quarter Quell of the Hunger Games, as always, ladies first…”

Haymitch’s leg started bouncing in nervous anticipation, his pulse quickening. District 5 had eight victors, but only two were women—and you were one of them.

He couldn’t help it. His eyes locked onto the screen, unable to tear himself away. You stood there, dressed in black, your face a perfect mask of stoicism. Your eyes were red, your pain carefully hidden beneath a practiced, blank expression—the one you’d perfected from years of surviving. He’d taught you that. How to hide everything. How to show nothing. How to survive.

He watched you hold hands with your mentor, the two of you standing in quiet solidarity. A tiny part of him hoped that it would be you—the one they called forward, so your mentor could volunteer for you. He knew she would. You just had to let her.

The escort’s voice cut through his thoughts, though he barely heard it now. She gave both you and your mentor a small, sad smile before unfolding the slip of paper. “The female tribute of District 5…” she began, and the words hung in the air like a death sentence, “Abigail Winston.”

Effie’s sigh of relief was audible, probably thinking that you were home free, that everything was going to be okay. But Haymitch knew better. He knew you. And that’s why his entire body tensed in an instant. The anger surged through his veins like wildfire, hot and uncontrollable.

And then he saw your movement. The way you stepped forward. No.

Before your mentor could even make a move, your voice steady but fierce rang out, “I volunteer as tribute.”

Time seemed to slow. Haymitch’s heart stopped, the world around him blurring as he felt everything he’d been holding together shatter. His breath came in ragged, panicked gasps as the glass in his hand fell to the floor, shattering into a thousand pieces. The tablet in his hands followed, crashing to the ground in a violent thud.

Katniss and Peeta exchanged confused glances, unsure of who you were or why Haymitch had reacted like that. Effie’s tears fell silently, a mix of sorrow and disbelief. But before anyone could speak, Haymitch turned away, his mind consumed by rage and heartbreak. He didn’t look back. He couldn’t.

He stormed down the train, away from them all, his hands clawing at the air as if trying to rip the world apart. Every part of him, every inch of his being, was focused on one thought: You. You had volunteered. You had sealed your fate. And now, all of his nightmares were coming true.

-----

Haymitch wished he were drunk. He wished the alcohol could drown out the aching pain of having you step into that arena again. It wasn’t fair.

You barely had two years together. Two years of being an official couple, and yet it felt like it wasn’t enough. He’d first met you at the end of your Victor’s Tour, when you decided to escape the attention and hide at the bar. You outdrank him that night, which, frankly, was impressive.

At first, he never expected to care for you. You were just another survivor, bound to the same cruel fate as him. But then, over time, as you grew up and proved yourself in ways he never imagined, he couldn’t help but fall in love.

You were 15 years younger, and he had always kept his distance, hiding his feelings behind a wall of friendship. But as the years passed, and you all met yearly for the Games as mentors, one thing led to another. A night full of too much alcohol, too many unspoken feelings—and before he knew it, you had shared a night neither of you would ever forget.

The next morning, you confessed what had been lingering beneath the surface for so long. It took him months to work up the courage to ask you out, battling his own demons of self-doubt and guilt.

And then, for two beautiful years, you two had kept it secret. Notes passed in shadows, stolen kisses, quiet smiles, and letters filled with raw emotion. Two years of sneaking around, being completely, utterly in love.

And now, it was all coming to an end.

Effie found him passed out in the train’s aisle, and without hesitation, she put him to bed, understanding that he needed space.

The next morning, Haymitch tried to seek you out. He wanted to see you, to make sure you were okay, but his duties as a mentor took priority. Effie begged him to focus, to speak to Katniss and Peeta first, and then find you. He was torn between his heart and his responsibilities. And in the end, Effie dragged him to the kids.

He spent that day drinking and half-heartedly trying to teach them about the importance of allies.

“Finnick Odair, right?” Katniss asked, as they went through the list of reaped victors.

He nodded, pointing to the screen. “Yes, he won at fourteen—youngest victor ever. Extremely humble.”

“You're kidding, right?” Katniss scoffed.

“Yes, I’m kidding.” He flipped his hair dramatically. “He’s a... peacock. A total preener, but he’s the Capitol darling. They love him here. Charming, smart, and very skilled at combat—especially in water.”

Peeta leaned forward, glancing at the screen. “What about weaknesses?”

“One person, Mags.” A frail, wrinkled woman appeared on the screen. “She volunteered for Annie. Mags was his mentor, basically raised him. If Finnick’s trying to protect her, it exposes him.”

Katniss stared at the screen, watching the woman bravely volunteer for the young girl in tears. “A guy like that has to know she’s not going to make it. I bet when it really comes down to it, he won’t protect her.”

Sadness flickered in Haymitch’s eyes. “Well, Katniss, I just hope when she goes... she goes quickly. She’s a wonderful lady.”

He pressed a button on the tablet, knowing exactly who would appear next, but his body tensed involuntarily as the screen flickered to life.

"District Five: Mason Cover and Y/N L/N." Haymitch stared at the screen, his eyes locked on you, unable to look away.

"She's the girl we saw on the train," Katniss said, sensing the weight of Haymitch’s reaction. "What's her story?"

Haymitch glanced at Katniss before downing his drink. “She won the 66th Games at 16. The last hour of the Games, there were five tributes left. She killed each one of them single-handedly—arrows, spear, you name it. Extremely skillful, resourceful. And beloved by many of our victors.”

He pointed to Mason Cover, “Mason won the 55th Games at 18. Lethal in hand-to-hand combat. The last 30 minutes of those Games were a triple threat match. Those two are close friends. You want them as allies. And if you trust me... trust them. They're who you should be allies with.” He repeated, his gaze locked on Katniss. “Trust me.”

“Who is she to you?” Katniss asked bluntly, her voice cutting through the tension. “We all saw the reaping. We saw the way you reacted. Now you want to team up with her... why?”

Haymitch squinted at her, his fingers subconsciously playing with the chain around his neck. “She's just a friend. I've known her for years. I know both of them. Good people. Trustworthy people.”

“I don’t believe you,” Katniss retorted.

“Katniss,” Peeta interjected, sensing the simmering tension. "Let it go."

But before anyone could speak, Effie burst through the door, her heels clicking sharply against the floor as she hurried toward Haymitch. "Haymitch, thank God you're here!" she said, voice strained with urgency. She then saw Katniss and Peeta standing in the room, and immediately faltered. "Oh... uh... Haymitch, you're needed outside of this room." She gestured quickly toward the door, trying to keep the situation under wraps, hoping the kids wouldn't notice.

Haymitch caught the hint, and without a word, he practically flew out of the room. Before the door even clicked shut behind him, he was pulled into an embrace. Your arms.

And for a moment, everything around him seemed to stop.

"Haymitch..." you whispered, your voice trembling as tears flooded your face. After days of terror, the weight of the world finally seemed to melt away in his arms. He was here. You needed him more than anything.

"Y/N..." He squeezed you tightly, his arms wrapping around you like a lifeline. His heart hammered in his chest, sobering instantly from the haze of alcohol. The warmth of your skin, the sweet scent of you, and the soft wetness of your tears soaking through his shirt — this was real. You were here, with him... for now.

He pulled back slightly, needing to see your face, his hands gently cupping your tear-streaked cheeks. He smiled at you, the corners of his mouth trembling with something he couldn't quite control. "Hi, sweetheart," he whispered, his voice breaking.

It hurt him to see you like this—eyes red and swollen, your hands shaking, a look of grim acceptance in your gaze. The kind of acceptance that made his heart shatter. What had you accepted? What were you preparing for? That thought alone gnawed at him.

"It's going to be okay. I’ve got you, pretty girl." His voice cracked with desperation, the words pouring out in a rush. "I’ll get you sponsors, and you'll be okay. Then when this is over, we can go back to my district, or yours, and live the rest of our lives together. I’m not going anywhere. Not now. Not ever." He whispered it, desperate for you to believe him, for you to feel safe, for the horrible weight of your future to somehow lift.

But then, you shook your head, sobbing. "You can't... Katniss and Peeta are your responsibility. You need to help them. You need to save them." The words broke out in a cry, your eyes locking with his in raw, painful clarity. He shook his head, his heart sinking.

"No," he muttered firmly, "I’m not leaving you alone for this." His hands gripped your shoulders, holding you as if he could keep you safe, as if he could protect you from the arena, from everything.

"I’ll be alright," you tried to smile, wiping away the fresh tears that fell. "You don’t need to worry about me." You forced the smile, trying to push him, to focus on the kids, on them. You knew the truth, knew the game was rigged. Katniss needed to be victorious; you were just collateral damage, nothing more.

Your hand reached up to caress his face, your thumb tracing the rough outline of his jaw. "The kids need you, my love. You have to choose them over me. You have to choose Katniss over me. She... she is important."

"You're important." His voice cracked as he tried to hold on to some semblance of control, but it shattered as soon as he looked at you. "You're everything to me. You're my world. My wife... You don’t know what you’re asking me to do..." His voice broke, the words too raw, too heavy. "I can’t leave you in that arena. I won’t. I will save you."

You stared at him, tears running freely down both of your faces. He looked at you in disbelief, his eyes wide with an agony he couldn't hide. You had accepted your death, but he couldn’t. Not now. Not like this. He had already lost so much. He wouldn’t lose you too. Not like this. Not again.

"You don’t understand," he whispered, his voice raw, breaking with the weight of everything he couldn’t say. He shook his head, disbelief flickering in his eyes. "I can’t let them take you from me." His mind was already spinning, heart racing with frantic thoughts—how could he get more sponsors? Who could he talk to in the Capitol? There had to be a way. Anything to keep you alive. "Why the hell did you volunteer? Why—Jesus Christ, why you?" The words cracked through his chest, his heart shattering with the pain of it. He couldn’t breathe. Couldn’t think. He was losing you, and he couldn’t stop it.

You reached up to cup his face, your thumb gently brushing over the rough, scarred lines of his cheek, your touch a silent plea. You saw the desperation in his eyes—the panic, the fear that he couldn’t hide. Your voice trembled as you whispered, "Haymitch... I promise you, I’ll be okay. I’ll be fine." The words tasted like ash on your tongue, but you said them anyway, because you needed him to believe it. You couldn’t bear the thought of him falling apart, not when you knew what was coming. You had to be strong for him, even if it broke you to lie like that.

And then, with everything breaking inside him, you leaned in, pressing your lips to his in a kiss that spoke of everything: grief, love, fear, and an unbearable desperation. It was rough and frantic, a mixture of tears and longing. The kiss was an apology, a plea, and a final, desperate act of love.

What neither of you knew was that Katniss, Peeta, and Effie were watching from the crack in the door, their eyes wide with shock. 

Haymitch has a wife.

And she was about to die.

[dasnercaret]

eyebrow raise...

Obsessed with vampires but specifically when they're really pathetic

[tojicide]

OBSESSED. ☆ SYLUS.

📰 extra, extra! why is your bodyguard so obsessed with you? girl, you wanna know...

warnings. fem!reader, popstar!reader, bodyguard!sylus, established romantic history ( very brief ), pet names, semi-public, fingering, oral ( fem. receiving ), cowgirl, unprotected p in v. wc. 4.6k.

an. reused the header and a bit of the plot from an aaron hotchner fanfic i wrote on wattpad in like… 2021??? tweaked most of the details obvs but ig i was born as a bodyguard au lover

⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠀ ✧ masterlist | request

Your bodyguard was such a buzzkill.

Dragging you out of every party you make an appearance at, replacing your shots with water once he believes you’ve had one too many, watching you like a hawk no matter where you are or who you’re with...

You despise those who have an inability to have fun, so as far as you’re concerned, Sylus is the devil reincarnated. You aren’t exactly shy about your opinion of him either, and perhaps in hindsight, that is exactly why he was currently pacing through the party you’re in attendance of to try and ruin your night yet again.

(Ruin your night or… do his job? Hell if you care about the logistics of it all. Two sides of the same coin, you think.)

His protective instinct only grew more intense ever since the two of you shared a kiss before a concert of yours that left your lipstick smeared over your face like there was no tomorrow…

And what did that asshole do? Nothing. It was in his nature to make your life miserable after all. Sylus let you walk out in front of your thousands of fans, makeup messy and appearance disheveled all from his mouth on yours alone.

And boy, did the tabloids have a time with that one… Who was the culprit? A new fling of yours? Fiancé? Possible baby daddy? Each and every news outlet had some uniquely wrong to say. Can’t a girl have a makeout session with her bodyguard in peace?

Unfortunately for you, the paparazzi have been hounding you ever since that day, itching to get the 4-1-1 on your love life.

And ever since, you haven’t given many people the time of day—including Sylus. Tonight, you’ve managed to stay two steps ahead of your dear bodyguard and evade eventual capture for just a bit longer. You’re currently surrounded by a few of your friends, socialites and actors alike.

Your lips seem to flap freely when you have a few drinks in you, but tonight, you’re sober but even more talkative than ever. Your chosen topic of conversation? Your overbearing and stupidly handsome bodyguard, of course.

Too lost in your story, waving your arms around to your theatrical pleasure, you hardly noticed the way your friends’ faces paled to a ghostly shade of white, their eyes nearly bulging out of their heads and their lips parted as if they had something to say but… couldn’t.

All the while, you were too busy blowing off the  steam that you’d acquired from your last encounter with the forsaken bodyguard. “…And I was like, why are you so obsessed with me?”

As fate would have it, you hear a throat clear behind you followed by an annoyed sigh that you’ve grown to know like the back of your hand. You spin around, already wearing a scowl.

“Obsessed with you, hm?” Sylus says, his voice low and seemingly dangerous, though your utter distaste for the man rids him of his intimidation. “You’re quite self important. I could never live in a world where I’d fall at the feet of an egotistical popstar.”

You roll your eyes at that. Who does he think he is? Everyone loves you—all except for the disgustingly handsome man standing in front of you.

“Mm… well, you can always die an untimely death and never have to work for me again,” you reply, giving him the most passive aggressive smile known to man. “Hopefully that gives you an ounce of hope.”

“It does,” he replies, returning the same expression that you gave him.

It’s borderline infuriating how undisturbed Sylus was. No, it is infuriating. No matter how many insults you chucked his way, he never cracked. (And the one time he did, it led to the two of you playing tonsil tennis in your dressing room...)

You shake your head, huffing in utter annoyance. You then hold your wrists up for display, cocking your head to the side as you give him a mock puppy dog expression. “Sooo… are you here to take me away, Officer Buzzkill?”

Sylus merely blinks in response to your taunting, taking a firm grasp on one of your wrists before he tugs you through the sea of partygoers. He laces your fingers together, squeezing tight as to not lose hold of you.

“Must you always make things so difficult?” he asks, keeping his eyes ahead.

You shrug your shoulders. “More or less.”

“More or less?” he echoes, glancing over his shoulder to properly look at you. “I suggest you try a different style of communication, sweetness. Your clipped attitude will get you nowhere.”

“Oh? But it’s gotten me so far already…” you trail off, glancing at his lips for a few agonizingly long seconds before a smirk tugs on the corner of your mouth. “In fact, I think it can get me even further.”

Sylus’s jaw tenses, his eyes slipping shut as he tears his gaze away from you. He can’t handle the way you’re looking at him—so unbelievably beautiful with those siren eyes of yours, the mere sight of you already stirring something unwanted within him.

He turns around to continue leading you through the crowd without a reply. You begin to glance around yourself, attempting to plot your brilliant escape.

“Don’t,” he flatly states, his iron grip tightening on your hand.

“Why not?” you ask, your voice holding a strong tone of defiance.

Sylus gives your hand one solid tug before you’re standing in front of him, his free hand pressing onto the small of your back as he keeps you pressed to his chest. “If you haven’t noticed, you brat, I will always chase you. I’ll find you just the same.”

You almost deflate under his intense gaze, his deep red eyes piercing through your own. It wasn’t often that Sylus manhandled you, but when he did, it made you feel… different. Intrigued, maybe.

“How touching,” you deadpan, “but you still get on my nerves.”

Sylus clicks his tongue. “Tch. Oh, I’m sorry… when have I ever cared about what you think?”

“Never,” you say with a dramatic sigh. “You know… if you hate me so much, you should just quit on me.”

Sylus rolls his eyes, his red irises drawing you in like no other. “I don’t… hate you. You should be rather thankful that I don’t, because I’m doubtful that anyone else would want this job of mine—you’re quite the handful.”

“Mm, I’m only saying,” you murmur with a shrug, giving his hand a harsh squeeze as if the roughness of your grasp would make him let go, but he, of course, does not. “You don’t need this job, and yet, here you are.”

He raises a brow. “What do you mean by that?”

You smile, the same shit-eating grin that he has grown to be all too familiar with. “Give me your wallet.”

Sylus huffs, his broad shoulders deflating as he fishes his black leather wallet from his back pocket and hands it over to you. You take it with ease, taking your hand from his as you crack it open.

You slip his Black Card from the sleeve, proving that he truly didn’t need the job for any monetary gain. And then, a triumphant smile graces your lips as you pull out none other than a Polaroid photo taken of you—backstage at your concert just before the kiss you two shared.

“Ooh… what’s this?” you ask, raising your eyebrows.

Sylus reaches forward to try and snatch the tiny photo from you, but you are far too quick. “What are you revealing exactly? That you were secretly snooping in my wallet prior to now?”

“Yes,” you admit without hesitation, “and that you’re secretly rich and in love with me. Does that make us even?”

His jaw sets, his piercing gaze set on yours. He works to snatch the photo from you, tucking his belongings back into his wallet before he slips it into his pocket. “No. Maybe if you were less of a pain, we could be even.”

You wiggle your eyebrows in suggestion. “You’re not denying being in love with me, dear bodyguard of mine.”

Sylus gives you a deadpan expression. “Must you always be so self righteous? God forbid I am proud of you and your success.”

The genuine nature of his words set you back a step, your brows knitting together and your lips parting. If Sylus noticed the shift of your expression, he didn’t mention it. Thankfully. His cold fingers lace with yours once more, continuing the stride towards the exit of the party.

“Rather than putting on this show of yours, you truly should be thanking me for saving your reputation,” he quietly adds, his hand now curled around your waist as you approach the exit. “There is a swarm of paparazzi outside who are desperate to get their grimy hands on a picture of their beloved popstar doing something remotely scandalous.”

(And if Sylus knows anything about you, it’s that you love scandals. According to you, they ‘make life worth living’. Tch. Diva.)

You chuckle. “Aww, you care!”

“Do I care, or is it my job to look after you?” he asks, plucking his sunglasses from his pocket to place them on your face, shielding your eyes from the rapid camera flashes of the paparazzi. “Public intoxication numerous times a week is not a very good look for you, sweetie. Incredibly frowned upon.”

Your jaw sets as you listen to his words. While they are undeniably true, you don’t have any plans for admitting that—not now or in the near future.

“Making out with my bodyguard is frowned upon as well, but you didn’t seem to be complaining about that bit,” you say under your breath.

Your voice was low enough that your weighted words were almost drowned out by the booming music of the party and by the chatter of the photographers you’re about to be engulfed in. Almost. 

Sylus flashes you a glare. “You shouldn’t mumble. I can’t understand a word you’re saying.”

“You heard me,” you state.

He did hear you, that was exactly the problem. It was no coincidence that the two of you haven’t spoken much since your very intense lip lock. You’ve been avoiding each other, evading the invisible string that connects the two of you like both an electric current and a noose.

The tension between the two of you was tangible, palpable even—you could practically taste it just as well as you could still taste his lips on your own. It was intoxicating, imprinting, searing.

It managed to distract you from the flashing lights of the cameramen who were swarming you, capturing flick after flick of you being led through the crowd.

You chew on the inside of your cheek. “You know, you can help me out with all of this,” you murmur, gesturing towards the paparazzi. “My publicist came up with an idea that will get them off my back for a while. Give them the answers they need and… whatnot.”

“Is that right?” he asks, glancing your way. “Do tell.”

You swallow the lump in your throat, tuning out all of the chattering paparazzi who are currently surrounding you. “Be my impromptu mystery man for the cameras. I’ll give you anything you want in return, I swear it.”

Sylus hums, the sound omitting a deep rumble into the air. “Anything I want? My, my, sweets, you’ve made me an offer I cannot refuse.”

You huff, grasping onto the collar of his jacket as you pull him into you. “Just go with it.”

“Just go with wh— mmph!” Sylus’s words were muffled by your lips slotting against his in a searing kiss, his hands instinctively finding their home on the curve of your hips.

The kiss was… tame. It was supposed to be, after all. It was merely for the cameras, a way for you to put an answer to the questions that have been flooding your inbox and left your name circulating in the news for days on end.

But when Sylus’s tongue brushes against your bottom lip, you slightly pull away, muttering a faint, “Sylus, what’re you…” before he pulls you right back in, his large hand now resting on your cheek.

“If you’re going to use me like a whore at your disposal, I’d suggest you let me enjoy myself and taste you properly,” he sporadically says into your mouth, his hand shifting to tangle in your hair as he tilts you to his liking, your tongues meeting in with gentle swipes. “See? I knew you could do better than that.”

True to his suggestion, you kissed him like there was no tomorrow, your hands fisting his shirt in your palms as your lips moved in tandem with his. Lipstick and paparazzi long forgotten, you find yourself getting lost in the moment, a soft whimper leaving your mouth as his hands give your hips a firm squeeze.

The moment he hears that sweet, impossibly faint sound of your pleasure, he knows that he’s in for it now. That’ll do it for him.

He abruptly pulls away, clasping his hand onto yours as he continues pulling you through the now stunned crowd of paparazzi. Sporting an erection and your lipstick smeared on his lips makes no difference to Sylus—if anything, he enjoys the world knowing that he has the hots for the woman who he has sworn to protect.

Sylus helps you into the passenger seat of your black SUV, closing the door behind you before making his way to the driver’s seat. He peels off, driving with intention through the streets of the city.

It was now evident to you that he was driving the SUV in pursuit of his favorite lookout spot, one that overlooks the bustling city from a distance. Sylus had taken you there once before as per your request to ‘stay out a bit later’. Nothing happened then, but you have an inclination that your luck has changed.

“I know what I want from you,” he states, placing a hand on your thigh.

How did he already manage to figure out what he wants in return for helping you? A raise? A car? The blood of his enemies? You’re intrigued, raising a brow. “You do?”

“I do,” he confirms without missing a beat. “Get into the backseat.”

A gasp leaves your kiss swollen lips as you mull over the utter implications of his words. It didn’t take a genius to understand them, but you were… surprised to say the least. “I think you’re overstepping your boundaries, Mr. Qin.”

In a literal sense, sure he was. But if the two of you were going to judge based on what you two want, he absolutely wasn’t—you both knew that.

He chuckles, the sound low yet infuriatingly sexy. His hand slips beneath your skirt, his middle finger brushing along the damp spot of your panties. “Your body seems to disagree with you, ma’am.”

And if you weren’t already wet before, hearing him call you ma’am was more than enough to do it for you. “Shut up,” you grumble.

“You can make me,” he suggests, setting the vehicle into park before giving your thigh a few pats. He nods his head towards the backseat. “Go on.”

Without hesitation, you kick your heels off and crawl into the back of the vehicle, thumping down on the seat with a sharp sigh. Sylus follows you within the blink of an eye, his knees settling on the spacious floor of the car.

“What’re you…” you ask, though your eyebrows raise as the pieces of the puzzle click together in your mind. “Oh.”

“Yes, oh,” he repeats, his warm hands rubbing your knees as he spreads your legs apart, his lips finding the tender skin of your inner thigh. “You know… you truly should be resting for your show tomorrow evening.”

“Should I?” You bite on your bottom lip as he leans forward, nosing at your clothed pussy with a muffled moan of his own. He inhales deeply, the scent of your arousal driving him to the brink of insanity.

“You should,” he answers, pressing an open mouthed kiss on your cunt through the fabric of your panties. “You should stop talking too. You need to rest your voice just as much.”

You swallow hard, whimpering ever so softly as his fingers hook beneath the waistband of your panties, pulling them down your legs to give himself access to your glistening core.

His eyes are set on your heat, his cool hands hiking your thighs over his shoulders. He rests his cheek on the warmth of your inner thigh, glancing up at you. “Because believe me, sweetie, the things that I want to do to you will not be in favor of that beautiful voice of yours.”

“Oh?” you ask, titling your head. “What will they be in favor of?”

He grins, wicked and devilishly handsome. “I’m glad you asked, because there’s someone else I’ve been wanting to hear from.”

Before you have the chance to reply, he’s already got his face delving deep between your legs, the filthy sounds of squelches and slurping filling the otherwise silent car.

“Oh, I— mmh, you didn’t answer my… my question,” you stammer out between breathy moans, your head tilting back on the headrest as your eyes flutter shut.

Sylus smiles into your pussy, pointing his tongue to accentuate the squelching noises that your heat was making, entirely wet and dripping for him.

“Can you not hear her?”

Never in your life did you think that having a man on his knees talking to your cunt would be this arousing, but… you’re fucking soaked.

“I-I can,” you gasp, cracking your eyes open to look down at him. “Fuck, you can talk to her in fifty languages for all I care, holy shit.”

He quietly chuckles, the sound sending a spark of vibrations onto your already sensitive clit. Your thighs tense, aching to close on him, but he keeps them spread with his strong hands on your thighs.

Your lips part as a string of breathy sounds leave you, beautiful moans and needy whimpers alike—all of which play as music to Sylus’s ears. It was nice to know that your mouth was good for more than just singing and bickering at him…

Teeth nibbling into your bottom lip, you glance down at him, only to be met with the most crazed eyes known to mankind. So disheveled, your slick leaking down his chin while his tongue delves into your heat like a man starved. He looks like he’s in his own pussy drunk heaven.

When you feel his pointed tongue begin to curve and lick in ways it hadn’t before, you do your best to follow his movements.

S-Y-L-U-S he spells on your puffy cunt with his writing tool of choice—none other than his stupidly talented tongue.

“You’re so—”

“Shh,” he cuts you off, his voice more like a husky whisper now. His pupils were dilated to the size of saucers, sucking on your clit before releasing it with a harsh pop.

Filthy sounds fill the air, your own breathy moans spilling from your swollen lips in tandem with the messy sucks of Sylus’s lips on your cunt. Not to mention, your girl truly was loud.

“Singing so beautifully for me,” he rasps, his eyes flitting up to watch your blissful expression. Lidded eyes, parted lips, flushed skin—an absolute wet dream of his come to life.

You bite your lip, hardly focused on the words coming out of his mouth. “Mmh, what…?”

“Quiet, sweets,” he repeats, hooking his hands even tighter around your thighs as he gives your heat a few more harsh licks. “I told you I was talking to her, didn’t I?”

It doesn’t take much longer for your legs to begin to tremble, your body writhing in his grasp as he sets you any way but loose. Your hips buck up, your core grinding against his wet muscle as you chase your release.

Sylus was more than eager to give it to you, redoubling his efforts while locking his hands over your legs to keep you steady enough for him to pleasure you effectively. The warmth pooling in your belly was far too much, far more intense than anything you had ever experienced before.

“Mmh, I… I’m coming,” you warn through an airy whine.

And when you do, Sylus swoops in even more greedily than before, his flat tongue lapping at your honeyed release. There was no way he would ever be able to go without tasting you like this now that he has. Fuck, he’s such a goner.

As you come down from your high, you grin with a few pants. “Look at you, falling at the feet of your ‘egotistical popstar’—mmph!”

Sylus plunges two fingers into your mouth to shut you up, rising to plant himself onto the seat beside you. “That’s hardly an insult to me anymore, my dear. I know what I am.”

He pulls his spit slick fingers from your mouth, bringing them to your pussy as he gently circles your sensitive clit. His free hand guides you through the motion of straddling his lap. With a simple nod of his head, he gestures for you to lift your shirt up, and you do.

“And what’s that?” you ask, watching as he leans forward to mouth at your breasts through the fabric of your bra.

“I’ve already told you,” he murmurs, bringing his free hand to his belt to free his cock from the confines of his pants. “A whore at your disposal.”

“I knew it,” you chuckle, though the sweet sound is interrupted by a breathy moan that he coaxes out of you once he slides his fat cockhead along your folds.

He clicks his tongue, tilting his head to the side. “Are you not going to reciprocate my affection?” he teases, grasping tightly onto your hips. “Or do I have to work a bit harder for it, ma’am?”

Your knees would have certainly buckled if they weren’t firmly planted on the leather seats of the SUV. Who would have thought that you had a thing for white-haired bodyguards who call you ‘ma’am’?

Sylus raises a brow, a cocky smirk tugging on his lips. “Oh, you like that, don’t you?”

You feel your face heating up more and more the longer you look him in the eyes, shifting your hips so that the tip of his cock finally meets your entrance. “Just… shut up and put it in.”

“How demanding,” he hums, smirking ever so slightly as he uses his grasp on you to make one sharp snap of his hips, burying balls deep inside of your heat. “But as you wish, pretty.”

You cry out immediately, the burn of the stretch fading into unfolding pleasure. Eyes locked on each other’s, breaths mingling with ease, skin slicked with sweat, it was…

“Perfect,” he whispers, smoothing his hands along your hips before one reaches up to cup your cheek. He pulls you into a deep, searing kiss. “So, so perfect.”

Your movements are timid at first, you were merely testing the waters that had yet to be explored. His cock stuffed you full, his tip kissing your deepest points with ease, earning a muffled whimper from your mouth that his lips swallowed up eagerly.

Sylus begins to help you move a bit quicker, rocking your hips forward in smooth rolls, earning moans from the both of you that seemed to come straight from your guts.

“Give it to me how you like it, baby,” he encourages, both of his hands planting firmly on your waist. “Use my cock however you need it, sweets, it’s yours.”

His words have your clit pulsating around his thick shaft, teeth sinking into your bottom lip as you begin to work up a pace of your own that has your heart beating wildly.

“I always… fuck—I always knew you were obsessed with me,” you jest, your grin stretching wide.

Sylus hums, the sound low and deep, his iron grip on your hips helping you maintain the intensity of your movements whenever your muscles beg for a break. “Yeah? Needed me to be buried inside of you to have that bit of confirmation?”

You nod with a smile, hands wrapping around his neck as you plant your forehead against his. He smiles too, a breathy moan leaving his mouth as you circle your hips in a way that has him seeing stars.

“Fuck yeah, I’m obsessed with you,” he admits without a semblance of shame, tilting his head back on the headrest.

Already feeling your second orgasm approaching, you bury your face in his neck, inhaling the scent of his cologne and sweat that made a musk that was so beautifully Sylus. His hands smooth over your backside, giving your ass a squeeze.

“Tch, let me see that pretty face,” he demands, nudging you with his shoulder so that you were sitting up once more. “You look so beautiful like this.”

You struggle to form a sentence, bouncing unabashedly on his cock, skin slapping together in an erratic pattern that spurred you even further. A string of whimpers and whines leave your puffy lips. Though your reply lacked words, it perfectly communicated what you wanted to say.

“Oh, I know it, baby,” he rasps, tilting his head back again as his eyes slip shut. “Pussy’s addictive—shit, I’m obsessed with her too.”

You begin to lose yourself all together, reduced to nothing more than a blissed out woman riding her bodyguard’s cock. “Sylus, I… mmh, I’m gonna cum.”

He nods in understanding, smoothing his hand through your hair as he brings you in for another kiss. It’s all teeth and tongue, messy and drooling in the most beautiful way possible.

“Gonna come inside you if you keep riding me like this, baby,” he warns, pulling back to look you in the eyes.

You feel his cock twitch inside of you, as if it were confirming his words. You don’t do this often, contrary to popular belief, but you are on the pill. Luckily. “Please do.”

Sylus pants through a smile, licking his lips as he guides you through a few more fleshed out grinds on his lap. “Huh… you really are something special.”

A deep groan leaves his mouth as he dips his head, grip tightening on your waist as you ride him through your shared orgasm. You aren’t sure where yours ended and his began, or if you had gotten the order wrong entirely. All you know is that in that moment, the two of you became one.

Panting, your hand plants on the fogged up window of the vehicle, leaving your handprint in its wake. Sylus lets out a breathy chuckle, raising his own shaking hand to the window.

You watch through lidded eyes as he draws a tiny heart, writing his and your first initials inside of it with a little + in the middle. How cute.

Sylus then turns to face you again, bringing his hand to your cheek. You nuzzle into his palm, placing a kiss on his skin. “I have something to admit.”

He nods his head a single time, beckoning you to continue. “What is it?”

You give him a wry smile. “My publicist never gave me the idea for that publicity stunt.”

“…I figured that much, sweetie.”

note. bodyguard!sylus, my glorious king… ok i lowkey hate this but it holds no purpose saving up space in my drafts so :D pls interact if you enjoyed, rbs are greatly appreciated <3 thank you for readingggg !!!

⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠀ ✧ masterlist | request

[mariasont]

That anon was living under a rock because your smut fics (all of your fics tbh!) I reread wayyy to many times, lol. But if you’re taking smut requests, I’d love to see more bimbo!reader and Hotch! I can’t get enough.

I’ll take anything!! But more specifically, their first time, all of that built up tension (that you write so perfectly!) finally breaks!

Anyways, I never send in requests but I saw a window of opportunity and had to take it, haha.

Third Date Rule - A.H

summary: the third date proves to be worth the wait when you and hotch experience your first time together. pairings: aaron hotchner x bimbo!assistant!reader warnings: 18+ MDNI, sexy time, fingering, oral fem receiving, p in v, they did not in fact wrap it before tapping it and it's not really discussed so yeah idk about that one, aftercare wc: 7.7k

This was so overdue.

Technically, it's only been three dates. Technically.

But if you count all the years you'd known him, the months spent daydreaming about this moment, the weeks of waiting while he played the world's longest game of restraint, then really, you should have had him naked ages ago.

And if Aaron (which still feels like a thrill to say — Aaron — because you're dating now and you can freely call him that) wasn't so stubborn and noble and insufferably gentlemanly, you would have.

But tonight was finally the night. The third date. The sacred, hallowed, much-debated, universally accepted gateway to getting into the sheets. And yes, okay, maybe you barely survived the wait without jumping his bones, but that's hardly relevant now. The point is, you did it.

And now you're in his lap, his tie wound tight around your fingers, his tongue deep in your mouth, and gods, if this night didn't end with him inside you, you might actually die. 

Like, literally. Heart failure. Sudden death.

This was premeditated. At least, for you. You moisturized like your life depended on it, doused yourself in perfume that could be classified as a controlled substance, and selected a bra that made your tits look so insane, it might actually be illegal in some states.

And then you spent an embarrassing amount of time picking the perfect dress that says oh, I'm classy, but also please take me home and rip this off with your teeth.

You pull away, just enough to see him. To take in the slow bloom of pink trailing from his cheeks to the tips of his ears, the way his pupils are so wide they’ve all but erased the brown of his eyes. And his lips — swollen and red from kissing you — part like he was debating how bad it would be to drag you right back in. You wouldn’t mind.

“Aaron,” you sigh, fingers burying into his hair, marveling at how absurdly soft it is, how freely he lets you have this piece of him. “We should go to bed.”

For a second, he locks up. Not hesitation but calibration, a body processing desire so sharp it might break him. You feel it in the way his chest expands, in the quiet exhale through his nose.

"This wasn't my plan for the night," he murmurs, voice softer now, not strained, but steeped in something much gentler. Something careful. "I wasn't —," He shakes his head, like the whole concept doesn’t sit right in his mouth. "I don't want you to think this is just —,"

"Sex?"

You can see the way he wants to argue, like he wants to carve the word out of the air and replace it with something that means more.

"Yes."

You can’t stop the stupid, lovestruck smile pulling at your lips. Maybe it’s the wine from dinner finally working its magic. (It’s not.) Maybe it’s the way he’s looking at you, all serious and earnest, like you’re the only thing in existence, and if he blinks, you might vanish. (It definitely is.)

A laugh bubbles up, light and giddy, body not knowing what to do with all this adoration. You lean in, pressing a kiss to his jaw, just to see if he’ll let you. (He does.)

“Are you serious? If you just wanted sex, you wouldn’t have spent actual years pretending my very dedicated, very expertly executed attempts to seduce you weren’t happening.”

His brow arches, but you see it for what it is — a stall. “Expertly, huh?”

"Remember that heatwave last summer? When I just had to eat a popsicle at my desk every afternoon?"

His eyes darken like the memory is playing in high definition behind his eyes.

"I remember."

"Do you?" Your fingers slip beneath his color. “Because —” You tilt your head. “I always seemed to finish them standing in front of your office —"

You don't even get to finish your sentence. 

One second, you’re speaking, the next, you’re airborne. Lifted clean off the couch, legs locking around his waist automatically, arms thrown around his shoulders like you planned this all along.

You didn’t, but you wish you had. 

Not that it matters, because he’s already moving, already walking straight to the bedroom.

You bury your smile against his jaw, letting your breath tickle against the shell of his ear as another giggle slips out. It couldn’t be helped.

"I really hope you know," you whisper, “that I am, like, stupidly excited for this. Like, counting down the days excited.”

Aaron sets you down on the mattress gently, but his body doesn’t follow right away, hovering over you.

"You're not making this easy for me."

You ignore him because you’re much more distracted by how insanely soft his sheets are. That was your first thought when your back hits the mattress, hair fanning across the pillows.

For a fleeting second, you wonder if he’ll catch the scent of your perfume tomorrow. If he’ll notice the ghost of you when he lays down alone.

Your second was that this is so not the time nor place to get emotional. 

But this is his space. His bed. His room.

It’s tidy, but somehow not sterile, everything having its place, but not afraid to be used. A book sits on the nightstand, a book mark sticking out mid-thought. A photo frame faces the bed, though from this angle you struggle to see what’s inside.

There’s his suit jacket from yesterday, draped over the back of a chair, a little rumpled. 

And maybe it's silly, but you feel weirdly honored to be here.

You should probably be processing this moment, what it means to be here, with him, like this. Instead, you take a second to admire the view.

The lamp softens the sharp lines of his face, making him look almost gentle — which is funny, considering how you hoped to be thoroughly destroyed by him.

Something expands inside you, stretching against the walls of your chest, something too big, something that terrifies you.

So you do what you do best. You deflect.

“I can’t believe I’m about to sleep with my boss.”

He doesn’t even try to hide his exasperation, his forehead dropping into the crook of your neck. “Sweetheart—,”

"What?" You giggle, letting your fingers slide through his hair, letting your nails rake lightly over his scalp. "It's true."

His sigh is nothing short of pained, but then he kisses your cheek anyway, then your jaw, then the corner of your mouth. You were starting to feel like each was a thinly veiled attempt to tame you.

"Please don't phrase it like that."

"Yes, Mr. Hotchner." 

Every self-satisfied thought evaporates the moment he kisses you – really kisses you.

It’s not just a meeting of lips but a focused intensity, tongue sweeping inside your mouth and suddenly nothing before this mattered, because clearly, clearly, every kiss you’ve ever had was just practice for this one. 

Your body responds before your mind can catch up, spine arching and he doesn’t stop you, just kisses you with a hunger that makes teasing obsolete, that makes breathing secondary to the way he’s taking from you, giving to you, all at once.

His lips wander, dragging across your jaw like he’s leaving invisible ink behind, pressing something permanent into your skin.

You hope you’ll wake up tomorrow and still feel him there.

Your hands move to the nape of his neck, drawn by craving, by the need circling inside you like a ribbon of fire.

It stretches outward, licking at your skin, threading through your veins. His hands hold you still, spanning over your rib. His breath fans over your pulse, and you swear he can feel how fast it’s racing.

You should be gloating right now. This is, after all, exactly what you wanted, what you worked for. A biting remark sits on the top of your tongue, but then his mouth moves, and he finds it.

That wicked, traitorous little dip beneath your jaw that turns your entire brain into pink, glittering static. He pauses, listening, feeling, before sealing his mouth over it again, tongue dragging over the sensitive skin like he’s testing a theory that he already knows the answer to.

Your fingers clench in his hair, a startled sound choking in your throat before you can stop it. And then, the bastard laughs. Not sweet, not kind, but low and sharp and smug because he knows exactly what he’s done. 

You had the upper hand. Past tense.

"There it is," he murmurs, pressing another kiss there, his tongue flattening over it just to make you squirm. "You want to know how I figured this out?"

You hum, or try to. But it’s pathetic because you’re barely conscious, every cell fried to uselessness by his mouth.

He mimics you, just to be an ass about it, mocking the dazed little sound like he hasn’t just reduced you to it. "You always reached for it when I looked at you too long."

Your mouth opens. Closes.

"Or," he continues, "when I stood too close to you at the coffee machine. You'd fidget, tuck your hair behind your ear like you weren't thinking about it." His exhale burns against your pulse. "Cute."

You gasp, a little offended, mostly turned on. "Oh, wow. Profiling me? At work? That's, like, wildly unethical."

"Didn't need to," he murmurs. "You were practically begging me to figure you out."

His mouth is perfect in the way lightning is perfect – striking, searing, and completely out of your control. It’s perfect enough that you can pretend not to hear him.

He sucks, slow and hard enough to tear a sound from your lips before you even know it’s there, something that feels like vulnerability in its purest form. Something you would never willingly give him.

His laugh is quiet, wrecking, as he pulls back, lips slick with your skin. "That good?"

His mouth makes quick work, over your collarbone, down, leaving a trail of open-mouthed kisses, down, branding every inch of skin he can reach. 

He stops at the neckline of your dress, and suddenly, you can't think about anything except how it's still on.

You want to strip it off, want to offer yourself up as a willing sacrifice, but you’re well aware that if you try, if you even reach, he’ll stop you. Or worse, he'll make you wait. He'll slow you down, draw it out just to watch you squirm because patience is his weapon of choice, because he lives for making you suffer.

His teeth graze the swell of your breast, just enough to sting, and whatever fragile grip you had on yourself disintegrates on impact. Your hands fumble blindly for his face, fingers shaking, needing to see his eyes.

"Please, Aaron.” It’s an exhale, a prayer. “Need you."

You see the ripple of tension along his throat. And for one tiny, blinding second you think this is when he finally snaps, abandons his tolerance and just takes you.

"You don't know how long I've wanted you like this," he rumbles. "I'm going to take my time."

You whine, frustration bleeding from your fingertips where they clutch his shoulders, fingers digging in like you can physically push him into moving faster.

He does not move faster. 

His hands slide up to the straps of your dress, as he drags it down with all the urgency of a leisurely Sunday stroll. 

Your mind is halfway through an exceptionally justified complaint about how slow he is moving when he folds the dress.

Folds it.

Sets it aside. Doesn't toss it.

And that may be the hottest thing he's ever done.

Because you know he knows. He’s always known. Known that your things aren’t just things — that your dresses, your heels, your overpriced lip glosses aren’t frivolous, aren’t some shallow indulgence, but tiny, curated pieces of you.

He has listened to you decide between two pairs of shoes that are, for all intent and purposes, identical. He knows jasmine is mysterious and vanilla is flirty, knows that you’ll debate your right to own the same three shades of pink. 

And instead of dismissing it, instead of rolling his eyes (though he does that too), he folds your dress. As if it matters.

You stare at him, somewhere between melting and spontaneous combustion, and he simply raises a brow. “Something wrong?”

"No." You shake your head for emphasis, voice a little too weak to get the point across. "Just thinking I might have to marry you."

His hands settle at your waist, fingers tracing over the pink lace like he’s trying to process it, like if he touches it enough times, it’ll confirm that this is actually happening and not some cruel illusion. His thumb brushes the scalloped edge, breathing shallow. You were pretty sure he’s currently having a full-scale existential meltdown over lingerie.

"Agreed," he murmurs, distracted, hooded eyes still glued to your chest. "I think the courthouse opens at eight."

Your giggle stutters, hiccups right out of you, because his hands are suddenly everywhere, roaming with no clear plan, just a man in crisis over how much of you he wants to touch first. His palms skate over your stomach, down your thighs, up over your breasts.

"So, this is all I had to do to convince you to do what I want?"

His mouth follows, retracting the path of his hands, rewriting, reworking, perfecting – because apparently, the first time wasn’t good enough, wasn’t thorough enough. 

"You think this is what did it for me?" His voice is hushed. "You could've walked into my office six months ago and told me to get on one knee.” A kiss, open-mouthed, starving, just below your navel. “I would've done it."

Six months ago. You don't know if you believed that.

Except now you're spiraling, backtracking, rewinding, piecing together little details like some lovesick conspiracy theorist with red string and a bulletin board. Every interaction, every loaded glance, every time he let you get away with high-level flirtation without so much as a blink. You thought you were testing him, but what if he was never fighting at all?

And before you can even recover from that, before you can file an official grievance about why no one told you sooner, his hands squeeze at your thighs, his mouth so close to exactly where you need him, and his voice —

"You're so beautiful."

His nose presses into the damp center of your panties, and your hands fly to his hair so fast it’s practically reflex, breath stalling in your chest like your body forgot how to function for a second. 

This is everything. What you've wanted, dreamed of, written in the margins of notebooks (hypothetically, of course).

It should be perfect, but suddenly, it isn't.

Uncertainty slips between the cracks, heat turning into something less solid. You don’t have time to find it, to name it, because he’s already there, already sensing it, already fixing it before you even know what’s wrong.

"Hey." His voice hooks into you, gently reeling you back from wherever your brain was about to go. "We don't have to do anything you're not ready for."

"No, I—," The words come out far too fast and desperate, and you can't decipher why it's so hard to say. "I do want to. Obviously." The nervous laugh that follows is definitely not your usual flirty confidence. "Have you met yourself? Because if you haven't, I would love to introduce you. Tall, devastatingly handsome — you'd love him."

His move curves, but his eyes stay patient and focused, giving you a second to breathe.

"It's just..." Another pause, another frustrated sigh. "I haven't been with anyone in a while."

"That's okay, we can take it slow." He moves so that he's hovering above you again, brushing a strand of hair out of your face, his smile just amused enough to leave you flustered. "How long?"

"May."

"May?"

"Yeah, like, May. Three years ago."

Aaron just stares at you, processing. You can see the gears turning, the little mental loading wheel spinning, his expression caught between stunned and deeply interested.

His fingers creep up, sliding under your ribs, just close enough to the heavy swell of your tits to remind you exactly where you are. What he was doing to you before you so rudely derailed this into actual conversation.

"Really?"

You pinch his arm. "Hey! That is not an absurd amount of time."

"No. I know. I didn’t say that," he says quickly. "I'm just... surprised."

"What's that supposed to mean?"

His lips part and he immediately shakes his head, exhaling like he's physically trying to dispel what just ran through your mind, knowing exactly where your thoughts were.

"I just mean — I don't know how every man you meet doesn't immediately worship the ground you walk on."

"Oh, well, they do." You smile. "But I was only ever planning on letting one of them take me to bed."

You reach for his dress shirt buttons, tugging insistently, but your hands refuse to cooperate, not properly communicating with your brain.

It's his fault, you decide.

He looks too good, and it was extremely hard to focus on anything but that.

You have no idea how you survived dinner. Or the car ride home. Or even the eternity it took to get past the door, because that was definitely a struggle considering your mouth was all over his, tasting the whiskey he’d barely touched, before he could even get the key in the lock.

You spent all night picturing this, the way his hands would feel in you, the way his mouth would taste, the way his suit would look crumpled on the floor.

Which, in hindsight, probably meant you were a pretty terrible dinner guest. Nodding, smiling, pretending to listen, all while barely holding back the need to ride him in public.

Aaron laughs, clearly entertained by your struggle, and then, because he’s nothing if not arrogant, he starts undoing the buttons one-handed, to be a show-off.

It’s rude, really. Because now all you can do is watch, helpless as he peels himself open to reveal golden skin, dark hair dusting over firm pecs, trailing lower, disappearing beneath his belt. 

Your manicured fingers glide over the broad expanse of his shoulders, pushing his shirt away like uncovering some lost Renaissance painting that scholars would kill to get their hands on — something that should be in a temperature-controlled glass case, not just here, sprawled above you like he belongs to you. Which, he does, because he’s just letting you do this, letting you look. And you look. He is art. No, better than art. Art is stationary, lifeless, some brushstroke interpretation of what beauty should be. But this, him, he is warmth and breath and muscle.

Museums wish they had something this valuable. They’d burn down in despair if they knew he existed just for you.

"May," he muses, letting the word roll off his tongue, turning it over in his mind. "That's an oddly specific answer."

You make a vague sound of agreement, mostly just to acknowledge that yes, technically, he did say words, but you’re too busy to actually care. Too busy with spreading your hands over the planes of his chest, with grabbing at his belt.

"You were hired in May three years ago."

Your hands freeze. 

"That's... um weird." A slow blink. "Weird that you know that. Weirder that you noticed."

You work his belt loose, tugging it free. It’s meant to be a distraction, a well-placed touch to shift his focus from his revelation.

But then your plan backfires spectacularly because he’s hard, thick, unreasonably big and suddenly your fingers feel useless.

Aaron makes a sound — half a hiss, half a laugh — and his hands snap to your wrist, catching you before you can explore further, like he knew you were going to do that. "It’s okay, honey."

"I—I don't—," You blink up at him, floundering, desperately trying to sound casual. "That's, uh, I don't know what that's supposed to mean."

Aaron’s smirk deepens, his grip on you slackening just enough to trick you into thinking he’s going to be nice.

But then his other hand moves, slipping between your bodies, sliding beneath the heat trapped between your thighs, finding the neediest part of you, and pressing.

Your whole body jerks, a startled gasp catching in your throat as sensation flares — hot, sharp, mercilessly good.

His fingers start to move, rubbing tight circles against you. Your hands cling, one locked onto his bare shoulders, the other pressing against his dick, desperate to make him feel even a fraction of what he's doing to you.

It earns you a groan, low and gritty, hips twitching against your palm, his breath is hot against your lips, his mouth hovering just barely out of reach.

"I won't tease," he promises, but the way he bites at your bottom lip feels like a lie. His tongue is quick to follow, flicking over the welt he’s just left, soothing the burn before sealing it with a kiss, just this side of messy. “Three years… that’s a long time.” His lips skim yours again. “For both of us.”

A pleased sound bubbles up from your throat, slipping between his lips, that makes it obnoxiously clear just how much you love those words. That is a sentence you’d like embroidered on a pillow. Maybe cross-stitched into a nice, elegant frame for your future shared bedroom. 

"Oh," you sigh, a smile stretching against his lips. "I really, really, like knowing that. That's, like, incredible news."

Your brows scrunch, and you pull back just an inch. 

"Just to be clear, though, you do mean in a wow, you've ruined me for other women way, and not in a I've been to busy for a sex life way, right? Because those are two different things, and I need to know which one we're working with here—"

Aaron huffs a laugh and instead of answering with words, his hands slip into your panties, fingers finding your clit without prelude. Skin to skin now, no fabric, no flimsy barrier. Just touch.

His fingers dip lower, dragging through the slick, indecent in how easily he moves through the mess of you. He makes a noise — nearly a groan, mostly a hum of appreciation, of possession — before he spreads it, smearing your own arousal over your clit, rolling circles.

"Oh, wow, sweetheart."

Your thighs fall open like you have no say in it — because you don’t, because every instinct in you is reaching for him, needing it like a fix.

And maybe, maybe that should be embarrassing — the obvious, shameless way you seek him out — but it’s a gorgeous kind of humiliation, a flush that spreads lower.

"Well," you gasp, chest rising in stuttering little pants. "Y—you kept me waiting forever."

Aaron hushes you with a soft tsk, his fingers pressing, stroking, coaxing you into sweet, mindless submission. Every movement feels preordained, like he already knows your body, like he’s a man who’s spent years thinking about this.

"I know, sweetheart," he soothes, murmuring it against the fragile skin beneath your ear, punctuating it with a kiss. "But I think I'm making up for lost time pretty well."

"I guess," you manage. "Th—that's acceptable."

Aaron chuckles, the vibration traveling straight into your skin. His lips descend, an idolization thing, but it’s the kind of devotion that sets you on fire.

His hands spread over your thighs, parting them gently.

Your underwear drags down, slipping over your thighs, grazing the curve of your knees, and then off. And suddenly, there's nothing separating you from his eyes, from the way the air licks over you, cool against the sticky heat between your thighs.

His lips part like he wasn't expecting to fall apart so easily. Like he thought he'd have more time, more control. And the power in it, the sheer, intoxicating power of knowing he's just as affected as you are, that this is breaking him open, makes your skin fizz, burn, ache for him even more.

If someone had told you a year ago that Aaron Hotchner, mister all-business-all-the-time, would be between your legs, staring at you like he's never seen anything more perfect, you would have said something nonsensical. Something about fate. Or destiny.

And you would have been right. Because you always knew this was a definite.

"Oh, honey.... You're gorgeous," It's almost a whisper, like the words were dragged out of him against his will, stolen straight from his lungs the second his eyes landed on you. His gaze drinks you in, head tilting, lips parting, tongue skating over the swell of his bottom lip. “I knew you would be, but…”

A sharp, sizzling spark races up your spine, white-hot and unbearable, but when it should tip over into relief, it withers into frustration. The kind that makes your body revolt against the absence of touch. Your hips buck, thighs squeezing as if you can somehow force the friction you’re being deprived of.

"Give me a second, baby," he teases, caressing his nose along the inside of your thigh. "Just wanna look at you."

His mouth moves in decadent passes, open-mouthed kisses pressed into your inner thigh.

Another kiss. Then another. So close.

Then he detours. Veers off, pressing his lips into the dip of your hip instead, dragging his tongue along something that is not your clit.

"So perfect."

His fingers prod through your folds, parting you, fingertips wading through the slickness pooling at your entrance. The sound that spills from him is sinful.

All of your muscles coiling tight, every inch of you scorching with unmet need and just when you think you're going to have to beg him, just when the words start to form —

He gives in. 

His tongue is there first, dragging a flat, broad stripe through your center, licking over every hypersensitive inch of you before looking up at you through hooded eyes. You swear you nearly come from the sight alone.

"Knew you'd be sweet."

Aaron doesn't waste another second, burying himself in you, mouth moving like he's been ravenous for this. 

His grip is firm as he spreads you wider, keeping you at his mercy. His lips wrap around your clit for a split second before he moves again, tasing, licking, humming, lapping up everything you're giving him.

It's messy. Wet. Dripping. His mouth moves as he tries to wreck himself on you. Each second convincing you that he wouldn’t mind suffocating here if it meant another taste.

His nose nudges against you, the angle so cruelly perfect it sends another violent tremor through your body, legs jumping against his shoulders. Your fingers grasp blindly for purchase, gripping the sheets, tangling in his hair, at anything you can reach. 

"That's it, sweetheart," he murmurs into you, words muffled by your pussy. "Let me hear you."

"Oh — " The sound falls from your lips, your eyes squeezing shut like you can block out the overwhelming pleasure if you just try hard enough.  "Oh, that's — "

Your hips stutter, thighs tightening around his face.

Aaron chuckles darkly, and you feel it more than you hear it, the sound pulsing through your core.

You’re not sure you have a body anymore, not sure you exist outside of this moment. You’re just sensation, just trembling atoms held together only by his hands, his breath, his voice. There’s no past or future – just now, just him.

If this is what it means to transcend, to be unraveled and rewritten in the same breath, then let it consume you whole. You could die like this, and it would be the kindest death you could ever ask for.

A single finger ghosts over your entrance, teasing but never quite committing. He dips in, just the barest of intrusion, and you shudder, clenching around nothing because it’s gone just as fast. 

He waits, just long enough to hear the next breathy fussing before finally spearing back in. Your eyes flutter shut, breath breaking apart in little puffs.

The sounds coming from your cunt should embarrass you, sticky, so shockingly loud that if your brain was working, you’d be mortified. But it’s not working. Not even a little. 

His hand flattens over your stomach and suddenly the pressure doubles, triples.

"Tell me, baby," he murmurs, "feels good, doesn't it?"

"Yes, yes, oh my gods, Aaron, I—"

Your normal senses have left the building. Packed its bags, hit the road, abandoned you to whatever dark magic this is. Because this —this isn’t how your body works. This isn’t how guys work. You don’t come from this. 

But here you are, hurtling toward it at full speed and all because he decided you would.

It’s happening too fast, the pressure stacking. Your thighs shake open, stomach clenching so hard it aches. Your mind is lagging behind, still reeling, still trying to rationalize but it doesn’t matter because your body has already made its choice, has already given in, has already decided this is happening, whether you’re ready for it or not.

"Aaron, I think—,"

Aaron just groans, finishing your sentence for you, lapping up your confession with his tongue,

"I know, baby." Hot air blows against your swollen clit. "Let me feel it."

It crashes over you, back bowing off the bed. Your body splinters apart, thighs trembling so hard you couldn’t stop them if you tried. The edges of your vision smear into nothing as the pleasure consumes everything in its path. 

His mouth stays on you, tongue and fingers pushing you through the aftershocks until you’re clawing at the sheets, until that pleasure tilts so far into oversensitivity that makes you unaware if you’re pulling him closer or pushing him away.

Your limbs feel like liquid, consolidating into every inch of your body, melting into the mattress as Aaron moves to be face to face with you.

He's looking at you like he's the only thing keeping you tethered to this planet, and maybe he is, because when his lips get close enough, you tug him the rest of the way down, crashing your mouth into his in a way that's all sloppy desperation.

You can taste yourself on him, can feel the way he groans into it when you sigh against his mouth, all soft and dreamy and drunk on gratification. 

When you pull back, your fingers card through his hair, fixing nothing but feeling everything.

"Oh my gosh," you gasp, dissolving into giggles, toes curling as you flop back against the pillows. "I knew you'd be good at that, obviously, but I wasn't expecting all that. Like wow, you should get a certificate of excellence or something."

"Yeah?"

"Yeah," you sigh dramatically, "Or like, a trophy, a raise, a sash that says best head giver in gold letters—," You pause for a breath, sucking in air like you just realized how winded you are.

"— and I mean, I've never come like that before. So. You should probably put that on your résumé."

When Aaron presses against you, you feel every inch of him. Thick and unfortunately still restrained. His slacks are a cruel barrier, the rough drag of the fabric catching your clit in a way that rips a whimper straight from your throat.

His teeth scrape along your jaw, then he's mouthing at your neck, sucking, teasing, marking you.

"Firstly," he murmurs. "I hate the idea of anyone else touching you."

An involuntary shiver rolls through you.

"And secondly," he continues, "the fact that they didn't even know how."

Your hands are frantic as they fly to his waistband, fumbling a bit, the last hindrance between you offensive in its existence. 

"Well, yeah," you sigh, looking up at him through fluttering lashes, glossy lips parted just for him. "I mean, you're literally the only one who's ever known what to do with me. That has to mean something, right? Like, cosmic destiny or whatever."

Aaron shoves his pants and briefs off, barely sparing them a second thought, and then he's back, fitted between your thighs.

"You already know the answer to that." His lips brush your temple. "I'm the only one who knows how to handle you. And I plan on proving it."

"Yeah, okay," you say, squirming beneath him. "Not gonna argue when that sounds like the best idea ever."

You've seen a lot of versions of Aaron. You've seen work Aaron, serious and bossy, looking at crime scenes like he can hear the evidence whispering just to him. You've seen grumpy Aaron, glaring over his coffee when you talk too much at morning briefings (but you know he likes it, he just won't say). You've seen soft Aaron, the one who lets you steal his jacket even though you definitely don't need it.

But you've never seen this Aaron. This post-kissing-you Aaron. Lips slick, still damp with you, evidence of where he’s been, what he’s done.

His eyes flick to yours, and there’s no shame, no rush to wipe it away. If anything, he tilts his head, letting you see it from a better angle.

"You're so handsome, Aaron." Your voice trembles. You don't even know if you said it out loud or just thought it so hard he must have heard it anyway.

"And you,” he murmurs, tracing his thumb over your cheek, “are so damn sweet, honey."

You beam at that, overwhelmed, so unbelievably happy that your thoughts are practically spilling out faster than you can catch them.

"Okay so I just need to say — this is so exciting, like, you do realize I've had a crush on you for years, right? And now this is actually happening, and that's just — wow."

You suck in a sharp breath, nails dragging over the thick muscles of his arms, across his shoulders.

"I mean, it's us, Aaron. Can you believe that? Like, I feel like this has been building for so long and now I'm just — gods, you're so hot, this is actually distracting me. I can't even finish my own thought —,"

You laugh, because you already feel so full of him and he isn't even inside you yet.

"And I know you're being all careful and slow because you're sweet and romantic and, like, the most perfect man alive, but also —,"

You grind up, chasing friction, his cock sliding just right over your clit. Your breath stutters, hands fisting at the nape of his neck as you try to remember what you were saying.

" — I'm literally at your mercy right now, so you should probably take advantage of that before I —,"

"You talk so much, baby."

And then he shuts you up. Hard.

His mouth rams into yours, ingesting the comment, the breath, everything.

He doesn't rush. 

The head of his cock nudges at your entrance before he finally, slowly, pushes inside.

It knocks the breath from your lungs. Your mouth parts against his, lips catching on his as a little sigh slips out. Your nails dig into his shoulders, helpless against the way he's opening you up. 

He stills, a sharp, fractured inhale slicing through the air, fingers digging into your hips — hard. He is struggling. You can feel it. The way his cock twitches inside you, like his body is screaming at him to move.

"I-I'm good." Your laugh wobbles, catches at the edges, barely disguising how badly you want him to believe you. "You can keep going."

"You're tensing because it's been a while." You don't mean to, but your body reacts before your brain can tell it not to, stiffening. Stupid, stupid. His exhale is shaky, and his lips press against your cheek. "I know that. I expected that."

You swallow, but it doesn't help.

"I also know that you think if I notice, I'll stop." His forehead rests against yours. "But I need you to hear me, baby. I'm not stopping."

His lips graze yours.

"I'm going to work you through this. Just let me in, princess."

And the second you do, the second you finally give in —

He groans, pushing deeper, stretching you completely, filling you to the hilt. 

"There we go," he breathes, wrecked with praise. His hand presses to your lower belly, feeling how deep he is, how well you take him. "That's my good girl."

Your head tilts back, lips parting, body doing the melty thing that feels really, really nice but also really, really dangerous because you swear you're seconds away from levitating straight out of your own skin.

"Okay, so I did think this would feel good —," Your fingers twitch against his chest, nails raking lightly over sweat-damp skin as another sharp moan tumbles free. "— but, um, wow, this is like — this is so —,"

Your words taper off, get lost somewhere between your psyche and your mouth, because oh. Oh, wow. He's so deep, so heavy inside you, pressing into places you didn't even know existed.

"Go on, baby," he murmurs, a smirk plastered across handsome features as he dips his head. "You were saying?"

"You know," you gasp, words all flimsy and loose, like they've been shaken up inside you, "I kinda always wondered how big you were —"

Your breath hooks halfway through, hiccups on a moan, brain scrambling to keep up with your mouth, your mouth scrambling to keep up with — him.

"Not that I, um — I stared at your pants or anything —" Another sharp inhale, another desperate moan, your walls fluctuating and squeezing around something too thick. "I mean, I try not to because I'm a professional —"

An involuntary clench makes him curse, makes his fingers dip into your hips, makes his head plunge forward hard against your shoulder.

"Honey, shit—,"

Your lashes flutter. "What?"

"Sweetheart, if you keep squeezing me like that while you ramble about my cock, I'm not going to last."

Your mouth clicks shut promptly.

"That's what I thought."

Hotch rocks his hips, just once, a sharp gasp fissuring from your lips like you weren't expecting it. 

"Jesus, sweetheart. You're trembling." He cups your cheek, his thumb skimming over your bottom lip, eyes dark and aflame. "Does it feel that good?"

You nod, and he hums, dragging his cock almost all the way out before pushing back in. 

His hand drags down your waist, spans over your belly, fingers pressing like he's charting the way he fits inside you.

"I used to tell myself I wouldn't do this," he admits. "That I wouldn't touch you. Wouldn't ruin you like this."

Your head lolls back, eyes fluttering, lips parted prettily, gasping as he rocks into you again, and again, and again. You shake your head, or at least, you think you do.

"You don't —" You try to shape words, but they liquefy on your tongue. "Don't ruin me, Aaron, you — oh, you make me —"

Hotch's throat bobs, his pupils blown.

"You make me so, so good, so soft, so perfect."

His hand cups your jaw. "You're already all of those things, sweetheart."

"Not before you," you sigh. "I've been waiting so long, Aaron, so, so long —"

"I know, baby," he groans. "I know."

His hand veers between your bodies, his fingers finding the swollen, neglected bundle of nerves.

“Aaron — oh, wait, wait, wait —,” Your hands shoot up to his shoulders. “I don’t know if I can, I mean, I can, but it’s just —,”

His cock throbs inside you, his rhythm stuttering for half a second before he finds it again, harder this time, his fingers matching the pace.

“Too much?”

“Yes, no, kind of? I don’t know, I can’t—,” You choke on your own breath as another thrust knocks every last rumination from your head. “I can’t think.”

“Good.” His forehead presses against yours, his lips parting against your mouth, panting, his control slipping. “I don’t want you thinking. Just feel me, sweetheart. Feel what I’m doing to you.”

Your body is shaking, shaking so hard that you don’t even know if you’re moving or if he’s just pushing you through it. 

“I know, baby. But you can take it, can’t you?”

“Y-Yeah,” you stutter, body twitching. 

“That’s my girl,” he praises, groaning as he grinds into you, stretching it. “One more, honey. You can give me one more.”

It hits you slowly, unwinding through your organs like smelted honey.

“Oh, oh —,” Your breath falters, mind going blank, the pleasure overwhelming every nerve in your body until you can’t do anything but let it consume you.

“Christ,” he groans, feeling you clench around him so tight it nearly undoes him.

You barely register the way you’re gasping, twitching, babbling out breathless little moans, vision blurring, and for a second you think you might black out.

“That’s it, princess,” he rasps, fucking you through it the reverberations. “So, so good for me.”

His pace turns shallow, sharp, chasing the tight, perfect squeezing of you still thrashing around him.

“You’re so tight, honey,” he grits, hands bruising your hips, your breath still catching from your own orgasm.

You’re too gone to respond, too wrung out to do anything but whimper as he takes you, using your body to pull himself over the edge.

He groans, low and deep, his fingers tangling in your hair, his mouth ghosting over your cheek as he finally breaks.

A shudder, a muttered curse, his body jerking, hips slamming into yours as he spills inside you.

He doesn’t mean to collapse, you know that, because even as his body gives out, his arms brace, still trying to be careful, even now. You want to cling to him, lock your legs around his waist, but you barely remember how to move, so you just let out a sleepy sound, nuzzling blindly at his throat. 

He murmurs something low, something that sounds like praise, maybe worship.

His lips press to the side of your face, half-gone and still recovering, and then his muscles tense, trying to lift himself off you.

Your arms wind around his neck before he can get too far. 

“Sweetheart,” he rasps, “I’m crushing you.”

“Don’t care,” you mumble, voice a little hoarse. “Feels nice.”

“You did so good.”

When he finally pulls out, you feel the loss and everything that comes with it, his release sticky and warm beneath your thighs. 

Aaron disappears into the bathroom, and you barely have time to miss him before he’s back with a warm cloth in hand.

You giggle, squirming before he even touches you, already restless, and the second he presses the cloth to your inner thighs, you jerk, laughing helplessly.

“Oh, wait —,”

Aaron sighs, one hand pressing against your hip to keep you still. “Sweetheart. You have to let me clean you up”

“But it tickles—,”

He smirks and continues his work. “How do you feel?”

“Like I saw god actually,” you ramble, kicking your feet against the sheets. “Or, like, like, if I had to describe it, I’d say I transcended reality for a little bit —,”

Aaron just chuckles, pressing a kiss to your knee as he finishes cleaning you up. Each swipe reminds you that your legs might not be on speaking terms with you tomorrow.

When he’s done his mouth finds yours again. It’s easy to kiss him. If it were physically possible to stay attached to him, twenty-four hours a day, you’d gladly test the theory.

“Worth the wait,” he breathes into your mouth.

“Well, yeah,” you murmur, smirking up at him. “I figured it would be for you.”

He laughs.

“Yeah, baby, you were good,” he mutters, kissing right over your stuttering pulse. “You were so good.” Another kiss. “So good I’m already thinking about the next time.”

Your heart hasn’t even slowed down, and you’re already thinking about the next time. Already plotting, already ready to drag him back down and see just how quickly that next time could turn into right now. But before you can so much as tug at him — Aaron is rolling out of bed, pulling on his pants, disappearing into the kitchen.

You mean to protest, to demand why he left you alone in a post-bliss haze, but then he’s back, pressing a glass of water into your hand, watching you drink it like it’s his personal responsibility.

Then comes food, something light and something he feeds you between kisses, between lazy murmurs about nothing. 

At some point, the blankets are back over you, his lips pressing against your forehead, his voice saying something about getting some sleep before you got any ideas, before pulling you against him.

You hum, content and drowsy, shifting a little, rolling over to get more comfortable —

And then your eyes land on that photo frame from earlier. You had a clear view of it now.

It was you.

It takes you a second to place it, but once you do, you almost laugh. You know this photo — because Garcia took it. She printed it out months ago, probably as some ridiculous gag, and stuck it to Aaron’s office wall with a bright sticky note that read your favorite obviously. You’d rolled your eyes at the time, called it workplace favoritism, but he’d never taken it down. 

And now, somehow, it’s framed. On his nightstand, like he’s been looking at you every night for —

You don’t finish the thought.

Instead, you just smile, huge and uncontrollable.

He doesn’t say anything.

And you don’t need him to.

Because you already know.

💌 masterlist taglist has been disbanned! if you want to get updates about my writings follow and turn notifications on for my account strictly for reblogging my works! @mariasreblogs

[mysicklove]

𝐁𝐀𝐑𝐄𝐃 𝐓𝐄𝐄𝐓𝐇 | R. SUKUNA

Summary: Being mated to the most blood thirsty omega around is not ideal for most alphas, but at least his body is up to par! ♡

Warnings: sub (ish???)/omega/bottom sukuna, alpha/gn! reader, strap referred as a dick, dubcon, threatening + small amount of blood (as usual), heats, slight yandere! sukuna, trueform sukuna, slight role reveral regarding omegaverse dynamics, reader is basically sukunas pet, subspaces, anal fingering, self lubrication (slick), biting, heavy praise, multiple orgasms, violent behavior, slight degradation (use of nickname whore and bitch), dirty talk, starts off as smut but then feelings are involved (reader is a simp at the end)

WC: 9.1k

A/N: sick in the head...sick in the head...

One of the world's greatest surprises is that the King of Curses is an omega. The horror stories told about him never once mentioned his dynamic, and so everybody believed that he was an alpha, which made sense considering his history. Those who came in contact with him never really had time to spread the news to others, having been killed so quickly. So only a special few knew about it.

But it wasn't like Sukuna was embarrassed of his second sex. No, the king took pride in his dynamic – it made killing alphas way more satisfying knowing that he instinctively should be baring his neck to them. And so, he never took a marking, finding nobody worthy of it.

That is until he met you. You definitely weren't worthy of his mark, being incredibly weak and holding no authority over him. But for some reason or another, Sukuna became fascinated by you. You never showed signs of fear, nor interest in him, and almost everybody feels one of the two emotions when meeting him. He was compelled to learn more about you, and somehow, Sukuna became attached to your side for a while.

He didn't love you nor feel any feelings similar to love – it was for curiosity's sake as to why you were so different than the other alphas. 

Sukuna eventually determined that you were either an idiot or crazy for how you talked to him. You treated him like he was just simply another annoying suitor around. It was entertaining to the bored king. And so, you were his test subject, and once he was done studying you, you were to be killed.

But alas, Sukuna fell into heat not long after meeting you, and he had gotten himself mated with you. A foolish thing that Sukuna has never even gotten close to doing in his entire lifetime.

He almost murdered you after his heat for daring to mark him – a permanent thing for omegas, while you, an alpha, could live your life freely. But it wasn't like you had intended to mark him. Sukuna, at the peak of his heat, had threatened to slice your head off if you didn't claim him. You didn't happen to dislike him too much, and you did not want to die, so you followed the king's orders and drove your teeth into his neck during his orgasm.

And the second his heat was over, he had run off without a word. He was humiliated by the fact that he was claimed now and had visited you multiple times since that day to put an end to your useless life. But every time he saw you, he would hide away so that you didn't see him and leave without you knowing. It wasn't his fault; everything in him screamed for him to be next to you, being freshly mated, but he refused to follow those instincts.

With his time away, he couldn't help but think about you nearly all the time. You were kind to him, even though he hates to admit it. You cleaned his body up when he was twitching from exhaustion and covered in his own bodily fluids. You must have been equally exhausted, having been forced to keep up with his pace, but not once did you complain nor mention how weak he must have looked with his drool stains on his chin.

And even before his heat, he didn't seem to mind you. He liked that you always quipped back your own insults and didn't allow yourself to get bullied by him. It made it entertaining, and he found himself enjoying conversing with a human. But still, even with your complaints of how annoying he was for not leaving you alone, you would cook extra food so that he would never go hungry. Although Sukuna didn't have a preference for human food, he still found himself eating a few bites. You were providing for an omega, and Sukuna made careful note of it, hating that he found himself pleased by it.

During his preheat, you offered your house to him and brought him blankets and pillows for nesting even when he nearly tore off your arm for entering his (your) room. And when he dragged you into his nest, you complimented it as you were supposed to, which still made his insides stir.

Plus, when he trapped you in his nest for a couple of days, you didn't make much of a fuss – other than when you had to use the restroom, to which he nipped at your hand like some sort of dog in complaint. You were a weak, pathetic alpha, and he couldn't let you roam free, practically begging to be injured. His nest was the safest place to be, and so in his head, you were to stay put there for all of his heat.

But Sukunas possessive and overprotective thoughts shifted instantly when his heat dwindled down. He got up and left the day his heat had ended, and you were left completely shocked at his sudden disappearance. It was out of the blue, considering he had been around for weeks beforehand. You couldn't help but feel distraught over it, having also felt the bond, even if it was not as extreme for an omega. Plus, during his heat, he was cuter than you have ever seen before. He was needy and whiny but still cute. 

You may have garnered your own feelings toward the curse, something close to love, or some sort of infatuation at least. So when he left, you were left nearly broken for weeks, having just previously been daydreaming about how you could manage a new life with the two of you. It was a hopeless delusion, and you should have known that, but it still hurt.

But you aren't as pathetic as he thinks, and by the second month, you were over it. Sure, the bond sometimes made you feel a little listless, but after so long, you have even begun to forget how he smelt. And your feelings toward him rapidly shifted, now finding him repulsive for abandoning you. You had decided that if he would ever come back, you would reject him.

You should have known that wasn't going to happen, considering you still harbored feelings for him. Lo and behold, nearly three months later, Sukuna returned.

He barges in the door, almost tearing it off the walls. You nearly jump out of your seat at the noise, but your eyes widen the second you smell his scent. The mating bond made it even more appealing to you, and you could also make out the smell of omega in heat. You curse under your breath at the smell but remain silent, not giving the satisfaction of you freaking out over his sudden appearance.

You were seated in your office doing work when he came in. And just seconds after you smelt him, Sukuna conjured himself behind you, sharp nails dragging up your neck in both a greeting and warning. But you weren't having any of it, a familiar rage bubbling in your chest at his return. So, you just continue to stare ahead at your screen. 

"Leave," is the first thing you say, the first command. You never used an alpha command on an omega, but this situation definitely called for it. He was mated to you, so the words had to have a more significant effect on him. But alas, he was the king of curses - he was not going to back down so easily.

"Why do you smell of other omegas, you pathetic alpha?" 

His teeth graze your neck, and you try your best not to shiver, not wanting to give him the satisfaction of it. You try to mask your scent, thinking of things other than his tongue that seems to be peeking past his lips. 

You should ignore him — you know you should ignore him, but you just can't seem to find it in you to. "I was not with others if that is what you are asking," you roll your eyes, still facing your computer while he leans over you. "Though I wish I had been."

"I would have killed them," he purrs, dragging his claws down your chest. "Ripped them apart for daring to touch what is mine while you would have sat and listened to their screams of agony." His teeth graze your earlobes, and you gulp, thinking about how horrid that would be. "Would you like it? Like to watch your omega get all possessive over you? It would fuel your little alpha pride, I would suppose."

He was releasing his scent in waves, and it was beginning to make your head spin. But it was your house, and he wasn't just going to barge in and claim it as him, so you also release your own scent, which pulls a purr-like chuckle from him. Then, you slump in your chair, finally sparing him a glance. "Omegas aren't supposed to be possessive. That is more of an alpha trait, dont you think, Sukuna?"

"And you are possessive over me?"

You go silent for a moment, reaching out to touch his face. You tilt his chin back, forcing him to bare his neck so you can run your fingers over the bite mark you made just a couple of months ago.

He goes quiet, amused by your touch but not liking your lack of response. But then you pull away, like nothing happened, and return to your computer. "I dont need to be," you sigh, "You won't let anyone fuck you that isn't me." 

One of Sukuna's top eyes twitches, and he spins the chair around, grabbing your chin to force you to look at him. Your face remains blank, and even when he begins to dig his finger into your cheek, you dont show any signs of amiss. Your lack of response drives Sukuna insane, and you raise your eyebrows at his glare. 

He growls low at you, baring his teeth and continuing to cloud your house with his now seductive scent. "You have some nerve to talk to me that way, you pathetic excuse of an alpha. You are looking at the most desired omega on this planet, and you think for a second that I wouldn't fuck somebody else?"

Your hands travel to his wrists, tugging his hand off your face. He surprisingly lets you, but with each second he seems to grow more angry. This is surprising to you because his scent conveyed a completely different emotion. Everything radiating from Sukuna was Look at me, Fuck me. And if you gave into instincts, the two of you would be without clothes by now. But alas, Sukuna left you for three months with no word, and you weren't going to allow yourself to get pushed around by him.

So, you stare back up at him, a wicked grin pulling at your face. "You are the one baring my mark and are crawling back to me after all of these months." You see his face begin to fume, and his scent turns sour from displeasure at the words. "But I am not going to fuck you. I dont want to fuck you. You left after forming a bond with me. I don't want you anymore. Go home, omega."

The words seemed to burn at your tongue, going completely against your instincts. You were purposely hurting an omega, which is everything that alpha's were basically encoded against. But alas, you did not want to get caught up in Sukuna's web.

The room smells horrid by now, mostly from disapproval but also distress — it almost made you whine out, feeling horrible for making any omega feel unwanted, but you bite your tongue and try your best not to focus on his scent. It would only do you worse in the end.

"You think you can speak to me this way because you marked me? Are you so delusional that you think I won't kill you on the spot?" His finger does now cut at your cheek, and you flinch at the stinging sensation along with the blood that now drips from your cheek. He never was afraid to use violence to prove his point. 

But then, he licks at your blood. You feel the stripe of his tongue from your chin all the way up to your cheek. "Do you want me to roll over and show my stomach to you? Want me to croon at you and beg you to pup me? I am not your omegan bitch."

"You would be more appealing if you were."

He chuckles at you, shaking his head. "I am the most appealing thing you will ever see in your puny lifetime. People would kill to be in your position."

He was nibbling on your ear at this point, dragging his pointer finger up your shirt, seconds away from ripping it in two. The scent Sukuna let out was back to being seductive, probably too overwhelmed by his heat to maintain his displeasure.

"Nobody would want to be mated to a bloodthirsty curse."

His teeth drag up your neck, and he laughs at you again, low and rumbling. "You do, or did at least. Considering you did mark me, my pathetic alpha."

The insult doesn't phase you. You shut your eyes and sigh out. You couldn't help but be turned on at this point – his knee was meticulously placed in between your legs, and the smell of heat wafted through the air. You were trapped whether you liked it or not, and you could feel the fight in you begin to dwindle. "You would have killed me if I didn't."

"And I will kill you if you turn me away again."

"Can you try to make it seem like you are not always threatening me? Alphas prefer to be the one in charge, you know."

He grabs your hand and leads it beneath his pants where his slick was pooling. You gulp, looking away and trying not to salivate at the wetness. "You can always fuck the control out of me," he breathes into your ear, and you let out a shaky sigh, "If you do it well enough, I could end up crooning at you for more. You would like that, wouldn't you?"

Your fingers find his hole, and you borderline whine, accidentally ignoring his question. You have been thinking about this for months now, and him now being here now sends your head spinning. "So wet."

"'s all for you."

His mouth latches onto yours and he groans into it, kissing with so much force that you a pinned to the back of your chair. You feel his tongue drag over the inside of your mouth, trying to claim as much of it for himself. You pull away after a moment, collecting your breath, and realize that he has you wrapped around his finger. "Y-You want to bottom?"

He bites your lip hard enough to draw blood, and you hiss, grabbing your mouth and pulling away. "What was that for?!"

"For being an idiot. Of course I want to bottom." He licks at your lips, healing them with his cursed technique, before moving onto your cheek to do the same thing. "How did I end up with a stupid alpha?"

You growl at him, "It's not my fault I can't think." The smell of heat was so strong by now that your head was dizzy. "You want to tell the entire world you are trying to get fucked? Sounds whorish to me."

"It's working isn't it?" He feels you circling his hole, finally sliding your first finger in. "Will you turn me into your whore, alpha?"

The thought makes you groan out, head tilting back while he continues to lick and kiss your neck. But you don't dare to stop your movements, knowing that if you were, he would probably find some way for you to focus your attention back on him. He was greedy for it all.

The second finger slides in without much trouble, and now Sukuna is straddling you. He was much larger than you andhis frame completely engulfed you, but still he caved his body forward so that he could continue his ministrations. You already knew that your neck was to be covered in marks by the time he was through of you – he was possessive, and it wasn't because of his second gender. 

Slick was now beginning to drip down his thigh, and he was beginning to rock his hips back and forward onto your fingers. The chair was making a screeching noise, upset with the large man for trying to put his weight on it. 

You pull away for a second, and Sukuna immediately returns to kiss you again, cupping your face with two of his palms. Again, you try to pull away, and still, he doesn't let you speak, continuing to force his tongue into your mouth. A warning growl pulls at your throat, and you pull your fingers out of him.

He, in response, lets out his own growl, louder than yours, considering his growl was more out of disapproval at the removal of your fingers. His face by now was flushing red, a telltale sign that he was slipping completely into his heat. 

"What now?" Sukuna hisses, and you roll your eyes.

But, instead of biting back another remark, you change your tone, taking the softer route. Omega's like to be coddled, and Sukuna was no exception, no matter his status. So, you rub at his cheek with your thumb. "I know you're feeling needy, but can we take this to the bedroom?"

His main set of eyes blinks at you, physically relaxing at your gentle touch and the crooning. You, in return, have to hold back a smirk, knowing that if he was to see it, he would grow pissed again. You couldn't help but compare his behavior to a bratty child. But still, he climbs off your lap, and you sigh in relief before squealing when he effortlessly lifts you with his top pair of arms. 

A deep purr-like chuckle is let out, and he glances at you before walking over to your room. "I can walk, you know," you say, slightly pouting at being cradled like some sort of child.

"And risk you taking a fall and somehow dying on me? I am not risking the possibility of not getting fucked because you are the weakest creature that walks the earth." He doesn't even look at you when he says it, continuing to walk forward. You remain silent, just sighing and shaking your head, but used to this ridiculous behavior.

You notice the thick smell of arousal that was still pooling out of him, and most omegas would be stuck in their nests, barely able to walk. But Sukuna wasn't a typical omega, and you both found his unpredictableness endearing and nerve-wracking.

Your finger pulls his robe open, and without him looking, you latch your teeth onto his nipple, gently nibbling on the bud. He fumbles with his steps, and immediately, a clenched groan is let out, paired with a small shiver. The reaction pleases you, and so you smile at him before he can question your actions. "Still just as sensitive, I'm glad. Tonight is going to be," you reach up to trace the side of his face. "Fun."

The purr of approval vibrates his entire chest, and you laugh.

–

He kicked you out of your own room, as he did last time. When he arrived at your room and saw the perfectly made bed, along with the complete absence of his scent, he had borderline dropped you. So, just like last time, you sat outside your door, occasionally passing him more blankets or pillows, and crooning at him so that he didn't get pissed off thinking that you left him.

His heat smell was getting thicker with each minute, and in return, your head was growing foggy – you couldn't imagine what was going on in his own head. "You better have not moved from that position. I hear your stirring. Don't make me break your legs."

You haven't moved from your seated position in front of the door, so you roll your eyes. "I'm not going anywhere, clingy bastard. Just trying not to cum in my pants from your scent." It was a sarcastic remark, but when you hear the king chuckle in delight, you tap your head against the wooden door and close your eyes.

It was weird to have him back, and you are not surprised that your heart feels strange around him – you were bonded afterall. It was good to have him back – you found comfort in his scent, but the thought of him disappearing again made you frown. You tuck your knees close to you and bury your head in them.

Sukuna opens the door two minutes later, slightly panting and flushed red. His body was growing weak. Now, he was completely bare, and his cock was standing hard against his lower stomach. But, you didn't notice, still in your little ball on the floor.

He looks at you, raising his eyebrows, because he has never seen you in this state. You were always reeking of confidence, standing tall and proud while you openlingly defy him. He, strangely, didn't like to see you look like this and your scent was beginning to turn stale.

"Why does my alpha look like a mopey kitten?"

You don't look up at him, slightly pouting. "You have to promise me you won't leave after this. I'm not some fucktoy for your heat."

Sukuna would be lying if he didn't say his omega was purring at the idea of staying with you. The last couple of months have taken a toll on his body, and although he is the strongest person to walk this planet, it was quite annoying to be in a constant state of distress. "Ill think about it – depends on how well you fuck me. How can you be so whiny when I am the one with slick dripping down my thighs?" 

You look up from your makeshift ball and are immediately hit with the smell of it. But, you dont have time to look at his thighs because you are being scooped up again like you truly were some sort of kitten. He holds you with one hand and uses another one to pet your head as he drags you to his nest. "There, there," he tries to comfort, "Dont be sad little alpha, you make me feel weird when you are moping."

He was purring at you, and even if you tried to, you couldn't help but feel better. But the moment doesn't last long — he drops you into his nest, crossing his top set of arms above you and waiting. You raise your eyebrows at him, glancing at his cock that was hard and on display before going back to his smug face. "Why are you showing me your useless cock?"

"Im not," he bites, baring his teeth for a moment, before shaking his head. "The nest. Compliment it."

"Oh." 

Sukuna seemed to have a set of procedures he wanted to follow before getting to the real deal. It was surprising, considering that most omegas wouldn't miss a second of sex for something as silly as this. But you could tell he was beginning to struggle from the way he was slightly trembling. 

You quickly turn to pillows and pillows, along with your miscellaneous dirty clothes. He was tapping his foot, quickly growing impatient. So you nod at him, giving him a small smile to show that you are happy. "Very nice. Soft, comfortable. I really like it. Good job, Sukuna."

He releases his pleased scent in waves, and a small croon leaves his lips. But even when you could tell that he was practically wagging his tail at the compliment, all he says is, "Good. You are to stay here for the duration of my heat. No exceptions. And dont you dare think about getting up to relieve yourself without telling me? I will string you alive."

That meant that he was probably going to be stalking into the kitchen for food and water like he did last time. Alphas are supposed to provide food/water and protection to their omegas in their most vulnerable state – Sukuna seemed to not follow traditional dynamics roles, which wasn't that surprising. But still, the idea of you being the one to be taken care of makes you slightly pout. 

The omega seems to read your mind. "My vulnerable state is a million times stronger than you at your strongest. You stay in the nest."

"Your wish is my command, Lord Sukuna," you say sarcastically, leaning back in the cushions and sighing. 

He finally comes crawling toward you, pinning you beneath his massive frame. But you are not intimidated by him, to say the least, so you just raise an eyebrow at him. He presses a small kiss to your neck before saying, "I like the way that sounds on your lips."

"Yeah, I bet you do, you arrogant bastard." He chuckles at you, taking a deep inhale of your scent and then gently rubbing his neck onto yours. The action is sweet, but you are flooded with the smell of arousal, so you are getting particularly impatient. "Are we going to fuck, or do I need to find another omega in heat?"

It was a risky joke, and you knew that you shouldn't have said that the second it left your mouth. But Sukuna, in turn, just rumbles another laugh, gently biting the skin of your neck. "Little alpha has jokes?" he asks, and you remain quiet, biting your lip and hoping that you dont cause the deaths of innocent people. "Do you think it would be funny if I killed every omega you laid eyes on?"

You grab his chin and force his lips onto yours. He eagerly accepts your advances, purring low while cupping your face with two hands. "Your means to distract me are so cute."

You don't respond to the mumble against your lips – instead, pushing your tongue into his mouth. You can feel himself beginning to rut against your pelvis, probably staining pre on your clothes. But, the fabric doesn't stand a chance anyway, as he tears through it with his finger. The sound causes you to pull away, frowning at him. "That was my favorite shirt."

"And it was in my way," he breathes, before pressing his mouth back to yours. You fingers begin to make their way to the back of his thighs and he hitches a breath when you finally bring your fingers back to his entrance. It was properly lubricated as it was before, and it makes it incredibly easy to slip two fingers in.

Sukuna breathes a sigh of relief at the feeling, having been daydreaming about you inside him for the past couple of hours. He unconsciously rocks his hips back into the digits while you scissor the hole, preparing him for what is later to come. Your knee comes up to where his cock grinds against, and he groans into your mouth. 

You pull away from him, now choosing to focus on his neck. Your mouth litters it with kisses and small love bites, but focus on the outline of your teeth from three months earlier — the mark you gave him. It seemed to be a sensitive part for him, considering the way all of his eyes are squeezed shut and his arms trembled on the pillows next to you. 

"Such a pretty mark," you coo, curling your fingers inside him slightly toward his stomach so that it hits his prostate right on.

Sukuna, in return, eyes fly open, and he chokes up a weak cough at the feeling. But, he quickly recomposes himself, swallowing some saliva and looking back at you. "Glad one of us likes it."

"You are a liar," you tease, kissing his jawline, "or else you wouldn't come crawling back to me. Tell me, Ryomen, did you miss me?"

"You are going to have to fuck me with something bigger than your fingers to get me to babble such nonsense." He holds a cocky grin, flashing his teeth before using his tongue to lick at your lips. The action makes you cringe and look away while he laughs.

But his moment of triumph is cut short when you plunge another finger inside him. It sends his mouth flying open, and his eyes widen at the intrusion before he lets out a guttural moan. "Fuckkkk," he groans, grinding himself on your fingers, "T-Thats more like it!" 

You grin at him, rubbing your thumb on his lips. "Such a size queen. Do you need something bigger?"

His tongue darts out, and he licks at your thumb while you raise your eyebrows. He seemed to be glaring at you, but it didn't do much, considering his eyes were growing hazy and his cheeks were flushed. "You know what I want. Are you going to fuck me, or do I need to find another alpha?" 

It was a cute attempt to try and use your words against you, so you can't help but laugh. "Have you ever been fucked by someone else, Sukuna? I swore I was the first to ever be inside you." 

To this, he goes silent. It was true, and in fact, even if it went completely against instincts, Sukuna during his previous heats would be the one fucking his partners. He didn't care about their sex, nor their dynamic, all he was looking for was pleasure. Granted, being inside someone didn't have the same feeling as being the one penetrated, and he realized that very quickly after his first heat with you. He didn't know if he could go back to the half-ass pleasure he was grantedbefore.

So when he hears you laugh, the curse merely scoffs and looks away. But, you move quickly away from the subject, and instead push him off of you. "Get on your hands and knees," you say, and then sigh, knowing better than to give him any commands. "Sorry, that sounded demanding. Can you please get on your hands and knees, Sukuna? It will be easier for the both of us."

"I am not your bitch," he bites, but still, he climbs off of you and readjusts himself in front of you. He was not ashamed inthe way he presented himself – slick ran down his thigh and coated his hole while his cock laid heavy in between them with pre cum beading at the tip.

You sit up, giving his ass a squeeze that sends him growling at you. You go silent for a minute, preparing everything while he sits and waits semi-patiently. But once you are all ready, you grin at the muscled body laid out so perfectly in front of you. "Trust me, I know. But I do hope to change that."

He doesn't have time to respond when you are suddenly pushing into him. The curse, in return, grips at the sheets, turning his knuckles white from the mere force of it. He hisses out and bites at the pillow in front of his, and his ring stretches to take the new intrusion. "Fuck!" he groans, shaking his head, "Was it always this freakishly big? S-Slow down before I come up there and tear your head off!"

You roll your eyes at the threat but abide by his demand. "So dramatic," you sigh, using your finger to trace over his wet entrance. "You seem to be gobbling me up just fine down here. You are so whiny, king of curses."

He let out a string of profanities, and tears begin to prick in his eyes. It makes your own eyes light up, and you thrust forward to bottom out completely inside of him. His body erupts in a fit of shivers, and he hides his face from you in the pillows. Sukuna's entire body was burning up by now, and your hands trace at the flushed skin on his back while you wait for him to adjust to the length.

His whines, you realize very quickly, did not express his true feelings. The air was growing thick from arousal, and the second you bottomed out inside him, a pleased scent is released. Your lips curl up in a smile. "Well, aren't you just a little whore!"

Growls echo through the room, but you quickly shut them up by pulling out and thrusting forward. It makes his himchoke a gasp and more of the pleased scent is let out, making the room smell incredibly sweet. The power is getting to your head, but you relished in it for all you could, considering that once he got adjusted to the length inside him, he would be spitting his own insults in between moans. 

But for now, you lean forward and lick at his neck, just over his scent gland. "You feel good? Finally sedated after having a cock up your ass?"

"I will if you do something with it. You are boring me to tears," he pants into the pillows, one of his eyes looking back at you. But you just shrug at the complaint and finally begin to move. 

You start off slow, pulling your hips back all the way until the tip reaches his rim and then back forward. But it seems to have a greater effect on him than you thought. He lets out a muffled groan and slightly raises his hips so that it gives you easier access. You would comment on the display, but you watch a bead of slick drip down his thigh and instead remain quiet, so you dont miss the show.

The noises he makes are cute, low in pitch compared to most omegas, but dont hide the fact that he was in an immense amount of pleasure. The sight in front of you was one to behold – his hole stretched prettily just for you while his entire body was trembling. You could tell he was growing annoyed with the slow pace, so you move your hips quicker, only causing him to clench onto the sheets.

He curses out his own set of profanities, and so you lean forward, pressing your chest to his back, and kiss him. It shuts him up instantly, and the king is craning his neck back to kiss you with an 

unmatched ferocity. It makes you chuckle in surprise at the desperation of it all, and he slightly growls into your mouth, knowing exactly what you are thinking. 

His tongue was a lot larger than yours, and he seemed to have no shame in using it to completely claim the inside of your mouth. One of his hands also cups your face, trapping you to his lips. But, even with his possessive hold on you, you dont let up on your pace, knowing that he was to surely bite (and not on your neck) you in the position if you did.

And so his body jerks forward with each slam of your hips, and Sukuna has to push himself back so that he can reach your lips. His groans are eaten up by your mouth, but still, you can feel the vibrations of his purr. It makes you let out your own sounds of affection, and he greedily consumes them without shame.

You rip your face away from his, and he frowns at you for a split second, already on his way to let out another complaint, before you grab his neck and push it into the sheets. You dont do it hard — you aren't trying to suffocate him, but simply to show what position he is in. Now, his ass remains in the air while his face is buried in some of your pillows. He makes a sound of surprise, but you quicken your pace before he can ask what you are doing.

Your hips move at a rapid pace, and it gives him no room to adjust to the new position. You were drilling into him without a care in the world, creating a lewd sound of slapping of skin. It made his eyes widen, and he bit the soft fabric of the pillow, canines digging into the sheet, nearly tearing it apart.

You hook your finger into his mouth, pulling his lip back and contorting his pretty face. "Hey, relax. Dont rip up my pillows; I just bought them."

"F-Fuck you!" he warbles, but it comes out shaky and breathless from your movements, and you swear you can see his eyes beginning to roll back. But still, he brings his hand over to his mouth and chews on the flesh instead. The action only makes you grin, knowing he was slowly beginning to give in to his instincts to please his alpha.

So, you lean forward, not daring to stop your movements until your chest was pressed to his back. Then you find his ear and lean close till you are centimeters away from it and say, "Well, aren't you just a good boy? Doing so well for me, huh, my omega? Pleasing your alpha by taking me whole."

Much to the surprise of both of you, his abdomen tenses up, and cum shoots out of his cock. It stains the sheets a creamy shade of white, and his entire body begins to tremble with the shocks. The curse doesn't make a peep, biting his lip as he clenches onto the walls of the nest and tightens around your length.

The action makes your eyes widen, and a breathless laugh falls from your lips. "You wanted me to be mean to you your last heat, but you have a praise kink?"

His entire back was turning red, and his cheeks twinged with embarrassment. The man shows you his teeth, growling slightly while craning his neck to look at you. "I do not. Watch your mouth, little alpha, before you piss me off."

"Do you want to be my good boy, Sukuna?"  

Your breath was right next to Sukunas ear, and his entire body goes through a fit of shivers. His scent was screaming Yes. Yes. Yes. But Sukuna just faces the pillow and shakes his head. "Shut up. You are disgusting me."

Your hips begin to pick up their pace again, and a small whimper escapes his lips from the twinge of overstimulation. But still, immediately he begins to press himself back into you, not daring to escape the pleasure he had sought out for. Your lips find his neck, and you begin to litter it with marks, which only drives Sukuna to the brink of insanity due to his instinctual fondness for being "claimed."

"Look so pretty for me," you trace your finger over your claim mark, "Pretty and marked up. So perfect. How am I so lucky to be mated to you?"

"Stop it," he mewls for the first time, voice wavering, and he shakes his head as if trying to snap himself out of a trance. His hips push back into you, and you grin at the display before gripping his hips even tighter. Even his back was pressed into a deeper arch, unconsciously presenting his full self to you.

You run your fingers through his hair at his groans, pressing a kiss to his temple. "Can you cum for me again, my sweet boy?" 

The coo next to his ear sends his eyes flying open, and a guttural moan slips out. His legs, flushed a shade of red from the heat of it all, begin to shake, and before he knows it, he comes tumbling off the toy, ass still in the air as his second, much stronger orgasm crashes over him. His hole clenches around nothing, and he bites his teeth into his hands, letting a round of muffled moans fill the air. Tears even begin to fall down his cheek, and his entire body trembles while cum stains the sheets. 

He had cum twice in the past ten minutes. It was common for omegas to get overwhelmed and orgasm quickly after another, but for Sukuna, this was incredibly rare. He had a praise kink, and this confirmed it.

It was a pretty sight, and so you cock your head to the side, tracing the skin between his thighs, admiring the trembling muscles. The man goes eerily quiet after his second orgasm, and his body looks tense. "Sukuna?"

He doesn't answer, not daring to look at you. You lean forward to get a look at his face, but he turns around and lets out a low warning growl. It makes you pause for a moment, confused, and then you see a drop of blood fall onto the white pillow in front of you. He still doesn't look your way.

He was hurt, and your instincts took the better of you. "Sukuna, look at me."

The omega lets out another small growl — this one weak and barely heard. In return, you growl louder and let out an abundance of pheromones, causing him to tense up, incredibly close to submitting. Then you grab his chin and force his face toward you.

Your eyes widen at the sight. He was biting his lip so hard that blood was beginning to fall down his chin. But, it wasn't that that surprised you. No, it was Sukuna's expression. His face was an abnormal shade of red even for his heat, the flush going to his ears and down his neck. His eyes were glassy with tears, and he didn't dare make eye contact with you. 

Sukuna was embarrassed from cumming so hard from the praise you gave him. You have to hold back a croon — the king of curses look unfathomably cute in your hold.

Your finger ghosts over his lips, and you murmur, "Heal it". He obeys without much thought, and in an instant, the pink flesh is restored. But the curse still doesn't look at you, so you kiss his cheek. You knew he didn't mean to, but a small whimper slips past his lips at the affection. Your grin is wolfish.

"Why are you upset?" You croon, knowing exactly why. Your positions seemed to have switched. It was less than an hour ago when he was the one trying to comfort you. Although his reasoning for being upset was definitely not as reasonable, bug you aren't going to complain when he looks so cute.

"Im not, weakling. Let's just go again. C-C'mon, im starting to feel itchy again."

You lean forward kissing his jaw and then moving to his neck to press another kiss to his scent gland. His entire body shudders. "So needy. You're lucky you're so cute. Do you want your alpha to make you feel good again, hmm?"

When your tongue licks a stripe on his scent gland, Sukuna groans, head spinning. He hates that when you scent mark him, it makes him feel giddy, like some sort of pathetic school girl. You are supposed to be a quick fuck, and then he was going to leave again, but the way your talking to him, like he really was your omega makes his heart pound in his chest. Would he always feel like this if he were to stay with you? Make this his permanent nest? Be your mate?

A purr rumbles through his chest.

Sukuna never considered having a mate. But alas this is the second time he has had this thoughts. The first when he nearly forced you to bite him, and now, his second heat with you. His sober mind pushed away the thoughts immediately and instead took to hiding from you. But could he do that again? It was borderline unbearable for the omega — it went against what his instincts were screaming at him to do. To be with his alpha.

You nibble on his ear, already pushing back into him and this time Sukuna groans out. His body was angry at him for attempting to go a third round without a break, but he didnt care, it felt too good. His hips push into yours and he hisses when you wrap your hands around his cock.

"How many times do you want to cum today?" You ask, voice breathless as you keep up the ruthless pace that would only please Sukuna. Your movements were quick in pace, jabbing into his sensitive spot without mercy, exactly how he likes it. 

His mouth begins to hang open and his eyes hold a glaze to them. Now, he looked more akin to what a normal omega would look like in a heat. He was just a little harder to break down, but his roots were all the same. 

Sukuna blinks at your question, slow, mindless. “Mhmmm…a-lot..? Wanna…cum…” 

You giggle at the warble, but this time he doesnt say anything snarky in return. In fact, he seems to be pleased at himself for making you laugh. For making you seemingly happy. He tries to lean his head back to scent you, but due to your arm pushing his head into the nest, he doesn't go very far. He growls in displeasure.

You instead lean forward and rub your neck against his, even if there was minimal to no effect in the action. His scent was already so potent you were to be smelling of him for at least a week after his heat. But you indulge him in the instinctual pleasure, and he sighs into what is most likely your dirty shirt. A fucked out smile tugs at his lips, your eyes lighten.

"You're like a grumpy kitten, you know?" You run your fingers through his pink hair, brushing it back. Your movementsof your hips slow slightly, but they are still deep and give Sukuna enough pleasure for him not to whine out. You kiss the back of his neck. "Hiss and claw and bite whatever it sees. But the second the fierce creature gets some warm milk, it's back to being cute and docile, just like you, Sukuna."

Gears are turning in Sukunas head, no doubt from the intensity of his heat, so you wait and continue to brush at his hair and kiss at his neck in time with your thrusts. A couple seconds later he manages to bite back a weak, "Not cute or docile…bastard."

You hum at him, grabbing his chin when his mouth falls open after you seemed to his his prostate. "Docile may not be the best word, sedated maybe. Just need some dick to calm you down." You take a moment to catch your breath, panting slightly into his muscular shoulder. "I can keep you sedated."

"S-Stop babbling nonsense."

"Not just with sex," you continue, releasing an abudance of calming phermones that almost match his intensity. Then you let out a croon, paired with a nearly overdramatic purr. He was too weak to fight his instincts and so practically mewls at the sound, letting out his own purr in return. 

"I can keep you calm, make you feel safe." Although you knew you could never be as strong as him, you could try at least. Your hand reaches below him to play with his dick again, and Sukuna jumps. "I'll put up with your hissy fits and your extremely possessive nature. The killing…will be something to be discussed when I'm not inside you."

To this, Sukuna makes a sound that shocks you. He laughs. Its not mocking like they usually were, harsh and mean, instead it more like a giggle, like he truly thought what you said was humorous. You pray it's not the heat talking but you try not to get your hopes up.

Instead, you continue on your rant, now picking up the pace of your hips. You slam into him, restarting the rhythm of the slapping of skin on skin. Sukuna bites the pillow, but you pull his hair back, earning a pained moan from the man. "Y-You can kick me out of my room to build your nest whenever you want. Fuck, I can just permanently sleep on the couch if that'll make you happy."

Sukuna couldnt respond, his eyes were practically rolling back. You were so deep inside him that he could barely think. However, the desperation in your tone, paired with the saturated scent of you trying to please him, conveyed exactly what you were saying to him. He hates that it makes him happy to see you want him, to feel desired by you. It should be an inconvenience, really, but he can't help but feel like his own feelings were being returned.

"F-Fuck, gonna cum again!"

Your hand is rutheless on his cock and your mouth nibbles at his neck. "I'll make you happy, Sukuna, you know that. You just got to let me."

Hes grown dangerously hot and he fees the muscles begin to tense up with his upproaching orgasm. A wracked sob leaves his lips, and he squeezes his eyes shut. 

"Be my omega, Sukuna. Let me love you." You dont give him a chance to respond before you dig your teeth into the exactsame spot you marked him just a couple of months ago.

Claws dig into cloth beneath him, and his eyes widen at the pain. But your words paired with the bite send him over the edge, and hes cumming once again, harder than the previous times. Tears stream down his face and he doesnt let out a noise this time – he holds his breath while the pleasure takes over. His hole clentches around you and his legs shake from under you. There is no doubt that more of the nest was stained a milky shade of white.

You slump against him this time, licking at the wound, before rolling off with a sigh. He groans a little when you pull away from him, but your hands travels to his face, rubbing against his cheekbone. Sukuna, for the first time, looks tired, like that orgasm took a toll on him. Although, you have never seen him look so content. A small smile sits contently on his face, and he looks at you with soft eyes.

Then, much to your surprise, the large man grabs onto you and forces you close to him. You yelp in suprise, but he justwraps two sets of arms around your form and buries his face into your neck, taking a long, dramatic inhale and then sighing contently. You pet his hair with a chuckle. 

"Are you thinking about my offer? Although, if you did live here we would have to get a bigger apartment…You are too big." The sentence felt ironic considering how small he looked when pressed to close to you. It was strange to see a creature so big act so small, like some sort of overgrown lap dog. He would murder you if he heard you think something like that.

He closes his first set of eyes and peers at you with the second. Then he shakes his head. "I'll think about it. Now let me rest, pathetic alpha."

Maybe it was a naive hope, but Sukuna seemed rather pleased when saying that. It was the closest think to a yes you will get, you kiss at the top of his head and he groans in annoyance. "Yeah, yeah, whiny omega. Go to sleep before you get horny again."

"Dont try to leave the nest. I'm not kidding, I will incapitate you if you try anything funny."

"I won't, you bloodthirsty murderer. Now sleep."

"I'm fucking going!" he mutters and you let out a laugh as he gentle nips at the skin on your neck. He then grabs your hand and forces it on his head, silently demanding you to pet him. 

You run your fingers through his short pink hair, and he purrs contently. It doesn't take him long to fall asleep, and you are not far after. You needed to rest before the monster would wake you eight hours later with a flushed face and a wicked grin. You did promise him an abudance of orgasms after all. 

—

After a hazy five days, Sukuna awakes in the dirty nest. He doesn't feel itchy and disgustingly hot, but his body is sore, and he seems to still be exhausted. You lay draped across him, head on his chest and sleeping soundly, equally spent as he is from keeping up with his demands. The curse stares at you for a long moment before one of his hands comes to trace your cheek, admiring the soft skin and how small you are compared to him. You are too breakable for an alpha, it makes him nervous. 

He doesnt think about it when leans forward and gets a good whiff of your scent. The scent of his mate. He purrs quietly to himself, careful not to wake you.

You stirr in his hold and he gulps, eyes flickering toward the door. He could leave if he wanted to, come back for his next heat. You wouldn't send him away, even if you tried with your weak commands, you had a weak heart. A weak, pathetic human alpha loves him — someone unworthy of his own love. Sukuna frowns.

You make a mewling noise and nuzzle into his chest like some sort of cat. Red eyes tear from the door and back to your sleeping face. Sukuna scoffs at you, hating that he found you cute, before pinching your cheeks together that pulls a whine from you. This was the person that was supposedly going to make him feel safe? He laughs.

But the second your tired, fond eyes gaze up at him he unconsciouslly had made his decision. 

He tilts your head to the side, four pairs of eyes scanning the smooth skin along your neck. It was too bare. Sukuna had to change that, or else some omegas would get the wrong idea. He flashes his canines, dragging his tongue along them and grinning at your wide eyes.

[evilboyfies]

yan! prince who is first in line to the throne amongst all of his siblings, be them directly linked though blood or lowly offsprings of his father's countless concubines.

he is so sick and tired of the responsibilities that rest on his shoulders; of the imposing weight of the whole nation that will soon be his. he can't stand it, he wants to run away and hide, perhaps live as a trader or a mere peasant.

the crown is heavy. that much is true.

he's never been able to step out of line. there are so many things he has wanted to say, but he can't even express them in a breathless whisper. he wonders if he's far too brainwashed to have a mind of his own. he's merely the spitting image of what he is expected to become — his father, the king, ensured that ever since childhood.

yan! prince, who one day overhears the chaos outside the castle gates. he knows he shouldn't, but the curiosity was too palpable and overwhelming. he thought he'd die if he didn't get to see for himself what the big deal was.

he stalks over to the balcony overlooking the entire capital in his room and, with a tentative hand, peels back the curtains just the tiniest bit. his eyes, both wide and hesitant, search the courtyard for the cause of the disruption.

his eyes land on you. you, the leader of a protest. you're calling for the king to reveal himself, to stop his unfair treatment of his own people and to take responsibility for the crisis he has plunged the country after recklessly taking part in a war.

his breath hitches. he never thought it was possible to speak and act so freely. his whole life, he had only known fear and had only been able to recognize authority when he he spots it. his best friends have always been loneliness and helplessness, his only pillars of support.

you, however, show no signs of any of the sort. in fact, you're probably the bravest person he knows. you could probably be put to death for merely saying a single bad word about the king, let alone almost storming the castle.

his lips breaks out into a smile. if only he could be just like you...

no, that alone wouldn't be enough.

he's decided it and there's nothing anyone else can do to discourage him. he's as stubborn as he is ignorant.

his father had been quite impatient for his marriage. but now, he has officially found his bride. he found you.

he shall accept no other.

[sthilarions]

I may be forgetting something that suggests otherwise, but - I wonder if Charles was a very different person when he was alive. And I don’t mean that in terms of like, maybe he was a bully and reformed in death. I mean in terms of identity and presentation and relation to others (and especially authority).

Because the thing is, right. We look at Charles and we see a cool punk, right?

But that’s not the clothes he died in. He didn’t die in a battle jacket.

Because, right. He seems to have gone back and forth between living with his father - presumably a high-control environment - and St. Hilarion’s - ie institutionalized. So when was he going to all these alleged concerts? Where was he getting the punk clothes? What authority did he know that he was able to stand up to?

It’s fully possible that he was sneaking out, and earning un-monitored money somehow, and so forth, of course. But… I just keep thinking… we sorta just take Charles’s implied word for it that he was cool, you know? That he was a Rude Boy. (Although, actually, all he really tells us is that he spent his life desperately trying to be “good” enough for his father.)

So what if he was exactly who you’d expect from someone who grew up caught between extreme abuse and institutional control? What if kicking his mates off that boy was the first act of rebellion in his life (and the last)?

In short, what if that whole identity - just like the jacket and the patches and the rest of his look - was posthumous?

What if he died, and the first thing he wanted to do for himself, when he realized no one could stop him anymore, was to go to a concert, because he’d never been and always wanted to? What if Edwin helped him learn to stand up to authority figures like he helped Edwin learn to express himself freely? What if both of them only became themselves after death, together?

[vigilante-3073]

Daddy's Credit Card

Cullen Family x Female Vampire Reader (Platonic)

PART 10

Summary: Bella endures her transition to a Vampire while Y/N's condition continues to worsen.

TW: Mentions of death/injury/illness, lack of regard for the feelings of others, medical testing, needles, blood.

The Cullen family was left unscathed after Jacob imprinted on Renesmee. The Wolves were forced to abandon their quest to kill the child, but tensions were still high. Y/N had been released from her quarantine and had finally been allowed to move about the house freely.

She took full advantage of her newfound freedom, but there were some things that Carlisle still wouldn't allow. Y/N was not to step foot outside the house unless someone was with her. She became quickly exhausted after any kind of physical activity and her heart beat would become irregular. Carlisle was strict about her having a companion in case something were to happen.

Y/N walked along the road with Jacob Black by her side. He had been focused on Renesmee since he had imprinted, Bella was still in transition and he felt responsible for the baby girl. Jacob had been incredibly tense as he watched over Renesmee and Carlisle encouraged him to take a moment away. Jacob went reluctantly and the pair walked in silence until he looked over at her.

"Why exactly do you need a babysitter?" Jacob asked.

"I'm dying," Y/N stated simply.

"What? I thought that Vampires couldn't die unless they're torn apart," Jacob said.

"Apparently they can... I bleed, I cry, I eat and my body is falling apart for no apparent reason," Y/N said.

"That sucks," Jacob said.

Y/N huffed a laugh, "Yeah, it does," She replied.

"Still doesn't really explain why I'm following you around though," Jacob said.

"Carlisle said that my heart beat is irregular. He's worried that something could happen to me while I'm alone," Y/N stated.

"Have you left your house at all since you started becoming human?" Jacob asked.

She glared at him, "I am not a human," She corrected quickly.

"Well, whatever you are then," He amended.

"No, you and your wolf friends had my house surrounded. Remember?" Y/N questioned.

"So, you're pretty new to not being a bloodsucker then, huh?" He asked.

"I guess you could say that," She replied.

"Do you want to go into town for a bit? Maybe we can get some actual food," He offered.

"I would do anything to leave that place right now. Since Bella died, Carlisle has devoted the entirety of his time to testing me for anything he can possibly think of. Then I have to sit there and watch Edward stay by his wife as she magically comes back from the dead. Don't even get me started on that rapidly growing demon that they produced... It's like my own personal hell," Y/N said.

Jacob laughed and Y/N shot him a serious look, "I didn't realize that I said something funny," Y/N said.

"It may not be funny, but it is ironic because I was in love with Bella and I was ready to kill Edward when she died. Then I went to get the baby to hand over to the pack and in some ridiculous twist of fate, I actually imprinted on her. Now I practically live in the house with the guy I hate, the girl I used to love and their daughter," Jacob said.

"If I weren't going to die horrifically, I might actually say that you have it worse," Y/N replied.

"We're just two of the luckiest people around, huh?" He questioned, she nodded.

"Where are you taking me then?" Y/N asked.

"A diner. I'm going to get you the biggest and most greasy burger they offer along with fries and a milkshake," Jacob listed.

"All of that sounds absolutely repulsive, but I'm excited to try it," She said.

"Good," Jacob nodded.

The pair returned to the house and Y/N went up to tell Carlisle that she was leaving. She returned after a few minutes with a pair of car keys dangling from her finger.

"He said no to the motorcycle," She stated.

"Maybe another day," Jacob replied, holding out his hand.

Y/N placed the keys into his palm, "I'm definitely riding on a motorcycle before I die. I'm trusting you to make that happen," She said.

"I can definitely do that for you," Jacob assured.

They made their way down to the garage and got into one of the cars. Jacob started the car and opened the garage before driving out onto the road.

Y/N settled back into her seat as she looked out the window, "Just for my own curiosity, how long does it usually take for someone to come back from the dead?" Jacob questioned.

"Usually takes about three days. The morphine that Bella had in her system could definitely have an effect on it though," Y/N stated.

"Three days of waiting," Jacob huffed.

"At least she's not awake and screaming like the rest of us were," Y/N said.

"It hurt that badly?" Jacob asked, glancing over at her.

"The worst pain I've ever felt. It was like every nerve being scorched and having your skin peeled from your body. It was misery," She said.

"I'm sorry you had to go through that," He said.

"It gave me a lifetime of pain and loneliness like I have never known before. I would have chosen death a thousand times over," Y/N replied.

"Who was it?" Jacob asked.

"I don't know what you mean," Y/N said, looking over at him.

"Who was it that broke your heart?" Jacob clarified.

Y/N hesitated, "Carlisle first and Edward second," She answered.

Jacob scoffed, "Well, with that information, you definitely earned the title of having the worst situation possible," Jacob said.

"I've always been an overachiever," She deadpanned with a smirk.

Jacob smiled as he pulled into the parking lot of the diner, "Ready to eat?" He asked.

"I'm absolutely ravenous," She replied.

The pair got out of the car and made their way into the restaurant, they were sat in a booth and given a moment to look over the menu.

Y/N stared at the laminated sheet with wide eyes, finding herself overwhelmed by the options as she slowly opened the menu.

"Wow, this is a lot of stuff," She mumbled.

"Do you want me to just order for you?" Jacob questioned.

"That would be lovely," Y/N replied.

"Do you have any preference on milkshake flavor?" He asked.

"The last meal that I had as a living person was probably boiled cabbage and stale bread. You can pick whatever you want and I'm sure it will be better than anything I've ever eaten," She replied, closing the menu and sliding it to the edge of the table.

"Point taken," He nodded.

The waitress returned to their table with her notepad and pen in hand, "What can I get for you two today?" She questioned.

"For drinks, we'd like one chocolate and one vanilla milkshake. And for food, we'll get two of the bacon cheeseburgers with fries," Jacob listed.

"Perfect, I'll get that going for you," The waitress nodded, collecting the menus and moving off to the kitchen.

"Why did you get two different flavor drinks?" Y/N asked.

"So you can try both and keep whichever one you like best," Jacob shrugged.

"That's very kind of you," She said.

"It's no big deal," He replied.

"It is to me," Y/N stated.

The drinks came out quickly and the food followed shortly after. Jacob put two plastic straws into the milkshakes and slid them across the table to her.

Y/N leaned forward, taking a sip of the vanilla milkshake before moving over to the chocolate and taking another sip.

"What's the verdict?" He questioned.

"I like the lighter one more," She said, tapping a finger against the side of the first glass.

Jacob slid the chocolate milkshake back over to his side of the table, "Good choice. The vanilla one is my personal favorite," He said, taking a sip from the same straw.

"You can have it if you like it more," Y/N said, moving to slide it over to him.

"You're the one who's new to human food. You get to keep the milkshake that you like best," Jacob said, resting his hand over hers and pushing it back over to her side of the table.

They ate and chatted about their lives before reluctantly returning to the Cullen house.

"I had fun tonight. You're pretty cool for an ex-bloodsucker," Jacob said.

"I had fun too and I suppose I should say thank you," Y/N replied.

"It was definitely meant as a compliment," Jacob assured, "And you can feel free to come find me whenever you want to go on another nature walk or do something ridiculously stupid just to cross it off your bucket list," He continued.

"I will definitely take you up on that," Y/N nodded.

"I'll see you tomorrow... Sleep well," He said.

"You too," Y/N replied, making her way up the stairs to her bedroom.

...

Y/N stood in the shower, lathering the shampoo into her hair before stepping under the water. She washed the soap from her scalp, allowing the warm water to run over her skin. Y/N lowered her arms as her heart began to race in her chest, she let out a shaky exhale and leaned into the wall.

Y/N suddenly felt lightheaded and exhausted, breathing heavily as she slid down the wall weakly. Her arms fell in front of her body limply as she leaned into the wall, eyelids fluttering as she struggled to remain conscious.

"Carlisle," She called softly, her voice was barely audible over the sound of the water.

The shower curtain was pulled back suddenly before Carlisle reached in and turned off the water. He stepped away, grabbing her robe before kneeling down next to the bathtub.

Carlisle maneuvered her body around easily, slipping her arms through the sleeves and wrapping the robe around her body. He tied the belt at her waist before slipping his arms underneath her and lifting her into his arms.

Y/N's head rested on his shoulder as she closed her eyes, head pounding as her heart raced in her chest. He carried her into her bedroom before carefully setting her down on her bed.

Carlisle brought over the vitals machine, wrapping the blood pressure cuff around her arm and placing the probe on her finger. Y/N grimaced as the cuff began to inflate, but she was far too exhausted to say anything.

"Your blood pressure is incredibly low," Carlisle stated, reaching over and resting his hand on the side of her neck.

His fingers found her pulse point easily, feeling the rapid pulsation of her heart against his fingertips.

"I don't feel good," She mumbled shakily.

"I'll get you on fluids and we'll see if that helps," Carlisle said.

Y/N closed her eyes, unable to do anything besides breathe as her body began to shiver. Carlisle returned with a bag of fluids and a primed line, hanging it up on the pole beside her bed.

"Are you cold?" He questioned, noticing the way her body trembled.

She nodded silently and Carlisle stepped into her closet, he returned with a long sleeved shirt and a pair of loose sweatpants.

"Not mine," Y/N mumbled.

"Alice thought that you should have something comfortable and warm to wear," Carlisle said, setting the items on the edge of her bed.

He helped her dry off and get dressed before getting her settled in the bed. Carlisle sat down on the edge of the bed beside her, tying the tourniquet around her arm and flexing her wrist as his eyes scanned her skin.

Carlisle cleaned her skin with an alcohol wipe before opening his needle and removing the cap. Y/N turned her head away as he pushed the needle into her vein, he held the cannula in place as he retracted the needle. He connected the tubing to the cannula quickly before laying a clear dressing on top of it.

Carlisle pressed the edges against her skin carefully before reaching up to grab his IV tubing and connecting it to her. Y/N looked over as he stood up, programming the machine and opening the roller clamps.

The fluid slowly began to drip as the infusion started, "You should try and get some rest. I'll be back to check on you in a bit," Carlisle said, she nodded.

Y/N drifted off into a dreamless sleep before Carlisle had even stepped foot into the hallway. She slept for hours, body shivering silently as she struggled to retain her warmth. Carlisle added a few more blankets on top of her, but nothing seemed to help with the icy chill that had come over her.

Carlisle slowly made his way into the living room where the family was sitting. Esme held Renesmee in her arms while Rosalie watched them with a fond smile.

"Jacob, could I borrow you for a moment?" Carlisle asked.

"Sure," He nodded, standing up from his seat and following Carlisle down the hallway.

"I have a bit of an odd request and you can refuse if it makes you uncomfortable," Carlisle said.

"What is it?" Jacob asked.

"Y/N had a bit of a medical episode tonight," Carlisle started.

"Is she okay?" Jacob questioned.

"She's fine, but she's incredibly cold and I can't seem to get her temperature up," Carlisle said.

"I can definitely help with that," Jacob nodded.

"Thank you," Carlisle replied, leading Jacob down the hallway to her bedroom.

He opened the door and stepped inside, allowing Jacob to make his way into the room before closing the door gently.

"Jeez, how many blankets do you have her buried under?" Jacob asked with a smile.

"Five, I believe," Carlisle stated.

Jacob moved around to the other side of the bed, stepping out of his boots before lifting the blankets and laying down beside her.

Jacob shifted closer to her and she turned towards him in her sleep, immediately drawn in by the heat he gave off. Jacob wrapped his arms around her and guided her body into his side.

Y/N let out a soft breath, her head resting on his chest as she soaked up his warmth, "She's freezing," Jacob muttered, rubbing his hand over her back gently.

"I'm not much help in that department, unfortunately," Carlisle said.

"Well, I got it from here," Jacob assured.

"Just be conscious of the IV and call for me if something happens," Carlisle said, Jacob nodded.

Carlisle made his way out of the bedroom, closing the door behind himself carefully. Jacob settled back into the pillows, brushing his hand over her back until he eventually drifted off to sleep beside her.

Jacob awoke when the sky was dark, he turned his head to see Carlisle standing at the bedside. He hung a new bag of fluids on the IV pole before connecting it and pressing a few buttons on the machine to restart the infusion.

Y/N stirred slightly in his arms as Carlisle programmed the pump, eyes fluttering open slowly. Her brows furrowed as she pulled away from him slightly.

"What's going on?" She mumbled.

"You were cold," Jacob replied.

"How are you feeling?" Carlisle questioned.

"I'm fine," Y/N replied, laying back down on her back beside Jacob.

"I can go if you want," Jacob offered.

"No, it's too cold in this place," She huffed, lifting the blankets up higher over her body as her teeth chattered slightly.

"Here," Jacob smiled, reaching out and pulling her closer to his side.

He wrapped his arm around her and she leaned her head back against his shoulder as his hand settled on her arm, "Better?" He questioned, she nodded and closed her eyes. Carlisle smiled softly to himself, quietly exiting the room and closing the door.

"I know you're not here for me, but I still appreciate it," Y/N said softly.

"You're probably one of the best living people in this house right now. Us humans need to stick together," Jacob said.

"Still not human," Y/N mumbled tiredly.

"Whatever you say," Jacob replied, rubbing his hand over her arm gently.

...

Carlisle opened the door to Y/N's bedroom and paused when he realized that the bed was empty. Jacob had stayed with her for a few hours before returning to the living room to be with Renesmee. She had been asleep when he last checked on her and the empty bed made him nervous.

"Y/N," Carlisle called.

"In here," Y/N replied softly.

He stepped over to the bathroom and pushed the door open, finding her sitting on the floor in front of the toilet with her back leaned against the wall. Y/N was incredibly pale with dark bags under her eyes, exhausted and weak as she looked up at him.

"Are you alright?" He questioned.

"I can't stop throwing up," Y/N mumbled.

"How long have you been in here?" Carlisle asked.

"An hour," She replied.

"Why didn't you call for me? I could've given you something to help with the nausea," He said gently.

"Feels like someone shoved a hot branding iron down my throat," She muttered.

"I could get you some water or tea to help," Carlisle offered.

"Just want to sleep," Y/N stated.

"Can you stand?" He questioned, looking down at her.

"No, everything hurts," She grumbled.

Carlisle nodded, kneeling down and sliding his arm underneath her body before lifting her up into his arms. Y/N let out a soft whimper, grimacing in pain and gripping onto him as he picked her up.

Carlisle turned around and set her down on the countertop. He prepared her toothbrush before passing it to her, wetting a cloth under some warm water as she brushed her teeth.

Y/N leaned over and spit into the sink, Carlisle took the toothbrush from her hand and offered her the cloth. Y/N wiped the cloth over her skin, arms falling limply in her lap as she breathed heavily, utterly exhausted from the simple act of wiping her face.

"Are you alright?" Carlisle asked.

"No, I'm not and I wish you'd stop asking me that," She snapped.

Carlisle didn't reply, giving her a moment to rest as he put everything away. He stepped back over to her when her breathing rate had returned to normal.

"Ready?" He asked, she nodded.

Carlisle lifted her into his arms carefully before he carried her into her room and placed her down on her bed. Y/N grimaced as she laid back, closing her eyes as she took a few shaky breaths.

"How bad is the pain?" Carlisle questioned.

"Terrible," She stated, growing irritated with his questions as she struggled to get comfortable.

"I'll get you something for the pain and the nausea," Carlisle said, standing up from the edge of the bed.

"Or you could just snap my neck now and put me out of my misery," Y/N offered.

"That's not an option and you know that," Carlisle replied gently.

"What quality of life do I have, Carlisle? My teeth are falling out, my body aches like I have broken glass flowing through my veins and I can't do simple tasks without feeling completely exhausted. I am miserable and it isn't going to get any better," She stated.

"There are still things we can try, Y/N. You were doing incredibly well a few days ago, we don't have to jump to extremes just yet. Pain medications, sedatives and anti-nausea drugs can drastically improve your comfort level," Carlisle said.

Y/N scoffed, "I don't want to spend the rest of my life in a narcotic haze as my body shuts down," She snapped.

"Dosages can be adjusted. It doesn't have to be that way," Carlisle assured.

"You've done as much as you can for me. It's time to give up," Y/N stated.

"That's not what you really want," He said.

"How would you know what I want? You haven't cared enough to know me for an incredibly long time, Carlisle," She said.

"You're right... I haven't been there for you in the way that you wanted, but I'm here now and I want to help you," Carlisle pressed.

"You can't help me," Y/N stated firmly, "But you can let me go," She continued.

"We can talk about our options tomorrow. You should try and get some rest," Carlisle advised.

Y/N shook her head, looking away as Carlisle made his way out of her bedroom and closed the door.

Edward stood in the hallway, "She wants to die?" He questioned.

"She does," Carlisle replied.

"We can't let that happen," Edward stated.

"I'm going to try and convince her to pursue alternative treatment options, but she doesn't seem optimistic," Carlisle said.

"I'll talk to her," Edward said, Carlisle shook his head.

"Bella could be waking up any moment now, she's going to need you. I can deal with Y/N for the time being," Carlisle assured.

"When Bella wakes up, Y/N is going to need someone with her at all times. The bloodlust could overwhelm Bella and Y/N wouldn't stand a chance," Edward said.

"We'll cross that bridge when we come to it," Carlisle replied.

"Agreed," Edward nodded.

[burningcheese-merchant]

"You and I... We are meant to be together." okay everyone pack it up. go home. it doesn't get worse than this. I fear all other ancient x beast is #cancelled forever because how the utter fuck do you compete with that. My god. Dark Cacao would die on the spot, his old fucking heart would give out processing a sentence that romantic. Golden Cheese would choke and die from the physical manifestation of her own pride and ego before she could ever utter a sentence that open and honest. Hollyberry is choosing to laugh it all off and pray she can drink away and not think about it. White Lily would fall into another witch pot of bubbling goo before confronting said feelings. Only Pure Motherfucking Vanilla is that clincally batshit and unburdened to spout his feelings 1000% unfiltered to a guy who just killed his friends and got his rocks off psychologically torturing him.

Mystic Flour being utterly repulsed by such naïve, meaningless sentimentality, still clinging to the remains of the apathy she so cherishes and champions even as it slips through her fingers like flour through a sieve; hating herself to her very core because somewhere within it, she KNOWS her heart beats and aches for that ridiculous man, but she would end her own suffering before she allowed the truth to poke its head out from the shadows of her subconscious for even a single second

Burning Spice knowing how he feels for Golden Cheese, reveling in it, LIVING for the way his heart thunders in his chest and his breath hitches at the mere thought of his little bird. Never being afraid to tell her so, to pour out the contents of his dark heart without any filter (and Witches know he needs one at times...), either through his mouth or through the blade of his axe. But... still knowing that it isn't quite enough. Not for her. Because there's still something missing from his confessions. That soft, sugary sweetness that took away enough of the edge to his overwhelming spice that even he himself noticed it. That raw honesty - a different kind than he's used to, not quite what he employs. The kind that well and truly leaves him vulnerable and open to judgment; things he hates himself for fearing, even if it's only in relation to her and no one else. The kind he simply cannot have, that he cannot carry out. He tells Golden Cheese how he feels for her the way he WANTS to, not the way he NEEDS to. For that, he must change. And damn it, he can't handle any more change. It'll kill him, and he doesn't want to die anymore. Not while she's there to make his life fun again

Eternal Sugar sighing, rolling her eyes before letting them flutter shut again, because she knows this song and dance. She once helped countless others perform it; such was her lot as Happiness. And she chooses to ignore it, tuck herself back into bed and retreat into the world of dreams once more. Letting laziness govern her actions, like always. Running away from everything again - including her feelings for Hollyberry, and the fears and doubts that shroud them. Choosing to do nothing with the fact that Hollyberry is a runner and a quitter just like her, instead of taking initiative with her life and emotions for the first time in ages and telling Hollyberry point-blank that they could run away from the world together if she truly wanted

Silent Salt secretly lamenting his condition more than ever before, for now more than ever can he truly say that it is a hindrance, a curse, a stain on the tapestry of his life. Because no matter how well he's trained himself to express his thoughts and feelings through his actions, he knows that there are times where words really DO speak louder - and he can't speak them at all. He can never look White Lily in the eye and open his mouth and allow his praise and adoration to leap freely from his tongue. She will never feel the warmth of his tone as his words embraced her. She will never shiver and swoon at the joy and passion that dripped from every single letter - and there would've been many, there would've been more than could ever have been recorded, for he would've sung his feelings from every rooftop on earth until his lungs gave out. But he can't. He never will. Does he try to pretend it's better this way? Does he try and fail to cope with his lovesickness like his comrades do with theirs? Or does he accept the bitter reality for what it is, no ifs, ands, or buts, only hiding the gloom and doom he knows is written all over his face behind his helm just so he doesn't have to see it for himself?

And, above all of these things, bundling up the other 4 Beasts' feelings and tucking them away... Above all else, they are angry. They are angry at Shadow Milk. Because he achieved what none of them could. He got everything he wanted. His Ancient admitted his love for him, with all of the raw sincerity one could possibly afford another. The other Beasts would do ANYTHING to hear their Ancients speak to them in such a way. To acknowledge and embrace their connection, to confess to loving and longing for them; for their countenance, for their voice, for their touch, for their very souls. Shadow Milk got to reunite with his other half - who chose him willingly, wholeheartedly.

And Shadow Milk chose to throw it all away in the end. Let it all go to waste.

If any of them ever see him again, they're going to let him know EXACTLY how they feel about it all. Maybe it can count as practice towards crafting a proper heartfelt confession.