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illyrianbitch · 9 months ago

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When the Heart is Still Longing

Pairing: Reader x Azriel

Summary: Azriel thought you were the one. Now, he can’t move on.

Warnings: heavy angst yall thats literally all it is

Word Count: 2.9k

✹ ✶ 𖧷 ✶✹

He still smells you.

It’s all over his room; on his sheets, in his bathroom, on his clothes— even his daggers smell like you. They smell like cool breezes and your hand around his waist, the sound of your laughter and the wind underneath his wings. They smell of your tea, the one you always brew for his return, serve to him in a warm cup with soft eyes and a tender smile. They smell like you. Amber. Earth. Flower. Home.

It’s not over. Azriel refuses to let it be. Not when his clothes still smell like you.

You’re coming back. He waits for you at night, listening for your footsteps— because it's not over. He refuses to let it be. He doesn’t want to admit it, can’t bring himself to fully stomach the thought. He tries to think of a life for himself, a future without you. But no image comes to mind. He can’t fathom the idea– a life without you isn’t his. There is no living without you. Azriel only exists.

So he thinks of you, still. He thinks of your fingertips dancing on his skin and the way it sets his insides ablaze. He thinks of the burning need to feel your lips against his, to feel your skin against him. He thinks of your breathing, of your bare back against his chest, the warmth of your bodies, the way you’d shiver under his touch.

He thinks of you. And he’s not ready to give up. Not ready to let you go. It's still summertime. Nyx is still 2. And you haven’t left him.

There's a soft knock at the door. Azriel stills. A moment of silence. He hopes they go away.

“Azriel?”

It’s Feyre they’ve sent this time. Her voice is soft, controlled, the same voice she uses to soothe Nyx when he's fussy or Rhysand when he’s beyond reason.

“We’re going to visit Y/n,” She says, “Would you like to come?”

No, he thinks. Because it’s Tuesday. You always come over on Tuesdays. He doesn’t need to go to you.

So Azriel closes his eyes. He sits in the embrace of denial for a bit longer. It is warm and comfortable and he’s not quite ready to leave.

Because It’s not over.

Azriel refuses to let it be.

✹ ✶ 𖧷 ✶✹

It used to be that there was only one emotion Azriel knew like the back of his hand.

It ate at him like a beast starved for centuries, sat heavy on his stomach, blinded him in his rage.

He wasn’t born angry, no, he was born in the afternoon. The air was brisk and the sun was setting by the time his mother held him. He cried for minutes, cried until he smelt her, until he opened his eyes.

The anger he held wasn’t always his.

He’d picked up pieces as he grew up, borrowed the parts of his mother she tried to shield him from, absorbed the fights of the families nearby. He collected it all like a pastime, like stones he’d hold in his pocket, save for a collection to admire later. Except every stone burned with the scorn of who he had stolen it from. And Azriel quickly learned what that molten really was.

And then he was fed it, introduced to its existence by the two males who towered over him, who listened to his crying as if it were a lullaby to their ears.

And when he grew up, Azriel’s anger began to define him— defined him for centuries.

Until he met you.

And suddenly being angry didn’t seem to have a point. His anger no longer fed him, it no longer kept him warm.

You were all the things he had dreamed of, the picture of a life he’d seen in that basement. You were the days he once had to convince himself were coming. You were kind; a sunlight he’d never experienced, a sort of life that even his shadows began to crave.

And you loved him back.

So Azriel began to know a different emotion like the back of his hand.

This one was warm and gentle. It relaxed his muscles and made his heart sing. His shadows danced to the music it’d make and his wings would twitch in tune. And somehow it always managed to repeat one thing: Y/n, Y/n, Y/n.

For the years that you’d loved him, Azriel began to understand why poetry existed, began to understand what it meant. Poetry was the way he loved you. Poetry was all of the things he never thought he could be.

But now you’re gone. You don’t love him anymore.

And Azriel is angry again.

He's angry all the time. It radiates off him in waves, burns even his shadows as they try to reach him.

He doesn't recognize the emotion anymore, doesn’t know how to mold it like he once did. He’s forgotten his talent, forgotten the craft. He no longer knows how to morph it into a warming fire, no longer knows how to sharpen it like a knife.

Instead, it suffocates him, makes him claw at his skin like it is something he could shed.

He is angry at himself all of the time, every waking hour that he exists. Angry that he had let his duties get in the way, that he had forsaken you in a way he could never return from.

At times, his anger burns white-hot, fueled by a sense of injustice and a longing for things to have turned out differently. He curses fate for pulling you away, for tearing apart the bond you had built together— a bond that he was sure would be granted. It never was.

It's his fault. He knows this, deep down to his core. It is carved into his bones, written across his ribs. He is guilty. And his guilt— his guilt wears his anger like second skin, too.

He doesn’t want to admit that he is angry at you, too. Angry that you turned your back on him, angry that you’d pushed him away. He was far from you because of the distance that you’d chosen.

He knows he can’t blame you. He knows the anger isn't justified, not truly.

But there is so much of it now. There is anger where life is supposed to be.

And Azriel doesn’t quite know what to do with it, not when he can’t share it with you.

✹ ✶ 𖧷 ✶✹

This one is longer than his others.

His hand had begun to cramp while he was writing it. The handwriting is mainly scribbles, ink that bleeds through the page. There are small circles where his tears fell. He didn’t have enough time to grab another paper— he had begun to run out of his supply. He wrote you too many letters now, too many that he ended up throwing away.

He shoves the paper with an extended hand. The hand is trembling, a habit that started the minute he watched you walk out the door. His hands are as restless as he is. Almost every part of his body, really. He bounces his knee while he sits, his wings twitch when he breathes. There is not a moment of peace.

“Az,” Feyre says. Her eyes are sad and tired. Nyx has been having troubles recently. Feyre wants another child but they haven’t had any luck. Rhysand has been busy with court affairs. He fears he is just as weak of a leader as his father. Azriel hears it all. His shadows tell him everything— they hope that one day some news will get him out of bed. It doesn’t work. He never cares enough. “You can’t keep doing this.”

Feyre means what she says, Azriel doesn’t need his shadows to confirm this. But she takes the paper anyways, holds it in her hand like it might break if she’s not too careful.

“Please,” Azriel says, “Just tell her. Tell her that I’m sorry.”

Feyre stares at him, examines his face with her motherly gaze. She wonders if she should hug him, bring him into a warm embrace that he’s been devoid of for months. Or maybe, she should push him to do what he needs to do the most— go to you. Get his closure. Speak his peace. The paper in her hands aren’t his words. It will mean nothing to you. She's not sure it truly means anything to Azriel, either.

“You need to go to her.”

Azriel swallows. He looks down at his feet where his shadows sit, unmoving and on edge. For a second, he swears he sees a motion of nodding, a sense of agreement that they share. Go see her, they seem to whisper, go see her and tell her your truth.

He ignores them. He’s been doing a lot of that recently. He doesn’t seem to recognize how it's almost poetic, the way that he seems to repeat his mistakes. But his shadows aren’t you. Azriel did not create you— his mind could never have fathomed something so beautiful. Azriel’s shadows, however, those were all him. So they won’t leave him like you did— at least not yet. They belong to him in a way you never did.

“I can’t,” Azriel confesses, “You know that I can’t.”

Feyre does.

“Will you ever be able to?”

I hope, Azriel wants to reply, but he doesn’t. He prays to The Mother that he will never have to go see you because you will come home to him. He prays that the letters he writes to you are enough, that his words will somehow reach you, that you may still be in tune with the language that his heart speaks. It only speaks one language after all, and that language is your name.

The Mother isn’t cruel enough for that, Azriel tells himself. Surely, she will fix this all. He just needs to convince her, needs to find a way to right his wrongs, be a better male. Then you will come back to him, he says to himself, you will come back because he will be worth it. Until then, however, Azriel will apologize. He will apologize and ask to start over. And he will do it through Feyre, the only one who is willing to take his letters to you.

“Just tell her that I’m sorry.”

And he leaves back to his room.

That night, Azriel can’t sleep.

Before you, he was used to sleepless nights.

He’d toss and turn, stare at the ceiling and picture a life where he was better. His shadows would call and sing, attempt to lure sleep into their grasp, attempt to feed it to Azriel like his mother used to feed him soup. It never worked. Sleep feared him as much as his enemies did.

But then you came.

You’d run your hands through his hair, relieve years worth of tension from your touch alone. He’d fall asleep to the sound of your heartbeat, fall asleep to the idea that he was no longer sleeping alone. Sleep no longer feared him when you were around. It loved you both, really.

You’re not warming his bed anymore. And he’s selfish for wishing that you were.

He found a new way to call sleep back to him. It is apprehensive since you’ve left. But Azriel has a certain medication that Madja created. He uses it often— can never sleep without it. Rhysand frowns when he buys it, asks him if he really needs it. Azriel always says nothing and goes to his room.

But the magic isn’t enough, not tonight.

And he finds himself doing what he tells himself he shouldn’t.

He calls for you, begs you to join him. He closes his eyes, stills his breath. Waits for you. And like clockwork, you’re there.

You crawl in next to him. Pull him to your chest. He lays on you, but it doesn’t feel right. You’re not as warm as he remembers. Your breaths aren’t syncing like they once did. You aren’t telling him about your day.

He begs you to let it be like it once was. For tonight. He feels your touch in his hair, fingers threading through it, massaging his scalp.

“You have to let me go, Az.”

Your voice is tender, a low whisper that alerts the hairs on his neck.

“I can’t,” he responds.

“You have to,” you say, “This isn’t healthy.”

Az shakes his head. He can’t. Not now, not ever. He squeezes his eyes shut, hoping that somehow the harder he presses, the slower time will go. He wishes for a way to take this moment and freeze it forever, find a way to become trapped in this memory and never have to leave.

“Just for tonight.” He asks– no, pleads. His voice is raspy, brought from the bottom of his throat. He doesn’t say much these days. “Please.”

“It’s up to you my love,” you say, “You know it is.”

He nods against you. He knows he shouldn’t do this. That he should live without you, learn how to sleep without you, without your hands in his hair, without your breathing syncing with his. But he can’t. He needs another night.

When he wakes up, you’re gone. The bed is cold. There is no sign of you, no lingering scent. His heart aches and burrows into itself. He will call for you again tonight, he knows it.

Just one more night, he thinks. I just need one more night.

✹ ✶ 𖧷 ✶✹

The spaces that once held your laughter are now haunted by echoes of silence.

He doesn’t know how, but the lack of sound haunts him, laughs at him.

Azriel feels his heart ache, feels it burrow into itself. There is a hole where his heart is supposed to be, he's sure of it. Empty, open, and bleeding. He feels it like an open wound, searing him from the inside out. But the only remedy he knows is you.

And so he thinks of you, of your smile, of the sound of your laugh. He thinks of the last time he wrapped a strand of your hair around his finger, and the way that you’d kiss his hand while he did. Laying in his bed, his shadows circle him, nudge him, paw at him like a dog to an owner— they want to help. They wish to help. But the only way they can is by escaping and getting you. Except that they can’t. Not anymore.

He finds belongings of yours in his closet when he digs deep enough, clothing that had fallen to the floor, blended into the shadows. He wonders if they hid it from him, hid it to protect him. He finds them anyway. You were always messy about how you’d undress, throwing your garments wherever they could land. You’d laugh and say you’d pick it up later.

You never did.

And Azriel never minded.

Azriel sits and holds your shirt to his face, taking a deep inhale. And there it is, your scent, your presence, you. He holds it tight to his chest, gripping it like he fears it’ll be taken away— like you will materialize out of thin air to come and take the last remainders he has of you. So he holds it, guards it, protects it with his life.

He doesn’t realize he's crying until he senses the wetness in the cloth.

Stupid, stupid boy, he tells himself.

You never should have fallen in love.

✹ ✶ 𖧷 ✶✹

It’s been months now.

Azriels soul is still heavy and he still believes there is a hole where his heart is supposed to be. It is shaped like you and no one can fit it.

But he can stomach it now— when Feyre talks about you. He can listen as she plans to see you. Feyre is pregnant now. She is full of life and laughs like it, too. Rhysand is overjoyed, but he is hesitant to show it around Azriel. But Azriel is better now, it seems, and so Rhys lets himself bathe in his joy more often than he used to.

Azriel is happy for them, truly, he’s at a point where he allows himself to be. He sits at family dinners, he flies at night, again.

Yet, the feeling in his chest is still the same. Azriel longs for you. He yearns to see you. To be near you. Sometimes he finds himself wondering where you are now, if you can still look at the moon the same time he does. He wonders if you can still hear his heartbeat, wonders if your favorite color is still blue.

One day, he tells himself, he will bring you flowers. He will apologize and update you on his life. He will tell you that he saw a rainbow the other day that glowed like you, that a child on the street told him his wings were cool.

But not today.

Because today he just can’t bring himself to visit your grave.

✹ ✶ 𖧷 ✶✹

this has been sittin in my drafts for a bit hehe

gotta love the 5 stages of grief (if u didn’t realize that’s what this was)

anyways time to go write some smut!!! mwuah!!

permanent tag list 🫶🏻: @rhysandorian @itsswritten @milswrites @lilah-asteria

azriel tag list 🫶🏻: @thisiskaylin

#azriel #azriel x reader #azriel x you #azriel x y/n #azriel x reader angst #azriel angst #azriel shadowsinger #azriel spymaster #azriel fanfiction #azriel fanfic #azriel acotar #acotar #acotar fanfic #a court of thorns and roses #acotar fanfiction #acotar angst

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misstycloud · 8 months ago

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Platonic. yandere fae father

Part 2

—————-

Fae. Father! Who is a free-spirited forest fae; he obeys no one and has no ties to the mundane world. He does whatever he wants and spends everyday lazily sleeping in the luscious meadows or going for a swim in the crystal-blue lake that is well hidden from mortals. He is old by human standards, but quite young when comparing to how long a fae generally lives. It is noticeable in the way he acts.

Fae. Father! Who has no perception of time and has spent decades having the same routine over and over again. After so long, one is fated to become bored of it all. So what does he do? He decides to spend one summer engaged in a passionate love affair with a human! They were always fun to mess with. Not to mention kind of weird-looking too, they held no torch to his immortal and otherworldly beauty. After the summer is done and the leaves are turning yellow, he dumps the human like trash. He even goes as far as making fun of her for believing he actually loved her and banishing her from his part of the forest.

Fae. Father! Who’s one day traveling to another portion of the woodland in search for a certain water flower that he wishes to plant in his own little lake. Then, he hears a strange sound. It was a type of wailing mixied with gurgling- a horrible sound, really. Needing to find the source of the disturbing noise, the fae is led to the outskirts of his territory. There he sees a small bundle of cloth squirming on the ground. Poking at it cautiously, he uncovers the blankets and sees what was inside.

It appeared to be a human baby. But what on earth was it doing here? The fae was greatly confused. Had some human dared abandoning their offspring right outside his home? The audacity! He didn’t want any mortals anywhere near his home without his permission. After thinking for a minute, the fae come to the conclusion that he should simply eat the child or perhaps throw it to the wolves. He prepared to pick it up and get it done with when he noticed something off with the baby. It was strangely familiar somehow, and the aura it gave off wasn’t entirely like humans either. Carefully pulling the cloth further back from the baby’s face, it revealed the reason as to why it seemed so familiar; its ears were mostly round- human ears- except the tips were slightly pointed, just like his were.

Fae. Father! Who has the shocking realisation that the baby was his own child. It all dawned upon him. Putting the clues and timing together it was obviously the woman he’d spent the last summer with who was the mother. He didn’t know that humans and fae could procreate and therefore didn’t think this would happen.

Fae. Father! Who didn’t know what to do or how to feel in the beginning. Since the baby was his, he thought he couldn’t just leave it alone. So he brought it with him to his home. Normally, he’d be a bit repulsed by the baby considering children were known to be messy, disruptive and loud. However, he found that the babe stopped crying the moment he took it in his arms as he was brining it back with him, and it had been quiet since then. For some reason, it warmed his heart. It had this unusual, soft feeling. He tried shaking it off as being to overwhelmed but as time went on, the feeling only grew.

Fae. Father! Who completely fell in love with you not long after finding you. You were very cute compared to other newborns- most likely a result of your fae DNA. Besides, you didn’t cry as much and showed great kindness early in life. The fae, after a couple weeks of just keeping you in his home, decided to fully accept you into his life. He couldn’t help it, you were just too cute!

Fae. Father! Who had to get his act together. He could no longer be adventurous like he’d been his entire life, he was a father now and it meant he had to be responsible. He couldn’t bare it of something happened to you because of his recklessness.

Fae. Father! Who spent every waking moment with you, either swimming in the lake as he’d done so many times before, playing in the forest or befriending the animals. But his absolute favourite activity was whenever you’d braid each others hair. Yours looked so lovely with all the summer’s flowers imbedded in it. He wasn’t going to lie, he also rather enjoyed the praise and compliments he got from you regarding his own hair. You weren’t very skilled in the art of braiding yet, and it was messy compared to his work, but he couldn’t love it more. It was something you had done for him; that you spent time and effort doing.

Fae. Father! Who had actually been feeling a little lonely. Perhaps that was the real reason to why he sought closeness with a human. He knew, however, that is couldn’t last. A human and a fae? They were just too different. She would pass on too quickly, and he’d be left alone again. That would make him have to repeat the process over and over, which was something he wasn’t interested in.

But you were half fae. There was of course the issue of how long you’d live. While you were half immortal, your other half wasn’t. Logically, you wouldn’t live as long as a regular fae. It worried Fae Father greatly. You couldn’t die. What would he do without you? He tried not to dwell on it too much- you were still young and full of life. He had time to figure out how to keep you alive forever.

So just play and be happy with him.

—-

#oc #platonic yandere #yandere oc #misstycloud oc #platonic yandere x reader #platonic yandere male x reader #platonic yandere father #platonic yandere fae father #platonic yandere fae father x reader #platonic fae x reader #Yandere father x reader #possesive #half fae reader #daughter reader #child reader #Yandere father x daughter reader #fae

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blegh-110 · 8 months ago

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ii. "you told me i was pretty when i looked like a mess" | Sam Monroe

Pairing: older brother's best friend!Sam Monroe x fem!reader

Summary: Best friend’s older brother!Sam Monroe who you could always count on when you were 13 and he was 15.

Warnings: None

Word count: 976

Next Part

Your hands shook as you applied some tinted lip balm, the tube almost slipping out of your hand because of the sweat forming.

It was the night of the school’s winter dance, and you were asked to go with a boy who was in your Spanish class. He sat in front of you and always asked to copy your homework, and you’d oblige because every single time he’d say “you’re amazing” and “what what I do without you?” And the occasional tease, “these better be right, or i'm gonna have to ask someone else.”

It felt too good to be true when he asked you to go with him to the dance, but he was just so nice to you when you saw him. In the end, it was too good to be true when you overheard his friends ask him why he chose you and not the girl he actually liked.

“She’s been letting me copy her homework, I thought this could be like a ‘thank you’.”

“But it’s fucking awkward, none of us know her, our dates don’t either, and she’s not really talking. She's just there.”

You did feel out of place the entire time. Apparently the girl he liked was friends with the other guys dates, they all ran in the same circle and you were the odd one out. While they had their inside jokes and well established friendships, you barely knew your own date. And he didn’t really bother to include you. So you did end up just sitting and listening and wishing you could partake.

The second you found out his true reasoning to ask you out, the tears came and you wanted to go home. But how? Your date’s mother was the one to drop everyone off. Your brother was out with his girlfriend, and you knew he’d be pissed if he had to leave and pick up his crying, little sister. And the last thing you wanted was to get bombarded with questions from your parents if you did go home so early.

You called the only person you could think of. You weren’t sure what the plan was, but you just didn’t want to be alone.

And just seeing him, someone who you feel safe in the presence of, you run into his arms and let the tears flow. It was hard to make out from your watery explanation, but he understood what happened and held you just a little tighter. Despite his anger, there was nothing he could do. They were still in middle school and Sam was a sophmore in high school, he’d look like the loser if he went inside and beat up a kid two years younger than him.

“Oh, god.” You said as you wiped away your tears only to see the blackness from your mascara. You could only wonder how pathetic you look. This was supposed to be a special night, and it had barely begun before it turned into the worst night of your life so far.

“Stop that, you still look pretty.” He wipes your cheeks with his long sleeve, trying to wipe away your mascara but really just dragging it around.

“Thanks.” You whisper, not really believing it.

“No, I’m serious. You got that kind of Courtney Love-Hole look, y’look cool.” He leaned back to get a better look at you and smiled. You loved when he smiled, when he was happy and sweet, especially towards you. And in the moonlight, he was even more handsome.

With it being winter and cold outside, Sam gave you his jacket and slung his arm around you as he began to walk you home. You thought you could die at that very moment and be the happiest girl in the world.

“So what should I do to whats-his-stupid-fucking-face?” He knew wasn’t going to do anything to the kid, but he wanted to lift your mood. You smiled and shook your head. Honestly, you wanted nothing to do with him but you played along.

“Just punch him real hard in the face, I want it to be swollen and ugly.”

“Yeah, yeah that’s good. And let’s take his money, I’ll- no listen to me,” he interrupted himself at your snort and continued, “I’ll kick the back of his knees, hold him down, then you take the five dollars out of his pocket, got it?”

You giggled as you imagined it, kicking the back of his knees. You saw him do it to your brother after he slapped the sunburn on your shoulder and that was the most you had ever laughed. You’ll never forget your brother’s shock and pointed finger to the smaller slap mark on his back, “she did it to me first, look!”

“Nah, she wouldn’t do that.”

“And we’ll get hot chocolate with the money.” And he pointed to your favorite cafe and walked towards it.

“Sam, wait, I don’t have any money on me right now.”

“That’s okay, it’s on me. Something good has to come out of tonight.” He dragged you to the building, and in there he bought you a hot chocolate with extra milk. Which was something you appreciated because you burned your tongue really bad drinking your hot chocolate a few weeks ago and he saw.

What followed was some talking about movies, music, and embarrassing stories(your favorite one being that he fell off his chair in class because he was leaning backwards). Then a trip to the park where you two spun on the merry-go-round until you couldn’t see straight or stop laughing.

And when he finally took you home, he gave you a short peck to your head and wished you a good night. It was that moment you believed he liked you as well, and you dreamed of what it would be like to be boyfriend/girlfriend with him.

banner by @dollywons

#hayden christensen fluff #hayden christensen x reader #hayden christensen imagine #hayden christensen fanfiction #hayden christensen #hayden christensen x you #hayden christensen x fem reader #sam monroe #sam monroe x you #sam monroe x reader #sam monroe imagine #sam monroe x y/n #hayden christensen x y/n #sam monroe fanfiction #life as a house

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penkura · 5 months ago

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Can I request a Sanji x Female Reader where the reader is Luffy's older sister? She's younger than Ace and Sabo, but was always the mother-hen of the group. Always taking care of others before herself even if it causes her pain in the process. Her brothers are extremely overprotective of her as she is of them. She may be smaller in size and the sweetest thing, but she is not weak by any means and can hold her own. How would Sanji treat her knowing her self sacrificing nature? And how would the brothers react to her being in her first relationship?

Omg I love this idea! I love writing the Reader being Luffy's sister, it's so much fun. And thinking about how Sabo and Ace would react, omg, I had fun with this one! :) I hope you enjoy it!

You and Sanji met through Robin, who believed the two of you would be perfect together. She’d told you everything about him and it endeared you to this stranger that worked at the bakery you loved going to, while Sanji was constantly hearing about you from Luffy, though he doesn’t know the two of you are related for a while. You weren’t keeping it a secret for any real reason, just taking things slow with Sanji because it’s your first relationship, you don’t want to rush into things and he’s okay with that too.

Once Sanji realizes how much you sacrifice for others, especially your family, he starts to take over doing somethings for you. If you make dinner for the two of you he does all the dishes, even does that when he’s the one who made dinner. He won’t let you be a ‘yes’ man when people ask for help, if you’re not able to he takes over or just pulls you away so you don’t get in over your head. Sanji becomes protective of you very quickly, trying to keep you safe and from being taken advantage of by others.

It makes him think too much of his mother, and he’s very open with you about his own family and what he went through as he grew up, explaining how his mom gave up so much for him and how his brothers treated him. He felt bad when it made you cry, Sanji tried to console you and you just said how you didn’t understand how siblings could be so mean, yours weren’t anything like that.

Sanji is surprised when you tell him you actually have three brothers, that one of them is Luffy, he never expected it despite him having three himself, he’s glad to hear yours were much nicer than his were. When you laugh and tell him they’re the greatest brothers you could’ve asked for, he feels relieved (and thinks about how he’d like to hear you laugh every day). Sanji doesn’t want to pry too much, so he waits until your next date to ask about your family.

“Well, Luffy is my biological brother, Ace and Sabo were adopted. They’re both a year older than me.”

“So you’re basically the middle child then.”

“Hmm…I guess so!”

Like how Sanji keeps your relationship from his family for now, you’ve kept it from Ace and Sabo just in case they become too overprotective of you. The two scared off most boys that liked you in high school, to the point it frustrated you so much you cried about it to Garp who nearly beat the two over the head for making you upset, even threatened them with military school if they did it again. Ace and Sabo just wanted you to be safe, they knew how sixteen year old boys were, none of them were good enough for you. Even in college they were watchful of any guy you went on a date with, they stalked social media accounts and asked the friends of the guy, but when you’d come back home with a frown saying it wasn’t going to work out, the two would breathe sighs of relief. Honestly, they were just worried for you. You’ve always put others first and willingly given up so much for those around you, you wrangled the three boys like you were their mom half the time, considering your parents weren’t around it made sense. Ace and Sabo didn’t think they could bare the thought of you coming home in tears with a broken heart, they’d want to go kill whoever did it and then come back to comfort you.

Nothing ever stuck as a real relationship, not until you finally met Sanji and started to think this could be the real deal. Its about six months into it when he tells you that he has thoughts about getting married and having children one day, asking for your thoughts on the matters before you talk through it, coming to agreements and it makes you realize that you’re in love with Sanji, and he knew already that he felt the same.

You still wait several months after that before you bring him over to meet them, Luffy already knows and hangs around you both, you’re surprised but grateful he hadn’t told Ace or Sabo about it. You would’ve kept it secret longer, just to be safe, but once Sanji proposes and you accept, you know you’ve got to tell them about it. It makes you nervous just because they’re your brothers, you’ve kept your relationship a secret and now you’re engaged, but Sanji is nervous because he's not sure how Ace and Sabo will react. Even with Luffy saying they’ll be happy for the two of you, he’s expecting two big guys that are ready to pick him up and throw him out like a stray cat.

But he doesn’t expect them to be so excited to see you and trapping you in a hug which Luffy joins. It’s like you haven’t been home in months, but he knows that’s not true. You’re over there every Friday night to catch up with them. Even when you push the two off you, there’s a smile on your face.

“All right, enough, you’re gonna smother me at this rate.”

“Hey, we only see you once a week, it’s not enough time!”

Ace nods in agreement with Sabo, about to pull you into another big hug before the two look at Sanji and their smiles pretty much disappear. They’ve met him before, since he’s friends with Luffy, but now that they know you and Sanji are dating, it makes everything different. You roll your eyes though, going back to Sanji’s side and taking his hand.

“Ace, Sabo, this is—”

“We know.”

“We’ve met him.”

It gets quiet, you aren’t entirely sure what to say and neither is Sanji. Ace and Sabo almost give him a stare down, like they just know already how serious the two of you are, to the point you sigh.

“Yeah, so, Sanji and I are dating. It’s been about a year now.”

“Yeah uh,” Sabo scratches the back of his head, looking away when you raise an eyebrow, “We…we knew that too…”

“…you’ve been stalking my socials haven’t you?”

“Ace did it.”

“What?! Dude, you did too!”

While you start to reprimand Ace and Sabo, Luffy joining in that it was no fun to tell people things when they already knew, Sanji just watches and he’s not sure why, but he can’t help feeling happy and smiling as he watches the four of you.

It's so different from his own family, even though he hasn’t spoken to the majority of them in years. You and your brothers actually seem happy when you talk, your smile tells him you’re not worried about anything, the nerves you’d told him you had about introducing everyone were gone. Sanji is very quick with an offer to make dinner for everyone when you try to start it yourself, making you ask if he’s sure before he gives you a smile.

“You should hang out with your brothers, I can handle it!”

You return the smile before kissing his cheek and going back to the living room, sitting by Luffy as Sabo looks back to you.

“You really like him?”

“Mm-hm, a lot.”

“Does he make you do stuff for him?” Ace calls over the game he and Luffy are playing, not looking away from the TV.

“No, he actually barely lets me do anything at all. Like, I’ll do laundry and he’ll offer to fold it, then still make us dinner…he does way too much for me.”

“Nah, that’s a good thing, sounds like he’s a good guy.”

“Means he’s not taking advantage of you,” Sabo smiles while he nods, “That’s all we were worried about.”

You confirming that Sanji is treating you right, like a princess, lets Sabo and Ace feel like this is good, you’re happy and not acting like there’s something wrong that you’re hiding. You don’t plan to tell then the two of you are actually engaged tonight, but next week instead, only because it’s still the first real meeting between your brothers and Sanji.

You’re really glad it all worked out well, especially when they try his cooking, Ace and Sabo acting like they’ve died and gone to heaven. They quickly demand Sanji has to cone over every Friday night with you and make dinner, something he’s glad to agree to.

#one piece x reader #reader insert #fem!reader #sanji x reader #black leg sanji x reader #request

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queenimmadolla · 2 years ago

Note

Eddie Munson. Love. Established relationship

𝐞𝐬𝐭𝐚𝐛𝐥𝐢𝐬𝐡𝐞𝐝 𝐫𝐞𝐥𝐚𝐭𝐢𝐨𝐧𝐬𝐡𝐢𝐩

“I cannot believe them.” Steve huffed out, hands resting on his hips as his foot tapped against the asphalt outside of the police station.

“You already said that,” Jonathan blanched, leaning back against the hood of his car while Argyle closely examined his own hands for whatever reason.

“Well, I can’t!” He snapped again and Eddie smirked, thoroughly amused with the situation. And worried.

He was also very worried.

Half an hour ago, he’d been in the trailer, eating mac and cheese straight from the pot when the phone rang.

It was Hopper. Specifically, Chief Hopper. As in, on duty, Chief Hopper. Eddie had immediately jumped into a monologue about how he hadn’t done anything and even if he did, Hopper had no proof of it but Hopper wasn’t calling to tell Eddie he had six cop cars in route.

He was calling to tell Eddie to come pick up his girlfriend, who had gotten into a bar brawl.

He’d raced the fuck over and was surprised to see the other guys pull up as well, though he probably shouldn’t have given the fact you’d gone out with Robin, Nancy and Eden.

What the fuck kind of trouble could that roster have gotten into???

Enough to warrant being taken to the police station.

Hopper had informed him you’d all be getting warnings, leeway you all got most definitely just because he was now Jonathan’s stepdad.

“It can’t have been that bad,” Eddie rolled his eyes when Steve froze in his irritable mom-pose and slowly turned to face him.

“Can’t have been that bad—WE’RE AT THE POLICE STATION!”

“Would you rather it be a courtroom?” Eddie asked, cocking an eyebrow. He pitied Buckley for the scolding she’d no doubt get from Steve on their drive home.

“I’d rather not have to pick her up from anywhere other than her house or work!”

“Calm down, Mother Hen. It was probably nothing,”

It was definitely something.

The doors to the station opened, Nancy was the first out with Robin trailing her, you following Robin and Eden on your heels.

You all looked like you had definitely been involved in a fight, clothes rumpled and torn, hair a mess and Nancy sported a bloody lower lip. She started crying the moment she was in Jonathan’s arms, but he didn’t think it was because of her lip or even the fight, Nancy was just a very emotional drunk and her staggering was an obvious sign of intoxication.

You skipped right over to him and Eddie knew you were drunk, too.

“Hi, baby! I missed ya!” You sang as you slipped your arms around his waist to press yourself up against him for a hug, side of your face resting against his chest.

“You okay, sweetheart?” Eddie grabbed you by the shoulders, gently trying to pry you away from him so he could look you over for injuries but you refused to release your hold. The most he could do was get you to crane back a little so you could look at him.

“Neva’ betta’. Why?” You asked, cocking your head and beaming up at him.

Eddie’s face broke out into a grin.

“Because a little birdy told me you were in a scrap.”

You were about to reply before the sound of Steve and Robin arguing with each other distracted you and you turned your head to watch them.

Eddie had to physically turn it back, and he was laughing as he did.

“C’mon, buttercup, I need you to stay with me, yeah?”

He held your chin between his thumb and forefinger, dipping his head to the side to catch your stare and you went back to beaming at him, eyes crinkled.

“I’ll stay with you forever.”

Fuck, you were so cute.

“That’s not really what I meant, baby, but I had no plans on letting you go. What happened tonight?”

You scoffed, arms dropping to your sides as you took a couple of steps back and glared at nothing.

“You wouldn’t freakin’ believe it, babe! Me and my girls,” You gestured to Nancy who was being coddled by Jonathan, Robin who was now scolding Steve, and Eden who was high-fiving Argyle, “were out having fun, getting sloshed—I had so many midori sours, baby, so many and my throw up is gonna be green—when alluvasudden Carol fuckin’ Perkins and her group of raggedy bitches comes up to us.”

Eddie’s eyebrows shot up. He knew just how much you despised Carol. You two hadn’t been exactly friendly back in high school.

“And I’m like ‘oh wow, Carol, I was actually hoping to never fucking see you again.’ But she wasn’t there for me, babe. She was there ‘cause of Robin.” You leaned in to whisper the last sentence to him.

“I din’t even fuckin’ know it—but I should’ve ‘cause like the resemblance is there, isn’t it? Like they look kind of like each other, you know?”

“No, baby. I have no idea what you’re talking about.” But Eddie was thoroughly invested in the drama, shifting his position to lean up against the van.

“Oh, yeah!” You laughed, amused that you knew and he didn’t. “Carol is Vickie’s cousin.”

Eddie’s eyes widened comically, sending you into a fit of giggles.

Vickie was Robin’s ex….something. Towards the end of senior year, Vickie had broken up with her long time boyfriend. On the rebound, looking for some attention to prove she was still wanted as most do after a breakup, she’d entertained Robin’s infatuation with her.

They were always together, never affectionate in public, for obvious reasons, though Robin implied they were something. Then, it stopped. Vickie and her boyfriend got back together and she never even gave Robin proper closure, just stopped talking to her, stopped taking her phone calls and obviously avoided her.

It had been an unfortunate situation, the entire group pulled together to cheer Robin up but she got over it, met another girl, and they were an official couple. Girlfriend and girlfriend. She was away for a family thing and Robin couldn’t get the time off, which is why the girls had all gone out for a night to distract her.

“Carol is Vickie’s cousin!?” He whispered back in disbelief, hand flying over his mouth.

“Yeah!”

“So where does the fighting come in—is that blood?!” Eddie nearly had a heart attack as he noticed the red splatter on the front of your shirt. He hadn’t seen it earlier because you’d been glued to him.

You glanced down, taking the hem of your shirt in your hands to flare it out so you could see it better, “Oh, yeah! ‘S not mine, though. ‘S Carol’s. She told Robin people like her weren’t allowed in the bar, so I punched her a couple times and her friends started fighting us but we kicked their asses, baby!”

Eddie stared at you, eyes clouded with adoration and awe.

You’d been dating for a while now, and every single damn day Eddie thought he found another thing he loved about you. Every. Single. Day.

And right then, in that moment, Eddie was finally able to express what he’d been thinking, feeling for the last couple of months. It wasn’t really the things you did that he loved about you. Eddie just loved you.

He needed you to know.

“I am so in love with you,” He breathed out, hands reaching out to latch onto your waist and draw you back into him.

He was about to go on his spew about how you didn’t have to say it back and he just wanted you to know but you caught him by surprise, took the breath right out of him.

“I love you, too, Eds. Can we go home now? I’m hungry.”

Eddie blinked, knees weak.

“Baby, I don’t think you know what I’m sayi—“

“You said you love me and I love you, too. I’m drunk, baby, I can still hear you.” You sagged into him, head craned up to give him those eyes of yours.

“You love me?” He whispered, hand moving to tenderly cup the back of your head.

“Mhm.” You nodded, leaning up on your toes as Eddie met you halfway in a passionate kiss. He was about to tease your mouth open with his tongue when Hopper pushed his way out of the station.

“HEY! KNOCK IT OFF! GO HOME!”

Eddie laughed against your mouth as you pouted before he pulled away and ushered you into the van. Once you were buckled, he headed around to the driver’s side and took note of how meek Steve looked as he got into the driver’s seat of his own car. If Eddie didn’t know any better, he’d think it was Steve who got into trouble with the law, and Robin picking him up from the station.

Jonathan, Nancy, Argyle and Eden were long gone.

You were fiddling with the radio when he hopped in.

“It’s not working,” you frowned, continuing to press buttons.

“Sweetheart, the car’s not on.”

“Oh.”

Eddie loved you so much.

#vivi's baby blurbs #this was a little longer than a baby one but it was so fun to write #eddie munson x reader #boyfriend!eddie munson #eddie munson x reader fluff #eddie munson #eddie munson fluff #eddie munson x y/n #eddie munson x you #eddie munson blurbs #eddie munson fanfic

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fandom-lover2 · 27 days ago

Text

Wayward Adjacent

What if, when Sam and Dean met Adam, he wasn't the only child of John Winchester they found.

Chapter One - Who Are You

Word Count - 1163

Chapter Two - Why Are You Here

I slipped my key into the lock and twisted, and realized that the door was already unlocked.

Well fuck…

Maybe I could still recover from this. Before I had the chance to pull my key out the door, the front door swung open, and I came face to face with a pissed older brother.

“I dropped you off at school two hours ago.”

I shouldered past Adam and into the house, not bothering with my shoes. I wouldn’t be here long.

“Didn’t watch me go into the building.” I shot back, intent on ignoring him for the journey up to my room.

I stopped however when I unexpectantly found two men in our front room. One was freakishly tall, and had longish hair that ended below his ears. The other was tall, but not as tall and had clean cut hair. Both dressed like they came from a small town romance novel, boots, flannel, leather and Carhartt jackets.

“Who the hell are they?”

“Who the hell is she?” me and the shorter one spoke at the same time, and then blinked at one another.

Adam walked in behind me, for some reason holding the framed picture of him and John at his 14th birthday. “This is Andrea.” he introduced as he gestured to me. “Andrea, these are our brothers; Sam-”

“And Dean.” I finished, John’s words resonating in my head.

The men, my brothers, looked at me with a mixture of surprise and horror. The shorter especially looked mortified at my existence.

“Wait, you knew about them?”

“John mentioned them in passing.” I answered distracted, eyeing them up and down closely.

So, these were the guys I was supposed to turn out like. Jonathan would get a kick out of meeting them

. Wait, but if they were here, then I was right. Kate’s disappearance wasn’t natural, the things in the dark had something to do with this.

“Andrea is only my half-sister.” Adam went on to explain. “When her mother died, John brought her here, and my mom took her in. She’s been living with us for a year and a half.”

The shorter one recovered from his shock and was now pissed. And that pissed off look was the one I knew all too well, because it’s the one I saw every time I looked in the mirror. “So, what did Dad do for your birthdays?” he ground out.

“John never came around for my birthday.” I fired back. “Didn’t even know when it was.”

His eyes softened, pity replacing the pissed off.

“How long has your mom been missing.” the taller spoke suddenly, bringing everyone back to the problem at hand.

“Three days.” Adam answered.

“You the last one to see her?” Shorter one addressed me, now studying me differently.

“No.”

“The neighbor saw her get home Tuesday night but she never made it to work Wednesday morning.”

“Where were you?” Taller one asked me.

“School camp. Got back last night.”

Smaller one froze, his eye catching something. I followed his gaze to the framed picture of Kate and John. He dropped his head, eyes clenched. Maybe my mom wasn’t the only cheating one in the relationship. Adam continued answering taller one’s questions about Kate and her disappearance.

“Should have been here.” Adam added to the end of his explanation, eyes tearing up.

I personally wasn’t as affected by this as I should have been. Sure, Kate was welcoming and nice, but we never really formed a bond. Besides, she was always at work so. And Adam was leaving for college as I moved in, so I only knew it from the few times he was home.

Mostly, I was still thanking God that John was dead. If he found out I’d let something happen to Kate, he’d fucking kill me.

“What the uh, what the cops say?” Shorter one saved us from all the emotion.

“Uhh, they searched the house. They didn’t find anything.” Adam answered. He was quiet for a moment, his eyes getting more tear filled as he bounced a little on his feet. “She wouldn’t leave without telling anybody.” his voice cracked.

I’d been like this, with my mom. A crying, emotional wreck the second anything was wrong with her. When you grow up with a single mom, they become more than a parent. They are a friend, a mother, a constant. Loosing the only parent you have leaves the inner child in you scrambling for something to hold onto.

I’d long since given up needing someone to kiss my boo boos, but Adam was still close with his mom.

The hair on the back of my neck stood on end again. Since I’d gotten back yesterday, I felt on edge. I couldn’t figure out why. Something wasn’t right, had my hackles up. It was beginning to piss me off.

“It looks like she just dropped off the face of the earth, you know?” Adam continued.

It was silent for a few seconds, as the two men, my eldest brothers, looked at one another. It was in that moment that I realized this was the first time all three of my brothers and I were in the same room. I knew of them, Adam didn’t. They didn’t know about Adam and me. In this room, I had the most knowledge. Which meant, I was going to be questioned soon enough.

“Well, I’m just here for my laptop so I’m gonna…” I made to move out the room and back towards the stairs.

“Wait, where are you going?” The tallest asked.

“Somewhere.” I replied, leaving the room and charging up the stairs.

Once at my room, I closed the door and locked it.

Oh my god! Sam and Dean were here! How did they get here? What had Adam done?

If Sam and Dean knew, if Adam had called them, did that mean John know? Would John come? If John knew I’d let something to Kate, if this was all something metaphysical, I had failed.

He was going to kill me. I needed to get out of here, before he got here. Clean my tracks long before he rolled into town. I didn’t have time to waste.

Darting around my room, I grabbed my backpack and began packing everything I thought I needed. Shirts, only 2, a change of pants, spare hoodie, a handful of underwear and three socks, hairbrush.

Why the hell would Adam phone them? Why the hell would Adam think of calling John? I didn’t even know Adam and John were still in contact. Of all the stupid things my older brother had done, this one took the cake.

All I needed was my toothbrush and I’d be set.

Switching out my jacket for a warmer, waterproof coat, I slung my backpack on my shoulder and pulled my door open. And almost collided into a chest.

Shorter one stood before the door, crossing his arms when he spotted my backpack. “Going somewhere?’

Well crap…

#spn #supernatural #supernatural x reader #dean winchester x reader #dean winchester #sam winchester x reader #sam winchester #winchester sister #john winchester #supernatural adam #adam milligan #kate milligan #dean winchester x sister!reader #sam winchester x sister!reader #supernatural oc

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keekee-23 · 27 days ago

Text

Beardless Betrayal

A Y/N x Damian Priest Fluff Fanfiction

Summary: Damian shaves his beard, shocking his baby daughter Luna, who bursts into tears, leaving him scrambling to win back her trust.

The living room was a cheerful mess of colorful toys and soft baby laughter. Six-month-old Luna sat on the plush rug, surrounded by stuffed animals, blocks, and a teething ring she was gnawing on with great determination. Y/N lounged on the couch nearby, watching her baby girl with a mix of amusement and adoration. Luna’s laugh was infectious, and her tiny giggles brightened the room like sunlight.

In the bathroom, Damian Priest leaned over the sink, scrutinizing himself in the mirror. His goatee—his trademark look—had become unruly in ways he didn’t like and making his skin itch. He scratched at his jawline, grimacing.

"Yeah, this has gotta go," he muttered, reaching for his trimmer.

He hesitated for a moment, staring at his reflection. It had been months since he’d gone clean-shaven, and the thought made him a little nervous. But then he shrugged. "It always grows back," he reasoned, flicking on the razor. "No big deal."

The sound of buzzing filled the bathroom as Damian went to work, carefully shaving off the layers of dark stubble until his skin was smooth. When he finally rinsed his face and looked in the mirror, he hardly recognized himself.

"Whoa," he said, tilting his head to examine the result. "Damn, I look... younger." He chuckled, running a hand over his now-bare chin. "All right, let’s see what the girls think."

Feeling lighter and more refreshed, Damian stepped into the living room with a grin. Y/N glanced up first, her eyes immediately widening in shock.

"Luis!" she exclaimed, sitting up straight.

Luna, hearing her mother’s startled tone, looked up from her teething ring and locked eyes with Damian. She froze, her tiny brows furrowing as she stared at her dad. Her gaze shifted from his eyes to his chin, as if she were trying to piece together a puzzle.

Then it happened.

Luna’s face crumpled. Her bottom lip quivered. A deep, sorrowful wail erupted from her, and her arms shot out toward Y/N as if begging for rescue from the stranger who had invaded their home.

Y/N blinked, stunned, before quickly scooping Luna into her arms. "Oh no, baby, it’s okay! It’s okay!" she cooed, bouncing Luna gently. "It’s just Daddy!" She turned to Damian, her lips twitching as she fought to keep a straight face. "Luis, what have you done?"

Damian stood there, dumbfounded, his hands half-raised as if to plead his innocence. "What do you mean, what have I done? I just shaved! That’s all!"

Luna, however, wasn’t buying it. She buried her face in Y/N’s shoulder, crying as though her world had been turned upside down.

Y/N couldn’t hold back her laughter any longer. "Luis," she said, shaking her head as she rubbed Luna’s back, "she doesn’t even recognize you! You broke her little heart."

"I broke her heart?!" Damian exclaimed, pointing to his face. "It’s still me! Same voice, same eyes, same everything—just less hair!"

Y/N raised an eyebrow at him, her expression both amused and sympathetic. "Apparently, the goatee was part of your whole identity, babe. She’s not ready for this kind of change."

Damian groaned, running a hand over his bare chin. "Come on, Luna. It’s Daddy! Look, see?" He crouched down, trying to make eye contact with his daughter. He spoke in a playful tone, the same one that usually made her giggle. "Mami, it’s me. You’re not even giving me a chance here!"

Luna peeked at him from the safety of Y/N’s shoulder, her teary eyes full of distrust. She sniffled, her tiny fists clutching at her mom’s shirt as if to say, Who is this strange man, and why is he pretending to be Daddy?

Y/N laughed so hard her sides hurt. "You’ve got some work to do, Luis. She looks like she’s about to call security on you."

Damian threw his hands in the air. "Oh, come on! It’s not that serious!" He sighed, then leaned closer to Luna, speaking softly. "Okay, Luna. I’ll grow it back. I promise. Daddy made a mistake, and he’s sorry."

Luna’s cries softened, turning into quiet sniffles as she studied him intently. Slowly, she reached out a tiny hand, her fingers brushing against his smooth chin. She patted it, her expression one of deep confusion. Then, as if coming to a decision, she smacked his cheek with surprising force.

Y/N doubled over with laughter. "I think that’s her way of saying, ‘Don’t ever do this again.’"

Damian groaned dramatically, though he couldn’t help but smile as he cradled Luna in his arms. "Noted. Beard stays. Daddy’s not making this mistake twice."

Y/N grinned, leaning over to kiss his cheek. "Good. You’ve learned your lesson."

Damian looked at Luna, who was now starting to giggle again as she tugged on his nose. He smiled, his heart melting. "You’re lucky you’re cute," he said softly, kissing her forehead.

Y/N smirked. "She’s lucky? Luis, you’re the one who needs to win her back."

Damian sighed. "Great. My own daughter’s already harder to impress than her mom."

Luna squealed in delight, as if she understood the joke, and Damian shook his head with a chuckle. "At least one of you is laughing now."

#wwe fandom #wwe #damian priest #archer of infamy #punisher martinez #punishment martinez #the judgement day #damian priest fanfic #damian priest oneshot #wwe superstars #el campeón #wwe fanfiction #wwe wrestlers #damian priest x reader #wwe damian priest #damian priest imagine #damian priest x y/n

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show-your-fangs · 2 years ago

Text

Swimming Pool ✿ Aaron Hotchner

We Shouldn't (And Yet We Do) - Part One

Pairing: DBF!Hotch x f!Reader

Words: 12.6k

CW: 18+, NSFW, mdni, smut, a little angst and so much fluff.

Summary: You return home for the summer because of your parents’ drama but luckily for you, your father’s friend, Mr. Hotchner, is there to bring you some much needed comfort.

Tags/warnings: shitty family life, age gap relationship (reader is 20, Hotch is 40), teasing, groping, perv!hotch, inappropriate thoughts and behavior, grinding, daddy kink bc fuck you, fingering (f receiving), protected piv sex (wrap it before you tap it or at least make sure you talk it over with your partner and get tested!).

a/n: Thank you so much to @canuck-eh for writing Loose Morals and reigniting my passion to write this series, and to @xladyxdreamer for putting up with my Moments angst to the point where this series is now my penance for it. Finally, to whoever started the DBF!Hotch train, you are a god and I love you.

Disclaimer: YOU DO NOT HAVE PERMISSION TO REPOST MY WRITING ANYWHERE ELSE WITHOUT MY CONSENT. REBLOGS ARE ENCOURAGED THOUGH. YOU MAY NOT FEED MY WORK TO ANY AI DATABASES OF ANY KIND OR TO USE MY WORKS TO TRAIN AI. FUCK AI.

Coming back home in the middle of summer was…a lot. You’d just finished your second year away at college and you weren’t supposed to come back home until Christmas six months later, a compromise you’d agreed to only for your mother. But then she’d called out of the blue, sobbing, hysterical, and you had booked a flight back home to Virginia before she’d even hung up.

When you did finally arrive the morning after, she was much calmer, but the edge in her voice remained and you knew something was wrong. The only problem was that she refused to tell you what it was. It wasn’t until your high school friend took you out to lunch later that she finally clued you in as to what was going on.

Your father had apparently been caught getting busy with another one of the professors at the college he taught at. Someone had taken a…suggestive picture and now everything was in shambles. Well, not everything, mostly just his own marriage. From the little bits of information you were able to string together from your mother, it was clear that he was gaslighting her into believing that the picture was taken out of context and he wasn’t actually having an affair.

It had all blown up in your face about twenty minutes ago. Your house was packed with people, mostly your father’s close friends, colleagues, and their wives. He had decided to host an end of term/start of summer cocktail party to quell whatever doubts lingered amongst his social circles that whatever had or had not been taken didn’t mean anything and his marriage was still going strong. What he hadn’t accounted for, however, was you coming back to make sure your mother was alright.

You’d been holding onto the anger all afternoon as you followed your mother around, yelling and complaining and just desperately trying to reason with her. You’d never been a huge fan of your father. Sure, he’d done the bare minimum to give you life and was now paying for the part of your tuition that wasn’t covered by all the scholarships you’d gotten so that you didn’t have to graduate with massive loans. But aside from the small kindnesses he awarded you every so often, your relationship was nonexistent.

It was almost as if he’d predicted your mood because he didn’t arrive at the house until the party was minutes from starting. You had thought about leaving, about going out and getting wasted with your high school friends, but before you could even tell your mother you were going out, you found her crying in the master bedroom. And just like that you were back to seeing red.

The door swung open and you practically stormed towards it like a woman possessed.

“We need to talk,” you started. “No, let me rephrase, I need to scream at you and you’re going to listen—”

“Honey,” your father said sternly, opening the door fully. “Do not be rude to Aaron, say hello.”

Shame hit you like a bus as Mr. Hotchner came into focus behind your father. Fuck, he was good. It was eerie how clever your father could be when he didn’t want to be told off, when he knew that he’d done something wrong and instead of owning up to it he’d do everything in his power to avoid talking about it.

“Hi, Mr. Hotchner,” you managed through gritted teeth as your father walked past you and into the kitchen.

“Hello, sweetheart,” he replied, an amused smile on his lips. “I didn’t know you were coming back for summer break.”

“I’m not,” you tried to keep your voice steady. He must’ve known why you were angry, why the sudden outburst, but he didn’t reply, he simply nodded, lips in a thin line, trying to look anywhere but you.

“Well,” he broke the short silence. “I better put this on ice.”

He held out a bottle of Scotch he’d presumably brought over from his own house next door and walked after your father. You stood alone at the open door, the freedom of the night away from the exhaustion of fighting against your parents alluring. And yet you couldn’t seem to walk out, couldn’t seem to will your legs to move you in the direction of the rational choice.

Your heart was beating unbearably fast, and it wasn’t because of whatever was happening between your parents. No, it had everything to do with the FBI agent that had just walked into your home and the way he had clearly glanced down at your exposed cleavage before he had to immediately shift his gaze to anything else.

Aaron didn’t want to leave you there but he truly didn’t have a choice. You were wearing a tight black dress, so tight in fact that he could’ve sworn he saw every curve of your body. What had made it even worse was the way your breasts were practically spilling out of the garment, the trim of your lacy bra peeking around the edges. He’d felt like a teenager all over again, his crotch tightening uncomfortably as he tried his hardest to listen to the words coming out of your mouth to make sure that he responded eloquently.

Your mother had already put out ice buckets and he practically slammed the bottle into an empty one. Was it stupid to chill Scotch? He honestly couldn’t even remember anymore as he desperately wished he could’ve dunk his already hardening erection on the ice as well. He needed to get a grip, needed to calm down, needed to pretend like he hadn’t already seen your body in the many pictures you had posted online in the two years that you’d been gone.

He served himself a double, watching as you left the door wide open and retreated back upstairs. He lingered by the table for a moment, finishing his drink and calming himself down. He’d known you for a little over two years, at least on a first name, dinner at your house every month, type of way. You had just graduated high school when he started teaching part time at the college where your father also taught. The two of them had become fast friends and in the months that followed while you waited out the summer to start classes you had babysat Jack while Aaron was away on cases.

It was wrong and he definitely knew it. But there was something so captivating about you, about your kindness and curiosity and interest in not only his work but in him as a person. You loved getting to know people, getting to share secrets and discuss the root of existence and emotion and life. It was easy to forget that you were this young, your eloquence far higher than most of the adults that had just started shuffling into your home.

He’d filled his glass up once more as your father’s friends and his colleagues arrived. He plastered on a polite smile and greeted everyone as they made their way through the house. The repetitive nature of small talk for the next twenty minutes allowed him to forget about you, calm his body down enough to appear normal, collected.

He had migrated to the backyard with the rest of his colleagues after a while, the men around him engaged in mindless conversation about the break ahead, their vacation plans, and anything that wasn’t about the elephant in the room, because he knew, they all knew, that your father had clearly been caught redhanded and if they didn’t get their wives to agree that he was nothing more than a victim, they could be taken down next.

You waited until the backyard was packed with people before you emerged from your room. If your father didn’t want his friends gossiping about his affair tonight then you’d give them something else to talk about. And what better thing to gossip about than your father’s college age daughter practically displaying her body for all of his married friends and their wives.

Wearing that skimpy thing that did nothing to cover you up could only mean one thing – you were trying to get back at your father. Aaron couldn’t help but almost choke on his drink as he watched you saunter back out of the house. His ears began ringing loudly as you swayed your hips, clearly asking for attention. You walked right up to the edge of the pool and dove in without so much as a single word, the stark contrast between the cocktail party and your rebellious, summer blowout attitude jarring.

He couldn’t help but notice your father’s absence back out in the courtyard, your mother also conveniently nowhere to be seen. He could only assume that she was either consoling his poor, broken ego or sucking him off inside. Either outcome made him feel incredibly bad for you, bad that you had to come back home to rumors of your father’s infidelity and your mother’s complete denial of it.

While she was working overtime trying to fix a one sided relationship, you were determined to lash out against it in the most childish way you could possibly think of, and that unfortunately meant parading around your backyard filled with middle aged men in practically nothing.

Well, fortunate for him because he got to see the way your nipples hardened against the sheer fabric the second you stepped out into the cold night air, got to marvel at way your waist dipped into your full hips, the plush muscle begging to be squeezed tightly, got to catch the faintest glance at the outline of your pussy against the red material. It was unfortunate because he knew he wasn’t the only one staring at you and he had to bite his tongue as he began to hear the men around him murmur about your body.

He wanted to step up and use his own frame to shield you from them, to hide you away from their practically salivating stares. But instead he simply took a sip of his drink and allowed himself to watch you like a hawk, to silently guard, determined to step in if any of them actually decided to turn their thoughts into action. Because even then he couldn’t help but feel protective of you.

Your father came barrelling out of the house mere minutes later, your mother practically running to catch up and stop him. He was about to blow up, about to make a scene, one that you were eagerly waiting for when her hand landed on his chest and he seemingly remembered where he was and who he was surrounded by. He instantly relaxed his face and Aaron couldn’t help but take a step forward, tense and ready to fight him.

“Honey,” your mother spoke instead, layering the guilt on thick. “Please get out of the pool, I don’t want you catching a cold.”

Aaron set his glass down and walked over to the little hamper by the grill, expertly fishing out a large towel. He could feel everyone else start to notice that he’d moved, that he was inserting himself into something that clearly had nothing to do with him. But it didn’t matter the second that your round, hurt, expressive eyes met his. His gaze softened, just for you, to let you know that you didn’t want to make this any worse than it already was. And for the first time ever, you listened to him.

Your mother thanked him as he walked around them, towel extended in his hands for you to simply curl yourself into it. He could tell your cheeks were flushed with embarrassment, and when he draped the fabric over your shivering body, he could smell the faint, lingering scent of alcohol on your breath. He sighed deeply, just for himself and you followed suit, taking the moment to compose yourself.

“Thank you,” you whispered, delicate fingers taking the towel from him and wrapping it around yourself, terrified of what your reaction would be if you’d let him do it for you. You were back inside the house in seconds, the party resuming quickly as your parents started their rounds of greetings and small talk. He lingered by the pool for a few minutes, not wanting to be incredibly obvious about following you inside.

He told himself that he only wanted to make sure you were alright, that there was nothing wrong with being concerned for you after what had just happened. And so when the waiters began to pass out hors d'oeuvres, he took advantage of the distraction and slipped back into the house.

“Sweetheart?” he whispered loudly as he willed the wood beneath his feet not to creak loudly against the final step of the staircase. “Are you alright?”

The second floor was deserted, terrifyingly quiet and dark. He noticed the light was on in your bathroom across the hall from your room and he approached. The second his shadow landed over the wood, the door swung wide open, greedy hands grabbing a hold of his shirt and pulling him into the small room.

“I need you,” you slurred, your hands sliding down towards his belt, trembling fingers struggling with the silver buckle. He couldn’t stop the groan that erupted from his throat, the sounds spurring you on.

He was so distracted by the thrill, the shock and surprise of your neediness, of your clear desire for him that his brain short circuited for a second, lost to the sensations he’d been craving from you for years.

You’d never done anything like this before, never even flirted with each other as far as he was concerned since he made sure to watch his words around you, only allowing himself one thing, to call you sweetheart. Which could only indicate that your sudden boldness meant that you’d thought about this just as much as he had, that you’d caught him staring at you with hunger in his eyes just like he’d caught you staring at him with danger in yours.

“Sweetheart,” he said bluntly, trying to use his words before he was forced to use his hands to stop you. “You’ve had a lot to drink,” you scoffed. “You’re upset,” your hand squeezed over the outline of his cock and it took everything in him to not let out a single sound. That seemed to do the trick as your confident demeanor slipped away and the terrified girl desperately trying to hide resurfaced.

Tears laced your eyes, your chest began to shake, your hands trembled, slowly slipping away from his body. He scooped them both up in his warm, large palms, bending your arms over your chest before pressing you tightly to his. You began to sob then and it broke Aaron’s heart. Your face landed over his frantically beating heart. If you noticed through your tears you made no effort to comment on it. He held you like that for a while, not caring at all that his clothes were definitely wet now.

“I’m sorry,” you whispered to him, arms crossing over your chest in a feeble attempt to cover yourself up now that you were clearly not going to get what you’d wanted only seconds before. He crouched down and picked up the towel off the floor, this time making it a point to drape it over you and wrap you tightly in it. You felt like a child, a dumb, stupid child that had just thrown a tantrum and had been scolded. It was humiliating.

“There’s nothing to be sorry for, sweetheart,” he assured you, allowing himself to talk down to you just a little. His heart was still racing, his mind even more so now as he realized that the barrier that he’d put up between the two of you all those years ago had just been shattered into a million pieces. “Why don’t you take a shower and get some sleep?”

You nodded, refusing to look him in the eyes. But he would not have it. He hooked a finger under your chin, gently yet forcefully, pulling your gaze up to meet his. His thumb ghosted over your bottom lip, your mouth opening slightly without him doing anything to you.

“Good girl,” he hummed and you practically whimpered, your thighs pressing together. The side of his mouth curled into the tiniest of smirks before he removed his hand from your body completely and walked out the door, leaving you alone in your bathroom with a fire burning in your chest.

You were unsure when the decision had been made, but you’d awoken the next day to a letter from your mother on the kitchen counter, the house spotless as the cleaning crew she’d hired probably went through it the night before. Your parents were gone for the rest of the summer, apparently one of your father’s friends had a timeshare at some resort in Italy and they were able to squeeze your parents into their trip last minute.

You released a sigh you hadn’t realized you’d been holding. The memories of the events of the night before had been washing over you in powerful, drowning waves ever since you opened your eyes fifteen minutes ago. You regretted at least ninety percent of your actions, having been so wrapped up in getting back at your father that you had completely forgotten that your actions would also affect your mother. The look of disappointment, of complete and utter shame and embarrassment that had taken over her face as she spoke to you haunting, especially now in the brightness of the day.

And then there was Mr. Hotchner. Fuck, you cringed every time you remembered what you’d done, how you’d come onto him so pathetically. You couldn’t deny the rejection didn’t hurt but he had been right. You were upset, unbelievably so, and it would’ve stung even more to think of your first time with him to have been because you were trying to make your father angry, not because you actually wanted to sleep with him.

And oh boy did you want to.

As much as Freud was an idiot, you were very aware after two years of your psychology degree that your attraction to older men had everything to do with your need to seek the approval your father denied you from your romantic partners.

You’d had a very childish crush on Mr. Hotchner for years. It was silly, something that kept your pussy wet at night and made your friends giggle whenever you told them about the hot neighbor that you used to babysit for. But you knew he was unattainable. You could never have him, and sadly, that only made you want him even more.

In an act of defiance you hadn’t done what he’d told you to do the night before. Instead you took off the remaining pieces of clothing you still had on and tossed them into your shower before you walked across the hall to your room, pulled out the shitty bullet vibrator you’d left behind two years ago, and desperately tried to get yourself off. To say you’d been unsuccessful, your fingers and the weak device never even coming close to what you truly desired, what you needed.

That had only made you angrier, angrier at yourself, angrier at him. By the time you had drank your first cup of coffee all of your embarrassment had washed away into cold, seething irritation. He clearly wanted you just as much as you wanted him. You definitely hadn’t imagined the way he responded to your touch, the way he’d groaned in response. And that was the problem. He’d been holding himself back, whatever friendly relationship the two of you had built, one that you regarded as honest and sincere nothing more than a facade he’d concocted to keep you at arm’s length.

You grabbed a pair of sunglasses that your mother must’ve left on the kitchen counter and placed them over your eyes before walking back out to your backward. You were aware that there was a specific spot in front of the sliding doors that he could see from his house next door. You’d noticed it when you were babysitting one time, the thrill that he could’ve seen you in your bikini at some point that summer driving you insane.

You didn’t want to be at arm’s length anymore. You refused to let whatever fears you were holding onto because of his relationship with your father to stop you from going after what you’d wanted for so long.

You dragged a lounge chair over to that exact spot, the blaring sun perfectly over it as the excuse you needed in case he brought up your pathetic ploy. Once you were satisfied with your placement you shrugged off the robe you’d been wearing, the fabric falling off your shoulders and pooling around your feet in an instant to reveal absolutely nothing covering your body.

You’d fallen asleep at some point, completely naked and aggravated. You made sure to take your time getting into a comfortable position over the chair, chest out, legs curled suggestively, putting all of your assets on display. With the bait set, it was now a matter of waiting for him to bite.

You heard him yell your name across your house about ten minutes later. It didn’t surprise you that he had his own set of keys, your stomach already twisting in anticipation and excitement at just how easy it had been to get him exactly where you wanted him.

“Are you decent?” he asked with a smirk in his voice. He knew you weren’t. “Jack is here with me.”

You practically leapt off the chair, frantically picking up the robe and putting it on as the two of them walked out onto the backyard. Jack said your name then, chipper and excited, immediately melting away any ice left behind. You turned around just in time for the boy to wrap himself around your legs, squeezing you into a tight hug which you reciprocated, pulling him up to sit on your hip.

“Hi, angel,” you greeted the boy. “How’s summer treating you?”

“Hot,” he replied, trying to push himself away from you. You couldn’t help but laugh, setting him back down in the shade. “Can we swim in your pool?”

“Of course you can!” you replied. “Do you mind if I join you?”

The boy’s eyes practically widened out of his head in joy, turning back to his dad with just an unbelievable amount of energy.

“Not at all,” Mr. Hotchner replied for him and you shot him a smile before you excused yourself to go change into something kid appropriate.

To say that he’d seen your little display was an understatement. He’d been sitting on his desk in his home office, finalizing his weekly schedule with Jessica when he saw you step out. He knew, after much trial and error, that you couldn’t see him from this angle, and so he made no effort to move to get a better look.

And then you took off your robe and he was abruptly presented with your naked body. His mouth went dry in an instant, his pupils dilated, his heart pounded against his chest. It took him a full minute to realize that Jessica was trying to get his attention before his brain reconnected with his body and he asked her to repeat herself.

Five minutes later he was hanging up the call and rushing down the hall to ask Jack if he wanted to go swimming. The boy practically leapt to his feet, running across his room to get himself ready. They didn’t have a pool at their house, so your mother had generously let them use theirs after you went away for college. She’d even gotten them key to the house and sent him the alarm code every time they changed it just in case.

Aaron changed into his swimsuit in record time, practically tripping as he ran back and forth, all over the house, looking for the many, many toys that Jack definitely needed to stay distracted for the next few hours. As much as he wanted to walk over alone, find you naked and eager for him, fuck you on the lounge chair and then probably inside the pool to cool off, he couldn’t leave Jack behind, he wouldn’t leave Jack behind because he didn’t want you to know just how much you had affected him.

This was a power move, one that he had fallen for instantly. What he needed to do was not give in, not give you what you wanted, continue to frustrate you, to tease you until you couldn’t take it anymore, all because he wanted to remind you that he held all the cards, that he was the one calling the shots, that he would be the one on top while you writhed in pleasure beneath him.

You returned a few minutes later in a plain black one piece. To say he was disappointed was an understatement, but he admired your decorum while you were around Jack. It was like a flip had switched, eyes clouded with lust and desire clearing away to joy and excitement to spend your day with a hyperactive kid instead of lazily sunbathing your troubles away.

You handed Mr. Hotchner a bottle of sunscreen, having specifically chosen the cream kind instead of the spray so that he’d be forced to touch you when you asked, “Would you mind getting my back?”

He looked up at you with the same eyes from last night and you were surprised your knees didn’t buckle. He looked at Jack then to make sure the boy was adequately engrossed in his toys, clearly deciding which ones he was going to play with first, before he opened the bottle and squirted some of the cream into his palm.

“On my lap,” he ordered, low and just for you to hear. Your eyes immediately darkened and he smirked knowingly. You rolled your eyes then, reminding yourself that today was just playful after all.

You stepped forward towards his opened legs and prettily sat yourself down on his thigh, your back to him. You’d already put your hair up so he went right in. His warm, sticky palms landed on the sides of your neck first, slowly sliding down your shoulders before they returned to the center and then slid down your exposed back. While you couldn’t wear the skimpy, barely there suit you wanted, you’d still chosen something that gave him a subtle peek of your body.

He continued his movements, unapologetically taking his time, dragging his touches, lingering over your neck and putting pressure around it. You shivered under his hands, your ass unconsciously grinding down on his leg.

“Be a good girl and stay still,” he purred in your ear, his breath hot against your skin. You stilled immediately, his fingers squeezing around your neck softly in reward. “All done.”

Your brain processed the words and yet you made no effort to stand up, and he made no effort to make you. His hands grazed down your arms, the backs of his fingers practically leaving feather light kisses on your skin until they landed on your hips. He gave your love handles a squeeze before he let his hands settle over your lap, leaning down to rest his chin on the crook of your neck.

The gesture itself had been so casual yet unbearably intimate that you didn’t notice you’d stopped breathing until your lungs started to burn. You inhaled sharply, your entire body shivering as you tried to keep the panting at bay.

“You say the word and I’ll stop, sweetheart,” he whispered against your neck, gentle and kind, his tone meant to reassure you that you still had power. You nodded and he pressed a kiss below your ear, making you shudder once more. “So responsive for me.”

A whine escaped your lips, making Jack turn back to face the two of you. His hands were off you before you could even register, your own body reacting instinctively as you shot up to your feet.

“Ready to get in the water?” you managed, flashing the boy a bright smile. He nodded enthusiastically, picking up a few of his diving toys in one hand before taking your outstretched hand with his other one. He diligently led you to the shallow end of the pool and Aaron watched as you both threw the little fishes into the deep end, giggling as Jack tried to toss them farther than you.

He took a moment to compose himself, a moment to shift the material of his swim suit to try and hide the evidence of his arousal. He hated how easy it was for him to come undone around you, how you had him wrapped around your finger and could get him hard by simply existing. It made him feel young again, his libido higher than it’d been in years, and it was all because of you.

He was brought out of his thoughts when he heard you and Jack splash against the water. Jack resurfaced first, already panting as he worked overtime to keep himself above water. You appeared then, like a beautiful mermaid coming above water to lure unsuspecting sailors to their deaths. And in that moment Aaron knew that he’d sink to the bottom of the ocean if it meant he could have even a taste of you.

“Daddy!” Jack yelled, getting his attention. “Come into the pool!”

“Yeah, daddy,” you teased. “What are you waiting for?”

All the playfulness drained from his face in a second, making you choke on your own saliva in response before it reappeared as if nothing had happened. Your thighs rubbed together, the knowledge of the effect your words had had on him thrilling.

“Coming buddy,” he replied to the boy, choosing to ignore you as he stood back up, kicking off his flip flops and cannonballing into the pool.

Jack’s laughter brought you back down to reality as the waves his dad had created crashed over you, cooling your overheating face. You watched him resurface at the other end of the pool, one of the fishes you’d thrown under between his fingers.

“One to zero,” he announced playfully and Jack gasped, immediately diving down to gather as many fishes as he could, giving Aaron the perfect pocket of privacy to glance back at you. His face fell into a stern look of warning, daring you to call him that again to see what you could find out.

You smirked back briefly before diving underwater, the mere mention of a challenge overshadowing whatever tension lingered between the two of you.

You grabbed three fishes, swimming across the pool towards him underwater. You made sure Jack was above water before you made your move, fingers wrapping around Mr. Hotchner’s trunks to pull yourself out of the water as you practically climbed him.

You felt him tense against your touch and that made your body flood with warmth once more. You made him feel like this, you made him react like this, you had the same effect on him that he had over you.

Your head pierced the surface and he wasted no time pulling you further out of the water, his arm hooking around your waist again and pressing your hip against his painfully hard erection.

You gasped loudly, nervously looking around and noticing that Jack had thankfully gone back underwater so at the very least he wouldn’t see the euphoric expression on your face.

“Fuck,” you moaned, your hands steadying yourself against his chest. “Mr. Hotchner,” you whined and his grip tightened.

For a second you forgot about where you were and the game you were still playing. Your eyes landed on his. They were hazy, glossed over and dangerously close to snapping.

“Address me properly,” he ordered, lifting his knee to slide between your legs and press you further into him. You swallowed a moan, your breathing ragged, your skin unbearably tight over your body.

You opened your mouth to speak but the word was screamed into existence by a voice that wasn’t yours. The two of you turned to face Jack who was eagerly swimming over to where the two of you were. You started to shift uncomfortably, trying to pull away from him, but he kept you in place as if you weren’t caught in a compromising position.

“Did you get tired of swimming?” Jack asked you like this was the most normal thing in the world and you managed a nod. “That’s okay! I get tired sometimes and daddy has to hold me too.”

Your cheeks heated up once more and you thanked every deity out there that the sun was so hot on your skin that the kid didn’t notice a change. Jack reached out and grabbed a hold of his father’s shoulder to keep himself above water before pulling out his other hand from under the water, a fistfull of the colorful fishes in his palm.

“I got six!” he told you and you finally snapped out of your daze, groaning dramatically as you showed him your own loot only being three.

“I demand a rematch!” you told the boy before tossing your fishes back into the pool. He followed your lead and held your stare, the two of you seizing the other up before he got tired of waiting and dove back into the water, his giggles getting swallowed by the water.

“Little cheater!” Aaron let you go then and you followed after the boy. You were so concerned with winning the silly game that you didn’t even notice the dopey smile across his face, one that he couldn’t hide from himself, one that almost made his heart burst with happiness.

You played with the fishies a few more times until Jack was complaining that he was starting to get hungry and the three of you got out of the pool to dry off while Mr. Hotchner ordered lunch.

You reapplied Jack’s sunscreen, placed a hat over his head and a towel over his body before you walked into the house to make a pitcher of lemonade and get some of the fruit your mother had bought a few days ago so that you could snack on it while you waited for the pizza to get there.

You’d cut the lemons and had started squeezing them into the pitcher when his hands wrapped around your waist again, his front pressing against your back forcefully. You ground your ass back into him, never once stopping your task.

“Hi,” he whispered in your ear.

“Hello,” you replied, squeezing a half of a lemon with your hand, too lazy to get something else dirty.

“Thank you for today,” he continued, his hands now slowly running up and down your sides, begging to elicit a reaction from you. “I know it’s not exactly what you planned but Jack is having a lot of fun.”

You hummed in agreement. “I’m having a lot of fun too.”

“Oh, yeah?” he stepped forward, locking you in place between the counter and his chest. “I’m having a lot of fun three.”

You snorted at the insinuation and the terrible joke, and he laughed in return, the two of you devolving into a fit of giggles like you’ve known each other intimately for years. And in a weird, almost strange way, you had. You’ve always had this rapport with him, this deep understanding of each other, mostly because you were both so into the other that you’d actually spent many nights asking questions, eager to know more.

“Can I kiss you?” he asked you once the laughter subsided and your heart started beating rapidly once more.

You immediately twisted around in his grip, holding your hands up and away from him as the juices from the lemons ran down your arms.

“Yes,” you heaved and he didn’t waste another second as he pressed his lips to yours. They were so soft and still warm from the sun still lingering over them, lulling you into a sense of safety. You opened your lips as his hands left your waist and cupped your jaw to press you further into him. You moaned into his mouth as his tongue entered, deepening the kiss into a hungry and desperate mess.

He pulled back so you could breathe after a few more laps and your eyes blinked open, the light reflecting against them and making them shine almost ethereally. He smiled, his thumbs rubbing over your cheeks. You returned the smile, somehow already feeling warm and fuzzy from just a kiss. He leaned in again, his nose playfully tickling your own, making you giggle sweetly. He truly wanted nothing more than to make you laugh all the time.

He was about to press his lips against yours again, already craving the feeling like a man that had been left to wander the desert for days, when his phone rang loudly, interrupting the tender moment. He sighed deeply, apologetically looking at you and you immediately shook your head, letting him know not to worry about it. He picked up the phone, determined to make the conversation quick so he could return to what he truly wanted to do.

In the meantime you finished the lemonade, washed your hands with soap, and brought the pitcher, some glasses, and the bowl of cubed watermelon to the table outside. You checked in on Jack, the boy having fallen asleep, making you chuckle softly. You sat yourself at the table and waited for him to come back, already missing his lips.

It was certainly an interesting turn of events, made even more interesting by how easy it was to fit into his life. Even with your parents you always felt like the odd one out, like they were their own thing and you just sort of existed around them. But with Mr. Hotchner and Jack…you felt like you just fit right in, like you’d always been a part of their family.

When he finally exited into the backyard he bore a very different expression on his face, one of remorse and stress. The playfulness from before had left his body and all that remained was the stoic FBI agent you’d sometimes get when he returned from cases or…got called into one.

You sighed deeply, knowing that was exactly what had happened and he had to stop himself from melting at the thought that you just knew what he needed before he could even ask it.

“Do you need me to look after Jack?” you asked as he sat down on the chair across from you.

“Please,” he replied, taking your hand in his and squeezing gently. “Jessica can pick him up at school Wednesday afternoon and take him to her place.”

You nodded, returning the squeeze and trying to alleviate his guilt with an understanding smile.

“When do you leave?” he asked you then, one of the many elephants in the room finally getting addressed.

“Friday morning,” you replied and it was his turn to sigh, defeated. As much as you understood his work and just how much he needed it, he also understood your own, your life being far away from D.C., far away from him. He just wanted you all to himself, here with him all the time, and it pained him that he couldn’t have it.

After allowing himself another moment of sitting in silence, of feeling his emotions and letting them tear his heart into pieces, he stood up, pulling you to your feet with him. He crushed his lips to yours and your hands finally tangled in his hair, his own greedily squeezing your hips.

“Pizza should be here any minute,” he mumbled against your lips.

“I got it, don’t worry,” you replied, pressing a closed kiss on the corner of his mouth. “Why don’t you say goodbye to Jack?”

He nodded, reluctantly letting you go as he knelt down beside the lounge chair and woke the boy up. You watched as they said their goodbyes, your fingers coming up to trace your lips where he’d just kissed you, all the conflicting things you were feeling crashing over you at once.

The first phone call came that same night. It was late, you were already asleep when your phone vibrated on the nightstand next to you. You were honestly surprised that you’d heard it, annoyed more so than surprised as your eyes blinked open painfully.

“Hello?” your voice was deep, hoarse and clearly exhausted.

“Hi, sweetheart,” his on the other hand was soft and awake.

“Hi,” you replied, settling back on the soft pillow and closing your eyes.

“Did I wake you?”

“Mhmm,” you whined and it broke his heart.

“I’m sorry,” to his credit, he did sound sorry.

“It’s okay,” you mumbled.

“I just wanted to say goodnight to Jack.” And to you.

“He fell asleep immediately…” You tried to stay awake, desperately, but sleep was pulling you down, the heat from spending the entire day under the sun had seeped deep into your bones, making them heavy. The current had sinked your boat and you were peacefully sinking under the waves with it. You didn’t even register him calling your name, realizing that you were probably out of it, and finally telling you that he’d call you another time.

You woke up bright and early the next morning, your senses overwhelmed by just how much his bed smelled like him.

It was honestly a stupid thought, that the things that were his carried him with them, but it didn’t matter how many times you’d slept here in the past, there was something so all consuming about them now.

Your three days with Jack went by quickly. You had forgotten how much of a perfect kid he was, how attentive and kind and easy it was to take care of him. Getting him ready for school was a breeze, breakfasts were filled with laughter and him rambling on about the dream he’d had the night before. Once you dropped him off at school, you found yourself missing him more than you ever had, and so you spent your days wandering aimlessly.

On Monday you cleaned the entire house, top to bottom. You put on one of Mr. Hotchner’s records on and drowned the house in music, your voice booming just as loudly as the singer’s, wanting nothing more than to distract yourself from the ache in your chest.

On Tuesday there was a lice outbreak and luckily, Jack was not affected. They still had to shut down the school for the day, so Jack had gotten a half day. You took him to the store to buy enough baking supplies to start your own bakery, and spent the rest of the afternoon making cookies and cupcakes.

It was around six that your phone rang. You were in the kitchen, cooking dinner for the two of you. Saucepan forgotten, you immediately crossed the room, fingers fumbling to answer the phone.

“Hey, give me one second,” you cut him off, putting him on speaker before you stepped out into the hall. “Jack! Your dad’s on the phone!”

“I don’t know if I should be touched or offended that you don’t want to speak with me,” he cracked and you couldn’t help but smile, making your way back to the device on his counter.

“I always want to talk to you,” you hummed. “But I also know you’re busy and—”

“Dad!” Jack ran into the kitchen, swiping the phone away from you and running right back down the hall. You laughed to yourself, returning to the stove before you burnt something.

You hadn’t been speaking, not really. Every so often you’d send him a picture of what you were up to and he’d do his best to reply, always short and sweet. He never sent any pictures of his own for obvious reasons, but it still made your heart constrict every time that you woke up the morning after to a missed call from him.

They were on the West Coast, in a small town somewhere in Oregon. At least that’s what you’d gathered from the messages here and there. By Wednesday you said goodbye to Jack at dropoff and told him you’d see him for Christmas. He was, understandably, very upset, since you’d just spent, what he kept calling, the best three days of his life with him. It broke your heart, shattered it into a million pieces, but you reminded him that you didn’t live there anymore and that you had other places to be. Obviously not cooler than spending time with him, but that it was still important.

Jessica called you that afternoon to let you know that she had Jack and you chatted for a bit. She was always so easy to talk to, her openness to their strange family dynamic almost overwhelmingly supportive. She always remembered your birthday, always sent you a card (one that you knew she’d been making Mr. Hotchner and Jack to sign every year), and always made sure to ask if you were coming back home for any major break.

She liked having you around, liked the extra support you had given them while Jack was out on his own break, liked that the boy clearly loved you and felt safe around you. And after the three days you had spent with him then, it only made sense to start thinking about actually coming back home next summer to help them out, to have an excuse to see him as often as you could.

You spent Wednesday and Thursday working on the tasks you'd been left with from your internship. They had graciously allowed you to go home after you informed them there was a family emergency, but you still had to meet the weekly quota, just like everyone else. Being in your house alone was...exhausting. It was too quiet, too empty, too devoid of Jack's infectious laugh and...and Mr. Hotchner's low and inviting voice.

You hadn't spoken to him since you let him know Jessica had picked his son up. You knew he was busy, knew that he probably didn't want to speak to you while his mind was not in the right place, while he was using most of his energy to do his job. He didn't text and so neither did you. And as much as you understood why, the silence had only made your heart clench in pain, your brain already overthinking all the possibilities.

He was supposed to arrive in a few hours, having received the only text he'd sent to tell you that they were about to take off and that he should be back home in a few hours.

You’d decided to get one last swim in before you returned to your concrete life that was Brooklyn. But if you were being honest with yourself, you just needed a distraction.

You’d been drowning, quite literally, as the finality of the distance that you were about to put between yourself and Mr. Hotchner loomed closer and closer. Sure, he traveled a lot for work, he was away at least sixty percent of the time…but you had moved away two years ago with the intention of cutting yourself loose of all the ties keeping you in D.C.

It had been easy to do so, the only one that truly hurt you every day being your mother. But now, after sitting with your overwhelming crush that has snowballed into catching actual feelings for him…was hell.

You needed to talk to him about it, needed to ask him to tell you that everything was going to be okay, that you could make this work, whatever this was. But you also didn’t want to pressure him, didn’t want to pressure yourself to get tied down to something that could very easily not work out.

You were floating on your back, simply allowing the water to gently rock you around the pool when you saw a pair of slacked legs walking towards the edge of the pool.

“There you are, sweetheart,” he hummed. “I’ve been calling for a whole minute and you didn’t answer.”

You stood yourself up, shooting him an apologetic smile as you walked towards him.

“'m sorry,” you murmured, the tightening on your heart only squeezing harder now that he was really here. He shot you a smile in response but he looked tired, defeated almost. You could only imagine what it must feel like to walk around with all of that weight, with the burden of the atrocious things they dealt with every day.

He squatted down next to the edge and you propped yourself up on the space between his legs to pull yourself high enough for his lips to reach yours. The kiss was short and soft, domestic almost, as if you did this every time he came back home from a long case.

You slid back into the water, unable to hold yourself up any longer as an excuse to put some distance between the two of you. You were certain that if he stared at you for even a second longer, he would definitely know there was something wrong, that somehow he’d be able to see into your body and realize just how contorted your heart was.

“Join me?” you asked, trying to change the subject before it was even brought up.

He sighed, conflicted. “I don’t think we should, sweetheart.”

“Please,” you whined. “I promise I’ll behave.”

He chuckled at that, knowing fully well that you most definitely would not, because he would most certainly not. But he found himself standing back up, quickly shrugging off his button down, the white wife pleaser underneath, his shoes, socks, and pants. You watched him in awe, mouth hanging slightly open as you began to salivate, your desire quickly making you forget all about your painful feelings.

He smirked at you as he sat down on the edge of the pool and slowly lowered himself into it. You hadn’t realized until he stretched his hand out to you that you’d drifted away to the other side of the pool. You took a small, steadying breath, trying to appear as normal as possible before you walked back to him.

His hands wrapped around you instantly, bringing you into him tightly. It was almost as if he relaxed into you, his breathing deep and steady, a drastic contrast to your rapidly beating heart. You tried so hard to copy his rhythm, to blend into it in a feeble attempt to not raise suspicion, to show him that you were happy he was back.

And it worked...for almost a second.

“Thank you for taking care of Jack,” he said.

“It was my pleasure,” you replied almost too quickly.

“Alright, what’s wrong?” he pulled back, his gaze desperately trying to meet yours.

You hated him so much, hated how good he was at his job, hated how he could read you like it was the easiest thing in the world. Meanwhile, you were having to use all of your knowledge to just guess how he was feeling.

“Nothing’s wrong,” you lied, your fingers subconsciously fiddling with his hair. He sighed, shifting your core away from his as his hand snaked down to pull your swimsuit bottoms out of the way. Your eyes widened in shock and confusion, finally snapping up to meet his but his attention was no longer on your face.

Before you could question the sudden advance, he plunged his middle finger into you, making you moan loudly, your walls clenching around him.

“Tell me what’s wrong,” he ordered, his finger curling upwards to hook against the spot that he somehow knew instinctively would make you come undone.

You whined, holding onto him tighter. “I’m scared!”

“Of what?”

“This–” he curled his finger again, another moan erupting. “Us– fuck, I’m scared that I won’t be able to see you every day and it’ll mess up whatever this is,” you practically screamed.

His movements stilled and you decided to foolishly allow yourself to meet his eyes. He was staring at you with what you could only describe as relief?

You blinked, realizing that he was allowing you to read him like he could read you. You’d said exactly what he was thinking, what he was also holding in, what the heaviness that he carried had been about.

He pressed further into you. “Do you want to be mine?”

“Yes,” you moaned. “I want to be yours, all yours.”

“That’s good,” he groaned. “Because I want to be all yours too, sweetheart.”

You whined at his words, the tight grip fear had on your heart releasing just enough to let you breathe again.

“I thought…” you trailed off, afraid that if you said what you’d thought aloud that he’d hate you. Instead he just waited patiently for you to muster the courage to say what you’d been holding in. “I thought you might only want to fuck me and nothing else.”

He shoved another finger into you at that, as if you say how dare you think that. You moaned again, your body tensing up, your walls pulsing around his fingers, practically keeping them hostage inside of you.

“So tight,” he mumbled, clearly needing a moment to regain his composure before he spoke again. “I’ve wanted you– to be with you for a while, sweetheart. I was just…afraid of how it could destroy your relationship with your parents.”

The second elephant in the room reappeared and you couldn’t help but get another one of your fears off your chest.

“Did you know he was…” you trail off before you can finish your sentence but Aaron knew exactly what you wanted to ask him.

“No, I didn’t,” he shook his head, intensely observing your reaction. When you tensed under his touch he wasted no time to press a soft kiss to your temple. If you didn’t know but now you do then why are you still hanging around with him? That was the second part of your question, of your uneasiness, of your tensing body.

“To see you,” he murmured against your skin and you pulled back from his touch, far enough to look him in the eyes. “I kept coming back to see you.”

The confession made your stomach flip. You didn’t know how to respond, how to tell him that you’d felt the same way in a way that didn’t make you come across as insane or clingy or immature. So instead you smiled softly, leaning forward to press your lips to his once more. His grip on your body tightened, his lips on yours opened, pulling you further into him. You may not have tomorrow, but you definitely had tonight.

“I am more than happy and willing to take this slow, to just see where it goes,” he makes it crystal clear, no way to misinterpret his words, no way for you to twist them until you’ve convinced yourself that you’re crazy. Instead you just let your mind free.

“Please fuck me,” you begged and a groan loudly erupted from his throat. His fingers resumed their fast pace but you whined in response, trying to stop him. “No, I need your cock in me, please.”

He shushed you then, kissing your temple gently as he only doubled down in his forcefulness.

“Let me make you cum first,” he replied. “I gotta stretch you out, you’re so tight.”

You whimpered then, a symphony of breathy moans as you remembered just how big he’d felt through his pants. If he was telling you he needed to work you up before he could slide inside of you then you would obey. Fuck, the anticipation alone was going to be the death of you.

The water began to splash over the edge, the constant crashing of waves somehow in perfect synchronicity to the pace he’d set. It quickly became overwhelming, as if your pleasure was so intense it was actually transcending your body and manipulating the world around you.

You moaned into his ear, your hands desperately digging into his back, trying to anchor yourself to him, afraid that you could slip away at any moment. He began peppering kisses along your jaw, each one lower and lower until he was physically unable to reach any more of your skin due to the water level.

You were so close, so, so, close and he could feel it. Your body had tensed, your toes curled against his lower back, pulling him closer to you. And with one final thrust against the spot inside of you that made you see stars, the band snapped and you were screaming, not caring if the neighbors could hear you.

He worked you through your orgasm, his fingers slowing down to a bearable pace as you rested your forehead against his chest.

“Are you okay, sweetheart?” he asked, clearly concerned that you hadn’t said something for a couple of minutes. You nodded against his body, slowly pushing against his chest to face him.

“Never better,” you replied and his eyebrows shot up in provocation.

“Do you want to make them a little better?” he teased and you couldn’t help the smile that took over.

“Yes.”

He pulled his hand out of you and you whined at the loss of contact.

“Such a greedy girl,” he mocked. “You’re about to be stuffed with my cock and you’re whining about missing my fingers.”

You shivered, eyes darkening as he grabbed a hold of your hand and led you back to the shallow end of the pool. He helped you out of the water, his hands attentive, possessive, never once letting you take a step without being on you.

Once you were out of the water he pulled you into him swiftly, lips back on yours with abandon. You practically melted into his touch, into his embrace, into him. Every thought in your brain was about him, about how soft his lips were, about how he smelled like a warm fire in a forest, about how his rough hands felt on your body, about how desperate he was for you.

You didn’t even register as he undid the knots of your bathing suit, only felt the cold air against your nipples, making them immediately perk up. The back of his hands accidentally brushed one as he shuffled to discard your top and you moaned into his mouth. The noise that reverberated from him in response was addictive. His eyes snapped open and he pulled back, your own lips chasing his in protest.

But he didn’t give you a second to figure him out as he arched your back with his hands, his mouth latching onto the nipple he’d just touched. It was your turn to mewl, eyes glossy and hands hungry to dig into him.

“Aaron,” you whimpered and he froze, ice cold, fully stopping his movements. His mouth softly unlatched from your breast, a thin string of saliva connecting him to you. Your face heated up immediately, the mere thought that you did something to upset him filled your eyes with tears.

“What did you say?” he asked, softly, as if he knew you were feeling like a small little animal and he needed to be careful not to spook you.

“A-Aaron?” you mumble, not even once fully comprehending what you had just done.

“You’ve never called me Aaron before,” he explained, taking pity on how much your brain was clearly not working at the moment.

You blinked in confusion, a tear accidentally falling down your cheek. He immediately wiped it away, looking down at you with eyes filled with nothing but adoration.

“I’m sorry—” you started, unsure exactly what you’re apologizing for. And he shuts you up with a kiss immediately.

“Say it again,” he groaned against your lips.

“Aaron,” you repeated, his name finally feeling heavy and important on your tongue.

He places a kiss on the corner of your mouth. “Again.”

“Aaron.”

Another kiss, this one on your neck. “Again.”

“Aaron,” he licked down to the base of your neck, his teeth greedily sinking into your soft skin as his lips suck. “Fuck, Aaron, please.”

You whined again, the sting of his mouth marking your body absolutely making you lose it. Whatever wits remained evaporated in an instant. When he pulled back, eyes practically raven, face flushed, lips plump and swollen, you couldn’t help the need to reward him.

Your hands landed on the pronounced outline of his cock against his still wet, black boxers. He wasn’t quick enough to stop you as you wasted no time pulling the fabric off him. Your eyes widened, your breathing hitched in your throat, your hand trembled slightly as you abandoned your efforts to get his boxers down his thighs and instead tentatively returned your hand to hover over his length.

He was so hard, the vein running along the underside practically pulsating. You tentatively traced it with your nail and he hissed. You smiled to yourself, your full palm replacing your finger as you wrapped your hand around him, slowly pumping him.

His own hand curled around your wrist, demanding you to stop. Your eyes shot up to finally see him, to see just how clenched his jaw was, just how deep his breathing had become.

“No, sweetheart,” he huffed. “I need you.”

As if you could both finally read each other’s minds, you untangled yourselves from each other, discarding the clothing that remained on your bodies and tossed it away before his eyes landed on you, on your naked frame, now right in front of him and not far away, separated from him by the haziness of glass.

His eyes raked lower to your pussy and his brows knitted in surprise.

“You have a tattoo,” the question blended into a statement as his hand gripped your hip, pulling you forward so that he could see it better. You bit your lip, amused by just how mesmerized he looked.

“A friend of mine gave it to me first semester,” you explained, omitting the many health code violations, how you’d been high and couldn’t remember actually getting it, or the fact that you had been sleeping with your friend when he did.

He traced his thumb over it, the placement was lower than your hip, easily hidden by your underwear and small enough that he’d never been able to make it out at a distance. His thumb dug into the center of the shitty heart then, anchoring his grip as he pulled you back to him. You moaned at the sting and it only spurred him on, the realization that you liked it when he hurt you igniting a fire in him.

His other arm hooked under your ass, lifting you over his shoulder. You gasped loudly, your confusion quickly turning into a fit of giggles as he moved you both towards the lounge chair that you had rearranged earlier that week to face his house.

He made sure to hook his foot around the pants he’d discarded earlier, kicking them forward with his foot, making sure that they landed right against the chair. He then unlatched the backrest and quickly set you down on it, your entire body over the comfortable foam cushion your mother had bought last year just for the Hotchners.

He knelt between your legs, hands running down your body to pry them open for him. It didn’t take much as you opened yourself up to him eagerly. He grinned, the smile that graced you one that you’d never seen from him before, one that even he couldn’t remember when he’d smiled like that last.

Before he forgot, he reached over to where he’d thrown his pants, growing impatient as he struggled to pull out his wallet and procure a single silver wrapper from it. You’d been so consumed by the moment that you hadn’t even thought about protection.

You thought about telling him not to, that you were on birth control and that as far as you were concerned you were clean. But you had no idea where he’d been, not that talking about his sexual partners bothered you, but bringing it up now did not seem like the right time.

“Someone was sure of himself,” you teased, watching him roll on the sheer latex over himself with more concentration than you’d ever seen from him before, and that was saying a lot.

He retaliated by slamming his tip into you without warning. Your head fell back, a moan rocking through you and down to your core, the waves reverberating against him, causing him to take a sharp, steadying breath.

“You ready, sweetheart?” he panted, a little condescending and you swallowed the urge to fight back, to resume the game you’d started when you called him daddy. He didn’t know just how deep you were willing to go, how much fun the two of you would have.

But tonight wasn’t the night for it. You needed him, craved him, desperately demanded that he fill the ache between your legs. You nodded, your hands gripping the cushion below you.

He couldn’t help but chuckle at your need to anchor yourself, his ego boosted so high he had no idea how he was supposed to come back down. But he didn’t care, he couldn’t care, not when you were laid out in front of him like a buffet, what he’d been starving for the only thing on the menu now.

His left hand wrapped around your thigh, opening you further. You propped your other leg over the armrest, and he pushed forward. He had not been lying, fortunately for you. He stretched you painfully, practically stuffing you full.

He made it halfway into you when you hissed, one of your hands shooting up to wrap around his bicep, urging him to stop. He stilled immediately, slowly rocking his hips back to slide out of you before slowly pushing himself back in.

That’s when you fell, your arms giving out under you. An accomplished grin lit up his features. He sat himself back up on his heels to tower over you. Your hand sliding down to the one he’d wrapped around your leg, your fingers lacing with his, almost like a pinky promise as he continued his slow rhythm, never giving you too much, never forcing your body to take anything it wasn’t ready for.

You could practically feel the wetness dripping out of you, coating him more and more with every thrust. He could clearly feel it too, the slick making it easier for him to slide in and out of you each time.

He took it as an indication to keep going. He thrust back into you, pushing himself just an inch further than before. You were a mess of whines and whimpers, your back arching in response, needing him fully in you.

“Please, Aaron,” you slurred. “More.”

He pulled out of you completely, the desire to see himself slam back into you fully overwhelming. His hips pushed forward, easily sliding himself inside to the hilt, your ass slapping against his hips beautifully. He moaned then, his hands flying to your hips, locking you in place. You whimpered, your head craning up enough to see there was no space left between the two of you.

“Fuck,” you mumbled, your walls clenching around him unconsciously.

His eyes shut close in pleasure at your movement, jaw clenching, fingers digging into your skin deeper. You took him in, on the verge of coming undone, on the verge of cumming in seconds like a teenage boy that didn’t know how to stop himself.

You giggled, your warm laughter bringing him back to you as he realized what you were laughing about. He scoffed, blush creeping over his cheeks in the most adorable way. You clenched around him again, deliberate and mean. He almost screamed then, the moan that left his lips guttural and raw.

“Sweetheart, you’re killing me,” he huffed. “I don’t want to cum yet, give me a second, alright?”

You sighed, feigning annoyance, but respected his request, unclenching your muscles to give him a moment of respite. Your hands began to draw circles over his own, nails slowly dragging up his arms and towards his chest, gentle, curious, exploring.

You took your time, diligently running your fingers over every ridge, every dip, every single one of the scars that littered his abdomen. They were smaller now and faded from what they had been when he was first attacked, but you knew they were there.

He hadn’t told you the full story, hadn’t really mentioned it aside from briefly alluding to it when he was forced to explain a comment Jack had made in passing one time, a comment about his mother. But you’d noticed them years ago, and as much as he could act like he was over it, like he was comfortable being shirtless around you, you needed him to know that he was safe, that he could trust you.

He didn’t flinch under your touch, instead he hummed, his own hands shifting their grip on you to show you how much he appreciated your touch.

“Did you catch the bad guy?” you asked suddenly. He turned to face you with a scolding expression, this is clearly not the time for this. It only made you laugh again, embarrassed. “What? Thinking about gross things helps!”

“I don’t want to ever think about that when I’m with you, got it?” he commanded.

“Yes, sir,” you replied and his eyes darkened once more, whatever fear of bursting immediately leaving his body as lustful greed flooded back in, emboldening him.

“What you called me the other day,” he started, somehow both confident in what he wanted to ask and yet boyishly shy about it. “Are you okay with that?”

“What did I call you?” you acted dumb, so dumb indeed that it got you another powerful, forceful jam of his cock. You squealed, his tip now uncomfortably pressing deeply into you. “No, daddy, ’s too much,” you whined, your voice hitching into a sweet, high pitch that made his cock twitch inside of you. “It hurts.”

“Too deep?” he asked in his normal voice, making sure to check in with you. You nodded, desperate for him to pull back, and he immediately returned to the comfortable pain. You let out a deep breath, air filling your lungs again. He was concerned, but more than anything he was turned on, the desire to ruin you too strong. “I’m going to start moving, alright?”

“Yes, daddy,” you mumbled and he groaned loudly, his cock practically taking on a life of its own and making him react in a way he’d never experienced before.

Aaron understood what desire was, he knew what it felt like, knew what to do with it, but this? This wasn’t desire. This was debilitating, allconsuming, painful almost. His brain disconnected from his body, it was as though he was floating next to his body as well as feeling everything that was happening around him, to him, because of him.

He wanted to consume you, wanted to lose himself to the perfect sounds coming out of you, wanted to feel your tightness around him all the time, wanted to drown and stay at the bottom of your waters forever.

His moans danced with yours in a delicate choir ensemble, the slapping of your bodies coming together becoming the bass keeping the pace, the rattling of the lounge chair against the concrete floor the percussion, the scrapping of the mattress against the plastic the strings – it was all too much, too good, too perfect.

“I’m close, sweetheart,” he whined. “Rub your clit for me.”

Whatever coherent thoughts were left in you forced your body to obey immediately, your shaky hand landing in between your bodies. Your fingers were met with a lewd amount of slick, your clit puffy and screaming out to be touched. You rolled your fingers over it and the sensitivity sent you into overdrive, a snap of electricity running all the way down to your opening.

He moaned in response, your core starting to tighten with each thrust, with each touch. The pressure was tight, tighter, desperately trying to force your dam to burst.

“Daddy,” you whimpered. “Daddy, please, please, please, please–”

“Cum, sweetheart, cum all over me,” he demanded and you let it break. Waves of pleasure crashed against you, your entire body shaking, thrashing, slamming against his. Your moans turned into whines, you dug into his forearms, your legs hooked around his waist, pulling him further into you, locking him in place.

The second he felt you clench against him, the second he felt your core tighten, your slick warm his entirety, your nails digging into his arms so hard he wouldn’t be surprised you drew blood – he lost it. He managed to thrust into you two more times before he slammed himself as far as he could inside of you, not caring if it was uncomfortable for you.

He came hot and hard into the condom, his own pleasure blurring his vision, making his own body shake against yours, making his heart feel like it had skipped a beat. He stopped breathing for a few seconds, the sensations too overwhelming for his body to remember that it needed to breathe to survive.

You were panting hard, your chest rising and falling as if you’d just ran a marathon. Your nails had stopped digging into his skin but he barely registered the lack of pain. It wasn’t until you ran your fingers over the indents in his arms that he opened his eyes, seeking yours immediately.

You waited until his gaze met yours as if it was about time it did. You smiled lazily at him, completely spent, content, satisfied. He returned the smile, allowing himself to lower his body down over yours. His chest pressed against your own, softly caging you, holding you captive as his aching lips found yours.

This kiss was unlike any of the ones you’d shared, unlike any of the ones you had shared with anyone before. It was definitive, possessive, claiming you as his, and yet it was unbearably gentle, playful, wholesome.

He was the first to pull back for air, but he didn’t move away, instead he pressed his forehead to yours, his gaze unflinching, trying to communicate so much with no words at all. It was like he was making sure to savor every last drop, committing the sight and feeling of you to memory.

Aaron took much of his life for granted, the routine of it all having numbed him to most things that other people would deem as exciting or fulfilling. The only area of his life where that wasn’t the case was his son. That little boy made everything worthwhile, every battle worth fighting, every day worth living. And now, looking at you, feeling how good he’d made you feel, he knew had found something else, someone else, that made him feel excited for what the next day could bring. That made him feel fulfilled in more ways than he could yet comprehend.

Whatever doubts you’d had, whatever walls you had started to put up to protect yourself now laid crumbled all around you. He was right from the start, you were his, whatever that happened would happen, the best that you could do was ride the waves and see where they would lead you. All that did matter was that he was there and that you knew that he was also yours.

If you made it this far, thank you so much for reading! This chapter was a blast to write after all the angst that Moments has killed me with.

My requests are open! I have a few chapter ideas for Mr. Hotchner but I would love to hear what y’all would like to see. Even if it doesn’t make it into the actual series, I will try to write some cute lil blurbs.

And also, because I’m a writer that needs validation, please leave me comments or love letters if you’d like to remain anon. I need the praise and love, thank you 🩷

Ps. The next chapter is titled Guest Lecturer so you can imagine what kind of debauchery I’m about to write.

Pss. Let me know if you’d like to be tagged in future updates!

#dbf!hotch #dbf!hotch x reader #aaron hotchner x reader #aaron hotchner x you #aaron hotchner x female reader #aaron hotchner x y/n #aaron hotchner fanfiction #aaron hotchner smut #aaron hotchner #dbf!aaron hotchner #professor!Hotch #perv!hotch #we shouldn’t (and yet we do)

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alittlebitofloveliness · 2 months ago

Text

Stevie Fic

This is a Stevie first meeting fic based on this amazing art and concept by @your-unfriendlyghost Like most of my stuff its not betaed. Enjoy!

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Evie really fucking wants to hit something.

It’s probably a bad idea considering hitting something- well, someone- is what got her here in the first place, but right now it feels like her options are fight or cry and she really doesn’t want to cry.

The bench in the holding cell is cold under her bare legs, her skirt not long enough to properly cover them, but she can’t bring herself to care in the slightest, despite the fact she’s sharing the holding cell with two guys, one a drunk sleeping off a hangover in the corner, the other a tough looking greaser she vaguely recognizes from school, who’s flicking a lighter idly, clearly bored out of his mind. Her right hand is aching something awful, knuckles all split and bloody, but she clenches her fist tighter, letting the skin pull back, watches the small cuts reopen and the blood well up, filling the tiny cracks in the surrounding skin. It smarts something awful, but it’s kind of mesmerizing all the same.

She focuses on the sharp sting, pretending the tears pricking her eyes are because of that instead of the fact that mom’s here talking to the police sergeant but she’s still never been further away.

How did this even happen? A year ago her mother was her favourite person in the whole world. It was the two of them against the world, always had been, ever since dad died back when she was six. Mom never used to have a problem with how she dressed or did her hair, never used to care if she made lewd jokes or chewed with her mouth open because mom’s own manners were even worse and she liked them that way. A year ago if any man mom was seeing raised a hand to her mom would’ve punched him herself, fuck the consequences or the injuries, because she wasn’t ever gonna let a man know she was afraid of him, even if she was. A year ago if Evie had swung at someone for a good reason mom would’ve bailed her out and took her out for ice cream, smiled her crooked smile and told her she was right proud of her and her fighting spirit, made her promise to keep it close to her heart.

Now? Mom’s so different she might as well be a different person, and if this is the thanks Evie’s going to get for defending her, well, she can fucking fend for herself. If mom wants to simper and smile and bend over backwards for a man who treats her like dirt and Evie even worse she can fucking do it. If she wants to take his side and fuss over his broken nose while Evie’s stuck in this fucking cell then good riddance. But Evie’s never gonna throw a punch to defend her again, not ever. Hell, she might not even stick around the house. If mom’s gonna choose a man she met three months ago over the daughter she’s raised for the past sixteen years, why bother? Home hardly feels like home anymore anyway, what with Dean’s clothes in dad’s old dresser, and his presence sucking the air out of every room. Mom’s art supplies have been shoved into the closet to make room for Dean’s unemployment papers, and last week Evie got home from school to find he’d thrown out all her model airplanes. She’d sobbed- she’d been collecting them since she was six, and building the green one was the last thing she did with dad before he passed- but mom just told her to stop acting like such a child because they ‘were only toys anyway’ and went right back to cooking Dean dinner. As if she didn’t know those planes meant absolutely everything to her. As if she hadn’t scraped and saved to buy her one for her birthday every single year without fail. Like she didn’t even care.

A fresh wave of anger rushes through her at the memory, and the next thing Evie knows she’s on her feet, her fist connecting with the concrete wall. She feels more than she hears something in her hand crack, and the fresh wave of agony is definitely similar to when she broke her arm back in kindergarten, but she doesn’t even care. It feels good. She wants to hit something. She wants to hurt. She wants to throw punches the way her mother taught her in the hopes they will somehow help her forget said mother’s betrayal.

“Hey!” A cop with cropped brown hair raps on the cell door with his baton so hard the bars rattle, “knock it off!”

She glares at him for a second but drops back onto the bench. She tells herself it’s because she really does want to get out of here, preferably today, but deep down she knows it’s because the man’s cold eyes and the way he swings the baton make it clear he’d be all too happy to use it on her.

“Crazy bitch,” she hears him mutter as he walks off,and she stiffens, suddenly wishing she’d spit on him while she had the chance.

“What’d you expect?” A different voice answers, “These greasy chics are all the same. Wild as rabid dogs.”

A snicker. “And they dress just as poorly. My Adeline ever stepped outta the house wearing something like that she’d never be allowed back in.”

Their voices fade, getting reabsorbed into the racket of the precinct, but there words have already sunk into her skin, leaving cuts under her surface, making a home in the piece of her thats hates herself. She shivers a bit, hugging her jacket tighter around herself, and glowers at the linoleum floor, pointedly ignoring the prickling uncomfortable feeling of being watched. Between her outburst and the cop’s shouting it’s little wonder half the precinct is staring, but she refuses to give them the satisfaction of meeting any of their gazes. Besides, it’s not like she isn’t already used to being looked at like she’s a freak.

“--I mean?” Evie recognizes Dean’s voice easily, even over the din of the rest of the station, conspicuous due to its deep cadence and domineering tone, “that’s not normal behaviour, nice girls don’t do that. I really think I oughta press charges.”

Her head snaps up and she glares at him, snarling, despite the fact he’s pretending to ignore her. Even if he doesn’t see it, mom will, will know that Evie is nothing short of genuine in her hatred, that she regrets nothing.

Besides, she knows the threat is an empty one anyway. Dean talks a good game but he knows better than to actually press charges for something like this. The cops hadn’t dragged Evieout for her side of the story yet and they’d been all too happy to put her in handcuffs- Dean’s ruined shirt and self righteous anger when he stormed in here had seen to that- but when she does get a chance to speak she’ll be all too happy to explain why she punched him in the first place, and that probably won’t go over too well with a judge.

Of course, mom could always lie for him, rendering her whole defense useless. But Evie’s trying not to think about that. Surely mom still loves her somewhere. Surely she won’t let her own daughter go to the cooler for a half baked crime even if she doesn’t.

Right?

“It’s those friends of hers,” mom defends, letting out a trilling, fake laugh, smiling as placatingly as possible at Dean and the cop they’re sitting across from. Her eyes dart towards Evie's and away so fast she’s half convinced she imagined it, “they’re such terrible influences. She didn’t mean it.”

“She broke my nose.”

And I'd do it again, asshole, Evie thinks. Her hand is killing her, but if it wasn’t she’d have clenched her fist at the mere thought. That was the one upside of this whole situation: she’d finally been able to do what she’d been wanting to do for months. She’ll be dreaming of the satisfying crunch Dean’s nose had made when she deviated his septum for weeks.

“She’s your daughter,” Dean continues, “Don’t you think she ought to be punished?”

“Of course I do,” mom simpers, cosying into Dean’s side, gazing up at him with such a sickeningly sweet look Evie wants to vomit, “But don’t you think pressing charges is a little harsh? I mean, she’s never done anything like this before.”

“Well you have to do something, Caroline, she’s out of control. Talking back, giving me attitude, not listening to you either-”

He keeps going but Evie tunes him out, done listening to his bitching, God knows she already hears enough of it at home. She hates that he’s here, that he lives with them, that he’s ruined every good thing in her life. She hates the way mom looks at him.

Most of all she hates that she only swung at him once.

The guy across from her with the lighter is still flicking it rhythmically, the clicking sound oddly sharp, distinguishable even over the overlapping conversations in the precinct itself, but its owner doesn’t seem so bored anymore. In fact, he keeps glancing over at her and then quickly looking away every time their eyes meet. She has half a mind to tell him he’s gonna waste all the gas in his lighter if he keeps it up, or maybe offer him a cigarette in exchange for a light, but she figures the boys in blue might decide to take some issue with that and she isn’t about to get a full pack of marlboros confiscated when she only just bought them.

“Fine!” Dean is suddenly looking right at her, voice rising above the precinct for real this time, “I won’t press charges this time, but I’m sure as hell not paying her bail. She can rot here as far as I’m concerned.”

The rage is a tidal wave bursting through a dam, all consuming and back full force before she can even blink

“Like you could pay it anyway, asshole!” Her unbroken hand is slamming into the bars and he should be grateful for it because it’s the only standing between him and Evie wringing his thick neck, “Last I checked you were a broke, unemployed loser spending my mom’s hard earned money because youre too much much of a fuck up to have a single cent to your own name!”

He sneers, cruelly, but doesn’t rise to the bait. She’ll catch it for sure next time she’s in the house, and he’ll probably find something of hers to break in the meantime, but for the moment he manages to hold himself together.

“Enjoy the holding cell Evelyn.”

“Seriously?” She turns to mom, half desperate, half pleading, knowing it won’t make a difference and hoping foolishly, childishly, that it will anyway, “You’re just going to let him leave me here?”

“Evie-”

“You’re my mom.” Her voice breaks.

Mom flinches, but she hides it well. Evie notices, because she knows her tells, knows the slight trick of her left eye is her way of hiding heartbreak, just like she knows mom never really got over losing dad as much as she always tried to convince herself she did, knows Dean saw the loneliness that festered in mom’s heart and twisted it to his advantage. She knows that mom is strong in some ways but not all of them and that a part of her has given up. She just hadn’t realized until now that the part of her that gave up had given up on Evie.

“I did it for you,” her voice is shaking, and Dean could be screaming and the precinct could be burning around them and it wouldn’t matter because all she can see right now is her mother’s apologetic brown eyes and the fact that she has let her down for the last time, “for you. Not for me. And this is the thanks I get?”

“I’m sorry,” mom whispers, shame twisting her features, “but- but you did a bad thing Evie, and-and we don’t really have the money for bail right now anyway. They’ll only hold you for a day or two anyway and then you can come home and we’ll figure this out, the three of us.”

“Come home?” She can’t help the scoff that forces its way out of her throat, “You think you can leave me here, after everything, and I’ll just come home like nothing happened?”

“You don’t mean that.”

“Try me.”

“Dean’s right,” mom shakes herself and the glimpse of her true self is gone, replaced by the shell of a woman filled with Dean’s slimy thoughts, “you need a few days to cool down. You’re impossible to talk to right now.”

“Imagine how much more impossible to talk to I’ll be when I'm gone and your sack of human shit boyfriend won’t even let you try to find me!” Evie yells at her retreating back, “Huh? Huh, you fucking bitch! Fuck. You.” She punctuates the last two words with a weak rap against the bars, but as suddenly as her anger overtook her it has drained away, leaving nothing but misery in its wake.

The brown haired cop doesn’t have to rap on the bars this time to make her behave. She slinks back to the bench, a woman defeated.

She doesn’t cry, but it’s a near thing. In fact, she still might. It’s taking a lot of harsh blinking and biting the inside of her cheek to keep the tears from falling, but she refuses to crumple here, to be weak in front of a room full of men who have already seen her humiliated and powerless, men who have actively participated in making her that way. They will not get the victory of seeing her cry too. They won’t.

“Here,” suddenly the boy with the lighter is next to her, holding out a stained, but soft looking rag. She must have stared at him a beat too long because he clears his throat awkwardly, cheeks reddening ever so slightly, “for your hand.”

“Oh,” she’d all but forgot about her split knuckles and probably broken ring finger, but when she looks down she can see that it’s started to swell something awful, which has in turn increased how much she’s bleeding, “thanks.”

She struggles to wrap the rag clumsily around her knuckles. Without meaning to she makes the mistake of accidentally twitching her broken finger and drops the rag with a hiss, instinctively cradling her hand closer to her chest.

“Here, let me- I mean- I can wrap your hand for you? If you want?” Lighter guy offers. He’s endearingly awkward, and, Evie has to admit, kind of cute, with his thick dark hair and glowing bronze skin. He looks about as rough as most guys from their side of town, intimidating with his leather jacket and seemingly instinctual scowl, but he doesn’t seem scary. Not really. Not when he’s this kind.

Wordlessly she holds out her hand and he takes her wrist with a gentleness that’s unprecedented from such large callused hands, clearly used to hard work, as he carefully threads the cloth over and around her knuckles, covering most of the cuts without tying anything too tightly.

She’s almost disappointed when he pulls away.

“You’re real good at that.”

“Yeah well,” he grins, suddenly roguish and Evie can see how he could be mean if he wanted to, “it’s not exactly my first time bandaging bruised knuckles. Might be my first time bandaging them on a girl though.”

“Oh yeah?” Despite her misery she can feel a smile tugging at the corner of her own lips.

He nods. “You oughta join a rumble sometime, looks like that right hook of yours does some real damage.”

“He deserved it!” Evie snaps.

“Looked like it,” The boy agrees, holding up his hands in surrender. He’s quiet for a minute, then adds, “Sounded like it too.”

Something about the way he says it makes her pause.

“He was gonna hit my mom,” she admits, shivering at the memory of Dean’s rage and the way mom had tensed, hands flying up to shield her face. She’d said after, when Dean was still screaming and everything had gone to shit that he’d never done it before, but her reaction had told Evie otherwise. “He was standin’ over her and I could see him pulling back and in that moment it felt like my options were hit or be hit. So I punched him.”

“Tuff.”

Evie blinks. “Ya think?”

“Yeah,” he nods, “I really do.”

Something in her chest relaxes at that, at not only his non judgemental assessment of her actions but his clear approval of them. She hadn’t realized how much she needed someone on her side until now.

She looks at him, really looks at him. Aside from his thick hair and smooth skin, he’s got slightly crooked teeth and a strong nose. His eyes are angry, but righteously so, not cruelly so, and there is kindness hidden in the curve of his cheek and the calluses of his hands.

“You’re Steve, right? I’ve seen you around school before with that friend of yours. The blond one.”

“Sodapop, yeah,” He gives her an odd look, slightly pleased but clearly taken aback, “I gotta be honest, I’m not used to people knowing my name and not his.”

“Oh,” It’s her turn to blush, “well, I-I guess he never really made much of an impression on me.”

“Well since you seem to know my name, does that mean I made an impression on you?”

“No,” her cheeks are burning and she doesn’t sound convincing, even to herself, but if she’d seen Steve Randle doing pull ups when she walked past the boys gym class once and made a point of learning his name, that’s no one's business but her own. It didn’t have to mean anything. It didn’t mean anything before now. “Shut up.”

He laughs, and she should probably be annoyed because he’s definitely teasing her but it’s such a nice sound, carefree and inherently defiant, that it’s hard to do anything but enjoy it.

“Someone call for a jailbreak?”

Before Steve can properly answer they’re interrupted.

Speak of the devil, Evie thinks, silently cursing Sodapop as he grins through the bars at Steve, flanked by an older boy wearing ascuffed letterman jacket and the brown haired cop from earlier. He couldn’t have waited to get here just a few minutes longer?

“Took you long enough,” Steve rises fluidly to his feet as the cop unlocks the cell, and nods at the other boy, “Hey superman. What’re you doin’ here?”

“Gotta be over 18 to bail someone out Steve-o,” Sodapop singsongs, before the older boy can get a word in, “an’ I figured you wouldn’t want me gettin’ mom or dad involved unless I had to.”

“Thanks man,” Steve pulls them each into one of those odd half hugs boys do, clapping the big one called Superman on the shoulder as he pulls away, “speaking of, any chance you’d be willing to sign for one more person? I’ll pay the bail, I just need your signature.”

He looks over his shoulder expectantly and Evie realizes with a start that he means bail for her.

“What? No! Steve you guys can’t- I don’t got the scratch to pay you back-”

“Well I ain’t about to leave you here by your lonesome all night, and it don’t seem like your mom’s fixing to come back anytime soon. Darry here won’t mind signin’ the papers since I’m vouchin’ for you.”

‘’Course not.” The older boy agrees.

Evie bites her lip, considering. She really, really doesn’t want to stay here, especially without Steve for company, but she also doesn’t have the funds to pay him back.

“I really can’t pay you back-”

“Listen, if you really wanna pay me back you could agree to go out on a date with me?“

“O-oh,” she smiles down at her feet, “I- yeah, I’d love to.”

“Really?”

He really shouldn’t sound so shocked. She’d basically been the one to admit to liking him, after all.

“Yeah. Really really.”

“I’m Evie by the way,” she tells him as she and Steve walk side by side out of the precinct, realizing she has yet to introduce herself, despite how long they’ve been talking.

“Oh,” Steve's grin is playful, “I know. I make a point of learning the names of pretty girls.”

“I guess I must’ve made an impression on you too, huh?”

He gently takes her non broken hand in his, twining their fingers together.

‘Yeah,” he agrees, “I guess so.”

#the outsiders #steve randle #evie the outsiders #stevie #sodapop curtis #darry curtis #please give this some love I sacrificed sleep and very important schoolwork for it #meet cute

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missluckycharms · 9 months ago

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Hii, I missed you and your writing. Can you write something about y/n and Harry (maybe phh). When she asks him what they are and he said he wants to be in a relationship but y/n isn’t ready yet and he reacts understanding 🫶🏻🫶🏻 can you make it a bit angsty too? Thank you 🫶🏻

I’m a little rusty so if this is somewhat crappy, just mind your business. Mwah. Thank you for this concept anon!! 🤍

—

Y/N and Harry have had a complicated relationship from the beginning.

Being childhood best friends can have it’s pros and also it’s cons, many cons Y/N had come to realise.

Five years old is when they first met, both their mothers being in the same book club is what set it off, the two meeting just before they headed into school where they’d also be together, connected at the hip their mothers soon came to know.

They were inseparable since five year old Harry comforted five year old Y/N as their mothers left them for the first time ever on their first day of school, the boy instantly hugging the crying girl as he reassured her he’d always be there, and he was, he really was.

Seventeen is when things started to get weird for them, hormones came into play, parties started becoming a thing and of course, testing the waters on who they both were interested in.

Harry finding himself the centre of attention with teenage girls pretty often, eyelashes fluttering as they basically begged to kiss him or even just sit in the passenger seat of his bet up truck that he drove, but Harry wasn’t too fond of it for reasons he wasn’t aware of at that time.

Y/N was shy, not really putting herself out there like Harry was, she would avoid parties and try ignore Harry’s pleads on insisting she comes with him for just an hour! She always rolled her eyes and agreed, but even when she was there, no one even knew she was.

But Harry always did.

College is where things got difficult, the pair going their separate ways for the first time in what felt like forever. Harry moved away, Y/N stayed, and it sucked, it really did.

Sure he’d come home every now and then and hang out with her when he could, but she could feel him slip away, pulling back slowly as she tried to navigate life without his hand on her shoulder reassuring her he’s there.

But he wasn’t anymore.

She took some time for herself, saved up money and decided to travel, leaving behind the life she felt way too comfortable in, wanting to find her true self, but sometimes, even if you try hard to get away from your past and start new, some strings are just hard to break.

And Harry was a string that kept hanging on.

Twenty five is when they met again, at a small bar in a different country to where they both left one another all those years ago, it was as if her mind was playing tricks on her, but it wasn’t.

It was him, he was there.

All the pent up anger for moving away from both parts was soon let out as they argued in booze filled rage, soon finding themselves tangled around one another the next morning as the sun seeped in through the curtains.

All the years of curiosity and anger came down to this, to Harry in her bed, the same Harry who had her back from five years old, who held her when she was hormonal and needing a shoulder to sob on for stupid reasons. It was him, and she had no idea what to think of it all.

A light groan startles her from her thoughts as he moves beside her, lazily peeling his eyes open as a sleep soaked grin creeps onto his face.

“This is the last place I thought I’d be, but no complaints here!” He jokes with a soft laugh, trying to wrap his arm around her to which she brushes off, leaving him confused.

Silence, that’s all he’s met with, Y/N staring at the ceiling as if she’s trying to piece her words together, but she can’t.

“Is something wrong? I can get you anything just say-“

“Just go, please” is all she can get out, her eyes closing as she fights off tears she doesn’t know why she’s even building up.

He looks over her face, he knows when she’s bottling something up, of course he does!

“I’m not leaving you like this Star.”

There it was, the nickname he always called her growing up. It stemmed from her love of astrology, always looking up at the stars whenever she could, he found it adorable, from then on always referring to her as one.

“Don’t call me that, you haven’t called me that in years.” She says almost as if she’s disgusted it even slipped past his lips.

Harry is confused, last night they were all over one another, couldn’t get enough of each other as they shared what was their first ever intimate night together, sharing themselves with each other for the first time ever.

“Please, can you just look at me?” He says with a light laugh, more one of confusion than of anything else, his heart tugging as he sees her flinch away from his touch yet again.

“It’s just best if you go, go back home and just don’t contact me again, I’ll do the same. Let’s just get back to what we were before last night.”

That was the thing, Harry didn’t want that.

“Y/N, do you know the reason I was here in the first place? The reason I suddenly just showed up?” Harry’s heart skips a beat as she looks at him for the first time this morning as she shakes her head softly.

“It’s because I couldn’t live without you, I tried, trust me I did! I tried everything. Nothing compared to what I felt when I was around you, knowing you were there was enough for awhile but when you moved,” he sighs with a shake of his head before he begins again.

“I felt like a piece of me left with you.”

Y/N doesn’t take her eyes off him, drinking in how he looks now, on sober eyes she can still see the young boy in him, the dimples poking out as he smiles down at her but there’s also differences.

She doesn’t see him as a friend anymore.

“Your hair is longer” she speaks, which is another difference she didn’t seem to notice last night.

“You had a thing for Tarzan growing up, had to get you some way.” He joked, earning a small laugh from her to which he beams at, missing her smile and her laugh that he was oh so fond of.

“You’re an idiot.”

“Can I be your idiot?”

That sentence brings her back to earth, the pit in her stomach returning as she fights back a lump in her throat as she tries to build up courage to tell him.

But she doesn’t need to tell him, he knows already.

“I know, you’re not ready for commitment, but I’m willing to wait until you are, even if that means I have to shower you in my love until you are.” He jokes, but he isn’t deep down and they both know that.

“I just need time.” She softly says, to which he just nods, smiling back at her.

“I’ve all the time in the world for you, Star.”

And just like that, things weren’t so complicated anymore.

#anon <3 #harry styles au #harry styles #harry styles blurb #harry styles imagine #harry styles one shot #harry styles fluff #harry styles angst #harry styles writing #harry styles fanfiction

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its-time-to-write · 2 years ago

Text

i think we could do it if we tried

So I misread a prompt, and didn’t realize until halfway through the fic. This was the result and it ended up being weirdly personal? If you hate it or think it’s unrealistic, I know, it’s just wishful thinking, ok?😭

i think we could do it if we tried

You’re sure Jamie’s expression will be burned into your mind forever. After all, you’re the one who put it there.

“I don’t know why I’m crying,” you say, tears streaming down your face, “I’m the one who’s breaking up with you.”

Jamie just laughs wetly. “Not your fault, though, is it?”

That just makes you cry harder.

You and Jamie had been friends for a long time, and he’d been in love with you forever. You didn’t return the feeling until you turned eighteen. It was on your birthday, actually. He had insisted on wearing a birthday hat all day, despite that fact that he was at training and you were at home, so you didn’t see each other until the end of the day. Something about seeing the sparkly cone on his head did something to your heart, and there it was; you loved him.

You suppose the love was always there, lying dormant, but now it had arisen. It took you a week to muster up the courage to tell him, but you did and now it felt like the world made sense.

Now, a month later, you’re breaking up with him.

Jamie had been playing football for a while now, and he was really, really good. You were beginning your studies as an undergrad and had your life mapped out until grad school. He was moving away soon and you were leaving tomorrow, but that wasn’t the reason you were breaking up.

It’s because your parents didn’t approve.

“I can’t make them understand,” you tell Jamie, willing yourself not to cry. “And… I know I’m eighteen, but they’re paying for university. They said they’d pay all the way through grad school, and I can’t afford it on my own.”

Jamie nods and wipes his eyes with the back of his hand.

“God, it’s fuckin’ shitty, ain’t it?” he says. “Me ‘n you, finally figuring it out too late.”

You can only nod and sniff. Your parents told you that Jamie was a good friend, but nothing more.

“You’re only projecting feelings onto him because you know he likes you,” your mum had said. “And besides, he plays football. Can’t support a family on that, can you?”

Any protests you made fell on deaf ears. Your parents never explicitly said they’d pull their financial support, but it was hinted. It hung in the air, poisoning the atmosphere in the house. Your mother’s displeasure saturated the building, affecting everyone inside.

So here you are, standing in the dim light of Jamie’s mum’s porch, breaking up with him at 10pm.

He knew it was coming, too.

“Y’know I’d never want you to put your life on hold for me, yeah?” he’d said two days earlier.

You just nodded.

“I’ve been thinking about quitting football,” he continued, “Get a real job, stay closer.”

You had protested vehemently. He loved football, and he was good, like really good, and how could you ask him to give it up?

So yeah, it wasn’t a total blindside.

Still hurt, though.

You stood there, a long time, without speaking. You were memorizing each other’s faces and the way it felt being together for the last time.

There’s a light on in Georgie’s room, and you wonder if she’ll still love you despite the fact you broke her baby’s heart.

Jamie finally breaks the silence. “You should go,” he says, “before your parents figure out you’re gone.”

You don’t trust yourself to speak, so you just reach out and squeeze his hand. He pulls you in for a hug, the tightest one you’ve ever received, and you never want to let go. But you do.

You fight the urge to say I’ll wait for you. I’ll find you when I’m done with school. We’ll make it work. But you don’t want to give him false hope. You don’t want to hurt him more than you already have.

So instead, you whisper “I love you, Jamie Tartt,” and force yourself to walk away.

—

That was six years ago. You pushed yourself through school, got out with your BA in three and a half years, and scraped through your MA in two. There were times it felt a little like hell, but you persevered.

You’re pretty sure the worst moment was during your third year, when your roommate, a football aficionado, started talking about Man City’s hotshot new player.

“Oh my god, he’s like, so fucking sexy. The things he does on the pitch… he’s like, revolutionized the game.”

“Hm,” you say noncommittally, lost in a textbook.

“Yeah, heard he’s a bit of a prick though. Grew up in Manchester, and he’s about our age. D’you reckon you knew him?”

“What?” you say, finally lifting your eyes from the page. “I didn’t grow up in Manchester, just lived there when I was a teenager.”

Your roommate shrugs. “Did you know a ‘Jamie Tartt?’ Dating Keeley Jones?”

And there it was. The worst moment of your whole university career.

You turn back to your book in order to hide your face. “Doesn’t sound familiar,” you say, and your roommate doesn’t push it. She’s too busy telling you how Jamie and Keeley are the hottest, most perfect couple she’s ever seen.

You’re past that now. It still feels like a stabbing pain every time you hear his name or see his face on a screen, but for the most part, you’ve shut down that part of your brain.

You might have shut it down a little too successfully.

In the last six years, you’ve been in exactly two relationships. Both short-lived, both leaving you with a sense of apathy.

But, your parents approved of both of them. Didn’t matter that they were shallow, self-absorbed dickheads; “He’s cute and has a good job!” your mum had said, oblivious to the fact that she was replaying the exact same pitch to you from before.

You had felt a rush of relief when the news hit that Jamie and Keeley had broken up. You hated hearing about all his escapades, and how much he hurt her. It made your heart ache, knowing he was burying himself in his prickish attitude the same way you were burying yourself in yours.

Well, maybe that’s too harsh. You aren’t a prick per se, you’re just… cold. Emotionless. You felt very little this days, because every time you felt the tiniest bit of anything, everything threatened to overwhelm you.

After school, you just… kept moving. No sense in going home, you loved your family but they made you feel like you were drowning. And you couldn’t make yourself go back to Manchester.

Georgie called you from time to time, checking up on you. Turns out she didn’t hate you. She was actually rather worried. She never, ever mentioned Jamie.

“You can’t just stop living life, love,” she had said one time. “That’s all it is: love and loss. You just keep moving forward.”

You took her advice literally, securing a good job that allowed you to work remotely. You moved to the east side of London, West Ham, but were never at your flat longer than a week. After all, you were hot and had a good job. Why not travel? You had no strings keeping you anywhere.

Now you’re back in West Ham for two weeks, getting ready to go to Barcelona. A friend has a timeshare that she can’t make it to, so you volunteered to go. After all, it’s better to be apathetic in Barcelona than it is in West Ham, right?

Whatever the case, you’re here for much longer than you’d like to be, but you’re going to make the best of it. You have a friend from uni who lives near you, so you’re going out tonight. She wants to go to some upscale restaurant a couple minutes from your flat with a few other girls, and you decide that you’d rather not be alone tonight.

You don’t mention that it’s your birthday. You stopped celebrating them at nineteen.

Your hair and makeup are done, you’ve put together an appropriate fancy-dinner outfit, and you’d say you’re looking classy. You grab your bag and head out the door.

It’s only a ten-minute walk, and there are all kinds of people out. You wonder why, then remember it’s Saturday. That explains it.

There’s an especially rowdy bunch of guys up ahead, seemingly corralled by a middle-aged man with a mustache. As you draw closer, you hear his accent. American, specifically mid-Western. You breeze by them, catching snatches of their conversations and a mix of accents.

Your ear tunes into someone saying, “…not what really happened,” with an accent that reminds you so much of Jamie’s, you find yourself rooted to your spot in the sidewalk, turning around to confirm that it is not, in fact, him.

You make eye contact with the middle-aged mustached man, who smiles at you and shrugs. “Footballers. What a rowdy bunch,” he says, “Wonder where their coach’s at?”

You surmise by his jocular tone that he’s their coach.

You give him a small smile and he comes over to you. Your feet still won’t move, because you haven’t confirmed that the voice was not Jamie. Or maybe because this man is a gaffer, and you want him to say something, anything about possibly knowing Jamie Tartt.

“I’m Ted,” he says, sticking out his hand.

You shake it and give him your name. At this point, his team have noticed that their coach is talking to someone new, and they descend like a flock of curious children.

There’s a chorus of hellos and one hola, but it’s all a little lost because all you can hear is one soft, “hey.”

“Hi,” you breathe.

One look into Jamie Tartt’s blue eyes and you’re a goner, even after six years.

Ted looks from you to Jamie. “Oh, do y’all know each other? Jamie, why didn’t you say something?”

“Dunno,” Jamie says, keeping his eyes on you.

Ted, great man that he is, assesses the situation with alarming perception.

“Alright boys, why don’t we let Jamie catch up with his lady-friend, and we’ll just text him where we end up, sound good?”

It does not sound good to them, because they can tell something interesting is about to happen, but Ted and another bearded American herd them away and down the street, leaving you and Jamie alone on the sidewalk.

“How you been?” he asks, looking awkward as you feel.

“I’ve been…” what word is there to describe how you’ve been? You settle for a shrug.

He nods and huffs out a single chuckle. “Yeah, that about sums it up, don’t it?”

“What about you?” you ask, reaching out to lightly tap his arm. “Heard you were some hotshot footballer.”

Jamie imitates your shrug. “Heard you were some hotshot something or the other.”

You crack a small smile at that. “Georgie tell you?”

“Yeah,” Jamie says, “Felt the need to keep me updated. Don’t fuckin’ know why though.”

That hurts a little bit. This is a mistake, you think. You begin to realize, perhaps for the first time, that your pining after him was pointless. And one-sided.

That is, until Jamie says so softly you almost miss it, “Happy birthday, by the way.”

There it is.

You open your mouth to say, I love you, but what comes out instead is, “I’m sorry.”

“What for?” Jamie asks in surprise.

“I’m just… sorry. For everything. For walking away. I don’t know, I feel like I should have fought it or something… I think about you all the time. I wish that I would’ve done something different, I guess. I know I can’t change it, but…” you shrug helplessly.

Jamie just looks at you, head tilted.

You huff out an awkward laugh. “Anyway. I should probably go. Meeting a bunch of girls for drinks and dinner.”

“You hate that shit,” Jamie says, and it comes out the exact same way he would have said it six years ago. Like he’s comfortable with you, like he knows every single tick in your brain.

“I do,” you agree ruefully. “Just couldn’t get out of it, I guess. Didn’t have a good excuse.”

“Go out with me,” Jamie suggests, impulsively. But then, he was never one for forethought.

Your mouth opens to decline, then shuts.

“You’re done with school, yeah?” Jamie continues, “Mum said you haven’t been home in ages. Said she knows more about you than your parents. What if… what if we gave it another go? We’re fuckin’ adults, ain’t we? Let’s just fucking try.”

He’s looking at you, so full of anxious hope that it makes you want to cry. You can feel a few tears fighting their way forward.

“Jamie,” you say, “Jamie I don’t know. I mean- I hurt you. I knew what I was doing would hurt you and I did it anyway. I could hurt you again.”

Jamie replies, “Weren’t your fault though, was it?” and you’re taken back so vividly to that front porch.

You look at him, really look at him for the first time in six years. He’s older, you realize, and you think that he must think something similar about you. He’s calmer, almost- gentler? Still the same Jamie though, with the blonde highlights and the slit in his eyebrow. Outrageous sense of fashion, one that is no longer dulled by the ominous presence of his father. He’s more sure of himself, you think, and you realize you’re more sure too.

There isn’t anything hanging over your head threatening to take your livelihood away.

It’s poetic, really. You, him, in the dim streetlight. Deciding to begin again exactly six years after it ended.

“Jamie,” you say again, because you love the way his name feels on your lips, “I didn’t ever stop loving you. I don’t ever want to stop loving you.”

He’s taken a step closer, and there’s mere centimeters between you.

“Y’know I’d never want you to put your life on hold for me, right?” you whisper, “Been thinking about stopping traveling. Maybe settle down closer, focus on my job more.”

Jamie smiles. “Go out with me,” he says. “Skip your dinner. You’d have a shit time, anyway.”

You smile back and reach out for his hand. It still fits perfectly in yours. Maybe even better.

“I would love to.”

#jamie tartt x reader #jamie tartt fanfiction #jamie tartt imagine #jamie tartt x y/n #jamie tartt x you #jamie tartt #ted lasso

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pedriscroquettes · 1 year ago

Text

𝐌𝐈𝐍𝐄. PEDRI

summary. you’d always claimed pedri as yours while he always found you as a disturbance to his life. here’s the timeline of your relationship.

warnings. angst, fluff, asshole!pedri, kind of annoying reader(?), virginity mentions, and a love triangle?

a/n. this goes out to all the delusional girlies like me. gif by pedripics

september 2007

the look of horror on your teacher’s face contrasted your calm demeanor. you thought she was overreacting when in truth she was not. you were too calm for what had just happened to you. doña rosy’s son had just cut off a huge chunk of your hair and was currently running around the class displaying it like a prize. the fact that you weren’t as upset as you should’ve been shocked your teacher.

the reality of it is that you thought pedro was cute and somehow instead of crying about your loss of hair you were rather flattered about it. you were quite literally insane for thinking that somehow this demonstrated that pedro liked you. at least that’s what your older cousin would say.

“boys are mean because they like you.” her words echoed in your mind.

soon the two of you along with your parents and pedro’s older brother fer were in the principals office. your mother was in shock and couldn’t believe that you’d have to start your hair growth process all over again. meanwhile, pedro’s mom was full of embarrassment and of course both father’s couldn’t help but laugh at the scene in front of them. after all you were both just kids who didn’t know better.

“well it seems your daughter isn’t too upset about the events that occurred therefore i have no reason to suspend pedro.” the principal decided.

“what? he cut off a chunk of my daughters hair! it will take months for it to grow back! surely there’s got to be some form of punishment for him?” your mother yelled.

“but mom i’m not mad at him.” you tried to tell her but she wouldn’t listen to you.

“fine. pedro is designated table cleaner after lunch for the rest of the month and no recess for a week.” the principal sighed.

“but mrs. dominguez we play football during recess hour i can’t miss it!” pedro whined.

“you should’ve thought about that before chasing your classmate with scissors and almost leaving her hairless.” she scolded him.

on the way out of mrs. dominguez’s office pedro’s parents couldn’t stop apologizing for what he had done. meanwhile, all you could do was stare at him. he was the cutest boy you had ever seen, given that you were only six and didn’t know any better obviously. it didn’t take long for him to notice your glare and he began to approach you slowly. you lifted your shoulders thinking this was finally going to be the moment he declared his undying love for you like men did in the movies. you stood there stupidly with a smile plastered on your face.

“i should’ve cut off the other side of your hair if i knew you’d stop me from playing football. i hate you.” he told you before chasing after his older brother.

any other girl would’ve started crying, well more like any other smart girl. they would’ve realized he meant what he said but not you. you simply thought he was bluffing that he still wasn’t ready to confess his feelings. so, you simply brushed it off and picked up your book bag. you couldn’t wait for saturday, the day your family always went to his parents restaurant to have dinner. maybe he’d confess then.

october 2013

the humid hot air of the island almost made you turn around and go back home but your foolishness made you continue your walk. it took you almost fifteen minutes to make it to the local football field but alas you had arrived on time for kickoff. you sat next to fer, someone you had somehow gotten close with the last few years. it also helped that he was pedro’s brother and allowed for you to be close to him.

“why are you here?” fer turned around to face you.

“geez, didn’t know i was such a bother to you.” you joked.

“oh, come on! i like you my brother hates you which is why i’m so surprised as to why you’re here.” he looks back onto the field spotting his brother.

“pedro doesn’t hate me he’s just too scared to confess his feelings for me.” you playfully hit fer on the shoulder.

“yeah, okay. just don’t give him too many children i don’t want to take care of too many kids in the future.” he jokes.

the both of you chat for a bit catching up on your day to day when all of a sudden the ball hits the back of the net and the local crowd, which consists purely of parents and siblings, goes wild. you notice it’s pedro who has scored as he starts running towards the area you and fer are located and blows a kiss to the crowd. like the delusional girl you are you pretend it’s meant for you. no, you know it is because you’re still stuck on the idea that pedro is devotedly in love with you.

the referee blows the whistle and tegueste takes the win with a score of 4-1. you immediately follow fer onto the pitch to congratulate his younger brother and find him chatting with his teammates. pedro immediately goes up to his brother and starts thanking him for coming as their parents couldn’t since it was a busy night at the restaurant. you get ready to tell him how well he played but as soon as he sees you he walks away.

you’re supposed to be embarrassed but somehow you think he’s the one who is. you think that he’s too nervous to be around you and that’s why he left so suddenly. you’re about to walk back home when one of his teammates stops you.

“hey!” he seems excited to talk to you.

“hi.” you greet him back.

“i’m xabi, does your brother play here?” he asks curiously.

“uh no. my friend does. pedro.” you explain.

“oh! pedro! he’s great! he’s going to be good i think. do you go to-” he’s interrupted by pedro himself.

pedro is too quick and silent you don’t even notice that he’s been sneaking up on you until he’s standing right in front of you. he’s staring at you with a devious smile on his face and you wish you knew what he was thinking.

“you know what we usually do after a win?” pedro asks you.

“we grab the buck-” xabi is once again interrupted.

“shut up xabi.” pedro turns around to shut xabi up.

“we usually grab the bucket of water and pour it on all the scorers but today i proposed that we do something differently. i think you were our lucky charm and that’s why we should pour it on you.” his smile somehow grows wider.

you’re flattered at first but then realization hits you. the dress you’re wearing is too cute to end up drenched. most importantly you didn’t want to get sick. your smile falters when you see his teammates approaching you with the large bucket of ice cold water.

“no, pedro please.” you beg.

he tries to hold you still but your instincts kick in and you immediately kick his ankle. he lets go and you immediately start running. you don’t realize it but he starts chasing after you. you’re about to cross the street when he grabs you from behind and pushes you against the wall. he has a smirk on his face again. you panic not wanting to get soaked. you try to kick him again but this time he doesn’t budge and you’re about to give up when suddenly an idea pops up in your mind.

you grab his cheeks and kiss him.

“what?” he’s confused.

you can’t help but smile at the way his cheeks turn pink but you don’t have a lot of time so as soon as his grip on you loose a you take a run for it. you arrive home exhausted and out of breath. you dramatically fall on your bed with a smile on your face excited that at your wedding you’ll be able to tell all your guests about today.

november 2019

it had been around a year since pedri, as they now called him, left the island in pursuit of a football career. it had also been six months since you gave up on the relationship you had hoped to have with him and it had been approximately three weeks since you had started seeing xabi. something you would’ve only thought would happen if pedri had stopped existing. fer told you to be more optimistic about xabi and that he actually liked you because he would’ve never pranked called the local pizzeria and sent forty pizzas to your house.

the three of you were currently gathered at the beach alongside some of pedri’s friends patiently waiting for him. fer had told you that he would be staying for a week before going back to preseason with las palmas. being the kind person you were you had organized a welcome back party for him with the help of fer. you’d paid for the food, drinks, and the cake that would be delivered later that night.

fer watched you carefully decorate one of the wooden tables with all the snacks and drinks. it was so obvious you still cared about his brother and it somehow made him mad that his brother never reciprocated your feelings. even though pedri didn’t owe it to you to feel the same way it just made him mad that he had always treated you bad for no reason. you had never done anything wrong to pedri prior to his teasing so fer always wondered where his brother’s hatred for you came from.

fer doesn’t have much time to wonder about his brother because said person was already making his way towards him. he’s about to run towards him when he notices somebody else behind him, a girl. he quickly turns around to look for you but you’re too distracted with making sure everything looks nice that you don’t notice pedri or the girl with him. it’s not until everyone starts greeting him that you notice his presence. you don’t expect him to talk to you so you stay back with xabi and that’s when you notice the girl next to him.

you’re surprised at yourself for feeling jealous and hurt because you thought you had finally moved on from your stupid childhood crush. xabi’s arm wraps around your waist at the sight of pedri as if the midfielder’s presence threatened him. you turn around facing the beach not wanting to see pedri and his girlfriend, you assumed that’s who she was. you’re too entranced by the waves to see the look he sends your way and more specifically the way he glared at xabi’s arm around your waist.

who did he think he was? just because he was named after one of the greatest spanish players of all time he was some hotshot? pedri mentally scoffs at the fact that his old teammate had finally been able to ask you out. he had practically drooled over year since the first time you showed up to his games. he grabs alba’s hand in spite. alba was just his friend but felt the urge to rub her in front of your face. he didn’t know why he felt so mad at seeing you with xabi or why he was also upset that you weren’t looking at him in admiration anymore.

“xabi! it’s been so long.” he greets your boyfriend.

you can smell his cologne, the one fer had bought for him last minute when he had visited his younger brother in las palmas. it was intoxicating. you finally turn around to face him and it’s like primary school all over again. you mentally slap yourself for still feeling flustered around him especially after all the damage he’d done to you. the girl he brought offers you a smile and you can only giver her a weak one back not knowing how to feel. xabi treated you so well yet he wasn’t pedri.

as soon as he’s done speaking with your boyfriend he walks away as expected. you don’t feel embarrassed nor angry anymore but rather relieved you don’t have to face the feelings you thought you didn’t have anymore. you took a step back fixing your skirt and making sure your appearance was okay. xabi notices how you fidget. he always does. he notices the smallest things and you hate that you can’t reciprocate how he feels to the max.

“he’s an asshole.” he whispers making sure the two of you are the only ones who hear.

“xabi, come on.” you whine not wanting anything to break out tonight.

“what? it’s true! he’s treated you like shit since we were kids and he still does it now. he didn’t even say hi to you when you planned this whole thing.” your boyfriend claims.

he’s right but you’d never stop making up excuses for the man you’d probably love for the rest of your life.

“i mean i did annoy him every single day of his life until he left. he doesn’t owe me anything.” you replied.

“yeah, you were like 10 with a little girl crush on him so it doesn’t give him the right to act like that. he should just tell you that he doesn’t like you and leave it at that. he probably doesn’t even know that you help out doña rosy at the restaurant, or that you helped fer with his exams, or that you had convinced the principal to not take away his recess time to play football! it’s not fair to you!” xabi exclaims.

“you’re right but i just don’t want to fight him. not today. so promise me you won’t start anything?” you beg him.

he scoffs but then offers you a weak smile himself.

“yeah, okay but if he pulls some messed up shit tonight i can’t promise i won’t beat him up.” you both laugh at his words.

the two of you are unaware that you’re being watched by said asshole and that he’s gripping his cup to the point that the sofa starts dripping out of it. he starts looking for his brother leaving alba alone. in fact he completely forgets about alba when he can only notice how infatuated you are by xabi. what did xabi have that he didn’t? besides compassion and kindness since pedri clearly had the looks.

“when did they start dating?” is the first thing he asks his brother.

“wow, not even a i missed you or how have you been?” his brother scoffs.

“i missed you so much.” pedri pretends to care. “now answer my question.”

“why does it matter? you hate her?” fer continues to pour himself a drink oblivious to the fact that his younger brother is completely losing it.

“so? doesn’t mean i can’t ask about her?” pedri scoffs. “plus, look at him he’s such a loser. she could do better i guess.”

“better like who? you? please, don’t make me laugh. you’ve treated her like shit your entire life just because you knew how madly in love she is with you and now you’re interested? now, that’s she moved on with someone who cares about her? she is doing better. now go attend the guest you brought. it’s bad manners to leave her alone.” fer taunts his younger brother.

“fuck you.” pedri was always determined on having the last word.

on the way back towards alba an idea forms in his mind. it doesn’t take long for him to get everyone together. he brings an empty bottle and places it in the middle of the circle everyone had formed. the midfielder had decided to play spin the bottle with his old friends.

“so, here are the rules!” he speaks up. “when it’s your turn you spin the bottle and you get to ask them truth or dare. but if you ask a stupid question for truth i’ll skip your turn. now, who wants to go first?”

the game starts out light and fun but as the game goes on it becomes more intense and interesting. fer had somehow ended up skinny dipping with the girl next to him and an old friend of yours had confessed that she was the one who gave your old principal food poisoning with the cupcakes she had made. before you know it, it’s pedri’s turn. you stare at the bottle intently hoping it doesn’t land on you but as if the universe heard you it lands on you. the smirk he has on his face reminds you of the one who always had when he was about to do something to you.

“truth or dare?” he asks.

“truth.” you decided to go for the lighter option.

“is it true that you lost your virginity to xabi?” his first question takes you by surprise.

“what the fuck pedri?” xabi yells at him.

“shut up xabi and let her answer.” pedri glares at him.

“i don’t understand why that’s any of your concern-” you start.

“just answer the question and we’ll move on.” he urges.

“no.” you reply simply wanting to get this over with and go home.

fer is about to spin the bottle before pedri stops him. he looks back at you with a sly grin. your stomach churns and you start getting a bad feeling.

“wait, i’m not done. is it also true that you’ve had a crush on me since you were five and thought we would end up together even though i find you repulsive?” pedri started ranting.

you feel everyone’s eyes on you and soon you feel your eyes brim with tears. you don’t know why he’s suddenly putting you on the spot when you hadn’t spoken to him in a year. you’d thought he would’ve left you alone now that you were with xabi.

“well, don’t be shy now. come on? do you think about me when xabi kisses you or touc-” you don’t let him finish because you slap him, hard.

“maybe i was a pathetic little girl then who had no self respect but i do now so don’t ever talk to me like that again. i don’t care if you’re a future football star or the future prince of spain you have no right to speak to me like that. go to hell pedro.” you pick up your things getting ready to leave.

you take out thirty euros and hand them to fer.

“for the cake delivery. he should be here at 9.” is the last thing you say before you walk away with xabi closely following behind.

“what the fuck is your problem? did you just come back here to say all that bullshit to her?” fer confronts his younger brother.

“she shouldn’t have been here in the first place. she’s like a parasite.” pedri scoffs.

“without her i wouldn’t have planned this! she paid for everything and spent the whole day decorating this for you! she helps mom and dad out at the restaurant now that we get tourists there almost everyday. she helped me pass my exams and most importantly all those gifts i gave you when i visited where picked out by her. so, go to hell. i don’t wanna see you for the rest of the night so go home.” fer let’s him know.

pedri stands there in shock not knowing what to say. suddenly he feels horrible but he doesn’t want everyone else to notice so he picks up his shoulders ready to go home.

“oh and stay away from her. she finally found someone who cares about her and i don’t need your jealousy ruining that. xabi is going to play for girona next year and he’ll take care of her. i don’t need you fucking up anything else.” is the last thing his brother tells him.

you wake up to loud knocks on your door. you notice xabi isn’t next to you anymore meaning he’d probably left for training already. you yawn before slowly making your way towards the door. you don’t even check before opening the door something you regret when you see who’s on the other side. it’s pedri but now he’s rocking a black eye.

“your boyfriend paid me a visit last night.” is the first thing he says to you.

“shame.” you reply.

“huh?” he questions

“shame he didn’t get the other one as well.” you cross your arms.

“okay, i deserve that.”

“look pedri you have five minutes to tell me why you’re here before i call your parents and tell them you’re harassing me.” you say.

“i came to apologize. i was out of line last night and i fucked up. in truth i think i realized that i was jealo-”

“don’t pedri. you’ve had twelve years to tell me that you liked me or had a crush on me and instead you spent every single one of those humiliating me. maybe i was annoying but i have never disrespected you. now, leave. i’m happy with xabi and you’re not going to ruin that.” you interrupt him.

“but-”

“leave. we were never meant to happen. xabi is my person and i hope you find yours. hopefully someone nice and not full of hatred like you.” you slammed the door closed in front of him.

that day you call in sick for work and the day after that and so on until you heard news that pedri had gone back. his parents didn’t even question your absence after fer had told them what happened. you cried the first two days and then spent the next few days with xabi. in the span of those days he had asked you to move with him to girona and you didn’t even hesitate before accepting. maybe if you moved you’d loose all memories of the brown eyed boy you had once worshipped.

present day

the adjustment to barcelona wasn’t hard. the few years you were in girona were enough to learn catalan easily so you could communicate with almost anyone. the only problem was getting used to your new job at fc barcelona as a physical therapist. most of the players at girona barely stopped by opting to have surgery and recovering with their own staff. but at barça it was different, you were always busy with injured players as well as recovering players.

xabi and you had parted ways roughly six months ago when he transferred to roma. you couldn’t make the move not wanting to be too far from your home and you were surprised that he understood and took it likely. it was a rough breakup but not because he treated you bad or anything but because he had cared so much and now you felt alone. like you were missing your best friend.

you had stopped keeping up with pedri so you had no idea where he was now and had even stopped talking to fer to which he understood why. he wasn’t mad but he was upset that your friendship had failed because of his asshole brother. alas you shake your thoughts away when a knock on your office door interrupts you.

“come in!” you pick up the file that had been dropped off earlier about the player you’d be seeing today.

the door opens but you’re too engrossed by the files to notice who it is. you’re halfway into the summary of his injury until you notice you don’t even know who you’re treating. when you see the name up top your mind goes blank. you almost walk out the door at the sight of pedro’s name. you spend a few minutes panicking before remembering you’re being paid to be a professional so you gently get back into that mindset and set the file down.

“so the process of your recovery will include-”

“so, you’re just going to pretend that we don’t know each other?” pedri asks you.

“for the remainder of the time that i will work here? yes. now shut up and let me explain how your recovery process will go if you want to play again this season.” you scold him.

he just scoffs and shuts up.

“i assume the medical staff has already told you that you need to apply ice packs to the injured area several times a day as well as taking pain medicine?” you ask him.

“yeah.” he replies staring at the roof wanting to avoid your glare.

“okay so, as part of the healing process i’ll advise you certain gentle hamstring stretches to strengthen you and when the pain begins to subside we’ll move on to harder strengthening exercises. we’ll start working on them on tuesday. i believe that’s all so unless you have any other muscular issues or problems please let me know now.” you reply as stiffly as possible.

“are you and xabi still dating? i mean i assume you’re not or else you’d be in roma. unless you’re doing long distance but i doubt it, it never works out. he’s probably cheated on you by now.” pedri simply starts blabbering nonsense.

“don’t really understand why any of that concerns you.” you turn around to type up his file to the database.

“because you’re too good for him and quite frankly i don’t think you should be with him.” he stands near your desk.

“who should i be with? the asshole that let everyone back home know i was a virgin? don’t make me laugh pedro.” you look up at him to meet that same mischievous smirk from twelve years ago.

“i’ve changed.” he admits.

“good for you pedro. there are plenty of other people in the sea that you could go after. unfortunately for you i’m not one of them. so please be professional and leave me alone. i have to see gavi in an hour so i have to get ready for that.” you urge him to leave.

“please, gavi isn’t even in need of physical therapy he just thinks you’re cute.” pedri laughs.

“like you? at least he’s professional and doesn’t throw soup all over me when i approach him for lunch.” you give him a smile.

pedri steps back realizing how much of a bad person he had been to you. he couldn’t even remember all the things you were accusing him of. he suddenly feels bad for that night at the beach where he had humiliated you in front of everyone just because he thought you were too good for xabi. when in reality he was perfect for you.

“look i’m really sorry for what i did to you. for all of it. i’m not the same person i was at the beach four years ago. and you don’t owe me anything but i’d really like to take you out to dinner and make it up to you.” he begs.

“pedri, you constantly made me feel insecure about myself, humiliated me, made me wear a bob cut so short i might as well have gone bald, and bullied me for my whole childhood so a simple i’m sorry isn’t going to cut it. now, get out of my office please.” you point towards the door.

pedri simply sighs in defeat before making his way out of your office. but he doesn’t give up because as soon as your sessions with him start you’re met with flowers on your desk, links to random memes he finds on the internet, and invitations to all the fancy and expensive restaurants in the vicinity. although what finally makes you give in are the coldplay tickets he offers you.

“what the fuck, pedri?” you jump up at the envelope on your desk. “i can’t possibly accept these? they’re like the best seats as well? oh my god.”

“yes, you can and you will. my recovering process is going much faster than expected because of you and you always mentioned how much you loved the band growing up. please take them.” he urges you.

you don’t know what comes over but you’re suddenly that little girl trying to cross the street and you grab him by the cheeks. you kiss him without a second thought but this time he kisses you back. it’s a short but meaningful kiss.

“i should buy you coldplay tickets more often, huh?” he teases you.

“oh, shut up.” you blush.

he slowly creeps up next to you and wraps his arms around you before removing a strand of hair from your ear.

“in five years when we get married i’ll tell our guests about this.” he whispers into your ears.

a sudden rush of heat is felt near your cheeks and you can’t believe that six year old girl inside of you has won. you stare in awe at the midfielder, not the one you hate and despise but the one you’ve learned to love. the one who will cherish you for the rest of his life. he kisses you with so much fervor and passion you forget to breathe. his hatred for you the hatred that had never existed is now replaced by adoration and love. and you smile once again at the thought of telling this lifelong story to your wedding guests.

#pedri imagine #pedri x reader #pedri fic #pedri fanfic #football imagine #football fic #football fanfic #ash writes

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