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kiwriteswords · 2 days ago

Note

Could we see reader who hasn’t really dated or is very inexperienced begin to date Hotch? Maybe non bay? I loved sweet beginnings and how trader was so taken back by hotchs romance. I want more of that vibes please!

Touch Me Like Nobody Else Does [Aaron Hotchner x Female Reader]

Masterlist || Ao3||Word Count: 12k|| AN: I really REALLY enjoyed writing this--so much, that I completely blew off my lunch break today to write this and stayed up until 3 am last night, lol.

Tags/Warnings: mdni, nsfw, fade-to-black smut, inexperienced reader, slow burn, meet cute, shy reader, non bau reader, age gap of 20 years, reader is shorter than Hotch, fluff, smut, reassuring Hotch, praising Hotch, Hotch calls reader "sweetheart", Jack is in this story, mentions of Haley's passing, confident but inexperienced reader, chivalry isn't dead.

Summary: In a serendipitous series of encounters at a local grocery store, you, inexperienced in dating, find yourself drawn into a deepening relationship with Aaron Hotchner, a man whose past shadows his present. As your connection evolves from chance meetings to a profound bond, you must navigate the complexities of his world while also dealing with your own inexperience.

Every Wednesday--schedule permitting, Aaron Hotchner frequented the same grocery store in his quiet neighborhood. The ritual, embedded in the monotony of his demanding job, brought him a semblance of normalcy. He could stroll through each aisle and shut his brain off while just focusing on the list of items he needed to pick up for him and Jack.

But on this particular Wednesday, the routine was altered by a serendipitous collision.

As Hotch reached for his usual brand of coffee on the top shelf, a gentle bump startled him. Turning, he saw you—standing with a look of mild embarrassment, your hand frozen in mid-air, inches from his coffee choice.

“I’m so sorry, I didn’t see you there,” you said, cheeks coloring slightly.

“It’s alright,” Hotch replied, a small, unexpected smile crossing his features. “Seems we have the same taste in coffee.”

You laughed, a sound that seemed to linger pleasantly in the air between the aisles. “I guess so. It’s the best one, isn’t it?”

He nodded, handing you the can you’d both reached for. “It is. You have good taste.”

“Thank you,” you murmured, taking the coffee with a shy smile.

The encounter, brief as it was, left a lingering impression on Hotch as he watched you navigate away with your shopping cart. There was something distinctly intriguing about the way your eyes sparkled with unspoken thoughts.

The following week, the grocery store’s fluorescent lights once again cast their glow on another chance meeting. Hotch found you in the cereal aisle this time, your fingers brushing over the boxes as if each held a story you wished to uncover.

“You again,” he noted, his tone carrying a hint of amusement. He reached for a colorful box of what was probably all sugar, per Jack’s request.

You glanced up, surprise flickering across your face before it settled into a warm, inviting smile. “Seems like fate has a sense of humor,” you joked.

“Or a very specific shopping schedule,” Hotch countered, stepping closer to help you retrieve a box of granola from a high shelf.

“Thanks,” you said, your gaze lingering on his for a moment longer than necessary. “I guess I’m still figuring out the best times to avoid the crowds.”

“If it helps, Wednesday evenings seem to work well,” he shared, his voice softening.

“Maybe I’ll take that as a professional tip,” you replied, a playful edge to your words.

As weeks turned into a month, these accidental meetings transformed into a series of eagerly anticipated encounters. Each conversation revealed layers to your character—your earnestness and a latent curiosity that matched his own.

The profiler in him also noted your shopping cart. The basket filled with a variety of foods, a treat or two thrown in there as well. It mirrored his own choices.

One chilly evening, as autumn leaves painted the ground in hues of fire and gold, Aaron Hotchner spotted you outside the grocery store, struggling with a few too many bags. His steps were measured as he approached, a gentle offering in his voice. “Let me help you with those,” he suggested, his hands reaching out to ease the burden from your arms.

“Oh, you don’t have to, but thank you,” you replied, your voice a mix of gratitude and relief. Your fingers brushed against his, a subtle spark hidden in the fleeting touch.

As he walked you to your car, the crisp air seemed to thicken with unspoken words hanging between you. Hotch wasn’t a believer in fate, but he did feel there was a reason beyone his knowledge he kept running into you and it intrigued him.

You fumbled slightly with the keys, a nervous energy emanating from your gestures. Hotch noticed the way your hands shook just a little, the way your breath caught as you tried to focus on anything but the intensity of the moment.

He set the bags down next to your car, his gaze softening. "You seem a bit flustered," he observed quietly, trying to read your expression under the pale glow of the streetlights.

You chuckled, smoothing a stray lock of hair behind your ear. "I guess I'm just not used to running into someone as often as I run into you here," you admitted, your eyes meeting his with a playful challenge.

“There’s something about fate, isn’t there?” Hotch mused, a smile tugging at the corners of his mouth. “It seems to have its own ideas about who we should meet.”

Your laughter mingled with the evening air, a sound that seemed to linger pleasantly. “Maybe it does. And maybe I’m starting to think it might be right.”

He took a moment to look at you, really look at you, noticing the way the light danced in your eyes. He was normally not this forward, but he realized by your trembling hands and overall nervousness, he would need to make the first move, if he read his cards right.

"Would you like to meet for coffee sometime? Away from these chance encounters and somewhere we can talk without a shopping list?"

The suggestion seemed to brighten your expression even more. "I'd like that," you said, your voice carrying a hint of excitement. "It’d be nice to talk without wondering if I forgot to pick up milk."

As he watched you drive away that night after exchanging information, the warmth of your smile lingering in his mind, Aaron Hotchner felt an undeniable spark—a connection that, while unexpected, promised new beginnings. In the quiet solace of his car, he allowed himself a moment to savor the unexpected joy of this burgeoning connection, looking forward to the conversation that would unfold over coffee, under less fluorescent lights.

The first coffee date unfolded on a Saturday morning, the cafe a cozy alcove tucked between the bustling streets of their neighborhood. Hotch arrived early, his demeanor calm yet expectant, as he secured a corner table that offered both privacy and a view of the autumn-stripped trees outside.

When you arrived, there was a hesitant grace in your steps, a visible pause as you spotted him, and a smile that slowly overtook your initial reserve. You looked genuinely happy to see him, your eyes lighting up in a way that spoke of both nerves and excitement.

“Hi, Aaron,” you greeted, your voice carrying a melody of anticipation, as you took the seat opposite him.

“Hello,” he responded, observing the way you neatly arranged your coat and purse beside you, movements precise and considered. It genuinely piqued his interest how you could be so confident, so put together--while also seemingly so nervous and unsure.

As the conversation began to weave between the hum of other patrons and the clink of coffee cups, Hotch noticed the careful way you chose your words, as if each one were being weighed for its worth. You asked thoughtful questions, genuinely interested in his answers, but often diverted the conversation from yourself when it veered too close to personal.

Throughout the conversation, Hotch learned about your career in marketing at a bustling agency downtown. The passion you exhibited when discussing your projects was contagious, and he found himself intrigued by the enthusiasm that lit up your eyes. It wasn’t just small talk; it was a glimpse into your world, which was vibrant and full of ambition.

Though he couldn’t avoid noting the age difference between you two—nearly two decades—it didn't seem to phase you in the slightest. Your ease and confidence in engaging with him bridged any gap that the years might have imposed. For Hotch, trained to observe and analyze, the lack of concern you showed about the age difference only deepened his interest. You were refreshingly unconcerned with numbers, focused instead on the substance of your interactions.

This approach resonated with him. Despite the initial reservations he might have had, Hotch found that the more he learned about you, the more the age gap seemed inconsequential. Your curiosity about his life, your shared laughter over coffee, and the way your eyes met his with an unflinching openness—all these elements wove together into a compelling tapestry that made the numbers fade into the background.

In you, Hotch saw not the years that separated you but the possibilities that lay ahead. This unexpected connection, fueled by mutual interest and undeniable chemistry, was too significant to be overshadowed by mere numbers.

When he complimented you on your dress, a simple yet elegant choice that complemented the season, your cheeks tinged with a soft blush. “Thank you, I wasn’t sure if it was too much,” you admitted, tucking a strand of hair behind your ear—a gesture he was coming to recognize as a sign of your uncertainty.

“It’s perfect,” he assured you, his voice steady and reassuring. He noted then how your smile seemed to linger longer, a little more confident.

Coffee gave way to a walk through the nearby park, where the ground was a landscape of gold and red leaves. You walked slightly apart, respecting a mutual but unspoken boundary of personal space. Hotch observed the way your hands occasionally brushed against yours when your steps would sync for a moment, before you subtly pulled away, as if unsure of the contact.

“You know,” he started, breaking a comfortable silence, “it’s okay to just be yourself around me. You don’t have to be perfect.”

You glanced at him, a flicker of surprise in your expression. “I guess I’m just not used to this… to someone noticing,” you confessed, your voice a whisper against the crisp air.

“There’s a first time for everything,” Hotch said softly, offering a gentle smile that seemed to ease some of your tension. “And I’m glad I get to be a part of this with you.”

As leaves crunched underfoot, you gradually moved closer to him, your previous hesitation melting into a quiet comfort. Hotch welcomed the change, sensing the trust you were beginning to place in him.

It was during these simple moments—your laughter at his anecdotes from the BAU, your attentive silence when he spoke of his son, Jack—that Hotch realized the depth of your inexperience was matched only by your sincerity. And in this burgeoning connection, he found an unexpected kinship—a shared understanding that sometimes, the heart finds what it seeks in the most unanticipated encounters.

Over the next several weeks, the initial threads of attraction wove into a tapestry rich with shared moments and quiet discoveries. Each date that followed seemed to gently peel back a layer of your mutual reserve, revealing more of the profound connection that neither of you could deny.

On a cool evening, Hotch took you to a quaint Italian restaurant known for its secluded ambiance. He noticed how your eyes widened slightly at the sight of the candlelit table, the soft music in the background creating a perfect setting for intimate conversation. You seemed momentarily awestruck, a reaction he found endearing and telling of your inexperience with such deliberately romantic settings.

“You look beautiful tonight,” Hotch commented as he pulled out your chair, a gesture that made you pause with a soft 'thank you,' your voice barely above a whisper.

Throughout the evening, he was acutely aware of the careful way you placed your napkin on your lap, the glances at the array of silverware, and how you delicately navigated the menu suggestions he offered. It was these little nuances—your hesitant acceptance of his hand across the table, the way your smile slowly spread when he toasted to "new experiences"—that told him how new this all was to you.

On another crisp evening, as you walked together under the starlit sky, a conversation unfolded—a delicate dance of appreciation and hesitance. Hotch had noticed your lingering glances at the bouquet of flowers he’d brought you, a mix of admiration and something akin to concern.

“You really don’t have to keep doing this,” you began, breaking the comfortable silence between you. “The flowers, the dinners... it’s all so much.”

Hotch stopped walking, turning to face you under the glow of a street lamp. His expression was serious yet gentle. “But I want to,” he assured you. “It’s how I show I care. It’s not about obligation—it’s about expressing what I feel, in the way I know best.”

You looked up at him, the soft light casting shadows that played across your features, deepening the earnestness in your eyes. “It’s just... I’m not used to this. No one has ever...” Your voice trailed off, not from uncertainty but from the uncharted emotional territory you were navigating.

He stepped closer, his presence reassuring. “I know it’s new to you,” he said softly. “And that’s okay. But allow me to do these things for you. Not because you need them, but because I need to show you how much you mean to me. It’s not just about romance—it’s about respect, about cherishing the person you are.”

There was a moment of silence as you absorbed his words, the night air filled with the distant sound of the city. “I’m afraid I might get too used to it,” you admitted, a small smile breaking through your initial reservations.

“That’s the plan,” Hotch replied with a soft chuckle, his eyes crinkling at the corners in a genuine smile. “To get you used to being treated the way you deserve.”

You nodded slowly, leaning into him slightly, the barrier of unfamiliarity crumbling just a bit more. “Okay, Aaron. I... I trust you,” you said, your voice a whisper of surrender to the new experiences he was gently guiding you through.

Hotch’s response was a simple nod, his arm wrapping around your shoulders as you resumed walking. The city around you faded into a backdrop, a mere stage for a connection that was slowly, but surely, deepening with each shared moment and each tender gesture.

Each date was a step further into the uncharted waters of your burgeoning relationship. Hotch, being a man of tradition, felt a deep-seated desire to revive the art of classic courtship. He sent you flowers before each date, not merely as a gesture but as a symbol—a recognition of the budding something special between you. He took note of your favorite foods, your preferred genres of movies, and even the way you liked your coffee, memorizing the details like lines of an important case.

During an evening that carried the crisp edge of early winter, Aaron Hotchner and you found yourselves meandering through the quiet halls of a local art exhibit. The soft lighting and the hushed voices around you created an intimate atmosphere, echoing the growing closeness between the two of you. As you leaned lightly against his arm, your fingers brushing his, Hotch could sense your growing comfort. Yet, there remained a delicate trace of uncertainty in your gestures, a subtle reminder of your inexperience in navigating the tender dynamics of romantic intimacy.

As you paused before a particularly striking painting, your gaze absorbed in the colors and forms, Hotch watched you with a mixture of admiration and burgeoning affection. You shared your thoughts on the artwork—insightful yet tinged with shyness—that revealed a depth and sensitivity he found increasingly compelling.

"It’s beautiful," you murmured, "the way the artist uses light to express emotion. It’s almost like... like you can feel the warmth of the sun just by looking at it."

"Yes, it does," Hotch agreed, his voice low, his proximity closing in the space between you. "Art has a way of reaching into our souls, doesn't it? Drawing out things we sometimes struggle to express."

You turned towards him, your eyes meeting his, holding a spark that neither the art nor the soft gallery lights could rival. "I think that's why I like it here so much," you confessed. "It feels safe to feel things deeply."

The vulnerability in your admission, coupled with the earnest look in your eyes, stirred something profound within Hotch. He realized then how much he wanted to be a part of those unspoken depths, to explore the breadth of experiences that made you, you.

Encouraged by your closeness and emboldened by the evening’s serene beauty, Hotch found the moment he had been intuitively waiting for. "There’s something else I’ve been wanting to express," he said, his voice barely more than a whisper as he stepped closer.

Your breath caught slightly, anticipation mingling with a trace of nervous energy. Yet, you stood your ground, your eyes locked on his, a silent nod giving him the permission he sought.

Gently, Hotch cupped your face in his hands, his touch light yet filled with intent. He watched your eyes flutter closed, a sign of trust that fueled his own confidence. Then, carefully diminishing the last threads of distance between you, he kissed you.

The kiss was tender, a soft press of lips that spoke of respect and a burgeoning desire. It was an exploration, a question posed in the silent language of touches. You responded with an innocence edged with a burgeoning confidence, your hands tentatively reaching up to touch his wrists, holding onto him, into the moment.

As you both pulled away, the world seemed to resume around you, the sounds of the gallery flooding back as if someone had turned up the volume. Hotch looked at you, a gentle inquiry in his gaze, ensuring the step he had taken was right.

Your smile, shy yet radiant, was all the answer he needed. In that smile, Hotch saw not just your response to the kiss but a doorway to deeper connection—a promise of many more moments filled with discovery and shared warmth. Despite your inexperience, there was an undeniable rightness in the way you fit into his life, filling spaces he hadn’t known were empty.

As autumn bled into the year, Aaron Hotchner and you found rhythms of familiarity, the initial cautious steps of your courtship giving way to a more assured dance. Despite seeing each other regularly, the intimacy of a shared night had not yet unfolded. Hotch, ever the gentleman, respected the pace you set, knowing the depth of trust such a step required from you. He was patient, understanding that the connection they were nurturing was something profound, deserving of time and care.

One evening, as Hotch planned, brought you both to a jazz club where the dim lighting and the intimate clinking of glasses painted the perfect backdrop for an evening designed to draw you closer. Conversation flowed with an ease born of growing comfort and shared smiles, yet there was an undercurrent of anticipation, a silent acknowledgment of the evolving intimacy between you.

When a slow, soulful melody began to play, Hotch extended his hand, inviting you to join him on the dance floor. There was a brief hesitation, a visible flicker of apprehension in your eyes, before your hand slipped into his. It was a testament to your growing trust, a step further into the vulnerability of this new emotional landscape.

On the dance floor, your touch was tentative at first, as if the closeness summoned both yearning and a faint trace of fear. But as Hotch led, gentle and assured, you followed, gradually relaxing, your movements syncing with the languid music. Eventually, your head came to rest against his chest, a subtle surrender to the rhythm and to him. Hotch felt the shift, a melting of barriers that warmed him more than the music itself.

As the song waned, he leaned down, his voice barely above the music, "Are you alright?"

You nodded against him, your voice a soft murmur that vibrated through him. "Yes, this is... it’s really nice."

He smiled, his hand tightening slightly around yours, a silent promise of his protection and patience. "I'm here, I’m not going anywhere," he assured you, his voice a blend of tenderness and strength.

The moment was a delicate one, laden with unspoken promises and the electric thrill of potential. The night deepened around you, the music a rich blanket that seemed to weave itself into the very fabric of their burgeoning relationship.

As they stepped off the dance floor, the connection between you both was palpable, charged with the promise of shared tomorrows. Hotch felt the undeniable chemistry in every touch, every glance, each shared breath. He knew, with a growing certainty, that the slow build of their relationship was crafting a foundation strong and deep-rooted in mutual respect and an undeniable pull toward each other that neither could, nor wanted to, ignore.

Each gesture, each date, was a chapter in the evolving story of 'us'. Hotch knew the age difference might raise eyebrows, but in his view, the ways of old—courtesy, respect, and the slow dance of courtship—were timeless, meant to be upheld, especially when the heart found a genuine connection.

And in you, with your fresh eyes and tentative steps into romance, Hotch found not just a partner to protect but someone to cherish, to guide through the dance of affection and tenderness that life had, until now, kept just out of your reach. Each meeting, each shared laughter, only solidified his belief that despite the odds, the chemistry between you was undeniable—and deeply right.

As they stepped off the dance floor, the warm glow of the jazz club enveloping you, Aaron Hotchner sensed a subtle shift in your demeanor. The usual light in your eyes was clouded slightly by hesitation, a sign he had come to recognize as you wrestling with something unsaid. His protective instincts mingled with deep affection as he guided you to a quieter corner of the club, away from the lingering notes of the last song.

"You seem like you want to ask me something," Hotch said gently, his voice a grounding force amid the soft buzz of the club. His eyes searched yours, encouraging openness without pushing too hard.

You bit your lip, a nervous gesture that tugged at his heartstrings. "It's just... I sometimes feel like I'm under my own microscope," you confessed, your words tumbling out in a rush. "I overthink everything because I've never done this before. I wish I could just turn my brain off and just be, especially with you."

Hotch reached for your hands, holding them in his with a reassuring pressure. "Let's try that, then. Just be here with me, no pressure, no expectations. Can you try that for me?" His tone was soft yet earnest, hoping to ease the burden of self-scrutiny you carried.

You nodded, a fragile smile breaking through your apprehension. "I can try. Aaron, would you... would you like to come back to my apartment?" The invitation was hesitant, but your eyes held a hopeful spark.

Hotch felt a surprise ripple through him, but it quickly gave way to warmth. He was touched by your trust and moved by your courage to step beyond your comfort zone. "I'd like that very much," he responded, his voice steady, conveying both his respect for your pace and his readiness to follow your lead.

As you led the way out of the club, the cool night air seemed to buoy your spirits, lending you a newfound confidence. Hotch admired the way the city lights played across your features, casting you in a glow that seemed to mirror the burgeoning feelings he harbored for you.

The walk to your apartment was filled with an easy silence, comfortable and unforced. It was a silence that spoke of understanding and mutual respect, qualities that had become the foundation of whatever was blossoming between you two.

Once inside, you seemed to hesitate momentarily, the reality of the moment settling in. Hotch noticed the slight tremor in your hands as you hung up your coat. Stepping closer, he lifted your chin gently, guiding you to meet his gaze. "Remember, we're just being," he reminded you softly, his thumb caressing your cheek in a soothing motion.

The simplicity of his reassurance seemed to ease your nerves, and a genuine smile spread across your face. "Just being," you repeated, and in that repetition, there was a release of some of the tension you had been carrying.

That night, in the quiet sanctity of your apartment, with the city humming softly outside, Hotch and you found a new level of closeness. It was not just the physical proximity but an emotional connection that deepened with each gentle touch and shared silence.

In the sanctuary you offered, Hotch felt honored to witness the layers of your vulnerability and strength, each one unfolding naturally, beautifully, right before his eyes.

Hotch’s observant eyes quickly taking in the surroundings that so clearly reflected your personality. The space was tastefully decorated, with vibrant plants dotting the corners and art prints that mirrored those you had admired earlier at the exhibit. Each detail seemed to tell a story, a quiet testament to your life and preferences.

Hotch noticed how the books on your shelf ranged from classic literature to modern marketing texts, suggesting a blend of deep thought and professional ambition. Small, framed photos of friends and family adorned another corner, hinting at a rich personal life, grounded in relationships that mattered deeply to you. It was these glimpses that gave him a fuller picture of who you were outside the moments shared together.

As you offered him a comfortable seat on the couch, Hotch could sense a mix of pride and vulnerability in your actions. It was as if you were opening up a private part of your world to him, and he recognized the significance of the gesture.

"I want you to feel free to share what you want here," Hotch said sincerely, his gaze meeting yours to emphasize his intent. "I’m not going anywhere, and there isn’t anything you could do or say to scare me off."

You nodded, a look of relief crossing your features, but there was a hesitance still lingering. Hotch decided it was time to address it directly. "What are you so afraid of?" he asked gently, his voice low and encouraging.

The question seemed to weigh heavily on you for a moment before you exhaled softly, the breath carrying with it the weight of unspoken fears. "I’ve never dated anyone before," you confessed, your voice barely above a whisper. "I’ve never had a boyfriend before this... before you."

As you spoke, a blush crept up your cheeks, and you paused, suddenly realizing the implication of your words. Hotch caught your embarrassment and quickly reassured you, his tone warm and understanding. "Don’t be embarrassed," he urged softly. "And I’m sorry for not making it clearer before, but the term 'boyfriend' feels so much younger than I am." He smiled gently, a hint of amusement in his eyes. "But I most certainly want to be that for you, if you’ll have me."

Your eyes lifted to meet his, surprise and joy mingling in your expression. "I would like that," you said, the tension easing from your shoulders as you spoke.

Settled on your couch, the soft glow of the lamp casting a warm light around the room, Aaron Hotchner watched as another layer of hesitation seemed to cloud your features. He had come to recognize these moments—when you were teetering on the edge of sharing something significant. His presence, calm and reassuring, was meant to be a safe harbor for your thoughts.

"What’s on your mind?" he prompted gently, noticing how your fingers twisted together in your lap—a sign of your inner turmoil.

You hesitated, taking a deep breath before meeting his gaze with a newfound determination. "I want to be with you, Aaron," you started, your voice steady despite the obvious nerves. "I mean, I want to... have sex with you. But I have no idea how to initiate that."

Hotch felt a jolt of surprise at your boldness, though it was tempered with a deep respect for your honesty. He took a moment to compose himself, not just to temper his own reactions but to ensure he approached your admission with the sensitivity it deserved. He was a man, undeniably drawn to you in every possible way, yet he knew the weight of what you were proposing, especially given your limited experience.

"I want that too," he finally said, his voice low and earnest. "Very much." He paused, searching your face for any sign of discomfort. "Have you... is this your first time?" The question was delicate, his concern genuine, as he navigated the dual feelings of honor at being your chosen partner and the protective instinct that flared at the thought of anyone else having been with you.

You shook your head slightly a soft laugh appearing on your lips, a shadow passing over your features. "No, it’s not my first time," you admitted, and he felt a silent relief mixed with an unexpected twinge of something else—possessiveness, perhaps, or a protective anger toward anyone who might have hurt you. "I’ve done it once before, but it wasn’t good. I felt... rotten afterward."

The raw honesty of your words struck him deeply. Hotch moved closer, his expression softening as he reached out to gently touch your arm, offering comfort. "I’m really sorry to hear that," he said sincerely. "I want you to know, with me, it will be different. You are in control, and we will go only as far as you want, at a pace you are comfortable with."

Your eyes searched his, looking for the certainty and safety that had drawn you to him from the start. Finding it, you nodded, a tentative smile breaking through. "I trust you, Aaron," you whispered, leaning into the comfort of his touch.

Hotch’s heart swelled with a mix of emotions—care, desire, protectiveness. "Whenever you’re ready," he assured you, his tone a mix of promise and reassurance. "And we’ll make sure it’s a good experience, one that feels right for both of us."

The conversation marked a pivotal moment in your relationship, deepening the trust and intimacy between you. For Hotch, it reaffirmed his commitment to cherish and protect you, to guide you through the complexities of intimacy with the respect and affection you deserved.

The conversation gently shifting to lighter topics, but the understanding between you remained profound—a silent acknowledgment of the steps you were ready to take together.

As the evening deepened, a soft jazz record spun quietly in the background of your apartment, casting a mellow sound that filled the space with a warm, inviting ambiance. Your taste in music, literature, and films surprised Hotch. They were much more akin to someone beyond your years--often beyond his years as well.

Hotch observed you from where he sat on the couch, a half-smile on his face as he watched you move about the room, adjusting a pillow here, straightening a stack of books there—nervous energy channeled into tidying. But then, with a decisive pause, you turned to face him, your eyes holding a flicker of resolve that hadn't been there before.

"You know," you began, crossing the room toward where Hotch was seated, your voice steady but softer than usual, "I really meant what I said earlier, about... wanting to be with you."

Hotch's eyes followed your approach, noting the slight tremble in your hands that misrepresented your confident stride. He stood to meet you halfway, his height towering gently as he looked down into your eyes, searching for any sign of hesitation. Finding none, only a quiet determination, he nodded. "I remember," he replied simply, his voice low and encouraging.

Taking a deep breath, you reached out and tentatively placed a hand on his chest, feeling the steady beat of his heart under your palm. "And I... I'd like that to be tonight, if you're still okay with that," you added, your gaze lifting to meet his.

The sincerity and quiet courage in your voice stirred something deep within Hotch. He covered your hand with his, pressing it gently against him to affirm his consent and support. "I'm more than okay with that," he assured you, his other hand reaching up to gently brush a strand of hair from your face. "We'll take this at your pace."

Encouraged, you stood on your tiptoes, bridging the gap between your heights, and pressed a tentative kiss to his lips. It was a soft, searching contact, seeking reassurance and connection. Hotch responded with equal gentleness, his lips moving against yours in a slow, respectful rhythm that allowed you the space to explore and deepen the kiss at your own initiative.

As the kiss grew more confident, your hands moved from his chest to loop around his neck, pulling him closer. Hotch's arms encircled your waist, drawing you into a firm yet careful embrace. The physical closeness brought a new layer of intimacy to the moment, and you both paused to catch your breath, foreheads resting together.

"Are you sure?" Hotch whispered, his breath warm against your skin, his hands steady and supportive at your back.

"Yes," you breathed out, your voice a mix of nervous excitement and resolve. "So sure."

With a nod of understanding, Hotch allowed you to lead him back towards the bedroom, each step measured and unhurried. He was acutely aware of the trust you were placing in him, and he was determined to honor it with every gentle touch and whispered reassurance.

The soft light casting gentle shadows around you, Hotch watched as you took a moment to steady yourself. Then, with a deep, shared breath, you both crossed the final threshold into intimacy, guided by mutual respect and a profound connection that promised to deepen with each passing moment.

Aaron Hotchner felt every subtle shift of the air as you moved slightly ahead of him, your steps hesitant yet filled with an intent that mirrored the pounding of his own heart.

As you reached the edge of your bed, you turned to face him, the light casting shadows across your features that highlighted the mix of anticipation and vulnerability in your eyes. Hotch, ever observant, noted the way your hands fidgeted slightly, betraying a nervous energy that belied the confident steps you had taken just moments before.

"It's okay," Hotch murmured, his voice a soothing baritone that seemed to resonate gently in the quiet room. He stepped closer, reducing the space between you, his hands rising to cup your face gently. "We can take this as slow as you need."

Your eyes searched his, finding reassurance in his steady gaze, and a tentative smile tugged at the corners of your lips. "Thank you, Aaron," you whispered, the gratitude in your voice laced with an emotion deeper than the words themselves conveyed.

Hotch responded with a soft smile of his own, leaning in to press a tender kiss to your forehead—a gesture of affection and protection. Then, giving you the space to lead, he watched as you took a deep breath and reached out to him. Your hands, no longer trembling, found the hem of his shirt, and with a look that sought silent permission—which Hotch granted with a nod—you slowly lifted it over his head.

The act, simple yet laden with significance, marked a crossing into intimacy that Hotch handled with all the care and reverence it deserved. As the fabric parted from skin, it was as though barriers too were being shed, leaving a raw, beautiful honesty between you.

With the shirt discarded, Hotch gently took the lead, his hands guiding yours to the buttons of his shirt you wore. Each button undone was a mutual assent, a step deeper into vulnerability and trust. The cool air of the room brushed against your skin as the material parted, and Hotch's hands paused at your waist, giving you a moment to adjust to the new closeness.

"Are you still okay?" he asked, his voice barely above a whisper, laden with concern and an unspoken promise to halt at any sign of discomfort.

"Yes," you breathed out, more sure than before, emboldened by his respect and your own burgeoning desire. "Please, keep going."

Encouraged by your words, Hotch's touch became more assured, tracing the lines of your arms as he helped you out of the shirt. His fingers brushed against your skin, each touch a word in the silent language of care they were writing together.

He never thought he’d get back here--never thought he’d be so lucky to have a second chance.

In the shared quiet of your bedroom, with only the soft rustle of fabric and the steady, calming beat of two hearts synchronizing, a dance of mutual exploration unfolded. Each movement, each touch, was a discovery—a learning of boundaries, preferences, and the profound connection that pulsed vibrant and alive between you.

As the layers of fabric fell away, leaving vulnerability in their wake, Hotch felt a deep reverence for the trust you placed in him. The room was filled with the quiet symphony of their mutual breathing, punctuated by the soft sounds of fabric whispering to the floor. With every careful, considered touch, Hotch felt the gravity of your inexperience, sensed the weight of each movement, and honored it with his own measured responses.

Hotch was acutely aware of the significance of this moment for you. Each caress, each lingering touch was designed not only to explore but to reassure—to communicate that you were cherished, respected, and deeply cared for.

His hands, steady and warm, traced the lines of your back, feeling the tension ease under his fingers. He could sense the leap of your heart, could almost hear the thrum of your pulse quickening with a blend of nervousness and excitement. Hotch’s own heart mirrored your tempo, a reflection of his own deep feelings and the earnest desire to ensure this experience was as beautiful and profound for you as the emotional connection they had nurtured together.

"Tell me what you need," he murmured, his lips close to your ear, his breath a soft echo in the quiet room. It was a question loaded with the promise of patience and the willingness to listen, to adapt, to ensure your comfort at every step.

You responded with a slight, almost shy nod, your voice a whisper that matched the tender atmosphere. "Just... stay close," you said, your hands finding his, seeking the reassurance of his grip. "Like this, just like this."

Hotch nodded, his eyes locking with yours in the dim light, a silent vow reflected back at you. He stayed close, his body aligned with yours, a steady presence that you could lean into and draw strength from.

The exploration continued, each touch a dialogue, each sigh a verse in the unfolding story of your closeness.

Hotch was mindful, always, of your responses—the quick catch of breath, the soft sigh of contentment, the way your eyes fluttered closed in trust and surrender. These signs guided him, a map written in the language of touch and silent communion. He was a quick study, also, being with the same woman for over twenty years, he knew a thing or two about this subject.

Through careful, attentive touches, he discovered what elicited those soft, breathy moans that he knew he would never forget—the sounds that resonated deeply within him, stirring a blend of profound affection and desire. Each sound was a note in the symphony of their intimacy, a melody that he would carry in the quiet recesses of his heart.

You were eager to please, your movements and responses guided by an earnest desire to explore this new dimension of their relationship. Hotch could feel your eagerness, could see it in the way your eyes searched his for approval and reassurance.

"You're doing wonderfully," Hotch whispered, his voice low and filled with warmth. The praise was not merely spoken; it was felt, communicated through every gentle touch and affirming look. He could see the way your eyes lit up at his words, a spark of joy mingling with relief fluttering across your features.

The way you responded to him, each movement and breath a testament to your trust and openness, resonated deeply within him. "You have no idea how good this feels," he continued, his hands guiding yours, encouraging each tentative exploration with a steady presence. "Not just what you’re doing, but knowing it’s you with me here."

His words were carefully chosen, aimed to reinforce the deep emotional landscape that underpinned the physical sensations. It was essential to him that you understood how profoundly he was affected by your presence, that it was not merely the act itself but the entirety of who you were that brought him such profound satisfaction.

And yet, little did you know, it took so little to please him when it came from you. The mere fact that it was you who was there with him, open and trusting, was more than enough to fulfill him.

In these moments, Hotch learned not just what you liked, but what you truly enjoyed—a discovery that felt both profound and sacred. He savored the honesty of your reactions, the unguarded way you shared yourself with him. Each revelation, whether a gasp of surprise at a new sensation or a sigh of contentment, was a treasure he stored away, a testament to the depth of the bond they were forging.

As the night wore on, the world outside their window forgotten, Hotch marveled at the deepening connection between you both.

The way you responded to him, the way your body arched towards his touch, spoke of a trust and a bond that went beyond the physical. It was as if each layer of vulnerability you revealed knitted you closer together, weaving a fabric of intimacy that was unique to the two of you.

When the dawn began to paint the sky with its first light, Hotch lay beside you, watching the rise and fall of your chest as you slept peacefully. In these quiet hours, he reflected on the journey they had embarked upon together. The intimacy they had shared was not just a physical union but an emotional, soul-deep connection that promised so much more.

The knowledge of what you truly liked, the memory of your soft moans, and the realization of how eager you were to please—these were not just moments of pleasure, but profound insights into the beautiful, complex person you were. And Hotch, ever the protector and now the partner, felt an overwhelming gratitude for the trust you placed in him, and a resolute commitment to be there for you, in all the ways that mattered.

As dawn cast a gentle light through the curtains of your bedroom, Aaron Hotchner lay quietly beside you, his gaze fixed tenderly on your form as you slowly awakened. The soft rays illuminated your features, highlighting the flush of your cheeks and the peaceful rise and fall of your breathing. He observed the flicker of consciousness return to your eyes, watched as awareness spread across your face, and sensed the slight tenseness that accompanied your realization of his watchful, affectionate eyes on your unclothed form.

A hint of shyness crept into your expression, a stark contrast to the openness you shared the night before. Sensing your self-consciousness, Hotch allowed a soft, teasing tone to warm his morning greeting, aiming to ease the tension he perceived.

"Don't get shy with me now, sweetheart," he said, his voice low and slightly playful, the corners of his mouth lifting in a gentle smile.

The term of endearment, new yet fitting, seemed to deepen the blush that already tinted your cheeks. You turned to face him, your eyes wide with a mix of surprise and something else—perhaps pleasure. Hotch's use of "sweetheart" hung softly in the air between you, a tender label that was both an assertion of affection and a bridge across the morning's shyness.

Seeing your reaction, Hotch's smile broadened slightly, but he also felt a pulse of concern—wanting to ensure his words had been well received.

"Do you not like that?" he asked gently, his head tilting to catch your gaze more fully, seeking to understand your feelings.

Quickly, you shook your head, the sheets rustling softly around you as you moved. "No, I like it," you assured him earnestly, your voice carrying a warmth that eased any lingering doubt in his mind. "I’ve never been called that before. It makes me feel... good." Your admission, simple yet profound, reflected the depth of your emerging emotions, revealing how such small intimacies were new territories being explored and cherished.

Hotch's eyes softened further, a profound tenderness settling in his features as he absorbed your words. The significance of the term—sweetheart—gained a new weight, symbolizing not just affection but a recognition of the intimacy and closeness that had flourished between you.

"I’m glad," he murmured, reaching out to brush a strand of hair from your face, his touch as reverent as it was affectionate. "You deserve to feel nothing less than cherished."

In the quiet morning light, with the world outside still blurred by the early mist, Hotch felt a renewed sense of connection to you. Each shy smile, each hesitant yet trusting exchange, wove a stronger bond between you. Here, in the soft dawn of a new beginning, the previous night's vulnerabilities transformed into the day's strengths, each moment building on the last, each term of endearment a step deeper into the heart of what was swiftly becoming a profound and beautiful relationship.

The morning that continued was a blend of lingering sensations and the crisp return to reality as Aaron Hotchner made his way into the bustling environment of the FBI headquarters. The events of the previous night, filled with tender discoveries and shared warmth, were still vivid in his mind as he navigated through the familiar corridors toward his office. He was adjusting his collar, trying discreetly to ensure that no visible marks were showing, when Emily Prentiss caught him halfway down the hall.

"Hold it, Hotch!" Emily called out, a teasing smirk playing on her lips as she approached him with a purposeful stride. "You have a hickey," she announced with a mix of amusement and mock accusation.

Hotch, caught off-guard, touched his neck almost reflexively, a slight flush coloring his cheeks. "I do not," he countered smoothly, though his voice carried a hint of uncertainty as he felt the area she pointed out.

Emily laughed, pointing more directly now. "Oh, but you do. Right there, peeking from your collar." Her eyes twinkled with mischief, clearly enjoying the moment.

Memories from the previous night flashed through Hotch's mind—your growing confidence, the softness of your touch turning more daring as the night progressed. He remembered how your actions, once hesitant, had grown bolder, culminating in the passion that must have left the mark he was now accused of carrying.

Trying to maintain his composure, Hotch adjusted his collar once more, a futile attempt to cover the evidence. "It's nothing," he insisted, brushing past Emily toward the sanctuary of his office. He knew well the buzz this would stir among the team, especially once Emily shared her discovery.

As he closed his office door behind him, the slight smirk on Emily's face lingered in his mind. Hotch couldn't help but feel a twinge of pride mixed with embarrassment—after all, it wasn't just any mark; it was a token of the new intimacy and connection he had found with you.

Deciding to embrace the lighter side of the situation, he took out his phone and composed a message to you, his fingers typing with a smile.

"Good morning, sweetheart. I haven’t been able to stop thinking about last night, or you. Also, thanks for leaving your mark on me—I’m trying to keep it under wraps here, but it seems I’ve been caught. Can’t wait to see you again."

He sent the message, the formality of his FBI role momentarily replaced by the warm, personal connection he now shared with you. Almost immediately, his phone buzzed with your reply, bringing an even deeper smile to his face.

"Oh no, I’m so sorry! I got carried away, didn’t I? I’m glad you enjoyed last night, though. I can’t stop thinking about it either..."

Hotch chuckled softly, the bashfulness and charm of your message warming him from within. It was these moments—these little exchanges—that continued to build the bridge between their worlds, a bridge that he treasured deeply.

Adjusting his collar one last time, Hotch settled into his day, the challenges of law enforcement ahead yet sweetened by the personal joy he now carried within him. Your presence in his life, marked subtly by the hickey hidden under his collar, was a secret badge of honor he wore with an inward, contented grin.

Later that day, as Aaron Hotchner navigated through the paperwork and case files that demanded his attention, he felt the presence of someone lingering near his office door. Looking up, he saw David Rossi, leaning casually against the frame with an all-too-familiar inquisitive look in his eyes.

“Got a minute, Hotch?” Rossi asked, his voice carrying a hint of mischief that only piqued as he stepped inside the office.

Hotch sighed lightly, already anticipating the direction of the conversation. “Sure, Dave, what’s on your mind?”

Rossi walked in, closing the door behind him with a soft click. “I’m just curious about the lucky lady who’s got you coming into work marked up like a teenager,” he teased, taking a seat across from Hotch.

Hotch pinched the bridge of his nose, a resigned smile tugging at the corners of his mouth. “I was going to keep it more private, at least for a while,” he admitted, the reality that the team would inevitably find out now fully realized.

Rossi chuckled, his eyes twinkling with camaraderie and a bit of brotherly concern. “Too late for that, my friend. Penelope’s already done her digging. Showed us a photo of her.” He paused, watching Hotch closely. “She seems… vibrant. And quite a bit younger than you, huh?”

Hotch couldn’t suppress the slight flush of embarrassment mixed with pride. “Yes, she’s younger,” he confirmed, his voice steady despite the personal nature of the discussion. “She’s wonderful, Dave. Genuine, kind, and yes, younger, but I feel... rejuvenated, I suppose.”

Rossi’s laughter filled the room, easing any lingering tension. “Rejuvenated, he says. That’s one way to put it.” His tone shifted slightly, the humor mingling with sincerity. “It’s good for you, Hotch. After everything, you deserve a bit of happiness. Just don’t forget to bring her around sometime. We’re all dying to meet the woman who’s captured our fearless leader’s heart.”

Hotch smiled, the warmth of Rossi’s words reinforcing the acceptance he hoped for from his team. “I’ll think about it, Dave. It’s still new, and I want to make sure it’s right before making introductions.”

Rossi stood, heading toward the door but not without throwing a final quip over his shoulder. “Just remember, Hotch, the clock’s ticking. We’re not getting any younger, and you’ve snagged yourself someone who probably runs circles around you.”

“Only metaphorically, I assure you,” Hotch retorted, the banter a comfortable, familiar exchange between old friends.

As Rossi left with a chuckle, Hotch leaned back in his chair, the interactions with his team leaving him somewhere between frustration and enlightenment. The dynamic of the BAU was such that nothing stayed private for long, but perhaps in this case, it wasn’t such a bad thing. His team’s curiosity, albeit invasive at times, came from a place of genuine care and support. Adjusting his collar once more, Hotch settled back into his work, a small smile playing on his lips as he thought of you, his newfound reason for joy.

The rhythm of the latest case had Aaron Hotchner more bound up than usual, with long days bleeding into longer nights, each hour stretching thin as the team chased down leads and suspects.

Despite the consuming nature of his work, a part of his mind remained tethered to you, his thoughts wandering to your last night together and the silence that had followed. As the days passed without a word from you, his concern deepened, shadowed by the worry that perhaps he had misread the signals or assumed too much about the bond he felt was forming between you.

During a briefing, Hotch found himself checking his phone again—a habit that had not gone unnoticed. JJ caught his eye, her expression a mix of concern and gentle teasing. "Expecting an important call, Hotch?" she asked, an eyebrow raised in playful inquiry.

He pocketed the device, offering a tight smile that didn't reach his eyes. "Just keeping tabs on things," he replied, though his vague response fooled neither JJ nor himself.

That evening, back in the solitude of his hotel room, the quiet felt more oppressive than calming, each tick of the clock a reminder of the growing distance he felt from you. Resolved not to let the situation fester with assumptions, he dialed your number, the weight of his phone heavy in his hand.

When you answered, your voice brought an immediate relief, but it was tinged with a hesitation that prompted him to cut straight to the heart of his fears. "Is something wrong?" Hotch asked, his voice low and filled with a palpable concern. "If you're regretting our night together, it's okay, but I need to know."

There was a brief pause before you responded, your words slow as if weighing each one. "No, it's not that," you assured him. "I just... I'm inexperienced, and I didn't want to come off as the nagging, clingy girlfriend. I didn't want to bother you."

Hotch felt a pang of understanding mixed with a slight reprimand towards himself for not making his feelings clearer from the start. "You could never nag or be a bother," he said earnestly. "I want you to cling. I’ve been missing you."

His admission hung in the air, a bridge stretched out over the miles that separated you. After a moment of silence, filled only with the faint buzz of the line, Hotch's voice softened further. "Sweetheart, are you still with me?"

Your response was a breath, almost lost in the connection. "I'm sorry, I'm just taking all of this in. I miss you too," you admitted, and there was a warmth in your tone that made his heart swell. "Hearing that you miss me makes me feel so good. I never thought I'd get this."

The simplicity and sincerity of your words struck a chord in him. Hotch found himself reflecting on his past, on the loss and the loneliness that had once defined his days. "The feeling is mutual," he confessed. "You’ve brought something into my life I didn’t dare to expect again."

In the quiet of his hotel room, with the night pressing against the windows, Aaron Hotchner felt a profound shift. The connection between you and him, built on shared moments and the tender exchange of fears and hopes, was something deeply real—something worth every effort to preserve and nurture, despite the chaos of their daily lives. As he set the phone down, a sense of peace settled over him, the kind that only comes when two hearts find a way to beat in tandem, even across the distance.

From that heartfelt conversation onward, the dynamic between you and Aaron Hotchner transformed, becoming a constant stream of communication that threaded through the remainder of his case. Each text you sent, each call you made at the end of the day, wove deeper layers of connection and comfort into the fabric of his daily routine, which had often felt isolating given the demanding nature of his work.

One evening, after a particularly grueling day of interviews and dead ends, Hotch felt his phone vibrate with an incoming message. It was from you—a selfie, your smile bright and genuine as you held up a large mug of coffee, your shared favorite…the one that brought you together at the grocery store.

The image was a simple one, but it radiated warmth and a comforting normalcy. Your eyes sparkled with unspoken words, a silent message of support and affection that transcended the physical distance between you.

Hotch couldn’t help but smile, the stress of the day momentarily lifted by your thoughtfulness. He studied the photo, noting the way the light played across your features, the casual fall of your hair, and the cozy environment that spoke of a peaceful moment during your day. It was these glimpses into your daily life that he cherished, reminders of the vibrant, real person who had quickly become so significant to him.

Tapping out a response, Hotch’s fingers moved with a certainty driven by his emotions. “Thank you for this, sweetheart,” he wrote. “It’s the highlight of my day. Please keep sharing these moments with me. They mean more than you might realize.”

As the case progressed, with its usual ups and downs, the constant communication with you became something of a lifeline for him. Each message, each snapshot of your day, helped to ground him, to remind him of the life that awaited him beyond the paperwork and the critical decisions. Your willingness to reach out, to keep the connection alive and thriving, was a gift that Hotch did not take for granted.

Your conversations grew richer, filled with the mundane details of daily life and the deeper revelations that came with growing trust. Hotch found himself sharing more too, opening up about the challenges of his days, the small victories, and the moments that made him think of you. It was a mutual exchange, a give and take that balanced the scales of their relationship with equal parts affection and understanding.

In the quiet of his hotel room, as he prepared to finally head home after the case was closed, Hotch looked back on the past days with a reflective appreciation. The case had been tough, but the evolving relationship with you, punctuated by daily messages and endearing selfies, had added a layer of joy to his life that had been absent for too long.

As he packed his bags, ready to return to a routine that now included you at its heart, Hotch felt a profound sense of anticipation. The case had been solved, but a new chapter in his life was just beginning—a chapter that promised as much warmth and connection as the smile in the photo he had saved to his phone, a permanent reminder of the sweetness and light you brought into his world.

Returning home, Hotch found himself immediately swept into the world of his son, Jack, who had been patiently waiting for his father's return. Although eager to reconnect with you, Hotch knew that his first responsibility was to his son, especially after such a prolonged absence. Understanding the situation, you gave him the space he needed, focusing on preparing for an upcoming marketing conference.

One quiet evening, after dinner and a movie that Jack had picked out, Hotch found the perfect moment to broach a subject that had been on his mind throughout his recent work travels. They were sitting on the couch, Jack's head resting against his arm, the room filled with the soft glow of the lamp and the comforting silence that followed their laughter from the movie.

"Jack, there’s something I’ve been wanting to talk to you about," Hotch began, his voice gentle, ensuring it carried the weight of his words thoughtfully.

Jack looked up, his expression open and attentive, a look of curiosity spreading across his features. "What is it, Dad?"

Hotch took a deep breath, his heart filled with a mix of anticipation and hope. "It’s about someone very special that I’ve met recently. She’s become very important to me." Hotch paused, gauging Jack’s reaction to these initial words.

Jack’s brow furrowed slightly, then relaxed as he processed the information. "Is she your girlfriend?" he asked, his voice carrying a blend of childish simplicity and earnest inquisitiveness.

"Yes, she is," Hotch replied, smiling at Jack’s directness. "And she’s really wonderful, Jack. I was thinking, maybe you’d like to meet her soon? I think you’d like her a lot."

Jack seemed to consider this for a moment, then nodded, a small smile playing on his lips. "Is she nice?" he asked, his criteria for approval clear.

"Very nice," Hotch assured him, his heart warming at the simplicity of Jack's priorities. "She’s kind, she’s funny, and she makes me very happy."

"Okay," Jack said, his agreement coming easily, much to Hotch's relief. "Can we go to the park or something when I meet her? Maybe have a picnic?"

"That sounds like a great idea," Hotch agreed, grateful for Jack's receptiveness and the ease with which he seemed to accept the news. "We’ll plan something fun."

As Jack yawned and snuggled closer to his father, Hotch felt a profound sense of gratitude for the open-hearted way his son approached the world. Turning his thoughts briefly to you, he felt a surge of affection and a quiet thrill at the thought of intertwining his worlds. He planned to text you later that evening, sharing Jack’s positive reaction and perhaps arranging that picnic Jack had proposed.

The day you met Jack was as picture-perfect as Hotch had hoped. On a rare warm day the three of you spent an afternoon at the park, bundled up under the tentative warmth of late winter sun, with a picnic spread that included all of Jack's favorite foods. Hotch watched, a soft smile playing on his lips, as you and Jack tossed a frisbee, laughter ringing through the air. It was clear from the way Jack clung to your hand as you walked back to the car that you had won his heart as thoroughly as you had won Hotch's. From then on, Jack often asked when you'd be joining them again, his acceptance both a relief and a joy to Hotch.

As winter melted into spring, the relationship between Aaron Hotchner and you blossomed with the season. The transition was marked by significant milestones and quiet moments alike, each one building upon the last, deepening the connection that had sparked during the colder months.

With you, every date, every encounter seemed to bring a new "first": the first time you cooked dinner together, managing somehow to turn spaghetti into a gourmet meal; the first time you danced in your living room to no music at all, just the rhythm of your own laughter; the first work event where Hotch insisted he joined you. Each of these moments was a step deeper into the life you were crafting together.

As the days grew longer, so too did your confidence in your relationship. Hotch noticed the subtle changes: the way your smile reached your eyes a little faster, how your hand found his in a crowd without hesitation, the ease with which you spoke of future plans, weaving him into the fabric of your visions as if it were the most natural thing in the world.

Despite the growing security in your relationship with Hotch and Jack, the prospect of meeting his team—a group of people who were not just colleagues but family to Hotch—loomed large in your thoughts. You expressed your nervousness one evening, tucked away in the corner of a cozy cafe, your hands wrapped around a cup of tea for comfort.

"I'm just worried they won’t think I’m... enough," you confessed, your voice a whisper against the clatter of the cafe.

Hotch reached across the table, his fingers gently lifting your chin so you would meet his eyes. "Sweetheart, you are more than enough," he reassured you firmly, his gaze intense and sincere. "They’re going to love you because I love you, and because you are incredible, not just to me, but in your own right."

In the quiet intimacy of the cafe, as Aaron Hotchner uttered the words, "I love you," the atmosphere seemed to shift subtly, the world pausing for a heartbeat. His declaration, spoken so naturally in reassurance and affection, hung between you—a confession made all the more profound because it slipped out unplanned, unguarded.

As he watched your reaction, he saw the surprise that flitted across your features, your eyes widening as the magnitude of his words settled in. For a moment, Hotch felt a twinge of uncertainty—had he spoken too soon?

However, your initial shock quickly gave way to a deeper, radiant sort of joy. The smile that spread across your face was slow but unmistakable, lighting up your eyes and reflecting a mix of love and awe. "Aaron," you breathed, your voice thick with emotion, "you love me?"

Hotch felt a smile tugging at his own lips, his heart swelling in his chest at the sight of your happiness. "Yes, I do," he affirmed, more confidently now. He realized that saying it aloud, here with you, felt right—it felt true. "I didn’t plan to say it just now, but it’s the truth. I love you, and I have for some time."

Your hands reached across the table, finding his, a tangible connection that grounded the moment. "I love you too," you replied, the words seeming to fill the space with warmth and light. "Hearing you say that—it just makes everything feel so real."

Hotch squeezed your hands gently, a contented sigh escaping him. He was a man accustomed to control, to keeping his emotions tightly reined in, but with you, it felt natural to let those walls down. The love he felt for you was something powerful and deep, stirring parts of him he’d thought long dormant.

As the cafe continued to buzz around you, the world moving forward, the moment of your mutual confession felt like a sanctuary, a quiet space carved out of time where only the two of you existed. "It is real," Hotch affirmed, his voice soft but filled with conviction. "You’ve changed my world, and there’s nothing I want more than to keep building this life with you."

As spring unfurled its vibrant hues across the city, both you and Aaron Hotchner found yourselves drawn away from home by professional commitments—yours to a marketing conference and his to a case that coincidentally placed him in the same distant city. When Hotch discovered the serendipitous overlap, a plan began to form in his mind, a surprise that he hoped would light up your day as much as it did his.

Arranging to finish his day's obligations with the BAU team a bit earlier, Hotch made his way to your hotel. The thought of seeing your reaction kept a subtle smile playing at the corners of his lips as he approached your room. After a quick knock, the door swung open, and there you stood, momentarily taken aback but swiftly melting into a radiant smile upon seeing him.

"Aaron!" you exclaimed, surprise giving way to delight. "What are you doing here?"

"I was in town for a case," he explained, stepping inside as you beckoned him eagerly. "I couldn't pass up the chance to see you."

The joy in your expression warmed him more than the spring sun could, and in that instant, he knew he'd made the right call. After a few moments of catching up, he ventured further with his plan. "I have another surprise for you," he started, watching your curiosity pique. "How about dinner tonight with the team? They're all eager to meet you."

You paused, the initial surge of happiness tempering slightly into apprehension. Meeting Hotch's colleagues, the famed BAU team, was a significant step—one you hadn't anticipated taking quite so suddenly. Sensing your hesitation, Hotch gently added, "They're really looking forward to meeting you, sweetheart. But no pressure, we can do this at your pace."

Your eyes searched his, finding reassurance in his steady gaze. "Okay, let's do it," you decided, your voice steady with newfound resolve, bolstered by his support.

That evening, as you walked into the restaurant with Hotch's hand resting lightly on your back, a buzz of conversation and laughter greeted you, emanating from the table where the BAU team had gathered. Derek Morgan rose first, his demeanor open and friendly as he approached.

“Hey there! You must be the famous lady,” Derek said with a grin, shaking your hand with a firm, welcoming grip. “We’ve heard a lot of good things about you.”

David Rossi followed with his characteristic charm, raising his glass slightly in a toast as he nodded toward you. “Welcome, it’s a pleasure to finally meet you,” he said, his voice smooth and inviting.

Spencer Reid, slightly awkward but visibly interested, extended his hand next. “Hi, um, it’s really nice to meet you. Hotch talks about you a lot,” he admitted, pushing his glasses up his nose nervously.

Emily Prentiss’s smile was both warm and mischievous. “Don’t worry, only good things,” she chimed in, her eyes twinkling. “We’re really excited you could join us tonight.”

JJ, ever the empathetic soul, gave you a gentle hug. “We’re just like a family here, and anyone important to Hotch is important to us,” she said softly, making you feel truly part of the group.

As everyone settled back into their seats, the conversation flowed easily. You found yourself between Hotch and Spencer, who was more than eager to dive into an elaborate explanation about the historical origins of a case study he’d been reading.

“So, essentially, the behavioral patterns can be traced back to—” Spencer began, only to be interrupted by Derek’s good-natured groan.

“Reid, man, save it for the office. Let’s keep it light, yeah?” Derek teased, eliciting a round of laughter from the table.

You laughed, glancing at Hotch, who was watching you with a soft smile. “You fit right in,” he whispered to you, squeezing your hand under the table.

Derek, not one to miss a beat, caught the exchange and winked. “Look at Hotch, all romantic and stuff. We never get to see this side of him.”

Rossi joined in, his voice playful, “It’s good for him. Keeps him young.”

Hotch rolled his eyes but his smile remained, his gaze fixed on you with unmistakable affection. “I’m just glad she agreed to come tonight,” he said, his voice carrying a tone of deep gratitude.

As the evening progressed, the team shared funny anecdotes from past cases, carefully skirting around the more gruesome details, focusing instead on the mishaps and lighter moments. Emily recounted a tale involving a mistaken identity and a runaway suspect in a mascot costume, which had you laughing until tears formed in your eyes.

“You see, Hotch had to tackle the mascot, and when the head came off, it was the mayor’s nephew!” Emily concluded, as the table erupted in laughter.

The warmth and laughter of the evening did much to make you feel at ease, the initial apprehension you felt about meeting Hotch's team dissipating like mist. As dinner wound down, Hotch leaned closer, his voice for your ears only. “Thank you for being here tonight, sweetheart. It means a lot to me.”

Your response was a soft smile, your hand tightening on his. “I wouldn’t have missed it. Thank you for inviting me.”

As you both stood to leave, the farewells were warm and genuine, each team member making you promise to join them again soon. Walking out into the cool evening air, Hotch’s arm around your shoulders, you felt a sense of belonging and acceptance that was both new and deeply comforting. Tonight hadn’t just been about meeting his colleagues; it had been about joining a part of his life, a part that was important to him. And as you looked up at him, the city lights reflecting in his eyes, you knew this was just the beginning of many shared moments and memories.

As you entered the elegantly appointed lobby of your hotel, Hotch couldn’t help but comment on the plush surroundings with a gentle tease, “Looks like marketing agencies know how to treat their people right.”

You chuckled, leading him to the elevator with a playful nudge. “Maybe the bureau could take a few pointers,” you suggested, sparking a shared smile that lingered as you ascended to your floor.

Once inside your room, the reality of the beautiful evening began to sink in. The room was spacious and warmly lit, the city lights casting a soft glow through the floor-to-ceiling windows. Hotch watched as you slipped off your shoes and curled up on the plush sofa, a content sigh escaping you. Joining you, he felt an overwhelming sense of peace and gratitude.

“The team really liked you, you know,” Hotch said, his voice low and filled with pride. “They’ve never been so unanimously approving before.”

You looked up at him, your eyes soft. “I loved meeting them. They made me feel so welcome,” you admitted, your gratitude evident. “Thank you for making tonight happen. It was perfect.”

As you leaned into him, Hotch wrapped an arm around your shoulders, pulling you closer. The feeling of your body against his, the scent of your hair, and the warmth of your presence filled him with a deep, resonant joy. Sitting there, with the night sky stretched out before you both and the quiet hum of the city below, Hotch allowed himself a moment to reflect on everything that had brought you both to this point.

“You know,” he began thoughtfully, his gaze fixed on the twinkling lights outside, “there’s something incredibly refreshing about being with you. Your perspective, your innocence—it’s brought out a side of me I thought was long gone. I’m... I’m really grateful for that.”

You turned to look at him, your expression tender. “I feel the same, Aaron. You make everything seem exciting and new, like there’s a world of possibilities I never knew about.”

In that quiet hotel room, a soft melody playing from the small radio on the bedside table, Hotch felt the weight of his usual responsibilities lighten. Here with you, the complexities of his job, the burdens of his past, seemed distant and manageable. Your innocence, far from being a naiveté, was a lens through which the world could be seen afresh, vibrant and hopeful.

So much of his life, the goodness in people had been tainted from his line of work and all he had been through. There was a clarity in being in your presence.

He kissed the top of your head, a silent expression of his feelings. “I’m looking forward to exploring all those possibilities with you, sweetheart,” he murmured.

Your smile in response was all the confirmation he needed. The evening might have ended, but their journey together was just beginning, each new day promising more laughter, understanding, and shared growth. As Hotch held you close, the city’s pulse below you a faint echo to their own heartbeats, he knew that this—this right here with you—was exactly where he was meant to be.

Tag List: @zaddyhotch @estragos @todorokishoe24 @looking1016 @khxna @rousethemouse @averyhotchner @reidfile @bernelflo @lover-of-books-and-tea @frickin-bats @sleepysongbirdsings @justyourusualash @person-005 @iyskgd @hiireadstuff @kcch-ns @alexxavicry

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doreminimi · 3 days ago

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love is blind [Bang Chan One-Shot]

⋆౨ৎ˚⟡˖ 𝓟𝓪𝓲𝓻𝓲𝓷𝓰: Idol!Bang Chan x Teacher!Reader

₊˚⊹♡⋆ 𝓦𝓸𝓻𝓭 𝓒𝓸𝓾𝓷𝓽: 15.1k (I got a bit carried away sksksk)

‧͙☾⁺༓˚*･ 𝓦𝓪𝓻𝓷𝓲𝓷𝓰: None

⋆.˚⟡ ࣪ ˖ 𝓢𝔂𝓷𝓸𝓹𝓼𝓲𝓼: In this modern era of finding love and vulnerability, Christopher and Y/N embark on an extraordinary journey in the experiment of "Love Is Blind." From the intimate and emotionally charged pods where they connect deeply without seeing each other, to the reveal and romantic getaway that cements their bond, their story explores the highs and lows of finding true love in unconventional ways. As they navigate the challenges of returning to their real lives, meeting families, and integrating their vastly different routines, their relationship is tested in ways they never anticipated. With moments of joy, tension, and growth, Christopher and Y/N learn what it means to truly commit to each other, culminating in a heartfelt preparation for their wedding. Will their love withstand the pressures of reality and blossom into forever?

a/n: Hi guys! I wrote this story because I’ve been recently obsessed with the Love Is Blind series, and it sparked an idea. I also noticed that there’s a Too Hot to Handle series about Bang Chan on here (do read her series @seospicybin — it’s so good, I’m obsessed! but remember it is for +18 audiences!). I thought, why not add a Love Is Blind one-shot to the mix? I hope you guys enjoy this story as much as I enjoyed writing it! If you have any suggestions or requests for stories, feel free to let me know—I’d love to hear your ideas. Don’t forget to like and comment if you enjoyed reading this story. Your support means the world to me! Thank you for reading, and I can’t wait to hear your thoughts! 💕

One:

Bang Chan adjusted the microphone inside his pod, his fingers drumming lightly on the armrest as he took a steadying breath. Despite years of performing on the world’s biggest stages, this moment felt completely different. Here, he wasn’t the leader of Stray Kids or a global sensation—he was just Chris, a man hoping to connect with someone who saw him for who he truly was.

The anonymity of Love Is Blind was both exhilarating and terrifying. Without the weight of his career or the expectations of others, he felt a rare sense of freedom.

He tapped the microphone gently and leaned forward, his Australian accent warm and inviting. “Hi, I’m Christopher, but you can just call me Chris. What about you?”

There was a brief pause before a voice came through, light and confident. “Hi Chris, I’m Y/N. It’s nice to meet you.”

Chris smiled, a bit of his nervousness fading. He leaned slightly closer to the opaque wall, as if that could somehow shorten the distance between them. “Nice to meet you too, Y/N. So, is this as weird for you as it is for me? How are you feeling about this whole... talking-to-a-wall situation?”

Y/N’s laugh was immediate, bright and disarming. “Oh, absolutely. It’s bizarre! I mean, I’ve had long phone conversations before, but knowing there’s a person on the other side who might... you know, become my future husband? That’s a first.”

Chris chuckled, his own nerves softening at her lighthearted tone. “Same here. It’s exciting, though, isn’t it? A bit nerve-wracking, but exciting. Like, this could actually lead to something real.”

“Exactly,” Y/N agreed. “Okay, let’s start simple. Tell me something about you—what’s your dream vacation?”

Chris leaned back, thinking for a moment. “Definitely the beach. Growing up in Sydney, the ocean was my happy place. There’s something about the sound of waves, the salt in the air—it just clears your head, you know?”

“Oh, I know,” Y/N replied with a sigh. “Anywhere with a beach and good food? That’s my dream too. Add in no cell phones, and I’m sold. I’d love to completely disconnect for a while.”

Chris laughed softly. “Alright, but if we’re talking beaches, I need to know—are you competitive? Because I’m already imagining us having a sandcastle-building contest.”

Y/N’s tone turned playful. “Competitive? Let’s just say I don’t like to lose. But what about you?”

“Oh, I’m competitive, alright,” Chris said, his grin evident in his voice. “But I should warn you, I don’t lose easily.”

“We’ll see about that,” Y/N teased, her voice laced with mock challenge. “I hope you’re ready to eat your words.”

“So, Chris,” Y/N began, her voice curious. “If you could only eat one food for the rest of your life, what would it be?”

Chris hummed thoughtfully. “Tough one, but I think I’d have to go with pizza. You can change the toppings, make it fancy, or keep it simple. Plus, who doesn’t love pizza? What about you?”

“Noodles,” Y/N said without missing a beat. “You can have them fried, in soup, hot or cold, with all kinds of meats, veggies, or sauces. Plus, there are so many different shapes, each one feels like a whole new experience!”

Chris laughed. “Solid choice. Okay, what’s your guilty pleasure TV show?”

“Oh, definitely The Great British Bake Off,” Y/N admitted. “There’s something so comforting about watching people bake under pressure while I’m curled up on the couch, eating snacks.”

Chris flashed a wide grin. “That’s a solid pick. Mine’s probably Friends. I’ve seen it so many times, it’s practically a comfort blanket at this point. And yes, I absolutely dominate at trivia.”

Y/N laughed, her voice playful. “Oh, is that so? Challenge accepted. Trivia showdown coming up—you better bring your A-game.”

A mischievous glint sparked in her eye as she leaned closer to the wall. “Alright, let’s switch gears. If you could have any superpower, what would it be?”

Chris chuckled, the question catching him off guard. “Teleportation, without a doubt. Imagine skipping traffic or spontaneously showing up at a beach halfway around the world. Total game-changer.”

“Good choice,” Y/N said approvingly. “I’d go with the ability to stop time. Think of all the naps I could take and still get everything done!”

Chris laughed, his voice warm. “Now that’s both practical and genius. I’d never have thought of that, but honestly, I might be jealous of your choice.”

As their laughter echoed in the pods, both felt a growing ease and connection. The wall between them didn’t seem like a barrier—it was just part of the journey toward something real.

By the second day, Chris and Y/N’s conversations felt natural, as if they’d known each other for years. The initial nerves had faded, replaced by genuine curiosity and growing comfort.

“So, tell me about your family,” Y/N asked. “Do you have siblings?”

Chris smiled, leaning back. “I do. I’m the eldest of three. Growing up, I was always the one looking out for everyone else. I guess that’s why I’ve always been in leadership roles,it’s kind of ingrained in me.”

“Sounds like a lot of pressure,” Y/N said empathetically.

“It was,” Chris admitted. “But it also taught me a lot about love and responsibility. My family’s my anchor. When I moved to a new country to pursue my career, they supported me, even though it meant being so far away. That kind of love... it’s something I want to give back.”

“That’s beautiful, Chris,” Y/N said softly. “It’s clear how much they mean to you.”

“What about you?” he asked. “What’s your family like?”

“Well,” she began, “I’m the oldest too. But things changed a lot when I lost my younger sister. It was the hardest thing I’ve ever gone through, but it also made me appreciate the little things. It’s why I ended up going into teaching,I wanted to make a difference, even in small ways.”

Chris’s voice softened. “I’m so sorry, Y/N. That must have been incredibly hard.”

“It was,” she admitted, “but it shaped who I am. Teaching gives me purpose. I love seeing kids discover their potential, it reminds me to keep pushing forward.”

“You sound like an amazing teacher,” Chris said sincerely. “Your students are lucky to have you.”

Y/N chuckled. “Thank you. And if I ever need to win over their attention, I’ll just bring you in to talk about your sandcastle skills. What about you? What’s something that’s shaped who you are today?”

Chris hesitated for a moment, then spoke. “Honestly? Music. It’s been my constant through everything, good days, bad days, everything in between. It’s how I express myself when words don’t feel like enough.”

Y/N’s voice softened. “That’s beautiful, Chris. It sounds like music isn’t just something you do, it’s who you are.”

Chris smiled, even though she couldn’t see it. “Exactly. Thanks for getting that, Y/N. Talking to you... it just feels easy.”

“It does,” Y/N agreed, her voice warm. “I can’t wait to see where this goes.”

Chris glanced at the clock, reluctant to end their conversation but knowing they’d have more time tomorrow. “I guess we have to wrap up for now,” he said, his tone tinged with regret. “But I can’t wait to talk to you again tomorrow.”

Y/N’s laugh was soft and shy. “Me too, Chris.”

“Sweet dreams, Y/N. See you tomorrow,” he said softly, listening as the gentle click of the door on her side signaled the end of their conversation.

As the session ended, Chris leaned back in his chair, a lingering smile on his face.

In the men’s lounge, Chris quickly bonded with a few of the other participants. Mason, a marketing executive, and Elijah, a chef, became his closest allies.

“Alright, Chris,” Mason said, leaning back on the couch. “Tell us about Y/N.”

Chris grinned, his dimples deepening. “She’s incredible. Thoughtful, smart, funny... Talking to her feels effortless. Like we just click, you know?”

Elijah raised an eyebrow. “Sounds like you’re smitten.”

“I wouldn’t go that far,” Chris said, his grin widening. “But yeah, there’s something special about her. She has this way of making me feel comfortable, like I can just... be myself.”

Mason clapped him on the back. “Sounds like you’ve got a keeper, mate.”

Meanwhile, in the women’s lounge, Y/N found a confidante in Amelia, a bubbly nurse with a knack for reading people.

“You have to tell me about Chris,” Amelia said one evening, practically bouncing with excitement.

Y/N smiled, her cheeks flushing. “He’s amazing. He listens in a way that makes me feel... seen. It’s like he really cares about what I have to say.”

Amelia sighed dreamily. “That’s how it should be. So, are you falling for him?”

Y/N hesitated before nodding. “I think I might be. He just gets me in a way no one else has.”

By the fourth day, their conversations turned more reflective and meaningful.

“What does love mean to you?” Y/N asked one evening, her voice soft but steady.

Chris paused, considering his words. “I think love is showing up. Even when it’s hard, even when you’re scared. It’s about being vulnerable and trusting someone with the messy parts of you.”

“That’s beautiful,” Y/N said. “For me, love is a choice. It’s deciding every day to be there for someone, no matter what.”

Chris smiled. “I like that. It feels real.”

They spent hours talking about their hopes, fears, and dreams. Chris shared stories about nights when he felt lost and how he’d turn to his guitar for solace. Y/N opened up about her first teaching job and the joy of watching her students grow.

By the fifth day, Chris was certain he had found something truly extraordinary. Kneeling in his pod with a velvet box in hand, he took a deep breath, steadying himself before finding the words to speak.

“Y/N,” he began, his voice steady but emotional, “I’ve never felt so connected to someone I’ve never even seen. You make me want to be better, to show up in ways I never have before. Will you marry me?”

There was a moment of silence, and then her voice came through, trembling with emotion. “Yes, Chris. I’ll marry you.”

Though separated by the pod walls, both felt an overwhelming sense of joy and certainty. Chris had found someone who understood him, not as an idol, but as a man. And Y/N had found someone who made her feel cherished and seen.

Their journey was just beginning.

Two:

The moment had arrived,the reveal. The anticipation was palpable as Chris, dressed sharply in a tailored suit, stood at one end of the runway. He fidgeted slightly, rolling his shoulders and adjusting his cuffs, his nerves visible despite his calm demeanor. At the other end, Y/N waited, her heart hammering in her chest. She smoothed down her dress, whispering to herself, “This is it. No turning back now.”

The sound of the sliding screens filled the room as they began to part. Y/N took a deep breath, her hands gripping the sides of her dress. As the screens opened fully, their eyes met for the first time.

Both froze.

Chris’s breath caught in his throat. She’s stunning.

Y/N’s eyes widened as recognition sparked. “Wait a second,” she whispered, her voice barely audible over her pounding heartbeat.

The man standing before her wasn’t just Chris, the kind, thoughtful voice she had grown to love in the pods. This was Bang Chan,Bang Chan, leader of Stray Kids, a global music sensation.

Chris noticed her hesitation and smiled nervously, his dimples deepening. He stepped forward tentatively, his voice soft. “Hi.”

Y/N blinked, snapping out of her daze. “Hi,” she replied shyly, her voice muffled against his shoulder as he pulled her into a warm embrace.

As they stepped back, her hands instinctively flew to her mouth. “You’re...you’re Bang Chan,” she finally managed, her voice a mix of disbelief and awe.

Chris scratched the back of his neck, a sheepish smile on his face. “Uh, yeah. That’s me. Surprise?”

Y/N laughed nervously, her eyes darting between his face and the rest of him. “This is... I mean, I didn’t expect, You’re him! I didn’t think I’d be meeting a literal superstar!”

Chris chuckled, his voice soothing. “I was kind of hoping I could just be ‘Chris’ for you. The guy you’ve been talking to in the pods, not the guy on stage.”

She nodded, taking a deep breath as she tried to process. “You’re still him. You’re still Chris. But... wow. This is a lot to take in.”

“I get it,” he said gently, his eyes searching hers. “I should’ve told you, but in the pods, I just wanted to be honest and real without all the noise that comes with... you know, my career.”

Y/N’s initial shock began to fade, replaced by a soft smile. “You’re right. And honestly, I’m glad I got to know you like that first. You’re amazing, Chris. Superstar or not.”

His smile widened, relief evident in his expression. “Thank you. That means everything to me.”

He reached for her hand, his touch grounding her. “Can we start over, right here? Just Chris and Y/N?”

She nodded, her smile growing. “I’d like that.”

They moved to the nearby bench, their hands naturally finding each other. Sitting down, Chris turned to her, his expression serious but filled with warmth. “You’re exactly who I hoped you’d be,” he said, his voice soft. “Inside and out.”

Y/N laughed nervously, still absorbing the reality of the moment. “It’s so weird seeing your face now. It’s like... I know you, but you’re also this whole new person.”

Chris chuckled. “I feel the same. You’re familiar, but seeing you now... you’re even more incredible than I imagined.”

A soft laugh escaped her lips, and she squeezed his hand. “And you... well, you’re way more than I ever dreamed of.”

Chris took a deep breath, reaching into his pocket. “I’ve been waiting for this moment,” he said, his tone tinged with excitement.

Y/N watched as he knelt down on one knee, her breath catching.

“Y/N,” he began, opening a small velvet box to reveal a sparkling ring. “I already know I want to spend forever with you. Will you marry me?”

Her hands flew to her mouth as tears welled in her eyes. “Chris,” she whispered, her voice trembling. She nodded fervently, her words spilling out. “Yes, Chris. Yes, I’ll marry you!”

He slipped the ring onto her finger, his hands steady despite his own emotions. Standing, he pulled her into a tight embrace, their laughter and tears mingling in a moment of pure joy.

As the screens began to close behind them, signaling the end of the reveal, they walked back toward their respective lounges. But their eyes never left each other, their faces lit with joy and the promise of the life they were about to build together.

Y/N glanced back at Chris one last time before stepping through the door, a wide smile spreading across her face. “This is going to be one heck of a story to tell,” she said, her voice tinged with excitement and disbelief.

Chris grinned back, his dimples deepening. “Our story,” he said softly. “And it’s just beginning.”

Three:

The following week, the couples began arriving at the resort, one limo at a time, provided by the production team. The energy was palpable as each pair prepared for the next stage of their journey.

Day One

Y/N was the first to arrive. Stepping out of the sleek black limo, she marveled at the beauty of the beachfront property. The hotel’s elegant façade and the sound of crashing waves immediately put her at ease. A staff member escorted her to her suite, a luxurious space with a spacious balcony overlooking the ocean.

She placed her bags in the bedroom, admiring the plush king-sized bed adorned with soft white linens, then began to explore the rest of the suite. She trailed her fingers along the marble countertops in the kitchenette, peeked into the enormous bathroom with its spa-like tub, and finally stepped out onto the balcony. The sunset cast a golden hue over the water, and Y/N smiled to herself, feeling a sense of peace.

Chris arrived shortly after. As his limo pulled up, he took a deep breath, adjusting the collar of his shirt. He was excited and a little nervous to see Y/N again after their reveal. He quickly made his way to their shared suite, the door opening with a soft click.

“Hey beautiful,” he whispered as he stepped inside, spotting her on the balcony. She turned around, her face lighting up as she saw him. He walked up to her and placed a sweet kiss on her cheek. “Long time no see.”

Y/N laughed softly, her heart fluttering at the sight of him. “You’re late,” she teased, leaning into him.

“Worth the wait?” he asked, his eyes twinkling.

“Definitely,” she replied, her smile widening.

They spent the next few minutes exploring the suite together. Chris pointed out the little details he loved, like the vintage-inspired art on the walls and the sleek coffee maker in the kitchenette. Y/N couldn’t stop laughing as Chris dramatically tested the couch for “maximum comfort.”

Eventually, they found themselves back on the balcony, watching the sun dip below the horizon. Chris leaned against the railing, his arm around Y/N’s shoulders. “This feels unreal,” he said softly. “Like a dream.”

Y/N nodded, her eyes on the horizon. “But it’s our dream,” she replied. “And I wouldn’t want it any other way.”

After a while, they began preparing for the evening’s event. Y/N slipped into a stunning crocheted bodycon dress that accentuated her figure, while Chris opted for a casual yet stylish beach-ready look: a cotton button-up shirt paired with khaki shorts.

“You look beautiful,” Chris said as Y/N adjusted her earrings.

“And you look like you belong on a magazine cover,” Y/N teased, brushing a hand over his shoulder.

Hand in hand, they strolled toward the poolside bar, anticipation bubbling as they prepared to meet the other couples.

On their first night at the resort, the couples gathered by the pool for drinks, laughter, and the much-anticipated moment of putting faces to the names they’d been hearing about in the pods. The warm breeze carried the faint sound of waves in the background as everyone slowly began to gather, the energy buzzing with curiosity.

The men grouped together by the bar while the women settled into lounge chairs near the pool. Both groups exchanged nervous glances, clearly intrigued by the people their significant others had been talking about during the pod experiment.

Mason, one of the more outspoken men, finally broke the ice. “Alright, let’s meet these women you’ve been talking about nonstop,” he said, nudging Chris playfully. “I need to see if Y/N is as amazing as you’ve made her sound.”

The women laughed from their side of the pool, clearly overhearing the comment. Amelia leaned over to Y/N and whispered, “They’re already hyping us up. Let’s see if they live up to the chatter.”

Y/N grinned. “No pressure, right?”

One by one, the men approached the women, introducing themselves and exchanging warm handshakes or hugs. Chris found himself locking eyes with Sarah first. “I’ve heard a lot about you,” he said, smiling. “Mason hasn’t stopped talking about how funny you are.”

Sarah laughed. “I’m sure he’s exaggerating, but it’s nice to finally meet the guy Y/N won’t stop gushing about.”

When Chris finally reached Y/N, the room seemed to pause for a moment. He leaned down slightly, grinning. “So, this is where you’ve been hiding.”

Y/N laughed softly, her cheeks warming. “And this is the guy who’s been making me blush in the pods.”

The group naturally broke off into smaller conversations, everyone eager to learn more about each other. Mason was deep into a conversation with Amelia about their mutual love for hiking, while Chris and Y/N mingled with the others, exchanging stories about their pod experiences.

Eventually, the women regrouped on the lounge chairs, a playful energy bubbling between them. “Alright,” Amelia announced, holding her drink up dramatically, “it’s time to interrogate these men. Let’s call them over one by one.”

The women erupted into laughter as Sarah called Mason over first. “Come on, Mason! Time to put you in the hot seat.”

Mason walked over, mock apprehension on his face. “What are you guys plotting?”

Amelia grinned. “What’s your favorite thing about Sarah?”

Mason’s expression softened as he looked over at Sarah. “It’s her humor. She has this amazing ability to make everyone feel comfortable and laugh, no matter the situation.”

The women cheered as Mason walked back to the bar, shaking his head and laughing. One by one, the men were called over and asked the same question. Each gave heartfelt answers, earning playful teasing and cheers from the women.

Finally, it was Chris’s turn. “Alright, Y/N,” Amelia said, turning to her with a grin. “Get ready. Your boy’s about to spill all.”

Chris walked over, his usual confident demeanor softened by the teasing smiles of the women. “What’s going on here?” he asked, feigning ignorance.

“Chris,” Amelia began dramatically, “what’s your favorite thing about Y/N?”

He didn’t hesitate. “Her heart,” he said simply, his eyes finding Y/N’s. “She’s got this way of making everyone around her feel seen and appreciated. Every time I talk to her, I feel like I can be completely myself. And her laugh? Don’t even get me started.”

The women swooned collectively, cheering loudly as Y/N blushed. “Okay, that was definitely the best answer of the night,” Amelia declared.

Chris returned to the bar, shaking his head and laughing as the women continued their playful teasing. Y/N leaned back in her chair, her heart full from the words he’d shared.

The group dissolved into laughter, and the evening continued with lively games, shared anecdotes, and even a chaotic impromptu karaoke session where Chris belted out a tune. Y/N cheered louder than anyone else, clapping along with the beat.

After the couples mingled for a while, the men naturally gravitated to a corner by the pool, drinks in hand, while the women gathered near the lounge chairs. Chris leaned back in his seat, listening to the other men recount their pod journeys and impressions of their partners.

“So, Chris,” one of the guys asked, nudging him, “what’s Y/N like in person? She seems really sweet.”

“She’s incredible,” Chris replied, his dimples deepening with his smile. “She’s so much more than I expected. She’s got this strength that’s so inspiring but also this warmth that just draws you in. Honestly, she makes me feel grounded.”

The other men nodded in approval. “That’s a big deal, man. You seem smitten,” one of them teased.

Chris chuckled. “Guilty. What about you guys? How are things looking now that we’re out of the pods?”

The conversation turned lively, with each man sharing stories of their first impressions and the quirks they were discovering about their partners. Laughter erupted as one recounted a chaotic wardrobe mishap earlier in the day, and another shared how his partner had dominated him in a poolside trivia game.

“It’s crazy how different this is now that we’re face-to-face,” Chris remarked. “But honestly, I think it’s made everything feel...real.”

The others nodded in agreement, raising their glasses for a toast. “Here’s to surviving the pods and what comes next.”

Meanwhile, Y/N and the other women sat on lounge chairs, chatting animatedly. One of the women leaned closer to Y/N. “Okay, spill. What’s Chris like in real life?”

Y/N smiled, tucking a strand of hair behind her ear. “He’s amazing. He’s thoughtful and funny, and honestly, I think I’m still trying to wrap my head around the fact that he’s real. And those dimples...they’re dangerous,” she added with a laugh.

The group laughed along, and one of the women playfully fanned herself. “Dimples will get you every time.”

“So, what’s surprised you the most about him?” another asked.

“How much he pays attention,” Y/N said, her voice softening. “In the pods, I knew he was a good listener, but now I see how much he remembers the little things I’ve shared. Like earlier today, he mentioned this random thing I said about my favorite flowers, and I didn’t even remember telling him.”

One of the women sighed dramatically. “Ugh, he sounds perfect. Can we trade?”

Y/N laughed, shaking her head. “Not a chance.”

The women exchanged more stories, comparing notes about their partners’ habits, quirks, and sweet gestures. They cheered each other on, promising to support one another through the challenges ahead.

The conversations among the men and women set the tone for a night filled with camaraderie and connection. As the evening wound down, both groups left with a deeper appreciation for their relationships and the shared journey they were all embarking on.

Day Two

The sun peeked over the horizon, casting golden hues across the ocean as Chris bounded down the sandy path, his energy contagious even this early in the morning. He stopped by a row of surfboards neatly propped against a wooden rack, glancing back to see Y/N trudging behind him, her coffee still in hand.

“You’re way too cheerful for this hour,” she grumbled, taking a sip.

“That’s because today’s mission is to turn you into a pro surfer,” Chris declared, flashing his signature grin.

Y/N raised a skeptical brow, looking at the boards like they might attack her. “A pro? Let’s aim for ‘not immediately falling flat on my face,’ shall we?”

“Trust me,” he said, grabbing a board and handing it to her. “I’m a fantastic teacher. Just follow my lead.”

“And by ‘fantastic,’ you mean you’ll laugh at me when I inevitably wipe out?” she teased.

“Absolutely,” Chris replied with a wink.

After a quick lesson on the basics, they waded into the water. Chris demonstrated how to paddle and pop up onto the board with effortless grace. “See? Easy,” he said, balancing perfectly as a wave carried him to shore.

Y/N glared at him, hands on her hips. “Show-off.”

Her first few attempts were, predictably, disastrous. She fell forward, then backward, swallowing a fair share of saltwater. Chris paddled over, chuckling. “You okay there, champ?”

“I’m fine,” she huffed, spitting out water. “Just rethinking all my life choices.”

“Come on,” he said, his voice encouraging. “You’re getting there. Just keep your knees bent and look straight ahead. You’ve got this.”

With his guidance,and a fair amount of determination,Y/N finally managed to stand on the board as a gentle wave carried her toward the shore.

“Look at me!” she shouted triumphantly, her arms flailing for balance.

“Who’s the pro now?” she teased, glancing back at Chris just before she lost her balance and tumbled into the water.

Chris paddled over, laughing so hard he nearly fell off his own board. “That was impressive for a solid three seconds.”

Y/N splashed him playfully. “You’re supposed to be encouraging, not heckling.”

By the afternoon, the adrenaline of surfing gave way to the peaceful calm of paddleboarding. The turquoise waters shimmered under the sun as they drifted side by side.

“So,” Y/N said, balancing her paddle across her lap. “What’s a guilty pleasure you’d never admit on TV?”

Chris paused, his paddle still. “Rom-coms. I’m a sucker for a good ‘enemies-to-lovers’ plot.”

“No way!” Y/N said, nearly tipping her board as she burst into laughter. “That’s my favorite trope! Alright, we’re definitely having a rom-com movie night after this.”

“You’re on,” he replied, his grin widening. “But only if you promise not to roast me for quoting all the lines.”

“Deal,” she said, her eyes sparkling.

As the sun dipped below the horizon, they sat at a small table on the beach, the flicker of candlelight casting soft shadows. Plates of fresh seafood and tropical drinks adorned the table.

Chris reached for Y/N’s hand across the table. “You know, I don’t think I’ve ever felt this at peace,” he admitted, his voice quiet but sincere.

Y/N smiled, her fingers curling around his. “Me neither. This feels... easy. Like it’s supposed to be this way.”

He nodded, his eyes locking with hers. “I could get used to this.”

“Well, you’ll have to keep up the charm, Mr. Surf Pro,” she teased.

“Oh, don’t worry,” Chris replied with a smirk. “I’ve got plenty more where that came from.”

Later that night, they sat on the sand, the ocean waves gently lapping at their feet. Chris leaned back, resting on his hands as he looked up at the stars.

“Alright, my turn to ask a tough question,” Y/N said, tilting her head. “What’s something you’ve always wanted to do but never had the chance?”

Chris thought for a moment. “Honestly? Just... take a step back. Life’s always been so go-go-go. I’ve never really taken the time to just be.”

Y/N’s gaze softened. “Well, consider this your start. No deadlines, no expectations. Just... being.”

Chris smiled at her, his expression filled with gratitude. “You make it sound so simple.”

“Maybe it is,” she replied, leaning her head against his shoulder.

Day Three

The third day brought a new kind of excitement as Chris and Y/N ventured into a charming seaside town. The cobblestone streets were lined with colorful storefronts, their windows displaying everything from hand-painted ceramics to jars of locally made jam. The air was thick with the aroma of freshly baked pastries, sea salt, and hints of lavender from a nearby flower stand.

Y/N’s eyes lit up as she spotted a small bakery with its doors wide open, the scent of buttery croissants wafting through. “We’re stopping there,” she announced, grabbing Chris’s hand and tugging him along.

“You don’t have to convince me,” he said, laughing as he pulled out his wallet. “I smelled that place from two blocks away.”

Inside, the bakery was cozy and inviting, with wooden shelves stacked high with golden pastries and an old chalkboard menu listing the day’s specials. Y/N pressed her face to the glass display case, eyes darting between the flaky croissants, glistening fruit tarts, and delicate macarons.

“Everything looks so good,” she said, practically drooling.

Chris leaned over her shoulder, pointing to a chocolate almond croissant. “That one. Trust me, it’s life-changing.”

They ordered a selection to share, along with iced lattes, and found a small table by the window. Y/N took a bite of the croissant and closed her eyes, letting out an exaggerated groan of delight. “Oh my god. This is heavenly. How did you know?”

“I have excellent taste,” Chris said smugly, taking a bite of his own.

She raised an eyebrow, smirking. “We’ll see about that when we debate ice cream flavors later.”

After their indulgent breakfast, they wandered the streets, stumbling upon a street performer playing a soft melody on his guitar. The music drifted through the air, drawing a small crowd. Y/N stopped in her tracks, a mischievous smile spreading across her face.

“You know what I’m going to say,” she teased, turning to Chris.

“No,” he said immediately, though the corners of his mouth betrayed his amusement.

“Come on,” she coaxed, nudging him with her elbow. “You’re literally a musician. How can you not?”

“I’m not doing it,” Chris insisted, shaking his head.

“Please?” Y/N said, her eyes widening in mock pleading. “For me?”

He sighed dramatically, rolling his eyes. “Fine. But only because you’re cute when you beg.”

Y/N clapped excitedly as Chris approached the street performer, who graciously handed over his guitar. “Don’t judge me too harshly,” he muttered to the crowd before launching into a cheesy rendition of I'm Yours by Jason Mraz.

The playful tone of his voice and exaggerated gestures had everyone laughing and clapping along. Y/N’s cheeks flushed red as he pointedly sang the chorus to her, but she couldn’t stop smiling.

When he finished, the small crowd erupted into applause, and Y/N threw her arms around him. “You’re ridiculous,” she said, laughing. “But I love it.”

“Ridiculous and charming,” he corrected, grinning. “Don’t forget that.”

The rest of the day was spent wandering through the town’s quirky shops. They tried on silly hats at a boutique, debated over the best scents for candles at a local artisan’s stall, and picked out small souvenirs for each other.

“Okay,” Chris said, holding up a tiny ceramic seahorse. “This one’s for you because it reminds me of how determined you were on that surfboard yesterday.”

Y/N laughed, taking the figurine from him. “And this,” she said, handing him a keychain shaped like a wave, “is for you, because you’re officially my surf coach now.”

They continued their playful banter as they explored, eventually stumbling upon an ice cream stand with a long line of locals,a clear sign of quality.

“Alright,” Y/N said as they approached the counter. “What’s your flavor?”

“Chocolate. No contest,” Chris said confidently.

“Boring,” Y/N teased. “Strawberry’s where it’s at.”

“Strawberry?” Chris repeated, feigning disbelief. “You’ve lost all credibility.”

As they sat on a bench overlooking the pier, licking their cones, they continued their mock argument.

“You’re objectively wrong,” Y/N declared.

“Keep telling yourself that,” Chris said with a smirk. “But deep down, you know chocolate is superior.”

As the sun dipped lower in the sky, painting the horizon in shades of pink and orange, Y/N leaned her head on Chris’s shoulder. The gentle sound of waves lapping against the pier added to the tranquil atmosphere.

“This is officially one of my favorite days,” she said softly, her voice carrying a note of contentment.

Chris kissed the top of her head, his hand resting lightly on hers. “Mine too. You make everything better.”

Day Four

“Today,” Chris announced with theatrical flair as they entered the resort’s open-air kitchen, “we conquer the art of pasta-making. Prepare to be amazed.”

Y/N paused, eyeing him skeptically as she tied her apron. “Amazed at how badly this will go?”

“Have a little faith,” Chris teased, adjusting his own apron with a flourish. “I’m practically a professional chef.”

She snorted, rolling up her sleeves. “You burnt toast the other day.”

“Details,” he said, waving her off dramatically. “That was a fluke. Today, I’m in my element.”

The kitchen was set up with individual stations, each equipped with flour, eggs, rolling pins, and pasta machines. The instructor,a jovial Italian chef named Marco,gave them a brief tutorial on making fresh pasta.

“Remember,” Marco said with a heavy accent, “the dough must be smooth, like a baby’s cheek.”

“Smooth like a baby’s cheek,” Chris repeated, winking at Y/N. “Got it.”

It wasn’t long before the kitchen descended into chaos. Chris’s dough came together quickly, the perfect blend of soft and elastic. He kneaded it with surprising precision, humming a little tune as he worked.

Y/N, on the other hand, was struggling. Her dough stubbornly stuck to the counter, her hands, and even the rolling pin.

“Are you sure you’re following the instructions?” Chris asked, leaning over to inspect her work.

“Excuse me, Chef Gordon Ramsay,” Y/N shot back, “but this dough has a personal vendetta against me.”

Chris chuckled, effortlessly rolling out his own dough into a perfect sheet. “Natural talent,” he said smugly, tossing a small pinch of flour in her direction.

Y/N narrowed her eyes, a mischievous glint flashing. “Oh, it’s on.”

She grabbed a handful of flour and flicked it at his face, laughing as it landed on his nose and hair.

Chris froze, blinking through the cloud of flour. “You just declared war,” he said, his voice low and playful.

Before she could react, he scooped up a handful of flour and lobbed it back at her, laughing as she squealed and ducked.

The instructor sighed dramatically from across the room. “This is not how you make pasta!”

By the time they finished, the kitchen looked like a war zone. Flour covered the counters, the floor, and both of them. Despite the mess, they managed to produce two plates of pasta, though neither looked particularly appetizing.

Sitting at a small table overlooking the garden, they tasted their creations.

“Mine has character,” Y/N declared, twirling a forkful of slightly lumpy pasta.

“Character is code for uneven and chewy,” Chris countered, smirking as he took a bite of his perfectly uniform noodles. “Boringly perfect tastes better.”

Y/N rolled her eyes, taking a bite of his pasta. “Okay, fine. Yours is better. But mine has personality.”

“Personality doesn’t make up for the fact that you almost broke your teeth,” Chris teased, dodging a playful swat.

That evening, they lounged by the resort’s infinity pool, the moon casting a silver glow over the water. Each had a cocktail in hand, their earlier antics giving way to a quieter, more reflective mood.

Chris leaned back on the chaise lounge, swirling the ice in his glass. “You know, I used to sneak out of the house to write songs when I was younger. My parents thought I was sleeping, but I’d be in the garage scribbling lyrics.”

Y/N turned to him, intrigued. “What kind of songs?”

“Terrible ones,” he admitted, laughing. “But it didn’t matter. Writing was my escape. It felt like the only way I could say what I was feeling.”

“That’s amazing,” Y/N said, her voice soft. “I used to make my cousins sit through my ‘teaching lessons.’ I’d make these little worksheets and quizzes, and they’d bribe me with candy to let them leave.”

Chris chuckled. “Sounds like you were a natural educator from the start.”

Y/N smiled, leaning her head back to look at the stars. “I guess we both found what we love early on.”

Chris glanced at her, his expression thoughtful. “You know, I’ve been on a lot of adventures, but this? Sitting here with you, talking about life? This might be my favorite.”

She turned to him, her cheeks warming under his gaze. “You’re going to make me blush, Chris.”

“Good,” he said with a grin, raising his glass. “Here’s to many more moments like this.”

Y/N clinked her glass against his. “To many more.”

Day Five

By the fifth day, Chris and Y/N had settled into an effortless rhythm,a blend of playful teasing and deeply meaningful conversations. The morning began lazily, with the soft sound of waves in the distance and the gentle strumming of Chris’s guitar on the balcony.

Y/N emerged from the kitchen, coffee mug in hand, and leaned against the doorframe, watching him. The sunlight caught the angles of his face, and she smiled to herself, feeling a warmth she couldn’t quite explain.

“Good morning, Rockstar,” she said, taking a sip of her coffee.

Chris glanced up, his dimples showing as he grinned. “Morning. Sleep well?”

“Like a baby,” she replied, settling into the chair across from him. “Play something for me?”

“What do you want to hear?” he asked, his fingers pausing on the strings.

“Surprise me,” she said, resting her chin in her hand.

He nodded, strumming a few soft chords before launching into a gentle, romantic melody. His voice, low and smooth, carried the tune effortlessly. The lyrics spoke of longing, connection, and finding someone who felt like home.

When he finished, Y/N clapped softly, her smile wide. “You’re unfairly talented. It’s actually annoying.”

“I’ll take that as a compliment,” he teased, setting the guitar aside. “Do you play any instruments?”

Y/N shook her head. “Nope. I tried piano as a kid, but my teacher said I had the attention span of a goldfish.”

Chris laughed. “That’s a shame. You could’ve been my duet partner.”

“Well,” she said with a grin, “I’ll just have to be your number-one fan instead.”

In the afternoon, they headed to the beach for a snorkeling excursion. The water was crystal clear, revealing vibrant coral reefs teeming with marine life. Chris helped adjust Y/N’s mask, his hands steady as he tightened the strap.

“Alright,” he said, his voice muffled slightly by his snorkel. “You ready to meet some fish?”

“Ready as I’ll ever be,” Y/N replied, though her wide eyes suggested she wasn’t entirely confident.

They waded into the water and dipped below the surface. Y/N’s initial nervousness melted away as she marveled at the underwater world,schools of colorful fish darting among the coral, sea urchins nestled in crevices, and the gentle sway of anemones.

Chris stayed close, pointing out interesting sights and giving her an enthusiastic thumbs-up every time she spotted something new.

Suddenly, a small, curious fish darted toward Y/N, brushing against her leg. She squealed, surfacing quickly.

“What happened?” Chris asked, laughing as he came up beside her.

“That fish got way too personal!” she said, her voice half-exasperated, half-amused.

Chris laughed so hard he nearly swallowed seawater. “This was your idea, remember?”

“Yeah, and it was a great idea,until the fish decided to invade my personal space,” she retorted, making him laugh even harder.

They floated side by side, the gentle waves lulling them into a peaceful rhythm.

“This is amazing,” Y/N said, her voice softer now. “I don’t think I’ve ever felt so... connected to everything.”

Chris nodded. “It’s pretty incredible. Moments like this remind you how small we are, in the best way.”

That evening, they found themselves back on the balcony, the sky painted in hues of orange, pink, and purple as the sun dipped below the horizon. The sound of the ocean was a soothing backdrop to their conversation.

Chris leaned against the railing, his gaze on the horizon. “What scares you most about this?” Y/N asked, breaking the comfortable silence.

He glanced at her, his expression thoughtful. “Letting you down,” he admitted. “I know my life can be chaotic,always moving, always busy. I don’t want that to overshadow what we have.”

Y/N reached out, her hand finding his. “We’ll figure it out,” she said firmly. “I don’t expect perfect,I just want us to try. That’s all I need.”

Chris smiled, lifting her hand to his lips and pressing a gentle kiss to her knuckles. “You make me want to try,” he murmured, his voice filled with emotion.

They stood there for a while, watching as the last rays of sunlight disappeared and the stars began to twinkle in the darkening sky.

Later, they curled up together on the outdoor sofa, wrapped in a soft blanket. The night air was cool, but the warmth between them made everything feel just right.

Chris traced patterns on Y/N’s hand with his thumb, his voice low. “I don’t know how this happened, but I feel like I’ve known you forever.”

Y/N smiled, resting her head against his shoulder. “I was just thinking the same thing. It’s like... all the pieces just fit.”

They talked about their favorite moments from the week,the flour fight during pasta-making, their impromptu duet with the street performer, and Y/N’s three-second surfing triumph.

“You’ve made this week unforgettable,” Chris said, his voice soft.

“So have you,” Y/N replied, her eyes meeting his.

They sat in comfortable silence after that, the weight of the moment settling over them. Both knew they’d found something extraordinary,something worth holding onto long after the week was over.

Four:

The final morning of the honeymoon phase arrived, and the couples were gathered together at the resort’s grand dining area. The hosts greeted them with a bittersweet announcement. “The holiday is over,” one began. “Now, the real test begins. You’ll be returning to your day-to-day lives. The following weeks will determine if the connection you’ve built can survive outside this bubble.”

There was a mix of excitement and apprehension among the couples. The hosts continued, “During this phase, you will meet each other’s families, experience their homes, jobs, and routines. You’ll get a glimpse into the realities of what married life might look like for you. This is your chance to see how your lives align.”

As the gathering concluded, the couples were handed their phones for the first time in weeks. “You can reconnect with your loved ones,” the hosts explained. “Update them on what’s happened in the pods and during your vacation.”

Y/N turned on her phone, her notifications exploding with missed messages from friends and family. Beside her, Chris chuckled as he scrolled through similar chaos. “Looks like we have a lot of catching up to do,” he said.

Returning home meant diving headfirst into the rhythm of their daily lives, a stark contrast to the dreamy bubble they had shared at the resort. The transition was jarring, but both Y/N and Chris were determined to make it work.

For Y/N, her first day back at school was chaotic yet fulfilling. As soon as she walked into her classroom, a chorus of excited voices greeted her.

“Miss Y/N! You’re back!”

“Where did you go? Did you go somewhere fun?”

“Did you bring us souvenirs?”

Y/N laughed, setting her bag down on her desk. One of her younger students, Sarah, tugged on her sleeve, her eyes wide with curiosity. “Miss Y/N, was it a secret mission?” she asked, whispering as if she’d uncovered something big.

“Something like that,” Y/N replied with a playful smile. “Let’s just say it was a very special adventure.”

Her students buzzed with excitement, their imaginations running wild. The joy of being back reminded Y/N why she loved teaching, but the demands of her job quickly caught up to her. Lesson planning, grading, and endless meetings filled her days, leaving her exhausted by the time she got home. Still, she made it a point to text Chris during her breaks, sharing snippets of her day,a funny thing a student said, a picture of the classroom art project, or simply a quick, “Hope your day’s going okay.”

Meanwhile, Chris was equally swamped at his music company. His team welcomed him back enthusiastically, but a mountain of projects awaited him. Deadlines loomed, and the pressure to catch up was intense. Late nights in the studio became the norm as he worked to tie up loose ends and push forward with new initiatives.

During one particularly hectic day, Chris slipped into a quiet corner of the studio and dialed Y/N’s number. The line rang twice before she picked up.

“Hey, you,” she said, her voice soft but tired.

“Hey,” he replied, leaning against the wall. “How’s my favorite teacher?”

She chuckled. “Exhausted. My kids were like little tornadoes today. One of them tried to convince me that glue sticks are edible.”

“Sounds like an adventurous day,” he said, grinning. “I, on the other hand, have been trapped in the studio for hours. If I hear one more drum loop, I might lose it.”

“Can’t you take a break?” she asked, concern lacing her voice.

“This is my break,” he said warmly. “Talking to you.”

Her heart softened, and for a moment, the exhaustion melted away. “I miss you,” she admitted quietly.

“I miss you too,” he said. “But we’ll get through this. Just a little more juggling, and we’ll find our balance.”

Balancing their busy schedules was no easy task. There were days when their texts went unanswered for hours and calls were cut short by unexpected meetings or studio interruptions. Yet, they both made an effort.

One evening, Y/N sent him a photo of a sunset she’d caught on her drive home with the caption, “Reminded me of our trip. Hope your day’s winding down.”

Chris replied with a quick selfie from the studio, his headphones askew and a tired but playful smile on his face. “Not quite, but this helped. You always know how to make my day better.”

Though they were miles apart, those little moments of connection kept them tethered to each other. Both Y/N and Chris knew the road ahead wouldn’t be easy, but they were determined to navigate it together, one day at a time.

The weekend brought the much-anticipated meeting with Y/N’s family. Chris, dressed in a crisp button-up shirt and jeans, clutched a bouquet of flowers in one hand while the other fidgeted with the hem of his sleeve as they walked up the driveway to her parents’ house.

Y/N noticed his nervous energy and gave his hand a reassuring squeeze. “You’re nervous,” she teased, her eyes twinkling.

Chris chuckled nervously. “Just a little,” he admitted with a sheepish smile. “Meeting the parents is a big deal. What if they don’t like me?”

“They’ll love you,” she said confidently. “Just be yourself. And maybe don’t mention the time you set off the fire alarm trying to cook.”

He laughed, the tension in his shoulders easing slightly. “Noted. No fire alarm stories.”

The door opened before they could knock, revealing Y/N’s mother, who greeted them with a warm smile. “There you are!” she exclaimed, pulling Y/N into a tight hug. Her gaze then shifted to Chris, scanning him curiously but kindly. “And this must be the famous Chris.”

Chris stepped forward, extending the bouquet. “It’s lovely to meet you, Mrs. Y/L/N.”

Her mother’s smile widened as she accepted the flowers. “A gentleman. I like him already. Come in, both of you.”

Inside, Y/N’s father stood near the dining table, his arms crossed in a posture that was more analytical than intimidating. His handshake with Chris was firm, deliberate, and conveyed an unspoken message: I’m watching you.

“Good to meet you, sir,” Chris said evenly, meeting his gaze.

“Good grip,” her father replied with a small nod of approval. “That’s a start.”

Y/N rolled her eyes but smiled, pulling Chris toward the living room.

As dinner was served, the atmosphere began to relax. The conversation started light, with Chris sharing anecdotes about his work in the music industry and Y/N’s mother gushing over the stories of their recent trip. Her father, however, steered the conversation toward more serious topics.

“So, Chris,” he began, setting his fork down and fixing him with a pointed look, “what are your plans for the future?”

Chris didn’t flinch. “I’ve worked hard to build a career I’m proud of,” he said, his voice steady. “But I’ve realized that having someone to share life with makes everything more meaningful. Y/N has shown me what that could look like, and I’m committed to making sure we build something strong together.”

Y/N’s father nodded, his expression softening slightly. “Good answer.”

Her mother smiled, clearly charmed by Chris’s sincerity. “You know,” she said, “it’s been a while since I’ve seen Y/N this happy. It’s good to know you’re treating her well.”

“She makes it easy,” Chris replied, glancing at Y/N with a warm smile.

By the time dessert was served, the initial tension had dissolved into laughter and easy conversation. Y/N’s father even seemed impressed when Chris volunteered to help with the dishes.

As they stood by the sink, her father handed him a towel. “You’re a hard worker, I’ll give you that,” he said gruffly. “But relationships take more than that.”

“I understand, sir,” Chris replied, meeting his gaze. “I’m not perfect, but I’m willing to put in the effort for Y/N. She’s worth it.”

Her father gave a small nod, the faintest trace of a smile on his face. “Good. That’s what I like to hear.”

When it was time to leave, Y/N’s mother hugged her tightly at the door. “He’s wonderful,” she whispered. “You’ve found someone special.”

Y/N smiled, her heart swelling. “I think so too.”

As they walked to the car, Chris let out a long breath. “Well, that was... intense.”

Y/N laughed, slipping her hand into his. “You did great. I think you might’ve even impressed my dad.”

“Really?” he asked, raising an eyebrow. “Because I’m pretty sure he was trying to bore a hole into my soul during that handshake.”

“He does that with everyone,” she assured him, grinning. “But for the record, my mom already adores you.”

Chris looked relieved, a small smile tugging at his lips. “Good. Because I adore her daughter.”

Y/N’s cheeks flushed, and she leaned against him as they walked. Meeting her family was a milestone, and Chris had passed with flying colors.

The following weekend, it was Y/N’s turn to meet Chris’s family in Sydney. The flight was a whirlwind, and as they arrived at his childhood home, Y/N felt her nerves creeping in. “Do I look okay?” she asked, adjusting her dress.

Chris laughed softly and kissed her temple. “You look perfect,” he said, squeezing her hand. “They’re going to love you. Trust me.”

The door opened before they could knock, revealing Chris’s mother, who greeted them with open arms. “Welcome, Y/N,” she said warmly, pulling her into a hug. “We’ve heard so much about you. It’s wonderful to finally meet you.”

“Thank you for having me,” Y/N replied, her nerves easing slightly at the warmth of her welcome.

Chris’s father appeared next, shaking Y/N’s hand firmly. “We’ve been looking forward to this,” he said, his tone kind but appraising. “Chris’s been singing your praises.”

“Only the good stuff, I hope,” Y/N joked, earning a chuckle.

Hannah, Chris’s younger sister, was the first to approach Y/N. At 20, she was vibrant and brimming with curiosity. “So, you’re the famous Y/N,” Hannah said with a teasing smile. “Chris talks about you nonstop.”

Y/N grinned, feeling more at ease. “I hope it’s all good things.”

“Mostly,” Hannah joked, nudging her brother. “He left out how pretty you are, though.”

Dinner was a lively affair, filled with animated conversation and heartfelt moments. Chris’s mother served a delicious spread, and the family quickly made Y/N feel at home. Chris’s father shared stories about his childhood, many of which had Y/N laughing so hard she had to wipe tears from her eyes.

“He was always the most responsible one,” his father said, a touch of pride in his voice. “But don’t let that fool you,he was just as mischievous as the rest of them.”

“Don’t listen to him,” Chris interjected, shaking his head. “I was an angel.”

“Sure you were,” Hannah teased, rolling her eyes. “Like the time you got us locked out of the house because you were busy playing your guitar on the roof?”

Y/N leaned into Chris, laughing. “I need to hear more of these stories.”

“I’ll tell you all the embarrassing ones later,” Hannah promised with a grin.

Later in the evening, Y/N and Hannah found themselves chatting on the back patio, the cool Sydney air wrapping around them. Hannah’s teasing demeanor gave way to a more serious tone. “So, how’s it really going?” she asked. “With Chris, I mean.”

Y/N took a moment to consider the question. “It’s amazing,” she admitted, “but it’s not without challenges. We’re both figuring out how to balance our lives with this new relationship.”

Hannah nodded knowingly. “He works a lot. Sometimes I worry he doesn’t slow down enough to enjoy the little things.”

“I’ve noticed that too,” Y/N said, her voice thoughtful. “But I think he’s trying. He wants this to work just as much as I do.”

“I can tell,” Hannah said with a small smile. “He’s different with you. Happier. Just... don’t let him get away with making excuses, okay?”

Y/N laughed, appreciating her candor. “Deal.”

By the end of the night, Y/N felt a genuine connection with Chris’s family. As they prepared to leave, his mother hugged Y/N tightly. “You’re exactly what he needs,” she whispered. “Thank you for making him so happy.”

Y/N’s heart swelled at the words. “He makes me happy too,” she replied, glancing at Chris, who was engaged in a cheerful goodbye with his father.

As they walked back to the car, Chris looked at Y/N, his eyes filled with warmth. “So? How did I do?”

“You mean how did I do?” Y/N teased, nudging him. “Your family’s wonderful. They’re so warm and welcoming. And Hannah’s a riot.”

Chris grinned. “They loved you. I knew they would.”

Y/N smiled, slipping her hand into his. “Well, they raised a pretty great guy, so I’m not surprised.”

He stopped walking and turned to her, his expression suddenly serious. “Thank you for doing this,” he said softly. “It means a lot to me.”

“It means a lot to me too,” Y/N replied, leaning in to kiss him. Meeting his family was a milestone, and it felt like one more step toward the future they were building together.

After meeting Chris’s family, Y/N thought she had a good grasp of the important people in his life. But when Chris told her they’d be meeting his bandmates next, her stomach fluttered with a mix of excitement and nerves. These weren’t just his friends, they were his second family, his brothers in music and in life.

As they arrived at the studio, Chris gave her hand a reassuring squeeze. “Don’t worry, they’re going to love you. Just... brace yourself for the chaos. They’re not exactly subtle.”

Y/N laughed nervously. “Noted. Should I be scared?”

Chris smirked. “A little, maybe.”

The moment they stepped into the lounge area, a wave of energy hit them. The room was filled with laughter, loud voices, and snacks strewn across the table. All eyes turned to Y/N as Chris led her in.

“Guys,” Chris announced, his voice cutting through the noise, “this is Y/N.”

There was a brief pause before Felix bounded over, his face lit with excitement. “Finally! We’ve been dying to meet you!”

“Dying,” Han echoed dramatically, throwing himself onto the couch. “We thought he made you up!”

“Very funny,” Chris muttered, rolling his eyes.

Y/N smiled, instantly charmed by their playful energy. “It’s nice to meet you all. Chris talks about you guys all the time.”

“Does he now?” Lee Know said, raising an eyebrow as he leaned back in his chair. “All good things, I hope.”

“Mostly,” Y/N teased, shooting Chris a playful look.

Seungmin smirked, crossing his arms. “Well, if you’re here, you must already know that he’s a bit... intense. Has he started rearranging your schedule yet?”

“Not yet,” Y/N laughed. “But he did try to reorganize my fridge the other day.”

The room erupted into laughter, Chris groaning as he ran a hand through his hair. “I didn’t ‘reorganize’ it. I just... suggested a more efficient layout.”

“Classic Chris,” Changbin said, shaking his head. “Always optimizing.”

“Alright, Y/N,” Han said, scooting closer with a mischievous grin. “You’ve got to hear some of the juicy stuff about Chris. Like the time he tripped on stage during our debut performance.”

Chris groaned, covering his face. “Don’t—”

Han ignored him, leaning in conspiratorially. “It was this dramatic fall too, like slow motion. And he tried to play it off by doing some weird spin.”

Y/N burst out laughing, her eyes sparkling as she looked at Chris. “Is that true?”

“It was not that dramatic,” Chris protested, his cheeks flushing. “And the spin was intentional.”

“It wasn’t,” Hyunjin added with a smirk. “But we all pretended it was because we felt bad for him.”

Felix chimed in. “Or the time he accidentally called himself ‘Bang Can’ during an interview and didn’t realize it until the fans started trending it.”

“Okay, that’s enough,” Chris said, throwing a cushion at Felix, who dodged it with a laugh.

“Oh, no, we’re just getting started,” Changbin said, grinning. “Y/N, did he tell you how he tried to bake us cookies once and used salt instead of sugar?”

Y/N’s jaw dropped, her laughter spilling out. “No way!”

“Way,” Seungmin said, his tone deadpan. “He tried to bribe us with free coffee to forget about it.”

Chris sighed dramatically, though he couldn’t hide the small smile tugging at his lips. “You guys are supposed to make me look good, not ruin my image.”

“That’s our job as your bandmates,” Han quipped. “To keep you humble.”

As the afternoon went on, the teasing turned into genuine conversation. The members asked Y/N about her life, her job, and how she’d managed to put up with Chris so far.

“I’m honestly impressed,” Seungmin said. “You’ve survived this long.”

“He’s not that bad,” Y/N replied, smiling at Chris. “I think the secret is just letting him think he’s in charge.”

The room erupted in laughter, Chris shaking his head but clearly enjoying the banter.

By the end of the visit, Y/N felt like she’d been welcomed into a new family. The warmth and camaraderie between the members were undeniable, and their teasing only made her love Chris more—it was clear how much they all cared for him.

As they left the studio, Chris slipped an arm around her waist. “See? That wasn’t so bad, was it?”

“Not at all,” Y/N said, leaning into him. “I think I love them almost as much as I love you.”

Chris grinned, his dimples deepening. “Well, they already love you. So I guess it’s a win.”

However, as the days passed, the honeymoon glow began to dim, replaced by the realities of their demanding lives. Their packed schedules started to take a toll, and the cracks became evident one evening when Chris canceled plans for the third time in a row due to work.

Y/N, who had spent the day looking forward to their rare night together, couldn’t hold back her frustration anymore. She set her phone down with a heavy sigh, her disappointment evident. When Chris finally walked through the door, his tie loosened and fatigue written all over his face, she stood in the kitchen, her arms crossed.

“I get that your job is demanding, Chris, but I can’t keep feeling like I’m second place,” Y/N began, her voice tight with emotion. “I’m always the one making time, rearranging my schedule. It’s like... I’m the only one fighting for this.”

Chris dropped his bag by the couch and rubbed his temples. “It’s not about priorities, Y/N,” he said, his tone weary. “I’m trying to make this work, but my job,there’s so much at stake. Deadlines, responsibilities,they’re not just going to disappear because I want them to.”

“And you think I don’t have responsibilities?” she shot back, her voice rising slightly. “We both have demanding lives, Chris. But relationships take effort. I can’t be the only one putting us first.”

The room went silent for a moment, the weight of their words hanging heavily in the air. Chris let out a long breath and walked closer, leaning against the counter. “You’re right,” he admitted quietly. “I’ve been so caught up in trying to stay afloat at work that I didn’t realize how much I’ve been neglecting us.”

Y/N softened slightly at his admission but still felt the sting of being sidelined. “I just... I need to know that we’re on the same team here,” she said, her voice trembling. “That no matter how busy life gets, we’re making time for us.”

He nodded, running a hand through his hair. “I hear you,” he said. “And I hate that I’ve made you feel this way. What can we do to fix it? I don’t want you to feel like you’re doing this alone.”

Her arms uncrossed as she leaned against the counter across from him. “We need to make changes. Let’s set aside one night a week, no matter what’s going on, just for us. No work, no distractions,just time together. And if you have to cancel something, I need you to communicate better. Let me know what’s happening instead of me waiting around.”

Chris nodded earnestly. “Okay. I can do that. And I’ll try to plan better so I’m not always last-minute scrambling.”

They continued talking late into the night, unpacking their frustrations and figuring out how to navigate their busy lives together. By the time they were done, the tension had eased, and a sense of understanding filled the room.

“I’m not perfect,” Chris said softly, taking her hand. “But I want this to work. I want us to work.”

Y/N squeezed his hand, her gaze steady. “Me too,” she said with a small smile. “We’ll figure it out. Together.”

For the first time in weeks, they felt like they were on the same page, ready to face whatever challenges came their way.

Five:

As the wedding date approached, Y/N and Chris dove into preparations. The process was both exciting and overwhelming, filled with appointments, decisions, and moments of unexpected joy.

One sunny afternoon, they visited a tailor for Chris’s suit. Chris stepped onto the platform, looking slightly out of his element as the tailor measured his shoulders and chest.

“I’ve never done this before,” he admitted, glancing nervously at Y/N.

She smiled, stepping closer to adjust the fabric draped over his arm. “That’s what I’m here for,” she teased. “And don’t worry, you’re a natural. Look at you, already looking like a movie star.”

Chris chuckled, the tension easing from his shoulders. “You really think so?”

“I know so,” she said, tilting her head as she studied him. “Let’s go with the navy suit. It makes your eyes stand out, and it’s classic but modern,just like you.”

“You’re good at this,” Chris said, reaching for her hand. “Remind me to take you shopping every time I need a new outfit.”

“Deal,” Y/N replied with a laugh.

Later, Y/N went dress shopping with her mother, Chris’s mother, Hannah, Sarah, and Amelia. The boutique buzzed with excitement as the women sifted through racks of gowns, their voices mingling in a symphony of opinions and laughter.

“What about this one?” Hannah asked, holding up a dress with a plunging neckline.

Y/N’s mother raised an eyebrow. “It’s beautiful, but maybe not for the ceremony.”

“I’ll save it for the honeymoon,” Y/N joked, making everyone burst into laughter.

When Y/N emerged from the dressing room in a lace gown with a flowing train, the room fell silent. The intricate details of the dress caught the light, and the soft fabric seemed to mold perfectly to her figure.

“You look stunning,” Hannah whispered, her eyes wide with admiration.

Chris’s mother clasped her hands to her chest, tears welling up. “Absolutely breathtaking,” she said softly.

Y/N turned to face the mirror, her own reflection taking her breath away. Her mother stepped closer, placing a gentle hand on her shoulder. “This is the one, isn’t it?”

Y/N blinked back tears, her voice barely above a whisper. “This is the one.”

Hannah enveloped her in a tight hug. “Chris is going to lose his mind when he sees you,” she said, her voice full of affection.

“He’d better,” Y/N replied with a watery laugh. “Otherwise, I’ll make him wear this dress.”

The room erupted in laughter again, and the boutique became a place of shared joy and anticipation. By the end of the day, Y/N felt more connected than ever to the people around her, and the dream of her wedding felt more real than ever.

As they left the boutique, Chris’s mother squeezed Y/N’s hand. “You’re going to make a beautiful bride,” she said warmly. “But more importantly, you’re going to make Chris very happy.”

Y/N smiled, her heart full. “Thank you. That means so much.”

The preparations were far from over, but in moments like these, Y/N realized that it wasn’t just about the wedding day,it was about the love and connections they were building along the way.

The week before the wedding, the excitement reached a fever pitch as Y/N and Chris celebrated their bachelor and bachelorette parties. It was a chance to unwind, laugh, and revel in the company of their closest friends before stepping into their new chapter.

Y/N’s party, orchestrated with flair by Amelia, was a beach-themed soirée that felt like a scene straight out of a romantic movie. The women gathered at an elegant beachfront venue, complete with twinkling fairy lights, tiki torches, and a soft ocean breeze. The air was filled with laughter, music, and the scent of tropical flowers.

As they sipped colorful cocktails and nibbled on gourmet hors d’oeuvres, Amelia clinked her glass to gather attention. “Ladies,” she began with a mischievous grin, “tonight, we celebrate our girl Y/N, who somehow managed to meet her soulmate without the usual dating disasters. Let’s make this a night she’ll never forget!”

The group erupted into cheers, raising their glasses high.

“Speech, speech!” someone called out, nudging Y/N.

Y/N laughed, shaking her head. “Not a chance. You’re not getting me to cry before the big day!”

Amelia smirked. “Oh, don’t worry. That’s my job during the toast later.”

The night kicked off with an impromptu karaoke session. Y/N and Sarah took the stage for a hilariously off-key rendition of their favorite throwback hit, complete with dramatic dance moves.

“Whose idea was this?” Y/N panted, doubling over with laughter as the group roared.

“Yours,” Sarah shot back, grinning. “And you’re welcome!”

Later, as the evening mellowed into a series of heartfelt toasts, Amelia took center stage. “Y/N, you’ve always been the kind of friend who lights up a room just by walking in. Watching you and Chris together is like witnessing a fairy tale come to life. You deserve every bit of happiness coming your way. Here’s to you, my beautiful friend.”

Y/N dabbed at her eyes with a napkin, her voice thick with emotion. “Thank you, Amelia. And thank all of you for being here tonight. You’ve made this whole journey so special.”

Amelia leaned over, whispering with a teasing smile, “So, are you ready to trade in freedom for married bliss? Any second thoughts?”

“Not even for a second,” Y/N replied with a grin. “He’s my person. I’ve never been more sure of anything.”

The night wrapped up with the women dancing barefoot on the sand, cocktails in hand, under the glow of the stars. At one point, Sarah raised her glass again. “To Y/N, the most radiant bride-to-be. Chris better know how lucky he is!”

“Oh, he knows,” Y/N replied, laughing, her cheeks glowing from the drinks and joy of the night.

Meanwhile, Chris’s bachelor party had a different vibe,a relaxed yet spirited gathering at a swanky rooftop bar overlooking the city skyline. Mason, took on the unofficial role of emcee, ensuring the night was filled with camaraderie, laughter, and just a touch of chaos.

“Alright, gentlemen,” Mason began, raising his beer, “a toast to Chris,the man who found love without having to swipe left or right a hundred times. Here’s hoping he doesn’t screw it up now!”

Laughter rippled through the group as Chris rolled his eyes, smirking. “Wow, Mason, your faith in me is truly overwhelming.”

“Don’t take it personally,” Mason replied with mock seriousness. “I just know your track record with grand gestures.”

The banter gave way to more heartfelt moments as Mason added, “In all seriousness, Y/N’s an incredible woman, and you’re lucky to have her. Here’s to a lifetime of happiness and no more karaoke attempts.”

Chris chuckled, raising his glass. “I’ll take that. And for the record, no karaoke at the wedding.”

The night unfolded with rounds of pool, dart games, and nostalgic stories about Chris’s less-than-graceful younger days.

“Do you guys remember the time Chris tried to impress a girl by quoting poetry and ended up reciting the Pledge of Allegiance instead?” one friend teased, causing the group to erupt in laughter.

Chris groaned, shaking his head. “It was dark! I panicked!”

As the laughter settled, Chris’s younger brother pulled him aside. “You sure you’re ready for this?” he asked, his tone quiet but sincere.

Chris didn’t hesitate. “I’ve never been more ready for anything. Y/N’s everything I’ve ever wanted. She’s my future.”

Later, as the group stood against the backdrop of twinkling city lights, Mason clapped Chris on the shoulder. “You’re a lucky guy, mate. Don’t forget it.”

“I won’t,” Chris replied with a smile. “And thanks for being here tonight. It means everything.”

As both parties wound down, Y/N and Chris found a quiet moment to exchange messages.

“I can’t wait to marry you,” they texted each other simultaneously.

The celebrations left them brimming with love and excitement, their hearts full as they looked forward to their future together. Surrounded by friends and laughter, they knew the best was yet to come.

Six:

The wedding day dawned with a sense of magic in the air. Y/N and Chris arrived at the venue separately, each in a flurry of excitement and nerves. The grand estate, with its sprawling gardens and elegant architecture, was the perfect backdrop for their love story’s most significant chapter.

Chris’s dressing room buzzed with energy as his groomsmen,his Stray Kids bandmates,filled the space with their usual blend of camaraderie, teasing, and chaos. Dressed in sleek suits, they were each focused on something different: Hyunjin fiddled with his hair in the mirror, Han was pretending to practice a wedding march, and Felix was intently tying Chris’s bowtie.

“Hold still, mate,” Felix said, a bit exasperated. “I can’t pin this lapel flower on if you keep fidgeting.”

Chris sighed but stood still, glancing nervously at the clock. “I’m not fidgeting; I’m preparing. This is a big day.”

Seungmin smirked, crossing his arms. “Big day? That’s the understatement of the year. Never thought I’d see the day our old man settled down.”

“Seriously,” Changbin chimed in, leaning back in his chair with a grin. “You’re always buried in your music projects, Chris. We figured you’d just marry your laptop.”

“Hey!” Chris protested, laughing. “I can multitask, okay? And for the record, I prioritize Y/N over my laptop.”

“Wow,” Han said dramatically, clutching his chest. “True love really does exist.”

Hyunjin turned from the mirror, shaking his head with mock solemnity. “Let’s be real. None of us expected Chris to even make it past the pods stage. Remember how awkward he was during the first few days?”

“Awkward?” Chris shot back, feigning offense. “I was charming.”

“Yeah,” Lee Know quipped, sitting on the edge of the couch. “Charmingly awkward. But hey, it worked, so I guess we’ll give you that.”

Felix finished pinning the flower and stepped back to admire his work. “There. Perfect. You actually look decent for once.”

“Thanks for the vote of confidence, Lix,” Chris said dryly, adjusting his jacket.

Jeongin, who had been quietly observing, finally spoke up. “You know, I think this is the first time I’ve seen you look nervous, hyung. What’s up with that?”

Chris hesitated, rubbing the back of his neck. “It’s not nerves, exactly. It’s just... Y/N’s everything to me. I want today to be perfect for her.”

The room fell quiet for a moment, the teasing giving way to genuine camaraderie.

Changbin clapped him on the back. “You’ve got this, Chris. She’s lucky to have you, and honestly, you’re lucky to have her. You’re both going to kill it out there.”

“Yeah,” Seungmin added with a sly grin. “Even if she’s technically marrying an overworking workaholic.”

“Okay, that’s enough,” Chris said, rolling his eyes but smiling. “Aren’t you guys supposed to be hyping me up, not roasting me?”

Hyunjin smirked. “We roast because we care.”

“True,” Han said, throwing an arm around Chris’s shoulders. “But seriously, hyung, we’re proud of you. And you’d better believe we’re all going to cry when you say your vows.”

“Speak for yourself,” Lee Know said, though his smirk suggested otherwise.

Chris shook his head, a soft smile playing on his lips as he looked around at his bandmates. “Thanks, guys. It means a lot.”

“Alright, enough with the sappy stuff,” Felix declared, grabbing a small box from the table. “Time to make sure you don’t trip over your own feet. Who’s got the checklist for the ceremony?”

“Not me,” Han said quickly, stepping back. “Last time I had a checklist, we ended up in the wrong city.��

“That’s a story for another day,” Chris muttered, earning a round of laughter from the group.

As the banter continued, the nerves that had been bubbling inside Chris began to fade. Surrounded by his brothers, he felt ready to take the next step, straight down the aisle to the love of his life.

The bridal suite was a haven of calm amidst the bustling activity outside. Y/N sat in front of a full-length mirror, watching as the hairstylist expertly pinned her hair into an elegant updo. The makeup artist worked her magic, enhancing Y/N’s natural beauty with soft, glowing tones. The gentle hum of a love ballad played in the background, adding to the serene atmosphere.

Hannah lounged on the plush chaise nearby, scrolling through her phone. “Y/N, I swear, this venue is out of a fairy tale. The gardens, the lights, the view,Chris is going to lose his mind when he sees you.”

Y/N smiled faintly, but her fingers fidgeted in her lap. “I hope so. I’m starting to feel the nerves kicking in. What if I trip? Or cry so much during the vows that I can’t even speak?”

Hannah put her phone down and leaned forward, her tone soothing. “First of all, if you trip, we’ll all pretend it’s a part of the choreography. And if you cry, it’ll only make the vows more beautiful. You’ve got this, Y/N. You and Chris are meant for this.”

Before Y/N could respond, the door opened, and Chris’s mother and Y/N’s mother walked in, their faces glowing with pride and emotion.

“Sweetheart,” Y/N’s mother said, her voice soft as she approached, “you look absolutely breathtaking.” She bent down, pressing a kiss to Y/N’s forehead. “I can’t believe my little girl is getting married today.”

Chris’s mother took Y/N’s hand gently, her eyes misty. “Y/N, from the moment Chris told us about you, we could see how much he loved you. You’ve brought out a happiness in him that we hadn’t seen in years. Thank you for loving him so completely.”

Y/N’s throat tightened, her eyes glistening with unshed tears. “Thank you both for being here, for everything. And for raising such an incredible man. He’s... everything to me.”

The mothers shared a knowing smile, their hands resting on Y/N’s shoulders as if to steady her.

Hannah broke the tender silence with a playful grin. “Alright, ladies, no more making the bride cry before the ceremony! We need her makeup intact.”

The makeup artist laughed. “Yes, please. I worked hard on this masterpiece.”

The stylist stepped back, admiring her work. “You’re ready, Y/N. Absolutely stunning.”

Y/N stood, smoothing her dress with trembling hands. She turned to the mirror and took a deep breath, a soft smile spreading across her face. “Okay,” she whispered. “Let’s do this.”

The ceremony began with the hosts of Love is Blind standing in front of the gathered crowd, their smiles warm and welcoming. The venue buzzed with excitement as the music faded and the hosts took their places.

Chris stood at the altar, his hands clasped tightly in front of him as he tried to steady his racing heart. His groomsmen stood beside him, offering quiet support. Han leaned over and whispered, “Breathe, hyung. You don’t want to pass out before she even gets here.”

Chris shot him a mock glare but chuckled under his breath. “Thanks for the reminder.”

“Welcome, everyone,” the first host began, her voice resonating with emotion, “to what we can only describe as the culmination of a journey that started with blind faith and an open heart.”

Her co-host nodded, adding, “We’ve all been witness to a remarkable story, one that began in the pods,a place where appearances didn’t matter, and voices carried the weight of emotions. Chris and Y/N were strangers when they first sat down, separated by a wall, and yet, through vulnerability and trust, they built something extraordinary.”

The crowd murmured in appreciation, many glancing at the altar where Chris stood, his eyes locked on the aisle in anticipation.

“Chris and Y/N’s connection was immediate,” the first host continued. “They spent hours in the pods, sharing their hopes, dreams, and even their fears. And while they couldn’t see each other, they were seeing something far more important,each other’s hearts.”

Her co-host smiled. “We watched as their relationship blossomed during the retreat, where they finally saw each other for the first time. And let me tell you, when Chris saw Y/N, his face lit up like a kid on Christmas morning.”

The crowd chuckled, and even Chris smiled, momentarily breaking his nervous focus.

“They’ve spent the past weeks building on that foundation,” the first host added. “Navigating the challenges of blending two lives, getting to know each other’s families, and figuring out what it means to truly say, ‘I choose you.’”

“And today,” the co-host said, his voice brimming with excitement, “they’re here to make the ultimate choice,to stand before all of you, their friends and family, and promise to spend their lives together.”

The first host turned toward Chris, addressing the audience but clearly speaking to him as well. “This journey hasn’t been easy,it never is. Love is messy, imperfect, and requires work. But Chris and Y/N have shown us that when two people commit to seeing each other beyond the surface, love can truly conquer all.”

“And now,” her co-host said, gesturing to the aisle as the music swelled, “it’s time to witness the moment we’ve all been waiting for. Ladies and gentlemen, here comes the bride.”

The sound of the music shifted, and every head turned as Y/N appeared at the end of the aisle, arm in arm with her father. A collective gasp rippled through the crowd, followed by applause and cheers. Chris’s breath caught in his throat as he took her in,radiant, confident, and every bit the woman he had fallen in love with.

Y/N’s father leaned in as they walked. “You look beautiful, sweetheart. This is your moment. Let’s get you to your future.”

When they reached the altar, her father placed her hand in Chris’s, his voice steady but emotional. “Take care of her, Chris. She’s our world.”

“I promise,” Chris said sincerely, his voice firm with conviction.

The officiant began the ceremony, guiding the couple through the traditional moments with grace and a touch of humor. When it was time for the vows, Y/N took a deep breath and began.

“First of all, I would like to thank your parents for giving birth to such a sweet and kind-hearted son. Christopher, from the moment I heard your voice, I felt a connection I couldn’t explain. You’ve shown me patience, kindness, and love in ways I never thought possible. I promise to support your dreams, cherish our laughter, and stand by you, no matter what life throws our way. Today, I choose you, and I’ll keep choosing you every day.”

Chris’s eyes glistened as he held her hands tightly, his voice soft but steady as he began his vows.

“Y/N, you are my best friend, my partner, my everything. From the moment I met you, even without seeing your face, I knew my life would never be the same. You make me a better man, and I promise to love you fiercely, to listen, to laugh, and to always have your back. You’re my greatest adventure, and I can’t wait to spend forever with you.”

The officiant smiled warmly, her voice clear and celebratory. “Y/N and Christopher, do you take each other as husband and wife, to love, honor, and cherish, for all the days of your lives?”

“I do,” they said in unison, their voices filled with love.

“You may kiss your bride,” the officiant declared.

Chris leaned in, capturing Y/N in a kiss that sealed their promises. The crowd erupted into applause and cheers, the air alive with celebration.

As the newlyweds made their way back down the aisle, hand in hand, the guests erupted into cheers and applause. Petals floated through the air, a cascade of color and joy that mirrored the happiness on Y/N and Chris’s faces. Chris glanced at Y/N, his smile radiant, and whispered, “We did it.”

Y/N squeezed his hand, her eyes sparkling. “We really did.”

The reception space was a masterpiece of elegance and charm. Tables adorned with lush floral arrangements and twinkling candles filled the room, and the air was filled with the soft hum of music and excited chatter. As Y/N and Chris entered, the DJ announced them with enthusiasm, “Please welcome, for the first time as husband and wife, Y/N and Chris!”

The crowd erupted into cheers once again as the couple walked in, waving to their loved ones. Chris leaned close to Y/N, his voice low. “You ready for the spotlight?”

“With you? Always,” Y/N replied, her cheeks glowing with happiness.

The couple took their seats at the beautifully decorated sweetheart table, and the celebration began. Plates clinked, glasses were filled, and laughter echoed throughout the room.

Chris’s bandmates,his groomsmen,were the first to take the mic for their toast. Felix, acting as spokesperson, stood up, raising his glass with a grin.

“Well,” he began, glancing at Chris, “I think I speak for all of us when I say we never thought we’d see this day. Chris, the guy who spends more time in the studio than sleeping, is now a married man. Honestly, we were all starting to think he’d marry a mixing board.”

The room burst into laughter, and Chris shook his head, grinning. “Thanks, Lix. Appreciate the support.”

Felix continued, his tone softening. “In all seriousness, we’ve watched you grow, not just as a leader and musician but as a person. Y/N, you’ve brought out a side of him that we’ve always known was there,a side that’s kind, patient, and full of love. We’re so happy you found each other. To Chris and Y/N,may your life together be as harmonious as our music... and less chaotic!”

The bandmates raised their glasses, and the room joined in, the toast met with cheers and applause.

Next, Y/N’s father took the mic. He stood tall, his voice warm as he addressed the crowd.

“When Y/N was a little girl, she used to dream big,” he began. “She’d tell me stories about castles, princes, and grand adventures. And now, looking at her and Chris, I realize she’s found her own kind of fairy tale,one rooted in love, respect, and partnership.”

He paused, his voice catching slightly. “I remember one time when Y/N was about seven. She told me she was going to marry someone who made her laugh every day. Chris, I can see by the way she looks at you that you’ve done just that. Thank you for loving her as she deserves to be loved.”

The room was silent, save for the sniffles of a few guests. Y/N wiped a tear from her cheek, smiling up at her father.

“To my daughter and her husband,” her father concluded, raising his glass. “May your journey together be filled with laughter, love, and the kind of happiness that makes life truly magical.”

The guests raised their glasses, and Y/N hugged her father tightly as the crowd erupted into applause once more.

The lights dimmed, and a soft spotlight illuminated the dance floor. Chris extended his hand to Y/N. “May I have this dance, Mrs. Bahng?”

“You may, Mr. Bahng” she replied with a giggle, taking his hand.

The music began,a slow, romantic melody that seemed to capture their entire journey in its notes. They swayed together, eyes locked, as the world around them faded away.

“Have I told you how stunning you look tonight?” Chris murmured.

“Only about twenty times,” Y/N teased, her smile wide.

“Well, it’s worth repeating,” he said, his voice tender.

The crowd watched, enraptured, as the couple shared their first dance. Toward the end, Chris twirled Y/N, eliciting cheers and applause from their guests.

After the first dance, the party kicked into full gear. The DJ played a mix of classics and modern hits, and the dance floor quickly filled with guests of all ages. Chris’s bandmates led a lively routine that had everyone laughing and clapping, while Y/N’s friends organized a dance-off that became a highlight of the night.

At one point, Chris pulled Y/N aside, away from the crowd, to share a quiet moment. “You having fun?” he asked, brushing a strand of hair from her face.

“The best,” she said, leaning into him. “I still can’t believe this is real.”

“Believe it,” he said, kissing her forehead. “Because this is just the beginning.”

The couple’s wedding cake was a masterpiece,five tiers of decadent flavors decorated with intricate floral designs. As they cut the cake, Chris playfully smudged a bit of frosting on Y/N’s nose, earning laughter from the crowd.

“You’re going to pay for that,” Y/N warned, her eyes sparkling with mischief as she dabbed frosting on his cheek in retaliation.

The night ended with a grand farewell. Guests lined up with sparklers, creating a glowing pathway for the newlyweds. As Y/N and Chris walked through, hand in hand, their faces lit with joy, the crowd cheered them on.

“Ready to start forever?” Chris asked as they reached the waiting car.

“More than ready,” Y/N replied, her smile soft and full of love.

As the car drove away, the guests waved, their cheers fading into the night. The celebration had been everything they dreamed of and more, marking the start of a beautiful forever.

#stray kids #stray kids imagines #stray kids x reader #stray kids fluff #skz #skz imagines #skz x reader #skz fluff #bang chan x reader #stray kids bang chan fluff #skz bang chan fluff #skz fics #kpop fics #love is blind #bangchan x reader #chan x reader #bang chan

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awordsmith · 1 day ago

Text

omitted thoughts 𝜗𝜚 s.r

۶ৎ in which the tension between you and Spencer at work is almost too much to bare; lingering eyes and longing needs that are ignorant to the people around you, but all too easily perceived by the other.

who? spencer x bau!reader when? s8 category: smut content warnings: (maeve plotline does not exist, emily is still with the bau) munch spencer, tension here–tension there–tension everywhere, thorough foreplay (as in practically the entire fic), sexual acts, not too explicit, no dom/sub really mentioned–though spencer is a little more confident, proofed! reid with pleasure... word count: 11.4k a/n: munch spencer as per requested by an anon!! this one has been in my filing cabinet for a while, so i'm glad i've finally gotten to write it out... also, new format–hey! okay i'll stop rambling... enjoy!!

There is a moment in every person’s life when they just know something sinister is about to unfold. That feeling found its way to you the exact moment the mixup with the rooms happened. It was bound to occur, it wasn’t like it was inevitable–you of all people were accustomed. Though, to be particularly truthful, it wasn’t the mixup that strangled your thoughts, no, it wasn’t as trivial as that.

What had your heart racing–your mind running–was that you were paired with Spencer. You should have said something. You were sure Emily would switch with you in a heartbeat–she and Spencer got along well enough, that it wouldn’t be a favor at all. However, even with this knowledge, you kept your mouth shut.

It was something in your gut, something in the darkest parts of your mind that swayed the moral, logical side.

It was late and the dimly lit hall only had so much life. You noted the old, peeling, pee-colored wallpaper; red flowers straying to and fro–if you tried hard enough, you could almost picture how it must have looked like in its prime.

Spencer made no effort to talk and for this you were grateful. You hadn’t had the chance to get too close to him in the few months you’ve been with the team. You were new, but not unaccustomed–you had been transferred almost six months ago with the help of thorough recommendations and pure skill–though you never pulled rank.

Hotch seemed a nice enough dad-boss, Rossi gave the impression of a comedic uncle most of the time, Morgan took his role as the older brother, Emily and JJ were great mentors and you were thrilled to be working alongside them, and you found Penelope to be a strong aunt-like figure. Spencer, though, you weren’t too sure where he fell in the categories you had enlisted just yet.

He was a great mystery, one you were keen to unravel little by little.

“Do you have a preferred side?” Spencer asked after completing a skim with his bedbug flashlight.

“No,” you glanced around the room, two queen beds sat adjacent to each other only separated by a mediocre bedside table. A home phone sat close to the bed nearest the door and a lamp sat closest to the bed nearest the AC and window. The old, red velvet curtains were pulled back in what you thought was meant to be a kind gesture. Nevertheless, for an unknown reason, it left a bad taste in your mouth. “But, I do think we should close those,” you sighed, setting your duffle bag in the only chair in the room.

Spencer set his things on the bed near the window. You began untying the curtain closest to the bathroom. A shiver crawled up your spine as the air around you grew dry, you were seriously hoping for hot water. You meant to throw Spencer a hopeful glance, praying he’d let you take a shower first–but your eyes caught his hands instead. He was working his sleeves back, unbuttoning them as quickly as he could.

His sweater vest had been discarded and now lay in a bunched-up pile near his suitcase. You found yourself tracking his every move. He didn’t take notice of your stare until after he’d untied the curtain and met it with the one you had undid. You swiftly averted your eyes and swallowed, finding your throat had gone dry.

You cleared your throat and pushed your hair away, giving Spencer nothing but back, “If it’s alright with you, I’d like to shower first.”

Seconds ticked by and he said nothing, only when you heard a bed squeak did you turn back around. Spencer took up a space at the head of his bed, watching you with a look you were sure you’d never seen cross his face, it was almost smug, but not in the normal sense of the word–as indescribable as it was, it didn’t make you uncomfortable. You weren’t too sure what it made you feel.

“Is–is that a yes?” Your face felt hot, and you wanted to slap your hands to it, knowing it’d cool down somewhat, but you forced your hands to remain at your side.

“Yeah, sure,” he quipped, his voice the complete opposite of what his eyes conveyed.

You nodded and hurried over to your bag, leaving it at the foot of your bed when heading into the bathroom, which is where you found it upon exiting.

Spencer had pulled pajamas out, they were neatly folded beside him. “I’d wait a little before showering,” you frowned, “sorry, I must have been in there for ages,” your mouth lilted in a slight smile as you tucked a lock of hair behind your ear and took up residence near the bedside table, “next time, just to tell me I’m taking too long, I won’t mind.”

He chuckled and you grinned, elated you finally were able to ease the unnecessary tension that had come over the two of you during your staring contest in the moments right before your shower.

“Seriously?” He sounded mirthful and when you looked up his eyes caught yours, your heart studded and you found your cheeks heating up again. He had an eyebrow raised slightly and the small smile that accompanied his expression gave off the impression he was teasing, “You’d be fine with me just walking into the bathroom while you’re in the shower?”

Your eyebrows scrunched together in slight confusion and you couldn’t help the awkward smile that wouldn’t leave your mouth, “I was just joking, Spencer, but–if I am taking too long you can bang on or yell through the door.

He nodded, looking away, “I–I know, I was just messing with you.”

“Oh, please,” you snorted and rolled your eyes, trying to crush the way your thoughts raced at the way you absolutely would not give a half a damn if he did. You pressed your hand to your cheeks for a few seconds before continuing to move things out of your bag, you were thinking about how to arrange them in the large chifforobe directly across from your bed. Did Spencer hav–you gasped and dropped an article of clothing as if it had burned you.

“That was not–” you scorned yourself, that was completely inappropriate. You blinked over a few times, thinking it would make the image disappear well from your mind, but it only served to intensify the phantasmagoria.

“Hey, are you okay?” Spencer was at your side after three blinks. Your eyes widened as he reached for your hands that were opening and closing, trying to grasp any control over yourself.

You stood abruptly, unable to be in any sort of vicinity he was near. “I’m fine–I just, I remembered, I forgot something in the lobby. It must have fallen.” You shrugged, forcing a horrid excuse for a smile onto your lips. You left the room, heading straight for the elevator. You needed the cold-biting air of December to slap some sense into you, it was almost January, thus winter should have been approaching its peak right about now.

You have never–okay, yes, you’ve had small torrent thoughts of coworkers in somewhat unprofessional manners, but none had ever been so vivid–not like the one you had just then. As the elevator opened, you tried assembling the course of thoughts that had led up to the–the Spencer one.

It only took a few minutes for you to understand thinking about it was useless. There was no coherent explanation for the thought you had, no indication of any type of build-up that might have prepared you for the fabrication.

“His eyes,” you heard yourself murmur as the elevator let you off onto the first floor. You ignored the receptionist whom you recognized from only a few hours ago. The glass door was as easily pushed open as it was to pull; the biting air hit your face and you sighed, relief allowing you to breathe once more.

His sleeves were rolled up, your arms laced around his neck as you pulled him against your flushed, exposed skin. You were nearly naked and all but begging him. You had it. His attention. Every single piece of it.

And you were relishing it as he fucked you against that damned chifforobe.

You were startled by the discovery of Spencer’s presence as he pushed open one of the glass doors of the hotel. The carpark was desolate save for the two of you and you felt more vulnerable than you had felt in the daydream.

“Hey,” Spencer lifted his hand slightly, sticking it back in his pocket right after as if he’d cringed at himself.

“Oh, hi,” you pressed your lips into a thin smile, squeezing your eyes so as not to give away the fact that you did not want him to be there.

“You–kind of ran off, I just wanted to make sure you were alright…” his eyes traced up and down your body as if in search of something. A slight smirk grazed his lips, but it was quickly replaced with a frown that felt a little too compelled, “did you find what you were looking for?”

“Nope,” you squeaked, rocking back and forth on your heels. You squeezed your hands together behind your back like you were in prayer or giving thanks, “sorry for bringing you out here, I thought I lost something important and overreacted.”

He didn’t acknowledge your answer immediately, though he did step forward and when he took another step forward, you were inclined to take a step back because you thought the proximity might prompt you to do or say something you definitely shouldn’t be doing or saying with a coworker. He raised his hand to your face, the back of his hand rested on one of your cheeks, your eyes shut on impact, your hands separated and were not fisted.

Your eyes opened when a few low chuckles escaped Spencer’s mouth, he huffed out a few more before pulling his hand back and using it to cover his mouth…watching you. His eyes held that same smug amusement that you’re sure you’ve never seen before this night.

You met his stare, noting that with the coverage of his hand, his expression was just a bit easier to read. Your lips settled into a thin line as you concluded he was messing with you. You cast an unbothered expression over your face, though you felt anything but. “I think the water should be hot enough now.”

Disregarding the moral obligation of waiting for a response, you headed for the hotel’s entrance.

The elevator ride-up wasn’t as tense as you would have thought it to be. You could feel a calm rest over each other’s company. It was almost like a mutual understanding that did not need voicing. Back in the hotel room, Spencer headed into the bathroom without a word, again, you found yourself grateful he decided to spare you.

Even so, you did find it just a bit peculiar because Spencer had never before taken on any particular interest in you, sure you shared conversations–that was to be expected though, as you worked with him. You shared meals and nights out, though only when it was a group thing.

To be sure he drew your curiosity, but you never once thought about indulging in your secret desire because it just never seemed right. This mixup had felt like a gift from God when it was first introduced, because now–you had thought–we’ll be forced to be around each other, no doubt we’ll grow somewhat accustomed to each other’s habits.

Perhaps the thought was a bit excessive, but it was simply the truth to you. How else were you to casually approach Dr. Spencer Reid? The youngest to be scouted in his field?

Well, you now thought grimly, scratch all that, he’s just a genius with an ego.

You approached the chifforobe hesitantly, then hastily sorted your clothing in a few drawers and on a few hangers that were already there. As you set your duffle bag at the bottom of the large space, you heard the shower squeak off and Spencer called your name.

You rolled your eyes but walked toward the bathroom, calling from your side of the closed door, “what?”

“I,” his voice cut off and just when you thought you had waited long enough, the bathroom door swung open halfway and Spencer leaned out.

The first thing you noticed–though unintentionally–was the steam that hit you in the face. You squinted and waved a hand before you, “Jeez, Spencer.”

His face–his hair was wet and water dripped down his head–looked a bit painted, “I left my towel in my bag, get it for me?”

He sounded genuinely displeased at the situation, which is why you huffed and replied, “Fine.”

“Thank you,” he yelled, shutting the door again. You ignored the flip your stomach did and shivered.

He had left his suitcase open, his things in a bit of disarray across the bed. You wavered only a moment before letting your hands fly up and down his things. His towel was quite easily discovered, though your eyes lingered on the rest of his things.

You stood and headed back toward the bathroom, knocking. Spencer appeared instantly, a smile spreading to his face. The steam had cooled somewhat, but the bathroom–you could tell–was still very much sauna-like. “Thank you.”

“You said that already.”

He raised a brow, his smile quirking, “thank you, again.”

He stole the towel and shut the door, leaving you standing there. You felt impulsive and thought there would be no way you could get through this entire trip by sharing a room with him. And yet, it was your job, and it would no doubt be questioned, you’d probably–by accident–allude to something that did not occur, and you’d both be in trouble for something so ridiculous: it shouldn’t even be a thought that crossed your mind when you looked at your coworker and yet–the bathroom door opened and Spencer walked out in only a towel–it did.

“What do you think you're doing?” You called from your bed, standing.

“It’s too moist in there, I won’t dry.” He replied as if it were a fact and not an atrocity.

“Yeah–but–” you bit your lip, eyes tracking up and down his torso, something you should most unquestionably not be doing.

He was bent over his things on the bed near the window, you turned your gaze on the floor when his eyes flickered to yours. “But what?” He paused, probably noting your expression, your pursed lips, and your unstill gaze. “I mean, if it makes you uncomfortable I can go back in. I don’t want to–I’m sorry.” You swore you could hear a lilt in his voice when he began, but it quickly turned into something more…appropriate–like he just realized the embarrassment of what he was doing. He gathered his clothes again and headed for the bathroom, returning a few minutes later in damp garments.

And though his frown said ‘I’m sorry,’ his eyes said, ‘I’m going to give you hell’. And hell it was. For the rest of the trip, you could swear Spencer did…things purposefully. Such as lifting his shirt slightly to wipe his face when he got out of the shower, turning his neck just barely so that your gaze would catch on the exposed collarbone. You swore up and down that these were being done on purpose just to make you squirm because–because–well you didn’t really know why Spencer was doing all that.

But you knew it was for you, that was about the only thing you knew to be fact. Your nose scrunched as you recalled the looks he’d given you after every purposeful act–in such a way that it seemed like he wanted to see your reaction–as if he gets off on it.

The jet ride home was no exception to Spencer’s antics, but by this time you had decided for yourself you’d had enough of falling victim to him. You concluded that there could only be one reason Spencer was acting the way he was: because he was attracted to you. You didn’t know why–hell you couldn’t even explain why you were attracted to him in that way–but it piqued your curiosity. If he had the ability to get you to react in such distinct and significant ways, what power did you have over him? That was the dispute you set out to ascertain.

At first, it was harmless, quiet jokes told only loud enough for the two of you to hear. When the jet landed again, you ran a hand through your hair and threw your head back, as if trying to stretch. Your eyes popped open just a few minutes later to find Spencer’s eyes eating up everything from your neck to your collarbone. When he met your eyes, they weren’t amused but rather accusing. He had fallen into your trap and he had just now realised. Some genius, you found yourself regarding him with an internal snort.

“We get the day off tomorrow, right?” Emily’s tone was mirthful, full of sarcasm.

“Yeah, right.” Morgan groaned.

Hotch grimaced, “See you all tomorrow.”

“At nine?” Rossi sounded hopeful.

Your boss sighed, eyes: rolling, but a smile etching itself onto his face, “At nine.”

Small victories, a sigh escaped you under your breath, small victories.

You headed for your car, rummaging through your purse for your keys. A presence loomed over you and you froze, Spencer’s hand lightly pressed against your back as he leaned over you and tilted his head downward, “See you tomorrow —…”

Your breath caught and you tried to swallow, but your mouth was dry. Was this real? Was this not the nerdy little geek you were told you’d be working with? The guy who kept getting kidnapped? The one who could barely hold a gun four years into working in the BAU?

He walked away, down the row of cars, looking for the one he owned.

Despite yourself, your lips curled into a sinful grin. You already loved this game.

The next morning, you caught Spencer stepping into the elevator, “hold the door!” You threw your hand out, as you rushed your footsteps.

The elevator wasn’t crowded, but there were five others you did not know, and they were all men, so naturally you moved closer to Spencer. It wasn’t on purpose, but nor was it an accident, more of an instinct. His presence gave you peace of mind as you calmed yourself down.

“Rough morning?” He asked, appearing nonchalant.

You looked up at him as he took a sip of his coffee. The elevator came to a halt and two people shuffled into the elevator after three others left. Your floor was approaching and you felt easier–especially with the extra space–but when you stepped away, a hand caught your waist.

You followed the arm all the way to Spencer’s gaze, the expression there looked to be a mix of contemplation and confusion. His hand dropped when the elevator dinged and the doors opened. He was the first to step out of the elevator, you were the fourth.

Penelope found you on her way to the roundtable, stating the others were already there. You followed her and took the only available seat in between Morgan and JJ. Spencer sat right across from you, between Emily and Rossi. When you caught his eyes, his head tilted slightly and a small smirk danced across his lips in the bright light.

Your eyes rolled and you shifted one leg over the other under the table.

Penelope read off the new case and while many questions were thrown out, you and Spencer kept playing the game of ‘who could make who more embarrassed’; though you both were incredibly refined at your job and were able to keep it from the insight of the others.

Hotch stood and said, “jet’s up in 15,” before rushing out of the room.

You stood as well, needing to collect all the things you might have left on your desk and turn in your report to Hotch you forgot. Rossi had followed your boss–it was probably something about Strauss, it always was whenever they acted like that. Emily, Morgan, and Penelope were having a conversation while JJ said something to Spencer and began a small exchanges. Your eyes were laser focused on her, you felt a sort of conviction fall over you. You didn’t think you were jealous, no–it was anything like that because you knew Spencer was only trying to get under your skin. Instead, you felt a sense of thrill and couldn’t help the smirk that edged its way onto your face as you floated right past them without batting an eye.

You heard his chair squeak as he leaned back, eyes trailing your figure as you exited the roundtable room. Upon approaching your desk you smacked your hands to your cheeks, helping them cool off while ignoring the chatter of the office. You searched your bag a bit until you found the documents you had been looking for.

You froze, you could feel his stare, but when you glanced around, you couldn’t find him anywhere. Your eyes narrowed as you sifted through each and every face, there–in the breakroom behind the glass… Spencer had one hand in his pocket and one holding a mug of coffee, his eyes anything but innocent. He mouthed something, but only when you noted the absense of your other team members were you able to put together his words. We’re leaving.

You met each other in the stairwell of the rooftop, you ignored the simmering in your chest as he veered over you and pushed open the door. He smelled good– god he smelled good. You forced yourself not the make it obvious you were trying to drink in and savor his scent when he let out a shuddering breath. Your eyes popped open–which is when you realized you had shut them. What is wrong with me? You allowed your eyes to track up his face, starting from his shoulders.

He was so close you could see him swallow, his Adam's apple bobbing as he stared you donw, mouth slightly ajar. His eyes were hazy and he wasn’t staring at you, but your throat. It was only for a few seconds, but it felt like hours. When he found your gaze again his jaw yet and he pulled himself together. His eyes were no longer dangerous, but they still set some kind of fear in you.

“We should go,” you murmured.

He didn’t respond until you began moving. He called your name only once, but when you looked back, a grin–small, but fucking there–destroyed his firm calmness from only moments ago, and replaced it with egotistical destruction.

There were so much said in that single expression and yet nothing at all that would have been picked up by a team of profilers, let alone a stranger–it was as if this look was designed specifically for you–designed just to become your undoing. You fucking hated Spencer Reid and his big ass ego, but you wanted him–by all hell you wanted him.

Though you’d soon find that wanting him was nothing compared to needing him.

The rest of the case came and went in a similar manner you had dreamt about the night before. You and Spencer shared lingering looks, murmured things in front of the team that, though made sense in the moment, his the underlying meaning only the two of you could pick up. You honestly found it surprising no one had caught on to what was transpiring between you and Spencer, although to be perfectly honest, you, yourself, had no idea what was transpiring between you and Spencer.

You didn’t seek each other out, but whenever you were together–alone or with others–there was this spark of craving you couldn’t quite explain out loud, and even when you thought about it, you didn’t know the right term for it other than a game. What else could it be? You couldn’t relly put togehter the events that had started it, but you knew it began sometimes on the 3-day case–maybe even that first night in the hotel. A shiver crawled up your spine, you watched Spencer out of the corner of your eye, reading. He could normally be found in the front of the jet, lying down and napping or reading.

When you were alone, all your thoughts revolved if not around the case at hand, Spencer. You didn’t want to compare it to an obsession, because what it really was was a little less of that and a little more of a desire to learn him. His body, his mind, his cravings and and fantasies. It was everything you had never felt and it scared you. There was no logical explanation to Spencer being the onset to these emotions, and yet if you’d never met Spencer, who was to say these feelings would have ever been unleashed?

It was late, but you were glad you were going to get to sleep in your bed two nights in a row. It felt like a blessing from the heavens, but then your realzied you’d have to see Spencer again tomorrow and go through the fervency all over again. Now, it felt more like irony.

Weeks of the same longing, the same wandering eyes, the same muttered whispers, the same damn game. Though you’d gotten used to your little gambit of brash actions, you weren’t tired in the least. It was–as sad as you had to admit–the most fun you’d ever had with a person.

It was fun until it became real. The team hadn’t caught on, but that was particularly due to the fact your efforts always occurred out of pure chance. You never made it obvious and he was especially good at hiding his feats, it seemed to you he was consistently able to accomplish his devious acts right under the nose of his superiors.

You reasoned that it was perhaps because none of them would ever suspect him of any of the things he was taking up in his pastime. Not even yourself would have guessed he was like this if he hadn’t shown you, or if you hadn’t noticed the way his eyes always seemed to look the opposite of whatever his face was saying in the moment.

Despite all of this, however, you hadn’t touched–at all, no brush of the hands, no accidental shoulder bumping, nor anything on purpose; not since he’d grabbed your waist in the elevator that first day back at Quantico. The contemplation in his eyes then occurred to you at night. You tried to make out what it meant–to him at least, but never could. It was one of those thoughts that kept you up, staring at the ceiling, hoping exhaustion would so its job and prevent the misery that inveitable came without it.

Tonight, though, you didn’t know how you were going to fare against pretending to be with him. It was for the case–you kept reminding yourself as you changed into a little black dress. Everyone looked good in black, it was a color that also hid a person well enough in a club–perfect for an undercover agent.

The decision to have you go in with Spencer instead of JJ was his idea. Of course it was his. He’d proposed the switchup at the roundtable meeting that morning–and as soon as he had, you’d jolted in your seat. He’d continued talking, glancing at you now and then as if he’d actually believed the difference between you and JJ would matter.

Regardless, because you were closer in age–by only a few years, you’d wanted to remind everyone–it’d be more believable that you were together, he’d also dropped an “it’d be more comfortable that way”, which swayed Morgan and Emily, JJ kept silent during the entire tirade–though not angry, was incredibly, almost blatantly long.

You couldn’t tell what she was thinking, but at the time you weren’t too much focussed on her, the looming fact that you’d have to touch him in ways you’d only thought about touching him to do your job? It terrified you. Not because you were afraid of acting out your fantasy–but because you weren’t sure if you could control yourself enoug to where it was just acting.

You slipped the dainty dress on and hid your gun and badge in your boots. You let your natural hair fall loose, but kept a hair tie on your wrist. Stepping out of the only bathroom in the police station you were currently residing in, holding your work clothes against your chest , you noted the imminent stares. Instinctively using your clothing to cover your thighs as you met the others in the front. Spencer kept his eyes in check–smart boy, you bit back a smirk–but the rest of the team complimented you, Hotch and Rossi having almost completely different ways of doing so, you snorted at the contrast.

Spencer took the driver seat of a vehicle you were borrowing, the dark of a December night threatening to conceal the thing entirely. You gazed out the window, “they’re following us right?”

“Everyone will be outside and prepared.”

“I can’t believe this,” you sighed, throwing your head back.

“The fact that we’re going undercover or the fact that you have to wear that piece of cloth?” Spencer asked, though his manner was light, there was a rough undertone that heated your insides.

“I was wondering when you were going to bring it up,” you sighed carelessly, waving a hand, “I just thought you hadn’t noticed.”

“Everyone noticed.” The mask of his facade was slowly slipping away, revealing a much colder side to Spencer–one you had the pleasure of seeing more and more of the past three weeks than in all of the six months you’d been in the BAU.

“Yeah,” you smooth down the dress, “I wouldn’t normally wear this type of thing out unless I was looking to bring someone home.”

“Oh really?” You could practically hear his eyebrows raise. “You never wear things like that when we go out for drinks.”

“Precisely my point,” you quipped.

Spencer pulled into the club’s parkinglot. It took you less than five minutes to get inside. At first, you were sitting at the bar, but then, Spencer, with the earpiece attached to him, relayed the message from Hotch. Penelope had given everyone access to the inside of the club, they were watching you two through the cameras. You forced yourself not to glance at them–even the tiniest slipup could reveal you to the unsub, and you wanted them to target, not avoid you.

“They want us to dance.” Spencer sighed loud enough to where you could hear it over the noise.

“Right,” you rolled your eyes, because that’s exactly how the unsubs target their victims–didn’t we go over this in the profile? Your smile tightened as you spun and headed for the floor, crowded by so many–oh that’s not hygienic.

“Yeah, okay, maybe we skip this part,” Spencer grimaced from his palace beside you.

“You think?” You raised an unimpressed brow at the blurred figures in front of you.

He murmured something Hotch and they went back and forth a little, though you couldn’t hear exactly what was said, Spencer’s face of triumph was all you needed to breathe a sigh of relief.

You found yourselves hiding in the corner at the back, there weren’t many people crowding around you which made you perfect for the unsubs, though the appearance of them at this club tonight was purely based on instinct, gut feelings, and careful, calculated guessing, there was still a chance they wouldn’t show themselves.

You didn’t mean for it to happen like this, you were doing everything in your power to stay composed and in control, but some part of you–the defiant, terrible side of you–wanted so badly to see his reaction when you touched him.

His frame leaned over you, holding you against the probably dirty wall, the sensual music that played a heavy beat around you felt like an instigator. Sweat slipped down his neck and it drew your attention, all of a sudden Spencer tensed, then he relaxed slightly but it felt forced, “They have eyes on the unsubs.”

“How many,” You compelled your eyes to stay on his though they wanted to scour the area around you and find just exactly who he was talking about–which would be idiotic, of course.

“That’s right,” he swallowed–ignoring your question, your eyes caught his throat bobbing–he noticed. “Keep your eyes on me,” you nodded at his words, feeling your throat drying as you neglected the need to trace his collarbone with both your fingers and gaze.

His hair was a mess of damp curls and his face was barely visible in the bright, flashing lights, but you had a job to do–and yet here you were, gripping the collar of his shirt, brushing back the hair that fell in his face as he looked at you with those eyes.

“I’m going to kiss you,” he said, “but if you aren’t up for this just tell me now.” His voice lilted at a challenge, but you heard the mumble ordered in the earpiece–by hell he could yank you hair almost completely out and you wouldn’t give a damn.

You held his regard with one of your own, eyes narrowed, “Just do it.”

And he did. But he also didn’t. His smirk narrowed ere leaning in. He gripped your face with an elephants strength and a swan’s gracefulness. You closed your eyes, waiting for his lips, but he swerved at the last moment and kissed the skin below your ear. He trailed a few kisses down your neck but stayed close to your hearing range, evidently, he was teasing–you wanted to scoff but couldn’t find it in you to make him stop.

“How’s this?” He murmured.

“You’re an ass,” you replied huffed, trying to mask a groan.

He grinned against your neck, “I know.”

The club case was the reason you and Spencer now ensured you were always together. From then on, you seemed to not want to be anywhere else the other wasn’t–or rather, you felt more comfortable with each other and couldn’t bring yourselves to leave the other alone.

Not that either of you minded and you still did your jobs perfectly fine–though there was more intensity when the other was in any sort of danger, it only propelled the one that wasn’t to learn how to do their job quicker. It was both a fast track to understanding how to adapt to constant situations that warped your idea of what was really going on. When he got something wrong–which was rare but not absolute. After about a month of this, you were starting to question what you were to him–what he was to you.

Though you still weren’t sure how to properly ask that question. You hadn’t slept together, though you thought about it all the time you weren’t at work…and perhaps sometimes when you were… Those thoughts slipped through on occasion–but it wasn't anything that hadn’t been transpiring before the club case.

It was as if the ‘who can make the other person more embarrassed’ game had been turned into the ‘what can I do to make you squirm this time’ game. Like the rules of the game had somehow intensified and touching was now allowed and despite all of the things that ensued upon the new rule instatement, you still had not taken it further than work.

It kept you up most nights, and you wondered when this cycle of what are we would end–if it would take one of you getting into a relationship–though you were sure Spencer didn’t have to worry about you in that department–and although you hated it, the fact was that Spencer was the only one you could think about. It was as if the man had ruined sex for you altogether.

You fucking hated Spencer Reid–and that fucking chifforobe.

Your heart dropped in your chest. You refused to give Spencer the satisfaction of looking over at him–though he seemed just as surprised as you. At this point anything could happen–and by anything you mean anything. Because anything would be better than having to share a room with him again. You were so tired you could barely recall what that even meant.

But then again, a small part of you whispered, this could be your chance. My chance? You scoffed, my chance at what? Making a fool of myself? Because confronting him means admitting I can’t stop–thinking about him. And that, to you, would feel like admitting defeat. It’d feel like losing the game–oh and you really felt like you were winning! Winning at what again? God, you needed sleep.

“Are you planning on getting in the shower first?,” he asked as soon as you were behind the door, away from prying ears and nosy coworkers.

You let out a heavy sigh and held your arms up to stretch, yawning–“honestly, I might just head to bed, it’s late and I could really use the sleep.”

“Have you not been able to sleep at night?” He set his things on the bed near the window as you claimed the one near the door.

“You have no idea,” you murmured, although a bit more to yourself than to him.

“Do you know why?” He seemed genuinely curious–but as you faced him, all you could think was, if only you knew.

“Nope,” you popped the ‘p’ and grimaced as you laid your back against the bed, arms spread like a starfish, your duffle bag discarded near your feet at the end of the bed.

You felt Spencer watching you, but for the first time in a while, you couldn’t bring yourself to care. You quite literally had been running on nothing but coffee for the past day and a half–and you were in desperate need of some sleep–especially if you wanted to be at your best tomorrow.

“Here,” you hadn't heard Spencer approach you–you blamed his Hotch training. You cracked open an eye as he pushed you on your side. Your back burned at where he’d touched you, but it was quickly overshadowed when you heard him yank the bedspread down as hard as he could. “Come, on,” he huffed, pulling your shoes off and setting them beside your bag.

You forced yourself under the cover and snuggled, “the light?” you grumbled.

“First, your blazer,” he held out a hand. You whined but made quick work of ridding yourself of the fabric. “You sure you don’t want to change into something more comfortable–”

“Spencer.” You warned.

“Yeah, I hear you,” he reached for the lamp atop the bedside table–smaller than the one from the last hotel room you’d shared–the chifforobe near the window was smaller as well. He hummed as the thoughts faded in and passed through his mind.

Spencer found himself forgetting everything else as he sat in the bed opposite yours and leaned his arms on his thighs, watching you. A few minutes passed, but only when a knock sounded on the door did he realize he maybe shouldn’t be watching his coworker like a creep. Though, you weren’t really a coworker, were you?

Well–he meant you were–but you were also more than that, though he didn’t exactly know if your relationship had a name, he knew that it entailed things normal coworkers did not have. He knew what he wanted–but to outright say it felt like disrupting the sort of balance you’d gotten accustomed to–as if going out and actually attempting to take what he wanted would break the trance that had set over the two of you–it’d be throwing all the rule’s to the game away, and then what did either of you have left? Rules were important, if not necessary. He couldn’t chance it–not yet at least.

“Hey, oh,” Morgan tried looking around the room.

Spencer felt his eyes roll as he stepped into the hall and shut the door slightly behind him, careful not to shut it completely as he didn’t have the key card and he didn’t want to wake you up. “Yes?”

Morgan nodded behind him, “she’s asleep?”

“She’s really tired,” Spencer affirmed.

“Right,” his eyes fell back on Spencer, and for a second, he thought Morgan might be analyzing his form.

“Was there something you needed?” Spencer pressed, eager to head back into the room, unpack his suitcase, and head to bed himself.

“Ah, no, we were just going to order food–but I guess you don’t want anything either?”

“Uh, no, but thanks for asking.”

“Uh-huh,” Morgan once again glanced behind Spencer, whose irritation at the suspicion was steadily increasing.

“She’d not dead,” Spencer stated, though he meant it as a joke it came out rather harsh.

“Alright, pretty boy, I didn’t say she was.” Morgan chuckled, patting Spencer on the shoulder, “See you tomorrow.”

Spencer made quick work of unloading his things, he thought about getting in the shower but feared it’d wake you. Instead, he debated on whether or not he should leave your things in you bag or do you a favor and put them away. He didn’t want you to consider him a snoop, especially with how you’d been looking at each other the past few weeks–and that undercover case.

His heartbeat picked up, and he couldn't stop thinking about it–it was the thing he fell asleep to at night; it was gradually eating away at him, and he couldn’t deny the way his body tensed whenever he recalled the image of you under the flashing array of lights–how you’d looked so…submissive.

He hastily shoved that thought to the furthest corner he could find in his mind and headed for your bag. He didn’t want to be brash with the way he put your clothing away, but he also didn’t you to wake up while he was holding your underwear–then he’d truly feel like a creep.

He was halfway done when you mumbled something; he froze and he could feel the thump of his heart in his chest. Though it was still winter, he’d begun to sweat and had set his glasses aside because they kept sliding off the bridge of his nose. He’d been wearing them more often than not for the past few months as he’d found them to be a particular fascination of yours. It was now that he squinted and moved his hand around for them.

His footsteps carried him quietly across the room, near your bedside. “—?” He whispered and when you failed to respond, lifted a tentative hand to your cheek–though just before the pads of his fingertips met your skin, you mumbled something again–and this time, he could hear it. He fisted his hand and used the bedside table to hold himself up, and although he couldn’t see them, he knew his hands were turning white with how hard he was squeezing them.

Again. He wanted to hear it again–his prayers were answered as you shifted slightly, tugging the cover up to your neck. Skimming down your person, he bit his fist and tried to calm himself down. Again. He needed to sit down, but he couldn’t bring himself to move. He felt it twitch–he needed to walk away right now. And he did, but instead of picking up where he’d left off with your clothing, he headed for the bathroom, not bothering to turn the light on as he shut himself in complete darkness.

Images of you, your stolen glances, and desperate touches filled his mind. He was particularly focused on the tired way you slurred his name in your sleep. He wondered what kind of dreams you were having, what you were picturing as you said his name like that. He muffled his groans as he stroked himself, using his fist to bite back anything that might escape the small confines of the washroom. His thoughts of you were possibly the only thing he allowed himself to go to extensive lengths with. His mouth watered at the mere concept of you and your twisting legs. He’d done this a considerable amount of times before–but this was the first time you were so close– a hairsbreadth away.

It felt both right and wrong, and yet the lines began fading into oblivion as he came closer to climax.

He whimpered into his hand just as he came. It was odd, he didn’t too much feel like a creep after he cleaned himself up, but upon washing his hands profusely and returning to put your garments away, he was once more–afraid of what you’d think if you caught him messing with your things.

Although a part of him felt it might have been because he wanted you to find him in that state, he tried rationalizing–but the more he thought about it–even as he now rested his head against a pillow–the more he found that ‘might’ to be absolute truth.

You woke up to the smell of coffee. You stretched, yawned, and pried your eyes open. Rolling onto your side, you found Spencer devouring a book, his glasses at the tip of his nose. You smiled, thinking you were dreaming–but then his eyes shifted over to yours and your smile fell, you quickly understood this Spencer was real–oh no–your cheeks burned from last night's delusions. “Good morning,” he smiled. You groaned and sat up, your hands finding your cheeks, “what time is it?”

“It’s around six, you have,” he checked his watch, “an hour and thirty minutes, Hotch wants us ready before eight.”

You huffed and threw yourself back against the pillows. New Years had come and gone and you hadn't even celebrated...though, your mind with all the ways you could make up for it–you shook the thoughts away, now was not the time.

Five minutes later you were searching for your clothing, but your bag was practically empty, “did you move my things?”

Spencer choked on his coffee, “ah–yeah,” he motioned toward the chifforobe. You glared at it as he said, “It’s small, so some of our things are mixed, but you should be able to find whatever you’re looking for easily.”

“Thank you” You appreciated his simple act of affection, it made your chest ache.

“Yeah, sure.” Despite going back to reading his book, Spencer snuck small glimpses of you from the corners of his eyes.

As the hot water ran down your back, you found yourself thinking of Spencer, just a few feet away, you were practically naked and he could walk in at any moment, you felt an ache between your thighs, but you shrugged it off–or at least you tried to.

You hadn’t had sex since that incident with Spencer a few weeks ago. You tried–by all God did you try–but you just couldn’t It led to a few arguments with the guys you’d taken home–and your credit, you did feel just a little bad. All the same, you simply couldn’t seem to get him out of your mind. It was like he was mocking or watching you every time you attempted it–he was that tiny, little voice in the back of your head feigning disappointment, saying you wouldn’t purge the sexual frustration unless it were him. Though you were a saint at keeping it hidden, your agitation only built.

The day was more or less: “Spencer, what do you see?” from Hotch and “—, if you were the unsub…” from Morgan. Penelope was on call a few times and you were so close, but it had grown late and you needed sufficient unwinding. After a group dinner in the hotel lobby that primarily consisted of takeout and the small meal provided by the hotel staff, you headed up to your room. Spencer stayed to grab one last cup of coffee before the staff closed the mailroom for good. Thus, with your alone time, you decided to wash off all the griminess of the day.

You were drying yourself with a towel when you heard him enter, “I’m almost done,” you shouted, “I think there’s still some hot water left.”

His lack of response piqued your curiosity. You threw your clothing on once you were mostly just damp and yanked the door open. You were pulling your hair back into a ponytail when he looked up. He’d just set his cup of coffee on the table near the lamp, which now that you noticed, was the only light that lit up the room, he had turned the big llight off.

“You okay?” You rubbed your face, dropping your hands to your side right after, “did you hear me?”

“No, sorry,” he frowned, “I wasn’t paying attention.” He stood.

“Oh, I just said–if you wanted to get in, there’s still hot water left.” You thrust a your thumb behind you.

“Ah, thanks.” You nodded and pursed your lips. “So, what book were you reading this morning?” You took up the spot Spencer had just abandoned.

He turned and watched you–filling the area. He caught the way your legs pressed together as you crossed them to sit more comfortably against the pillows, attention to the book he’d been reading that morning.

“I’m going to get in the shower,” he cursed himself as he felt desire pool in his throat. He wondered what it’d be like to kiss you, to touch you–to taste you. His mouth watered at the prospect and he felt himself harden just like the night before. His shower was quick as the water had gotten cold and had quickly ruined his mood.

“You lied to be,” he glared at you from the threshold of the bathroom door.

You bit your lip, but still, a smile graced your mouth, “sorry, I thought it would last.” He shook his wet hair around around, mimicking the actions a puppy would.

“What?” His eyes widened slightly and his eyebrows raised, “what did you call me?”

A hand flew to your mouth, your own surprise showing, “I–” of bloody course, you said it out loud.

He stepped forward, dropping his towel on the bed, “say it again.” It was odd, the way he said it–like it was both a question and a demand–or rather, a demand he questioned your willingness to obey.

“…puppy?” you tried laughing it off, “Sorry, it just came out–I didn’t mean t–”

“Didn’t you, though?” Came a mirthful reply. Spencer stepped forward, towering over you as he leaned down, bringing his face near yours, one hand on the bed near your hips, the other on the bedside table. “Is that what you’ve thought of me this entire time?”

And what the hell were you supposed to say to that? Game on is what Spencer saw in your eyes as you set the book on the table, your hand purposely roaming over his as you pulled it back. “No,” you stated, a nonchalant expression crossing your features as your eyes turned away from his, the move calculated, “only sometimes.”

Spencer didn’t think the table would be able to withstand him much longer, but it did as he thought of ways he might proceed. Eventually, he let go and instead wrapped his firm fingers around your nape, forcing your attention to his. “And do you think that now?”

He watched a Chesire grin take its place upon your mouth. “If I said yes, would that anger you, Dr. Reid?” The mocking was unnecessary, but it sure as hell was a lot more fun than if you simply addressed him as ‘Spencer’ or ‘Reid’.

The parental-like tone you took up furthered his new-growing erection. His hair still dripped with water and as a water droplet streaked down his face, you lifted your hand to wipe it with your thumb. His hand let your your neck go to snatch your wrist–God you wanted him so badly. This witty banter–you were already starting to find–just wasn’t enough anymore.

Your eyes reapproached his, they seemed to meet with the same level of desire, completely forgetting that there was a serial killer on the loose, your eyes dipped to his lips only once before you leaned forward–but while you did he pushed you back, your back hitting the bedframe and just as you caught your breath, you found yourself being deprived of air once more.

Spencer was hungry, he tasted like coffee and something minty. Your hands tangled through his hair and while he suffocated you in the only way you’d ever want to be suffocated, you tugged. It barely stopped him the first time, but the second and third had his eyes rolling.

When they found you again, noting the playful glint in your eyes, he vowed he would go as far as you’d let him tonight–and perhaps the night after that, he hadn’t quite thought it through, and at this time, he neither had the strength nor the want to do so.

He began tugging at your t-shirt, but you grabbed his hand, “ah-ah,” you clicked your tongue, “you have to earn that.”

He paused and took a step back, watching you now, your knees digging into the softness of the mattress; your mouth darkened with the visceral kisses he’d forced on you. Your eyes sparked with something he knew he’d never be able to find in any other woman. His lips quirked, his eyes were hooded, and his voice thick when he asked, “What do I have to do?”

The need in his voice was enough to shed you of your clothing right then and there, but it seemed you had a lot more self-control than he did in the moment. You tugged your hair out of the loosened, droopy ponytail it had fallen into and brushed it back, smoothing it out to appear just how you wanted it to. You felt his eyes on you, patient, but every second he was, was a second his lust grew, and the moment you gave him the okay–well, he honestly couldn’t say just what he’d be capable of.

“You seem agitated, Spencer,” you pouted, shifting so that your legs fell in front of you over the edge of the bed. His eyes tracked your movements as he used your bed’s bedpost to steady himself, “just how many times have you pictured me like this?”

“I could ask you the same thing,” came his frivolity response. To be frank, he knew the exact answer to your question, but the first thing that flew into his head and out of his mouth was–to be sure–an edging reply. He watched how you interpreted it.

In a moment of unconsciousness, you glanced at the chifforobe across from you. Spencer caught that shit.

“Oh?” He raised a brow, finding the confidence to step forward.

“Don’t get any ideas, Reid.” You warned, but he could see the arguments going on between your eyes.

“No, see: I think it’s your idea.” He corrected, a deep, rumble of a laugh fell from his throat, “So, what exactly did you picture me doing with this thing.” He snorted and walked over to it, running a hand along the cupboard. You bit your lit, your dreams coming into clear view as if they were a film playing in front of you.

“Spencer,” you stood both embarrassed and a little annoyed.

You marched over to it at placed a hand on his shoulder–but then you were against the doors of the small chifforobe and Spencer was whispering just above your ear, “Was this it? Your sick fantasies of me? Did they include me having you against a wardrobe?”

Your breath caught and you wanted to hide your face because there was no doubt he’d be able to see the truth without you having to voice any sort of answer–but the jerk had his hand cupped around your jaw, and his grip was unimaginably strong for–well, him.

He smiled and tilted his head–and God only knew what that did to your resolve. Your knees weakened and you found yourself whimpering. “So, I guess that’s a yes.” You found just enough strength to narrow your eyes and look somewhat pissed. He nodded, “the shirt,” he tugged at the bottom.

You bit back a repost as he dropped his hands and stepped away, though he kept his distance close enough to where you felt his presence even after you’d lifted your shirt and he was out of sight. His eyes didn’t leave yours, you admired his stoicism; you’d already proved you weren’t any match when your eyes traced every line anytime you saw a sliver of his stomach, hips, neck, or forearms–okay maybe you had a bit of an obsession, but could it honestly be considered that when the look he was giving you screamed ‘wolf in sheep's clothing’?

“What other things have you thought up in that horny brain of yours, I wonder,” he spoke almost to himself, but his ever-focused gaze told you he was quite literally asking.

“That’s not how the game works,” a cheeky grin reformed your scowl.

“Right,” he paused, turning his eyes to the ceiling for effect, “remind me?”

Your eyes roved from one eye to the other, and back again, searching for any hint of hesitation, “this foreplay is kind of starting to get old.”

“Yes, I can agree–” you cut him off midsentence with a ravenous kiss. You could swear you bit him more than once, but he wasn’t complaining. Your head lulled to the side as he trailed kisses up and down your neck, finding a spot he particularly liked just below your ear.

Your hands twisted in his hair, yanking, tugging, and pulling–whatever got the most responses from him, you were doing. You threw his shirt to the side and pushed him toward the bed. He braced himself using his arms, though they were swiftly in motion again, wrapping around your waist as you stepped between his legs. “What do you want?” You asked, attempting to catch your breath.

He laughed, but when he realized you were serious he almost snorted, “What do I–what do I want?”

“It’s a simple question,” you shrugged, “what do you want from me?”

Now–now his eyes dipped, “I want a lot of things.”

You bit back another grin. Somehow in the few minutes, you’d been running around the room talking about how horny you both were, you’d ended up on the bed, your head behind a pillow. Spencer was between your legs, mouth-watering. He’s waited so long, he honestly didn’t think this foretold moment would ever actually occur, but God, was he glad he’d been wrong. Heavy, sinful eyes skimmed your lower body as he fumbled with the top of your shorts. His hands were warm despite the dreary weather outside, likely due to his recent shower. They pressed into your thighs as he brought his face just above your lower stomach, his name fell from your mouth in a whine, leading him to push aside the cover of your shorts. He drug a few fingers over your center.

Your moans sliced through the rough tension that had fallen over the hotel room. “What?” His snort was low and sloppy, “Oh, is–,” one of his fingers gently slid over you and your eyes shut, “–is this what you want?” His eyes traced the arch of your neck that was most exposed, the one lined with the red marks he’d left. The twitching beneath his sweatpants pulled a groan from his lips.

He swirled his finger around, feeling your wetness was more than inviting. “Spencer,” you cried, eyes flying open at the loss of contact.

“Be still,” he said, his voice wavering as he tugged everything off and discarded them on the floor. You watched him watch you–it wasn’t until you noted the way his eyes narrowed that you understood he was outlining your form–so that he could vividly paint it in his mind for a later purpose.

“I asked first,” you frowned up at him.

“You’re right,” he sighed, “here: let me show you what I want.”

Your breath caught as he lowered himself, his face coming right up to you, and with the way he was drooling at the sight, you could tell he’d been thinking about this for a while–it made you wonder if his desire had begun a lot sooner than yours had.

His mouth was warm, his tongue stroked up and down as far as they could go, and even when you thought he’d reached that point, he proved you wrong. Your hands knotted in his hair as you guided his head. His mouth was warm as he lapped up everything. You tried keeping your moan to a minimum, but when he stopped, your eyes popped open–had you done something wrong? But no, he was looking up at you with those desperate, puppy-like eyes, “please,” his whisper was grating, “I want to hear you.”

You swallowed, the ache building in you, “if that’s what you want,” you nodded.

And a few moments later, you were calling out his name in a way you’d never called anyone name. This was so new, you’d never had a guy worship you like this and you couldn’t fathom the fact that Spencer wanted to do it for your pleasure as well as his own.

You tried to hold it in, but your body had been desolate of attention for so long that you just couldn’t anymore. You could hear him slurp, and God did it do something to your brain chemistry– He considered you with clouded eyes. “Are you okay?” He frowned, pushing his body over yours.

Without giving him time to settle, you yanked his jaw toward your face with firm hands, he tasted like you and smelled of his shampoo–and yet, there was still the unknown Spencer scent that seemed only his skin could produce. You lined his jaw with kisses, your heart pounding in your chest with every new groan that escaped him.

My turn,” you huffed, definitely the cause of the lopsided grin that spread across his mouth. Though his hair was a mousy brown, in the dim yellow lamplight, it was as dark as the wood that made up the vintage furniture. It looked windswept or like he had just woken up–and perhaps he had. It was no longer a deniable fact that he’d never feel this good with anyone else, and he didn’t know how long this relationship with you would last, so he would milk everything he could out of it and–and in exchange, surrender everything he had of himself.

It was only a few seconds later that you had him on his back, hands roving up and down his chest. You rubbed yourself against him, eliciting sweet sounds from his throat and friction from where you were just barely connected. You made sure to hold his gaze as you slid onto him. His jaw tightened and you could feel relief leave him as his chest fell. You tightened around him, trying to get used to him, you had to pause for a second–you couldn’t believe you were doing this–and in a moment of incompetence, you laughed.

“Sorry,” you lowered your chest onto his and began chuckling into his neck, “it’s just–what would the other think if they knew?”

Spencer pushed your shoulder away and held you above him, “I guess it’s a good thing they don’t, right?”

You nodded, but a small part of you wondered about what that meant for the after. Spencer groaned as you sat back up, you started slowly, hissing as you let him fill you. Spencer gave out his fair share of whimpers, but you wanted more, you wanted to make him cry.

You gripped his hair with one hand and the pillow beside him with another, you rolled your hips and wiggled every time you sat back down. Squeezing your thighs seemed to make him shudder the most, and when you added sucking to the mix, you knew you had him.

“There it is,” your grin was devilish as you swiped at his cheek. He opened his eyes just in time to see you licking his tears off your thumb.

“I might ask what we are now,” you huffed a laugh as Spencer shut the bathroom door. He had been a complete gentleman about everything, cleaning you, massaging your shoulders. You’d never had such an experience, you’d never thought there could be more to having sex if you only had the right partner; now that you did, there was…but you were unsure about yourself.

You found your mind questioning all you knew about Spencer and what this all meant to you. You had asked him what he wanted from you, but did you even know what you wanted from him? Before, the question might have thrown you off–though Spencer had asked it, you weren’t taking him all too seriously. Now that you had more time to contemplate your roving thoughts, you knew the answer as if it had been written in your DNA.

Spencer’s eyebrows furrowed as sat beside you, you were facing the window and the chifforobe.

“Well, what else would we be?” He paused, almost hesitatingly. You jerked your head toward his, eyes searching, and as the seconds of silence ticked by, he seemed to fade more and more into himself. When he turned his head and averted his eyes, saying, “I mean–if that’s not what you want–” you cut him off.

“No, I just–” you stopped yourself, unsure of how to explain the complications running through your mind, “I’m just not exactly sure what that means…”

A heavy sigh escaped his lips. You opened your mouth to clarify–probably more than necessary–but your words caught in your throat as Spencer stood and lowered to his knees in front of you. He was between your thighs, but there was nothing sexual about it–if anything it felt like the complete opposite kind of intimacy you had grown accustomed to with him.

His hands reached for yours, pulling them into your lap. He looked up at you with possibly the one look Spencer Reid had never given anyone. His eyes couldn’t decide which one of yours to focus on for the longest time, but when he did, his tone was guttural and almost choking, trusting.

“The more time I spend with you, the more I feel I’ve always known you. These past few weeks–they weren’t the beginning for me.” Your mouth suddenly went dry, though you still tried to swallow. “I–I honestly don’t know when it started, but the more I felt drawn to you, the more I forced myself away. It–I don’t–I didn’t think I deserved to feel that way–I guess…”

You waited a few moments to ensure he was finished, your mind ran to look for the best possible response–but given the one-in-a-million situation you were in, your mind went blank. Instead, you rambled the first words that rolled into your mind just as you whispered the last, “I want you in every way, Spencer. It’s like–like you’ve bewitched me–”

“...body and soul,” he finished, “it’s…Jane Austen–sorry.” He cringed.

You threw your head back and laughed, then huffed, wiping a few tears from your eyes, “No, oh, no don’t worry. See this is why I love you,” Your heart came to an abrupt halt, and you felt as if you were dead, “no–I mean, I don’t–I mean, I–well, I do, but I mean–”

“It’s okay,” you followed his face as he stood and leaned down, his palm brushing across your face as he tucked a lock of hair behind your ear and leaned forward, “It’s okay, know what you meant,” the end of his sentence was muffled by another kiss.

“So, do you think they’ve caught on yet?” JJ asked, taking a sip of her coffee.

“Uhh, I’d say probably not.” Emily nodded.

“Would you like the share with the class?” Morgan raised a brow.

“Oh, I know this one,” Penelope hand shot up, her jewelry clinking against one another, “because — and Reid still think we don’t know.”

“I mean how could we not, though?” JJ huffed a laugh, setting her mug on the table in front of her.

“Know what?” Rossi smacked his lips, startling the group of four.

“Know…the complexities of…nail polish?” Penelope tried and failed to save the group.

All four members winced as Hotch appeared seemingly out of thin air and stated, “they think we don’t know about Spencer and —.” “What?” Rossi shook his head, following Hotch, “how could we not know? They’re so obvious.”

a/n: sorry for the wait, but i do proofread my fics because i just can't stand things not being as good as they could be–i'm a bit of a perfectionist lol irregardless, happy late new year !!

@darkmatilda @theylovemelody

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copilot-crashout · 3 days ago

Note

Oh em gee I love ur writing so much it physically cleanses me sjsjjsjsj

Anyhoo, I was wondering if I could politely request Mouthwashing x reader (separate) where reader writes them “anonymous” love letters. Reader thinks they are being sneaky but the crew have known from the first letter its them and just chose to keep quiet^^? Idk I am kinda crazy about dorky!reader..

Ps #1(If u don’t wanna do all the characters, that fine!)

Pairing: Tulpar crew x gn!reader

Content Warning: None! [except I gave up on proofreading.. ( ᐡ๐ ·̫ ๐)〣]

[A/N]: You're so sweet! Thank you, lovely anon!! (°´˘`°) I default to all the characters, so don't worry! I don't want to leave anyone's favourites out! I wonder if you can tell who my favourite is from my work... ( ⩌⩊⩌)✧

CAPTAIN CURLY:

-> What a charming admirer he has! He grins when he notices you nervously looking around before entering his room, only to find the cutest little letter in his room professing their love to him.

-> He keeps hold of all of them. They're worth more than gold anyway. He doesn't have the heart to tell you right away, not when he sees your chest puffed out with pride when you place another letter in his room, a mission successful in your eyes. Instead, he focuses on noticing the little details he'd never seemed to pick up on initially. You had it bad for him, huh?

-> Curly teases you about it. He never mentions them directly, but he will often exaggerate his behaviours to the most recent letter he read. You mentioned how tall he was. He's sure to flaunt it off more.

Since when were things in this kitchen placed so high?

You sighed to yourself, stretching to try and grab some simple condiment packets you swore were placed on the countertop the last time you saw them. Luckily for you, Curly walks in at the perfect moment. When you ask for help, he gives a confident grin as he nods, stepping towards you. As expected of him.

What you didn't expect was the warm hand he placed on your hip or the way his chest pressed into your back as he grabbed exactly what you were asking for, the steady thrum of his heartbeat only making yours speed up. You're left red-faced and stuttering, nervous hands taking the packets out of his larger one.

"You're all red. If you're not feeling well, you should take a visit to Anya. I can walk you there."

JIMMY:

-> He loves it. End of. They boost his confidence in ways he didn't even know was possible. The idea of you watching him when he didn't notice was one he found sickly sweet, prideful that someone loved him as much as he deserved.

-> He was initially planning to tell you he knew after the first letter. He had dreamed about the way he'd hold your letter back to you, a sly grin as he watched you scramble for an answer, flustered before ultimately coming clean about your attempts to court him. Once he sees the second letter, however, his mindset changes.

-> It's simply too cute. The way you sneak around to keep it anonymous and the way you wear your heart on your sleeve. He's delighted by how much of your mind he occupies. It excites him to think about how much you try to learn about him. Do you know his routine by heart? What about his likes and dislikes? Better yet, were you trying to mould yourself into the perfect partner for him (although this seems more of a dream on his part than a genuine question...)? He gets a sick kick out of it.

-> He finds himself re-reading the letters in the middle of the night, the ones that point out the smallest parts of himself that you talked about so affectionately. It made him nauseous. Words so tender weren't something he came by so easily, nor was it something he believed he deserved. He's used to one-night stands, a cheap fuck, nothing so... romantic. Perhaps he could get used to this.

-> He's not going to be soft, though, as he teases you about it. Offhandedly mentions the letter and if you knew who could leave such a thing in his room and grins when you instantly deny it and make a show of him believing you. He gets incredibly touchy, too. His hands linger for a fraction longer than they need to. He stands as close to you as he can, looming over you whenever he has the time. Have you noticed the way the atmosphere changes when it's just the two of you alone? He'll look forward to your next letter. Maybe you wrote about it.

-> He could try playing the long game for once. The reward feels so much sweeter that way.

ANYA:

-> Anya is perceptive first and foremost. Rather than catching her admirer mid-delivery, she uncovers your identity through your handwriting.

-> The letters cheer her up endlessly. They're a sweet reminder of how someone adores her, even when she's overwhelmed. It's hard on board, but your letters become a routine that she looks forward to. I think she's one of the only characters who would tell you she knows, feeling guilty about leaving you in the dark about something that could embarrass you. However, she'd never ask you to stop. Anya gushes about how much she appreciates every single letter, keeping them and re-reading them when she can and she tells you how she figured it out, giggling when you stare at her like you're begging for the floor to swallow you whole.

-> Anya makes it a priority to keep you happy. Your letters do so much for her, she only wants you to feel the same. You'll find her lingering around you more, offering hugs or a shoulder to lean on whenever possible. If you're especially tired, she'll help finish your work with you. Another set of hands would always help.

-> She begins to write small compliments on her Post-it notes, leaving them in places you frequent. If you have tools you use, she places a note talking about how hardworking you are on there. Otherwise, you begin to find small notes in your room. It becomes a ritual between the both of you, sending each other letters when you can. She just wants you to know how loved you are.

DAISUKE:

-> For him!? Really!?

-> He's kicking his feet and giggling, rolling around in his bed, head buried into his pillows. If you thought you were dorky, then he's 100 times worse.

-> He's attached to your hip. You thought he was helpful and sweet? Well, he'll help you with your work! Fun to be around? In his free time, he's running to you for another round of board games or to play on his Game Boy.

-> He wouldn't know subtle if it slapped him in his face. It's unfortunate for the rest of the crew, who have to watch two love-sick adults pine for each other as if they're not reciprocated.

-> Whenever he feels especially sad, he re-reads the letters. Even if he might feel useless at times, that he doesn't have a plan for his future, he does have the assurance that you'll be there by his side. You're a great person. If you can find all these amazing things about him then... He's sure he can make something great of himself.

SWANSEA:

"Jesus, this kids got it rough."

-> That's his first thought before it slowly dissolves into a fond affection. He's a bit too old for this lovey-dovey yearning shtick, right? Initially, he finds himself sighing at the letters, wondering when and how would be the best way to stop this little game of yours. He feels undeserving of it. You have so much going for you. You simply don't deserve someone like him. He wants to push you away, but the letters mean too much to him. Instead, he becomes charmed by it all, awaiting every letter with bated breath.

-> You do know how to make him feel young again. Each letter leaves his heart pounding, feeling like a young schoolboy rather than a washed-out mechanic.

-> He keeps every single one. If you place them in little envelopes or place small gifts like stickers in them, you'll be glad to know he keeps it all in his bedside drawer.

-> He's one to return the favour, too. He's picked up a few skills with his work. Blue-collar jobs like this have enough transferable skills to help in the creative department. He hopes you're not too surprised if you find your broken items repaired or a small figure of your favourite animal made out of scraps in your room.

-> Perhaps... He's the one who's got it bad.

#mouthwashing x reader #curly x reader #mouthwashing #captain curly x reader #curly mouthwashing #daisuke x reader #gn reader #gn!reader #anya x reader #captain curly #jimmy x reader #swansea x reader #swansea mouthwashing #jimmy mouthwashing #anya mouthwashing #daisuke mouthwashing

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gyaruhana · 3 days ago

Note

Can u please write wlw smut for my glorious queen se-mi player 380

Se-mi/Player 380 - hatefucking

Synopsis: You and Se-mi can't stand each other so what better way to deal with that issue then fight for dominance?

A/N: i did combine this with another request for hatesex bc they both were wuh luh wuh so.. hope you don't mind!!

Warnings: smut content, choking, degradation, slight fight for dominance, fingering, it's hatesex..

If there was one thing you avoided, it was arguments. You preferred to avoid making enemies because; what was the point? It was far better to make friends than enemies who’d plot your death on the daily. Friends would be there to make you happy and comfort you when you're sad. Enemies would just laugh at you and pull you further down into the depths of sadness. That's why you always opted for only making friends and allies.

The only exception to this little rule was her. Se-mi.

Se-mi had been getting on your nerves from the moment you had both spared a glance at each other. There was something about her that reeked of over-confidence and judgement. The way she would look at you with that smirk on her face as if she thought she was better than you. It pisses you the fuck off and all you wanted to do was punch her face in so she could never smirk or scoff at you again.

Whether it was for good or bad, Se-mi felt the same way. You were always so nice to everyone, even to those who didn't deserve kindness whatsoever. It pissed her off that you'd try to be friends with everyone. Were you naive or just plain stupid? Whatever it was, she didn't like it. You were so happy-go-lucky as if you weren't trapped in this hell hole where people are being killed left and right. She didn't trust you at all because you seemed like the type who'd willingly stab someone in the back sooner or later.

In short, the feeling of hate was mutual between you two and, everytime you were near each other, there was a silent tension of unspoken dislike. Neither of you had actually communicated your dislike through speech, it was all just glares from across the room and the purposeful avoidance of each other.

Today, you unfortunately didn't have the opportunity to avoid each other like you two usually opted to do.

It was the third game and it was called ‘Mingle’. It wasn't a difficult game as long as you weren't one to crack under the pressure of a short time limit. All you had to do was form a group of whatever number was called out and then run into a room with them. The first four rounds went well for you since you were friends with practically everyone here and could always find a group to join.

When the fifth round came, the number two was called and chaos broke out quite quickly as people realized not everyone will be fortunate enough to get a room. As chaos broke out and lights flashed, you found it rather difficult to see who was on their lonesome and needed a pair. Luckily for you, you managed to spot the tall silhouette of someone who was on their own so you ran towards them and grabbed a hold of their wrist, dragging them into one of the last free rooms. You quickly shut it behind you as you let out a relieved sigh - glad you managed to find someone before it was too late.

When you turned around, you were met with the unimpressed face of Se-mi. You almost let out a groan of annoyance at the sight of her. Maybe you should go back out there and just get shot. At least then she'd die as well and you could rest peacefully knowing she'd never plague anyone with her ugly personality again.

“I'm not happy to see you either,” she says as she folds her arms across her chest and leans against the wall behind her. You let out a scoff of annoyance as the doors finally locked indicating the timer was up. Considering you'd probably be trapped in this room for a while until they clear out the bodies, maybe now would be a good time to confront her about her behavior.

“What's your problem? You're always such an asshole to me,” you say as you step closer to her. Your words may have been slightly aggressive but you couldn't help it when she was around. She just naturally got on every nerve in your body. In response to your words, she pushes off the wall and uncrosses her arms to step closer to you.

“My problem? You're the one with the problem,” Se-mi spoke as she looked at you with annoyance. The audacity you had to call her a bitch as if you were any better. Seeing you like this made her believe all your kindness really was an act for your own personal gain. That only fueled her hatred for you.

“You're the one who's been glaring at me since day one. You're a total fucking dickhead with your arrogant attitude,” you speak as you point an accusatory finger in her face. You were sick of how she'd act and the way she'd judge everyone silently. She needed a wake up call or something so she'd stop standing on her high horse. After all, she glared at you first. What were you supposed to do? Let her treat you like that? Hell no. You might be all for making friends but that doesn't mean you'll back down when someone chooses to be your enemy.

Then suddenly, out of the blue - her hand wrapped around your throat and she pushed you onto the wall. “I'd watch your mouth when you speak to me,” she says with anger bubbling inside her. Calling her arrogant? Who did you think you were? Someone needed to put you in your place.

You were taken aback by the sudden violence before grabbing her wrist tightly and glaring at her. “Or what? What are you going to do about it? Kill me?” you spoke sarcastically. You didn't fear her at all or the hand around your throat. It's not like she'd kill you. She couldn't have the guts to murder someone. You knew her type. Assholes on the outside, total pussies on the inside. They all just made enemies with people they assumed were weak so they could act tough.

She was quiet for a moment as she thought about your words. She couldn't kill you, no. You wouldn't learn anything that way (and she might get in trouble for that). She'd have to take a different approach if she wanted to make you learn a lesson about your bitchy behavior and, thankfully, she knew just how to make someone learn a lesson. She smirked for a moment before nodding her head.

“I won't kill you, no. I'll teach you a lesson,” she spoke before suddenly pressing her lips to yours. Her hand stayed wrapped around your throat, lightly squeezing to serve as a warning. You didn't expect her to kiss you of all things. It left you frozen in shock. Her kiss wasn't gentle either. It was rough as if its purpose was to silence you. There was nothing loving about it and, strangely enough, you found yourself actually being turned on by it. You didn't have feelings for her, no. You hated her but you were stuck in a place like this with no guarantee of a tomorrow so maybe a little hatefuck wouldn't be a terrible idea.

“Fuck, you're a shitty kisser,” you speak when she pulls away. She lets out a bitter chuckle at your words and shakes her head. “Thought I told you to watch your mouth?” She said as her free hand trailed down to the waistband of your pants. Oh, Se-mi was going to make sure you submit and watch your attitude towards her from now on. “You think I'll listen to you?” You respond snarkily.

“Oh, you will,” she says, her hand making it to your underwear as she gently traces the fabric of it. She moves her hand beneath the fabric and gently feels your entrance. “You're wet. You're just a whore, huh?” she spoke with a mocking smirk. She found it amusing that you were turned on by something like this.

You were about to make a quick comment in response when she quickly slid her index finger into you making you let out a moan. God, you didn't expect her to do that so suddenly. She was full of surprises today. You quickly recovered from the initial shock as you noticed the smug look on her face. It drove you insane. If she thought she was teaching you a lesson like this, you'd have to teach her one too.

“Don't think you're in control,” you speak before grabbing the back of her head and pressing your lips to hers. Se-mi would be lying if she said she wasn't a little taken aback by the sudden kiss. She had assumed you'd fold immediately but apparently you were much more of a challenge. She smirked into the kiss before pulling her finger out slowly and then teasingly thrusting it back in. You let out a muffled moan at the feeling as you bring your free hand to the hem of her shirt. You lift it up slightly before putting your hand underneath and slowly trailing it upwards.

“Might want to try harder to please me. You do a poor job at fingering a girl,” you speak after breaking from the kiss. She shakes her head with the smirk not leaving her face as she starts to thrust her fingers in and out of you quicker. “Oh really? Your body says otherwise,” she says, her hand tightening around your throat once more to serve as a silent warning.

“I'm not even close to getting to cum. Can't you do any better?” You say as your hand that had earlier slipped under her shirt pinched her nipple. She tensed for a moment as her breath hitched, making you laugh. “What? That sensitive?” You tease and she sends a glare at you. She could try to dominate you as much as she wants but you weren't one to submit so easily.

She suddenly presses her thumb to your clit and starts to rub it roughly. The sensation makes you lean your head back against the wall as you moan. “Seems like you're the sensitive one,” she says as she watches your reactions carefully. As much as you wouldn't ever admit it, she was actually quite good with her fingers. She knew exactly how to move them and get someone to cum quite quickly.

“if we weren't stuck here, I'd show you how good I could really fuck you,” you speak with a smirk as you look back at her again. “sure you could,” she responds sarcastically as she continues to thrust her fingers at a quick pace. She could tell you were close now as she felt you clench around her fingers.

“You're close, huh?” she says, clearly mocking you. You laugh breathlessly as you shake your head and look to the side. God, she was still such a cocky bitch. You looked at her before pulling on her hair and glaring at her. “When I cum, I'll make you lick your fingers clean, yeah?” you speak and the smirk on her face seems to grow bigger. Fuck, she really didn't think you'd still be acting so dominant. It was actually turning her on more - getting to fight for dominance like this.

With a few more thrusts of her fingers you came undone with a quiet moan. She slowly pulls her fingers out of you and you don't waste a second to grab her hand and pull it out of your pants. “C’mon, suck,” you say as you bring her hand to her mouth, her fingers wet with your cum. She looks at you for a moment before slowly putting her fingers into her mouth and sucking them clean of your cum. She pulls them out of her mouth after a few seconds and, as if on cue, the door unlocked meaning the guards had finished cleaning.

You both looked at the door before looking at each other again. “If you make it out alive of this place, I'll have to fuck you on my dildo next time,” she speaks as she steps back from you. “Looking forward to it- seeing you embarrass yourself, i mean,” you respond before walking out without another word and leaving her alone in the room. She watched you walk out before scoffing.

“She better make it out alive,”

#squid game #squid game 2 #squid game x reader #squid game season 2 #squid game s2 #squid game smut #semi squid game #semi x reader

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uncle-fruity · 2 days ago

Text

I've been the white person getting called racist and not understanding why, and I know how easy it is to feel defensive or flustered or guilty, but what the folks above are saying is 100% true. I've got an anecdote that I hope might be helpful for some fellow white folks to hear.

I was once at a house show and a black woman complimented my eyes, which are a very bright blue. I get that compliment a lot, and I get tired of hearing it but I also understand that people are just being nice, so I sought to amuse myself by responding with a joke. When this black woman complimented my eyes, I said, "Thank you! I'm borrowing them from a witch!" I'd only just started using this joke response in the last couple months. Just a little attempt at fantasy humor. Well, this woman got angry and called me racist in response. I was baffled, and she didn't really elaborate except to say something about witches and white people. I didn't understand, but I said sorry and let her be, as she did not seem interested in talking about it. I felt bad, and even worse that my gut reaction was, "How was that racist?"

Well, I never found out. I went home, I looked it up, I couldn't find anything. Google gave me nothing of use. I asked some friends I had, but they were just as confused as me. Even though nothing was coming up, I've more or less stopped using that joke just in case I'm missing something -- until I get more insight, at least. If anyone knows what she might have been reacting to, I would seriously appreciate a source for the information.

But I bring this up because this was one of those moments where I had to accept that I might just be the racist jerk at the house show in her mind forever, that she had a right to be mad about any perceived racism, and that I had to be okay with that. It isn't her job to unpack whether I'm actually a good person who's really trying my best. It isn't her job to get me up to speed, especially if she feels like I was trying to make a jab at her when she was just saying something nice. There are already a million and one white jerks who will ask black folks to defend their reasons for calling someone racist and demand an academic level contextualization, as if they're on trial and need proof, and not nearly enough of us who take the initiative to learn it ourselves.

There are academic papers. There are books. There are video essays. There are historical documents directly representing the sentiments & racist narratives of the time they came from. There are non-white people who have been writing and speaking about their experiences with racism for years and years and years and years. And there are people talking about it today, on this very website, and it's okay to just read & listen and to look things up if they confuse you or you need more context. A variety of sources will help you see the issue more fully.

Because the truth is that a lot of things that white people consider just part of "regular society" are baked in racism. The more you learn about racism and the history of racism and the ways racism has manifested over the years, the more you realize how much of that racism is embedded in our culture even in unassuming, casual ways. If you take time to learn about what racism really looks like, you can be more confident in your ability to avoid acts of racism. So if not wanting to be The Racist or not wanting to feel guilty about a Racist Action You Did is a real concern, the best remedy is to learn about it and try to see the ways you might be prone to perpetuating it. And when in doubt? Assume that a person of color knows more about what racism looks and feels like than you do. Reduce harm by resisting making defensive arguments to explain racism away, and just keep pursuing answers for your questions and discomfort by listening.

I highly recommend reading Ibram X. Kendi's work as a starting point, because he lays out the foundational stuff really well. I read How to Raise an Antiracist, but he also wrote a book targeted at adult learning called How to Be an Antiracist. One thing from his work that was helpful for me to internalize was that antiracism is an action, as is racism. No one is born A Racist -- it is not inherent to anyone. It is not an identity. It is learned and it is acted upon. Just so, antiracist is not an identity, but rather an action. If you care about being seen as One Of The Good White People, you will need to do the work to become one, and by the time you've done the work to become one, you will realize that that's not how it works. There is always work to do and how antiracist you are depends on what antiracist actions you take, not how antiracist your intentions were. You cannot simply say that you believe in racial equality without showing up for it. Racism is an action you take. Antiracism is an action you take. Doing nothing is still a choice, and it is a choice that tends to favor racism in practice. Learning more about racism as a topic and especially going out of your way to reflect when you've been called racist -- how you're going to better understand and better your actions -- are two very good antiracist actions that you can do for free.

And while you learn, just, know that it'll be uncomfortable and take some effort to unlearn everything. You might feel some kind of way about stuff -- parts of culture that you connected with and are only just now realize have racist tones. It's bad. It's really bad and a lot of our family members present & past do or did terribly racist things. You have probably done something racist. It's possible that you're going to do something racist in the future. It's uncomfortable to acknowledge, but we will never change if we can't accept that we need to put in the effort and do better. And we can't know how to do better or look out for non-white folks if we don't actively learn.

Sorry this got so long. I hope it is a productive addition to the conversation.

listen. white people. LISTEN to me. if a person of color yells you that you did or said something racist the appropriate response is to go "oh shit, sorry" and maybe MAYBE a follow up of "can you elaborate" if you dont understand why and thats. IT. we do not need elaborate prose about how sorry you are or how grateful you are for us telling you or how youre working on unlearning it or whatever. JUST SAY SORRY AND DONT DO IT AGAIN THATS IT ❤️

#racism #important #psa

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ur-local-wizard · 1 day ago

Text

Eye of the Storm (Part 3)

Your desk partner leaves his notebook after class, and you’re struck by the beauty of its contents.

Eeek the last part of this story! Had a blast writing it, and I hope everyone enjoyed reading it!

characters are college age, mattheo riddle x fem!reader, whipped!mattheo, use of y/n, FLUFFFFFFFFF, kissing, pretty sure that's it

w/c: 1.2k

masterlist part 1 part 2

a/n: ty to my lovely editor, @pikaglow

As you passed him, the sketchbook gripped tightly in your hands, you noticed something foreign on his face. His expression was stripped of his usual confidence and sarcasm. He looked almost panicked as he closed the door behind you.

The room was in utter disarray. Drawers were thrown open, clothes and papers were scattered across the floor. It didn’t take a genius to figure out he’d been searching for something.

So, avoiding his gaze, you thrusted the book in front of you, practically ripping your hands away when he took it. “You left it in Divination,” was your only explanation. His eyes darted between your face and the object in his hands, surprise clear in his eyes. The tension in his room was so palpable, you felt you could hardly breathe. He seemed to flounder around for a second, his mouth opening and closing repeatedly.

“Did you look at it?” His voice was eerily calm, but the discomfort his body carried was clear as day. He set the book down on his desk, falling back into the chair beside it, and his eyes failed to meet your gaze.

“I didn’t mean to,” you say awkwardly, standing in front of him. You felt guilty when his face fell, but there was no point in lying. “It fell out of my hands,” the words were tumbling from your mouth quickly as you tried to explain yourself. “When it landed on the ground, it was open. And I just got curious. I’m sorry.”

“Fuck.” He carded a hand through his already messy hair, and finally he looked up at you.

You sighed, sitting down on the edge of his bed. “You’re so talented, Mattheo. But I don’t understand. Why me? And how the hell do you know all that about me-” The words slipped out before you could stop them, disjointed and fast. But they conveyed the confusion and fear warring inside you; something that you couldn’t have said out loud.

He cut you off, his gaze softening. “I can’t help it. You confuse me. And God, you’re everywhere, in every fucking corner of my brain. The way you smile, your laugh. I’m reminded of you by almost everything I see.” His voice trailed off, and you stayed silent. You didn’t know what to say to that. “I tried ignoring it, I really did. But eventually, I just couldn’t. So I drew; it was the only way I knew how to deal with all these emotions.” His voice broke, and it was like a tangible thing – the rare moment of vulnerability he allowed you to see. You wanted to scoop it up and put it in your pocket. You wanted to be able to save it for later, to be able to pull it out and see it whenever you wanted.

“You know I’m not good with emotions. I’ve never felt these types of things before. But now that I do with you, I don’t understand it,” he whispered, head falling down to look at his lap. “It’s terrifying.”

Your breath caught in your throat, and you stared at him wide-eyed and flushed as his words settled over you like a heavy blanket. Perhaps the blanket was made of fire, you didn’t quite know yet. Nor did you know what to say, or how to respond to something that raw and unexpected. All you could do was sit there, trying to connect the personified chaos known as Mattheo Riddle with the boy sitting before you now, one who was vulnerable, honest, and so very human.

“I don’t know what to say. I mean, I’m flattered, Mattheo. But it’s all just so overwhelming,” you confessed, voice hushed. His head snapped up, his dark eyes searching yours, disbelief swimming in them. “It’s just—you're so unpredictable. There’s such a disconnect from what you say you feel and what you do. You act like you don’t care about anything, but then you do something like this,” you nodded to the sketchbook. “You notice things that I didn’t think anyone could. I don’t know how to handle that.”

His lips parted slightly, as if about to say something, but ultimately he decided against it. He stood up and made his way to you, sitting down beside you on the bed. His movements were cautious and measured, as if he was worried he would scare you off.

“I know I’m not good at this kind of stuff,” he started, his voice low and gentle. “At feelings. At being vulnerable with people who actually matter to me.” He stopped, taking a deep breath. He reached out, gently taking your hand in his. “But you matter to me, Y/n. More than you’ll ever know.”

His words made your breath catch in your throat, the sincerity in his voice making you feel things it would be impossible to name. You liked this side of him, you wanted to know this side of him more ,and you just wished it weren’t so confusing.

So when you voiced that out loud, he nodded. “Of course. And I’m sorry. It was overwhelming for me, but I want you to know that side of me too. Here,” He said, grabbing the sketchbook from his desk and placing it in your hands. “You don’t have to give it back. If this is too much, you can keep it. Burn it if you want, even. I’ll understand.”

You closed your hands around the book, but blinked at him in confusion. “Why would I burn it?”

“You know… cause it’s weird,” he explained, a wry smile tugging at his lips. “I mean, who spends hours drawing a girl he doesn’t have the guts to talk to properly?”

“Mattheo…” His name fell from your lips like a sweet prayer as you chuckled. His eyes snapped to yours, filled with a mix of hope and fear. “It’s okay. It’s overwhelming, sure, but not weird.” You paused and smiled at him. “And honestly? It’s kind of endearing.”

“Really?” He asked you, and you nodded in response.

“You’re incredibly talented, Mattheo. The way you paint the world in this sketchbook of yours,” you placed it in his lap, “the way you paint me, is breathtaking.” With a flushed face, you offered him a smile.

He didn’t say anything for a long while. But eventually, he cupped your face in his hands, and kissed you. It was gentle, reverent almost, but fleeting – gone before you could process what was happening.

“Keep it,” he whispered, his breath brushing against your lips. “I want you to have it. You deserve to see yourself as beautiful as I see you .”

The tension in the air seemed to lift then, the weighted blanket from before dissipating. The air was now filled with something warmer, something quieter, more serene. You felt peaceful now, and the look in his eyes said he felt the same.

You grabbed the notebook from his lap and flipped to a specific page, showing it to him. “This was my favorite of the ones I saw. You even put my favorite flowers in the vase,” you said. He nodded in response, a wide smile on his lips. “I know. That’s why I included them.”

Hope you enjoyed! Feedback is always appreciated, and thank you to everyone for all the wonderful support! It truly means the absolute world to me. And as always, let me know if you want to be added to my taglist!

taglist: @ilovejamespottersomuch @mattyriddlesbitch @valenftcrush @sturniolover13 @paankhaleyaaar @thereeallink @voidangxls

©ur-local-wizard translating, republishing, copying, or claiming my work as yours is not permitted. all my work belongs to me and me only. thank you!

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gothicxreylover · 2 days ago

Note

Can you do a Yandere male hashiras coming home and meeting their s/o distraught and crying cause they thought they were dead. Maybe they were gone for 4 or 7 months.

╭──────༺♡༻──────╮

Hope you enjoy this! Thank you for your request! As you can tell I’m running out of gifs for these characters lol. I didn’t do Muichiro as I didn’t know what to write for him. And no headcanons for Obanai I only had motivation to do a small story.

╰──────༺♡༻──────╯

જ⁀➴ Sanemi Shinazugawa

Sanemi storms into your home just before nightfall, his haori tattered, his arms and legs covered in bandages. His survival is a miracle, but he doesn’t consider how his prolonged absence has affected you. He barely has time to set down his sword before he hears your choked sobs. Following the sound, he freezes when he sees you sitting on the floor, your face buried in your hands.

When you lift your head, your red, swollen eyes meet his. “Sanemi… is it really you?” you whisper, your voice trembling with disbelief. He doesn’t answer at first. He’s too overwhelmed by the sight of you like this—frail, broken, crying because of him.

“You’re such a damn idiot,” he growls, though the anger in his voice is directed at himself. He strides forward and pulls you to your feet, his grip firm but not unkind. “What the hell made you think I’d leave you like that? You think I’d let myself die knowing you’re waiting here for me?”

Your tears don’t stop, and neither does his frantic need to reassure you. Sanemi holds you close, pressing his lips to your forehead. “You’re mine, and nothing in this world can take me away from you.” His voice shakes, his usual harshness softened by a vulnerability he rarely shows.

Headcanons:

• Sanemi becomes obsessive about keeping you informed when he’s on missions. If he’s going to be late returning, he’ll send messages through crow, no matter how inconvenient it is.

• He becomes hyper-vigilant about your safety, rarely letting you leave the house without him.

• His possessiveness worsens after this, and he gets irritated when others try to console you. Only he can comfort you properly.

જ⁀➴ Giyuu Tomioka

Giyuu enters silently, as is his nature, his footsteps almost imperceptible. When he sees you trembling on the floor, clutching one of his old haoris like a lifeline, his chest tightens painfully. “You’re back,” you gasp when you notice him, stumbling to your feet and throwing yourself into his arms.

Giyuu stiffens at first, not out of reluctance but because of how deeply your pain affects him. “I thought you were gone,” you sob against his chest. “I thought I’d never see you again.”

His arms wrap around you slowly, his hold growing firmer with each passing second. “I’m sorry,” he murmurs, his voice barely audible. “I didn’t mean to make you think that.” His guilt is overwhelming. He didn’t realize how much his absence would hurt you, but now that he sees the aftermath, he swears he’ll never put you through it again.

“I’ll never leave you,” he says, his tone as unyielding as steel. He cradles your face in his hands, his eyes filled with an intensity that borders on obsession. “You’re all I have, and I won’t let anything take me from you.”

Headcanons:

• Giyuu starts writing you letters during long missions, even if he doesn’t know how to express his feelings well.

• He insists on you staying close to home, where he knows you’re safe. If you have to leave, he’ll silently follow you from the shadows.

• He becomes clingier in subtle ways, often lingering around you without saying much but refusing to leave your side.

જ⁀➴ Kyojuro Rengoku

The sound of your crying reaches Kyojuro before he even steps inside. His heart, usually blazing with confidence, falters for a moment. When he enters the room and sees you kneeling by the hearth, your face buried in your hands, he rushes to your side without hesitation.

“My love, what’s wrong?” he asks, though the answer becomes clear when you lift your tear-streaked face. “I thought I lost you, Kyojuro. Seven months… no word… I thought you were dead!”

His eyes widen, and for a moment, he’s silent. Then, he pulls you into a fierce embrace, his strong arms enveloping you entirely. “I am so sorry,” he whispers, his usually booming voice trembling. “I didn’t realize how much my absence would hurt you.”

Kyojuro tilts your chin up to meet his gaze, his fiery eyes burning with a mix of guilt and determination. “I am alive, and I will always come back to you. You are the flame that keeps me going.” His voice is full of conviction, a promise etched in every word.

Headcanons:

• Kyojuro starts planning shorter missions or taking you along to nearby towns when possible.

• He showers you with small tokens of affection, from flowers to handmade charms, to remind you of him when he’s away.

• His protective streak intensifies, and he begins training you in basic self-defense, even if you protest.

જ⁀➴ Gyomei Himejima

Gyomei hears your quiet sobs as soon as he steps onto the porch. His sensitive hearing and heightened senses pick up every tremble in your voice, and it stops him in his tracks. “(Y/N)?” he calls softly, his deep voice filled with concern.

You look up from where you’ve been kneeling, clutching a prayer bead bracelet he once gave you. When you see his towering figure in the doorway, your breath catches, and fresh tears spill down your cheeks. “You’re alive…”

Gyomei kneels before you, his large hands cupping your face with the utmost gentleness. “Why are you crying, my love?” he asks, though the answer dawns on him as he feels your trembling hands grasp his.

“I thought you were gone,” you whisper, your voice cracking. “I thought I’d lost you forever.”

His own eyes glisten with unshed tears as he pulls you into his arms, holding you as if you’re the most precious thing in the world. “I am here,” he says, his voice steady but filled with emotion. “I am alive, and I will always return to you. You are my reason to fight, to survive.”

Headcanons:

• Gyomei begins praying with you every morning and night, offering thanks for your safety and his ability to return to you.

• He becomes even more attentive, often carrying you to bed when you fall asleep in his arms, whispering reassurances.

• He starts wearing charms or tokens you give him, seeing them as symbols of your bond and a source of strength.

જ⁀➴ Tengen Uzui

Tengen bursts through the door, expecting you to greet him with relief and joy, but the sight of you sitting on the floor, tear-streaked and shaking, halts him. “What’s this?” he asks, dropping his flashy façade immediately as he kneels beside you.

“Tengen…” You look at him as though you’re seeing a ghost. “I thought you were dead. Seven months… I thought you weren’t coming back.”

His jaw tightens, and his normally flamboyant expression turns serious. “Do you really think something as unflashy as death could stop me from coming back to you?” he says, his voice lower than usual. He pulls you into his lap, his hands resting on your back as he lets you cry against his chest.

“You mean everything to me,” he says, his tone uncharacteristically soft. “I’ll never let you feel this way again. I’ll find a way to stay connected to you, no matter what it takes.”

Headcanons:

• Tengen insists on keeping you in the loop about his missions, even if it means bending Demon Slayer Corps protocols.

• He becomes more physically affectionate, constantly touching your hand, shoulder, or face as if to reassure himself you’re still there.

• His yandere tendencies manifest in controlling who you interact with, believing only he can truly protect and care for you.

This detailed portrayal highlights each Hashira’s unique reaction to their s/o’s emotional breakdown, showcasing their yandere tendencies in ways that fit their personalities. Each is overwhelmed by guilt but uses that guilt to fuel their determination to never let you feel that kind of despair again.

જ⁀➴ Obanai Iguro

Obanai stepped into the house just as the sun dipped below the horizon, the faint golden glow of dusk casting long shadows across the walls. His footsteps were light and deliberate, but the heaviness in his chest made every step feel like a mountain to climb. Months of hunting down demons, with barely enough time to sleep or recover, had left him drained. Yet, none of that prepared him for what awaited him inside.

The sound of muffled sobbing pierced his senses like a blade. His body went rigid, Kaburamaru tightening slightly around his shoulders as his mismatched eyes flicked toward the sound. He followed it, his pulse quickening with each step.

When he reached the main room, he stopped dead in his tracks. You were kneeling on the floor, clutching one of his discarded haoris to your chest. Your body shook with silent sobs, your face hidden behind trembling hands.

For a moment, Obanai couldn’t move. Seeing you so vulnerable, so broken, stirred something deep within him. Guilt? Pain? Anger? He didn’t know what it was, but the sight of your tears ignited a fierce need to claim you, to ensure no one else would ever make you feel this way—not even the world itself.

“(Y/N),” he finally said, his voice low but steady.

Your sobs stopped abruptly, and you froze, your hands lowering slightly to reveal your tear-streaked face. When your eyes met his, disbelief flooded your expression. “Obanai?” you whispered, your voice cracking. “You’re… you’re alive?”

He tilted his head slightly, Kaburamaru shifting in response to his unease. “Why wouldn’t I be?” His tone was calm, but the undercurrent of possessiveness was unmistakable.

The dam broke, and you stumbled to your feet, throwing yourself into his arms. “I thought… I thought you were dead! Seven months… no word… I thought I lost you!”

Obanai stiffened for a moment before his arms came up to wrap around you. His grip was firm, almost desperate, as if he feared you might vanish if he let go. “I’m here,” he murmured, his lips brushing against your temple. “I would never leave you like that. Never.”

Your hands clung to his uniform, your body trembling against his. “You don’t understand,” you sobbed. “I waited every day, praying you’d come back. When the weeks turned into months, I thought… I thought I’d never see you again.”

His jaw tightened, the words cutting deeper than any wound. The thought of you suffering, believing he was gone, stirred a dark possessiveness within him. He cupped your face, forcing you to look at him, his mismatched eyes blazing with an intensity that made your breath hitch.

“You’re mine,” he said, his voice low and unyielding. “Nothing—no demon, no mission, no god—can take me from you. Do you understand?”

Your tears didn’t stop, but you nodded, overwhelmed by the raw emotion in his gaze. He pressed his forehead to yours, his grip on you tightening. “I’ll never let you feel this way again. Never. I swear it.”

The promise wasn’t just for you—it was for him, a vow that no force in the world would ever separate you again.

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buckets-and-trees · 4 hours ago

Text

Stella.

This response is such an incredible gift! I can hardly begin to express how much it affected me to relive this chapter with you, and with such thought and insight! 🥹

Are we harboring perhaps a little crush here? + she’s not just starstruck or someone easily swooned by celebrity status.

Right on both counts! How could one not harbor a bit of a crush on America's golden "boy" but who is so clearly grown into being a man?! Especially after his nomad period and aging up like fine wine after. BUT she also has a level head on her shoulders.

I immensely enjoy writers working with all the things that the Blip would cause...

I would say that while it wasn't the first thing I knew about the Reader, it was in the first ten percent of things that I mapped out. There are a couple of major plot points that it will tie into later in the story, so I won't say anything about those, but one of the reasons it really felt like something I wanted for this Reader's backstory is that it gave a balance to Steve's other half if HE stayed and SHE blipped. As a unit, they could carry both persepctives and experiences together.

I love how competent we see Pepper be here, how she’s been so good at putting this team together.

...I forgot I put Maria Hill on this team.🧍🏻‍♀️ This chapter was written when I was verrrry deep into my rewatch of The West Wing and the presidential candidates were getting security/military briefings. At least I was thorough then! But I also didn't have any major plot points planned for international/military things to be affecting the candidates during the campaign, I just wanted to be thorough. AND I also remember when I wrote her onto this campaign team, I felt a very strong YEAH, BECAUSE WE DO NOT ACCEPT HALF OF WHAT HAPPENED IN SECRET INVASION!!! It just felt right hahaha.

After all, he is from a world where marriage wasn’t so focused on romantic love. But since he is a romantic, I’m definitely looking forward to them falling in love.

The reasoning Pepper lays out also has some elements of my own views of marriage - in that it HAS TO BE more than only romantic love, because marriage is hard work (as is anything worthwhile/that you invest in/that can grow). AND ALSO that married women should never be relegated to being only a trophy wife or a house wife (and I say that very specifically in that if those are roles that women want to have, then they should, but they should hopefully not be boxed into a corner).

I'M SO GLAD YOU LOVE HER! And not just this moment, but the other moments you mentioned that I was stitching little bits of character into her. Partly for Steve to fall in love with, but ... partly because in a lot of my Readers, I want it to feel like clothes that the person reading it can put on and wear for a while. Sometimes a costume, sometimes to deal with a complex issue, sometimes to have a wild time/experience something we otherwise never would... But when I write confident and driven readers or readers who are direct, I put a lot of what I would aspirationally hope that I could be into those characters, if that makes sense? I don't want them to be perfect, but I want them to have backbones and dreams and ambitions and reason and logic and real feelings that motivate them. For me, it's empowering - and if fiction gets to be an escape, sometimes I want to escape into healthy leading lady energy, and hope that that's what others reading this story can feel, too. 🥹

Oh, I’m intrigued by this. Is she a widow too?

🤐😏

This isn’t even a thirst trap, it’s a heart trap, and that’s worse.

this has the delightful found family vibes – which are definitely highlighting some major loss in First Lady’s background, I mean, she has to have a hint of craziness and not a lot to lose to jump into this headfirst – that I always enjoy in fic.

BINGO! Part of Reader's wiliingness to agree is the nature of being untethered to the life she was living.

But oh! Sam just! Sam is such a fantastic character/figure in the MCU, and I wanted to give him some good moments + parts to be part of this story, because Steve has strong ties to the important people in his life, you know? And so this story ending up having a strong inclusion of side characters started in this chapter, and although it's Steve x Reader, they couldn't be in a bubble - especially not given the campaign story shell, so I wanted to make everyone around them count/have significant roles to play.

"He might look like an all-American boy scout, but there's a lot more going on under the surface." + this is definitely hinting towards how he’s not just the perfect soldier or the good man but human and I am always here here for it. And we love Sam for recognizing all this in his friend.

It's so important to me to have characters that feel real, and I think... well, I think there can be this tendency around SOME people in MCU fandom (not all, but some), who hate and dismiss Steve's character for just being this perfect paragon boy scout idea of Captain America, and he's so much more. If we go to the Cap v. Iron Man, I think we see the same dismissal over Tony is just selfish but these are both only ASPECTS that they present, pieces that they struggle with, and when they're further and further explored, we see the complex layers. The complex Steve is the one I love to read and strive to write. And Sam giving a briefing here to our Reader about his character gave me the chance to put the marker in the sand and say it's the kind of Steve I was hoping to put in here, too.

And....also....

Sam - to be frank - is doing some damage control.

Because it sucks that Steve didn't come to this breakfast. THIS BREAKFAST WHERE HE WAS SUPPOSED TO MEET HIS WIFE FOR THE FIRST TIME BECAUSE THEY ARE GETTING MARRIED TOMORROW.

Reader is being very optimistic still, not letting it get to her, and definitely GENUINELY enjoying this time with Sam, but.... it still is what it is. Sam: not lying about anything, but definitely hyping his boy up so you don't resent Steve or feel defeated or insecure.

I know it's the delicious sort of slow burn when they don't even lay an eye on each other in the first two chapters.

BURN, BABY, BURNNNNN! IT'S GONNA BE SUCH A BURN, STELLA!

And, as I said in the very beginning of my response, this was such. a. gift. Doing basically a close re-read of this with you/through your comments also comes at SUCH an opportune/unique time because I just posted chapter 11 last Friday and I think I now have it tied down to just four more chapters, and it's reminding me of some of the key things that I had planted seeds for in the beginning, and some of them I know I've got strong threads that have already wrapped up, some I still need to wrap up but are on track, and some that I can circle back to that I forgot (like, oH HEY, WE'RE PROBABLY GONNA SEE MARIA HILL NOW because I did forget her ��).

You are a goddess.

I'm sorry to hear that 2024 ended in such a drain and strain on your energy, and so I hope that 2025 can be a gentler and kinder year for you! Sending you so much 🫶🏻🫶🏻🫶🏻 both for spending so much time on this commentary and just for you in general.

Red, White & True: Manhattan & Brooklyn (1/?)

Characters/Pairings: Steve Rogers (future x curvy Millennial Female!Reader), Pepper Potts, Sam Wilson Word Count: 4k Summary: "There was an idea..." Words at the heart of what brought the Avengers together. Pepper Potts has persuaded Steve Rogers to step up and help again - but this time in a battle to The White House. She invites you to consider a key position.

Content/Warnings: none

Notes: This takes place in a post-Endgame scenario where Steve stays and generally most of TFATWS happened.

Prologue | Series

↠ Main Masterlist | Aspen's Ask Box | Field Guide to the Forest

[MAY 15 - Manhattan, New York]

You try not to hold still while you wait in the lobby, but you’re nervous and the longer you sit, the more difficult it is to resist drumming your fingers, tapping your foot, jiggling your right leg as it’s crossed over your left, or even just chewing on your bottom lip.

You’re not anxious at all over meeting with Pepper, but what has you on alert is the possibility that you could theoretically meet Steve Rogers, former Captain America, today.

You take a deep breath, trying to calm your nerves. The lobby of Stark Industries is immaculate, all sleek lines and modern design. The large windows let in plenty of natural light, making the space feel open and inviting despite its corporate purpose.

Your mind wanders back to your college days when you’d walked into a different Stark Industries lobby for the first time, a hopeful intern wanting to make a difference at the then-new Stark Foundation office. Pepper had been very involved in building the Foundation at the time, and had become a key mentor and - as the years passed and you left Stark Industries - a dear friend. She had helped fuel some of your late-night study sessions through grad school. Living in a new state, she had shown up and seen you through breakups, family drama, and the stress of putting together your thesis. Even when your paths diverged, you'd managed to stay in touch.

Back then, she’d become like the older sister you never had, seeing you through some of the difficult years figuring out how to be a real adult. Now, here you are, waiting to potentially join a presidential campaign she’s orchestrating for none other than Steve Rogers.

The receptionist's voice startles you out of your reverie. "Ms. Potts will see you now."

You stand, smoothing down your carefully chosen outfit - professional, but not stuffy. As you follow the receptionist down the hallway, your mind races with possibilities. What position could Pepper have in mind for you? Your background in political science and your years working in non-profit management seem like they could be useful, but you can't help feeling a little out of your depth.

As you approach Pepper's office, you take a deep breath to steady yourself. The door opens, and there she is - Pepper Potts, looking as poised and confident as ever in a crisp white blouse and tailored navy suit. Her strawberry blonde hair is pulled back in a neat ponytail, and her smile is warm and welcoming.

"It's so good to see you," she says, embracing you in a quick hug. "Come in, please."

You step into her spacious office, taking in the floor-to-ceiling windows with a breathtaking view of the city skyline. Pepper gestures to a comfortable-looking chair across from her desk, and you sit, trying to keep your nerves in check.

"I appreciate you coming on such short notice," Pepper begins. "I know it's been a few years since we’ve been able to catch up - even before the Blip.”

You were among the half who disappeared - still such a strange concept to grasp though you were supposedly settled back in. “I was happy to come! And of course I don’t mind a trip on the Stark Industries dime,” you say with a grin.

"Can I get you anything? Water? Coffee?"

You shake your head. "I'm fine, thanks."

Pepper settles into her chair, folding her hands on the desk. "So, I know I told you we’re putting together the campaign team for Rogers for America, but I'm sure you're wondering more specifically why I called you here."

You nod, leaning forward in your chair, eager to hear Pepper’s vision.

"We're putting together an incredible team," she begins, her eyes sparkling with excitement. "I've been reaching out to some of the brightest minds in politics, economics, and social justice. We have former White House staffers, grassroots organizers, and even a few unexpected faces from the private sector who are eager to contribute their expertise."

You are instantly intrigued, trying to imagine the caliber of people she's describing. Your mind races with possibilities - perhaps that brilliant campaign manager who orchestrated the upset victory in the last Senate race, or the economist whose revolutionary ideas about sustainable development have been making waves in academic circles.

"We've got strategists who are anticipating every move our opponents might make," Pepper continues, "and communications experts who can craft messages that will resonate with voters across the political spectrum.”

You listen intently, trying to pinpoint where you might fit into this powerhouse group.

"There's Maria Hill," Pepper continues, "who's handling security and intelligence briefings. She's got connections that'll be invaluable. Then there's Peter Parker - you might know him as Spider-Man - he's officially our youth outreach coordinator, but he's also got a brilliant scientific mind that we're tapping into for policy development."

Your eyebrows raise at the mention of Spider-Man.

Pepper leans forward, her eyes locking with yours. "But here's the thing - we're not just assembling a team of political operatives and policy experts. We need people who understand the heart of what we're trying to do, who can see the bigger picture and help keep us grounded in our core values."

Your heart begins to race as you start to realize where this might be going.

"That's where you come in," Pepper says, a warm smile spreading across her face. "I've watched your career over the years, how you've navigated the non-profit world, building coalitions and making real change happen. You have a gift for bringing people together, for seeing connections that others miss. Your experience gives you a unique perspective that we desperately need."

Your heart races as you process her words. You had assumed you might be offered some kind of advisory role, perhaps in fundraising or event planning. Maybe even appearance management or offering occasional input on strategy. But from Pepper's tone, it sounds like she has something more substantial in mind.

"Where do you see me on this team?" you ask, trying to keep your voice steady.

"I've been putting a lot of thought into this," Pepper continues, her voice filled with conviction. “You know we’re doing something unconventional. Did you read the presidential plan?”

You nod. Steve’s bid for President of the United States was still technically not public knowledge. You had signed an NDA - being told only that you were receiving a proposal Pepper wanted your input and consultation on, with potential to join the team if you supported the initiative, and just silence if you didn’t.

“It’s bold, idealistic, aspirational; but it’s also unapologetic, has clear plans of action, and could be transformational in ways we haven’t seen in living memory,” you give your assessment.

“And it’s something you could see yourself being a part of?”

You take a deep breath, but smile genuinely. “I couldn’t sleep the first night after you sent it over. I couldn’t stop reading, hoping, re-reading, imagining possibilities!”

“Good,” Pepper responds. “Perfect.”

“Put me to work wherever you need me!”

“I was hoping you would say that because I have a very specific position I need to get filled, and you’re my first - and only - pick for the job.”

“Pepper, stop holding out!” A nervous and eager laugh escapes you. “Tell me!”

Her response slams into you like a freight train, knocking the air from your lungs.

“Future First Lady.”

You feel your jaw drop in shock, almost hitting the ground as your mind races with disbelief and anger. The room feels like it's spinning as you struggle to process the weight of her words.

"What?" you gasp, your voice barely above a whisper. "Pepper, I... I don't understand. First Lady? But that would mean..."

Pepper holds up a hand, her expression serious. "We're not just running a campaign here. We're trying to redefine what leadership looks like in this country. Steve is an incredible man, and he needs a partner who understands the complexities of modern America, not just a trophy wife, someone who can connect with people from all walks of life."

You shake your head, still reeling. "But I'm not - I mean, Steve and I aren't even - we've never even met!"

"I know," Pepper says softly. "That's part of the plan. We want to show that leadership isn't about who you're married to or what your last name is. It's about vision, compassion, and the ability to bring people together."

Pepper leans back in her chair, her expression at least revealing some concern over your reaction. "I know it's a lot to take in."

"A lot to take in?" you interrupt, your voice rising. "Pepper, it's insane! It’s May, and the election is in November. How could I possibly be the First Lady?"

Pepper holds up a hand, trying to calm you. "I know, I know. Let me explain."

But you're on a roll now, your initial shock giving way to indignation. "Explain what? How you thought it was okay to offer me a position that requires me to be married to a stranger? Use me to score points?”

"I understand your reaction," Pepper says calmly, "but please, hear me out. This isn't about scoring political points or creating some sham marriage. We're trying to redefine what leadership looks like in this country."

You take a deep breath, trying to calm yourself. "Go on," you say, your voice tight, “because you’re still trotting out marriage.”

"We can’t outright ignore traditional expectations and polling numbers. If Steve were running as the nominee for either of the major parties, we could probably win without him being married, but since he’s running as an independent, he needs a wife. That being said, we want to move away from the traditional concept of the First Lady as just the President's wife," Pepper explains. "The vision is a First Partnership. Two people who work together. There’ve been a few First Ladies who have done more with their platform and position, and that’s what we would want for you, too.”

You chew on your lip, not persuaded yet, but a little less angry.

“We have an opportunity to show what a healthy partnership in marriage could look like to new generations. You’re my first and only choice because of your skills, experience, and the vision I know you would bring to the table. But you’re also my first and only choice because I think you two are well-suited for each other.”

You open your mouth to protest, but Pepper raises her hand to stop you.

“You and Steve don’t have to put on a show and be madly in love - that’s not what I want, that’s not what he wants or expects either.”

You frown. “What does he expect?” you ask. And then you perk up even more. “Has he agreed to this? Shouldn’t he at least be here to make the offer himself?”

Pepper sighs. “It was easier for me to convince him to run in the first place than to agree that he needed a wife.”

“But you’re telling me he did agree?”

Pepper nods. “He did.”

You unconsciously rub the empty space on your left ring finger. “Couldn’t we just get engaged and leave the question of a marriage for whether or not he wins?”

A soft laugh falls from Pepper’s mouth. “He actually asked the same thing.”

“And…?” You raise your eyes expectantly.

“The public would rake us over the coals and accuse us of only doing it as a publicity stunt. The campaign would become a gossip column on your relationship status and nothing more.”

“But isn’t it a publicity stunt?”

“We can spin a marriage that seems to appear out of nowhere. Steve’s always been a private person when it comes to his personal life. We will tell people you met through me - which is true. I thought you were well-suited for each other - which I do. When people asked why the wedding just before announcing his bid for the presidency, we tell them you two didn’t want your relationship status to become the big question on everyone’s minds so they can focus on the platforms and policies instead and that every marriage takes work regardless of the length of the courtship.”

You sit in stunned silence for a moment, trying to process everything Pepper has said. The idea of marrying someone you've never met, let alone becoming the First Lady of the United States, seems utterly surreal. And yet, there's a part of you that's intrigued by the challenge, by the opportunity to make a real difference on such a grand scale.

"I need some time to think about this," you finally say, your voice barely above a whisper.

Pepper nods understandingly. "Of course. It's a lot to take in. But I want you to know that I wouldn't have asked you if I didn't think you were perfect for this role. Not just as a political partner, but as someone who could genuinely connect with Steve."

You raise an eyebrow. "You really think we'd be well-suited?"

"I do," Pepper says with confidence and warmth.

You rub your ring finger again, but this time you see Pepper’s eyes drop to watch your unconscious action, and you quickly stop. Her eyes, when you meet them again, are full of sympathy. You both lost husbands, but you don’t want to talk about it, yet again, and you don’t want to bring up a painful subject for her either.

She can read that in your tight-lipped smile.

So instead she says, “I can give you three days to think it over.”

You sigh and rise from your seat to go. “I don’t know if that’s long enough, but if you give me three days or three weeks, I don’t think it will change my decision I’ll land on. Give me the night to sleep on it. I think I’ll know by tomorrow morning.”

[JUNE 4 - Brooklyn, New York]

Three weeks later, your life has been packed up and put in a truck on its way to the new brownstone in Brooklyn that’s been acquired for you and Steve to move into, and you’re sitting at a table in a café a few blocks away, waiting to meet your future husband for the first time over breakfast. Every time the bell rings over the door, you dart your head to see if it’s him, but he’s evidently running late.

As you wait, checking to see if you have any messages on your phone, the bell over the door chimes once more. This time, when you look up, your breath catches in your throat. A tall, athletic man with dark skin and an easy smile has entered the café. You recognize him immediately as Sam Wilson, the new Captain America. Your heart sinks a little as you realize Steve isn't with him.

Sam spots you and makes his way over, his stride confident but casual. As he approaches, you notice the way his eyes scan the room, a habit born from years of military training and superhero work. He's dressed in civilian clothes - a leather jacket over a simple t-shirt and jeans - but there's no mistaking the aura of strength and capability that surrounds him.

"You must be the future Mrs. Rogers," Sam says with a warm smile, extending his hand. "I'm Sam Wilson. Steve asked me to come apologize and explain - and to have breakfast with you, if you’ll have me.”

You nod, forcing a smile, and shake his hand. "Of course. I understand.” You motion toward the chair across the table from you, inviting him to sit. “I know campaign prep must keep him incredibly busy."

Ever since you’d accepted the proposition to marry Steve Rogers and join him on the campaign trail to the White House, your own life had turned upside down, giving you hardly any time to breathe, and you’d been told this was only a mild version of what your own schedule was going to look like once Steve formally announced.

“Former President Bartlet agreed to meet with him, and the schedules ended up aligning this morning for Steve to go up to New Hampshire for a sit down,” Sam explains.

“President Bartlet?” you can’t help the awe in your voice. “I’d skip out on breakfast with me, too.”

“I hope I’m not a disappointment of a substitute,” Sam teases. “Since we’ll be working together as part of the senior staff, I volunteered because I was eager to finally meet you.”

His smile is genuine, and you feel the absolute truth of his sentiment. It melts away some of your disappointment and worry.

In return, your smile becomes a little warmer and easier. “I can’t help being a little disappointed - since I was hoping to finally meet my future husband - but he’s unemployed and you’re technically Captain America, so I guess it’s really an upgrade.”

Sam laughs. “Oh, I’m going to love you, I can tell.”

“Just promise me he’ll actually be at the ceremony tomorrow?” you ask. Your tone is light, but Sam calls your bluff.

His laughter fades, replaced by a reassuring smile. "Don't worry, he'll be there. Wild horses couldn't keep him away. Or androids. Or aliens. Or wizards. Or..." He trails off, realizing he might be overdoing it. "You get the idea."

You nod, appreciating Sam's attempt at humor. "I hope so. It would be pretty awkward to explain to the press why the groom was a no-show at his own wedding."

"Trust me, Steve takes this very seriously," Sam says, his tone becoming more earnest. "He may not know you yet, but he respects you and the commitment you're making. He's not the type to back out or let you down."

You nod, feeling a mix of relief and nervousness. "I suppose I should get used to schedule changes and last-minute adjustments," you say, trying to keep your tone light.

"It's part of the package," Sam agrees. "But so is having a team of people who have your back, no matter what." He leans forward, his eyes meeting yours intently. "I want you to know that includes me. We're not just colleagues in this; we're family."

His words touch you deeply, and you feel a bloom of warmth in your chest, the firs time you’ve felt grounded since you agreed to do this. "Thank you, Sam," you manage to say. "That means a lot."

The waitress approaches, he orders coffee, and you both order breakfast.

As she walks away, you take a sip of the drink you’d ordered while you were waiting before, mulling over Sam's words. "Can I ask you something, Sam? You know Steve better than almost anyone. Do you think...?”

You hesitate, uncertain if you should voice your doubts to Sam. But his open, friendly demeanor encourages you to continue, and you’re going to need to learn to trust this new circle of people you’ll be surrounded with.

"Do you think this is crazy?" you finally ask, your voice barely above a whisper. "Marrying someone I've never even met, maybe becoming First Lady... it all feels so surreal."

Sam leans back in his chair, considering your question carefully. "Crazy? Maybe," he admits with a small smile. "But then again, I've seen a lot of crazy things in my time with the Avengers. This? This actually feels like one of the more normal things I've been part of."

You can't help but chuckle at that, some of the tension easing from your shoulders.

"Look," Sam continues, his tone becoming more serious. "I won't lie to you. It's not going to be easy. The scrutiny, the pressure, the constant demands on your time and energy - it's going to be a lot. But if anyone can handle it, it's Steve. And from what I've heard about you, I think you're up for the challenge, too."

Sam pauses as the waitress returns with your breakfasts and his coffee. Once she's gone, he continues, "Steve doesn't do anything halfway. When he commits to something, he's all in. And he's committed to this - to you, to this campaign, to trying to make a real difference."

You nod, appreciating his honesty. "And what about... us? Steve and me, I mean. Do you think we can make this work? Not just for the campaign, but as a real partnership?"

Sam's eyes soften. "Steve's one of the best men I know. He's loyal, compassionate, and has a moral compass that doesn't quit. But he's also been through a lot, and he can be... guarded. It might take some time for him to open up fully."

You absorb this information, feeling a mix of apprehension and curiosity about your future husband. "I appreciate your honesty, Sam," you say softly. "I guess we'll both be navigating uncharted waters."

Sam nods, taking a sip of his coffee before responding. "True, but you won't be doing it alone. Not only do you have the support of the team, but I think you and Steve might surprise yourselves. You both have a strong sense of purpose, a desire to help others. That's a solid foundation to build on."

You pick at your breakfast, mulling over Sam's words. "I just hope we can find some common ground beyond the campaign," you admit.

Sam leans in, his expression earnest. "Like I said, when Steve commits to something, he gives it his all. That includes relationships. He may be reserved at first, but once he lets you in, you'll have his unwavering loyalty and support."

You nod, feeling a bit more reassured. "I appreciate that. I’m not some hopeless romantic, I’m not looking to be swept off my feet, but I just hope we can find some chemistry, some spark beyond just being political partners."

Sam chuckles. "Oh, I wouldn't worry too much about that. Steve might be from the 1940s, but he's still a red-blooded man. And you," he gestures at you with his fork, "are definitely his type."

You feel your cheeks flush slightly. "His type?"

"Smart, independent, passionate about making a difference," Sam lists off. “

Your work in non-profits, your passion for social justice - that's right up Steve's alley. Plus, you've got that whole 'take no crap' vibe that he needs. I have a sense about these things, and you have it.”

You laugh, feeling some of the tension dissipate. "Well, I'll take your word for it. Though I have to admit, the idea of being Steve Rogers' 'type' is a bit surreal."

Sam grins. "Trust me, once you two actually meet, you'll see what I mean. Just don't let that 'aw shucks' routine fool you. He might look like an all-American boy scout, but there's a lot more going on under the surface."

You raise an eyebrow. "Oh? Do tell."

Sam shakes his head, still smiling. "Nah, I'll let you discover that for yourself. Where's the fun if I spoil all the surprises?"

You roll your eyes good-naturedly. "Fine, keep your secrets. But seriously, Sam, thank you. For breakfast, for the pep talk, for everything. I'm really glad I got to meet you before tomorrow."

"Me too," Sam says, raising his coffee mug in a mock toast. "To new beginnings and unexpected partnerships."

You clink your own mug against his, feeling a surge of warmth and camaraderie. As you finish your breakfast, the conversation flows easily between you and Sam. He regales you with stories of his adventures with Steve, carefully omitting any classified details but painting a vivid picture of the man you're about to marry.

You learn about Steve's dry sense of humor, his unwavering loyalty to his friends, and his surprising skill at sketching. Sam describes missions where Steve's quick thinking saved the day, but also quieter moments - movie nights with the team, intense debates over board games, and Steve's ongoing struggle to catch up on pop culture.

As Sam talks, you find yourself leaning in, captivated by these glimpses of reality, getting to know more about the man behind the myth. And even if the next twenty-four hours will be a whirlwind of you choosing and getting fitted for your wedding dress; interviewing candidates that have been vetted for your personal staff - assistant, pr strategist, stylist, initiative director; and a bachelorette party; you feel like you’ll be able to face it all with the bit of reassurance you’ve gained by spending this time with Sam.

next part: LAS VEGAS & CLEVELAND

↠ Main Masterlist | Aspen's Ask Box | Field Guide to the Forest

I do not do tag lists, but FOLLOW @buckets-and-stories and TURN ON NOTIFICATIONS to be updated any time I publish a new work!

This story will have 3-4 chapters, depending on where I split up the narrative. I anticipate about a chapter a week, usually posted on Fridays.

#omg reblogged thank you #stella #hit my heart #writer commentary #red white & true

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angelremnants · 2 days ago

Text

Between Strength & Style l L. Laufeyson

PART TWO.⠀...AND LIFTING MEETS DESIRE..

summary : Loki’s probationary stint with the Avengers takes a surprising turn when Thor insists on dragging him to the team’s fluorescent-lit gym—a place he deems far beneath his dignity. His disdain shifts the moment you stride in with effortless confidence, transforming the mundane gym into your personal runway, commanding the room and worse, directly challenging his ego. Determined not to be overshadowed, Loki initiated a playful competition, vying to outshine you as the gym’s reigning fashionista. Yet, what began as irritation soon evolved into intrigue—and an electric chemistry taking place between you and forcing him to confront not only your undeniable allure but also his own battle for self-control. The only question left was: how many Fridays would pass before one of you finally caves in?

pairing : Loki Laufeyson x f!reader

warnings : Mature themes (18+—MINORS DO NOT INTERACT), slow burn, eventual romance, eventual smut, sexual tension & innuendos (lots of it), extremely suggestive content, some graphic fantasies, flirting & teasing, emotional conflict, strong language. Proceed with caution if you're sensitive to such material.

word count : 20.2k

author's notes : It always seems that whenever I set out to write a two-shot, a third one always ends up peaking its head. However, I promise that the next and final part will focus on a long, graphic, and unapologetically sinful smut. Truth be told, its scenario is already planned; I just need to put it all together on paper.

In the meantime, here's the continuation of Loki and his darling, who are both complete, sexually frustrated idiots and can’t resist taunting each other as their form of aggressive flirting.

(ao3 version)

⠀

The Friday gym reunions had undeniably spiraled into something far beyond their original purpose. What should have been a straightforward workout session had evolved into a full-blown theater of absurdity—a weekly unscheduled spectacle of clashing egos and sharper-than-steel wits. And at the center of it all stood Loki. Naturally.

The gym was buzzing, its usual hum of machinery and clatter of weights eclipsed by the palpable tension in the air. The room itself, sterile with its fluorescent lights and dull grey walls, was wholly unworthy of the drama that unfolded within it, yet it served as the perfect stage.

And the spectacle? Oh, it wasn’t just between the two of you anymore. No, your little rivalry had become something of a legend around the installation. What had started as harmless banter and subtle challenges had escalated into something so magnetic that it drew an audience every week. From agents to staff, everyone whispered about it. About the mischief-maker and the defiant contender, locking horns like some modern-day myth.

The Avengers themselves had taken notice, watching from the sidelines with varying degrees of amusement. Rumor had it that bets were now circulating—some on who would break first, others on who would escalate the stakes further. Tony Stark, naturally, spearheaded the betting pool, gleefully collecting wagers and throwing in his cheeky commentary.

“So, who do you think’s gonna crack first?” The self-made genius leaned against the wall with a practiced nonchalance, arms crossed over his chest as he surveyed the scene with a smirk. His eyes glinted with merriment, as if he were enjoying a private show. “I’ve got ten bucks on Rock of Ages. The guy’s a walking disaster zone. You know he can’t help himself—whether it’s stirring the pot or keeping it in his pants.”

Sam Wilson, ever the provocateur, grinned as he adjusted the Velcro on his gloves. “Nah, you’re on, Stark. I’m betting on [Y/N]. I mean, seriously, have you seen the way she looks at him? It’s like watching a countdown to an explosion. She’ll snap before Loki even knows what hit him.”

Tony smirked, shifting his weight against the wall. “Nah, Tweety, you’ve got it backward. My money’s still on him. He’s like a walking ego trip—he won’t stop until he’s the center of her universe. And let’s be honest, he’s not exactly subtle about it.”

Bucky snorted, adjusting the weights on his barbell. “You guys seriously underestimate her. She’s got more self-control than all of us combined. If anyone’s gonna break first, it’s Loki. Trust me on this one, Loki’s the one walking the edge.”

Tony raised an eyebrow, a playful glint in his eye. “Oh, really? And what’s your bet, then? That she’s gonna keep her cool while he spirals into one of his melodramatic fits?”

Bucky shrugged, a small smile tugging at the corner of his mouth. “Something like that. She’s too level-headed to let him get under her skin—at least not in the way he’s hoping. Loki’s gonna be the one who can’t handle it when the tables turn.”

Sam laughed, shaking his head. “Oh, come on, man. Have you seen the way she looks at him when he’s pulling one of his stunts? It’s like she’s deciding whether to throttle him or kiss him. My money says throttle.”

The billionaire wasn’t having it. “Come on, Barnes. You’ve seen her. Whenever he pulls that whole ‘smooth criminal’ act, you can practically see the gears turning in her head as she fights not to roll her eyes. It’s like watching someone wrestle a hurricane.”

Sam chuckled, crossing his arms as he leaned back against a nearby column. “I’m sticking to my call—she’s gonna fold first. She’s already hanging by a thread. Loki thrives on the chaos, and let’s face it—she’s the perfect fuel for his fire. I mean, come on, she’s probably the only one getting off on telling him to shut up.”

Bucky rolled his eyes, grabbing the barbell and settling onto the bench. “You guys are ridiculous. This isn’t some rom-com. She’s not gonna fall for his games, and he’s not gonna win whatever twisted competition he thinks they’re having.”

Sam grinned, nudging Tony with his elbow. “We’ll see, man. We’ll see.”

The gym door swung open suddenly, and the chatter died instantly as the god of mischief sauntered in with his signature swagger. It was as if the very air shifted to accommodate him, growing heavier with an almost theatrical tension. He didn’t just walk into the room; he commanded it, his dark leather boots clicking softly against the polished floor with the precision of an orchestra’s opening note.

“Gentlemen,” he drawled, his voice a rich, velvety purr that seemed to coat every syllable with smug satisfaction. He leaned against the doorframe, one ankle crossed casually over the other, and surveyed the room like a monarch appraising his court. “I couldn’t help but overhear your little conversation. How terribly entertaining it is to know you spend so much time obsessing over me. Tell me—what would you all do without my dazzling presence?”

Tony, unimpressed, barely looked up from where he was fiddling with his smartwatch. “Probably get some peace and quiet for once,” he quipped, his tone dry but playful. “But hey, where’s the fun in that?”

Loki’s grin widened, shark-like and infuriatingly self-assured. “Ah, but peace is so dreadfully dull, isn’t it?” he countered smoothly, pushing off the doorframe and strolling further into the room. His presence seemed to expand as he moved, drawing the attention of everyone present without effort.

“No excitement, no discord, no… amusement,” he added, letting his eyes flicker over each of them before landing on Sam, his grin turning predatory. “And as for your little gossip regarding my dear [Y/N]… rest assured, she’s already under my spell. It’s only a matter of time before she succumbs to her undeniable attraction to me.”

Bucky scoffed at the declaration. “Man, you’re cocky. You really think she’s just gonna roll over and swoon?”

Loki’s grin turned wicked. “Oh, I don’t think—I know. The lady simply needs time to come to terms with the inevitable. Resistance, after all, is futile.”

Sam let out a bark of laughter, clearly enjoying the absurdity of the situation. “You’ve got a lot of confidence for someone who still thinks capes are sexy.”

Loki arched a single, perfectly shaped eyebrow, the picture of aloof elegance. “Capes are timeless,” he replied, a gleam of mischief in his eye. “And as for confidence… I simply speak the truth. She will come to see it soon enough.”

Bucky muttered under his breath as he pushed the barbell up. “You’re delusional.”

Loki’s sharp gaze flicked toward him, but his smirk remained firmly in place. “Indeed, Barnes, I stand here—utterly delusional, and yet, undeniably irresistible.”

Sam slapped his thigh, grinning wide. “This is gonna be good. Can't wait to rub that win in your faces.”

Before the conversation could escalate further, the heavy creak of the door sounded again. All heads turned as Steve Rogers entered, his upright posture and steely gaze cutting through the buzzing tension like a knife. His broad shoulders seemed to fill the doorway, and the room shifted, the previously lighthearted atmosphere thickening with a hint of unease. Steve’s sharp blue eyes swept across the group, taking in the smirks, folded arms, and barely stifled grins, his expression a mix of exasperation and disbelief.

“What is this?” Steve demanded, his deep voice laced with disapproval. “You’re betting on who’s going to crack first? Really? What are you, a bunch of high schoolers?”

Tony, as usual, remained completely unfazed, leaning back in his chair with a smirk that bordered on outright defiance. “Come on, Cap. It’s harmless. We’re just having a little fun. You know, team bonding and all that jazz.” He gestured vaguely to the others, clearly trying to pass off the situation as innocent.

Steve’s eyes narrowed as they landed on Loki, who had strategically moved to the edge of the room, leaning against the wall in a pose that screamed insufferable smugness. The faintest trace of a smirk curled on Loki’s lips, his entire demeanor practically daring Steve to confront him. “Laufeyson,” Steve said, his voice low and heavy with warning. “I can’t say I expected better from you, but you’re supposed to be focusing on your probation. Not... whatever this is.”

Loki didn’t miss a beat, straightening slightly as he pushed off the wall with an almost feline grace. “Ah, Rogers, always the paragon of virtue,” he said smoothly, his voice as sweet as poisoned honey. “But I assure you, this is all in good fun. After all, what is life without a little… competition?” His sharp green eyes sparkled mischievously, and for a moment, it looked as though he might outright laugh at the absurdity of the situation.

Steve let out a frustrated sigh, running a hand over his face. His sense of righteousness was clearly battling with his growing exasperation—and the faintest hint of amusement he seemed determined to suppress. “It’s not about participating in this childish behavior,” he said firmly, though the weariness in his tone betrayed him. “I’m trying to make a point.”

Before he could say more, Tony pushed a crisp five-dollar bill toward him with a wide, knowing grin. “Come on, Star-Spangled Man,” he coaxed, his tone both teasing and strangely persuasive. “You can’t resist. You’re curious now, aren’t you? Just throw a little something down. I guarantee you won’t regret it.”

Steve hesitated, his sharp gaze darting between the group and the smirking god of mischief still lounging nearby. His lips pressed into a thin line before he exhaled heavily, reaching into his pocket. A crumpled ten-dollar bill emerged, and with what could only be described as reluctant resignation, he tossed it onto the table. “This is nonsense,” he muttered under his breath, his tone tinged with reluctant mirth. “I’m doing these sessions for the team. Not for this nonsense.” His piercing gaze landed on Loki, the unspoken warning in his expression clear.

Loki’s smirk widened, his entire demeanor dripping with unbothered confidence. He stepped closer, his long coat swishing slightly as he leaned toward Steve. “Oh, how very noble of you, Rogers,” he mocked lightly, his voice laced with exaggerated politeness. “You’re not participating for the thrill of it, of course. No, no—you’re simply maintaining the moral high ground. How very... heroic. Rest assured, your wagers are well-placed when they rest upon my incomparable charm.” His smirk deepened, practically daring Steve to react.

Steve’s incredulous expression spoke volumes. “Charm?” he repeated, his voice laden with skepticism. “You’re not charming anyone, buddy. This is ridiculous.”

Sam, leaning back in his seat with an arm casually draped over the chair, grinned widely. “Oh, I don’t know, Cap. The guy lives for drama, and let’s face it—we do too.”

The room suddenly seemed to shift again as heavy, purposeful footsteps echoed from the hallway. The doorway darkened as Thor entered, his large frame and imposing presence commanding attention. His storm-blue eyes scanned the room, landing squarely on his brother with a mixture of irritation and faint amusement. “Loki,” Thor boomed, his deep voice reverberating through the room. “What is this nonsense? Are you planning to court Lady [Y/N], or are you simply making a fool of yourself again?”

The room went silent, the air thick with anticipation. All eyes turned to Loki, whose smirk faltered for the briefest of moments before he recovered, his expression once again unreadable. Straightening his posture, he turned to Thor with an air of mock innocence. “Ah, brother,” he began, his voice as smooth as silk, “you misunderstand me entirely. I’m not courting her—I’m merely ensuring she is... aware of my presence.”

Sam burst out laughing, earning a sharp glance from Loki. “Oh yeah? That’s what you’re calling it?” Sam teased, his grin practically splitting his face. “You might wanna rethink your ‘not-courting’ strategy, dude.”

Bucky, who had been quietly observing the exchange, leaned back in his seat with a smirk of his own. “If I were the damsel,” he remarked dryly, “I’d be looking for someone with a little less flair for the dramatic.”

Thor crossed his arms, his biceps bulging slightly as he stared down at his younger brother. “If this is your idea of a competition,” he said with a sigh, his tone laced with both disapproval and faint beguilement, “you’re more of a fool than I thought.”

Loki raised an eyebrow, his smirk turning sharp. “Oh, it’s not a competition, dear brother,” he replied smoothly, his tone bordering on smug. “Merely a game. A harmless game. But rest assured, as always—I intend to win.” His piercing green gaze locked with Thor’s, the unspoken challenge hanging heavy in the air.

His piercing green eyes locked with Thor’s stormy blue gaze, the intensity of his stare unyielding. It wasn’t just a challenge; it was a declaration. The air between them seemed to spark, charged with the weight of unspoken words communicated by the likes of subconscious telepathy. Loki stood poised, his lithe frame radiating confidence, as though he were a predator savoring the anticipation of the hunt.

Thor, towering and broad-shouldered, tilted his head slightly, his eyebrow lifting in skeptical defiance. “A game?” he repeated, his deep voice tinged with incredulity as it rose slightly, the rich timbre of it filling the room. “And what, pray tell, are you battling for this time?”

Loki’s smirk deepened, the corners of his mouth curling upward into a grin that could only be described as devilish. His gaze flickered, a glint of mischief lighting his eyes, but he offered no further explanation. “Pride, Thor,” he said finally, his tone light yet deliberate, the words laden with layers of meaning. “Simple pride.”

As if on cue, the door swung open with a soft, deliberate creak, and you stepped inside alongside Natasha and Wanda, the three of you commanding the room with an understated, magnetic presence. The atmosphere in the gym, already thick with tension and rivalry, shifted immediately, as though the air itself bent to accommodate your arrival. The rhythmic thud of weights hitting the ground and low murmurs of conversation faltered, replaced by a heavy silence that seemed to hold the collective gaze of every man in the room.

Each of you exuded an air of effortless elegance and undeniable strength, your outfits blending athleticism and allure in a way that was impossible to ignore. You, dressed in a sleek cropped top that revealed just enough of your toned midriff to hint at the dedication beneath it, paired it with high-cut athletic shorts that elongated your legs. The addition of thigh-high compression socks accentuated your form, lending both practicality and a touch of bold style. Your hair was swept into a perfectly imperfect messy bun, with a few stray strands framing your face like an artist's final, deliberate strokes on a masterpiece. The faint sheen of your skin from the heat outside caught the light just right, and the subtle tint of lip balm made your lips seem more vivid, though still natural—an unintentional yet undeniable invitation to stare.

Natasha and Wanda complemented your presence perfectly. Natasha, in her sleek black leggings and a fitted low-cut tank top, moved with feline grace, her crimson hair pulled into a high ponytail that swayed slightly with each step. Wanda’s outfit, a rich maroon set that clung to her like a second skin, paired with a lightweight jacket tied casually around her waist, hinted at her unique balance of grounded power and mysticism. The three of you looked like a coordinated, unstoppable force, every movement synchronized in unintentional harmony.

The men in the room couldn’t help but take notice. Tony’s eyebrows shot up in mild surprise, his usual wit temporarily stolen. Steve, ever the gentleman, tried to avert his gaze but couldn’t help a second glance. Sam and Bucky exchanged a quick look that was equal parts appreciation and amusement, while Thor simply let out a low, approving hum, his broad grin spreading as his eyes lingered for just a second too long.

But Loki—Loki’s reaction was immediate, as though his attention was magnetically drawn to you the moment you came in. His sharp green eyes flickered over you, briefly narrowing with a subtle appraisal that didn’t escape your notice. His smirk faltered for the briefest moment before returning with even more fervor, like a predator calculating its next move.

The tight-fitting athletic wear revealed just enough to catch his interest, and he looked at you with an intensity that felt as if it could set the entire room ablaze. It wasn’t the kind of gaze that lingered on your face or the space between you, but on the curve of your hips and the long, toned length of your legs. He traced the lines of your body with a hunger in his eyes, though momentarily distracted by your planned indifference.

When he met your gaze, the mischievous glint in his expression only deepened. It was clear he hadn’t missed your deliberate lack of acknowledgment, but that didn’t deter him. No, instead, it seemed to fuel the game he was already playing, and he grinned, as though the challenge had only just begun.

“What's up, guys?" you asked lightly, your tone casual, almost dismissive, as you moved past the group. The words hung in the air like a carefully thrown dart, drawing their attention further without giving too much away. You radiated a confident ease, as though utterly unaware—or uncaring—of the disruption your presence had caused.

Loki, of course, wasn’t so easily dismissed. He subtly shifted in your direction, his posture as relaxed as ever, but there was a deliberate intent in the way he angled himself slightly toward you. His smirk was slow and deliberate, his lips curving upward like the promise of a secret only he knew. When you didn’t immediately look his way, he leaned forward just enough for his presence to nudge into your space, his emerald eyes gleaming with mischief.

Natasha raised a perfectly arched eyebrow at him, her expression a mix of exasperation and amusement, while Wanda shot him a cool, disinterested glance before heading toward the chosen workout area. They didn’t need words; the look they exchanged was enough to say it all.

You stayed focused, making your way to join them with an effortless stride, your movements as fluid as they were intentional. The men couldn’t help themselves, their gazes trailing after you like moths to a flame, though each tried, with varying degrees of success, to pretend they weren’t watching. Tony cleared his throat, shifting his weight awkwardly as if trying to appear nonchalant. Steve adjusted his stance, looking determined to redirect his attention to anything else but failing miserably. Sam gave a low whistle under his breath, earning an elbow from Bucky, who chuckled and muttered something about "respecting professionalism." Thor crossed his arms, his grin unabashed and entirely unapologetic as he observed the dynamic shift in the room.

“Did you feel that?” Natasha murmured quietly to you, a sly smile tugging at her lips as she gestured toward the group with a subtle tilt of her head. “The collective brain cell they’re trying to share just short-circuited.”

You smirked but kept your eyes forward, not giving Loki or the others the satisfaction of knowing you noticed. “Barely,” you replied, your voice low enough for only Natasha and Wanda to hear.

Loki’s grin widened at your apparent indifference, but beneath the mask of arrogance, there was the usual flicker of frustration at the lack of attention from your end. At this point, he thrived on it, and your refusal to grant it to him, even for a moment, was an offense he didn’t want to tolerate anymore.

Wanda gave you a knowing look, her smirk growing as she took note of the subtle shift in his posture. “Here we go,” she murmured with a quiet laugh, her voice carrying the hint of something much more entertaining to come. Natasha, not missing a beat, threw the dark prince another pointed glance, her amusement evident in the way she silently challenged him.

Still, you gave no reaction, letting him stew in his theatrics for just a little longer. You had a special workout to get to, after all.

You took a deep breath before turning back to face the group of men, fully aware of the apprehension in the room and how everyone’s attention was on you. The air was thick with anticipation, and you played it up, pretending the Asgardian didn’t exist for the moment.

"Alright, so," you began, your voice light but with an edge of authority. "The girls and I decided to work on agility today. We’re going to try something different for this session." You allowed a small, deliberate pause, letting the words sink in as you watched their faces shift from confusion to curiosity.

They were all listening intently, waiting for more. "You know," you continued, flashing a casual smile, "Yoga. Thought we’d give it a go today." The words came out with just enough playful confidence to keep them guessing.

Tony, still lurking behind a set of dumbbells, couldn't hide the curiosity that piqued his interest. "Yoga?" he said, his voice dripping with skepticism. "You sure you’re not just trying to get out of lifting some actual weight for once, Glamazon?"

You grinned back, unfazed. "No, actually, I’m curious to see how my core holds up," you said, your voice playful yet sharp with determination, a reminder of the underlying strength you carried in everything you did. "But don’t worry about us," you added with a carefree shrug. "You’ll get your gym session, and we’ll get ours."

Sam, ever the instigator, leaned forward with that cocky grin of his. "I didn’t think you were into that," he said with a raised eyebrow, clearly enjoying the energy shift. "You always seem like you’d rather be running circles around us."

You shrugged nonchalantly, a glimmer of an unknown sentiment flickering in your eyes. "Variety's good, right?" You glanced at Natasha and Wanda, both of whom were already giving off an air of superiority. "It’s about challenging the body in different ways, not just about strength."

Wanda, who had been eyeing the group of men with a gleam in her eye, finally spoke up. "Plus, it’s a great way to get some real flexibility, not just the physical kind." Her voice was light, but you knew the deeper meaning in her words, especially with the way she shot a conspiratory glance at Sam.

You couldn’t help but throw her a grin. "Exactly. Yoga isn’t just about strength. It’s about balance, coordination, and mental focus." You paused, eyes narrowing with intent. "Thought I’d try to perfect my inner zen."

Thor, who had been watching you intently, folded his arms over his chest, his expression a mixture of confusion and curiosity. "What is this... some kind of sorcery?" he asked, clearly puzzled by the shift in atmosphere.

You laughed softly, casting a quick glance toward the men before letting your gaze land on Loki. His eyes were still on you, though his earlier smirk had dimmed. You tilted your head slightly, feigning innocence. "It’s just a workout routine, Loki. Nothing to be concerned about." You let your words hang in the air, a subtle challenge of your own.

Loki leaned in, his voice laced with mock seriousness, but his tone hinted at something deeper, something more intrigued than he'd care to admit. "Oh, I’m not concerned. Not at all," he said smoothly, though the faintest glimmer of doubt danced in his eyes. "But do be careful, pet. We wouldn't want you to overextend yourself... You might strain more than just your flexibility."

You could feel his words crawling under your skin, but you refused to give him the satisfaction of reacting. Instead, you kept your posture relaxed, almost too casual. "We’ll be fine," you answered politely but with a hint of finality. "It’s just a change of pace." You smiled sweetly at him, then turned away, making a conscious effort to ignore his attempt to rile you up.

As you and the girls began setting up the yoga mats, the entertained demeanor of Tony caught your eye, his grin widening into something that could only be described as smug. "If you need help stretching... I’m more than qualified," he winked. "I think you’re gonna need it."

You shot back a playful glance. "You think so?" you retorted teasingly. "If you want to join us, there’s plenty of space."

Bucky, who had been watching your every move, let out a quiet chuckle. "You’re gonna make us look bad if we do, aren’t you?" he said, a knowing look passing between you both.

You flashed him a mischievous grin. "Wouldn’t dream of it," you replied with a wink before returning your focus to the task at hand. You were used to their attention by now, and you certainly weren’t about to give them the satisfaction of getting flustered.

You took your place and knelt down to adjust your mat, and you could definitely feel the unmistakable heat of Loki’s glare on your body. But you were determined to remain unaffected. You glanced at Natasha and Wanda, giving them a playful, almost wicked grin. This was about to get fun.

"So," you began, turning casually back to the group of men, your voice smooth but laced with underlying devilry, "the thing about yoga is that it really works your flexibility. And you’ve got to have good control over your body, or things can get a little too loose." You allowed a slight pause, watching the flicker of understanding and interest cross their faces.

You could see Loki’s eyebrow quirked up slightly, the tiniest twitch at the corner of his lips betraying his struggle to maintain composure. "Of course," you continued innocently, "flexibility is key, especially when you’re trying to get into some of those deep stretches."

You made a show of adjusting your position on the mat, arching your back just enough to catch their attention, a calculated move that made Sam’s eyes widen just a little, a grin tugging at his lips.

"You're really showing off with this, huh?" Sam teased, a smirk tugging at his lips as he casually leaned against the wall. His gaze briefly flickered to you on the mat before he added, "All that flexibility and focus… if it were me, I’d probably pull something just from the distraction."

You threw him a discreet wink before turning your attention back to your girls, who were already preparing for the first pose. "Get your mind out of the gutter, Bird Boy," you teased. "Honestly, it's just a matter of knowing your limits and knowing how far you can bend... without breaking," you added with a sly, deliberate emphasis.

Steve spoke up, his voice cutting through the tension with an almost casual air. "Alright, alright, calm down there, you two," he said with a bemused chuckle, clearly enjoying the interplay but not wanting things to escalate too much. "Let’s not get too carried away. It’s yoga, not... whatever this is turning into." His gaze flicked between you and Loki, though there was an unspoken understanding behind his words, he was well aware of the subtle play unfolding.

You didn’t break your stride. "Aye aye Captain," you voiced airily, glancing at him over your shoulder. "I’m just giving the guys here a taste of what it takes to stay flexible in more ways than one." You shot a playful grin in his direction, making sure to keep the mood light.

Loki’s eyes flicked from you to Steve, his expression momentarily darkening, as if something behind his sharp gaze shifted. He gave a slow, deliberate tilt of his head, his voice smooth yet carrying an undertone of challenge. "Rogers," Loki began, his tone laced with mock curiosity, "if you truly believe this is all just... stretching and bending, I’m afraid you’ve missed the point entirely." His eyes returned to you, a quiet tension building between his words.

You suppressed a laugh, knowing exactly what he was alluding to, but you kept your focus. You turned toward the men, who were now all clearly intrigued, some with more open curiosity than others.

Tony, still clearly entertained by the dynamic between you, leaned back in his seat. “And what exactly are we supposed to take from all this... stretching and flexing?" His words carried a hint of inviting defiance, as though daring you to continue this little game.

Bucky, still hovering near his weights, gave a soft chuckle, his eyes flicking between you and the green god. "I’m just here for the show," he added, his usual deadpan expression betraying the amusement he clearly found in the whole thing.

You smiled, pleased by the attention, but kept your composure. "Don’t worry, guys," you said with a wink. "You’ll get your workout. But maybe you’ll learn something about balance, focus... subordination. We all could use a little more of that, don't you think?"

"Subordination," Steve echoed, shaking his head. "We’re talking yoga here, right? Or did I miss something?"

"You didn’t miss anything, Captain," Loki’s voice chimed in smoothly, though his eyes never left you. "But you might want to be careful—some people don’t handle that kind of 'subordination' as well as others." His smirk was back, albeit with a more pointed edge now, his voice low with an almost voracious quality as if he was intently mulling over his next move.

"Well, it’s about more than just physical control," you replied, your tone just as smooth as his. "It’s about mental clarity. Knowing your limits... and knowing when to push past them." You threw a subtle glance in his direction, not missing the way his gaze flickered, and guessing that his mind was already working over your words, perhaps taking them in ways you hadn’t fully intended.

"And knowing how to play your cards, I suppose?" Loki's voice was a touch more serious now, his eyes narrowing slightly, a flicker of something deeper in his gaze.

You couldn’t help but throw his own words back at him again, leaning into the challenge. "Exactly," you said with a sweet grin. "You’ve got it."

You stretched your legs out in front of you, positioning your body in a slow and deliberate stretch, purposefully showing off the control you had over every movement. "You have to go slow with these," you said in a sweet, yet teasing voice. "Otherwise, you might end up straining something... and we wouldn’t want that, would we?" You took a peek at Loki, knowing full well that your words were likely to provoke him.

His lips twitched, but he didn’t respond right away. Thor, clearly catching on to the subtle game you were playing, nudged his brother. "You know, brother, if you’d just give it a try, you might find yoga quite revealing," he suggested with an amused grin, his eyes flipping between the two of you.

Loki sighed, though it seemed more out of the need to regain his composure than out of actual frustration. "Oh, I’m quite content watching, thank you," he said smoothly, though you could tell he was still too engaged in the situation to fully hide his interest.

You saw the opening and took it. "Well," you articulated, your tone dripping with mock sweetness, "the sidelines are reserved for those who prefer to watch, after all. But if you ever want to get in on the action, you know where to find me."

There was a brief, stunned silence in the room as everyone processed your words. You took the opportunity to focus back on your session, bending into another deep stretch, deliberately pushing your body further to make sure the attention stayed on you.

The words hung in the air for a brief moment, and Loki’s sharp green eyes flicked toward you, a flicker of realization crossing his face. His smirk faltered, just for a split second, before returning with an edge of something darker. "Oh," he uttered, his voice low, "you’ve got a good memory, don’t you?"

You knew exactly what you were doing. And you loved every second of it.

Natasha shot you a look, her eyes glinting with amusement, a sly smirk tugging at her lips as she caught the subtext of your words and movements. "You’re having a little too much fun with this," she called you out. Clearly, she was enjoying the bubbling disarray you were effortlessly stirring up.

You shrugged nonchalantly, trying to appear unaffected by the stir you were causing. "Hey," you countered, your tone playful, "if they’re going to stand around and gawk, I might as well entertain them." Your eyes flickered briefly to the dark prince, where his subtle shift in focus didn’t escape your notice as you turned back to the red-headed assassin.

Sam, always ready to poke fun, leaned forward, his elbows digging into his knees as he flashed you an exaggerated grin. "You’re definitely keeping it interesting, that’s for sure," he quipped, clearly caught between amusement and an underlying curiosity.

With a light chuckle, you peered at him provocatively. "I’m just here to make sure everyone’s stretched in the right way," you quipped back, a hint of challenge in your voice as you met his eyes.

Steve, sensing the playful banter was starting to spin out of control, clapped his hands together, his presence bringing a subtle shift in the room. The tension that had been hanging in the air from the teasing remained, but now it was time to bring things back to business. “Alright, fellas,” he said, his voice cutting through the chaos, authoritative and sharp as always. “Back to the weights. Time to get serious.”

The guys groaned in unison, a collective reluctance that seemed to ripple through the group, but despite the grumbling, they picked up their dumbbells and returned to their stations. The sounds of weights clinking and the low murmurs of the guys refocusing filled the room, but one person remained distinctly out of sync with the rest.

From his spot by the bench, Loki’s composure was slipping more visibly with each passing second. His long fingers tightened and relaxed around the barbell, his muscles flexing involuntarily as if trying to regain control of his body. But his gaze kept flickering back to where you and the other women had gathered, setting up for the next set of stretches. He tried his best to feign indifference—leaning casually against the bench, appearing utterly unbothered—but it was clear to anyone paying attention that it was a losing battle.

When you bent forward into a slow, deliberate stretch, sliding effortlessly into a forward fold, Loki's breath hitched almost imperceptibly. The graceful curve of your back, the way your body seemed to flow with ease into the pose, was almost hypnotic. He could feel his pulse quicken, and despite his best efforts to maintain poise, his mind spiraled into dangerous thoughts.

He imagined his hands trailing down your spine, the heat of your skin under his fingertips, the way you'd arch into his touch. He’d trace the elegant curve of your spine downwards, his hand dipping beneath the waistband of your shorts to explore the supple globes of your ass, gripping and kneading the firm flesh. He would hook his fingers in the waistband and slowly tug them and your underwear down, revealing your most intimate places to his hungry gaze, inch by tortuous inch.

Then, he’d slip his hand inside your soaking panties, and groan at the slick evidence of your arousal coating his fingers. Notch two fingers at your entrance, pumping them in a shallow thrust, crooking them to find that special spot inside, and piston it repeatedly simply to watch as you lose your mind and your whole body quivers again and again.

The sheer audacity of the images playing out in his head made his jaw tighten, a flush creeping up his neck as his fortitude continued to unravel.

He tried to drag his gaze away, his grip tightening on the barbell as though the weight could somehow ground him in reality. But even as he focused on the solid steel in his hands, it felt almost insubstantial compared to the magnetic pull of your presence. He swallowed thickly, a futile attempt to regain control, but it didn’t work.

When his gaze flicked back—just for a split second, just to check on your progress—you were transitioning into a lunge, every line of your body accentuated by the stretch. The faint sheen of sweat caught the light, making your skin glow as though you were carved from something impossibly radiant. It wasn’t just the stretch that rendered him mad; it was you. You knew exactly how to push his buttons, how to pull him into your orbit without a single word, like some irresistible gravitational force he had no hope of escaping.

When had it escalated to this? What was supposed to be a simple, harmless game of one-upmanship—his initial goal to snatch that little fame of yours around the gym, to make you scowl, cower, and surrender—had somehow veered wildly off course. Now, instead of basking in smug satisfaction at seeing you flustered, he found himself consumed by something far more primal, far more dangerous. He no longer simply wanted to knock you off your pedestal; he wanted to know everything about you. The sharpness of your mind, the quick wit that matched his quip for quip, the fire in your gaze that never backed down. He lusted after you, mind and body, with a hunger that rattled him to his core.

The predator had become the prey in a sense, tangled in a chase he’d started but could no longer direct. And judging by the way your smile curved just a little more, you knew it too.

A low growl rumbled deep in Loki’s chest, barely audible over the clanging weights and murmured conversations. He gripped the barbell tighter, the metal biting into his palms, but it wasn’t enough to stem the tide of thoughts flooding his mind. His imagination ran wild—thoughts of you pressed against him, your flexibility taking on a much more intimate meaning, your laughter ringing in his ear as you teased him mercilessly. It was awash in a flood of filthy fantasies, with you pressed against him and those long legs wrapped around his hips, pulling him deeper. The heat of you, the slickness, your breathy pleas, taunting him to take you harder, faster.

He gripped the barbell so hard the metal cut into his palms, desperately trying to ground himself and regain his rapidly eroding self-control. But it was no use, he was too lost in the haze of lust. He wanted to map every inch of your body with his hands and mouth, mark you as his, and let everyone here know you belonged to him. He wanted to bend you over the nearest surface and take you until you were a mewling, quivering wreck. He desperately fought the urge to storm over there and throw you down at his mercy, consequences be damned. It took every ounce of his willpower to simply turn away, adjusting himself discreetly as he tried to will his throbbing erection away. His composure was disintegrating, the flush on his cheeks deepening as he shifted uncomfortably on the bench, trying to regain his focus.

If he wasn’t careful enough, you were going to be the death of him.

Across the room, you, Natasha, and Wanda exchanged a series of knowing glances, clearly reveling in the chaos you had orchestrated. Loki’s predicament wasn’t subtle, and it was hard to miss the way his sharp eyes darted toward you whenever he thought no one was watching.

"You think he’s going to be able to concentrate now?" you murmured to them, raising your arms in an effortless stretch that made your shirt ride up just enough to catch Loki’s attention once again. Your tone was low, almost conspiratorial, but you knew he could hear if he tried hard enough.

Natasha rolled her shoulders, dropping into a plank with casual ease. “Not a chance. He’s too proud to admit it, but I’d bet good money he’s losing his mind over there.”

Wanda, sitting cross-legged on the mat, tilted her head, her insidious grin widening. "Look at him. He’s not even pretending anymore. Poor guy’s completely spiraling. But honestly, can you blame him? You’re practically putting on a show."

You shrugged nonchalantly, your face the picture of innocence, though the playful gleam in your eyes betrayed your enjoyment of the situation. “Hey, it’s not my fault if he gets distracted. I’m just minding my own business.”

The black widow snorted, shaking her head as she transitioned into another move. “You’re enjoying this way too much.”

“Oh, absolutely,” you admitted with a grin, fully aware of the effect you were having on Loki. “After that little stunt he pulled last week? He deserves this.”

On the far side of the gym, said god’s serenity was unraveling with every passing second. His grip on the barbell had tightened to the point where his knuckles had turned bone-white, the strain of his internal battle evident in the shallow, uneven breaths escaping him. The telltale tremor in his hands betrayed how close he was to losing his carefully maintained facade of indifference. When the weight slipped slightly, the metallic clang that followed shattered the gym’s ambient noise, drawing the attention of everyone present. The room seemed to pause, a dozen sets of eyes turning toward the god of mischief.

Thor, stationed just a few paces away, leaned lazily against the wall, his massive frame radiating ease and confidence. His arms crossed over his broad chest, and a knowing grin tugged at his lips, threatening to break into outright laughter. The scene before him was, in his eyes, nothing short of perfection. Loki—his ever-composed, perpetually aloof brother—was undone, and Thor was reveling in it.

The god of thunder had been fully on board with your plan when you’d approached him earlier, offering the chance to "tease Loki into humility." With a booming laugh, he’d agreed without hesitation, ready to knock his prideful brother down a peg. After all, he had earned it with his antics the week prior.

As the barbell clattered to the floor, his grin widened, the gleam in his blue eyes betraying just how much he was enjoying the spectacle. He caught your eye from across the room, his expression practically shouting, "This is even better than I imagined." The sharp clang of the weight hitting the floor had drawn murmurs and stifled chuckles, and Thor, always the instigator, seized the moment.

“Loki,” Thor called, his voice a booming mix of authority and mirth that cut clean through the chatter. “What’s this? Barely lifting a thing, are we? Losing your strength—or are you too busy... gawking?”

Loki’s head snapped up, his eyes blazing as his scowl deepened. “I am not gawking,” he hissed, his tone venomous and defensive. But his flushed cheeks and the way his eyes flashed guiltily toward you told a very different story.

Thor let out a hearty chuckle, unfolding his arms to gesture toward you and the others stretching nearby. “Oh, really? Because from where I’m standing, it looks like you’re far more interested in their yoga session than the weights in front of you.”

A ripple of laughter spread through the room, Bucky and Sam exchanging grins before jumping in to add to Loki’s torment. Sam, ever the opportunist, leaned back on his bench with a wide grin. “Man, it’s fine. Yoga’s... distracting. No shame in it.”

“Yeah,” Bucky added, his tone dripping with mock seriousness as he set his dumbbells down, “but maybe at least pretend you’re working out. The weights won’t lift themselves, Loki.”

The teasing drew another chorus of chuckles from the room, but Loki was far from amused. His jaw tightened, and a faint, dangerous green glow began to flicker at his fingertips, signaling the return of his seiðr. He fixed Thor with a glare so sharp it could have sliced through steel. “You,” Loki growled, his voice low and menacing, “should start praying. You’ll need the gods’ mercy if you even dream of reaching Valhalla once I’m thorough with you.”

Thor only laughed louder, his broad shoulders shaking with amusement. “Oh, come now, brother. You’re just proving you’re as mortal as the rest of us. But next time, maybe focus on lifting the weights instead of letting your eyes wander.”

Loki’s searing gaze flickered toward you once more, but this time, it lingered longer than he intended. You had slid effortlessly into another pose, a deep stretch that accentuated every elegant line of your body. A knowing smirk played on your lips as your eyes met his, an unspoken provocation communicated through your behavior. It was maddening, and Loki knew you were doing it on purpose.

The sharp sting of Thor’s taunts, paired with your relentless teasing, finally pushed him over the edge. He stood abruptly, the barbell crashing to the floor with a deafening clang. Muttering something dark under his breath, he turned away, his steps brisk and his posture tense. Yet, despite his best efforts to leave the scene with whatever dignity he had left, his gaze betrayed him once again. He glanced over his shoulder, unable to resist one final look at the source of his torment—you, his greatest distraction.

The crackling energy in the room was practically tangible, and Natasha was at the center of it, her sharp eyes sparkling with unspoken delight as she shifted effortlessly into another stretch. Her movements were carefully concocted, the embodiment of feline grace as she dropped into a side plank, the smirk on her lips a clear indication that she was thoroughly enjoying the unraveling chaos on the other side of the gym.

Wanda, seated lazily with her weight balanced on her palms, seemed to radiate amusement, her wide grin lighting up her face as she flicked her gaze toward the god of mischief. His composure—or lack thereof—was the primary source of her entertainment, and she did not attempt to hide it. Loki looked as if the tension building inside him was about to boil over, his jaw tight and his emerald eyes practically glowing with restrained power.

She stifled a laugh, her chest trembling with suppressed mirth. “Careful,” she murmured, tilting her chin in his direction. “I think he’s about to snap.”

The corners of your mouth curled into a sly grin as you caught her meaning, a spark of playful defiance glimmering in your eyes. If Loki was close to breaking, you weren’t about to let up. Sliding fluidly into a forward fold, you allowed your movements to slow, savoring the stretch as your hands grazed the mat. Your voice, carrying just enough volume to taunt him, was laced with a playful edge. “Do you think he’s ready to admit defeat yet?” you asked, your tone light but tinged with recognizable deviousness.

Natasha puffed softly, her voice dripping with amusement as she adjusted into a flawless plank. “Oh, he’s definitely rethinking a few life choices right now.”

Still, you didn’t falter. You shifted deeper into the stretch, your body moving with a controlled elegance that only added fuel to the fire. The sway of your hips was deliberate, lingering just long enough to ensure that if Loki wasn’t paying attention before, he certainly was now. “What?” you feigned mock innocence that didn’t fool anyone, your grin growing wider. “I’m just stretching. Nothing wrong with being flexible, is there?”

You didn’t miss the glances being exchanged between your companions, nor the faint glimmer of alert flashing brightly as she added, “Just don’t say I didn’t warn you. He looks like he’s plotting something.”

You snickered softly, your fingers grazing the mat before you shifted into a slightly more provocative stretch. “Poor thing,” you mused, your voice dripping with faux sympathy. “Must be exhausting, trying to pretend he’s unbothered when he’s that obsessed.”

Wanda giggled at the remark, her laughter bubbling up as she adjusted into a side plank. “Obsessed doesn’t even cover it. He’s one step away from declaring war.”

You hummed thoughtfully, casting a look over your shoulder toward Loki, whose sharp gaze hadn’t left you for a second. His jaw was tight, the tension radiating off him palpable, and the corner of your mouth tugged upward into a sly grin. “It’s not my fault if he can’t handle a little competition.”

“Competition?” Natasha echoed, her tone incredulous as she shot you a look. “Babe, I don’t think that’s the word for what you’re doing.”

Wanda nodded in agreement, a hint of warning in her expression. “Yeah, it’s more like... poking the bear.”

You shrugged as you transitioned into a Downward Dog position, your movements slow and deliberate. “Poking the bear? Please. He’s more of a spoiled housecat than a bear.” Your grin turned downright wicked. “Adorable when he’s angry, though.”

Wanda bit down on her lip, her laughter barely contained. Natasha, however, froze mid-motion, her playful demeanor replaced with something far more serious. Her gaze flicked past you, her lips silently forming a word you couldn’t quite make out. Whatever it was, the urgency in her expression sent a shiver of apprehension through you.

Before you could turn to see what had caught her attention, you felt it—an almost tangible shift in the air behind you. Heavy, electric, and laced with an unmistakably familiar feeling that never failed to prickle along your spine. Your nails slightly sank in the mat, bracing yourself as the atmosphere thickened. You didn’t need to turn to know who it was; the weight of his presence was undeniable, his scrutiny burning into your back with such intensity it made your skin flush.

You swallowed hard, forcing yourself to focus on the task in front of you, though the attempt at nonchalance was futile. The sound of his voice cut through your resolve like a blade through silk.

“Darling.”

The single word was low and deliberate, laced with authority and intent. It wasn’t a greeting; it was a summon—a reminder of who held the upper hand. The rich timbre of his voice sent a jolt of heat straight to your core, and before you could fully process it, he was closer. The warmth of his body lightly pressed against your back, his presence suffocating yet intoxicating.

You hesitated, the words catching in your throat before you finally managed, “What’s the matter, Trickster?” You kept your voice steady, though the hitch in your breath betrayed you as you let your lips curl into a teasing smirk. “Feeling tense? Maybe you should... stretch it out.”

The silence that followed was thick, the kind that demanded submission. Then, without warning, his hands settled on your hips, and in a firm and unyielding force, brought you back up from your lowered position. The gasp that escaped you was involuntary and sharp, and his low, rumbling chuckle made your stomach twist in a confusing mix of defiance and desire.

“Stretch?” His voice was a breath against your ear, smooth and wicked. “Oh, pet, I don’t think you’re in any position to give advice.”

His grip tightened as he pulled you back, flush against him. The unmistakable hardness pressing into you sent a wave of heat crashing through your body, your teasing confidence unraveling in an instant. Loki leaned in, his chest brushing against your back, his lips grazing the shell of your ear with maddening precision.

“You’ve been playing a dangerous game,” he murmured, his voice dropping into a sinful rasp. “Bending over so sweetly, flaunting yourself like that. Did you really think I wouldn’t notice?”

“Notice what?” you countered, the breathiness in your voice betraying your feigned indifference. You shifted slightly, trying to create space, but the movement only served to press you closer to him. His hands tightened, holding you firmly in place.

“Don’t play coy,” he warned, his lips ghosting over the sensitive skin just below your ear. The warmth of his breath sent shivers racing down your spine. “You know exactly what you’re doing. Teasing me. Provoking me. But tell me, darling…” His fingers trailed slowly up your sides, his touch light but deliberate, leaving a burning trail in its wake. “Is this what you wanted?”

You opened your mouth to respond, but the words caught in your throat as his hands slid higher, one resting at your waist while the other teased the bare skin just beneath your shirt. His fingers danced with an infuriating gentleness, and your knees threatened to buckle.

“Well?” he pressed, his voice soft yet commanding, a dark promise woven into every syllable. His teeth grazed the jointure between your ears and your neck, and you couldn’t stop the sharp inhale that escaped you. Loki chuckled, the melodious directly reaching your eardrums. “Answer me. Is this what you wanted?”

“Uh-uh,” you breathed out, the words barely escaping your parted lips, as if you were caught in a hypnotic daze.

Loki’s voice dropped an octave, more insistent now. “Words, darling.”

“Yes,” you finally admitted, the word escaping in a whisper. Your body betrayed you, leaning into his touch as a smug smile curved his lips against your skin.

“Good girl,” he purred, his voice molten as his hands slid lower. One dipped beneath the contoured waistband of your shorts, his fingertips brushing the sensitive skin there, and your breath faltered. He laughed, the sound dark and indulgent. “You’ve made a grave mistake.”

The weight of his words hung in the air, and your heart pounded so loudly it drowned out everything else. Wanda’s muffled giggles barely registered as Loki leaned closer, his lips brushing the curve of your ear.

“Because now,” he continued, his voice a sinful rasp, “you’ve made it my turn.”

You turned your head slightly, meeting his gaze over your shoulder, your smirk trembling at the edges. “Oh? Should I be scared?”

Loki’s answering smile was sharp, predatory. His hand slid back to your hip, his grip firm and possessive. “Terrified,” he hummed, his voice as smooth as it was dangerous. “But I suspect you enjoy provoking me too much to care.”

“Maybe I do,” you shot back, your voice wavering just enough to reveal your nerves. “Or maybe you’re just easy to rile up.”

His laughter was low and mocking, the sound vibrating against you. “Easy?” he repeated, his tone dripping with disbelief. “You think resisting the urge to put you in your place is easy for me?” His fingers ghosted along your side, their proximity sending heat pooling deep within you. “Do you know what I’ve been imagining, darling?”

Your breath hitched audibly as he leaned down, his lips brushing the shell of your ear once more. “How delectable you’d look bent over for an entirely different reason,” he murmured, his voice dark and heavy with intent. “How sweet you’d sound begging me to stop teasing and give you exactly what you need.”

The vivid imagery his words conjured made your knees wobble as much as it made your cunt clench down, and Loki’s knowing smirk deepened as he noticed. It was the firm grip of his hand on your jaw that truly held you in place, forcing your gaze to meet his. The pressure of his fingers was gentle yet commanding, keeping you exactly where he wanted—right in his control, unable to look away.

“Keep this up,” he growled, his tone a low, velvety threat, “and I’ll ruin you right here, where everyone can see.”

Your breath hitched again, your pulse racing as his fingers pressed firmly against your hip, their touch a silent warning. “You wouldn’t dare,” you challenged, though your voice betrayed just how uncertain you were.

Loki’s dark chuckle sent shivers through you, and he leaned in until his lips were nearly brushing yours. “Wouldn’t I?”

And just like that, he pulled away, leaving you trembling and breathless. You turned instinctively, your wide eyes following him as he sauntered back to the bench with a self-satisfied smirk. He didn’t look back, but the deliberate sway in his step said everything: he’d won—and he knew it.

Before you could fully recover, Steve's voice rang out from across the gym, stern and authoritative. "Loki!" he called sharply, cutting through the tension in the room like a blade. "Stop slacking and get back to work! And leave the girls alone while you're at it."

Loki paused mid-stride, his smirk widening as he turned his head slightly, just enough for you to catch the glint of mischief in his eyes. With an exaggerated sigh, he straightened his posture, rolling his shoulders as though Steve's reprimand was an inconvenience he barely tolerated.

"Of course, Captain," Loki drawled, his tone dripping with mock obedience. "Far be it from me to dare disturb anyone."

He threw you one last lingering glance, his emerald eyes gleaming with unspoken promises, before striding toward the bench with a grace that made it impossible not to watch. He casually picked up a barbell and restarted his reps, the smug curve of his lips never quite fading. The deliberate slowness of his movements and the occasional glance in your direction made it clear: while he might have been called back to order, in his mind, the game was far from over.

Natasha and Wanda didn’t even bother hiding their laughter. Natasha let out a low blow, mouthing a silent “Oh my god” while Wanda, ever the dramatist, fanned herself as if she’d just witnessed a scandal too hot to handle. Their shared amusement was palpable, bubbling over in giggles that only served to deepen the heat already pooling in your cheeks.

Meanwhile, you were left rooted to the spot, your breath uneven, as your mind stubbornly replayed his words on an endless, maddening loop. Every rasp of his voice, every deliberate touch, every wicked glint in his eyes seemed etched into your memory, and no matter how hard you tried, you couldn’t shake it.

The two women exchanged knowing glances, their expressions practically screaming victory on Loki’s behalf. Natasha arched a perfectly shaped brow, her smirk twisting into something teasing yet smug. “Well,” she drawled with mirth in her voice, “that escalated quickly.”

Wanda, ever one to pile on, folded her arms and tilted her head, her grin impossibly wide. “I think we just witnessed the undisputed champion of this little game of yours.” Her voice was light, but her tone carried that infuriating edge of truth, a verdict impossible to deny.

You groaned, pressing a hand to your flaming face in an attempt to block out their reactions. “Don’t,” you muttered, your voice muffled behind your fingers. But it was no use; their laughter was too infectious, bubbling up in waves that only made your embarrassment worse.

What worsened your condition was the fact that Loki didn’t spare a single glance in your direction since your little altercation, but his presence remained large and looming, as though he’d marked the room with his triumph. The discreet tilt of his head, the faintest upward curve of his lips, said everything—he knew exactly that he’d caught your full attention, and he was basking in it like a cat stretching in a patch of sunlight.

You bit down on your lip, torn between indignation and something far more dangerous—desire. He’d turned the tables with disarming ease, leaving you caught in a web of delicious uncertainty. Should you feel frustration at being outmaneuvered so effortlessly? Or should you savor the intoxicating tension he’d created, the way every nerve in your body seemed to buzz with anticipation?

Natasha nudged you with her elbow, her smirk softening into something more playful. “Careful, you might be burning up,” she teased.

Wanda giggled, leaning closer with an exaggerated whisper. “Or maybe it’s just the heat radiating off you from whatever that was.”

You swatted at them half-heartedly, but the truth was, you weren’t entirely sure if their teasing was wrong. Because even as their laughter echoed around you, your thoughts were still wholly consumed by him. Loki had won this round, and judging by the way your pulse refused to settle, you weren’t entirely sure you minded.

⠀

The events that had transpired in the last session had left a deeper mark on you than you'd ever imagined. Every night since, it felt like you couldn’t escape the relentless replay of it all—his touch, the tension, the heat between you two. It was etched so deeply into your memory that it was impossible to shake, each passing moment branded into your mind with an intensity that nothing could dull. No matter how many distractions you tried, how many of your usual tricks you employed to quiet the gnawing ache, nothing seemed to work. The itch lingered, a constant reminder of everything that had transpired, and you couldn’t seem to focus on anything else. The thrill and fear, both intertwined, kept you buzzing, feeding into the need that had taken root in your mind. You couldn’t stop thinking about it, couldn’t stop thinking about him.

Ironically enough, today was Friday the 13th, and it felt almost fitting. A date known for either being your lucky day or your worst nightmare. And it seemed you were, without a doubt, leaning toward the latter. Every second felt like a cruel reminder that you were spiraling, unable to shake the intensity of the encounter in the gym. The pressure was building, and it felt like the world was closing in on you. Part of you was afraid of what would happen next, but another part of you… part of you couldn’t wait to find out. You were on the edge, dangerously close to breaking, and it made you feel as if you were dancing on the razor-thin line between desire and desperation.

Despite your mind screaming at you to stay away, there was this undeniable force that kept you gravitating back toward him. Every part of you told you to leave it alone, but the rest of you was already ensnared, tangled in his web of toying, unsure of where the line between torment and pleasure even lay anymore. You’d tried to hold yourself back, to distance yourself, but the urge to confront him, to give in completely, was getting stronger every day. It was frustrating, exhilarating, terrifying.

But you’d had enough. You were done pretending, done playing by rules you didn’t even understand. If Loki wanted to play games, then you’d meet him on the battlefield. You were betting everything on this session—you’d either go big, or go home. You would do everything to win this round, and if this didn’t play out in your favor, then you’d end it once and for all.

You rummaged through your wardrobe, searching for something that screamed confidence, something that would tilt the scales in your favor. And then you found it. The shortest pair of cotton gym shorts you owned, along with the tightest gym bra in your collection. To top it off, you pulled on high socks that accentuated the length of your legs. For dignity purposes—or so you told yourself—you zipped up a fitted jacket over everything. You decided that the jacket was just for show. You’d wait for the right moment to make your move.

As you made your way to the gym bar, trying to shake the heated flush creeping up your neck and across your cheeks, the memory of what had happened—Loki’s touch, the sting of his voice, and the wild potency of that encounter—was still alive on your skin. You couldn’t soothe the heat, no matter how hard you tried. You settled on a barstool dragging a hand through your hair and stared down at your newly made protein drink, swirling the liquid absently like you were trying to quell the disorder in your mind.

"I can't take it anymore," you grunted in exasperation. The words felt like they had been lodged in your throat for too long, finally spilling out in a rushed confession. "Seriously. I’m so fucking over him I could scream." You took a long, deep gulp from your drink, the coldness of the shake hitting your throat, but it didn’t settle the fire inside you. Nothing seemed to help.

You let out a sharp breath, exhaling as if releasing some of the tension that had coiled itself so tightly inside you. "I should’ve known better. This is humiliating. I can’t stop thinking about what happened, and I can’t focus on anything else. He’s in my head, and I don’t even know if I want him out." The words felt like they were spilling out uncontrollably, as if the dam had broken and now there was no turning back.

Wanda, ever the observer and perpetually ready to tease, raised an eyebrow, her lips curling into a playful grin. She leaned closer, clearly enjoying your discomfort. "You’ve been at this for days now," she noted, her voice dripping with amusement. "What exactly is it that you can’t take? His attitude? The flirting? Or... something else?"

You groaned, the frustration bubbling up inside you. You leaned forward, pressing your palms against the cold surface of the bar, your posture slumped as you let out a long exhale. "Everything, Wanda! Everything about him is like this damn temptation that keeps haunting me. And don’t even get me started on the gym. That moment keeps replaying in my head over and over again."

You took another sip, but it did nothing to quell the growing ache. "I can't even sleep without thinking about it!" You slumped further, the disbelief creeping into your voice, the realization of how completely out of control you were making its way through you. "I swear, he’s driving me insane." The weight of your confession hung in the air as you let your head fall into your hands for a moment, your fingers pressed against your temples. It was all too much.

Natasha’s gaze shifted, her eyes narrowing slightly as if she saw right through you, reading you like an open book. There was no escaping her sharp perception. "And yet, here you are, complaining instead of doing something about it," she said, her voice laced with a teasing bite. "Maybe you’re a masochist in disguise and like the torture."

The sting of her words hit a little too close to home. You shot her a glare, though you couldn’t quite muster the energy to truly protest. Natasha was always quick to find the underlying truth of a situation, and as much as you hated to admit it, she had a point. You were still here, still willingly participating in the mind games Loki had been playing with you, even knowing what it might cost you in the end.

The irony of it wasn’t lost on you. Every time you promised yourself you would pull away, the next moment would pull you back in. His voice, his touch, his presence—it was all too much. And the worst bit was, there was a part of you that craved it.

"Shut up," you muttered, trying to push away the feeling of being so exposed, even though you knew Natasha was right. "It’s not like that." But even as the words left your mouth, you knew they were a lie. You were lying to her, but most importantly to yourself, and you hated it.

Clint and Bruce had returned from their mission, and the moment they walked in, they could tell something was off. They didn’t need to ask—they could see it in your face.

"So, what’s this I hear?" he asked, leaning casually against the bar with a half-raised eyebrow. "You’ve got a thing for the god of mischief?" His smirk widened, clearly enjoying the tension in the air. "I’ve got to say, you’re not the only one who’s had a run-in with Loki. But something tells me yours is... a little more intense."

Bruce rolled his eyes, but even he couldn’t suppress the small, amused twitch at the corner of his mouth. His voice was laced with that familiar, fatherly concern as he leaned in, his tone carrying that blend of criticism and curiosity. "You’re digging yourself into a hole," he shook his head in disapproval. "I can't believe you’re letting him get under your skin like this."

You buried your face in your hands in frustration, your head pounding as you tried to make sense of everything that was happening. "You guys don’t get it!" you groaned, lifting your head to meet their eyes. The frustration and helplessness were clear in your gaze. "It’s not like that. It’s... it’s like he’s playing some game, and I don’t even know the rules."

You sighed, your voice faltering slightly as you tried to express the mess in your head. "I’m so close to just breaking and telling him I can’t handle it anymore, but he makes me—" You paused, the words catching in your throat as you tried to articulate the emotions that were swirling inside you. "He makes me feel things I can’t even explain."

Clint leaned in closer, his grin widening as if he was thoroughly enjoying your discomfort. "Sounds like someone’s having a little too much fun with this," he voiced in dripping sarcasm. "You’re just afraid of what happens next. Don’t worry, we’ve all been there."

"You think it’s fun?" You snapped, your voice sharp as you narrowed your eyes at him. "You try being in my shoes. Or better yet, try being in his presence when he talks in that damn tone and looks at you like he’s going to devour you." The thought of it made your heart race, and you felt a flush creeping up your neck as the memory of his eyes on you, intense and predatory, surged back into your mind. "I don’t think I can even look at him without feeling like I’m going to combust."

Wanda, the ever-present instigator, smirked and took a slow, deliberate sip of her drink. She watched you with a knowing look in her eyes, as though she could see right through all your defenses. "You might be in trouble," she told you, "but part of you likes it. I can see it in your eyes."

You glared at her, but the look she gave you—the look that could see right through your attempts at deflection—made you feel like you were standing naked in front of them, exposed in a way you weren’t ready for. You didn’t have to say it out loud; she could see the truth in your eyes. "Maybe I do," you muttered under your breath, swirling the drink in your hand as if it could somehow distract you from the truth. "But that doesn’t make it any less torturous."

Clint raised his glass in a mock celebration, being far too pleased for your liking. "To the madman deity and the woman who’s too stubborn for her own good. May the shenanigans never stop."

Despite everything, you couldn’t help but let out a small, reluctant laugh. You didn’t want to admit it, not out loud at least, but maybe there was a part of you that was too intrigued, too drawn into Loki’s chaotic energy to resist it.

The hum of camaraderie filled the space as the Avengers trickled in one by one, each voice weaving into the fabric of the team’s unique dynamic. The smell of sweat and faintly lingering disinfectant clung to the air, a backdrop to the rhythmic sound of weights clanging and treadmills whirring faintly in the distance. Sunlight poured through the tall windows, casting golden streaks across the polished floor, giving the room an almost warm glow despite the tension simmering just beneath the surface.

Tony was, unsurprisingly, the loudest, his voice carrying effortlessly above the din. "Come on, Solid Snake, lighten up! You can’t be a broody old man all the time," he teased, leaning lazily against a bench press machine. His smirk was as sharp as ever, and his target—a decidedly unamused Bucky—rolled his eyes in exaggerated exasperation.

"If you’d shut up for five minutes, Stark, maybe I could," Bucky shot back, though the corner of his mouth twitched as if fighting a smirk.

Steve, ever the reluctant peacekeeper, sighed as he adjusted his sweatshirt, clearly already over the banter. "Let’s just get through this without any more distractions, alright?" he muttered, his tone bordering on fatherly but tinged with resignation.

Sam, however, wasn’t about to let the moment pass. "Steve, you’re one to talk," he quipped, arms crossed as he leaned casually against the bar counter next to Clint. "Don’t think we didn’t see you googling ‘Gen Z slang’ last night."

Steve groaned, his cheeks flushing a faint pink, while the others erupted into laughter. Even Bruce chuckled softly from his corner, shaking his head in amusement. For a fleeting moment, you allowed yourself to sink into the lighthearted chaos, letting their teasing and jokes wash over you like a comforting balm. But no matter how hard you tried to blend into the easy rhythm of the group, the weight in your chest refused to lift.

It was painfully obvious that everyone was in unusually high spirits, and you weren’t naive enough to think it was just post-mission relief. The knowing glances, the smirks passed between them, and the barely-contained chuckles—everything pointed to one thing. They were waiting. Watching. Eager to see how the latest chapter in your ongoing rivalry with Loki would unfold. The anticipation in the room was almost tangible, a crackling undercurrent beneath the surface of their cheerful chatter.

And the fateful moment finally arrived.

The double doors swung open with a dramatic flourish, the sound reverberating across the gym like a herald of chaos. Thor entered first, his stride impossibly cheerful, his booming laugh filling every corner of the room. "Friends! What a glorious day it is to bask in the company of heroes!" he declared, his golden hair practically glowing in the sunlight as he beamed at everyone around him. He clapped Clint on the back with enough force to make him stumble, earning a playful glare in return. Thor’s enthusiasm was suspicious, his overly bright grin and exuberance almost too pointed, as if he knew something no one else did—or rather, as if he was trying far too hard not to let it slip.

Almost as if to build suspense, the dark prince finally stepped forward, emerging from the corners of the entrance like a phantom materializing from the depths.

He didn’t stride so much as glide, his movements unnervingly smooth, like he was above the very act of walking itself—each step seemingly effortless, almost as if the ground beneath him didn’t quite deserve to bear his presence. There was something unsettling in the grace with which he moved, a quiet dominance in every motion. His form was poised, elegant in a way that seemed deliberate, controlled. His presence alone demanded attention, yet he didn’t exert any force to command it; it simply was.

The contrast between him and his brother was impossible to ignore. Where Thor radiated boisterous energy, a whirlwind of warmth and noise, Loki was the calm in the storm, his composure sharp, cool, and infinitely measured. While the thunder god’s exuberance filled the room with a palpable force, his stillness seemed to draw all the focus to him without uttering a word. It was a stark foil to his brother’s exuberance, and it only heightened the tension in the room.

His hands were clasped neatly behind his back, as though to further emphasize the careful restraint in his every movement. There was no rushed energy in him, no urgency—only the chilling poise of someone who knew the full weight of their presence. His emerald eyes swept across the room with a cold, calculating precision, like a predator carefully assessing its surroundings.

Today, Loki was surprisingly dressed simply, yet nothing short of devastating. A fitted black long-sleeve shirt clung to his lean frame, the fabric so well-tailored that it seemed effortlessly perfect, while still accentuating every line of muscle beneath it. Black compression shorts revealed the chiseled definition of his legs, the ensemble completed by sleek athletic socks and understated sneakers that looked both functional and undeniably stylish. His dark hair was pulled back into a low ponytail, stray strands framing his face, giving him an air of ruggedness that was almost ethereal.

He looked unfairly good—like he’d walked straight out of a high-fashion magazine editorial, the kind dedicated to showcasing "dangerously attractive male specimens" in their most refined form. Every detail of his gym wear spoke of someone who had mastered the art of simplicity, yet exuded an undeniable, almost unattainable, charisma.

And just your luck, he’d somehow managed to nearly match your outfit.

A flicker of amusement danced in Loki’s emerald eyes, and his lips curled into a sly, knowing smirk as he began his slow, deliberate approach toward you. His movements were smooth, almost languid, as though each step was a calculated part of some grand performance. His gaze never once wavered from you, cutting through the room with an intensity that seemed to render everyone else irrelevant, invisible in his presence. The chatter of the room grew distant, muffled, as though someone had turned the volume down on reality itself.

He drew closer, his gaze locked onto yours with an almost predatory intensity, making it impossible to focus on anything else. Every fiber of your being seemed to react to him, pulling you into his orbit. There was no escaping the pull of Loki, and the world outside the bubble of his gaze became irrelevant.

"Darling," he greeted smoothly, the word rolling off his tongue with a velvety mockery, every syllable dripping with heat. His eyes swept over you with a quick, almost dismissive glance, taking in every detail of your outfit—the jacket, the high socks, the way your clothes hugged your form with a purpose. There was something in his look, something knowing, as if he understood exactly why you had chosen each piece, and the knowledge of that made his smirk deepen. He loved this game.

"Trickster," you replied, your voice cool and composed, but there was a sharpness beneath the surface, a challenge that he would undoubtedly recognize. You met his gaze head-on, your body subconsciously crossing your arms and legs as if to shield yourself from the heat of his stare. But even as you tried to put up a defense, it felt as though the world around you had narrowed down to just the two of you. The space between you crackled with energy, the tension palpable, leaving you breathless and aware of nothing except him.

The silence stretched, thick and taut, before Sam, ever the provocateur, leaned toward Clint with an exaggerated whisper, his voice loud enough for those around him to hear. "You could cut the tension with a knife. I’d sell tickets to this."

"Is is their foreplay or just regular banter?" The archerer quipped, his dry humor drawing a few stifled laughs from the others.

Thor, completely oblivious to the subtle dynamics of the situation, clapped his hands together with a booming laugh, his voice carrying through the room with his usual enthusiasm. "Ah, what an entertaining rivalry! If only you knew, my friends, how much—"

"Thor," Loki interrupted sharply, his voice low, carrying a dangerous edge that made everyone pause. His eyes narrowed in a way that promised retribution if his brother pushed any further. The god faltered, suddenly aware of the tension that had shifted the moment Loki’s voice had cut through the air, glancing between you and Loki with an almost childlike look of guilt.

"What? It’s nothing, brother," The blonde said quickly, his grin still wide, trying to cover up his mistake with a weak deflection. "I was merely going to say how much you—"

"Thor," He repeated, this time his voice sharper, more commanding, and his jaw visibly clenched. The room seemed to hold its collective breath, the atmosphere shifting from lighthearted to electric, as everyone waited for the next move.

You raised an eyebrow with a nonchalant air that betrayed your growing interest. "How much he what?" you asked, your tone pretending to be uninterested, but the rapid beat of your heart told a different story. You were more than ready to hear what he had almost spilled, if only to use it as a sword of Damocles.

Thor hesitated, caught in the web of his brother’s gaze. After a moment, Thor cleared his throat, trying to recover. "Ah, well," he stammered, his voice faltering. "How much Loki... enjoys these little exchanges, of course!"

The lie was smooth, but not quite convincing. The nervousness he showcased in the way he tried to avoid his brother’s burning stare betrayed the lack of truth in his words. You narrowed your eyes, glancing between them, but it was Loki’s carefully schooled expression that caught your attention. His face had transformed into one of cold indifference, but you could see the subtle twitch of his jaw and the faint pink tint creeping up the back of his neck.

The others exchanged amused looks, clearly enjoying the subtle spectacle unfolding before them. Natasha, ever the picture of composure, took a slow sip of her drink, her eyes never leaving the scene. “Well, this just got interesting,” she noted, her tone dripping with amusement and approval as she surveyed the building tension.

It was obvious now: whatever simmered between you two wasn’t about to end any time soon. It was a game, yes—but one far from finished. And for better or worse, everyone in the room was eager to see how it would unfold.

The world around you seemed to fade, leaving only the two of you in focus—locked in this silent standoff. Every sound, every movement beyond the two of you felt distant, muted, as if the room had shrunk to nothing more than the space between you and Loki. The others, sensing the growing charge between you, watched with bated breath. This wasn’t just an ordinary exchange—it was something far more intense, something that announced the rivalry to be nearing the breaking point.

His presence loomed over you, suffocating in its intensity. His smirk never wavered, but his eyes seemed to penetrate yours with a force that made your pulse quicken. Neither of you was willing to back down; the silent battle of words and glances was a carefully orchestrated dance, each of you striving to hold the reigns.

Leaning against the bar, you let a teasing smirk curl at the corners of your lips as your gaze locked onto him. “Nice dramatic entrance,” you quipped, your tone light but cutting. “Almost makes me think you’re trying to overcompensate for something else.” Your eyes flicked over him with a deliberate, slow scan, letting the implication settle in the air between you.

Loki’s lips curved into a slow, deliberate smirk, his movements deliberate as he closed the gap between you. He was drawing you in, pulling you into his orbit with each calculated step. Before long, he was towering over you, his broad form casting a shadow over you.

“Such crude language you wield with that tongue of yours,” he tutted in a honeyed whisper that sent a shiver down your spine. His words slid from his lips with measured slowness, each one curling around you like silk, wrapping you tighter with every syllable. “I’d be more than happy to correct you… if you’d allow me.”

You stood straighter, your body thrumming from the weight of his words, refusing to let him dominate the exchange this time. You crossed your arms and met his gaze head-on. “You think you can correct me?” you shot back, your voice cool, but the challenge clear in your eyes. Leaning in slightly, you dared him. “I’d like to see you try.”

“Ah, but the art of manipulating words are such a delight,” Loki purred, his voice thick with velvet, drawing you in with every syllable. His gaze never wavered from yours. “And I’m particularly skilled with them.”

The world seemed to hush, the room quieting until the only thing you could hear was his voice, each word dripping with an intoxicating weight. The tension grew thicker, and he let the silence stretch between you, just long enough to make the air feel too heavy to breathe.

“I recall you had a first taste of it, last session,” he added, his words striking you like a spark, igniting memories of the last time his voice had tangled with yours in a way you hadn’t expected.

You swallowed the rush of heat that rose in your cheeks, forcing your gaze to remain steady. “Last session was nothing,” you sharply replied, narrowing your eyes as if to dare him to push further. “You’ll have to do better than that if you want to get to me, Trickster.”

The others were practically buzzing with excitement, leaning in slightly as if they were watching a thrilling game unfold. Sam, always one to stir the pot, leaned toward Natasha with a smirk that could rival Loki’s. “I’ve witnessed some trash talk in my time,” he said, shaking his head with amusement, “but this? This is on another level.”

Clint, watching the exchange with a growing interest, chuckled and shook his head. “Honestly, I don’t know whether to be impressed at the comebacks or horrified,” he remarked in disbelief. “It’s like they’re playing some weird, kinky version of fencing.”

Natasha leaned back, her wry smile never faltering, watching with approval. “This is getting good,” she muttered under her breath, her tone almost purring with amusement. She sipped her drink slowly, savoring the tension. “I’d pay to see where this goes.”

Sam shot Natasha a quick, conspiratorial glance before looking back at the two of you. “Hey, don’t get too comfortable,” he warned, his voice laced with mischief. “They’re about to start swinging—metaphorically speaking, of course.” He made a grand, exaggerated fencing motion with his hands, drawing chuckles from the group. “You know, like that,” he added with a grin. “Except this time, the moves are… let’s just say they’re a little more pointed.” His eyebrows wiggled suggestively, and even Bruce couldn’t contain a smile.

Tony, never one to miss an opportunity, leaned back against his stool, an amused smirk plastered across his face. He watched the tension between you and Loki with a gleeful satisfaction. “Think they’ll kiss and make up?” he asked with a low chuckle, loud enough for everyone to hear. He raised an eyebrow at Steve, whose silent observation had not gone unnoticed.

He cleared his throat, the sharp sound cutting through the growing murmur of the group. The room fell into a sudden, almost uncomfortable silence, as his voice commanded attention. “Alright, alright,” Steve said firmly, his tone brooking no argument. He clapped his hands once, the sharp sound cutting through the air. “We’re here to train, not watch a soap opera,” he added, his voice steady and no-nonsense.

His blue eyes scanned the room, locking on you and Loki for a moment, his gaze narrowing just slightly. It was a silent reminder that there were more pressing matters at hand than your verbal sparring. “So, let’s get focused,” he continued, his tone taking on a more commanding edge. “No more distractions, people.”

A collective groan of both relief and disappointment spread through the group. The tension between you and Loki had finally been cut, but there was an undeniable sense of disappointment that the banter had been interrupted. The room shifted again, the playful mood dissipating into a more subdued, professional atmosphere. Though, the memory of what had just transpired would no doubt linger long after the session ended.

“Now, let’s move it,” Steve said, gesturing toward the training area with a firm nod. “You’ve all got work to do, and I expect everyone to keep it professional.” His eyes lingered on you and Loki for a moment, as if to remind you both that, despite what was simmering between you, the training was the priority now.

Loki's lips curved into a smile, one that was more like a prelude to something yet to come. His eyes glinted with smug satisfaction, as if he were already savoring the next move in whatever game he was playing. “Until next time, darling,” he saluted, his tone thick with the promise of nearing disaster.

You gave him a half-smile, one that in turned promised that the rivalry wasn’t over and turned to follow the rest of the group to the training area, already feeling the bubbling energy of the upcoming round.

⠀

The gym session began with an unexpected tranquility, an eerie contrast to the usual chaos of training it had recently taken shape. It was chest and back day, and each Avenger had settled into their familiar routines, the rhythm of their movements blending with the constant clinking of weights and soft murmurs of conversation. For once, everything felt almost ordinary—just another training day, rather than an intense workout of body and mind alike.

You were working alongside Wanda, offering her a bit of encouragement as she powered through her chest exercises. It was nice to have someone to talk to, a welcome distraction from the growing knots of nervousness tangling in your stomach. You both exchanged light banter, chatting about everything outside the gym, while you kept an eye on your own sets. But all the while, your thoughts kept returning to Loki. He was oddly quiet today, no mischievous glint in his eyes. You couldn't help but wonder if he, too, was waiting for the right moment to stir things up.

The session had already taken a lively turn with the Asgardian brothers, but things soon spiraled into a loud mess. As the competition between Thor and Loki grew fiercer, their playful jabs and escalating challenges only served to ramp up the tension in the room. Loki's gaze swept across the space until it finally landed on you. His smirk softened just slightly, replaced by an expression that felt more deliberate, almost as if he were daring you to witness the next act of his show.

Thor, not to be outdone, continued to push the limits. His booming voice filled the gym as he egged his brother on. "You think you’ve got the strength to match my strength? Let’s see if you can keep up with the god of thunder!"

Loki’s smirk was a clear challenge as he lifted the same weight Thor had almost just juggled with, effortlessly matching him. Each press was smooth and controlled, and you couldn’t help but be captivated by the way his back arched with each lift, muscles rippling in perfect harmony. It was a display of strength and grace, one that seemed almost too perfect to be real.

However, in their playful contest of wills, they had unknowingly started to draw attention. Bruce, who had been quietly focusing on his own workout in a far corner of the gym, was caught off guard by the sheer noise and energy the brothers were creating. The weights clanking, the competitive banter, and the occasional loud challenge from Thor began to disrupt Bruce’s routine. As much as he tried to focus on his sets, the vibrations of the room were enough to throw off his concentration.

At one point, their effortless lifts seemed to reverberate repeatedly through the gym, causing the ground beneath Bruce to tremble slightly. The sound of weights crashing back onto the rack sent a sharp jolt through the air, causing Bruce to flinch each time. He rubbed his temples in frustration, his irritation barely masked behind his calm exterior.

"Can you guys keep it down a bit?" Bruce muttered to himself, trying to block out the noise, but it was no use. The brothers' rivalry only grew louder, their playful insults and laughter ringing through the space like a storm cloud threatening to burst.

At the next brutal noise, the scientist had had enough. He grumbled under his breath, packing up his things. "I swear, those testosterone-filled aliens and their dick-measuring contests," he muttered, shooting a quick glance at the Asgardians, who were too caught up in their contest to notice.

Without a word, he retreated to the quieter back section of the gym, moving toward the machines where he could work in peace. The machines were further away from the weights area, but at least they offered some reprieve from the chaos. As he walked toward the back, his footsteps were steady but filled with a sense of relief. He could already feel his growing anxiety lifting as he left the noise behind.

Meanwhile, the brothers' competition raged on, with Thor’s grin widening as he added more weight and Loki effortlessly lifted the new load, his body gliding through the motions with ease. The display of absurd power continued, the brothers pushing each other to new heights, oblivious to the disruption they were causing.

Every movement Loki made, every lift of the weights, was a hypnotic display of strength. His back muscles rippled with precision, the tension in his frame apparent with every press, every stretch of his body. Each flex seemed almost choreographed, as if he was aware of the effect it had, and your eyes couldn’t look away. His body moved with fluidity, an effortless grace that made every lift seem almost effortless, but you knew better. It was controlled power, and the sheer magnetism of it made your heart race faster with each passing second.

No matter how hard you tried to focus, you couldn't help but be drawn back to watching him. You could feel your pulse quickening, the attraction growing stronger with every passing moment. Your mind tried to resist, tried to focus elsewhere, but his form—his body, mostly—kept pulling you back. You shook your head, hoping to clear the fog clouding your thoughts, but it only lingered, his image burned into your retinas.

It was maddening—the pull to keep watching, to continue visually feasting on him as he pushed the weights higher, his muscles flexing and straining with each rep. But you knew you had to focus, force yourself back into your own workout. You took a deep breath, forcing your attention back to your set, trying to push the images of him out of your mind. Yet, no matter how hard you tried, every time Loki added more weight, every time his body moved with such effortlessness, your mind betrayed you. It was impossible not to be drawn back to him.

"Don’t get distracted," Wanda teased, her voice slicing through your turbulent thoughts with a playful yet knowing tone. She had caught the subtle shift in your gaze. "He’s lifting weights, not you in your head."

You chuckled nervously, warmth creeping up your neck as you struggled to mask the growing tension inside. "Can’t help it if he makes a spectacle out of it," you muttered, uncomfortable under Wanda’s sharp, knowing stare.

Her eyes flicked over to Loki, who was now adding more weight to the barbell with an almost casual precision. His movements were effortless, each shift in his posture drawing attention to the taut muscles of his back as he pushed the weight up. The strain in his arms only emphasized the strength beneath his skin, the tension in his frame stretching the muscles of his back, making them stand out in a tantalizing display of raw force.

Wanda raised an eyebrow, a sly smile curling her lips as she took in the scene. "There’s a lot of tension between you two today," she observed lightly, though there was a subtle intrigue laced in her voice.

You rolled your eyes, but the warmth flooding your face betrayed the truth. "It’s nothing. Just… your usual bantering."

Wanda’s smile only widened, her voice dropping to a hushed, conspiratorial whisper as she leaned closer. "‘Usual bantering,’ huh? If it’s nothing like you say it is, then why do I feel the electricity between you two from across the room?"

Before you could even formulate a response, Loki did something you should’ve anticipated but somehow hadn’t—after all, he always had a knack for surprising you.

With a smooth flick of his wrist, he got rid of his shirt, revealing his sculpted back in all its glory. His movements were slow, deliberate, as though each stretch was calculated to highlight the fluid grace of his body, ensuring that every muscle was on display. He wasn’t simply lifting weights; he was performing, putting on a show, a carefully crafted performance meant to captivate and tease. The muscles in his back rippled as he shifted, tightening with every adjustment.

You bit your lip, hard, forcing yourself to suppress the whimper that threatened to escape at the sinful image in your mind. What is wrong with you? Your rival, your competition wasn't someone you should be thinking of in that way. And yet, watching him lift, so confident, so composed, made everything else fade away and your mind turn to mush. All rational thoughts were overwhelmed by the flood of desire, the need that burned like a fire within you, fierce and untamed.

A wild thought flickered through your mind, one you couldn’t quite push away: the idea of running your fingers along the ridges of his spine, feeling each muscle shift and contract beneath his skin, the subtle texture of his back smooth yet firm under your touch. The thought of raking your nails down his back due to being lost in the thralls of pleasure, feeling him tense and arch under your touch, was a dangerous temptation that you could hardly control.

You wished, in vain, that you could just reach out and trace the ridges of his back, feel the rippling muscles shift and contract beneath your fingers, but you had to stop yourself. You couldn’t let him win this round—not like this.

Thor, who had been lifting beside him, wasn’t even trying to hide the smug grin that spread across his face. He shot a quick glance in your direction then proceeded to turn to him and spoke in hushed tones, and it was then that the realization hit you: this little game between you and Loki had morphed into a twisted battle of alliances. Thor had just completely betrayed you on behalf of his brother. That bitch.

Loki’s smirk deepened as he caught your lingering gaze. He didn’t say a word, but the playful challenge in the air was undeniable. You could feel the weight of it pressing on you, the urge to stay focused slipping away. He knew exactly what he was doing. He was baiting you—and it was working.

Wanda, ever perceptive, noticed the change in your expression instantly. Her lips curled into a sly smile, her voice dropping lower, thick with amusement. "Oh, this is going to be good," she whispered, clearly enjoying every second of the tension building between you two.

You shot her a look, your face a mixture of frustration and disbelief. "This isn’t fair," you muttered, your gaze still fixed on the god, who continued to lift the weights with effortless precision, the muscles of his back shifting smoothly with each movement. "How am I supposed to focus when he looks like a damn sculpture?"

You sighed, trying to rein in your runaway thoughts, but the fantasies lingered, unwanted. "I’m going to jump him in the next ten seconds if he keeps this up," you continued, your voice thick with frustration. "And I don’t mean it in a ‘beat him down’ way… well, maybe I do, but only down there."

Wanda stifled a laugh and nudged you playfully, her tone still light, but now edged with a sense of seriousness. "You’ve got to hold it together," she teased. "You’re not falling for this, right? You’re stronger than that."

You looked at her, a frustrated sigh escaping your lips as you came to a bitter revelation. Loki was trying to get under your skin, and you couldn’t let him. "You’re right," you declared, rolling your eyes. "I can’t let him mess with me like this. He’s just baiting me, and I’m not gonna fall for it."

Wanda gave a satisfied nod, pleased with your change in attitude. "That’s the spirit. Don’t let him steal your focus. You’ve got this."

With newfound determination, you straightened your back. "Alright, enough of this," you muttered under your breath. "Let’s see how he handles a little competition."

Your eyes narrowed, chest tightening with resolve. The game was on, and this time, you weren’t going to let him have the upper hand.

You politely excused yourself from Wanda’s company and made your way toward the quieter back section of the gym. The hustle and bustle of the weight area faded behind you, the rhythmic clinking of metal and the low murmurs of conversation becoming a distant hum. You hoped the isolation would offer the clarity you were searching for—some peace to collect your thoughts.

In a secluded corner, you found Bruce, focused intently on a pull-up bar. His brow furrowed in concentration, but the strain was evident, his grip tight on the bar as he attempted yet again to pull himself up. His frustration was written clearly across his face, though he masked it with determined silence.

You hesitated for a moment, unsure whether to interrupt his focused effort. But when you saw the way his muscles tensed in vain, unable to lift himself even a few inches, you couldn’t help but step in. “Need some help?” you asked softly, your voice calm, yet laced with curiosity.

He let out a deep sigh, a touch of frustration creeping into his words. “I’m trying the pull-up bar exercise,” he muttered, shaking his head slightly. “But I can’t seem to get up there.”

Tilting your head slightly, you studied his form for a moment, then took a step closer. “Show me,” you encouraged gently, offering a supportive tone.

Bruce gave a small, resigned nod before trying once more. With a quiet grunt, he pulled himself up again, but only for a brief second before his arms gave out, and he dropped back down, his exhale sharp and frustrated. “See?” he said, clearly disappointed. “I just can’t do it.”

You smiled reassuringly, your eyes warm with understanding. “Maybe start with something a bit different,” you suggested kindly. “Have you ever tried the ‘Dead Hang’ exercise?”

Bruce raised an eyebrow, intrigued by your suggestion. “What’s that?”

Before you could explain, a loud clatter suddenly echoed through the gym—the unmistakable crash of a heavy weight hitting the floor. The sound reverberated across the room, and instinctively, your eyes shifted toward the source.

Nearby, a small crowd had gathered, applauding and praising Loki, who had just completed an impressive lift. “Nice job, Loki! Impressive as always!” one voice called out with admiration.

An impulsive thought flashed through your mind—daring, bold, something designed to enhance your stakes.

Turning back to Bruce, you flashed a sly grin, a hint of mischief curling at the corners of your lips. “I’ll show you,” you said, but your words carried a weight to them, an undercurrent of something more, in a tone that made your friend blink in confusion.

Slowly, you began to unzip your jacket, making sure each movement was drawn out. This wasn’t just about showing him the exercise; it was about showing someone else, too. The sudden sound of the zipper seemed to almost echo through the gym, a quiet invitation to anyone who might be watching. Finally, you revealed what you had carefully chosen to wear, an outfit designed to put the odds on your side. The effect was immediate.

You could feel Loki’s eyes immediately zeroing on you, and every detail seemed to draw him in like a magnet. The fabric of your outfit clung to your skin with a delicate stretch, outlining every curve and muscle as you moved. The shorts, the tight-fitting gym bra, the length of your legs accentuated by high socks—they all played their part. As you turned slightly, the fabric shifted and clung to your form, showcasing the subtle curve of your back, the way your muscles rippled with the slightest movement. Every inch of you was on display, and Norns did he noticed every part of it.

A loud thud echoed across the gym, followed by a sharp curse. “Damn it.” Loki’s voice rang out, laced with frustration, and you couldn’t help but smile inwardly. He had lost focus—your presence had distracted him so thoroughly that he’d accidentally dropped the weight he’d been holding. The sound of the barbell hitting the floor seemed to reverberate through the space, drawing everyone’s attention for a split second.

You couldn’t help but fight the smirk that threatened to tug at your lips. “I’ll show you what it’s like,” you said, your voice low, but full of intent as you took another deliberate step closer to Bruce. Those words were certainly meant for someone else, too.

You approached the pull-up bar with careful intent, your fingers wrapping around the cold metal. The exercise you were about to perform required complete focus and control. With a deep breath, you gripped the bar firmly, allowing your body to hang freely below it. As you did so, you consciously relaxed every muscle, letting your body fall into the natural stretch of the position. It was a simple exercise, but one that emphasized both strength and the fluidity of the body. Yours curved slightly as the weight of your form stretched out from the bar, loosening up your spine as the contours of your waist and hips became more pronounced with each passing second.

Loki’s gaze flickered toward you once again, his breath hitching at the sight. Every shift in your body, every movement of your muscles, sent a pulse of heat through him. He grit his teeth, the dirty thoughts that had been simmering beneath the surface rushing back to the forefront of his mind. The way your body stretched, your back curving just the right way—it was almost too much to bear. He tried to focus, to ground himself in the task at hand, but his attention kept being pulled back to you.

You let out a breath, your body still hanging for a moment longer before you spoke to Bruce, your voice cool but with a slight edge of confidence. "Relax your entire body," you instructed, your tone a touch haughty. "The point of this exercise is to let the weight of your body do the work. It helps open up your shoulders, stretch your spine, and build the necessary strength for proper pull-ups. Start by hanging for ten seconds at a time and gradually increase the duration. With practice, you'll be able to pull yourself up."

You paused for a moment, letting your body hang freely before pulling yourself up from the bar with smooth, controlled strength. As you reached the top of the movement, you held yourself there for just a second longer than necessary, your muscles tightening, flexing in the process. The motion was fluid, almost sensual, and the way your body moved with purpose sent a provocative ripple through the air. Loki couldn’t look away as he watched you, every shift in your body feeling like a challenge, an invitation. A low pained groan slipped from his throat, the sound nearly imperceptible, but the heat of his gaze on you was undeniable.

Thor, who had been observing his brother, glanced over in confusion as Loki seemed to stiffen, his eyes darkening in a way that made the tension between the two of them palpable. "Are you alright, Loki?" He asked, raising an eyebrow.

The god didn’t answer immediately, his gaze still locked onto you as you effortlessly performed the pull-up, your muscles tightening and flexing with each motion. It was an almost agonizingly slow showcase of strength, one that seemed to taunt him, and he could feel every inch of his body reacting to it.

Oh, how he longed to run his hands over the smooth expanse of your back, savoring the lean strength evident beneath. The curve of your waist and flare of your hips beckoned like a siren's call, making his fingers twitch with the desire to explore, to map out every dip and swell. He could almost feel the heat of your body, like the flames of Muspelheim against his palms as he imagined gripping your hips and guiding you down, down, down until you were sheathed tight around his hardness.

Another groan threatened to spill out at the vision, his shorts growing a little too tight for his liking. Gods, the things he wanted to do to you, with you, if only you would finally admit defeat. To run his tongue along the elegant curve of your throat, down to flick against your pulse point as he spread you out before him like a feast. To sink his teeth into the juncture of your neck and shoulder, marking you, branding you as his. To work you open on his fingers and tongue until you are dripping and ready, then push into your tight, wet heat inch by delicious inch. He'd rock into you slow and deep, savoring every gasp and moan, building the pleasure higher and higher until you were keening, lost to everything but the feel of him moving inside you.

Without a word, he spun on his hee and strode off toward another station, leaving Thor, in his wake who scratched his head, visibly puzzled. “Brother? What are you—” But Loki paid him no mind, his sharp steps echoing as he distanced himself.

You caught sight of Bruce still grappling with the pull-up bar, his arms trembling as he strained to lift himself even an inch. His frustration was evident in the tight set of his jaw and the way he grumbled to himself under his breath. The pull-up bar clearly wasn’t yielding any victories for him today.

Walking over with purpose, you kept your voice calm but firm. “Bruce, let’s try something different for now. We’ll come back to this once you’ve built up the strength for it.”

The scientist sighed deeply, rubbing the back of his neck with a self-conscious shrug. “I don’t know... I’m not great with this stuff. Maybe I should just stick to what I know.”

You smiled gently, tilting your head slightly to meet his hesitant gaze. “Come on, Bruce. Trust me on this. Baby steps, right? Let’s just take one in a different direction for now.”

He hesitated, his lips pressed into a thin line, before finally exhaling in defeat. “Fine. Lead the way. But don’t say I didn’t warn you if this goes south.”

With a reassuring nod, you led him to the chest fly machine, your voice calm and encouraging as you adjusted the seat and weights for him. You were focused on making sure everything was just right for Bruce, but what you hadn’t fully accounted for was the proximity of this particular station to Loki, who was seated at the lat pulldown machine just a few feet away. His back was turned, but the tension in his posture was impossible to miss. Like a storm cloud, it hung over the room—dark and ominous, an undeniable sense of impending eruption lingering in the air.

For a moment, you found yourself distracted, your eyes unconsciously drawn to the muscles in his back as they shifted with every movement, the strength in his form almost hypnotic. The well-defined lines of his shoulders, the way his muscles flexed under his skin, it was hard to look away. But you quickly shook yourself out of the moment, snapping back to the task at hand. Focus, you reminded yourself, silently chastising your wandering thoughts.

“That’s it, Bruce. Slow, steady movements. Just like that, don’t rush it. You’ve got this,” you said, your tone supportive as he began his exercise. But even as you spoke, you couldn’t help noticing how Loki’s head tilted slightly in your direction, his sharp ears catching every word.

The creak of the lat pulldown cables drew your attention. Loki’s hands gripped the bar with unnecessary force, his movements precise yet edged with irritation. The sound of metal straining filled the air as he finally broke his silence. “Do you mind?” His voice cut through the room like a blade, low and seething with disdain.

You turned to face him, your brow furrowing. “What do you want?” you retaliated, a mix of confusion and irritation lacing your tone.

Loki swiveled his head slowly, emerald eyes narrowing into a dangerous glare. “Your incessant commentary,” he drawled, each word dripping with contempt. “It’s... distracting.”

You scoffed, planting your hands on your hips as frustration bubbled to the surface. “Are you serious right now? I’m helping Bruce. Maybe focus on your own workout instead of eavesdropping.”

Loki chuckled—low, humorless, and maddeningly smug. Leaning back slightly, he released the bar, letting it rise with a deliberate clang. “Oh, I’m focused,” he said, his smirk deepening. “But don’t insult my intelligence by pretending this isn’t calculated. Using Banner as a pawn? Transparent. And frankly, beneath you.”

Bruce, who had been silent throughout the exchange, finally frowned and glanced between the two of you. “What’s that supposed to mean?” he asked, his voice quiet but tinged with irritation.

Throwing your hands up in exasperation, you turned to Loki. “Oh, here we go again. Not everything is about you, Loki! Believe it or not, I’m just trying to help.”

Loki raised a brow, his smug expression unwavering. “Help?” he repeated, his tone mocking. “Is that what you call it? Dressing like that, speaking like that? Admit it——you’re dabbling in something you don’t even understand.”

“Wha—Excuse me? This is rich, coming from the guy who prances around half-naked! You—”

Bruce abruptly stood, his chair scraping against the floor. His voice cut through your escalating argument with an uncharacteristic edge of authority. “Stop!”

Both you and Loki turned to him, startled. The doctor rarely raised his voice, but when he did, it was a sign that things had gone too far.

He took a deep breath, his hands clenching into fists. “What is this?” he demanded, looking between the two of you. “You’re bickering like kids on a playground, and I’m just—what? A prop in your ridiculous feud?”

Your chest tightened as you started to explain. “Bruce, no, I swear it’s not like that—”

“Don’t,” Bruce cut in, his tone sharp and trembling with barely contained anger. “Don’t try to sugarcoat it. I may not be as quick as some people, but I’m not blind. I see what’s happening here.”

Bruce turned his glare to Loki, his voice dropping into a dangerous growl. “And you—you think you’re clever, don’t you? Always playing games. Well, newsflash—I’m not interested in being part of them.”

His breathing became heavier, his body trembling—not from nervousness, but from something darker, angrier.

Your heart sank as you realized what was happening. “Bruce, just take a breath, okay? Let’s calm down—”

But it was already too late. His muscles bulged, his skin darkened into a familiar green, and the roar of the Hulk filled the gym.

Loki’s posture stiffened, the usual cocky swagger evaporating as the Hulk’s colossal frame shifted toward him. For a split second, a flash of pure terror flickered across his sharp features, a haunting echo from the Battle of New York when the Hulk had sent him crashing into the ground like a discarded rag. The fear was brief, almost imperceptible, but enough to betray him.

Before he could react to the imminent danger, Loki’s hand shot out with a swift, panicked motion, gripping your arm. “Hold still,” he snapped, panic creeping into the edges of his words. You barely had a chance to process his command before a surge of green magic enveloped you both, and the world blurred.

When the world came back into focus, you found yourself near the shake bar, the sounds of destruction still reverberating in the air. Almost immediately, the deafening crash of the green giant’s fist pounding into the floor where Loki had just been standing shook the entire gym. The floor shattered under the impact, sending tiles and twisted metal flying in all directions, and the mutant’s fury seemed to crack the very foundation of the gym.

The Hulk roared, his rage transforming the once serene space into a battleground. He flung gym equipment effortlessly, sending heavy machines soaring through the air as if they were paperweights. Chaos erupted, and everyone nearby scrambled to find shelter, the panic rippling through the room.

“Loki!” you shouted, snapping out of your dazed confusion, yanking your arm free from his grasp. “What did you just do?” Your frustration was raw, even as the remnants of Loki’s spell still crackled in the air around you.

Loki's gaze darted over the chaos, his eyes momentarily filled with the same terror from earlier. “I saved your life, you ungrateful—” he began, but his words were interrupted by another piece of equipment flying past, narrowly missing you both.

In the midst of the madness, Steve Rogers appeared, cutting through the mayhem with his usual calm but commanding presence. His shield was already raised to deflect debris, and his eyes locked onto you both, burning with frustration. “What did you two do?” His voice was sharp, his anger evident as he assessed the destruction around him.

Before either of you could answer, Steve held up a hand to silence you. “No. You know what, I don’t even want to hear it. Whatever this is, it ends now.” The sheer force of his frustration was palpable in the air.

Without skipping a beat, he turned to Natasha, who had approached cautiously, her demeanor calm but alert. “Nat’, calm him down. Now.”

The red head nodded, turning her voice soft and steady as she made her way toward the Hulk. Her presence seemed to cause a momentary hesitation in him, but it was clear that the damage had already been done. The gym was a wreck.

Steve shifted his attention back to you and Loki, his voice cold and authoritative. “This session is officially postponed until tomorrow. And you two—” he gestured between you and the god with a firm, pointed finger, “—will clean up every inch of this gym before dawn. No excuses.”

With that, he turned, muttering under his breath about “grown adults acting like children,” his steps echoing as he left.

As the dust settled and the rumble of destruction faded, you whipped around to face the one responsible for the mess. “See, this is your fault!” you accused, your voice rising with frustration. “If you hadn’t been so focused on antagonizing me—”

His eyes narrowed sharply, his lips twisting into a thin line as he interrupted you. “My fault?” he hissed, his tone low and dripping with venom. “If you hadn’t been playing the role of coach, none of this would’ve happened.”

You threw your hands up in exasperation. “Oh, please. You were the one who couldn’t keep your jealousy in check! You’re so petty, it’s unbelievable.”

“Petty?” Loki sneered, stepping closer, his voice dripping with indignation. “I am not petty. I simply refuse to be ignored.”

The two of you kept throwing accusations, a fierce back-and-forth of words filling the already charged air. You stepped forward, jabbing your finger toward his chest, your anger boiling over. “Fine!” you snapped, the words rushing out before you could stop them. “Tomorrow, when we fix this mess, we’ll figure out who’s really at fault.”

Loki’s smirk returned, dark and calculating, his gaze shifting with a mischievous glint. He slammed his hands onto the nearby counter, leaning in until his presence was overwhelming, the space between you growing impossibly small. His voice dropped, laced with something far more dangerous. “Gladly,” he purred, his smirk widening. “But don’t expect to come out of this unscathed, darling. When I settle things, I make sure it’s unforgettable.”

Your breath caught in your chest as his gaze lingered, heavy with meaning. His words held a promise—one that left the air thick with anticipation. Then, without another word, he straightened and turned away, his smirk still in place as he strode out of the ruined gym. You stood there, caught between the remnants of a shattered gym and a body that pounded in more than one place.

Tomorrow, everything would finally be settled, and the weight of it all seemed to hang in the air like a promise of more to come.

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