#and more well-thought-out writing than this ^^'

[spideyjimin]

Bloodlines entwined: I | jjk

⤷ having a baby alone was supposed to be easy. but an accidental twist of fate pulled you into a hidden world of werewolves, and ancient bloodlines. navigating your already complicated life becomes even harder as you uncover your past; one tied to a legacy you never knew existed. and in the middle of this chaos stands jungkook, the werewolf king… and the father of your child. 

—  pairing: werewolf!jungkook x female reader 

—  genre: strangers to lovers, parents-to-be au, royalty au, werewolves au, soulmates au, angst, fluff, and smut 

— rating: 18+ 

—  words: 7,213

—  warnings: strong language, mention of death, mention of murder, mention of loneliness, mention of blood, several mentions of abortion, and crying

—  author’s note: here it is the first chapter of this series! <3 i’m actually very excited about this entire universe, i’ve been working on it for a little while already & i’ve been taking my time to write each part 🤗 the beginning is inspired by Jane the Virgin and the Flash as they are both my favorite shows ✨ i hope you’ll enjoy this part & don’t hesitate to let me know what you think 😊  

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Chapter I: when worlds collide

SERIES MASTERLIST | next

Sitting in your car, you’ve been looking blinkingly at the windshield, hands trembling against the steering wheel. For ten whole minutes, you’ve been frozen like this as if moving would shatter the fragile sense of calm you’ve barely managed to hold together.

Your life is about to drastically change; you know it deep down.  

“The deed is done,” you whisper to yourself.

You let out a shaky breath, and your reflection in the rearview mirror catches your eye. You look exhausted, your eyes wide and glistening.

For two years, this moment has been building. You have thoughtfully considered having a child on your own. At first, it was just a random thought that crossed your mind, a curiosity born on one of those quiet, lonely moments where life felt both too much and not enough. Then, you deeply thought about it. The idea rooted itself deep within you, anchoring into something raw and tender: a longing to create a family on your own terms. 

After much research and consideration, you decided to go for it.

Many people couldn’t understand your choice, but honestly, you don’t give two shits about others’ opinions. What did matter to you was the support of close family and friends.

Felix, the man who raised you after your parents were stolen from you, proposed to accompany you to the fertility clinic, but you gently declined his offer. This was something you wanted to do by yourself. Well, you just came alone to be inseminated. Other than that, he has been by your side every step of the way.

He helped you to go through the countless donor profiles, and every document needed for this adventure of yours.

The process was a bit long and emotionally draining. The first steps were more like an evaluation, mostly for the clinic to understand your reasons and ensure you’ve deeply thought about all the aspects. Having a kid alone isn’t just about fulfilling your dreams but also about building a life for a child.

Once you’ve successfully completed those steps, you had to choose the donor. There were a lot of choices; it was like going grocery shopping. You were handed a catalog of potential donors with their medical histories and first names. It felt odd to be choosing the progenitor like this. After going through every profile, one of them stood out.

Following the donor selection, your cycles and hormone levels were tracked. When all was good, you’d get inseminated on your ovulation period, which technically is happening this week.  

So, ten minutes ago, you walked out of the clinic after being artificially knocked up.

If your egg is fertilized, in nine months, you’ll welcome your very much desired baby. A tiny human who will call you mom. You already picked the names, one for a girl, one for a boy. You simply can’t wait to welcome a tiny human in your life. Hopefully, the life of your baby will be better than yours.

You lean your head against the steering wheel, closing your eyes as the ghosts of your past surface.

Twenty years ago, your life was turned upside down when a terrible murderer put an end to your parents’ lives. Nobody ever found him or her; it’s like the person completely vanished into the night. That person left behind a little girl with questions nobody could ever answer and scars nobody could understand.  

Since you didn’t have any family left, you were raised by your father’s best friend, Felix. Over time, he became like a second father to you. Even though you were full of anger when he took you over, he stayed by your side and helped you navigate this sad reality; one where your parents weren’t part of anymore.

His daughter, Lexi is your age. You were already so close, and living under the same roof brought you even closer. She’s your super best friend, almost like a sister today. A smile grows on your face as you think of her. Your life would have been a nightmare without her.

Lexi was the first person to be aware of this desire to become a single mother. She even pushed you to do it as soon as you could, and she has encouraged you like nobody else. She also helped you select a donor; she even made fun of the names of some of them.

Your phone buzzes; the name and picture of Lexi appearing on the screen.

“Hi,” you say when you pick up.

“Soo,” she says. “How did it go?”

“Good, I guess?” you say with clear hesitation. “The doctor just inserted a thin catheter, looked at the screen, and said it was done,” you explain. “Now we just have to wait.”

Waiting is now the worst part, especially since you decided not to take any pregnancy test until the next appointment. Meaning, you have to wait two full weeks.

“Let’s hope the donor’s little swimmers are good ones,” she says.

While you always wanted to have a kid, Lexi never wanted one. You and her are total opposites but that’s what helped create such a strong bond between you. “Yeah, let’s hope for that,” you smile.  

Two weeks later

A couple of days ago, you took a blood test, and now, you’re in the waiting room, patiently waiting for the doctor to call you up.

These past two weeks, you’ve been internally battling to take a pregnancy test. It’s been hard to fight the urge to discover beforehand if you’re expecting or not. On your way to the clinic, your heart was beating extremely fast with nervousness. Even the music playing in the car didn’t seem to calm you down.

Even though you’re extremely nervous, a part of you knows. You can’t explain it, but you feel it deep down. Two nights ago, you were lying in bed completely exhausted after an intense day at work. The rhythm of your heartbeat was rocking you to sleep. Amidst the thrum of your own heart, you swear you could hear a faint, smaller, and quicker rhythm.

You instantly opened your eyes, scanning the room. The sound wasn’t coming from outside. It felt like it was inside you. You stayed perfectly still, listening to that tiny sound. That night, you were rocked to sleep by that new rhythm.

The morning after, as you caught your reflection in the bathroom’s mirror, something felt off. Your brows furrowed as you noticed your own scent was different. It felt like it was mixed with somebody else’s scent, but it wasn’t as strong as yours or any other living human. It was extremely odd.

After a little while, the doctor says your name, and with shaky legs, you walk to her office. Your heart is beating at a very crazy pace, ready to burst at any moment. This is so stressful; it feels like time is moving so slowly.

“Hello yn,” the doctor smiles at you while you’re entering the room. “How have you been feeling?” you now take a seat.

“I’m good, thanks,” you smile back at her.

She sits down at her desk and takes a look at her computer.

“So, did you take any pregnancy test?” she asks.

“No, no,” you answer. “I wanted to keep the surprise for today.”

“I see,” she looks again at her screen before taping on her keyboard.

She seems to quickly read something before her smile widens. Your heart is going completely crazy. It really makes you nervous, and you try to mentally prepare yourself to receive the bad news as well. It’ll definitely break your heart but you’ll try again.  

This entire process is quite expensive, but the payment can be spread out over time rather than made in one shot. With this first payment, you have the right to three attempts. If pregnancy isn’t achieved after those attempts, you’ll have to go through another round and pay for additional attempts.

The doctor mentioned that usually, it takes about three to six attempts to achieve a successful pregnancy. Hopefully, you’ll get pregnant within those first three tries. You’re not entirely sure you’ll be able to afford another round of insemination.   

“Well, it looks like it only took you one try to conceive,” she informs you.

And right there, your heart bursts with joy. There’s indeed a little human being growing inside you. You’ll become a mother in nine months. You can’t believe it.

A little tear runs down your face as you hear the good news. It’s such a relief. You won't have to worry about coming back for another round.

“That’s good news,” you clean the tear on your cheek.

“It is indeed,” she says. “In four weeks more or less, we’ll plan an ultrasound to confirm the embryo’s implantation and check for a heartbeat,” she adds.

Well, you’ll still get worried about that because maybe until there, your baby will not survive. But you need to remain positive. No need to start stressing about it; you promised yourself that you’ll try to remain calm the entirety of the process and pregnancy so you’ll offer a great beginning of life to your baby.

“I’m very hopeful everything will go well because both you and the donor are in good health,” she says.

“Let’s hope for that,” you answer.

You then proceed to schedule the next appointment in four weeks. You can’t hide the immense smile on your face. This is the best news you got today. Nothing else will ever be possible to ruin this day.

When you leave the clinic, you instantly call Lexi.

“I AM PREGNANT!” you scream with excitement.

“Yeeeah,” she screams as well. “I’m going to be an aunty!” she adds.

“I’m so relieved that this first attempt was successful,” you admit.

Once you get inside your car, you touch your belly to caress it.

“That baby is so lucky to have you as a mother,” she says after. “And even more lucky to join our family.”

For sure, your family will extremely love this baby. It’s such a desired baby, and everybody has been so excited.

“They’ll be so loved,” you reply.

“There’s absolutely no doubt,” she says. “Dad will be so happy about this news; he’s been so excited to become a grandpa.”

Felix has expressed lately that he couldn’t wait to welcome a baby and become a granddad. This man has raised you for twenty years, and you consider him as a second father. There’s no doubt that your baby will see him as their grandfather even if, biologically speaking, he isn’t.

When you hang up, you stare into the void for a couple of minutes. In this moment, you wish your parents would be here. They would have been so happy to become grandparents, but they won’t be by your side for this new chapter of your life.

They are also the reason why you’re doing all of this. Since they passed, there’s been a tremendous emptiness inside you that even the love of Felix couldn’t fill in. This void stems mostly from the fact that you were left alone when they were killed. You’ve been feeling so lonely since then.

Throughout your life, you tried to fill it with relationships but they all failed. As far as you can remember, you wanted to follow the traditional path to build a family. However, it never worked out. Then, one day, you saw a brochure about single mothers, and you’ve been thinking about it since then.

You’ve seen motherhood as a role that will fill this emotional void you’ve been carrying for years. Plus, you’ve also seen it as a way to finally control your life. Twenty years ago, someone decided for you what your life would become. This wasn’t fair.

And you also want to give your baby the life you never got. You want to give them a loving family that won’t disappear the second the parents die. Outside of your parents, you didn’t have a family. Based on what Felix told you, your grandparents were against your parents' relationship so they moved into another city to live freely and build a family.

Life hasn’t been fair for you, but you want to make it fair for your baby.

Two weeks later

The clinic called you this morning to urgently come in the afternoon, only making you grow concerned during the day. You kept wondering what the reason for such urgency would be. Did they notice something when they did the blood test? Did they get the wrong blood test? Are you even really pregnant? 

However, you’re a hundred percent sure you’re carrying a life inside you. You haven’t had the ‘normal’ early symptoms yet, but you can feel your baby inside you. The faint heartbeat can still be heard, and there’s still that subtle scent interwoven with yours.

For the past two weeks, you’ve repeatedly inhaled this new scent, almost to make sure you weren’t hallucinating. Most of the time, you wondered if it wasn’t something like blood, sweat, or the smell of your new shampoo. It was definitely an earthly one. One that only a human can possess.

Once inside the clinic, you’re instantly installed in the doctor’s room. Your heart is crazily beating inside your chest; you’re so nervous right now. Seconds later, a man joins you in the room.

At first glance, you’d think he is the CEO of a huge company. He’s fully dressed in a black suit with a white shirt underneath, his hands casually placed in his pants pockets. This man is extremely charismatic; something about him draws you in.  

The man looks at you while frowning, his eyes moving from your eyes to your belly. By reflex, you cover your stomach with your hands. He’s making you uncomfortable with his intense stare.

He has a very strong bestial scent, it predominates his cologne. Everything about him is imposing, even the way his heart beats; it’s so calm while yours is completely erratic. The man’s eyes are clued on you.

The doctor arrives right after and closes the door behind her. Her face is quite serious; she even seems concerned.

“Miss y/l/n,” she takes a seat at her desk. “Mister Jeon,” she looks at the man behind you. “Please take a seat.”

The two of you sit down next to each other with apprehension. You can hear his heart beating a little faster, but he remains extremely calm on the outside.  

“There’s been a mistake,” she starts saying.

The words hang in the air, heavy with unspoken implications. The doctor pauses, giving you time to absorb the gravity of the statement. Her tone is gentle, but at the same time professional.  

The sterile, cold walls of the room seem to close in around you as the doctor’s words pierce through your thoughts.

“There was a mix-up with the sample…” your breath is caught in your throat, your hands trembling. “We were supposed to inseminate you with the donor sample you selected. We still don’t know how but you got inseminated with Mister Jeon’s sample.”

Your eyes look at the man sitting next to you. All you can see in his eyes is the same disbelief that reflects your own. So, this is your child’s father.  

Many questions cross your mind, but they remain unspoken, lodged in your throat.

“We truly apologize for our mistake,” she says. “We were totally aware you both wanted to have a child alone.”

You desired nothing more than being alone in this adventure; you didn’t want a present father. That was the whole point of a donor. Now, you know the father of your child, and he’d probably like to be present.

For the past months, you went through a series of questions regarding the fact that you’ll raise your child alone. They asked you many times how you’d explain to your child that they don’t have a father. This now feels like a complete waste of time.

“We understand the nature of this situation. We will refund the totality of the treatment’s costs. We can also terminate the pregnancy if you both wish.”

Those words seem so heavy and yet, they represent the reality of the choice you now have to face. A knot tightens in your stomach at the thought of undoing something you wished for so long. The baby is now growing inside of you, you’ve got used to falling asleep with their tiny heartbeat. The only thought of not having it anymore breaks your heart beyond comprehension.

Right now, everything—your carefully constructed plans, your hopes, the small life growing inside you—seems to be slipping through your fingers.

Mister Jeon is silent beside you, his hands clenched into fists on his knees. He seems as stunned as you, but you can’t help but think that there’s something else there too. Something deeper and darker.

You ignore if he’s thinking the same thing as you, but you can feel it: the strange twist of fate pulling you both into an unknown world, one you both hadn’t planned for.

“You still have some time to decide, of course,” the doctor’s voice is still very soft.

Time seems irrelevant now. There’s a choice you need to make; a choice you didn’t expect to face. You swallow hard, your heart racing inside your chest. Your hands caress your belly through your shirt while you only hear the baby’s fragile heartbeat.

This isn’t supposed to happen. This can’t be real.

Jungkook’s face went pale as the doctor’s words sank in.

“There’s been a mistake,” she starts saying.

Just like you, the room’s white walls feel suffocating, the air thick with a tension he can’t shake. A mistake. His mistake. He tried to avoid this situation. He was supposed to go through surrogacy to guarantee a child that would uphold his lineage. His werewolf lineage, pure and untouched by human blood.

“There was a mix-up with the sample…” the doctor’s words hang up in the air like a death sentence. “We were supposed to inseminate you with the donor sample you selected. We still don’t know how but you got inseminated with Mister Jeon’s sample.”

His eyes quickly look at you, and he notices how much you’re shaking. It seems like you’re in a more devasted state than he is.  

“We truly apologize for our mistake,” she says. “We were totally aware you both wanted to have a child alone.”

Jungkook blinks, trying to absorb what is happening. A human child. Nonetheless, his child. Having children with humans isn’t just a personal choice; it’s a fundamental rule of the werewolf society. The very foundation of his power as the king depends on the purity of his bloodline. To break the rule is to risk everything.

He knows better than anyone what happens to the werewolf-human hybrid kids together with the parents. They are killed by the pack. Being a king doesn’t make him the exception to the rule. If this pregnancy goes to full term, not only will he be killed, but the baby and the lady sitting next to him will too.  

You didn’t ask for any of this. You don’t deserve to die because of a mistake. 

His gaze filled with frustration and panic moves toward you once more as his pulse quickens. He wanted control over the situation. He never intended to father a hybrid child. And now, not only is he involved in this pregnancy, but the child is going to carry his blood mixed with human genetics. God only knows what can happen to this kid, genetically speaking.

“We understand the nature of this situation. We will refund the totality of the treatment costs. We can also terminate the pregnancy if you both wish.”

‘This can’t be happening’, he thinks.

His eyes move back to the doctors, his hands clenched into fists. The thought of the entire werewolf community learning of this is unbearable. And what is his mother going to think of this?

She was the first person to support him in this surrogacy journey. She knew how important it was for him to have a child as soon as possible because he’d been struggling to find someone with whom he’d mate. Having an heir is the first thing a king should do to ensure the legacy.

Now, he’s about to have a child with a human. That’s not possible. This child won’t have a pure bloodline, this child can’t ever be an heir.     

“You still have some time to decide, of course,” the doctor’s voice is still very soft.

The idea of termination seems dreadful, but the possibility of a hybrid child heir seems even worse. His responsibility as king, and the traditions that have been in place for centuries don’t allow for such breach. To raise a kid with human blood would mean instant disgrace, not only for him but for his entire family. How could he even be respected after this?

His entire world is slipping through his fingers. His position as king is now in jeopardy. This baby will destabilize the entire werewolf community. Nobody will respect him and will only see him as weak. Weak for having a human child.

There’s no going back. His mind tries to find a solution to fix this, or how to undo this. The idea of raising a child with a human—no matter how much it is his responsibility—is unthinkable. He never desired this and hasn’t even considered it. He has been so focused on maintaining his bloodline that the idea of a mistake happening never crossed his mind.

Your presence beside him destabilizes him beyond comprehension. He can see the confusion in your eyes mixed with disbelief. You can’t comprehend the extension of this entire problem. You can’t even comprehend the danger of mixing bloodlines, because you aren’t a werewolf.

Jungkook stands in silence for a moment, his mind racing with thoughts. Terminating this pregnancy isn’t something he desires, but having a child with a human is simply impossible. His heart beats too crazily, and he can hear yours beating just as fast. His heart and duty are pulling him in two different directions.

Finally, his eyes meet yours. His voice is soft but it carries a heavy weight. “We need to decide. This affects both of us.”

After what felt like an eternity, you both leave the room completely shaken up by the news you just got. How could this be happening?

As you’re both walking in the clinic in the parking lot’s direction, none of you dares to speak. You’re a complete stranger to Jungkook. All he knows is that you’re a human carrying his child. 

“I can’t have that child,” he finally breaks the silence.

His words cause you to stop.

“It’s too early for me to consider terminating this pregnancy,” you admit. “I need time.”

Jungkook understands your perspective. It’s not a decision you lightly take, especially if you’ve come to this clinic to have a child. It’d be completely absurd to abort after going through this entire process.

“Of course,” he says. “But I want you to know my point of view.”

You nod, understanding his perspective as well. This is such a horrible situation. Jungkook wanted to have an heir while you simply wanted to have a child on your own. On top of that, he doesn’t look like the donor you selected.

“So if I decide to keep it, would you be out?” you ask.

Jungkook considers your words. There’s a possibility that the baby could still exist, but he wouldn’t be part of their life. He’d still be losing because he wants a child, but at least this way, his position wouldn’t be jeopardized, and no one would get hurt or killed.  

“It’s possible,” he honestly answers.

You nod once more. Even though he decides not to be part of his child’s life, he’d still know that he has a kid somewhere. He wouldn’t have any trouble finding you; he already knows your smell, and he has the means to find you.

“Okay,” you say.

Jungkook watches you take a pen and paper from your purse before writing something.

“This is my phone number,” you hand him the piece of paper. “In case you change your mind or take a decision.”

The man takes the piece of paper while you give him a small smile. You start walking away, his eyes following you until you disappear inside a car.

In this situation, he definitely would like to ask his mother for advice, but he can’t. He already knows the answer she’ll give him. ‘This baby can’t exist.’ And she’s right, but he can’t force you to terminate the pregnancy. It’s your body after all.

In the eventuality that you decide to proceed with the pregnancy, he guesses he’ll let you be a mother alone and pretend like this kid doesn’t exist.

You’ve spent the last two days crying in bed. The conversation with the doctor and this mysterious Mister Jeon has been playing over and over in your head. You can still picture everything so clearly; the white walls of the doctor’s room, the apologies from the doctor, and Mister Jeon’s piercing gaze.

‘There’s been a mistake,’ ‘There was a mix-up with the sample,’ the words still echo in your mind.

You’ve been trying to make sense of how such a monumental mistake has happened. But nothing seems to make sense. The clinic did this; the clinic took control over your decision. This chapter of your life was about you gaining control, but once more, someone decided for you. It’s been making you angry.

You’re furious at the clinic and their negligence. You trusted them with your project of building your own family. However, they decided otherwise.  

But underneath that anger, there’s another fury; one directed to yourself. You were so focused on having a child on your own terms that you didn’t stop to consider the what-ifs. You didn’t stop to consider that something might go wrong. And now, you are here.    

You’ve been staring at the ceiling for hours now, your mind trying to find a solution. Do you keep this baby? Do you terminate the pregnancy?

This choice feels impossible. It feels like no matter what your life will completely change.  

But deep down, you somehow feel some kind of relief. Because when Mister Jeon—this intense and charismatic man—said there was a possibility he’d walk away, that he’d leave you to raise this child alone, you felt lighter.

His potential absence is appealing. It aligns with your original choice, to be a single mother. A choice where your child is yours, and yours alone. But then, there’s also a possibility where he stays, or that he comes back later. What would happen then?

You press your hands against your face while a guttural growl leaves your lips. This is so damn frustrating. This should be simple. Because now, you’re left wondering what you want. Do you want to walk away from this and stick to the original plan? Or do you want to embrace this chaos, and see where this might lead?

Your hands slide down to your stomach, caressing it while you hear again the tiny heartbeat. This sound comforts you which makes you close your eyes.

For now, you don’t have any answers to all your questions. You’re not even sure you’ll have them tomorrow. For now, you’ll let yourself breathe. You’ll let yourself feel. And maybe, just maybe, you’ll find the answers.  

The sound of your phone ringing pushes you out of your own thoughts, informing you that you received a message. You sit on your bed before grabbing the phone on the nightstand. You received a message from an unknown number. By curiosity, you unlock your phone to read it. To your surprise, it’s the famous and mysterious Mister Jeon.  

From unknown: hi miss y/l/n, this is jeon jungkook, the father of your child. i’d like to meet you to discuss the matter. would you be free tonight?

Your heart hammers inside your chest, ready to burst at any second. He contacted you sooner than expected. You were thinking that you wouldn’t hear anything from him for at least a week. You thought you’d have more time to make a decision before meeting him. Now, it seems you don’t, and that you’ll have a very interesting conversation with him tonight.

With shaky hands, you start typing your answer.

To unknown: hello mister jeon, we could meet tonight

When you press ‘send’, you stare at the conversation, waiting for an answer. Mister Jeon responds instantly to your message, proposing to meet in a town square. You accept the suggestion and quickly go to your clothes cupboard to pick up an outfit.

The man seems very impressive, and you want to be presentable. He’s after all the progenitor of the life growing inside you.

A couple of hours later, you take the road to the meeting point. Surprisingly, you’ve remained calm for the entire drive. Driving is actually the only thing able to calm your tormented soul. Whenever you go through something very intense, you just drive to clear your mind.

However, since this pregnancy thing, even driving hasn’t been able to help you out. You tried to drive yesterday, but it only made things worse. So it definitely surprises you that you’ve been able to clear your mind before meeting Mister Jeon.

When you arrive, he’s already there waiting for you. He’s not wearing a suit, quite the contrary. His outfit is only made of a grey sweater with a blue pair of jeans. His hair isn’t perfectly pushed back as it was two days ago. It feels like you’re meeting a completely different person.

When he sees you, he stands up. As he does so, you notice he holds a box in his right hand. It’s a small one, but it still intrigues you.

“Good evening, miss y/l/n,” he says.

“Good evening, mister Jeon,” you say back.

His presence is still very imposing, but the fact that he isn’t wearing a suit anymore changes it a bit. He seems more approachable than he was in the clinic.

“Please call me Jungkook,” he offers you a small smile.

It’s the first time you see him smiling, and it feels like a very warm one. Beneath it all and in the midst of the city noise, you can perceive his heartbeat. It’s quite rapid which makes you tilt your head. Is he nervous?

“You can call me yn as well,” you smile back at him.  

“I’ve brought you a box with some pastries,” he hands you the box. “I wasn’t sure what you’d like.”

Your smile grows wider at his simple but heartwarming gesture. This wasn’t expected, but it lightens the mood. Jungkook seems to be a nice person which contrasts with the cold and unreadable person he seemed two days ago.

“Thanks,” you say while grabbing the little box. “You didn’t need to,” your eyes look up at him.

After that, you both sit down on the bench he was on before you arrived. By the way he rubs his hands on his tights, you can tell that he’s a bit nervous. You try not to overanalyze him, because you know your mind will go crazy, full of questions.

“What is happening is really crazy,” he admits with obvious nervousness. “I never imagined things would go this way,” you nod.

Jungkook looks everywhere, except at you. It seems like he isn’t brave enough to face you, almost like a teenager confessing his love.

“As I told you two days ago, I can’t have this child,” he finally speaks. “I really would love to, but I’d put the three of us in danger.”

Your heart starts beating rapidly. What does he mean by ‘putting you in danger’? Does he come from a crazy family? Is he part of the mafia? This is scaring the hell out of you.

“We didn’t know each other up until two days ago, and you don’t deserve to be put in danger because of a stupid mistake the clinic did,” he seems angry when he mentions the mistake. “But I can’t force you to terminate the pregnancy, it’s your body, and it was also your wish to have a child. I can’t take that away from you.”

It kind of surprises you how respectful he is. Any other man in his position could have forced or paid you to put an end to this pregnancy. It’s really admirable.

“In case you want to keep going with it, I just want you to know that I’ll step away, and I will never come back to reclaim a role I refused from the beginning.”

You wonder what the reasons behind his decision could be. This man desired to have a child but is now refusing to have one with you because of a mistake.

“To be honest with you, I don’t know what to do,” you admit.

His piercing eyes finally look at you. For a split second, you can swear that they were red. Red like blood. This destabilizes you, and you furrow your eyebrows. You’re not sure if you’re being delirious or if this is real.

“I wanted to become a mother, but not like this,” you continue, still destabilized by what you just saw. “So it leaves me wondering what I should do. But if you walk away, I’ll be more tempted to keep the baby because, in the end, it’ll go as I planned.”

In an unexplainable way, this man puts you at ease. It feels like you can confess how you truly feel about this situation without being judged by him. This man exudes serenity which draws you even more to him.

“I get that,” he says.

For a brief moment, you only look at him while your heart peacefully beats in your chest. His dark eyes stare right into your soul, and it feels like the world completely stopped. There’s just the two of you. But Jungkook breaks the contact, looking in another direction.

“If you decide to keep the child and need any financial help, I can give it to you,” he speaks.

This man definitely seems like a good guy, and you wonder even more why he’s walking away from this.

“I won’t,” you answer. “I wouldn’t have done this if I didn’t have any means to take care of the baby.”

For sure you need financial stability to be a single mother, and you would have never embarked on this adventure without having it.

Jungkook runs his fingers through his fluffy hair, avoiding still your gaze. “Can I ask why you want to become a single mom?”

The question catches you off guard. You weren’t expecting this man—this stranger—to be interested in you.

“I didn’t have an easy life and I grew up without my parents,” you confess. “Motherhood was something I aspired to have in my life since I’m very young, and I’ve desired to give to my child everything I didn’t have. No matter if it was with someone or alone.”

Your eyes shift from Jungkook to the square full of people. It’s never easy to express out loud and to a complete stranger why you embarked on this adventure. Mentioning your parents is actually never easy; even after all this time.

Suddenly, you feel Jungkook’s gaze on you, but he doesn’t say anything. He just stares at you in complete silence. For once in your life, people’s heartbeats and scents don’t suffocate you. You can hear and smell them, but it’s like it doesn’t matter.

For as long as you can remember, you’ve had those developed skills. You can hear stuff from afar, and you can strongly smell people’s natural body’s scent. Since it’s kind of ‘normal’ to you, you got used to it; but sometimes, and especially when you’re in the middle of heavy crowds, it suffocates you. It becomes simply too much.

This is something you never told anyone, too scared to be judged. Undoubtedly, people would say you’ve gone crazy due to the trauma of losing your parents. Not even Felix or Lexi knows about it. They just think you’re agoraphobic.

However, lately, you’ve been trying to go to some crowded place to overcome this suffocating feeling. You ignore why you’ve been doing it, but you’ve been doing it. It’s still too much, but today, next to this complete stranger, it doesn’t feel like it.

“I’m sorry you lost your parents,” he whispers.

You turn to look at him to offer him a little smile.

“Thanks,” you mumble. “Can I also ask you why you’re doing this?” you dare to ask.

Jungkook nods before looking away once more. It definitely looks like it’s hard for him to hold your gaze.

“In my world,” he starts saying. “I have heavy responsibilities, and having a child is one of them. But I can’t have one with anybody. I’m very limited in who is the biological mother so that’s why I can’t have one with you.”

You almost feel offended by his words. In which kind of world can’t you be the mother of his child? It’s completely crazy!

“Oh,” you simply say.

“You could have been the surrogate…” you can hear some kind of chuckle. “But never the progenitor.”

“It’s seems like a tough world.”

His eyes look again at you; you can see that he seems to hesitate with the answer.

“It isn’t,” he finally says. “But it is with me.”

Obviously, he carefully chose his words.

“Well, I hope you’ll find the right mother for your child,” you offer him once more a little smile.

“Thanks,” he smiles back at you.

The two of you look back again at the people walking in the town square. They are walking around you, ignoring totally what you’re going through, what tough decision you have to make. They ignore everything about you, just as you ignore everything about them…  

“I’m sorry about all of this,” he adds.

“It’s not your fault,” you answer. “It’s the clinic’s.”

Jungkook shifts uncomfortably, his gaze fixed on the people walking in front of you. His heart is racing and piercing through your ears. He’s even more nervous than he was before, and it concerns you a bit. But you don’t say anything, too afraid to scare him off if you reveal you can hear his heartbeat.  

“Yn…” he starts. “There’s something you need to know,” his voice is deep and low at the same time. It’s so low that it almost drowns out by the distant chatter of people passing by.

You turn to look at him, your brow furrowing. “Okay,” you whisper.  

Jungkook takes a deep breath, his jaw tightening before he exhales. His eyes don’t meet yours immediately, but when he does, there’s an intensity that makes your stomach twist.

“When I said my world is different,” he swallows with difficulty. “I don’t mean it in a metaphorical sense. My world, my reality is not the same as yours.”

You frown even more, confusion plastered all over your face. You’re definitely incredibly confused. How could his world be different than yours? You live on the same planet, and breathe the same air. How could it be not the same?  

“What do you mean?”

Jungkook gets closer, his voice dropping even lower, barely audible. However, you still hear it perfectly.

“I am not entirely human, yn.”

Your breath catches in your throat, your heart skipping a beat. You stare at him while waiting for him to elaborate. However, Jungkook just stares at you, waiting for your reaction.

“What do you mean by ‘not entirely human’?” you tilt your head.

For a couple of seconds, he doesn’t speak, almost as if he’s scared to reveal his true nature to you.

“I’m a werewolf.”

The words hang in the air, heavy and impossible to ignore. It leaves you wondering if this man is of sound mind. Right now, you’re slightly concerned about his mental health, and the future of your child, if you keep them.

Your first reaction is to laugh, dismissing his words as if it is some kind of twisted joke. But the look on his face tells you that he’s deadly serious. This isn’t a joke.

“A werewolf?” you repeat to make sure you hear it well.

Jungkook nods. He looks tense and he maintains his deep glance on you.

“It’s why I can’t have this child,” he starts to explain. “In my world, bloodlines matter. Werewolf bloodlines are sacred, and the continuation of my lineage isn’t just about having a child. It’s about having the right child with the right kind of mother.”

The weight of his words crashes over you like a tidal wave. You stand up, your hands running through your hair. Your mind is spinning, and your pulse thunders in your ears. This is something you definitely weren’t expecting to hear today.

Werewolves? You’re carrying the child of a werewolf?

This sounds like it comes straight from a fantasy movie.

“This doesn’t feel real,” you whisper to yourself but Jungkook hears it.  

“I didn’t want you to be dragged into this world, but you deserve the truth.”

You keep your back turned to him while you cross your arms against your chest.

“This is something you need to consider if you decide to keep the baby.”

At his words, you freeze. Instinctively, your hands down move to your stomach. Jungkook’s eyes follow your hands.

“Is this…” your voice trembles. “Is this a viable child?”

If you want to keep going with this pregnancy, you need to know if this baby can survive.

“There wouldn’t be any reason why this child wouldn’t survive because of mixed blood,” he stands up and gets close to you. “But as they grow up, they’ll develop werewolf abilities. And, one day, they’ll probably turn into one. It’s pretty unpredictable, though. There’s never been a human-werewolf hybrid before.”

Damn, this is leaving you speechless. How can this be real? Werewolves are supposed to exist in movies, not in real life.   

“This is insane,” you rub your hands on your face. “This can’t be real.”

Jungkook steps closer. His presence is grounding but nonetheless overwhelming.  

“How do I know you’re telling the truth?” you demand, your voice filled with panic.  

Before you can blink, he gets even closer to you. He’s in front of you in an instant, his hand gently grabbing yours. Your eyes look down at his hand as you notice it changing. His fingers elongate, his nails sharpen into claws, and the texture of his skin turns into something more beastly. Slowly, your eyes look up, and what you see completely freezes your body.  His eyes glow a deep, predatory red, and there’s something undeniably wolfish about them.

You take a step back while setting your hand free. As you do so, Jungkook shifts back, his hand returns to its normal form, and his eyes fade back to a human form. The transformation is so quick that it almost feels like you imagined it.

“So what happens now?” you ask.

Jungkook’s gaze softens at your words.

“That depends on you, yn.”

Please note that the taglist is closed

[mggslover]

No Strings Attached

In which reader is on a mission to get her boss to relieve some stress, not realizing he'd end up doing the same for her.

Pairing: Aaron Hotchner x fem!bau!reader Genre: smut (18+) x fluff Content warnings: porn with plot, jessica and jack make an appearance, no mention of haley, hotch smiling (lol), reader being sad and a bit insecure bc she hasn't got laid in a while, mentions of drinking wine, no strings attached (but not really bc they're obsessed with each other), soft!dom hotch, praise, breast play, ass worship, oral (f receiving), p in v sex Word count: 4,7k A/n: first time writing a fic dedicated to Hotch and i fear i'm obsessed... also i had to do some acrobatics to make sure these positions work (they do) so give me a heart for the effort your feedback and support are highly appreciated!

Aaron Hotchner is a busy man. And these days, even more so. The responsibilities of being Unit Chief were always demanding, but they seemed to multiply now that he was balancing the weight of single parenthood as well.

As a profiler it was obvious to you how much he struggled with juggling between these professions, even though he always tried to hide it from the team. You noticed his slightly furrowed brow when he thought no one was watching, and the slow drag of his steps as he moved between meetings and paperwork.

Since you’d joined the team, you'd developed a deep respect for Aaron. Where others saw a hard-nosed, no-nonsense boss—a “drill sergeant” in Morgan’s words—you saw a man who held himself and his team to incredibly high standards because he believed in their potential. You saw a man who cared deeply, even when his personal life was slowly suffocating beneath the pressure of it all.

Even if he would never admit it, no human being can go through the difficulties he goes through without ever catching a break, without getting any help. So tonight, as you passed his office, a light still flickering inside, you decided to do something about it.

Your knuckle made contact with the door, knocking three times as you waited. When there was no immediate response, you quietly creaked the door open.

The sight of him behind the desk was familiar. His shoulders were hunched and his brows furrowed in concentration, as he scanned the endless stacks of paperwork that seemed to breed faster than he could handle them.

"Hey," you greeted softly, offering a small smile as you stepped into the room.

Hotch looked up from the pile in front of him, his gaze flicking from the documents to you. There was a slight exhaustion behind his eyes that he didn’t try to mask.

"Hey.” His eyes dropped to his wristwatch for just a moment, his lips curling into a subtle frown. "It’s late. Why haven’t you gone home yet?"

You waved off his concern. "I’m about to. Had to send a few more emails for the lab reports."

He nodded, but didn’t immediately return to his work. Instead, he watched you with that signature intensity of his, silently observing you.

"I- uh, I wanted to ask you something.” You hesitated for a moment as you moved further into the room, the door gently clicking shut behind you.

His brows rose slightly, an almost imperceptible shift of interest in his posture. "Go on."

You cleared your throat, your hands instinctively clasping behind your back. "You’ve been working a lot of late nights."

“That’s not a question.” He stated in an amused tone.

A small smile played on your lips. "I know, but it’s a… concern," you said. "And I was wondering if there was anything I could do to help you out."

He looked at you, his expression unreadable. His hands folded neatly in his lap, and he leaned back in his chair. It was hard to tell whether he was considering your offer or mentally debating the logistics of it.

"You want to help me out?" he asked, his voice tinged with confusion.

“Yes.”

Aaron grabbed a stack of papers, knocking them into a neat pile on his desk, then looked back at you. "So, this is something you’re interested in?" His tone was laced with amusement as he nodded down at the amount of paperwork in his hands.

You winced at the sight of it. "Uh... not exactly," you said, trying to keep your tone light. "I was thinking more along the lines of taking care of Jack," you added, raising your voice slightly on the last part, unsure of how he’d react to your suggestion.

His eyebrows shot up in surprise. "Taking care of Jack?"

"Yeah.” You met his gaze, trying to sound confident despite the uncertainty creeping in. "Just on the days we don’t have a case. I could go to your place and stay with him until you get home."

His eyes narrowed slightly. "You know Jessica’s there," he said, referring to his ex-sister-in-law who had taken on the role of taking care of Jack when he had to work.

“Don’t you think she deserves a break every once in a while?”

His expression shifted, becoming slightly defensive. "She offered to take care of him.”

"I know," you responded quickly, knowing he’d never force her into it. "But I’m offering too. I babysat all through university, I know what I’m doing."

He gave you a tight-lipped smile, his eyes flicking back to the papers in front of him. "That’s not necessary, but thank you," he said, his tone closing the conversation.

You weren’t ready to let it go yet. You stepped closer to his desk, hoping to draw his attention back. "Please? I want to help you."

He didn’t look up. "I don’t need any help," he stubbornly replied, his eyes still glued to the paperwork.

“Then let me put it this way,” you pressed on. "I want to help the team, because no offense, your stress is affecting all of us. And on top of that, I want to help Jack."

He glanced up at you, the wheels in his mind turning, and you showed him your best puppy eyes.

"Did you learn that from Reid?" he asked, a small smile tugging at his lips.

"Is it working?" you grinned back.

He chuckled breathlessly. "Alright, fine. One night. Let’s see how it goes."

You fought back a victorious grin. “Good. Just you wait, Hotchner. Once you see how great I am with kids, you’ll never let me go."

—

A week later, Hotch took you up on your offer. Jessica had a wedding to attend, and you’d agreed to look after Jack for the evening.

Though you’d spent plenty of time with Jack when he visited his dad at the office or at events outside of work, Hotch insisted on driving you to his place for a proper handoff.

He held the door open for you as you entered his apartment. You were immediately greeted by Jessica, dressed in a stunning outfit with a purse ready in hand.

"I’m late, I’m late!" she panicked, almost running as she headed for the door. But when she saw you, her demeanor softened.

“There’s my saving grace,” she said with a relieved smile. “Thank you so much for doing this.”

You waved her off with a grin. “It’s my pleasure. You look amazing, go have fun.”

She offered a final smile, then said her goodbyes to Hotch before quickly heading out.

“Hi, Dad!” Jack’s voice rang out as he bounced into the living room, his excitement palpable. You smiled, watching the little boy as he ran toward his father.

“Hey, buddy.” Hotch lifted him into his arms with a small groan. “You’re getting bigger every day.”

Your heart warmed at the exchange. Hotch was a completely different man when he was at home—more relaxed, more playful, the kind of father who carefully kept work and family separate.

He put Jack down, introducing you to him.

“I know who she is, Dad. We colored together. She’s really good at drawing Spider-Man.”

Hotch raised an intrigued eyebrow at you.

"I have more hidden talents than you know,” you playfully shrugged.

You turned to Jack, crouching down to his level. "Want to grab the crayons? We can make some more drawings."

Jack’s eyes lit up, and without hesitation, he scampered off in search of his favorite colors, calling over his shoulder, “I’ll find the red one!”

You chuckled at his enthusiasm and straightened up, turning back to Hotch. “You’ve got a sweet kid,”

Hotch’s eyes followed Jack as he rummaged through the drawer. There was pride in the way he looked at his son, but you could see the hint of anxiety that always seemed to lurk beneath the surface when it came to Jack.

You placed a reassuring hand on his arm, giving him a small, comforting squeeze. “He’s in good hands, Hotch. You don’t have to worry.”

He met your eyes, and for a brief moment, the weight of his responsibilities seemed to lift. His gaze softened with unspoken gratitude. “I trust you,” he spoke sincerely.

“Good.” You gave him a small smile and gave his bicep a final, reassuring pat. “Now get some work done. You might be able to make it in time for dinner.”

With a final glance at Jack, he turned to leave. The door clicked softly behind him, and you were left on your own with the mini version of him, who was already showing off his new crayons.

—

That evening marked the first of many. When you weren’t out on a case, you found yourself naturally heading to Hotch's after work—sometimes taking over from Jessica for the day or picking up Jack from school yourself. You often stayed well into the evening, even after Hotch came home, enjoying dinner together, playing games, or simply talking. There were even times where you stayed the night, sharing a quiet drink after putting Jack to bed. He’d insist you sleep in his bed while he took the couch. In the mornings, the three of you would share breakfast, with Hotch always ensuring the fridge was stocked with your favorite foods and knowing exactly how you liked your eggs.

You knew your colleagues would lose their minds if they’d ever find out, but for you, it never felt strange. It felt right. Comfortable. And whenever you were back on the field, you’d slip back into your professional roles—the accidental first-name slips the only sign of the bond you shared.

Being at their place made you realize how much your work had tangled itself into every aspect of your life. You’d moved away from family, struggled to maintain a personal life, and watched every attempt at dating falter because of your job. Despite how fulfilling your work at the BAU was, you’d forgotten just how deeply you craved a sense of belonging—a place where you were appreciated for more than just your professional skills or your ability to handle a weapon. Around Aaron and Jack, you could simply let go and be yourself.

Today was another day at the Hotchner house. You had spent the entire afternoon with Jack playing soccer in a nearby park until he was utterly exhausted, you practically had to drag him home. This time you didn’t mind though. Today has been a painful reminder of how single you were. The park had been filled with happy couples—some picnicking, some feeding the ducks, and others nervously sharing their first kiss.

You were grateful for how Aaron had allowed you to wiggle your way into his little family on days like these, but still it wasn’t yours. You still longed for one to call your own one day.

So, here you were—alone on the couch, watching a rom-com wishing you were starring in it, and finding comfort in the warmth of his house and the glass of wine in your hand.

You were so absorbed in the movie that you didn’t notice the door unlocking until Hotch stepped inside.

“Hey,” you greeted, reaching for the remote to pause the film.

“Don’t stop on my account,” he said, putting down his bag and hanging up his jacket. He loosened his tie and walked over to the couch, settling on the opposite end.

“Sorry, I opened a new bottle of wine”

He waved it off. “I’m glad that you did. It would’ve just collected dust on the shelf.”

You take another sip. “It’s a good one. Rossi’s?”

“You know it,” he replied with a soft smile, getting comfortable in the cushions as you put the movie back on.

The screen flickered with a romantic scene: a couple dancing in the rain, the male lead spinning the woman around in circles as they laughed.

“I miss that,” you murmured, a wistful smile tugging at your lips as you watched them.

Hotch glanced at you, a smirk forming. “It’s raining outside. Be my guest.”

You rolled your eyes, playfully dismissing the comment. “That’s not what I meant. Just look, Aaron,” you pointed at the TV, where the couple gazed at each other lovingly, before he pulled her in for a passionate kiss. “I don’t remember the last time someone looked at me like that.”

“Sometimes, I feel so desperate that I think about saying yes to the first guy who comes along, just to feel wanted again.”

Hotch straightened, concern flickering in his eyes. “You shouldn’t do that.”

“I know, Dad,” you teased, trying to ease the tension. “I’m unfortunately fully aware of the creeps out there.”

“On top of that, I’m not even sure anyone would take me up on it,” you added with a breathless laugh, your voice betraying a hint of vulnerability. “I haven’t exactly gotten much attention since joining the team. Maybe I’m not considered attractive anymore.”

“People can tell you know how to handle yourself,” he profiled. “Some find that intimidating. But you’re just as attractive—if not more so—than before you joined the team.”

You almost spilled your wine at his confession, the sudden heat in your cheeks betraying the flutter in your stomach.

“You don’t have to say that,” you mumbled, not wanting him to feel pity for you.

“Am I lying?” he asked, his voice steady. You met his gaze—his posture was open, his shoulders relaxed, and his eye contact was unwavering. It was textbook honesty.

“No,” you admitted quietly, feeling the truth of his words sink in.

“I don’t think you need some stranger or a serious relationship to get what you’re after.”

You blinked, not sure if you’d heard him right. “No?”

Hotch leaned in just a little, his voice lower now. “I think we could give each other what we need... without it being complicated.”

Your heart skipped, and you tried to process what he was suggesting. Your mind raced, the words hanging in the air between you.

“Are you suggesting a no-strings-attached relationship with me?”

He gave a small, wry smile. “I’m trying to be subtle about it, but it’s not going so well.”

You laughed, caught off guard, trying to mask your surprise as you saw the seriousness in his expression.

“How will this work?”

The corners of his lips lifted as you acknowledged thinking this through. “We would just… enjoy ourselves. Just when we’re here. Just when it’s the two of us.”

Enjoying yourself with Aaron Hotchner definitely wasn’t how you’d imagined this night going.

You stayed quiet, thinking it over. After a moment you slowly nodded your head. “Okay.”

“Are you sure?” he asked, waiting for confirmation.

“Yes. I am,” you responded, the words coming easier now.

You licked your lips nervously as he moved closer to you. His cologne enveloped you, making your pulse quicken.

As he continued gazing into your eyes, you decided it was your turn to make the next move. Carefully, you reached up to cup his cheek, feeling the slight roughness of his stubble against the palm of your hand. A small prayer passed through your mind, hoping you wouldn’t regret your next decision.

Then you kissed him.

The moment his lips met yours, the cliché of “fireworks” suddenly made sense—the feeling was intense, electric, a rush that left you breathless. His hands moved to the sides of your waist, pulling you closer. Before you could think, you were settled on his lap, the world around you narrowing to the heat of his touch.

A small, desperate whimper escaped you as his tongue brushed against yours. It had been so long since someone touched you this way—especially someone as strong and attractive as Aaron. You could feel his heartbeat beneath your fingertips as your hand slid over his chest, the other wrapping around his neck. He deepened the kiss, and the feeling was so overwhelming that it almost made you cry in relief.

He brushed his hands over the smooth curve of your waist and down the swell of your thighs, digging his fingers into the clothed skin.

Your soft moans were swallowed by your kisses, and you couldn’t help yourself as you moved your hips against his, feeling yourself get more aroused with each movement against the thin fabric of his slacks.

He let out a low grunt as you repeatedly rolled your hips against the hardening bulge in his pants. His large hands roamed up beneath your shirt, the warmth of his touch sending a shiver of anticipation down your spine. You placed your hands over his, ready to take your shirt off, but just as quickly his hands closed around your wrists, stopping you gently.

“Not here,” he warned. “Let’s move to the bedroom.”

His words sent a rush of desire to your core, and though your legs trembled, you stood from his lap and followed him across the room. As he moved, Hotch unbuckled his belt with one swift, effortless motion. You paused mid-step, breath catching at the sight of the leather coiled in his hand, hypnotised by how seductive the image looked. You blinked a couple of times to get out of your trance, before hurrying after him, your legs trying to catch up to his confident pace.

You stepped into the bedroom, moving until you stood at the foot of the bed as he locked the door behind you. A flutter of nerves stirred in your stomach at the reality of what was about to happen.

Hotch walked toward you, slowly closing the distance. His eyes were dark as they took you in with a look of pure lust—one you’d previously never seen on him.

“Turn around for me.”

Maybe it was because you were so accustomed to his authority in the field, or perhaps it was the undeniable fact that you'd let him do anything to you at this point, but without a second thought, you obeyed, turning your back toward him.

His hands reached out to rub over your shoulders in slow circles. You instinctively leaned into him, your eyes closing as you let yourself melt into the comfort of his touch. He presses in closer, his chin resting against your shoulder.

“What is it that you’ve been longing for?” His voice is a soft, sensual whisper, his breath warm against your skin.

A shaky breath escapes your lips as his hands delicately trail over your collarbones, carefully moving lower, inching toward your breasts. The moment his palms cup them, your nipples harden.

He hummed, still awaiting a response.

“You,” you whispered back, your voice barely audible through the thick need.

You feel the faint curve of a teasing smile against your skin. “You already have me,” he murmured. “Tell me how I can make you feel good.”

His thumbs flick over your nipples, and you arch your back into him, feeling the solid press of his body against yours, the hardness in his pants meeting you once again.

“It’s been a while since-” your words dissolve into a moan as his fingers pinch your nipples.

“Since what?” he teased, his lips tracing the curve of your neck, each kiss setting your skin alight.

You swallowed. “Since… since someone’s gone down on me.”

“Is that so?” he hummed, the sound rich with interest. His tongue slides up your neck, before turning it into a kiss.

“Aaron, please,” you begged, grinding your hips into him.

“How can someone like you have been deprived of pleasure for so long?” he thought out loud, and he finally grabbed the material of your shirt, pulling it over your head.

His hands glide softly over your back, before he unclasps your bra with one smooth motion. Your breasts spill free, and he immediately cups them in his hands, holding them as if he wants to keep you warm and covered. The pleasure is even more delicious now that the contact is skin-to-skin.

His hands roam over your stomach, until he reaches the button of your pants, undoing it. He sinks to his knees behind you, his fingers curling around the waistband of your pants and panties, easing them down. A low curse escapes him as the fabric slides over your ass and down your thighs, revealing more of you inch by inch.

You held onto his shoulder for support, as he steadied your leg, guiding you to step out of your pants. The second he tossed the fabric to the side, he placed his hands steadily on your thighs, leaning in to press a heated kiss to your ass. You let out a moan, bucking forward, but he holds you firmly in place as his lips trail wet, lingering kisses over your cheeks.

“Place your knee on the bed for me,” he tenderly instructs.

You followed his order, lifting one knee onto the bed, your upper body arching slightly as it hovers just above the mattress. The cool air brushes over your exposed pussy as you’re displayed in front of him.

A loud moan leaves your mouth, as his tongue makes contact with your folds. The pressure is just right, each flick of his tongue drawing a sharp gasp from you as he licks up and down in a deliberate rhythm.

“You taste like heaven,” he groans, the deep rumble of his voice vibrating through you as he speaks, “dripping down your thighs already.” His lips trail lower, and he laps up the wetness that has gathered on your inner thighs, his stubble tickling against your sensitive skin. You grip the sheets, desperate for something to hold on to.

Aaron’s tongue returns to your pussy, the tip of it firmly pushing inside, curling upward as he slides in and out, hitting all the right spots, sending waves of pleasure through you. Each thrust makes you cry out.

You let out a small whine as his tongue retreats, pressing a delicate kiss to the tender skin. “Don’t get me wrong,” he starts, licking his lips clean, “I love hearing you, but you can’t be too loud.”

You silently nodded, your breath hitching as his finger unhurriedly traced your sensitive folds. Just as he was about to enter you, you stopped him.

“I- I need your cock,” you whined, your hips pushing back toward him, desperate for more.

“Yeah? You need it that bad?” he teased, as he rose to his feet behind you.

You crawled onto the bed, glancing back at him. His lips still glistened with the trace of you, and his eyes were locked onto yours, filled with predatory focus.

“I need it, Aaron,” you repeated, biting your bottom lip as your gaze lingered on the hard outline of his length pressed against his thigh.

He groaned, his hands quickly pulling at his tie, tossing it aside before he began unbuttoning his shirt. His movements were confident—like a private performance just for you. You leaned back on your arms, your feet planted on the bed, allowing him to see just how much he was making you ache for him.

As he removed his shirt, the muscles in his broad shoulder flexed, and the trail of dark hair down his stomach led your eyes straight to what you craved.

He wasn’t shy as he pulled his pants down, eager to show you just how worked up you’d made him. His length stood hard, the tip flushed red and glistening with precum. You instinctively pressed your thighs together, giving you a soft release of tension.

He joined you on the bed, lying on his side and pulling you flush against his chest, spooning you. His lips crashed into yours in a deep, hungry kiss, his groans vibrating against your mouth. His hand explored your front, squeezing your breasts, while his arousal pressed insistently against your ass.

You moaned, your leg draping over his as you shifted, opening yourself up to him. He reached down, gripping his length, positioning it against you before slowly pushing inside, stretching you inch by inch.

You took a sharp breath, adjusting to the feel of him inside you. His cock throbbed, as if begging for you to move. Slowly, you rolled your hips, taking more of him in, and Hotch’s low growl rumbled in your ear.

“That’s it,” he praised, his voice rough with pleasure. “Taking me so well.”

He was fully inside you now, filling you completely, and his hand slid down to your exposed clit, his fingers moving in slow, rhythmic circles. His thrusts matched the pace, deep and deliberate.

Every movement sent shockwaves through your body, your breath quickening as the familiar knot of pleasure tightened in your stomach.

“I’m close, Aaron,” you whimpered, and he moaned in response, placing soft kisses along your jaw before sucking at your neck, marking you.

His fingers moved faster, pushing you closer to the edge, and your body twitched as your orgasm crashed over you. His arms held you tight, anchoring you as the sensations slowly subsided.

When he withdrew his hand from your clit, it slid down to your knee, bending your leg to spread you even wider. Without warning, he began pounding into you, the sudden change in speed making you cry out, a high-pitched moan escaping your lips.

“Be quiet for me. Don’t make me tell you again,” he warned. You involuntarily moaned at the way he commanded you, and he grunted in response.

With a swift motion, he flipped you onto your stomach, your body pressed flat against the bed. A sharp gasp escaped you as he grabbed your thighs, lifting them to raise your ass in the air, before entering you again.

One hand pressed firmly into your shoulder, holding you down, while the other gripped your hips, forcing you to meet each of his thrusts. The new position did its job—your moans were muffled into the pillow, leaving only the wet slap of skin and the sound of Hotch’s deep, guttural grunts with each push of his hips.

“They're so stupid for not wanting you,” he groaned. “You have me now. I’ll give you everything you want.”

Your heart fluttered at his words. After feeling this, you knew you wouldn’t ever be satisfied by anyone else. You would want no one but him.

“I’m going to come inside of you,” he breathed, bending over so his chest pressed against your back, his warmth enveloping you.

“Oh-“ Your breath caught as the sensation in your core tightened again. “Yes, please. Inside of me, please.” You couldn’t form a full sentence as the heat inside of your core builds up again.

He reaches under you to touch your clit, and the instant his fingers make contact, you come undone. Your legs tremble, giving way beneath you as the rush of pleasure takes over. Hotch pushes into you two more times before you feel him spill inside, the sensation sending you into another, deeper orgasm.

He presses soft, tender kisses to your shoulder, his breath warm against your skin as he whispers in your ear, “I’m sorry I got a little carried away.”

You hum in satisfaction, a pleased smile tugging at your lips. “I’m glad you did.”

—

You weren’t sure what time it was, but you had a quick shower together—Hotch giving you one more orgasm—and were now laying in bed, your clean bodies tangled under his sheets.

“Will you stay the night?” he asked softly, pressing a kiss to the back of your hand as he held you close.

It was endearing how gentle and shy he sounded, a stark contrast to what the two of you had just shared.

“Only if you promise to not move to the couch,” you mumbled sleepily, your voice heavy with exhaustion.

“I wouldn’t dare.”

You turned your head to him, noticing the quiet that had settled between you both.

“What is it?” you asked, tracing absent patterns to his skin.

He hesitated for a moment before speaking. “I was thinking… maybe we can attach those strings a bit more.”

You chuckled. “Maybe,” you playfully teased, pressing a final kiss to his lips.

[mononijikayu]

is it new years yet? — nanami kento.

"Apparently, we're #RelationshipGoals now." "Some of them really think I write poetry about you during my lunch breaks, too. Not inaccurate, of course. But the thoughts I have of you are different." “My darling, behave.” “No <3” ".......In any case, my darling…..this one says I’m lucky to have you. Can’t argue with that."

GENRE: alternate universe - no curses au!;

WARNING/S: afab! reader, secret coworker romance, co-workers to lovers, romance, fluff, nsfw, rated 18 and above, explicit content, kissing, making out, rough sex, fingering, creampie, p to v sex, stairwell sex, orgasm, humor, profanity, pet names (my darling, babe, etc), possessiveness, jealousy, characters speaking in sexual innuendo, mention of sexual euphemisms, depiction of explicit sexual content, actor! nanami kento, actor! reader;

WORD COUNT: 6k words.

NOTE: hello everyone, this is the first fic of 2025!!! this was specifically written because of a conversation between me and @midnight-138 on the afternoon of december 31st 2024. i started progress while on a bus on the way to my grandma's house and for a bit on the 1st. i still wanted to write more for it, but i had to stop because i caught a cold. i still have a cold. and i need a massage cause i feel my body hurt real bad, cause its working hard to save my life from this cold TT TT

but that being said, i shouldn't complain too much. good things have been happening to me despite my problems. i hope that good things continue to come!!! anyway, enough yapping, i hope you enjoy this little fic. happy 2025!!! may good things, good health and happiness come your way always this year!!!

masterlist

if you want to, tip! <3

IT WAS ALWAYS LIKE THIS WHEN YOU AND KENTO GET TOGETHER. But it was to be expected, since you graced the screens since you were a child. Nanami Kento was like that too. Of course, it wasn’t something of a brag at all. It was just your normal.

You were lucky, you were favored like that. Kento was favored just like that. Both of you were so beloved. And especially so, in a way that they end up hoping that you both were together. 

Ever since you worked with him on Jujutsu Kaisen all those years ago, it was just too strong — the chemistry between the two of you. It pulls people in for more. They wanted a story, they wanted something that could ease their days from the mundane boredom that it was to the fun, exhilarating excitement that comes with the tea in both of your private lives.

You didn’t mind, your company didn’t mind either. Neither did Kento or his side of the aisle. It helped that you were both good friends. You had met even before landing your roles on Jujutsu Kaisen, after all. So, the ‘will they, won’t they’ between the two of you really did help your careers.

But of course, just like in Gege–sensei’s scripts, some parts are sentences with too many blank pages. And the wholeness of your relationship with Nanami Kento truly only belonged to you and him. And you were not willing to expose it to the world. Not just yet.

Yet — this does not stop them from trying to do something about that.

The studio buzzed with activity as you adjusted the earpiece in your ear, stealing a quick glance at the veteran actor, singer, producer, writer and entertainment personality that is Nanami Kento.

He stood near the stage, his posture relaxed yet impossibly refined. Dressed in a tailored charcoal suit, his tie a subtle but elegant shade of deep blue,everything about him just exuded a quiet confidence that made it hard for anyone to look away. 

You, however, knew better than to let your gaze linger too long. You knew too well that those are reserved for just him and you to interpret and to see. No one else should. You were as possessive about your private moments as he was. But you would never say that outloud and neither will he.

“Can you believe these two again?” a stagehand whispered slowly, behind you. It was still, of course, loud enough for you to hear. “It’s like they were made for this. If they don’t end up together after tonight, I’ll lose faith in love. Really!”

You bit back a laugh, focusing on your notes. No one knew the truth, after all. That you and Kento were already together had been for a while now. Not even your publicists or managers — hell, not even your entertainment companies, knew that this was for genuine actuality, a real thing now. But you and him liked it that way.

You had let your fans go wild with their theories over the years of course. Every post, every comment, every little interaction, every collaboration, every press tour — almost everything seemed to spark a new wave of speculation and fan shipping. 

For years now, the internet was rife with hashtags like #OurSecretLovers and #MrAndMrsNanami with fans pouring over every detail like it's an investigatory report they were doing, a documentary study. You had to admit, it was amusing at times, watching people try to connect dots they couldn’t see. 

Nanami Kento had a reputation for being rather serious, because he gets roles in that league often. But he was a silly little man, well your silly little man. And he often had the knack for finding the most random, yet oddly endearing, posts about the two of you on Twitter. During your five-minute breaks between shoots, when you were in separate rooms or on different sets, his messages would pop up on your phone, accompanied by a link and a deadpan caption.

"Apparently, we're #RelationshipGoals now."

"Some of them really think I write poetry about you during my lunch breaks, too. Not inaccurate, of course. But the thoughts I have of you are different."

“My darling, behave.”

“No <3”

".......In any case, my darling…..this one says I’m lucky to have you. Can’t argue with that."

You’d giggle to yourself, your shoulders shaking as you tried not to draw attention. It didn’t matter how serious the production you were working on either. He had a way of making you laugh even from miles away. And that relaxes you a lot.

When it was your turn, you’d send him TikToks. Fancam edits of the two of you together had exploded in popularity as of late, especially since you both played a married couple who were spies deceiving each other recently. People thought he looked so good, especially when he had his shirt off. You loved teasing him about it. After all, he was really pretty hot in those scenes. And if you were being honest, they did in fact rile you up.

"Look at us, babe." you texted once, attaching a video with dramatic lighting, a love song playing over clips of you two stolen from interviews and behind-the-scenes footage. "We’re icons."

His reply came almost immediately: "Icons, sure. But I’m just a guy who got lucky enough to be yours, you know?"

Those words made your heart swell every time. He’d always been effortlessly humble, never letting fame or admiration inflate his ego, even as his star rose. After all, you were the senpai here—the darling of the Japanese screen since childhood. 

You’d grown up in the industry, your name synonymous with household stardom. He, on the other hand, had been a late bloomer, starting as a teenager and building his career with quiet determination.

He never let the difference in your status get in the way, though. If anything, it only made him more in awe of you. He’d often remind you how much he admired your grace, how you’d navigated the pressures of fame with a poise that still left him speechless.

“You’ve been dazzling audiences since you were a kid.” he’d say, his voice warm with pride. “I’m just lucky to share the screen with you now and your life.”

And you’d roll your eyes playfully, nudging him with a smile. “Don’t sell yourself short, Kento. You’re a fan favorite for a reason.”

“Maybe.” he replied with a soft smirk. “But you’re my favorite. And that’s what matters.”

No matter how busy your schedules got, those small exchanges, be it a funny link or a sentimental text, every bit of this kept you connected. It reminded you both that beneath the glitz and glamour, what truly mattered was the quiet, enduring love you shared.

You were out of your bubble soon enough when Kento suddenly caught your eye from across the room, offering a small, reassuring smile and then a small gentle nod. You felt your cheeks turn red but lowered your head immediately before anyone was to notice. He was too good at making you feel like this. And certainly so, he was hiding his smirk under his cue cards.

“Alright, places, everyone!” the director called.

You finally stood up from your chair, taking a deep breath and calmed down. You gave yourself one more look in the mirror, trying to make sure that your cheeks were natural now. When you felt like it was, you smiled at your manager who handed you the mic and swiftly thanked them. You went to your position. Kento soon approached, his footsteps purposeful but unhurried. 

“Ready?” he asked, his voice low and calm.

“Ready as I’ll ever be, I suppose.” you replied, flashing him a smile.

You were grateful for the reassurance. Even if you were already such a big name, you still did get nervous. And even more so, with such a big show like this — the New Year Countdown, of course you could feel yourself slipping.

The two of you took your positions on stage as the lights dimmed and the opening music swelled. His fingers brushed against yours briefly as he fixed himself up, your pinkies touching. Even briefly, you could feel the warmth. He did that on purpose. You could see it in his caramel eyes. 

You let a brief smile echo on your lips. You gathered yourself as the lift came up slowly. When you both were in the sight of the gathered audiences and the cameras started to broadcast it all live, you both slipped effortlessly into your roles. After all, you both were professionals.

“Good evening, everyone, and welcome to this year’s New Year’s Eve Countdown!” you began, your voice bright and enthusiastic.

“Thank you for joining us as we bid farewell to the old year and welcome the new.” Kento added, his tone smooth and polished.

Your banter flowed naturally, as always. That well beloved chemistry between you is still ever so undeniable. It was easy to fall into a rhythm with him; he was your partner in every sense of the word. And that made your job tonight a little bit easier.

But of course, the real challenge was hiding the little moments that threatened to give you away that bit you kept so dear to you. You just can't help it when it comes to him. He has such a powerful pull on you and he knows it.

There were those little lingering glances, watching and feeling the way his fingers brushed yours when you handed him a card, the subtle softness in his smile when he looked at you. After all, this is the longest you could be together in your very busy schedules this year.

Still, you kept yourself in that cage. And so did he, despite his lack of patience when it comes to you and everything about you. As the night progressed, the energy in the studio grew electric.

Various music performances lit up the stage, and interviews with special guests kept the crowd engaged. Throughout it all, you and Kento remained the perfect duo—professional, poised, and completely in sync.

After nearly a few hours of composure, it came almost all too suddenly. In just a few moments, the final countdown approached, and the excitement was palpable. The two of you stood at the center of the stage, along with the other participants for this year’s event. In front of you, the crowd behind you cheering wildly, waiting excitedly for the new year.

“Here we go!” you said, your voice barely audible over the noise.

Kento leaned in slightly, his voice low enough for only you to hear. “You’re doing great, darling..”

Your heart fluttered, but you kept your composure. “Thanks. You’re not so bad yourself, babe.”

The countdown soon began.

You took a breath, looking at the screen.

You held your cue cards tightly to you.

“Ten! Nine! Eight!”

The lights soon dimmed, and the giant screen behind you displayed the numbers as they ticked down. The crowd’s voices grew louder with each second. The emotions coming through you were indescribable. Another year had gone by. But he was still by your side, like this. And all you could pray for as the time passed into a new age — that you would always be together.

“Three! Two! One! Happy New Year!”

Confetti soon rained down, and the studio erupted in cheers. You turned toward Kento, and for a fleeting moment, the world around you disappeared. The look in his caramel eyes was unmistakable—warm, tender, and filled with a quiet pride that made your chest tighten.

But just as quickly, the moment passed, and you both turned back to the crowd, waving and smiling as the cameras captured every angle. People of course started to pay less attention to you both and the stage and more onto the fireworks now blurring the sky with its bright hues. You and Kento made a steady exit off the stage. 

“Another successful project, isn’t it?” you said, breaking the silence as you leaned against the wall.

Kento smirked faintly, unbuttoning the top of his shirt to loosen his tie. “They’ll be talking about this for weeks, you know?”

“And shipping us even harder, hm.” you added with a laugh.

“They’ll never know, though.” he said, his voice soft but steady.

You stepped closer, your hand finding his. His fingers intertwined with yours, the simple gesture grounding you in a way nothing else could. “They don’t need to, babe.” you whispered, meeting his gaze. “This is ours.”

Kento’s lips curved into the faintest smile as he brought your hand to his lips, pressing a kiss to your knuckles. “Happy New Year, my darling.”

“Happy New Year.” you replied, your voice barely above a whisper.

You had thought it would end there, sweet and innocent. You had thought you both were safe for one more year. But when you two are together after a long time…..it was a whole new animal. And nothing can stop such a wave in high tide from occupying something whole. 

The next tithing you know is that the internet exploded the moment the photos dropped. Headlines blared across every platform, hashtags like #FINALLYOMG and #NewYearNewScandal trending within minutes after they were taken.

The pictures were pretty damning. They were blurry but unmistakably you, disheveled and wrapped in Nanami’s coat, your hair a mess. And him? A rare sight indeed.

It was none other than Nanami Kento, usually the epitome of composure, looking uncharacteristically undone. His tie was loose, his shirt wrinkled, and the telltale bruises blooming on his neck left little to the imagination.

You groaned, tossing your phone onto the coffee table as you buried your face in your hands. Beside you, Kento sat unbothered, calmly sipping his tea like the world wasn’t on fire—or at least your career’s PR team.

“I told you we should’ve been more careful, babe.” you muttered, your voice muffled by your palms.

He raised an eyebrow, the corner of his lips quivering into a teasing smile. “You were the one who couldn’t wait with it, y'know?” he replied smoothly, setting his cup down with an elegant clink.

His tone was infuriatingly calm, but the glint in his eyes betrayed his amusement. “Who was it again, begging me to fill you up? By round two, you were going—‘Kento, I need you. Right here. Right now.’ and I was happy to heed the request like always.”

Your scarlet blush was immediate, your head snapping up to glare at him. “Kento!” you hissed, glancing around the living room as if someone could overhear, even though it was just the two of you. “Not helping!”

He leaned back in his chair, crossing his legs with the air of a man thoroughly enjoying himself. “I’m just stating the facts about, I'm the same.” he said with a shrug, his smirk widening as you shot him another flustered look. "That's not a bad thing."

Your phone buzzed again on the table, your manager’s name flashing on the screen. You sighed, picking it up only to immediately huff and toss it back down. “This is really…” you trailed off, searching for the right word but settling on a frustrated groan instead.

“Chaotic? Consequential? Hilarious?” Kento offered, his voice laced with mock innocence.

You shot him a glare that was far more affectionate than threatening. “Horrible. That’s the word. This is horrible.”

He chuckled, reaching over to rest a comforting hand on your knee. “Darling, it’s not the end of the world. Scandal or not, we’ll deal with it.”

“Easy for you to say.” you grumbled, crossing your arms. “Your team probably thinks this is great publicity for your brooding, mysterious heartthrob image. Meanwhile, I’m the one getting texts about how unprofessional it looks for ‘Japan’s sweetheart’ to be caught sneaking around with hickeys and wearing her boyfriend’s coat.”

“Unprofessional?” he repeated, his tone incredulous. “It’s not like we committed a crime. We’re adults in a committed relationship. And in any case my darling....….” he added, his voice dropping to a playful murmur. “You look adorable in my coat.”

Despite yourself, you couldn’t help but crack a small smile. “You’re impossible.”

“And yet, you love me. Very much." he quipped, leaning over to steal a quick kiss from your lips.

You rolled your eyes but didn’t protest, instead letting your head fall onto his shoulder with a sigh. “Next time, though….really.....” you muttered. “We’re finding a stairwell without photographer cameras.”

He chuckled, pressing a kiss to your temple. “Noted.”

As you leaned against your lover, the memory hit you both like a freight train, vivid and unrelenting. It had started innocently enough—or as innocently as it could between the two of you. The countdown show had gone off without a hitch, and the studio was still buzzing with post-show chaos. 

You both talked for a bit, had a cute moment and then went back to your professional mode when everyone started to surround you both again. It was like a switch, and it was easy. No one suspected a thing.

You went ahead into the dressing room, you talked with everyone. You’d been polite and professional, thanking the crew and chatting with some of the guests. But the moment Nanami Kento had caught your eye as you left the green room, something in his caramel gaze had made your pulse quicken.

You hadn’t seen him in weeks. Between his packed schedule and yours, the countdown project had been the only excuse to be in the same room together. The public facade you maintained only added to the frustration. Every fleeting touch, every shared look—it all built up, an unbearable tension neither of you could ignore.

So, when he’d quietly grabbed your hand and guided you down a quiet, rarely-used stairwell in the building when no one was looking, you hadn’t protested. You were excited, happy even. This was the chance to feel him again this close to you. 

And you were glad for that opportunity. You could feel his touch be so genuine and warm despite the heavy chill in the air, and the firm grip of his fingers around yours sent a shiver of anticipation down your spine.

“Darling, I missed you, really.” he murmured as soon as you were alone.

His voice low and rough, filled with a longing that made your knees weak. His hands cupped your face with a reverence that always left you breathless, his thumb brushing softly against your cheek as he leaned in. The kiss was searing, his lips melding with yours as though it had been an eternity since your last stolen moment together.

The cold winter air bit at your exposed skin, but his touch set you alight. His coat had slipped from his shoulders in a quiet, unspoken gesture, draped over yours as his lips moved to your neck. The kisses were hot, open-mouthed, and deliberate, his tongue tracing the sensitive skin before his teeth grazed your pulse.

“Kento, babe….” you gasped, your voice trembling from a mix of the frigid air and the heat of his attention. Your fingers clutched the lapels of his suit, trying to ground yourself against the onslaught of sensations.

“Shh, just enjoy it......” he whispered, his breath warm against your skin. 

His hands slid down your sides, firm but gentle as they gripped your thighs. Without hesitation, he lifted you effortlessly, pressing your back against the wall. The rough texture scraped against your coat, but you barely noticed, too focused on the way his body pressed into yours.

His strength always caught you off guard, even after all this time together. Your eager legs wrapped instinctively around his waist, your heels digging into his lower back. His hands gripped your thighs, spreading you open as he stepped between them, his body fitting against yours like a missing piece.

“Babe!” you breathed again, the sound barely audible over the pounding of your heart.

He kissed you like a man starved, his lips leaving your neck to reclaim your mouth. The intensity of it stole the air from your lungs, leaving you dizzy and clinging to him. He was hungry, perhaps even more than you were. But you had expected that. He has a habit of yearning to touch you a lot.

“I hate not being able to touch you, with all the schedules we fucking had.” he muttered against your skin, the words tinged with frustration and longing. “Hated every fucking minute of it……”

You tangled your fingers in his hair, the silky strands slipping through your fingers as you tugged him closer. “Then don’t stop, babe.” you whispered, the plea soft but desperate. “Cause….I need you badly too. I need you so bad in me—”

He growled softly, the sound rumbling against your throat as his touch shifted. One hand remained steady on your thigh, holding you firmly in place, while the other slid beneath the hem of your dress. His fingers were deliberate, pushing aside the delicate lace of your panties with practiced ease.

When his fingers slipped through your slick folds, a gasp escaped your lips, your head falling back against the wall. He groaned softly, the sound low and satisfied as he gathered your arousal, his touch teasing and unhurried.

“You’re already so ready for me, aren’t you, my darling?” he murmured, his lips brushing against the shell of your ear as his fingers moved with precision, finding the spot that made you arch into him.

The cold air around you was a stark contrast to the heat building between you, the quiet of the stairwell broken only by your uneven breaths and his whispered praises. It was reckless, indulgent, and utterly intoxicating—just like him.

“Kento, babe….oh!” you whimpered, your voice trembling as his fingers continued their unrelenting rhythm. Your hands clutched at his shoulders, nails digging into the fabric of his shirt as waves of pleasure began to build within you.

“Shh, darling.” he murmured, his lips brushing against your ear before trailing back to your neck. His voice was low and soothing, laced with a quiet intensity that only made your pulse race faster. “You’ll have to keep quiet for me. Can you do that?”

You nodded frantically, biting your lip to stifle the moan threatening to escape as he added a second finger. The stretch was delicious, his movements slow and deliberate, coaxing you higher with every stroke. His thumb brushed over your sensitive bud, and your thighs instinctively clenched around his waist.

He chuckled softly, his breath warm against your skin. “That’s my good little lover, hm? My only beloved darling.” he murmured, his praise sending a fresh wave of heat coursing through you. “So perfect for me.”

Your fingers slid up into his messy blond hair, tugging gently as your body arched against him. The rough texture of the wall behind you was a sharp contrast to the soft warmth of his touch, grounding you as he pushed you closer to the edge.

“Kento, please, b–babe….oh!” you breathed, the words barely audible as your head tilted back, exposing more of your neck to his eager lips. “M–more…..more!”

He hummed in response, the sound vibrating against your skin. “So impatient, aren’t you? Greedy too.” he teased, though his fingers quickened their pace, curling just right to hit the spot that made your breath hitch. “I missed seeing you like this, so needy for me.”

The heat pooling in your core intensified, your body trembling as the pleasure built to an unbearable peak. “I’m—” you began, but the words dissolved into a strangled gasp as he pressed his thumb harder against your sensitive nub.

“That’s it, pretty for me, so fucking pretty." He says, coaxing you like a pied piper. His voice was low and intoxicating. Everything about it just burns you as much as his touch did. "I’ve got you. Always.”

With one final stroke, the beautiful echo, that blossoming coil inside you just snapped, pleasure crashing over you like a tidal wave. Your body tensed, your thighs tightening around his waist as you buried your face in his shoulder to muffle the cry that escaped your lips.

He held you through it, his fingers slowing their movements as your body shook with aftershocks. His other hand slid up to cradle the back of your head, his lips pressing soothing kisses against your temple.

When you finally relaxed, your breaths coming in shallow gasps, he pulled back just enough to look at you. His eyes were soft, his gaze filled with a mixture of adoration and satisfaction that made your chest tighten.

“Better?” he asked, his tone light but tinged with affection.

You nodded, still too dazed to form words. He chuckled, adjusting his hold on you as he gently set you back on your feet. Your legs wobbled like jello against him, and he immediately steadied you, his hands firm but gentle on your waist.

“Careful, darling.” he murmured, his brow furrowing in concern. “Are you alright?”

“I’m fine, babe.” you managed, your voice breathless but steady. “More than fine.”

His lips quivered into a soft smile, and he leaned down to press a lingering kiss to your forehead. “Good.”

As the reality of your surroundings sank back in, you couldn’t help but glance around, the abandoned stairwell suddenly feeling far less private. “We should… probably get back, babe.” you said, your cheeks flushing with embarrassment. “It’s getting pretty late.”

He followed your gaze, his expression calm and unbothered. “Let them wonder where we went.” he said simply, shrugging off the concern as he adjusted his coat around your shoulders. "It's none of their business."

You opened your mouth to protest, but the mischievous glint in his eyes stopped you cold. He leaned closer, his breath warm against your ear as he whispered, “After all… I’m not done with you yet.”

Your breath hitched, and before you could respond, he was guiding you gently back against the wall. His lips found yours again, this time slower, deeper, igniting the fire he’d only begun to stoke. His hands trailed down your sides, their warmth chasing away the chill of the stairwell as he pressed his body firmly against yours.

“Kento, babe.” you murmured, a weak attempt to regain your composure, but he silenced you with a kiss that left no room for argument. 

“I missed you, a damn whole lot.” he said, his voice low and filled with longing as his hands slid to your thighs, lifting you effortlessly once more. "Like I always do."

Your legs wrapped around his waist instinctively, your heart pounding as the desire you’d both tried to suppress flared back to life. He pressed against you, the hardness of his arousal undeniable even through the fabric of his pants. The teasing grind of his hips against yours drew a gasp from your lips, and he smirked, his composure slipping just enough to show his need.

"Really....." Kento effortlessly whispered to you, his voice vibrating onto you like a wave crashing onto you at sea. "We shouldn't schedule much this New Year, hm? So we can be together."

"Hm.....Kento." You echo back to him, intoxicated by his touch. "'ake time....for me, okay? I'll.....I'll do the same."

“That's the plan already, you know?" he murmured, his lips brushing against your ear as he shifted, his hands tugging at the barriers between you. “Let me take care of you, like I always do.”

Soon after that, you could feel the wet, thick head of his member pressed against your entrance, the heat and pressure stealing the breath from your lungs. You gasped as he began to push in slowly, his movements deliberate, almost reverent.

It was too good, too damn easy to fall into a high to. You could feel the stretch inside of you, it made you so full. Everything about it was intoxicating, your body yielding to him as he filled you inch by inch, your walls clinging to every part of him like he was made to fit. 

It was like he was trying to make a home inside of it. Inside of you. And it just made you feel so good. A deep, guttural groan rumbled in his chest, his forehead dropping to rest against yours as he buried himself deeper.

“Darling.” he muttered, his voice strained and low. “You feel so perfect.”

You whimpered, your hands clutching at his shoulders for support as your body adjusted to the delicious fullness. The sensation was overwhelming, the slight ache quickly giving way to a heat that spread through your entire body.

“Kento.” you breathed, the sound a mix of plea and surrender.

His large hands gripped your hips, holding you steady as he pulled back slightly before thrusting forward again, the motion slow but unyielding. Each movement sent a jolt of pleasure coursing through you, and the friction only made you crave more.

“God, this is so…..you feel so good.” he groaned, his voice rough and filled with need. “You’re so tight. I don’t know how I’m supposed to go slow like this with you.”

“Don’t, babe.” you gasped, your fingers digging into his shoulders. “Don’t hold back.”

His carmel eyes darkened almost instantly at your words, a flicker of something primal overtaking his usual control. With a growl, he began to move in earnest, each thrust deeper and harder than the last. The sound of your bodies meeting echoed in the stairwell, a symphony of shared desire that neither of you could hold back.

The rough texture of the wall behind you only heightened the sensation, grounding you as he took you apart piece by piece. You could feel your back burn against the concrete wall as you throw your head back against it. His lips found yours in a searing kiss, his tongue claiming your mouth as thoroughly as his body claimed yours.

“Darling, my pretty baby darling.” he murmured against your lips, his voice ragged and desperate. “You’re mine. Always mine.”

“Yes, babe. Yours….O–oh…only! Only yours!” you managed to gasp, your head tilting back as he kissed along your throat, his teeth grazing the sensitive skin. 

The coil in your core once more tightens with every spark you feel as he pushes deeper over and over in a fast pace. Everything about the pleasure you feel keeps building to an almost unbearable peak. It just felt too good. He felt too good.

His pace quickened, his breaths coming in harsh pants as his control began to slip. One hand slid between your bodies, his thumb finding your sensitive nub and rubbing it in quick, precise circles.

You cried out, your body arching into him as the tension finally snapped. Pleasure crashed over you in waves, your walls clenching tightly around him as your release tore through you.

“Fuck, fuck. I’m close!” he groaned, his movements becoming erratic as he chased his own release. With one final, deep thrust, he shuddered against you, his body going taut as he spilled himself inside you.

For a moment, the only sound was your shared, labored breathing, the intimacy of the moment wrapping around you like a cocoon. His forehead rested against yours, his hands gentle as they smoothed over your thighs and waist, grounding you both.

“Are you okay?” he asked softly, his voice filled with concern despite the lingering haze of pleasure in his eyes.

You nodded, a small smile tugging at your lips. “More than okay.”

He chuckled, pressing a soft kiss to your temple before gently setting you back on your feet. His hands remained steady on your waist, holding you as your legs wobbled beneath you. You leaned into him, your breath uneven, your body still humming from the intensity of what had just transpired.

But that wasn’t the end of it, of course. 

The hunger in his eyes hadn’t faded, and neither had yours. The raw desire that simmered between you was far from sated, and you both knew it. Kento’s hands lingered, his thumbs brushing soft, teasing circles against your hips as he studied your flushed face. 

“I just think that I…..” he murmured, his voice a low rumble. “I still want more.”

You barely had time to process his words before your lover’s lips were on yours again, roughly consuming you in a kiss that was as demanding as it was all encompassing. Your hands quickly found their way to his shoulders, pulling him closer to you. Your body instinctively responds to the magnetic pull of his, over and over.

“We shouldn’t…” you whispered between kisses, though your voice lacked conviction. “It’s going to make people suspicious.”

“Probably not.” he agreed, his smirk returning as his hands slipped under the hem of your dress, trailing up your thighs. “But repercussions are damned when we’re hungry. I can’t stop. I know you won’t too..”

The wall pressed against your back once more as he claimed you all over again, the cool stairwell air doing nothing to cool the fire that raged between you. It was reckless, but neither of you cared. Not here, not now. Hunger demanded to be fed, and with Nanami Kento, you were always insatiable.

After a while, you were both removed from the plane of normalcy and you were both panting with joyous weariness. He presses a kiss against your jaw as you keep a steady bite on his neck. He grumbles against you as he gathers himself from seeing stars. You follow him soon after. You released his neck and started kissing his lips once more. 

When you both found yourself satisfied, you both started to make yourselves as presentable as possible. Well, at least what remains presentable and salvageable for both of you. Kento ripped too much of your outfit as much as you did. Still, you both did not care. 

“We should get you cleaned up.” he murmured, his tone tender as he placed his coat on your shoulders and adjusted it tenderly on you, to keep you warm. “I’ll call my car and then we’ll just hop in there. We’ll go to my hotel, okay?”

You nodded again, your cheeks flushing as the reality of your surroundings began to sink in. But as he laced his fingers with yours and led you back toward the main building, you couldn’t help but feel a warm glow of contentment.

Of course, things too did not go the way you both wanted once again. You didn’t know that there were many SNS photographers  and gossip journalists waiting to catch some other celebrity in that area where Kento’s car was going to be. And that’s just how you were caught, not thinking about the logistics of it all. 

But how could you? It was New Years. 

You just got mindlessly blown with really, really, really good sex.

And you were together once again with your lover.

How could you think about anything else after all that? 

Now, back in the present, the two of you sat in the quiet of your shared apartment. Nanami Kento’s calm demeanor was a stark contrast to your frazzled nerves. You sighed, looking up to your lover who presses a kiss on your forehead.

“You know this is going to be everywhere, babe.” you said, gesturing toward your phone.

He set his tea down and leaned back, regarding you with a look of quiet amusement. “Let them talk, darling. It was bound to happen eventually.”

You groaned. “Eventually I didn't need to include hickeys and a ruined coat. And oh god….. was I leaking your cum?” 

You took your phone once again to inspect, but your lover took your phone with his free hand and put it away. You looked at him, almost sulky as one would look as a child. He laughs. He presses another kiss on your hair. Kento couldn’t help but smirk. Both acts had made your heart skip a beat. 

“You look good in my coat though. I could hardly care if my cum was dripping out, darling.” he said simply. “I’m pretty sure I look just as ridiculous. You mauled my neck so happily after that first round.”

“You  do look like you’ve been ravaged.” you shot back, though your cheeks burned at the memory. “I mean, it made sense at the time….I was hungry.”

“Hm, I don’t blame you.”

You sighed. “We’ll contact our PR and everyone later, okay?”

He leaned forward, resting his elbows on his knees, and reached out to tuck a stray strand of hair behind your ear. “Hm.”  he said softly, his voice filled with the steady reassurance you’d always loved about him. “We’ll be fine, okay? I don’t care as long as I am with you.”

You sighed, leaning into his warm touch. “I guess the secret’s out, huh?”

He nodded, his gaze warm. “I don’t mind. As long as we're happy together, I say let them say whatever they want.”

You blinked at him. “You think so?”

“Hm.” He smiles at you. “Because no one will truly know who you are to me. That’s only mine. They’ll have a headline, but I’ll have the whole spreadsheet.”

You feel like your heart is melting with his tenderness. “I love you. So so much.”

“I love you too.” He kisses your lips, smiling wider at you.

And just like that, the storm outside felt a little less overwhelming.

[bitchimasnake-sss]

☆ trophy wife!

synopsis: you and oliver aiku were married — had been for what felt like ages now. everyone knew it: the media, his fans, his teammates — everyone. but what they didn't know was that... it was a marriage of convenience and that you were nothing more than a trophy wife. but then, why — after three years of ignoring you — was oliver aiku backing you into the wall and telling you he needed you? pairing: afab!reader x oliver aiku [aged up.] wc: 5.7k cw: NOT PROOFREAD. dual pov. loads of mutual pining. idiots to lovers pairing. both of them are pretty pathetic, i swear. marriage of convenience trope. i'll write smut if anyone wants it mwuah mwuah. m.list

.࣪ ִֶ☾. part 01: through her eyes.

30th of june, 2:33 a.m. incident: AITA for freaking out when my husband tried to kiss me on his birthday?

you were well-prepared. you knew what was to come. there was absolutely nothing that could throw you off - other than this.

"a-aiku..?" your breath hitched, eyes widening as the man backed you into the same room you both has chastely slept in for the past 3 years.

the lights were off, the city right outside your window was buzzing, and you swore you felt like you were losing you mind as aiku drew out his long steps towards you.

thump! the back of your knees made contact with the wooden frame of the bed.

having nowhere to hide anymore, you stared at him — all but going insane, "hey."

"need you."

"aiku, listen—" you tried again, words laden with apprehension, eyes jittery as if one look away from him and he'd disappear, "you're drunk."

"no." his heterochrome eyes fell to your red-hued face, and he brought up a thumb up to swipe up at your bottom lip. as the tip of his finger made contact with the soft pout, he almost hissed, "'m not."

"you are." you repeated, deflecting his hand with a careful hit, "you're drunk."

but the man persisted, annoyingly again bringing up his hand up to your cheek and planting it there. his voice was soft, the question so innocent, "so what?"

"you'd—" your eyes met his, lips wobbling as he bent towards you all so greedily slow, "you'd regret... this."

"so what?"

so... what?

how could he ask you that knowing very well that he was breaking rule number 04 of your agreement?

━━━━━━━☆⭒⭒☆━

three years ago, you and your husband spent your entire wedding night setting down rules.

you clad in a white dress that had wrinkled by the time the filtered sunlight had streamed through your window, and him in an expensive suit he didn't give a shit about — his heterochrome eyes had met yours in a careful dance.

"i know you didn't want this. me neither." your legal husband sighed, a broad hand sifting through his dual toned hair as regret interwove into his low decibles, "and i know i cannot make it any better but—"

he sled the piece of paper that you both had spent hours perfecting towards you. the white sheet against the mahogany table, such a striking contrast — and, there was fine-print with two blanks for yours and his signs at the very bottom.

"so this is... final?" dragging the sheet towards yourself with your index, your gaze ran across the rules that you both had thought would make this 'marriage' thing work.

"hm." he nodded, "technically, this is a legally binding document."

your eyes shifted over the words, taking in the phrases you were to consider your holy commands from now on.

there were four simple rules, to be specific:

1. don't interfere in each other's sex lives. 2. don't get caught up in any scandals. be careful. have affairs in private. 3. pretend to be the most perfect couple on camera. no matter what it takes — lies, pr, more lies. whatever. 4. kiss, kiss, don't fall in love!

your brows knitted together, a frown across your painted lips as you read the sheet again and again, and then, once more for good measure. "you want me to be nothing more than a trophy wife, right..?"

"yes," the ex-captain huffed, looking from you to the sheet he had co-authored, "and i promise to be nothing more than your legal husband."

"I'll do my part, you do yours." oliver gave you a re-assuring smile, the kind that made your stomach coil inwards at it's polite implications, "and none of us fall in love with the other."

hopefully.

━━━━━━━☆⭒⭒☆━

being the only daughter of a high-ranking national sports committee member, the starstruck fans and fame-hungry reporters had chalked up your and aiku's pairing to the fates.

"the pro-player and the daughter of the sports committee member," they had discussed in loud whispers, "no wonder they're getting married. so romantic!"

"he was such a womanizer before he met her, you know? who knows what he's like now? probably the same." one school-girl probably had scoffed on the subway, and another had retorted, "that's because it's true love, idiot. people change for love."

"how did they never get caught, though?" others had asked, "it's like their marriage came out of the blue. but well, i guess — when it's fate, then, it's fate!"

well, what they all didn't know was that 'fate' was your father and aiku signing a bunch of paperwork in an office a few days before your wedding ceremony, binding you both to this twisted relationship. not so romantic now, is it?

but eitherways, both of you did your part diligently — that's how this had worked out for so long. this arrangement had worked more than well enough for the past three years.

during his matches, you were dressed in his jersey, his number, cheering his — no, yours — family name as loud as you could. after the same match, aiku would come running upto you and hug you till you felt his tensed muscle slacken against yours like he wanted to hug you. you didn't quite miss the way he whispered against you, "sorry for making you do this, ma."

in the interviews afterwards, he would call you his lucky charm. he would laugh, the sweat beads trailing down the planes of his handsome, perspired face, "what can i say? it's probably my girl that makes my game."

'his' girl? right.

when on a pre-planned date night, he would catch your smaller palms in his, and hover his lips over your skin — fooling the world into believing his lips ever touched yours. next morning, you'd find your faces plastered in the morning tabloids.

oliver aiku was such a good actor, it was sickening.

during every red carpet, you and him were dressed in complimentary suits and dresses, smiling up at each other as if you weren't stuck in whatever the fuck this relationship was.

and when the interviewers would ask him one fine evening, "mr. oliver, you're presenting the award this time, we've heard."

"hah, yes but have you seen my wife yet?" he would gush expertly — somehow even turning his nose and ear tips appear red on command, a pro liar. "i am afraid i wouldn't be able to remember my lines on the stage if i look at her."

and you would look on from the side-line, amazed, because how could that man lie so easily? lie to everyone — the media, his friends, to himself? how could this man tell the cameras you were the very thing he adored, and then go home just to fall asleep after a simple goodnight?

most importantly, how could you ever trust such a big liar? a liar who could even make you believe for a fleeting second that he loved you (even though, according to rule number #4, that was prohibited.)

how, oh how, did oliver aiku make you feel so utterly stupid? how did he even fool you into thinking he may love you?

━━━━━━━☆⭒⭒☆━

3rd of december, 1:06 a.m. incident: my husband comes back from a long night.

"aiku..?" a soft sigh of his name tumbled past your lips, your eyes narrowing at the figure standing at your shared bedroom door in the middle of the night.

it was one in the morning, and you were sure under that once-crisp linen shirt lay foreign lipstick stains and faint whispers of feminine perfume. it was normal — this was normal — your husband getting home late at night after being with another woman. this was normal. and according to rule number 01, you weren't supposed to care about it.

and yet, your mouth grew drier as the same husband walked into the room in the dark — agile footing easily navigating through the learned pathways.

"aiku?" you tried again, this time a bit louder as you sat up on your shared bed. the fabric shifted under your hips, your eyes trying to trace out his outline in the comfortable darkness.

at the sudden sound, the man jumped. flicking on a light with a quick click of his finger, he stared at you all wide-eyed, "you're still up..?"

you nodded and the man cocked an eyebrow, nimble fingers undoing the buttons of his shirt, "why so late?"

well, who was supposed to tell aiku that it was the third anniversary of your 'marriage' — or rather, the contract? who was supposed to tell him that you had stupidly cooked a meal and thought you two could celebrate this utterly dogshit arrangement of yours? who was supposed to tell him? definitely not you.

after all — according to rule number 03 — you didn't need to behave like the perfect wife when the cameras weren't rolling. and according to rule number 04 — no falling in love.

so instead, you pressed your lips into a thin line, "jus' couldn't sleep." forcing your lips into a smile, you asked, "you were out late. had fun tonight..?"

aiku shrugged, "eh, nothing special."

and despite rule number 01 still in effect, you bit out a meek, "jessica?"

you had heard the name slip past his lips once late night and immediately associated the name with a beautiful, striking woman — a woman aiku could possibly love. not you.

"nah..." aiku hesitated for just a second, and some selfish part within you wondered if he was about to lie just to keep your heart. if he was about to say 'i saw nobody' just to make you feel like you meant something to him — but the man crushed whatever hope you had under his boot, turning it to ash and soot. "it was crystal, actually."

crystal..?

pulling his closet door open, he didn't even bother turning to look at you, "'m gonna shower and then sleep, kay? you should go to bed."

crystal...?

"yeah, right." at his casual demeanour, at his absolute nonchalance at whichever woman he was currently seeing — you brought your knees up to your chest, a disgusting pang in your ribcage that traveled down your spine and to your toes, "well, i made some pasta if you're hungry."

"oh?" shimmying off his shirt, you watched your husband flex his well-trained muscles involuntarily as he searched for another shirt in his closet, "you cooked? something special tonight, ma?"

"no."

aiku glanced back, the muscles in his shoulders shifting at the action, his eyes narrowing just a little bit, "sure?"

"mhm." you nodded, trying to take your position back on your usual side of the bed, "anyways, eat up if you get hungry. i'm... off to bed. goodnight."

"g'nite."

this was normal.

and according to the rules you both had set, oliver wasn't breaking any. then, why did you have that death grip on your sheets as you heard him close the door to the shower? why did you still cling onto the name 'crystal' like it was your very last thought before death?

23rd of december, 6:54 p.m. incident: my husband's busy (again.)

"'m not sure if green is my colour." you confessed as you gawked up your own reflection in the humongous fitting room.

"oh no! you worry too much, madam." the manager of the clothing studio grinned, fanning a hand at you as if it would make your worries disappear, "you look phenomenal!"

still looking at your reflection in the mirror, your brain tried to scramble helplessly for any excuse for you to not go to the charity ball tomorrow. flimsily searching for your salvation, your eyes drifted to the man seated on the sofa behind you — busy sifting through his phone, unbothered to your very presence.

he didn't care for you — he never did — but maybe, he could validate that green wasn't your colour. maybe he could give you an excuse to not go to that charity ball... because it hurt to see your husband pretend he loved you in front of the cameras, it hurt to know that he could love you that way if he wanted to and he just didn't want you.

biting down whatever traces of self-esteem left within your system, you called out for him, "does this look... okay?"

at the mention of his name, he lifted his gaze from his phone to you. taking in your figure once, twice — he nodded satisfied, "yeah, you look good, ma. don't worry."

a soft ping! of his notifications drew his gaze back to his phone screen. your fist tightened, nails digging into the soft skin as you went back to being ignored. there goes your excuse to skip tomorrow night.

it would always be some event — a charity ball, a reunion, a sports meet, a fucking conference or whatever — and you had to doll up just to smile up at him. it didn't matter if you didn't feel like going, or if it was a pain, or if that shade of green didn't go well on you.

it didn't matter, as stated by rule number 03.

"—and not to mention that green is really mr. oliver's colour." the same manager prattled on, cashmere words as she tried to persuade you.

your eyes still bore against the man as if the staring at him would be enough for him to understand your grievances and bail you out from this hell. but ofcourse, oliver aiku was only the perfect husband on camera.

the woman concluded with a well-practiced, corporate smile, "—and you both have to match, right?"

ofcourse, you both had to fucking match — courtesy of rule number 03 yet again.

even after moments of heating staring, your husband was more busy on his phone than you.

"i guess if he likes it." you finally shrugged, losing your resolve to the 2v1 match going on in the fitting room right now, "we'd take this, then."

"wonderful choice, madam!" and with that the woman clapped, happily guiding you to a private room so that you could take the dress off.

as you followed her, you looked back at oliver once more — as if you'd catch him staring or something equivalently stupid. instead, the man stayed engrossed on his phone — furiously typing.

probably texting jessica, or crystal, or whoever was interesting enough for oliver aiku to fuck into rented hotel sheets — whoever it was that wasn't you.

9th of january, 7.23 p.m. incident: WAG duties.

here you were, sitting in the same spot in the VIP seating area as you had for three years.

his jersey number proudly flashing on your back, you brought your hands up to your mouth to cheer and clap as oliver defended yet another goal, "go, baby! you're doing so well!"

you knew the camera was on you — it was half of the time. the audience ate up every crumb of your relationship online. so, you just smiled, clapping proudly.

honestly, it wasn't hard to fake the genuine enthusiasm every time he skillfully stole the ball from the opposing team — you were proud of him. after all, three years of being someone's greatest supporter eventually becomes a habit, not a chore.

"didn't you get super lucky with oliver?" someone next to you mumbled.

snapping your head towards the sound of the voice, you saw a pretty redhead — oh, chigiri hyoma's sister.

you frequently ran into the woman on and off the field, and had struck up some semblance of friendship with her.

"hah, nice seeing you here, koyuki." you hoped that the laugh didn't sound as strained as if felt in the back of your throat. chasing the pathetic laugh with a practiced smile, "sure did get lucky, but why do you ask?"

"ah, nothing." the redhead grinned, a teasing lilt to her carefree voice, "just that it's been three years and aiku still tries to catch a glimpse of you whenever he defends. if that isn't love, i don't know what is."

love? love?? LOVE???

"oh?" eyebrows bunching together, perhaps you were taken aback with what a good actor oliver was. you were always so caught up in giving the right reactions for the camera, that maybe you didn't see how well he played his side of the loverman role.

but even as koyuki pointed it out, you were too hesitant to actually check for yourself. what if she was wrong? what if you actually saw him looking at you? what if you fell for the elaborate act like a fool yet again..?

so, still focused on the woman in front of you, you spluttered out a pathetic script, "i mea—mean, yeah he just absolutely spoils me."

"i can see that." the woman laughed, "but you're always there to support him too, so I'm sure you spoil him back just as much."

"m-yeah..?"

you spoiled him? no, obviously not. because that wasn't mentioned in any of the rules, was it?

at the stutter in your words, koyuki jutted her bottom lip out, a sorry expression on her face, "oh come on now, don't give all the credit for your marriage to aiku. it takes two to make it work."

"hah," you nodded, coughing up yet another laugh to mask your half-baked lies, "yeah, i guess it does—"

"—i just really, really hope," the redhead cut you off, clasping her nimble fingers together, "that someday I can find a love as adorable as yours."

and at her words, you couldn't help the slight waver in your smile, couldn't help as your eyes drained themselves of any tangible emotion, "o-of course, you will. don't you worry."

"a love as pure as yours"? funny. cause you were yet to find that kind of love three years down the line.

━━━━━━━☆⭒⭒☆━

࣪ ִֶָ☾. part 02: through his eyes.

3rd of december, 1:03 a.m. incident: shit, my wife's still up.

oliver aiku had made the genius decision to avoid you the entire day before, even going out of his way to make sure he didn't step inside your shared apartment before the clock struck twelve.

a simple man may question his actions and ask 'why?' and the answer was as simple as it came: oliver aiku knew it was your — technically, his too — anniversary.

oliver had woken up by the reminder on his phone that read "anniversary.", he had driven and got you a bouquet of flowers, he had even contemplated asking you out for dinner. and then, he had chickened the fuck out. oliver aiku had chickened out for the third time in the row.

see, the first year, he avoided doing anything because it was the first year. the next year, it felt even more awkward cause he hadn't even wished you on the first anniversary so why on the second? he had planned for the third, and that... also went to shit.

truth be told, oliver didn't want to seem like the fool who was holding onto a fake relationship by remembering or bringing up pointless things like this. cause that was just pathetic, right?

so, of course, he did the smartest thing a man could do — avoided you like you were the fucking plague. even if it meant sitting the entire night away in his car and waiting for the perfect time to return back home.

"aiku?" at your sudden chirp, oliver almost felt a wayward shiver run down his spine. flipping on the switch with a practiced flick, he found you sitting up in your shared bed, "you're still... up?"

and though oliver knew there was no way you knew he had been waiting in his car, his heart genuinely caught up a wicked pace. trying to distract himself — and perhaps, you — he undid the buttons of his shirt, "why so late?"

as you gave him a smile, the man knew something was off. shit.

you spoke so softly, looking so beautiful even in the absolute middle of the night, "jus' couldn't sleep... you were out late, have fun tonight?"

"eh," aiku tried his best to appear nonchalant, trying to be truthful amid the chaos of his mind, "nothing special."

he hoped, he stupidly hoped that you'd say goodnight and go to sleep. instead, you further enquired, "jessica?"

and despite being a sharp man who could lie to god while looking in his eyes, aiku turned his back to you — scared he may fumble in front of you that he hadn't seen another woman for the past three years. he started softly, "nah..."

opening the door to his closet, he tried to think of another name — any name. oh, what was that thing sendou was talking about a few days ago? crystal chandeliers? crystal? cry—

"—stal, actually." the pro-player lied through his teeth. rummaging through his closet, he tried to distract you, "'m gonna shower and then sleep, kay? you should go to bed."

"yeah, right." and oliver aiku almost confessed all his sins just at that 'right'. but instead of further grilling him, you just said, "well, i made some pasta if you're hungry."

"oh?" peeling the familiar shirt off of his body, for a moment, the man believed that you knew what yesterday was. but how could you? you had never been more than what he had asked of you — you had never been more than a contract, a trophy wife.

eitherways, he asked — to confirm. "you cooked? something special tonight, ma?"

but your answer was swift. a straight, sweet blow: "no."

and despite the answer, oliver allowed himself to glance back just this once, "sure?"

"mhm. anyways, eat up if you feel hungry." you nodded, shifting to go to sleep, "I'm off to bed. goodnight."

oliver turned his face back to the closet door, mumbling out, "g'nite."

as the man closed the door to the shower, he clenched his fist and unclenched it. what was he even so frustrated about? he had set the rules with you, didn't he? and you weren't breaking any of them.

you were the most perfect trophy wife, after all, weren't you?

23rd of december, 6:54 p.m. incident: my wife's dad sucks.

oliver aiku was sure he could rip his hair out right now.

aiku: listen, she has nothing to do with it. aiku: i said i don't feel like taking her to the charity ball. dad 2: Why not? Did she say she doesn't wanna go? aiku: for the last time, i said i don't wanna take her. dad 2: Did she do something to trouble you Mr. Oliver?

jesus fucking christ. oliver aiku could really rip his hair out right now.

as dense as he'd like to believe he was as behaving like an actual husband, aiku could still see that you truly did not want to go to that stupid charity ball. the entire ride to the fitting, you had been sitting far too still in your seat — asking him questions like, "is it important for me to go?"

you never asked for anything from him.

each game, you showed up. each event, you dressed to the nines and put on that painfully pretty yet fake smile. each day, you put up with him. and however bad of a husband aiku may be, he didn't want to discomfort his own wife for the sake of some stupid rule, or the sake of that old man who happened to be your dad.

you distant voice kissed his ears, "'m not sure if this shade of green is my colour."

your statement was followed by some candied prattle by the saleswoman, but aiku was too busy re-reading your father's heinous texts to actually look up and check for himself.

dad 2: If she has inconvenienced you in any such way, please let me know.

"—aiku?" and the soft sigh of his name past your heavenly lips, oliver's gaze immediately shot up. you met his eyes in the reflection of the mirror, "does this look okay?"

'okay'? you were beautiful beyond words.

hair hastily tied up, makeup not yet glam enough, dress not fitted to your measurements, only held up by clips — and yet, aiku almost lost his breath when looking at you.

thumb still hovering over the virtual keyboard, he took in your figure once, twice and nodded — all but dazed, "yeah, you look good, ma. don't worry."

he was about to say something more when another stupid ping! brought his attention back to his phone.

dad 2: Or you can reprimand her yourself, if you'd like. We have no objections to it.

'reprimand'?? what the actual fuck did that old geezer mean by that?

aiku felt his fingers gliding furiously across the keyboard, words nothing if not laced with the absolute venom in his system — because nobody talked about his wife like that.

aiku: listen here. aiku: i don't need your input on how to treat my own fucking wife. so, if i hear one more word out of you, just know that i will make you regret it. aiku: that's all. take care, dad.

aiku shut his phone, tearing his gaze away from the screen to where you were standing only to find you already gone.

he was late, like always.

9th of january, 7.23 p.m. incident: scatterbrained on the field.

oliver aiku knew nothing more than the adrenaline rushing through his veins, the blood that roared in his eardrum, the thoughts that bolted through his brain, the overhead lightings that blinded him when he jumped up to defend the incoming attack — oliver aiku knew nothing more than the ball and the field in front of him.

atleast that's what he had always felt when he played. keyword: had.

but lately, his brain was scattered — thoughts a jumbled incoherent tune that only sung to rhythms of your name. every time he closed his eyes, every strained breath, every involuntary flex of his muscles — you were there. you were there in the very fiber of his being.

so, ofcourse, when he defended yet another goal and the ball was expertly deflected off-field, he didn't care about the cheers of his name, didn't care about the teammates that whooped and ran to their spots, didn't care about anyone or anything that wasn't you.

lifting his gaze straight at the VIP box, his eyes frantically searched for you. and there you were — wearing the jersey that he had brought for you, smiling so wide as you clapped and aiku swore for a second, he froze.

no, ofcourse, his body kept moving — muscled thighs sprinting across the field like it was second-nature and eyes scanning for constant threats, oliver aiku was still in the game physically. but mentally? my god, weren't you the prettiest thing he had laid his eyes on?

stealing scarce glances away from the soccer ball, the man found you talking to a familiar redhead. you laughed at something she said, and oliver felt a feverish pang run it's course through his chest. did you ever smile at him like that? or at all, for that matter? did he—

"—AIKU. WHERE'S YOUR FUCKING FOCUS?" his teammate yelled, and the ex-captain's gaze tore back into the field instantly. his teammate ran across the field, chasing the opposing team as they brought the ball into oliver's side of the court, "AIKU, DEFEND. FOCUS."

focus..? focus?? what was that?

because even as the man shielded the defense line with his hulking body and fast-paced thoughts, he couldn't help but steal a glance at your still-conversing self.

what was a fucking match when compared to his wife, anyways?

30th of june, 2.23 a.m. incident: AITA for kissing my wife on my birthday?

oliver aiku was about to lie through his fucking teeth, and it was about to be as pathetic as he could get. but fuck it, how many more years of heartache should he have to endure without giving it a shot?

"a-aiku..?" your voice was so soft, that aiku couldn't help but walk onwards, backing you into the room even despite his clenched fist and trembling calves.

a soft thump! indicated the back of your legs hitting the bed — or wait, was that the sound of his heart dropping into his stomach..?

another soft hiss past your lips, "hey..?"

"need you."

frankly, aiku himself didn't know what the fuck he was on about. thank god, you cut him off.

"—aiku, listen." your eyes were frenzied, and aiku swore he saw your gulping harshly in the darkness, "you're drunk."

he was not... but he was pretending.

oliver aiku had come up with the most perfect plan. he would pretend to be drunk on his birthday and kiss you. if you slapped him, or threatened to divorce him, he could always blame the alcohol.

"no." he purposefully slurred, using his hazed state to bring up a careful thumb to your bottom lip. under his soft swipe, your lips wobbled and aiku felt his knees almost give up whole. keeping up the act, he pathetically worded, "'m not."

"you are." you pushed his hand away and aiku found himself yearning for your touch — even if was to push him away. you repeated, "you're drunk."

you sounded so scared, and aiku almost forgot his well-rehearsed script. as he stared at you, he started considering that perhaps this wasn't the smartest of ideas. but well, he didn't come this far to only come this far, so, instead he brought up the hand to your cheeks daringly.

you didn't slap his hand away, or flinch. so, he softly planted his calloused hand against your soft cheek and bet his sanity on a losing match, "so what?"

okay... maybe he did come this far only to come this far.

"you'd—" your words fell down in sordid syllables, and he took the soft parting of your lips as an invitation to bend forward. your eyes widened at his action but fuck it. here goes nothing. yolo or whatever. "you'd regret... this."

"so what?"

and he truly meant it. if kissing you once meant he would have to give up his sanity — oliver aiku was ready to trade. he was ready to go ahead and trade everything unholy and sinful he was for you. he was ready.

drawing closer, your warm breath fanned against his face and the man couldn't hold back physically. bringing up another hand to your waist, kneading the skin under the luxurious silk dress you had wore for his party, the man delved in to devour you.

his lips against yours in a lewd dance, and oliver almost fucking gasped from how sweet you were. despite dreaming on and on about this exact scene, he could have never assumed how fucking sweet you'd be. how he'd be able to taste the flavour of your gloss, how he'd be able to sync up his ragged breathing to yours, and how instead of pushing him or kicking him in the family jewels — you'd kiss back.

࣪ ִֶָ☾. part 03: through their eyes.

wrapping your shaking hands around oliver's neck, you found yourself pressing your body against his muscled ones. tongue against his, eyes clenched shut at the taste of whiskey in your mouth and his large palm on your skin.

the man pressed against you harder, his body heat almost setting you ablaze — and you let him, pressing against him with just as much fervour.

"a-aiku..." your serrated words got lodged in the back of your throat as the man kissed down your jaw— his actions so primal, unrelenting. you gasped at the soft nip of his teeth against the column of your throat — the action so dangerously intimate. straining, you repeated his name, "aiku...?"

"keep sayin' my name." his heterochrome eyes flicked up to yours, and the man lost all cognitive senses to come back and kiss you on the lips again. his actions were rough — depraved. and even when his lungs ached for oxygen, he used up the last in his body to utter out, "say my name."

"mmph— aiku..!" your kiss-bitten lips against his, the strings of saliva between you two. you repeated, chanting the word like a mantra, "aiku, aiku, a-aiku—"

"—fuck." his broad palm pulled up your dress, bunching up the fabric at your waist to expose your naked thigh.

what was happening? all you could feel and touch and know happened to be oliver aiku.

were you actually kissing him? was he actually kissing you? or was this another stupid plan of his... were there paps to catch this and post about it tomorrow?

at the absurd thought, you pushed him away.

the man looked far-gone. his pupils blown wide, cherry-red lips swollen, and spit drabbling down his jaw — in fact, oliver looked at you as if you had committed blasphemy. his words wobbled, "w-what?"

"why are you kissing me?" and you're sure you meant it genuinely, but the words came out so horrified. wiping your lips frantically, your unsteady gaze scanned the room, "why...? i-is there someone in the room?"

"huh?!" oliver's jaw slacked open at your question. were you drunk? he spluttered, "what..?"

"why are y-you... kissing me, aiku?" you asked, words tattered and confidence lost, "have you lost your mind?"

"i—" he stepped back, horrified he may have done something wrong. his tongue felt thick in his mouth, voice uneven, "di-should i not have kissed you?"

"the rules." your eyes widened, "we... you're not supposed to kiss me."

"but i just did."

"that's what i'm asking," your voice shot up a note, gaze growing hazy at the implications of him toying with your heart yet again, "why did you?"

"we are married." and you swore, you heard the tiniest twinge of disappointment woven into his fact-like statement.

"we are pretending to be married." you bit back, eyes clenching shut at his flimsy excuse.

"s-still married."

"still pretending." your eyes shot opened, the whites now tinted red, you spit, "i'm just your trophy wife, right?"

and at the phrase, aiku sifted his palms through his already tousled hair. eyes frantic, words maddened, "what... what if i don't want that anymore? what if i-i... want you."

what? how drunk was he?

"i want you." he repeated, and you couldn't decide whether the phrase was a curse or a blessing. he stepped closer, if that was even physically possible — hysterical, "i want you."

he wanted... you?

the same man that had ignored you for the past three year wanted you?

a/n: my fucking god, I LOVEEEE pathetic men hahaha. no smut in this one guys cause i was too consumed writing the mutual pining. tagging: @heartbingers @moodswing101 @isabellalovesyou @adollsdarkdiary [just tagging the people on my last oliver post.]

[mossterunderthebed]

oho. ohohoho. now to make it goyuu... i need a knight au

ooh what if they're from different kingdoms. and yuuji is the king's only remaining relative so he is unfortunately the Heir. and was dragged to the palace after his uncle found where his father had taken his grandson away from the palace to live out his days in ignominity because he was once a great general but his son sukuna who was greater even than him instigated a violent takeover and disposed of half the previous nobility

and hes a tyrant but a lot of the commoners love him because to be fair his actual policies arent too bad just bloody as fork and super strict and hes big into conquest which hey makes money and brings their country glory so it works.

enter gojo.

emperor of neighboring empire thats not technically much bigger in terms of land mass but has way more people (this has advantages and disadvantages). and yuuji has risen to the rank of general and is known as the tiger of the west which he thinks is embarrassing. and he hates that that's what the people know about him and what they like about him because he wants to be a good ruler. but he doesnt know how only he doesnt think it should be like sukuna rules

and then gojo who ofc would lead his own armies so he and yuuji end up clashing in an unexpected place. and gojo uses guerilla/ambush tactics they werent expecting bc they thought they had the advantage of numbers and yuuji is captured.

and he expects to be tortured and stuff but this gojo guy is actually... really nice? and insanely smart? and really funny too? and pretty handsome too wow ok. and then they kind of end up becoming friends?? and yuuji confides that he doesnt know how to rule well but he really admires gojo whos so smart and has gathered such good people to him (unlike many people who have critisised him as being honourless because of his tactics but its because he and yuuji both understand the value of a life as opposed to expectations of 'character' which is actually just a load of crap the nobles to make themselves sound/look good)

and yea i dont know things snowball and in the end they have a long-lasting long distance love affair until gojo's heir (yuuta) comes of age. bc surprise surprise gojo never wanted to rule esp not after the betrayal of his closest advisor and best friend in his youth. and finally he goes to live w yuuji who disposed of his own uncle in a very moving morally heart-clenching scene

and they live happily ever after and travel back and forth a lot and every time gojo visits his home he acts outrageously but hes still always just as intimidating as ever and even in his late forties h makes a soldier who spoke out of turn piss himself in a public spar.

and he and yuuji are insufferably chaotic and loving until they die and are buried side by side on the land yuuji rehabilitated (his childhood home w his grandfather that was wrecked by sukuna) and they plant little yellow and blue wildflowers over the graves and years in the future the two crossbreed and spawn a lovely little new breed of flower that symbolizes the powerful kind of love that would wait for years and years. a patient kind of love.

and centuries later records are found of them and the graves are unearthed and little artifacts are found and their letters and etc etc etc and their love story becomes known as one of the greatest of all time and stories and plays and poetry are written about it and their letters are translated and published and are turned into a saying 'i would write you a thousand letters' which basically means 'i would love you with dedication through great obstacles and hardship' or more simply, 'i will love you even when its hard.'

and yeap thats the that.

Bonus: at the very very very end theres a little cutscene of their reincarnations meeting for the first time after accidentally bumping into each other and gojo drops something so yuuji kneels and offers it to him and for a second they both get mad deja vu and just stop and stare at each other like they're the most beaufiful thing the other has seen and for that moment rest of the world doesnt exist

*holds back tears* and then they fall in love and get married and adopt some cats and maybe a kid and live in a cozy apartment and stay together for a whole 'nother lifetime and retire to the Sendai countryside and tend to a garden full of Their Flowers which they find out on the second date are both of their favorites for a reason neither of them can quite describe and ughhhhhhhhhhhh

sorry i got emotional. ok bye.

horniest battle moments:

- taking your ally's weapon out of their scabard to use yourself

- using someone else's shoulder as a rifle stand

- nudging someone's chin up with the tip of your weapon

- freezing with your blades against one another's throats, breathing into each other's mouths

[minnietrys]

Cherish

◯ Cho Hyun-ju x Fem! Reader

▵ Alternative universe! (Baby youngmi is alive)

□ fluff, some flirting, small mentions of homophobia and transphobia

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Warning this is the first time I write fanfic since I was 12 writing on Wattpad… so please let me know how I do! I wanna bring mine and people wanted fanfics to life because they ain’t any for baddie hyunju.

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She was beyond lost, her family, friends, and all her loved ones turned their back on her once she finally started being who she felt like who she should be. Maybe she did something bad in her past life to deserve this. Or maybe she was mentally ill like they said.

All those thoughts keep pounding into her head as she just sits. Sits all alone feeling more alone then she see looks.

“Excuse me ma’am?” Hyunju jumps out of thoughts but multiple keep coming at her at that word ‘ma’am’. It’s like the missing piece finally met the puzzle. It makes her feel better about herself. Makes her feel like she was right about her feelings.

“Um…would you like more coffee?” The waitress asks. Finally Hyunju looks up and finally answers “oh my yes. Sorry I have a lot going through my head I guess I tuned you out. I’m so sorry” she was nervous with the reply. She finally gets a glimpse of the waitress name ‘y/n’ she must say it’s a pretty name for a good looking girl.

“Oh that’s fine! That happens to me a lot!” y/n said with a joyful smile. But hyunju feels safe in that smile. Like all her worries can just disappear.

Wait no she has to snap out of this. She just barely met her for crying out loud. More importantly you haven’t even told her your name she just had wandering eyes. But she would love to know you.

“Um..this may sound totally odd but can I have your number? You just seem like a really nice person that I wanna know.” Hyunju put her big girl pants on and finally shot the answer. Though her palms are so sweaty with the need for your answer.

Most people look at her with disgust and say nasty things to her face. But not you. You have the look of kindness something she hasn’t seen or felt in awhile.

“Oh..s-sure? Sorry I don’t get asked for my number as often” she noticed you nervous movements. Maybe it was a bad idea to ask. Maybe you feel pressured. Maybe she came off as threatening. Maybe you hate who she is. Maybe you—

“Here, please text me or call me. I’m y/n by the way and your name?” Her thoughts were cut off when you gave her a paper from your notepad with your number, name and a heart?!?! A heart! She started feeling flustered, but remembered your question.

“C-cho Hyunju..” she answered very timidly. “Well then by the looking of it your Hyunju unnie, right?”you said hoping to not just have guessed wrong.

But the word keeping racing though her head ‘unnie’ a name she thought someone will never call her but someone did and she hopes she can continue to cherish this moment and that person.

She just nods, but you smile “Well I hope you see that text from you unnie, if not I will not give you any more sugar for your coffee.” Hyunju fakes gasps “So what if I don’t text but I call instead will I still get the sugar?” she try’s to hide the little smirk forming on her face.

“Hmm nope, you will actually have to buy me coffee instead if you call” you say with blush hoping to not come off as pushy. “Well then I suppose I will call because that’s a better deal than just some sugar.”

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Ahh let me know if this was good and maybe if I should make it a series! I will also try different characters and plot lines

[keeryhours]

the emperor’s love - emperor geta

Emperor Geta x Empress! female! reader

Main Masterlist

Emperor Geta Masterlist

Summary:

Being pregnant with his heir has made Geta more in love with you than he ever could have imagined. He shows you just how much he loves you.

Part 1

Warnings:

Smut (18+), unprotected p in v, fingering, creampie, pregnancy

Word Count: 1.9k

A/N:

I wasn’t sure if I was going to write for Geta again, but he is actually living in my brain rent free. Another one inspired by my character letters by @miss-bushido, check out her writing and Etsy shop! I did research for this one, but I apologize in advance for historical inaccuracies! This is a part 2 to an heir for an emperor!

—

“I think it’s going to be a boy,” Geta mused, hand roaming over the growing expanse of your stomach. “A strong boy. The future of Rome is in your belly, you know that, Carissima?”

“And what if it’s a girl?” you asked, a giggle on your lips bringing a smile to the Emperor’s own.

“Then she shall take after her mother and be the most beautiful in all of Rome,” he said, hand caressing the skin of your belly. “And I’ll have to give you another.”

“Geta!” You playfully scolded, hand swatting at his as he laughed. “Another so soon?”

“Of course, my love. I need an heir. And to see you, swollen with child again so soon…” he leaned forward, pressing kisses to your neck. “Would be a gift. The gods have truly blessed me.”

You hummed, melting into his touch. You were sprawled together on your huge bed, dressed in your bed clothes for the night. His body curled behind yours, hands roaming your body wherever he pleased. Up and over your breasts, pinching at your nipples before moving back to your stomach; then down between your legs, feeling for the wetness he knew would be waiting for him.

“My love…” he whispered seductively against your ear. “Is there something you want?”

You whined, pressing back against him. He knew what you wanted, and he wanted it too. You could feel him already hard against your backside as he dipped his fingers between your folds. He collected your slick on his fingers and brought them to his lips, sucking them clean, tasting your essence. “Divine,” he remarked. “Somehow, you taste even sweeter.”

He lifted your tunic over your body, baring you to the night and his eyes alone. His hands trailed over your soft skin, so beautiful and flawless in his eyes. Perfection sent to him from the gods themselves.

Geta undid his own robe, revealing his glorious body fully naked, cock hard and standing proud as he gazed down at you. “You are so beautiful, Carissima.” His tongue darted out to lick his lips as he drank in your beauty. “Will you sing for me tonight?”

You giggled, knowing he didn’t exactly mean a ballad. “Perhaps if I feel inspired, my Emperor…”

A wicked smile crossed his face as he leaned over you, kissing up your body until he reached your lips. “Oh, how beautiful a melody I could pull from those lips…let me show you.”

He gently moved you onto your side, careful of your stomach. Geta had treated you like you were made of glass since he discovered your pregnancy. He had been overjoyed, but if you thought he was overprotective before, he became a whole different beast with his beloved wife carrying his potential heir.

He consulted the augurs at the beginning of your pregnancy. Since then he has prayed daily to the goddesses of childbirth; Eileithyia, Hera, Juno. He has left them daily offerings at their temples and shrines to ensure the safe delivery of your child.

You always had an entourage with you with your servant staff, but now you had a guard of Praetorians following your every move, as well. Even servants to taste your food before you could eat. Speaking of your food, Geta suddenly insisted on you receiving the healthiest, finest foods in the Empire. He still allowed you your fig cakes, at least.

The only time you got any peace, any time alone, were these cherished nights in bed with your Emperor. When he dropped his cruel and ruthless persona and became your husband. He would take care of you, massage your belly with oils each night. It was your favorite part of the day.

Once you were comfortably laid on your side, Geta moved back behind you, his body spooning against yours. He brushed your hair back over your shoulder, placing kisses against the skin of your back. “Do you remember our wedding night?”

“How could I forget?” You smiled, the memory rushing back to you. It had been less than a year, but felt like a lifetime.

It had been a beautiful ceremony. Everything you could have dreamed of. Your father had been proud to marry his daughter to an Emperor. The augurs had been consulted by Geta himself to ensure propitious omens and favor from the gods. You wore your beautiful white tunica recta, a gorgeous veil atop your head. There had been a delicious cake, as he had heard of your sweet tooth beforehand.

Afterwards, Geta took you to the bridal lectus, where he took you apart piece by piece until you were nothing but writhing pleasure beneath him.

Geta hummed against your back. “Do you remember how I surprised you in your chambers before the ceremony?”

You blushed. Of course you did. It had been such a surprise to find Geta waiting for you in your chambers, you weren’t even supposed to see him before the ceremony. You had been scared at first, you still hardly knew one another and you had heard plenty of stories, but his plans for you had been more than pleasing.

“I simply had to have a taste of my bride to be,” he continued. “It was all I could think about once I saw you for the first time. It plagued me those three months of our betrothal leading up until our ceremony. It was all I could think of when I was alone. Even just touching your hand to place the ring on your finger…” You felt Geta shiver behind you. “Carissima, I was yours, body and soul.”

He reached down to grasp onto your thigh, lifting it up and over his own leg between yours. You felt his thick tip prodding at your entrance, and you sighed, already so responsive for him.

“You’ve been so sensitive since you have been carrying our child,” he remarked as his fingertips traced slowly over your clit, before dipping down to press inside of you. You gasped loudly - you could feel his smirk against your skin. “I absolutely love it.”

You moaned as he pumped his fingers into you a few more times, but you were so wet you really didn’t need any preparation. He removed his fingers, sucking them clean with a groan, before pressing his tip against your pussy once again.

He didn’t ask before he started sinking inside - the Emperor did not ask for permission. But he knew you would have given it over and over again had he asked. Your head fell back against him as he filled you from behind, holding your leg up high to allow him enough room to get as deeply inside as he liked to be.

He bottomed out quickly and began thrusting in and out of your perfect tight heat, groaning deeply against your neck. His fingertips dug into your thigh as he fucked you like you needed to be fucked. He knew your body better than anyone, even yourself.

“Carissima,” he moaned; a weakness in his voice he would never let anyone else witness. It was raspy, desperate for more of the perfect fit of your pussy. He called your name over and over again in your ear, the title never sounding more sinful than it did in that moment.

“You feel so good,” you whined, your hips bucking back to meet his thrusts, to have him fuck you harder. He didn’t like to take you roughly with you in your current state, not like he used to. You missed it desperately. “Please, my Emperor, take me harder.”

Geta groaned loudly at your words, his composure faltering as his sloppy thrusts stuttered. “My beloved,” he said, his raspy voice pained. “Do not say things such as that. You do not know how hard it is to keep my control.”

“Please,” you begged again, back arching as you felt your release beginning to build. “Please, Geta, please fuck me.”

His grip tightened on your thigh and he groaned again, like you were causing him physical pain. He thought to deny you once again, but his primal instincts took over and he began fucking into you fast and hard. The sound of his skin slapping against yours filled the room, and you were certain between that and the moans you were both emitting, the entire palace could hear your lovemaking.

“Close,” you whined out, eyes falling closed as your orgasm built faster and faster. You could feel your pussy beginning to clench around his cock, and he felt it too, his hips stuttering again as he neared his own imminent release.

“Sing for me,” he encouraged you, laying your thigh on his leg so he could move his hand between your legs. You cried out loudly as he paid delicious attention to your aching clit, and your orgasm hit you, pussy spasming hard around your Emperor’s thick cock.

“That’s it, Carissima, let all of Rome hear how you sing for me!”

Geta gripped back onto your thigh, fucking into you fast and hard with no rhythm until he finally stilled pressed against you, shooting rope after rope of his seed deep inside you as he let out the most divine moans you’d ever heard.

He rode out both of your releases, shallow thrusts until all of his cum had been spent inside of you. He pulled out, laying on his back next to you as his chest heaved with his breaths. He opened an arm for you, and you laid against him.

These moments of bliss were your absolute favorite. These moments of quiet and peace and love between you and your husband. It was rare for an Emperor to find a true love like this. Rare for a woman to be so lucky in her marriage. You reminded yourself of your fortune often.

You reached up, playing with a lock of his ginger hair. He smiled down at you lovingly, the look on his face one of pure adoration. The truth of it was seen in his eyes, to his very soul.

“The child will be here soon,” Geta said, his hand once again splayed on your large belly. “I have arranged for celebratory games to be held for the next two weeks. I want all of Rome to join in our celebrating the forthcoming birth of our heir.”

You turned to him. “Geta, I’m not sure I should-“

“Shh, my love,” he hushed you. “You do not have to attend, anaticula. I know you do not care for them. And I would rather keep you both safe from harm.”

You smiled gently at your husband. Somehow, he continued to surprise you with how much he loved and cared for you, and now the child in your belly, too. You knew no matter if it was a boy or a girl, Geta would be the perfect father, would love this child fiercely. He would not let harm come to either of you.

“He needs a strong name,” he thought to himself. “Lucius. Septimius. But perhaps we should meet him first? See what kind of personality he will have?”

“We do not yet know if it will be a he,” you teased him, your hand resting on your belly next to his. You felt a small kick beneath your hand and quickly grabbed Geta’s, moving it to that exact spot. After a moment of waiting, a grin spread across the Emperor’s face, pure jubilation evident in his eyes.

“Boy or girl, they’re nice and strong,” he said, a note of pride in his voice. “I love you, Carissima.”

You smiled, eyes fluttering closed. “I love you, my beloved.”

Geta rubbed your belly gently, soothing your nausea and pains as you relaxed into him in your large, plush bed. As you began to drift off to sleep in the arms of your Emperor, you heard his quiet voice one last time in your ear.

“Nunc scio quid sit amor. Now I know what love is.”

[kikiutau]

RYOMEN SUKUNA: How to Get With Your Boss 8 Days Before New Years

CEO!Ryomen Sukuna x Reader Synopsis You're a chronic overtimer at work and a chronic virgin at home. On night of Christmas Eve, you have the lucky unfortunate pleasure of stumbling across a huge fight between your hot boss and his wife. Safe to say their relationship is over. But as fate (and your ever-reliable right hand man, the elevator) would have it, being in the right place at the right time might just lead to a New Year’s resolution you've been yearning for for years: the overdue expiration of your v-card. Genre Modern au, Office Romance, 18+, Smut, Fluff  Content/TW fem! reader, cheating, unprotected sex, voyeurism, virgin! reader, food play, rough sex, slight misogyny, degradation, dirty talk, dumbification, humiliation, spanking, manhandling, cum eating, squirting, pissing, age gap  Word Count 17.4k

Author’s Note: Happy New Years guys! Consider this my gift to you all for the new year! I hope you all enjoy reading this fic as much as I enjoyed writing it Divider by @/cafekitsune

Tuesday, December 24

Christmas Eve

Fuck. Rubbing your swollen eyes, you glared at the circled number on the calendar. A few more days until New Years. And more specifically, 8 more grueling days of a lonely holiday season. A tired groan escaped past your lips. 

Feeling the growing tension in your back from being hunched over for hours on end, you leaned back on your chair hoping to release the pressure. Disregarding the mountain of paperwork on your desk, you haphazardly moved them aside to reach for your cell phone. 

“Ah!” The universe seemingly out to get you, the screen brightness blinds you for a moment. 

You heard a slight thud, signaling to you that the phone you dropped ended up on the floor. Still recovering from eye assault, you don’t grab it right away. Through slight squints, you glanced down at your fallen device. 

12:01 

Wednesday, December 25

Christmas Day 

You let out a quiet “yay.” If there’s one date you were looking forward to, it would be this one. It’s a well-deserved and long awaited break for a distressed and tired office worker like yourself. Working overtime frequently is starting to take a toll on your mental and physical well being— if it hasn't already. 

Acknowledging the time, you tell yourself that now would be a good time to start packing up and heading back home. You quickly put on your coat and grabbed your bag, leaving the heaps of files, binders, and loose papers on the desk as a fuck you, capitalism! You don’t get paid enough to care anyways. On a more important note, your sweet, soft bed is beckoning for your arrival.  

Right as you headed out of the building, you dug through your bag looking for your phone. “Where,” you dug further, “is it?!” 

A frown graced your lips. ‘I… left it in the office, didn’t I?’ you thought to yourself. ‘What an idiot.’

Begrudgingly, you picked your foot off from the ground, and started to slowly make your way back to the Gates of Hell, disguised as those intimidating, tall, glass doors you see more often than the doors of your own home. 

As you walk through the lobby, only the clicks of your heels against the cold marble floors can be heard. The lack of human presence sends a small shiver down your spine. During normal working hours, the lobby is usually filled with the sounds of similarly disgruntled employees complaining to their fellow co-workers. 

But now, the only thing gracing the place was you. Even the janitors and security are nowhere to be seen. Well, it makes sense considering the time. You were the anomaly here. Only a masochist gets off of work at 12AM when everyone else who works the normal 9 to 5 gets off of work at 4:59. 

Well no, you wouldn’t say you're a masochist. You don’t get off to pain. But you were a perfectionist. And you had a tendency to care almost too much about how your co-workers perceived you. So if it meant getting off of work late, you didn’t mind as long as you can get all your tasks done in a timely manner. Besides, you didn’t have anyone to go home to. So why not just stay at work where the heaps of paperwork can accompany you instead.

All your coworkers were sane enough to head home the moment the clock strikes at 5. They’ll stay an hour more if they have to. And for those working overtime, the latest they’ll stay is 8. But, they’ll all shuffle out by the time the sun fully sets, leaving you all alone at your desk. 

Honestly, the only other workaholic besides you would be your boss. Your mind lingers at the thought of his muscular frame, pink slicked back hair, tattoos, and the very apparent large bulge—

Hold on. Stop. He’s your boss. 

And isn’t he a married man? 

You chastise yourself. 

Once you stepped in, your hand instinctively reached for the button with a clear “48” inscribed besides it. Standing in the well-lit elevator, you waited for the doors to close. 

One second passes. Two seconds passed. Then three seconds. Four Mississippi. Five Mississippi. Six Mississippi. Seven— 

“Oh come on!” you rolled your eyes. Tapping your foot, you reached for the button to close the doors and started spamming it like you would when it comes to pressing the attack button on Genshin. “If you don’t close this second, then I’m going to pluck out your buttons and cut your walls with my box cutter!”

The moment that threat left your mouth, the elevator doors closed with a small ding. Ah, even the elevator knew better than to incur the wrath of a stressed out office worker. 

You watched the small panel in front of you change numbers in chronological order second by second. 

1

2

3

4

…

Is it just you or is the elevator slower than usual? 

After what seems to be a long time, you arrived on your floor. Coming to a full stop almost aggressively, the elevator shakes momentarily giving you a heart attack before opening its doors in a slow manner.  

Clenching onto your chest, you make your way out of the wretched box of metal, holding a middle finger up towards the horrid man made product. 

The elevator closes its doors with a ding as if it were responding to your obscene hand gesture. 

You quickly made your way to your usual area, bending down on your knees to grab your missing phone. 

A new message!

You opened the message app to see who texted you. 

Friend

Heyyyyyy girlie! So 😏There’s this guy at my workplace. 

Single. And he doesn’t look half bad. 

And you’re single and mingling. 

Sooooo I was wonderinggggg

If I could set you guys up?  

Y/N

.-.

Uhhhhhh

You typed out “sure.” Although, you contemplated hitting Send. Too distracted with your thoughts, you failed to hear the ding in the background as well as the angry clicks of heels marching past you. 

“YOU ASSHOLE!” 

The sudden scream caused you to flinch. What the hell? 

A male voice interjected. “If I’m such an asshole, sign the goddamn papers.” 

Oh, you recognized that voice. And you hoped you were fucking wrong. 

Curiosity got the best of you and from your position, you slowly peaked up from underneath your desk, to check if you're wrong. God you hope you were. 

Nope. Congratulations! You win a front row seat to watch this couple dispute— against your own will!

At the other end of the room stood your boss in all his glory; his hair was disheveled and the buttons of his dress shirt were unraveled, revealing a window of opportunity for you to see his well defined pecs. Furrowed brows and an annoyed frown decorated his tattooed face. In front of him, there was a woman dressed in a bodycon type dress, hugging all the right curves, revealing her hourglass figure. Although her face was turned away, you could probably guess that her expression was one far from happiness. 

Ok, now you are sure the universe has a personal vendetta against you. First the phone, then the elevator, now this. Not wanting to get caught by any means, you quietly stayed underneath your desk, waiting for the opportunity to leave once the bickering couple finishes their quarreling. 

“You know… None of this would happen if you would just…” the woman’s voice cracked. “Sukuna… You’re so cold-hearted. This wasn’t the marriage I wanted for us.” 

Sukuna scoffed, starting to feel an onset of a headache. He glared at her momentarily, taking a second to decide whether to rip her to shreds with his words or to let the matter go gracefully. If anything, he wanted to be home right this second—not arguing with his wife at his workplace in the middle of the night. Yet, he decided on the former. He spat out, “At least I didn’t cheat.” 

“At least he loves me! With him, I know what love feels like. Unlike you!” his wife exclaimed, pointing an accusatory finger towards the man. 

One of Sukuna’s eyebrows quirks up. “Loves you?” He takes a few steps towards the woman. “He has a wife and two children, Silvia. If he loves you, then why hasn’t he left them for you.” 

The tears Silvia tried to hold in the whole time finally spilled down her cheeks. She couldn’t give him an answer because deep down, she knew her husband’s words were true. His words washed over her like someone threw a bucket of ice water to her head. 

Looking up at her husband, she crashed her lips into his. She could no longer bear the ice cold feeling that had enveloped her heart. But at the very least, she could comfort herself with the warm body of the man she currently abhors. 

Unexpectedly, Sukuna did not push her away. Their lips remained interlaced as he pushed her down onto one of the desks, leaving scattered papers on the ground. Your heart sobs for the poor unsuspecting owner of that very desk. 

Sukuna impatiently tore her dress off as she clumsily worked on the rest of the buttons of his dress shirt. A needy whine escaped her throat when he ripped her panties off. “T-those were expensive,” she mumbled. 

In response, he spun her around onto her stomach, forcefully bending her top-half down until she felt her pebbled nipples against the cold, hard desk. He spanked her left ass cheek, chuckling at the slight bounce. Another smack. And another. 

Much to Silvia’s displeasure, she couldn’t hold in her unabashed moans. Even if Sukuna’s indifference towards her made him absolutely terrible at daily affection, she had to admit: This man is a literal sex God. Not once has she left the bed unsatisfied. 

Silvia wiggled her hips, trying to get away from her husband’s abusive onslaught. In which Sukuna responded with a spank on her bare pussy. “You know,” he bent down to her ear, “I should really punish you for being such a disobedient little slut, whoring yourself out like that.” 

Seems like the man relishes in degrading both his employees and his wife.

“Please,” she begged. She pushed her ass towards Sukuna’s bulge, tempting him to punish him even more by rubbing against him. 

Now that’s a real masochist right there. Your thoughts come to a full pause when you hear Silvia moan, “Oooh FUCK!”

Sukuna, not one to respond well to taunts, pinches her clit. Happy with her reaction, he gives her slight reprieve, massaging the sensitive area with his thumb. She jerked at the sensation, her body trembling against his. 

A laugh echoes within the room. “I can’t believe you’re getting off on this,” Sukuna mocks. He toys with the wetness on his fingers, tapping his pointer and thumb together, watching the way the wet strands stretch every time he pulls them apart. “This is supposed to be a punishment. And you still find pleasure in this?” 

Spank. 

“I must have trained you really well, haven’t I? I hope Mr. Nakamura enjoyed my cum dump while it lasted.” Silvia whimpered in response. 

Spank. 

Sukuna’s eyes glared at her reddened ass. “Speak.” 

“Y-yes!” 

Sukuna let out a little hum, circling around Silvia’s poor, abused clit. Tears—whether it was because of pleasure or pain—dripped down her cheeks. “I’m sorry!” she cried. “I–” 

“But even your lover wasn’t enough for you, huh? Here you are, desperate running back to me like a cockdrunk slut,” the tattooed man mocked. “This is a little pathetic, even for you.” 

No longer able to deal with the edging, Silvia disregarded his insults, letting go of whatever pride she had left as she pleaded her husband for more. She turned head back towards Sukuna, panting for just something, looking at him with glazed eyes. 

Sukuna huffed, stopping his ministrations. He examined her face; her skin was unblemished with hues of blush red, decorating the area around her eyes, nose, and lips. Her lips were slightly swollen as were her eyes. But even then, it did not take away from her apparent beauty. 

He married her two years ago. Not out of love but rather out of obligation. In spite of his appearance adorned with numerous tattoos, Sukuna was quite conservative when it came to relationships. The old fucks at those board meetings suggested—no, pressured— the then, 29 year old man to get married as fast as possible. Tired of their constant prodding and pushing, he ended up marrying one of the girls that was introduced by one of the board members he was on good terms with: Silvia. 

Sukuna was a person who held great belief in his morals. He found cheaters lousy. And he found those who criticized cheaters but then proceeded to cheat even lousier. If there’s one thing he hates in the world, it’s hypocrites. And he was not about to become one himself. Perhaps it was due to such morals that he remained a faithful husband even if he never felt an ounce of love for this woman— any woman. 

Lust, sure. But love? Love was something so vulnerable, so unpredictable. He lived with Silvia and slept beside her for all those years. Not once did Sukuna’s heart waver in the slightest. At most, he could admit that the relationship was comfortable. Silvia was a good wife during their time together. So, at the very least, he treated their marriage as a duty and gave her the utmost respect. 

Right. Respect. That’s why he was so angry at his wife who he did not love. She disrespected him. Thinking about it, Sukuna could feel his suppressed rage beginning to simmer. And looking at his Silvia’s horny expression, it gave him enough of a will not to submit to her pleas so easily. 

Reaching towards the pocket of his suit jacket, he pulls out his beloved Caran d'Ache Léman fountain pen. He pressed the cool metal towards her slit, causing her to flinch. Slowly, he inserts the rounded point of the pen into her wet cavern. 

“Sukuna!” Silvia pouted, unhappy with her current position. Licking his lips, Sukuna rolled his eyes at his wife. 

Leaning down towards her, he smirked. “I’m so sorry sweetheart,” he sarcastically replied. “I thought you wanted more. Was I mistaken?” Feeling his wounded pride swell with glee, he continued moving the pen in and out in slow motions. 

“I– This wasn’t what I meant!” she stammered. 

Spank. 

Sukuna’s eyes narrowed. “Manners.” 

Silvia groaned, burying her face into her arms. Picking her head back up for one last ditch effort, she pleaded once more. “Please please plea– FUCK! Pleaseeee, can you fuck me? I- I can’t get off.” 

Sukuna shrugged, a playful smirk gracing his lips once more. “I don’t need to fuck you for you to get off. You sure found other alternatives during our time apart, didn’t you? I’m certain Mr. Nakamura’s cock was smaller than this pen. And yet you went back to him, again and again. So…” 

Heart pounding, Silvia shook her head needlessly. She wanted to refute him but with how overstimulated she felt, she could not even muster a single coherent thought. Sukuna continued on with his ministrations, moving the pen further into her in a downwards motion. “I’m pretty sure you can get off to this.” 

Feeling the slight nudge of the pen towards her g-spot, Silvia unwillingly slips into pure bliss. Blood rushed to her head as she was brought to pure ecstasy. Sukuna sounded out her moans, purely focusing on her pussy fluttering witlessly around his fountain pen. Consumed by momentary pettiness, he slipped his pen out of her, refusing to fuck her through her orgasm. However, he waited for her to catch her breath.

Silvia went limp after the shockwaves of her orgasm had subsided. Using the strength that’s left in her arms, she shakily turned around towards her husband. There, he stood with the same indifferent expression she despised. She reached out to him, hoping to continue. Much to her dismay, he stopped her, holding onto her wrists. Before she could even say anything, he placed the christened pen into her hands. 

“My lawyer will come to your residency tomorrow. Make sure to sign the divorce papers by then,” he stated, showing his soon to be ex-wife the same poker face he’d show to his company’s board members. 

Almost robotically, Sukuna made his way towards the elevators. Luckily for him, he didn’t have to wait for it to come as it was already on the floor. If this elevator was sentient, then at this moment, it recognized that this man was the very man that could scrap it from its existence in just one word. Feeling scared—if it could even feel—the elevator quickly opened and shut its door at an unbeatable speed to prevent incurring Sukuna’s wrath. 

A few minutes later, Silvia followed suit. Finally alone, you crawled out from your hiding spot. Your brain short circuited for a while, slowly trying to wrap your head around what happened. When it did…

“What the fuck.” Your mouth fell wide open. “What the fuck.” You put both your hands on your head. “What the fuck.” You paced around in a circle. “What the fuck.” Your head whipped towards the desk the two lovers were previously copulating on. Underneath, you see the sheets of paper haphazardly decorating the floor. In the corner of your eye, you could also spot the lacy black panties Sukuna’s wife left on top of said papers. 

Oh. Hell. No. 

So that WASN’T a hallucination? An audible groan echoed throughout the office floor. At this point, there was no doubt about it: The universe wants to murder you. 

You gave a silent apology towards the elevator who was trying to save your sanity earlier. Unfortunately, you were too stubborn to recognize its efforts. Looking back down at the device that has caused you misfortune, you swiped upwards reaching the home screen. After experiencing your boss' intimate moments with his wife against your will, you suddenly lost the will to continue living, muchless go on a double date. In fact, you don’t feel like going anywhere at all with the amount of bad luck you have at the moment. 

Y/N

.-.

Uhhhhhh

Sureygyciwbcuibiwcleboi

Friend 

Great! 

I confirmed with the guy. 

Is the 26th okay for you? 

Well, crap. Did you incur the wrath of some God out there? You must have mistakenly sent the text message while you were struggling to crawl to the dark ends of your desk. Giving up on your current situation, you decided to submit to whatever fate has decided for you. You quickly sent a “ok” before moving on to clean up the stacks of documents on your desk since you were already back where you started. 

Finishing up, you proceeded to put on your coat, preparing to leave. In the corner of your eye, however, you were once again reminded of the intimate scene. Your chest stirred with an uncomfortable feeling. If the employees came back to work days later with papers on the ground AND a pair of black panties, these nosy folks will surely start talking. 

Feeling a sense of pity for the about-to-be-divorced man, you feel your humanity telling you to help Sukuna out. As stern as he was, he was a fair and competent employer who treated his employees well (as long as you didn't get on his bad side). Besides, everyone has days where life simply falls to shit. Sukuna’s just happens to be on Christmas Day (and so is yours). 

Grumbling, you open one of the pull-out cabinets below your desk to grab tissues and disposable chopsticks. You then slowly made your way towards the hazard zone. Quickly, you clipped the panties with the chopsticks, throwing it in a nearby garbage bin. As for the papers, you quickly shuffled it into one pile, not caring if they were out of order. For the unfortunate pieces of papers that were tainted with what’s possibly Silvia’s bodily fluids, you threw those out. You assumed your coworkers would much rather face the problem of a few pieces of their paperwork being missing than have to touch the ones christened by cum. 

Not all heroes come with capes. In this case, it came in the form of a traumatized overtimer. Not wanting to waste anymore time, you made your way towards the elevator. Somehow, the elevator seemed to be working as normal the second time you used it. Making your way towards the exit, you let out a breath of relief. That relief of yours ended when a familiar voice called out to you. 

Slowly, you turned your head to the source. Ah, it’s the devil’s work at play. Mustering whatever strength you had left, you quickly graced the man with your customer service smile. “Hello, Mr. Ryomen. Heading home?” 

He responded with a curt nod. “It’s late. I’m surprised you’re still here. I didn’t see you by your desk.” From how close he was to you, you could have sworn he narrowed his eyes for about a millisecond. 

The hairs on your neck became stick soldiers; your smile faltered slightly. Running through your mind for excuses, you finally landed on: “I was occupied in the printer room.” You pray to your ancestors that he didn't catch on to your lie. 

You assumed your excuse was enough, considering he no longer lingered on the topic. You’re caught off by what he says next though. 

“Since it’s so late, let me give you a ride home.” 

Your customer service smile dropped as you’re now fumbling to make another excuse. Feeling flustered you blurt out, “Oh no, it’s okay. Thank you so much for the offer though. I actually live nearby so I’ll be–” 

Rrrrrrrumble

“You’re going to walk home in this weather?” A teasing smile appears on Sukuna’s face. 

Feeling defeated, you let out a nervous chuckle. “I suppose not.” 

In Sukuna’s expensive-looking car that probably cost more than your yearly salary, you curse whatever deity is out there for your current position. It was probably 2AM right now, yet why the fuck was there still traffic at this time in the middle of the highway. 

“It seems a lot of people are trying to head back to their families for Christmas,” Sukuna blankly stated out of nowhere. You slightly jumped at his sudden comment, not expecting him to speak after sitting in awkward silence for a good 20 minutes. 

You hummed in agreement. You also assumed that the sudden snowstorm had something to do with the onslaught of traffic. You kept that thought to yourself though, not wanting to entrench yourself into further awkward small talk with Sukuna. Bringing your attention back to the traffic, you wondered if the insistent begging in your head would get the cars to move any quicker. Unfortunately for you, it was to no avail. 

Glancing to the window on your right, you tried to distract yourself with the scenery of cityscapes. Your plan was foiled when you noticed Sukuna’s reflection in the mirror. Pretending to look outside, your gaze centered on the enticing image. Sukuna seemed to have fixed his unkempt hair, keeping it in the usual slicked back hairstyle he usually adorned. The same went for his white dress shirt that he seemed to have buttoned up, leaving the top two unbuttoned. 

You focused on his hands. One on the steering wheel, impatiently tapping against the leather; the other hand on the gear shift. You wondered how it would feel if he fingered you–

Stop. 

You could feel your ears burn with embarrassment. Save your horny thoughts when you’re not a foot away from him. ‘Not now,’ you tell yourself. Trying to move on from your thoughts, your eyes focused on something else. You slowly made your way up to his face where now you could see him looking right at you. You jerked your head downwards, avoiding looking at his reflection staring right into your skull. 

Wait, does that mean…? You slowly cranked your head towards the direction where the man was sitting, only to be faced with him looking straight at you. 

“Who would have thought I’d be spending Christmas with my favorite employee?” he drawled, emphasizing the favorite.  

You got caught off guard. Luckily, you recovered fairly quickly. “Who would have thought I’d be spending Christmas with my favorite boss?” you quipped back. 

He barked out a laugh, “I’m your only boss, princess.” .

Chuckling, you shrugged. “Still stands.”  

“You got any plans for Christmas? You must be looking forward to spending time with your family and friends,” he comments. 

You swallowed the imaginary ball in your throat. “Ah, well. They’re all overseas. So, I probably won’t be seeing them this year. The plane tickets are horrendously expensive this time of year.” 

“At least you have that boyfriend of yours from the sales department.” 

“Pardon?” 

A bewildered look occupies your face. What boyfriend? You’ve been alive for a good 23 years and you have yet to even hold hands with a boy. At this point, you’ve gotten your PhD degree in singleness. Flustered, you shook your head. “I-uh. I don’t have a boyfriend.” 

He smirked. “Good to know.” 

Did he just play you? 

“Mr. Ryomen!” His deep laughter fills the small space. When it subsided, he gave you a cocky grin.

“Alright, alright. I’ll stop teasing you.” He reached one of his hands towards your face, brushing a strand of stray hair behind your ears. Before you could say anything, that hand is right back on the gear shift. 

Thankfully, the traffic in front started to clear up. During the drive, you probably learned more about him than you did working 4 years at his company when you started as an intern at 19 years old. For one, he has a younger brother. He also has a hobby of tinkering with motorcycles. And if you didn’t already assume earlier on in your career, he clearly had a fondness for fucking with people (and fucking his wife, but you keep that to yourself). Thankfully, the apprehension you felt earlier was completely dispelled by the casual conversation he started.

Before you knew it, he reached your apartment complex. You promptly thanked him for the car ride, making your way out of the vehicle. “Have a Merry Christmas, y/n.” 

“You as well,” you responded. Your tongue immediately sour when you remembered the fact that Sukuna was getting divorced during the holidays (not that he knew that you knew). Oh crap. Why did you have to say that? It felt as embarrassing as telling the movie theater employees “you too” when they tell you to enjoy the movie. Luckily, Sukuna didn’t seem phased, as if he didn’t serve his wife divorce papers on Christmas day. He simply smiled, nodding in your direction before driving off. 

Thursday, December 26

You sipped on your cocktail, staring endlessly at the shiny chandelier hoping it would cure your boredom. A part of you also hoped the shiny thing would fall right on top of your date.  

“So I’m looking for someone who would…” Blah blah blah. 

You drowned out the sounds of your date’s rambling. This self-absorbed piece of shit. All he would talk about was himself. His next favorite topic being the type of girls who turned him on and the type of girls who turned him off. Then all you could remember was his ramblings about how “women nowadays are not the same anymore…” Something along the lines of that. Fed up, you have half a mind to just straight up tell him to date his own mother rather than trying to find a poor girl to be his in-home maid and incubator. You held your tongue, knowing nothing good would occur from initiating a fight with this guy. 

My god. Where did your friend even find this narcissistic bastard? You start to question HER taste in men. Purely based on appearance, the blabbermouth looks decent. But even his face card couldn’t fix his trash personality. It’s like covering yourself with perfume when you haven’t taken a shower in a month. 

You pray to your ancestors, hoping for someone to get you out of this blind date. It was as if your prayers were answered when a familiar pink-haired man walked out of the restaurant’s private rooms with another man who you could only infer to be a client. You didn’t know if it was your ancestors working some magic or if it was simply pure coincidence. If it was the latter, then it seemed too improbable to be mere chance.  

You didn’t even need to yell out a “help” when Sukuna excuses himself from his current conversation, making his way towards you. You jutted out lips, pouting almost dramatically. You only hope Sukuna could decipher the desperate energy leaking out of your eyes. 

“Ms. y/l/n, did you forget you had an appointment with me?” Sukuna looked down at his watch. “In fact, you’re late.” 

“Wait, you can’t just–” 

A menacing glare shuts up the good-for-nothing. Taking this opportunity, you quickly grab your belongings, interlocking your arm with Sukuna’s, not even giving your date a chance to say goodbye. 

Once again, you're in Sukuna’s vehicle once again. Although this time it’s red instead of the usual black you noted to yourself. “I thought you said you didn’t have a boyfriend,” Sukuna teasingly comments.

You grumbled, “He isn’t my boyfriend. My friend just happened to set us up on a blind date. Well, you know how it went. Anyways, how did you know I needed help getting out of there?” 

“You were never good at hiding your emotions,” Sukuna answered. “Not now. And certainly not then.”

“Really? I didn’t even get slightly better?” you prodded. “Am I really that obvious?”

“Yes.” To him. Although he wasn’t one to linger on office rumors, he couldn’t help but notice the comments in regards to you. People said you were a vivacious one; that’s one rumor he could agree with. Some said that you were dating someone from the sales department; he thought that was true, until you debunked it yesterday. Many of your co-workers called you hardworking; he agrees. Quite frankly, you had a clean reputation. Almost too clean. So clean and perfect, in fact, he almost forgot about the 19-year-old, hot-headed intern who possessed an ego so inflated it rivaled a 10-foot pole. 

Flashback

Sukuna (28) grumbled, impatiently pressing on the elevator buttons. Fuck, one day he’s going to completely replace this box of metal with a more efficient elevator. Just as the elevator doors were about to close… 

“Wait! Bro! Can you hold the elevator doors for me?!”  

Although he certainly looks like the type to close the elevator doors on someone, he’s not completely heartless. Besides, he wondered which employee was brave enough to casually call him “bro.” Quickly, Sukuna clicked the button to open the doors. 

Unfortunately for the desperate girl on the other side, she watched in distress as the space between the two doors got closer and closer together until… closed. 

“Fuck!” She kicked the elevator doors. “You nincompoop!” 

Just as the insult left her mouth, the elevator immediately opened its door, leaving a wide- mouth country girl staring right back at red-piercing eyes.

‘Oh. A new face.’ Sukuna thought. 

The girl gulped, deciding whether or not she should ditch the elevators for the flight of stairs instead. Essentially, would she rather face humiliation or kill herself walking up 40 flights of stairs before her interview. Suddenly she remembered the wise words her mother told her before she walked through the TSA gates: You must walk through life as if you have the balls of a cis-gendered male tiger. 

Whatever that meant. So, the elevator it was! 

She stepped into the confined space shared by the other remaining person staring bullets into her head. Cold sweat adorned her back as the elevator doors closed. 

“So who’s a nincompoop?” 

‘Ah fuck,’ the girl cursed in her head. ‘I should’ve just taken the stairs T^T’ She tried to calm herself down by chanting her mom’s advice. ‘Balls of a tiger. Ball of a tiger.’

Finally getting a proper look at the guy, she almost pees her pants. This guy was definitely over 6ft. 6’3? 6’4? 6’5? At her measly 5’0 ft, she couldn’t tell for sure. And the man had very noticeable tattoos adorning both his face and his arms from what she could tell. Did she bump into a gangster? 

No matter. It’s not like she hasn’t come across gangsters in her high school days. In fact, she once chastised a gang member at her school once so confronting them wasn’t an issue— except this time it was a grown adult man two heads taller than her. 

The girl huffed, puffing her chest out, trying to be intimidating (although unknowingly having the opposite effect). “You are,” she plainly stated. 

“Hn?” Sukuna clicked his tongue. Rolling his eyes he flicked the girl’s forehead with his finger, “Are you a child? When I was in grade school, not even the kids would call me that.”

'Yeah, I'd doubt they'd say anything to you with that face of yours,' she thinks to herself, silently. Thankfully. Unfortunately, it would turn out to be her only wise decision from this point on.

Sukuna scanned the girl, starting from her broken heels, to her dress shirt that’s improperly buttoned, finally landing onto a youthful complexion staring right back at him. The audacity of this girl. “Are you lost, brat? The middle school is four blocks away,” he mocked. 

Okay, now that was pushing it. “Rude!”  Looking deeply offended, she pointed a finger towards the man. “Fuckwad! Asshat! Jackass!” Sukuna had never heard so much profanity come out of a girl’s mouth before. Even she had him admitting to himself that her colorful sailor vocabulary probably rivaled his. 

It was hilarious. 

He lets out a loud cackle. Judging by the furrow of the girl’s eyebrows deepening, he probably pissed her off even further. 

Ding 

“Hmph.” Sukuna watched as the girl marched out. Although very quickly, she snapped her head back at Sukuna. “You! I’m going to report you!” 

Sukuna's coy smile widened even further. “Go ahead.” What was HR going to do? Fire him? 

(P.S. At this point in time, Sukuna's small company didn't even have a human resources department. He WAS HR. )

His answer made the girl more frustrated, as she audibly groaned. “Whatever,” she muttered. 

Hearing another ding, Sukuna quickly asked, “What’s your name?” 

The girl’s head perked up. Her annoyed face contorts to one of apprehension. The elevators are close to closing before she yells out–

“y/n”

Flashback Ends 

Sukuna couldn’t contain his grin when remembering the first time they met. “What’s so funny?” you questioned, almost creeped out by his sudden grin. 

“It’s a secret,” he says. Not wanting to pry any further, you let him be. Much to your dismay, he brought you to your apartment complex fairly quickly, meaning your conversation was cut short once again. You could feel your heart throb. Wait… did you feel disappointed? Sad? You couldn’t exactly pinpoint the exact feeling. You admitted that it was unfortunate these conversations will come to an end though; the two of you will probably go back to the monotonous role of employer and employee who only spoke on matters regarding work. 

Your walk up to your apartment was melancholy at the very least. You thought about how your relationship with Sukuna changed over the four years you knew him for. Your meeting didn’t start off the greatest with the man relentlessly teasing you. Even if you were the one who caused it to occur in the first place. That’s a fault you stubbornly won’t admit to though. 

And then when you got hired as an intern, your spirit was undeniably fucked when you found out the man who teased you in the elevator was the CEO and founder of Ryomen Tech Corporations. 

Thankfully for you, Sukuna wasn’t one to hold deeply held grudges. Although unfortunately for you, the teasing did not stop at all. He’d make those annoying comments to irk you and you’d banter back, unable to hide your apparent dislike for the man. Things like hierarchy was definitely less structured back then when the company only contained a small team of 13 people. 

When you interviewed, the company was still a new tech startup at the time. Before that, Ryomen Sukuna worked as a freelance coder and web developer (and hacker)  after graduating from a small university for a few years. Impressively, despite having nothing to his name, he was able to push his way through. Ryomen Tech Corp. became a million dollar company in a span of a year. Year by year, more investors came shuffling in, and profits continued to rise exponentially. As of right now, Sukuna's net worth is in the billions, an achievement unheard of in four years. 

Stepping back and surveying Sukuna's extraordinary achievements within four years, you couldn't help but acknowledge his competence and admire his success. Despite his teasing nature, you discovered he possessed a charismatic charm when interacting with investors, clients, and other industry leaders.

That Sukuna felt detached, almost unrecognizable. It was hard to believe that the man who mercilessly teased you was the same individual responsible for such remarkable feats. You felt a tinge of selfishness, clinging to the hope that things would remain unchanged, that your relationship could continue as before.

However, his marriage brought an abrupt halt to this illusion. Visits to your desk for lunchtime teasing dwindled, leaving you to eat alone, bereft of the familiar rumble of his cackles and the cacophony of laughter from your colleagues. The teasing text messages, once a constant, gradually decreased, until his name sank to the bottom of your contact list. Soon, he faded from your life as subtly as he had entered it.

You didn't reach out to him, either. Perhaps it was your tendency to put yourself on a moral high ground, or perhaps it was your wounded ego, but you convinced yourself that pursuing a relationship—even a platonic one—with a married man was inappropriate.

Fumbling through your bag, you searched for your keys. Where. Is. It. You dug through your bag more haphazardly, your heart starting to race. Why. Does. This. Keep. Happening. Your search for your keys came to a small pause however when you noticed your phone rang. 

The caller ID on the phone's glowing screen displayed a name you had almost forgotten, buried beneath a haze of forgotten memories. It was as if a sudden gust of wind had swept away the fog, bringing that name back into sharp focus.

Nincompoop

Without giving much thought, you quickly picked up the phone. “Hello?” you answered. 

The familiar voice responds back, one that was deep and reminded you of velvety red wine, one that immediately quells your beating anxiety. “I think you forgot something, princess.” Just from his voice, you can tell he probably has his signature annoying smirk on the other end of his call. Quiet from disbelief, you didn’t answer. "Hello?" he prompted gently, concern lacing his voice. 

Silence.  

Geez. Did you forget how to speak? 

Panicked, you moved from your spot, only to unknowingly stub your toe at one of the trashbags by your neighbor’s bag. “Ow!” you exclaimed. Was there steel in that thing? You let out a pained groan, bending down to pat the outer layers of your shoe, hopefully aiding with the pain. Side note: It did not help. 

Hearing that you were present on the other end, Sukuna mumbled something on his end. You were unable to catch what he said though. By the time the pain subsided, you noticed that the call ended. 

Wait. What did Sukuna say, again? 

​​A sudden jingle broke through your thoughts. You looked up to see Sukuna standing by the elevator. He held up a set of keys, dangling them in front of him. "Found these in my car," he said, his voice a low rumble. "Seems someone forgot something."

Your jaw dropped. So, that's what he meant. He found your keys.

Sukuna bent down to eye level with you, slowly examining you from head to toe. “You okay?” he asks. 

“Uh huh. I just stubbed my toe. I’m alright now.” Your face is burning with shame. “Anyways, you didn’t have to come all the way up here. Thank you though.” You gave him a slight nod, taking your keys from his hand. Grabbing your arm, he helped you up. Feeling the heat spreading to your ears, you thanked him once again. ‘If there’s a merciful God out there, please bury me six feet underground right now,’ you pleaded in your head. 

"No problem," he said. Sukuna paused, his gaze lingering on you. "Besides," he added, a playful glint in his eyes, "Wouldn't want you wandering around aimlessly, now would I?"

You felt your cheeks burn even hotter. "Very funny," you muttered, trying to regain your composure. You turned towards him asking, "Would you like some water or snacks? As, uh, thank you." 

Sukuna raised an eyebrow, a slow smile spreading across his face. Knowing you were the type of person who didn't like to owe favors, he accepted. Besides, a part of him was curious about what your living space was like. They say someone's home is a reflection of one's personality. Wait... When did he become so nosy?

You led him into your apartment, feeling a strange flutter in your stomach. This was definitely not how you expected your evening to unfold. You were about to offer him a seat by the living room couch when you noticed his gaze on the framed photographs on the wall. 

He pointed to one photo. “Your parents?” 

“Yep,” you grinned. “I look like them, don’t I? “ 

His gaze lingered on your face, tracing the shape of your eyes, noses, and lips. “You do. Compliments to your mother,” he breathed, a genuine admiration in his voice. 

“T-thanks,” you stammered, avoiding his gaze. “She always said I looked more like my dad.”

Sukuna chuckled, a low rumble that vibrated through the air. "I beg to differ," he said, his eyes twinkling. He gestured towards the couch. “Mind if I sit down? My feet are killing me.” You quickly offered him a seat, feeling a strange mix of nervousness and excitement. In the meantime, you went into the kitchen to prepare his snacks. 

The familiar hum of domesticity filled the small apartment as you carefully gathered your items on the counter. You busied yourself with arranging the fruit platter on the kitchen counter — apples, grapes, strawberries, and cherries. You tried to focus on the task at hand, but your mind kept replaying Sukuna's words. “Compliments to your mother.”

What did that even mean? Was he just being polite? You glanced at him from the corner of your eye. He was sitting on the couch, his long legs stretched out, looking relaxed. He was running a hand through his hair, a contemplative expression on his face. Sukuna leaned back against the cushions, gazing at the ceiling. “You know,” he began, his voice a low rumble, “I was thinking... about relationships.”

You, startled by his sudden observation, almost choked on your saliva. “You were?”

He chuckled. “Yeah. Seeing your parents' picture got me thinking. How do people... how do they know when they've found the right person?”

You set down your knife, intrigued. “I don't think there's a single answer to that question.”

Sukuna nodded in agreement. “Maybe not. But what do you think?”

You pondered this for a moment, tapping your fingers on the kitchen counter. "Well I can’t speak for others but for me, I value respect and communication. I think when it comes to finding that person, maybe a little bit of luck comes into play."

Sukuna raised an eyebrow. "Luck?"

"Luck and timing," you continued, "meeting the right person at the right time and place. There was a book I read in high school where two of the characters were refugees in war and they ended up falling in love with each other. But by the end of the book, I couldn’t help but wonder: Were they truly in love, or did they simply convince themselves they were in love due to the shared circumstances? If there was never a war in the first place, would they fall in love all over again if they were to meet each other under different circumstances?”

You continued to ramble. “You’ve read the hunger games right? Or at least familiar with the movies?” Sukuna nodded, motioning you to continue. “I’m going to use Katniss and Peta as an example. If they weren't forced to fight for their lives in the arena, would they still have fallen for each other? Would their love story have blossomed under different circumstances? Or was it the shared trauma, the constant fear of death, that forged their bond?"

Sukuna watched you intently, a flicker of something unreadable passing through his eyes. He thought of his own marriage, a gilded cage built on societal expectations and a desperate need to conform. He paused his thoughts, focusing on the girl in front of him, a rare vulnerability creeping into his eyes. "But you know sometimes…the most profound connections can be born from the most unexpected circumstances,” he confesses quietly. 

“Oh yeah by the way. I got divorced today,” he says out of nowhere, in the most nonchalant manner. 

The cup of water you were sipping on suddenly clattered in the sink. You ended up choking because the water went down the wrong pipe. “What?!” 

“My wife was unhappy with our marriage. She cheated on me. I told her to sign the divorce papers yesterday. And today she signed it,” Sukuna answered as a matter of fact. 

You knew. 

You were there when he had that argument with Silvia, unbeknownst to him. But hearing him tell you is a whole different story. “I’m sorry that happened,” you automatically responded, after recovering from your near death experience. 

He let out a laugh. “Don’t be,” he shrugged, almost too nonchalant for your comfort. 

You carefully laid the fruit platter and an unopened bottle of wine on the living room coffee table. You then positioned yourself beside Sukuna, maintaining a slight distance. He reached for a plump grape, popping it into his mouth with a satisfying crunch.

"Since I'm letting you in on a secret," Sukuna began, his gaze fixed on the remaining grapes, "let me know one of yours. Like how the breakup with your boyfriend went."

"How many times do I have to tell you I don't have a boyfriend?" you retorted, a touch of exasperation in your voice.

Sukuna smirked. "Currently you don't. But surely you had a lousy boyfriend back in college?” 

You shook your head.

“High school?” 

You shook your head once more. 

He raised an eyebrow, a hint of disbelief in his expression. "Never?"

"Nope," you confirmed, feeling a strange sense of pride in your solitary existence. Then you remembered the endless ramblings of your mother and aunties about finding a boyfriend, reverting that feeling of pride back to a familiar dejection. 

Feeling a sudden wave of defensiveness you start to ramble making excuses why you weren’t dating—why you have never dated. “I’ve never been sought after romantically in my teenage years. And even when my friends set me up on blind dates, it would never work out. At some point I just assumed I wasn't built out for romantic relationships so… ” 

You practically word-vomited on the spot, your mind unable to keep up with your mouth. From your sexual history (or rather lack of), to the countless of failed blind date stories, to that one boy who rejected you in highschool… all of it came spilling out. 

The more you rambled, the more you wanted to dig yourself into a hole. But even then, you continued to talk, almost against your will as you had a poor habit of avoiding awkward situations by rambling… only to make it more awkward for yourself by the end. 

“A-anyways,” your whole ramble, rant, whatever the fuck that was, finally coming to an end. 

While you were mentally hitting yourself in the head, Sukuna, on the other hand, seemed to revel at your current mental state, the corner of his mouth raised.

“So you’ve never orgasmed before, huh,” he drawled, his smile almost menacing. Ah, fuck. Was he going to now tease you relentlessly with that newfound information? 

“So what?” you exclaimed, your arms and legs now crossed. “ It’s not my fault my body is literally built for failure in both departments of romantic love and self love.” 

Sukuna had an unreadable expression on his face. 

Immediately feeling some sort of regret, you tried to remedy the situation. “O-oh. It’s uhh not a big deal though. I could always go out and find a one night stand to help me with my needs. I-I mean…” Crap. You couldn’t even look the man in the face. 

While your face was turned away from him, you heard the pop of the bottle cork. Curious, you watched as Sukuna poured himself a pretty tall glass of wine. He took a long sip, the red liquid swirling in the glass.

Silence. 

He set the glass down on the coffee table, the sound echoing unnaturally in the sudden silence. You finally dared to look him in the eyes, your heart pounding in your chest. His eyes were narrowed, a predatory glint in their depths.

“You know,” he said, his voice stretched out in a long drawl, “If you would like, I can offer myself as a demonstration.” 

Your breath hitched. "What?"

Sukuna, leaning closer, his breath fanning your face. “Do I have to repeat myself?” 

Almost as if your body had a mind of its own, you found your lips millimeters away from his. Just as your lips were about to touch, you pulled away. With a soft thud, you fell back onto the couch, your hand covering the lower half of your face. “I-uh. I don’t know how to…” you paused for a moment before whispering, “I’ve never kissed anyone before.” 

Sukuna's gaze, intense and predatory, swept over you. “Well, then,” he murmured, his voice low and dangerous, “it seems like I have my work cut out for me.” He caresses your hand with his thumb before leaning down, his whole body on top of you. 

Bringing his lips to your hands, he teasingly licks it to get a slight reaction out of you. He then gently nips the skin, his teeth grazing your knuckles. Making out with the back of your hand, a rush of warmth flushed throughout your body as you imagined the same sensation on your lips instead. 

You jumped a bit when you felt his tongue once more. Slowly, he traced his tongue towards your fingers, then entwining his hands with yours, pulling it away from your face. Sukuna’s gaze then flickered towards you, watching the rheumatic motions of your chest rising and falling. 

He pulls your hand towards his chest.

“Can I keep going?” 

Your heart pounded in your ears, a quick, rhythmic beat that drowned out the howls of the wind outside. Breathlessly you answer, “Please.”

Sukuna cursed, his warm hands on you almost immediately. His lips parts, closing the space between you two. 

Sweet. With a tinge of bitterness from the red wine. You tell yourself how you could get drunk on his taste; he tastes so much better than the cocktail you were sipping earlier on your blind date.   

Trying to keep up with him, you hesitantly imitate the kisses he gave your hand earlier. You feel a faint smile on his lips which brings flutters to your stomach. Feeling slightly more confidence, you keep going. 

Just as you clench the back of his shirt, Sukuna pulls away from you. “Smart girl,” he whispered. “Are you up for another challenge?” 

Not waiting to hear for your response, Sukuna reaches for the fruit platter, specifically breaking off the stem of one of the cherries. He places it on his tongue before coming back to meet your lips once again. However this time, you find his tongue meeting with yours. 

You involuntarily moan, feeling almost overwhelmed at the moment. Pressed up against him, you could feel his erection pressed against his thighs. 

Even though the two of you were already pressed up against each other, Sukuna somehow manages to deepen the kiss between you two, teasing you with his tongue. You squirm at the sensation.

Feeling Sukuna push the cherry stem towards your tongue, you push back the stem with a competitive vigor. Thus, starting the battle of dominance between the two of you. 

Surprisingly, Sukuna is the first to part from you, sitting straight up on his knees. He stuck his tongue out showing you the knotted cherry stem sitting right on his palate. 

Fuck. 

He places the knotted stem on the coffee table before turning towards you and smirking. “A souvenir for remembrance,” he teases. Sukuna turns his attention back towards you, giving an onslaught of kisses down your neck. In the meanwhile, he hikes your skirt down, leaving you only with a pair of panties left to cover whatever dignity you had left.

“She’s soaked,” he whispers, talking to himself as if you weren’t in the room. Almost by instinct you closed your legs, only for him to spread it apart for his perverted eyes to see. 

“I want to see you touch yourself,” he bluntly stated with absolutely no shame at all. “It’s the least you can do after I gave you such an intricate lesson.” 

You turn immediately red at the memory. 

He pecks your flushed cheeks, before moving to peck your nose. “You’ve done such a good job for me so far,” he praised. “Don’t tell me you’re embarrassed now~” 

“W-Who said I was?” you stubbornly stuttered out loud, trying to hide your nervousness (although failing majorly). 

Sukuna laughed before helping you out of your shirt. And before you know it, your bra is off within seconds, leaving you bare for him to witness. The only piece of clothing you have left is the panties he oh so graciously left on, although you doubt it did anything to hide how naked you felt. 

Sukuna bites his lips, the corners of his mouth raised ever so slightly. ‘She’s going to be the end of me,’ he thinks, watching you as you hesitantly reach for your tender breasts, squeezing your pebbled nipples. 

He snaps the band of your panties, then slowly—almost teasingly—raking it down your thighs. Sukuna licks his lips, staring at your wet, leaking pussy. He almost swears it called his name. 

Moving one hand down, you reach for your clit, softly circling around it. You focused on looking at your hand, almost physically unable to look up at Sukuna, worried your heart would stop if you were to see his face. 

You continue to pleasure yourself, although unable to reach your high. Much to your displeasure, you never had the experience of reaching an orgasm ever since finding out about the wonders of womanhood at the age of 16. Sure you’d watch videos and read tons of articles on how to reach an orgasm, but never once have it worked for you. At some point, you accepted the fact that you were physically incapable of orgasming. 

Under the careful watch of Sukuna’s eyes, he seemed to have noticed you have reached a plateau. “Here, let me help you,” he murmured. Taking your hands in his, he guides you, pressing your fingers down firmer on your sensitive bundle of nerves. 

At some point, your hands ended up clenching his wrists, as he directly played with your clit instead. Suddenly feeling a new sensation, you panic. “Haa! Ngh! W-wait. I feel like I’m going to–” 

He keeps going. And in that moment, you lose yourself. Completely. Your body spasmed underneath his watchful gaze, like a predator watching its prey. And underneath that primal gaze was one of sadistic pleasure, just waiting to strike.

Sukuna bites the insides of his mouth, trying to hold himself back from listening to the voices in his head, telling him to pound you down on the couch at this very moment. He clenches his hands into a fight fist, drawing blood. 

Million of thoughts surges through his head. It’s like a tangled mess of desires and reason, pulling him in every direction at once. He wants you. He can’t deny that. 

However, as much as he yearns for you, he reminds himself of the facts. You’re not here for that. He wasn’t here to be your lover, or to play the part of some fairy-tale prince in the background of your life. No. In fact, he’s far from that. If anything, he’s like a starving wolf just waiting to devour you at any moment. 

Sukuna was doing you a favor. That’s all it was. He’s not a romantic interest. It was simply a one night stand— just minus the fucking. And wouldn’t it be so much better if you remember your first time with the person you choose to love rather than an impulsive decision to fuck around with your boss one night. Yeah. He nods to himself internally. Nothing more, nothing less. 

Sukuna silently waits as you come down from your high. Labored breathing fills the room. 

“How is it?” he asked smugly. 

You take a few more gulps of air before answering. “Good.” 

“Just good?” 

You pouted at his teasing. “What? Do you want a rating?” 

Sukuna laughed in response. “I wasn’t expecting that but now that you mention it, I’m curious.” 

Smiling, you rolled your eyes. “4.9 out of 5.” 

Sukuna’s eyebrows raised. “4.9? Where did my missing 0.1 go?” 

From your position, you playfully kicked the side of your abdomen. “It’s for your ego. Someone needs to keep it in check.” 

Sukuna chuckled darkly, clearly entertained by your response. “Is that so?” he mused, running a hand through his hair. “I suppose it’s a good thing you’re the one keeping it in check, then.”

You raised an eyebrow, half-amused, half-wary. “What’s that supposed to mean?” 

He doesn’t answer. His only response was playfully taking a bite on the same leg that kicked him. Feeling the strong urge to respond back to his teasing, you take your other free leg to nudge the prominent bulge in between his legs. 

A low groan escapes his lips. “Fuck. You’re going to end up murdering me in cold blood one day.” 

To your surprise, he slides himself off the couch and stands up. 

“Wait!” You grabbed his wrist before he could walk away from you. “But what about you?” You reach for his erection, only for him to stop you. 

“Don’t worry about me, princess.”

Your eyes filled with worry. “But I want you to feel good too.” 

You watched as Sukuna cursed under his breath. He pushes you back down on the couch, joining you once more. “Safe word is red. Red to stop, yellow to slow down, got it?” 

You nod. Unbuckling his belt, unzipping the zippers of his trousers, he finally gives himself slight relief when he takes out his cock. 

8 inches in all its glory. Hard. Flushed red, with a bead of pre-cum peaking through at the tip. 

In your head, you do a mental backflip. Never mind. You take it back. You don’t think that’ll fit anyways. 

“Close your legs together,” he says, interrupting your thoughts. Although he says that, he’s the one closing the gap between your legs, proceeding to place them on his shoulders. Speechless, you watched as he brought his cock closer and closer to you until he’s placing it between your lips, coating his appendage with your cum. 

“Haah... Oh!” You're surprised when he drags his cock over your clit, still sensitive from your previous orgasm. You could have sworn you got even wetter than you already were. 

Once wet, Sukuna takes his time, slowly sliding his cock between the plush flesh of your thighs. He groans, his head falling back as you watch his Adam's apple throb. 

Sukuna starts out slow. Apart from your labored breathing, you could hear the wet faps everytime he moves his hips, gliding his cock cover your wet cunt. A sob of pleasure washes over you when his cock brushes against your clit. You came, your entire body convulsing with overstimulation. 

By this time, Sukuna had quickened his pace, the couch sliding across the floor with each drag of his hips. With his cock pumping in and out, he gave your thighs the same hue of red as the flush on your cheeks. 

“I’m going to–” With a loud groan, Sukuna came. Thick, hot strands of his cum splattered on your stomach, with a few drops reaching your breasts as well. He continues to half-heartedly thrust until his high faded. Panting heavily, eyelids fluttering, he takes his sweet time memorizing the image of your body rightfully decorated with his seeds. If he were to be hit with a truck right now, he would die a happy man. 

Snapping back to reality, Sukuna gently places your legs down, turning towards the coffee table to grab a few tissues. When he glanced back towards you, his eyes widened. 

You were sat up—prettily so, he might add—licking his cum off your fingers. At the sight, Sukuna Jr. became hard again, ready for round two. Sensing his stare, you looked right back at him, a smirk adorning your lips. Maintaining eye contact, you gathered the rest of his cum on your fingers, licking it once more. 

'What a damn minx,' the man thought, unable to take his eyes off you. His eyes darkened, wanting to revert back to his primal urges to just take you for himself. 

Fuck him. 

Sukuna smashes his lips against yours, tasting the remnants of himself. But no matter, because all he could focus on at the moment was you.

Without breaking the kiss, he lifts you effortlessly and carries you to the bathroom. 

Once inside, he places you on the vanity. “Let’s not go any further he tells you,” he insisted, nudging his forehead against yours. You cocked your head to the side, confused. “If we go any further, I don’t think I can control myself.” 

‘Then don’t,’ you thought. 

Sukuna was really hanging on his last thread here. Thankfully for him, you just nodded, deciding to not push the matter any further. 

Friday, December 27th 

Cold. 

It was cold. 

The warmth of the blankets is the only thing that keeps the biting chill of the morning from nipping at your cheeks and nose. You snuggle deeper into them, wishing you could just stay there forever. As you shift, you feel the soft, steady pressure of his arm around you. You awaken, heart quickening, not used to another human presence in your bed. 

Noticing who the person was, you immediately relaxed. Although that came to a quick stop, once you noticed the shirtless torso staring right back at you. Glancing down, you realized you were naked too. 

Fully awake now, you race through your memories of last night. Right after your… uhh… Sukuna’s assistance in helping you further understand your womanhood, he brought you to the bathroom. You two then made out on the bathroom vanity. Then, the two of you showered. He was shampooing your hair and then… blank. 

You couldn’t remember anything after that. 

Crap. 

You looked at the man beside you, his face impossibly serene. His hair is adorably messy, strands falling across his forehead, and his lips are slightly parted as soft breaths escape him. The sight makes your heart swell, bringing a grin to your face. 

Carefully, you reach out, feeling mischievous, you gently booped his nose. The contrast between your cold touch and his warmth stirs him. He scrunches his nose, his lashes fluttering as he slowly blinks awake. His sleepy eyes meet yours, and lazily blinks for a few seconds. He then wordlessly nuzzles his face against your neck, breathing in your scent. 

A soft, muffled groan escapes him as his nose brushes against your skin. “Cold,” he mutters groggily, his voice a deep rumble that makes you giggle. Despite his complaint, he doesn’t pull away. Instead, he wraps his arms around you tighter, effectively trapping you against his warm, bare chest.

“Good morning,” you greeted, running your fingers through his messy hair.

“Mornin’,” he yawns back. 

For a moment, the two of you linger in the warmth of the blankets, both wordlessly agreeing that you guys would much rather stay in your current positions for the rest of the day. But the sound of your alarm buzzing from the nightstand breaks the spell. He groans, burying his face in the crook of your neck. “Nope. I refuse. Let’s just call in sick.”

You laugh, giving his shoulder a playful shove. “We can’t do that, Mr. CEO. Come on, get up.” He pouts in response and you can’t help but inwardly squeal at how much he seems to resemble a sulky cat. 

Reluctantly, he loosens his hold, and the two of you begin to prepare for the rest of the day. After a quick shower together and a few shared glances in the mirror, you both finish getting ready. 

The two of you step out into the crisp morning air, making your way to his car as frost glimmers like delicate lace on the windows under the pale light. He starts the engine, the heater sputtering to life and gradually filling the cabin with warmth as you settle into the passenger seat.

The drive to work is quiet and peaceful, with soft music playing on the radio. You steal a few glances at him, watching the way his hands grip the wheel and the faint concentration in his expression. It’s then you notice he’s wearing the same suit as yesterday—a subtle reminder that he hadn’t planned to stay the night. 

The car rolls to a stop in front of the towering company building, its sleek glass exterior reflecting the soft light of the winter morning. He parks in his usual reserved spot and turns to you with a warm smile. “Alright, don’t miss me too much,” he teases.

You roll your eyes playfully, getting out of his car. “Trust me, I won’t.” 

Inside, the hum of the office quickly pulls you into the rhythm of the workday. Emails flood your inbox, and tasks pile up as you try to focus, but it’s no use. Your thoughts keep drifting back to him—his voice, his annoying smirk, the way his hair was still slightly messed up this morning, and his cock.

Stop. 

You find yourself staring blankly at your computer screen, rereading the same line of text over and over. 

“Mr. Ryomen! How can I…” 

Your ears perk up at his name, and before you can stop yourself, your head turns toward the source of the voice. From your desk, you catch a glimpse of him on the other side of the room. He’s speaking with one of the department heads, his expression serious yet calm as he listens. Occasionally, he nods or gestures slightly with his hand. But it’s the subtle quirks you notice—the way his lips twitch as if suppressing a smirk, or how he adjusts his cufflinks absentmindedly. 

For a brief moment, he glances in your direction. You immediately snap your eyes back to your screen, your cheeks burning, praying he didn’t catch you staring.

But then, you hear the faint sound of footsteps approaching. You keep your eyes glued to your monitor, trying to make yourself look busy, but it’s no use. You can feel him before you even see him.

“Daydreaming already?” his voice rumbles softly, a teasing edge to his tone.

Your head snaps up to see him standing beside your desk, hands casually tucked into his pockets, a smirk tugging at his lips.

“N-No, of course not,” you stammer, straightening in your chair. “Just...focused.”

“Focused?” he echoes, raising a brow as his eyes flick to your screen. “On an empty email draft?”

You glance at the monitor and cringe inwardly. “I was...thinking about how to word it,” you say quickly, trying to salvage your pride.

He chuckles, leaning in slightly so only you can hear. “If you’re this distracted, maybe I should’ve kept you in the car a little longer.”

Your face grows impossibly hotter, and you glare up at him. “Aren’t you busy?” You shoo him away with your hand.

“Plenty,” he says smoothly, his grin widening. “But I couldn’t resist checking on my favorite employee.” Before you can respond, he straightens and takes a step back. “Carry on, then.” With that, he turns and walks away, leaving you flustered and unable to focus for the rest of the day.

Usually, you would take the overtime—but not today. Today, the idea of staying longer just feels unbearable. You left the minute the clock struck 5. You practically race to the elevator, your pulse quickening with every step. The doors close behind you with a soft chime, and as the elevator descends, you feel a small sense of relief wash over you.

By the way, on your walk home, you stopped by an adult store. From there, you quickly bought a dildo (you tried to find one a similar length and girth as you know who) and scurried your way back home. 

Saturday, December 28th 

You came into work on a Saturday, mainly because there’s a pile of leftover paperwork that you didn’t manage to finish before you left yesterday. And you blamed Sukuna for it. 

The quiet hum of the building is quite a stark contrast to the bustling energy it usually has during the weekdays. You manage to finish fairly quickly with no distractions, particularly with the absence of a certain pink haired tattooed man. By the time you’re done, you stretch your arms above your head, the tension in your shoulders easing as you stand and walk around to shake off the stiffness from sitting too long. You glance at the clock—it’s still early enough for lunch.

As you head to pack up your things, you’re startled by the sound of footsteps approaching. You look up to see Sukuna, eyes scanning the room with mild curiosity.

His eyes land on you, widening. “You’re here on a Saturday?” he asks, a hint of surprise in his voice.

“Yeah, just wrapping up some stuff,” you answer, grabbing your bag and shrugging. “Had a little bit left from yesterday.”

Sukuna raises an eyebrow, walking over to you. “Well, since you're done with your ‘extra work,’” he says, “how about joining me for lunch in my office? I could use the company.”

You hesitate for a second. You're not exactly opposed to the idea, but considering the guy who’s asking you out to lunch is the very person driving your head mad, it's not exactly the easiest invitation to accept.

But then again, it’s just lunch, right? 

You offer a half-smile, trying to mask the lingering uncertainty. “Alright, I’ll join you,” you say, trying to sound more casual than you feel.

Sukuna smiles back at you, the corners of his lips twitching upward in that signature smirk. He walks towards the elevator with you following suite.The two of you step into the elevator, the soft chime signaling its ascent. For a moment, the only sound is the soft hum of the machinery. 

Suddenly, the elevator jerks, causing you to stumble slightly. Sukuna grabs you by the shoulders, steadying you as the lights start to flicker. You glance over at Sukuna, who doesn't seem too alarmed, but the furrow of his brow tells you he’s noticed it too.

"Did it just stop?" you ask, voice laced with surprise.

"Seems like it." His voice is calm, though you can detect a hint of frustration in his usually smooth tone.

You both glance at the display, watching as the floor numbers refuse to change. 

Fuck you, elevator. 

Sukuna pulls out his phone, his fingers swiftly tapping away on the screen. “I’ll text maintenance,” his tone is clipped. You watch as his fingers fly over the keys, typing a quick message. He pauses for a moment, then taps send.

Luckily for him, maintenance responded to him immediately. Sukuna scans the text message for a few seconds before raising his head to look at you. “Apparently, the whole building is out of power. It'll take about half an hour before the power starts running again.”

You blink, trying to process the information. "The whole building?" you echo, glancing at the elevator walls as if expecting the entire structure to come crashing down.

He gives a nod, his gaze narrowing as if he’s already over the inconvenience. “Yep. Looks like we're stuck here for a while.” He pauses, checking the time on his phone before sliding it back into his pocket. Sukuna’s lips twitch into a half-smirk as he takes a step closer, the space between you now noticeably smaller. “Well, guess it’s just you and me, then.”

“Well, you're not exactly the worst company to be stuck with, though,” you admit. You find yourself thinking about that one time you were stuck with Alan from finance and Jeffrey from HR. Alan, bless his soul, stayed silent in a corner the whole fifteen minutes, trembling out of fear. On the other hand, Jeffrey was consistently trying to flirt with you the entire time, probably breaking a few HR protocols here and there. The irony. 

You scoff thinking about it.  

Sukuna raises an eyebrow, his gaze flicking over to you. “What’s wrong?” he asked. “You got a problem with being stuck in small spaces or something?”

You blink, caught off guard by the question. “Huh? Oh, no, nothing like that," you quickly reply, trying to brush it off. “Just... thinking about some interesting elevator experiences I’ve had.”

He smirks, his gaze lingering on you for a moment longer than necessary, clearly not buying your quick explanation. “Hmm, sure. Sounds like you’ve got some interesting stories,” he muses. 

Closing the space between the two of you, he traps you against the walls of the elevator, leaving you no room to move. “Speaking of interesting stories, I heard from a few little birdies you left early yesterday.”

You stiffen, taken off guard by the sudden proximity. His smirk deepens as he leans in just a bit closer, his breath warm against your cheek. You can feel the pulse of his presence more than ever now, the space between you thick with tension.

“Did I?” you manage to say, trying to keep your voice steady. “Maybe I just had things to do.”

Sukuna raises an eyebrow, his gaze intense as he watches you carefully. “Is that so?” His tone is teasing but holds a hint of something more dangerous. He doesn’t move back, instead, his hand gently rests against the railings behind you, trapping you in place. “I find it funny how Ms. Overtimer decided to leave at 5 o’clock sharp. She couldn't have been trying to avoid someone, was she?” 

What was this? An interrogation? 

You swallow, unable to escape the directness of his gaze. “N-no. Like I said, I had stuff to do.” 

His smirk deepened. “And what would that be?”

You flushed, thinking back on your nightly activities yesterday. The voices from the “How To Give A Good Blow Job” video you were watching yesterday echoed through your head. 

What’s important with a blow job is to use lots of saliva to make it really wet. 

When you approach a penis, it’s very important to…

Go all the way, but don’t just lick the tip.

You don’t just lick it like a lollipop or like an ice cream cone, you really put it all in your mouth.

The next thing you thought of was the porn videos you watched right after that, as you tried to imitate the actions of the porn star on the dildo you just bought. 

As you snap back to reality, you’re faced with Sukuna’s arrogant looking face staring right back at you. “I’ll tell you what I did,” he rasps into your ear. “The moment I got back home, I fucked my fists, pretending it was you.” 

His hands reach underneath your shirt from the back, gliding over the hooks of your bra. “I thought of your drenched little pussy, bouncing on my cock, clenching around me, cumming again and again, just begging for more.” 

Your pussy throbs from his words. Before you know it, you wrap your arms around him, kissing him like your life depended on it. 

At some point you parted for air, gazing up at him through hooded eyes. Playing with his trousers, you bend towards his ear, whispering, “Do you know what I did? I bought myself a dildo, the size of your cock.” His hold around you tightens. Teasingly, you bite his ear, causing him to groan. “Do you know how hard I worked yesterday? Trying to suck that piece of plastic because I wanted to surprise you with a good time.” 

You can’t even get another word out when Sukuna’s mouth is back on yours, trying to devour you until there’s nothing left of you but a damn puddle. Just when he’s about to strip you of your shirt, the elevator door gracefully opens as if it wasn’t stuck just moments ago. 

It didn’t even take a second before Sukuna pulled you into his arms, bringing you straight into his office. 

Safe to say, the two of you enjoyed each other for lunch. 

Sunday, December 29

You’re sitting on your couch, eyes glazed over as you skim through another round of work emails, when one subject line catches your attention: "New York Business Trip". Curious, you open it, expecting some mundane update or meeting schedule. 

Surprisingly, your company is sending you and a few others to New York for a new client. The email outlines everything: flight details, accommodations, and a packed itinerary filled with meetings. You blink a few times, rereading the email to make sure you’re not imagining things.

Ah. 

Well, you should probably get to packing. 

Monday, December 30 

The flight to New York was mundane at best. Luckily no crying babies were on the flight. 

By the time you got there, it was already nighttime. Tired and exhausted, you and your colleagues made your way to the hotel.

You quickly fell asleep, your mind rather occupied with work.

Unbeknownst to you, Sukuna had also flown into New York a day prior for his own business engagements. 

Tuesday, December 31

The client offers you a sincere handshake as they prepare to leave. After stepping out, a collective sigh of relief fills the room.

As the door clicks shut, one of your coworkers slouches dramatically in their chair, their voice heavy with complaint. "Ugh, I’m so tired. Do we really have to work so close to the new year?"

Another coworker, ever the optimist, chuckles and leans back in their chair. "At least we're in New York for the new year. I mean, that's gotta be pretty exciting, right?"

A third coworker, always the one with the best ideas, perks up with enthusiasm. "Why don’t we just celebrate tonight? Let’s hit a nice restaurant and make the most of being in New York. Who’s in?"

The idea quickly gains traction, and with a few enthusiastic nods, plans are made. The team agrees to head out together to celebrate.

You all decided on a restaurant by the pier, away from midtown which tended to be one of the busiest parts of the city during the new year. Drinks are poured, toasts are made, and the atmosphere quickly shifts from business to pure enjoyment. The laughter grows louder as more wine flows, the chatter about work now replaced with stories of company drama. 

“Jeffrey from HR got fired!” 

“No way! What happened?” 

“I heard he got caught trying to buy drinks with the company card!” 

“I heard he got caught harassing some of the female staff!”

“I heard…” 

“Classic Jeffrey,” a coworker mutters, shaking their head. “The guy was a walking HR violation. Good riddance.”

You laugh. “Funny, considering he’s HR himself.” 

Another coworker, slightly tipsy, raises their glass. “To Jeffrey’s unemployment!” Everyone laughs, raising their glasses in solidarity.

The conversation shifts as someone notices a familiar pink-haired man, sitting at a table behind you with a relaxed, almost amused expression.

"Wait, isn't that…?" One of the coworkers squints, their eyes widening. "Mr. Ryomen?!"

The room falls quiet for a split second, and all eyes turn toward him. There's a brief, stunned silence as the reality sets in. Sukuna raises a brow, sensing the sudden shift in attention. "No need to act so formal, people," he says, a slight smirk tugging at the corner of his lips. "This is a celebration, not a board meeting. Dinner’s on me." At his words, the initial awkwardness disperses, a collective cheer erupting around the table. 

Sukuna's gaze drifts toward you, and for a moment, the chatter around the table fades into the background. You look up at him, your eyes meeting his. The night continues, the laughter growing louder as more wine flows and the atmosphere grows more relaxed. Your coworkers are clearly enjoying themselves, their inhibitions loosening as they drink and joke.

Somewhere between the third round of drinks and the jokes about Jeffrey, Sukuna leans closer to you, his voice low as he addresses you. "You wanna head out?"

You glance around, noticing that the group is becoming more boisterous, a little too drunk for comfort. You nod, slipping out of your seat quietly, unnoticed in the haze of celebration.

The two of you walk side by side, his hand slipping into yours as he gently tucks it into the warm pocket of his winter jacket. Ending up by the pier where you can enjoy New York City’s cityscape alone, the two of you stood by the railing, the city lights shimmering in the distance, reflecting off the water below. The noise of the city feels distant here, leaving just the sound of the waves lapping against the shore and the occasional hum of passing traffic. 

Sukuna stands close, his presence comforting and intense, but there’s an unspoken ease between you now. He watches you looking at the skyline, almost entranced by the city lights. He's entranced by the way your gaze softens, the flicker of wonder in your eyes, as if the city itself holds a kind of magic just for you.

His gaze drifts down to your face, the way the soft glow of the lights highlights your features, and for a moment, he forgets the world around him.

“You like it here?” he asks, his voice low, almost lost in the wind.

You nod, taking in the sight of the towering buildings, the lights that make the city pulse with life. “It’s beautiful,” you say, your voice quiet, but content.

Sukuna smiles, a rare, almost gentle curve of his lips.“You know,” he begins, his voice a bit more serious now. 

You turn to face him. “I like you,” he admits, his voice steady but low, the sincerity in his eyes undeniable. “More than I should.” 

Your face shifts to one of surprise before a smile spreads across your lips. “And?” you ask, a teasing edge to your voice as you try to coax more out of him.

Sukuna’s expression falters for a moment, a look of surprise crossing his features, as he didn’t expect for you to react so playfully, before his usual confidence returns. He steps closer, his presence overwhelming yet somehow comforting, his gaze never leaving yours. 

“And…” he murmurs, taking a breath as if steadying himself for something more. He tilts his head slightly, a small, almost playful glint in his eyes now. “This confession has been long overdue.” 

You cock your head to the side. “And?” 

Sukuna rolls his eyes. Cradling your face with both his hands, he pulls you gently toward him, the warmth of his touch sending a shiver down your spine. His eyes soften, the playful glint still present, but there’s a sincerity now that you can’t ignore.

“Goddammit, woman,” he mutters, although there’s no trace of frustration or anger behind it. “And,” he starts again, voice quieter this time, “I want you.”

He presses a gentle kiss to your forehead, his lips lingering for just a moment longer than necessary.

“I need you.” 

Another tender kiss, this time to your nose, as if savoring the simple closeness of you.

“I love you.”

‘I've loved you ever since your stubborn ass appeared in that elevator,’ he thought. 

Without another word, he leans in, his lips brushing against yours in a kiss that’s slow, deliberate, and full of all the things he hadn’t been able to say. The world around you seems to fade as the moment stretches on, leaving only the two of you, suspended in the quiet of the city night.

Sukuna closes his bedroom door behind you with a soft click, turning towards you once he locks the door. Crossing the short distance between the door and you with a few, casual strides, he helps you out of your coat, carelessly leaving it on the floor once off. Not even moments later, the rest of your clothes soon followed the fate of the discarded coat. 

Your body was bare before Sukuna’s affectionate gaze; vulnerable and utterly exposed to his wandering eyes. “You’re soaked, darling,” his silken cadence carrying a hint of teasing. It’s no surprise though, considering he fingered you in his car on the way to his New York City penthouse. 

“Put it in already,” you whine, tired of waiting. In fact, you’ve waited for exactly a week ever since the man took your first kiss and first orgasm. 

He bites your thighs in response. “Don’t you know patience is a virtue?” 

“Funny, I don’t remember signing up to be virtuous,” you muttered. 

He laughs in return. “Well, it’s not too late to start, but you might want to hurry.” You rolled your eyes. This man is insufferable. You start self-pitying yourself for falling for this man’s charms. 

Sukuna begins to pepper kisses down your thighs, before reaching the wet mess between your legs. He gives your cute cunny a wet, sloppy french kiss, causing you to squirm. Sukuna’s hands, however, found themselves wrapped around your thighs, preventing you from squirming away. 

Just when you’re about to reach your high, he parts from you, a frustrated whine permeates the air. He playfully tsks at you, shaking his head with a smirk. “What did I say about patience?” 

“I don’t want to hear that from you!” you exclaimed. “You’re impatient and far from virtuous, you pervert.”

“Me? Impatient? I held out for 4 years. Just when I could take you for myself, I cockblocked myself for a week.” He taps the head of his cock on your slit. “If anything, I’m the epitome of virtue.” 

“That’s bull– AH!” Your head smothered in the crook of his neck, legs trembling, your upper body falling limp to the dull aching pain in between your legs. 

On Sukuna’s end, he hisses from the way your virgin walls tighten around his length, his eyes half-lidded. “Shitt…” he curses breathily, the tightness of your pussy is almost too much for him. With the addictive way your walls wrap around his cock, he can’t help but yearn for more. He snaps out of his mind-fucked haze when he hears your quiet sniffles. 

Sukuna gently distracts you by petting your head, his fingers threading through your hair as he shushes you softly, the warmth of his hand grounding you. He licks away the tears threatening to fall from the corners of your eye. 

“You're an animal,” you croaked out. His fingers continue their gentle path through your hair, the action tender but possessive. 

“Shouldn’t that be obvious by now?” he murmured, silencing your whimpers with a deep kiss. One of his fists, curled so tightly, draws blood, as he holds back a debauched smile from appearing on his face. His breathing is labored, each exhale coming out in sharp bursts, but his eyes—those predatory, crimson eyes—remain locked on you with an intensity that borders on dangerous. The control he’s desperately clinging to is beginning to fray. That debauched smile of his still doesn’t quite break free, but if you were to open your eyes, you can see it lurking, threatening to spill over at any moment. 

Right. This is why he was so hesitant about claiming you as his. Because once he did, his possessiveness would consume him entirely, and no amount of restraint could keep him from acting on the wild urge to mark you, to own every inch of you. It’s why he had kept his distance, why he had let the silence stretch between you for so long. But now, with you so close, with your scent filling his senses, it was clear he had waited too long.

The struggle within him intensifies, the weight of his desires battling with the need to maintain decent dignity, but seeing the frown on your lips tugged on his fucked-up sense of morals. So, he patiently waits until your legs are no longer trembling. Kissing the palm of your hands, he asks, “Can I start moving now?” 

You respond with a breathless yes. As you wished, he started moving with carefully curated, slow thrusts. Your mind fills with confusion, unable to figure out the difference in the waves of twisted pain and pleasure you feel with each drag of his hips. 

Sukuna bends down to your tits, taking your pebbled nipple in his mouth, while teasing the other one with his hands. “So fucking tight,” he rasps, parting from your sensitive bud, leaving only but a string of saliva. 

God, this pussy will be the end of him. You will be the end of him.

‘Aren’t you the most prettiest thing,’ he thinks to himself.  

On the other hand, you feel too overwhelmed to even think. You pant through each tactful thrust of his, your hands clutching onto his bed sheets to ground yourself. Feeling the specific drag against your g-spot, you let yourself go without warning. 

Feeling your pussy clench wildly around his appendage, Sukuna curses, attempting to pull out but ultimately failing when your cunt just sucks him right back in. A choked up laugh bubbles from his throat, as he submits himself to pleasure, releasing his sperm right into your cavern. When he pulls out, he savors the scene of your stretched hole pulsing wildly yet clenching around nothing. 

Sukuna gives you a quick kiss on your lips, symbolizing a job well done, before walking towards his mini fridge to get beverages for the both of you. Disregarding your aching lower half, you sat up from your position, watching your lover—butt naked—tinkering with the items in the fridge. 

You stare into space when you think about how… soft he was with you. You almost wonder if somehow a ghost took over his body the few times he was intimate with you. You knew that man had a penchant for torturing his bed partners with pleasure. It was almost common knowledge with anyone who has interacted with anyone from Silvia’s high society circle. Or any one of the Sukuna’s past flings. You, neither in Silvia’s circle nor friends with any of Sukuna’s past flings, only relied on the words from a friend of a friend of a friend of a friend of a friend of a… you get it. 

Anyways, his gentle demeanor with you almost deceptively deceives you of his true nature in bed. As delighted as you were by his ability to approach you with such surprising gentleness, you wanted to know the full extent of Sukuna’s… bedtime habits, so to speak. 

There’s a saying: Curiosity killed the cat. 

So don’t say this narrator didn’t warn you beforehand. 

You snap back from your thoughts when you realize Sukuna was heading back towards you with two bottles of water. He opens the cap for you before handing you one of the bottles, placing the edge of the bottom on your forehead, a gesture that takes you by surprise. The coolness of the bottle against your skin sends a shiver down your spine, sharply contrasting the lingering memory of his body heat pressed so close to yours.

You take the bottle, mumbling a quiet thank you, before taking a few sips. He hums in response, proceeding to take a drink from his bottle himself. You watched his Adam's apple bob with each swallow, the movement oddly captivating. 

“Don’t you think you’ve been holding back?” you stated as a matter of fact. 

He stops drinking, looking at you over the rim of his bottle, his eyes narrowing slightly as if weighing your words. The silence hangs between you, thick with anticipation. Slowly, he lowers the bottle, twisting the cap back on. His gaze never leaves yours, sharp and calculating, like he’s trying to read the real meaning behind your statement. 

“You’re way too eager to push me,” he murmurs, his lips licking off the excess moisture from the liquid. “You should be more worried about your wellbeing than the rumors floating around about my sexual preferences.” He sits down on the edge of the bed, putting a strand of hair behind your ears. 

You slap that hand away, pouting. “Well, if you’re not going to fuck me properly, I’ll just go find someone else to do it,” you state, preparing to stand from your spot and pretend to leave the room. 

Sukuna clenches the empty plastic bottle in his hand, the sound of crushed plastic permeating in the room. 

“Sit down.” He pats his lap, motioning for you to take a seat. 

The command is simple, but it cuts through the air with a force that makes your body freeze, your movements halting mid-step. There's no mistaking the tone in his voice—low, dangerous, and absolute. The room feels smaller now, the air in the room somehow thickens.

You hesitate, eyes flickering between his clenched fist and the way his gaze remains locked on you, as though daring you to challenge him. And despite yourself, you do end up sitting on his lap, his arms immediately cradling you against his body. He grazes his teeth on your shoulder, before actually biting, drawing blood. 

Startled, you flinch. However, with Sukuna’s arms wrapped around you, you couldn’t move nor could you run away. 

“You’re being such a brat,” he slurred, sounding drunk on your smell. He brings his other hand to caress your cheeks, “And here I thought you were my good little girl.”

Your heart quickens with excitement, the pulse in your chest pounding louder than ever. It’s a heady mix of anticipation and the raw thrill, the tension between you both so thick it’s almost suffocating. 

"Am I not being good enough for you?" you asked with a hint of mock innocence, feigning ignorance. You intwine your hands with his, nuzzle your face into the palm of his hands. 

“If you were, we wouldn’t be in this position,” he rasps, his self-control hanging by a thread just waiting to snap at the right moment. Your breath hitched slightly when he runs his large, calloused hands around your sides before stopping by your ass cheeks to fondle it. His voice was low and husky as he spoke, filled with a barely restrained lust. "You're being a dangerous tease right now, love.” 

“Dangerous?” you mused, leaning forward to whisper into his ear. “Why am I so dangerous?” You began to slowly grind your hips against his, gently rocking in his lap. 

Sukuna's hands clenched tightly on to your hips, his fingers digging into your skin as he felt your body move against him, creating a torturously good friction. “Precisely because of this,” a hint of a growl escaping from his lips.

You purposefully let out a loud unabashed moan as you continue to rub yourself against his tattooed thighs, hoping to crumble whatever’s left of his self-control. Pushing out his cum from earlier, you smear it all over his thighs. “Oops,” you gasped, faking your astonishment. “Sorry for making such a mess, Kuna. You know I couldn't help myself,” you taunted, unknowingly signing a sealed deal for the absolute annihilation of your body for the next morning come. 

Snap 

The very next second, you’re thrown onto the bed. You look behind you where his large and strong frame hovers over yours. You don’t even get a chance to savor the look on his face when he grabs you by the hair, pushing your head face down into the mattress. 

“That’s it. Shut it, you cock hungry slut.” 

Oh! So there’s that sadistic pervert of a man you know and love. 

Inserting his fingers into you, he starts targeting your g-spot, probing at that one spot on purpose! 

“That’s enough!” you protested, your legs shaking from quite possibly overstimulation.  

He doesn’t stop, pretending as if he didn’t hear. After a while of constant whining on your end and absolutely zero reactions on his, you attempt to crawl away from him, the sensation far too overstimulating for you. Your plan comes to a foul stop however, when he drags you back with a sharp pull by your legs. 

Your head snapped back to look at him, his eyes burning holes into your skull, looking absolutely furious with you. “I thought you wanted to fuck around and find out?” A hand comes down onto your ass cheek. “I’m giving you exactly what you asked for, so why are you running away?” 

Exactly, why are you running away? You give yourself a mental prayer, before deciding to absolutely stop using your head and to start thinking with your cunt instead. 

Sukuna presses his body up against yours, his weight almost knocking the air out of your lungs. Practically accepting the position you're in, you wholly welcome his cock sliding into your needy pussy. 

“You’re probably the best cock sleeve I’ve come across so far,” he groans. “Probably because of that slobbering pussy of yours.” He forces two fingers into your mouth, a mad grin spreading across his face when he feels your tongue swirl around his digits. “Right,” he thrusts even harder, causing you to gag on his fingers, “and I can't forget about that slutty mouth of yours.” 

Fuck. Was it just you or did his cock just get bigger while inside? 

You can’t even focus for long when he’s prone boning you into the mattress like the pleasure-drunk sadist he is. 

Each time he looks down at you with those glazed eyes.

Each time he pushes into you. 

Your mind goes blank from pleasure. 

The vulgar sounds of flesh on flesh echoes in your ear, filling up your head til you can’t think of anything else. 

Panic arises in you, snapping you out of your euphoric haze when you suddenly feel the need to pee out of nowhere. With a sudden surge of clarity, as if flipping a switch, you quickly inform Sukuna of your urgent matter. Or at least you try to— through the moans, pants, screams, and incoherent ramblings. 

Weirdly enough, even through all that, he surprisingly understands your intended message quite well. Although his response is not one you expect. 

 “Go ahead,” he sneers. “Squirt, cum, piss as many times as you want. The sheets are dirty enough already.” 

“...Ngnhh. It feels… strange… good. O-h fuck!” You squirt—or was it piss, anywho it didn’t matter what it was—for the nth time that night. You're unsure how many times you came so far. But then again, who’s keeping count? 

“Say you love me,” he mutters under his ragged breaths. 

You don’t seem to process his words though. Thoroughly fucked over, the only sounds you make are absolutely obscene. “Ngh oh~ hahhh!” 

“Louder,” he demands, his cock pummeling into your aching cunt. “Say you love me. Come on. Say it feels good.” 

“Haa! Hngh! Oh!” Only unabashed moans escapes your lips, your mind too fucked to comprehend his words. 

“Did I already fuck you dumb?” he mocked, clearly unimpressed with your lack of decorum. That’s a lie. He’s reveling in pure joy 

Suddenly, he changes his pace, going obnoxiously slow.

You writhed in response, whines escaping your mouth. “Nooo,” you protest, missing the fast pace already. 

“No?” Sukuna slowly pulls out until his tip is only part enveloped by your warmth. “Weren’t you begging me to slow down earlier though?” 

You don't even remember if you said that. In fact, you can't recall any of the jumbled words that came out of your mouth. And for all you knew, he could've just made it up.

Fucked as you were, you could only respond with a mumble of incoherent whines.

In response, he spanks you, your pussy clenching in response, making him grin. “Aww, does my pretty little slut like that?” He spanks you one more time, pleased when your walls clenched around him once again. 

Now that he’s got your attention, he repeats his orders to you once more. Through thick tears of pleasure dripping down your face, you whisper, “I love you, Kuna.” 

Fuck. 

Now, you were really going to be the death of him. 

Not giving you a second to breathe, he pulls you towards the edge of the bed. Then, almost effortlessly, he holds you in the full nelson position. You’re surprised when he walks you towards the glass windows of his bedroom. From there, you could see the whole entire city of New York, its lights shimmering like a sea of stars beneath you. The skyline stretches far and wide, towering buildings casting long shadows across the streets, their lights flickering in rhythm with the pulse of the city. But more than that, you see the fucked-up position you're in, reflected in the glass windows. 

“Since you enjoy the view so much…” Sukuna slowly positions his cock to your needy cunt. You squeal the moment he penetrates, his heavy and thick cock mercilessly berating your slutty walls. “Enjoy it while you can!” 

He brings you down on his cock, harder with every pound. Expectedly, your vulgar juices trickle down his 8 inch cock with every drag of your hips, creating a white ring around the base of his cock. 

“Kuna– I- ngh! Tooo-oooo d-deep! It’s too much!” 

Your words cause Sukuna to chuckle. Too much? Too much? Your pussy sure didn’t think so, welcoming each thrust with open arms, even greedy for more. It sucked in his cock so well, getting tighter every time he tried to pull out. 

You interrupt his trance when you start chanting his name over and over again, the only warning he has until you squirt all over his cock, his floor, and his penthouse windows. He follows suit, pulling out his cock, and allowing his cum to join the mess you have already made. 

Feeling light-headed, he thirsts for air, deciding that your lips was the only remedy he wanted—needed, at this moment. 

In the midst of your kiss, fireworks sprung into the night sky, painting the sky with their brilliant lights. The colorful splatter of light shines through the windows of Sukuna’s New York penthouse. 

Wednesday, January 1

Your attention was briefly drawn to them as they sparkled and crackled above, their explosions echoing through the silence of the night.

Sukuna, his breath still coming in warm pants, looked up at the fireworks only momentarily before returning his crimson eyes back towards you, intense and unwavering. 

He places you down, his hand gently cupping your jaw, turning your head to the side. As the fireworks painted the sky with fleeting brilliance, Sukuna's lips found yours again, grounding you in a moment that felt timeless—far more profound than the fleeting lights above.

Author’s note: My apologies for any grammar mistakes in advance 🙇‍♀️ The fic ended up being longer than I expected, so I had to cut/summarize several scenes to ensure everything would fit on Tumblr.  Here are some of the plot points that I skimmed over (that were originally supposed to be stretched out into proper scenes): A shower scene y/n learning how to give a blow job using a sex toy Phone sex between the two the day y/n got the business trip email  And of course, the office sex scene

There’s a few more but that’s a secret for now haha. Anyways if any of you all are interested, please let me know

[ravenmacduff]

Sorry that I'm about to write a treatise on monsterfucking. But this post sparked that little obsessive part of my brain that needs to talk about it. So, I see monsterfucking in a couple of different ways. The most basic and simple is Monster HOT. Monsters are inherently sexy. And writers and directors *coughs Del Toro* recognize this and play into it. The Asset was designed to be attractive with a nice butt and kissable lips.

But we also have to ask why Monster HOT? Well, from my own experience as a trans woman, the monster is always portrayed as "the other". Myself and people like me are constantly demonized. They see us as dangerous. They call us predators, freaks, forced into this societal position where there are legitimately people afraid of us. (This goes for other marginalized identities too)

Afraid in the same way that they would be of a monster. And I think that's where a couple of my own ideas come into place. The first is empathy for the monster. In seeing ourselves in the monstrous, we want to reach out and offer love and affection. The same love and affection that we, ourselves need, and often don't receive. There's many horror movies where the monster just wants to be loved and in the end is rejected. Or killed based on societal fear.

King Kong is one story. It's represented in the final quote of the movie "It was beauty that killed the beast". Kong's love for Ann Darrow, which it's been a while, but I believe was rejected in the 1933 film, and accepted in the 2005 film. Kong always was "the other" (and was suggested in criticism of the film to represent blackness) to Ann Darrow, a conventionally attractive white woman. Kong's love of Ann represented the fears of interracial marriage at the time. Kong craved love, and society doomed him. As someone who is also othered doesn't it make sense to empathize with him?

Shape of Water, again also plays with this but more explicitly. Our Protag, Elisa is a disabled (mute) woman, her best friends are her black co-worker and her gay neighbour. All three are marginalized people. All three are shown to face discrimination throughout the film. Del Toro made sure that the fact these people were othered was text, rather than subtext. The main antagonist, Colonel Strickland, of the story is a white cishet man. His aggression, disregard for others and need for domination are extremely evident from his introduction. He's the kind of man who would be a protagonist in any other horror movie. Back to Elisa, it's her otherness that allows her to see the humanity within The Asset. The intelligence, the capability for love. In the end it's that love that saved both of them, while Colonel Strickland was doomed by his hate.

Those are just two examples of empathic monsters. For myself of course I want to love and be loved, and for a long time the fear of rejection for being a trans woman stopped me from truly achieving that. But I am loved and I'm loved by others like me. Who don't fear me because it found a different way to womanhood. And so of course I love monsters, because it shows I can be loved too.

My second thought about monsterfucking relates to a loss of control. Your powerlessness against a creature 10 times stronger than you. Who has all sorts of ways to make you submit. In other words a non-con kink. A kink that is often highly reviled because of its implications, but also very common. I believe the woman in the picture that I'm responding to is specifically referencing her own disgust with dub- or non-con.

Loss of control is a huge kink because many people, especially women feel like they always have to be in control. In control of their emotions, in control of any situation, in control of their sexuality, in control for their own safety. The point of being in control of our sexuality has been hammered in so intensely that to accept that we even have desires is hard. We're not supposed to want sex, we're supposed to deny ourselves. Slut shaming, attacks against women for being too sexual, all reinforce that a woman is not allowed to want for herself. We crave a release, to stop thinking all the time, to allow ourselves to want.

While heterosexual sex is so focused on the man, on the masculine penis, that a woman's pleasure is oft put to the side. You still have to think about others even when you want pleasure yourself.

Well, the monster doesn't care. The monster is going to give you exactly what you want have been denying yourself. This goes for men too. Louis from Interview with a Vampire is a good example. His bisexuality is frowned on by society, but Lestat doesn't care. Lestat is going to show Louis exactly what allowing himself to let go and accept pleasure is like. And for most of the movie Louis continues to try and deny himself, until he finally lets go and accepts who he is.

Speaking of vampires that brings me to my last point. Monsterfucking as a way to get power. And the clearest example I can think of this is Twilight. Bella, while attracted to Edward, was more interested in receiving the power Edward has, than Edward himself. She wanted to be a vampire and this was clear from the beginning. But Edward had to be all Mormon about it. There's many people who find power in the monstrous. To take a piece of the monstrous into yourself and thus gain the same power. And power is sexy.

Werewolves are shown as power through their physical prowress. It's very rare you see a lanky, malnourished werewolf. *Looks at a certain series with distain*

Idk I kinda rambled on. But those are my thoughts

Every day I am thankful to not be a TikTok user

[raekensluver]

i've been craving fics that show how lu's backpain effects his realtionships someone said he struggled with intimacy i'd love if you can write this! him struggling post or mid sex. sometimes i struggle to find most lu fics realistic.

ohhh me too darling. whenever i write a lu smut the thought of him most likely not being able to do what's going on in the scene is always in the back of my mind. but thank you for requesting this because i lowkey was itching to write some more realistic luigi fics. (also i tried to do a little research on spondylolisthesis so hopefully what i have written down is accurate!)

contains: smut, p in v, spondylolisthesis (luigi's back condition ☹️)

luigi mangione x fem!reader

"i'm so close, so close," you murmured, your eyes fluttering shut as you felt the warmth of luigi's breath against your skin.

the room was a canvas of shadows and moonlight, the curtains drawn aside to let in the cool evening air. the sound of crickets outside seemed to crescendo with your every movement. you felt a bead of sweat trickle down your spine, a delicious contrast to the shiver that ran through you. but as you reached for the peak of your pleasure, something changed in the air. the atmosphere grew taut, the anticipation thickened like the silence before a storm.

luigi's face was a portrait of pain, the lines around his eyes tightening and his jaw clenched. you looked into his eyes, those warm pools of brown that had once been filled with passion now clouded over with discomfort. you could see the effort he was making, his body tense as he tried to hold back his grimace. your heart twisted in your chest, knowing that he was enduring this for you, because he didn't want to disappoint or cause you any distress.

you reached up and gently touched his cheek, whispering, "are you okay?"

his eyes searched yours, a silent conversation passing between you. the pain was etched in the furrow of his brow, but the love in his gaze was unmistakable. "yeah, i'm fine," he managed to say, though his voice was strained. but you knew him better than that.

you felt a wave of guilt crash over you. how could you be so selfish? here he was, trying to make you happy, and all you could do was cause him pain. your own desire took a backseat to his well-being. you shifted slightly, changing the angle to alleviate the pressure on his back. "luigi," you said, a little louder this time, "we need to stop."

his eyes searched yours for a brief moment, a flicker of relief passing through them before he nodded. he gently pulled out, and you felt a twinge of regret mingled with the ache of unfulfilled desire. you moved closer to him, wrapping your arms around his neck and kissing his forehead. "i'm sorry," you whispered. "i didn't mean to hurt you."

his arms tightened around your waist, pulling you closer to him. "it's not your fault," he murmured into your hair. "i just… i want to make sure you're happy."

you could feel the tension in his muscles, the way his body was coiled tightly like a spring. you knew that his condition, spondylolisthesis, made certain positions unbearable for him. but tonight, you had been too caught up in the moment to remember. "i'm happy," you assured him, stroking his back gently. "but i don't want to hurt you."

his sigh was warm against your skin. "you didn't," he said, but you could hear the doubt in his voice. "it's just that sometimes, i feel like i'm not enough for you. that i can't… satisfy you."

you pulled back and looked at him, a mix of concern and determination in your eyes. "luigi," you said firmly, "you're more than enough. we'll figure it out together, okay?"

his smile was weak, but genuine. "okay," he agreed.

you slid out of bed, the cool floor against your feet a stark contrast to the warmth of the sheets. you reached for his hand, tugging him gently to stand. "let's go take a hot shower," you urged, leading him towards the bathroom.

his steps were stiff, his gait slightly altered as he followed you. you knew the pain was a constant companion for him, especially during moments of intimacy. you'd been together long enough to recognize the signs, to understand his winces and the way his breath hitched when the spasms hit. it wasn't your first time experiencing this dance of pleasure and pain, but it never got any easier to navigate.

you turned on the shower, the sound of water hitting the tiles a soothing balm to the tension in the air. you stepped in, the warmth enveloping you, and beckoned him to join. as luigi entered the shower, you could see his muscles relax slightly, the heat acting as a gentle massage. you moved closer, pressing your body against his, the warm water cascading over both of you as you kissed him gently.

"is this better?" you asked, your voice soft.

"yeah," he said, his eyes closing as the warm water pounded against his back. "thank you."

[piastri-fvx]

A Ferrari fan and a Red Bull Driver. Max Verstappen.

Pairing: Max Verstappen x FerrariFan!reader, Max Verstappen x Leclerc!reader, social media and a very short irl part

Summary: When Max Verstappen develops a crush on a Ferrari fan, who happens to be a Leclerc.

Word Count: 1,089

Face claim: different girls from pinterest & Sabrina Carpenter

Disclaimer/s: None!! Just fluff and a bunch of bickering.

Authors Note: yayyyy second story, here we go!! Hope u enjoy reading this as much as I enjoyed writing it!

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@yourusername

liked by maxverstappen1, charles_leclerc, arthur_leclerc, alexandrastmleux, lorenzotl, jade_distinguinn, charlotte2304 and 637.581.274 others

yourusername family day in the paddockkkk ❤️

| view all comments...

alexandrastmleux trop belleeee liked by creator

-> yourusername my wife 💕

-> charles_leclerc ???

user1 okay but Max posting her...

-> user2 HE DID???

-> arthur_leclerc he did?

-> user3 i smell overprotective brother

-> yourusername @arthur_leclerc don't even

charles_leclerc my favorite little sister ❤️ liked by creator

-> yourusername i'm your only sister?

-> user4 damn 💀

-> user5 i'm so invested in the Max and Leclerc stuff

user6 i need more footage of y/n meeting people in the paddock 😣

-> user7 real

jade_distinguinn 🥰🥰🥰 liked by creator

-> yourusername my loveee 🩵

-> user8 awwww

maxverstappen1 loved meeting you liked by creator

-> user9 what is going on

-> user10 someone please pinch me

user11 you are gorgeoussss liked by creator

-> yourusername thank youuuu

user12 woahhhhh 😍

user13 oh to have y/ns life

@maxverstappen1

liked by yourusername, user1, alexandrastmleux, landonorris, estebanocon and 4.284.395 others

maxverstappen1 finally summer break

tagged: @yourusername

| view all comments...

yourusername forza ferrari 🥰

-> maxverstappen1 no

-> user1 i'm afraid she slayed

charles_leclerc why are you posting my little sister???????

-> maxverstappen1 what? which sister? you have a sister?

-> user2 damnnnn, the gaslighting

user3 i'm so invested in all of this

landonorris i don't know about you guys, but this looks like a girlfriend appreciation post to me 🙃 liked by creator

-> user4 i fear he ate

-> user5 damn, lando has a point

-> arthur_leclerc they're not dating

-> user6 he refuses to believe it lmao

user7 the leclerc brothers being in denial is my favorute thing ever

-> yourusername real

-> user8 omg hiiii

-> user9 is that a confirmation?

arthur_leclerc no

-> user10 overprotective brother alert

user11 MAX LIKING LANDO'S COMMENT ABOUT Y/N BEING HIS GF????

-> user12 i'm so glad i get to live in this world

user13 okay but why is no one talking about how pretty she is?? like damn liked by creator

scuderiaferrari she's ours

-> redbullracing she won't be for long liked by creator

-> user14 not ferrari and red bull fighting over her 😭

user15 just fell to my knees in a parking lot

-> user16 valid reaction

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Sitting in the passenger seat of Max's Aston Martin, y/n let out a thoughtful hum, directing her gaze to Max. He glanced at her, noticing the weight of her gaze on him.

"Penny for your thoughts, mijn liefde?" He spoke up, his voice softer than usual. He seemed to have noticed her thoughtfulness as her mind seemed to be racing. He knew the expression on her face all too well.

"What if they're mad..?" She then spoke, her body visibly tensing at the thought. Her shoulders slumped, making his eyes meet hers again, now filled with concern.

"Lorenzo, Arthur and Charles?" He asked, despite already knowing the answer. Of course she was talking about her brothers, she had been quite anxious to tell them about her relationship with Max, and Max knew that.

She tilted her head, her eyes full of nervousness. "Yeah," she simply said, nodding her head and biting her lips, looking out the window of the car to try to distract herself from her thoughts.

"Why would they be? You make me happy. I love you and you love me. They should be happy for us," Max calmly spoke, attempting to make her relax a bit. And he seemingly succeeded, as she slightly relaxed.

"Yeah, you're probably right," She couldn't help but feel butterflies in her stomach as he said that he loved her. He had said it before, since they had been dating for multiple months at this point, but it still felt like the first time.

------------------------------------------------------

@charles_leclerc

liked by arthur_leclerc, scuderiaferrari, redbullracing, landonorris, lorenzotl and 1.384.294 others

charles_leclerc me when my little sister hangs out with my rival 😒

| view all comments...

maxverstappen1 did someone mention me? liked by creator

-> user1 max verstappennnnnn

user2 lestappen?

landonorris wait until you see his newest post, charles liked by creator

-> user3 i love how invested in this lando is

-> user4 he's just like us

-> user5 he lives for the drama

user6 y/n mentioned

maxverstappen1 me when y/n leclerc 😍😍😍😍😍😍😍😍

-> arthur_leclerc i will fight you.

-> lorenzotl me too. back off, verstappen

-> charles_leclerc i will crash you into the barriers on purpose if you hurt her

-> user7 them wanting to fight max is so funny to me

user8 the last few months on f1 social media have been so amazing 😭

alex_albon max has rizz

-> user9 true

-> user10 preach, alexander albon

user11 do do do do max verstappen

-> user12 i live for that song 😭

@maxverstappen1

liked by yourusername, redbullracing, charles_leclerc, niallhoran, louist91, liampayne, joaofelix79 and 5.482.385 others

maxverstappen1 girlfriend appreciation post

| view all comments...

yourusername mon amourrrrr 🥰 liked by creator

-> maxverstappen1 forever yours ❤️

-> user1 your honor, i love them 😭

-> user2 we got y/n and max together before gta 6

user3 i mean, we did get lestappen ☺️

-> user4 yeah, just with a different leclerc than we thought

-> user5 this is so cute

user6 i hope they get married

-> user7 same

louist91 so happy for you both!! liked by creator

-> yourusername thank you, lou!!

-> user8 i love that she's friends with zayn, louis, liam, harry and niall 😣

liampayne yayyyyyyy!! now she won't have to pine when we text or call and talk about how amazing you are and how much she likes you liked by creator

-> yourusername i'll still do that, what are best friends for? 💕 liked by creator

-> user9 i love her sm

-> user10 i love their friendship

zayn my boy finally got the girl liked by creator

-> maxverstappen1 such a romantic way of saying it

-> user11 so real of them

niallhoran romeo and juliet minus the dying liked by creator

-> user12 so slay of niall to be here

harrystyles wanna write songs about you and him with me? liked by creator

-> yourusername check our chat 🥰

-> user13 HS4?????

-> user14 featuring y/n?

-> user15 y/n in her singer and songwriter era?

-> user16 oh, i am SO here for this

joaofelix79 congratssss liked by creator

charles_leclerc don't your dare break her heart, verstappen liked by creator

-> user17 he wouldn't

-> maxverstappen1 i wouldn't, she'll be my woman forever

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A/N: woooooo!!! second story in two dayssss!! thank you so so much to everyone who liked and reblogged my story, and thank you to everyone who follows me now <333 let me know if you have requests or you want to be on my permanent tag list!!!

[gyaruhana]

hii I was js wondering if u cld write some headcannons or a scenario for yandere myung gi (player 333) nothing specificc

Myung-gi/Player 333 - Yandere Headcannons

Synopsis: Headcannons of Myung-gi liking you just a little too much.. (okay, it's way more than a little)

A/N: cute idea i like !!

Warnings: obsessive behavior, yandere content, kidnapping, murder, stalking

➠ Yandere Myung-gi is such a good thought..

➠ Likely watched you from afar at first but not in a stalker-ish way

➠ Moreso he'd stare at you if you were nearby and think about how you are so very pretty

➠ although, to be fair, he did find all your social media profiles when he got home but that was the most of it !!

➠ he only got obsessive when he saw you talking to some guy and felt quite angry

➠ from there he started stalking you to your house, to your job- everywhere just to make sure no one else was pining after you.

➠ if someone was, he'd leave a very ominous message about staying away from you or harm would come to the persons family

➠ Of course, it was all just threats to scare people away.

➠ eventually, he wormed his way into your life with a cute smile and a flushed face

➠ you could never think he was a bad guy because he seemed so cute and genuine when he asked you out

➠ That was a mistake

➠ You agreeing to go out with him made his obsession with you a million times worse

➠ First time he went to your house he may have, or may have not, stolen your underwear and uh.. you could guess what he did with that when he went home.

➠ He just really likes your scent okay !!

➠ In front of you, he's a total sweetheart. Behind your back, he's fucking crazy

➠ the first time he killed someone was when a guy flirted with you after Myung-gi left you alone for just a moment

➠ something in him just snapped that day and that guy who had the audacity to come close to you was now in his room, tied up, and having his fingers cut off one by one

➠ Cut the guys tongue off as well before killing him because he wanted the guy to learn a lesson about daring to talk to his girl like that

➠ from then, he didn't shy away from killing people who even looked at you

➠ you were unaware about what he was up to because he was so very careful when cleaning up

➠ You didn't figure it out until it was far too late and he had you in the palm of his hand

➠ When he finally admits what he's done for you (or you find out and confront him), he's begging you to stay

➠ He'd really rather not hurt you at all

➠ But if you try to leave he's quick to knock you out

➠ absolutely does kidnap you and apologizes over and over again while saying that he's doing it for your own good

➠ overall, very protective and wants you all to himself

"I'm really sorry, baby, but you were trying to leave me," he spoke with an apologetic tone as his thumb gently stroked your cheek. Your hands and legs were bound to a chair as you struggled against it, tears filling your eyes. The sight made Myung-gi's heart ache but he knew this was for your own good. He couldn't let you leave him - not when you were soulmates. "Don't cry.. I'll keep you safe from everyone else,"

[plethorawrites]

Oh, I really, really like your recent blurb! Jason having a secret girlfriend/family is my favorite trope, but it is so hard to find!

Would you write about silly instances where Jason spots his family in public and tries to shuffle and guide you away without you noticing?

Ahh! I feel that validated in both my love of Jason and my love of the secret relationship trope! (This might not be exactly what you were looking for, but I hope you like it anyway!)

The first time it happened was a few weeks into your relationship, back When the two of you would meet for breakfast or brunch at the little cafe, a few blocks away from where you worked.

Jason Todd would always show up, yawning and exhausted from how tired he always was since he hadn't told you about his night job yet. But he was still on time, excited to see you even if he would go straight home and nap immediately afterwards.

The two of you would always spend more time talking getting to know one another than actually looking over the menu and ordering something to eat, but neither of you minded.

Then, one day, while he was looking away from you to hide the smile you had caused, he caught sight of Tim waiting in line to order a coffee.

Without really thinking about it, he grabbed both of your menus, propping them up and leaning over the table, trying to hide both your faces.

You frowned in confusion but leaned in too, until your faces were close together. "What are you doing?" You whispered.

"Nothing," he lied poorly, being his head over the top of a menu to see if his brother was still there and darting his head back down when Tim walked past the table. He let out a breath of relief, staring at you. "You look really pretty this close."

With an amused eye roll you leaned back in your chair, folding your arms and waiting for a better explanation. "You just wanted to talk really close for a moment?"

"Okay, fine," he sighed heavily. "I wanted to look at your freckles, alright? They're adorable. The ones on your nose are really cute."

It wasn't a lie, technically. He did love them. And you actually believed him, he thought. Or if you didn't, you didn't push the topic.

The next time you accidentally ran into somebody was at the mall, when you had dragged Jason along to help you look for a dress for a mystery date night he said nothing about, except for the fact that you had to wear something nice.

It was just his luck that you had picked the same store Stephanie happened to be shopping in as well. In most circumstances, she might not even notice him when they crossed paths in public, but in a woman's clothing store which was relatively empty, there was no way she wouldn't see him when she turned around.

Without warning, he tugged you away from rack you were looking at, pulling you into a cramped dressing room, locking it behind you.

"Wha-" You stared at him like he had lost his mind. "Why are we the dressing room?"

"How do women try stuff on when they can't turn around?" He countered, ignoring your question and planting his hand on the wall by your head to try to give himself more room in the tight space.

"It's typically not made for two people," you explained "Especially not 6'2 men."

He grinned a bit. "Do you like my height?" He asked, enjoying the proximity a bit more than he would admit.

Yes. Obviously. Who wouldn't? He towered over you. His arms could wrap around your entire body without even straining to cover more skin. Plus, he could reach the top shelf so you didn't have to climb on a chair.

But it was still too early in the relationship to tell him that.

"That's besides the point," you muttered. " Why are we in the dressing room?" You repeated.

"I just...always wanted to see a woman's dressing room," he told you, frowning at his own lie.

"Seriously?" You questioned. "You could have at least picked the big one at the end. And you didn't even let me pick anything to try on."

"Right, well..I figured we could try a different store," Jason explained, tucking a piece of hair behind your ear. "Nothing here would do you justice."

You huffed, finding it slightly amusing how foolish he was acting. But frankly, it wasn't terribly bad to be stuck in a tight space with him. So, you waited a moment longer before unlocking the stall.

You still had to find a dress.

Things were peaceful for a bit, you and Jason seemed to be growing stronger in your relationship and things began to get a little bit more serious. Jason seemed to be growing stronger in your relationship and things began to get a little bit more intense.

He knew that eventually he'd have to tell his family about you, but the next time he saw one of his brothers in public, he couldn't help but shy away from the task of introducing you.

In his defense, Damian really wasn't the first sibling you would want to meet.

He'd taken you to a nature preserve, because you said you used to go all the time as a kid but stopped after getting older.

You were practically giddy, feeding the animals from your palm, scrunching your nose when their whiskers ticked you. Jason was enjoying it too, more so because of you than the animals.

But while he was mocking you for your squeals, he heard a familiar voice having a one sided conversation with a lemur.

He turned and there was Damian, having his biweekly visit to see the animals that Father wouldn't let him bring home.

Jason cursed internally, pulling you away from the animals, accidentally spilling the feed from your hand.

"Hey, I stillwanted to see the—"

"I'll bring you back, I promise," he said, cutting you off as he dragged you behind a tree.

You wiped off your hand on your jeans and tilted your head. "What is it?"

"I just think you've been giving the animals too much attention," Jason noted. "I feel left out."

"Oh, c'mon," you rolled your eyes.

"Really," he insisted. "You kissed a sloth and a goat but not me."

He pouted a bit and leaned back against the tree, still holding you arm, though loosening his grip before running his hand up and down your arm apologetically.

You sighed, glancing around briefly, not really taking notice of the small, angry child, yelling at some poor worker, before leaning up on your tip toes to kiss his lips very quickly. "Satisfied?"

He smiled softly. "No." He shook his head, pointing to the exit. "Can we leave?" He asked gently.

"Will you bring me back?"

Jason nodded immediately. "Whenever you want," he said.

You gave up and left with him.

Now, if you really thought about it, you could easily put two and two together, but really, the instances were so far apart that you didn't really question the strange behavior.

He had managed to be, for the most part, pretty subtle about pulling you away from his family whenever he encountered them, as few and far between as those moments were.

Like the time you were walking down the street while it was raining and he spotted Duke crossing the street towards your direction. Even though he knew you loved the rain and hated umbrellas, he still pulled his jacket off, covering your head.

"Jay, I told you, I'm fine," you assured him, trying to move it off of you.

"Yeah, but you'll catch a cold," he insisted, pulling even further over your head while blatantly stealing an umbrella from a small stand that was selling them.

He popped it open, covering his own face as you walked past Duke.

"I will not," you told him, finally tugging it off. You frowned, not feeling any rain on your skin. "Where the hell did the umbrella come from?"

"Uh- someone handed it to me," Jason muttered. "Nice man."

And even though he despised running into people he knew because it always put him on high alert, trying to figure out what to do or where to go to keep whoever they ran into from spotting them, sometimes, he actually rather enjoyed the chance to pull you away from the rest of the world.

For instance, when you insisted on going to a carnival, which he wasn't a big fan of at first, until you guys got there and he saw your eyes twinkling at all the lights.

Any thoughts of boredom were quickly drowned out by the sound of your screams on the scarier rides, when you'd reach for his hand. And he bought every single treat you so much as looked at— the funnel cakes, the fresh lemonade, the Carmel corn.

He was watching you pull fresh cotton candy from the stick it was spun around when out of the corner of his eye he caught his brother Dick, along with Wally walking across the fair grounds.

Jason was sure they wouldn't notice you with how far away they were, but he refused to take the chance. So, he interlocked your hands, tugging you into a nearby photo booth as you made a sound of confusion.

"Just thought we should grab a souvenir," he said, beating you to the punch before you could ask what he was doing.

"I'm still eating my cotton candy," You told him. "I should fix my hair too."

Jason got a devilish glint in his eye and ran his hand through your hair jostling it further as you screeched in disbelief. "I think it looks good like that," he admitted, staring at you now that it had a bit more volume.

You blew a loose strand from your face. "I can't believe you did that," you stated. "It's all disheveled."

He nodded, still thinking it looked beautiful. Sort of like how it was when you woke up next to him.

"C'mon," he urged, pulling you into his lap. "I like you this way." He threw a few quarters in the slot and before you knew it you had a strip of three pictures, none of which were appropriate to show to anyone.

A picture of him stealing your cotton candy, a picture of him nuzzling your neck while you scrunched your nose in the way that made his heart clench, and a picture of him tasting said cotton candy on your tongue.

So, maybe it was an over reaction to pull you away from the rest of his carnival when it was huge and chances were Dick never would have even seen you. But God, did he enjoy it.

Then, there were, of course, the far less subtle times which didn't end quite as well.

Like when you just so happened to be walking out of a movie at the same time Cassandra and Barbara were heading into one.

"I think the sequel might actually be better than the original," you told him, arms interlinked as you walked.

"Uh huh," he wasn't paying attention anymore after seeing his sister and Babs at the soda machine, filling up their drinks.

He couldn't exactly pull you into a different theater, especially since he didn't know which one they would be going into.

The next best option? Throwing the empty popcorn bucket over your head.

"Jay?!" You exclaimed.

"It's a discount thing," he muttered vaguely, grimacing at his own excuse. "Wear the bucket out and you get a free movie."

Okay, not the next best, probably. Maybe like...sixth best? Seventh at most.

He pulled you past them, keeping his hand on the top of the bucket to keep it in place while raising his hoodie and keeping on the 3D glasses from the movie until you were past them both.

Once you were, he pulled it off and you were...well, fuming. Rightfully so.

"What the hell was that?" You asked, a bit bitterly, not buying his excuse for a second. "I'm covered in popcorn butter.

He cleared his throat, kissing your greasy cheek and licking his lips tasting a salty popcorn and butter on your skin. "Tastes good, though," he mumbled.

You stormed out on him.

And then, when you chose to walk all the way back to your apartment in frustration, both with his actions and lies, he finally came clean.

"I just... don't want my family to mess anything up between us," he confessed, barely even looking at you.

Vulnerability wasn't his strongest asset, but he was trying. For you.

You washed your face off in the sink for the third time and still felt greasy. Even if you got it all off your face, you'd need a shower to get it out of your hair.

"Why couldn't you just tell me that?" You asked, still confused. It wasn't like you didn't already know who his family was.

"I just- I didn't want you to think I was hiding you," he muttered.

"Jason, you put a bowl of popcorn over my head so your sister wouldn't see me. That's hiding," you stated firmly.

"Yes but it's not hiding out of embarrassment!" He clarified. "My family can be a lot to handle and they might scare you off and they'd definitely mock me endlessly for being in love with you."

His eyes went wide. That...was an accident. He didn't mean to confess that.

You stared at him for a moment, blinking. "Did you just say what I think you did?"

"I uh- well that wasn't..." He cleared his throat. "Yeah," he finally agreed with a slight nod. "But you don't have to say it back or anything, I know I'm not the easiest person to love and it—"

You were already kissing him, wrapping your arms around his neck and pulling him closer. He was caught off guard, but it didn't take him long before he kissed you back, his hands finding your waist and steadying you both.

"You're stupidly easy to love," you told him, resting your forehead on his.

(+Bonus)

It was a quiet Friday night when the two of you were at a nice restaurant, celebrating a year of being together. The food was good, the music was soft and nice, and Jason was practically a drooling mess over you, like usual.

So much so, he didn't even notice when his father walked into the restaurant with a date of his own.

You did, though. And in keeping with the spirit of what had apparently been a pretty large part of your relationship, even without you knowing it, you slid out of the booth quickly grabbing his hand and pulling him from his chair.

"Hey, wait a second!" He exclaimed as you rushed him out of the restaurant before he got to finish his dessert. "We still have to pay."

"We'll come back tomorrow and pay," you assured him, pushing open the door, into the cold evening.

"What the hell was that about?" Jason asked once you were outside and seemingly slowed down.

You pointed towards the window. "Your dad," you muttered.

He could see Bruce sitting at a table across from Selina, his eyes scanning a menu while occasionally looking up, probably to compliment her or something.

He huffed. "Add that restaurant to the list of places we can't go," he mumbled, shrugging off his jacket and handing it to you. "It got cold outside," he simply said when you frowned in confusion.

You pulled on the nice jacket that matched his suit. "Thanks," you said, wrapping your arm around his, tugging him away from the restaurant. "C'mon, I'll buy some more dessert."

He hummed, and pressed a kiss against your head. "Alright," he agreed, letting you lead him away from the restaurant and down the street.

[rafesangelita]

hey angel! i saw that you’re writing for all the obx boys now which makes me so happy you have no idea.

i would like to please request a pope and bambi scenario similar to the scene in s4 where him and cleo almost get caught by heyward but in this particular situation, heyward does indeed catch pope and bambi!reader…..

🧁

warnings: fluff, unprotected sex, soft sex (?), pope and bambi talking away per usual, getting caught, pope panics and pushes bambi, awkward tension, the infamous walk of shame

“fuck, baby, i need you to be a little more quieter..” pope was about to cover your mouth before he opted for kissing you instead, your hands resting on his broad shoulders. “i promise, i’m trying! ‘just missed you.” this was the first time you had seen your boyfriend since he got in trouble and was forced to stay home because of his ankle monitor, two weeks being the most amount of time you two had ever spent away from each other. you couldn’t wait another day without being in contact, so you snuck in through his side of the stairs, both of you wasting no time in getting each other’s clothes off.

“i missed you, too.” a particular stroke of his hips made both of you moan, his fingers tracing shapes into the soft flesh of your hips. “have you read any new books?” you smiled at him, a small laugh leaving your lips. leave it to you and pope to talk about books while he’s balls deep inside of you. “mhm, yes, just a couple—” pope groaned when you clenched around him, not trusting himself to be any less quieter than you. “yeah? shit, which ones?” he buried his face in the curve of your neck, leaving kisses there while your thighs tightened around his waist. “well..” your eyes fluttered shut, “some romance titles, of course..”

pope listened to you explain the plot of one of your books before both of you froze at the sound of heavy footsteps trudging up the stairs. “pope? you awake in there, son?” you gasped when he pulled out abruptly, scrambling to get the panties you currently had hanging off of your ankle pulled back up around your hips. “put your leg in!” he whispered, your eyes wide as you quickly got up, attempting to pull your baby tee over your head. just as he managed to pull your underwears back up, and your shirt was low enough to cover your bare chest, heyward spoke again.

“i’m coming in.”

panicking, pope shoved you towards his closet, completely forgetting the door was closed before you crashed into it with a yelp. with your vision still being obstructed with your god awful shirt, you fell to the floor just as heyward walked in. “what the hell?— woah!” he backed out of the room faster than he came in, “y/n, is that you?” you finally got your head through the top, your cheeks blazing hot with embarrassment. “..yes, sir.” pope was already rushing to help you up, repeating a ‘sorry, sorry, sorry,’ as he got a pair of boxers on. “both of you better be decent before going downstairs.”

“i can’t believe you pushed me!” you said incredulously, searching every corner of pope’s room for your shorts. “i thought the door was open!” he apologized again, both of you making your way to the dinner table where both of pope’s parents sat waiting. they watched as you two walked over, a nervous smile gracing your lips before you tripped over your feet. you two were definitely in for a lecture now..

[captain-huggy-bear]

In Your Element

Pairing: Quinn Hughes x Fem!Reader

Warnings: N/A

Summary: Quinn finally gets an opportunity to each lunch with you at your school, but he arrives a little early and sees a different side to you, when you're absolutely in your element.

Notes: This was a request which I very much enjoyed writing, so thank you:

'For Quinn x teacher reader you could do Quinn going to eat lunch with her at school and getting there early on accident and just admiring her teaching and her getting along with her students and then getting home and just telling her how much he admires her and loves her and wants to marry her'

Not me researching Canadian school grades and ages because it is not the same in the UK (Grade 11 is age 16-17, where as year 11 in the UK is age 15-16 and also the final year of secondary for us)

Totally happy to take requests/ideas/prompts at the moment in my ask box :)

Writing Masterlist

Most days Quinn doesn't get a chance to go and visit you at work and he'd never had the opportunity to sit and eat lunch with you during the school day. After all, you were busy and so was he. You had maybe 40 minutes in a day to sit down and eat, then if he subtracted the time in that 40 minutes you needed to tidy your room, put books out for your next class, write the title on the board, sort your powerpoint out and then pee, plus dealing with any dramas your students brought to your door? Well, you probably had 10 minutes to eat...and he, well, how often was he actually available at that specific time of day? It was like ships in the night sometimes, both having highly busy careers in different ways, but you made it work. Partly by taking any moments that you could find and utilising them, both of you had to learn to be a bit more spontaneous and flexible.

Something that was easier said sometimes than done, but your desire to see each other had a way of making bending easier than breaking. It helped that you'd moved in with him before the season started, so at least he saw you at night and in the early hours of the morning.

Today was different, an odd day where the stars had seemingly aligned. Quinn had a free 2 hours in his day just at the right time for lunch with you and you had a free period after lunch which meant you didn't have to spend all your lunch break sorting stuff out for your next lesson. So, you'd agreed to tell the office he'd be visiting and he agreed to bring your favourite sandwich from your favourite deli along with other goodies for you to snack on.

The problem was Quinn hadn't expected to be 20 minutes early, Vancouver traffic being almost non-existent (which was a rarity) and the deli having absolutely no one inside despite it being lunch time (he briefly considered that the zombie apocalypse might have happened at that point). Being 20 minutes early meant he didn't really have anything to do. At first he assumed he'd have to simply wait in the office, but Maria on reception just gave him his visitors badge and walked him to your classroom, ushering him away from the uncomfortable visitors seats.

Your door is shut to keep the noise of the corridor out of your classroom. From the small window in the door Quinn can see the way your 11th graders sit in various states of focus, you're leant against your desk at the front, hands moving as you talk to them. There's something about how relaxed you are at the front of the classroom, the way you seem to be in your element that hits him. He's never seen you teach a lesson before and it strikes him that it seems right, like it's where you're supposed to be.

Maria knocks on the door and he watches as you pause, telling your students something before setting a timer on the board. Watching for a second to make sure they were all on task before walking to the door and reaching for the handle, your face a picture of surprise at seeing him here early.

"Mr Hughes is here to see you, I thought he could sit in the back or help you with the last little bit of lesson."

"Thank you, Maria I'm sure we'll figure it out." You smile warmly at Maria and it strikes him that you probably know all about her, that you've probably spent time with her at the staff Christmas party and eaten lunch together. It hits him that there are people you see every day that he has no idea about because your worlds simply don't cross that often. You know his team mates but does he really know your colleagues? He suddenly feels very out of place.

"You are early." You give him a look that makes him smile sheepishly at you, raising the bag of sandwiches as if that would solve the problem. Still you let him into your classroom, your students narrowing their eyes at the new face before promptly widening at who just walked into their classroom. Still they don't say anything, like you've taught them better, heads down as they continue writing an answer to the question on the board. A timer ticking down the remaining couple of minutes left.

He drops the bag onto your desk before you point to a spare seat at the back, "You can watch if you want...sorry, it might be boring."

"I don't think anything you could do would be boring." He knows the way he's looking at you is probably a little much for a classroom, he can't help it though. You're so pretty in your teacher clothes, there's a different sort of confidence rolling off you, you own the room and it's attractive, the way you command the room even when you're not overtly doing anything.

A quiet little murmur runs through the class at his statement, a few raised eyebrows and David lets out a little 'ohhhh' that you hush with a sharp look. Even that is hot, the fact a single look from you has a teenage boy shutting up, Quinn's rarely seen you like this, in complete and total control, effortlessly. In your pairing you're usually the one who follows while he leads. He orders your drink at a coffee shop or initiates a kiss, this is a different you.

"Go to your seat, Mr Hughes." The raised eyebrow does it for him as well and he thinks if he had to actually respond he'd have stuttered, instead he choses to follow your directions, trying desperately not to look utterly devoted to you in front of a bunch of teenagers.

He forgot how uncomfortable classroom chairs were, still he uses it as a chance to watch from the back corner. You wander the room, green pen in hand for the remaining time on the timer, writing notes on students' work and giving direction here and there. A few times you give warnings to students who haven't worked hard enough, but there's a general sense that this group of students work for you because they respect you. Even the kids who clearly aren't the most academic seem to try for you.

The timer is blaring when it goes off, some sort of lute sound that you clearly picked because it was mildly medieval and fit the vibe of your history classroom. It's ridiculous but it also describes you perfectly, those elements of quirkiness and fun that fit in even into a classroom where students write paragraphs and complete work. Like you have a balance perfectly set.

"Right, times up, so put your pens down..." You march to the front in quick time, nabbing a flashlight that one of your students was playing with at the front before they could even protest, slipping it into your pocket. It's impressive, the way you seem to have eyes on every corner of the classroom, the way you notice things that Quinn definitely would not have.

The student in question puts his hand up in the air and you call on him as if it was expected, "Yes, Rory?"

"Can I have it back at the end?"

"Yes, Rory, you can have it back at the end." It's interesting, the way that that is enough. That Rory seems to respect that it shouldn't have been out, doesn't try to argue that you shouldn't have taken it, but trusts that he'll get it back enough not to press they issue. Quinn's pretty sure Miller has argued with him more over lesser things before.

"Who can explain to me then how war has had an impact on medical development? Bonus points, potentially getting the bonus point duck for the rest of lesson, if you can give me concrete examples from our unit." He's close to putting his hand up to ask about the bonus point duck when you reach into your desk drawer and pull out a rubber duck dressed as Henry VIII.

It's in that moment that Quinn realises he does not know as much about you as he thought. He knew you. He knew the woman he called his girlfriend who couldn't sleep with her feet outside of the bed covers and absolutely had to have the shower on the highest heat setting, but he didn't know teacher you. Never in his life had you mentioned a bonus point duck, never would he have predicted that that was something you even had in your classroom and it's utterly ridiculous and shouldn't motivate a bunch of teenagers at all and yet, suddenly there were 20 hands in the air, a few calling out as if that would make you pick them quicker.

He watches the way you smile, the scan of your eyes over each, the way you bypass those not meeting your expectations until they correct themselves and then you pick a student that Quinn would likely not have picked, a student he knows his history teacher in school would have avoided.

When he thinks of picking a student to answer there are two modes he thinks of from his own high school career:

The one without their hand up, who doesn't look like their listening, the one a teacher wants to catch out

The student who is clearly a nerd, clearly good at the subject and will clearly given an impressive answer, the easy kid to pick

You pick neither. Instead, you go straight to a girl with her hand up but with thick blonde hair extensions in and enough gum in her mouth that Quinn can hear it smack from here. The stereotypical popular girl who probably doesn't care much about school and would rather be at the mall.

"Angel?"

"Well, it's like when there's a war on like World War One then all the government care about is winning the war, right?"

You nod in encouragement and it hits him that you picked Angel for a reason. That you picked a student who likely doesn't like school, likely gets discouraged but who you know can answer and get a confidence boost. It's smart, he does something similar with rookies, where he gives them a chance to do something so he can boost their confidence, can build a relationship with them. Suddenly captaincy and teaching seem awfully similar, minus the gum and the smell of Lynx Africa.

"So like if they don't improve medicine then all their soldiers just die, right? Either outright or later because of like infection like why they funded Florey and Chain to mass produce penicillin in World War Two or like why people were so into the leg splint thing in 1916. So, the governments put more money into medicine because that means soldiers live longer and can get sent back to war and then they can win the war because they still have men alive, but like if they all die you're going to lose the war, duh."

"Beautiful answer and a few specific examples in there, you have earned the duck," You smile widely at her as you walk to plop the rubber duck on her desk and he can see it, the way she seems to puff up in pride, the way a student who maybe would have hated History is engaged because of you.

He's pretty sure he just fell a little bit more in love with you.

"Yo, Miss?"

You sigh a deep sigh as if this interruption is expected, stopping mid walk back to the front of your classroom and turning on your heel, "Yes, David?" Your voice is mildly amused, not impatient or frustrated like Quinn would expect.

"Why ducks?" There's a beat of silence and Quinn watches the way you just stare at David, eyebrows high on your forehead like your considering whether you'll actually treat the question seriously or not.

Then a big smile crosses your lips like you're laughing at yourself before you even say the punch line to a joke. A silly little smile that is so his girlfriend that suddenly both versions of yourself seem to merge together.

"Because ducks fly together."

"C'mon, Miss! Really? Did you seriously just quote the Mighty Ducks when a hockey legend is in the room?" It's your patience with David that smacks Quinn in the face. You could have given him a detention by now or told him off for disrupting your lesson, but you're not. Like you're confident you can bring it back to the lesson soon enough. It makes him wonder if you'd be that patient with your kids, if he's seeing a little glimpse into a possible future where you're this patient with the kids you have with him.

"Well, maybe we should ask the 'hockey legend' what he thinks of my jokes? Mr Hughes?" You ask him because you know he'll back you up, and it's that sense of being needed that makes him sit up a little straighter in the chair he's in and smile widely like he's scored a goal.

"Hilarious as always, although maybe you need a bonus point orca?"

"Oh, do I? The duck not good enough?" There's a little glint in your eye, the one you always get when you're teasing him, playful. It feels like the rest of the world disappears, falls away, like you're the only two people in the room.

"Seems a little too Anaheim like for my taste,"

"You would say that, no taste." As if you're a Anaheim fan when you are in fact a Canucks fan through and through, but you know the statement will get a little rise out of Quinn. You can see the way his brow twitches at the suggestion that you'd pick the Ducks over the Canucks, the sense of male pride being slighted.

"Miss, stop flirting with Quinn Hughes!" It's David, it's always David. David with a wide grin that shows off his braces, David who's waggling his eyebrows at you, typical teenage boy behaviour really but it stumps you. Quinn can see that it stumps you.

There's a beat of silence, like your brain is trying to process what's just happened, and for the first time you're off your game, flustered, a little taken aback like you didn't expect it to go this far. But, then, Quinn was never in your classroom while you taught, never there for you to banter with in front of students. Quinn had proven to be a distraction, a disruptive presence if you will.

Your choice of tactic is perhaps not the best nor the most smooth, but simply to turn back to your powerpoint plastered on the board and pretend that it simply hadn't happened. To move on.

"Anyway, back to medicine," Your voice is a little unsteady, a little less controlled and Quinn feels slightly bad that he put you off your game, but admires the way you push forward.

You turn the slide on your powerpoint, an old cartoon springing up on the board, "I'm going to give you a copy of this source from 1847 about anaesthetic and I want you to analyse it like we've been practicing. If you can do this properly in 8 minutes then I will let you ask Mr Hughes some questions..." You pause briefly, looking directly at David, "Appropriate questions."

There's a bubble of excitement that sees students volunteering to help you hand out glues and copies of the source before all heads hit the desks, hands moving ferociously across the paper while 8 minutes ticks down on the clock. Just like that you've got them back on track and it is utterly impressive, how you managed to completely save a lesson that he'd accidently ruined for you.

You both survive the few minutes of questions at the end, David only asking a few minorly inappropriate ones which Quinn fields with his usual tactic of say nothing and refuse to answer. By the end he's not entirely sure how you handle being questioned all day by hundreds of teenagers and Quinn's a lot more sympathetic to your reluctance to make decisions when you get home after a long day of teaching. He gets it now.

"Have a good lunch, everybody!" You wave the last of your students off at the door, shutting it the moment they're all out and letting out a massive sigh of relief, shoulders slumping.

"You okay?"

"Yeah, just tired." The unspoken is there. That your job is hardwork, that getting kids in the modern age to focus on anything for more than 60 seconds might look easier to the outsider but takes more brainpower and more routines and techniques than you can shake a stick at.

Quinn decides to leave it for the moment, you probably don't want to spend your entire lunch break talking about teaching and he's ultimately here to see his baby, not talk about education.

"Sit, I got your favourite," He's guiding you gently, hands on your shoulders to your comfy desk chair, the one he hasn't seen you sit down in at all. You let him force you to sit down, let him sort out your sandwich placing it in front of you with a napkin and your favourite packet of crisps with your favourite drink to boot. It's a little thing but the way he sets it out in front of you, the way he takes care of you helps ease a little bit of the strain of the day.

"Thank you for coming and having lunch with me," You reach for half of your sandwich, exactly as you like it down to the type of bread used, watching as Quinn pulls one of the desks closer to you so he's not so far away. His own sandwich being pulled from the brown paper bag.

"You don't have to thank me. I wanted to see my girl, who's looking extra pretty today by the way." You almost choke on the first bite of your sandwich, cheeks warming even as you cough and roll your eyes at him. Feeling decidedly unattractive after nearly choking on bread.

"You are such a suck up!"

"Oh, so I can't compliment my girlfriend now? That's sucking up? I'm just stating facts. The sky is blue, water is clear and my girlfriend is gorgeous."

"Quinn!" You laugh at him and it's the most beautiful thing he's seen all day. The way your face lights up, eyes crinkling as you twist your head away from him because of how ridiculous you think he's being. When you laugh he can't help it, it makes him grin, teeth on show, sandwich half forgotten in front of him.

"And she can't take a compliment to save her life."

The two of you fall into a comfortable sort of routine, taking bites of your lunches while interspersing eating with conversation about his upcoming roadie and what you're going to send to your mum for her birthday.

He doesn't say anything about your teaching, doesn't even bring up the bonus point duck because he doesn't want to take up your few precious non-teacher minutes with it...and also because he's pretty certain 40 minutes is not enough time for all the things he's thinking.

How does one condense down how much they admire their partner? How does he talk briefly about how utterly amazing you are at your job and how he can't wait to marry you, to have kids with you, to see you be just as patient, just as amazing with them? He can't, so he decides to leave it til later.

He doesn't just eat lunch with you before he leaves the school though, Quinn, ever determined to make your life easier helps you tidy up your classroom and fix a display board that you couldn't reach the top corner of. You can't help but admire him as he stretches up up to staple a bit of border roll back in place, the muscles of his back flexing underneath his t-shirt, the way his hair falls effortlessly across his forehead. It's weird seeing him in this environment, your environment but you can't help but think that he fits in it, like it suits him to be helping in a classroom. Maybe in a different life he'd have been a teacher or maybe you were just waxing poetic in your head.

You walk him out to his car once your done, even though you should be using this time to plan, you can't help but try to get as many moments with him as possible, any little bit of time precious.

"I'll see you at home later?" You ask just in case he'd planned something with the team, fingers twined with Quinn's as you stand by his car.

"Yeah, I should be home already when you get in, figured i'd cook dinner tonight." He wants to make it nice for you, special, because he knows you're going to shy away from his compliments, his admiration...but he feels like he has a lot to say. Good stuff, but a lot and he wants you in a good mood, more receptive.

"Mmm, anything good?"

"Your favourite." You think about the spicy noodle dish he's perfected cooking, the little spring onions on top, the warming broth and it makes you feel almost hungry despite having just eaten lunch.

"And what did I do to deserve this treatment?" You tug him closer by the hands, tilting your head back to look up at him with a sweet smile that makes his heart race just a little bit faster. You're so pretty without even trying.

"Just being yourself, baby." Quinn breaches the distance between the two of you, leaning down to close the remaining space, lips pressing to yours gently, once, twice, a third time because he can't help himself, "Have a good rest of your day and I'll see you later, sweetheart"

Quinn presses one more kiss to your lips, a longer one that lingers, a force behind it that almost takes you off guard, your hands reaching up to grip at the edges of his jacket.

It takes you a moment to catch your breath, just long enough for Quinn to notice and smirk about it, to find it cute that he can still make you react like that.

"Bye, I love you." You force yourself to pull away, watching as he steps into the car.

"I love you too." You watch Quinn's car roll out of the school car park, wave back at him when he turns to look at you from the driver's seat before he's completely gone, before heading back instead to finish off your day.

The rest of your day goes relatively smoothly bar the incident in which a student decided to swallow a battery he had in his backpack to see what would happen, resulting in him being taken to hospital and your last class of the day being unable to focus on anything but that. Still as days go it was relatively stress free and made ten times better when you walked into the apartment to the smell of Quinn's world famous spicy noodles and the way he'd set up the dining table with some candles just to make things sweeter. The lights in the apartment dim and romantic feeling.

He's stirring the dish when you get to the kitchen area, back to you, but head turned at the sound of your feet padding towards him. You don't hesitate to wrap your arms around his waist from behind, pressing your cheek into the centre of his back. Quinn leans back into you with a hum.

"You've really gone all out, huh?" You mumble it into his shirt, moving with him as he takes the pan off the heat and carries it towards the two bowls already laid out on the side. Shuffling alongside him determined to stay close to his warmth despite how inconvenient it was.

"Wanted to surprise you, now get off me and sit your cute ass down." You do as your told, jumping a little at the light swat Quinn gives to your arse as you move away from him. You turn to glare at him as if you're offended even though you both know you'd let him slap your arse whenever he wanted if he just asked.

Quinn serves you first, placing your bowl in front of you with a glass of your favourite thing to drink at dinner before grabbing his own noodles and sitting across from you.

At first it's quiet, the two of you more focused on eating than talking, but every now and then you look up to see Quinn staring at you as if he has something he wants to say. You choose not to rush him, both of you finishing your dinner before you insist that you put the dishes in the dishwasher since he cooked. Still he doesn't say anything and you don't push him.

It's not until he drags you to the couch, pulling you to curl up next to him while some movie plays in the background that he finally speaks his mind.

"You were amazing today..." You're tucked under Quinn's arm, his hand resting on your arm as you press your cheek into his shoulder, soft eyes looking up at him from under your lashes.

"Mm? What at work?"

"Yeah." You let him think for a minute, knowing he has more to say but clearly trying to figure out how he goes about saying it, his fingers tracing light circles on your arm. "I've never seen you like that...so in your element..."

There's a pause in which he shifts, pulling your legs over his lap, other hand gripping your calf. It's the most natural movement in the world, a touch neither of you even think twice about. "The kids love you. You got kids who probably hate school to willing write paragraphs for you and...you're so, so confident in that room, baby..."

"I'm just doing my job..." You hide your face in his shirt for moment, feeling that familiar bashfulness come to the surface. You've never been good at accepting compliments, even from Quinn, and now is no exception even as his words fill you with a giddy kind of happiness.

"I know but...the way you just knew you had it, even when someone was off topic, you knew you could get it back on track, that was so fucking attractive and even the silly things, like the duck!" Your head shoots up so fast at the mention of the duck that you almost knock his chin with the top of your head, the look you give him is nothing short of confused.

"The duck is attractive?"

"Not the duck exactly, but the fact that you wanted to make History fun but also still make sure they're actually learning...and, and it was so you, y'now? So silly but endearing and...I don't know..." Quinn looks away from you, red flush high on his cheeks as he starts to regret ever saying anything, feeling mildly embarrassed about how into you he is. Which he knows is ridiculous because he should be into his girlfriend.

"You don't know? Sounds like you do, you're just embarrassed about how much you love me." You tease him, hand cupping his cheek to get him to face you again, even when he's embarrassed he can't help but lean into your touch a little more, cheek pressed fully into your palm.

"I do love you...watching you teach was like seeing our future."

"What do you mean?"

"Well, I thought..." There's that hesitancy again, flush bright on his skin, lip being bitten between his teeth. It's like he's worried he'll mess up if he speaks his mind, which is ridiculous because you love him so much you're not sure anything he could say would change that.

"You can't put me off, Quinn, if you're worried about saying the wrong thing...i'm too in deep to be put off, so, you thought?"

You wait, oh so patient, while he assesses you, judges whether you're telling the truth. Like he needs to double check that you're correct when you say you're in too deep.

"I was just thinking about how you're so patient with your students and how patient you'll be with our kids, y'know?"

"Our kids?" There's a giddy little sensation of butterflies flipping in your stomach, eyes widening in delight at the mention because how many relationships have you had where your exes refused to even consider children, where they didn't want that with you?

"Well, yeah, I'm going to marry you one day." It's so matter of fact as if he'd just said he was going shopping tomorrow or had a game on Saturday. A statement of objective truth as if there was no other option, no other outcome.

"Oh, you are?"

"If you let me. If you don't? I'm never going to marry anyone." You pull back from him, just enough to look at him, mouth slightly dropped open. He's dead serious, lips pursed, brows furrowed.

"Quinn."

"I mean it. I love you, you're so fucking amazing and I...seeing you in your element today made me realise how impossible it would be for me to fall in love with anyone else, to marry anyone else, to have a family with anyone else. I don't want anyone but you."

You let out a shaky breath, smile watery but pleased, full of love and affection.

"I...I guess it's a good thing then that I want to marry you one day. Can't have you dying alone, that would be sad." You're trying to lighten the mood, but the truth is you're so deeply touched, so in love with him that you hope he means it. If he breaks up with you, you're certain it'll break you for good because you were certain he was it for you too.

"Just to be clear this isn't a proposal, you're getting a proper proposal and it will be a surprise."

"You think you're sneaky enough to keep it secret?" Your arms wrap around his neck as the two of you shift, fingers playing with the dark curls at the nape of his neck.

"I think if I want something enough, i'll get it." Quinn's voice lowers in that way that has you raising your brows, cheeks warming as smirks down at you, green eyes peering at you from underneath unfairly long lashes.

"Oh?"

"Oh." You lean back against the couch, lowering yourself flat as Quinn crawls his way over you, arms bracketing your head on the couch beneath you. You reach a hand up to cup his jaw, scruff rough against your palm, the air around you feels charged.

He's the first to move, wasting little time before lowering his lips to yours. A soft press that deepens as your arms drag him closer, fingers curling in his hair tight. You're working on instinct when Quinn's tongue swipes across your bottom lip begging for entry, opening up for him as your legs wrap around his hips.

In that moment you are so very glad that you're never going to have to know what life is like without Quinn Hughes. That you'll always get to revel in the way he presses his whole weight onto you, the way his breath wavers when he pulls back just to catch his breath before diving back into you.

Maybe you're just lucky or maybe fate intervened, but you are so fucking glad you met Quinn Hughes and so fucking glad that he decided a random History teacher was more than enough for him for the rest of his life.

[kiwriteswords]

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.

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