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tbaluver · 2 months ago

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AH-AH-APHRODISIAC?!- The Love And DeepSpace Men

pairings in order: xavier x fem! reader, zayne x fem! reader, rafayel x fem! reader, sylus x fem! reader, caleb x fem! reader summary: you and your lover accidentally eat chocolates with aphrodisiacs on valentine's day night tags: small plot, p in v , desperate hot n needy a/n: hihi my lovelies! ⸜(｡˃ ᵕ ˂)⸝♡ here are my (late) chocolate gift to you for valentine's day! this one is a lil rushed bc i wanted to have a fluff and a smut written for this holiday so apologies! thank you to my beta reader @ilovemitsuya mwah ily (ෆ˙ᵕ˙ෆ)♡ anyways i hope you all enjoy reading ! (∩˃o˂∩)♡ cr. to the banners cafekitsune ! any likes and reblogs are always appreciated! enjoy!

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Xavier:

He closes his eyes, parting his lips slightly as you gently place the chocolate in his mouth, watching him savor the taste as he guesses what flavor the luxury Valentine’s chocolate box. With each correct guess, a kiss is exchanged but whoever gets it wrong has to eat another chocolate that they didn’t like. As the game progresses, each sweet kiss becomes more lingering and more urgent. The box sat untouched and the game remained forgotten as you both have something better to eat in mind.

It’s hard to think about how much exactly chocolates you and Xavier ate when you he’s fucking into your swollen pussy. He groans, spreading your legs to expose your wet cunt, your inner thighs coated with his cum. Your clit glistening in the moonlight as he circles it softly with the sensitive head of his cock, dragging it up and down. It hasn’t even been a minute until your bodies are set ablaze again, growing intense with every passing second you two aren’t connected. You both were so needy for each other, your senses completely heightened than any time you two were intimate. His hot girthy dick stretches you out so deliciously that it's gonna leave an imprint on your stomach.

Both your bodies are on fire as he desperately thrusts in and out of you as hard and fast as he can, tangled limbs just holding on to whatever you can hold as long as you’re touching each other.

His cock, pistons in and out of your weeping cunt at a relentless pace, both your visions fogging up with no thoughts other than relieving each other. A chorus of obscene noises spill out of both of you, all of it incoherent. Remnants of his cum seeps out of you due to the pacing of his thrusts, your cunt mercilessly filled.

You’re clamping down on his cock with so much desperation as you feel your orgasm approaching. They way you’re creaming on his cock, clenching around him with trembling legs, was sight only he can see and hear. He planned to make you see the stars but he saw them shining in your eyes instead, the tears welling up your eyes as he sets the animalistic pace over and over again until the burning heat dies down between you both.

Zayne:

Valentine's day, the day where you exchange and share one or two or maybe the whole box of chocolates together. You and Zayne swapped a few sweets and chocolate gifts but on your end, you ended up letting him indulge in his sweet tooth, giving him more than just a couple boxes. Neither of you gave much thought to the luxury box cover when you picked it up. One by one, each chocolate disappears from the box as you pick one up, taking a bite as you pass him the other half as he does the same for you. It didn’t long for the sweetness of the chocolate to go away, the heat in each other’s bodies growing every second as you both craved for something much more sweeter, abandoning the box of chocolates.

Clearly one or five more rounds wasn’t enough for this burning ache to go away. Minutes turned into hours as he poured his cum into you, dripping down to his balls and down to your thighs. No amount of position could put an end to the heat that seemed to crawl deeper into your core every second he pulled away from you. Your body temperatures together were so high it turned you two into a muddled mess. How could he possibly ignore his lover sobbing for him, begging for more, when he needed you just as much as you needed him?

He hovers over you, trying his best not to crush you in his hold. The once composed and restrained doctor has vanished tonight, both your senses completely heightened as he desperately explores the familiar path of your body.

His delicate, practiced and precise hands from years of surgery, rip and tug at your clothing, the urgency from the heat building in him. Each one of Zayne’s and your clothing were carelessly thrown across the house, leaving a messy trail to your shared bedroom. Marks and scratches cover his body as you try to reach for more, as if the hold you had on him wasn’t enough.

Your lips constantly chase after each other, pulling away just to catch your breaths. He rolls his hips against yours, the room filled with the sounds of your combined moans and the rhythm of your entangled bodies. His cock makes you spill sounds that you didn’t even know could come out of your mouth. Chest pressed against each other, everything had your head spinning, both of you full of primal need. His cock strokes all the right places inside you, his heavy balls smacking wetly against your cunt with every deep thrust he gives you. His thick pink sensitive head of his cock rubs your sweet spot so perfectly, sending waves of pleasure over your body. Hours and hours with no other thoughts than anything other than making you feel good and making that heat go away was his only priority.

Rafayel:

He bought you the most expensive box of chocolates, not looking at the brand or the printing on the packages but because he saw it was filled with pictures of assortment of sweets you’d love. He thought they were overpriced because of the luxury design and the fact that it was for Valentine’s day but with each bite, he found himself caving in for more. You both felt so warm, the warmth surging through your bodies that traveled down to your lower half. The more you both indulged, the more you both seemed to need something that was a much more sweet temptation.

You both were so hot, more than you two have ever been that the heat was enough to stop the cold weather from making you shiver. His eyes clenched shut as hot pants slip past his pretty lips, his mind fogging up as he feels your warm cunt wrap around him so perfectly, like always.

The only thing in his mind is you, your sweet cunt squeezing his cock like heaven sent and how you roll your hips against him oh so right.

He thinks you’re truly a work of art, filled with marks of him. You look so perfect whether it’s in front of him or behind him, painting such a pretty picture with your face in all the right angles as your face contorted in absolute pleasure.

You both roll and shift on the blanket, finding the perfect position that hits the right angles to relieve the throbbing heat between your legs. Everytime you take his buckets of his white warm seed, the burning ache always seems to come back. There is not a single part of your body that isn’t drenched from your mixed sweat, arousal or his cum.

Did someone bewitch you two? Did they think- Nevermind, he can’t think properly when you’re clenching down on him like this. He feels the way you flutter around him. Every squeeze of your cunt as he drags his cock along your walls, every drip of your arousal that coats his length, is as if he was truly part of you.

His skin tingles irritably, aching desperately for your touch even after a second without it. Even the small sounds that escape past your lips lure him in like a sailor listening to a siren's song. His thrusts grow faster, his hips slamming over and over again against yours as if his life duty was to repopulate Lemuria.

Sylus:

The night grew uncomfortably hot for you two, the ache between your legs was relentless and impossible to ignore. The cold breeze from the new city you two traveled too for a small getaway was not helping at all. You two didn’t drink much but the chocolates you were both gifted, disappeared between you both. Each bite melted in your mouths but soon the warmth settled over you both. The anticipation back to the suite was palpable, both of you greeted by a romantic rose trail scattered across the floor that led to a heart-shaped arrangement on the shared bed. As much as you wanted to appreciate this, you both seek- craved a remedy only you two could provide each other.

It didn’t take that long for that rose petal trail to be forgotten, scattered and kicked aside as you both stumble towards the bed, your lips hungrily chase after each other. Needy hands rip each other’s clothes off while your blazing bodies smash against each other, the rose petals jump off the bed once it feels the weight shift of you two fall onto it. He groans into your lips, pulling away to leave a wet trail down your neck, collecting the expensive perfume he’s gotten you on his tongue.

Sylus loves to take it slow with you, his favorite thing to do is explore your body as if he hasn’t before. But tonight, tonight his movements are rushed, desperate to see you, to feel you. Pure love still in his eyes, needy hands never really able to linger on spot for too long. No other thoughts but just you and how his body craves more and more.

The tip of his cock pushes his hot sticky mess back into your sopping cunt, groans escaping past his lips. Your walls were so sweet, so velvety, so intoxicating that the thought of those chocolates has given him an addiction from how much he can’t seem to pull away from you, brushes away from his mind.. How overpowering his deep thrusts would be, not caring at all if this bed broke or how the building shook.

His thick cock engulfed into the warmth of your clenching walls, his large hands intertwined with yours as he swallows all the sweet and pretty sounds that escape past your lips with the shove of his tongue, taking him deeper than you possibly could. His balls ram into your remorselessly, placing hot wet kisses down your neck. Your words are jumbled due to his cock pumping and out of you relentlessly from your heat as if it were to split you in half.

Your orgasm hits you hard, his following right after. His face contorts into pure pleasure, one of the best images to grace your eyes and ears as you breathlessly chant his name. While you take your time catching your breath, he’d let his fingertips graze your arm, hand cupping the side of your face while his thumb rubs along your cheek, feeling his dick twitch inside you again.

Caleb:

Dinner was going by smoothly, key word was, until something shifted in both your bodies. The special Valentine’s Day meal he prepared for you was devoured, your bright smile whenever you bit into the food was proof enough that each bite hit the spot. Until you both got to the desert, the chocolate covered strawberries recipe he found online he rushed while prepping dinner. A few bites in, the room seemed to grow hotter, your appetites shifting and craved something much more enticing.

He’s already a whimpering mess once you pull away from his lips, feeling like the distance between you two were a million miles apart. The touch of your needy hands to try and rip his clothes off was painfully slow. He needed more and he knew you did too.

What was in that recipe? How much did he eat? His dick is so hard he thinks it might just explode before he even has a chance to feel your soaked walls. His desperation was so palpable that his needy whines ring in your ear as he slips it in, ripping off your panties beforehand while babbling ‘sorry sorry need you please please’ and that he’ll promise to get you new ones next time. You barely catch any of his words, your mind fogging with each drag of his cock against your sweet spot. Breathless praises for you slip past his lips, fanning your ear with his warm breath, making your velvety walls flutter and tighten around him in response.

His hips increase in speed and power, his name breathlessly escaping your lips as he knocks the air out of your lungs. His cock rubbed your walls so deliciously, making you forget the heat for a second, just for a second.

Spurts of his hot white cum into your body was not enough to please the ache in your bodies. Caleb only whines your name, pounding into your poor pussy with a merciless pace. He feels so guilty knowing he takes his time, he always takes his time with you but he’s chasing a high so desperately that his body is on autopilot, moaning pathetically into your ears. The sounds of wet skin and skin fill the kitchen for hours and hours, the special dinner he planned in mind growing cold but the one he held in his embrace growing hotter by the minute.

a/n extra: hihi again! here is my fluff valentines day headcanons and kinda where the scene in the story takes place: Valentine's Day

my past works: masterlist pg. 1 , pg. 2

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meowdei · 4 months ago

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i adore you (can’t you see you’re meant for me?) — ft. sylus

sylus likes to sleep late in the mornings, and you like to admire him. the two are just a series of steps that bring you to where you are now: on top of him

word count. ❤︎ 4.7k words — it’s literally all pure filth with no plot idk what to say atp

before you read. ❤︎ female reader ; established relationship ; sleepy sylus ; banter and teasing ; reader rides his abs (do not look at me) ; praise kink (it goes both ways tbh) ; blow jobs ; cum eating ; reader has an obsession with his veins (it is her not me okay?) ; sylus wraps his hand around her throat (but no choking) ; body worship + one clit kiss ; nipple play ; morning sex ; unprotected vaginal sex ; creampie ; do not be fooled it is all pretty soft i promise

commentary. ❤︎ i am new to this game and i haven’t gotten too far go easy on me for this one :( i dedicate this to all my sylus loving nonnies in my inbox thanks for helping me figure out this game LOL. and kass. ily kass

Sylus sleeps more when the sun is out than when it’s not. You don’t mind it so much—not when the view is what it is.

(He’s pretty, and so is the sun. The two combined make for an even prettier picture. You think, if you weigh your options, there are certainly worse things out there than sitting beside your sleeping boyfriend and waiting for him to wake up.)

It’s hard to keep your hands to yourself, though. His hair is too tempting not to brush away from his face. And while your hand is right there, it’s a little impossible not to cup his cheek for a moment. And, well, if you’re already touching him, you might as well let your hand slide down to his chest and rub circles against the skin. He leans into your touch subconsciously anyway—it’s not hurting him. It’s helping.

(You like telling yourself plenty of things to justify your hand and his skin having an early morning rendezvous.)

“Bored, sweetie?” His voice is always deeper when laced with sleep than it usually tends to be. You stiffen, moving to pull your hand away, an apology already prepared on your lips for waking him when he catches your wrist, eyes still closed. “I didn’t say to stop, did I?”

“You’re ridiculous,” you huff, letting him guide your hand back to his bare chest. It rises and falls slowly, so warm and firm under your palm that it’s a little dizzying.

“Am I?” He cracks an eye open, “I was just enjoying a little tenderness. I wonder why I can’t ever seem to receive something so sweet when I’m awake.”

“Precisely this reason,” you say flatly. He raises a smug brow. Just to humor him, you add, “Your ego can’t handle it when you’re awake.”

“What, that you find me too irresistible not to touch?”

“Sylus, go back to sleep,” you grumble, shuffling away from him with a face that feels unbearably hot under his half-lidded gaze. “You’re easier to get along with that way.”

“I don’t know,” he all but purrs. In a swift motion—swift enough that you let out a shrill squeal—his hand tugs at your arm and pulls you close enough that he can hoist your body to sit on his lower belly. “We get along pretty well when we’re wide awake, don’t you think?”

His hand hikes up your (well, technically his) shirt and rests on your hip, nothing but the thin fabric of your panties separating you from him as you’re seated on top of him. You shiver lightly when his thumb caresses your hip bone, a satisfied hum pulling from his throat at the feeling of goosebumps rising against your skin.

“Sylus,” you breathe, squirming over him—but you can’t say much else because you cut yourself off with a soft gasp when you hear the distinct sound of something tearing.

Fabric.

More specifically, your fabric. Your underwear—which was a rather nice pair too, you think woefully—is torn into two pieces, one held in Sylus’s hand like some form of victory, while the other falls against his belly with nothing holding it together around your hips.

You blink. He gives you a large Cheshire grin.

“Sorry, sweetie,” he says, not so apologetically, “They were just in the way.”

“I liked those!” You hiss, glaring at him, “They were nice!”

“What, you don’t think I can buy you more? I could buy them faster than I could rip them, I’m sure.”

You have your doubts about that last part—but it’s still persuasive enough that you’re no longer as mad as you were just a moment ago. But you’re still petulant, pouting as you huff, “You ruin everything.”

“Mmh,” he hums, closing his eyes, voice still a low drawl from sleep as he says, “Are you sure? Because I can feel you dripping already, sweetheart.”

Shame floods your system quickly, but lust is faster. Stronger, too, perhaps—because you don’t have it in you to be ashamed for too long before you grow impatient. With a deeper pout, you press your hands against his chest, leaning lower until your mouth hovers over his.

“Can you blame me?” You breathe against his lips. “Just look at you.”

He stiffens. Just barely, of course. Just enough that you can hardly even detect it, but you do. You do because you know him. And you know that when Sylus teases, it’s really just to deflect from his need to shift the attention to yours—like he doesn’t want you just as bad. Like he’s not just as hard as you are wet in his boxers. Like he doesn’t need to feel you just as badly as you need to feel him.

But he likes to keep the upper hand. It starts with two hands on your hips, firmly squeezing them before slowly rocking them against his abs. Your bare cunt (courtesy of him destroying a perfectly good pair of panties) glides along the ridges and indents of his muscle. Very well-defined ridges and indents of muscle, too. You tense, letting out a shaky gasp as your clit rubs against his hard-planed physique.

“If you like it so much, why stop at just a look?” He chuckles, “You’re more than welcome to feel, too, sweetheart.”

He’s so sickeningly proud of himself, you can’t help but think bitterly as soon as your hips start grinding against him of their own accord. He’s so pleased and amused and deeply content with the sight of you falling apart over him. His eyes are hungry, and they don’t stray away from you for a single second. They don’t miss a single twist in your expression, nor do they have the decency not to stare shamelessly at the image of where your pussy meets his midsection, where your slick pools and coats his skin and makes it glisten as you make a mess on him.

He hums, large hands leaving your waist buried in their frames as they guide you at a slow, steady pace. “Bet that feels good, doesn’t it?” He grins—and oh, he’s aggravatingly happy as he laughs breathlessly, “You look like you’re about to fall apart. Don’t worry, I’m right here. You can’t fall far.”

You would say something smart if you could. Maybe even reach back and palm over his crotch that’s rudely tight against his boxers. But you can’t. Not when your clit rubs against his warm, heated skin and leaves jolts along your spine. All you can manage is a pathetic, “S-Sylus, please—”

“Oh? Please what? Please more?” He coos.

Something of a dull ache builds into this deep, throbbing need to feel your walls hug around something. To constrict around and latch onto something warm and big and full—something like him. Something like the way he fucks you into the mattress and makes you feel like he’s so deep in you, you can feel him in your throat.

That’s what you want—but of course, you’re naive if you think that’s what he’ll give. For now, at least. For now, he’ll tease, and tease, and tease until he can watch you crumble just the way he wants to witness. And you’re close to that, too—you know it, and so does he. He can tell by the way your wetness drips onto him in a messy pool, making your cunt drag against him easier, smoother. He can tell because he can all but feel the quiver of your walls clenching around nothing, empty and desperate for some sort of building friction. And he can especially tell because of your face—that devastating look on your face when you’re so close to the edge you can just practically cling to it with the tips of your fingers as it dangles teasingly in front of you.

“More,” you plead, “Want you. Want to feel you.”

“Oh, but you’re almost there,” he says in faux sympathy, soothing you with a sleepy, smug little grin. “Surely, you can take it just like this, can’t you? You’re better than that—I know you are.”

His words take you to the edge. You plummet off of it, in fact, practically collapsing against his chest as he holds you upright with a firm, strong grip and guides you through your orgasm. You gush around nothing, making a wet, sticky mess on his skin as you cum against him, grinding your clit as much as you can along every indent along his hard, built muscle.

“Sylus,” you whimper, “oh—f-fuck.” Your body quivers for a few more moments before you slump against him, burying your nose into his neck. “You’re despicable,” you bite the skin lightly.

He laughs. It’s low from the sleep that’s still clinging to his voice but boyish enough that your heart skips a beat. “Am I? You seemed to enjoy it.”

You shuffle to curl into him more, but your leg brushes against the bulge in his underwear—a small, barely-there sound pulls from his throat. Something caught between a gasp and a moan that makes you pause before you grin against the crook of his neck.

“Guess I should pay you back, hm?”

He watches, pupils dilated and eyes half-lidded as you pull away and kiss from his collarbone to his pecs. A rise of goosebumps litters his skin, too—just like they did on your skin earlier. You silently revel in that victory, making your way lower, lower, lower. But it’s painfully, obnoxiously, ridiculously slow.

“Don’t be a tease, sweetie,” he hisses, grunting as you kiss down his torso, the well-defined muscle of his abs flexing under every touch of your lips.

“Who, me?” You blink, batting your lashes sweetly, “Oh, I’d never, baby.”

Your lips graze over the skin that’s still marked with your essence as you kiss and suck along his torso, a trail of marks left in your wake and declaring him yours. You can taste yourself from just a few moments ago—the moments when you rocked your hips into him and fell apart, when he held you through it with a sleepy smirk. The image of his smug face makes you glance up at him with a flustered look, and almost as if he already knows, his gaze is on you. Waiting. Smug here in person just as much as he was in your memories.

“What a naughty thing,” he drawls, teasing glint in his eyes. “Did you get a taste of yourself? I’m sure now you have an idea of why I find it so…addictive, don’t you?”

He’s filthy. Cocky, too. And more often than not, he’s absurdly prepared with smart comments. Just to even the playing field a little, you decide he could use a little relentless teasing of his own.

“Oh, I can think of a thing or two just as addictive,” you smile innocently—and just like that, you lean in to kiss against a pale, blue line across his porcelain skin, pulling away to admire the veins that mark his body. Something in you aches for him all over again—something that you don’t like to admit happens from just the sight of something like his veins. But you pay careful attention to them anyway, leaning down and pressing soft, feather-like kisses against his lower belly, feeling him stiffen tightly underneath you as his breath gets labored and slightly erratic.

He’s impatient. You glance down at him, cock hard and strained against his boxers, the beginnings of a wet patch dampening the skin from pre cum dribbling from his tip. You almost feel bad.

Almost.

“Don’t you ever get tired of your games?” He grits, involuntarily twitching his hips to chase some friction.

“I could ask you the same question,” you snort.

“Yet, it seems I’m always the one spoiling you,” he retorts.

There’s some bit of merit to that, you suppose. So you give in, humming as you kiss along his v-line, one finger looping under his waistband while giving a small tug downwards. He lifts his hips instantly, letting you pull off the offensive piece of clothing that separates him from your touch.

It’s flushed, his cock. Swollen, flushed with a pretty rosy shade at the tip, and glistening with leaking pre cum. You lean and give the thick vein along the underside a series of kisses tracing upwards before pressing a delicate one to his tip. He groans, and his cock twitches at the contact, his eyes fluttering closed as he bites his lip.

“Pretty,” you observe, smiling softly at the sight of him.

He scoffs, lips almost a pout as they curl into a frown. “Then do something about it,” he insists.

You think you’ve sufficiently teased him enough, so you do—you take him into your mouth slowly, inch by inch, as your tongue and the wet heat of your mouth envelop him and make him tense for a moment before his body goes slack. A deep, throaty groan rings through the room, the sound making something do a flip in your lower belly.

“Fuck,” he whispers, breathing heavily. “You…you’re so good at this.”

The praise does something to you that you’re not proud of. Some flash of an ache deep in your core that you don’t want to focus on, so you pay closer attention to him instead. Your tongue swirls over his tip as your head bobs up, tracing down that pretty vein of his as you take him down your throat once more. What you can’t fit in your mouth—because there is enough of him that you can’t fit in your mouth—you pump with your fist, wrapped around the base of his shaft.

Sylus has a lot of veins. You admire them long enough to know them all by heart. The ones along his hands that you love to trace when you hold them in yours. The ones along his arm that you love to eye when he’s working out. The ones along his abdomen that you trace every once in a while with the tip of your finger when you have him to yourself in private. And the long, pretty one along this inner thigh—the one you see only when you’re like this: between his spread-out legs with your mouth around his cock.

Your free hand moves to lay over this thigh, gently rubbing into the skin as if to anchor him as he throws his head back and groans. Your eyes are trained on him, staring up at the twists of pleasure in his expression and the crinkles in his eyes as he closes them tightly and moans. But you don’t have to look at your hand to know your thumb is tracing along that vein. You know it better than you know yourself, you think—his body is so easy to memorize. So easy to get to know and keep ingrained in your brain forever.

His thigh flexes under your touch, and you hum around him, the vibrations around his length making his breath hitch as he curses under his breath.

You pull away with nothing but a string of saliva connecting you to him, his eyes glancing down at you sharply for the interruption. But you smile, equal parts soft and equal parts smug. Gently, you press a wet kiss to his thigh, right over the same pale blue line you traced just moments ago, as you murmur, “You’re so pretty. You know that?”

“I’m flattered,” he says tightly, warily staring down at you with hungry, desperate eyes. “I’m sure you can save the flattery for later, though, can’t you?”

“But what if you think I’m just using you for your body?” You gasp dramatically, “Can’t have that, you know. I have to appreciate you more.”

“Teasing can easily be reciprocated, you know, sweetheart,” he grits, “Or have you forgotten that so quickly?”

“Oh, I’m aware. I’ll take my chances.” Your lips trail up his thigh until it reaches the base of his cock. You press another kiss against it, murmuring a quiet, “I love you.”

His cock twitches—it’s like it responds to every soft word of affection and every littlest bit of praise. For all the denying and for all the impatience, too, Sylus loves the attention. Thrives under it, even—it does something to his ego that you know you probably shouldn’t help stroke, but you can’t help it.

You press one more kiss to his swollen tip before murmuring, “Mine,” and then you take him down your throat once more—faster this time. Your head bobs up and down his length, lips wrapped around him as you swallow every now and then.

His hand flies to his hair, tugging at the soft, silvery strands as he groans deeply, hips pushing up to meet your pace and thrust deeper into your mouth.

“Fuck, that’s it,” he hisses, “Just like that, sweetheart—shit.”

He spills down your throat not too long after. Warm, sticky ropes of cum that paint your mouth with every twitch of his cock, filling you enough that some spills from the corner of your mouth, dripping along your face and collecting at your chin. You swallow what you can, working him through his orgasm, listening to the sweet, lust-hazed sounds he makes as pleasure burns through every nerve of his body.

He slumps back when he’s finished, panting with an arm over his eyes while you wipe your chin and swallow before climbing up his body and slumping on top of him. He wraps an arm around your waist instantly, humming lowly as his large, warm hand rubs into your lower back.

“Had your fun?” He raises a brow.

You grin cheekily, kissing his jaw as you murmur, “I think you had more fun than me, but what do I know?”

He chuckles. It’s low, and the sound vibrates through his chest so that you can feel it under you. There’s a small bead of sweat along his temple, and his face is flushed a soft shade of scarlet that you admire—it brings out the deep crimson of his eyes even more from here.

“You’re so pretty,” you whisper.

“How many times will you remind me of that?” He asks, bringing a hand to your chin, tilting your face up, and inspecting you carefully. “You’re making me feel bad. I haven’t reminded you how stunning you are nearly enough times.”

“You could always start now,” you wink, “It’s never too late.” He laughs again. Deep, genuine, soft. Sylus is a lot of things. You think your favorite is in love.

“Do I really have to remind you?” He whispers, voice husky as he slowly shifts your body to lay under his, flipping you over as he hovers over you. “You don’t already know how beautiful you are—how you drive me insane?”

“A reminder wouldn’t hurt,” you blink innocently. “What if you’re secretly getting tired of me?”

His eyes flash with something dangerous at that. You only meant it as a joke, of course—he loves deeply. So deeply, you don’t think you’d escape him even if you wanted to. (Not that you do, of course. You’re quite happy knowing your place is beside him.) You know he’s never tired of you—quite the opposite, in fact.

But you like teasing him. Getting under his skin enough that his hand moves to your throat and wraps around it firmly—not quite tight enough to block your air flow, but enough to serve as a light warning.

“You think I would get tired of you?” He challenges. Offended. In disbelief. “Tired of this?”

Just like that, the familiar sound of fabric tearing rings through your ears again. It’s a sound you seem to be getting more and more used to the longer you date Sylus. And yet, every time, it pulls the same sound of disbelief from your throat as you gasp at his audacity. But before you can speak, before you can scold him for ripping your (his) favorite shirt straight off of your body, his hands curve around your tits, molding against them perfectly as if they were made to cup them. His thumbs roll over your nipples, humming in approval as you whine softly at the feeling.

“Sylus,” you pant. (Regretfully, you think that’s the only collection of syllables you can manage anymore on this fine morning.) “W-wait—”

“Wait?” He pretends to gasp in shock, “But we’re just getting started. I was just about to show you all my favorite parts of you—they never get old. Would you like to see?”

He doesn’t wait for an answer. Instead, he leans down, latching his lips around one pebbled nipple, sucking and nipping lightly at it as his thumb rolls over and pinches the other one. Your back arches into his touch, a soft moan spilling from your lips as he grins against your chest.

“Here’s a favorite, for starters,” he murmurs. “And here—” he kisses along your belly and makes his way to your hip bone, biting lightly at the flesh and making your breath hitch, “—this is certainly a memorable place too, isn’t it? Can’t keep my hands off of it.”

Finally, his hands slowly pull your legs apart, exposing the wet, dripping mess that is your cunt, folds puffy and waiting for him. He presses a soft, lingering kiss to your clit, smiling at the small whimper you let out from the sensitive touch before he says through a low, breathy whisper, “This, however…this has to be my favorite part of all.”

“Okay,” you whine, pulling at his arms with a plea, “I get it, okay? I need it, please.”

“Well then,” he huffs out a soft laugh, “Who am I to deny?”

He’s level with you before you can blink—mouth on yours with a heavy, heated kiss that sends your brain into a fogged state as you kiss back. All you can register is soft flesh, pressure against your mouth, the taste of his tongue on yours, and hot and heavy breath seeping into your lungs while he inhales yours. It’s slow, the way he kisses you—but still undeniably needy. He chases after your mouth as soon as you pull away to breathe, a soft gasp pushing past his throat at the loss of contact. As if it might kill him. As if he might die without your breath down his throat, keeping him alive.

“Do you want it, sweetheart?” He breathes erratically, “Because I don’t think I can wait much longer.”

“I want it,” you practically beg, “I want you.”

He’s hard again—stiff between his legs and throbbing at your words enough that his cock does a little jerk on its own, like it’s responding to you itself. He drags it along your entrance, rolling slow circles against your folds and coating his tip in your slick, earning a sharp inhale from you as he groans at the teasing friction against the head of his cock.

“I always want you,” he breathes.

He pushes past your folds as he speaks the words against your mouth, letting you swallow up the low moan he lets out as your walls wrap around him little by little. It’s painstakingly slow. Inch after inch after inch until the blunt head of his length presses deep into you, nudging against a soft, sensitive spot in your walls that makes your whole body react with a quiver. He curves into you perfectly, thick and deep and so, so full.

“Ready?” He smiles tenderly, gripping the fat of your thighs and hooking them around his waist, leaning to kiss one of your knees as you melt into the mattress and nod.

“Please,” you whine, “Need it—need you.”

There’s a sharp thrust of his hips at that—he pulls out until he’s almost completely left your warm cunt before slamming back in past your folds, pressing mercilessly against your sensitive spot. It’s partly because he has your body memorized but mainly because his body is practically made to mold into you. It’s like he fits you perfectly, curves into the shape of your body like the shape of his was hand-made to pair with yours.

When Sylus fucks you is when you see past his exterior the most. When his eyes hold the most emotion, staring at you like he can’t believe you’re his. When his hands shake for once because he doesn’t know if he deserves the weight of you in his hold. When his breath is the most labored and uncontrolled because you steal every breath from his lungs, and selflessly, he gives up air for you. When sweat coats his skin and makes his hair cling to his forehead because when he loves you is when his body is most responsive, most affected.

When Sylus fucks you is when you love yourself most. Because how could you not when he pays such close attention to you? Thumb finding your clit, rubbing slow, teasing circles just the way he knows drives you crazy, watching your face closely for every reaction? How could you not when close is not nearly close enough, when he presses his chest against yours and buries his face into your neck to all but melt under your skin? It makes you feel desirable. Beautiful. Lovable.

So easy to want.

So easy to lose control to.

So easy to need.

“You feel that, don’t you?” He mumbles, panting harshly as he grunts when you squeeze around him at the sound of his labored voice. “Feel me? How badly I need you? How crazy you drive me? Feel how hard I am for you? Don’t tell me you think I’d ever get tired of that.”

“I know,” you whine, “I know, I know, baby—I promise.”

You let out a small squeal when he angles your leg higher, thrusting deeper into your cunt, pressing harshly where you need him most with his tip in a dizzyingly punishing pace and a harshly rough deepness that makes your vision blur. Almost go blank, even.

“Tell me you love me,” he demands.

“I love you!”

“Tell me you need me,” he adds, so selfish and needy for your approval. To know you’re nothing without him like he’s nothing without you.

“N-need…fuck, I need you,” you stumble over your words as your orgasm comes closer and closer, creeping up on you enough that you can’t catch your breath fast enough to keep up with him.

“Tell me you’re mine.” This time, it comes out as almost a plea.

“Yours,” you sob, body on the precipice of breaking all over again, “Yours, yours, yours.”

You cum as soon as you say it. Harder than maybe ever—it’s like being reminded that you’re his makes your body react tenfold. You fall apart with a shrill cry of his name, wrapping your arms around his neck and pulling him into a bruising kiss as your nails press indents into his skin.

He groans in pleasure at the slight pain, melting against your lips, an open-mouthed, wet kiss working him up to his own orgasm. His first one was a slow build-up—but this one happens quickly, coming out of nowhere and hitting him full force, his hips stuttering for a moment and losing rhythm as he sloppily thrusts into you.

Yours. Yours. Yours.

Your voice rings in his ears, aiding him through his pleasure as he fucks his thick, sticky release deep into your folds, sharp thrusts that match the harsh twitching of his cock.

“Ngh,” he grunts, “Sh-shit, sweetheart.”

Finally, when you’re both done, breaths frenzied and harsh as you try to make up for the lost air in your lungs, he slumps over your body and hides his face into the crook of your neck, practically purring as your shaky hand buries into his sweaty locks and strokes the soft, silvery strands.

It’s quiet, just the sound of your breathing eventually shifting from heavy to slowed as you finally catch it, the quivering of your body dissipating, too. Your fingers journey their way from his scalp to the back of his neck, lightly making a feather-soft trail along his bare back as he shivers from the touch.

“Don’t fall asleep after I showed you a good time,” you pout, “It’s rude.”

“You were the one that woke me for a good time,” he mumbles, amused. “That’s equally as rude.”

“I did not,” you huff, “You were the one who escalated it. I just wanted a peaceful morning.”

“I don’t know,” he grins against your skin, pressing a chaste, warm peck where it's closest to his lips, “I’m feeling pretty at peace, wouldn’t you agree?”

so uh..........basically i got the card where u measured him for clothes and i saw a vein in his abs and lost my mind. so. here is the product of that. i REFUSE to be told this is not a completely totally normal reaction. thank you!

#meowdei.writing #meowdei.longfics #sylus x reader #sylus x mc #sylus x you #sylus x y/n #sylus smut #love and deepspace sylus #love and deepspace x reader #lds x reader #lads x reader #l&ds x reader #lnds x reader #love and deepspace smut #lds smut #lads smut #l&ds smut #lnds smut #l&ds sylus

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vamptizm · 2 months ago

Text

hotel — p. bueckers

pairing : paige bueckers x notre dame! reader (+ slight olivia miles x reader)

synopsis : after a win against uconn, you find yourself caught in a tug-of-war between your on and off ex and one of your biggest rivals, who you simply can’t stay away from no matter how hard you try.

warnings : do NOT read or interact with this if uncomfortable, i beg that u just block me. smut with a sprinkle of plot. oral r!receiving. strap r!receiving. praise. hint of size kink. slight breeding kink. squirting. toxic reader x paige. toxic reader x olivia. hannah hidalgo. allusions to homophobia. lmk if i forgot anything.

word count : 8k

note : this wasn’t meant to be a 1k special butttt since i hit that yesterday, why not? (thank u sm btw ily) this is probably the filthiest and most time consuming shit i’ve ever written and some parts are a bit messy so i apologize. i’m VERYYY new to writing smut pls go easy on me.

The fourth quarter was winding down, and the air inside Joyce Center was electric. The roar of the home crowd thundered in your ears as you felt your pulse quicken. Notre Dame was already ahead, the scoreboard a glaring reminder of the 10 point deficit UConn couldn't seem to close. But even with victory all but secured, there was no room to let up. Not now.

You dribbled upcourt after catching the rebound Sonia passed your way, only to feel the clumsy pressure of UConn's freshman, Sarah, on your hip. Her hands reached in too aggressively, and the sharp sound of the whistle sliced through the tension. A foul.

The crowd erupted in cheers, and you couldn't help but grin, though you kept your expression controlled. As you stepped up to the free-throw line, the weight of the moment settled on your shoulders. This was your chance to widen the gap and put the game even further out of reach.

You bounced the ball twice, breathing in deeply to steady yourself. But as you readied for the shot, you felt it—those piercing blue eyes on you, unwavering, cutting through the noise like a laser. You didn't have to look to know who they belonged to. Paige Bueckers. She was watching you the way a hawk watches its prey, and though you refused to meet her gaze, you could feel the intensity of it prickling at your skin.

The ball left your hands in a smooth arc, and the net snapped satisfyingly as it dropped through. One down. You bounced the ball again, shaking off the weight of her stare. When the second shot swished cleanly, the crowd's roar grew louder, and your team swarmed you with high-fives.

But you didn't let yourself celebrate. Not yet. There were still minutes left on the clock, and even with the lead, you knew better than to relax.

The game pressed on. Sarah missed a three-point attempt on UConn's next possession, and Olivia held the ball at the top of the arc, scanning the court with her signature calculating gaze. You hovered near the left wing, your focus trained on her movements, when Paige sidled up next to you, just close enough that her voice could cut through the noise.

"Bet you feel real good about yourself, huh?" she murmured, her tone sharp enough to slice through the roaring crowd.

You didn't flinch, didn't even look at her. Instead, you let a small, sarcastic smile curve your lips, keeping your eyes on the ball as Olivia dribbled. "For beating your ass? Guess so. Not that big of an accomplishment."

Paige scoffed, the sound low and unimpressed. "Cute." Her grin mirrored yours, though hers was sharper, more cutting. You could feel her ego bruising beneath the surface, but she hid it well.

It was a moment of mutual irritation, of subtle jabs disguised as casual banter, and you could feel the tension humming between you like a live wire. It wasn't new, this rivalry, this constant push-and-pull. Paige had a way of getting under your skin, but you weren't about to let her know that. Not tonight.

Out of the corner of your eye, you noticed Olivia's gaze snapping to the two of you. Her brown eyes were narrowed, her jaw tight as she watched the interaction unfold. She didn't like it. She didn't like Paige standing so close to you, speaking to you like that, her body angled in a way that felt too familiar, too charged.

Paige noticed it too. Of course, she did. Her smirk deepened as she leaned in just slightly, her voice dropping to a murmur that only you could hear. "Your girl doesn't look too happy about me talking to you. Think she's scared I'll fuck you better again?"

Your breath caught, and your head snapped toward her instinctively, your eyes locking with hers. That smirk—infuriating and self-assured—was still plastered across her face. It was as if she was daring you to react, to say something that would prove she'd struck a nerve.

The brief glance you gave Paige was all it took for Olivia to lose focus. Her frustration boiled over, visible in the way her movements became jerky and imprecise. When she shifted her weight to drive toward the basket, the ref's whistle blew again—this time for a travel.

The ball left Olivia's hands too late, sailing toward the rim and missing entirely, and the crowd erupted in jeers. She looked furious, her glare bouncing between you and Paige as if you were both to blame.

Paige chuckled softly, shaking her head. "Guess she's not handling the pressure too well." Her voice was smug, dripping with satisfaction.

You wanted to fire back, to wipe that cocky grin off her face, but the tension in Olivia's eyes stopped you. There was too much at stake—on the court, off the court. So, you swallowed your retort, turning your attention back to the game.

But even as play resumed, you couldn't shake the weight of Paige's words or the way her presence lingered like an itch you couldn't scratch. She might have been your rival, but in moments like those, she felt like so much more.

And that was a problem.

The ball was in play again, and UConn wasn't ready to give up just yet, even as the seconds dwindled down. Sarah got the inbound pass, quickly tossing it over to Kaitlyn, who barely held on under the Irish defense. Kaitlyn, in turn, sent the ball to Paige.

You watched as Paige, ever-calculated, tried to weave through defenders with her signature finesse. Her focus was sharp, every movement deliberate, but as she went up for the shot, Olivia was there, her body colliding with Paige's in a hard foul. The whistle blew, sharp and decisive.

Paige stumbled slightly but steadied herself, exhaling through her nose as she stepped toward the free-throw line. And that's when Olivia brushed past her, her voice low but unmistakably venomous. "Back off."

It wasn't clear if the ref heard it, but Paige definitely did. Her lips twitched, almost forming a smile, but she kept her composure, though you could tell she was simmering beneath the surface. She wanted to laugh—mockingly, sharply, just enough to dig under Olivia's skin—but instead, she shook her head in amusement, her voice calm and cutting as she shot back, "Not my fault she loves it over here."

The words were quiet, not loud enough to be picked up by the cameras or refs, but the way Olivia's shoulders stiffened told you she heard them loud and clear. You could see her jaw clench, though she kept her expression neutral, refusing to let Paige's jab get the best of her.

As Paige prepared for her free throws, Olivia was already trying to argue with the ref, gesturing in frustration. You rolled your eyes subtly, but the irritation was clear. This wasn't new—Olivia's inability to let things go, her need to control every little aspect of the game (and sometimes, your life).

Paige took a deep breath, her hands steady as she dribbled the ball once, twice. She exhaled and let the first shot fly, the ball swishing cleanly through the net. Despite her calm exterior, you could tell the frustration and disappointment of the impending loss were bubbling under her surface. She glanced at you out of her peripheral vision for a split second before refocusing.

The second shot wasn't as lucky. It bounced off the rim, and before anyone else could react, Hannah Hidalgo snagged the rebound. She dribbled it out for the remaining 15 seconds, much to your annoyance.

You resisted the urge to roll your eyes again, but Hannah had a way of getting to you that no one else did. Ever since she joined the team, the 5'6 sophomore had been too loud, too comfortable in her narrow-minded opinions. It was no secret that the two of you didn't get along—especially after a handful of snide comments she'd made about your relationship with Olivia. Comments that weren't just about your incompatibility as a couple but targeted your sexuality with thinly veiled bigotry.

The buzzer sounded, and the tension in your chest released in a wave of satisfaction. You'd won. The Irish had defeated UConn, and the victory felt as sweet as ever. The team quickly swarmed each other, exchanging high-fives and celebratory shouts, but Olivia went straight to you, pulling you into your usual post-game hug.

This time, though, it was different. Her grip was tighter, her touch lingering in a way that felt less like a celebration and more like a claim. Her hand slid lower down your back than you were comfortable with, her gaze locking with Paige's as if daring her to look away.

It was possessive. It was unnecessary. And it was far too public.

You stiffened, your eyes narrowing as you subtly pulled away. "Don't do that in public again," you said firmly, your voice low enough that only she could hear. "Especially not now."

Olivia's jaw tensed, but she didn't argue. She let you go, and you moved to join the line as the teams lined up to shake hands.

The tension was palpable as Olivia and Paige met briefly in the line, their glares sharp and unyielding. No words were exchanged, but the animosity between them was unmistakable.

And then it was your turn. As you reached Paige, you could see the loss weighing on her. For all her bravado, it was clear she hated this, hated losing, hated being on the other side of your rivalry tonight. Her pride was bruised, but she held herself together.

"Good game," you said, forcing yourself to set aside your rivalry for the briefest moment.

Paige's lips quirked into a small, almost condescending smirk. "Yeah, good game, princess." Her tone was laced with her usual sharpness, but something in her eyes softened, just for a second.

The brief contact as you moved past each other sent a shiver down your spine, your skin buzzing at the memory of her hands on you the last time you'd hooked up. It shouldn't have affected you—not now, not here—but it did.

And as you walked off the court, you couldn't help but wonder if she felt it too.

A few hours had passed since the game, but the adrenaline still thrummed in your veins, mixing with the exhaustion that clung to your limbs. You had showered, changed into something comfortable, and spent the last hour staring at the ceiling, hoping sleep would come and erase the memory of what had happened earlier.

The fight with Olivia had been brief but sharp—words exchanged in hushed yet heated tones, the air between you tense with something unresolved. She had wanted to try again. You had told her you weren't sure and needed time to think, and she hadn't taken it well. It wasn't a screaming match, but it didn't need to be. The weight of it was enough to settle over your chest, pressing down like a brick.

So now, you lay on your bed, eyes closed, willing yourself into unconsciousness. But your mind wouldn't shut off.

Then, a sharp ding shattered the silence.

You sighed, exhaling through your nose as you reached for your phone, internally scolding yourself for not turning on Do Not Disturb. The glow of the screen cast light across your face as you blinked down at the notification.

Paige Bueckers: u sleeping?

Your heart stuttered for half a second. You had told yourself a while ago that you'd block her. That you should block her. But you never did. Something—something—always held you back.

Your thumbs hovered over the keyboard before you typed out a response.

You: no. can’t sleep.

You could've left it at a simple ‘no’, but you didn't.

Another ding. You barely had time to lock your phone before the next message popped up.

Paige Bueckers: i can help u with that mama

You inhaled sharply. Your grip on your phone tightened, hesitating for a second longer than you should have. You knew better. You always knew better. Getting involved with Paige—hooking up with Paige—was never a good idea.

And yet, your fingers moved before your brain could stop them.

You: send the address.

As soon as the message sent, you were up, already throwing a hoodie over your head and stepping into sweatpants. Your shoes went on next as you grabbed your keys.

You made it to the door before a voice broke the silence.

"Where are you going?"

You turned to see your roommate peering at you from her bed, brows furrowed in mild curiosity.

Your grip tightened around the doorknob. You thought for a second, then shrugged.

"I'ma go get laid. Don't wait up."

The car ride to the hotel was short. Too short for your taste.

Too short for you to think, to reason, to talk yourself out of this. Maybe if the drive had been longer, if you had even ten more minutes, you would have turned around. You would have gone back to your dorm, maybe even knocked on Olivia's door, tried to fix things in the morning like a rational person. But you didn't.

Instead, you found yourself standing in the elevator, your reflection staring back at you in the polished steel doors, wearing an expression you barely recognized.

Regret? Anticipation? Something in between?

It didn't matter. The damage was done.

You could still feel the receptionist's eyes on you as you'd walked through the lobby, her polite yet knowing smile burning into the back of your mind. It had been awkward, like she had somehow pieced together your entire life story just from the way you carried yourself. The way you had hesitated. The way your smile had felt forced, almost shameful.

Now, as you stood in front of the hotel room door—room 69, because of course Paige would pick that—you didn't find the irony so funny anymore.

You lifted your fist, knocked lightly against the wood, and took a slow inhale.

The door swung open almost instantly, as if she had been waiting right on the other side.

Paige stood before you, every inch of her revealed in slow, agonizing detail the wider the door opened.

Her blonde hair was down, slightly wavy from air-drying after her shower. You rarely saw it like this—only in pictures that would randomly pop up on your feed, a rare sight that always made you pause longer than you should. The game-day braids were gone, leaving her looking softer than usual. But there was nothing soft about the way she stood there now, leaning against the doorframe, her sharp blue eyes scanning you like she already knew what was going through your mind.

She was in a black Nike sports bra, her toned stomach on full display, a pair of loose gray UConn sweatpants slung low on her hips. Just low enough to reveal the waistband of her Calvin Klein boxers.

You swallowed.

The glasses were new. Purple frames perched on the bridge of her nose, somehow making her look even more unfairly attractive. You hated that about her. How effortless it all was. How she made every single thing—every little detail about herself—feel like it existed solely to mess with you.

"Hey, pretty girl."

Her voice was silky smooth, quiet, edged with something that made your skin prickle.

You inhaled sharply, forcing yourself to look at anything but the infuriating smirk tugging at her lips. The way she stood there, relaxed, confident, like she knew you had already lost this battle before it even started.

And maybe you had.

You weren't sure what came over you. One second, you were standing in the doorway, debating every decision that had led you here. The next, you were walking inside, wordless, your body moving before your mind could stop it.

Paige stepped aside instinctively, closing the door behind you, and that was when it truly hit you.

The reality of what you were doing.

What you were about to do.

A shaky exhale left your lips. You tilted your head back for a second, staring at the ceiling, as if praying for something—anything—to pull you out of this. To stop you from ruining whatever restraint you had left.

But then you looked back at her.

At Paige, who was standing there, watching you with those eyes that had already picked you apart, dissected every thought racing through your head.

And just like that, you broke.

The space between you disappeared in an instant. You grabbed her, pulled her in, crashing your lips against hers like you had something to prove—like you were trying to drown out the part of yourself that was still screaming for you to stop.

Paige reacted immediately. Her hands were already on you, already pulling you in closer, as if she had been waiting for this, as if she had known all along that you would give in.

Her arms wrapped around your waist, strong and unyielding. Yours found their way around her neck, your fingers tangling into the soft waves of her hair, gripping onto something—anything—to keep yourself from completely losing control.

You were already lost.

And maybe you had been from the very start.

Paige's arms tightened around your waist, her grip firm, possessive. The warmth of her hands seeped through your sweatshirt, but it wasn't enough for her. She wanted more. Slowly, deliberately, she pushed the fabric upward, just enough to slide her hands underneath.

The difference was instant—her skin against yours, her palms warm and steady as they roamed over your sides. It sent a shiver up your spine, one she undoubtedly felt but didn't acknowledge. Instead, she just pulled you in closer, deepening the kiss, letting the taste of whatever candy she had been eating linger on your tongue.

What started out controlled, yet purposeful, quickly turned into something else.

Hotter. Messier.

Neither of you had moved from the door. There was no rush—just the slow, torturous unraveling of restraint with every passing second. Paige kissed you like she had something to prove, like she wanted to pull every last ounce of hesitation from your body and leave you with nothing but her.

It wasn't until your lungs burned for air that she finally pulled back, her lips slick and parted, her breathing uneven. Her hands never left your skin, but something about the way she looked at you made your stomach tighten.

You barely had time to process it before she reached up, pulling her glasses off and tossing them onto the couch nearby. Carelessly. Effortlessly. She never took her eyes off you, not even once.

And just as quickly as she had pulled away, she was dragging you back in.

Her hands gripped your waist as she kissed you harder, rougher, her body guiding yours backward without breaking contact. She moved with purpose, leading you step by step until the back of your knees hit the bed.

You gasped softly as you lost your balance, falling backward onto the mattress. Paige didn't waste time. The second you were down, she was on you, hands sliding to your sides, fingers pressing into your ribcage. With barely any effort, she lifted you, manhandling you further up the bed until your head nearly hit the pillows.

Your breath hitched.

You hadn't expected her to be this eager, this physical. But she was careful—controlled, even in her hunger.

Paige climbed onto the bed, hovering over you with that sharp, unrelenting gaze.

Her hands found the hem of your sweatshirt again, tugging at it slightly. "Can I take this off?" she asked, her voice even lower than before.

You nodded, surprised that she had even bothered to ask. Normally, she wouldn't need to. One look was all it ever took.

The blonde didn't waste time. In one swift motion, she pulled the sweatshirt up, dragging it over your head and arms as you arched your back to help. The cool air prickled against your heated skin, but the sensation barely registered before Paige was on you again.

Her lips found your neck, hot and open-mouthed, each kiss deliberate, each drag of her teeth enough to make your breath stutter.

Then she spoke.

"Does y'girl know you're here?"

The question sent a sharp, electric jolt through you.

Not because she cared.

Because she didn't.

You took a shaky breath, trying to ground yourself, trying to find your voice. "Not my girl," you managed to say. "And no."

Paige smirked against your skin, the curl of her lips sending a fresh wave of heat through you.

"She'll know by the time I'm done with you, mama."

Before you could even think of a response, before you could argue or deny the implication behind her words, she was back on you—biting, sucking, marking, until you were sure she had already made good on that promise.

Paige's lips never left your skin, moving lower, trailing slow, open-mouthed kisses along the curve of your neck and down to your collarbones. Each press of her lips was deliberate, her tongue flicking out to soothe where she had nipped, her breath warm against your skin.

But it wasn't just her lips.

Her hands roamed freely, gliding over every inch of exposed skin, her fingers tracing lazy, feather-light patterns against your sides. The contrast of her large, veined hands against your body sent a shiver through you, anticipation curling in your stomach.

She knew exactly what she was doing.

Her mouth traveled further, ghosting over the tops of your breasts, the thin fabric of your cropped tank offering little protection from the heat of her lips. She didn't rush, didn't hurry—she took her time, dragging her teeth against sensitive skin, biting just enough to leave her mark before soothing it with her tongue.

A sharp inhale escaped you, followed by a soft, airy whimper that you tried—and failed—to bite back.

Paige only smirked against your skin.

Her fingers slipped lower, brushing over the waistband of your sweatpants, teasing, testing. Your breath hitched when she hooked her fingers inside, tugging just slightly—just enough to make your pulse race.

She kept her eyes on you as she kissed down, lower, lower, her lips brushing over your stomach, your body tensing under her touch. Each kiss stole more of your breath, her movements painfully slow, torturous in their precision.

She was in complete control. And the worst part?

You wanted her to be.

The moment your sweatpants hit the ground, it became real. Her lips trailed down further, torturously slow and calculated until her path was blocked by the waistband of your panties. But did that stop Paige? No. Instead of ridding you of them like she had done with your pants mere minutes ago, she continued her actions, now placing kisses over the thin material.

Other than the sounds of shuffling on bedsheets and your breathing that started to turn into quiet pants, it was a cathedral of silence. Her lips halted right above your core, her eyes searching yours before placing another kiss over your clothed cunt, the growing wet patch impossible to miss. A small whine escaped your lips at not only that, but the sight of her altogether. The way her lips were already slightly glossed by you.

"Already wet for me, baby?" She teased, mouth hovering over your core as if she was speaking directly to it instead of you. And that familiar, infuriating smirk made you wanna roll your eyes at her.

"Shut up." You mumbled, not due to embarrassment — nor were you shy — but it was all you could muster thanks to the growing desperation for her. More specifically, for her mouth on you.

Paige simply chuckled. It was deep and irritating, but more than anything, it only fuelled the desire for her. Her finger's hooked into your panties, pulling them down and tossing them to the floor in swift motions, before her arms curled around your thighs, pulling you closer.

You barely had been given the time to process what was happening, because as soon as you felt the cool air against your exposed core, your legs were already thrown over Paige's shoulders and her mouth was on you. As much as the blonde wanted to torture you, she couldn't hold herself back.

Her tongue connected to your drooling pussy and you mewled. Paige licked a fat stripe up your folds, a choked moan tearing from your throat as she tasted you. "Even sweeter than I remembered."

Your head fell back against the soft mattress, hand flying down to tangle itself in her hair as she spat on your pussy. Her eyes were glued onto you for a moment, admiring the way her saliva mixed with your slick before diving right in.

"Fuck, please don't stop." You near to whined in pleasure while she continued her attack on your cunt, tongue flicking over your clit with just enough pressure to drive you insane and cheeks hollowing whenever she sucked on it, lips closing around your throbbing bud. She had no intentions of stopping. Not when tasting you was the same as miraculously stumbling across a source of water in the desert.

Once the tip of Paige's tongue began to circle your entrance, you were a goner. Airy and high pitched whimpers fell from your lips while you white-knuckled her hair — using it as an anchor — and the blonde was absolutely sure that, that had to be her favorite sound in the world.

Your back arched off the bed ever so slightly when her tongue prodded into you, plunging in and out with acute precision. The sight of it had her quietly chuckling against you, sending vibrations through your core.

"Damn, mama. Got you feeling that good just by eating your pretty pussy?" Paige pulled back just enough to be able to speak, the pride and her ego all too evident in her voice. She had you right where she wanted. "Your girl not fucking you right?"

You wanted to say something, anything to shut her up. To wipe that stupid smirk — that you couldn't see but were fully aware of — off her stupidly pretty face. But you couldn't. She had already corrupted your mind and robbed you of your own ego and pride. "No. Not like you." Those were the words slipping from your lips and you had no desire to take them back.

That's all it took for Paige to delve back in between your legs, tongue fucking into you and arms holding you down. You didn't even realize how your hips bucked into Paige's mouth, grinding yourself against the girl.

A low, approving hum rumbled in Paige's chest as your hips bucked against her mouth, "Just like that, baby. Ride my face just like that," Paige encouraged, her voice muffled.

Your moans grew louder, more frantic as you instinctively tried to close your legs, squeezing her head with your thighs.

Paige's hands were quick to spread you open again, one leg slipping off her shoulder but she only saw that as an opportunity, tilting her head sideways for more access. Her tongue left your entrance, running it back and forth over your clit and shaking her head from side to side. Gluttony adorned Paige as she devoured you.

She didn't slow down when you warned her that you were about to cum, didn't stop when your orgasm crashed over you while her name fell from you repeatedly. Only when your hand in her hair started pushing her head back, she finally pulled away. Paige's gaze fixated on your cunt, wetness dripping from your hole as you clenched around nothing.

Your wetness coated her lips and chin as she looked back up at you and the sight of it all had a grin tugging at the corners of her mouth— One that was hidden by her wiping her chin with the back of her hand.

As she was moving to hover over you again, you felt a digit dip back in between your folds and suddenly it was right in front of you lips. "Open up," her voice was firm and her words clear.

Without breaking eye contact, your lips wrapped around her middle finger, tasting yourself. It wasn't anything you hadn't already done before, but the way she spoke, her tone and her eyes boring into yours had you flustered.

"Good girl. Tastes like heaven, hm?" She continued and all you could do was mindlessly nod and hope that the warmth creeping up on your cheeks wasn't noticeable. Normally you'd cringe at those first two words, it was never something that you thought you'd enjoy being called. But coming from Paige? It had you turning into her ditzy little bitch.

The tips of her fingers were barely brushing against your lips, a featherlight touch that sent shivers down your spine. She took her time, her blue eyes studying you with an intensity that made your breath hitch. Your lips were swollen, your hair slightly messy, cheeks flushed with warmth, and your eyes still glistening as you tried to steady yourself. Everything about you held her captive, and she didn't bother to hide it.

"You look so fucking perfect like this," she murmured, her voice low, almost reverent.

You held her gaze, your chest still rising and falling as you came down from it, lost in the moment, in her.

After a beat, Paige pulled away, climbing off of you with a quiet exhale. She was still fully clothed as she strode toward her bag, the absence of her warmth already making you stir. You watched as she crouched down, digging through her things before pulling something out. The moment your eyes landed on the strap, you inhaled deeply, thighs instinctively pressing together.

Paige turned back toward you, her smirk slow and knowing as she studied your reaction, her gaze sweeping over you with deliberate slowness. She took her time walking back to the bed, tilting her head slightly as if contemplating something before finally speaking.

"What's wrong, mama?" she taunted, her voice teasing yet edged with something heavier. "Scared you can't take it?"

You inhaled sharply, fingers twitching against the sheets. Shaking your head, you swallowed hard, willing your voice to come out steady. "No. I can take it."

Paige didn't reply. She only let out a quiet chuckle, the sound low and rich as she hooked her fingers into the waistband of her sweatpants. In one smooth motion, she rid herself of them, standing there in nothing but her sports bra and the black harness she was now securing around her hips and thighs.

The sight of her like this—self-assured, composed, and devastatingly attractive—made something deep in your stomach twist. Your fingers curled into the fabric beneath you, anticipation buzzing through your veins as Paige settled her gaze back on you.

She smirked again, rolling her shoulders back, completely in control.

"That's what I thought," she murmured.

You blinked and suddenly felt the mattress dip, the blonde already climbing back onto the other side of the bed and resting her back against the pillows and bed's headboard. "C'mere." She demanded, patting her lap in such a cocky, infuriating way that had you wanting to roll your eyes and put your clothes back on.

But you didn't. Instead, you listened and your legs were already thrown over her thighs. You watched as spat in her hand, using it as lubricant to stroke her silicone strap while she eyed you up and down. The way your hardened nipples poked at your thin tank top and the way your cunt continued to drip on her bare thigh.

"As much as I wanna see you ride my thigh, I'd rather watch you take this dick right now." Her words were clear and direct, tainted with desire in a way that sent shivers down your spine.

Upon not getting a response from you, her hands reached out to grip your waist, pulling further up on her lap. That's all it took for you to prop yourself up on your knees—as wobbly as they felt— pussy hovering over her strap before you replaced her hand with yours, positioning the tip towards your entrance and slowly sinking down on it.

A chocked gasp fell from you, lips parting at the sheer size and girth of it. It had been a while since you took anything more than a couple digits and the switch was overwhelming to say the least.

Paige's gazes was glued onto the scene, watching the way your pussy swallowed her whole with a faint smirk—slowly but surely. Inch by inch. Her palms caressed all over your torso in order to help you feel more comfortable.

It didn't take long for you to get accustomed to the intrusion, your hips grinding back and forth. You could barely look at her, the way her hungry eyes focused you like a hunter it's prey, tongue darting out to lick her lips and occasionally biting the bottom one. It drove you insane and you couldn't think straight, your head tipped back.

"You can do better than that, baby. C'mon, ride me with the same energy you had on that court today." She spoke again, her tone encouraging, yet taunting. It almost made you chuckle. Of course she was still stuck on that, she'd always been a sore loser.

Taking a deep breath, you began to bounce up and down on her, small moans coming from you every time it hit that certain spot. You hadn't realized just how close her face was to yours until you looked down at her again, her blue eyes so dark and sharp that tore a whimper from you.

Her hands snaked up to your tank top, pushing the material up until your breasts sprung free. Her smirk grew wider and her hands slid down to your hips, her grip tightening as she watched your bounce so close to her face, before fully riding you of the material.

Paige breathed, leaning down to press open-mouthed kisses along your collarbone and up the column of your throat. She took a moment to admire the sight of your tits, her gaze hungry and appreciative. "Fuck, baby... Look at you," she murmured, leaning down to take one hardened nipple into her mouth. She swirled her tongue around the sensitive bud, sucking and grazing it with her teeth

The muscles in your thighs were starting to tighten and burn, but you tried to ignore it. The pleasure was far greater than a little pain that you could easily handle.

Paige's blunt nails were digging into your skin as she looked up at your face now, admiring the way your brows furrowed, eyes fluttering shut and lips parted as you panted. The knot in your abdomen was starting to tighten and you had no intentions of losing it.

Next thing you knew, you were being lifted off of her and thrown back onto the mattress stomach down. It only took her a couple seconds to lift your hips up and kneel behind you. In the blink of an eye, she slid herself back inside of you, her hips already back to snapping into you. A mix of 'wait's and 'slow down's came from you, but she was already in too deep.

"Said y'could take it, right? Fucking take it then. You know the safeword."

Her pace was quick and relentless, every need to prove herself to you suddenly making a grand return. Paige knew that by the end of the night, you'd be her's, one way or another. With every movement from the blonde, you were being pushed further up the bed, face pressed into the mattress with one of her hands pushing down against your shoulder and your cries muffled. Even the simplest touch of her hands and the way her fingertips dug into your hips was enough to have you a mess.

"Fuck, Paige. S' good." You managed to cry out, words muffled due to the position you were in. In all honesty, if you could've stopped yourself from praising her, you would've. But it was impossible to keep your pride alive when she was killing you from the back.

A smug smile curled at her lips and her chest filled with pride. "Yeah? Just like old times, hm?" Her voice honeyed up, cooing at you.

Of course she would say that— remind you that it wasn't the first time she's had you like this. Face down and ass up while she claimed you as hers for as long as she could. Until the post nut clarity would eventually hit you like a truck.

But until then, you were all hers.

It was clear that you were still holding back, biting your lip or burying your face into the sheets to drown out the sounds you were making. Paige wasn't having any of it.

"Lemme hear you, mama." Her tone sounded almost demanding, hands tightening their grip around your hips as she pulled you closer against her, filling you to the brim. "God— sucking my cock in, hm?"

You couldn't help but let out a loud cry, your own hands gripping the bedsheets like they were a lifeline and the sloppy sounds of Paige driving into you at full force were nothing shy of pornographic.

It didn't take long for the knot in your stomach to tighten and for the familiar warmth to pool in your pit. You didn't have to say anything—didn't want to say anything further. With the way you were clenching around her, she swore that she could almost feel it as if it were her own cock, and she knew you were close.

"Paige—"

She was quick to interrupt you. "I know. Cum for me, mama." Her tone was almost comforting, urging you to let go.

You didn't have to be told twice. The wave of pleasure washed over you, sinful and pornographic sounds escaping you— not that you had the energy to hold them back this time.

Paige's grip loosened and instead her palms were gently rubbing your lower back, soothing the areas she had held onto too tightly. The blonde carefully slipped out of you, giving you a few moments to catch your breath while she bent forward to place feather light kisses on your skin.

You were still in the same position. Face down, ass up and softly panting for much needed air. Her eyes were now on your cunt, admiring the way your own cum leaked out of you and she couldn't help but lower herself until she face facing it. Her tongue darted out to lick a stripe up your folds, just to have another quick taste, she told herself.

"Sorry. Couldn't stop myself." She chuckled lightly in response to you whining at the sensation.

Paige moved without warning, her strength effortless as she flipped you onto your back, the mattress dipping beneath you. Your breath hitched, chest rising and falling as you looked up at her, doe-eyed.

She hovered over you, her gaze dark and unreadable, a slow, deliberate heat simmering beneath the surface. Her hands—rough, calloused from years of playing—traced the curve of your waist, fingertips skimming your ribs before sliding down to your stomach in a slow, teasing glide.

She wasn't rushing. She was waiting.

Waiting for you to catch your breath, to meet her eyes, to let her know you were still right there with her.

"Think you can give me one more?" Her knuckles brushed over your abdomen, up and down and just that was enough to leave you wanting even more.

You nodded your head, taking a deep breath through your nose and letting it rest inside your lungs for a couple seconds before releasing it.

Paige grinned faintly, eyes still dark and clouded with just as much lust as the second she opened the door for you. "I'ma be softer this time, don't worry, baby." You both knew she was lying.

Eventually she was positioned between your legs, tip of her strap gliding back and forth over your soaked cunt. She paused for a moment, just long enough to admire, but the whine that ripped out of you brought her back to earth.

"Just put it in." You couldn't stand the way she was teasing you. Not when everything in you was screaming for her. The desire you felt towards Paige was like wanting her to live inside your rib cage— impossibly close.

"You want it that bad?" Her brows raised ever so slightly, no doubt taunting you for her own enjoyment.

But by this point, you'd given up. No more holding back, you'd let her have you in whatever way and every way. "Need it so bad. Please, baby."

A feral, triumphant grin spread across Paige's face at your desperate, needy pleas. With a swift, gentle thrust of her hips, Paige sheathed her thick, girthy strap deep into your dripping, eager hole.

Paige exhaled at the sight, starting to roll her hips in a steady, deep rhythm. The way you were gripping her 'dick' like a vice, coating it so beautifully had her head spinning.

She hooked your knees over her elbows, nearly folding you in half as she loomed over you, consuming you completely. "Y’need it, huh? It's mine? Pussy all mine?" Paige punctuated her words with sharp, rough snaps of her hips, forcing her cock deeper in than you thought possible, filling you to the brim.

Your eyes squeezed shut, lips parted as you tried to speak. "Yours." It came out airy, too quiet for Paige's liking.

"What was that?" She near to mocked, pressing your thighs closer against your chest so she could hit at a deeper angle. "Speak up or I'm gonna stop."

You didn't let the 'threat' linger in the air, your mind instantly scrambling to spew out somewhat coherent rambles. "Yes— yes it's yours. All fucking yours, Paige."

"There you go. Wasn't so hard." Leaning down, Paige captured your lips in a filthy, dominating kiss, all tongue and teeth as she fucked into her harder and faster. The lewd sound of skin slapping against skin and the noises you both made filling the room.

She panted at the strength in which she was fucking you. Paige knew she was hitting your cervix with every thrust, stirring up your guts, but she couldn't stop. Not until she'd ruined you for everybody else.

All you could do was whimper against Paige's lips, nodding your head at every word even if you couldn't fully process all of them. All you could think of was the feeling of the blonde on top of you, gripping and touching, the tip continuously abusing that one spot

Your moans filled the room and you prayed there would be no noise complaint with how loud the two of you were being, not that either of you truly cared. Not in that moment at least.

"Slower, please," you managed to choke out, wanting to savour it for as long as possible. Wanted to be closer to her. You could swear that you felt Paige all up in your guts— maybe even your chest— tight pussy clenching over the blonde's strap.

"Mmm, you want me to slow down, baby? Want me to fuck you nice and gentle?" She purred, her voice a seductive rasp.

Paige began to roll her hips in a slower, more deliberate rhythm, grinding her thick strap against your g-spot with each thrust.

"Can feel it in my guts." You slurred your words slightly, mind blank— fucked dumb by her cock as Paige usually liked to call it.

The blonde let out her throaty, signature chuckle. "That's because I am," she nodded her head down and your gaze followed, eyes widening and breath hitching in your throat.

You could actually see her inside of you, the bulge in your belly an indicator of just how deep she was inside of you. You rasped out a deep "fuck" at the sinful sight.

"Would knock you up if I could, pretty girl," she smirked as you clenched around her. "Yeah? Y'like the sound of that? Y'wanna have my babies, mama?"

The sight of it mixed with the idea—the vision of her breeding you, her cum dripping out of you—was pushing you towards the edge. You nodded your head frantically, nails digging into the skin of her biceps as you gripped them.

Your whimpers and moans grew more high pitched the closer you got to your orgasm, mouth agape as you tried to keep somewhat quiet. You couldn't help but hold your breath occasionally, too lost in the pleasure to breathe evenly.

Paige's hand came up to grip your jaw, squeezing your cheeks slightly and forcing you to look at her. "You wanna cum on my dick? Gotta ask for it first."

"Yes, please. Please, Paige, Please, please, please," you repeated over and over, begging for it like a whore. It felt like you couldn't even think, let alone speak coherently.

She continued to thrust into you with slow and deep strokes, coaxing your release out of you. And once again, the pit inside ur tummy started to burn, tightening until you felt like you couldn't hold it anymore. In all honesty, you can no idea whether you were about to cum or if you were about to utterly embarrass yourself.

"Go ahead, baby. Let go f’me."

You didn't have to be told twice, eyes staring into hers and jaw falling slack as it crashed over you, barely any sound escaping you as you came. Paige could feel you soaking not only her thighs, but the bedsheets as well as her eyes trained on the way you gushed all over her in awe.

It took you a few moments to come back down from it and one glance down had your hands flying up to cover your face. You groaned into your palms in embarrassment. To be fair, you had no idea that you were even capable of squirting.

"God, that was so fucking hot. Sexiest thing I've ever seen." She breathed out a faint chuckle, "Hey, look at me."

And for some reason, you complied— letting your hands fall from your face and glancing up at her.

"You're fucking perfect, yeah? Nothing to be embarrassed of." And the way she said those words, so soft and clear, told you that she was being genuine.

Paige pressed a lingering kiss to your forehead before carefully sliding out of you and slipping away, the warmth of her body leaving yours as she padded toward the bathroom. You listened to the sound of running water, your breath still steadying as you lay there, staring at the ceiling.

When she returned, she had a damp towel in hand, her expression softened as she knelt beside you. There was no arrogance in her touch now—just quiet care, her hands moving with gentle precision. The sight of it tugged at something deep in your chest.

Maybe Paige wasn't as bad as you'd thought. Maybe there was more to her than the cocky, womanizing basketball star.

You couldn't stop watching her, admiring the way her brows knit slightly in concentration, the way the dim light caught the sharp lines of her face. This time, you were the one staring in awe.

"What?" Paige asked, a small smile pulling at her lips, catching the way you were looking at her.

"You're just so beautiful." The words left you before you could think better of them, but you meant them. Every single one.

A hint of color dusted her pale cheeks, and before you could take in the sight of it for too long, Paige leaned back in, pressing another kiss to your lips—this time slower, as if she was savoring it.

When she pulled away, her voice was light but laced with something genuine. "So... you gon give me a chance or what?" It was a joke, but there was something behind it, something almost hopeful.

You held her gaze for a moment before giving the subtlest of nods, your smile faint but real. "Sure. Why not."

Paige exhaled a soft laugh, but you could feel it—the way her heart was racing just as much as yours.

taglist (mostly ppl who asked weeks ago lol i’m so sorry) @brenwritesss @bueckersbitch @starlighttsv @ekisokay @st4rrzynight @ohmybueckers @pboogerswbb @yailtsv @omg-imtumbling @xxloveralways14 @cowboylikeavaa @prettygirl-gabi @itsstavy13 @kaelaheartsyou @jnkbueckers @shootingstarrrrr @melpthatsme

#⇢ ˗ˏˋ vamptizm writes ࿐ྂ #paige bueckers #paige bueckers x reader #paige bueckers oneshot #paige bueckers smut #paige bueckers fanfiction #Spotify

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hrrtshape · 3 months ago

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I'm SO sorry if it's annoying but please I DONT UNDERSTAND HOW TO USE UR METHOD. can u explain to me like I'm 5? So many people are shifting from it ALREADY girl you really cooked with it holy shit. And ily !!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

(for void too, PRETTY PLEASE)

let’s sit criss-cross applesauce in a little academic sandbox and i will explain it like you’re five and i am a mystical muad’dib possessed by roman roy wearing a tiny little cardigan. this is not a method. this is a plot twist. no, okay, it's kind of a method. it's an anti-method.....yk..whatever.

step one : realise you were never here. . . ౨ৎ

you know how when you wake up from a dream, and for a split second you don’t remember where you are??? that’s the glitch. that’s the feeling we’re aiming for. the in-between. the cognitive lag. the loading screen flicker.

you don’t have to do anything. just sit there. or lay. still. soft. weightless. feel your body like it’s not yours. like you’re wearing it the way you wear a coat.

step two : gaslight yourself lovingly. . . ౨ৎ

you’re not thinking “how do i shift?” or “am i getting close?” because you already shifted and you just forgot. you say to yourself. . .

　 ◞ i already shifted. i just forgot. 　 ◞ i’ve been there this whole time. 　 ◞ i don’t have to go anywhere. i’m already there. i just need to remember.

this is not a question. this is a fact. and your brain? your silly little reality-clinging brain? it will start panicking. it will try to prove to you that you are still here. it will start grasping at straws.

let it. let it fumble. let it glitch. don’t fight it. just keep repeating. i already shifted. i just forgot.

step three : watch reality collapse. . . ౨ৎ

how do you know this isn’t the dream? how do you prove you’re still in your cr? your mind will not be able to answer. it will spiral and then… it will give up. it will short-circuit and the illusion will start to fray at the edges. the cracks will spread. and then? oh. moment. oh. you remember. not "go." not "arrive." just remember. you were always there. you never had to try.

step four : the void // your dr ??? you were IN IT THE WHOLE TIME. . . ౨ৎ

the void is not a place. it is the default state. you are already there.

the only reason you think you’re not in the void is because your brain is obsessed with the illusion of reality. this method forces it into a logical trap.

　 ◞ how do you know you’re not in the void? 　 ◞ how do you prove this isn’t a dream? 　 ◞ what if you just forgot?

and because your brain cannot disprove it, the illusion shatters. and poof. you’re there. floating. weightless. infinite.

step five : do whatever you want. . . ౨ৎ

　 ◞ if you want to affirm something, affirm it. 　 ◞ if you want to shift, set your intention and let yourself go. 　 ◞ if you want to just float in the void and absorb the infinite nothingness, you can.

there is no next step because the void is not about doing. it’s about being.

and that’s it. that’s the whole thing. no trying, no reaching, just a little oh. moment. go play in the dreamscape. you were never here anyway.

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l0vebombing · 3 months ago

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there's nothing caleb hates more than when you tell him he's like a brother to you.

warnings ⠀⠀⠀ ౨ৎ⠀⠀⠀⠀smut, almost porn without plot, dark content, dub-con, choking, rough sex, unprotected sex, let me know if there is more.

just a small drabble for my friend. had to control myself not to turn it in a really dark content bc damn, there is so much potential 😔 also big thanks to her for helping me with the post layout, it looks so pretty ily cecy 🫶🏻

"do brothers do this?" he asked, your back pressed against his chest, and one of his hands was gripping your waist, while the other was busy silencing you. his fingers pressed against your tongue, he could feel your saliva coating his fingers, just like the slick arousal dripping down your thighs coated his cock.

his thrusts weren't gentle like the last time you two had had sex. they were rough and continuous, and you'd already lost count of how many minutes you'd been at it. he released your mouth, pushing you down, you bit the sheet as he pushed you against the mattress. caleb pulled on your waist, continuing to fuck you even though you were choking on your own saliva with his rough thrusts. "every. single. time," he gritted his teeth. "every fucking time you leave, you come back with that bullshit."

he yanked your hips back harder, slamming into you with a force that made the bed frame creak, you held back a cry. your teeth sank deeper into the sheet, biting down hard to muffle your screams as he used your body. you wanted to say you're sorry, but nothing but moans left your mouth. you didn't even know if it was your conscious mind that didn't want the end or if it was your body that physically couldn't.

caleb flipped you as if you were nothing more than a doll, his eyes staring at your face, and the expression on his was one you had only ever seen directed at the poor soldiers beneath him.

you closed your eyes, trying to deny to yourself that you were enjoying it. but how could you not? the man was managing to put you over the edge with just his cock alone. you just wished he would touch you already. more than he already was.

he held your chin. "eyes open." you shook your head, too embarrassed to obey, but his patience was running short and soon his hand slammed against your mound, too close to your clit. your legs tried to close in reflex, only to be stopped by him. "don't."

you whimpered, looking at him and feeling tiny, pathetic even for not even being able to talk back. he grabbed your leg, biting slightly your flesh. "every time you tell that ridiculous lie," caleb said in a harsh tone, "i will refresh your memory of what we really are."

he leaned in until his face was close to yours, and you moaned as his cock reached even deeper. "you better start fixing what you did if you want to cum, princess."

#⠀⠀⠀ ౨ৎ⠀⠀⠀⠀Love & Deepspace #l&ds #lads caleb #lads x you #lads x mc #lads x y/n #love and deepspace #love & deepspace #l&ds x reader #lads smut #lads fanfic

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headkiss · 1 year ago

Text

something more

pairing: aaron hotchner x fem!bau!reader

summary: you and aaron are friends with feelings more obvious than you think. or: 5 times the team suspects you and hotch are dating +1 time they know it.

word count: 6.6k

warnings: friends to lovers, the team being a little nosy, pining idiots!!!, probably inaccurate descriptions of bau jobs (for the plot!), a very small injury, a birthday, a first kiss, and fluff!

a/n: hiii this one has been a long time coming so thank you guys for being so patient with me!!! and special thanks to the anon who requested this one! i hope u guys enjoy it and please please let me know what you think <3 ily

༄

Aaron Hotchner was never someone you thought you could be this close to.

Coming to the BAU, you’d been intimidated more than anything. As Unit Chief, he’s got a reputation that’s hard to ignore. Professional, brave, cold when he has to be. His success and talent were undeniable, and all you wanted to do was prove that you belonged there, too.

Then, you really met him, and he surprised you in a way you hadn’t expected. Hotch was kind right off the bat, welcoming you to the team with a smile that felt like some sort of prize.

He was an excellent boss. Understanding and protective, quick to defend anyone on the team like they were his own family. Except, he was so much more than just your boss.

Now, you’d call him your closest friend, someone who’s number you’d call if you were in trouble. He’s your closest friend and yet you feel so much more for him.

It started slow, a friendship blooming the way a plant does with just enough sunlight. It was a shared smile here, a nudge of the shoulder there. It grew to be a seat next to him reserved for you on every plane ride.

Today, it’s eating lunch with him in his office.

Aaron usually works through lunch, more eager to get things done than he is to worry about skipping a meal. Somehow, with two tupperware containers in your hand and a sweet smile, you’d managed to get him to take a break.

“Whatcha doing?” You’d asked.

Hotch looked up from his paperwork then, dropping his pen because you were in his doorway. “You know, Unit Chief business. Reports.”

“Sounds like you have time for lunch, then.” You set the containers down on his desk, making sure to avoid the papers he’d just been working on.

“I should really get this done-”

“Hotch,” you stopped him, “you and I both know that you’re always ahead on this stuff because you stay here so late. Lunch won’t set you back.”

With a shake of his head and the biting back of a smile, a simple twitch at the corners of his mouth, Aaron agreed and stacked his paperwork off to the side.

That’s how you’ve ended up in the chair that’s usually on the opposite side of his desk, only now it’s tugged to be next to his. Your knees touch every so often when one of you shifts, and the warmth stays with you even when the contact is gone.

“Sorry it’s nothing fancy,” you say as he opens the container you brought for him.

“Don’t apologize. It’s great.” Hotch has a way of saying things that make them sound true, no matter how few words he uses, so you accept it.

“Okay, good!” There’s a small silence, a lull as you both take your first bites. “Can I help with anything?”

Aaron looks from the paperwork to your face, your eyes already on his. “You don’t have to do that.”

“I want to,” you reassure him. “I think sometimes you forget that you aren’t the only one who can do this stuff.”

He knocks his knee against yours. Purposeful this time. A silent ‘thank you.’

“Like you said, I’m ahead anyways. I’ve got it.”

“Come on, Hotch. I’m already done with my report from our last case. I’ve got time. Let me help.”

He’s always been reluctant to accept help, to ask for it, but when you’re asking so sweetly, when it’ll give him an excuse to spend more time with you, it’s hard for Aaron to say no.

“Alright. You help for an hour, that’s it.”

You grin at him, like his acceptance of your offer was some kind of gift he’d given you. Your nose crinkles a little with it, and his hand flexes in his lap, like he’s fighting not to reach out to you.

“Okay, put me to work, boss.”

“We just started lunch,” he says, a little chuckle puffing out.

“Have you ever heard of multitasking, Agent Hotchner?”

Aaron laughs, shaking his head as he reaches for one of the files in the stack he’d made and hands it to you. He’d call everyone at the BAU a friend, but there’s something different, something more about how he’d describe you.

He’s grown closer to you than he usually lets himself get to people, like you’re the only one with the right tools to break through walls he’s put up. You see each other outside of work (on the rare days you aren’t working), and still, he feels like it’s never long enough.

Hotch briefly wonders if he could just move your desk into his office. He shakes off the thought and what it might mean.

Head bent, you’re now focused on the work he gave you, and Aaron takes the chance to admire you. His eyes flick over your profile, the light hitting your cheeks, the flutter of your eyelashes every time you blink.

As if you could feel his gaze on you, you turn towards him and smile—a small, closed-mouth smile, but a smile all the same—before turning your attention back to the page.

When you take a pause and take another bite of your lunch, a small drop of sauce lands on your thigh. “Oh, shit.”

Aaron grabs a tissue from the box on his desk, wrapping it over his fingertip before wiping the small spot from your leg, his finger a spark against you even through your pants.

“Good thing you wore black,” he says, tossing the tissue in the garbage. His hand, however, stays on your leg, and though the touch is light the weight of it feels the opposite. Heavy, huge.

“Good thing you’re here to clean up after me, more like.”

Your eyes meet, and you share a smile with Hotch the way you often do. Mid-conversation, across a room, it’s a smile you sort of reserve for each other.

In the main office below, Derek, Spencer, and JJ stand together, watching the interaction through the window into Hotch’s office. You and Aaron seem to be in your own bubble, completely unaware of your small audience.

“They’ve gotta be together,” Derek is the first to speak, waving a hand towards the office where you and Hotch are talking. “I mean, come on.”

“I don’t know,” JJ shrugs, “they both seem kinda clueless.”

“We probably shouldn’t speculate about them,” Spencer, always the sweetheart, says. “But, statistically, Hotch never eats lunch. Just saying.”

JJ pats Reid on the shoulder, huffing out a laugh before she heads back to her desk.

You stay in Aaron’s office much longer than an hour that day.

Punctuality is important in the BAU. Really, if you’re not early, you’re late. You’ve always got to be ready, wheels up in ten, or five.

You suppose that doesn’t really apply to outside-of-the-office parties at Garcia’s.

It’s rare that you’re all available at the same time, from late nights at the bureau to families, it’s tough to make your schedules line up when you aren’t working, which is why whenever she can, Penelope likes to host drinks for the team.

You’re on your way there now, or, you should be. Instead, you’re getting ready in your bedroom while Aaron waits in your living room.

Hotch has offered to drive you to these things every time, and with every offer, comes your easy answer of ‘yes.’ He’d been outside in his car for five minutes before he decided to call, because you’re usually in his passenger seat within seconds of him pulling over by your building.

The ringing of your phone had your eyes blinking open, squinted against the sudden brightness of your TV. You’d accidentally fallen asleep, and, still disoriented, picked up the phone. “Hello?”

“Hey, everything okay?” It’s Aaron’s voice on the other line, and you pull your phone away for a second to check the time before sitting up quickly.

“Shit, Hotch, I must’ve fallen asleep. I’m so sorry.”

“It’s alright, I can wait for you.” He’d wait as long as you need, he thinks. The thought passes through like a leaf blown in the wind, freely, randomly.

“Have you been waiting long?” You ask, fingers tugging at a loose thread in your pants.

“No, don’t worry. Barely five minutes.”

And he still wanted to check on you.

“Why don’t you come in? My couch is probably more comfortable than your car, right?”

“You sure?” He checks, like he hasn’t been to your place before, like you’d ever not want him there.

“Get in here, Hotchner.”

You hung up before he could reply, and he laughed to himself in his car before shutting it off and doing exactly what you’d told him.

So, now, you’re rushing to find an outfit while Aaron sits on your couch by himself.

Even though he’s in the next room, you can feel his presence around you, the steady security he gives you, the warmth that seeps out of him even when he tries to hide it.

You settle on a knitted sweater, a skirt, and some tights, which you realize as you tug them on aren't the speediest of options, but it’s too late to change your mind now. With your hair figured out and the mascara that had smudged during your nap fixed, you step back out into the living room.

Aaron made himself at home while you were gone (he often feels that way with you, at home), sitting on your couch with his arms spread across the back. He looks better than he should there, suit stretched across his shoulders, and you have to clear your throat to snap yourself out of it.

“Okay, sorry again for the delay. I’m ready to go.”

He looks up as soon as you walk in, eyes skimming over your legs and the tights wrapped around them, your waist, up your neck. His gaze lands on your eyes the way it often does, like magnets.

He shakes his head, “don’t be sorry. We’ll be what they call ‘fashionably late.’”

You laugh, because who would’ve thought that the words ‘fashionably late’ would ever come out of Aaron Hotchner’s mouth.

“Who taught you that one, huh?”

“I like to keep my sources anonymous.”

“Well okay, then. Let’s go be fashionably late, Hotch.”

He lets you lead the way to the car, only jogging up ahead to open your door before you can reach it yourself.

During the drive to Penelope’s, you take control of the music with little objection from Aaron, and when it gets to a song you know he likes, you sing along, encouraging him to do the same.

“Let’s hear it, Agent Hotchner.” You hold your fist out like there’s a microphone in it, looking at him with a grin on your face.

“I can't sing.” Aaron’s fighting off a smile, because you’re sitting beside him, not too shy to sing along, being all cute and, briefly, he thinks about reaching out and grabbing your hand and holding on.

“Sure you can! Everyone can sing, come on.” You unfurl your faux microphone-holding fist and tug on the knot of his tie, “loosen up a little.”

And, because you have some way of convincing him of things—first lunch, now this—he humors you by joining in for one chorus of the song. When your eyes light up a little, and your grin only widens, he can’t bring himself to be too concerned of how bad he probably sounds.

By the time you’re at Garcia’s door you’re a solid hour late, yet you and Aaron walk up to the door with matching smiles all the same.

“I’m getting you to do that every time I hear that song now, I hope you know.”

“That was a one time special,” he says. He reaches over your shoulder to knock on the door. His hand brushes against you, featherlight and quick, a crackle over your skin.

On the other side, Morgan says, “must be the lovebirds” when he hears the sound.

You and Aaron don’t hear him, only broken out of your little shared bubble when Penelope opens the door. “There you guys are! I made your drinks but the ice might be melted by now. You know, ‘cause you’re late.”

You know this is directed towards you more than it is Hotch, because Garcia’s a little intimidated by him still. You also know she’s only joking, and greet her with a hug before stepping in.

Aaron isn’t far behind you, though at these things, he never is.

You’re met with warm greetings from the team when you walk in, and you chat for a bit, but it isn’t long before things split off into smaller conversations. They all know that Aaron drives you to these things, and, as profilers, they’re also all able to see the way you look at each other, the way the knot of his tie sits lower than usual.

In the corner, Emily leans over to Derek, saying, “usually it takes at least two drinks for Hotch’s tie to look like that.”

“I told you, they’re together,” Derek shrugs.

“I don’t think they know that,” Emily replies.

This time, Aaron hears them, and he can’t help but look towards you in the room the rest of the night, thinking and thinking and thinking.

He ends up deciding that they might have a point. That maybe, that shift in his heartbeat when you’re around isn’t nothing, isn’t just friends.

The flight home from a case always feels the longest.

On the way there, you’re packing every hour with information about what’s going on, talking to Garcia, reading police reports. You’re all on edge, eager to get out there and help and do your jobs,

Then, on the way home, with another case solved, all you’re thinking about is going home, sleeping in your own bed, and time seems to go slower.

If your name happens to be Aaron Hotchner, you’d spend the plane ride home doing paperwork that actually can wait.

You and Aaron sit next to each other on pretty much every flight, though the seats have never been assigned. It’s an unspoken thing, like your names are written on the fabric of the same two seats on the jet and that’s just the way it is.

The first time was early on in your time on the team. It was a tough case for you, and Hotch seemed to know it without you having to say anything, so, when you got on the jet to come home, he smiled that small, twitch of his lips smile at you and nodded at the seat next to him. You’ve been sitting there ever since.

Today, your flight is on the shorter side, but feels long the way it always does. Trying to keep yourself occupied, you pull out your earbuds and shuffle your playlist, hoping that the songs will speed things up.

“Sick of me already?” Hotch speaks up when he notices your headphones.

You tilt your head to look at him. He looks tired, the way you’re sure you do, too, but never any less handsome. His eyes are soft where they meet yours, paired with a hint of a smile that you’re always able to catch.

“Sick of you, Hotch? Never.” You nod at the file he has open on the small table, “just didn’t want to distract you.”

“I thought you enjoyed distracting me. Always telling me I work too much.”

“‘Cause it’s true,” you say. “That doesn’t mean you listen.”

“I listen to you more than I listen to most people.” Aaron’s voice is gentle when he says it, the words sinking in and melting you just a little, sugary sweet. It could mean absolutely nothing, but with the way he keeps his eyes steady on yours, you don’t think it does.

“Listen to this, then,” you hand him one of your earbuds, and his fingers brush yours when he takes it from you. “But you can’t make fun of me if a musical soundtrack comes on, okay?”

“Okay,” he huffs a small laugh, and you feel a little brighter. “I promise.”

You’re aware of the team having their own conversations in the rows in front of you and Hotch, but you can’t bring yourself to join in, because you and Aaron are sharing your earbuds and his head is bent just a little closer to yours. It’s delicate, and you’ll do your best not to break it.

You talk a little longer, until it naturally fizzles out and Hotch is back to working on his files and you’re bobbing your head along to your songs. Only now, Aaron sits closer to you, his arm against yours.

He’s not sure what to do with his newfound realization that his feelings for you run far deeper than friendship. All Aaron knows is that he likes the feeling of you beside him, and that he’s planning on keeping you there as long as you’ll let him.

It’s quiet between the two of you aside from your occasional ‘this is a good one,’ and his hum of acknowledgement.

Eventually, you’re relaxed enough that your eyes grow heavy, the sleep you’ve been lacking suddenly catching up to you, and when you hit a patch of slower songs you’re fighting to stay awake.

When your head lulls onto Hotch’s shoulder, you jerk your head up, “sorry, Aaron.”

His chest does something funny. A jump. It’s not often you call him Aaron, and he’d listen to the sound of his name on your lips on a loop if he could. Because he can’t help himself, he scooches himself even closer to you.

He decides to call you something different, too, saying, “it’s alright, honey.”

You’re too sleepy to really read into that one, all you feel is the flutter in your stomach and Aaron’s hand on your head, gently guiding it to his shoulder.

When he’s sure you’re asleep, Hotch looks away from his files and over to you. Your cheek is squished against his shoulder, your lashes fanned shut. He thinks you’re the prettiest girl he’s ever seen.

Aaron doesn’t even feel the smile that spreads over his face as he reaches up and pushes your hair away from your face. He’s completely unaware of the eyes that catch him, far too focused on you.

Emily turned around when she realized she hadn’t heard your voice in a bit, and she did it just in time to catch Hotch’s movement. Instead of saying something, she turns back around and shakes her head to herself.

Hopeless, she thinks.

Sleep doesn’t come so easily with this job, with the things you see, so Aaron can’t help but try and stay steady for you, and if that leads to him letting his eyes close and resting his head on yours, then so be it.

It’s not until the end of the flight that the team checks on the two of you. As everyone stands and grabs their go bags, they notice the two of you, asleep next to each other, earbud wires hanging between you.

“Should we wake them up?” JJ asks.

“Hotch doesn’t get enough sleep as it is,” Spencer chimes in. “Neither does she, actually.”

Of course, Derek finishes with, “let’s leave the lovebirds to it,” before the team gets off the plane.

It’s only about twenty minutes later that Aaron does wake up, but he feels more well-rested than he has in a while, even with the kink in his neck.

Blinking his eyes open, he’s met with an empty jet and the comforting weight of your head on his shoulder. “Shit,” he sighs.

He debates waking you, ultimately deciding that you’d probably rather sleep in your bed rather than the seat of the BAU’s jet. Reaching up, he pulls your earbuds away, setting them on the table. With a brush of his fingertips to your cheek, he coaxed you awake.

“Hey, honey,” Aaron’s nearly whispering, like he’s afraid to scare you. Or, maybe, he’s convinced that if he moves too quickly, too loudly, this whole thing will fade away as if he’d been dreaming. “Wake up, we’re home.”

“Hm?” You grumble, scrunching your nose when he brushes your cheek again.

“We fell asleep, but we landed.”

“Oh, god.” You sit up properly, lifting your head. “I’m sorry, Aaron. Hotch.”

“Aaron is good,” he eases you. “Come on, I’ll drive you.”

Sleep-hazed, or maybe just happy that he can be Aaron to you, you agree easily and take his hand when he offers it, letting him lead you to his car.

You’ve been spending more time at Aaron’s ever since that flight. In the car, he’d convinced you to stay over at his place in the guest room, since it was closer. With your go bag already in his car and heavy, sleepy eyes, it was hard for you to do anything but agree.

It’s another slice of his life that he’s let you see, and you can’t help but feel like it means something, like you’re stepping further and further away from being coworkers who are friends and towards something different. Something more.

That flight feels like the catalyst, the thing that caused things to shift into what they are now.

Aaron’s couch is much more comfortable than yours, and though you’ve yet to spend the night again, you’re sitting there with him at almost every chance. The time off you get is rare, and Aaron wanting to spend it with you sends flutters to your stomach whenever you think about it.

You feel like you know him better, getting to see his space, how he chose to decorate, what colors he likes, which ones he doesn’t. You also know what temperature he likes to set his thermostat.

“Do you enjoy living in a refrigerator?” You ask, hands tucked into your sleeves. “Just wondering.”

Aaron laughs, a small huff, “I think you just run cold, honey.”

He’s been calling you that a lot, too. Honey.

“No way, Hotchner. Your house is what runs cold. Or maybe you’re cold-blooded.”

Not with you, he thinks. Years and years of doing what he does, Hotch might even call himself cold when he’s thinking a little too hard. But never cold with you. He thinks that might be impossible for him.

“Shhh, don’t tell anyone my secret,” he says, his arm brushing against yours from where he sits next to you on his couch. “Where are you cold?”

“Can’t feel my toes, Aaron. I might be out of commission for the next case.”

“Well we can’t lose our best girl, can we?” Best girl, he says. Like he means it, like it’s simple. “I’ve got some thick socks you can grab. Bottom drawer.”

Just like that, he’s cracked another wall of his down even further, giving you permission to go into his bedroom as if you’ve been in there a thousand times.

“Really?”

“Unless you’d rather not feel your toes-“

“Okay, okay,” you stop him, unable to fight your smile. “Thanks, Aaron.”

When you stand and head towards his room, Aaron can’t stop himself from thinking that you belong there, in his home, his room, his life. You fit in so seamlessly he wishes you’d never leave.

He stands up too, because the couch suddenly feels sort of empty without you beside him, without your warmth. He walks over to his thermostat on the wall and turns it up for you.

You’ve always thought that you can tell a lot about a person from where they live, and seeing Aaron’s bedroom now solidifies it. His place does too, but there’s something about his bedroom that feels much more personal.

Here, there’s more of him, little bits of his life scattered around. A picture of him as a kid with his parents on the dresser, the newspaper’s crossword sitting completely finished on his nightstand, his bed neatly made.

You smile at the framed photo before slipping the top drawer open and finding the pair of socks he’d been talking about. As much as you’d love to snoop, you don’t want to invade his privacy in any way. Besides, from Aaron, even a glimpse of his space feels special.

You slip on the socks before you leave his room, letting them bunch at your ankles.

As soon as you walk back into the living room, Aaron’s phone rings. Glancing at you softly, almost apologetically though he’s got nothing to be sorry about—you work with him, you know how important a call can be—he picks it up.

“Hotchner,” he says, holding it to his ear. His voice is different this way, more professional, controlled. Never any less pleasing to hear.

He’d wanted to say something about how good you look in his clothes when his phone rang, Garcia’s name flashing on the screen. Aaron wishes it was someone else, only to spend more time with you this way.

“Sorry to call late, sir,” Penelope says. “We’ve got a case. Missing kid; it’s urgent.”

“Don’t be sorry, Garcia. We’re on our way.”

“Wait, we?” She asks, curious as always.

“What’s going on?” You ask Aaron.

“Got a case. I’ll drive, honey.” He lets the pet name slip, like it’s a habit.

On the other line, Garcia’s grinning to herself in her office. She’d had a suspicion of who on the team Hotch would be with outside of work, and hearing your voice, and his use of the word ‘honey’ all sticky sweet, she knows she’s onto something.

“Oh, that’s ‘we,’” Penelope’s voice teases. “Tell her I’ll see you guys soon!”

Aaron shakes his head, fighting his smile. “Bye, Garcia.”

He hangs up and looks from his phone to you, your eyes already on him, corners of your mouth tugged up just a little like you’d heard what Garcia said, heard the lilt in her voice. Like you liked the idea of you and Aaron being a unit. We.

He likes that idea, too.

Back at the BAU, Garcia calls Derek next, who picks up with his classic, “hey, babygirl.”

First, she tells him that he needs to come into the office, that they’ve got a case, then, “you’re never going to believe this.”

Penelope loves to talk, and Derek’s happy to listen, so she tells him about how you’d been with Aaron when she called, and that you were on your way together.

“I give them another week, max, before they’re holding hands when they come in.” Derek laughs, because he can see yours and Hotch’s feelings so easily, plain as day, and he loves to be right about things.

“How mad will Hotch be when he finds out that we talk about his relationship?” Penelope’s mostly joking, only a fraction concerned.

“If the boss didn’t want us talking about it, he shouldn’t be so obvious, sweetheart.”

Once you arrive at the office, you don’t catch Penelope and Derek’s shared looks behind yours and Aaron’s—who happens to be carrying both his and your go bag—backs.

And if anyone notices the loose socks around your ankles, they don’t say anything about it.

You’re not supposed to go off on your own unless it’s absolutely necessary. You know that, the team knows that. Aaron, who is always trying to keep you as safe as possible, enforces it.

You guess that this time might be up for debate.

When it comes to what you do, you have to trust your instincts most of the time. And today, your gut told you to make a decision that might not have been safe, but to you, it felt like what you had to do.

Aaron had been on the phone with you, trying to figure out a way to make the car drive any faster to get to you. He’d heard it in your voice, in the tone of it, that he couldn’t convince you to wait for someone else to show up.

“I have to do this, Aaron,” you’d said. While the team would normally probably tease him about you calling him Aaron, as if it isn’t his name, they’d known not to interrupt this time. “You know I do.”

“You don’t have to.” His hands tightened on the steering wheel as he spoke. “We’ll be there soon, alright? Just-”

“I’m sorry.” And then, you hung up.

In the end, going in when you did had been the right move. A life had been saved, and you’d slowed the guy down enough that the police were able to arrest him when they arrived. All it cost you was a cut and a bruise on your cheek.

So, your instincts weren’t so bad.

Aaron, however, disagrees. Logically, he knows that he would’ve done the exact same thing you did, knows the rest of the team would’ve, too. But when it comes to you, he has a hard time thinking logically.

After you hung up on him, all he could do was breathe and breathe and breathe over the heavy thumping of his heartbeat and the worry spinning in his head. He drove the quickest he could manage, the car silent inside. A static.

It’s not that he doubts your abilities—he’s always thought you were incredible, even before the friendship, even before now—only that the idea of you being alone with such a bad man makes him feel sick.

He’d take your place in a heartbeat, if he could, just to make sure you’d be safe.

By the time he and the rest of the team get to the scene, you’re walking out of the building with a hand pressed to your cheek and a paramedic leading you to a nearby ambulance.

Aaron spots you right away, his eyes scanning the small crowd through red and blue lights and conversations surrounding him. When he spots you, everything goes quiet.

His first thought is, thank god she’s alive, then, it’s fuck, she’s hurt.

Without a word to anyone, he heads over in your direction right away. He meets you at the ambulance, where you sit on the small bench inside while the paramedic presses your cheek with gauze.

“Honey.” It comes out in a breath. Relief and pain all at once.

You look over to him, his hair a little messy, his eyes wide and roaming all over you like he’s checking for any other injuries. He cares about you, and it’s written all over him.

“Aaron. I’m okay.” You hold a hand out, and he grabs it, sitting beside you on the bench in the ambulance. “Promise.”

For now, he nods, letting the paramedic do their job bandaging up your cheek. When they’re finished, they hand you a spare bandage saying, “it’s gonna bruise, and it might feel sore for a bit, but you’re all patched up.”

The paramedic leaves after that, probably going to check on other people. The lights inside the ambulance seem to cocoon you, a bright difference to the darkness outside.

The first thing Aaron says is, “let me see.”

His hands reach for your face, rough fingertips gently holding your jaw, tilting you so that he can look at your cheek. It’s a little swollen, discolored where you must’ve been hit. There’s a furrow in his brow, something that looks like a pout on none other than Aaron Hotchner.

“Hey,” you grab his wrists, but his hands stay on your face. “I’m fine.”

Aaron’s always worried, he’s always cared about you and about everyone on the team, but this is different. He was usually able to hide things much better than this. Much better than with you.

Now, all he sees is the tiny bloodstain on your shirt and the bandage on your cheek. All he feels is your hands squeezing his wrists and your eyes locked on his.

“You should have waited,” he says. “I could have been there.”

“Hotchner,” your deadpan tone is intact, which he’ll take as a win, even if it’s directed towards him. “You and I both know you would have done the same. I had to.”

One of his hands shifts to cup your non-injured cheek. Normally, he’d be much more composed while working, but he can’t bring himself to care about how he must look right now.

“I know you did,” he tells you, because he does. “I just wish that you didn’t. I don’t like seeing you hurt.”

Your stomach is tumbling, rolling, your heart doing silly things in your chest. You can hardly feel the pain of your cheek anymore when his hand is on the other, his palm warm against your skin, his gaze even warmer.

“I’m hardly hurt, Aaron. Just a scratch.”

“Right. One that required medical attention. That’s more than just a scratch, honey.”

“If you say so, Hotchner.”

He shifts his hands so that they fall into your lap, palms up and fingers instantly finding yours, tangling together perfectly. Like puzzle pieces.

“Good job, by the way.” Hotch rubs his thumb over your skin once, back and forth. “You did the right thing.”

“Learned from the best,” you say.

You’re both oblivious to the fact that the team is watching from a distance, and that the two of you look so lovesick it’s ridiculous that you haven’t spilled your feelings yet. You’re both absolutely fucked.

Where she stands with the team, Emily shakes her head, “I haven’t seen Hotch like this since… ever.”

Beside her, JJ merely shrugs, like it’s obvious, “yeah, they’re in love.”

Spencer looks at you and Aaron in that ambulance with a smile. “The odds of you guys being right are very, very high.”

Aaron Hotchner was never the biggest fan of birthdays. Was never big into the cakes and making wishes, the song and the presents and the fuss of it all.

When he started at the bureau, it stayed that way. Days off were rare enough as it was, so he’d always work on his birthday. And while he kept the signed cards from the team, he treated it as any other day. Nothing special.

This year, you’re on a mission to change that.

While it isn’t the first of Aaron’s birthdays you’ve spent with him, it’s the first one since the two of you have grown as close as you have, since you’ve felt the way you do. You’re just hoping to make it a good birthday for him.

You’ve roped the whole team into it. Decorating the conference room with streamers and balloons and a sign that hangs crooked on the wall, bringing in a cake that reads ‘Happy Birthday Hotch’ in frosting, and keeping it all a secret.

Of course, you’ve all already said happy birthday to him, and you’ve got a present stashed under your desk for later, but you’ve been doing your best to act natural even when the anticipation of your surprise for him eats at your stomach a little.

Surprises are a tricky thing, and there’s no way of knowing whether he’ll like it or not. You’ll just have to wait and see.

While in his office, the team had made it seem like they’d all left for the day, saying their goodbyes to Hotch. Instead of leaving, though, they’ve been hidden in the conference room waiting for you to bring him in.

“Aaron,” you say, knocking on his office door. “I think I lost an earring. Do you think you could help me look for it?”

Because you’re the one asking, Aaron says, “‘course, honey. Where do you think it is?”

You smile, because he’s fallen into your trap easily, because you know that he probably would search for an earring with you if you’d actually lost one.

“I remember having it on in the conference room, so maybe there.”

He stands from his desk, gesturing for you to lead the way with his hand held out. You grab onto it before he can drop it, tangling your fingers and leading him behind you.

Aaron lets you guide him, and when you open the door to the conference room and flick on the lights, he’s met with the team’s grinning faces and a chorus of, “surprise!”

For a moment, he’s speechless, frozen in his spot in the doorway with your hand in his.

No, Aaron’s never been the biggest fan of birthdays, but maybe that’s because nobody’s ever done something like this for him. You came into his life all sweet smiles and now you’re throwing him a surprise party? He’s never ever liked someone the way he likes you.

So much that like is spilling into a four letter word and he’s happy to let it.

You know him well enough to know that he doesn’t like being the center of attention too much, so the only people in the room are those of the BAU. His closest friends. And you, his favorite person.

Before he can say anything he’s being spoken to by the team, getting a ‘happy birthday, boss,’ from Derek, a spill about how hard it was to keep this a secret from Penelope, a grin from Spencer, a tip about how you’d organized all of this from Emily, a squeeze to the shoulder from JJ.

When he finally gets the chance, the others split into their own conversations, Aaron tugs you aside to the corner of the room.

“You did all of this for me?” He asks, head bent to catch your eye.

Although you’d caught the signature Hotchner smile—closed-mouthed and quick—when he saw the surprise, you’re nervous about what he might say. You worry that you’ve done too much, that he’d been pretending to like it for your sake.

“I’m sorry if it’s a bit much,” you start, anxiously tugging at your sleeves. “I wasn’t sure if you liked surprises, I know not everyone does, but I wanted to do something for you because I care about you. A lot. And birthdays are meant to be celebrated, you know?”

Aaron can’t help but let a smile spread over his face as you speak; a real smile. His heart is light, his feelings for you melting through him like the soft pink of cotton candy. He doesn’t think you could ever do anything that he wouldn’t like.

“I’ll clean it all up, too, I prom-”

Your rambling is cut off with his lips on yours. He’s kissing you.

It’s soft, the press of his mouth against yours, and it takes you a second to push back. It stays delicate, a dance between the two of you like you’d practiced a million times before.

His hands skate down your arms to hold your hands, weaving his fingers with yours, squeezing like he’s making sure you know this is real.

You feel it all over, your stomach tumbling, your heart beating in a rhythm that thumps his name. Aaron, Aaron, Aaron, over and over.

It’s a kiss worth a thousand words that you haven’t said yet, a kiss full of feelings and meaning and you know it, just by the way he does it, because you know him and he knows you. It’s you and Aaron, and it feels like the beginning of something huge. Of the rest of your life, maybe.

When he pulls back, Hotch rests his forehead against yours, giving your head a gentle nudge, locking his brown eyes on yours.

“It’s perfect,” he says.

The next thing you hear is Derek Morgan cheering, “I knew it!”

Similar words come from the rest of the team.

“Finally,” from Emily.

“About time,” from JJ.

“This isn’t surprising,” from Spencer, who smiles while saying it.

A sweet, “yay,” from Penelope.

Distracted by Aaron kissing you, you’d sort of forgotten they were there. Bashful, you tuck your head beneath Aaron’s chin, forehead against his collar. He simply tightens his hands around yours.

And when it’s time for cake, this year, Aaron Hotchner makes a wish on his birthday candles. He wishes to spend every other birthday just like this. With you.

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